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daredevilkink2015-04-15 05:15 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2015-04-15 05:15 pm
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Prompt Post #1
THIS POST IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #2 TO DO THAT THING.
But please 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.
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #2 TO DO THAT THING.
But please 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.
Rules:
YKINMKATO. Play nice.All comments must be anon.If you fill a prompt, drop a link to it on thefill postso everyone find it.Warnings are nice, but not necessary.Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing, kink, general wants).All types of prompts are welcome.Multiple fills are always okay.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.Drop a comment on themod postif you have any problems with meme or thedeliciousaccount. If you crosspost to AO3, please add your fill to theDDKM collection!
ETA2: we have a
FILL: rejoicing in justice alone (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-12 06:28 pm (UTC)(link)“I'm sorry?” he says, sounding surprised.
“Why do you want me to give you this city so badly?” you say. “Why did you wait in alleys for me for such a long time? Why do you want to make this deal so much?”
“I never said I did waited in alleys for months,” he says, “for G—it was a joke. Are we going to shake on this or not?”
“Why is this so important to you,” you say.
“I'm a very nice person,” he says. “Now, if that's over with—”
“What do you get out of owning the city,” you say. “What do you get out of having me give it to you.” He's trying to talk, trying to keep avoiding the question, and you run over him— “What is this deal all about. How does this unusual protection work—what does it mean, you own the city. What do you own. Who do you own—”
“Just give to me,” he snaps, and there is, of all things, a sudden wave of heat, and a smell like rotten eggs.
You go very, very still.
“What's going on,” you say.
There's a little, uncertain laugh, a clearing of the throat. “You could make the city safe,” he says. “You could keep your friends safe. You could even bring back the ones you've—”, and then you're shoving him against the railing by the river.
“Stop it,” you say. “Stop offering me what I want. It's not working any more. Tell me what your game is. Now.”
“I told you,” the man says, quite calmly. “All I want is to have this city for my own. I don't think it's such a large thing to ask. I just want it to be mine, and the people in it to be mine, and to do what I want. All of them. Every last soul.”
You take your hand away, step back. You can't breathe for a long second. “Who are you,” you say. “Really.”
There's a long, quiet whoosh of laughter from the man. “I think you know who I am.”
“You're offering me a contract,” you say. “You're offering me something you know I want. Something that seems to good to be true. In exchange for the city and—and myself.” It takes you a moment to get the next part out. “My soul.”
"They used to call me," the man says pleasantly, "the Prosecutor. Which I suppose makes us natural enemies, Mr. Murdock. But I'd rather look past that, wouldn't you?"
You say, “They used to call you the Devil.”
“Ah,” he says. “Yes. Well, then, I suppose that makes us natural friends. Birds of a feather, as they say.”
"No," you say. “No, we're not.”
“Yes, we are,” he says. He sounds quite calm about it, as if it's the most everyday fact in the world. “Well, of course we're all birds of a feather, you half-formed apes and I. It's how you were made. We have almost everything in common. It's not just the name. Though I must admit—that did made me laugh.”
“Get out of my city,” you say.
He snorts. “I told you, Mr. Murdock. I've been in your city for some time. Long before you were born, in any case, and long before your unfortunate father was born.” A pause. “He says hello, by the way.”
“No. No. He doesn't.”
“You can keep contradicting me,” says the man patiently, “or we can have a real conversation. I did offer you a deal. You feel quite strongly about your city. I can help you make it better. You wanted it under a devil's protection. I can provide that.”
“And all you need is for someone to hand it over,” you say. “Someone who loves it. Because you can't do that yourself.”
The man hums. “Love,” he says, “yes, well, love was never my strong point. Not quite how I was made, I suppose. This city is,” a sigh, “well, I'm sure you know. Difficult, I'd call it. Too wild for its own good. Keeping it safe and quiet and tame is a thankless task. It always manages to get itself into trouble again. Often the day after you've saved it.”
“Like you'd know anything about saving,” you say, harsh.
“I'm not saying I would,” he says. “I'm saying you might like to. Someday. Save the tired old place for good, instead of just until tomorrow. You might, say, like to be done fighting. You might like to be able to enjoy a nice summer night.”
You're silent. He says, quiet and soft, “You're no soldier, Mr. Murdock, no matter what you've been told. Why haven't you gone home from the war?”
For a long moment, there's no sound but the lap of the waves on the shore. Then a shift of pebbles; he's taken a step closer. “Come home, Matt,” he says, and there's real pain in his voice, real sweetness, a genuine and soft ache. “Let someone else take care of what troubles you. Let things be easy for once. Stop taking all of the hurt in this city onto your own shoulders. It's not your job. It's not your responsibility. You don't have to care about anyone's skin except yours, not if you don't want to.” Another step. “Come home.”
He's so close you can feel the warmth from his body on your skin, even on this hot night. You grit your teeth, curl your fingers into fists.
“I am home,” you say. “I'm home already. This city is mine. Hurt and all.”
And then, without you hearing him take a step, he's suddenly very, very far away. “Well. I can't say I think that's the right answer.”
“I've lived in this city my whole life,” you say. “You said when you came to me, the people in it think I'm a good man. You think I'll betray that to hand them over to someone like you?”
He laughs, low and sharp. “Let me tell you, Mr. Murdock, because believe me, I know. The difference between the good people of the world and the bad ones is terribly, terribly thin.”
There's a pause, and then he says, “You'd be surprised how quickly people change from heroes to villains.”
“No,” you say. “No, I don't think I would be.”
“The offer is still open,” says the Devil. “It's always open. It always was, you know. Long before you put on that mask.”
You say, “Then you've gotten your answer already.”
He says, "Yes. You chose. And you choose again. You keep choosing, every morning of your life. That's the idea, Mr. Murdock.” A little laugh. “And no matter how many times you tell me no, there will be some part of you that wishes you hadn't. That's the idea, too.”
“You're a liar,” you say.
“Yes,” he says. And then—a sudden shock, too quick for you to realize what's happening—his lips are on yours, his hand soft on your cheek.
It's overwhelming, a sensory overload. For a long moment you're nothing but a whirlwind of sensation—his skin far too hot, the faint stubble on his chin running a very thin line between irritatingly painful and pleasantly so, his lips soft and his mouth tasting of salt and his tongue flickering over your mouth, a hint of sensation that has you pressing forward for more, Christ, and your hand is on his shoulder and the back of his neck and he's pressing you back against the railing and you want you want you've forgotten how to do anything but want, want, want—
--you'd go to your knees, you'd let him press you into the soft dirt of the riverbank and you'd mouth at his crotch until he unzipped himself and let you suck him down; you'd do it if he asked, because that's who you are, that's what you want, you want to be at his feet with your head bowed and his hands in your hair, panting for his cock, because it'd be easy. And that's all it would take, to have something sick and hateful and unhealthy and so, so simple, and God o God there is some part of you that doesn't know how to do anything except want this, keep wanting this.
You can feel the railing against your back. His tongue's in your mouth, his body hot against yours.
You want him so, so badly.
You push him away.
He goes easily. You suppose that's the idea, too.
"It was nice to finally meet you in person, Matt," he says. "I'll see you soon." And then there's the sound of his boots on the path, receding into the distance.
Night rolls away from the city like a blanket.
The heat's rising; you can feel the sun when it sprawls across your feet like a dog, all sweat. Your palms are stinging from the antiseptic you've put on. They must be scraped red and raw.
It's too late in the day for there to be any hope of sleep before you go to work. You lie down in your bed anyway, let the sheets stick to your skin. Maybe if you lie here long enough, day will turn into night again. Maybe the world will grow cold, or at least cooler; maybe the leaves will fall from the trees, the green from the grass. Maybe the city will grow quiet. Maybe, at long, long last, it'll sleep.
And then wake up in the morning.
Re: FILL: rejoicing in justice alone (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-12 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: rejoicing in justice alone (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-12 06:53 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: rejoicing in justice alone (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-12 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)whoever you are, author!anon, I love you and also this fill.
Re: FILL: rejoicing in justice alone (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-12 09:42 pm (UTC)(link)That was amazing. Please tell me this is on Ao3 somewhere. Please tell me you're planning on filling more prompts. Your writing is fantastic.
(Was that Crowley?! lol)
Re: FILL: rejoicing in justice alone (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-12 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: rejoicing in justice alone (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-13 08:40 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: rejoicing in justice alone (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-13 09:08 pm (UTC)(link)Hahaha, I did say anything based off the song and this works. Lovely fill thank you!
Re: FILL: rejoicing in justice alone (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-05-18 04:17 am (UTC)(link)