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#stitch's mask is giving me a stroke

shotmrmiller · 3 months

Text

When Johnny takes Simon to his home, and you open the door, Simon's heart stops beating. You direct that lovely smile he's fallen in love with at Johnny as you hug him and usher him inside. Simon's frozen in place, his body refusing to move, because gods, you're a fucking dream.

And then you turn your attention towards him, with ruddy cheeks and pink lips and a delicate neck he could easily wrap his hand around—

"You must be Simon!" and his cock starts to stir. All you said was his name, in that angelic voice of yours, and his blood started to rush to his groin.

When you move to wrap your arms around him in an embrace, he finally breaks from his trance and returns it. Barely. It's awkward— one arm coming up to inelegantly pat your upper back a little too hard, and the other stiff at his side. But you seem completely unbothered, just giving him one last squeeze and step back, holding both of his arms in your dainty hands, and you say, "It's great to meet the one that keeps my Johnny safe. Now, come on in, make yourself at home!"

Simon timidly walks inside, and closes the door behind him, and utters, "Thank you for lettin' me stay here."

The joyful laughter you let out sends exquisite prickles up his spine. "He actually speaks! I'm surprised, Johnny said it took a bit for you to warm up to others," and you give another stomach-fluttering giggle. "You're welcome here any time, Simon. Now let me take you to the room you'll be staying in."

Simon has to carry his duffle bag in front of him as you lead him to the guest room to cover the throbbing erection he's got. When you leave him to freshen up, he wastes no time in pulling his jeans down and taking himself in his hand, stroking firmly. When his imagination paints a picture of you wearing an apron while cooking a meal for him, his vision blurs as he climaxes.

Simon knows he's atypical. He has no real decorum. He tells piss-poor dark jokes, inadvertently stares at people when he's lost in thought— and since he's been here, Simon likes to shadow you.

But you don't seem to mind any of it. You laugh at his jokes, the ones Johnny never fails to scoff in disgust at, you tilt your head innocently towards him, silently questioning his intense gaze — and it's so fucking adorable that he's come to that look 8 times in the last 3 days— and you always ask him to reach for things that are out of your reach because you know he's around. (Johnny made a joke once, said that you're being haunted by a ghost, and the quip you replied with as you came to his defense had him dizzy.)

His favorite thing about you though, is how unafraid you are of him. You had rounded a corner and saw his skull mask for the first time, and had you been like any other woman, you would've been startled. But you hadn't been— If anything, you asked him if he wanted it fixed.

"I can see a couple of tears here, Simon. I can patch it up if you like."

It was so deliciously domiciliary that he counted each stitch of his mended mask with his thumb as he touched himself that night.

And then, through the thin walls of the home, he suddenly heard your dulcet moans. He quickly got up and put his skills to use— silently crossing the living room and leaning against the wall closest to your bedroom door.

The bed repeatedly creaked and every choked moan that left you, Simon heard clearly. He hastily took out his achingly hard cock, spit on his palm, and stroked himself to the rhythm of the slapping of skin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fucked himself to the thought of him being the one in there with you.

He has no doubt that you'd feel heavenly. Your slick cunt swallowing his turgid length, walls almost painfully tight around him. You'd beg for him to hammer into you, relentlessly, mercilessly. You'd tell him to bite the crook of your shoulder once you were about to come around his cock, and when he actually hears you reach your peak, he rhythmically tightens and loosens his grip, imitating your fluttering walls. His toes are curling inside his socks, he's so bloody close—

And then Simon hears your lascivious voice murmur, "Come in me."

He bites his lip so hard it splits under the pressure as he comes. Tiny, hushed whimpers seeped from behind his mouth, as hot cum spilled onto his fingers, and trickled onto the floor.

The only noise Simon can hear now is his own shaky breath— the fun's over on both sides, it seems. He looks down, gives his softening cock one more stroke, wringing out the last of his seed, before tucking himself away, and sluggishly wiping his mess off the floor with his foot.

He quietly moves, heading back to his room, when he spots your laundry basket in the utility room.

Simon has never believed in luck until now when he's sniffing your knickers in the privacy of the guest room, and he realizes they've been worn. And by how strong the smell of you is, they've been used very recently. He felt like he won the goddamn lottery.

Wrapping it around his cock, he touches himself. Again. And when he comes, he makes sure to spurt his cum directly onto the gusset of the undergarment.

Come morning, when they're all stiff and crusted, he laments that he didn't lick them first, in a pitiful bid to experience a taste of you, before stowing them into a secret compartment in his bag. He makes a mental note to remember to do just that when he takes another pair.

Simon wordlessly makes a cup of tea later, hissing as the hot liquid comes in contact with the small wound on his lip, when Johnny approaches him.

"Mornin' LT."

A grunt is his only reply.

Johnny then shoots him a sly grin.

"Last night, ye weren't as wheesht, as quiet, as ye thought. But dinnae worry, Bonnie doesn't ken a thing."

He claps a hand on Simon's petrified shoulders. "If ye wanted a slice of the cake, ye could've just asked. I dinnae mind sharin'."

Simon gives him a borderline-demented look, puts his tea down on the counter, and clears his throat.

"When?"

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #johnny soap mctavish x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost smut #cod mw2

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clockwayswrites · 22 days

Text

Masked- unmasked After 'wrong'

Dick cupped Phantom’s cheek, brushing his thumb against the too pink lips.

“What?” Phantom asked. He shifted heavily lidded eyes from the t.v. to Dick. They were so blue. The hint of green was there, just around the pupil of one looked close enough, but Phantom’s eyes were so blue.

“Just observing,” Dick said. He didn’t know how to sum up even a fraction of everything going through his head right then. His mind scrambled to catalog every difference in Phantom: the lips pinker, the eyes blue, the blush redder, the skin warmer. He leaned down to kiss the scattering of freckles; freckles that were a rusty red rather than a pale scattering of light.

There was no faint glow that bled through Dick’s eyelids.

“I can go.”

Dick pulled back with a frown. “What?”

“If you don’t want to be around me like this, I can go,” Phantom repeated.

It still didn’t make sense to Dick.

He stroked Phantom’s cheek gently. “Why would I want you to go?”

“I just mean—” Phantom cut himself off with a huff of air. It was a long pause before he tried again. “I just mean, it’s okay if you don’t… like this version of me. I know that all this isn’t what you… agreed to have in your bed.”

“All this?” Dick asked, brow furrow. “All this is still you.”

“Sure, but it’s not special, not like my other form.”

Phantom’s sour smile begged to be kissed away so Dick did just that. He leaned in and kissed Phantom’s lips until Phantom gave in and opened up his mouth for Dick. Dick twisted, sitting up further so that he could press down into the kiss. He slung a leg over Phantom, mindful of the stitches and he settled lightly on Phantom’s stomach.

Phantom was the one who broke the kiss first to pant for air. Another difference.

“Boo, you’re beautiful. You’re beautiful in your other form and you’re beautiful like this. I was just enjoying taking in all the differences,” Dick tried to explain. “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you out of my bed. You’re still you.”

Phantom still looked unsure. “You might not like the differences.”

“I will,” Dick assured him. “Let me show you.”

“You might eat those words.”

“I’d rather eat you,” Dick said with a smirk. He laughed as Phantom shoved him, letting himself be pushed back. “I mean it. I don’t care that you look different. I still want to kiss you and blow you and fuck you and be fucked by you. I still want to spend time with you and talk to you and keep you close. You’re still you. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t seen this side of you yet. It’s just a whole new part to explore. So, let me prove it to you, okay?”

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” Phantom complained, though he was finally smiling again.

“Yep,” Dick said, popping the ‘p’. “So it’s best you give in and just lay there like a good pillow princess while I fuck you.”

“Don’t make me crush you next training.”

“Worth it,” Dick assured him with a roll of his hips that had Phantom groaning. “Are you really going to say no to me spoiling you.”

Phantom did his best to glare but there was no heat in the look. Finally he sighed as if giving in to the biggest favor. “Fine, just don’t call me pillow princess.”

“Pillow Prince?”

“N.”

“Bedroom beauty, sheet sultan, night—”

Phantom pulled him down into a kiss that Dick was certain was just a move to shut him up, but he went willingly. He’d never say no to those lips, whether they were tinged a cold magenta or a warm pink.

--- AN: tossing this up before I try to sleep. Pain is very bad right now so we'll see. I'm sure there are errors, but I don't need them corrected, ty. Hope all you darlings are being delightful!

masterpost

#dp x dc #death defying #Danny/dick #masked

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

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so i read ur doll reader thing i love it sooo fucking much!!! like💞💞 aaaaaa💞!! i immediately got an idea/concept thing i wnna share:

so, like, initially, i thought doll reader was like a lifesize scale of what you would be in real life; so like if u snthn like 5"7 (me), or 6"4, or even 4"11-5"3 in real life, that's how big doll reader would be to scale yk?? does this make sense

so my thought w the above paragraph is like,, can you imagine someone stealing doll reader (regardless of how big/small they are) from the store or the yandere's home? like a giant ass heist for an exquisite doll that most would DREAM of having. imagine a robber seeing how expensive doll reader looks, and then just takes you (it? its technically you) w/out rlly thinking much.

can you also imagine if the robber also became a yandere for doll reader?? like maybe your looks were too good to give up, too gorgeous to sell for a very pretty penny. the robber buys the tools needed to keep you (it?) in mint condition, buying a giant (depending on your size ig) glass case in order to maintain a pristine appearance. strives for a higher paying job to afford the tools. (remember; you're (it's?) something literally few can afford! any price is worth it!) learns sewing in case moths ever somehow eat your clothes, in case stitches ever came loose or frayed, whatever the reason may be.

thats the end of the concept~ ; what're your thoughts? 😀

(It's cute! Reader is really just a doll -for now- and is in fact human sized)

"Okay, Y/n. I'm leaving now. Be good till I get back, okay?"

The shop owner kisses their doll's forehead, straightening out their coat as they prepare to head out. They really didn't want to leave you alone in the toy store all by your lonesome, but carrying around a proportionately accurate doll wouldn't be the best decision and draws more unwanted eyes to you. They normally tried not to go out for lunch, but didn't have time to get anything packed this morning.

"Take care, darling." The shop owner strokes your cheek before they finally take their leave. They lock every door and close every curtain, yet hesitation still plagues them. A rumble from their stomach finally drags them from the front door. Feedback clicks from a radio as they walk down the empty streets.

"Target has left the building. If we hurry, we should be able to get done before they return and avoid any interaction."

"Got it."

Two masked individuals round to the back of the toy store; both taking swings at the heavy duty lock with blunt objects until it finally pops from frame. They rush inside, staying low to the ground as they head to the front floor. The cash register and priceless toys lay about the stores display, but it's all ignored for the single doll sitting behind the counter. One of the robber's holds up a picture to make sure its the correct one; eagering a light smack to their arm from their companion.

"Hey, you see any other life sized dummies in here? Go grab it."

The former massages their sore arm, sneaking behind the counter to retrieve what they came to steal. They pause for a moment to look at it. They could see why the owner loved it so. In the weeks the group had been scouting the place, they nearver parted from it. It really was a beautiful doll and so lifelike too. The seed of guilt grew in their stomach. Their friends were in deep waters and needed the money offered by their employer, but this sorta felt like actual kidnapping. They thought this would be a painless transaction since the money from this doll alone would be enough to cover the debts.

"Hurry up, Kris!"

Kris snaps out it and grabs the doll, throwing it over their shoulder. Their radio chimes as they wall from behind the counter.

"Get outside, they're coming back!"

The duo run outside just as a van pulls into the alley way. They hop in the back, Kris losing balance from their panic. The doll falls over in their lap as they lay on the floor. They look at it, slamming the door shut before pulling it to their chest. As the car speeds off - they swear they can hear a scream.

"Fucking pick up!"

Kris stares into the doll's eyes from across a coffee table. One of their friends paces back and forth, shouting into their phone while the other snacks on chips beside them. The doll blanky stares back. They blush.

"God fucking damn it!"

Kris jumps as a cellular device is hurled into the couch cushion beside them. Their friend crashes down onto it with a defeated sigh,

"The buyer is not answering. Probably sleep or some shit by now, but the deal was supposed to happen tonight. What are we going to do with that thing in my house over night."

"Me neither." A voice chimes.

"I can take them!" Kris blurts out. The other two give them an offhanded glance. The first just blows out another breath of hot air.

"Fine whatever, take it. Use the van so nobody seems you hauling it around and we'll figure things out tomorrow. "

Kris loads the doll into the passenger seat and heads home. They take off their jacket and fit of over the doll to further avoid suspicion. They noticed the doll's head was slightly off centered - likely from the tumble during the escape. They carefully push it back into place.

"Sorry about that... What am I saying- Hm?"

As they turn its head, the see letters tucked under its shirt collar. "Y/n? That's your name? I think I remember that shop owner mentioning something like that.... Let's get you inside."

Kris knows they shouldn't be talking to a doll, but the habit sticks fast. They scoop you up once more and take you up to their house.

The first few hours are spent just examining you. The details are insane. Even small things like birthmarks and blemishes were included. It just added to the wonder of your build. You had full range of mobility with jointed fingers on top of that. Your eyes closed, hair as soft as cotton, and your clothes were fancier than any they'd seen outside of a fairytale or movie.

"You really are beautiful...."

Kris can't imagine a human prettier than you. They wonder what your voice would be like if you had one; what you personality would you have. They wondered if you could've became friends.

"There's got to be something wrong with me..."

They turn off their lights and head to bed; watching you in their computer chair from the street lights that seep beneath their blinds.

Relief is one way to describe how Kris feelings the next morning, even with the gravity of the news they receive.

"Mother fucker's dead."

"What?"

"The buyer. His house caught fire the other night and he was trapped inside. Probably didn't have much longer to live either way.

"Oh...."

"Sorry about getting you caught in this mess. We'll figure out what we do with the doll. Maybe some other rich asshole wants it."

"O-okay. Let me know." Kris hangs up; remorse and excitement heavy on their conscious. The former washes away as they look over at you, still resting in the chair. You were slumped back, eyes had closed from the position. It looked like you were sleeping as well. How cute.

Kris sits you up straight. Your clothes looked more scuffed than they remembered. There was even a tear on your sleeve. They were thankful no harm came to your body or they'd really be in trouble. Sewing was a lesser evil, and they had some pointers from past experiences with relatives. Nothing the internet couldn't improve.

Taking care of you becomes a fun hobby for Kris. After learning to properly sew, they notice your hair becoming tangled. They buy a special brush for it, and comb it every night before bed. They also become more open about speaking with you. Telling you all about their day and scolding you when they put you in a place they forgot, alongside the occasional compliment.

Their friends blew up their phone the following week and even showed up to their house; receiving no response from any of these attempts. They eventually stopped. Kris saw reports of the missing doll and the reward its original owner offered, but they were simply ignored. As many had said, you were priceless afterall.

Returning home from a long day of work, Kris picks you up from the couch and carries you to the bedroom. They lay you down on your side of the bed and crawl beside you; not even bothering you take off their work clothes or shoes as they snuggle up against you. They've been sharing the bed with you since the second night they brought you home. The chair is bad for your posture.

"Ah, I had a long day today, Y/n, but I'm glad to be home with you." They cry into the pillows. They grab your hand and place it over their head, looking at you with lidded eyes. "So please hold me and make me feel better, okay?"

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere drabble #yandere x y/n #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere writing #Yandere fic

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littlelovelyspiderling · 6 months

Text

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.

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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ghost4meeks · 7 months

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𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐊 | 𝐫. 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬

𖤐 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𖤐 * "𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊'𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑, 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒆, 𝒊 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒕. …𝒓𝒂𝒚, 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖." *

𖤐 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, (𝐲/𝐧) 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮, 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝐲/𝐧) 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐬𝐬

𖤐 * 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚 - 𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌 *

𝐓𝐖𝐎

I dragged my eyes open as the stale smell of disinfectant and blood flooded my nostrils.

'Fuck, I'm in the hospital.'

The events of tonight came rushing back in flashes and I instantly sat up, regretting it as a massive throb erupted from the spot I was hit on the head.

"Shit! Where is he?!" I shouted, my hand on my forehead as I stumbled out of bed, the pain in my side starting to grow, too.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy," A doctor came rushing into the room. He put his hands on my shoulders and forced me to sit down on the bed, a nurse rushing in soon after with some pills in her hand and a glass of water.

"Where is he?! Did they catch him?! I saw him! He was in the house, mask and everything! Please tell me they caught him!" I frantically asked, tears rushing down my cheeks.

The realization of what happened was starting to sink in and I was having a breakdown.

The doctor and nurse gave each other a solemn look before turning to me. "I'm afraid not. They weren't able to find any evidence of the killer, other than the damage to the house, your injuries, and the bodies of Steve Orth and Casey Becker."

'Casey. Oh God, Casey.'

The image of her hanging body flashed in my head, her bloody sweater, her insides hanging out, the fact that she was still clutching onto the phone.

I let out an anguished sob and the nurse pulled me into a hug, stroking my back as I cried into her shoulder.

"Luckily, you didn't lose too much blood when you were found and we were able to stitch you up. Your head only had a minor contusion but nothing serious. T-." "Doctor Matthews to the OR. Doctor Matthews to the OR." The PA interrupted.

The doctor sighed and started towards the door, but not before stopping and looking back to me. "Try not to do anything strenuous for the next few days and it should heal just fine. Come right back if anything is bothering you, alright, Miss (l/n)?"

"Alright," I sniffled, wiping my eyes as I lifted my head from the nurse's shoulder. He gave me a warm smile before exiting the room, leaving just me and the nurse.

"I'm gonna give you these," the nurse started, handing me the pills, "They're painkillers. Take them twice a day or whenever needed."

I popped them in and used the water to wash them down. "You're cleared to leave the hospital so do you have anyone that can pick you up? Parents, siblings?" She asked, handing me the pill bottle.

"My, uh, my mom is away in New York on some business," I remembered Billy, "I have a friend that could pick me up, though."

She gave me a warm smile. "Alright, why don't you call them. I'll go get your discharge letter."

I nodded and went to grab the phone on the bedside table as she left. I dialed Billy's number and it rang a few times before he picked up.

"Hello?"

It was Stu. They were probably having a movie night at Billy's again.

"Hey, uh, Stu? I need you and Billy to pick me up from the hospital," I sniffed, trying to cover up the fact I'd been crying.

"(y/n/n)? Wait, why are you at the hospital?!" he exclaimed, audibly jumping up from wherever he was sitting.

"(y/n/n) is at the hospital? What the fuck happened?" Billy perked up in the background, his tone dangerous. He was always at the ready to fight someone.

"Someone attacked me and Casey at her house and they brought Steve Orth and killed him, and we tried to run but I got stabbed and Casey got-," I didn't want to say it, "Look, I just need you two to pick me up, please."

"We're on our way," Billy stated seriously, taking the phone from Stu, "Don't leave the hospital 'til we get there."

"Okay," I exhaled, a little bit of relief washing over me. Billy and Stu were strong, I knew nothing would happen to me if I was with them. And to be honest, I did not want to be alone after what just happened.

I hung up the phone and leaned back in the bed, staring up at the ceiling as began going through the events of the night.

I know what happened wasn't my fault, but there was this nagging feeling in my chest that told me I could've done something more, that if I had done something different, Casey and Steve would be alive right now.

'Poor Ms. Becker. I can't imagine what she was feeling when she found her daughter.'

The blare of the phone made me flinch and snapped me out of my thoughts.

'Relax. You're in the hospital now.'

I picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, (y/n)," the all too familiar voice greeted from the other side. My eyes went wide and I started to shake uncontrollably.

"You bastard!" I shouted, anger swelling in my chest.

"Poor Casey and Steve. With all the horror movies you watch, you should've known that the dumb blonde and the boyfriend always get maimed in the opening kill," he taunted.

"You sick freak! Who the hell are you?! What the fuck do you want?!" I yelled, a few nurses and a random doctor rushing in the room to see what the commotion was about.

"Don't worry. You'll find out soon enough," he answered before hanging up, the dial tone punctuating his warning.

I slammed the phone back on the stand and looked down at my hands, still shaking.

"Miss (l/n)? Your friends are here to pick you up," the nurse popped her head into the room.

𝒔 𝒄 𝒓 𝒆 𝒂 𝒎

"But, yeah. That's what happened," I sighed, finishing the story.

The two had asked what went down tonight and I explained. They were shocked to say the least.

"Holy shit," Stu gaped, popping his head in between the driver and passenger seat, "That's some real horror movie shit. Did it freeze on your face before cutting to the title card?"

He laughed at his own joke but Billy glared at him through the rear-view, silently telling Stu to "shut the fuck up".

I knew that was his way of making me feel better, so I didn't really mind it.

"You are not gonna go anywhere by yourself anymore. No friends' house, no home alone, no nothing. Not unless me or Stu are there, alright? It's clear this freak gets off on shit like that," Billy asked, well, more like demanded. He wasn't gonna take no for an answer anyway.

Billy, Stu, and I have been best friends since Stu threw mud at my face at Jared Sweeney's birthday party in the 3rd grade. Stu and I got into a fist-fight and Billy had to break it up, and we've been practically family ever since.

Not to mention I was there for Billy when his mom left. I knew how he felt since my dad was killed a few years before and even though it was really depressing, we bonded over it.

"Your little boyfriend counts, too," Stu snickered as he laid down in the backseat.

Billy's head perked up. "You have a boyfriend? Who?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," I rolled my eyes, "Stu's bein' an asshole."

"I think Randy would beg to differ," Stu chuckled.

"Randy?!" Billy exclaimed.

"Will you two idiots shut it?! Randy's not my boyfriend," I blushed, flustered.

"Your cheeks say otherwise," Stu teased.

Randy and I have been friends since middle school, and...I like him. A lot. I try dropping hints for him to pick up on but he's as dense as a rock, and I'm like 90% sure he likes Sidney anyway.

"Whatever. Is it okay if I stay over at your's tonight?" I sighed, trying to compose myself and make my blush die down.

"Of course. I was gonna make you stay over, anyway," Billy scoffed, almost offended at me thinking he would just drop me off at my house after what just happened.

Stu cheered. "WHOO! Horror Movie Marathon? Whaddya say?" He excitedly asked, popping his head between us again.

The car went dead silent and I leaned my head against the window, looking out into the dark suburban night.

Billy pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, "Read the room, dipshit."

𝒔 𝒄 𝒓 𝒆 𝒂 𝒎

#scream #scream x reader #randy meeks #randy meeks x reader #randy x reader #meeks x reader #horror #slasher #horror movies #slasher movies

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multiverse-imagines · 1 year

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A/N: part 2 baybeee! Hell hath no fury like an inspired fanfic writer!! time for some Disney magic, y'all!! ✨✨

I'll do the best that I can

Plush!Vash au (part 2)

She stumbled out of bed as she does every morning. She got dressed, trying to decide what she wanted to wear. The choice between a short or long sleeve shirt.

"Fuck, it's only gonna be twenty degrees today" she shook her head and chose the long sleeve, tossing the short sleeve back into the clean, yet unfolded clothes.

After she was dressed, she scooped me up, and brought me out to the living room, setting me on the end table as she grabbed a quick breakfast of cereal. She had been restless last night, a nightmare probably. It looked as if it still haunted her in these early hours.

I was excited, able and willing to get some more cuddles before she left for work. She watched tiktoks as she ate. She giggled at the funny ones, and swooned when a rare Trigun one came on screen.

"He's so babygirl. Ugh, I love him so much." She fangirled over the Spiky haired blond on screen. She let out a sigh before gazing my way. She used her thumb to stroke my face, with that all too common loving gaze that said, 'Why cant you be real?'

"Look at me and my silly little delusions." She gave a chuckle of self pity, "Thinking I could ever win over the heart of a man who doesn't even exist." Her eyes seemed to moisten up with threatening tears. She shook her head, as if the motion would remove the thoughts from her brain. She curled her arms around my tiny being, hugging me to her chest.

"I'd make him so happy though. I just know I would." She whispered, even though no one else was in this big, lonely house. She checked the time on her phone and sighed.

"Time to head out already. Fuck." She picked her unwilling body up from the chair, and walked to her bedroom, giving my forehead a kiss before setting me down on the pillow of her bed.

"Have a good day, Vash. Love ya." She petted my hair before leaving the room. I heard another fit of self pity chuckles before I heard the front door shut and her car leave the driveway.

It really tore me up inside to see the loneliness get to her like this. I'd heard her say to a friend who apparently lived far away that they feel like they can never truly open up to anyone. No one is there to hear the whole story, only bits and pieces of her life. A new mask for every new person in her life from strangers to friends, to family. To her, she's a stranger to everyone.

Everyone except me, it seems. The words she rambles to no one but herself, talking out stories, talking out her mental health, things she would say to Vash The Stampede or Nicholas D Wolfwood.

Why can't I be with her? Why can't I give more to ease her pain? I wanted to throw something, but I can't move. I have to sit here and let my non-existent blood boil.

A twitch in my arm, something I'd never felt before. Pain? Was this pain? Arms. Legs. Head. Holy hell this hurts. I shut my eyes. Shut my eyes? I can't do that? I could now, I guess, because they were shut.

By the time the pain subsided, the bed was a lot smaller. The room seemed a bit smaller, but not too much. The reflective surface of the TV showed a man. A man I'd seen many a time, Vash the Stampede. But only in face and hair.

I figured I'd be the same height when I stood up, but my body wasn't riddled with scars. My left arm was real too. The real Vash had scars and a prosthetic arm.

Upon closer inspection, some of the missing scars were markings on my body, tattoos. It was all of the major ones she liked. The one over my right shoulder, the little cross on my left hip, a thick black tic tac toe over my left peck. Then there were two dark lines where the prosthetic would have been, and a symmetrical scar tattoo that he had on the other arm. Moving my right hand, I noticed tattoos of the thumb stitching he had. She'll be excited about that one.

I was pretty fit as well, the muscles he'd worked so hard on, only to be gifted to me. Looking to my side, a pair of orange W wire rim sunglasses sat folded on the bed. I stood from the bed- oh shit I was naked.

I dug around in her dresser for a pair of basketball shorts, and one of her larger t-shirts. I prayed that they would fit me. The shirt was a little tight, but liveable until she got home.

I looked on the bed to find the ripped remains of my little coat I used to wear. I hoped that the trade off of losing her beloved plush for, basically, the real thing would be acceptable to her. I was starving.

I went to the kitchen, trying to find something that didn't require cooking. I didn't know how to cook, and didn't want to risk damaging the house or an appliance. I settled on some chips I'd seen her eat before, and sat on the sofa, opening the bag. Thankfully the process of eating seemed to come naturally to me.

I found myself picking up the controller for the video game system she had. I booted up the system, and chose a game that had multiple files, and started my own.

By the time I was hungry again, I checked the fridge and found a small pizza lunch able. I'd seen her heat up the little bread rounds in the microwave.

"Twenty seconds!" She would sing whenever she would put them in the machine. She did that no matter how much time she needed. I smiled at the memory, excited for her to come home.

I had just finished the last of the pizza when I heard the front door open and her beautiful singing echoed through the house. She was listening to her headphones, considering the lack of pause. She entered the living room, and stopped mid lyric, frozen in place at the sight of me. The bag of fast food she'd gotten, fell to the floor, unnoticed by her.

"V…Vash?" Her voice was a whisper as her eyes were locked on me.

"Hey… w-welcome home, Mayfly." I said the favorite nickname she would have wanted to be called by him.

"You're… I've gone full on delusional, haven't I? Have I finally lost it?" she pinched her arm. When I didn't disappear, she bit her thumb. I wasn't gone.

"You're real. You're really here."

"Y-yeah, I had to borrow some of your clothes. I uh, don't fit into my coat anymore." I dug the little fabric coat out of the pocket of my shorts, handing it to her.

"You're… little Vashie. You're really Vash."

"Kinda, I guess. My left arm is real, and my scars aren't. Check this out!" I lifted the sleeve on my left arm, "They're just tattoos. All of the ones you like!" I smiled down at her. She was so much shorter now. She just came up to my chest. She looked back up at me, bringing her hand to my face, she seemed to hesitate before cupping my cheek, caressing the beauty mark under my eye.

"Holy shit, you're real." Poor thing was still in shock. I spoke her name, and took her hand with my left, and cupped her cheek with my right hand.

"I'm here. I'll always be here. I've wanted this for so long, just to be here with you." I gently pulled her into a hug. She stiffened up for a second, before finally returning my embrace.

It wasn't long before she began to shake, and her throat released a chorus of sobs. I caressed her hair, and rubbed her back. Something I've always wanted to do when she was crying. I could tell these were tears of joy and relief though.

"Mayfly, I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. I've seen your ups and downs for so long, and I want to make everything better for you."

"Yes please. Please please please." She sobbed against my chest, "b-but, you gotta let me know if you need anything too, okay? We can't both be neglecting ourselves to make each other happy, ya know?" She looked up at me with a sniffle.

"Of course silly. We can take care of each other. 50/50?" I laughed, wiping some of her tears away.

"Y-yeah, 50/50." She smiled through her tears. I let go of her to retrieve the fallen bag of food.

"I can start by insisting that you eat something." I handed her the bag.

"Oh yeah, I completely forgot about that."

We laid in bed that night, she'd eaten her food, and she'd told me about her day at work. We laid tangled up in each other, while one of her favorite movies played. One she'd probably played a billions times since my arrival. Not that I cared.

"You're really sure that you're okay with looking after me?" She asked for the 3rd time since the movie started.

"Yes, Mayfly. I want to make sure you're happy, and loved, and heard and can be your authentic self around me. It's all I've ever wanted for you."

"But I'm a lot to handle. I don't wanna be a burden to you."

"You've never been those things before. You relied on me when I was just your plush toy. Please continue to rely on me."

Her face went red, remembering I still have all my memories of being a toy.

"Oh, oh no, I'm so sorry, that means you've seen me-"

"And it makes me love you even more, Mayfly." I cupped her face with my free hand, "I love who you are. The you that you don't show anyone else. Your real opinions, your real emotions… every inch of your body…" my heart fluttered as I pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"You deserve Vash the Stampede. You deserve to be loved by him, and your kind heart deserves to love him." I pressed my forehead to hers, "I-I mean, I may not totally be Vash, but I am officially licensed." I chuckled, "so let me be your Vash. It's your turn to be loved."

#trigun #vash the stampede #vash x reader #trigun brain rot #toy story au #ya hear that friends?? hes officially licenced!

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mykneeshurt · 1 year

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Haunted pt 6

Hey it’s me, have a chapter. Is it too long? Maybe. Simon 100% has huge feet, a friend of mine is 6’2 and has size 14 feet so it’s canon to me hahaah.

Smut a head, pure smut ahead. You’ve all waited so patiently. Been so so good for me. I’m so proud of you all.

Warnings - 18+, sex, fingering, p in v, blowjob, creampieeeee, unprotected sex. Praise kink, tiniest bit of degradation, some breath play

Part 7

1 week later

Sitting in your office back at base you spent your day sorting through notes and patching up the odd solider. Lost in your thoughts of the last week and everything that had happened. Kissing Ghost, seeing Keegan, the fight you had with him and the panic attack you experienced. Your mind however lingered on the night you spent with Ghost, using only his fingers to make you come. The mere thought of him touching you like that made you clench your thoughts together.

You’d not spoke much since you returned to base, giving each other some space. Of course the others noticed but you were able to appease them with some bullshit excuse. Scanning through your notes there was a knock at the door. You spun round on your stool to find Ghost stood there, blood seeping through his jumper sleeve. ‘Christ, what did you do?!’ You gasped, ushering him in to sit on the clinic bed. ‘Caught it on a nail sticking out the assault course wall. Fuckin thing’ he murmured. You motioned for him to remove his jumper which he did, his eyes appearing to squint with pain.

Rolling up his sleeve your hands grazed his skin, his soft, warm skin. ‘Jesus Simon.’ There it was, his name dripping off your tongue, it was like heroin to him. Your voice laced with concern and worry. ‘I’ll need to put a few stitches in that, stay still.’ You slowly started to clean and flush the wound, cleaning any debris left inside. Luckily it wasn’t too deep, but deep enough that steri-strips wouldn’t hold it. Drying his skin with sterile gauze you glanced up at him, he was already looking at you through hooded eyes. Blushing you averted your gaze back to the task at hand.

‘Do you want local anaesthetic?’ You asked trying to distract yourself. ‘Negative.’ Rolling your eyes you sighed ‘nothing wrong with some pain relief Simon, don’t have to be a hard man all the time.’ Letting out a small chuckle he ran his hand over the back of his head, ‘got a reputation to uphold yah know.’

Smiling to yourself you threaded the needle and thread before placing your hand on his forearm. ‘Might sting.’ You made fast but neat work of the stitches before placing a sterile bandage over the top. Your touch lingered on his skin as you finished the final touches.

‘Look at me’ his soft voice broke through what ever barrier you were trying to put between you two. Noticing you bite your lip he grasped your chin and lifted your jaw to face him. Slowly you raised your eyes to meet his, his dark eyes surrounded by his signature black paint. Your chest became tight as you struggled to allow oxygen into your screaming lungs. Your hand remained on his forearm, your grip slowly tightening. He caressed your bottom lip with his thumb, devouring you with his gaze. ‘Simon’ you whispered. God, the way you say his name, the way it rolls off your lips is enough to send his mind into overdrive.

You’re completely lost in his presence, desperate for more of him. It’s been a week without him and within 10 minutes you’re already putty in his hands. Leaning in you tease a kiss on his masked lips, your noses just touching tips. Placing your forehead on his you both close your eyes, breathing each other in. A small hum leaves your lips as you bring your other hand to cup his face. ‘Missed you’ you whisper to him. Placing his free hand in the small of the back he pulled you closer to him, to stand in between his thighs. ‘Missed you too.’

Both of you remained like this for what seemed like eternity, basking in each others presence. Just feeling happy to be in his arms again, he gently stroked the small of your back while intertwining his fingers in your hand. ‘Stay with me tonight?’ He asked, his voice full of hope. ‘Wont we get in trouble?’

‘Negative. My rooms at the end of the corridor, they know not to bother me.’

Meeting his eyes you smiled and laughed ‘Ok. But I’m not top and tailing with you, you can keep those canoe feet away from me.’

Looking baffled, his eyes squinted ‘canoe feet?’

‘Yes Simon. You have size 14 feet, I could survive a flash flood in those boots.’ He rolled his eyes at your answer, but you could tell he was smiling under his balaclava. ‘Now, get out I have stuff to do. I’ll come to your room after dinner.’ Nodding he kissed your forehead before squeezing your hand.

After dinner in the mess hall you had a quick shower to freshen up before making your way to his room. His room was last on the left, past the rest of 141s rooms. Your room was located in the medical centre, quite a way away from the team. Knocking three times you stood back and started picking the skin around your nails. Why were you feeling so nervous? It was only Ghost? Nothing to be anxious about. The knob turned and he answer his door, appearing to have had a shower himself the black paint was gone. His skull balaclava replaced with a plain black one. He stood back and allowed you entry to his room. It was just as you expected, clean, minimal and organised. A couple of books on a shelf and a picture of Task Force 141 on his wall from a previous mission.

Taking in your surroundings you felt hands slip around your waist pulling you tightly. Spinning round you met Ghost’s eyes looking intently at you, you reached up to place your hands around his neck. He sniggered at you needing to be on your tippy toes. ‘What?’ You frowned ‘you’re tall as fuck Simon. Speaking of … how’s the weather up there?’ Rolling his eyes he bent down to kiss your forehead ‘you’re hilarious. Remind me to pick my sides up from laughing so much.’ Nuzzling into his neck you let out a small giggle, he smelt of sandalwood and musk, must be fresh out the shower.

Looking up at him through your lashes you worked your fingers under the perimeter of his mask. His hands remained on your waist while you skimmed his neck with your touch, slowly working his mask up to reveal his lips. Those soft full lips. Leaning in first you gently kissed him, your hands still cupping his face while intertwined with his mask. Returning the kiss he moved his hands down to your hips, pulling you in closer. He coaxed your mouth open while tentatively swiping his tongue against your bottom lip. The kiss started off slow, passionate, full of desire as your mouths worked together in tandem. His strong jaw cut against your palms as you deepened the kiss, desperation slowly seeping in.

He walked you backwards towards his bed, the backs of your knees making contact with the cold steel frame. Lying you down he settled in between your legs, his one hand gliding up your clothed thigh. You gripped onto the back of his mask and rolled your hips into him. The sudden movement catching him by surprise, he broke the kiss and let out a small moan into your mouth. Grinning you bit your lip before rolling into him again ‘fuckin hell’ he purred. He gradually moved his hand to your waist and teased the skin on the abdomen with his touch. Bringing him back into kiss you, you nipped his bottom lip before sucking on it gently.

He turned his attention to your neck, nipping at your jaw as he repositioned himself. Soft kisses adorned your neck, his other hand snaked into your hair at the base of your skull. He pulled at it from the root showing you a tease of his dominance. Testing your compliance. You melted into the tug a small moan danced on your lips. This time he rolled his hips into you, grazing your covered pussy with his hard cock. ‘Fuck … see what you do to me’ he whimpered in your ear. ‘Y … yes, fuck’ you moaned back. He clawed at your hip, his fingers pressing deeply into your skin.

You pushed at his chest, worry instantly flashing across his eyes. Shit, had he hurt you? Did you want to stop? Did he push you too far? He tensed slightly worried about the impending rejection. He soon relaxed again when he saw you were removing your top, revealing a black lacy bra which adorned your ample breasts. His eyes widened like an excited school seeing breasts for the first time. He traced kisses from your collar bone to the valley of your cleavage. His kisses bouncing off the firm skin of your chest. ‘Off’ he growled.

Reaching behind you, you undid the clasp before dumping your bra by the side of the bed. He rolled into your hips again, you were sure your wetness was seeping through your gym leggings. He placed a nipple in his mouth, slowly adding pressure with his teeth as his dark eyes flashed up to your face. A jolt of electricity shot through your body. Your breath hitched in your throat as he tweaked your other nipple between his fingers. ‘Fuck Simon.’ You felt his lips spread into a smile as he tenderly sucked on your nipple.

Sliding your thigh in between his legs you thrusted your hip up and over rolling him onto his back. Normally you’d never be able to pull off scutch a move but you were able to take him by surprise. Landing on top of him you placed your hands on his chest as you ground your hips on his. His firm length evident through his grey joggers. His long muscular arms reached out to grab your throat. Applying a small amount of pressure you dug your hips into him even more, your tongue gliding over your teeth as you smiled. ‘You’re so fuckin beautiful’ he purred.

Slowly you worked your way down his thick thighs, pulling his joggers down exposing his black boxers beneath. His thick cock clearly visible beneath the cotton. Sucking on your bottom lip you traced your nails over his boxers, he hissed at the contact. You placed tiny perfect kisses over his cock before pulling at the waistband freeing it completely. Looking up at the masked man before you, you slowly traced your tongue up his length. As you reached the tip you placed a tender kiss on the pre-cum stained head. He threw his head back into the pillow as he reached down and caressed your hair. You took his length into your mouth, taking as much as you possibly could. His tip teased the back of your throat a sweet but bitter taste trickled down the back of your tongue. Humming, the vibrations caused him to thrust upwards catching you off guard. A small gagging sound left your throat and he began to thrust upwards again, gently fucking your mouth with his cock. With one long suck you brought his tip to the edge of your mouth and let go with a satisfying pop.

‘No, no, no. Too good. On your back.’ He commanded. Repositioning yourself on your back he made quick work of removing your leggings and underwear. Biting his bottom lip he placed both legs over his shoulders as he delved into your already soaking pussy. He hummed in approval as his tongue swept over your slit. As he tasted your juices his eyes rolled back into his head, savouring every morsel. His tongue flicked against your clit, the sudden pressure causing you to moan. He teased your hole with his fingers, gradually inserting one before adding another. His eyes flashed up to see your glowing face staring back at him, biting your lip and smiling. He moaned into your cunt as he lazily fucked you with his fingers. His jaw worked overtime as he licked and nipped at your clit.

Grabbing his hair beneath his mask you pulled him away from your aching pussy. ‘Simon. Fuck me. Now.’ He moved up your body, and placed his arm beside your head. ‘Sure you want this?’ Nodding you pecked his lips. He lined his cock up with your soaking cunt before pushing in, the relief washing over you both. Gasping into each others mouth he pulled out before pushing in again. Slowly setting up a rhythm. ‘God, you’re so fuckin tight love, feels so good.’ Your slick coated his cock helping him thrust deeper within you. You pulled his hand and placed it found your neck, pushing it down to apply more pressure. Arching your back and rolling your hips into him his breath filled moans lingered in your ears. ‘Fuck, good girl … good fucking girl.’ His praise hit you like a wrecking ball, adding to your heightened pleasure. ‘You look so good with my hand around your neck.’ He placed his thumb over your clit rubbing firmly, feeling your clench against him. ‘Doin so well for me aren’t you? My good little bitch.’

Degradation and praise?! Fuck. ‘H … harder, please’ you manage to groan ‘don’t stop. Please don’t stop.’ He picked up his pace, a sheen of sweat over his toned body. Scars littered his torso and abdomen, each one with a story to tell. His muscles clenched with each thrust, the sound of skin on skin filled the sparse room, along with the sound of your wet cunt. Your juices dripped onto your ass and onto the bed sheets, creating a small puddle beneath you. He swiped his thumb along your clit and placed it into his mouth slowly sucking your juices onto his tongue. Holding your gaze his mouth fell open with the sound of pure ecstasy. Feeling your stomach tightening you were coming close. Sensing this he lifted your legs, your feet placed next to his head, he peppered kisses into the arches of your feet.

‘Come for me Simon, please.’ You begged through your moans. Hearing you beg for him was edging him closer to his own relief. ‘I’m so close’ he gasped. Feeling the coil in your stomach snap you arched your back into his hips, crying his name. His pace became lazy as hot ropes of cum filled your fluttering cunt. His eyes completely blown out he fell onto you. His arms placed beside your head as he nuzzled into your neck. ‘Fuck, I can’t feel my face’ he gasped. Letting out a giggle you kissed the side of his head, humming with pure bliss. Propping himself up on his forearms he grabbed your hair, a gasp of surprise left you. ‘You’re mine. Understand? Fucking. Mine.’

Grasping his jaw you firmly kissed him. ‘Always Simon. Always yours.’

#ghost x you #simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod mw22 #fluff #smut #ghost x reader

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pixelatedquarter · 9 months

Text

Who do you think will win tonight? Statistics and MANIA's Summer of Folie or The Allegations?

Because it would be infinitely fucked up, such a stroke of genius, and perhaps one of Pete Wentz's greatest rpf achievements this tour if one of the 8 balls was Hold Me tight Or Don't after two days (well a bit longer but 2 contiguous days) of Pete laying it on really fucking thick and the very next day to him saying Patrick is like a teddy bear who he'd like to cuddle (but who gets the job done).

Yea sure, everything about the "hold me tight, or don't" literal line and the whole Patrick hugs everyone but Pete talks about wanting to hug him in the hypothetical like he's not allowed that.

And the societal collapse that could be caused by "and when your stitch comes loose I wanna sleep on every piece of fuzz and stuffing that comes out of you". In all senses of that line, the one where it's all about "No matter what I want you, even if you're torn away/even your insides which may not be the same as you look outside" but also the one where it's "I hope you're torn away and when you are I will finally be able to be at peace and sleep in your broken remains" but also also the one where it's "When you lose it and drop the nice mask and you show whatever's your deepest guts that's the you i want", on a tour of healing and showing some of their scars, keep that in mind.

But also the rest of the song that is the danceable bop that has you shaking hips to the sound of "realized I can't not be with you or be just your friend, I love you to death, but i just can't pretend we were lovers first, confidants but never friends, were we ever friends?" which mayhaps would be ridiculous to direct in the direction of the soulmateism if it wasn't for that pesky "wow we really need to defuse any earnestness and talk about wanting hugs because all our friends that have joined us on this tour can get Patrick's amazing hugs live onstage except for Pete fr" that's giving us some *chef's kiss* levels of potential for any angsty rpf fic

Anyway "the distance between us it sharpens me like a knife" would be an absolutely MURDEROUS line for pete to get into his "I'm standing right next to patrick, yet nowhere near as close as I used to get bc we don't do that anymore" position onstage and I fully encourage that man to do it, it would be so messed up it's funny.

#i suppose this does lean firmly towards #peterick #or at least the stage version that people should be used to dealing with because this IS Pete Wentz and he IS rpf's most loyal soldier #pete wentz you have the potential to make the absolutly most unhinged playlist for the rpf fic you're writing thoughout these p2 riffs #and this is without getting into “FINALLY MANIA IS BACK ON THE MENU”#tourdust #fob #fall out boy

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emotionalcadaver · 1 year

Text

Part 4: Mask

Fandom: The Dark Knight Trilogy

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x OC

Summary: Vanessa returns after recovering from her surgery to find that Jonathan has made some…interesting changes to the way he runs tests on their subjects.

Word Count: 1,638

Notes: This takes place shortly after Vanessa returns from her surgery in Bedside Manner. Warnings for depictions of unethical human experimentation, blood, and murder.

Masterlists: Main • Series

Previous Part • Next Part

“What’s the bag for?” she asked, examining the burlap piece of fabric Jonathan had set on the table in the lab. She picked it up to inspect it further, eyebrows flying up when she realized that there was a rebreather built into it, effectively making it a gas mask. She turned to stare at him. “Do you wear this on your head?” she had to bite her lip to keep from cackling at the image that came to mind of the man stalking around in a full suit with a fucking bag on his head.

“Hey, I will have you know, that bag has been very useful in amplifying the fear response in subjects,” he snatched it from her and held it protectively to his chest. Vanessa giggled. So this was what happened when he was left to run tests on his own without her. She should have figured.

“Whatever you say, bag-head.”

He placed the mask carefully back on the counter, shaking his head and giving it a little pat. “She’ll never understand what we have.”

Vanessa laughed, wrapping her arms around him adoringly and kissing his cheek. He smiled fondly over his shoulder at her. Reaching around him, her fingers brushed lightly over the rough burlap. Examining and tracing along the stitching, the holes cut for eyes, the noose fashioned around the neck.

“When I was a girl, I used to dream of a scarecrow.”

Jonathan shifted, head tilting back to more thoroughly look at her. “What happened, in your dreams?”

“I dunno. Sometimes I was trapped in a maze and it guided me out,” she tilted her head thoughtfully. “It always seemed to show up when I was scared.” Fitting.

He was quiet for a long moment, clearly thinking. “Did it ever hurt you?” his voice was quiet, almost nervous. She shook her head.

“No. Never,” she stroked her fingers along his arm. “It always kept me safe.”

Jonathan turned his head to kiss at her temple, nose nuzzling against her hair. Vanessa felt her lashes flutter, pressing closer to him in response.

“Here,” he said, picking up one of the gas masks where it was sitting on the table.

She pulled it carefully onto her face, letting him adjust the straps and double check to make sure that it was secure. When he was satisfied, he nodded. “Good,” he grabbed his own burlap mask from the counter, poking her in the shoulder when she snickered. “Hush, you,” he scolded, though there wasn’t an ounce of bite or malice in his voice when he said it. Sliding his glasses off his nose, he slipped them into the pocket of his blazer, pulling the mask onto his head. “Now, Mr. Falk,” he spun on his heel, arms spread wide, as he approached the patient strapped to the chair, whimpering quietly. Jonathan scooped up the canister sitting on the table, attached to an oxygen mask. “I’m going to need you to hold still.”

Vanessa hovered nearby, eyes focused intently on Falk, looking for any signs that he might try to resist or bite as Jonathan pulled the oxygen mask onto his head, securing it over his nose and mouth. He handed her the canister, her fingers toying with the valve as he checked that the mask was secure, pulling his clipboard close. When he was ready, he nodded to her once.

“A low dosage to start, I think.”

“Alright,” she twisted the nozzle to allow some of the gas to filter into the mask, watching the dial on the side of the canister move before she shut it off. Bracing his hands on either side of the chair that Falk was strapped to, Jonathan leaned in close. Falk started to cough roughly, body jerking as if trying to get away from the gas he was inhaling. His eyes were squeezed shut, but when he opened them, he took one look at the two scientists standing over him, and began to scream.

Thrashing violently, the restraints groaned with how hard he was pulling against them. Vanessa took a step forward, leaning in closer to watch the way that his eyes bulged with terror, face contorting as he screamed and screamed and screamed.

“What do you see?” Jonathan asked, and even obscured somewhat by the burlap, she could make out the piercing blue of his eyes, boring desperately into Falk’s soul, grasping him by the cheeks with one hand, forcing him to look him in the face. Still, Falk continued to wail in terror, staring at Jonathan’s mask in utter and complete horror, like he was the most monstrous, frightening thing in the whole world.

Settling in with her head resting on one hand, the gas canister cradled in the other, Vanessa watched as Falk’s facial features changed and contorted while he screamed. It didn’t take long for his vocal cords to give out, eyes beginning to roll back in his skull. Collapsing into the chair, he slumped in on himself. He seemed to have fallen into a near vegetative state, hoarse mumblings every now and then the only thing other than drool to pass his lips.

Straightening himself out, Jonathan tilted Falk’s head back, shining a light in both of his eyes, checking him over.

“Thank that he’ll live?” Vanessa asked, setting the canister down.

“Pulse feels strong,” he said. “Chances are probably pretty good,” he began to loosen the straps around Falk’s wrists and ankles while Vanessa pulled away the oxygen mask. Each of them took a shoulder, heaving Falk’s limp body up and beginning to drag him towards one of the cages at the far end of the lab. Contaminant areas for observation, was how they’d presented them to the chief administrator when he came down to look over the lab that they’d been permitted to establish down in Arkham Asylum’s basement. To keep subjects so they could monitor them over an extended period of time. He seemed to have bought it. Poor man thought that they were just conducting basic, run of the mill types of research down there.

Falk suddenly gasped, a shrill, wheezing sound with how wrecked his vocal cords probably were, and twisted. Scrambling and thrashing, his elbow slammed into Vanessa’s chest and she grunted, doubling over as the air was knocked out of her. He tried to land a punch on her; a mistake, he should have just tried to run. Not that he would have gotten very far; a key was needed to access the elevator. Even doubled over, she caught his punch, twisting his wrist until he yelped. She kicked in his knee, feeling a wave of satisfaction at the way it crunched. Her other hand seized the back of his hair, pulled his head back and forcing his face to tilt away from her. Jonathan pounced on him, a plume of gas sprayed in Falk’s face from the canister.

Jonathan grabbed her arm, gave her a light tug to let go of Falk and take a step back. Vanessa let a hand come to rest on the knife strapped to her thigh, just in case. Falk coughed, blinking around with his brows furrowed. Then his hand slapped at his neck, like he was trying to crush a bug crawling on him. Then he did it again. Jonathan made a sound that could have been a suppressed chuckle. He slipped an arm around her waist, dipped his still mask-covered head to murmur in her ear.

“I think you’ll like this quite a bit, my love.”

She squatted down to Falk’s level to watch, eyes wide and blood thrumming with excitement as she watched him begin to claw at his own skin.

“Oh, god. Oh, god. Get them off me! Get them off of me!” Falk began to wail, nails leaving red trails of blood as he gouged his own skin. She wondered what he saw. Spiders? Cockroaches? Maybe beetles?

Falk’s hands continued to claw at himself, fumbling desperately at his ears and nose. He suddenly let out a choking sound, both hands wrapping around his neck for a moment, before his hands were clawing at his mouth, forcing it open wide while one hand plunged down his throat. His eyes bulged with terror, and she could see the mass of something moving in his throat before…

A loud crack echoed throughout the room, the subject’s body going stiff before it slumped down onto the floor, a puddle of blood slowly beginning to build around him.

Vanessa let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Jonathan strode forward to check the man’s pulse, letting Falk’s hand fall with a resounding and final thud to the cold ground. Straightening and removing his mask from his head, Jonathan ran a hand through his now ruffled hair and replaced his glasses on his nose.

“You can take your mask off now,” he said. She blinked, then raised her hands swiftly to loosen the straps holding the gas mask in place, letting it fall to hang loosely around her neck. Sometimes she grew so used to the feeling of it pressed against her face that she forgot that she was wearing it.

“Thoughts, Dr. Sullivan?”

She tore her eyes away from the wonderful sight of Falk’s twitching body to look at her boyfriend, standing there with his ridiculous burlap mask clutched in his hands, eyes wide with a mixture of pride and nervousness. It still never failed to amaze her, what he had done, what they had created down here in this little lab…it was the stuff that they had only been able to discuss in theoretical terms back at the university. Remarkable wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

She strode determinedly towards him, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and kissed him as hard as she possibly could manage.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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Masterlists: Main • Series

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x oc #the dark knight trilogy #my ocs #vanessa sullivan #vanessa sullivan x jonathan crane #fanfiction #mask #my fanfiction

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hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform · 2 years

Text

Kinktober 2022

Day Two: A/B/O

Vikhor ‘Stitch’ Kuzmin/Kapano ‘Naga’ Vang

This is NSFW, Minors DNI.

Thank you.

“What’s up with you today? You’ve been much quieter than usual.”

“I know.” Stitch mumbled as Naga rested his chin on Stitch’s shoulder. Naga tutted, silencing what Stitch was about to say next as Naga pushed his nose against Stitch’s neck, inhaling deeply.

“I knew it.” Naga caught Stitch’s hand as it came up to push him off, stroking his thumb over Stitch’s palm. “Your heat’s coming on early.”

“Of fucking course it is.” Stitch muttered, leaning back against his Alpha, who was still inhaling his scent.

“You should have told me.” Naga pulled Stitch’s collar down, his lips searching Stitch’s skin as he went.

“I wasn’t actually sure, until we were in the meeting. By then it was too late.”

“And being around a bunch of dick-measuring alphas didn’t help.”

“No. It didn’t.” Stitch’s sigh hitched into a groan as Naga kissed his scent gland. “Fuck, Alpha…”

“Still love how this looks on you.” Naga kissed the bite mark he’d left on Stitch’s skin almost a year ago now, sending a shiver down Stitch’s spine. “You should wear it out sometime.”

“Only if I can give you one.” Stitch shook his head slightly, fighting the urge to fall limp in his Alpha’s arms.

Naga laughed. “We’ll see. Let’s go.” HE stood up, using his grip on Stitch’s arm to pull him with him.

“Go?”

“Got to get you somewhere safe and comfortable, don’t I? Be a shitty Alpha if I didn’t take care of my Omega.”

Stitch nodded and got up to follow Naga up the stairs and back to their room. Naga got in first, shutting the curtains against any prying eyes, then shoving Stitch onto the bed.

Stitch swallowed as Naga’s hand closed around his throat, holding him down as Naga climbed onto his lap, squeezing his thighs around Stitch’s hips. Naga dug his thumb into Stitch’s scent gland as Naga removed his gas mask, forcing a whine out Stitch’s mouth as Naga tossed it aside and kissed him. Stitch groaned, trying to let the tension drain from his body as Naga’s scent overwhelmed him. He inhaled deeply, but all that did was make him want more, so he went in search of it by grabbing Naga’s collar and breaking the kiss as he dragged his Alpha’s head to one side.

“You letting yourself go, Omega?” Naga teased, gripping Stitch’s throat tighter, pressing the other hand against Stitch’s chest to feel his hurried breaths.

“Yes.” Stitch got out just as he pressed his nose to Naga’s scent, closing his eye as his head spun.

“Good. You’re coming up quick.” Naga murmured, pressing a kiss to Stitch’s temple. “You’re still tense, though.”

Stitch let his head fall back, trying to regather his muddled thoughts. “About tomorrow-”

“Oh, you won’t be going anywhere tomorrow. You’ll be here, with my dick in your ass, fucking enjoying yourself.” Naga pushed Stitch’s face back into his neck. He wasn’t about to let Stitch fuck up his own enjoyment of this by thinking about work.

“The meeting-”

“Wraith and Knight can handle it.” Naga dug into Stitch’s scent gland again.

“But-”

“And if they can’t, I’ll have them look after you while I’m out.” Naga pulled his face up, moving Stitch away from his neck before the Omega got any ideas about biting him. “Got it?”

“Got it.” Stitch exhaled heavily as Naga cupped the right side of his face, watching Stitch’s pupils dilate as he relaxed, his scent coming off him in waves.

“Careful, Omega. Don’t want everyone else to catch you smelling this good.”

“I need you, Alpha. You said-”

“I know what I said,” Naga kissed him again. “And I meant it. You impress me, I’ll let you make our marks to match.”

Stitch sighed. “I’d like that.”

#cod bocw #cod cold war #vikhor kuzmin #cod stitch #cod naga #vikhor stitch kuzmin #kapano naga vang #stitch x naga

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bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus · 1 year

Text

Baying Dogs; Chapter 3: Separating The Herd

Warnings for: violence, gore and swearing! And above all, character death!

Word count: 2,649

For those of you coming to read from the Solstice event, this is the third chapter of my ongoing Call of Duty fic where I've basically made a whodunit and mixed in some elements from one of my favourite movies: Dog Soldiers. Take this as a horror short! I'll have another short up later on based on my original work too.

Here's the blurb from the Ao3 version to give you some context:

"They were outnumbered, barely making it out by the skin of their teeth. However, they haven't got time to breathe. People are starting to drop like flies and someone's behind it. As for who? Well, as much as I hate to say it, it might be one of their own."

As she was putting her first aid kit back into her rucksack, Dougs heard a peculiar sound.

Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

It almost sounded like rustling. The scratching of fabric making itself known, followed by a few repressed, pained grunts.

“Gah! Shit!”

Dougs rolled her eyes, knowing full well what was going on.

“I hope you’re not destroying my handiwork.”

Ghost paused at the sound of her clipped tone, her Jamaican accent thickening in her irritation.

After a brief pause, the sound of his itching resumed.

Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

That does it! This is the third fucking one!

“Don’t scratch your stitches!” Dougs pounced, grabbing his arm, “For fuck’s sake! You’re the third guy and this is getting out of hand.”

The hand which she had caught by the wrist was tense, fingers in a claw-like array, trying to fight against the urge to shove her off. Dougs’ big brown eyes bore angry holes into Ghost’s face, and, judging by the hints of a raised brow under his mask, he was taken aback.

“It’s… so itchy.”

“Well, don’t give in. I can’t be staying up all night redoing everyone’s dressing because they can’t be arsed to resist the urge to itch!”

His eyes narrowed.

“I thought doctors were supposed to be empathetic.”

“Sometimes we get a bit fed up. Now, quit trying to undo your stitches.”

“Can’t I have some of that numbing cream?” Ghost asked, pointing to the tube sitting half-out of its cardboard box.

She shook her head.

“I have to conserve that for when it’s actually needed.”

“I need it.”

“Distract yourself with other sensations. Rub your legs, go look at the stars outside- just don’t itch!”

He was about to protest, only for the zip of their tent to be undone.

Gaz poked his head in.

“I’ve undone my dressing.” He smiled guiltily, showing a bloodied arm.

Dougs wanted to pull the hair out of her scalp.

“What is going on?!” She cried, “Give me your arm, let me see.”

His wound was red and raw, with local swelling around the cut.

“Infected…” Dougs thought aloud, before turning to her half-packed med kit.

“Infected?” Gaz asked nervously.

“Let me just get some TCP out and-”

She turned back to see he was raising his eyebrows at her.

Dougs just stared at him blankly.

Again, he raised his eyebrows at her.

She looked back at Ghost, who was watching on, either with utmost curiosity or because he didn’t know where to place his eyes.

“Well, we don’t know for sure if it’s badly infected.”

“But it is infected.” Gaz said, emphasising the last word, “Infected from the attack.”

“Or b-because dirt can get into it, maybe?” Dougs nodded slowly, “And also because we lack the resources to deliver adequate enough care to have prevented this when we first completed your dressing.”

“Or it could be from the attack.” Gaz once more suggested.

“We don’t know for sure your theory is certain.”

They are definitely talking about something else… Ghost tilted his head to one side, listening to this almost robotic conversation, or they’re both having a stroke.

“Am I in trouble?” Gaz swallowed hard, “Because I’ve got a fever too and-”

She checked his forehead, to find he had a hot head like Graves and Price.

“We’ll see, Gaz. Let’s see what we can do now, okay?”

He nodded, but unable to shake the dread.

Something was weighing down on his chest and Sergeant Garrick began to wonder if the lack of recollection from the night leading up to Weir’s death was in fact not due to a heavy sleep but rather responsibility. Perhaps there was a reason he was the first to find her body.

No, Gaz pushed those thoughts away, there’s no evidence.

Dougs popped on a fresh dressing and sent him on his way, letting out a big yawn.

She ought to have antibiotics with her, knowing full well that these types of infections can get serious, but all she had were diaphoretics and salt.

Luckily, there hadn’t been any signs of pus forming in any of the injuries she had seen so far… but she knew it would be inevitable.

Better get ready to make some salt baths soon.

“Do you feel feverish, Ghost?”

He shook his head.

“Can I check anyways?”

Reluctantly, he removed the skull mask and loosened his balaclava. Guiding her hand, he let her feel his cheeks and forehead.

At least we’ve got one without a raging fever.

He felt cool, the only sensation Dougs really picked up on was the slight roughness of his stubble. She gave a small sigh of relief, eyes blinking slowly in their growing tiredness.

“Well, it seems you’re clear. Don’t start scratching at your dressing whilst I nod off, understood?”

Ghost nodded, taking her advice to distract himself from the urge by raking his nails along his thick cargo pants.

As Dougs snuggled into her sleeping bag, she turned to face Ghost, watching him begin to close up shop. It was nice to be lying down, her feet pulsing with the ache of their walking, only just experiencing a proper rest after miles of trekking. Every muscle in Dougs’ body was reverberating with a dull pain: her back, her feet and her hands, which were cramping a little from all the fine-motor tasks. She clenched and unclenched her fist underneath the covers, trying to get the stiffness out of her joints.

“Are you going to sleep with that thing on?” She asked, a curious smile creeping across her tired face.

“Yes, and soundly.” Ghost replied.

Dougs was going to remark on the surprising tranquillity of this evening, but her mind turned to the chaos that was replacing almost everyone’s dressing.

She looked back at Ghost, who had set his mask aside, looking in his rucksack for the hangable torch, his wounded hand raised in the air, sleeve rolled up. Presumably, the man was trying to see if the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ thing worked and it seemed it was as he wasn’t itching.

She shook her head, hoping that maybe letting the wound breathe might help alleviate the irritation, but she could see by the way his arm shook a little with tension, that he was resisting the compulsion to tear out the sutures.

I should have brought cones of shame with me. Works on dogs.

As if on cue, Dougs whipped her head around at a strange sound. It was distant, but unmistakeable. Almost like a lamentation, it rasped out a little at the end, but picked up for a new cycle of wails.

“Is that howling?” She rose from her sleeping bag, looking in the direction of the sound.

“Baying.”

The medic turned around to Ghost.

“That’s baying.” He repeated, not bothering to dart his head about like Dougs.

“Baying?”

“Yeah. Not quite howling. Not quite barking. Dogs usually do it when they’ve found something they want others to see. Not surprised a farm dog would be baying at this hour, probably saw a fox or something.”

“Are you sure it’s a farm dog?”

Ghost scoffed at the worried look on her face.

“What else is it gonna be? Wolves?”

She shrugged, drawing her knees to her chest.

“I saw you talking to Gaz.” Ghost continued, “Is he still harping on about the attack being animals?”

She shook her head.

“No. He doesn’t think it was animals anymore.” Dougs half-lied.

“Glad he’s getting with the program.” Ghost remarked, hanging up a torch on the carabiner above them, “The last thing we want is infighting on who done it. Northolt is our objective, let’s focus on that.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, “Yeah.”

Dougs looked off to the side, hearing the hound’s baying once more.

***

BANG!

Gunfire rang out and both Dougs and Ghost shot up at the echoing sound.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she stumbled out the tent, following the lieutenant.

Soap clutched his gun in shaking hands, the barrel still smoking as he watched the thing collapse onto the ground.

“Soap!” Ghost ran to his side, “Soap, are you alright?!”

“What the fuck is that?”

“What is what?” Ghost looked at him, only to follow his gaze down MacTavish’s raised arm and pointed to finger to see something he… he didn’t know what to make of.

“What the fuck is that?”

Ghost backed up.

It was large, surely as big as a bear if not bigger, with a mane of fur around its neck and two sizeable bullet holes in its stomach. A forked tongue hung out its mouth which was lined with teeth fit for shearing and tearing meat.

Gaz slunk past Ghost to get a closer look, only to be grabbed by the shoulder and held back by his lieutenant.

“It looks like a dog.” Graves observed, resting some of his weight on Dougs who propped him up so he could stand a little more upright.

“That’s one fucked up dog.” Soap remarked, grimacing.

Dougs covered her nose.

“Smells rank.”

“What is it, though?” Gaz asked.

“Dogman?” Soap suggested.

“Fucking dogman?!” Gaz pointed to it, “That’s a whole-ass werewolf!”

Its eyes opened. As they squabbled and argued about the hypotheticals of what this could be… the thing was listening.

And Dougs clocked it was alive.

Blood began to pour from its wounds once more.

“Uh… guys…” She began to back away with Graves.

“Why are you fixed on the biology, Soap?!”

“Guys…” Dougs said again, seeing its fingers tense.

“Because that looks like a dogman! And I know for a fact that dogmen are more likely to be real than a fucking man who can turn into that thing!"

“Oh my God.” Gaz pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Boys!” Graves snapped, “Shoot that thing before it gets up!”

“What?”

“Fuck!”

It had risen onto its hind legs, drool dripping from its chops. They all staggered backwards.

“Fucking shoot it, Soap!” Graves yelled.

Without a second thought, Soap open fired on the animal. It let out a shriek before trying to take a swipe at the gun.

Soap managed to hit it before it got close enough, and the creature stumbled, before falling to the ground.

This was a mistake.

Because, and they hadn’t realised it yet but, that thing was way more comfortable on all fours.

Licking the slobber hanging from those dribbling lips, it snapped at them. Clearly, unfazed that it had another wound gushing with blood.

Soap lined up to take another shot.

“Shouldn’t we need silver?” Gaz mumbled.

Graves shot him a dirty look, keeping a hand on his chest so he’d remain the furthest behind them.

“If I shoot it, what difference is it gonna make?” Soap asked, finger hovering over the trigger.

“What does it matter?!” Dougs groaned, “It’s either it dies or we’re dinner!”

Soap took a deep breath and steadied his aim.

BANG!

Straight through the eye. Its head flung backwards, only to return to facing ahead, glaring daggers at them.

“You see?! What the fuck do I do?”

That’s when Ghost charged at it from behind and flung boiling water from one of the cooking pots.

It screeched, totally caught off guard.

Ghost grabbed his knife and stabbed it in the gut.

Only to be grabbed and thrown across the camp, landing on top of the spare tent.

“Fire again!” Graves shouted.

Soap did so.

And again. And again.

Each time, the animal would get knocked back, return to its original position, staggering towards them like a deranged, sickly yet determined fool, oozing buckets of blood.

The whole party did what they could only do, raise their arms and roar at it, sticking close together so as to appear as a single, frightening unit. They roared and clapped their hands. Roared and fired their guns.

It hissed before turning back around and making a retreat, dashing into the woods with a slight limp… just as the sun’s morning rays landed on their small, temporary plot of land.

They were all left speechless… well, except for Gaz.

“I fucking knew it!” He shook his fist in the air, “That’s what hit us before!”

“How do you know for certain?” Graves asked.

“What got you, Commander?”

“A man.” Was the reply.

“Are you sure?”

As Gaz began to explain his theory on their enemy, Dougs looked around.

And counted.

Soap, Gaz, Graves and Ghost.

There were supposed to be six.

Price.

“Guys.” She called for silence, “Where’s Price?”

They all looked about.

“Oh fuck!” Soap’s head was on the verge of doing a full 360 spin, “Where’s Captain Price?”

“Shit…” Graves sighed.

As they trekked along the winding path, keeping to the perimeter of the field, Dougs spotted something ahead.

Someone.

“Hey!” She whispered to Graves, who had taken to using her as his new crutch, “Do you see that?”

“What?” He asked, wincing as the sun blinded him momentarily.

“Look!” She pointed with her free hand, “Look!”

“Oh… Oh! Woah! Folks!”

They stopped dead in their tracks.

“Is that-”

The distant figure collapsed onto the ground.

“Fuck!”

Ghost remained on overwatch with Dougs as Soap and Gaz, guns at the ready ran ahead.

Within minutes, the remaining three’s radios crackled.

“It’s Price…” Soap said, “And he’s dead.”

They had crowded round the dead body, looking down at it with despondent eyes.

“It’s him.”

They could just about recognise the lifeless form of their captain. His gear was reduced to rags with gaping wounds littering his body.

“What happened to him?” Soap asked, not sure what other words to say.

Gaz knelt down to check his breathing.

“Yep…” His voice quivered, “… Dead.”

“You don’t think he was… you know…” Graves looked to the company to the left, and then to his folks on the right.

“Are you saying that I shot Price?” Soap growled.

“Well, why else would he be here, half naked and dead with wounds that we gave to a monster hours ago?”

Dougs felt cold sweat run down her temple… or was it the foggy air condensing around her?

Either way, she wiped off the moisture.

Only for the wetness to return, this time in the form of a droplet; followed by another and then another.

Ghost looked up to the sky and held his hand out.

“We should think about moving, or this’ll get worse.”

“What about Price?” Gaz raised, “We can’t just leave him here!”

“Can’t exactly bury him…” Soap muttered.

That’s when Gaz turned to face Soap with narrow eyes.

“You were on night watch last night.”

“Aye. So were you.”

“I left halfway through because of my stitches.” Gaz walked up to him, “Did you see anything? Do anything?”

“Gaz…” Dougs spoke sternly.

Soap stared at him, unsure whether to meet his eyes or not.

“I heard voices. More specifically your voice.”

“Gaz, that’s enough!” Ghost barked.

Gaz placed a finger on Soap’s armoured chest.

“Tell me everything.”

“Gaz, what are you implying-”

“Report, Sergeant!”

Dougs knew she would’ve flinched in that moment, but Soap stood strong, unmoved. Instead of recoiling, he simply sighed.

“I saw Price come out the tent, walk into the woods. At first, I thought he’d got up to piss but something was off. I followed him, called after him. And… I lost sight of Price.”

Gaz began to laugh, shaking his head.

“You just lost sight of him?”

“I swear I had nothing to do with this!” Soap snarled.

“You fucking…” Gaz clenched his fist.

Only for a hand to place itself on his shoulder: Ghost looked down at the sergeant with tired eyes.

“We don’t need this. Price is dead and we have a long way to Northolt, so let’s just stick together as a- Ah!”

He released Gaz, clutching his arm.

“You alright, Lt?” Soap came to his side.

“Yeah…” Ghost breathed out, “Just… tore my stitches.”

He looked over to Dougs, apologetically.

#winter solstice writing event #longest night stories #cod mwii fic #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #captain john price #phillip graves #simon ghost riley #there's an oc here too lol

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takeeachdayonebookatatime · 1 year

Text

Why did you elbow me? 91

Undercover Beckett part 6

Carlyle: pov in the hallway we find Darwin bent over in pain Jo is laying on the floor unconscious. Lanie tells me to go wake up Margaret, Cindy, Jeb and to get a security guard. I will handle the rest. Lanie Shoves Darwin In the closet for now. I run and tell Margaret, Cindy and Jeb we have an emergency.

Jeb: pov in the hallway Lanie is taking Jo's vitals which don't look good Carlyle runs into Jo's room to get Lanie her phone. I can hear Jo moaning in pain, she has a cut on her forehead, Lanie grabs a pen light and shines it in Jo's eyes trying to see if she has a concussion.

Cindy: pov A few minutes later she comes to but she is so out of it. Her left arm is also limp, Lanie is trying to get Jo to follow the Light. Carlyle is holding a gauze pad to Jo's forehead.

Lanie: pov I have no choice but to blow Kate's cover, she already caught the killer so there's no harm. A security guard arrives to grab Darwin. I tell Jeb to call the police and also Ryan and Esposito at the 12th precinct and tell them to get here immediately. It's a 10-12 code. Kate is definitely not well. Her breathing is also not good. She keeps saying between labored breaths head hurts, I ask Cindy if they have oxygen here she says yes I ask her to bring it over and her meds. Jeb is holding her neck for me and Carlyle is helping me by holding her on her right side so I can check the back of her head.

Margaret: pov Cindy is back and hands Lanie the oxygen mask Lanie says she has to call for an ambulance, Carlyle is trying to help calm Jo down. Lanie says into the phone this is Dr Lanie parish medical examiner for the 12th precinct I need an ambulance at this address, she gives them our location then says something so shocking to us. She says to the medics on the phone. Her name is Captain Kate Becket. She is 34, and has a head injury. She has previous chest trauma from a shooting, PTSD, is a TCA survivor and has had previous heart surgery. Lanie has her hooked up to the heart monitor which is going crazy. Carlyle says to Lanie medical examiner does that mean you work with dead bodies she says yep all day every day.

Jeb: pov Lanie hands Margaret the phone and asks her to relay her vitals to the medics. Me and Cindy hold Kate down so Lanie can give Jo or whatever her name is her meds. Once they are injected I'm sitting on the floor holding her neck still while Lanie is taking her vitals and trying to calm her down. Margaret is explaining everything to the medics on the phone. Lanie says, tell them to get a medi-vac helicopter for her since she is suffering from ventricular fibrillation and possibly stroke symptoms Lanie is doing CPR in hopes it will help. Cindy is setting up the AED for Lanie who explains to us how to use it properly. She puts the stickers on Jo's chest once her heart is back in rhythm, Lanie checks her vitals again.

Carlyle: pov I'm so shocked by what Lanie just said, I can't believe it, she explains everything to us as best as she can quickly. I can't believe that happened to her. The medics arrive and so does her husband Derek if that is even his name with 2 other guys and a bunch of police officers. Lanie tells them the guard is holding Darwin. The medics put a neck brace on her just in case. Tim the medic checks to make sure she is breathing okay which she is, Lanie explains she had to do CPR and use the paddles on Jo/Kate because she was suffering from ventricular fibrillation Derek is holding Jo's right hand and she keeps trying to say Castle. Turns out it's his last name just like the author. Tim lifts up her shirt so he can listen to her heart. That is when I noticed the massive scar on her side. He then inserts an IV in her right arm. Her left arm is limp at her side.

Cindy: pov Tim is shining a light in Jo's eye to see if she will follow it, she brings her right hand up to swat it away, Tim says it is definitely a concussion and she will need stitches on her forehead, but they will no more once she is at the hospital. She is moved on to a gurney and then is loaded in the ambulance. Lanie says With her cardiac history we can't take a chance hence the helicopter and with her having stroke-like symptoms even more of a reason. There is a baseball field a little bit up the road that is where the helicopter is waiting for them.

Ryan: pov Darwin is being taken to jail, Esposito is on the phone with chief gates. I hear him tell her that Darwin is in custody and will be charged for the murders and he also will be charged with attempted murder of a police officer. Lanie found him in the hallway on the floor in pain and Kate with a head injury suffering from ventricular fibrillation. Looks like she kicked him because he kept complaining about her kicking him.

Castle: pov the ambulance ride was short but scary Kate is somewhat alert. They kept the paddles on Kate's chest in case of an emergency. The helicopter ride is short at the hospital Kate is unloaded and wheeled into a trauma room the cardiologist is monitoring her heart while the neurologist is examining her. I'm told to wait in the waiting room, I decide to call Martha, Alexis and Jim. I explain everything to them, Ryan and Esposito should be here soon they mention chief gates is coming to the hospital. To be continued. ……

#fanfiction #castle #caskett #stanakatic #katebeckett #nathanfillion #richardcastle #seamusdever #kevinryan #javierespisito #jonhuertas #lanieperish #tamalajones

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weatheredwordsofmine · 2 years

Text

Sometimes I feel like when I speak I overstay my welcome. Sometimes I feel like what I’m prepared to give, you should feel lucky to have. Dualities are my nature. I am mallaeable yet rigid. Adaptive yet never changing.

I feel my form erupt forth as if I were my own metal to smith, hammering away at myself till my shape matches my ever shifting truth. My blood boils, constantly keeping the steel molten, I flow and halt and heat and cool and my crystalline structure readies itself despite the material strain telling it to stop, but I can’t, I won’t. I must be ready, yet I sense I never will.

My energy stays the same, yet it’s state always changing. I sense my matter unable to move, unable to stop, unable to act, everything at once yet nothing, all there can be is the numbness that staunches the flow, that forces movement despite this my this petrification of my very bones.

I forge myself anew, chiselling new masks into the layers of stone that cool on the surface of my skin, distant enough from the volcano that is my heart and the flow of viscous and vicious magma that is my veins. I carve away at this rock I sense encasing me, so the pain and tears don’t errode away at the story I wish to tell.

My raging natural disaster shouldn’t get in the way of what I want to provide, what I wish to receive. Dualities are my nature. I must become enough for myself, enough for others, enough for rest and action.

Yet, how am I supposed to know when to stop forging myself anew? Yet, how am I meant to stop when all it feels like is stagnation?

I may merely a half of this duality, the ever vigilant even with being a constant force despite my stillness or the lack of it. I am fleeting, yet rooted. Do I simply exist to be the fire to someone else’s glacial permafrost, to be the thing that warms them to life, to add feeling when I can feel plenty for us both? Do they exist to be the rivers that errode my stone, the plants stitching parts of me to them, a reminder to became calm, to let myself be.

Perhaps duality isn’t all there is to me. Perhaps, how I’m forged matters little for how I fit isn’t relevant; when anything acknowledges me, it isn’t the brush strokes or colours or whatever else that has been used that is seen, it’s the picture they see that matters. Even if I’m a canvas painted with disaster, if there’s beauty in what they see, I will be given a way to fit.

Being enough isn’t the goal, becoming enough isn’t it either. It’s finding a place that knows regardless, that you will be.

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mike-wachowski · 2 years

Note

bro bro.

7. kissing scars, yelena and kate.

if u want<3 please giggles

(prompt list)

Fifteen seconds.

It takes fifteen seconds for Kate to notice Yelena, perched in her open window, back to the fire escape.

In fifteen seconds, Yelena could lunge from her place in the shadows and tackle Kate Bishop to the ground, yank her arms above her head, pin her legs down with her knees and have her in a chokehold so tight it would only add five extra seconds to that time.

Or she could launch two daggers from her belt, poison tipped to render Kate motionless, one impact for each leg; Kate Bishop would drop to the floor in mere seconds, her legs failing her, then slowly the poison would travel further up her body until her whole self was paralyzed, trapped in a prison of her own contorting muscles.

In fifteen seconds, Yelena could steal Kate’s bow from her room. She could outfit her entire kitchen with hidden cameras. She could raid Kate’s fridge.

Yelena does none of these things. She sits on the windowsill for fifteen seconds, watches Kate strip herself of her coat and quiver, let Lucky off his leash, and walk all the way into the kitchen. She does this for fifteen seconds, and right at the cusp of sixteen, Yelena makes her presence known.

She lets out a low whistle. “Welcome home, Kate Bishop.”

“Fuck-ing shit, oh my god.”

Kate jumps like a startled mouse, and Yelena only barely tries to mask her smile. “Did I scare you?”

“No, no.” Kate stammers. She fumbles for her kitchen light. “No way. ‘Course I knew you were here when I walked in.”

“Yes, of course you did.”

Kate finds her light switch. “What are you doing here?”

“Currently? I am staining your kitchen’s wood floor a lovely red shade.”

The yellow industrial light in Kate’s kitchen buzzes on, and Yelena watches as Kate’s vision drops very rapidly from her face, to her toes, where a not-inconsequential pool of blood has slowly accumulated over the last fourteen seconds.

“Oh, shit, Yel.” Kate groans. “What happened?”

“I fell.”

“On a bullet?”

“Er. Yes?

Kate is already out of the room. When she returns, she returns with a familiar red bag, filled with bandages and first aid equipment. How cute, Yelena thinks. We’ve settled into routine.

Kate kneels before her. “Can you- um. Can you take off your pants, please?”

“Kate Bishop!” She howls. “Ask a girl out for drinks first, will you?”

Kate grumbles, “I did ask you, and you turned me down to try and kill my partner.”

Yelena just pats her softly on the head.

With Kate’s help, Yelena peels off her cracked armor pads and slim, blood-soaked suit. She’ll ask Kate if she can use her building’s laundromat later.

Kate tends to her wound gently, gentler than Yelena has ever been cared for. She holds Yelena’s hand (even as she swears she doesn’t need it) when Kate pulls the bullet from where it’s embedded in her thigh. She cleans the area with gentle strokes, squeezing Yelena’s fingers when she tenses from the sting, and stitches the wound closed with clean sutures and the steady hand of a marksman.

When she finishes, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, Yelena watches as Kate Bishop’s ever so perceptive eyes drop from the gunshot wound, to a wide, jagged scar beneath it.

Kate runs her thumb along the ridge of it. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Yelena glances away. “You never needed to.”

“It’s old-”

“It’s ugly, and it never healed right.” Yelena sighs. “Leave it, please, Kate.”

If Yelena’s words have hurt her, Kate does a fine job of not showing it- in another world she would make an incredible spy. “I’m sorry,” she just says, giving Yelena a comforting smile. She drops her hand to Yelena’s knee.

But Kate shouldn’t have to be sorry. Not after everything she’s done for her tonight. Maybe that's why Yelena blurts out, “It’s where they put my tracker in.”

Kate blinks. “The- uh.. the Red Room, right?”

Yelena nods. “When I first broke away from their control, I had to cut it out so they wouldn’t find me.”

Kate looks up at Yelena as she brings her hand to once again hover near the scar, asking for permission. Slowly, Yelena places her hand, feather-light, atop Kate’s and together their fingertips trace the length of the scar. The the raised, uneven space where she had to cut herself open and put herself back together is sensitive, as all new skin is, and feeling Kate Bishop tend to it so gently makes her breath pause.

Then, before Yelena realizes, Kate leans down and presses a hovering kiss to the bottom of the scar.

Its enough to make Yelena pull back, her hand squeezing Kate’s a little too tight. Kate understands, slowly leans back from Yelena’s leg to sit on her heels.

“I know you think it’s ugly.” Kate whispers, fingers tapping on the side of Yelena’s knee. “But I think it’s really powerful. It’s the first mark on a body that was yours.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Only you could think of such things, Kate Bishop.”

Kate smiles, thumb pressing one final circle into Yelena’s leg. “I”m gonna put the first aid kit away.” She stands, grabbing the bag of supplies and tucking it under her arm. She gives Yelena a quick glance over her shoulder. “You better not jump out of that window.”

Yelena rolls her eyes. “I would not dream of it.”

When Kate returns just in time to see Yelena’s feet slip off the edge of the railing, she can still hear Kate whisper, “Damnit, Yelena.” and then, “Gosh, that's still so cool.”

And then, as Yelena is halfway down the fire escape: “You left your fucking pants!”

#prompts #kate bishop #yelena belova #bishlova #bellhop #okay here u go mickey #idk what happened this was supposed to be like 200 words max and i blacked out and i wrote a whole one shot #hope you like !#mike writes

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scumbagg · 3 years

Text

NSFT/18+

Space Ghost Coast to Coast

A/N: I purely wrote this as Bell instead of Y/N since I can’t bring myself to write Y/N fics 😂

I recently finished MW2 and needed some Ghost food to heal my broken heart after the traumatic betrayal I witnessed. Also maybe a bit of DadPrice! giving a lecture. Here goes nothing..

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem Bell

Word count: 3252

Warnings: smut, injury (gunshot), blood, swearing.

“Eyes up, scouts patrolling up ahead.”

Price’s voice in your earpiece came through at the exact moment the two men appeared in your line of vision 40 metres in front of you.

“Dropped him.”

Aiming your sniper, the guard trailing slightly behind fell to the ground before you’d even had time to place your finger on the trigger. Taking aim at the other man’s head, your rifle made almost no sound as you took him out a second later.

“Nice shot. Move up.”

“Thanks.” You whispered back. You turned back for a moment to the place you knew Price was laying hidden almost 90 metres behind you.

“Move, Bell. We won’t have much time before more patrols come along and find those bodies.” Soap’s whispered voice now, also in your earpiece - but you knew he was somewhere to the right of you hidden in the long grass. You crawled quietly through the grass. You heard the brush whispering slightly either side of you as the bodies of Soap and Ghost moved up to flank with you.

“Hold up, two more tangoes patrolling the fence line.” Price murmured a moment later. “Take ‘em out, or let ‘em move on. Your call Bell”

“No stragglers.” You whispered back. You heard the pops from Ghost’s and Soap’s suppressed guns as they took out the two guards ahead.

“Good call.” Price confirmed. “Can’t see anymore inbound. You’re in the clear. House up ahead is empty. We’ll regroup inside.”

“Roger.”

Standing up, you scanned the area out of precaution for more enemies. Satisfied, you nodded to the other two men to move up. The three of you passed the fence line and had almost made it to the back door of the house when it happened.

You heard it before you felt it. The sound of a pistol being fired in your direction had you spinning to face the direction it came from, when suddenly you felt white hot pain erupt in your left shoulder. Dropping to the ground, the sound was over almost as quickly as it started, but your eyesight went black as you squeezed your eyes shut in pain and gripped your shoulder as blood poured through your fingers.

“Bell!” The scream came from within your earpiece at the same time Ghost shouted your name, making your ear throb in pain. You hardly noticed with the burning coming from your shoulder, but you still flinched.

“What the fuck was that?!” You gritted through your teeth.

“One of the guards back there wasn’t as dead as we thought. He fucking is now. Don’t worry darlin’, you’re gonna be alright.” Ghost pried your hand away from your shoulder and replace them with his own. “Soap, get me the medi-kit from your pack, quick!”

“Darlin’?!” Soap laughed as he handed Ghost the pack. Frowning, he looked down at the two of you.

“He’s taking the piss.. it’s an inside joke.. had to be there.” You said through gritted teeth, glaring into Ghost’s glasses. Ghost said nothing as he worked on stopping the bleeding, but the minimal supplies in the kit weren’t doing much.

“Fuck!” Ghost said in a panicked voice. You were starting to feel drowsy, and the sight of all the blood was making you queasy. You could feel your head starting to spin, threatening to send you into unconsciousness.

“Ghost, she’s gonna be fine. Look, the bullet went straight through.” Soap said calmly, pointing at the bullet lodged in the brick in the wall just behind where you’d been standing. “It’s a clean wound, it’ll just need stitches.”

“Fine. We’ve gotta get her back ASAP. I’ll take her, you and Price grab the intel.”

“No, I’ll take her.” Price came into view, rifle slung over his back. “You’re the one that’s better with technology, you’ll get the intel quicker from the computer. Someone’s bound to have heard those gunshots, we’re sure to have company soon. C’mon Bell.” Price hoisted you up under your uninjured arm, replacing Ghost’s hands with one of his. Stumbling, you gripped Price’s arm for support. Looking over at Ghost, you noticed his eyes tighten behind his sunglasses, but he nodded in assent.

“Let’s get moving,” Price commanded, nodding at the other two. “Soap, Ghost, I’ll send for another chopper to pick you up. See you boys at home.”

*****

Fourteen stitches and a bandaged shoulder later, the infirmary staff finally let you leave. Pushing open the exit door to the outside, you found Price leaning against a jeep waiting for you.

“What are you still doing here?” You asked suspiciously.

“Thought I’d give you a ride home. It’s a bit of a far walk and I assumed you’d be too hopped up on pain killers to drive yourself.” He replied, opening the passenger door courteously.

“Oh… thanks.” You said, taken aback by the display of kindness. It’s not that Captain Price was unkind; he’d just never shown any outward kindness outside of the field. You were surprised that he’d thought to even come back for you.

The two of you drove in silence for a few moments, before the question you were burning to ask broke its way out of your control.

“Did the other two make it back okay?” You tried to sound casual, but your insides were turning with worry.

“Yeah, they got back about an hour ago, no issues.” Price answered, concentrating on the road.

“And the intel?”

‘Acquired.” Price gruffed.

“Hmm, very good.” You stared straight ahead, watching the sun settle in the west. This was the first time in a non-formal environment you’d ever spent a moment alone with the Captain, and you weren’t sure how to make small talk with him. You sat in silence as Price drove you through the city. You wondered how he knew where you lived when it occurred to you that being a member of his team, he’d know where everyone lived. Not that you spent much time in your own house these nights. You thought back to a few nights ago...

The sound of Price clearing his throat awkwardly pulled you out of your reverie. Looking over at him, you watched as he shifted in his seat and waited for him to speak.

“What is it?”

Price sighed. “Look, I really don’t want to have this conversation. But I’ve told him the same thing I’m telling you now. This is one of the best task forces I’ve ever worked with, and I don’t want anything fucking that up. Understood?”

You felt your calm composure slip through the cracks as your eyes widened in panic. You glanced over to see him still staring straight ahead, his mouth set in a hard line.

“Wait, you know about-”

“Of course I fucking know.” Price snapped, watching you out of the corner of his eyes. Shit, so maybe he did know where you actually slept after all. “I know everything that goes on in my team. Look,” he said calmly. “I don’t give a fuck what you get up to in your spare time. It’s like I told him, I’m not going to report it. It’s not been an issue yet. Just don’t let it affect you on the job.”

“I haven’t! I’ve been so careful about trying to keep it professional while we’re on a mission!” Your heart raced at the fact you had been caught out.

“I know you have, Bell. But that man is head over heels for you, in case you hadn’t realised. I’m concerned he’ll let his feelings for you get in the way of the job. Look at today – he’s the best man on our team for tech, and he was willing to throw the whole job, just out of pure panic for you.” Price sighed again. “I’m not sending either of you away. I just needed to remind you of the main reason we are here. If you two can’t handle that, I’ll be forced to find someone to take your place on the team.”

“Does anyone else know?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t think so, but if Simon continues on the way he was today, I doubt it’ll be long until Soap catches on.” Price grimaced, then looked over at you. “Darlin’,” he grinned.

“Ughhh,” you groaned as Price pulled up outside what you now realised wasn’t your house. “I can’t believe he let that slip out.” You unbuckled your seatbelt, careful not to move too much that it pulled at your stitches. Opening your door, you looked back at Price. “Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it.”

Price smiled and nodded in response. “Don’t be too harsh on him about today,” he said, looking over your shoulder as you heard the front door open behind you. You closed the door and waved as the jeep drove away.

*****

All your anxiety from the conversation with Price suddenly turned to irritation as you turned to face the man in the doorway. You stormed towards him, your uninjured shoulder hitting his lower abdomen as you barged your way past him into the hallway.

“Bell-” he began.

“Get out of my way, Simon. I need a fucking shower.” You snapped irritably.

“Here, let me help-”

“No.”

“Bell!” Simon pleaded.

“What the fuck was that today?!” You snarled. “You might as well just fucking announce to the whole place that we’re together!” You began climbing the stairs towards the bathroom, but stopped halfway there. Staying angry wasn’t one of your strong suits, and seeing him standing pleadingly in the hallway washed away your irritation. “Look,” you sighed heavily, coming back down the stairs so you were eye level with him. “I just had the lecture of a lifetime from Price. I can’t lose what we have here Simon, and he warned if we couldn’t keep it professional out there, then one of us would be replaced.” You stepped towards him, reaching for him in both apology and forgiveness. You placed a hand on his masked jaw, your thumb stroking along his hard cheekbone.

“I’m sorry for today,” he said apologetically, leaning his cheek into your hand. “Seeing you injured and in pain, all that blood… I panicked.”

“It’s okay,” you soothed. Smiling up at him, you smacked his arm playfully. “You’re silly, you know that right. Even I knew it wasn’t bad, and you’ve seen way more injuries than I have. I can’t imagine how you would’ve been if Soap hadn’t been there to pull your head in.”

Simon wrapped his arm around your head, resting his hand at the base of your skull and pulled you in for a hug. You lifted your other arm to place it around his waist and winced. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“How are you feeling anyway, darlin’?” He stepped back to survey you.

“Rubbish. These pain killers are doing their job, but I feel disgusting. I really do need a shower.” You looked over your shoulder towards the bathroom. “I uh... might need a hand actually,” you said awkwardly, wondering how you were going to manage without getting your stitches wet. Surprisingly, this was your first major injury, given your line of work.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling you towards the bathroom.

Simon turned on the shower and helped you undress, helping remove your shoes, pants and underwear, aware of your fresh wound as he carefully pulled the shirt from your arms and over your head. His eyes filled with remorse as they fell on your injured shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he whispered. “That guy that shot you… that’s the one I took down. I didn’t know he wasn’t dead.” He looked away sadly.

“Hey,” you grabbed his chin gently and turned his head so he was looking you squarely in the eyes. “It’s not your fault. Stop blaming yourself, no one else does. I’m fine.”

“But what if it had been worse? What if that bullet had landed here?” Simon touched your forehead. “Or here,” he said, touching the base of your throat. “What if-”

“Don’t think about it,” you said firmly, pulling his hand from your neck. “Simon, I said I’m fine.” Still holding his hand, you pulled it up to your lips. “There is one thing I am annoyed about, though,” you smirked as you kissed his fingers.

Simon looked at you quizzically. “Why am I the only one naked right now? Surely you’re not gonna shower in your clothes.” You stepped inside the shower, letting the water run over your head, careful to avoid letting it hit your left shoulder.

Simon’s eyes squinted, and you knew he was smirking behind his mask as he removed the rest of his gear and dumped it on the ground next to yours. As always, his mask was the very last thing he removed. No matter how comfortable Simon was with you, and no matter how many times you’d seen him without it, there were certain insecurities that were too deeply ingrained. The last piece of Ghost removed, and only Simon stood in front of you.

Simon stepped in the large shower with you. Grabbing a face washer and pouring body wash on it, he gently helped scrub off the dried blood that had made its way down your torso. He shampooed, conditioned and brushed your hair, knowing you couldn’t lift your arm to wash any dried blood that had knotted in there. Once you were clean, you grabbed the other face wash and carefully, with your good arm, moved it across his chest and abdomen. He watched as you gently made circles on his large shoulders and down his muscular arms.

You wrapped your good arm around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Don’t be too long,” you smiled as you stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel.

Walking to the dresser, you pulled out some clothes and attempted to get dressed but you couldn’t pull the shirt over your head. You sighed, and sat on the bed resignedly, still in your towel. You heard the shower stop running, and Simon stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Here,” you beckoned, reaching for him. Simon came to stand in front of you, standing in between your legs. You leaned forward and kissed his stomach, feeling the warm skin beneath your lips raise with goose bumps. You tugged on his arm, pulling him down towards the ground. He knelt, still between your legs, and leaned forward to bury his face in your neck. Almost a whole foot of height difference between the two of you, yet you were the only person who could bring Simon Riley to his knees.

Your good arm snaked its way around his broad back, tracing his spine, down to his hips to the edge of the towel. You heard Simon’s breath quicken, still lightly kissing your neck, when your fingers made their way around to the front of his towel and tugged it loose, letting it fall to the floor.

You lightly brushed your fingers down his stomach and over his navel, until you reached the base of his shaft. You felt Simon’s breath hitch as you gripped it in both hands.

“Bell..” he groaned.

“Mmm?”

He brought his mouth round to yours, kissing you deeply. His mouth trailed back along your jaw to your ear. “Why am I the only one that’s naked?” You felt his smirk against your cheek as he repeated your line back to you.

“Maybe you should fix that,” you whispered back.

Simon wasted no time in removing your towel and throwing it across the other side of the room. You laid back on the bed as he trailed kisses down your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and thumbing circles around the other. Your hands threaded themselves through his thick hair as you massaged his head. Simon’s hands followed his head as he made his way down your stomach and down your navel, his hands gliding over your hips and massaging up and down your thighs.

You threw your head back and moaned in pleasure as he buried his face between your legs, his mouth sucking and licking at your clit. You gasped as you felt one of Simon’s fingers enter you, then two, and he slowly picked up a rhythm as his mouth and fingers worked in synch. You could feel your walls begin to tighten as you got closer to your orgasm.

“Stop,” you gasped. Simon looked up quickly.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked worriedly.

“Not at all,” you tugged at his arm so he pulled himself so he was hovered above you. “I need you in me right now,” you purred as you pulled his head down, his lips crashing to meet yours.

You reached down and grabbed his length firmly, stroking it. Simon’s eyes glazed over with lust as he moved his head back to your neck. Guiding him, you positioned him at your entrance.

“You sure?” he asked huskily. You knew he was teasing. He knew exactly what you wanted.

“Yes,” you breathed.

You both groaned with pleasure as he entered you, filling and stretching you out. Simon set a slow pace at first, until he was sure you had adjusted to him, then quickened the pace. His hands moved to your waist as he slammed into you, holding you in place so you didn’t move around too much. He pulled your legs over his shoulders and you gripped his forearms, lost in pleasure.

Simon leaned forward and your legs dropped to his waist. He took one of your breasts in his mouth. You moaned in ecstasy as he hit the sweet spot inside of you.

“Simon.. I think I’m gonna-” you gasped.

Still inside of you, Simon pulled you on top of him as he rolled onto his back. “Not yet, you’re not.”

“Owwwww!” You winced as the action pulled tightly at your left shoulder.

“Fuck! Sorry! You okay?” He asked worriedly.

“Yeah,” you moaned as you picked up the pace again. You brought your legs either side of his waist and pulled his hands to your breasts as you lowered yourself onto him, taking him completely. Now in control, you could feel every movement and every angle as you took him deep inside you.

Simon gripped your breasts firmly as he felt your walls begin to tighten. “C’mon, darlin’,” he groaned. “I’m not far off, myself.”

“I’m gonna come,” you whined. You rocked your hips back and forth and threw your head back as your walls clenched around him. You rode your orgasm out, and heard Simon groan as his own orgasm erupted into you. You fell on top of him, exhausted and satisfied.

Simon gently rolled you off him and onto the bed as he got up to get some water. Your eyes followed him, appreciating his finely sculpted body as he walked to the sink in the ensuite, grabbing a glass off the nightstand and filling it with water. He met your eyes as he walked back to the bed.

“What?” He asked bashfully as he handed you the water, aware of his nakedness.

“You’re beautiful,” you smiled drowsily, taking the glass.

Simon chuckled. “Are you sure you’re okay? They must be some strong drugs they gave you.”

“Hmmm... never better” you sighed as you handed the water back to him. Despite what you said, sleep was already pulling you under.

Simon leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x f reader #ghost x fem bell #ghost modern warfare

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