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sunflowerdjarin · 2 years

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paper rings

matt murdock x female!reader

summary: matt murdock, who’s always the romantic, was always set on marrying you, but life and daredevil had gotten in the way of that.

warnings: angsty, talk of traditional marriage, heteronormativity.

author’s note: there’s not a single reference to taylor swift in this, but paper rings played in my head the entire time i wrote this.

He knew the tension was there. He knew the conversation was coming when they got back to their apartment. You were both attending another wedding of college friends. A couple that had gotten together after you and Matt. The question had greeted you with the buzzing bride asking, “When is it your turn?” During the reception. You breathed in a harsh and quick breath. Matt could hear it and hear you swallow even though you weren’t eating or drinking at the moment. Matt’s hand moved to your thigh in an effort to show assurance, but your hand never covered his in the typical fashion. He wasn’t greeted with the warmth of your palm and instead the cold air remained on his hand.

“Soon.” Matt said cooly. You shared a look with the bride of skepticism. It should have came and went by now. You weren’t the traditional or old fashioned type, but Matt always made his remarks about marrying you one day. All throughout grad school, you were greeted with promises of a nice wedding after you both graduated. He had called you Mrs. Murdock in sweet tones after Foggy had jokingly referred to you as such. He would refer to you as his wife when flight attendants or nurses asked about your relationship to each other, though it was a lie, he often said that marriage makes strangers take your relationship more seriously. Never had you corrected him.

Now you’re back from another wedding. Another first dance, tearful exchanges between lovers during their vows, celebrating love with closest friends and family while under the influence of free alcohol. It left a bitter taste in your mouth watching him walk into the living room, tugging at his tie. The idea of Matt with a loose tie, hair astray, top button undone, with the look of love in his eyes while dancing at the end of your wedding reception was something that seemed so obtainable, but so far out of reach.

“When we get married, I want to rent the reception place an extra hour after the reception officially ends.” Matt remarked out of the blue in the kitchen one day. Your eyebrows furrowed at the request, you turned away from the stove to look at Matt. The speaker you kept in the kitchen playing Father John Misty’s Real Love Baby lightly. Matt moved towards you, taking your hands in his before dancing with you. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head. “Weddings are for sharing your love with others, but I want to have you to myself at least for a little bit. I want to dance alone with you like we do in the kitchen every night.” You looked up to Matt, a small smile on his face. “We can do that.” Your voice was smitten with love, there was no hiding that, “Any other requests, Mr. Murdock?” He looked down to follow your voice, his face an inch away from yours, “None right now, but I’ll update you with any, Mrs. Murdock.”

You couldn’t track if you were being toyed. He treated you with the same love and adoration that he had greeted you with when you were 21, now you were 28, and still loved fully, but no ring to prove it. It was futile. You shouldn’t be mad about it. Your breathing was beginning to become shaky. You were fighting the tears coming to the brims of your eyes. You looked down to toy with your dress, pulling at the creases and wrinkles on the dress. Matt came home to you every night. This should be enough to keep you content. There was still a sadness every time you were introduced as a girlfriend, as you were reminded that you didn’t have his last name. He was the one to mention it periodically. He was the one who teased it.

“Why won’t you marry me?” It left your mouth so quickly and quietly. You knew he had heard you, but nothing changed in his demeanor. The tears had caused your voice to become hoarse, “It’s old fashioned, but you wanted to marry me so badly. And now,” You couldn’t find the words as the tears finally fell, “And now, I don’t know what you want.” Matt’s stance didn’t move. He knew this was coming. Matt had always expressed what he wanted and expected in all aspects of his life. He was direct and honest. He finally let out a breath he was holding.

“I want to marry you. I’ve always wanted to marry you.” Matt spoke clearly. He could hear your heart racing. He could hear the tearful weariness in your voice. He was trying to hide the fact that he was hurting from just hearing you. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Matthew.” You scoffed as you sat on the sofa and took off your shoes. Matt took his steps towards you. You placed your shoes to the side of you as Matt sat down in front of you. He grabbed for your hands, holding them with such ferocity. “I know, it sounded like bullshit leaving my mouth, I know, but I want to marry you. I want to spend that extra hour on the dance floor with you. I know you want a winter wedding, but you’re afraid of planning it too close to my birthday. I know the wedding isn’t what bothers you. It’s the fact that you want us to be tied together forever, but that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Your heart shattered more at the words, but before you could stutter out a response, Matt continued on. “I’m afraid that you’ll be even more linked to me. You’ll share my name. I’ll have a ring on my finger, because if I married you, I would never take it off. I’d want everyone to know, but that’s the issue. Someone figures out I’m Daredevil and then you are at risk. You’re at risk now, but I can’t.” He stopped for a minute and you could see the words catching up to him, “I can’t live without you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but I don’t want you in danger.”

You removed your hands from his grip and for the moment, he was so afraid something would happen. You would get up and walk out of the apartment as if it was nothing. He made you aware of his own fears and you could leave for that reason alone. He opened his mouth again to make any form of a plea, but your hands moved to slip off his glasses and hold his face. The tears hidden behind his glasses were now evident. “Loving you has always been so simple, Matt. You’re trying to make it complicated, but I just want to spend the rest of my days with you. I don’t need the wedding, the ring, or the last name. I just need you. I just wanted to know why.”

His features softened again, “I couldn’t marry you, because I love you too much.” Matt smiled pathetically up at you. “I bought the ring. I saved for the longest time, but then I started my night job and I… I didn’t want to endanger you.” He scrambled his way up before disappearing into your shared room and rustling through his belongings. He came back getting down on one knee, “I can’t legally marry you. I can’t legally change your name. I am yours to have and to hold through sickness and through health and till death do us part.” The ring was subtle. A red garnet in the middle, his birthstone.

“I know, I can’t have your last name legally…” You trailed off to which Matt answered. “You’ll always be Mrs. Murdock to me.” He quirked the corners of his lips up in a smirk. “Give me your right hand. I want you to wear it, but not on the traditional finger. It’ll make me feel better.” He whispered at the end. He was still anxious while trying to soothe you. The ring slipped onto your finger effortlessly. He had acquired your ring size over the years and heard you mention birthstones to a friend on the phone once. He was coy, but he understood your wants and needs. “I’ll be okay. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I don’t need the marriage or the wedding, I just need you.” You cupped his cheek and ran your thumb along his cheek to which he nodded.

“I still want that first dance though.” Matt remarked as he got to his feet offering you a hand. You took it gratefully as you got to your feet. He pulled you close to him and began swaying. “What about a wedding band for you?” You asked as you looked up at him. “Way ahead of you.” He remarked as he pulled his hand away from yours. His hands found the chain hanging around his neck and pulled it free from behind his button up. A silver ring hung from the chain. You took it in between your fingers. “Your name’s engraved on the inside.” Matt smiled. It wasn’t what you had expected for marrying Matt, but you hadn’t minded, it was simple and that was okay.

#matt murdock #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #daredevil imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction

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thecleverdame · 5 years

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Sleepy Hollow - Twelve

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta: ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

The Next Day, Kitchen “Y/N will not see you. She made that clear.” Lady Van Tassel explains calmly to Sam. His eyes fall to the bandage on her hand, before refocusing.

“Did she say anything?” Sam inquires, his stomach sinking at your refusal. “Only that she will not come down,” the lady of the house explains. “I see,” Sam nods, already planning his next move. He’s alienated you, the only woman that he’s dared to care for in over a decade. He couldn’t let you slip away that easily. “Thank you.” Sam turns to go. “Constable, you have not asked me how I hurt my hand since yesterday, which would have been polite. In fact, you have been as careful not to look at it as not to mention it.” She strips off the bandage to show a roughly sewn cut. “Yes,” Sam forces a smile. “I am so sorry. How did you-”

She lunges toward him grabbing him by the wrist and Sam stumbles back but she doesn’t release her hold.

“I know you saw me,” she whispers, twisting her head to the side as she looks up at him.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“I know you and your brother followed me last night. You must promise not to tell my husband what you saw. Promise me!”

Sam tries to pull away, but her grip only tightens. The front door slams.

“Reverend Steenwyck has power over me,” she implores.

“Power?” his eyes narrow. “What power do you speak of?”

“He knows something terrible against my dear husband. What you witnessed was the price of Steenwyck's silence,” she explains, looking toward the door to ensure their privacy.

“What does Steenwyck know?” Sam urges as footsteps grow closer and the handle turns

“Later,” she quips, pulling away as Baltus enters.

“This town is in a ferment. Horror piled on tragedy. Hardenbrook is dead. Hanged.”

Sam watches as he goes straight to the flagon on the side table and pours himself a drink.

“Oh,” Lady Van Tassel grips her hands together. “That harmless old man?”

“He hanged himself in the night!” Baltus explains, looking peaked.

“Hanged himself?” Sam inquires. This doesn’t feel right, something is amiss.

“Reverend Steenwyck has called a meeting at the church tonight. Every man, woman, and child.” He turns to speak directly to Sam. “He will speak against you and your brother. If you are wise you’ll be gone from here. Steenwyck’s congregation is already halfway to being a mob.”

“We will go when we have done what we came to do,” Sam retorts, squaring off his shoulders. Lady Van Tassel comes to calm her husband and Baltus notices her wound. “What is this?” He asks, taking her hand in his.

“I was careless with the kitchen knife.” She offers.

“It looks angry.”

“I’ll bind it later with wild arrowroot flowers. I know where they grow. Will you ride with me?” Sam leaves the couple and slips silently out of the room. He climbs the stairs and stops at your door, knocking quietly but there’s no answer. His own desires get the better of him and he opens the door.

Your bed has been slept in but it’s empty. You’re not here. In the grate of your fire is a telltale heap of charred paper, recognizable as the rest of Sam’s documents.

He closes his eyes, trying to settle himself. You’ve turned his world upside down and now you’re right in the middle of this real-life nightmare. A sound at the door makes him whip around. It is Young Masbath. “I saw her riding away towards the old pasture.”

Sleepy Hollow Windmill A small pile of straw burns. Gloved hands unfold a paper filled with hair clippings, which are sprinkled on the fire. A cloaked figure kneels at the pile, removing a human skull from a cloth bag. The skull is placed at the center in the flames. Its teeth are sharp, cut to points - the horseman’s skull.

Van Tassel Estate- Fields Sam rides, approaching the ruined cottage. He finds you crouched over the hearthstone as your horse grazes freely.

“Y/N,” Sam implores as he dismounts.

You’ve made a small fire, casting a spell. Still mumbling as you turn toward him in anger and tears. You’ve never felt more betrayed in your entire life. “You took the documents and burned them?” he asks softly, already knowing the answer. There’s no real accusation in his voice, just a sad confirmation.

“So you would not accuse my father!” you shout, standing up. There’s anger bubbling in your veins.

“I accuse no one. But if there is guilt I cannot alter it no matter how much it grieves me, and no spell of yours can alter it either.” He steps forward. “If you knew my father you would not have such harsh thoughts about him - nor if you felt anything for me!” you cry out, fresh tears fall down your cheeks. “Am I just another notch in your belt? A girl from the village that you have every intention of using and leaving behind?”

“Of course not!” Sam’s desperate, in just as much torment as you are. “I am pinioned by a chain of reasoning! Why else did his four friends conspire to conceal-”

“You are the Constable, not I. So find another chain of reasoning and let us be.” “I cannot. Not the one or the other.” Sam steps close and you step back in tandem. “I am heartsick with it.”

“I think you have no heart,” you whisper, wiping tears. “And I had a mind once to give you mine.” You mount your horse, which rears up. You’re momentarily like a female warrior, eyes ablaze with rage and sadness.

“I think you loved me that day you followed me into the Western Woods! To have braved such peril.” Sam pleads, unable to think of how to make this right. “What peril was there for me if it was my own father who controlled the Headless Horseman?” You shake your head, looking away from him. “Goodbye, Sam Winchester! I curse the day you came to Sleepy Hollow!”

Sam watches you gallop away, his heart twisting in an anguish he hasn't felt for a long time and he’s powerless to stop you. The Fields

A distant bell is tolling as Baltus waits on his horse, watching where Lady Van Tassel can be glimpsed among the spaced trees gathering "arrowroot flowers." “Come. Hurry up!” he calls out. “The meeting bell has started toning.” He looks anxiously toward the village, then back to the trees where to his horror he sees the Headless Horseman moving slowly toward Lady Van Tassel, calmly unsheathing his sword.

Town Square - Church People are entering the Church while the bell tolls them in, watched grimly by Steenwyck. Even more people are heading toward the Church. In the shadows, Sam and Dean, hatted and cloaked, also watch the people going by, spotting you among them. Out of nowhere, Baltus comes charging through the town square on his horse. “The Horseman!” he cries out in terror. Baltus is barely hanging on. He stops, falling off his horse, scrambling toward you. “Save me.” He whimpers as you embrace him.

“Father?” You gather him in your arms, confused as to what’s happening.

“He’s killed her!” Your father is shaking in fear. “The Horseman has killed your stepmother!” Hoofbeats can be heard in the distance, the screechy cry of Daredevil. As you look into the distance the Horseman rides into view. Instant mayhem breaks loose. The few people in the churchyard flee, heading for the church. Your father pulls himself from your arms, breaking out in a sprint toward the church. “Father!” you call out, chasing after him.

Sam now sees that his "case" is falling apart. He, Dean, and Young Masbath start running in the same direction. Baltus pushes through the iron gate, across the churchyard, bounding up the stairs with you hot on his heels. The Horseman rides behind, closing in. The Constables, with Young Masbath, follow into the churchyard. Sam glances back.

“I know what you are thinking,” Sam shouts.

“It seems Baltus is not the one who controls the Horseman,” Dean confirms. As the Horseman reaches the open gate, Daredevil rears up violently, snorting, unwilling to enter. Baltus makes his way into the church, shoving people aside, searching for a hiding place toward the back as you follow. Men pass rifles from stockpiles and climb onto pews at the boarded windows. Women herd children into the cellar. At the front of the Church, Sam, Dean, and Young Masbath squeeze in just as the front doors are forced shut, surveying the madness. The Winchesters run to a window, looking out between the boards. At the churchyard gates, the Horseman grabs Daredevils reins, tries to move forward again with the same result, the horse will not cross the boundary. The Horseman gives his ax an underhand toss to the ground inside the gate. The ax instantly begins to degrade, like dust in the rain. The Horseman steers away, keeping outside the fence. Sam comes away from the window, looking to the mass of panicked citizens. He sees you pushing up the aisle, heading toward Baltus. You turn to Sam, face aflame with accusation. Sam is humbled, desperate to make it up but you run toward the Altar, where you prostrate yourself, evidently in a paroxysm of despair. Rifles boom loudly as men at the windows begin firing. The Horseman circles, under fire. Great clouds of gun smoke pour from the Church. Men fire down from the belfry. Parts of the Horseman and Daredevil splatter red as slugs hit, without effect. At the other side of the Church, The Horseman circles, heading to the town square.

Riflemen shout to each other, running to the opposite windows to follow the Horseman. Young Masbath grabs a rifle, leaps to join the brigade. Baltus is trying to force his way to one of the cellar doors, when Steenwyck grips him angrily, shoves him. “You'll kill us all!” The Reverend shouts. Baltus stumbles back, topples pews. “You're the one the Horseman wants.” Steenwyck grabs Baltus, dragging him to the front as Sam and Dean push past people, trying to get to them. The Horseman brings Daredevil to a halt, yanks a large coil of rope off a hitching post, turns to ride back. Baltus pulls free from Steenwyck, falls to the floor again. “Why should we die for you?” The Reverend shouts, eyes wild. “Get out!” Others join the rage, pulling Baltus toward the front of the Church, shouting. Sam and Dean join in, struggling to push people off of Baltus. “Stop this!” Sam yells, finally getting to Baltus’ side to try and protect him. “The Horseman cannot enter! It does not matter who he wants, he cannot cross the gate!” At the windows, one rifleman cries out. “He’s coming back!”

There’s more panic and Steenwyck points toward Baltus. “We have to save ourselves.”

In the chaos, Baltus pulls the pistol from Sam’s holster.

“No! Unhand me! Stand off!” He brandishes the gun as the crowd retreats.

The Horseman rides past the front as bullets whiz through the air. He halts at the wrought iron gate, trotting the length. With inhuman strength, he grabs one of the sharp, pointed posts, twisting it free.

Baltus holds everyone away with the pistol, enraged and deranged. “The next person to lay hands on me will have a bullet.” Doctor Lancaster, who so far has just been one of the crowd, now pushes his way between Steenwyck and Baltus. “Enough have died already!” Doctor Lancaster looks to Steenwyck meaningfully. “It is time to confess our sins and ask God to forgive our trespasses!” “Don't be a fool!” Steenwyck hisses. “I warn you, Doctor Lancaster!”

“What is it that you know?” Baltus looks to the Doctor. “Your four friends played you false. We were devilishly possessed by one who-” That's as far as he gets before Steenwyck wrenches a heavy ornate cross from the wall and smashes his skull with a blow of tremendous force. Baltus fires, blasting a bloody hole in Steenwyck's stomach.

“What in the holy hell is happening!” Dean shouts as he and Sam look on in horror. Everyone backs farther away as Steenwyck falls, lies gasping, eyes huge as he tries to crawl away. You rise to your feet and standing, stare wide-eyed at the horror. Sam moves toward you, pushing through the crowd. “Y/N! Come to me!” Steenwyck lays still with a bloody gurgle, face down. Baltus looks to all the terrified people around him. “There is a conspiracy here! And I will seek it out!” Baltus shouts at the crowd. Crash.

The iron post comes spearing through a window, trailing rope behind it. There’s a crack of flesh splitting as the post skewers Baltus from behind, it’s bloodied point bursting out through his breastbone.

Baltus gasps, stunned. He drops the gun, looks down to clutch the post. Blood streams out of his mouth. Sam catches you just in time. Horror struck, he hugs you noticing that hanging on a ribbon around your neck is the little carved bauble taken from the neck of the dead Crone. Almost at the same time, Sam sees that on the flagstones where you were lying there is now a "Drawing" done in chalk, identical to the "Evil Eye" drawing he found under his bed. “The Evil Eye again!” Sam gasps. At that moment, a piece of white chalk falls from your senseless hand. “Oh God,” Sam stares at your face in horror, the full implications of this hitting him. “It was you.” The rope tied to the post suddenly yanks Baltus backward with incredible force, slamming him into the window. Baltus crashes backward through the glass, hitting the ground as he’s dragged outside the fence. The Horseman rides away from the church with the rope tied around his saddle pommel. Baltus crashes through the fence. The rope snaps and he is held there awkwardly, gurgling blood.

Sam holds you tighter, watching the horrible sight as his stomach turns. “Oh Y/N, Oh God forgive her.” The Horseman turns Daredevil, riding back, his sword raised high and chops off Baltus's head.

#sleepy hollow #sam winchester au #Sam Winchester Fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader

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killmvnger · 6 years

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What You Need (Part 2) / Part 1

Killmonger/Black!Reader

Warning: Sexual content, use of n-word

Summary: You didn’t go to the club to find a man, but you sure as hell leave with one.

Lights blurred as you passed them, cars whizzing beside you like clashes of colors and you stuck your hand to the window in awe. You didn't care much if he was watching you from the driver's seat, you rarely traveled to this side of town and definitely not at such a pace, so your eyes moved quickly to capture the expensive life you were obviously being dragged into. This wasn't the kind of place you imagined he'd be taking you to, but then again you couldn't get that accurate a read on him anyway. You used the last of your phone battery to text your friends where you were and who you were with just in case it all went south.

He ditched his little crew in the club without saying goodbye, just a weird nod of confirmation that made you squint. His car was pulled up by the valet, a navy blue sports car that probably cost more than your apartment. He had a smug look when you admired the leather seats, which only made you want to find something wrong with it. When he started the car, his speakers turned on with it blasting hard west coast hip-hop, which he sure as hell didn't turn down despite your wincing.

Sure, he's not someone you'd want to bring home to your family, but you figure it's worth it to get a good night out of him. Even if he does drive you all the way to the other side of town.

You wanted to ask him what he did for a living, but that would be too personal for a one-night-stand. The less you know the better. The last thing you want is to catch feelings for someone like him, it'll only end with you getting hurt. You stare at him as he speeds through the streets, no doubt running a few lights. You smiled to yourself because you really got the finest man in that place. He noticed you looking at him at a red light, then bit his bottom lip. His eyes took you in from head to toe.

"You like how fast I'm going?" He asked, teasing.

"I think you could go faster." You reply with a cheeky smile.

"That's how you like it?" His eyes glint in the streetlights, looking wild and unrestrained. You clenched your thighs together helplessly, hating that his crazy ass unpredictability is what gets you going.

"Yeah."

The speed he takes off with feels dangerous like you're freefalling. You don't even have time to gasp, he's swerving down the highway and taking your breath away. An excitement you haven't felt in a long time sneaks up on you and you find yourself smiling as you fly past other cars. In a moment of giddiness, you shout your enthusiasm. He laughs as you continue your whoo'ing and enjoying yourself. He increases the bass (to show out, you presume) and your entire body is buzzing to the beat of a familiar hip-hop song. You rap a couple of bars, swaying side to side and you can hear him joining in on your impromptu karaoke.

You were afraid that the police would pull you over. Two black people in an expensive sports car blasting hip hop? Clear target. The shots you took at the club didn't help the situation, either. In any case, the cops didn't interrupt your fun, which was a little suspect because usually, you couldn't go above 50 MPH without getting stopped. He seemed to have everything suspiciously under control though.

The song switches to a softer r&b track and Erik turns the radio down a few notches. You smile over at him, admiring his beautiful brown skin and the gold that continued to shine on his neck. Curious, you reach your hand over and caress down his neck, trailing your wandering fingers from his nape to the cold of his chains, then over to his shoulder which you gripped. In your trance-like state, you hardly noticed him staring you through the corner of his eyes, smirking.

"Look at you. Can't keep your hands off a nigga."

"Shut up," you reply as you lean the rest of your body over. He gives you a questioning side eye as you propped yourself up on the armrest, your face beside him.

The ride was taking too long and you couldn't even help yourself anymore, you needed to feel him on you again, you needed the thrills he's been giving you since you first locked eyes. You leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, then hesitantly, to his lower jaw. He hummed in approval. You smirked and continued planting soft kisses on his skin, inhaling his intoxicating scent of soap and cologne. Cheekily, you poked at his neck with your tongue, giggling afterward. He bit his lower lip and began tapping on the steering wheel.

"Baby girl, you must be tryna run our asses off the road." He chuckled, though you could hear the clear frustration in his voice. "You always been a thrill-seeker?" He asks.

You peck at his collarbone, delighting in his clear muscle definition. "Not really, no." You whisper into his neck.

"I just bring that out of you?" He says as more of a statement than a question. You turn hot as you reflect on your behavior, but it doesn't stop you from sucking at the side of his neck - which, in retrospect wasn't a good idea. He, however, remained cool and confident, driving as he has been before you started assaulting him with your tongue. A lesser man surely would've swerved with how forward you were being, but that's what you liked about him, he wasn't like anyone you'd ever hooked up with.

Slowly, he released his right hand from the steering wheel and pushed it down to his jeans, adjusting himself as you tried to create a kaleidoscope of hickies on his skin. His breathing pattern changed, getting faster with every exit that was passed. You were absolutely on cloud nine.

"Feel good?" You whisper into his ear as your hand descends down his chest. His eyes are now struggling to stay on the road. You take his gulping silence to mean yes and continue on with your ministrations. Your hands slide down to his crotch, experimentally pressing down on his confined dick. Erik groans, slightly pushing up into your touch.

"Fuck," he grunts. You keep rubbing against him, feeling the hardness underneath his layers and giving his neck sloppy kisses. "Goddamn. I'm gon' fuck the shit outta you." He promises, still trying desperately to pay attention to the road and drive to his place faster. You giggle to yourself, peppering light kisses up to his jaw now.

"I don't like how you teased me back there," you whisper against his skin.

"You won't get teased again if you be a good girl for me. Can you do that?" He asks in huffs, slowly grinding up into your palm. You nod. "Baby, speak up."

"I can be a good girl for you." You chime with absolutely no sense of pride. Fuck that. Your inner ho is on the loose and she deserves this. He groans, then without hesitation he turns and smashes his lips to yours. It's messy, chaotic, and wild, your mouths hungry for each other. You lose yourself in his rough kisses a little too much because a car horn is what separates you two. You snap back to reality and, yeah, he's fucking driving. Right.

"Buckle up because if we not at the house in two minutes, I'm pulling over and fucking you raw in the backseat." He pressed down on the speed and continued on this unknown route. You strap yourself in, smiling to yourself because you were down for either option if you were being real.

Less than two minutes later, true to his word, the car turns into a large driveway leading into a two car garage. He cuts the engine and leans over to press a chaste kiss to your lips, lingering just a second too long for it not to feel romantic. You smile as he unbuckles your seatbelt for you, savoring his undivided attention. He presses another kiss to your temple, whispering a fond "my lil daredevil" before opening his door.

You follow his lead, unbuckling and exiting his car. You appreciate the cobblestone ground of the driveway as he leads you to the front door of his house. It was impressive, two stories high and as large as a house you'd expect in the richest of suburbs. It was far too luxurious for only one person. Surely, he didn't live by himself, you thought. What does he even do to make enough to afford all of these things?

"You live here alone?" You ask, walking into his house, though it looked more like a museum than anything. African artifacts were showcased on a few walls in glass boxes, Afrocentric paintings lined up in between them, and there was even a small rustic statue by the staircase. He shrugged, walking to his living room couch to sit as you still spun around trying to take in how amazing his house was. His living room could probably fit most of your apartment in it. You glance up, surprised to find expensive looking chandeliers.

"Sometimes my cousin stays over if he's in America." He explains from the living room. You mindlessly wander towards him and sit next to him on the couch, still discreetly checking out the interior design of his house and large pieces of art decorating his walls. Definitely Mediterranian style architecture, you silently commend. He laughs at you, efficiently snapping you out of your E Network fantasy.

"Damn, you need me to give you and this house some alone time? You getting wet looking at chandeliers and shit."

You huff your embarrassment and hit his shoulder. "Fuck you, I can appreciate art if I want, nigga."

"Peep all that shit in the morning, baby, come over here and appreciate this dick." He smirks, pulling you in by your waist to sit on his lap. You roll your eyes, but slowly prop up on your knees and straddle him on the couch. You run your hands up his arms to his shoulders. He's so muscular, he doesn't even need to flex.

"Yeah, that's perfect." He says as his hands explore your waist to your backside. His lips quickly attach to your neck, sucking any patch of skin he could get to, pushing you down to grind in his lap. You bit your lip to keep the shameless moan from coming out.

"Ah!" You yelp at his hand smacking your ass. He pulls you back so you're level with his face, foreheads pressed against each other.

"That ain't loud enough for me, baby."

"Give me a reason to get loud, baby." You tease with a wicked smile. You enjoyed messing with him more than you'd ever admit. His eyes blink in surprise, a devious smile pulling at the edges of his mouth showcasing his dimples. He stares at you for a moment like he'd just found out something important about you.

You blush at his dazed facial expression.

"Stop looking at me like that," you laugh, covering your face. Erik pulls your hands from your face, intertwining it with his. With nowhere to hide from his intrusive stare, you duck your head and continue laughing.

"Oh, you shy all of a sudden?" He asks rhetorically, but you shake your head anyway. The giggles were just a side effect of you drinking and sometimes it was hard to control.

"No, I just laugh when hoes can't make me cum," you say boldly, and it's obviously meant to be taken as a joke, but that dangerous gleam in his eyes comes back stronger than ever and you realize you've made a grave mistake. Your eyes caught the harsh clench of his jaw as he regarded you, glaring a hole into your face and you couldn't even stutter out an apology before he tossed you beneath him on the couch. During the transition, your dress had risen past your belly button, displaying the ruined black lace wrapped around you. He gripped both your wrists in his hand, pushing them above your head as his other wrapped lightly around your throat.

"You talk too fucking much," he grunts, sliding between your legs to push his erection into you. "That slick ass mouth gon' get you in trouble." His jeans grate against your wet underwear making you whimper. You try thrashing against him, but a quick thwack! to your thighs stop you. You try to speak again, but his hand moves from its firm place on your neck to your mouth, effectively stopping you from making the situation worse. Your whine is muffled by his hand.

"I bet that's what yo lil freak ass want, ain't it?" He leans over so that his lips are flush against your ear. "Fuck the foreplay shit, you tryna get that punishment, that's what you want." He chuckles darkly as you wriggle in his grasp, trying to get more pleasure from his hips. "How'd your old niggas punish you?" He asks and this time removes his hand so you may answer him. You inhale all the air taken from you, panting as you stared up at the ceiling.

"They d-didn't..." you whisper, hoarse. He laughs then, sliding his hand down to your breasts.

"You used to run all over them, huh?"

You shook your head. "No, it wasn't even --"

Thwack!

Your thigh stings.

"No more lying, baby. If I think you lying, yo ass sure as hell gon' be dying laughing because you ain't gon' be cumming." He threatens. "Now, did you run all over your exes?"

"Yes," you whimper, hoping to make some sort of atonement for your earlier words.

"That's what I thought." He huffs, then releases your wrists from his grip, instead of reaching down to grab hold of your waist. Before you could question his intentions, you're being lifted.

Like a rag-doll, you were picked up and tossed over his shoulder. You fixed your mouth to complain as he stood up and began walking, but thought against it. You were in enough trouble as it was. You settled for tsking because the only thing in your line of sight was the hardwood floors of his house and his ass. You entered a room with a beautiful double door entrance that you couldn't even fully admire because he decided to toss you off his shoulder.

You landed on a bed haphazardly, grunting in irritation.

"Seriously?"

"Deadass." He replies snarkily. You roll your eyes. "Take them shits off." He gestures towards your dress that turned into a shirt and you lace underwear. "It's not a suggestion." He says when you don't immediately move. You rush to get the dress up and over your head, then kick your heels off and start pulling your underwear down. In front of you, he's removing his clothes, too, a show you'd be damned if you missed, so your attention zeroes in on him taking off his shirt.

Scars. So many damn scars.

You're worried initially, but upon seeing his unbothered face realize that he's probably done it to himself. But why? What's he tallying? You're so caught up in his markings that you don't notice he's glaring at you. Like you were about to run out screaming because of his scars. You crawl towards him on your knees and hesitantly lean to touch the bumpy grooves in his skin, fascinated more than anything. He looks down at you blankly.

Experimentally, you lean in to kiss his chest, then look up at him for confirmation. You can't decipher what he looks means, so you move back to his chest placing sloppy kisses down his torso and using your hands to feel the scars. The only instance you get that he's enjoying what you're doing is the small sigh leaving his lips once you lightly scrape your fingernails down him. He lets out a soft laugh that has you looking back up to him.

"You something else." He said fondly. You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. He kisses you hard, pushing back down to the bed with him on top. You help unbuckle his pants as you two explore each other's mouths, sucking and teasing and biting.

"I want to hear you begging for me." He comments as he gets his jeans down, crawling up on the bed. You stare down to his length as it pops out of his underwear, then bite your lip. He's bigger than you expected, longer and girthier. You wondered how you would even get him in you.

"Want me to fuck you?" He asks with a smirk.

"Yes."

He settled over you, shoving your legs apart. The tip of his dick nudged your entrance. "You ain't doing enough begging, ma."

Your voice cracked. "Please, fuck me."

He snickers under his breath obviously finding amusement in your weak pleas. You feel his tip brushing up and down your pussy, never pushing in but slowly pleasuring your clit. You can't help but to whine and try to move towards him so he'd fill you up. His hand slapped your stomach, stopping you from moving further.

"Did I say you could move?" He asks. Pouting, you shake your head.

"Please, baby, I need it. I need you to fuck me, please!" You beg sternly albeit a little pathetic. He smirks, then you feel him sliding inside of you, stretching your pussy out farther than you expected. He snapped his hips and you went from having barely any satisfaction to being the most filled you've ever been. He didn't give you much time to adjust, thrusting hard into you again and groaning out his pleasure.

"Damn, baby. Look how wet you getting." He reaches down to your cunt, rubbing your wetness on his fingers as he fucks you, then giving your clit a quick rub. Your body jolts feeling a hot course of electricity zing through you. Your eyes close on their own accord, you feel dizzy from the sensations. You can hear sucking noises like he was tasting you on his fingers. Your head falls back with a cry at the thought, a stinging sensation of tears welling up in your eyes surprising you. One tear escapes when you open your eyes again, sliding from your cheek to your jaw and he leans down to kiss you.

"Why you crying?" He whispers, and for a moment you think he's being genuine, but he follows up the question with a deep chuckle. "The dick too good, ma?" He laughs against your mouth, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes flutter open and get trapped in his deep brown ones. Everything about him is hypnotic and mesmerizing, even as he's driving you crazy. He stares you down, hips thrusting passionately in and out of you, hands cupped around your waist to push you on him more.

"You so fucking beautiful, lil daredevil," he confesses. "I might just keep you around."

Another jolt of pleasure flows through you. He kisses your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, all down to your neck where he rested his head on you, peppering you with fervent, sloppy kisses.

Your body convulses, driven to its breaking point and ready to release all the tension that'd been building. You shake, holding onto his shoulders, scratching your fingers down his scars in the heat of pleasure.

"Fuck," you moan. "I'm gonna cum."

That's when he pulls out.

"What? Nah, none of that. I ain't forget that shit you said on the couch, you got me fucked up." He pulls and twists you around on the bed so you're face down instead. "On your knees."

It's wobbly, but you slowly ascend to your knees, presenting yourself to him. He hums his approval, then smacks your ass so hard you almost fall back to the bed. He laughs as you shakily regain your footing.

"You like that?" He asks. "You like when Daddy smacks that ass?"

You whimper in response, nodding frantically.

"Say you like it." His palm cracks on your ass again and you moan shamelessly, trying to back yourself into his touch. He rubs the stinging spot on your ass as you gather the courage to speak. You really didn't wanna call him that, but the less rational part of you, the wreck of a girl begging for his dick feels very differently.

"I like when you spank me, Daddy." You stutter out, but it's enough for him because he shoves his dick back into you without another word. His hips smack against your ass lewdly and the pace only gets faster the more you moan.

"Yeah? You gon' throw that ass back for Daddy?" He asks, slapping your ass repeatedly until you start pushing back against him. He groaned seeing you fuck yourself on him, yelling and panting for more.

"Please!" You finally shouted.

You screamed for him to let you come, but he continued denying you, mocking you. You could feel the pleasure building to its highest point, making you squirm out of his vice grip and vibrate out of your control. He pulled you back in, hooking his big arms around your body so that you stayed put.

"Stop fucking running from me, take this dick." He grunted and you genuinely clawed at his sheets trying to let up on his rough thrusting. You could hear how wet you were with every thrust, a fast rhythm that your body couldn't keep up with anymore. "Yeah, that's it, baby, you like that?"

"Yes! Please, let me cum, please!" You begged with tears forming in your eyes. Your body was giving out on you, aching and burning under his command.

"Fuck no. Tell me who owns this pussy."

"You! You do! Please, Daddy, please, I'll be good!" You cry. He slaps your ass cheek hard and you arch back feeling overstimulated. "I can't do it, I can't!" You cry, then try to crawl away again, needing to be released from his endless cycle of pleasure-pain, but his hands keep you stuck in one place.

"What's wrong, is it too much for my lil daredevil?" He asks teasingly. Hot tears run down your face as his dick hits your most sensitive spots.

"Yes!" You scream, throat stinging because of your abused vocal chords.

"I thought you liked this shit. I thought you said I couldn't make you cum." He punctuates his words with sharp thrusts.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you can! You can! Please! Please!"

He pulls you up to him, hand wrapped firmly around your throat. His chin is tucked into your shoulder, his breath warm and faintly smelling of mint. "I should just pull out and leave you like this." He threatens, uncaring of the cries coming out your mouth. "So fucking disrespectful." He slowly pulls out, causing you to whine.

"You think you deserve to cum?"

You weren't even sure you were forming real words anymore, you have swept away in such an intense vibrating pleasure that left you a quivering, sputtering wreck. His hand squeezes your neck just a little tighter, pushing you, and your senses begin dying out, leaving you with the rapid pounding of your heartbeat and blurry vision. It was like when you'd first seen him, how everything else faded into the background, how he stole your attention from anything else. His belittling words were muffled in the background as you focused all your energy on not climaxing before he told you so. You were floating through time and space, new tears falling to replace your dried ones, muscles burning from the position changes, ears ringing in the sweetest way possible.

His lips are flush against your ear when you finally, finally, hear what you've wanted to hear all night.

"Fuck, baby, cum on this dick. Now."

He slams back into you shamelessly and you're done for. You screamed as the line between pain and pleasure blurred dangerously close, then erupted into euphoria. Your pussy clenched around him tighter than ever, making him moan as audaciously as you were. He started thrusting faster, reaching his own orgasm as you melted through yours feeling your juices running down your thighs.

"Fuck, I'm 'bout to bust all in your pussy, baby." He warns.

"Do it, I want your cum inside me. Please, Daddy." You beg between pants. He climaxes with a loud grunt, whispering something about you being such a good girl. You fall to the bed, him following along after you on your back.

The world went black and the last thing you remember before sinking into the deepest sleep of your life was him wrapping his arms around you and kissing your forehead.

(That was inch resting. Give me your thoughts. Continue or no?)

@sweettea-and-honeybutter @coldcrevices @nakh-es @shesfromwakanda @nyxieso @jaaystaar95 @tiava143 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @tenxouttanine @ashleychristina73 @panthergoddessbast @artpoetx @im-not-always-a-jellyfish @thehomierobbstark @muffytheaardvarkslayer (sorry if I missed anyone, thanks for the love & support)

#black panther fanfiction #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x black reader #killmonger x reader #i'm so embarrassed like wow i really wrote that

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dnteverdoubtme · 7 years

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The Choice of Violence

Game of Thrones!verse (a sequel of sorts, taking place at King’s Landing after the events of Growing Strong) Warnings: mature content, blood and gore, violence

There was an undeniable imbalance between fighting a battle close to home and one far into enemy territory. For Alexander it was the difference between the well known rocky grounds of the Westerlands and the snow covered plains up north, the difference between an easy victory and unknown struggle.

Being in King’s Landing with Jace felt by all means like threading through a blizzard.

They found it impossible to stay away from each other for long, all talks of propriety thrown to the wind in such a short time from their arrival Alec would laugh about it the matter wasn’t so serious.

Three nights, that’s all it took. Three days of stolen looks and fleeting touches as Jonathan got himself acclimated with the life at court, and all of three nights until Alec heard his unmistakable voice outside his chamber’s door.

“I need to speak with my brother,” he demanded, entitlement dripping from his voice just as it would be if they had been back at Casterly Rock.

It wasn’t home, and the need for silence and secrecy was far greater than it would have been back then. But Jace’s body felt just as good and his wanton moans, in the face of secrecy, tasted all the sweeter.

They had even more to lose at the capital, so it should come as no surprise that the daredevil in Alexander instantly fell in love with it.

There was no talk of it and yet it was settled, their affair would continue inside the walls of the Red Keep. The walls might have ears and it was no secret that little birds roamed the halls, but Alec knew the inner workings of the palace and, when it came to politics, his brother was a force to be reckoned with other Lords would soon know of.

With that one mind, one would have to be quite foolish to confront them on their affair and, so far, they had been getting away with it quite seamlessly.

Unfortunately, it would seem foolishness took form in the shape of one Lord Horace of House Dearborn, an expressionless man that Alexander would take no notice of if he hadn’t dared stepping directly into their path.

It wasn’t a planned encounter, but rather by chance that he and Jonathan had found each other in one of the Keep’s many gardens, the drawn of their meeting gazes quite difficult to deny. Alec didn’t do more than graze his brother’s fingers with his own, warmth swelling in his chest over the promise held inside mismatched eyes.

“Later,” Jace teased, promptly pulling his hand back.

One fleeting touch, that was all, but as any good player would know: sometimes one wrong move was all it took.

Lord Dearborn stood at the entrance to the garden flanked by two of his banner-men, the smug twinkle in his eyes reminiscent of the time Jace himself had walked in on Alexander’s tryst with Justin Oakthorn. No one was on their knees this time (a small mercy), but Horace still smirked like he’d won a duel – petulant, in Alec’s opinion, for a man who’s sword had never seen real blood.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” Dearborn spoke with the air of someone who by all means had looked for this.

Jace steps forward immediately and his expression is stormy and calculating, the sort of dark gaze Alec wouldn’t mind having aimed upon him only because he enjoyed the pain that came with it.

“Lord Dearborn,” he drawled, far more reverent than the man deserves him to be, “I must say I have no idea of what you could possibly be referring to.”

The man barely lets him finish. “Surely we all knew about him,” he began, square chin raised in Alexander’s direction. One of his banner-men snorted at the jab and Alec made a point to gaze at his face. “But I believed the heir to house Lightwood would be smart enough not to follow in his brother’s deviant ways.”

Jonathan was poised to say something in response to that, he always has something to say, but Alec didn’t wait on him this time, the offense still bubbling under his skin and tightening his fingers at the hilt of his sword, white cloak rustling against the leaves on the ground as he took a step forward.

Horace barely looked at him, and Alec noticed how he didn’t even reach for his own ornate blade, far too confident on having the upper hand on the situation.

“Tell your blood hound to step aside, Lord Lightwood, or I’m afraid there will be violence,” he demanded.

It was the wrong thing to say, Alec was sure of it, one look at Jace’s cheshire-like grin and the only certainty the knight had was that Lord Dearborn would direly regret his words. His brother might have been poised to say something, to defuse, but that was before. If Horace only had asked, Alec would have told him threatening Jonathan was never a good idea.

“In that case, I choose violence,” his brother decided, taking a step to the side to fully give Alec passage.

He knew Alexander would move the moment he spoke, unflinching as a dagger flew over his shoulder and buried itself on the neck of one of the guards – a swift death to the one who had known his place – the other one would have to suffer a bit more. Fighting a member of the King’s Guard would be enough of a punishment any day, and the fact it only took Alec two blows to disarm his opponent merely added insult to injury.

A blade held to the throat should be enough of a victory on its own, but Alexander had no qualms on slicing through the man’s throat, eyes glinting as his victim helplessly clutched at his neck and gasped while choking on his own blood.

“Try to laugh now, cunt,” he spat.

That only left the matter of Dearborn to be addressed, the lord looking awfully pale with a splatter of his man’s blood staining his face, his brown eyes as wide as saucers. Alec might have been the one doing the killing, but Jace looked by all means like a predator ready to strike as he approached the poor fool.

“I’ll usually be the first to admit there is power in knowledge, Lord Dearborn, but you have to agree there is something to be said for the use of raw strength.” Jonathan’s monologue had his usual self-appreciating tone to it, but the way he eyed Alec as he spoke of violence was nothing short of filthy. His brother had a speck of blood on his neck and Jace wanted to lick it.

“Power is power,” Jace decided at last, “And if you ever threaten me or anyone in my family again I can assure you my brother will be the least of your concerns. How would the king react, after all, if he knew of your plotting to marry your daughter into the northern houses without his consent? Not to mention that lovely lady you bought a house for just outside of King’s Landing.”

If Alec had thought Horace looked pale before it was nothing compared to how he looked now having Jonathan wrapping him around his finger with almost no effort. It was a hand the young lord haven’t intended to play just yet, proving he had done his homework and not just spent all of his available time with his legs wrapped around Alexander’s hips. There was a power game to be played inside the walls of the Red Keep, and Jace didn’t intend to reveal himself a contender, but alas he had.

All Alexander thought of it was how delicious his brother looked while scheming, briefly wondering if this was the same rush Jace felt watching him fight. Unbeknownst to him the two looked quite the same while admiring each other.

“You and I will be good friends, Lord Dearborn,” Jace offered like a king extending the mantle of mercy, “For now, however, it would be wise to train your guards a little better, less they fight each other in your presence again and risk hurting you. Alexander won’t be always present to intervene so readily.”

It was Alec’s turn to snort in amusement, the stricken lord’s nod perfectly tying in the joke as he attempted to bow out his leave and staggered back, having tripped on one of his fallen men.

The knight could barely hold his laughter, and the only think that kept him from straight out bursting into it was the bright pain across his cheek as Jace slapped him for it, reaching for the collar of his shirt and tugging him down so that they could be eye to eye.

“What are you laughing at?” he chided in an utterly exasperated tone, “This is all your fault! If you weren’t such an unrestrained beast-- ”

Alec kissed him, whatever Jace meant complained about next swallowed into a wanton moan as he held on even harder and licked his way into his brother’s mouth. Maybe they were fighting in the snow by being there and risking so much, but Alec could have sworn he had never felt warmer.

#got verse #ourheartsbeatas1 #shirasade #extras #drabble #for you eva #cause I'm not a lannister #but I always pay my debts #your move

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rate-out-of-10 · 7 years

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THE DEFENDERS REVIEW

After three independent shows, with a total of four seasons in all, we finally see Netflix’s MCU heroes come together in the team-up series The Defenders. It’s an ambitious undertaking, even after the lackluster last series before the team-up, Iron Fist, and this show had to fire on all cylinders, and while it didn’t hit every mark, it gave you plenty to enjoy.

WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD

CHARACTERS / PERFORMANCES

The stars from their respective series return in The Defenders. Charlie Cox (Daredevil) continues to impress as the “Devil of Hell’s Kitchen”. Matt Murdock is a character that we’ve seen the most of compared to the others, so it makes sense that he’s one of the more well-rounded people on screen. Season 2 of Daredevil brought out some of Matt’s worst fears and his inner turmoil between the two lives he lives. In The Defenders we see him making real strides to be an example good guy, without the red suit and horns. But of course, The Hand comes back around and throws him down the same hole he’s been trying to claw out of. Charlie Cox puts on an impeccable performance throughout this series. After not seeing her for a while, Krysten Ritter returns as Jessica Jones. The hard-headed PI with super strength and a drinking problem. Krysten puts on a good performance as Jessica, however her persona feels a bit tried here. Much of her dialogue feels so cheesy, and like she says the same thing like twenty times throughout the show. I was also a bit sad for a time that her ability was never properly showcased. I felt as though she was just there to throw in some aggressive comic relief and be the one in disbelief through the entire series. She did have some shining moments throughout though, like her kicking that SUV into the Chinese restaurant, toppling Elektra. Mike Colter (Luke Cage) was a standout performance in this series, and he needed to be. Some of the criticisms of his series was the stoic acting from the cast and the cheesy “tough guy” dialogue throughout. Of course, there was more of the same here with Luke, however Colter felt more comfortable in his role especially around the other main heroes. The last to join the Netflix crew, Finn Jones as Iron Fist redeems himself in this series. Iron Fist had its flaws but by the end there was some content to be excited about and I think Finn rode those coattails into The Defenders rather well. He’s still somewhat stubborn, but his personality is fleshed out a bit more around these other characters, and he became much more likable, compared to his solo series’ first season.

The connector to every series, Claire Temple played by Rosario Dawson, makes her appearance, however she never feels needed. For a good while she’s treated as Luke Cage’s baggage, especially since the writers made the strides to rekindle Luke and Jessica’s relationship. Rosario just felt a bit lost to me, and I felt disappointed by her interactions with everyone. There wasn’t anything there between her and Matt Murdock. I was excited for her to play a bigger role in connecting everyone, but sadly she wasn’t as needed as I felt she was. Simone Missick returns as Detective Misty Knight from Luke Cage. Misty felt utterly behind and clueless throughout the show. She always has a strong presence on screen (props to Simone), however she was portrayed as somewhat arrogant, even when she’s right. It wasn’t until the finale that she isn’t as glanced over. Jessica Henwick returns as Colleen Wing, one of the few saving graces from Iron Fist. In The Defenders however, she is barely given anything to do. Until the finale she’s on the sidelines, and I felt so bad for her, and not in a good way. She should’ve been given more to do, it felt way too inorganic for her to be as sidelined as she was. I’m glad to see her struggle with Bakuto finally resolved, but she wasn’t used properly as a whole. Then there’s Stick played by Scott Glenn. He’s as stoic as ever in this appearance, but leads our heroes down the right path, despite his controversial means. He’s not any more likable than his past appearances, but he stays true to what he’s always been. There are a bunch more familiar faces in this show, but that’s generally all that they are. The likes of Foggy, Karen Page, Jeri Hogarth, Malcolm, and Trish all take a back seat. They have small arcs, I guess, but none truly integral to the series. Just the familiar faces we know from separate series finally making it into the same room.

The Defenders did an admirable job bringing together all five fingers of The Hand. And it was interesting to watch their dynamic playout on screen with everyone there: Alexandra (Sigourney Weaver), Madame Gao (Wai Ching Ho), Bakuto (Ramon Rodriguez), Murakami (Yutaka Takeuchi), and Sowande (Babs Olusanmokun). To see the in-fighting between them, their clash of personality, and their individual goals kept me interested in their side of the story very well. Weaver specifically put on a great show. She approached the character with grounded-ness and with a realistic worldview. I enjoyed seeing her play out on screen. I was happy to see them all portrayed as formidable opponents as well, however it was whenever necessary. Much of their arcs felt cut short or flat, plus some deaths felt inept for people of their stature, Sowande’s and Murakami’s for instance. Too quick, too easy. Elodie Young returns as Elektra Natchios, or the Black Sky as we’re lead to believe. She had an interesting role to play, however predictable it was (the whole getting memories back because of the love she has for Matt). I enjoyed her performance overall though. By the end, she turned villain again and I just couldn’t put my finger on why it all played out that way. It felt all too much for the sake of plot.

WRITING / DIRECTION

Bringing these characters together is a tough game to play, but Marvel has made good on team-ups so far. Bringing these heroes together to fight The Hand, the enemies that only Daredevil and Iron Fist seemed to concern themselves with was the natural direction to go in and I was excited to see it all unfold. The series only being eight episodes felt a little disappointing upon hearing of it. However, the Daredevil series was the only one that could competently handle a thirteen episode arc. Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, and Iron Fist all could have benefited greatly from shorter seasons, ten episodes maybe. Especially Iron Fist. The Defenders felt competent enough with the eight episode season. It allowed the show to endorse itself and not push too much. I hate a prolonged storyline, filler episodes and scenes, I think they’re garbage. I’m glad to see the series take off running as fast as they could, and bring these characters together in the simplest of ways, and have it be entertaining throughout.

There were a lot of great action pieces, plenty to catch your eye, but some felt all to cliché and disingenuous. Some characters were overpowering one minute, the next they could barely stand their ground. I understand that they were facing highly skilled and trained people, like Elektra, or The Hand leaders, but I don’t see how Luke Cage can be knocked out by a basic roundhouse. In Jessica Jones we saw he couldn’t be stopped until Jessica shot him point blank in the temple with a shotgun. Some character capabilities were simply at the mercy of where the plot needed to go, and that’s a shame to misuse these characters like that. But even still, there was a lot of action to marvel at, it was badass much of the time. Dialogue was a hurdle yet again. I never felt like the dialogue in the Daredevil series was as close to as horrendous as Iron Fist was, and throughout Luke Cage. The Defenders isn’t the worst offenders, but there were cringe-worthy lines that felt all too “tough”, some too “comic-book”, and others were just annoying or irrelevant. These pieces just clash with the entire feel of the world we’re meant to be immersed in.

As a general note, the writing and direction did do a good job keeping the pace strong with the plot. The show didn’t feel like it dragged too long, not too much filler, or slower boring pieces. And that’s great. It was clearly the eight episode mark that benefitted the show. There were definitely parts that could’ve been delved into more, and with more episodes I’m sure we would’ve seen those things, but it would’ve ultimately detracted from the main point of the series. I was happy to see the show take a definitive direction and stuck with it throughout.

FINAL RATING: 8/10 – Good Marvel Fun.

It’s not groundbreaking, as Daredevil was, but it does its job very competently. It gets you excited for the team up and I think it delivers on its promises. Would I have liked to see more? Definitely, but not if it would just convolute and detract from the story unfolding. There were some underwhelming bits like the dialogue and some over-looked characters, as well as non-character driven events and decisions that hurt the overall fluidity and enticing nature of the show. But The Defenders is a good show. We see our Netflix Marvel group come together, we watch them kick ass and save the day. Sometimes it does need to be as simple as that.

#marvel #mcu #netflix #the defenders #defenders #luke cage #daredevil #jessica jones #iron fist #television #tv #comic book #comics #review #film review #movie review

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screechthemighty · 7 years

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“cut man” is the best daredevil episode, part one

Seriously, y’all, this is my favorite episode of Daredevil ever. My favorite. I have so much to say that this post is going to have a part two. That’s how much I love it. Here’s the first batch of my thoughts. Be warned, it’s a big batch. Again, here are the ground rules for these meta posts. Strap yourselves in.

This post is primarily going to focus on Matt’s interactions with Claire, because I think they set a baseline for how Matt acts in his natural state--not as charming Matt, not as Matt who is more himself but keeping parts of himself contained, not as Daredevil, but as Matt. It can be difficult to tell early on, because he is still keeping secrets, deflecting from her, etc., but there are contrasts between his behavior with her and his behavior with, say, Karen.

The way he talks to her is the first big clue. He’s very soft-spoken as he does, with none of the usual “get down to business” surety he shows when he’s lawyering or the obvious confidence he exhibits when being charming. It’s more akin to how he spoke to Karen when he promised he’d keep her safe, or when he was discussing his blindness with her--both moments of real vulnerability. It’s especially obvious when he asks what Claire’s name is, and when he thanks her for her help (especially that one, also it’s really hard to keep my shipper goggles off for that moment. It’s so hard, you guys).

There’s also the funny moments of honesty he exhibits when talking with her. He openly admits to where he screwed up, the fact that he was careless, all of that. Again, there’s less of the surety he exhibited in the police station. He’s not trying to seem like a big, tough, scary superhero who has everything under wraps. He’s a guy who’s in a lot of pain and knows why and is fine admitting to it. Only because it’s physical pain, though. Matt’s far more open about his physical pain than his emotional pain (even when he’s lying about his physical pain). It’s really depressing.

Something I think is interesting about his whole deal with Claire is the fact that he is more immediately honest with her than he is with others, in part because the jig is up on a lot of things. He can’t say he wasn’t in a fight, or that he isn’t blind--those are undeniable facts. So, he tells her the truth, or as much of it as he feels comfortable telling. In my mind, this parallels the way Matt does finally open up to Foggy when Foggy finds him bleeding on the floor in “Nelson v. Murdock” (oh BOY the analysis of that episode is going to be fun). Matt might be fine with lying, but he also seems to know when he can’t lie anymore. It’s rare that he keeps trying to lie his way out of a situation when there’s nowhere for him to go. The only exception to this is with Karen, whom he constantly tells lies and half-truths to. It’s possible that this is because she has yet to really back him into a corner yet. Both Claire and Foggy found Matt in compromising situations (harder to back out of, easier to just be honest), while Karen doesn’t really until season 2, and even when she does it’s nothing that really screams “Daredevil” or anything like that. It’s also possible that it’s because she gives him an out that Claire and Foggy don’t. They want answers; she is (for the most part) content to let Matt tell the truth on his own terms. It’s an interesting detail, and I’m definitely going to be keeping an eye out for it as the episodes go on.

On a final note with his behavior around Claire, he trusts her enough to try and find her again after he saves the kid (while we don’t see it, that is his intent in asking where she’s going to stay, and I don’t doubt that he found her again after he was done). This is an interesting parallel to him letting Karen stay at his place, despite them having just met and him (as I theorized in my last post), probably not completely trusting her. But he trusts her enough, and he trusts Claire enough. It’s easy and very true to say that Matt doesn’t let people in, but I don’t think it’s the complete truth. Matt lets people in all the time. He let Karen into his life in that moment because he felt some emotional connection with her and wanted to help her. He lets Claire in--lets her see him vulnerable, again--because she’s proven herself to be trustworthy, even kind (which I think is a big deal in light of his comment last episode about wishing he could find even one innocent soul--how big a deal must kindness be for him?). He just doesn’t let people all the way in. When he does, he seems to be most comfortable doing so by degrees--as we’ll see in his relationship with Claire (which doesn’t get enough love in my opinion, and I’ll fight about it).

Another thing that comes to the forefront in this episode is Matt’s connection with children or young adults. Remember how in my assorted notes for last time I indicate that I thought the way the kid cried out for his father when Matt was listening on the roof parallels the way Matt cries out “Dad? Daddy?” after Jack is shot? I was right. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg for this episode. There’s some really good meta someone wrote about the subject, also tying it into Jessica Jones, so I’ll just leave it here and add that I co-sign it wholeheartedly. There’s another detail from this episode that ties into the theme of Matt’s own childhood trauma making him empathetic towards people younger than him: his reaction to hearing Santino on the stairs. “Oh, no. He’s young. He’s scared.” He knows that sound, he recognizes it, and he sounds like he’s dreading the fact that he might’ve scared a kid. That also ties in to the way he--who had been really stressed about someone possibly seeing his face earlier in the episode--immediately takes off his mask so he won’t scare the kid he rescues. It’s the best, but it breaks my heart.

There’s also the connection to Matt’s repeated mantra of not being afraid, of always getting up, no matter what. I’ll talk about that more in the upcoming Jack Murdock post (AKA the Pain Post), but there’s an interesting moment here that isn’t super directly tied into Jack, so I’ll talk about it here, too. The show cuts from Matt telling Claire that she can’t give into the fear to a moment of him as a child reading that Thurgood Marshall quote we’ve all come to know and love. For me, that says something about how long Matt has clung to this concept of fearlessness--since he was ten, at the youngest, which is about 2/3 of his life at this point. With everything else going on in his life--being a blind orphan, abandoned by people who are supposed to care about him, struggling with depression and trying to find his place, it might’ve been one of the only things giving him any comfort.

I’ve seen some people discuss the fact that show!Matt seems to be less funny than comics!Matt, that comics!Matt cracks more jokes and they wish they would implement that character trait in the show. While I agree that show!Matt is less prone to out and out jokes (he makes fewer blind jokes than comics!Matt, for instance), I disagree in thinking that he is any less funny than in the comics. In fact, he can be freaking hilarious at times. It’s just a very dry, sarcastic kind of humor that can be hard to pick up on (especially when he’s in Charming Matt mode, where everything he says is done with the express intent of Maximum Charm). But I’ve decided to start compiling some specific instances of Matt’s sarcasm and jokes, just to prove that this grim boy still has a sense of humor. (Quotes by others in the conversation will be in italics.)

“Maybe I can help clean the place up a bit.” “...is this place messy?”

“...so you’re either blind, or in way worse shape than I thought.” “Do I have to pick one?”

“Yeah, well, you’re catching me on an off night.” He says as he lies bleeding on the couch of a total stranger.

There are some moments in his dialogue that do remind me of the Waid run, particularly how Matt constantly takes potshots at people in his internal monologue. Example in this episode: “You’ll smell him soon enough. He really likes that cologne.”

“Hold still. I might do some serious damage if you squirm.” Matt, you are about to stab this man in the eye socket, now is not the time for sarcasm.

“Add to that, he can take an incredible amount of punishment without one damn complaint.” “The last part’s the Catholicism.” This is still, to this day, my FAVORITE LINE in all of Daredevil--nay, in all of the Marvel Netflix universe--and the line that completely sold me on the show and Matt as a character. I love this episode so much.

Assorted observations:

“They’ll kill everyone in the hospital to get to me.” Another example of Matt’s catastrophic thinking, perhaps? While the Russians are shown to be ruthless and willing to do some messed up shit to get to Matt, their behavior up until Anatoly’s death later on isn’t exactly that level of “shoot-em-up.” But Matt really does seem to believe that he’d go that far.

Something I noticed on my first watch and continue to latch onto with every rewatch is the way the sounds of the city filters in as pre-blindness Baby!Matt sits at the table and waits for Jack Murdock to come home. Proof of a previously existing sensory processing condition, perhaps? I know that the walls in those places can be thin, and that cities are loud (it’s why I personally can’t stand them). But it could also mean something deeper, especially if you subscribe to the autistic!Matt headcanons.

Matt ends up in that dumpster with 2 or three broken ribs, a probable concussion, multiple slashes, and a stab wound serious enough that it causes air to become trapped in his chest, nearly collapsing his lung. He walks out of Claire’s apartment with all of those injuries, and goes on to kick the asses of seven to eight bad guys, some of whom were armed with guns. I say this both to point out that Claire is a hell of a nurse if she can patch him up that well, and also to point out that Matthew Murdock is a force of nature whose stubbornness and drive surpasses that of almost any other Marvel character. Seriously, YOUR FAVE COULD NEVER.

Matt’s treatment of his blindness is definitely interesting. There are times when he seems at peace with it--in this episode, the “There are other ways to see” moment--but his conversation with Karen in the first episode implies a sense of discontent with it that not even having badass supersenses can erase. It’s not something that gets explored too often, even in the show, and I’m of the personal opinion that the time he talks to Karen about wanting to see the sky again might be the only time he’s completely honest about it. Every other time, he seems to be emphasizing the positive traits (sometimes to the point of erasing his own blindness...but we’ll get to that in season 2), possibly to avoid pity. I can see that being a motivation for him.

Foggy asking Karen if she wants to talk about what’s bothering her and adding that “’leave it alone’ is not my strong suit” is a great moment between the two of them, but is also interesting in light of his relationship with Matt--Matt, who is notoriously bad at talking about how he feels about anything. How many times did he ask Matt that same thing? How much did he have to persist to get Matt to open up about anything? Did he ever get Matt to open up about anything? I wish we had more college flashbacks between the two of them. Also, I love Foggy.

The matter of whether or not Matt enjoys this pops up at the end of this episode. I won’t be really discussing that until “Nelson v. Murdock”, since it’s an issue that comes to the forefront there, but it’s telling that Matt responds to the statement by stopping, having a quiet moment, and then leaving. It’s a question that I don’t think even he has an answer to right now--probably because he’s too afraid to think about the answer (especially in light of his obvious discomfort at talking about his anger issues in the first episode).

#screech cries about matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock #I don't think I'm going to get part II posted tonight but I'll at least get it written tonight #it's about Jack Murdock #there will be tears

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