#anyway I think all of these are mattfoggy I don’t know if that’s good or bad news for yall | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

altumvidetur · 4 years

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MCU Daredevil: MattFoggy Fic Recs

MCU Fic Recs Masterpost

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I didn’t actually watch season 3 of Daredevil, so my recs are all from before that. I still plan to watch, so please take that into account when interacting with this post!

Fitter. Happier. More Productive., by what_alchemy

Matt tries to let go. He's not too good at it.

through the bookcase, imagining a scene, by returnsandreturns

“He’s back,” Karen says, making Foggy jump and drop his armful of books. She winces and drops down immediately to help him pick them up.

“Matt?” Foggy asks. It’s an optimistic guess—there are a lot of guys who could be back, like the guy who sits in a study carrel and eats peanut butter out of a jar with his hands and Uncomfortable Religious Missionary Guy, who is actually three different guys.

“Yep,” she replies, nodding and widening her eyes when she grins. “He’s flirting with the circulation ladies, which means you’ve got just enough time to steal my shift at the reference desk before he gets there.”

The Constellation of Touch, by what_alchemy

Months after Fisk is put away, nothing's right between the partners at Nelson and Murdock. But Christmas is here, and Matt is still expected at the Nelson house.

you won’t get better till you’re worse, by annperkinsface

The road to forgiveness has a lot of vodka.

my name on your lips, by unnecessary

It starts when Matt and Marci have coffee. Then Foggy and Claire have coffee. Then Claire throws a Christmas party, and really, it isn't like Foggy means to keep almost confessing to Matt, but can anyone really blame him?

I Decided This, by patster223

“I’m contributing yet another lovely sign to our office,” Foggy says, brandishing the finished product with a flourish. Matt can’t see the sign, but he can probably sense the flourish, which is what matters. “It says, ‘It has been ‘0’ days since Matt made an idiotic decision.’”

“Doesn’t seem like it will inspire much trust from our clients.”

What the sign instead inspires: debates, understanding, a patented Murdock-level guilt trip, ice cream celebrations, a kiss, and perhaps even a way to finally move forward.

We Just Lost the Beat, by knight_tracer and lady_ragnell

Matt hears a lot in the city at night, sirens and crime--and the late-night radio show Foggy With a Chance, which sometimes runs a Daredevil Watch if he's been particularly active, but which mostly plays music. He probably shouldn't call in and request a song, but he does it anyway.

I’ll Most Likely Kill You in the Morning, by inkfingers_mcgee

Foggy and Matt never met at school. They cross paths for the first time while working opposite sides of a case, and Matt doesn't leave an impression beyond the superficial: a blind, pro-bono crusader who Foggy will feel really guilty about having to oppose in court one of these days. Seemed like a nice guy, but no one Foggy will worry about a week later.

He has more important things on his mind, like the masked vigilante who keeps cornering him in dark alleys to threaten him for information.

Touch Me, Don’t Feel Me, by fabella

Foggy struggles to navigate a casual sexual relationship with Matt after the events of season two. It's predictably complicated.

Hold Me Fast and Fear Me Not, by lady_ragnell

Something in New York has everyone walking around with iron in their pockets, and it seems like the vigilante they're calling the Devil of Hell's Kitchen is at the center of it all. Foggy knows how to steer clear of that kind of trouble, but when the Devil seeks him out, he ends up in the middle of it with him.

A Janet and Tam Lin AU.

jump, check parachute, by augustbird

Foggy Nelson: good at law, terrible at feelings.

Just Wanna Take Him Home, by lady_ragnell

Foggy mostly takes little old ladies to parties doing escort jobs, which he's fine with.

Getting hired to spend two hours hugging a lawyer is kind of a departure. He should have known it would all get complicated fast.

Daredevils Don’t Drink Decaf, by ChuckleVoodoos

“I really, really want to make a joke about bats and blindness. Will you punch me if I make a joke about bats and blindness?” Matt shakes his head, grinning. “Okay, so we’re Superspud and Blind-As-A-Batman.”

In which Foggy uses his law degree to peddle coffee to unsuspecting caffeine junkies, and Matt is his favorite customer. Who may or may not be Batman.

Say You’ll Still Be By My Side, by lady_ragnell

Bless me, Foggy, for I have sinned.

Eres Mi Grande Avocado, by ChuckleVoodoos

Matt's got this way of speaking in Spanish that's just a little different than his way of speaking in English. In English, all of Matt's words are carefully weighed and measured and cut like crystal. They're precious but planned. With Spanish, the words seem to fall like drops of liquid gold, hot and rich and wild, and it makes Foggy want to gather them to himself and finally be warm.

Gazelle, Lion, Gun, by ChuckleVoodoos

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen has got some competition. Sassy sharpshooters do not make good crime-fighting partners, except that they really do.

Dream Catcher, by ChuckleVoodoos

When Matt has nightmares, so does Foggy. Unfortunately, Matt has a lot of nightmares. Even when he's not asleep.

Or: Matt visits Foggy after the bombings, and it doesn't go well.

Red Cross, by ChuckleVoodoos

Foggy is perfectly happy being a law-abiding physician with a weakness for cupcakes.

No one else seems to understand this.

Rocky Horror Pancake Show, by ChuckleVoodoos

Foggy falls asleep at exactly 12:00 AM, and he’s making a wish. He wakes up at 12:00 AM too—twenty-four hours before he fell asleep.

"Let's do the time warp again!"

The Boxer-Puncher, by one_flying_ace

“Matt, you’re my best friend, but you’re a goddamn idiot sometimes. It’s not about you. I’m not training, I’m not looking to get in a ring or do what you do. I just wanted to know a little more.” He says it fiercely, strongly, right into Matt’s ear like that’ll get it through to him any easier. “It’s not like I’m any good at it,” he adds, which is probably a mistake.

His heartbeat definitely spikes on the lie, because Matt flinches.

if ever joy surrounds you (you have to let it), by KiaraSayre

"I mean, I did think that maybe vigilantism is actually good for you in terms of, like, self-actualization or whatever, but - have you been seeing a therapist or something? Good talks with your priest?"

(Or, it's weird how weird things aren't between Matt and Foggy. Particularly when they're talking about boners.)

That Spin I’m In, by Werelibrarian and poisonivory

"What does that mean?" Matt asks Strange.

"Well, that depends," Strange says, unfolding his legs and letting his feet touch the floor again. Matt gets the distinct impression Strange is hedging. "Are you currently suffering heartbreak?"

Matt very carefully doesn't think about Elektra. Or Karen. Or Foggy. "Let's leave my personal life out of this."

Strange clears his throat. "Yes, well, that option may no longer be on the table."

Matt really hates magic.

How Your Heart Pounds Inside Me, by poisonivory

Hiring a surrogate alpha is supposed to be the simplest way to get through a heat - and Matt doesn't want to risk his heart again, not after the last time. But nothing in Matt's life is ever simple, and when his surrogate turns up again to oppose both Matt Murdock, Attorney-at-Law and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, it's more than just Matt's heart at risk.

Just Our Hands Clasped So Tight, by poisonivory

If there's one thing Foggy Nelson knows about Matt Murdock, it's how tactile he is.

Will You, by poisonivory

Foggy's always joking when he asks Matt to marry him. Matt's always serious when he says yes.

- OR -

Five proposals Foggy forgot, and one Matt makes sure he'll remember.

Stay In My Arms (If You Dare), by poisonivory

The Defenders are the most elite bodyguard agency in the world. When Wilson Fisk's personal attorney Foggy Nelson walks in looking for protection from a mysterious man in black, Matt Murdock is more than happy to take Mr. Nelson's safety in hand. But Nelson's guilt is hard to prove, and Matt may have gotten himself in too deep - especially once someone besides the man in black starts gunning for his client.

I Would Know You by Touch Alone, by unnecessary

It doesn’t matter if Matt has a soulmate, because if he does, it’s not Foggy.

Written for this prompt on the kink meme: “Foggy’s soulmate mark is raised birthmarks that read ‘Matt’ in Braille.”

...Aaaaaand a series within the Spider-Gwen universe:

The Lawyer All the Wickedness, by poisonivory

(Summary by me: in which Foggy is, at turns, angered, baffled and aroused by scumbag defense attorney Matt Murdock.)

#daredevil #mcu #mattfoggy #fic recs #matt murdock #foggy nelson #otp: avocados at law #please warn me if any links are broken #and reblog it if you can so more people will see it

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pomegranate-belle · 4 years

Note

happy new year! for the prompt game thing: mattfoggy, soulmates!au, fake dating, prompt 19? 😂

Fake Dating + Soulmates AU = Fake Soulmates AU, right?? Right?? Anyway this took too long because it spiraled out of control and now it’s 2k+ words and there’s like four or five more snippets of future scenes in this AU hiding in my notes app now, lmao

(Also, apologies to anyone reading this who’s named Stephanie, lol)

—

It all starts because Matt is a flirty bastard who gravitates towards women that are capital-T Trouble like a child in galoshes gravitates towards puddles. That is — eagerly, enthusiastically, and with precisely zero regard for the people in the splash zone.

Foggy, who has become a permanent resident of the splash zone, is best friends with him anyway, for some unfathomable reason.

Which is a mean thing to think. It’s not unfathomable. Matt is funny and whip-smart and a big nerd and he just gets Foggy, and his smile...

Anyway, life in the splash zone is worth it. Just, you know, it’s hard to remember that after your bestie’s date steals your wallet or gets you sexiled or stuck in the middle of a bar fight that is definitely not your fault. Or, apparently, tries to swap out the non-accessible petition form your (blind, by the way) best friend means to sign with a marriage certificate.

Yeah. Really. That’s the level of what-the-fuckery they’ve reached now.

“I think I need your help with this one,” Matt says with a grimace.

“You didn’t actually end up signing it, did you?” asks Foggy, because, well, with their luck who knows.

But Matt shakes his head.

“No, it’s just. Uh... I, um, don’t think she’s going to stop.”

Maybe Foggy should just smother himself with his pillow. Or smother Matt with his pillow. The second one seems like it would solve a lot more problems, since this mess is entirely Matt’s fault.

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do about that, Matthew!” he demands. “You’re the one who decided to sleep with Stephanie Jenkins even after I warned you about her crazy eyes!”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, ok? You told me so, is that what you want to hear?” Matt all but whines, burying his face in his arms just enough to leave his eyes peeking out.

He’s on his bed, head towards the footboard and rolled onto his stomach for maximum cuteness. His eyes aren’t quite pointed the right direction, but that hardly matters. Matt’s pleading expressions are more effective even when they’re aimed a little right of their target than anybody else’s could be from straight on.

“Ugh.”

“Foggy, come on.”

“Ughhhhh.”

“Foggy.”

Matt’s big, wide sad-puppy-dog eyes get impossibly bigger and wider.

“Ok, ok! Fine, I’ll help! Stop pouting, jeez,” Foggy concedes in the face of Matt’s pleading expression and general air of hopelessness. “But don’t expect me to come up with a plan or anything, she’s yourcreepy hookup.”

Matt’s posture changes immediately now that he’s gotten what he wants. He goes up on his elbows, grinning the grin that always means chaos is coming.

“Gotta pull out the big guns for this one,” he claims. “Even she’d have to back off over a soulmate match.”

Foggy, who has maybe spent the past year and a half idly checking his skin for a mark that could potentially tie him to Matt, feels his stomach flip uncomfortably.

“You’re not suggesting...” His throat goes dry. “You and I fake being...”

“Well, I need someone in on it with me who won’t get the wrong idea,” explains Matt, cheerful as can be while he crushes Foggy’s stupid heart into tiny little pieces.

Foggy swallows hard.

“Yeah, um. Makes sense,” he croaks out.

“Good,” says Matt, all business, sitting up fully and holding out a box. “I already borrowed some temporary tattoo pens off Marci, and she promised to keep our secret if we buy her drinks next weekend.”

“Why does Marci have temporary tattoo pens?” asks Foggy as he gets up off his own bed and accepts them, since it seems like the most innocuous of all the questions rattling around in his head.

“To take notes on her arms, apparently,” Matt replies.

“Yeah, that tracks.”

Marci’s the kind of person who could get away with slightly-eccentric behavior like that, mostly because she was dead terrifying. And also hot. She was the kind of person people wanted to step on them. Not that Foggy did. Or anything.

“Anyway,” Foggy said, maybe a little too loud, clearing his throat. “Where is it you want your soulmark, then?”

“Umm.” Matt tilts his head. “My... Arm, I guess? Isn’t that the best place to make it visible for Stephanie? I mean. Where did you think I wanted it, my butt?”

As Matt asks the question, his ears go a little pink, which offsets his sarcasm and is also hilariously adorable. Matt’s a cool guy, but he also spent like ten years surrounded by nuns, and every so often that becomes very, very clear. It’s definitely one of Foggy’s favorite things about Matt. Well, along with literally everything else about Matt. He grins.

“No offense, buddy, but you definitely are the kind of person who’d have one on your butt.”

“I am not!” laughs Matt. “What does that, what does that even mean?”

“Listen, Murdock, some people are just butt-soulmark people, that’s all. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Shut up,” Matt says, his voice still bright with humor. “It’s going on my arm.”

He shoves up the sleeve of his slightly-baggy sweater and holds out his right arm, palm up. So, Foggy digs around in the box of temporary tattoo pens until he finds one with black ink, and then settles next to Matt on the bed. Once he’s got himself in a good position, he accepts Matt’s arm, grabs it gently by the wrist to draw it down onto his lap.

And it’s like it finally sinks in, what he’s about to do. He’s going to literally mark Matt Murdock as his — never mind that it’s a farce to get rid of some creepy chick, or what Matt said about not getting the wrong idea. In a very real and physical sense, he’s about to draw something that will bind them together, at least in everyone else’s eyes. This goes way beyond bar napkin doodles, beyond wistful musings about Nelson and Murdock. People are going to see this mark and know—

They’re going to know what Foggy’s been trying not to know for a long time now. That he’s hopelessly, irrevocably, pathetically in love with Matt.

“What should it be?” Foggy asks, heart thundering in his chest as he holds the pen in one hand and the soft, pale expanse of Matt’s upturned arm in the other.

The smile on Matt’s face looks sweet and coy. A knock-out punch disguised as a cool, sweet drink. And as much as he pretends he’s a beer and cheap whiskey man, Foggy’s always been a sucker for the kind of fruity cocktails that knock him on his ass.

“Something fitting.”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that,” mutters Foggy. “Speak now or I’m giving you an avocado.”

Matt tries halfheartedly to tug his arm away, laughing.

“No way, not an avocado. Something serious! Like... Scales of justice.”

“I see your hard-on for Lady Justice hasn’t diminished at all,” Foggy jokes, but begins drawing the scales anyway.

It takes enough focus that he’s able to override any feelings of embarrassment. And then he’s scrawling the same design onto his own skin, his left arm and Matt’s right pressed side-by-side as they lie across Foggy’s knee. Finally, it’s done and he caps the pen.

“Perfect,” he says, pleased, as he compares the two marks. “They’re identical. Suck on that, Mr. Trenkamp, I can too draw straight lines.”

Is it the height of maturity to invoke your hated fourth grade art teacher like ten years after he first insulted your mediocre art skills? No. But being the height of maturity is lame anyway, Foggy decides.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” jokes Matt, and his expression is so soft that Foggy has to look away before he, like, spontaneously combusts or something.

“Well, trust me, pal, those are some primo fake soulmarks.”

“Thanks, Fog.”

Matt nudges Foggy’s shoulder with his own, then holds out a loose fist. Knocking their knuckles lightly together, Foggy can’t help the giddy smile on his face.

“Anytime, Matt.”

—

They don’t get a chance to show off their marks until two days later, when they’re strolling across campus towards the dining hall and Matt pauses apropos of nothing and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, juggling his white cane a little in the process. He then proceeds to fumble for Foggy’s wrists and roll his sleeves up too.

“Matt, what—”

“Shh, act natural!” Matt mutters, knocking his cane lightly against Foggy’s shoe, and then pressing a warm hand to his back to get him walking again.

And, honest to god, not a minute later up walks Stephanie Jenkins. Foggy takes a good moment to consider that maybe Matt’s lady-radar is actually real. In the next, Matt is stretching his arms (and his cane, the goof) above his head, right wrist crossed in front of the left so his fake soulmark will be in sight. Stephanie jerks to a stop, eyes trained on it. After the stretch, for which Foggy very carefully avoids looking at Matt to see if his shirt rides up, Matt folds up his cane and holds out his hand, fingers curled slightly, the way he usually does when he’s asking for Foggy’s arm for guiding purposes.

“Fogs?”

Well, it’s a cue if Foggy’s ever seen one, so he presses his arm into Matt’s grip, making sure the underside of his forearm is turned up for Stephanie’s sake. Her eyes go huge. Foggy gets the feeling that, no matter what he’s trying to save Matt from, he’s going to feel like an asshole if she cries. Thankfully, her face turns puce and angry instead. She’s probably thinking something unflattering about Foggy’s suitability for a guy like Matt but, well. Fuck her anyway.

Just to nail in his point, apparently, Matt traces his free hand up Foggy’s shoulder and into his hair, brushing a long lock of it behind his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

In all honesty, Foggy pretty much forgets all about Stephanie Jenkins after that. Just continues on towards the dining hall, narrating on autopilot in between long bouts of staring at Matt with a racing heart and pathetic cow eyes.

—

The two of them get a frankly embarrassing number of ‘I knew it’s from their classmates, go nearly broke keeping Marci Stahl in vodka, and kiss four more times (three on the cheek, and one chaste, close-mouthed peck on the lips that nearly stops Foggy’s heart).

Also, Foggy gets Stephanie Jenkins’ crazy-eyes glare for three straight weeks. He loves every second of it. Suck it, Stephanie Jenkins, he thinks every time. Which is, yeah, probably a little mean, but hey, this is the lady who tried to take advantage of Matt’s blindness to trick him into (admittedly, a definitely not legally enforceable) marriage. Foggy doesn’t have an ounce of sympathy for her.

Though he risks jinxing himself, Foggy does eventually ask how long Matt thinks the ruse should go on. When Matt decides they should keep up the act until at least the end of the semester, Foggy tries not to agree too eagerly. After all, he’s not supposed to get the wrong idea. Eventually Matt’s heartbreaker ways will win out and he’ll want to find a hot girl to kiss. He’s trusting Foggy with an awful lot, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to... To, you know, fall in love with him or anything. But they’ll still always be best friends. That’s what really matters.

—

After three months, Foggy is used to seeing the fake soulmark on the inside of his left arm when he showers. It doesn’t make his heart squeeze anymore. He no longer has to remind himself that it’s still fake even when soap doesn’t wash it away — all it would take is a little makeup remover, after all. He knows that. It’s fake even though it’s there in a form of semi-permanence. Just another fact of life.

But this particular morning he stops cold, because there’s something on the inside of his right arm too. A perfect, identical mirror image of the scales of justice on his left.

Maybe he was so tired he drew another one on the wrong arm when refreshing the fake soulmark. Maybe. But probably not. Foggy takes slow, deep breaths until the end of his shower. Then he dries off, dresses — pulling on his shirt with the sleeves rolled all the way down — and hurries back to the dorm room for the box of makeup remover wipes they keep next to their sink now.

It’s fine, he tells himself. It’ll wash off. It’s ok. His hands are trembling so hard that he has to squeeze the wipe to keep hold of it and some of the remover solution drips onto his left arm. The fake soulmark there begins to smudge.

The one on the right stays stark and perfect.

“That’s not funny,” Foggy tells it, voice shaking, but though he scrubs at it until the skin’s raw — with the wipe, with hand sanitizer, with isopropyl — it doesn’t come off.

Eventually he’s got to face the facts. His dumb heart has somehow conned his body into producing a genuine, grade-A soulmark for his fake soulmate.

He is so monumentally fucked.

#mattfoggy #writing #thanks for the ask!#ellicelluella

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returnsandreturns · 6 years

Note

Daddy kink prompt- Mattfoggy & dom drop?

THIS GOT SO OUT OF HAND.

Foggy knows that Matt’s ready when Matt catches him by the arm and pushes him up against the living room wall, hard enough to make him gasp.

“Did I say you could touch me yet?” Foggy asks, grinning when Matt rolls his eyes and turning his head so his lips brush Foggy’s cheek when Matt tries to kiss him. “Matthew.”

“Daddy,” Matt murmurs, low.

Foggy reaches up to slide both of his hands into Matt’s hair, watching his mouth go slack and his eyes flutter shut. He thinks about kissing him but he doesn’t really want to give Matt what he wants yet. Instead, he nudges their noses together and says, close to Matt’s mouth, “Be a good boy and go take your clothes off and sit on your bed.”

Matt huffs out a breath, pushing in to kiss Foggy himself before he lets go of him and goes to the bedroom.

Foggy goes to the bathroom and washes his hands, takes his time, so by the time he joins Matt, Matt’s sitting naked and looking wild.

“What do you want, Matty?” he asks, undoing his belt and pulling it free. He tosses it on the bed next to Matt, who jumps a little, breath catching.

“I, uh—I want to hit you,” Matt says. “With that belt.”

“Where?”

“On the bed,” Matt says, raising his eyebrows, almost smiling. Foggy grabs him by the chin.

“Where do you want to hit me, baby?” Foggy repeats, as sternly as he can when he thinks Matt being willfully difficult is adorable.

He lifts Matt’s chin and presses a firm kiss to his mouth so Matt’s eyes are shut and his mouth is open when Foggy lets go of him, taking a deep breath before he says, “Your ass, daddy. And your face.”

Foggy sinks down to his knees at Matt’s feet, lifting his face up towards him.

“Hit me,” he says. Matt’s face lights up—not happy but fierce when his fingers find Foggy’s face and trace over his cheek. He lingers until Foggy repeats himself and then he pulls back and smacks Foggy hard enough that he falls backward and laughs at the rush that follows immediately, both under his skin and on Matt’s face, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

“Foggy,” Matt says, again, shakily. It takes him a few minutes before he falls into his role fully, because Matt might be violent—terrifying, sometimes—but he doesn’t take to hurting the people he loves very quickly. Not until he realizes how much they get off on it.

“Good boy,” Foggy says, getting up to climb into Matt’s lap and kiss him fiercely, moaning at Matt’s hands sliding up his back, nails digging in before he drags them down so hard he just barely breaks the skin.

Matt’s good at knowing what he can do without having to ask for it, without Foggy letting him loose.

“Foggy,” Matt pants, pushing their foreheads together roughly. “Daddy, can we—can we start?”

“Ask nicer.”

“Please.”

Foggy makes a happy noise and kisses him one more time before standing up.

“You can pick—over the bed or over your lap?”

“Lap,” Matt says, eagerly, sitting closer to the edge of the bed. “Please.”

Foggy ruffles Matt’s hair before he gets undressed and drapes himself carefully over Matt’s lap, taking a deep breath when Matt spreads out a hand on his back, slides it down slowly over Foggy’s ass.

“Light?” Foggy asks.

“Green,” Matt says. “Light?”

“Green,” Foggy echoes, laughing. “Do it, Matty.”

“Yes, daddy,” Matt murmurs, squeezing Foggy’s ass before he draws back and hits him hard, so Foggy shouts involuntarily and pushes forward, his erection dragging against Matt’s leg. One of Foggy’s hands is fisted in the sheets and Matt takes the other arm and twists it behind his back, holding it there when he hits him again.

“Good, Matt,” Foggy gasps, moaning brokenly when Matt hits him again, the sound echoing in Foggy’s ears. “You’re so good for me—hit me harder.”

Matt does, gradually—until he hits too hard.

“Shit, yellow,” Foggy says, legs kicking.

Sometimes, Matt hits too hard. He never does it on purpose and he always stops when Foggy asks, but he slips up sometimes and then makes a face like he just murdered an orphanage full of puppies. Which makes sense—he doesn’t want to hurt Foggy unless Foggy tells him to. He was kind of evasive about hurting him at all in the beginning, until they worked out their dynamic, until Matt knew how much Foggy wanted it and how much Foggy could take.

Which is more than what Matt tried the first time he spanked him, barely a swat, and less than it takes to beat up a criminal in a dark alley. There’s a space between the two that works.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Matt says, immediately, helping Foggy stand up. “Was it too much, did I—”

Foggy interrupts him by pulling him into a kiss.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” he says, softly. “It was just a little high—less fat, more bone.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt repeats, miserably.

“It happens,” Foggy says, reaching up to run fingers through his hair before he kisses him again and shoves him backward lightly. “Sit down, I want to keep going.”

Matt sits down, sweet and obedient, and Foggy sprawls out over his lap again and takes a sharp breath when Matt barely grazes fingers over his ass before resting a palm there.

“Are you sure?” Matt asks. “I think you’re bruising.”

“I want to,” Foggy says, laughing. “I sit too much, anyway.”

“Okay, daddy,” Matt says, softly, slipping back into the role. “Tell me to stop when you’re done.”

The next hit isn’t as hard but it makes Foggy grunt and hiss out a pained noise. He grinds against Matt’s leg to make it feel better, but Matt might have been right about the bruising after all.

“Harder, Matt,” he breathes, anyway, squirming and sighing when Matt barely hits him. “Harder. Now.”

Foggy bites back a strangled shout when Matt does as he’s told, three times in a row.

He starts crying at some point. He doesn’t even realize it because he’s too caught up in the pain, constant and radiating, and on choking out words to tell Matt how good he’s being—how much Foggy loves him, because he’s such a good boy for doing what Foggy wants. It’s weird trying to be the dominant one when he’s sobbing a little and being spanked, but it seems to work for them.

He can’t bite it back after a hit that feels like it broke something, yelling, “No, fuck—stop. Yellow.”

Matt immediately freezes and Foggy takes a few deep breaths before he stands up slowly, laughing hoarsely.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Are you okay?” Matt asks, still sitting, frowning.

“Fine, just—ow,” Foggy says, leaning down to kiss his forehead and thread fingers in Matt’s hair, tugging it gently so his face is raised towards him. “I think that’s all I can take. You’re fucking me, though—light?”

Matt looks hesitant for a long moment before he says, “Green,” smiling when Foggy leans down to kiss his mouth before he lets go of him.

“Get the lube,” Foggy says. “You gonna fuck me nice and hard, Matty?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Foggy goes to sleep feeling strung out and happy, stretched on his stomach with Matt curled up next to him, after they’ve both come and Matt’s pressed kisses to Foggy’s spine and rubbed cocoa butter over everywhere he hit him.

When he wakes up, it’s to the sound of Matt breathing heavily, on the other side of the bed now with his back turned towards Foggy.

“Matty?” he asks, shifting closer to touch his arm and waking up more when Matt jumps, moving away.

He sounds like he’s crying.

Foggy moves to his knees carefully, ignoring the pain to move over and say, “Matt. What’s happening?”

“Foggy,” Matt murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, sweetheart?” Foggy asks.

“I hurt you,” Matt says.

“…yeah, that’s the whole point,” Foggy says, smiling and rubbing his back cautiously. “Catch me up to what’s happening in that pretty head.”

“I shouldn’t hit you so hard that you have to tell me to stop,” Matt says, a little more clearly even though his voice is choked and he hasn’t moved from his side, curling in on himself. “I should be better.”

“I—I told you to do it harder,” Foggy says. “I wanted it to hurt. You were just doing what I told you to do.”

Matt makes a soft noise before he says, faintly, “I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, firmly, climbing off of the bed. He doesn’t know exactly what’s happening but he knows that it’s Matt’s job to make sure he’s okay and his job to make sure Matt’s okay and—he can do that. “Get up.”

“Just go back to sleep,” Matt mumbles, turning to hide his face in the sheets.

“Matt, up,” Foggy says, with as much authority as he can muster after midnight. Matt goes still and Foggy’s afraid he’s stepped out of bounds until Matt gets to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Yeah, you definitely look fine,” Foggy says, reaching up to smooth Matt’s hair down, wipe at stray tears. “Gimme a light.”

“Are we going again?” Matt asks, making a face.

“No sex,” Foggy says. “I just want to love on you a little and that might involve ordering you around because sometimes you’re not great at letting me love you.”

That gets a surprised laugh out of Matt, a soft rough bark.

“Yellow,” he says. “I don’t know if I want to let you be nice to me.”

“Fair enough,” Foggy says, but he takes it as a personal challenge.

They take a shower together until the water runs ice cold and Foggy drags a laughing Matt out and presses him up against the wall to kiss him gently, again and again, until Matt gasps and buries his hands in Foggy’s hair to kiss him back.

“I love you,” Foggy says.

“I love you, too,” Matt says, a little more hesitant. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Love you?” Foggy asks. “Because I tried a couple of times and I just can’t help it.”

“You don’t have to baby me,” Matt says. “I’m okay. I already feel better.”

“What kind of daddy would I be,” Foggy says, “if I didn’t cuddle you until everything’s okay again?”

Matt doesn’t have a good answer to that, so he lets Foggy bundle him up in his arms and take him back to bed, where Foggy intends to tell him just how good he is until he believes it again.

#my fic #daredevil #mattfoggy #Anonymous #asks

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pluckyredhead · 6 years

Text

There used to be this thing on LiveJournal called WIP Amnesty where you could dig out old WIPs you knew you were never going to finish but still liked and be like “Here, this is all you’re getting, sorry, enjoy.”

Last year I had slavefic on my DD bingo card, so I started a MattFoggy slavefic in the Age of Apocalypse universe (the comics one, not the movie). I did a brief rundown of Matt’s appearances in that universe here.

Anyway, I've never been able to write noncon (no shade on those who do, I just can’t quite make it happen), and I also got increasingly uncomfortable with the (canon) concentration camp metaphor as I wrote, so this fizzles out long before anything actually happens, but if you want a couple thousand words of post-apocalyptic Matt being a creep, enjoy:

They say once the Keeper has heard your heartbeat you're his forever.

There was a time before Apocalypse. Before the accident, before the purges, before they fled to Europe. Matthew can barely remember it most days. He doesn't like to think of how he forgot the sound of his father's voice when he swore he never would - so he doesn't. He's good at not thinking about things.

But he's feeling nostalgic today, or maybe Empath is, because he's remembering. Their little apartment in Hell's Kitchen, the way the radiator hissed and clanked all winter but never seemed to make it warm enough, the floorboards that creaked if you so much as shifted your weight. The Nelsons lived beneath them and their oldest - Franklin, but everyone called him Foggy - was Matthew's age. Matthew would drum his feet on the floor, loud to let Foggy know he was coming, then clatter down the stairs and ring the doorbell, twice. Foggy would burst out the door and they'd spend the afternoons prowling the streets, aimless, getting into the mildest sort of trouble. People used to say Hell's Kitchen was dangerous, then. Back when no one knew what danger was.

Then Apocalypse came to America, and the country wasn't safe anymore. Matthew's father was as stubborn as every Murdock before him, but Anna Nelson reminded him that he had a son to think of, too. The Murdocks and the Nelsons fled together, crammed in with hundreds of other flatscans on a shipping boat that stank of rust and fish. Foggy thought Apocalypse would catch up with them, but Matthew knew they were safe as long as Jack was there. "It's gonna be okay," he said, fingers wrapped around Foggy's. "We're gonna be okay."

The accident happened in Europe. An old man, a truck driven by the mutant authority that wasn't going to stop for some old flatscan. Matthew didn't think, just acted.

And then there was darkness, and noise, and days on end curled up in his bunk hiding from it all. Jack heard about a doctor in Switzerland who could help, if they could just get enough money to smuggle Matthew over the border. And there was an underground fight ring, one with a big payout for whoever could stick it out long enough, and was smart enough not to piss off the men running it...

And then there was no more Jack.

Foggy found him in the darkness, held his hand and sat with him. "It's gonna be okay, Matty," he said, echoing Matthew's words to him. "We're gonna be okay."

Matthew shakes off the phantom memory of a little hand in his. "Stop it," he tells Empath, not that the boy responds. He's only meant to broadcast the emotions Mikhail Rasputin tells him to, the ones that will keep the unaugmented masses in line. Wistful melancholy isn't one of them.

Empath doesn't respond. Empath never responds. Matthew might as well be alone.

He doesn't even know if Foggy's Nelson's alive or dead.

"Better if he's dead," he tells Empath. This is no world for that kind of softness.

He doesn't go to the slums very often. The smell offends his nose, and besides, he's meant to be guarding Empath most of the time. But every now and again he likes to head down there, to keep an ear on things, as it were.

Maybe it's because he was thinking of him earlier that he recognizes the - not the voice. The voice has changed, dropped to a man's register since the last time he heard it. The heartbeat, then.

"Come on, Fredric," a very calm and reasonable voice is saying. It's coming from a back alley off the pitiful central market, a man with a box beside him and a crowd of desperate people in front of him. Matthew edges closer, pulse racing like he's in a fight.

"You know what we agreed. Extra rations are divided evenly between kids and the sick. It's not that I don't want to help your boy, but you already got your extra ration pack and I have to think of everyone."

"Yeah? Then why is that scum Alexei is walking around with extra rations? Bragging about it!" The other man is larger and much angrier, but the first speaker doesn't sound alarmed.

"You saw these extra rations?"

"Well, no, but..."

"If it's true, he didn't get them from me. You have my word." A smile creeps into the voice. "But have you considered the possibility that Alexei's full of horseshit?"

Laughter all around. Matthew feels Fredric relax - at least, until Matthew steps into view. "You always did have a way of calming people down, Foggy," he says.

Foggy's heartbeat jumps. "Matty?" he breathes.

Already the crowd is edging away. Some make a break for it; mothers push their children behind them. Fredric, Matthew is amused to sense, moves to stand in front of Foggy.

Foggy straightens up. "There's nothing illegal happening here, Keeper," he says. All the humor is gone from his voice, as is the shock of a moment ago. "I found these rations. They're fair game for me to do with as I like."

Matthew doesn't have to hear his heartbeat to know he's lying, but he doesn't care about a little black market distribution. He just wants to...he's not sure. "Of course. Please, proceed."

There's a pause; then Foggy clears his throat and continues handing out rations. The atmosphere is subdued now, though; parents make their requests in whispers, not knowing Matthew can still hear every word, and scurry away with their precious scraps as soon as they have them.

Finally the box is empty, and so is the alley. Foggy folds his arms. "Did you want to wait until there wasn't a crowd to arrest me?"

Matthew's taken aback by his hostility. "No," he says. "No, I just wanted to...I wanted to talk to you," he says. "Will you walk with me?"

Foggy's heart is still going fast and he stinks of fear, but he nods. "All right," he says.

They make their way down the cramped, filthy streets of the slums, packed with the refuse of humanity's last dying gasp. Matthew picks his way around piles of garbage, picked over for anything edible, and ignores the plaintive cries of an infant being rocked by a girl too young to be a mother. The baby's hungry - they both are - but Matthew doesn't feel any pity. Only the strong survive in this world. If the baby can't learn to live with a little hunger, better it die now and save everyone time.

He turns his attention to Foggy instead. Foggy's hungry too, but he doesn't have the air of starvation around him that some in the slums do; his stomach is actually round, and not because it's swollen with famine. He's as clean as can be expected for a flatscan, though his clothing is threadbare and smells of a few repeated wearings. They were the same height as boys, but now he comes up only to Matthew's shoulder. Despite his shortness, though, and an overall physical softness, he smells...adult, that particular chemical array that distinguishes a man from a boy. It's as strange and intriguing as his new, deeper voice.

"I didn't know if you were still alive," Matthew says.

"I can't imagine it would have been hard for you to find out," Foggy replies. "Or don't they give you access to the human records in Rasputin's tower?"

It wouldn't have been, and they do. Matthew had just never thought to look. He'd been too busy securing his place as something more than an ordinary flatscan. Something useful.

"Your parents...?" he asks instead of admitting that.

"Dead," Foggy says shortly. "Candace too."

Matthew doesn't bother to ask how it happened - there are a million ways to die in the slums, each as pointless as the last. He doesn't offer condolences, either. He's not particularly sorry, and he has no interest in providing a sop to any grief Foggy might still be carrying. Grief is a weakness, and Matthew refuses to indulge weakness. Instead, he focuses on what's important.

"But you survived," he says. "How?"

Foggy barks a short, surprised laugh. "I don't know," he says. "Just my bad luck, I guess." He shrugs. "I'm good at talking my way out of trouble. And doing the grunt work no one else wants to do. It's gotten me this far."

"It sounds like I could use you, then," Matthew says impulsively.

Foggy stops short. "What?"

Matthew fumbles for an explanation. "The flatscans who maintain my quarters and Empath's lab, who record his vitals...I keep getting incompetents and having to get rid of them. I could use someone with a brain."

"By 'get rid of,' you mean you kill them," Foggy says. It's expectant, but it's not a question.

"I'm not that wasteful," Matthew scoffs. "They're sent to the labor camps."

"Where they die within the year, probably," Foggy retorts.

"Most likely," Matthew says, unsure what Foggy's point is. Oh - he's worried about himself. "They were incompetent, Foggy. You're not. You can serve Apocalypse much better by my side than in the labor camps, or here."

"Wow, what a glowing referral," Foggy drawls. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Though his voice is deadpan, his heart is racing, and he's beginning to stink of fear. Matthew doesn't understand. If he's so frightened, why doesn't he just do as he's told?

"You'll have plenty to eat," he says. "You'll sleep in a clean bed. You won't have to mingle with these..."

"Humans?" Foggy asks sharply. "I'm human, Keeper. You're human. Or you were."

"Yes, which is why I know how important it is to rise above one's station," Matthew says. "I'm offering you the same chance Mikhail Rasputin offered me."

Foggy's head moves up and down, and Matthew has the feeling he's being scrutinized from head to toe.

"Keep it," Foggy says finally. "I'm fine where I am."

And he turns and walks back into the slums.

Matthew spends the next few weeks surveilling Foggy.

Not full days, of course - he's too busy for that - and he keeps discreetly out of sight, since he doesn't feel like assaulting his nose with the reek of fear ordinary flatscans give off in his presence. But when he can, he keeps to the shadows and observes.

Foggy is intelligent, resourceful, and levelheaded. He's clearly made himself something of an institution in his slum; the other humans come to him with problems, questions, and disputes, and he helps them see their way through to a solution. He seems to have an encyclopedic knowledge of both the spoken laws that govern Apocalypse's world, and the unspoken ones that govern the slums. He ruffles feathers with his advice sometimes, especially when he takes the side of the very sick, very old, or very young over large, angry men, and Matthew nearly intercedes on his behalf more than once - but he also appears to have a gift for talking his way out of any fights with his steady voice and cool, clear logic. Well, as much logic as a man can have who would help the sick and weak over the useful.

Everything Matthew hears convinces him that Foggy would be vastly better utilized at his right hand than helping cannon fodder squabble over a pitiful extra ration or two. He's determined to have him.

When Matthew leaves Empath for the night and returns to his quarters, he hears Foggy long before he sees him - not his voice, but the frantic thud of his heart. It nearly drowns out the heartbeat of the lesser augmented human who's brought him to Matthew.

They're waiting outside Matthew's quarters. The minute Matthew rounds the corner, Foggy starts speaking:

"Keeper, I protest being brought in with no charges read against me. I have committed no acts against Apocalypse or mutantkind, and I demand that the Human High Council be authorized to advocate on my behalf, as is their right."

Matthew ignores this spluttering and nods towards the other augmented human. "You can go," he says, and the man retreats.

"Keeper - " Foggy starts again.

"You know my name," Matthew points out, unreasonably, and then hurriedly moves past his own foolishness and unlocks his door. He listens for a brief second - assassins are always a possibility - but there's no one inside. "Come in."

Foggy hesitates, then obeys. Matthew leads him to the second bedroom, adjacent to his own. "This is yours," he says. "I've already had your...belongings moved in." They were paltry and filthy, but they might prove useful to Foggy until he could replace them with something better. "There's a desk but you can work in the living room if you'd prefer, I really don't care. The bathroom is down the hall..."

Foggy interrupts him, which is both amusing and alarming. Matthew hopes he's not that disrespectful to mutants. "Wait, what is happening right now?"

"I'm giving you a tour."

"Why?" Foggy asks. "Why would I need to know this? Why are my things here?"

Foggy isn't stupid, and Matthew has no time for rhetorical questions. "You know why. Now, the building is relatively secure, but I would advise against letting anyone in when I'm not here - except for a prelate or higher, of course, you'll have to let them in - "

"I told you no," Foggy interrupts, and then takes a slight step back. Interesting. "Respectfully, Keeper. I said I didn't want to work for you."

"And I told Rasputin you would be useful to me," Matthew replies. "His word supersedes yours."

"I will petition the Human High Council to - "

[...and that’s it. But yeah, basically Foggy was going to be stuck working for Matt, who would grow increasingly fixated on him, and, well, you see where this is going. Then Matt would have a breakdown after killing Empath. But I’m fine with leaving this unfinished.]

#daredevil #i write things #anyway those of you with trunked wips should join me in amnesty-ing them!

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whatwouldibewithoutrainbows · 7 years

Text

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like foggy/matt, and mattfoggy.

Stranger: I just got an email about my ten year high school reunion. Are we really getting that old, Matty? -FN

You: We're ancient. -MM

Stranger: I think we might already be dead. -FN

You: Could be a reason it's called Hell's Kitchen. -FN

You: *MM

Stranger: Oh, my god. And I thought I led a clean life! -FN

Stranger: Musta been all the pot. -FN

You: Could have been that one time in Tort's class too. -MM

Stranger: Hey! -FN

You: That was a great test. -MM

Stranger: You're a monster. -FN

You: I told you there would be consequences. -MM

Stranger: You got a reunion coming up? -FN

You: Probably. -MM

Stranger: Aw, come on. -FN

You: Well, we graduated the same year. -MM

Stranger: Yeah! So you should go. Because you're going. -FN

You: I'd rather not. -MM

Stranger: Matt. You are in a better position to do the revenge reunion than anyone else has ever been. -FN

You: Revenge reunion? -MM

Stranger: Where you turn up to rub your success in their faces. -FN

You: You didn't have to live at your high school, Foggy. -MM

Stranger: I can see how that would add to the horror. -FN

You: It wasn't a great time, I'm not fond of the idea of revisiting it. -MM

Stranger: That makes sense. Man, it's just such a waste of being a hot lawyer. -FN

You: Am I? I haven't noticed. -MM

Stranger: Ha, ha. -FN

You: Are you going to yours? -MM

Stranger: Again, ha, ha. -FN

You: You have the hot lawyer thing, shame to let it go to waste. -MM

Stranger: Can I say ha ha a third time? -FN

You: I can't see for shit, but even I noticed that. -MM

Stranger: That I'm a lawyer? -FN

You: That too. -MM

Stranger: Ugh, Matt. I look the same as I did as a kid. Plus, I have exes to avoid. -FN

You: I can't even say that. -MM

You: I'd say that I wish I could, but I have enough people that I avoid. -MM

Stranger: Really? No highschool romances? -FN

You: [long delay] Kind of. -MM

Stranger: Ooh. Spill. -FN

You: It's not a great story, Foggy. -MM

Stranger: Oh. Shit, is this something I should know about? -FN

Stranger: God, I never /learn/, asking you anything about any time before we met is always dumb. -FN

You: It's not dumb, the answers are just normally kind of shitty. -MM

Stranger: How not great are we talking? -FN

Stranger: I mean, if it had happened to me, would the person in question get Daredeviled? -FN

You: Daredeviled, is that what we're calling it now? -MM

Stranger: Hey, don't dodge. -FN

You: [long delay] It wouldn't have happened to you. -MM

Stranger: Matty. -FN

You: I was stupid, I got into a situation that I never should have been in. -MM

Stranger: Oh, Matt. -FN

Stranger: You weren't stupid. I know that. -FN

You: Maybe, maybe not, but I was painfully naive. -MM

Stranger: You were a kid. -FN

Stranger: Kids are meant to be naive. -FN

You: They weren't. -MM

Stranger: Matt - I don't want to make you talk about anything, but - my imagination is kind of running wild here. -FN

You: Is 'you probably don't want to know' a good enough answer? -MM

Stranger: I probably don't. But I don't know if that means that I shouldn't. -FN

You: [long delay] The short version is that I got myself into a sort of hazing incident that hospitalized me for several weeks when I was sixteen. -MM

Stranger: Several weeks. -FN

Stranger: Wow. That's - I mean, I'm your medical contact, I know all your allergies, and broken bones, and injury stories - how did I not know about this? -FN

Stranger: I mean. God, obviously, but. Shit, Matt. I'm beyond sorry. -FN

You: It fell under injuries and broken bones. -MM

Stranger: God. And this is tied into highschool romance. That's just freaking sickening. -FN

You: I'm sorry. -MM

Stranger: Matt, I swear to god, if you try and /apologise/ to me for your childhood trauma, I will absolutely lose it. -FN

You: [delay] I don't actually know how to respond to that. -MM

Stranger: Can I do anything? -FN

You: About? -MM

Stranger: Anything. Murder spree. Making you feel better. Not doing stuff that reminds you of it, like explicitly asking you about it. -FN

You: No. -MM

You: No, it's fine. -MM

You: I'm fine. -MM

You: I just haven't talked about it in years. -MM

You: I was told that it would be best not to mention it. -MM

Stranger: Which makes it kind of more likely that you're super not fine. -FN

Stranger: Who told you that? -FN

You: It doesn't matter. -MM

Stranger: I disagree. -FN

You: The school handled it internally, there wasn't a need to bring in outside forces or to tell anyone else anyway. -MM

Stranger: Yeah, that's not how that works. -FN

Stranger: And I'm guessing that 'handling it' didn't mean getting every one of the kids sent to juvenile detention. -FN

You: No. -MM

You: They were good students, good kids, it was just one incident. -MM

Stranger: They hospitalised you. Good kids don't do that. -FN

Stranger: God, would you defend that client, Matt? Really? -FN

You: I guess it's a good thing no one has ever asked me to. -MM

Stranger: Was it just physical violence? I mean - not /just/, obviously, like it's nothing, but... -FN

You: [delayed] Not exactly, but it wasn't exactly sexual if that's what you're asking. -MM

Stranger: It was, yeah. Sorry. -FN

You: I wasn't raped. -MM

You: We're very far from the topic of your high school reunion though. -MM

Stranger: Not raped by your definition, or by most people's? -FN

Stranger: Matt, believe me, I am really far from caring about my high school reunion. -FN

You: By the definition of New York penal law. -MM

Stranger: By my definition? -FN

You: I wasn't raped. -MM

You: It doesn't count. -MM

Stranger: Matt. -FN

Stranger: Nobody's counting. -FN

You: Probably not. -MM

Stranger: You're not standing before a jury, buddy. You're talking to me. -FN

You: I know. -MM

You: I just don't really know how to talk about what happened that night. -MM

Stranger: That's okay. You don't have to talk about it. I didn't mean to push, I just... I'm so far beyond sorry, I don't know what to say. -FN

You: I wasn't always straight. -MM

Stranger: Yeah. I can see how that would put you off. -FN

Stranger: God, you deserve so much more than this. -FN

You: Maybe, maybe not. -MM

You: It was punishment. -MM

Stranger: Hey. Don't argue with me on this, okay? -FN

Stranger: /Matt/. -FN

You: Foggy. -MM

Stranger: There is not a single other person alive that you would say that to. Nobody. -FN

Stranger: And don't you dare say that nobody else would deserve it, because your whole /life/ is about dealing with people worse than you, you know how much worse people can get. -FN

You: I didn't say that. -MM

Stranger: Can you come over? I kind of really need to see you. Or I can come to you, whatever. -FN

You: I'm kind of a mess. -MM

Stranger: Yeah, buddy, I ain't doing so good either. -FN

Stranger: I'll come to yours. If you don't mind? -FN

Stranger: If you don't want company, totally get it. -FN

You: No, no, you can come. -MM

You: I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, Foggy. -MM

Stranger: You didn't upset me, Matt. -FN

You: The priest, the one at the head of our school, he said that it was better that I learned the error of my ways then, that we had all learned from our mistakes that night. -MM

You: That's why we were never supposed to speak of it again. -MM

You: What was done was done. -MM

Stranger: And how exactly did the other guys learn their lesson? -FN

Stranger: Was it, like, doing some extra hard praying? -FN

You: I feel vaguely like you're making fun of me. -MM

Stranger: I'm making fun of that deeply, deeply fucked up situation and that pathetic /coward/ who was meant to look after you. -FN

You: I never saw him again once I graduated. -MM

Stranger: Yeah. No kidding. -FN

Stranger: What /did/ happen to the other kids? -FN

You: One is a doctor at Metro General now, one joined NYPD, I think one or two entered seminary, I lost track of the others. -MM

Stranger: And their punishment? -FN

You: They sought penance. -MM

You: [long delay] They prayed extra hard. -MM

Stranger: Yeah. Go figure. -FN

Stranger: How can you not go after them, Matt? How do you know they're not still that kind of person? -FN

You: Legally? -MM

You: Even if I wanted to, I can't. -MM

Stranger: Not legally. -FN

You: Find them and ruin their lives for something that happened twelve years ago? -MM

Stranger: Yeah, actually. I think that's kind of fair. -FN

Stranger: But - god, even checking what they're doing, right? In case? -FN

Stranger: Just giving them a scare? -FN

You: At worst it was poorly attempted murder if they even thought that far. -MM

Stranger: Again. We're not talking legal. -FN

You: I know. -MM

You: But we were all kids, Foggy, really screwed up kids. -MM

Stranger: Reasons aren't excuses. And I'd point out that you've managed to live through a hell of a lot of screwed up shit without feeling the need to sexually assault anyone. -FN

You: I know. -MM

Stranger: I'm a few blocks away. Can I bring you anything? -FN

You: No, buddy, I'm fine. -MM

Stranger: So fine you don't want mint choc-chip? -FN

You: Oh, I definitely want that. -MM

Stranger: Thought so. -FN

You: You know me well. -MM

Stranger: Yeah. Hey - I love you, bud. You know that, yeah? -FN

You: [long delay] Love you too, Fog. -MM

Stranger: Okay, coming up to you. Forgot my key, so you'll have to let me in. -FN

You: Matt leaned his forehead against the door, listening to Foggy's footsteps on the stairs, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat in relation to his pace. The coolness of the door helped to distract him from the hot prickly feeling of shame and guilt that had taken up residence just under his skin at the conversation. He tugged the door open before Foggy could knock, lips pressing into some semblance of a smile, eyes hidden by dark red lenses.

Stranger: "Hey, bud." Foggy smiled weakly, pressing the grocery bag into Matt's hand. He was in the t-shirt and sweats he had been planning on wearing to bed, but he didn't feel like he'd be able to sleep until he knew Matt was alright. Or something approaching it. "I got you some regular food as well. In case you'd run out. You usually have." He rested his hand on Matt's shoulder, pausing before groaning and succumbing to the urge to give him a hug.

You: Matt hadn't even formulated a reply or word of thanks for the food because, yes, he was out, the last he had checked there had been a slightly old tomato he had thrown out, beer, and a selection of condiments and salad dressings. He froze briefly at the contact before returning it fiercely, the bag slipping to the floor as his fingers twisted into the back of Foggy's sweatshirt. He shattered in Foggy's arms then with a shuddering gasp, broken along all the old fault lines he had spent so many years carefully ignoring.

Stranger: "Oh - oh, hey, hey, it's okay - I got you," Foggy said softly, rubbing at Matt's back and letting him tuck his head against his shoulder. "You're okay, I've got you." He lead Matt over to the couch gently, somehow not breaking the hug. Once seated, he rocked the both of them back and forth very lightly, hand cupping the back of Matt's head. "Let it out, Matty. You deserve to."

You: He didn't deserve the comfort, the small voice in his head reminded him, he didn't deserve any sort of comfort for it. He couldn't let go though, couldn't loosen his grip, couldn't pull away. His sobs were choked and bitter as he tried to swallow them back. "I didn't mean to." He whispered brokenly, "I didn't mean to be the way I was."

Stranger: Foggy had washed his face before coming over, so Matt wouldn't be able to tell he'd been bawling his eyes out, but he started crying again at that. "Oh, Matt - no, okay? There wasn't anything wrong - there's never been anything wrong with you," he said desperately, cradling Matt against his chest and rubbing at his back. "Please believe me. If you only ever believe one thing I tell you."

You: Wrong. He was wrong, he was so wrong, and yet Matt, adult Matt, knew he wasn't. Adult Matt knew that there was nothing wrong with homosexuality, but the sixteen year old who had been terrorized by his fellow classmates and by the views of adults too set in their ways and beliefs was never able to come to terms with that. For the sixteen year old boy who had been left to die afraid, alone, and ashamed, he wept. "They told me I was broken."

Stranger: "They were the ones who were wrong, Matt," Foggy said hoarsely, burying his face against Matt's hair. "Anyone who could treat another person like that - /that's/ broken, Matty, not you. You're - perfect, okay? You're amazing. I'm so, so sorry that you had to go through this."

You: It was the first time someone had ever said it, the first time someone had let him be the victim as opposed to the offender, and for as grateful as he felt he should have been, resentment crept coldly through his veins because he didn't know how to cope with being the victim. There was no absolution in it, nothing he could seek forgiveness for if he wasn't guilty, and he stiffened slightly in his arms though he didn't pull away as he processed that. "I thought... I thought they were right for so long that... I.... I -" He broke off again and shook his head. "There was only Elektra after that... I never... I never could."

Stranger: Foggy noticed the shift, and he leaned back just a little, to gauge if Matt needed space. He still had his arms around him, and he said quietly, "Of course, Matt. That's normal, beyond normal. I mean, that's what trauma /does/." He sighed quietly, stroking Matt's hair back off his forehead. "I know you're gonna say no, like, before I even breathe, but - would you think about talking to someone? A therapist you can be real with, not those shitty blindness counsellors or whatever. Someone better qualified than my sorry ass." He managed a little smile.

You: His lips pressed together in a thin line at the suggestion, recognizing that he had probably revealed too much. Matt shook his head minutely a bitter scoff tearing it's way from his throat, "I haven't even told you what happened that night, I'm not going to be able to tell some stranger." He whispered, "And even if I did, what would they do, Foggy? There's not... They can't change what happened." He had moved his hands to rest at Foggy's elbows when he had moved to brush away the hair. "What difference would it make?"

You: ((This went so much darker and angstier than I intended, I'm sorry!))

Stranger: "Some things are easier with strangers," Foggy said softly, watching Matt. "It's not about changing the past, Matt, it's about making sure you go forward feeling better. Not being able to date, have sex - god knows it's not everything, and if it's not something you /want/ then obviously that's fine, but - you should have the option. You should have the fullest life anyone could hope for, Matty, not have this stuff dragging you down."

You: Matt bit at the inside of his lip chin dropping to his chest like a scolded child. He wanted to tell Foggy that he didn't deserve to get better, that he didn't deserve to move on from what had done, from what he had been at sixteen. "This wouldn't be easier with strangers." He finally managed, "I- I just can't go to someone about this, Foggy, about what happened then. I don't... I don't know how."

Stranger: "No - that totally makes sense, of course," Foggy said gently, squeezing Matt's shoulder. "I would come with you, if that would help at all, but - I don't know, Matt. There's options, is all. Online counselling, over the phone, whatever. You could think about it, that's all." He took Matt's hand, smiling wearily. "We'll work something out, okay? But I'm not letting you suffer in silence."

You: If possible, Matt's head dropped further still, eyes staring sightlessly at his knees, but he finally nodded, sniffling a bit and squeezing Foggy's hand. "Maybe, Foggy, we'll see, I'm not ready to commit to something like that yet, but maybe." He shifted on the couch, drawing one knee up to his chest and balancing his chin on it. "Tell me about your reunion, are you going?"

Stranger: Foggy watched him, trying to gauge if it would be better to press the issue or let Matt change the subject. He decided on the latter, shrugging and leaning back against the couch. "I don't know. Still need to Facebook-stalk the people I don't want to run into, see if they're still in state or whatever. I'll probably just message the people I actually liked okay and arrange something else with them."

You: "Probably for the best." Matt agreed, remembering what Foggy had said about exes. "Y'know, if you change your mind, I bet Karen would go with you, if you asked. Just a thought. Might keep some of those exes at bay, or at least make things more interesting."

Stranger: "Oh - no, god, no way," Foggy said instantly, burying his face in his hands and laughing. "People would think I'd /hired/ her, Matt - seriously, you can't see how far out of my league she is. Chubby queer kid Foggy Nelson showing up with a supermodel - yeah, right."

You: Matt reached out and lightly shoved Foggy's shoulder for the self deprecation involved in that comment. "You forget, I know you, she's not out of your league, Foggy. I don't have to see anything to know that."

Stranger: Foggy laughed, a little forced. "Yeah, that's - thanks, buddy. Very kind." He fidgeted with his sleeve, plucking at a loose thread. "I'm not, you know, not inviting you, by the way. Just, it'd be the same problem."

You: "What, you're saying I'm in the same class as our supermodel secretary?" His tone had lightened, turned teasing, "Is that... I think that's what you're saying, blind Matt Murdock, lawyer, vigilante, supermodel for hire."

Stranger: "Dude, you get talent scouted at least three times a year. And people ask if you can life model for their art classes about one in ten times you leave the house." Foggy snorted, poking Matt with his foot.

You: "We both got 'talent scouted' during our last year at law school, that's how we wound up with our internship!" Matt exclaimed as he squirmed away from the foot, "And I'll have you know that if I had to pick a life model for my art class, I would definitely pick you."

You: ((brb I hope))

Stranger: "That's not /talent scouting/, it's being a teacher's pet," Foggy said, making a face. "You're talent scouted for how great your face and body are, dumbass. Also, blind or no, there's no way in hell I'm letting anyone draw my nude form."

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pomegranate-belle · 5 years

Text

For Day 1 of MattFoggy Week: Favorite Canon Scene/Favorite AU

There’s a special place in my heart for my “Turn Left” AU, where lil Matty doesn’t give Stick that friendship bracelet; as a result, Stick doesn’t leave, Matt ends up becoming a member of the Chaste, and he and Foggy only meet during the DD S1 timeline. God only knows when I’ll make the time to really round out this AU and post it officially, but here’s the MattFoggy bits.

Matt sat on the roof, back pressed to the access door leading down to apartment 6A, and lost himself to the noises in the rooms below him. Soft breathing, snoring, and the gentle cadence of three resting hearts. All of it cradled in a quiet, familiar-sounding ballad. He hummed along for a few bars, feeling buzzy and drunk, and the world went soft against his senses like silk. For the first time since returning to New York, he’d found something that drowned out the pain and terror of the city around him. Arms wrapped tightly about himself, Matt yawned quietly and settled in for the night.

Matt clutched the edge of the roof tightly, his heart pounding in his chest and his mouth dry with… With fear. The voice in the back of his head that sounded like Stick was derisive, but Matt’s ears were still ringing with gunshots and his nose burned with the scent of blood and Foggy Nelson had almost died.

And despite all his training and all his strength and all his haste, Matt hadn’t been the one to save him.

The words hot beyond all reason came to mind first. The guy was about Foggy’s height, wiry and well-built with bone structure that a Greek god would cry over. His brown hair was tousled from the fight, and the split in his lower lip only served to emphasize the insane perfection of his features. His cheap plastic black sunglasses were cracked across the bridge, his equally cheap shirt ripped and torn, and his cargo pants splattered with dark spots of blood. The sneakers on his feet looked about five years old and the laces were frayed beyond belief.

“Uh,” Foggy stammered. “What. I… Who are you?”

“Matt,” said the stranger with a sharp smile. “You can call me Matt.”

“If they’ve all been working together, where were you and your weird ninja people when the Russians attacked Jo? Or Karen? Or me?”

“The Hand is all that matters,” Matt explained matter-of-factly, tossing his shattered sunglasses into the dumpster clear at the other end of the alley with alarming accuracy.

“No it’s not!” protested Foggy.

Matt scoffed, shaking his head and still turned towards the dumpster, away from Foggy.

“You don’t understand,” he said, in a very patronizing voice that almost made Foggy rethink his attraction to him. “The Russians, the Chinese, even Wilson Fisk, they’re all… They’re only human. The Hand, they’re a—they’re a different breed altogether. They have access to power normal humans can’t even comprehend. That’s why the Chaste exists, to stop them. Everyone and everything else is just background noise.”

“Well excuse me if I’m not, like, super reassured by that since those ‘background noise’ Russian mobsters tried to turn me into Swiss cheese!”

“So that’s it then?” Foggy demanded, head still spinning. “You just… Just swoop in, save me from ninjas, and then flip away?”

Matt tilted his head to the side. His expression was smooth, calm, a little skeptical.

“Basically,” he concluded.

“What… What the fuck, dude, who does that?”

Matt’s mouth quirked up into a really, really infuriating smirk.

“I do,” he answered.

And then he leapt up, latched onto a fire escape, and scaled it to the roof. Within seconds, he was gone.

“What the fuck,” Foggy repeated under his breath. “What. The fuck.”

I said too much again, he realized with a groan, and ruffled a hand through his sweaty hair.

Always were a sucker for a pretty voice, weren’t you, Matty? mocked the voice in his head that always sounded too much like Stick. It wasn’t wrong, though. Something about Foggy Nelson… Something was throwing him off. And that would be bad for everyone.

He’d need to keep his distance going forward, Matt decided. Protect Foggy from the shadows. Be careful not to speak to him again at all, let alone too much.

Staying away altogether never even crossed his mind.

“Seriously, you saved my life,” Foggy said emphatically. “Whatever it is, it’s no trouble.”

Matt shuffled for a bit, picking at the threadbare fabric of his pants. His shoulders were up around his ears, and his mouth was twisted in a way that very clearly screamed ‘pain’. With how tense Matt was, Foggy was pretty sure he himself would have tapped out, like, instantly. But then, well, Matt was some sort of crazy ninja, so maybe it was a ninja code stoicism thing.

“It’s…” Matt paused, wetted his cracked lips, shook his head, and made an odd aborted gesture with his hand near his right ear. “Too much. Too loud.”

Foggy frowned. Normally, he’d tap his foot while he considered the problem, but if everything was already ‘too loud, too much’ that couldn’t possibly help. Instead he scuffed a hand through his hair.

And then paused.

“I’ve got just the thing.”

Foggy stepped as quickly and lightly as possible over to his closet, and began rummaging through the disorganized pile of boxes in the corner. Textbooks, knickknacks, Columbia sweatshirt… There!

He returned with his prize clutched in his hands. Matt tilted his head, eyes closed, and swayed a little, dizzily.

“Headphones?” he asked.

“Oh contraire, buddy,” said Foggy quietly. “Not just any headphones. These babies are noise cancelling, and they got me through three months of pre-divorce blowout from a couple in 2-C.”

He settled them over Matt’s ears gently and grinned at the sight. After a few moments of contemplation, Matt opened his sightless eyes and smiled too.

“Oh,” he said softly, the tension sloughing off his frame like rainwater, and it was probably the most delicate, precious sound Foggy had ever heard.

For a badass killer ninja guy who also spent a good amount of his non-combat time just being a huge asshole, Matt was just… Entirely too fucking adorable. Jesus.

“Better?” Foggy asked, wondering if Matt would still be able to hear him, if his senses were really that good.

Matt’s blinding grin was all the answer to that question Foggy needed.

“Much better. Thank you.”

Matt’s lips turned up at the corners in the most awkward, heartbreaking little smile Foggy had ever seen in his life. He slid his unfairly beautiful fingers along the frames of the glasses one last time and then slipped them onto his face.

“Well?”

Foggy swallowed.

“They, uh… Look good, buddy,” he said, as if that wasn’t the understatement of the century.

“Oh my god he’s straight,” Foggy groaned into his hands. “He was raised by nuns and Jedi ninjas. He’s got to be so straight. Kill me.”

“Is this really the sorta bullshit at the top of your priority list?” Frank demanded, turning to Jo and Karen for an answer since Foggy was clearly in no state to give one.

“We lead complicated lives,” said Jo. “Now come on, Foggy, it’s not all that bad.”

“You’re right, it’s worse.”

Frank continued to look completely done, and Karen shot Jo a helpless look. Jo returned it with a subtle ‘ok’ symbol.

“Thought tall sexy blondes were usually your type anyway,” she mused. “Y’know, like Marci. And Captain America.”

With a groan, Foggy let his head thump against the counter.

“Between you and Matt, I’m starting to think I have two types,” he mumbled.

Instead of being actually helpful for once, Jo just nodded sagely.

“Well. You are bisexual,” she told him. “Now we know you’re not a fraud.”

“I hate you.”

“We gonna talk about those damn Hand ninjas or what?” Frank cut in harshly, although Karen thought she could see the slightest hint of softness, amusement, in his expression.

“We could all be dead in the next week,” Jo pointed out blithely, shoveling another bite of pie into her mouth. “Now is not the time for sleeping on concrete and eating gruel, Matt. Hell, things get much worse and I might pop a handful of Benadryl so I can eat a goddamn pizza again before I die.”

“Is that—is that really how you’re processing your mortality?” Matt asked after a long pause.

“Yes. Also, hand me that caramel sauce.”

Matt passed it over, his face somewhere between baffled and disturbed. Foggy just bumped his shoulder gently, holding out the plate of cookies.

“Look buddy,” he said. “Conceal don’t feel might work for you, but the rest of us don’t get into deadly ninja battles every day. And it’s not like one night of junk food is gonna negate those frankly impossible abs, so c’mon – live a little! Jo’s chocolate chip cookies are to die for.”

Matt picked up a cookie and nibbled at the corner delicately.

“I don’t have to be able to see them to know that stains like this don’t wash out,” Matt said softly.

He reached up, ostensibly to wipe the blood from his cheek, but his fingers were so trembling and nerveless that he only smeared it across his face.

“Not like that they won’t,” Foggy said gently, purposely misunderstanding him. “But get a little vinegar on it and your shirt will be good as new, Matty.”

Matt smiled mirthlessly as Foggy lifted the washcloth and scrubbed the blood off him.

“And my soul? Gonna clean that with vinegar too?” he asked.

“If I have to.”

“Whatever you—whatever you think we are, friends, or… We’re not. You can’t be more important than the mission. Having friends is just another weak point that an enemy can exploit,” Matt said harshly.

“And if you don’t care about anyone, what then?” demanded Foggy, stung. “What’s even the point of saving the world if you don’t give a shit about anyone in it!”

“I want… To make things better for him. To get him the hell away from that freaky-ass Jedi ninja cult,” Foggy admitted, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “Beneath all the brainwashing and kick-ass martial arts, he’s so… Soft. Bright. Good. But I don’t think he’ll stay. Not for me, or for anyone.”

Jo nodded.

“It’s his choice, Fog, he’s a grown man,” she told him quietly, thinking of the gentle wonder on Matt’s face at the feel of silk, the taste of chocolate. “But, I. Maybe, you just have to give him a reason to stay. A place that could be home. We can do that, Foggy, I know we can.”

“… Matt…?”

Foggy almost couldn’t believe his eyes. There was Matt, standing in the middle of Foggy’s living room looking like he’d been through a woodchipper and then been patched up by… Well, by a machine. Not badly, per se, but with no regard for appearance. Bare-minimum, Spartan care, nothing cosmetic, nothing for comfort. It made Foggy think of Stick, and his stomach twinged with acid.

“Hi,” Matt said softly, his voice hoarse.

“Jesus Christ, Matt, what happened to you? What are you doing here, you look like you need a hospital!”

“We… We won,” Matt said, swallowing harshly. “Nobu’s… Gone. The rest of the Hand has gone underground, for now. They’re not working with Fisk anymore. You won’t have to worry about them.”

It was absolutely a circumspect way to look at the situation, clinical and bare-bones. But Foggy Nelson was a lawyer. A damn good lawyer. And he was great at reading between the lines. Finding the things people meant but didn’t say.

“The Chaste is leaving, then,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and mostly succeeding. “You’re leaving. This is goodbye.”

Matt swallowed noisily again, and refused to show his face. He ducked his head and studiously picked at a loose thread on his hoodie. Foggy wanted to shake him, to cry, to make demands, but he knew that only deep, open silence would draw Matt’s words out into the air.

“There never—” Matt took a deep breath. “Foggy, there never should have been a, a reason to say goodbye in the first place. We were never supposed to meet.”

“I don’t believe that, Matt.”

Matt stood sharply and ran his busted-up hands through his hair. He laughed, but the noise was nothing like the night they had eaten junk food together and tried to forget the world around them. There was nothing bright or happy about it.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Foggy, it doesn’t. Matter,” Matt hissed, pacing the room like a caged panther. “I was never supposed to interfere. Or, or care. I’m not a—I’m not like you, or Jolene, or Karen. I’m not even like Frank Castle. I have one job, one purpose, and that’s to stop the Hand. However I can, regardless of anything else. For right here, right now, that job is done. I just came to—I just. I had to… Just one last time, I had to…”

Matt’s pacing slowed to a stop, and he shook his head. The expression on his face was torn, helpless, and Foggy’s heart plummeted into his stomach like a stone, like a lead weight. His chest was cold, and his pulse was steady, and even though Matt was only feet away it felt like it would take miles to reach out and touch him.

“You could stay,” Foggy said at last, and couldn’t keep his voice from breaking. “With me. With us.”

“Foggy, I can’t.”

“You’re not a tool, Matt, you’re a person. A person I care about, we all do! And Hell’s Kitchen is your home! You’re worth so much more than, than cannon fodder for the Chaste’s bullshit ninja war! You’re Matt Murdock and you belong here! You could belong here. You could have a life and… And things for yourself. You’re worth that, no matter what that asshole Stick told you. You’re so kind and good and you… You’re worth everything, Matt. You deserve so many good things.”

When Foggy stepped through the door with Matt on his arm, Jo’s apartment fell silent. Several mouths dropped open, but Foggy narrowed his eyes and shook his head minutely.

“Welcome back, Matt,” Karen greeted at last, gently.

Matt’s smile was tremulous, but it was real, and that was enough for Foggy.

“Thanks, Karen,” said Matt. “It… It, uh… It’s good to be back.”

“Your glasses are on the shelf to your right,” Jo added. “We hoped… Well.” She cleared her throat, then abruptly pitched her voice into a more jovial tone. “The rest of us look like bad Elton John cosplayers when we wear ‘em so thank God you two finally showed up.”

Laughter rippled through the room and broke the last of the lingering tension as Matt snagged his glasses from the shelf and slid them onto his nose. With that last barrier put up, a certain tension dropped from his shoulders. Foggy shook his head and couldn’t help but smile.

“Gonna make room on the couch for us?” he asked. “Or do I have to sit my shapely Irish ass on someone’s lap?”

Matt clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“I’ve been what I am for—a long time,” he choked out. “And I know I can’t erase that but I’m not sure it’s what I want to be anymore. You know?”

Melvin nodded with a quiet hum of agreement.

“I was like that too. But Betsy says, she says you can always do better and change, if you wanna. Betsy helps me be good. Maybe your friends can help you.”

“Yeah. Maybe they can. But I think… I think I need your help too, Melvin. I need you to make something for me.”

“They’re in his apartment,” Matt said into the phone, making sure one ear was tilted towards the window – and Foggy and Karen’s heartbeats – even as he spoke to Jo. “He’s not even trying to hide. He wants to— to lure us out. He doesn’t even know Hoffman is missing yet.”

“They… Do they sound alright?” Jo asked weakly.

Matt took a moment to listen closer to the penthouse apartment. The heartbeats within were racing a bit, but Matt didn’t hear bones creaking when they shifted. He didn’t smell blood either. Fisk’s mountain-heavy steps thudded rhythmically across the floor of the room. Back and forth, back and forth. His voice, still low and growling, paced the same away. A quiet pendulum, a monologue.

“He hasn’t hurt them,” Matt assured Jo at last. “We’ll go in soon. Call Officer Mahoney, we’ll leave Fisk for him.”

Matt was distracted for a second by the restless movement by his side. Frank checking and rechecking his guns. He didn’t comment – the impatience was understandable, and it was thrumming through Matt’s veins too.

“You two,” Jo said, and Matt could hear her swallow nervously. “You be safe, both of you, and… A-and bring them back.”

Matt smiled.

“We will. See you soon, Jolene.”

Jo laughed, though the sound was wavering and edged in fear.

“You don’t see shit,” she said.

Then they both hung up.

“Finally,” Frank muttered. “We gonna go or what, Red?”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

Matt slipped his clubs from their holster and dropped the phone into their place.

“Matt…”

“Can I… Can I…?” he asked softly, desperately, his hands still framing Foggy’s face.

“Yeah, I…” Foggy nodded. “Sure thing, buddy.”

Then Matt leaned in and kissed him – soft, quick presses of lip to lip. One, two, three, four, five as though he had to keep making sure that Foggy was still there, still real. Each one sent a spark of warm electricity jumping down Foggy’s spine.

“Hey,” he said at last, between kisses. “Hey. I’m right here, Matt. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, so just…”

Pressing forward and smoothing a hand through Matt’s tousled hair, Foggy eased them into something slower and lingering. The tension dropped from Matt’s shoulders and he made a soft noise that had Foggy wanting to bundle him up in about fifteen fuzzy blankets.

“Foggy,” Matt breathed when they parted for air, resting his forehead against Foggy’s. “Foggy, I… I’m so sorry, I couldn’t… He should have never…”

“Hey, c’mon. I’m fine. Karen’s fine. You and Frank saved us, Matt. It’s over, ok? It’s over.”

“You made the right choice, you know?” commented Karen. “I think… This is where you’re supposed to be.”

Matt grinned, the smile huge and dorky and wonderful.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think so too.”

It was a heartwarming idea, Foggy reflected, to be able to believe that in the end all roads lead you home. He generally considered himself something of a skeptic – but with a cheap beer in his hand, pressed against Matt at shoulder and thigh, able to look at the full room of friends around them, it seemed about right.

#mattfoggy #mattfoggyweek #daredevil #writing #turn left au

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