Prompt Post #1

[ddk_mod]

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:

1. YKINMKATO. Play nice.
2. All comments must be anon.
3. If you fill a prompt, drop a link to it on the fill post so everyone find it. 
4. Warnings are nice, but not necessary.
5. Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing, kink, general wants).
6. All types of prompts are welcome.
7. Multiple fills are always okay.
8. 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.
9. 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)

Comments

[FILL] all those wrong colors, 3/3

[(Anonymous)]

“You look,” she says, finally, when he is breathing according to every eighth tap, “the way that wild roses smell, lush and undoubtedly ornamental. Like smoke and broken glass. You look so pretty like this, Matthew,” she says, and he arches into the words, a little, hungry and aware of the heat in his face, undoubtedly a flush burning in his cheeks. “Oh?” Vanessa says. “You like that?”

Matt tries to turn his face away, lean into her hand — perhaps press a stained kiss to the ball of her thumb — but she holds him still and leans in and asks again. “Matthew,” she says, and she isn’t using her nails, or even particularly hurting him, but he can’t move, and when she asks: “Did you like that?” he has to answer.

“Yes,” he says, on an exhale, and then, just in case he wasn’t clear, repeats it, enough that he can feel the way his lips are a little dry now, lipstick drying matte.

“What did you like?” she asks, because — she wants to hear him say it, he realizes; she wants to look at his red, red mouth, his long lashes, the flush that he can feel spreading down his neck — she is a woman of particulars, of specifics, and she wants to hear it from him.

“When you called me pretty,” he says, “I liked it.”

“Good,” she says, and kisses his forehead, strokes gentle fingers over his throat, straightens the collar of his shirt and smooths her palms over his shoulders before she puts her hands to his chest and pushes him back to support himself on his elbows. “Because you are, Matthew,” she says, rising from her chair to straddle him, settle with her dress pushed up over her hips and her hand on his heartbeat.

Vanessa continues. “You’re so pretty—” and she might not be able to feel it, but she can see his heartbeat pick up in the pink that has spread down his neck, and the way his eyes, briefly, flutter open “—so pretty, Matthew, with your lips all red for me, so good. Come on, then,” and she rolls her hips against his, grinds down against him in a slow press. Matt’s hard, and his hands are pressed into the carpet, and his head is back. He gasps when she does it again, and while she always loves to lavish attention on his mouth, his vocalizations are so much more noticeable in crimson.

“You look so good, all preened and posed,” she says, “but you can touch — hands only — if you tell me how you feel, Matthew.”

He arches at that, pressing up even harder, and says, “oh, God, Vanessa, I—”

“Yes,” she prompts, and digs her nails into his shoulders, elbows on his chest, leaning over to watch him struggle. “Yes, what’s the word?”

“Pretty,” he sobs, finally, and slumps, as if the fight has gone out of him. He is still gasping, but completely loose-limbed, save for his hands, still flat and tense. “Pretty, God, please—”

“Well done,” Vanessa says, and he reaches for her, one hand on her hip where the fabric of her dress is bunched and the other pushing at the silk of her underwear, fingertips catching on the fabric as he finds his way by touch and the sound of her breaths, her satisfied sigh when he thumbs over her clit and the way her exhale breaks into clipped breaths as he circles around it, teasing.

Vanessa is wet — enough to add luxury to the slide of his fingers through the fabric, not enough to entirely cut the rasp of it — and she digs her nails in even harder as he presses his fingers up hard, but then pulls away before she can shove her hips against them.

“I’ll make you say it again,” she threatens, and his grip on her hip tightens. She can’t tell whether he wants her to or if he dreads it, and instead of puzzling it out she reaches for the drawer of the bedside table, snags a condom, and lets him hear the crinkle of the wrapper before she rises up on her knees. “Down,” she says, tapping at his hip with her free hand, and he shoves his sweats down to mid-thigh. “Good,” Vanessa says, and smiles, and when she rolls it down over him, he presses his lips together and fails to stifle a choked-back whine.

When she sinks down onto him, finally, his fingers curl, and she thinks that he must be desperate for purchase, so Vanessa takes his hands and places them on her hips — not to regulate her pace, but to feel it twice over — and squeezes his wrists, as tightly as she can without digging in her nails.

“What you are,” she says, breaking up her words to match her pace, “is pretty, Matthew, so pretty and so good for me—” she pauses, gasps for breath “—the finest of fine things, Matthew,” and he’s meeting her now, thrust for thrust, though his hands are still loose at her hips. “Look at you, at your mouth, God.”

She drags his hand from her hip, then, to where she’s stretched around him, and lets go of his wrist to dig her fingernails into his shoulder again. “Show me,” she says. “Make it good for me.”

He does, too; traces up her cunt when she rises onto her knees, and pushes just so when she’s flush to his body, pressed tight against him. Matt’s mouth is open, lipstick dry now but as bright as ever, and Vanessa realizes that the word he’s gasping, over and over, is “please”: please, God, please, Vanessa, please, please, please.

“I want to see you,” Vanessa says, then, “come on, let me see you, let me see that pretty, pretty mouth of yours — God, so pretty—” and Matt arches so hard that it knocks the breath out of her, fingers so good and right there, and she gasps in shock when she comes. Vanessa blinks, and so she sees Matt coming apart in freeze-frames: first, his neck bare, one hand splayed for leverage; second, the way his breath comes in heaving gasps, and the stutter of his hips; third, the noise he makes, almost one of agony, and his slow slump back to the carpet, and on, and on.

Vanessa rides it out, hips jerking against his stomach, and slumps to lie on Matt’s chest, chin propped up on his breastbone, sated.

“Matthew,” she says, fondly, and his eyes flutter open. “You’re pretty,” she says, almost coquettish, stroking his cheek with her thumb, “and ravished — you look positively lush — and my beautiful boy,” Vanessa says, and tilts his chin up with one hand to kiss him on his red, red mouth, messy and gorgeous as ever.

Re: [FILL] all those wrong colors, 3/3

[(Anonymous)]

'kay, the rest of you can go on without me. This might have killed me.

Re: [FILL] all those wrong colors, 3/3

[(Anonymous)]

Oh ok I've been delivered into the afterlife with this fic, holy fuck. UM...are you a published writer because I'd love to have your work on my bookshelf. 8D

Re: [FILL] all those wrong colors, 3/3

[(Anonymous)]

yes. Precious. So well done

Re: [FILL] all those wrong colors, 3/3

[(Anonymous)]

So... Not a pairing I'm in to. But DAMN.

Re: [FILL] all those wrong colors, 3/3

[(Anonymous)]

Holy shiiiiiiiiiit this fandom needs more of this pairing.