Top 5 ways Foggy has (accidentally) driven Matt crazy (with want)
i’m gonna try to write four more things but this is the first:
“I’m going to drown myself in the bathroom sink,” Matt says, without much enthusiasm, in the middle of studying for their first finals week. They’re in Foggy’s bed because Matt’s bed has been designated for their alternating nap schedule.
“Mmm hmm,” Foggy hums, reaching out to pat Matt’s bare knee.
His hand lingers for a moment longer than Matt expects and his fingers barely trace a little down Matt’s leg when he pulls it away and. . .Matt’s. . .
Matt’s dick is aware.
Of all the ways that going to college could make Matt gay, his roommate briefly touching his knee was not what he expected. Not that he’d been thinking about it. Much, at least. He’d been warned before he graduated high school about the dangers of alcohol and co-ed dorms but no one had explicitly warned him that he might be tempted to make out with a guy because his fingers lingered on his bare knee for a second.
Because the thing about Matt’s senses is that they make him sensitive to touch and the thing about being sensitive to touch is that it could mean Foggy’s cheap sheets can feel like steel wool on a bad day or it could mean, apparently, that he’d like to be more involved with these sheets after Foggy touches part of Matt’s body that shouldn’t be an erogenous zone but unfortunately is.
Jesus Christ.
A minute or so later, Foggy shuts the textbook he’d been buried in.
“Did you say you were going to drown yourself in the sink?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Matt says.
“Do you want to get high instead?” Foggy asks.
“. . .yeah,” Matt says, nodding.
With the way he’s headed, he might as well add illegal drugs to the mix.
I am having a weird sad night and can't find the kiss ask list, can I get some jake/marco fake dating kiss in public?
*hugs* I hope your night is going better!
Also this came out more fake married than fake dating, I hope that’s okay!
Fake dating Kiss, Jake/Marco
About an hour into the charade, Marco was forced to the realization that if this was going to happen, he was going to have to do it.
“Your spouse is very quiet,” the Ambassador said, waggling one of her tentacles in Jake’s general direction. “Is he upset?”
Marco flashed a smile, though he wasn’t sure if it would come across quite as reassuring to a seven and a half foot-tall being with transparent - and, glittery? Sparkly? - purple flesh and multiple tentacles. Body language was a crap shoot in situations like this. “Oh no, he’s fine,” he said. “Jake’s just a quiet guy.”
The ambassador made a kind of… wibbling sound that made their whole body vibrate. Marco thought it might mean they understood. “Humans place great value on the stoic nature of their leaders. I understand.”
Marco wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but one thing was sure: of all the couples in the room, he and Jake were the only ones who weren’t cuddling, kissing, hugging or at least standing with their arms around each other. It made sense the Ambassador had noticed. He gave the Ambassador and their spouse - a slightly rounder, slightly more red transparent orb - a bright grin and made his excuses to slip away as soon as he could.
He caught Jake at the bar and threw an arm around his shoulders, plastering himself against Jake’s side. “You’re so bad at this,” he said.
Jake didn’t even flinch when Marco grabbed him which - since Marco had seen Jake once toss a guy over his shoulder for touching him unexpectedly - meant either Jake had seen him coming, or Jake knew it was Marco just from the touch.
The first one was pretty likely. Jake tended to be hyper aware in situations like this, where they were surrounded by unfamiliar faces and high-profile targets (like they weren’t high profile targets themselves) and he would have been keeping an eye on his six, and probably on Marco’s as well.
The second one kind of made his stomach do flippy floppy things that Marco was pretty sure shouldn’t happen when he thought about his probably straight best friend who had never once so much as batted an eyelash in Marco’s direction.
Jake turned his head a little so at least he was facing Marco’s direction. “Sorry. I thought maybe if I wandered off to get a drink it wouldn’t look so awkward, but…”
The holiday they were ostensibly celebrating was an alien one. Marco had skimmed the reports they’d been given in the briefing, but honestly hadn’t retained much besides “epic romeo-and-juliet-style romance from a hundred years ago ended the equivalent of a nuclear war and now the planet places a huge emphasis on romantic love and incorporates it into all their political and social policies to the point where they won’t negotiate with a non-married being.” It was phenomenally stupid in his opinion. Were there no asexuals on their world? People who weren’t comfortable with PDAs? Introverts? People who liked being alone for a while? So far none of these guys had split up long enough to go to the bathroom. It was weird. “Maybe they don’t need to use bathrooms,” he said.
Jake let that one pass, used to how Marco’s train of thought went after all these years. “Please tell me we can leave soon.”
“Sorry, buddy. We’ve barely been here an hour.” The party was supposed to last until dawn, as the fabled lovers had apparently ended the war with the break of a new day, and Marco was painfully aware of how far away that was. “What’s got you so wound up?”
Jake hunched his shoulders a little, then sighed and straightened up. “It just feels weird,” he said.
There was clearly more to it than that, but Jake was stubbornly silent. Marco cocked his head, eyes locked on Jake’s face. “What, the relationship thing? I know you don’t give a shit if people think you’re gay.”
“Not that.” Jake took a deep sip of his drink, which looked an awful lot like a plain coke. At least Marco didn’t smell any rum in it. Jake wasn’t a lush, but he wasn’t a teetotaller either. If he was going sober for this it meant either he thought they were in danger - which, while more or less the defaults of their lives since that night in the construction site, was a very low risk at the moment - or he thought he needed to be in control of himself.
“Wait, is it me?” Marco almost pulled away, but remembered their cover at the last moment. “Jake, hey, wait. Are you weirded out that I’m touching you?” He was suddenly, intensely, aware of his arm around Jake’s shoulders, how close they were standing, the fact that his mouth was just inches from Jake’s. They’d stood like this before, probably a hundred times - Marco had always been touchy and Jake had never seemed to mind.
But there was the whole “prentending to be married thing” now, maybe that was making it weird? Or.
Or there was the whole “Marco was more than half in love with his best friend and maybe Jake had finally noticed and didn’t like the idea that Marco was taking liberties” thing.
Panic bubbled up in his gut, pushing up his throat until he almost choked on it. Shit. If he’d been making Jake uncomfortable - he’d thought he’d been doing okay hiding it, but considering Rachel, Tobias, Ax, his father, and at least two different reporters had called him on it recently he might need to re-evaluate his standards of “okay.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Jake said. He made a face at Marco, apparently seeing more in his expression than Marco intended. That was always the problem with trying to hide something from your best friend. They knew you too damn well. Marco hadn’t been able to get away with anything during the war, either. “You’ve literally held my intestines in with your bare hands. We’ve shared beds since we were three, why the hell would I mind you holding my hand.”
It was an excellent point, but did nothing to explain what was going on in his head. “So tell me what’s wrong.” Marco glanced around, then tugged Jake away from the bar, toward a window along one wall. He positioned them so no one in the room could clearly see their faces, then leaned into Jake’s personal space.
Jake’s arm came up around his waist, tugging him in closer, turning them just a little so he was between Marco and the window - overprotective bastard. Marco didn’t bother calling him on it. “If something’s wrong we can bail early. This is just a diplomatic thing, no one’s going to get hurt if we take off.”
“No.” Jake gave the room a once-over, then focused his gaze solidly in the direction of Marco’s left ear.
The panic was back, pulsing in Marco’s chest. Jake wasn’t even looking him in the eye now? “Tell me,” he said in a low voice so it wouldn’t carry.
Jake sighed and pulled back, just a little, letting go of Marco’s waist. The sudden absence of touch felt strange and left Marco feeling cold. “I don’t want to get into it here,” Jake said, and me met Marco’s gaze suddenly. There was something there, something afraid, that Marco hadn’t seen aimed at him since… ever.
Jake wasn’t afraid for him - he’d seen that a thousand times during the war. But he was afraid of Marco. Right then, at that moment, he was afraid of what Marco was going to say or do if he kept talking.
Marco’s hand jerked with the sudden urge to pull away. He forced himself to be still. To stop, and not feed into whatever bullshit was going through Jake’s head. Because something had to be going on - they’d been friends for twenty years and Jake had never acted like this, not when he broke up with Cassie or got back with Cassie or broke up with Cassie again, or had to execute war criminals or give the order to abandon his own family. Jake had never not looked him in the eye.
“I need a drink,” Jake muttered under his breath and like a freight train, it all made sense.
Jake hadn’t flinched when Marco touched him - not once all evening, had even leaned into it a few times. But he wasn’t touching Marco back - and when he was, he stopped. Like the arm he had just removed from Marco’s waist.
Jake wasn’t drinking because he wanted to stay in control of his own actions.
“You’re weirded out about touching me?” Marco asked, fighting to keep his voice low. “Jake what the hell? That intestines and bed sharing thing goes both ways, you know.”
Jake snorted and almost spit out the Coke he’d just swallowed. “Jesus, Marco, do you listen to yourself? Intestines and bed sharing. God.” He took another sip of Coke and sighed. “Look, can we talk about this later? After all this,” he waved his drink in the general direction of the rest of the room, “is all over?”
It was probably a put-off. Marco figured the odds that Jake would conveniently forget all about this as soon as they got home and had a good night’s sleep between them and all of this were better than even.
But Marco also wasn’t going to bully him into doing something that made him uncomfortable. They’d all had enough of being forced into uncomfortable situations by the time they were in high school to last the rest of their lives. “Yeah, okay. Hey.” He caught Jake’s eye. “We’re good, right? You and me?”
His heart was beating hard enough that the entire room could probably hear it.
But Jake just scrunched his face up. “Of course we are.”
“Okay.” Marco gripped the back of Jake’s neck and squeezed a little, holding on for just a second. “So you and me, we’re gonna go get a real drink and we’re gonna nurse the shit out of it in a dark corner somewhere and take off the second the horizon turns pink. Plan?”
Jake swallowed, hard, then nodded, just a little. “Plan.”
Marco let go of his neck and reached up to tousle his hair. “God, you’re gonna give me an ulcer always worrying about you.”
Jake blushed, cheeks pink. “You worry too much,” he said. “I told you everything is fine.”
“Liar,” Marco said, but cheerfully. He ruffled Jake’s hair again, not quite a noogie but he made sure the intention was there.
Jake closed his eyes and leaned into Marco’s touch, just for a second.
Jake stiffened and pulled away, eyes cutting past Marco’s shoulder, and that fear was back in them. “I’m gonna go get a refill. What do you want to drink?”
Marco’s hand hung in the air for an instant before he let it drop to his side. “Jake.”
“Yeah, I know, anything but red wine. Give me a minute, I’ll just-” Jake stepped back, ready to beat a hasty retreat, but Marco snagged him by the wrist and yanked him to a stop.
“Jake,” Marco said again. “Are - are you as fucking stupid as I think you are?”
Jake’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “Hey!” He stilled as he seemed to see something in Marco’s eyes - Marco wasn’t sure what, but honestly at this point he’d settle for anything as long as he didn’t see Jake look afraid of him ever again. “Marco?”
“Such a fucking idiot,” Marco said. He curled a hand in the front of Jake’s shirt and yanked him down.
The kiss was a little messy, a little unpracticed, and Jake stiffened up so much that Marco thought for a moment that he’d misjudged and ruined everything.
But then Jake relaxed into the kiss and his arms came up around Marco’s back, pulling him closer.
Marco’s pulse was pounding in his throat, behind his eyes, so hard he thought he’d pass out. When Jake broke the kiss, Marco kept his eyes closed, and waited to see if he’d ruined everything.
Jake pressed a kiss against the shell of Marco’s ear. “If I’m an idiot for never saying anything,” he said, “then what does that make you?”
“The one smart enough to figure it out, obviously,” Marco said.
Jake didn’t stop laughing at him even when Marco pulled him down into another kiss.
I'm suffering from some pretty severe vertigo-like symptoms, but my doctor's office just canceled all my appointments for the next three months, so I can't get what it is properly diagnosed, so I am just dizzy and suffering In Addition to the stuff that's happening right now, and I could honestly use a hug. Or other people getting hugs. Something.
ugh, that SUCKS. i’m sorry that’s what you’re dealing with. <3
--
“Hey, Tash, you’re gonna need to take the wheel,” Clint says asthey’re trudging into the jet and then sways to the side and nearlyfalls, barely catching himself on the netting covering the wall ofthe Quinjet.
“Whoa,” Stevesays, darting over and shoring him up by the elbow. “Hawkeye?”
Clint presses a handto his forehead and moans under his breath. “It’s fine, I’mgood. Vertigo.”
“It’s beenawhile,” Natasha says, pausing to cup his cheek.
Clint squints at herand gives her a half-assed smile. “Yeah, it’s getting better.”It’s been a problem ever since he damaged his hearing, but Nat’sright. The episodes are coming less and less frequently. One thingthat’s getting better.
“Good,” she saysand then looks over her shoulder to where Tony and Thor are coming upthe ramp. “Get him lying down.”
“I can managemyself,” Clint complains.
Nat snorts. “No,you can’t.”
“Libel,” Clintsays.
“Actually, that’sslander,” Tony cuts in. “Except it’s true.”
Clint flips him offover Steve’s shoulder as Steve walks him in toward the benches.“Says the manchild.”
“Takes one to knowone!”
“It’s like beingin third grade,” Bruce says to Thor, hitting the button to closethe ramp.
“I wouldn’tknow.” Thor shoots him a little grin, setting Mjölnir down on thefloor near the wall.
Clint closes hiseyes as Steve helps him ease down onto the bench. Everything isspinning slowly and it’s not bad for a vertigo episode, but it’snever fun. He lays his head on the bench back and takes a couple slowbreaths, hoping to keep the nausea at bay. The jet vibrates beneathhim as Tash powers it up, and he can hear the others milling around,winding down from the mission.
Then someone dropsonto the bench beside him. “Hey, birdbrain. You got everything youneed?”
Clint stifles asmile. “Yeah. Just gotta wait it out.”
Tony slips an armaround his waist, leaning his head on Clint’s shoulder, realcasual-like. “You’ve been handling what happened like a champ.”
Clint shrugs theshoulder Tony’s lying on, just because he can. “We’ve all beenthrough shit.”
“Yeah, and you’restill crushing it. It’s fine, you know, if you’re not. We’renot going to chuck you out because you’re messed up.”
Clint’s throatconstricts until he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to.
Tony nuzzles againstClint’s shoulder like he’s settling down for a nap. “We gotyou, Legs, m’kay?”
It kills Clint thatthis is coming from the guy who’ll work himself into the ground forthe slightest perceived mistake. He’s gotta tryand believe that. “I hear you,” he rasps.
No matches for radiant, but here’s worst: Hefumbled, blindsided, and let go of Alicia’s hand, stumbling away from her. Hebumped into someone – he didn’t even notice who – and gruffly apologized,shrugging away from them. His skin burned with phantom fire.
“Johnny?”Alicia asked. She reached out for him and he snatched his hand away. Suddenlybeing touched seemed like the worst thing in the world. “What’s wrong?”
For The Fic You Won't Write: Brett/Foggy "Sunshine Of Your Love"
When they’re four years old, Brett tells Foggy they’re not friends anymore because Foggy thinks firefighters are cooler than cops, but Foggy still sits with him when he skins his knee and holds his hands while he cries until the nurse comes with Ninja Turtle bandaids and makes sure to tell her to give Brett Leonardo because that’s his favorite.
When they’re eleven years old, Brett’s dad gets injured on the job, bad, and Foggy finds Brett crying in the bathroom but doesn’t tell anyone, not ever.
When they’re fifteen years old and Brett’s first love dumps him, Foggy comes down to Brett’s apartment, drags Brett out of his bedroom, parks himself on Brett’s couch, and plays Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 3 with him until he feels marginally more like a human being.
When they’re nineteen years old, Foggy comes back from his fancy college and Brett’s mom lets him into the apartment long enough to leave a present for Brett under his tree.
When they’re thirty years old, Brett gets shot in the leg on the job, and even though Foggy has a look in his eyes like a ghost since Murdock disappeared, he comes over four times a week and nags Brett through his PT, no matter how much Brett curses at him, until Brett’s walking with barely a limp.
When they’re thirty years old, Brett realizes that he’s known Foggy Nelson his whole life and except for the part where he’s profoundly annoying, he’s been making Brett’s world brighter every minute of it.
When they’re thirty years old, Brett kisses his nemesis for the first time. And Foggy kisses back.
Look, look, Reed playing pranks is my favorite. And of course Ben would help.
***
Reed knows it’s reckless. He is well aware of the attendant dangers.
He does not, he decides, particularly care at this precise moment. He has run through every possible outcome of his chosen course of action thirty-seven times, gone over every possible form of retaliation Victor could possibly opt to engage in.
He has decided that it is well worth it.
Victor has been insufferable lately. His televised rant at the U.N., which contained no less than fifteen insults that were targeted at Reed—some of which were transparent enough for the press and the public to grasp, others, more vicious, based on events and conversations to which no one but Reed and Victor would be privy.
Victor knew Reed would be watching. His words were intended to cut, to wound, to make Reed’s heart bleed.
Victor does not know that Reed feels nothing for Victor, for what he has become, save for a deep and abiding pity.
Victor could have been a great man. He could have brought so much good into the world, created so much joy. Instead, he has become a walking nightmare, clad in an impenetrable suit of armor, all that could have been good and noble expunged to make room for a colossal ego and a lust for absolute power.
Reed looks at Victor and sees only tragedy. He sees what could have been, and he sees what there is.
But Reed, he remembers. He remembers the haughty boy Victor once was, back when they shared the halls of State University, remembers what it was like to startle a laugh out of him, remembers, even, on one drunken night they both regretted immensely later on, what Victor’s lips and body felt like pressed against his own.
Reed remembers too what it was like to take Victor down a peg or two when he needed it. (Which was always.)
He suspects it’s time to do the same now.
Cut for length.
So he finds the only other man who knew Victor way back when, the man who was, as that quaint colloquial term goes, Reed’s partner-in-crime. Ben is lifting hundred ton weights in the gym Reed so meticulously built for him, every circuit, every wire, every inch of it, a love letter from Reed to Ben.
Reed is worthless when it comes to expressing how he feels through words. He is not a poet, not a writer. He never has been. He is aware of his limitations, and he accepts them.
He is a scientist. His inventions, the things he concocts in his dreams, the things he builds with his own two hands, the things into which he pours his time, his imagination, his heart, his soul, that is how he shows the people he loves how he feels about them.
Reed takes a moment to watch in wonder as his husband does the impossible, mindlessly lifting weights that would crush a normal man, as easily as others would tie their shoes.
He never grows tired of watching him.
“Honey,” Reed calls out at Ben from the doorway, “did you see Victor’s speech at the U.N. this morning?
The weights stop. Ben frowns suspiciously at Reed. “Why’re you askin’ me, Stretch?”
“He was…rather rude,” Reed says. “Insulted us quite often.”
“He was pompous, even,” Ben agrees. “Big surprise.”
“I don’t think we should stand for such behavior, do you?”
Ben’s eyes sparkle. He’s starting to figure out where Reed’s heading with this. “You wanna teach ol’ Vic a lesson.”
Reed nods. “I do.”
“What exactly did you have in mind, Stretcho?”
Reed cannot stifle a grin. He knows Ben’s going to like this.
Ben laughs and laughs when Reed tells him what he’s got planned.
“Aw, Stretcho,” he says when he’s calmed down enough to get the words out. “This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” He claps a hand against Reed’s back. “I’m proud o’ ya too. I can see I’ve been a good influence, haven’t I?”
“Well,” Reed says, “I suppose if I hung out with you long enough, it was bound to happen.”
“Yeah,” Ben says. “Now if I could just get ya to watch wrestlin’ with me, you’d be perfect.”
“I do!” Reed protests. “I do watch wrestling with you.”
“And like it, I mean,” Ben corrects. “Instead o’ yawnin’ every ten seconds.”
“Well,” Reed shrugs. “We can’t expect miracles, my darling.”
***
They infiltrate the Latverian Embassy in the dead of night, just Ben and Reed.
They shrink down to the Microverse, until they are tiny enough that Doom’s sensors cannot detect them.
They’re in and out in twenty minutes, the mission a resounding success.
***
Perhaps Reed is just imagining it, but he likes to think that he could hear Doom bellowing, “RICHAAAAAARDS!” all the way across town.
Reed is certain that is how Victor would have reacted to awakening in a bedroom that was bedecked with Fantastic Four bedsheets, quilts, and other assorted memorabilia, and dressed, of course, in Fantastic Four pajamas.
Reed does hope Victor enjoyed the action figures Ben left on Victor’s nightstand, one of Reed and one of Ben, both of them flipping him off.
