daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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Wesley gets brutally tortured and gang-raped by some of Fisk's enemies. Fisk tracks him down (either after or in the middle of his torture). Fisk busts some heads, carries Wesley to safety, cleans him up, and pampers him.

Awww, yes yes please!

seconded!

Wesley kept Fisk grounded. Fisk ran hot, always has, so on top of all of Wesley's obvious duties, keeping Fisk cool was always in the background. Wesley was the perfect bucket of ice water. If Wesley were annoyed, he would not show it; only a slight twitch of his eye or a forced (but passably genuine) smile would belie his true feelings. Only an expert would notice.

When Fisk's annoyance was not tempered, it was obvious: there would be blood.

Fisk's vision blurred. All he could think about was painting the walls with blood, letting it pour all over him. He needed to crush, to destroy. Wesley was there, but he was...incapacitated. Lying broken on a table, his long, thin body pale and exposed.

And that was why Fisk was tearing people apart with his bare hands. He was a bruiser, a big guy with a short temper. But this was unprecedented. There must have been a dozen men when he walked into the room. By the time Fisk was done with them, there were a dozen corpses.

Fisk came with back up, of course, but no one had to fire a shot. No one wanted to get in his way.

He had torn limbs clear off bodies. He had never done that before, at least not with his bare hands. He couldn't even remember doing any of that, but the corpses spoke for themselves.

Blood covered his face and his suit, none of it his own. Vaguely, he was grateful Wesley was not awake to see this. His friend hid it well, but he was squeamish, didn't like seeing Fisk in berserker mode.

Wesley...

Instantly, his violence was replaced by tenderness. He ran over to his friend, crouching beside the table. He took Wesley's hand. It was ice cold. His other shaking hand moved to Wesley's neck.

Everyone living person in the room held their breath. If there wasn't a pulse, Fisk's men knew that even they wouldn't be safe.

It took a moment to register the dull throb under his fingers. Wesley was alive. Fisk cradled Wesley's face in both his hands and kissed his forehead. Let them see this, let them see his weakness, his gratitude. They had already seen him tear a dozen men apart.

Now that he knew that Wesley was alive, Fisk took in the less important details. One, Wesley didn't have his glasses. Wesley would need his glasses. That didn't matter at the moment, but it would soon. Get Wesley glasses. Second, he didn't have his clothes. He had a closetful of expensive, form-fitted suits, but he didn't have them here. Wesley would want to be covered.

Fisk moved to take off his suit jacket, but it was sticky with blood, not only hard to remove but also not something Wesley would want covering him even if he was unconscious.

"Give me your suit!" He barked. Francis was the first one to come to his senses, the one haltingly brave enough to approach Fisk with his coat. Fisk vaguely registered the pale green tint to his bodyguard's face. Whether it was from the gore or the sorry state of his friend, Fisk didn't know and he didn't care.

He tucked one arm under Wesley's neck and the other under his legs, scooping him up, careful not to jostle his covering. Wesley was tall, but Fisk was taller, larger, strong enough to kill several men for hurting his friend and certainly strong enough to carry his friend out to safety.

The only person equipped to deal with this situation rested in Wilson Fisk's arms in the back of the limo. He would know what calls to place, what arrangements to make, where his spare glasses were...

He would have already done everything.

Fisk had to count that the rest of his crew combined would be able to make up for the absence of his one Wesley.

Wesley's brow furrowed and he whimpered. Fisk didn't like seeing him like this. What would Wesley want? Certainly to never be this vulnerable. He shushed his friend, rocking him a little, until he quieted.

Wesley would want this to be as private as possible. There were already too many people involved for his liking, but Fisk would make sure they would keep it quiet. Let them share what Wilson Fisk does to anyone who hurts his loved ones, but if they violate Wesley's privacy...

Getting Wesley settled into a bed was a blur. Fisk's private doctor was already at the apartment. One of his men must have made a call at some point. The particulars didn't matter. At least it was done.

"Everyone out!" Fisk commanded. Wesley would want privacy. Fisk needed to dress him. The doctor needed to observe him. He didn't know what Wesley usually wore to bed. Now that Fisk thought of it, Wesley usually didn't sleep. When Fisk thought he was dozing off in the car, he was always awake on second glance.

Fisk pulled out the first set of his own nightclothes he grabbed, tossing Francis' jacket into a crumpled heap in the corner.

"Sir, don't you think I should examine--"

Fisk cut the doctor off with a glare.

"You will examine him after he's made comfortable."

The large clothes made Wesley look even smaller, more vulnerable, but at least it preserved his modesty. Fisk brushed his hair back from Wesley's forehead. The doctor waited, not daring to reveal his impatience. Fisk knew he would have to tear himself away from Wesley. It wouldn't be too long, he told himself. Just until the doctor was done.

"You can begin," Fisk said, forcing himself to move to a corner. He wouldn't leave the room, but he would give them space.

Watching the doctor poke and prod Wesley was hard, especially after finding him in the state he was in. What they must have done to him...Fisk's vision blurred again. The doctor was helping, he reminded himself. Wesley would want him to be calm and certainly not want him to lose control and tear the doctor apart.

The doctor finished and walked over to Fisk, wisely keeping a larger-than-normal distance. "He should be OK," he began, "but he'll need a while to recover physically." He had some internal bleeding, cracked ribs, making Fisk glad he'd been so careful when moving Wesley. "Psychologically, I can't...There's evidence that he, there's, um."

"I know," Fisk said. The doctor did not want to be the one to bring up the evidence of rape. This was reasonable. Fisk couldn't blame him.

The doctor went into more technical instructions since he passed the most dangerous territory passed. He moved closer to Fisk, confident that he wouldn't attack.

"Thank you," Fisk said, eyes moving to Wesley again.

"Do you need anything else tonight, sir? Do you perhaps want me to send anyone in?"

"No. That will be all."

The doctor nodded and left. Fisk pulled a chair next to Wesley's bedside. He caressed Wesley's cheek, hoping that somehow, Wesley getting some comfort from it.

The doctor mentioned something about Wesley's psychological recovery. Psychologically, Wesley was a rock. Psychologically, Wesley hid things.

Fisk cupped both of his large hands around Wesley's long fingers and brought them up to his mouth to kiss them. If the positions were reversed, Wesley would know exactly what to expect, what to say, exactly how to care. He would do all those calculations in his head in a split second and proceed from there.

Fisk had to think about it. Wesley would not ask for anything directly. If he craved physical comfort, Fisk would give it freely, generously, but Wesley would never let on that he wanted it. He would probably repress it. He would repress everything.

Most likely, he would want to pretend this never happened. Fisk smiled, imagining Wesley letting out an indignant huff. "It's so undignified," he'd complain, and say nothing more about it.

He'd want to get back to work immediately.

"That's not going to happen," Fisk said. "I can't ignore this. I don't think you can, either."

His perfect fingers were still intact. His face had some bruising, but nothing that looked like it would scar permanently. But as the doctor pointed out, psychologically...

"I'm so sorry, my friend," Fisk said, grip tightening around his fingers. "I'm sorry you had to go through this again."

Random anon here:

Aww. T_T I am really enjoying this.

Oh man, gonna bookmark the hell outta this! I am excite; thank you, author!anon!

Okay. So now, I'm 100% hooked.

"I'm sorry you had to go through this again."

AGAIN? oh my gosh /FEELS

Plz do go on. My heart, anon. Love this so much.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Prompt Post #4

PROMPT: Wesley/Fisk, Wesley/OMC, non-con, manhandling, carrying, h/c

Re: PROMPT: Wesley/Fisk, Wesley/OMC, non-con, manhandling, carrying, h/c

Re: PROMPT: Wesley/Fisk, Wesley/OMC, non-con, manhandling, carrying, h/c

FILL: Wesley/Fisk, Wesley/OMC, non-con, manhandling, carrying, h/c (1/??)

Re: FILL: Wesley/Fisk, Wesley/OMC, non-con, manhandling, carrying, h/c (2/??)

Re: FILL: Wesley/Fisk, Wesley/OMC, non-con, manhandling, carrying, h/c (2/??)

Re: FILL: Wesley/Fisk, Wesley/OMC, non-con, manhandling, carrying, h/c (2/??)

Re: FILL: Wesley/Fisk, Wesley/OMC, non-con, manhandling, carrying, h/c (2/??)

Re: FILL: Wesley/Fisk, Wesley/OMC, non-con, manhandling, carrying, h/c (2/??)