ddk_mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ddk_mod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daredevilkink2015-04-15 05:15 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2015-04-15 05:15 pm
Entry tags:
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
Soft Focus 4/5
(Anonymous) 2015-05-09 12:03 am (UTC)(link)Dear everyone, thank you for the comments. I keep refreshing the window to see if there are more, because I am slightly pathetic like that. This is crossposted on AO3. Just search 'Soft Focus' in the Daredevil (TV) fandom. Also, sorry(?) for sudden somnophiliac Wesley. I figured he should tie up loose ends like he always does, and then I thought it would be nice if he could get in on the creepy.
**DD**DD**DD**DD**DD
One of the many things Wesley likes about his employer is that, ninety-five percent of the time, unless Wesley asks for guidance or clarification, Mr. Fisk never tells him how to do something. He simply says something needs to be done, and he leaves Wesley to his own judgment.
So. Vanessa and Mr. Fisk have left the hotel. A brief phone call woke Wesley from his own light sleep - he's learned to grab morsels of rest whenever he can - in another room in the same building. He gave his assurances that he'd take care of the rest.
Now he's pondering the unconscious form of Matthew Murdock, inexperienced but surprisingly competent attorney at law, who is completely naked except for the blanket draped over him.
Vanessa was probably responsible for the blanket. She's more prone to sentiment than Wesley finds strictly comfortable to be around (Wesley maxes out at giving a damn over one person besides himself), but he finds her agreeable all the same. She might not be ideal for Mr. Fisk's focus on his ambitions, but unlike all his employer's unsavory associates, Wesley only cares about Mr. Fisk's empire to the extent that it makes Wilson happy. Vanessa makes Wilson happy.
((As a bonus, when Wilson is happy, he makes an effort to help Wesley pursue a few of his less convenient interests, such as this one.))
In the morning, Matthew needs to be placated and sent home, or his office, or wherever he wants to be sent. The man is wary of everything and everyone, so he hasn't told them where he lives. He's currently sweat-soaked and lipstick-smeared. Vanessa was sensible enough not to leave marks, since even a blind man might feel raised skin with his fingers, or have someone else notice and ask him about such things.
Wesley regrets having to be sensible too. He peels back the layer of cloth hiding most of Matthew's body from view. The young man lets out a tiny sigh and curls in on himself, damp skin prickling at the sudden cool. Interesting, so he's still reacting somewhat to stimuli. The biochemist said that was within the realm of possibility, but that only a minimum of nine hours after dosing or an injection of an antidote would actually make him wake up.
After this Wesley should send the relevant emails to make sure that woman and her girlfriend are downgraded to minimum surveillance. And send one of those thank-you cards that says job well done, much appreciated, your payment is in your bank account, tell anyone about this and everyone you love will be filmed being cut to small pieces over a period of forty-eight hours. Standard.
He also has a governor to schmooze with at a wine tasting. At least it'll be good wine. And have a chat with a barista who heard something zie shouldn't have. And Madam Gao has invited him to a round of mah jong this coming evening, presumably because you need four people to play mah jong and most of the people she interacts with who've heard of the game can't see the tiles, and you don't say no to that woman...
((Stop thinking about work, James. Wilson's given you free rein and tacit permission to mix in some pleasure. Your king has given you a sleeping prince to play with and you're thinking about Madam Gao?))
Earlier, waiting for his part to step onstage, Wesley had exchanged his suit and tie for sweatpants and a white tee, to nap in. They're good for crawling onto the empty half of the bed, too. After removing his glasses and silenced smart phone, of course, neatly placed on the bedside table. He clicks a second lamp on, though the lighting remains soft.
((The better to see you with, my dear.))
Theoretically, Wesley could do all sorts of things to all sorts of people. Once you're threatening bodily harm on people and their loved ones, even if you're almost never the one actually carrying it out, a bit of somnophiliac molestation isn't much of a leap. The problem is that he has no attraction whatsoever to sniveling victims. He likes seeing someone helpless, but only if they're someone who commanded his respect first.
It's remembering Matthew's wariness upon meeting Wesley, even as his golden retriever of a law partner groveled, that makes running fingers over the curve of his hip satisfying. He has an impressive amount of muscle tone, Matthew Murdock does, and on that day he looked like he'd been barely holding back from physically shaking some straight answers out of Wesley.
Matthew shifts sometimes, as if agitated. He doesn't turn away. Maybe it's the heaviness of the sedation, or maybe his subconsious doesn't actually dislike Wesley's gentle handling all that much. Wesley isn't aggressive about any of it. He's not one for that. Roughness with this pale, pliant body would be like chugging a well-aged vintage from a mug (the simile makes him shudder inside).
He gets a little bolder, though still with a light touch, as Matthew continues to sleep through it all. Tracing his jawline. Barely scraping teeth along his neck. Mouthing at a swell of collarbone. A sweeping line down his back. Palming a firm buttock. He teases the slumbering cock just a bit, two fingers and his own avid eyes, but nothing happens and he leaves it alone from then on.
A flash of memory: Wesley entering the back of the courtroom, Murdock standing for a closing speech. In that moment, Wesley saw a bit of his employer in the young lawyer. Murdock's words were weighty and thoughtful. His conviction was solid, vibrant, so like the guiding star Wesley fixed himself to so many years ago. Murdock was poised. He was sincere. He was unyielding, in his quiet way, that transcended all the tragedy that marked his past.
Wesley kicks off his pants and takes himself in one hand. He tilts Matthew's face in the other so he can see every eyelash and pore despite having taken off his glasses. He starts with leisurely strokes, as the hush seems to demand. Soon he doesn't so much speed up as intensify.
Matthew's mouth is just so red in this low light. If Wesley believed in sin as something other than a tenacious cultural buzzword, he'd say that's how red his silent bed companion's lips are. Red as sin. Capable of charm, and wit, and piercing questions, and words that sway blind justice in his favor. And now they have no choice in their fate, no agency whatsoever.
Wesley presses his own lips to those. Briefly indulging in the fanciful, he imagines his tongue is pressing a brand onto Matthew's, something invisible, intangible, that will always catch every word about to leave those scarlet lips. Wesley imagines Matthew stumbling a little every time he speaks from now on, not knowing why.
((Just like he might ache a little sometimes, not knowing why. Ghosts on his skin. The better to eat you with, my dear.))
He lets himself come on that bare chest and stomach. After all, Wesley is going to roll Matthew onto the collapsible wheeled cot stored in the closet, get him into the generously sized en suite, bathe him, and replace the bedsheets. If he can't sculpt, he wants to paint.
Wesley only gives himself two minutes or so to recover. He has a lot to do.
If he intersperses all those tasks with an impractical number of kisses and fondles, well, nobody needs to know that.
Re: Soft Focus 4/5
(Anonymous) 2015-05-09 05:54 am (UTC)(link)Soft Focus 5/5
(Anonymous) 2015-05-20 10:44 am (UTC)(link)5. Karen
"Here." Karen plunks the takeout container on Matt's desk and plunks herself in the seat across from it.
Matt snaps out of his equivalent of staring into space (yes, Karen knows that's kind of what he's always doing, but she doesn't know a better expression for that lost-in-thought slump). "Sorry, what?"
"You told Foggy you were going to order in, so it's fine for him to go consort with his ex for the greater good some more - he would make an adorable secret agent, I agree - but you're totally not going to. You're totally going to sit here and be grim. That's not fine. You've eaten noodles from Tranh's Pho Depot several times, so I got some for both of us."
"Um." He summons one of his polite smiles. They always hurt her a little, to know that they're not real and yet he's trying so hard, even when he doesn't have to. "I'm not that hungry?"
"I will give you chopsticks and a spoon. Keep me company. You are not under obligation to employ them to put more than ten bites in your mouth." If he doesn't finish his portion she'll take it home, as her payout from Union Allied plus her savings won't last forever, but maybe if he feels a little guilty he can be tricked into nourishing himself. She deliberately got him something very plain as well as precedented, in case he genuinely feels queasy. One skipped lunch she can let slide, but after more than that, Matt needs something stronger than Foggy's gentle urging to take care of himself.
"Okay. Thanks, Karen. How much do I owe you?"
"Ten substantial bites, minimum. And..." Karen takes a deep breath. The words haven't caught up yet.
Matt raises his eyebrows. He obediently starts on his noodles. His chopstick skills are much better than hers, but she takes a moment to whisper which sauce packet is which. Nonchalantly, like Foggy does. She's getting better at that.
After his first two bites, Matt gives up on waiting. "What's the other thing?"
Karen's mouth is full, so she makes some weird humming noise she hopes will convey this. She takes a sip of iced tea. "You and Foggy have both been great about not prying into...my deal. From before we met. I appreciate that and I've been trying to do the same with your stuff. Even when I worry about how many nosebleeds you've had this week, or why the hell you don't get foam borders on your coffee table. Foggy asks you those things too, so at least I know I'm not the only one noticing, and that it's something you genuinely don't want to talk about."
"Mm. Are there bean sprouts? Usually these come with bean sprouts. I like Pho Depot because their vegetables are fresh."
She hands him the little bag full of bean sprouts and basil leaves. Their fingers touch briefly. This is not the time to think about that. "Foggy hasn't noticed this - this thing I'm worried about. I realize I'm generalizing, but, it's, it's not the kind of thing guys notice much. Not necessarily something women do either, but I've seen it enough, and I guess I look for it after it's happened enough times to people I care about."
"I don't really..."
"I won't ask you anything. You don't have to say anything. Just listen. Please."
Matt nods, solemn. Which is endearingly ruined when he says, "Can I keep eating?"
"Please do. I will poke you if you don't." Her smile fades, not that he'd know. Unless maybe he can hear it in her voice. "Last Friday you mentioned you had a date on Saturday night. I know you said it went badly, and I know you're a gentleman who wouldn't badmouth any date short of a serial killer, but this isn't, uh. It's more than that. You don't have to confirm or deny. Eat your noodles. Listen. Please. Foggy's usually the only person you are happy with touching you, that I've seen you around, though you're more comfortable with me as time goes on and I, um, really, that means a lot."
This smile is tiny but genuine. Karen doesn't let herself be dazzled. Good thing it's not his rare crinkle-eyes-grin, the one that uses up his whole face and probably makes flowers suddenly bloom out of season. She wouldn't be able to continue in the face of that.
"You're flinching from Foggy. I'm not sure if he can tell. He knows you well, but he knows you so well that I don't think he watches carefully. I think he assumes he'd catch on. You're losing focus a lot, and not in a pulling-late-nights-plus-insomnia way. In a thinking-about-things-you-don't-want-to-but-can't-stop way. You're taking almost three times as long to wash your hands. You're taking showers somewhere, maybe a gym, during a lot of lunch breaks, even though you're still showering in the morning. I can tell by the damp hair, and the towel hanging in a closet to dry. Our lunch breaks aren't long enough for you to go to a gym, work out, and shower."
"Karen, I can explain."
"No. You're going to deflect, and smile, and say you're fine, and say I don't need to worry. I put up with that most of the time. But something's made you hollow, Matt, and nobody else is going to notice, and it started on Saturday night. So you will listen to me." Karen realizes she's almost broken her chopstick. She takes another deep breath.
So does he. "Okay."
"Sometimes things happen when a person's on a date, or in a relationship. It's happened to me and way too many people I know. Most were female, yeah, but not all, and I will become very unpleasant towards anyone who glosses over that. Maybe they're not sure what was the bad part. Or even exactly what happened. You think it was no big deal, you shouldn't feel hurt, nothing and nobody hurt you. But you feel messed up, and icky, and you can't act normally for a while, and that. Is. Fine."
Matt's eyes aren't visible, but Karen feels like at least a bit of his heart is, now. In all the horrible, but needed, rawness that implies. He swallows at nothing, and his hands are clutched around an empty spoon and the edge of the desk.
"It's not fine when someone doesn't treat you like you're a real person, like your wants and your needs and your feelings are the most important thing and they are goddamn privileged to even be near you. It doesn't matter your gender, age, whatever. It doesn't matter what theirs is. Nobody can make you not feel shitty about something like this, but I need to make it extremely clear that don't you dare feel bad about feeling bad. Because if you do, you are saying I need to feel bad, and so does my step-brother, and so do more than half the friends I have ever had. Don't you dare. Eat your noodles. Foggy'll be back soon. No, I won't tell him."
She hopes she's not imagining the set of Matt's shoulders, not just hoping that he seems a tiny bit lighter now. "Thank you." His non-spoon hand fumbles for hers, and gives it the smallest of squeezes.
Re: Soft Focus 5/5
(Anonymous) 2015-05-20 05:53 pm (UTC)(link)(thank you for this last part, anon, it's. um. I didn't know I needed it till I read it.)
Re: Soft Focus 5/5
(Anonymous) 2015-10-12 04:48 am (UTC)(link)