daredevilkink | Prompt Post #5

Entry tags:

prompt post

Prompt Post #5

THIS POST IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #6.

Keep filling prompts on this post! Make sure to link any new fic on the complete or work in progress fills posts so it doesn't get missed.

Please read the current rules before commenting on this post.

Leave a prompt. Fill a prompt. Everyone wins!
Previous Rounds: Prompt Post #1 | Prompt Post #2 | Prompt Post #3 | Prompt Post #4

Mod Post | Discussion/Off-Topic Post | AO3 Collection | Searchable Prompts on Delicious
Fills: Completed & WIPs

Rules:
General
YKINMKATO. Play nice. If you don't like something, scroll on.

All comments must be anon. If you would like to be politely banned to avoid anon-failing, leave a logged-in comment on the mod post or pm the mod account.

Subject lines should only be changed if you're posting a prompt or a fill (indicators like OP or Author!Anon should go in the body of the comment).

RPF is allowed. Crossovers, characters from the extended Marvel Universe and comics canon are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 TV show in some way.

Discussion not related to the prompt should be moved to the discussion/off-topic post.

Drop a comment on the mod post if you have any questions or problems.

Prompts
All types of prompts are welcome.

Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing or characters, keywords, kink).

Warnings are nice, but not mandatory. Get DW Blocker if there's anything you really don't want to see.

Reposted prompts are allowed once one round has passed - i.e., prompts from post #2 cannot be reposted until post #4. Please include a link to where it has been previously posted.

Fills
Put [FILL] or something similar in the subject line when posting a fill.

Announce your fill on either the Completed Fills Post or the WIP Post.

Long fills can either be posted over multiple comments, or posted on AO3 and linked back here.

Multiple fills are always okay.

Fills can be anything! Fic, art, vids are all welcome.

If it wasn't written specifically for the prompt, it doesn't count as a fill. You are welcome to provide a link to already existing fic that does fit the prompt, in case the prompter hasn't seen it, but it doesn't count as a fill.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

he'll come around, I think. unfortunately Tony is not very good at Making Friends, as is probably evident here.

This was so hot. So very, very hot. Good job, nonny!

Thanks! I think the teen boot-camp thing could work very well and if anything else pops up I'll take it to the discussion-thread.

Great <3

I laughed, nonnie

Hahaha, I loved it too. And then Matt is all like 'thanks for helping me out, 'cause I cannot fly a helicopter' and Frank is all like 'no problem, bro'

d'awww :D

*dies laughing* poor clint, having the worst day in the history of the world...

It is totally that fic. :D

Weird! Trying again -

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4425287

It's by poisonivory if the link still doesn't work!

A Dance With Dragons? So ... who else is Tony Stark related to? jk

This was funny. Poor Tony, doesn't know what to do with his own relatives. I loved the way he saw that Nelson could only be moved from his position with a forklift.

Maybe he should forget about money and bribery, so to speak, and try something a little more, um, emotional? Like take him out for schawarma and just talk, or something?

Yes yes yes

Thank you so much for this fill you amazing anon you.

I would pay money to see this...if I had money, that is.

The next week is interesting in their dorm room. It’s like there’s an invisible line splitting the room in half for the amount of time either of them cross out of their space and into the other. Matt drinks the rest of the milk without replacing it; Franklin blasts his music until Matt is retreating from the room.

Matt, actually, doesn’t seem to sleep in their room anymore. Franklin has no idea where he goes. And he doesn’t care. Until Marci forces him to.

“He’s not sleeping at all,” Marci informs Franklin during one study date turned movie night.

“What?” Franklin asks while turning his head on her lap to look up. Marci cards her fingers through his hair and nods. “He has to sleep sometime.”

“Well, according to Julia Takayama – you know her, her dad owns Masa in Midtown –“ Franklin nods so Marci will continue even though he has no fucking idea who Julia Takayama is. “Well, she does the overnight shift in the library and said he’s been there every night studying.”

Franklin makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Julia said she’s seen him doze off for a couple minutes here and there but that’s it.”

Franklin turns his head back to the television. The screen blurs as Franklin stares at it, thoughts rolling around like tumbleweeds in his head.

“Foggy?” Marci whispers just as an explosion in the movie fills up the room.

“I’m fine,” he replies and they don’t talk for the rest of the night.

It takes Franklin another three days before he breaks the radio silence between him and Matt.

“Look,” Franklin starts while Matt is unpacking books from his backpack and shoving some new ones in. “My behavior at the party was not ideal.”

Matt snorts but doesn’t say a word. Franklin grimaces.

He’s never really had to apologize for anything before. When he was younger it seemed to be the only word that came out of his mouth whenever Rosalind was around. As he grew older, as he became more compliant and his heart grew a little icier, it was never expected of him to apologize. He was a Sharpe and they did what they want whenever they wanted. Franklin can’t even remember a time him and Marci have ever apologized to each other and they’ve done some pretty fucked up shit to one another.

“You have to sleep some time,” Franklin mutters and Matt stills for a moment. His movements become a little bit more uncoordinated after that. A pen bounces out of the backpack and skitters across the floor.

“We’re not friends. You don’t care.”

Franklin sighs and runs a hand over his face.

“You’re right – we’re not friends. I’m a shitty rich kid and you’re the poor blind guy.”

“So, what then? Feeling sorry for me?” Matt ducks under his bed, fingers feeling around trying to find the lost pen. “I don’t need your pity or charity.”

“And I’m not giving any.”

Matt pulls himself out from under the bed, pen clasped tightly in his hand.

“Could have fooled me,” Matt huffs.

“Alright, I’m sorry, are you happy?” Franklin is not happy about saying that but a dopey little smile appears for a split second on Matt’s face and it’s maybe not the worst thing ever.

“No, I’m not, but it’s a start.”

Matt leaves for class but returns later that night and actually sleeps in his bed.

Summer arrives too quickly for Franklin. Three months of bumming around avoiding Rosalind isn’t exactly his ideal version of summer vacation.

Marci bids him farewell the first week of June as she jets off to Vegas then Costa Rica. She invites him, she always does, but Franklin hates the hot weather. New York summers irritate him as it is. He happily holes himself up in the air-conditioned apartment playing Grand Theft Auto 5 every day.

Rosalind click clacks her way through the house on occasion, spending most of her time up in Cambridge doing who knows what. When she’s in town she berates Franklin about his hippy hair, about his horrible eating habits, and about the video games rotting his brain. Franklin berates her back for her coffee stained teeth, the gray roots coming in beneath chemically-induced blonde hair, and most importantly, the wrinkles in her forehead.

Each time Rosalind leaves, she hugs Franklin and whispers in his ear, ‘Only you can make yourself better.’ It’s the one thing he looks forward to when it comes to Rosalind.

Bess Mahoney stops by every day at 10am on the dot. She was hired when Franklin was fifteen and he loves everything about her. She’s crass and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Franklin has always confided in her when he felt he couldn’t go to Marci and Bess always tells him how it is. In a world of professional liars and backstabbers it’s refreshing to Franklin.

Bess’ son, Brett, was another story altogether. When Bess was hired, a couple months before summer holidays, she had introduced Franklin and Brett. They instantly hated each other. Brett asked too many questions and was on the path towards becoming a cop or a detective. Franklin wanted nothing to do with the boy. He hated the do-good attitude and the way he was obviously a momma’s boy. Marci told Franklin he was being a hypocrite – he was tied to Bess’ hip in every way, as well.

Then, that first summer, Bess brought Brett around every day. He was fifteen, same age as Franklin, but was never left at home alone. Franklin used to ask Brett where all his friends were, why didn’t he have anybody to hang out with. Brett would turn the tables on Franklin – ask him how Marci could put up with his sniveling, fat face. Franklin and Brett started having angry make outs soon after that. It escalated into hurried blowjobs but nothing more. Franklin was also pretty sure Marci and Brett were fooling around on the sly but could never confirm anything and that was one thing Marci kept her lips sealed about.

Summer ended and him and Brett didn’t see each other until the following holiday when they were both sixteen. Franklin had convinced himself Marci and him were meant to be at that time and Brett had decided he wasn’t gay. Both were delusions that carried them until they were eighteen. They never hooked up again and that underlying tension never dissolved until it festered into a more substantial, respectful hate.

“Franklin,” Bess says and he tunes into her. She’s standing in the kitchen, apron on, spatula pointing in his face. “Are you even listening to me, boy?”

Franklin grins and nods.

“Always, my sweet Bess.”

She rolls her eyes and goes back to the pancakes she’s cooking for brunch since Franklin confessed he hadn’t eaten anything yet.

“As I was saying,” Bess continues and flips the pancakes with ease, patting them lightly with the kitchen tool. “Don’t starve yourself because of what your mother says.”

Franklin’s grin diminishes and he rolls his eyes at Bess’ back. She was always passing treats and goodies into Franklin’s hands. He had always been a pudgy boy but by the time he was fourteen his doctor had informed Rosalind his eating habits needed to be changed for health reasons. Rosalind, always the over achiever, had gone to the deep end and kept putting Franklin on ridiculous fad diets. He remembers one month where all he ate were eggs. Franklin hates eggs.

When Bess started working for them, Franklin was only allowed uncooked vegetables and food smoothies. Bess kept silent in front of Rosalind but as soon as she was gone – from the house or from the state – Franklin was fed full meals of chicken and steak and potatoes. He would find muffins on his bedside table when he woke and containers of homed baked cookies or dessert bars. Franklin hadn’t been exactly starving without Bess – Marci was always stuffing sandwiches and chips into his backpack and he would always stop for ice cream on his way home from school. But, Franklin enjoyed the treats Bess left him. Everything was made from scratch – a luxury Franklin hadn’t had since he’d stopped visiting his father.

Rosalind had always been baffled how Franklin never seemed to be losing weight but when he continued to gain she became furious. She had tried to blame Bess and there had been a very loud, very nasty verbal argument between Franklin and Rosalind over it. When Franklin turned sixteen he told Rosalind he was going to eat whatever the hell he wanted and if she couldn’t deal with that he would be moving out to go live with his father. The look on Rosalind’s face, like she had eaten a lemon full of razorblades, was forever imprinted in Franklin’s mind.

“You know that Rosalind has no say, anymore,” Franklin says absentmindedly, plucking the twines of his fork, swinging back and forth a bit on the swivel chair at the kitchen island.

“Just because she doesn’t say the words out loud doesn’t mean they aren’t living in your head,” Bess counters, piling pancakes on a plate.

Franklin is thankful his phone buzzes beside his elbow. He glances down and sees a text message from Matt.

Hey, is all it reads. Franklin frowns but doesn’t reply. The plate being pushed in front of him by Bess preoccupies him.

“You’re the best,” Franklin says, mouth watering at the smell of them. “Love of my life, run away with me.”

Bess full-body laughs as she pulls the syrup and butter from the fridge.

“I believe Brett would take up issue.”

Franklin reaches for the butter when his phone buzzes again.

What’s up?

He ignores his phone again in favour of delicious carbs. He’s cutting into them happily with his fork while Bess hums to herself when the phone goes off a third time.

Look, can you please call me or something. It’s urgent.

“Sounds like you’re popular today,” Bess comments before exiting the kitchen area and heading down the hall. Franklin listens to her open the washing machine door and start passing the laundry into the dryer.

“What’s up, dude?” Franklin asks, mouth full of pancakes, as Matt answers his phone.

“What?” Matt replies loudly over the sounds of vehicles.

“I said,” Franklin tries again, swallowing down the fluffy goodness. “What’s up?”

“Ah, well, you see,” Matt pauses as he apologizes to somebody. “Look, my accommodations didn’t work out and I just need somewhere to stay tonight until I figure it out.”

Franklin frowns but doesn’t say anything. He’s not going to offer anything up – Matt needs to use his words and ask for what he wants.

“Franklin, I-“ Matt sighs then curses under his breath. “Can I crash at your place tonight? I’ll be gone in the morning.”

Franklin watches Bess carry a basket of warm laundry through the living room and to the other side of the apartment where Rosalind’s bedroom is. She stops to turn a picture frame two inches to the right before continuing on her way. It’s a photo of Franklin and his father at a baseball game.

“Franklin?”

“Yeah, sure,” Franklin finally responds, turning back to his pancakes.

Matt shows up, suitcase in tow, and spends the next hour alternating between stuffing whatever Bess cooks into his mouth and profusely thanking Franklin for letting him crash.

“You can’t let him leave,” Bess says when she pulls Franklin aside under the pretense of linens or something. “He’s too skinny for his own good.”

Franklin rolls his eyes and goes back to the kitchen. Matt blinds him with the biggest smile ever and despite the pancakes and bacon spilling out of it Franklin can’t help but enjoy it.

“What happened?”

Matt’s mood darkens and proceeds to eat more bacon that he’s piled on a slice of toast with scrambled eggs. He shrugs but doesn’t answer.

“Well,” Franklin begins, ignoring the thumbs up Bess is giving him behind Matt’s back. “You can stay as long as you need.”

Matt shakes his head, cheeks bulging slightly and he reminds Franklin of a squirrel getting ready for winter. Franklin eats a piece of bacon off his own plate and waits for Matt to swallow all his food and speak.

“I couldn’t – I’ll make some calls today and I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” Bess steps in, pilling more eggs onto Matt’s already overflowing plate. “You’re staying here and that’s final.”

“Oh, uhm,” Matt blushes and ducks his head, shoveling more food in his mouth so he doesn’t need to keep talking.

“Nah, she’s right, man,” Franklin says. “Just stay here. It’s fine.”

Matt protests a bit more but with the news that Rosalind will be in Germany for the next two months Matt finally agrees.

Franklin still spends most of his days playing videogames or watching movies. Matt listens to audiobooks or to whatever Franklin is doing in a half daze. Some days Matt disappears for hours on end and Franklin has no idea where he goes.

“Where do you go?” Franklin outright asks one morning as Matt is fiddling around on his laptop.

“What do you mean?” Matt deflects and Franklin throws a pillow at him.

“Don’t do that – where do you go?”

“I wander around – go to the library, the gym, y’know.’

Matt half shrugs and pulls his headphones on. Franklin is well aware of this tactic of Matt’s – he’s not lying but he’s not telling the full truth so he hides behind his headphones and hopes no one will push. Franklin loves pushing. Franklin pulls the headphones off Matt’s head, taking the sunglasses with it, and Matt yelps in protest.

“Nuh-uh. Tell me the full truth.”

“Just leave it alone,” Matt pleads, brown eyes flickering this way and that. Franklin has always been mesmerized by Matt’s unfocused eyes. He pulls the headphones and sunglasses even further out of Matt’s reach.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

It’s silent and Franklin is obviously having a staring contest with a blind man so he gives up, for now. He hands over the headphones and glasses, which Matt takes hastily.

“I will find out.”

The next week, Franklin follows Matt. He follows Matt to a Starbucks and then to a little bakery. Franklin makes a mental note to return because that cheese croissant Matt eats looks beyond delicious. Then, Matt heads into Hell’s Kitchen and Franklin eyes every dark corner, every back alley, with distaste. They stop at a gym, Fogwell’s, and Matt heads inside. An hour later, of which Franklin circled the block about fifty times and Rosalind would be so proud, Matt exits the gym, sweaty and generally greasy looking. Matt promptly makes his way back to the apartment.

Franklin googles what he can about the places Matt stopped at. The bakery uses organic products and everything is made fresh in house. The gym is a local boxing haven. Franklin is about to give up, thinking maybe the heat rotted paranoia into his brain or something, when a small alumni section at the bottom of Fogwell’s website catches his attention. The name Battlin’ Jack Murdock in particular interests him.

After an hour of falling down the internet rabbit hole, Franklin has learned more about Matt’s life than he thought possible. The most he had known up this point had been that Matt was blind, grew up at a catholic orphanage, and studied too much for his own good. His entire life was what he had been hiding from Franklin and while Franklin couldn’t blame him he was a bit stung.

“Were you never going to mention your father?” Franklin asks, late one night, while lying in bed. Matt shifts on the makeshift bed on the floor.

“Does it even matter?”

Upset for no good reason that Franklin can fathom, he pushes himself up so he’s half leaning out of bed to face Matt.

“Yeah, I think it does. Heck, I don’t know a single thing about you.”

Matt snorts.

“You know a lot about me.”

Franklin does now after his own investigation but he feels like he knew the persona Matt put out there for the world to see, not the Matt he actually is. This pissed Franklin off for a number of reasons. Matt had been able to pull the wool over his eyes, was able to lie right to Franklin’s face and that’s the one thing Franklin hates more than anything – being lied to by someone he trusts and despite outward appearances he had trusted Matt.

“I only know whatever act you’ve been putting on.”

Matt sighs and rolls over to face Franklin. He appreciates the gesture.

“Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Franklin hisses into the dark and he wishes he could see the details of Matt’s face.

“You know exactly what it means. You’re not exactly the most forthcoming about anything.”

Matt sounds so calm to Franklin, like he’s been waiting for this to happen.

“I am very forthcoming.”

“Yeah, sure,” and now Matt sounds exhausted but not from lack of sleep. “You and your supposedly cold heart.”

Franklin lays back down on his bed.

“Look,” Matt continues. “I know you followed me the other day. From how you’re reacting I’m sure you’ve googled my name form here to kingdom come but don’t act so righteous when you can’t even say that we’re friends.”

“We’re not,” Franklin automatically responds.

“Yeah, I know.”

There’s the rustling from blankets as Matt moves around before it goes silent. Sirens and horns filter up from the streets into the opened window of Franklin’s bedroom. He focuses on those sounds, pretends he’s flying above it all, and falls asleep to nightmares of drowning in pools and falling out of airplanes.

I'm glad! XD I've never written her before so this should be interesting.

I am full of cliches! This whole fic is pretty much one big cliche :D

And, I'm hoping to try and get them to a point where they could end up very good friends.

Shush, logic is not needed for this :D

Aaaah, I'm glad! And yeah, I kind of had Chuck Bass in mind but considering I've only seen like three episodes max of Gossip Girl I'm leaning more heavily on Tristan from Gilmore Girls.

omg omg omg i've been praying for this to get a fill and this is beautiful and perfect and so fucking hot. guh!!!

Awww yessss. Bess is awesome. Sexual tension between Brett and Foggy! Haha yessss.

Sorry, OP, no gunplay. Also, this is fairly--experimental? It's just weird, okay.

or remain unsaved

You save yourself or remain unsaved.
Alice Sebold

***

It starts with a scream.

The water is hot and then cold and it's still not enough to get clean and he screams. No, that's not right. He screamed before, before the water, before the cold and the hot, he screamed himself hoarse before.

There was pain and he screamed.

But--a girl. There was a girl. A girl screamed. He remembers there being a girl.

"He's not doing anything he doesn't want to do," he said, pleased.

It's important that he remembers this. It's important that he remembers this right.

What happened to the girl?

"Call me when you get back home. Promise," Foggy tells him.

"Yes, mother," Matt says, with a smile.

"I'm not your mother," Foggy huffs. "A mother you'd respect. I'm your constantly worried superhero's girlfriend at best."

Matt grins. "The best."

Then there's a scream. A girl screams, then begs, for mercy, for him not to do it, for him to stop, finally for him to just let her die.

No, wait. No. That was later, that was much, much later.

That was him.

Then there's a scream. A girl screams, terrified. She's in an abandoned building at the end of the block and he goes to check it out. He runs to help her, he runs to save her, because what good is he if he can't.

And inside he is waiting, he's waiting and then there's pain and blood and he screams--No, but wait, it was the girl who screamed, not he--But he screamed too, only later, later still--

Inside he's waiting, but not at first.

A girl screams and he rushes to save her, only there's no one inside the building, not at first. But then there he is, waiting, and he sounds pleased, he sounds happy, he sounds excited.

"Always so predictable," he sneers and laughs. At Matt, he laughs at Matt.

Killgrave. Matt knows him. Matt's met him, Matt knows about him, he knows what he does, he knows Jessica, he knows what Killgrave likes to do to girls. He has to save that girl who screamed.

What happened to the girl?

"You can't control me," Matt tells him.

Killgrave smacks his lips. "It's not you that I'm controlling tonight."

"Please stop," Matt begs.

"I don't want to stop," Frank replies and tightens his grip on Matt's hip.

But that was later. He's confusing the chain of events again, that's no good, he needs to be sure about causation, it's important, it's important that he remembers this right.

"Always so predictable," Killgrave sneers and laughs. At Matt, he laughs at Matt. Then he turns to someone standing next to him, "you did well, that was perfect." He hands something to a young woman, probably a college girl, she smells faintly of cheap perfume and cheap booze. "Here, take this, go and get yourself something nice. Maybe a cute pair of shoes."

"I'll get a cute pair of shoes," the girl says. She takes that something from Killgrave — money, he's handed her money — and then leaves.

It's a trap. Of course it's a trap.

"You can't control me," Matt tells Killgrave.

Reminds him. He's tried controlling Matt before and it never worked, not like it did with Jess, not like it did with everyone else — Matt resisted him, he's always resisted him.

Killgrave smacks his lips. "It's not you that I'm controlling tonight."

He snaps his fingers and a new person enters the room. He smells of gunpowder and cigarettes and an annoying cologne and Matt knows him.

"Frank."

So that's what happened to the girl.

Isn't it?

It was a trap. Why didn't he fight Killgrave?

Why didn't he leave?

"If you try anything," Killgrave tells him when he enters the room, and his heartbeat is steady so he's not lying, "if you try fighting, our dear Stacy here will go kaboom. Won't you, Stacy?"

"Kaboom," the girl repeats. She waves her hands in a gesture that generally means an explosion.

"So I'd advise you to drop your clubs," Killgrave says and Matt does. The girl's heart is racing, she's terrified, even if she doesn't consciously know it or why. "Always so predictable," Killgrave sneers and laughs.

At Matt, he laughs at Matt.

So that's why he didn't fight. Why he didn't leave.

It wasn't very smart of him.

And then there was Frank.

"You can resist him," Matt tells Frank as he dodges one punch, but doesn't manage to miss the other. It lands close to his kidneys and knocks the breath out of him. "Frank--you're stronger--"

"He really isn't," Killgrave says, sounding bored. "Not everyone's you."

It hurts. It hurts more than anything he's ever experienced.

"Please stop," Matt begs.

"I don't want to stop," Frank replies and tightens his grip on Matt's hip.

"You know he's not lying," Killgrave says, pleased again.

But it didn't go quite like this, did it. He's missing something. He's missing something from between.

Then there's a scream. He screams, then begs, for mercy, for Frank not to do it, for Frank to stop, finally for Frank to just let him die.

No, wait. There was still something before.

Killgrave snaps his fingers and a new person enters the room. He smells of gunpowder and cigarettes and an annoying cologne and Matt knows him.

"Frank."

The atmosphere in the room changes when Frank enters, the air gets charged; Frank seems to almost thrum with some barely contained energy, he's restless and his heart beats faster than usual.

"The Punisher himself," Killgrave confirms. "It's quite interesting what you can learn from him once you get him talking." Killgrave chuckles. "He considers you a friend, you know? His only friend."

"Frank," Matt repeats, trying to get his attention.

"You annoy me," Killgrave says. "You're the only person able to resist me, and I'd like it if you just died. I'd love to tell you to simply walk in front of a train, but alas, I can't. So Mr. Castle here will have to do the job for me."

Frank's hand moves to the grip of a gun tucked behind the waistband of his jeans.

"Frank, don't."

"Oh, but he will." Killgrave turns to Frank and motions at Matt. "Mr. Castle, if you will? Just like we discussed."

Matt, expecting to have to dodge bullets, doesn't quite prepare himself for the headbutt that Frank starts the fight with.

"Matty?" Foggy asks. He's bent over him, he sounds concerned and worried and afraid, he reeks of worry and fear. "Matt, you're freaking me out, what the hell happened?"

But that's now. There's still a then that he's confused about, what happened after? They fought, he and Frank. They fought. They fought and then--And then Frank--Frank--

He needs to be sure about everything. Foggy will ask. Foggy will want to know. It's important that he remembers this right.

"You can resist him," Matt tells Frank as he dodges one punch, but doesn't manage to miss the other. It lands close to his kidneys and knocks the breath out of him. "Frank--you're stronger--"

"He really isn't," Killgrave says, sounding bored. "Not everyone's you."

Matt manages to knock the spare gun out of Frank's hand. The other one he's already kicked far and away. "Frank--"

"I think I've changed my mind," Killgrave says suddenly in a giddy voice, and that in itself is scarier than anything else tonight. "Mr. Castle, if you'd cease...?"

Frank stops immediately.

"I've changed my mind," Killgrave says again. "What's the fun is seeing you killed? I think I'd rather see you broken and unhinged, like our mutual friend Miss Jones."

Matt hates him. Matt'll kill him. Matt'll kill him one day.

"You can't control me," Matt reminds him again. "You can't make me do anything."

"But I control him," Killgrave reminds Matt in turn. "And I can make him do everything."

He screams. Then, by the end, he can't scream anymore.

"Please," Matt whispers, broken and hoarse. "Please. Please. Please just let me die."

"Not tonight," Killgrave tells him.

There's still a gap. Killgrave told Frank to stop, Frank stopped. Then--What then? Killgrave asked Frank something. What did he ask him?

He can't think. He can't concentrate. Foggy reeks of worry and fear and Matt can't concentrate. He needs to. He needs to think. He needs to make sure he remembers this right.

"But I control him," Killgrave reminds Matt in turn. "And I can make him do everything."

He cocks his head to the side and addresses Frank, "Mr. Castle. Your friend Daredevil here. Matthew. Matthew, isn't it? What do you think of him? Please be honest."

"Do-gooder," Frank replies immediately. "Naive and too damn principled. He's a good guy, still believes in the best of people, despite everything, despite knowing me. Has the most fuckable ass I've seen."

Matt freezes. So does Killgrave, briefly. "Oh?" he says. "Is that so?"

"His lips are obscenely red, as if he just finished sucking cock. He doesn't even know how damn gorgeous he is. He gets me hard every time he talks and he does that a fucking lot."

"Interesting," Killgrave notes with a leer. "Is there anything in particular that you want to do to your friend here?"

"I want to bend him in half and fuck him, fuck his ass, fuck into him that not everyone's worth saving, that some people are beyond that."

Killgrave's heart skips a beat. "Well. It's your lucky day, Mr. Castle, because you'll get to do just that."

"Matty?" Foggy asks. He's bent over him, he sounds concerned and worried and afraid, he reeks of worry and fear. "Matt, you're freaking me out, what the hell happened?"

Something. A lot. Matt's trying to piece it all together, to make sure he remembers this right.

It's important. It's important that he remembers this right.

"Matt, please, say something."

He's trying to. It's just--It's just that words form on his tongue but refuse to leave his mouth.

Matt puts up a fight, but he doesn't win. He never does, against Frank.

The room's bare and there's nothing to bend him over. Frank's only slightly taller than him, but he's much heavier, so he pins him to the floor easily, flat on his front, one of Frank's arms keeping his shoulder down and one Frank's legs keeping his in place. With the free hand, Frank works his pants open and off.

"Please," Matt says. "Frank, please, please don't do it."

Frank stops. Hesitates.

"What?" Killgrave asks.

"Lube and condoms."

"Don't worry about them," Killgrave says nonchalantly, "you don't need them, not tonight."

"Alright," Frank says, flat. He doesn't sound convinced, but it doesn't stop him, either.

It takes him four tries to push fully inside.

By then the coppery smell of blood is everywhere.

"Matty?" Foggy asks. He's bent over him, he sounds concerned and worried and afraid, he reeks of worry and fear. "Matt, you're freaking me out, what the hell happened?"

He's not sure yet.

Pain. He remembers pain.

Oh yes, the pain he remembers well.

It hurts. It hurts more than anything he's ever experienced.

"Please stop," Matt begs.

"I don't want to stop," Frank replies and tightens his grip on Matt's hip.

"You know he's not lying," Killgrave says, pleased again.

Frank pants above him, into his nape, onto his back. He likes this. He's enjoying fucking Matt, rough and fast and hard, but not dry anymore, there's enough blood now to ease the way for him.

"He's not doing anything he doesn't want to do," Killgrave says, pleased.

Frank speeds up and Matt prays for death.

There was a girl. Stacy. Cute shoes. Kaboom.

What happened to the girl?

First he sobs. He sobs and begs, and after that he screams.

He screams. Then, by the end, he can't scream anymore.

"Please," Matt whispers, broken and hoarse. "Please. Please. Please just let me die."

"Not tonight," Killgrave tells him.

Frank stills above him and comes, in hot spurts, and the smell of semen mingles in the stale air of the room with the smell of blood. Matt vomits, then.

Killgrave just laughs and laughs.

"Matty?" Foggy asks. He's bent over him, he sounds concerned and worried and afraid, he reeks of worry and fear. "Matt, you're freaking me out, what the hell happened?"

He's in his apartment, in his shower. He--He got home, somehow. He doesn't know how. Somehow. It's all blurry. He can't remember.

It's important that he remembers this right.

Foggy will want to know. Foggy does want to know.

He can't remember.

There was a girl, Stacy. She screamed. He doesn't know what happened to the girl.

There was Frank, and he--He--Pain. There was pain. And Frank.

He's not worth saving, he is beyond that.

"Matt, please, say something."

He's in his apartment, in his shower. He somehow got home. He tried to get clean, but it wouldn't come off, the smell and the blood. The water was hot and then it turned cold, and he couldn't stand so he sank onto the tiles, it was a bad idea, it hurt, it hurts, but he can't move.

He's sitting on the tiled floor under a cold stream and it hurts, and Foggy's there, bent over him, concerned and worried and afraid. And then Foggy is in the shower and is hoisting him up, and Matt tries to get away but can't. He can't move.

Foggy gets him out of the shower and wraps him in a towel, it's warm, it's nice. Matt stands barefoot in the bathroom and then he isn't standing anymore, he sagged against Foggy because he can't stand.

Foggy wraps his arms around Matt and Matt lets him, because he can't fight him. He tried fighting Frank and he didn't win, he can't fight Foggy too. "What the hell happened, Matty?" Foggy asks. Matt can hear his heart speed up when he looks down, at the puddle of water that Matt's standing in. It's probably red. Matt can feel the blood still dripping down his legs. "Is--is that blood?"

Matt shivers.

"Matt, we need to get you to a hospital. I didn't see any wounds under the shower, but--" He pauses. Then his voice gets quieter, soothing, he speaks as if he would to a skittish animal he was trying to gentle. "Matt. What happened?"

He knows. But not everything.

A lot, Matt wants to say. He'll remember in a moment, he'll get it right. There was a girl and Matt needs to know what happened to her. Stacy. Kaboom. It's important.

"Fog--" he manages to force out instead. His voice is still broken and hoarse. "Foggy."

Foggy runs a hand through his wet hair. He doesn't mind. "Yeah, Matty."

"Foggy, I--" His voice hitches. It hurts, everything, and he doesn't remember it right. "I don't think I'm okay."

Oh, wow. Kilgrave is creepy as fuck, and this is the most disturbing fic I've read in a long time. The trap is VERY clever, and I like that he knew he couldn't get at Matt, so he found another way.

Well done. The experimental style really worked to show Matt's state of mind. Poor Matt - but also, poor Frank. I was left imagining the worst for him, after he pieces himself back together and realized what happened.

When Foggy woke up the second time he was in the softest bed he’d ever encountered in his whole life. He lay still and listened for a few minutes trying to work out where he was.

“I know you’re awake,” said Matt. At least it sounded like Matt, amused and warm. But there was an edge to it. It made Foggy nervous.

Foggy let his eyes drift open, it was dark in the room but he could make out the shape of a man sat in the chair next to the bed. “You’re sitting in the dark perving on my heartbeat like a creeper aren’t you?” he winced as the words left his mouth. It wasn’t his Matt he knew that, but he was enough like his Matt that Foggy was answering without thinking. He wished he knew even a little bit what was going on.

Matt leant to the side and clicked the lamp on the bedside table on. It cast a warm glow rather than illuminated, and stretched the shadows across not-Matt’s face. He had that smile on his face, the one that was very nearly a smirk, the one he used when he knew he’d won but the other guy hadn’t figured it out yet. “The dark doesn’t really bother me. And you seem to know an awful lot about my abilities. Care to explain how?”

“My Matt told me,” said Foggy, sitting up. “I… you’re not him, are you?”

“My… associates seem to think you’ve been pulled across from another universe. They are a little unclear on the how. But I have every faith they will work it out.” He smiled, Matt’s best reassuring smile. Foggy couldn’t help but feel a little better seeing it. It was a deeply ingrained emotional response to a man who was almost his best friend. Not-Matt continued talking. “You are very clearly not this universe’s Franklin Nelson. My people checked he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be right now. Plus now I’ve had a good ‘look’ at you, so to speak, you’re a little younger, and have much better hair.”

“You’re ginger,” said Foggy. “My Matt’s hair has a little red in it, if you catch it in the right light. But not like yours.”

“So they tell me, but to be honest I forget,” said not-Matt with a self-deprecating grin that made Foggy’s heart break with how familiar it was. “Is he really?” he asked.

“What?” replied Foggy.

“Your Matt,” said not-Matt with the kind of smile Foggy used to wish would be aimed at him back when they first met.

Foggy felt himself blush, and he knew his heart was probably doing something strange. “He… he’s my best friend. We’re law partners.”

Not-Matt laughed. “Murdock and Nelson?”

“Nelson and Murdock,” corrected Foggy. “You said it sounded better.”

Not-Matt smiled, open and friendly and inclusive. “Yes, yes it does. Nelson and Murdock, it hits the ear very well. We work together, how very bizarre. Although I suppose I see the other you quite a lot during my working life. We’re just on opposite sides. I’m trying to help some poor hopeless person and he’s trying to crush them for a small mistake.” Matt looked sad and angry as he talked. But it didn’t sit quite right on his face; Foggy knew what Matt looked like when injustice was nagging at him. It wasn’t quite like this.

“Is that what happened to your Dad?” he asked carefully trying to push a little deeper.

“He was a boxer,” said not-Matt carefully. “We needed money so he started taking bribes to fix fights. He went down in a match against a man called Creel. It broke him, I think. He got more involved in the mob. Enforcing, things like that. You, this worlds you, sent him down in the end. It was the case that made your career.”

“I’m sorry,” said Foggy not knowing quite what else to say.

“Aren’t you sweet, it really wasn’t your fault, Mr Nelson,” said not-Matt.

“You can call me Foggy. It’s weird, when you call me ‘Mr Nelson’,” said Foggy; it was weird even if this wasn’t exactly Matt.

“Foggy,” said not-Matt as if he was testing the word out. “Thank you, although I’d appreciate it if you could not call me ‘Matty’ it’s something of a sore spot.”

“I think I’ll stick to Murdock,” said Foggy. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” said Murdock with a knowing grin. “After all I’m not your Matt.”

Foggy blushed again and really he was betrayed by his own body.

Murdock chuckled pleasantly. “You are very sweet. But I’m afraid I must get back to work.”

Foggy frowned. “But isn’t it the middle of the night?”

Matt smirked. “No it’s just after 2 in the afternoon. You’ve been sleeping a while; it would seem travel between worlds takes it out of you. We have blackout curtains up in here.”

“Why would you need blackout curtains in your bedroom?” asked Foggy, genuinely confused.

Murdock laughed again. “Oh Mr Nel… Foggy, you’re not in my bed.” he winked at Foggy and Foggy was really sick of blushing like some 14 year old. “This is a guest room. There are clothes in the chest of drawers over by the wall. Please, help yourself. There’s a bathroom through the door to your left. If you need anything Nobu is just outside the main door to your right. He’ll get you anything you need.”

“Nobu?” asked Foggy shocked.

“You know him, in your world?” asked Murdock. Pleasantly, but Foggy knew Matt’s fishing for information tone when he heard it.

“I never met him. Matt talked about him once. I didn’t get the impression they were friends,” replied Foggy being careful not to lie.

Murdock smiled again, and Foggy couldn’t help it that smile on that face always made him feel warm and safe. “It’s true Nobu can be a little crabby, and he is not much of a talker, but he’s loyal once you approach him right.”

“Can I leave?” asked Foggy.

“Of course!” said Murdock. “But where would you go? I promise to help you, Foggy. But if you’d rather find somewhere else to stay in the meantime by all means. There’s a cell phone in the bedside table drawer. It has my personal number programmed in. If you need to get in contact with me, I hope you’ll think about taking it?” Murdock was just as good as Matt at the ‘kicked puppy’ look.

“I would like to take a walk, get some fresh air. My heads still pretty woozy,” said Foggy the instinct to reassure Matt was pretty strong. “I’ll take the phone but I promise to come back. Like you said, where else would I go?” He smiled at Murdock.

Murdock returned the smile with one of Matt’s most blinding ones. “I’m really glad we met, Foggy. I want to help you.” He felt the watch on his wrist. “But right now I really must go.”

“Thank you,” said Foggy sincerely. This whole situation was strange but Murdock was trying to help. He could have left Foggy on the street. Murdock nodded and left.

Foggy got up and found some clothes. Trying not to wonder where his clothes were or how he’d got into the t-shirt and sweatpants he was wearing now. First get dressed then see if Murdock really would let him go. Maybe he could get at least a basic lay of the land.

**

When Murdock reached his office he made the phone call.

“I think we have a solution to the Nelson problem,” he said instead of ‘hello’.

“You were pretty anti-killing him?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Too messy,” said Murdock, cutting the old argument short. “I think I may have a way to replace him.”

“Then I can kill him?” asked the voice.

Murdock smirked. “Maybe, Karen. If you are a very good girl,”

Author here - I'm really glad you like it!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 163 of 186

Prompt Post #5

Re: minifill: how to make friends with your long-lost cousin, a guide by anthony stark

Re: [FILL] (Cause I'm a screamer baby) Make Me a Mute

Re: Sleep deprived Foggy

Re: [FILL] (Cause I'm a screamer baby) Make Me a Mute

Re: Matt/Foggy But I'm a cheerleader au.

Re: Frank/Matt Gunplay

Re: [FILL] Jack Frost Nipping At Your Nose

Re: Matt rescues the avengers, by accident

Re: Repost: Foggy has a run in with an alternative version of Daredevil

Re: Repost: Foggy has a run in with an alternative version of Daredevil

Re: minifill: how to make friends with your long-lost cousin, a guide by anthony stark

Re: [FILL] (Cause I'm a screamer baby) Make Me a Mute

Re: Matt gets heatstroke

Re: [FILL] Beautiful, Dirty, Rich (3/?)

Re: [FILL] Beautiful, Dirty, Rich (4/?)

Re: [FILL] Beautiful, Dirty, Rich (2/?)

Re: [FILL] Beautiful, Dirty, Rich (2/?)

Re: [FILL] Beautiful, Dirty, Rich (2/?)

Re: [FILL] Beautiful, Dirty, Rich (2/?)

Re: [FILL] (Cause I'm a screamer baby) Make Me a Mute

Re: [FILL] Beautiful, Dirty, Rich (4/?)

Fill: or remain unsaved

Re: Fill: or remain unsaved

Re: Fill: 2/? Foggy has a run in with an alternative version of Daredevil

Re: Fill: 1/? Foggy has a run in with an alternative version of Daredevil