daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

Entry tags:

prompt post

Prompt Post #4

THIS POST IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #5.

Keep filling prompts on this post! Make sure to link any new fic on the complete or work in progress fills posts so it doesn't get missed.

Please read the current rules before commenting on this post.

Leave a prompt. Fill a prompt. Everyone wins!
Previous Rounds: Prompt Post #1 | Prompt Post #2 | Prompt Post #3

Mod Post | Discussion/Off-Topic Post | AO3 Collection | Searchable Prompts on Delicious
Fills: Completed & WIPs

Rules:
General
YKINMKATO. Play nice. If you don't like something, scroll on.

All comments must be anon.

Subject lines should only be changed if you're posting a prompt or a fill (indicators like OP or Author!Anon should go in the body of the comment).

RPF is allowed. Crossovers, characters from the extended Marvel Universe and comics canon are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 TV show in some way.

Discussion not related to the prompt should be moved to the discussion/off-topic post.

Drop a comment on the mod post if you have any questions or problems.

Prompts
All types of prompts are welcome.

Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing or characters, keywords, kink).

Warnings are nice, but not necessary. Get DW Blocker if there's anything you really don't want to see.

Reposted prompts are allowed once one round has passed - i.e., prompts from post #2 cannot be reposted until post #4. Please include a link to where it has been previously posted.

Fills
Put [FILL] or something similar in the subject line when posting a fill.

Long fills can either be posted over multiple comments, or posted on AO3 and linked back here.

Multiple fills are always okay.

Fills can be anything! Fic, art, vids, interpretative dance...

Announce your fill on either the Completed Fills Post or the WIP Post.

If you would like to be politely banned to avoid anon-failing, leave a logged-in comment on the mod post or pm the mod account.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wesley brought the tapes to Wilson's attention. “I don't want to alarm you,” he'd said, quiet and calm, “but I feel that you should be aware.”

The masked man was – the way that he fought was arresting. Savage. His determination, the perseverance: it practically sang off the gritty, poor-quality security footage.

"He took his mask off?" Wilson asked Wesley. "Do we have - did we get an angle?"

"No," Wesley said. "He's clearly driven by emotion; it's good to know. Just in case, of course."

"I have no particular stake in the success of the Russian operation," Wilson said, but - but this definitely constituted a complication, and one that might prove to be someone's undoing.

"No," Wesley agreed. "Not - them, particularly, but - shall I continue to make inquiries?"

"Yes, please," Wilson said.

***

Two days later he met Matthew Murdock for breakfast, in a tiny hole-in-the-wall that Murdock had insisted on taking him to – my turn, my treat – the man said. Matt had a dark bruise on his cheekbone, and lied badly about it.

Wilson thought about that, for a little while. Considered it, to say.

“I'm trying to change this city,” he told Matthew; he hated to blink, wanted to catch every instant of his startlingly open, changeable expression. “I'm trying to fix this city.”

“Good,” Matthew said. He didn't smile. He sounded caught up in the idea, wildly, seriously passionate about the attempt to bring Hell's Kitchen to order. Wilson caught his hand. It was a man's hand, callused and hard: two knuckles were split, and another was swollen. Matthew had done violence with this hand, and he didn't pull it away from Wilson's clutch; Wilson's own hand was large enough to swallow Matthew's up entirely. “Someone needs to. Someone should do something – it's gone on long enough, people looking away, people ignoring -” he broke off. Color bloomed in his cheeks. He smiled, uncertain and crooked, and seemed to come back to himself. Wilson let him pull his hand away; he'd seen what he wanted – no, not what he wanted, but what he needed to see. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I – that's too much, I shouldn't have – it's not breakfast conversation, is it?”

“I don't care for convention,” Wilson told him, feeling dizzy with the honesty of it: “I care for the passion you display, Matthew.”

He'd folded that selfsame passion back up into himself, where Wilson was sure that it lived ninety percent of the time, and smiled – not the true one, broad and open, but a polite movement of his lips. “Not many people think it's...convenient?” he said, a little ruefully.

“You're attached to the city yourself,” Wilson said. “I'm aware of – of your work, in Hell's Kitchen. Of your history, here.”

“It's my home,” Matthew said. “I – why did you choose this place? Of all the ghettos across the eastern seaboard?” and the question was too sharp to work as the gentle joke Matthew clearly meant it as.

“I want to make this my home,” Wilson said. That was honest, at least, if not the whole truth. “I find myself attached to what I've found here.”

“I think you're flattering me,” Matthew said.

“Yes,” Wilson agreed. “Is it flattery if it's true?”

He was certainly blind. No one could fake that, not this well, could they? And yet. And yet. When Wilson put his hand on Matt's shoulder, the man flinched. Barely perceptible, but – it was a flinch.

It wasn't damning, by itself, but it was...suggestive. Troubling, and suggestive. It would've been wrong to label his thoughts as suspicions in and of themselves, but Matthew managed to dispel them – for the moment – by sighing, and displaying a charming and honest vulnerability.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and reached out to take Wilson's hand again, as they exited the diner, swinging his cane in front of him with the other, an even metronome to the conversation: “I'm sorry, I don't – this isn't what I – normally.” He paused. “With men, anyways,” he said. It sounded a little self-deprecating and a little tired, and it drove Wilson to honesty, himself.

“I don't often entertain at all,” he said. Matthew tilted his head, considering.

**

“You don't have to see me to the office,” Matthew said, at the entrance to his building. “Foggy is – I've known him for years.”

“I appreciate your partners,” Wilson said, because that was true, too.

“Your funeral,” he said.

**

(argh attempts to keep everyone vaguely in-character as the smart and violently dangerous people they are? while still? dating? also chronology, what is it? every time you notice a discrepancy in the show's timeline v. this fluff, just assume i meant to do that and it is on purpose, an AU, instead of. uh. "i done forgot." :P)

Duly noting your clever and totally intentional AU elements. Really though, I'm more interested in the character analysis than the time-line stuff. So this is great. I would argue that given the context, Matt and Fisk are both totally in character. I am enjoying your fluff immensely.

"Hey," Matt said, suddenly, in the awkward tone of voice that usually meant Claire was going to be humiliated or stuck "helping" him some more.

"No," she told him.

"No, it's just. Um." He was going a slow, deep red, which was a) adorable, and b) a very definite Warning Sign of some kind. She just wasn't quite sure what it might be about. "You've seen me with my shirt off."

"It was an experience," she said. "Best possible way. Nine out of ten, definitely, maybe ten out of ten if you stop tearing your stitches. I recommend it."

"I don't really do mirrors," he said. And grinned at her, the little shit: why had she pulled him out of the dumpster? Santigo owed her for this. There were literally dozens of hot young white men she could - that weren't this crazy, and also full of bad jokes. "Be honest, though, how do I. If you had to. You think I'm hot but you know about the - y'know."

"Are we actually playing Hot or Not right now?" she asked.

"I don't know what that is," Matt said, agreeably. "Fine. If a stranger saw me naked, do you think it would be weird? I mean, I've been taking care of those stitches on my shoulder, they can come out, right?"

There was really no point to hiding the part where she laughed at him, so she didn't bother.

"No," he said. He was doing that thing where he looked both pathetic and charming, and he was half-naked. He spun in a little circle. "I'm serious, this is -" and he stopped facing away from her, which was surprising; Matt got shy about people watching his face for the oddest reasons, and she was still trying to figure out his boundaries. "This is a serious question, don't laugh."

Which meant that it was a sex thing, probably; she'd been a nurse long enough to know what it usually meant when someone went squirrelly and self conscious about their body. He was still blushing; she could see the color on the back of his neck, and the strong, hard muscles in his shoulders. The narrow dip of his waist, and the clean lines of his back, and - and yeah, the ass dimples. But that wasn't what he was - "Well," Claire said, thoughtfully, "the lacerations on your back scarred, sure, you know that, but it's not that bad? I guess? I mean, it'll depend on who's looking at you, of course. You know you've got bruises over your left kidney? -" and Matt nodded - "- yeah, yellow and green bruises. They look old. Ah. Your arms are visibly bruised, and you know where your scars are - they're visible, too. Right now, there's nothing particularly obvious? Bruises, mostly, and scars."

Matt stood straight and still, listening to her, and then cocked his head: who knew, probably listening to her heart or the way her bones creaked under the strain of a thirteen hour day and a forty-five minute commute and then Matt, in her place, yet again.

**

Matt left Claire's place feeling satisfied, and like he was running a little hot: like he could get away with it, like the possibility of ambushing Wilson, of inviting him up to Matt's apartment and offering him coffee, or beer, or whiskey, and straddling his thighs, and kissing him, and being kissed - that was on the table, now, because Claire hadn't said that there was anything particularly incriminating in the way that he looked, shirtless.

He'd spent enough time around Wilson to be fairly sure that he could hold Wilson's attention once he started losing clothes. And it would be good to be touched. It would be good to be held down, to be treated with the cautious, near-tender care that Wilson used on any and everything in his life that he might damage. It had been a long month, and Matt found himself wanting to be treated delicately, like something expensive and exotic: he would call Wilson, he decided.

Oh, no, Matt, nobody is going to look at you and not notice those things, jfc. You're so screwed (and not in the way you hope haha).

author!anon: oh god matt's Pathetic Lies. (i know OP wanted angst-free sexxin', but it looks like we're heading towards "oh god murdock why, why are you covered with Awkward Bruises?" kind of sexxin'.) fluffy, but also: weird, and full of matt and wilson doing the "Transparent Lies" dance.

OH MATT. precious. I love everything. Nervous and excited for more.

"Don't - worry about it," Matthew said. He shuddered under Wilson's hands.

"I will," he said, "though. You - " and he would've continued, marked the disgraceful lack of care that Matthew showed to his own body, but Matthew had fallen on him like a - like a vulture, like a hawk.

"Kiss me," Matthew demanded, fierce and low.

For all the histrionics, he was surprisingly light: Wilson could lift him, flip them, drop to the surprisingly luxurious silk sheets, holding Matthew above him, and bite at his throat, stroke from his chest to navel. Consider the sweetness of his body. (Wilson couldn't help but note the scars: it seemed bad manners to trace them out, but when he ran fingers down Matthew's sides, his own fingers caught on swollen, puffy scar tissue: it was another maddening piece to the puzzle.)

"More," Matthew said, hazily.

"Do you want. That is," Wilson said; he wasn't certain of his role, here, exactly, but he had a good idea: he opened his legs, and Matthew's weight naturally settled more firmly between his thighs.

"Oh," Matthew said: "oh, I - oh." The naked surprise lit up his whole face.

oh god anon i'm on the edge of my seat

more please

This is adorable!

Wilson woke up proud of himself, and gloriously sore, and more than a little guilty about it. There was nothing wrong with being circumspect, it was true, but...but misleading a partner, that was shameful. A good man wouldn't have done that, not for all the dark hair and red lips and long, scarred legs in the world. It was time to - to be truly honest.

"can hear you staring," Matthew said. He pulled one of the pillows over his head. "Time is it?"

Wilson ran one hand along Matthew's flank, considering: at this point, he was almost sure, and that filled him with real regret. How to manage this situation? Wesley would undoubtedly become insufferable, and that was fair, and right, but Wilson still wanted Matthew. He found - "Not quite eight," Wilson said, slow, and thoughtful. "You should be...more careful," he said, and touched a curling snarl of yellow and green over Matthew's hip. He hadn't put that there; it looked like the result of a beating - or possibly someone had thrown him. It gave off a sickly heat.

Matthew's shoulders tightened. "Ow," he said, deliberate and careful. "I'm...clumsy. Foggy keeps telling me to get a dog."

In the dim gold light of dawn, Matthew's body looked like a bridge: solid foundation, beautiful and precise in purpose, and covered with brutal graffiti. An ugly, roping scar from his throat that looped into his armpit; a snarling bubbled bit of tissue from a stab wound, it looked like, and the bruising.

"Have you," Wilson started, and sighed, because silence would be tantamount to dishonesty, at this point, and Matthew deserved better. "Have you...become intimate. With anyone. Since you started?"

Matthew got out of bed; Wilson was nearly certain that it was calculated, that Matthew had chosen to put the king sized bed between them. It meant that Matthew, while naked, was on the side of the room with the door, and Wilson stood between Matthew and the window. "Your pants," Wilson said, carefully, and tossed them very gently in his direction.

He swallowed hard, and shrugged, elaborately casual. "That's not the best way to ask about monogamy, if that's what you're angling for," he said. Pants. Glasses. "I should go, I'm going to be...late."

"I'm not asking about monogamy - well," Wilson said, because - oh, if there was a way out of this, he would've taken it. "Matthew, the injuries you've sustained are...to be generous, they are unlikely to be the result of a civilian's life."

Matthew took a breath, and cocked his head, and even behind his glasses Wilson could see the way his eyes closed, the better to focus. He had no idea what Matthew was, but watching him remained extraordinary. He hadn't realized how well-thought-out Matthew's calm, friendly demeanor had been until now, when his center of gravity changed and he angled his body, slightly, and his shoulders went back and down. "I don't know what you mean," he said, easily.

"That was extraordinary," Wilson admitted. "You appear to gain an inch or two, maybe twenty pounds; is it deliberate?"

Ah, a wild update! This continues to be great. Fisk's demeanor is full of that careful, plodding tone and Matt is a brilliant contrast with his nervy energy and uncertain lying. I am really enjoying the way your story is progressing.

Would you consider linking in the WIP thread? This might get more attention then.

YAAAAS I have been waiting for an update on this! Thank you author thank you thank you! And now we're finally at the point of confrontation over the man in the mask OH MY GOD, good so good. Can't wait to see how that goes!

oh my god. HOLY SHIT ANON.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Prompt Post #4

Re: Fisk/Matt weird fluff more?

Re: Fisk/Matt weird fluff more?

Re: Fisk/Matt weird fluff 3

Re: Fisk/Matt weird fluff 3

Re: Fisk/Matt weird fluff 3

Op

Re: Op

Re: Op

Re: Op

Re: Op

Re: Op

Re: Op

Re: Fisk/Matt weird fluff 3