daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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"You are stupid, stupid man," Vladimir hissed, gargling blood like salt water as they stood together in the middle of a staggered swirl of bodies. His fists were bloody and he was unsteady on his feet, but he still had it in him to keep them upright. Taking the bulk of the Russian's weight as the man's heartbeat fluttered – an alarming hush-hush-hush in place of the usual bold throb.

"I knew you'd come back," the man murmured, spitting up a viscous mouthful of blood and phlegm as he faded into his hold. Barely conscious, but still just as stubborn. Apparently determined to get the last word as the gun slipped between his fingers. Clattering through the access tunnels as the echoes spread like plague.

He winced in growing sympathy as the man's head drooped, brushing across the span of his shoulder once, twice, then again before the Russian forced it up with a moan. The antithesis of going quietly as his fingers counted at least one new bullet hole. Damnit. He let his hand fall across the man curve of the man's cheek, dipping down to flirt with his pulse as his senses painted the picture for him.

Vladimir was a mess. Like a horror-story reject or a forgotten solider from an equally forgotten war. He been caught in an explosion, beat to hell, shot, fallen through two floors, then been shot again. He'd died twice and was still walking the line between the two like the world's thinnest tightrope. The Russian probably wouldn't last the night if he didn't get him somewhere safe and convince Claire to parlay with her own version of Judge, Jury, and Executioner. He didn't know how he was going to ask her. How he could ask her. Not after everything she'd been through – everything Vladimir and his people had put her through.

And yet-

His fingers traced across the man's face, ignoring the Russian's vague protestations and the weak hand that tried to slap him away. Grumbling without any real heat as he took stock. The scar he'd felt earlier was even more interesting gliding under his tips than it was smashed up against his fist. It spanned almost the entire side of the Russian's face, barely missing his eye. It had never been stitched, instead it had been left to heal on its own. Going puckered, pitted and smooth where the skin hadn't been able to knit naturally. The rest of him was a mess of conflictingly bold features. A prominent forehead. Stubble-strewn cheeks. A nose that had been broken more than once. A jutting chin and lips that-that spoke of oh Christ- bloodlust, full and warm against his skin.

All in all, from what he could tell Vladimir was a slick, attractive, crusted mess of blood and bruises, swaying in place. Looking around them, blinking as the thready scent of weakness started rolling off the Russian in waves. Causing the broad swell of his back to settle against his chest like a key fitting into a lock.

His heart's mate.

His one.

His soul-bonded.

No!

The realization was like trying to trap air. Threatening to punch the breath clear out of him as he scrambled for something to say. Something smart. Something disarming. Something that could fill the sudden, gaping hole that yawned in front of him like judgement – divine or otherwise.

He made the mistake of breathing hard and inhaled the bitter tang of blood and sweat. Vladimir. Under that, as if to stay true to character, the man was a riot of scent and memory. Pores thick with the slow poison of stale nicotine and expensive Vodka. But that wasn't all. There was more. Deeper. Black pepper and worn leather – butter-soft and fading. Burnt sage. Honey. Crushed dogwood and the ghostly markers of his brother's fading cologne. That was all there was. They were surrounded by half a dozen dead men and all he could smell was him.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

This had to be some sort of mistake.

But it wasn't.

This wasn't what he'd thought.

What exactly were you expecting, Matty?

The man said it himself in the tunnels.

The moment you put on that mask, you got into the same cage.

And what, you really thought you wouldn't get bit?

This wasn't how he'd thought it would happen.

But it did and there's nothing you can do about it.

It wasn't right. Fair. It wasn't-

Vladimir gurgled out a laugh, catching him off guard when the man's hand shot up and caught him by the chin. He jerked back, on edge, only to get a cuff on the ear for it before Vladimir got him where he wanted. Saying nothing, hell- hardly daring to breathe as the Russian's thumb passed back and forth in an off-centre caress. Grip surprisingly strong for a man who was about a minute away from passing out completely.

"True then," the Russian mused, tightening his grip as the man's bloody fingers slicked across his skin. Bringing them almost cheek to cheek, smearing red through his stubble as every muscle in the man's body went lax in his hold. "You must be mine, hmm? …Ach! Chto ya ne zasluzhil etogo?"

For one terrible, desperate second he thought the man was going to kiss him.

Instead, Vladimir chose that exact moment to pass out completely. Hand falling limp at his side, caught in the cradle between his right thigh and the mobster's stomach. Leaving him in the middle the tunnel, surrounded by bodies with a half dead Russian wilted in his arms and the realization that out of all the unfair things in his life, this was probably the worst.

"..On the battlefield the tanks were rumbling. While the soldiers went to the last battle."

"...And we carried a young captain. With a hole in his head…"

He was halfway down the tunnel when he heard it. The beginning strains of a scratchy unsteady song. For a long, breathless beat his feet kept going, body on autopilot. Then he was running back as fast as his aching limbs could carry him. Lips moving soundlessly in time with the verses he knew by heart as the first peals of gunfire echoed down the tunnel like the tolling of a bell – final and tepid in the murky city air.

Stick taught him a lot about himself, about the world. How to fight. How to focus his gifts. How to win when he was outnumbered. How to survive in a world meant for those who could see. Hell, he'd even taught him the taste of disappointment and betrayal when it had curled across his tongue the day the man left.

He never had learned the blade.

Never tried to now that he thought about it.

But one thing Stick taught him by accident was that there was so much more to it than just the marks. The marks were just the part you could see. Having a bonded, a soulmate was something that made a mark under your skin just as much as it did over it.

The world Stick taught him how to access was vast and barely tangible. Where the first rule of thumb was that he knew shit and always would. And as long as he remembered that he wouldn't live in disappointment. Stick had hated that. Hated his mark. He'd never asked about it. Just drilled the mantra of weakness and emotional decay into him again and again. Telling him he was better off if his one never found him. That he might as well sign his soulmate's death warrant right here and now if he thought he could exist in both worlds. His Father's and Stick's.

He'd set his chin in defiance at that. Blurting out that his soulmate would fight with him. That they could work together. They were meant to be together, weren't they? So they would understand, they had to!? They would be strong. Just like him. But Stick had just laughed and slapped him across the chest with his cane so hard his chest ached for weeks. Reminding him, every time he breathed of his mentor's derision. And the sneering lilt that entered his voice anytime the man caught him tracing the words on his arm he could no longer see.

His father had taken him to a man once, before the accident. A man with a big beard, kind eyes and a rolling bear-like laugh that frightened him the first time he heard it. But like all things that seem to be the opposite than they appear, he'd pulled his father into a burly hug and leaned down to greet him. Massive paw ruffling through his hair as he led him into the kitchen for his wife – a lovely woman who plied him with a towering bowl of Pelmeni – to dote on. Soaking up her lilting songs as she hummed happily, apron flapping around her like the leading swirl of an expensive dress as the man and his father clinked beer bottles and talked excitedly about an upcoming match.

But the big man had sobered almost instantly when he'd seen it. Eyes misting – watery around the edges like he noticed his Dad's did sometimes when he was stitching him up after a fight. He rolled up the rest of his sleeve, nodding as he silently read each line. It wasn't until he'd written out the translation on a piece of paper that he spoke it aloud. First in Russian. Then in English. But it was the Russian words that made him shiver, like he was suddenly too small for his own skin as each syllable met open air. Electric with the knowledge that someday his one would sing the same lines. And that somehow, they would be the most important words they'd ever say to him.

It was only after a long silence that the man told him what it meant. Told him about the song his father used to sing many years ago. About a tank crew, still loyal to their fallen Captain as they carried his body home through the vast winter wastes. None of them with hair enough on their chins to be called men, but men forged through deed and valor nonetheless.

He left more confused then he'd been when they'd arrived. He thought that once he found out what his mark said, everything would make sense. Instead, he had more questions than answers. He knew his dad was frustrated too, judging by how much scotch was left in the bottle in the morning. They didn't talk much about it after that. There wasn't any point. The cards had already been played. It was up to fate to decide how they fell.

Then the accident happened.

And the sight of that stark, clumsy script was lost to him forever.

He was out of options and running on empty when he made the decision to drag the Russian back to his apartment. It was a bad idea with even worse connotations behind it, but he did it anyway. He lied to get Claire to come and showed her his arm to get her to stay. Hearing the angry betrayal in her voice simmer down to brimming resentment when he explained. When he told her what had happened in the tunnels. Knowing how it sounded. How it must have looked as his sightless eyes blinked away an unexpected sheen. Realizing that regardless of what Vladimir had done, regardless of who he was – he'd almost lost him.

His soulmate.

It was a very strange feeling. Caring for someone who was literally a blight on the city he risked his life to protect. Connecting with someone who had – apparently – known what they were to each other and chose to walk headfirst into a firefight he knew he couldn't win just to give him time to escape. He tried not to think about it. But repression only got you so far when said asshole was a slumped dead weight on his couch and whose scent had already started to smell like home.

Vladimir slept for almost a week straight, pissing into a bedpan and attached to what felt like – when he had a moment to untangle the drips – at least three different IVs. IVs that Claire replaced every day before and after her shift. Making angry noises whenever she checked the unconscious man's dressings or forced him to blink himself awake long enough to jam some food down his throat and check his vitals. Serenely ignoring the odd string of belligerent Russian that made its way through the haze of drugs and exhaustion as she poked and prodded him around. Muttering about stubborn assholes and people that didn't know how to quit before they were dead – but eventually sounding less scathing about it by the day

A week ago that probably would have worried him. Nowadays he had no idea what he was feeling. What he should be feeling. All he knew was that sometimes Vladimir would blink himself awake and just stare at him. Crooked fingers fanning out into open air until he gave in and held them in his own. Soothed soul deep by the light slur of Russian that would inevitably leave the man's lips. Gripping him fiercely, like by sheer will alone the man could make him stay. Demanding his attention with childish juts of his chin until the siren call of sleep called him back, and he was lolling on the lumpy pillows. A small, uncertain smile tugging at the corner of his lips every time he got up the courage to trace it with his fingers.

Some people would say that was reason enough to accept the status quo.

But then again, most people's soulmates weren't Vladimir Ranskahov.

______________

Reference:
• “Chto ya ne zasluzhil etogo?” – “What have I done to deserve this?”
• English translation of a Russian song from World War 2, which was what Vladimir was singing when he started down the tunnel towards Fisk’s men as Matt escaped before the gunfire started.
• Pelmeni is a mainly Russian dish usually made with minced meat filling, wrapped in thin dough (made out of flour and eggs, sometimes with milk or water added). For filling, pork, lamb, beef, or any other kind of meat can be used; mixing several kinds is popular. Traditionally, various spices, such as pepper, onions, and garlic, are mixed into the filling.

I am SCREAMING this is amazing oh my god Matt is like a wild animal and Owen has to carefully approach to make sure Matt won't attack and kill him oh my fucking god

Not the OP, but I'm nearly crying with laughter. Please, somebody write this!

Duly noting your clever and totally intentional AU elements. Really though, I'm more interested in the character analysis than the time-line stuff. So this is great. I would argue that given the context, Matt and Fisk are both totally in character. I am enjoying your fluff immensely.

Fisk's plan to frame The Man in the Mask works and Matt gets arrested on the night of the explosions. Foggy - who doesn't know Matt in this AU - is assigned as his lawyer. (For this scenario to work I kind of imagine Matt to be too poor to afford a lawyer, thus Foggy being assigned to him, so perhaps Matt's a law-school dropout in this story).

Foggy really hates him at first, because he honestly believes that he shot those cops and tried to blow up the city. But he's a professional, damn it! And this is the kind of case he needs to get used to, being a defence attorney.

Eventually he gets to know Matt and becomes his friend, kind of, and does his best to keep Matt from losing hope while they await trial. It's really difficult though, because Matt's always got a new cut or bruise on his face every time they have a meeting.

+ Bonus points if Matt still manages to bring down Fisk with Foggy's help, by relaying the right information to the right people who ask the right questions.

By screen reader do you mean Braille display?

author anon: *facepalm* yep. will fix when finished and added to ao3, thank you for catching that.

Like so many others inspiration struck when I misread an earlier prompt. What are they teaming up for? No idea. Maybe the avengers need a lawyer from outside Stark Industries, maybe Foggy needs help saving Matt from some baddies, or maybe someone needs help eating all this pizza. Whatever tickles your fancy.

Foggy/Everyone is an acceptable pairing in my book.

Foggy gets into trouble one night and of course Daredevil shows up to save him. But Matt gets a little overzealous and Foggy has to pull him back, maybe he yells at Matt to stop being so brutal or not to actually kill them and come on we are going home and of course Matt listens without question so they head back to Foggy's place for stitches and talking it all through and don't think too much of the beat up criminals on the ground.

But soon word gets around: Foggy Nelson controls Daredevil.

Cue the criminals of Hell's Kitchen being terrified of Foggy, trying to make protection deals and offering to do all kinds of favours for him (that guy giving you trouble? say the word and he's gone, you need something illegal, anything you want) if only he'll put in a good word or keep them safe from the Devil.

+1 for seriously confused Foggy and highly amused Matt

Brett and Foggy get drunk one night and jokingly start roleplaying as a dirty cop and a dirty lawyer, where Foggy "bribes" Brett with sex. Then it becomes an ongoing thing where they get SUPER into it and start roleplaying as people whose relationship is built on blackmail, coercion, and sex as a bribe.

+ For increasingly complex scenarios. "Corrupt" Foggy gives as good as he gets.

++ Matt hears something at the WRONG time.

foggy...honestly, open mouth - insert foot. *le sigh*

*cracks up* Hell to the YES this

*cracks up* LOVE this prompt!

This is absolutely genius - I hope somebody fills this!

He has an ongoing feud with an elderly lady who prefers crochet down the block.

OH MAN YES.

There was a prompt a while back (https://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=439509#cmt439509) that I'm working on filling, but until then, +1000.

Oh man, this is super cute. I am so here for any and all matt and foggy get married prompts.

Ooooh *rubs hands together* Yes, please!

I haven't forgotten about this! Here's a few paragraphs, edited a little to keep spoilers at bay.
-

"Foggy isn't my anything, now will you get that -- fucking thing out of my face!" Murdoch seized the end of the cane with both hands and wrenched it out of House's grasp. With a frustrated yell he sent it flying across the room. It bounced off the window and clattered noisily behind the fold out couch. Gasping, he fell back on his pillows, clutching at his heart while the monitor beeped a warning.

House snorted and parked his ass on the edge of the bed. "You know, if I were in your position -- what with the seizures and whatnot -- I wouldn't overreact like that to easy questions."

Murdoch breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Trying to force his heart-rate back down -- good luck with that, pretty boy. House noted the violent tremble in his left hand -- the one with the isolated ulnar fracture, the one with the forearm brace and Murdoch was right-handed but you lead with your weak hand Greg so you can switch later and take 'em by surprise, come on now hit me!

House shook it off. He didn't need his father instructing him about the ins and outs of fighting. "It's a simple question," he repeated. The monitor kept beeping; he had maybe sixty seconds before Murdoch slid into full-blown tachycardia. "And if you want to walk out out of here under your own power then tell me the truth. I'd think even a blind guy could see why."

Murdoch bared his teeth in a snarl. "My relationships have nothing to do with why I'm in a hospital bed, Doctor."

Honesty was too much to hope for, House thought wearily. Ah, well.

Petition for the title to be "Sometimes a Cigar is Just a Cigar."

D!A from the one who said they might fill. Hope they still do and I hope you enjoy this little thing :D

“C’mon, Magoo,” Spiderman begins and Matt is not having it.

They’re on the roof of an apartment building two blocks away from the office. They should be fighting crime, they’re dressed up for the part, but instead Matt is standing there listening to Spiderman go on about his love life, or lack thereof.

“Just hear me out,” Spiderman tries again and Matt turns to face the opposite way.

He hears the sound of fabric against brick – he imagines Spiderman just sat down on the edge of the roof. Then comes a soft thumpthumpthump and while Matt knows Spiderman is young he doesn’t think he’s young enough to be swinging his feet together like a five year old.

“I don’t need any advice,” Matt growls and cross his arms.

“Sure about that, Mr. Stick-in-the-bum?”

Matt groans. Great. Deadpool has joined them.

“Hey, D,” Spiderman calls cheerfully before laughing like a schoolgirl. Deadpool is probably posing behind Matt. He feels air shifting around his head so Deadpool is probably doing bunny ears to him.

“Stop that,” Matt mutters.

“Aw, baby sad he has no one to love?” Deadpool croons as he swings in front of Matt, lips puckered into air kisses.

Matt has had enough. He shoves Deadpool away then parkours away to different rooftops.

“Hey! I need to give you my friends’ number!” Spiderman calls after him but Matt ignores it.

“Asshole,” he hears Deadpool say. “C’mon, Spidey, let’s go find us some strippers.”

Spiderman squeaks and Matt bets he’s not old enough to get in to a strip club.

~

The next time Matt encounters Spiderman it’s a month after the last and he’s fighting Doctor Octopus.

“Why,” Matt says between blocking punches from Doctor Octopus’ cronies and dealing out his own. “Can’t. He. Stay. Locked. Up?”

“Overcrowding!” Spiderman calls from some lamp post.

Together, they manage to wrangle the situation into something the police can handle, before disappearing to a nearby rooftop.

“Okay, seriously,” Spiderman says as he leans over the edge, peering down at the people on the sidewalk. “Just one date. This guy is awesome, seriously.”

Matt frowns.

“Who says I want to date?”

Spiderman flips around so he’s leaning against the edge, arms and feet crossed.

“Well, I’m just glad you didn’t object to it being a guy. Otherwise, I’d have to kick your ass.”

Matt laughs.

“You’d lose.”

Spiderman shrugs.

“Either way – I think he’d be good for you.”

Matt stays silent, listens to the world around him. The woman in the apartment just below them is watching Sex in the City. A cabbie down in the street is having an argument with his son. There’s a pigeon nest one roof over.

“Fine,” Matt gives in and Spiderman immediately throws his arms around Matt’s upper body.

“You won’t regret it.”

“But you will if you don’t let go of me. Now.” Matt says tersely and Spiderman lets go.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters and swings his arms around. “Okay, you know The Jolly Goat Coffee Bar?”

Matt nods in acknowledgment – it’s Foggy’s favourite coffee place.

“Great, be there tomorrow for 5:30, alright?”

Another nod. Spiderman’s foot is jiggling and then stills.

“Oh, crap, I need to go pick up some milk.”

Spiderman pushes himself on to the ledge of the roof, crouching.

“Don’t forget – Jolly Goat, 5:30.” He’s waiting for Matt to do something. Spiderman huffs. “Repeat after me…”

“Oh,” Matt catches on. “Jolly Goat, 5:30. I’ll be there.”

There’s the slick of Spiderman’s web Matt has become familiar with in the past few months. He hears muscle and tendons constricting then elongating as Spiderman jumps off the roof and swings off into the night.

~

The following day is fairly normal. Wake up, coffee, chitchat with Karen and Foggy, feel up mountains of paperwork, drink coffee for lunch, listen to Laura (his text to speech reader) narrate corporate emails from their latest case, more coffee.

“I’m out, buddy,” Foggy calls into Matt’s office as he walks through the foyer towards the front door. Matt waves but by the sound of the door closing Foggy doesn’t see.

“Plans tonight?” Karen asks as she leans up against the doorway to Matt’s office.

Matt pulls the ear bud out and stretches back into his chair.

“Nope, just – Oh shit!” He shouts as he feels his watch. 5:15. He has just enough time to make it to the shop.

“Just remembered some?” Karen amusedly asks, watching as Matt scrambles around his office, trying to grab five things at once and keep his glasses from sliding down his nose.

“Yeah, I’m going to be late.” He grabs his jacket and cane. “Have a great night!”

Matt rushes past Karen, out the office, and down the stairs, jumping the last few. He gets to The Jolly Goat with two minutes to spare. He takes the time to regulate his breathing, smooth down his hair, and pull his jacket on to hopefully cover up the sweat stains forming at his armpits.

A bell tinkles above Matt’s head as he pushes the door open, the smells of coffee beans, vanilla, yeast, and so much more swirls around his head. It’s fairly busy in the tiny space – Matt can’t detect any open tables.

Panic sets in as he realizes he has no idea who he’s supposed to be meeting, how he’ll know it’s the right person, or if they will even show. He curses Spiderman to Jersey and back.

“Matt?” calls a familiar voice and Matt turns towards it.

“Foggy?” He pushes his way past a couple people to the stools on the left hand side where Foggy is sitting. “What are you doing here?”

“Blind date,” Foggy summarizes and Matt feels his stomach drop. His lungs constrict and he needs to lean onto the little counter.

“Did a man dressed in red and blue set this up for you?” The coffee shop is loud enough Matt doesn’t think anybody is paying attention to them but he doesn’t want to risk it.

He can’t see it but he knows Foggy is frowning at him, head tilting in a sort of puzzled way.

“Yeah, how did you-?” Foggy’s shoulders slump. “You’re here for the same reason, aren’t you?”

Matt laughs and nods.

“Of course he would accidentally set us up with each other.”

“Well,” Foggy says with a smile. “Coffee?”

Matt hums in happiness and greedily grabs Foggy’s mug off the counter.

“Hey! I meant get your own, Murdock, not steal mine.”

“But yours is right here,” Matt pouts before taking a sip. “And it’s so delicious.”

Despite all the noise around them, Matt doesn’t miss the stutter Foggy’s heart makes. So what if Matt is flirting? This is supposed to be a blind date, after all.

~

“So?” Spiderman questions, trying not to seem too excited on getting the details of Matt’s blind date.

Matt shrugs and focuses on the group of girls two blocks over. He catches snippets of them discussing a possible break in.

“-can’t leave me hanging here, Magoo.”

He catches the tail end of whatever Spiderman is saying but sometimes that’s all you need when talking to him.

“It was nice,” Matt relents. “Thanks for the set up.”

Matt pats on him on the shoulder then heads off to keep an eye on those girls.

“Wait,” Spiderman calls after him, stunned. “Seriously?!”

Just one correction: Matt's last name is Murdock with a k, not Murdoch with an h.

But anyway, I am so excited for this fic! This snippet is amazing and I love your House voice.

Super Soldier serum seems to get rid of body hair (bc Erskine's ideal man is a baby smooth twink?) as seen in the progression of Bucky's chest hair.

Tony has always manscaped. His pubes are the same shape as his beard goatee thing

Matt has so many possibilities. I figure electric clippers makes the most sense since they're fast and his perma-stubble seems like it's from the length guards that prevent him shaving off his nips/nose/whatever.
Or for the waxing route There might be an office spa day where he paints Foggy and Karen's nails, Foggy helps him wax, and Karen rubs that blue soothing stuff on him while Foggy braids her hair

Tl;dr: Matt and Steve are probably fine. Tony is fucked

Yes, this is a good prompt and you should feel good.

I really hope Melvin doesn't go full Gladiator mode next season. I like where this could go if he didn't (tho the whole Melvin / Betsy thing sounds all kinds of messy)

I need ten of those

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Page 134 of 209

Prompt Post #4

{Fill} The Dog Days will never be over (so suck it up and deal) - 1/3

Re: Matt/Owen or Matt & Owen, Jursassic W. Crossover, Daredevil's rehabilitation

Re: Daredevil/Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Re: Fisk/Matt weird fluff more?

Prison AU - Foggy is Matt's Lawyer

Re: Fill: Foggy is going blind, 2/?

Re: Fill: Foggy is going blind, 2/?

The Avengers Team Up with Foggy - Any/Gen

Gen, the Devil answers to Foggy Nelson

Brett/Foggy Corrupt Lawyer/Dirty Cop roleplay

Re: Matt's Dating Daredevil Part 5

Re: Gen, the Devil answers to Foggy Nelson

Re: The Avengers Team Up with Foggy - Any/Gen

Re: Gen, the Devil answers to Foggy Nelson

Re: Happy Ending for Wesley

Re: Doctor Matt AU

Re: Matt/Foggy, coming out and proposal

Re: Prison AU - Foggy is Matt's Lawyer

Re: Daredevil/House MD Crossover - Preview Thing

Re: Brett/Foggy Corrupt Lawyer/Dirty Cop roleplay

[MINI-FILL] First Date

Re: Daredevil/House MD Crossover - Preview Thing

Re: Keep your friends close...

Re: Matt and Melvin, friends

Re: Gen, if you say anything bad about Foggy Nelson, Matt Murdock will know