daredevilkink | Prompt Post #6

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Prompt Post #6

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The inside of Matt's head fuzzed out for a moment; Fisk had him by the wrists, so when Matt twisted in his grip and clung to Fisk's hands, he had a solid point of leverage to buck back. He jack knifed his body, trying to get both feet high enough to kick off of Fisk and move, get the hell out. His body was an animal, Stick had been right, and in that moment Matt first understood why a trapped animal might maim itself; he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. He jerked his head back, and the air was suddenly full of blood, and Fisk snarled “how dare you -” and the double-time rhythm of their hearts echoed in the room in such crystal-clear detail that it felt like an earthquake. It was almost a relief when Fisk got an arm under Matt's throat and squeezed, because it was bad but it would be over -

but while he was gasping for the trickle of air he could pull in, he heard Vanessa groan. “No, don't – I'm fine, Wilson, stop.”

He gulped air when the arm around his throat disappeared, and coughed, and coughed, hard rasping coughs. Slumping in Wilson Fisk's arms was nothing that he meant to do, but he couldn't get away and he needed to breathe and wanted to pass out, wanted this to be over and done with. This would be the way that he lost. There was a chance that it might not kill him, yet, but Matt could see no way out of this but through. Karen, he thought; oh, Foggy; he didn't have the space in him to do more than think their names, once, before it became too much. He couldn't think, he didn't dare think of what might happen now: let them take their revenge on me and only me, and it was the closest thing he'd come to a true prayer in weeks.

He'd asked for retribution, he'd turned it into a fight. Still, he couldn't help but shy away from Vanessa when she crowded up close to him again. It meant pressing back into Fisk's body. His own breath rasped painfully loud in his ears. The blood on her hand surprised him; it smelled rich, and fresh, and he realized with dawning horror that - “you're bleeding,” he croaked. He hadn't meant to hurt her; she didn't have a weapon, as far as he could tell, and there was no way that an unarmed woman of her size and background could be a threat, but he'd panicked. Was still panicking. He didn't know what he'd done, or how, but he'd somehow drawn first blood, here; no wonder Fisk had been ready to kill him.

“Not your fault, Matthew,” she said, and cupped his face with both hands; the blood and her perfume made his head swim. He'd hit her, made her bleed: she was the second woman he'd ever struck, and the first that he hadn't intended to hurt. “Shh, not your fault, it was my fault; you can't do anything wrong here, dear one.”

Matt couldn't think of anything to say to that: Fisk's arm across his chest felt immovable, a constant unyielding pressure. (He could shake himself to pieces against it, he thought, and his stomach flipped in a strange kind of horror.)

“I wanted to be sure,” Fisk said, in his ear, with his wife's hands on Matt's face, and there was no room here, no one kept him from breathing but it felt like his throat was closing anyways, full of their scents and the scent of his own bitter sweat. “But – I regret surprising you. The error was mine.”

“This is,” Matt said, and hated the raw terror in his voice, the way it shook; he couldn't curl the right contempt into his inflection because he couldn't stop gasping: “beneath you. Get it over with.” He couldn't bear to say any more, not least because speaking meant moving his jaw meant Vanessa Fisk 's hands shifted on his face, the lightest steadiest touches. They were grounding, it was all just enough to bring him into the present, keep him aware of his own body.

“That would be a waste,” she said. “Stay with me, darling: I do hate waste.”

“I am not your darling." It was enough of a tell that she pulled back, quick and light on her feet in ways that Fisk would never be. Fighting a solid hold like the one Fisk had him in did nothing but use up energy, it was stupid, he was making stupid decisions, but he couldn't think and he couldn't bear to be still, to stand and listen to this taunting.

Fisk rode it out. Matt hadn't ever believed him to have technical skill; in the past, Matt had sensed a big man, tall and broad, with wide-swinging fists and slow lunges, but here, it didn't matter, what he did or what he tried; it was impossible to eel away. And when he had to stop, body aching in shock, Fisk was the one to tell him, “you're doing well, let it out,” which was terrifying and maddening in equal parts. His own sweat was cold enough to make him shiver, and his skin had gone absurdly sensitive, nearly feverish. There was an arm like an iron bar across his chest and Fisk held him by the hair, and his hand felt almost big enough to palm Matt's skull.

“You're beautiful like this,” Vanessa said; she sounded shocked and delighted. “See? I told you; you can't do anything wrong here.”

"Better?" Fisk asked, and adjusted his grip as if he meant to be courteous, as if he didn't want to hurt Matt, which was insane. Matt wanted to flinch when he heard his own laugh, though; it came out shaky, like he'd been hit in the gut. He sounded worn out and terrified, even to his own ears. Adrenaline still rushed through his veins, but it didn't provided any useful benefit; now he felt lightheaded and sick with anticipation. Fisk wasn't holding him back anymore, so much as up; he wanted a breath of clean air.

"You're insane."

"Mm," Vanessa said; Matt thought she was about ten feet in front of him, clearly observing the way he'd been fighting against Fisk's grip. "Matthew, this isn't meant to be difficult: if I come closer, will you be able to keep from kicking? Or would you like help?"

The musk of her arousal coated the inside of his nose; he could practically taste it in the air, it was that strong. Matt caught the scent of it and couldn't help the groan of disgust: oh, this, that was what they wanted, that final shame. He'd heard it before, smelled the aftermath. "I don't," he started. His voice came out wrecked; it hurt to speak. Which meant that anything else that happened would also...hurt. "I won't," he tried, again. "I won't fight, it stays here, please, just me. Whatever." His lips had gone dry, and when he licked them, he tasted blood and salt. One had split. He couldn't quite finish that idea, couldn't say it out loud, but: "Leave anyone else out of it, I won't fight," and made it into a promise.

Fisk sighed behind him, a low and humiliatingly pleased noise that Matt felt through his back.

Vanessa, though, she laughed. "Matt," she said, like she wanted to share a good joke with him. "So dramatic!" She put a hand on his throat and he forced himself to lift his head, let her move him. He didn't kick, even though she was close enough, now, that he could've ruined one of her kneecaps with a lucky shot. At first, she stroked his chest, hands demure outside of his clothing, so lightly that he couldn't stop flinching. "How could I possibly inconvenience Mr. Nelson or Ms. Page? I sell paintings, sweet," she finished, and Matt sighed in relief because finally, here it was, this was the language that he'd expected, here were the threats: he could do this. He might not've been able to bear this for himself, but for Foggy? Karen? it became a straight line, with no choices or quandaries: he would do what he was told, and he wanted to do what he was told, and at the end he'd be dead or he'd leave, but he'd keep the people who mattered alive.

"Don't," was the only thing that would fit out of his mouth: "do what you want, don't - don't hurt them."

"Of course not," Fisk said. "I don't need to. A martyr like you -" and he broke off, sounding more than a little fond.

He'd started shaking and didn't know how to stop; he might be able to hold it together for a little longer, but the touching felt -

- it felt very hard to shut out. Matt didn't think he could ignore it.

He couldn't stop paying attention to her, slim warm hands running lightly over his shoulders, his chest. They stopped speaking for a time. Matt knew that everyone could hear his ragged breath. His jaw hurt; he couldn't stop gritting his teeth, waiting for the moment that the kid gloves would come off. It felt - it didn't hurt, her hands warming the silk of his shirt, shudderingly good, dangerously, stupidly good. Which was why she shocked him so badly when she ran a thumb over his nipple, through his shirt, and he'd known something like this had to be coming, but it sent hot sparks down his spine and he sagged back against Fisk. The hair on the back of his neck stood up; he tried to choke the whine before it came out of his mouth, but -

"Oh," Fisk said. Matt felt the vibration against his back. His erection pressed against Matt's thigh when he shifted his weight. "This is uncomfortable," Fisk added. Good, Matt thought, good, yes, it would be uncomfortable to hold another man up for - ten minutes? Half an hour? he had no idea, and that was frightening, too, the way he'd lost the ability to estimate how long this had been going on.

"But so aesthetically pleasing." She hummed, thoughtfully. "I suppose - bed?" which was when Matt lost the ability to control his face in any way. He knew he flinched, and he knew Vanessa, at least, saw it. "Oh," Vanessa said: "Matthew, do you want more?" She spread her fingers over his crotch, an inch away from his half hard penis.

He jerked his head back. "I won't fight," he said, because he needed the words to remind himself. Not with the stakes as they were, not until he'd had the chance to get his feet back under him. He needed a chance to pick his wounds: when they were finished, he'd - he'd crawl off somewhere, somewhere familiar, loud enough that he wouldn't be able to think, and...not think.

"You think I'm a monster," she said. Her voice said hurt, offended maybe, but her heart said excited. She liked this; she was getting off on it.

He hated her, a little: "do what you want."

"This is hard, for you," Fisk observed. Matt shuddered all over; he wanted to laugh in their faces, but he didn't trust himself to speak. Someone pulled his head aside and kissed his throat - Fisk, hint of stubble catching against his own, rough against the grain of his skin. "Almost done. Nearly there." It was meant to soothe, and it was bizarre enough, nonsensical enough, that Matt couldn't help laughing.

It came out like a sob, it came out like his throat was shredded. The salt on his skin might've been sweat or tears, Matt didn't know any more. "No, don't," he said. "Don't touch me, are you happy? Do what you're going to -"

She broke into the next insult he'd planned by kissing his mouth. Nothing felt quite real anymore; it felt like a particularly vivid nightmare. Her lipstick tasted vaguely sweet, like wax, and she sighed into his mouth. He'd started panting through his nose and could not control himself. Stick would have laughed himself sick to see Matt crying in front of a woman. Holding a coherent thought had become difficult; it was easier to make note of sensation as if it was happening to someone else. When she pulled away, she brushed the hair off his forehead. Her hands smelled like strong chemical sealant and coffee. "I'm sorry," she said, stroking his face, why wouldn't they stop being so damn gentle, "I was going to wait until you asked, but - but that was good, sweetheart, well done, that's all you needed to do, you're doing so well, Matthew."

Good fucking fuck that was amazing. Matt being his martyr self was so good, and Matt just waiting for things to get worse broke my heart, poor baby. And Vanessa stealing that kiss at the end - absolutely beautiful. Aand now I'm going back to read this again because fucking damn it was all brilliant.

Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.
I actually have no words because holy fuck that was PERFECT.
Martyr Matt Murdock ft Stick is a Dick. How completely and thoroughly Evil Power Couple have trapped Matt. Vanessa pointedly not taking Matt's shirt off when he says no to it. Wilson's immediate reaction to anyone why harms Vanessa. Wilson's apology for restraining Matt. '“See? I told you; you can't do anything wrong here.”' Alllll of the pet names. '" A martyr like you -" and he broke off, sounding more than a little fond.' Matt slowly responding and hating himself for doing so. Crying Matt, I repeat, Matt is CRYING AND IT IS PERFECT.
I am begging you to write more because everyone is so perfectly in character and it's so amazing and I need to know how you're going to spin this out and just, wow. Wow. You win the kinkmeme.

I AM IN AWE. This is the most amazingly written fill, oh my GOD. The details, Matt's responses, the pure pervy pleasure of Fisk holding Matt immobile in his huge arms? My size kink has run screaming back to me like a lover on fire, JUST BECAUSE OF THIS FILL. Vanessa is the creepiest thing, holy mother of god, and I LOVE HER. How do I love someone who is that creepy? I think I admire how self-possessing and calculating and confident she is, even though she uses her powers to render Matt down to the grace of an awkward teenager here. All of Matt's charm and strength and grace and iron will and skills and clever cunning (and perfect bod, okay, yeah) are crushed between Vanessa and Wilson Fisk. Fisk is all power and calm and acceptance and did I mention power? His immediate response to protect Vanessa made me squeak OMG MATT YOU ARE DEAD, NICE KNOWING YOU, YOU PRETTY PRETTY THING. But Vanessa saves him? She keeps Fisk from squishing Matt into pulp? I guess this means I admire Vanessa's strength, too. Vanessa's power.

And this is the weird part of it all: Vanessa and Wilson are this calculating power couple holding this beautiful objet d'art in the palm of their massive hand, and they're enjoying it. They're appreciating and enjoying Matt, like they're considering how lovely it is to be in HIS presence even though he wants to leave, run, hide. They're fascinated and enamoured and possessive in the way all privileged people are when faced with something beautiful they want to own (and possibly break).

Seriously, a!a, this is the most beautifully fucked up piece of psychological perversion I've had the pleasure of reading in forever. Thank you! Also please don't stop, I am just dying to see where the hell this is going and how far removed they manage to twist Matt (and all of us).

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Prompt Post #6

Re: Fisk/Matt/Vanessa; killing him with kindness part 1b

Re: Fisk/Matt/Vanessa; killing him with kindness part 1b

Re: Fisk/Matt/Vanessa; killing him with kindness part 1b - OP

Re: Fisk/Matt/Vanessa; killing him with kindness part 1b