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By the time Matt Murdock made it to the rooftop, he was already limping.
Not from the fight. Not really.
The fight had gone fine, a predictable busted drug deal, a few bruises (not his), a crate of glass vials shattered across concrete. Nothing he hadn’t handled a hundred times before.
That was the problem.
It should have been routine.The drug hadn’t even been meant for him.
That much was obvious now.
Some kind of designer compound — unstable, volatile, probably still in testing. It had spilled during the fight, aerosolized just enough to get into his lungs before he could react.
If it had been anyone else, it might’ve passed, A little dizziness. Maybe disorientation.
Maybe nothing at all.
But Matt wasn’t anyone else.
His senses didn’t just process the world, but amplified it.
Turned every detail into something ten times sharper than the normal person’s senses would.
He could feel everything Too much.
The rain wasn’t just rain — it struck his skin like individual needles, each drop distinct. The leather of his suit clung too tightly, dragged in ways he couldn’t ignore. Even the wind felt wrong.
Heat was coiling, first it was barely noticeable.
Then it spread.
Then it became impossible to ignore.
Matt braced his hands against the rooftop ledge, head bowed, breath uneven.
“Focus,” he muttered under his breath, It came out rougher than he wanted.
This wasn’t poison.
It was worse.
It was… loosening him.
Stripping away control in the worst possible way.
Dragging every instinct he kept locked down right to the surface and holding it there.
An aphrodisiac, Of all the things.
Matt let out a short, humorless breath.
His grip tightened against the concrete.
This was bad. Very bad.
Nothing can help,Time might.
Distance definitely would.
He needed to get away from people before—
A Deliberate sound.
The coin flipped once through the air, making matt go still.
Every sense snapping toward it instantly despite everything else clawing for his attention.
No.
Not now.
The coin landed, Caught, an amused, familiar heartbeat followed.
Bullseye stepped onto the rooftop like he owned it, shoes barely making a sound against the wet concrete.
He didn’t speak immediately.
Matt could feel him watching, Taking in every detail.
The uneven breathing,The stiffness, The way his control was just slightly—off.
A pause.
Then—
“…You look terrible.”
Another unhurried step closer.
Curious.
Bullseye tilted his head
“And here I thought I’d have to work for it tonight.”
Matt‘s jaw tightened.
Of all the nights.
Of all the possible people.
It had to be him.
“I… don’t have time for this.”
Teeth clenched, trying to maintain control.
a predatory smirk curling on his lips.“Tell me… was that the plan? Come find me while all twitchy and… distracted?”
“Go away, Dex.”
“Oh no. I think I like this version of you.” He circles Matt slowly, his eyes catching every subtle movement.
“Limping, breathing funny, looking… helpless?”
A faint laugh escapes him. “Honestly… it’s kind of hot.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“Oh, it’s definitely a game. For me at least.You’re so… fragile under control, It’s intoxicating.”
Matt tenses. Dex is too close. Every teasing word and deliberate movement… it’s breaking the barrier Matt’s built for himself. His hands tighten, jaw clenches his breath catches.betraying the morals he set.
“Shut up.”
Before Dex can reply, Matt closes the distance. His hands grip the back of Dex’s head by the hair, lips crashing against his in a deep, demanding kiss ,silencing him, stealing control for a moment.
rain soaking them both.
Daredevil's lips crush against Bullseye's, and it's rough, desperate, almost angry. His other hand gripping his hip, pulling him closer.
after bullseye finally snapped back to reality, and just before he opens his mouth again— The kiss deepens, rough and hungry. Daredevil's fingers tighten into Bullseye's hair, pulling his head back just slightly to expose more of his neck. His body presses forward, pinning Bullseye against the nearest wall, all thought of control flying out the window.
”You... you damn... bastard..." He punctuates the words with rough kisses, moving along Bullseye's jawline, his neck, the pulse there. His body is hot, almost feverish.
his body grinding against bullseye with slow, deliberate friction. The rain still pours around them, but neither seems to notice anymore.
His knee nudges between Bullseye’s thighs, pinning him further. Every movement is sharp and desperate—like he’s punishing him for the laughter, for the mockery, for the way his pulse jumps under Daredevil’s lips.
his hips rolling forward in shallow thrusts—heat taking over his logic and senses. The slick fabric and leather of their suits only amplifies the friction, and Bullseye can feel the heat of him, the desperate tension in every movement.
"Still laughing now, Bullseye?" His teeth graze the side of Bullseye’s neck, biting down just enough to sting—his hands lock onto Bullseye’s hips, dragging him back against every rough grind like he’s trying to prove something.
And god, he hates how good it feels.
And just when bullseye realised the situation he is in, and on,y when he tried to wriggle out or throw something—
The Billy Clubs snap out with precision—wrapping around Bullseye's wrists with a click of the cable locking into place. Daredevil shoves him forward, face-first onto the rain-slick rooftop, making his nose make a painful scrunch against the wet concrete, one knee pressing against his back to keep him pinned.
His gloved hands grab Bullseye’s ass with bruising force, kneading roughly like he’s trying to mold him into something shameful.
“Pathetic," Daredevil spits, voice dripping with disgust—but his hips grind down against Bullseye’s thigh anyway, betraying just how much he’s still affected. "All that talk, and now look at you—spread out for me like some cheap whore in an alley."
A sharp slap lands across Bullseye’s ass, the sound cracking through the rain. Making the man’s spine curl like a shell with gritted teeth.
"Bet you'd beg for it if I let you speak."
Bullseye’s face was pressed too hard against the concrete floor, couldnt speak without his teeth scraping the hard ground, and despite he still tried,only to earn him another slap on the ass.
Daredevil's hands grab his ass again, still kneading and gripping tightly.
"You're a joke, Bullseye. All those sharp words, all those nasty thoughts... but when it comes down to it, you're just as much of a filthy little slut as any of the villains you hate."
Another sharp slap lands, the sound echoing in the night. Daredevil leans forward, pressing his body flush against Bullseye's back.”You gonna start begging yet, or should I continue some more?"
“Fuck—… I never expected ..you to be the type to do it first and …regret later— mpph—!”
“I said shut up.” His hips move in a slow grind as he speaks, his voice coming in hitched breaths. “You’re just like an slut, enjoying it, you love this, don't you?”
Bullseye let out a broken chuckle ,tasting the blood from his nose -due to his face being slammed onto the concrete floor-
“Being raped like that by you? Probably a while.”
Daredevil pauses for only a split second, thrown just slightly off-kilter by Bullseye's response. His hands tighten involuntarily, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass.
But then, his voice drops lower.
"You're twisted," he mutters. "A goddamn freak. And you'd like it— don’t you? You'd like it if I used you,raped you like this? Because you’re just that damn desperate.”
Bullseye let out a pained groan.
Daredevil's movements are rough, deliberate—his gloves unlacing his suit pants with sharp efficiency before he pulls himself free, his cock already painfully hard. He rips through bullseye’s oants just enough to expose the white flesh of his ass.
He drags Bullseye's hips up higher, spreading his ass cheeks wide with both hands, the rain-slick skin glistening under the dim city lights.
"Look at you," he growls, pressing his cock flush between Bullseye's ass, grinding against him in slow, filthy rolls of his hips. The friction is maddening—hot, just shy of where Bullseye probably wants it.
"Bet you'd take it just like this—no lube, no mercy—just because you can't help yourself." His thrusts get rougher, his breath ragged against Bullseye's ear. "Bet you'd cry for it if I made you wait long enough."
He slaps his cock against Bullseye's hole—once, twice—taunting, before rutting between his cheeks again with a groan.
"Disgusting."
And yet he can't fucking stop.
Bullseye’s sweating forehead presses against the concrete, a shaky breath escapes his lips with every slap of Matt’s cock. “Who’d know…you were this kinky—… underneath all this righteous act of god—“
Unable to finish his sentence before his face was pushed hard back to the concrete, probably leaving a bruise on his cheek.
Daredevil watches—feels—every shudder that wracks Bullseye’s body, the way his muscles tense and release with each cruel grind against that tight, untouched rim.
"You're shaking," he rasps, voice thick with something between disgust and desire. His hand fists in Bullseye's hair, yanking his head back just enough to hear the choked noise it pulls from his throat. “And yet you still won't shut up annd admit you’re just a whore who wants it."
His hips snap forward again, grinding his cock along the cleft of Bullseye’s ass, the friction almost too much—his teeth gritting as he resists the urge to just shove in, to take what he knows Bullseye would let him have.
"Say it." A sharp thrust, his tip catching against that fluttering hole. "Say you're a goddamn slut for this—for me—and maybe I'll stop teasing."
Bullseye’s ragged breathing is answer enough.“Just… Just stick it in already— dammit—“His ass involuntarily grinding back against daredevil’s hard cock for more attention.
Daredevil’s control snaps—just like that.
A sharp, animalistic noise tears from his throat as he shoves forward without warning, his cock finally breaching Bullseye’s tight, resisting heat in one brutal thrust.
"Fuck—!" His hips jerk forward instinctively, burying himself to the hilt, the sheer shock of how good it feels almost dizzying. His hands dig into Bullseye’s hips hard enough to bruise, holding him still as he adjusts to the vice-like grip around him.
"That what you wanted?" His voice is wrecked, his breath coming in ragged pants against Bullseye’s neck.
And then he moves—pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm that has Bullseye’s entire body jolting forward with each snap of his hips.
No more teasing, Just ruin.
“Dammit!!” Bullseye’s elbows dig to the dirty concrete to stable himself, his forehead falls onto the wet ground as he grit his teeth, each thrust hurts like hell and burns his rim.
Daredevil hears it ,the way Bullseye’s body strains beneath him, every muscle locked tight around the brutal intrusion. the pain and the way his breath keeps hitching in ragged, punched-out gasps—
And it only makes him harder.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" He pants the words against Bullseye’s sweat-drenched skin, hips never slowing, driving into him with deep, filthy rolls that drag Bullseye back onto his cock every time he tries to shift away.
"Good."
One hand fists in Bullseye’s hair again, forcing his face harder against the concrete, his spine arched just so—forcing him to take every inch, until the wet slap of skin on skin drowns out the rain.
"You deserve it."
And God help him, he hates it.
Daredevil knows exactly where to aim—his senses mapping Bullseye’s body better than sight ever could.
A sharp twist of his hips— “There."
His cock rams into Bullseye’s prostate with pinpoint precision, over and over, brutal and unrelenting.
“That’s it— there-” His voice is rough, wrecked, as he fucks into that spot with purpose, each thrust punching a choked noise from Bullseye’s throat. holding him still to take it
"Bet you’ve never been ruined like this," he snarls, sweat dripping down his temple as he pistons into him, his rhythm brutal. “Bet no one’s ever used you right."
Every snap of his hips grinds Bullseye’s cock against the concrete beneath him, the dual stimulation dragging him closer and closer to the edge—whether he wants it or not.
Bullseye gasps, crying out a moan, his eyes roll to the back of his head making him almost seeing stars.
Muffled whimpers and groans, his climax building closer due to the simulation of his prostate being brutally abused and the friction of his clothes hard cock scraping against the concrete with each thrust of Matt’s.
Daredevil feels the way Bullseye’s body tightens around him, his breath coming in ragged, punched-out gasps, his cock leaking against the rough concrete beneath him.
"Close already?" His voice is mocking—but his hips stutter just slightly, betraying how fucking close he is too. "Pathetic."
He fucks into him harder, deeper, angling his thrusts to hammer against Bullseye’s prostate without pause—relentless, unforgiving.
"Go on," he growls, leaning over Bullseye’s back. "Come like this—like a goddamn whore—with my cock splitting you open."
And he means it—wants to feel him unravel, wants to drag him over the edge first, just to prove he can.
Daredevil yanks Bullseye’s bound wrists forward, forcing his chest flat against the rooftop while his ass stays raised and exposed.
Bullseye’s cock still trapped beneath him, grinding against the rough concrete with every brutal thrust.
"Move," he snarls, slamming into him so hard Bullseye’s body jerks forward. "Fucking hump it like the dog you are."
Bullseye’s thighs tremble, his cock leaking against the filthy ground as he’s forced to rut against it—helpless, shamed, every shallow grind only adding to the overwhelming friction.
"That’s it—" His own voice cracks, his rhythm turning erratic as he chases his own release, driving into Bullseye with punishing strokes.
It didn't take bullseye minutes due to the friction until he came in his pants with a guttural moan, hips spasming, hole clenching around the cock that’s still fucking into him as his eyes rolled back.
Daredevil feels bullseye’s hole clenches viciously around his cock. "Fuck—!" It’s enough to undo him.
His hips snap forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he comes with a ragged groan, spilling deep inside Bullseye.
For a moment, the only sounds are their harsh breathing and the distant hum of the city.
Then Daredevil pulls out with a rough shove, staggering back a step.
"...Goddamn it." His voice is hollow.
The aphrodisiac hasn’t worn out yet.
Daredevil’s fingers twist in Bullseye’s sweat-drenched hair, hauling him upright with a sharp jerk—forcing him onto his knees before he can even catch his breath.
"Not done with you yet," he pants, voice thick with lingering heat, his cock still hard and flushed against Bullseye’s bruised lips.
The aphrodisiac still pulses through his veins, relentless, maddening—and now that he’s had a taste, the hunger is worse.
"Open." He doesn’t wait for compliance.
His free hand grips the base of his cock, slapping it against Bullseye’s cheek once—twice—before shoving past his lips with a rough thrust, fucking into his mouth with the same brutal rhythm he’d used on his ass.
"Suck," he commands, hips jerking forward, forcing himself deeper.
He’s drowning in it—the heat, the shame, the way Bullseye’s throat flutters around him.
it feels good in the most sinful way.
Bullseye’s on his knees, the ripped part of his suit’s pants exposing his fucked ass, cum dripping down to the wet concrete of the rooftop.
His eyes dazed as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked in rhythm with daredevil’s thrusts, trying his best to breathe through his broken nose and not choke on the big cock in his mouth.
Daredevil feels every ragged breath Bullseye struggles to take around his cock, the way his lips stretch obscenely, the wet heat of his throat fluttering with each brutal thrust.
"Look at you," he grits out, fingers tightening in Bullseye's hair to the point of pain. "Taking it so well now—after all that goddamn talk."
His hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt, forcing Bullseye's bloody nose flush against his pubic as he holds him there—just for a moment—letting him feel it, the way his cock pulses against the back of his throat.
Then he pulls back, only to slam in again, setting a punishing pace.
"You like this," he accuses, voice rough with disgust. "Being used. Being nothing."
Bullseye's knees scrape against the concrete, his body limp between Daredevil's thighs—except for the way his tongue curls instinctively around his cock, the way his throat works around every thrust.
It's disgusting
It's perfect.
Daredevil's breath hitches, his release coiling tight in his gut—
And then he yanks Bullseye off with a wet pop, stroking himself roughly as he spills across his bruised face. “Pathetic."
Bullseye coughs frantically,panting and catching his breath as the blood from his nose mixes with the dripping drool from his mouth, cum covering his face in stripes.
Daredevil doesn’t let Bullseye recover—can’t let him. The aphrodisiac still burns through him, twisting his thoughts into something primal.
He shoves Bullseye onto his back, pinning him flat against the rain-slick concrete before swinging a leg over him, settling his weight directly onto his chest—crushing him just enough to make his breath hitch.
His cock, still hard and glistening with spit, drags slowly over Bullseye’s bruised lips.
"You don’t get to tap out yet.”
His thumb presses against Bullseye’s bottom lip, forcing his mouth open wider before he slides back in with a slow, filthy roll of his hips. "Suck."
And when Bullseye hesitates—Daredevil grinds down harder, his ass pressing against Bullseye’s collarbones, his cock throbbing against his tongue.
Bullseye could do nothing with his hands tied, his face trapped between daredevil’s thighs with this cock in his mouth, so he did what he’s told and started swirling his tongue around the head of the cock inside his mouth, licking the slit of the tip inside his mouth and swallowing the precum to not choke, then hollowed his cheeks and sucked too hard on the tip.
The rain drums harder, as if the sky itself is trying to drown out what's happening on the rooftop.
Bullseye’s tongue swirls over the head of his cock with desperate precision, wet and warm even as blood from his nose smears against Daredevil’s inner thigh. That whimper around him—broken, submissive—and then that goddamn suction, so tight it pulls a ragged groan from deep in his chest.
He rocks forward slightly, letting Bullseye take more, letting him drown on just the tip before pulling back again to tease himself across those swollen lips.
"There we go…" His voice drops low—a rough purr laced with venom and something far more dangerous: approval. "That’s it… suck like you want it. Like you’re starving for it."
He grinds down into Bullseye’s face—not giving him space to breathe fully. The irony isn’t lost on him.
This man—who once shot at people for fun—is now reduced to nothing but a breathing hole beneath him.
A tool. A toy, And yet…
His cock twitches in Bullseye’s mouth when he swallows another thick bead of precum like an offering—like he wants this degradation. Like he was made for it.
Daredevil leans back slightly, lifting just enough weight off Bullseye's chest so he can hear each frantic breath sucked through flared nostrils between sucks—but no mercy beyond that.
Only sin piled on top of sin until neither knows where one ends and the other begins...
Daredevil growls low, his thighs flexing as he suddenly thrusts deep all the way, his cock dragging across Bullseye’s throat before pulling back with a sharp, wet pop.
He lets it slide out completely, glistening and thick with spit and precum, then slaps it against Bullseye’s ruined face—once on the cheek, then across his lips—as rainwater drips from the tip onto his nose.
“Look at you," he murmurs— cruel amusement laced under every word. "Drooling for me like a good little slut."
His hips roll forward again—not into his mouth this time—but against Bullseye’s face: dragging along his jawline and over his bloody lip before grazing up toward one eye. He grinds there just long enough to smear pre-cum across closed eyelids.
Then pulls back. Another slow stroke of wet cock over trembling skin—
and suddenly he's driving in again hard and deep down Ballseye's throat without warning while squeezing both thighs around him like a vice locking him in place between them
One hand claws into his hair while the other grips his own thigh tight to keep pressure high making each movement feel crushing suffocating yet maddeningly intimate.
And still…
He hasn't had enough. Because somewhere beneath rage, his control power turned into nothing but lust
It isn’t about domination anymore
It's about needing someone to hold what parts of himself Matt Murdock can’t bear alone anymore
Even if it means defiling another man upon cold rooftop soaked by sky weeping above them both...
Bullseye’s right eye stays close due to the precum from daredevil’s cock. unable to move his head trapped between muscular thighs as the cock is being fed down his throat, his chest crushing with daredevil’s weight on him.
the oxygen feels limited for a while and he can feel himself growing harder in his own soaked pants again, while being gagged and choked on the cock his eyes roll back, his hips buck into nothing, begging for friction even as he chokes.
Daredevil senses the way Bullseye's body jerks beneath him, his desperate, muffled gag vibrating around his cock as he forces himself deeper. "Disgusting," Daredevil snarls—but his voice cracks, betraying him. His own hips stutter forward, unable to resist grinding down against Bullseye's face, using him, fucking into that tight, wet heat like he’s trying to carve himself a place inside.
He yanks Bullseye’s head back by the hair just enough to expose the way his eyes roll, unfocused, his lips stretched obscenely around his cock.
"You’re hard again?" A cruel mockery, breathless. "Of course you are. Because you’re nothing without this—without me ruining you." He started palming bullseye’s erect cock through his soaked pants roughly.
He slams back in, deeper, harder, until Bullseye’s throat convulses around him—
And then he comes with a ragged groan, spilling down his throat in hot, pulsing waves, forcing him to swallow every last drop.
When he finally pulls out, it’s with a wet, filthy sound—Bullseye’s breath coming in ragged, broken gasps, his face streaked with cum and spit and blood.
Daredevil stares down at him, his own chest heaving.
"...Goddamn you." He doesn’t know who he’s cursing more.
Bullseye comes undone, untouched again in his half torn pants just from sucking Matt’s cock. Once daredevil pulled out, the rest of the cum he couldn't swallow came in wet coughs, some spilling from his nostrils, his lips, dripping down his chin in thick, shameful streaks
Daredevil hears the wet, ragged gasp as Bullseye chokes, feels the tremor of his climax shuddering through him even without touch—pathetic and desperate and ruined.
The sight—no, the sensation of it—sends a twisted, sick thrill curling through Daredevil’s gut.
“Christ,"he breathes, voice ragged.
He should be disgusted.
He is disgusted.
So why does his cock twitch again at the mess he’s made?
Bullseye lies there, chest heaving, wrecked beyond words—eyes glazed, lips parted, body still twitching with aftershocks.
Daredevil drags a thumb through the mess on his face, smearing it further before pressing it against Bullseye’s tongue.
"Clean it up," he orders—but his voice lacks its earlier venom.
Bullseye manages a broken smirk before suckling on daredevil’s thumb obscenely, almost mockingly.
Daredevil stands over him—that damnable smirk, the way he sucks the cum-streaked thumb without a protest.
It should be repulsive—this man who killed others to get his attention, who'd just been humiliated on a rooftop, now sucking his thumb and looking damn pleased about it.
And yet, something in Daredevil's stomach churns at the sight.
Daredevil’s hands clamp around Bullseye’s ankles, forcing his legs together with brutal efficiency. His thighs are slick with rain and sweat—perfect for what comes next.
"You don’t get to look smug,"he snarls, lining up his cock between Bullseye’s clamped thighs before driving forward in one rough thrust.
The friction is maddening—hot, tight, almost like the real thing, and Daredevil groans through his teeth, hips snapping forward again, fucking the space between Bullseye’s legs like he owns it.
“This all you’re good for?" he taunts. "A warm hole to fuck—any time—because you’re *that* fucking desperate?"
Each snap of his hips grinds Bullseye’s own neglected cock against his stomach, the fabric of his ruined pants soaked through with precum.
Daredevil leans down, bracing a forearm beside Bullseye’s head, his breath ragged.
Bullseye’s breath hitches. “Fuck—” he moaned out loud, maybe because of the friction, or words, or overstimulation, he doesn’t know anymore.
Daredevil’s hand wraps around Bullseye’s neck, fingers pressing against his windpipe.
Not hard enough to cut off air, but enough to make every breath a struggle. "Shut your mouth." His voice drops. "I said shut it."
He doesn't want to hear Bullseye's voice.
He doesn't want to hear his moans.
He doesn't want to hear him cry out to him.
Bullseye’s legs tremble—whether from exhaustion or pleasure, Daredevil doesn’t care. He just uses him, his rhythm turning brutal, hips pistoning like he’s trying to fuck the fight right out of him.
"You love being reduced to this—just a toy, a thing—," he accuses, voice dripping with contempt—even as his own body betrays him, his cock pulsing, begging for release.
His thrusts stutter, his control fraying at the edges—
And then he’s coming with a ragged snarl, spilling hot and thick between Bullseye’s thighs, marking him again in the most degrading way possible.
Panting, he pulls back, staring down at the wreck beneath him—bruised, used, filthy.
"...Pathetic."
He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.
The rain falls.
Silence stretches between them—heavy.
The heat in Daredevil’s veins evaporates all at once—leaving behind something far worse.
Guilt.
Cold, suffocating, Catholic guilt.
He staggers back off Bullseye like he’s been burned, his chest heaving, his hands shaking. The rain pelts down harder now, washing away sweat and sin in equal measure.
Bullseye stays sprawled on the rooftop, ruined and panting—but that smirk never leaves his lips.
"Hell of a confession you’re gonna have, Matty."
Daredevil doesn’t answer.He doesn’t look back.
He can’t.
He turns and leaps off the rooftop without another word, vanishing into the storm.
One week later. Matt unlocks his apartment door, exhausted from a week of sleepless penance, and steps inside—
—only to freeze.
A heartbeat.
A familiar scent.
And then—
"Missed me?"
Bullseye lounges on his couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table, grinning like the devil himself.
He came back for more.