#in other words..please fuck me mr. Price
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My favorite gifs of Vincent Price as Nicholas Van Ryn
Dragonwyck (1946) dir. Joseph L. Mankiewicz
#vincent price#nicholas van ryn#Dragonwyck#film noir#1940s#gothic#gothic horror#god hes perfect#SO BEAUTIFUL AND GORGEOUS#goddamn son#*grabby hands*#i desire him carnally#in other words..please fuck me mr. Price#horror#bicon#bisexual#god#old horror movies#vintage#movie#actor#handsome#gif#gifs made by me#gif set
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Adore Her, Dior Her
prompt: ( requested ) what good is having all that money if he can't spend it on the woman he loves?
pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader
fandom masterlist: Marvel
word count: 4.3k+
warnings: author foams at the mouth for Mafia AUs, overwhelming fluff, cursing, not edited.
"That's the one. That's one we should get!"
"You've said that about the past three dresses, Buck!" You groaned, smoothing your hands over the skirt. "We need to narrow this down, okay? The wedding's in a month!"
"Why did we even agree to go?"
You glared, "'Cause we love my brother and we're supporting him."
"But she's just so - "
"Jen. Her name's Jen."
Bucky nodded, leaning back on the cushioned chair, "Well, Jen's just wrong for him. Literally the definition of toxic."
"Does it count if they're toxic together? To each other?" You sighed, standing on the pedestal and turning to look in the three mirrors beside the dressing room.
"Of course it does," he stood, buttoning his suit jacket out of habit. He approached you, head cocking as he looked your body up and down to get the full view of the gown you tried on. "You're really okay letting him marry her? Turn this way a bit, baby, lemme see the front."
You scoffed, but took his offered hand and twisted on the small platform towards him, "You were there at Christmas, he doesn't listen to reason. So, if Daniel's convinced Jen's for him, as his sister, my only job is be supportive."
"They literally abuse each other," he pointed out.
"Well, he's not changing his mind. Okay? It's been three years, he won't budge, whenever someone brings up them breaking up, he goes into hiding - so, I don't know what else I can do," your hands slapped your thighs when you shrugged, "except just be there for him. Now, focus, please, help me narrow a dress down."
He shook his head as you turned to face the mirrors again, "Actually, you know what? I don't think anything in this store is for us."
The attendant perked up and scurried over, rushing, "Oh, well, we have a much larger selection in the back, Mr. Barnes - "
"That won't be necessary, Barbra, thank you, though," he nodded. "Doll," his hand planted on your waist, head over your shoulder as you still looked yourself over in the mirrors, "go get changed, I know where we need to go."
"Bucky, no, there's plenty of options here," you argued, twisting on the wee little pedestal to face him again. "We don't need to drop a stack on a dress - "
"You let me worry about the price tag," he smirked, leaning in to peck your cheek. "Just go change, pretty girl, c'mon. Step-to!"
You offered Barbra, the attendant, an apologetic smile as you shuffled back into the changing room; quickly stripping from the dress. When you exited in your street clothes, Bucky was tipping the aged woman for her effort in gathering your options, but the moment he saw you, his hand was extending to hold yours tightly.
"What was wrong with that store?" You asked when you stepped onto the noisy and busy street to approach the sleek, tinted car Bucky drove for day-to-day errands.
"We're not shopping at David's fucking Bridal."
"You literally drove us here," you laughed.
"Yeah, and then I had a much better idea," he smirked at you, unlocking the car and opening your passenger door. "C'mon, princess, just gotta trust me."
"Last time you said that - "
"That wasn't my fault," he groaned, cheeks flaring red in embarrassment. When you opened your mouth to retort, he rushed, "Aht, nope, don't say shit. C'mon, I'm taking you somewhere special so get that pretty ass in the car."
He grinned when you laughed and did as bid, feet safely inside when he closed the door after you were settled. Bucky easily jogged around the back of his car, New York busy this time of year as traffic flew past on the street and forced Buck slow. He dropped into the driver's seat, sniffling slightly.
"Reminds me," Bucky smirked as he pulled onto the street, "how would you feel about us going to Aspen this winter?"
You sighed, "Why?"
"You wanna stay in New York for Christmas?"
"Well, yeah! It's so magical."
"Okay, so, we can go over New Years?"
You sighed, "You know, we don't have to go anywhere..."
"Sweetheart," he cleared his throat, "I actually have some business in Aspen, this will just help determine when I schedule the meetings for."
"Oh," you nodded slowly.
He sighed, "I know my job isn't orthodox, but business is business, right, sugar?”
"No, yeah, yeah, I get it. It sounds kinda nice, maybe we can go skiing."
"You know how to ski?"
"No, but I'm sure someone in Aspen could help teach me."
Bucky grinned. The drive was full of easy conversation, neither you nor Bucky dwelling on his business dealings, always feeling as if it was taboo given his station in the Mafia. So when he pulled up in front of a designer store, you gawked. "Now, if we can't find something here - "
"Um, absolutely not," you laughed. "Bucky, I can't even afford to walk into a place like that!"
"Good thing I'm paying," he smirked. He assisted you out of the car, tossing his keys to one of his security guards who had been following in a separate, tinted vehicle. When you both entered the dimly lit store, you were blown away by the gorgeous minimalist design; warm lighting, open floor space, and racks of different clothing options.
"Ah, Mr. Barnes! Hello, hello, hello!" A new attendant greeted with more enthusiasm than you would've greeted any of your clients, approaching you two. She shook your boyfriend's hand vigorously, "To what do we owe this pleasure?"
Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, "Looking for a dress to wear to a wedding."
She offered you a forced smile, telling your boyfriend swiftly with her teeth on full display, "You came to the right spot!"
"See?" Bucky smirked at you. "All right, Valeria, what's first?"
Valeria waved you both onward to a private changing room, offering complimentary sparkling waters, coffees, teas - even offering to go retrieve anything you two would want from the Starbucks down the block. Valeria took your measurements and dress size, making idle chit-chat with Bucky and making it obvious he was a regular in the store, then scurrying off to collect an armful of options.
"This is - wow," you nodded in impression, petting the material of the display dresses hung along the wall.
"Like it?"
"It's growing on me," you eased with a small shrug, hearing Bucky chuckle and for his phone to chime. You perused the place as he became glued to the little device, sat in front of the dressing rooms.
Valeria returned with another attendant carrying coffees. "Right this way, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria directed you into a changing room, missing the giddy look you sent Bucky over your shoulder at being called his wife. "All right, so," she sighed, hanging up the dresses she selected, "I think these are modest enough for a wedding, but still glamorous to turn a few heads."
You hummed, "They're kinda short, don't know if that's the energy I want to be giving off at my brother's wedding."
"They'll fit differently once on but we can always accommodate," she assured, pulling one from the hanger. "Here we go," she assisted you, zipping you in and looking you over. "Oh, it's just darling on you! Look at that, not a single hair outta place, right?"
You giggled lightly, "It's certainly pretty."
"Shall we show Mr. Barnes?"
You nodded, following her out to reveal Bucky sitting on a plush loveseat, sipping his coffee. His eyes widened when he saw you, nodding, "Oh, yeah. This is what I'm talking about."
"Hush, we're only buying one."
His eyes rolled, "I'll buy the whole damn store if I want."
"You don't own it already? Hm," you teased, perking your brows.
"Keep sayin' shit, I'll cut a check right now - "
"Bucky," you tisked, moving to the runway mirrors. "It's a little tight, isn't it?"
"It's snug," Valeria agreed. "Is there a color scheme for the wedding?"
"Um," you paused, "I'm not sure - I just know it's in winter, like, in a month."
"Maybe a pretty powder blue?" She looked to Bucky, who nodded. "Or how about a pale green? Like an olive tone?"
"She looks gorgeous in anything," Bucky smirked from behind you, taking another pull of his coffee.
"What about that brown number?" You asked, ignoring the way his compliments made you feel like the only girl he's ever seen in the world.
"You have a very good eye, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria nodded. She asked her coworker to go find your size, taking you back into the dressing room. You narrowed down the options without changing again, not wanting anything black or dark since it was a wedding and not a funeral. Though, you knew Bucky would disagree.
You showed your boyfriend a pretty little green dress, but he shook his head. "I thought the black was nice," he told you.
"I'm not wearing black to a wedding," you laughed lightly. "It screams bad luck to me, don't you think?"
"Think it's more of a statement, sayin' the entire event is a sham and they shouldn't be doing this," Bucky snickered, the other attendant, Laura, returning with a pretty brown dress. "That satin?" He asked, rubbing the material when it was presented to you both.
"It's very fashionable now," Laura nodded, "and it's not too dark."
"Since when is it a rule to not wear dark colors to a wedding? I miss the memo?" Buck leaned back to his seat.
All three women offered him a small look, you chuckling under your breath before Valeria was leading you back into the changing room. "If I may, Mrs?" She spoke softly, "I've known Mr. Barnes for a number of years but he's never brought anyone into the store. Then, one day, he tells me he needs a new suit because the 'girl of his dreams' had agreed to a date, and every time since then?" She smiled softly at you, "He's sang your praises. I'm very honored you're trusting me with helping you today."
"Oh," you blinked in shock, giggling nervously, "well, thank you very much, Valeria, now I know why his suits are always top of the line." She waved you off, making you add, "And for the record, I'm not Mrs. Barnes, guess that'd be his mother, wouldn't it?"
"Oh," her eyes widened, gasping softly, "oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I just - he talks so highly about you - "
"No, it's okay, it's okay," you rushed, patting her arm. "I actually kind of like it..."
She hummed, zipping you into another dress, "You know, he's the reason my girl and I are together."
"Really? How'd that happen?"
Valeria chuckled, "He's very bold, your man. We were getting coffee one day, discussing his wardrobe for a business trip he had in Hong Kong, when my lady walked in. I went all silly and stupid, and Mr. Barnes just," she shook her head with a fond smile, "brazenly asked her out for me, in front of the whole shop."
"Oh, Jesus, yeah - sounds like him."
"Well, luckily, it worked, else I don't think he would've come back for my assistance. I was so embarrassed, you have no idea, but my lady - Charlie - thought it was charming and cute. Mr. Barnes hasn't let me live it down since. Says he demands an invite to the wedding." She met your eyes through the mirror, offering, "And I'd be really happy to give him a plus one, hmm?"
"You're so sweet," you whispered, turning to survey the dress. You spent the better part of three hours there, trying on dress after dress, nitpicking almost everything as you just weren't sure what to wear. Bucky wasn't much help, he just approved everything.
So, it was up to Valeria and Laura to help you; bringing out iPads and design books, trying to piece something together that best fit your comfort and the vibe of the wedding. You didn't want to look like a walking money bag since your family wasn't by any means wealthy, thinking it would be a slap to their faces since your boyfriend could spend his money without ever thinking about it. You didn't want to give your family any reason to talk behind your back.
"I like the brown satin," Laura offered softly, looking you over in the mirror. "But the blue is just wow, it really looks like it was made for you, doesn't it?"
"Yes, but I think the green compliments her eyes more," Valeria cocked her head in thought. "Are you wearing your hair up or down?"
"Up," you answered, trying to mimic the look by pulling your locks off your shoulders, "with thin jewelry, I think."
"Diamonds?"
"Pearls, if I can find a dress that looks nice with it," you smiled, seeing Bucky's reflection in the mirror watching you with a soft smile on his face; head titled in thought before his phone chimed again and warranted his attention. "Maybe we could try the pink dress?" You looked to the two women for an opinion.
"No," Valeria shook her head, "it washes you out. And pink in winter? Oh, sweetie, I'd lose my job if I let you leave here with that. Guess that means you'll have to come back in the spring, right?"
You grinned in response as Laura chimed in, "The green's actually really nice, but the brown looks much better with your body type." Then she turned to Bucky, prompting, "Mr. Barnes? Final decision - which dress?"
Bucky paused, musing, "Lemme see them all again, get one last taste. It's between the green and brown numbers?"
"Or the blue," Valeria nodded. "C'mon, sweetie," she offered her hand to help you off the wee runway you were perched on in front of the magnificent mirrors.
"You look sensational in them all, doll, how the hell am I supposed to choose just one?" Bucky teased, his canines on display from the broad grin that stretched his lips.
"You'll find a way," you answered.
"Awh, telling me Mr. Big-Tough-Manly-Business-Man who makes impossible decisions everyday can't choose a simple piece of fashion?" Valeria tacked on.
"You guys can't pick either!" He laughed, "And you do a helluva lot more shopping than I do!"
Laura, Valeria, and you paused to exchange looks, you pointing at Bucky and relenting in a drawl, "Touché."
When you were escorted back into the dressing room, Laura waiting outside the door for your privacy with Valeria, Bucky sat back on the plush loveseat and extended his one arm over the back of the seating. He smirked to himself, shaking his head as if in disbelief - but he was. Bucky was in disbelief.
How did a rugged Mob boss find himself here? Watching his girl like a private fashion show?
His whole life, all he knew was turmoil, pain, drama, and fear. He knew he would inherit his father's well-built organization after he passed and knew what this life would entail; having no preconceived notions about a quiet life. He knew he would have to be tougher than tough, adaptable, intelligent, and confident in his role as the head of the 3-6 Brooklyn Mob. Knowing the idea of a family was farfetched, knowing he'd never know the simple pleasures in life, that he would constantly be on the move - in-able to form real, sentimental, emotional connections. He knew, in this life, he'd remain alone for everyone's best interest and safety, indulging in a series of flings and one-off relationships that couldn't haunt him.
Yet they did. These encounters reminded Bucky how alone, how stranded, how isolated, how different he was. Instead of satisfying an unquenchable thirst, these fleeting partners became heavy anchors to Bucky's reality and reminded him that there was no such thing as love - nor was there any room or logic.
And then... He met you.
Bucky's lips silently spread in a grin as he remembered meeting you at a bakery; purchasing the last slice of coconut cream pie to your absolute chagrin. He thought you were gorgeous, something ethereal and unobtainable; authentic, raw, and unfiltered - things his one night stands could never measure up to. So, he offered you the slice of pie if it meant giving him your number as currency.
After that, it was impossible for Bucky to consider ever being alone again because you were the sun; center of the universe that drew everyone into your orbit. He was smitten, content, excited to date you, turned on by the fact you had no idea who he was - a rare occurrence in the city. You were pure as fresh snow; sweet, kind, affectionate, attentive, and borderline overly empathetic.
Bucky knew he was in love with you after only a few weeks when he had shown up at your apartment, dripping in blood. You didn't panic like he feared you would, just checked up and down the hallway before yanking him into your home. You cleaned him up, tending to wounds, offering a safe space for him to relax in; making mindless conversation to help distract him from the pain he endured.
And now? Now, Bucky was sat in Dior, giving his opinion on your wedding guest dress; wondering how he allowed himself to get to this point of being domestic. Bucky wasn't a man to give his opinion on dresses, what color nail polish you should use, to send fresh bouquets of flowers every other week. Yet here he was, sipping too-expensive coffee, deciding between brown, green, and blue dresses that he never would've batted an eye at.
However, that was just the domino effect you caused in his life. You were sweeter than apple pie, becoming Bucky's one tether to reality that saved him from losing himself in this dark, criminal mindset he adopted. You didn't know it, but you had transformed Bucky from a brooding asshole into a boyfriend; someone you were proud to claim and never hid from - never shied away from. He admired the way you came to terms with his job, knowing it was a hard pill to swallow and yet noting the way you just accepted him as he was.
Bucky realized in that moment that he adored this new aspect of life after thinking it was impossible to obtain. He adored sitting here, offering opinions on dresses, his security left outside instead of hovering over him like a brutal reminder he was seedy. He loved having you to come home to, he loved being part of your mundane world - a person who went to weddings, who drank Starbucks, who asked her boyfriend his opinion about how she looked in dresses. Who thought bouquets of flowers were romantic, who baked him homemade cakes for his birthday, who worked overtime in order to afford his Christmas or birthday presents, who walked to the takeout place instead of paying for delivery.
All that you are, Bucky adored deeply; falling in love with you each and every single day. All he wanted to do was protect you, share his life with you, even pick out outfits for weddings you would attend. He knew if any of the men in his organization knew the extent of his affection, they'd surely weaponize it against him... Or at the very least, tease him relentlessly. Yet he never cared, knowing you wanted to be loved out loud instead of hidden away in a storage closet; but did care if it meant his enemies could use you to get to him. It was a risk, an occupation hazard for loved ones to become targets, but that only made Bucky so much more protective of you.
Laura glanced at Bucky and saw the fond smile soften to let his teeth trap his bottom lip, smiling at the Mob boss looking soft, content, smitten being there. She knew most boyfriends would never put this much effort into helping their girlfriends in the fashion department, thinking he must've been truly in love to look so at-ease. Plus his enthusiasm through the entire ordeal assured her that Bucky was genuinely enjoying himself.
Once again, you slipped into the blue dress and showed Bucky. He hummed and snapped a photo, asking you to turn this way and that. Then you tried the green dress, him taking another photo, and finally, you changed into the brown satin dress, facing Bucky for his final verdict.
Bucky hummed in contemplation, swiping through the photos. "You know what?" He asked, looking at you with a grin. "You look delectable in everything, I can't decide - so, let's just get them all."
"Bucky, no - "
"We'll take all three, Valeria, please," Bucky interrupted you.
You waited until the attendants left you alone with a knowing look shot in your direction to ring up the desired purchases, hip cocking and hands to your hips. With an underlying exasperation, you questioned, "What the hell, Buck?"
He grinned and stood, again, buttoning his suit jacket, "C'mon, princess, this is fun, right? Being spoiled?." His arms wrapped around your waist, looking down at you as if you hung the very sun that sucked him into your orbit. "What's the point of all my money if I can't spend it on you? Huh?"
"You can save it for a rainy day?"
He shrugged, "Not necessary."
"Maybe pay to send some underprivileged kids to go to college?"
"Well, there's a thought," your boyfriend mused, "but I already do that through the Stark Foundation. I sponsor a few scholarships."
"Okay, well, buying all three still doesn't help me decide what to wear," you chuckled, you mimicked his action and wrapped your arms tightly around the base of his ribs. Due to his height, your head had to tip backwards to meet his eyes with a small smile.
You could look at this gorgeous man all day, everyday if God ever permitted such an act. Why wasn't dating a paid activity? You'd be the top earner with the way you were absolutely enthralled with all Bucky Barnes was.
And what an honor it was to earn his mutual adoration.
"We'll figure it out at home. Gotta get you moving in the material to make an honest judgement," he offered softly. "But you look gorgeous in all of them, baby, seriously. Like, drop dead gorgeous that makes every girl brim with jealousy. Shit, doll, you're gonna run the risk of outshining the bride."
You sighed, "Look, Buck, I appreciate what you're doing, but three designer dresses? Where the hell am I ever gonna wear them? What kinda event calls for overpriced fashion statements?"
Buck eased with a soft expression, "Guess I'll just have to take you out so you can put them all to good use, huh?"
"That's not a solution!"
"Is to me," he let a hand drift to roughly palm the meat of your ass cheek over the brown satin; another symptom of him being whipped, his comfort over public displays of affection. "Seriously, doll, how the hell did I get so lucky?"
"Hmm?"
"Just look at you, my girl," he chuckled lightly, "radiant in anything you put on. It's almost unfair, makes me wonder what I did so right to have someone like you I can call my own. I can't wait to show you off in those dresses, just look so Goddamn tantalizing. I mean, damn, baby, I'm gonna have to fight off men with my gun and the jealous women with a stick."
"You do realize we're already dating, you don't have to lay it on so thick."
"And you do realize being with you makes me the luckiest bastard in the city, right? Least I can do is spoil you, I've already got everything else I've ever wanted."
Your heart swelled at his words, sighing gently as your chin rested on his chest to keep your head tilted. Softly, you admitted, "I don't think you're the lucky one, pretty sure the honor's mine. I couldn't ask for anything more in a man - in a partner. I'm so fucking in love with you, Bucky, it honestly doesn't make sense."
He nodded, asking, "Know what else doesn't make sense?"
"What's that?"
"You refusing those dresses, I mean, c'mon!" He laughed, you groaning and releasing your hold; making his tighten to prevent you from escaping. "Those dresses look phenomenal on you, you really gonna reject my gift? C'mon, you know the rules, doll, if you adore her, you Dior her." You were ready to retort, but Bucky smiled, "For the record, I think you should wear the blue dress to the wedding."
"Blue it is," you smiled, lifting onto your toes and hooking a hand around the back of his neck to meet his lips in a scratchy kiss. "Thank you so much, baby," you whispered, feeling his lips spread against yours before he brought you back in for a much-more passionate kiss. "Hm!" You hummed, pulling away to scold, "But no more, all right? You spend too much money on me - I mean, who the hell needs three designer dresses?"
"You do," he whispered, "you deserve all of this, sugar, and I'll do what I can t'spoil you the way you should be. Might as well get used to it, I got no plans on stopping."
Your eyes rolled in good faith, excusing yourself, "Yeah, yeah, all right. Lemme get changed and we can - "
"Nah," he shook his head, petting the skin of your back exposed from the brown satin dress with his fingertips, "know what? Stay in the dress, I wanna take you out and show you off."
Your lips found his in a breath-sucking kiss, trying to convey your appreciation and giddiness over never having been spoiled like this in your entire life - feeling grateful, refreshed, and privileged for a man like Bucky in your life. Whatever greater force there was in this world, you thanked repeatedly for choosing you to love this man and for this man to love you. There was no telling what you did to deserve him, but blessed be those heavenly powers.
requesting rules and masterlist
MCU masterlist
#bucky barnes#mob!bucky#mob!bucky barnes#mafia!bucky#mafia!bucky barnes#mob bucky#mob bucky barnes#mafia bucky#mafia bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female!reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes x fem!reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x fem reader#mafia bucky barnes x reader#mafia bucky barnes x female!reader#mafia bucky barnes x f!reader#mafia bucky barnes x fem!reader#mafia au#bucky mafia au#mafia bucky au#mafia bucky x female!reader#mafia bucky x reader#mafia bucky x you#mafia bucky x y/n#mob bucky au#mob bucky x reader#mob bucky x you#mob bucky x y/n
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hiii I adore your writing sm mwaaah💋💋💋love this kinda soft n fluffy fics they make me feel safe:'( would you write some domestic fluff with simon plsss FUCKIN LOVE this man💗😭 maybe something where they just got engaged idk whatever you wanna write... have a nice day🤍🌸
Proposal Headcanons And Scenarios With Simon "Ghost" Riley
Do y'all wanna guess who's render I used again? @ave661 probably already hates me for the amount of times I've tagged her the shitty content I write. I hope I did the request justice, they didn't exactly specify what type but I opted for something other than fics because I am horrid in writing those 😭
This is so freaking short, I'm so sorry. I have so many backed up requests, I don't even know where to begin.
❥ Pre-engagement!Simon who spent fucking months looking for the perfect ring, listen he is NOT giving you a ring that he bought impulsively.
❥ Pre-engagement!Simon who gained unsolicited advice from Soap who happened to be the first one to find out Simon had a partner in the first place.
"Aye L.T, if you want a shot of them agreeing to marry you-"
"And what would you know about being romantic?"
Yeah Simon asked Gaz instead. That still didn't change the fact that both Soap and Gaz, along with Price were there before the proposal, giving Simon a pats on the shoulder while the Lieutenant tried to catch his breath.
❥ Pre-engagement!Simon who asked Price for advice so many times, you do not believe how many times he had practiced kneeling on his not-so-strong knees.
❥ Speaking of knees, Simon had to let out some light encouragement:
"Lovie, will you marry me..?" You heard Simon asked while you had your back turned. You faced him, he was on his knees, the ring in the box enveloped in velvet, the stone glistening under the light of the moon.
it felt like the air was taken out of your lungs. Hands on your mouth, you looked at him wide eyed.
"Lovie.. please answer" He mutters, voice clearly a bit of pain and discomfort.
"O-oh shit, sorry Si" You apologized before saying yes. You helped him up with the hand before he pulled you into a tight hug, arms snug around your waist, head buried in your neck while slipping the ring on your finger before you pushed him and cupped his face into a kiss.
❥ After engagement!Simon who's fucking over the moon, why? Because you're finally his, like officially, from the words of your guys' future daughter "No take-backsies". Thinking about how his internal thoughts are just "Fuck, fuck, shit this is actually happening"
❥ After engagement!Simon who has non-stop called you Mrs. Riley in front of everyone even though you weren't married yet, you didn't have the heart to correct him. Soap tried but uhh, that earned him a unexpectedly painful punch on the arm from you.
❥ Didn't take long for you and Simon to start the planning, of course he let you take over for most of it, shared guest list of his brother's family and his family in TF141. Wanna take a guess on who was best man?
❥ Price was the one who stood for his father on Simon's side of the altar, if you asked, Price definitely would've walked you down the isle.
Hot take on engagement rings, I HATE basic and NFL engagement rings with a burning passion. If you're gonna give me something as sentimental as that, something that's gonna symbolize the moment I said yes because I love you so much that I was willing to be bound to you for eternity then I want something vintage or something that looks like it came out of a fantasy book. Something you think that a fantasy princess would wear, I heard they're even cheaper than basic ass engagement rings.
Cost ≠ Taste and Value.
#cod x reader#aethelwyne lia writes#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#cod headcanons#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x you#ghost x plus size reader#ghost x female reader#ghost x you
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STWG Daily Prompt 3/9/24
Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild
Prompt: Bite
Rating: G | WC: 867
Emotional hurt/comfort, Steve Harrington's parents being the worst, the best uncle Wayne Munson, supportive boyfriend Eddie Munson, the party loves Steve Harrington
Steve had given up on his dad long ago, he was never going to be the kind of man Richard Harrington had always wanted his sons to grow up and be, but he’d held out hope for his mom—hope that someday she would learn to love him the way she loved his brother.
More than ten years between them, and the fact that the Harrington’s had moved to Hawkins only after Christopher had graduated high school and gone off to college, meant no one really knew Steve had a sibling.
The party, Robin, Eddie—especially Eddie because how could they have been dating for over a year now and him somehow still not know about this—were all stunned to learn of the existence of another young Harrington.
He hadn’t meant to tell them at all, but then Christopher and their parents made a surprise visit home so that his brother could take possession of their grandmother’s ring and pop the question to his girlfriend of a whopping 9 months. Less time than he and Eddie had been seeing each other and didn’t that get under Steve's skin to know he’d never get to propose to his boyfriend with a family heirloom, not only because gay marriage wasn’t legal, but because his parents would never dream of handing down a piece of jewelry to their least favorite son.
Steve wound up having to make the rounds, letting everyone know movie night was canceled because his brother was in town. Naturally they all wanted explanations for why this was the first they were learning of this mysterious person, and by the time he got to Eddie’s place, Steve was a mess.
Years of mistreatment and neglect bubbled to the surface, and not just the big things but the little sniping comments, the small injustices—inequities between the way Mr. and Mrs. Harrington spoke of their older son vs their younger—hurt feelings that he’d pushed all the way down in order to function, in order to put a fucking smile on his face and hide the fact that he was damaged goods who not even a mother could love.
It all came spilling out of him on Eddie’s bedroom floor as his boyfriend held him, rocked him, was his rock, tethering him to the earth.
When it was all over and Steve was calm, Eddie asked him why he still spoke to them, why he still lived in their house when he and Wayne had both–on separate occasions–invited him to live with them instead.
“They’re my family.” Steve said, shrugging. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you do, Stevie. You always have a choice. If you were to decide right here and now that you never wanted to see or speak to them again, you are allowed to do that. You hold all the power here. I’ll support you in whatever you decide, but I have to say in my humble opinion, they never deserved you.”
Steve took the night to think about it, though in the instant Eddie had said the words, given Steve the power to take control of his own life, he’d known what he was going to do. It was his life, he could do with it as he wished. He was already doing that with almost every other part of it, so why was he still letting his mom and dad hold any power over him? Why did he subject himself to their passive aggressive comments and disappointed glares?
In the end he never went back, not even to get his stuff. Wayne and Eddie did it for him, leaving behind his keys and his beloved car.
A small price to pay for freedom.
He called the next day and left a final message on the answering machine.
“Please leave your message after the beep.”
“Hey mom. You’re the hardest one to say goodbye to, the last member of this family I held out hope for so you’ll have to forgive me for not doing this in person. My car keys are on the table by the front door. I know the BMW is in dad’s name and I know he wouldn’t want me keeping it under the circumstances.”
“I am no longer a Harrington. I’m sure you won’t mind because you barely thought of me as one to begin with but it’s official now. I’m moving on, and moving in with my boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend, because I am nothing if not a consistent disappointment.”
“It took me longer to see it with you because I've witnessed the way you care for the people around you, most of them anyway, and what you’ve done for this community.”
“You are a good person, except when you’re not. And you were a great mom, just not to me.”
There was no bite in his words, just a sad truth finally spoken aloud.
Steve hung up the phone feeling lighter than he ever had in his whole life, and sat down to dinner with the people who really loved him. His found family, who’d all dropped whatever they were doing at a moments notice to throw him an impromptu moving-in party at his new home with Eddie and Wayne.
Thanks to my beloved @penny00dreadful for having a look over this 🥰
#stwgdailyprompt#steddie fanfic#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington's parents#steddie fic#wayne munson my beloved#steve harrington/eddie munson#steve x eddie#fanfic
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OMG FINALLY SOMEONE WHO WRITES ABT THE COFFIN OF ANDY AND LEYLEY AAA
Honestly I'd take any writing about Andy LMFAO whatever you want to write, I'd just love to read something, be it headcanons or some short story <3
Absolutely! I was shocked when I tried finding content for TCOAAL, and there was none💀. For the sake of fluff Andy, the reader is the closest thing Andy has to a sister!
*Leyley doesn't exist*
P.S. Hopefully, this isn't OOC. This is also not proofread, so
I hope these meet your expectations <3
Andrew Graves x female best friend! Reader
TW: Everyone has a filthy mouth (swearing)... N/M = Nickname ♡
♡925 WORDS♡
Ever since Andrew was a kid, he was treated more as his parent's friend than their kid.
This often meant that Andrew was forced to miss out on childish routines like throwing a tantrum, making a mess, having fun the loud way, and making mistakes, simply because "he was so easy."
If he were to add to his parents' load of problems, he wouldn't be able to live with himself, let alone sleep.
But that was all before he met you.
Every Friday, Mrs. Graves would give Andrew money to go on a snack run for the weekend.
But no matter what he did, no matter when or how he entered the grocery store, this little girl (no less than five) would terrorize Andrew.
"She's so annoying, mom! She always snatches the snacks I go for and then bolts for the next aisle. Then she just giggles and runs away with MY TOMATO SOUP."
Mrs. Graves sighed and turned around to face her son, "Andrew, just because a little five year old girl is taking some of the same snacks as you DOES NOT MEAN I am letting you shop at a different store! 'Shop Shop Shop and Shop, with more Shop' is the best for low-deals and prices. Please don't be difficult."
With no other choices, Andrew was forced to continue shopping.
Every week, she did the same thing. She'd sneak up behind him when he wasn't paying attention. She'd snatch the poor snack out of Andrew's hand and would bolt out of the aisle.
And everytime she did this, Andrew would grow angrier and angrier.
Finally, when the little girl stole the hundredth can of soup from his hand, Andrew turned around and grabbed the little girl's hair.
"AHH! Get off of me asshole!"
"You little shit! Give me that can back!"
They'd fight over the can of soup in the middle of the aisle for the next 10 minutes before the store owner kicked them out for "public disturbances."
Now, without his can of soup, sitting at the curb outside the store, with new bite marks along his arm, Andrew was more pissed than ever.
"What the hell is your problem? Do you just find malicious torment funny, you borderline psycho?"
Andrew turned towards the girl. She turned her smile towards Andrew, "Nah, just you."
Annoyed and exhausted, he put his face in his hands.
She thought for a moment , "No one plays with me, so I figured I should play with someone who looked as miserable as me."
Andrew looked at her through his fingers, "What about me screamed misery?"
She put a finger on her bottom lip, deep in thought, "You just have this face,"
Andrew scoffed at the girl, burying his face in his knees. She giggled.
"You just naturally look like an asshole"
"Watch your language, you fucking shit!"
Andrew went to grab the girls hair, "You dont even know my name, and yet you're calling me an asshole!? No wonder you dont have any friends."
She slapped Andrew's hand before it could reach her, "Well, what's your name?"
Andrew hesitated, "It's...Andrew Graves. What's yours?"
The little girl smiled, "Y/N L/N, your new best friend, Aaaaandy."
Andrew sat lazily with Y/N, laying on his lap. He cringed when he thought about their first meeting.
Of all the things they could've fought about, it was a can of soup... God, they're fucking stupid.
Since that day, Y/N would beg Andrew for attention and fun. She'd stalk him when he was out and about and would drag him away from any errands he was requested to run on.
"Leave me alone, N/M"
"Make me~"
"Please?"
"Lame. Now I have to come with you! With that bitch ass attitude you'll get beat up."
"Great."
And when Andrew accidentally reveal his address? Andrew was permanently stuck with Y/N.
Every Friday, she'd follow Andrew home, and even when Mr. and Mrs. Graves questioned the foul-mouth girl Andrew would never offer an explanation better than, "Some stray I picked up that won't let go. I have to keep her."
"Aaaaandyyy, can you change the channel? I don't want to lift my eyelids."
Andrew sighed, "The remote is right by your leg, dumbass"
"So?" She scoffed, "reach it for me."
"It's closer to you than it is to me!"
"Andy change the goddamn channel!"
"i'm not getting up just because your ass wants to be lazy!"
"ANDREW"
"Y/N"
Even if that meant pissing each other off with meanless schemes.
Despite their bickering that has made local pedestrians' ears bleed, they still were there for each other in everything.
"Whatever, you dumb bastard," Y/N mumbled to herself.
Andrew played with Y/N's hair as he stared at the mindless TV.
"Veronica Steveson asked me out to the date."
"Aw, poor hussy"
"Ouch, you think so lowly of me?"
"No, I just assumed you said no," Y/N continued to watch the TV.
"Why would I...?" Before Andrew could finish his sentence, Y/N sat up and stared at him with intense eyes.
"Do you like her?"
"W- Well no, but it's not like any other girls are crawling to date me"
Y/N scoffed at Andrew, flicking his forehead, "That's because you're stupid to notice."
She laid back down on his lap, and Andrew secretly smiled to himself. "So...who aren't I noticing?"
"Your mom."
"Y/N GROSS!"
And even if no one admitted it out loud, and even if you blushed one too many times around each other, you belonged with each other.
"But seriously, Andy, pass me the remote"
"Eat shit, N/M"
Thank you for the ask <3
#the coffin of andy and leyley#andrew graves#andrew graves x reader#andy graves#andy graves x reader#x reader#y/n#y/n fanfic#headcanons#drabble#cussing#dem kids swear up and down#tw swearing#ooc#maybe idk#ughhhh#sorry
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Sloppy Problem
Lee Minhyuk x Male Reader
cw: top minhyuk, unprotected sex, idol au, minhyuk has his eyes closed and is something between relaxed and sleepy so a bit of somnophilia (i'm not sure abt it), implied multiple rounds, edging, bit of impregnation kink, breeding kink.
—
y/n works as a masseuse in the happy ending spa, a place known because customers leave there satisfied. hearing this minhyuk decided to visit it, it was a busy time with promotions, photoshoots and other things to promote his new song so he deserved some time of rest.
"good morning sir, how can i help you?" asked y/n, one of the employees. "i came here because i heard this was a very good place with excellent services and i want to be relaxed for some time".
"oh i get it, so what type of massage do you want?" said y/n handing something like a menu in where all the types of massages and prices are.
minhyuk reading it started to suspect that there was some sexual acts involved in it, well after all the name of the spa is the happy ending… he haven't fuck in weeks either so it would be a good way to relax and release all that load tension. "this one" his finger pointing at the last one, a surprised reaction forming on y/n's face "woah. not everyone asks for this" mentioned the employee "over here please" he signals a room going there with minhyuk following him. "take of all your clothes please and here's a towel" y/n left the room for a while looking for the massage oil while minhyuk undressed.
"ok mr. minhyuk just relax" y/n started to do his work, applying the oil and massaging every muscle on minhyuk's god-like body, fuck he's so sexy, the bulging veins on his strong big arms, the perfect back muscles or that round plump ass that everyone want to smack. y/n was so eager to finally get to the that part of the massage. "please turn around" said y/n tapping minhyuk's shoulder and he did as he was asked, y/n's eyes widened at the majestic sight in front of him of big squishy but firm chest with suckable nipples, lickable abs and a huge bulge that even though his cock was still flaccid it looked big making y/n even more eager to have it all inside him.
slowly y/n stimulated minhyuk's nipples pinching and caressing them until they're hard, drawing some moans from the man's mouth, then y/n attacked one nipple with his mouth while touching the growing bulge under the towel. going down slowly leaving a trail of kisses on minhyuk's body finally reaching minhyuk's bulge and smelling it. the towel was no longer there and y/n was finally able to see minhyuk's beautiful body, he took the shaft in his hands and began to give it small kisses from the tip to the balls, licking the pre-cum that came out of there and then take it to his mouth gagging on it while minhyuk just moans from the immense pleasure he is feeling at that moment. he opens his eyes put his hands on top of y/n's head and push him down his cock making him deepthroat him, minhyuk was loving the gagging sounds "fuck! how much i missed this feeling" he groaned mouth-fucking the masseuse in the process.
"sir you're so big" said a teary y/n "i don't think i can take you all at once in my mouth" he said catching his breath, "don't worry. i know another hole you can use to take me" minhyuk does a turning sign with his finger and y/n do as he was told. he introduces his cock little by little making sure to not hurt y/n. minutes later the older man started moving, stretching y/n's tight hole drawing beautiful moans and whimpers out of y/n's mouth. minhyuk locked one his arms on y/n's neck and started to fuck him rough "gonna use you as a way to milk my heavy balls ok?" y/n just nodded unable to pronounce a word.
the sloppy sounds caused by the oil and y/n's wet hole can be heard from outside the massaging room but it's muffled by the moans coming from other rooms. "fucking hell… you're railing me into oblivion" squirmed y/n feeling that familiar sensation on his stomach "i'm gonna cum" he says… minhyuk was using y/n and throwing him around like he was a rag doll, a toy only for him to enjoy and feel the pleasure he hasn't feeling a long time ago, y/n's hole gapping and clenching on minhyuk's thick cock, he has been edging himself pulling out of y/n's hole everytime he feels he's gonna cum "get ready for my huge load boy" and after that he emptied his balls inside the boy's abused hole, jets of hot and thick sperm flooding y/n's insides and just when the masseuse thought he was finished, more and more sperm kept coming out, he indeed was having blue balls "sir… you came buckets inside me. i think you might impregnated me" spoke y/n with a notorious tired tone "then let's impregnate you more" minhyuk responded starting to move again inside y/n, churning all the cum inside of him with his thick meat.
"goodbye sir, see you soon, it was a pleasure meeting you and i'm glad that i could've helped you relax at least a little" they both shake hands with minhyuk sliding a paper towards y/n "the pleasure was mine pretty boy. mind you if you give me your number? i might call you for some private and more personal massages" he winked at him making y/n flustered "yeah sure" he wrote his number and slip the paper back to minhyuk "y/n hmm… pretty name" he waves a goodbye leaving a flushed y/n behind. a happy ending spa indeed.
#lee minhyuk x male reader#minhyuk x male reader#huta x male reader#minhyuk smut#lee minhyuk smut#huta smut#male reader#kpop x male reader#kpop x male reader smut#smut#male reader smut#btob x male reader
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masterlist
from oldest to latest.
as always, this entire blog and everything produces on it is 18+. minors do NOT interact, you will be blocked.
feel free to flick me a message if a link is busted or in the wrong place <3
a little less conversation, a little more action, please
You've had some bad sex and... well, thinking sex is the problem is easier than admitting it might be you. Steve knows better; that you just need someone to take care of you. 8k words.
two places at once
Late night sixty-nineing can get messy. And loving. And competitive. afab!reader, 69, a pinch of face sitting
the price of pretty nails
You've got fake nails and that means certain activities are restricted. Turns out, your best friend Steve is more than happy to help you out. fem!reader, fingering, plenty of teasing
cupped hands
Even when he's fucking your mouth, Steve's gentle. You wish he wasn't so much. gn!reader, blowjob
wipe out
Sitting up too quick can you have you passing out, even at the most inopportune moments. afab!reader, p in v, a touch of hurt/comfort
sittin' pretty (popular!)
prompt: “just sit here and look pretty for me." You're ready to ride your boyfriend into oblivion - Steve has other, better, ideas. fem!reader, light choking, hella praise kink, riding but really its u getting railed from the bottom
you know what they say about big hands
Some damn good finger-fucking from Mr. Steve Harrington. afab!reader, fingering, lil bitta condescending!steve
eyes on me
Steve's a sap for eye contact, even if it means giving up some positions. afab!reader, p in v, riding
counting with kisses
You count all of Steve's moles. sfw blurb, supa lovey dovey
my eyes are up here, handsome
You catch Steve staring at you boobs. sfw blurb!
taunt
Menace!reader teases Steve in the car by tugging the straps of their bikini loose. afab!reader, no smut just teasing :)
menace
Steve can be a menace in bed, giving you a little of what you want, but not enough. afab!reader, fingering, teasing
+ menace!steve convincing you to blow him after the gym
tremble
Sometimes, you need loving time... on your knees, pulling out every little whimper from Steve to let him know how adored he is. gn!reader, blowjob, praise
morning spoon (popular!)
Some mornings, you wake in that certain mood. Good thing Steve's always on board. gn!reader, p in v, lazy morning sex
drunk call
Just a sweet drunk voicemail, sfw :D
take the picture
Steve makes you a deal. You take the photo correctly and he'll make you cum, over and over and over. afab!reader, mean!steve, photos taken during sex, p in v
you know how much i love you, right? (popular!)
You aren't liberal with your i love you's. Unless, of course, it's when your hand is curled around Steve's cock, watching how he falls apart as you coo praise at him. gn!reader, handjob
loud
prompt: JOY, sender getting louder than usual which makes receiver start laughing affectionately, taking the opportunity to check in. fem!reader, p in v, pussy-drunk steve :)
what do you need? (popular!)
prompt: CLOSE, sender wrapping their arms around receiver who is on top after they’ve finished, holding them close against their chest with their face hidden in their neck while they recover. fem!reader, p in v, reader takes longer to cum
shy baby
prompt: COAX, the dominant partner gently moving the shy or overwhelmed submissive’s hands from covering their face so they can kiss them, breathing praises against their skin. afab!reader, p in v, sweetness
stay still, won't you baby?
prompt: CONTROLLED, receiver stops stimulating sender and tells them the have to be still if they want to continue. subby!steve, gn and teasing reader, handjob
look at me
prompt: GAZING, receiver taking sender’s jaw and saying “look at me” during sex or foreplay. fem!reader, p in v, lovey dovey :)
thick thighs (save lives)
You're squirming and Steve can't figure out why - til he does. afab!reader, steve eats r out, fingering.
lakeside make-outs.
Balmy makeouts in Steve's car. afab!reader, making out.
sweet revenge. / continuation from this thought
Steve enacts his revenge. fem!reader, p in v, almost mean!steve, exhibitionism.
steve harrington loves all boobies.
You think your boobs are too small. Steve does not. fem!reader, making out, sweetness.
welcome home traditions / based off this thought
You and Steve have a habit of having some kind of sex up against the door when one of you has been away. This time is no exception. gn!reader, r gives steve a blowjob.
let me take care you. (popular!)
You ask Steve if anyone's ever taken care of him before and when he says no, you show him what he's been missing. gn!reader, handjob, bitta thigh & tummy worship, almost sub!steve too.
2am (popular!)
Early morning rides, with sticky kisses and even stickier thighs. afab!reader, riding, p in v, super-disgustingly in love smut.
kitchen counters (kisses and more).
Prompt used: “I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard. Wanna hear about it?” fem!reader, fucking against the counter, p in v
wet as a dream (popular!)
Prompt used: "When I tell you to sit on my face, I want you to sit, is that clear?" fem!reader, facesitting, soft in love & obsessed wth each other smut.
king steve, brought to his knees.
Steve asks you out thinking it'll be an easy fuck — not knowing you're not that type of girl. You're the type of girl who likes to hear her men whimper. fem!reader, exhibitionism, public sex, king!steve, p in v, r mocks/teases steve, sorta mean!reader.
if you're sure.
You're a little worried about pushing Steve. He assures you that you aren't. no pronouns but r has breasts.
demonstrate.
You ask Steve to show you just how he likes to be touched. gn!reader, r gives steve a handjob.
sweet talk. (popular!) / sour talk. / third part still coming!
series. afab+fem!reader.
You're interested in your boyfriend's history- well, more like what he used to do that made the stories about King Steve in bed spread like wildfire during school. You find out for yourself.
#jay.masterlist.fics#steve harrington x reader#steve x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader smut#steve harrington smut
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The Hearing
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Word Count: 2.3k
The first four parts give context, but may not be required for this read.
Summary: Being stuck in hearing sucked. Especially when Price revealed things about yourself you hadn't even known, and now Ghost was unsure of the choices he'd been making.
Content Tags: Separation, Mentions of Violence, Mild Storybuilding, Scenting, Mentions of Possible Pregnancy, Ghost Walking Out, Ghost being Unsure, No Use of Y/N, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost
A/N: This took me half of The Wolverine, 16 minutes of Hamilton and 12 episodes of Bluey to get through. No sex yet, but if y'all don't want the pregnancy ark do let me know. This series may be coming to an end soon, but that doesn't mean Doc is going away forever. As always, content under the cut and requests are open <3
P.S: I was going to adjust part of this, but I've figured out a way to extend this story a little further, so I'm removing it from being privately posted. My apologies!
Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist
This keeps fucking happening. It took four months before you and Ghost got in trouble again. Instead of having each other, now you were stuck without the other. The rest of the 141 was busy smuggling items between yourself and Ghost, it finally having gotten out that the two of you were mated.
That you were an Omega.
You were removed from training your squad for the time being, currently being investigating for the incident that had happened. Too many times you had seen the same people for hearings. Too many times you were stuck sitting in the same room and looking among the same people.
"Can you explain to us how no one knew that Michael wasn't taking his suppressants?" Was the question posed to you.
You adjusted in your seat, smoothing down the pair of nice pants you'd thrown on and smelling the thick perfume you'd put on to block the distressed scent you'd been throwing off. "No one in the compound is capable of scenting other people, those abilities are blocked with the military grade suppressants we are given. Scents are also dulled with the suppressants, so no one would've been able to tell," you explained. Short and simple, not nearly as scientific as it should've been.
"And you couldn't tell? Being mated means off of suppressants, which means you should've been able to scent him."
"It takes a minimum of two days off suppressants for a scent to begin coming back and another week before the androstenone in an Alphas body to increase dangerously high. I was on leave for three weeks prior to the incident, so I had to have returned back to base at nearly the two week mark," you wanted to see Simon.
You each had a babysitter, swapping out in shifts so neither of you were unattended for more than five minutes. You'd began self-soothing, rubbing the gland on your wrist aggressively against your neck gland, the clothes you were receiving weekly from Price wasn't doing enough.
No matter what, you were still stuck in this god damn hearing. Until you could smell Simon. You spun in your seat, searching the general room for him, watching as he was led forward, taking a seat across the aisle from you.
"Now, Mr. Riley, what caused you to attack Michael?" You were still watching him, only his balaclava to protect his face from those around you. You could just barely see his side-profile, his hardly blinking eyes as he stared down the person questioning him.
He glanced briefly at you. "My Omega was being attacked, I could smell her distress from a few halls down so I was going to find out what was happening. I heard him screaming at her and threatening her life, so I did what I had to to protect her," he answered, no hesitation. They hummed and nodded, glancing at you before looking back to Simon.
God, he smelled so much better than his clothes.
"Doctor, please try and pay attention," you looked down into your lap, giving a small sorry before the hearing proceeded. "What caused Michael to attack you?" At this you had to pause. It all happened so fast and you'd shoved the memory to the back of your head.
"He wanted to get out of the squad, he didn't want a Doctor ordering him around. I assume Mr. Riley said something to him, as he was causing problems with the soldiers covering my squad while I was on leave. He tried to press for information regarding my relationship with the Lieutenant, but I wasn't going to allow him insight he didn't need to know," they were writing everything down, clacking of keyboards and scraping of pens and pencils against paper.
"Do tell us what happened next,"
Looking away, you had to take a deep breath. You could feel the panic setting back in. "I told him that he wouldn't be able to remain in the military or find a new branch if he left. He had too many infractions and I pulled his file to show him, and he lunged for it. Michael was trying to take his file from me, and he could smell I was an Omega. That's when I realized he was going feral," you picked at your fingers, not looking at the group of people as you tried to remember what happened.
They glanced back at their notes, speaking with each other for a moment. "How would you know he was going feral?"
"I have medical documents of my squad. I know when their last heat or rut was, and I decide when they go on leave to ensure they aren't on suppressants for too long that it becomes dangerous, such as what occurred between myself and my Alpha. The androstenone inside an Alpha increases, albeit being dormant, the longer suppressants are taken without a natural rut occurring," you explained. This was the easy part, the things you knew exactly the ins and outs of.
They nodded along with you, fingers still clacking on keyboards as you explained.
"Once someone stops taking suppressants, the androstenone becomes active again. The longer they go without the rut, the more that become active. If they don't rid themselves of the androstenone, it'll force them into ferality to keep the increasing hormones from severely hurting them," they interrupted you for a moment.
"What does ferality do for the Alpha?"
"It ensures that they mate with the nearest Omega in or out of heat to naturally expel the androstenone. If they don't, their rut gets worse and they begin to have different areas of the brain shut down until they are no more than an animal, looking for the next thing to breed," you explained. "Most cases are euthanized, to ensure they don't suffer for long," you added, ensuring they would understand why it was so dangerous.
You had zoned out once they began talking with Simon again. His scent was washing over you every now and again as the AC unit blew cooler air into the room. This room had no windows and was in the middle of the building so they installed AC's for the stifling summer, which meant scents were wafting around with each other and mixing.
But Simons? It was amazing, being able to get it damn near straight from the source. You were waiting for all of this to be over so you could crawl into your nest with Simon. Your heat had been due a week ago, but with the proceedings dragging on you had been far to stressed for your body to allow it to happen.
And you could feel it building within you. You were exhausted all the time, eating more and building a larger nest, moving things in your room around. Now that you had your Alpha near you, you could feel your mind slowly slipping away from you.
You had to think harder, trying to remember how long ago your heat was and when you had to expect it. To be honest, you didn't really want to think that hard right now. You were still exhausted, you didn't get much sleep, considering you'd been without your Alpha for weeks now.
"That should wrap today up, we'll reconvene tomorrow. Same time and location, we'll review what we have learned from you two and Michael and give you our final decision in one week. For now, you two will stay separated and we'll have people watching to ensure you don't meet up," you wanted to argue. So badly, you wanted to tell them that he was your Alpha and he was supposed to be with you.
Even then, you knew that they wouldn't rescind their decision. You watched as Simon was led out, giving you one more look before leaving.
"Listen, kid, I'm really sorry," Price leaned in next to you, whispering as you waited for Simon to get far enough away that you could leave as well without possibly getting in trouble. "I know another week is going to be hard on you," he looked away.
You sighed, leaning back. "It's no harder than the first few weeks mated to him. The only problem is my heat isn't coming and I'm past due," he gave you a weird look before nodding with you.
Standing up, he gestured for you to follow him. You stood and followed him out, allowing him to lead you back to your room. It stayed quiet between the two of you, you figured he was deep in thought and you were just thinking about the nap you were gonna take in your nest.
Quite the exciting life you held now, being stuck back in hearings. You could only do paperwork and most of the work for the week you'd finish right away. It was so boring, the task force only being able to come by every now and again.
When you walked in, he handed you a bag. You looked down and back up at him, brows furrowed. Price gave you a smile and walked back out, the door shutting behind him. You sat on your bed, running your hands down your face and sighing deeply.
You reached into the bag, pulling out another of Simons hoodies. The amount you had at this point made you wonder if he had any left, just about the entirety of your nest was made out of his shirts and hoodies. The scents on some of them were fading, but you didn't remove them just yet.
Without him to be in the nest with you, the scents were fading quicker and quicker. You hated it. You had grown accustomed to having him scenting you at night and before he had to leave in the morning, him remarking your gland every now and again when you were able to.
Moving to throw the bag in the bag of bags, you felt something move inside it with your movements. Setting it back down, you opened it to look inside.
A pregnancy test.
"Price!" You shouted, his office door slamming open. You were heaving, having run straight to his office after finding his last little gift. "What the hell?"
He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was talking to my own Omega and they mentioned giving you one. A lot of the symptoms you'd been mentioning had lined up with their own pregnancy. You don't have to use it, obviously, I just figured you'd want it," you stopped to think.
How had you been exhibiting all the signs of a pregnant Omega and yet you'd been unable to recognize it? You were a bloody biologist, so you'd already known exactly what the signs were. Intense nesting urges, increased eating, increased amounts of sleep.
Jesus, were you pregnant? Maybe you should take the test, just to be sure. Price opened his mouth to say something before shaking his head and going back to his paperwork. You were going to pester him about what he was going to say, but you didn't.
"You could get this hearing pushed off if you're pregnant. They'll consider it an Alpha protecting his pup. You didn't hear this from me,"
The next day Simon was back where he'd been sitting, in the back of the hearing room waiting for them to call him forward. He could see you, some rows ahead of him. Your scent had become more delectable to him over the last few weeks, even if he hadn't been able to smell you directly.
The rest of the task force was playing a dangerous game, smuggling items between the two of you. He knew that, if caught, they could be put on a probationary leave and investigated to figure out if it was more than just items.
Simon watched as you stood from your seat, hands folded in front of you. He could smell you better than when you'd been sitting, the scent sweetening to something he couldn't explain.
All he wanted to do was scent mark you and hold you in your nest, maybe find you some food and feed you. What the hell was up with him? He'd been stalking as close to your room as he could get, snarling at every Alpha who walked near.
"I haven't made you aware yet, but I have been in for a pregnancy test," everyone went silent and Simons eyes widened. "The results should be coming in another day or two, depending on who will be finalizing them. I'd like to request that the current predicament be pushed back so my mate and I can speak about possibilities," he watched as the group leading the hearing leaned together to speak and his eyes never left you.
He could smell your distress from where he was, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Pregnant? He thought you'd been on birth control, even if it you'd still gone through your heats.
To be honest, Simon was terrified. A father? Him? All he could do was walk out, even if he heard his name come from you and your scent changing sharply. Winding through the halls, he found himself walking outside with a cigarette lit, the slight burn as he inhaled the smoke.
Neither of you had talked about this. You'd been mated for a few months, not even hitting a year yet and prior to that you'd only spoken professionally. He knew you, but you hadn't even shared a room yet.
Was he wrong? For biting you, when neither of you had agreed upon being mated. For getting the two of you in that situation in the first place, he should've been the one who had gone and swept the building to make sure everyone was safe.
Simon knew exactly where his life would be had the two of you not been stuck in that situation. He'd never imagined his life moving this way and it terrified him. He was almost... regretting the choices he'd made.
Regretting mating with you.
Next
#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#small bit of angst#mentions of violence#ghost mw2#cod mw2#modern warfare ii#no use of y/n#task force 141#call of duty#simon riley#call of duty x reader#alpha/beta/omega dynamics#alpha/beta/omega verse#Maple Syrup#mentions of pregnancy
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Price sharing with you Johnny
Genre: smut
Featuring: Captain John Price & John "soap" Mactavish X fem!reader - female anatomy used
Warnings: cunnulingus, fingering, unprotected piv, overstimulation, male masturbation (tell me if I missed any more)
Word count: 1158
Credits for the banner: @cafekitsune
You are Price's wife, the Mrs. When you were introduced to the boys, your warm, soft and sweet demeanor melted their cold exteriors. Especially Johnny's.
He wanted to get his hands on you, please you, make you cum on his fingers, his face, his cock. he wanted to show you wonders
He couldn't deny that every time he had his calloused hand wrapped around his thick, heavy cock, he was thinking about you.
How his head would slot perfectly between your thighs, how you'd gasp and squeal every time he hit that sweet spot inside of you, how your writhe and bite your nails into him, leaving half-mooms along his skin as he filled you up so perfectly
He needed you, and he needed you badly.
price offered Johnny the opportunity to fuck you, after seeing the way he looked at you, he thought he was dreaming, like it was some sort of hoax
"Ye mean it cap'n?"
Price chuckled with a nod as he took a drag of his cigar, exhaling with the scent of tobacco clouding around the two of them
"Mean it John, she said yes"
The next time Johnny saw you, he had the pretty picture of you infront him, with your back flush against prices hard yet soft, bare chest as he held you in his lap.
You were completely bare as he works his way down, sticking sloppy kisses down your neck, arriving at your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and turning them into hardened peaks, sucking and biting at them, then repeating the same to the other one, leaving a tingle when they met the cold air, leaving a small twinge of dull pain
You gasped and moaned so sweetly for both men, both of their cocks aching and throbbing. You could see the large tent in Johnny's trousers, desperate to be freed, pushing hard against the zipper as if it was going to burst out if it didn't get what it wanted soon. while you could feel prices under your ass, pressing against you, you could feel his hips move against you for some kind of relief
You were pulled out of your thoughts when Johnny's molten mouth sealed itself round your swollen bundle of nerves, sucking and flicking it with his tongue, yelping in suprise
It had you arching your back in prices grip, shoving your self into Johnny's face further, hearing him groan with the vibrations sending shockwaves up your spine, your fingers trailed though his mohawk, which was surprisingly softer than you imagined it to be.
You cry out when you feel two of his thick fingers push inside of you, the delicious stretch having you wanting more as your hips move themselves as if they have a mind of their own
"Johnny ! Ohh mm- !"
You squeal as he prods at the spot that has you dripping slick all over his hand, your walls gripping down on him like a vice. Begging him not to stop as you chase your high, your thighs trembling and squeezing around Johnny's head, his stubble rubbing against them
"Doin' so well Love, so well fr'us. ain't that right John?"
Johnny grunts in reply, working on you as you feel the warmth pool in your belly. Your jaw goes slack as your eyes roll back until only the whites can be seen. You jolt forward with a mewl as you feel prices rough hands move to your breasts, rolling your sensitive, puffy nipples with his rough fingers
"C'mon doll, cum fr'us, let it all out"
With one last jab of Johnny's fingers, white fills your vision as the coil snaps with your essence coating Johnny's face and fingers. Your body shaking with a not so silent scream
You go limp in prices hold,your mind somewhere else as Johnny stands up and wipes the slick you left with the back of his hand, a grin playing on his lips
"Told you she tasted good, didn't I?" Price chuckled
"She's perfect cap"
You feel yourself being moved, laying on your back, you finally come back into focus. Only to see a now also naked Johnny with his thick, heavy cock pressing against your slit and your legs folded against you, held by his strong, bulky arms.
"There she is" he coos, brushing some of your hair out of your face "ye ready bonnie? Ahm g'na stuff ye full" And with that, he pushes himself past your slick, puffy folds. Groaning at how you wrap around him so perfectly, like a little slice of heaven just for him.
A loud moan slips from your throat, your hands finding purchase around Johnnys back, your nails raking down it as he slams himself into you, his cock pressing against the gooey spot inside of you better than his fingers could, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each thrust
"Tha' s'it, such a good- good lass f'me"
His voice is low and rumbles in your ear, his lips kissing and sucking along your neck. your legs uselessly kick against his strong back, both of your bodies sticking together in a mix of desire and lust.
You turn your head to the side, to see your husband, price, with his own cock pulled out, his big hand wrapped around it as he witnesses the show you and Johnny put on for him
"Don't wear 'er out too much John, want 'er too"
Johnny nods, grumbling a gruff "yes sir" as he continues to slam his hips against yours. You clench down on him impossibly tight, moans growing more frequent and higher in pitch the closer you get to the edge of ecstacy again.
Your so sensitive, so overstimulated, yet you crave only more and more of this. You squeal as you feel a finger rub and pinch as your swollen pearl, your back arching and toes curling, surging forward to meet Johnny's lips with your own, letting him drink the moans you slip into his mouth as you go through another mind-melting orgasm that has you seeing stars and coating Johnny's cock and abdomen in your slick.
With a few more spine shattering thrusts, Johnny fills you up with his thick, white hot ropes of cum with a deep, thick moan that had butterflies invade your stomach.
He pulls out of you quicker than usual to watch his load seep out of your hole in thick globs, both men groaning and he pushes some of it back into your sore hole, trying to keep it from escaping
Price joins you and Johnny on the bed, petting your head as you look up at him with a fucked out face. He chuckles and leans down to place a sweet kiss on your lips
"Think you can take one more darl?"
The rest of the night consisted of kisses that stole senses and cocks that had you cumming your brains out, you couldn't have been more satisfied
Harpsinfinity 2024 ©
#soap x f!reader#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x fem reader#soap x female reader#john mactavish x reader#john price x female reader#john price x f!reader#price x fem!reader#price x soap x reader#soap cod#soap#cod price#captain john price#cod fanfic#cod x female reader
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Ae Fond Kiss - Part 2
Love in the Guise of Friendship
Summary: 6 months pass and you learn to deal with your grief with help from an unexpected source.
Words: 3.2k
TWs: allusions to suicidal thoughts
Parts: 1 2 3
13 days after the world ended
“Please take him.”
You were a terrible mother. You couldn’t even hold your own son. You hoped as Joseph cried and Kyle took him and tried to soothe him that someone would come and take the baby away from you. You didn’t deserve to have something so precious when every time you held him you wanted to throw up. A few times you had, putting him down quickly and diving for the toilet. Head leant on the toilet seat, sweaty hair sticking to it and looking at the little thing on the hard tiled floor whose eyes belonged to a spectre, you sometimes wished you would do the right thing and just die already so someone better could take him.
Kyle had stayed in your flat since the world ended. Johnny’s mother had wanted to and it was a small mercy that she hadn’t pushed. The idea of her being there made you want to lay down and let the earth swallow you up. You hadn’t seen Price although the groceries that arrived every few days had his name next to the order. Nothing at all from Ghost. You wondered if he found you disgusting. Sometimes it felt like he could see right to the heart of you. Sometimes it felt like he had seen the ugliness when your baby had died, and then he had seen it when your husband had died, and now he knew that you were wretched and unfit for love. You half expected him to show up in the night to take Joseph away.
“Come on little man, can’t be giving your mum such a hard time. If this is what you’re like now you’ll drive her right mental when you start teething.”
Fuck. The sob that came out of you was a broken and pathetic thing. It was just that Johnny had said something similar when you had first taken Joseph home. As it did at least five times a day, the grief smothered you so entirely that Kyle had to steer you into the nest of blankets and pillows you had built yourself on the couch. He was staying in the bedroom with Joseph right now. You couldn’t go in there yet. You didn’t know when you would be able to.
“It’s ok, we’ll try again tomorrow yeah?”
You managed a limp nod as you burrowed into the bedding that had stopped smelling like cosiness among a winter pine forest a week ago. You would try again tomorrow.
–
23 days after the world ended
“She can’t be on her own.”
Simon had hoped that you’d be at least a little better by now. You’d never be ok, he more than anyone understood that, but you would learn to live again. You hadn’t seen him since that horrible night. The 141 never officially attended the family funeral, they had taken a portion of the ashes and held their own memorial for their fallen brother. But Ghost had seen you, had been there in the shadows keeping watch.
He had near threatened to quit if Gaz wasn’t given leave to stay with you. He had asked him to, although he suspected he might have done it anyway. You needed someone and after seeing how you had paled speaking with Johnny’s family he had made arrangements. Mrs MacTavish hadn’t been happy to stay away, but he was blunt when he told her that despite her best intentions, being around Johnny’s family would break you right now. He was steadfast in his belief that there was still enough of you left to break.
“Garrick…”
“Don’t Garrick me Lieutenant. You… you’re better at this kind of thing than I am. Stop being a prat and get over here, she needs you right now.”
“We don’t even like each other.”
“You don’t have to. You understand each other, that’s enough.”
He knew that Gaz was right. If anyone understood this sort of all encompassing grief, it was going to be him. He had already pulled you back from it once before. But it was different this time. This time his own grief was choking him and if he added it to yours he was scared it would kill you both.
It was selfishness that had kept him away this long. Gaz was grieving too and he had been left with the responsibility of keeping your head above the water in the sea you had made of your sorrow. He had stayed by your side even when his own support system was waiting for him in his London flat. He had met Gaz’s partner a few times, he knew they would be there to soothe him like he needed. But because Ghost was a fucking coward, instead his Seargent (the one he hadn’t let fucking die in his arms) was with you. Only now the cracks were starting to show and Gaz needed to be home before he splintered entirely under the weight of it all.
“Ghost?”
“Ok. I’ll be round tomorrow.”
–
30 days after the world ended
“You have got to be kidding.”
There was no way that the big scary man in the balaclava, that you still hadn’t seen him without despite your best efforts, was this hopeless at cooking.
“S’too fucking long! Or your pot isn’t big enough!”
Oh God he sounded so unlike himself right then. Gone was the gruff, smug bastard and in his place was, dare you say, someone embarrassed. And he damn well should be in honesty. What grown man couldn’t even make spaghetti? All the pasta noodles had a section of scorching from where they had been left laying against the edge of the pot. There was a startling sound in the air, one you had forgotten existed. His eyes were wide as it carried through the room. It took you a moment to parse the sound. It was coming from you. You were laughing.
His wide eyed surprise quickly giving way to a glare over the fact that you would dare laugh at his expense only made you laugh harder, clutching at your stomach with one arm and wiping frantically at your watering eyes with the other.
“Big scary skull man defeated by Italian food!” you wheezed, your entire body clinging to the feeling of giddy lightness at this moment. “Is that why you wear it? Hiding the mortification from being outdone by” you paused to read the packet and the ridiculousness of it only made you laugh hard enough to be snorting like a pig, “Fedelini number 10!”
Ghost nearly ripped off his balaclava right there and then to prove he was not in fact mortified which would have been a disaster considering his logical brain was certain his cheeks and ears were burning red, but little Joseph rescued him from the further humiliation when he gave a happy gurgle from his high chair that had you scooping him up. You were laughing and cooing at him as you showed him the burnt pasta, telling him about the big scary skull man who was hiding his face for fear of reprisal from every Italian on the planet.
It was the first time you had held him without those storm clouds in your eyes and that awful rigidity from all the tension swimming through you. He was struck terrified for a moment that he would fuck up and this fragile happiness would shatter, but when you turned to him, making fun of him through the baby, his mouth was moving before he could overthink it.
“Your ma’s a brat Joe. She forgets that I saw her attempt at a birthday cake.”
“It was avant garde! And it was still delicious!” you said with a gasp of outrage that he would dare to bring up the great birthday cake disaster of 2021.
“You know he only told you that to spare your feelings, right princess?”
You pressed Joseph to your chest with a hand to his ear, feigning blocking him from hearing such slander.
“This is why the universe messed up your hearing J, to protect you from all these lies coming from casper over here.”
The pasta was thrown out and you ordered in (Italian of course). Now that you could hold Joseph without your gut roiling you found you didn’t want to stop, but you still paused at the bedroom door and passed him off to Ghost instead. He didn’t push it, not tonight, not after you had laughed and held Joe and not drowned at the mention of something Johnny had said. Soon though. He was getting you back into a proper bed soon.
–
2 months after the world ended
Price was staying out of it although taking great amusement in watching it happen (even if his heart felt like it was in a woodchipper watching the biggest two casualties of his war). Joseph in his arms was happy to tug at his beard and not too concerned about the fight happening.
You were like a fucking feral cat is what Ghost thought as you kicked your legs and battered your fists against his back. He didn’t really think about it when he laid a spank on your ass causing an indignant squawk from you. Maybe if either of you were willing to see one another as anything but enemies it might have caused an entirely different reaction.
“You put me down you fucking animal!”
“Language princess, little ears listening.”
Oh he thought he was hilarious clearly since you both knew Price had turned off Joe’s hearing aid the minute this started kicking off. You thought otherwise. Stupid bonehead didn’t have a funny bone in his body. Prick.
“I’m not bloody sleeping there!”
“Yes you bloody are!”
He had coaxed you into the bedroom over the last few weeks, but despite his efforts you still wouldn’t sleep in the bed and he had completely run out of patience. Compassion had been fully overruled by annoyance. You were an absolute pain in his arse and it was driving him crazy that you would be so stubborn about this.
Plus he was starting to get antsy about sleeping on the bedroom floor. Since you were on the couch he couldn’t take that, and even though the bed smelled faintly of Gaz which would have been fine, the first time he had laid down in it the bottom pillow still held a whisper of whiskey in front of a fireplace, frosted pine trees perfuming through a window. So he had slept on the floor and not told you. Then he had just sort of kept doing it.
“Jesus fuck woman!” he hissed when your nails dragged up his back as he crossed the threshold to the bedroom.
“Should’ve wore your fucking kevlar if you were intending on getting into a fight with me. I’m going to rip you apart casper.”
He laughed as he grabbed your hips and up ended you over his shoulder and onto the bed, an offt coming from you as you bounced. You hadn’t been on this bed since the world ended. The thought of it would floor you. It had taken a monumental effort to even be in the room. Ghost had only convinced you with the fact that Joe slept better with the crib in the bedroom and needed his mum to put him down for naps and sleeps.
Only now all the panic you usually felt in this room, all the horror of the idea of being in this bed, was crushed under the weight of your fury at this idiot’s smug eyes looking down at you. Not on your life would you let him win a fight. Just because he was a lumbering giant with bad taste in masks did not mean he could take you on. So instead of hyperventilating and crawling off the bed to curl up on the floor and cry, you lunged to throttle him.
When the growling and yelling stopped a minute or so later Price peeked into the room to make sure you hadn’t actually killed one another to find both of you in the bed, your back to Simon’s chest with his legs pinning yours and his arms holding you lightly in a sleeper hold. Not enough to significantly cut off your oxygen, but enough to immobilise you and have you silently simmering with rage at being caught.
There were red lines down Simon’s arms, claw marks. Your hair was a mess, mussed and wrecked from what must have been a savage wrestling match. Was that…? Price laughed as he bounced Joseph.
“Better hope she isn’t rabid Simon.”
“He started it” you grumbled, maybe a little chagrined now faced with the reality of Captain John Price seeing teeth marks on his soldier’s forearm.
Joseph perked up and chubby little hands flailed as he reached toward you. Price sat down on the edge of the bed to hand the little bundle of trouble over into your arms, Ghost’s hold loosening as his legs released yours and his arms dropped, hands finding a comfortable position lightly resting on your hips.
Neither of you put any conscious thought into the position, you sat between his legs, almost leant back on his chest with the baby cooing happily in your arms as Ghost waggled his eyebrows over your shoulder. You were both content to just lay all your attention on the most perfect baby to have ever existed and his beautiful eyes.
The woodchipper whirred violently.
–
4 months after the world ended
You didn’t know what was more startling about the fact that Ghost had just burst into the bathroom with Joseph in his arms, the fact that you were naked in the bath or the fact that you could see Simon Riley.
He sort of lived with you now, neither of you willing to be the first to voice that you were doing a lot better these days and probably didn’t need someone living in to make sure you didn’t go off the deep end. You thought Kyle was going to say something about it last time he visited, but he seemed to think better of it and kept quiet.
But in all that time you had never seen him without his mask. You had caught glimpses of a strong jawline when he ate, seen clear eyes when he stopped putting eye black on them a few weeks back. Strangely after wanting to trick him into letting you see him, you had ignored the chance of it a week ago. He had been leaning over the crib and you caught a glimpse of skin that told you he had his balaclava off. Only you didn’t walk in. You don’t know why you didn’t. Instead you quietly left the room again and stood by the wall outside, covering your mouth to smother an unexpected sob when you heard the soft sound of a lullaby being sung.
He was a wild and twisted sort of handsome (not that he hadn’t told you several times he was good looking, for such a large and intimidating man he was actually a bit of an arrogant, smug tosser once you got to know him). The scars didn’t really make you flinch, you were married to Johnny after all and while his face wasn’t too badly marked up outside of a few knicks and small lines he had plenty of gnarled scar tissue around his body. You had been married to him. His face hadn’t been too badly marked.
“Ok, hang on, let’s do it again for mum Joe.”
Simon looked almost crazed as he stuck his tongue out at your son, seemingly not bothered in the slightest that you were still very much completely naked in the bath. You would have screamed at him to get out, only as he started screwing up his nose and crossing his eyes J laughed and any concern about your state of dress or his rude interruption died in your throat.
“Oh… oh my God! Fuck wait where’s my phone! Can you do it again J? Is Simon’s face funny?” you cooed, nearly sliding and cracking your head open as you rushed to your feet and lunged out of the tub to get your phone from the counter so you could make sure you had video evidence of this moment forever.
Both an unmasked Simon and a dripping wet and naked you cooed and made silly faces and laughed along for the next 10 minutes before Joseph decided he was well and truly tuckered out from practising his new talent and conked out on Simon’s shoulder.
Only without the excitement of baby’s first laugh did you both realise the situation and blink in shock at one another. Simon’s eyes flickered briefly over you, and absolutely ass that he was he bit his lip to stifle a laugh.
“Nice piercing.”
Your face blazed red. Simon Riley had no business knowing that you had a barbell through the hood of your clit.
“Cute scars.”
Simon found the tips of his ears warming. You had no business knowing that he had a variety of scars on his face.
As if the spell keeping you both frozen in place broke, you snatched a towel and turned to wrap yourself in it while he turned his back so you couldn’t see his face. Both stood in the bathroom, backs to one another, there was an awkward beat of hesitation with neither of you knowing how to diffuse this situation.
“I’ll… put him down. I’ll put him down.”
“Yes. Yeah. I’ll just… get dressed.”
“Right.”
You were both very careful to not bring it up again, even when Simon never wore the balaclava around the house after that.
–
6 months after the world ended
It was love in the guise of friendship. Neither of you were stupid enough to acknowledge it.
–
2 hours after the fuck up of the century
“Permission to speak freely Captain.”
“Granted.”
“I fucking told ye so. Simmons has always been a shitebag, and now he’s fucked us.”
“...I won’t make you stay.”
“Aye, but we both know if I pull out of this now the world gets dirty.”
The despair settled into Price’s bones. John MacTavish should be on his way to exfil right now, but instead was on the other end of a burner phone as Price sat in the helo that wouldn’t be taking his Sergeant home as planned.
He hated this. He hated holding little Joseph MacTavish knowing that Soap was missing it. He hated looking at you and seeing the way your eyes sometimes glazed, mind drifting to your apparently dead husband. He hated looking at Simon and seeing a man slowly falling in love and drowning in guilt about it.
But he had to get dirty to keep the world clean.
So they changed the plan. Simmons had well and truly fucked it and now they needed to be in it for the long haul. John MacTavish would stay a dead man. Vladimir Makarov would be given no reason to suspect that his double agent was a triple agent, which meant a comms blackout until Soap was certain beyond doubt that it was time to pull the trigger. Nobody but him, Price and Laswell would ever know.
There was one thing asked of Price and he swore to it. He would do anything in his power to make sure you and Joseph were happy and looked after. He didn’t dare comment when after a moment, Soap added Simon Riley to that small list.
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The King of Hell and Me: Ch 4 - The Contract
Chapter Guide Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4
Summary: A witch summons Lucifer to earth to make a deal.
Warnings: none I can think of? This is a generally sweet, fluffy chapter
Word Count: 2.3k
Summoning the devil wasn't part of the plan. A demonic creature, yes, but the actual devil? The book didn't say anything about him. I was expecting to be dealing with an imp or some other kind of lower level Hellion. Someone with the power to do what I wanted, but not to completely fuck me over. Someone who'd take something I could spare. Not my soul.
The devil was also far less intimidating than I expected. He was a little on the short side, and far more human than I might have thought. Aside from the six glorious wings at his back, the least human things about him were his teeth and eyes; red and yellow, swirling with confusion and housing an ancient sorrow that seemed buried just below the surface. An unamused, but surprised look finally landed on me, knelt by the edge of the summoning circle. He made to move toward me, but was held in place by the ring of black salt. With a huff, he leaned back against the barrier, crossing his arms and observing me.
“... No one's summoned me to the mortal world in a long time. … You must be desperate.”
“I … I'll be honest, that wasn't supposed to happen, Sir … the book doesn't say anything about …” I fumbled through the book, rereading the spell. There was nothing to indicate who it called upon.
“Sir?” He chuckled, “well, that’s refreshing. Last time I was pulled into a summoning circle, the wretch had the nerve to call me ‘Dark Prince’ the whole time.”
I chuckled a bit awkwardly. “... Well, that's kind of a mouthful. If you don't mind, I think I'll stick with Mr. Morningstar?”
“Lucifer, please … but how did you know?”
“Aside from the snake and apple motifs you've got going on? You have six, very large, feathered wings. I might not be Christian, but I do know what angels are supposed to look like. … Sir.”
After a moment he let out a bark of a laugh, holding his sides. “Oh golly, you're entertaining! Alright, little witch. Whoever you were trying to summon, you've got me. So what deal were you trying to make?”
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. Now or never, I guess. “My best friend is ill, and the doctors have given up hope. …”
“You want to trade your soul for your friend's life?” He smiled gently.
“... Does it have to be my soul?”
A strange look passed over his beautiful face, and he considered me for a moment. “... Maybe we can come to another arrangement. … There is something I can't get in Hell, and you did bring me here.”
I nodded slowly, curious what Lucifer himself could possibly want from earth. “Yes?”
“... Only sinners end up in hell. I … I gave Eve that apple for her own benefit. To help her, and her children. So they could be better, be more … more. Not just animals, consumed by their instincts. But I’ve never seen any good come of it …”
“Oh … well that's not at all fair …” I frowned, looking up at him. “Especially considering how much good there is …’’
He cleared his throat, nodding a bit. “Right, so … if you show me some of that good, I'll heal your friend. Do we have a deal?”
“Huh? N- no, I don't just want my friend healed. I want a cure.”
“... Same thing?”
“No, Sir,-”
“Lucifer.”
“... Lucifer, … the doctors don't know how to help her. Which means they don't know how to help anyone else with this illness either. I want my friend healed, but I also want there to be a cure for everyone else.”
A small smile slid across his lips. “... That amount of power will cost quite a bit more … but something tells me you're more than capable of paying the price.”
A crisp white scroll unfurled from his hand, gold ink scrawling across it before my eyes. I carefully took the paper in my hands, reading it carefully.
“... This says you decide when I've held up my side of the deal. How do I know you'll ever decide to pay up?”
He smirked a bit, sharp teeth glinting in the light. “You're a clever one. … Alright, as a show of good faith, I will heal your friend up front. … You earned that much at least.”
With a wave of his hand, the text changed. I reread the document and nodded. “... Thank you. Ok, where do I sign?”
A white feather quill appeared, and Lucifer took it. He tapped the end to his finger, and pulled away a trail of … liquid gold? He signed the bottom with a flourish, then offered me the quill.
“Touch it to the ring finger of your non-dominant hand, it will draw up a small amount of your blood to sign with.” He tapped the paper where I was to sign.
I nodded, taking the quill, and placed it against my finger like he said. There was a brief, sharp, pain and when I pulled the quill away a trail of red followed. My finger appeared uninjured, but hurt like I had pricked it with a sewing needle. I signed where he indicated, and the summoning circle went up in flames, leaving no trace.
Lucifer smiled brightly, rolling up the scroll before he handed it to me. “Your contract, my lady.”
I took it, standing slowly. “... Thank you …”
He snapped his fingers, creating a crackle of energy throughout the room, and grinned. “There’s my side done, for now. So, how shall we start?”
///////////////
It took me all afternoon to think on what to start with. While I made tea and thought about it, he entertained himself by looking through my books and movies. His wings disappeared as he sat on my couch, reading the back cover of a book.
“... Is this for entertainment, or documentation?” He held the book up to show me the cover.
“That’s historical fiction, so entertainment based loosely on fact. It's about the wives of Henry the Eighth. … Do you know about them? How much do you know about human history?”
He chuckled. “I do keep apprised of the major headlines up here, but I don't typically bother with anything more. … You derive entertainment out of the suffering of those women?”
I chuckled a bit, setting a teacup in front of him, and sitting on the other side of the couch. “I think most people who read stories about horrible events do so because they don't understand how such things happen. We have a certain … morbid fascination with cruelty. … But I think it's usually also about honoring the dead. … They suffered so horribly, but we remember them. We don't let the bad things that happened to them get swept under the rug.”
He took the tea, watching me. “... I see …. Well, what good is there in that?”
“Ever heard the phrase ‘those who don't learn history are doomed to repeat it'?”
“You think remembering their pain will keep it at bay?”
“Something like that … can't avoid pain if you don't know what you're looking out for. Can't protect your loved ones unless you know what you're defending them against.”
He chuckled, sipping his tea. “I see…” He watched me, a curious look on his face. “So, any ideas yet?”
“Well, I was thinking we could start around town. You said it's been a while since you've been on earth?” He nodded, giving me a curious expression. “Then I think we ought to start with a little tour around town, so you can get acclimated. Maybe something will strike your fancy, yeah?”
“... You don't have to do that, you know.” A small frown slid across his face.
“Do what?”
“The tea, taking me on a tour … it's cute, but unnecessary.”
I set my teacup down, raising an eyebrow. “... Cute?”
“Trying to curry favor.” He frowned more.
A sharp laugh ripped out of me, and I covered my mouth. “... I'm sorry. … I'm not trying to ‘curry favor' with you, Lucifer. You're a guest in my home, you should be able to expect some basic hospitality. My grandma always said we should be hospitable to others, cause you never know when it'll make all the difference in their lives.”
He watched me for a moment and chuckled softly. “I don't think your grandmother meant you to be hospitable to the devil, little witch.”
“If my grandma were here right now, she would ask why I haven't set out any cookies. Sadly, I have none to offer you. But I was thinking we could stop for ice cream on our tour. There's a really cute local ice cream parlor, I'd say it definitely counts as something good people have done with free will.”
He blinked slowly. “... You are … not at all what I expected.”
“I could say the same thing about you.”
After a brief moment he smirked, standing up. “Where's this ice cream parlor?”
//////////////
So I showed Lucifer around my little town. I took him to a playground where he could see happy families together. To a riverbank where my coven picked up litter and people went tubing and swimming. The ice cream parlor, and some other local businesses I liked. I bought him an ice cream cone, and a duck plushie he seemed particularly drawn to. He was hesitant to accept it, but once it was in his hands he held it to his chest, periodically stroking the tuft of fur on its head.
We walked in the sunshine, past schools and libraries. We watched a guitar player in a park, and got tacos from a food truck. And all day, I told him stories of kindness and generosity, big and small. Everything I could think of, from the Christmas truce in World War 1 to my brother's boss giving me free coffees when I pick him up from work. Any act of kindness I had experienced, seen, or heard of became an example of good things that happen because people have free will.
When it started to get late I took him to my favorite place to watch the sunset. He sat beside me, still hugging the duck plushie, and watched the sun dip lower and lower, the sky turning brilliant shades of purple and red.
“So? Any thoughts?” I watched him think for a minute.
“... They're good stories. But there's one problem.”
“What's that?”
“... Most of it wouldn't be necessary if evil weren't so prevalent in the world.”
“... Well, … you can't have good without bad.”
“What?” He frowned, turning to me.
“Without knowing about bad, you wouldn't know about good either. You'd just have … middle. In order to know you like something you have to be able to compare it to something you don't like. Otherwise it would all just be. … Plus, when everything’s going worst is when we notice good things the most. Smaller kindnesses mean more when we're hurting.”
Lucifer looked back at the sunset, thinking. “... Why did you give me the duck?”
I chuckled softly. “You seemed to like it, and I could afford to get it for you. Everyone should get a souvenir when they take a trip.”
“So you weren't trying to get in good with the boss of Hell?”
“Nope.”
“... Even though, by making a deal with me, you have condemned your soul to my realm when you die?”
“Anyone who thinks a duck plushie is going to buy them preferential treatment in hell is an idiot.” He gave me a skeptical look at that. “Lucifer, I swear, I only bought it for you because you seemed to like it.”
He thought for a minute, petting it absentmindedly again. “... You've held up your end of the bargain…”
“... But?”
“... When I finish my end, I go home. I can only be on earth for the time it takes to complete a deal. … I … I really enjoyed today.” As it got dark, his body started to glow with faint gold light. He looked up at the silver stars, and in that moment he seemed so sad, so delicate.
“... You know, I am asking for quite a lot … a cure for everyone with this disease, and all you get in return is some examples of kindness and an afternoon running around my town? … Maybe we could rework the contract.”
His eyes went wide as he turned to look at me. “... What did you have in mind?”
“... Well, you're not bad company. And I had a good day today too. We could do it again, if you wanted.”
Lucifer slowly grinned, and the contract was suddenly floating in front of me. An addendum was added to the bottom. Lucifer would send the necessary information to a doctor for the cure tonight, and once a month for the rest of my life, Lucifer would visit me wherever I was on earth. I would tell him more stories that showed what good has come of free will, and show him the good parts of life on earth.
I grinned, taking the quill that floated next to the scroll, and held it to my ring finger. A sharp pain later, I was signing at the bottom. Lucifer signed next to my name, his hand slightly shaking. “Alright … I'll see you again in one month then.”
I nodded. “I'm free on the third, if that works for you?”
He nodded. “The third. It's a date.”
With a snap of his fingers he was gone, and I knew some medical researcher somewhere was having the epiphany that would lead to the cure. In the meantime, I had a date with the devil to plan.
#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer#fanfic#fanfiction#hazbin#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin lucifer#lucifer hazbin#lucifer hazbin hotel#lucifer magne#witches#lucifer x reader#lucifer magne x reader#lucifer morningstar#witch reader#summoning circle#dating the devil
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Not Without You | Chapter One
Summary - You were on a mission when it went haywire. You were injured and when you made it back to base, your favorite teammate was nowhere to be seen.
Relationship - Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader
Word Count - 1,276
Warnings - Minor descriptions of violence and injuries
A/N - This is the first fan fiction I've written, Mr. Ghost has just had that effect on me I guess. Thank you to @poopypantilonies for helping me along through the writing process so far.
Link to ao3
I do not own any Modern Warfare characters.
------------------------
“Bravo 0-3, what’s your teams status?” you hear through your headset. It’s the leader of Alpha team. It’s Commander Price. You’re currently in Mexico on a rescue mission to save the Secretary of Defense John P. Palcon from Hassan, and you just watched a missile head exactly to where your team was. The three men under your command were gone in an instant and you were lucky to be far enough away to only receive the throwback.
“All of my soldiers are down, sir,” you speak into comms drearily, the ringing in your ears yet to die down.
“And what’s your status?”, he said. Fuck. What did he say? You can’t focus on a goddamn thing, your head hurts. Hell, your everything hurts.
He was practically yelling your last name into the comms now, “How copy?!”
You’re try to get a hold onto your surroundings, but everything’s coming up fuzzy. Your vision is dimming. Your last name is the last thing you hear.
-
When you finally came to after god knows how long, you could see a helicopter in the distance and were moving towards it. You weren’t walking though, not in your condition. It was Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley who had you in a fireman’s carry.
“Wh…what happened?” you quietly spoke as you tried to lift your head to view more of your surroundings.
Captain John Price sped up his walk so that he was in your field of view, “Finally awake, eh? We had heard the explosion from the other side of the compound,” he yelled over the loudening sound of the helicopters blades, “We made our way over and saw you laying on the ground unconscious.”
“Save your energy, kid, you’ll need it for the ride home.” you heard Ghost say. As you gained full conscious, you also became fully aware of just how much everything hurt. Your head, joints, and muscles were all screaming at you.
You felt Ghost put you down on a cot inside the helicopter. It might just be better to sleep for now and get details later.
-
You woke up once more, this time in a bed. With one scan of the room, it was obvious that you were at a treatment facility. Only odd thing about the room was the huge figure sitting in the corner of the room. They hadn’t noticed you were awake. Who was it?
You blinked a few times, heart beginning to swell as it took more and more resemblance of Ghost. You sat up rather quickly, causing pain to shoot through your torso, but you had to know. You rubbed your eyes hoping to get a better view of him. Only to find it wasn’t him. It was a nurse who had come in to check your vitals. Noticing you were awake finally she spoke, “Good evening! How are you feeling? Any nausea?”
Disappointment made its way into your mind. You slowly shook your head as you looked to the door, “No. No nausea.”
The nurse followed your gaze, then looked back at you. “Well, you’re probably still exhausted from what you went through. Please get more rest and call if you need anything.”
You gave her a gentle smile and watched as she left the room. You turned back to the corner you thought he was in. You laid back down and closed your eyes, hoping sleep would take over before your tears could surface.
-
The next day, you could barely eat anything. Your stomach seemed to be in knots, you were at an all time low. In the afternoon, Sergeant John “Soap” Mactavish visited you.
“How’re you feeling lass? You took quite the injury back there,” he sounded worried for you.
You gave him your best smile as a hope of some reassurance, “Feeling a lot better than I did in field,” your attention turned to your IV drip, “They probably have me on some strong shit.”
He chuckled as he pulled up a chair next to your bed, “Well whatever they have you on hopefully, it’ll get you back to good as new in no time.”
Hearing that, you decided to give him a scare and make a move to get out of bed, but his hand was quickly placed on your shoulder to keep you down, he looked taken aback. You let out a laugh and said, “What? You said I’d be good as new in no time.”
He laughed with you before sitting back down in his chair.
You always liked Soap. He was a good person to have by your side, you sure as hell wouldn’t want him on the enemy side. “You guys miss me yet?”
He looked down at his hands, “Everyone does.”
Your mind instantly went to Ghost. You liked him the most out of everyone on task force 141. He was a good friend and an even better soldier.
After hearing only the blowing AC, you decided to speak, “How has everyone been?”
“They’ve been doing as well as they could be, we managed to rescue Palcon, but couldn’t get Hassan,” he looked you in the eyes now, “They’re making a new plan for a few months from now.”
“Hopefully I’ll be good to go by then.”You looked out your window, all you could see was sky. “What about Ghost?”
Soap pursed his lips before saying, “He’s been distant, not talking much unless he’s spoken to,” he chuckled, “Which isn’t too out of the ordinary for him, but it’s different now.”
-
Soap had left after an hour or two of you two talking about various things, not just the mission. He figured it was best to keep your mind off of what happened and what you witnessed.
It had been a week since the incident, you had suffered a concussion and a few broken ribs along with some minor burns that would definitely not scar, at least according to the doctor. Your thoughts often wandered to Ghost. You didn’t have much to do other than think or mindlessly watch the shitty television in your room.
Why had he not visited you? Everyone else has, even Laswell.
You pushed him out of your mind. Maybe he only thought of you as a squadmate and nothing more. Maybe he didn’t feel close to you like you did with him.
-
You took a huge breath of fresh air, freedom from that stuffy room at last. A smile spread across your face as you picked up your bag with a small wince. A car was pulling around to pick you up and take you back to base. Of course, it was soap who was saddled with this duty. He got out and hurried to grab your bags, throwing them in the back of the car. It wasn’t a long drive back to base. You climbed into the passenger seat and looked out of the window as Soap got back in and the hospital left your view.
-
Around 20 minutes later, you were asked for your ID at the gate and soon after you pulled into the base, you saw the rest of your team.
Price and Gaz were standing on the edge of the sidewalk waiting for the car to pull up, while there was a tall masked figured looming distantly behind them. When you stepped out, Gaz instantly gave you a hug as gently as he could. There was still a slight throbbing in your side. You shook hands with Price when your gaze turned to where Ghost had been. Your eyes met for a moment before he took a step back and left.
You wondered how long it would be like this.
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Age Of Consent [part nine]
Summary: Dustin’s older sister thinks Eddie Munson could be a bad influence on her younger brother due to their history. Can he change her mind?
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Henderson!Reader
Word Count: 1,708
What you’ll find in this series: big angst, wholesome fluff, sexual content, drug use, tobacco use, alcohol use, and a lot of profanity. This is a slow burn- buckle up, buttercup.
A/N: Internal screaming for y'all to read this one.
Read Part Eight
It had been three weeks.
For the most part, your life had seemingly fallen back into place.
One of the girls from work was on maternity leave, so you were picking up all of her shifts to make some extra cash and keep yourself busy. It had helped somewhat in keeping Eddie off of your mind. It took Dustin a few days, but he eventually got the memo that under no circumstance did you even want to hear the name Eddie Munson ever again.
You had been hanging out with Robin and Steve more often, which was nice. The best part was that, with them, you didn't even need to remind them to not ask about it- they just knew. Despite the fact that you weren't big on having company other than yourself, you really had begun looking forward to movie night with them, and sometimes after work you would all grab pizza from Antonio's.
"Y/N!" You heard your boss call from behind the counter. "Phone call on line one!"
You furrowed your brows and sat down your price gun before heading over to the cash registers.
"Hello?" You asked, answering the phone.
"Do you think you could give me and Mike a ride home tonight?"
"Dustin," you replied flatly. It was Thursday, the typical day for a certain after-school activity. "I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid."
"I'm not doing anything, Y/N," he replied. "Mom has bingo tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler are taking Holly to the movies, we asked Steve but he's working, and Nancy said no. We've asked everyone, come on, please!"
"Okay, I'll come and pick you dweebs up. But, listen to me very clearly, Dustin, I don't care what your precious little Dungeon Master says, you are in my car by 8:00 PM or I will dethrone him, do you understand me?"
"Yep, totally understand, thanks sis!"
You heard the phone click and rolled your eyes before placing the phone back on the hook. You sighed, knowing that you should just make them walk or bike home, but it was cold and it had been raining all day. Your mother would never forgive you if precious Dustin got sick because you forced him to find his own way home in the rain.
By the time you got home, your mother was already gone to bingo. There was a note on the refrigerator reminding you that there were leftovers and that she would be home by 9:00. You pulled the cold dish of lasagna out of the fridge and cut yourself a small piece before placing it into the microwave. It was only a few minutes past 5:00, which meant you had a few hours to kill.
Around 8:00, you went ahead and left for the school, just in case the club had conceded earlier than normal- you didn't want to leave those little shits out in the rain without a ride. Parked under a street lamp in the parking lot of Hawkins High, you waited, getting through a few chapters of your novel.
When the clock hit nine, you closed your book and tossed it up on the dashboard. You craned your neck to look over at the double doors, fingers impatiently tapping on the steering wheel as you did not see any nerdy kids exiting the building.
"Five more minutes," you whispered to yourself wanting to be fair.
But five minutes came and went, then ten, then twenty.
You threw open the car door and slammed it shut behind you; annoyed, pissed, and ready to cause a fucking scene. You rounded the corners of the hallways, damp shoes squeaking with each step you took towards that God-forsaken classroom.
"Alright you fuckin' losers, let's go." You came through the door only to be met with silence. The room was empty, save for Eddie who was sitting on top of the table where he usually had the game set up. "Where's Dustin and Mike?"
"They got a ride with Lucas after school," he replied as he slid off of the table. You scoffed. Another set-up. "Look, can we please- just talk to me, hear me out."
"I don't want to talk to you, Eddie." You inhaled a sharp breath and exhaled slow. "I want to get over you."
"I was studying," was his reply.
"What?"
"I was studying," he repeated. "That day in the woods with Kelly. I was out there studying to get some peace and quiet. And yes, she wanted some pot for a party she was having, but I stopped bringing it with me." He was closing the gap between you. "I'm doing everything that I can to get out of here so that you and I-" he took your hands and placed them on his chest. "All I care about is being with you and not fucking it up again."
"Eddie," you said sternly as you pulled your hands back. "I don't care what you were doing. I knew this was a bad idea and I'm done playing this game. I just want to move on from this, okay?"
You turned and began to head out of the classroom but Eddie's voice stopped you. "But you can't move on, can you?"
No. Fuck.
You didn't answer, just stood there for a moment with your back to him before you had the courage to take a step out of the classroom. You didn't turn back to look at him, didn't say anything else, just left. Once again. Just like the first time you had seen him again after two years. And just like then, you should have never been here. If you had only listened to yourself the first time.
It was starting to rain again when you got to the parking lot. It wasn't pouring, but it was drizzling and your breath could be seen in the air. It was dark, the two dim street lamps didn't provide much light as you hurried to your car to not catch pneumonia.
"Hey!" You heard from behind you, the doors to the school slamming open. You stopped, just then reaching your car, and turned around, ready for another argument. "You know, the last few times that we were in this situation I just let you walk away, and last time I stood there in that fucking room and I told myself that I should go after you, and I didn't. I tell myself every time and every time I end up regretting it."
"Eddie, what are you-"
"I knew you were going to try-" He pointed a finger in your direction as he continued to stomp towards you. "I knew you were going to try and walk away. And why? It's because you expect me to just let you, isn't it?" He was closing in quickly and before you realized what was happening he was standing directly in front of you- hands on either side of your face. "Yeah, that's not happening this time."
He kissed you with all of the regrets that he had been holding in for two years. You could feel his heart like a hammer in his chest as he pulled you into him. Your lips and tongue moved in tandem, dancing with a partner they could never forget. No matter how hard you tried, there was no escaping that you loved him. You had always been in love with him.
Breathless, you pulled away; looking up at him with his doe eyes- hair damp from the drizzling rain, the water droplets illuminated in the light like a goddamn halo.
"I didn't come after you at graduation because I didn't deserve you," he said quietly. You went to speak but he continued. "No, I know I didn't. It's a goddamn fact. I was selfish. I pushed you away. But now? Fuck, if I wouldn't do anything for you. I mean, you say 'jump', and I'm- I'm nosediving off that goddamn cliff."
"And I meant what I said about counting the fucking days- every day- for two years. You were burned in my goddamn head. Everywhere I looked, you were there; sitting in the library, the hallway between classes, waiting for me at the picnic table outside of the fucking trailer." He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. "But you weren't there, you were just-" he tapped the side of his head. "In here."
"Now you- you gave me a chance to show you that I was different- that I wasn't the same, stupid kid." He said. "And I know I succeeded. You want to know how I know?" You raised an eyebrow. "Because you ran. You ran, and you did it because you're scared. You're so fucking scared of love. Well, guess what, sweetheart? So is everyone else! I'm standing here, scared shitless and still confessing my fucking love for you like some goddamn idiot."
"Eddie?"
"Yeah?" He said as he geared up for the disappointment.
"You're right."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"You're right," you said once again a little louder this time. "I love you."
"Hold on," a smile crept to his lips as he cupped his hand behind his ear. "Can you say that one more time, I'm hard of hearing- all those years playing in a metal band, you know." He joked.
"Eddie Munson," you announced loudly. "You are right and I fucking love you!"
"Oh, I knew that!" He was grinning ear to ear. "Did you guys know that?" He jokingly looked around at the empty parking lot. "Everyone knew that, babe."
You gave him a light shove, but he pulled you back into him just as quick; his lips enveloping yours once more.
"Just say it one more time," He asked softly.
"I love you."
"Oh," his lips mumbled against yours. "I don't mean to keep bringing up the past, but I'm pretty sure the last time I saw you, you said you were coming to visit your boyfriend for lunch." His smile was uncontainable.
"Yes," you rolled your eyes. "That is what I said, please don't make me regret it."
"Not a chance in the world, sweetheart." He replied with a sweet kiss. "You're mine for good now."
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#WELL WELL WELL#also we don't talk about the fact that the doors to the school are always unlocked#the next chapter is basically the after-credits scene#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson headcanons#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#stranger things season four#eddie munson fic#incorrect stranger things#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x y/n#stranger things fic#stranger things imagine#dustin henderson#eddie munson drabble#stranger things drabble#stranger things x reader#eddie munson x henderson!reader#fan fiction#fanfic#eddie munson series
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Meeting The Real You (Chapter 9)
Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8
word count: 25,347
***CONTENT WARNING: MENTION OF SUICIDE***
___________________________
“What did I tell you?”
Peter shriveled a little, wincing as Stark threaded the suture needle in and out of the skin surrounding his still-healing bullet wound, face flushed behind his mask as he sat once again between his mentor and Johnny Storm, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. Unlike Spider-Man, the Human Torch appeared to have no qualms being half-naked in front of others. In fact, based on his surprisingly racy modeling portfolio, Peter was certain Johnny’s superhero costume would be far more risqué if Johnny had any say in the matter. At the very least, he’d add some bold cutouts down his legs and across his midsection. Maybe some fingerless gloves or a gold choker around his neck. Meanwhile, from Peter’s perspective, the less skin he was showing, the better—especially since he was always in the mindset of trying to keep his secret identity under wraps.
“Take it easy. No web-swinging,” Peter eventually mumbled.
“And what did you go and do anyway?”
Spider-Man grimaced. “Swung from Washington Square Park to here. But—”
“No buts. You ignored my demands, and now we’re both paying the price. You know the rules, kid. After I’m done sewing you up— again —the suit goes in the lab and stays there for as long as I deem appropriate. Understood?”
Peter sighed. This was the agreement Stark and May had forced him to abide by until he turned eighteen. Tony had never kept the suit from him for longer than a couple days, but it still sucked majorly whenever he was made to give it up. It never failed to make him feel like a grounded pre-schooler.
“I thought you tore your stitches when you backflipped for the livestream,” Johnny said with a frown. Tony went rigid, eyes rising to meet Peter’s, nostrils flaring. Peter wished he was close enough to the Human Torch to kick him in the shins.
“You did what?” Stark snapped.
“You told me you didn’t web-swing today!” Johnny exclaimed.
“Johnny!” Peter cried, exasperated. “You said you’d take the heat for this, not get me in trouble even more!”
“That was before I knew you lied to me!”
“Can it, you two,” Tony interjected, piercing Peter’s skin a tad less gently, making the young hero flinch. “You heard me. Suit. Lab. End of discussion.”
Peter sulked in defeat. How was he ever going to take down Kingpin when his mentor kept treating him like a goddamn five-year-old? Eighteen could not come fast enough.
Johnny shot a glare in Peter’s direction, then exhaled slowly, placing his hands on his hips. “Mr. Stark, it’s clear that Spidey was a massive fuck-up today.”
“Hey!” Peter protested, earning a sharp flick from his mentor.
“Keep still,” Tony demanded.
“But if you take away his suit, he and I won’t be able to hang out anymore. If I promise to keep him from being a dumbass and hurting himself again, would you consider letting him keep it? Please? You know, one member of the SDS to another?”
To Peter’s surprise, Stark actually seemed to be considering his request. Peter knew how hard it was to say no to those big blue eyes paired with that pleading, innocuous smile, but still. Spider-Man wrinkled his brow, glancing between the two of them suspiciously.
“What’s the SDS?” he asked.
“Shhh,” Johnny cooed, smooshing a finger against Peter’s lips. “Nothing that concerns you, cutie pie. You just sit there and look pretty while we work this out, yeah?”
Peter blushed in surprise, then batted Johnny's hand aside. “Why do you always have to be so damn condescending?” he asked, stifling a giggle.
“You swear you’ll keep him grounded until I give the green light?” Stark inquired hesitantly, stroking his thin beard.
Johnny beamed. “I can more than swear it,” he assured the Avenger, raising his hand and extending his littlest finger. “I pinky promise.”
Tony rolled his eyes and shooed Johnny’s hand away. With a sigh, he leveled his gaze on the young celebrity. “If he so much as splits one stitch—”
“Then I’ll rip off his suit and hand-deliver it to you myself,” Johnny assured him.
Peter reddened as Stark knotted off the final suture in his side. “Please don’t,” the two said in unison. His mentor moved to stand directly in front of him and met his eye with a long, cold stare. Peter shrunk back, opening his mouth to try to say something constructive, but Tony shut him up by balling up the Spider-Man suit and chucking it directly into his face, muffling his yelp of surprise.
“There. Happy now? Christ—I can’t believe how much of a pushover you’ve turned me into. I should’ve known how dangerous you two would be working in tandem to corrode my willpower and estimated lifespan.”
Peter untangled himself from the suit, then joined Johnny in showering Stark with proclamations and placards of gratitude. Tony simply crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders and muttered to himself about gray hairs and crow’s feet. Peter slipped his limbs into the floppy red fabric then tapped the spider symbol on his chest to shrink the costume down, cinching it to his narrow frame.
“I promise I’ll be more careful,” Spider-Man insisted, rubbing gingerly at his side.
“Oh, wow—haven’t heard that one before,” Tony grumbled.
“You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Stark,” Johnny chirped, slinging an arm around Peter’s neck. “Spidey and I will lay low and stay grounded for the next few days. No more bullet wounds or backflips or web-swingings of any kind; you have my word.”
Tony dragged his hands down his face with a weary groan. “Sure. If you say so. Whatever. I seriously need a drink. FRIDAY. Whiskey. Now, please.”
“A rosemary tea with honey is steeping on your office desk as we speak,” the A.I. replied.
“Screw you, FRIDAY.”
“You’re the one who instructed me to make you tea anytime you requested an alcoholic beverage,” FRIDAY reminded him.
Tony huffed. “Screw you, me.”
The friendly arm draped across Peter’s shoulders suddenly tightened into a semi-threatening chokehold. “You’re welcome, asshole,” Johnny growled, sotto voce. “Thanks for lying to my face.”
Peter clenched his jaw, trying to focus on anything other than the feeling of Johnny’s perfectly toned arm muscles coiled against his throat. “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to. I was just…” Images of freckled skin bathed in summer sunshine looped like a powerpoint in his mind. He swallowed. “Er…distracted.”
The corners of Johnny’s mouth lifted a little. “Well. Seeing how I’m now responsible for keeping you out of trouble, let’s not pull that shit again, yeah?”
Peter scoffed. “You do realize you’ve been the primary cause of all the trouble I’ve gotten into as of late, right?”
“All the more reason for me to stop you from getting into more,” Johnny countered smoothly. “We’ve braved some of the most daunting situations two people could ever face together over the past couple days. Things can only go up from here, right?”
A loud ringing sound from inside Peter’s backpack bulldozed through their conversation. Peter pulled out his phone to find he had an incoming call—from May Parker.
“It’s my aunt,” Spider-Man stated, a small spindle of nerves scribbling up his throat. Immediately, he clicked the answer button, knowing better than to send her to voicemail. If she was calling because she was upset about something, always better to face it right away than to give her anger more time to stew. Hopefully it was just an update on how the convention was going, a quick chat about what they’d been up to, that kind of thing. Nothing to worry about. So long as he played it cool and didn’t mention being shot, everything would be fine. He held the phone up to his ear.
“Hey, May,” he said hesitantly. “Uh, what’s up?”
“You were SHOT?”
Peter flinched away from the speaker, his aunt’s voice exploding from the phone like a pipe bomb, skewering him with shards of terror. His eyes snapped towards Johnny and Stark; his jaw hung open, practically grazing the floor.
“I…I…uh…”
Stark spun away from him, marching towards the exit with his hands raised in submission. “This one’s on you, kid. I warned yah. Don’t come crying to me. You’re on your own.”
May continued yelling at him through the phone, forcing Peter to block the speaker with his hand for fear she’d start referring to him by name—followed by a horrifying string of New York-style expletives. While Spider-Man pored frantically over what to do, Johnny started snickering behind his palm. Peter turned on him in disbelief.
“You’re laughing?” he exclaimed. Johnny shook his head, giggling even more.
“Sorry, haha! It’s just—you’re Spider-Man, and you’re in so much trouble. All these people think you’re this evil menace, when you’re really just a kid getting grounded and scolded like every other teenager in America. If only they knew!” Johnny’s eyes brightened suddenly as he held up his phone. “Speaking of, should I be recording this?”
Peter grappled for the device in Johnny’s hand. “Dude! Don’t you dare!”
“Johnathan Spencer Storm.”
Johnny went rigid, his wide smile morphing into a grimace. Sue and Reed stood in front of the med bay doors, the Invisible Woman looking a tad red in the face and Mr. Fantastic tense and nervous. Although still drowning in fear from his aunt’s muffled shouts against his palm, Peter took a second to savor karma’s sweet sting.
“Ha,” Peter taunted him, giving Johnny a light shove in the back. “Serves you right.” Johnny shrugged him off with a scowl.
“Shut up,” he grumbled. “I’ll come find you after I deal with this. We gotta discuss Spidey’s next big social media stunt.”
A crafty gleam entered his eye as Johnny said that last part. To Peter’s surprise, Johnny stepped forward suddenly and bundled him into a last-second hug, sending volts of electricity tingling through his belly.
“Sorry about all this,” Johnny added softly. “I’ll be more careful the next time I post or talk about you and make sure not to mention things like you getting shot—which, by the way, better not happen ever again.”
Peter grasped for something cool and chill and witty to say in reply, but it was no use. The only thoughts his brain could articulate while pressed this close to Johnny Storm were warm and smell nice and me like hug and please never let go.
“Sounds Gucci,” was the moronic buffoonery he eventually squeaked out. He wrapped his arms around Johnny’s back and held him tight: resting his forehead against his shoulder, breathing in deep, and soaking him in. This was the closest he’d ever get to being more than friends with him, so he had to relish every second he got.
“Johnny.”
Lanced with sudden bashfulness, Spider-Man jerked out of Johnny’s embrace. How had he forgotten about the two other superheroes glowering at them from across the room so quickly? Well, one glowering superhero, anyway—Reed Richards wasn’t staring at them with any animosity in his gaze, but rather a quiet curiosity. For some reason, Peter found this even more unsettling.
“All right!” the Human Torch snapped, whirling on his sister. Tiny flames bubbled across his skin. “I’m coming, okay? Jesus!” He turned back to Spider-Man and prodded his chest with his finger. “Stay grounded until I get back. The two of us are in enough hot water already.”
A curt laugh escaped him. “No kidding,” Peter mumbled. A fresh bout of angry ranting erupted from the phone in his hand, making him jump a little and almost drop it. Wincing, Peter pointed to the cracked screen. “Sorry, I gotta—”
“Same,” Johnny sighed, jogging towards his teammates. “I’ll catch yah later, ‘kay? Good luck with your aunt!”
Peter nodded and waved. “Thanks. Write a nice eulogy for me if this goes as well as I’m anticipating.”
Johnny giggled as Sue corralled him through the exit. “Will do.”
Once the room was clear, Peter reluctantly lifted his hand off the speaker, and was met with the verbal ass-whooping of a lifetime.
“—even listening to me? Are you trying to give me a goddamn heart attack? If you don’t answer in the next five seconds, I’m hopping on the next bus to New York and coming home this instant so I can ground you until the day I die and cram a baseball bat straight up Tony’s lying, irresponsible, egotistical—”
“May!” Peter cut in helplessly. “Please! I was in front of a bunch of people who don’t know my secret identity! I couldn’t say anything until they left the room.”
“Are they gone now?” she shot back, words sharp as talons. Peter bunched his limbs in close to his body.
“Yes,” he answered miserably.
“Good. ‘Cuz it’s explanation time, buddy. Now. Go.”
Peter pinched his eyes closed, wondering how he could possibly spell out everything that had happened since she’d left without sounding like a reckless douchebag of a nephew, or fully chucking Mr. Stark under the bus. He hung his head, slipping the Spider-Man mask off his face.
“I’m sorry, May. I should’ve told you. It all happened so fast, and I hate making you worry while you're busy with F.E.A.S.T. stuff. I’m on the mend now and hoped I could get away with not having to burden you with this.”
“A bold feat, considering your famous new friend’s affinity for talking about you being shot on multiple different live media platforms, and the fact I probably have more Google alerts on for your alter ego than all of your enemies combined.”
The depth of Peter’s stupidity drizzled over him like boiling coffee. The teen gave a cheerless laugh, palming his face in his hand. “Right. God. Really didn’t think this one through at all, did I?”
“No, sweetheart. You really didn’t.”
The pair marinated in a long stretch of silence. Guilt chewed through Peter’s guts like maggots. May heaved a weighty sigh from the other end of the line.
“I’m always going to worry about you getting hurt, Peter,” she insisted, voice stern yet brittle. “There’s nothing either of us can do to stop that. But what I absolutely do not need added to that worry is the fear that you’re keeping things from me. Do you understand?”
Peter cupped his wounded side, skin still stinging from the freshly stitched sutures. Her words carried far more bite than she could ever know.
“Yes, May,” he said meekly.
“When did you even start hanging out with that guy? How did the two of you meet?”
Alarm plastered the walls of Peter’s throat. “Johnny? Oh, uh—just a few days ago. Mr. Stark invited his team to stay at the tower for a bit.” Immediately, he backtracked. “But please don’t blame any of this on them. Stark just found out about me getting shot right before you did, and Johnny protected me from getting hurt even worse. They’re not at fault here—just me.”
May’s voice came through pained and wobbly. “You promised me you’d stay safe and keep me updated while I was gone,” she said.
Shame tore into the young hero like glass. Peter Parker bit the inside of his cheek and tucked his free arm beneath his aching ribs. Just rip my heart right outta my chest, why don’t you? Nothing made Peter feel shittier than when he made his aunt cry. This was the first major test of their dynamic as super-powered kid and scared but encouraging guardian . Despite her uncertainty about it, May had agreed to let him continue fighting crime in her absence—so long as he kept her up to date on everything going on. And how had he thanked her for her unwavering trust and support? By betraying her the second the opportunity presented itself. What was he thinking, hiding this from her? He hadn’t been thinking; whatever loopy pain meds Stark had injected him with paired with Johnny’s zany teasing had made sure of that.
“This business summit is turning into a shit-show,” May continued tearfully. “None of my presentations have gone how I’ve hoped, half my team isn’t here because of a strep outbreak, and I feel completely unprepared and inexperienced compared to everyone else. Now I come to find out my kid has been shot and didn’t even tell me?” A small sniffle escaped her. “Maybe I should just come home…”
His aunt’s words cut him to his core. What could he say to make this better? What could he do to bring the light back into her voice?
Peter thought back to that last time he’d scared and disappointed her this badly. It was before May had even known he was Spider-Man. He’d been so busy tracking down the Vulture and dealing with the aftermath of the ferry he’d accidentally split in two, he’d wound up ignoring her calls all day and getting home way past his curfew. He’d never seen her that upset before, and never wanted to put her in that position ever again.
How had he made things better then? She’d been pretty standoff-ish for the next week. He’d kept his head down, caught up on his studies, gave up on Spider-Manning since he was sans his suit for the time being. It was only when he told her about a certain Academic Decathlon captain he’d asked to go with him to the Homecoming dance that the old May he knew and loved finally showed her face again.
She’d always been embarrassingly invested in her nephew’s budding romances and teenage love life, despite how uneventful they tended to be. Few things on earth brought her more joy than hearing about Peter’s latest infatuations and offering him advice on how to win their affection. Now that she knew he was a superhero, that interest had increased tenfold. Fortunately for Peter, nothing of significance had happened since his short and tumultuous fling with Liz.
Until now, anyway. Which gave him an idea…
“I’m so sorry, May—for all of it. I really messed up. I won’t keep anything like this from you again, okay? Just please don’t leave yet. You fought so hard to be there; you deserve to be there. Don’t let my dumbassery ruin this for you.” He licked his lips, nerves buzzing to a fever pitch. He just had to hint at it. He didn’t have to say who or when or even what . All he had to do was reference just enough to shift her focus from her nephew’s irresponsibility and the stress of the conference to Peter’s hot new heartthrob.
Was this manipulative? Probably. Stupid? Absolutely so. But if it succeeded in cheering her up a little, Peter called that a win.
“The main reason I didn’t tell you about what happened was ‘cuz…” Peter swallowed. “Because my head’s been all over the place, and I’ve been really distracted lately.”
May paused to blow her nose before responding. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Distracted by what?”
Frighteningly familiar warmth spread like wildfire across his skin. Peter shot anxious glances around the room to make absolutely certain the coast was clear, then huffed out a defeated breath.
“I kinda…have a crush on someone…” he mumbled, blush crawling into his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he was already telling another person about this after having just confessed to Ned a few hours ago, but his aunt clearly needed the pick-me-up. Besides—it wasn’t like he was planning on coming out to her just yet.
It was almost comical how well his evil scheme worked. When his aunt finally responded, all the exhaustion and sadness had been sapped from her voice, replaced instead with beaming delight.
“What?” she exclaimed. “A crush? Oh my god! Peter! It’s been forever since you’ve had a crush! I’ve been dying for you to find someone new after Liz, and you choose to wait ‘til I’m shipped off to New Jersey to finally find one?”
Peter giggled sheepishly in spite of himself. Although his aunt’s obsession with his dating life was patronizing at times, her enthusiasm was entertaining to indulge and incredibly contagious. He knew she was smiling the biggest, giddiest smile right now, and Peter couldn’t help but do the same. The two of them were so close and always spoke so openly with each other, it was easy to forget they had no actual blood relation.
“Sorry. Believe me—this was not something I planned on at all.”
Technically not a lie, he reminded himself. Speaking vague truths felt better than outright fibbing. He vowed to be as honest as he could without digging himself into an inescapable hole.
“How dare you spring this on me while I’m supposed to be mad at you,” May chastised him, unable to shake the elation from her tone. “You know how excited I get about this sort of thing.”
Peter scratched the back of his neck. Damn . She sure caught onto him quick.
“I was gonna wait until you got back,” he explained, voice tinted with mischief, “but it sounded like you needed to hear it now.”
Also not a lie, he thought. It wasn't like he expected to keep her in the dark forever.
“Well, don’t leave me hanging here, kiddo!” she said. “May needs details!”
Sudden uncertainty lassoed his tongue. How could he describe him in all his charming, wily, flaming glory without saying—well, him? It was possible Peter hadn’t thought this through as much as he should have.
“Uh—like what?” Peter stammered out, stalling for more time.
“Everything!” May pressed him. “When did this start, how did it happen, what’s the plan to get you two together?”
Peter felt a small flutter stir inside him. Should I just tell her? he thought, nervous excitement surging through his veins. Why shouldn’t I? What harm could it do? There wasn’t a universe he could imagine where May turned her back on him—no matter what he did or who he was or the kind of person his heart chose to love. She’d told him a thousand times over: she’d always be there for him. Plus, Peter hated having to lie to her. He’d already shattered her trust in him once; if he could find it in himself to swallow his fear and confess this daunting secret, maybe he could start to restore that trust, and prove to her how much faith and value he placed in their relationship.
“We met pretty recently,” Peter ventured to say, nerves latching onto every word. “At Avengers Tower, a couple days after you left.”
True.
“You met as Peter, or as Spider-Man?”
Sweat rallied between the palms of his hands and the fabric of his gloves. He switched the phone to his opposite ear and took a slow, shaky breath. Was he really about to do this?
“As Spider-Man, actually,” he said. “The two of us—we’re both superheroes.”
True.
“No kidding?” May responded emphatically. “How exciting! A superhero, star-crossed romance! I could see how that might get messy, though: mixing work and powers and secret identities into the already complex mayhem that is teenage dating.”
Peter croaked out a laugh. “Oh, for sure. I’ve already run into plenty of unanticipated drama because of it.” True. Now? Do I tell her now? “It’s all really new and kinda crazy. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before.” Also true. How do I wanna say it? I already did this once. Why is it still so hard? “I seriously doubt anything is ever actually going to happen between us but I’m—I’m really excited about it.”
About him.
About him.
Just tell her the truth! Spit it out already!
“What’s this mystery superhero’s name?” May inquired. Peter sat stiffly on the medical cot, clenching and unclenching his fists. He gradually stilled his shivering legs. Dropped his shoulders away from his ears. Sucked his teeth to his lips. Shut his eyes. Set his jaw. Inhaled deep, then opened his mouth.
“Johnny. It’s Johnny Storm. He’s the person I have a crush on.”
Silence. More silence. An abnormal amount of silence. Peter gulped down hitched breaths, heart thundering like a freight train, the phone trembling a little in his hand.
“M-May? Hello? You there?”
A jumbled, staticky sound gargled from the speaker in response. Peter winced, holding the device away from his ear. A few seconds later, May’s voice garbled out of the phone in short, clipped segments, cutting in and out with only a few decipherable words finding their way through.
“May?” Peter said again, nerves tearing at the seams. “Can you hear me?”
“—goddamn piece of shit, Jesus Christ,” was what he eventually heard her hiss when the connection was finally restored. “Sorry, Peter. My signal here is absolute garbage. I think our call got cut off for a second.”
“It’s okay,” he grated out, squirming a little in place. Another couple seconds passed, and he added: “Did—did you hear me? What I said?”
“No, I must’ve missed it. Go ahead, sweetheart! What’s her name?”
A cold feeling spread through the young superhero from the top of his head to the tips of his heels. He stared ahead blankly, ice trickling into his stomach.
“What?” he barely managed to say. The word came out breathless and fractured.
“The superhero girl! The one you said you have a crush on! You were telling me her name, right? Or did that part of our conversation cut out, too?”
Peter could feel his heartbeat throbbing inside his skull. Two words pounded against his brain like a pair of rubber mallets.
Her, her, her, her .
Girl, girl, girl, girl.
She didn’t know.
Duh. Of course she didn’t know. Why would she? He’d never…he’d always made it seem like…
Still. He wished she knew. Part of him felt blindsided that she didn’t.
Maybe she didn’t know him as well as himself or Ned or anyone else thought.
“Peter?” his aunt called, ripping him from the thoughts racing around his head at a thousand lightyears a second. “Are you there, hon? Is the connection still cutting out?”
Peter tried to speak, but was stunned to find his voice choked with tears. They stung his eyes and wet his cheeks and slipped down his neck in large, pathetic droplets.
It took him a moment. Many moments. But one by one, he forced his mouth to form words.
“I…I think it might be,” he heard himself say. Lie. He wiped frantically at his eyes, stifled a sob, cleared his throat. “Um, anyway—Mr. Stark is actually asking for me to come join him in the lab now.” Lie. “You probably have big, fancy business meetings to get to that are way more important than this.” Lie. “I’ll call you back later, okay?” Lie. Lie. Lie.
Aunt May sighed. “All right, sweetie. Ugh—stupid cell reception. You know I’m dying to hear everything about her! I’ll need the full play-by-play once I’m home next week. I love you! No more getting shot and not telling me please!”
Peter hung up before the tremble in his voice became too obvious to hide. He let the phone slide from his fingers into his lap, then sat in silence in the wide, empty room. The chilly air of the medical wing felt even more frigid than usual. His mask was draped across his knee, the eye lenses speckled with droplets. The only sounds were the quiet sniffles slipping through his defenses and the soft patter of tears against shatter-proof glass.
Peter was confused, angry, hurt—but why , he wasn’t sure.
He was confused with himself. Why was he borderline weeping over this? Why was this triggering such a visceral emotional response in him? She hadn’t cast him out or recoiled in disgust or anything like that; she’d just assumed the same thing everyone else assumed about him: that Peter liked girls, and girls alone. That’s all. Once he told her, she would know the truth. Simple as that. Shouldn’t he be relieved? Coming out for the first time to two different people in one day was a lot of pressure to put himself under.
So why was crying? Why couldn’t he make himself stop?
He was angry at his cowardice, his naïveté, at the tears staining his cheeks. He was angry he had to tell his aunt outright for her to know him fully, but at the same time mad at the unrealistic expectations he was placing on her. The anger inside him churned as hot and violent as magma. He didn’t know where to put it.
Most of all, he was hurt. It was the kind of pain that pinched your entrails and mangled your heart and made your throat feel like it was caving in on itself. He didn’t have a name for it. He couldn’t understand its intensity or origin. He wanted it to let him go.
“Spidey! You still in here?”
Panicked, Peter flew from the bed and faced away from the doors, yanking the Spider-Man mask over his puffy eyes and splotchy face. He grounded himself with as steady a breath as he could muster as Johnny floated across the room and landed by his side.
“That went slightly better than expected,” Johnny decided, now dressed in his skin-tight, deep blue Fantastic Four suit. “I think my sister is finally sorta somewhat warming up to the idea of you. You’ve been upgraded from ‘masked menace’ to ‘masked hooligan’ at least, which is a start. How about on your end? Did your aunt really grill you, or…hey. Are you okay?”
Peter cursed himself inside his head. What was the point in wearing a mask when people like Johnny could read him like an open book anyway? He turned towards the Human Torch with a dismal chuckle.
“I’m good, yeah. That’s great. Really great. My aunt’s not mad anymore, either. Maybe I’m better at getting people to like me than I thought. I bet it’s my eccentric wit and rock-hard calves and rugged, unbridled sex appeal.”
Johnny’s frown didn’t budge an inch. “You’re doing it again,” he said.
Peter rubbed at his eyes through the lenses of his mask. “Doing what?” he asked sullenly.
“You know what,” Johnny snapped, crossing his arms against his chest. “Drop the stupid jokes, and tell me what’s wrong.”
“Ouch. I thought the sex appeal part was at least kinda funny. Tough crowd.”
“Spidey. Come on. Seriously.”
“Y’know, ‘seriously’ isn’t really my vibe at the moment. How about peanut M&M’s and microwave popcorn and Brooklyn 99 and ignoring our problems instead?”
“Spider-Man.”
Taken aback, Peter couldn’t help but giggle. “Was that you trying to call me by my full name? I have to admit, it was rather unsettling. You almost sounded like one of my super villains. Add a bit more growl to that last syllable, and you’ve pretty much nailed it.”
Johnny scoffed incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wow. This is…just wow. You done now? Is it outta your system yet?”
“Yeah, that’s not how it works. I’m like a goat. I’ll just keep going and going until I die. And the longer I go, the harder it is to stop. Speaking of, ever heard the one where a goat and a sommelier walk into a bar?”
“Webs,” Johnny implored, grabbing him by the wrist. The touch sent tingles up Peter’s arm and down his spine. “Please.”
Virulent emotion threatened to claim him once again. What was the point? He couldn’t tell him what was wrong. Even if he wanted to, Peter doubted he was capable of fully articulating it.
With a desolate sigh, the masked hero yielded, but he selected his words with an abundance of caution. “It’s whatever, all right?” he insisted. “My aunt just…doesn’t know me like I thought she did. And it’s not her fault, but…I don’t know. It surprised me a little, since she probably knows me better than anyone.”
“What doesn’t she know about you?” Johnny asked. When Peter didn’t answer, he switched the question to: “Have you ever told her the thing she doesn’t know about you?”
“No…” he said hesitantly.
An endearing smile touched Johnny’s lips and shone in his cobalt eyes. “Spidey. You can’t expect people to know things about you without showing them or telling them those things. That applies to your aunt and everyone else in the world. If you want people to know you as you are, you have to open up to them and share the stuff that’s important to you.”
The deep ache inside Peter gradually fell away, and an itchy irritation crept in to replace it. Grumbling, Peter stared off to the side, shoulders and fists held taut. “Would you stop making so much goddamn sense all the time?” he fake-pouted, a small laugh escaping him. “Could you, like, not have the answer to every single one of my problems for once in your life?”
Johnny returned his laughter, giving his arm a light squeeze. “You make it too easy, Webs,” he teased him. “This is why I think this silly social media stuff is so vital to restoring your image. If you don’t take control of your narrative and tell people who Spider-Man really is, they’re going to keep making assumptions about you that aren’t true.”
Peter studied the soft sincerity in Johnny’s expression, debilitating fondness blazing through him. He puffed out his cheeks. “Y’know, you could at least pretend to think I’m funny while I’m running through one of my conflict-avoidant stand-up comedy routines. Humor me just a smidge before gutting me like a fish.”
“I do think you're funny,” Johnny corrected him. The hand holding Peter’s wrist tugged him the teensiest bit closer, sending butterflies racing up Spider-Man’s throat. While he had him distracted, Johnny’s other hand found Peter’s rib cage and gave his uninjured side a quick pinch, making the young hero squeal in surprise and leap away. “But I’m not gonna laugh when you’re making jokes to hide your pain.”
“Hehey!” Peter giggled, blushing bright as a tomato as he hugged his midsection. “Johnny! I just got re-stitched!”
Johnny grinned wide and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. I’m counting down the days until you can’t use that as an excuse anymore. Then we’ll really see who’s better at getting the other person to laugh.”
He feigned a few deadly pokes to Peter’s belly to punctuate his threat, causing Spider-Man to stagger backwards frantically, giggling like a little kid.
“Quihit it!” he squeaked. “Now you’re the one not taking things seriously!”
“Oh, I’m dead serious,” Johnny assured him, a sinister glimmer in his eye. Spider-Man reddened even deeper, arms clamped protectively around his torso. Johnny backed off for the time being, although the devious smirk on his face remained.
“I’m also dead serious about cleaning up your rep,” Johnny continued. “And I know the perfect event to host our next media blitz.”
Peter grimaced. “An event?” he repeated back. He didn’t like the sound of this already.
“That’s right,” Johnny said. He pulled out his phone and held it up for Peter to see. “The Fantastic Four is hosting a fan meet-up and photo-op thing in Central Park tomorrow at noon. The event is free, but we’re requesting donations for pictures and autographs and whatnot to raise money for local animal shelters.”
Peter blinked at the screen. This must’ve been the Johnny meet-and-greet Ned mentioned earlier, he thought.
“I thought Spider-Man could make a surprise appearance. We can take some photos, charm the crowds, do a couple interviews with whatever press is there. It’ll be fun.”
Peter considered Johnny’s proposal and swallowed dryly. “That sounds like a pretty big leap from me showing up on your TikTok, don’t you think? I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.” Spider-Man scratched the back of his arm, voice small and shy. “I’d rather just…y’know. Talk to you some more. Without a bunch of cameras or other people watching. We can do more livestreams and social media stuff, if you think that’ll help. But…I don’t feel comfortable doing this sort of thing with anyone else except you.” He winced, realizing how that sounded. “I mean—not yet, anyway.”
Before Johnny had a chance to respond, Peter spun away from him, stretching his arms above his head. “Besides! I, um—already have plans at that time tomorrow. Thanks for the invite, but I don’t think the rest of your team would appreciate me showing up out of the blue and crashing their fundraiser. I might scare off fans who came to make big contributions.”
Johnny paused, then snickered, his freckled nose crinkling up in the most disarmingly cute way. “First of all, you’re adorable. I’m honored to be the sole confidant you’re willing to trust with your public relations.”
Peter’s heart skipped in his chest like a stone across a raging river. He wondered if Johnny spoke to all his friends this way, or if it was just him. He hoped it was just him.
“I think you mean paranoid and violently untrusting of news reporters,” Peter chuckled halfheartedly.
“Maybe. But mostly adorable.” He forged ahead without missing a beat. “Second, I guarantee people are gonna be wanting to see more of you after today. Go check out the now-trending hashtag ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’ on all your favorite social media platforms. In the hour since we went live, the internet has already gone absolutely beserk with people sharing their stories about you.” Johnny held up his index finger pointedly. “Not all of them are flattering, mind you—but an overwhelming majority. Not bad for my first time doing this, I’d say. It’d be great if we could ride that wave of excitement by posting more content tomorrow.”
Peter couldn’t help it. He broke into a laugh, shielding his mouth with his hand, making Johnny narrow his eyes.
“What?” he asked amusedly. “What’s funny?” His cheeks hinted a light pink color.
“Nothing,” Peter giggled. “You just sound a lot like your sister right now.”
Immediately, Johnny’s jaw dropped. “What? I do not! How dare you say that! That’s like—the biggest insult you could ever possibly hit me with!”
“You told me she’s the one who handles your team’s PR and whatnot, right?” Peter reminded him. “Isn’t that kinda what you’re doing for me right now? Making sure I’m putting out a good image and appearing likable and trustworthy and all that stuff?”
“This is completely different,” Johnny insisted. “Sue works with marketing agencies and consulting firms and giant corporate sponsors to bolster our team’s image. You and I are just making fun videos on my TikTok and Twitter and Instagram pages. I wasn’t planning to throw a bunch of money at this by hiring trend experts or data analysts or graphic designers or anything.” A giddy twinkle flashed in his eyes. “Unless—did you want to do that, or—?”
“No, no,” Peter assured him. “Silly phone videos are much more my style. I’m just saying.” He nudged Johnny playfully with his elbow. “Maybe you and your sister are more alike than you think.”
Johnny’s scowl returned in an instant. “Go to hell, Webhead.”
For the second time that day, Peter was startled by his phone trilling loudly inside his backpack. Lucky for him, it was Ned this time, who was far less likely to yell at him or make him cry by accidentally pigeonholing him into compulsive heterosexuality. Not that he blamed May, of course. At least…he was trying not to.
“Popular today, aren’t yah?” Johnny noted.
“Yep. That’s what happens when the Human Torch gushes longingly about you on the Today Show and posts unsolicited pictures of you in your pajamas.”
As Johnny chuckled at his retort, Peter jabbed his thumb towards the elevator in the corner of the room. “I’m gonna take this on the roof. We can meet up after your fan event thingy tomorrow if you’re free then.”
The Human Torch met his gaze with a wickedly enchanting grin. “M’kay. Come ready to star in my next groundbreaking, fun-loving Spider-Man social media production. We gotta post at least once a day for the next week! No exceptions! And since you’re not allowed to do anything superhero-y anytime soon, don’t pretend like you’re too busy or have anything better to do! ‘Cuz I’ll know that’s bullshit.”
Peter offered him a two-fingered salute. “You’re the boss, Flame Brain. See yah!” He took a few steps towards the elevator but stopped suddenly in the center of the room, struck with a choice that rendered him blushing and paralyzed. There were a lot of things the request might imply, should he decide to follow through—nonetheless, Peter felt it was a necessary and inevitable progression for their relationship (both as friends or otherwise), and would allow for consistent communication between them.
With all these divergent thoughts swirling around in his skull, Peter reluctantly made up his mind. He turned back around and strode up to Johnny, the words sputtering nervously off his lips.
“Could I—I mean—w-would you mind—?” He shook his head, took a breath, and tried again, extending his hand. “Just—give me your phone. Please.”
Johnny blinked at the masked hero bemusedly, then held out the device with a chuckle. “Okay…?” he said warily.
Peter took the phone and navigated to Johnny’s contact list, anxiously but determinedly adding his number to the roster under the name “Webhead” along with all the spider-related emojis he could find. He looked it over, once, twice, nodded to himself, then handed the device back to the Human Torch, shoulders tight and voice a tad shrill. “There. Now you can reach me anytime you need for whatever reason—whether you’re being attacked by Russian mobsters or want to run any more embarrassing content ideas by me before posting them on the internet forever or if you’re about to supernova yourself into oblivion and need someone to come help you—y’know, um, not do that.”
Johnny studied him with a look of delighted fascination. He plucked the phone from Spider-Man’s fingers and grinned at the screen. “I imagine someone like you doesn’t give out his number to others very often—especially those who don’t know your real identity.” He glanced up at him with a blindingly sunny smile. “I’m happy you’re trusting me with it. I don’t take that lightly.”
There was playful, teasing Johnny, and then there was this Johnny: insightful, sensitive, and earnest. Both were equally fruitful at transforming Peter Parker into a puddle of melted goop.
“No booty calls on weekdays,” Peter joked shyly. “I’m a spider of class and dignity.”
The loud yodeling ringtone belted from his phone yet again, making Spider-Man flinch. In his distracted, excitable state, he must’ve missed Ned’s initial call. If his friend was this determined to get through to him, he must’ve seen Johnny’s livestream and the overwhelming online response and be absolutely dying to talk to him about it.
“You’d better take that,” Johnny suggested.
Peter nodded. “Right. Okay. Cool. Great.” The young hero turned and skipped across the room, floating on the high of his uncharacteristic bravery. He giggled to himself, then threw Johnny a wave. “Catch yah later!” He answered Ned’s call and started to speak as he stepped into the elevator, then second guessed himself. “Whoops. I shouldn’t—bad connection in there. I’ll just—” he skirted towards the doorway instead with a skittish laugh in Johnny’s direction. “—take the stairs. Yep. Uh, yeah, so...bye! Again!”
Johnny watched Spider-Man’s nervous and clumsy exit with an air of intrigue. He’d learned those characteristics were indicative of his nature, and normally not worth making note of. But in light of the conversation he’d just had with his teammates, and the jarring words Reed had left him with, he was inclined to dissect the webhead’s behavior with a far keener eye.
When the masked hero was gone, Johnny revisited the chat between himself, his sister, and her boyfriend in his head, and felt the gears of yearning and possibility start to tick, tick, tick into place. Maybe there was some hope for the two of them after all. Maybe he wasn’t as delusional as he’d once thought.
“What’s it gonna be this time, sis? Another stern talking to? Benching me for the next three missions? A new curfew we both know I’m not going to follow?”
Susan responded by shoving Johnny’s Fantastic Four costume into his chest. “Put that on,” she demanded. “For future reference, Tide pods do nothing for blood stains. Baking soda and warm water is your best bet.”
Johnny reddened in surprise, then begrudgingly slipped into the freshly laundered suit. He’d hidden it after hours of failed scrubbing and soaking with a plan to try dry cleaning next, but as always, Sue was faster and smarter than him. He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow once he was fully dressed, avoiding both adults’ hard stares.
“Was any of that blood yours?” Reed asked.
“No,” Johnny grumbled. “We punched a lot of kidnappers, so some of it could’ve been theirs. But 99% of it was probably Spider-Man’s.” The Human Torch leered at him. “You know, because he got shot while saving two kids yesterday? Did you black out during my whole heartfelt testimony this morning? Or are you convinced as usual that I’m just making shit up?”
“I believe you,” Richards assured him calmly. “We just wanted to make sure you weren’t injured.”
Johnny’s biting tone wavered. He glanced between the two of them, noticing the lines of worry in both their faces, then gingerly lowered his gaze. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, rolling his shoulder a bit. By now the ache from colliding with the pavement was nearly gone.
“And is he?” Sue asked in a thin voice. “Spider-Man?”
Johnny scoffed bitterly. “Like you care.”
“We do care, Johnny,” Reed insisted. “None of us want to see anyone around here getting hurt. And based on the amount of blood we had to scrub out of your suit, it must’ve been really bad. I’m stunned your friend isn’t in the ICU after sustaining a wound that severe.”
A hum of surprise trilled within Johnny at Reed’s choice of words. Friend. He called him my friend.
“We saw the police footage of the people you were up against,” Sue continued, shaking her head, eyes sharp with fear. “Those were some seriously dangerous men, Johnny.”
The Human Torch grimaced, waiting for the lecture to start. Susan swallowed, then exhaled through her nose.
“Listen,” his sister grated out. “I’m proud of you for stopping those thugs and saving those kids.” She spoke the words as if they physically hurt her to say.
Johnny’s eyebrows crawled towards his hairline. “Really?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Really.”
Johnny narrowed his eyes, then gestured to Richards. “Did he put you up to this?”
“No one put me up to anything,” Susan shot back. “I mean it. You were outnumbered by a very scary opponent, but you took them down and got the civilians out unharmed. Before I say anything else, I wanted to make sure you knew that.”
Johnny was taken aback to say the least. His sister was not one to hand out compliments to him easily—especially in conversations that weren’t going to be broadcast as promotional content for the team. But he wasn’t ready to let her off the hook just yet.
“In that case, you should be proud of Spider-Man, too,” Johnny retorted. “He was the one who got the kids out safely. And he saved my life!”
“Which brings me to the next thing we need to address,” Susan said plaintively. “You cannot go off to fight bad guys on your own without your team there to support you—especially bad guys of that caliber.”
“I wasn’t alone,” Johnny reminded her. Sue’s face twisted in frustration.
“And if Spider-Man did save your life, that means he put your life in danger in the first place. No 16-year-old should be off fighting psycho mafia child-traffickers armed with weapons of war they got from—god knows where, without their adult teammates backing them, or—hell, even knowing about it. Do you hear me?”
Johnny gazed at his sister numbly. “How about two 16-year-olds?” he proposed.
Susan frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The Human Torch pursed his lips, then cursed himself under his breath. Spider-Man had shared his age with him in confidence. He doubted the webhead wanted him telling anyone else about it—especially other superheroes. But Johnny assumed one of the reasons Sue didn’t like them hanging out together was because she thought Spider-Man was a grown adult. Maybe if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t be so hard on him. Maybe a lot of people wouldn’t.
It wasn’t his place to tell. But Johnny could already see the realization materializing across Reed’s face. An acrimonious breath escaped him. Too late now.
“We’re the same age,” Johnny explained. “Spider-Man and I. We’re both sixteen.”
Sue’s eyes widened. “He—you’re telling me you’ve seen his face? You know his real identity?”
Johnny shook his head impatiently. “No, he just—told me. He’s told me a bunch of stuff about himself. The two of us have a lot in common.”
The crease in Susan’s brow returned in record time. “Oh. So you don’t actually know, then. You’re just assuming he’s telling the truth and taking his word for it? Do you know how shady that sounds, Johnny?”
“He’s not lying!” Johnny shouted, fire flashing from his fists. “And if you spent two seconds actually getting to know him, you’d know that! Why don’t either of you ever believe me about anything?”
“It’s not you we’re doubting,” Reed said gently. “It’s just…difficult for us to fully trust someone who’s so secretive all the time. Please understand that our only concern is your safety and wellbeing.”
“Is Spider-Man also the one who told you to make those insane accusations against Wilson Fisk on your livestream?” Susan asked coldly. “Is that another thing you just accepted as fact because he told you it was true?”
Johnny flushed, trying to conjure a sufficient response. “He…he told me those kidnappers work for Fisk,” he said reluctantly. “Spidey didn’t want me to say anything about it, but if Fisk is really funding a human trafficking ring while running for mayor, I thought the world needed to know how dangerous he is.”
“And do you have any proof that that’s the case?” Sue countered. “Anything at all that connects Fisk to those men you fought?”
Johnny tried to extinguish the flames creeping up his arms and fizzling off his scalp, but his increasing frustration was making it impossible. When he couldn’t find an answer, Susan scoffed, shaking her head.
“Wilson Fisk is a pinnacle of industry and influence in this community. He’s the only candidate running for mayor who’s directly voiced his support for the Fantastic Four and promised to work with us if he wins the election. If you’re going to accuse him of something that despicable, you better have fucking indisputable evidence before you open your mouth and make an enemy of one of the most powerful people in New York.”
Johnny swallowed, shame radiating off him in swells of searing heat. He hated to admit it, but Sue was right. Even if Fisk was guilty, defacing his name on his TikTok page with no proof to back his claims was idiotic and counterproductive to everything both his team and Spider-Man were working towards. He shouldn’t have spoken so carelessly.
“You’re going to delete the livestream,” Susan instructed him.
“I already cut the part about Fisk out,” Johnny mumbled. “Spider-Man made me.”
“And you’re going to issue a public apology stating you were misinformed on the situation and won’t be spreading unfounded conspiracy theories about public figures ever again.”
Johnny glared at his feet, hands balled tight at his sides. “What if I’m not misinformed?” he said quietly. “What if Spider-Man is right about him?”
“Then Spider-Man has a lot of investigating to do before either of you mention anything about it ever again. For now, you’re apologizing. The publicist will send the copy to you tomorrow to post after the fundraising event.”
A queasy feeling bled through Johnny’s insides. The idea of begging for forgiveness from someone whose henchmen were responsible for wounding Spider-Man so badly felt like such a betrayal to the webhead. If there was any way he could opt out of uploading that post tomorrow, he’d make it happen.
“I don’t have the time or patience to babysit you 24/7 right now,” Susan said wearily. “If you want to waste more time running around with that masked hooligan, I’m not going to stop you.”
“Good,” Johnny said smugly. “‘Cuz that’s exactly what I plan to do.”
“But I won’t tolerate you going off to fight an army of Russian mobsters without giving us a head’s up,” she clarified, “or making baseless accusations that threaten the integrity of our team. Got it?”
Johnny huffed, giving his sister a sardonic curtsy. “Aye aye, captain. Whatever keeps the stakeholders happy.”
Sue rolled her eyes as she turned away from him, marching towards her and Reed’s guest room. “Be at the great lawn by 11 tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t be late. And please look presentable.”
“That’s all you keep me around for, right?” Johnny hollered back. “Looking hot while I pose for photos and sign autographs and keep my mouth shut on anything that actually matters?”
His remark earned a groan from his sister before she stepped into her room and slammed the door behind her, leaving Johnny quite pleased with himself for getting the last word in.
The Human Torch expected Richards to tuck tail after Susan like he always did, or request for the hundredth time that he cut his elder sibling a little slack. Instead, he stayed rooted in place, eyeing Johnny like a new species of amoeba he was studying under a microscope. Johnny regarded his sister’s boyfriend with a loutish glare.
“Go ahead,” Johnny muttered. “Tell me again how she’s only hard on me because she cares and wants to keep me safe and blah, blah, blah…”
Reed shot a glance back at the door, then broke into a hesitant smile. “Actually,” Richards said. “I was more interested in discussing your little friend a bit more—perhaps without Sue’s well-intentioned but rather harsh convictions on the matter preventing you from speaking openly.”
Johnny blinked, caught off guard, to say the least. “Um,” he said, trying to track where he was headed with this. “Okay?”
Reed placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side. “So…Spider-Man,” he mused. “You like him, don’t you?”
Tiny fires flared at the tips of Johnny’s ears. “I…what?” he stammered, voice cracking in the most heinously telling way. “Who told you that?” Reed grinned.
“No one. Call it an educated guess. I was sixteen once too, you know. Nobody at your age is as slick as they think.”
Reed Richards and Johnny Storm had always had an awkward gap in their relationship. Being his older sister’s on-and-off boyfriend for the past couple of years and now the co-founder of their superhero team tended to put a damper in their geniality. Reed tried his best to toe the line between being there for Johnny in the ways he needed without overstepping into attempted paternal territory, knowing well it wasn’t his role to fill. But showing an interest in his romantic life—and catching on to Johnny’s infatuation with someone when he was trying his best not to flaunt it—was, in fact, a first for him. Johnny found himself blundering for words, a growing blaze of panic catching fire in his chest.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Reed assured him. “But I’m convinced your sister already knows, and—unsurprisingly—does not approve.”
Johnny crossed his arms tight to his chest, giving a short, rigid shrug. “And what about you?” he asked. “What do you think?”
Richards smiled. “I’m surprised you care.”
“I don’t,” Johnny said immediately, then swallowed. “But…is it really that obvious?”
Reed chuckled. “Yeah. Kinda. I can’t say I trust the guy as much as I’d like to, but…no way he’s as crazy as the news or Susan is imagining. From what I’ve seen, he seems like a decent kid.” A smirk tugged at his lip. “And I can see the appeal. You’ve always had a thing for the mysterious masked rebel types.”
Johnny fought back a giggle, mostly at the thought of how excited Spidey would be knowing Reed had described him that way. But his laughter quickly turned hollow.
“And the kind that’ll never like me back,” he added morosely. Reed’s face fell, and Johnny’s shoulders slumped. “Sue says I’m just making the same mistake I did with Sam all over again, and I’ll only end up breaking my heart a second time. And it sucks, ‘cuz I know deep down she’s right, but…this feels different. He’s different. He’s just…ugh.”
Johnny scrunched up his features and clawed aggressively at his scalp, disheveling his rose-gold locks into a scruffy jumble atop his head. “Spidey’s just…he’s one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met. It’s like he’s completely blind to his own struggles and safety but hyper-aware of everyone else’s—which is really sweet, but also annoying as fuck. He sees so much good in the world and is so passionate about helping others even though so many people try to paint him as a villain. He knows how to make people laugh even at their lowest point: when they’re scared or confused or in pain. And whenever I’m able to get him to laugh, let me tell you…” Johnny chuckled to himself at the thought of it. “It’s like straight serotonin, the sound of it. Literally the cutest, most addictive thing ever. Nothing beats the feeling of when I get a big laugh out of him—which isn’t exactly hard, but that doesn’t make it any less fun.”
The smile on Johnny’s face was so wide as he spoke, it almost hurt. “Spidey may seem closed-off and mysterious from the outside,” he went on, “but once you get to know him, you realize he’s actually the biggest goddamn dork in the entire world. He talks super-duper fast and has a crazy quick wit—especially when he’s anxious or dealing with something he doesn’t want you to worry about. He’s an insanely smart science nerd just like you and Sue and can rant about molecules and substances I can’t pronounce for hours. He puts on this quippy, confident front most of the time, but he’s a surprisingly shy and insecure person.” Johnny scoffed. “And despite it all, he still makes me nervous. Can you believe that? It’s infuriating. Johnny Storm does not get nervous; everyone else is supposed to get nervous around me. But I can’t help it. I’m like a blushing, bumbling idiot around him. I don’t think he knows the effect he has on people. I don’t think he understands how incredible and brave and inspiring he really is. I just want everyone to see him the way I do. Even if there’s zero chance of him ever liking me how I like him, I have to get the world to understand why Spider-Man deserves to be admired and appreciated and loved.”
Johnny’s saccharine grin withered into nothing. “I won’t lose another friendship by forcing my feelings onto someone who doesn’t like me back. He means too much to me. So…” Johnny shrugged pitifully. “If I can’t be with him, I can at least give him this.”
When the Human Torch saw the expression Reed was wearing and realized how long he’d been carrying on about the webhead, he felt his hair crackle like a campfire. Richards and him didn’t talk much about stuff like this, despite Mr. Fantastic’s relentless and embarrassing efforts to deepen their flimsy bond. Why was he suddenly pouring his heart out and spilling his guts to a man whose mousy nature and nauseating devotion to his cold and callous sister had always made Johnny want to broil him like a Thanksgiving turkey? Reed blinked at the teen hero slowly, stinging sympathy lifting the corners of his mouth.
“Wowza,” he said. “You’re down bad, kiddo. How long have you known this guy again? Like, five days?”
Johnny dropped his face into his hands, steaming with embarrassment. “Shut up,” he giggled.
“And you really don’t know who he is?”
Drearily, Johnny shook his head.
“But…you still like him? Like, like him, like him?”
The Human Torch hesitated, then nodded, face still smothered behind his palms. Reed chuckled.
“All right. In that case, here’s my two cents: I can’t speak to Spider-Man’s character or his trustworthiness or—hell, if it’s even mathematically appropriate for you two to date. But what I can say is this: if you have no concerns or reservations about him other than your assumption that he doesn’t like you back, you may need to reevaluate your deductive reasoning skills.”
Johnny lifted his head from his hands, searching Reed’s expression with wide, dubious eyes. “What are you saying?” he asked.
Richards shrugged, failing to stifle a knowing smirk. “Look, I don’t know what Susan or anyone else has told you,” he conceded, “but between you and me, I don’t think Spider-Man is straight.”
Johnny felt his pulse climb to a deafening thunder. He inched closer to his teammate, stuttering through a frazzled, nonsensical reply. “Wait, you—w-what do you—how—?”
“And the reason I think that,” Reed continued, clearly enjoying himself, “is because I’m very convinced he has a similar infatuation with you as you do him.”
“Hold on,” Johnny stammered hoarsely, throwing his hands in the air. “Slow down. Why are you saying this? Where is this even coming from?”
“As I’ve watched you two interact these past few days, his observable behaviors have not been unlike the very ones you’ve exhibited towards him, which clued me into your possible feelings for Spider-Man as well as his own for you. Between you and Nova, the mania was as evident as day a one-sided affair. But I’m not extrapolating that same conjecture from your current fixation.”
“Why do you have to say everything so weird?” Johnny whined indignantly. “Just tell me in normal-people words what the hell you’re talking about!”
Reed sighed. “You said you get nervous around him, right? It seems to me he also gets very nervous when you’re around him. Higher voice pitch, faster talking speed, restlessness, fidgeting, laughing excessively. I don’t recall Sam ever acting like that when you two were together. Pretty incriminating evidence if you ask me.”
“That’s just…how Spidey is,” Johnny tried to explain. “Y’know—an anxious, giggly, fidgety person. Plus, he’s like, physically incapable of making himself shut the fuck up.”
Richards smiled. “And you’re sure he’s all those things all the time, or just when he’s with you?”
Johnny bristled. “I’m…yeah. Pretty sure.” He paused to ground himself, combing his fingers through his hair, crushing his feelings of excitement and hope into dust beneath his heel. “Look. It’s useless, okay? Spidey already mentioned dating a girl before. He’s straight. That’s that. End of discussion.”
“Weren’t you a serial girl-dater all the way up until the sixth grade?” Reed pointed out. “Does that make you any less of the flaming homosexual you are today?”
Johnny grimaced. “Okay, first things first—don’t ever say anything like that ever again.”
Reed chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Fair enough.”
“Second, that was pre-pubescent Johnny. Spider-Man was talking about taking a girl to his school’s homecoming dance last year. He’s never mentioned anything about liking or dating guys.”
“It is possible he only recently came to realize his attraction to the same gender,” Reed proposed. “People can also be attracted to more than one gender. Just because he recently dated a girl or likes girls doesn’t automatically disqualify him from liking boys, too.”
Johnny stood very still as he flipped back through his carefully curated collection of notes on the wall-crawler, which adorned the inside of brain like an elaborate tapestry. He analyzed and shuffled and highlighted important subtext. He strung threads between moments and jotted down little comments beneath entries. Could Reed be right? Had he missed something? Was it possible that Spider-Man actually liked him back?
“I can’t make you any guarantees,” Reed added, tearing Johnny from his mental investigation. “And I won’t pretend I have any advice on how you should approach the situation with your sister or with Spider-Man. But if you like him, and you believe he’s as good and honest and—well, cute—as you claim, and the only thing holding you back is your fear of unreciprocated affection…” Reed smiled warmly. “I think you should go for it. You might be surprised by his response.”
Johnny’s stomach was in fluttering, queasy knots. He had no idea what to do with Richards’ insights. The man was rarely wrong when it came to scientific hypotheses or analytical geometric theorems. But as for his gaydar? Johnny wasn’t ready to enrapture himself with fantasies of what he and Spider-Man could be based solely on Reed’s fleeting observations. Reed Richards was no Chris Harrison when it came to playing queer matchmaker for his girlfriend’s little brother.
Johnny wet his lips and scratched behind his ear. “I’ll um…I’ll think about it,” was the reply he eventually settled on.
Reed beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Wonderful.”
Red-faced, and unsure what to say next, Johnny spun on his heels to leave. But he stopped with a hand on the door, speaking softly without meeting Reed’s gaze.
“You really didn’t tell her to say that?”
Richards frowned at the back of Johnny’s head. “Hmm?” he prompted him.
“Sue. You swear you didn’t tell her to say she’s proud of me?”
Reed’s features eased into a pained smile. “Yes, Johnny. It took a little encouragement from my end for her to go through with it, but I promise it was her idea. Not mine.”
Johnny swallowed thickly. “You think she meant it?”
Richards nodded. “I do. And for what it’s worth, I feel the same.”
Johnny fought back a smile, then rolled his eyes with a melodramatic groan. “You’re both so embarrassing,” he lamented. “God. Don’t you have something mind-numbingly boring and gag-inducing to get to? Like—I dunno—winning the Nobel prize for discovering a new element? Fucking my sister behind the bunsen burners in Tony Stark’s bougie lab?”
Reed’s cheeks went scarlet. “I—I don’t—”
“Or are you doing it somewhere even weirder? Oh god, don’t answer that—spare me the details. Just please make sure you’re wearing protection; I’m not ready to be an uncle to your stretchy, invisible demon spawn.”
“Johnny!” Richards exclaimed, face fire-engine red. The Human Torch cackled maniacally as he rushed out of the room, a pillar of fire trailing behind him. With an etiolated sigh, Reed couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake encouraging Johnny to pursue something romantic with a shady individual most of the world considered a reckless menace. His concerns about Spider-Man resembled Sue’s in more ways than one, but he knew the more they objected to the idea, the greater Johnny’s interest in the vigilante would grow.
More than anything, Richards wanted Johnny happy. And right now, despite Susan’s best efforts, Spider-Man was the thing making him the most happy. Based on his quiet surveillance, that happiness was fortunate enough to operate on a two-way street. Spidey really seemed to like him back—stumbling over his words when Johnny teased him or offered him a helping hand, bouncing up and down like a kid in a candy shop when the two were engaged in conversation, melting into the Human Torch’s embrace when he thought no one else was watching. Even with his face hidden, the web-crawler’s body language was implicating enough. He wondered if anyone else had picked up on it yet.
The logical half of Reed’s brain hoped the pair never crossed that line. The smaller, sentimental side hoped one day they’d be brave enough to try.
“I’m so glad Johnny Storm said what he said about Spider-Man. About a year ago, I was out walking my dog Lola when her collar suddenly broke and she got away from me. I chased after her as fast as I could, but I was too slow to keep up. When she ran out into the busy street, I knew she was a goner. I was about to watch my best friend get hit by a car and die right in front of me. It was the scariest moment of my entire life.
“But before the cars got to her, a streak of red swooped in out of nowhere and snatched her right off the road. I didn’t understand what had happened at first, until Spider-Man dropped onto the sidewalk right beside me with Lola in his arms. I was a hysterical, blubbering mess at that point, but he was so kind and patient with me. He walked with me all the way to the nearest pet shop so I could get my baby a new collar, carrying Lola the entire time and chatting with me the whole way there. I was so embarrassed with the situation and how much my dog was drooling and shedding all over him, but he didn’t care. I’ll never forget what he did for me that day. I’ll always remember how nice he was, and I’m forever grateful for the notes list he airdropped me of all his favorite thrift shops in New York. Dude knows some super obscure but highly underrated spots! I’ve scored some of my best finds this summer thanks to his recs. I’d really prefer to gatekeep, but if enough of you ask, I’ll share the list he gave me in the comments.”
“Listen here, Mr. Jameson! I’m not one for posting videos on the web too often, but I had to come on here to make sure you knew that Spider-Man is a sweetheart who stands up for what’s right! When me and my girls attended the Women’s March last October, we were met with a giant mob of anti-feminist counter protesters shouting obscene things at us and waving around all kinds of hateful signs and flags. They were making everyone feel very unsafe, and a lot of people were considering leaving despite really wanting to be there to fight for our rights as human beings.
“To all of our surprise and delight, Spider-Man came swinging from the rooftops to our rescue. He started covering their repulsive signs with spider webs and even snatched the megaphone right out of their leader’s hands! Every time they tried yelling more horrible things at us, he would drown them out by singing ‘Run The World’ by Beyonce as loud as he could or blasting ‘God is a woman’ into the megaphone. It was hilarious! Eventually, the counter protesters got so frustrated by his schemes, they all left in a big huff, and we were able to finish the march in peace. Now, does that sound like a menace to you? I should hope not! Unless you fancy yourself one of those backwards-thinking woman-haters, you’d better start respecting Spider-Man for the darling young man he is!”
“I never planned to tell anybody this story. But with everyone sharing their experiences with Spidey, I felt like it was time to share mine.
“Two months ago, I hit a low that felt inescapable. I looked at my life, my loneliness, the state of the world, my lukewarm relationships, my shitty job, the endless repetition of each and every day, and thought: this is really it, isn’t it? This is all I have to look forward to for the rest of my existence. I felt so heavy and weary and broken, and was ready to just stop feeling altogether.
“I was standing on the roof of my apartment building when he showed up. My feet were poking over the edge, and I was envisioning what my body might look like once I hit the pavement. I didn’t know much about Spider-Man at the time, but when he started speaking to me, I remember he sounded a lot younger than I expected. You don’t anticipate New York’s public enemy number one to have a voice that reminds you of your 17-year-old nephew, y’know? And based on the way he was acting, I’m pretty sure this was his first time dealing with this kinda situation.
“He asked me if I wanted to talk before I did anything else. I admitted that I didn’t, and suggested he leave unless he wanted to get blamed for what I was about to do. I couldn’t see any outcome of that evening that didn’t end with me dead in the street, but that didn’t mean I wanted anyone to have to witness it—or worse, feel like they were somehow responsible. Even if Spider-Man was as rotten as the news said, no one—especially a kid—deserves that.
“I told him again and again to beat it. He kept asking if there was anyone he could call, anything he could say, something he could do. I was getting flustered and impatient, and spun around to yell at him to leave me the hell alone. Guess I turned a bit too aggressively, ‘cuz I wound up tripping over my own feet and falling backwards off the roof.
I dropped about six or seven floors down before Spidey caught me. He started dishing out a million apologies, insisting that was the exact opposite of what he was trying to accomplish, and I couldn’t help but laugh. As he carried me to the ground and placed me on the sidewalk, I kept laughing and laughing until I was crying, and eventually that crying turned into uncontrollable sobs. I think those couple of seconds of free-falling flipped a switch in me or something. There was this explosion of all these conflicting emotions going on in the moments before and after he saved me, and maybe that made me—I don’t know, actually see the finality of what I was doing or whatever. While weeping like a fucking baby, I started ranting about how much I hated my life and all the stupid shit that had gotten me to the point where I was ready to off myself. I must’ve sounded batshit crazy, but Spider-Man sat there with me through it all until I’d run out of tears and things to say. Kid’s no quack, that’s for sure, but he tried his best to help. He bribed me into talking to the suicide hotline people by trading me Dratini on Pokemon Go. I’d been trying to find one of those for ages, and that little bastard had three! I think being able to swing from place to place on that webbing of his gives him an unfair advantage against the rest of us.
“Anyways. All this to say, Spidey saved my life that day. He didn’t impart any profound wisdom that suddenly made everything all sunshine and rainbows. He didn’t make any vacuous promises that everything would eventually be okay in the end. He just stayed, listened, said some stuff that made me laugh, and reminded me of the small things that make me happy—things I can build on and am willing to stick around for to continue enjoying for the time being. He may not be a hero in everyone’s eyes, but he’ll always be one in mine.
“So if you’re ever having a bad day and happen to bump into Spider-Man, make him trade you a Dratini on Pokemon Go. By now I’m sure he has, like, forty.”
The video started to play again, but Ned closed the TikTok app and his phone along with it, turning to his friend in disbelief.
“I didn’t know you saved someone from taking their own life,” he said in quiet awe.
Peter slowly looked up from the screen, then smiled somberly, hunching his shoulders to his ears. “Like she said, I had no clue what I was doing. Someone else could’ve helped a lot better than I did. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time that night. It’s good to see she’s doing all right.”
Ned slipped his phone into his pocket without dropping his gaze from Peter’s face. “No wonder Johnny is trying so hard to get you to talk about yourself more online,” he gaped. “You do the most crazy heroic stuff every night, and hardly anyone knows about it! Including your best friend! Why don’t you tell me or anyone else about things like this more often?”
Peter took a big bite out of his hot dog, squinting against the blinding June sun. “I don’t know,” he murmured shyly. “I mean—you heard what that lady said. She guessed I was a teenager based just on my voice. And now fifty thousand people have watched her video and are probably connecting the same dots. The more people talk about me and the more visible Spider-Man becomes, the harder it’ll be to stay anonymous and keep the stuff I don’t want the public to know about me from being discovered.”
Like, say, my insanely huge crush on the Human Torch? he thought with a prickle of dread.
“I think there’s a certain level of anonymity you’re going to have to sacrifice in order to make people trust Spidey more,” Ned told him pointedly. “I’m not saying ‘take off your mask and show your face to the world’ or anything. But if you and Johnny and others start speaking honestly about you more often, then yeah, people might suspect that you’re on the younger side, and sure, more of your interests and quirks and insecurities may come to light.” Ned dunked his jumbo soft pretzel in cheese sauce. “But I think that’s worth it if it means more people being forced to acknowledge what a badass superhero you are.”
Peter wiped the mustard from his lips with a napkin, followed by the sheen of sweat on his forehead with his sleeve. “You really think so? You’re not worried about people digging a little too deep as, y’know—more and more of me starts showing through in Spider-Man’s public persona?”
Ned giggled. “Personally, I don’t think Peter Parker is showing through enough. Just look what one person speaking truthfully about you has led to! Now there’s thousands of videos and posts out there that prove you’re a good person! Isn’t it great to hear people speaking kindly about you for a change? Doesn’t it feel nice knowing that all the citizens you’ve helped and the good you’ve done hasn’t gone unnoticed after all?”
Peter sipped thoughtfully from his lemonade straw. He’d been so overwhelmed by the enormity of the response to Johnny’s call for Spider-Man anecdotes, he’d hardly allowed himself to acknowledge the substance of the content being shared, and how flattering a picture it painted of the webhead—a picture he’d never before seen reflected in the media until today. Since donning the mask at fourteen, Peter couldn't recall a time when Spider-Man’s name and image had gone viral online for positive reasons. To this day, a relentless onslaught of Spidey hate-posts were still being churned out minute by minute. But for once, the supportive ones seemed to outweigh the scornful.
Yes, it did feel nice, he decided. To an almost foreign and inconceivable degree. Despite remembering every moment with every person he’d watched recount an interaction with the vigilante, as he listened to them share their stories and shower him in words of gratitude, it still felt like they were talking about someone else. Not Spider-Man. Not Peter Parker. Not him.
“To be honest, it all kinda feels a bit too good to be true,” he admitted. “Being endorsed by one of the most popular celebrities in the world I’m sure has a lot to do with it, and it’s possible people are only saying kind things about me in hopes of catching his attention or being featured on his channel.” He ventured a small smile. “Still, I guess you’re right. It is nice. Maybe not everyone views Spidey the way Jameson does.”
“Yeah,” Ned agreed, cracking a grin. “Maybe people actually like Spider-Man.”
Peter shrugged, forcing nonchalance despite the unfamiliar ring of warmth circling his heart, irradiating him with bright spurs of hope. “Maybe,” he conceded softly.
“In fact, maybe one specific person likes Spider-Man more than everyone else,” Ned added with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. When Peter met his gaze with a clueless stare, Ned groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Johnny! The Human Torch! You know, the guy going out of his way to tell everyone how wonderful and amazing you are? The dude putting his entire image and career on the line to prove you’re not a menace? The person we’ve been standing in the baking sun in this endless fucking line for almost four hours to meet?”
Peter blinked stupidly, then peered ahead at the long, wobbly queue of teens and college kids and superhero fanatics standing alongside children dressed in Fantastic Four costumes crying in their parents arms. About a quarter of a mile in the distance stood the tall, colorful pop-up booth that held the promise everyone here was willing to roast and sweat and hold out for: a few moments of face-to-face time with one Johnny Storm.
To their left were the three much shorter lines for the remaining members of the Fantastic Four. Ned had already made it through each of them to get his Funko Pops signed while Peter held their spot in the ridiculously lengthy Johnny queue. As usual, the fan favorite of the team was painfully obvious, which granted Peter a small nugget of relief. Despite his new association with the web-slinger, Johnny’s popularity seemed as intact and resilient as ever. He could only hope it would stay that way.
Peter flushed a little at Ned’s insinuation and tried rerouting the conversation. “Do I have to remind you that you’re the one who dragged both of us here in the first place?”
“No. Just saying. You’re already reaping so many benefits of being the object of Johnny’s desire. Maybe if you put on the suit and made use of that irresistible Spidey charm, the two of us could skip to the front of the line.”
“I am not…” Peter started to retort, cheeks burning in the heat of the sun. But the look on his friend’s face verified it was pointless, so he scarfed down the rest of his hot dog with a line between his eyebrows. “I already told him Spider-Man wasn’t coming,” he mumbled. “Besides. I thought the whole point of this was for him to see Peter again, not Spider-Man.”
“Wrong. The point of this is so lowly little lay people such as myself have the chance to meet a few of our heroes in person. You seeing Johnny again is our secret special side mission, but let’s be real: you get to see him all the time! I haven’t met him once! Quit being so greedy!”
A quick laugh punched out of Peter, surprised and chagrined. “Fine, all right, I’m sorry. Do you really want me to abuse my Spidey privileges and jump you to the front of the line? If you’re seriously that upset about waiting, I could try—”
Ne waved him off. “No, no,” he grumbled, fanning himself with a handful of napkins. “I’m just hot and sweaty and impatient, and complaining about it loudly makes it a little less unbearable.”
Peter chuckled, combing his fingers through his damp curls. “That’s valid.”
The line scooched a couple paces ahead of them, forming a gap the two friends were quick to breach. Ned checked his watch again—the third time in the last five minutes—groaned, then bunched up all the garbage he held in his fists.
“This is nuts! I could go through all three other lines again and meet the rest of the Fantastic Four a second time before we even get halfway through this one.”
Peter swatted at a fly buzzing by his ear. “Why don’t you?” he proposed. “Better than standing here whining at me for the next two to seven hours.”
Ned glanced back at him, a smile lighting up his face. “Why don’t you?” he counter offered. “This is probably your only chance to talk to all of them as yourself, not Spider-Man. Why not take a break from being a superhero and go be a fan for a change?”
Curiosity and uncertainty sparred in Peter’s chest as he turned to look at the three other queues. He hadn’t even considered meeting the other Fantastic Four members at this event. He didn’t think they’d have time, but now it was clear they had an overwhelming abundance to kill.
Peter ran his thumb along his bottom lip in thought. Well…why don’t I? he wondered to himself. It wasn’t like he planned on revealing his secret identity to them anytime soon. It might be nice to meet them again as his regular self: a civilian and a fan, without all the baggage and presumptions that came with his spidery alter ego. During their initial introductions, he’d never had the chance to say the things he’d planned on saying or make the impression he’d wanted. This could be a kind of do-over for him—if only to satiate his neglected inner fanboy.
“You’d be fine waiting here for me if I went?” Peter asked timidly.
“Of course! You already did the same for me. I’m gonna keep moaning and complaining whether you’re here or not; might as well spare you the headache.” He dumped the handfuls of garbage in his fists into Peter’s unexpecting arms. “Plus, you can throw all this out on your way over there. Win-win.”
“Wow, thanks,” Peter deadpanned amusedly, struggling not to drop any remnants of their greasy snack haul. He stepped out of line towards the trash cans flanking the Thing’s queue. “Text me if you’re nearing the front and I’m not back yet.”
“Try not to get on Dr. Storm’s bad side a second time,” Ned suggested unhelpfully. Peter cut a frown in his direction as he dumped an armful of napkins and wrappers in the bin, then walked to stand in Ben Grimm’s line.
It only took about thirty minutes for Peter to make it to the Thing’s booth. The craggy mountain of a man stood behind a table overflowing with toys and action figures and other Thing merchandise available for purchase. The wall behind him had all sorts of shirts and posters bearing his likeness pinned up along with the prices. “All Proceeds Go To Local NYC Animal Shelters” the sign above Ben’s head read. Peter swept his gaze across the overflowing piles and stacks of Thing memorabilia. He wondered if anyone would buy stuff like this if it were Spider-Man themed. Possibly—if only to douse it in gasoline and light it aflame as an effigy to their disgust.
“Well? Yah just gonna stand there and gawk? Or y’gonna come say hi?”
Stiffening, Peter lifted his eyes to meet the Thing’s. He had the harsh, beastly features of a man transformed into a weapon of mass destruction, more than capable of leveling several city blocks before anyone could slow him down. He’d witnessed the power Ben Grimm possessed firsthand, and had very nearly been squashed by it. But blinking within that brutal exterior were a pair of eyes begetting a gentle and inviting kindness—one that likely impeded most children from bursting into tears at the sight of him, and enough to ease Peter’s initial concern.
“Oh, I—right. Sorry.” Peter approached the stand with a sting of urgency, not wanting to keep others waiting. Ben flashed him a grin that looked less like a grin and more like a grimace.
“What can I do yah for, kiddo?” the Thing asked spiritedly. “Photos? Signed trading cards? A T-shirt with my handsome mug on it? It’s for a good cause. All the money goes to lil’ pups and kitties in need.” He pointed to the giant sign above him in case Peter had somehow missed it. Peter hinted a smile.
“That’s okay,” he said, not seeing anything he could afford anyway. “I was actually hoping to ask you a question.”
Ben raised one rocky eyebrow and scratched his scarp of a jaw. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Ask away then, squirt.”
“What are your favorite and least favorite things about your teammates?”
Ben threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “Audacious today, aren’t we? You want the on-the-record answer, or the off one?”
“Just the truth,” he answered simply. The Thing smiled and nodded.
“The truth. All right, then. I’ll start with my good pal Reed.” He shot a glance to his right, where his friend was sitting one booth over. “My favorite thing about Reed is his passion for pushing science beyond its current limitations to solve the world’s biggest problems and help those in need. Coincidentally,” the Thing added with a snort of contempt, “that’s also my least favorite thing about him, since his obsession with progress and making new discoveries tends to get him and the people closest to him in a lot of trouble.”
Next, Ben turned to his right, where Susan stood about twenty feet away posing with a little girl dressed up like her. “My favorite thing about Sue is how much she cares about this team and how hard she works to prove our value and virtue to the world. No one advocates on our behalf more than she does, and she’s incredibly protective of every one of us. She truly views the Fantastic Four as her family.” Clouds rolled across his expression as his eyes fell to the grass. “My least favorite thing is how much pressure she puts on herself. She worries so much about the wants and needs of others, she winds up neglecting her own. If the things she plans don’t go perfectly, she beats herself up about it. If one of us makes a mistake, she feels like she’s somehow responsible for it. She was forced to grow up so fast and be a caretaker from such a young age, I think she’s kinda perpetually stuck in that mindset. I’d love to see her do something indulgent and selfish for a change.”
Peter blinked up at the superhero with curious eyes. Perhaps it was crass of him to think this way, but he was surprised to hear such a thoughtful and discerning character analysis come from the mouth of someone who was strong enough to tear a person in two with his bare hands. He looked towards the Invisible Woman and felt a small twist in his chest.
“And as for Johnny,” Ben grumbled out, a noticeable irritation entering his tone, “oh, boy. Where do I begin with that one? Kid’s been the biggest pain in my backside since the first day I met ‘em. I can give you plenty of things I can’t stand about Johnny: his temper, his stubbornness, his complete lack of respect for authority, his mile-high ego. You know he once bedazzled the words ‘hard ass’ in the middle part of my back where I can’t reach while I was sleeping? Bastard’s lucky he can fly, or else I would’ve pummeled him to coal dust long ago.” He nodded in Peter’s direction. “He’s nothing like you. You seem like the polite, humble sort with a solid head on your shoulders. Johnny could learn a thing or two from a young man such as yourself.”
A coy chuckle floated from Peter’s throat. “So there’s nothing you like about him?” he prompted the Thing hesitantly. Ben crinkled his nose.
“Hmm. Let me think.” He gave his wide chin a few thoughtful taps. “I suppose despite everything I just said, I know for a fact that if it came down to it, Johnny would risk his neck to save me, and anyone else on this team. Even though the two of us constantly butt heads, deep down I know he’s a decent kid who’s been dealt a very crazy hand in life, and he’s doing his best to navigate it. So there. I’ll give him that much.”
Sounds about right, Peter mused with a smile. The teen stood on his tiptoes to try to catch a glimpse of Johnny above the heads of the people in Dr. Storm’s line, but he couldn’t find a gap in the tightly packed crowds.
“Did that answer your question, squirt?” the Thing grunted impatiently.
“What about you?” Peter said. “What are your favorite and least favorite things about yourself?”
Ben let out a cackle. “That’s an easy one! My favorite thing about myself is I have the power to clobber anyone who tries to hurt my friends.” He held out his hand and wiggled the four pudgy, sausage-sized fingers attached to it. “My least favorite thing has to be how huge and useless my fingers are now. I mean, just look at ‘em! Try scrolling on a cell phone or using chopsticks with these meat hooks! It ain’t happening.”
The security guard standing to Ben’s left cleared his throat and gestured sharply with his head, signaling that it was time for Peter to move along. Peter’s grin dropped as he straightened his spine.
“Right. Sorry.” He eyed the donation box on the table and dug around in his pockets for loose change. “Uh, thanks a lot, Mr. Grimm. Great talking to you. And good luck with the fundraiser.” Peter managed to scrounge up one quarter, three nickels, and a pair of dirty, blackened pennies. He gingerly dropped them into the jar and hurried off before Ben tried to sell him a Thing prayer candle.
Next up was Mr. Fantastic himself. As Peter waited his turn in the shortest of the four lines, he watched the bright-eyed scientist act equally shocked and delighted every time somebody wanted to get his autograph or take a photo with him. Adults and children alike exclaimed in awe whenever he stretched his arms abnormally long to embrace entire families and friend groups for pictures.
Peter saw a lot of himself in Reed Richards. Without their flashy costumes or supernatural abilities, the two of them were nothing more than science-obsessed nerds whom most of society wouldn’t blink twice at. Fame and notoriety outside the field of scientific discovery were never in the cards for people like them—until those things were thrust upon the pair by some strange endeavor of the universe with a terrible sense of humor.
Outside of being a superhero, at least Reed had the Baxter Foundation to his name. Peter wondered if he’d ever achieve something like that. He could see his future self working at an institution like Baxter or Stark Industries someday, but he doubted he’d ever own his own company. Spider-Manning already ate up too much of his free time, and his number one priority would always be helping out the little guy. Unless he founded a company focused exclusively on that, he didn’t want any part of it.
But that was for older Peter to worry about. Right now, present Peter’s only priority was being a fan and geeking out.
“Hello there!” Reed greeted him as Peter stepped up to his booth. “Welcome to the Fantastic Four’s First Annual Fundraiser! How are you doing today?”
“I wrote my finals essay about you,” Peter heard himself blurt out with a little too much enthusiasm. Perhaps he’d underestimated how excited he’d be to talk to one of his idols as himself and discuss things he wasn’t able to mention as Spider-Man, since it would reveal he was in high school. Immediately, Peter cringed and reddened, giving his head a quick shake. “Sorry—your book, I mean. On aerospace engineering and astrophysics. I wrote a paper about it. ‘Cuz, y’know. It was amazing. And you’re amazing. I’m gonna shut up now.”
Reed chuckled cheerfully. “No, please—keep talking! I rarely ever meet anyone at these events who’s managed to make it through one of my baroque publications—or greater still, actually comprehended them enough to write an essay on their content. And at such a young age, no less! How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” Peter replied. Richards gawked.
“And you read all fourteen hundred pages of ‘Engineering the New Age of Aerospace Exploration’?”
“I’ve read all seven of your books,” Peter clarified, scratching his neck with a shy grin. “But ‘Aerospace Exploration’ was my favorite.”
Mr. Fantastic beamed brighter than the glaring sun overhead. “You’re kidding! Holy cow! The only sixteen-year-old I’m around on a daily basis spends his free time coiffing his hair for hours on end and antagonizing his sister. It would do Johnny good to see what other people his age are capable of accomplishing with some discipline and dedication.” Reed extended his hand, which Peter took timidly in his own, and gave it an eager shake. “Please tell me you’re planning to pursue a career in the field of science.”
“That’s the dream,” Peter assured him.
Richards pawed at his pocket-less costume in search of something urgent, cursed, then ducked under the table to scour the nooks of his abandoned suit jacket. He popped upright a few seconds later with a card between his fingers and a triumphant look on his face. He held the piece of paper out to Peter.
“Call me whenever you’re in the market for a job or an internship. I’d love to sit down and really get to know you and what you aspire to do with that extraordinary mind of yours, and how the Baxter Foundation might help you achieve your goals. And I’m very interested in reading what you had to say about my book.”
Peter lit up like a firecracker. “Really?” he exclaimed, accepting the card from him. “You actually—I just—thank you, Dr. Richards! That would be amazing. I’ve always wanted the chance to pick your brain on quantum particle physics and zero distance string theory.”
“Even more reason to look forward to our conversation,” Reed said spiritedly.
Peter slipped the card into his back pocket and ran a hand down the front of his T-shirt. “Now I’m kicking myself for not bringing something for you to sign,” he admitted with a giggle.
Richards’ smile widened. “Whenever we meet to chat, I’ll bring you a signed copy of ‘Aerospace Exploration.’ How does that sound?”
“Like I’d better buy a lottery ticket on my way home while my luck is this good.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Mr. Fantastic insisted, sending the teen on his way with a wave and a grin. “We’ll talk soon, yes?”
Peter nodded fervidly, even though he had no idea how or when he’d be able to make that happen. He didn’t dare meet up with him at Avengers Tower; too great a chance of that legendary intellect of his connecting the dots between the excitable teenager and the masked vigilante with the two in such close proximity. And technically speaking, Peter Parker already had an internship—with Stark Industries. It was mostly a cover-up for his time spent with Tony as Spider-Man, but it could still make starting a second one complicated. Perhaps he shouldn’t pursue that kind of thing with the Baxter Foundation at all, just to be safe. He was more interested in meeting with Reed Richards just to talk science shop anyway; working at his company might have to wait until a later date.
The third booth before Johnny’s had the most diverse collection of fans in line: chittering, giggly little girls next to men and boys who looked like they had a history of getting kicked out of baseball stadiums. As Peter neared the front, he peeked between the patrons ahead of him to catch a glimpse of Dr. Susan Storm’s table and fan merch, only to find it empty. Well, not empty of merch—there were enough hoodies, bobble heads, hats, and fridge magnets to fill a Fantastic Four memorabilia museum. But Sue herself was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she’d left for a break away from the mob of sweaty patrons. That’s what Peter figured, anyway—until he saw a floating pen autographing a child’s drawing all by itself, as if possessed by a ghost. Peter blinked, his brain not comprehending what his eyes were seeing. Then a hand suddenly bloomed into existence, holding the pen in its fingers, followed by the rest of the person signing the piece of paper. Visibility cascaded across Susan Storm’s torso and limbs, her head being the last part of her to regain opacity. The crowd ooohed and aaawed in amazement.
“There you go,” Sue said, offering the drawing back to the little boy. The kid squealed with excitement, bringing a smile to the Invisible Woman’s face that actually looked genuine for a change. The child’s parents thanked her profusely, adding a thick wad of cash to the donation box as they herded their offspring away. Only a few people left ahead of Peter.
“Can we get a group picture?” the men in front of him asked, looking a tad too eager for Peter's liking. Susan hesitated for only an instant, eyes darting between them, then nodded and stood from her chair.
“Of course,” she said, motioning the men forward. “Gather ‘round, folks.”
Whispering and snickering, the four guys surrounded the young woman. Two on her left, two on her right, two large hands snaking around her waist. Something prickly twisted in Peter’s gut. Once they were in position, Sue smiled for the photo, but with her jaw clenched taut.
“One, two, three!” the photographer called before snapping a string of pictures. The moment her obligation was fulfilled, Sue’s palms dropped to her sides, but the men kept their arms glued to her flanks.
“Let’s do one more,” the shortest of the four men insisted, peeling into a grin that made Peter’s skin crawl. “This time, Susie dear, why don’t you make your whole body invisible except the parts that matter: that scrumptious ass and those delicious tits.”
The men cackled, including an awkward laugh from the photographer and a few nasty giggles from some people behind Peter. Shock collided with rage in Peter’s blood. He watched the fake smile on Sue’s face snuff out like a candle flame. Exhausted irritation dulled the blue of her eyes to an icy pewter. Her muted reaction indicated this behavior was something she encountered far too often, which lanced Peter with renewed fury.
“You guys are pigs,” Peter snapped, stepping forward with his hands curled into fists. Susan shoved the men off of her with a look of controlled boredom.
“Ah, c’mon darling! We’re just messing with yah! Don’t be like that! We’ll make an extra-large donation if you do it! Ugh—how come bitches can’t ever take a joke?”
While Peter was debating which angle to punch his face from first, Sue turned towards the chortling men like a wolf cornering a wounded deer. She had the posture and cadence of a person well-versed in standing up to assholes like this on the regular.
“One fun thing I learned about my powers recently,” the Invisible Woman said, face schooled into a blank expression. “I can create force fields inside other objects and expand them until they explode. It’s rather fun, actually. I’ve blown up water bottles, boiled eggs, mayonnaise jars, bricks. But you know what I haven’t tested it on yet?” Her eyes narrowed. “The human body.”
The men’s ugly grins wobbled.
“I wonder what would happen if I expanded a force field inside your liver? Or your kidney? Your pulmonary valve, perhaps?” Her gaze flicked to the shortest man’s receding hairline. “Or maybe inside that balding head of yours.”
Tiny blue spheres sprung to life in the center of her palm and started swirling between her fingers in a smooth, threatening dance. She held them out towards the men as they spun and swelled bigger, bigger, bigger. “So if you’re interested in keeping the parts of your bodies that matter intact, I suggest you leave. Now.” The three force fields combined into one and shot forward, making the men flinch. The disk of concentrated power slipped underneath the donation bin and lifted it off the table; the box hovered to a stop right below the four assholes’ noses. “Be sure to leave a generous contribution on your way out. One big enough to reflect the scope of my phenomenal self-restraint.”
Slowly, shamefully, the men exchanged hesitant looks, beads of sweat glimmering on their foreheads. Then, grumbling to themselves, they began groping around for their wallets, averting their eyes from Dr. Storm’s menacing glare.
Once they’d paid their penance, a security guard shepherded the assholes away from Sue’s booth. Rigidly, the Invisible Woman returned to her seat behind the table, forcing the ice to melt from her expression as she heaved a weary sigh. Anger spilled into sorrow at the hideous treatment Peter had just watched her endure. She’d handled it remarkably, leaving no space for anyone to believe that speaking to her like that was okay—but that didn’t make what happened any less demoralizing. On top of being a superhero, working round the clock to keep her brother out of trouble, and managing all of the Fantastic Four’s public relations, Dr. Storm was saddled with pressures that neither Peter nor her teammates would ever bear or understand. Perhaps her being expected to handle all those responsibilities in the first place was indicative of the pressures she as a female superhero experienced. Peter didn’t see Ben or Reed going out of their way to set up talk show interviews or put on events like this, nor were they likely to take the fall should those exploits go horribly wrong. And they certainly weren’t being publicly degraded by disgusting men.
Everything she did—organizing fan events, advocating for her team, fortifying their public image, dealing with misogynistic assholes with poise and class rather than slugging them between the eyes like they deserved—it was all to protect her family. Including being distrustful of Spider-Man, he realized with a pang. Peter could relate to the proclivity to keep the wall-crawler as far from one’s loved ones as possible: he’d forged the identity of the masked vigilante for that very purpose.
Even though they expressed it in different ways, there was one trait Sue and Johnny shared that was both their strength and their curse: how deeply they cared about things, even at their own expense.
Susan cast her gaze across the busy park, gauging how the event was going so far, taking inventory of the attendees and the overflowing trash cans and the insufficient amount of shade, deducting what she could do to make sure everything and everyone was happy and taken care of. Peter could practically see the rapid-fire calculations running behind her eyes as he approached the Invisible Woman like a hiker tip-toeing across a frozen lake.
“Hi,” he greeted her carefully. Peter watched Dr. Storm’s far-off gaze snap back into focus, eyes blinking as they jerked up to find his.
“Oh—hello,” Susan said. Her soft smile returned, although it took a few moments to reach her eyes. She sat up tall and breathed with intention, reactivating her cheerful fan-service persona. “Sorry about all that. I hope I didn’t scare you. I probably could’ve handled that without threatening to blow someone up from the inside out.” She let out a weak laugh, face going pale. “Which I would never actually do, by the way. Oh god—why did I say that?”
“They got off easy in my opinion,” Peter reassured her. “I think they deserved a ruptured kidney or two. A couple popped blood vessels at least.”
Sue deflated in relief, glad she hadn’t scarred a teenage fan for life, then chuckled. “I like you already,” she decided.
“I’m…sorry they talked to you that way,” Peter said carefully. “It’s messed up that you have to deal with people like that.”
Dr. Storm did a quick scan of his face, expression gentle and welcoming. Much different from the hard scowl he was met with whenever she spoke to him in costume. Then she gave a nonchalant wave.
“It’s all right. Dealing with the occasional jerk just makes me that much more grateful when I get to talk to real fans like you.” Clearly ready to move on from the subject, she gestured to all the different trinkets and merch stacked across the table. “See anything you like? Do you have any pets? We have Fantastic Four dog toys now. My brother’s is currently the fan favorite, and it’s quite fun watching the pups chew on his face with such enthusiasm.” She squeaked one of the toys in her hand for emphasis.
Peter smiled at the Human Torch plush, which had little felt flames poking out of its hair. “Johnny is really lucky to have a sister like you,” he thought out loud. He wasn’t sure if what he was about to say would cross some unspoken Susan Storm boundary, but he continued anyway. “It’s really inspiring to me—how you stepped up to take care of him after going through so much loss. Most people aren’t capable of that kind of strength or bravery.” He lowered his gaze, scratching at his forearm. “I was raised by a family member who stepped in to help after I lost my parents, too. I’ve spent the last decade watching her struggle and make sacrifices to shape me into a good person and give me a happy life. She never wanted kids, but she took me in and treated me as her own without hesitation. What she’s done for me—and what you’ve done for Johnny—I think it’s one of the most selfless and heroic things a person can do. I’ll never be able to repay the debt I owe her, but it’s people like you and her who make me want to dedicate my life to helping others.” He bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged. “I just…wanted you to know that.”
When Peter’s gaze lifted to Sue’s after his soapbox was complete, he was startled to find her eyes flooded with tears. She and Johnny really were a lot more alike than either of them wanted to admit. The Invisible Woman pressed a finger to a droplet on her cheek with a look of disbelief, as if she, too, was shocked by her reaction. Peter swallowed, skin flushing with regret.
“I—I’m sorry, Dr. Storm. I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to make you—”
“It’s okay,” she laughed in a broken, watery voice. “I’m okay, really. I don’t know what’s come over me. That just—” She dabbed frantically under her eyes, trying her best not to smear her makeup. “— really caught me by surprise. Phew. I just—I always feel like I’m failing him, y’know? Like I have no clue what the hell I’m doing, like everything I say just drives a larger wedge between us. Like maybe I should’ve read a book or a manual on parenthood or being an older sibling and a parent at the same time or something, but…” She sniffled, fighting to resurrect her stoic mask of strength and impenetrability. “But…um…thank you. That was…very kind of you to say.”
“Of course,” Peter said with a cautious smile. Ben was right: Susan Storm put way too much pressure on herself, and clearly deserved far more recognition for her altruistic spirit than Peter or anyone else awarded her. It felt good to do something that made her feel appreciated for once, instead of apprehensive and pissed off. Even if she never warmed up to Spider-Man, Peter didn’t have the heart to hold it against her. Her disapproval was derived not from malice, but from the need to protect the person they both cared so much about. He shifted his weight between his feet. “Unrelated, but I’m also super invested in your research on the molecular mechanisms of microbial life forms that allow certain species to survive in outer space. Are you planning to conduct any new experiments soon?”
Dr. Storm stared at him like he had grown a second head. “How do you know about that?” she asked bewilderedly.
Peter frowned. “Wasn’t that one of the things you were researching during your space mission in February? Y’know—before the particle cloud hit?”
Sue scoffed. “Yes, but hardly anyone knows about it. With Reed’s research on hyperspace travel being the mission’s primary objective and everything that followed after the cosmic rays struck our starship, my little passion project on microorganisms in space was understandably overshadowed.”
“Well, I liked it,” Peter countered with a grin. “Your experiments with the ways the outer space environment can affect microbes’ cell metabolism, proliferation rate, cell motility, virulence, and biofilm production were fascinating, especially the parts evidencing the resilience of extremophilic microbial species. If you do decide to continue your research, know that you’ll be making one very nerdy fan who spends way too much time scouring through biochemistry news forums extremely happy.”
Susan Storm smiled the most authentic smile Peter had ever seen her direct his way. “I doubt I’ll ever find the time or funding to explore that research any farther,” she admitted, interlacing her hands on top of the table. She gave him a small nod. “But…I’ll look into it. One science nerd to another.”
Peter mirrored her smile tenfold. “Awesome!” he exclaimed. “Maybe I can write my next analysis essay on your future findings. This research could help us understand how beings like Captain Marvel and the Asgardians are able to survive deep space travel at the molecular level without their bodily fluids boiling or the air being vacuumed from their lungs or—”
“Peter!”
The teenager flinched, head whipping towards the sound of his name. Across the lawn, he spotted Ned in Johnny’s line, only a few people away from the very front, hopping up and down and waving his arms around like his hair was on fire. He could hardly believe how far the line had moved since he’d left. How long had he been gone? Peter threw his friend a quick thumbs-up, then turned back to Dr. Storm.
“Going to see my brother next?” Susan asked, crinkling her nose with feigned disgust. “Could you go ahead and repeat all those nice things you said about me being a selfless and heroic sister to him? Y’know, remind him how lucky he is to have such a committed and loving older sibling? Oh,” she added, snagging something from under the table, “and would you mind giving this to him? Us Storms burn like goddamn marshmallows on days like this.”
Sue handed him the item, which appeared to be a bottle of some kind of fancy Korean sunscreen. The thought of a guy who could light his whole body on fire being susceptible to sunburn made Peter giggle softly to himself. His heart buoyed at the thought of all the little things Susan remembered and did like this to show how much she cared for Johnny. She truly loved her brother, despite the message getting lost in translation more often than not.
“I’m on it,” Peter promised, waving back at her as he stepped away from the booth. “Really great meeting you! Sorry again for making you cry! You’re amazing!”
Susan chuckled. “Great meeting you too, Peter.”
Peter startled. He didn’t remember telling her his name. He supposed she must’ve heard when Ned screamed it at him from Johnny’s line. Too bad she’d never know that Peter—the nerdy fan she’d deemed kind and trustworthy—was also the masked vigilante she considered a menace and a threat.
Peter jogged across the field to meet his friend, who looked about ready to burst with excitement.
“Thank god!” Ned exclaimed, grabbing Peter by the sleeve and dragging him back into the queue. “You weren’t answering your phone! I was in full panic mode thinking you weren’t gonna make it in time!” Ned noticed the bottle in his hand and scowled. “What is that? A souvenir?”
“Sunscreen,” Peter said. “For Johnny. Dr. Storm asked me to give it to him. Apparently he sunburns easily.”
Ned met his gaze, stunned. “For real? Aw! She entrusted you with a quest! I guess Peter Parker made a better first impression with her than Spider-Man did, huh?”
Peter shrugged. “Guess so. With all three of them, actually. Probably has something to do with my big brown doe eyes and dumb squishy baby face. That’s how Mr. Stark describes them, anyway—which I hate.”
Ned snickered. “Let’s see if your doe eyes and baby face work on the Human Torch, too.”
The two friends scooched another couple steps forward in line, and the smooth wave of Johnny Storm’s sunset-gold hair caught Peter’s eye past the shoulder of the woman in front of him, quickly followed by a glimpse of his angular jaw, a flash of that zany smile. The fans he was currently speaking to moved aside, squealing to each other and shouting their “thanks yous” and “goodbyes” as they scampered away, arms loaded with autographed Johnny merch, and suddenly there was only one person between them and the Human Torch. He was mere minutes from meeting him as Peter Parker once again. Not as Spider-Man—a daring superhero with a life of thrills and adventure, whom Johnny considered his equal and friend—but as himself. Peter Benjamin Parker. An awkward, unpopular loser whose greatest adversaries prior to gaining powers had been overdue electricity bills and high school bullies. Not that those things had gone away after he’d become Spider-Man, per se. He just had bigger problems to deal with alongside them.
None of this should’ve bothered him, seeing how Peter would just be another random fan for Johnny to forget about the moment he left his direct line of vision. But a tiny, paranoid voice caressed his mind with ice-cold whispers, revving the excited thump of Peter’s pulse to a wild roar: What if he finds you out? What if he realizes it’s you? What if he recognizes your voice? Your demeanor? Your weird nervous habits? It was pretty easy to keep people who knew him only as Peter from discovering he was Spider-Man; no one suspected a guy as scrawny and nerdy as him to be lifting cars over his head or fighting off feral space aliens. But this was the first time someone who knew Spider-Man extremely well was meeting his boring civilian counterpart more than once. What if Johnny clocked him the moment he opened his mouth?
Eager anticipation careened into nauseous anxiety. He grabbed Ned’s wrist, feet rooted in place, sunlight searing the back of his neck.
“This was a mistake,” Peter croaked out, watching Johnny form a little heart-shaped flame in his palms while the girl in front of them took a video. He jerked his head left and right. “M-maybe we should just—”
Immediately, Ned tore out of his friend’s grip. “Oh, no,” he said, wrapping both arms around Peter’s elbow as tight as a constrictor snake and hauling him forward like a sack of potatoes. “No way am I letting you chicken out now. Not after six hours of waiting for this exact moment.”
Peter dug his heels in the hard dirt beneath them, throat dry, palms clammy. “Ned, wait—you don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly, ” his friend interceded. “You’re nervous, and that’s okay! This is a complex emotional situation you’re stepping into. But we’re not gonna let some last-minute nerves get in the way of you and Johnny’s highly anticipated reunion. Not on my watch.”
Peter shook his head, sputtering out more pathetic, mildly coherent protests, desperate to get Ned to listen, but he couldn’t form the words fast enough. The woman in front of them was already wrapping up her chat with Johnny and moving away from the booth, leaving nothing but a couple feet of empty space between the pair of friends and the Human Torch. Peter’s heart ballooned as the young hero became fully visible to him: his infectious grin reaching every corner of his face, freckled cheeks flushed in the hot summer sun. At the same time, his stomach dropped like the Coney Island Astro Tower.
“Have a lovely day,” Johnny called after the girl, blowing her a kiss that floated from his lips in lazy circles of smoke. As he watched the haze fade into the atmosphere, an ugly feeling speared through Peter, lashing him down to the bone.
Jealousy. And not jealousy for Johnny, like he’d previously assumed—but jealousy of the girl he was blowing kisses at. The realization made him consider throwing himself into the trash can on his right and hiding amongst the filth until he shriveled up and died.
“I’ll break the ice, then you’re up, bestie,” Ned whispered to him. He gave Peter’s arm a squeeze, then skipped fearlessly towards the Human Torch, throwing a wink over his shoulder. “Don’t be weird! You got this!”
“Hey there,” Johnny said as Ned approached, flames flicking across the tips of his wiggling fingers. Effortlessly cool as always, he thought bitterly. Peter hung back, grinding his molars together, wringing the bottle of sunscreen between his fists.
“Hello Johnny!” Ned answered emphatically. He swung his backpack to the front of his body and snagged the Human Torch Funko Pop box out of the biggest pocket. “I can’t believe we finally made it! My friend and I have been waiting here all day just to meet you and get your autograph.”
“I appreciate your incredible patience,” Johnny said, taking the collectible from Ned’s outstretched hands. “Our outdoor fundraiser of course had to fall on the hottest day of the summer so far.” He sounded a bit rehearsed and mechanical, like he’d been repeating the same phrases again and again all day, but no less friendly. He swiped a palm across his sweaty forehead and grinned at the bobble head Ned had given him. “Wow! Limited edition. These are hard to come by. You must be very proud.”
“Not gonna lie, having the full signed Fantastic Four set will probably be the proudest achievement of my life so far.” Shyly, Ned held up his phone, hovering his finger over the record button. “Would you mind if I filmed you autographing it? You know, for authenticity’s sake?”
“Go right ahead,” Johnny said warmly. He held up his index finger, the tip glowing red-hot. “Want it in ink, or burned on?”
“Burned, please,” Ned answered immediately. “Burned is by far the coolest.”
Johnny nodded. “You got it.” Using his pointer finger like a mini blow torch, he went to work gently searing his name into the Funko Pop box, sweeping his autograph across the thin cardboard in long, sloping arcs as he must’ve done a thousand times already. Ned smiled as wide as the Hudson as he recorded him, struggling not to bounce from foot to foot.
“Does your friend have anything they want signed?” Johnny asked as he finished the final stroke of his signature. Peter had been mostly hidden behind Ned up to this point, but his treacherous best friend stepped to the side so there was nothing left to shield him from Johnny’s magnetic gaze, shooting him an encouraging look. Peter’s face heated as Johnny’s eyes rose from the Funko Pop to meet his, then slowly widened.
“Do you?” Ned prompted him.
Peter shook his head rigidly. “No. I’m good. Thank you.”
“Hey,” Johnny said, wagging a finger at him, eyes brightening with recognition. “I know you!”
Peter’s heart practically burst through his ribcage. “W-what?” he yelped, staggering back a step. “You do?”
“Yeah! You’re that guy who yelled at me outside of the bubble tea shop.”
Peter’s jaw dangled open, then immediately clamped shut, relief draining through him. Oh, thank god. He only recognized him from that one-time encounter, not as the spider-themed superhero he’d befriended over the past week. So long as he played it cool, Johnny would never figure out who he was really speaking to.
You know. Because he was so good at playing it cool.
Ignoring Ned, whose face was about to split in two from how aggressively he was smiling, Peter swallowed. “Oh. Right. I’m surprised you remember that.”
Johnny’s lips turned upwards playfully. “How could I forget? You were awfully pissed at me that day, pretty boy.”
Deadly heat shuddered up Peter’s spine. Ned smothered a snicker in his sleeve to his left.
“To be fair, I deserved it,” Johnny continued with a shrug. “I caused a lot of unnecessary damage and was in desperate need of a reality check. You were right to call me out on my shit, especially since you said I almost killed your best—” Horror flashed across his expression as he clapped both hands over his mouth. “Oh my god,” he mumbled into his palms, voice dripping with dread as his eyes flicked back to Ned. “Was that you? Are you his friend I almost killed?”
Ned waved him off casually. “Don’t sweat it. Water under the bridge. It was really cool to get to see you all live in action—even if I did almost get blasted in the face by a fireball. Most eventful boba run to date.”
Johnny shook his head in dismay. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t myself that day. That doesn’t excuse what I did, I just—I hope you know I won’t ever let my own personal drama drive me to behave that recklessly ever again.”
Ned tapped the side of his temple. “Trust me—in my mind, any bad things you’ve ever done are entirely negated by the fact that I now own a collectible with your signature on it.”
Johnny’s concerned expression eased into a halfhearted smile, followed by a light laugh that sent sparks sizzling across Peter’s skin. “I’m lucky to have such forgiving fans,” he said, handing the Funko Pop back to Ned. His Baltic blue eyes veered to Peter again, drinking in his features with unabashed curiosity. “I need you to know the Fantastic Four paid back all the business owners for the damages I caused that day, including the owner of that tea shop.” Earnestness and guilt saturated every word from his lips. “She’s set to start rebuilding next week, and I promised her I’d come by once she reopens to post myself trying her drinks to give her sales a big boost and make up for all the trouble I caused.” He searched Peter’s gaze, fraught to right the wrongs he’d committed, his neck and forehead slick with sweat. Johnny felt everything so poignantly, including remorse for his mistakes. He’d be gutted if Peter refused to forgive him, despite him being some no-name stranger he’d probably never speak to again. Like alway, it softened Peter’s heart to see just how much the Storm siblings cared.
“That’s nice of you,” Peter said measuredly. The reply came out more curt and sterile than he intended, but he was scared of talking in longer bouts—scared that his voice or speaking patterns might start sounding familiar to the fiery celebrity. When Johnny looked wounded by his robotic answer, he added: “Thank you. For, um, helping her. And the others. They deserve it. Not having their businesses burned down, obviously, but—y’know. Being helped.”
Wow. Smooth, Pete. A true masterclass in playing it cool.
Johnny leaned back in his chair with one arm draped across the backrest and his opposite foot tucked into his lap. His sun-drowsed stare traced Peter up and down, studying him like a strange modern art piece he was trying to pull meaning out of. The corner of his mouth ticked towards the sky.
“You’re tough to read, pretty boy. First you berate me in the street—warranted, but still harsh—then you wait in line for hours and hours just for the chance to chat with me for a few minutes. I can’t decide if you like me or hate me.”
It didn’t matter how many times Johnny threw on a smirk and spoke to him in that bold, impish tone: the Human Torch’s charm never failed to fluster him to the same blistering degree. Peter dug his teeth into his bottom lip to keep himself from saying something he’d regret.
“Oh, he definitely likes you,” Ned answered for him with a giggle, making Peter go scarlet.
“Ned!” Peter hissed, whacking him in the arm with the sunscreen bottle. Ned cackled as he winced sideways, rubbing at his elbow. Johnny eyed Peter with a renewed sparkle of interest.
“You do?” he said, irises like sapphires in the blazing light. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”
“We both like you for standing up for Spider-Man,” Ned conceded, causing Peter’s muscles to calcify. “He’s our favorite superhero, too.”
It took all of his collective willpower not to react to the name drop. What are you doing!? Peter wanted to scream. The last person they needed to be bringing up right now was the famous wall-crawler. Any reference or association to the webhead in their current state was downright begging for Johnny to discover the truth. Him and Ned really should’ve spent a chunk of the last six hours establishing some ground rules for this conversation.
Johnny beamed. “No kidding? See—I knew he had fans out there besides me! And you’re not the first people to tell me that today, either. I tried to convince him to come to this, y’know. Now I can tell him about all the Spidey fans he missed out on meeting.”
Peter pressed his lips into a thin smile while shouting every curse under the sun inside his head. Ned and Johnny both stared at him like they expected him to add something to the conversation. When he didn’t, Johnny narrowed his eyes.
“I’m still not convinced you like me,” he admitted. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here. I guess I can’t really blame you after everything I put you through, but still. It hurts. Is there anything else I can do to make up for my shitty behavior? There’s nothing worse than having eyes as lovely as yours look at me with such animosity.”
Ditsy warmth crept into his ears as a confusing hodgepodge of emotions washed through him. It both thrilled and disappointed Peter that Johnny was speaking to him like this. Of course he enjoyed being called pretty and lovely by his crush. Every compliment he tossed his direction sent the butterflies in Peter’s belly into a mad rush through his digestive tract. But it only confirmed his gloomiest suspicions: Johnny’s flirtatious behavior wasn’t exclusive to Spider-Man. He charmed everyone this way—captivating hearts left and right without even trying. It was encouraging to know that he liked the way Peter looked beneath his mask, but disheartening to realize his relationship with the webhead was truly nothing special.
“Don’t mind him,” Ned said. He peered back at Peter, cracking a wicked grin. “He’s not mad; he’s just nervous to talk to you. You’re his biggest crush, after all.”
Johnny’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Ned let out a fiendish giggle. Peter’s jaw fell open as his skin turned to molten iron.
No he did not.
As the blush in Peter’s face permeated his bones, Johnny’s gaze snapped back to him. The teen’s mouth curled in delight.
“Oh really?” he mused. “Is that true, pretty boy?”
“Y-your sister asked me to give this to you,” Peter blurted out before Ned or Johnny or anyone else had the chance to say another goddamn word. He shouldered past his snickering friend and jabbed his arm towards Johnny with the sunscreen in his fist. “She said you burn easily.”
Blinking, Johnny took the bottle from him, then scoffed. “Are you serious?” He turned in the direction of his elder sibling, lifting the sunscreen high above his head. “Sue!”
Dr. Storm glanced up from the fan-made doll she was admiring and cut a frown in Johnny’s direction. When Johnny mouthed “the fuck?” at her, pointing at the bottle, she mimed rubbing sunscreen on her face in reply. The Human Torch groaned.
“I can’t believe she put you up to this,” he muttered. “She’s ridiculous. I already applied plenty this morning.”
Despite the embarrassment ingesting him like quicksand, an unexpected smile seized Peter’s lips at Johnny’s childish irritation. He tapped a finger to his cheek. “Based on how red your face is right now, I think she’s doing you a favor. You definitely look like you need some more.”
Recapturing his gaze, Johnny returned his smile with roguish amusement. “I could say the same for you, darling—although I’m pretty sure yours is red for different reasons.”
Once again, Peter’s heart leapt inside his chest, the color in his cheeks deepening even more. Being subjected to Johnny’s flirtatious teasing without a mask to conceal its demonstrable effect on him was a whole new level of mortifying Peter had no interest growing accustomed to.
“What did it for you?” Johnny inquired, squirting sunscreen into his palms and gingerly dabbing it onto his face. “The hair? The teeth? My redemptive philanthropy and bottomless altruism? Or is it the flames? It’s usually the flames.”
Peter knew he was only asking to get a rise out of him, but Johnny’s question presented him with an opportunity most people would never encounter: the chance to confess to one’s crush exactly how one felt about him without enduring the consequences of him knowing who he was actually talking to. Spider-Man could never tell Johnny how he truly felt—but Peter Parker could. Because Peter Parker was no one to him.
He would not gush over every detail of what made Johnny the object of his affection; Johnny got that every hour of every day, and his ego was already big enough as is. Instead, he would keep it short, simple, and honest—and perhaps grant the Human Torch a taste of his own mischievous medicine for a change.
So Peter swallowed his sticky insecurity and took a step closer to him, leveling his gaze with the smug twinkle in Johnny’s eyes.
“I like that you don’t care about anyone’s opinion of you except for the people most important to you,” Peter stated matter-of-factly. To top it off, he reached out and gently rubbed the streak of sunscreen on Johnny’s forehead into his skin, gliding his thumb across the scar just above his eyebrow. “But the hair and the flames are a nice added bonus.”
Although already pink with sunburn, Peter swore he saw the Human Torch’s cheeks flush a shade darker, and his enhanced hearing picked up on the sound of his heart thumping a few beats faster. A triumphant smirk found Peter’s lips. Just because he was the one with the crush didn’t mean Johnny got to have all the fun with it. He let his thumb drag along the line of Johnny’s temple as he pulled his hand away. The Human Torch blinked at him, lips parted, eyes wide, then lightly touched where Peter's finger had been, tiny wisps of smoke curling off his scalp.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly. There was no toying or playfulness in his tone this time—only genuine interest. Now it was Peter’s turn to be caught off guard. He supposed there was no point in lying.
“Peter,” he said.
“Peter what?”
A shy giggle escaped him. “Parker. Peter Parker.”
Johnny giggled back. “Well then, Peter Parker. You’re a very mysterious person. I like that.” He held up his fist for Peter to bump. “It was great to see you again. Looking forward to the next time we meet.”
Peter smiled, reaching out to tap his knuckles to Johnny’s, but froze just before they made contact. Despite the heat, a sudden chill crawled up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Fear raked its claws across his skin.
“Peter?” he heard Ned call, followed by a rumble of excited chatter from the crowds surrounding them. A moment later, a shadow rose up behind him, blocking out the sun, casting Johnny’s wide eyes in a shaft of darkness. A monstrous hand curled around his shoulder, making Peter’s entire body seize up. He knew who it was before he even saw his face or heard his voice. His senses had warned him of that ruthless presence many times before. His lungs had screamed for air as those bloodthirsty fingers crushed the oxygen from his windpipe.
“Pardon me,” the man behind him said, his voice as deep and haunting as he remembered. The last time he’d heard it, it was roaring with laughter as Peter fled through a shattered window, glass slicing his hands, broken ribs crunching like glow sticks, vision tunneling with pain and terror. “Mr. Storm and I need a moment alone, if you don’t mind.”
Peter’s eyes slowly rose to find the face of the man looming over him. He had brutal eyes and deep frown lines that fixed him with a constant look of vitriol, even when he was smiling. His bald head gleamed in the sunshine like a freshly peeled egg.
Kingpin.
Wilson Fisk didn’t even bother to look at Peter as he shoved him out of his way. He regarded him with the same courtesy a charging elephant awards a twig. Peter stumbled back into Ned, very nearly knocking both of them to the ground. Photographers and media workers immediately flocked to the scene, knocking into the two teens as they jostled for space with Fisk’s bodyguards, blocking Johnny from Peter’s view. Alarm flooded the young hero’s veins.
“Fisk,” Peter breathed. “I—I have to stop him. He’s going to hurt—”
Ned yanked him backwards with a hand around his bicep. “Peter, we can’t,” he whispered fearfully. “Come on—we have to go.”
Peter turned on his friend in disbelief. “We can’t just leave him!” he hissed. “What if Fisk attacks him for all those things he said? I have to be here to help!”
“Fisk won’t attack him in broad daylight,” Ned insisted. “Not with all these fans around. He’s a politician. Besides—if he tries anything, the Fantastic Four will wipe the floor with that loser. You’d be risking exposing your secret identity for nothing.” He gave his arm another sharp tug. “Come on. We’re gonna get in trouble.”
“But—” Peter protested, eyes whipping back to the mob of people and the barbaric murderer standing between him and Johnny. This wasn’t right. This was downright treacherous. Johnny had risked everything to protect him when he was in trouble. Peter had to be there to make sure he was safe. He’d reveal himself to the whole world if that meant keeping Johnny safe.
“All right, boys. Move along.” One of Johnny’s security guards marched towards them with a scowl, wafting at them with his hand like they were an unruly stench he was trying to get rid of. “You’ve had your turn. Either move to the back of the line, or beat it.”
Ned nodded fervently. “Got it. We’re going, Thank you, sir.” Ned gave Peter’s forearm another quick jerk, forcing him to lurch back a few treasonous steps. For half a second, his eyes found Johnny’s amidst the throng of people pressing around the young celebrity’s booth. They looked startled, confused, but not afraid. Sweat slipped down Peter’s shoulder blades and dampened the back of his T-shirt.
You should be afraid, Flame Brain.
“He’ll be okay,” Ned tried to reassure him, practically dragging his friend away from the queue. “Fisk won’t touch him. He’s not that stupid.”
“I have to be sure,” Peter answered hollowly.
Even though the sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon, its piercing glow seared Peter’s flesh worse than it had all day.
Johnny met Peter Parker’s gaze one last time before the boy disappeared behind a wall of bodies and cameras. For some reason, his soft brown eyes were charged with fear, the color in his cheeks draining to a pallid gray. He looked like he’d seen a ghost when Wilson Fisk and his posse rolled into their fundraiser as if they owned the place.
Sweet guy. Cute, too. He’d always been a sucker for baby browns and curly hair. Too bad Johnny’s heart was solely preoccupied with arachnid-themed superheroes who may or may not be heterosexual. Despite Reed’s certainty on the matter, the verdict was still up for debate as far as he was concerned.
He turned his attention back to the unnaturally large man towering over him like a skyscraper in a three piece suit. Cold, calculating eyes bored into his own. The smell of Mont Blanc cologne mixed with heavy perspiration assaulted his nose in the most unpleasant fashion. He had the air of an oversized baby parading around in designer brands, but with enough power to keep you from making jokes about it.
Johnny had never spoken to Wilson Fisk before. He’d spotted him a few times attending the same galas and charity events as him—only because he was almost impossible to miss—but they had yet to meet face-to-face. He supposed neither of them had had a reason to until now.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Storm,” Fisk greeted him. He wore a smile that resembled a constipated sneer. “Fundraiser going well, I presume?”
Despite the climbing of his pulse, Johnny fixed his features into an expression of bland disinterest. “Sure is,” he replied, gesturing haphazardly to the thermometer-shaped donation log behind him. “This one’s on track to be our best one yet. There’s something about puppies and kittens in need that makes guilt-ridden rich folk unusually eager to open up their hearts and their wallets.” Johnny nodded towards Fisk’s guards, who had set up a perimeter between them and the impatient queue of fans, blocking anyone from stepping within a 30-door radius of their boss. “That’s why you’re here disrupting our entire event, right? ‘Cuz you’ve got a big check to cash for all those poor little animals?”
Wilson Fisk chuckled—a deep, guttural sound that rolled like thunder from his barrel-shaped chest, making Johnny’s skin crawl. “Of course,” Fisk assured him, patting the breast pocket of his silver suit jacket. “I wouldn’t dream of showing up to a function hosted by the Fantastic Four without my checkbook and pen handy. Your sister has truly mastered the art of monetizing your team’s image.” He flashed a barracuda grin. “For the poor little animals, of course.”
Sweat slipped between his skin-tight suit and the bend of his spine as Johnny ventured a glance in Susan’s direction. She was doing her best to stay focused on the fans at her booth, but the fear in her eyes was electric each time they flickered his way.
“But first, I’d like to talk about some of the alarming comments you made about me recently.”
Johnny faced the man in front of him with a calm frown. “Saying those things was a mistake I assure you won’t happen again.” He wove his fingers together and placed them on top of the table. “I shouldn’t believe every flippant piece of gossip I hear that finds its way to me through the rumor mill. And I certainly shouldn’t tell others about anything I’ve heard until I have undeniable evidence supporting my claims.”
Fisk flared his nostrils at the teen's beguiling response. “I can assure you, Mr. Storm, that whatever insidious hearsay you’ve been told about me is entirely false. A full breakdown of my business operations and my personal history is available to the public on my website. I have nothing to hide.” The jagged creases in his forehead deepened. “I’m running for mayor of this city to combat crime and purge the corruption that plagues our political systems, and the last thing I need is a high-profile public figure such as yourself casting doubt on my credibility and defaming my name. The people of this city trust you, Mr. Storm. Your words hold power. It does not serve you well to use that power to spread lies.”
Johnny’s gaze hardened. “Like I said,” he told him firmly. “Won’t happen again.”
“I’m afraid I need you to do better than that." Fisk adjusted his tie, running his fingers along the ornate silk detailing. “You see, I’m the only mayoral candidate with a plan to work directly with superheroes such as yourself to reduce crime and make this city safer. I want the Fantastic Four to become an official part of the justice department so we can all band together to get bad guys off the streets. It’s to your benefit that I’m elected—and for that to happen, not only do I need you to stop tarnishing my name to your followers. I need your direct endorsement. You can get me the youth vote, and I can get you and your team all the funding and authorization needed to do what you do better than ever before. We can help each other, Mr. Storm. If I win, we all win.”
Johnny crossed his arms against his chest and tilted his chin slightly upward. “Not according to Spider-Man.”
The slippery smile on Fisk’s lips fell in an instant. Darkness twisted his features into an expression that turned Johnny’s guts to ice.
“Ah,” Fisk growled. “Yes. Spider-Man.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket and dabbed at the beads of sweat speckled across his hairless head. “Tell me, Johnny—how long have you been acquainted with our friendly neighborhood menace?”
“Long enough to know he’s not a menace,” Johnny shot back. “And that both of us have plenty of reasons not to trust you.”
“And what reasons might those be?”
Johnny opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again, swallowing. If what Spidey suspected of Fisk was true, it might be dangerous for him to know how much Johnny knew about his illegal proclivities. When Johnny didn’t answer, Fisk grinned, laying his palms on the table between them and leaning in closer.
“Whatever it is he’s accused me of, why don’t you ask him to provide you some proof. Any proof. I guarantee he’ll have nothing but empty promises and blatant falsehoods to support his baseless claims.” He pressed further into Johnny’s personal space—so much so that he could feel the heat of his breath when he spoke. “Spider-Man is a depraved criminal, Mr. Storm. The kind that plays the part to earn your trust, then tears you down when you least expect it. I trusted him once too, you know—as I’m sure many others have. But it always leads to the same painful conclusion: his fear and envy of true power driving him to dismantle those in possession of it.”
Johnny pursed his lips, daring not to breathe, but refusing to back away from the unsightly face lurking uncomfortably nearer to his own.
“You’re a clever boy, Johnny,” Fisk continued. “Strong, talented, and influential, as well. All things that Spider-Man loves to bleed dry from his victims. I’ve been able to evade his destructive path thus far, but I’d hate to see you befall the fate that has led this city to curse the arachnid’s name.” Fisk erected his spine and held out a massive hand for Johnny to take. “Join me, Mr. Storm. Together, we can rid New York of Spider-Man’s foul presence, and ensure that the Human Torch becomes the most powerful and beloved superhero this world ever sees.”
Johnny’s eyes lowered to the massive palm presented to him, then flicked back up to meet Fisk’s. It was an effort not to wrinkle his nose in revulsion as he willed his face into an unreadable wall. He cleared his throat, then stood from his chair, rising to be as close to eye-level with the man as all 5’11” of him could manage.
“First of all, I’m already the most powerful and beloved superhero. If there’s anyone here who's afraid of my power, it’s you.” Flames fizzled off his shoulders and danced down his forearms. “Second, Spider-Man is my friend—and a good fucking person. If you plan to hurt him, you’re going to have to go through me first. And trust me when I say that if things get to that point, winning an election will be the least of your concerns.”
The two of them stared each other down, a live wire running between their locked gazes. Fisk’s eyebrows knit together as his expression took a turn for the deadly. His outstretched hand cinched into a fist.
“And trust me, young man,” he sneered, “when I say that I am not somebody you want to make your enemy. You think you’re the only person here with power and influence? I’m just as capable of lifting you up as I am of bringing you down.”
Unease simmered beneath Johnny’s skin. “Is that a threat?” he asked coldly.
“No,” Fisk replied, flashing a Cheshire Cat smile. “It’s a promise.”
Johnny held the beastly man’s glare, suppressing a shudder. He clenched his jaw, gradually diminishing the flames roiling across his body.
Spider-Man was right about him.
Fisk’s hand suddenly slipped inside his suit jacket, making Johnny tense up reflexively. He grinned at the fear in the young hero’s eyes as he retrieved a thin piece of paper from a hidden inner pocket and held it out for Johnny Storm to take.
“Whatever your final earnings for the fundraiser are, match ‘em. Everything but the dollar amount is already filled in. That should suffice for my untimely intrusion and make all those misfortunate animals happy, yes?”
A wave of dread washed over Johnny as he reluctantly accepted the check from his bowling ball-sized fist. Something told him whatever donation amount they ended up cashing in from Fisk, it would clear instantly, and be bathed in blood.
“I do hope you reconsider my offer,” Fisk added. “You and I share many passions and could accomplish great things together. Who one chooses to align oneself with can make or break his future.” He shook his head solemnly. “It’d be a shame to nail yours to the same crucifix Spider-Man has nailed his.”
With that, Fisk rapped his knuckles against the table, signaled something to his army of guards, then turned and walked away. Johnny watched his boulder of a back shrink farther and farther into the distance and released a slow, shaky breath, grateful to be free of the man’s inky leer, but unable to shake the disquieting queasiness his presence had left him with. He took a long sip of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Well. I’m definitely not publishing that apology now.
“Johnny?” the next fan waiting to meet him called from an awkward distance away. She clutched a Human Torch Squishmallow close to her chest and offered a hesitant smile. “Can, um—can we come over now?” Her along with the rest of the patrons whose line stretched as far as the eye could see peered back at him impatiently, each of their turns with the celebrity hero well overdue.
“Yes—right—sorry. Of course.” Johnny scrubbed a hand through his hair and waved her forward, painting on his happiest, friendliest face. “Welcome, everyone. So sorry for the delay. Step right up, beautiful. Oh, wow—I love your shirt! Where’d you get it from?”
As Johnny chatted and signed stuff and collected donations from people, pushing down the paranoia Fisk had afflicted him with like poison, struggling to stay cheerful and energized for the sake of his fans, he swore he spotted a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. It vanished the moment he looked directly at it, evanescing into the branches of a large maple tree, but he could’ve sworn it was real. And something about that particular shade of red was unusually familiar to him.
He supposed it could’ve been a bird, a kite, some trick of the imagination. He didn’t have time to dwell on it anyhow. He had fans to entertain and a fundraiser to run. If Fisk wanted to flaunt his excessive liquidity about, Johnny was determined to squeeze every last penny he could get out of him.
#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#tw: suicide mention
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Congrats on 1 thousand Val! May I request a tommy blurb with “The question remains: How?”
Solicitation ~ modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader
[Celebration] [Celebration Masterlist] [Masterlist]
Warning: Tommy hitting on the reader a bit too heavily, mention of sex (18/21+). I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.
Words: 1683 words
"Do you want to fuck me?"
She put her pen down on the piles and piles of paperwork before glancing up at him.
He was sitting on the other side of the standard issue desk, leaning back in his chair as if he owned the office, hell, the entire building.
His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top, but apart from that, he was dressed to the nines with a dark gray perfectly tailored suit, platinum cufflinks and an expensive leather band watch.
"I beg your pardon?", She asked, hoping- praying- she had misheard.
He smirked slightly, letting his eyes roam over her as if he wanted to scan her in her entirety.
"Let me rephrase.", He said, shifting in his chair, "Would you fuck me?"
"No!"
She felt as if he had struck her or rather as if he had doused her in icy cold water.
"That came quick.", Mr. Shelby remarked, still smirking.
"Because it didn't need consideration!", She insisted, trying to ignore the thundering heart in her chest the same way she tried to ignore the burning in her cheeks.
"Ouch."
Taking off her reading glasses bought her time she desperately needed to compose herself.
Professional. Diligent. Impeccable.
"Mr. Shelby,", she began slowly, "we are here to prep you for the trial, now please, let's focus on what really matters."
Thomas Shelby scoffed and reached for one of the pensz twirling it between his fingers.
"That is a waste of time since it won't go to trial."
"It will go to trial, Sir."
His lip twitched in light of her courtesy.
"Even if it does,", he mused, drawing out his words as his eyes never left her. "It won't get to my testimony."
His lips curled into the hint of a smile.
"Miss.", He added.
He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and retrieved a silver case of cigarettes and a matching lighter.
She didn't even know they made these anymore.
"There's no smoking in here.", She reminded him as he pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.
His eyes peeked up and glanced at her, and, without breaking eye-contact, he brought the lighter to the tip and lit it.
Those eyes were the clearest blue, like one of those freshly cut aquamarine stones one could see in the kind of jewellery stores that didn't show the prices outright.
They were sharp and hawkish and never seemed to miss a thing.
To say they unsettled her, was an understatement.
Slowly, he let smoke escape his mouth.
"Now there is.", He said.
She pursed her lips and swallowed her initial reply.
"Mr. Shelby, I am trying to help you here.", She reminded him.
He held the cigarette between his fingers and hummed softly.
"That so? Because my shoulder has been tense all afternoon from these uncomfortable fucking chairs."
He couldn't stop his smile.
"If you want to be a dear-"
She cut him off before he could get further.
"Are you trying to add sexual harassment to the long lost of charges levelled against you and your family?", She asked. "Or to lose this firm as your legal council?"
He chuckled at that and tapped the ash of his cigarette onto his saucer.
"I am this firm's best paying client, Sweetheart. They'll do anything to keep me, they can always get a new you."
She raised her eyebrow at him but he only tilted his head to the side as if wanting to get a better view.
"You look like an intern."
"I am a solicitor, Mr. Shelby."
"Ah, a solicitor.", He repeated, nodding in such a way it made her blood boil.
"And I was chosen to prepare you."
He shrugged.
"I mean, I prefer you to those bald headed golfers out there, but care to explain why they picked a terrible list to prepare me for lying in court?"
Professional. Diligent. Impeccable.
"I am not preparing you for lying, but rather to ensure you won't incriminate yourself or your family on the stand."
She smoothed the paperwork over and moved her glasses.
"And I am not a liar."
As soon as the words had left her mouth, she regretted her slip up.
But if she had hoped he would let it slide, Thomas Shelby disappointed her.
He put out his cigarette and leaned forward.
"You said you don't want to fuck me when you clearly do."
"You think too highly of yourself."
That coaxed a soft chuckle from his lips.
"Not by the way you watched me in that meeting earlier or just now when you thought I wasn't looking, Miss."
Her mouth went dry, but her face would not betray her. For that, she was too good at her job.
“So, Miss (L/N), I want to know why you would say such a thing.”, he continued, twirling that pen while glancing at her in such a casual way it could almost lead her to believe he didn’t care for her reaction, but she knew better. He was studying her every move.
“Playing hard to get, bad experience with men like me? Or,”, he drew out the word, as his eyes narrowed in on hers. “Are you trying to impress the bosses? Maybe proving to the world that you are better than that? Or do you have some pimple faced Oxford graduate at home? Some Rupert or Francis?”
This is it, she thought and began to gather her papers.
“I am not engaging in this nonsense.”, she announced and closed her file, beginning to pack up.
“Well I am paying you, so you are obligated to.”, he reminded her, swivelling in his chair.
“The answers to these questions are none of your business, entirely inappropriate and given the situation you, your family and your companies are in, ought to be none of your concern.”, she said sharply, getting up from her chair, his file pressed to her chest.
“Oh I am not concerned.”, he said, shaking his head. “But funny you’d say that, because I intend to make the answers my business.”
She stopped in her tracks and stared at him in disbelief.
“Why?”, she asked.
He smirked ever so slightly, so softly she could even tell herself she was imagining it.
“Because I want to know about you.”
She inhaled sharply and stared at the wall.
He wasn’t the first man to try his luck with her, to do it repeatedly. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before. Nothing she couldn’t deal with. Nothing she couldn’t get through.
“A woman like you in a place like this, this high up - not easy, not even in the twenty-first century.”, he mused as if he was thinking aloud. “At least not with your background.”
“My background?”, she asked sharply.
He didn’t seem to mind that she was towering over him now, instead, he only ever smiled as if this was just the situation he had been keen to provoke.
“State school to Cambridge - not easy. How many scholarships were it again? Seven? Eight?”
She swallowed hard.
“Couldn’t have been easy to claw your way to here with all the toffs in your way, all those unpaid internships and the night jobs to keep yourself afloat.”
She took a shaky breath, and built herself to her full height.
“A minute ago, you said I was the intern.”
“I said you looked like an intern.”
If this was his definition of a compliment, she wanted no part of it and began to make for the door, her heels echoing on the floor.
Movement sprung into him and he got up, reaching the door before her blocking it with his body.
“A woman like you with a background like that getting all the way here? Into a law firm like this? Without a name, money or connection leaves only two possibilities.”, he said, speaking quicker now, while her heart pounded.
“Either you fucked your way up,”
The only reason she didn’t slap him were the files in her hand.
“Or you are exceedingly good at what you do - so good that these people look past all that.”
He stepped back and ran a hand through his pitch black hair.
“This conversation is entirely inappropriate.”, she hissed.
“Nevertheless,”, Mr. Shelby said unimpressed. “The question remains: How?”
Instead of answering, she only glared at him until his lips curled into a small smile.
“See, my enterprise is looking to hire people that are exceedingly good at what they do, independent of their background, age, gender or whatever fucking else.”
That made her eyebrows shoot up.
“Are you seriously trying to headhunt me?”, she demanded to know, disbelief making her breathless.
He only shrugged, suddenly looking less like the savvy and rather dubious businessman who looked like had stepped straight out of a Boss perfume billboard, and more like a little schoolboy who was asking a girl out for the first time.
This boyish look suited him, not that it mattered in this context. Not in the slightest.
Professional. Diligent. Impeccable.
“The partners in the firm won’t like the sound of that.”, she said, clutching the files tighter.
He only shrugged.
“I am their best client.”, he reminded her once more.
“Perhaps.”, she shot back, “but they won’t think so if you lose them their case with your recklessness on the stand.”
That actually made him chuckle as he glanced her up and down.
“Alright, how about this?”, he suggested. “I’ll participate in your little school play and will be nothing but the essence of professionality and cooperation going forward.”
Now that sounded too good to be true, and of course it was.
“But if the whole thing gets thrown out before my testimony, like I told you it will,”, he said, a glint in his pale blue eyes, “You’ll go out for drinks with me.”
She scoffed and shook her head, but he cut her off before she could get a word out.
“And I assure you that by the end of the night, you’ll regret not accepting my offer sooner,”
He tilted his head slightly as he met her eyes, his own promising nothing but mischief.
“Or rather, my offers.”
End
Thank you so much for requesting and participating in my celebration - I hope you liked what I wrote.
Thank you everyone for reading and as always, I hope you enjoyed and would love to hear your thoughts!
If you want to participate in my celebration, click here!
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Tommy
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#valentines1k#valentineswritings#tommy shelby#thomas shelby#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby x reader#tommy shelby imagine#thomas shelby imagine#modern!tommy shelby#modern tommy shelby#peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagine
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Newest member 2
Ghost x f character
Cw: arguing, now rivals
Summary: the mission wasn’t so simple after all.
Pt 1
The Plan was simple everyone agreed to go stealth, stick to the plan she repeated, it would be quick and easy but no. Ghost just had to do things his way, guns fucking blazing. They were found out quicker than needed be because the big baboon didn't listen to her when she said to wait. It was like she wasn't even there and in his mind she wasn't. They did indeed invade and conquer but at what cost? Her fucking diginity is what the cost was, she wasn't going to allow him to walk all over her and act like her word meant nothing. They were a team whether he liked it or not, she was second lieutenant that meant something. The trek from the drop location back to base was tense, Soap and Gaz hung back whispering to each other about what went down when Ty finally got fed up with glaring at the back of ghost's fucking head. "Ghost!" she yelled as she ran to catch up to him, he didn't even acknowledge her. "Hey asshole!" she yelled grabbing his arm and practically had to plant her feet to make him stop walking. "Dont. Touch. Me." He seethed darkly as he looked down at her. "You can't do that! When i give an order you listen not because you want to but because you fucking have to!" she screamed up at him. The squadron halted as they watched the scene unfold before them. "You could have jeopardized the whole mission because you didn't listen to me hell! You could have gotten the whole squad murked. As second lieutenant--" Ghost stepped forward causing Soap and Gaz to step between the two. "I'm not taking orders from daddy's washed up princess, i did what i thought would succeed the mission and it did. Now shut your mouth." He growled in conclusion before he continued to the base.
Anger bubbled in her chest along with a tang of hurt, she wasn't washed up nor did she ever want to have to live up to her 'great' family name. She wanted nothing to do with her father actually, not after what he did. Her chest heaved as she was still running on adrenaline and anger, Gaz and Soap lingering as the rest of the squadron continued on. "Lieutenant-" Soap began only for her to raise her hand. "Not right now J, please." she whispered as she took in a shaky breath. Gaz pulled Soap along to give the lieutenant some space, her eyes watering as she watched the squad enter the base. He was wrong, and he knew he was, they all knew it. She was the only one to call him out and would always be the only one to do so.
----------------------------
Word was quick to go around about the two lieutenants fighting, Price calling the pair into his office to have a chat. Ty was there first sitting in the chair with her arms crossed, her leg bouncing from anxiety and irritation. Price watched her closely before sighing heavily. "Breathe Ty, please you're going to burn a hole in the ground." he told her softly making her look at him. He nodded before she closed her eyes taking a deep shaky breath, her body going rigid as she heard the door to his office open and close with a soft click. She could feel the heaviness of his presence as he moved to the chair beside her.
She barely gave him a glance as he sat, what was the mask about? "Alright you two, care to explain why half the base is gossiping about last night's mission?" Price questioned as he folded his hands before him. They both were quiet, wanting this to be over as soon as possible. Being this close to him after last night made her want to ring his fucking neck. "I'll speak since Mr. Mute over here can't find the balls to do it." she hissed looking over at Ghost, his eyes narrowing at her slightly. "The plan was to go stealth, everyone agreed to go stealth but Ghost. Everything was fine until we breached the building, ghost just ran in firing his weapon like a lunatic after i told him to wait, intel can change--" she explained calmly to Price before Ghost cut her off. "The intel didn't change and it wasn't wrong. I did what i thought was best for the mission." Ty looked at Ghost before laughing. "That's your problem. You didn't think about the squad! You were only thinking about completing the mission." She said causing him to huff. "The mission is top priority, the squad knows that. It would have gotten done with them behind me or without." he told Price. "Un-fucking-believable." she groaned before looking at Price. "Well it's clear you two have somethings to work out, which needs to be resolved by tonight because there's a mission you two are required to work TOGETHER on. It can't be done alone so here is your debrief, all i ask is you don't kill one another." Price sighed tossing the file on the desk, Ghost collected it first leaving Ty even more annoyed then when she arrived. This conversation didn't settle anything and if he acted like he did last night there was no hope for them ever working TOGETHER.
#call of duty#ghost#modern warfare#fem reader#original content#simon riley#mw2#original character#simon ghost riley#john price#captain price#romance#fanfic#fanfiction
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