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highqueenofelfhame · 1 year

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rowaelin // 5.2k words // masterlist an: i'll add tags later tonight after work, but I wanted to get this posted before i leave <;3 tw: brief mentions of abortion, language

The bathroom counter was entirely covered with various types of pregnancy tests. After the first four showed positive, Aelin had gone back to the pharmacy and bought every type they had available. HCG tests that were no more than skinny bits of paper, typical plastic ones, digital ones. Not a single one had given her the negative she was looking for. Paper results from an emergency room visit yesterday morning showed the same thing, only this time it was there in her blood.

She hadn’t gone to the ER for pregnancy results— that would have been silly. She went at the urging of Lysandra because since finding out a few days ago, her anxiety made her symptoms even worse. Aelin hadn’t been able to keep down liquids of any sort and dehydration quickly set in. A quick prick of a needle had fluids and anti-nausea medication flowing into her bloodstream. Discharge paperwork referred her to an OBGYN and had a script written for Zofran, a stronger nausea medication so she could keep food and water down. It had become her best friend.

The thought of an abortion had crossed her mind, even in the moments before Lysandra had asked if she wanted to keep it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be a mother— she did. But it was a dream that happened after she was more settled in her career and in a fully committed relationship. Not while she was opening the second office and had so much hard work ahead of her, not when she barely knew the father.

It wasn’t an idea she could fully entertain without talking to Rowan first, to see where he stood on it. But she already knew what her choice was, even if he didn’t want the responsibility. She would keep it. As much as her anxiety felt like walking on the wooden slats of a rickety rope bridge over a gaping canyon, a deep love was already blooming in her heart the size of a sesame seed. It would only get bigger with each passing day, that what-ifs of it all dancing behind her eyelids while she slept.

What are you up to tonight? I’m in Doranelle and if you can swing it, I want to see you

She shot off the text and stared out her office window while she waited for a reply. It had been a lie, she wasn’t in Doranelle. But she needed to see Rowan and talk to him about everything as soon as possible. With a mind full of racing thoughts and unanswered questions, of the half truths she’d given him about her life… the only thing that could truly calm her nerves was talking it through with him.

All yours after 6.

A heavy sigh fell from her lips as she glanced at the time— 4:30– then rubbed at her temples. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

It was the first time Aelin had been to Rowan’s house in Doranelle. All of their time had been spent at her apartment so far. In fact, she had only been over to his apartment in Varese a single time, just long enough for him to grab something before they went out on their downtown adventure.

The apartment was nice, of course, but didn’t seem to hold a candle to the house she was parked in front of. When pulling down the long and winding driveway, her eyes darted between the numbers on the house as soon as it appeared and what she had entered into her GPS. Rowan’s SUV in the driveway assured her it was the correct home, but…

How the hell did a man on a coach’s salary afford this house plus a luxury apartment in another major city?

It was new construction, a contemporary home made of dark wood and ebony stone. It was nestled back off the road and surrounded by towering oak trees in every direction. Long curtains were drawn inside, hiding which rooms had walls of floor to ceiling windows. She imagined him laying on his couch after a long day with the curtains open, gazing out at the setting sun beyond the trees.

It was beautiful. The tranquility of it was amped up to a thousand when she opened her door and stepped out. Somewhere in the tree line a stream trickled along, the soft sound of moving water enough to calm her nerves if only a little.

Almost as soon as her toes touched the bottom step that led up to the porch, the front door swung open. Rowan grinned at her, a dish towel in his hands while he dried them. Scents of garlic, onion, rosemary, and other spices wafted out the front door. Thankfully her stomach only growled in response and didn’t have her bent over the railing to empty her stomach into the bushes.

“Hey, you,” he said softly, meeting her halfway across the porch. Long fingers tilted her head back so he could press a sweet kiss to her lips.

“Hi,” she whispered back, standing on her toes to kiss him again. Rowan took her hand and led her through the door and toward the kitchen. Even though she offered, he insisted she sit at the bar while he finished dinner.

“Wine?”

“Water, please.” Thankfully it didn’t raise any questions about why. He filled a tall glass with ice water and slid it over the counter to her before turning to resume dinner.

“How was your day?”

“Long,” she sighed, nervous fingers drumming against her stomach. One of her legs had taken to bouncing on the wooden footrest and her breaths became shorter, more frequent. Nausea swirled in the pit of her belly but this, she knew, wasn’t morning sickness. Aelin didn’t realize she was biting her lip until she tasted metal, nor did she realize Rowan had moved to her side.

“Hey,” his bent forefinger guided her face to look at his, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk.” Those four words, four measly syllables were all it took to douse the room in cold tension.

“Okay.” Rowan nodded, taking a moment to turn the burners on the stove down. He guided her into the living room where he sat her down on a plush gray couch that she seemed to sink into.

“Can I just—” Aelin leaned forward and kissed him softly, then sat back with her legs folded beneath her. As if on instinct, her hands folded in front of her stomach protectively.

“You’re starting to frighten me.” He murmured, hand resting on her knee to give her a comforting squeeze. Aelin wanted to laugh, and almost did. Instead she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pulled her phone out of her pocket and pulled up one of several images of her bathroom counter and handed him the device. “I’m pregnant.”

Rowan was silent while she swallowed down her emotions, forcing everything to stay buried under an exterior mask of calm. His green eyes stared, and stared, and stared at the picture, fingers zooming in on the dozens of tests on her counter.

“Is it mine?”

“I–” Aelin tempered her frustration. It was a valid question. If she were in his shoes, she would have been asking the same thing. “Yes. You’re the only man I’ve been with in the last year.”

It was a little embarrassing to say out loud. The last few years had been busy and she’d seldom made time for a personal life. It was exactly the kind of thing her mother was referring to when she meant that Aelin had a knack for having absolutely no work-life balance.

“How? We used protection. You’ve told me before you’re on birth control.” More valid questions that she herself had voiced to Lysandra in the minutes after taking the first few tests.

“My guess is that it broke? The condom, I mean. I haven’t missed a single dose of my birth control. I triple checked.” Aelin’s knee began to bounce, that anxious ocean ready to swallow her up whole from not knowing the outcome of this situation. She hated not knowing things, not being able to predict how a person might respond.

Locking the phone, he placed it on the sofa between them, a muscle feathering in his clenched jaw. Rowan didn’t meet her eyes as he stared forward and tensely asked, “Are you doing it for money.”

“What?” She sputtered, immediately standing and crossing the room from whatever bullshit that question had been. Of all the ways she had anticipated him reacting, this had not been on the list. All of the nervous energy roiling through her quickly turned to something hot. Like some struck a match and threw it on a puddle of kerosene.

“Are you doing it for my money?” He repeated, voice flat as he finally looked up at her. Rowan didn’t move from the couch as he stared at her, all the softness she was used to on his face gone. Any of the mirth and joy in his eyes she’d become accustomed to was gone.

The butterflies he usually filled her stomach with had turned into white-hot rage pouring through every vein of her body. Aelin’s face was hot, eyes stinging as she did her best to force her tears away. It had been a long while since she’d become so angry that she jumped immediately to crying about it.

Something had changed in Rowan’s face, too, as he looked at everything written across her face as plainly as if she had shouted at him. His eyes softened a little, his hands clenching against his thighs.

“Why the fuck would I want your money?” She didn’t let him finish before saying, “Ask me what my last names are.”

“You have more than one?” Confusion had his brows pulled together and wrinkles stacked up his forehead. Rowan stood, taking a handful of steps toward her. Aelin retreated with her fingers pressed against her stomach. “Are you married or something?”

“Ask. Me.” She demanded of him, voice and hands shaking. Tears started to fill her eyes and spill over, her skin so warm they were cool as they ran down her cheeks. Even the tips of her ears had gone crimson, evident in the way they burned beneath her hair. It was the exact opposite of how she had felt the first time she saw those two pink lines on that pregnancy test. A sea of wild, unchecked flame lived within her, pumped through her heart, burned the back of her throat, her cheeks, her ears.

“What are your—”

“Ashryver Galathynius. My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.” Each of her names was punctuated with that fire, her entire body trembling with so many emotions at once. As much as he was into the stupid fucking sport, he would understand what it meant.

And he did. Rowan’s entire face went slack, those wrinkles disappearing from his brows, his jaw popping open. Even his arms fell motionless to his sides.

“As in— shit.”

“My grandfather and my father,” she added for extra clarification, so that he knew it wasn’t a distant connection. It was direct. “Ask me again if I want your fucking money,” she spit the word at him like it burned her mouth to say it. It kind of did. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that his reaction would be so callous and cold, that he would accuse her of getting knocked up for money. What fucking money? Why the fuck would she go after a teacher’s salary when her own checking account was so loaded she, and her child, would ever want for anything?

“Aelin–” Rowan took a step forward, hand raised as he reached for her. Aelin held up a single finger and shook her head, recoiling from him.

“Don’t.”

“I need to–”

“You need to go fuck yourself, Rowan.” Her footsteps chased her like thunder rolling in for a storm, punctuated by the window-shaking slam of the front door. To give him one ounce of credit, he did follow her, but by the time he made it outside, she was already in her car, pulling a u-turn in his yard, and speeding down the driveway. Nothing but a cloud of dust remained in her wake.

In the rearview, Rowan’s form was blurry from her tears, his arms on top of his head while he watched her leave.

~*~

It was late. Like, the bar had been closed for an hour already, late. The Neon Moon was empty, save for Rowan, Fenrys, Connall, Vaughan, and Lorcan. They had an off weekend, and a drink was desperately needed by all. When Rowan arrived at the bar half an hour before closing and pounded back enough drinks that it was almost alarming, everyone decided to linger until he started to talk.

“Dude.” Fenrys poked his arm with an outstretched hand. The response was a slurred grumble in the old language that not even Lorcan managed to pick up.

“What’d you do?” Connall asked, bracing his arms on the counter. Rowan lifted his head, room spinning like he’d just finished doing ballerina turns. Aelin liked to dance. He hadn’t ever seen it but he could imagine her in tights and a leotard, a tutu around her waist. She probably didn’t get dizzy when doing turns.

Nausea hit him in a wave and he took a deep breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. Closing his eyes made it even worse, so he kept them open and fixed on Connall’s face. Ballerinas did that, didn’t they? Focused on one spot so they didn’t get dizzy or fall out of their tight spins?

As the nausea abated, he remembered holding Aelin’s hair back for her while she was sick a couple weeks ago. Neither of them knew it then, but she was pregnant. He wondered if she was still feeling sick all the time or if it was getting better every week. A frown took over his whole face, eyes dropping to focus on a dent in the counter. Someone had carved a heart there, and he wanted to scribble over it.

“She’s pregnant.” Was all he managed to get out, trying his hardest to enunciate his words. Everyone went utterly still and silent, Lorcan moving to sit in the chair beside him.

“Did she fucking–” he started, leaning his head down to try to look at Rowan’s face. The silver-haired man waved his friend off, shaking his head like an indignant child.

“I’m not drinking because of the baby. Or the woman.” It was true. Rowan had always wanted to be a father, it was a dream of his. Sure, it would have been nice if it happened in a more ideal way, but that wasn’t why he took so many shots as soon as he walked through the door. No, it was the look on her face when he coldly asked if she wanted money. The betrayal that slowly leached over her features, the way she bit back tears until she couldn’t anymore. “I monumentally fucked up.”

“That does usually lead to a baby,” Fen quipped, a sly smirk starting to appear on his lips. As quickly as it started to form, though, it vanished after a hard smack! against the side of his head, courtesy of Lorcan. The fair side to Connall’s dark coin groaned, blindly slapping his hand against his attacker’s shoulder. Another searing look from Lorcan had Fen’s hands falling back into his lap.

“In what way?” Vaughan had leaned forward to see around Lorcan’s head while he spoke. The wood was cool against Rowan’s cheek as he laid his head on the bar, desperate to stop the spinning of the room.

“She told me she was pregnant, showed me all the tests from a photo on her phone,” Rowan waved his hand toward his phone that he frowned at, “And then I asked her if she did it for money.”

“Oh, you bloody wanker,” Fenrys mumbled, shaking his head. The man in question was sitting up on the counter, legs dangling over the edge. His foot twitched like he debated kicking him in the knee. Rowan wouldn’t have blamed him. He deserved worse than that.

“It’s a valid question.” Lorcan’s voice was sharp enough that Fenrys twisted his mouth to the side, eyes narrowed like he might disagree with him, but wouldn’t to avoid further physical injury. Instead, he offered a shrug of his shoulders and kept his mouth firmly shut as Rowan laid his head back down. Something was damp beneath his cheek, cooling his whiskey-hot skin.

“It really wasn’t. Not when she told me that Ciaran Ashryver is her grandfather and Rhoe Galathynius is her godsdamn father,” Rowan growled. His anger and irritation was pointed to no one but himself. “She doesn’t need my money. I’m pretty sure she still thinks I’m a soccer coach because she was absolutely mind boggled that I’d even ask her such a thing. I don’t even know why I asked, either. The fear of it all, of–”

“Her father is Rhoe Galathynius?” Lorcan cut in, and Rowan wanted to kiss his forehead for cutting off that spiral.

“Yep,” he replied, the p sound popping more than it normally would. And her cousin is Aedion bloody Ashryver! How did I not see it? They look nearly like twins! They have the same face!” Rowan shouted, palm slapping against the counter between each revelation. Fenrys jolted, eyes widening as he slipped off the bar and an entire seat away. Rowan was too drunk to shoot him an apologetic look for coming so close to his leg.

“I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out,” Connall said smoothly, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with water.

“Are you telling me you fucking knew?” Rowan said through clenched teeth, lifting his head so he felt like he was seeing the room through a kaleidoscope. Despite the whirling of the world, he met his friend's gaze. A bit of mirth twinkled in Connall’s eyes, a match for the anger in Rowan’s own head on. Clearly Connall only had loyalty to his brother and himself, if he just threw Rowan to the wolves like that.

“I didn’t know her exact relation, I just assumed. They look too much alike to be anything else. Did I know she was a football princess? No, but she knew too much about the sport when you talked, I figured she was involved in some way.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Connall slid the water toward Rowan. “And she definitely doesn’t know who you are. Earlier this week she was asking me if the boys had any games this weekend because she wanted to see you but didn’t want to interfere with your coaching. She’s never pried about what you do for a living, always took it at face value and assumed you were being honest.”

“I want another drink,” Rowan grumbled.

That was the other thing, wasn’t it? Sure, she had been lying. But so had he. In that initial moment of shock, where he felt like history could be repeating all over again, he’d lost it. Deep down, he knew that wasn’t the case. How timid and nervous she was, how sick she had been, the evidence in the picture of dozens of tests covering her bathroom counter. Rowan had seen it all with his own two eyes and still taken the shitty, cold, asshole route.

If he was being honest, at the time it felt like the easier road to take. Aelin clearly had a temper hiding under her skin, though. Those remarkable eyes of hers had glowed with the anger he sparked. It had been fire in her eyes, white hot and raging. Maybe it had been the light playing off the tears that welled in her eyes, making her eyes glitter, but he had never seen anyone quite so angry, or quite so devastatingly beautiful.

That was the mother of his child. A stunning, spit-fire of a woman that it was all too easy to imagine a future with. A life with. Even before finding out about the baby Rowan had imagined ways he could make the long distance work when she went back to Orynth in a few months. Now, it felt stupid. A bomb had been detonated and it was entirely his fault. Because he was the bomb. Ruining everything good that touched him.

Perhaps he should have been drunk when she delivered the news. Drunk Rowan would never have said that to her.

“She’s so pretty,” he mumbled aloud, finger dipping into the puddle his ice glass made and beginning to write her name across the bar. Lorcan nudged his shoulder, shaking his head. Right. That was pathetic. Rowan Whitethorn was not pathetic. To prove it, he picked up the glass of whiskey Connall handed him and downed it in one go.

“I can’t believe you asked Aelin Galathynius if she wanted money.” It seemed that Fen could no longer restrain his smart mouth. His chest shook with suppressed laughter. “Hate to break it you, mate, but I’m pretty sure–”

“Fenrys,” Lorcan growled, immediately shutting the pup up. Even the laughter in his face was quick to die off. Drunk Rowan was grateful for it. Right now he was toeing the line of punch first, ask questions later. “Let’s get you home. We’ll start to figure this out tomorrow.”

Despite his words, Lorcan still sounded tense. Like he, too, was clenching his jaw with frustration. Rowan imagined it had to do with him not believing Aelin, thinking she knew and was chasing his money or fame. That didn’t make sense, though. Drunk or sober, it didn’t make sense for her to want his money or his fame.

Rowan’s mind wandered on the drive home. If she wanted the fame, it would be easy enough for her to get it on her own. Rowan had learned in the hours after she left that if she had wanted to, she could have been a socialite. She certainly didn’t need Rowan’s help.

Back when she attended matches there were hundreds of pictures of her cheering in her family’s suite, of her on the field offering the players high fives, of her family out to dinner. If it was fame she wanted, she already had a clear shot at it. Besides, she was already a national treasure to Terrasen. The following she on the Fireheart social media pages and her personal instagram alone was more than some of his teammates had.

Money didn’t make sense either. She was on good terms with her parents and after minimal digging he discovered she wasn’t teaching dance and piano. Maybe she did sometimes, but recently her name and picture had been scattered through the headlines because she was opening a new office for her foundation that she founded, the Fireheart Foundation. There were already multiple locations throughout Terrasen targeting underprivileged youth, to enhance the art programs both in and out of school. Now she was doing it in Varese, her mother’s home city.

Aelin didn’t need money. She didn’t need fame. It wasn’t about any of that, and he fucking blew it by being a coldhearted bastard.

“Thank you for the ride,” Rowan slurred to Lorcan, who was probably his best friend all things considered. Maybe he should tell him that. Of all the people in the world, Lorcan was usually easiest for Rowan to talk to. He seemed to understand him a little better than the others, even if they were all pretty close. Rowan decided then that if he ever got married, if he could fix this thing with Aelin, Lorcan would be his best man. Yes. That was an excellent decision.

Rowan hauled himself out of Lorcan’s car, feet stumbling on the street. He barely caught himself from face-planting on the sidewalk, recovering by swinging himself around a street sign and throwing a mock salute toward Lorcan to indicate that he might have stumbled, but he was good. He didn’t need help. Rowan had this.

His best friend looked at him drily, quirking an eyebrow as Rowan turned to walk to the door and–

Walked directly into the marble exterior of his apartment building. Double over, Rowan rubbed at his stinging face to ease the pain. A glance at his fingers told them there was no blood. Thank the gods he didn’t break his nose.

“For fucks sake,” Lorcan’s voice was suddenly a hiss in his ear, throwing Rowan’s limp arm around his shoulders.

“You’re really fast, y’know that? And tall. You’re gonna dislocate my shoulder,” He slurred, eyes focused on the ground so he could get one foot in front of the other. Lorcan told him to shut the fuck up and walk. Wisely, Rowan did.

By the time Lorcan half-carried him up to his apartment and dropped him unceremoniously into bed, he was saying silent prayers to whatever god that would listen for him to be able to fix what he had so easily shattered.

~*~

“I know we’re anti-Rowan right now, but I want to know what my niece or nephew is going to look like.” Aelin gave her bestfriend flat look through the camera, but Lys merely shrugged her shoulders. The angle of her phone changed and Aelin knew she was on the hunt. Honestly, she should work for government security. The woman could find anything on anybody. “What’s his last name?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t ever find the right moment to tell him what mine were, and his just never came up. I never asked.” Aelin rolled onto her side in her bed, frowning at just how puffy her eyes were from crying the last several days. It was ridiculous. If he wanted to be a prick about it, fine. Aelin didn’t need him. It would have been nice, but…

No. That thought was quickly tucked away elsewhere, somewhere at the back of her mind where it wouldn’t pick and poke at her sensitive emotions until she cried.

“What did you say he does? A teacher?”

“Soccer coach in Doranelle. He doesn’t have social media as far as I’m aware. I’ve never seen the apps or anything on his phone.” Rowan didn’t give off social media vibes, either. It was hard to imagine him coming up with a witty caption for a vacation photo, or having the desire to post pictures of his life at all.

“Rowan, Soccer, Doranelle. Lets see what that gives us,” Lys hummed, fingers flying furiously across the screen. From this point of view, Aelin had a great shot up her nose. If she wasn’t feeling so morose she would screenshot it and save it for a rainy day. “Oh my– Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.”

At her full name, Aelin propped herself up on an elbow, frowning down into her phone as she said, “What?”

“Rowan Whitethorn. Google that and tell me if that’s him.”

“Why does Whitethorn sound familiar?” It both was and wasn’t a question for Lysandra. It was definitely tinkling a bell somewhere in her brain, the name. And as soon as she typed it in and pressed search, she understood why. “No fucking way.”

“That might be why he asked if you wanted money,” Lys said. Millions of search results came back. Photos, articles, interviews, the works. Thousands upon thousands of pictures loaded when she hit the images tab, and her jaw nearly hit the floor.

Pictures of Rowan in a dark blue uniform with Doranelle’s logo across the chest, a number seven and his name across the back. Images of him from the side, his silver hair french braided with the rest pulled into a bun. There were pictures of him held on his teammates shoulders, of Rowan making a match-ending goal, Rowan squirting water into his mouth on the sidelines.

“He’s got personal interest in the game, is all,” Connall had told her that first night. A vague memory of Rowan giving the bartender a flat look entered her mind briefly as she closed the tabs and looked back at her best friend’s face.

“Why is the soccer world so incestuous?” Lys asked her, laughter in her voice.

“It’s not funny,” she hissed back, but there was no bite to it. Maybe it would be a little funny in a few days. There was no doubt in her mind that Aedion and her parents would find it absolutely hilarious.

“The money thing makes sense now, though.”

“It does,” Aelin agreed, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eye. “But I thought what we had was different. Regardless… even if I had known about all of this I wouldn’t have thought he would react that way.”

“Maybe it’s happened before. Maybe you need to hear him out and let him explain.”

She did and she knew it. The shift in his behavior happened so suddenly, had blindsided her entirely. It had to mean there was a reason for him to snap like that. It still pained her heart and soul, though. Even if he had the best reason in the world, it didn’t take away the betrayal and hurt she had felt.

At the same time, she felt silly for feeling so upset. They barely knew each other. Of course he would be cautious of her motivations. It made sense. If it had been going on for longer, would his reaction have been more mild? Would it have been sweet kisses and promises that things would be okay? Did Rowan even want kids? Probably not, given the status he currently held in the soccer world. The man showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon. A baby would just complicate that.

“That baby is going to be the most beautiful fucking thing.” Lys may have been mostly talking to herself, but Aelin found her lips tipping up at the corners because it was true. It would be.

Almost against her own will, her fingers pulled up Rowan’s text thread. He sent dozens of messages throughout the week. Most of them were begging for a conversation, asking if he could call her. Some of them from last night made no sense whatsoever, words strung together in a way that made her believe he was drunk. There were six in a row from last night in the old language. If she had been able to read around the typos, maybe she could figure out what they said. The spelling was so badly butchered, though, that some were different words altogether. Complete gibberish, utter word salad.

Then there was the single one he sent her today that simply read: I’m sorry. For all of it.

There had been other apologies that requested the chance for him to explain, but none of them felt quite as barren and hopeless as this one did. Almost like he was ready to throw in the towel if she didn’t want to speak to him ever again. Though she was angry, it didn’t sit well with her. Maybe she felt a flicker of anger in her chest because he hadn’t been willing to fight for her for more than a few days, or maybe it was because she was frustrated he would stop because he believed it was what she wanted. Either way, she didn’t like it.

It was then that she decided she would give herself a few more days. A few days to process the pregnancy, his reaction, her counter-reaction, all of it. And then maybe… maybe she would be ready to talk.

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violetsaffron5 · 1 year

Text

12 Days of Christmas (2022)

5 | Five Golden Rings

Pairing: Hiromi Higuruma x f!Reader

Prompt: Two co-workers and friends have the tradition to be each other’s plus ones for the Christmas office party.

Words: 1k

Warnings: restraints, vaginal sex, mating press, choking, creampie, semi-public sex

“Fuck, Hiromi, right there,” you moan sprawled out on the glass conference room table, tits bouncing beautifully in time with each of his thrusts.

Your hands are bound above your head; he used his belt to wrap around your wrists, buckling it to the leg of the table. Hiromi’s hands are on your waist, gripping hard, holding you close to him as his hips piston into your own.

The last few years, the two of you have gotten close, become office friends. You would go out and get lunch together when you had time, and when you didn’t, one of you would be in the other's office eating while working.

Since then, you’ve also become each other’s date to the office Christmas parties. It’s not for having a lack of a dating life, you both just seem to conveniently be single around the holidays every time, and why not go with someone you know you enjoy spending time with?

Sure, at first people in the office would tease you for coming together, especially Suguru and Satoru, but it was all in jest, never truly bothered either of you.

You also never saw each other as more than friends either, so it’s a fucking surprise you’re here, writhing underneath him in pleasure as he snaps his hips into yours.

Maybe your heart has grown more fond of him over the last few years without realizing it because when you saw him walk into your apartment, dressed in his suit for tonight's event, your heart began to flutter.

Hiromi looked absolutely dashing in his black tux with white shirt underneath, his raven hair styled just perfectly, a smile on his face that reached his tired eyes. He thought the same - you never looked more beautiful than you do tonight, in your floor length black dress that hugs your curves just right, a slit on the side that goes up just above your knee.

That dress is currently pooled around your waist, the top having been pulled down to expose your breasts, the bottom lifted so he could fuck you on the table of the empty conference room. His shirt has been unbuttoned and opened, exposing the black hair on his chest that you were running your hands through earlier in the evening.

There was just something about the way his eyes seemed less tired tonight, sparkled more than usual in the Christmas lights strung up around the office, his smile was wider too, as he had his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close while making your usual networking rounds around the office talking with the other associates.

You passed by a few empty rooms, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours, or yours were on his, you’re not entirely sure who made the first move.

Hiromi moves one hand to your throat, wrapping his large hand around, cutting off just enough air for your eyes to be rolling to the back of your head, back arching off the table when his thumb begins encircling your clit.

The room you're in is tucked away, off in a little corner of the office far away from the party, so neither of you are worried about getting walked in on. And not worrying about that means neither of you has to worry about how loud you’re being either.

He slows his pace, circling his hips as he looks at you fondly, letting go of your throat to caress your cheek, “you’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought of this. How long I’ve wanted this.” His voice is thick and gravely with lust.

Hiromi lifts your legs, bends them so your knees are next to your face - if he hadn’t lifted your dress so far up, it surely would have ripped while moving you into this mating press position. His hands are on the bottom of your black stilettos, using them for balance as he picks back up at a faster pace.

On any normal night, you might have been embarrassed by how wet you’ve gotten just from his touch, but it doesn’t feel that way with him, not when you see how much he loves watching your arousal coat his cock each time he pulls out before thrusting right back in.

He’s listening to the way you’re moaning his name, singing it for the heavens to hear. The way you move your hips to meet him despite your compromising position. Watching the way your cheeks flush every time he says you’re doing so well for him, the flush extending down to the top of your chest.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he mutters, he can’t help himself. He has to tell you.

So gorgeous in fact, he can’t believe he isn't using every opportunity presented to him right now to just kiss you. He moves your legs over his shoulders, bending down to fold you half, slotting his lips between yours.

He swallows several of your moans as your tongues glide against one another, biting your bottom lip as your walls tighten around him, and you’re free falling into waves of pleasure, chanting his name so seductively as your walls flutter and spasm that he’s unable to hold back any longer.

Hiromi sloppily thrusts, two, three more times, before he’s buried to the hilt, as deep as he can go, groaning onto each of your kisses as hot ropes of cum fill your insides.

He gives a goofy grin, eyes half lidded as he moves his hips in you a few times, moaning from the sensitivity before unbuckling your wrists.

“Sorry for being so rough,” he murmurs, kissing your jaw tenderly before moving down your neck, between the valley of your breasts.

“Mm. Don’t be.” You’re smiling, eyes closed. He hasn’t pulled out yet, but you don’t mind, using the time to catch your breath.

Your heart flutters again, when he looks up at you with tired eyes, soft smile on his face, chaste kiss to your lips, and you hope he’ll continue to be your Christmas office party date for years to come.

Taglist: @z33sblog @thisbicc @septembersums @septembersummer @nothisispatrick300 @km7474 @missyasma @arisucat @watyousayin @khadeejarh

#jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #TDC #violetsaffronfic #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #christmas smut #higuruma x you #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #higuruma hiromi #higuruma smut #jujutsu kaisen higuruma #jjk hiromi

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fyonahmacnally · 10 months

Text

I Wish it Was Me...

She sighs, leaning against the balcony railing and staring blankly into the deep midnight sky as she swirls the rich amber liquid in her crystal tumbler. Her eyes have been scanning the horizon for an unknown amount of time, replaying the evening in her mind.

A part of her feels guilty for leaving so abruptly, but she couldn’t sit there and watch her smile and laugh at him any longer. She knew they were friends, but she didn’t realize they were that close. Intellectually, she knows she shouldn’t feel this way, but tell that to her heart. Plus, why him? Sure, William is an okay guy, but he’s just…boring. She shakes her head, blowing out a huff of frustration as she swallows the remains of the numbing elixir. The last dregs of her second glass of scotch go down more smoothly than the first.

Releasing yet another defeated sigh, she tries to massage the brewing headache from her temples. She purposely didn’t drink at the bar because she planned on bringing Kara back to hers tonight, planning to finally tell the blonde how she feels. Her eyes close and the scene from the bar rudely reminds her of her place in Kara’s life. Again. Not that she isn’t acutely aware of living in the friend-zone for years. She just wishes her heart would get the memo. Her traitorous brain wanders again.

Meeting her friends at the bar has become a common occurrence for Lena. It’s an almost weekly affair, every Friday they meet up at Al’s for happy hour, dancing, pool, and catching up on the happenings of all their lives outside their superhero antics. Recently, these nights have ended with Lena snuggled in Kara’s arms at either of their apartments. They usually end up going to brunch the next morning and spending most of their weekends together. While she realizes she should put an end to it before she obliterates her own heart, she’s not known for her self-preservation. So, she just continues to be gluttonous for the punishment she knows is coming. Maybe the punishment just arrived in the form of one William Dey.

The scene keeps playing over and over. Torturing her barely beating heart.

As she walks into the familiar bar, she’s greeted with a series of hellos and waves, but the one that nearly stops her in her tracks is the wide, toothy, cock-eyed smile from her best friend. She thought after 6 years of near daily doses of that smile that it wouldn’t steal her breath and release an entire zoo of butterflies in her stomach. Nonetheless, here she stands, still suffering from both. She feels the heat rush to her cheeks and desperately hopes the dimness of the bar hides it well. Her steps falter when she sees William parked in her chair next to Kara. A sick feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. Attempting to keep her composure, she takes the empty seat next to Nia and across the table from the blonde. When she makes eye contact with Alex, it becomes clear that she didn’t cover her reaction as well as she’d hoped, the telling smirk on the elder Danvers face all the evidence she needs. She rolls her eyes at the redhead and lets her eyes settle on Kara again, barely containing the scowl begging to display itself on her face.

Everyone quickly falls into their usual conversations, Lena does her best to keep her eyes trained on whomever she’s talking to, but every time Kara laughs or giggles at something William says it pulls her attention away. Each time her eyes fall on the two of them, her chest tightens, her stomach ties itself further into knots, and a lump works its way into her throat. Eventually, Nia drags her onto the dance floor, obviously attempting to distract her from her pathetic pining and barely contained jealousy.

“You should just tell her, you know.” Nia states bluntly, an affectionate smile gracing her lips. “I promise you, Lena, she doesn’t want him.” They both glance over to the table where the two people in question are throwing their heads back in laughter.

Lena scoffs, her nose scrunching and lip lifting in a scowl of disbelief and disgust. “Really? Tell that to both of their faces and body language, Nia.” She rolls her eyes and turns her back to the table, unable to bear watching them any longer. “Besides, why the hell would I tell her now? She’s obviously either dating him or will be soon. I can’t risk our friendship now.”

Nia rolls her eyes, these two idiots are more oblivious than she initially thought. For a couple of geniuses, these two are dumb. “She feels the same way, Lena. I’m guessing she’s more afraid than you are after your last falling out.” She watches as Kara’s eyes flit over to them, a crinkle of concern adorning her face and her head tilting like she’s listening to something. She rolls her eyes again as she wonders if these two will ever figure their shit out. “She keeps looking over here at you. My guess is she can hear your heart rate spike.”

Lena’s heart sinks, she still forgets that Kara can hear her heartbeat and it makes her feel even more anxious than before. She realizes at that moment that she needs to leave, there’s no way she can spend the rest of the night watching the two of them together. In her panic, she manages to ramble out, “I can’t do this. I need to go, Nia. Tell everyone I said good night.”

Without waiting for a response, she bolts for the door, putting as much distance between William, his distractingly white teeth, and his annoying accent as possible.

Shaking away the thoughts in an attempt to erase her evening, she heads back inside to refill her glass. She tops it off and makes her way back out into the breezy evening, retaking her place against the railing. It’s clear to her now that she is going to have to find a way to move on from the blonde. It figures that when she finally gets the guts to confess her love for her best friend, she starts dating someone else. She sighs, again. It’s her own fault, really. As confident as she is in many aspects of her professional life, when it comes to anything personal, she’s a fucking coward. Now she’s going to live the rest of her life regretting being such a goddamn scaredy cat. She growls as she knocks back her third glass of scotch for the evening, starting to feel the effects swimming through her veins.

Just as she is about to make her way back inside for the night, the sound of a familiar voice calling her name startles her so harshly that her fingers release the tumbler. All she can do is watch it make its descent toward the cement. The anticipated shattering of glass never happens though. Kara’s deft reflexes capture the highball before impact and sets it on the glass top table sitting next to the open balcony door.

“I’m sorry, Lena. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Kara says with a crinkle between her eyes. She pauses to look at the raven haired woman standing close to the door, her hand resting over her heart and a wide-eyed, dazed look on her face. “You left the bar so quickly and without saying goodbye. Then you didn’t respond to my texts. I was worried. Are you okay?”

The injection of adrenaline coupled with the three glasses of scotch give Lena a sudden surge of confidence. “I’m fine, Kara. You seemed to be enjoying your time with William so I didn’t want to interrupt just to tell you I was leaving.” She grabs the glass off the table and stalks back into the penthouse without saying another word, fully expecting the blonde to follow.

And she does, Kara follows closely behind her, stopping on the other side of the island as Lena washes and dries the highball, placing it back in its place. Leaning against the counter across from her best friend, she raises her signature brow in question, making Kara shift nervously. Her shifting movement secretly makes Lena giddy, even if she won’t admit it.

“A-are y-you sure you’re o-okay?” She stutters, unsure what to make of Lena’s demeanor, her sudden aloofness. “We always spend Friday night together and have brunch on Saturday. Y-you left without me.” She pouts, trying her best to stay put instead of running to Lena’s side.

“As cozy and close as you two were, I figured you’d spend the evening with William. Have brunch with him instead.” Lena scoffs. She shifts her eyes down to her nails, picking at a non-existent hangnail. “I didn’t realize you had become so…close. Also thought you would have told me that you were dating him. Best friend privileges and all.” Waving her hand as nonchalantly as she can, a deep frown settles onto her face, no longer able to contain the sadness.

“Lena…wh-what are you talking about?” A look of bewilderment and utter confusion sits on her face as blue eyes scan glassy green. “W-William and I aren’t dating. We’re just friends. W-why would you think we’re dating?” Her face scrunches and her head tilts, cerulean eyes still focused on her favorite green.

Lena blows out a raspberry of frustration, unsure how to put her current emotions into words. “Kara, anyone that was around you or saw you tonight would have assumed the same thing. The smiles, the laughter…the touching.” She scowls again as she barely whispers, “He was sitting in my seat.” Barely able to hold back the tears stinging her eyes, she pushes herself off the counter and heads toward her bedroom. Not only needing distance, but to change into her pajamas.

Kara follows her into the walk-in closet, uncertain where the conversation is going and why Lena is so upset, but definitely determined to figure it out. “I’m sorry, Lena. I-I, um, planned on shooing him out of your seat. I even told him he would have to move when you got there. Then you sat next to Nia and seemed like you were having fun so I figured you were okay with it.” She nervously rubs her hand along the back of her neck, biting her lip in worry.

She dips her head, sighing as her hands reach out for Lena only to drop back to her side, unsure of whether it’s okay to touch the skittish woman in front of her. Still, she takes a few steps closer before softly speaking. “Um, I missed having you next to me. I like being close to you. When you went to dance, I kept hearing your heart rate spike, but I looked back over again and you were gone.” She pleads with her favorite person, eyes boring into raven locks. “Please talk to me, Lena.”

Lena pauses, her hands fidget with the joggers and t-shirt she pulled out of her drawer while she attempts to gather her swirling emotions. Her head and shoulders slump forward and she releases a quiet sniffle, the tears that were stinging her eyes slowly begin to fall. Trying to channel the remaining adrenaline in her system, she takes a shaky breath and turns to face the woman she has been in love with for years. “You don’t get it?!” She pushes the drawer closed and angrily stalks out of the closet toward the ensuite, leaving a startled and fish-mouthed blonde in her wake.

Tripping over her feet to catch up, Kara stumbles into the bathroom to an eyeful of her half-undressed best friend. Her eyes immediately dart to the ceiling and her cheeks turn a rosy, heated shade of pink. “I d-don’t understand, Lena. Did I do something wrong?” Her head tilts like a confused puppy as her eyes migrate back down to a still partially dressed Lena. Blue eyes freeze on the sheer expanse of exposed ivory skin as her mouth runs dry and she swallows audibly. “I, um, want to, uh…” Her words trail off as her eyes roam, mentally caressing every full curve and every ounce of exposed soft skin.

Some of Lena’s ire simmers when she catches Kara essentially ogling her nearly naked torso. She’s still frustrated and the tears are still flowing, but the way those darkened blue eyes are combing over her body ignites something decidedly different. She shakes her head, needing to get herself together for the conversation that is coming. She turns away from the blonde’s roving eyes to drop her bra and pull the t-shirt over her head.

Crossing her arms and leaning against the counter, she levels fiery green eyes at Kara. “You want to… what, Kara?” A perfectly sculpted dark brow raises, a silent question that causes the blonde to gulp. “You stopped in the middle of your sentence to ogle me. Are you going to finish what you were saying?”

“I was – I di –” She blows out an exasperated breath, realizing she has no excuse. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I was going to say I want to fix whatever it is, but maybe I should just go. I’ve obviously upset you and made you uncomfortable.” She blinks owlishly, trying hard to prevent the welling tears from falling.

Lena starts to panic. She doesn’t want Kara to leave, that’s the last thing she wants. “No, please. Don’t leave.” She blurts out, reaching for the blonde’s muscular forearm, stopping her movement. “C-can we just get ready for bed and then talk? Please.”

Kara nods her head and heads out of the bathroom to grab the pajamas she keeps at the apartment. Once they’re both changed, their teeth brushed, and faces washed, they stand in front of Lena’s bed in awkward silence. Normally they would crawl under the covers together and curl into each other with a movie or documentary playing in the background. Right now, neither of them know how to broach the ginormous elephant hanging out in the corner.

Finally, Lena sighs and drags them both into the bed, crawling up toward the headboard. They both sit with their backs leaning back against the frame, pillows propped behind them. She twists her fingers together, a long held habit that still surfaces when she’s anxious. “I’m not used to having to share you with anyone else.” Lena says, barely audible, but she knows Kara hears her. “When I saw William in my seat and…saw him touching you, I just – I was jealous.” Her voice tapers off on the last word and her cheeks heat, flushing a deep red at her admittance.

Kara’s eyes go wide. She can hardly believe what she’s hearing. Lena is jealous? Of William? Why would she be jealous? Wait…her head whips to the side to look at her best friend. She can’t help but grin at the blush adorning pale skin. She does her best to stifle it, but to no avail. “You’re jealous of William? Lena, he and I are just friends.” She reaches out to stop the twisting and fidgeting of Lena’s hands, placing her palm over them. “This feels like more than that. Do you want to tell me what’s really going on? Please.“

“Tonight was supposed to be special. I-I wanted to tell you something important.” Her eyes sting with tears again, she pulls her hands away from Kara’s wiping tears away in frustration. “When I saw you with him, it, well, it upset me because... because I wish it was me.” She sighs, her hands twisting nervously again.

The room gets eerily quiet, nothing can be heard but Lena’s rapidly increasing breaths. She waits for what feels like hours, likely only seconds, before she looks up to see teary blue eyes staring back at her. She immediately panics, thinking that she has ruined their friendship. Her tears start falling and she starts getting up. Maybe she'll pack up and move to the U.K.

Just as she begins pushing herself off the bed, Kara’s hands pull her back. She still keeps her eyes glued to her own hands, desperately avoiding the blues of the woman she just confessed to loving. She wants to avoid seeing the rejection she’s sure is coming.

Warm fingers settle under her chin, gently lifting until teary azure meets watery green. Instead of the rejection she anticipated, she sees soft affection. They smile, tears streaming down both their cheeks.

“You thought I was dating William and you wished it was you?” Kara asks, her voice laced with hope. “You, you would want that? To be with me like that?” Hopeful, watery blue eyes stare into anxious, yet hopeful green.

“Yeah. Y-Yes.” Lena nods in confirmation, a look of determination firmly on her face. “Of course, I want to be with you. Why wouldn’t I? Darling, of course I wish it was me.” She lets out a wet laugh, unsure how her night started so horribly and has ended like this.

Kara leans forward, pressing their foreheads together as her own wet laugh escapes. “I wish it was you, too.” Her hands lightly rest on Lena’s tear-stained cheeks, brushing away the fresh ones as they fall. “I’ve wanted it for so long, but didn’t want to risk losing you.”

“You wouldn’t lose me, Kara. No matter what happens, you won't lose me. Not again.” She takes a shaky breath, her hands wrapping around the blonde’s wrists. “I planned to tell you tonight when we got back here, it’s why I didn’t drink at the bar. I wanted you to know it wasn’t influenced by anything else.” She leans back, green eyes bouncing between the blue galaxies staring back.

“What does this mean, Lena? Are you saying…” Kara swallows the nervousness crawling up her throat. “Do you – what are you saying?” She runs her thumbs across the soft skin underneath Lena’s eyes, never taking her eyes off her best friend's face.

Lena smiles, leaning into the touch, briefly closing her eyes to take in the moment. She opens her eyes again to stare directly into Kara’s, wanting to make sure the blonde knows how serious her next words are. “I am saying that I love you. I’m in love with you. I’m pretty sure I have been since the day we met.” She breathes out, her head swimming from how close they are, how close their mouths are. Her eyes glance down to pouty pink lips and back before she finishes speaking. “I’m saying that I want to be the one you miss, I want to be the last face you think of when you fall asleep. I want to be yours.”

A soft gasp escapes Kara’s lips, her eyes glittering with fresh tears, and her face breaking into a wide smile as she whispers, “Lena… I love you, too. So much. I want all of those things.” She sniffles, carefully rubbing their noses together, so close that their lips graze causing them both to gasp. She whispers against the soft skin of Lena’s lips, “I’m already yours. My heart has always been yours, I just didn’t really know it until I lost you.”

With the last word, their lips brush again and Lena surges forward, pressing them together fully. The first press is chaste and firm. The second is yearning and desperate, fueled by all the years of self-imposed resistance. By the time they break apart for air, Lena is straddling Kara’s lap with her hands buried in golden locks. Kara’s hands are underneath the back of Lena’s shirt, wide palms pressed firmly into the warm skin of her back.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years. It’s sooo much better than anything my imagination came up with.” Lena grins against Kara’s slightly parted lips. “There are a lot of other things I’m willing to bet are way better as well.” She smirks and leans forward, pressing another kiss to the blonde’s lips.

An adorable grin spreads across Kara’s face. “I think we should explore all those things, don't you?” She pulls Lena closer, kissing the underside of her jaw and down the column of her neck. “We have the whole weekend, after all.”

Lena tilts her head to the side, giving Kara more access to her neck. She’s getting lost in the sensation when Kara stops and giggles. Lena leans back, glaring at the woman beneath her. “What is so damn funny? It better be good since you stopped making out with me.” She raises an eyebrow at the blonde, causing her to clear her throat and stop laughing.

“I was just thinking about the bar earlier. Thinking about how if you had stayed, you would have known William and I weren’t dating.” She smiles and places a sweet kiss on the tip of Lena’s nose. A mischievous grin spreads across her face. “He and I spent most of the night talking about work. And you know, his new girlfriend.” She smiles as Lena’s eyes widen and her mouth gapes.

Kara laughs much harder, barely contained.

“You better be glad I love you.” Lena sighs and shoves the blonde down onto her back. It only takes a few seconds to quiet that smug laughter as it is quickly replaced with soft moans.

Lena smirks, that's more like it.

They spend the rest of the night getting to know each other in a whole new way.

#supercorp #fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #fic #kara #lena #ao3 #supercorp fanfic #supergirl

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cacophony-eg · 2 years

Text

Moon Knight and Sun King (Part 2) (Possessed Sun Wukong x (F) Reader)

(Part 1 ) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) Summary:

You try to get more answers out of your 'Champion' but each answer you do get, just leads to you having more questions.

Also you really need to stop saying you wish for anything out loud.

After a minor panic attack, you managed to guide your 'champion' to your place, doing so mostly with your eyes closed and your face buried in his blue scarf. Cause you really didn't want to know exactly how high up you were.

You noticed that the Knight held a faint smell of peaches.

"We are here, My Lady" The Knight informed you.

You lift up your head to look around, finding that the Monkey Knight was indeed standing on the balcony of your apartment. "Yep, this is the place" you confirm, "Can you let me down?"

The Monkey gently placed you down onto your feet, you holding onto his arm as your legs still felt shaky from being up so high with only the faith that this strange knight wouldn't drop you.

"Thanks," you say with a slight smile, as you move to open your patio door, you mostly left the door unlocked. Purely because you were on the 8th floor out of 14 and had little worry that someone would break in using that method.

You took your shoes and jacket off as you make your way to the other side of your bachelor's suite where your coat closet was.

It wasn't a large place, 400 square feet at most, the bathroom the only place that had a separate room, but the space felt good for just you. Plus it had felt spacious after spending a few weeks at motels before discovering this apartment.

Another bonus is you were paying way less in rent compared to the amount you used to pay when lived with your now ex-boyfriend and best friend. Looking back you paid for most of the rent because you got paid way better than the other two, and you had agreed thinking it was fair... Damn you had been so naive and desperate to keep them happy, it only fuelled you with anger now.

"My Lady, are you alright?" The Knight asked, sounding quite a distance away.

You pause mid-way through closing the closet door and look back at the monkey in blue still standing out on the balcony. The thunder and lightning had stopped but the rain was still pouring down.

"Yes, Sorry, Please come in just take off your shoes first please" you requested, the Knight's shoes seeming to disappear as he took his first steps into your home. You taking note of how monkey-like even his feet were.

You quickly make your way to the bathroom and grab a few towels, offering them to the Knight. "Here, use these to dry yourself off" you offered.

"Thank you, My Lady" the Monkey's monotone voice replied taking the towels and using them to dry his armour first.

"...Please stop calling me that" you shyly ask.

The Monkey blinked at you midway through drying his fur. "Very well, My Mistress" he replied.

You blush in a mix of embarrassment and resentment, the title only making you think of cheaters right now. "No..." You groan.

"How about we just call each other by our names?" You suggested introducing your name before gesturing for him to introduce his own name in return.

"I can't do that" he replied calmly "it would be disrespectful as your Champion to call you by an improper title, My Master."

"No definitely not that one" now you felt like he was your servant or slave. "Just go back to calling me, your Lady" you requested with a sigh, not sure it was really worth arguing with... Whatever this Monkey was.

"Of course, My Lady" he replied as he finished drying off his fur.

"Can I at least know your name?" you ask still knowing next to nothing about him, as you took the towels and tossed them in the laundry hamper.

"I'm your Champion" he answered.

"I... I know that, but I want to know your name, not your title" you clarified.

The Monkey Knight frowned slightly "...I do not know my name"

"What do you mean?" you ask, "do you not have a name?"

The Knight paused seeming to be lost in thought. "That is not correct, M'Lady, I have a feeling that I do have a name, I just can't recall what it is" He explained calmly, much calmer than you would be if you couldn't recall your name.

"Alright... Would you be okay with me giving you a name?" You asked.

"Of Course, My Lady," he said with a slight bow of his head.

"Okay..." You took a moment to think, looking over his blue and silver outfit, the ascetic really gave off the feeling of nighttime. You recall how he looked with the stars behind him as he held you high above the clouds. "How about if I call you, Moon?" you suggested.

"That is a fine name, My Lady" he replied, the name both feeling off, yet somehow fitting to the knight.

You smile, not sure if he really liked the name or was just agreeing with you. It was hard to figure out any emotion from the stone face Monkey.

"So Moon, why do you call yourself My Champion?" You asked grabbing a Banana from a blow of fruit on your counter and started peeling it. Inwardly accepting you weren't going to have a proper supper tonight, but you weren't going to go without eating at all.

"Because I will defend you with my life, and defeat all your enemies or those that rival your will." He explained.

"Okay..." that sounded... ominous to you, "Umm why am I your Lady?"

Moon frowned, "I do not understand, you are My Lady."

You pause trying to think of a different way to word your question "How did I become your Lady?"

"I do not know" The Knight responded, "I woke up, knowing you were my lady and my destiny was to serve you and only you."

That answer only gave you more questions. "Okay then... I didn't create you so you must have had a purpose before me... Were you a champion to someone else before me?"

"Yes..." Moon replied having flickers of a girl dressed in white, and a monk holding a golden staff, "but I do not remember them clearly"

"Okay..." You sigh, it was becoming clear that this Knight didn't know much more about what was going on than you.

"I apologize for not being more helpful to you My Lady," Moon said with a bow of his head.

"What, no, there's no need for you to apologize." You assure, "Whatever's going on, isn't your fault, I'm sure given some time we'll figure things out."

"You are very kind, My Lady" Moon said with another bow.

"Not really, I'm just decent" you replied, having no belief in blaming a victim of circumstance.

You throw away the banana peel as you finish it before moving to grab the bowl of mix-match fruits, and approaching the knight. "Would you like something to eat?" You offer.

The Knight looked down at the bowl of fruit pulling out the lone peach in the pile. "Thank you, M'Lady."

"You're Welcome" you reply, noticing that the Monkey had fangs as he bit into the peach.

You frown slightly as you look around the room, not having anywhere to offer Moon a seat. You didn't have a dining table or chairs, you had a desk chair but weren't sure if his armour would fit between the arms of the chair. Maybe you could turn the pile of boxes still needing to be unpacked into a type of seat for him.

You didn't even have a couch, not expecting to invite any company over. You weren't inclined to let anyone know where you live in fear of someone slipping that information to one of your exes.

"Is something the matter M'Lady, you feel distressed?" Moon asked.

"Oh, nothing-" you quickly reply then pause "wait, feel?"

"Yes, you feel distressed" he repeated.

"...you can Feel... What I'm feeling?" you question slowly making sure you understand him correctly.

"Yes" Moon nodded "I am in tuned with your emotions and desires"

You stared at the Knight trying to absorb that strange and unsettling piece of information. "I'm not sure how to feel about that..."

"Mostly confused and stunned" the Knight answered.

"No, that wasn't a question-I wasn't asking- urg never mind" you groaned shaking your head, as the Knight stared at you.

His head suddenly perked up and turned to look out the window. "I'm sorry My Lady, but I must request your permission to leave. There's someplace I must return to before the sunrises"

"Oh of course, but where do you need to return to?" you asked, hoping for at least one straight answer.

"I do not know... I only know I need to return to that place before sunlight reaches me" he answered, sounding almost worried through his usually stoic tone.

"Ah, Alright..." guess you were hoping for too much, maybe he turned to stone during the day or sunlight was his weakness? "Please Go"

"Thank you, M'Lady, I will return to your side, once more when the sun sets" he assured before dashing away causing a gust of wind that stirred up several loose things in your apartment as he flew away.

You rub your face letting out a long sigh, releasing the tension you were holding in your body since the knight had first shown up. Take a moment to stare out the balcony as the rain slowly stopped and the clouds began to part.

"I have a Knight... Does that make me a summoner?" you question out loud, but you don't remember calling for anyone. But he did suddenly appear when you were scared by the lightning... And he said he could feel your emotions, so maybe your emotions called for a protector?

"I need something to eat" you groan, hoping maybe after you ate and slept you would wake up and all this would just be a fever dream of yours.

"If I'm a summoner and Moon's a knight, I wish we had a rogue or thief to compete our JRPG Party." You say sarcastically out to the universe... Freezing as you caught the palm of your hand glowing this time.

"NO! NO! I TAKE IT BACK! I TAKE IT BACK!" but the palm of your hand kept glowing.

===================

Macaque opened the door from his basement, ears twitching to double check that the storm had subsided, hearing no crackles in the clouds all that was left of the storm was the soft pitter-patter of a few remaining raindrops.

The Black Furred Monkey sighed, grateful the storm was over. He didn't mind rain but the thunder was far too much for his heightened hearing.

The Shadow demon wandered through his dojo, pausing at the flash of white he saw in the mirror.

Macaque did a double take, making sure he was seeing what he was seeing in the reflection.

His fur all along his right side, including parts of his tail, had turned white, and his right eye was now a crystal blue colour as well.

"What the hell!?" Macaque questioned staring at himself.

=================

Wukong woke up with a long yawn, blinking and looking around, jumping onto his feet as he realize he was on one of the beaches along Flower Fruit Mountain.

It was early morning as the sunlight had just begun to touch the trees along the sandy beach.

"Did I sleepwalk?" The Monkey King wondered out loud, looking down at his hand that held a half-eaten peach "...Or sleep eat?"

That's when he noticed he was in his full armoured outfit.

"Huh must have had a strange dream last night," Sun Wukong said with a shrug, finishing off the peach as he made his way up the mountain needing to prepare for a lesson he had with MK later.

======================

Sunlight begins to bathe over the city.

A mysterious man laughs to himself as he thinks back to the site of possessed Sun Wukong appearing before you calling you his Lady.

"That was very unexpected, didn't think any of these candidates would be able to summon Wukong himself to be their servant."

If he was a betting man he would put his wager on you becoming the next Lady Bone Demon.

"But I'm not the type to put all my eggs into one basket," He said, smirking as the broken bone, glowed faintly while pointing down to a girl preparing to open a cafe along the street.

"Not as strong as the last one but one never knows what destiny has in store" the man chuckled as he disappeared into a wisp of white smoke. (This chapter was pretty neutral emotional wish but the next one is going to touch upon some more traumatic themes, so will only be posting it on my AO3 and Wattpad. (I will be putting links in the comment section)) Other wise I hope you enjoyed this =3)

#possessed swk #possessed sun wukong x reader #possessed monkey king #possessed sun wukong #corrupted sun wukong #corrupted king #corrupted monkey king #lmk #lmk sun wukong x reader #lmk sun wukong #lmk monkie king #lmk monkey king #lmk macaque #lmk six eared macaque #lego monkie kid #lmk fanfiction #lmk fanfic #my fanfiction #my fanfic

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georgiaswarr · 8 months

Text

read an excerpt of my unfinished jadeellis fic

i started writing this over a year ago and kind of abandoned it, but with the iwbft reread happening i had to think about some of the scenes again, so i thought i'd post a part of it that i'd already written and really enjoy.

for context: jade and ellis met at a gala for the first time at the beginning of iwbft week and hit it off, ellis had a breakdown in the stairwell and jade calmed her down with chiquitita by abba.

Chapter 2

Wednesday 6 September

Rowan (11.43 am)

the boys&i are back in london now

can you come over soon? there’s a lot i need to talk about to be honest

Jade (12.15 pm)

I’ll come right after work!

Rowan (12.16 pm)

can’t wait! xxx

When she went to the boys’ apartment complex later that day, Jade was surprised to see Jimmy in the lobby in deep conversation with the doorman, Ernest.

“Hi, Jimjam! Hi Ernest!”

Jimmy turned around and grinned at her.

“Jade!” He rushed up to her and they hugged each other.

“Good afternoon, Ms Omondi!” Ernest said.

“Hi! So all the cool people hang out in lobbies now, do they?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “Lister accidentally broke something and I didn’t feel like dealing with the aftermath of that so I thought I’d catch up with Ernest a bit. But I’ll come up with you. I have to face the music eventually.”

“You know, somehow Lister breaking something in the first week of your hiatus is not very hard to believe.”

Jimmy snorted. “My thoughts exactly.”

The two of them said goodbye to Ernest, who made Jimmy promise to find him whenever things got unbearable in the Ark household, and stepped into the lift.

“So, how are you feeling after everything?” Jade asked on their way up to the flat.

Jimmy shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s all pretty weird right now. I don’t think I’ve fully processed everything that’s happened yet, to be honest.”

Jade ruffled Jimmy’s hair. “I’m sorry things are a fuckhub right now, Jimjam.”

Jade had always felt protective of Jimmy. Back when they both lived in rural Kent, they were two of the only out trans people in their town, so he’d often come to her for advice or when he needed to vent about cis people. Naturally, she’d immediately adopted him as her third little brother.

Jimmy smiled. “Thanks, Jade. We’ll get through it. With therapy and stuff.”

Jade chuckled as the two of them reached their floor and went to face the music.

Rowan, Lister, and, to Jade’s surprise, Cecily Wills, were on the second floor of the flat, standing in front of the crime scene. On the ground was a very expensive painting, knocked off the wall, frame smashed and torn right down the middle. Lister noticed Jade and Jimmy first and smiled at them bashfully. Jade stepped up behind Rowan and wrapped her arms around his waist. He jumped and turned around.

“It’s just me, mate.”

“Jade! Help us,” he pleaded and gestured to the wrecked painting with a look of despair on his face.

“What happened, then?”

“Allister over here just devalued a 10’000-pound piece of art,” Cecily jumped in.

Lister rolled his eyes. “In my defence, I’m the stab-ee with a broken leg, so this sort of thing is to be expected.”

Rowan nodded. “Yeah, it could’ve been much worse, Cecily.”

Lister stared at Rowan, surprised that he’d stand up for him.

“Of course.” Cecily sighed. “Just be more careful next time, babe. That charity auction with Jacques Flaubert was a big milestone in your career so I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell him we just broke his piece.”

“Maybe you just shouldn’t give a shit?” Jade suggested. Cecily raised an eyebrow. “I mean, didn’t you hear about Jacques Flaubert’s blatant aphobia?”

She frowned. “I did not.”

“He said some pretty fucked-up stuff about asexual people and refuses to apologise, so maybe it’s a good thing Lister broke that painting.”

Lister snapped his fingers. “Exactly! We don’t support aphobia in this house!”

“Plus, you’re superstars, so if anything a tear in the painting will increase its value,” Jade continued. “‘Expensive painting broken and patched up by boyband auctioned off for tons of money’ has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Jade, you are speaking my language,” Lister said. Jade winked at him, which made his grin even wider.

“Alright, I’ll go put this painting somewhere safe for the time being. Jimmy, make sure Lister doesn’t break anything else on his way through the flat,” Cecily ordered.

“What, why me?” Jimmy said.

“Because Rowan needs a well-deserved time-out to talk to his sister.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to spend time with me?” Lister asked Jimmy. His tone was teasing, but Jade sensed some genuine hurt behind the question.

“Of course not! Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.” Jimmy touched Lister’s back and guided him to the stairs while Cecily picked up the shredded painting and followed them.

Once all three of them were out of sight, Jade turned to Rowan to finally get a good look at him. He looked tired. His hair, which had previously been in twists, was undone and he still had traces of a healing wound where the brick had hit him.

He smiled at her weakly. “Hi.”

“Hi. Wanna play dark souls?”

***

“So, how exactly did Lister end up breaking a 10’000 pound piece of art?” Jade was standing in front of Rowan’s impossibly large window and looking at the London skyline while Rowan was installing the video game.

“He was prematurely trying to be independent and walk up the stairs alone. Next thing you know our flat is in need of some new decoration. You coming?”

“Sure.” Jade took one last good look at the stunning view, then she sat down next to Rowan on his bed, leaning against the headrest, and grabbed the controller he was offering her. Rowan pressed play and the screen started to load. “To be completely honest, though, I would’ve expected you to be much angrier at Lister for that. What happened to the guy who didn’t talk to his bandmate for several months after the suitcase incident?”

“Come on, I’m not that mean. We’ve all been through a lot these past few weeks. I don’t blame him for trying to regain some sense of control.”

“Shit, when did you turn into a psychoanalyst?”

“I don’t know. Scary stuff.”

Jade chuckled. “So… speaking of going through a lot… wanna talk about what’s been happening?”

Rowan nodded slowly and paused the game. “What do you need to know?”

“Well, I haven’t really heard much from you except that you’re okay. Physically, at least. I mostly know what the general public knows.”

“Yikes, Jade, we can’t have you compare yourself to the general public.”

And so Rowan told her everything that happened. From the intimate details of their lives being leaked to the press, to the awful meet-and-greet, them almost being forced to sign their lives away with the new contract, Jimmy running away to their hometown, Bliss ending things with him and how Lister wound up with a broken leg and a stab wound.

“So yeah, now we’ve decided to go on hiatus for the foreseeable future.”

“That’s a good thing though, right? I mean, you all deserve a shitload of rest after everything.”

“Yeah! I mean, of course. But… I don’t know.”

“But what?”

“Well… I feel like having all this free time might mean we have to… face some stuff. Like, Jimmy and I had the worst fight of our lives, which we haven’t even talked about yet, I have no fucking idea where… everything has left Lister and me, and I just... really miss Bliss. I mean, now that we’d actually have time to see each other it doesn’t amount to anything anymore.”

Rowan. Even after going through the worst week of his life, all he thought about was other people. “But you’re still friends, right? So you will still see each other?”

Rowan shrugged. “We haven’t really talked since. And I think I need a bit of time to get over her, to be honest.” He looked down at his hands and blinked.

“Come here.” Jade opened her arms to her brother and he sunk into them, finally letting his tears fall freely.

“I think it’s good that you’re on hiatus. It means I get to see you more.”

Rowan chuckled through his tears. “I’m quoting this back at you next time you get annoyed at me for throwing a shell at you in Mario Kart.”

Jade laughed. “Oof, dug my own grave there.”

For a while, they stayed in the same position, allowing Rowan to calm down. Finally, he declared, “I think I want to cut my hair and dye it pink.”

Jade raised an eyebrow at him. “So basically like my hair?”

“Um, no… there’s many different shades of pink, Jade.”

“Right, of course.”

“I’d dye it pink even if your hair was a completely different colour!”

Jade threw her hands up. “Yes, yes! Of course! Do what you want!”

“Yes! Thank you!”

Jade snorted while Rowan rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips.

“You know, Alex is gonna miss redoing your twists every few weeks, though. Just FYI.”

“How would you know what Alex would miss?”

“He told me when I saw him the other day. He said ‘Jade, you know what the best part of my job is? Doing your baby brother’s hair. I’d just hate to lose that last shred of joy’,” she said in a dramatic voice.

“Well, it’s not like there’ll be that much styling in this band for the time being anyway. Besides, Lister’s hair really seems to be growing out, so I’m sure he’ll find plenty to do there.”

“Yeah, but that’s white people hair.”

“Good point. I’m still changing mine though.”

“Of course. I’m sure you’ll look great either way.”

“Thank you. I know.” They grinned at each other. “When did you see Alex?”

“Oh, I ran into him at this gala the other week.” Jade thought back to their last interaction. Shortly after listening to Chiquitita with Ellis, Alex texted Ellis that he wanted to leave. Jade didn’t want to intrude so she stayed behind. That was more than three weeks ago and she hadn’t spoken to either of them since.

Speaking of Ellis...

“I just thought of someone who could help you out with that newly empty wall.”

#osemanverse #iwbft #em’s fuckery #fic #jade omondi #ellis warr

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bratshaws · 2 years

Text

goodness gracious 64. brb x oc

THIS FIC IS 18+ ONLY! MINORS PLS DNI!

a/n: hooo boy every smut is going to get me wondering if i should go to a convent or not...also does anyone know how this 'mature' filter works?? also feedback is welcome and encouraged uwu LOVE YOU ALL

check out the fic's playlist made by the sweet @wiipes !!

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: this is just filth and im going to hell.

chapters:

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41/42/43/44

45/46/47/48/49/50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57/58/59/60/61/62/63

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!)

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3

@lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2 @emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads

While the plan was to immediately play the game, as much as Bradley wanted to, their stomachs had a different idea. Suddenly they were filled with hunger and couldn’t do much but have dinner, of course the thought of what would happen after floated around them. Then they had to wait for their dinner to settle, so they decided to watch another movie until it did, both of them eager for it to pass so they could finally do what they were planning to.

However it was a really good movie, so they ended up watching the whole thing, then the sequel, then when they noticed it was already midnight. Their dinner settled and now there was nothing else distracting them. “You get the cards, I get the wine.” he says, leaping to his feet to rip the wine glasses box apart to pick two out of it, while Beatrice reached inside a cabinet to get the cards she talked about. Was it a bit nerve wracking just like his Christmas surprise? Yes. Was she excited? Also yes. She wants to be a bit bolder, she felt that now she could be more since their relationship was serious and he voiced how much he liked it.

Beatrice steps inside the master bedroom first, with Rooster locking the door behind them with his smile never faltering. She sits cross legged on the floor, looking up at him with her cheeks red until he sits down as well right in front of her, “So.” she begins, “Do you want to um…mix the cards?” she’s still nervous, tapping her thumbs together after he grabs the box from her hands, smirking at her red face.

“What does the winner get?” he asks as he pulls out the pack of cards from inside, riffling them with his thumb repeatedly with his eyes still on Beatrice.

She rolls her lower lip inside her mouth, she hadn’t thought about that yet…until an idea presented itself for her, “Well…we can use the um ticket we’ve been saving.” That made him stop, the last cards his thumb touched hitting the others with a slow slapping sound before he chuckled to himself, with a quiet yet overly pleased ‘okay’ leaving his lips. She has no idea what he had in mind, she knew what she wanted to do obviously but the way he suddenly turned sharp focused just with the thought.

Beatrice waits until he gives each the number of cards necessary, leaving the rest to the side and straightening his back to keep the cards within eye level. Beatrice did the same, frowning when she noticed her hand wasn’t really the greatest and she had to be careful while playing, “Ready?” he asks and she nods while chewing her lower lip.

And so it begins.

During the first minutes he has the upper hand, managing to get her socks off first and looking incredibly satisfied when he sets it right by his side. Then he managed to get her earrings, much to Beatrice’s dismay because he was still clothed and if he continued like this she’d lose…which wasn’t a bad idea but she felt like she knew how to play this by now, she could still win something.

When she finally manages to win something, now it was his socks that were on her side, she tried to hold back her excitement because the last thing she’d want was to sing victory before the finishing line. The wine was still unopened on the side, with the glasses next to it, she knew he didn’t like getting drunk before they had sex so she wasn’t sure why he brought it up. Maybe for later? After, well, they did what they wanted to do? That would be the most obvious reason.

Over time, they managed to get more and more off each other. When they were both in their underwear, that’s when it got intense because Beatrice had two more articles of clothing while he had only one. If she managed to get it, she’d win this game. But Brad wasn’t planning on going down easy, “Oh what do you know,” he says after she shows him her cards “A flush, looks like I win again, gorgeous.” he leans on his closed fist, watching Beatrice’s face slowly dawn with realization “Bra off.”

She tried not to show how much his commanding tone affected her, not meeting his eyes when she reached behind herself to unclasp her black bra, the straps sliding down her arms until it fell on top of her bare thighs. She pulled her hair over her chest out of habit, nevermind he had seen her naked more times than she ever did, but she just felt very exposed. Bradley’s eyes drop to her now naked chest, his smirk remaining “Last round huh?” she nods, moving her arms in a way it’d cover her breasts and also push them together without her noticing.

Bradley’s mouth parts, watching the mounds of flesh push together with his pupils blown wide. God she was so sexy, he thought, her upper body flushed a nice red and her lower lip bitten inside her mouth making her look like one of those pin up girls from the 1950s. Honestly he could see her rocking such an image, she could rock anything and look great no matter what.

Beatrice tried, she did try, she wasn’t doing bad on this game…but eventually, and maybe unsurprisingly so, he won. She sighed quietly as their cards came into view, with Rooster grinning brightly at her, “You know the deal, gorgeous.” he murmurs, following her stand up to her feet with his eyes, the same eyes that dropped to her hands hooking on the sides of her panties, watching her shimmy them down her legs - biting his lower lip when it partially got stuck between her thick thighs - until they touched the floor and she kicked it away.

She folded her hands in front of her navel, her cheeks redder than before, “N-Now what?” Was she nervous because she didn’t know what would happen or was she nervous because she was curious about what would happen? He hums, still on the floor but slowly standing to his feet and she couldn’t help but drag her green eyes down his chest, following the happy trail that disappeared under the dark briefs until they stopped on the not so subtle bulge in his underwear.

“Now, pretty girl,” he coos, “I’m going to enjoy my winnings.” he grabs one of her hands, kissing the inside of her wrist, ‘Get on the bed for me?” he didn’t even have to ask, because Beatrice did so quickly. He didn’t have much time to admire her backside as he usually did before she sat down, placing her hands on either side of her hips looking up at him. Rooster ran a hand over his face, breathing out a delighted sigh as he got closer, kissing Beatrice deep enough that it took all the air out of her lungs.

Beatrice feels herself fall back,wrapping her arms around his neck but whining out in complaint when he pulls his head back with a soft smacking sound and pressing a trail of kisses down her jawline, his tongue peeking out to taste her skin, his mustache scratching her throat as he goes down. He brings his lips back up so his hot breathing touches the shell of her ear, “Open your legs for me, gorgeous?” He says it as a request, but she wouldn’t mind if he told her to just like he did back during Christmas time.

Beatrice’s breathing gets deeper, but her legs slowly part for him to hover his hips right above it, giving him space for what he wanted to do. He drags his hand down, giving her left nipple a gentle pinch that makes Beatrice gasp out a squeak, then down her soft stomach over her stretch marks until he reaches exactly where he wanted to, gently touching her outer lips with his index and middle finger. The brunette moans quietly, one of her hands going up to his shoulder to grab the muscle there, muttering his name, “Do you know what my idea is for you, pretty girl?” she moans but shakes her head negatively, “It involves fucking you with my fingers first.”

He slides his fingers in, hissing through his teeth at how wet she was already with a sharp moan of his name hitting his ears. His fingers moved in and out slowly at first, enjoying how her moaning was quiet, how her nails gently dug on his shoulders while his eyes remained on her face. Her long lashes touched her cheeks with her eyes closed, her lips parted in pleased moans trying to keep up with his fingers, “You like when I fuck you with my fingers, don’t you gorgeous?” Bea nods, tossing her head back at a deep movement of his hand, “And you take anything so well, it’s almost like your pussy was made for me.”

The clench around his fingers was so tight he was sure it’d pop one of the joints, her sudden surprised cry of pleasure only made him grin even more, “And you get so wet too, it’s like I barely touch you and you already react to it.” he presses the heel of his palm against her clit, rubbing it back and forth following his fingers moving inside of her. Beatrice tries to keep her eyes open to no avail, moaning quietly with her hips keeping up with his hand, trying to get more friction out of it.

She barely takes notice of the words leaving her lips, not seeing how she whispers a “Please, amore…” loud enough for him to hear and immediately still his hand, much for her disdain. She tries to move her hips to continue, but his huge hand holds her down so she doesn’t do anything else. Beatrice flutters her eyes open, tears clinging to her long lashes as she tries to figure out why he stopped, “W-What happened?”

Rooster’s eyes are so dark they are like blackholes in the universe that was him. “Say it again.” she looks confused, not understanding what he means, “Say it again.” When she finally figures out what he means, she shudders, repeating the words under her breath for him to hear. And something definitely changes, because his hand is moving so much faster that Beatrice can barely notice what was happening, too busy trying to understand how good he’s capable of making her feel using only his fingers.

Her moaning gets louder and her nails dig on his shoulder, creating crescent shaped indentations on the skin, “B-Brad…” she whispers again, “Ah!” He never takes his eyes off of her, his own breathing uneven and heavy, following the flush of red on her skin, the way her body moved to meet his hand in hopes to reach her orgasm even faster. When she suddenly feels his thumb rubbing her clit in rapid circles, she’s a goner, she was sure that even with the wind howling outside the people in the other cabins would be able to hear her own scream.

She clenches her legs around his arm, body shivering with aftershocks and voice jittery, still trying to regain her bearings as her orgasm slowly eases out of her and her lungs no longer feel like they are ready to explode.He’s still looking at her when he removes his fingers, enjoying the subtle furrow of her eyebrows when he’s finally out, licking his digits clean, “Wait here.” he leaves the bed, which makes her blink but she’s too fatigued to move, only hearing the obvious ‘pop’ of the wine bottle being open.

His bare feet travel back to the bed, where he kneels above her while holding the wine bottle, “Been thinking of this since we got that gift basket,” he whispers, dropping his eyes to her flushed chest and down “I promise I won’t use all of it.”

“Use all of it- ah!” she yelps when the cold liquid hits her chest, just enough to dribble down and pool on the hollow of her throat Oh. Beatrice could just watch with wide eyes as Bradley cautiously leans the bottle on the high footboard and his mouth drops exactly where the wine was, licking and sucking her skin more than he usually did until there was nothing left besides a trembling brunette gasping for his name. Since his alcohol tolerance was a lot higher than hers, she knew that a few sips of wine wouldn’t be enough to buzz him up - hence why he was doing that now - maybe warm him just a little but he’d never get drunk.

But she couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t arousing at all, the cold of the wine followed by the warmth of his tongue as he tried to keep the red beverage from hitting the white sheets was commendable as well and he was doing a great job too.His open mouthed kisses dropped from her throat to her cleavage, where he darted his mouth to nibble a breast with his eyes directly on hers. He really did love eye contact.

His hands were busy rubbing her waist, the plush flesh of her hips and then her thighs, pulling back from her breast to drag his teeth and tongue down to her stomach, reaching for the bottle again. Her stomach clenched when she felt the wine hitting her skin, pooling onto her belly button and just a bit below her navel and yet somehow now falling on the bed. Beatrice whimpers, his tongue returning to suck it all away, slowly climbing down the mattress to be face to face with her flushed center.

He didn’t pour the wine there, because he’s not stupid obviously, instead he just moved his open mouthed kisses to her entrance and Beatrice couldn’t hold back the loud moan that was ripped out of her, “B-Brad!” her hands flailed, trying to grab anything closer - choosing the sheets instead - not caring if she ripped the cotton fabric under her iron grip. His hands cupped her thighs, placing both of them on his shoulders so he could spread them as he desired.

She whimpers, almost like she’s crying, with tears slowly sliding out of her eyes but not out of fear or worry of what was happening. He trails his hands up her thighs, tongue moving slowly inside of her, until he reaches her chest, cupping them completely, “God,Brad…” she gasps again, not being able to stop when she locks her legs around his neck by the ankles, clasping a hand over her mouth out of habit while the other one runs its fingers through his golden brown hair.

He groans happily, closing his eyes and opening his jaw a bit wider so he could go from bottom to top, paying close attention to her clit and making her squeak out her moans, her chest heaving. He knew she was getting close by the way her fingers curled around his strands and how she was trying to hold back her moan, so he sped up the pace focusing mainly on the little bundle of nerves. Her already sensitive state made the whole experience turn on a complete new level, her quiet crying of his name sounding like music to his ears.

So when she orgasms one more time, the second in a matter of minutes, he flattens his tongue against her entrance as it clenched at nothing, her back arching like a bow and her scream turning into silent huffs of air, her hips undulating to get the last of her orgasm out of her system His mouth was still on her, but it was too much, so much that Beatrice whined, “Brad,” she calls, trying to push his head away, “J-Just give me a-a m-minute.” he complies, but not before kissing the little bundle of nerves to see her jump with a startled squeak, leaning over her body with his lips shining.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, seeing her nod with her eyes partially open, lips parted to regain her breathing, “Did I knock the air out of you.” she laughs breathlessly, weakly slapping his arm but smiling nonetheless, “I’m going to give you a break, there’s something else I want to do with you.”

She felt herself clench just at the possibilities, her eyes trailing down to the bulge on his underwear, “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine, angel.” he murmurs, kissing her warm cheek, “Waiting for you is worth it.”

While she was touched, she couldn’t help but always look directly at it, she knew he wanted to do things for her first…but there was no way she’d let that go as she waited, “But…amore…” seeing his reaction from earlier, she tried again and immediately Bradley stopped his lips on the curve of her jaw, his breath hitching, “I just want to take care of you too, lieutenant.” two hits in one single play, she wasn’t messing around. His shoulders shuddered briefly, lifting his head from her neck so he could meet her green eyes, “Please?”

Now it was his mouth that was parted open, tongue peeking out to wet his soft lips as his eyes trailed down towards her lips, “What do you want to do?” he questions, but he wasn’t prepared for the answer he’d receive.

“I liked your wine idea.” she whispered, running a nail down between his pectorals until she reached his six pack, biting her lip when it clenched under the feather light touch, “It was really nice.” he doesn’t stop her when she sits up, the hand on his chest pushing him back, back until he is the one lying on the bed now and she’s straddling his hips. He hisses, feeling her wetness drip down his still covered manhood, his hands climbing up her thighs until they reach the curve of her waist.

She grabbed the bottle, holding it with both hands in front of her chest, “Is it okay for you?” she asks, oh so sweetly, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She was going to be the death of him.

“Yeah, gorgeous, of course.” he whispers, following her movements with his eyes - focusing on how her breasts moved when she leaned forward- and letting out a sharp noise of surprise when the cold wine hit his chest, the red drop rolling down quickly from his collarbones down between his pectorals, almost reaching his chest hair. Beatrice widened her eyes, she should’ve predicted that, quickly lowering her open mouth to his skin so she could lick it away. Bradley’s hands on her waist tightened feeling her tongue brushing against his chest brought wonderful memories of the Christmas night.

Beatrice still had her lips to his chest when she looked up at him, through her long thick lashes, “Fuck…” her pinkish red full lips to his golden skin was a contrast he could never grow tired of, the feeling of her tongue gently licking the beads of wine away was enough to make his member jolt inside his briefs. She pulls back from his chest, licking her lips clean and asking him gently to lie down on the bed. He did, quickly, with his hands still holding onto her hips to bring her along with him.

Beatrice combs all her long brown hair to the side, a movement that was yet again enough to make him ready to lose his mind, before the wine hit his stomach. It was cold, but the muscles there prevented it from moving further, almost like they were hills and the wine was the river coursing through them. Beatrice moves her lower body further away from him so she could lean down, again meeting his eyes as her tongue dips down to lick it away. His hands are no longer on her hips but now on her shoulders, combing the few strands of hair that stuck to her skin back.

She kisses right on his navel once she’s done, her face so red but her smile is brilliant, “How was it?” she whispers, somehow thinking he wouldn’t have liked it.

“Fuckin’ great.” he mutters in a quiet voice, his tone sounding even deeper than normal “Do you want to know the rest of my idea?” she nods and his hand comes up to rub the pad of his thumb over her lips, gently prying them apart so he could pop the digit inside, “When you sucked me off,” he feels her tongue brushing over the pad of his thumb, “I really liked that and I’d like it even more if you did it again.”

Beatrice pops his thumb out of her mouth, the digit glistening with saliva. She doesn’t say anything for a bit, until she finally whispers a “Okay.” with that shy smile he loved so much. Rooster watches her move away from him so he could remove his briefs, kicking them off the bed as Beatrice placed the wine bottle down - and further away from them thinking there wouldn’t be any need for its uses - and settled back between his legs, lying on her stomach.

He breathed in and out heavily, heavy lidded eyes watching her tongue roll out of her mouth to lick a strip from the base to the tip, “Ohhhh fuckin’ Christ–” he furrows his eyebrows, clenching his eyes and rolling his lips into his mouth as a deep groan vibrates on his chest. Beatrice huffs out a soft laugh, kissing his tip before bringing it into her mouth and that was enough for another deep moan to escape the confines of his chest, “Shit, Jesus– fuck your mouth should be illegal.”

She pops him out of his mouth, “Do you want me to stop–”

“No!!” he is quick to say, snapping his eyes open, fearing she would stop but only sighed seeing her smile “Jesus, you– you can be very cruel.” he says, his voice getting higher when she takes him back into her mouth, tongue brushing on the underside. Bradley drops his head back on the pillow, rubbing his face with both hands only to interlace his fingers on top of his head, trying to control his breathing any way he could - he was successful most of the time. “God baby…” he whispers, dropping one of the hands from his head to her hair, caressing her nape “God damn it. God damn it you are so good.”

Beatrice hums happily, the vibrations making a full body shudder dart through him and his fingers grab on the strands just a bit harshly but not enough to hurt her. While he could, he wanted her to suck him off until he was completely spent. There were things he still wanted to do to her, “Baby…” he called softly, his own skin flushing as her head bobbed “Oh God– baby, that’s it.” he had to hold back the best he could but it was getting very hard to focus, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ on a bike, Bea…I,” a relatively deep suck was enough to bring him back to the present and the groan that escapes his throat almost shakes him to his very core, “Yeah, baby, baby, you should– god, Jesus fuck- you should stop for right now.”

She does, pulling him out of her mouth only to kiss his flushed tip sweetly, smiling up at his sweaty and flushed face. She rubs his thigh gently, “You okay?” he huffs out a tired laugh, rubbing his face with both hands and grabbing her own hands to pull her closer. Beatrice just bites her lower lip, trying to hold back her smile when he pushes her down on the bed with her ass up in the air.

“God damn it.” she hears him say, her cheek pressed to the pillow, turning to look over her shoulder at his wonderful, tall muscular body right behind her. His hands caress the globes of her ass, squeezing it gently only to slap the left butt cheek to make her yelp, “Is this okay to you?” Beatrice nods, still looking back at him, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while too, baby…god your ass is so fucking great.”

She moans softly, playfully wiggling her hips so he could get on with it faster but he was taking his sweet sweet time. She gasped when feeling the tip of his member prod her entrance, her toes curling with anticipation, “God, Brad…” she tried to push back against him so he could enter faster, but he just held her hips back, “Brad!!”

“What? I’m admiring the view.” he teases back, slapping the opposite cheek with his smirk widening, “And it’s a wonderful one.”

She wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer, frustration taking over her nerves until she got an idea, “Brad…tenente Bradshaw.” She hears his sharp intake of air once the words hit his ears, undoubtedly translating in his mind immediately, “Per favore tenente,ti voglio così tanto…non mi vuoi anche tu?” She knew he had no idea what she just said past the ‘lieutenant’, but the way his hands tightened on her hips and his eyes darkened was enough of an answer for her.

Who knew she’d be using Italian for this. Clearly not a single one of her ancestors.

“God damn it.” he growls, aligning himself and then sliding him without much ado, both of them moaning once he fully hilted. She felt drips of sweat falling on her back and sliding all the way down until it reached her hair. Beatrice moans deeply into the pillow, her ass hitting his navel repeatedly since he’s the one controlling the thrusting right now. Which she wasn’t complaining, not one bit, “Fuck, fuck how do you–”

“Ah, tenente…ti piace come mi sento intorno a te?” her cheeks were flaming, she was really dirty talking in Italian back to him, something she’d never do normally, “Perché m-mi piace come ti senti dentro di me…” she had no idea how much her speaking in Italian would affect him, but the way he his hip bones were hitting her ass after every thrust gave her a good indication.

Beatrice moans brokenly, muffling her voice onto the pillow but Rooster isn’t having it, “No,” he grinds the words, “No, keep talkin’, keep talkin’ baby, I want to hear you.” he rubs her asscheeks again, not spanking them this time with his eyes locked on him disappearing and reappearing inside of her. Beatrice moans again, louder this time, her open mouth escaping so she could take deep gulps of air with her hair falling over her eyes, her own hips meeting his thrusts.

“Brad–” she whimpers, clenching the sheets close to her head, her whole body shivering when he suddenly leans forward, pushing her ass down under his weight without stopping the movement of his hips. His warm breath hits her neck and ear, his large hands grabbing hers, sliding under them to interlace their fingers together.

“Say it.” he whispers heavily against her ear, “Talk to me.”

“A-Amore,” his deep groan is more felt than heard, her moans getting louder while his thrusting gets faster, “Brad…ti amo,ti amo tanto…” her gasped response was almost unheard because of how her voice was breathed out, but Rooster heard it, he did. He groans louder against her neck, the slapping sounds of their skin together was almost deafening and her moans were rising in volume signaling she was very close, “Brad!I’m going to cum!!”

“Yeah, you are,” he growls, “Fuckin’ cum baby, give it to me, come on,come on–” her body immediately stills and her scream echoes around the room so loudly he’s sure the walls vibrate. It doesn’t take long for him to reach his own release, burying his face on her neck only to groan deeply and just as loud on her skin, bucking his hips a few more times until he’s completely done.

They stay like that, breathing heavily for a few seconds, Rooster inhaling her sweet lavender scent mixed with sex and sweat, lips pressing butterfly kisses to her throat “Good God.” he chuckles, “This was better than I planned.” he mutters but his only response is a tired ‘mhmm’ from her. He pushes himself to a kneeling position so he could pull out of her, trying to not stare how their conjoined releases come out of her “Baby,” he coos, kissing her lower back, “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmfein foin.” was her muffled reply on the pillow.

“What?”

She lifts her head with some difficulty, “I’m feeling fine.” she repeats clearer now, giving him a little smile, “It was great.”

Rooster grins back at her, “Good, now come on.” he rolls her back so she’s lying down on the bed, sliding his arms under her legs and back, picking her up bridal style, “Shower time!”

“Just shower?”

“Of course, baby.” he whispers, kissing her cheek and taking them both to the bathroom, “Just shower.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader

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bluegalaxygirl · 7 months

Text

Ruthless (Zosan X Reader) P7

Plot: Beast off the walking dead series. After the governor attacks your people you head back to help plan an attack back. Luffy's not happy with being left out so ends up following only to end up at the governors town.

Warning: Violence, bad language and medical stuff.

Reader is a gunslinger of the crew and the younger sibling to Rick. This isn't accurate to the show but it does contain characters and plot lines, deaths have been added that aren't apart of the show. Zoro X Sanji X Reader, poly relationship, Established relationship, Reader is GN.

P1 - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 -P8 - P9 - P10 - P11

Day 5

Nothing changed that day, their routine was normal and people came and went, Brook stopped by and told you about a show he was going to do with Beth tomorrow night and that he hoped you could be awake to see it. During the night Chopper came in to check on them all, Rick was the only one awake or at least trying to stay awake, he started spending more time with Carl and his daughter which tired him out. Your brother smiles at the reindeer before a look of shock covers his face, Hershel walks in behind the doctor on two crutches now being able to walk thanks to the antibiotics you brought when you first arrived. "Hershel" Rick laughs getting up and hugging the man waking Zoro and Sanji who where asleep in their normal positions. Upon seeing Chopper Sanji got up and sat on the metal chair so the doctor could jump up and do his job. Rick pulls away from Hershel and brings over his seat for the now one legged man to sit down on "I can't believe your up" Rick sighs helping the old man sit down, his white beard and hair have grown longer with all the time spent in bed. "I thought its about time i get my ass up and do some work" The old man laughed before turning his attention to Sanji and Zoro "I'll be helping Chopper look after Y/n, Take some weight off his shoulder" Chopper checks over your bandages before turning to Hershel "I'm glad for the help but i can take care of things" The doctor smiles turning back to you and checking your pulse "You need rest young man"

The old man sighs leaning back in his chair "And as for you three, i think its time we set up something more comfy, your stubborn" He turns to face Rick who crosses his arms over his chest "So i know you won't get up and leave for a night when you can be here so, we'll set something up, sleeping on the floor or on these chairs aren't good for you all" He was worried they would get overly tired or sore, and then he would have more people to take care off, plus he knew he would get an ear full form you if he let that happen. "Thank you" Sanji speaks up getting the old man's attention who nods at him. Zoro stands from the floor and walks up next to Sanji looking at Chopper "How are they?" He asks wanting to know what his doctor has to say now he's done. Chopper pulls the sheet back over you and takes his gloves off "Their good but if they don't wake up by tomorrow then i'm going to put a feeding tub down" Chopper sighs turning to the group with a small smile "But there is some good news if their breathing stays like this we can take the oxygen mask off" Zoro lets a smile form and squeezes Sanji's shoulder who reaches up and takes the swordsman's hand.

Day 6

You didn't wake up but Chopper and Hershel waited till the afternoon just in case. Rick watched over you and told you all about the baby girl and Carl, he even told you how the new farm was going along. When Zoro took over the two had quite a long chat about things, it seems this situation as bonded them a little, seeming to talk to each other more often and give a nod to each other every time they see each other outside the medical ward. Zoro sat on the bed holding your hand until Chopper and Hershel came in with a bunch of equipment but when Zoro didn't move Hershel placed a hand on the swordsman's shoulder " You should go and grab a drink of tea while we do this" The old man smiles only for Zoro to shake his head "No, i'm not leaving them" The green haired man's eyes never left your form but the old man sat down in the chair close to the bed and placed his hand onto Zoro's, getting him to look up finally "I understand your worried son but it's best if you go. We'll take care of them" He wanted to say more but didn't. Its very simple and easy when someone is unconscious and thats the problem, you expect someone to fight back a little at the uncomfortable feeling of a tub going through your nose and down your treat, but they don't and that can really upset people. "Please, Zoro" Chopper smiles getting the swordsman to sigh and stand up "Fine, how long?" Zoro groans slowly letting go of your hand "20 minutes" Hershel voices before Chopper can.

Once Zoro had left Chopper looks at the old man confused "I'll only take us two" The doctor whispers wondering why the man would lie "I know, but he needs a brake, plus it'll give the others time to set up the room without anyone in the way" Hershel smiles moving to sit on the bed, so he can assist Chopper. With the oxygen mask now off and a tub in your nose taped to your cheek they set up a bag to help feed you, Chopper stays on the bed with you while Maggie and Glen come in to help set up the room. They place a mattress on the floor at the end of the bed and cover it in sheets along with two pillows. The chairs are moved out and replaced with two wooden chairs along with a cushion on each. Zoro came back early to see Maggie and Glen coming out pushing the sheet aside "What's wrong?" His first instinct was that something happened to you but his fear faded when Maggie smiled at him "Nothing wrong, they just set up the room, made it more comfy" Hershel hobbles over with his crutches getting his daughter to turn and help him "Come on dad lets go" She whispers before walking with her dad out of the medical ward. Glen sighs and watches the two walk way "If you need anything just ask" The young man nods patting the swordsman on the shoulder before leaving.

The room was much more comfy now and felt a lot warmer, Zoro still opted to sit on the bed with you but used one of the blankets to keep himself warm until Sanji came in. "Wow, when did this happen?" The cook asks getting the swordsman's attention, Sanji looks around the room before looking down at you seeing you breathe without a mask. The cook can't help but smiles and lean down placing a soft kiss on the side of your parted lips. "Glen and Maggie did this" Zoro smiles a little happy to see the cook look less sad, he stands up and wraps the blanket he had on around the blondes shoulders "At least now we can get a good nights sleep" Zoro laughs pulling Sanji in for a hug who happily hugs back placing his head on the green haired man's shoulder. The mattress on the floor caught his eye, he liked being close to you but would often almost fall off or have a fear of leaning on you and hurting you in his sleep. Sanji pulls away and places a hand on Zoro's cheek before leaning in and kissing the man "I love you" Zoro lets out after the kiss before going back in for more, Sanji smiles and leans into it "I love you too moss head" The blonde teases only for Zoro to grab the cooks waist and squeeze a little, Sanji laughs and try's to pull away only for Zoro to pull him closer and start tickling the man. Its very rare for him to do this but the cook asked for it, and they both needed a moment of happiness "S-stop, I-Im so-sorry" Sanji calls out being pinned up against the wall as the swordsman stops.

The cook pants catching his breath while still being tense in case Zoro decides to start up again "Behave" The swordsman laughs placing his lips on Sanji's before walking over to you and placing a kiss on your cheek "You too" he jokes before moving some hair out of your face. After Zoro left Sanji sat in the new wooden chair holding your hand, he didn't have much to tell you so he opted to start reading the book that Robin brought a few days ago, It was some kind of poetry book she found in woodbury. He stopped reading when Rick comes in earlier than normal followed by Hershel "Hay, the show's going to start soon, thought you might want to come" Rick smiles seeing the room and you looking a lot better "No it's ok. I'll stay" Sanji smiles back looking down at the book in his hands "I'll watch over her son" Hershel hobbles in sitting on the other wooden chair and placing a hand on the cooks shoulder "Your captain dragged your boy away to join and i think it would be good if you go too" Sanji places a book mark in the book before closing it and turning to the old man then to Rick "Carl said i have to go but i just wanted to see them before i go" Your brother smiles placing a hand on your head "They look a lot better and Hershel's a good doctor, they'll be fine" Rick turns to Sanji before opening the sheet as the cook stands and places the book on the side table. "I'll be back later mi amore" He whispers placing a kiss on your cheek before leaving with Rick.

Hershel stayed with you for a few hours, the room silent since he wasn't much of a talker. Zoro and Sanji spent some much-needed time together along with the crew, they got to know your family a lot more too. Michonne had been working a lot with Zoro and training with him, but they didn't talk much outside of that until tonight, maybe it was the alcohol or the fresh vibe that got them talking to each other about the past but either way they got to know each other a lot more and had more respect for each other. Sanji liked talking with Maggie a lot, she was a sweet girl and took an interest in cooking even attending two of his lessons and being very good at it. He wasn't surprised when he found out she was in a relationship with Glen, he could see the way they looked at each other and was happy for them, but he was surprised how much him and Glen got on. The two didn't talk much but that night they did and found they had a lot of the same ideals and opinions. Rick spent time with Carl and his daughter and managed to finally chose a name for her, Carl was the one who suggested it and it just felt right. Sanji managed to get Zoro to dance with him during a slow song and took the moment to feel a sense of calm. It was a good night with lots of food, drinks and light music.

Day 7

After last night not many people wanted to do much, the booze from the sunny and what they took form woodbury plus the massive amount of food and late night made everyone want to crawl back into bed. Rick slept in one of the spare rooms in the medical ward after Michonne had to drag his drunk ass to bed while Sanji and Zoro slept on the mattress in your medical cell. Zoro flat out on his back snoring away while Sanji lay on top of him, the blankets all over the place, Chopper woke them up when he came in to put stuff in the food bag and was unsurprised how the two didn't have a hang over. Rick did have a small hangover but after a good sleep in and some coffee he felt much better and managed to get out of bed and sit in the chair in your medical cell "Party'd to hard i see" Maggie laughs walking in with Glen carrying plates of food "Oh i'm so sorry miss Maggie" Sanji stands from where he was sitting on the mattress, he didn't realize what time it was and missed making breakfast "Its fine don't worry, we can handle it for one day." she smiles making him sit back down and handing him a plate of food.

Glen hands a plate to Rick and then one to Zoro "We all got together and thought it would be good to practice the skills you've been teaching us and give you all the day off" The young man smiles going back to stand next to Maggie who puts down another vase of flowers which just so happen to be your favorite flowers. Zoro cracks a smile and swallows the food in his mouth "Where did you get them from?" The swordsman asks pointing his fork at the flowers, Maggie adjusts them a little before turning to the green haired man and then looking at Rick "well a local group came round to thank us for getting rid of the governor and gave us a bunch of stuff" Rick's eyes widen but Glen's quick to place his hand on the man's shoulder "It's ok, It's the group that lives in the mill" A sigh of relief leaves your brother mouth, that place is mostly full of farmers, and they've never caused a problem. "They gave us seeds and flowers plus some scrap metal we can use" Maggie smiles taking the finished plates off the three "Me, Glen, Michonne and Daryl have everything under control, plus the people we saved from woodbury have been helping clear out new areas thank to Andrea's leadership" The girl smile bring calm to the group "How is Andrea, i haven't seen or heard form her since we got back" Sanji asks earning a sigh form Glen who leans against the wall, he gives Maggie a nod letting her know he'll explain while she goes to do work.

The three watch the young man as he starts to explain "She's physically ok but mentally not so much, living with the governor this whole time has done some damage, and she told me that she feels like a failure for not stopping the governors plan. Apparently he's planned stuff like this in the past, but she managed to stop it or find a way to make it harder than it needed to be, so he'd back down. This time she wasn't in the loop so had no idea. She's doing what she can to make up for it, to make it up to Y/N and you Rick" Glen looks up form the floor to their leader who looks a little angry but mostly sad "Is that why she left?" Rick asks clenching his fists on his lap. "Yea, When everyone got sick she tried to convince the governor to help since he had the best doctors and medical equipment, he told her that if she joined his group and didn't tell them why then he would. She was shocked when i told her that we never got any help after she left, she was told they did send stuff but it didn't do any good" Glen looks over at you remembering how everyone yelled at her for leaving and not giving them a reason why yet you didn't, you hugged her and wished her well despite everyone being mad at you after words. "I remember Andrea saying they were close so i thought she would at least come and see Y/N but..." Sanji sighs looking down at you "I don't know, every time i ask her to come with us she refuses" Glen shrugs before pushing off the wall "I'll see you guys later, give you some piece before your bombarded again" Glen laughs before leaving.

During the afternoon people came and went, Nami and Robin came back to check on things along with Michonne and Daryl but there were a bunch of people that Zoro and Sanji didn't know. As the day was ending Sanji slept sat with his back to the wall on the mattress while Zoro was snoring in his lap, his face on the cooks stomach using it as a pillow. Rick sat on the bed holding your hand, you felt a lot warmer which was a good sign, but he was still worried. Some noise outside caught his attention and woke Zoro and Sanji up their heads turning to see the sheet move, "Carl?" Rick whispers standing up to stop his son form coming in only for Beth to step into view with the baby girl in her arms. "What are you doing here?" Your brother asks looking over the three kids "It's been a week, we want to see Y/N" Carl looks up at his dad pushing the sheriffs hat that Rick used to wear back, so he could see better. "Please" Beth's voice begged the man. Zoro got up and stretched before helping Sanji stand "Come on Rick, let them in" Sanji walks over placing a hand on your brothers shoulder, Rick thinks for a minute before stepping back and pulling up the chairs for the kids to it in.

Beth hands the baby off to Rick before sitting down with Carl "They don't look too bad" Carl smiles taking your hand making his dad laugh at the comment as he holds his baby girl. Zoro and Sanji have spent a lot of time with Carl, the boy wanted to help out so during the afternoon he likes to join Sanji's lessons and stays behind to help clean up, he likes to talk to the cook when he's having a smoke break outside since he's mostly alone then, but he also wants to help outside too. He helped take care of the walks by the fence at night but there have been less and less of them lately, so he's taken to helping Zoro take watch, its more of an excuse to get to know one of the man who's dating his auntie/uncle. He looks up to Zoro a lot since he's strong but also doesn't sugar coat anything not even to a kid. As for the baby the two boys only got a good look at her last night, Sanji thinks she's adorable while Zoro acts like he doesn't care but deep down he does thinks she's a cute baby.

Beth reaches over and places a hand on your head running it through your slightly matted hair, she sighs and takes out a brush from one of her pockets and sits on the bed next to your head starting to brush through your hair gently while humming. "They really do look a lot better than you decided" Carl points out looking at the three, Zoro told him more about your condition than his dad did, but he didn't want to call the swordsman out in front of him so the boy mainly looked at his dad who leans against the wall. "They do look batter but i was hoping you would wait a while longer" Rick scolds a little, but he can understand the need to see you, everyone else has, he just didn't want the kids being scared of all the iv's and bandages. Beth finishes brushing through your hair and places the brush down on the table "You should brush their hair daily so it doesn't get matted again" she looks up at the three with a stern look, for a 16-year old she acts more like a mother than a teen but then again she had grown up very fast in this world. Zoro lets out a laugh getting a glare from the blonde haired girl, he clears his throat and looks away "Sorry" he whispers trying to hold in his laughter. She doesn't scare him, but she reminds him of you and how you look at him when your mad. "Yes miss" Sanji slightly bows getting the girl to smile. "That's enough scolding us, lets go I'll take you guys to bed" Rick steps away from the wall walking over to the kids.

"Can we stay here tonight please?" Carl begs looking at his dad as Beth joins him "No- n-no" Rick stutters watching both kids start to give him their best puppy dog eyes, it's working too well, so he grits his teeth and looks away. Sanji grabs two blankets and walks over to the kids "I see no problem in it" The cook smiles putting a blanket around Carl and the other around Beth, your brother sighs giving in as he watches Carl take his hat off and lay it on the end of the bed "I'll take first watch" The young boy smiles leaning back in his chair while Beth takes your hand and lays her head down on the bed while sitting in the chair. "Take the mattress" Zoro walks over to Rick patting his shoulder, with the baby in his arms Rick sits down on the mattress and makes a little blanket circle around his baby, so she can't roll off the mattress before he lays down next to her and covers himself over. Sanji turns off the big light in the room only a lantern in on the side table lighting the small room before sitting down on the floor with Zoro. The two share a kiss before they snuggle up to each others side, Sanji lays his head on the swordsman's shoulder as Zoro pulls a blanket over their laps and places a kiss on the cooks head "Night" They whisper to each other before letting sleep over take them.

#one piece #polly relationship #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #sanji x reader #sanji x zoro #zosan #zoro x sanji #zosan x reader #ronoroa zoro #zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x sanji x reader #one piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #halloween

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littlelovelyspiderling · 1 year

Text

Meeting The Real You (Chapter 7)

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8

word count: 15,303

___________________________

The two heroes stopped for snacks, parted ways to run some errands—Johnny heading to PetSmart to grab some crickets and Spidey swinging by Marshmallow’s apartment to fill her food bowl—then reconvened for more snacks and a bit of strategizing. Sue always came by before bed to say goodnight to him—a tradition as embarrassing as it was touching—so Johnny would claim he was hitting the hay early, bid her goodnight, then sneak upstairs to meet Spidey on the penthouse floor balcony.

Unbeknownst to the webhead, he did so by yelling at her through her bedroom door and running away the moment her grunt of acknowledgment came from the other side. Johnny was compartmentalizing Sue’s warning from earlier fairly well, too distracted and excited by the rebellious thrills that lay ahead. But one more steely look from her could send him reeling down another heartsick spiral he had no desire to excavate. Soaring above the city and knocking a few heads sounded a lot more fun.

They found each other on the Quinjet launching pad, bellies filled with double stuffed Oreos and excitement buzzing beneath their skin. Spider-Man claimed he always left the tower this way, but Johnny insisted they be extra stealthy. They were only a few stories above his teammates’ rooms, and the last thing Johnny needed was another run-in with his sister with the masked vigilante by his side.

“I never thought between the two of us, I’d be considered the bad boy rebel type,” Spider-Man giggled, leaning over the railing. It was the only thing between them and the 98-story drop to the city below.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Johnny asked. Warm wind whipped at his hair. The drone of traffic hummed from the glittering, distant streets. “You don’t think I’m a bad boy?”

“You’re America’s favorite golden child who wears Versace sneakers and only drinks bubbly water,” Spider-Man laughed, turning towards him daringly. “Plus, you made us tip-toe around the place like a couple of kids up past their bedtime instead of two superheroes fighting crime. Of course you’re not a bad boy.”

Johnny scoffed, raising his hand in front of his eyes, flames dancing between his fingers. “I’m a teenager who can light his entire body on fire at will. That makes me hot, combustible, and deliciously dangerous. What’s more bad boy than that, Spider-Man? Or should I say, Afraid-of-Spiders-Man.”

“How about a masked menace with a secret identity and a shady reputation who scours the streets of the city in the night, angsty and alone?”

The young hero poised the question in a deep, sultry voice, only to bubble with laughter a second later. Johnny rolled his eyes.

“All that mysteriousness disappears the moment anyone actually meets you. In reality, you’re a goofy little science nerd who laughs at his own jokes and wears Hello Kitty pajamas to bed. And I’ve got the photo to prove it.”

Spider-Man pouted. “You’re gonna be holding that one over my head for the rest of time, aren’t you?”

Johnny stood up tall to emphasize their height difference and leaned in close with a smirk on his face. “Just until you admit I’m more of a rebellious bad boy than you are.”

The young hero gazed up at him, the lights of the city twinkling in his eye lenses. Realizing what he was doing—again—Johnny backed off a bit, cursing himself in his head. Spider-Man stared across the skyline, then hopped on top of the railing.

“Race yah to the Williamsburg Bridge. First one there wins the title of King Bad Boy.”

Johnny snickered. “You know, the more we say the phrase ‘bad boy’ out loud, the less cool it sounds.”

“Famous last words of a 2nd place un-bad boyish loser,” Spidey taunted him, making an ‘L’ with his fingers and holding it against his forehead. Then he backflipped off the balcony and dove towards the distant pavement, hollering like a howler monkey as he fired webbing from his wrists.

The Human Torch chuckled softly to himself. He watched the masked vigilante swing between buildings—a speck of red in an ocean of sparkling gray. He stepped up onto the railing but hesitated, fresh uncertainty gnawing at his gut. Johnny Storm liked to flirt; the world knew this, especially his fans. Nobody was safe from his suave compliments and teasing smooth-talk. It was a way to win others over, assert his dominance, and showcase his charm; it didn’t insinuate he intended to pursue anything with those subjected to it. He simply enjoyed flaunting his ability to flatter and fluster people.

In that case, he shouldn’t feel weird about flirting with Spider-Man. Right?

Spider-Man knew his rep. He’d seen him interact with his friends and fans before. Flirting was part of his personality. There was no reason for either of them to read anything into it, including Johnny himself.

The problem was, when Johnny flirted with others, they were the only ones who got bashful and coy, not the other way around. But every time he caught himself playing his usual tricks on the masked hero, a nervousness he rarely experienced found its way into his throat. It was as frustrating as it was telling.

But like Sue said, nothing was going to happen. So what did it matter? As long as he didn’t push it too far, Johnny could mess with Spider-Man as much as he wanted without any repercussions. Altering his behavior to act less like himself around him would only further confirm his affection for him. And if the webhead hadn’t caught on by now, Johnny doubted he ever would.

“Come on, slow poke!” Spidey shouted from below, cupping his hands around his mouth at the peak of his swing. “Whatcha waiting for?”

Johnny breathed deep, exhuming the unnecessary anxieties from his lungs, then grinned. Absolutely nothing to worry about, he told himself. He could get over these ridiculous emotions for the sake of their friendship. Easy-peasy.

He stepped off the ledge, letting himself drop for a few terrifying, thrilling seconds, then went up in a roar of flames. With a cheer, he blazed forward, rocketing past the masked hero in seconds, making him jolt in surprise mid-swing.

“I figured I’d give you a head start,” Johnny countered smoothly, circling back to hover in front of him, “seeing how I could fly to the bridge and back before you even left this block.”

Spider-Man twirled and spun between each “thwip” of his webs, swooping low to then launch himself skyward. “Probably,” he admitted, somersaulting into his next swing. “But I’d look cooler getting there.”

Johnny shot a puff of flame from his fingers right as Spidey fired his next web-line, slicing the silk in half and making him tumble through the air with a yelp, limbs flailing. The Human Torch cackled as the young vigilante caught himself on a second strand of webbing, his typically graceful movements turned clumsy and frantic.

“Dude!” Spider-Man scoffed, nervous laughter lacing his voice. “Not cool!”

“I’ll say!” Johnny wheezed. “You looked like a frog falling out of a tree!”

In retaliation, Spidey fired a glob of webbing at his face, rendering the teen celebrity spitting and sputtering as he tried to wipe it away while the masked hero giggled boisterously. Spider webs plus fire evidently led to sticky melted goop that smelled like burnt popcorn.

“Ugh! This stuff is like glue!”

“Thank you,” Spider-Man stated proudly. “Engineered it myself.”

Johnny cleared the rest of the webbing by flaring the flames surrounding his body, slowing to a glide at the masked hero’s side. “Oh, your enemies must love you—getting caked in this shit all the time.”

“You know what? They should be grateful when I use it on them. Do you have any idea how long it took me to perfect this formula? Finding the right tools and materials was not easy! Not to mention, testing how much of each compound to add and what temperature to heat it to and for how long and—”

“Jesus Christ,” Johnny laughed. “You’re worse than Sue and Reed combined. You’re like my sister’s nerdy little mini me—swooning over science experiments and chemistry shit like there’s nothing more exciting in the world. You should talk shop around her more often; maybe her love of science could eventually supersede her hatred of you.”

Spider-Man pirouetted out his swing and landed atop a giant digital billboard. Johnny swerved to hover in front of him, flames gilding the edges of his vision.

“Unfortunately, once somebody decides they hate me, it’s really hard to change their mind.” He gestured to the screen beneath him. “Exhibit A.”

The image switched from an iPhone ad to a photo of Spider-Man overlaid with flashing red text. Hear It Here First! The Latest Atrocities Committed By The Scourge of New York City! Find Out Why YOU Should Despise The Masked Menace Spider-Man! Only On The Daily Bugle.

Johnny winced. This Jameson dick really had it out for him. “Well, you changed my mind,” the Human Torch pointed out. “Maybe, with the right approach, you can change Sue’s mind, too. Hell, even Jonah’s!”

Spider-Man threw his head back and laughed brightly. “I think you’re becoming even more sunny side-up than me.”

The image on the board shifted again, now to a Gucci ad of Johnny Storm wearing baggy pants, a giant belt, and a black crop top. His hands were tangled in his hair, which was lit ablaze, and his face was tilted towards the heavens, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Normally, Johnny loved seeing his face splashed across screens and TVs and billboards for the whole world to worship. But right now, the Human Torch found himself blushing.

Spidey chuckled again. “Oh, the duality of superheroes,” he lamented. He pointed between the giant Johnny’s eyes in disbelief. “Oh my god. Did you used to have a nose ring?”

Johnny camouflaged his embarrassment behind a suave grin. “Still do,” he replied. “But if I wear it while my flames are on, it usually ends up melting. So you’ll only see me with it every now and then.”

“I’m actually mad at how good it looks on you,” Spider-Man grumbled. “You and your goddamn model face can pull things off I’d never dream of trying. Also, nose ring definitely adds extra points to your bad boy rating.”

The Human Torch ran his fingers through his flaming locks with a dreamy sigh. “I get it, all right? I’m gorgeous, and you’re obsessed with me. Get in line.”

A nervous giggle escaped the spider-themed hero. “Ugh. Remind me to never compliment you ever again.” He launched himself off the sign and whipped around the closest skyscraper. The Human Torch followed shortly behind.

“I’ll try,” Johnny teased him, catching up to the masked hero and flanking him on the left, “but you just can’t seem to help yourself. There’s so many wonderful things about me for you to gush over.”

“Get bent, Johnny,” Spider-Man laughed, using the momentum from his next swing to kick off of his back like a fiery springboard.

“Hey!” Johnny cried. He wobbled in the air for a moment before regaining his balance, then shot after the cackling hero as he thwipped ahead.

“My advice from before still stands, by the way!” Johnny called, catching up to him. “If you want to try to mend your public image, I can help you! We could make a page or profile for Spider-Man together.”

The masked vigilante cupped his hand behind one ear as if he’d spontaneously gone deaf. “Huh? What’s that? The wind’s too loud! I can’t hear you!” He dashed across the windows of an office building and extended his pointer finger in front of him. “Anyways, the bridge is just ahead! And I’m totally gonna beat you to it!”

“You liar,” Johnny scoffed, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “You told everyone back at the tower you have heightened senses! I know you can hear me! Hey! Wait up! Spidey!”

Spider-Man pressed forward as fast as his webs would carry him, sprinting and swinging and slingshotting his way between buildings. For a few moments, Johnny let him take the lead. He watched him bob above the skyline and dip towards the earth, admiring the lovely shapes his body made as he arched and soared. His hard edges seemed to soften between flips and somersaults and swings, like the warm wind was eroding away his points. He was a perfect stone skipping across a pond’s glass surface. He was a colorful kingfisher swooping and breaching the surf. He was a fairy in the cosmos bounding between constellations.

And then…he was falling.

Johnny watched in shock as Spider-Man made his signature “thwipping” motion only for nothing to come out of his web shooters but a puff of smoke. Mid-drop, he tried again, aiming with his left wrist this time. Again—more smoke, no webs. He ran through a rapid-fire list of expletives as he plunged towards the ground, arms windmilling through the air. Johnny raced forward to catch him, but it was too late. Spider-Man crashed stomach-first into a streetlamp, his body folding in on itself from the impact, a painful “oof” punching out of his chest. In an instant, the magic spell Spidey had him under was broken, replaced instead by the vigilante’s true essence—a dumbass teenager in full-body pantyhose who’d just belly-flopped into a light post.

“Oh my god,” Johnny exclaimed, half-laughing, half-concerned. He dove down to where the masked hero had fallen. “Dude! Are you okay?”

Moaning, the young hero clambered on top of the light, hugging his midsection pitifully. “I’m good…y-yep. Totally good. That wasn’t embarrassing at all. Ugh…” He raised his arm in front of his eyes and tapped at his palm triggers. A tiny metal capsule shot out of the device on his wrist, spinning and steaming. He snatched it out of the air and huffed bitterly. “Forgot to load my web-shooters with new cartridges. You’d think with all times I’ve ate shit after running out of webs, I would’ve learned my lesson by now. But no.”

Johnny snickered into his hands. “You have a knack for switching from remarkable athlete to helpless klutz in the blink of an eye. You’re like a cartoon character. It’s very entertaining.”

“Mm-hmm, great. So glad one of us is entertained by this. You know what’s not entertaining? Ramming your gut into a pole after inhaling six handfuls of Oreos. Why did I have to go for double stuffed? Ugh…regrets…”

The Human Torch extended his arms above his head and spoke in his best Anchorman voice. “Breaking news: Spider-Man crashes into a streetlamp then pukes all over the sidewalk! Will his reign of terror never cease? Maybe if he let his friend Johnny help him restore his reputation, dumb stories like these would stop making headlines.”

Spider-Man perched on top of the light post, rubbing gingerly at his belly. “I told you before, Johnny. I don’t care what people like Jameson think about me.”

“I think you do,” Johnny countered, crossing his arms against his chest. “Not Jameson, specifically. But this city as a whole. It’s okay for it to bother you, you know. Being hated isn’t fun. Not that I would know—I’m adored the entire world over.”

The masked hero chuckled feebly. “It isn’t fun,” he admitted. “But I’m used to it by now. And I have better things to do than trying to change their minds.”

“You wouldn’t have to do anything. I would head the entire operation. Since you’re obviously incapable of unburying your rep on your own.”

Spider-Man stood and started to say something else, then backtracked. “Uh,” he stammered, eyeing the sidewalk below. “We’re kind of attracting an audience.”

Johnny turned towards the small mob forming beneath the lamppost. Teens and adults alike were gathering along the curb, murmuring and whispering excitedly, filming the two of them on their phones. The Human Torch grinned and waved, sending a thrill of squeals through the crowd, and a lightbulb went off inside his head.

“Hey friends,” he called. He rose to hover at Spider-Man’s side, dousing the flames on his right arm and slinging it around the vigilante’s shoulders. “Make sure to capture me and Spidey’s good side, yeah?”

Exclamations of surprise and snapping camera shutters bubbled from the pedestrians. Spider-Man shot a glance at him, eye lenses wide, squirming a little beneath his embrace.

“Johnny…” he said nervously. “We shouldn’t—I mean, your sister will—”

“To hell with my sister,” Johnny hissed under his breath. “Just follow my lead, webhead! Smile and wave!”

“Johnny! Hey Johnny!” a man hollered from below. “Are you friends with Spider-Man?”

“Of course not!” another guy answered for him. “Have you been living under a goddamn rock? Spider-Man is a criminal! Johnny Storm is a hero!”

Johnny frowned, raising his hand. “Hold on a minute—”

“Are you taking the masked menace to the police for burning down that boba shop?” a woman interjected.

“Or assassinating JFK?”

“Or running a whorehouse out of every bagel shop in Queens?”

“It’s true! I’ve seen it! Einstein’s has been overrun by prostitutes! Just look at the outfits those cashiers wear! And it’s all Spider-Man’s fault!”

“Oh my god,” Spider-Man groaned, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, people! I’ve never even been to an Einstein’s before! Everyone knows Hot Bialys Bagels is where it’s at!”

The crowd’s booing drowned him out. Other than a few supporters sprinkled here and there, the majority of the mob seemed staunchly anti-Spider-Man. Their bitter animosity made Johnny’s stomach twist.

“Get out of our city!” one guy yelled.

“Leave Johnny Storm alone!” another hollered.

“Can I get a selfie?”

“We love you, Johnny!”

“Fuck off, menace!”

“You’re my hero, Spider-Man!”

“No he’s not!”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Stop sexualizing bagels!”

Spider-Man sighed. “Love you too, New York,” he said begrudgingly. Then he tugged at Johnny’s non-fiery arm. “I think we should go.”

“But—” Johnny began, fumbling for words. But the masked hero was already zipping away on silken threads, dodging a few handfuls of garbage flung at him from the streets below. The flickering flames on the Human Torch’s shoulders flared in frustration. He turned towards the growing mob, floating high above their heads.

“You’re wrong about him, you know!” he shouted over their bickering, stunning a section of them silent. “You shouldn’t believe everything you see on sketchy news sites!”

“Don’t get caught in his web of lies, Johnny!” a young woman cried. “You’re one of the good ones!”

“Have my babies, Johnny Storm!”

“Sign my forehead!”

“Step on my throat!”

“Fantastic Four Forever!”

Johnny huffed defeatedly. No matter what Spider-Man did, people continued to hate him. And no matter what Johnny Storm did, people continued to love him. Both of them were caught on opposite sides of the same inescapable fate, but Johnny was determined to drag Spidey over to his end of the spectrum. Unfortunately, at this rate, it’d probably take more than an impromptu photo op or shouting at randos on the streets to make it happen.

With a sigh, Johnny blew a flaming kiss to his fans, sending a wave of shrieks cascading down the sidewalk. Then he jetted after Spider-Man, who was swinging between skyscrapers once again.

“Bagel prostitutes, huh?” he said, moving close enough to see himself glimmering in the whites of Spidey’s eye lenses. “That’s a new one.”

Spider-Man shrugged mid-thwip. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Against his will, Johnny busted out laughing, which made Spidey giggle, too. Johnny considered saying more—about the billboard, the mob, the cruel nonsense they’d spouted about him. But the bridge was in their sights, looming dead ahead, poking above the horizon. And the young vigilante was picking up speed, cutting eager glances his way, daring him to keep up. They zoomed down Delancey Street, passing pie shops and bodegas and fancy overpriced ramen restaurants, the world blurring at the edges of their vision, the wind howling in their ears. Taxis and tour buses whizzed by like race cars. Spider-Man moved like a web-slinging machine and wore the city’s colors well.

Johnny could easily blaze ahead of him, but flying by Spidey’s side was much more fun. He started bobbing up and down to match Spider-Man’s swinging motions, which made the masked hero laugh.

“You look like a flaming dolphin!” he giggled, slightly out of breath.

Johnny smiled. “You look like this city was made just for you.”

Spider-Man’s eyes snapped up to meet his—so quickly, in fact, he fumbled a little on his next swing, very nearly letting the web-line slip right through his fingers. “O-oh yeah?” he sputtered in response, gripping onto the thread for dear life. Johnny laughed into the wind and rocketed forward.

“Eat my flames, web for brains!”

He circled Spidey in a few wide arcs, wondering how they must’ve looked from afar. Perhaps like ice skaters mirroring each other in the rink, or a brilliant comet orbiting its favorite red and blue planet. As they cleared the final stretch of land between them and the East River, Johnny propelled himself into the lead, weaving between suspension cables to land atop the bridge’s first tower. He turned to watch Spider-Man brachiate up the metal wires and flip onto the concrete platform beside him. Once he found his footing, he doubled over with his hands on his knees, wheezing with breathless laughter.

“You’re looking a little winded there, buddy,” Johnny teased him, extinguishing his flames to pat him on the back. “That’s embarrassing. I haven’t even broken a sweat.”

“Shut up,” Spider-Man chuckled, clutching his ribs. “I have to actually exert effort to go fast. You just—I don’t know—think about it, and it happens. Like Iron Man or Captain Marvel with your goddamn rocket booster feet.”

“You mean like two of the most powerful superheroes ever? Guess I’m in good company, then. Cooler, less smellier company.”

Spider-Man sank to his knees with a huff, then flopped dramatically onto his back, letting his legs dangle off the edge of the tower. Johnny sat beside him, tossing a tiny ball of fire between his hands.

“How long have you had your powers again?” Spidey asked, gazing up at the sky. “Four months?”

“Almost five,” Johnny replied.

The vigilante shifted to fold his arms behind his head. “I know you’ve talked about it in interviews and stuff, but…what was it like? The incident in space, waking up with superpowers, all of it? Did anything happen that you’ve never told anyone before?”

Johnny narrowed his eyes and rested his chin on his knees. “Hmm. I peed a little when I got hit with the particle cloud. Does that count?”

Spider-Man snickered in that adorable little way that spun Johnny’s brain to scrambled eggs. “Seriously? That’s all?”

The Human Torch stared across the glistening river, reliving the moments that had changed his life forever, trying to remember the jumbled thoughts that had raced through his mind. He snuffed the tiny fireball in his fist.

“When the particle cloud hit, I was…the last one to get struck by it. Ben, Reed, and Sue were in front of me, and I had to watch all three of them disappear behind a wall of radioactive space dust.” The menacing storm colliding with their ship and swallowing his friends whole replayed behind his eyes.“In that fraction of a second, everything kinda…dipped into slow motion. I was certain I’d just witnessed all the people I had left to care about die in one fell swoop. And as the ship’s co-pilot, it was partially my fault.”

Something thorny squeezed the inside of his throat. Johnny swallowed, turning towards the masked vigilante. “Do you know what I was thinking in that moment?”

Spider-Man sat up slowly, holding his gaze, uncharacteristically quiet. Johnny stared at his fingers as they kneaded the fabric on his forearms.

“I thought, ‘if this thing kills them, then it better fucking kill me, too.’”

A couple seconds passed before Spider-Man laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Johnny glanced at him quickly then lowered his gaze, feeling queasy and exposed all of a sudden, wondering how the masked hero always found a way to pull these kinds of confessions out of him. Wondering why things that normally felt impossible to say spilled from his lips so easily in his presence.

“I’m really sorry you felt that way,” Spider-Man said. “You’ve lost a lot of your loved ones at a really young age. Losing the ones you’ve got left is the scariest scenario imaginable for people like us. I know that had to be terrifying.”

With a groan, Johnny turned away from him, wiping at the tears suddenly falling from his eyes. “God dammit, webhead,” he laughed, throat tight. “How do you always manage to turn me into an absolute sap? This is not very King Bad Boy of me.”

The masked hero giggled apologetically. “For what it’s worth, being emotionally vulnerable is the most bad boy thing ever in my book. It’s something I’ve always admired about you.”

“I hate it, but thanks,” Johnny chuckled. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a slow, shaky breath. Johnny Storm’s tendency to feel his feelings very strongly was one of his fans’ favorite things about him. He just wished he could control them more instead of them controlling him. His therapist said big feelings often signify that we embrace life fully because we’re not repressing our natural reactions, but being unable to properly regulate them can be frustrating and scary. It was a very difficult balance to strike—managing without repressing.

“You know what?" Johnny sighed. "You can keep your bad boy title. I’m more of the overly sensitive manic pixie dream boy-type anyhow. If I wanted to come off as dark and mysterious, I’d probably have to follow your example and start wearing a mask. And I don’t see that happening anytime soon; it’d be criminal to cover a face this pretty.”

Spider-Man leaned back with his weight on his palms and his chin tilted towards the clouds. “I’m not gonna lie—on top of hiding my identity, that was one of the main reasons I decided to start wearing one.”

Johnny pulled his hands away from his eyes in surprise. “Really? You’re a big crybaby, too?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Definitely not as big as you are,” he ribbed him. “But…despite all of the life-or-death situations I’ve gotten myself into, I still get scared a lot more often than people probably realize. When I’m fighting bad guys ten times my size and double my age, or getting shot at by machine guns, or struggling to save someone, knowing one wrong move on my end could get them killed…I’m petrified.”

The Human Torch studied him curiously, the smile on his lips waning. Spider-Man tapped his eye lenses with his fingers.

“If my enemies and teammates and the people I rescue could see how scared I am all the time, I don’t think they’d have as much faith in me to do what I do well. So I wear a mask and crack stupid jokes to seem cool and chill and in control instead of four seconds away from shitting my pants. Or bawling my eyes out.”

Johnny traced the contours of Spider-Man’s mask with his gaze, his brain deconstructing and rewiring its understanding of the vigilante in real time. He gave his leg a playful punch.

“Guess we’re both just a couple of dumb, terrified kids in way over our heads, huh?”

“Probably me more than you,” Spidey giggled. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared at the cars buzzing beneath their feet, his voice suddenly timid. “I used to be scared of heights, you know.”

Johnny cracked into a grin. “No way,” he said.

“It’s true. Have you seen that footage of me scaling the Washington Monument? At the time, that was the highest I’d ever climbed before. When I finally got to the top and looked down, I thought I was going to puke. Or faint. Or both.”

“That is so adorable,” Johnny cackled. “Aw, man. Poor webhead. Scared of heights, scared of spiders. Fate dealt you one helluva hand, my guy.”

Spider-Man huffed. “I’ll have you know I sacrificed one of those poor, defenseless crickets you gave me to Benji, and I only screamed for fifteen seconds. Did I want to scream more? Yes. Did I make myself watch as he tore that helpless insect to shreds? Of course not. I don’t even know if he ate it. I very likely could’ve missed his cage entirely. I had my eyes shut the whole time.”

Johnny snickered into his palm. “At least you’re referring to Benji by his name instead of ‘it’ or ‘monstrosity’ or ‘nightmare fuel.’ That’s progress!”

A helicopter passed overhead, chomping at the air, lights winking. After a beat, Spidey nudged him with his elbow.

“Hey, so…in case no one’s ever said this, I want you to know you can’t blame yourself for what happened on the space mission. Nobody could’ve predicted that—not even Dr. Richards, and he’s one of the smartest guys ever!”

Johnny blinked, bit his cheek, then furrowed his brow. “I know,” he murmured eventually. “It just…it could’ve been really bad.”

“But it wasn’t,” Spider-Man reminded him. “Instead of hurting your friends, the particle cloud gave you all superpowers. I think you were meant to be there when the space dust hit. I think everything happened exactly as it did for a reason.”

A hesitant smile found Johnny’s lips. “And what reason might that be, Thwippy?”

The masked hero shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe so you can save the world. Maybe to give you a family again—one that’s united unlike any other family out there.” He pressed his finger against the Fantastic Four symbol in the center of his chest, making Johnny stiffen and glance down. “But I know for a fact this didn’t happen for nothing.”

His touch lingered just long enough to stir Johnny’s heart inside his ribs, and he wondered if Spider-Man could feel it. When he withdrew his hand, which felt decades later yet far too soon, the masked hero giggled.

“You’re not about to cry again, are you?”

Jarred back to the real world, Johnny managed a curt laugh. “No, asshole,” he snapped, even though he suddenly felt like bursting into tears. He gave him a shove for good measure and ran the back of his hand under his nose. “I’m not that pathetic.”

The masked hero chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “It’s all right. I think it’s sweet how much you care about your teammates. Even though you act like you hate each other most of the time.”

“Oh, I do hate them,” Johnny corrected him. He grabbed a handful of Spidey’s suit in his fist and yanked him forward with a playfully threatening grin. “And if you tell them I said anything that suggests otherwise, I’ll deny it all and sneak little Benji under your pillow while you’re sleeping. Understood?”

Spidey laughed skittishly, curling his fingers around the ones gripping his suit. “I don’t know. Still feels worth it to me.”

“Then I’ll tweet out to all my followers that Spider-Man is scared of spiders and heights.”

“That’s all you got? I have far more damning things tweeted about me every day. Try again.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, my friend.”

“Danger is my middle name, Torch.”

Johnny had released his hold on him by that point, but they were still leaning towards each other, gazes locked, faces recklessly close, kneecaps brushing, breaths stilled. Each daring the other to be the first to back away, chicken out. It wasn’t going to be Johnny. His pulse raced as he pressed the tiniest bit closer, blood electric, voice small.

“Spidey, I—”

“Something’s wrong.”

Johnny opened his eyes, which had unconsciously slipped shut, to find himself facing the back of Spider-Man’s head. The masked hero was looking behind them towards the Brooklyn side of the city beyond the Williamsburg Bridge. The Human Torch blinked, the fairy lights untangling from his heart, the rose-tinted sparkles dissolving from his vision. Sickly embarrassment replaced all other emotions. He shrunk into himself, swallowing.

“W-what is it?” he asked in a hollow voice. Spider-Man rose to his feet.

“Someone’s in trouble,” the masked hero said, animated with urgency. “Like…really in trouble. We have to go.” He kicked off the tower, waving for Johnny to follow him. “Come on!”

Johnny stood up slowly, watching the red and blue figure swing down the center of the bridge, lines of webbing hooked between swooping suspension cables. He emptied the stale air from his lungs. God, I’m an idiot. At least Spidey was too clueless and heterosexual to take a hint. He’d never fallen for anyone this quickly or acutely before. It was bordering on pathetic—unhinged, even. Johnny Storm could have anyone else he wanted: so why did he choose to torture himself by crushing on a guy so clearly not interested? He had to stop entertaining this delusional fantasy. He had to quit reopening old wounds. No more toeing needlessly inflammatory lines. After all the shit Johnny had put him through—from scoffing at his kindness to exploiting his compassion and now forcing his affections on him when they weren’t reciprocated—it was a wonder Spider-Man still wanted to be friends with him at all.

Self-destructive tendencies ran deep in the Storm family. It was time to end this before he officially ruined everything.

Igniting the fire in his veins once again, Johnny chased after the masked hero, a trail of embers on his tail. They cleared the bridge and zipped above the bustling streets of Brooklyn, the city growing darker and quieter as they approached the more residential neighborhoods near Prospect Park. Spider-Man followed whatever 6th sense instinct was guiding him all the way into an alley between two apartment complexes, which reeked of rotting takeout and sewage. Johnny braked to hover at his side and grimaced.

“Blech,” he said, pinching his nose. “You sure your danger detecting powers weren’t leading us here because that dumpster is emitting some kind of bio-hazardous radiation? ‘Cuz that’s a bit below my pay grade.”

“No,” Spider-Man insisted. “It’s something else.”

“You said so yourself your senses can be a bit finicky. Maybe the threat’s already passed.”

“That’s not how it works,” Spidey snapped, taking a couple steps forward. “I can feel it. Someone’s in trouble really close by.”

“Could it be someone in one of these apartments? That’ll take ages to figure out. Maybe we should look for an easier victim to rescue.”

Spidey faced him with a scoff. “Johnny! Somebody needs our help! We can’t just leave! We have to find them!”

“All right! I’m just saying! Maybe this spider sense you claim to have isn’t as reliable as you think.”

“It’s reliable enough to be buzzing like crazy right now! Which I know means there’s danger nearby!”

“Well maybe the danger you’re sensing is the smelliest dumpster in all of New York that you’ve decided to park us by! I mean, Jesus, Spidey! Are your eyes not watering right now? ‘Cuz mine are practically melting out of my face!”

Spider-Man groaned and turned back down the alleyway. “I know someone’s in trouble. You can go if you want, but I’m staying until I find whoever it is.”

Johnny mumbled a few choice words under his breath, but reluctantly followed him. “This would be a lot easier if the person in danger was actively vocalizing that fact. You know, screaming, wailing, flipping some kind of alarm. Doing something to alert us that they need our—”

“Help! Please help!”

The two heroes stiffened in surprise, wide eyes meeting in the pale darkness. What? No way.

“Help me!”

Spidey and Johnny gasped in unison. Oh shit. Yes way.

To their horror, the weak cries were coming from inside the rancid dumpster beside them. Immediately, Spidey sprung into action. He stuck to the wall above the bin and got right to work digging through the muck, a fresh stink of ungodly horrors bubbling up and assaulting their airways.

“Oh god, I’m gonna puke,” Johnny croaked. He dared not imagine how anyone could survive being trapped in that noxious filth.

“We’re coming! We’re gonna get you out!” Spider-Man plunged his entire arm into the garbage, rooting around feverishly, then shot Johnny a look. “I could use a hand here, Gucci Couture!”

“B-but what if there’s something flammable in there? I don’t want to accidentally light you both on fire!”

“Then turn your flames off!”

The Human Torch whined in defeat and extinguished the fire encasing him. “This is not what I had in mind for our superhero team-up night.” He definitely would’ve stayed home if he knew this was what he was signing up for. Looking away with his eyes pinched shut, Johnny gingerly pawed at the sticky trash pile, cursing and gagging into his elbow. The whimpers from within grew louder and louder. As Johnny’s dinner threatened to make a reappearance, his fingers bumped something that felt strangely solid. Johnny ventured a glance into the dumpster to find a hand poking out of the debris.

“Here!” he cried, only to break into a nauseous coughing fit. While he dry-heaved against the opposite wall, Spider-Man cleared away another layer of garbage and seized the buried man by the wrist.

“I gotcha!” he said. Spidey pulled him out of the trash mound, an avalanche of filth falling around them, then scooped the man into his arms bridal-style. He hopped off the lip of the dumpster and knelt to the ground, brushing banana peels and Pop Tart wrappers out of his hair. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

The man blinked dazedly, his eyes distant and bloodshot, his clothes smeared and stained. He had a large bruise on his left temple that was crusted with blood and other smaller wounds sprinkled across his body. Early thirties, Johnny guessed—a waiter, based on his attire. Johnny’s heart twinged at the sight of him while his stomach turned from the smell.

“Sir? Can you hear me? We’re going to call you an ambulance, okay?”

“My son,” he wheezed, his eyes flashing with realization. He sat up rigidly, grabbing Spider-Man’s arm. “Please. They took my son!”

“Who took your son?” the masked hero asked. “Was it the same people who did this to you?”

“Yes! They ambushed me! They cornered us, ripped him right out of my arms, b-beat me unconscious, then—” He choked on his words, tears flooding his eyes. “I have to get him back! Please! I’ll do anything!”

“Did you see where they took him?” Johnny said. “Did they have a vehicle?”

The man was sobbing hysterically now, hands shaking, hardly able to speak. “I don’t know! It h-happened so fast! I couldn’t protect him! Why would anyone do this? Who would steal someone’s child?”

He doubled over his lap, racked with sobs. Spider-Man laid a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re going to get him back,” he assured him. A far-off scream suddenly cut through the air, sending a chill through Johnny’s skeleton. The two teens winced in alarm, then dashed to the end of the alleyway, entering the street it fed into. At the nearest intersection, four men were wrestling a young woman into the back of a van. She was kicking and shrieking with all her might, but horrendously, painfully outnumbered. Adrenaline sizzled like pop rocks in Johnny’s bloodstream. Spider-Man whirled towards the father on the ground.

“Call 911!” he shouted. “Tell them we're in pursuit of the kidnappers! And have them send an ambulance!”

Without waiting to see if he followed his demands, Spider-Man launched himself towards the van on taut strands of webbing. Johnny rocketed after him, pulse humming in his ears.

“Shit!” one of the thugs hissed. “It’s him! The spider freak is here!”

“Who’s that with him? Oh, fuck! Is that that fruity flaming kid?”

“Let her go, dipshits!” Spidey cried. A glob of webbing splattered across the largest goon’s face, muffling his cries of terror.

“Call it in! We gotta get outta here!"

"Step on it!”

The men shoved the girl into the vehicle and piled in frantically behind her. Just before the back doors clapped shut, Johnny caught a glimpse of a tiny figure huddled in the corner, arms hugging his knees, feeble cries tearing from his throat.

“Daddy!” the boy wept.

“Help!” the woman screamed.

Then they disappeared behind tinted windows as the van peeled away from the curb.

“They’re getting away!” Johnny cried. “We have to stop them!”

The vehicle screeched around a corner. Johnny zipped after it, pumping everything he had into propelling himself faster, leaving Spider-Man far in his wake. He was gaining on the kidnappers, pushing closer and closer, reaching out to grab hold of the door handles on the back—

And then, two more vehicles appeared.

Zooming up from behind, flanking Johnny on his left and right, gunning it at eighty miles an hour at least. The Human Torch wavered in surprise, glancing between the pair of unexpected bonus vans, squinting to try to see through their near-black windows.

“The hell—?” he started to say.

“Johnny!” Spider-Man’s voice called from above, his red and blue shape leaping from the rooftops in his peripherals. “Watch out!”

Johnny’s gaze whipped forward just in time to stare down the barrel of a handgun. Poking out of the passenger side window, aimed directly between his eyes. A finger pulling back on the trigger. Johnny sucked in a gasp. His heart lodged in his throat. He wouldn’t be able to dodge in time.

Shit, he realized. I’m about to be shot!

The muzzle flashed, a bang rang out, but something struck him before the bullet could, knocking him out of the way. The air was punched from his lungs twice: once when he was tackled, and again when his body crashed into concrete. Searing pain blossomed in his shoulder, making him cry out. He gripped his upper arm and groaned furiously, the weight of whatever had hit him rising off his chest.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Spidey hissed. Johnny peeled his eyes open to find the masked vigilante kneeling over him, swatting at his torso and waving his arms around. “Gah! Shit! That was not my brightest idea!”

Johnny blinked, the recognition flooding in. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “You…that was you? You knocked me out of the way?” He blinked again, the rattled gears in his head gradually clicking back into place. “I…I was about to die. You saved me.”

Spider-Man dusted the remaining cinders off his suit, bits of burnt fabric falling away to reveal blistered skin underneath. “Are you okay? That was a close call. You fell on your shoulder pretty bad, huh? Sorry I hit you so hard.”

The piercing pain snaking down his arm was still present but bearable. Johnny sat up with a grimace, the rumble of car engines fading into the distance, drinking in the scorch marks on Spider-Man’s costume and flesh. Despair lashed around his stomach.

“Fuck,” he choked out. “I burnt you.” He doused his flames immediately, fingers hovering over the freshly seared skin. “Oh my god. You're burnt all over.”

“I’ll be okay,” Spider-Man assured him unconvincingly. “Nothing a little aloe vera can’t fix. Who knows—maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll peel into a tan.”

He flinched when the Human Torch brushed the exposed flesh on his forearm, driving a nail straight through Johnny’s heart. He’d never burnt someone he cared about this severely before. Sure, he’d singed the occasional eyebrow off, fried a few teammates’ reading glasses to ashes, but not this. Nothing like this.

“You’re really hurt,” Johnny croaked, tears pricking his eyes. “You’re hurt because of me.”

“It’s not that bad. And It wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who body-slammed into you, remember?” Spider-Man was putting on his cheeriest, most comedic facade to try to lighten the mood and lessen Johnny’s remorse, but the streaks of blistered skin peeking through his blackened suit spoke for themselves.

“I shouldn’t have come,” the Human Torch whispered, skewered with guilt.

The masked hero clasped his arm and gave it a shake. “I promise I’m fine. And if you’re fine too, we’ve gotta get moving. We can’t let them escape with the son and that girl.”

The thought of the two of them trapped with those monsters was enough to anchor Johnny’s focus. Bleary-eyed, he tried his best to swallow down his emotions—just enough that he could execute the task at hand. People needed their help. For their sake, he had to shift his concern. Temporarily, anyway. The despair clinging to his throat sloughed into his stomach and boiled to rage.

He rolled his aching shoulder and nodded. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Spidey stood, helped him to his feet, and together, they were off: zipping between buildings, tracking the three vans through Brooklyn. Johnny couldn’t help but notice the masked hero favoring his left side as he swung, which was a little less burnt than his right. The Human Torch kept his distance so none of his heat or embers would accidentally blow into Spider-Man, guilt branching through his insides. He was never going to burn him ever again.

Two blocks ahead, the trio of dark vehicles came into sight, weaving recklessly through traffic. Johnny scrutinized them from afar, fire licking the edges of his vision.

“We need to work together to get to the hostages without getting shot,” Johnny called to Spider-Man. The masked hero swung off a flagpole at his side.

“What did you have in mind, Matchstick? You’re the better team player here.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes and pressed a little faster forward. “You focus on getting to the front car and rescuing the captives. I’ll cover you, disarm anyone who has a weapon, and try to take out the back-up vans.”

Spider-Man nodded. “We’ll cover each other. Just be careful going after the other two cars; for all we know, they could have hostages inside, too.”

The Human Torch balled up his hands at his sides. “Let’s bust these douchebags.”

Spidey charged ahead first, catapulting skyward and slingshotting himself down the street. Johnny jetted after him, eyes darting between the three vans, fistfuls of fire at the ready. Right as Spider-Man landed on top of the front car, the right side door of the van on the left clattered open, revealing three men dressed in black and armed with the scariest machine guns Johnny had ever seen.

Jesus Christ, Johnny thought, alarm coating his throat. What kind of kidnappers are these guys? Military-grade weapons and matching body armor weren’t prevalent among everyday criminals. These men had funding far beyond any street gang Johnny had encountered. One of the thugs leaned out of the van and pointed his gun at the back of Spider-Man’s head. Magma ignited in Johnny’s blood.

“Nope!” he cried, hurling a fire blast at his hands. “Not today, sir!” Flames exploded in the man’s face, making him drop the weapon with a shout of surprise. The Human Torch propelled himself inside the van, kicking the now unarmed thug into the two other gunmen. They staggered into the back door, scrambling to get to their feet, gawking at the flaming teenager hovering before them. Johnny’s blaze cast a flickering orange glow across the walls of the vehicle and flashed in the men’s wide eyes. He swept his gaze across the hostage-less van and smirked.

“No captives,” Johnny noted. “Perfect. No one to get in the way of me wiping the floor with you three.”

“The fuck?” the disarmed thug exclaimed. The other goons grappled frantically with their guns as Johnny summoned flames to his palms. Before they could shoot, Johnny seized the barrels of their assault rifles in his fists and heated his hands so hot, they melted shut. He bashed the useless weapons into their skulls, stunning both men dizzy. The third guy pulled a baton from his belt that buzzed with electricity. Johnny laughed.

“You seriously think that’ll hurt me? I’m made of plasma, dude.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the thug growled. The men had thick Russian accents, like they’d been plucked right out of a James Bond movie. They had such visceral “bad guy” energy, it was almost laughable.

Almost.

“Don’t kidnap children, and I won’t have to be,” the Human Torch countered. The sound of a gun cocking rang from behind him, making him whip around with frenzied movements.

“Don’t shoot!” the goon with the baton ordered. The van’s driver lowered his weapon, looking just as confused as Johnny. “Not that one. We only kill the Spider-Man.”

Johnny faced the thug with a puzzled scoff, throwing his hands in the air. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not good enough for you to kill?”

“Knock him out,” he demanded. “Save your bullets for the Spider.”

Sticky unease swam through his entrails. Why would they want him dead but not me? The goon twirled the baton in his fingers, then charged at him. Johnny met him in the middle—darting forwards and ramming his good shoulder into his chest, knocking him hard enough into the back doors to bust one off its hinges. He screamed and flew out of the van onto the broken door as it skidded across the pavement, sparks flying. Within seconds, he was a receding dot in the distance. The wail of approaching police sirens found Johnny’s ears. Hopefully the cops would grab him before he could make a getaway.

Johnny snatched two pairs of handcuffs from the ominous pile of restraints in the corner and cuffed the remaining thugs to the metal support bars on the wall. Gunfire suddenly exploded from behind him, making him yelp in surprise. Johnny spun around to find the third van careening towards him with four more men inside. They were shooting at Spider-Man, but their car was barreling straight for Johnny. The Human Torch hit the deck as the vehicles collided. The crash made his teeth rattle inside his skull. The van he was in went airborne. He braced for the second impact.

But it didn’t come. Instead, the van bounced and wobbled like it had landed in jello instead of crashing into the sidewalk. Dizzy relief crossed with wary confusion swirled through Johnny’s system as he crawled across the lopsided surface and staggered to his feet. He poked his head out of the sliding door to find the van suspended about ten feet above the pavement, strung between buildings by thick nets of webbing.

Cursing, the vehicle’s driver flung himself out the window to try to escape, only to drop into the tangle of spider webs and wind up trapped and squirming like a fly awaiting a gruesome demise. Far ahead, Spider-Man tottered on top of the van in front, hopping and dancing all over the place to avoid the bullets blasting through the roof beneath his feet. The vehicle zig-zagged between lanes in attempt to shake him off while the second van revved to catch up. Flashing police cars barreled up the road behind them, the overlapping wail of sirens drowning out everything except the pop of gunfire.

Johnny spared himself a moment to admire Spidey’s quick web work, then launched out of the van. Red-hot flames pulsed off his body as he chased the runaway vehicles, which the police were gradually gaining on.

The two remaining vans were charging madly down the road. They clipped parked cars and rammed aside any other vehicles in their way, sending sprays of shattered headlights bounding across the pavement. Spider-Man shot quick globs of webbing at the men in the adjacent van while struggling to dodge the gunfire from the thug in the passenger’s seat underneath him. He caught Johnny’s eye and gave him a wave.

“Johnny!” he called. “Could you—?”

“On it!” Johnny said, racing past him. He whacked the pistol out of the gunman’s hands and grabbed hold of his arm through the window, ignoring his cries of pain. Or perhaps, rather, savoring them. This man was the bastard who had almost shot him. He was the reason Spider-Man knocked him out of the way and wound up getting burnt. He was also, not to mention, a goddamn kidnapper. He deserved every ounce of pain Johnny’s fingers were searing into his skin. Johnny held on a little while longer, tightening his grip just for good measure, the stench of fried flesh filling his nose. Then he kicked off the side of the van, dragging the man out through the window, and chucked him into a pile of garbage bags stacked on the curb. He hoped they smelled just as rank as the dumpster they’d left their captive’s father in.

Spider-Man ducked behind the side of the van as bullets erupted from the opposing vehicle. Johnny faced the car overflowing with thugs and assault rifles as it gunned towards him head-on. Liquid fire coursed through his veins. Summer wind whistled in his ears. He took a deep breath, gathering oxygen into his lungs, then released it as a blast of flames from his palms. The stream of fire spilled over the van’s front tires, making them burst. The car swerved uncontrollably, scraping along on metal rims, streaks of melted rubber trailing behind it. It veered off the road and crashed into a fire hydrant, sending the goons hanging off the sides spilling onto the concrete. A spume of water arched high above their heads and rained across the hot pavement. Johnny checked the van for hostages and was grateful to find none. The police were quick to surround the wreck, so he left the scene for them to handle. The most important pieces of this car chase were still trapped in the final van.

Dead ahead, Spider-Man was clinging onto the remaining vehicle, whose doors remained firmly locked shut. He climbed around to the back of the car and grabbed hold of the handles, yanking with all his might. The doors tore away like tissue paper and bounced down the street. One shivering girl, one crying child, and a trio balking men greeted him on the other side.

Three things happened in the next three seconds.

First, quick as lightning, Spider-Man latched a web-line to the girl’s waist and whipped her out of the van, pulling a shriek from her lips as he flung her down the road. A web hammock unfurled beneath her from a perfectly timed, perfectly aimed web grenade, softening her landing and leaving her ruffled but safe.

“Sorry!” Spidey shouted to her over his shoulder.

Next, a flash bomb went off inside the van, as loud as it was bright, catching the masked hero off guard. He cried out and clutched his eyes, giving the thugs the opportunity to strike. Unaffected by the blast—perhaps due to the creepy sunglasses they all wore—the largest of the men barreled forward and rammed two electrified batons square in the center of Spidey’s chest.

Lastly, Spider-Man fell off the back of the van and struck the unforgiving pavement, rolling and tumbling before sprawling to a stop in the middle of a wide, bustling intersection.

“Spidey!” Johnny gasped. The Human Torch rocketed ahead of the incoming traffic to scoop him off the street—seconds before a semi could stampede over his battered body. He extinguished his flames as much as he could to safely hold him and still stay airborne. The masked vigilante moaned in his arms, volts of electricity jittering through his muscles, hands kneading at his eye lenses. They were squinted into slits and fluttering out of control.

“Agh! Shit! Is that you, Torchy? Dammit! We have got to stop meeting like this.”

“Are you all right? Your eye things—they’re flipping out.”

“No kidding. Ugh. Now I have two very different but equally scarring stories to tell about getting flashed in Brooklyn. Still not sure which one hurt my eyes more, but this is certainly giving ‘old man in untied SpongeBob bathrobe’ a run for his money.”

“But you’re okay, right?”

“Mentally speaking? Absolutely not. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the horrors I bore witness to that bitter autumn day. All my remaining innocence, ripped away in a heartbeat. Curse you, old man in untied SpongeBob bathrobe: ruiner of childhoods.”

Worry and frustration boiled to the tip of Johnny’s tongue. “Would you stop making jokes for two seconds and just tell me if you’re okay?”

Startled, Spidey pulled his hands away from his eyes. The lenses were still pinched small and twitching, but gradually returning to normal. He stared at him in silence, tiny rivulets of blood running down his arms and leaping into the breeze.

“You don’t have to do that,” Johnny added, the anger melting from his voice. “You can’t confess to me you crack stupid jokes to hide your fear then turn around five minutes later and try to use it against me. I’m not gonna let it slide.”

Spider-Man started to say something in response, but it died on his lips. Probably another preloaded wisecrack he had to stop himself from unconsciously retorting with. His scorch marks from before were now bisected by a fresh collection of scratches and road burns. The poor hero looked like he’d been thrown into a pit full of rabid, fire-breathing cats.

“I…sorry,” he eventually mumbled, the artificial spark leaving his voice, head slightly hung. “Force of habit. Turning it off is like trying to make yourself stop blinking. Now I’m kinda regretting telling you about that. It’s like my constant, go-to thing.” He gave a frail, awkward laugh, then cleared his throat. “I’m fine, really. I just got stunned by the flash, and it gave them the chance to get a cheap hit in. Heightened senses also means heightened sensitivity, unfortunately. It was a shock to the system, but I’m okay.”

Johnny breathed out slowly, then set his jaw. “We’ve both nearly died way too many times today. I don’t think this ‘team-up’ thing is going so hot for either of us.”

“Hey, at least we know we’re good at rescuing each other seconds before certain doom.”

“Certain doom that we got each other into,” Johnny added grimly.

“Both of us would’ve gone after the kidnappers, whether we were together or alone,” Spidey insisted. “I’m glad we’re doing it together.”

Johnny hinted a smile. “Me too.”

Spider-Man’s gaze dropped to observe his current position: bundled in Johnny’s strong, protective arms. Suddenly bashful, he squirmed against his hold. “You, uh—you know you can put me down now, right? We’ve still got one more rescue to make.”

“I know,” Johnny answered, a grin lifting his lips, making no move to let him go. “You’re just so light and easy to carry. It’s like holding a little puppy. Or a newspaper. Or a handful of grapes. Or one of those sticky climbing toys you throw against the wall. Or—”

“Okay, got it, thank you,” Spider-Man grumbled. He shifted to escape his grip, then stopped suddenly, shooting a glance at the van up ahead. “Wait. That actually gives me an idea.”

“Really?” Johnny snickered. “Which part?”

He turned back to face him. “The throwing the sticky guy part. You’re going to fly as fast as you can towards the back of the van and throw me inside.”

Johnny blinked. “I’m sorry—what? Absolutely not!”

“I need to get between them and the kid!” Spidey explained. “This will catch the thugs by surprise and give me enough momentum to break through their wall of muscle and guns and poorly masked body odor.”

“What if they flash bang you again? Or worse?”

“I’ll be ready this time. Trust me.”

Johnny’s eyes flickered to the three brawny men crowding the cramped van and the obscured shape of the child huddled behind them. He swallowed, throat dry with uncertainty.

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” Johnny said. He fed the fire pulsing off his feet, the flames creeping up his legs and fanning across his torso, driving the two of them faster forward. “Just get the kid out of there, okay?”

Spider-Man nodded. “I will.”

As the fire consumed more and more of his body, Johnny released Spider-Man so the only part of him he was still hanging onto was his wrist. He dragged the masked hero underneath him, their speed climbing, the city streaking by.

Once the goons spotted the heroes making their approach, they started chucking pinecone-sized objects in their direction. The first one hit the ground and exploded on impact directly beneath them, sending Johnny swerving sideways in terror. He leveled himself, gawking in disbelief. Grenades! he realized. They’re throwing goddamn grenades at us! Who the hell is selling these assholes grenades? Better yet—who’s giving them money to buy them? To make matters worse, a constant stream of bullets poured from the back of the van. Johnny wove to avoid the barrage of deadly projectiles: ducking and rolling and snaking left and right. It didn't take long to notice they were shooting at Spider-Man, not him. He had to swing the vigilante around like a red and blue pendulum to keep his narrow frame out of the gunmen's path. Chunks of concrete whizzed past the two teens as more and more explosions tore into the road.

“I’ll try to slow down the driver while you save the kid!” Johnny shouted.

“Okay!” Spidey hollered. “Ready? Throw me…now!”

With a grunt of effort, Johnny swung Spidey back then hurled him forward. The masked hero road the momentum perfectly, bellowing: “Special delivery, coming in hot!” as he flew into the van. Shrieks of surprise sounded from inside as Spider-Man plowed into them feet-first. Johnny whispered an anxious prayer for anyone who was listening: Please keep him safe. Then he soared to the front of the car, locking eyes with the frazzled man in the driver’s seat.

“Stop!” the Human Torch roared, flaring his flames to punctuate the demand. But the driver just screamed and floored it. A choked gasp punched out of Johnny’s chest as the van rammed into him. His top half flattened across the hood while his legs knocked against the grill. He grimaced and groaned, hoping the hit hadn’t fractured any of his ribs.

“Jesus,” he coughed, flames flickering weakly. “That’s the exact opposite of what I said.” Shouts and gunshots and the sound of fists landing blows echoed from the back of the van. The whole vehicle bounced and shook, fresh dents buckling out of the frame every few seconds. He couldn’t see how the fight was going—only hear it and wonder who was holding strong. He pushed up on his elbows, palms burning handprints into the paint, weighing his next approach.

Then a man flew screeching from the car, sticking to the nearest streetlamp in a cocoon of webbing. A couple yells and fired rounds later, another thug tumbled from the back onto the street, coated in a layer of spider’s silk as thick as a sleeping bag, wriggling uselessly. Spider-Man is winning, Johnny realized, new strength surging through him. We’ve got this! Almost there!

Johnny clambered the rest of the way onto the hood, white-knuckled as the vehicle bucked and swerved. Maybe if he burnt through the van’s battery cables, he could end this wild car chase once and for all. But if he wasn’t precise enough, he ran the risk of blowing up the entire vehicle. Perhaps he could punch through the windshield and yank the driver out. Or counter their forward momentum by pushing the van backwards with all the power of his flames behind him. He had to act fast. He had to come up with something before—

HOOONK! The shrill warning gave Johnny only seconds to register the incoming disaster. A truck was pulling out in front of them on the left. The van was hurtling through a red light at full-speed. If he stayed put, he’d be crushed between the two vehicles.

But what about Spidey and the kid?

He had no time to think. He kicked off the hood in a panic as the van struck the front of the truck. The van skidded in circles until the wheels lost traction with the road. Johnny sailed into an abandoned construction zone on the sidewalk, taking out a few traffic cones along the way. Debris spewed in every direction as the van crashed down the street, eventually groaning to a feeble stop. When the Human Torch rose off the gritty asphalt, he spotted the van on its side about fifty feet away, smoke streaming out of the engine.

“Shit,” he hissed, rocketing off the ground. The top of the car had been crushed to the point that it blocked the opening to the back of the van. Spider-Man and the kid could be trapped inside, their heads bashed in as much as the vehicle. Johnny dropped behind the car and pulled at the jagged barrier with all his strength, the plastic shell of the van melting beneath his grip. He wasn’t moving fast enough.

“Spidey! Can you hear me? Please tell me you guys are okay!”

No answer came. What if they were dead by the time he pried the car open? They could be bleeding out right now, their bodies twisted into unnatural shapes, their faces slack with shock. Were their hearts still beating? Were they breathing their final breaths? He tried to blink away his last moments with his mother, yet the images rallied to the forefront of his mind. The splashes of red mottling her skin, the crooked angle her neck was bent at, the lively spark fading from her eyes.

“Answer me!” Johnny pleaded, clawing frantically at the mangled van. One of the pieces had softened enough for him to tear. As he ripped it away and flung it aside, a figure came into view—a person sprawled across the floor of the vehicle, moaning and still. Terror seized him, followed by crippling relief, then confusion.

It was the last of the thugs. Thoroughly battered, probably concussed, but alive and likely to stay that way. Too beefy and bulky to be the webhead. Johnny’s arms fell to his sides. But if they aren’t here, then where—?

“Torchy!”

Numb, Johnny spun on his heels. At the end of the block, surrounded by overturned traffic cones and pot holes and smashed car bits, Spider-Man stood in the center of the street, holding the young boy in his arms. Although the masked hero was burned, bleeding, and tremendously bruised, he was alive, and the child was, too. Spidey gave him a wave, and Johnny's heart soared. He blasted down the road, scrubbing the tears from his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Spidey asked. Johnny answered by dousing his flames and wrapping the vigilante into a lung-crushing hug. A startled squeak leapt from his throat, followed by a strangled laugh. Johnny squeezed him so hard and held him so close, he could hear his heart thumping inside his chest.

“Ouch! Johnny!” Spider-Man giggled. “Easy! You’re going to smoosh the kid!”

Even so, the Human Torch hugged him a couple seconds longer, only letting go after the kid gave his head a shove. “Oh! Sorry!” he stammered. The boy whined and pouted his lips, burying his face back into the crook of Spider-Man’s neck.

“He’s okay,” Spidey insisted. “Just scared and shaken.”

“That makes two of us,” Johnny said hoarsely. “I thought you guys were trapped inside the van! I thought you were dead!”

Spider-Man glanced at him in surprise. “Really? I guess it was hard to see from your angle. We got out right before the accident happened. I had warning tingles coming from pretty much every direction, but one that big was impossible to ignore.”

Johnny must’ve looked as ashen and haunted as he felt, because the masked hero changed his tune from bright and sunny to soft and reassuring. “We’re fine, all right? Everything’s okay.” He gestured to the chaos scattered around them. “We stopped the bad guys and got everyone out safe.”

The Human Torch clenched his jaw, lowering his gaze. “I hate car wrecks,” he said hollowly.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Neither hero spoke for the next few moments, both of them mourning people who’d passed long ago. Then the kid slowly raised his head from Spidey’s shoulder, tears shining in his eyes. He looked about two with dark hair and skin like his dad.

“Hey there, bud,” Spider-Man said gently, shifting the boy higher up his hip so he sat at his eye-level. “You doing okay? That was scary, huh? You were super brave, though! Avengers-level brave! We’re gonna get you back to your dad real soon, okay?”

At the mention of his father, the boy immediately burst into tears, scrunching up his hands into angry little fists. Johnny flinched back in alarm. He had no experience deescalating toddler meltdowns. Fortunately, Spider-Man stayed calm.

“Shhh, it’s okay! Hey! Watch this!” The masked hero raised his hand in front of the kid’s face, and a card appeared between his fingers—seemingly out of thin air. Then, just as quickly, he made another motion, and the card vanished. The little trick was enough to pique the boy’s interest and distract him from his sobbing. He stared at Spider-Man’s empty palm, sniffling softly, cheeks stained with tear tracks. Spidey faked a dramatic gasp.

“Where’d it go? What do you think? Wait a minute!” He reached behind his ear, wiggling his fingers against his neck as he did, and produced the card once again, saying: “Ah-ha! Here it is! You were hiding it!”

The boy’s hesitant smile transformed into shy giggles. He grabbed for the card, and Spidey let him take it. The softness of the scene was enough to melt Johnny’s heart.

“You’re good with kids,” he observed.

Spider-Man shrugged. “Me-me babysits a lot, but it’s not so easy when I’m in costume. The mask tends to scare them.”

Johnny gestured to the card the boy was currently chewing on. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“Antman showed me,” Spidey beamed. “That guy is weirdly good at close-up magic. There’s one more trick I can do. Let me see if I try—”

He held his palm up to his mouth, but cards suddenly spilled out of his hand, shooting off in random directions and fluttering to the ground. Spider-Man groaned in defeat as Johnny and the child laughed.

“Did you mean to do that?” Johnny snickered.

“No. It was supposed to look like I was barfing them up. Guess I need to keep practicing.”

Johnny grinned at the giggling child. “The kid still liked it.”

Spidey bounced the boy in his arms, making him laugh even harder. Johnny watched the pair like a spectator at the movies: delighted and endeared yet detached from the moment. Cheering others up when they were at their lowest came so naturally to the masked hero. It was like another superpower of his. Johnny wasn’t sure if Spidey even understood the effect he had on those around him. He dismissed his own well-being and acted playful and calm even while in pain—all to make others happy and keep them safe.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Johnny said. He gave the vigilante a hardy clap on the back. It was meant to be a friendly love-tap, but he was surprised when Spider-Man jerked from his touch like he’d electrocuted him, releasing a sharp gasp. Frowning, Johnny retracted his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His gaze wandered down to his palm, which suddenly felt damp. The deep blue of his glove was drenched through with purple stains. It took him a moment to realize his hand was soaked in blood.

Johnny’s eyes snapped up. A particularly dark section of Spider-Man’s suit stood out against the other lesions peppered across his body, smudged just below his rib cage. Up until now, the child had been blocking it. His abdomen had a puncture wound that was leeching a scary amount of blood down his chest and his back. The fact that Spider-Man was acting so normal and plucky made the devastating injury difficult for Johnny’s mind to grasp. Slowly, his smile fell.

“Spidey…?” he said, trying to read his unreadable stare. He pointed to the spot with his bloodstained fingers. “What is that? What happened? You’re dripping blood!”

The masked vigilante shushed him like a grouchy librarian. “Not in front of the kid!” he snapped. “I don’t want to freak him out any more than he already is!”

Johnny just stared at him. “You’re bleeding out in the street, and your biggest concern is not freaking people out? We need to get you to a hospital!”

“Shhh! Johnny!” Spider-Man spoke in a hushed, exasperated tone. “Avengers Tower has a fully stocked medical bay, all right? I’ll get myself fixed up there, no problem! It’s not a big deal!” He was talking at breakneck speed, as if trying to convince himself.

“No big deal?” the Human Torch exclaimed. “What kind of masochistic bullshit are you on? You have a gaping wound in your side!”

“Johnny! You can’t say bullshit in front of kids!”

“I think the gravity of the situation more than warrants it! Besides—you just said it, too!”

“Whatever! I’m telling you I’m fine, okay? I’ve been shot before!”

“You were shot?” Johnny spluttered, gripping the sides of his head in his hands. “What the actual fuck, man? When were you planning to tell me you had a bullet wound in your stomach? Who the hell did that to you? How long has it been there? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Before he could respond, the child erupted into violent sobs once again. Spider-Man sighed, rubbing the boy’s back with one hand and cradling his head with the other.

“Great. Now he’s crying again. Thanks a lot.”

Smoke fizzled from Johnny’s shoulders and fists. “I don’t understand how you’re acting so calm right now! You’ve been shot!”

A crash and a grunt from behind them made both teenagers turn their heads. The van’s driver had smashed through the window and tumbled out of the vehicle onto the street. He started booking it down the road as fast as his legs would carry him.

“Hold this guy a sec,” Spidey said, handing Johnny the kid.

“What? Wait—I don’t—” he began to protest. But suddenly the boy was in his arms, and Spider-Man was marching after the fleeing thug. “Spidey! Come back! I’m not a baby person!”

Spider-Man stopped beside the overturned van and aimed his wrist in front of him. He fired a web grenade down the block, planting it on the side of a car parked a few paces ahead of the thug’s trajectory. At just the right moment, the trap went off; webs exploded all over the kidnapper, pinning him to a trash can in a squirming, screaming heap. Spidey withdrew his arm and pressed a palm to his bullet wound, pinching his eyes shut with a groan of pain. Blood dribbled off his fingers onto the ground.

“Stop moving, Jesus Christ!” Johnny jogged up behind him, laying his free hand against Spider-Man’s chest. “You’re bleeding all over the road!”

“He was getting away,” the vigilante replied, voice a little more ragged, breaths a tad more strained. “I had to stop him.”

Johnny scanned the battered hero up and down. He could see the adrenaline seeping from his bloodstream in real time, giving way to his body’s true state of wounded exhaustion. His arms hung heavy at his sides. He was swaying a little on his feet. The hand holding his injury was saturated in blood. Johnny’s frustration persisted, but the sight of him so broken and pathetic singed every trace of it from his lips. He grabbed Spidey’s wrist and gave it a light squeeze.

“For someone with dodging with powers, you’re awfully good at getting your ass kicked, you know that?” He shook his head in dismay. “Is this a regular thing for you? Getting beat half to death every time you go on patrol?”

The masked hero chuckled thinly. “Happens more often than I’d like to admit, but today’s ass beating was something else. My usual thugs aren’t armed like these guys. They knew my fighting patterns, how to counter my attacks, how to knock my senses out of whack. It’s like they were expecting me to come after them.”

Johnny nodded. “I think they were. They were aiming their guns at you specifically, like they were following orders from someone. The same someone who must be funding their operation; no regular street criminals are packing that kind of firepower.” He pressed the heel of his palm on top of Spidey's hand to help him stem the bleeding, pulling a shivery whimper from his lips. “I can’t believe how badly they hurt you.”

“I couldn’t either,” he hissed through his teeth, “until I noticed the company name on the side of those vans.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, craning his head away from the child, who was trying to rip out fistfuls of his hair. “What do you mean?”

“Veles Taxi,” Spidey said, sparing a glance at his blood-soaked midsection. “It took me a while to realize where I recognized it from. It’s a company that’s owned and operated by the Russian mafia, who are in turn controlled by Kingpin.” He glared at the thug still bound to the trash can. He’d given up trying to break free of the webbing and had resigned himself to pitiful whimpering. “These kidnappers work for Wilson Fisk.”

The Human Torch scoffed. “Fisk? You mean that bald rich guy from Hell’s Kitchen? I didn’t know he was evil. I heard he was trying to win candidacy for New York’s next mayoral election.”

Spider-Man’s eye lenses bulged as wide as physically possible. “What? You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

“I saw it on the news a couple days ago. He even voiced his support for the Fantastic Four—said we were vital to keeping the city safe and that he wanted to work with us if he was elected.”

“That bastard,” Spidey snarled. “How could he…h-how could anyone…?”

He staggered suddenly, knees buckling beneath him. Johnny rushed to catch him, the wounded hero’s weight sagging into his chest. Spider-Man grappled sluggishly with Johnny’s arms, trying to lift himself back upright. The skin on his face that was visible through the cuts in his mask looked sweaty and pale.

“M’fine,” he rasped, pushing him away. “Sorry, I—I’m fine. Tripped.”

“We have to get you out of here,” Johnny said distraughtly.

Seconds later, the NYPD came screeching onto the scene. Howling police cars surrounded them, bathing the teenagers in colorful flashing lights. A drizzle of relief settled over Johnny’s heart.

“Shit,” Spider-Man hissed.

“It’s okay,” the Human Torch assured him. “They can help you. We’ll ask them to give you a ride to Avengers Tower.”

“Liam!”

A man stumbled out of one of the cop cars and charged through the barricade of police. It was the father they’d dragged from the dumpster—still grimy and bruised but buzzing with wild hope. The cops roared at him to stop, but he ignored them. He raced towards superheroes in the center of the road, tears flooding his eyes.

“Daddy!” the boy cheered, reaching out for him. Johnny handed the child to his father, who buried him in his arms and a million adoring kisses.

“My son! My boy! My beautiful Liam!” he wept. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” The reunion inundated Johnny with indescribable warmth. If Sue were here, she’d be scrambling to get pictures taken, people posed, interviews lined up. It was refreshing to save the day, to return a stolen child to his father, and simply bask in the joy of that triumph, instead of exploiting the moment for fan content.

The dad lifted his face from his son’s dark curls and met Johnny’s gaze with an endlessly grateful smile. “Thank you,” he sniffled. “Thank you both. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”

“It was all this guy,” Johnny said, wrapping an arm around the wounded vigilante, who was fighting to stay on his feet. “Spider-Man’s the one who got him out of there. I just burned some shit, flipped a van or two.”

The father turned to the masked hero nervously. “Thank you, Spider-Man. Please take care of yourself. That looks really bad.”

Spider-Man gave him a bloody thumbs up. “Yep. That’s up next on my to-do list.” His voice sounded gravelly, like he was speaking through gritted teeth. “Make sure you get yourselves checked out, too. And give Liam all the chocolate pudding he wants for being so brave. He t-told me it’s his favorite.”

The dad chuckled. “Will do.”

As father and son were led to an ambulance, the cops approached the two teens on high alert. Johnny slung Spidey’s arm over his shoulder and started to guide him towards the police, but the masked hero dragged his feet.

“Johnny…” he grated out. “I can’t. They’re not going to help. I have to go.”

“What?” Johnny exclaimed. “Of course they will. They saw you save the kid. Plus, you’re with me. I work with them all the time. It’ll be okay.”

“Mr. Storm!” the cop at the front of the wedge of officers called. “Step away from Spider-Man and stand aside!”

Johnny approached the policewoman with the masked hero in tow, throwing her a wave. “Chief Yuri! Nice to see you! Loving the new haircut! Really complements your bone structure!” He patted the side of the vigilante’s head, which was slightly drooped towards the ground. “My friend Spider-Man here got shot by those thugs and needs a ride to Avengers Tower for medical assistance! Could one of your officers give us a lift?”

“Stop where you are!” Chief Yuri demanded, fingering the gun in her holster. “Don’t make me ask again, Storm! Drop the vigilante and stand down!”

Johnny froze in place, unfamiliar fear spearing through him. He swept his gaze across the sea of icy stares and glinting badges. His grip tightened around Spidey’s waist.

“What’s your problem?” he snapped. “Can’t you see he needs help? He just risked his life to save two hostages! Why are you acting like he’s the bad guy here?”

“Please, Johnny,” the injured hero implored. “I can get back on my own. Just let me go. ” He tugged weakly against Johnny’s hold. The Human Torch pinned him to his side and clasped his wrist in his bloody fingers.

“Spider-Man is under arrest for unlawful vigilantism, arson, theft, destruction of public property, and too many other things for me to list out right now. He’s not worth the trouble, Storm. Hand him over and step aside now.”

Johnny’s tongue tasted like lead. Even when people witnessed Spidey’s heroics firsthand, they still rallied against him. How could they be so blinded by lies? Why couldn’t they see him the way Johnny did? What possessed the world to love the Human Torch so fondly and hate Spider-Man so mercilessly?

The officers pressed in around them, guns at the ready. The masked vigilante was fading by the second. Johnny’s hands were slicked with his blood. He stared down the police chief, fury churning in his gut.

“If I leave with him, will you shoot me?”

Yuri’s eyes widened. “Don’t do anything rash, kid. You’re a hero. He’s a criminal. I’d hate for that to get twisted.”

“And I’d hate to think how my fans would react to the NYPD killing their favorite superhero,” Johnny countered. “My teammates, too.”

“At this rate, they may not be your fans for long.”

Johnny bared his teeth, then laughed. “The chief of police, trying to lecture me about good PR. That’s rich. You’re the ones the public barely trusts. Your image depends on me smiling and shaking hands with your officers like they actually help us instead of just getting in the way. You need my endorsement, but I don’t need yours.”

“He doesn’t mean that!” Spider-Man blurted out. “I’m sure you’re all v-very good at your jobs and want to stay friends with the Fantastic Four and wow chief that haircut does frame your face well and—mmph!”

The Human Torch smothered him into silence. “Hey! Can it, webhead!”

The block fell eerily quiet. Spider-Man spat muffled curses into his palm. Chief Yuri shook her head.

“You’re making a mistake, Storm.”

Johnny tilted his chin towards the sky. “I’m leaving.”

Bright yellow flames jetted cautiously from his feet, lifting the two of them off the ground. Johnny held the police chief’s gaze, daring her to stop him. Yuri’s face twisted with malice, but her hand lifted reluctantly from her holster.

“Hold your fire,” she demanded. “Clear the street.”

A tiny crumb of his anxiety eased. Johnny hooked an arm underneath Spidey’s knees and whisked him fully off his feet, ignoring his protests as he cradled his spindly shape close to his chest. He looked and felt so fragile—and this time, it was true. Fire encased his lower half and carried them above the city, away from the leering cops, out of harm’s path. Skyscrapers whisked beneath them, followed by the dark maw of the river. Johnny braced his hand against the exit wound on his back so both sides of the bullet hole had pressure on them. A ragged moan rose in his throat.

“I got you, okay? I’m taking you home.”

“You d-didn’t have to do that,” Spider-Man said, voice choked with pain. “Now the cops will hate you, too.”

“Let them,” Johnny growled. “I never liked those bastards, anyway. ACAB, am I right?”

The masked hero managed a dismal laugh. “Yeah. Fuck the police.”

The moon hung low over the East River. Spider-Man’s head rested just beneath Johnny’s shoulder, close enough for him to lean down and plant a kiss on his temple. The thought made him blush, and he discarded it immediately. The audacity of his emotions never ceased to astound him.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” Spidey murmured. His eye lenses blinked slowly, half-closed and drooping. “This w-wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“As far as team-ups go, it was a pretty badass evening. Dangerous criminals, mid-car-chase battles, a son reunited with his father, pissed off cops. As soon as you’re healed, I’m crashing every last one of your late night patrols from here on out.”

The hand Spider-Man wasn’t clutching his wound with tightened its grip on Johnny’s shoulder. “Thanks for s-sticking up for me,” he said.

Butterflies danced up Johnny’s throat. “Oh—of course. How could I not?” He swallowed as many of them down as he could. “You risked your life to save those people. You took a bullet to protect them from those monsters. I am now and forever officially crowning you the Ultimate King Bad Boy. Congratulations, your majesty.”

When Spider-Man didn’t respond, Johnny glanced down in surprise. The masked hero’s eye lenses had slipped shut, and his cheek was squished against his sternum. At first, Johnny marveled at how cute and sleepy he looked. Like a kitten snoozing in his arms. Then he remembered he was on the brink of bleeding out, and gave the vigilante a violent shake.

“Whoa! Hey! Wakey-wakey, webhead! I know you must be tired, but you can’t fall asleep yet!”

Spider-Man jerked back to consciousness, then scrunched into a moaning little ball, gripping his bloody torso. “Ugh. No fair. You’re the one who woke me up at crack of ass o’clock this morning and didn’t let me nap after the p-power demos…”

Johnny deflated with relief. “We’re almost there, okay? Just hang on a little bit longer. And once we get you all fixed up, I’ll let you sleep as late as you want tomorrow. No early morning wake-up calls.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Spidey slumped against his chest with a pitiful whimper. “It’s so hard,” he whined. “My eyes won’t stay open.”

Johnny pursed his lips in thought. “Why don’t you tell me about something sciencey? Go on one of your nerdy little rants. That ought to keep you awake.”

The masked hero’s eye lenses flicked wide, blinking twice. “Does it annoy you when I talk about that kind of stuff?” he asked timidly. It broke Johnny’s heart when he realized he was being genuine. It was a challenge not to drown him in words of affirmation.

“It pisses me off that you’re so much smarter than me,” Johnny chuckled. He gazed across the shimmering expanse beneath them and the blue-black endlessness above, unable to meet his gaze. “But no, it doesn’t annoy me. I like listening to people talk about the things they’re passionate about. Even if I don’t understand half of what you’re saying.”

Spider-Man hummed in sleepy acknowledgment, eye lenses sinking closed again. Johnny gave him a second shake, this one a tad more gentle than the first.

“Come on, bud. Tell me more about your webbing. You said it was hard to make, right? Walk me through it. Every nitty-gritty detail.”

He yawned into Johnny’s shoulder. “Can I do it with my eyes closed?”

“As long as you’re awake and talking.”

“Mm’kay,” he mumbled. He snuggled a little deeper into his embrace. “Let’s see. The hardest thing was f-finding the right balance between strength, malleability, and stickiness. The tensile strength of natural spider silk is 1.75 GPa, which means it’s really strong, but not flexible enough for my purposes. 1.0 gigapascals wound up being the sweet spot. Load-bearing and strong, able to withstand extreme amounts of weight and stress, but with a little stretch to it. I borrowed some materials from my school to synthesize my first formula. I started with salicylic acid, toulene, methanol, carbon tetrachloride, and potassium carbonate, but something was missing…”

He rambled in his arms the rest of the way to the tower, nodding off a couple more times mid-sentence, forcing Johnny to softly rouse him. He prompted him questions when his tangents slowed, asking what this word meant, what that compound did, why he decided to try this thing instead of something else. He listened and held him and tried not to think about the warm, wet stickiness of the vigilante’s blood on his hands. He listened, and decided it was enough.

This was enough. Just being around him. Being his friend. Bearing witness to his goofy, reckless, motor-mouth way of moving through the world. Watching him throw himself in harm’s way to protect others; defending him from those who sought his destruction. Coaxing out his radiant laugh and sunning himself in the halo of light that gleamed off the webhead like a warm, perpetual aurora. Learning his quirks and passions and fears. Fighting by his side. Overriding his self-sacrificial tendencies. Teasing, taunting, poking fun. Being super awesome superhero besties, and nothing more.

Johnny Storm wasn’t allowed to fall for Spider-Man. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

But what to do with this abundance of affection with no place to go?

Well.

If he couldn’t love him, perhaps the world could love him for him.

In that moment, with the wounded hero prattling drowsily in his arms, Johnny vowed he would make the universe see Spider-Man for who he was. No more deceptive headlines, no more twisted narratives, no more blatant lies. No more Daily Bugle tabloids running unopposed; no more pacifying Sue or their investors. Spidey was a hero, and he was going to prove it. Once the public got a glimpse of the real friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, they wouldn’t be able to resist it. They’d have no choice but to fall in love.

Avengers Tower rose like a beacon on the horizon. Johnny Storm bore the masked hero across the city determinedly.

It was enough.

It had to be enough.

#slow burn #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

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