daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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Page 162 of 165

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Are you okay, a! a? Is this still ongoing?

*
When Matt finally slides into their usual booth near the back of the diner, he tilts his head up deprecatingly at Foggy, and offers him the world’s most pathetic smile.

“Foggy,” he mutters by way of apology. And he should be apologizing, because Matt was supposed to have been here nearly an hour ago, though given the circumstances, it’s a minor miracle he managed to get here at all.

It’s not like Matt has any kind of say in these things… you get dropped off in the present when you get dropped off in the present, his own plans and intentions be damned.

He's probably entirely too blasé about his breaking and entering, (though technically, breaking into your own place isn't actually a crime. So he's okay there. Indecent exposure however... well, that would be a little more difficult to defend if it ever gets caught. And theft. Can't forget about all the theft.) but he can't worry about the lawfulness of his actions. His first priority is to survive. (There are lines he won't cross, however. He won't assault anyone, for instance, no matter how desperately he needs clothes and shelter.)

He and Foggy don't have a house phone, because who has those anymore—though maybe getting a spare phone for the apartment itself wouldn't be such a terrible idea—hence, Matt's incredibly late arrival to their prearranged lunch date. And no way of giving Foggy a heads-up beforehand.

The grimy, vinyl covered table's not the most comfortable place to rest his head, but he's so worn out, he can't help but to succumb to the inevitable.

He feels like someone's come by and cut all his strings. He can’t move a single muscle, no matter how much he wants to. Turns out he really doesn't want to.

“Hey,”Foggy says. “Everything okay over there?” Then he starts poking Matt's forearm with the blunt end of his coffee spoon.

Matt bats him away like he's some kind of annoying insect, and Foggy squeaks at him he pulls his hand away. And it's that moment when their server decides to magically appear next to their table.

He sighs, and puts in his order. Just coffee. Black's fine, no cream or sugar; yes he's sure. The waitress huffs disapprovingly; she doesn't exactly seem impressed with the disheveled mess of a guy flopped over on the table in front of her. Whatever. He doesn't care.

She disappears, and eventually he mutters out an “I don’t want to talk about it,” to an increasingly unamused Foggy.

“'Just going to the library' my ass,” Foggy says, referring to Matt's very own words from the last time they spoke. When they were hammering down plans for today, and potentially for the rest of the week. “You're fucking hungover, aren't you.”

He groans, and begrudgingly hauls himself upright so he can rub at his face.

“No,” he says quietly, and folds his hands in front of him. “I really did spend most of the night at the library last night. I didn't lie to you about that.” He lowers his voice and pulls in closer, like they're a pair of conspirators, and adds, “but I also spent the last day and a half or so, you know. Elsewhere.” He shrugs.

“Oh,” Foggy says. He sounds small and far away, even though he's sitting straight across from him in a cramped and dingy diner booth.
When his coffee finally arrives, he somehow remembers to offer the waitress a polite “thank you,” and he has to internally kick himself, because remembering basic courtesy isn't any in any way some kind great accomplishment. (Not that he's excusing his behavior, he knows better that this, he does, but he's had a rough… day. Couple of days. Whatever. Right now, social decorum can kiss his ass.)

Anyway. He sips at his coffee even though it's still too hot for human consumption. It burns his tongue, and leaves a sharp, bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

He sets the mug down on the table, and cradles it tightly. The cheap ceramic mug is still too hot in his hands, but he holds onto it just the same.

“Matt.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says again. He barely wants to think about it, so he takes another sip of coffee, hoping to avoid just that.

It doesn’t really work. Of course it doesn’t.

He’s not sure why this time's upsets him as much as it does. He’s been to the car crash countless times by this point in his life, too many times to count actually, so he doesn't know why he's this upset about it. He's never felt like this afterward, not in all the years he's had to endure it.

Well, no. He has to shake his head, because that's not true. It's horrible, pretty much every time. This time though, this time Foggy’s words played inside his head like a damn broken record. Not that he blames him, he doesn’t, this wasn’t anyone’s fault, but it was all he could hear as he stood up on that rooftop half naked, shivering and alone. How sad Foggy's voice had been when he’d said how unfair it all is. No. What he actually said was how ‘needlessly cruel’ it all is Needlessly cruel. That God, or fate, or whatever it was would continue to send him back to that same moment in time, and send him again and again and again.

He didn't realize that's where he had ended up, not at first. Not until he found himself raiding some poor soul’s clothesline for something to wear. Survival 101, and all that.

He'd been wrapping a thin and awkwardly short bathrobe around himself when he heard that unmistakable sound. That ugly sound of tires screeching and the crunch of impact. He knew those sounds intimately, he knew them more than anything else on the face of the Earth. Of course he did, he's heard them so often, he sometimes hears them in his dreams.

But this time, this time, the loudest thing he heard wasn't the sound of impact, or of his own child-self's screaming, No this time the only thing he could hear was the panicked voice of the old man himself.
He kept calling (shouting, screaming) Matt’s name over and over and over again, and more than anything else in the world, Matt wanted to call back to him. To yell down into the street below and shout, “hey! Look here! Look up here. I’m here. I’m right here.” But of course, those words wouldn’t come, and his feet wouldn’t move, because ultimately, it doesn't matter what Matt wants. Because he doesn’t control his own life, because he’s never had a say in it.

He startles when a warm hand rests atop his own, and he ends up cursing under his breath. Shaking his head, he pulls his hands away from the cooling coffee mug and wipes at his wet, hot face.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I’d been gone for almost two days, and I didn’t have anywhere to go, or to sleep, and I--”

Foggy’s hand stays on Matt’s, in fact he squeezes it like it’s the next best to a hug. “Sometimes I can’t wrap my head around it,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” Matt says.

“I mean, you really do look like it's been days since you last slept.”

“Thanks, Fog.”

After a long beat he says,“any time. I mean, why sugar-coat it, right?” He has to admit that he appreciates the way Foggy laughs as he says it. The way he sticks with the joke even though he's embarrassed he'd walked right into it, face-first.

He's tempted to set his head back down on the table, he feels himself listing, anyway, so he says, “Do you mind if we... you know,” and he hooks his thumb toward the door.

Foggy dramatically slaps himself on the forehead. “Buddy, I don't know about you, but some of us? Would love to get the hell out of here some time today. I am not kidding. I'm gonna start calling you the Pokey Little Puppy if you don't hurry it up.”

Matt can't help but to let out a laugh at that, because it's not at all the response he expected. Though, honestly he probably should have expected something a little like it.

Foggy stands up, fishes out his wallet to pay the bill, and shrugs into his jacket.

“Chop chop! Waiting on you now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles affably, and knocks back the rest of his ice-cold coffee.

*

On the walk back to their place, Matt nearly stops in the middle of the sidewalk.

“I have to go back,” he says all at once.

“Go back,” Foggy says, baffled. “To... wherever you'd been the past two days? I didn't think that was something you could--”

“No, no. It's not. I just mean I have to go and get my stuff. From the library.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, so how 'bout this: we get you home, and I'll go instead.”

He sighs, because he doesn't really have the energy to argue.“Yeah, okay.”

Foggy elbows him in the ribs. “If only you could be in more than one place at at a time, huh?”

“Ha. Yeah,” he says. “If only.”

*
“Well, you sure lucked out.”

“How's that,” Matt says. He'd planned on catching up on sleep while Foggy had been out collecting his stuff, but. That'd been a bust.
“So turns out some kind soul found your stuff for you before I got there. Bagged it all up, too. Set and ready to go.” He lifts up a large paper bag, which crinkles as he sets it down on the coffee table. “Lost and Found. Even had all your books.”

“Wow,” he says. As he sorts through the bag, he tilts his head up to offer Foggy a quick 'thank you,' then gets up from the couch.

“You think it was you?” Foggy asks, following closely behind.

“I don't know,” he says, shrugging a little. “Maybe. Could've been the librarian though,” he says. “I keep wondering how it is I don't have a reputation.” He pauses in his bedroom door. “I don't, right?”

“Not that I know of. But, maybe you might want to avoid going down there for the time being.”

“Oh my god, please tell me no one said anything to you.”

“You mean, besides the old homeless-looking dude who tried to sweet talk me out of your ratty sweater and cheap-ass sneakers?” Matt laughs at that. “Nah. But you know. You don't exactly blend in.”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Fuck.” He sits down on the bed and runs his hands over this face. He'd been too tired to think about all the potential ramifications of leaving his stuff behind in such a public space. He groans and sets his hands in his lap. Too late now.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Thanks, Foggy. You know, for doing all that for me. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Any time, bud,” he says, rapping on Matt's bedroom door before gently shutting it behind him.

*

He's not one hundred percent sure, but he thinks there's a good chance that he's been in this church before. Back during that unbearable manic spell in undergrad.

It'd had been cold then, too, he remembers, but he hadn't been there (here) long enough for it to have been a problem.

He sits up, brings his knees up toward his chest so that his toes don't freeze on the floor, and rubs his arms to encourages circulation.

He's pretty sure it's snowing outside--he can smell it, can feel the sharp crystals on his tongue and in his lungs--and he can't help but scowl at that, because it means sneaking out isn't an option, not until he wants to freeze to death.

His teeth chatter, and he knows he should get up, get moving, get that blood flowing, find something to wear, something warm. He's not sure he'll be able to...

A figure—a person, a man—is moving toward him. He's moving slowly but firmly, deliberately, and there's something about the steady rhythm of the man's movements, the unflustered way he approaches the naked man in the pews that Matt finds oddly reassuring.

Without saying a word, the man stops next to him, and just stays there for a long, long moment.

He's holding a heavy cardboard box, and has to shift his arms to better carry the weight of it.

Matt turns his head up towards him. “Father?” he guesses.

“Lost and Found,” the man says by way of an answer, and sets the cardboard box down next to Matt. He moves to sit in the pew directly in front of Matt, settling in at his ten o'clock.

“I'm almost afraid to ask,” the man—the priest?--says as Matt rifles through the box for something to wear. He eventually comes up with something twisted up and balled in on itself. At first he can't identify it, not until he unrolls the thing. Turns out he's grabbed a hold of an old and tattered broomstick skirt. Next he pulls up a thin t-shirt, and after that he finds a pair of cheap plastic flip-flops. He'd be perfectly dressed for a leisurely summer stroll along the beach.

He shrugs and dresses, because beggars can't be choosers.

“Thank you,” he finally manages. But not just for the clothes. For not commenting on the obvious: how he'd ended up on a cold pew in the middle of a snow storm, as naked as a day he was born.

Matt tries not to look surprised when the man turns around and and casually asks him if he'd like some coffee, as if that's a thing they do, as it this was a perfectly normal day.

But Matt is cold, and maybe a little hungry, and he knows he's not going to be going anywhere for a while. And besides, perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to get a second opinion on some of the weirder problems his condition presents.

Then the man—the priest, Matt now knows—reminds him that even coffee is included in the seal of confession, and Matt can only smile at that, because it's pretty clear this isn't... this won't be the first time they have this conversation.

“Yeah,” he says, and stands, and walks behind the man—the priest—because if he isn't going to comment on Matt's wardrobe, then neither is he.

*

Nice way to include Father Lanthom in here.

I have a similar idea, but Karen found out Matt's secret before she even got framed up.

It's been forever, but I filled it! Here it is: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9901037

Definitely related to your interests:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7843306/chapters/17907619

PS. Not as extensively 'crazy', though.

thank you!!! thank you so much for being here <3

yayyyyy ty ty <33

“I spent all that time trying to figure out what the hell was going on with you,” Karen says. “And here it is.”

Matt stills, hands at his waist, chin jerking up. Doesn’t know what to say, or doesn’t know what she wants him to say; either way, he’s making a mistake, because -

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Karen says, and heat floods through her when Matt immediately gets back to work, pulling the suit down past his hips with a vicious tug. His boots come off in a graceless rush, leaving him standing before her all in black, a dark figure in the shadows, an echo of that very first night in the rain.

She moves. The brick wall behind him is rough beneath the palm of her left hand, and his hair is thick and soft between the fingers of her right. Karen pulls, and his head follows the motion so, so easily; she kisses him hard, biting at his lip, and he groans at the sharp press of her teeth.

His flimsy black pants leave little to the imagination. Matt’s swelling against her, dick twitching as it fattens, and Karen rocks her hips, chasing the feeling, chasing his need. Open-mouthed, she kisses over his throat, drinking in the heat pulsing beneath his skin; good thing he’s warm, because winter be damned, he’s coming out of the rest of those clothes. He’s going to stand before her bare.

Matt shivers delightfully when she rucks up his shirt and runs her hands over his muscled back. He's quick to take a hint, too, dragging the shirt up over his head and tossing it aside, but Karen turns her head away when he seeks out her mouth.

The scars high on his chest are silvery in the night, and thickly corded under her fingertips. If they’d ever made it to a bed, no matter how low the lights were, she couldn’t have missed them; how much of his story would she have been able to piece together herself if she’d had the chance to read it by touch?

(The woman who had been in his bed, his college romance turned fellow fighter, she must have known every line. “Nice to know I wasn’t being physically cheated on,” Karen had said, the night Matt made his confessions; ultimately, she’d believed that part was actually true because of how hard he’d flinched, as if she’d struck bone.)

“Yeah, I would’ve had a few questions about these,” Karen says now, pressing her hand over the nasty one she finds on his abdomen. Matt flinches anew, maybe from her words, maybe from the first sweep of her fingers beneath his waistband. Just inching her thumb over slightly makes him shake against her, a body-rocking tremor that seems to strip a layer of his control away.

What’s below it is strength and action, all for her. Matt pulls her tightly against him, mouthing at her neck, while his big hands roam her back, her sides, tugging at the hem of her skirt until it's hiked up her her waist and his hardness is pressed against her underwear.

It's very good. It's not enough, even though Matt's short, shocky breaths suggest that, before long, it might just be enough for him. When she eases his pants down over his jutting dick, he gasps, “Karen, Karen, I don't have -” into her neck.

“Good thing I do,” she says, and breaks away to find her purse - it had ended up on the ground next to them at some point - and pull out a condom, one she’d tucked in there the night of their first date and never taken out.

Matt holds on like he’s drowning, clinging to Karen’s shoulders and back while she rolls the condom down. After she drags her hand back up, giving him a nice, firm, stroke, his hands are suddenly everywhere, tugging at her panties one minute, unbuttoning her blouse the next.

He’s breaking. She loves it.

What, no. It can't stop there!

Phew. I had to go back and reread this from the start, and it's just as hot and dangerous and beautiful as i remember.

Fantastic job. Can't wait for the continue...

i love this fill SO MUCH, you have no idea. i mean, the way karen goes right for what she wants, and what she wants is for matt to STOP HOLDING BACK (physically or emotionally), and they are both SO INTO THIS, and i just. wow. *fans self*

AA here again, it's ALMOST DONE. I'm just having a really hard time coming up with a title, and then I'll start to post it and let you guys know.

Started posting over here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213718/chapters/22667366

Thank you so, so much - I appreciate it so much! <3

<333 This makes me so happy, nonnie! thank you!!

The weight of his palm against her breast is something else to love, and Karen unhooks her bra to make it that much better. Matt’s hands slip beneath the fabric at once - message received - and she gasps at the first drag of his thumb over her nipple.

Her blouse is gaping open, her coat is somewhere on the ground, but heat is rolling through Karen in waves. She slips her underwear and stockings down, then takes Matt back in hand and begins slowly rubbing herself with the head of his dick.

“God damn,” Matt says, more breath than words, and it hits Karen’s ears like a victory, like a prize. She kisses those pretty lips and dirty mouth, gripping his hair while she makes it deep, and Matt makes a low, desperate sound and lifts her up with apparent ease, strong hands cupping her ass. When he turns them around, putting the wall at her back, she locks her legs around his waist and uses the brick behind her as leverage to raise herself a little higher. His dick makes for a good weight in her hand, and Karen doesn’t rush it as she works him inside.

Slow. Slow. Matt’s mouth has gone slack, his breathing rough. Slow, slow - he throbs, and Karen tightens around him instinctively, holding onto the feeling, the fullness; he groans and swells and it’s good, it’s good, but there’s something Karen wants to make clear.

“You don’t get to finish before I do,” she says, low, shaping the words against his lips. They sink in right away, she can tell by the sudden hard pulse of his dick, but that’s not the response she’s looking for. “You hear me?”

The choked noise that tears from Matt’s throat is better, but it’s the nearly frantic bobbing of his head that prompts Karen to say, “Good,” and rock forward, pressing her chest to his chest, hooking her arms around his neck.

One thrust and Matt freezes, panting, face buried in the hollow of her throat. But then he manages another, and another, and Karen spreads her hand wide against his shoulder just to feel the way his muscles are trembling, the way he's clinging to control.

Not because he thinks she's fragile, not to keep her safe. But because he’s barely holding himself together. Because these are the moments before he shatters.

Despite what she said, Karen won't actually mind if he does. She'll take him on his knees. She'll take his mouth.

The cracked syllable that falls from Matt's lips may have begun life as her name, but it ends in a stuttered groan, and Matt's teeth seize sharply onto the curve of her shoulder like it’s his body's last line of defense.

Karen has mercy.

With a roll of her hips, she grinds against Matt, taking more of what she needs. The slow drag is a sweet match for the pressure of him full and thick inside her, and she claims it again, and again, and again. Karen’s pulse is pounding deep at her center, a heavy, insistent beat, and Matt's is there too, they're together, they're the same, they want, and they want, and they'll have -

The brink is there. It's easy to soar.

And it's easy to take Matt with her. When she tightens and shudders, he groans so deep she can feel it in her core. Just as he's felt her every breath, her every sigh, her every whisper all along.

Eyes open, Karen captures the moment: Matt's slack jaw and parted lips, the flushed column of his throat, the prickle of sweat at his temple. A snapshot that's hers, and only hers, to keep.

!!! ♥

hoKrusty-Partially-Gelatinated-Non-Dairy-Gum-Based-Beverage?

At first I thought it was like, Sugar-Honey-Iced-Tea?
but KPGNDGBB isn't a word?

They've never slow-danced, but it's as if their bodies are falling into the rhythm anyway, swaying together slightly, with Karen's feet back on the ground, her hands clasped around his neck, his at her waist. If she'd ever dragged him to his feet at Josie’s when a song she liked came on, they might have held each other like this. It disquiets Karen; when Matt murmurs her name, she’s quick to say, “If you ask me out to dinner, you're gonna wish you hadn't.”

He breathes out, a puff of warm air against her skin. “No, ah.” His nose is buried against her neck, and before he pulls back, Matt inhales so strongly that Karen can feel it in the lift of his shoulders, in the broadening of his chest: his own snapshot moment, Matt storing her up to keep.

When he lifts his head, Matt says, “I got you something.”

Karen raises her eyebrows. He steps away, bending to extract something from a hidden pocket of the suit; Karen lets herself appreciate every line and every curve of that bend before Matt straightens and holds the object out to her.

“You got me a phone,” she says flatly, thinking of every joke Foggy ever made about Matt and his women and his phones. “A burner of my very own?”

Matt shakes his head. “Belonged to our new friend.” He jerks his chin over his shoulder in the general direction of their encounter with the jackass. “Thought maybe you could get something from it.”

Tap. Swipe. No fingerprint lock, no passcode. “Yeah. Maybe I can.” Texts, call log, browser history. A new trail to follow, with maybe some answers as to what was going on in that time bomb of an apartment building at the end of it - “Thanks,” Karen adds sincerely, turning the phone over in her hands. There’s something sparking in her chest, small and delicate next to the tinderbox of anger she’s grown used to. It’s different. She’s not sure what to make of it, and she's not ready to find out. But it’s warm.

When she looks up again, after stowing the phone in her purse, Matt’s pulled on his black pants and is tucking the tied-off condom into his pocket. A faint frown line is creasing his forehead, and it’s so similar to his “accidentally picked up Foggy’s p.b. & j. knife by the sticky end” expression that a laugh bubbles up in Karen’s throat.

He cocks his head; she shakes hers. His mouth twists, and he disappears beneath his tight black shirt for a moment. When his head pops back through, his hair’s a mess. Not that it’ll matter beneath the mask.

“So, um. When I catch up with our friend’s buddy Jay, I'll give you a call.” He pauses. “If your number hasn't changed?”

“It hasn't.” Karen finishes buttoning up her blouse, then leans in and brushes her lips against his cheek. “It's a date, Daredevil.”

*

She takes the stairs down to the street.

Dawn is still hours away, but gray is seeping into a corner of the sky, slow and quiet and welcome. The night air is cold on Karen’s cheeks, but her blood is running high, too much heat in her veins for any chill to match.

She doesn’t look to the rooftops. There’s no need. Matt was still working his way into the red suit when she left, but by now she’s sure he’s with her. She doesn’t need to see the shapes of the shadows to know she’s not alone.

He’ll follow her all the way to her building, right up until her deadbolt slides home, and her bed creaks under her weight, and her lamp clicks off. And she’ll follow him, too. Her smell pressed into his skin, her taste on his tongue, the echo of her pulse lingering in his ears, the warmth of her hands still branding his back.

There are blocks left to go, but Karen takes her time. She's in no hurry.

It’s a good night.

yesssssss, what a perfect ending! i love Matt being grossed out by the condom (but of course refusing to litter), and also Karen continuing to set the terms of this relationship (no dinner dates, no soft things) and Matt giving her the minion's phone as a sign that he's willing to follow her lead and trust her as an equal partner in fighting for the city they both love. ♥

"I'm going to date the fuck out of you."

That alone gets you 5,000,000,000,000,000,000 stars. I love this.

In the old comics, Matt was kind of a sewing enthusiast. He made himself a backpack!

That is incredibly random

I think at least someone ought to point out to Matt that accidentally killing the guy who drugged and sexually assaulted you is not murder in any U.S. jurisdiction. At worst, it's manslaughter, and that only if you have a really crappy defense attorney.

Fr. Lantom would be a could candidate as long as Matt actually told him the whole story and not just "I killed someone."

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Page 162 of 165

Daredevil Prompt Post #11

Re: Fill: Positive 2b/?

Re: Foggy/Matt - Time Traveler's Wife AU

Re: Foggy/Matt - Time Traveler's Wife AU

Re: Karen recognizes Matt's voice - Season 1 alternate timeline

Re: Chirrut Imwe

Re: Homeless "crazy" Matt

Re: Homeless "crazy" Matt

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [8/?]

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [8/?]

[FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [9/?]

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [9/?]

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [9/?]

Re: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

FILL: Gen, In Absentia: The Avengers/Spider-man take in a homeless Matt Murdock

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [9/?]

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [9/?]

[FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [10/?]

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [10/?]

Re: Matt is temporarily raised by Magneto

[FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [11/11]

Re: [FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [11/11]

Re: FILL 2/2: We Happy Few

Re: Gen or Matt/Foggy: Foggy gets blinded, gets a guide dog

Re: Gen or Matt/Foggy: Foggy gets blinded, gets a guide dog

Re: TW for attempted non-con, OMC/Matt, death of OMC, drugged drinks