daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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When Matt orgasms, like fully lets go, his enhanced senses make it a totally overwhelming experience. Full-on tantric orgasms with total loss of composure and control, can't help the noises he makes, just totally wrecked and overtaken. The problem is that it also makes him really vulnerable for an extended period of time - he can't keep track of what's going on around him, wouldn't be able to respond even if he could tell he was in danger. His life experiences, and Stick's training, make that unacceptable. So he doesn't let himself really get off on the occasions he does have sex. He works to keep himself in control, maybe fakes the occasional orgasm, etc.

Then he has sex with Foggy, and everything changes. Because FOGGY is someone he trusts, completely. Foggy is safe. Matt can be vulnerable with Foggy. So he lets himself go, and Foggy LOVES IT.

+Bonus points for Matt being insecure about how raw and uninhibited he is when he lets himself orgasm, and Foggy reassuring him after how FUCKING HOT THAT WAS JFC MATT.

+My soul for glorious description of Matt having a long, long, intense orgasm.

Post season 2, Matt and Foggy haven't talked in several months. Foggy is doing well at his new job but Matt is pushing himself past his limits going out every night. He's not doing well without Foggy but is convinced that Foggy is better off without him.

Then one night an opponent gets in a good hit (or several) and leaves Matt with a nasty concussion (feel free to add more injuries as well, but the concussion is important). Somehow his brain turns "You're in danger, get out of here," into "Foggy must be in danger, too, I have to save him." So confused, concussed, bleeding and stumbling Daredevil rushes to Foggy's aid. Because no matter what happens, he'll never NOT protect Foggy.

Only thing is, Foggy's not in danger. And having his bloodied friend show up unannounced and rambling about FOGGY YOU'RE IN DANGER COME WITH ME IF YOU WANT TO LIVE is decidedly NOT how he planned his evening going. But the idiot is in full vigilante costume, stumbling all over the place for anyone to see, so he doesn't have much choice but to let him in and try to help him. If only Matt will stop trying to help HIM first.

+Bonus points for Foggy being initially cold and angry, because DAMN IT MATT THIS IS THE KIND OF SHIT THAT RUINED US IN THE FIRST PLACE

+Super bonus points for Matt somehow revealing through his concussed rambling how lost he is without Foggy, how miserable everything is now, and how much his own self-loathing played into their separation.

+The admittedly meager contents of my bank account for some good, graphic H/C of the concussion variety (confusion, vertigo, nausea, etc) and Foggy being worried despite his anger.

+My soul for Foggy's heart kind of breaking when he realizes how fucked up Matt is without Foggy in his life, and eventual reconciliation.

Post season 2, after several weeks or months without speaking to Foggy, Matt is raped. Up to you who assaults him (Stick, random bad guy, etc). In the immediate aftermath he's traumatized, terrified, and completely lost and alone. All he wants is his best friend. And without even meaning to, he ends up on Foggy's doorstep.

Bonus points:

* Foggy being angry initially, like WHY ARE YOU DRAGGING THIS SHIT LITERALLY ONTO MY DOORSTEP AGAIN MATT, I HAVE A LIFE NOW.

* Matt being semi-catatonic at first, in a traumatized daze and not really making sense, and Foggy's initial anger fading into concern and fear as he realizes that something VERY BAD happened.

* Foggy being devastated when he realizes exactly what's happened to Matt, and realizing what it means that Matt came to HIM for help, and abandoning every ounce of resentment and anger.

* My undying gratitude if Matt eventually comes out of his fugue state and completely breaks down in Foggy's arms.

I don't care if you want to have them go to a hospital, report it, or deal with themselves, I just want the H/C between Matt and Foggy. If you want to explore the aftermath/healing process that's phenomenal, too.

Despite the rift between them, Matt watches over Foggy from a distance. When Foggy is put into danger one night, Matt swoops in and sacrifices himself to keep Foggy safe. Cue hurt Matt and Foggy who is torn between being pissed at Matt for sacrificing himself and concerned/heartbroken that his friend so clearly still loves him. Gen or M/F is fine.

how would a heatwave effect matt's ability to register people's body temperature?
Matt is maybe somewhere in a very big crowd. maybe an outdoor festval. with the heat and the sound combined he is not very happy.

based on a misreading of the previous prompt

Just a sexy prompt for Mick Rory aka Heatwave and Matt. Mick is literally covered in burn scars, maybe a bit of sensory play? The Flash fandom seems to have universally decided that Mick 'runs hot', maybe throw that in.

Or heck, make it a Captain Cold/Heatwave/Daredevil threesome with extreme temperature play.

He goes to Burning Man and can only find refuge in Rosario Dawson's vagina misting tent?
(Nsfw http://teamcoco.com/video/rosario-dawson-vagina-tent )

I'm imagining him and Deadpool (and maybe Matt) going to a drag club for some reason. The banter would be incredible. Especially after Frank finds out he's not expected to totally pass for a woman.

"It didnt work. I still look like a guy in a dress"
"That's not a problem where we're going"

"If they know I'm a guy, why did I have to shave?"
"Because only amateurs dont. We have class"

It could be like that Mad Max stunt couple who fell in love punching each other in the face

I love this prompt with the force of a thousand burning suns

My kingdom for a fanart!
Also, imagine trying different shades of lipstick on him, all with names like "Succulent Cherry" or "Fuchsia Blossom"

Double date with DP, DD and Cable because he lost a bet? Or, he needs to gather intel.

Matt and Foggy are with people and reveal they've slept with each other a few times. They're still friends and not really romantically attracted to each other.

No one is surprised and confused as to why Matt and Foggy thought it would be.

Doesn't seem like something you need to be a priest to do...

Class and Deadpool. That doesn't belong in the same paragraph let alone sentence

At HCB Foggy has to work with Jessica quite a bit, and they don't really get along. Eventually Foggy tries bribing her with alcohol to get her to do something for him. It works, a little too well, and the two of them start getting way too drunk together on a regular basis.

Jessica goes along with it because Foggy's buying, and Foggy keeps doing it because he can blame Jessica for his own drinking (as opposed to, say, the other vigilante in his life). Plenty of people already think Jessica's got a drinking problem and try to call Foggy out for exploiting that, but it takes a while before somebody realizes that Foggy's not doing so well either.

Bonus if the story ends with Foggy and Jessica owning up to their behavior and agreeing to try to sober up together. Double bonus if they're still not friends.

Foggy's more of a lover than a fighter (at least, outside the courtroom). So when he crosses the line from "lawyer to vigilantes" to "actually a vigilante himself" he's more of an information broker, like Oracle in the DU universe.

Foggy seems to know half of Manhattan and can get a favor of out of most them. Foggy knows exactly who to call and what to ask in order to find out nearly anything. Instead of physical force, Foggy knows just how to bribe, manipulate or persuade people into doing something for him--and has his own ethical quandries about how far is too far to go with that.

Like, if you get up in his grill he'll still whack you with a baseball bat, but most of the time he's the man behind the curtain, feeding information to the Defenders instead of fighting alongside them. Bonus if they think that's all he is--part of their support team, like Claire and Melvin--until somebody (Maaaaaaatt) finds out that he's been more actively fucking up bad guys, just with information instead of fists.

(Foggy does not have to be a wheelchair user like DC's Oracle, nor does he have to use that code name. Just the concept of a superhero whose "power" is knowing how to know things.)

" Double bonus if they're still not friends."
Loved this part. lol
Hope someone fills it

Welp, I'm going to hell...

***

Foggy should have kept his mouth shut.

Instead, he opened it, told Bonnie, his supervisor, and now Bonnie was dead and he was trapped in his broom closet of an office with two terrifying men standing over him.

It started a few weeks ago, when Bonnie had put him on the Confederated Global account. It was a huge account, millions of dollars flowing in and out, and Landman & Zack had a whole team of lawyers looking after it. Foggy had just been supposed to consolidate some data for a presentation, but he’d kept looking at the numbers, and it had just looked wrong. So he’d kept looking, started pulling in other files, until he was sure that Confed Global was up to something shady.

He’d brought it to Bonnie, who was a good person, who grumbled whenever they skimmed too close to the ethical line, and she’d agreed. She’d said she’d take it to the senior partners.

That had been last night.

When he’d come in this morning, there were two men in his office. One lounging in his office chair, all neat, precise edges, the other standing behind him. Under other circumstances, Foggy would have stared at the standing man, probably would have stumbled over his words or said something stupid about how handsome he was, or something awful about the obvious fact that said handsome man was blind.

Under other circumstances, the blind man would have captured all of Foggy’s attention. But the man sitting behind Foggy’s desk as if he owned the place was looking at him, scrutinizing him, taking him apart to see what made him tick.

He apparently liked what he saw, because he gave a smile, all ice and hardness.

“Mr Nelson, please have a seat,” he said, standing up.

“Can I help you?” Foggy managed.

“Please, sit down.”

Foggy sat. The man perched on the side of his desk, and Foggy realized that he had placed himself between these two men, and he had no idea what they wanted from him.

“I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news,” the sharp man said. “Ms Tsing was found dead in her apartment this morning. Apparently, she had a very serious nut allergy. Anaphylaxis is a terrible thing, especially when one is…irresponsible with one’s Epipen.”

Bonnie had kept her Epipen in her purse. When she and Foggy had gone out for lunch on Foggy’s first day at L&Z, she’d told him, just in case.

“What is more shocking is the file that was found near her body.” The man tapped a manila folder that was sitting on Foggy’s desk. “Go ahead.”

When Foggy opened it and realized the contents, the print seemed to swim in front of his eyes.

“Mr Landman and Mr Zack will be deeply…disturbed, I think, to discover that one of their interns has been stealing from their client,” the man continued. “Although I believe the police will most likely be even more interested.”

“This - this isn’t true,” Foggy stammered.

“The truth, Mr Nelson, is not what is under discussion.” The man plucked the file out of Foggy’s shaking hand. “This is enough to have you disbarred, arrested and convicted.” He smiled, all teeth. “Oh, and as a sidebar - Matthew?”

Foggy glanced over his shoulder to see the blind man - Matthew - taking his phone away from his ear.

“It’s done,” Matthew said.

“Thank you. As a sidebar, Confederated Global Investments just purchased the entire block on 39th, between 9th and 10th. We’re thinking of building some condos.” His gaze was icy as Foggy put together the implication. His parents lived in that block, above their hardware store.

“What do you want from me?” Foggy said.

The man chuckled, sending a shiver down Foggy’s spine. “I’ll admit, we were impressed by how quickly you managed to put a case together. Our financial expert was quite…irritated.” Behind him, Matthew snorted. “Now, Ms Tsing was…a disappointment. She should have noticed you were poking your nose where you shouldn’t, we should have been aware of your activities a long time ago. But, it’s all for the best, or so I’m told. You’ve managed to demonstrate your…unique skills. So, Mr Nelson, you should be glad. My employer has decided that you are worth…collecting.” He reached into his jacket and placed a card on Foggy’s desk. “You no longer work for Landman & Zack, by mutual agreement. Tomorrow, nine AM, you’ll start work at Confed Global. Address is on the card.” He stood, buttoning his jacket. “I’m sure you’ll find it…fulfilling work. Matthew.”

He swept out, leaving the false, incriminating file on the desk. Which meant that there were copies.

As Matthew turned to close the door, he flashed Foggy a grin. Foggy was pretty sure that wolves grinned like that at their prey.

When the door closed, Foggy lunged across at the shelves where he’d put the Confed Global files. They were gone. Bonnie had had the only other copy.

And Bonnie was dead, and Confed Global was threatening to have him arrested and to evict his parents if he didn’t work for them.

He didn’t have a choice. No choice at all.

At nine AM, he presented himself at the Confed Global offices. The receptionist frowned at him when he didn’t even know the name of the person he was supposed to meet, until he heard a voice behind him.

“He’s supposed to see Mr Fisk.” Foggy turned to see Matthew, still handsome, still terrifying. “I’ll take him in.” The receptionist shrugged, and Foggy followed Matthew. His frantic mind, desperate to focus on something, noticed that even with his cane, the blind man moved like a predator, practically slinking along the hall, coiled and powerful.

At the end of the hall were a pair of double doors. A tall broad man stood before them, looking as solid and immovable as a granite slab. But he grinned when he saw Matthew, and opened the door.

“Red,” he said as Matthew passed him. Matthew slid a hand over the man’s arm.

“Hey, Frank,” he said, and he grinned, the kind of grin that would have taken Foggy’s breath away if it were directed at him.

But Matthew was already disappearing into the office beyond, and Foggy had to hurry to keep up with him.

The office was huge, one wall completely made of glass, showing New York in all its glory. The furnishings were minimalist, with a Japanese influence in the warm-colored wood and the carefully shaped plants. There was a fountain, trickling gently down one wall. And behind the desk was the man himself, whose name Foggy had only heard this morning.

Mr Fisk was huge, would probably dwarf even the powerfully-built Frank outside the door. He certainly overshadowed the man from Foggy’s office, standing at his side.

“Ah, Mr Nelson, you made it. Thank you, Matthew,” said Fisk’s…aide? Assistant?

“Mr Wesley,” Matthew said, a note of insouciance in his voice as he turned on his heel and left the room. The door closed with a click the volume of thunder.

They didn’t invite him to sit.

Fisk’s evaluation of him was brisk, as if Foggy was of little concern to him. He passed a glance over Foggy, then turned to Wesley.

“I’m sure Mr Donovan will appreciate the extra hands,” Fisk said. He nodded, and Wesley nodded back, then Foggy was being led out the door. “This is the one…with the big mouth?” Fisk said as Wesley reached for the door.

“Yes, sir,” Wesley said.

“Find a use for it.”

The smile that curled around Wesley’s lips may have been the most terrifying thing in a terrifying few days. There was cruelty there, and pleasure, too.

“Of course.”

Foggy found himself pushed out the door. Outside, Matthew was lounging against the wall, while Frank stood at his post. Matthew grinned.

“Is there something wrong with your office?” Wesley snapped.

“Just thought I’d head down with you,” Matthew said, peeling himself off the wall. “He’s coming to legal, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

In a few sentences, Foggy thought he had it all worked out: Wesley didn’t like Matthew, and Matthew enjoyed riling Wesley up. That was something to work with. Matthew turned and led the way down the hall, and Foggy noticed that the back of his hair was standing up. As if someone had run their fingers through it.

In the elevator, Wesley spoke, almost apropos of nothing.

“Mr Fisk is very pleased with how this has turned out,” he said. Matthew shrugged, exuding nonchalance. “He wanted me to communicate his appreciation for your…initiative.”

“Generous of him.”

“I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Standing behind them, his hands twisting the strap of his bag, Foggy had no idea what they were talking about, and dreaded ever finding out.

Confed Global’s legal offices turned out to be three offices and a conference table at the end of a hall. The name tags outside the offices proclaimed the corner one to be Ben Donovan’s, the one next to it Matt Murdock’s, and the third was empty. Ben Donovan was an older African-American man, natty in a pinstripe suit, who smiled strangely when Wesley introduced them. Then Wesley casually turned to Matthew and said, “Why don’t you come in so we can give our Mr Nelson his first assignment?”

Wesley closed the door to Foggy’s new office, and nodded at one of the chairs in front of the desk. Not the desk chair.

“Now, Mr Nelson, I believe our meeting yesterday left an…impression with you,” he said, settling into the desk chair himself. Matthew sat in the chair next to Foggy, stretching his legs out. “Mr Fisk would like to make our relationship perfectly clear.”

“You mean that you’ve threatened me into working here?” Foggy said, surprising himself. “You mean that relationship?”

“I think you’ve failed to grasp the depth of what we can do to you, Mr Nelson.” Wesley leaned forward. “We own you, Franklin Percy Nelson. You tried to…I suppose, blow the whistle on a tiny part of our operation. Believe me when I say that your evidence would have barely made a dent in our resources. But it would have been an annoyance. And we eliminate annoyances. You can thank Matthew here that you are sitting in this office instead of sharing Ms Tsing’s…unfortunate fate. In fact, right now, you’re going to show Matthew the depth of your gratitude.” Foggy looked between Wesley and Matthew, between the icy cruelty and the catlike grin. Wesley sighed. “He’s not quick on the uptake, is he? Are you sure about him?”

“I’m sure,” Matthew said.

“Mr Nelson,” said Wesley sharply, dragging Foggy’s gaze back to him. “Perhaps I need to make this clearer. Get on your knees and thank Matthew for his efforts on your behalf.”

The penny dropped, and Foggy felt sick.

“No, no,” he stammered.

Wesley shrugged. “Then the file goes to the police. And your parents are evicted.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Yes, we can, Mr Nelson.” Wesley glanced at his watch. “Ten seconds, or I’ll make the call.”

Foggy looked at Matthew, but there was no mercy there, just a mildly amused grin on a handsome face.

“Five,” said Wesley, implacable.

Foggy was shaking as he slid to his knees. Matthew was only a few inches away, but stretching out his hand felt like reaching across an abyss. He swallowed against his dry mouth when he touched Matthew’s belt buckle, then fumbled it open. Matthew’s hand drifted up, almost gentle on his hair, as he unzipped Matthew’s fly.

Under other circumstances, he would have thought Matthew out of his league, would only have dreamed of seeing his cock, being able to touch it. But here, and now, he wondered frantically how he was going to keep from throwing up.

He slid his hand into Matthew’s pants, finding his cock, pulling it out. Matthew put a little pressure on his head, guiding him down, and he closed his eyes tight before his lips met Matthew’s cock. He could feel the tears sliding down as he took Matthew in, shaking too hard to be careful about his teeth. Matthew hissed and tightened his hand on Foggy’s hair, and Foggy tried again, wrapping his lips around his teeth, trying to breathe deep through his nose, trying not to feel Wesley’s eyes on him, trying to imagine being anywhere but here. Matthew’s hand relaxed, and as Foggy pumped his mouth on his cock, he realized that Matthew was stroking his hair.

Matthew came with a short moan, flooding into Foggy’s mouth, and Foggy swallowed, too afraid to do anything else.

“Excellent,” Wesley said as Foggy pulled off and Matthew tucked himself back into his pants. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine addition to our team.”

“I’m sure he will,” Matthew said with a smirk. He brushed his hand over Foggy’s hair one more time, before standing and going out with Wesley, leaving Foggy on his knees in the middle of his office.

This is deliciously well-written! Love to see more.

I hope this works for you OP! I’m using a very odd blend of Marvel-canon conditioning efforts, minimal knowledge of Marvel’s vast comic backstories, and Cassandra Cain from DC because she is my favorite unsuccessful killing machine. Matt and Foggy will remain the central characters but the Avengers set up camp, so there is a strong side of “all Avengers adopt Foggy Nelson.” The timeline is MCU but warped for author pleasure. It also is still in progress and likely to need touch-ups when I eventually de-anon and AO3 this beast.

My centre is giving way, my right is in retreat; situation excellent. I shall attack — Marshal Foch, WW1

Situation Excellent

Foggy Nelson was quite aware that he was a dead man. He previously had been feeling a little dead on the inside but that was just a hazard of working for Landman and Zack and feeling like one of the bad guys. He had been walking back toward his apartment too late at night after checking too much precedent. Foggy had only made it a block away from the office before two impressively large men grabbed one elbow each and dragged him into an alley. One of them had a gun drawn and pointed straight at his face before Foggy had the sense to yell for help.

Foggy had his back against a dirty brick wall. The dumpster six feet to his left stank as if a sewer had been emptied into it and then set on fire. The gun, though… No one had pointed a gun at him before and he couldn’t focus on anything else. He tried to distract himself with the feeling of crumbled brick behind his head or the way that his cell phone was still in his back pocket. He couldn’t even muster annoyance that both of the men were wearing cheap black polyester suits that may or may not be improved with tailoring. All he could see was the black space in the barrel.

“Don’t turn your head,” the man without the gun growled. “Just look straight ahead and maybe you’ll live through this.”

‘Maybe’ wasn’t very comforting. For once, though, Foggy managed to hold his tongue. He nodded once and kept looking at the gun. Even if he wanted to cause trouble, it was well past sunset and there wasn’t all that much light in the alley. He had also watched enough detective stories to wish that both thugs were wearing masks. These two didn’t care if he remembered their faces.

“Good evening.” The speaker was a male with the sort of diction that only came out of expensive speech lessons or spectacularly good control. He was somewhere closer to the street than Foggy’s part of the alley with the burned-out light. “You’ve made quite a few copies lately. I would like to know who asked you to become involved.”

Foggy dutifully kept his gaze forward while he tried to puzzle out what the man wanted. Not one piece of this led to happy thoughts about going home and locking his door behind him but they were not going to accept the truth. All he could do was try to puzzle out what they wanted without making anyone feel that he knew too much. If they didn’t want him to put pieces together they really shouldn’t dangle a puzzle in front of a lawyer and threaten to murder him over Xerox habits.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Foggy replied finally. His voice wasn’t quite as steady as he would like but it was a decent effort for having a gun aimed at his face.

The man’s voice didn’t sound one touch different. “I think otherwise, Mr. Nelson. Tell me where you sent the copies.”

Foggy’s decision tree didn’t have a single promising branch. If he answered truthfully, the men probably wouldn’t believe him and might kill him. If he lied, he might get the answer wrong and they might kill him. It wasn’t helping his case that they had yet to explain one thing about who would be angry with him or why someone cared about his use of the office copier. He was one of the primary suspects to be signed into the copier, maybe, but that was because it was a particularly glitch-prone model that hummed along for him better than some company repairmen. Marci had been the first to work out that he was faster than calling the manufacturer. She’d sold out that knowledge to the secretary pool and earned both of them a little more respect from the secretaries and paralegals all at once.

Marci still called him most often. Maybe it was because sometimes she’d invite him over for dinner after they worked on a project together. Maybe it was because he didn’t hit on her when she wasn’t in the mood. Maybe it was because she’d been copying all kinds of things in the last week and a half with odd formatting and poor contrast that stretched the capabilities of their copier. Marci hadn’t wanted him to look at a single paper but had given in after two hours with no progress. She’d run out to get him bagels in thanks while he carefully did not read the forms he was replicating.

If they knew he was making copies, they might be clever enough to sort out that Marci’s secret project had made her nervous. Foggy wasn’t particularly likely to survive giving them the information but any lawyer worth a billable hour knew how to tell people what they wanted to hear. If it meant that Marci would be safe… well, that would at least make his death mean something.

Whatever Marci was doing, she was working against the kind of people that threatened attorneys in an alleyway and didn’t even try bribery before breaking out a handgun. Marci was doing a good deed for someone, whoever that was, and Foggy was not going to be the reason she was caught out.

As satisfying as trying Die Hard out would be, though, that might not ring true for Foggy Nelson, Attorney at Corporate Futility. Drama club it was. Foggy feigned a glance to the right and the mysterious figure before flinching back toward the front even before the unarmed brute could force him back into place. “He said that no one would know!” Foggy blurted out. His full-body tremor wasn’t feigned. If he didn’t do this right, he’d be dead and Marci would have no warning.

The thug with the gun was steady. The gun hadn’t moved and his finger wasn’t curled on the trigger. The other man looked ready to give Foggy a moment

“We just need you to tell us who that is,” the unseen man said soothingly. “It’s a rather personal affair. It wasn’t fair for someone to have you do all the work and not tell you why.”

If Foggy ever had the chance to apologize, he would, but he couldn’t think of any other company that could keep their people safe. “I don’t know his name.” Foggy let the words burst forward with a hint of slur from the rapid pace. Both his drama teacher and debate coach would have yelled at the abysmal attention to his consonants. The thug without the gun took half a step back. “He had a prototype StarkPhone, though. That clear kind? And we met at a coffee shop near Stark Tower once. But that’s all I know!”

“Surely you noticed something else, Mr. Nelson,” the voice coaxed. “Hair color, skin tone…”

“Dark blonde hair. Short, not really styled,” Foggy improvised quickly. “White guy. I mean, I think? He looked Caucasian. He wore sunglasses all the time and a pretty nice suit. He didn’t talk like a usual lawyer but he knew what he wanted. Said that he could do me a couple favors back.”

“Excellent. I’ve always known attorneys to be observant.” The voice had shifted to a soft, friendly tone that made it seem they were all meeting by choice. “Was there anyone else in the firm that could give us a description?”

Foggy met the man’s pretense of kindness with a stammered lie of his own. All the voice wanted to know if they needed to drag anyone else from the firm into an alleyway. “He always wanted to meet alone. Never near Landman and Zack. I thought it was just so that people wouldn’t realize we’d been in contact when I needed to collect that favor.”

“I see. Well, thank you for the information, Mr. Nelson.”

The man without a visible gun turned toward the entrance of the alley. He nodded after a moment then turned back to look at Foggy. Everything seemed to stop as they listened to the sound of footsteps growing quieter. If it hadn’t been so quiet and if Foggy hadn’t been listening so closely to the sound of dress shoes against the pavement, he never would have heard the faint impact.

He didn’t understand just what the sound was at first. There was a muffled sound like two footsteps close together and then the man with a gun no longer had his gun. The handgun went flying and before it landed the thug was on the ground after two swift punches to the jaw and being shoved headfirst into the alley’s brick wall. The gun impacted the wall with a loud clatter and then rebounded under the dumpster. The other man barely had time to get his hands up and try to land a hit on the new arrival.

Even Foggy could see that the second thug didn’t have a chance. He was facing a tornado of black-clad limbs that dodged every last punch. The thug couldn’t say the same. He couldn’t keep his defensive pose with all of the kicks and punches that circumvented his attempts at blocking. Foggy could barely make out details in the dim alley but he could tell that almost every inch of the new arrival was covered in black. Black shoes, black jumpsuit, black gloves, black mask over the top half of his face. The small amount of skin available showed a pale, angular jawline with a mouth showing very little expression for a man beating someone into unconsciousness.

The previously-armed man regained his feet just as the other man slumped to the ground. The man in the mask repeated his earlier fast jabs at the man’s jaw. That time, the thug went down and didn’t scrabble back to his feet.

Foggy had been able to hear footsteps and the rasp of a shoe against concrete just minutes before. Faced with the man in the mask, all he could hear was his own rapid breathing and his pulse thudding in his ears. Muscular men with guns and threats and questions about Marci’s case made sense. This man didn’t.

As Foggy watched, the man seemed to get smaller. His shoulders hunched in and he bowed his head as he shuffled closer.

Foggy knew that nothing of his spike of terror showed on his face. He didn’t think he had even settled on an expression so much as frozen in a grimace just like his mom had always warned him. The man still stopped and slumped forward even more pointedly.

“Not very talkative, I guess?” Foggy’s voice sounded weak and shaky even to him. “You’re… I’ll guess that if you wanted to hit me, you’d hit me.” There was no way that he could stand up to the vicious assault the man had dealt out.

The man nodded jerkily before shaking his head. He rubbed at the edge of his mask with his gloved right hand before snapping the hand to rest over his throat before shaking his head again.

Foggy let himself take a very deliberate breath in and then out. That almost helped so he repeated that trick several times before speaking again. “You can’t talk?”

The man nodded. From what Foggy could see of his face, the frown eased slightly.

“You helped me, though. I don’t know why you did but thank you,” Foggy said seriously. Any ideas about game theory and decisions made no sense anymore. None of his frame of reference involved mysterious ninjas that appeared out of nowhere and took down two men that were each double his size. Outside of the fight, his ninja seemed to be rather shy.

The man’s face tilted toward Foggy. There was a trace of a smile before he turned away again.

“My name is Foggy. Foggy Nelson,” he said, shakily offering his hand. The man didn’t even glance up. Foggy tried to play it off as if he had reached forward for some reason other than an unreturned handshake. “Can you… I need to call you something.”

At that, the man stood straighter and pulled at the zipper of the jumpsuit-like outfit he was wearing. Foggy was trying to not call it a catsuit but the only comparison that came to mind was that his rescuer was wearing a slightly looser version of the Black Widow’s usual gear. It was a black full-body coverall in an odd half-shiny fabric with a black zipper down the front. The shirt under the coverall was black as well. Even the dogtag he tugged out for inspection was a matte black.

Foggy wasn’t an expert by any means but he’d seen a few dogtags before. His grandfather had been a World War II veteran and he and all the rest of the grandkids occasionally got their uncle to talk about the Vietnam War. He knew to expect a number and maybe a few other details as well as a name.

The man in black only had a single line of stamped characters on the single dogtag.

DD 19-64 was all it said.

Foggy looked from the dogtag cupped in his shaking palm to the calm man waiting expectantly. Foggy took another few deep breaths. They didn’t seem to help.

“Is this your name?” he asked hesitantly. There weren’t enough breaths in the world to help Foggy cope when the man nodded. “Can I call you Deedee for now?” Foggy asked as he tucked the dogtag back where it had been.

The man nodded again. He didn’t seem bothered that his name was an alphanumeric Star Wars would have turned down or that Foggy was shortening the string of characters further. Deedee carefully settled the tag in the center of his chest before zipping the coverall back.

“Right. Deedee, I am very grateful that you saved my life, but I think that I should not be in this alley for long. If you ever need a favor from me… well, I am not nearly as useful as you, buddy, but anytime you want a drinking buddy or free legal advice I’m your man. I’m also decently handy anytime you find an apartment and need it fixed up.”

Deedee made another of those odd nearly-smiles where only the very corners of his mouth seemed to move.

“Personally I’m going to go get all the cash I can out of an ATM and try to find a safe place to stay.” Foggy wasn’t sure what made him think of it but he wasn’t sure just where a man in black and a half-face mask would spend the night. “Are you… do you have somewhere to go?”

The man nodded before pointing up. When Foggy reflexively glanced up, he had an excellent view of the man launching himself up off of the putrid blue dumpster and onto the lowest level of a fire escape. He’d scaled halfway to the roof in the time it took Foggy to realize that he’d found another contender for Spider-Man.

“Thank you!” Foggy called quietly. He wasn’t sure if the man would hear him but Deedee turned back his way and made a last jerk of a nod before vanishing up over the rooftop. For his part, Foggy stumbled to the closest ATM and took out all the money that his previous caution would allow. He’d put a cap on ATM withdrawals in case he’d been mugged. He hadn’t expected that he would be on the run in New York City from an unknown adversary with $300 and change from his morning coffee order.

Whatever luck had brought the man in the mask to the alley hadn’t ended with his odd rescuer. He nearly ran into the path of a taxi with his eagerness to catch a ride. There were an unprecedented two taxis available and the first pulled over very pointedly, leaving the second to drive on in search of a fare. Foggy’s driver indulgently agreed to take him out of Hell’s Kitchen and filled in a one-sided conversation assuming that Foggy was drunk and looking for a little feminine company less choosy than he’d found. He was very agreeable about looking for company on a limited budget, even, and promised he knew just the place. Foggy managed to keep his mouth shut except to agree that he would like a cash-only hotel. That had the cab driver laughing before promising not to tell a soul. With a cheerful wave, the cabbie left Foggy in front of a disgusting-looking hotel and told him to have a great night.

I definitely feel like this should not be amazing? But it is. This is great writing and being anon is super-great sometimes.

This is author-anon popping back in.

The last line of this is indeed depressing. When I originally wrote this is was partly coping with secondary grief. After I posted this, my friend's kid was diagnosed with the same nasty form of cancer (#1 most fatal brain cancer in kids) and I could not handle keeping the ending as it was anymore. I want this amazing little one to beat the previously-impossible odds and go on to live all her crazy dreams.

AO3 link with ending that doesn't make me feel entirely defeatist: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585716

NA

Yeah, I love that part, too :D

Really like this so far! Deedee is such a cute name.

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Page 151 of 165

Daredevil Prompt Post #11

Matt/Foggy, tantric orgasms and letting down his guard

Matt/Foggy or Gen, post season 2 concussed Matt tries to save Foggy, who is not in peril

Matt/Foggy or Gen, post season 2 Matt is raped and goes to Foggy for help

Post season 2, Matt is a self-sacrificing idiot

gen, heatwave messes with matt's senses

LoT Daredevil xover, Matt Murdock/Mick Rory (Heatwave)

Re: gen, heatwave messes with matt's senses

Re: Frank in a dress, corset, body shaving, ridiculousness

Re: Daredevil RPF

Re: Claire/Bucky, imprinting

Re: Frank in a dress, corset, body shaving, ridiculousness

Re: Frank in a dress, corset, body shaving, ridiculousness

Foggy/Matt (kinda): No one is surprised they've had sex at some point

Re: Priest!Foggy Heelys away from Bullshit

Re: Frank in a dress, corset, body shaving, ridiculousness

Foggy + Jessica, alcoholism, mutual enabling

any, Foggy as Oracle

Re: Foggy + Jessica, alcoholism, mutual enabling

Fill - No Choice At All [1/?]

Re: Fill - No Choice At All [1/?]

Fill: Situation Excellent 1/?

Re: Fill - No Choice At All [1/?]

Re: Fill: Gemma's Wish 2/2

Re: Foggy + Jessica, alcoholism, mutual enabling

Re: Fill: Situation Excellent 1/?