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

So like, I've recently become addicted to the idea of the avenging OT4 finding Matt in a dumpster and absorbing him into their lives like an ameoba absorbs food and this prompt just seemed appropriate for them so this happened. I'm honestly amazed it turned into sap rather than porn, considering what my writing has looked like the past few days.

------------

Steve came home to the sight of Natasha reading a book on the couch while Matt kneeled on the floor beside her, leaning against her legs and looking utterly blissed out as Natasha gently scratched under his chin.

Steve was also certain Matt was honest-to-god purring.

It probably shouldn't have been as attractive as it was. Thankfully, people were a lot more open about these kind of things nowadays.

Natasha looked up then, and smiled when she saw how affected he was. It was probably written all over his face, not unusual when he saw his lovers. "Come here Steve, our little kitten needs attention and my hand is cramping."

Matt made a distressed noise and attempted to pull away, but Natasha shushed him and abandoned her book in order to pet Matt more effectively. "No, no hunny, I'm fine. You didn't make me hurt myself, I'll just be grateful for the reprieve. Shush, you're fine."

Steve put his bag and keys down and then walked over to join them. He tapped Matt's shoulder twice in warning and then picked his lover up, settling him on the couch with his head in Steve's lap. Gently, like he did with the neighbor's cat when he was younger, Steve slowly scratched under Matt's chin.

Matt closed his eyes and leaned into it, mouth falling open the slightest bit before the purring started up again. Steve smiled, and relaxed for the first time in hours. It had been a long, hard day, but it was worth it to return to this. Matt, curled up on the couch beside him and halfway in his lap like the world's largest house cat, Natasha leaning against his other side as she idly flipped through her book. The only thing that could make it better was -

Sam and Bucky walked in the door, dropping their own bags at the nearest spot of empty wall (Matt moving in had been the only reason the two started dropping their things even that much out of the way, nevermind how much everyone else had been tripping on them before even with the benefit of sight) before noticing the cuddle pile and walking over.

Bucky lifted Matt and sat down again with the still purring man on his lap, leaning his head on Steve's shoulder as he reached out to run absent fingers through the tactile man's hair. Sam sat on the other side of Natasa, placing his hand on the legs she threw over his as he grabbed the remote and put on the game he'd missed last night with the volume down low.

Steve smiled as he leaned back a bit more, Matt's increasing purrs rumbling under his hand. This, this right here, with all his lovers around him and their newest, most precious addition laying on him, finally accepting the tactile touch he so craved (and the rest of them so loved giving to him) - this was perfect.

They were finally home.

Fill it fill it fill it.

awww *melts*

I can't wait to read more! This is fantastic!

I'mn ot a matt/foggy supporter but THIS PROMPT OMG!!! O____________O

Oh man, Matt being surrounded by this OT4 is amazing! He needs all the cuddles!

It takes him less than a day to track down the hired thugs who took her. He corners them in a basement while Foggy is still down at the station talking to Brett, a greasy little hole that stinks of unwashed bodies and stale take-out, and when he kicks down the door one of the guys actually pisses himself. It’s pathetic.

They don’t know anything. They shoved Karen into the back of a black car with tinted windows; they didn’t see the driver. She was still alive, still fighting. They can’t tell him one damn useful thing about who took her or where they went.

He leaves their unconscious bodies zip-tied outside the precinct and keeps looking.

***

His burner phone starts buzzing against his hip sometime near dawn, and he ducks down the nearest alleyway to answer it. “Foggy.”

“I know it’s not a good time,” Foggy says. He sounds tired, stretched thin, like he hasn’t slept any more than Matt has. “But you should probably go home and get some sleep.”

“I can’t--”

“Or come here, if it’s closer. I promise you, I’m in no state to threaten your virtue.” The joke is habitual, so strained and tired that Matt can’t even manage to feel flustered. “Matty, come on. You can’t--” He takes a deep breath. “Brett’s looking, too, okay? But if you don’t at least take a nap you’re going to fall off a building or something, and I just--I cannot take that right now, okay? Please.”

“I can’t,” Matt says, and hangs up the phone before Foggy can protest. He feels sluggish and tired, but he’s run the streets in much worse condition than this, and it’s Karen. He’ll manage, and Foggy will just have to deal with it.

Three blocks away, he trips hard over a tin garbage can that there’s no way in hell he should have missed; he falls hard on the pavement, metal clanging in his ears and his nose full of the stink of asphalt and motor oil, and maybe that’s why he misses the sound of footsteps at the other end of the alley. Just one man, walking slow, but his stride is measured and his heart is steady and he doesn’t seem the least bit surprised or disconcerted to find the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen flat on his face in an alley.

Warily, Matt pushes himself up to his feet. There’s a ladder two steps away that will get him to the roof well before the guy comes within grabbing distance, and in his present state that would probably be the smarter option--but Matt has never been one for taking the smarter option.

He steps forward into the alley. “Who are you?”

“That’s a bit forward, don’t you think?” There’s the slight edge of an accent--Eastern European, Matt thinks--and without his face mashed against the pavement he can smell the man’s cologne, the deodorant he’s almost sweating through, and--

Lotion. Vanilla lotion and a trace of blood.

Karen.

“You kidnapped a woman,” Matt says flatly, almost certain now. “I’m not the one being forward. Who are you?”

“An interested party,” the man says. Matt can hear the smile in his voice. “Your pretty friend has made some powerful enemies. But I suppose you knew that.”

“I don’t care why you did it,” Matt says. “And I’m not interested in a negotiation.”

“No, I didn’t think you would be. This is not about you, Daredevil. This is not your business, and it is not in your best interests to interfere.”

Matt shakes his head at that, almost smiles. “It never is,” he says, and lunges.

The man is quick for his size, and agile, but he’s clearly caught off his guard by the viciousness of the attack. He dodges the first blow but isn’t quite as lucky with the second; Matt feels the man’s neck snap back from the force of uppercut, the impact reverberating up through his arm. He doesn’t give him time to recover, gets him in an armlock while he’s still reeling and steps back far enough to pull him off balance.

“I don’t want to have to kill you,” he hisses in the man’s ear, leaving the rest of the threat unspoken: but I will if I have to.

“--don’t--” the man gasps.

“Then tell me what I want to know,” Matt spits. “Where is she?”

The man takes a breath; his fingers flex against Matt’s arm. Then, in a whisper of breath, he names an address.

Matt shoves him away and takes off running.

***

He can smell blood from three blocks away, the ghost of fresh cordite from two. He’s already sprinting all-out, but that gives him an extra burst of speed. That’s fresh gunpowder; if he’s already too late--

The door bangs open at his kick, and he stumbles to a stop.

The room beyond is huge and echoing. There are five people there. One of them is dead. Three are unconscious.

He can smell vanilla lotion.

A slow, shaky breath that it takes his whirling mind a moment to realize is not his own, and then Karen flings the gun away from her with a sob, wipes her bloody hands on the front of her shirt, and says, in a very small voice, “Hi, Matt.”

*bites nails*

you give good cliffhanger, anon.

AAAAAAAAH you are a god, and this comes during an exhausting week, so THANK YOU. GUH KAREN. Does Karen get backstory? DO WE GET MORE KAREN? and POOR MATT. <3

I have no idea if anyone is still watching this prompt, but I sorta filled it for another prompt? The fill has Foggy/Frank, but if I ever end up continuing it for a full length fic, the end game pairing would be Matt/Foggy.

Fill is here: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/6237.html?thread=10902109#cmt10902109

Honestly Lantom was more for me than anyone, and I don't think he could do otherwise with his very solid beliefs. But I'm glad you liked it anyway. I've got it up on Ao3 now: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5173337

PLS!! XD

I CANNOT believe I forgot to post this here. Ugh, I'm such a disappointment. But here you go.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4927762

um, so thank you for ruining me. also I'm writing this. okay bye.

Wow, am I ever late to this party, but since you last posted less than a month ago, I have hope that you might read this someday.

First off, this is awesome so far! I adore gen Sentinel crossovers, and there are not near enough. I love having this from Foggy's POV, and how it's a complete mystery to both of them, although Foggy has apparently figured out that distance between them triggers the "absence seizures." I love how they're both so (over-)protective of each other. I'll be eagerly waiting to read more of this fic, if you ever fill more of it.

Secondly, for both you and the OP, there are at least *two* distinctive Daredevil/Sentinel fills on AO3, both of which predate the original post for this thread:

http://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search[sort_column]=revised_at&work_search[other_tag_names]=The+Sentinel&work_search[query]=&work_search[language_id]=&work_search[complete]=0&commit=Sort+and+Filter&tag_id=Daredevil+%28TV%29

(In the interests of full disclosure, the gen two-part series is mine.)

And one over on Fanfiction.net, although it's part of some larger series. (It made sense to me without reading the larger series, though):
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11334760/1/Who-Watches-the-Watchman

D':

<3

Oh, I hope you come back to this. It's miserably beautiful. Beautifully miserable. Something like that. And I want more.

I only just discovered this fic, and I love it! I particularly love your Natasha. But Matt, willing to bend himself into a pretzel to help these kids, after already having bled through most of Midtown, is definitely the star. As is Foggy, stepping in to try to save at least a little of his friend's mental health.

Bravo!

ooowwwww *______*

uuhh intriguing :D

Everything will be alright if you've got a potato.

..... she didn't have a potato on her when she was framed for murder or kidnapped. She will try to avoid this in future.

Any bad things that may happen to her in season 2 will be when she forgot to carry a potato with her. This only strengthens her beliefs.

This fic is beautiful and wonderful and fantastic. The character relationships are *fantastic*, Natasha and Matt bonding through child-soldierdom obviously but also Matt and Bruce, I am totally curious to see where that's going! And Matt wanting to be guardian ad litem and Foggy going "NO that is a TERRIBLE IDEA" but ending up getting talked into doing it himself by the force of Matt's Matt. And the ENDING of the last part ahahaha.

aaand I'm running out of things to say so just, this is an amazing fic and I will read any further updates like burning.

Sorry I missed this post earlier.

aha that's okay. I wasn't sure if anyone was still looking. but I am indeed writing it. :)

Of course it was a trap. Matt had known that from the moment Melvin had told him Betsy had been taken. Someone had obviously made the connection between Matt's costume and the reserved, strange armor designer and wanted to draw him out. Betsy's heartbeat was strong and her breathing heavy from where she sat tied to a chair in the abandoned warehouse. Her mouth was taped, but they hadn't hurt her. It was obvious that they were waiting for him.

But even though he knew it was a trap, he was puzzled. There were only four men guarding her. Hardly enough for an ambush. He reached out with his senses, but he couldn't sense anyone else in the surrounding area. And so he had no other option but to remain crouched on the roof of the warehouse, listening intently and waiting for the right moment to stage his rescue.

"The boss said he'd come," one of the four men guarding Betsy said. "What if they're too late? What if all this just pisses him off?" He voice was shaking, and Matt could smell his sweat. He was terrified. Good. Matt also now knew that someone else was coming. Maybe he was early.

"We just need to keep her here," one of the other men said. "Keep her here until he shows up, get everyone in one place. Follow our orders." He threw his cigarette butt onto the ground and paced, calm.

"Still though," the original man said, "I don't like being the fall guy like this."

"Relax," a third man said. "We're getting off easy here. Five years, tops. And then we're on easy street." Matt filed that away for later, unsure what it meant.

The fourth man only looked at his watch, his heart pounding furiously. Matt steeled himself, sensing that something was about to happen. Tick. Tick.

CRACK!

Matt had no time to react before a bullet slammed into his shoulder and the momentum propelled him forward through the roof skylight, and he gasped for breath as he fell and landed hard on the cement below at the feet of the four kidnappers, who immediately trained their guns on him. He rolled over, reaction time slowed, bruised and bleeding from cuts made by the glass but before he could make his move to get back up one of the guns was already in motion, the butt of it connecting with his head.

Foggy couldn't sleep, which was strange for him. Usually he was exhausted after sex, his entire body humming with contentment and satiation. Marci had often complained about it.

But not now. Now, he was wide awake, his mind racing, the regret mounting. It was always beautiful women. He joked about Matt's predilection for them, but if he were being honest with himself, they were always his downfall too. He and Karen were in this together now. They shared Matt's secret, shared the worry and now they'd shared their bodies with each other. It couldn't be undone. So what was going to happen next?

He turned his head to observe her next to him, one of her arms and a leg still slung across his body, her head nestled on his chest and her hair falling softly across his stomach. She looked so peaceful. His heart melted slightly at the sight. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her that at ease when she was awake. In fact, the more he thought about it the more he realized that he may never have seen her that at ease. So much had happened to her since they had met. And none of it good.

He sighed and refocused himself on his bedroom ceiling, knowing that if he continued staring at her his inner monologue would talk him into something that he didn't think would be good for either of them. He tried to worry about Matt instead, which he took as a bad sign of the state of things.

He was startled when his phone began buzzing on the nightstand, then nervous when he saw that the call was from an unknown number. Matt's burner phone.

"Where are you, buddy?" he asked once he had accepted the call.

The voice that answered wasn't Matt.

"Who do you think I am right now, Franklin?" asked Rosalind's stern voice. "Your partner? I imagine he must get quite turned around sometimes."

He went to hang up, but before he could Rosalind surprised him. "I wanted to let you know that I just wrapped up my last piece of business related to the Fisk case," she said.

Foggy rolled over and leaned his head back against his pillow, breathing a sigh of relief. What was she playing at?

"And you called to tell me that you did it for me and request that I say thank you, is that it?" he asked. "Like you're doing me a favor by not ruining my life?"

"Well I did do it for you," she said. "But I don't expect a thank you, Franklin. I know you hate me. But the things I've done are for your own good, so you can be as ungrateful as you want as long as I know what I did and why. I don't need you to approve of the decisions I make."

"Why call to tell me, then?" Foggy asked. "I'm sure I'll hear all about it from the DA, or on the news like everyone else."

"I called to invite you for a drink," she told him.

"And why would I go for a drink with you?" he asked in return.

"Well, we have a lot to talk about," she said.

"Do we?" Foggy asked, heavy dread settling uncomfortably in his stomach.

"We do," she said. "You've been keeping some rather interesting company. And hiding some particularly dark secrets. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

Foggy gasped softly, the weight of things overwhelming him, paralyzing him. He didn't know what to say. He was such an idiot. He let Matt go out, and now they were both going to pay for it.

"The Plaza Hotel bar. Half an hour," Rosalind said when he didn't respond. "Take a cab. I'll pay for it. See you then."

I apologize, because the order of this is all screwed up. Oh well.

Matt woke up slowly, sluggish and groaning. The first thing he took stock of was that his mask was still on. That was good. The second thing he noticed was that his arms were handcuffed behind the chair he was sitting on, and his legs were similarly bound. Not good.

As his senses came back to him, he became aware of other things. The smell of cigarette smoke, the feeling of it flooding his lungs secondhand. And a perfume, thick and heavy in the air, that smelled of jasmine and lemon. He knew that perfume. Who did he know who wore that perfume?

A hand on his cheek, soft and feminine, caressing it carefully with genuine affection.

"Finally," a voice said, accented and warm. "I've been waiting for you to wake up. I didn't want to start at a time when you couldn't feel the pain and understand why it was happening to you. Do you know who I am?"

"You're Wilson Fisk's girlfriend," Matt said, confused as the sounds and smells of the person in front of him finally coalesced into an image of sorts. He'd met her at the gallery. She'd had a gentle laugh and a way with words then.

Now, her voice was hard and raw with emotion as she told him "I'm the woman who will be his wife. You took my Wilson from me. All he ever wanted was to save this city that he loved so much, to be with me, and you took all of that away."

Matt hissed as the lit cigarette in her hands was slowly ground into his chin, the burning sensation flooding Matt's senses until everything whited out.

"You're going to pay," she said, "in blood." Her fingers moved from his face to his neck, one of the few places on his suit where the armor didn't protect him. She must have nodded, because one of the men in the room advanced towards him, the all too familiar metallic click of a switchblade being pulled out telling Matt he was in trouble.

Matt was afraid, but not afraid as he should have been. Because he could hear the sirens. Dozens of them, heading in his direction and only moments away. The warehouse was being raided. Someone had tipped them off that he was there, that Vanessa was there.

So he resolved to take the pain and wait for his moment to escape in the chaos. He listened carefully for the hum of the few light-bulbs keeping the warehouse dimly lit so that he would know where to aim the projectiles necessary to operate in the dark and have the advantage. He began moving his right thumb back and forth in the restraints, working to break it and allow him to slip out of the handcuffs. He just needed to take the pain for a moment before he would have the opportunity to get away, and Vanessa would be arrested, Betsy saved.

And as he did those things, as he breathed and tried to meditate past the pain of the knife cutting into his flesh as it slid up through his mask in an attempt to cut it away, he remembered what the guards had said, smelled the sweat of fear emanating from them. They knew. This was a set up.

By who and why were questions that would have to be saved for later.

The hotel bar was nearly empty when Foggy arrived, not surprising given the late hour but not always the case in a city like New York, and in a hotel as popular as the Plaza. Rosalind sat there calmly waiting for him, a folder in front of her on the bar and a glass of wine in one hand.

He tried to control his breathing, tried to pull himself together and not let her get to him before he'd even sat down, but he knew he was kidding himself. She'd been in control from before he'd even seen her on TV defending Fisk. She'd been in control his entire life, even in the years she wasn't there, like a shadow cast over him and everything he did.

He walked over and sat down. "Rosalind," he said.

She simply observed him carefully, taking in his flustered demeanor and thrown together outfit.

"What do you want? You called me here, remember?" he finally asked.

"Aren't you going to have a drink?" she asked.

"What?" he replied, confused.

"A drink. You know it occurs to me that we've never done this. Had a drink together," she said. "You were so young the last time we spent any time together. Order something."

"No, thank you," he told her. "Can we just do this?"

She sighed and motioned for the bartender. "What do you drink, Franklin?" she asked.

He sighed. "Whiskey. On the rocks," he finally said.

Once it was poured, he drank it quickly. He hadn't wanted it, but now that it was in his hands he recognized that it might help steel his nerves.

"What do you think you know, Rosalind?" he asked.

"I know that Wilson Fisk is a very guilty man. The more my team of investigators and colleagues began to look into his case, the more we turned up that made us uncomfortable continuing on with his case," she said. "That's why we decided not to continue on with it."

"I hope that whatever you found you intend to turn over to the prosecutor, since to not do so would be unethical and disgusting," he told her angrily.

"Of course!" Rosalind said, "Whatever you might think of me personally, Franklin, I hope that you know that I take my professional obligations very seriously. Although in this case, you might have a good reason to not want me to take everything to the prosecutor."

"What does that mean?" Foggy asked, dread sitting in the pit of his stomach.

Rosalind pushed the folder over to him. "Why don't you see for yourself?" she asked.

He opened the folder slowly, fingers trembling, knowing that inside he would find photos of Daredevil using Matt's roof access, or evidence of Matt's fingerprints on a crime scene.

He wasn't expecting to see photos of Karen.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Security footage taken from outside of your secretary Ms. Page's building on the night of May 15th," Rosalind told her. "From the ATM across the street."

It was grainy and in night vision, but it was definitely Karen walking up to her apartment. He moved the photo to inspect the one underneath. It showed a man approaching Karen from behind. The photo after that showed the man dragging Karen into a black car. What was this?

"I don't understand," Foggy said.

"Keep looking," Rosalind said.

The fourth photo wasn't at Karen's apartment anymore. It was in a warehouse. It was a body covered in blood.

"James Wesley," Rosalind said. "Shot several times at close range in the chest. He was Mr. Fisk's loyal assistant of many years. I believe you met him. He hired you to take on Mr. Healy's case on behalf of Confederated Global, one of Mr. Fisk's holdings."

"So what? So he's dead. And Karen was kidnapped? I'm not seeing the connection here," Foggy said.

"Mr. Fisk insisted to us that Mr. Wesley was murdered by the man in the mask. He wanted it looked into, believed it would be a good way for us to implicate the mysterious man and prove him to be a threat. As it turns out, though, it wasn't the Devil who killed him."

The next photo was security footage from what Foggy assumed to be outside of the warehouse. It showed Karen exiting.

"Mr. Fisk's men attempted to use their influence to investigate, but they missed that there was a security camera mounted in a nearby parking lot by it's owners because the attendant there had been held up several times. He doesn't know that this footage exists. Or about the footage from Ms. Page's building," Rosalind told him.

"She didn't kill him," Foggy said, not believing what he was seeing.

"The bullets in Mr. Wesley match those of the handguns issued to Fisk's bodyguards. The murder weapon was missing from the scene. She was the only other person there," Rosalind said.

"It still could have been Daredevil," Foggy said, hating himself for both bringing up that possibility and wanting it to actually be true instead of what was being presented to him.

"It doesn't fit his M.O. Believe me, we have been looking into him. Not very successfully. The man's a shadow. But as far as we can tell, he doesn't use guns, and he doesn't kill. Ms. Page, on the other hand, has a very colorful history. Go ahead. Keep looking."

The stack of photos and files under Foggy's fingers was thick. He didn't want to think about what else might be there. "No," he said. "I don't want to know." Rosalind simply nodded, closed the folder and moved it back towards herself.

"It was self-defense," Rosalind said. "But she'll still be arrested. Fisk will still want revenge, and even from within the prison it wouldn't be impossible for him to attempt it," Rosalind told him. "It's too bad that I have to turn it in, since to not do so would be, in your words, disgusting."

She put the folder into her briefcase, and stood up to leave.

"Wait," Foggy said, knowing that she was fully expecting him to stop her. She turned around.

"I'm listening," she said.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"You know what I want," she told him.

"Me. You want me to come and work for you," he said.

"That's part of it," she said.

"Part of it?" he asked.

Rosalind sighed. "I don't know why you don't believe me. Why you're making this so much harder on yourself than it has to be Franklin. I want to be your mother again. And I want you to stop fooling around and be the person who I always knew you could be. To be my son."

"And if I said yes? What then?" he wanted to know.

"Then we move forward. And we keep the past," she said, gesturing to her briefcase, "in the past. Where it belongs."

He stared at her for a long moment, contemplating the situation. He pictured Karen back in his apartment, in his bed, and the way that he and Matt had made a promise to her to always protect her. Matt had meant it a different way at the time, knowing that he was Daredevil. But Foggy felt obligated too, even if the methods available to him to do it were different.

He thought about their office, how proud he had been to erect the sign and how much he had come to love the terrible taste of Karen's coffee. The dying plant sitting in one corner that they all joked required an actual adult around to take care of it properly. He thought about the only two people in the universe who made him feel whole and human, like the person he had worked so hard to become was real.

Was that person real though? What if Rosalind was right? What if he was fooling himself?

He nodded.

Rosalind smiled and ordered them another round of drinks.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 184 of 186

Prompt Post #5

Minifill: Our Little Kitten

Re: Daredevil/Punisher from the Villains' Perspective

Re: Minifill: Our Little Kitten

Re: Fill: Somewhere to Belong [1b/]

Re: Matt/Foggy, Secret Invasion

Re: Minifill: Our Little Kitten

Re: FILL: leave the world outside 8/?

Re: FILL: leave the world outside 8/?

Re: FILL: leave the world outside 8/?

A sort of fill?

Re: Fill: Helping Hands

Re: Matt &or/ Vision

Fill: Matt & Vision

Re: BB!Matt/BB!Foggy " all the glory when you ran outside"

Re: Fill: Nothing Special (Gen)

Re: fill: "why ask politely, why go lightly, why say please" 2b/3

Re: FILL: In the Absence of St. Germaine (7/?)

Re: Another superhero saves Foggy, Matt is jealous

Re: Claire/Matt or Claire & Matt, D/s AU

Re: Mini-fill

Re: FILL: In the Absence of St. Germaine (7/?)

Re: BB!Matt/BB!Foggy " all the glory when you ran outside"

Re: BB!Matt/BB!Foggy " all the glory when you ran outside"

FILL: The Price of a Soul (13a/?)

FILL: The Price of a Soul (13b/?)