Charlie Cox - Blog Posts

UGHHH GIVE THIS MAN AN AWARD!!!!

Charlie Cox playing an American putting on an Irish accent is amazing, but not the first of his accent-ceptions, for we should not forget when he spoke Spanish in Season 1:

But truly his greatest moment of actingception in the show is in Season 3 whenever Matt had to pretend to be sighted I've written about years ago:

I appreciate everyday that I get to witness this man work his magic in the role again ❤️

holy crap i really do need to read shadowland now

wilson bethel as benjamin “dex” poindexter aka bullseye and charlie cox as matt murdock aka daredevil on the set of daredevil born again season two last night

YET THIS MAN IS BAFFLED THAT WE CALL HIM BABYGIRL

CHARLIE COX ACCIDENTALLY READING A COMPLIMENT THINKING IT WAS A QUESTION AND THEN GETTING UNCOMFORTABLE CAUSE HE DOESN’T LIKE WHEN PEOPLE COMPLIMENT HIM I LOVE THIS ADORABLE SHY BABY SO MUCH [x]

Recently rewatched the whole Daredevil show twice and was reminded of how incredible it was. Got me inspired to draw something again.

That makes you so valid actually

So I started watching Daredevil

I'm on episode 9 of season 1

and I'm loving it it's an amazing show

I love how Charlie Cox plays Matt

Also did I start watching it because of Team Red fics and because Charlie Cox is hot?

Yes. Yes I did

Born Again Put a Bullet in My Childhood

*Born Again Spoilers*

The return of the Man Without Fear not only broke my heart, it signifies the end of my childhood. The bullet fired by Benjamin Pointdexter went straight through its victim and into the last bit of nostalgia I held for my younger years. 

I was twelve years old in April of 2015. The concept of a streaming service was still new to me, and I expected the first Marvel/Netflix show to be reminiscent of a low-budget fan series. I was going through a lot at the time. My parents were getting divorced, my grandfather was sick with cancer, and my family was on the verge of being homeless. On April 10th, my father and I stayed at my grandad’s house. Grandad was at the hospital because his lung cancer had taken a turn for the worst, and I curled up on the worn couch as spring air filtered in from the open window and my Dad sat down with a grunt in the recliner. My Dad turned on the show and I was enthralled. 

I had never seen a superhero show that felt so adult, so real, so slick, and complicated and heavy. I related to Matt Murdock, someone who always seemed to have some sort of obstacle ahead of him. I related to Matt’s boyhood counterpart who was concerned about his father making the rent payments on time. I related to being small, consumed with the big mysterious world that can change at any moment with various levels of stability. I liked that Matt Murdock kept going, no matter how bad things got. 

Two days later, I was sitting in my bedroom late at night, watching the infamous episode “Nelson V. Murdock” on my Wii console, legs folded under me, chewing my nails as Charlie Cox and Elden Hensen cried on screen. I was still thinking about that episode the next morning as we drove to Grandad’s house. Later that day, the police called informing us that our house had been robbed. My TV and Wii console were both stolen along with all our other possessions. The drawers in my bedroom were pulled free and clothes were strewn about. Looking at my room, I felt naked. There were Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle decals on my walls and I wondered if the thieves looked at them when they came into my room. I wonder if they felt bad about stealing from a child and I knew they probably didn’t. Two days after that, we were officially evicted. 

In 2018, I was an angry teenager. My mother was getting remarried and I didn’t like the guy. I didn’t like that we were moving or that I wouldn’t see my friends as much anymore, even though they didn’t feel like my friends at the time. Most of them treated me like shit because we were all young and unhappy about something. I was suicidal but I didn’t fully understand what I was feeling. I pretended to be happy all the time and that made it worse. The new season of Daredevil was the only good thing I had going on in my life. I coveted the episodes, watching one every other week, taking my time. When the series was canceled I was halfway through the season. I stopped watching it and I wouldn’t finish it until 2024. I didn’t want the story to be over. I didn’t want to say goodbye to Matt, Karen, and Foggy, my only real friends. 

Recently, I’ve been struggling with the concept of growing up. I’m twenty-two years old and I’m in a weird space where I’m not a kid but I also don’t feel like an adult. It feels like I stopped aging in 2020. I keep reminiscing, thinking to myself “Things used to be better,” even though I know that isn’t true. I’m in college, I’m in therapy, I’m on medication, and life is good. Yet, I can’t seem to move on from periods of my life that have passed. I find myself dreaming about my childhood home and places I lived in my teens. They’re always altered, mashed together like some fucked-up Winchester mystery house. 

For years I wanted Daredevil to return. The original series was the postmark of my adolescence. Matt, Foggy, and Karen did more for me during the worst parts of my life than most of my friends have. I wanted to see them again. It was so weird when I got my wish. Tuesday night, I assembled the best bar food I could find, spicy chicken wings, fries, mozzarella sticks, a big juicy burger, and three ice-cold bottles of Coors Light. I set my favorite Daredevil comics and Funko figurines around my television set and placed my fancy chair right in front of it. Seeing Matt, Foggy, and Karen together again was like a dream or a hallucination. And none of that compared to the shock of seeing Foggy gunned down in the street. Hand covering my mouth, food getting cold next to me, and my cousin crying on speakerphone, I watched one of my best friends bleed to death on screen. 

I’m a sensitive person and I tend to overthink. I like drawing connections, even if they don’t make complete sense sometimes. In the aftermath of the Born Again pilot episode, sitting on my chair and staring at the ceiling, I realized something: I can finally move on. In some odd, fucked up way, seeing my three favorite comfort characters together again, and seeing one of them die, has given me a sense of closure on my childhood. No TV show was meant to last forever. I’m glad the 2015 Daredevil series died a hero before it could become a villain, and I’m glad the new series is taking a different route.  Seeing a definitive end to the original series is permission for me to let go of my unhappy adolescent years and move on. I’m grateful for that, and I know that Born Again is going to make me cry more in the future. 

Tonight, I will drink to Nelson, Murdock, and Page and all they’ve done for a lonely kid.

Rick Stepp (irresponsibleink@gmail.com)

Warmth of You (Matt Murdock x GN! Reader)

Summary: You're cold, and Matt is warm. That's it.

Warnings: Pure tooth rotting fluff.

Author's note: My house being cold AF this morning and my bestie @what-the-hell from the Horny Hive inspired this lil drabble 😘

New York winters were something you were going to have to get used to. This particular night it was positively frigid, and no amount of blankets, socks, and flannel pajamas could save you from the bitter cold. Your boyfriend Matt was fast asleep next to you, but you were wide awake and shivering.

You felt the bed shift, and then a warm hand on your arm. Matt slowly rolled you over so that you were facing him. Little did you know, he could feel you shivering.

"Sweetheart, c'mere." He whispered as he hugged you to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Matt. It's just so cold. I'm not used to this."

"Shhhhhh. It's alright. You should have told me you were cold." He said before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I thought you were asleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"You're never, ever disturbing me, sweetheart. I'll always keep you warm."

He caressed your cheek and placed a soft kiss there. You snuggled into his embrace and he petted your hair until you fell asleep. Once he heard your heartbeat even out, he finally fell asleep. You were warm and safe in his arms, right where you belonged.

Taglist: @rashnuhere @faery-god @matt-erialgirl

@catholicdaredevil @star-spangled-man

@sobachka-korol

The scenes in Daredevil S3 where Matt pretends to be sighted is truly an absolute masterclass and nuanced acting display by Charlie.

Particularly in this scene, where you see Matt's discernible effort to conduct himself like a sighted person would do, especially through the head movements and a more marked eye movement. When he talks he projects his head forward to compensate for his eyes still not quite landing proper eye contact. That's why his whole "sighted act" seems off compared to an actual sighted person.

+ these ones where he outrightly faces the person (normally he would not be facing people straight-up like this) but the eyes still don't hit the mark.

Takes a whole lot of self-control to be able to able to pull this "acting like a blind person pretending to be sighted" performance off but Charlie does it so so greatly. And to think he never got any type of award for this season, let alone a nomination :(

in case anyone else needs it :)

Hi, guys. 😊💕

So someone asked me for the recording I have of Betrayal, and since I have it uploaded now I thought I’d share it here in case anyone else wants it, too. 

(Be forewarned that, as it was recorded by an audience member, the sound isn’t always the clearest but you can still hear most it.)

in case anyone else needs it :)

Hi, guys. 😊💕

So someone asked me for the recording I have of Betrayal, and since I have it uploaded now I thought I’d share it here in case anyone else wants it, too. 

(Be forewarned that, as it was recorded by an audience member, the sound isn’t always the clearest but you can still hear most it.)

I’m obsessed with him 😍

He's just an innocent little angel on his way to the bank you guys 🥹🤏

For the WIP Game, tell me about the No Prompt Left Behind Multiversal Mess? <3

That one is a combination of a Prompt from the Avocados serve, that I found in a previous round of no Prompt left behind and an idea I had a while ago.

The basic idea is that through some magic shenanigans, people travel between multiverses, as is a fairly well known trope.

The biggest difference here is that, instead of multiple versions of the same character meeting, it is a meeting of various characters all played by the same actor, so to each other, it's like looking in a very weird mirror, because the other person looks nearly identical, but they have a wildly different life, sometimes in a wildly different world.

So far the story is mostly a list of a bunch of Marvel characters and other roles their actors have played, but I also have a beginning for the story:

Foggy doesn’t know how he ended up in this mess. The longer he is stuck in it, though, the more it seems like no one else does either. It all started when Foggy left the office earlier than Matt one day. He walked through the neighbourhood like he did almost every day and unlocked the apartment he shared with his partner and husband. But instead of finding it empty, like it was supposed to be, Matt—but not actually Matt—had already been there.

"for the righteous man falls seven times and rises again" Proverbs 24:16.

such a bad@ss verse.

how many times have i listened to the off the menu podcast episode by ed gamble and james acaster featuring guest star joseph quinn???? yes

$5 (charlie) matt murdock for a friend

This is absolutely riveting, I love the soulmate AU, Reader has a messed up backstory, and Daredevil is being as angsty as possible? PERFECT!!!

This is gonna be amazing, I can tell already 😍

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, a shy knock startled her. Door creaking open, a woman peeked in. She looked to be about Karen’s age, a timid but determined look on her face as she slowly rounded the slab of rotting wood.

Peeking around the office, she looked amazed at the closet-sized space, eyes opening a little wider as her lips curved into a smile. Karen couldn’t help but mirror her soft grin, finding the awed stranger endearing.

“Can I help you?” Karen’s question was posed at a low volume, but the girl jumped anyway, giving her a ‘deer in the headlights’ impression, hands clenched around the handle of her purse.

“Oh, um..sorry, yes.” The newcomer shifted from foot to foot, creeping marginally closer as she responded. Her voice was soft, full of doubt. “I, er, I’m looking for Karen Page?”

“That would be me,” Karen smiled as encouragingly as she could. “Were you looking for legal advice? Because I’m not an attorney–”

Shaking her head, the stranger continued to step forward chewing on her lip. “That’s not why I’m here. I saw your posts about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? If you have time, I had some questions?”

Karen felt herself flush, her eyes flitting down to her clasped hands as she suddenly felt very exposed. “Oh that’s not– I mean, I just wrote a few comments on some nasty blog posts, it’s nothing really. Why come see me?”

Inhaling shakily, the girl rubbed a hand over her arm, clearly trying to muster the confidence to reveal her reason for finding Karen. “I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

like a fire

Charlie Cox is fucking hot.

That is all.

Digital drawing of Matt Murdock 🔥

Instagram | Redbubble

him <3

your daily dose of matt murdock ☺️

it’s true :/

YYEEESSSSS FUCK YESS

@enstatia thanks for this magnificent fan art ✨💚

i’m gonna cry they’re so cute

avocados

pLEASE

Matt Murdock always understands the slut assignment!

Happy New Year, Everyone!

This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I chose it to be about Matt Murdock 👉🏾👈🏾

Please do read it and comment on it, like it and support it. Thanks❤️

⚠️ Warnings: Some drunken abuse, a bit of beating (not mentioned), fluff, mention of alcohol, mention of kiss, new year's kiss, I guess that is it. Please let me know if I miss something.

A Momentous New Year's Eve!

It's intoxicating!

I didn't know it could feel this way until I stood at this spot. I lost the count of cups I had consumed of that inebriated drink. But it was the time of the year when people party and let themselves lose to the music, to the booze and maybe to some frivolous mistakes. Let's not talk about the mistakes because my life was already a mess. Partying with Columbia Law students as an outsider should be enough, for now, to think about anything else.

I might slightly be under the alcoholic influence, but one look at this black glasses guy made me sober in an instant. Could someone be this beautiful yet foolish at the same time? He was trying to perform tap dance. At least, that's what I could comprehend with my hazy mind while someone was trying to catch him in his miserable attempts. I didn't know that I was staring at him intensely when his friend looked at me once and said something in his ear.

Assuming that my party was over, I headed toward the door surreptitiously. Well, no one would mind anyway if I made my exit known to people. Moreover, my friend Stella, who studied at Columbia Law, could not be seen anywhere. And knowing her, she might be with her boyfriend and guessing their nature, both must be drowned in alcohol. Smiling at their childish behaviour, I looked at my watch, which stated 11:30 PM. Though not that late, but considering it was New Year's Eve, I should head home before some drunkard ruined my mood. I wore my coat and exited the door, ready to taste New York's winter air, but halted in my steps when somebody held my wrist a bit harshly.

"Excuse me, do I know you?" I couldn't comprehend whether he was a grown-up man or a college boy due to his drunk self. Besides, he was slurring.

"I saw you yesterday at the canteen with Stella. I wanna hangggg outtt with you."

"I am really sorry. I don't know you. Maybe we should talk tomorrow or the day after that. Sometimes later."

"Noooooo. I like you, and I want to kiss you. Right fucking now!!"

He wasn't leaving my wrist, and his grip was tightening with each passing second, which I was pretty sure would leave a mark.

"Listen, man, first of all, I don't know you, and second, leave my fucking hand! It HURTS!!"

I didn't know I was shouting until he winced and tried to cover his ears. He tugged my wrist and tried to kiss me.

As soon as I uttered a meek "no" the next moment, I saw him lying on the road, wincing in pain.

"The next time, when the lady says "NO" it means no, drunk or not. And I think you might have learned your lesson by now."

"Jesus, dude! I will not leave this matter here. Watch your back, Matt!"

"Sure, Brian. I can say the same to you."

"You fucking blind motherfucker!"

I might be a bit drunk, but that blind Matt guy (my apparent saviour) was throwing some awesome punches at Brian the asshole. I meant it was impossible for a blind man to do such things, but I could be imagining things too. God knows whatever was in New York's air. I was gawking at him intensely until someone cleared their throat.

"Oh, hi! I mean, I am sorry. I mean, thank you."

"Oh, it is okay. I mean, I am sorry you have to deal with that. But, you are safe. Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. I am. Pretty tipsy, a bruise on my wrist, but I'm okay. Thanks to you."

"I wish I could come here sooner." He whispered this to himself because it was nearly inaudible.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

"No, nothing. I know it's not my place, but are you two guys dating or what? I might be out of line, but I've never seen you before."

"Did you just say "seen me before"?"

"Ohh, I meant heard you before on the campus or lingered around here."

"Uhm, I'm not a student here, came here on a friend's invite."

"A friend? I hope you didn't mean Brian?"

"Oh, no! I never saw Brian before the mhmm incident. I am here or was here with Stella. She is studying law here." And all this while he held my bruised wrist, trying to create soothing circles.

"Stella Cunningham?"

"Yeah! Do you know her?"

"Not exactly! I know her, but her boyfriend, Winston, is kind of my friend."

"That's great, I guess."

"So, would you mind if I ask your name?"

"Yeah, I mean no, I am Y/N."

"Y/N. You have a nice name. I am Matt, by the way." My name never sounded better. I might be too drunk for my own good at that moment.

"You have a nice name too. And I think I should leave before the street filled with drunkards, mobsters and whatnot!"

"Really? I think it's rude to leave the place before giving New Year's kiss."

"WHAT?"

"Hahahaha...just pulling your leg. They have started the New Year's countdown. That's all I am saying."

Should I be kissing a complete stranger who just saved me from an asshole in the middle of the street?

"Hey, Y/N! I was just kidding. No need to think about it."

"Yeah, I know."

And then everyone's voices started reverberating in the atmosphere. All the people had started the countdown - 10 - 9 - 8 - 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1.

And I kissed my saviour on the cheeks because I still needed two-three bottles worth of alcohol courage to kiss him on the lips.

"Happy New Year, Matt!" I nearly whispered this.

"Happy New Year, Y/N. Can I hug you?"

"Uh, I think, yes."

"Yes? Thank you."

And I never felt better before. It was heavenly. Could hugs always feel this magical, or was it the person that makes hugs better?

"Thank you, Matt, for saving me."

He did not say anything at the moment, just tightened his hold. As if he was telling me never to worry because he would always be there for me. And I never felt that safer in my entire life. I was at peace. Perhaps he was too.

Some years later...

"Are you serious, Matt?"

"No, I am not! I was trying to talk to you since the day Stella brought you on campus with her at Winston's welcoming party."

"OH MY GOD! I did not know that. I swear!"

"Oh, I know, sweetheart, trust me."

"Oh My God, Matthew, you are such an idiot! Why didn't you talk to me? I mean, we could have met earlier. In reality, we met at that horrible New Year's Eve party. May I remind you, it was two years after Winston's party!"

"But it's worth the wait."

"You are such a lovely idiot, Mathew Murdock."

"Only for you, Mrs Murdock."

"I love you, Matty. Too much."

"I love you too, Y/N. Way more than you can imagine."

All these years, I was thinking we met on that dreadful yet magical night. As it turns out, he is a sneaky man, who slipped his way into my heart with love, adoration, trust, and everything that comes with it.

And on this New Year's Eve, we are sitting together, drinking each others' company and hoping for peace and happiness in the upcoming years, forever and always.

With that thought in mind, I kissed him with all my love because I do not need alcohol's assistance anymore, and him kissing me back, pouring all his love fervently.

And this, right here, is our peace, our happiness, our celebration of togetherness.

@digwhatudug

Happy Birthday, Charlie Cox aka Daredevil❤️

*Credits to the respective owner. Saw this on Twitter.