daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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Oooops sorry? XD

Oh, wow, thanks! It's cool that you decided to read despite everything and I'm super glad that you enjoyed the fic <3
(and how could you not be a sap with these two, just-- look at them, they inspire pure sappinness!)

He's hyperventilating now and he's sure it's loud enough to be heard across the entire cell block, but Matt can't concentrate on anything beyond the rushing in his ears and the sound of a single zipper being pulled down. Then a hand moves to grip Matt's jaw. It's unyielding, but not painful (yet).

"Don't... d-don't..."

"Relax."

Matt is really starting to hate that word.

He expects Fisk to drag him forward then, but nothing happens. He seems perfectly content to just sit there and watch Matt tremble at his feet as he runs the thumb of the hand holding Matt's jaw across his lower lip. It's strangely hypnotic, and as the minutes drag on and nothing continues to happen, the rushing in his head begins to quiet and all the noises of their cell block starts to filter back in. Matt feels himself start to settle.

And so it's with an eerie calmness that he obeys when the thumb caressing his lip moves into his mouth, and he begins to suck.

1) Do not go near (any) until they've had at least 1 cup of coffee.
2) Do not ask difficult questions or get permission for anything until after the second cup of coffee.
3) Some days are three cups of coffee days, bring pastry shaped peace offerings in case you have to break rule 2 before the third cup.

(Bonus if it's Father Lantom)

Im fine with either spin: Matt as the rich customer and Claire as the prostitute, or Matt as the rentboy and Claire as the rich one. I just really want a Pretty Woman au. *_*

Author!anon here - 8D Awesome, glad you liked it! Thank you! I am a HUGE sucker for Matt using Foggy's familiarity and heartbeat to ground himself when he's overwhelmed, and after reading too much angst earlier yesterday, I needed something super fluffy where everything was out in the open between them. ♥

He can do this. If Matt doesn't think too far ahead - to what this is leading up to - he can do this.

Fisk withdraws his thumb after what feels like forever and replaces it with his index and middle fingers, and Matt closes his lips around them. They're gliding slowly, in and out, across his tongue, and it feels (good) -- It's just like when (don't think about it) --

Matt concentrates on his breathing (and not on the wet sounds his mouth is making or the way he's begun to drool down his own chin). The hand holding him by the hair releases him, and Matt knows it's so Fisk can reach into his own boxers to pull his cock out. The smell of him is thick and overwhelming in Matt's nose when he inhales (it smells like his bed). He's stroking himself in time to the way Matt's head bobs up and down on his fingers. (Fisk's fingers aren't moving anymore; Matt is doing the work himself. When had that even happened?). His heartbeat is steady.

Matt feels his own cock twitch and hates himself for it.

24.

Foggy slips out of the party not long after that. He finds a moment when Kirsten is distracted with Jack falling asleep on her, and he leaves, almost runs to the lobby, checks out his coat and grabs a taxi home.

He undresses, puts on a bathrobe and sits down on the bed. He doesn't go to sleep, wouldn't be able to even if he tried.

God.

He gets up and goes to the balcony, leans against the railing — he was right, he can see Central Park from here — and watches the sun rise over New York.

Matt. He's not dead. He's healthy. He's working. He's fine. He's married, has a kid. He's--He's happy.

And Foggy is... not.

God.

When did that happen?

25.

"This is really awkward."

Foggy raises his head from over the newest contract that his intern managed to fuck up. Jesus, young lawyers these days, did they really go through law school without absorbing any knowledge? He and Matt weren't that hopelessly dumb at Landman and Zack, were they? Hopelessly idealistic, perhaps, but nowhere near this brainless. At this point Foggy was afraid of giving the interns anything more complicated to do than making copies and coffee.

Kirsten is standing in the doorway of his office, leaning against the doorframe. Foggy hasn't seen her since the day of the ball. Wendell cornered him at the office the next day and asked about him leaving so quickly, to which Foggy come up with an easy lie about a headache and not feeling well. Wendell let it go, still elated about the book deal and about pulling one over Derek Bishop, and then was gone two days after that, back in San Francisco.

Foggy leans back in his chair. He figured out a way to sit in it, but it's still not comfortable. "A bit," he admits. "I could try talking with your father about going back to San Fran, but I doubt he'd let me."

He doesn't want to go back to San Francisco anymore. He's thought about it. For the first time in years, he's actually thought about what he wants. And he wants to stay in New York. That's his home. He wants to stay, he wants to--he wants to try.

"I'm not talking about that, but true, that's a bit awkward too." Kirsten sighs and lifts her head up, looks to the office ceiling. "It's just... In the past four years I've dreamt about kicking you in the face a lot, and now I've met you and you seem to be--an actually nice person? Don't get me wrong, at times I still get the urge to kick you in the face, but then I think that perhaps you don't deserve it that much?"

"I, uh, I don't think I do?" Foggy says, unsure. He doesn't know what Kirsten is talking about. He has a feeling — a strong one, close to 99% — but he's not sure.

"Yeah, he said you didn't," Kirsten murmurs. "Which is part of the problem."

26.

He's not sure how he ended up by their old office.

It's been close to three months after the book launch ball. He's seen Matt around in court, sometimes with Kirsten, sometimes alone, a few times with that mysterious brunette accompanying him. They've never had the time to exchange more than a few words, always busy, always in a hurry.

Hi, hi, good too see you, sorry, I've gotta go, good luck with your case.

He managed to polish up the contract that his intern maimed — and the intern is gone, HR told him that they didn't see a possibility of continuing the internship given the guy's less than satisfactory performance — and it's been approved and signed, the writer was theirs for an exclusive three-book deal. It was a success. Wendell was ecstatic when he heard and told the whole team involved in this particular deal to take the following week off.

Foggy spent the first three days playing Mario Kart.

Most of his coworkers went away with their families, or made plans with their friends. Foggy--well, he didn't have friends in New York exactly. He had some passing acquaintances, but the person with whom he's had the longest conversations ever since he moved back almost half a year ago, was his porter.

On the fourth day, he stopped by his old apartment. There was a young couple living there now with eleven-month-old twins. They didn't know what happened to the stuff he left in the apartment when he left, the place was completely empty when they rented it. He's not surprised by that. Most of it his landlord has probably thrown away. Foggy tries to remember if there was anything even remotely valuable amongst that stuff. Cannot remember a single thing he owned.

He leaves the place, and the weather is beautiful, it's surprisingly warm for a spring day, so Foggy ends up just wandering around Hell's Kitchen aimlessly and only stops when his feet have carried him to their old office, all without his express permission.

The building looks the same as it did six years ago, only with more signs by the door. Foggy is tempted to go inside; the probability of Matt — and Karen, God, Karen — still being here, still working here, is low. They certainly moved offices, could afford to now, if the number of cases held by Matt and his mysterious brunette partner was any indication.

Yet still. He could go inside. He could knock at the door of whatever office was located in their old space now, introduce himself, tell the man or the woman at the door that he was merely passing by, but could help himself. This happened once to him, when he was a child; an elderly woman knocked on the door of his family's house and said that she used to live in here, years ago, that it was the very first flat she and her husband lived in.

He would sound like her. Yes, I'm terribly sorry, it's just I used to work here, years ago. This was the first office my friend and I had, and we were so happy, so sure that this was a partnership that would last forever. He would sound fond. Wistful. He wound sound like he regretted.

The corridor almost didn't change — almost, because Foggy notices that the door of the financial office was blocked from the inside, by what looked like a large piece of furniture. So the financial office was gone. Foggy turns the doorknob of their old office — a part of him expecting to find the door unlocked, they kept forgetting about locking it, there was nothing of value inside anyway — and the door won't budge. Closed, then. Closed, probably unused for years.

He lets out a small sigh. He doesn't know what he expected.

Somehow not this.

"Look who's decided to show his face here. I'm almost impressed by your lack of introspection and self-preservation instinct."

He turns around on his heel and stares. Designer pumps, long legs, pencil skirt, a shirt that is barely on the tasteful side of 'too tight', thick file under one arm, raised brows and a headful of brown hair falling onto shoulders in a soft wave. He stares some more.

Marci Stahl just smirks.

You are favorite.

i still want more tho.

Thank you so much! <3

The kid's name is Franklin!. I might have died a little.
This is so freaking good, heartbreakingly beautiful.
The both have move on. That final part wrecked me, they are not the friends they once were and i wonder if they ever gonna have the "thing" that made them great friends back.
Matt never saw what was of Foggy after the incident and Foggy hasnt been part of Matt's life in years and man, what was of karen? and im afraid i know the answer but i dont want to think about it till i read it.

I NEED THIS! PREFERABLY YESTERDAY

Foggy saw the Devil again a few days later, which was unexpected but nice.

Unfortunately, it was in his own living room, which was also unexpected, but not so nice.

“Cheese and crackers,” Foggy yelped when he flicked on the light after staying at the office late to find the Devil perched on his couch, drinking his beer. “Why are you - when did you - is that my Carlsberg?”

The Devil held up a finger to pause him while he took another sip. “Curiosity, about twenty minutes ago, and yes. I’ll bring the drinks next time,” he replied with a smirk - a different one, not as violent, not as wild, and huh, it was making Foggy think of something, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

Either way, it was nice.

“Lights off,” the Devil requested firmly, obviously expecting to be obeyed, and Foggy sighed. Maybe not so nice.

Still, he fancied himself to be an accommodating fellow, so he obligingly turned off the lights. He’d lived with Matt’s neuroticism through law school, so he could deal with the Devil’s little quirks, too. “You know, you broke our conditions first by stalking me down,” he pointed out as he carefully navigated his way toward his room to hang up his suit and change. “I’m entirely within my rights to just keep all the lights on in my own home and yank that stupid mask off your face.”

The Devil flinched.

“But I’m not going to,” Foggy continued, “because I actually keep my word. And because your safety is more important than my irritation and discomfort.”

“Much appreciated,” the Devil said simply.

“You’re still an asshole,” Foggy replied. “No patrol tonight?”

“City’s quiet,” the Devil confirmed. “Nothing the cops can’t handle. So how are things with Matt?”

Foggy flinched.

“That bad, huh?”

“Did you seriously follow me home to ask about my love life?”

“No, I beat you home to ask you about your lack of love life,” the Devil drawled.

Foggy popped his head out of his bedroom doorway to squint at him suspiciously. “Are you stalking me?”

The Devil chuckled. “Stalking is kind of my job.”

“Stalking criminals, and unless somebody is paying you to do it, it’s really not your job.” Foggy paused. “Wait, is someone -”

“No,” the Devil cut him off. “Nobody is paying me anything. This is all on me. Are you actually creeped out?”

“Am I creeped out?” Finishing hanging up his suit, Foggy stormed out in an a-shirt and sweatpants. “I get home from work to find my sort-of-ex sitting on my couch, drinking my beer, and asking about my nonexistent love life when I never gave him my name or my address or a key? And you’re asking me if I’m creeped out? What do you fucking think?”

The Devil looked as abashed as a pair of lips and a stubbly chin could, and - weird. There was that déjà vu again. Maybe he should have brought him home sooner.

Oh, wait, no. He’d never brought him home in the first place.

“You already knew I knew your name and address.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Sorry,” the Devil apologised, actually sounding chagrined. “You just took everything else that was happening so well, I thought… no. I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t touch anything but the beer.”

“And my refrigerator door, my couch, and my however-the-hell-you-got-in.”

Dipping his head in acknowledgment, the Devil cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he apologised again, and now it was just getting weird. “I just… needed to know how you were doing.” His voice had gone briefly less raspy for a moment, but he was back in full-on Batman mode again.

Foggy made a frustrated noise, turned, and stalked over to the kitchen to grab himself a drink. “Okay. Is this because I broke it off?”

“No!”

“So you’ve been breaking our rules from the beginning!”

“… Not exactly.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I sort of… already knew who you were? Before the first time?”

Foggy turned and stared at him.

The Devil rolled his bottle back and forth between his hands. Nervously? Huh. “I’d seen you around. You help people, and some of your cases were at least peripherally related to what I do. It wasn’t… meant to be anything weird. I didn’t expect the rest of this to happen at all.”

“Asshole,” Foggy repeated emphatically, yanking off his beer cap and flinging it at the man occupying his living room.

And then he had the audacity to catch it instead of getting gratifyingly hit. Foggy never got nice things.

“Fine. Okay. So if it’s not about the break-up, why are you now stalking me?”

Tilting his head, the Devil toyed with the cap in one hand while swinging the bottle back and forth in the other. Fidgeting. “I’m not. Not more than usual, anyway,” he admitted.

“That. That does not. Actually. Uh. Help.”

The Devil winced. “I realized that after I said it. You’re right, it does sound creepy.”

“You think?” Foggy deadpanned.

Sighing, the Devil dropped back on the couch and covered his stupidly masked face with one stupidly gloved hand. “Look, I - I don’t know how to do this. I just wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay. Bug you about Matt, tease you a little. Clearly, I am failing monumentally at that and making everything worse, so I should just go -”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Foggy cut him off. “Sit your ass back down before I throw something bigger than a bottle cap at you.” He was tempted to go over and smack the idiot for being so messed up, but he also wanted to keep half a room between them.

He also felt a bit bad for him. Just a little.

“I would just catch it,” the Devil reminded, although there was a flicker of amusement back in his tone.

“You could at least give me the satisfaction of getting hit,” Foggy snorted. “... Unless you’re injured somewhere. In which case, please do not give me the satisfaction of getting hit.”

The Devil smiled slowly, and this time, the niggling sense of familiarity was stronger. In fact, it kind of looked like - no, that was ridiculous. Apparently, Foggy just had a type. “Still a good person.”

“Stop charming me,” Foggy ordered, shoving aside thoughts of tall, lean, dark-haired men with dangerously adorable smiles.

“Stop being charmed.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Logically fallacy. I’m here, so at the most I’m improbable,” the Devil corrected with the smug tone that alternately made Foggy want to punch him and kiss him. Standing abruptly, he put his bottle down. “Gotta go. Thanks for the drink.”

“You stole it!” Foggy protested halfheartedly, watching him vault over the couch and head for the window.

“Details,” the Devil replied dismissively as he hopped up onto the window frame. He flashed Foggy that dangerously tempting smirk, backlit by the the dim glow of streetlamps; Foggy had to grip the counter to keep from reaching out for him. “Talk to Matt.”

He disappeared out the window.

Foggy sighed and thunked his head against the wall.

A!A: I promise Karen's fate is nowhere as awful as you think it is. :) As for Matt and Foggy... They're not friends anymore. They're two strangers who used to know each other years ago by now. For Foggy, fitting into this brand new world and life of Matt Murdock is, and will continue to be, difficult.

Link doesn't work

Yellow crayon scene?

Omg I want this with Wesley

Please, this.

OP, I am *seriously* tempted to do this fill (as Matt/Foggy fo' sho'), but it wouldn't be for a few weeks at least so I can finish off some of the others I've got going... if nobody else fills it by the time we finish this prompt round, please do post it in the next freeze!

So this is a little different from the prompt and is basically what happens when an asexual person tries to write flirting when said asexual doesn't even know how to flirt. But yes. I have more ideas and this is gonna gradually turn into Matt being like 'what have I done they keep calling me and sending me gifts why are actual feelings involved no i did not sign up for this'. I hope this is ok!!

*

He hadn’t been expecting Fisk to arrive at the gallery.

Matt didn’t need to turn towards him, there was no need for such a pointless gesture, but he found himself doing it regardless. His senses mapped him out in a moment, the slow and steady heartbeat, the tall and muscular physique, the scent of shaving cream and plain shower gel, and Matt knew that he would now be able to pick him out in a crowd in an instant. There was the smell of blood too, old and light, a stain that could never truly be washed away. It wasn’t on his clothes it was…cufflinks. He must wear them everywhere, even when he was fighting, which was interesting. Did they mean something to him?

He realised he was clenching his free hand, realised that his smile had dropped, and he forced himself to relax.

This had not been part of the plan.

But he was looking for insight into Fisk. And here the man was. Matt could adapt to that.

Vanessa was introducing them but she did not know his second name. Ah. This could present a problem. He was, after all, on the opposite end of a case against Fisk. He needed to handle this properly.

“Murdock.” He supplied, keeping his tone light, almost apologetic. “Matthew Murdock.”

Fisk definitely recognised his name and Matt offered his hand as a peace offering. The man shook it and Matt allowed himself the flinch at how large that hand was. He was already factoring the man’s size into the inevitable future fight they’d be having. Matt let the fear out now, let the anxiety of facing a man that outweighed him a great deal flood to the surface, angling it to be seen as worry over being opponents in a legal case. The larger man reacted by softening his grip, holding Matt’s hand almost tenderly, and wasn’t that a surprise? Matt didn’t bother to hide his smile, let himself grin widely, and heard Fisk’s heart stutter in response. Oh. So he liked attractive men as well as women? He could work with this.

His senses told him a lot. And he knew exactly how attractive people thought he was.

“I’m familiar with your work.” Fisk’s voice was oddly soft, hesitant, a little awkward even. It was as if he was used to being bigger and stronger than everyone else and tried to tone it down in public. It was as if he felt like he didn’t fit.

“We’re a small practise.” Matt replied. “Just…trying to do some good. This city deserves to be fought for.”

Fisk was still holding his hand.

“I agree completely.”

Hmm. Honesty. More than that…vehement agreement. Matt hadn’t meant to let some of his own passion for helping Hell’s Kitchen into his voice but he hadn’t quite been able to keep it out. So Fisk genuinely thought he was doing good? That was…not entirely unexpected. But it was nice to have it confirmed.

“Not many people do.” Matt responded, realising he had been quiet for a beat too long.

Fisk let go of his hand. “No, they don’t.”

“Matthew was looking for some advice on art,” Vanessa cut in, something sly in her tone. “he wanted to ask a man of…taste.”

She was looking at Matt when she said it.

Perfect. Sometimes flirting with two people at once caused friction. But now that he knew that they were both interested he did not have to worry about that too much.

“Buy whatever she tells you to.” Fisk replied lightly, a smile clear in his voice.

“Good advice.” Matt replied with a smile of his own. He realised too late that the smile was a strained one, a smile that was too false, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“Is everything alright?” There appeared to be genuine concern in Vanessa’s voice. Did she know about who Fisk really was? Did she care? Was she part of this too?

“Fine.” Matt replied, forcing his thoughts back to the situation. He could not afford to let himself get distracted. It did not take advanced senses to know that she would not believe that and he wanted to encourage her interest in him, wanted to make it blossom into something that he could use, and so he allowed himself to bite his lip anxiously. “I- the art, I mean, I’m sure it’s beautiful…but I can’t enjoy it.”

He let himself stutter, because he would never see the sky again, never see a sunset, and- it was painful. It did hurt.

“You helped my friend with a case recently. That’s how I know of your work. You saved him a great deal of stress with your aid. I would like to...” here Fisk trailed off, his head turning to Vanessa, they must have shared a look because she laughed softy.

“What Wilson is trying to say is that he would like to thank you for your help,” she paused, still looking at Fisk, and if Matt wasn’t mistaken she added a hint of mischievousness into her voice. “personally.”

There was blood rushing to Fisk’s cheeks. Was he blushing?

Matt let out a small laugh of his own. It was time to pull back and see if they gave chase. “That’s quite alright, I have taken up quite enough of your time.”

Vanessa settled her hand on his arm gently. “No trouble at all Matthew. You should join us for dinner tonight.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” But Matt allowed himself to smile. “You two make such a charming couple.”

Fisk answered this time in his soft but firm tone. “It would be no imposition. Come to dinner with us.”

There was something confident there, something commanding, and Matt tilted his head a little in interest. It was interesting how his enemy could be so soft, seemed to have a vulnerable side that Matt was literally within touching distance of, and all he had to do was go to dinner with them to learn more? There were bigger prices to pay for information.

“Alright, Mr Fisk.” Matt replied carefully.

“Call me Wilson.”

*
Bonus: Matt telling Foggy was he was doing last night.

“Oh, I just had dinner with Vanessa and Wilson Fisk.”

“You did WHAT?”

“It was just dinner Foggy.”

“WHAT? MATT NO.”
*
Yeah, so...mini fill for now but...should be more soon? Sorry for any mistakes :/ kinda put this up in a rush.

“So you’re a dragon?” Foggy’s voice dripped with disbelief. He just about brought the vigilante thing, it wasn’t like he had much choice considering the way he’d found Matt, but this, this was ridiculous. He refused to buy into Matt’s twisted practical jokes, not after that time with the freemasons and the strip club.
“Yep.” Matt grinned, undeterred by Foggy’s scepticism.
“You meant with the… claws and scales, and fire breathing and stuff?” Foggy made a vague hand waving gesture.
“Yep”
“Prove it.” Matt looked a bit hesitant.
“Are you sure…?”
“Yes, very. You say you’re a dragon. Prove it. Do something dragony.” Hah, Matt needed to up his game if he wanted to April Fool Foggy.
“Well… ok, but we’ll have to head up to the roof.”
“Cool, great, why the roof?” OK Foggy was getting a bit worried now, it was starting to sound like Matt actually believed this. Matt just tilted his head back in exasperation.
“Foggy, I may not be a particularly big dragon, but even I won’t fit in this apartment in my other form.”
Fifteen minutes later.
“Holy shit you’re a Dragon.” And he was. He was bronze and scaly, and roughly the size of a double decker bus. There was absolutely no misconstruing the situation.
“Told you so.” Matt rumbled in satisfaction. It took a few minutes for Foggy to recover. Ok so there were dragons. Note to self, put aside ten minutes tomorrow afternoon to freak the hell out. Ok now questions.
“So do you like, hoard treasure and terrorise villages and stuff?” He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Which turned out to be the wrong thing.
“That’s actually really offensive, not to mention speciesist of you.”
“Sorry, sorry, didn’t realize that was a sore spot.” Foggy tried to ward off the incipient Murdock anti-discrimination rant™ with limited success.
“It’s fine, it just gets really irritating when people keep judging you on the basis of a cultural stereotype from the feudal era. I mean of course dragons back then hoarded gold, and terrorised villages. Everyone hoarded gold and terrorised villages. It was the activity of choice for pretty much everyone except the peasants, and you can bet your bottom dollar given half the chance they’d get in on the action. Seriously, anyone with any kind of weapons, or influence had a castle, with treasure, which they topped up by terrorising the local villagers into paying them taxes, that was what the whole economic system was based on, and yet still, whenever I tell people I’m a dragon it all “oh do you have a hoard of gold,” and “have you terrorised any villages lately”, I mean for God’s sake this is the modern world, humans don’t do that anymore why on earth would Dragons.” Matt paused to take a breath and Foggy took the opportunity to try and divert his attention from the rant. Once Matt Murdock really got going there was no stopping him, and Foggy still had questions.
“So was your Dad a Dragon?”
“Yes, both my parents were. Despite what fantasy roleplaying games would have you believe, interspecies reproduction is not actually possible.”
“Cool, hey I’m new at this, don’t bite my head off.”
“But you are crunchy and good with ketchup” Somehow this was less than amusing coming from someone with teeth as long as Foggy’s forearm.
“Not. Funny. Matt.”
“It was a bit. Anyway, is there anything else you wanted to know?” Ok clearly Matt was in a rare, sharing mood, Foggy decided to take full advantage.

I can so picture this with Claire. I've now got this image of a hypercautious Daredevil quietly creeping in and offering her placatory gifts of pastries without a word, after she bit his head off for bleeding on her couch before the first cup.

Matt finds his panic again when Fisk finally withdrawals his fingers and starts to guide Matt's face forward. He braces his hands on Fisk's knees, but a firm hand lands on the back of his neck in warning.

"I trust," Fisk says, "this doesn't need to be said, but... If you bite me, what's left of your life will be... unpleasant."

Matt's face is still being drawn closer to Fisk's cock and a sound that Matt refuses to acknowledge as a whine (it is) escapes him.

"I... wait! I - I don't -"

His face grows impossibly hot when his brain catches up to his mouth and he realizes he was about to admit to a man who's ready raped him twice that he doesn't know how to suck a dick. (Open mouth, insert...) As if technique is an important factor here. Fisk will take what he wants and Matt is just along for the ride. But even so, Fisk's cock is a hell of a lot larger than a couple of fingers, and Matt desperately doesn't want to be part of any reality where that is anywhere near his mouth.

It becomes a moot point anyway when, in lieu of a response, the head of Fisk's cock makes contact with Matt's mouth.

Slash or gen. I don't care as long as it's a genuinely mutual friendship, even if each of them comes at it from a very different place. Wreck me.

Foggy tells Matt "If you weren't half dead I would kick your ass." in Nelson vs. Murdock.

So I'd like to see something where Matt reminds Foggy that he's all healed now so if he wants to punch him he can. Maybe they've had another fight or maybe they're hashing it out after the reveal. Maybe they're both just drunk. I don't mind the scenario just want Matt offer to let Foggy hit him and Foggy's reaction.

Author's call as to whether Foggy actually does hit him or if he refuses to hit his friend.

Make it as angsty or light-hearted as you like.

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Prompt Post #4

Re: Fill: To the brim 2/2

Re: Fill: To the brim 2/2

Re: [3rd Fill] Swallow - 2/?

The Coffee Rules.

Matt/Claire Pretty Woman AU

Re: [MINIFILL] Home Is Where the Heart Is

Re: [3rd Fill] Swallow - 3/?

Fill: All Our Yesteryears [4/?]

Re: Matt/Vladimir: Soulmate au

Re: [FILL] Moths and Flames [2/?]

Re: Fill: All Our Yesteryears [3/?]

Re: The Coffee Rules.

[FILL] Moths and Flames [3/?]

Re: Fill: All Our Yesteryears [3/?]

Re: [FILL] candles

Re: Matt & Foggy, MCU Shadowland

Re: The Coffee Rules.

Re: Matt/Sam Wilson or Matt&Sam Wilson, Matt works at the same VA (to help newly blinded) as Sam

Re: Another Powers AU

Wherein Matt seduces the fuck out of Vanessa and Fisk without really meaning to, bless him (1/?)

Re: Fill World on fire

Re: The Coffee Rules.

Re: [3rd Fill] Swallow - 4/?

Autistic Fisk + sociopath Wesley

Gen, Foggy & Matt