daredevilkink | Prompt Post #1

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Prompt Post #1

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(shamelessly stolen from another kinkmeme)

Some baddies get the drop on Matt and bury him alive. His enhanced senses don't help much underground, and by the time he's found, he's truly freaking out and needs serious care.

No preference for pairing, though I am partial to OT3Avocados or Matt/Claire and not the hugest fan of Matt/Criminals. Gen is also totally fine.

+ 1 for crying, panicking, all the jazz, so long as Matt is still Matt (Matt doesn't get weepy at the drop of a hat, you need to break him first)
+ 1000 for gentle cuddling, gentle washing, gentle medical attention, lots of taking care of Matt

YES OMG SECONDED

Oh, wow, sorry. I'm so glad I checked back on this when I did because the formating looked fine in this tiny little text box thing. Give me a sec.

The last note, the last clue, the last crumb in the bread trail simply read “Two birds, one stone.” Natasha can’t bring herself to care about what it means. Not write now. When she goes to write this all down in her mission report, sure. But now right now. Not when she and Clint are standing in front of a freshly dug, unmarked grave. “Don’t ever tell Kate about this one.” Clint says a long exhale whooshing after his words. And she wonders if they knew this would get to Clint more than her. She can hear him fading away, the small easy affection in his tone replaced with one of completely and absolute sorrow. He seems to echo with emptiness. She picks up an abandoned shovel. “I want to see a body.” The words don’t seem to phase Clint, perhaps because there’s nothing left he can do to change the situation. The body they dig up will either be alive or it won’t and there’s nothing else to do at this point. -- His hands are zip tied behind his back and his ankles together. Far away and above him is the sound of rain on the earth. Dirt and grass for as far as he can hear. No one is looking for him. He has faith Fisk’s men didn’t leave any kind of trail. For Claire or Foggy or Karen. For the police. This was an annoyance, distractions, nuisance, finally taken care of. He does the only thing he can do, meditates. Even if all it will do is prolong the inevitable. -- It’s hard to dig with how hard it’s raining, been raining, they’re mostly pushing mud around. -- His lungs burn. His face feels hot where he’s breathing in his recycled breath over and over again. Everywhere else is cold. He tries to extend his sense. He can’t even feel past his own body. He tries to move a leg and doesn’t know if he succeeds or not. His hands feel cold, his fingers stiff and useless. This is dying. He thinks to himself, over and over again. And it’s almost a meditation. And somehow it’s keeping him from hyperventilating. For using up the last little bit of oxygen he’s got. -- “Nat…” “Dig. If you are going to beat yourself up over this we are going to find a body. And then we are going to do our damndest to identify that body.” -- It’s impossible not to hyperventilate at the last moment, not to be aware. His head pounds, his heart feels like it’s going to explode, and his lungs, despite them working overtime, feel empty and hollow. Like a vacuum. And that’s all the sensation he has, the strain in his muscles, even the sensation of where his limbs are, all dead. It’s like the spins. It’s so much worse than the spins. It’s so much worse than being blinded, then those first few moments of the world, his dad’s face, fading away into nothingness. It’s not one sense that’s gone but all of them, all at once. His face, which was so hot before, doesn’t register any temperature, at all. Any sensation of his body, of having a body, is gone. He could be a brain in a vat and wouldn’t know the difference. He can’t feel the silk lining the coffin. He can’t hear his own breath racing in and out of him. He can only feel his heart beat, feel the pounding, the rushing, the wanting for air. And then, and then there it is, whooshing into his lungs and he takes great mouthfuls of it, painting, choking, crying. -- When Clint see’s the man’s alive he springs into action. “We got to take him back to the tower.” TBC

OP here.

HOLY SHIT YOU'RE FILLING IT. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THIS IS WONDERFUL.

I'm grinning so friggin' hard right now, I can't wait to read more of this fill!

Could you maybe change to formatting though, please? Just to space it out? It's kinda hard to read all squished together like that.

ooh, this is so good! the descriptions of matt especially are viscerally horrifying.

seconding the above request for spacing - sometimes comments strip out any formatting if you're copy&pasting from word or whatever. maybe paste it into notepad first and then copy&paste from there to make sure your spaces are intact?

The last note, the last clue, the last crumb in the bread trail simply read “Two birds, one stone.” Natasha can’t bring herself to care about what it means. Not write now. When she goes to write this all down in her mission report, sure. But now right now. Not when she and Clint are standing in front of a freshly dug, unmarked grave.

“Don’t ever tell Kate about this one.” Clint says a long exhale whooshing after his words.

And she wonders if they knew this would get to Clint more than her. She can hear him fading away, the small easy affection in his tone replaced with one of completely and absolute sorrow. He seems to echo with emptiness.

She picks up an abandoned shovel. “I want to see a body.” The words don’t seem to phase Clint, perhaps because there’s nothing left he can do to change the situation. The body they dig up will either be alive or it won’t and there’s nothing else to do at this point.

--

His hands are zip tied behind his back and his ankles together. Far away and above him is the sound of rain on the earth. Dirt and grass for as far as he can hear.

No one is looking for him. He has faith Fisk’s men didn’t leave any kind of trail. For Claire or Foggy or Karen. For the police. This was an annoyance, distractions, nuisance, finally taken care of. He does the only thing he can do, meditates. Even if all it will do is prolong the inevitable.

--

It’s hard to dig with how hard it’s raining, been raining, they’re mostly pushing mud around.

--

His lungs burn. His face feels hot where he’s breathing in his recycled breath over and over again. Everywhere else is cold. He tries to extend his sense. He can’t even feel past his own body. He tries to move a leg and doesn’t know if he succeeds or not. His hands feel cold, his fingers stiff and useless.

This is dying. He thinks to himself, over and over again. And it’s almost a meditation. And somehow it’s keeping him from hyperventilating. For using up the last little bit of oxygen he’s got.

--

“Nat…”

“Dig. If you are going to beat yourself up over this we are going to find a body. And then we are going to do our damndest to identify that body.”

--

It’s impossible not to hyperventilate at the last moment, not to be aware. His head pounds, his heart feels like it’s going to explode, and his lungs, despite them working overtime, feel empty and hollow. Like a vacuum. And that’s all the sensation he has, the strain in his muscles, even the sensation of where his limbs are, all dead. It’s like the spins. It’s so much worse than the spins.

It’s so much worse than being blinded, then those first few moments of the world, his dad’s face, fading away into nothingness. It’s not one sense that’s gone but all of them, all at once.

His face, which was so hot before, doesn’t register any temperature, at all. Any sensation of his body, of having a body, is gone. He could be a brain in a vat and wouldn’t know the difference. He can’t feel the silk lining the coffin. He can’t hear his own breath racing in and out of him. He can only feel his heart beat, feel the pounding, the rushing, the wanting for air.

And then, and then there it is, whooshing into his lungs and he takes great mouthfuls of it, painting, choking, crying.

--

When Clint see’s the man’s alive he springs into action. “We got to take him back to the tower.”

1.) I am so, so sorry about that again.

2.) I uploaded it to AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/3837355
incase you want to follow it there since I decided I love this prompt so much I'm definitely going to finish it, not matter how long it gets.

Yay! Thanks for fixing the formatting!

Also totally stalking you on AO3 now.

*blushes* thank you! I'm so glad you like it (and me) that much. lol.

Awesome! I'm so glad you reposted it. I couldn't read the first version but this is really great!

Fill: Because of how long this is and formatting issues I'm not going to update here anymore. If that's cool? The next three chapters are already on my AO3 at:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/3837355

In case anyone's not keeping up with my updates, I finished this prompt and it can be found at
http://archiveofourown.org/works/3837355

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Prompt Post #1

Matt/Any or Matt&Any, buried alive, h/c

Re: Matt/Any or Matt&Any, buried alive, h/c

Re: Matt/Any or Matt&Any, buried alive, h/c

Fill: Matt/Any or Matt&Any, buried alive, h/c 1/?

Re: Fill: Matt/Any or Matt&Any, buried alive, h/c 1/?

Re: Fill: Matt/Any or Matt&Any, buried alive, h/c 1/?

Re: Fill: Matt/Any or Matt&Any, buried alive, h/c 1/?

Fill: Buried alive, h/c (FORMATING FIXED)

Re: Fill: Buried alive, h/c (FORMATING FIXED)

Re: Fill: Buried alive, h/c (FORMATING FIXED)

Re: Fill: Buried alive, h/c (FORMATING FIXED)

Re: Fill: Buried alive, h/c (FORMATING FIXED)

Fill: Matt/Any or Matt&Any, buried alive, h/c

Fill: COMPLETE