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daredevilkink2017-01-09 08:25 am
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2017-01-09 08:25 am
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Daredevil Prompt Post #12
AO3 Collection | Fills: Completed & WIPs
All Rounds & Other Useful Links
This post is for prompts involving characters from Netflix's Daredevil.
Now that The Defenders prompt post is live, all crossovers between anyone in the four individual shows should go over there. Prompts only including characters that appear in Daredevil should still go here.
Rules:
- General
- YKINMKATO. Play nice. Respect others. If you don't like something, scroll on.
- All comments must be anon. If you would like to be politely banned to avoid anon-failing, leave a logged-in comment on the mod post or pm the mod account.
- Subject lines should only be changed if you're posting a prompt or a fill (indicators like OP or Author!Anon should go in the body of the comment).
- 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.
- Prompts focusing on characters from other Netflix Marvel shows or the comics should go on their respective prompt posts, but crossovers with Daredevil can go here.
- Drop a comment on the mod post if you have any questions or problems.
- Prompts
- All types of prompts are welcome.
- Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing or characters, keywords, kink).
- Warnings are nice, but not mandatory. Get DW Blocker if there's anything you really don't want to see.
- Reposted prompts are allowed once one round has passed - e.g. prompts from post #2 cannot be reposted until post #4. Please include a link to where it has been previously posted.
- Fills
- When posting a fill, either add [FILL] (or something similar) to the subject line, or change the subject line to the title of your fill.
- Announce your fill on either the Completed Fills Post or the WIP Post.
- Long fills can either be posted over multiple comments, or posted on AO3 and linked back here.
- Multiple fills are always okay.
- Fills can be anything! Fic, art and vids are all welcome.
FILL: Lay Me Down and Do It Again (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-10-11 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)Finally he sits up and slips out of the chair onto his knees. “If what I intend to do is wrong, I’m sorry,” he prays aloud. “I can’t sit by and let this go on. You gave me the ability to help. I need to help.”
There’s no answer, but there never is, and Matt’s OK with that. Answers are for confession.
*
Except that four days pass, and he doesn’t hear it. He knows Cynthia Waterford’s on the night shift so he braces himself to let it happen one last time, but there’s nothing. The murmurs of But you said you loved me and Mom wouldn’t understand and Shut up and do what you’re told don’t find their way down the block; he doesn’t have to leave the apartment and walk as fast as he can (in public) in the other direction to escape the noises of pain and the quiet crying. He does go out, trying to track Bradley to his usual haunts, figure out a good place to catch him alone (ambush him, really), but he can’t find the man; he doesn’t seem to be home.
Then one of Matt’s infrequent migraines sneaks up on him, and Foggy takes him home on their lunch break and skedaddles back to L&Z to cover for him (as interns they technically get sick leave, but everyone knows it’s a bad idea to take it), and that’s why Matt’s close enough to hear Cynthia sit her daughter down at the kitchen table and say, “Sweetie, if there’s anything you were scared to tell me, you don’t have to be scared anymore. Nothing you say will make me angry with you.”
Someone caught Bradley Waterford as he was sloping home drunk and beat the living hell out of him. He’ll be eating through a straw for a month, and when he gets out of the hospital he’ll be going to jail on charges of rape. From the sound of things Cynthia intends to start divorce proceedings, and Matt only wishes there were some way he could offer to be her lawyer pro bono. He doesn’t specialize in family law, but for this he’d sure as hell read up.
Matt prays a rosary in thanks, and sleeps like the dead, and when he wakes up the migraine is gone.
*
A few months later Foggy calls him at 2:30 in the morning. Matt hasn’t been asleep for long but it’s not like Foggy to call so late; he plays at being a selfish jerk but he actually cares more about Matt’s sleep schedule than Matt does.
And he sounds...weird, though Matt honestly has a hard time with emotions over the phone, where he can’t sense any of the other things he normally uses to decode them. “Matt,” Foggy says, his voice tight, “can you come down here?”
“Uh,” says Matt, still about a quarter asleep. “Yes, where’s here?”
Foggy tells him. Matt has long since lost any impulse to stare at things when they confuse him, but he feels himself tense. “OK, A that’s practically in the Village, and B it’s a police station. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. I even still have my wallet!” Foggy says, with enthusiasm that Matt can tell is false even over the phone. “I can get home alone, it’s not that big a deal, I just—”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Matt says. He starts to move even as he’s speaking, shedding his sleep pants. “I’m gonna hang up so I can call a cab, but I’ll be there, I promise, OK?”
It takes him less than half an hour to get to the precinct, though once he’s there he has to ask to be taken to Foggy instead of just homing in on the familiar heartbeat. Foggy’s in one of the detectives’ offices, sitting on a swaybacked couch with a cup of terrible coffee. His heart jumps when he sees Matt, and Matt swallows all his questions to give Foggy a hug.
Foggy, it turns out, was mugged. Which isn’t in itself the problem; they’ve both been mugged before, a tax you just expect to pay living in New York City. Heck, once they were mugged together, and Matt turned over what cash he had rather than punching the guy in the face like he wanted to because he couldn’t figure out how to make it look coincidental. No, the problem was that this mugger didn’t want to let it go at Foggy’s money, phone, and watch.
“My God, Foggy,” Matt says, appalled. It’s not that he’s unaware that such things happen, even to men. But even for a New Yorker, that’s a hard one to be blasé about.
“Yeah,” says Foggy grimly. “I was trying to work out how to punch him in the dick and run for it when this guy showed up. I mean like out of fucking nowhere, Matt. Like he fell out of the sky.” Foggy must be pretty rattled; he rarely swears.
Matt pauses. “A guy?”
“No shit, there he was,” Foggy agrees. “Wearing some...outfit, I think it was red, it was some hardcore Batman stuff. He had a mask on.” Foggy laughs. “And he beat Rapey McRaperson within an inch of his life, and then he picked up my stuff and handed it back to me like the world’s kinkiest concierge and said I should be more careful, and then, and I swear I am not shitting you, he jumped onto the Dumpster and went up the fire escape. He went up the fire escape faster than I walk on flat ground.” He draws a deep breath. “I called the cops, they have the mugger, but they want to ask me about the guy too.”
“It sounds like he was there to help,” Matt says. Foggy makes a complicated movement that sounds like it started as a shrug.
“I mean, yes, and don’t get me wrong, I am really glad I didn’t have to try to punch that asshole in the dick.” So is Matt. Foggy’s hardly helpless, but his strength is talking his way out of things, not punching. “On the other hand, that getup the guy was wearing, it was pretty clear this was not the kind of thing where you’re passing an alley and happen to notice what’s going down. This is a full-time gig for him.”
Matt nods and says lightly, “Technically, being a vigilante is not a crime in New York.” He looked it up, back when he was listening to the Waterfords, out of morbid curiosity about what laws he was planning to break. They'd've had him dead to rights on assault, though.
Foggy snorts. “Why am I not surprised that you know that?”
Matt grins at him; he sounds more like himself, and that can only be good. “OK, well, can you leave or do they want to talk to you tonight?” It’s gonna be the first one if Matt has anything to say about it; he will browbeat the desk sergeant if he has to. Foggy can come back and give a statement tomorrow.
“They told me I can go home. They have my info to get in touch.”
“Great.” Matt stands and offers Foggy a hand up.
“Matt,” Foggy says, his voice small.
“What do you need, Fog?”
“Can I sleep on your couch?”
Matt huffs a laugh and slings his arm around Foggy’s shoulders. “I’ll take the couch, buddy,” he says.
*
Now that Matt’s paying attention, there do seem to be an awful lot of stories in the news about foiled muggings, criminals being found in less-than-pristine condition near the Fifteenth precinct house, and general consternation among the cops. He doesn’t have as much time as he’d like to poke his nose into it; L&Z keeps him and Foggy hopping and they don’t have a lot of time for extracurricular activities. But he keeps his ears open, and his ears are, well, spectacular.
The Man in the Mask seems to like Hell’s Kitchen; Foggy’s encounter was the furthest afield by quite a stretch. The Bulletin takes to calling him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and Matt can’t help but wince at the name.
He’s also...a little miffed? It should make him happy that someone’s helping the people of his city without him having to get involved—he shudders to think of the ethical implications of a defense attorney going out and doing what the Devil does, not that he was going to let that stop him—but it actually bugs him, just a little, that someone else is doing it. He feels like he should be helping, or at least should have been consulted. It’s nonsense and he knows it; he’s been so very careful to ensure no one knows about what he can do, he doesn’t get to be annoyed that he’s succeeded.
Then Matt notices that for all the Devil’s care for Hell’s Kitchen, he rarely gets close to Matt’s building. It could just be a coincidence; Matt’s block is actually one of the less crime-ridden ones. But as time wears on it starts to look like the Devil is avoiding Matt specifically, and that’s very interesting. Maybe Matt has an inflated idea of his own importance—every authority figure he’s met since his dad died has warned him not to think of himself as too special—but it sure seems that way. He takes to plotting reported encounters on a map, pushing glass-headed sewing pins into intersections, and the doughnut-ring around his block just keeps getting denser.
He starts to think about going out hunting, just for a few nights, to get some answers. He orders some black, non-restrictive clothing from Amazon—which is a paper trail, but if it gets to the point that someone’s checking his purchase history he’s screwed anyway. Besides, he has really good alibis for several Devil sightings.
Also he’s blind, so.
The very first night he thinks he gets close, zeros in on a purse-snatching that gets interrupted with punching, but by the time he gets there the thief is down, stunned and groaning, the victim is half a block away and on the phone to 911, and there’s nothing else but a strange faint chemical-plastic scent he’s never encountered before. Matt sniffs around for lingering body odor in case he encounters the Devil in some other context, but his own scent overpowers whatever traces the Devil might have left. He leaves once the cops show up and heads home over the roofs, annoyed.
After that, the Devil seems to go to ground; Matt would worry he got spotted, but there was no one close enough. He spends a few more nights monitoring, then folds his dark clothes away, figuring he can take a break and try again when the Devil’s had a chance to calm down. He and Foggy are on a new case at work, a guy who’s being sued for leaking proprietary information, and Matt needs to be on the ball. He doesn’t like Landeman and Zach but there’s no denying a permanent position there would be good for getting on his feet before he and Foggy strike out on their own.
*
It’s an oppressive late-summer night when Matt’s startled out of sleep. He tunes out the normal sounds of the city just like a person who lives near a freeway ignores the traffic—otherwise he’d never sleep at all without a sensory deprivation tank—but there are feet scuffing over his roof in the direction of the access door. Through his open windows he can smell blood, and that weird chemical.
The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is on Matt’s roof.
The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is in fact trying Matt’s roof-access door, but it’s locked tonight. The Devil makes a soft noise and Matt feels an unexpected pang of sympathy; that sounds like a guy who’s just had his last hope crap out on him. Matt has made that noise.
There’s a sound of sliding next to the door; the Devil leaned on the wall and now can’t stay standing. Matt supposes it could be a trap, but the smell of blood is heavy enough that he’s inclined to think not. And since no one ever claimed that Matt was good at looking before he leaped, he grabs his cane and slips his feet into sneakers. He takes the stairs too quietly for anyone but him to hear it and spends a good thirty seconds slowly turning the deadbolt latch. The Devil’s breathing isn’t good, reminds Matt of the last time he had a bad cold, but the man’s heart is steady, if slightly rapid.
When the door’s unlocked Matt stands to the side, takes a breath, turns the knob and shoves. It swings open. Nothing flies through the space and the Devil’s vitals don’t change. The chemical smell is a little stronger here. Matt waves his cane across the open doorway. Still nothing.
He decides to risk it. The thing is, he’s concentrating so hard on making sure the Devil isn’t bait in a trap that he’s crouching in front of the man, feeling for the wound he knows is there, before it really registers what’s so strange about him.
Matt can smell the man’s suit; leather, glue, and whatever that strange material is that’s probably armor. But he can’t smell the man himself. Because he smells just like Matt. Not as well-washed, and Matt thinks he hasn’t been eating well, but his basic scent is the same.
OK, Matt thinks calmly, this is weird. His searching fingers follow the trickle of blood up under the edge of the cowl-helmet the Devil is wearing. The wound is a long streak back through his hair—which feels exactly like Matt’s hair, and Matt carefully doesn’t think about that. All he can figure is that a bullet went at precisely the right angle to skirt along the Devil’s skull. Unlucky in one way, but then again it didn’t go through his eye, either. And it means the problem here is probably a concussion rather than blood loss per se.
Matt heaves the Devil into a fireman’s carry to get him down into the living room.
Re: FILL: Lay Me Down and Do It Again (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-10-12 04:02 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Lay Me Down and Do It Again (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2017-10-12 11:39 am (UTC)(link)