dex using things around the house to make you cum 🎯
he is known for his reputation of utilizing the objects around him to hurt people— always making the perfect shot. killing his enemies with anything as small as a toothpick, and as crazy as his own tooth. dex always hit them where he intended with whatever he could find. but you’re his baby, sweetheart, northern star, so of course he wouldn’t use his abilities to cause harm to you like that.
dex would use it for your pleasure though, having you blind folded so you can’t see him or whatever he was gonna use on you. only feel and describe what the object he used on you felt like —if it was cold, hard or rubbery. and dex knew how anxious it made you, you were breathing heavily and pawing at his legs since you were sitting on him. every little movement had you inquisitively saying, “dex what’s that?” like a little parrot he thought, repeating itself. “nothing baby stay still.”
he would have you sat down with your back to his chest, legs stretched so far it was starting to get sore. you couldn’t see so your head just wandered in different positions, choosing to lay it by your shoulder smelling the scent of him behind you. you jump when you feel something prod at your lips, a rounded tip of a hard object, entering your mouth forcefully. you muffle a “mph!” and jerk forward a bit, feeling dexs arm keep you at his chest, “you’re okay, just need to get it nice and wet.. don’t wan’her to getting hurt would you?” he says calmly, her meaning the spot between your legs, which is already starting to get wet from this teasing. he takes it out your mouth after some pressing, the handle sliding away from your teeth and dotting away from your tongue.
and then you feel the slick handle slowly push into your hole, stretching you out as dex plunges it deeper into you drawing out a cry. your mouth still tasting of plastic as you plead,“mm w-wait dex..”, squirming against him in nervousness. but he doesn’t, knowing you can handle it like you always do — it was smaller than his dick so definitely knows you can take it well, you’re just a little startled. “t’aw look at that..” dex says to himself, seeing your achey hole swallow up anything he gives it, he’s trained you so well. “now don’t get too distracted on me, what do you think im using on this sweet little cunt hm? gonna tell me?”
all you can do was shake your head no, you really didn’t know and the way dex was flicking his wrist, maneuvering whatever it was he was using in between your legs felt so good. it was reaching so far up in all the right places, moving in and out with ease from how soaked you were. “try harder. I know you can do better than that, use that pretty head of yours.” dex smiles in faux encouragement, but you could also hear the sternness in how he said it knowing that he really is expecting an answer. so now your clenching your hole weakly trying to get a feel for what it might be, hearing dex coo as he “struggles” to take it out from your grip. “there you go, my smart girl.”, from what you can tell it’s wooden, and has a shiny coat on the top of it but that’s truly all you can guess with your sense of vision taken away. “d-dunno dex, mm please-“ and at this point you’ve given up, eyes squeezed shut so hard you can’t even see light peaking through your blindfold.
“why don’t I give you a hint?” dex says, chuckling when he sees you nod hastily. he kisses the top of your head as he keeps pushing the hard length into you, sloppy thrusts that have you gasping. “you use it almost every morning, getting.. what all over our bathroom baby?” dex wants you to fill in the blank but your mind is so foggy now, you’re quivering in his lap while he waits for the answer and not even letting up on the pleasure he’s making you feel. but you want to cum so so bad, pulling yourself out of your subby little headspace to think for him. “h-hairbrush! please, wanna cum dex please ple-“ you whine and beg, and dex is oh so proud of you!!
“thaats it baby, so smart for me..knew you could do it. worked so hard for me to let you cum huh?”, making you whimper out a yes to him, shaking as you feel his other hand snake down to your achey clit. and he’s rubbing the harshest circle around the bud to help his sweet girl cum, she worked so hard to figure out what it was!! dex lets you cum on his lap, arousal all over the bed from how good it felt and you’re left limp on your boyfriends chest as he takes the soaked hairbrush handle from your pussy. breath still heaving as dex moves to put it away, he forces your twitchy closed legs back open and you’re confused —thinking the guessing game was over. but now dex has a new object to use on your raw hole :(
pairing: benjamin ‘dex’ poindexter/bullseye x reader
sum.: the devil of hell’s kitchen saves your life. or, at least he looks like him.
warnings: mugging, reader is held at gunpoint, attempted sexual assault(all that happens is her shirt is ripped off and skirt bunched up, there is no graphic sexual assault and not dex to reader), murder, mentions of blood, heavily implied stalking (dex to reader lol), obsession, maybe ooc dex?, daredevil imposter dex, (there may be more, please let me know if i missed anything)
notes: oh my god. i am so so obsessed with this man oh my god. i literally started daredevil season 3 (i have never seen daredevil LOL) after seeing a tiktok edit of this guy and this was born. i really want to write more and explore his character more. i genuinely am so down bad for dex omg. i have not nor will i ever use any ai for my work. MINORS PEASE DNI WITH MY WORK. briefly proofread (if i read it again i will come to hate it) but unedited so apologies for any grammar or spelling errors. as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, but especially comments or reblogs (it tells me you liked it!!), it helps keep me motivated.
wc: roughy 1.6k
Sometimes you feel like you’re being followed.
You’ve managed to convince yourself that you’re probably just paranoid. Living in New York City and walking everywhere every day, you’re bound to recognize the people around you. Just because some guy visits the same bodega as you every morning at the same time, doesn’t mean he’s following you, he probably just has a good routine, like you.
Walking home alone at night scares you, though, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it.
You should have worn warmer tights, and packed better walking shoes. Your heels do you no favors in this weather.
It’s freezing, snow is falling and flurries are sticking to your hair.
Two more blocks, you tell yourself, two more blocks and you can curl up with the cat under your new blanket and watch sex and the city.
A large had grips your forearm and pulls you into a dark alleyway as you pass by, fingers digging into your arm painfully as you immediately begin to struggle against the man as he pulls you deeper.
The mans other hand quickly covers your mouth when you start to scream, “Shut the fuck up.” fingers digging painfully into your cheeks.
His voice is terrifying.
You use all of your body weight to try to push yourself away from him. Shoving off his body with all your strength as your free elbow flails behind you, trying to nail him so you can get free run away.
He drags you a little further before shoving you up against the cold brick wall, fingers still digging painfully into your bicep as he pulls a gun out of his jacket.
“Oh my god.” Tears well up in your eyes as you look between him and the barrel. His eyes are dark, and despite the cold, his forehead is covered in sweat.
You didn’t put up that much of a fight, did you? He’s got at least a head of height on you and his breath is stuttered, as if he didn’t expect to get this far.
Your hands are shaking, or maybe your whole body is? You aren’t sure.
It’s that moment that you realize your left foot is soaking wet, you lost a shoe somewhere in your struggle.
You don’t take your eyes off of him, mind running a mile a minute as you try take in the situation.
You don’t recognize this man at all. Is this random? Are you just that unlucky?
The mans hand moves from your bicep to your shoulder, where the strap of your purse is, ripping it away from you.
You let him.
Maybe if you let him have it, he’ll let you leave.
You can’t forget your shoe. Don’t forget your shoe.
You watch as he dumps the contents of your bag on the ground. Lip gloss, lip liner, lipstick, a satin scrunchie, your wallet and all other contents spill out and onto the dirty concrete .
He throws your purse down and dives for your wallet, flipping it open with one hand as he keeps the gun trained on you.
He frowns at the contents, eyes darkening as he looks at you.
“Seriously? $45?”
“What?”
He grits his teeth, “You only have forty five fucking dollars?”
Tears fall down your face as you try to stutter out a response, “I- I don’t k-keep cash on me.”
He lets out a growl as he throws the wallet down on the ground, “FUCK!”
You flinch at the sound as it echoes off the alley walls, willing yourself to stay still.
Finally, he looks back at you, his eyes a different kind of dark now, “You’re going to just have to give me something else then.”
Your heart stops, blood running cold, “What?” you wonder if he even heard you, the question so quiet.
“I said,” he’s close enough that you feel his breath on your face, “you’re going to give me something else then.”
“Yo- I have credit cards. Th-that you can take.”
He gives you a once over, actually looking at you for the first time maybe, a sadistic gleam now in his dark eyes as he shakes his head, “No, no. You can give me something better.”
It happens so fast.
One second, you’re crying, begging, pleading with him to let you go, not to hurt you, sobbing as he yanks your jacket off your shoulders and rips your top open so hard buttons come flying off.
The moment changes quickly, once his hand starts inching your skirt up your thighs, the air shifts.
You’re pressing yourself as far into the wall as physically possible, eyes closed as tears streaming down your face and you choke on sobs as the reality of this moment sets in.
There’s a sudden swoosh through the air, and then something warm and wet splatters against your face, causing you to gasp in surprise.
Then, his hands are off of you, a thud sounding to your right.
You’re still shaking, eyes refusing to open as you wait for him to get back up.
He doesn’t. There’s no sound in the alleyway except your heavy breathing, the cars on the street, and footsteps?
The sound has your eyes to shooting open, face jerking to the left as you find the source.
There, standing maybe two feet away from you, his own chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, jaw clenched in a way that makes you know if you could see his eyes, there would be a murderous glint in them, stands Daredevil.
You’ve never seem him in person before, never even thought you would. He spends his time taking down big bads, like Wilson Fisk, the Punisher.
What is he doing here, saving you?
He drops the baton in his hand on the ground, keeping both of his palms facing you as he approaches you slowly.
Dex’s mind is moving a mile a minute. Body thrumming with a rush of adrenaline, blood hot as he looks between you and the fucker with a knife in his skull.
He saved you.
Your eyes are still wide with fear, body still shaking, face covered in that bastards blood.
“Y-you?”
He tilts his head to the side, almost like a puppy, a small smile on his face, “Me.”
Warily, you watch as he bends down, picking up the discarded contents of your purse and putting them back into it, zipping it up as he stands back to his full height.
He’s taller than you imagined, towering over you as he looks you over.
Rage fills his body as he looks you over, coat hanging off your shoulders, shirt ripped open and exposing your bra covered chest, skirt bunched up at your upper thighs.
He wishes he could kill the sorry son of a bitch a million times over.
Cautiously and carefully, moving slowly as if approaching a baby deer, his gloved hands adjust your skirt, touching only the fabric and not your thighs.
You’re still stiff as a board, eyes wide as you watch his every move.
Gently, he wraps your coat securely around your body, buttoning it up to your neck, never letting his hands linger despite every bone in his body telling him otherwise.
Your heart is beating erratically in your chest as you watch him take a step back once he deems you situated, palms back facing you.
“Are you okay?”
You glance down, eyes finding the buttons from your shirt on the concrete, briefly looking at your attacker. Bile rises in your throat as you see the knife embedded in the side of his head.
You look away, back to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
“My shoe is missing.”
The head tilt is back, “What?”
Your voice shakes slightly, “I must’ve lost my shoe in the struggle, I, I can’t walk home without my shoes.”
He stares at you a moment longer before giving you a firm nod, glancing back down the alleyway to find it.
Once he finds the black heel, he’s back in front of you, and much to your shock, he kneels down, hands still gentle as he grabs your ankle, guiding the heel on it.
This is the closest he’s ever been to you, at least, the closest he’s been with the opportunity to talk to you. He wishes the circumstances were better.
But, he’s thankful he was here tonight. Thankful he was able to save you.
At the end of the day, all that will ever matter to him is your safety. Even if you’ll never know it.
“You should be more careful, walking alone at night.” His voice is smooth, maybe familiar. You couldn’t imagine where you would know Daredevil from.
You nod, “I don’t usually come home this late, my boss- I had to finish something at work and it had to be done tonight.”
He nods, knowing what a prick your boss is already. He’d kill him if he could, for making your life difficult.
“Why don’t you let me walk you home? Just to make sure you get there safe.”
You nod, eyes still distant. You’re probably in shock.
He hates to see you in this state, but can’t think of how much easier it makes this.
A firm hand at your back guides you out of the alleyway, the remaining block and a half to your apartment and all the way to your door. He leaves you with a smile, telling you that he’ll see you soon and to make sure you lock the door.
Your mind doesn’t catch up until he’s gone and you’re sitting in the shower.
You’ve worked for Fisk for a long time, and you can’t help but see Buck as a poor imitation of your late beloved, James Wesley. You resent Buck, and you’re not shy about letting him know. Your passive aggressive remarks turn into something unexpected during one of your late nights working at the mayor’s office. Reader is reeeaaalllyyy mean, and Buck is kind of a total simp in return. <3
AFAB/female Wesley’s widow!Reader X Buck Cashman. Reader has longish hair, wears a skirt, and gets lightly manhandled by Buck.
~3.7k words. Crossposted to AO3.
You like it relatively dark when you’re working alone late into the evening, only one, maybe two desk lamps to light your way in the gloom of the large office. Tonight is no exception. You should’ve gone home hours ago, but your empty apartment is still too much to bear, even after all these years without…him.
Besides, there’s always more paperwork to be taken care of anywhere Wilson Fisk is involved. He trusts you enough to file the proper forms on time and make sure other paperwork disappears when it should, and, mostly out of loyalty for how he’s supported you in the years since James’s death, you refuse to let him down.
You’re also well aware of what could happen if you did let him down, though the thought doesn’t make you shiver in fear the way it used to. Not much does anymore. You’ve become numb to more than you should be comfortable admitting to since losing James.
Likely why the silhouette that appears in your periphery doesn’t startle you as you file away some invoices and meeting notes in the mayor’s office.
“Shouldn’t you be following our employer like the loyal little dog you are, Cashman?” you ask the silhouette without looking, not bothering to dilute the venom in your tone.
“Tough talk from the little pup that’s been loyal to him many years longer than I have,” the silhouette scoffs. Buck steps into view and saunters over. Shadows dance across his handsome face in the low light cast by the lamp on the desk behind him as he observes your filing system with what seems to be forced disinterest.
“If this is the part where you’re going to call me a bitch, Cashman, I strongly suggest you think twice. I’ve been begging for a reason to smack that smug look off your fucking face since day one,” you spit back, giving him your best Kubrick stare as you glare up at him through your lashes.
His brows shoot up at your audacity, but holds his palms up in surrender nonetheless. “Our employer,” Buck enunciates your earlier words somewhat sarcastically, “is the one that sent me.”
You roll your eyes and slide the last manila file into place before slamming the filing cabinet closed a little harder than you needed to. You turn to grab your keys from the desk to lock the cabinet, but Buck casually stands in your way, hands in the pockets of his grey slacks. Closer than he’s ever been before. Outside of the elevator, at least. You don’t like the way your heart starts to race when you come to the realization. Or the playful glint in his brown eyes that you’re suddenly having a hard time meeting. Or the fact that, somewhere between escorting Mr. Fisk home and now, he’s lost his tie, first two shirt buttons undone to reveal a hint of collarbone beneath. You’re about to snarl at him to get the fuck out of your way when he holds up your keyring on his first two fingers.
“Looking for something?” he offers, curling his fingers to make the keys jingle. Something about the motion goes right to your core, only further instigating your wrath. You reach for the keys, and he snatches them back, an unreadable expression on his infuriatingly handsome face.
“Our employer,” he says again, less emphatic and mocking this time, but you despise how attractively his accent lilts his words nonetheless, “thinks you’ve been working too hard. Too many hours alone late at night. Sent me to assist you.”
You’re not sure if it’s his tone or the words themselves, but he sets you off. “I’m good— no, great at my job. I don’t need your fucking help, Cashman. Go home. Lay by your dish like a good dog and wait for your master’s call,” you respond coolly, holding out your palm for your keyring.
His lips quirk at that one, though it comes off as more of a snarl with that cruel gleam in his dark eyes. He blinks, and the expression is gone as quickly as it came on, a more pleasant, albeit fake, smile now in its place, bringing out that stupid dimple in his cheek. You refuse to admit, even to yourself, that you find it cute.
“You,” Buck hisses around a deep, calming breath, “are a wicked little thing.”
Why do you like the way that sounds so much? Too much. No. Absolutely not.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” You snap your fingers, making a grabby hand at Buck. He shakes his head in irritation, but drops your keys, and you snatch them from the air before they hit your palm.
Buck waits until you have your back turned to lock the filing cabinet to speak again. “You’re well aware of how little our employer approves of disobedience. You may as well let me push a few of your pencils while I’m here,” he offers, his tone almost kind, despite how decidedly unkind you’ve been.
“Pushing my buttons, more like,” you grumble under your breath, choosing to ignore his not-so-thinly veiled insinuation that you’re little more than a pencil-pusher. You bite back a few insults of your own, and try for a lighter tone when you respond, “I told you to go home, Cashman. I’m fine here. Not sure why he would bother to send you anyway.”
Buck shrugs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Your guess is as good as mine. Would you like to be the one to call him to clarify my orders?”
You roll your eyes. “Hard pass,” you sigh. After a moment’s pause, you return his shrug, turning to the mayor’s desk, and the document boxes you’d pulled out of storage earlier. You replace the lid on one of the boxes, stacking it atop the other and pat the lid as you slide them across the desk to Buck. “May as well put those muscles of yours to use. I need these carried back to storage.”
He doesn’t move to help you, and when you glance over at him expectantly, that stupid smirk is back in place. He fails completely to hide his amusement when he says, “How forward of you to confess that you think about my muscles.”
Your cheeks heat up, and before you can stop yourself, you snap back like an embarrassed child, “I do not!”
Buck can’t bite back his chuckle at your indignation, the sound sending shiver down your spine, the feeling not altogether unpleasant. Your face feels like it’s on fire, and you just need to get away from him, get anywhere but here.
When you go to brush past him, he catches your wrist, yanking you back until you stumble into him. You’re about to demand that he let you go, but your words die out in a gasp when his free hand tangles in your hair, allowing him to draw your face in, a breath away from his.
“Admit it,” Buck murmurs, his eyes snagged on your lips. Butterflies flip and twirl through entire Cirque du Soleil routines in your gut, and you’re distinctly aware of how wet your panties are growing, and quickly.
“Admit what?” you hiss back, attempting to regain some of your dignity.
“That you don’t hate me as much as you want to,” he answers. That self-satisfied smirk hasn’t left his face, and his tone betrays little — you’re not sure if he’s calling you out, or begging you to confirm it’s true.
You do hate him. At least, you still think you do. But he’s right. Not as much as you want to. Not even close.
“Don’t you ever shut up?” you whisper, leaning in to bridge the gap, wiping the smirk off his face by taking his face in your hands to claim his mouth with yours.
He grunts into the kiss, and melts into your touch, his hand in your hair tightening its grip to keep you just where he wants you. His free hand finds your lower back, pulling you in closer and caging you in against his body and the desk at your heels as he deepens the kiss. You gasp when he nips your bottom lip softly, and he takes the opportunity to tease your lips further apart, flicking his tongue lightly against yours. You’re grateful for his tight grip on you, finding yourself becoming quickly dizzy with desire.
Buck parts from the kiss with a half dozen smaller ones, panting for breath, those warm brown eyes searching your face as his chest heaves into yours.
“Still can’t stand you,” you finally mumble, briefly tracing his cheekbones with your thumbs before dropping your hands to rest on his broad shoulders.
“But?” he whispers, knowing there’s more you want to say. More he needs to hear.
“But I want you,” you whisper back, looking anywhere but his face, the vulnerability of the admission almost too much. He releases his grip on your hair to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes, and he finds the unspoken answers to his questions in yours.
Buck kisses you again, relief and desperation in equal measure evident in the force of the kiss, as if he wasn’t expecting you to admit as much, and now he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight. But his touch is surprisingly soft as his big hands trace up your thighs, gathering up your skirt to bunch up around your waist until he can grab your ass in both hands. Kneading softly and relishing the way you gasp and arch into him, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and begins sliding them down slowly, looking to you pointedly for approval. You nod in response to another of his unspoken questions, and Buck is on his knees for you in an instant, taking your panties with him.
He helps you to keep your balance by holding each calf delicately as you step out of your panties, and you miss him tucking the lacy garment into his trouser pocket when he nudges you back into the desk. You perch on the edge of the lacquered surface, leaning back on your hands, and Buck spreads your legs wider to accommodate himself between your thighs.
“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of you just like this,” he admits in a quiet whisper as he hooks your knees over his elbows to get a good grip on your hips.
Goddamn, how does he always know just what to say?
You glance down at him taking a moment to admire your dripping pussy spread open for him, and Jesus H. Christ, the look on his face is just about the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. A heady mix of self-satisfaction at knowing just how wet he makes you, and visibly carnal need.
“Then show me, Cashman,” you reply. You could almost applaud yourself for managing to keep your tone sultry, despite the way your thighs are already quivering in anticipation.
He looks up at you, only shifting his eyes, and flashes his teeth in a little grin before he dives in to feast on you like a man starved. He groans at his first taste of you, almost a whimper, like he’s grateful for the privilege.
One of your already shaking hands finds his hair, carding your fingers through his dark locks and pulling perhaps a little too hard when he flattens his tongue to drag slowly over your clit. He gives another pathetic little groan when he dips his tongue inside you to taste you deeper, and your legs fall open farther in response, a breathy gasp falling from your kiss-swollen lips. At this rate, he’s going to have you coming undone in a matter of moments, and as much as you love the idea of falling apart on Buck’s skilled tongue, you know that if you’re crossing this line, you may as well venture to the point of no return. You want him — all of him.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you breathe when you glance down and he meets your eyes from between your legs. He looks so damn good on his knees for you, that silver tongue buried in your needy little cunt. But you still need more. “Be a good boy and get up here, Cashman.”
His breath hitches, just barely, at your words. You file a mental note that he must’ve liked that very much when he doesn’t hesitate to follow your command, parting from your pussy with a long, teasing lick before disentangling himself from you and standing to his full height, towering over you from where you recline on the desktop.
He’s never looked better — face flushed and glistening with your slick. You have to bite your lip to keep from making a fool of yourself when he reaches up to wipe his chin with his thumb before licking it clean. Buck leans in for a kiss, and you can’t bite back the moan that escapes when you taste yourself on his mouth.
You can’t take it anymore, reaching up to pull him closer by the lapels of his suit jacket. Your quivering fingers find the buttons of his jacket, tossing it open to start on his belt — but not before noting the impressive bulge in his pants. Goddamn, you think, mouth already watering in anticipation. But you’re so needy, hands so shaky that you fumble too many times with all the fastenings.
“Help,” you command, sharper than you’d intended. Buck chuckles softly in response, and damn it all, he has the sweetest smile when he’s not returning your sharp barbs with only slightly more polite ones of his own.
“Look what you do to me,” he murmurs when you notice the tremble in his own fingers as he quickly undoes his belt and makes short work of the button and zipper on his pants.
Seeing the effect you have on him, knowing that he needs you just as badly as you need him, is an incredible feeling that you try not to let go straight to your already over-inflated ego where it concerns Buck Cashman. That is, until your cheeks flush hot when a little gasp sneaks past your lips as Buck frees his cock from the confines of his slacks.
Oh.
Your mouth waters at the sight of his length, and, if you hadn’t spent every other moment you’ve known him absolutely hating him, you might consciously consider yourself incredibly lucky to be in this position — metaphorically and quite literally, as Buck parts your thighs wide to make room enough for himself between them. He hooks your knee over his elbow to keep you spread open, planting his palm on the desk beside you for leverage, before teasing the velvety smooth head of his cock through your slick folds once, twice, three times. A crooked little smile quirks the corner of his mouth when, out of frustration, you reach between your legs to guide him into you before leaning back on your hands once more.
That little grin of his disappears in a soft gasp as he sinks into you slowly — not only savoring the feeling of your plush heat, but making sure you feel every inch of him too as he stretches you open. You squeeze your eyes shut so he doesn’t see the way they roll back at how deliciously full he fills you, and you press your lips into a thin line to quiet your broken moan in response to Buck’s shuddering breath as he bottoms out.
“You feel like heaven,” he murmurs softly. Too softly.
“Jesus Christ, Buck,” you curse, a shiver shooting down your spine at the tenderness in his voice. His breath hitches, and when you meet his warm brown eyes, see how they’ve softened, you realize it’s the first time you’ve called him by first name, probably the first time you’ve said his name at all without venom in your voice. He crashes his lips into yours, his kiss hungry, sloppy, needy.
“Say it again,” he pleads, panting when he finally breaks away from you. He pulls out of you slowly, almost torturously slowly, until just the head of his thick cock remains, before he sinks back into your sweet warmth, gliding every inch along that spot that makes you see stars. He’s doing everything he can to draw it out of you, to make you cry his name, and you can’t help but acquiesce.
“Buck,” you whine as your head lolls back, eyes drifting closed as you lose yourself to pleasure.
“Look at me,” Buck says as he grabs your chin, not too rough but not too gentle either, tilting your head from side to side until your eyes flutter open. “Feels good?” He punctuates his question with a deep thrust that leaves you whimpering.
You nod, unable to form words.
“Tell me,” he says, trying so hard not to sound like he’s begging you. He fails spectacularly when he repeats, softer, “Tell me, please.”
Another deep thrust, his hips crashing into yours, making you cry out again, tears prickling at the back of your eyes. He still won’t let you look away, those deep brown eyes blown with lust, locked on your own. His gaze only seems to grow hungrier as those tears start to gather at your lashes, threatening to spill over with every thrust that kisses your cervix.
“Jesus, Buck. You feel so good. So, so fucking good inside me,” you babble around every gasp he draws from you, “So, so good for me, Buck.”
He curses in response. “You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss you quickly, sloppily. He drops his hand from your chin, his thumb finding your swollen clit instead, trying to keep time with the rhythm he’s set, but his messy thrusts tell you that he’s getting close, as close as you are. You don’t realize that your head is starting to loll back again, eyes starting to slip closed until—
“Eyes on me, love,” he reminds you, slowing the circles he’s rubbing on your clit until you meet his eyes. “Need to see how pretty you look when you come for me.”
The pet name, so warm and saccharine falling from his pretty lips, has your heart beating staccato-like in your chest, threatening to burst free if he’s not careful. And he’s certainly not careful now, not with how those deep brown eyes adoringly trace every facet of your expression before locking with yours again, committing you to memory, as if he might never have the chance to see you like this again. But god, you could have this, have him, every day and it almost wouldn’t be enough.
Warmth pools and coils in your lower belly, your breath coming in little gasps in time with each movement of Buck’s thumb on your clit. His hips begin to stutter, barely able to manage anything more than desperately grinding into your warmth, the extra friction wringing a breathless whine from you. It’s not long before that coil in your belly snaps, and Buck has you coming so hard that your ears are left ringing.
You miss the damn near ardent way you cry out his name as you come, but Buck doesn’t. Your velvety walls flutter around his cock so perfectly, and you look so bloody breathtaking coming undone under him that your release pulls Buck over the edge, and he buries himself in you as deeply as he can before spilling into you.
You don’t let yourself think about how royally you fucked up as you try to catch your breath. Not yet. Instead, you reach up and pull Buck into a messy kiss by his tie. You feel him smile into the kiss, and you’d hate the way those damn butterflies twirl and tumble around in your gut if you didn’t still feel so wonderfully boneless. You only bring yourself to pull away when you’re starting to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen.
After a long beat of not altogether uncomfortable silence, Buck asks, “Can I take you to dinner?”
The absurdity of his sweet, sincere query in this moment—his cock still buried inside you with the both of you panting in each other’s faces like animals—hits you and you can’t help but laugh. He must realize it too, because he laughs with you, and you find that you love the sound of his happiness.
“Not sure how they do it across the pond, but you’re usually supposed to take a girl to dinner before rearranging her insides,” you respond, putting a hand on his cheek and guiding him in for a quick kiss. You don’t want to think about how kissing him has already begun to feel like a comfortable habit despite the flutter of butterflies you get in your stomach with each press of his lips to yours.
Buck playfully feigns nonchalance and shrugs when you break away. “I’ve never been one for following conventions.”
You shake your head to hide your genuine amusement, the vulnerability of it having you glance anywhere but his eyes. Instead, you see the mess you’ve made of his dark hair, and you reach up to card your fingers through it, attempting to make him look a bit more presentable. The intimacy of the gesture hits you at the same moment it occurs to him. He catches your hand as you drop it, bringing your knuckles to his lips, his eyes locked on yours.
The thought dawns on you that you’re not quite ready for this new development with Buck to end just yet.
“I have a better idea.”
“Oh?” He quirks a brow.
“I’m a ten minute walk away. There’s a decent takeout place on the way to my apartment,” you offer, finding it difficult to meet his eyes, as if that would be admitting too much to him.
Buck quirks a brow, barely managing to stave off an amused smile. “My, my. Offering to see me to bed this evening, are we?” he asks.
You shrug, a bit of your habitual chagrin leeching into your tone. “You’re more than welcome to end the night in your own empty bed if you’d prefer.”
“I’d much rather spend the night in yours,” he replies, leaning in for another quick kiss. “Though I’ve the strangest feeling it won’t be a particularly restful night.”
you never imagined the day that daredevil himself would be in your mortuary.
alive, to your dismay. you really wanted to cut him open—see what made him tick. maybe run samples to see how the hell he could do what he did.
but, you knew why he was here.
he had a dead man in tow, a bled-out witness who yanked a business card—yours—from his pocket and shoved it into his hands before croaking.
stupid dex, your mind conjured, an irritating fondness filling your bones. the kill was flawless, on the mark, that is, but the witness was messy. you’d taught him arteries and severe points better than that, taught him how to exsanguinate quickest—and this is what he did? blood dripped onto the floor, nothing you hadn’t experienced before, but it was annoying.
you had just cleaned.
you gnawed on the inside of your cheek, keeping your expression schooled into its usual boredness and unimpressed glamor, “can i help you?”
“following a lead,” he explained, showing you the card the victim had given him. you stayed quiet, tilting your head as if to make him go on.
“bullseye,” he spat, disdain coating his voice. you fought a grin, glancing down when he rummaged in his suit, procuring a small knife.
“i understand if this isn’t your expertise, but i was hoping you could examine it—“ daredevil, matthew, gently lowered the dead man, barely reacting to the growing pool of blood.
you raised a hand, eyes flicking to the window.
he was watching.
a 𖣠 gift
you trailed your fingers along the blade, ignoring the way matt tensed when you lifted it. you seemed indifferent to it, unaffected by the blood pooling at your shoes—familiar. he waited, patient as always, as you balanced the knife on a finger.
“you’ve seen these knives before,” he calmly spoke, and you lifted your gaze. you shrugged, flipping it in the air and catching it in the other hand, “usually say somethin’ different for me. how’d you get this?”
his head tilted, slight and quick, pondering.
“you are acquainted,” matt’s arms crossed, his suit flexing with his biceps—he was visibly angry, yet he had to keep his cool. you were a valuable lead, one that could produce worthwhile results. as you watched his body speak for him, you had to admit, he was—
swip.
you didn’t even flinch as another knife embedded itself in the wooden frame. the corner of your lips twitched, it was as if dex knew exactly what you were about to think. matt’s head jerked to the window, reaching for you and yanking you to a closed off area. you swept the knife from the bark as you went, fingers tracing the words:
try 𖣠 again
matt took the blade from you, confusedly glaring at it, “what does that mean?” you bit your lip, amused as you glanced out the barely visible window. you saw a dark outline, huge and lurking, lips curling up slightly.
“he wants you to re-guess our bond, matt.”
his head snapped up to you, disbelief shrouding his figure. “tell me where he is,” he spat angrily, and you grinned so playfully it made a stalking dex’s heart race. “he’s right here,” you cooed mockingly, fingers tracing around your heart.
matt pocketed the knives, presumably listening for dex’s heartbeat as he launched himself out of the shattered window. you lifted a hand to your ear, pressing the clear line behind it. you heard his breathing, the soft pants of air as he sprinted, “you’re real cute.”
“what? can’t let the guy think he’s got a chance.”
“could’ve let me stall a little more. needed more info,” you grumbled as your boot nudged the corpse in the room, “what to do with you…”
“i’ll clean him up, baby,” dex groaned, a loud crash making you wince, “don’t get your pretty hands dirty.”
“you just don’t want me to touch another man.”
“yeah, well,” he laughed, “that, too.”
a slow smile crept across your lips, the gentle thrum of your mutation lifting the body, “he’s dead, dexy. in case you forgot.”
“i remember, sweet thing,” he whispered, “you looked so pretty with his blood on you.”
you transported the body to the furnace, whispering a soft prayer as the flames rose to meet his flesh. you hummed quietly, boots splashing across the puddles of blood as you swayed through the room.
“gonna make it up to you when i’m home,” dex promised, “swear it.”
“mm,” you mused, “i’m having so much fun playin’ with matty, though..”
“i’ll kill him.”
you smiled, arms stretching across the metal operating table. your cheek pressed against the cool steel, a misplaced scalpel barely cutting into your skin.
“i wonder if his insides are as interesting as him, dexy.”
“thought you were gonna cut me open first?”
you laughed, visualizing your beloved boyfriend in an intense scuffle with the very man you were dying to dissect.
Benjamin Poindexter + Buck Cashman w/ Autistic!F!Reader
Buck Cashman
You probably met at work, your probably doing something in admin so you only see him in passing or if you have to organise something together.
He likes that you follow the rules and he notices that you've yet to fail a task you've been given. He likes an organised lady.
He doesn't mind your lack of eye contact whilst you speak, he's never thought that you aren't paying attention but just thinks you're nervous talking to him.
He 100% has your whole routine in his calender. Will call you when he knows your on your break - no matter where he is.
He's not put off if you don't have many friends tbh because neither does he. He might be confused by it though, because he finds you so lovely. he just considers himself lucky he doesn't have to fight loads of people to spend time with you.
He loves your honesty and straightforward nature. You're both adults, theres no need to play games with communication and dance around what you really want from each other.
Has 0 problem ordering for you at restaurants or in cafes if you aren't feeling it. Most likely he already knows what you want anyway because he has a list in his notes app of the things you like.
You don't mind it that he works late most nights, you just would prefer it if he lets you know if he is. That way you aren't just waiting for him or knowing to leave some dinner out for him. He will just send you a text if he can't ring you.
< going to be late home tonight, goodnight sweetheart.>
<don't leave the key in the door. Haha.>
He found your strict routine funny at first, always going to bed at the same time, sitting in the same chair or the order you brush your teeth in. But he's really fallen into rhythm of it, he enjoys it compared to the unpredictability of his work so likes how when he comes home he knows what to expect.
Loves to listen to you ramble about your special interests and loves to ask follow up questions. If he sees something that he thinks you'll like he's definitely getting it.
I think you work really well together because he's so cool and collected. He always knows how to stop you from ruminating.
Will 100% help you prepare a script for a social situation and you'll role-play.
"So I'm going to go into the cafe." You walk back across the room, and walk towards him.
"Yes. Then you'll walk to the counter." He stands on the otherside of the kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. His shirt sleeves are undone, rolled up to his forearms.
"Right. Then what do I say? Okay wait - you be the guy behind the counter and i'll be me." You pace back across the room and re-enter.
"Hi. What can I help you with today?" He does in his best customer service voice.
"Hello. I would like an iced coffee please."
"Splendid. Can I get a name?" His arms reach out mimicking picking up a cup and a pen.
You pause for a second trying to even remember your own name.
"Oh Buck - what if I get it wrong? What if they don't sell iced coffee? What if iced coffee isn't real and I've made it up? And then everyone in the shop gets up and points and laughs at me?"
His mouth curves slightly, holding in a breath worried he will laugh at you. He lets out a short scoff before opening his mouth, "That would be terrifying. I don't think that will happen." He shakes his head. "At least it's never happened to me before. And I'm pretty sure iced coffee is real."
"What if it's a joint illusion?"
----
Benjamin Poindexter
You could meet him anywhere. You could be waking down the street one day and he will notice you. If you're reserved, he gets so obsessed with trying to figure you out. He spends hours trying to fill in the gaps. Easily makes track of your routines, the way you walk to work or the shops you enter at exactly the same time everyday.
He loves how organised your apartment is, his stuff fits right in. Most the time he doesn't even have to move anything because you've already got it covered.
Your routines just make sense to him, he also follows them and copies your order of things. He finds it soothing knowing exactly what your next move is.
Honestly prefers it if you've got few friends, he has low self esteem so he tends to get jealous if you spend too much time with other people.
He also doesn't mind lack of eye contact but at some point it becomes intense unblinking eye contact when you're speaking to each other. You can just stare into each other souls whilst speaking to each other and it's completly normal for you both.
Also enjoys your honesty because he is the exact same. Why would he need to lie to you? Why would you both not just talk about what you want?
I feel like you have the type of relationship where you might not necessarily be in contact with each other for months at a time but nothing changes. You can just pick right back up after where you left off.
Your relationship is very intense. Meaning when you are having a great time its GREAT. but if you argue then its the lowest of low. Genuinely you both can't stand arguing and both end up just wanting to die.
You ask him to tell you if he's coming home late - but he tends to completely forget and his texts are irregular.
His impulsiveness stresses you out, so you tend to have to try find a balance.
He probably is your special interest. You just want to always learn more about him and spend all your time with him - which he doesn't mind at all. Your probably a bit co-dependent on each other.
You know how to talk each other down from panic attacks etc. Knowing what exactly makes it better, whether thats doing some deeep breaths together or going on a run together.
you've always got Dex's headphones in your bag and some sour candy.
If you journal he is 100% reading it. He just feels entitled to it and wants to know everything that's going on in your mind.
You both talk each other through scripts and roleplays. Wether it's what the appropriate thing is to say to a friend who's lost a relative or mastering the art of small talk.
"Let's practise okay, Dex." You sit next to each other, knees knocking from the proximity. "The funeral is tomorrow,"
"We have never even met this guy more than once," he smirks, "why are we even going?"
"It's the polite thing to do. And we were invited. Be serious Dex - I don't know what i'm supposed to say tomorrow. What if it's awkward?"
"Alright. We can practise."
"So..." he rolls his shoulders in preparation, "I'm sorry about your friend. He seemed like a good guy." He looks forward into the room pretending there's someone there.
"Yeah -" you nod in agreement at Dex and then to the imaginary person in the room, you both await a response before you reply, " i'm sorry that sounds really hard,"
He looks at you for a moment, "i like that one," his teeth flash between his lips, drawing into a smile. "It sounds good. Its convincing."
A/n: shameless self indulgence Im soz #sorrynotsorry + this is just my experience with autism but if u want me to write for your personal traits just ask and ill make a part 2 for u friends :3
Headcanons for being Matt Murdock’s child (Part 5)
Matt Murdock x child!reader
warnings: guns, blood, death, etc. daredevil!!! oh and obvi DDBA spoilers babe
a/n: LONG AWAITED FIFTH PART BASED ON BORN AGAIN SEASON ONE. also part 4 kind of makes it seem like y/n is a lil immature and possibly younger? ignore that i didn’t know what was in store for them yet LMAO. also ah fuck this got long. and also fuck you (affectionate) i know i swore i’d never do The Thing but i did it. youre fucking welcome. and also. no. part 6 wont come out until DDBA S2 is fully out <3
prompt:
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5
despite a LOT of pushback from your dad, you joined the police academy
oh, to be a fly on the wall during that conversation
“a cop? in this city? of all the things you can do, you want to be a cop?” -matt
“maybe i want to be a cop to clean up this city the right way. you ever think of that?” -you
“oh, so this is to get back at me for daredevil” -matt
“no, dad, this is not about you. i made my choice. deal with it or dont, it’s out of my hands” -you
shit, the police force was not a fan of your father, the defense attorney, either
nor were they a fan of daredevil
you kept your mouth shut on those kinds of subjects, tried to keep work and life separate. something your dad never seemed to be able to do
you survived the blip—lucky for you, matt, foggy, and karen
and you really did try to support nelson, murdock, and page to the best of your ability
“hey, kid. listen—i am proud of you. you stuck to your guns, you made a choice despite how others would feel about it, and you’re already succeeding in your new career. to hell with the rest of them, you’re doing good job” -foggy
karen was quietly supportive as well, helped calm matt down with reason whenever he got nervous about your chosen career
“what if y/n gets hurt? what if they try to do the right thing instead of running for their life?” -matt
“then they’ll have learned from their fearless father” -karen
“i should have been a better role model” -matt
“yeah, too late for that one” -karen, patting him on the shoulder
the other cops on the force gave you hell, but that was expected
you were a native new yorker, nothing phased you
and after some time, matt learned to accept reality and damn, he was starting to understand how he made you feel
you hadn’t lived with matt or foggy in a couple of years, since you were a rookie
now you were about 24, been on the force a few years—a real star, up for detective!!
and you could actually drink at josies!!!
“god, it still feels weird serving you” -josie
“remember when you were giving me shots of coca cola?” -you
“you’re making me feel old!” -josie
josie gave you your first drink, a shot of o’melveny’s by foggy’s insistence
you had a shot of it when you turned 21, graduated the police academy, got hired by the NYPD, and a few odd times when NM&P had a win
and foggy loved to see a smile on your face now that you weren’t weighed down by all that matt put on you
“i wish you could see just how happy y/n looks. they breathe easier, smile wider, no more dark circles around their eyes. it’s good to feel like family again” -foggy
“i can feel it, don’t worry. the breaths, heartbeat, and i hear y/n’s laugh all the time. i wish i could have given them this peace of mind when they were younger” -matt “wish i had peace of mind. haven’t since they joined the NYPD”
speaking of nypd, it was weird being there
especially since midland circle. no protective detail. no scared teenager and metahumans. just another badge on duty
you might have been the youngest detective the NYPD ever had, and you don’t think it would have been without your history. growing up at a law school, around lawyers, in a law firm, with vigilantes. THAT was what made you a strong cop. a strong background. strong spirit.
and the day you were promoted you got another shot of o’melveny’s!!!!!!
“fuck, i hate that shit” -you
“always with the mouth” -matt, patting you on the back
“always with the judgment” -you, raising your glass to his “love you, dad. wouldn’t be here without you”
“what? no love for uncle foggy?” -foggy, heckling
“you know what? come here, i’m gonna destroy you in pool!” -you
matt and karen sat together and talked about you
“i remember when y/n was little and so full of fire” -karen
“and full of it” -matt, quickly being swatted by karen “i’m kidding. i just can’t believe they’re grown up now. fuck, when did my kid grow up?”
“y/n’s always been grown up unfortunately” -karen
“don’t guilt trip me now” -matt
“i’m not trying to, i’m just saying y/n’s always had that head on their shoulders. got it from you, obviously. but i can’t help but be proud of how they turned out. a detective by 24? that’s fucking unheard of. and everyone at the department gives them shit for being a murdock” -karen
“life of the defense attorney—always making enemies” -matt
*you approaching and matt and karen shutting up*
“i kicked foggy’s ass” -you
“knew you would” -matt
not long after this day, you’d be at josie’s again and be attacked by bullseye
and as the only cop on scene, you had to do things by the book
“dispatch this is detective murdock—badge number 0464, need immediate backup and mutiple RA’s for an active shooter at josie’s bar. i repeat, shots fired, several civilians down. hurry. please.” -you on the phone with 911, trying not to lose your shit as foggy lay bleeding on the sidewalk “hang in there uncle foggy. help’s on the way”
you took a few shots at bullseye, but nothing seemed to land as your hands were shaking and karen was screaming next to you
by the time help arrived, you had a bullet in your arm and were covered in foggy’s blood
you only took a week of leave
you could have killed poindexter yourself—but that wasn’t who you were.
foggy’s funeral was one of the worst days of your life because you knew he wasn’t coming back
not like matt, where you always had that sneaking suspicion he’d be back—and you were right
or elektra—who didn’t stay dead the first time
you watched as the casket closed on foggy, you watched as everything you knew fell apart. karen moved away, NMP closed shop, matt opened a new practice, and life moved on.
you spent the night at matt’s whenever it was too hard to bear
and the door was always open
sometimes matt would find you sleeping on the couch when he woke up, make you breakfast like old times
you were still his little kid in his heart. the one who’d beat him in the chest when you were mad at him, call him names, slam doors, beg for him to come home in one piece.
now you were his kid who carried a gun and a badge and was one of the few cops on the force worth trusting
but you still liked waffles
“made your favorite” -matt, gently waking you
“thanks” -you
you looked at old photos of you and foggy, matt, karen, whoever. it just made you feel closer to them
and there was a “family photo” on your desk at the precinct
about a year later, poindexter was sentenced and a weight was lifted off your shoulders as he was put away for life
but other problems arose
specifically, wilson fisk’s candidacy for mayor
“this is insane! there’s no way they’re gonna vote him for mayor. after all he’s done to this city? absolutely not!” -you, spiraling
“my thoughts exactly” -matt, not far behind
it was hard not to focus on the looming threat
and when the election results were revealed, it was safe to say you were on the verge of a complete crash out
“dad, i can’t work for that man! after all he’s done to this city and my family? fuck this!” -you
“i know, i know” -matt, hiding the fact he has met with fisk recently and been threatened about his vigilantism
the issue is fisk knew who you were. and you were NYPD, and he oversaw this department
you were purposely picked for the anti vigilante task force he’d put together
“murdock,” -fisk, almost threateningly “it’s been a long time”
“wait, you know y/n?” -powell
“i know their father. matthew murdock” -fisk
oh that shit did not sit right with the rest of the task force. especially after hector ayala’s case
fisk forced you to quit (not that it wasn’t coming anyway. fisk calling the shots just didn’t sit right)
ohhh you were pissed
“fuck! all my hard work in the force—gone! this stupid vendetta fisk has against vigilantes” -you
“this is my fault, y/n—” -matt
“no! don’t even go there. i don’t want to hear it. that was ten goddamn years ago!” -you
you’d started to feel as helpless as you did ten years ago. it wasn’t pretty
and you took this time to rethink your priorities
speaking of—here matt was just starting to enjoy life. you liked his new girlfriend, heather, matter of fact
a step up from elektra. sorry. who isnt. your dad knew how to pick em
“y/n, im sorry to hear about your departure from the NYPD. do you want to talk about it?” -heather
“i’d rather not. lots to unpack” -you
matt was angry you had to give up your career because of fisk. you were forced out. just because of a vendetta fisk had against him. you were never supposed to get involved
but as matt had started investigating as daredevil again, you began to understand him on a far deeper level than ever before
a helpless defense attorney trying to make a difference, a pariah detective who wants to do the same
something clicked in you that day
something you swore you’d never do, never accept, simply never be
matt was busy investigating muse
that case closed quick, but the problems continued without fail
who killed hector ayala? how do you defeat fisk? when would you be safe? was heather really trustworthy? why was foggy really killed? it never really ended—but no matter what career you or your dad pursued, that was a given
“dad?” -you
“yeah?” -matt
“where did it all go wrong?” -you
matt’s heart sank
“i think you know the answer” -matt
“i don’t think i do anymore” -you, realizing you were more in the dark about daredevil than you thought. yeah, you knew fisk was a problem. and you knew bullseye was a psycho. and elektra set you guys back a few times. and you were exposed to some things too young. you knew all that. you just didn’t know where it began.
“one day i think things will be okay again” -matt, lying
“i know you’re they guy with the heartbeat lie detector, but i can tell you’re lying to me” -you
“we’ll figure it out” -matt
you missed the lighthearted days
life so was foreign these days
it was JUST you and him now
you got the occasional text from karen but it wasnt the same
drinking together was always glum, breakfast brought back bad memories, a dinner at a restaurant made you stare at the empty seat beside you, and when matt put the cowl back on you were back to your conflicted self
until you made your way into matt’s stash and took a cowl of your own
matt’s getup mixed with some of your tactical gear from the PD, mixed with some old boxing gear from when you were younger…there you were. the adult child of a vigilante wearing his own uniform. it always comes around
“this is fucking stupid” -you said, ripping it off and shoving it in a bag
not long after this you were sitting in a hospital room after matt was shot in the chest at fisk’s gala
“you never fucking learn, do you?” -you
“nope” -matt
“smartass” -you
“you learned it from me” -matt, groaning through pain
heather was present, still a bit upset from the scene. kirsten brought her out soon after, giving you more time to drill into your dad.
“you know, i have seen you and foggy get shot more than once. it is genuinely insane to me that you are still jumping in front of bullets. i know i’m an adult now, but i still need you” -you
“i’m a shitty dad, just say it” -matt
“no, you’re not. you were. and then you turned your life around but now we’re headed in the same direction with a whole new set of possibilities. this isn’t daredevil versus kingpin. this is the people versus fisk. pick a side” -you
“i wont stand by and let poindexter murder anyone else” -matt
“which is why we keep losing” -you
you left the hospital to get the suit you’d made “in case of emergency” and soon the power went out. a bold move on fisks part
and as you made your way into your dad’s apartment, there stood frank castle in the flesh
“little y/n? damn, it’s been a minute” -frank
“did we ever actually meet?” -you
“nah, your dad was a hard ass” -frank
“still is” -you
“heard you joined the force” -frank
“yeah. made detective and everything. forced out by fisk. now, im doing my own thing” -you, masking up “you have a gun i can borrow?”
“fuckin’ course i do,” -frank, handing you one of his collection “never thought i’d be giving a murdock a gun, but happy to do it. especially if it pisses off red senior”
matt was home soon after and still a bit beat up, luckily you and frank were there to help
you shot to maim, frank shot to kill. matt was horrified nonetheless
“you put on my mask and hold a gun? what is that? what the fuck is that?” -matt
“this is what tonight has to be” -you “fuck, dad. this is not the time! you think i’m here to drop as many bodies as i can? absolutely not! but if we can stop the people who are dropping innocent bodies, so fucking be it! i became a cop to protect this city from this shitty, broken system and now look! i’m wearing this suit i begged you not to put on for years!”
“you think this is what i want for you?!” -matt
“can you fuckers just stop arguing for a minute, jesus. it’s always something with you two. man, if i had my kids back for a minute, i wouldn’t care what the fuck they were doing. and if my kids decided to make a change for the better, i’d be damn proud—so shut the fuck up and let’s put these fuckers down!” -frank
you soon jumped out of a window due to a BOMB <3
oh when karen saw you in the daredevil suit she cried LMAO
“y/n, you have to be kidding” -karen
“can you guys stop parenting me for five minutes? my city is on fire, i only have one way of stopping it, and you know the nypd is on my ass too? murdocks don’t get a break. you started it, dad” -you
angsty ass
i mean. warranted
frank spent the whole car ride chuckling to himself
like genuinely this was so funny to him it really did come full circle
but it did make him a little sad that he didn’t have a kid to bitch at him or for him to bitch back at
matt was lucky nonetheless
but then again, frank didn’t want his kids following the footsteps of the marines or punisher.
once you guys got back to frank’s bunker, he decided to tap out
you handed his gun back
“keep it, kid. you’ve earned it.” -frank “matter of fact, take this smaller piece, too. tuck it somewhere safe, just in case something happens. you get caught or something. i know those cop bastards will look so hide it good” -he shoved another gun in your hand, some additional rounds too
“i used to be one of those cop bastards” -you, chuckling
“i forgive you. at least you got good aim out of it” -frank
you went with karen and matt to see if you could get to the bottom of foggy’s death, which was eating you alive at this point. you were a cop at that point, you wished you’d have known so you could have protected him. somehow. someway.
the storage locker was cathartic. lots of memories. some closure. especially as the red hook information unveiled itself
“it all came down to this” -you
“it’s not over yet” -matt
“sure feels like it” -you
“hey. hey. forget everything i said, all of it. doesn’t matter. im proud of you. i was proud of you then and im proud of you now. i’m honored you put on the mask with me, no matter how much it freaks me out. no matter how worried i am about you. no matter how much we disagree i will never not be proud of you and happy you are here with me trying to make a difference” -matt, grabbing your face
daniel blake x reader
summary: daniel blake pays for your dinner and your drinks and your cabs. daniel blake lets you push him around however you want, as long as you bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek when you do.
daniel blake is now wilson fisk's self-proclaimed right hand man, and thinks he's a little too big for his britches.
wc: 1.3k
warnings: soft-core smut, mean + patronising rich girl reader, lowkey paypig daniel, unhealthy relationships, only i can be mean to my boyfriend who's not my boyfriend vibes
read on ao3!
The knocks on your door come quick — a little overzealous, really, knocking a little more than is comfortable in the span of 5 seconds.
You take your time; put down your gin and tonic, set aside your laptop, slide on your fuzzy slippers. You even take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror in the hallway — your hair, damp from the shower, hanging past your shoulders; the oversized t-shirt that you're pretty sure is his, the little peek of your panties beneath it.
Ur bf has gone crazy lol, BB's message had said. The tone was entirely serious. Idk what happened but he really scared me.
Daniel is not your boyfriend — sure, he pays for your dinner and drinks (not that you're hurting for money — it just makes him feel ever so manly), and he walks you home, covers your cabs… You fuck regularly, and he refers to you as his girl for social brownie points when he's networking (which you've scolded him for more than once — ew, don't ever do that), but you're very deliberately withholding the title until he deserves it. Which will likely be never.
You tend to regard him as more of a pet that you keep around for your amusement. He can be sweet sometimes, if not stupid; a massive pushover, which is just your type, and endearingly, pathetically weak where you're concerned. Being around him is a constant power trip. How could you ever feel powerless when there's a guy tripping over himself to please you?
But then, of course, nothing stays perfect for too long. His new job in the Mayor's office has been throwing a wrench in your works. Wilson Fisk is a psychopathic asshole — your father has done enough business with him to attest to it — and he gives you the heebie-jeebies, but Daniel likes him for whatever reason. You think it's a little embarrassing, but whatever — the guy ended up Mayor, so clearly enough people were up his ass.
You've already had an inkling that the job is making him a little too big for his britches. He's a little less lenient — pushing back in that gentle way of his when you urge him to stay out longer, stay in longer, buy you this, buy you that. And then BB's message came, and what else can you do? There's no point in having a dog if it's untrained.
"Danny!" you exclaim as you open the door, a brilliant grin on your face. "What're you doin' here? It's almost tomorrow."
He's got these round, hazel eyes that always look a little sad, like you just stole his ice cream and squished it on the ground — and he fixes you with them now, chest heaving like he just ran a marathon. Up, down. Takes in your hair, your bare legs. The dewiness of your skin, fresh from the shower and perfumed. When you pull the door open further he shuffles inside, jaw set, but seems to think better of the slump in his shoulders: as you close it behind him, you see him straighten up in your peripheral, puffing up his chest as if to bolster himself. It would almost be charming if he hadn't been behaving so poorly.
You turn the lock (you might be living in the Upper East Side, but nobody's lived long in New York being careless), and when you turn around he's right in front of you, chest to chest, nearly, his head bowed to meet your gaze. The air between you tenses and stills. It's electric, that precipice — that moment where you meet eyes and know that things are only a moment from tipping. Your stomach swoops pleasantly.
(Control yourself, Jesus.
…
You were voted most likely to become a dictator in high school.)
"You okay?" you ask, blinking innocently. "You look a little ragged—"
"I'm gonna talk, and you're gonna listen," Daniel interrupts, voice shaking. "I've — I've taken a lotta shit from you, okay? So I'm — I'm gonna tell you how things're gonna go from now on."
You raise a brow.
"I work for the Mayor of New York," he says. "I'm basically his right fuckin' hand man—" He is decidedly not his right hand man— "and I work hard, okay? It's nothin' to sniff at. And I don't ask for much, I spoil you like a princess, so either you get to respecting me, or we're through."
His breathing is heavy again. His eyes are wide, like he can't believe he just said that to you, spoke to you like that. It must've taken a lot of courage. You wonder if he practised on the cab ride over, muttering beneath his breath, red in the face at the thought.
Slowly, a gentle pout coming to your lips, you smooth your hands up his arms. The cotton is impossibly soft for how tense he is beneath it; it was one of the first things you taught him. A good two piece, and you can weasel yourself in almost anywhere. Nobody listens to the schmuck in the ill-fitting suit. His Adam's apple bobs as your fingers trail to his shoulders, then, inching closer and closer to his neck. You take hold of his tie, rubbing your thumb over the width of it. Navy blue, spotted with periwinkle. You told him once the colour suited him and he's worn it ever since. It's a nice tie. Cashmere, you think. You can sniff the stuff out like a hound.
In the blink of an eye, your grip tights, yanking him down roughly — and with a yelp like a wounded dog, he follows, almost butting into you head first. He's so close, now: you can feel the heat of his quickening breath against your lips, the curve of his stomach against your front. He always runs so warm, Danny.
"Did you mean to say that?" you say, tilting your head. You pull harder. A tight, choked sound gargles in his throat. (You aren't actually choking him — he'd like it too much. Probably cum in his pants. Wouldn't be the first time.) "Maybe you got a little confused, Danny; I know you're losing out on sleep with the new job. I don't like when people talk to me like that, okay?"
Another sound of indignation. "I — you —!"
"No, no," you say, eyes narrowing. "That's okay, you don't need to speak. That's no way to talk to me, is it?"
His eyes are wide, his mouth open in that stupid way of his. It's difficult to render him speechless. He likes talking. Whether he says anything worth listening to is another conversation entirely.
Idly, as if warmth isn't pooling between your legs at the sight of him literally bending to your whim, you let a hand drift from his tie. Down his chest, and his soft stomach, to the front of his pants — and lo and behold. A breathy grunt escapes him when you tighten your hand over the bulge that tented his trousers.
"Oh," you coo. "Did that get you hard? Or did you pop a boner in the cab, thinkin' about how bad you were gonna put me in my place?" You snort. "Oh, you really stuck it to me, didn't you? You poor thing. Are you disappointed?"
He gives something between a nod and a shake of his head, and you roll your eyes. Classic Daniel — couldn't even commit to a yes or no. Really, the mind boggles, but you suppose he's really found his niche in politics, being as weaselly as he is. His gaze has dropped to your chest. God, he's weak.
"Look at me, Danny. C'mon, yep. Listen — I know you have no problem being Fisk's bitch, sweetie," you said. "But you're not, are you? You're my bitch, Danny. I had you first. 'Kay?"
Daniel swallows. His cheeks are flushed. Easy. "I… I… fuck, okay. Y—yes. Yeah."
"The correct response is yes, baby."
"…Yes, baby."
"Great." You release his tie and take the time to dust absolutely nothing off his shoulders. His eyes are fixed on your face, now, darting between your eyes and your lips, and your smile grows. "Now c'mon. I'm hungry, order me something."
