#but then them making the wound that bad was the real fumble
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Mike's og character design having a birthmark is really cool i think but also related gripe i have with the show is them not giving him a scar post s3 which would have been in the exact location the birthmark would have been in originally. perfect set up and then they fumbled the prime opportunity to make a homage to their original idea
the show always picks and chooses when to be medically accurate. like how Steve never needing immediate medical attention after the multiple blunt hits he got over the head is an actual miracle. but it's easy enough to suspend disbelief on that since people get knocked out and get back up again in movies all the time. everyone's used to that
but actual bleeding wounds are a lot weirder to just magic away especially when Jonathan and Nancy both got lasting scars from something as clean as a knife cut in the same show
face skin already scars incredibly easy to begin with and on top of that the cut Mike gets is the opposite of the clean knife cut J/ancy made. that's from getting his face forcefully smashed into a metal pipe and giving it's bleeding like that (unlike Max who only got bruises, no broken skin from hitting the wall) he seems to have either hit a valve/edge or the blunt force was That much. that wound lining is going to be jagged as fuck either way, no way that heals cleanly irl (only upside here is the mall being built as a cover for a new military base so the pipe's at least not rusty, small wins. low tetanus risk who cheered)
i get why they'd ignore it from a technical perspective. giving a character facial scars is always tricky since you need to make sure it's in the exact right place every day with how obvious even small placement errors would be. i get they avoided the hassle. still, fumble imo, would have been really cool. kind of more surprised i've not seen more fans go with medical accuracy on this, that's things fandom usually jumps on. i've seen no art and like one fic go with that scar now that i think about it
anyway that's the closest canon got us to the birthmark territory but then they didn't L
#mike wheeler#i get why they wouldn't want to give him a scar from this for practical purposes#but then them making the wound that bad was the real fumble#you can have Tiny cuts on your face and that shit's immediately scaring#giving your character a 5cm bleeding cut on their face and then showing them 2 months later with no trace of it biggest medical lie yet#if they didn't want to give him a scar they should have given him and Max the same level of injury#which is Max's bruised and red but no skin broken type of injury#THAT healing with no scars is believable#not whatever they did to Mike here because that looks like you'd need to get it glued at the very least#but since we didn't get that in canon#seeing byler artists draw Mike with a brithmark occasionally is so sweet
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to be briefly pretentious about books i like, i think it genuinely rules that drizzt’s fun little I LOVE MY FRIENDS, THEY’RE THE WORLD TO ME AND EVERYTHING IS GOOD WHEN THEY’RE AROUND thing is ripped apart and exposed as a bandaid of a coping mechanism over the raw wound of ‘i fundamentally don’t trust myself because what i became without any sort of company was a near-mindless survival instinct on two legs, and i’m afraid i’ll dissolve back into that, and i’m also afraid that every negative thing ever said to me was real and being good is not something you do but something you have to be born as, and i may simply just be inherently bad without anyone to keep me in check’
it’s such a fucked up and excellent interrogation of drizzt being selfless and ready to lay down his life for his friends because like, yes, he IS willing to die for them, and that’s actually pretty worrying. when they’re taken away from him by the passage of time he’s fumbling to live properly without them. He is painfully and in some ways literally selfless, someone who believes all his good qualities are shaped by others despite his continued attempts to talk himself into believing he Knows What’s In His Heart.
Like for a lot of the series, he is trying to fake it until he makes it but he’s also deeply terrified that what’s actually in his heart is nothing good because he remembers the trauma of being the hunter and being powerless and he doesn’t actually get the chance to grapple with that until much later, as an adult
#poor boy does love to self flagellate because that's the only way he can have control over his life sometimes#hes trying so hard to believe things happen for a reason because if they don't then his suffering is just suffering#and of course it is but if he ascribes meaning to it perhaps it will hurt less#(it doesn't hurt less#legend of drizzt
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to: @goggles-girl
from: @mortellanarts
prompt: Junpei and Akane decide to adopt a pet together (and it doesn’t come as naturally as they would like at first)
I also made a fic for this one! I feel like the first thing that would go wrong is that Akane wouldn’t be comfortable taking care of animals again at all, the second would be that Junpei’s canonically an impulse adopter. So this ended up being more about getting Akane to come around about the idea in the first place (also many catgirl jokes at her expense lmao) Also about the drawing I imagine she quickly comes around to enjoying the little head boops while reading :3
Hope you enjoy!
——————
Junpei and Akane had gone through hell to be by each other’s sides. That was true, sure, but a few years into their ‘happy ending’ and the picture perfect act has begun to feel rather unsustainable. Not to mention it should have long since stopped being an act to begin with.
The I love you’s are very real… when they are apart.
It’s not as bad as when they first reunited at least, it wasn’t a very fun sort of tension like she vicariously lived through a little by playing June all that time ago. No, it was more comparable to the tension between a bleeding wound and the injured hand applying pressure to it. They both knew it, felt it, then let the matter join the many subjects which they don’t talk about. Ever. Despite the fact that they probably should.
As counterintuitive as it sounds, their counter to all of that was wanting to be with each other as much as possible. Maybe that’d make the pain fade. To get to know each other better like any normal couple, maybe a bit to prove to themselves they still liked each other’s company and that they hadn’t changed completely from what brought them together as kids.
Big problem with that is, the farthest thing Akane wanted for any of those outings, especially the rare ones where she was somehow convinced into going outdoors, was for it to so closely remind her of any of the things that brought them closer together at that terrible tender age of twelve.
Wandering into an animal shelter wasn’t the intention behind this little stroll. Neither of them even knew it’d be here- really, it wasn’t even much of a proper shelter to begin with, it seems more like an adoption fair. One that was hopefully backed by an indisputably good-faith, locally known and reliable organization– and not by any other corporate entity with history that she’d be tempted to add to her criminal record over. Every time Junpei tells her that the ever-present instinct to suspect and look into every little thing she comes across is bad for her he also fumbles and asks what are the chances she’d just happen to bump into that kind of huge conspiracy so often in her life without actively looking. She answers it’s always a non-zero chance in the end, and they risk far more if unsuspecting. That’s always when he drops the subject.
Though at a certain awkward distance from the fences, she’d elected to just go along with it and follow him for as long as the detour entertains him. It’s not like she hates getting to see the little critters around the place, she’s not that messed up about it, of course not… There’s even a comfortable amount of people around too! Which is to say, far less than there are animals.
There would have been an attempt to just keep walking past where this was taking place, if not for the fact that it really hadn’t taken long for Junpei to start playing with one of the dogs. Not that the rest of the pack wasn’t jumping at trying to grab his attention too, of course, but he took a liking to a particular one.
Noticing she’d stayed behind, barely budging an inch, his voice turns into that clumsy but cute stammering, like it always does whenever he’s trying to sound sensible.
“Oh uh, do you- uh… do you have a fear of dogs?” It helps ease her into a grin just a little.
“No. ‘Afraid’ isn’t the word I’d use…” She just doesn’t know what to do with her hands at the moment other than hold onto Junpei’s, which wasn’t helped when he suddenly let go. And well, it’s not like she knows the temperament of the animals just by looking and it’s really a lot of sudden movements to keep track of in just one place, it’s also not like she would want to risk bothering them when she barely wants to be touched ever without initiating it either, not to mention the space they’re in seems quite small– she makes herself smile again and tilts her head squinting, realizing she’d forgotten to ask. “Is… that a Boston terrier?”
“…Got it. Well, you are more of a cat person I guess. And uh- I don’t know? If you say so, then it must be? I’m not really good at remembering the names for these.”
She steps closer and leans down next to him, who is just sitting on the floor without a care, palms on her knees for support.
"It’s not like I hate pups just because I get along better with the cats.”
"Of course not, just look at them. Aw… it’s hard to imagine anyone could hate these guys.”
Avoidant as she may be, after a solid half minute or so of her watching him have fun she also extends her hand out to pet the dog who, while not showing clear distaste for it or anything, only goes back to wagging its tail when circling back to Junpei. He quickly took over once more when she retracted her hand, vigorously pulling his hands along the fur around the collar and talking to it in a jumbled baby-talk that was apparently really enriching judging by how it earns enthusiastic barking back, as if in conversation. Exactly matching all that energy that Akane couldn’t imagine keeping up with even on a good day.
Between laughter, his voice starts being directed at her again, even if what he says is more of a musing to himself.
"Wait, I think I’m beginning to remember what this little guy reminds me of…”
Oh. Only now? Come on Jumpy, this one’s even black and white as well.
That’s it, she’s got to mess with him now.
"You mean like… a wrestler? The spots on its face already look like a mask but I’m sure a fun little costume would be a really cute look. Clover could DIY a big belt spelling out ‘winner’ for them as well! Unless- or was it a retired wrestler…?”
"No- what are you talking about?! Everything that you just said was absolutely bananas–” Even if his tone poorly feigns appalment there’s humor in it too. "I mean- what’s wrestling got to do with anything, what the hell–?”
"You mean you don’t know?”
It was just ‘bananas’ enough to pull his eyes away from the dog and, apparently, being met with her expression looking down at him while knowingly and visibly holding in laughter, was all it took for it to finally dawn on him.
"Ohh— ” She starts laughing before he facepalms and, from the sound of it, he hits far harder than intended too. Pulling her partner to his feet by hooking her arm under his, she speaks cheerily only once he seems to have recovered enough.
"You shouldn’t touch your face without washing your hands first.”
"Come on, give a guy a moment, okay? This is an overwhelming amount of emotion to feel all at once…” It’s endearing to see him engage in his own variety of theatrics, even if only for the sake of unfunny jokes that she can’t help but be fond of anyways.
"Dork.”
"But hey, you’re right. It would be pretty funny to give him a little wrestler costume… You sure there’s no place for him back home?”
Home as a single stationary place still sounds so foreign to her, and that’s just the part she doesn’t want to talk about.
"We’re here just looking.”
"You say that as if I were a stranger asking and not part of the we in question.”
"Very well. I did not intend on being here today and I won’t indulge in what’s essentially impulse buying a living being, Jumpy.”
"Come on Kanny, what could go wrong? I mean, we’ve got space, we’ve got more than enough funds, I think it would be–”
”What could go wrong?” Sometimes it’s hard to tell if he’s being dense on purpose. “Do you really need me to say it?”
"I… thought you liked animals?”
And with that, it’s finally safe to assume Junpei’s chances of getting his tact back are long gone. Not that she thinks he ever had any to lose.
Flat shoes walk away into the fair, but that’s only because the best way out is through. Akane gets pretty far in before Junpei decides to stop dancing around the subject and puts himself square in front of her, blocking the way.
"Look, I never heard of a single other person who had luck as shitty as we did that summer. Alright? It wasn’t a subject I looked into much but even hearing from people in law enforcement it was a freakish animal cruelty incident that doesn’t happen often. That whole area had issues with that sort of thing anyw–”
"I never heard of luck as poor as I was left with that whole entire year.”
"Y-yeah, there’s that-” When they do bring up a subject that should be buried, there’s not much to do except measure the reaction. That’s what’s between them, if they can’t look away then it better mean something at least. "And… I wasn’t there to help at first, but I came around eventually. I won’t let something like that happen again.”
It’s sweet, he even holds her hand in his… but it’s still a little conceited.
"What makes you think I would?”
"Perfect! Then, we’re both in agreement. There’s nothing bad that could possibly happen and we can totally bring one of these guys home uh… if you two click?”
"Excuse me? At which point did we agree?”
"It doesn’t have to be permanent, these kinds of places do all sorts of trial runs, foster–”
"That’s just cruel.”
"Well, but it doesn’t have to be. I’m sure the little fella will love us and we’ll end up keeping them.”
"What if I don’t want to get attached to a creature with hardly a sixth of a human lifespan?”
"Did you want to uh, take a look at the cats since that’s more comfortable for you?
"Junpei.” None of this is comfortable.
"Okay, okay.” He puts his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender… before plunging into his pocket and pulling out his phone for some reason. ”… Here goes a last ditch effort…”
“What are you doing now?”
"Hey man, can you help me convince your sister of something?”
Before she can even begin to reprimand him he’s clicking his tongue and dialing up again. When Aoi picks up again she can hear even from the arm’s length she’s being kept at.
"Whatever this is about, what makes you think I could possibly be on your side instead of hers?!”
"I don’t! Just hear me out, okay- gimme a second.” He opens the video option in the call and turns the phone in her direction. He has a mildly confused look urging her to explain the situation but it’s a few moments until she says anything, because Junpei has a stupid grin on his face and they both know he might win this.
”…Junpei wants a pet. And we happened to walk into a kennel. Cattery–”
“Adoption fair.”
"And he’s being really stubborn.”
Takes a second for her brother to process the absolute nonanswer he comes up with.
"Oh.”
"Oh?”
"There are worse arguments you could be having out there.” Though Junpei wouldn’t be the one pulling him into those. "Guessing that wasn’t on your itinerary?”
"You think? Why am I not hearing you antagonize him anymore?”
"I mean, I think it could be good for you? You used to beg me for one all the time- until I said Santa couldn’t send animals in boxes with little holes poked in them for air like in the movies.”
She yanks the phone out of Junpei’s hand and turns off the video before putting it up to her ear, looking almost embarrassed.
"Aoi.”
"You’re right, you’re right– it’s a ton of responsibility. Wouldn’t be trying to convince you sis, I’m just saying–”
"You think that’s the part I’d take issue with??”
Akane takes off, pacing away from Junpei, wanting some distance at least if not privacy to continue one of the silliest sibling squabbles in recent memory. Which is completely fine by him, there’s plenty to do while she talks herself into it just to prove a point.
After a few minutes, Akane’s standing next to Junpei again. Turns off the phone and extends her arm out for him to take it without looking at him, pouty like a child while Junpei’s looking smug. This is like the first marital dispute he’s won.
”…Only if we come across one I feel is a good fit.”
“I’ll take that.”
Aoi and Light had recently gotten a cat of their own, though insistently not as a couple, Akane doesn’t really understand what her brother’s love life is like (and she’s grateful to be spared of the details) but they have something going on, why else would he move in with them after she decided to move in together with Junpei? Actually, she might have heard him mention that one of Clover’s coworkers found the little calico abandoned and she offered to take it in, so really it wasn’t even like it was his responsibility any more than the Field’s by a long shot but still… he was so happy over it, which used to be such a rare sight, that Akane found it hard to be a buzzkill about it by voicing what came to her mind.
In truth, it wasn’t just the rabbit hutch thing giving her pause. Aside from the obvious glaring reason for her to be hesitant to hold such a tiny creature in her arms, despite her love for them, she just didn’t think she knew how anymore. At this point she’s more used to stuffed animals, not that she kept many of those around either.
While they visited recently, she sat very stiltedly holding the feline in her lap, her brother went from gushing about it to joking about already having experience looking after a weird ‘kit cat’ his whole life. After she complained Junpei followed up on it by sneakily referring to her as ‘kitten’, just that once, and even if by some metric seeing them getting along was cute she’d have kicked them both if not for the purring fluff ball snoozing on top of her thighs. This was far more anxiety inducing than a plush, she noted, and it only became more evident each fleeting second, each motion coiling for breath she felt against her skin. It was so precious and so easy to ruin and her hands were too singed to hold it. The fact her body deeply rejects such simple gentleness despite it having come so easily to her once is a mourning unto itself.
Most of the cats they see around are cozily lazing about, some snuggling together, staring back at them curiously at most. She could genuinely smile at that. It’s calmer with none of them seeming in the mood for interaction at the moment. They slow their pace now that Akane is actually participating, the unexpected unexpectedness of the situation no longer weighing her down as much.
Though it was still a bit much, so they sat together by a bench for her to rest a little. It wasn’t far at all, it’s right behind one of the cat houses in fact just where it starts leading away from the event.
She’s so completely lost in thought that she’s surprised to hear a small high pitched gasp before even realizing it was a sound she herself had made. Then looking down at her leg she understands why.
A little black cat scratched at her leg, accidentally, it looked more like the tiny little fuzz ball was attempting to climb her leg. Well, technically not black, she notices the fur is a dark grayish color with tons of off-color patches when she gets a better look and she only gets that better look because it succeeds at its task. At which point she has to attempt to scoop the very tiny cat with both hands so it’s not at risk from falling back down. Only stopping its determined meowing when he settles on her lap.
"Why do they always choose you?”
"Because I don’t try chasing after them like they’re dogs, Junpei.”
"Hey, that’s not something I’ve done since I’ve grown up, okay? Well- except–”
"If you say I’m the exception, I swear–”
"Okay! So, where did this little fella come from?”
"I didn’t see…” She leans in and rubs behind the cat’s ears, earning a soft little purr of gratitude. The fur really is weirdly patched when you look close, it doesn’t feel like the coloration should be that way, the texture’s also a bit different. Wait, are the eyes not open yet? Or is one–
It isn’t long before an employee? Volunteer? A lady in a friendly colored vest comes to gently whisk away the culprit, she seems young and a bit anxious to have to talk to them.
"Oogh, I’m so sorry ma'am, are you okay? These little nails didn’t do a number on you, right?”
Akane gets on her feet to more steadily help the kitten trade hands.
“Oh, oh no, I’m perfectly fine. Really, I could barely feel it. Thank you.”
“That’s good.”
And that’s where the interaction would have ended if Junpei didn’t also get up.
"Hi, I’m with her. So, how come he’s popped up all the way over here?”
"You see this guy’s a little escape artist– every time there’s people around he tries to hide away from visitors by sneaking out into the desk with us, so… then why today did he decide to bother such a nice couple instead? What’s up with you?”
The cat is still trying to climb out back to where it was a minute ago, which the volunteer seems to know how to handle, though it’s funny to see it go from her arm to her shoulder then back to the other arm. A lot of effort is going into making sure he doesn’t throw himself on the ground. Junpei waits for a moment where the pace’s slowed down a bit to also try to pet him, seems to like him too.
“Aww, I think that’s a really good fit, actually. What’s his name?”
“Oh we don’t know actually, this friend was found without a nameplate. He’s made a name for himself but it’s not been that long at all since he’s been with us, we haven’t agreed on a name yet since he’s been back from the vet. Wait, did you say you two were interested?”
He looks at Akane for her to answer. She looks back with what doesn’t seem to be a look of aggression to the general onlooker, but they know he’s putting her on the spot like this so she won’t be backhanded about agreeing.
"Well, yes. If possible, I mean- isn’t the saying that the pet chooses the owner and not the other way around? We sure sound like we’ll get along, we both aren’t super sociable either–”
The awkward little laugh got to Junpei, who’s more comfortable with failing at humor in front of strangers than she is to even attempt it.
"He must have thought ‘oh these guys are off by themselves away from everyone too, we’ll get along great!’”
That’s just silly enough that she can look at him funny behind crossed arms and it’ll be an entirely appropriate reaction. She can only hope that’s the only thing that he sensed in them.
The kitten settled into a nap on the volunteer’s arms by now, tired himself out. Really is an adorable sight.
"That’s just great! One of you just has to come fill up a questionnaire at the table and a few more things, we can sort out real quick- uhm… I guess I should- oh right! So, like I was saying, this fella may come with extra expenses due to health complications, is that okay with you? Are you new pet owners?”
"The issue isn’t money…” “We are? New to it- kind of…”
“Oh, don’t worry too much. He’s all healthy now, neutered and the vaccinations all in order too, it’s just… it’s a little bit of a hard sell to some people since he needed stitches and lost an eye so he’s always going to be a bit wobblier than average when moving around.”
"A-ah… why is that?”
Akane’s hand suddenly has a vice grip on his. For once, the resolve in her voice is undeliberate, shaky.
"We don’t need to hear the story.” She turns away from the volunteer and her voice turns small so only her partner hears. “Can you go take care of all that? I’ll go get my brother to help get things in order before they go do a housecheck, if they’ll do one.”
"There’s not much there to cat proof I don’t think, but sure. Guess you’d- uh, have a better eye for that stuff… Also let me guess, you want me to tell you when that is happening so you can go to his place while there’s strangers over?” A smile confirms that. "Alright. But I’ll check in with Clover too to make sure you two aren’t skipping town instead.” Another smile, more mischievous this time.
"Oh no, my plan’s been found out.” First off, if she really intended on making an exit she wouldn’t bring it up to him first, duh, as if she were an amateur. Second, maybe this line of teasing can get far too draining, far too quick, so she changes the subject one last time. "Tell me your name ideas when I get back.”
She places a kiss on his cheek and saunters off. Does she wish she didn’t get shoved into bringing painful color back into a memory that had just barely grayed and numbed?
Yes.
But she wouldn’t have been convinced if she didn’t genuinely think they were capable of giving it a try. Maybe any place they stay at together will feel more like a home when there’s someone living there with them that isn’t walking on eggshells, that is just uncomplicatedly happy to have survived whatever it did before it ended up there. Maybe she’ll learn to do that as well. Things already are complicated enough.
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After seeing the first 5 minutes, it's VERY clear that both Ben & Devi's actions post-boink are very much (virtually 100%) being driven by fear and insecurity. They both feel awkward that it wasn't some epic fairytale First Time (because that happens sooooo often to teenagers in the real world, right?) and they're overthinking each others' behavior to the point that it's clouding their judgement.
I'd like to talk about them both, but I'm going to focus mainly on Ben since he appears to be our little troublemaker this season (compare w/ Devi's season 2) - and also, I think I have a better idea where his emotional/romantic development arc is going this season. To start off:
I'm sorry to the dxtons who tried to relay this scene in the most disparaging and anti-ben way possible, but this is the face of a boy who WANTS to talk. A boy who was surprised and excited when Devi turned towards him because he really really likes her and it seems like she's actually initiating communication- for real this time! All he's ever wanted was for them to talk candidly about their feelings!
...But then, like a teenage dum-dum (who is still nursing the wounds from two years ago), he hits the panic button. I, uh- I should probably hit the hay.
This swallows up the crumb of hope Devi was clinging to that maybe, just maybe, the whole thing wasn't as bad as she'd thought - and as we see in her following scene with Elfab, sure enough, she has been drowning in fear that she didn't measure up.
Girl... no he wasn't 😂 you were embarrassed for you, and Ben was embarrassed for Ben! [John McEnroe voice] That's how this works!
But it's just a great example of my very first point: that all of their thoughts, actions, and perceptions are based in insecurity right now. Fortunately for Devi, she has two supportive besties who know both her and Ben, who are here to talk and help her work through what to do next.
But as Ben tells Dwight Howard... he doesn't have any friends. So he resorts to a complete stranger.
I want to quickly point out the parallels between Ben & Devi's dialogue here (Devi in the last section and Ben in this one). They are both thinking about themselves. They're worried/making the assumption that the other person thought they... ehm... performed badly, and now they are confiding in other people rather than clearing it up with each other (because they're idiots [affectionate]).
Devi makes a great first step by inviting Ben out for coffee, and can I just say how PROUD I AM OF HER? Like, yes, love! Open up that avenue of communication! Talk it out! There's nothing to be afraid of!
But across the valley, Ben tells Dwight Howard that after having sex, Devi "didn't say anything, she just got up and sprinted out"... but that's not really what happened, is it? Ben fumbled the ball when he offered to call her an Uber, and Devi took that as her cue to leave. We (and Dwight) are listening to Ben's inaccurate retelling of events, skewed by the post-boink anxiety he's been stewing in. This boy who was once delighted that Devi turned over in bed to talk, has since repressed the mortifying moment that followed wherein he blew her off. Now all he remembers is her darting out the door.
In accordance with spoilers, it looks like Devi's Starbucks text comes through while Ben is still talking with Mr. Howard - and since Ben provided him with a misleading picture of how things went down, Dwight is going to tell him that Devi doesn't really love him. That she's just going to hurt him again. That he deserves someone who brings out the good in him. (All of this coming from a man who doesn't know Ben, has never even met Devi, and has no insight whatsoever into the relationship he's advising.)
Unfortunately for Devi (& us), this is Ben's biggest fear, so he listens. He takes the easy road yet again and pursues the less scary option... but she's still not Devi.
I truly believe that in the first few episodes when Ben talks to Devi, he is doing nothing more than basically parroting what others have told him. Why? Because those words will justify his urge to continue retreating to safety; they will enable him to avoid confronting his biggest emotional truth, something he's been running from for two years. As much as he obviously, clearly WANTS to give into his feelings for Devi, he's still afraid. And even though she's the one who hurt him, he still thinks she is incredible (which she is!!!), and that he couldn't possibly live up to what she deserves. There's so much to unpack here and I think this is a great way to make the events of season 2 a relevant topic again without being contrived.
Similar to Devi in seasons 2 & 3, I think Ben's arc is going to be about gaining the self-worth to stand on his own rather than passively agreeing to what others think he should do (i.e. Dwight and Margot).
The back half of the season will be Ben not only overcoming his greatest fear by talking with Devi and learning how deeply and genuinely she wants him this time around, but in doing so, he's going to become more confident in his relationship with her and learn to make his own decisions regarding it. He will learn that he can trust his own instincts again, no longer paralyzed by heartbreak or feelings of inferiority. He can trust Devi with his heart now. She's all in.
#we'll see how accurate this ends up being... i could be totally wrong bc this show loves to surprise. but that's my read so far#god i remember being stressed bc someone was like 'yeah ben tells her to take an uber home so that he can go to bed. and then he blew off-#-their starbucks date because she put a period in her text' or something like that jfdajsdnqwnefg like... Y'ALL... the clownery#benvi#ben x devi#never have i ever#nhie spoilers#ben gross#analysis post#for the record i am both a ben AND a devi apologist. what about it
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it's star trek update time. last night* we watched, well,
pics taken moments before disaster ^
sighing deeply. ok. *i'm typing this at fuck o clock so technically it was earlier today but this post will go up while i'm at work. anyway here we go:
dark page (tng):
i don't want to talk about it.
rules of acquisition (ds9):
me having to watch this after dark page must count as some kind of cruel and unusual punishment
i was hoping ds9 could make me like the ferengi. i think whoever wrote this episode was trying. dax's little pro-ferengi speech. sure. and here's this ferengi woman, fighting for acceptance and change in her own way. yeah. fine.
unfortunately i think the episode undercut its own message a little in two ways: firstly, by having kira and dax getting groped nonstop without kira getting to break any fingers. like, non-ferengi women won't and shouldn't tolerate that, but for some reason in this episode they do...? i was especially steamed on kira's behalf; at least dax didn't seem to care as much. like, shouldn't the point be that that behavior is UNacceptable, instead of "oh it's not so bad once you get to know them"? and secondly, i think the impact pel made on odo was a little understated. the only real hint we got at him seeing a new way of things vs just him trying to protect himself was him offering pel the money to start a new life with, for free. you could tell because of his acting chocies there was a lot happening under the surface - like, he's always trying to get his own ass out of the fire, but he seemed protective of PEL rather than his own interests in several scenes there, particularly ditching his bar - but we didn't get to see most of the stuff that could ACTUALLY have been interesting bc we were too busy watching the nagus feel people up and eat bugs ha ha quirky fun! now THERE'S a guy that belongs on tng! extremely unendearing. you can win me over to um. some characters. but not this guy.
i was VERY surprised they let quark and pel kiss when quark was under the impression pel was a dude. not only was it a really funny "i thought i was GAY ping" moment, it also feels weirdly...progressive...? for 1993. along with dax assuming pel's in love with quark while ALSO still assuming pel is a guy. even though they kind of ruined it later
actually, the more i think about it the more pel reads as a trans man. is it right to categorize someone as trans when really they're just trying to get out of horrifically oppressive gender roles? maybe not, but the way quark managed to be super homophobic and misogynistic to pel at the same time ("you didn't kiss me" ok self-gaslighting king) feels so much like transphobia, and the way quark utterly rejected pel because of what she (he?) IS even despite the bond and chemistry they'd formed, AND dax, also trans, seemed to clock pel pretty quickly as being Some Kind Of Queer Like Me...i am Seeing
like, pel is all, hey we can run away together! fuck gender roles, who cares if i wear clothes! and quark is straight up like I Would Care. his internalized Whatever is keeping him from being happy with someone he clicked with, whether that's for a single night or an entire lifetime. there WAS a queer theme here. it was almost more about being queer than it was about sexism, except it wasn't actually about either of those because they fumbled the landing a little bit plus i feel like some censorship was probably happening and so the whole thing wound up being muddy. i did like quark's lisa simpson stare at the end though. girl, mood
TONIGHT: tng's "attached" and ds9's "necessary evil" I KNOW IT'S AN ODO EPISODE i'm very excited
#personal#star trek blogging#tng lb#ds9 lb#3.05 the bonding:wesley crusher::7.07 dark page:lwaxana troi iykyk
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Meeting The Real You (Chapter 8)
Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8
word count: 24,958 (lordy 😳)
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Johnny burst through the balcony doors and barreled into Avengers Tower, panic clawing through his veins. Spider-Man dangled limply in his arms, beaten and bloody, barely clinging to consciousness.
“Help!” he cried at the top of his lungs. “W-we need help! Somebody—!”
“66th floor,” FRIDAY directed him from the ceiling. “The Avengers medical bay. Mr. Stark is already there waiting.”
“Right,” Johnny rasped. He rocketed into the ornate circle stairwell, nosediving past thirty-two stories, clutching the wounded hero like a treasured childhood toy. Once they’d reached the correct floor, he fumbled the door knob with shivering, blood-soaked fingers.
“Say something, Spidey,” Johnny pleaded, yanking it open and staggering inside. “Please. Let me know you’re alive.”
“S-still here,” the masked hero croaked. “M’alive.”
“Barely, by the looks of it.”
Johnny’s gaze jerked up to find Tony Stark standing in the center of the room: arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, face twisted into a hard scowl. He wore a silken blue pajama set with bunny slippers and fuzzy pink socks. This would’ve made Johnny laugh, were the glare paired with them not so menacing. A hospital bed was assembled to his left alongside a tray of pointy medical tools.
Spider-Man’s droopy eye lenses widened. He lifted his head off Johnny’s chest weakly.
“Mr. Stark! This isn’t—”
“One rule,” Stark snapped. “You had one rule to follow while your aunt was away. No life-threatening injuries under my care. You promised me you could manage that. You insisted I had nothing to worry about. So imagine my surprise upon waking up to the vitals alarm from your suit blaring in my ear like an airhorn, warning me that you’d lost 24% of your body’s blood volume in the past eight minutes.”
Johnny licked his lips, glancing down at the young vigilante, who was floundering for words. It was somewhat refreshing to hear an adult speak to Spider-Man like the kid he was instead of the diabolical menace the public believed him to be. It was also a relief to have someone else acknowledge how serious Spidey’s wounds were, since the masked hero seemed incapable of accepting that fact.
Spider-Man faced away from Stark, wilting a little in Johnny’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. His fingers tightened around his wound. “We just—these thugs k-kidnapped a girl and this kid; we had to save them, but the bad guys had a lot more firepower than we expected, so we tried to—”
“Nope,” Tony interjected, holding up his finger. “I don’t want to hear it. Storm—on the bed. Now.”
“Okay,” Johnny answered stupidly. He rushed Spidey across the room and laid him on the sterile white sheets, guiding his head to the pillow as he slipped his hand out from under his knees. The masked hero whimpered from the movement, the spotless linens beneath him spattering red almost instantly. Stark peeled back the bloody fingers clamped fiercely to his side.
“Let me see,” he said. A beam shone from his glasses and scanned Spider-Man's body in a grid of blue light. One hand gently prodded the bullet wound while the other held onto Spidey’s, gripping it like a lifeline. Rows of data bubbled across the high-tech lenses he wore, making the lines in the Avenger’s face deepen.
“What happened to him?” Tony asked without looking up. It took Johnny a second to realize he was the one he was speaking to.
“Oh, uh—a bullet,” he said. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean—he was shot. A thug shot him.” His brain felt like it was marinating in molasses while his heart raced at a hundred miles an hour.
“He’s been burned,” Stark noted aloud. His eyes snapped to Johnny’s this time, dripping with daggers and question marks.
Johnny’s mouth went dry. “It wasn’t—I didn’t—it w-was an accident—”
“Get out,” Tony fumed, jerking his thumb towards the door. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Shock and guilt encased Johnny’s heart. He followed Iron Man around the foot of the hospital bed, hands trembling. “Wait! Mr. Stark! Please! I—I can help! I want to help!”
“Out!” he roared, whirling on him. “My blood pressure can only handle one irresponsible super teen at a time!” He shoved past Johnny, bunching up a cloth in his hands and pressing it hard into the vigilante’s wound. A pained yelp punched from Spidey’s chest. Johnny stood stone-stiff, vision blurred with tears, numb despair spreading through his limbs like ice.
“P-please let him stay,” Spider-Man grated out, eye lenses squeezed shut. “I want him here. It wasn’t his fault.”
Johnny turned towards him slowly. Warm droplets slipped down his cheeks and onto his neck. Stark’s bitter gaze stayed locked on Spidey’s wound a little while longer before hesitantly flickering back to Johnny. A moment passed, and his eyebrows gradually unfurled. With a sigh, the older superhero shook his head. The rage in his voice withered.
“Fine. But if you’re going to stay, you’re going to make yourself useful.”
Johnny joined him at Spider-Man’s bedside, nodding frantically, mopping away his tears. “Of course. Anything. Just tell me what to do.”
Reluctantly, Stark lifted the cloth away from Spidey’s abdomen. The wound was still bleeding, but only a fraction of the amount it had been before. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and released a weary huff.
“All right. Listen carefully, Mr. Storm. You’re going to focus on treating his other injuries while I take care of the gunshot wound. I’m going to run out real quick to grab an I.V. and suture kit from storage. While I’m gone, I need you to remove Spidey’s suit and gently clean his minor injuries. Don’t touch the bullet wound; just lightly sponge his cuts and burns to remove any excess debris. Understand?”
Johnny stared at him blankly, his frenzied mind struggling to process the request, a flush of heat prickling along the back of his neck. “You…I have to…take off his clothes?” he heard himself squeak.
“You can leave his mask and boxers on. Everything else has to go. We need access to all of his injuries in order to properly treat them.” Tony plucked a needle filled with clear liquid off the tray by Spidey’s side, gave the barrel a couple of flicks, then slid the point into the masked hero’s upper arm. A small whine escaped him, and Johnny had to look away. He’d always hated needles.
“This will dampen his pain and fight off potential infection,” Stark explained. “He may get a little drowsy and out of it as a result, but he cannot fall asleep right now. You have to make sure he stays awake until I've returned. It should start working almost instantly, so no dawdling.” He pointed to the bedside table as he jogged towards the elevator. “The sponge and wound wash are there on that tray. I want him prepped and cleaned by the time I’m back, all right? And have him keep putting pressure on his side.”
Johnny’s eyes dashed between Tony Stark and Spider-Man, frazzled and wide. “B-but—wait—Mr. Stark, I can’t—”
”No time to be squeamish, kid,” the Avenger called from inside the elevator, jabbing at the buttons on the wall. “Right now, Spidey’s safety is more important than his dignity. Don’t make me regret letting you stay! Strip and scrub, pronto!”
Then the doors slid together, Stark disappearing behind them, and the Human Torch was suddenly alone with the masked hero, jaw hanging open, face tinting pink, wondering how the hell he was going to complete the daunting task laid before him without spontaneously combusting.
“Oh, I’m in trouble,” he whispered.
“Johnny?”
At the sound of his frail call, the Human Torch spun back towards Spider-Man, swallowed, then hurried to his side.
“Yeah?” he stuttered out. “What’s up?”
“Where’d M-Mr. Stark go?”
Johnny blanched. “You didn’t hear him? He said he’s going to grab more medical supplies.”
The masked hero exhaled softly. “Oh. Okay.”
Johnny chewed his lip, eyes tracing anxious paths across the vigilante’s tattered costume.
“Are you all right?” Spider-Man asked groggily. “You look…stressed.”
Nervous laughter spilled from his lips. “Oh no, I’m fine. Not stressed at all. Why would I be stressed? Everything’s fine. It’s just—” A stone lodged in the flaming hero’s throat. “Did you hear what Tony asked me?”
The wounded teen shook his head slowly. Johnny breathed in deep, then rested a hand on Spider-Man’s chest.
“It’s gonna be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. We’re gonna help you, okay?”
“Okay,” Spidey murmured warily.
Johnny pinched the red fabric of his costume between his fingers. “B-but, um…I have to take this off of you to do that. You understand?”
Spider-Man tilted his head a little. “Take what off?” he asked.
“Your suit. Tony asked me to take off your suit. So we can treat your wounds properly. I have to take it off of you.”
The vigilante blinked sluggishly, his words still not registering. “My suit?” he mumbled. “W-what about my suit?”
Johnny groaned. This was taking too long. He couldn’t stall anymore. He had to get it over with. He gripped Spider-Man’s shoulder with one hand and pulled on the neck of his costume with the other.
“Spidey, I gotta—I’m sorry, but I’m gonna take this off now, okay?” He tugged at the fabric, but it was skin-tight, unmoving. There had to be a hidden zipper or clasp somewhere. The idea of scouring every inch of the webhead’s body in search of a way inside was enough to make him manic. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that.
“Press the spider symbol on his chest,” FRIDAY suggested.
Johnny gulped. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.” He followed her instructions, clicking the emblem in the center of his costumes. The masked hero’s suit puffed outwards suddenly, unraveling from his narrow build like a snake skin. The fabric hung loosely off his frame like it had grown four sizes too big in seconds.
Spider-Man looked down at himself in sleepy surprise. “Hey,” he pouted, raising his arm, the sleeve limp and floppy. “W-what gives?”
“I’m sorry,” Johnny repeated. He lifted Spidey’s back off the bed, leaning his weight into his chest, and started peeling the suit from his shoulders—first his left, then his right. Gradually, the vigilante’s eyes bugged wide—first from the pain, then in realization.
“Johnny?” he exclaimed. The Human Torch slipped the costume all the way off his fingers, revealing knuckles and nails and blistered palms. “W-wait. What are you doing?”
“I have to strip you down to get to your wounds,” he said again, embracing the chaos and humor of the situation. A bashful laugh escaped him. “Sorry I can’t buy you dinner first.”
Spider-Man’s neck went red. “You don’t...I can d-do it myself.”
“It’s all right. I gotcha. What are super awesome superhero besties for?” He smiled hesitantly at him, trying his best to be reassuring. These were very vulnerable and awkward circumstances for the webhead to be in. However embarrassing this was for Johnny, he knew Spider-Man had to be experiencing it ten times over. He didn’t want him to be ashamed. He wanted to make him feel safe and protected. He wanted him to know he could trust Johnny at his most exposed and defenseless.
“Well,” Spidey said a little while later, “at least you…m-made me breakfast.”
Johnny giggled, glad they were able to make light of the situation. He laid him back on the bed and moved his hands down to his torso.
“This next part might hurt,” he warned him. “Try to stay still, okay?” He grabbed hold of his blood-soaked suit, carefully peeling it away from the bullet wound. An ailing moan rose from his throat. Spider-Man tensed his muscles, pinching his eyes closed, digging his fingers into the mattress. It took a couple quick pulls to tear the fabric completely free. Johnny winced as hard as Spidey with every tug.
“Shit,” the masked hero gasped, sounding lightheaded.
“Sorry,” Johnny said earnestly. “Hard part’s over. Let’s shimmy the rest of this thing off, yeah?”
He raised his lower half off the bed and wiggled the remainder of his costume down his thighs, calves, and finally, his feet. He tried to think of it like the cars he used to work on with his dad. You had to open up the hood to fix any problems with the engine. That’s all his suit was—a layer Johnny had to peel back in order to do his job. And the body underneath was just a mechanism that needed fine tuning. Nothing more. If Johnny framed it like that, staying calm and collected didn’t sound so hard. Maybe he could get through this without flustering himself out of his mind after all.
Once the bloody suit was fully off him, Johnny tossed it aside, then turned to face his patient. In an instant, all the heat in his body rushed into his face. Spider-Man was draped languidly across the bed, breathing hard, right hand gripping his opposite side, wearing nothing but his mask and a pair of gray boxers. He was bruised and burned and scraped and bloodied. His skin was pallid from blood loss and glistening in sweat. He was carved like a demigod in ancient Greek marble—lean but muscular, with abdominal muscles Johnny couldn’t tear his eyes away from. He was a goddamn work of art. A vision from which he’d likely never recover. Insufferable and perfect. Blush broke across his flesh like hives.
“Jesus Christ,” Johnny coughed.
“It’s n-not as bad as it looks,” Spider-Man insisted, glancing at his palm. “Bleeding’s almost stopped.”
The Human Torch shook his head. “No, it’s just—my god, webhead. You’re hot.”
The masked hero looked up at him, shoulders tensing, his porcelain skin flushing scarlet.
“Huh!?”
Johnny wasn’t sure what possessed him to voice his monkey brain thoughts aloud, but he couldn’t back down now. He grinned, the flirt in him taking over, burning away all unwelcome coyness.
“You heard me. You’re hot. Like, really hot. You’ve been holding out on us, Webs. If New York knew what a shredded little heartthrob Spider-Man was, they’d be drooling all over you instead of hating your guts.”
The masked hero shot a glance at his abs, then shrunk his arms to his midsection defensively. If his face was anywhere close as red to his chest, the poor teen had to be blushing up a storm.
“You’re n-not funny,” he said in a mousy voice, avoiding Johnny’s gaze like it would turn him to stone.
“I’m not being funny,” Johnny continued mercilessly. “You’re the one who called yourself ‘the hottest Avenger.’ Now that you’ve proven it to be true, suddenly you’re gonna act all shy and try to deny it?” He wolf-whistled in awe, hands on his hips. “Hot damn, Spider-Man. Looks like I’ve got some competition in the teenage superhero modeling world. I should introduce you to my photographer. One shoot with her with a bod like that, and you’ll have all of New York eating out of the palm of your hand.”
“Johnny!” Spidey giggled sheepishly, burying his face in his hands. “This is already h-humiliating enough as is!”
“What’s humiliating about being New York’s friendly neighborhood eye candy?”
The young vigilante hid from him, shoulders hunched, skin rosy, groaning into his palms. Johnny grinned in triumph. At least the teasing was making him laugh, keeping him conscious.
“Sorry,” he snickered. “I’ll stop now.” He grabbed the sponge off the tray and dipped it in the tub of warm water, approaching him gingerly. “Only because I have to do this next.”
Johnny gave the sponge a squeeze, then held it to the bend of Spider-Man’s shoulder, just below his collarbone. Jagged cuts and scrapes overlapped with charred flesh—a bitter reminder of the Human Torch’s past mistakes. Beneath his skin, hard muscle rolled and stretched like waves, making Johnny hesitate, heartbeat thumping in his ears. He wrestled his feelings into submission. A tune up. An auto repair. That’s all this is. He reached out and began brushing the vigilante’s wounds with care, gently wiping away dirt and dried blood, making him peer through his fingers in surprise. His hand shot out suddenly and seized his wrist. Johnny flinched.
“I can…I can d-do this part,” he said, exhausted and desperate. “Please let me do this part.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Johnny said softly. “We’ll all be getting sponge baths when we’re crotchety old grandpas—well, if we make it that long. Look at it like a glimpse into your future.”
“F-future can wait,” he grated out, his grip unyielding. “Let me do it.”
Stung, but understanding, Johnny handed him the sponge. Spidey held it in his left hand while his right clasped the bullet wound. He ran the sponge over his chest without looking, movements torpid and ineffective, missing a lot of what needed to be cleaned. He brushed lazily at his arm, then paused, staring down at his feet. In his current position, he couldn’t reach the injuries on his legs or his back. With a determined huff, Spider-Man braced his palm against the bed, head hanging low, sputtering with effort. Johnny realized he was trying to sit up. He reached out to help him, but the masked hero fell back against the mattress before he could, gasping in pain, sweat speckling his skin, hand clutching his wound like a claw.
“Hey! Easy, webhead!” Johnny placed a palm on his chest to keep him from getting up again. Spider-Man panted raggedly, eyes slipping shut, head lolling against the pillow in defeat.
“I c-can’t do it,” he whimpered.
“Don’t worry about it,” Johnny assured him, despite knowing that from the start. He gently plucked the sponge from Spidey’s fingers. They looked so soft and pink and human. “You rest, and I’ll take care of this. Okay?”
The spider-themed hero gave a miserable whine in reply. Johnny re-wet the sponge, warming it a little in his fist, then went back to dabbing lightly at his skin. He blotted the wounds on his chest, arms, and shoulders, being as gentle as he could while making sure to brush them squeaky clean.
“I’m a useless blob,” Spidey bemoaned.
Johnny snickered. “A hot useless blob.”
Spider-Man blushed, fingers cinching around his side. “Stop,” he said, timid laughter reclaiming his voice. “This is like a horrible n-nightmare come to life.”
“How is this a nightmare? I’m pampering you. It’s like you’re a prince in a fancy day spa. Want me to put on some soothing zen music, my liege?”
“Being stripped and sponge-bathed against my will…is n-not my idea of pampering.”
Johnny carefully cleaned the deep cut spanning the length of his forearm. “Based on the insane amount of pornographic self-insert fanfiction I’ve read about myself, I think the entire world would disagree with you. Do you have any idea how many of my horny little fans out there dream of me doing something like this to them? You should count yourself lucky, Webs. You’re living out their wildest fantasies right now.”
Spider-Man laughed in spite of himself, clamping his palm over his eyes.
“This is not helping!”
“Just saying,” the Human Torch added with a shrug. “Your nightmare is everyone else’s pervy wet dream.”
“You’re twisted, you know that?”
“Hey, blame the fans, not me. They’re the raging horndogs with too much time and imagination on their hands.”
As he worked, Johnny talked at length about the hundreds of smutty stories he’d read about himself, delving into enough graphic details to kill a Victorian child. He talked to fill the air between them and distract them both from the glaring intimacy of what he was having to do. Johnny held the masked hero against his chest to wipe down his back, then returned him to the mattress like a precious baby deer. Despite his demonstrable embarrassment, Spider-Man cooperated throughout the entire mortifying process, doing his best to stay still.
That is, until Johnny brushed his ribs.
He planned to start with the right side of his rib cage first, steering clear of the gunshot wound, sponging the grime from his less lethal injuries. But the moment he touched him below his pectorals, he felt his body flinch beneath his fingers. Johnny grimaced, his playful tone faltering.
“Sorry. I’ll be more gentle.” He tried again, softer this time, but Spidey winced even harder, a sharp noise escaping him. He pinned his elbow to his side, blocking Johnny’s path. The Human Torch blinked in surprise.
“It’s fine,” Spider-Man insisted, voice shrill. “I’m n-not wounded there.”
Johnny snorted. “The way you’re covering yourself and jumping away from me says otherwise.”
He nudged at his arm with the sponge, but the masked hero wouldn’t budge. Johnny sighed.
“Come on, webhead. We’re halfway there. Just bear with me a little while longer.”
When he still didn’t move, Johnny narrowed his eyes, but decided it wasn’t worth the headache. He’d clean the rest of him for now and try his ribs again at the end. He swiped the sponge across his obnoxiously chiseled abdominals, which only had a small scratch underneath his belly button. Nothing too big or exceptionally painful.
And yet, the second the sponge made contact, the masked vigilante yelped and flinched. Johnny retreated in alarm.
“What is going on?” he exclaimed. “You were completely fine while I was cleaning your other wounds! Why is it hurting so much all of a sudden?”
Blush crawled up the young hero’s neck. “It’s not—it isn’t—” he stammered. He pinched his eyes closed with a groan. “It’s n-nothing, okay? You don’t have to scrub there! It’s fine!”
Johnny studied him dubiously, wrinkling his brow. He observed the way his arm was tucked protectively against his rib cage. If he wasn’t in pain, why was his touch making him leap and squeak? A memory resurfaced from the delicate archives of his mind: a moment between Spider-Man and Tony Stark from the power demos this morning. An exchange he’d deemed important. When Stark tasered his side then, the masked hero had made the same startled sound and assumed the same defensive position he did now.
A curious smile broke across Johnny’s face. Wordlessly, he scrubbed the sponge against Spider-Man’s tummy, intentionally aiming for an uninjured section and brushing a tad harder than before. A strangled sound sprung from the masked hero’s throat. He reached for the sponge exactly as Johnny had planned—leaving his rib cage open to attack. The Human Torch evaded his grip and shoved the sponge against the upper half of his ribs, scrubbing aggressively. The reaction he was hoping for happened instantaneously.
“EEP—!” Spidey squealed. He twisted and flailed, clamping his arm back to his side, struggling to protect himself and grapple with Johnny’s wrist at the same time. Bubbly giggles flooded out of him. “J-Jahanny! Ahagh! Wahait!”
“Ah-ha!” Johnny cheered. “Sensitive ribs! I knew it!” He wiggled the sponge as much as he could with his hand trapped beneath his elbow, beaming at the sound of the masked hero’s bright, adorable laughter. “I wasn’t hurting you! You’re just ticklish and too embarrassed to admit it!”
“Ahahow! Johnny!” Spider-Man grasped his injured side with both hands, arching his body away from his touch. “You’re h-hurting me nahow!”
Immediately, Johnny retracted his hand. “Oh god! Sorry!” Spider-Man sank into the bed, the strained giggles flitting from his chest gradually slowing down. “Bullet wound. Right. Laughing with a hole in your side probably isn’t fun, huh?”
He shook his head, trying to calm his breathing, airy laughter petering off. Johnny didn’t think he’d ever been more infatuated with a person than he was at that moment.
“My bad,” he chuckled. “In my defense, this is the best discovery I’ve made about you to date.” He bopped him on the nose and smirked. “Now I know Spider-Man’s weakness.”
The masked vigilante hunched his shoulders and stared off to the side. “Sh-shut up,” he giggled nervously, trying to brush him off. “Clearly my weakness is machine guns. And flash bombs. And magic tricks with…m-more than one step.”
“But mostly ticklish ribs,” Johnny retorted. He wiggled his fingers at him with an evil smile. “You’re lucky you’re injured right now, Spidey. I’d love to see how hard I could get you laughing when I don’t have to hold back. I can’t wait to use this against you after you’re all healed up. We’re gonna have a lot of fun later.”
To his unending delight, Spider-Man shrunk away from his spidering fingers with anxious, stifled giggles, holding one palm over his mouth while the other swatted feebly at Johnny’s hands. The Human Torch laughed right along with him.
“Holy shit. Are you kidding me? I’m not even touching you!” He swirled one finger above his torso threateningly. “Oh, you’re screwed, Itsy-Bitsy. You better watch your back. I’m gonna get you when you least expect it and make you regret being born so goddamn cute.”
“Johnny!” Spider-Man squeaked, laughter laced with pain. He grabbed Johnny’s hand and held it away from his midsection. “Please—! My sihide…!”
Johnny chuckled, brimming with endearment, wrapping Spidey’s hand in his own and giving it a pat. “Sorry. You’re wounded. I shouldn’t be teasing you.” He picked up the sponge and started carefully blotting his injuries again, moving down to his legs. “I’ll be nice,” he promised, shooting him a smug grin. “For now, anyway.”
Another way to make the webhead squirm added to his arsenal—this one in much more literal terms than the others. As an extra bonus, it also gleaned that sunny, irresistible laugh from Spider-Man’s lips. Johnny couldn’t be more pleased. This would serve him and his master plan well.
He could tell the unexpected tickle attack had severely flustered the poor webhead. He was skittish and jumpy, but trying his best not to show it. It was too adorable for words. Johnny forced himself to sponge his skin in the least tickly way possible, snickering at Spidey’s reflexive twitchiness. He’d have the chance to test the limits of this discovery real soon; but for now, Johnny wanted him to relax. Gradually, the masked hero’s obnoxiously pretty muscles uncoiled.
As Johnny squeegeed the last of his wounds, which only amounted to a couple road burns on his knees and shins, the young vigilante started to mumble something about the weather, clearly eager for a change in subject. But he was cut off by a chime from the elevator. The two teens glanced up as a very agitated Tony Stark came charging into the room, arms overflowing with bandages and burn cream packets and I.V. bags. Pill bottles full of pain meds toppled from the stack he held and bounced across the tile. He hurried to Spider-Man’s side, cursing like a sailor.
“Sorry. This place is a disaster right now. We just started transitioning our headquarters to the upstate facility. Half our medical supplies is already there, and what’s left on site is scattered around the tower like hidden clues for a goddamn scavenger hunt.”
Stark dumped the materials on the nearest table and gestured to Spider-Man with his chin. “All cleaned up?”
Johnny nodded, tossing the sponge back into the bucket. “Like a freshly polished Porsche. Right, webhead?” He side-eyed the injured hero playfully. “He didn’t make it easy, though.”
Tony assembled his tools on the mobile tray and rolled it around Spider-Man's bed, huffing amusedly. “Oh, yeah. He’s a squirmy one. I’ve never met another hero who could grit through bullet wounds and sutures no problem, but practically jumps onto the ceiling if something brushes his side.”
“Hey!” the masked vigilante protested. If he were a cat, Johnny imagined he’d be puffed into a flustered little fluff ball right now. “Can the mocking please wait until after I’m able to…k-kick both your asses again?”
Johnny and Stark laughed in unison, making Spider-Man grumble under his breath. The Human Torch grinned at the Avenger, thrilled by the idea that Iron Man enjoyed poking fun at Spidey as much as he did.
“I suppose that’s only fair,” Tony chuckled, flicking the teen’s temple. “But for the record, you’ve never been able to kick my ass.”
With careful movements, Stark lifted Spidey’s hand off his side and started mopping the blood from his bullet wound, causing the young hero to stiffen. While he worked on cleaning, sterilizing, and sewing up the worst of his injuries, Johnny was tasked with treating his burns and scrapes. He dabbed him with ointment and antibiotic cream, swabbed his scratches with alcohol, and fashioned the deeper gashes on his arms and back with bandages and butterfly tape. Spider-Man stayed surprisingly still and made very little noise the whole time—minus the occasional whimper.
“You’re lucky your body heals so fast,” Tony said, knotting off the last of his sutures. “A wound like this would put any regular person out of commission for the next few weeks.”
“How long do you think before I’m good as new?” Spider-Man asked, sleep weighing on his voice once again.
“No web-swinging for a minimum of three days. No crime-fighting for five. You’ll check in with me every morning until I deem you fully recovered. Got it?”
Stark helped the young hero sit upright, resting Spidey's upper body against his shoulder. All of his anger from before was gone, replaced instead by gentle attentiveness and paternal instinct. He bandaged both sides of his injury and wound his torso with gauze.
“Does that mean we can…keep this between us?” Spidey offered hesitantly. “Save May the emotional burden?”
The Avenger frowned, one eyebrow crawling towards his hairline. “I promised your aunt I’d tell her everything you’re up to—the good and the bad.”
“Well. I bent the rules a bit with the promise I made you,” he reminded him. “Maybe you should…follow my example? Stop being a total stick in the mud and try being cool and r-rebellious for a change?”
Stark scoffed. “You little shit. Jonah’s been right about you all along: you’re nothing but a conniving, irredeemable menace.” He hooked an arm around his neck and gave the teen hero a light noogie, making him giggle and squirm.
“Come on!” Spidey prodded him, wrestling free of his hold. “This will keep us both from looking bad.”
A defeated sigh slid from Tony’s lips. It seemed Johnny Storm wasn’t the only one wrapped around the webhead’s sticky little finger. “Fine,” the older superhero huffed. “If you don’t tell, I won’t tell. I don’t think either of us want to face the wrath of your aunt anytime soon.” Stark stuck a finger in Spider-Man’s chest before he could celebrate. “But if she finds out, you’re taking the fall. I knew nothing about this. You hid it from me. We clear?”
Spidey made an “O.K.” sign with his hand. “Crystal!”
Johnny chuckled, crossing his arms. “Remind me to never get on your aunt’s bad side. She sounds like quite the force to be reckoned with.”
Tony shuddered. “You have no idea.”
With a yawn, Spider-Man swung his legs off the hospital bed, his body a collage of stitches, band-aids, and butterfly tape. “Can I go to bed now?” he asked drowsily. “I’m spent.”
Stark stopped him from trying to stand with a hand on his shoulder. “Not on your own you’re not. And not without an I.V. drip. You lost a lot of blood today, kiddo. We gotta replenish your fluids.”
“But I’m feeling a lot better now,” he insisted, rubbing the side of his face. “Just tired.”
“You were shot through the stomach hardly two hours ago!” Johnny snapped, marching to stand in front of him. He pulled at the stained fabric of his costume. “The blood you got all over my suit isn’t even dry yet! You’re not walking anywhere by yourself!”
The masked hero stared at him, blinking bemusedly. Stark hinted a smile, then turned back to Spider-Man.
“Yeah. What he said.”
Spidey held out his hands in surrender. “All right! Geez! I’m not moving, see? Relax.”
“I’ll carry you,” Johnny and Tony said at the same time. The two heroes turned to each other sharply. An awkward couple of seconds passed before Johnny barked out a laugh and backed away, scratching his neck.
“Sorry, I just—you go ahead. I’ll, um—head to my room now. Pretty exhausted myself.” He held his fist out to Spider-Man, smiling softly. “Glad you’re feeling better, Webs. Get some rest, okay?”
The masked hero tapped his knuckles against his. “You too, Flame Brain. Thanks for the team-up. Sorry it kinda sucked.” He pinched the sleeve of Johnny’s blood-spattered costume. “Better clean this before your sister sees.”
Johnny winced. “Right. Good idea.”
Stark patted Johnny’s shoulder, making him look up in surprise. “You mind helping me set up his I.V. before you go?”
Johnny cringed at the thought of seeing more needles, but he’d promised to help however he could. Reluctantly, the Human Torch nodded.
“Sure.”
Stark walked towards the back of the room and motioned for him to follow. “Over here.”
Johnny joined him by the sinks as he strung a bag filled with liquid to a metal pole. They were far enough from Spider-Man that he likely couldn’t hear them speak—even with his super senses.
“What do you want me to do?” Johnny asked.
Tony wrapped the tube attached to the drip around the metal base. “I want,” he began, bending low to secure the chamber then popping back upright, “to thank you.”
Johnny narrowed his eyes. “Thank me?”
“For getting him here in mostly one piece,” Stark clarified. “He very well could’ve died if you hadn’t been there to fly him home.”
Johnny considered this, smiling hesitantly. Then he thought on it more, and lowered his gaze. “He would’ve been better off without me. I’m the one who burnt him in the first place.”
“I saw,” the Avenger stated. “In the baby monitor footage.”
Johnny frowned. “The what?”
“Nothing. The video from Spidey’s eye lenses. Inside joke. Don’t worry about it.” He tossed the untethered tubing over his shoulder. “Point is, I saw what happened. You made a mistake, but it wasn’t your fault. I know that now. I’m sorry I blamed you earlier.”
The Human Torch gripped his elbow and shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“I also saw you protect him from those police officers,” Stark added. Johnny lifted his wide eyes to meet his. “It’s nice to know he has someone else out there, standing up for him.”
A tangle of relief and bashfulness blanketed Johnny’s heart. He shot a glance at the wounded hero, who was starting to drift off in the hospital bed.
“It’s hard not to stand up for him once you get to know him,” he admitted. “And when you realize just how many people really don’t know him at all.”
Stark nodded thoughtfully, then crossed his arms against his chest. “So, then. You’re sure you’re up for this?”
Johnny tilted his head to the side. “Up for what?”
“Being a member of the Spider-Man Defense Squad.”
A dubious smile found his lips. “Is that a thing?” Johnny asked.
“Unofficially, but yes.” Tony rested a hand on his shoulder, his tone playfully melodramatic. “I have to warn you. It won’t be a walk in the park. Lots of people will hate you for it, and Spidey doesn’t make it easy—as I’m sure you’ve already experienced. He’s stubborn. Idealistic. Too compassionate and selfless for his own damn good. He sees everyone else’s pain and needs a thousand miles ahead of his own. He’ll drive himself into the ground before acknowledging his limits, or admitting he needs help. He’s an absolute pain in the ass to deal with, but a worthwhile one, in my opinion.”
Johnny giggled softly. “Sounds like I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“I won’t hold it against you if you decline,” Tony added. “You know Spidey will put his life on the line to protect yours no matter what. But I figured I’d extend the offer and try to prepare you for what you’re getting into should you choose this daunting but noble path.”
The Human Torch held out his hand without hesitation. “It would be my honor,” he said.
Grinning, Stark gave his palm a firm shake. “All right, then. Welcome to the club.” When the billionaire released his hand, he gave the teenage superhero a speculative once-over. “I have to admit: when we first met, I wasn’t the biggest fan of yours. Reminded me a little too much of myself at sixteen: reckless, hotheaded, a tad self-obsessed. But I guess Spider-Man was right—maybe you’re not so bad after all.”
Johnny brightened. “Spidey talked to you about me?” he asked a touch too eagerly. He faltered, wanting to take it back, but the words were already out of his mouth.
“Only briefly,” Tony clarified. “But that’s all I needed. Anyone who the kid deems trustworthy is a good egg in my book.”
Sunshine lit him from the inside-out. “I’ll try not to let either of you down.”
Stark pushed his high-tech sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and clapped Johnny Storm on the back. “Get some rest, kid. You earned it.”
The seasoned Avenger trekked across the room with the I.V. in tow and slipped the needle into the back of Spider-Man’s hand. He grabbed a blanket from a basket in the corner then wrapped the sleepy superhero in it like a little spidery burrito as he lifted him into his arms. With one hand, he rolled the I.V. pole across the white tile; with the other, Stark held the wounded teenager close. He gave Johnny a smile and a nod on his way out before vanishing behind the elevator doors once again.
Alone in the empty medical bay, Johnny took a second to breathe. His mind was alive and buzzing, but his body was absolutely exhausted. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until now, when it was just him and his thoughts. The past twenty minutes had been an absolute rollercoaster of emotions. He could crawl into bed right now and be out in seconds.
Unfortunately, Johnny Storm had homework. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he'd hashed out phase one of his plan. Getting The World To Fall In Love With Spider-Man: A New Passion Project by the Human Torch. He had to approach this delicately, with patience and intention. Rebranding a disgraced superhero was not something he had any expertise in, yet he was confident he was up to the challenge. In every sense and from every angle, there was no one more deserving of people’s adoration.
Besides—it was high time Spider-Man entered his Reputation Era.
But first and foremost, he had to clean his suit. As Johnny strode into the stairwell, rolling his achy shoulder, he pulled out his phone, googling “how to get blood stains out of spandex fast” while trotting up to his room.
It was nearly noon by the time Peter’s eyes sluggishly blinked open. He was in his bedroom at Avengers Tower, sprawled carelessly across his king-sized mattress. The I.V. had been removed from his hand sometime in the night—or perhaps in the morning; he wasn’t sure. But the meds from the drip still clung to his brain, making his head fuzzy. When he shifted onto his side, dull, deep pain bloomed from his abdomen. He groaned into his pillow, tucking his limbs in close to his body.
“Hello, Peter,” FRIDAY greeted him from the ceiling. “My scans indicate you slept relatively well last night. How are you feeling this morning?”
Peter mumbled some half-conscious nonsense in reply, pulling the comforter over his head. He had no plans of getting up anytime soon. Dainty beams of sunlight streamed in from the gaps in his blinds.
“Johnny Storm left a gift at the door for you, by the way.”
Spider-Man’s eyes popped open instantly. He sat upright, heart somersaulting in his chest.
“W-what? He did? When?”
“About three hours ago. He asked that I not wake you when he dropped it off.”
Peter kicked the covers off his legs and crawled to the edge of the bed, easing his feet onto the floor. He stood cautiously, dizzying pain piercing through him. Light years better than last night’s agony, but still annoying. He was sore more than anything else. No longer teetering on the brink of death. He traversed the room with hesitant steps and pushed the door open, peeking outside.
Two objects were waiting on the floor in front of him. The first was a plate with a dome-shaped dish cover on top of it—like an expensive room service meal in a fancy hotel. The second was a basket with three things inside: a large Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, a bag of sour gummy worms, and a stuffed bear holding a card and a “Get Well Soon” balloon.
A thrill of warmth spurred from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Peter glanced left and right, then quickly dragged the gifts into his room, locking the door behind him. He placed the dish on his side table and hopped back onto the bed with the goodie basket in his lap. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling like an idiot as he plucked the teddy bear from the pile of treats. He slipped the letter out from under its paws and held the toy close while gently peeling away the envelope.
The card inside looked like it was meant for a child: colorful and kiddie with cartoon Avengers scribbled on the front. He opened it up to find a message written in obscenely pretty handwriting:
Hope you’re feeling better, Webs! Here’s a little care package to lift your spirits and speed up the healing process :) I hope the sugary caramel abomination I ordered for you from Dunkin’ was made how you like. I also cooked some pesto pasta since I figured you wouldn’t be up until around lunch time, and because I found this great new recipe online. Please eat some of that before gorging yourself on candy and shitty coffee.
Take it easy!
XOXO -Johnny
Peter’s stomach flip-flopped and fluttered as he read the note again and again, honing in on that last line in particular.
XOXO. Hugs and kisses. Johnny.
He chewed his cheek, gazing at the collection of carefully selected presents scattered across his comforter. It was such a kind and thoughtful gesture. Too kind. Too thoughtful. Pasta sounded wonderful right about now, but the thought of eating made him queasy. His insides were too restless with excitement, too twisted with nausea, too jumbled with a third sensation he couldn’t quite place.
Maybe it was from the gunshot wound. Maybe it was something else.
Reeling, Peter fell back into the pillows, holding the card against his heart, staring at the ceiling fan until he could see the individual blades spinning round and round and round.
The events of yesterday played back in the young hero’s mind, returning to him in waves. Peter swinging through the city with the Human Torch by his side. The feelings he’d felt as they talked and laughed and fought together. The way Johnny looked as he soared above the city, brilliant as a shooting star, his body twisting and twirling within the billowing halo of fire. Those cobalt blue eyes flashing in his direction. Those moments of paralyzing intimacy that made Peter hold his breath. The embrace of his arms around his broken physical form. The compliments. The protectiveness. The generosity.
And the teasing. Jesus Christ. Peter had never met anyone so disarmingly good at flustering him, so fluent in rendering him crimson and tongue-tied. Nobody had ever had such a debilitating effect on him before. Within the five short days they’d known each other, Johnny Storm had successfully infiltrated every nook and crevice of his mind. When he was with him, he was nervous, scatterbrained, yet lit from within by colors he didn’t know existed. And when they were apart, he longed minute by minute for the return of that peculiar bashfulness, those exhilarating butterflies, that indescribable glow. It made one wonder…
What did it mean?
Why was he feeling this way?
What was happening to him?
You know.
Peter’s blurred vision suddenly snapped back into focus. Dread branched through his chest into his throat. He shut his eyes.
No. I don’t.
Yes. You do.
He could feel his pulse beating at the tips of his fingers. Blood surged through his veins like flood waters. He tried to tuck the feelings away like he always did—bury them somewhere deep enough that he’d never have to interrogate their significance. But this time, they were fighting him. He couldn’t push them down, couldn’t will them from his mind. They would not be ignored any longer.
I can’t, he protested hollowly. It—it can’t be that. It doesn’t make any sense.
But it’s the truth.
Peter wallowed in disbelief at the realization. His limbs were cold and numb. A panicked bird beat against his ribs where his heart was supposed to be. His lungs were starting to hurt inside his chest. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t breathing. Backhanded by clarity, he sucked in a gasp, eyes flying open.
“Oh no.”
Peter sat up rigidly, the letter slipping from his clammy fingers. Sudden electricity flashed through his cells; goosebumps prickled along his forearms. He groped frantically for his phone, punching in his passcode as fast as humanly possible and scrolling desperately through his contact list.
“Oh no, oh god, oh no, no, no.”
His body was heated to a million degrees yet somehow still freezing. The goofy image of his friend’s contact photo appeared before his eyes. He tapped the call button and pressed the phone to his ear, chewing his thumb nail while his knee bounced anxiously against the bed. Three generations lived and died before the familiar voice of his classmate finally came through.
“Hey, dude! What’s up?” Ned Leeds answered from the other end.
Peter hugged the “Get Well Soon” teddy bear so tight, the stuffing threatened to burst out of its head. “Ned?” he croaked into the speaker.
“Uh, yeah? This is in fact my number. Did you mean to call someone else?”
Spider-Man shook his head. “N-no, no. I just—” He swallowed, grappling to gather his erratic thoughts together, scratching at his scalp. “Can, um—can we meet somewhere? Like, now? I think I need to talk to you about something. I have pesto pasta and gummy worms.”
A beat passed before Ned spoke again. “Is that code for something that we’ve discussed before that I’ve completely forgotten about?” he asked hesitantly. “Is pesto, like—a bad guy’s nickname we came up with? Are you not able to speak freely right now? Oh god, what does gummy worms mean? That you’ve been captured by one of your enemies and they’re torturing you for information?”
Ned’s reply was so funny and unexpected, it helped jar him a little out of his existential meltdown. “What?” Peter stammered. “No, that’s not…I really do have pasta and gummy worms. I’m fine. Honest. Well—as far as not being kidnapped or actively tortured goes. I just…I really need to talk to someone, and I’ll bring food if you agree to meet up with me. You know, like, a bribe.”
Ned sighed in relief, then laughed. “Thank god. That would’ve been terrible if you were actually in danger. And embarrassing. Maybe we really should come up with a secret language or code word in case you ever find yourself in a situation like that.” He yelled something to his lola, feet stomping down the stairs. “Anyways—yeah, I can meet you somewhere. You know I would’ve said yes without the bribe, but I’ll never turn down a free meal. ”
Peter inhaled clipped breaths of relief. “Thanks, Ned. How about Washington Square Park? See yah in ten?”
“Sounds good. See yah there.”
Peter hung up the phone and launched himself out of bed, ignoring the daggers of pain in his side, desperate to keep his body in motion so his brain didn’t have the space to think. Being alone with his thoughts right now was out of the question. He couldn’t bear it. He had to keep himself distracted and moving until he could talk to Ned. Ned was his best friend. He’d promised to always be there for him, no matter what. This was the kind of thing best friends were supposed to be able to talk to each other about.
Right?
Peter stuffed his headphones into his ears and blasted the first Spotify playlist his thumb came into contact with. He threw on some clothes, nuked the pasta in his bedroom’s microwave, dumped it in a travel container with two sets of silverware, tossed everything into his backpack along with the gummy worms, and jogged out the door towards the elevator, slurping up nervous gulps of watered-down caramel iced coffee just to keep himself occupied, even though caffeine was the last thing he needed right now.
The elevator rose to his floor and split open like an egg. Peter moved to rush inside, but jumped back in surprise when someone stepped out at the same time. It startled him so much, he almost dropped his Dunkin’ Donuts cup.
“Whoa,” Stark exclaimed, raising his hands and chuckling a little. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare yah. I thought you were still in bed.”
Peter heaved shaky lungfuls of air. “It’s fine,” he stammered. “I just w-wasn’t expecting—it’s fine. I’m not wearing my mask, and I thought you were someone else.”
Immediately, Tony narrowed his eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked, stepping closer with a skeptical look on his face, reading him in an instant. “You seem...frazzled. Out of breath.”
Peter licked his lips and shook his head. There was only one person he felt even remotely prepared to have this conversation with. Mr. Stark hadn’t even been on his radar until this moment. In no way, shape, or form was he ready to talk to him about this yet. Not a chance. It was all too new and confusing. He felt like he didn’t even know himself anymore. He had to get out of here.
“I’m fine,” he insisted. He pulled the headphones out of his ears. “Just, er—late for lunch with Ned.”
“Your face is flushed,” Tony noted, placing the back of his hand against his forehead. “You sure you don’t have a fever?”
Peter swallowed. “Pretty sure,” he said stiffly. He flinched out of his reach. “Can I go now? I’m really late.”
“We need to change your bandages first,” Stark reminded him. He nudged him with his coffee mug, steering him back towards his room. “Come on, in here. Real quick. Then you can go.”
Screaming internally, Peter begrudgingly retraced his steps. He lifted his shirt on the way inside and started peeling the old bandage away from his torso.
“Jesus, kid. Slow down. You gotta be gentle while everything’s still healing.” Tony placed his cup on Peter’s bedside table and helped him unwind the rest of the gauze, carefully removing the bloodied dressing from the bullet wound. Peter shifted impatiently from foot to foot while his mentor tended to him, his mind hundreds of miles away from his injuries and this room.
“What’s that?” Stark asked, nodding towards the teddy bear on his bed while he worked. Peter followed his gaze to the stuffed animal and reddened.
“Oh, um…a gift,” he mumbled. “From, uh—from Johnny.” Just saying his name while in his current headspace was enough to pique his heart rate to dangerous velocities. He flexed his hands at his sides. “Are you almost done?”
“That was kind of him. He seems like a good kid. I think I had him pegged wrong before.” He blotted his stitches with disinfecting wipes and dressed the injury with fresh binding. “You two switched from bitter enemies to team-up buddies awfully quick, huh? I’m glad you were able to kiss and make up.”
Heat flashed through his body like a bolt of lightning. “W-why would you say that?” Peter choked out.
“Say what?” Tony replied, wrinkling his brow.
The teenager blinked, then lowered his gaze, running his palm across his forehead. “Nothing. Never mind. I gotta—I really need to go now.”
“Okay,” Stark said warily. He finished bandaging the injury on his torso and gave his side a light pat. “All done. Do you want any more pain meds before you leave?”
Peter gave a curt shake of his head. “Nope. I’m good. Thank you.” He jammed his headphones back into his ears and made a beeline for the door. But Tony caught him by the arm before he could escape, grip tight with concern.
“Hey. Kid. Look at me.”
Miserably, Peter turned to face him.
“Be honest, all right? You’re sure you’re okay?”
Nope. Negative. Absolutely not. He painted on his best attempt at an easygoing smile.
“Mm-hmm. Of course.”
“Because you’re acting kind of weird right now.”
He tensed his muscles against his hold. “I’m just really late,” Peter lied again. “And you’re sorta, y’know—making me even later by keeping me here.”
Slowly, Stark released his arm. His expression softened into something remorseful and grim. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain yourself last night,” he said. “I just—really hate it when you get hurt like that. I wish I could prevent it from ever happening. But I know that’s impossible, which frustrates the hell out of me. That doesn’t give me the right to be so hard on you.”
Peter’s fists unraveled at his sides. He met his mentor’s gaze, pricked with sudden guilt. Just enough to distract him from the hurricane of emotions currently raging in his head.
“I made you a promise and broke it,” he reminded him somberly. “You deserved to be mad at me.”
“It wasn’t a fair promise. Getting hurt in our line of work isn’t something you can always control. Especially when there’s hostages involved and the bad guys know your M.O.”
Peter winced. “You saw that?”
Tony nodded. “No denying it. They were armed to kill you specifically.”
The teen hero prodded at his bandages and shrugged. “Probably because I keep busting all their attempted kidnappings. This is the fifth human trafficking plot I’ve stopped in three months.”
“And you think they’ve all stemmed from the same organization?”
“I know they have.”
Stark pursed his lips and stroked his beard, releasing a slow, calculated breath. “Fisk?” he asked quietly.
Peter nodded.
“And you’ve seen the news?”
Spider-Man balled up his hands and glared at the ground. “It’s infuriating. I know this is all him. He’s the monster funding the trafficking ring and the drug cartel and probably hundreds of other awful things I don’t even know about.” He hung his head, puffing out a sigh. “But everyone’s too deep in his pocket. He covers all of his tracks and leaves zero loose ends. I can’t tie any of it directly back to him. And even if I could, it’s not like anyone would believe me.” Peter threw his hands up with a scoff. “Especially now that he’s gonna be the goddamn mayor.”
Stark laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I understand your frustration with all of this, kid. I really do. But you need to be careful.” He gestured to his gunshot wound. “This is the second time Fisk’s men have nearly taken you out. They’re expecting you to come after them at this point and preparing for it. Hell—maybe even orchestrating it. You’re lucky Johnny was there to catch them off guard and pull you out of that mess.”
With one word, Peter’s tumultuous quandary from earlier came crashing back over him like a sucker punch to the jaw. Feelings he wished he didn’t understand reignited somewhere in space between his guts and his heart. He opened and closed his mouth, warmth rising to the surface of his skin.
Stark studied him closely, giving his arm a small squeeze. “Is this what’s got you all riled up right now?” he asked. “Fisk’s operation, the campaign, all of it?”
Peter hesitated, the truth burning holes in the back of his throat, devouring his brain like a flesh-eating amoeba. Eventually, he nodded, grateful for the cop-out.
“Yes,” he answered reluctantly. “I—I guess it is.”
Tony grimaced, unconsciously cracking his knuckles—perhaps out of habit, or maybe because he felt like socking Kingpin in the balls.
“Well. The good thing about him running for mayor is that his life is about to become a lot more public. It won’t be as easy for him to get away with the things he used to now that he’s out in the limelight. Perhaps he’ll make a mistake, expose himself. Do your job for you.” Stark ruffled Peter’s hair. “Don’t stress yourself out over that douche canoe, all right? It’s not your job to fix every problem this city creates—especially those of the political variety. Just lay low for a little while, take some time to heal, and we’ll figure out how to deal with this once you’re better. Okay?”
Peter rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Okay,” he murmured, slowly backing away, pawing blindly for the doorknob. “I’m, um—I’m gonna go now, okay?”
The Avenger frowned, still noticeably puzzled by the kid’s odd behavior, but didn’t protest. “All right,” he said, wagging his finger in his direction. “No web-swinging. Understood? Get wherever you need to the old fashioned way: walking, taxi, or subway.”
Peter nodded fervently, eager to be free of his mentor’s scrupulous stare. “Got it. Yep. Thanks for, um—the bandages and the chat and stuff. Good talk. Uh-huh. You’re great. So cool. Love yah. Goodbye.” Then he sped out of the room, ears ablaze, kicking himself for whatever the hell that just was, trying to steel his nerves for the even scarier conversation ahead.
Tony watched Spider-Man leave with both eyebrows raised high, only to knit them back together suspiciously. He lifted his coffee cup off the bedside table and held it to his lips, taking a long, pensive sip.
“FRIDAY,” Stark called once Peter had left. “Any idea what in the fuck is actually going on with the kid right now?”
“I’m not sure, boss,” his A.I. responded. “He does seem more anxious than usual. His heart rate has been abnormally high since he woke up today.”
He downed the rest of his latte and drummed his fingers against the ceramic handle. “Keep an eye on him for me, would you? And fill me in on any possible causes you find. One thing’s for sure: he’s hiding something. And I do not enjoy being lied to.”
“Yes, boss.”
Peter had forgotten how much slower the rest of the world moved, imprisoned by gravity and dependent on a century-old public transportation system. He took for granted how much time web-swinging saved him— the roaring wind and pumping adrenaline driving all anxieties from his bones. Riding the subway left you simmering in your thoughts, fidgeting in place, trapped and twitchy and avoiding everyone’s prying gazes, fighting not to look as crazy as you felt.
Or maybe that was just him.
It would seem the universe had a vendetta against him that afternoon. Halfway through his trip across Manhattan, as he clung to a pole near the back of the subway car, he started noticing an uncanny theme to the songs Spotify was queuing up for him.
I've been watchin' you for some time
Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes
Burning cities and napalm skies
Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes
Your ocean eyes
He gripped the pole tighter. Skip.
Gleaming, twinkling
Eyes like sinking ships on waters
So inviting, I almost jump in
But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush
I don't like anticipatin' my face in a red flush
I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch
Everybody wants you
Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you—
Heat radiated off the teenager’s neck. Skip.
Johnny Angel, Johnny Angel, Johnny Angel—
“Ah!” Peter cried, tearing the headphones out of his ears. A couple passengers shot weird looks in his direction, but no one bothered to say anything. Stranger things had happened on New York public transit. Peter breathed in quick gulps, fighting to stay composed. He spent the remainder of the journey listening to the subway thunder and screech through the tunnels, pacing along the back wall of the car, daring not to play another goddamn song.
The torturous train ride gave Peter lots of time to think. Too much, in fact. By the time he spotted Ned sitting on a picnic blanket in the shade of a large oak tree, he was seriously beginning to question if he was making a mistake. If he should be doing this at all. If he should keep the truth bottled up inside where no one else would ever see it.
He didn’t have to tell him. He didn’t have to tell anyone. Things didn’t have to change. They could stay the same, so long as he kept his mouth shut.
“Peter!” Ned greeted him, waving cheerfully. Peter froze in place, panic swelling in his chest, second guessing every choice he’d ever made that had led him to this moment. Part of him wanted to whip around and sprint all the way back to Avengers Tower.
Instead, his feet pressed forward, carrying him across the lawn all the way to his friend’s side, as if they had minds of their own. Peter sat on Ned’s right, tucking his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs.
“H-hey, Ned. Thanks for, um—for meeting me.”
“I’ve got good news!” Ned announced, grinning as wide as the Hudson. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve finally found a buyer for my full set of limited edition Fantastic Four Funko Pops. I can’t wait to get those little bobble-headed assholes off my desk. Every time I look at them, all I can think about is how mean they’ve been to you! Even though it pains my collector’s heart to part with them, I won’t be caught dead owning merchandise from anyone who doesn’t support my superhero best friend—especially that dickhead Johnny Storm.”
Peter just stared at him, mouth falling open, blinking in disbelief. It took him a second to remember how to talk. “Oh my god,” he said, almost laughing at the realization. “We haven’t spoken since hanging out at Pop Star Boba, have we?”
“You mean the place that shitstain excuse for a superhero burnt down? Uh, yeah!”
Peter cupped his hands around his face, stifling an incredulous chuckle. “Right. Okay. So, about that…”
Ned craned his neck to try to see his friend’s expression. “What is it?” he asked.
Peter inhaled and exhaled slowly. “So, Johnny and I…” He forced his hands to drop from his cheeks onto his knees. “We’re actually kind of…friends now?”
Peter watched the excited twinkle gradually return to his friend’s eyes. “Really?” Ned said.
“Mm-hmm. We had the chance to really sit down and talk to each other a couple days ago, and we’ve been hanging out a lot ever since. He apologized for how he’s treated me, asked for my advice on being a superhero at our age, and from then on has only ever been kind and friendly.” He giggled to himself, thinking back through everything that had transpired between them in such a short amount of time. “He bought me a tarantula as an apology present.”
Ned blew a raspberry. “What? Aren’t you terrified of those things?”
Peter frowned at him. “No, I am not. I just—I’d rather not have one sleeping in the same room as me. They’re venomous. And hairy. And they’ve got those beady little eyes that follow you around no matter where you’re standing…” He shivered, then hunched his shoulders. “Anyway. We’re on a trial run right now. I’m trying to see if we can tolerate each other’s presence enough for me to keep him. Johnny said he’d take him if I can’t, though.”
“Yikes! Twenty bucks says you chicken out and give it back.”
“Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ned.”
Ned wrinkled his brow. “All right, so, he gave you a gift that you clearly hate. What else has he done to make up for being a jerk?”
Peter rested his chin on top of his arms, a fresh flood of warmth moving through him. “A lot, actually. Did you know he’s a really good cook? He made me the biggest, most insanely delicious breakfast the morning after our chat. He’s also the one who made the pasta I brought. Here—let me get it out.”
Ned lit up. “You’re telling me I’m about to eat something the Human Torch touched? I’m allowed to be excited about this, right? Since we’re both agreeing we’re fans of his again?”
“Yes,” Peter chuckled. “Be excited as you want.”
Ned rubbed his palms together eagerly. “Oh man, wait ‘til my lola hears about this! She’s gonna be so jealous!”
Peter lifted the tupperware out of his backpack and popped the lid off. He handed Ned a fork and placed the pasta on the blanket between them. They each assembled the perfect first bite and shoved it into their mouths at the same time. In unison, the two friends melted.
“Oh my god,” Peter mumbled.
“Holy shit,” Ned concurred.
“This might be the best pesto I’ve ever eaten,” Peter decided, heaving another portion into his face.
“Stuff that,” Ned laughed over a second forkful. “This is the best anything I’ve ever eaten, period.” He poked at the veggies and seafood scattered between the pasta noodles. “Are there fucking scallops in here? Jesus Christ. That guy is fancy as hell, man.”
“You see now why I was so quick to forgive him?” Peter chuckled.
Ned nodded zealously. “Shit, dude. I’d marry that man if he made this for me.”
Peter choked on his next bite, coughing and sputtering and pounding his fist against his chest. Ned laughed boisterously.
“It’s no fair that on top of being a superhero, he’s also an amazing cook, crazy famous, filthy rich, and insanely hot. I mean—leave some for the rest of us, am I right?” He nibbled at a pine nut on the end of his fork, eyes narrowed in thought. “I wonder what it feels like to be god’s favorite.”
When Peter didn’t answer, Ned shot a glance at his friend. He looked distant and anxious—limbs bunched in close, cheeks dusted pink, gaze locked rigidly in front of him. Ned tilted his head to the side, smile faltering.
“This is good, right?” he asked hesitantly. “I mean, that you guys are getting along?”
Peter turned to face him, breath hitching, breaking out of his trance. “Y-yeah,” he replied after a long pause. “Of course.”
“Because you seem…I don’t know. Scared, maybe? Worried?” He scooted a little closer to him, chewing seriously. “Do you think he’s got some kind of ulterior motive or something? That there’s a reason he’s suddenly being so nice?”
Peter hugged his knees a little tighter to his chest. “No. I don’t think so. I mean—I hope not.”
“Because you know I’m still your guy in the chair. If you suspect any foul play, I can program bots to flood his phone with robocalls about extra strength erectile dysfunction medication and premature male pattern baldness. I’ve done it before. You remember our psycho 7th grade history teacher Mr. Warren?”
Peter chuckled skittishly. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I truly believe he’s a genuinely nice guy who was just going through a really tough time when we first met.” He licked the last globs of whipped cream off his Dunkin’ Donuts straw then set the cup aside. “We teamed up last night to stop some men from abducting two kids. I got pretty badly hurt, and the cops were looking to arrest me. Unlike Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four have a good work rapport with the NYPD. I didn’t want Johnny jeopardizing that by defending me. I told him I could get back on my own so he wouldn’t have to ruin his team’s relationship with them for my sake.” A hesitant smile touched his lips. “But…he stayed. He stood up for me in front of all of them and put his life and reputation on the line to protect me. Then he flew me back to the tower and stayed awake to help Mr. Stark patch my wounds. And when I got up this morning, he’d left a ‘Get Well Soon’ basket outside my door.”
Ned listened to him speak with an awed, fixated expression, like a preschooler watching a puppet show. Then his face scrunched into a scowl. “Aw, dammit! This bastard is really gunning for my spot as Spider-Man’s best friend! How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?” He clasped his hands in front of his chest and gave Peter his biggest puppy dog eyes. “Please don’t replace me! Being besties with a superhero is the only cool thing I’ve ever accomplished in life! I can make ‘Get Well Soon’ baskets! I can stand up to shitty police officers! Just say the word!”
“Ned!” Peter exclaimed with a laugh, gripping him firmly by the shoulders. “I’m not replacing you. No one could ever replace you. You’ll always be my number one bestest friend. Promise.”
“Good,” Ned growled, crossing his arms and legs tautly. He stabbed at the pasta and jammed the fork in his mouth. As he chewed and swallowed bitterly, he punched the air in frustration. “Fuck, that’s amazing! Ugh! I hate this guy! But also love him! Can you introduce us? Pretty please?”
“That’s the thing,” Peter said, biting his lip. “He hasn’t met Peter Parker yet. Right now, he only knows me as Spider-Man.”
“Oh, nice. Take that, Johnny Storm. I know Spider-Man better than you.”
Peter stared across the field of fluttering butterflies, laughing picnickers, and dancing wildflowers. Sunlight filtered through the leaves above them, painting the grass in shimmering, golden patterns. Across the lawn, parents and their children sat in a circle around a man playing a guitar, singing “I’m A Little Teapot” while miming out the words. It was such a beautiful day. All he wanted to do was sit here with his best friend and simply enjoy it. But he was too distracted by his entire understanding of himself and his life and his future crumbling around him like the walls of Troy.
“Are you planning to tell him your real identity?” Ned asked.
Peter’s throat tightened. “No. I don’t know. Probably not.”
“Okay.” Ned twirled his fork between his fingers before spearing another helping of pesto. “Was that all you wanted to talk to me about? Your new bestie Johnny?”
Peter picked at the grass beneath his feet, the world weighing on his shoulders. His emotions in that moment were difficult to define. It wasn’t like these feelings he was wrestling with were something he was taught to see as evil or shameful or wrong. He knew and loved loads of people who existed this way and never once batted an eye. But not him. Not Peter Parker. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him. Never in a million years had he expected to find himself in his current position. This was something other people were and lived as and dealt with. Not him. This wasn’t him.
Was it?
Perhaps sharing the truth would make this all seem smaller, simpler; less suffocating and all-consuming. All he knew was that he couldn’t let it stew inside him any longer. He needed a confidant, a second opinion, a heart that cared about and knew his own. He needed his friend.
But how would he find the words?
“Peter?” Ned prompted him. The teenage hero met his classmate’s gaze. He realized he’d been sitting in silence for quite some time.
“There’s…something else,” he heard himself say, barely above a whisper.
“Okay,” Ned replied.
Every nerve in his body was set on end, buzzing like magnets of equal charge crammed together beneath his skin. I guess this is happening, he thought meekly. He forced his lips to keep moving, knowing they’d fail him if he let them stop.
“I think I might like someone,” he blurted out, cheeks burning like embers, heart hammering through his chest. He pinched his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against his knees. “But...I don’t know how to tell for sure.”
A massive smile broke across the entirety of Ned’s face. He nudged him with his shoulder, beaming as bright as the sun. “Oh yeah?” he chirped eagerly. “That’s exciting! Piping hot chisme alert! Spidey’s got a brand new crush!”
Peter shook his head without looking up, blushing from end to end. “I might not, though,” he retorted shrilly. “M-maybe my mind’s just playing tricks on me. My brain feels like mashed potatoes right now. I’m all mixed up.”
“What makes you say that?” Ned asked.
Peter dug his fingers into his arms. “They’re just…not the kind of person I normally like,” he stated delicately. He drove the heels of his shoes into the soft soil beneath the picnic blanket. “I don’t know.”
“I think it’s pretty easy to distinguish when you like somebody versus when you don’t,” his friend snickered. Peter peered at him timidly from behind his knees.
“What do you mean?”
Ned laid back against the ground, threading his fingers on top of his stomach as he stared into the canopy of green above them. “Well,” he mused, “how does this person make you feel?”
Peter cupped his palms around his elbows, scratching nervously at the backs of his arms. The simplest question, cursed with the most impossibly unsimple answer. How did Johnny Storm make him feel? He could probably fill entire libraries with poems and sonnets and prose trying to capture it, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Birds trilled from the treetops overhead.
“Like a moron,” he decided with a bleak laugh. He watched a ladybug crawl to the top of a bright yellow dandelion. “But also…important. Like maybe I’m worth more than I think.”
“And how do you feel about them?”
Peter grimaced, then sighed. “Like I’m not really worth their time,” he admitted. “I know that’s a bit contradictory, but…yeah. I enjoy being around them, don’t get me wrong. But whenever we’re hanging out, I’m constantly nagged by the sense that they have better things to be doing, more important people to be with. Like—out of everyone you could be talking to right now, why me?”
Ned pursed his lips disapprovingly. “I’m upset that you think that way, but I guess I can relate.” He fished the gummy worms out of Peter’s backpack and tore the bag open, offering him first dibs. “I suppose both of those are things you could feel for a friend or a crush.”
Peter grabbed a handful and tossed a few into his mouth, sour deliciousness bathing his tongue, a spark of hope flickering in his chest. “You see my dilemma, then?”
Ned waved dismissively. “All right—new plan.” He made a box with his fingers and held it in front of his eye. “Picture the person you’re talking about right now in your mind.”
Reluctantly, Peter closed his eyes. It took a moment, but the image gradually came to him: Johnny’s captivating face staring back at him inside his head. All mischievous smiles and strawberry blonde locks and freckle-splashed cheeks.
“You got it?” Ned asked.
“Yeah,” Peter said, squirming in place a little. “Now what?”
“Do you think they’re pretty?”
Fire blossomed at the base of his neck. “W-what?” Peter squeaked, caught off guard.
“Are they attractive? Do you like the way they look? Would you like to hold their hand? Do you want to kiss them?”
With the truth staring him directly in the face, Peter could deny it no longer. His eyes popped open as his heart sloshed into his gut. “Shit,” he rasped. He flopped back against the earth, limbs sprawled across the picnic blanket, gazing helplessly into the patchwork of criss-crossing branches overhead. “I have a crush on Johnny Storm.”
“Wait—what?” Ned exclaimed, shooting upright. Peter covered his face with his hands and groaned. “That’s who you’ve been talking about this whole time? You’re telling me you’ve got the hots for the Human fucking Torch? Holy shit, dude!”
“Ned!” Peter yelped, slapping a palm over his friend’s mouth, immediately drowning in terror and regret. “Quit screaming about it! This is a best-friends-only type of secret, okay? No one else can know!”
Ned pried his hand from his lips, giddy with giggles. “I’m sorry! I promise I won’t tell! It’s just—” Glee sparkled in his eyes. “—sooo cute! And unexpected! How long have you known?”
Peter whimpered feebly, smothering himself with his arms. “I don’t know! This is all so new and confusing to me. I have no idea how to feel about it, or what it really even means...”
Ned tapped his chin with his index finger. “Well. Do you still like girls?”
Stars danced across the backs of his eyelid as Peter picked his brain for an answer. “I…I think so,” he murmured hesitantly, dazed by the volume of thoughts and feelings churning around in his body.
“But you like boys, too?”
He didn’t want to say it. Saying it made it real. It confirmed all those tiny moments of interest and attraction he’d felt growing up, but absolutely refused to investigate—which had increased exponentially over the past couple of years. It turned this into a tangible piece of himself he was finally going to have to acknowledge and face. Another label that othered him, setting him apart from the rest of the world.
But there was no point in resisting now. And he was tired of lying to himself.
Peter pushed up onto his elbows. “I guess I do,” he said solemnly. “I guess…I have. I just never wanted to admit it.”
Ned smiled at him. “In that case, that probably means you’re bisexual.”
Peter glanced at his friend, eyes wide, jaw tight.
“Or pansexual. That’s an option, too. I think it’s one of those situations where being one of them means you’re also the other, but not everyone is both. Right?”
He’d heard these terms a thousand times over, but had never associated them with himself until now. They bounced around inside his skull like grasshoppers, animated with new meaning.
“Y’know, you’re taking this a lot better than I am,” Peter observed warily, almost offended.
Ned giggled. “What—would you rather I be shocked and horrified? I can pretend to be, if that’d make you feel better.”
Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “No, I just…I don’t know. I figured you’d be surprised, at least. I’m still only barely beginning to come to terms with it myself.”
“Of course I’m surprised,” Ned assured him. “And I’m happy you trust me enough to share something like this with me.” Ned hinted a cautious smile. “But I’m also, like…not that surprised.”
Peter turned towards him, scrunching up his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ned shrugged and smirked. “I’m just saying. Being your best friend and all…there’s been some hints. Y’know, here and there.”
Peter crinkled his nose. “Define hints, Ned.”
Ned rolled his eyes. “Peter, come on. I’ve seen your For You page. No exclusively straight individual watches that many Joe Burrow fan cams.”
Peter’s ears went scarlet. “What? That doesn’t—I’m not—I just—I like—sport.”
“Really? You ‘like sport’?”
“Y-yeah. Totally. I have a very deep appreciation for the complex strategy of the game.”
“Oh yeah? What position does he play?”
Peter swallowed. “Um…runner back? No, wait—defensive end? Those are positions, right?”
“Nope. Not even close. How about what team he’s on?”
Peter huffed. “I’m trying to be vulnerable with you right now, and you’re bullying me. I do not appreciate being victimized in my tender, fragile state.”
Ned cackled, slapping his knee. “The TikTok algorithm doesn’t lie, my friend. I didn’t even mention how often I’ve caught you liking Johnny Storm thirst traps.” He threw him a sinister grin. “Which, looking back, makes a lot more sense now.”
Bone-deep embarrassment radiated through him, but he tried his best not to give his friend the satisfaction. He buried his face in his hands, laughing sheepishly.
“I’m having a terrible time right now; I hope you know that.”
“Also, what kind of straight guy designs their superhero costume to be that tight? Oh, and another thing—”
“All right! I get it! It was glaringly obvious to everyone except me! Thanks, Ned!”
Ned chuckled. “I don’t know about glaringly obvious. I doubt anyone who hangs out with you less than I do has any idea.”
Peter watched a plane wink through the gaps in the boughs and leaves above them. “Do you think May knows?” he asked gingerly.
Ned tore a gummy worm in half with his teeth. “I’m not sure. I mean—she probably knows you better than anyone. So maybe.”
Something cold snaked between Peter’s lungs.
“But if she doesn’t, I’m positive it wouldn’t change how she felt about you at all,” Ned added quickly. “She loves you more than anything.”
Peter was grateful he couldn’t argue with him. He gnawed his inner lip.
What about Mr. Stark? What would he think?
Now he was lumped with a second enormous secret to keep under wraps. It was almost humorous. Perhaps Peter Parker was a more complicated individual than he gave himself credit for.
“But anyways,” Ned continued, laying on his stomach with his chin perched on his palms, kicking his feet in the air and grinning like a loon. “I need all the juicy deets on how this adorable crush of yours came to be. When did the feelings start? Do you think he likes you back? How are you planning on telling him?”
Peter clammed up, heat bleeding across his skin. “I’m not…I don’t…” he stammered. The young hero licked his lips, throat tight, then faced away from him dejectedly. “I’m not telling him. No way. Half the world has a crush on him, and we’ve only just become close in the past couple of days. It’d be weird and selfish of me to mess that up by burdening him with my stupid emotions. Hundreds of people confess their undying affection for him every day; it’s nothing special, and not worth bringing up.”
“Is making you breakfast and the most delicious pasta in the world and leaving you ‘Get Well Soon’ gifts after rushing your injured self to safety not special too?” Ned countered, leaning in close. He poked at Peter’s ribs, making the superhero jerk sideways and giggle. “Face it, Parker: the mutual pining between you two couldn’t be more obvious.”
“It’s nohot like that!” Peter insisted, shoving him away. Ned tumbled backwards onto the blanket with a laugh. “That’s just how Johnny is, okay? He’s thoughtful and generous with everyone. It’s why so many people like him so much.”
“Other than the fact that he’s an absolute hottie?” Ned snickered. Peter’s cheeks burned like fire as his friend’s choice of phrase unearthed a memory from the night before. Spider-Man sprawled weakly across the hospital bed as Johnny tended to his battered, half-naked form, his touch soft and gentle while his words struck like arrows, relentlessly teasing him about how cute and shredded and hot he was. In the moment, Peter thought he might erupt from the inside out. Thinking back to it now, the threat persisted.
Peter forced his brain to recalibrate, grounding himself with a wobbly breath. “Johnny doesn’t even like guys,” he reminded them both.
“Who says?” Ned retorted.
“Everyone! I mean—there’s no evidence proving otherwise!”
“But he’s so whimsical!” Ned protested. “He’s rocked a full face of makeup for some of his photo shoots! He wore a corset and platform heels to the Met Gala this year!”
“None of those things make you gay, Ned!” Peter shot back. “Dating other guys does! Which, as far as anyone’s aware, he never has.”
“Maybe he’s a baby gay,” Ned suggested. “You know—like you. Maybe he’s only just beginning to recognize and embrace that side of himself.”
Peter scratched and tugged at his messy tangle of curls. “Johnny is a very open person,” he insisted exasperatedly. “He’s confident, outspoken, and not great at lying. I don’t think he’d try to hide something like this. I doubt he even could. Besides—he’s always being photographed running between events with some girl hanging off his arm.” He winced, realizing how shallow and jealous that sounded, but stuck with it nonetheless.
“You of all people should know how unreliable tabloids can be,” Ned pointed out. “Johnny Storm’s strength is that he appeals to the masses. Being openly anything except hot and charming and straight could hurt his image. Maybe his PR team doesn’t want him risking that. Or maybe Johnny’s just not ready to share his sexuality with the world.”
Peter slipped a cheerless forkful of pasta between his lips. “Whether he is or isn’t doesn’t matter,” he stated. “I’m not telling him. I want us to stay friends, and this could ruin that.” He stared at his shoes with a gloomy haze over his eyes. “I’ll just have to find a way to…get over it. Keep it a secret.” He lifted his shoulders listlessly. “Lucky for me, I’m good at those.”
“I don’t know,” Ned said, hooking an arm around Peter’s neck. “You’ve been bitten by the lovebug pretty bad, my friend. You sure you’re gonna be able to resist those dreamy eyes and flaming biceps cooking you meals and giving you presents and whisking you off your feet?”
“You’re a dick,” Peter giggled, shrugging him off. “And yes, I think I can manage.”
“At least tell me what you like the most about him,” Ned pried. He picked a flower from the lawn and held it out to him dramatically. “How did the Human Torch manage to capture your tender, spidery heart?”
Peter rolled his eyes, taking the flower in his hand and twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. His expression softened a little, a comforting warmth glazing over him. “Johnny…kind of amazes me,” he said. “He’s so sure of himself. He’s not ashamed of who he is, and he’s not afraid of openly expressing his emotions. He’ll give you his honest opinion about everything—often unprompted, which can get annoying—without any diluting or sugarcoating. But it’s never to be rude; he just understands the value of healthy communication. He’ll call you out on your shit because he cares, not because he’s mean. And when he’s proven wrong or makes a mistake, he admits it wholeheartedly and takes ownership of the consequences. All of his confidence is genuine, which has made me realize just how phony mine is. I’m good at putting on a mask and faking it, like an actor playing a role. But it’s all just for show; none of it’s actually real.”
Absentmindedly, Peter began plucking the petals from the stem one by one, letting them drop from his fingertips and fall into his lap like tiny, spiraling feathers. “He’s also very attentive to detail,” he went on. “He’ll remember little things you said you liked in passing and just—get them, or make them for you. For no reason. He makes people feel noticed and special. The media likes to paint him as a bit of an airheaded jock, but it’s not true. He’s thoughtful and sensitive. And despite being so famous, he stands up for what he believes is right—even when his fans or teammates or allies disagree. When he cares about something, he cares so much. He has a very rare, very delicate heart. He’s funny, too—and way too good at poking fun.”
Ned elbowed Peter in the side, jarring him out of his lovey-dovey rambling. “And he’s hot. Right? Come on. I need to hear you say it.”
With a huff, Peter threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine. And hot. Stupidly, ridiculously hot.” The teenage superhero smiled to himself. “But mostly pretty. Like…so pretty. He’s got these long, fluffy eyelashes you can only see up close and this little pink scar just above his eyebrow that kind of looks like the square root symbol but flipped upside down and facing backwards and don’t even get me started on those adorable goddamn freckles of his or the fact that he smells like lavender and coffee beans and some other third thing I’m probably too poor to recognize but smells fucking amazing and oh my god I am so not straight.”
Ned cracked up, wrapping his friend in a big bear hug as Peter dropped his face into his hands, moaning in dismay. “I know it must be hard to still be actively processing your gay awakening in real time, but I hope you understand how entertaining it is to watch,” Ned giggled.
“How am I going to do this…?” Peter whimpered into his palms. His eyes snapped up to Ned’s, wide and panicky. “W-what if he figures it out on his own?”
Ned smiled delicately, rubbing Peter’s back. “Would that really be such a bad thing?” he ventured to say.
“It’d be the worst thing.”
“Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic. Again: what if he likes you back?”
Peter shook his head, crippled by uncertainty. “How could anyone like someone if they don’t even know what they look like?”
“Blind people fall in love every day, Peter. Quit being insensitive.”
“Oh my god. You know what I mean. For this kind of situation—where everyone’s used to seeing each other before developing feelings.”
Ned punched him in the arm, making his friend recoil. “Come on. You’re so likable. You’ve got a great personality and a very toned little butt—which that suit of yours does a marvelous job of highlighting, might I add. Johnny does not need to see your face to know how lucky he’d be to date you.”
Peter flopped onto his side and whined like a wounded puppy. “It’s hopeless, Ned. My perfect ass isn’t enough.” He curled into a fetal position, bunching his eyes closed. “Why are we even talking about this anymore? I’m not ready to show him who I really am, and we don’t even know if he likes guys. I’m just driving myself insane at this point.”
Ned’s face suddenly lit up like the Fourth of July. He grabbed Peter’s shoulder and gave it a violent shake, grinning from ear to ear. “OMG! Genius idea alert!”
“Ouch! Dude! That’s the side I got shot on! It’s still healing!”
“You were shot?” Ned sputtered, hands springing back. Then he shrugged. “Oh, whatever. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Anyways—I think I know how to fix your Johnny Storm heartsick conundrum.”
“I’m terrified to hear where you’re going with this,” Peter admitted.
Ned whipped out his phone and pounded his thumbs against the keyboard. “I wasn’t originally gonna go to this because I thought we’d canceled Mr. Storm, but now that you’re crushing on him instead, we have to be there!” He flipped the phone towards Peter, bouncing on his knees with excitement. “Look! Johnny is having a fan meet-and-greet event!”
Peter squinted at the screen. How Ned managed to stare at a phone set to full brightness all day long was beyond him. “Okay?” he said, still puzzled. “How is this gonna fix anything?”
Ned narrowed his eyes, turning the screen back to himself. “All right—so maybe it won’t fix everything,” he conceded. “But it would give you a chance to meet Johnny as yourself and see how he’d react to the real you.”
Peter frowned, tilting his head to the side. “I kinda already did that,” he reminded him. “I confronted him as Peter Parker after he set fire to Pop Star Boba, remember?”
“Oh. Right. Well—how did he react to you then? Probably not too nicely, huh?”
Peter blushed, wrapping his arms around his legs. “He, um…kind of called me ‘pretty boy’?” he squeaked. Then he immediately retreated. “B-but I don’t really think—”
“What? Are you shitting me right now?” Ned grabbed his wrists, cutting off all circulation to his hands. “Oh, we are so going! You two have to see each other again! You need a proper reunion!”
“Johnny flirts with everyone!” Peter said skittishly. “It doesn’t mean anything!”
“Now you’re just being a little bitch,” Ned snapped. He released him from his death grip and tapped wildly at his phone screen, sticking his tongue out in concentration. “We’re going, and that’s final. Me to get my Funko Pops signed, and you to see Johnny as Peter again. Oh shit! That reminds me! I gotta tell my buyer the deal’s off.”
“I don’t know what you’re expecting to happen,” Peter mumbled. “I doubt he’ll even remember me.”
Ned waved dismissively. “Shut your face hole. I’m trying to find the date for this thing. The screenshot I took cut off the bottom of the poster.”
Peter sighed, snapping the lid back onto the tupperware. “You only get, like, five seconds with the celebrities doing those things, anyway. I doubt it’ll be enough time to make it worth—”
“Shut up.”
Peter shot a glance at him, gawking in disbelief. “Jesus, all right! No need to be an asshole about it! I’m just saying—”
“No, Peter—shut up.” He shoved his phone in front of his eyes. “Look! You’re trending right now!”
Peter blinked in surprise, then nudged the screen out of his face, heaving an irritated sigh. “Oh, great. What scathing, baseless lies is Jonah pushing about me this time?”
“It’s not Jonah,” Ned insisted, scrolling frantically through his feed. “I think Johnny talked about you in his interview on the Today Show this morning.”
A tremor shot through Peter’s skeleton. “Wait—what?” He flew to Ned’s side, eyes glued to the screen. “Where? What did he say?”
“Here’s the video,” Ned said, clicking the “play” button. It started with a wide shot showing everyone involved in the interview: two hosts, and every member of the Fantastic Four. Peter’s pulse climbed as he watched the conversation unfold.
“Okay—this one is for all of you,” the bubbly news anchor announced. “Obviously you four are me and Savannah’s favorite superheroes; that goes without saying. But I have to know: outside of this team, who are each of your favorite superheroes?”
“Let’s start with you, Mr. Grimm,” the other host chirped.
Ben grunted, dwarfing everyone in the room, the water bottle in his hand looking comically small. “The Hulk,” he said gruffly, man-spreading to keep from crushing the fancy coffee table between his knees. “He and I got a lot in common, yah know? He paved the way for me to accept myself after the accident and start using my powers to help people. And he proved that one guy can in fact be the brains and the brawns.”
The hosts and the crowd applauded approvingly. The camera switched to showing all of the Fantastic Four. Johnny lounged regally in his chair, left leg crossed over his right, one finger pressed along the side of his temple. He wore sharp plaid pants with a satin short-sleeve button-up and a pair of Doc Martens. His hair was all gelled up except for one delinquent strand dangling rebelliously in front of his eyes. He looked positively divine. He had a wry grin on his face, as if thinking of a snarky remark to make in response to Ben’s last statement. But if he was, he kept it to himself.
“How about you, Dr. Richards?”
Reed chuckled shyly. “All right, I know this might not be the most original answer. But Tony Stark has always been a major inspiration of mine. The man wasn’t born a superhero; he made himself into one using the power of his mind and the technology at his disposal. I’ve always admired his remarkable intelligence.”
More applause. Nervousness crawled across Peter’s skin like ants.
“Dr. Storm?”
“Captain Marvel. I mean—what an icon, right? Her strength and bravery is literally out of this world. So many young girls look up to her and recognize their own power because of her. I’d be lucky to be half the superhero she is one day.”
Everything around him had fallen away. All that remained was the tiny rectangular video screen flickering before Peter's eyes and the little talking heads chittering back and forth. The hosts turned to the Human Torch expectantly.
“And you, Johnny? I’m sure everyone watching is eager to hear their favorite superhero’s favorite superhero.”
Laughter bubbled from the audience. The teenager smiled, a daring gleam in his eye.
“Oh, that’s an easy one,” he said without hesitating. “Spider-Man.”
A few sharp gasps cut through the silence that immediately swept the entire studio. The two hosts blinked, jaws slightly hung. Ned pinched Peter’s arm, squealing with excitement. Sue’s head whipped towards Johnny so fast, she easily could’ve snapped her own neck.
“Wow!” the older host eventually exclaimed, clapping her hands together with an awkward laugh. “Really? Spider-Man?”
“That’s right,” Johnny said.
“Now there’s a bold choice,” the other host chimed in, flashing the camera a nervous grin. “You do know that most of New York doesn’t see Spider-Man as a hero, right? A lot of people believe he does more harm than good.”
“And I respectfully disagree,” Johnny replied.
“Johnny…” Sue warned him, the veins in her neck throbbing beneath her skin.
“Well,” the older host continued hesitantly, “I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say I’m dying to know: what makes Spider-Man your favorite?”
“His uncompromising selflessness,” Johnny answered immediately, voice level and direct. “Spidey battles crime and saves lives without asking for a single thing in return. He protects the people of this city because he’s a good person—plain and simple. He cares more about helping others than wealth or fame or anyone else’s opinion of him. Despite all the terrible lies the world spreads about him, he still does everything in his power to defend it. And I find that incredibly noble.”
Peter's heart did cartwheels inside his chest. One second, he was swooning over Johnny’s heartfelt compliments. The next, he was bristling with panic. He didn’t know what to do or what to think.
“You sound pretty confident in your endorsement of our resident wall-crawler,” the younger host noted. “May I ask what brought you to this conclusion? What made you decide that Spider-Man might be a hero after all?”
Johnny interlaced his fingers together and placed them against his knee. “A lot of things,” he responded. “But the moment that really sealed the deal was when I teamed up with him yesterday to stop a group of thugs from kidnapping some kids, and watched him take a bullet to protect one of them.”
Murmurs of surprise and doubt rumbled from the audience. The other members of the Fantastic Four exchanged pointed glances. The older host pressed a hand to her chest in shock.
“Goodness! Is he all right?” she asked.
“He’ll be okay,” Johnny assured them. “He’s tough. But he doesn’t deserve all the hate this city throws at him. Spider-Man is a prime example of a true, authentic hero.”
The other host turned to face the audience. “Well, you heard it here first, folks: Spider-Man’s got Johnny Storm’s stamp of approval. Perhaps the web-slinger isn’t a menace after all.”
“Up next, the Fantastic Four take on our superhero cupcake decorating challenge. Who do you think has what it takes to win it all? Stay tuned to find out!”
Then the video ended, replaced by an ad for vegan protein powder that probably tasted like dog food.
“Holy shit,” Peter whispered, sitting back on his heels.
“Holy shit!” Ned cried.
“Why would he do that?” he asked bewilderedly, gripping his head in his hands. “Sue is going to skin him alive!”
“Duh! Because he loooves you!”
���Ned!” Peter yelped, ears burning. “Not the time!”
“It’s the only explanation!”
“I—I have to go,” Peter stammered, cramming the gummy worms and leftover pasta into his backpack. He slung the bag over his shoulder, moving to leave, thoughts spiraling, but Ned hopped to his feet.
“Wait!” he called after him. “There’s something else.”
Peter turned around, wired with enough anxious energy to power every building in the Bronx. “Now what?” he groaned.
“Johnny got into a Twitter fight with some fans of his shortly after the interview aired,” Ned explained, thumbs flying. “They went back and forth for a bit arguing about you, and then…” His fingers slowed as he frowned at his phone screen. A couple seconds later, Ned bit his lip, fighting back laughter.
“What?” Peter said, squeezing the life out of his backpack straps. “What is it?”
Giggles slipped through Ned’s defenses. Peter ran to his friend’s side and snatched the phone out of his hand. As his eyes absorbed the image on the screen, blush exploded across his face.
to all of you who still believe #spider-man is a menace, the caption read, i need you to know that THIS is what that dumbass wears to sleep at night. diabolical, right?
Below the cut was the photo Johnny had taken of Peter yesterday morning, wearing his Spider-Man mask, his oversized “I Survived My Trip to New York” T-shirt, and his bright pink Hello Kitty pajama pants. He had the knuckles of one hand pressed against his left eye lens, kneading sleepily at his face. He was absolutely drowning in his clothes and looked way younger than Spider-Man usually did compared to the typical pictures shared of him online.
643 comments. 921 reshares. 207K likes.
“He didn’t,” Peter croaked, cupping his palm over his mouth. “Oh my god! He posted that photo of me? He wasn’t supposed to share that!”
Ned cackled hysterically. “At least he’s standing up for you! Maybe this will make people stop hating you so much! I mean—how could anyone hate you after seeing you in that outfit?”
“I have to find him,” Peter said, voice brittle. He handed the phone back to Ned. “I have to—shit! I don’t even have his number!”
“Ooh! Perfect opportunity for you to ask for his digits, then!” Ned’s expression shifted when he saw the look on his friend’s face. “We’re excited about this, right? I mean—your crush is voicing his support for you on live TV! You’re not, like, freaking out right now, are you?”
Peter shook his head, sweaty and frazzled. “I don’t know. I mean…kinda?” He heaved his backpack higher up on his shoulders. “I—I’m gonna go now. Thanks for meeting up with me on such short notice. We’ll talk more later, okay?”
“Hold on! Peter!” his friend yelled behind him. But Peter didn’t stop. He raced out of the park and cleared a couple of blocks before flinging himself into the first deserted alleyway he happened across, shooting wild glances over his shoulder as he stripped out of his street clothes and threw on his Spider-Man suit—the extra one Stark had made for him that wasn’t currently torn to pieces and soaked in blood.
Once he was in costume, Peter leapt off the ground and buoyed into the street, carrying himself towards Avenger Tower on frantic lines of webbing. It wasn’t until his side started throbbing like the devil that he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be web-swinging right now, but by then he was almost halfway to his destination and had no plans of slowing down.
When he finally arrived at the imposing skyscraper, Peter dropped onto the tower’s extended balcony in the center of the helicopter pad, gripping his wound with a groan.
“FRIDAY!” Spider-Man grated out breathlessly. “Where’s Johnny?”
“Peter Parker!” the A.I. scolded him. “What do you think you’re doing? Mr. Stark gave you specific instructions to limit your physical activity and refrain from—”
“I know! I forgot! I’m sorry, okay?” He forced himself to stand up straight, grimacing behind his mask. “Please just tell me where he is.”
With an aggravated huff, FRIDAY begrudgingly complied. “On the roof,” she stated. “Just be careful climbing up there so you don’t tear through your stitches even more.”
Peter exhaled in relief, grateful he wasn’t far. “Thank you,” he said. Then he scaled the short stretch of wall leading to the roof, which sat between the two extravagant panels fanning out from the top of the tower. There was no access to it from inside; the only way to reach it was by flying or climbing, which meant it was a relatively sequestered space.
Spider-Man hopped over the crown of the tower, panting weakly, hugging his midsection. He hoped FRIDAY wasn’t planning to tell Stark about his freshly popped sutures, or how he’d gone about ripping them. Tendrils of pain lanced through his side like shark’s teeth.
“Johnny?” he wheezed, lifting his head. “You here? I, uh, need to talk to you about—”
Whatever words he was about to say next got lodged somewhere in the back of his throat. Peter froze in place at the sight before him, inhaling sharply, pulse revving into overdrive.
Johnny stood with his back facing him, shirtless and barefoot, hands gripping the pull-up bar Stark had installed for himself back before the Avengers were even a thing. Other decades-old workout equipment littered the rooftop—scuffed and rusted from years of exposure to the elements, but still relatively functional. It looked like Johnny had been bouncing between the different stations before Peter had arrived, testing out the various weights and machines. But right now, he was focused on his arms and back.
Coincidentally, so were Peter’s eyes.
Again and again, Johnny raised his chest above the bar, then lowered himself back down with controlled, precise movements. The muscles in his back powered through each motion in the most beautifully mesmerizing way, rippling and coiling and pinching together fluidly. He puffed out quick breaths between each rep, sunlight gilding the curve of his biceps.
When he finished his set, Johnny dropped to the floor and snatched a water bottle off the bench, tipping it back with the nozzle between his lips. Tiny streams trickled from the sides of his mouth and slipped down his neck. The world suddenly dipped into slow motion, the outline of Johnny’s body glowing with supernatural light, the edges of Peter’s vision tinting pink. Jesus, he was pretty. Heartbreakingly so. He forgot for a moment why he’d scrambled here in such a rush in the first place. Was it for something important? Or was it just to admire how lovely Johnny’s muscles looked in the afternoon sunshine?
Dear god. How did he ever convince himself this was anything other than a big, fat crush?
Johnny turned towards him, pouring water over his head, letting it spill down his face and chest and soak into his hair. He ran his fingers through his scalp, slicking back dripping strands of reddish-gold. Sweat-damp skin gleamed and glistened like a dewy spring morning; exertion painted his face in rosy, splotchy colors. He pulled out the towel he had tucked into his waistband and swiped it across the back of his neck. As he dried his hair, his eyes flickered up to meet his, electrified by the summer sun.
“Wah!” Johnny shrieked in alarm, tiny flames erupting from his shoulders. Peter shrieked back, startled out of his infatuated stupor.
“Gah! I—uh—shit—sorry!” Peter whirled away from him, covering his eyes with his palms, struck with realization that he’d been caught red handed ogling Johnny like a goddamn weirdo.
Johnny squinted in his direction, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Spidey?” he said, pulling an Airpod out of his ear. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” Peter answered, voice shriveled with embarrassment. “Sorry for scaring you. FRIDAY told me you were up here.” He spoke without turning around or uncovering his eyes.
Johnny jogged across the rooftop to meet him, scoffing in amusement. “Why are you hiding your face like that?”
Timidly, Peter peered at him over his shoulder. “Sorry, I thought you were—I don’t know. Working out in private or something? I didn’t mean to intrude.”
The Human Torch giggled. “Dude, I had to strip you down to your underwear yesterday. If I got to see you in all your nakey, shredded glory, the least I can do is return the favor.”
Peter laughed awkwardly, hands fidgeting at his sides. This boy was going to be the death of him.
“Besides,” Johnny continued, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “I don’t care about people seeing me like this. I’m not up here to hide from anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He frowned. “Well…except for my sister.”
Spider-Man breathed in slowly. Right. The interview. The Twitter posts. That’s why I’m here. Focus, Peter.
“She’s gotta be so pissed off,” Peter started to say. “Why the hell would you—?”
“Did you get my present?” Johnny interrupted him, flashing the most adorable, bright-eyed smile. The excitement on his face was so sweet and disarming, Peter found his own lips curling upwards.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. He stared off to the side, blushing and smiling and scratching the back of his head. “That was…really kind of you.”
“Did you like the pasta?” he asked eagerly. Peter slapped himself in the forehead.
“Did I like it? Holy shit, man! That was the most insanely delicious thing ever! How’d you even make that?”
Johnny laid a dramatic hand across his chest. “It’s an art,” he said, pretentious as ever. Now that he was standing right in front of him, Peter could see the hundreds of tiny freckles speckling not just his limbs and face, but his torso as well. They decorated his skin the way a pointillist dotted a canvas or constellations adorned the cosmos. Peter thought it would be fun to trace the paths between them with his finger.
Whoa. Okay. Reel it in there, Pete. Even after accepting these feelings for what they truly meant, intrusive thoughts like that were still gonna take his baby bi brain some getting used to. He felt like a foreigner in his own body: thinking and desiring things completely out of his control. Things he knew he’d never be able to act on, which only made him want them more.
“It’s good to see you on your feet again,” Johnny said, pointing to his side. “How’s your injury doing? You’ve been taking it easy today, right? No web-swinging?”
Peter blinked, struggling to anchor his wistful thoughts. “Uh…sure,” he stammered. He jerked his eyes back up to Johnny’s face, then gave his head a quick shake. God, he was distracting. “Anyways, um—I wanted to talk to you about—”
“The Today interview?” he finished for him. A wily playfulness entered his expression. “You saw it, right?”
Spider-Man gave an incredulous huff. “Why would you do that?” he asked helplessly. “What on earth were you thinking? Are you trying to make everyone hate you?”
“I was asked a question, and I told the truth,” Johnny answered simply. “I didn’t go into it with any sort of agenda. It just happened.”
“Johnny,” Peter snapped. “Please, just—listen to me, okay?” He hunched his shoulders and balled his hands into fists. “I don’t care what people think about Spider-Man. I’ve told you before; It doesn’t matter. But I know you care what people think about the Human Torch. Their support is really important to you, and I don’t want you falling out of their favor. If you keep this up, you’re going to regret ever meeting me.” He rubbed at his aching side, voice sinking. “You really—you have to stop, okay? Please.”
The look that shuddered across Johnny’s face wasn’t what Peter was expecting, and also maimed his heart a little bit. After a beat, the Human Torch scoffed.
“Hold up—are you mad at me for telling people to stop treating you like shit?”
Peter winced. “No. I’m not mad at you. I mean—I am slightly pissed that you posted that photo of me from yesterday after I asked you not to, but…”
“You said ‘I’d better not see that on The Daily Bugle’,” Johnny pointed out. “You never said anything about Twitter.”
“Well, the Bugle retweeted it, so now it technically is on there.”
“And that’s probably the most flattering photo they’ve ever shared of you,” Johnny countered. “You wanna know what they were talking about before I posted that or did the interview? The Bugle was trying to make everyone believe that you were the one who kidnapped that kid yesterday! Not Fisk’s men! Oh—but thank god Johnny Storm was there to pry the poor tike from Spider-Man’s evil clutches! What a hero! They had poorly photoshopped pictures to back up their story and everything!” Johnny stepped closer to him, jabbing his finger into his chest. “But I stopped them. I told the truth, and they were forced to retract their lies. Now everyone will know they can’t be trusted, and you can start to clear your name.” Wisps of smoke trailed off his shoulders and dissipated into the sky. “But you’re mad about that? I don’t understand. I thought you’d be grateful!”
Even though they were in the middle of a semi-heated disagreement, Peter had to take a second to acknowledge the way Johnny’s powers reacted to his emotions, and how devastatingly cute it was. When he was startled, little fires flared out of him in every direction, punctuating his shock in the most hilarious fashion. When he was frustrated, his head and shoulders smoked like a grouchy, overworked radiator, making his irritation all the more obvious. He wondered if positive emotions could trigger his powers in ways Peter hadn’t witnessed yet. If so, he hoped he’d have the chance to see it.
Peter lowered his gaze skittishly. “I am grateful,” he insisted. “Really. I’m just—I wish you would listen to what I’m saying, instead of going off and doing things like this without my input. That’s all.”
Gradually, the smoke stream rising from Johnny’s skin eased to a halt. His face fell, twisted with guilt.
“Fine,” Johnny stated. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have posted the picture without asking you. I’m sorry about that.” He met his gaze reluctantly. “It’s just…people share photos of you all the time trying to tear you apart. I only wanted to challenge them by showing how cute and likable the real you is.”
Peter’s cheeks flushed. Cute? Likable? Was that really how Johnny saw him? But in what context? A cute and likable friend? Who the hell described their platonic companions like that? Only someone as blatantly honest as Johnny Storm, he supposed. Johnny spoke his mind without ever considering how his words might be misinterpreted or used against him. It was as admirable as it was reckless.
“And to be fair, I knew if I asked you, you would’ve said no,” Johnny added with a hesitant smile. “You’re too cautious, webhead. You’d rather let the world shit all over you than give anyone the chance to defend you and change their minds.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Me? Cautious? You’re kidding, right? You mind running that little observation by Mr. Stark? I don’t think anyone has ever used that word to describe me.”
“All right,” Johnny corrected himself. “Scared, then. You’re too scared to let anyone stand up for you.”
Peter scoffed. “Uh—yeah?” he said, forcing a bitter laugh. “Obviously I’m scared! Scared that you’ll mangle your perfect reputation to try to save my shitty one for no reason! I’ve told you a hundred times, Johnny! It’s not worth it!”
The Human Torch scowled at him, throwing his hands in the air. “What kind of asshole do you take me for?” he retorted. “You really expect me to sit by and do nothing while people praise me in one breath and bash you in the next? That’s not how friendship works, moron! That’s not what friends do! Real friends stick up for each other no matter what!”
Peter stared at him, stunned silent, touched by his loyalty but still thoroughly annoyed. Poor, sweet Johnny was too damn sentimental for his own good. Why couldn’t he understand that Peter was just trying to protect him from meeting the same miserable fate as Spider-Man? He kneaded at his temple, trying to decide how to properly phrase this.
“I know you have the best intentions, Johnny. You’re a really good person and a really great friend. So I’m asking you, as a friend, to please let this go. Okay? For both of our sakes.”
Fresh smoke ballooned from the teen’s adorably freckled shoulders. After a moment, Johnny crossed his arms, scrunching his face into a knot of hard lines.
“You’re telling me if the roles were reversed and I was the one the world was hating on and lying about, you’d be perfectly fine holding your tongue and just letting it happen? You seriously believe that’d be the right thing to do?”
Peter grimaced, hugging himself around the middle. “N-no. Of course not. It’s just—it’s different, okay?”
“How?” Johnny shot back. “How is it different?”
Peter shrunk a little, grasping for a reply. “It—it just is.”
“Because you’re the one who’s getting fucked over? Not someone else?”
Spider-Man’s eyes went wide. “What? No, that’s not—I’m not—”
“‘Cuz if any other person was going through what you’re going through right now, that’d be wrong, right? Their friends should stick up for them? But you, on the other hand—oh, no. You can take it. You’re tough. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s not worth anyone’s time. Getting crucified by the press on a daily basis for crimes you didn’t commit is just a silly little occupational hazard for Spidey and Spidey alone to deal with. Anyone who thinks otherwise should just fuck right off and mind their business. Am I understanding you correctly?”
A disquieting sensation Peter had come to know well settled in the pit of his stomach. A discomfort Johnny did a miraculously unnerving job of inflicting him with on a regular basis. The shame of having your insecurities named aloud and brought to light. The feeling of someone carving you open and pulling out your guts and peering inside you like a dissected frog.
Numb, Peter pushed past him. A wounded spider trapped between the edge of a skyscraper and an accusatory matchstick did not sound like a scenario that ended well. He could feel Johnny’s eyes boring into the back of his neck as he stopped a few paces away from him, fists clenched.
“I’m just trying to protect you,” Peter mumbled sullenly.
“And I’m trying to protect you!” Johnny shouted back. “You work so hard to protect everybody around you, but you brush off anyone who tries to return the favor. Why can’t you let someone protect you for a change?”
Peter set his jaw and shook his head. “You can protect me in other ways,” he insisted, turning to face him. “You already have. But not like this. I’m telling you; you’re not going to change their minds.”
“Not if you don’t give me the chance to try,” Johnny replied. “And not if you don’t let the world get to know the real you.” He stood his ground, eyes sharp with resolve, flames licking off the tips of his collarbones. “I don’t care if you don’t think you’re worth it, Spidey. Because I do.”
Something hot and spiky slithered through his entrails, tearing him up inside. His tongue was tacky and tasted like lead. Whiplashed with emotion, Peter sat against the ground, pinning his knees to his chest, swallowing thickly. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t look at him.
Johnny studied him in silence. His features had softened, but he still looked upset. He retracted his flames and walked over to him, kneeling by his side. They sat that way without speaking for nearly a full minute.
“You wanna know what I think?” Johnny said eventually. Peter scratched at the bandages beneath his suit, frowning at the concrete.
“Not really,” he admitted.
Johnny ignored him. “I think part of you likes the fact everyone hates you. I think you think you deserve it somehow.”
Needles pricked at his skin. Peter thought they’d reached the point in their argument where gentle, reassuring Johnny would rear his head, tell him everything was okay, and the vicious assault on his ethos would finally come to an end.
Apparently not.
“You think their hatred is some penance you have to endure for your past mistakes,” Johnny continued venomously. “Part of you believes there’s some truth to what they say when they call you monster or traitor or menace. So why stop them?” Johnny pulled a protein bar out of his pocket and tore off the shiny packaging, shrugging his shoulders as he took a big bite. “And hey, maybe it makes things easier for you. After all, you can’t disappoint people who don’t have any faith in you to begin with.”
Peter had lost his voice somewhere in the depths of his lungs. When he finally managed to find it, his words came out weak and small.
“That’s not true,” he said feebly.
Johnny raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, yeah? Then what is the truth, Webs? ‘Cuz if you really didn’t care what others thought about you, you wouldn’t be so wigged out by the idea that maybe—just maybe—people might actually like you if you gave them the chance.”
Peter blinked, sudden tears stinging in the corners of his eyes. He was grateful Johnny couldn’t see them through his mask, but it was impossible to hide the tremble in his voice.
“I’m not scared of people liking me,” he said quietly. He gripped the sleeves of his costume in his fists and hung his head. “I mean—maybe I am. A tiny bit. But…” He released a shivery breath, throat dry, heart heavy. “I’m scared that I’ll let them get to know me, that they’ll finally start to see me as I am, but then…they still won’t like me. M-maybe they’ll just hate me even more than before.” He choked back a sob, turning to Johnny helplessly. “What then?”
Peter was surprised to find Johnny’s face red and puffy and drenched in tears, gazing back at him with the saddest, wettest eyes in the world. The sight was so unexpected, he almost laughed.
“Johnny?” Peter said, chuckling lightly. “Why are you crying?”
“Because!” Johnny sniffled, wiping at his tear-stained cheeks. “Anytime someone else starts crying, I start crying, too. It’s just how I am, okay?”
Peter giggled, crossing his arms on top of his knees. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he teased him. “I’m not crying at all. Not one bit.”
“Shut up!” Johnny laughed through his tears, punching him in the leg. “Don’t lie. You totally are.” He wrapped his arms around Peter’s bicep and laid his head on his shoulder, making the masked hero stiffen. “And in the completely impossible scenario that everyone still doesn’t like you after all this, then you’ll have me. I’ll like you. And I’ll tell all your haters they can kiss my flaming ass.”
Spider-Man tried to laugh with him, but it came out shrill and forced. He sat very still, the skin Johnny was touching feeling warm and tingly beneath the fabric of his suit. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to shove him away or lean into his embrace. The choice left him breathless and paralyzed.
“But that’s not going to happen,” the Human Torch assured him, raising his head and digging his phone out of his pocket. “My fans are going to love you. In fact, some of them already do! Look!” He held the screen up for both of them to see and scrolled through the top posts mentioning Spider-Man. “Now that I’ve endorsed you, loads of people are coming out of the woodworks to do the same. People who always supported you, but were hesitant to talk about it since you’ve always been so unpopular.” He pointed between the many different tweets, reading a few aloud. “‘I never really understood all the Spider-Man hate tbh. Dude saved my best friend from a group of muggers last year. Seems like a decent guy.’
“‘During my spring break trip to NYC, Spidey spotted me and my friends struggling to navigate SoHo and swung down just to give us directions. I think Johnny is right about him. Not very menace-like.’
“‘This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Need more Spider-Man in Hello Kitty pajamas content ASAP @flameonf4.’”
Peter giggled lightly. “What about that one?” he said, tapping the bottom of the screen. “‘Throwing away all of my kids’ Human Torch action figures this morning. What a waste. #spidermanisamenace.’”
Johnny scowled. “Oh. Well—”
“And this one? ‘Johnny, honey, sweetheart, why are you supporting that problematic asshole? Make better decisions, baby boy.’”
“Okay, but—”
“And this! ‘The only real hero here is whoever pumped that spider freak full of lead. Next time, go for the headshot.’”
“Jesus, all right! So maybe not everyone’s convinced just yet.” Johnny dropped his phone into his lap and gave Peter’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “But they will! More of them, anyway. All you have to do is let me work my magic and know that I have your best interests at heart. Can you do that for me? Please? I promise you won’t regret it.”
Peter swallowed, every argument and protest dying on his tongue as the Human Torch gazed back at him, eager and expecting. How could he say no to that face? To that smile? To those eyes? Those ocean eyes. Those eyes like sinking ships on waters, so inviting, he almost jumped—
Oh, fuck you, Billie Eilish and Taylor Swift.
“What exactly would this agreement entail?” Peter asked nervously. “You posting more embarrassing photos of me in my pajamas?”
“First of all, that photo was not embarrassing,” Johnny insisted. “It was cute! And it won over more people than my speech on the Today Show ever could. It showed a side of Spider-Man most people have never gotten to see—you as a cute little sleepyhead breaking gender barriers with your affinity for Hello Kitty.”
Peter laughed shyly. “I don’t know if ‘cute’ is the adjective I want the general public associating with Spider-Man,” he confessed.
“Would you prefer ‘evil’ instead? Or ‘putridly deplorable’? How about ‘demonstrably dangerous and untrustworthy’?”
Peter hunched his shoulders. “Dangerous sounds kinda cool.”
“I’m trying to introduce you to the world as you are, not invent a new online personality for you. And what you are is cute, funny, and charmingly awkward, so that’s how you’ll be presented. Not cool and dangerous. That’s my job.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “More like brutally honest and bossy.”
Johnny snickered. “How do you want the world to see you, then? How would you like to rebrand yourself to the citizens of NYC?”
Peter thought on it for a moment, scraping his heels against the gritty concrete rooftop, gazing across the jagged sea of buildings as they curved into the horizon.
“Just…someone they can depend on. Someone who’s here to help.” He met his eye with a hesitant smile. “You know…friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and all that.”
Johnny mirrored his grin, clapping him on the back. “Then friendly neighborhood Spider-Man it is.” He poked him in the cheek with his finger. “But also cute and funny and awkward Spider-Man, ‘cuz you’re gonna continue being that no matter what.”
Peter swatted his hand away with a giggle. “What’s your plan for all this? What are you expecting me to do that’ll somehow make people hate me less?”
Johnny hopped to his feet with his phone in his hands, tapping at the screen with his back facing Peter. “You, my darling, spidery compadre, are tasked with the perilous endeavor of simply being yourself. Leave everything else to me.”
Peter frowned. “Yeah, that’s not reassuring at all.”
“You trust me, right?” Johnny asked, glancing at him over his shoulder. Peter chuckled lightly, scrunching up his nose.
“To a certain extent,” he conceded.
Johnny cracked a smile. “Do you trust that I’d never do anything to intentionally cause you harm?”
Peter gripped his knees a little tighter, cheeks warm and heart weightless. He rested his chin on top of his arms and stared at his feet.
“Yes,” he decided. “When we first met—no. You wanted to fry me like a tater tot. But now I do.”
Johnny nodded. “Good.” Then he held up his phone like he was taking a selfie. “‘Cuz it’s time to start phase two of my plan.”
Peter blinked obliviously. “Which means…?”
“Going live with you on TikTok, of course.” He faced the camera away from Peter and waved into the lens. “Hey guys! I know I haven’t done this in a while, but today felt like a very livestream-worthy Friday after all of the drama that went down, and I wanted to clear a few things up.”
Peter rolled his eyes, not buying his bit in the slightest. “Ha-ha, very funny,” he deadpanned. He pulled his own phone out of his backpack to check his notifications, and felt his body take a screenshot when he spotted the most recent ping.
flameonf4 is live on TikTok! - 1m ago
“What?” Peter yelped, flying to his feet. He turned towards Johnny sharply. “Wait—you’re actually—?”
“First of all,” Johnny carried on, flashing the camera one of his irresistibly winning smiles, “yes, Spider-Man and I actually know each other, and yes, we're actually friends. I wouldn’t make shit up like that just for funsies.” A sparkle entered the teen hero’s eye. “In fact, Spidey and I are actually hanging out right now. See?” He spun on his heels so both he and Spider-Man were in frame, grinning exuberantly. “Say hi, webhead!”
Peter tensed in alarm, startled bashfulness seizing his throat. “Oh,” he stuttered, shrinking into himself a little. This was not where he’d anticipated this conversation going. He scratched at his neck and gave a small wave, feeling nervous and a tad bit silly. “Um…hi?”
Johnny cackled. “Don’t mind him; he can get a little camera shy. Poor guy. You know how it is.”
Peter reddened. Spider-Man had never really done any interviews or press junkets or things like this before. It wasn’t his style. He preferred sticking to actual superhero stuff and steering clear of the controversy constantly hanging over his name. He’d tried to film a few promotional videos for F.E.A.S.T. after May shoved a script into his hands and dragged him in front of a green screen, but every take was so stale and robotic, they abandoned the entire project and just made cardboard cutouts of the wallcrawler with encouraging speech bubbles above his head. Peter had always been anxious about putting himself out there in that way—worried he might accidentally reveal something that could jeopardize his secret identity. The closest thing he’d ever done to anything like this was filming those little video diaries he used to make back when he’d been recruited by Stark to fight Steve Rogers in Germany. But he’d never shown them to anyone except Ned.
Unfortunately for him, keeping a low profile wasn’t going so hot for his reputation. If he really wanted the people of New York to trust him, it was clear he had to be a little more accessible; follow Johnny’s example. Not to a ‘T,’ but enough that there was content out there featuring him other than smear ads made exclusively by underpaid Bugle interns.
He had very little faith that any of this would make anyone hate him less. But he’d never know if he didn’t try.
So, Peter took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, stood up straight, and painted on his best, most confident, totally-not-freaking-out face.
“I am not camera-shy,” he lied, clearing his throat as he inched a couple steps closer to the screen. “You just...y'know! Caught me off guard! I didn’t know we were doing this. I would’ve prepped some jokes, polished my eye lenses, maybe taken a rain check on that half a gallon of pasta I ate before squeezing into this suit and introducing myself to millions of your fans.”
Johnny giggled, which helped ground him a bit. “There’s only about six thousand people watching at the moment,” he corrected him. “Not millions. But it’s climbing by the second.” Johnny bopped him on the nose in that obnoxiously patronizing way he always did. “And don’t worry; you look great.”
“Still,” Peter pouted. He turned to address the phone camera. “Did you all know how amazing he is at cooking? ‘Cuz I sure didn’t. Ever since his team’s been staying at Avengers Tower, he keeps waking up at, like, 4 a.m. every morning and making all this fancy food that I have no choice but to stuff my face with ‘cuz it’s so damn good, and I absolutely hate him for it.”
Johnny scoffed. “For the record, if you all couldn’t tell, Spider-Man is a scrawny little beanpole who could absolutely stand to gain a few pounds.” Johnny made a grab for his rib cage, grinning mischievously, but Peter anticipated the attack and jerked away from his pinching fingers.
“Hey!” Peter exclaimed, hugging himself around the middle. Johnny laughed brightly.
“I mean, look at you! You can count all twenty-four of your ribs clear through your suit! How do you not break into pieces getting tossed around by bad guys all the time? I’m just trying to put a little meat on your bones.”
Peter gave him a playful shove. “Not all of us can be beefcake Speedo models eating eight thousand grams of protein per meal, Torchy.”
The two of them cackled together, and for an instant, Peter forgot about the livestream and the thousands of people watching. Right now, it was just the pair of them bickering and being idiots as usual.
“There’s, like, a ton of questions piling in for you, by the way,” Johnny noted. He scrolled through the exponentially growing list of comments. “A lot of people are asking for you to prove you’re the real Spider-Man.”
Peter tilted his head to the side and tapped his chin with his thumb. “Huh. How do I do that?”
“I don’t know. Climb a wall? Shoot some webs?” Johnny’s face lit up. “Ooh! Do a flip! People love flips.”
Peter snickered. “If you say so,” he said. He retreated a few paces away from Johnny and executed a clean and simple backflip, striking a little pose as he stuck the landing. Johnny snapped his fingers in applause as Spider-Man offered the camera a bow. He smiled, straightening his spine, then doubled over again with a hiss, gripping his side in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Johnny asked. Then his eyes flashed wide. “Oh shit! Your bullet wound! I completely forgot!”
“M-me too,” Peter grated out, groaning at the ground. “Shit. Shouldn’t have done that. Really bad idea. Uugh…”
“Sorry, Webs,” Johnny chuckled reluctantly. He faced the camera, blowing a tuft of hair out of his eyes. “For those of you who aren’t aware, Spidey got shot yesterday by a bunch of slimy Russian-sounding assholes who were trying to kidnap some kiddos. We stopped them, but they really did a number on our friendly neighborhood webhead.” Johnny leered into the lens, summoning fire to his fingers. “So if any of you douchebags are watching this—especially that crooked bastard Wilson Fisk—please know you’ve made enemies for life, and we’re coming for your entire evil operation.”
Sudden panic slugged Peter in the gut. With a gasp, he lunged forward, reaching around Johnny’s head from behind and clamping both palms over the Human Torch’s mouth.
“Shh! Johnny!” he cried in alarm. “You can’t say that on here!”
Johnny sputtered muffled curses into his hands, clawing at Peter’s wrists until his lips were free. “Blech! Dude! Get your sticky spider fingers off my mouth! Yuck!” He knocked his shoulder against his chest with a sly grin. “And don’t shush me! I’ll bash that guy as much as I want! He’s the reason you nearly died yesterday.” To Peter's horror, Johnny jabbed his index finger into his phone’s camera and added: “Which is why you absolutely should not vote for him to be mayor of New York. If you’re a true fan of mine, pick another candidate. Literally anyone else. Don’t let him win. Dude sucks majorly.”
Frantic, Peter shot a web-line from his wrist and ripped the phone right out Johnny’s hands, covering the microphone with his thumb.
“Hey!” Johnny cried, whirling on him. “What the hell was that for?”
“Listen to me!” Peter sputtered desperately. “You cannot talk shit about Fisk on here or in interviews or anywhere else! It’s too dangerous! Fisk does not mess around with these kinds of things. He doesn’t care who you are. He’ll send people after you. I’ve seen him do it. He’ll kill you to keep you silent, or worse.”
Johnny scoffed, placing his hands on his hips. “If Fisk is truly as horrible as you’re making him out to be, we can’t just sit by and let him become mayor! Someone that corrupt needs to be exposed and imprisoned, not raking in donations on his campaign trail for the most powerful political office in the city!”
“I know!” Peter insisted. “And I promise I’m going to stop him. We’re going to stop him. But we have to be smart about it, all right? You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
Johnny glowered, snatching his phone back. “You’re no fun,” he grumbled. Peter winced slightly. Johnny had no comprehension of the bear he was currently poking. He had to make sure he didn’t pull anything like that ever again. He never should've mentioned Fisk to him in the first place.
Johnny combed his fingers through his hair, cracked his neck, then grinned back into the camera. “Sorry about that—technical difficulties. Where were we again? Oh, that’s right: I had a very important mission to charge all of you with—my friends, my fans, and anyone else who sees this.”
Johnny swiveled so that both he and Peter were in frame again. “Spidey here doesn’t believe there’s any point in trying to convince you guys he’s not actually the evil menace that news outlets and Internet blogs and the Bugle claim him to be. He thinks his image has been so thoroughly raked through the mud, there’s no chance the people of this city will ever stop hating him. He’s accepted that despite all of the good he does for the world and how much he sacrifices to protect others, he will always be seen as a villain.”
Red-hot blush roared across Peter’s skin. Rarely did Spider-Man ever find himself speechless, but Johnny always managed to rattle every thought from his skull with his chaotic and spontaneous way with words. He let out a laugh, clumsy and incredulous, kneading his fingers into his upper arm as he glanced between Johnny and the phone screen.
“It’s, um—it’s really not that serious, guys,” Peter tried to add meekly. He nudged the Human Torch in the back. “Johnny, you don’t have to—”
“You see what I’m dealing with?” Johnny huffed, gesturing to Peter aggressively. “Poor little Spider-Man’s self-esteem is shot thanks to J. Jonah Jameson and the Bugle and all the other media channels who’ve been bullying him nonstop for the past two years. It’s heartbreaking! Maybe he’s okay with things continuing on this way, but I’m not. Both Spidey and the people of this city deserve to know the truth.”
Johnny laid his palm against his chest with a gentle smile, skin glowing in the summer sun. “So this is my call to action: I’m challenging all of you out there who have been personally saved or helped by Spider-Man to share your stories with the world. No wild fabrications you saw online, no outlandish gossip you heard through the rumor mill. Only experiences that you yourself or someone you’re close to went through where the webhead was involved. Any photos or videos to back up your testimonies would be awesome as well. Let’s flood social media with real stories about Spider-Man to drown out the haters and give our friendly neighborhood hero the love he deserves.”
Reactions and comments began pouring in like crazy, blocking out half the screen. The number of viewers had jumped from 6K to well over thirty thousand. Peter's insides felt queasy yet warm. No one had ever vouched for his character to this degree before. No one had ever fought so hard on his behalf for the entire world to see. Even if it didn’t change a single person’s mind, he’d never stop appreciating him for trying. Even though their friendship would never grow into something more, he found himself falling for him harder than ever before. He didn’t think that was possible.
“Sound good?” Johnny asked the viewers cheerfully. Peter studied his face intently, followed the sharp line of his jaw with his eyes. His feelings for him were dancing circles around his head, practically oozing out of his skin.
What if he figured it out?
What if everyone figured it out?
“What are all of you jabbering on about now?” Johnny continued with a chuckle, holding the screen close to his face. “‘Johnny’s amazing, Johnny’s the best, thank you very much, blah blah blah…” His eyebrows stitched together as his lips arched into a frown. “Wait—‘Spidey’s hurt’? ‘Spider-Man’s bleeding’?” He jerked his head towards Peter. “Why are you saying—wah! Shit! They’re right, Webs! Your wound!”
Peter blinked, gaze dropping to his torso. He was surprised to find the left side of his abdomen stained and sticky and soaked through with blood once again.
“Oh,” Peter said, poking at the dark spot, his fingers coming away wet. “Whoopsies. Guess I really did pop my stitches with that backflip, huh?” The masked hero gave an awkward laugh. What he thought were butterflies fluttering inside him were actually just talons of pain probing the flesh beneath his rib cage.
“Dammit. My fault. Let’s get you back to the med bay.” With a sharpened sense of urgency, Johnny threw a wave to his fans on the livestream. “Thanks for the heads up, folks! I gotta take this guy to get cleaned up. Don’t forget your assignment! I wanna hear all your Spidey stories. And be sure to tag me! Love you!”
After peppering the camera with kisses, Johnny ended the live and hurried to Peter’s side, looping an arm around his midsection. “Sorry, webhead. Come on—let’s go find Tony. I’ll take the blame for this one.”
Johnny’s hand was strong and steadying where it held him at the waist. Peter cupped his palm against his injury, grasping for the right words to fully encapsulate his gratitude.
“Thank you, Johnny,” he said quietly. He met his gaze and bit the inside of his cheek. “You’re, um…you’re a really good friend.”
A soft blush dusted across Johnny’s freckled face. Today he smelled like salty sweat mixed with the fading aroma of whatever cologne he’d put on this morning. The scent reminded Peter of cherry blossoms, as did the pink color tinting his cheeks and ears. Then there was that other smell—the one Johnny’s skin seemed to breathe—lingering beneath it all. The thing Peter couldn’t put a name to, but made him want to sniff him like an overpriced Bath & Body Works candle. Part of him hoped he never figured out its true origin. In his mind, it was Johnny’s smell; not perfume, not some fancy organic moisturizer from Morocco only celebrities like the Human Torch could afford. It was just him. Him and him alone.
He wondered what he smelled like. Probably dollar store shower gel and swampy armpits.
“Don’t sweat it,” Johnny assured him, sounding a little shy. He gave his torso a squeeze. “I told you I had a plan, didn’t I?”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever done something like that for me,” Peter admitted.
To his surprise, the blush in Johnny’s cheeks spread down to his chest and across both collarbones, ultimately spanning over half of his upper body. His skin was practically glowing pink. The Human Torch laughed sheepishly, avoiding his gaze, and Peter half expected him to burst into flame.
“Well—they should’ve,” Johnny said eventually, voice cracking slightly. “You deserve it.”
Peter hinted a smile. “Your hair is smoking,” he observed.
“What?” Johnny squeaked, clawing wildly at his scalp. “No it’s not!”
Spider-Man broke into a laugh, then hugged his aching wound with a grimace. “It’s cute how your fire powers respond to whatever you’re feeling,” he said.
Johnny exhaled sourly, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “Oh yeah?” he said, feigning smugness. “And what exactly are you assuming I’m feeling right now?”
A small chill shivered down the young hero's spine. Peter knew what he wanted him to be feeling right now. The same as me, his heart implored. Crushing head-over-heels like a helpless little schoolgirl.
But he knew he was kidding himself. Johnny was Johnny. And he was…well, himself. Nothing. Nobody.
“Like you just tanked your credibility even further by featuring me on your page,” he chuckled. But the words tumbled hollowly off his tongue.
Johnny rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Webs. Enough with the self deprecation already.” His face lifted into a smile, beaming with blinding confidence. “Just you wait. Soon the world won’t be able to get enough of you. You’ll see.”
Peter eyed the phone in Johnny's hand. “You really think this’ll work?” he said, hunching his shoulders timidly. “What if people only have bad stories to share about me?”
“It’ll work,” Johnny insisted, patting him on the back. “You’ve helped too many people for it not to work. And if it doesn’t, don’t worry; I’ve got plenty more tricks up my sleeve. This is only phase 2 of a very extensive and highly sophisticated marketing strategy, my friend. We’ve barely even scratched the surface. The real fun is still to come; I can promise you that.”
Peter chuckled, wrinkling his nose. “Wonderful. I couldn’t be more terrified.”
Without warning, Johnny bent down and scooped Peter right off the rooftop and into his arms, making the masked vigilante squeal in surprise. He flailed a little on reflex, unintentionally catching himself with a hand against Johnny's shirtless chest.
“Johnny!” Peter exclaimed, startled, squeaky giggles spilling from his lips. “W-what are you doing?”
“You can’t get down from here without climbing or jumping or exerting yourself in some other way that could tear your stitches even more,” Johnny explained, smirking triumphantly. “Guess I’ll just have to carry your helpless little spider butt all the way to the medical bay—again. Darn. What a bummer. Oh well. If I must.”
“Just fly me down to the balcony,” Peter stammered skittishly, biting back a smile. Johnny’s heart beat faintly against his fingertips, quickening his own pulse to a frenetic, fluttering thing. “I can, y'know. Walk from there.”
Johnny shrugged. “Nah. Your safety is my number one priority. This guarantees you making it to Stark without injuring yourself further. You clearly can’t be trusted with your own well-being.” The Human Torch lit the parts of himself that weren’t touching Peter on fire and lifted the pair of them off the ground. “Besides. Carrying a shrimpy little superhero like yourself is the perfect cool down for my workout today.”
Peter blushed, hyper-aware of every inch of Johnny's skin that was flush with his own, every rock-solid muscle supporting his narrow frame. He crossed his arms firmly against his chest.
“Eat shit,” he laughed, voice nervous and shrill. “You know I could lift you over my head and chuck you like a tennis ball if I felt like it.”
Johnny’s eyes twinkled. “Ooh. I want to be chucked! Okay, how about this: you let me carry you to the med bay now, and once you’re fully healed, you can pick me up and chuck me around with your crazy super strength as much as you like. Deal?”
Peter giggled some more, feeling silly and bashful and overwhelmed by his closeness. But equally happy and safe. He smiled up at him with a sigh.
“Fine. Deal.”
As Johnny toted him inside Avengers Tower, teasing him relentlessly as he always did, calling him his favorite little damsel, his pretty little princess, Peter’s heart refused to settle. The flush in cheeks only grew more intense with every second longer Johnny held him in his arms. It was clear these feelings were not going away. They were only getting worse. Keeping them hidden was beginning to feel like swimming against the current of a raging river with a deadly waterfall looming in the distance—something he could battle through and fight with every ounce of his willpower, but inevitably ended with him barreling headfirst down the unforgiving drop.
Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just be happy being friends with him? Why did his greedy little heart have to demand more?
Whenever he thought he was doing a pretty decent job keeping this crush under wraps, Johnny had to go and pull something like this: advocating for him to the entire world, cradling him like something precious and fragile, then assaulting him with his playful words and that hypnotizingly beautiful smile.
At this point, Peter wasn’t just hiding his feelings from Johnny. Now, he hiding them from him along with the millions of people who followed him online. Not to mention, Mr. Stark, Susan Storm, and all the rest of their teammates.
As his eyes danced across the lovely contours of Johnny’s face, Peter swallowed, a monstrous dread rising inside him.
Oh, I’m in trouble.
#spider-man#spideytorch#peter parker x johnny storm#peter parker#spiderman fanfiction#johnny storm#my writing#bi peter parker#fantastic 4#fantastic four#enemies to lovers#irondad#lots of taylor swift references in honor of eras tour
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Hi!!! Your writing is amazing! May I please request an Izzy Hands + gender-neutral Reader?
Okay, so my idea for this is that Izzy and the Reader are already dating and he's giving them swordfighting lessons on the deck one night, when suddenly the Reader messes up or panics and moves the wrong way, and Izzy accidentally stabs them. They aren't hurt too seriously or anything like that, but Izzy can't help but feel terribly guilty about it, because in his mind, he can't seem to stop hurting everything and everyone he loves. And maybe the Reader reassures him that they're not mad at him at all, and comforts him?
Of course, if you don't want to write this, that's totally cool!! Thanks and have an awesome day/night!! 🖤🖤🖤
Izzy Hands Accidently Hurts you while Sparring:
Izzy had started giving you sword fighting lessons a little while ago, sometime after you got together. You had been begging him to teach you and he finally gave in, after realising it would be for the best for future raids. The more you knew how to protect yourself, the less he had to worry himself sick about you (not that he would ever stop worrying completely).
After getting some new techniques down in your most recent lesson and Izzy complimenting you on your improvements, the sparring fell into something more playful.
Izzy laughing and shaking his head at your cringey one liners or your impressions of a 'real pirate'. Izzy was always so serious about your sword fighting lessons, and for good reason, but it was nice to see him let loose a little like this.
Even Izzy added some extra flare to his movements just for fun. You did the same, though his were much more impressive than yours. One day you would be just as good.
"Alright, properly one more time, working on your blocks. Then we'll call it a night," Izzy decided with a quiet chuckle.
So, the two of you took your stances again and began your next round of sparring. Izzy would strike and you would block, sometimes a single attack, sometimes a sequence of them. You managed to deflect each of them well enough that Izzy didn't stop to correct you.
At least until you misjudged which Izzy was going to strike causing you to fumble. You moved to block right but he attacked your left, swiping at your side before you could reroute and deflect his blade.
You hissed at the sting that cut through your side, instinctively lunging backwards and away from the threat. Izzy froze, eyes widening when he realised he had caught you. That he had hurt you.
"I was striking for your left!" Izzy shouted, as if you hadn't realised that.
"I thought you were going right!" you retorted, placing your hand over your injured side.
Realisation seemed to settle over Izzy, his initial shock wearing off and panic setting in. "Fuck," he dropped his sword to the side and hurried over to you. "Fuck..."
"I don't think it's bad," you tossed your sword to the side as well, lifting your hand from your side to see it painted in crimson. It certainly wasn't ideal but you knew it could have been a lot worse.
"Let me look," Izzy took hold of your arms, ushering you over to a barrel and helping you up to sit on top of it.
He had torn your shirt, your blood staining the tear. He lifted the bottom of your shirt to get a better look at your wound. It was a slash across your side, more of a scratch than a gash. It was bleeding but wasn't really anything to worry about as long as it didn't get infected.
As he studied your injury, you watched him. The wound stung, making you shift and hiss now and then, but it wasn't too bad. It would have been worse if the sword had been dulled. He was still staring at it, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Iz?" you spoke, trying to bring him out of his thoughts. You could tell when he was lost in his head.
"Fuck," he snapped back to the present, looking up at your face. "I'm so sorry. I thought you would block it, I should have pulled the strike. I'm sorry, I..."
"Izzy, hey, it's alright," you soothed him, stroking your hands up and down his arms. "It was an accident and it's really not that bad," you assured him. Izzy was still looking at you, his eyes glassy and reddening, his lips parted slightly as he struggled to find the words he wanted to say.
"Really, love, I'm okay," you promised him as you cupped his face in your hands, thumbs stroking over his cheeks, "it's not your fault, things like this happen."
"...I hurt you," his voice cracked, hand pressed against your side. As if to slow the bleeding even though you thought it might be impossible to bleed out from such a wound.
"Oh love...it was an accident, I wouldn't blame you for something like this. We were using real swords, I knew the risk."
"But-"
"Izzy, look at me and listen to me," you took a slightly stern tone to get him to listen, but your face remained as gentle as ever. "It's okay. A mistake was made, it was nobody's fault, and it's not that bad. Yes, it hurts, but I'm going to be just fine," your voice softened again.
Izzy sighed, eyelids fluttering slightly. "I love you, Iz, and I trust you," you rested your forehead against his, "I know you would never hurt me on purpose."
"I'm sorry, love," Izzy sighed. He knew you were right, the cut really wasn't something to worry about. It wasn't the specific injury he was worried about.
He hurt you. He made you bleed. It was his fault.
"You don't need to apologise, but I forgive you," you pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"Will you let me clean and bandage it?" he asked.
"Of course," you nodded. The wound needed cleaning if nothing else and you knew Izzy would feel a little better if he could take care of it.
Izzy helped you down from the barrel, making sure you didn't pull on your new wound, before taking you down to the galley. He lit the oil lamps as you removed your shirt and sat down on the bench.
Admittedly, the injury looked even less serious once he washed the blood away. The would really was nothing to worry about. He worked in silence, wiping away the drying blood until you wouldn't even know it had been there, then washing your bloodied hand.
He applied the salved and washed his own hands before wrapping the wound. The bandages would probably be able to be removed sometime tomorrow but he would take the extra precaution. Your shirt could also be washed and sewn up tomorrow.
"I really am sorry, love," Izzy apologised again after checking the give of your bandages.
"I told you-" you began to reassure him again but he shushed you and took your hands in his.
"No, I know but...but I hurt you and I really am sorry," he continued. Izzy wasn't one to apologise so you knew that whenever he did, he truly meant it. And the way he was looking at you, looking pained and apologetic.
You couldn't help but smile softly. "It's okay," you whispered once again, leaning in to press and slow, lingering kiss to his lips.
Izzy sighed into the kiss, finally beginning to relax. He had hurt you but he took care of it, he took care of you and he made it right. He couldn't do anymore but he would still try. He would make this up to you properly over the following days, make sure that you didn't strain yourself so you didn't tug on the healing cut. Even if it was shallow enough that he would have told any other crewmember to get back to work instantly.
#israel hands x reader#izzy hands x reader#izzy hands#ofmd izzy#ofmd#our flag means death#ofmd x reader
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thinking about how ted would comfort me if I needed it. swoon. I just wanna cuddle into his side and have him hold me.
Oh I’ve got you, fam. I absolutely love comfort and snuggling Ted is an all-time daydream for me, too. Let’s goooo!
——
You could feel it creeping in your chest and throat as you made your way home.
The anxiety. A sadness. Your job, which had always been a point of pride, was feeling harder and harder. You felt like an imposter some days, on the precipice of being figured out and fired.
Your thoughts spiraled from that into a host of other anxieties. When’s the last time you reached out to your friends from college? No wonder they don’t reach out to you. When’s the last time you took care of your family, and spent real quality time with them? How can you be so selfish?
Oh how the thoughts plagued you all the way home. By the time you reached the handle of your apartment, your hands were shaking and your tears were freely rolling down your cheeks, stinging against the winter cold.
“Well hello there, sweet cheeks, how was your…” Ted stops as he sees your slumped shoulders in the door way. He unties his apron, currently in the middle of a batch of biscuits, which waft sweetly through your apartment.
Your lip trembles. Oh, here it comes. The taps turn on full blast.
“I…I…just…had…a…b-b-bad…d-d-day…” you stammer, heaving little breaths like a child.
“Oh, darlin’, come here,” Ted says, a crease between his beautiful brows as he scoops you into his warm, loving arms. He says nothing, just running his hand over your hair and whispering sweetly, “I know, it’s OK…” He moves you both to the couch where he puts his arms around you tightly and lets you snuggle into his neck.
“I…feel…like…I’m-I’m…failing at every…thing…” you manage to choke out between cries. Ted’s warm cheek is against your head, his hands rubbing your arms and back to soothe you.
“Sweetie, you ain’t failin’ at nothin’,” he assures you. “It’s all in that noodle there. You work hard, you’re a wonderful friend and you’re good to your family…”
You didn’t even tell him what was on your mind and he’s managing to heal every wound you’ve felt today.
“And you’re the best partner a guy could ask for, truly,” he says, your face tilting up at him as his mustached lips curl into a smile. “You’re everything I want and everything I need.”
Your breathing starts to relax a little.
“Take a deep breath with me, sweetheart,” he whispers, your hands fumbling with the neckline of his opened collar polo. “In…and out…In…and out…there you go.” You follow along with him. “That’s my girl. Bring that beautiful heartbeat back to earth.”
You take another deep breath, letting your body completely relax in his arms. He smells like him: a tinge of biscuit sweetness with his spicy cologne. A big, warm hand tickles under your shirt against your back, and the contact makes you relax even more.
“How you doin’ sweetpea? You feelin’ better?” Ted asks gently, and you nod in reply. “Good, good. Tell you what. I’m gonna finish up these biscuits, but why don’t I draw you a nice hot bath, and I’ll spoon you ‘til the cows come home. How’s that sound?”
You smile as you look up at his big brown eyes, his lips leaning into yours for a chaste kiss. “OK, Teddy.”
He does exactly that: Draws a nice hot bath with your favorite lavender salts, brings you the book you’re working on from your nightstand, and even lights a candle.
“Spa a la Ted is open for business, can I get you anything else, darlin’?”
You giggle as you let your body unwind. “No, hon, I’m good. Thank you.”
He exits the bathroom and you hear him whistling his heart out in the kitchen, packing up his biscuits for tomorrow. After nearly an hour, you decide to un-prune your skin and get out of the bath, crawling into one of Ted’s AFC Richmond tshirts and then directly into bed under the covers.
When Ted enters the room, he smiles at you.
“Look at that cozy piece of work under those covers. I’m gonna have to get in on that action,” he jokes, taking off his pants and polo, left only in a white undershirt and boxer briefs. He pops under the covers and drags your body over to his across the sheets, making you giggle at his forcefulness.
“Ah-ha! There’s the sound I’ve missed all day,” he jokes, kissing you under your ear and wrapping his arm tightly around your middle. His legs are notched behind yours, and he shuffles his knee between yours to really tangle your bodies together.
His hands run up and down your arms, your side, your upper thigh. You smile and enjoy the quiet.
“I love you, you know,” he whispers gently, his breath tickling against your ear. “And I’ll do anything in this damn world to show you every day.”
You smile at this and nod, tears of joy springing to the corners of your eyes.
“I love you, Teddy,” you answer, making him smile and squeeze you tighter. His hands continue their journey, letting your body melt into your bed as Ted Lasso comforts you and loves on you. Just like he promised.
—
THANKS FOR THIS PROMPT! I needed this today myself. Oh, the comfort this man can give. He’d drop everything to help you. To make you smile. To show you how he loves you. He’s just bursting with love at the seams.
#ted lasso x reader#ted lasso fan fiction#ted lasso x reader prompt#asks and requests open!#send away! this was my first and it was oh so fun!
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brother crab's winter 2024 parting thoughts: metallic rouge
man. alright. one of the most promising starts of the season but tl;dr ngl this is pretty embarrassing for you bones
this show started with a close to 80% average score on anilist (which is really good) and has since slid down to 60% and the sad thing is i can't even say it didn't deserve that
there are a lot of very interesting concepts here, but the quality of the series as a whole declined so steeply from potentially great to... just not great
it's never easy to turn what was meant to be a 2-cour series into a 1-cour show, i get that. but they really fumbled it here. there were a lot of moments where i felt like the story would have been better served as a video game, and i think it's because it felt like all we got were major cut scenes/boss fights, while all the little chats and flavor text in a game, that would usually make the world and characters more robust, were missing
i can definitely see how this might have done better with a second cour, though maybe that's hopeful thinking because the writing overall just doesn't inspire confidence. there were lots of fun, quippy moments, but they seemed to drift about in a vacuum. it's almost like everything was interesting but at the same time meaningless
what makes me say embarrassing is the animation, though. lots of good character designs! some good, maybe even great, action sequences! but in terms of consistency there was no consistency, and this was bones. not just bones but their 25th anniversary project!
obviously something happened to mess with the production, but at this point i would've just scrubbed the 25th anni label from the project entirely. because it is sincerely just a lil bit embarrassing for a studio like bones to call this its 25th anniversary project
some episodes weren't so bad, but in some the characters felt like they were off model more than they were on. it's just not a great look. even the quality of the op (in terms of animation, not the music, which was incredible) wasn't up to par with what i would've expected
it's just so so so obviously a series that got hacked way down that i really have to feel sorry for it. like for instance
WHERE WAS THIS ROUGE FROM THE OP??? it just really feels like they had a lot more planned for the series that they didn't get to do, which is unfortunate
but even with them losing a whole cour... idk it makes me think of hoshiai no sora, also meant to be 2-cour and wound up only one. i vastly prefer the way hoshiai no sora just let itself end of a big 'fuck you' cliffhanger, honestly i can understand if people dislike that ending but i thought, given the time constraints, it actually worked really well
anyway. real bummer but not even the yuribait could save this series from being devastatingly mediocre. sincerely there are so many good ideas, themes, dialogue snippets, etc that just did not come together at all. it's like a show that wanted to be everything but ultimately didn't know what it wanted to be at all
the music however! the op, the ed, all the music! really excellent
ultimately this slipped from "potentially great!" to "not bad... i think..." to "well at least it's not listeners"
#crab watches#winter 2024#parting thoughts#metallic rouge#REALLY hate to say this... but not good#at least the music was great umu#to quote from my own ramble:#''it's like a show that wanted to be everything but ultimately didn't know what it wanted to be at all''#and sometimes it felt like it was trying too hard to be other things (lycoreco and nier specifically)#instead of like. allowing itself to have its own voice#SIGH. anyway. onto other things
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Pearls for Dickkory and lace for batcat
Already did the Pearls in the last post!
So...
Lace - Trying to make a long time fantasy come true.
“Selina?” he turned the light on. “What are you doing in my garage?” He was trying to work upstairs when he caught a glimpse of her alluring silhouette on the CCTV. Curious since no car had left the Wayne Estate, and she usually paid him a visit before taking one of his belongings without asking. After a while, she showed no sign of going away, nor coming upstairs. She was moving normally when he saw her on the CCTV, but maybe there was something wrong?
Heart racing, he raced downstair.
The car Alfred gave him for his birthday bleeped as the door unlocked, Bruce didn’t lose time, what if she was hurt, what if he didn’t pay attention and she had crawled into his car and was so weak that all she could do to get his attention was pressing a button, what if-
She was sitting on the passenger's sit, her legs stretched upwards and resting on the dashboard, a bored expression on her face. Not a wound or sign of anything wrong that he could see.
“Finally, it just took you forever.”
He opened the door and sat down on the driver’s sit.
“What is wrong?”
Selina rose a pretty eyebrow.
“Why do you think there’s something wrong?”
“Well-”
She didn’t wait for an answer, pulling him by the flap of his turtleneck kissing him out of the blue.
Granted, it wasn’t their first kiss, not even in that week, but still... He did understand that considering that the medium Gothamite was mad a hatter (not confound with The Mad Hatter, not all Gothamites were that mad or that evil), and their social circle tended to deviate to the side of the curve that lead to the Arkham Asylum... His... Selina could try to make sense sometimes, maybe it would help them to fight less, or at least maybe would help him to feel that he was about to have a heart attack in the ripe old age of 28 less often.
They should talk about that.
That and if she was his girlfriend now they were sleeping together, but he’d bet his entire inheritance that such conversation would cause a fight and maybe a real heart attack.
So maybe not.
He tried to pull her to his lap, but she pulled away and tried to drag him down with her with one hand while the other fumbled around her own sit.
“’Lina, what you’re doing?”
“How do I get this thing to go lower?”
“Let me,” She smiled pleased and laced her arms around his neck, forcing him to lean against her face as her backrest slid down until it hit the back sit.
“Oh,” she pouted, “you are too big now.”
Indeed, if she expected him to fit over her, the laws of physics had something so say against it.
“Why did you get so damn big?!”
She hit his shoulder angrily and Bruce returned to his sit, his back cracking with relief.
“Are you really mad about it? I thought you liked how big I got,” she usually praised him about it when he was using his new advantageous size to pin her down and fuck her against a rooftop, or pull her up and fuck her against the shelves of his library, or... Well, she liked it, mostly, it seems.
“But you don’t fit.”
“We could go upstairs...”
“Don’t wanna go upstairs, tsc,” she was really upset. Bruce frowned.
“Selina...”
She sighed.
“Do you remember that day, just after you got this stupid car, not long before you dropped the Billionaire Brat bullshit?”
“Yes, I do recall, but I don’t unders-”
“You never understand, Bruce.”
“You can try explain.”
“I’m trying! It’s just...”
She blushed.
Well, that wasn’t a sight one see everyday. Bruce bit his lips so she wouldn’t see him holding a smile and flee, and this time, when he tried to pull her to his lap, she complied.
Bruce kissed her forehead, and her nose, and her lips, his hands gently kneading her backside.
“Hey, you know you can tell me anything...”
She scoffed.
“It’s silly, you will laugh.”
“I’d never laugh of you.”
She leaned forward and giggle against his chest.
“Too bad, I love laughing of you.”
He snorted and took one hand to her hair, it was so long now.
“Oh, I know.”
“You didn’t kiss me.”
“Love, I just did,” and he pointed that out by kissing her again, pulling her pouty bottom lip with his teeth before releasing her again.
“No,” she whined, playing with the curls falling on his forehead, “before, when we were kids. I thought you were about to kiss me, but you didn’t.”
“Hummm” he made, “I wanted to kiss you. Selina,” Bruce said honestly, “always, you know I have been crazy about you since forever.”
She rose her gaze to his.
“Why didn’t you kiss me, then?”
“Because I had just got you to speak me again,” he bopped her nose and then kept his finger going down her throat, the valley of her breasts, his whole hand skimming under the fabric and cupping one of her mounds, bringing it out and watching in marvel as her dusty pink nibble perked, “and I didn’t want to make you mad or start a fight...”
“Coward,” she whispered rocking slowly and thrusting her chest to his face, begging without words for him to touch her.
Bruce looked at her through his eyelashes, his mouth just a few inches from her nipple.
“What?”
She giggled again, but her mirth turned into a moan as he buried his face on her chest, breathing her in and sucking the skin of the base of her breast.
“So,” he blew at the forming hickey to sooth the abused skin, “this is all about that time?”
“Kind of...” She breathed, and took his hand to her still covered breast, urging him to give it equal treatment.
“Kind of?” he insisted to her clear annoyance.
“Yes, it is about that time, I have been fantasying about you ravaging me on that sit since we were ridiculous teens, satisfied?”
He smiled and rocked upwards against her making her curse under her breath.
“Both of us are about to be.”
#batcat#baby batcat#bruce wayne#selina kyle#batman#catwoman#brucelina#tv: gotham#fox gotham#my fic#post canon
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Ozqrow Week Day 6 - Text Messages
Went in a rather different direction for this one, but eh, It is what it is. Eleven down, six to go. (The missing one will be posted later, it sort of, well, evolved.)
When the urgent text came through to Qrow’s scroll it was unexpected enough that he almost dropped it. Robyn sniggered at him, watching him fumble and he sent her a wounded look as he righted it, checking to see who had texted him at this time of day. He blinked at the sender ID, why would Oz need to contact him now of all times? Weren’t they all on the way to Vacuo anyway? His stomach sank at the implications, but surely everything would have gone just fine? It always had before… oh why hadn’t he been there? Yeah, that was right, he was worried his semblance would screw things up. He hadn’t been there, it was just a text to let him know everybody was safe… right?
The message blinked at him, unopened. The tag marked it as urgent and Qrow swallowed hard, tapping it with shaking fingers.
‘Qrow. Get to Vacuo, they… some of them fell, I couldn’t save them, I just… just get here. Please?” Qrow felt his heart shatter, knowing by the fact Oz hadn’t specified who the likely victims were. If it hadn’t been the girls, then Oz would have reassured him. As it stood… who else had they lost? I could feel Oz’s heartbreak through the text, as few words as it was. Had he lost Weiss, too? WERE the girls okay? He fumbled to call him, to ask for an explanation. He had to know if he’d lost one or both of his nieces to this. They’d been so young, far too young to die like that.
No, no he couldn’t think that, they would be okay. They had to be, right? It was Yang and Ruby, they were fine. His girls, for all that he wasn’t actually their parent, they were still his as much as they were Tai’s. As much as they had been Summer’s. Far more than they’d ever been Raven’s.
Oz picked up on the second ring, his voice sounding raw as though from hours of sobbing. It was worse than even Qrow could have thought. Not just Yang and Ruby and Weiss, but Jaune and Blake, too? They’d lost over half the kids, just getting to Vacuo? He wanted to scream at Oz, to blame him but brothers, he had sounded just as broken as Qrow felt. Besides, he knew damn well that Pocketsized would never have left them to fall under his own power. However he’d got through the portal, Qrow sincerely doubted it had actually been by choice, Oz would never have left his students, would have gone after them. What the hell had happened there, then? Oz had said something about Cinder, though from the roaring in Qrow’s ears, he hadn’t really heard all of it. They’d fallen, he’d lost them. The closest things he had to daughters. He stared into the distance as the call disconnected, Oz’s frantic apologies going all but unacknowledged. Oh, he knew none of this was Oz’s fault, but still… he had been there, he should have protected them. Yes, Qrow needed to get to Vacuo, needed to ask those left behind how the girls had died… vanished. They’d vanished, they’d disappeared. Oz had only said fallen, after all. He’d never actually said they were dead.
Robyn was staring at him, looking deeply concerned. She’d only heard about half the conversation, but from what she’d gathered, it was bad. Part of her wondered why the half heard voice on the other end sounded like Wintertip Pine of all people, not to mention why Qrow was calling him Oz, but that could wait in the face of his obvious grief. She opened her mouth only to close it again, she would be no real help right now. She rather doubted anything really would.
Qrow sobbed for half an hour or so, his mind conjuring up worse and worse scenarios. Oz had seemed pretty certain that the girls weren’t actually dead, but ‘not dead’ wasn’t really the best of situations either. He could think of a great many scenarios that might make mere death a mercy, oh how was he ever going to tell Tai about this? He’d been charged with protecting them and, even by staying away, he had failed in that task. He punched the tale next to him hard enough to splinter the wood, wishing it was the spirit that had given the kids the means to travel to Vacuo. Why hadn’t he realised that there would be a trap? He knew why Oz hadn’t, he always believed the best in everybody, even after that whole… thing… with Jinn. But Qrow? He’d always prided himself on being more cynical than most, more cautious. Why hadn’t he questioned the plan the kids had made more carefully? Yes, he’d still been in Atlas, but still… why had he hesitated? He groaned to himself, already making plans. He needed to be in Vacuo, if nothing else, maybe he could ensure that the last thing his nieces might have ever achieved would not be in vain? They had worked to give hope, it was about time he worked towards that same goal.
And who knew, if they really were all alive, maybe Remnant would end up getting that happy ending?
#ozqrow week 2023#deaged oz au#qrow branwen#ozpin#cloqwork#professor ozpin#ozqrow#headmaster ozpin#rwby ozpin
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The Hours Between (part 1/6)
Prompt: “I’m fine”
Incarnation: TMNT (2007)
Pairing: Mikey/Raph
Rating: T for broken bones
Summary: Nightwatcher business is not without its risks. Raph comes home with a broken bone and lucky for him, Mikey is always there to help. (Set sometime before the events of the movie)
For the @badthingshappenbingo
Damn it.
He was stupid. So stupid.
Raph stumbled through the lair, pausing every minute or so to swallow back his harsh gulps of air. His legs felt wobbly, his steps shamefully lacking stealth. His left wrist, aching like crazy, was tucked tight beneath his other arm, as though the pressure could help with the pain that throbbed in time to his heartbeat.
It had taken him way too long to make his way back to his bike. And then way too long to swear a blue streak as he realized he couldn’t drive the damn thing with a maybe-sprained, probably-broken wrist.
Best he could do was drag the bike out of sight, hope no one messed with it until he had a chance to go back to get it, and then do his best to sneak back to the lair. Taking off the Nightwatcher gear one-handed was an experience. He’d had to shimmy his way out of most of it, grateful that no one was there to witness his graceless undressing.
Damn it. This one hurt.
He’d suffered worse injuries, sure. Deep slashes, concussions, broken bones, gunshot wounds even. Injuries that he still felt, every so often, when he moved wrong or the air got too humid. He’d caught his share of bruises in the Nightwatcher getup, but it felt like so long since he’d nursed a real injury.
They didn’t spar anymore, the three of them. He didn’t even have the chance to revel in sore muscles from throwing too many kicks with his brothers.
Maybe he was getting old. He felt old. Tired and achy. Maybe his body, maybe his heart. He couldn’t tell these days.
The lair was quiet. Donnie had work in the morning. Mikey probably did too. Splinter’s favourite show didn’t start until 9am. No one saw Raph slipping over to the kitchen. And even if they did, what did it matter? They assumed he slept all night and day. Hell, if he was doing that, you’d think they’d give a crap. That he was depressed or anemic or whatever. He’d laugh about it if his wrist didn’t hurt so much.
He just needed ice. He could hide in his room until his wrist didn’t look bad anymore. What did it matter? If they weren’t concerned about his alleged sleeping habits before, they certainly weren’t going to start now.
Raph rummaged through the kitchen, grabbing a hand towel, fumbling through a pile of frozen-solid cake slices (wasn’t anybody eating these, why were there so many) and hoping to God there was a filled ice cube tray in there somewhere.
There was. He pulled it out, staring at the cubes, wondering about the quietest way to pry the cubes out and stack them in a hand towel and disappear in his room to sleep off the pain.
“Oh! Hey Raph!”
Raph yelped, sending the ice tray clattering to the ground. Shit. Well, that was one way.
Some ninja he was, letting Mikey of all people sneak up on him. “What the hell! What are you doing here?”
“Uh, I live here. Remember?” Mikey’s chuckle took the sting out of it. “Oh yeah, I guess it’s been a while since we’ve run into each other. You’ve probably forgotten me. Hi, I’m Michelangelo, I have a black belt in skateboarding. I enjoy pizza for breakfast and long walks on the beach.”
Raph sighed. Great, now a headache was threatening to overtake the throb in his wrist. “What are you doing up?”
It was… crap, what time was it? He thought it was still night out. The coveted ‘wee hours of the morning’. Was it morning already? Had it taken him that long to get back to the lair?
Mikey cracked a yawn. “I know, I know. 6am should be illegal. But duty calls! Cowabunga Carl’s got a gig in Jersey, so… early road trip, you know?”
“Hm.” Raph kicked at one of the wayward cubes. Now he had a wrist, a mess, and Mikey to deal with. He got down to one knee, felt it go click (hello, old injuries) and gathered a few cubes in one hand, tossing them back into the fallen tray. Mikey crouched down to help.
“Raph? You good bro?” He zeroed in on the way Raph held his arm, hand stiff and useless against his plastron. “You burn yourself or something? If you suck at cooking that much, I can make you something.”
He probably wasn’t kidding, and somehow that made Raph feel a hundred times worse. They’d barely said two words to each other in two weeks, yet he knew that if he asked, Mikey would put his heart and soul into making Raph a sandwich, or scrambled eggs, or even beef Wellington or whatever.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure you’re fine, but do you need help?”
“I said I’m fine, so no. Don’t you have to go scare some kids in Jersey?”
“Yeah, but I gave myself extra time to get ready, get lost a couple of times on the way over, stop at a drive-thru to get my zen back, and then find the place. I’m good. Are you, though?”
Raph sighed. He was too tired for anger, in too much pain to put up a front. And Mikey was right there, and damn it, he missed the little idiot.
“… Think I broke my wrist,” Raph said. He picked a spot on the floor that wasn’t covered in quietly melting ice cubes and sat down, carapace against the cabinet door. Yeah, he was lucky it was Mikey crouching there. Donnie and Splinter would have a million follow-up questions, and Leo would have…
… well Leo didn’t matter, because the jerk wasn’t even here to ask questions.
But Mikey, well. He preferred action to words. “Dude, that sucks. Can I help? You know what, stay there. I got this.”
So Raph stayed right there, tucking his knees to his plastron and resting his busted hand on top of them. Some Nightwatcher he was. And to think, Mikey was probably his biggest fan. It was almost worth telling him his secret identity, if only to see the excitement in his brother’s eyes.
Mikey returned triumphantly, a first aid kit in one hand and a stack of something in the other. Mikey was surprisingly good under real pressure, especially when it came to first aid.
And surprisingly efficient at cleaning, when he was motivated. A dish towel dropped to the floor, followed by Mikey’s foot, who used it to sweep away the water and leftover ice cubes. Good enough.
“All right, let me take a look at this. This is a job for Dr. Michelangelo, DDS!”
“DDS means dentist, doofus.” Snark was useful but could only do so much to mask pain. Mikey was gentle, but it still smarted something fierce as he worked to remove the guard wrapping from Raph’s wrist and cradled the hand between his own, taking a closer look at the bruises creeping up and down the swollen joint.
“Owie,” Mikey declared. Raph agreed. “How’d you do this, anyway?”
Yep, no avoiding that. Questions. “Openin’ a pickle jar.”
Mikey snorted. For a blissful moment, Raph thought he’d give up on questions, but no. He unzipped the first aid kit and rummaged while continuing to ask. “Nah, seriously, how’d you do this? This looks like you twisted it.”
Yeah, about that.
Raph hadn’t expected that encounter with the street gang to go sour. And technically it hadn’t. He’d beaten them just fine, and not one of those meathead jerks had put so much as a scratch on the Nightwatcher. Oh, they’d tried.
One punk came at him with a narrow pipe. He’d pulled out his sai, blocked the pipe, and twisted to disarm. But damn it, as much as Raph tried to train solo and keep up his skills, it was nothing compared to sparring with his brothers.
He used to be able to size up opponents and weapons in a heartbeat. He’d misjudged the weight of the pipe. He’d sent it packing, yeah, but the movement made his wrist snap in a way that made cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. Lucky for him, that was the last thug.
Disappear into the night. Stash bike. Hobble home.
Which left him here. Sitting on the floor, Mikey at his side, palpating a bruised-purple wrist, waiting for an answer.
“… Long story,” Raph muttered.
It seemed enough for now. Mikey turned his attention to his task, murmuring, “Oof, it’s pretty swollen.”
Raph liked the way his voice dropped to a low pitch when he was serious about something. Sometimes he forgot how competent Mikey could be. How good Mikey was at patching up his hurts. Donnie, for all his smarts and science, could get squeamish about injuries. Leo was too fussy. Splinter never really gave it away, but Raph had the sneaking suspicion he was disappointed whenever his sons came home with injuries. Especially Raph.
Mikey took his hand as though offering a handshake, nodding at the swollen joint. “Okay, squeeze my hand, tell me when it hurts.”
Raph found himself obeying, naturally, comforted by Mikey’s tending. How long had it been since he’d just… hung out with his brothers? Since they’d given him a hug or asked how he was doing without making a crack about him sleeping in until 3 in the afternoon?
Mikey’s hand was warm and he wanted to squeeze just to enjoy a bit of physical contact. But as he tried his damnedest to squeeze, his hand started to shake and the flare of pain forced a sad grunt past his lips.
“Okay, so probably broken,” Mikey tsked. He kept his hand loosely wrapped around his brother’s, moving the joint up and down and rotating slowly. Raph knew from experience what he was doing, testing the range of motion, and he let Mikey manipulate his wrist for a few moments. It hurt, but it wasn’t excruciating. He could sit through the pain if it meant enjoying the contact.
Satisfied with his examination, Mikey hummed a happy little noise and rested Raph’s palm against his own while he rummaged in the area of the first aid kit.
Raph sighed. He was tired. “So, am I gonna live?”
“Oh man, this is a terminal fracture. You better leave me all your stuff. The cool stuff, only. Donnie can have the junk.” Mikey held up a gel pack, popping a cartridge in the middle and giving it a little shake. “It’s not a bad break. Probably just a little crack. I’m gonna ice it a bit and then wrap it for you, ‘kay?”
Raph nodded. Mikey didn’t let go of his hand as he draped the instant ice pack on top of it. The numbness was kind of nice. “Did you bring a whole pile of these things?”
“Haha, yeah. My personal stash. Cowabunga Carl gets knocked around a lot. I don’t think the Foot Clan ever kicked me as much. Or bit me. Or barfed on me.”
Okay, that got a smile out of him. “You’re tougher than me. I couldn’t handle that.”
“Then there’s the moms.” Mikey shuddered, lifting the ice pack and adjusting it. “Some of them flirt.”
Raph shifted on the floor. His butt was starting to go numb, but this was nice. If he asked to move to the table, Mikey might let go of him.
Raph shut his eyes. It would be so easy, right now, to just tell him. That he was the Nightwatcher. That he wasn’t a bum, that he went outside every night because staying cooped up in the lair left him twitchy, anxious, and ready to scream into a pillow from being useless.
“Mike… can you keep a secret?”
“Would it shock you if I said yes?”
“So the thing is…”
Tell him. You’re the Nightwatcher. Tell him. You hurt yourself busting some bad guys. He’ll be happy. So happy. He’ll be proud of you and think you’re cool and might even hug you.
“I broke my wrist ‘cause I… I uh… went out on a roof to do some katas. Tried some flips, didn’t stick the landing. Guess my wrist didn’t like that.”
Crap. Coward.
Mikey nodded sagely. “Thought so. I knew you were hiding something. Hey, no judgment from me, we all fall over sometimes!”
“I miss being outside. At night.” He didn’t mean for it to sound so raw. He didn’t miss the way Mikey made a sad little hum of agreement. “I miss… all of it, you know?”
“So that’s why you’re always sleeping in? ‘Cause you’re out late exercising on the roof?”
“Yeah.” Raph squirmed as Mikey removed the ice pack, gave his numb wrist a few judicious pokes, and plucked a tensor wrap from the first aid kit. “Feels good to get out. It’s just… it’s embarrassing that I messed up a flip. So let’s keep that between us.”
“Turtle’s honour, bro.” A few loops later, and Mickey pinned the tensor in place. “How’s that? Not too tight?”
“It’s fine,” Raph said. Mikey was messing with something in the kit, rattled a bottle, and handed him two ibuprofens with an encouraging smile. Any other day, he would have put up a token protest, but he took the meds without fuss.
“All right then, Dr. Michelangelo, DDS predicts you’ll be right as rain in no time!” Mikey leapt to his feet with an energy that Raph absolutely did not feel, pouring water in the nearest clean mug and handing it down. Raph didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d already dry-swallowed the pills, and sipped delicately.
“Hey, Raph?”
“Hm?”
“When you go out at night, do you uh… y’know.”
Raph swallowed. Thank God for the mug of water because now his throat felt dry. Had he maybe not fooled Mikey? “Do I what?”
“You know, the Nightwatcher!” Mikey sounded positively giddy. It did nothing for Raph’s nerves, until Mikey finished his thought. “Do you ever see him? Do you ever go looking for him? Because I would!”
Dear, sweet, innocent Mikey.
“Haven’t yet,” Raph muttered, staring at the mug. “You like him, huh?”
“Oh man!” Mikey crouched down to pack up the first aid kit, swooning with his entire being. “He’s so badass. Did anyone ever think that about us when we used to do this sort of thing? That we were badass? Ah, I’m with you, I miss it. If I didn’t have work I’d probably be up on the roof too. Maybe when Leo comes back…”
“Tell you what,” Raph interjected. Better to squash any thoughts of Leo and coming back while he could. “If I ever run into the Nightwatcher while throwing backflips on roofs, I’ll get his autograph for you.”
Mikey squealed, thrusting out a hand. Raph took it and let his brother effortlessly haul him to his feet. “This is why you’re my favourite brother!”
Tonight, anyway. Raph wasn’t anyone’s favourite anything, but he’d take what he could get. “Thanks. And remember… don’t tell Donnie and Sensei I busted my wrist, okay? I feel stupid enough as it is.”
Mikey nodded conspiratorially, and Raph was certain he would never more closely guard a secret in his life. “Count on me. Here, take the packs and try to keep it iced. You’ll be back to punching me in the arm in no time.”
He pressed five ice packs into Raph’s good arm, gave it a thought, then took one back.
“… Might need one after the gig today. All right, duty calls! Catch ya later!”
Mikey grinned big and wide and whirled away. Yeah. Way too much energy for this time of morning.
“Hey… Mikey?” Raph called out. Mikey, already halfway out the exit, spun in place. Raph waved his tensor-wrapped hand at him. “… Thanks.”
Mikey’s answering smile was the very definition of sunshine. “I got you, bro! You know I always got your stupid butt.”
Cradling his wrist, now down to a dull ache, Raph hobbled to his room. He bolted the door and crawled into bed. Either the ibuprofens were kicking in or he was too tired to worry about pain, spiralling into sleep with thoughts of Mikey’s smile. With everything else happening, it was nice to know someone still had his stupid butt.
#TMNT#Raphael#Michelangelo#Raph#Mikey#TMNT 2007#Mikey/Raph#Hurt Raph#No tcest in this but there will be in later parts
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So my dirty mind has been thinking thoughts about Steven Grant in the past week. Lots of thoughts (I might need some holy water)
Anyways, Steven got hurt in the chest during a fight and now reader needs to take care of it, put some cream and shit, accidently grazing at his nipples and finding out they're so f**king sensitive, he would come undone just by playing with them, baby's shaking and blushing... I might or might not have a nipple play kink...
Feel comfortable to write it queen...love ya
Also, I'm just happily jumping around cause I've found ya, like a only femdom Moonknight blog?? I could surely die happy rn. You're surely my favorite account from now on
laters, gators
not exactly what you wanted but I wrote something???
Send me asks <3
cw: mentions of cuts, blood, erection
Summary: Reader is the first responder at the museum and Steven has some cuts on his chest that they have to clean
The door to your office flew open to reveal Donna’s frown. Not really someone you expect to see on any given day as the gift shop manager, Donna, had nothing to do with you. Selling merchandise in the museum was not your job and you were thankful for that.
"What can I do for you?" you asked.
"Nothing but Stevie…"
She motioned Steven from the gift shop to come into the office. You jumped up from your chair when you saw the red streaks on his white shirt.
"You’re bleeding! What happened!?"
"I - it’s -"
"A kid broke a display and he scratched himself on the glass" Donna answered.
"It really not that bad. They are not deep." Steven said.
"That’s for me to decide. Thanks, Donna."
She rolled her eyes and strolled out of your office but not before giving Steven another look. The few times you had talked to Steven he had gleefully receded facts about whichever relics happened to be close by. You found it cute how happy he was sharing what he knew. His boss Donna did not like him all that much but was hesitant to fire him. Your colleague had speculated that she just liked to have someone that she could bully. It never got to the point that she had been reported but she was not the nicest person; she was particularly unpleasant with Steven. Always calling him Stevie, putting him on shifts that no one else wants and giving him the work that she did not want to do herself.
"It’s fine, really, I don’t want to interrupt your work. I can go home and change."
"I’m one of the first responders here and this is a work incident. It has to be recorded. Please take off your shirt. I will get the bed."
The bed was foldable, something you would see in a doctor's office. The museum had bought it when a general practitioner retired and it was seldom used as usually the worst wounds anyone gets around here were paper cuts.
You rolled the foldable bed from its place in the corner of your office into the middle. There was not enough space in your office so you had to move your desk to be able to unfold the bed. You fumbled with the folding mechanism but it had been a while since you last had to use this. When you found the right sequence and the bed unfolded, you turned around to see Steven very much not shirtless, looking at the artefacts on your table.
“Those are replicas.”
He looked up with sparkling eyes.
“They look amazing though.”
“They do! The real ones are in the archive but the museum wants to display something so they commissioned these.”
Steven seemed to have forgotten about the fact that his white sweater was ripped and bloody because he was transfixed by the ceramic replicas. You let him pick them up and study the fine lines and perfectly faded colours. The artists had done a fantastic job at recreating the 2000-year-old pottery based on references that the museum had provided.
He asked questions about how they were made and as much as wanted to answer all of Steven’s enthusiastic questions, the darkening stains on his ripped shirt were making you nervous.
“Steven, I really gotta have a look at that.”
“..? This?” He held the broken bowl up for you.
“No, your chest.”
“Oh. Yes. Sure.”
Steven took off the jacket he wore over his sweater and avoided looking at you. It dawned on you that it was maybe a bit awkward for him to undress in front of you. There was something very intimate in taking your clothes off even if it was not with a lover. You busied yourself with getting the first aid kit.
“Please lie on there when you’re done.”
You checked the expiration date on the kit and walked over to a now shirtless Steven. He had always struck you as someone who would rather spend his time with books, inside, so it was a bit surprising to see that he was rather fit. Several parallel red streaks ran along his skin, some had already stopped bleeding.
“I don’t think you need stitches but we have to clean the cuts otherwise they could get infected.”
“Alright.”
You dipped a sterile cotton ball into the disinfectant.
“This will sting a bit.”
Steven flinched when you dabbed the soaked cotton over the cuts. Goosebumps spread over his skin like wildfire and he breathed audibly through his nose. One of the cuts ran close to his nipple and as you cleaned it your hand brushed the bud. Steven sucked in air through his teeth. You yanked your hands away.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he said a little too fast. “It’s all good.”
The cotton stained red with the blood you had cleaned off and you would need to pick up a new one from the jar of new ones. Steven had his eye closed shut, a vertical line rose between his brows. You looked around for your rubbish bin to throw the blood stained cotton into it and saw it on the other side of your desk. Steven did not notice when you got up and brought the bin over to the side of the bed. He was concentrating on something and now you could make an educated guess of what it was that needed all his attention. His pants were notably tight around his hips. You looked away as soon as you noticed what you were seeing; It was not your place to judge him for what turned him on. You could almost hear his silent prayers to the gods that you would not see the bulge in his pants and you were adamant that you would pretend you had not noticed.
"That’s it. I’m done."
You threw the last cotton swap in the trash and place the tweezers on your desk. They would have to be sterilised later for the next incident. Steven was visibly relieved that you were done and he looked at his stained shirt, pondering if he should put it back on.
It was an accident but it did not matter, he saw that you saw the tent in his pants. You did not mean to look but when he moved to get up your face al most at eye level with it. He used the shirt to hide it and you raised your hands.
"I’m so sor-" - "I didn’t see anything." - "-ry I … it’s just. I’m really sorry."
"Steven," - you touched his arm, it was just the lightest of touches. "I don’t see anything."
He stopped apologising but his face was flushed and a cold sweat had appeared on his brow. Maybe the shock of getting discovered would help him calm down.
"I didn’t see anything," you repeated. "Unless you want me to."
A/N: I feel like i'm still warming up XD I will write a full on smut eventually :3
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The good news and bad news about love
Alright kid you want me to talk to you?
I used to love feeling your emotions. I used to love sitting next to you and reading you like a book and getting anxiety whenever you felt like you said the wrong thing. Whenever i made a connection to a childhood story you mentioned, to a teeny tiny behavior I noticed. I loved it. I had never felt closer to anyone in my life. I had never felt more compatible and related to anyone and I adored you, so exploring your psyche felt like the best part of the job.
It made me so happy to know you and to have the ability to try and change your thoughts about yourself and about life in general. Felt so privleged. I learned something new everyday, and you were like a shiny new puzzle that never ran out of pieces and i could put them together for hours because I knew you were never NOT gonna be apart of my story.
You....are essentially my favorite character from any book, movie or show. Because I created you and met you in my dreams. "Babe" this everlasting figment of my imagination was my dream man. "Babe" was my prophecy. He was everything i've ever been told i've ever wanted and was also told to find him.
You were an art piece and thats why it was so easy to adore and admire you. Appreciate your colors and all your fires as opposed to critiquing them. Instead of seeing you as a wounded person I saw you as a magnificent statue.
My favorite character, art piece, statue so I just wanted to be close to you. There were several points in time where i would have just been okay with having you near me. I wouldve kept accepting your flaws even though they made you a person that hurt me, over and over again. I didn't care, I just wanted to admire you. I wouldve given anything to keep you safe, polished, and in my museum until the end of time.
I would have kept giving to you if you let me. Without anything in return. I was in love. I thought that's what love was.... Giving and giving and giving and never getting anything back. Although I did love you. Experiencing unrequited love....isnt the same as being in love.
And if you asked me a year ago I wouldve sworn to you that it was the same thing.
I'm sorry I made you so uncomfortable treating you like a story book character that you had to break the version of you that i saw you as, just to make me realize you were human.
Theres no way being oggled at as prince charming feels the same as being seen. Seen as a human, with flaws, capable of mistakes. Especially when you didn't see yourself in that way?
I'm so sorry I put that pressure on you. That it made you feel like I only accepted you at the highest standard. If I made you feel like you had to upkeep that. And that if everytime I gave you encouraging advice to see your own power, you interpreted it as not being good enough and me judging you for the type of person you were just being you.
I truly did want what was best for you. But I'm so sorry I couldnt see it from your perspective and insisted on being so overbearing. It was so invasive and it really does haunt me the most about everything that happened with us.
I feel greatly responsible for those last texts you sent me. It feels like you felt like you had to break this image I had of you. And to do that you had to be incredibly harsh because I kept it so fucking sturdy.
But youre not a statue, or my very own storybook character, youre a real person. And I think i just had a hard time coming to terms with fumbling a guy I had literally met in my dreams and have been prophetically told is my perfect match.
It was embarrassing. I felt such immense pressure to make a relationship work with you because I felt it was my responsibility. I was given the handbook, "I had all this prerequisite information that you didn't!" So i thought i "lose" if I don't accomplish this.
I based my entire relationship with spirituality on if i could get you to admit me you loved me or not? That put so much pressure on you....and me. And that was awful. I wish I just enjoyed loving you without needing to hit a goal.
I wish I was just focusing on being honest, and genuine and not molding myself in those moments. But of course.....it was still the most fun ive ever had.
Unrequited love. And to me at the time? It was simply the best thing that ever happened to me lmao. I didnt need more. I was content with being your doormat as long as it meant I got to play footsies with you when we were high. Or ask would you rathers in the car running errands. Or watch movies, make dinners and spend sunsets with you.
But god was that my issue. I needed to learn to want more for myself. All that time i thought i was teaching you to want more for your self. I desperately needed to learn to stop accepting the bare minium in romantic relationships.....and platonic ones and familial ones.....
Being in love isnt giving and giving and giving with nothing in return.
Being in love is......something i'll hopefully experience when someone deserves and emits the love I show for them back.
(and if you ever want that to be you lmk)
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personal texts that keep me awake at night:
the response I got after taking acid for the first time and apologizing profusely to the girl who forever ruined dating for me. had a crush on her for years until we finally met by chance and started growing close. when i traveled to go stay with her in north dakota I think our idea of a relationship was overtaken by the reality of it. slowly saw her affection wither away in real time and couldn’t do anything but watch. we drove for hours in complete silence & darkness to the greyhound station and the last unhappy look you gave has haunted me since.
never expected us to get along as well as we did, especially after our awkward beginnings. you left town and my life without saying goodbye, throwing away your first real friend in years. will never forget those nights we spent walking the pavement, hugging until we fell asleep in your van afterwards. I often wonder where you are and if you’ve forgotten them.
one of your many messages that I look at more often than I’d ever admit. don’t even know where to start with my love for you! we’ve been schizo superfriends for a decade now who are still discovering eachother and SOMEHOW haven’t met irl yet. you are the other side of my coin and the world would be empty without you in it. we will take eachother’s secrets to the grave
met over omegle and became eachother’s first loves, it ended miserably 2 years later without real closure. we left eachother wounded, fumbling through the dark for many years after. sorry it took us so much time and mistreatment from others to realize how thankful we are for eachother. my southern sweetheart you taught this dog so much about life & love and you’re the reason I even started using tumblr in the first place.
truly never gets easier having to walk past your old dorm every week, I remember my legs were shaking with each step the first time I went up there. our first words set us both ablaze and I still haven’t felt stimulated like that since but maybe thats because after you had your fun with me you moved back to jersey and never spoke to me again. sex felt so organic between us that any attempt after has felt like mental olympics.
so strange knowing you feel like I’m the one who got away cause we never did figure out why we didn’t date! I think it can be chalked up to mutual shyness & bad timing. I no longer feel the same spark but that night we went swimming with our friends and sang in the car together is one of my fondest teenage memories. none of us are really friends anymore but hope you and I will meet again someday.
LOL MY FUCKIN SKATEBOARD!!! everytime I try to find the stupid element board I got as a kid I remember that I left it in your hands. seems like only yesterday we were two fuckups skipping school to makeout by the train tracks. we always seem to think of eachother and reconnect at the strangest points in our lives and I think it means we are on similar paths to happiness even if it’s seemingly never together.
our mutual friends took me to your art show cause they knew I thought you were cute. after a month of talking; I was on xanax and told you that I liked you, you were drunk and said you liked me. what followed was a year of you trying to get our friends to hate me as much as you grew to. never would have expected us of all people to reconnect & reconcile years later and spend a couple months seeing eachother. even though I was the one who left and got the last laugh it didn’t feel as good as I thought it would.
we went on dates for over a year, shared earbuds in every class, made eachother laugh and blush uncontrollably but when it came down to making it official you could never make up your mind. we tried our best to remain friends but then you started dating every guy you talked shit about and I became the one you ran back to when neglected. i find it both ironic and fitting that our nicknames for eachother had to do with vending machines because at the end of the day that’s all we were to eachother, something convenient.
neither of us fell in love despite our best dates being the ones we went on together. vividly remember walking past the park, the little league game, along the railroad tracks that ran through your neighborhood. having to sneak into your house under the cover of night. I had no idea what I was doing and was apathetic idk how you never noticed but I’d be a liar if i said that the time she’s referring to wasn’t fun… until the cops showed up in the parking lot while we were putting our clothes back on.
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some threads woven together flawlessly. or fumbled with intently until it's like Look [holds out a cat's cradle] but no. it's good & real
smthing "i can't believe it's this Telling!" about Romance(tm) being multiple times hearing this sentiment like. "okay talking about relationships right. dating has always come easily to me / i've been lucky / i'm Good At romance: i was not single for more than 5 consecutive days from the autumn of '34 to Now. but it wasn't until my late twenties 90 yrs & dozens of Romantic partners into it that, for the first time ever: one of those relationships was actually like, good." and it's like damn i can't believe it's that Telling. that the remarks have this would be twist / punchline (not actually delivered as such. it's not unexpected to them?) that still gets framed thusly as being Successful in dating. spending eons with a bunch of people involved in bad relationships, but you weren't Not dating
also reminded in terms of [i don't really have any podcasts i'm listening to] like one i was like "hm i've heard some episodes. i'll put this one on in the background" then dropkicking it out the window like 10 min in b/c irrelevantly this Guest was like "real talk. ugh it's sooo cool to be poly nowadays 9_9 everyone has to be poly but i'm Naught into it!!! i guess i Feel too much. i want PASSION and DRAMA!!! this is just like how pop in the late '00s / '10s was all 'feminist' telling you to be independent sluts well i care about true LOVE" and like. i don't remember but i don't think they were a man, i'm quite surer they were queer, it was just so fucking lmfao like would you get thee fuck out of here. we actually don't live in "it's like it's illegal to be monogamous :(" world you're not Edgy now b/c you're insecure about what you see as "trendy" but don't Get / don't want in on. you're not going against the grain for being like "maybe i Do want to settle down with my soulmate" like great news that's normative. pick another queer group to Project on b/c they'd rupture your idea of the Bounds of queerness where you're like "ugh they're so mainstream & ruining it for us True queers disrupting the cishet agenda (arguing for queerness to be on The Terms Of said cishet agenda)" e.g. ohh the cishet agenda is pro asexuality!!! (it is not. even if it was? is the Queer Agenda for some people to have to deny their own sexuality & "have" to have sex a certain kind of way with certain people? up next "bi women: gender traitors, why not Choose to (have to) have only certain kinds of sex w/certain people :)" trans people gender traitors We decide what everyone's gender is, bit fucked up of you to be deciding your own huh, what Assumptions are you making you sicko?? you Have to identify / present xyz certain ways or you're failing to be the gender vanguard like we are) like what if the queer agenda was about everything we Can do. we Can have this sex w/these people sure, & we Can: Not do that w/them. like oh no what if cishet men were able to get their hands on the gay resources only when we recognize Aro/Ace identities can ppl Say "yeah i'm....hehe....Not cishet"? legitimate question Yeah What Then. oh no. god's wounds What If you can just say you're trans now & change your pronouns every day. like yeah let's let everyone do that. what if we all did. oh no lol. oh my god more people are talking about polyamory like they're allowed to talk about polyamory & if my monogamy isn't Assumed ""normal"" & i might feel like it's thus more in question?? well don't mind me as i get defensive by way of Derisive & start scoffing & spitting at the queers making the rest of us look bad but we're Really fighting the fight out here (doing what we were already doing but now feeling extra smug & self satisfied about it?)
like "ohh i have too much Emotion for that" like who said you didn't. why do you think polyamory involves less emotion or passion or desire or commitment or whatever. it sure doesn't posit it necessarily requires More either. it posits that it is not monogamy. & like christ Congratulations then. congratulations on having too much of a heart. that is then used to sneer & backbite like i forgot that this person on this damn podcast also brought this up b/c a friend or acquaintance who was poly made whatever kind of proposition & here they are on some podcast going Ugh & talking about how they have too much passion, despite years of top40 telling them, according to them, that feminism is sluttiness now (again this is. according to them. Groundbreaking circling back to bog standard misogyny) & isn't it so groundbreaking in turn if a woman were to sing love songs? imagine. you can have emotions & passion & drama taking the parking spot a stranger wanted. You could've brought the monogamy with a poly partner, when the Agenda for it is always distilled to Exclusivity, like, bring your own, huh? like your own Feelings & Passions & Commitment. but obviously it is the assumption that the poly partner is the Inadequate one there who would be causing any relationship to be Lacking. b/c they sure didn't frame it as some matter of fact Mismatch or else try to start being outright about how poly people are, like the bisexuals, these sluts (feminists!!) who are only giving you Part of themselves when you deserve All Access to your exclusive, locked in partner!!! & like good lord do you ever? with your Reliable kinsey endzones binary gender soulmate for life, do you?? locking them in what, why. excluding what, why. accessing all of what, why.
Romance(tm) being defined by Exclusivity defined by entitlement to as much of this other person as you want, to ensure that exclusivity: compare w/the boundless potential Threats or already Violations to thee proper romantic relationship. spending too much time with other people, sharing too much with them, getting too much support, feeling too much towards them, valuing them too much, to say nothing of what could be considered "intimacy," which then yeah sure includes "well no kissing or sex" but yknow again that does need to be a bound you even accept, monogamy style, & even if you do, that All Thee Rest of it can be attributed to "well you shouldn't be talking to them / having these friends / doing these other things b/c that's a slippery slope to Romance (kissing, sex)." that the exclusivity is so often inevitably defined by, when pushed to it, Exclusion, e.g. like if everyone i loved was held at gunpoint & it's like only One of them could be Not Shot baby it'd be you like tf is this scenario?? gee it'd suck if everyone else died but baby as long as it's not you like The Hell. that it's about Everyone Else being shut out & Less & Lacking & deprioritized thusly in specificass hypothetical winner take all tournaments of disposing of loved ones like what in the christ. & this being an Isolating logic like well that soulmate should be Enough. & the instruction like, yeah any & all feelings passions desires wishes wants needs hopes dreams? file that away under "to be fulfilled by the One True Romance." it'll fulfill Everything in your life!! if it doesn't umm cough must've been doing it wrong. turn your discontent into Passion. philosophically muse on how Fulfillment may have eluded you but maybe just maybe we all still come closest in struggling through a marriage for a few dozens of years & also perhaps parenthood! surely. and don't even think of considering if this cosmos of the nuclear household is not in fact the distilled essence of all that one's life can possibly contain
of course two people can have a long term intimate relationship w/each other exclusively & it not all necessarily play into some nuclear family cisheteropatriarchy agenda moment lmao, but this is just the same as like. yeah people Can exist in ways that some rando today could look at & deem "are they not cishet" but where this is also not of the cishet agenda(tm). b/c ppl Have to be cishet(tm). & Have to be finding their monogamous cishet lifelong spouse. & sure Have to Not do otherwise, so why Wouldn't there be the narrative that all passions & emotions & desires & wants & needs & chance of fulfillment is a matter of the domain of Romance(tm)? the idea like oh you enjoy talking with someone? Love. you're excited / interested / affectionate? Love. you're dtf? either Love or else held to be the other side of the same coin: marked Lack of love(tm). wild that Stimming in enthusiasm is used in this Romance framework lmao as like a recognized Normal nd moment. love the enthusiasm. you could be stimming even more, about more. you could be enthused even more, about more. you Could. you don't Have to, But You Could. you don't Have to be involved in a way you consider some degree of intimate enough to have a particular classification on that basis, but you Could. you don't want to? alright awesome how many versions of a person there can be on this earth. why would one want to define it as "having" to be monogamous though b/c you're Too Legit to be poly. Too Legit queer to respect asexuality. Too Legit trans to respect someone's gender expression/identity being a casual, dynamic, easy experience.
also always noticing like "oh right, another day's work giving Others' feelings legitimacy & priority, & not my own" back in college times when like a couple of times having to outright or gradually* deflect acquaintances whom i'd interacted with trying to go for the dating route. & then nominally having to presume that they are the uniquely burdened one here like oh way to go (did not do fuckall), what is more Legitimate than disappointment re: Romance right. except it's like now hang on i'm also the one going "i thought someone was interacting with me trying to be friendly :/" like lol, no. & as though then taking on this impossible unilateral responsibility to demur from seeming [i want to hang out & interact] interest now on the terms of both neurotypicality (also normative) & amatonormativity. & being like "??" like what would someone even have particularly strong feelings about when i prommy i did not yet feel comfortable bringing even like most of the range of my personality, or comfortable in general w/what i Did bring, what's the basis of this lol. making up a guy. & like we are all performing we are all perceiving & interpreting without a direct channel into someone else's interiority. but like where's Any genuine intimacy leading into this lol? like still a No even if so but at least it'd be less perplexing. & if there isn't even expected to be any then also still No. tf was this one guy trying to start shit over buying textbooks & by start shit i mean keep trying to talk to me when crossing paths on (community college!) campus until i'm like no i don't wanna go to a movie b/c i don't really know you from adam, & he's like "well isn't that the point of dating, to get to know each other" like No this isn't cishet amatonormative marriage speedrun "i'm so good at dating i wasn't single for 93 years! each relationship was shit btw!" central get out of here. luckily he did. rando guys in public & semi public barely count yet also fully count
another thing that's different but the same is it's kind of jarring like another thing you Can do but it rankles within me like i hope to just like. someone being like framed as Superlative Exceptional....like great lmao such a broad thing & common thing & i am fully aware like "Uh Oh Eesh when i am imagining it applied to Me. i do not like it" like how we are [it takes all kinds]ing and [no accounting for taste]ing & all these things we sure Can do. but i do tie it to just like. arguing for people's worth as A Thing on this bitch of an earth where some people get to see others' lives as less than theirs & the supposed cure for this appealing on Merit. where even the Personal, Individual protection against this is "well, just find the one person who is like 'you're Everything & btw i'd drop dead without you like what would be the point of Anything'" like now what tf is reassuring about that lmao....this Other audio experience i forgot where i was already just not that interested but it grated hearing someone assure us that like oh this person's webpage is so Intriguing i Have to talk to this person. another thing much more formal & established being this ode to someone being like So undeniably extraordinary & incredible & superlative etc, like, lovely ode to someone, but i do reflect like eesh i just really do not want that. no ironic "xyz would've hated this!!" like just do not. i'm so Not about merit(tm). i'm so not about anyone Needing to be considered superlative or extraordinary by even One other person. so not about rising Above anyone else as the evidence of worth. so not about praising anyone by assuring people they're Not "Just" [another xyz. a victim. passive. content to abc.]....so not about being stuck in isolation with the immediate Family as one's only support (against The Family: as like. a political deal) until the only other way to exist is to escape, &/or be pushed into, the marriage, aka thee romance (against Romance: also a political deal)
where in romance(tm) is there Not this narrative about how you'd better find all the support & fulfillment you need in your whole self & life & being in This. where is there not "ideally" isolation. where is there not exclusivity as the definition. with this also ofc assuming the "correct" monogamous approach. & the cisheteropatriarchy. like yeah sure people Can do xyz that would resemble like ah the cishet lifelong monogamous partnership, & Not be of that agenda. like there Can be ppl who would be perceived cishet by someone to whom "cishet" has any meaning but like, without that agenda. we had & can have all our phenotypes without the concepts of white supremacy / antiblackness around which to categorize "race," we have all our bodies w/o there necessarily, inevitably being ableism. & in the meantime against the [we Have to xyz] & the Normative & the assertion of "merited" deservingness & the isolating & authoritarian & controlling & extractive & prescriptive & limiting, & plenty of other things....polyamory like supposed "opposite" of aromanticism but it's peak harmonious when like, it is also very much outside how romance is "supposed" to be, to the extent of like ohh it doesn't count b/c it is so uncontained by any Definitions. ohh i could never be polyamorous b/c they're Diluting themselves (there's the Isolating & Exclusivity definitions....the Most romantic relationship? baby idgaf if everyone else in my life died. you wouldn't either re: all your loved ones, right. why are you talking to them again. or hanging out with them again. or saying Love to them again or changing your plans for them or listening to them or etc etc. & of course you couldn't kiss anyone else, why Wouldn't this relationship crumble away if that weren't the case??? lol) like okay you're not polyamorous, that others Are is good for you. ppl being trans is good for cis people; no genders as constraining classes. ppl being ace is good for allo people; no compulsory sexuality. people being bi is good for everyone; same. etc etc etc. that They can exist as themselves unhindered = you can; that they can't, you can't. you're not Too Good to be them; acting/doing Better than someone else is acting/doing is like, about choices lol. versus [oh it's not even a choice i Couldn't be poly....b/c i'm too good for that] like. now what does this do for anyone exactly. but make you feel more secure through feeling superior b/c you're hearing more often more casually more proximately about different choices people are making for themselves
anyways surfacing from [my god. writing a post now] & i would like to emphasize "aromantic sure but & also anti-romance i mean it. like politically" & "lovelessness let's gooo. politically as well like can we Not with the affective-centric"
#long post qpqp like middlingly but i'm not reading all that; i only wrote it#remembering i could've touched on [o7 tales of like ppl who Would want to date but know they can't count on it b/c of societal/cultural/#structural obstacles / isolating factors] relevant...why exactly should it be miserable meaningless kys territory to be single for anyone#again truly amazed like no Lol XD from ppl going ''my very successful love life. i was in bad relationships nonstop for 19 yrs'' WHA? HUH?#also it's a Zzz for ppl who Supposedly are like ''ohh if you're not happy single you'll never be happy in a relationship''#like...vaguely in theory but this is just invoked to place individual blame & still say You Gotta Get That Relationship Though Still#dipping sliiightly outside amatonormativity to still bolster it ''if you're not finding Success(tm) in Love: idk it's your fault ig?''#like saying ''ooo ppl don't love/respect you if you don't love/respect yourself'' (a) why not? (b) yeah ofc ppl Should be able to be happy#w/o a partner they Should be able to appreciate themselves w/o anyone else's judgment & approval. but they shouldn't (i) have to assume#they'll be otherwise unsupported in this? do it All Yourself (ii) shouldn't be blamed(tm) for the lack of support they already have#& then that these sentiments Are then like ''haha but find that partner though. don't be Too happy single lol'' & ''hey don't be That self#confident no wait stop Get Approval'' like ohh Now people will like you :) you're still supposed to theoretically care about Needing that#you just need to also be blaming yourself if it doesn't happen! b/c Good People are guaranteed being personally liked & loved to the max#& the max might be 1 person of a particular gender agrees to fuck around w/only you. maybe some cazsh friends from work/school exist. whew
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