daredevilkink | Prompt Post #1

Entry tags:

prompt post

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.

Leave a prompt. Fill a prompt. Everyone wins!

Rules:

~~YKINMKATO. Play nice.~~
All comments must be anon.
~~If you fill a prompt, drop a link to it on the~~ ~~fill post~~ ~~so 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 the~~ ~~mod post~~ ~~if you have any problems with meme or the~~ ~~delicious~~ ~~account. If you crosspost to AO3, please add your fill to the~~ ~~DDKM collection~~!

~~ETA: we now have a~~ ~~discussion post~~! for anything you want to talk about.
ETA2: we have a ~~delicious account~~! it's only got the first ten pages of prompts at the moment, but mod is very slowly adding the rest. mod would greatly appreciate it if you put keywords in the subject of your prompts, because figuring out one-word summaries is hard. (for anyone who doesn't have a delicious account/hates the page style, use ~~this link~~)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The first person to buy Matt ice cream after his dad died was Stick. The second was Foggy.

Just like, Foggy is buying himself an ice cream cone and buys one for Matt too, because why not? He has no idea why Matt is so touched by it.

This literally just made me clutch my chest

I'll try it for sure. :)

Matt loves the city.

He loves the traffic, the old brick buildings, the bodegas on the corner, the gym his dad used to practice in (they still hang posters on the walls), the uneven sidewalk that almost – but not really, if he’s honest – surprises him every time.

By the time he’s at that particular corner he’s so preoccupied with thinking about their current caseload or the silent worry that comes any time he hears anything about Fisk on the news he almost trips.

It doesn’t work like that. I have to focus, to let it in.

He smiles, a slash that carves itself into his face, the two day old stubble not really lawyerly, but they’re so busy he hasn’t had much time to take care of himself. Not as much as he’d like – his training and their practice (avocados at law!) takes up all of his time, plus the nightly patrols he’s been doing. Will continue to do.

Matt loves his city, but not as much as normal when it’s eight thousand degrees outside and his suit is sticking to his back like the shell on a boiled lobster. He’d give anything for one moment in the shower, one moment at the park, running without anyone watching, one moment to smell Claire’s – what had she called it – Karma perfume, that’s it, that makes him think of warm nights and his silk sheets sliding over her –

“Murdock!”

He shoots an annoyed sigh through his nose and rubs at his temple with one hand, the right holding his cane and reaching for the wall near the entrance to their most humble office. He’s got to stop getting so distracted. It’s dangerous. It’s dangerous for him and dangerous for his friends. His family.

His nostrils flare as Foggy bounds up to him. Matt’s brows shove together as he lets the focus wake up and he drops his hand from his temple as he smells sweat (Foggy’s is stronger than the other people passing them), cheap cotton fiber, the canvas of a backpack thrown over Foggy’s left shoulder, and –

“Are you wearing shorts?”

“Why are you wearing a suit in this heat, man?”

“We have a conference, remember? With Elena’s nephew?”

Foggy’s heart rate changes and the smell of his pheromones sharpens with the swirl of grief that rises. Matt can relate. “He called. He’s got something going on – we’ll meet him tomorrow instead. First thing.” Foggy’s pulse changes again and although the sadness is still there, he rebounds quickly. Matt’s thankful for that for his friend.

Foggy bounces on his heels and toes, and Matt wonders just briefly why the other man is smiling so much – although the mention of Elena has definitely brought down the stretch and the wattage of it. The full cheeks change shape – the muscles are loud; Matt swallows as he dials back the intensity of his focus.

drip drip drip

“What are you holding?”

What do you taste?

Vanilla.

Matt knows already, but he asks anyway. Politeness, and all that, and besides, if it is what he knows it is, it would be an explanation for why his heart is suddenly jackhammering so hard. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline to his jaw and he uses the cane hand to wipe it off. His stubble scrapes his hand and he winces at the sandpaper burn that comes from it. Foggy is still smiling and he takes Matt’s cane from his hand, leaning it against the wall. The A/C from the flower shop across the street brushes them just for a second, and Matt sighs as Foggy’s fingers wrap around his too hot ones.

“Here, I bought you this. It’s so hot today, thought we could both use something.”

milk from three different dairies, vanilla, a hint of cinnamon

The cone is cold in his hand and his throat aches. He’s so tired, so busy, leading two lives, taking care of his city and his friends. Taking care that he doesn’t lie to them anymore. As much as he can without hurting anyone.

The difference in the chill of the ice cream and the warmth of the newly baked cone makes the hair on his arm rise. The sudden onslaught of memories he’s pushed away, almost forgotten, forces the hair on his nape to rise too.

What do you taste?

Matt raises it to his mouth, the dripping of the ice cream on the cement coming from both of their cones now, and he closes his eyes in order to tell the focus to be quiet and he takes a tentative lick.

Silence, except for the sting of the memories that clog his throat, unwanted and unwelcome, the reminiscence landing painfully behind his eyes, thick and unwavering and he eats more. He tastes the three dairies and the vanilla extract and the cinnamon and the chemical by products and the plastic and other things he doesn’t want to think of in the ice cream, and he can feel his dad’s hand on his shoulder, can feel Stick leaving the wrapper bracelet behind.

“ – att? You alright?”

Matt takes another bite of the vanilla cone and lets the burning in his eyes take over and he nods as a few stray, should-be-embarrassing tears slide down his cheeks from under his glasses. “It’s good. Thanks, Foggy.”

“Why are you crying?”

He’d told Foggy some of the story, told him some about Stick and his dad, but not this particular part and this is only the third time in his life someone’s bought him ice cream, and the first two disappeared after they did – or died, and Matt continues to let hot tears fall as he eats the cold vanilla dessert, white spattering his hand and the sidewalk. Foggy is turning his head this way and that, his own cone half -way melted down, his worry evident in the way his breathing and posture changes, the stink from his sweat amplifying. The sun shifts behind a cloud, and Foggy takes up Matt’s cane and grabs him by the arm and shifts him to the entrance of their office, Matt stepping carefully behind as they ascend the stairs to the cool in silence.

Karen’s not there; she’s out getting more coffee (Matt finds it hilariously awful that neither she nor Foggy can make a decent cup) and Foggy forces Matt to sit in the chair in his office as he squats in front of him, concern evident in the crinkling of the skin by his eyes.

He can only shut the focus off for so long, so he’s got a huge damn headache by the time he finishes the ice cream. He holds the paper wrapper in his hand and lets the A/C blow on the back of his damp neck. His hair is too long, he needs a shave, and he’s sitting in his office with his partner and best friend and crying over a cone bought down the street for most likely two bucks.

“Matt, what the hell, buddy.”

“It’s okay,” Matt answers finally, clearing his throat, removing his glasses and wiping at his eyes, the dark irises standing out in stark contrast to the redness that fills the whites. He loosens and then finally jerks his tie off, chucking it to the desk and feeling the ice cream wrapper, the paper crinkling and rustling and he smiles suddenly, Foggy’s hand on his knee warm but comfortable.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, even though he knows Foggy wants a better explanation, knows Foggy is still hurt over their –

Matt bites his lip, lets it go, and leans forward in his chair, cupping his hand over the back of Foggy’s tangled hair, and presses a dry kiss to the other man’s forehead.

He stands as Foggy sits where he is, on the floor of Matt’s office, stunned into confused silence. Matt takes the paper in his hand and crosses to the window, the chicken wire on it warm even through the thick glass and cool air, and he rests his forehead on the window, hands rising to rest next to his shoulders, wrapper clutched in his right one.

He’s so tired. But he loves his city and the people in it so much he wouldn’t ever dare to think to stop doing what he’s doing. He’s Daredevil (which still makes him grin a little sometimes) and he’s Matt Murdock, champion of the downtrodden, and he’s got the best friends a guy could ask for in the world.

And now he’s had ice cream bought for him for the third time in his life by someone else, and that someone else is still there, hasn’t left, hasn’t died, and Matt swallows over the memories that normally eat his gut and spit him out raw.

This time, when Foggy joins him at the window and puts a hand on Matt’s shoulder, Matt knows he’s not going anywhere without Matt’s say-so, and not without Daredevil’s protection. No matter what –

“Okay, Matt.” Foggy sounds exhausted, but Matt hears the small smile, and he smiles too, the slash of the normal quick grin a softer, broader experience this time.

“Remind me never to buy you any Haagen Dazs.”

Matt laughs and the loss and everything else gets shoved into a corner he’ll deal with later and he slings his arm around Foggy’s shoulder and they lean their heads together, blond and brown, and that’s where Karen finds them a few hours later, coffee hot and fresh in her hands.

Later, Matt lies in bed, the taste of the ice cream still there, the paper wrapper in his hands, his fingers running over and over it, reading it, the message there one of hope and friendship and Foggy’s still there, and Karen, and Claire too.

In the morning he gets up early and meditates, the circle he’s made of the wrapper sitting on his knee, the fingers of his right hand touching it lightly.

This is the OP, and OH MY GOD, this everything I wanted and more. This is so precious, and he kept the wrapper, of course. Matt Murdock, you sweet summer child.

Thank you so much, author anon. This is gorgeous.

Sweet summer child is the best description of Matt ever. And thanks, I'm so glad it worked for you, as this is a great prompt. :)

Oh, this is so lovely. The words, yes, but the setup and everything else, too.

Thank you!! I loved the prompt.

:') This is so lovely.

Thank you! :)

I love the image of Matt using the wrapper from Foggy to ground himself. ^_^

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Prompt Post #1

Gen or slash, Foggy buys Matt ice cream

Re: Gen or slash, Foggy buys Matt ice cream

Fill: What Do You Taste? (PG, Gen)

Re: Fill: What Do You Taste? (PG, Gen)

Re: Fill: What Do You Taste? (PG, Gen)

Re: Fill: What Do You Taste? (PG, Gen)

Re: Fill: What Do You Taste? (PG, Gen)

Re: Fill: What Do You Taste? (PG, Gen)

Re: Fill: What Do You Taste? (PG, Gen)

Re: Fill: What Do You Taste? (PG, Gen)