daredevilkink | Prompt Post #1

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Prompt Post #1

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Matt and Foggy comfort Karen after she finally tells them about what happened with
Wesley.

OP, do you have any preferences for how Karen's been handling this secret, when this scene takes place in the show's timeline, or what makes her tell Matt and Foggy? ot3 avocado squad is my favorite and I'd like to pick this up. c:

i don't really have any preferences! whatever you want is fine! :D

(first part, trigger warning for violent/intrusive thoughts. karen isn't doing too well.)

It feels like a worm, Karen decides one night as she stares up at the darkened ceiling of her bedroom. Foggy is on the far side of the bed, sprawled out like he's trying to take up as much space as humanly possible, while Matt lays between them, curled into a half-ball with one arm pillowing his cheek. They're asleep but she's awake because this feeling inside her, the constant twist in her gut, the tired stickiness behind her eyes that never seems to go away, the jittery nerves that have nothing to do with caffeine, feels like a parasite in her body that shouldn't be there. Something tiny but rotting and ready to die, crawling inside her so her body might feed the brood ready to burst forth from its corpse.

She has a lot of thoughts like this, recently. About death. About decay. About plagues and gore and the amount of pressure it takes to penetrate a human skull and how people slowly drown in their own blood sometimes when lungs get punctured. By, say, a bullet or two or more.

About how very, very bright the color red is. About how hard it was to get the stains from her carpet.

"It gets easier," Fisk say in her nightmares before killing her, again and again. He promises she'll get used to it. That she'll start to like it. That this is only the first step on a very, very long path.

She's guilty because she doesn't mourn his death, the man she killed. She should. Everyone deserves to live and no one deserves a body riddled by bullets, no matter what they've done. But what she mourns isn't the loss of his life so much as the ruination of her own. There's something in her dying right now with every sleepless night. She has been scared of so many things in her life, but she never thought she'd have to be scared of the possibilities lurking inside herself, too.

Karen rolls out of bed before the dawn birds even start chirping, when the traffic outside is still a small stream of all the other unfortunate souls having to wake up early or come home after a night shift. The street lamps cast a sickly, yellow-orange haze through the slats of her blinds. She pauses for a moment when Matt shifts at the sudden coolness against his side, only relaxing once he twists around and burrows into Foggy. Foggy lets out a tremendous snore and octopuses his limbs around Matt, muttering something incoherent before falling back into a deeper sleep.

Watching her boys always makes her heart ache, just a little. There's nothing good about what's happened to her, what happened to Daniel, but if she could in good conscience say there were a bright side to all this she'd have to point to the two men currently asleep in her bed. This... thing that they do, way they fit together as a threesome in a way they maybe couldn't apart, or as one of them tacked onto a couple, how they're all free to find other partners and somehow that binds them together even tighter, it's the best and most unexpected outcome she could have expected when she first saw Matt and Foggy after her world fell apart for the first time. There's a sense of completion here, a natural flow of energy and emotion she just hasn't felt in any other relationship. It's something she never knew she lacked until she had it. And looking at them now, a month after they brought down Fisk and subsequently fell into bed together (funny how those two events are connected), she can't help but feel the fragility of this endeavor.

She knows how final death is. She knows what it is to have blood on her hands. She knows now how this city would chew them up and spit them out without a second thought. Daniel, Fisk's assistant, Ben. She doesn't want to add Matt and Foggy's names to that list if she doesn't have to.

The shower is as hot as she can stand it, quickly bringing an angry flush of red to her skin. She imagines burning the parasites inside her from the inside out, digging them out with her nails and drowning them in a torrent of hot water and soap. She scrubs harder than she should. There's blood behind her eyes when she closes them, and no blood when she looks at her trembling hands; she's not sure which of those is more distressing.

She's falling apart and she doesn't know what to do.

...

Foggy is getting really fucking sick of his friends not being okay. Really, amazingly, stupendously tired about the whole thing. He complains about it to the only person who'll listen, much to her chagrin. Marcy complains about his complaining and then they're bickering over really unimportant shit and then they have another fun bout of angry fighting sex that always blows his mind (among other places) and helps him put some of his worries away.

"It's really obvious, you know?" Foggy says, trying and failing to blow some sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes after their last round. "Like, she's super quiet all the time and he bottles everything up like you wouldn't believe, and I'm at the point where I think we should just put a therapist on retainer because I don't think I can keep up with this-"

"Then put a therapist on retainer and stop talking about other partners when you come see me." Marcy pushes a pillow in his face and gives a cruel twist of her hips before she rolls off him completely.

Foggy makes the appropriately regretful noises and pushes the pillow away to glare at her. Marcy stretches, sighs, and flops down beside him. How anyone can make a flop graceful is beyond him, but Foggy's long since been sure his ex-ex-girlfriend is like, a demon witch of the wilds or something.

"Look," she says, "if there were anyone in this city who weren't depressed, traumatized, or just plain unhappy over something that happened in the past few years, that's when I'd be concerned. Sounds like your colleagues-" And the way she pronounces that word makes it sound so filthy, as those she imagines all they do at Nelson and Murdock is have sex in the office all day. "-are just paying attention."

"But there's something wrong," he insists. "I know she doesn't think I can see it, but Matt and I both know, you know?"

"Uh-huh. And have you shared this insight with her?"

"Yeah, we ask her all the time how she's doing-"

"Foggy."

"What am I supposed to do when all she says 'sure, everything's just peachy keen!' and looks dead inside?"

Marci pushes up on one elbow. "You are the most permissive person I've ever met and that's part of the reason we're broken up."

"I thought we got back together," Foggy grumbles.

"Details," Marci says with a wave of her hand. She reaches out to tug lightly on a stray lock of hair. "You let me get away with anything, no matter what you thought. There's a different between 'I'm fine, now stop asking' and 'I'm really not fine, actually give a fuck and get the answer from me.'"

Foggy makes a face as he pushes into the touch like a cat. "But like, I don't want to overstep her boundaries by pushing. Sometimes you're not okay and you just don't want to talk about it, right? And that makes other people a jerk to keep asking."

"And sometimes you're so not okay you don't even know how to begin asking for help." Marci scritches at his temples and gives him what might be a sympathetic smirk - again, how does she even do these things - before pressing in close. "I don't really care what happens with your other girl Foggy bear, I just want you to stop complaining about it in between fucking me senseless. Okay?"

She doesn't wait for a response, just kisses him and slings a leg around his middle again. And he lets her, because he's sick of being worried sick and needs to get lost in a partner he isn't afraid for. Marci may be many things, but being in immediate danger of breaking is not one of them.

Original requester here, I love it so far! Can't wait to see more. Thanks so much!

author here, I'm really really glad you like it! I'll be working on it around final projects but I'll get the rest asap. I'm thinking 3-4 more sections about this long, at least. And if you have anymore details you want added in just let me know c:

Oh man, this all is so great as it is, I can't think of anything I'd want to add! I'm really excited to see where this goes :D

Love this! Love Karen, and Marcy, and Matt and Foggy's sleeping habits!

author here, thank you! and ugh, I just realized I've been spelling Marci's name two different ways...

(tw for stress/guilt manifesting as not wanting to eat. also, suddenly, porn.)

Grief and guilt are familiar bedfellow at this point in Matt's life; he knows their shape, their texture, the way they burn behind your eyes and twist like a knife in your belly. It doesn't surprise him that the smell of wet salt lingers in the air around Karen, no matter how long ago it was that she cried or how good she cleaned up afterward. Nor does it surprise him that she declines food again and again because of stomachaches.

He hears her during their shared lunch break, quietly shredding a napkin in her lap instead of eating from the takeout littering the front desk. The containers will go in the fridge along with yesterday's and the day's before, until Foggy gets hungry and starts munching on leftovers.

There are days Matt doesn't want to eat either, when the entirety of his past seems to press against his skull and the last thing he wants to do is take care of his body. He learned a long time ago, however, that however much denying his needs might seem like an appropriate punishment at the time, it was still ultimately a selfish act. Trading guilt for hunger only taxed his body and made it all the more difficult to do good in the world. If he really wants to punish himself - and what is this vigilante business after all if not an extended exercise in self-flagellation? - then he'll put on the mask and and poke a wasp nest or two. Metaphorically speaking.

Matt isn't sure Karen's figured that part out yet. And at first, he thinks this is about Daniel, and Ben, and Sra. Cardenas. Deaths that are not, could never be her fault, and yet Matt of all people can't begrudge her that particular character flaw. But her sorrow around Daniel's death had been fading into grim determination by the time Matt noticed something else had gone terribly wrong. The feeling she radiates now, it's still grief but it's something... worse. Something much worse.

Matt doesn't like that she smells and feels and sounds this way. He doesn't like how Karen seems distant, even when they're enjoying their Friday nights at Josie's, or when he and Foggy lavish attention on her in bed. There's something wrong and he doesn't know what, or how Karen got hurt, or who's responsible, because if he did then he could at least throw punches and fight his way out of this mess. He could at least save Karen. But he's not sure he can save her from this, whatever it is.

Still, that doesn't mean he's not going to try.

...

Karen is on her back, naked from the waist down, a whine caught in her throat as Matt works between her legs. Foggy cuddles her top half, one hand cupping a the swell of her breast while the other lifts her head for a seemingly endless series of kisses. He calls her things like beautiful and amazing while Matt wholeheartedly in his own way. Two fingers in her cunt, crooking just perfectly while that blessedly flexible tongue runs circles around her clit.

She gasps into Foggy's mouth and Foggy laughs gently, a deep rumble she associates now with his bedroom voice. He's flushed, sweat-slicked hair plastered in all directions, pupils blown wide, and she wonders if she looks just as disheveled. "Hear that, Matty? Think you must have hit something good down there. Should try it again, just in case."

Matt hums in response and fuck, oh fuck her back arches without her permission at all. The fingers inside her are doing marvelous things, slipping in and out at just the right angle. It'd taken longer than she cared to admit to take even that much from him; she's smaller than average by nature and it takes her body longer to relax enough to be receptive to anything but her own hands. Matt and Foggy, however, are nothing if not patient, at least when it comes to her, and it's almost like they don't care they can't properly fuck her most nights - they don't, she knows they don't, but after Daniel she's got more than a little anxiety regarding men in her bed and it manifests in the most ridiculous of ways, like honestly believing that her boys are bothered by her small cunt, and-

"She's thinking too much again, Matty," Foggy says softly.

Matt repositions his lips, presses as close against her body as he can, and sucks.

She doesn't know what words come out of her mouth just then, only that her hand finds its way to the back of Matt's head to hold him in place. She keens, she thinks is the word, the high pitched whimper she'd be embarrassed of making if the world hadn't shrunk to the mouth between her legs. Matt sucks again like that, and again, and she pushes up against him in the beginnings of a desperate rhythm.

Foggy's own mouth finds the side of her neck, leaving a trail of love bites while his skillful fingers tease her nipple beneath her shirt into a hard peak. "Love you so much, beautiful," he whispers against her skin, and she moans to feel Matt repeat the sentiment down below.

"Both," she gasps, and Foggy's hitching up her shirt and bra so he can take a handful of both breasts now and squeeze. Her breath stutters and Matt moans.

"I think somebody likes both. She just gushed down here."

There's that laugh of Foggy's again. Both thumbs roll her nipples in lazy circles and he smiles to see the way her lip catches between her teeth. "Save some for me, you greedy bastard."

"Harder," she pleads, and the fingers at her breasts become vices. She feels herself flutter around Matt's fingers, hears Matt's own muffled groan of pleasure. "Oh God, Foggy, please-"

"Shh shh, it's okay," Foggy murmurs, and he starts tugging rhythmically on her nipples as he rolls them between her fingers. "Gonna take care of you tonight." Then, another aside to Matt: "Told you we needed to invest in nipple clamps. Our girl can't get enough, can you?"

She shakes her head and wets her lips, barely managing to catch her breath before Foggy kisses her again, hard enough to make her head spin. Or maybe that's the tongue lapping against her clit. Or the fingers, purposefully sliding against her g-spot with every thrust. "Matt," she whines.

"Are you sure?"

"Matt," she insists, louder.

"Give the woman what she wants," Foggy says.

Another finger, and maybe it's too much, maybe she should stop and make Matt find the bottle of lube, but it stretches in the best way and the pleasure radiating out from her clit makes the discomfort easy enough to ignore. She wants to be filled, desperately, wants them to work her open until she can take the biggest fucking dildo they can find, until she can ride them one after another without stopping-

"Christ, Karen," Foggy whispers, and it's only then she realizes she was narrating her thoughts out loud. She reaches out and finds his untended cock, head leaking, balls heavy, and fists him as best she can given the angle and the extremely distracting circumstances.

Matt applies a gentle pressure to the bottom of her vaginal wall. One hand is braced against her thigh, which is a good thing, considering how her legs are starting to twitch. They know from experience that if necessary Matt is surprisingly good at dodging unexpected kicks. Matt's fingers though, that's what she's concentrating on, because that amount of pressure, right there, it does fill her up in the most delicious way. Her toes curl. Her toes fucking curl, and his tongue makes another lap around her clit and the fingers of his free hand press indents into the soft flesh of her thigh, and Foggy's cock is a welcome weight in her palm -

Foggy presses his mouth against hers just in time and she screams. She's very, very, very loud.

(It's what they love about her.)

original requester here again, looooove it!!! i'm so excited to see where you take it!

i'm so excited for more!

((sorry for the shorter fill - it's finals, life is awful, and i'm procrastinating on this godawful kink meme. more to come when my projects are done :) ))

It's getting rarer, the nights all three of them are together and all three of them are in the mood for sex. Foggy's always in the mood, of course, or at least that's the image he tries to project to Matt and Karen, but some nights Matt is just exhausted (for reasons Foggy is not yet permitted to disclose, because Matt has yet to put on his big boy pants and quit the charades with Karen), and some nights Karen is just distant (for reasons Foggy has not yet figured out, but he and Matt are working on that with their best sleuthing skills right now, thanks very much).

Plus, it's getting to be late spring at this point, which means warmer weather and a suspiciously steady stream of clients. It was a long, godawful winter followed by a grayed-out spring, and to be honest Foggy can't blame the number of people finding their way into trouble now that the dark and cold have finally fucked off for good. The three of them stay busy, noses to the grindstone and working late into the night.

Some of them later than others.

Foggy knows Matt's onto something when the other man starts taking longer and longer to get to work in the morning. He's got that hard set to his jaw, the way he grips his cane that makes it seem he'd rather be throwing punches than navigating around the city for cases. (Not like that, anyway; Foggy's always thought Matt's other way of getting around seemed a lot more fun, if incredibly and unforgivably dangerous.)

The man formerly known as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen reappears in the papers. Karen clips out and saves each article, a smile gracing her lips as she tucks them away safely in a manila folder that grows by the week. Matt is careful to remain neutral whenever Karen talks about their friendly neighborhood vigilante, but Foggy can tell the other man is quietly pleased with what's being said about him. Good news now, mostly, though Foggy worries that he's learning more about his partner's nocturnal activities through the news than he is from Matt himself.

He and Matt talk about it in soft, low tones when Karen's out of the office, Foggy reaching for his hand, Matt allowing him to take it.

"We need you," he starts, but he doesn't know what to say next.

"Good, because I need you too." But there's no real bite to the reply, just a quiet and resigned exhaustion. Foggy crawls into his lap and kisses him soundly, noting how tenderly Matt holds one of his arms as he pulls his friend in close.

"You're not allowed to die," Foggy tells him a few minutes later, when they're both slightly out of breath.

"And you're not allowed to jump me in the office," Matt says with a small smile.

"Stop listening to my heartbeat, jerk."

"It wasn't your heart."

"Then stop sniffing my pheromones or whatever. Jesus Murdock, a man deserves his privacy."

Matt leans in and kisses him again and whatever else Foggy was going to say gets lost in the other man's mouth.

"I'll be careful," Matt promises when they break away again. "I swear."

"I'm counting on it," Foggy says, and he wonders if Matt can smell his fear.

...

Matt hates breaking his promises almost as much as he hates leaving a mess for Claire to clean up.

He keeps apologizing for the floor and the sofa, of all things, and he knows he must be out of it because all he can think of are the stains she'll have to clean up tomorrow. He'll help her if he survives, he tells her, and she tells him to shut up and stop talking or she'll be the one to put him in the ground for real this time. He laughs, or he would if he could take a fucking decent breath at the moment, but he can't and all that comes out is a wheeze.

"If I die," he starts, and Claire flips him off as she starts frantically scrolling through Matt's burner phone.

"Shut the hell up," she tells him before hitting call.

I hate/love you for leaving it like that. Good luck with your finals/everything author!anon - I adore this fill and will park myself here to wait patiently for more.

good luck with finals! i have to admit, i refresh this page at least 2-3 times a day checking for updates and i always get so excited when there is finally one here!

awww thank you friend! uwu I will be done with the soul-crushingness of school by Wednesday, so if it helps you don't need to refresh until then lol.

love it!

this is great!

omg any chance we'll get more?

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Prompt Post #1

matt/karen/foggy OT3 comfort

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penance, 1/?

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penance, 2/?

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penance, 3/?

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