#please wear your goddamn masks

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

[vienssunshine]

The dialogues you write for maki are so goddamn heavenly, please, what is it like when her girl squirts on her glasses (bonus if in the next morning, everyone in the dormitory heard them)? 😣🙏

Just Can't Focus

pairing: Maki Zenin x fem!reader nsfw: semi-public sex, cunnilingus, squirting word count: 1.8k author’s note: thank you so much for the request! you're so sweet!! i had a lot of fun adapting your request into a fic, hope you enjoy! also, maki looked so good in the latest episode. i need her... description: something about watching you train gets maki so riled up.

The day has been long. 

Nothing slows down time quite like having to hold a plank, and Gojo, who’s in charge of training you and your peers today, has been making the hours crawl by with countless strength training exercises. Your core is aching and your legs feel like they’re about to give out, which is why it feels a blessing when your teacher gets a phone call that pulls him away into a meeting with the higher-ups.

“Pair up and find a place around campus to practice sparring while I’m gone,” Gojo instructs, “We’ll meet back up in 30. Don’t forget to have fun!” He waves as he heads towards the school, leaving you and the other exhausted students alone in the field.

Nobara turns her head to you, about to speak, when an arm interlocks with yours. You look to your side to see that Maki has claimed you as her partner.

“Maki!” Nobara huffs, “I wanted to spar with her.”

Maki shrugs. “Be quicker then.” 

Nobara’s face darkens with a scowl and you hurry to resolve the conflict. “I’ll spar with you next time,” you tell Nobara, “Promise.”

“You better.” She crosses her arms and walks towards the other sorcerers, annoyed she’ll have to partner up with either idiot #1 or idiot #2 (Yuuji or Megumi). 

“Let’s go find a spot,” Maki says, though she begins pulling you off towards a forest nearby, seemingly already having a place in mind. 

Soon you’re past the tree line, and before you can get a word out about the sparring drill, your back is pressed up against a tree and Maki’s lips are on yours. 

It catches you by surprise—Maki tends to be unpredictable, a reason why it’s hard for you to beat her in a match—but it’s instinctive how you fall into the rhythm of her lips, melting into her touch as you kiss her back. Her leg nestles between yours and her strong hands land on your sides, brushing along the curve of your waist as she leans into you. 

“Need you…now,” she mumbles in between kisses, the rasp of her voice confessing desperation. Even though you and Maki have been a thing for a while now, she knows how to mask her true feelings, so until she had you pinned against a tree, you didn’t have a clue that such a need was building up in her all afternoon. 

“Yeah?” you say, resting your arms atop her built shoulders, pulling her closer. “Can’t wait until after training?”

Maki tugs off her uniform jacket, leaving her in the white long sleeve she wears under her uniform, and lays it on the grass by your feet. “No, so come sit down.”

Her mouth is inseparable from yours as she helps lower your body down onto her jacket, and the moment you’re sitting down, she’s kneeled between your thighs, reaching up past your skirt to dip her fingers into the waistband of your black tights. 

“Lift up your hips for me, pretty,” she murmurs against your lips. You listen, and she pulls your tights off, and then your underwear. It’s a little strange, how you’re half-naked in one of the school’s forests, but you have a hard time caring when Maki hooks her arms underneath your thighs and brings her mouth to your cunt.

“Already so wet for me,” she laughs, pressing a kiss to your pelvis, “Have you been thinking about me too?”

“Maybe,” you say, though the evidence speaks for itself. How could you not? For the entirety of the strength training session, all you could notice was Maki. With the way her defined muscles flexed as she worked through Gojo’s ceaseless exercises, it was impossible not to. You had to look over and take in how the effort contorted her elegant features, had to hear how it sharpened her breath. And every single time you glanced over to her, without fail, she was already looking at you.

“You were just as distracted,” you say, trying to keep still despite the sensation of her hot breath fanning against your cunt. “You really should be paying attention during training.”

She smirks. “I think it’ll be easier to focus after I have you cum on my tongue.”

Her warm mouth connects with your folds, forcing a choked gasp from your throat. You rock your hips back and away, caught off guard at how quickly sharp pleasure cuts through your insides, but Maki’s strong arms keep you locked in place. Her eyes flutter shut at the contact and she deeply inhales, finally gratified after wanting to be with you like this all afternoon.

Your head lolls to the side when she begins to move, licking long stripes up from your hole to your clit with a flat tongue. Pulling up the fabric of your skirt gives you an unobstructed view and you watch, eyes lidded, as she pushes her mouth further into your cunt, just unable to get enough. Then she pushes her palms gently against your thighs, opening yourself up further to her. You allow it, legs falling open, and lean back against the tree behind you.

“There we go,” she says, “Relax for me, okay?” 

You realize why when a finger circles the outside of your hole. Maki’s tongue continues to bathe your clit with wet swipes of her tongue, only increasing the amount of slick coating your opening. She uses this lubrication to shallowly slip the tip of her finger in and out of you, stimulating the tight ring of muscle circling your entrance. Then, she lengthens her movements, pushing in deeper with every thrust of her fingers. Your breath comes out shaky. “Fuck…Maki…”

She begins to move her finger inside of you, pushing it up against your walls in a way that has heat rushing to your lower stomach. Your eyes flutter shut and each pump of her finger pushes a soft moan from your lips.

“If you wanted to make it up to me for being such a distraction all afternoon, those pretty noises of yours are doing the job,” Maki says.

She adds another finger, which only makes you call out her name once more in that breathy voice of yours she adores. The pressure is immense, especially with her fingers being so strong and precise. 

“It’s…so much-” you say, pressing your eyebrows together. You don’t think you’ve had Maki eat you out and finger you at the same time before; the sensation is overwhelming. Every harsh thrust of her fingers is complemented by a sweet lick on your clit, a two-front war that makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. Any attempt at escaping the pleasure is nonexistent with Maki’s hold on you, and soon your stomach is twisting, like a violent undercurrent is ripping through your lower half. It’s new, and more intense than you’ve experienced before. 

“Maki I…I feel weird…” you say, squirming. 

“You’re doing great, pretty girl,” Maki responds before diving her tongue into your folds once more.

“I’m serious…Maki…I don’t know…” Your fingers tighten in the grass around you.

“Does it feel good?” Maki asks.

“Feels…s’good,” you respond.

“Then relax, enjoy it.” 

You want to listen to her, you really do, but there’s a hesitant voice in your head, one telling you that if you give in to the pleasure, you’ll be giving in completely. You’re just so full; there’s so much pent-up energy in your body that’s begging to be released. But the more she touches you, the more encouragement and praise leaving her mouth, the less power you have over the force building up inside your core. 

“I feel like I’m gonna…” 

She curls her fingers inside you, pressing against your sweet spot with a force that has your body shaking and seconds away from release.

“Fuck—Maki—m’gonna—“

You’re unprepared when your orgasm hits you, and because it hits you hard, you’re helpless when fluid rushes out of you at the intense sensation. You throw your head back, pleasure rolling through your lower half and being expelled from your body. Unaffected, Maki continues to finger fuck you, only prolonging the ruthless orgasm she’s sending through your body.

“Attagirl,” Maki says, grinning. 

You’re swearing, or moaning, maybe a mixture of both, as the climax pummels your poor body, and you hold onto Maki’s arms for dear life, fingers digging into the fabric of her white long sleeve.

When her movements slow, coaxing you back into reality, the haze washes off and you realize that you’ve squirted for the first time–all over Maki’s face.

You sit up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—fuck, your glasses.”

She cuts you off. “It’s hot, pretty. Don’t apologize for something you don’t have to, mkay?” She takes her glasses from her face and rubs the liquid coating them off on her jacket beneath you. 

“I’ve just…that’s never happened before,” you say, still reeling from the sensation.

“Makin’ me feel special,” she says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then, she stands, offering you her hand. “Are you okay to walk? Everyone should be regrouping by now. I think if we stay any longer, I’ll want to try to make that happen again.”

“Uh…yeah, let’s go,” you say, grabbing onto it and letting her help you up. You’re still grappling with what just happened; you didn’t even know that could happen. 

Dazed, you find your underwear on the sleeve of Maki’s jacket, uncrumple it, and pull it back up on you.

“Thanks for that,” Maki says, threading her hand into yours for the rest of the walk out of the forest.

You and Maki are the last to join the group. Aside from Gojo, who’s meeting must’ve run long. Guess training ends early today.  

As you walk up to the rest of the sorcerers, Yuuji tilts his head and then points at Maki, “Did you lose your jacket?” 

Your eyes widen as you realize that Maki isn’t wearing it, she’s still in her button-up. Though, it’s not like she could put it back on, your fluids had soaked the material. “I took it off when we were sparring. Guess I forgot it,” she responds.

“Is that why you took off your tights too?” Panda asks, pointing to your bare legs. Heat rushes to your face.

Maki scowls. “Last chance to mind your own or I’ll be your sparring partner next time.” 

“Alright! Okay!” The rest of them hurry off but fail to do a good job pretending they aren’t whispering about the two of you.

“I’ll go grab our clothes and put them in the wash, so you go take a break okay?” She grins. “I hope I didn’t work you too hard.”

“How considerate,” you tease, “But I would prefer it if you came back to my room after doing the laundry. Maybe then you’ll be able to tire me out.” 

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

#maki zenin x reader #zenin maki #maki x you #maki x reader #maki zenin #maki zenin smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk maki

[chvoswxtch]

Hey, got a Matt y/n request.

You go off your pill without Matt knowing because you want to have a family with Matt. Matt notices you're ovulating because you smell different and tries to get you pregnant.

#daddy and mommy kink

#cumpi€

#Matt the animal in bed

nonnie, you summoned my inner whore, and she has answered.

this is absolute filth with bits of angst and fluff sprinkled in. please enjoy (& thank you). 🖤

warning: contains explicit sexual content (minors please dni), swearing, and mentions of pregnancy word count: 3k

ours.

There was something different about you and it was driving Matt absolutely fucking insane. From the second he woke up this morning, he had this carnal desire for you that he couldn’t seem to tame. Your scent lingered on your pillow and Matt found himself burying his face into it as his hand searched for the softness of your skin, but all he found was the absence of warmth on his fingertips. He couldn’t hardly focus as he got ready for work, and it only got worse throughout the day.

As noon rolled around, he was elbow deep in case work and in the middle of going over a document with Foggy when he caught wind of your scent on the street. He immediately paused, cocking his head to the side slightly as he tracked your path from two blocks away to their office. By the time you had reached their floor and before you could even knock, Matt was swinging the door open and pulling you in so quickly, it made you dizzy.

“Matt! I almost dropped everything!”

You giggled softly as you readjusted your grip on the carryout bag containing all your orders and the tray of drinks. Matt’s tongue darted out to lick his lips as his hands remained firmly gripped on your hips, forcing a tight lipped smile on his mouth.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Heard you coming. What’s all this?”

“Well I figured you guys were swamped and hadn’t eaten yet so I brought lunch.”

Matt’s heart should’ve swelled with adoration and gratitude at the sweet gesture. But instead, a very different part of his body was swelling and he was struggling to retain his composure. 

“Y/N Murdock you are a goddamn saint.”

Another giggle escaped your mouth at Foggy’s comment, and Matt squeezed his eyes shut behind his crimson glasses as he did his best to swallow back a moan. 

“Matt? You alright?”

Matt turned his head slightly in Karen’s direction, a slight panic rising up in his chest as he stumbled over his words.

“Uh y-yeah, why?”

“Because you’ve got a death grip on Y/N/N, and you look like you’re in pain.”

Matt could feel everyone’s eyes on him, including you, and he all of a sudden realized just how tight his hold was on you. He cleared his throat as he released you, taking half a step back as he tried to fix his features into an expression of nonchalance.

“I’m alright, city's just a bit loud today. That’s all.”

Thirty minutes had never felt so fucking long in his entire life. Matt’s knee bounced uncontrollably underneath the table as you laughed and caught up with Foggy and Karen. Everytime a breeze blew through the open window, more of your scent wrapped around Matt like a decadent haze, and he had to stuff his mouth full of food to mask the reaction it was pulling out of him. He could feel sweat forming along his hairline the longer he sat next to you. Matt had always found you desirable, but there was something different about you today that had his half hard cock aching with need.

He racked his brain for any kind of excuse to get Foggy and Karen to leave, even just for five minutes so he could take you in his office and fuck you over his desk. Matt had to physically stop himself from shuddering as you leaned over to press a soft kiss to his jawline, digging his blunt nails into his own palm as he fought back the urge to slip his hand beneath the dress you were wearing. His head was so clouded with lust he hadn’t heard a word you’d said, and his eyebrows suddenly knit in confusion as he noticed your presence by the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to work. I just told you I have a meeting in fifteen minutes?”

“You did?”

A slight pout formed on your lips as you made your way back over to Matt, placing your hand gently on his cheek and letting out a soft noise as his burning skin touched your palm. 

“Baby, are you sure you’re alright? You’re really warm.”

“I’m always warm.”

“Yeah, but you’re like extra warm right now, and you’re sweating.”

“It’s just…hot.”

Matt tried his hardest to appear normal, flashing you a half smile as he turned his head to gently press a kiss to your wrist.

Fuck. That made it worse. 

“Okay…well, if you do start to feel bad, please go home.”

“I will.”

Matt could feel your attention directly on him and the roll of your eyes before you turned to Foggy and Karen with a playful smile on your lips.

“Will one of you please send my stubborn husband home if he gets worse?”

“You got it, Y/N/N.”

Matt swallowed thickly as you gave Foggy a grateful smile before bending down to press a soft kiss to his lips. He figured once you left, he would finally be able to breathe again. All he had to do was focus back on the case, and the rest of the day would fly by so he could go home to you; so he could finally have you. He just had to make it a few more hours. He could do that. Right?

Wrong. Very fucking wrong. The sound of the clock ticking through the office seemed to taunt him about how much time wasn’t moving as fast as he wanted it to. He couldn’t focus at all. His fingers trailed over the same rows of braille repeatedly, until his fingertips almost felt raw, but he still couldn’t decipher a fucking letter. He couldn’t put them together in his brain. All he could think about was you and burying himself inside you. He made it two hours after you left before he was bolting out of the office with a half assed excuse about being sick, frantically calling you on the way out and begging for you to meet him at home.

The second you stepped through the door, Matt was on you. The front door slammed shut as he pinned you against it, ripping your keys and purse out of your hands to toss them carelessly aside. His hands roamed everywhere, gripping and kneading every bit of you they could find. Eventually you were able to break apart from him, pressing your palms firmly against his chest as his mouth eagerly sought you out again.

“Matthew Murdock, what has gotten into you?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Matt panted heavily as he licked his lips, blank eyes darting back and forth in a frenzied manner. You brought one of your hands up to cup his jaw gently and he instantly leaned into your touch, a soft whine sounding in the back of his throat.

“I thought you were sick?”

“Not sick. Just need you. Needed you all day, sweetheart. Please.”

It was then that you noticed Matt’s pupils were blown wide open, and felt the evidence of his need against your lower stomach. Your lips parted slightly in an ‘o’ shape, finally putting all of the pieces of his odd behavior together in your head. 

“Oh.”

“Please, sweetheart. I need you so fucking badly.”

“I…um…we…we can’t right now, Matty. But I can-”

“Why?”

Matt almost sounded like he was in pain as he tilted his head to the side to stare at you, and the anguish was plastered clear over his face. It made you feel guilty to see him this way, and you were worried how he would react to what you had been keeping from him.

“Because…I…I went off the pill. And we don’t…we don’t have anything.”

Matt’s face instantly contorted in confusion, placing his palm on the door by the side of your head as he tried to process your words.

“What? When?”

“A month ago.”

“Why?”

“Because…I just…didn’t like what it was doing to my body.”

You were hoping that Matt was so far gone he wouldn’t notice your lie, but the disappointed look on his features made your heart start to pound uncontrollably.

“Can you answer my question without lying to me.”

You internally winced at the edge in his voice. You had never lied to him before, and when he had told you the truth about being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, you both made a promise to never lie to one another about anything. Part of your vows were to always be honest, and you felt guilty that you had messed that one up. 

“That wasn’t a lie. I don’t like what it’s doing to my body. That’s just…not the main reason.”

“And what is?”

“I want a family, Matt. I know we’ve talked about it briefly, and you said you wanted one too, but I wasn’t sure if you were ever gonna slow down enough to focus on starting one with me. I just thought…I thought if it happened, you’d be so happy you wouldn’t be mad that I didn’t tell you. I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I should have told you what I was doing. I just…I want this so badly, Matty. I keep having dreams about it, it’s all I can think about lately, it’s just…like this need that’s taken over. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Matt could hear the sincerity in your voice and in your heart’s rhythm. His face softened as he listened to you, and a feeling of guilt crept up on him. He had promised you a family once the two of you got married. He did want that. There had just been so much going on lately, the idea of starting one hadn’t occurred to him.

As he opened his mouth to speak, he caught a taste of your arousal on his tongue, and suddenly realization struck him like fucking lightning.

You were ovulating.

That’s what this was. You had been on birth control the entire time you’d known Matt, so he’d never experienced this with you before. This is what was driving him fucking insane. Your body was practically screaming at him, begging him for a baby, and fuck if his body wasn’t listening. A quiet gasp left your mouth when you noticed the darkened look in Matt’s eyes. You knew that look; you saw it when the Devil came home and wanted to play.

“Matty-”

Matt ignored the warning in your voice as he crashed his lips into yours, grabbing onto the back of your head to hold you in place as he nipped at your bottom lip and soothed the sting with his tongue. In a flash he’d ripped your dress over your head and attached his lips to your neck, licking, sucking, and biting his way down to your collarbones. His fingers deftly unhooked the clasp of your bra and tugged it down your shoulders, pulling a surprised gasp from your mouth as the soft fabric of his shirt brushed over your sensitive nipples.

“Matty…what ah…what are you doing?”

Matt’s voice was dangerously low as he moved his lips up to nibble on the shell of your ear, the warmth of his breath causing a shiver to cascade down your spine.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you’re pregnant.”

An obscene moan left your lips and shot straight down to Matt’s cock. A quiet growl sounded in your ear as he lifted you up and trapped you against the door with his hips, rutting into you as his cock strained painfully against the fabric of his pants. He could feel some of your arousal seep through the material from your soaked panties, and you moaned loudly when he rubbed against you just right.

Your fingers were frantic as they clawed at his tie, nearly tearing half the buttons off his shirt as you practically ripped it off his chest. Reaching down between your bodies, you swiftly pulled the leather from Matt’s belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants as you fervently shoved them down his thighs along with his briefs just enough to free him. Matt groaned loudly as the cool air met his weeping tip, using his legs to support you as his hands completely tore your panties off your hips.

Matt didn’t waste a second, immediately penetrating the warmth of your slick walls with his thick cock. A loud moan tore through each of you, echoing throughout the entire apartment. 

“Hang on.”

Matt’s voice was rough and gravely as he ordered you, and you whimpered in response as you locked your legs around his waist and gripped onto his shoulders tightly. Everytime he was inside you felt euphoric, but God this time felt different. He couldn’t pinpoint if it was because he was extra sensitive from being so turned on all day, knowing what he was about to do to you, the idea of how much everything was about to change for the two of you, or what, but it unlocked something inside him that had Matt fucking you savagely against the front door. 

A tiny piece of him felt guilty for taking you like this, knowing this could be the time that resulted in the creation of your child. The good Catholic boy in him knew he should’ve made this special and been more romantic, taken his time to savor every second of this beautiful moment. But the Devil in him wanted you and wanted you now. He wanted to plant himself in the deepest part of you, claim your womb for everyone to see, because sometimes that ring wasn’t fucking enough.

Everyone would know that you were his. They wouldn’t be able to miss your swollen belly that carried his child.

As Matt’s grunts and moans in your ear became more feral, his pace got impossibly faster and brutal. He was practically slamming you into the door with each precise snap of his hips, reaching that spot inside you only he could find, tearing the loudest cries of his name from your chest. The only other thing he could hear besides your pretty sounds were the echoes of your skin slapping together and your heart thundering in his ears.

“You gonna make me a daddy, sweetheart? Gonna be a good girl and do that for me?”

“Y-yes…”

“Yes you are. Because I’m gonna come so deep in this tight little cunt of yours, over and over and over-“

Matt accentuated each of his words with powerful, quick snaps of his hips into yours.

“And I’m not letting you leave this apartment until I know for sure that it took. You understand, pretty girl?”

All you could do was moan in response as you dug your nails into Matt’s broad shoulders, letting your head fall back against the door as he fucked you how he wanted. You were completely at his mercy like this, all you could do was take it, but God it had been so long since you’d had him like this. 

“You want me to make you a mommy, sweetheart? Hm?”

“Yes! Please, Matty…please.”

“Beg for it.”

Matt bared his teeth in a snarl as he dug his fingertips roughly into the flesh of your hips, marking you just as much on the outside as he planned to do on the inside. You could hardly form a coherent thought from the way he was fucking you. You were getting dangerously close to falling over that edge, and you desperately wanted him to jump with you.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let me hear it. Beg me. Beg me for a baby.”

“God…please…”

“No. Not him, me.”

“Fuck Matty-I…please…please, I want it. I want you to…g-give me a baby, please.”

“My baby. Tell me you want my baby. Let me hear it.”

You could tell Matt was close based on his falter in rhythm. His thrusts were getting sloppy, and the devil’s edge to his voice was slipping away into a needy whine. He was begging you to beg him. 

“Want your baby, Matty. Just yours. Ours. Please, baby. Please give it to me.” 

You gripped onto the back of Matt’s neck, pulling him in for a searing passionate kiss. Matt let out a loud yell as he finally spilled inside you, his hips stuttering as he fucked his seed as deep into you as he could, whimpering breathlessly at the way you clenched around his sensitive cock. 

Both of you were sweaty, panting messes as you came down from your collective highs. Matt kept a tight grip on your hips, stumbling backwards until his back hit the wall, sliding down slowly until he let himself fall onto the floor with you on his lap. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, closing his eyes as the haze he had been in all day seemed to slowly disappear, allowing his senses to finally clear. 

“Matty?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

A smile stretched across his mouth as he pulled back slightly, staring blankly at you in pure adoration. 

“I love you.”

He closed his eyes as he leaned into your palm that cradled his jaw, letting out a deep exhale through his nose as the guilt started to set in.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That. I…I should’ve made that more special.”

“Matty-“

“I fucked your mom against the front door is not exactly how I want to tell our kid they were created.”

Smacking your palm against his chest, you immediately erupted into a fit of giggles that Matt couldn’t help joining.

“Matthew! First of all, our child is never going to want to know how they were created. Second of all, you have nothing to be sorry for. I love you, and I know you love me. And we love each other so much, we decided to create a life together made up of both of us. Don’t you think that’s special?”

Matt took a deep breath as his tongue quickly wet his lips, nodding his head slowly as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good. So do I. Now, if you really feel the need to redeem that Catholic guilt of yours, we can increase our chances in bed and be as sappy as you want.”

Matt rolled his eyes as a playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours. 

“Heaven forbid I try to show my wife a little romance.”

“Romance away, Murdock. Take me to bed and put a baby in me.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock smut #matt murdock request #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil smut #daredevil request

[stevenose]

not the name you say (18+)

day 30/31 of the august writing challenge

today’s word: mask

contains: steve x reader; friends to ???; high!steve + high!reader; smoking; pillow humping; mutual masturbation; kissing; perv steve AND perv reader; kinda gross steve

a/n: my favorite one i’ve written methinks <3

“So,” Steve says, thick brows scrunching together, eyes hardly open. “How do you usually get off?”

You laugh. “What?”

“What?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

Steve shrugs, seeming a little confused with why you’re so confused. He makes grabby hands towards the joint between your index finger and middle finger. “Gimme.”

You take another inhale and ash it before handing it off to him. “I think you’ve had enough.”

He frowns and furrows his brows again. “Why?”

“You’re starting to get perverted.”

He scoffs, then takes a deep inhale. You take a moment to soak him in. Wrinkled dark green shirt, a pair of sweatpants. White socks. His hair is messy in his face and yet it still looks like it’s been styled that way. The tip of his broad, straight nose lights up with the ash from the joint as he breathes in. The smoke he exhales acts as a mask, shrouding his features.

“I’m not perverted,” he says. “I’ll tell you how I do it if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I feel like you don’t have many options.” You watch the ash on the joint get longer and the paper become shorter, closing in on Steve’s fingers. You’re careful to watch to make sure he doesn’t get burned, but you forget why you’re staring after a few seconds.

“That’s not true,” he insists, ashing the joint out on his bedroom carpet. “I have tons of options. We could use our hand, or we can use our hand with lotion, or we can use one of those toys that looks like a pussy -“ he giggles, eyes squirting further. “We can hump a pillow, we can hump the bathtub -“

“You’re insane,” you laugh, reaching for the joint. You take one more drag before putting it out on the green ashtray on Steve’s desk. “You ever tried that?”

“Not the bathtub, but I’ve gotten off on my pillow before.”

You blink slow, shocked. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” He takes out a lighter and starts playing with it, flicking his wrist over the flame quickly to not burn his fingers. You grab it from him and place it beside the ashtray.

“Please don’t tell me I’ve used the pillow in question.”

“Oh, no,” he assures. “I keep it in my closet.”

Then he’s up and stumbling towards the closet, pulling the door open and disappearing for half a second before reappearing with the article in question. You stare. It looks like a normal pillow. White pillowcase, no obvious staining. You scrunch your nose. “Ew, Steve.”

He shrugs. “Have you ever tried it?”

“No!”

“You should!” he says. “Here, let me show you.”

“What?” you laugh, your face heating up. “You can’t -“

“No no no no no,” he waves you off, getting onto his bed. “I’m just gonna show you how, I’m not gonna - like, fuck it.” He folds the goddamn thing in half, then mounts it. “You just kinda do that, and then rub yourself on it. Grind on it, you know? You really should try it.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you. “Is that how you normally get off?”

“Not telling! I asked you first!”

“I don’t know! I - I have a few options, too, okay?”

“Try this,” Steve says, and he grabs another pillow on his bed, a clean one. He beckons you over with his head and hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“That’s fucked up,” you say, and you don’t totally believe it. Or maybe you do and you’re just trying to ignore it. “Isn’t that like fucking?”

Those brows furrow again. “No? I’m not even gonna touch you.”

You’re sore between the legs, anyway, and high, so you get up and stumble onto his bed. You’re wearing black cotton shorts, so you can feel the plushness between your legs rather well. With the pillow folded in half, you climb onto it, bursting into laughter once you do.

“This is so weird.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t knock it til you try it, ‘kay?”

“‘kay.”

“Now grind down on it. Let it catch on you.”

Experimentally, you do so, and it does feel good. It feels just about as good as your palm rubbing against you. It’s dull and not targeted but still enjoyable. And with how sensitive you get while high, it feels pretty alright.

“Like that,” he praises. His hips aren’t moving. He’s simply instructing. “Don’t be afraid of it, you can use it.”

“What do you think about when you do this?” you ask, continuing to grind. Watching Steve is stirring something in you even if he’s just sitting innocently.

“Specifically?”

“Well, like, do you think about fucking someone?”

“I always think about fucking someone.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I think about fucking someone, or their tits,” he clarifies, hands gripping on to the edge of his pillow. “It’s not as wet but if I’m high enough it can work.”

Your breath catches at the idea - of him jerking off, and of him fucking you. You grind down a little harder, not really thinking about it. “Who do you think about?”

He stares at you for a really long time, though it’s probably only a few short seconds. His auburn eyes seem lost in thought, contemplative. “You know,” he finally says. “People that come into work or whatever.”

“Oh,” you say, a little disheartened. “So… what exactly do you think about? How do you make it work?”

You watch Steve’s adam’s apple bob while he swallows. “I guess I usually think of it doggystyle, but sometimes I think of it missionary. And I imagine I’m fucking something soft and wet. Gripping someone’s skin.” His hips start to move now, gentle and slow. His eyes focus in on your own movements. “And I think about what I would say.”

“Do you say it out loud?”

“I hope not,” he says, but his tone isn’t entirely lighthearted. His mouth is agape, pupils blown, staring where you meet the pillow. “But I think about it. Like, I usually tell ‘em how beautiful they are ‘n how good they feel.”

You grind down a little harshly. “You like praise?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “I like being praised, too.”

“Like what?” you ask, voice growing softer. There’s a familiar build up in your lower stomach starting to form. “Do you like being called good boy or -?”

Steve moans, lightly, his hips grinding harsher into his pillow. “Jesus, you can’t just say it -“

“Why does it matter if I say it?” you rush out. “Do you like it when I call you that?”

And now, it seems, like formality is gone. The line between friendship and something else has been erased.

“Yes,” he moans, fucking his hips into the pillow rough and quick. “I think about it sometimes.”

Your face is alight. “Yeah? What else?”

“Fucking you,” he answers. His smooth voice cracks. “How good you’d feel and sound.”

“You’re so fucked up,” you scold, getting off on it. “Do you usually have pants on?”

“N-no-“

“Take them off.”

“Maybe after you answer my question.”

You swallow harshly, stomach twisting tightly. “I think about how m-much your cock would stretch me out.”

He grins wide. “That wasn’t my question.”

“What - what was it, then?”

“How do you get off?” One of his thumbs tucks into the waistband of his sweats. A wet patch forms on the front of them.

“Oh,” you say dumbly.

“Although I think I like this question more.” His thumb pulls down his sweatpants just slightly. You can see his happy trail, how his tan skin turns a little paler behind them. Your mouth waters. It’s only a quick glance, though, because he lets his waistband snap back into place with a smug grin. “Tell me more and I’ll get myself out.”

“Want you to eat me out.” If you were sober you’d be shocked at how easily you let that information go.

“That’s good,” he nods, panting a little. He stops his hips for just a moment to pull his pants down and off. “Get closer.”

You and your - his - pillow slide in so that you’re facing him, noses nearly touching, the edges of your pillows meeting in the middle. “You can’t touch me,” you say, “we’re - we’ll regret that.”

“I know. Just wanna be closer t’you, ‘s all.”

You’d do anything to kiss him right now. You have no brain telling you to not. Only instinct - that this will fuck things up. That you’ll regret it in the morning. And you like Steve way too much to sacrifice that. Instead, your nose presses against his, and you rub them together.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he groans. “Feeling close?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. A particularly well placed thrust makes you keen and you instinctively reach out for Steve to hold you steady. Your nails dig into his biceps but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“There you go,” he praises, “Keep doin’ it like that, baby, gonna cream on my fuckin’ pillow in no time.”

“I wanna kiss you,” you blurt out, overwhelmed by it, your previous inclination fleeing.

Steve leans forward and catches your lips in his, but he keeps his hands strictly to himself. He’s a hell of a kisser, adding teeth only where necessary and using little licks to get you closer to your orgasm. You moan and bite down on his bottom lip and tug it. “Mmm, fuck, Steve….”

“I know, I know,” he shushes, panting, starting to sweat at his hairline. “‘s okay, it feels good, huh?”

Now your eyes wander down to his cock. You’ve never seen it before and at this moment you don’t know why he was hiding it from you. Or how he hid it from you. He’s giant, sure to split you or your mouth open. But so pretty, too. A little bead of clear precum disappears into the cotton of his pillowcase.

“You like it?” he grunts.

You look back up, noses bumping, and nod. “Your cock’s so pretty, Steve.”

He moans and throws his head back slowly, and you take the opportunity to lean forward and kiss his neck. He groans now, his hands gripping his pillow lest he reach out and embrace you.

“So fat and big,” you mumble, “you’d make me gape.”

And then, for reasons unknown, you look down and spit on his cock. Steve gasps, a thousand emotions flicking across his handsome, flushed face at once before he reaches out and pulls you in. He kisses you fiercely, hungrily. “I’m gonna fucking cum,” he moans messily against your lips.

“M-me too,” you whisper, reaching up to grip his hair and tug. His eyes roll back. “Come on, wanna see what it looks like when you cum thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

Steve’s so pretty. Truly. His neck and body stiffen and his eyes clench shut. He lets out a few high pitched gasps and moans before he cums. You’re caught between looking at his face and his cock, his cum shooting onto the pillow below him and onto yours. The sight makes you cum, gripping onto him and kissing him messily as you do.

“There y’go,” he mumbles, holding you. “Told you it’d feel good.”

#stevenose posts #ns/fw #steve x reader #steve harrington smut #august23

[empresskylo]

ghost thought you hated him, but he had no idea why. he didn't remember ever doing anything to cross you. when you're stuck doing a mission alongside him, he gets curious enough to finally ask. (reader has similar personality as ghost and also wears a mask)

a/n: basically the reverse of this fic i did. also here's some fanart to help you visualize better (;

cw: slight nsfw content, nothing serious. uncomfortable sexual remarks from side characters.

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k+

masterlist

“Come on, Soap! Please!” You whined, interlacing your fingers together and looking up at the much taller man with your eyes twinkling in desperation. 

“As much as I like it when you beg…” he paused, smirking at you, “No. If it’s that big of a deal, lass, talk to Lt.” You scowled at him and his eyebrow kicked upwards. “That’s not a problem, is it?” He asked, a teasing tone in his voice. You rolled your eyes and turned to storm off. “You’re much more enjoyable when you want something from me, you know that?” He laughed as he went in the opposite direction.

Your next mission involved you infiltrating the neighboring town, making your way through the busy streets, dressed as a civvy–at least that's what Soap told you. 

With Ghost.

Fuck.

You were a goddamn sniper, why on earth would you be assigned to do hand-to-hand work? And the last thing you wanted to do was talk to Ghost about it, hence the pathetic pleading with Soap to get you to change positions. But of course he loved to torture you. He knew you didn’t like working with Ghost. It wasn’t like you hated the guy. In fact, it was pretty much the opposite of that. He distracted you. You got flustered and jittery whenever he was nearby, and that didn’t exactly work well when you needed steady hands and a clear mind–devoid of such attributes literally put people at risk.

At first you wrote it off as being intimidated by him. He was massive and daunting. But then you felt your whole face go warm at the one bawdy joke Soap made while Ghost was beside you. The joke wasn’t even directed at you; solely being near Ghost when someone made a crude remark had your mind racing. These types of feelings didn’t mesh well with this field of work. And, theoretically, if someone you worked with ever returned these awful, embarrassing feelings, you didn’t think you were capable of letting someone in. So you decided it was best to just stay away from your lieutenant as much as you could.

You adjusted your mask as you slipped into the bunks, grabbing your stuff for the mission. You slung your backpack over your shoulders and made your way outside. You wore a black, slim turtlenecked shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. Your gator mask was snug over your nose, your hair loose. You weren’t geared up like usual–it would be pointless knowing there would be an outfit change required to slip into town. 

The bright sunlight burned your eyes as you stepped out into the cooling air. You looked down at the vehicles and spotted only one humvee left. Soap waved up at you. “Bloody hell,” you mumbled as you hustled down the steps. You slid into the seat beside Soap and sat back, sighing. 

“Cheer up, lass. It’s not so bad doing the groundwork.”

You glared at him, making him laugh heartily at you. As cold and reclusive as you were, Soap didn’t seem to mind all that much. And while it definitely annoyed you at times, you also enjoyed his silly humor and uplifting attitude. It was a nice change of pace to the rest of the dark bullshit surrounding you on a day-to-day basis. But you’d never tell him that–though, you suspected he knew already. 

“Why would you want to send in the two people who always have their faces covered to go blend in with locals?” 

Soap nudged you. “Because you’re not trying to blend in with locals.”

You raised a brow at him. He roiled in your distress, you wanted to punch him so badly. “You’ll be infiltrating the hideout at sundown.” 

Okay, that was a little better than blending in with regular people, but still, you had questions. “But why me?” You paused. “What? Ghost can’t handle a few bad guys on his own?”

The weight of the humvee shifted. “Got quite the mouth on ya,” a deep voice grumbled. You felt your cheeks heat. You slowly looked up to see Ghost stepping into the vehicle, sitting across from the two of you. The vehicle rumbled and began to move. 

Ghost’s eyes were locked with yours. You felt yourself shrink under his gaze. Fuck. He did something to you. Something that wasn’t good. Something that made you libidinous, unnerved with the weight of his eyes on you. 

If you were really going to have to tough this mission out with Ghost, you hoped it would at least go smoothly. The last thing you needed was your hands freezing up because of some snarky remark he’d make on the comms, flustering you. 

“I'm that bad, huh?” 

You snapped out of your thoughts, realizing Ghost’s mask was shifting as he looked at you–those must have been his words.

Uncomfortable with your silence, Soap spoke instead. “Lass is just privy to working alone. Come to think of it, she reminds me of someone else I know.” 

Ghost’s eyes darted to Soap’s, a wide grin on the mohawked man’s lips. 

Ghost trailed his view back to you, but you were already looking out the back of the vehicle, trying to ignore the two men beside you. 

There was something about you that he liked. Maybe it was the fact that he saw himself reflected in your visage. Not that Ghost would ever like someone like himself, but you seemed to understand where he came from. You even wore your mask at all times like he did. Something drew him to you, making him curious. Interested in why you hated him.

Standing in the shadows of the safe house, you slid on the outfit provided. “Jesus,” you grunted, the top you slid on tight around your chest. It was made to look like members of the gang you were scoping out tonight, the goal of this mission was to get one of the men alone and bring him back here. 

“‘Bout ready?” A husky voice echoed behind you. You jumped, quickly pulling your mask up before turning to him. You felt his eyes rove your body, his eyes lingering on your mask that you hastily shoved back above your nose.

“Who the fuck picked this shit out? It doesn’t fit.” 

Ghost’s outfit seemed to fit him just right. “It looks fine,” he grunted before turning away, his fist clenching. 

You sighed before following him. You looked down and noticed how your breasts billowed over your bra, strangled by the tight clothing. Even though no skin was showing, this shirt was revealing way more than you were comfortable with. Soap must have been the idiot who picked out the size.

You matched Ghost’s stride, a few feet behind him. “We’ll enter separately,” he told you as you entered into the cool night air. 

You nodded, your hand instinctively brushing over your gun hidden in the waist of your pants. 

You turned your comm on and made your way down the path you had gone over earlier on a map with Soap. There were two snipers watching you from the adjacent buildings, ready if something went wrong.

You felt uneasy as you approached your target building, seeing men much bigger than yourself outside its doors. 

They looked at you as you approached, their faces hidden beneath masks, mirroring you and ghost, preventing you from recognizing any of them. You paused in front of the one guarding the door, looking up. 

“Here for the meeting?” He asked, something sinister in the way he spoke. You nodded, your fist tight, hoping to god he let you in and didn’t sniff out your true intentions. 

The gravel crunched as two other men walked up beside their friend, their eyes taking you in. “Cute, little thing.” 

“Haven't seen you at one of these before.”

You turned your head. “First one in this location,” you said cooly, your insides boiling at the way they were demeaning you. Feeling sick as they looked you up and down.

You were certain they weren’t fooled, their eyebrows raised, letting you know they had sly grins on their lips beneath the thin material stretched across their faces. 

The guard stepped aside, letting you pass. 

“I’ll see you upstairs,” one of the other men called to you before pulling out a cigarette.

When the door behind you closed you let out a deep breath. 

“Fuck. Soap! So that's why you needed me!”

“Sorry, love. There were no other women on the force who could help out,” Soap’s voice genuinely seemed concerned.

You sighed, knowing the only reason you got past them was because of how engrossed they were with your body. Men were so stupid. Then you realized that’s why they would let Ghost in too. His tall, muscular frame was certain to impress the other men. Make them uncomfortable even. They wouldn’t turn away a guy built like him from coming to one of their meetings, even if they had never seen him before. You blushed thinking about Ghost’s frame and the way his shirt spread taunt over his chest.

“Didn’t give you too much trouble, did they?” A rough British accent spoke into your ear. You felt a chill run down your spine.

“Apart from them eye fucking me? No.” You paused. “Where are you?” You asked him, hoping your voice sounded more solid than it did in your ears. 

After snaking around the inside of the building, hearing a commotion on the top floor, you made your way up the stairs. Your eyes narrowed in on the men in the room, searching for your prey. You spotted a smaller man on the outskirts of the crowd of masked men, thinking he’d be best to get out of the building without alerting any of the other members. 

You moved to enter the room when large hands grabbed your arms and pulled you into the adjacent dark corridor. 

You looked up, surprised to see Ghost hovering above you. “Shit. What are you doing?” You asked, your eyes shooting bullets at him and your arms on fire from where his fingers wrapped around your bicep. 

“You were about to walk in their without me.”

“So?”

“This is a team mission,” he growled. “Those men are dangerous.”

“Oh, and what? Because I’m a girl you think I don’t know that?” 

He rubbed a gloved hand over his face, your body warming realizing his chest was almost touching yours. The hall was small, his frame engulfing you. He actually had to put effort into not leaning up against you. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing your way past him, your fingers tingling as you touched him. “Whatever you say, Lt.”

Ghost grumbled something behind you, aggravated with your attitude.

You both entered the room, eyes darting to the two of you. A few of the men smiled. You weren’t sure if it was because they were admiring Ghost’s build or your clearly defined chest. Probably both.

The meeting began and Ghost hovered near you. You felt a presence on your side and looked over, a man a good foot taller than you looking down. He bent over and whispered in your ear, making goosebumps rise on your neck. You had to stop yourself from snaking away then kicking him in the balls. You couldn’t make out what he said with Soap muttering something in your ear,  but you definitely heard him call you “doll.”

A few of the other men looked at you like you were their next meal, making you clench your hands, your nails digging into your palm. Fuck, you were so bad at this close-up shit. You’d do anything to be propped far away in a building looking down the scope of your sniper right now. You felt like you were intimidating enough to get by, but when surrounded by men much larger than you, you were an easy target. 

You felt someone grab your waist. Your hand instinctively went to your knife, fed up with these men already, when you realized it was Ghost. You looked at him in confusion as he shifted you so you were standing in front of him. He had slid you away from the ogling men without even glancing down at you, the men in the room getting the subtle hint that you were Ghost’s. And no one would dare challenge Ghost if they had any brains–he was easily the biggest man in the room. You suddenly felt protected with his frame towering behind you. He claimed you, in front of everyone. Your chest was pounding loudly.

Your ears warmed, but you kept a scowl on your face, frustrated that you weren’t hearing a thing from the meeting because your thoughts were now swarming with Ghost. Your body was tense as you felt his proximity close behind you.

You tried to erase the feeling of his fingers on your hips, but they lingered like a phantom. 

Almost an hour later, you both had slipped out of the room, waiting to pounce on the next guy to exit, which should be the smaller guy you spotted earlier if your timing was correct. Ghost stood a few feet in front of you, shadowed in the dark as you both waited. 

A man came out close to where you were, digging in his pocket for his phone when you grabbed him around the neck, your hand covering his mouth, pulling him against you. He struggled, dropping his phone in the process. You prayed no one could hear the shuffling of bodies as you fought against him. 

The man grunted then elbowed you in the chest, making you stifle a groan. Before you could swing him to the ground, Ghost’s fist collided with the man’s cheek, knocking him unconscious in one punch. You held the man as he went limp in your arms. You gulped, trying to settle the fluttering in your stomach at Ghost’s raw strength. 

Once you made it to the bottom of the stairs, the man slung over Ghost’s shoulder, you broke the silence. “I had that,” you snapped. You weren’t sure why you were so upset. It probably had something to do with the fact that Ghost had made you flustered again and again. You were more mad at yourself than anything.

Ghost’s eyes flickered to yours, something unreadable in his expression, likely anger. “This is a team effort, soldier. It doesn’t matter that ‘you had it.’” You slid out a back door, the sky dark now as you motioned to Ghost that the coast was clear. 

“You’re so full of shit,” you mumbled under your breath, not sure if you were talking about Ghost, or yourself. 

“Lover’s quarrel?” Soap’s voice sang over the comms into both of your ears. Your face went hot.

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny,” Ghost growled. You felt a chill spiral up your spine at the way his voice vibrated in your ear. It was like he was leaning over your shoulder and speaking with his lips only inches away from your ear. 

You hurried on ahead of Ghost, worried you might fumble or stutter with how fast your heart was beating.

Once you made it back to the safe house, Soap had appeared before you two to haul the guy you captured away into the other room as he slowly came back to consciousness.

Soap’s footsteps echoed down the hall as Ghost shoved you against the wall, his forearm extended over your neck, holding you in place. “Have I done something to you?” He snarled, his eyes shooting you daggers. 

Caught off guard, all you could do was shake your head. Your lips frozen.

Ghost freed you before moving into the living room. “Yeah? Then why are you so fucking spiteful towards me all the damn time? Thought it might just be your personality, but I’ve seen you with Soap. Clearly you have something against me and it’s distracting.”

You were distracting Ghost? You pushed the thought that was quickly rising back down, you were obviously distracting him in a bad way. This was nothing to blush over.

And yet… 

You followed him as he sat on a wooden chair, the safe house dark now that the sun had set. 

“I know I’m not the most likable–” he began, but you cut him off.

“I don’t hate you.” Your voice was meek as you sat on the couch, taking your gloves off. 

Ghost’s eyes traced your outline in the dark room, taking a long moment before speaking again. “Why do you always wear that mask?” He asked out of the blue, his mind still curious as to what he could have possibly done to make you hate him. He wasn’t even sure why he cared so much.

Your eyes shot up at him, your hands squeezing the gloves resting in your hand. “I could ask you the same thing.” You don’t know how, but you could tell he began to smile under his mask. 

“You ugly under there? Is that it?” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing… The lieutenant was teasing you. You rolled your eyes, trying to control your composure. “Quite the opposite,” you said, your voice not as confident as you wanted it to be. 

Ghost’s eyes lingered on you a minute longer before he got up and began shuffling through the files sprawled on the kitchen table. 

You got up and peaked down the hall, making sure Soap was still preoccupied in one of the rooms with your hostage. 

“I don’t hate you,” you said again as you appeared beside Ghost. You looked down at the files, his fingers stopping. You looked up, tracing his fingers up to his chest, and then his vibrant eyes. He was staring at you, waiting for you to say more. You cleared your throat. “I, uhm. I guess, you just… distract me.” You could tell he raised an eyebrow. “Intimidate me.” You corrected, your ears warming. You were certain Ghost had known you had a little crush. You thought your demeanor was obvious with the way you always seemed nervous around him. The way you’d avoid him. The way Soap would tease you when Ghost was in hearing distance. You didn’t think that he would think you hated him.

“I don’t believe that,” he finally said. 

You gulped and Ghost noticed the way you were suddenly shy. He saw it then. It finally clicked. The way you were shy around him. Not cold or put off. But fucking shy. You, of all people, were shy. Ghost’s cheeks suddenly felt hot as he watched you squirm under his gaze. It was that bloody mask’s fault. It made it hard to read your face most of the time. How could he be so oblivious? 

“Tell me,” his voice was deeper than earlier, startling you, needing to hear you say it. 

Your eyes nervously bounced between his, your hands clenching. He took a step closer, invading your personal space. “I don’t avoid you because I hate you,” you started, looking at his feet. 

He reached a hand out and shoved your chin upwards so you were looking at him. He quickly removed his hand and you almost whined. “Go on,” he egged. 

You swallowed hard. This was so embarrassing. You were about to come clean, things were going to become so awkward between the two of you—well, more awkward at least. “I avoid you because I like you.” There, you said it. His eyes were squinted as he studied your face. After a long moment of heavy silence, Ghost laughed. It was a beautiful sound that sent jitters through your body. 

Your face stayed stoic as you watched him. Ghost couldn’t believe that this was all because you had a little crush. His fingers came out to hook onto your mask, his eyes searching yours for permission. Without speaking, you let him. He pulled your mask down, peeling it away from your face, letting Ghost see the scars that lined your chin. The scar that cut through your lip. You wanted to cave in on yourself.

He just stared at you, not saying anything. You were feeling very uncomfortable as he dissected you, regretting ever saying anything at all. You should have just let him think you hated him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ Ghost cut you off as his hand slid along your jawline. Your breath caught in your throat. Ghost reached up to his own mask, pushing it up to the bridge of his nose, his thin lips and scruffy jaw becoming visible to you, along with his mirroring faded scars that sliced through his skin. He smirked. “Not so cocky now, huh?” His eyes danced between yours. “Cat got your tongue?” He teased, enjoying the way you had done a complete 180. Usually you were cold and grumpy, like him, but now, locked under his gaze, you were stuttering and blushing. Something inside Ghost melted a little. 

Before you could retort, Ghost was bending down, his lips hovering above your own, his breath hot on your face. Your eyes were wide as he gripped your chin in his gloved hand. When you didn’t pull away, Ghost closed the gap, your lips connecting. You were shocked at first, not sure what to do. But after a moment, after Ghost began to move his lips, you did as well, in sync with his. Your hands instinctively came out and grabbed onto Ghost’s jacket as he hunched over, pushing you into the wall from his sheer strength as he kissed you. You went on your tip toes, smashing your lips harder against him. His arm rested on the wall behind you, holding himself steady as he bent in half to reach your lips.

There was something heady and passionate in the way he kissed you. It was unlike any other kiss you ever experienced. Ghost softly pulled back, his eyes trying to read your own as you looked at one another breathlessly. “Ghost,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say. 

“Simon,” he corrected, his lips still hovering above yours letting you feel his hot breath against your face. 

Soap cleared his throat from behind you two. You jumped, startled. Ghost stood up straight, his back still to Soap and waited for you to pull your mask up before he turned around. 

Soap leaned against the doorway, his eyebrows wiggling as he looked at Ghost. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was interrupting something.” 

Ghost growled as he walked towards Soap. “Not a fucking word, Johnny,” he said harshly as he pushed past Soap to go into the other room where your hostage was being kept. 

You took in a unsteady breath, you probably should follow him. You had a job to do. 

Soap had a big grin on his face as you went to walk past him. “Was ‘bout damn time,” his Scottish accent was heavy. You shoved him, your body language betraying you, displaying just how embarrassed you were. “What?” Soap asked, playfully raising his hands as he turned to follow you down the hall.

As annoying as Soap was, you felt a smile form under your mask. This was not how you thought the day was going to go. Fuck. You were screwed.

#ghost #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #fluff #angst #ghost angst #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley

[floralpascal]

Teasing Headcanons - TF 141 + Alejandro, Rudy, & König

Summary: Seductively teasing and being teased by the COD MW2 boys outside of the bedroom...

Rating: Explicit (nsfw, mdni)

John Price

Oh. Oh wow. 

There’s no man on this earth that can tease better than John Price

As in all things, he’s an expert at it. To him, it’s a game of strategy and precision, two things he’s extremely good at

John isn’t in a rush when he teases you. He plays the long game and he plays it extremely well

It’s never anything overt from him. He makes little comments in your ear over time, each one dirtier and more suggestive than the last

He knows exactly what to say to get you excited. Every time he teases you, he learns more and more about what gets you needy for him and files it away for next time

He’ll discreetly squeeze your ass when he can, but usually his teasing is all verbal. He loves to see just how riled up he can get you when he’s barely even touched you

John’s goal is to have you so needy that you’re begging for him - a goal he’s never failed to achieve

His facade of calm, collected innocence is unshakable. You genuinely don’t understand how he does this all with a straight face. With the calm way he looks as he talks to you, someone might think he was talking about the goddamn weather.  Even once he’s built up to just whispering utter filth in your ear, no one could ever guess from his demeanor that he’s teasing you for being so needy for him

Tease this man at your own risk. I mean, you’ll love the result but please be ready for the intensity of this man when he’s needy

Most of the time, if you try to tease him, you’ll just make him start teasing you - and that’s a game he’ll almost always win

He’s almost impervious to your teasing

But he does have a soft spot: lingerie

If you go out with him to a social event (especially one he can’t back out of) and then very quietly let him know that you’re wearing something new for him under your clothes? Now you’ve got him

He doesn’t tease you when he gets like this, he’s too busy trying to keep his own composure

Give him a little peek at a strap when you have a moment alone and you’ll see his knuckles go white for the rest of the time you’re out

He’s so pent up the entire time after that and it’s so nice to see him needy for a change. His eyes barely leave you 

When he finally gets you back home, you don’t even make it to your bed. You’re lucky if you even make it out of the entryway

He’ll fuck you with the lingerie on, hard and fast on the floor, the wall, the table, the couch, all the above - he doesn’t care and neither do you 

It’ll be a long night, eventually you’ll make it to your bed

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Ghost can take it and dish it out equally

He never says or does too much to tease. It’s a quick murmur of how good he’ll make you feel that night, a light brush of his hand a little too low over your ass, and a meaningful shared gaze with you

He always teases so little but somehow it always works on you

He really enjoys watching you get all worked up for him, slowly getting more and desperate for him

Ghost’s favorite thing is when you can’t take it anymore and you pull him away to some private room - be it your house, a private bathroom, a damn broom closet even - to be alone with him. When you do that, he’s always got a small smile on his lips when he pushes his mask up to his nose before you desperately pull him in to kiss you 

Usually, he can tease you without working himself up too much and he likes it that way. He loves the contrast between his calm demeanor and your flustered one

It’s a different story when you tease him though

He’s not nearly as resistant to your teasing as he pretends to be

For him, verbal teasing doesn’t do much, it’s the physical teasing that gets him

Wear clothes that show off in all the right places, bend over so he sees your ass, or trail your hand a little too high up your own thigh as he watches and he’s starting to crack

He’s also a sucker for a simple sultry look over your shoulder but he’ll never admit it

He’s so easy but he swears he’s not 

The mask helps him pretend like your teasing isn’t getting to him as much as it is, but you’ve learned just to watch for the building tension in his muscles

You know you’ve got him when he tightly crosses his arms over his chest

He can control himself for as long as he needs to but the second the two of you are alone, he’s on you

He’s really handsy after you tease him, he just needs to feel every inch of you that’s been tempting him for hours

John “Soap” MacTavish

Soap is a huge tease, himself. Serious teasing, not serious teasing, a little mix of both - he can and will do it all

The thing about Soap is that he’ll even lightheartedly tease you if there’s other people that overhear it, passing it off as a joke. It’s never anything intimate, just some passing comment that most would easily ignore

He’ll never make you uncomfortable, though. If you don’t like something - like him jokingly teasing in front of other people - it’s off the table

Any serious teasing he does is never overheard or witnessed by anyone else though. That’s for you and you alone

He’s so confident when he’s teasing you. He’ll whisper the most depraved filth in your ear with a smirk on his lips

But the thing is that if you tease him back, serious or not, he’s a goner

Tease him, please. I’m begging you. 

He needs it to survive

He takes your teasing as a challenge, too. He’ll try to meet your teasing with his own, always trying to one-up you. It’s a game of “who will cave first?” (It’s him, it’s always him who caves first)

So once you start teasing him, please don’t stop

It doesn’t even matter what you say as much as how you say it. If you say it suggestively, that’s enough to get his imagination in overdrive

Soap can’t take his eyes off you after that and he’s practically making heart eyes at you from that point forward

If you’re in public and he can’t get you alone, he’s so distracted that people usually let him out of whatever he was supposed to be doing

He’ll pull you into the closest quiet and secluded space he can find and fuck you hard and fast, all the while whispering in your ear about how easily you can drive him mad

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

He’s an unintentional tease

And it’s usually more physical than verbal

He’ll run his hand a little too high up your thigh or a little too low on your ass

He’ll hug you from behind and press his whole font against your back

He also leaves quick kisses on your neck, absolutely driving you insane

Gaz thinks it’s just small displays of affection for you, he swears he didn’t mean to tease

He’s always so surprised when you point out how he’s been teasing you. He never thinks about it that way until you point it out

But after he realizes how flustered it’s making you, he’ll start whispering mischievously in your ear every once and a while with a small grin on his face

“That’s really all it takes to get you excited, love?”

“Did you want my hand to go higher, babe?”

He’ll lightly chuckle when he sees your breathing pick up

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

But if you start doing all the teasing things to him that he did to you, suddenly he understands

He goes silent when you tease him. He’s so flustered and unsure what to do

BIG “I can dish it out, but I can’t take it” vibes (and that’s so sexy of him)

Gaz can mostly endure your teasing if he has to. He can usually muscle through it until he finally gets you alone

But if you sit on his lap after you’ve been teasing him for a while, that’s his final straw

If you’re out in public, he’ll make a flustered excuse for why you two are leaving and then get you home as soon as possible

I feel like he would also be down for car sex if he was pent up enough and it would take too long to get you home

Alejandro Vargas

Doesn’t tease you

He could do it (and do it so well) if he wanted to, but he’s too impatient for that. If he’s talking dirty in your ear, he wants to be able to do something about it now

Plus, if he tried to tease you, he would end up working himself up, too

But, oh boy, can you get him riled up when you tease him

You only have to say one suggestive thing and you can see the change in his demeanor

If you tease him when you’re alone at home with him, I hope you’ve cleared your schedule for the rest of the day because you’re not leaving again. It doesn’t matter what time of the day it is or what you had planned, he’s getting you into your shared bed and keeping you there

Now, what’s way more fun is when you tease him while you’re both out and surrounded by others

Whisper in his ear how badly you want him, that you’re wearing a new set of lingerie under your clothes, or (better yet) that you’re not wearing any underwear and he is gone

Physical teasing works the exact same way. Bending down where he can see, grazing your hand along his thigh a little too high, holding his gaze while you wrap your lips around something like a popsicle

Once again: it’s so easy for you to rile him up

He’s ready to drop everything to take you home after only a few of your teasing gestures

If he can’t get out of whatever he’s doing and has to simply endure your teasing, he’ll be super short and grumpy with everyone and everything. It’s like he’s in physical pain

Once he does get you home, all your transgressions are forgotten. Just know it is going to be a little rough and very desperate 

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Doesn’t tease you, he’s not very good at it and has never quite figured out how to do it well

He also just much prefers it when you tease him

Dear god, please tease this man, he absolutely eats it up

He enjoys every torturous second of it

Physical teasing? Verbal teasing? Even just giving him a suggestive look? He wants it all

The way he sees it, your teasing shows how much you love him, that you want him that much

He likes any type of teasing you do, but it absolutely drives him insane when you sneak kisses down his neck

Or when you’re whispering in his ear and then you quickly and discreetly nip at the area just under his ear 

The one that really gets him, though, is when you kiss him and draw his bottom lip between your teeth before you pull away

Rudy will watch you walk away after you do it, his eyes hooded and a lovestruck smile on his face 

He loves the anticipation of it all and can endure your teasing for however long you want him to, either alone or in public

If you’re in public, others just notice that Rudy seems a little spaced out at times. Other than that, he seems pretty normal on the outside

Rudy never understands how no one ever seems to catch the two of you or notice just how whipped he is

But you can see how his eyes dilate, the way he drinks you in every time he looks at you 

On those nights, the sex you have once you get back home is absolutely mindblowing and intimate

König

Literally can’t tease to save his life

Couldn’t even do it if you asked him to

He would overthink it way too much and feel embarrassed even trying

When he’s out and about with you, his touches and words are nothing but innocent

Might unintentionally tease if he’s working out in front of you though. He somehow doesn’t understand how his straining, sweaty, ridiculously defined muscles as he physically exerts himself could be considered teasing. He never complains about the outcome though 

He loves the fact that it drives you wild. It really helps that it keeps him from being self-conscious about it 

König will start to blush anytime he knows you’re watching him work out, though. He knows by now that it means you’ll desperately pull him aside after he’s done 

“B-but I’m all sweaty…” he doesn’t understand that that’s the point

This man can’t withstand your teasing, especially if you’re in public. He may be fearless on the battlefield but he’s like putty the second you tease him

You can tease him in public as long as others don’t see or overhear it. That would send his social anxiety spiraling. So whispering to him is usually the best option

Whisper in his ear about what you want him to do to you later and that’s all it takes to get him flustered for you. OR, even better, if you whisper to him about everything you want to do to him (one little whisper about that makes him lose his damn mind for you)

If you start hardcore teasing him like that, he’ll melt

Thank god he wears the hood because he’s blushing so hard underneath it

It doesn’t take much before he’s practically begging to take you home so he can do everything you wanted him to do for you

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 headcanons #john price #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #rudy parra #könig #call of duty #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #my writing

[strwbwoo]

bunny

cw : konig x reader , smut , profanity , hair pulling , semi public sex , raw penetration (dont do it) ; pet names (sweet cakes , baby , kitten , hun , bunny , little girl , sweat heart , pretty girl) orgasm denial (once) , brat reader, degradation kink.. , begging , thigh fucking , alot of dirty talk , dumbifacation.. , exes to.. hook up , .7k (i got lazy)

an : this is dedicated to my friend ; i dont know much about this man (konig) but hot mask rigtht?

going to a halloween party yet konig was the last person youd think you would see. his eyes lazily open behind his cloth mask, his mysterious aura strangely turns on anybody, even if you dated that dick for 3 months,

“hey sweet cakes, didnt expect you here..” he chuckles but you scoff, “ditto.” attitude evident in your tone. “talking back to me kitten? that isnt like you” you roll your eyes, “tsk we over konig remember? im not your kitten” you grumble and he grumbles back, “ watch yer mouth, remember who yer talking to baby?” ugh youve learned to hate how he says endearing words.

or have you? cramped in the small half bathroom of the party, halloween decor over the mirror, regular bulb replaced with dark red led lights. where your body suit was supposed to cover your cunnie was placed to the side, exposing your slit to the cold air

“wanna think abt what you said princess?” thrusting hard with every word, only moans fall out of your slut mouth “hm? baby got nothing in her head?” knocking he seasons special pumpkin scented soap off the counter, “i didnt do an- anything wrong..”

“aww such a klutz, tsk cant do anything right can you?” gripping the back of your hair; close to your scalp, forcing you to look in the mirror in front of you, “look at you, youre pathetic baby…” its not fair that he knew what your body needed, “just admit it baby, then i can take care of you..” his voice hinted with sincerity but when could you ever tell if it was genuine or not

“please kon.. “ an old nickname you gave him while dating, “fuck- tell me what you need kitten..or should i say bunny?” he snickered; squeezing the cotton fluff on the butt of your body suit but your headband was nowhere to be found. you mewl so desperately- so bunny like, “i- i need you..” only to whine sliding his dick all the way out, clenching on nothing until he bottoms out again, not giving you time to adjust, “fuck baby, yer so wet” he chuckles

“cant help it.. feels good..” not meaning to boost his ego, “yea? whos making you feel good bunny?” such a douche one of the things why you broke it off with him, “..kon- konig..” barely mumbling, “say it baby”

but you keep mumbling, embarrassed. why? maybe bc your pathetic letting your jerk ex fuck you? or maybe that people will hear you beg for your lousy ex that you talk shit about.. i dunno girl

he halts his thrusts, “cmon hun” fuck right when you were about to cum, “plea- please..” tippy toeing as much as your heels allowed while attempting to thrust back into him before he tightens his hold on you preventing movement.

“konig! fuck konig please- need to cum! let me cum” you cant tell by the way his eyes squint he wears that smug smirk that you only got to see while dating, “really little girl? you want me to fuck you?” egging you on, “yes konig! fuck me goddamn it!” he clicks his tongue but allows it, “okay baby” he sings as he slips all but the tip of his dick out and slams back into your cunt causing you to yelp

“f-fuck sweatheart, yer hugging me like a glove” but you couldnt hear him over the skin slapping and that brain numbing dick is all you can focus on. “ t-too big” you whine, “slow down k-konig” feeding into his ego and his balls slapping on your clit adding to your pleasure

“s’okay you can take all it baby” even though he can your tight cunt slowing down his thrusts “f-fuck” he pants again, he can feel his balls tighten; about to cum. “jus loosen up baby” his right hand crawling to your clit and rubbing harsh circles,

rambling,“mm- fuck kon! m’ gonna cum!” he chuckles like bastard even now, “me too pretty girl” leaned forward, groaning in your ear. you can also see the sweat collecting on his mask, “cmon pretty make a mess..” and that you do, milking him for all hes worth, “f-fuck” pulling out right before his cum spurts on the back of yer body suit.

#konig x reader #konig imagine #konig mw2 #konig smut #konig x you #konig #konig cod #konig headcanons #konig call of duty #konig modern warfare

[ghosty-writes-23]

Incorrect COD Quotes Part. 1

WARNING: Suggestive (Slightly spicy) & dark humored content.

A/N: some of these might be a little suggestive, so you have been warned, Also V is my own female OC but can be read as x reader if you prefer that.

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

----------

Ghost: *see’s Soap and V do something extremely dangerous and sighs* “God give me patience for these two.”

V: *overhears him* “don’t you mean strength there sir.”

Ghost: “if god gave me strength you both would be dead.”

Both Soap and V: *gulp*

----------

König: *gives V a beaded friendship bracelet he made* “so you can have a part of me, when your on your mission”

V: *is on the verge of ugly crying under her mask as he placed the bracelet on her wrist* “I will protect this with my life.”

----------

Alejandro: *pats Graves on the shoulder giving him a knowing look* “I hate seeing you like this.”

Graves *has a confused look on his face* “Like what? I'm not upset.”

Alejandro: “no in person, I hate seeing you in person.”

*Dead silence*

V: *covers her mouth to hide the fact she is laughing under her mask and fails terribly*

----------

V: *does something idiotic and stupid that Ghost warned her not to do.*

Ghost: *sees V get hurt* “I don’t care, I warned her that if she hurt herself I wasn’t going to help her.”

Voice over: “but ghost did really care as later that night he made sure her injuries were too serious and lightly scolded her before giving her one of his hoodies to wear and played with her hair until she fell asleep*

----------

Ghost: *takes off his mask revealing his face in front of everybody*

Price: “It's good to see you again, Simon.”

Soap: *lowkey checking ghost out*

Gaz: “not what I expected.”

V: “Why is everybody in this group so goddamn pretty, it makes me feel like a trash gremlin.” 

Ghost: *puts his mask back on*

Soap: “don’t worry V, you will always be our trash gremlin.”

----------

Price: *walks into the briefing room looking for V* "can I have my sweater back"

V: *looks at him innocently* "only if I can have my virginity back"

*Cue whole briefing room goes silent*

V: *laughs before sliding his hoodie off and hands it to him* "here you go sir"

----------

Soap and V are at the pet store, looking for collars for the new squad dog teddy.

Soap: “Okay we got everything, let's go already, wait where is V?”

V *is in the collar section, looking for a choker chain*

Soap: “why are you looking at choker chains, you don’t have a pet?”

V: “how do you know that sergeant” *smirks slightly under her mask and grabs the one she is looking for and places it around Soaps neck before giving it a slight tug*

Soap: *grunts and stumbles forward* “What kind of dog is it?”

V: *giggles soft before taking it off and grabs another in the same size* “ones that need to be house trained, now let's get out of here before Price rings us and asks why we are taking so long”

*Bonus*

*later that week in training Soap see’s both König and Ghost sporting what looked like dog choker chains around their necks*

----------

*The 141 men + V are in the common room, relaxing after training.

V: Spread me apart, lick me with your tongue, grab my sides, and eat my cream and that is how you eat an Oreo cookie.”

Soap: *chokes on his drink* “bloody hell woman.”

Gaz: *is laughing at soap’s reaction* 

Price: *gives her the disappointed dad look* “Really V.”

V: Oh come on captain it was funny.

Ghost: *is cleaning his gun but does chuckle at her joke*

----------

Gaz: “does anybody else notice that people that liked to be choked, hate being tickled.”

V: *feels slightly called out and starts sweating and nervously laughing* “haha, that's oddly specific there Gaz.”

Gaz: “It's like they are completely fine with you cutting off their oxygen supply, but as soon as you try to tickle them, they will kill you.”

V: *looks at him dead serious* “Maybe some people hate being tickled.”

----------

©️2023-GhostyWrites23 All Rights Reserved.

❌Please don't repost, translate or copy any of my work without permission.❌

#tw: dark humor #tw: suggestive #cod x original female character #cod #task force 141 x original female character #task force 141 #cod headcanons #incorect quote #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #mw2 #Original female character #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod incorrect quotes #cod mw2

[spookitapes]

faking an orgasm w/ chuckle sandwich (100 followers special)

summary | rip that pussy fr. you fake an orgasm and must pay the prices for ur actions bro. praying ur coochie survives tbh...

pairing |  jschlatt x fem!reader , ted nivision x fem!reader, charlie slimecicle x fem!reader

warnings/cw | smut, overstimulation, edging, doggy style, fingering, rough sex, humiliation, degradation, fucking while on ft, bathroom sex, spanking, mean!ted, sucking balls bc I'm nasty, male masturbation, panties used as binds, orgasm denial, etc.

word count | 4k

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

a/n: sorry this is late guys i had some family emergencies !! buuut it's finally here !! i was gonna make it longer, but ill make up for it with more soon :))) hope you ennjooyyy !! (AND AGAIN THANK YOU FOR 100 AHHHH)

not proofread, sorry for any mistakes !!

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

↳˗ˏˋ jschlatt ˊˎ˗ ↴

the clock on the living room shelf reads 3:15am. you can barely make it out from your current position; face smushed into the couch cushions with your ass in the air. schlatt's got a hand on your back, forcing the arch deeper as he watches himself disappear into your pussy.

"please go f-faster !"

"only after you cum for me, doll..you know the deal."

there's a hint of a smile in his tone, and it pisses you off. he's been gone for 3 1/2 weeks and this is how he treats you when he gets back? you always make fun of him for being impatient...but now he's proving you wrong in the cruelest of ways. he surprised you a week earlier than planned, snuck up on you while you took your morning shower. you were so lost in your own world you didn't notice the door reopening & closing, or the sound of his clothes hitting the floor..you definitely didn't notice the sound of the shower door, because it made your heart fall out of your ass when you felt arms wrap around your naked waist.

"it's just me, sweetheart," rung out in that deep ny accent you're become accustomed to.

you turned around in his arms, swatting attacks on his chest. your smile shining even as you tried to hold up the annoyed front. he looked at you with so much love and admiration it almost made you feel bad as you went to scold him, "what the hell, jay! you scar-"

but he cut you off with a passionate kiss. weeks worth of missing you all wrapped up into it. from the way he traced figure 8's on your hip, to the other hand that left to cradle your face..you could feel it all pouring out of him. but the second your arms wrapped around his neck to deepen it, he pulled away with that signature 'up to no good' smirk of his plastered on that mother fucking face.

"come on, babe. we gotta hurry so you can open your early gifts."

so he kissed your forehead and continued the shower like normal..he let you wash his hair like always and even let you do your skin routine on him. he made breakfast with you while wearing matching face masks, and after you ate he made you open the gifts he got you while away...well most of them.

and when you tried to show him your thanks in the form of getting on your knees...he stopped you. "I wasn't suppose to be back for a whole other week," that stupid ass smirk returned to his face. "so you can be good girl and wait...can't ya, honey? you can prove to me you deserve your last gift, right?"

the mention of another gift caught you off guard, you tilted your head at him from between his legs with confusion written all over your face.

"if it's not your cock I don't want it," comes out with a pout trailing on your lips.

a hand grabbed you, cheeks smushed together as he dragged your faces together. "trust me when I tell you I won't touch you for a whole goddamn month if you don't listen, understood? you think a week is bad, doll? let's try 4."

you whined out a pitiful noise before nodding in agreement. the hand quickly moved down to your throat. "don't push your luck, y/n. now..I said are.we.understood?" he let his grip tighten around your throat after each word, that fuzzy feeling clouding your head.

"y-yeah jay, I understand!"

.........

you made it all of 3 days into the 7 before you caved..coming to him dressed in nothing but the pretty chiffon slip he gifted you from his trip, begging for a truce. so he smiled at you and said he'd fuck you how you like...all you had to do is let him have his way with you for 4 orgasms. since you couldn't wait the remaining days like he wanted, he'd just make you wish you had...

the first orgasm was fast; he didn't waste any time sliding your see thru dress up your thighs to bury his tongue between them. he ate you like a man starved– messy and loud as he sucked every drop that left your sweet pussy.

the second wasn't too far behind the first. schlatt didn't give you time to recover as he shoved two of his fingers inside you before sucking on your clit again. your hands tangled in his hair, back arching and toes curling.

it took him all of 5 minutes to have you cumming again for the third time. adding another finger and grinding it into your spot while leaving open mouth kisses on your body. sucking on your neglected nipples thru the sheer fabric, his palm stimulating your clit just right.

and that brings us to now– the fourth and last before you get your reward, but schlatt's not playing fair. he's edging you at such a slow pace there are tears streaming down your face. it feels like he's been at it for hours. slowly slipping in and out of your pussy, pulling out and giving you a pussy job when he feels you're too close.

you're frustrations are at an all time high...so you do something you've never thought about with schlatt. you start breathing harder, thrashing around a little, and you put on your best performance...so full of yourself and so confident he won't notice.

as soon as your done, you're feigning exhaustion as you lower your hips down to the soft texture of the couch. schlatt leans his body down onto yours, his chest against your back. a hand comes up to run through your hair, and you let yourself lean into its comfort.

until it turns into his fingers digging into your scalp and pulling your head back so he's right against your ear, "you know the funniest thing just happened, honey. you made all that racket, but I didn't feel my pussy tighten up like she does when she cums."

your apology shortly dies on your tongue, because schlatt's pulling out of you and landing spanks to your pussy in an instant. he flips you over, and with a hand tightly on your throat he's bullying his cock back into you. he isn't holding back this time though— ohhhh no. you wanna spoil his fun ? you wanna be a brat ? fine he's just gonna fuck you till your pussy can't cream on him anymore.

"funny to think you're always calling me the impatient one, but now you're the one that can't wait 4 more days to get this pussy played with, huh angel?"

when the last load of jonny’s cum is bullied into your cunt the sun rise is shining in thru the windows, basking you both in a warm amber glow. you both find comfort in the cosy ambiance that settles around you.

and you're both panting, trying to catch your breaths from the pipe he just laid when a sinister smirk crosses your face, "soooooo…can I have my gift now?"

schlatt let's out an airy laugh before he lands a playful slap to your ass, pulling you closer to him before leaving a kiss to your forehead.

"absolutely not. you're waiting the 4 damn days, and I don't wanna hear no lip about it neither."

“buuuut baaaaabbbbyyy i- oOOOOUUUUCCHHHH !!”

you’re grabbing at your forehead and kicking your legs out defensively towards your boyfriend because of the flick he just gave you. he’s obviously finding it amusing, rolling away from your line of reach while tears fill his eyes from laughing so hard.

“goddamn you got a thick ass cranium, babe! my fucking finger hurts so bad!”

(bonus)

unlike you, he actually holds out until the last day. schlatt's super excited though, considering the importance of the date. he couldn't sleep at all the night before, so he wakes you up with breakfast in bed..a box on the tray with a necklace inside.

"happy anniversary, doll. now you'll have a piece of me even when I'm away."

↳˗ˏˋ ted ˊˎ˗ ↴

when ted came up behind you as you did you’re makeup, the last thing you expected was to be bent over the bathroom counter taking back shots. you both needed to be heading out the door 5 minutes ago, but your boyfriend got too distracted by your costume. so now he’s balls deep fully dressed as austin powers while he has your top pulled down so he can see your tits bouncing.

“we-we’re gonna be l-laaaaate!” you’re whining while making eye contact with him thru the mirror.

you're trying so hard to not mess up your makeup, only having had your lips left to do...but now your wig’s not set, your outfits not ready anymore, and you're gonna have to cover up the hickeys he’s leaving on your neck. to say you’re stressed out would be an understatement.

“baby, you know schlatt doesn’t start anything on time. i bet no one’s even there yet, okay ? now stop worrying that pretty little head and let me make you feel good.”

as if on cue there’s a ding from your phone, a message from the big man himself asking when you think you two will be arriving since you’re bringing a good amount of the liquor.

“ignore him,” it comes out gruff as he flips your phone over so the screens no longer showing.

"b-but i still have to fin-finish getting ready!"

"and you will," the hand gripping the back of your neck forces you to look at your own reflection, "...but not until we're done, princess. now look at how pretty you are and take this dick."

your phone is vibrating now, ringing so loud it makes you jump at first. you already know it's schlatt and in that moment you start debating on the worst best? decision you've ever made. you go back and forth but when the sound of the phone dissipates followed by another text...you make up your mind. so without missing a beat, you start scrunching up your face, pushing your ass back against his thrusts, and faking the best moans you can produce. ted stops immediately, a confusing look adorning his face. he pulls out and you can feel him staring into your soul before you even rise your eyes to meet his gaze.

"....what...was that, y/n?"

"w-what do you mean? i cam dumbie," you smile up at him thru the reflection, "now let me finish getting ready, and ill suck you off while you drive."

ted's jaw drops at that, a scoff leaving his body as he shakes his head in disbelief. he's laughing soon enough, laughing so hard he falls forward to clutch his stomach.

"i know you're not calling that half-assed, theater kid performance an orgasm!"

your cheeks go red as you look away in the mirror; you can feel him staring into your soul without even looking up to meet his gaze.

“look at me, baby.”

but you don’t..you’re too shy now that he knows the truth.

“y/n.”

he’s turning you around now, but your eyes are trained on they bathroom tiles below you. refusing to meet his eyes as he calls your name again. next thing you know a hand is lightly gripping your chin to tilt it up towards him.

“just look at me, love. swear i’m not mad.”

so you take a deep breath before looking up, pouty lips and puppy dog eyes in full affect.

“stop looking at me like that.”

“like what ?”

“like that.”

you furrow your brows and lightly slap him on the chest before attempting to turn back around. but ted’s arms are wrapping around you, your naked chest pressed to his clothed one. he notices your nipples are sensitive as you shiver from the contact as they brush against his costume. at this he picks you up to set you on the counter.

“i think i need to teach you a lesson, baby.”

you whine at this, voice annoyed as you once again try to tell him you need to get ready. but ted’s spanking your inner thigh to get you to shut up, his voice deepening for what he says next.

“what’s rule one, princess?”

your thighs clench around his hand even though it’d take him less than 5 seconds to overpower you and force them back open again. you curse as the involuntary needy tone leaves you and flows thru the air, sounding breathless as you go to answer him.

“…n-no..no back talking.”

“mhmm,” he’s pushing your legs apart and sliding his fingers closer to your center, “and what are you doing?”

a frown spreads across your face, “..i-i’m talking back..”

“so what should i do, y/n?” he’s rubbing circles on your clit at this point, making you feel all fuzzy.

“y-you should punish me, teddy.”

he’s groaning out at the nickname, fingers moving to push inside of you at a rough pace. you can hear the sound of ted’s fingers fucking you and his palm smacking your clit from how good he’s giving it to you. you start squirming around from the feeling, so overwhelmed since you didn’t expect to be this sensitive from not actually cumming earlier. but his free arm is wrapping around your hips to keep you still as he starts pressing kisses to your jaw, bound to add to the mess of marks he’s already left there. you’re sweating at this point, clawing at your boyfriend's shoulders as he moans into your neck.

“you're gonna cum on my fingers, cum on my dick, then we're leaving. you can fix your shit in the car since you're in such a hurry, princess."

you're moaning out at that, getting tighter at how rude his tone is. ted's been rough with you plenty of times. he's your dom for christ's sake, but...he's never been this mean.

(and you're mclovin it)

"aww you like that? felt you clenchin on me, baby," you can feel his smile against your skin.

you're nodding your head, too busy moaning to find words. the orgasm building in your stomach is coming faster than you realized.

'i-i'm gonna cuuuum!"

"go ahead, cum all over my fingers like the slut you are."

the orgasm rips thru your body at the permission, your noises being silenced as ted gives you a passionate kiss while he helps you ride it out. as soon as your body calms down he's pulling you off the counter,

"ohh shit, i got you love!"

he catches you on your shaky legs, kissing your nose before spinning you around. you're finally met with your reflection once again, ted's cock lining up with your entrance as one of his hands intertwines with yours. he slides in slowly, bottoming out with a groan. he stays still for a few minutes just to tease you..and it works. so you start pushing back against him, wiggling your ass for extra measure. he's landing a light slap to your ass with his free hand, a smirk on his lips as he starts slamming into you. but soon enough your phone's going off again, schlatt's face filling up your screen for the second time tonight.

"answer it."

"w-what?"

"answer it, princess. let's see how good your poker face is."

your free hand scrambles to grab your phone, bending over a little so ted's out of the frame and your tits aren't on screen.

"what the fuck is taking you bastards so long?" comes blaring through your speakers.

"s-sorry we're gonna head o-out soon!" you try to say it normally, but with the way ted's filling you up, it's nearly impossible.

schlatt's drowning in confusion, but then ted makes a mistake...he thursts in balls deep, a loud clap followed by your moans you can't hold back.

"t-teddy!" your brows are scrunching up and your toes curling as your boyfriend keeps the new pace, your grip loosening so schlatt gets an eye full of your tits bouncing with his best friend behind you. schlatt goes quiet, memorized by the sight on his phone.

"show big guy how you cream for me, love...and make sure he sees your pretty face when you cum."

your eyes roll into the back of your head when his fingers find your clit, cum so much it starts running down his dick and staining his pants. he fucks you through your orgasm, holding your overstimulated body up as he starts back up.

"almost done, baby. gonna cum in your cunt first though," he's bringing your still-conjoined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of yours. he starts jackhammering his hips as your whines get louder. "w-want your cum, teddy! g-give it to me-- please baby. need it!"

ted slams into you one last time, stopping balls deep as you shiver from him pressing against your g spot juuuust right. he lets out a deep groan as he empties inside of you, pulling your head back to reconnect your lips as his hands wrap around your waist.

(bonus)

silence ensues as your breathing regulates, falling into the comfort of his embrace...until your ears pick up on a familiar accent,

"holy.fucking.shit."

↳˗ˏˋ charlie ˊˎ˗ ↴

you and charlie are having a movie night at his place, the half-eaten popcorn bowl abandoned on the coffee table beside an empty bag of gummy bears. the sun setting and your full belly are a bad combo as your eyelids grow heavier as the seconds tick by. you're about to pass out when you feel him move behind you, hips pressing into yours as he yawns. you let out a loud whine, cockwarming him now backfiring as it makes you start to throb around him.

"don't tell me you were about to fall asleep," his voice startles you so you jump a little. making your predicament worse as it makes his dick hits a spot deep within you, moaning out as you press your thighs together. "s-shut up!"

he just laughs at that, wrapping his arms around you to pull you flush against his chest. you grip his forearms, feeling him somehow sink even deeper into you. "stooop baby..this isn't fair!"

you look over your shoulder, giving him a sad look to guilt trip him. it seems to work because he's pulling out to quickly slam back in, hands going to strip you of his oversized hoodie you have on. (the ONLY thing you have on btw)

charlie's a sweetheart, always treating you like a queen in and out of the bedroom. but you notice the dark look in his eye sometimes, the way he gets lost in his head and will start pounding into you. you know he's holding back, can sense it every time your intimate...and you crave to know what's going thru his head in those moments. so you do the only thing you know charlie will hate. you two specifically spoke about faking orgasms the first time you has sex.

"just be honest with me, i need to learn your body and what you like. don't gotta pretend with me, y/n. never with me, okay?"

you know he's got a dom in him somewhere, so you do what you have to to see if you can bring it out. as he squeezes your newly uncovered tits you start your plan with loud moans pouring from your mouth. you do the poorest job of faking it, making sure to give your worst performance possible. you feel charlie freeze up behind you, his arms loosening from around you.

"ch-charlie?" your voice shakes as you call out to him, "why'd you stop, baby?"

before you know it he's pulling out of your pussy, forcing you off the couch and onto your knees. "you know exactly why. don't act fucking dumb," his eyes are set into a glare as he spits the words at you. your hands go to grab his cock, thinking he wants to use your throat. but he's slapping your hands away before going to grab your panties off the floor, using them to bind your hands behind your back.

"now you're gonna fucking sit there and let me cum on that pretty face like the slut you are," he's standing in front of you now, towering over your naked frame on the floor. your sitting on your knees, bound and so wet it's driving you insane. your boyfriend's muscles are flexing as he pumps his cock, red angry tip leaking precum profusely.

you start squirming, trying to get some pleasure from pressing your thighs together as you watch him in all his glory. he thankfully doesn't notice for a few minutes, too lost in his new mindset he's finally opening up. but when he does he's kicking your legs apart, free hand going to your hair to bring your attention up to him, "so goddamn needy but you're not cumming tonight, baby."

you whine at that, opening your mouth to talk back but you're cut off by charlie shoving his balls into your mouth. your brain melts as your tongue massages him, eyes going hazy as you slip into sub space. there's drool running down your chin, switching between his balls as he starts letting out some whines of his own.

"keep fucking sucking," he's quickening his pace now. the air in the room reeking of sex as charlie's chest starts heaving, cheeks growing red as he nears closer to his orgasm. you do your best to make it the best you can without your hands, pussy leaking all over the floor from the sight above you.

"oooh fuuuuuccckkk," he's forcing your head to stay choking on his balls as he pumps himself to the edge. your eyes are rolling into the back of your skull from the grip in your hair, moaning out at the feeling. he's whimpering as ropes of his cum paint your face, the vibrations finally sending him into nirvana. he releases your hair, petting your head as he leans down to untie your wrists.

"you okay, baby? did i go too far? fuck I'm so sor-" you cut him off with a kiss. silencing his doubts as you burst into a smile, pulling away to smirk at him as you reflect on what just happened.

"my plan totally worked!"

his mouth falls open at your confession, completely caught off guard by your sneaky ass games.

"i knew you couldn't have been that bad of an actor! no way that was your best fake orgasm!" he's smiling at you as he brings your wrists to his mouth, leaving kisses against the red marks.

"obviously! i could definitely fool you if I wanted," a scream leaves your lips as soon as the sentence leaves your mouth. charlie doesn't hesitate to throw you over his shoulder as he lands a playful slap on your ass.

"yeah sure, cupcake," your view of the floor is flipped as your boyfriend tosses you onto his bed. "now lay back and let me show you why you don't ever have to fake an orgasm again...even if it was only to set me off. "

"i don't know…it got us what we both wanted, right?" there's a light in your eyes as you say it, giggles flowing thru you effortlessly.

"oh you're trouble," he's lowering himself against your body, smile never leaving his face.

"yeah…but that's why you like me so much."

"yeah.. it is you fucking psycho."

(bonus)

"cooome on, baby," it's moaned into your overstimulated pussy, charlie devouring you from underneath. he's been between your thighs for an hour now, with this last round leading him to sweet-talk you into sitting on his face. your juices are running down his face and chest, hands tangled in his hair. you two lock eyes as your stomach starts twisting up for the fifth time tonight. there's a smugness to his voice as your legs start shaking around his head, "yeaaahh this one's real, huh honey?"

#cass.lair #jschlatt #ted nivison #charlie slimecicle #jschlatt smut #ted nivision smut #Charlie slimesicle smut #jschlatt x reader #ted nivison x reader #Charlie slimesicle x reader #chuckle sandwich #chuckle sandwich x reader #chuckle sandwich smut #jschlatt.cass #ted.cass #cass.jschlatt #cass.ted #cass.charlie #cass.chucklesandwich #jschlatt fanfiction #jschlatt x y/n #ted nivison x y/n #ted nivison fanfiction #Charlie slimesicle fanfiction

[britany1997]

I'm so glad your requests are open! You're my favorite when it comes to writing Paul. Would you be able to do a fiction based on Paul by big thief? Smut would be amazing but I'd take anything from you! thank you so much

Starry-Eyed Lovers

Omg your favorite??? I’m crying🥹 Thank you so much, I absolutely love writing for Paul, I think it’s probably no secret that he’s my favorite😍 I hope you like this! No smut in this one, but I’m always down to write part twos!

Paul x GN Reader

Warnings: mild angst but happy ending

(The song ends kinda sad, but after Paul x Angel Reader, I could hurt my baby boy like that again so soon😖 so I went in a little bit of a different direction with the ending)

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You leaned against the door of your car, cigerette in hand as you waited for the long haired blond to awake from his daytime slumber.

You’d spent many a night in the freight train yard with Paul, drinking and laughing as you forgot your respective troubles together.

Paul was always good for a fun time and you were always looking. You craved a distraction from the monotony of your day to day life, something Paul was happy to provide.

You raised an eyebrow and threw your cigarette to the ground, stomping it out as a mop of blond hair peaked from the entrance to the sunken hotel.

“Ready to go?” You asked.

He waved and held up a bag of weed, “yep! Brought the good stuff,” he laughed.

“Me too,” you told him as you pulled your bag around and flashed him the bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Perfect,” he smiled as he pulled it the rest of the way out of you bag, popped the cap and taking a swig.

“Hey!” His gaze whipped to you at your exclamation, “open container laws idiot, you can’t have that out in my car.” You explained.

He flashed you a fangy smile as he slid into the passenger seat, bottle in hand, “chill babe, any cop that pulls us over for that shit’ll just be givin’ me something else to drink.”

“Not your babe,” you mumbled as you climbed into the driver’s seat and spurred the engine to life.

A grimaced flashed across Paul’s face, but he masked it before you could see, “course, sorry,” he mumbled back.

You clenched the steering wheel while wearing your own grimace. You might not have been his babe, but goddamn did you want to be.

You whipped your car in circles around the abandoned yard. Smiling and laughing as Paul stuck his head out the window and whooped. Dust flew around you everywhere as your tires ground into the dirt.

As you watched Paul extend his entire torso out the window, you found yourself eternally grateful he was immortal.

His hair blew in the breeze as he laughed and yelled, and it became harder and harder to focus on the path of your car.

Eventually you pulled up and parked, flicking off the headlights as you removed the key from the ignition. Paul tumbled out of the passenger seat, bottle under his arm as you exited the car as well.

The two of you crawled into the open compartment of a storage car and leaned against the walls across from each other. Your legs tangled together, and your gazes fixed on each other.

He handed you the bottle as he pulled the weed and some rolling paper from his pocket. You tipped the bottle back and your face twisted as the whisky burned the back of your throat.

You watched Paul lick the paper before rolling it up. He leaned forward to hand it to you as you leaned forward to take it from him.

You were immediately aware of how close your faces were to each other. Paul’s bright blue eyes were trained on your lips, and yours on his.

You had spent many nights alone, wondering what his lips felt like, imagining them on yours. Sometimes you wondered if he stayed up thinking of your lips, if he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

Paul’s gaze met yours and you looked back at him curiously.

“Please?” He asked.

Your face flushed with shock, but your heartbeat quickened with desire. You nodded softly, and that was all Paul needed.

He cupped your face with both hands and sealed his mouth over yours. His lips felt soft and cold, and you could taste the faintest hint of Jack Daniels on his tongue as it slid into your mouth.

You hands reached up to find perchance in his perfect blond locks, he moaned into your mouth as you pulled gently.

Paul slid his hand down to the small of your back. He laid you down on the floor of the storage car and climbed over you. Your hands moved from his hair to his cheek as you began to caress him.

He placed his hands over yours pulling them from his cheeks and pinning them down on either side of your head before moving his mouth down from you lips to suck and tug at the crook of your neck, moaning against the skin.

When you felt Paul suck a hickey into your neck, you snapped to your senses.

“Wait, Paul, stop,” you gasped.

He pulled back immediately as you stood and fell against the wall, as far from him as possible.

Paul hugged himself and refused to meet your eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said to the floor, “I would never want to pressure you, I thought…” he trailed off, “I’m sorry, I can…I can find another way home.”

You pushed off the wall, “no,” you sighed, “Paul no, I’m sorry, you didn’t pressure me,” you assured him, “and you weren’t imagining anything either, I wanted you too,” you whispered.

His head snapped up to look at you, “Then why…”

“Because you deserve better than me,” you told him as tears began to roll down your cheeks, “I’m only going to disappoint you. I’m only going to hurt you.”

Paul’s brow furrowed in concern and confusion.

“You like being around me because I’m great for a good time, but when the fun stops what are you gonna be left with?” You asked him, “you don’t know me, not really,” you laughed humorlessly.

“Once you see past the two dimensional version of me that I pretend to be when I’m with you, you won’t want me,” you told him, “you’ll regret being with me, I’ll pull away and ice you out, and we’ll both be miserable,” you sighed.

You stared deeply into his eyes, “I care about you too much to be with you.”

A long moment passed between the two of you. “That’s bullshit,” Paul broke the silence matter-of-factly.

“What?” You asked, shocked and slightly offended.

“That’s bullshit,” Paul repeated, standing up and walking towards you.

He stood in front of you, stroking his fingers down your arm, “you think I love some idea of you? Not the real you?”

Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat when ‘love’ left his lips, but if he noticed, he didn’t seem to care. “I’m not some self-absorbed asshole…well not all the time,” he chuckled to himself, “I watch you, you know?”

He cringed, “sorry, not in like, a weird stalkery way, in like an ‘I pay attention way,’” he rambled.

His face turned serious, “I can tell when we’re hanging out, and you’re in it, like you don’t have a care in the world,” he explained.

“But I can tell when you’re mad, when your nails dig into the palms of your hands, when your jaw clenches, and you think no one sees but I do. I see you.”

“And i know when you’re sad too,” he continued, “I’ve seen you smile a million times, I love your smile, and I know when it’s fake,” he sighed, “when you smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.”

“I don’t want you just for a good time, I mean, I want that too…” you shot him a glare, “right sorry,” he apologized, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I want you, I love you for you, all of you,” he promised, “give me all your pain, all your tears, I’ll hold your hand through it all,” He stroked your cheek and you leaned into his touch.

“I’m not gonna regret choosing you, I promise,” he whispered, “you’re never gonna be too much for me, I want to be everything for you,” he told you, “if you’ll let me of course,” he clarified.

Your face softened and you sighed, “I’ve been burning for you since we met Paul, I want to be everything for you too,” you told him.

He beamed as he slipped an arm around your waist, “let’s seal it with a kiss sugar,” he proposed.

You smiled as your lips met his once again.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Taglist❤️:

@misslavenderlady @6lostgirl6 @pixielostboy @ghoulgeousimmaculate @anna1306 @its-freaking-bats @solobagginses @altierirose @bloodywickedvamp

#the lost boys #paul lost boys #tlb #the lost boys fic #tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #lost boys 1987 #lost boys fic #Paul fic #Paul x gn reader #gn reader #Paul #Paul big thief

[lovelybucky1]

Kinktober Day 21- Mask Kink

warnings: college au, enemies to lovers, mask kink, costumes, simulated violence, teasing, no real violence/not dark, 18+ minors dni

kinktober masterlist

main masterlist

Jake Seresin has always been an asshole. He’s bothered you since the day you met, constantly teasing you just because he had a crush. It was no secret that he wanted you, and you can’t deny his good looks or charm, but you had too much self respect to fall for a guy like him.

Every time someone throws a party, he ends up following you around like a lost puppy, hoping for a smidge of attention. It would be endearing if he wasn’t so goddamn annoying.

Tonight, Bradley’s frat is hosting a halloween costume party and everyone is having a good time. You’re not above wearing skimpy costume for halloween; you look good and you’re hoping to not go home alone later.

Everything is going great. You’re a drink in, your friends are laughing and having fun, and Jake is nowhere to be found.

Tasha, who is dressed as a devil, introduces you to her new friend Bob, who is dressed like an angel, but ironically wearing very little.

“Can you get us some punch?” Tasha asks, yelling over the music and the noise of the crowd. You nod, and start off towards the kitchen.

When you get there, you’re blessed with some quiet. The room is empty and you relax a bit now that you’re not worried about a hoard of drunk people knocking you over.

You fill two cups full of the pink, sickly-sweet liquid that is surely going to give everyone a serious hangover. Just as you’re about to pick up the cups and walk back to Tasha and Bob, you’re grabbed from behind.

An arm wraps around your waist, and a hand covers your mouth, muffling your scream. You thrash, trying to get out of the person’s hold, but you stop once you hear a familiar chuckle in your ear.

They let go of you and you turn around to face them. You’re met with the sight of someone in a Ghostface mask and a black robe, towering over you. You’re still catching your breath from the scare while you glare up at them.

“What’s the matter? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” they say, a smirk evident in their voice.

“You’re such an asshole, Jake,” you huff, trying to turn back around but you’re stopped with a hand on your hip.

“Oh, come on,” he says as he pulls his mask up, letting it rest on the top of his head. “I didn’t scare you that bad, did I?”

You cross your arms and glare up at him.

He laughs, his pretty smile splitting his face and it’s hard to stay mad at him when he looks like that. He steps forward, into your space and crowding you against the edge of the counter. You’re annoyed expression falls, transforming into something Jake has never seen from you before.

“You poor thing,” he coos condescendingly as he reaches up to brush his fingers under your jaw.

You turn your head away from his touch, but you don’t have far to move when he is so close.

“I’m just saying, you could’ve played along a little more,” he says.

“What, you want me to pretend to be your helpless victim?”

Jake shrugs, still smirking as he pulls his mask down. “Something like that.”

“Oh, please don’t kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!” you say, voice intentionally higher pitched and dripping with sarcasm.

“That was pretty good. You have practice begging?”

You should be used to Jake’s teasing and innuendos by now, but they still make you flustered. He pushed his mask back up and suddenly you feel small under his gaze. You flick your eyes away from his, now looking somewhere over his shoulder.

“I hate you so much,” you say instead.

“Awh, you’re breakin’ my heart, baby,” he says, tilting your head and making you look back at him. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“Well,” he leans closer. “If I scared you so bad, and you hate me so much… why didn’t you run?”

“Because you grabbed me, asshole,” you scoff.

Jake raises his eyebrows, then takes a step back and holds his hands up. You’re free to walk away, and he’ll let you go, but for some reason you don’t.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers.

This time, you come to him. You can’t help yourself, not when he looks like that. He always looks good, yes, but for some reason the costume is doing it for you.

He grabs your hips and looks down at you with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t say a goddamn thing to anyone about this,” you say, looking up at him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, like he isn’t already planning to shout it from the rooftops later. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“One more thing,” you stop him before he starts to drag you down the hall. “The mask stays on.”

Jake grins. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

#top gun #jake seresin #hangman #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #jake seresin x female!reader #hangman seresin #hangman x f!reader #hangman x female!reader #hangman x gn!reader #jake seresin x gn!reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x f!reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun smut #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #kinktober 2022

[avanatural]

Mind Games

Part 4

Series summary: Set in 1984. It’s that time of the year – the supes are having the time of their lives at the Herogasm festival. Soldier Boy seems to have taken a special interest in Y/N, a fellow superhero.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x female Reader

Category: Angst, humor

Word count: 3.3k

Chapter warnings: Cursing, mentions of alcohol and smoking, Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy

A/N: Welcome to part 4! I hope you enjoy the new chapter! Poor Y/N’s patience is being tested in this one. Wanna be added to my Soldier Boy tag list? Send me an ask ❤️

Part 3 | Series Masterlist | Soldier Boy Masterlist | Part 5

Main Masterlist

“I see you’ve changed into your intended outfit.”

His deep voice made me want to cut off my ears. No one had told me that this movie required me to wear a dress that would suffocate me with how tight it was.

“I’m not sure it even fits me,” I mumbled as I stroked the fabric around my midriff. It was a white leather dress with a corset, similar to my actual supe outfit, but it was restricting my goddamn access to air. It was short enough that I couldn’t sit or bend or fight without people seeing… Well, all of me.

Soldier Boy pushed himself off of the wall he was leaning against. He’d put his helmet back on. It was like a mask. That open, vulnerable side of him that I’d gotten a tiny glimpse of was long gone. Hidden. Nowhere to be found.

“Oh, but you do look beautiful in it,” he flirted, pointing his finger at my scarcely clad body. His head bobbed from side to side as he stalked towards me. He was back to oozing confidence. The anger and resentment in his eyes had faded.

What was he up to? Did Soldier Boy himself even know what he wanted? 

“I take it you don’t wanna rip my head off anymore?”, I asked. My voice sounded a lot weaker than intended. At this point, I just wanted to go home. This movie was a shit show.

“What can I say? You’re lucky I’m into the assertive type.” He smiled an alluring smile. Combined with a charming tilt of his head, he deepened the creases around his eyes. 

The scariest thing about his change in demeanor was how my body responded to it. His charm was surely working its magic. My stomach was filled with swoony sensations that were begging me to shake them off.

“Lucky me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re sweet-talking me.” I tried sounding sarcastic, to the best of my ability. The problem was, his sweet-talking was working. My insides were practically yelling at me to finish what we’d started in that trailer. So, I tightened my vice-like grip on my heart as best as I could. I wasn’t gonna let him steal it.

Soldier Boy tempted me with his mossy green bedroom eyes and those plump pink lips. “Well, is it working?”

“No,” I lied, hoping that he couldn’t see through me. But then again, he probably wouldn’t believe any woman who told him his charm wasn’t working. He was self-centered like that. I had to remind myself that I was not a toy. That he couldn’t treat me as he pleased. Too bad male attention was my kryptonite.

Soldier Boy scoffed. I could see that he was losing what little patience he had. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, princess. Girls like to play hard-to-get. I know how it goes.”

“You know what?” I puffed out my chest in a rush of impulsion. “If you want different responses, maybe you should work on your technique. You need to win over a woman’s heart. Not just her body.” 

Soldier Boy narrowed his darkening eyes at me. He was like a loaded gun, ready to spit bullets in your face as soon as you got even remotely close to hurting his ego. “With manners like yours, you’re never gonna find a man. I don’t need to work on anything, how about you work on your fucking attitude?”, he snapped.

“Okay, everyone on their marks, please!”, the director called out.

Everyone hurried to their designated spots – the crew, the extras, the supes. Everyone except for us. Soldier Boy and I stood chest to chest, glaring at each other. The tension could easily have been cut with a rusty butterknife.

Gunpowder scurried past us, headed for his mark. I could feel the young man’s curious gaze on me as he tried to sneak past the two of us undetected.

Soldier Boy’s cold emerald gaze attached itself to the young supe. “Careful,” he spoke through gritted teeth, sending a warning Gunpowder’s way.

Gundpowder quickly averted his gaze and mumbled an incoherent apology. I didn’t even get a chance to catch his eye or say anything to him as he made a beeline for his mark, tail between his legs.

“Alright, doll face, let’s get this shit show over with,” Soldier Boy huffed. He took a step back, finally giving me some space to breathe. His hand reached out to me, his palm facing upward.

My eyes fixated on his hand. I hesitated. My muscles were frozen by ice-cold skepticism. When I looked up and met his eyes, warm pools of green and gold stared back at me. I tried not to let them melt away my distrust. This man was going to be the death of me. He was so unpredictable.

After a few seconds of hesitation, I placed my hand in his. As I felt his hand close around mine, a tiny, irritated smile attacked my face, forcing its way onto my lips.

“There you go,” Soldier Boy praised me with a nod of approval. He tugged me towards him and put his hand on my lower back. Seemingly deciding that he was in charge, he steered me to our marks.

We were about to shoot the final battle scene of the movie. Vought's strongest heroes vs. some no-name-greedy-for-power supervillains. And, who would have guessed, Soldier Boy was gonna save everyone’s day! Including mine. Damsel in distress number who-the-fuck-knew.

“Where- Oh! What the fuck?”, I exclaimed as Soldier Boy suddenly scooped me up in his arms, bridal style.

“Relax, princess. I’m supposed to catch you, you know that,” he had the audacity to scold me.

“How exactly is this scene gonna play out, huh?” I knew I was gonna fall from the sky like a stupid fucking apple from a tree, but this scenario rubbed me the wrong way.

“I’ll toss you into the air and catch you, piece of cake,” he sighed, obviously annoyed with my sheepish attitude.

“You’re gonna toss me?” I found myself locking my arms around his neck – a weak attempt to make him keep me in his arms. I was a supe, sure, but my body wasn’t immune to every possible danger. I wasn’t immortal. I could feel pain. My bones could break.

“Oh, have some fucking faith, will you?” Soldier Boy leaned in, so close that I could smell the whiskey we’d shared on his breath. “I’m not gonna let you hit the ground.” His insanely green eyes, framed by his new helmet, penetrated mine. “Unless you piss me off.”

“Ready, everyone?”, the director yelled.

“You better catch me,” I hissed in Soldier Boy’s ear.

He scoffed, radiating hubris. “Wanna fucking bet?”

“Sure. If you let me fall, you can kiss my ass,” I mumbled under my breath. Sue me, I was a nervous talker.

“And if I catch you, I’ll get to gag you, how about that?”, he retorted.

“You’re so-”

“And 3… 2… 1!”

Before I could say another word, Soldier Boy bent his knees, pushed himself back up, and used the force to throw me straight up into the air.

I cried out as I flew towards the sky. Right in that moment, I questioned my own sanity. A few profanities left my lips as I reached the highest point and felt myself fall back down. My stomach turned as I pictured myself flat as a goddamn pancake, spread out across the floor with blood for sirup.

Then suddenly, I felt some harsh pushback, and a loud gasp was forced out of my lungs. I had abruptly stopped falling. My eyes were shut tightly, waiting for the pain to arrive. Or the shock. But nothing really happened.

“You’re okay,” a warm, breathy voice hit my ears.

When I opened my eyes, I was met with Soldier Boy’s handsome face. He was the pushback. His arms were wrapped around me, holding onto my legs and my back. He was carrying me bridal style, just like he had a few moments ago. That son of a bitch had actually done it.

“You caught me,” I mumbled, faintly remembering the lines I was supposed to say. My heart was still throwing a tantrum in my chest.

“I sure did.” He put on the kindest smile I’d ever seen. The asshole could act, who would’ve guessed? “You alright?”

“Yes.” I had to bite my tongue before I was able to say my next line. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Anytime, my dear.” Gently, he placed me back on the ground. His hand stayed on my lower back, sending a surge of warmth through my body. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”, he asked. 

I batted my eyelashes at him as hard as I could and placed my hand on my chest. “I’m Trouble.”

“You’re part of the cavalry,” he said, pretending to be surprised by widening his eyes. “Payback appreciates your help. Just be more careful from now on, alright?” He inched closer, cooking up his very own line before delivering it straight to my face. “Though I gotta say… It’s not every day that pretty women like yourself fall from the sky.”

The corners of my mouth quivered slightly, threatening to break out in a smile. His gaze held me down, taunting me, asking me to break. I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. “Careful, my dear,” I responded, repeating his pet name for me. I lifted my chin to meet his eyes. “You don’t wanna get in trouble, do you?” When he paused, not saying anything, I continued, “Say hi to Countess for me.”

With a wink, I turned around and walked away from him, out of the camera’s sight. I felt his heated gaze on my back and didn’t dare turn back.

I let out the biggest grunt as soon as the door to my apartment fell shut behind me. Home, at last. Without a care, I dropped my bag on the floor. My hands found my hair and tugged on the strands before brushing them back.

“You sound tired,” a small voice rang out from the living room.  

With enlarged eyes, I pushed myself away from the door and stomped into the living area. “Lily??”

And sure enough, my sister was sitting on the couch, watching tv like she’d done nothing else all day.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, I demanded, “You’re supposed to be with aunt Gemma!”

Lily shrugged her shoulders at me, wearing a tiny frown on her face. “She had an emergency.”

“Yeah, I bet with that Greg guy.” I ground my teeth. The muscles in my jaw already hurt from all the tension I’d lived through that day. I leaned against the couch, my hands landing on the backrest. “How long have you been here by yourself?”

“Just a couple hours.”

“A couple hours,” I repeated. “That’s it. I’m gonna kill her.”

“Y/N, I’m fine,” Lily objected, looking up at me with those innocent eyes, trying to be convincing.

“Did you eat?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay,” I sighed, trying my best not to seem annoyed with her. Lily wasn’t the problem. Everyone else was. Including me. I tried pushing my anger down and locking it away. “I’ll heat up some leftovers.”

My sister nodded and followed me into the kitchen, trailing after me like a puppy. “How did it go today?”, she asked.

Well, that was a loaded question. “Let’s just say you’re gonna get those sneakers you asked for.”

“Yes!” Lily fist-bumped the air. “Thank you, Y/N!” She hurried around the counter and wrapped her arms around my waist.

Despite my sour mood, I smiled and hugged her back. “You’re welcome.” I squeezed her small body and paused for a second to enjoy the moment. The smile on her face, the joy in her eyes – that was the reason why I’d accepted Vought’s offer. It was worth the crappy day I had.

“So, how was working with Soldier Boy?”, Lily asked, wriggling out of my embrace, looking at me with wide, curious eyes.

“It was… Good,” I lied through my teeth and looked away, busying myself with preparing dinner. I couldn’t look at Lily’s face and tell a lie. I’d never been able to.

“What’s he like? Will you see him again? How tall is he?”

Oh boy, it was gonna be a long night.

A few weeks later

“Touble! Trouble, just one shot, please!”

“Trouble, over here!”

I pulled down my cap, hoping to somehow disappear in it. Too bad I didn’t have teleportation powers. Ever since pictures from the movie set of Payback Rising had been sold to the press, the general public had taken an interest in little old, mediocre me.

A picture of Soldier Boy and I had made it into the newspapers. A photograph of him carrying me. Of us staring into each other’s eyes. Now people were making up stories left and right. The press liked to make these things bigger than they were.

The good news was, I was getting offers. They wanted me for talk shows, interviews, and photoshoots.

The bad news was, these offers all included Soldier Boy. It was either both of us or nothing. On my own, I still wasn’t interesting enough. Still not worthy. So, what I had gained aside from the money was to be a target for the paparazzi.

“Let me through. Thanks,” I snapped, annoyed, knowing that I once again had to take a detour before going home. I didn’t need these sleazebags in front of my building. It took me a bit longer to get home that way, but I was willing to make the effort.

When I came home to a ringing telephone, I instantly rolled my eyes. I couldn’t seem to catch a break these days.

As I stood in front of the telephone, I contemplated whether I should answer or not. All I truly wanted was to sit down, have a glass of wine, and forget about everything that had to do with Vought and Soldier Boy.

“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath and picked up against my better judgment. “Hello?”

“Trouble?”

I recognized that voice. But I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. With narrowed eyes, I leaned against the ugly wall in the hallway. “Who’s this?”

“Vought’s VP of hero management. We met briefly on the set of Vought’s new movie.”

That certainly rang a bell. “The Legend,” I sighed and made a fist around the telephone cord, “What is it?”

“I heard that you’ve been declining a whole lotta offers. Interviews, photoshoots, that kind of thing.” He lowered his voice, making me guess that his call was anything but official.

“Well, they don’t really want me for those appearances,” I said, “They want-“

“You and Soldier Boy, I know. Excuse my foul language, but I think you’re being a fucking dimwit.”

“You’re calling me just to tell me that?”, I demanded, clenching the muscles in my jaw.

“I’m calling you to help you out,” he retorted, “I know talent when I see it, Y/N.”

“You told me not to take anyone’s shit. And now you expect me to take yours?”

“I told you to play to your goddamn strengths. Right now, the greatest superhero in the world is interested in you. And the biggest fucking talk show just sent in an offer. Forget all the other jobs, this is the one you’ll wanna take. This is your fucking way into the business, Y/N. You can be huge. Don’t be dumb, girl.”

“Lily? Lily!”, I called out, walking out of hair and make-up. Yes, I had taken the offer. I was attending the damn talk show to speak about my experience on Payback Rising. Of course, I couldn’t say anything remotely close to the truth.

I’d told my sister to wait for me while they dressed me, and now she was nowhere to be found. 

She had begged me to take her with me to meet Soldier Boy. And when I say she begged, I mean she fucking begged me. Dozens of puppy eyes later, I had agreed to let her say hi to him. Just say hi. In my presence. I only hoped he wasn’t going to disappoint her. Because if he did, I was going to put him in the ground, no matter who the hell he was.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I found my sister standing in front of a table with snacks. I recognized him instantly. He was wearing his signature suit, minus the mask. Lily was being accompanied by none other than Soldier Boy himself. Her small hands were clasped together nervously as she admired him from below. She was staring up at that tower of a man with little hearts in her eyes.

As soon as Soldier Boy spotted me walking towards them, he smugly lifted his chin. A cunning grin appeared on his lips. “Ah, Y/N! There you are! We were wondering when you’d join us.”

My hands found my hips as I ignored him and addressed my sister instead. “Lily, I told you to wait.” I was anything but amused.

“I’m sorry.” Lily pouted at me. Underneath that pouty face, though, she was hiding tons upon tons of excitement. Her eyes held a spark.

“It’s my fault, really,” Soldier Boy spoke up, pulling my attention back to him, “She looked a little lost back there, all by herself, so I took her under my wing.” His gloved hand squeezed my sister’s shoulder to highlight his point.

I stared back at him with a blank expression. I knew exactly what he was doing, and I didn’t like it. He was painting me in a bad light. I left my sister by herself, so of course, he had to go and play her savior.

“How incredibly kind of you,” I praised him through gritted teeth.

“Nah, it’s no big deal.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, delivering a little show of humbleness. “Lily and I were having a grand old time, weren’t we?” He looked down at my younger sister with so much kindness that it didn’t surprise me how enamored she was.

“The best!”

“I may be the strongest man alive...” Soldier Boy placed a hand on his chest and inched closer to me. “But you, Y/N.” He pointed his finger at me and clicked his tongue. “You’re the real hero. Working two jobs at once, no husband to support you. This might be your breakthrough. I truly want it for you.”

Yeah, because you know this ‘breakthrough’ isn’t happening without you. “Thank you.” I put on a friendly fake smile. The one I’d practiced in front of the mirror because I’d known he was gonna annoy me one way or another. “It means a lot, coming from you. But I think we’re about to start rolling, so…”

“Yeah, let’s go.” He turned to my sister and ruffled her hair, which made her fucking laugh. Usually, she all but freaked out when someone touched her precious hair. “You stay good for your sister, okay?”

“I will. It was a pleasure meeting you, Soldier Boy,” Lily spoke, using the same polite words I’d spent years trying to teach her.

“Oh, the pleasure was all mine, sweetheart.” Soldier Boy bent down, hands on his knees as he looked her in the eye. He lowered his voice, whispering to her like he was telling her a big secret. “And call me Ben.” With a charming wink, he straightened his back again.

“Okay, Ben.” The smile on Lily’s face became so wide that I could have sworn it was about to break her cheeks. “Thank you.”

I, on the other hand, wasn’t half as bewitched as my sister. The corners of my mouth sagged, a scowl masking my face. “Let’s go… Ben.”

Part 5

Tag list: @akshi8278 @leigh70 @impalaslytherin @mimzy1994​ @asgardiandeadpoetsociety @panhufflestugf @spnwoman @themerc-with-a-mouth @waynes-multiverse @tzillas @josephslittlemetalballs @deliriouslybi​ @ryethebrokengae​ @epiphany-of-a-madwoman​ @rach5ive​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @may85​ @jassackles @mimaria420

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy #soldier boy x y/n #the boys fanfiction

[ashsostrange]

it’s stand on business o’clock, cz i know y’all sick gw*les & p*nkflower shippers + delulu gwen stans ain’t try to run my girl bree (@breeandhermunches) off her blog… you got me all the way fucked up and ima tag this in ALL the categories. you can’t do anything about it 🤣 if you’re upset, then scroll ho. if you know i’m not talking about you, then have a great day! 🫶 if the shoe fits, then wear it.

i’m getting disrespectful. ima return the energy you hoes dished out n you better take it like some mf champs. y’all wanted to fuck around so now you gotta hear my mouth and find out. read it ‘n weep. clearing you bitches gives me life.

such a shame we’re back here, but y’all are mad, mad miserable. like, i’ve never seen a fandom so chronically online. are you even trying to mask the fact that you rarely step outside anymore…? 😬

let me making it so very clear why i’m making this post in the first place, bc y’all seem to struggle with my main concerns never clicking in your heads.

y’all have the time to sit in somebody’s inbox and complain about their hatred towards fictional ships, meanwhile the people y’all complain about stay on their pages and mind their business? 🤨 those people being US. ion recall none of us going directly to YOUR pages to hate on punkflower and gwiles. if we hate, it’s on our pages. i don’t go looking for a mf fight, that’s mad childish. y’all were riding bree’s dick like crazy. at this point, her hate for gwiles must keep y’all up at night. talk to a therapist about that. it’s not healthy. i’m gna address ALL the bs y’all be on.

so now that you know why i’m posting this, let me set few things straight for y’all.

“don’t use the ship tag to hate! 🤬🤬” the day you copyright and trademark the tag, present me with an official “tumblr etiquette” rule book or, show me proof that you own tumblr is the day i’ll stop. ima do wtv i want whenever i want, please get that thru ya hollow ass heads. y’all aren’t entitled to anything. not respect, not no damn “common courtesy,” ESPECIALLY not over dysfunctional ships/fictional characters 🤣 i don’t owe you SHIT.

some of were y’all tryna go back and forth with me at the grown ass age of TWENTY. over GWILES. a sixteen yr old vs a twenty yr old, see your life 😂😂 it’s truly alarming. go get employed. if you alr are, then call your manager and pick up some more shifts bc you clearly ain’t doing enough. if college graduation rates begin to decline, i know exactly who to come to. everything’s going up and even tho you should be standing on some mf business so you can afford the cost of living, you’re arguing with teenagers online instead. a lot of you have too much free time.

“you posted this publicly under the tag, you can’t expect people not to want to argue” yes i can! block me and scroll. we don’t have to argue. i don’t remember starting an argument? i was never on your pages. i only reblog shit when it appears on my dash. like i said, i’m not searching far n wide for no damn fight. 🤷‍♀️ nobody told y’all to bitch, whine, and reblog mine or bree’s shit. your issue is that you have no self control. you don’t know when to hold yourself tf back, so you feel obligated to reply. god forbid someone has a differing opinion. my post was never even about the flaws in miles and gwen’s relationship. i was talking about how it is disappointing to see miles’ story be reduced to a love story. unfortunately, y’all forgot to put your glasses on beforehand and read “i hate gwiles.” yes, i hate gwiles!!! but that was not the point of my post. y’all are either illiterate or trying to let off some serious steam. i’m not having any of it. maybe y’all are upset i called you delusional, but you’ve effortlessly proven my point.

this is the internet. you have the tools to avoid seeing what me n bree hv to say, so why are you throwing a tantrum like a goddamn child instead of utilizing them?? you’re not special. the world doesn’t revolve around you and what you want. people are dying n you’re worried about a hate post under a ship tag?? mind you, that was the one and only “hate post” i’ve EVER put under that fuckass tag 😭 bree will make one post about gwiles, and y’all are the ones who’ll drag it out, then call her “obsessed.”we’re doomed bc y’all are doomed.

the white mfs complaining ab the term “snow bunny”… jesus 🤦‍♀️ ts didn’t even mean what you think it meant in the first place. it was originally used to refer to female skiers. some of y’all swear up, down, n all around that being “racist” to white people is the same as racism towards black people, and it’s not. let’s use “snow bunny” and the n-word as examples:

snow bunny had an alternative use before it was used to refer to white people. there’s no significant history behind it at all, unless you count tiktok as history. the n word has always been the n word. it’s always been derogatory, and anyone will a brain would know it’s mad history behind the word. it roots in deep hatred. people continue to use this word to belittle those who are black, or use it lightly around their friends nd behind closed doors as if it’s a common cuss word. y’all’s experiences with “racism” are nowhere near comparable to the experiences black people have BEEN facing and will be facing for fucking ever. white people have and always will be seen as the superior race, therefore, you face minimal to no “racism” outside of the internet, and i’d do anything to be able to say that. don’t even @ me talking about “🥹🥹 that doesn’t make racism against white people oka—“ i don’t care. at all. drink some water. you’ll be fine.

“you guys hate women!!!” “y’all hate gwen bc she’s white!!” like, you sound so fkn dumb nd all i can do is sit and stare at you.

me nd bree are black girls. people from EVERY race and EVERY ethnicity hate black people and EVERYONE hates black girls. hell, not even black men like us. why on god’s green mf earth would we ever want sb else to feel that way??

yk what y’all need to do? y’all need to quit whining and accept the fact that bree doesn’t like gwen because of what she did to miles. it’s as simple as that. stop trying to complicate things bc you so desperately want to deem her and other people who hate gwen “racists” or “misogynists.” no. i fw gwen heavy, nd me and bree are able to coexist bc neither of us are fucking delusional and regularly touch grass 🤷‍♀️ same thing with all my other mutuals.

meanwhile, you hoes get your panties in a twist when sb calls gwen a snow bunny as if she’s a sentient being who’s going to cry over ts, like, no. your feelings are hurt? take a fucking walk! nobody has to like her.

and punkflower, oh my god 😐 i’ve never been homophobic and i never will be. i’m literally queer. i’m not about that friendly fire before y’all try and call me homophobic. my thing is, if hobie was originally supposed to be a nineteen year old, n now his age is unconfirmed, why in the hell would we go and age him down to sixteen?? all y’all wna do is ship that man with miles or write smut about him. some of y’all wanna do both!! you change his age when it’s convenient to you. if you don’t see an issue with that, then i can’t help you. you’re weird. until i hear otherwise from one of the directors, he’s 19.

ghostflower or gwiles 🙃 the reason y y’all are sobbing or wtv. i thought y’all were exaggerating when you said gwiles was your religion, but it’s looking like i was very incorrect. real talk, ion like that fuckass ship. i don’t have to and neither does anybody else. just like you lames do with gwen, you dig deep in your ass for every problematic reason possible. “you have a racial bias!!!” “you hate interracial relationships!!” the fuck?? 😭 do you cunts read what you write before you post it?? “they’re more obsessed with gwiles than we are” “they must be in love with ghostflower & gwen”

…huh? covid really set some of y’all back tremendously because it seems a concerning amount of you lack critical thinking skills. in reality, just like hating gwen, the reason we dislike gwen and miles together is SO very simple. it all boils down to the fact that gwen did miles dirt. and i’ve made a separate post, i’ve talked about why they would never work imo. when i present y’all with my logical reasoning, you dgaf! so the only thing you can do now is shut the hell up, unclench, and cope. since you wna get in your feelings bout it, fuck gwiles, n fuck you too.

y’all even got some of your own people agreeing w me, props to y’all btw 👏 it’s never you i’m talking about.

i hate that y’all made it this deep bc it didn’t need to be. this is a fucking movie. none of this is real, yet you continue to harass me and bree like we murdered your immediate + extended family + the family dog that had cancer. i find myself hoping that one day y’all will realize how dumb you sound, but then i remember some of you niggas are already grown, so it’s looking quite improbable.

and also, don’t b up in my reblogs chattin’ it up about shit i’ve explicitly stated that idc about. i won’t repeat myself because you can’t read. if this post hasn’t shown you i don’t give even half of a fuck about you or your feelings regarding ANYTHING at this point in time, then i don’t really know what will 🤷‍♀️

if i made you mad, go ahead nd suck it up fa me. we won’t be going toe to toe and debating on MY blog because you’ll be actively wasting your own time, as i am not willing to hear anyone out. it’s been that way from the start and it won’t change. if you send an anon message or any type of inbox w some bs then it’ll sit there until the end of time or be swiftly deleted. if you reblog this post trying to invalidate anything i just addressed, i won’t even give you the time of day, bc i said everything that needed to said. i was very articulate and extremely clear. know that i can’t and won’t be swayed in the slightest. we’d just go back and forth until you decide to shut your mouth or block me. so block me now. ian the one.

if you don’t get it, then you don’t fucking get it, but what y’all aren’t gna do is treat people the way y’all were treating bree just because she hates two ships + gwen stacy. you complain about how the fandom sucks like you’re not the same people who make being in fandoms in unenjoyable.

you usually have to go to a therapist and pay for reality checks. luckily for y’all, i gave you one for free! you needed to be humbled and i happily did the humbling. lil piece of advice: stop trying to force people to gaf if they clearly do not. block and move on with your life. you gon get tired one day. leave me, bree, n anyone else you bother tf alone. spend your energy trying to change people’s minds on REAL ISSUES that actually matter, not fucking spider-man.

whew, ANYWAY… i hope i never have to speak bout this again. act right in the near future n i won’t have to “invade your tags” with long paragraphs in which i set you fools straight, thank yewww! 🫶

god bless!! 💗

#ash spills 💋 #fuck all of y’all #you need help #it’s no etiquette with me baby #it should never be this serious #weirdos who get no vitamin d #y’all all gon catch these strays today #sb had to humble yall #stand on business 💼 #asap #anti gwiles #gwiles #anti atsv atp #anti punkflower #ghostflower #punkflower #miles morales #gwen stacy #hobie brown #atsv #spiderverse #itsv #gwen x miles #spiderman #spider-man #get a hobby bc over analyzing every gwiles scene doesn’t count #and btw this is why nobody likes y’all #hope u find peace of mind tho

[alpineglow]

Hiiiiii, I was wondering if you could write something about the character Kate Bishop? About her falling in love with a firefighter who is eight years older than her, and they go on dates and then become boyfriend and girlfriend, and they have a lovely relationship, please and thank you. :)

Sure thing!! I made Kate just a touch older (25, making Y/N 33). I don't normally write M!Reader- actually this the first time I'm writing x Reader fiction in general, so sorry if I screw anything up!! Normally I write character x character LMAO. Hope u enjoy!

It's a Goddamn Blaze in the Dark

Ship: Kate Bishop x Firefighter!M!Reader Word Count: ~1k Desc.: Being a firefighter in New York City isn't exactly what you'd call quiet. But you'd be damned if you could've guessed half the shit that follows Kate Bishop stumbling into your life.

Masterlist

9:15pm, April 19th

The building was already engulfed in flames by the time your ladder truck finally rolled around. Ambulances were amuck in the street, bussing out civilians half as quick as they flooded in.

"Y/N!"

You whip around to your Lieutenant, Hobbs, as you pull your respiratory kit over your shoulders.

"EMS is way overrun, you're reassigned. Take the medical kit, Calvin's meeting you on the East side of the building," Hobbs says quickly, rounding behind you to pull the tank off of your back.

"You got it, Hobbs. I'll radio when I'm over," you reply, taking the medical bag off of the truck and hauling it over your shoulder. Glancing to the building, you decide to leave your bunker gear and helmet on. Glass was blowing out across the facade, and if the acrid smell was anything to go by, there might be some debris to dodge.

Side-stepping a few EMS as they evacuate patients, you start rounding the building. Even through your gear, you can feel the heat radiating off of the brick and mortar of the building. The nearer firehouse had been battling this one for damn near an hour before calling in your crew for backup.

"Calvin! Incoming!" you shout as you round the building into the next street. A makeshift medical tent had been established outside of the collapse zone, and the street was closed off by police at both ends of the block. It was one of the only times you were thankful for them on scene.

An explosion crashes out above you from inside the top floors of the structure. Reflexively, you duck, ears ringing slightly as you recover. You squint against the light of the fire, looking desperately for its source.

Through the smoke billowing out of the foyer door, you see a pair of silhouettes, one supporting the other. Ignoring Calvin calling out for you, you dart forward through the doors. The heat of the room hits you first, and then the distinct realisation that you're not wearing your respirator.

You see them, just barely, and you reach out to take the weight of the casualty. Taking them in a fireman carry, you take the arm of the other, heaving the pair out of the door. Clean air has never smelled so good.

"Go! Keep going forward," you say hastily to the walking one. "Calvin! I got two casualties, prep medical! Smoke inhalation, among other things!"

Calvin's already on his way over, taking who you now see is a woman out of your arms, putting her on a medical bed and placing a mask over her face. You sweep your surrounds quickly, taking in the scene more fully this time. You spot your other casualty, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. She was in an odd purple costume, with a quiver and bow slung across her back.

"Ma'am, I need you to keep walking forward to the medical tent," you say, approaching her.

"What? No! No, no, I'm fine, I swear!" She's rather insistent, coughing a few times. On her shoulder was a scorched part of her uniform. Rather than argue, you take her forearm, leading her away from the debris zone.

"What's your name?" you ask, unzipping your medical bag to pull out antiseptic, gauze, and a few other tools. The woman watches you carefully, almost lost in her inner monologue for a moment.

"Ka- I mean- Hawkeye! I'm Hawkeye!" she rushes out, interrupting herself. You huff a laugh, reaching out to inspect her shoulder.

"I thought Hawkeye was a dude." You'd seen him recently with a sidekick, but you were doubtful they would both choose the same name.

"Yea, well he is... But I'm the other one," she mumbles, wincing slightly as the antiseptic makes contact with her burn.

"You're lucky this isn't a bad burn. Shouldn't have gone into that building, hero or not," you say, laying the gauze on top and using a bandage to affix it more firmly to the site. "I'm gonna check your throat real quick with this light. You cool with that?"

She nods, opening her mouth. You click the medical light on, taking your helmet off to get closer without smacking her in the head. God knows you've done that too many times. Thankfully, it didn't look raw.

"Looks like you're all clear, you're a lucky one, Hawkeye," you say, placing your equipment back into your bag and zipping it up. You glance over to her, noticing how she looks at you; with a strange sort of transfixion.

"I, uh-" she starts.

Calvin calls out your name from the street, where fresh casualties were being evacuated from the building. You swear under your breath.

"Sorry- I'm gonna need to go..." You trail off, as in the small amount of time you looked away, your mysterious Hawkeye was gone. In her place was a small note.

Call me (phone number) - Hawkeye

You tuck the note into your jacket pocket, before running over to where Calvin was ushering away civilians.

12pm, April 30th

The cafe you were currently situated in was a rather lovely hole-in-the-wall place, about a stone's throw away from Central Park. You were waiting on your date; your second date, actually, with a lovely girl named Kate Bishop. The very same girl you had helped out during a structure fire on the 19th.

The bell to the cafe chimed, and you looked up from your table. You smile as you catch Kate's eye, beckoning her over.

"It's so good to see you again!"

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

I don't normally write fics like this, so if y'all would like a part 2, lmk!!

#Kate bishop #Marvel #Kate bishop x reader

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Meeting The Real You (Chapter 9)

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

word count: 25,347

***CONTENT WARNING: MENTION OF SUICIDE***

___________________________

“What did I tell you?”

Peter shriveled a little, wincing as Stark threaded the suture needle in and out of the skin surrounding his still-healing bullet wound, face flushed behind his mask as he sat once again between his mentor and Johnny Storm, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. Unlike Spider-Man, the Human Torch appeared to have no qualms being half-naked in front of others. In fact, based on his surprisingly racy modeling portfolio, Peter was certain Johnny’s superhero costume would be far more risqué if Johnny had any say in the matter. At the very least, he’d add some bold cutouts down his legs and across his midsection. Maybe some fingerless gloves or a gold choker around his neck. Meanwhile, from Peter’s perspective, the less skin he was showing, the better—especially since he was always in the mindset of trying to keep his secret identity under wraps. 

“Take it easy. No web-swinging,” Peter eventually mumbled.

“And what did you go and do anyway?”

Spider-Man grimaced. “Swung from Washington Square Park to here. But—”

“No buts. You ignored my demands, and now we’re both paying the price. You know the rules, kid. After I’m done sewing you up— again —the suit goes in the lab and stays there for as long as I deem appropriate. Understood?”

Peter sighed. This was the agreement Stark and May had forced him to abide by until he turned eighteen. Tony had never kept the suit from him for longer than a couple days, but it still sucked majorly whenever he was made to give it up. It never failed to make him feel like a grounded pre-schooler. 

“I thought you tore your stitches when you backflipped for the livestream,” Johnny said with a frown. Tony went rigid, eyes rising to meet Peter’s, nostrils flaring. Peter wished he was close enough to the Human Torch to kick him in the shins.

“You did what?” Stark snapped.

“You told me you didn’t web-swing today!” Johnny exclaimed. 

“Johnny!” Peter cried, exasperated. “You said you’d take the heat for this, not get me in trouble even more!”

“That was before I knew you lied to me!”

“Can it, you two,” Tony interjected, piercing Peter’s skin a tad less gently, making the young hero flinch. “You heard me. Suit. Lab. End of discussion.”

Peter sulked in defeat. How was he ever going to take down Kingpin when his mentor kept treating him like a goddamn five-year-old? Eighteen could not come fast enough. 

Johnny shot a glare in Peter’s direction, then exhaled slowly, placing his hands on his hips. “Mr. Stark, it’s clear that Spidey was a massive fuck-up today.”

“Hey!” Peter protested, earning a sharp flick from his mentor.

“Keep still,” Tony demanded.

“But if you take away his suit, he and I won’t be able to hang out anymore. If I promise to keep him from being a dumbass and hurting himself again, would you consider letting him keep it? Please? You know, one member of the SDS to another?”

To Peter’s surprise, Stark actually seemed to be considering his request. Peter knew how hard it was to say no to those big blue eyes paired with that pleading, innocuous smile, but still. Spider-Man wrinkled his brow, glancing between the two of them suspiciously.

“What’s the SDS?” he asked. 

“Shhh,” Johnny cooed, smooshing a finger against Peter’s lips. “Nothing that concerns you, cutie pie. You just sit there and look pretty while we work this out, yeah?”

Peter blushed in surprise, then batted Johnny's hand aside. “Why do you always have to be so damn condescending?” he asked, stifling a giggle.

“You swear you’ll keep him grounded until I give the green light?” Stark inquired hesitantly, stroking his thin beard.

Johnny beamed. “I can more than swear it,” he assured the Avenger, raising his hand and extending his littlest finger. “I pinky promise.”

Tony rolled his eyes and shooed Johnny’s hand away. With a sigh, he leveled his gaze on the young celebrity. “If he so much as splits one stitch—”

“Then I’ll rip off his suit and hand-deliver it to you myself,” Johnny assured him. 

Peter reddened as Stark knotted off the final suture in his side. “Please don’t,” the two said in unison. His mentor moved to stand directly in front of him and met his eye with a long, cold stare. Peter shrunk back, opening his mouth to try to say something constructive, but Tony shut him up by balling up the Spider-Man suit and chucking it directly into his face, muffling his yelp of surprise. 

“There. Happy now? Christ—I can’t believe how much of a pushover you’ve turned me into. I should’ve known how dangerous you two would be working in tandem to corrode my willpower and estimated lifespan.”

Peter untangled himself from the suit, then joined Johnny in showering Stark with proclamations and placards of gratitude. Tony simply crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders and muttered to himself about gray hairs and crow’s feet. Peter slipped his limbs into the floppy red fabric then tapped the spider symbol on his chest to shrink the costume down, cinching it to his narrow frame. 

“I promise I’ll be more careful,” Spider-Man insisted, rubbing gingerly at his side.

“Oh, wow—haven’t heard that one before,” Tony grumbled.

“You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Stark,” Johnny chirped, slinging an arm around Peter’s neck. “Spidey and I will lay low and stay grounded for the next few days. No more bullet wounds or backflips or web-swingings of any kind; you have my word.”

Tony dragged his hands down his face with a weary groan. “Sure. If you say so. Whatever. I seriously need a drink. FRIDAY. Whiskey. Now, please.”

“A rosemary tea with honey is steeping on your office desk as we speak,” the A.I. replied.

“Screw you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re the one who instructed me to make you tea anytime you requested an alcoholic beverage,” FRIDAY reminded him.

Tony huffed. “Screw you, me.”

The friendly arm draped across Peter’s shoulders suddenly tightened into a semi-threatening chokehold. “You’re welcome, asshole,” Johnny growled, sotto voce. “Thanks for lying to my face.”

Peter clenched his jaw, trying to focus on anything other than the feeling of Johnny’s perfectly toned arm muscles coiled against his throat. “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to. I was just…” Images of freckled skin bathed in summer sunshine looped like a powerpoint in his mind. He swallowed. “Er…distracted.” 

The corners of Johnny’s mouth lifted a little. “Well. Seeing how I’m now responsible for keeping you out of trouble, let’s not pull that shit again, yeah?”

Peter scoffed. “You do realize you’ve been the primary cause of all the trouble I’ve gotten into as of late, right?” 

“All the more reason for me to stop you from getting into more,” Johnny countered smoothly. “We’ve braved some of the most daunting situations two people could ever face together over the past couple days. Things can only go up from here, right?”

A loud ringing sound from inside Peter’s backpack bulldozed through their conversation. Peter pulled out his phone to find he had an incoming call—from May Parker.

“It’s my aunt,” Spider-Man stated, a small spindle of nerves scribbling up his throat. Immediately, he clicked the answer button, knowing better than to send her to voicemail. If she was calling because she was upset about something, always better to face it right away than to give her anger more time to stew. Hopefully it was just an update on how the convention was going, a quick chat about what they’d been up to, that kind of thing. Nothing to worry about. So long as he played it cool and didn’t mention being shot, everything would be fine. He held the phone up to his ear. 

“Hey, May,” he said hesitantly. “Uh, what’s up?”

“You were SHOT?” 

Peter flinched away from the speaker, his aunt’s voice exploding from the phone like a pipe bomb, skewering him with shards of terror. His eyes snapped towards Johnny and Stark; his jaw hung open, practically grazing the floor.

“I…I…uh…”

Stark spun away from him, marching towards the exit with his hands raised in submission. “This one’s on you, kid. I warned yah. Don’t come crying to me. You’re on your own.”

May continued yelling at him through the phone, forcing Peter to block the speaker with his hand for fear she’d start referring to him by name—followed by a horrifying string of New York-style expletives. While Spider-Man pored frantically over what to do, Johnny started snickering behind his palm. Peter turned on him in disbelief.

“You’re laughing?” he exclaimed. Johnny shook his head, giggling even more.

“Sorry, haha! It’s just—you’re Spider-Man, and you’re in so much trouble. All these people think you’re this evil menace, when you’re really just a kid getting grounded and scolded like every other teenager in America. If only they knew!” Johnny’s eyes brightened suddenly as he held up his phone. “Speaking of, should I be recording this?”

Peter grappled for the device in Johnny’s hand. “Dude! Don’t you dare!”

“Johnathan Spencer Storm.”

Johnny went rigid, his wide smile morphing into a grimace. Sue and Reed stood in front of the med bay doors, the Invisible Woman looking a tad red in the face and Mr. Fantastic tense and nervous. Although still drowning in fear from his aunt’s muffled shouts against his palm, Peter took a second to savor karma’s sweet sting. 

“Ha,” Peter taunted him, giving Johnny a light shove in the back. “Serves you right.” Johnny shrugged him off with a scowl.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “I’ll come find you after I deal with this. We gotta discuss Spidey’s next big social media stunt.”

A crafty gleam entered his eye as Johnny said that last part. To Peter’s surprise, Johnny stepped forward suddenly and bundled him into a last-second hug, sending volts of electricity tingling through his belly. 

“Sorry about all this,” Johnny added softly. “I’ll be more careful the next time I post or talk about you and make sure not to mention things like you getting shot—which, by the way, better not happen ever again.”

Peter grasped for something cool and chill and witty to say in reply, but it was no use. The only thoughts his brain could articulate while pressed this close to Johnny Storm were warm and smell nice and me like hug and please never let go. 

“Sounds Gucci,” was the moronic buffoonery he eventually squeaked out. He wrapped his arms around Johnny’s back and held him tight: resting his forehead against his shoulder, breathing in deep, and soaking him in. This was the closest he’d ever get to being more than friends with him, so he had to relish every second he got.

“Johnny.”

Lanced with sudden bashfulness, Spider-Man jerked out of Johnny’s embrace. How had he forgotten about the two other superheroes glowering at them from across the room so quickly? Well, one glowering superhero, anyway—Reed Richards wasn’t staring at them with any animosity in his gaze, but rather a quiet curiosity. For some reason, Peter found this even more unsettling. 

“All right!” the Human Torch snapped, whirling on his sister. Tiny flames bubbled across his skin. “I’m coming, okay? Jesus!” He turned back to Spider-Man and prodded his chest with his finger. “Stay grounded until I get back. The two of us are in enough hot water already.”

A curt laugh escaped him. “No kidding,” Peter mumbled. A fresh bout of angry ranting erupted from the phone in his hand, making him jump a little and almost drop it. Wincing, Peter pointed to the cracked screen. “Sorry, I gotta—”

“Same,” Johnny sighed, jogging towards his teammates. “I’ll catch yah later, ‘kay? Good luck with your aunt!”

Peter nodded and waved. “Thanks. Write a nice eulogy for me if this goes as well as I’m anticipating.”

Johnny giggled as Sue corralled him through the exit. “Will do.” 

Once the room was clear, Peter reluctantly lifted his hand off the speaker, and was met with the verbal ass-whooping of a lifetime.

“—even listening to me? Are you trying to give me a goddamn heart attack? If you don’t answer in the next five seconds, I’m hopping on the next bus to New York and coming home this instant so I can ground you until the day I die and cram a baseball bat straight up Tony’s lying, irresponsible, egotistical—”

“May!” Peter cut in helplessly. “Please! I was in front of a bunch of people who don’t know my secret identity! I couldn’t say anything until they left the room.”

“Are they gone now?” she shot back, words sharp as talons. Peter bunched his limbs in close to his body.

“Yes,” he answered miserably.

“Good. ‘Cuz it’s explanation time, buddy. Now. Go.”

Peter pinched his eyes closed, wondering how he could possibly spell out everything that had happened since she’d left without sounding like a reckless douchebag of a nephew, or fully chucking Mr. Stark under the bus. He hung his head, slipping the Spider-Man mask off his face.

“I’m sorry, May. I should’ve told you. It all happened so fast, and I hate making you worry while you're busy with F.E.A.S.T. stuff. I’m on the mend now and hoped I could get away with not having to burden you with this.”

“A bold feat, considering your famous new friend’s affinity for talking about you being shot on multiple different live media platforms, and the fact I probably have more Google alerts on for your alter ego than all of your enemies combined.”

The depth of Peter’s stupidity drizzled over him like boiling coffee. The teen gave a cheerless laugh, palming his face in his hand. “Right. God. Really didn’t think this one through at all, did I?”

“No, sweetheart. You really didn’t.”

The pair marinated in a long stretch of silence. Guilt chewed through Peter’s guts like maggots. May heaved a weighty sigh from the other end of the line.

“I’m always going to worry about you getting hurt, Peter,” she insisted, voice stern yet brittle. “There’s nothing either of us can do to stop that. But what I absolutely do not need added to that worry is the fear that you’re keeping things from me. Do you understand?”

Peter cupped his wounded side, skin still stinging from the freshly stitched sutures. Her words carried far more bite than she could ever know. 

“Yes, May,” he said meekly.

“When did you even start hanging out with that guy? How did the two of you meet?”

Alarm plastered the walls of Peter’s throat. “Johnny? Oh, uh—just a few days ago. Mr. Stark invited his team to stay at the tower for a bit.” Immediately, he backtracked. “But please don’t blame any of this on them. Stark just found out about me getting shot right before you did, and Johnny protected me from getting hurt even worse. They’re not at fault here—just me.”

May’s voice came through pained and wobbly. “You promised me you’d stay safe and keep me updated while I was gone,” she said.

Shame tore into the young hero like glass. Peter Parker bit the inside of his cheek and tucked his free arm beneath his aching ribs. Just rip my heart right outta my chest, why don’t you? Nothing made Peter feel shittier than when he made his aunt cry. This was the first major test of their dynamic as super-powered kid and scared but encouraging guardian . Despite her uncertainty about it, May had agreed to let him continue fighting crime in her absence—so long as he kept her up to date on everything going on. And how had he thanked her for her unwavering trust and support? By betraying her the second the opportunity presented itself. What was he thinking, hiding this from her? He hadn’t been thinking; whatever loopy pain meds Stark had injected him with paired with Johnny’s zany teasing had made sure of that. 

“This business summit is turning into a shit-show,” May continued tearfully. “None of my presentations have gone how I’ve hoped, half my team isn’t here because of a strep outbreak, and I feel completely unprepared and inexperienced compared to everyone else. Now I come to find out my kid has been shot and didn’t even tell me?” A small sniffle escaped her. “Maybe I should just come home…”

His aunt’s words cut him to his core. What could he say to make this better? What could he do to bring the light back into her voice?

Peter thought back to that last time he’d scared and disappointed her this badly. It was before May had even known he was Spider-Man. He’d been so busy tracking down the Vulture and dealing with the aftermath of the ferry he’d accidentally split in two, he’d wound up ignoring her calls all day and getting home way past his curfew. He’d never seen her that upset before, and never wanted to put her in that position ever again.

How had he made things better then? She’d been pretty standoff-ish for the next week. He’d kept his head down, caught up on his studies, gave up on Spider-Manning since he was sans his suit for the time being. It was only when he told her about a certain Academic Decathlon captain he’d asked to go with him to the Homecoming dance that the old May he knew and loved finally showed her face again.

She’d always been embarrassingly invested in her nephew’s budding romances and teenage love life, despite how uneventful they tended to be. Few things on earth brought her more joy than hearing about Peter’s latest infatuations and offering him advice on how to win their affection. Now that she knew he was a superhero, that interest had increased tenfold. Fortunately for Peter, nothing of significance had happened since his short and tumultuous fling with Liz. 

Until now, anyway. Which gave him an idea…

“I’m so sorry, May—for all of it. I really messed up. I won’t keep anything like this from you again, okay? Just please don’t leave yet. You fought so hard to be there; you deserve to be there. Don’t let my dumbassery ruin this for you.” He licked his lips, nerves buzzing to a fever pitch. He just had to hint at it. He didn’t have to say who or when or even what . All he had to do was reference just enough to shift her focus from her nephew’s irresponsibility and the stress of the conference to Peter’s hot new heartthrob.

Was this manipulative? Probably. Stupid? Absolutely so. But if it succeeded in cheering her up a little, Peter called that a win.

“The main reason I didn’t tell you about what happened was ‘cuz…” Peter swallowed. “Because my head’s been all over the place, and I’ve been really distracted lately.” 

May paused to blow her nose before responding. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Distracted by what?”

Frighteningly familiar warmth spread like wildfire across his skin. Peter shot anxious glances around the room to make absolutely certain the coast was clear, then huffed out a defeated breath.

“I kinda…have a crush on someone…” he mumbled, blush crawling into his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he was already telling another person about this after having just confessed to Ned a few hours ago, but his aunt clearly needed the pick-me-up. Besides—it wasn’t like he was planning on coming out to her just yet. 

It was almost comical how well his evil scheme worked. When his aunt finally responded, all the exhaustion and sadness had been sapped from her voice, replaced instead with beaming delight. 

“What?” she exclaimed. “A crush? Oh my god! Peter! It’s been forever since you’ve had a crush! I’ve been dying for you to find someone new after Liz, and you choose to wait ‘til I’m shipped off to New Jersey to finally find one?” 

Peter giggled sheepishly in spite of himself. Although his aunt’s obsession with his dating life was patronizing at times, her enthusiasm was entertaining to indulge and incredibly contagious. He knew she was smiling the biggest, giddiest smile right now, and Peter couldn’t help but do the same. The two of them were so close and always spoke so openly with each other, it was easy to forget they had no actual blood relation.  

“Sorry. Believe me—this was not something I planned on at all.”

Technically not a lie, he reminded himself. Speaking vague truths felt better than outright fibbing. He vowed to be as honest as he could without digging himself into an inescapable hole.

“How dare you spring this on me while I’m supposed to be mad at you,” May chastised him, unable to shake the elation from her tone. “You know how excited I get about this sort of thing.”

Peter scratched the back of his neck. Damn . She sure caught onto him quick. 

“I was gonna wait until you got back,” he explained, voice tinted with mischief, “but it sounded like you needed to hear it now.” 

Also not a lie, he thought. It wasn't like he expected to keep her in the dark forever. 

“Well, don’t leave me hanging here, kiddo!” she said. “May needs details!”

Sudden uncertainty lassoed his tongue. How could he describe him in all his charming, wily, flaming glory without saying—well, him? It was possible Peter hadn’t thought this through as much as he should have.

“Uh—like what?” Peter stammered out, stalling for more time.

“Everything!” May pressed him. “When did this start, how did it happen, what’s the plan to get you two together?”

Peter felt a small flutter stir inside him. Should I just tell her? he thought, nervous excitement surging through his veins. Why shouldn’t I? What harm could it do? There wasn’t a universe he could imagine where May turned her back on him—no matter what he did or who he was or the kind of person his heart chose to love. She’d told him a thousand times over: she’d always be there for him. Plus, Peter hated having to lie to her. He’d already shattered her trust in him once; if he could find it in himself to swallow his fear and confess this daunting secret, maybe he could start to restore that trust, and prove to her how much faith and value he placed in their relationship. 

“We met pretty recently,” Peter ventured to say, nerves latching onto every word. “At Avengers Tower, a couple days after you left.”

True.

“You met as Peter, or as Spider-Man?” 

Sweat rallied between the palms of his hands and the fabric of his gloves. He switched the phone to his opposite ear and took a slow, shaky breath. Was he really about to do this?

“As Spider-Man, actually,” he said. “The two of us—we’re both superheroes.”

True.

“No kidding?” May responded emphatically. “How exciting! A superhero, star-crossed romance! I could see how that might get messy, though: mixing work and powers and secret identities into the already complex mayhem that is teenage dating.”

Peter croaked out a laugh. “Oh, for sure. I’ve already run into plenty of unanticipated drama because of it.” True. Now? Do I tell her now? “It’s all really new and kinda crazy. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before.” Also true. How do I wanna say it? I already did this once. Why is it still so hard? “I seriously doubt anything is ever actually going to happen between us but I’m—I’m really excited about it.” 

About him.

About him.

Just tell her the truth! Spit it out already!

“What’s this mystery superhero’s name?” May inquired. Peter sat stiffly on the medical cot, clenching and unclenching his fists. He gradually stilled his shivering legs. Dropped his shoulders away from his ears. Sucked his teeth to his lips. Shut his eyes. Set his jaw. Inhaled deep, then opened his mouth.

“Johnny. It’s Johnny Storm. He’s the person I have a crush on.”

Silence. More silence. An abnormal amount of silence. Peter gulped down hitched breaths, heart thundering like a freight train, the phone trembling a little in his hand.

“M-May? Hello? You there?”

A jumbled, staticky sound gargled from the speaker in response. Peter winced, holding the device away from his ear. A few seconds later, May’s voice garbled out of the phone in short, clipped segments, cutting in and out with only a few decipherable words finding their way through. 

“May?” Peter said again, nerves tearing at the seams. “Can you hear me?”

“—goddamn piece of shit, Jesus Christ,” was what he eventually heard her hiss when the connection was finally restored. “Sorry, Peter. My signal here is absolute garbage. I think our call got cut off for a second.”

“It’s okay,” he grated out, squirming a little in place. Another couple seconds passed, and he added: “Did—did you hear me? What I said?”

“No, I must’ve missed it. Go ahead, sweetheart! What’s her name?”

A cold feeling spread through the young superhero from the top of his head to the tips of his heels. He stared ahead blankly, ice trickling into his stomach. 

“What?” he barely managed to say. The word came out breathless and fractured. 

“The superhero girl! The one you said you have a crush on! You were telling me her name, right? Or did that part of our conversation cut out, too?”

Peter could feel his heartbeat throbbing inside his skull. Two words pounded against his brain like a pair of rubber mallets. 

Her, her, her, her .

Girl, girl, girl, girl. 

She didn’t know.

Duh. Of course she didn’t know. Why would she? He’d never…he’d always made it seem like…

Still. He wished she knew. Part of him felt blindsided that she didn’t.

Maybe she didn’t know him as well as himself or Ned or anyone else thought.

“Peter?” his aunt called, ripping him from the thoughts racing around his head at a thousand lightyears a second. “Are you there, hon? Is the connection still cutting out?”

Peter tried to speak, but was stunned to find his voice choked with tears. They stung his eyes and wet his cheeks and slipped down his neck in large, pathetic droplets. 

It took him a moment. Many moments. But one by one, he forced his mouth to form words.

“I…I think it might be,” he heard himself say. Lie. He wiped frantically at his eyes, stifled a sob, cleared his throat. “Um, anyway—Mr. Stark is actually asking for me to come join him in the lab now.” Lie. “You probably have big, fancy business meetings to get to that are way more important than this.” Lie. “I’ll call you back later, okay?” Lie. Lie. Lie. 

Aunt May sighed. “All right, sweetie. Ugh—stupid cell reception. You know I’m dying to hear everything about her! I’ll need the full play-by-play once I’m home next week. I love you! No more getting shot and not telling me please!”

Peter hung up before the tremble in his voice became too obvious to hide. He let the phone slide from his fingers into his lap, then sat in silence in the wide, empty room. The chilly air of the medical wing felt even more frigid than usual. His mask was draped across his knee, the eye lenses speckled with droplets. The only sounds were the quiet sniffles slipping through his defenses and the soft patter of tears against shatter-proof glass. 

Peter was confused, angry, hurt—but why , he wasn’t sure. 

He was confused with himself. Why was he borderline weeping over this? Why was this triggering such a visceral emotional response in him? She hadn’t cast him out or recoiled in disgust or anything like that; she’d just assumed the same thing everyone else assumed about him: that Peter liked girls, and girls alone. That’s all. Once he told her, she would know the truth. Simple as that. Shouldn’t he be relieved? Coming out for the first time to two different people in one day was a lot of pressure to put himself under. 

So why was crying? Why couldn’t he make himself stop?

He was angry at his cowardice, his naïveté, at the tears staining his cheeks. He was angry he had to tell his aunt outright for her to know him fully, but at the same time mad at the unrealistic expectations he was placing on her. The anger inside him churned as hot and violent as magma. He didn’t know where to put it.

Most of all, he was hurt. It was the kind of pain that pinched your entrails and mangled your heart and made your throat feel like it was caving in on itself. He didn’t have a name for it. He couldn’t understand its intensity or origin. He wanted it to let him go.

“Spidey! You still in here?”

Panicked, Peter flew from the bed and faced away from the doors, yanking the Spider-Man mask over his puffy eyes and splotchy face. He grounded himself with as steady a breath as he could muster as Johnny floated across the room and landed by his side. 

“That went slightly better than expected,” Johnny decided, now dressed in his skin-tight, deep blue Fantastic Four suit. “I think my sister is finally sorta somewhat warming up to the idea of you. You’ve been upgraded from ‘masked menace’ to ‘masked hooligan’ at least, which is a start. How about on your end? Did your aunt really grill you, or…hey. Are you okay?”

Peter cursed himself inside his head. What was the point in wearing a mask when people like Johnny could read him like an open book anyway? He turned towards the Human Torch with a dismal chuckle. 

“I’m good, yeah. That’s great. Really great. My aunt’s not mad anymore, either. Maybe I’m better at getting people to like me than I thought. I bet it’s my eccentric wit and rock-hard calves and rugged, unbridled sex appeal.”

Johnny’s frown didn’t budge an inch. “You’re doing it again,” he said. 

Peter rubbed at his eyes through the lenses of his mask. “Doing what?” he asked sullenly. 

“You know what,” Johnny snapped, crossing his arms against his chest. “Drop the stupid jokes, and tell me what’s wrong.”

“Ouch. I thought the sex appeal part was at least kinda funny. Tough crowd.” 

“Spidey. Come on. Seriously.”

“Y’know, ‘seriously’ isn’t really my vibe at the moment. How about peanut M&M’s and microwave popcorn and Brooklyn 99 and ignoring our problems instead?”

“Spider-Man.”

Taken aback, Peter couldn’t help but giggle. “Was that you trying to call me by my full name? I have to admit, it was rather unsettling. You almost sounded like one of my super villains. Add a bit more growl to that last syllable, and you’ve pretty much nailed it.”

Johnny scoffed incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wow. This is…just wow. You done now? Is it outta your system yet?”

“Yeah, that’s not how it works. I’m like a goat. I’ll just keep going and going until I die. And the longer I go, the harder it is to stop. Speaking of, ever heard the one where a goat and a sommelier walk into a bar?”

“Webs,” Johnny implored, grabbing him by the wrist. The touch sent tingles up Peter’s arm and down his spine. “Please.”

Virulent emotion threatened to claim him once again. What was the point? He couldn’t tell him what was wrong. Even if he wanted to, Peter doubted he was capable of fully articulating it. 

With a desolate sigh, the masked hero yielded, but he selected his words with an abundance of caution. “It’s whatever, all right?” he insisted. “My aunt just…doesn’t know me like I thought she did. And it’s not her fault, but…I don’t know. It surprised me a little, since she probably knows me better than anyone.”

“What doesn’t she know about you?” Johnny asked. When Peter didn’t answer, he switched the question to: “Have you ever told her the thing she doesn’t know about you?”

“No…” he said hesitantly.

An endearing smile touched Johnny’s lips and shone in his cobalt eyes. “Spidey. You can’t expect people to know things about you without showing them or telling them those things. That applies to your aunt and everyone else in the world. If you want people to know you as you are, you have to open up to them and share the stuff that’s important to you.”

The deep ache inside Peter gradually fell away, and an itchy irritation crept in to replace it. Grumbling, Peter stared off to the side, shoulders and fists held taut. “Would you stop making so much goddamn sense all the time?” he fake-pouted, a small laugh escaping him. “Could you, like, not have the answer to every single one of my problems for once in your life?”

Johnny returned his laughter, giving his arm a light squeeze. “You make it too easy, Webs,” he teased him. “This is why I think this silly social media stuff is so vital to restoring your image. If you don’t take control of your narrative and tell people who Spider-Man really is, they’re going to keep making assumptions about you that aren’t true.”

Peter studied the soft sincerity in Johnny’s expression, debilitating fondness blazing through him. He puffed out his cheeks. “Y’know, you could at least pretend to think I’m funny while I’m running through one of my conflict-avoidant stand-up comedy routines. Humor me just a smidge before gutting me like a fish.”

“I do think you're funny,” Johnny corrected him. The hand holding Peter’s wrist tugged him the teensiest bit closer, sending butterflies racing up Spider-Man’s throat. While he had him distracted, Johnny’s other hand found Peter’s rib cage and gave his uninjured side a quick pinch, making the young hero squeal in surprise and leap away. “But I’m not gonna laugh when you’re making jokes to hide your pain.”

“Hehey!” Peter giggled, blushing bright as a tomato as he hugged his midsection. “Johnny! I just got re-stitched!”

Johnny grinned wide and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. I’m counting down the days until you can’t use that as an excuse anymore. Then we’ll really see who’s better at getting the other person to laugh.”

He feigned a few deadly pokes to Peter’s belly to punctuate his threat, causing Spider-Man to stagger backwards frantically, giggling like a little kid.

“Quihit it!” he squeaked. “Now you’re the one not taking things seriously!”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” Johnny assured him, a sinister glimmer in his eye. Spider-Man reddened even deeper, arms clamped protectively around his torso. Johnny backed off for the time being, although the devious smirk on his face remained. 

“I’m also dead serious about cleaning up your rep,” Johnny continued. “And I know the perfect event to host our next media blitz.”

Peter grimaced. “An event?” he repeated back. He didn’t like the sound of this already.

“That’s right,” Johnny said. He pulled out his phone and held it up for Peter to see. “The Fantastic Four is hosting a fan meet-up and photo-op thing in Central Park tomorrow at noon. The event is free, but we’re requesting donations for pictures and autographs and whatnot to raise money for local animal shelters.”

Peter blinked at the screen. This must’ve been the Johnny meet-and-greet Ned mentioned earlier, he thought. 

“I thought Spider-Man could make a surprise appearance. We can take some photos, charm the crowds, do a couple interviews with whatever press is there. It’ll be fun.”

Peter considered Johnny’s proposal and swallowed dryly. “That sounds like a pretty big leap from me showing up on your TikTok, don’t you think? I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.” Spider-Man scratched the back of his arm, voice small and shy. “I’d rather just…y’know. Talk to you some more. Without a bunch of cameras or other people watching. We can do more livestreams and social media stuff, if you think that’ll help. But…I don’t feel comfortable doing this sort of thing with anyone else except you.” He winced, realizing how that sounded. “I mean—not yet, anyway.”

Before Johnny had a chance to respond, Peter spun away from him, stretching his arms above his head. “Besides! I, um—already have plans at that time tomorrow. Thanks for the invite, but I don’t think the rest of your team would appreciate me showing up out of the blue and crashing their fundraiser. I might scare off fans who came to make big contributions.”

Johnny paused, then snickered, his freckled nose crinkling up in the most disarmingly cute way. “First of all, you’re adorable. I’m honored to be the sole confidant you’re willing to trust with your public relations.”

Peter’s heart skipped in his chest like a stone across a raging river. He wondered if Johnny spoke to all his friends this way, or if it was just him. He hoped it was just him. 

“I think you mean paranoid and violently untrusting of news reporters,” Peter chuckled halfheartedly. 

“Maybe. But mostly adorable.” He forged ahead without missing a beat. “Second, I guarantee people are gonna be wanting to see more of you after today. Go check out the now-trending hashtag ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’ on all your favorite social media platforms. In the hour since we went live, the internet has already gone absolutely beserk with people sharing their stories about you.” Johnny held up his index finger pointedly. “Not all of them are flattering, mind you—but an overwhelming majority. Not bad for my first time doing this, I’d say. It’d be great if we could ride that wave of excitement by posting more content tomorrow.”

Peter couldn’t help it. He broke into a laugh, shielding his mouth with his hand, making Johnny narrow his eyes.

“What?” he asked amusedly. “What’s funny?” His cheeks hinted a light pink color. 

“Nothing,” Peter giggled. “You just sound a lot like your sister right now.”

Immediately, Johnny’s jaw dropped. “What? I do not! How dare you say that! That’s like—the biggest insult you could ever possibly hit me with!”

“You told me she’s the one who handles your team’s PR and whatnot, right?” Peter reminded him. “Isn’t that kinda what you’re doing for me right now? Making sure I’m putting out a good image and appearing likable and trustworthy and all that stuff?”

“This is completely different,” Johnny insisted. “Sue works with marketing agencies and consulting firms and giant corporate sponsors to bolster our team’s image. You and I are just making fun videos on my TikTok and Twitter and Instagram pages. I wasn’t planning to throw a bunch of money at this by hiring trend experts or data analysts or graphic designers or anything.” A giddy twinkle flashed in his eyes. “Unless—did you want to do that, or—?”

“No, no,” Peter assured him. “Silly phone videos are much more my style. I’m just saying.” He nudged Johnny playfully with his elbow. “Maybe you and your sister are more alike than you think.”

Johnny’s scowl returned in an instant. “Go to hell, Webhead.”

For the second time that day, Peter was startled by his phone trilling loudly inside his backpack. Lucky for him, it was Ned this time, who was far less likely to yell at him or make him cry by accidentally pigeonholing him into compulsive heterosexuality. Not that he blamed May, of course. At least…he was trying not to.

“Popular today, aren’t yah?” Johnny noted.

“Yep. That’s what happens when the Human Torch gushes longingly about you on the Today Show and posts unsolicited pictures of you in your pajamas.”

As Johnny chuckled at his retort, Peter jabbed his thumb towards the elevator in the corner of the room. “I’m gonna take this on the roof. We can meet up after your fan event thingy tomorrow if you’re free then.”

The Human Torch met his gaze with a wickedly enchanting grin. “M’kay. Come ready to star in my next groundbreaking, fun-loving Spider-Man social media production. We gotta post at least once a day for the next week! No exceptions! And since you’re not allowed to do anything superhero-y anytime soon, don’t pretend like you’re too busy or have anything better to do! ‘Cuz I’ll know that’s bullshit.”

Peter offered him a two-fingered salute. “You’re the boss, Flame Brain. See yah!” He took a few steps towards the elevator but stopped suddenly in the center of the room, struck with a choice that rendered him blushing and paralyzed. There were a lot of things the request might imply, should he decide to follow through—nonetheless, Peter felt it was a necessary and inevitable progression for their relationship (both as friends or otherwise), and would allow for consistent communication between them. 

With all these divergent thoughts swirling around in his skull, Peter reluctantly made up his mind. He turned back around and strode up to Johnny, the words sputtering nervously off his lips.

“Could I—I mean—w-would you mind—?” He shook his head, took a breath, and tried again, extending his hand. “Just—give me your phone. Please.”

Johnny blinked at the masked hero bemusedly, then held out the device with a chuckle. “Okay…?” he said warily. 

Peter took the phone and navigated to Johnny’s contact list, anxiously but determinedly adding his number to the roster under the name “Webhead” along with all the spider-related emojis he could find. He looked it over, once, twice, nodded to himself, then handed the device back to the Human Torch, shoulders tight and voice a tad shrill. “There. Now you can reach me anytime you need for whatever reason—whether you’re being attacked by Russian mobsters or want to run any more embarrassing content ideas by me before posting them on the internet forever or if you’re about to supernova yourself into oblivion and need someone to come help you—y’know, um, not do that.”

Johnny studied him with a look of delighted fascination. He plucked the phone from Spider-Man’s fingers and grinned at the screen. “I imagine someone like you doesn’t give out his number to others very often—especially those who don’t know your real identity.” He glanced up at him with a blindingly sunny smile. “I’m happy you’re trusting me with it. I don’t take that lightly.”

There was playful, teasing Johnny, and then there was this Johnny: insightful, sensitive, and earnest. Both were equally fruitful at transforming Peter Parker into a puddle of melted goop.

“No booty calls on weekdays,” Peter joked shyly. “I’m a spider of class and dignity.”

The loud yodeling ringtone belted from his phone yet again, making Spider-Man flinch. In his distracted, excitable state, he must’ve missed Ned’s initial call. If his friend was this determined to get through to him, he must’ve seen Johnny’s livestream and the overwhelming online response and be absolutely dying to talk to him about it.

“You’d better take that,” Johnny suggested.

Peter nodded. “Right. Okay. Cool. Great.” The young hero turned and skipped across the room, floating on the high of his uncharacteristic bravery. He giggled to himself, then threw Johnny a wave. “Catch yah later!” He answered Ned’s call and started to speak as he stepped into the elevator, then second guessed himself. “Whoops. I shouldn’t—bad connection in there. I’ll just—” he skirted towards the doorway instead with a skittish laugh in Johnny’s direction. “—take the stairs. Yep. Uh, yeah, so...bye! Again!” 

Johnny watched Spider-Man’s nervous and clumsy exit with an air of intrigue. He’d learned those characteristics were indicative of his nature, and normally not worth making note of. But in light of the conversation he’d just had with his teammates, and the jarring words Reed had left him with, he was inclined to dissect the webhead’s behavior with a far keener eye.

When the masked hero was gone, Johnny revisited the chat between himself, his sister, and her boyfriend in his head, and felt the gears of yearning and possibility start to tick, tick, tick into place. Maybe there was some hope for the two of them after all. Maybe he wasn’t as delusional as he’d once thought.

“What’s it gonna be this time, sis? Another stern talking to? Benching me for the next three missions? A new curfew we both know I’m not going to follow?”

Susan responded by shoving Johnny’s Fantastic Four costume into his chest. “Put that on,” she demanded. “For future reference, Tide pods do nothing for blood stains. Baking soda and warm water is your best bet.”

Johnny reddened in surprise, then begrudgingly slipped into the freshly laundered suit. He’d hidden it after hours of failed scrubbing and soaking with a plan to try dry cleaning next, but as always, Sue was faster and smarter than him. He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow once he was fully dressed, avoiding both adults’ hard stares.  

“Was any of that blood yours?” Reed asked.

“No,” Johnny grumbled. “We punched a lot of kidnappers, so some of it could’ve been theirs. But 99% of it was probably Spider-Man’s.” The Human Torch leered at him. “You know, because he got shot while saving two kids yesterday? Did you black out during my whole heartfelt testimony this morning? Or are you convinced as usual that I’m just making shit up?”

“I believe you,” Richards assured him calmly. “We just wanted to make sure you weren’t injured.”

Johnny’s biting tone wavered. He glanced between the two of them, noticing the lines of worry in both their faces, then gingerly lowered his gaze. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, rolling his shoulder a bit. By now the ache from colliding with the pavement was nearly gone. 

“And is he?” Sue asked in a thin voice. “Spider-Man?”

Johnny scoffed bitterly. “Like you care.”

“We do care, Johnny,” Reed insisted. “None of us want to see anyone around here getting hurt. And based on the amount of blood we had to scrub out of your suit, it must’ve been really bad. I’m stunned your friend isn’t in the ICU after sustaining a wound that severe.”

A hum of surprise trilled within Johnny at Reed’s choice of words. Friend. He called him my friend. 

“We saw the police footage of the people you were up against,” Sue continued, shaking her head, eyes sharp with fear. “Those were some seriously dangerous men, Johnny.”

The Human Torch grimaced, waiting for the lecture to start. Susan swallowed, then exhaled through her nose.

“Listen,” his sister grated out. “I’m proud of you for stopping those thugs and saving those kids.” She spoke the words as if they physically hurt her to say. 

Johnny’s eyebrows crawled towards his hairline. “Really?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “Really.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, then gestured to Richards. “Did he put you up to this?”

“No one put me up to anything,” Susan shot back. “I mean it. You were outnumbered by a very scary opponent, but you took them down and got the civilians out unharmed. Before I say anything else, I wanted to make sure you knew that.” 

Johnny was taken aback to say the least. His sister was not one to hand out compliments to him easily—especially in conversations that weren’t going to be broadcast as promotional content for the team. But he wasn’t ready to let her off the hook just yet. 

“In that case, you should be proud of Spider-Man, too,” Johnny retorted. “He was the one who got the kids out safely. And he saved my life!”

“Which brings me to the next thing we need to address,” Susan said plaintively. “You cannot go off to fight bad guys on your own without your team there to support you—especially bad guys of that caliber.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Johnny reminded her. Sue’s face twisted in frustration.

“And if Spider-Man did save your life, that means he put your life in danger in the first place. No 16-year-old should be off fighting psycho mafia child-traffickers armed with weapons of war they got from—god knows where, without their adult teammates backing them, or—hell, even knowing about it. Do you hear me?”  

Johnny gazed at his sister numbly. “How about two 16-year-olds?” he proposed.

Susan frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Human Torch pursed his lips, then cursed himself under his breath. Spider-Man had shared his age with him in confidence. He doubted the webhead wanted him telling anyone else about it—especially other superheroes. But Johnny assumed one of the reasons Sue didn’t like them hanging out together was because she thought Spider-Man was a grown adult. Maybe if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t be so hard on him. Maybe a lot of people wouldn’t. 

It wasn’t his place to tell. But Johnny could already see the realization materializing across Reed’s face. An acrimonious breath escaped him. Too late now. 

“We’re the same age,” Johnny explained. “Spider-Man and I. We’re both sixteen.”

Sue’s eyes widened. “He—you’re telling me you’ve seen his face? You know his real identity?”

Johnny shook his head impatiently. “No, he just—told me. He’s told me a bunch of stuff about himself. The two of us have a lot in common.”

The crease in Susan’s brow returned in record time. “Oh. So you don’t actually know, then. You’re just assuming he’s telling the truth and taking his word for it? Do you know how shady that sounds, Johnny?”

“He’s not lying!” Johnny shouted, fire flashing from his fists. “And if you spent two seconds actually getting to know him, you’d know that! Why don’t either of you ever believe me about anything?”

“It’s not you we’re doubting,” Reed said gently. “It’s just…difficult for us to fully trust someone who’s so secretive all the time. Please understand that our only concern is your safety and wellbeing.”

“Is Spider-Man also the one who told you to make those insane accusations against Wilson Fisk on your livestream?” Susan asked coldly. “Is that another thing you just accepted as fact because he told you it was true?”

Johnny flushed, trying to conjure a sufficient response. “He…he told me those kidnappers work for Fisk,” he said reluctantly. “Spidey didn’t want me to say anything about it, but if Fisk is really funding a human trafficking ring while running for mayor, I thought the world needed to know how dangerous he is.”

“And do you have any proof that that’s the case?” Sue countered. “Anything at all that connects Fisk to those men you fought?”

Johnny tried to extinguish the flames creeping up his arms and fizzling off his scalp, but his increasing frustration was making it impossible. When he couldn’t find an answer, Susan scoffed, shaking her head.

“Wilson Fisk is a pinnacle of industry and influence in this community. He’s the only candidate running for mayor who’s directly voiced his support for the Fantastic Four and promised to work with us if he wins the election. If you’re going to accuse him of something that despicable, you better have fucking indisputable evidence before you open your mouth and make an enemy of one of the most powerful people in New York.”

Johnny swallowed, shame radiating off him in swells of searing heat. He hated to admit it, but Sue was right. Even if Fisk was guilty, defacing his name on his TikTok page with no proof to back his claims was idiotic and counterproductive to everything both his team and Spider-Man were working towards. He shouldn’t have spoken so carelessly.

“You’re going to delete the livestream,” Susan instructed him.

“I already cut the part about Fisk out,” Johnny mumbled. “Spider-Man made me.”

“And you’re going to issue a public apology stating you were misinformed on the situation and won’t be spreading unfounded conspiracy theories about public figures ever again.”

Johnny glared at his feet, hands balled tight at his sides. “What if I’m not misinformed?” he said quietly. “What if Spider-Man is right about him?”

“Then Spider-Man has a lot of investigating to do before either of you mention anything about it ever again. For now, you’re apologizing. The publicist will send the copy to you tomorrow to post after the fundraising event.”

A queasy feeling bled through Johnny’s insides. The idea of begging for forgiveness from someone whose henchmen were responsible for wounding Spider-Man so badly felt like such a betrayal to the webhead. If there was any way he could opt out of uploading that post tomorrow, he’d make it happen.

“I don’t have the time or patience to babysit you 24/7 right now,” Susan said wearily. “If you want to waste more time running around with that masked hooligan, I’m not going to stop you.”

“Good,” Johnny said smugly. “‘Cuz that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“But I won’t tolerate you going off to fight an army of Russian mobsters without giving us a head’s up,” she clarified, “or making baseless accusations that threaten the integrity of our team. Got it?”

Johnny huffed, giving his sister a sardonic curtsy. “Aye aye, captain. Whatever keeps the stakeholders happy.”

Sue rolled her eyes as she turned away from him, marching towards her and Reed’s guest room. “Be at the great lawn by 11 tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t be late. And please look presentable.”

“That’s all you keep me around for, right?” Johnny hollered back. “Looking hot while I pose for photos and sign autographs and keep my mouth shut on anything that actually matters?” 

His remark earned a groan from his sister before she stepped into her room and slammed the door behind her, leaving Johnny quite pleased with himself for getting the last word in.

The Human Torch expected Richards to tuck tail after Susan like he always did, or request for the hundredth time that he cut his elder sibling a little slack. Instead, he stayed rooted in place, eyeing Johnny like a new species of amoeba he was studying under a microscope. Johnny regarded his sister’s boyfriend with a loutish glare. 

“Go ahead,” Johnny muttered. “Tell me again how she’s only hard on me because she cares and wants to keep me safe and blah, blah, blah…”

Reed shot a glance back at the door, then broke into a hesitant smile. “Actually,” Richards said. “I was more interested in discussing your little friend a bit more—perhaps without Sue’s well-intentioned but rather harsh convictions on the matter preventing you from speaking openly.”

Johnny blinked, caught off guard, to say the least. “Um,” he said, trying to track where he was headed with this. “Okay?”

Reed placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side. “So…Spider-Man,” he mused. “You like him, don’t you?” 

Tiny fires flared at the tips of Johnny’s ears. “I…what?” he stammered, voice cracking in the most heinously telling way. “Who told you that?” Reed grinned.

“No one. Call it an educated guess. I was sixteen once too, you know. Nobody at your age is as slick as they think.”

Reed Richards and Johnny Storm had always had an awkward gap in their relationship. Being his older sister’s on-and-off boyfriend for the past couple of years and now the co-founder of their superhero team tended to put a damper in their geniality. Reed tried his best to toe the line between being there for Johnny in the ways he needed without overstepping into attempted paternal territory, knowing well it wasn’t his role to fill. But showing an interest in his romantic life—and catching on to Johnny’s infatuation with someone when he was trying his best not to flaunt it—was, in fact, a first for him. Johnny found himself blundering for words, a growing blaze of panic catching fire in his chest.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Reed assured him. “But I’m convinced your sister already knows, and—unsurprisingly—does not approve.”

Johnny crossed his arms tight to his chest, giving a short, rigid shrug. “And what about you?” he asked. “What do you think?”

Richards smiled. “I’m surprised you care.”

“I don’t,” Johnny said immediately, then swallowed. “But…is it really that obvious?”

Reed chuckled. “Yeah. Kinda. I can’t say I trust the guy as much as I’d like to, but…no way he’s as crazy as the news or Susan is imagining. From what I’ve seen, he seems like a decent kid.” A smirk tugged at his lip. “And I can see the appeal. You’ve always had a thing for the mysterious masked rebel types.”

Johnny fought back a giggle, mostly at the thought of how excited Spidey would be knowing Reed had described him that way. But his laughter quickly turned hollow.

“And the kind that’ll never like me back,” he added morosely. Reed’s face fell, and Johnny’s shoulders slumped. “Sue says I’m just making the same mistake I did with Sam all over again, and I’ll only end up breaking my heart a second time. And it sucks, ‘cuz I know deep down she’s right, but…this feels different. He’s different. He’s just…ugh.”

Johnny scrunched up his features and clawed aggressively at his scalp, disheveling his rose-gold locks into a scruffy jumble atop his head. “Spidey’s just…he’s one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met. It’s like he’s completely blind to his own struggles and safety but hyper-aware of everyone else’s—which is really sweet, but also annoying as fuck. He sees so much good in the world and is so passionate about helping others even though so many people try to paint him as a villain. He knows how to make people laugh even at their lowest point: when they’re scared or confused or in pain. And whenever I’m able to get him to laugh, let me tell you…” Johnny chuckled to himself at the thought of it. “It’s like straight serotonin, the sound of it. Literally the cutest, most addictive thing ever. Nothing beats the feeling of when I get a big laugh out of him—which isn’t exactly hard, but that doesn’t make it any less fun.” 

The smile on Johnny’s face was so wide as he spoke, it almost hurt. “Spidey may seem closed-off and mysterious from the outside,” he went on, “but once you get to know him, you realize he’s actually the biggest goddamn dork in the entire world. He talks super-duper fast and has a crazy quick wit—especially when he’s anxious or dealing with something he doesn’t want you to worry about. He’s an insanely smart science nerd just like you and Sue and can rant about molecules and substances I can’t pronounce for hours. He puts on this quippy, confident front most of the time, but he’s a surprisingly shy and insecure person.” Johnny scoffed. “And despite it all, he still makes me nervous. Can you believe that? It’s infuriating. Johnny Storm does not get nervous; everyone else is supposed to get nervous around me. But I can’t help it. I’m like a blushing, bumbling idiot around him. I don’t think he knows the effect he has on people. I don’t think he understands how incredible and brave and inspiring he really is. I just want everyone to see him the way I do. Even if there’s zero chance of him ever liking me how I like him, I have to get the world to understand why Spider-Man deserves to be admired and appreciated and loved.” 

Johnny’s saccharine grin withered into nothing. “I won’t lose another friendship by forcing my feelings onto someone who doesn’t like me back. He means too much to me. So…” Johnny shrugged pitifully. “If I can’t be with him, I can at least give him this.”

When the Human Torch saw the expression Reed was wearing and realized how long he’d been carrying on about the webhead, he felt his hair crackle like a campfire. Richards and him didn’t talk much about stuff like this, despite Mr. Fantastic’s relentless and embarrassing efforts to deepen their flimsy bond. Why was he suddenly pouring his heart out and spilling his guts to a man whose mousy nature and nauseating devotion to his cold and callous sister had always made Johnny want to broil him like a Thanksgiving turkey? Reed blinked at the teen hero slowly, stinging sympathy lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Wowza,” he said. “You’re down bad, kiddo. How long have you known this guy again? Like, five days?”

Johnny dropped his face into his hands, steaming with embarrassment. “Shut up,” he giggled.

“And you really don’t know who he is?”

Drearily, Johnny shook his head.

“But…you still like him? Like, like him, like him?”

The Human Torch hesitated, then nodded, face still smothered behind his palms. Reed chuckled.

“All right. In that case, here’s my two cents: I can’t speak to Spider-Man’s character or his trustworthiness or—hell, if it’s even mathematically appropriate for you two to date. But what I can say is this: if you have no concerns or reservations about him other than your assumption that he doesn’t like you back, you may need to reevaluate your deductive reasoning skills.”

Johnny lifted his head from his hands, searching Reed’s expression with wide, dubious eyes. “What are you saying?” he asked. 

Richards shrugged, failing to stifle a knowing smirk. “Look, I don’t know what Susan or anyone else has told you,” he conceded, “but between you and me, I don’t think Spider-Man is straight.”

Johnny felt his pulse climb to a deafening thunder. He inched closer to his teammate, stuttering through a frazzled, nonsensical reply. “Wait, you—w-what do you—how—?”

“And the reason I think that,” Reed continued, clearly enjoying himself, “is because I’m very convinced he has a similar infatuation with you as you do him.”

“Hold on,” Johnny stammered hoarsely, throwing his hands in the air. “Slow down. Why are you saying this? Where is this even coming from?”

“As I’ve watched you two interact these past few days, his observable behaviors have not been unlike the very ones you’ve exhibited towards him, which clued me into your possible feelings for Spider-Man as well as his own for you. Between you and Nova, the mania was as evident as day a one-sided affair. But I’m not extrapolating that same conjecture from your current fixation.”

“Why do you have to say everything so weird?” Johnny whined indignantly. “Just tell me in normal-people words what the hell you’re talking about!”

Reed sighed. “You said you get nervous around him, right? It seems to me he also gets very nervous when you’re around him. Higher voice pitch, faster talking speed, restlessness, fidgeting, laughing excessively. I don’t recall Sam ever acting like that when you two were together. Pretty incriminating evidence if you ask me.”

“That’s just…how Spidey is,” Johnny tried to explain. “Y’know—an anxious, giggly, fidgety person. Plus, he’s like, physically incapable of making himself shut the fuck up.”

Richards smiled. “And you’re sure he’s all those things all the time, or just when he’s with you?”

Johnny bristled. “I’m…yeah. Pretty sure.” He paused to ground himself, combing his fingers through his hair, crushing his feelings of excitement and hope into dust beneath his heel. “Look. It’s useless, okay? Spidey already mentioned dating a girl before. He’s straight. That’s that. End of discussion.”

“Weren’t you a serial girl-dater all the way up until the sixth grade?” Reed pointed out. “Does that make you any less of the flaming homosexual you are today?”

Johnny grimaced. “Okay, first things first—don’t ever say anything like that ever again.”

Reed chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Fair enough.”

“Second, that was pre-pubescent Johnny. Spider-Man was talking about taking a girl to his school’s homecoming dance last year. He’s never mentioned anything about liking or dating guys.”

“It is possible he only recently came to realize his attraction to the same gender,” Reed proposed. “People can also be attracted to more than one gender. Just because he recently dated a girl or likes girls doesn’t automatically disqualify him from liking boys, too.”

Johnny stood very still as he flipped back through his carefully curated collection of notes on the wall-crawler, which adorned the inside of brain like an elaborate tapestry. He analyzed and shuffled and highlighted important subtext. He strung threads between moments and jotted down little comments beneath entries. Could Reed be right? Had he missed something? Was it possible that Spider-Man actually liked him back?

“I can’t make you any guarantees,” Reed added, tearing Johnny from his mental investigation. “And I won’t pretend I have any advice on how you should approach the situation with your sister or with Spider-Man. But if you like him, and you believe he’s as good and honest and—well, cute—as you claim, and the only thing holding you back is your fear of unreciprocated affection…” Reed smiled warmly. “I think you should go for it. You might be surprised by his response.”

Johnny’s stomach was in fluttering, queasy knots. He had no idea what to do with Richards’ insights. The man was rarely wrong when it came to scientific hypotheses or analytical geometric theorems. But as for his gaydar? Johnny wasn’t ready to enrapture himself with fantasies of what he and Spider-Man could be based solely on Reed’s fleeting observations. Reed Richards was no Chris Harrison when it came to playing queer matchmaker for his girlfriend’s little brother.

Johnny wet his lips and scratched behind his ear. “I’ll um…I’ll think about it,” was the reply he eventually settled on. 

Reed beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Wonderful.”

Red-faced, and unsure what to say next, Johnny spun on his heels to leave. But he stopped with a hand on the door, speaking softly without meeting Reed’s gaze.

“You really didn’t tell her to say that?”

Richards frowned at the back of Johnny’s head. “Hmm?” he prompted him.

“Sue. You swear you didn’t tell her to say she’s proud of me?”

Reed’s features eased into a pained smile. “Yes, Johnny. It took a little encouragement from my end for her to go through with it, but I promise it was her idea. Not mine.”

Johnny swallowed thickly. “You think she meant it?”

Richards nodded. “I do. And for what it’s worth, I feel the same.”

Johnny fought back a smile, then rolled his eyes with a melodramatic groan. “You’re both so embarrassing,” he lamented. “God. Don’t you have something mind-numbingly boring and gag-inducing to get to? Like—I dunno—winning the Nobel prize for discovering a new element? Fucking my sister behind the bunsen burners in Tony Stark’s bougie lab?”

Reed’s cheeks went scarlet. “I—I don’t—”

“Or are you doing it somewhere even weirder? Oh god, don’t answer that—spare me the details. Just please make sure you’re wearing protection; I’m not ready to be an uncle to your stretchy, invisible demon spawn.”

“Johnny!” Richards exclaimed, face fire-engine red. The Human Torch cackled maniacally as he rushed out of the room, a pillar of fire trailing behind him. With an etiolated sigh, Reed couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake encouraging Johnny to pursue something romantic with a shady individual most of the world considered a reckless menace. His concerns about Spider-Man resembled Sue’s in more ways than one, but he knew the more they objected to the idea, the greater Johnny’s interest in the vigilante would grow.

More than anything, Richards wanted Johnny happy. And right now, despite Susan’s best efforts, Spider-Man was the thing making him the most happy. Based on his quiet surveillance, that happiness was fortunate enough to operate on a two-way street. Spidey really seemed to like him back—stumbling over his words when Johnny teased him or offered him a helping hand, bouncing up and down like a kid in a candy shop when the two were engaged in conversation, melting into the Human Torch’s embrace when he thought no one else was watching. Even with his face hidden, the web-crawler’s body language was implicating enough. He wondered if anyone else had picked up on it yet.

The logical half of Reed’s brain hoped the pair never crossed that line. The smaller, sentimental side hoped one day they’d be brave enough to try. 

“I’m so glad Johnny Storm said what he said about Spider-Man. About a year ago, I was out walking my dog Lola when her collar suddenly broke and she got away from me. I chased after her as fast as I could, but I was too slow to keep up. When she ran out into the busy street, I knew she was a goner. I was about to watch my best friend get hit by a car and die right in front of me. It was the scariest moment of my entire life.

“But before the cars got to her, a streak of red swooped in out of nowhere and snatched her right off the road. I didn’t understand what had happened at first, until Spider-Man dropped onto the sidewalk right beside me with Lola in his arms. I was a hysterical, blubbering mess at that point, but he was so kind and patient with me. He walked with me all the way to the nearest pet shop so I could get my baby a new collar, carrying Lola the entire time and chatting with me the whole way there. I was so embarrassed with the situation and how much my dog was drooling and shedding all over him, but he didn’t care. I’ll never forget what he did for me that day. I’ll always remember how nice he was, and I’m forever grateful for the notes list he airdropped me of all his favorite thrift shops in New York. Dude knows some super obscure but highly underrated spots! I’ve scored some of my best finds this summer thanks to his recs. I’d really prefer to gatekeep, but if enough of you ask, I’ll share the list he gave me in the comments.” 

“Listen here, Mr. Jameson! I’m not one for posting videos on the web too often, but I had to come on here to make sure you knew that Spider-Man is a sweetheart who stands up for what’s right! When me and my girls attended the Women’s March last October, we were met with a giant mob of anti-feminist counter protesters shouting obscene things at us and waving around all kinds of hateful signs and flags. They were making everyone feel very unsafe, and a lot of people were considering leaving despite really wanting to be there to fight for our rights as human beings. 

“To all of our surprise and delight, Spider-Man came swinging from the rooftops to our rescue. He started covering their repulsive signs with spider webs and even snatched the megaphone right out of their leader’s hands! Every time they tried yelling more horrible things at us, he would drown them out by singing ‘Run The World’ by Beyonce as loud as he could or blasting ‘God is a woman’ into the megaphone. It was hilarious! Eventually, the counter protesters got so frustrated by his schemes, they all left in a big huff, and we were able to finish the march in peace. Now, does that sound like a menace to you? I should hope not! Unless you fancy yourself one of those backwards-thinking woman-haters, you’d better start respecting Spider-Man for the darling young man he is!”

“I never planned to tell anybody this story. But with everyone sharing their experiences with Spidey, I felt like it was time to share mine. 

“Two months ago, I hit a low that felt inescapable. I looked at my life, my loneliness, the state of the world, my lukewarm relationships, my shitty job, the endless repetition of each and every day, and thought: this is really it, isn’t it? This is all I have to look forward to for the rest of my existence. I felt so heavy and weary and broken, and was ready to just stop feeling altogether. 

“I was standing on the roof of my apartment building when he showed up. My feet were poking over the edge, and I was envisioning what my body might look like once I hit the pavement. I didn’t know much about Spider-Man at the time, but when he started speaking to me, I remember he sounded a lot younger than I expected. You don’t anticipate New York’s public enemy number one to have a voice that reminds you of your 17-year-old nephew, y’know? And based on the way he was acting, I’m pretty sure this was his first time dealing with this kinda situation.

“He asked me if I wanted to talk before I did anything else. I admitted that I didn’t, and suggested he leave unless he wanted to get blamed for what I was about to do. I couldn’t see any outcome of that evening that didn’t end with me dead in the street, but that didn’t mean I wanted anyone to have to witness it—or worse, feel like they were somehow responsible. Even if Spider-Man was as rotten as the news said, no one—especially a kid—deserves that. 

“I told him again and again to beat it. He kept asking if there was anyone he could call, anything he could say, something he could do. I was getting flustered and impatient, and spun around to yell at him to leave me the hell alone. Guess I turned a bit too aggressively, ‘cuz I wound up tripping over my own feet and falling backwards off the roof. 

I dropped about six or seven floors down before Spidey caught me. He started dishing out a million apologies, insisting that was the exact opposite of what he was trying to accomplish, and I couldn’t help but laugh. As he carried me to the ground and placed me on the sidewalk, I kept laughing and laughing until I was crying, and eventually that crying turned into uncontrollable sobs. I think those couple of seconds of free-falling flipped a switch in me or something. There was this explosion of all these conflicting emotions going on in the moments before and after he saved me, and maybe that made me—I don’t know, actually see the finality of what I was doing or whatever. While weeping like a fucking baby, I started ranting about how much I hated my life and all the stupid shit that had gotten me to the point where I was ready to off myself. I must’ve sounded batshit crazy, but Spider-Man sat there with me through it all until I’d run out of tears and things to say. Kid’s no quack, that’s for sure, but he tried his best to help. He bribed me into talking to the suicide hotline people by trading me Dratini on Pokemon Go. I’d been trying to find one of those for ages, and that little bastard had three! I think being able to swing from place to place on that webbing of his gives him an unfair advantage against the rest of us.

“Anyways. All this to say, Spidey saved my life that day. He didn’t impart any profound wisdom that suddenly made everything all sunshine and rainbows. He didn’t make any vacuous promises that everything would eventually be okay in the end. He just stayed, listened, said some stuff that made me laugh, and reminded me of the small things that make me happy—things I can build on and am willing to stick around for to continue enjoying for the time being. He may not be a hero in everyone’s eyes, but he’ll always be one in mine. 

“So if you’re ever having a bad day and happen to bump into Spider-Man, make him trade you a Dratini on Pokemon Go. By now I’m sure he has, like, forty.”

The video started to play again, but Ned closed the TikTok app and his phone along with it, turning to his friend in disbelief.

“I didn’t know you saved someone from taking their own life,” he said in quiet awe.

Peter slowly looked up from the screen, then smiled somberly, hunching his shoulders to his ears. “Like she said, I had no clue what I was doing. Someone else could’ve helped a lot better than I did. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time that night. It’s good to see she’s doing all right.”

Ned slipped his phone into his pocket without dropping his gaze from Peter’s face. “No wonder Johnny is trying so hard to get you to talk about yourself more online,” he gaped. “You do the most crazy heroic stuff every night, and hardly anyone knows about it! Including your best friend! Why don’t you tell me or anyone else about things like this more often?”

Peter took a big bite out of his hot dog, squinting against the blinding June sun. “I don’t know,” he murmured shyly. “I mean—you heard what that lady said. She guessed I was a teenager based just on my voice. And now fifty thousand people have watched her video and are probably connecting the same dots. The more people talk about me and the more visible Spider-Man becomes, the harder it’ll be to stay anonymous and keep the stuff I don’t want the public to know about me from being discovered.”

Like, say, my insanely huge crush on the Human Torch? he thought with a prickle of dread. 

“I think there’s a certain level of anonymity you’re going to have to sacrifice in order to make people trust Spidey more,” Ned told him pointedly. “I’m not saying ‘take off your mask and show your face to the world’ or anything. But if you and Johnny and others start speaking honestly about you more often, then yeah, people might suspect that you’re on the younger side, and sure, more of your interests and quirks and insecurities may come to light.” Ned dunked his jumbo soft pretzel in cheese sauce. “But I think that’s worth it if it means more people being forced to acknowledge what a badass superhero you are.” 

Peter wiped the mustard from his lips with a napkin, followed by the sheen of sweat on his forehead with his sleeve. “You really think so? You’re not worried about people digging a little too deep as, y’know—more and more of me starts showing through in Spider-Man’s public persona?”

Ned giggled. “Personally, I don’t think Peter Parker is showing through enough. Just look what one person speaking truthfully about you has led to! Now there’s thousands of videos and posts out there that prove you’re a good person! Isn’t it great to hear people speaking kindly about you for a change? Doesn’t it feel nice knowing that all the citizens you’ve helped and the good you’ve done hasn’t gone unnoticed after all?”

Peter sipped thoughtfully from his lemonade straw. He’d been so overwhelmed by the enormity of the response to Johnny’s call for Spider-Man anecdotes, he’d hardly allowed himself to acknowledge the substance of the content being shared, and how flattering a picture it painted of the webhead—a picture he’d never before seen reflected in the media until today. Since donning the mask at fourteen, Peter couldn't recall a time when Spider-Man’s name and image had gone viral online for positive reasons. To this day, a relentless onslaught of Spidey hate-posts were still being churned out minute by minute. But for once, the supportive ones seemed to outweigh the scornful. 

Yes, it did feel nice, he decided. To an almost foreign and inconceivable degree. Despite remembering every moment with every person he’d watched recount an interaction with the vigilante, as he listened to them share their stories and shower him in words of gratitude, it still felt like they were talking about someone else. Not Spider-Man. Not Peter Parker. Not him. 

“To be honest, it all kinda feels a bit too good to be true,” he admitted. “Being endorsed by one of the most popular celebrities in the world I’m sure has a lot to do with it, and it’s possible people are only saying kind things about me in hopes of catching his attention or being featured on his channel.” He ventured a small smile. “Still, I guess you’re right. It is nice. Maybe not everyone views Spidey the way Jameson does.”

“Yeah,” Ned agreed, cracking a grin. “Maybe people actually like Spider-Man.”

Peter shrugged, forcing nonchalance despite the unfamiliar ring of warmth circling his heart, irradiating him with bright spurs of hope. “Maybe,” he conceded softly. 

“In fact, maybe one specific person likes Spider-Man more than everyone else,” Ned added with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. When Peter met his gaze with a clueless stare, Ned groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Johnny! The Human Torch! You know, the guy going out of his way to tell everyone how wonderful and amazing you are? The dude putting his entire image and career on the line to prove you’re not a menace? The person we’ve been standing in the baking sun in this endless fucking line for almost four hours to meet?”

Peter blinked stupidly, then peered ahead at the long, wobbly queue of teens and college kids and superhero fanatics standing alongside children dressed in Fantastic Four costumes crying in their parents arms. About a quarter of a mile in the distance stood the tall, colorful pop-up booth that held the promise everyone here was willing to roast and sweat and hold out for: a few moments of face-to-face time with one Johnny Storm.

To their left were the three much shorter lines for the remaining members of the Fantastic Four. Ned had already made it through each of them to get his Funko Pops signed while Peter held their spot in the ridiculously lengthy Johnny queue. As usual, the fan favorite of the team was painfully obvious, which granted Peter a small nugget of relief. Despite his new association with the web-slinger, Johnny’s popularity seemed as intact and resilient as ever. He could only hope it would stay that way. 

Peter flushed a little at Ned’s insinuation and tried rerouting the conversation. “Do I have to remind you that you’re the one who dragged both of us here in the first place?”

“No. Just saying. You’re already reaping so many benefits of being the object of Johnny’s desire. Maybe if you put on the suit and made use of that irresistible Spidey charm, the two of us could skip to the front of the line.”

“I am not…” Peter started to retort, cheeks burning in the heat of the sun. But the look on his friend’s face verified it was pointless, so he scarfed down the rest of his hot dog with a line between his eyebrows. “I already told him Spider-Man wasn’t coming,” he mumbled. “Besides. I thought the whole point of this was for him to see Peter again, not Spider-Man.”

“Wrong. The point of this is so lowly little lay people such as myself have the chance to meet a few of our heroes in person. You seeing Johnny again is our secret special side mission, but let’s be real: you get to see him all the time! I haven’t met him once! Quit being so greedy!”

A quick laugh punched out of Peter, surprised and chagrined. “Fine, all right, I’m sorry. Do you really want me to abuse my Spidey privileges and jump you to the front of the line? If you’re seriously that upset about waiting, I could try—”

Ne waved him off. “No, no,” he grumbled, fanning himself with a handful of napkins. “I’m just hot and sweaty and impatient, and complaining about it loudly makes it a little less unbearable.”

Peter chuckled, combing his fingers through his damp curls. “That’s valid.”

The line scooched a couple paces ahead of them, forming a gap the two friends were quick to breach. Ned checked his watch again—the third time in the last five minutes—groaned, then bunched up all the garbage he held in his fists. 

“This is nuts! I could go through all three other lines again and meet the rest of the Fantastic Four a second time before we even get halfway through this one.”

Peter swatted at a fly buzzing by his ear. “Why don’t you?” he proposed. “Better than standing here whining at me for the next two to seven hours.”

Ned glanced back at him, a smile lighting up his face. “Why don’t you?” he counter offered. “This is probably your only chance to talk to all of them as yourself, not Spider-Man. Why not take a break from being a superhero and go be a fan for a change?”

Curiosity and uncertainty sparred in Peter’s chest as he turned to look at the three other queues. He hadn’t even considered meeting the other Fantastic Four members at this event. He didn’t think they’d have time, but now it was clear they had an overwhelming abundance to kill. 

Peter ran his thumb along his bottom lip in thought. Well…why don’t I? he wondered to himself. It wasn’t like he planned on revealing his secret identity to them anytime soon. It might be nice to meet them again as his regular self: a civilian and a fan, without all the baggage and presumptions that came with his spidery alter ego. During their initial introductions, he’d never had the chance to say the things he’d planned on saying or make the impression he’d wanted. This could be a kind of do-over for him—if only to satiate his neglected inner fanboy. 

“You’d be fine waiting here for me if I went?” Peter asked timidly. 

“Of course! You already did the same for me. I’m gonna keep moaning and complaining whether you’re here or not; might as well spare you the headache.” He dumped the handfuls of garbage in his fists into Peter’s unexpecting arms. “Plus, you can throw all this out on your way over there. Win-win.”

“Wow, thanks,” Peter deadpanned amusedly, struggling not to drop any remnants of their greasy snack haul. He stepped out of line towards the trash cans flanking the Thing’s queue. “Text me if you’re nearing the front and I’m not back yet.”

“Try not to get on Dr. Storm’s bad side a second time,” Ned suggested unhelpfully. Peter cut a frown in his direction as he dumped an armful of napkins and wrappers in the bin, then walked to stand in Ben Grimm’s line. 

It only took about thirty minutes for Peter to make it to the Thing’s booth. The craggy mountain of a man stood behind a table overflowing with toys and action figures and other Thing merchandise available for purchase. The wall behind him had all sorts of shirts and posters bearing his likeness pinned up along with the prices. “All Proceeds Go To Local NYC Animal Shelters” the sign above Ben’s head read. Peter swept his gaze across the overflowing piles and stacks of Thing memorabilia. He wondered if anyone would buy stuff like this if it were Spider-Man themed. Possibly—if only to douse it in gasoline and light it aflame as an effigy to their disgust.

“Well? Yah just gonna stand there and gawk? Or y’gonna come say hi?”

Stiffening, Peter lifted his eyes to meet the Thing’s. He had the harsh, beastly features of a man transformed into a weapon of mass destruction, more than capable of leveling several city blocks before anyone could slow him down. He’d witnessed the power Ben Grimm possessed firsthand, and had very nearly been squashed by it. But blinking within that brutal exterior were a pair of eyes begetting a gentle and inviting kindness—one that likely impeded most children from bursting into tears at the sight of him, and enough to ease Peter’s initial concern.  

“Oh, I—right. Sorry.” Peter approached the stand with a sting of urgency, not wanting to keep others waiting. Ben flashed him a grin that looked less like a grin and more like a grimace.

“What can I do yah for, kiddo?” the Thing asked spiritedly. “Photos? Signed trading cards? A T-shirt with my handsome mug on it? It’s for a good cause. All the money goes to lil’ pups and kitties in need.” He pointed to the giant sign above him in case Peter had somehow missed it. Peter hinted a smile.

“That’s okay,” he said, not seeing anything he could afford anyway. “I was actually hoping to ask you a question.”

Ben raised one rocky eyebrow and scratched his scarp of a jaw. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Ask away then, squirt.”

“What are your favorite and least favorite things about your teammates?”

Ben threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “Audacious today, aren’t we? You want the on-the-record answer, or the off one?”

“Just the truth,” he answered simply. The Thing smiled and nodded.

“The truth. All right, then. I’ll start with my good pal Reed.” He shot a glance to his right, where his friend was sitting one booth over. “My favorite thing about Reed is his passion for pushing science beyond its current limitations to solve the world’s biggest problems and help those in need. Coincidentally,” the Thing added with a snort of contempt, “that’s also my least favorite thing about him, since his obsession with progress and making new discoveries tends to get him and the people closest to him in a lot of trouble.”

Next, Ben turned to his right, where Susan stood about twenty feet away posing with a little girl dressed up like her. “My favorite thing about Sue is how much she cares about this team and how hard she works to prove our value and virtue to the world. No one advocates on our behalf more than she does, and she’s incredibly protective of every one of us. She truly views the Fantastic Four as her family.” Clouds rolled across his expression as his eyes fell to the grass. “My least favorite thing is how much pressure she puts on herself. She worries so much about the wants and needs of others, she winds up neglecting her own. If the things she plans don’t go perfectly, she beats herself up about it. If one of us makes a mistake, she feels like she’s somehow responsible for it. She was forced to grow up so fast and be a caretaker from such a young age, I think she’s kinda perpetually stuck in that mindset. I’d love to see her do something indulgent and selfish for a change.”

Peter blinked up at the superhero with curious eyes. Perhaps it was crass of him to think this way, but he was surprised to hear such a thoughtful and discerning character analysis come from the mouth of someone who was strong enough to tear a person in two with his bare hands. He looked towards the Invisible Woman and felt a small twist in his chest. 

“And as for Johnny,” Ben grumbled out, a noticeable irritation entering his tone, “oh, boy. Where do I begin with that one? Kid’s been the biggest pain in my backside since the first day I met ‘em. I can give you plenty of things I can’t stand about Johnny: his temper, his stubbornness, his complete lack of respect for authority, his mile-high ego. You know he once bedazzled the words ‘hard ass’ in the middle part of my back where I can’t reach while I was sleeping? Bastard’s lucky he can fly, or else I would’ve pummeled him to coal dust long ago.” He nodded in Peter’s direction. “He’s nothing like you. You seem like the polite, humble sort with a solid head on your shoulders. Johnny could learn a thing or two from a young man such as yourself.”

A coy chuckle floated from Peter’s throat. “So there’s nothing you like about him?” he prompted the Thing hesitantly. Ben crinkled his nose.

“Hmm. Let me think.” He gave his wide chin a few thoughtful taps. “I suppose despite everything I just said, I know for a fact that if it came down to it, Johnny would risk his neck to save me, and anyone else on this team. Even though the two of us constantly butt heads, deep down I know he’s a decent kid who’s been dealt a very crazy hand in life, and he’s doing his best to navigate it. So there. I’ll give him that much.”

Sounds about right, Peter mused with a smile. The teen stood on his tiptoes to try to catch a glimpse of Johnny above the heads of the people in Dr. Storm’s line, but he couldn’t find a gap in the tightly packed crowds.

“Did that answer your question, squirt?” the Thing grunted impatiently.

“What about you?” Peter said. “What are your favorite and least favorite things about yourself?”

Ben let out a cackle. “That’s an easy one! My favorite thing about myself is I have the power to clobber anyone who tries to hurt my friends.” He held out his hand and wiggled the four pudgy, sausage-sized fingers attached to it. “My least favorite thing has to be how huge and useless my fingers are now. I mean, just look at ‘em! Try scrolling on a cell phone or using chopsticks with these meat hooks! It ain’t happening.”

The security guard standing to Ben’s left cleared his throat and gestured sharply with his head, signaling that it was time for Peter to move along. Peter’s grin dropped as he straightened his spine.

“Right. Sorry.” He eyed the donation box on the table and dug around in his pockets for loose change. “Uh, thanks a lot, Mr. Grimm. Great talking to you. And good luck with the fundraiser.” Peter managed to scrounge up one quarter, three nickels, and a pair of dirty, blackened pennies. He gingerly dropped them into the jar and hurried off before Ben tried to sell him a Thing prayer candle. 

Next up was Mr. Fantastic himself. As Peter waited his turn in the shortest of the four lines, he watched the bright-eyed scientist act equally shocked and delighted every time somebody wanted to get his autograph or take a photo with him. Adults and children alike exclaimed in awe whenever he stretched his arms abnormally long to embrace entire families and friend groups for pictures. 

Peter saw a lot of himself in Reed Richards. Without their flashy costumes or supernatural abilities, the two of them were nothing more than science-obsessed nerds whom most of society wouldn’t blink twice at. Fame and notoriety outside the field of scientific discovery were never in the cards for people like them—until those things were thrust upon the pair by some strange endeavor of the universe with a terrible sense of humor. 

Outside of being a superhero, at least Reed had the Baxter Foundation to his name. Peter wondered if he’d ever achieve something like that. He could see his future self working at an institution like Baxter or Stark Industries someday, but he doubted he’d ever own his own company. Spider-Manning already ate up too much of his free time, and his number one priority would always be helping out the little guy. Unless he founded a company focused exclusively on that, he didn’t want any part of it.  

But that was for older Peter to worry about. Right now, present Peter’s only priority was being a fan and geeking out. 

“Hello there!” Reed greeted him as Peter stepped up to his booth. “Welcome to the Fantastic Four’s First Annual Fundraiser! How are you doing today?”

“I wrote my finals essay about you,” Peter heard himself blurt out with a little too much enthusiasm. Perhaps he’d underestimated how excited he’d be to talk to one of his idols as himself and discuss things he wasn’t able to mention as Spider-Man, since it would reveal he was in high school. Immediately, Peter cringed and reddened, giving his head a quick shake. “Sorry—your book, I mean. On aerospace engineering and astrophysics. I wrote a paper about it. ‘Cuz, y’know. It was amazing. And you’re amazing. I’m gonna shut up now.”

Reed chuckled cheerfully. “No, please—keep talking! I rarely ever meet anyone at these events who’s managed to make it through one of my baroque publications—or greater still, actually comprehended them enough to write an essay on their content. And at such a young age, no less! How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Peter replied. Richards gawked.

“And you read all fourteen hundred pages of ‘Engineering the New Age of Aerospace Exploration’?”

“I’ve read all seven of your books,” Peter clarified, scratching his neck with a shy grin. “But ‘Aerospace Exploration’ was my favorite.”

Mr. Fantastic beamed brighter than the glaring sun overhead. “You’re kidding! Holy cow! The only sixteen-year-old I’m around on a daily basis spends his free time coiffing his hair for hours on end and antagonizing his sister. It would do Johnny good to see what other people his age are capable of accomplishing with some discipline and dedication.” Reed extended his hand, which Peter took timidly in his own, and gave it an eager shake. “Please tell me you’re planning to pursue a career in the field of science.”

“That’s the dream,” Peter assured him.

Richards pawed at his pocket-less costume in search of something urgent, cursed, then ducked under the table to scour the nooks of his abandoned suit jacket. He popped upright a few seconds later with a card between his fingers and a triumphant look on his face. He held the piece of paper out to Peter.

“Call me whenever you’re in the market for a job or an internship. I’d love to sit down and really get to know you and what you aspire to do with that extraordinary mind of yours, and how the Baxter Foundation might help you achieve your goals. And I’m very interested in reading what you had to say about my book.”

Peter lit up like a firecracker. “Really?” he exclaimed, accepting the card from him. “You actually—I just—thank you, Dr. Richards! That would be amazing. I’ve always wanted the chance to pick your brain on quantum particle physics and zero distance string theory.” 

“Even more reason to look forward to our conversation,” Reed said spiritedly. 

Peter slipped the card into his back pocket and ran a hand down the front of his T-shirt. “Now I’m kicking myself for not bringing something for you to sign,” he admitted with a giggle. 

Richards’ smile widened. “Whenever we meet to chat, I’ll bring you a signed copy of ‘Aerospace Exploration.’ How does that sound?” 

“Like I’d better buy a lottery ticket on my way home while my luck is this good.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Mr. Fantastic insisted, sending the teen on his way with a wave and a grin. “We’ll talk soon, yes?”

Peter nodded fervidly, even though he had no idea how or when he’d be able to make that happen. He didn’t dare meet up with him at Avengers Tower; too great a chance of that legendary intellect of his connecting the dots between the excitable teenager and the masked vigilante with the two in such close proximity. And technically speaking, Peter Parker already had an internship—with Stark Industries. It was mostly a cover-up for his time spent with Tony as Spider-Man, but it could still make starting a second one complicated. Perhaps he shouldn’t pursue that kind of thing with the Baxter Foundation at all, just to be safe. He was more interested in meeting with Reed Richards just to talk science shop anyway; working at his company might have to wait until a later date.

The third booth before Johnny’s had the most diverse collection of fans in line: chittering, giggly little girls next to men and boys who looked like they had a history of getting kicked out of baseball stadiums. As Peter neared the front, he peeked between the patrons ahead of him to catch a glimpse of Dr. Susan Storm’s table and fan merch, only to find it empty. Well, not empty of merch—there were enough hoodies, bobble heads, hats, and fridge magnets to fill a Fantastic Four memorabilia museum. But Sue herself was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she’d left for a break away from the mob of sweaty patrons. That’s what Peter figured, anyway—until he saw a floating pen autographing a child’s drawing all by itself, as if possessed by a ghost. Peter blinked, his brain not comprehending what his eyes were seeing. Then a hand suddenly bloomed into existence, holding the pen in its fingers, followed by the rest of the person signing the piece of paper. Visibility cascaded across Susan Storm’s torso and limbs, her head being the last part of her to regain opacity. The crowd ooohed and aaawed in amazement.

“There you go,” Sue said, offering the drawing back to the little boy. The kid squealed with excitement, bringing a smile to the Invisible Woman’s face that actually looked genuine for a change. The child’s parents thanked her profusely, adding a thick wad of cash to the donation box as they herded their offspring away. Only a few people left ahead of Peter.

“Can we get a group picture?” the men in front of him asked, looking a tad too eager for Peter's liking. Susan hesitated for only an instant, eyes darting between them, then nodded and stood from her chair.

“Of course,” she said, motioning the men forward. “Gather ‘round, folks.”

Whispering and snickering, the four guys surrounded the young woman. Two on her left, two on her right, two large hands snaking around her waist. Something prickly twisted in Peter’s gut. Once they were in position, Sue smiled for the photo, but with her jaw clenched taut.

“One, two, three!” the photographer called before snapping a string of pictures. The moment her obligation was fulfilled, Sue’s palms dropped to her sides, but the men kept their arms glued to her flanks. 

“Let’s do one more,” the shortest of the four men insisted, peeling into a grin that made Peter’s skin crawl. “This time, Susie dear, why don’t you make your whole body invisible except the parts that matter: that scrumptious ass and those delicious tits.”

The men cackled, including an awkward laugh from the photographer and a few nasty giggles from some people behind Peter. Shock collided with rage in Peter’s blood. He watched the fake smile on Sue’s face snuff out like a candle flame. Exhausted irritation dulled the blue of her eyes to an icy pewter. Her muted reaction indicated this behavior was something she encountered far too often, which lanced Peter with renewed fury. 

“You guys are pigs,” Peter snapped, stepping forward with his hands curled into fists. Susan shoved the men off of her with a look of controlled boredom.

“Ah, c’mon darling! We’re just messing with yah! Don’t be like that! We’ll make an extra-large donation if you do it! Ugh—how come bitches can’t ever take a joke?”

While Peter was debating which angle to punch his face from first, Sue turned towards the chortling men like a wolf cornering a wounded deer. She had the posture and cadence of a person well-versed in standing up to assholes like this on the regular. 

“One fun thing I learned about my powers recently,” the Invisible Woman said, face schooled into a blank expression. “I can create force fields inside other objects and expand them until they explode. It’s rather fun, actually. I’ve blown up water bottles, boiled eggs, mayonnaise jars, bricks. But you know what I haven’t tested it on yet?” Her eyes narrowed. “The human body.”

The men’s ugly grins wobbled. 

“I wonder what would happen if I expanded a force field inside your liver? Or your kidney? Your pulmonary valve, perhaps?” Her gaze flicked to the shortest man’s receding hairline. “Or maybe inside that balding head of yours.”

Tiny blue spheres sprung to life in the center of her palm and started swirling between her fingers in a smooth, threatening dance. She held them out towards the men as they spun and swelled bigger, bigger, bigger. “So if you’re interested in keeping the parts of your bodies that matter intact, I suggest you leave. Now.” The three force fields combined into one and shot forward, making the men flinch. The disk of concentrated power slipped underneath the donation bin and lifted it off the table; the box hovered to a stop right below the four assholes’ noses. “Be sure to leave a generous contribution on your way out. One big enough to reflect the scope of my phenomenal self-restraint.”

Slowly, shamefully, the men exchanged hesitant looks, beads of sweat glimmering on their foreheads. Then, grumbling to themselves, they began groping around for their wallets, averting their eyes from Dr. Storm’s menacing glare. 

Once they’d paid their penance, a security guard shepherded the assholes away from Sue’s booth. Rigidly, the Invisible Woman returned to her seat behind the table, forcing the ice to melt from her expression as she heaved a weary sigh. Anger spilled into sorrow at the hideous treatment Peter had just watched her endure. She’d handled it remarkably, leaving no space for anyone to believe that speaking to her like that was okay—but that didn’t make what happened any less demoralizing. On top of being a superhero, working round the clock to keep her brother out of trouble, and managing all of the Fantastic Four’s public relations, Dr. Storm was saddled with pressures that neither Peter nor her teammates would ever bear or understand. Perhaps her being expected to handle all those responsibilities in the first place was indicative of the pressures she as a female superhero experienced. Peter didn’t see Ben or Reed going out of their way to set up talk show interviews or put on events like this, nor were they likely to take the fall should those exploits go horribly wrong. And they certainly weren’t being publicly degraded by disgusting men. 

Everything she did—organizing fan events, advocating for her team, fortifying their public image, dealing with misogynistic assholes with poise and class rather than slugging them between the eyes like they deserved—it was all to protect her family. Including being distrustful of Spider-Man, he realized with a pang. Peter could relate to the proclivity to keep the wall-crawler as far from one’s loved ones as possible: he’d forged the identity of the masked vigilante for that very purpose. 

Even though they expressed it in different ways, there was one trait Sue and Johnny shared that was both their strength and their curse: how deeply they cared about things, even at their own expense. 

Susan cast her gaze across the busy park, gauging how the event was going so far, taking inventory of the attendees and the overflowing trash cans and the insufficient amount of shade, deducting what she could do to make sure everything and everyone was happy and taken care of. Peter could practically see the rapid-fire calculations running behind her eyes as he approached the Invisible Woman like a hiker tip-toeing across a frozen lake. 

“Hi,” he greeted her carefully. Peter watched Dr. Storm’s far-off gaze snap back into focus, eyes blinking as they jerked up to find his. 

“Oh—hello,” Susan said. Her soft smile returned, although it took a few moments to reach her eyes. She sat up tall and breathed with intention, reactivating her cheerful fan-service persona. “Sorry about all that. I hope I didn’t scare you. I probably could’ve handled that without threatening to blow someone up from the inside out.” She let out a weak laugh, face going pale. “Which I would never actually do, by the way. Oh god—why did I say that?”

“They got off easy in my opinion,” Peter reassured her. “I think they deserved a ruptured kidney or two. A couple popped blood vessels at least.”

Sue deflated in relief, glad she hadn’t scarred a teenage fan for life, then chuckled. “I like you already,” she decided.

“I’m…sorry they talked to you that way,” Peter said carefully. “It’s messed up that you have to deal with people like that.”

Dr. Storm did a quick scan of his face, expression gentle and welcoming. Much different from the hard scowl he was met with whenever she spoke to him in costume. Then she gave a nonchalant wave.

“It’s all right. Dealing with the occasional jerk just makes me that much more grateful when I get to talk to real fans like you.” Clearly ready to move on from the subject, she gestured to all the different trinkets and merch stacked across the table. “See anything you like? Do you have any pets? We have Fantastic Four dog toys now. My brother’s is currently the fan favorite, and it’s quite fun watching the pups chew on his face with such enthusiasm.” She squeaked one of the toys in her hand for emphasis. 

Peter smiled at the Human Torch plush, which had little felt flames poking out of its hair. “Johnny is really lucky to have a sister like you,” he thought out loud. He wasn’t sure if what he was about to say would cross some unspoken Susan Storm boundary, but he continued anyway. “It’s really inspiring to me—how you stepped up to take care of him after going through so much loss. Most people aren’t capable of that kind of strength or bravery.” He lowered his gaze, scratching at his forearm. “I was raised by a family member who stepped in to help after I lost my parents, too. I’ve spent the last decade watching her struggle and make sacrifices to shape me into a good person and give me a happy life. She never wanted kids, but she took me in and treated me as her own without hesitation. What she’s done for me—and what you’ve done for Johnny—I think it’s one of the most selfless and heroic things a person can do. I’ll never be able to repay the debt I owe her, but it’s people like you and her who make me want to dedicate my life to helping others.” He bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged. “I just…wanted you to know that.”

When Peter’s gaze lifted to Sue’s after his soapbox was complete, he was startled to find her eyes flooded with tears. She and Johnny really were a lot more alike than either of them wanted to admit. The Invisible Woman pressed a finger to a droplet on her cheek with a look of disbelief, as if she, too, was shocked by her reaction. Peter swallowed, skin flushing with regret. 

“I—I’m sorry, Dr. Storm. I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to make you—”

“It’s okay,” she laughed in a broken, watery voice. “I’m okay, really. I don’t know what’s come over me. That just—” She dabbed frantically under her eyes, trying her best not to smear her makeup. “— really caught me by surprise. Phew. I just—I always feel like I’m failing him, y’know? Like I have no clue what the hell I’m doing, like everything I say just drives a larger wedge between us. Like maybe I should’ve read a book or a manual on parenthood or being an older sibling and a parent at the same time or something, but…” She sniffled, fighting to resurrect her stoic mask of strength and impenetrability. “But…um…thank you. That was…very kind of you to say.”

“Of course,” Peter said with a cautious smile. Ben was right: Susan Storm put way too much pressure on herself, and clearly deserved far more recognition for her altruistic spirit than Peter or anyone else awarded her. It felt good to do something that made her feel appreciated for once, instead of apprehensive and pissed off. Even if she never warmed up to Spider-Man, Peter didn’t have the heart to hold it against her. Her disapproval was derived not from malice, but from the need to protect the person they both cared so much about. He shifted his weight between his feet. “Unrelated, but I’m also super invested in your research on the molecular mechanisms of microbial life forms that allow certain species to survive in outer space. Are you planning to conduct any new experiments soon?”

Dr. Storm stared at him like he had grown a second head. “How do you know about that?” she asked bewilderedly. 

Peter frowned. “Wasn’t that one of the things you were researching during your space mission in February? Y’know—before the particle cloud hit?”

Sue scoffed. “Yes, but hardly anyone knows about it. With Reed’s research on hyperspace travel being the mission’s primary objective and everything that followed after the cosmic rays struck our starship, my little passion project on microorganisms in space was understandably overshadowed.” 

“Well, I liked it,” Peter countered with a grin. “Your experiments with the ways the outer space environment can affect microbes’ cell metabolism, proliferation rate, cell motility, virulence, and biofilm production were fascinating, especially the parts evidencing the resilience of extremophilic microbial species. If you do decide to continue your research, know that you’ll be making one very nerdy fan who spends way too much time scouring through biochemistry news forums extremely happy.” 

Susan Storm smiled the most authentic smile Peter had ever seen her direct his way. “I doubt I’ll ever find the time or funding to explore that research any farther,” she admitted, interlacing her hands on top of the table. She gave him a small nod. “But…I’ll look into it. One science nerd to another.”

Peter mirrored her smile tenfold. “Awesome!” he exclaimed. “Maybe I can write my next analysis essay on your future findings. This research could help us understand how beings like Captain Marvel and the Asgardians are able to survive deep space travel at the molecular level without their bodily fluids boiling or the air being vacuumed from their lungs or—”

“Peter!”

The teenager flinched, head whipping towards the sound of his name. Across the lawn, he spotted Ned in Johnny’s line, only a few people away from the very front, hopping up and down and waving his arms around like his hair was on fire. He could hardly believe how far the line had moved since he’d left. How long had he been gone? Peter threw his friend a quick thumbs-up, then turned back to Dr. Storm.

“Going to see my brother next?” Susan asked, crinkling her nose with feigned disgust. “Could you go ahead and repeat all those nice things you said about me being a selfless and heroic sister to him? Y’know, remind him how lucky he is to have such a committed and loving older sibling? Oh,” she added, snagging something from under the table, “and would you mind giving this to him? Us Storms burn like goddamn marshmallows on days like this.” 

Sue handed him the item, which appeared to be a bottle of some kind of fancy Korean sunscreen. The thought of a guy who could light his whole body on fire being susceptible to sunburn made Peter giggle softly to himself. His heart buoyed at the thought of all the little things Susan remembered and did like this to show how much she cared for Johnny. She truly loved her brother, despite the message getting lost in translation more often than not. 

“I’m on it,” Peter promised, waving back at her as he stepped away from the booth. “Really great meeting you! Sorry again for making you cry! You’re amazing!”

Susan chuckled. “Great meeting you too, Peter.”

Peter startled. He didn’t remember telling her his name. He supposed she must’ve heard when Ned screamed it at him from Johnny’s line. Too bad she’d never know that Peter—the nerdy fan she’d deemed kind and trustworthy—was also the masked vigilante she considered a menace and a threat. 

Peter jogged across the field to meet his friend, who looked about ready to burst with excitement. 

“Thank god!” Ned exclaimed, grabbing Peter by the sleeve and dragging him back into the queue. “You weren’t answering your phone! I was in full panic mode thinking you weren’t gonna make it in time!” Ned noticed the bottle in his hand and scowled. “What is that? A souvenir?”

“Sunscreen,” Peter said. “For Johnny. Dr. Storm asked me to give it to him. Apparently he sunburns easily.”

Ned met his gaze, stunned. “For real? Aw! She entrusted you with a quest! I guess Peter Parker made a better first impression with her than Spider-Man did, huh?” 

Peter shrugged. “Guess so. With all three of them, actually. Probably has something to do with my big brown doe eyes and dumb squishy baby face. That’s how Mr. Stark describes them, anyway—which I hate.”

Ned snickered. “Let’s see if your doe eyes and baby face work on the Human Torch, too.”

The two friends scooched another couple steps forward in line, and the smooth wave of Johnny Storm’s sunset-gold hair caught Peter’s eye past the shoulder of the woman in front of him, quickly followed by a glimpse of his angular jaw, a flash of that zany smile. The fans he was currently speaking to moved aside, squealing to each other and shouting their “thanks yous” and “goodbyes” as they scampered away, arms loaded with autographed Johnny merch, and suddenly there was only one person between them and the Human Torch. He was mere minutes from meeting him as Peter Parker once again. Not as Spider-Man—a daring superhero with a life of thrills and adventure, whom Johnny considered his equal and friend—but as himself. Peter Benjamin Parker. An awkward, unpopular loser whose greatest adversaries prior to gaining powers had been overdue electricity bills and high school bullies. Not that those things had gone away after he’d become Spider-Man, per se. He just had bigger problems to deal with alongside them. 

None of this should’ve bothered him, seeing how Peter would just be another random fan for Johnny to forget about the moment he left his direct line of vision. But a tiny, paranoid voice caressed his mind with ice-cold whispers, revving the excited thump of Peter’s pulse to a wild roar: What if he finds you out? What if he realizes it’s you? What if he recognizes your voice? Your demeanor? Your weird nervous habits? It was pretty easy to keep people who knew him only as Peter from discovering he was Spider-Man; no one suspected a guy as scrawny and nerdy as him to be lifting cars over his head or fighting off feral space aliens. But this was the first time someone who knew Spider-Man extremely well was meeting his boring civilian counterpart more than once. What if Johnny clocked him the moment he opened his mouth?

Eager anticipation careened into nauseous anxiety. He grabbed Ned’s wrist, feet rooted in place, sunlight searing the back of his neck. 

“This was a mistake,” Peter croaked out, watching Johnny form a little heart-shaped flame in his palms while the girl in front of them took a video. He jerked his head left and right. “M-maybe we should just—”

Immediately, Ned tore out of his friend’s grip. “Oh, no,” he said, wrapping both arms around Peter’s elbow as tight as a constrictor snake and hauling him forward like a sack of potatoes. “No way am I letting you chicken out now. Not after six hours of waiting for this exact moment.”

Peter dug his heels in the hard dirt beneath them, throat dry, palms clammy. “Ned, wait—you don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly, ” his friend interceded. “You’re nervous, and that’s okay! This is a complex emotional situation you’re stepping into. But we’re not gonna let some last-minute nerves get in the way of you and Johnny’s highly anticipated reunion. Not on my watch.”

Peter shook his head, sputtering out more pathetic, mildly coherent protests, desperate to get Ned to listen, but he couldn’t form the words fast enough. The woman in front of them was already wrapping up her chat with Johnny and moving away from the booth, leaving nothing but a couple feet of empty space between the pair of friends and the Human Torch. Peter’s heart ballooned as the young hero became fully visible to him: his infectious grin reaching every corner of his face, freckled cheeks flushed in the hot summer sun. At the same time, his stomach dropped like the Coney Island Astro Tower.

“Have a lovely day,” Johnny called after the girl, blowing her a kiss that floated from his lips in lazy circles of smoke. As he watched the haze fade into the atmosphere, an ugly feeling speared through Peter, lashing him down to the bone. 

Jealousy. And not jealousy for Johnny, like he’d previously assumed—but jealousy of the girl he was blowing kisses at. The realization made him consider throwing himself into the trash can on his right and hiding amongst the filth until he shriveled up and died. 

“I’ll break the ice, then you’re up, bestie,” Ned whispered to him. He gave Peter’s arm a squeeze, then skipped fearlessly towards the Human Torch, throwing a wink over his shoulder. “Don’t be weird! You got this!”

“Hey there,” Johnny said as Ned approached, flames flicking across the tips of his wiggling fingers. Effortlessly cool as always, he thought bitterly. Peter hung back, grinding his molars together, wringing the bottle of sunscreen between his fists. 

“Hello Johnny!” Ned answered emphatically. He swung his backpack to the front of his body and snagged the Human Torch Funko Pop box out of the biggest pocket. “I can’t believe we finally made it! My friend and I have been waiting here all day just to meet you and get your autograph.”

“I appreciate your incredible patience,” Johnny said, taking the collectible from Ned’s outstretched hands. “Our outdoor fundraiser of course had to fall on the hottest day of the summer so far.” He sounded a bit rehearsed and mechanical, like he’d been repeating the same phrases again and again all day, but no less friendly. He swiped a palm across his sweaty forehead and grinned at the bobble head Ned had given him. “Wow! Limited edition. These are hard to come by. You must be very proud.”

“Not gonna lie, having the full signed Fantastic Four set will probably be the proudest achievement of my life so far.” Shyly, Ned held up his phone, hovering his finger over the record button. “Would you mind if I filmed you autographing it? You know, for authenticity’s sake?”

“Go right ahead,” Johnny said warmly. He held up his index finger, the tip glowing red-hot. “Want it in ink, or burned on?”

“Burned, please,” Ned answered immediately. “Burned is by far the coolest.”

Johnny nodded. “You got it.” Using his pointer finger like a mini blow torch, he went to work gently searing his name into the Funko Pop box, sweeping his autograph across the thin cardboard in long, sloping arcs as he must’ve done a thousand times already. Ned smiled as wide as the Hudson as he recorded him, struggling not to bounce from foot to foot.

“Does your friend have anything they want signed?” Johnny asked as he finished the final stroke of his signature. Peter had been mostly hidden behind Ned up to this point, but his treacherous best friend stepped to the side so there was nothing left to shield him from Johnny’s magnetic gaze, shooting him an encouraging look. Peter’s face heated as Johnny’s eyes rose from the Funko Pop to meet his, then slowly widened.

“Do you?” Ned prompted him.

Peter shook his head rigidly. “No. I’m good. Thank you.”

“Hey,” Johnny said, wagging a finger at him, eyes brightening with recognition. “I know you!”

Peter’s heart practically burst through his ribcage. “W-what?” he yelped, staggering back a step. “You do?”

“Yeah! You’re that guy who yelled at me outside of the bubble tea shop.”

Peter’s jaw dangled open, then immediately clamped shut, relief draining through him. Oh, thank god. He only recognized him from that one-time encounter, not as the spider-themed superhero he’d befriended over the past week. So long as he played it cool, Johnny would never figure out who he was really speaking to.

You know. Because he was so good at playing it cool.

Ignoring Ned, whose face was about to split in two from how aggressively he was smiling, Peter swallowed. “Oh. Right. I’m surprised you remember that.”

Johnny’s lips turned upwards playfully. “How could I forget? You were awfully pissed at me that day, pretty boy.” 

Deadly heat shuddered up Peter’s spine. Ned smothered a snicker in his sleeve to his left. 

“To be fair, I deserved it,” Johnny continued with a shrug. “I caused a lot of unnecessary damage and was in desperate need of a reality check. You were right to call me out on my shit, especially since you said I almost killed your best—” Horror flashed across his expression as he clapped both hands over his mouth. “Oh my god,” he mumbled into his palms, voice dripping with dread as his eyes flicked back to Ned. “Was that you? Are you his friend I almost killed?”

Ned waved him off casually. “Don’t sweat it. Water under the bridge. It was really cool to get to see you all live in action—even if I did almost get blasted in the face by a fireball. Most eventful boba run to date.”

Johnny shook his head in dismay. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t myself that day. That doesn’t excuse what I did, I just—I hope you know I won’t ever let my own personal drama drive me to behave that recklessly ever again.” 

Ned tapped the side of his temple. “Trust me—in my mind, any bad things you’ve ever done are entirely negated by the fact that I now own a collectible with your signature on it.”

Johnny’s concerned expression eased into a halfhearted smile, followed by a light laugh that sent sparks sizzling across Peter’s skin. “I’m lucky to have such forgiving fans,” he said, handing the Funko Pop back to Ned. His Baltic blue eyes veered to Peter again, drinking in his features with unabashed curiosity. “I need you to know the Fantastic Four paid back all the business owners for the damages I caused that day, including the owner of that tea shop.” Earnestness and guilt saturated every word from his lips. “She’s set to start rebuilding next week, and I promised her I’d come by once she reopens to post myself trying her drinks to give her sales a big boost and make up for all the trouble I caused.” He searched Peter’s gaze, fraught to right the wrongs he’d committed, his neck and forehead slick with sweat. Johnny felt everything so poignantly, including remorse for his mistakes. He’d be gutted if Peter refused to forgive him, despite him being some no-name stranger he’d probably never speak to again. Like alway, it softened Peter’s heart to see just how much the Storm siblings cared. 

“That’s nice of you,” Peter said measuredly. The reply came out more curt and sterile than he intended, but he was scared of talking in longer bouts—scared that his voice or speaking patterns might start sounding familiar to the fiery celebrity. When Johnny looked wounded by his robotic answer, he added: “Thank you. For, um, helping her. And the others. They deserve it. Not having their businesses burned down, obviously, but—y’know. Being helped.”

Wow. Smooth, Pete. A true masterclass in playing it cool.

Johnny leaned back in his chair with one arm draped across the backrest and his opposite foot tucked into his lap. His sun-drowsed stare traced Peter up and down, studying him like a strange modern art piece he was trying to pull meaning out of. The corner of his mouth ticked towards the sky.

“You’re tough to read, pretty boy. First you berate me in the street—warranted, but still harsh—then you wait in line for hours and hours just for the chance to chat with me for a few minutes. I can’t decide if you like me or hate me.”

It didn’t matter how many times Johnny threw on a smirk and spoke to him in that bold, impish tone: the Human Torch’s charm never failed to fluster him to the same blistering degree. Peter dug his teeth into his bottom lip to keep himself from saying something he’d regret.

“Oh, he definitely likes you,” Ned answered for him with a giggle, making Peter go scarlet. 

“Ned!” Peter hissed, whacking him in the arm with the sunscreen bottle. Ned cackled as he winced sideways, rubbing at his elbow. Johnny eyed Peter with a renewed sparkle of interest.

“You do?” he said, irises like sapphires in the blazing light. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”

“We both like you for standing up for Spider-Man,” Ned conceded, causing Peter’s muscles to calcify. “He’s our favorite superhero, too.” 

It took all of his collective willpower not to react to the name drop. What are you doing!? Peter wanted to scream. The last person they needed to be bringing up right now was the famous wall-crawler. Any reference or association to the webhead in their current state was downright begging for Johnny to discover the truth. Him and Ned really should’ve spent a chunk of the last six hours establishing some ground rules for this conversation. 

Johnny beamed. “No kidding? See—I knew he had fans out there besides me! And you’re not the first people to tell me that today, either. I tried to convince him to come to this, y’know. Now I can tell him about all the Spidey fans he missed out on meeting.”

Peter pressed his lips into a thin smile while shouting every curse under the sun inside his head. Ned and Johnny both stared at him like they expected him to add something to the conversation. When he didn’t, Johnny narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m still not convinced you like me,” he admitted. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here. I guess I can’t really blame you after everything I put you through, but still. It hurts. Is there anything else I can do to make up for my shitty behavior? There’s nothing worse than having eyes as lovely as yours look at me with such animosity.”

Ditsy warmth crept into his ears as a confusing hodgepodge of emotions washed through him. It both thrilled and disappointed Peter that Johnny was speaking to him like this. Of course he enjoyed being called pretty and lovely by his crush. Every compliment he tossed his direction sent the butterflies in Peter’s belly into a mad rush through his digestive tract. But it only confirmed his gloomiest suspicions: Johnny’s flirtatious behavior wasn’t exclusive to Spider-Man. He charmed everyone this way—captivating hearts left and right without even trying. It was encouraging to know that he liked the way Peter looked beneath his mask, but disheartening to realize his relationship with the webhead was truly nothing special. 

“Don’t mind him,” Ned said. He peered back at Peter, cracking a wicked grin. “He’s not mad; he’s just nervous to talk to you. You’re his biggest crush, after all.”

Johnny’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Ned let out a fiendish giggle. Peter’s jaw fell open as his skin turned to molten iron. 

No he did not.

As the blush in Peter’s face permeated his bones, Johnny’s gaze snapped back to him. The teen’s mouth curled in delight. 

“Oh really?” he mused. “Is that true, pretty boy?”

“Y-your sister asked me to give this to you,” Peter blurted out before Ned or Johnny or anyone else had the chance to say another goddamn word. He shouldered past his snickering friend and jabbed his arm towards Johnny with the sunscreen in his fist. “She said you burn easily.”

Blinking, Johnny took the bottle from him, then scoffed. “Are you serious?” He turned in the direction of his elder sibling, lifting the sunscreen high above his head. “Sue!”

Dr. Storm glanced up from the fan-made doll she was admiring and cut a frown in Johnny’s direction. When Johnny mouthed “the fuck?” at her, pointing at the bottle, she mimed rubbing sunscreen on her face in reply. The Human Torch groaned.

“I can’t believe she put you up to this,” he muttered. “She’s ridiculous. I already applied plenty this morning.”

Despite the embarrassment ingesting him like quicksand, an unexpected smile seized Peter’s lips at Johnny’s childish irritation. He tapped a finger to his cheek. “Based on how red your face is right now, I think she’s doing you a favor. You definitely look like you need some more.”

Recapturing his gaze, Johnny returned his smile with roguish amusement. “I could say the same for you, darling—although I’m pretty sure yours is red for different reasons.”

Once again, Peter’s heart leapt inside his chest, the color in his cheeks deepening even more. Being subjected to Johnny’s flirtatious teasing without a mask to conceal its demonstrable effect on him was a whole new level of mortifying Peter had no interest growing accustomed to.

“What did it for you?” Johnny inquired, squirting sunscreen into his palms and gingerly dabbing it onto his face. “The hair? The teeth? My redemptive philanthropy and bottomless altruism? Or is it the flames? It’s usually the flames.”

Peter knew he was only asking to get a rise out of him, but Johnny’s question presented him with an opportunity most people would never encounter: the chance to confess to one’s crush exactly how one felt about him without enduring the consequences of him knowing who he was actually talking to. Spider-Man could never tell Johnny how he truly felt—but Peter Parker could. Because Peter Parker was no one to him. 

He would not gush over every detail of what made Johnny the object of his affection; Johnny got that every hour of every day, and his ego was already big enough as is. Instead, he would keep it short, simple, and honest—and perhaps grant the Human Torch a taste of his own mischievous medicine for a change.

So Peter swallowed his sticky insecurity and took a step closer to him, leveling his gaze with the smug twinkle in Johnny’s eyes. 

“I like that you don’t care about anyone’s opinion of you except for the people most important to you,” Peter stated matter-of-factly. To top it off, he reached out and gently rubbed the streak of sunscreen on Johnny’s forehead into his skin, gliding his thumb across the scar just above his eyebrow. “But the hair and the flames are a nice added bonus.”

Although already pink with sunburn, Peter swore he saw the Human Torch’s cheeks flush a shade darker, and his enhanced hearing picked up on the sound of his heart thumping a few beats faster. A triumphant smirk found Peter’s lips. Just because he was the one with the crush didn’t mean Johnny got to have all the fun with it. He let his thumb drag along the line of Johnny’s temple as he pulled his hand away. The Human Torch blinked at him, lips parted, eyes wide, then lightly touched where Peter's finger had been, tiny wisps of smoke curling off his scalp. 

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly. There was no toying or playfulness in his tone this time—only genuine interest. Now it was Peter’s turn to be caught off guard. He supposed there was no point in lying. 

“Peter,” he said.

“Peter what?”

A shy giggle escaped him. “Parker. Peter Parker.”

Johnny giggled back. “Well then, Peter Parker. You’re a very mysterious person. I like that.” He held up his fist for Peter to bump. “It was great to see you again. Looking forward to the next time we meet.” 

Peter smiled, reaching out to tap his knuckles to Johnny’s, but froze just before they made contact. Despite the heat, a sudden chill crawled up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Fear raked its claws across his skin. 

“Peter?” he heard Ned call, followed by a rumble of excited chatter from the crowds surrounding them. A moment later, a shadow rose up behind him, blocking out the sun, casting Johnny’s wide eyes in a shaft of darkness. A monstrous hand curled around his shoulder, making Peter’s entire body seize up. He knew who it was before he even saw his face or heard his voice. His senses had warned him of that ruthless presence many times before. His lungs had screamed for air as those bloodthirsty fingers crushed the oxygen from his windpipe. 

“Pardon me,” the man behind him said, his voice as deep and haunting as he remembered. The last time he’d heard it, it was roaring with laughter as Peter fled through a shattered window, glass slicing his hands, broken ribs crunching like glow sticks, vision tunneling with pain and terror. “Mr. Storm and I need a moment alone, if you don’t mind.”

Peter’s eyes slowly rose to find the face of the man looming over him. He had brutal eyes and deep frown lines that fixed him with a constant look of vitriol, even when he was smiling. His bald head gleamed in the sunshine like a freshly peeled egg. 

Kingpin. 

Wilson Fisk didn’t even bother to look at Peter as he shoved him out of his way. He regarded him with the same courtesy a charging elephant awards a twig. Peter stumbled back into Ned, very nearly knocking both of them to the ground. Photographers and media workers immediately flocked to the scene, knocking into the two teens as they jostled for space with Fisk’s bodyguards, blocking Johnny from Peter’s view. Alarm flooded the young hero’s veins. 

“Fisk,” Peter breathed. “I—I have to stop him. He’s going to hurt—”

Ned yanked him backwards with a hand around his bicep. “Peter, we can’t,” he whispered fearfully. “Come on—we have to go.”

Peter turned on his friend in disbelief. “We can’t just leave him!” he hissed. “What if Fisk attacks him for all those things he said? I have to be here to help!”

“Fisk won’t attack him in broad daylight,” Ned insisted. “Not with all these fans around. He’s a politician. Besides—if he tries anything, the Fantastic Four will wipe the floor with that loser. You’d be risking exposing your secret identity for nothing.” He gave his arm another sharp tug. “Come on. We’re gonna get in trouble.”

“But—” Peter protested, eyes whipping back to the mob of people and the barbaric murderer standing between him and Johnny. This wasn’t right. This was downright treacherous. Johnny had risked everything to protect him when he was in trouble. Peter had to be there to make sure he was safe. He’d reveal himself to the whole world if that meant keeping Johnny safe.

“All right, boys. Move along.” One of Johnny’s security guards marched towards them with a scowl, wafting at them with his hand like they were an unruly stench he was trying to get rid of. “You’ve had your turn. Either move to the back of the line, or beat it.”

Ned nodded fervently. “Got it. We’re going, Thank you, sir.” Ned gave Peter’s forearm another quick jerk, forcing him to lurch back a few treasonous steps. For half a second, his eyes found Johnny’s amidst the throng of people pressing around the young celebrity’s booth. They looked startled, confused, but not afraid. Sweat slipped down Peter’s shoulder blades and dampened the back of his T-shirt. 

You should be afraid, Flame Brain.  

“He’ll be okay,” Ned tried to reassure him, practically dragging his friend away from the queue. “Fisk won’t touch him. He’s not that stupid.”

“I have to be sure,” Peter answered hollowly. 

Even though the sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon, its piercing glow seared Peter’s flesh worse than it had all day.  

Johnny met Peter Parker’s gaze one last time before the boy disappeared behind a wall of bodies and cameras. For some reason, his soft brown eyes were charged with fear, the color in his cheeks draining to a pallid gray. He looked like he’d seen a ghost when Wilson Fisk and his posse rolled into their fundraiser as if they owned the place. 

Sweet guy. Cute, too. He’d always been a sucker for baby browns and curly hair. Too bad Johnny’s heart was solely preoccupied with arachnid-themed superheroes who may or may not be heterosexual. Despite Reed’s certainty on the matter, the verdict was still up for debate as far as he was concerned. 

He turned his attention back to the unnaturally large man towering over him like a skyscraper in a three piece suit. Cold, calculating eyes bored into his own. The smell of Mont Blanc cologne mixed with heavy perspiration assaulted his nose in the most unpleasant fashion. He had the air of an oversized baby parading around in designer brands, but with enough power to keep you from making jokes about it. 

Johnny had never spoken to Wilson Fisk before. He’d spotted him a few times attending the same galas and charity events as him—only because he was almost impossible to miss—but they had yet to meet face-to-face. He supposed neither of them had had a reason to until now. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Storm,” Fisk greeted him. He wore a smile that resembled a constipated sneer. “Fundraiser going well, I presume?”

Despite the climbing of his pulse, Johnny fixed his features into an expression of bland disinterest. “Sure is,” he replied, gesturing haphazardly to the thermometer-shaped donation log behind him. “This one’s on track to be our best one yet. There’s something about puppies and kittens in need that makes guilt-ridden rich folk unusually eager to open up their hearts and their wallets.” Johnny nodded towards Fisk’s guards, who had set up a perimeter between them and the impatient queue of fans, blocking anyone from stepping within a 30-door radius of their boss. “That’s why you’re here disrupting our entire event, right? ‘Cuz you’ve got a big check to cash for all those poor little animals?”

Wilson Fisk chuckled—a deep, guttural sound that rolled like thunder from his barrel-shaped chest, making Johnny’s skin crawl. “Of course,” Fisk assured him, patting the breast pocket of his silver suit jacket. “I wouldn’t dream of showing up to a function hosted by the Fantastic Four without my checkbook and pen handy. Your sister has truly mastered the art of monetizing your team’s image.” He flashed a barracuda grin. “For the poor little animals, of course.”

Sweat slipped between his skin-tight suit and the bend of his spine as Johnny ventured a glance in Susan’s direction. She was doing her best to stay focused on the fans at her booth, but the fear in her eyes was electric each time they flickered his way. 

“But first, I’d like to talk about some of the alarming comments you made about me recently.”

Johnny faced the man in front of him with a calm frown. “Saying those things was a mistake I assure you won’t happen again.” He wove his fingers together and placed them on top of the table. “I shouldn’t believe every flippant piece of gossip I hear that finds its way to me through the rumor mill. And I certainly shouldn’t tell others about anything I’ve heard until I have undeniable evidence supporting my claims.”

Fisk flared his nostrils at the teen's beguiling response. “I can assure you, Mr. Storm, that whatever insidious hearsay you’ve been told about me is entirely false. A full breakdown of my business operations and my personal history is available to the public on my website. I have nothing to hide.” The jagged creases in his forehead deepened. “I’m running for mayor of this city to combat crime and purge the corruption that plagues our political systems, and the last thing I need is a high-profile public figure such as yourself casting doubt on my credibility and defaming my name. The people of this city trust you, Mr. Storm. Your words hold power. It does not serve you well to use that power to spread lies.”

Johnny’s gaze hardened. “Like I said,” he told him firmly. “Won’t happen again.”

“I’m afraid I need you to do better than that." Fisk adjusted his tie, running his fingers along the ornate silk detailing. “You see, I’m the only mayoral candidate with a plan to work directly with superheroes such as yourself to reduce crime and make this city safer. I want the Fantastic Four to become an official part of the justice department so we can all band together to get bad guys off the streets. It’s to your benefit that I’m elected—and for that to happen, not only do I need you to stop tarnishing my name to your followers. I need your direct endorsement. You can get me the youth vote, and I can get you and your team all the funding and authorization needed to do what you do better than ever before. We can help each other, Mr. Storm. If I win, we all win.”

Johnny crossed his arms against his chest and tilted his chin slightly upward. “Not according to Spider-Man.”

The slippery smile on Fisk’s lips fell in an instant. Darkness twisted his features into an expression that turned Johnny’s guts to ice. 

“Ah,” Fisk growled. “Yes. Spider-Man.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket and dabbed at the beads of sweat speckled across his hairless head. “Tell me, Johnny—how long have you been acquainted with our friendly neighborhood menace?”

“Long enough to know he’s not a menace,” Johnny shot back. “And that both of us have plenty of reasons not to trust you.”

“And what reasons might those be?”

Johnny opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again, swallowing. If what Spidey suspected of Fisk was true, it might be dangerous for him to know how much Johnny knew about his illegal proclivities. When Johnny didn’t answer, Fisk grinned, laying his palms on the table between them and leaning in closer.

“Whatever it is he’s accused me of, why don’t you ask him to provide you some proof. Any proof. I guarantee he’ll have nothing but empty promises and blatant falsehoods to support his baseless claims.” He pressed further into Johnny’s personal space—so much so that he could feel the heat of his breath when he spoke. “Spider-Man is a depraved criminal, Mr. Storm. The kind that plays the part to earn your trust, then tears you down when you least expect it. I trusted him once too, you know—as I’m sure many others have. But it always leads to the same painful conclusion: his fear and envy of true power driving him to dismantle those in possession of it.”

Johnny pursed his lips, daring not to breathe, but refusing to back away from the unsightly face lurking uncomfortably nearer to his own. 

“You’re a clever boy, Johnny,” Fisk continued. “Strong, talented, and influential, as well. All things that Spider-Man loves to bleed dry from his victims. I’ve been able to evade his destructive path thus far, but I’d hate to see you befall the fate that has led this city to curse the arachnid’s name.” Fisk erected his spine and held out a massive hand for Johnny to take. “Join me, Mr. Storm. Together, we can rid New York of Spider-Man’s foul presence, and ensure that the Human Torch becomes the most powerful and beloved superhero this world ever sees.”

Johnny’s eyes lowered to the massive palm presented to him, then flicked back up to meet Fisk’s. It was an effort not to wrinkle his nose in revulsion as he willed his face into an unreadable wall. He cleared his throat, then stood from his chair, rising to be as close to eye-level with the man as all 5’11” of him could manage.

“First of all, I’m already the most powerful and beloved superhero. If there’s anyone here who's afraid of my power, it’s you.” Flames fizzled off his shoulders and danced down his forearms. “Second, Spider-Man is my friend—and a good fucking person. If you plan to hurt him, you’re going to have to go through me first. And trust me when I say that if things get to that point, winning an election will be the least of your concerns.”

The two of them stared each other down, a live wire running between their locked gazes. Fisk’s eyebrows knit together as his expression took a turn for the deadly. His outstretched hand cinched into a fist. 

“And trust me, young man,” he sneered, “when I say that I am not somebody you want to make your enemy. You think you’re the only person here with power and influence? I’m just as capable of lifting you up as I am of bringing you down.”

Unease simmered beneath Johnny’s skin. “Is that a threat?” he asked coldly.

“No,” Fisk replied, flashing a Cheshire Cat smile. “It’s a promise.”

Johnny held the beastly man’s glare, suppressing a shudder. He clenched his jaw, gradually diminishing the flames roiling across his body. 

Spider-Man was right about him.

Fisk’s hand suddenly slipped inside his suit jacket, making Johnny tense up reflexively. He grinned at the fear in the young hero’s eyes as he retrieved a thin piece of paper from a hidden inner pocket and held it out for Johnny Storm to take.

“Whatever your final earnings for the fundraiser are, match ‘em. Everything but the dollar amount is already filled in. That should suffice for my untimely intrusion and make all those misfortunate animals happy, yes?”

A wave of dread washed over Johnny as he reluctantly accepted the check from his bowling ball-sized fist. Something told him whatever donation amount they ended up cashing in from Fisk, it would clear instantly, and be bathed in blood. 

“I do hope you reconsider my offer,” Fisk added. “You and I share many passions and could accomplish great things together. Who one chooses to align oneself with can make or break his future.” He shook his head solemnly. “It’d be a shame to nail yours to the same crucifix Spider-Man has nailed his.” 

With that, Fisk rapped his knuckles against the table, signaled something to his army of guards, then turned and walked away. Johnny watched his boulder of a back shrink farther and farther into the distance and released a slow, shaky breath, grateful to be free of the man’s inky leer, but unable to shake the disquieting queasiness his presence had left him with. He took a long sip of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Well. I’m definitely not publishing that apology now.

“Johnny?” the next fan waiting to meet him called from an awkward distance away. She clutched a Human Torch Squishmallow close to her chest and offered a hesitant smile. “Can, um—can we come over now?” Her along with the rest of the patrons whose line stretched as far as the eye could see peered back at him impatiently, each of their turns with the celebrity hero well overdue.

“Yes—right—sorry. Of course.” Johnny scrubbed a hand through his hair and waved her forward, painting on his happiest, friendliest face. “Welcome, everyone. So sorry for the delay. Step right up, beautiful. Oh, wow—I love your shirt! Where’d you get it from?”

As Johnny chatted and signed stuff and collected donations from people, pushing down the paranoia Fisk had afflicted him with like poison, struggling to stay cheerful and energized for the sake of his fans, he swore he spotted a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. It vanished the moment he looked directly at it, evanescing into the branches of a large maple tree, but he could’ve sworn it was real. And something about that particular shade of red was unusually familiar to him. 

He supposed it could’ve been a bird, a kite, some trick of the imagination. He didn’t have time to dwell on it anyhow. He had fans to entertain and a fundraiser to run. If Fisk wanted to flaunt his excessive liquidity about, Johnny was determined to squeeze every last penny he could get out of him. 

#spider-man #spideytorch #peter parker x johnny storm #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #johnny storm #my writing #bi peter parker #fantastic 4 #fantastic four #enemies to lovers #irondad #tw: suicide mention

[jawritter]

Carry On

Chapter 10

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: A little dash of angst, some pain, some fluff too, multiple view points

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67​​​ Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

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Dean’s POV:

Dean grunted deeply as he forced himself to lift his feet and take a step rather than drag his left side as he made his way down the hallway, one had firmly planted on the wall, bracing himself, the other on his chest where he still felt like there was something stabbing him every time, he got up to walk, or took a deep breath. 

The night before had been a bad one. He had not really slept at all. He couldn’t get comfortable, even in his own bed, surrounded by his things, Miracle sleeping at his feet and Y/N by his side. Every way he laid hurt, every time he closed his eyes, he could still see that goddamn barn, and that mask those vamps were wearing. He could still feel the blood rushing into his lungs and the painful, suffocating feeling of panic as it set in that this was it, he wasn’t gonna walk away from this hunt. 

After the majority of the night lying flat on his back in pain, he decided to get up and walk up and down the hallway while she slept, in hopes that it would tire him out enough that he could get some sleep, and also keep him from waking her up with his constant moving. 

He knew that if she caught him, she’d be furious. He knew that getting up and walking by himself was stupid. Still, he wouldn’t be a Winchester if he wasn’t a stubborn Son-Of-A-Bitch. Also, she looked so peaceful curled up there on her side facing him as she slept, and he wanted more than anything to scoop her up and hold her; but physically he couldn’t, and it was eating him up inside. 

“Dean!” came a whisper yell in the voice of Sam Winchester behind him, and Dean flinched as he heard Sam’s pace quicken as he came rushing up behind him to support him just as he started to slide down the wall he was holding onto. “What the fuck are you doing?! Where’s Y/N?!”

“Asleep,” Dean groaned as he placed his weight against his brother, taking the pressure off of his back and chest, “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake her up, so I thought I’d try walking around some.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the truth, and that’s all Sam was gonna get out of Dean. Sammy or Y/N didn’t need to know how badly he was struggling. That was his cross to bear, not theirs. They’d been through enough, especially Y/N. 

“You’re gonna end up back in the hospital!” Sam scolded as they rounded the corner and slowly made their way towards his bedroom where he knew he was in for it, because surely Sam would tell Y/N everything as soon as the bedroom door opened. “The doctor said to stay off your feet as much as possible until you get ready to start physical therapy.”

“Yeah, well fuck him, and fuck physical therapy, I can do it on my own, I don’t need them.”

Sam growled in aggravation, but that was a conversation he would save for when Dean wasn’t around with Y/N. Whether Dean liked it or not, he was gonna have to do physical therapy; Sam wasn’t gonna let this go. 

“You know, you’re just as stubborn as Dad was,” Sam argued, “Y/N has been through enough with your stubborn ass. The least you could do is do what the fucking doctor said do to, so that you don’t end up doing real damage and putting her through more shit, because for some ungodly reason, she likes your dumb ass.”

Dean knew he was right, but also Dean wished that Y/N didn’t like him, and that he didn’t like her. Being bound to a cripple was not what she deserved at all;  most of the time he wished he was man enough to run her off so that she could go and live a fulfilling life that wasn’t tied down to him, someone that couldn’t even be a man to her. But he was weak, and he needed her worse than he needed oxygen, and he didn’t want to hurt her or upset her more by ending up dead or back in the ICU; so he just kept his trap shut as Sam came to a stop in front of his bedroom door. 

“Now,” Sam said, with his hand on the door frame, “If I put you back in here, are you gonna stay here?”

“Yes mom,” he retorted, and Sam narrowed his eyes as his brother before he pushed the door open slowly, deciding to keep his commentary to himself. 

Y/N POV:

Y/N was awakened with a jolt at the sound of the bedroom door opening, and  light flooding the room from the hallway outside. At first, she was confused, really confused; she immediately reached for the left side of her where Dean had been laying when she’d fallen asleep sometime that night between Dean’s fidgeting, and her own racing mind. She found it cold and empty, which; if she was being earnest, was the jolt to her brain that made her sit up in bed, and her eyes fly open against the assailing light that flooded the room to focus on the two, overly tall men standing in the doorway, one clearly supporting the weight of the other. 

“Dean!” she yelled as she kicked the covers off of her, and scrambled out of bed to take the load from Sam onto her own shoulders and walk Dean towards the bed. 

“I found him wandering the hallway,” Sam announced as he rushed to help Y/N get Dean back onto the bed. Dean said nothing, he just kept his head down; his jaw locked in frustration at the whole mess. 

“What the hell were you thinking Dean?” Y/N scolded as she checked him over once Sam turned the lamp on in the room. “If you needed to get up you could have just woke me up, and I would have helped you!”

“You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you up for you to just be miserable with me,” Dean answered, and again, it wasn’t totally a lie, he really didn’t want to wake her up just for her to sit there and watch him be miserable. 

Y/N huffed as she tried to reel in her emotions and keep from screaming at him. It was clear from the tense, defeated look on his face yelling at him was not what he needed in that moment;  there would be a time for chastising him for getting out of bed and wandering the halls on his own later, but this was not the time. Besides, he seemed no worse for the wear other than being a little winded. So it’s not like he did any real damage, even though he wasn’t supposed to go and do that. 

“I’ll go and make some coffee and bring it back to you guys,” Sam offered, “Then I’ll get us some breakfast going.”

“I want real bacon Sammy, not that turkey shit you eat,” Dean yelled and Sam waved him off as Dean mumbled under his breath, something about hospital food being better than that crap, but Y/N did ask, because honestly she didn’t mind the healthy eating alternatives, even if most of them did repulse Dean. 

Y/N waited until Sam was out of sight before she went back to doing an overview of Dean; making sure he wasn’t bleeding anywhere, and that he seemed to be catching his breath from the journey back to the room She was greatly relieved to find that everything seemed to be okay this time, but had Sam not found him, well, she really didn’t want to think about what might have happened. 

“I’m okay Baby,” Dean insisted, whining as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the bed. 

“I don’t care if I’m dead fucking alseep Dean, if you need to get up, just get me and I will get up with you. We can always nap later if we get tired.”

Dean worried his lower lip with his perfect white teeth, and nodded, losing the energy to argue with her or anyone else.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment with a grimace, “I just… I couldn’t get comfortable, and you were asleep, and— I’m sorry, next time I will wake you or Sam. I didn’t mean to cause drama before the sun even really came up.”

He was frustrated, Y/N could see it. Honestly, she didn’t blame him for being frustrated. He went from doing whatever he wanted to do, a hunter, healthy, virtually happy; to having to ask for help just to get to the bathroom, and that would be frustrating for anyone. 

“You’re a grown man Dean,” Y/N said, pulling the covers back so that she could slide into the bed next to him, “You don’t have to apologize for something as simple as getting out of bed and walking around. But I do want you to be careful and not set yourself back, okay?”

“Okay,” he relented. 

Y/N bit the inside of her check and had to look away from him to stop the rushing flood of emotions that kicked her in the gut. She felt as if she was scolding him, and she really didn’t want to scold a grown ass man. 

Before she could open her mouth and say anything, Dean groaned dramatically as he grabbed hold of the comforter, and rolled himself onto his side, stunning her into momentary silence. 

“Dean,” she finally breathed as she hurried to sit up to help him, and he just shook his head and pulled her back down, “It’s okay, I did that on purpose, I want to lay like this, I’m okay.”

She stuttered to argue with him, that he had to be in pain laying there on his side like that, but he pulled her down into his chest, and tucked his arm around, and the argument died somewhere in her throat. 

“Are you sure this doesn’t hurt?” she worried, but Dean just shook his head no. 

“It was a little uncomfortable at first,” he admitted after a while, “but it’s ebbing away now; it’s not so bad.”

Y/N tucked herself into him, supporting some of his weight so that all of the pressure wasn’t completely on his side, and Dean signed deeply as he allowed himself to relax, his fingers trailing up and down her back in random patterns. It was the most relaxed he’d been since before he’d gotten hurt, and honestly, if she wasn’t awake and he wasn’t afraid she’d call him a pussy, he probably would have started to cry, but he felt like he’d done more than enough of that last night while she slept next to him. 

“You know, I’ve wanted to lay here like this with you since I woke up,” he admitted, placing his lips to the top of her hair and making her heart flutter out of her chest and around the room. 

“Well, I’m all yours, we can stay here just like this all day if that’s what you want,” she assured him; he hummed as he nuzzled himself in her hair.  Soon his breathing started to even out, and sleep started to take its hold on him after one very long night battling to obtain it. 

Y/N's arm reached around, tracing the exposed skin of his lower back and hip. She wasn’t lying to him, even though he was clearly asleep now, she would have gladly laid right here with him, just like this, as long as he wanted; because it had been a long fucking time since she had felt that safe, and she’d never felt that at home. Ever. 

The door clicked open behind her and light flooded the room as Sam appeared with two cups of coffee in his hands, and Y/N turned her head slightly to see him, but not wake Dean, who had started to snore slightly next to her. 

“Oh shit, is he okay?” he whispered, sitting Y/N’s cup of coffee on the nightstand next to the bed. 

“Yeah, he’s out,” she said, “I don’t think he slept much last night.”

“Well, he looks pretty content right now, so I’ll just leave you guys to it, and I’ll bring him another cup of coffee when he wakes up, if you need anything just text me, I’ll be in the library.”

“Thanks Sam,” Y/N whispered as Sam closed the door, and Y/N tucked the covers around Dean the best that she could in the position they were in. 

Tomorrow would start the first day of physical therapy, but today, she’d just enjoy this with him; they both deserved that much.

Forever:

@wittysunflower

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