daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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Friday night found Foggy pointedly Not Freaking Out in one of Marci’s favorite bars (she insisted, Foggy would have much preferred Josie’s since it was closer to his place and didn’t try to be anything that it wasn’t). Foggy knew he could get a bit maudlin after getting loaded if his last drunken escapade was anything to go by, but he was getting close to outdoing himself this time around.

“I mean look at me!” he mock-whispered to an unsympathetic Marci who was slamming back her forth vodka rocks before ordering another one, “I’ve become a walking stereotype! Or a comic book protagonist. I can see the series synopsis now: Franklin “Foggy” Nelson, dashing, genius attorney at law with a troubled past becomes fed up with the New York corporate law scene and in a fit of disillusion makes a deal with a demon in pursuit of True Justice. Follow his wacky misadventures surrounded by Hell’s Kitchen’s misfits and a host of zany demon side characters.”

Setting her drink down, Marci dapped at her lips delicately with a cocktail napkin. “I refuse to sit here and be called a ‘zany’ side character by someone who is getting smashed on cocktails I’ve seen featured in Cosmo.”

“You read Cosmo?”

“I deal in temptation, honey. It’s like a Mozart going to his kid’s violin recital.”

“Huh, makes sense.”

“What can I say? I love my work.” Marci then spun in her stool to face Foggy, who was slumping to the point where his face was coming dangerously close to the bar. “Speaking of work, you still owe me a story called ‘Why Foggy Nelson Committed Career Suicide.’ Spill, now.”

Foggy moaned and gave up his fight against gravity, thunking his forehead down on the bar. “I think you know most of it. I sold my immortal soul for a chance at an independent law firm in Hell’s Kitchen. I get contacts, clients, financial security, and a chance to sweat off some of the gross dealings I made with L&Z with some good old hard work. And apparently the demon I made the deal with shows up to my apartment every once in a while and sticks around for Thai food.”

Marci shot Foggy the most incredulous look, “I thought you weren’t supposed to tell me this.”

“Do you want to sabotage the Contract at all?”

“Are you kidding me Nelson? I’ve been trying to get you into hell’s little black book for years. I had you pegged as the indulgent type.” It was Marci’s turn to sigh. “Who knew all it would take was a goddamn moral crisis.”

Foggy groaned into the polished wood underneath his face. “Any other relationships that I should feel invalidated in?”

“…you know Dave from accounting?”

“Noooooo, I like Dave! He always shows me pictures of his cats!”

“I’m sure you’re crushed. Now, you sure you can tell me about this deal?”

“As long as you don’t plan on messing with it.”

“Nope. So tell me, who’s the lucky demon?”

“Shouldn’t you know? You’re the one who gave me the book I used to summon him.”

“I gave you a book full of choices.”

“Ugh, fine, he calls himself Matt.”

“That tells me nothing, Foggy Bear. What does his vessel look like?”

“Ridiculous. He’s got this ridiculously floppy hair and dorky red spectacles of all things and a suit cut straight from a 20’s crime drama and a smile that could intimidate a loan shark. He’s a walking archetype.”

“Like you, you mean? He sounds cute.”

“Oh my god you have no idea.”

Marci snorted into her drink while Foggy continued. “It figures, yanno? He’s unattainable on so many levels and so of course I want to bang him like a screen door in a hurricane.” By now, Marci put down her drink and was snickering into her hand, but Foggy paid her no mind. “And if that wasn’t enough I gave him a written copy of the Contract we drew up. He had to come back and ask me to decipher my own handwriting.”

By now Foggy had started banging his head lightly into the bar. “The man’s blind and I- aaarg. I’m an idiot.” Marci’s silence at that made Foggy pause; it wasn’t everyday that she passed up a chance to play into his self-flagellation.

“Marci?”

“…does this Matt have a cane that looks like something a supervillian might have?”

“…that’s one way to describe it. Looks to be solid wood, has some wicked nifty embellishments.”

“Oh my god,” Marci whispered, “You are the dumbest, luckiest human I’ve ever met.”

“I’m clearly missing something here.”

“You, Foggy Nelson, summoned Satan on Tuesday night. The Devil. Lucifer. My boss, or rather, The Boss.”

“You’re kidding me,” Foggy deadpanned, “I summoned him on a whim with half a pizza. That’s hardly impressive enough for the actual devil. The waitlist on him could probably fill a library.”

“That’s just it, it could easily. But those people don’t happen to have one of the most accurate spell books on demon summoning still in existence. Do you know how many occultist hacks would kill to get their hands on that book?”

Foggy groaned even louder into the bar,“My life is so fucked.”

“Yeah,” Marci sighed, “it really is. Now stop bitching and start drinking. You’re less annoying when you’re past the melodramatic drunk stage.”

—

The next time Matt showed up at Foggy’s apartment was the night before his last day at L&Z’s with an envelope in his hand. “Five year lease on a small set of offices right around where you said you’d prefer to be,” was the explanation given upon Foggy taking the envelope.

“Wow,” Foggy said, “You work fast.”

Matt shrugged, “I wouldn’t have made it this far in the business if I wasn’t good.”

Foggy hummed, looking over the lease agreement. “The whole King of Hell thing might not hurt.”

“…you didn’t know?”

“Nope,” Foggy chuckled, “The book I got just said that you were the biggest authority on issues of human judgment and morality, but I apparently skipped right over the important bits. The whiskey and rusty Latin must not have helped on that front.”

“…you’re awfully calm about this.”

“I got my freaking out done when Marci first let the cat out of the bag.”

“Ah,” Foggy looked up just in time to see one of Matt’s eyebrows arch over his glasses.

“Do you want me to call you something else? Like something closer to your real name?”

Matt scrunched up his nose. “No, that- that was from a different time.”

“Cool,” Foggy damn near chirped, “I was just getting attached to calling you that.”

Matt hummed noncommittally, and almost against his will, Foggy shot him a grin. “You got time? There’s a Salvadorian place around the corner that advertises ‘devil sauce’ and I want you to vet it.”

“I actually don’t like incredibly spicy stuff,” Matt mumbled, playing with the strap on his cane.

Foggy choked on his laughter, “You’re kidding me! That’s like, hundreds of years of advertisement down the drain!”

“My PR department sucked at the time that came around. I was never able to shake that.”

Foggy chuckled, “Aw man. Still, you up for a meal? I’ll treat.”

Matt cocked his head, face impassive. “Sure,” he eventually answered, “Salvadorian place?”

“Yeah they have some milder stuff you can order if that’s cool with you,” Foggy said, “Let me just put my briefcase down.”

omfg of course Foggy didn't realize.

(A!Anon) In his defense he was having a rough night. (Buy omg whatta nerd bless his heart)

This is perfect! Can't wait for more!

(A!Anon) Aw man, thanks!

Next two parts are from Matt's POV! Heads up, there is some violence and body horror (kinda) about half way down, in the section starting with "that night."

This, Matt decided, was bad. It had been a long time since someone had amused him this much, much less charmed him. And what was even worse was that Foggy made it so easy.

The summoning itself was unconventional. Matt had been stuck unwinding a red tape clusterfuck at his desk for the better part of a few days with nothing else to do (the weeks after Sam-Hain’s day were usually quiet, after the mortal plane moved away from less earthly ones and the spike of joke demon summoning that jammed up their lines around the season quieted down).

But then he had felt a tug. He hadn’t felt a summoning call specifically for him for a few years as the more accurate texts to get a hold of him were dwindling. It was a shabby spell, with a minimal sacrifice and a few of the candles being used a bit off-center. But it was there and Matt would rather be scaring the ever-loving crap out of a few cultists than doing this paperwork.

Scratching the rune for “back in 5!” on his office door, Matt followed the spell, relishing the feel of his power solidified a vessel around him as he went. Getting closer, he found that the chanting was only coming from one measly mortal and he couldn’t help but feel a little insulted. Perhaps a bit petulantly, Matt set up one of his nastier dramatic entrances for when he got to this sorry bastard.

However after the smoke cleared and the fanfare ended, Matt was left holding a pizza box and more questions than answers.

“Wow, no one told me demons were so good-looking.” The breathy voice made Matt turn his attention to the summoner and he had to hold back a laugh. The human had no idea what he was doing! His heart was beating out of his chest, his palms were sweaty, and the smell of cheap whisky that sat around him like a mist was strong.

Still, the summoning was honest, the sacrifice was made, and Matt had no choice but to stay and hear his demands.

And here’s the thing that really blindsided Matt (well, one of the many things). The human— Foggy, he later learned— didn’t have a dirty soul in the least bit. Matt could barely find a single stain of deeply-rooted sin in him.

The idea was fascinating enough to make him sober Foggy up and goad him into microwaving a few slices of the offered pizza for him, to make the sacrifice just a bit more substantial. This way, his form could be a bit closer to human and allow him to stick around long enough to really get into the nitty gritty details of the Contract without… disintegrating a little bit.

And what a good choice that had been. Foggy was making a deal out of good will to help out his fellow meat sacks! The first decent summons that Matt had gotten in a long while and the deal wasn’t even a selfish one. And he was interested in logistic details and writing up a solid Contract in pen and ink, so this wasn’t something done out of desperation as much as genuine interest. The idea was laughable.

However even after all was said and done, Matt found himself looking for excuses to show up at Foggy’s apartment again and again. And Foggy kept on offering him sacrifices like it was nothing! Sure he just saw it as an odd meal or a few beers, but it allowed Matt to stick around for a few hours and listen to whatever what was on Foggy’s mind.

And with as long as Matt had been around, you would have thought that Foggy prattling on about his perpetual trouble with buggy copy machines and printers (Matt made himself a note to promote whoever came up with those, the low-level frustration they gave off was ingenious) to be utterly inane. But Foggy was genuinely funny, and wasn’t out to build himself this flawless reputation that he had seen ad nauseum in these lawyer deals.

However there was once incident where Matt knew that he was well and truly screwed. It started over a shared bowl of popcorn, and a shitty sci-fi movie (Foggy-Narrated ™).

“Aw man, Matt, these special effects are fantastic! The dude’s running through the forest and- and these hellhounds look like they’re just German Sheppards dyed black! They didn’t even try- oop! Aaaand down he goes!”

“Hellhounds are real dogs, you know.”

“Shush! You’ll miss the one-liner!”

From the screen, the voice of the main protagonist sounded, “What an a-paw-ling way to go.”

Matt groaned and Foggy laughed uproariously, as per usual. Below them, Foggy’s neighbor knocked against her ceiling with a broom, the wrath she felt outlining her form to Matt clearly. It was sharp pinprick of a moment when Matt was reminded of how unclear Foggy was to him.

“Earth to Matt, you in there?” Matt shook his head at Foggy’s questioning voice, “This movie’s just a tragedy. Why are you making me watch this?”

“Because you never bring anything to movie night.”

“This is the first time!” Matt felt a laugh bubble out of his chest, far too sincere for his liking. The two fell back into companionable silence until Matt broke it.

“How’s your caseload?”

Foggy hummed, “Not too bad. I ended up taking on that one girl’s case you recommended, the one with the dirt on Union Allied that she's refusing to give up. Her name’s Karen. She’s nice, sharp as a tack, but her impulse control’s a bit lacking. Lemme tell you, she can ask all the right questions to put someone on the ropes, but doesn’t always have the power to ask them safely. She needs to know when to back off.”

“She’s going to get hurt,” Matt pointed out, bitter experience tinting his words, “And it could end badly for a lot of people.”

“Some people just have to learn the hard way,” Foggy countered, before the two let the sounds of the movie fill in the space between them.

“But I do worry about her,” Foggy eventually murmured, soft enough that a normal human wouldn’t have picked up the words but not at all lacking in emotion. “She’s going to do something rash and she’ll have no one to blame but herself and she’ll have to face the consequences.”

The tone in Foggy’s voice made something low in Matt’s belly twitch, but he pushed it aside. There was an obvious pain in Foggy’s voice and the urge to do something about it made Matt’s fingers twitch. Without pausing to think, he quietly offered, “She’ll continue on.”

Foggy sighed, “That she will. I can just hope for the best.”

They fell back into companionable silence, just in time to hear the protagonist grunt, “This is one breed of trouble that won’t turn tail.”

Foggy didn’t laugh.

Matt’s fingers twitched again, harder.

—

That night, Matt took out a hit man waiting in Karen Page’s apartment for her to come home. Matt told himself that he had it coming; there were enough past misdeeds and wicked intentions in him that it made Matt’s skin tingle being in the same room as him.

“Hello,” Matt whispered next to the man’s ear, chuckling quietly as he whipped around to throw a wild punch at him. The fist connected, but Matt was unmoved even as the bones in the offending appendage were literally shattered like broken glass up to his shoulder.

The man’s screech of pain was probably more satisfying than it should have been, but that did not deter Matt. Sighing, he felt the effect of Foggy’s sacrifice completely wear off.

Bones cracked and reformed themselves while cells swelled under his vessel’s skin, which began turning a color best described as “void.” Like a ripple passing over his body, eyes began popping open across his chest and arms, able to pick out the slightest impure thought. Great curved horns sprouted from his skull and almost like a crown, Matt felt his other faces blink into existence around him, scarred and misshapen as they might be, fire and stars flaring up along with them and throwing him into sharp relief.

He decided to keep his wings in, however. The time it would take for them to rip their way out of his back just wasn’t worth the time.

Feeling much more in his skin, Matt let out a contented groan, and the sound of it was enough for the hitman to drop to his knees, even his useless arm struggling to cover one of his ears.

Scaling back his voice, Matt growled, “You have a lot to answer for.” The man said nothing, as he was too preoccupied with babbling his way through rusty prayers and half-remembered verses. His fear stung like bile at the back of Matt’s throat.

Just on time, the door to the apartment opened, and Karen Page (made unaware of the sounds coming out of her apartments by a nifty little trick of Matt’s) came face to face with Lucifer, Father of Lies, First of the Fallen, and any other title that TV Tropes could spit out.

Wisely, she said nothing as he leaned down to grasp the assassin's uninjured shoulder, gripping down hard enough to make his babbling voice stop with a pained gasp. Calmly and carefully, Matt turned only one set of eyes back to meet the collection of white lies and petty greed that lay behind Karen’s, as he did want her relatively intact.

“Consider this a warning,” he murmured, “From one curious soul to another. A mutual friend of ours wants you alive and the truth out; try not to disappoint me.”

With that, Matt vanished, taking both the hitman and the body with him. He could use the latter to make a statement. The former would allow him to blow off some steam.

No part of him doubted that he was doing this for Foggy. A lot of those parts however were content with ignoring that fact in favor of focusing on the drag of metal against human skin and despairing screams.

—

It was during another one of their movie nights that Matt’s repressed motivations came back to bite him (‘Mean Girls’ this time around, Foggy was maintaining his role as movie night czar until further notice).

“Karen’s my secretary now.”

Matt grunted in acknowledgement, prying the lid off of the milkshake Foggy got him. “Is she?”

“Yeah. You know, I asked her what made her want to go public with those files. Know what she said?”

“What?”

“That something put the fear of God into her.”

Matt reached for his basket of fries, silently chuckling over the irony. “And did everything work out with her?”

“As far as I can tell.”

Matt didn’t have to be an angel of unimaginable super powers to feel the look Foggy was sending his way. Matt didn’t say anything though, and hoped that that would be that.

“That was wrong of you. And what you’re doing to your fries is almost as bad.”

Matt paused, halfway through dipping the aforementioned fries into his milkshake. He was too caught up in thought to tell Foggy how wrong he was about the jab at his fries.

Finally he asked, “What was wrong of me?”

“You’re shit at lying. I know that you’re the one who scared her into going public with those files.”

Matt shrugged, keeping any sort of sheepishness off of his face. “I don’t see the problem. She got her files published, you got justice for your client and secretary who seems to be very friendly with you.”

“Friendly?”

“You were over at her house yesterday, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, we had dinner.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes Matt, that’s it. I know you’d be able to tell if it was anything else.” Matt didn’t say anything, but Foggy barreled straight ahead. “And you’re trying to distract me from the point; that’s very childish of you.”

Again, Matt said nothing, but did sit up a bit straighter and crossed his legs, seeming to listen closer to what Foggy was saying.

“Her decision should have been hers and hers alone, with no outside influence. And while I do appreciate you taking care of the hitman— no really, I do— do I want to know what you did with him?”

Matt’s brain flashed to bones and viscera, ripping and thudding, copper and bile. “No,” he muttered, “you really don’t.”

“Then I won’t ask for specifics. But did he deserve it?”

“Yes.” Matt’s answer was immediate. He remembered all that the man had confessed to. He definitely deserved what Matt did to him. Foggy didn’t sound as convinced as Matt would have liked him to.

“I’ll trust you on that then. However,” in the background, Matt could hear Rachel McAdams's character get hit by a bus, “you don’t get to use other people as props to help our deal along. That’s manipulative, buddy.”

Matt felt that he couldn’t speak. The accusation rolled down his spine and once again, Matt found his insides tightening. Of course Foggy would have few enough survival instincts to chastise him, Matt mused as he popped a few of his fries into his mouth. It made something petty and spiteful in him want to remind the human just what he was dealing with.

However a bigger part of him wanted to lay out everything that he had done to that hitman, describe the way that he had snapped at the other demons that had gotten in his way, really sit down and walk Foggy through just what he had done to send a message to the people after Karen (he was sure that a few of them had gone straight to church after finding their underling’s body in the state that it was in).

Foggy would be furious, and rightfully so. He would yell and berate and not have the slightest concern for the fact that it was Matt he was talking to, Actual Devil and Rotten Bastard Extraordinaire.

No one had done that sort of thing for him in a long, long while. No one had ever that sort of thing and lived ever, but Matt was willing to make an exception. This wasn’t an overly-righteous religious zealot from the Dark Ages, this was Foggy. And Foggy, Matt knew, Foggy would forgive him. Eventually. Maybe.

Most likely.

But Matt didn’t want Foggy’s forgiveness; there was something a bit sharper than that he wanted. Something that would hurt a bit more.

“I’m going to take your silence to mean that you get what I’m saying.” Foggy’s voice broke the silence, and Matt nodded distractedly. The human sighed, obviously seeing straight through Matt’s bullshit answer, but let it drop and turn back to the movie.

—

It was after Matt had left Foggy’s apartment that Matt realized what he wanted.

He wanted to confess to Foggy, for Everything. Matt wanted Foggy to get mad at him for sins that were almost as old as the Earth. He wanted Foggy to lash out at him. He wanted to feel Foggy’s rage batter up against him.

And the kicker was that Foggy was His come four years and nine months from now, and he could certainly demand that of the human. But a bigger part of him wanted Foggy to give it to him of free will. This was the same part of Matt that didn’t want to give up movie nights, hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and Foggy laughing loud enough to stupid jokes to upset the neighbors.

This was the moment that Matt realized how much he wanted from Foggy. And the very thought of it unsettled him greatly.

Can't express how much I'm loving this story!

(A!Anon) \@A@/ Thank you!!

There are two people doing a take at this prompt and MAN neitehr dissapoints. this story is awesome.

(A!Anon) (ohmigosh I love Requiem Æternam so much (>///A///<)) Thank you for your comment!

(Author of Requiem Æternam here - saw this notification in my e-mail inbox, and thank YOU! XD I love Applied Contract Law so much, too!!)

(Prompter here)

“I’ve become a walking stereotype! Or a comic book protagonist. I can see the series synopsis now: Franklin “Foggy” Nelson, dashing, genius attorney at law with a troubled past becomes fed up with the New York corporate law scene and in a fit of disillusion makes a deal with a demon in pursuit of True Justice. Follow his wacky misadventures surrounded by Hell’s Kitchen’s misfits and a host of zany demon side characters.”
Setting her drink down, Marci dapped at her lips delicately with a cocktail napkin. “I refuse to sit here and be called a ‘zany’ side character by someone who is getting smashed on cocktails I’ve seen featured in Cosmo.”
I love these two, so much. I’d watch 5 seasons of this show, no joke.

“Any other relationships that I should feel invalidated in?”
“…you know Dave from accounting?”
“Noooooo, I like Dave! He always shows me pictures of his cats!”
Awwww, Dave from accounting and his cats.

“Ridiculous. He’s got this ridiculously floppy hair and dorky red spectacles of all things and a suit cut straight from a 20’s crime drama and a smile that could intimidate a loan shark. He’s a walking archetype.”
“Like you, you mean? He sounds cute.”
“Oh my god you have no idea.”
*rolls around on the floor with delight*

“It figures, yanno? He’s unattainable on so many levels and so of course I want to bang him like a screen door in a hurricane.”
*howls with laughter*

“…does this Matt have a cane that looks like something a supervillian might have?”
Oh NO. OH YES.

“You, Foggy Nelson, summoned Satan on Tuesday night. The Devil. Lucifer. My boss, or rather, The Boss.”
I hope Marci doesn’t get into trouble about that, I like her.

Matt hummed noncommittally, and almost against his will, Foggy shot him a grin. “You got time? There’s a Salvadorian place around the corner that advertises ‘devil sauce’ and I want you to vet it.”
“I actually don’t like incredibly spicy stuff,” Matt mumbled, playing with the strap on his cane.
Foggy choked on his laughter, “You’re kidding me! That’s like, hundreds of years of advertisement down the drain!”
“My PR department sucked at the time that came around. I was never able to shake that.”
Oh boys. Already bantering.

Scratching the rune for “back in 5!” on his office door, Matt followed the spell, relishing the feel of his power solidified a vessel around him as he went. Getting closer, he found that the chanting was only coming from one measly mortal and he couldn’t help but feel a little insulted. Perhaps a bit petulantly, Matt set up one of his nastier dramatic entrances for when he got to this sorry bastard.
I love how bureaucratic Hell is, and how petty Matt the Devil is.

However even after all was said and done, Matt found himself looking for excuses to show up at Foggy’s apartment again and again. And Foggy kept on offering him sacrifices like it was nothing! Sure he just saw it as an odd meal or a few beers, but it allowed Matt to stick around for a few hours and listen to whatever what was on Foggy’s mind.
I love that detail, that Foggy doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to Matt with the “sacrifices” of food.

Matt groaned and Foggy laughed uproariously, as per usual. Below them, Foggy’s neighbor knocked against her ceiling with a broom, the wrath she felt outlining her form to Matt clearly. It was sharp pinprick of a moment when Matt was reminded of how unclear Foggy was to him.
Oooooooo! Love the idea of Matt “seeing” sin with his sonar. Absolutely love that.

He decided to keep his wings in, however. The time it would take for them to rip their way out of his back just wasn’t worth the time.
Awwwwww, yes! Demonic form that like, bursts out through the human shell. WOW. Yes.

“That something put the fear of God into her.”
Matt reached for his basket of fries, silently chuckling over the irony.
I love Matt the massive troll.

“And you’re trying to distract me from the point; that’s very childish of you.”
Again, Matt said nothing, but did sit up a bit straighter and crossed his legs, seeming to listen closer to what Foggy was saying.
I love how Foggy is chewing Matt out, THE DEVIL, and Matt is letting him. I just … yes. Everything I wanted from this fill.

Matt felt that he couldn’t speak. The accusation rolled down his spine and once again, Matt found his insides tightening. Of course Foggy would have few enough survival instincts to chastise him, Matt mused as he popped a few of his fries into his mouth. It made something petty and spiteful in him want to remind the human just what he was dealing with.
However a bigger part of him wanted to lay out everything that he had done to that hitman, describe the way that he had snapped at the other demons that had gotten in his way, really sit down and walk Foggy through just what he had done to send a message to the people after Karen (he was sure that a few of them had gone straight to church after finding their underling’s body in the state that it was in).
Foggy would be furious, and rightfully so. He would yell and berate and not have the slightest concern for the fact that it was Matt he was talking to, Actual Devil and Rotten Bastard Extraordinaire.
No one had done that sort of thing for him in a long, long while. No one had ever that sort of thing and lived ever, but Matt was willing to make an exception. This wasn’t an overly-righteous religious zealot from the Dark Ages, this was Foggy. And Foggy, Matt knew, Foggy would forgive him. Eventually. Maybe.
Most likely.
But Matt didn’t want Foggy’s forgiveness; there was something a bit sharper than that he wanted. Something that would hurt a bit more.
*squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*
Everything I wanted.
This is PERFECTION. THIS BIT. YES. PERFECT. GOOD. *squees helplessly*

Marci&Foggy interaction is like my favorite to write I'm always surprised by how little I see sometimes. *shrugs* I think over the years that Hell has become more and more bureaucratic (keeping up with the times I think) and it just *fit* to write it like such, especially with Matt as the Head Honcho.

Still, I'm SO GLAD you like this fill because as I read the discussion of the prompt as I got further and further down the page I was just got too excited to contain myself.

(Prompter here)

Marci&Foggy interaction is like my favorite to write I'm always surprised by how little I see sometimes.
Yeah, I love them too, I wish there was more content with them here!

I think over the years that Hell has become more and more bureaucratic (keeping up with the times I think) and it just *fit* to write it like such, especially with Matt as the Head Honcho.
Oh yes. You ever watch Reaper? That's how I imagine Hell to operate, bureaucratic as all get out.

Still, I'm SO GLAD you like this fill because as I read the discussion of the prompt as I got further and further down the page I was just got too excited to contain myself.
I'm so pleased you're filling it! Thank you so much!

Here! Have some plot! Also some Claire!
Matt’s newest revelation didn’t change many things between him and Foggy. Casual meals and movies worked their ways into both of their schedules (a bit literally on Foggy’s end, as sometimes lunch appointments started making themselves in his planner before his eyes, with ink that smelled slightly of sulfur and hurt his eyes to look at for too long), conversation between them flowed easily, and Foggy continued to take none of Matt’s bullshit.

What was different however was how Matt would sometimes let slip the tiniest details about his work into their banter; a crashed server, a missed memo, a (literal) firing. Nothing huge, but it was fouling up his perfect record of keeping work separate from pleasure. None of this was on purpose, mind you, but there was this one mutinous part of Matt that was chomping at the bit to get Foggy angry enough to lash out at him.

Matt liked to think that this was his own morbid curiosity, as he knew rationally that revealing some of the gorier parts of his everyday life would ruin their relationship, and also because it’s easier to dismiss impulses if you don’t think about the very real want behind them. Still, some things are better left alone.

However, Matt failed to account for Foggy’s own curiosity, which was almost a force of nature by itself. Truth is, Foggy was burning to figure out what Matt did with his days. Every off-handed comment just drove him a bit closer to throwing caution to the wind and asking, but he always abstained.

Until one night, about a year into their arrangement, this urge came to a peak and in a fit of wisdom fueled by salty, greasy Chinese food, Foggy finally asked, “So what do you even do all day when you’re not here?”

Matt paused in his chewing, before swallowing and replying, “Excuse me?”

“Like, what’s your day job? Every time you’re here I always end up blabbering about what I’m doing and who can blame me for wanting to know what’s going on downstairs?”

Matt was not ready to have this conversation. Matt was never, in any way, ever going to be able to prepare for this conversation. Still, Matt would rather avoid having to come clean about this later, so poking at his meal he slowly answered, “I guess you could say I oversee all demonic activity. Who is stationed where, relations with other… parties, which humans are under Contracts, which humans we’d like under Contracts, that sort of thing.” Matt took a bite of Mu Shu pork for emphasis, trying to squash down the niggling feeling that accompanied lying to Foggy, even if it was only by omission.

Foggy stared across his coffee table at Matt, lips set in a firm line. “…that can’t be all.”

Matt tilted his head in a way that he had been told looked disarming. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t fall from Grace or whatever to become the regional manager at McDemons Inc.” Matt heard the swishing of Foggy’s chopsticks through the air. “What do you really do? I’m waving my chopsticks at you threateningly, FYI.”

“Oh no, not that,” Matt drawled, “Anything but tiny, little bamboo sticks. What am I to do?”

“Hmmm, answer my question honestly and I’ll consider mercy.” The tone was light, but it was obvious that the human wanted answers.

Matt chuckled, half to cover up his nerves. However even after that, Foggy’s expectant silence continued until Matt folded like a cheap suit.

“I… deal out retribution to sinners.”

“You got that off the back of a cereal box, didn’t you?”

“You lost me.”

“That was totally an answer for the press!” Foggy set down his take out box and leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. “Com on Matt, I know you’ve got this whole moral code that is apparently set in stone and a reputation for both a dislike of humans and an affinity for fire, brimstone and eternal torture, but cut the crap.”

“Foggy-“

“Let me finish please, and then the stage is all yours, buddy. Point is, I’m under no illusion of who I am talking to. I’ve heard the flowery verses about punishment and sinners, if not from you, then from a million other sources. And now that I know you, maybe not as well as I’d think but still, I think there’s more to that answer than I know.”

“…” Silence sat heavy in the room. Matt had halted all movement, his expression troubled. He opened his mouth, but snapped it shut after a few seconds. His face grew paler by the second, but his cheeks and ears started flaring a brilliant red. Foggy kept his eyes trained on him, not a detail escaping his sight. Finally, Foggy came to a conclusion.

“I shouldn’t have asked that, should I?” Foggy’s sheepish voice made Matt’s shoulders sag with relief.

“Probably not,” he muttered.

“Want to tap out of this conversation?” Under the table, Foggy nudged Matt’s bare foot with his own. “It’s totally fine if you do.”

“Yes, please. Sorry.” With each syllable, Matt’s shoulders inched up towards his ears, making Foggy frown. Was Matt really that ashamed?

“Totally my fault.” Foggy said, a thoughtful look still on his face. “I should’ve known my boundaries. You want to leave? I promise not to ask anything too intrusive if you don’t.”

It took Matt a while to answer. “I’ll… I’ll stay.” Matt’s posture remained ridged enough to make Foggy want to crack his own back in sympathy. He had to do something to fix this.

“Awesome. Now, I’ve got to tell you about this new client of ours. Her name’s Ms. Cárdenas, total sweetheart, but doesn’t speak a lot of English…”

Foggy didn’t comment on the fact that he saw Matt relax into the couch as he continued to talk, figuring that saying anything about it would make the other uncomfortable. Neither of them noticed their feet resting against each other’s under the coffee table.

—

“Mr. Nelson?” Karen’s voice made Foggy look up from his computer and look at the blond peeking into his office.

“Yes, Miss Page?” His grin was apparent in his voice; they both hated being called anything but their given names. They must have a visitor.

Karen didn’t smile back, which was odd; almost immediately Foggy’s face dropped. Her eyes seemed a bit too distant for his liking. “What is it?”

“There’s a Ms. Temple here to see you.”

Foggy frowned, he couldn’t place the name. “Send her in please.” Karen nodded before slipping back into the main room. The woman that strode in after her was all business. There was not a hair out of place from her neat pony tail to her ironed slacks and sensible flats. Her eyes were quick and relentless in running over the office, mercilessly chasing out every detail she could find and pinning it down.

Foggy knew exactly what he was dealing with immediately.

“Are you one of Matt’s people?”

The woman hummed, eyes sliding to Foggy, pretending to notice him for the first time. “I am.”

Foggy leaned back in his chair. “What can I do for you…?”

The woman smiled, slow and slick like an oil spill. “Clair Temple will do. Now, I have a simple favor to ask of you.”

Foggy’s eyebrows lifted. “Isn’t the whole idea of dealing with demons that you do something for me?”

Ms. Temple snorted, a grimace on her face. “If that’s your idea of how to get a soul onto your side, then yes.” She pinned Foggy with another look, “And you could have done so much more with a soul like that.”

Foggy would be lying if he said he wasn’t unsettled. “And you know this how?”

The flat look he received was impressive. “Gusion,” Ms. Temple deadpanned, “if you’re up-to-date on your demonology that name might help you.”

Foggy nodded absently as he scribbled the name down on a handy Post-it note. “I’ll be sure to look that up. Now, what can I do for you.”

“First off, go to Ms. Cárdenas’s apartment tomorrow early.” She help up a hand when Foggy opened his mouth to question, “Just do it, for all of our sake’s. Secondly…”

It’s hard to explain what exactly happened next. On this plane, Ms. Temple reached across Foggy’s desk and placed two fingertips against Foggy’s forehead, who suddenly found it much harder to move. Foggy felt a shiver of something roll over his entire body but before he could question it, the contact was gone and Ms. Temple was brushing some imaginary dust off of her slacks.

On another plane however, a hole in the shape of a human soul suddenly took up residence in one of its dustier corners, invisible to this other plane’s inhabitants.

In Hell, Matt paused in his movements over a soul he had strung out over the rack. Something with his contract with Foggy had shifted. He concentrated a bit harder on the feeling.

Ah, just Gusion making the necessary preparations. She always was good at that.

Back on Earth, Foggy blinked. “You going to tell me what that was about?”

“No,” Ms. Temple said flippantly, “It’ll be more entertaining for me if I don’t.” Foggy sighed, of course she wouldn’t. The demon continued, “I’ll see myself out. Miss Page won’t remember me coming, and the charm she’s under won’t last much longer. An hour tops.”

Foggy frowned, “That can’t be kosher.” Ms. Temple shrugged, already headed out the door. “Pleasure meeting you,” she called over her shoulder.

And just like that, Foggy was alone again.

When asked about the incident later, Matt had just shrugged, which was innocent enough until Foggy noted that his ears were red enough to stop traffic. Really, Foggy grumped to himself, Matt had no right going about being that bad at lying; it was embarrassing. Cute, sure, but that wasn’t the point. Mostly it was embarrassing.

omg, matt, just TELL HIM; it will be all right!

also i love demon!claire and i would pay cash money to see her and demon!marci in the same room. :D

(A!Anon) They'll get their shit together, eventually.

Also, yessss, YASSSSS.

Oh Matt, what are you up to?

(A!Anon) No good, as per usual.

(Prompter here)

CLAIRE! YAY!

None of this was on purpose, mind you, but there was this one mutinous part of Matt that was chomping at the bit to get Foggy angry enough to lash out at him.
Oh Matt.

“What do you really do? I’m waving my chopsticks at you threateningly, FYI.”
“Oh no, not that,” Matt drawled, “Anything but tiny, little bamboo sticks. What am I to do?”
“Hmmm, answer my question honestly and I’ll consider mercy.”
Oh boys. *sporfles* This is too perfect.

“I shouldn’t have asked that, should I?” Foggy’s sheepish voice made Matt’s shoulders sag with relief.
“Probably not,” he muttered.
“Want to tap out of this conversation?” Under the table, Foggy nudged Matt’s bare foot with his own. “It’s totally fine if you do.”
“Yes, please. Sorry.” With each syllable, Matt’s shoulders inched up towards his ears, making Foggy frown. Was Matt really that ashamed?
Either Matt’s ashamed or really turned on by the prospect of Foggy chastising him. Either way, I am so here.

She pinned Foggy with another look, “And you could have done so much more with a soul like that.”
OUCH.

Gusion is a great choice! : D

It’s hard to explain what exactly happened next. On this plane, Ms. Temple reached across Foggy’s desk and placed two fingertips against Foggy’s forehead, who suddenly found it much harder to move. Foggy felt a shiver of something roll over his entire body but before he could question it, the contact was gone and Ms. Temple was brushing some imaginary dust off of her slacks.
On another plane however, a hole in the shape of a human soul suddenly took up residence in one of its dustier corners, invisible to this other plane’s inhabitants.
In Hell, Matt paused in his movements over a soul he had strung out over the rack. Something with his contract with Foggy had shifted. He concentrated a bit harder on the feeling.
Ah, just Gusion making the necessary preparations. She always was good at that.
Ooooooo, what was that?!?!?!?!

(A!Anon) Foggy and Matt banter is so great, I love writing it so much. uwu Also, no DD AU is complete without Claire, and Claire is not complete without being a badass. You'll find out her purpose for her visit eventually!

Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out; my brain is stupid and decided that panic over nothing>writing. Ugh. ANYWAYS! There is some blood in this chapter, but it's kind of "blink and you miss it." Also, there is smut. ((which is weird because this is the first time I've ever posted smut??? I feel like a tiny, little old pigeon lady scattering filthy porn to a flock of readers. It's kinda great.

Hell’s Kitchen burned, as everyone knew it eventually would.

Foggy thought he’d never see the day.

He had taken Gusion’s advice and gone to Ms. Cárdenas’s apartment half an hour early with Karen in tow (looking up the name on his office’s latest visitor might have influenced that decision. Bad things usually happened to people who didn’t listen to predictions of the future by supernatural forces).

And apparently they arrived not a moment too soon, given by the explosion that knocked all three of them off of their feet a few minutes after they had walked in the door.

As expected, the ER was swamped when they arrived, Foggy and Karen supporting Ms. Cárdenas between them, who was sporting a nasty head wound. It took a good deal of elbowing to even get into the door with all of the panicking going on, but eventually they were able to get the sweet woman into a bed with medical attention more substantial than a balled up scarf pressed up to her forehead.

Sure it wasn’t much, just a bed and a professional to pay attention to the wound, but it was the small things that really counted during these times. Small things like Karen talking Ms. Cárdenas quietly through the things that the nurses were doing, the fact that the hallways had quieted down from their frantic shrieking to a frenzied mutter, or the fact that his own adrenaline had kept him from feeling the pain in his side for so long.

Wait, what?

A bit dazed, Foggy looked down to where his hand had automatically clamped down once his nerves started putting out all of the right signals.

‘Huh,’ he thought distantly, ‘I didn’t think that blood would look that dark.’

Foggy was out before he even hit the floor, unaware of the embarrassing sound he made that Karen would later liken to a swooning maiden from an 1800’s drama.

—

Foggy woke up later in a room by himself. The weak light filtering in through the blinds suggested that he had been out long enough for the night to pass. He felt gross; oily and gritty and… oddly lightheaded. None of this however took away from the sharp twinges of pain in his side.

Involuntarily, Foggy’s eyes slid shut and groaned long and loud, a sole noise of misery to broadcast his despair in all of its melodramatic glory.

Almost in response, a weight took up place on the side of the bed. Karen? Foggy hoped it was Karen, she was probably scared out of her mind.

“Ms. Page is fine,” an unfamiliar voice answered, “She went home a few hours ago.”

“Good,” Foggy mumbled. “Thanks for looking into my brain to get at that.”

An undignified snort of laughter came from the voice. “You were speaking out loud, Foggy.”

“No way,” Foggy answered, a slow smile creeping onto his face, “You totally read my mind. Weirder things have happened to me lately.”

“Oh really?”

Foggy decided to humor the voice. “Yeah, yesterday— wassit? Maybe the day before that— this woman came in and told me I should head over to my client’s house early. And what d’ya know! It saved my life!”

“Mhmmm.”

“And then she also did this thing where she- she reached out and booped my forehead.”

“She booped your forhead?”

“That’s what I said. An- And lemme tell you it was weird. Like she was giving me a…” Foggy paused, looking for the right word.

“…a title?”

“Yeah, or a promotion, or something. You’re totally reading my mind.” Foggy reached out, eyes still closed, for the voice’s body to clap a shoulder or give a playful punch but was disappointed to find he couldn’t reach anyone from his current position.

Groaning, Foggy pried his eyes open. Through his blurry vision, a man in a suit became apparent. Foggy took a few seconds to process this before a bigger grin split his face.

“Matt!” he chuckled, “Why didn’t you say it was you?”

The man smiled, more of a smirk than anything, “I thought you knew.”

“Your voice is different,” Foggy whined, “That’s cheating.”

“You’re the one cheating; you’re on painkillers.”

Foggy made an attempt to nudge Matt with the leg the Devil sat close to, but the shock of pain that caused was enough to discourage him. Matt twisted to face Foggy at the noise of pain that this made pass his lips.

“Hells, Foggy, I’m sorry-”

The human shook off his concerns woozily. “Literally not your fault, buddy. Unless you planted the bombs I got caught up in.”

Matt’s silence seemed to suck all the air out of the room.

“Matt…” Foggy said slowly, his voice low and accusing, “Why aren’t you answering me?” Matt’s flinch at the noise almost made him feel sorry for the other.

“I’m sorry,” Matt mumbled, “Some of my… demons planted the bombs. I think it’s a turf war.”

Foggy sighed in relief, “So it wasn’t you?”

“They are my responsibility.” This time Foggy went through with lightly kicking Matt.

“You’ve got a lot of misplaced guilt in you for being Satan and all.”

Matt shot him a reproachful look. “I am their superior. I should have been aware that their spat was going to affect my dealings.”

“No one can see the future.”

Matt snorted, “You know that’s not true.”

Foggy rubbed at his temples, temper slowly rising through the brain fog brought on by the drugs. “Yes, but you couldn’t have known it would come to that, Matt.”

“I know many that did. I didn’t hear of this once. I should have been more diligent.”

Foggy sagged back into the bed, troubled. It was obvious that Matt was convinced that this was his fault and there was probably nothing Foggy could do about it. “OK,” he conceded, “you’re not going to change your mind on this, regardless of how wrong you are.” He ignored the indignant expression on Matt’s face at that and kept going. “But I am not going to do your self-fla- flage- self-flagellation for you. You seem to be doing that just fine by yourself.”

Here, Matt hung his head, shame evident in every line of his body. Foggy paused before speaking again. “I’ll be upset with you when you’re at fault, OK? And trust me, you’ll know when I am. Promise.”

Matt looked a bit conflicted over the idea, but eventually nodded, his expression carefully kept blank.

Foggy huffed out a breath and then closed his eyes, strength suddenly leaving him.

“You should get some more sleep, Foggy,” Matt murmured.

“Bossy,” Foggy replied. “But OK, I could go for a nap. These drugs are gonna mangle my sleep schedule.”

From further down the bed, Matt hummed in agreement. Foggy almost jumped when a cool, dry hand swept back the hair from his forehead, but decided against saying anything.

For the second time in less than 24 hours, Foggy dropped out of consciousness almost instantaneously.

—

Foggy and Matt were watching a movie.

This wasn’t anything new, but what was odd was then no matter how hard Foggy concentrated he had no idea what the film was. Also, he was pretty sure they had never gone to a movie theater before.

“Ah, I like this part.” Matt’s voice made Foggy look over to see the other man looking at the screen through his sunglasses.

(‘Ah, this is a dream.’ Foggy thought, ‘Matt can’t see.’)

The thought was swept away when Matt laughed at what he apparently saw on screen, open, sincere and all together breath-taking. Foggy was familiar with the sight, but he tried to never take it for granted.

Foggy tried to look at see what Matt was laughing at, he really did, but before he knew it Matt was facing him again.

“You missed it,” the man accused softly, “It was so good.”

Foggy shrugged, “Better things to look at, I guess.” Matt started at him for a while, obviously bemused. Around him, the dark interior of the movie theater morphed into an apartment, stark and Spartan in its decoration. The only lighting came from off to the side where a huge, flashing billboard took up most of the view. Foggy had never been here before.

“Better,” Matt murmured. “I wouldn’t know.”

(‘Ah good,’ Foggy mused, ‘Brain’s back to reality I see.’)

Foggy chuckled, “But it’s true.” Matt remained still, quietly observing the human.

Without warning, the scenery changed again and Matt kneeling between his legs, hands going for his fly.

“Hey, budd- ehng!” Foggy’s question was cut off when Matt deftly undid Foggy’s jeans and well, Foggy would be lying if he hadn’t thought about his before but wow this was a sudden development, dream or not.

Matt said nothing even as he heckled Foggy into lifting his hips and sliding his jeans and briefs down just far enough that Foggy was laid bare in front of Matt, cock standing out embarrassingly hard in the cool air. Almost wanting to get away (for want of trying to figure out what was going on), Foggy leaned back into the couch he was on, but Matt sat back on his heels, almost contentedly.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, and the breathy words made Foggy twitch.

“Matt, buddy,” Foggy choked out, “Wanna tell me what you’re doing?” At his question, Matt leaned forwards, resting his chin on the crease between Foggy’s thigh and this pelvis, close enough to Foggy’s dick for some of his hair to barely brush against it. The picture it made was exquisite, Matt looking submissive and pliant in a way that Foggy hadn’t thought would’ve worked on someone with a jaw line that chiseled.

“Worshiping, “ was Matt’s simple answer, before he brought his head back and kissed the tip of the cock in front of him, letting his lips linger on the slit almost chastely.

Foggy felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs, but decided to go with it. “Don’t you need a deity or something for that?”

Matt looked up at the question and smiled softly. “Yeah, you do.” he agreed, but before Foggy could answer Matt ducked his head and lightly ran his tongue around the head of Foggy’s dick. Once again, Foggy found himself speechless, and the feeling only grew exponentially when Matt slowly slid his lips down, down, down Foggy’s shaft, carefully laving attention to every vein and ridge he passed until it became obvious that Matt was not going to stop until Foggy was pressed to the back of his throat.

“Holy shit,” Foggy breathed, and Matt, the smug fucker, huffed out a laugh despite his full mouth. Matt’s slick, hot mouth, the gentle pressure of his tongue, the press of his hands against the inside of Foggy’s thighs, all of these made Foggy’s nerves thrum below his skin. Foggy curled his fingers into Matt’s hair, perhaps a bit too tightly, but the other didn’t seem to care.

Almost too quickly, Matt’s lips found their place at the base of Foggy’s member, and Foggy had to remind himself to breath at the sight. Then, almost coyly, Matt gently swallowed once, twice, and the heat around Foggy damn well rippled.

Huffing out another laugh at Foggy’s strangled gasp, Matt pulled back, sucking all the while with a look on his face that Foggy’s fried brain could only describe as “reverent.”

It wasn’t the red of Matt’s lips that did Foggy in, nor was it the barely-there hint of teeth along the shaft as Matt worked his way back up. It wasn’t the contented little moan that Matt let out when he stopped at the head of Foggy’s dick again, suckling awhile longer on the flesh, nor the flick of his tongue against Foggy’s slit.

No, it was the wet, lewd pop! and the yearning whine that Matt’s mouth made when he finally let Foggy’s cock go that did Foggy in.

—

Foggy woke up in his hospital bed.

Slowly, he looked down, only to confirm to himself that yes, he was in fact hard enough to pound nails. Oh this was everything that he didn’t want to deal with right now.

“You, Franklin P. Nelson,” he muttered to himself, “would be going to hell even if you already hadn’t already sold your immortal soul.”

Foggy hefted himself up, groaning at the pain that still lingered in his side. After taking a few seconds to breathe through the pain that this caused him, he grabbed his IV stand and hobbled to the small bathroom off to the side.

“I’m not going to get caught spanking off like a teenager by a nurse on my last night here. They’ve been too lovely to me to deserve that.”

After the deed was done and Foggy was making his way back to the bed, he suddenly realized that he couldn’t blame *this on the medication. He’d wanted it for too long. Wanted Matt for too long.

That was troubling. He was going to ignore that for now.

Never let it be said that Foggy couldn’t deal with his emotions like a reasonable, mature adult. It was more that he chose not to.

I bet Mtt was fo r real in hsi dream, afetr all a demon can lure on your dreams.

(A!Anon) Chill Satan is the best Satan imho

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