#thread the needle chapter 6

[the-kr8tor]

Lace

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 4.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Cursing, CW spiders, TW Arachnophobia, TW violence, CW injury, angst, fluff.

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Thread the Needle Masterlist

CHAPTER 6 >>> CHAPTER 7

Your pulse thumps loudly against your skin, swallowing a lump in your throat, you bravely make your way towards your friend. That word hangs loosely in the balance, you have no right to get mad at Hobie, he has no obligation towards your feelings whatsoever. Especially that you've never voiced how much you like him, no how much you came to love him.

You've never exactly pinpointed the time or event that made you love your best friend, but you know deep inside that you have. Whether it was platonic before or romantic after a few years of knowing him. You know that you've loved the same man for years. That's why it hurts so much that he's been ogling the unknown woman in his presence. Hands tucked inside the pockets of his leather jacket, he watches her through half lidded eyes, a smile curling around his lips.

The woman's giggle cuts you like a rusty knife, leaving you bleeding and doubting everything. Doubting all the soft touches and lingering gazes from Hobie all those years of hanging out with him. Maybe you are delusional, your lovesick brain making you think and imagine that a man like him could ever love you back.

You hate yourself for being jealous, the big green monster rearing its ugly head. Whispering and gnawing at your shattering heart. Trying to tamp down the ugly thing, cageing it inside your chest like a feral animal, you exhale a shaky breath. Eyes growing glassy at the sticky kiss she leaves on Hobie's cheek. The large Oscorp museum looms behind the stage, casting a large shadow on the couple, as if the building's hiding them from you, mockingly adding to your pain.

Weaving through the crowd, you catch the last bit of their conversation.

"I'll see you at the after party, right, Hobs?" Her voice is sweet yet it sounds like nails on a chalkboard when she calls him 'Hobs'.

"Sure, Lacey," his voice monotone, "go, we're almost on." Hobie nods at her.

'Lacey' winks at him, giving him a flirty smile, waving goodbye. Her long curls bouncing as she walks away.

Hobie notices someone staring, he cranes his neck, squinting, instantly grinning when he spots you. "Oi! There you are! You're late. Nice boots, are they new?"

You clear your throat, blinking away the tears threatening to spill over. "Yeah" walking closer to him, you give him enough space. Far enough for him to not be able to hold you.

Hobie notices your downturned gaze, "you okay–"

"You made it!" Yuri appears from behind, bounding towards you for a hug. "Look at our lucky charm! Lookin' pretty as always" she holds you at arms length. Giving her the best smile you could muster.

Ned and James join her side, "nice shoes!" Ned exclaims, bass strapped on his back.

"'ave you been cryin'?" James asks, concerned. He (unfortunately for you) noticed your glassy eyes.

"What?" You chuckle softly "No, I had to run here, the wind whipped at my face" trying to save face.

"You sure it's not allergies? Pollen count is at an all time high today" James adds, nodding.

"You learned that at your da's radio show?" Ned teases. James shoves him.

"I'm fine, it's nothing" you shrug, it's not nothing, your heart feels like it's been run over by a train.

"You sure you're okay?" Hobie finally chides in, closing in the distance you've put out. Intertwining your pinkies together.

To Hobie's dismay, you pull away a second later, "yeah, good luck. I'll be in the crowd" you give the band a double thumbs up, "you guys better win!" Trying to sound cheerful.

"Hell yeah, we will!" James pumps his fist in the air for added effect.

You walk away, trying to get in front of the stage for a better view of the show, pushing past the crowd, some seem to be too out of it to notice you. Spotting the familiar curls, you stop in the middle of the crowd that's packed together like sardines. Lacey laughs with her friends, hyping them up, drinks in hand, singing a familiar song.

The lights turn to a different color, red enveloping the stage. You feel like you're underwater, the loud noises muffled in your ears. You can barely hear the announcer introducing the band, eyes fixated towards Lacey, she throws a flying kiss towards the stage. You don't have to look at who the recipient was.

Guitar riffs ring out, Hobie's band starts playing their song, the crowd suddenly rushes in, trying to get to the front of the stage, trapping you. Bouncing around dancing bodies, you can't get out of the wild crowd, some noticing you trying to get out, they move and part for you. But some are way too into it to notice you.

"Excuse me, please! Fuck!" You yell out. A stray elbow hitting you right on your eye. The smacking sound rings in your ears, hand nursing the injury. A hand flings to your cheek, backhanding you. "Fuck!"

"Oi oi, stop! y/n!" Hobie's voice echoes around the venue, you deduce that he grabbed the mic from Ned. The band stops playing.

Half of the crowd doesn't stop, still jumping and bouncing around, guessing they've probably snuck in liquor. You ping pong around sweaty bodies, The only thing you could do was try to protect your head with your arms. Closing your eyes.

"Hoy! Fuckers! He said stop!" Lacey's voice screams out, trying to push past the mass. You can barely hear her through the blood rushing in your ears.

A strong yet familiar arm wraps around your shoulder, looking up you see Hobie arguing with a stranger.

"What the fuck! I said stop! Were you dropped on your head?!" He shoves the man away. Pointing at another trying to argue back. "Fuck off!" He lets go of you, shoving the other with force.

"Hey mate, if she can't handle it, maybe–" The man slurs his words, he couldn't finish his sentence, his face connecting with your knuckles. He should be glad that it wasn't Hobie's or else he would have his rings embedded in his jaw. The man keels over, sobering him up in an instant, groaning in pain.

Hobie looks at you in shock, you look at the men like you want to rip them apart.

Everything crushes you, the weight and pressure of your project, expectations from your family, your love for him. Every insecurity seeps out of your bones, drowning you in its disgusting waters.

You throw your anger at the first thing you see.

"You fucking wanker!" You seethe, your eyes darken, the strangers bear the brunt of your anger. "Stop means stop motherfucker!"

Hobie holds you back, if he doesn't you'll get kicked out of the event, "holy shit" your fist held up, ready to strike again.

You push him off, eye stinging in pain. Huffing, You give the men one last angry glare before stomping away from the crowd, too angry to care that you have an audience. Hobie follows closely behind, calling your name urgently.

"What?!" You turn sharply, the skin around your injured eye slowly turning into a darker color.

"Are you okay?" He asks, hands ghosting over your closed fists.

"Stop asking me if I'm okay, Hobart! Do I look like I'm fucking okay?!" You yell, frustrated, wincing at the pain in your socket. "Fuck!"

Your heart aches when you fight with him, moreso when you yell at Hobie. You're angry but not at Hobie, you're mad at yourself, mad that you've read his love for you as romantic, angry that you never told him how you feel. Furious at your jealousy.

One word stays in your mind, your own voice screaming it out like bloody murder: Coward.

"Love" he says softly, hands wrapping around your tightly closed fists, your nails digging into your palms leaving half moons on the soft skin. Hobie slowly unclenches your fists for you, fingers opening up yours. "You need ice over that, I'll bring you to the first aid station and–"

"You don't have to, just go. Get back on stage" you pull your hands away from him, clenching your hands into fists again.

"y/n, you might be concussed–" Hobie stares at you, concerned.

"Go" you sniff. "I'll go there myself" turning your back on him, Hobie watches you walk away.

—

The first aid station sits further away from the stage, the loud sounds can still be heard from where you're sitting inside the large tent. Cheers echoes out, prompting you to close your eyes at the booming sound.

The frozen ice pack melts in your hand, condensation dripping down on your arm. Your eye socket stings even with the pain meds the nurse gave you. Your head feels like it's trying to escape your skull. Sitting on the plastic chair, elbows propped on your thighs, biting the inside of your cheek when you hear your friends asking for you.

Scooching away from their line of sight, hiding behind a water cooler, you try to make yourself small. You groan when you hear the nurse tell them your location. Your anger has finally subsided, embarrassment replacing it.

Maybe you should've left when you had the chance.

Feet shuffle their way towards you, staying put, staring at the grey concrete, shoes fill your vision. Yuri breaks the silence.

"You've got a mean right hook, remind me to never piss you off"

You don't answer glaring at their shoelaces. The water from the ice pack drops on the concrete, painting it darker.

"Bloody hell, give her some room" Hobie arrives at your side, gesturing for them to give you space.

Hobie crouches down, leveling with your down turned stare. Grabbing the not so frozen ice pack from your hand carefully, avoiding touching your hand, in case you don't want to be touched. He stares at your black eye with concern.

"I made you all lose didn't I?" You stare up at your friends, avoiding Hobie's brown eyes.

"We got third place, I don't count that as a loss. It's better than we hoped for anyway" Ned looks at you apologetically.

"Right, not your fault." James adds. "Competition's hard, love"

"You're just saying that, if Hobie didn't interrupt by saving me, you would've won"

"If Hobie didn't jump in I would've jumped after you instead" Yuri chides in, pocketing her drumsticks.

"Me too" Ned says.

"Me three" James raises his hand, "Hobie just beat us to it" he shrugs.

"Still, I'm sorry," saying it softly. You don't miss the way they avoided asking you if you're okay.

"You're the one with the black eye" Hobie stands up, "can I talk to you?" He asks.

"We'll see you later, yeah?" Ned places a comforting hand on Hobie's shoulder. "As for you," Ned looks at you, "you've got my number, call me whenever or better yet visit me sometime"

You manage to crack a small smile, "I will" you stand up, giving him a hug, squeezing your friend. "Richmond's only an hour away" letting him go, you give him a sad smile.

"That's right, I'm only an hour away" Ned pats your shoulder.

Yuri steps in, holding both your hands, "and I'm just in Cambridge" she hugs you tightly, "don't be a stranger, yeah?"

"I'll come visit you whenever I can then" you squeeze her hands.

"You better" Yuri gives you her rare ten megawatt smile.

"Yuri and I will be classmates so you can visit me too if you want" James pats your back awkwardly.

"Fuck off, no we're not" Yuri scrunches her nose at James.

"We'll see you at the after party, Hobie?" Ned asks the unusually quiet man next to you.

The after party, where she will be waiting for Hobie. You try not to think about it, mentally chastising yourself.

"Nah, I have to get ready for her show."

"That's rescheduled actually, it's happening next week instead of tomorrow" you correct him. Hissing when your skin tugs at your eye.

"We'll be there then if you ever decide to pop in" Yuri informs Hobie.

"Alright, see you" Hobie waves them off. Sitting back down you watch them walk away with sad eyes.

"Can I have my ice pack back?" You groan when the pain pinches your eyelids.

"It's basically water, I'll get you a new one" He moves towards the nurse. You sit there, contemplating the past events.

The green monster peeks back out, shaking its cage, shackles straining against its leg. You try to move away from the image of her hands wrapped around Hobie's necklace that you've given him three birthdays ago, cherry red lipstick sticking to his cheek. The way he looked at her, the fucking pain in your eye. You start seething again, wanting to punch something.

You sigh, palms over your tired face, avoiding your injured eye.

"You al–" he stops himself, walking on eggshells. You don't want him doing that around you. "Here's your ice pack, the nurse said you don't have a concussion so I can take you home. Only if you want to" Hobie hands you the ice pack.

"This seems familiar, huh?" You wince at the cold hitting your skin, trying to cut the tension.

"What?"

"Can you fucking sit down for a second" you gesture towards a chair.

Hobie sighs, sitting down backwards on the chair, resting his chin over the plastic back of it, arms wrapping around it.

"When we first met? Remember that? It was almost exactly like this"

He lets out a breathy laugh, "Right, you threw that sketchbook at Terry. Yuri's right, you've got a dangerous arm"

"Should've gone into baseball, or volleyball at least" you avoid his stare. "We were sharing an ice pack, while we bad mouth Terrence" chuckling sadly at the memory. You don't regret meeting him that day, if you could do it all over again even after knowing what will happen, you would, without question.

"Will you fucking look at me" Hobie asks softly, you jump slightly at his angry tone. "Can you tell me what's eating you, is it the project?"

You wait a few seconds to bravely look at him, your face unreadable. "It's not the project"

"Is it really rescheduled, or you're just trying to get rid of me?" Hobie narrows his eyes at you. You can't read him, his expression flat, except for the slight scowl.

You shake your head, "Why the fuck am I trying to get rid of you? Mrs. Williams had a change of heart and gave us an extension, that's it!" The conversation escalates, frustrated at Hobie for implying that you're getting rid of him. You would never.

"Then why are you angry?" He doesn't raise his voice, he never does, and he won't ever start to.

"Because! I'm–" you hear a loud cough, the nurse glares at you two. Hobie notices, standing up.

"C'mon let's go inside" He stands up.

"Yeah, because arguing inside a museum is much better"

"You think those fucks care about a museum?" He points towards the concert with his thumb, "I looked inside, no one's in there. They're all going to the after party anyway"

Sighing, you want to go home, but knowing Hobie, he won't relent. You wouldn't dare to go to his place instead, not wanting to taint your future home with a fight. Your dorm is out of the question, it's almost midnight, your RA wouldn't let Hobie in. You don't want to run from this, even if it means lying to his face.

"Give me the bloody card" He asks for the favour card tucked inside your pocket.

"You're gonna use one on this?" You hand it to him.

"Yes" he pops one off, Hobie doesn't want to ruin his relationship with you, especially with him not knowing the cause of your anger. So he's willing to do anything to prevent that. The wind carries the logo somewhere.

You wish you're that piece of paper right now. Only seven to go.

—

Walking around the futuristic room, the walls white and pristine, covered in blue neon lights. It looks like you're in one of Ned's favourite sci-fi movie, you can't quite make out the title though. The entire place is silent, with only a handful of people walking around, the only sounds are from displays, machines whirring in the background, and noises made by the displays' speakers. They opened up the museum really late for the concert as a promotion even though most people only stayed for the show.

You stop in front of a display, a projection of some enhanced spider lifting something that's apparently fifty times heavier than its weight. Sitting down on a bench in front of the display, eyes glued to the presentation.

Hobie sits next to you, giving you space. He watches the projection's glow on the side of your face, making it look like there's a giant spider crawling on your skin.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you" you finally break the silence. "I shouldn't have done that, you were only trying to help," eyes still watching the educational video. Taking a deep breath, "Why do you think I'm trying to get rid of you?"

"It's nothing" he watches as the enhanced spider bites another spider, fighting with it.

"It's clearly nothing" you scoff, "that's the first thing you thought of when I told you that the show's rescheduled"

Hobie wishes he brought Terry with him, his leg bouncing, a nervous habit of his. "I'm holding you back." He confesses, wincing, regretting it almost immediately.

Your neck snaps to look at him, "You're not, why would you think that?" You sound angry, but your concern for him wins over. "Why?" Tentatively scooching over, you close the distance, cupping his hand in yours. "If anything I'm holding you back, you could've gone anywhere after you left school. Yet you stayed"

Hobie raises his brow at you, scoffing. At first you thought he'll pull away his hand, instead he drops his forehead on your shoulder, fitting right in. He feels the roughness of your denim jacket, squeezing your hand.

The projector's light envelopes you two in emerald green as it switches to a different scene.

"Why do you think I'm still here?" He finally answers after a few seconds. It felt like hours for you.

"Because I'm your best friend" you say softly.

"Best mates don't look at each other like we do" he gathers all his courage, tired of all the pushing and pulling, tired of being selfish, locking his feelings from you. Hobie cranes his neck up to look into your familiar eyes. The same eyes he's longed for. He's so close to you he could see himself in your glassy eyes.

Your heart beats a thousand times per second, Hobie cups your jaw, gaze falling on your slightly parted lips. You hold his wrist, thumb right on his hastening pulse, you cup his jaw with your free hand, hand soft against his slight stubble.

"Best mates don't touch each other like this," he continues.

Your eyes wander around his face, looking for any lies of what he's told you, flabbergasted at his confession. Your breath is seemingly stuck in your throat, heart stuttering when he slowly closes the gap between you.

You don't pull away.

You can feel him tugging at the loose thread, it feels like it's tightening around you instead of breaking you two apart at the seams. The dam has a sizable crack in its foundation, threatening to burst open.

Hobie leans towards your lips, now or never, he sees you flutter your eyes close, taking it as a sign to seal your lips with his. He feels a crawling sensation on his back, ignoring it, thinking it's his nerves acting up. His heart pounds like a drum, he can't back down now.

"Agh! Fuck!" Hobie suddenly screeches, hands flying towards his nape.

"What? What is it?!" You panic, turning him around, yelping when you see a bright spider latched on his neck. "Fuck!"

"What is it?!"

"Spider!" You try to fling it away using your sleeves, avoiding touching the arachnid.

"It fucking bit me!" Hobie slaps his neck in one swift movement, the spider lays dead, still latched on his skin. "Did I get it?"

"Yeah, let me just–" you take a handkerchief from your pocket, taking the spider away from his skin, "there, got it" showing the spider laying on your pink handkerchief. "Oh god it's red"

"You think it's venomous?"

You laugh wholeheartedly for the first time that night.

"I'm serious, I could die from this" Hobie pokes the spider.

Like it's comedic timing, the narrator from the educational video says, "it's not venomous but it is advised to seek professional help when bitten by the wolf spider, some people could be allergic to their bites–"

Staring at each other, "wow" you manage to say at the same time, you giggle nervously, having no idea how to proceed with how things are now.

"It doesn't look like the wolf spider, they're a different color" Hobie pokes the spider to look at its underbelly, "yeah, different one" he acts as if he's suddenly interested in arachnology.

You look at him with so much endearment, your eyes are practically shaped like hearts.

"What?" Hobie catches your staring, a smile playing on his lips.

"Nothin'" you taunt him with a cheeky smile. He rolls his eyes at you but his smile betrays him.

The intercom rings out, "The museum is now closed, sorry for the early closing" a nasally voice says. "There has been an incident in one of our displays, please leave the museum in an orderly fashion"

Hobie clears his throat, hand scratching at his nape, also not knowing what happens now. "I'll take you home," He stands up, offering you his hand.

"Okay" you feel giddy as you take his outstretched hand. It feels familiar yet oh so different now. You've finally got confirmation about his feelings towards you, no matter how vague it was. You two have all the time in the world to discuss it. You've waited this long, you can endure a few more days of tiptoeing around each other. Baby steps, you think.

Swinging your intertwined hands, you look up at him. "Do you think the incident that they're talking about is this spider?" You pat your jeans pocket where the covered spider is kept. "Like it came out of its enclosure or something?"

"They don't have live specimens here, probably not" he entertains your question, squeezing your hand.

You both leave the museum, hand in hand. Ignoring an alarm blaring from somewhere.

—

You hug Hobie's leather jacket tighter around you, the cold air biting at your cheeks, helping numb the pain in your eye. Hobie takes your helmet off for you, the simple action he's done a million times before makes your heart skip a beat. You watch him with curious eyes, waiting for something to happen between you. The large brick building that houses your dorm looms overhead.

You notice him sweating despite the cold, "How do you feel?" You ask, concerned.

"I feel fine" he takes your helmet back towards the compartment of his motorbike. "Why?"

You step over to him, your palm feeling his forehead for a sign of a fever. "You're sweating, it's like fifteen degrees, why are you sweating?" He leans into your touch, sighing a bit.

"It's because I'm bloody fit" Hobie smirks, winking at you playfully.

You roll your eyes, "what if you're actually allergic to that spider bite? We might need to get you to a hospital" pulling back your hand to your side.

"I'm fine, seriously. I have no idea why I'm sweating though" He wipes his moist forehead.

"Okay. I can come with, just to make sure you don't have a weird reaction to it"

"You'll come to the after party?"

"You're still going to that?" Why? She'll be there, you bite your tongue, jealousy gripping you again. He's not going because of that, right?

"Yeah, It'll probably be the last one with the band, I want to make the most of it"

"Okay, just be careful" you wrap your pinky around his, "ask the others for help if you suddenly feel sick, please?"

"I will. Go to bed, you're knackered. Get some ice on that once you wake up, yeah?"

You bravely stand on your tiptoes to reach his cheek, kissing his skin softly. It feels just right, like your lips were perfectly molded for his cheek. Hobie seems like he ran out of air, frozen into place. He has no idea where to put his hands, your waist seems to be a little suggestive, arms seems to be more on the friendly side, if he grabs the back of your neck, Hobie's afraid he might pull you in for a kiss, which you might not want right now. So he settles for your shoulder, it feels awkward still.

You pull away, seeing a very rare sight of a flustered Hobie. Almost giggling, you clamp down, not wanting to tease him more or he might start hiding this kind of face he's currently making. His pupils are blown out, mouth agape. He returns to his nonchalant expression when he notices you biting your lips to stifle your giggling.

Grabbing his hands in yours, you bat your lashes, "Drive carefully, please?"

Hobie pulls you in by your belt loop, hugging you, his chin rests on the crown of your head, long arms enveloping you. He pokes your scalp with his chin. Your laugh pierces through the dark.

"Yeah, yeah" Pulling away, he carefully grazes his forefinger over to your black eye. "Sorry, 'bout this"

"Not your fault. Thank you for jumping in to save me, even if I yelled at you after" you look at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, again"

He shakes his head, not knowing the exact words to reply to you. Rubbing your leather clad arms, he stops when he reaches your hands. "Keep this for tonight, you can bring it back to me tomorrow, yeah?" Hobie subtly asks you out.

You grin at him asking for you to come visit him the next day. "Mm-hmm, I was gonna visit you anyway. You're due for a fitting"

"Yeah? Finished our baby then?" An excited smile appears on his lips.

"Almost, I think you'll like it" You say smugly.

"You made it, it's a guarantee I'll like it"

—

You adjust the weight of your heavy bag on your shoulder, walking along the water towards Hobie's houseboat. Grinning at the familiar boat, you speed walk to the doors. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, excited to see Hobie again after last night, After his 'confession'.

Hugging his leather jacket around your torso, moving the bag slightly away, just to show him that you didn't forget to bring it with you.

Knocking, you call out to Hobie. "Hey, it's me!"

The boat rocks a bit to the side, tilting your head, curious at what might've caused its movement since the river is calm. Finn is right, you can't hear anything happening inside. The boat tilts again, you hold onto the wall for support.

You knock again, "Hobie! Are you okay in there?"

Hobie finally answers the door, it swings wildly, sweat dripping on his bare chest, still in his boxers, his wicks uncharacteristically standing in messy angles. Gripping the doorknob in an iron hold, his chest heaves up and down like he's run a marathon, or like he just–

Hobie seems like he can't properly construct a proper sentence, he blinks at you through watery eyes, licking his dry lips.

You were about to ask him if he's okay, you freeze in place, face falling when a female voice rings somewhere inside– "Hobs?"

You feel a hole caving in your heart, leaving a Hobie shaped chasm, eyes glistening in the morning sun, you don't even wait for his explanation. You just run, run as fast as your legs could take you. You have no idea where to go. Your heart is shattering with every step, you have no time to pick up the pieces, leaving it scattered in the wind.

You can hear Hobie yelling your name, ignoring his urgent calls, you sprint away.

A/N: Everything will make sense in the next chapter 😉 thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it, it encourages me to write more ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

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[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 13

This is it guys, the chapter of this fic. I have had an absolute blast writing and even more so reading all the comments and tags.

This last chapter is dedicated to all those who wanted the moms to bring Steve into their fold. This was also chance for Steve to rip on the haters without fear of his parents ire.

Thank you so much for all the love and support for this little story.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

****

Claudia was waiting at the Byers’ front door when Eddie pulled up in his van and Steve hopped out.

“Eddie!” she cried happily. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Hey, Mrs. H,” Eddie said with a wave. “I’m just dropping Stevie off. We’re hanging out later.”

“That was sweet of you, dear,” Claudia cooed.

Steve in the meantime was pulling things out of the backseat of the van. Eddie looked over at him.

“You need help, darlin’?” he asked over his shoulder.

Steve shook his head. “I’ve got it. Thank you, though.” In lower voice he muttered, “I love you and I’ll see you later.”

Eddie gave Steve’s forearm a squeeze and then waved at Claudia. He backed out of the driveway and was soon gone from sight.

“We’ve got all sorts of surprises for you today, Steve,” she said gleefully clapping her hands together.”

Steve grinned at her. “Mrs. Peterson here yet?”

Claudia shook her head. “She’s always at least fifteen minutes late. Something we were banking on actually.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

But Claudia just ushered him inside. He set his stuff down and then handed her a tray.

“I made blondies,” he said, “I hope you ladies like them.”

She peeled back the foil and gasped. “Steve they look amazing!”

Joyce came out of the kitchen wiping her hands. “What looks amazing?” she asked peering over Claudia’s shoulder. She, too, gasped when she saw them. “Steve, you didn’t!”

Steve grinned. “Your sons always eat the ones I send home with them before they even get home, so I figured you’d appreciate these.”

She kissed his cheek. “You are a dear.”

Claudia laid them out on table next to all the other treats.

On the coffee table were a bunch of things under a large sheet with clowns on it.

“The three of us,” Karen began, “wanted to do something extra special for you after hearing what fun our children had at the Fair because you made sure they did. So we each contributed something toward your love of sewing.”

She lifted the sheet. Underneath was a beautiful sewing kit in navy blue, a light green Singer sewing machine that looked older than he was, and a stack of old patterns.

Steve’s lip wobbled as he raised his hand to his mouth in shock.

“You didn’t have to do this, ladies,” he whispered.

“The sewing kit is from me,” Karen continued. “It’s a beginner’s kit, but it has fabric scissors, a seam ripper, bobbins for your thread and different kinds of needles.”

Steve sat down and pulled it onto his lap. He opened it and as he lifted the lid, the top tray pulled back revealing the tray beneath. “Thank you.”

“The sewing machine,” Claudia said proudly, “is the first one I ever owned. When I got married I got a new one and I’ve been using that ever since. But this ol’ girl has a lot of love and life left in her, and I want you to have her.”

Steve looked up at her, tears forming in his eyes. “Aren’t you worried that I’ll break it? Or that my parents will find it and destroy it?”

Claudia knelt in front of him. “It’s gonna be kept at my house until you get a place of your own. You’re there all the time to see Dusty anyway, no one is going to notice that you’re there to sew now, too.”

“Plus,” Joyce said with a grin. “It’s a Singer. They’re a little hard to break. They’re one of the best machines and it will probably outlast your children. So don’t worry about it, okay?”

Steve nodded, his lip quivering. Claudia kissed his forehead and stood back up.

“The patterns are from me,” Joyce said. “Whenever I would have a little extra money I would pick up a pattern or two at the drug store and bring it home. I picked a handful that I thought you’d like since you’re primarily making costumes. And if those work for you, next week I’ll bring another handful you might like.”

Tears started flowing down his cheeks. “Thank you. All of you. This is best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Oh honey,” Joyce said softly and suddenly Steve was being hugged on all sides by the moms.

They stayed like that until there was a knock on the door.

“That must be Olive,” Claudia said with a sigh. “I bet she brought those brownies that are totally store bought even though she insists it her grandmother’s recipe.”

Steve snickered. “My mom used to do that. I don’t think she fooled anyone either.”

Joyce grinned over her shoulder as she went to go answer the door. “Olive, dear! We were just getting started.”

“Oh?” the bright voice on the other side of the door cooed. “You’re usually in the full swing of things by now.”

Steve bristled. That meant she knew she was late and was doing it intentionally. He hated people like that. Acting like the rest of them were peasants meant to be waiting on her.

“Steve was just showing us the costumes he made for the kids for the Fair over the weekend,” Karen said sweetly as Steve hurried to get the things he brought to show off out.

Olive stepped into the house with a sneer. “I think it’s so sweet you’re indulging the boy, but I doubt he can hold a candle to Claudia’s years of experience.”

Wow, Steve thought. Not only did she insult him, but she insinuated Claudia was old. What was with this old bag?

Claudia smirked. “It’s true that I’ve been doing it for longer, but Steve has a real talent for it. Come see.”

Olive walked into the front room and Steve was struck by how much she reminded him of his mother. She had perfectly curled hair with not a single strand out of place. Her clothes were fitted and showed off her figure. Her makeup was flawless.

In short, Steve hated her on sight.

Joyce handed her the shirt he had made for underneath his tunic. It was flawless but understated.

Olive took the shirt and scoffed. “You couldn’t have done this, Harrington, you shouldn’t lie to your betters.”

Steve was already seeing red. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you then.”

Joyce clapped her hands together. “All right, let’s get started. Steve, you can eat as much as you want, but just make sure to keep it away from other people’s projects.”

Steve smiled at her sweetly. “Of course!”

He knew that what she was really saying was that Olive Peterson might try something.

He sat in the armchair away from her and she glared at him.

“Is it all right if I work on my project first before you teach me how to use the sewing machine?” he asked just as she was taking a drink of punch.

Olive was forced to turn away and cough into her hand to avoid spraying everyone with the lemonade that Claudia had made.

Karen’s smile was feral. “I don’t see why that would be a problem, right, Claudia?”

“Of course not, Steve,” she replied warmly. “Just let me know when you want to learn and I’ll come over and help you.”

Steve nodded. He pulled out the materials that Eddie suggested he bring and got to work.

Eddie really liked that Steve’s bags had a lining because it protected the dice better, so Steve had brought along some materials he could use for that as well.

About halfway through his first bag, Joyce called out.

“Steve? What’s that pattern you’re putting on the bag?”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “It’s my signature! I embroider it on everything I do to make sure people can’t pass it off as their own.” He handed the bag over to her.

“Oh!” she cried in excitement. “This is the design you put on Will and El’s costumes when you did their alterations, right?”

Steve nodded. “I hope you don’t mind. I know you made the clothes, but I thought it was a cute way to tie the two together like they were twins.”

“It was perfect,” Joyce said. “El still hasn’t stopped talking about how pretty your design made the dress.”

Steve blushed as he took the pouch back from her.

“I was talking to someone at the Renaissance Fair,” he said shyly, “and she wanted me make them clothes and things that she would sell for me. She even told me to make business cards in case someone wanted to commission me directly.”

“Oh Steve!” Karen cried. “That’s wonderful!” She clapped her hands together and tilted her head. “I have to admit I’m a little jealous. That pattern is beautiful. I would love a handkerchief with that on it.”

Steve straightened up. “Yeah?”

Karen nodded.

“What color would you like?” he asked excitedly.

Karen tried to protest but he wouldn’t let her. In fact he managed to convince all but Olive to let him make them one for them.

It did, unfortunately take him to the end of the two hours, but he was excited to come next week.

“I’ll even host it at my place!” he said with a grin.

Olive sputtered. “Well I won’t be there if it’s at this young man’s house. That’s so inappropriate.”

The three other ladies looked at each other and then shrugged.

“Your loss,” Karen said dryly.

Olive stormed out of the house vowing that as long as Steve was part of the group she would never come back.

“Well that is a relief,” Joyce said, “I’m not the kind to speak ill of anyone, but we really got quite the upgrade!”

Karen clapped her hands. “Indeed. I can’t wait for next week. I’ve got a new project I’m starting and I found the best recipe for a chocolate mousse that I’ve been dying to try out.”

“Same time next week, ladies?” Steve asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Claudia agreed.

Then there came a loud honk.

Steve looked out the window and smiled. “Looks like my ride is here.”

He gather up his stuff, including the patterns and sewing kit and walked out to Eddie’s van.

He slid into the front seat.

“You have fun today, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, pulling out of the driveway.

“Yeah,” Steve said looking fondly at the house. “This has been the best weekend ever.”

Eddie grinned. “Well, it’s about to get even better, just wait to you see what I have planned for us today.”

Steve smiled as Eddie regaled him with his plans and nodded along.

Life was really looking up. He had a platonic soulmate, good friends, an amazing boyfriend, a hobby he enjoyed and could make real money from, and now a group of people to share that hobby with each week.

And to think it all started with a flier about the Renaissance Fair coming back to Hawkins.

“I can’t wait,” he breathed once Eddie was done.

Eddie smiled that sweet smile at always turned Steve’s insides to mush.

Yeah, Steve could honestly say that he was happy.

****

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @carlyv @gregre369 ​

@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

@danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

@useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss

@croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv

@dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter @cryptid-system

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #steve is a history nerd

[candycandy00]

Roses in the Sky - An Original Alien x Reader Story Part 1

In a future where humanity huddles in decaying domed cities controlled by alien invaders, you and your best friend Anna work as make-shift nurses in a tiny clinic run by the young doctor Terrian. The city is ruled by the aliens' violent, half-breed offspring who serve as brutal overseers. You and Anna have always tried to avoid these overseers at all cost, but your life is changed when one of those same terrifying offspring is brought into the clinic, injured and unconscious.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

This is an original Alien (well half alien) x Fem Reader story! I hope everyone who enjoys my fanfiction will give this a shot! I’m posting the first chapter just to check for interest. Any feedback whatsoever would be loved! I’ve already written this story so it’s not going to delay my fanfics. Just thought I might post chapters of this between fanfics if anyone is interested.

Slow burn, as this is a novel-length story, but there will be smut in later chapters! Also: violence, blood, rape attempts, death of side characters, etc.

The sky was red, and you hated it. You hated more the fact that you couldn't remember what it looked like when it was blue. The whole city looked like it was coated in blood. You saw enough blood already.

You walked along the littered, decaying streets of Gallica with a blue duffel bag on your shoulder. You kept the hood of your gray jacket pulled down over your head and your hands buried in your pockets. Standing out was never a good idea, at least not where they could see.

As you rounded a corner, you were suddenly sprayed with red liquid, and you only dared to steal a quick glance down the alley it came from. A body was tumbling to the ground, and you didn't even have time to see who it was or what sort of wound had drawn such a huge amount of blood. Your eyes had been drawn, in that brief moment, to the pair of black-clad figures standing frighteningly still beside the body. Their bi-colored eyes flicked upward, toward you, but you returned your gaze to the street in front of you and walked quickly away.

Your heart pounded and your hands trembled in your pockets until you were far enough down the street to safely assume they would not stop you. You knew what happened to those unlucky enough to somehow provoke the half-breeds, regardless of intention, so you hurried along toward the clinic without looking back once.

When you reached the small, rundown clinic, you were met at the door by a girl in a nurse's uniform who placed her hands on her hips and scowled at you. “You're late!”

You pushed by her and dropped the duffel bag from your shoulder, flopping it onto a nearby cot. You unzipped it and pulled out your own uniform. "My alarm clock didn't go off."

The other girl stood leaning in the door way as you stepped into an empty patient slot and slid the dirty curtain closed. "Terrian is gonna be pissed at you,” she said. 

You emerged from behind the curtain in a white button-up shirt that was a little too tight and a skirt that was way too short. “He'll get over it."

"Yeah, as soon as he see's you."

You laughed. "You're jealous, Anna."

"Because that perverted freak lets you get away with anything?" Anna asked. She was so petite that even the smallest, tightest uniforms Terrian had given them seemed to fit her just right.

"No, because I look better in the uniform."

Both of you laughed as you laid out your supplies on rickety metal tables, organizing them neatly into categories according to how often they were used. The alcohol, thread, and needles were first in line, followed by bandages, then ointments and creams.

The door leading to the main treatment room flung open and a man with shoulder-length, pale blonde hair tied into a short ponytail walked in. He wore wide-rimmed glasses and a lab coat covered in blood stains. He looked angry as he approached, glaring at you, but suddenly froze when he rounded the metal tables and the full length of you came into view.

He smiled brightly, wrapping you into a hug. "You wore it today!"

Anna rolled her eyes and brushed her bangs, the longest part of her auburn hair, away from her face with her hand.

You pulled free from Terrian and adjusted your ill-fitting clothes. "It's the only uniform I had clean."

"And it's my favorite," Terrian said, then glanced toward Anna. "Stingy Anna always wears pants, even though I beg her to wear the skirt with the slit up the side."

Anna gave him a dirty look and he gave her a grin in return. He looked over the supplies then held out a thick stack of papers. "Look at all this. These are all patients who left the clinic in the last month and haven't returned for their checkups. Next week I'll be making a lot of house calls."

Both you and Anna frowned. You hated it when Terrian made house calls. He was the only doctor at the clinic, and you two were the only nurses. Things were hectic enough with the three of you, but when he was gone, the clinic was thrown into absolute chaos.

"Anyway," he spoke up, "we have a lot of patients waiting already. Let's get to work!"

You and Anna had no formal training, had not even finished high school, but you had both been living on the streets three years ago when Terrian approached you about working for him. He taught you two the basics, and the rest you learned over time. In this city, injured people couldn't be picky.

Together, you and Anna wheeled your metal supply tables through the swinging doors into the main treatment area of the clinic. Cots were lined up in two rows, facing each other, for the entire length of the large room. There was only enough room for one person to walk between each cot, and all but a few were occupied. People were moaning, screaming, crying, or unconscious. Anyone not in mortal danger was sent home after being stitched or bandaged up.

Illnesses were not often treated, as serious diseases were most often fatal no matter what the doctor did, but injuries were extremely common. Blood dripped from nearly every cot in the room, and a few patients were bandaged to the point of looking like mummies. You and Anna had both learned quickly to develop strong stomachs.

The two of you were checking on a patient that had been brought in last night with a chopped off leg when Terrian came zooming past you, pushing a stretcher.

"Emergency surgery!" he called, disappearing into the room you had just changed in.

You both dropped what you were doing and ran after him, then stopped dead in your tracks as soon as you were through the doors, staring at the figure on the stretcher.

"Doctor, that's... one of them,” Anna said, her voice almost a whisper. 

The man on the stretcher wore an ornate military uniform - black pants and a long black jacket with golden buttons up the front and matching trim along the cuffs and collar. The uniform was instantly recognizable to every single person in the city, because only they wore them. His skin was ghostly white and his hair a jet-black mess scattered across his face.

Terrian was ripping that glorious black uniform from the man’s motionless body. "I know what he is, Anna, but he's still a patient. And right now, he's dying unless we can stop the bleeding."

You and Anna hesitated just inside the door, looking at each other and then back to the man. Anna shook her head. "I can't... I can't help him. Not after all they've done."

Terrian stopped and looked at her. At first, you were sure he would scold her, but he merely sighed and nodded. "I understand. Go tend to the other patients."

You watched the other girl leave, then turned to Terrian. He looked at you with a pleading expression. "He'll be dead within the hour if we don't do anything."

You took a deep breath, then rushed over to Terrian's side. He held out his hands while you poured alcohol over them, then rinsed your own. Looking down at the young man, he seemed fragile, vulnerable. Almost human. His torso was exposed, revealing a long, deep cut across his abdomen that was gushing out blood. Funny how his body was absolutely impeccable, toned to lean perfection and resembling a stone statue, but marred by that huge red gash.

The cut was so long, and the bleeding so severe, that each of you began stitching on separate ends of the wound so that you would meet in the middle to tie things off. A sloppy job, yes, but the fastest route to closing the wound. He would heal faster than normal people, would probably be fine in a matter of hours, but only if you stopped the bleeding.

Once you and the doctor were finished, you again cleaned the wound and Terrian began bandaging the patient up. "Amazing, isn't it?" he asked when he was done, "It won't even leave a scar. Not on him."

You washed your hands in the nearby sink and thought of Anna. "It's not fair."

"Of course it's not," Terrian told you, wiping the blood from his hands on a stained towel. "Nothing in this world ever is.”

You dried your hands and walked again through the swinging doors. Anna was changing the bandages on a young girl's arm, but looked up when you approached. "How could you stand it? Helping that thing?"

"I didn't enjoy it, okay? But he would've died. This is a clinic, Anna. We're supposed to help dying people."

Anna stood up and stepped away from the young girl's bedside. "Yeah, people. Not them."

"But he's half human, isn't he? Isn't that enough?"

Anna snorted. "Was that enough to stop those creatures from barging into my house and slitting my mom's throat? Was it enough to stop them from crushing my brother's head under their boots? Was it enough to stop them from... from what they did to me?!"

You went silent. You didn't know what to say. You knew the half-breeds had killed most of Anna's family, but you had yet to hear any details before now. Finally, you reached out and took the other girl's hand. "I'm sorry, Anna. I'm really sorry."

Anna pulled you into a hug. "I know. I'm sorry I jumped down your throat. I just don't want to see you be hurt by them too."

"I don't think he's in a position to hurt anyone right now," you told her after you separated. "He's not even conscious."

Anna looked toward the swinging doors. "Be careful. Even when they look harmless, they're still dangerous."

You nodded, and wheeled your cart over to the other side of the room. You stopped at the bed of an elderly man who was missing both his feet. He was sweating and breathing heavily. You took his blood pressure and wrote the results in a tablet. He looked up at you with astonishingly kind eyes.

"If the nurses look like this, I'm gonna have to get my feet cut off more often," he said with a chuckle.

You pulled back the sheet to check his bandages. "You sure are a charmer, Mr. Renaldo," you said as you began unrolling the strips of cloth.

"Don't believe a word he says!" Anna called across the room, "I told him yesterday he could hold my hand while Terrian stitched him up and he said he'd rather hold my ass!"

Rhoswen stopped cleaning the bloody stumps where feet used to be long enough to lightly slap his shoulder. "You shameless flirt!"

He laughed and looked at the man in the bed next to him, who didn't seem to be in such good spirits. "Can't blame me for trying, can you?"

The other man gave a weak smile and looked away.

"Now now, let's not disturb the other patients," you said gently.

"Everybody's so glum. That's what those damn Pagoda want," he said.

You finished his bandages and patted him on the arm. You bent down and whispered to him, "Thanks for cheering us up, Mr. Renaldo."

The next few hours went by steadily but quickly, as you made your way around the room checking on people, giving out soup, changing bandages, and occasionally holding someone's hand while Terrian performed some sort of painful procedure.

Unfortunately, pain relievers were as rare and expensive as genuine jewels were in the olden days, when the sky was still blue. The only way to put a patient to sleep was to quite literally knock them out with a blunt instrument, which was a last resort.

The clinic was dirty and crowded and in shambles. The people were desperate, demanding, and understandably irritable. But you liked being there. You liked being with Anna and even Terrian, who could at least make you smile. You liked helping people who were suffering, because you enjoyed seeing a tiny flicker of hope in their eyes.

Because you could almost grasp a little bit of hope for yourself.

The clinic was all you had after your parents died. And everyday you dreaded returning to your tiny apartment where hope drained from every inch of you like red sun fading into black night. But at least you could always come back the next day, where you could laugh with Anna and everything else would fall away into dust.

It was almost time to go home, and all the patients had been taken care of. Anna left out the front door, not wanting to walk through the back room where she would have to see the lone patient on the stretcher.

You waved to Terrian, who was making one last run around the room to check everyone over, then walked into the back room. The young man was still unconscious and the rest of his clothes had been removed, a sheet draped over his body. You crept up to the stretcher and looked down, watching him breathe. After feeling certain that he was indeed unconscious, you walked into the empty patient slot you had changed in earlier and pulled the curtain closed.

You couldn't walk home in your uniform, as it was dangerous enough for a girl to be alone on the streets in the evenings, but wearing an outfit like that was a definite no. You quickly pulled it off, then reached for your jeans. But before you could even unfold them, you heard the curtain suddenly fly open.

You whirled around in anger, certain that perverted Terrian would be standing there grinning like an idiot. But you were not met with the smiling doctor, but the cold, expressionless face of the now conscious patient. His eyes, one blue and the other lime-green, bore into you, unblinking.

He was completely naked, save for the bandage across his abdomen, and you tried your best to keep your eyes on his face.

You suddenly realized that you were only in your underwear, and backed up until you bumped into a cot, holding your jeans in front of you. The man’s eyes never left you, and your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest. You had never been face-to-face with a half-breed before, not in this close proximity.

There was a pause, where both of you stared at each other for several moments, not moving. Then, in the blink of an eye, the man lunged forward and was inches away from you. You jerked backward, inadvertently ramming yourself into the cot where the metal collided with your bare back. You dropped to your knees, wincing.

When you looked back up, the half-breed was looming over you, and suddenly reached out one hand toward you. You had seen what the hands of half-breeds could do, had treated many a patient who had somehow ran into one of them. In fact, just today you had bandaged up a woman who's left arm had been pulled right off, like the wings off a fly, by a half-breed.

You curled into a defensive ball and screamed, your horrified voice ringing out through the clinic and undoubtedly to the buildings nearby.

#Alien x reader #alien x human #x reader #female reader #x reader stories #x reader romance #x reader smut #reader insert

[rorywritesjunk]

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. There’s 3 new characters thrown in because why not? Future Wife gets a name as well! A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be. I just started on the 4th chapter but I’m excited to write it out! I had fun with the original fic and decided to write the prequel to how they met. Enjoy!

Also I have to go back to chapter 5 of my Kid Buggy fic since they talk most about their relationship beginnings in there, oops. I also wanted to write Buggy as the sort of "I'm a smooth operator until I'm not". And the Future Wife gets named in this chapter because I decided she needed a name.

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 3

You saw him again a month later. He really was popping by for every little thing now, and this time was no different. You were working on a dress for a customer while the girls were ironing and hemming other orders. When Buggy burst into the shop he paused for a brief moment when he saw you before marching up to the counter where your boss waited.

“What now?” She demanded. Buggy glared at her but he held his ground, not backing down from her.

“I… need something fixed.” He said, glancing in your direction briefly before pointing to his shoes. “My socks.” 

“We don’t mend socks.” Your boss told him firmly. “Throw them out and get new ones.”

“You can’t fix them?!” He exclaimed. Miss Pins shook her head. Buggy took a deep breath, looking as though he was trying to think of something else. “Well, can you-”

“I can darn the socks.” You told him as you set your needle and thread down. Your boss glared at you, trying to tell you to sit down and stop helping this guy without speaking a word but you chose to ignore her. You pushed your chair back from the table and smiled at him. “But I’ll only do it if they’re washed. I assume you’re wearing them right now?”

Buggy turned red and looked away from you as he nodded. You chuckled softly and shook your head as you stood up. “Okay, come with me. Let’s get you taken care of.” 

Your boss and coworkers watched as the pirate followed after you to the backroom like a little puppy follows his owner. Miss Pins was going to have words with the both of you about this: he needed to stop coming around and you needed to stop being nice to him. He wasn’t some stray you needed to keep feeding. He was a damn pirate who needed to get back on his ship and sail away. While it wasn’t uncommon for the shop to have repeat customers, he was a thorn in Miss Pins side since he first showed up. She did not like him one bit and she did not like the way he looked at you.

You had Buggy sit down and remove his shoes while you got the washing bin ready. Since one of the services was to clean customers' clothes for them, you saw no reason why you wouldn’t wash his socks before mending them. Buggy said nothing as he removed his socks and held them out to you, but you grabbed a bowl and had him set them in there. He frowned but did as you asked before leaning forward in his seat, watching you as he tried to tuck his feet under the chair.

“I never know when to expect you, Captain.” You told him as you mixed the cleaning solution into the bin. Once it was ready you grabbed the bowl and tossed his socks into the soapy water. “But I enjoy the surprise of you showing up.”

“Well, I have things that need to be mended.” He shot back as he turned red. It wasn’t like he was coming here on purpose to have you fix his things. “And this is the only place that caters to pirates and does a decent job.”

You glanced at him with a smile as you added a small agitator into the bowl, stirring up the water and socks to get them clean. “I’m glad you chose us then, Captain.”

“Buggy.” He mumbled, looking down at his feet. You frowned, not hearing him at first but he cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “You can call me Buggy.”

“Oh.” You looked back at the water that was getting dirtier with each agitation. Calling him by his first name was a little personal. “Okay.”

“I… never learned your name.” He continued to mumble, looking incredibly uncomfortable and unsure of himself right then. 

“That’s because I never told you.” Was your response as you pulled the socks from the water to wring them out. You set them aside and dumped the dirty water before refilling the tub with fresh water. 

“Well, what’s your name then?” Buggy asked. “What should I call you?”

You winked at him and went back to cleaning the socks. “Whatever you want to call me, Buggy.” 

He felt a small surge of courage right then as he now leaned back in his chair with a smirk. The chair tilted backwards, resting on two legs while the other two were inches off the ground. “Can I call you Babe?”

The courage left as soon as it arrived because you turned to look at him, face unreadable, and he lost his balance and tipped the chair backwards with him in it, his legs flying up and over, his torso separating from his body and landing beside him. 

You just stared at him in shock for a moment before rushing over to grab his legs. This… was weird. Very weird. His body seemed to snap back together and he stared at you in horror. Was this something pirates were able to do, separate their body parts like that? 

“Are you okay?” You managed to ask. “Buggy, your body-”

“I’m fine!” He snapped as he pulled away from you, embarrassed by what you saw. He didn't want you to see that, not yet when he was trying to get to know you. “Don’t to-”

You took his hat off his head and set it aside, ignoring his temper as you touched his head, feeling for any bumps from the fall. His entire body went rigid, eyes wide, almost fearful as you cupped his cheeks, looking into his eyes. You were just checking for injury, maybe a concussion from the tumble, but then you smiled with relief.

“You didn’t hit your head too hard it seems.” You said as you started to pull your hands back, but he grabbed you and your eyes widened when you saw his hands on your wrists but with no arms attached to them. “Buggy, are you okay?”

“What’s all this noise?” Miss Pins demanded as she came into the back, Livia and Edith following behind her. “I swear, if you two are fu-”

She stopped when she saw the two of you: Buggy on the ground with you kneeling over him with disembodied hands on your wrists. At least Buggy had the mind to look embarrassed by the situation while you just smiled at your boss as you explained what happened.

“Chair tipped back and he took a tumble, but he’s okay.” You told her as his hands returned to his arms. “Sorry if we were loud.”

Everything was okay for a moment, but you and Buggy both saw Livia lean over to Edith and not so quietly whisper, I guess his nose is real since it stayed on when he fell.

What if it’s glued on? Edith whispered back. I still think it's fake. No one has a nose like that. 

He has a nose like that. Livia grinned as she glanced in his direction. I bet it honks.

Buggy didn’t even have the chance to react because you were scolding the teenagers for him; even Miss Pins had her arms crossed and was giving the apprentices both a look. 

“Don’t talk about his nose, you two!” You snapped at them, friendly demeanor gone and replaced with a fierce protectiveness, startling the two of them and even Buggy. “Honestly! Apologize for being rude now! I cannot believe you both!”

“But-” Livia started to say but Edith cut her off. 

“You’re not in charge!” The other teen exclaimed, looking up at Miss Pins. “He’s been nothing but rude to us since he first came here! Why do we have to be nice to him?”

“Because he’s a paying customer.” Miss Pins told her. “And he’s never been rude to you two, just me and Sunny, so you two apologize to the Captain now.” 

The two looked at their caretaker before reluctantly looking back at Buggy. With the way you were glaring at them they knew they needed to apologize or else. The look of absolute fury in your eyes terrified them more than Buggy’s behavior had so far. 

“I’m sorry.” They both said before you pointed to the door.

“Go clean the kitchen and start dinner, both of you.” You ordered. “You’ll also clean the kitchen again tonight after dinner.” You shook your head and sighed. “I’m so disappointed in the two of you.”

Livia and Edith’s jaws dropped and they looked at Miss Pins once more. She nodded in agreement with what you were saying. At this point she trusted you (kind of) to make certain decisions, and speaking about a customer like that in front of him was grounds for punishment. Both left the room, grumbling about it being unfair. 

“Fix his socks and then he leaves, understand?” Miss Pins said. “And be quieter in here.”

You nodded, swallowing heavily as you tried to calm yourself down. It wasn’t often you got angry like that, but you were upset for him that they would say that in front of him like that. Your hands were shaking as you stood up, reaching out to pull him to his feet. He reluctantly allowed help, but as soon as he got to his feet he turned to head to the door but you held onto his hand.

“Buggy, wait.”

“What?!” He snapped as he turned to face you, cheeks burning from embarrassment. You were just a tailor, a shopgirl, you had no business being nice to him apart from getting paid for it. He didn’t need you coming to his defense when people made comments about his appearance, it happened enough that he always handled it with yelling and violence. No one ever apologized, and yet you had the two do it. 

“I’m sorry.” You told him, giving his hand a squeeze. “They shouldn’t have said those things.”

Buggy stared at you for a moment. His brain was going a million miles a minute as he processed your words, the way you were looking at him with those kind eyes that minutes before were full of absolute fury. He felt your warmth through his gloved hand and he wondered if he should take it off so he could feel how soft your skin was. There was a brief flicker of familiarity of your words, but he couldn’t recall ever hearing someone say that before to him. It must have happened in a dream.

He finally jerked out of your grasp and grabbed his boots and hat before storming out of the backroom. Miss Pins looked up as he walked through the shop, eyebrow raised as she saw him carrying his boots, but she said nothing. Maybe he would finally stop coming around and being a nuisance after all this. 

Except he would need to come back for his socks.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy x oc #opla buggy x oc #buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

[daisynik7]

Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Genre: Romance, Canon-Divergent AU

cw: switching POVs (2nd and 3rd person), explicit language, angst, hurt/comfort, non-canon compliant, canon-typical violence, fluff, slow burn, eventual smut, eventual time-skip

Summary: Student, big brother, sewing expert, and Second Division Caption of the Tokyo Manji Gang. Takashi Mitsuya is an 18-year-old boy who wears many different hats. With graduation approaching in a few short months, he must decide what path he wants to follow into his future: continue his life as a delinquent or live in normalcy, a concept he’s never been familiar with, an idea he’s only chased but never captured. Until one day, he meets Hana Shimizu, the very definition of ordinary. That’s what he thinks, at first. Little does he know that this “ordinary” girl would change his life.

Author's Notes: I binged all two seasons of Tokyo Revengers within the past two weeks and I'm OBSESSED with Mitsuya! He is absolutely husband material, so I was inspired to write this, I hope you like it! It's my first time writing a female original character, but I'm keeping it formatted like a reader-insert because I genuinely enjoy writing in that style. Heads up, she does have a name and a few distinct qualities - she has hair and is chubby (similar to me!), but it's not the main focus of the story. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thank you for reading!

Chapter Title and Summary (spoiler-free):

Chapter 1: Cut From the Same Cloth - Takashi Mitsuya has always lived his life being true to himself. Despite being the proud Second Division Captain of the notorious Tokyo Manji Gang, he never hides the softer side of him: He cares deeply for his two younger sisters and enjoys spending his free time sewing. When a classmate, Hana Shimizu, approaches him, asking for lessons in sewing, he agrees, not seeing any downsides to having some company.

Chapter 2: On Pins and Needles - Hana babysits Luna and Mana for the first time. Mitsuya catches up with Draken before attending a short, but tumultuous Toman meeting at Musashi Shrine.

Chapter 3: A Stitch Ahead - Mitsuya is asked to create jackets for the newly appointed captains, to which he reluctantly agrees. When the deadline arrives and he still hasn’t finished, he enlists your aid to help him complete his task. The same day, the two of you make dinner together for his sisters, leaving Mitsuya with a lasting impression.

Chapter 4: Cute as a Button - Mitsuya skips a session of sewing lessons, attempting to keep his distance after realizing his growing feelings for you. You’re left wondering where you stand with him, confused by his behavior the last time you saw him. Soon enough, you both realize that these feelings are too intense to ignore.

Chapter 5: Bursting at the Seams - You and Mitsuya make your newly blossomed relationship official. To commemorate this special occasion, he invites you to his house for breakfast, where you meet his mother. 

Chapter 6: Heart on a Sleeve - You and Mitsuya make your budding relationship public and things only continue to grow from there. The Tokyo Manji gang successfully absorbs the Leviathans all thanks to the efforts of new captains Tetta Kisaki and Shuji Hanma. Despite Mikey’s praise for them during this month’s meeting, Mitsuya remains wary of the two. His suspicions only increase when he runs into them while on a date with you. 

Chapter 7: Reap What You Sew - A dinner with you, Mitsuya, and your parents quickly goes south. Mitsuya makes a decision that could lead to dire consequences. 

Chapter 8: Hanging by a Thread - After leaving the Tokyo Manji Gang, Mitsuya feels like his life is on the right track. They have their fearless leader Mikey back to his usual self and Mitsuya’s relationship with Hana grows stronger day by day. They graduate, ready for the next big step in their lives. But with everything said and done, the past will always haunt the brothers of Toman, for better and for worse.  

Chapter 9: A Rough Patch (tbd)

Chapter 10: Mending What's Broken (tbd)

Please do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission! Thank you!

#tokyo revengers #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya x you #mitsuya x y/n #mitsuya x f!reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #mitsuya smut #mitsuya fluff #mitsuya x original character #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 6

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 4893

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

It was nearly noon when Aelinor awoke, the sun peeking through her curtains and disturbing her peace. She had lain awake for several hours after her night with Aemond, unable to think of anything else but him. How he had held her hand, how close they had been to kissing. It seemed almost childish to be thrown out of sorts by something as simple as a kiss, and yet she was unable to push it from her mind. Alas, when she had finally fallen asleep, it had been a deep one.

Someone was pounding on her door. “Aelinor! Mother wants you.”

It was Jace, and he took her answering groan as permission to enter the chamber. “Why are you still asleep?”

“I’m not asleep, am I?” She rolled over, wincing as she stretched her muscles. “What does Mother want?”

Jace poked her foot through the covers. “We need to begin getting ready for the festivities.”

“We?”

“Well, you do. You have to do your hair and…other things.” He looked genuinely baffled, like he couldn’t fathom what kinds of preparations a woman might have to do to get ready for a royal banquet and ball.

Aelinor heaved herself out of bed with a sigh, accepting the heavy dressing gown Jace handed her to cover her nightgown. 

“Is she up yet?” Luc poked his head through the door. “Oh, good morning Aelinor. Or should I say afternoon?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, knotting the dressing gown at the waist.

“Why are you so tired?” Jace asked. 

Aelinor shrugged. “Not used to the bed, I guess.”

“I, for one, found the bed and chambers quite comfortable.” Jace said, moving out of her way as they moved into the corridor. “Far less drafty than Dragonstone.”

She searched for an excuse in her sleep-addled brain, unable to come up with anything believable.

“We stayed up late playing cards,” Luc said. “Aelinor wouldn’t let us go to bed until she beat me.”

She thought her younger brother a grateful look, appreciating that he was covering for her. 

“And did she?” Jace asked, believing the excuse.

“No, she gave up.” Luc laughed.

Aelinor yawned loudly. “You’re both impossible.”

They stepped into the main room of their family’s chambers, and were immediately met by a throng of people. Maids bustled to and fro, unpacking garments from bags, some already set up with needles and thread to make necessary alterations, and others opening boxes of jewels. Aelinor held her dressing gown a little tighter to her body. 

“Aelinor!” Her mother was seated at the small breakfast table, watching two of the maids entertain the small children. “Are you just waking up now?”

“Yes, Mother. I feel rather like the walking dead this morning.”

“Why? Are you ill?” Rhaenyra reached out to touch her daughter’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

She shook her head. “I just stayed up too late.”

“Losing at cards.” Jace teased. 

Rhaenyra smiled, squeezing Aelinor’s hand. “As long as you’re well. Did you have a good evening, card games aside?”

Aelinor hated lying to her mother. Part of her just wanted to tell her the truth, admit where she had been and who she was with. Her mother had always humored her more rebellious side, and likely wouldn’t be as furious as she was imagining. Not to mention, things would be infinitely worse if her mother found out from whoever had been spying on them in the library.

But still Aelinor was not able to admit everything. “I had a good evening. It’s nice to be back.”

“It is.” Rhaenyra agreed. “Now, we must begin getting you ready. Starting with that hair.” She teasingly pulled on a string of Aelinor’s tangled mane. She had gone to sleep without braiding it, and it was looking quite unkempt.

A maid was waved over, and Aelinor dropped into the seat opposite her mother, reaching for a half-empty plate of biscuits. She chewed slowly as the maid ran a brush through her hair, combatting the tangles one by one.

“The fashion seems to be to wear one’s hair up now,” She said absently. “Perhaps with some braiding throughout?”

Rhaenyra gave her a small smile. “I think it’s best that you wear your hair down, darling.”

“Why?” Aelinor couldn’t see how dancing all evening, getting all sweaty and letting the scent of smoke and cooked meats seep into her hair, could possibly be a good thing.

But then she saw her mother’s eyes dart toward the couch, where Jace was polishing a spot off one of his boots, and she understood. In this fight for her brother’s legitimacy, she was her mother’s best weapon, and her hair was the most obvious way to wield it.

“Unbraided, then.” She acquiesced.

Rhaenyra nodded. “Oh, but we have a circlet for you, darling. You will look beautiful.”

Aelinor offered her mother a sincere smile. It had been years since they had had the opportunity to prepare for an event of this size, and it reminded her of far simpler times. 

“I assume you have a dress for me, as well. Can I see it?” She winced as the maid yanked on a stubborn knot behind her ear.

Rhaenyra grinned. “Even better, I have three. We shall have to try them on to see which suits best.”

“Good gods,” Lucerys threw his head back in complaint.

“And you boys shall remain here,” Rhaenyra said quickly. “To help your sister choose.”

Jace glared at his brother. “Is Driftmark worth this, Brother?”

*********************************************************

Aemond was called to his mother’s chambers only an hour before the ball. He had been awake with the dawn, throwing himself into training bouts to while away the time and distract his mind. The night with Aelinor had been more than he had ever dreamed of, and waking up just to remember that she was betrothed to Jacaerys of all people, and that he would have to attend this cursed ball in the evening was enough to drive him into a fury.

None of the visiting nobles were willing to spend the morning on the training grounds, and so he grabbed several young squires and put them through their paces while he worked through his rage. Afterwards, he had returned to his chambers to bathe and dress. The small box inside his writing desk just made him think of Aelinor, and so he had spent more time pacing the halls until Ser Criston came to summon him.

When he arrived at his mother’s chambers, he found it deathly quiet. His brother was reclined on the sofa, head thrown back and eyes closed. Helaena sat quietly at his side, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. His mother stood in front of the window, her fingers playing with the Star of the Seven that hung at her throat, worry lines creasing her face. 

“Aemond,” she barely glanced his way when he walked in. “Where have you been?”

“Training,” He answered. 

“Don’t you look nice,” Aegon slowly rolled his head to the side, eyes lazily scanning him from head to toe. “Did you oil your hair?”

Aemond resisted the urge to smooth his hair. He had, in fact, run some oil through it before pulling it back in his usual style. It was more effort than he would usually put it for a court function, but he had found himself overly concerned with preparing for this event. Even his clothing — a relatively simple green and black tunic and matching trousers — had been freshly washed and pressed. 

“Anyone in particular you might be doing that for?” Aegon prodded.

Aemond stiffened. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

His mother dropped her hands, turning to stare at him. “Aemond, you cannot be serious. We spoke of Aelinor. She is not your friend.”

No, she was far more than a friend to Aemond, though he couldn’t blame his mother for trying to lessen it. He didn’t reply, just placed both hands behind his back and waited expectantly.

Alicent walked toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Aemond, she is betrothed. Rhaenyra has betrothed her to Jacaerys. Everyone knows it, and it has only to be formally announced. You must distance yourself before you are made a fool of.”

He already was a fool. There was no way he could distance himself, not now. And though each reminder that she was promised to Jace felt like a stab in the gut, he kept his face passive. “And what if she does not wish to marry Jacaerys?”

Alicent shook her head in exasperation. “And who would she marry, Aemond? You? Her mother would never tie her family to ours, and we must not tie ourselves to her’s.”

“Aren’t they our family?” Helaena spoke up suddenly, surprising all of them. 

Alicent barely spared a glance to her daughter. “The only family we must concern ourselves with are those who live righteously, who honor the gods and the Seven Kingdoms with their actions. Us.”

Aemond bit his tongue. He did not disagree with his mother’s sentiment toward the Princess Rhaenyra, and her sons. They were bastards, and Rhaenyra, though she had been kind to him when he was young, had stood by Lucerys even when he cut out Aemond’s eye. Had not punished the boys when Aelinor was permanently maimed by a fire. He had no love for any of them.

He just considered Aelinor to be something different.

Aegon groaned loudly. “Can we just go? I don’t give a shit which bastards are marrying which whores, and—”

“What did you say?” Aemond demanded, crossing the room in a second. Aegon flinched back, pinned between the couch and his wife. Aemond itched to strike him, his hand curling into a fist.

“Aegon, that talk is beneath you.” Alicent said, though she did not correct it. “And Aemond, leave your brother be. The fool is drunk.”

Aemond sneered in disgust, able to smell the reek of ale off of his brother. His mother was right, Aegon was a fool.”

“The banquet will begin shortly,” Alicent said. “We must be there to receive the guests. And we are all expected to attend, and remain there, for the duration of the evening.”

From her tone, it was clear that there was nothing she wanted to do less than spend a night in revelry and celebration over the return of Princess Rhaenyra.

With exaggerated groans, Aegon peeled himself off the couch, stumbling out the door without waiting for his wife, who trailed meekly after him. Alicent caught Aemond’s arm before he could follow.

“I mean it, Aemond.” Alicent said quietly. “Remember who you are, and who she is.”

“I will, Mother.” He hesitated as he studied her face. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles, and her complexion appeared more sallow than usual. “You don’t look well, Mother. Is there something wrong?”

She sighed, giving his shoulder a quick pat. “I did not sleep well. Your father…he was restless all night.”

How many years had it been, that Aemond watched his mother slowly waste away as she cared for his father, as she tried to hold the Kingdoms together? For the King to have an ill night was the last thing she needed, especially with their visitors and all the activity to come in the next few days.

He gave a curt nod. “Then I shall be on my best behavior. And I shall endeavor to keep Aegon contained as well.”

************************************************************

The banquet was in full swing by the time Aelinor made her way to the hall. The dress they had chosen had required a few alterations to fit, and so she had told her family to go on ahead. Now she was regretting that choice, as it meant she would be entering the room by herself, instead of as part of her mother’s house.

Perhaps she could sneak in. It was always possible that, if the festivities had begun in earnest, she might sneak through the doors and find her way to her mother’s side without anyone noticing her. But alas, when she rounded the corner, the doors to the hall were shut firmly, two guards stationed on either side.

Muttering a curse under her breath, she slowed to a walk, barely managing to compose herself before the doors were being heaved open and a loud voice was proclaiming “The Princess Aelinor Velaryon!”

Three hundred faces stopped to stare at her, and she found it a little hard to breathe. Stepping through the door, she tried to scan the crowd for a familiar face. There, seated at the front of the hall next to an empty seat, was Queen Alicent, with Lord Otto Hightower at her side. Neither of their expressions were particularly welcoming. She could not see her mother, not among the dozens of people paused on the floor, clearly having been in the middle of a dance, nor could she see her or any of her brothers at the long tables that framed the room. She was on her own.

With a deep breath, she clasped her skirt in both hands, the black silk of her skirt crumbling beneath her fingers as she dipped into a small curtsy. Enough to show respect for the Queen, but not so much as would be owed to the King. She rose without wobbling, and then descended the steps as quickly as she could manage. There seemed to be an awkward pause, before she heard the sharp note of a fiddle and the musicians resumed.

Keeping to the edge, she tried to pick her way past the dancers as she searched for her family. Everywhere she turned a noble she did not recognize was offering a bow or a curtsy, usually with a quietly murmured “Princess”. She returned their greetings, but did not linger. Only hours ago she had been excited for the ball, for her chance to attend for the first time. How many times as a child had she hidden up in the rafters with Aemond, dreaming of joining the dancers down below? She glanced up, wondering if there were any young faces doing the same as she had once. But not it seemed only to be a crush of unfamiliar figures, and she longed for a spot of quiet. 

“Princess Aelinor,” Someone stepped into her path. He was a small, spindly man with a cane at his side, and an unsettling smirk on his face. “You have much changed.”

His fingers twitched out, nearly catching the crimson chiffon of her sleeve. She took a step back, but was pressed against another stranger, this one ensconced in a conversation and unaware of how he was entrapping the princess.

“Forgive me, Sir.” Aelinor cleared her throat. “But have we met?”

“When you were very small, Princess.” He tilted his head. “And as I said, you have grown much.”

She did not like this man. “Might I have your name, Sir. I don’t—”

“Lina!” She could have wept to hear Aemond’s voice at her side. He emerged from the center of the dance floor, pushing through a dancing pair and coming to stand at her side. “I have been looking for you.”

“I’ve only just arrived. I was speaking to…” She turned around, only to find that the spidery man had vanished back into the crowd. “How odd.”

“Was someone bothering you?”

“No, it was only strange.” She tried to shake the interaction from her mind. “My, don’t you look every bit the handsome prince.”

Aemond shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment. But it was the truth. Aelinor could not recall ever seeing him look so fine. His tunic was embroidered with gold thread, the rich green so dark that it was nearly black. His silver hair was smoothed back, falling over his wide shoulders.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked.

Aelinor glanced around, well aware that every person around them was only pretending not to eavesdrop. “I just arrived. I have not even—”

“Little Aelinor!” A hand landed on the small of her back. “I knew I would find you here.”

“Uncle.” She greeted Aegon with a polite curtsy, resisting the urge to shuffle away from his touch. “I trust you are well?”

His eyes drooped slightly as he appraised her. “All the better for seeing you.”

“Brother, I—” Aemond tried to cut in.

“Darling Niece,” Aegon continued. “Care to dance?”

There was no polite way to refuse an offer from a prince, especially not when it had been made so publicly.

“Of course, Uncle.” She set her good hand in his, shooting Aemond a look of apology. “Perhaps I shall see you later?”

“Oh, I’m certain he will make sure of it.” Aegon tugged her away, leading her right to the center of the floor.

Aelinor could feel the eyes following her as Aegon stopped them in the center of the floor, assuming the position for a quick four step, a dance she knew quite well. When she glanced to the side, she saw the Queen standing from her seat, disappearing into the crowd just as the musicians struck up a new song.

This particular dance was quite easy, involving two partners who moved around each other in a circle, occasionally clasping hands or jumping. It was ideal for chatting with a suitor, but unfortunately, Aelinor had no interest in chatting with Aemond, not when she could smell drink on his breath.

Aegon, for his part, did not seem overly interested in conversing. He moved through the steps lazily, clearly too drunk to execute them gracefully, but also too familiar to make a complete mockery of himself. Twenty couples moved around them, all of them completely silent, waiting to catch wind of what Prince Aegon and her might be discussing.

“How is Helaena?” Aelinor began, remembering her mother’s request to behave as if nothing was wrong. “I have not yet had the chance to speak with her.”

Aegon shrugged. “I’ve not seen her tonight.”

“No?” Aelinor frowned, before plastering a smile back on her face. “Well, then. Your children, how are they?”

“I have three of them.” Aegon said, clearly not overwhelmed with fatherly affection.

Aelinor tried to drum up some sympathy for her uncle. As long as she had known him, he had never thrived in the spotlight, nor had he been enthusiastic about wedding Helaena. But as someone who had never been drawn to the drink, Aelinor could not quite bring herself to forgive his inebriation.

“My brother,” Aegon drawled. “Seems unable to keep his eye off of you.”

Aelinor ignored the jibe. “I’m sure he’s just observing the dancing.”

“Or he’s fueling his obsession with you,” Aegon leaned forward conspiratorially. “Tell me, Niece. What do you see in my brother?”

His hands had curled almost painfully into her waist. The music ended and Aelinor snapped back, putting space between them. 

“For one thing,” She hissed. “He’s not a drunken lech.”

Bobbing a curtsy, she left him on the floor. Unfortunately, she did not see Aemond in the crowd. Intending to resume the search for her mother, she moved toward the front of the room, only to nearly walk directly into the Queen.

“Your Majesty,” She curtsied, feeling like she had spent most of the evening bobbing up and down. “Forgive me, I did not see you there.”

Alicent held both hands in front of her, her red hair shining against the emerald of her gown. “Aelinor. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Aelinor nodded gratefully. She would not pretend that she had ever been friendly with Alicent, but the Queen had always been kind to her as a child.

“Did you enjoy your dance?” Alicent asked.

“I did,” Aelinor said too quickly. “It was…nice to see Aegon again.”

“Hm,” Alicent looked like she did not believe her. “Well, I’m glad. I think you’ll find it difficult to source another partner.”

“Your…your Majesty?”

Alicent leaned forward. “You look beautiful, Aelinor. But no one wishes to dance with a cripple.”

Aelinor recoiled, her mouth falling open as the Queen walked away. That was…that had been cruel. Overcome with shame, Aelinor adjusted her long sleeve so that it fell over her injured hand. She knew her hand unsettled people, but it did not make her a cripple. And she would never have expected something so malicious to come out of the Queen’s mouth.

“Aelinor! Are you alright?”

The crowd this evening just seemed to keep throwing conversations her way. Thankfully, this time it was Aemond, who placed one hand on her elbow. 

“Aemond,” She said quietly.

“Was that my mother?” He asked. “Are you alright, you look pale.”

Aelinor shook her head. “I’m quite alright.”

“Would you care to dance with me?” He asked, looking a bit nervous. “If you…if you would like to.”

Aelinor glanced up at him. “I would love to, Aemond, But I should really find my family. I promised Jace a dance and I—”

Aemond frowned, and she remembered how he did not like to be reminded of her near-betrothal to Jace. 

Two courtiers moved past, whispering as they did. Aelinor hid her hand further in her sleeve, the Queen’s jibe stinging sharply through her veins. “I can find them later. Let us dance.”

Aemond smiled, and she thought she heard someone nearby gasp as he took her hand and led her back to the floor. They took up a spot on the edge, and Aemond grasped her waist with one hand as the musicians began. This was a slower set, allowing them to whirl between other couples in time with the music. Aelinor was a bit lost in her thoughts, her mind swirling with the music and her conversation with the Queen.

“You’re hiding your hand,” Aemond whispered. “Why?”

“What?” Aelinor looked up. He was so much taller than her, so much that she had to tilt her head back to see his face.”Oh, I just…it looks better this way.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to care very much how it looks.” Aemond said. “After all, you are—”

The music stopped suddenly, and Aelinor spun a few more steps before they stopped. The guests were all turning to the dias, where Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys, and their children stood in a neat line. 

Aelinor tilted her head. “What are they doing?”

Queen Alicent was standing at the foot of the dias, her eyes wide as she stared up at the princess. It took only a few moments for the hall to fall completely silent, all eyes on Rhaenyra.

“We are grateful to everyone for being here today,” Rhaenyra said. “It has been wonderful to see so many familiar faces.”

The crowd murmured in approval. 

“I think she’s just thanking the court,” Aelinor whispered, conscious of how Aemond’s hand still lingered at her back.

“And,” Rhaenyra continued. “I would like to take this opportunity to impart on the court an announcement that is sure to bring great happiness to us all.”

Jace stepped up to his mother’s side, and Aelinor felt her blood run cold. This was it. They were about to announce it to everyone, and then her fate would be sealed. She felt a few eyes turning her way, the rumor mill no doubt assuring that most courtiers could predict what this announcement may be.

“It gives me great job to announce the betrothal of my son Prince Jacaerys—”

Oh gods, here it was.

“And my son Prince Lucerys to the Princesses Baela and Rhaena. This joining of two great Valyrian houses will no doubt be a triumph for the realm.”

A thousand emotions flooded Aelinor, the foremost of them being shock. Jacaerys was betrothed to Baela? What did this mean? Her mother had never wavered in her intention to betrothe her two eldest children, and yet…she had just changed her mind before the entire court. 

Jace held out a hand to Baela, both of them beaming as they descended to the floor for a dance.

Queen Alicent climbed the steps quickly, speaking in hushed tones to Rhaenyra as the room slowly resumed the party. Things made a bit more sense to Aelinor, then. The trial addressing Luc’s succession would take place the following day, and Rhaenyra had just assured that the Velaryons would support his claim. It would now be Vaemond standing against his own family, almost certainly guaranteeing them success.

But people were whispering, casting looks her way as they moved through the room. The dancing began anew, and yet she just stood there, Aemond by her side, trying to process what was happening.

“Cast aside—”

“The bastards are—”

“...betrothed to a cripple…”

It was all too much, and Aelinor turned quickly and rushed from the room. She shoved through the crowd, around one of the tables and out through one of the servant doors. She was barely aware of someone following until she felt Aemond’s hand on her arm.

“Lina, are you—”

A servant moved past, carrying a tray of sweetmeats, and he gave the Princess a concerned look.

Aemond turned to him and roared. “OUT! Now!”

******************************************************

The evening had not taken the turn that Aemond had expected. He had expected to endure a night of endless political preening, perhaps stealing a dance with Aelinor or his sister, and now he was huddled in a servants’ corridor, while Aelinor hid in the corner.

“I’m sorry,” she held a hand to her mouth. “I just….everyone was talking and I…I just couldn’t…”

“Take all the time you need,” Aemond assured her. “No one will bother you.”

In truth, he was seething inside. For a split second, he had been overjoyed. To know that Aelinor would not be marrying Jacaerys…if he were devout it would have been something he prayed for. But then he had watched the bastard lead his new betrothed into a dance, and he had seen how Aelinor’s face had fallen.

That bastard had cast her aside, her entire family had opened her up to scorn. As if the bastard even deserved Aelinor at all. No, he deserved nothing, but Aelinor certainly did not deserve to be publicly rejected in front of the court like that. 

Aelinor was shaking her head. “Gods, she could have told me.”

“You did not deserve that,” Aemond hissed. “For him to gloat and—”

She held up a hand. “He was not gloating. He and Baela are well suited, and I am happy for them.”

She was too kind. Too generous. She would forgive them, she always would, just as she had forgiven them when they maimed her as a child. This was what happened when he wasn’t by her side, she was coerced into accepting this treatment from them, when she deserved far better.

“Perhaps I’ll get to go back to Dragonstone in peace,” She gave a small smile. 

“You cannot allow—”

“Did you want me to marry Jace? Is that it?” She demanded. “Because after last night, I rather thought that you…that we…”

“That we were what?” Aemond stepped forward until her back was against the wall.

Aelinor sighed. “I don’t know, Aemond. Tonight has been overwhelming, and there are so many people here who I do not know. I just need to go back to Dragonstone, to people who understand me, and it will—”

Aemond reached up and ripped off his eye patch. “I understand you!”

Her lips parted as she stared up at him, at the blue gem that flickered in the torch light. Aemond’s chest was heaving with some kind of craze, and he knew he should step back. He had to, before he did something that both of them regretted. But nothing in him was strong enough to move away from her.

Slowly she lifted her injured hand, silk sleeves falling away as she let her fingertips trace the edges of his scar, inching closer to his eye.

“That’s my sapphire,” She breathed. “You…you actually did it.”

“Of course I did,” He lifted his hand to grasp hers. “How could you think that I don’t understand you?”

“I…that is not what I meant.” She whispered.

“I know,” He nodded. “And…I don’t mean to force your hand. You deserve better than your brother, and I won’t pretend that I am a better option. I only wanted you to see that I…that I have always…”

“Aemond…” She leaned closer.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Aemond wrenched himself away just as a servant came through carrying pitchers of wine. They waited until the servant had passed into the ballroom before speaking again.

“Thank you, Aemond.” Aelinor said, kneeling to the ground to pick up his eye patch. “Thank you for always being there.”

He couldn’t find the strength to speak as he took the eyepatch from her. Sighing, Aelinor stepped past, “And Aemond?”

“Yes?”

She gave him a small smile. “I do not think you should have to hide, either.”

Aemond watched her disappear through the door before retying his eye patch, making sure to cover his eye entirely. When he stepped back into the room, he saw Aelinor making her way toward her mother, but his eye sought out another.

On the dance floor, Jacaerys spun Baela in what must be their second or third dance. Aemond felt his blood boil. Aelinor might be willing to forgive, but he was not so generous.

Before the night was out, the bastard would answer to him.

#house of the dragon #hotd #team black #team green #aemond #aemond x oc #fanfiction #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #fanfic #lady of the ashes

[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 7 - Secrets Secrets Are No Fun

Coping with the new development of wings, Y/N must hide her secret from the Winchesters, but the veil falls during training when things get heated with Dean.

(2.2k)

TW: This chapter has to do with binding wings that may be viewed as similar to chest binding. If you practice chest binding, please do so safely my friends. <3

Call (1 - 866 - 488 - 7386) or visit TheTrevorProject.org for more resources.

“Disgusting.” I mutter under my breath, gazing at my back, topless in the mirror. 

The little protrusions between my shoulder blades have doubled in size since the morning light just hours ago. Reaching nearly 6 inches in length, they adorn sporadic white feathers with a golden glamor sprouting from the bone. They look frail and weak, like the feathers of a baby bird, but without a doubt, they were undeniably the early stages of wing growth. 

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I'm unable to control the rush of emotions, frustration, sadness, disgust tearing me apart from the inside out. 

This is wrong. This is all so wrong! Why me? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS!

My thoughts run a thousand miles per hour, clattering around in my brain. However, the sound of knocking on the bathroom door quickly pulls me out of my head. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Sam’s sweet muffled voice comes through the other side of the door.

“Yeah, uh, just a minute,” I reply in a panicked tone, picking up my flannel from the floor and wrapping it around my body. Unsurprisingly, the flannel did little to disguise the problem,  the fabric stretching and poking out awkwardly around the appendages. 

Great. The last thing I need right now is the Winchesters to see the freak show that is my newly sprouted wings.

“Dean and I wanna talk to you when you have a minute.”

“Sure thing!” I put on a fake chirpy voice, immediately cringing at how fake it sounds. I can practically feel Sam purse his lips and furrow his brow in reaction to my odd tone on the other side of the door.

“Right,” Sam clears his throat. His footsteps fade in the distance as he walks away. 

I let out a sigh of relief that doesn’t last long as I remember the problem at hand. There must be something in this bathroom I can use to conceal my little problem. I stumble over to the white cabinet on the wall that hangs just above the sink and fling the door open. The cabinet is practically barren with the exception of a half empty bottle of over the counter pain medication and a small plastic container with the words, FIRST AID, scribbled on it in sharpie. 

“Of course.” I say through gritted teeth, swiping the kit and slamming the cabinet shut. The flimsy white plastic cracks open under my touch, the contents spilling on the floor with a clatter. I drop to my knees, paying little mind to the bruise that will likely form from the impact, and rummage through the supplies around me. Gause, scissors, bandaids, needle, thread, and, “Hah!” I proudly exclaim as I grab the medical wrap from the pile.

Pushing myself up onto my feet and in front of the bathroom mirror, I unravel the tape and begin wrapping it around my wings. I struggle as they resist and flutter against the fabric. If they would just hold still, the process would go alot faster, and time is certainly of the essence. I bite my lip, swallowing down the pain from my sensitive wings crunching under the tape, painfully immobilized. After several wraps, I was finally satisfied and tore off the end of the bandage with my teeth, tucking it securely away. Although it wasn’t perfect, they were successfully binded flat against my back.

I pull my flannel back on, buttoning it all the way up and turn to the side to admire my work in the mirror. It’s still rather lumpy in the back, but not very noticeable unless you really squint.

I take a deep breath, regulating my emotions, wiping away the tears, and putting on my best poker face. I exit the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a quiet click.

------------------------------------------------------------

Sam and Dean sit in the library, each lost in their own worlds.

 Sam, lounging in a chair, thumbing through the pages of an old biblical book. 

Dean sits on the table, a leg resting on the arm of Sam's chair as he repeatedly sharpens a long silver blade.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” I ask, grabbing their attention. I fold my hands behind my back, slowly rocking back and forth from the pads to the heels of my feet, trying to calm my nerves.

“Well, we’ve been talking it over and we think it’s best to give you some training. You need to be prepared for what’s to come.” Sam gives a reassuring smile.

“Kick the devil's ass and send him back to his maker,” Dean chuckles, playfully pointing the blade in my direction.

“Oh.” I scratch the back of my neck, conflicted at the idea of assassinating the man I have developed mixed feelings for, but also excited to learn some self defense. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, Sammy here can teach you how to exorcize demons. You can bet your ass there will be dozens guarding Lucifer. And me? I’m gonna teach you how to gank that feathery son of a bitch.” He turns the blade in his hand and plunges it into the wood of the table. It wobbles slightly before falling perfectly still.

“Okay...” Is all I can say as I struggle to process the information. 

I have no problem with exorcizing demons, the less that crawls this earth, the better. But Lucifer? Sure, I hate his guts for completely uprooting my life and turning me into some hybrid angel freak, but do I really want him dead?

The brothers give me an odd look, clearly expecting a different kind of response.

“So, where do we start?” I smile, trying to save the awkward interaction.

“I figure we start with some simple exorcism incantations.” Sam jumps up from his seat, rummaging in his jeans pocket for a folded piece of scrap paper. “This is your study guide.” He hands the slip to me.

I unfold it and written in neat handwriting is a series of Latin words. Beneath each word is the phonetic pronunciation, which is quite helpful considering I don’t know the first thing about reading Latin. I stare at the hefty paragraph, feeling rather intimidated.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna help you,” he reassures me.

I give him a polite nod and a quick smile, trying my best to stow away my doubt.

“Repeat after me, Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” he says, slow and clear, making sure to over pronounce each syllable. 

“Exorcizamu… Exorcizamus te omnis immu… Immundus spiritus,” I repeat, butchering almost every word. I stare at the paper, replaying each word over and over in my head til it sticks. “ Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” I say with confidence, smiling at my correct pronunciation.

“Excellent!” He smiles, squeezing my arm with pride.

For nearly 2 hours, Sam and I read through the incantation over a dozen times until I have the pronunciation of every word down to a T. Although my brain feels fried, I can’t help but glow with pride at my improvement and Sam's relentless praises.

“Alright, I think you deserve a break for today, but I want you to practice this as much as you can. This is very important,” Sam says, clasping his hands together.

“You got it big guy,” I reply playfully.

 He gives me a disapproving look at the nickname, but smiles as he turns his head and walks away.

------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright sweetheart, you ready for some real training?” Dean says gleefully, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Born ready,” I reply with a grin, looking around the training room he had led me to.

 The walls and floor are covered in thick black padding, the fabric worn and torn in certain places. Scattered throughout the room are half a dozen training dummies, many of them riddled with stab wounds and bullet holes. An array of weights and weapons are displayed along benches and tables in an orderly fashion.

He picks up the largest blade from the table and strolls over til he’s about a foot from in front of me. 

“This here is an angel blade.” He turns the long dagger in his hands, the light dazzling off the reflective metal. “This is the only thing that can kill an angel.” He looks me in the eyes, very serious this time.

My eyes fall from his to the angel blade in his calloused hands. Anxiety and doubt plague my mind, but I swallow down my emotions and nod in understanding.

He flips the blade with ease, passing it to me with the handle end exposed. 

I take it from his grasp, the metal still warm from his body heat. It feels heavy and powerful in my hand. I’ve carried a pocket knife with me for years in self defense, having only had to use it once when some drunk guy at a bar followed me to my car, but nothing compared to a weapon like this. 

He steps behind me and wraps his hand around mine, moving my fingers to the correct placement. “Your grip on the handle is very important.” He gives my hand a light squeeze. “These fingers need to be wrapped around one side of the handle and your thumb should be pressed against the other side,” he explains. “Grip it tight.”

I do as I'm told, feeling my grip strengthen, pleasantly surprised at the difference.

“Good,” he praises. 

I can feel his warm breath on my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. He guides me to the dummy in front of us, stopping when we're all but 6 inches away.

“Now, I’m gonna teach you how to wield it, okay?” He says in a deep voice. 

“Yes, Dean,” I reply in a hushed tone. Butterflies flutter around my stomach.

He steps closer, til he’s barely an inch behind me. He wraps his warm hands around mine and I can’t help but close my eyes and relish the feeling.

“Okay, you’re gonna bring your arm back to your side, bending the elbow,” he says, pulling my arm back. 

We stay there for a minute, just savoring the moment. The tension in the room is thick, but far from unpleasant.

“Now you’re gonna use the momentum of your body to push it forward.” 

Following his directions, I force the blade forward in one swift movement.

“Straighten your elbow sweetheart,” he purrs in my ear. 

I briefly close my eyes, trying to fight the heat rising in my body, and do as he says. The sound of the blade cutting through the air breaks the silence.

“Good job,” he praises. “Okay, when you’re attacking, you’re going to want to aim right here.” He points his finger to a spot on the dummy just below the sternum, where the vital organs are most exposed.

I nod, focusing on each of his words. 

He guides my hand back, then up, just as we practiced, plunging the blade right under the rib cage until it’s buried deep inside. 

I can’t hold back the gasp that falls from my lips.

“Good, very good!” He spins me around to face him. “See you’re a natural,” he chuckles. “A little more practice with me and you’ll be a pro,” Dean winks.

“What can I say? I learn from the best.” I blush with a smile.

He thoughtfully tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes flicking back and forth between my own adoring eyes and my lips.

 I can’t help but return his interest. 

He leans in close, pressing his forehead to mine. 

My heart swells, as my pulse quickens. I hold my breath, waiting for his next move.

He leans in and ever so slightly presses his lips to mine, silently asking for my permission.

I close my eyes and lean in, claiming his lips with mine. 

Our lips move together in harmony like they are made for eachother. The kiss is soft and loving, as if we are just testing the waters, and my god it just feels so right. 

I sigh with content into his mouth as he places his hand on the small of my back, pulling our bodies together. I feel lost in the moment, wishing it would never end as his hands slowly travel up further until it reaches my bandaged wings poorly disguised under my flannel. 

He pulls back slightly, now looking at me with a mix of confusion and concern.

My eyes shoot open and my breath hitches in my throat as I realize what’s happening. The euphoric high of finally kissing Dean fades and the horror of his discovery, sits in my stomach like a ball of lead.

“Wha-,” he starts to ask.

Before he can utter the word, I forcefully push him away and rush out of the room. The world becomes muddy as my eyes blur with hot tears. I run and run until I reach my quarters and throw myself into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I toss the angel blade aside, not even registering the loud clatter of metal meeting tiles and sink to the ground, pulling my knees into my chest, not even bothering to fight the sobs that rack my body.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #lucifer supernatural #lucifer x reader supernatural #lucifer #lucifer x reader #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #reader insert #supernatural #slow burn #love triangle

[gotham-ruaidh]

Who I Am - a 7x07 and 7x08 story

Set in the “Tell Me About Your Family” universe – where William visits the new Big House at Fraser’s Ridge together with Jamie, Claire, Brianna and Roger and their kids, Ian and Rachel and wee Oggy, Fanny, and Jenny Fraser Murray, in an imagined Book 9-ish timeline. He’s known that Jamie is his father for some time, but this is his first “family” visit.

Catch up on the story here:

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10

--

“I thought ye said ye were raised on a farm.”

Jenny Fraser Murray reached across to undo the knot that William had somehow tangled in the wool. “Here. Ye pull the strands apart like this, and then ye wind them together.”

William flushed but kept his head bent to his work. “I lived on my stepfather’s plantation for a time, but I was always busy riding or studying with my tutors or helping him entertain guests. I’m afraid I’m not much of a farmer, Auntie Jenny.”

She tsked. “So I assume ye never learned to clickit, either?”

“Pardon?”

“To make socks or scarves wi’ yarn using needles.”

Carefully he wound the strands of raw wool. “To knit? No, I never learned that either. Though I do remember my grandmother Dunsany had a basket full of yarn and thread and thimbles in her sitting room. I got into it once when I was a boy and she was not too happy with me.”

Jenny expertly tied off a handful of raw wool, and carefully took the wool from William’s hands. “Jamie and I learned to clickit from our Mam when we were bairns. My husband Ian – we grew up together, and one year for Hogmanay before we were courting, we knit each other hats wi’out knowing.” She smiled at the memory. “No’ like I needed one, mind. But it was a nice gift all the same.”

William gathered the tied-off piles of wool from the table and began stacking them on the tray Jenny had brought out onto the porch. “Was that before or after he lost his leg?”

“Oh, before. And he didnae lose the whole leg, just the part below the knee. He took grapeshot to the leg when he and Jamie were mercenaries in Flanders.”

That got William’s attention. “Da was a mercenary?”

Jenny nodded, stretching the cramp out of her neck and shoulders. “Aye, for the year after Father died. He had a price on his heid, so he needed to be somewhere else. He spoke French, so the choice was simple.” She turned to look at her nephew. “Did ye not ken that? Weel, I suppose there’s still a lot you don’t ken about my brother.”

William pursed his lips. “I didn’t know, no. It must have been his first time serving with an army, I suppose. And a foreign one, too.”

They watched a hawk glide soundlessly over the mountain. Smiled at Jem and Germaine sitting high up in the oak tree at the edge of the dooryard, swinging their legs from a high branch.

“He’s no’ spoken to me about it. Ever. Ian came home wounded, but Jamie didnae come back to Lallybroch wi’ him, on account of him being a wanted man. It took months until Ian was back on his feet, and while I mended him he told me a few things here and there about what it was like with the army. But then we turned back to running Lallybroch, and we were marrit not too long afterward, so…”

William stood, and extended a hand to help Jenny to her feet. Carefully he gathered the tray, now heaped high with wool. “Where may I take this for you, Auntie?”

--

It was a fine, crisp late summer evening. Roger supervised Jem, Germaine, Mandy, and Fanny washing the supper dishes at the trough in the dooryard, taking advantage of the last light. Jenny and Brianna’s voices drifted from somewhere inside the house, planning for the next day’s spinning of the raw wool into yarn. Ian and Rachel had retreated to their cabin with Oggy, who had fussed quite a bit during supper and clearly needed somewhere quiet to rest.

“Here.” William looked up to see his father holding out a pewter cup, took it, and shifted a bit on the bench to allow room for Jamie to sit beside him.

“I still can’t believe how peaceful it is here,” William remarked, watching the last rays of sun touch the treetops on the mountain.

“Aye. I’ve a short list of things I’m most happy about in my life. Getting the grant for this land is on it.” Jamie held out his own pewter cup, and William tapped it. “Slainte.”

“Slan-juh,” William echoed, taking a sip, feeling proud he did not immediately grimace.

Jamie smiled. “Good lad. We’ll have ye speaking the Gaidhlig fluently before too long.”

“You speak French?”

Jamie frowned, a bit surprised at the sudden question. “I do. And the Latin and Greek, a bit of Cherokee, and a wee bit of Chinese as weel.” He sipped his whisky. “And you, wee William? You must have the Latin and Greek, if your education was as good as Lord John has told me.”

“Yes. And French, and now some of the Prussian language as well.”

“Of course, on account of the Hessians.”

William nodded. Sipped his whisky. “I’m asking because Auntie Jenny told me today that you had served as a mercenary.”

“In Flanders. Aye. That was a long time ago.”

“Was that your first time serving in an army?”

Jamie stretched out his long legs, exposing his kneecaps as the drapes of the kilt fell away, pocked with scars.

“It was. I didnae have much choice, mind you. I had escaped from the English at Fort William, in the Highlands. I was being held for murdering an officer. I hadnae murdered him, mind you, but there was no reasoning with the garrison commander. That man had had me flogged twice in the space of a week, after all.”

William’s eyes bugged at this information.

Claire emerged onto the porch, medical apron tied over her skirts. “There you are. Is now a good time?”

Jamie shifted his pewter cup to his left hand, and extended his right hand over the rail of the bench. Claire pulled up a chair so that Jamie’s four-fingered hand lay in her lap, and pulled a jar out of a pocket.

William blinked, remembering his manners, and craned his neck to see. “What’s that?”

Claire opened the jar and set it between her knees. “It’s a salve I make for Jamie, on account of the pain he still feels in his hand. Helps to loosen the tension. Especially on days like today when I know he’s been using it too much.”

“Near every bone in this hand was broken when I was no’ much older than you,” Jamie explained casually, grimacing a bit as Claire’s sure fingers kneaded the salve into the tissue. “Pained me for years. And then at Saratoga I injured it again. Both times, Claire mended me. She promised me I’d have a working hand, and I do.”

“My first real surgery, this hand was,” she murmured, massaging the palm with both thumbs.

Jamie leaned over to kiss her forehead.

William cleared his throat. “I knew that Saratoga was not your first battle.”

“But it was yours,” Jamie interjected.

William took a sip of whisky. “Yes. I – I thought I would be better prepared.”

“There’s nothing that can prepare you, lad. I was but twenty years old when I fought my first true battle. I’d done the occasional cattle raid here and there, so I thought I’d be ready.”

“I wager you weren’t.”

“No. Drilling is easy. Knowing what to do in the heat of battle, right after you see your comrades die in front of you…that’s something else entirely.”

William watched Fanny and Mandy carefully carry a stack of clean plates and pewter cups across the dooryard and back into the house. Smelled the sharp, clean tang of the ointment.

“I am ashamed to tell you this, but I do not think I acted too honorably in the first battle.”

“At Saratoga, you mean?”

William nodded, looking down at his hands. “I froze. My comrade…my friend…took a bullet right next to me. All I remember is General Fraser screaming at me, but I couldn’t hear any of the words.”

He watched Jamie’s hand slide on to his, gripping it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, son. It’s the hell of a shock. I’ve experienced it myself, a time or two.”

“Prestonpans. Culloden. The war with the Regulators,” Claire murmured.

William swallowed. “I recovered, of course, and led the next charge. Though now I realize it was you and your men I was fighting, and that fact makes me absolutely sick to my stomach.”

Jamie squeezed his son’s hand. “Take that feeling, lad, and multiply it by the largest number ye can think of. And then you’ll know just how I felt, when in the second battle I shot your hat right off your heid.”

William raised his mug to his lips, watching the liquid slosh as his hand shook. Feeling his body seize up with tension. “Dear God.”

His vision swam. His pulse dropped.

Steps – Mother Claire. Gently taking away his mug, and resting her hands on his shoulders. “William. It’s all right. You’re here with us now. Breathe deep.”

Jamie’s hand gripping his. “In and out, lad. Follow me.”

Claire undoing his stock, settling a hand on the clammy back of his neck. “Slowly now.”

He did not know if it was minutes or hours that Jamie and Claire surrounded him, comforted him, soothed him.

But when he did return to himself, he was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.

Jamie squeezed his shoulder, and kissed his temple. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, lad.”

“It’s called a panic attack.” Claire felt his cheeks and forehead with the back of a cool hand. “Have you had them before?”

He licked his parched lips. “Yes, but never that strong. Only when I’m truly upset.”

“I can give you some guidance on what to do, should it happen again and we’re not here to help,” she said gently. “But there’s no cure. I’m sorry to tell you that even in my time, these things happen. Perhaps even more frequently.”

William swallowed. “Have men not discovered a way to end all wars, then?”

She knelt on the porch, still holding his pulse between her fingers. “I’m afraid not. You know that Jamie’s endured several wars. I endured a war of my own, in the years right before I met him. England and France and the Americans were all on the same side of this war, if you can believe it. Fighting the Prussians, in the fields of France.”

“They called it a world war,” Jamie added. “Men fighting each other wi’out swords, but with guns, and with bombs dropped from the sky.”

“I worked in an aid station, right at the edge of the combat zone.” Claire looked at him, but her eyes were so far away. “Patched up many men not too much older than you. So, I understand.”

William swallowed. “I – I am a soldier. Being a soldier is what I’ve aspired to for my whole life. To be like my stepfather, and the men in his family.”

Jamie and Claire listened, patient.

“But I like this – being with all of you, here in the quiet. Perhaps I’m more cut out to be a farmer. I love my men, but this life here…”

“We understand, William.” Jamie reached to cup his son’s cheek, for the first time in his life, as if he were a wee lad. “And we will love you and support you no matter what you choose.”

“The Americans will win this war, will they not?”

“They will,” Claire said softly. “Of that I’m certain.”

William set his jaw. “Perhaps I should start spending a lot more time here.”

“There’s nothing we’d love more. But you have a life outside of this place, William – we cannae keep you from it.”

“Being here, with all of you, this past week – it makes me wonder whether this life here is more important. I need more time with you, Da – and with you, Mother Claire – and with Brianna and her family. I need to know who I am.”

Jamie smiled. “You already do, lad.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 6 - On Sacred Ground

Summary: Both you and Joel’s secrets start to get the better of him and begin chipping way at his steel reinforcements.

Rating: E

Word Count: 6.8k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix-it fic

Chapter 5 || Series Masterlist

Twenty years of stitches had never gotten Joel used to the feel of thread pulling through his skin. It was unsettling, nauseating, but at least Jackson had the proper tools, the hooked needle was a vast improvement on a sewing one. 

“I can’t let her back out, Joel,” Tommy sighed, the growl vibrating from Joel’s chest a warning, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“It was a one-time thing,” Joel defended, pulling his arm out of the doctor’s grasp as he protested, “You can’t ground her, Tommy. Not now. She’s just comin’ around!”

“You had to use a fuckin’ smoke bomb to grab her! Look, I know-"

“Don’t fuckin’ start. I had to get her out-”

“It was because she shot at you!”

Tommy was pacing around the med bay, half fretting over what to do and half panicked over Joel’s reaction. He was right to fear it. The tips of his ears burned as he tried to push the rage down, nostrils flaring and fingers twitching. This hadn’t been how he’d envisioned today to go from the start. Hell, he’d begun to look forward to dinner at the Bison after that idiot had mentioned it. A victory celebration that would never come to be. 

The walk back to Jackson as what was formerly a slaverer faction lay behind them was silent. Joel had followed mindlessly behind Tommy, letting his brother lead him as he receded into his thoughts over what the hell had gone down. It was as if you hadn’t even known where you were, that gunfire was ricocheting around you, you couldn’t hear, you couldn’t see, you were just…trapped. In what sort of hell he wasn’t sure. 

“Lemme talk to her,” Joel sighed as the bandage was wrapped around the now-stitched gash from a bullet grazing over his bicep.

“She’s grounded for a few weeks, Joel,” Tommy finally ruled, bracing himself for impact.

“Tommy, please-"

“No. I ain’t arguing.”

Tommy had the sense to leave after that, Joel storming off after a quick thank you to the woman who had patched him up. He knew that where he needed to go and where he wanted to go were two very different places, the inn filled with traumatized survivors searching for the members of their parties that hadn’t arrived in Jackson being handled by too few hands. But he knew you weren’t there. He’d checked. Indy and Maria had been handling it alone once the four men arrived back exhausted and bloody, Indy assuring him you’d made it back and that she’d sent you straight home. The most concerning part of it all had been you agreeing without so much as a hint of resistance. 

“Screw it,” he muttered under his breath, his feet carrying him to wear he knew he belonged. 

The orange light seeping from your living room window steadied his racing heart, the flicker of your television just barely visible through the gauzy fabric of the curtains you’d found just two weeks ago. He knocked softly on your door, hoping he wasn’t startling you, the breath he was holding releasing in a whoosh when the sound of your deadbolt broke through the night’s eerie silence. 

“Hi,” you greeted, that was more than he was expecting. 

“Hey,” he replied just as softly, “Just coming to check on ya.”

“Why are you bleeding?”

“Arm got grazed. It’s fine.”

“Joel, half your face is covered in blood.”

“What?”

It sure as hell was. He could feel it now, dried and caked along the right side, his cheeks burning pink in embarrassment at his now beyond haggard state. The half-mumbled apology that dribbled nervously off his lips at least had you smiling slightly, your body stepping off to the side as you opened the door wider. 

“C’mon,” you invited, the tick of your head welcoming him into your living room.

The voice in his head screaming at him to stop was drowned out by the hammering of his heart in his ears as he stepped inside, the fire in your wood stove keeping the room a comfortable warmth and the soft glow from your table lamp lighting a room that at least finally appeared to be lived in. He remembered the last time he was here repairing the leak in your roof that was worse than he was expecting, the house had looked too similar to the days after you’d moved in as if you were treating it like a hotel room. 

Now, books lined shelves and a throw blanket lay crumpled on the couch next to a still steaming cup of tea, the TV playing a familiar tune. You’d hung a few pictures of flora and other greenery, hell you even had a candle lit on the table that could use a few framed photos to bring it all together. It finally started to look like a home. 

“Bathroom is next to the kitchen,” you instructed, “I’ll be there in a second.”

Were you offering to help? He was too tired to know, not like he could read situations like this anyway. He could hear you getting water ready to be warmed up, the clanging of pots and the slamming of drawers resonating in the background as he slowly made his way through the house, noting everything he saw. 

The lightbulb of your bathroom buzzed, the mental note of finding you a new bulb searing into his brain, but he was quickly distracted from his subconscious inspecting when he came face-to-face with not his own blood sullied expression, but a large dark cloth. It looked like the tablecloth Maria had put into your housewarming basket. The entirety of your mirror was shrouded, your footsteps approaching pulled his perplexed gaze as you rounded in with a bowl of warm water, a few rags draped over your arm, and a bottle of whiskey. 

“Sit,” it was a command not a request, his bottom finding the floor without so much as a thought. 

You kneeled between his bent knees, sliding in close enough to get to his face, the proximity allowing the lavender your soaps were infused with to hit him square in the nose. It was a familiar scent mixed with something distinct, something sweet yet wild, something you. 

“Let me see,” you whispered, your palm so light as it cupped his jaw he sucked in what he swore would be his final breath, his starved skin prickling, the sound giving you pause as you checked to see if you’d hurt him.

“Just…” he stammered, willing the concerned crease from your brow with pleading eyes, “Neck’s sore. That’s all.”

“Help yourself to that.”

The decanter sat beside the bowl you were gracefully dipping a rag into, the tips of your fingers dripping as you pulled it out and lifted it toward his face. Never having crossed paths with hunters when you were actually capable on the road had left him no chance to experience this. Your touch was featherlight, cautious, the warmth of the water mimicking the heat of your hands cradling his face. You worked silently, he swore he could hear your heart thudding, or maybe that was his own, there was no knowing. Goosebumps had erupted over his skin, his fists were clenched as he fought to keep them at his sides, your smell invading his dwindling sense of right and wrong once again. 

“You got somethin’ against mirrors?” he chuckled, hoping a change in subject would help his cause, the dark cloth hanging awkwardly on the wall catching his eye once again.

“Just nothing to see.”

What the hell did that mean? Your face remained flat and focused on your task, leaving him the freedom to stare at what you thought was nothing worth gazing upon. Paths of freckles led to the eternal green of summer that lived in your eyes, the untamed curls atop your head waiting for fingers to make them more unruly. Your lashes practically brushed your brow, he’d never noticed it til now, the lines around the corners of your eyes the perfect embellishment to a face that was never supposed to become synonymous with comfort, but it had. Despite your best attempts at remaining cold and aloof, he could feel your warmth in the tender way you adjusted his chin and how your eyes stayed fixated assessing the damage with concern and care. And as his marveling began to wander, it dawned on him what you were so displeased to see, the jagged pink line stretching from cheek to cheek over your nose. He’d never known you without it. He wouldn’t want you without it.

“Well, this isn’t your blood,” you laughed, tossing the rag into the sink with a wet plop.

“Someone would’ve had to land a hit,” he bragged, smirking as you rolled your eyes and smiled at him.

“Looks like someone did.”

He’d forgotten the throbbing in his arm, but it came back with a vengeance as your thumb grazed over his cheekbone the butterflies that had taken flight in his stomach falling limp as dread settled in their place. Someone had landed one. 

“I was gonna heat the soup up,” you began tentatively as you rinsed his blood free from the towel, “You’re welcome to stay.”

“If there’s enough,” he accepted with a quivering voice.

“She sent me home with enough to feed a family of five.”

“Alright then.”

As you prepped in the kitchen, he wandered through the living room once again, studying the books you’d collected. Some fiction, some instructional, a scrap of paper poking free from the pages of a classic–Wuthering Heights–piquing his interest along with another.

“You into plants?” he yelled to you as he lifted the guide, “I can tell Maria to put you on farming for a bit. Might do you some good, you could use a—”

That stealthy way you moved was perfect for taking out infected, but enough to spook him when you snuck up on him like that. He jumped as he turned to find you no more than a foot away, staring at him with wet eyes and nervously fidgeting hands. 

“Just tell me I’m grounded,” you pleaded in a timid tone, his shoulders falling as he prepared to admit the truth.

“I tried to fight it…” he began, but the shake of your head told him to stop.

“It’s fine. I should be.”

You were gone as fast as you’d appeared, but he didn’t know the decorum here. Did he follow? Did he leave you? He had no idea which you preferred. He knew which option he preferred. But this wasn’t about him.

“Fuck,” he murmured, hands falling to his hips as he contemplated his next move, directing his attention back to you still out of sight but not out of mind, “I’ll talk to Tommy again.”

Long strides carried him to your kitchen where you were doling out two bowls of soup, your face as readable as Tommy’s scribbled measurements from their contractor days that Joel swore were written in another language, the way your inner cheek was pulled into your teeth the only clue he had. 

“Who shot you?” you asked, knee shaking as you braced yourself against the counter, eyes staring at the stew like it held the answer. Maybe you already knew the answer. 

“Wasn’t payin’ attention,” he replied, carefully watching you, “Coulda been anyone.”

“I don’t have my gun,” you pressed, the tension in his shoulders spreading down his spine. 

“You dropped it.”

“I didn’t have it out.”

Well, you did. But at least now he knew where it had all gone black.

“I have your gun,” he assured, sliding up behind you and grabbing a bowl from beside your whitened knuckles still gripping the edge of the granite, slipping your pistol from his coat pocket to lay in its place, “You dropped it. I picked it up.”

This wasn’t a lie, it was the withholding of certain truths. You had dropped it when he practically tackled you from behind, the weapon falling from your fingers as the impact had pushed the air from your lungs. What happened before that wasn’t important. 

“Tell me I didn’t do that,” you blurted out, spinning to face him, “promise me.”

“I swear.”

Whether you believed him or not was a different story. 

You took your bowl to the living room, plopping on the couch to continue watching the old DVDs of The Office you’d found at the swap shop, his heavy footsteps following slowly behind you. 

“You ever watch this?” you asked, stabbing a potato with your spoon a little too hard, broth splashing out onto the table as he sat beside you, “It was all I watched.”

“Yeah,” he answered, surprised by the small talk and the disclosure, even though it was as surface level as divulgement could get, “I liked the beet farmer.”

“He’s the best.”

“Ellie watch it yet?”

“No. She has too many movies to catch up on. You haven’t even shown her Star Wars yet.”

“Figured I’d save that one for you. I know you like it.”

“So do you.”

The rest of dinner passed silently, his insistence to do the dishes winning while you sat and read in the living room. As he scrubbed at the old ceramic, he wished he could see you, nestled into that old chair with a blanket, your focus intent on the words he hoped were transporting you somewhere more pleasant and away from the events of today. But he was disappointed as he rounded into the room, finding you staring absentmindedly out the window into the night.

“You comin’ this weekend?” he blurted out, knowing now wasn’t the time but his self control waning. 

“No,” it was dazed, the way you answered, you were already almost gone again, and that realization made his heart begin to race. 

“Wanna do somethin’ else? Might squeeze one more swimmin’ lesson in with Ellie. I think you’d be real proud.”

“I’ll go on farming rotation.”

“Okay...” 

You were expecting him to leave but his feet were rooted in the middle of your living room floor, something he hadn’t felt for too long taking hold. You looked so small curled up in a ball, knees to your chest, it felt almost invasive as he witnessed a vulnerability you’d kept hidden from him. He’d seen previews of it, flickers that escaped through the barriers you hid it behind, but never had it been so willingly brazen upon display. 

“G’night then,” he bid, hoping you’d ask him to stay, “You know where to find me.”

Words you wanted to say but couldn’t rattled against your lips and glowed like an embering flame in your eyes, he knew the look well. He saw it in the mirror every day. You dismissed him with a nod of acknowledgment to his offer, his boots filled with lead as he dragged them to your front door and out onto the sidewalk, each step closer to his home heavier than the last.

The next morning when Ellie came bounding in to raid the cabinets for breakfast, he was seated at the small table by the kitchen window with a cup of coffee–the coffee you’d found for him–the smell hitting him like a brick wall after decades being denied its warm aroma. She was loud and unapologetic as she searched the cabinets and fridge for anything appealing, a fond smile settling on his face as he watched her through the steam rising from his mug.

“Can you make eggs?” she finally asked, “Is that coffee?!”

“Yes,” he replied, “And yes.”

“Can I try some?”

“Help yourself.”

He watched on as he cracked a few eggs into a mixing bowl, chuckling when her face twisted at the bitter black coffee she was trying to force down. 

“You forgot milk and sugar,” he teased as she went to take another sip, putting on a brave face to not have to admit she hated it, “Might be better.”

“How much?” she asked, opening the little ceramic jar on the counter.

“For you? Probably a lot.”

“No. You know what, this is fine.”

“If you say so.”

It never seemed to get easier for her, but she did manage to finish the mug she poured. She must have known wasting that precious resource was out of the question. Not that he wouldn’t have drank it. When the eggs were scrambled and the bread toasted, Ellie joined him at the breakfast table that overlooked her little house, immediately launching into complaints that a farming rotation awaited her next week.

“Well, you’ll have a friend with you,” he informed, clearing both his and her plates and taking them to the sink to wash, Ellie following the routine and collecting the rest of the dishes that needed to be done, “Arrow is off patrol for a bit, she’ll be in the greenhouses.”

“Why’s she off patrol?” He should have known Ellie would immediately pick up on the oddity of the situation and not be happy for herself.

“She just needs a break, that’s all.”

“I heard about yesterday.”

“Heard what?”

Panic set in, there were truths from that run he was certainly hoping to be buried with. She didn’t know much, just what had circulated through the town, that a group of slavers had been nearby, the story of course embellished to include a dire risk of capture to the townsfolk of Jackson. She knew about the women saved and from there she asked if that was the reasoning behind whatever was going on with you.

“I’m not sure, kiddo,” he answered honestly, sighing at the fact he didn’t know, “But you should go see her today. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s movie day,” Ellie replied nonchalantly, drying the plate he’d passed her and setting it in the cupboard, “I’ll just pick something…happy.”

“Hey, ya know, maybe you can convince her to go to that thing this weekend.”

“The dance?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you going?”

“I was plannin’ on it.”

A fit of laughter wasn’t what he expected after giving that answer, his brow furrowing and mouth dropping open in offense and shock alike. 

“Somethin’ funny?” he snapped, flicking the water on his fingers at the teen still gasping for air to his right.

“Are you gonna dance?” she sputtered, her cheeks red as she taunted him, his eyes rolling.

“No. But I’ll drink some of Seth’s best whiskey and steal one of Tommy’s cigars,” he retorted, “And watch you make a fool of yourself.”

“Hey. I’m a great dancer.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

When Ellie took off down the road to your place, Joel went in the opposite direction, finding Maria at the stables scolding the group of kids who had been late to their shift this morning. He sat back and listened, almost feeling bad for them as he recalled his own teenage years and the trouble he got into. 

“Joel,” Maria greeted, pulling him from memories he’d like to forget, “What brings you here on your day off without Tommy in tow?”

“I uh,” he stammered, his fingers drifting up to scratch at the back of his head, “I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”

“You’re coming over for dinner next week. No excuses.”

“No, I know. I’ll be there.”

Begrudgingly. He’d been dreading it since Tommy brought it up a few days ago. Of all people, Tommy should have known best what that fucking day meant, and it wasn’t for celebrating. 

“I need to talk to you,” he sighed, “about yesterday.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Maria responded calmly, that was always something Joel appreciated about her, “Tommy said no patrols.”

“I know he did. I ain't here to fight it. Can we get her in the greenhouses? She wants to learn…and she can’t sit in that house alone for weeks. Not now.”

With a coy smirk, Maria approached, pinching the hem of his sleeve on his wrist, “Careful, Joel. Could have sworn I saw your heart for a second.”

“She’s my responsibility.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll put her on farming. Maybe Ellie will actually show up now.”

“Appreciate it.”

Nerves and impatience had Joel sitting on his back porch as soon as the sun began to set. Whiskey coursed through his blood enough to make the weight he carried a little lighter. He’d continued working on organizing the notes that were scurrying through his brain with his fingers, the taut strings perfectly tuned and singing out into the setting sun’s orange glow across the space he could call his own. Ellie’s little house sat vacant, his stomach gurgling in his now-weekly ritual of skipping Friday dinner. There was nothing fun about eating alone, not anymore. When the stars began to twinkle above the peaks of the mountains the air grew sharp and brisk, he heard Ellie before he could see her. 

“No wait! Wait!” she was yelling, “I got it! But we need Indy.”

“Good luck with that,” you chuckled in her direction, the creak of the gate opening following as his eyes snapped up to find the source of the sound, “She’ll never leave the trails.”

“Not even with her partner missing?”

“She’s back with Astrid.”

“I heard they hate each other.”

“They do not.”

“Do to.”

His fingers had continued their waltz across the strings, albeit a little slower now as his attention was focused on the way your hair was falling into your face from the messy bun you’d thrown it into on the top of your head, his brain wracking with the question if you’d ever actually walked Ellie home after your typical Friday activities. He couldn’t remember a time, but the sun had begun to set sooner, maybe that was why. 

“Hey Ellie!” he called as she gave you a small wave goodbye, “Dinner’s inside.”

“We ate!” she confirmed, “Save it for me!”

When your feet began to carry you closer to him, a shockwave traveled down his spine, his shoulders straightening as you stepped into the halo of his porch light. Your red waves practically glowed even in the darkness, the way your eyes still reflected a warm August morning in any setting was something he’d never tire of seeing. He kept his glances to a minimum, letting his guitar hold him hostage as you looked on, the empty seat beside him seeming more prominent now. 

“Sounds good,” you complimented, your hands in your back pockets as you twisted at the waist ever so slightly back and forth, “I’ve never heard it before.”

“The song?” he asked with a breath of laughter through his nose, “Made it up.”

“I like it. It’s soothing.”

It could be yours then. When you waved and bid him goodnight, that hollow pit in his chest split open, and he realized just how tired of watching you walk away he’d become. Months on the road with you in his consistent sight had made your presence harder to shake, even if it was unpredictable at times. Once you were out of eyeshot, his fingers stopped as he sighed. This was uncharted territory, forbidden, emotions he’d kept trapped in the deepest recesses of his psyche were beginning to seep free as the primal instinct of survival that had ruled him for too long had finally begun to recede. 

“Can’t fuckin’ do this,” he muttered to himself, his hand running through his lengthening hair, he’d noticed it’d gotten grayer, too. So much for less stress helping with that little issue.

“Hey,” a chipper voice greeted, Ellie now leaning against the railing of the porch, he’d missed her walking up entirely, “I don’t know if I convinced her to go. Said she’d think about it.”

“Oh,” he laughed, remembering his morning request of her, “Thank you. Hey, do you know why she’s got the mirrors in her house all covered up?”

“How do you know the mirrors in her house are all covered?”

“Ellie…”

“I don’t know. I never asked. Thought it was weird though.”

“Yeah…”

It was almost eleven when he strode into his bedroom, his guitar hanging on the walls of the room he’d one day make into a workshop. It was coming along, he’d managed to find a few desks and organizers, Tommy having stashed a whittling kit he found after they brothers had reunited at the dam last year. He’d known Joel would be back, it was only a matter of time. He began his new nightly routine, sifting through the records he’d pilfered from that store a few towns over on the last patrol and setting one on the player. As the song began to play, he headed for the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth as began to let his exhaustion take hold. He’d sleep better if he didn’t fight it. 

The sheets were cool against his skin as he slid into the right side of the bed, his fingers flipping open the cover to the newest book he’d been given by the girl who worked the market counter, Francine. He was a classics guy, but whatever this was had turned out to be entertaining enough, The Martian it was called. He had to admit he only gave it chance because of Ellie’s affinity for space, but it turned out to be a decent read.

By midnight his eyelids were drooping, the letters on the page running together in illegible masses before he finally gave in, the softness of his pillow welcoming him gently for what he hoped would be a night of rest.

Saturday brought rain and the fall dance in Jackson, none of the residents deterred by the soaking conditions. Joel had helped haul furniture into the church, Maria’s insistence on hanging fairy lights from the ceiling also falling on him and Tommy. Dartboards were set up in the back and food and drinks hauled in, and by six o’clock he was already exhausted. Collapsed in a chair in the back corner he watched as the town began to file in, his eyes keen to see your hair bobbing and weaving through the crowd as Tommy passed him a cigar, taking up the empty seat beside him with a groan.

“I hate these things,” Tommy lamented, the sharp smell of smoke flashing quickly as he lit a match, the warm, comforting aroma of the cigar following.

“So why do you host ‘em?” Joel teased, grabbing the matchbook off the table and setting his own ablaze, “You can admit it, you like it. I ain’t gonna judge.”

“You’re judgin’ me right now, you old bastard.”

Cheers were erupting at their left, Seth claiming the dartboards as his domain for the evening and begging anyone to come give it a shot for a price. Within the first hour, he’d already racked up a new leather belt, a week’s worth of the butcher’s own personal fine cuts, and a kid named Jesse would be doing his dishes at the Bison until the first snow. Despite the challenge, Joel knew his own skills were lacking, and Tommy had learned this lesson the hard way.

“C’mon, Miller!” Seth beckoned arrogantly, “We can bet that new guitar you’ve been working on. You can just make another one, you’re barely losing a thing.”

“I’ll play you,” a familiar sound rang out in the murmurs as Seth had come over to once again try and convince Joel to take a chance, an eager grin stretching up across Joel’s face at the sight of you and Ellie, “What are we betting?”

“What do you have, Deacon?” 

“You want his guitar, right? How about that.”

“You willing to put that on the line?” Seth sneered with a laugh, turning back to Joel almost in disbelief.

“Depends. What’re you wagering, Seth?” Joel inquired, tossing back the last of his whiskey.

“I don’t think I need to be worrying about that.” “Humor me.”

There was that warm burst in his chest, the world coming into focus as your arms crossed over your chest in anticipation of his offer. Seth was never out on patrols, always holed up in his bar, and by the look on your face you were getting pure joy out of scamming him for whatever he was about to wager.

“If the lady wins, if, drinks on me for the both of you for the month,” Seth finally settled on, Joel finding your eyes unimpressed, the shake of your head earning you a gesture he hadn’t practiced in over twenty years, a wink.

“You can do better than that,” Joel countered, “C’mon. What’re the chances she wins anyway?”

Seth laughed, “Alright Miller, two holsters on me from the leather shop. One for each of you.” That earned Joel an approving nod from you behind your opponent's back.

“Plus free reign of your top shelf?”

“Why not.”

“Deal.”

Tommy and Joel followed to watch the show, both brothers knowing just how this was going to end up. Had Joel been paying attention, he’d have noted that Tommy’s eyes were fixed on him, but the way you looked dressed in casual, I-don’t-have-to-kill-anyone-today clothes was too much for him to deny the pleasure of searing into his memory. While Seth took his shots, landing a bullseye, a triple twenty, and a triple seventeen, you stood off to the side, the wide neck of your sweater falling down your shoulder to reveal a thick splattering of freckles, thin scars stretching across your skin and shining in the glittering lights he was no longer bitter he’d spent hours hanging.

“Ma’am,” Seth sneered, handing you three darts with a pompous bow, his mouth barely having time to shut before you landed three triple 20s, “What the hell…”

“Hell yeah!” Ellie was cheering as she playfully punched at your arm, “Fuck that guy. Now maybe he’ll shut the hell up!”

“My girl never misses,” Joel bragged as he clapped a hand on the stunned man’s shoulder, shooting a warning glare to Ellie over his shoulder that she’d said enough, “We’ll be by Monday for fittings. Appreciate it.”

After Maria snatched Tommy away to run an errand, Joel turned to find you already gone, your hair still visible right beside Ellie’s bobbing head as she retold the story of your victory to her friends Cat, Dina, and one of Seth’s victims, Jesse. He chuckled to himself, glad you were here and that Ellie had become somehow even more attached to you, your qualms over that seemingly nonexistent. He was well aware he couldn’t be everything Ellie needed, and it was a relief to know she had you in your corner as much as she had him.

“Hi Joel,” a friendly voice greeted as he poured himself another whiskey, Francine’s happy face lighting up beside him as she refilled a glass of scotch that was still practically full, “Did you read the book?”

“Oh,” he stammered nervously, but the nerves weren’t a result of who was standing in front of him, “I started. It’s pretty good. I like it.”

“I thought you might. That’s good! I have more when you’re done.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Did you maybe want to dance? I’m not too bad a partner…”

The question caught him off guard, his eyes widening in fear and embarrassment alike, his stomach dropping to the floor as he met the nerve-filled eyes staring hopefully at him. No. No, he did not want to dance. Nor did he want to let this poor woman leave feeling dejected. His aversion wasn’t to her, per se, just the act itself.

“Nice of you to ask, but I don’t dance.” Maybe self-deprecation would work. “That’s a sight no one wants to see.”

“You don’t dance, Tex?” Fuck, his heart rate had already begun to slow just at the sound of your jesting remarks. “But those two left feet of yours are so graceful.”

Two left feet that would follow you anywhere he was beginning to discover. The hue of your eyes was heightened by something brewing deep inside them, a flare he hadn’t seen before flashing. When you gave a small smile and wave to someone he had already forgotten was there, he tried to focus on the way his stomach felt after doing a flip. He remembered for a moment what it felt like to experience the drop of a roller coaster and the rush he got from leaping off a cliff into a lake, Tommy’s hoots and hollers audible even from under the water.

“So why no dancing?” you pressed, sipping at your whiskey like he wasn’t going to focus on the way your lips wrapped around the rim, “Seems like something a Southern gentleman like yourself would be well versed in.”

“I haven’t danced since high school prom,” he confessed, polishing his own tumbler off, “And it’s a memory I’d like to forget.”

Mostly the person he’d shared the dance floor with.

“Well, you know the best way to forget a bad memory,” you answered with an air of playfulness, your face alight as you gazed up at him and held your hand out, “Make a new one.”

There was nothing that could keep his hand from sliding into yours at that moment. Nothing. You led him so confidently to the edge of the floor, turning so gracefully to face him and wrapping your arm around his shoulder, your palm lightly pressing between his shoulder blades with a smile ready to crack into a laugh, his cheeks burning red in bashfulness and fear alike. 

“Just do what I do,” you coaxed in a whisper meant for only him to hear, and all he could do was nod. 

You moved like a dancer, it didn’t matter it was a skill you hadn’t practiced since before the outbreak, it was with you forever, guiding the lithe way you moved lifting his arm to replicate the spins he’d do with Sarah in the living room on Saturday nights when she was still little enough to want to. His breath was shallow, gaze transfixed, and with every inadvertent step on your toes he mumbled a sincere apology, chastising himself mentally for being so terrible at this simple task. There was still space between your bodies as you swayed, his was stiff and awkward, but as the song wore on he began to settle. He could see the silver streaks breaking through your orange strands from here and a slit in the shell of your ear where he knew an earring that had been torn out had once sat. Small details that had gone unnoticed until now fascinating him.

“See?” you purred as the song came to an end, pulling yourself free from the loose hold he had on you, “Not so bad, right?”

If he opened his mouth he’d say something he’d regret, so he just shook his head no before focusing on the toes of his boots. You were too close and too far, his hands shook with the need to feel your warmth in his palm again, to pull you in close enough to smell the lavender he knew lingered on your skin now…

“Arrow!” Ellie called from a ways away, “I’m gonna whoop Jesse’s ass at darts! C’mon!”

“Thanks for that,” you cooed at him softly before obliging Ellie’s request, leaving him alone in the crowd too stunned and shaken to move. 

Pull it together. Pull it together. Pull it the hell together. 

“What was that about me being outta my damn mind,” Tommy’s cocky tone announced as a heavy hand landed on Joel’s shoulder.

“Not this again,” Joel sighed, the walls closing in on what little bit had opened.

“C’mon Joel. What the hell are you so afraid of?”

That was a bold fucking question Joel didn’t think he’d have to answer. Tommy had been there through it all. Through their childhood and Rebecca, through the outbreak, through you almost dying twice now right in his line of sight. What the hell was he so afraid of? It was etched into his very being, it had altered his core, damaged him beyond repair. 

“We’re safe here,” Tommy continued much to Joel’s dismay, “You. Her. Ellie. Safer than anywhere else. You’re not Pop, Joel. You never have been. You’ve always been better than he was. You ain’t gonna end up like him, and she sure as hell won’t end up like M-”

“Tommy…” Joel cautioned, a beast snarling in his chest threatening to break free.

“I’m serious. You deserve to live a good life. I mean that. And so does she.”

Well, that was the whole point. You did deserve to live a good life, and where did he fit into that equation? You were teaching Ellie techniques for darts with a rare toothy smile on your face. Who was he to ruin what little semblance of peace you’d been able to scrounge up? 

“You charge for this?” Joel snapped, trying to change the subject, “Or is the first time free?”

“Like talkin’ to a damn wall.”

At least that got him off the case. Tommy stalked off still muttering under his breath as Joel continued to watch you with a gaggle of teenagers, training them to be Seth’s next great challenge. The food was brought out, prompting him to head over and grab three plates, weaving through the crowds to reach you and Ellie once his arms were filled with a little bit of everything for you both to pick at and enjoy. 

“Ladies,” he crooned, setting everything down on the nearest table, “Come have a bite.”

As you both joined him at the table, Ellie was bubbling about something he couldn’t pay attention to, but you were. He was too busy caught in a warp of what ifs… What would your life had been had it not all wasted away? You’d be some fancy dancer on stage in New York. Sarah probably would have begged to go and see one of your shows. Would you have kids? A nice white picket life where you hadn’t been forced to adapt to a cold, hard world that death stalked who remained like prey? What did he have to do to give you some of what you lost back? What could he do?

“Joel,” you shook him from his thoughts, “Ellie has a request.”

“Can we have a movie night?” Ellie blurted out, “Please? All three of us.”

“Oh,” he replied, “yeah, okay. If she wants to come by, that is.”

“She already said yes! Let’s get outta here, if I have to hear Seth complain about your bet being rigged one more time I’m gonna stab my eardrums out with a fork.”

“That seems a little dramatic…”

“Welcome to life with a teenage girl,” you remarked slyly, “Buckle up, buddy.”

He surveyed silently the way you and Ellie chatted on the walk back to his house, the movie already chosen. Star Wars, he should have known. You sold it to her by mentioning it took place in space, she didn’t need any more details, but the happy smile you tossed him over your shoulder after the decision had been made his heart leap into his throat. Ellie prepped snacks while he found the VHS set he’d snagged from an old neighborhood house he and Tommy had searched, thrilled it was the earlier editions before they’d been remastered. At least some people still had taste.

Ellie came barreling into the room as he set the VCR up, hopping into his favorite armchair overexuberantly, “I get chair!”

“No, Ellie,” he groaned, “C’mon!”

“I got here first!”

That left the couch for you and Joel to share, the blaring music of the opening credits captivating the kid immediately as less than one cushion separated your body contorted into a little ball on the couch and his own. But there wasn’t a single part of him that could deny this just felt right.

“Seat save infinity!” Ellie announced as she scampered off to the bathroom just as Princess Leia was being rescued from the cell block, the open page of her journal displaying Luke with his lightsaber versus the training droid aboard the Millenium Falcon.

“I think she likes it,” you commented happily, Ellie’s approaching steps snapping your attention away from his softening features.

As the end credits began, Ellie was on up again scrambling to eject the first tape and put in the second, Joel stopping her with a tired voice. 

“Not tonight, kiddo,” he grumbled, ready for a hot shower and a glass of whiskey.

“Oh come on!” she argued, “It’s not even that late.”

“It’s midnight. Another time. I swear.”

“Do you swear?” Her focus had shifted to you. 

“I swear,” you answered, “Next Friday if Joel allows.”

“Fine.”

“Clean this up for me while I walk her home, would ya?” Joel added as he stood with a grunt, expecting an argument from you but getting nothing. 

And just for a second, it all made him consider if you actually enjoyed his company. Plans were made for the following Friday as he walked slower than he normally would through the streets that led to your place, and with a quick thank you for a very pleasant evening, he was watching you head back inside, his usual feeling of regret replaced by a contentedness he knew he didn’t deserve to feel.

Chapter 7

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfic

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Perrito: Chapter 1 - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

you were supposed to be doing 6 months in prison for drug possession and prostitution. that is, until you met lalo salamanca, and he decided to make you his puppy. for $10,000 a week, you were to wear a dog collar around your neck 24/7, and once he clipped the leash to you, you were to obey his every command. tags/warnings: petplay, dom/sub, bdsm, possessiveness, implied stalking, face slapping, praise kink, degradation/humiliation, oral sex, vaginal sex, squirting, needles/syringes/injections, medical exam, a few tiddlywinks of blood, non-consensual body modification (you'll see >:33) anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/hole, (t-)dick/cock words: 6,918 ao3 link author's notes: baby's first multichapter fic!!! had a LOT of ideas for this concept and im super excited to write more for this 🥺 y como siempre no soy un hablante nativo pero estoy aprendiendo. entonces por favor corríjame si se encuentra algo de errores :3

“Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”

A generic job interview question meant to gauge your desires and plans for the future. 5 years ago, you would’ve said the best case scenario would be a life of modest success and comfort. You would have never imagined that by this point in your life you’d be living in a lavish estate and making 10 grand a week. 

Let alone the fact that you were making 10 grand by wearing a dog collar for the drug cartel boss who owned said lavish estate. 

Whichever deity wrote your life story had a fucked up sense of humor. Your thread of life was being used to draw dicks on the tapestry of existence. You’d gotten great at lying to friends and family. As far as they knew, you were moving abroad to work as an on-call assistant for a shipping executive. You rationalized that it was technically true, but it was an egregious lie of omission. Don Eduardo Salamanca, or “Lalo” as he preferred, was a wealthy businessman; there was no denying that. Though your assistance was the furthest thing from business that anyone could fathom. It was a stable position that came with steady income, job security, and benefits. Sure, these benefits just so happened to include the best sex you’d ever had on the comfiest bed you’d ever touched, but that was neither here nor there. 

It all started how most job interviews go: prison. You were supposed to be doing 6 months for drug possession and prostitution, but Lalo took a liking to you the moment he saw you. He said that your skills would be highly valuable in an organization such as his, which was jobspeak for “I want to get my dick wet”. You thought he was talking out of his ass, but judging by the respect he got from your fellow inmates and even some of the guards, you took his word for it. He promised you a job when you both got out, if you’d take it. 

You agreed; it sounded a hell of a lot better than going back on the streets. He promised to set you up with his lawyer, who’d been working on a way to get him off. Luckily, the lawyer actually knew his shit. He had found some tiny loophole in your case and was able to get the charges dropped and your record expunged. Much to your surprise, Lalo was waiting outside the jailhouse to pick you up when you got out. He dropped you off at your place and gave you a week to get your affairs in order. Then, you’d be moving to his place across the border in Chihuahua, Mexico. 

The week after, he showed up at your apartment in a car that, if it could speak, would definitely call you poor. On the way to his house, you discussed the specifics of your position. 

“So!” Lalo declared in a cheerful voice as he adjusted the rearview mirror, “What do you remember from what we talked about?”

You combed through your memories, the many conversations you two had in the prison showers, cafeteria, and rec yard. “10 grand a week, I wear a dog collar 24/7, and when the leash is clipped to it, I’m working. When I’m working, you have full control over me, and I have to do everything you say. Is that right?”

“Yeah! There you go. That’s the gist of it.” Lalo affirmed, “But, you won’t have to do literally everything I say. If you’re uncomfortable, you have your signals, and I’m not gonna press your limits unless you say I can.”

That was one of the promises he’d made that had put your mind at ease. Discussing this over state-sanctioned lunch one day, he had asked you your boundaries, things that you would never ever do under any circumstances. He was receptive when you told him. Plus, he’d given you safewords to use: green for “I’m okay. Keep going.”, yellow for “Ease up a little bit.”, and red for “You need to stop everything right the fuck now.” There were also corresponding hand signals in case you couldn’t talk: 3 fingers up for green, 2 for yellow, and 1 for red. 

“Right, yeah. Thank you for that.” You said. 

“Ah, don’t be silly. You don’t have to thank me. I want you to enjoy this. It’s a lot more fun for me if I know you’re having fun.” He patted your shoulder, “And, if you want to really have fun,” and squeezed it tighter than you expected, “you can talk back once in a while. You can be a naughty little puppy, if you want, but you’d better be prepared for discipline. So make sure you know what you’re getting into, alright?” He put his hand back on the wheel.

That was generally good life advice, but you’d be lying if you said you knew entirely what you were getting into. “Alright, sure. Fair enough.” You gazed out the window at the desert terrain. Nothing but cacti and sand for miles and miles. You’d weren’t entirely sure which side of the border you were on anymore, or if it even mattered. “Question,” you posed. 

“Yeah?” Lalo prodded. 

“So, like… what am I supposed to call you while we do this? Just Lalo, or…?” Your voice trailed off, as if you were expecting a different answer out of him. 

“Oh, good question! I was actually getting to that. Such a smart boy.” He laughed and ruffled your hair, making you jump a little in your seat. His touch felt nice, but it was definitely something you’d have to get used to. You probably shouldn’t react that strongly every time. “You can call me Lalo when the leash is off, but if it’s on, you need to be professional. If you’re working, you call me ‘Don Eduardo’, ‘sir’, ‘master’, ‘señor’, ‘jefe’, or ‘patrón’. Those last two basically mean ‘boss’. Make sense?”

Sense was made. “Yeah, alright. Easy enough.” 

“Very good. And how’s your Spanish?”

You shrugged, “Mediocre at best. I can understand more than I speak.”

Lalo chuckled, “Well, I appreciate the honesty. I’ll have to teach you to speak it, then, no worries. Also, if the leash is on and I have you speaking Spanish, call me usted, not tú. That’s just when you’re working, though. Es formal, ¿comprendes? (It’s formal, understand?)”

Okay, sure, you could do that. It might take you a bit to figure out, but you’d get there. “Sí, yo comprendo. (Yes, I understand.)”

“Bueno. Now, what can I call you?” Lalo poked you in the arm, “And I don’t just mean your name.”

Your first thought was an idiot. That seemed like a fitting label for someone in your predicament. Thankfully, your second thought was much more receptive. “Well, uh… what did you have in mind? I’m pretty open.”

“Oh ho, you wanna hear what I think of you? I got a whole list of ‘em in mind. They might not all be flattering, just so you know.”

You secretly hoped they wouldn’t be. “That’s fine. Go for it.”

“Well, there’s the animal related ones. Puppy, dog, perro, cachorro (puppy), and then variants of those like doggy and perrito. Reminds you what you are to me, y’know? There’s also other animal terms like conejito (bunny) and osito (little bear). Basically, anything that lets you know how cute you are.” He reached over to pinch your cheek. 

You giggled. The attention and praise was definitely a perk to this whole arrangement. “That all sounds good.”

“And, if you’re a naughty little puppy.” His tone darkened to a rich growl and he dragged his hand down to your upper thigh, squeezing it hard before he spoke, “I may call you chucho, or a dirty little mutt.” He spat that last word at you with mock disdain. 

The idea of him changing up like that, getting rough with you, putting you in your place, that was another perk. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were more excited for the praise or the punishment. “Oh… Oh wow…”

He leaned in closer to you, his breath hitting your face. You wondered how he could watch the road like that, but maybe that’s why he drove you through the middle of nowhere. In his mind, you were the only thing worth watching. “You like that?”

“Yeah…”

He showed you how quick he could change by pulling back and switching back to his friendly tone. He gave you whiplash, but not from how he was driving. “Good! ‘Cause I got more. You’re okay with me being mean to you?”

You were more than okay with it, especially if he would say it in that same sexy tone. “Yeah, I mean, like, just don’t call me a girl and you can pretty much say whatever you want.”

“Heh, I’ll keep that in mind.” He patted your thigh before putting his hand back on the wheel once more. 

A few more hours, a few more rest stops, and a few more hundreds of miles, and you pulled up to what looked more like a military base than your future home, complete with friendly, welcoming armed guards and a concrete wall topped with warm, fuzzy, barbed wire. 

Actually, the armed guards were friendly and welcoming, once they realized who was coming at least. Lalo rolled down his window and spoke to a man with a ponytail, who greeted him with a smile. 

“¡Buenas tardes, señor! (Good afternoon, sir!)” He pointed at you in the passenger seat and leaned on the window. “Ooh, ¿es este el nuevo chico? ¡Él es más lindo de lo que usted dijo! (Ooh, is that the new kid? He’s cuter than you said!)” Apparently, his other employees referred to him with the same formalities.

“¡Ay, ay! ¡Mucho ojo, cabrón! (Ay, ay! Watch it, asshole!)” He laughed and pushed him off the side of the car. “Pero sí, es él. Parece un buen chico, ¿verdad? (But yeah, that’s him. He looks like a good boy, right?)” He turned to you. “This is Miguel. He’s one of the guards I have working here.”

Your eyes were fixated on the gigantic rifle across the man’s chest, enough so that you forgot your vocabulary from Spanish 101. “Bien a… bien a conocerte? (Nice to… Nice to meet you?)”

The two men laughed, but you could tell it was all in good fun. Lalo smiled, “Ah, tan tonto… (Ah, so silly...)” and petted your hair again as he corrected you. “You’re kinda right, but ‘Mucho gusto’ is what you’re trying to say, mijo (my boy).”

You blushed the tiniest bit and course-corrected. “Oh, lo siento. ¡Mucho gusto, Miguel! (Oh, sorry. Nice to meet you, Miguel!)”

“Igualmente, chiquito. (Likewise, kiddo.)” Miguel turned around and punched in a code on the keypad. “Listo, patrón. (All set, boss.)” Another term you shared for him. 

“¡Bien! ¡Gracias! (Nice! Thank you!)” Lalo waved him off as he pulled through the gate. He could see the tension in your face and slung his arm over your shoulder. “What, did the gun freak you out? Ah, don’t worry about that. He’s just compensating for something, y’know?” That got a hearty snort from you. “Nah, but really, he’s a nice guy. All of my people are great. I told them all about you, y’know.” He drove up to a spot in his massive driveway and parked the car.

His last statement tied your stomach into a knot. You couldn’t imagine facing an entire army of employees, your potential coworkers, knowing what they knew. “Uh… all about me? Like… what exactly?”

Lalo turned the car off and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well, basically, your personality, your looks, how we met, and what you’ll be doing here. They don’t need to know all the details. Just enough to know what to expect, right?” 

You unbuckled yours as well, even though you were now mortified to step out of the car. “What I’ll be doing here? How the hell did you explain that?”

Lalo waved off your concerns, “Oh, what, are you worried about? That they’re gonna judge you for it? Don’t be silly! They know better than that. Honestly, they’re all psyched to meet you. Now, c’mon, you’ll see what I mean!” He opened his door and saw you reach for yours, “No, no, let me get that for you, sweetheart.” He stepped out of the car and walked around to your side, opening your door and offering his hand for you to take.

“Thanks.” You gave him a timid smile as you took his hand and stepped out. Sure enough, a couple steps later and you saw an eager crowd of people waving you over. 

Lalo raised the hand you were holding and called out to the crowd as he approached, “¡Aquí él está! Entonces, tengo suerte, ¿o qué? (Here he is! So, am I lucky or what?)” He let go of your hand and patted you on the back. Knowing his ego, he definitely wanted to show you off. 

An older woman was the first to answer him with a voice that sounded like how fresh baked cookies smelled. “Claro, tienes razón, mijo. (Of course, you’re right, my boy.)” She approached you and held her arms out for a hug, which you graciously accepted. “¡Bienvenidos, querido! Estamos encantados de tenerte aquí. (Welcome, dear! We’re happy to have you here.)” she said, hugging you with all the love in her heart. Oh, god, that wasn’t his mother, right? You dreaded to think of how that conversation must have gone.

Lalo introduced her as she let go of you, “This is Yolanda. She’s my housekeeper, cook, and the reason why I have such a fat belly!” He laughed and patted his stomach, clearly exaggerating. In reality, he was only slightly pudgy, but hey, you liked a man with a little squish. Much better to cuddle with. “Let me tell you, she looks sweet, but her cooking is dangerous. I’m told she's got something great planned for us, you’ll see.”

A young man, even younger than you were, raised his hand to ask a question. He looked tense, probably afraid to speak out of turn. “Uh, perdón, ¿señor? ¿Él habla español? (Uh, excuse me, sir? Does he speak Spanish?)”

Lalo scoffed, “¿Por qué te importa a tí? ¿Qué, le vas a decir que huir? (Why do you care? What, you gonna tell him to run?)” He was staring him down like he was trying to melt an ant with a magnifying glass. The kid looked like he was about to piss his pants, he was so nervous. Suddenly, Lalo burst out laughing and flicked the boy’s forehead. “¡Ah, solo te estoy jodiendo, chamaco! (Ah, I’m just fucking with you, kid!)” He then turned back to you. “This is Ciro. He’s another one of the guards here, believe it or not with a babyface like that. He was asking if you speak Spanish.”

“Oh! Hi! Uh…” You took a moment to think of an answer for him, “Comprendo más que yo hablo. Solo hablo un poquito. (I understand more than I speak. I only speak a little.)” You glanced over at Lalo, who gave you a thumbs up. 

Lalo snapped at him, both physically and verbally, though his words had an edge of sarcasm to them. “Entonces, no le digas algo estúpido a él. ¿Entiendes? (So, don’t say anything stupid to him. Understand?)”

Ciro nodded, “Sí, señor. Entiendo. (Yes, sir. I understand.)”

“Bueno. Pues ve a llevar sus cosas a mi habitación. Tiene dos maletas en la cajuela. (Good. Then go take his things up to my room. He’s got two suitcases in the trunk.)” Lalo patted the boy on the shoulder and handed him the keys. 

“Si, señor. (Yes, sir.)” Ciro replied before he ran off to get your bags from the car. 

While he was doing that, Lalo took the time to introduce you to his remaining staff: Cecilio, the gardener, and the other two guards, Herardo and Raul. Everyone seemed like decent, hardworking people, and you couldn’t wait for dinner tonight. After having said your hellos, Lalo said there was one more person you had to meet, a visitor, and he was waiting in the living room. 

Lalo led you into the house, guiding you with his hand on the small of your back. To the right of the foyer was the living room, where sure enough, someone was waiting for you: an older man in a white lab coat. A doctor?

“So!” Lalo gestured to the man standing before you. “This is Dr. Cruz. He’s been with my family for years. Actually, he helped deliver my little cousins Marco and Leonel when they were born, so we have a lot of trust in him. I just brought him in today to give you a quick checkup and see that you’re fit to work. Is that okay?” 

A physical? That seemed pretty excessive, but this was a new job, at the end of the day. You figured it wasn’t entirely abnormal. “Uh… yeah! Sure. I think I’m actually due for one, anyway.”

Dr. Cruz smiled at you. “Great. I just need to talk to Lalo here for one second, and then we can get started. Please, have a seat on the couch. I think that will be the best place for everything. It’s a pleasure to meet you, by the way.”

You returned the smile. “You too.”

As you sat down on the examination couch, Dr. Cruz walked Lalo over into the next room. You could hear bits and pieces of what they were saying, but you couldn’t decipher any of it. He spoke in a hushed voice. “Está seguro que yo no pueda disuadir a usted de esto? (Are you sure that I can’t talk you out of this?)”

Lalo responded at the same volume. “Estoy seguro. No quiero que él se pierda. Te pagaré doble por el molestia. (I’m sure. I don’t want him to get lost. I’ll pay you double for the inconvenience.)”

The doctor sighed. “Bien. Entonces… (Alright. So…)” He put on a friendly grin as he walked back over to you. He reached into a bag that was sitting on the coffee table and started pulling things out. Needles, syringes, bandages, alcohol wipes, and some other medical supplies you couldn’t quite name. Then, he pulled out a file and handed it to you. “These are your medical records from your time in MDC Albuquerque. Would you just tell me if the information here is up to date?”

You briefly wondered how in the hell he was able to get his hands on those, but hey, the cartel family doctor probably had connections. You scanned over a list of medications, vaccinations, diagnoses, allergies. Everything was correct. “Yeah. Looks good.” You said plainly and handed the file back to him.

“Alright, perfect.” Dr. Cruz accepted the file from you and placed it back in his bag. “Now, we need to take some blood to run labs. Just to make sure that nothing has changed and that you’re clear for work. Don’t worry, we won’t need much. Just a finger stick will be enough.”

Bloodwork? That seemed excessive too. But, come to think of it, you’d basically be sucking Lalo’s dick for a living. He probably wanted to make sure you wouldn’t give him anything. “Okay, yeah. Hit me.” You held your hand out. 

Dr. Cruz snapped some gloves on before he grabbed your wrist and stamped the needle into your fingertip. You winced at the stab, but it was over in a flash. Then, he milked your finger to get some blood, enough to fill up a small vial. “This will be used for STI testing. We’ll have the results back in a few days, but we’ll only call if you test positive for something. As far as we’re concerned, no news is good news.” Once the vial was full, he capped it and bandaged you up. He put the vial in a bag, sealed it, and stored it with the rest of his equipment. “Okay, last thing on the agenda. Your records state that you’re due for a tetanus shot. It’s a big injection, so I’ll have to numb you first. The injection site will bruise and be sore for about a day or two. Now I’m sure this is probably different from how they do it in the states, but this is how it’s done in Mexico.”

“Oh, really? Interesting.” You pondered, none the wiser to your boss’s plan. He’d exploited your naivete and trust in him to get you to do this, and it worked like a charm. You had no clue. “Yeah, I mean, if I’m due for it, might as well.” You rolled up the sleeve for your non-dominant arm.

“Perfecto.” Dr. Cruz said as he grabbed your forearm. He sanitized the underside of your bicep with an alcohol wipe. “First is the local anesthetic. Tiny pinch, but then you won’t feel a thing when we do the second one.” He positioned the syringe just below your muscle. “I’m gonna have you breathe in and out twice, and on the second exhale I’ll inject. You ready?”

“Yep.” You said, closing your eyes and calming your nerves.

“Alright. Breathe in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale.

“And in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale. Pinch. 

“Beautiful. Now, it’ll take about 30 seconds for the numbing to kick in. I’d advise that you keep your eyes closed while I prepare the vaccination. The needle size may frighten you.” 

“Sure thing.” You obliged, keeping your eyes closed and your arm out. You could hear the doctor rifling through his bag, unwrapping sterile equipment and popping containers open. It was hard to picture exactly what he was setting up, but you could tell he was done when he grabbed your forearm again. “Can you feel me touching you?” He asked. “Not where I’m holding you, I mean right here.” He poked your bicep again, not that you knew, of course.

“Where?” You asked. 

Dr. Cruz chuckled. “Okay, you’re numb. Now, same thing as the last one. I’m gonna have you take a deep breath twice before I stick you. Ready?”

“Yep.” You repeated.

“Breathe in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale.

“And in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale. You didn’t feel a pinch this time.

“Amazing. You can open your eyes.” As you did, you watched Dr. Cruz set the syringe on the coffee table and grab some gauze. He debriefed you as he wrapped it around your bicep. “The numbing will last for a few hours, so it’ll probably wear off in your sleep. You may bruise and be a bit sore tomorrow morning, and you can take the gauze off then as well. Try not to overwork the muscle for a day or two.” He taped the gauze to secure it, then patted you on your shoulder. “And you are good to go, my friend. I wish you all the best in your new position.”

You gave him a friendly smile. “Sounds good! Thanks so much!”

“No problem. I’d say see you around, but hopefully you won’t have to deal with me too much.” He laughed as he finished packing his bag. Once he was done, he grabbed it and turned over his shoulder to Lalo, “Y enviaré a usted la factura mañana. Me llame si él se molesta. (And I’ll send you the bill tomorrow. Call me if he has any problems.)”

“Claro. Gracias otra vez. (Of course. Thank you again.)” Lalo replied as he led the doctor outside, patting him on the back for a job well done. He shut the door, and finally, finally, he could focus on you, and he was chomping at the bit to get started.  “Alright! We’re good to go! Got the formalities out of the way, so now,” He sauntered over to you, swaying his hips as he walked. When he got to you, he snaked his hands behind your back and grabbed your ass. “Now, we can put you to work.”  You barely had time to react before he let you go, but not before giving you a playful spank. “Follow me, doggy.”

You squeaked at the literal pet name. Being ordered around by him felt better than you thought it would. This was going to be amazing. He led you up the stairs to his bedroom, though you were practically chasing him up with how excited you were. When you arrived, he closed the door behind you two. “Stay right here.” Lalo commanded. He walked over to the dresser and opened a fancy box that sat atop it. You heard the clinking of metal, and when he turned around, he was holding a black leather collar in one hand, and a chain leash in the other. You beamed at the sight of it. This is what you were here for. You couldn’t wait. You’d be such a good boy. Lalo knew that, but still, he had to ask. “You ready, puppy?”

“Yes, sir!” You responded cheerfully.

Lalo smiled and fastened the collar around your neck. His calloused fingers swept your hair out of the way; his hot breath billowing against your sensitive skin. It was intense. You could feel your thoughts fading away as you focused on getting into your new role; a cute, silly little puppy. You closed your eyes and let the warmth of his embrace dress you up. 

Lalo cupped your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering sweet nothings in his native tongue as he petted your hair and scratched behind your ears. “Oh, mi chico hermoso, eso es. Se veas perfecto con ese collar. Es como tú has nacido para ser mi perrito. Vas a ser un buen chico para mi, ¿verdad? ¿Vas a hacer lo que yo digo? Oh, sí, sí, buen chico. (Oh, my beautiful boy, that’s it. You look perfect in that collar. It’s like you were born to be my puppy. You’re gonna be a good boy for me, right? You’re gonna do what I say? Oh, yes, yes, good boy.) Such a good boy.”

Your head lulled from side to side, following his gentle touch. As he pulled back, your eyelids lifted up, and you saw his gorgeous face. Dark brown eyes half-lidded, his mouth curled into a smile. You were so happy to see him. You really did feel like a puppy, so bubbly and playful at the sight of their master. You gave him a goofy grin and said, “Hi…”, one of only a few words left in your brain.

“Hi, puppy.” Lalo cooed as he caressed your cheek. “You ready to get started for real?”

You nodded. You’d been ready for hours.

“Bueno.” Lalo hummed as he clipped the leash on your collar. Thus began the start of your first shift. You were working now. Henceforth, you were at his beck and call, his perfect little lapdog. “Now, I’m gonna teach you some tricks. I’ll say them in English and Spanish so you learn a bit. Okay?”

You giggled, already feeling hazy and obedient. “Okaaay…”

“Perfecto. Entonces… (Perfect. Now…)” Lalo backed off you to straighten his posture, and pulled the leash taut. “Siéntate. Sit.”

You dropped to your knees without a second thought and gave him a cherubic smile. If you had a tail, it’d definitely be wagging. You were anxious to make him proud of you.

“Good boy! So smart!” Lalo praised as he crouched down on one knee and held out his hand. “Dame la pata. Shake.”

You laid your hand in his and waited for your next command.

“Bueno. ¿Puedes hablar? Can you speak for me, boy?”

You could. Barely. “Yes, Don Eduardo.”

Lalo smirked and shook his head. “Oh, no no no. Not like that, mijo. Like a dog. Habla. Speak. Let me hear you bark, okay?”

You blushed, but you wanted to be a good boy. And good boys do as they’re told, no matter how embarrassing it may be. “Woof! Woof!”

Lalo couldn’t help but laugh. You were just so cute! “Oh, that’s perfect! Good boy!” He kissed your forehead again before standing up. He tugged the leash to get your attention. “Stand up. Levántate. Two legs.”

You rose to your feet and stood upright, hoping it wouldn’t be for too long. It was hard to act like a puppy when you were standing like a person.

Lalo could read your mind. His next command solved the problem you were thinking of. “All fours. Cuatro patas.”

You smiled and went down on your hands and knees for him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the leash. “Ven aquí. Come here.” 

You crawled over to him and knelt between his legs. Instinctively, you rested your hands on his thighs, before realizing he didn’t tell you to touch him. You started to pull away, but Lalo interrupted you.

“You can keep them there. That’s fine.” He traced his fingers from your collar up to your chin and tilted your face up to his. “You’re a real lapdog, aren’t you? You want your master to take care of you, right boy?”

You nodded.

Lalo tugged the leash and gave you a firm command. “Habla. Speak.”

“Woof!”

He snickered again. God, you were just perfect for this. “Oh, good boy. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.” He tapped his hand on the bed. “Arriba. Up. Up on the bed, and then get in my lap.”

You crawled onto the bed, the smile never breaking from your face as you sat in his lap. Lalo’s hands dragged down your back, mapping the curves of your hips. He took his time admiring his new pet. “You can use words now, puppy. ¿Quieres tu patrón que te haga sentir bien? (You want your master to make you feel good?)” 

You whimpered and nuzzled into his neck, trying to translate and then answer him in Spanish. “S-Sí, patrón… (Y-Yes, master…)”

Lalo’s hand made its way back up your spine, your breath shuddering as he traced his finger up. “Mírame. Look at me.” He took a handful of your hair and tugged your head off his shoulder. You let out a soft gasp and met his gaze. He was staring you down. Before, you’d felt calmed and nurtured by his attention. At this moment, you felt weak. Exposed. He was just so intimidating. He had you quite literally in the palm of his hand, right where he wanted you. He kept you waiting for longer than you would have liked, almost like he was sizing you up, trying to see when you’d break. Once your anxiety reached its peak, he pressed his lips against yours.

You sighed into the kiss and collapsed onto him, your arms slumping onto his shoulders, gripping his silk shirt. Lalo’s lips enveloped yours, his tongue pushing inside your mouth to swipe across your own. His teeth tugged your bottom lip. Since he was holding onto you by your hair, he slipped his hand through the loop of the leash and let it explore, groping your chest, your ass, your thighs, eventually letting his hand rest on your front between your legs, cupping you through your jeans. 

Even though you were the dog, you praised your master, “Oh, fuck, Lalo...”

Your master yanked your hair back and reprimanded you. “No, no. You’re working. What’s my name?”

Panting like the dog you were, you tried to parse the meaning of his question. When you got it, you said it. “Don Eduardo…”

Lalo confirmed your answer, “Good boy,” and took your lips back in his. He released his grip on your hair and moved to unbutton your shirt, unwrapping you like a gift with his name on it, “Oh, chico, you have no idea how much I missed this.” He placed an open mouth kiss on your neck, just above the collar, “I missed that tight little hole,” and on the other side, “Always so wet and needy for me,” and bit down enough to leave you with a glaring mark. 

You wanted to moan his name again, but hesitated. Lalo seemed to roll off the tongue more easily than Don Eduardo, especially when you lacked the brainpower to talk more than absolutely necessary. Thankfully, you recovered. “La-ah… oh, fuck, patrón…”

Lalo peeled your shirt off and let it fall to the floor. “Yeah?” He asked, biting on the other side of your neck. “You like that, puppy? Habla.”

This time, your bark wasn’t loud and confident. It was akin to the yip of an overstimulated Pomeranian. “W-Woof, woof…” you whimpered. 

“That’s it…” He pried himself from your neck and tugged the leash. “Date la vuelta. Roll over. On your back.” 

You scurried off his lap and onto the full expanse of the mattress, flopping onto your back with your knees propped up. It was much softer than the prison bed you two were on last time you did this. Lalo climbed over you and worked your pants off, then everything of his except his boxers. He pushed your legs apart and smiled at the visible wet spot in your underwear. 

“Aw, perrito, look at you! I got you all worked up, huh?” He was honestly one to talk, judging by the tent in his boxers, but you weren’t about to argue, especially when his face was mere inches away from your core. Lalo slid your underwear off and threw it over his shoulder. He laid down on his stomach and pushed your thighs up to your chest, revealing your weeping, aching hole. He bit his lip at the sight, and flicked his eyes up to yours. “It’s good to see you again.” He said before diving in headfirst.

You gasped as his tongue swiped up and down your cunt, lapping up as much of your wetness as he could. He pulled away to warm you up some more, leaving wet kisses and sharp bites on your squishy thighs. The teasing made you whine, though not as loudly as he’d like. He took your t-dick into his mouth and started to suck, which gave him the exact response he was looking for.

“Ah! F-Fuck! Fuck!” You cried as your hands scrambled for something to hold on to. One found the sheets, and the other his hair. Keeping him still, you bucked your hips up and started to fuck his mouth, whimpering pure nonsense the whole time. Just combinations of “please”, “fuck”, “more", and the cutest little sounds he’d heard in a while. 

Lalo let you have your fun. He even winked at you, which you interpreted as a signal for “Yeah, you like that?” He took one of his hands off your thighs and brought it down. You didn’t realize why, until you heard some soft grunting. You felt the mattress bounce, just a tiny bit, and strong vibrations against your cock. He was stroking himself, feverishly so, to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Lalo ripped his head up and gasped for air. “Dios mío… (My god…)” He laughed breathlessly before getting off the bed and tugging his boxers down. “I hate to rush this, but… I don’t think either of us can wait any longer.”

He was right, of course. You’d been waiting for this moment ever since you got out of prison. No bars, no guards, no spectators, no worries. Just him filling you up and fucking you into the rest of your life, a life of luck, luxury, and lust. He hopped back onto the bed and positioned himself in front of you. You held your legs open for him, making it easy for him to slide inside. He gripped the base of his cock, and looked into your eyes for approval. You nodded, and he pushed in.

The sensation of being full was too much for you to keep quiet. Reflexively, you moaned his name. “Oh! Lalo! La-ah!” Your praise for him was cut short by a slap across the face.

“No! Bad boy!” He tugged you up by the leash to face him. “I told you, you’re working. And what’s my name when you’re working?” He snarled.

You hastily corrected your mistake. “Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! I’m sorry, Don Eduardo!”

“Much better.” Lalo lessened his grip on the leash, allowing you enough slack to fall back against the pillow and hook your legs around his waist. He gave you a hard thrust, making sure he bottomed out inside you. Then another. And another, until he had a good rhythm going. His efforts earned him a slew of pathetic babbling from you.

“Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! Ah! Fuck…! Fuck me! Please!”

As much as he loved hearing you beg, he didn’t want you bossing him around. He was the master here, not you. You were his dog, his bitch. He lowered himself down, pressing his elbows into the mattress, and shut you up with a kiss. You hugged him tight, whining into his mouth as he rutted inside you. He pulled away and growled into your ear. “Eso es. Tómalo. Tómalo, puto. Eres mío. Eres mío y de nadie más. Perteneces a mí, y voy a follarte como la perra que eres. (That’s it. Take it. Take it, whore. You’re mine. You’re mine and no one else’s. You belong to me, and I’m gonna fuck you like the bitch you are.)

You couldn’t hear a word he was saying over your own cries and the obscene sounds your bodies made. He held you tight against him as he used your body like a toy. You couldn’t move or fight him off, not that you’d want to, but you were completely powerless, and in turn, he had complete power over you. From now on, at any time he wanted, he could clip a leash onto your collar and take you for himself. You’d spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, knowing that you could be stripped naked and fucked senseless at any moment. Exhilarating, thrilling, intoxicating, none of these words seemed to fully encapsulate what you were feeling.

You choked on his formal title as you pleaded for mercy, mercy that you didn’t expect to get. “D-Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! I’m gonna…! Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“Oh, already? Is that right?” Lalo sneered and slithered one of his hands in between you two. He gripped your dick and started to stroke it, knowing that was the key to making you break. “Do it then! C’mon, puppy! Be a good boy and cum for me!” 

You didn’t need him to tell you twice, or even once, for that matter. You orgasmed on his command, squirting hard enough to force his cock out of you. You sobbed into his shoulder, overwhelmed and overstimulated, clinging to him for support through it all. When it was over, you collapsed back against the bed, gasping for air and relief.

Lalo sat up for a moment, admiring how beautiful you looked when you were too pleasured to think: your face flushed, chest rising and falling, tongue hanging out of your mouth. You really were like a puppy, all tuckered out from playtime. It was adorable. 

You stared up at the ceiling as you basked in the afterglow of climax. It was like lying on the beach at sunset. The warmth of your body heat being cooled by the dots of sweat on your brow; the oxytocin flooding your brain like waves on the shore. Blissful. Peaceful. Serene.

Yet you had no vacation time left to use. You were called in to work by your master slamming his cock into you and bringing you back to reality. You yelped and stared up at him in shock as he pumped in and out of your abused hole.

“What?” He scoffed. “What did you expect, doggy? You’re not finished ‘til I finish.”

You weren’t sure how many times he made you cum that night, but the last thing you remember was dozing off with his seed spilling out of you.

–

You woke up the next morning in Lalo’s bed, alone. On his pillow, there was a note. You reached for it and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes to read it. It said: 

Good morning, puppy! Great job yesterday! Come to the kitchen when you’re awake and I’ll cook you breakfast. 

XOXO,

Lalo.

You smiled. He was so sweet. You folded the note and stretched to put it on the nightstand, but suddenly, you felt a jolt of pain in your bicep. Right, the tetanus shot. The numbing had worn off. Oh well, at least you could take the gauze off by now. You unwrapped your arm, and just as you suspected, there was a nasty bruise at the injection site. Going against better judgment, you pressed down on the mark. Something you felt shocked you enough to recoil, not the tender bruise itself, but rather the foreign object implanted underneath it.

That’s when it hit you. 

When Lalo said you were gonna be his dog, he meant it. You were to be collared and at his beck and call 24/7, and in return he’d give you food, water, a place to live, companionship, everything a responsible dog owner should provide.

And what else do responsible owners do for their dogs?

They microchip them so they can’t run away.

#bcs #bcs x reader #better call saul #better call saul x reader #better call saul smut #better call saul imagine #better call saul headcanons #better call saul hcs #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca x reader #lalo salamanca imagine #lalo salamanca smut #lalo salamanca headcanons #lalo salamanca hcs #ftm reader #ftm puppy #lalo salamanca x ftm reader #perrito

[megamegan213]

Due to a cold related delay, chapter 5 of A Needle and Thread is a little late but live! Enjoy!

#hazbin hotel #the webs we weave #alastor x reader #just another fanfic author megamegan213 #secrets and silk #ao3 fanfic #hazbin hotel alastor #megamegan213 #ao3 link #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin hotel vox

[the-kr8tor]

Thread The Needle

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 48.6k (complete)

Synopsis: You've been pining for your best friend of ten years, unbeknownst to you he's also hopelessly in love with you. Will your final college project bring you closer and finally admit your feelings? Or will it drive a wedge between you?

Tags: Best friend! Hobie, fashion student! reader, fem! Reader. Best friends to lovers, idiots in love, lots of pining, is it still slow burn if they're already in love? Hurt/comfort, FLUFF. Specific warnings are listed per chapter.

Disclaimer: I have no experience in fashion design or went to school for it. I've based my knowledge on my own research and what I've seen in various media.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

All images used are from pinterest

Main Masterlist

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 - Pin my heart

CHAPTER 2- Loose thread

CHAPTER 3- Knee Socks

CHAPTER 4- Threadbare

CHAPTER 5- Woven Wheel

CHAPTER 6- Lace

CHAPTER 7- Crossed Stitch

CHAPTER 8- Out of Style

CHAPTER 9- Threaded Through

CHAPTER 10- Parallel Cut

EPILOGUE

TTN one shots (Spoiler Warning ⚠️)

Classroom inspo

Chapter 8 outfit inspos

TTN secrets (Spoiler Warning ⚠️)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Submitted by the readers ❤️

Chapter 8 fanart by @thesevenofstaves

TTN Memes by @hunx147 (Spoiler Warning ⚠️)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

Songs recommended by readers to listen to while reading ❤️

Spotify playlist

From the start by Laufey, Chemtrails over the country club by Lana Del Rey, good old fashioned lover boy by Queen, Just a friend to you by Meghan Trainor, I bet on losing dogs by Mitski, Everything in you by adventure time, What a wonderful world cover by the Brooklyn duo, me and your mama by Childish Gambino, A thousand years by Cristina Perry, Tis the damn season by Taylor Swift, thousand years cover by new found glory, Outset island by Hot freaks, Lacy by Olivia Rodrigo.

#thread the needle #thread the needle masterlist #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #fanfic #first series letss goooo #series masterlist #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 7

Hello! It's Tuesday and that means more Steve and Eddie. And it's looking like the story will end in chapter 12. It might take one more than that, but it's definitely almost done.

So what will that mean? Well, I'll start working on working on another story to bring it back up to two, but will still only work on the others on WIP Wednesday because I'm trying to get down the amount of WIPs I have running. I have far too many.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Day two of the Fair. Will sees Steve and Steve reveals a little trick. And Steve has to be stern mom again.

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @itsall-taken

****

Steve picked up his usual set and went to the Renaissance Fair. This time they were the first to arrive and they stood there waiting for the rest of them to show up.

He had left the spirit gum with Mrs Sinclair and she was able to do an even better job then he had yesterday putting the ears back on.

The bow and quiver had been left behind today because sadly the poor bow had been a mangled, tangled mess by the time they left the fair yesterday.

Max and Robin’s cutlasses had fared better because they never left their sides, but even slung over Lucas’s shoulder, the poor aluminum just couldn’t bare the brunt of the crowds. And today was going to be even busier.

Steve looked at his watch and then back at the growing crowd waiting in line.

He tapped his foot nervously when he saw the familiar van pull into the lot. And the merry band of fellows hopped out, wearing the outfits they had yesterday. The ones that made Steve green with envy on how well they were put together.

It was like they had just walked off the set of a Hollywood movie.

He was good with a needle and thread, but whoever made their costumes should be making money off it, they were that talented.

Jeff came around to the other side of the van where Steve could see him and his ears looked great too.

“Looking good, Lawrence,” Steve whistled. “The ears are vastly improved.”

Jeff bowed dramatically. “Why thank you, my liege! I had my sister help me pick out the right color and type I needed and then I did it myself.”

Gareth snorted. “After practicing all night.”

Brian elbowed their youngest member. “It’s just like trying to get a beat right, you have to practice. Don’t give him shit for that.”

Gareth grumbled, but muttered a half-hearted apology to Jeff. The older teen just grinned at his friend.

Which after how crazy yesterday was, Steve wasn’t looking forward to a repeat if Jeff took offense to Gareth’s comment.

Eddie had been unusually quiet during this conversation, so while they milled around waiting for the remaining third of their group, Steve came up to him.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, leaning down and forward to get a better look at the metalhead.

Eddie pursed his lips, but he nodded.

“You know, I have been dying to ask...”

Eddie smiled softly. “Who’s my tailor?”

Steve cackled. “Yeah, that. God, I would gleefully sacrifice one of the teenagers for the material alone, let alone the thread.”

“Which one?” Eddie asked, coming a little bit more out of his shell.

Steve reared back his head. “What?”

“Which one of the teenagers you would sacrifice?” Eddie asked again.

“Dustin,” Steve said without hesitation. “I figure virgin,” he counted on his fingers, “check, most annoying, check, and the one who would be the biggest... ‘value’ as it were, double check.”

Eddie laughed outright. “You don’t have to sacrifice any of them. Brian’s sister works at a big theater, the kind that do plays, as their costumer.”

Steve sighed and rubbed a bit of the black velvet between his thumb and forefinger. “You guys are so lucky.”

Eddie laughed again. “Trust me, even Bri had to pay for the privilege.”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “Oh?”

“Yup!” Eddie said, rocking back on his heels. “We had to pay for all the material and patterns ourselves, plus at least twenty-five percent of labor. These duds may be pretty, but lo they be also pricey.”

“Well, it was certainly worth it,” Steve murmured. “You guys look fantastic.”

Eddie’s cheeks colored a pretty pink. “Thanks. Um...mine is actually based on a character from a short story. Brian’s mom is Polish, but she loves sc-fi and fantasy so she gets this magazine, right?” Steve nodded. “So, anyway she’ll translate into English for Brian to read. It’s about this male witch and he has this minstrel friend named Jeskier...” he pronounced it strange, like yes-keer. “I’m probably pronouncing it wrong. But he’s so cool.”

“So you’re this minstrel guy?” Steve asked, suddenly understanding.

Eddie hummed excitedly. “Brian even went as one of the male witches. Not the main one though. But it’s still fun, you know?”

Steve smiled back. “Yeah. I never would have thought about going as a specific character before. Maybe we can plan something for next year.”

Whatever cloud leftover that was lingering over Eddie vanished in the light of Steve’s bright smile.

Eddie bumped his shoulder into Steve’s. “What’s on the docket today, pretty boy?”

Steve blushed bright red, but before he could answer, Claudia’s station wagon pulled up next to them. The four kids piled out, happily chatting and laughing. Well all but Mike.

Mike had always been a reserved kid, but as he got older, the more withdrawn he seemed to get. Will seemed to do the opposite. The kid was really coming out of his shell and into himself. And maybe that was the reason for Mike’s shrinking back.

Steve just shook his head and turned to Will. “Still no Jonathan?” he teased.

Will rolled his eyes. “He said and I quote ‘I’ll see about maybe Saturday’.”

Steve winced. He couldn’t make Jonathan come, but he could see how much Jonathan coming would mean so much to Will and it made his heart hurt just a little.

“Can’t force someone to have fun,” he said with a shrug. “It really is his loss.”

Will nodded sagely, like the mature person he was forced to become far too soon. “But! He did give me the ten dollars I needed for the staff to make up for it.”

Steve smiled. All right, maybe Steve didn’t have to stop by and give the elder Byers boy a piece of his mind.

He turned to Eddie. “Hey, you want to traverse the fields of commerce with me and Will to go get his staff?”

Eddie grinned. “Hell yeah! I didn’t get to go yesterday.”

Will grinned back. He turned to El and Mike. “You going to come with me. right?”

Mike shook his head. “El wanted to see the weavers this morning, but no one else wanted to go with her and with Steve’s dumb rule...”

“It’s not dumb,” Steve said. “Just because the Upside Down is gone, doesn’t mean there aren’t things that can hurt you.”

“We’re fifteen,” Mike protested. “I think that’s old enough to go by ourselves.”

Steve looked around at the other kids and they were all looking everywhere but at him. “May I remind you that we are literally standing on the ground where human monsters were trying to open a gate? Bad guys come in all shapes and sizes and even if you think you’re safe, is El? Or Will?”

The kids looked down at their feet and mumbled their apologies.

“I just want everyone safe and having a good time,” Steve finished. “You guys can do whatever you want, but do you know who your parents would blame if something happened to you?”

Dustin raised his head sharply. “But there are other adults here, why would they blame you?”

Steve barked out a bitter laugh. “Because I’m the fucking babysitter.” He walked off to get in line and everyone just followed behind quietly, suddenly somber.

Robin fell in step next to Steve and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Hey, dingus.”

Steve just ducked his head.

“It’s just a tricky age. You remember what it was like at their age,” she murmured.

“I was getting drunk every weekend, smoking, and having sex,” Steve grumbled. “I don’t want that for them.”

Robin kissed his cheek. “You’re sweet. But they’re going to have to figure it out on their own.”

Steve’s shoulders rounded. “I just want to them to have fun and we keep having knock out drag out fights before we go in and I–” he left out a deep sigh.

“You can’t be held responsible for what they do,” she said.

He snorted. “Tell that to Joyce or Claudia. Just because I’m the oldest.”

She hugged him tightly. “You’re not anymore and you know Eddie would do anything for those kids, too. Plus, this is exactly why you told them to find any adult. Let all of us help shoulder the load, too.”

Steve let out a low shuddering breath. “I’ll try. I just keep butting heads with Mike. Always Mike. And I don’t know what to do, he’s just so prickly and even outright hostile.”

“So don’t do anything,” Robin suggested.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Let Eddie handle it,” she said. “He did a fine job yesterday. So let him do it again.”

Steve pressed his lips together and then nodded. “Okay.”

She kissed his cheek again and went back to talk to Eddie. Steve paid again for the tickets. Well, not all of them. Thankfully Eddie and his friends were paying their own way.

He turned to Will. “You ready to go get your staff?” He smiled broadly to hide the hurt of Mike’s rebellion.

Will smiled back. “Hell yeah!”

Eddie came bounding up to them. “I’ll meet you at the shop, there’s something I need to do really quick about tomorrow. They’ve messed up the schedule and me and Jeff have to go see someone about it.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, just ask Jeff where the shop is, he should remember which one.”

Eddie smiled again. “You betcha, big boy.” He flounced back to Jeff and Steve watched him walk away.

When he turned back to Will, the young man was looking at him with curiosity.

“What’s up?”

Will furrowed his brows. “I’m trying to decide if you know about...” he pursed his lips trying to find a way to say what he meant without outing Steve in public. “What you feel about a certain someone?”

Steve looked back at where Eddie had melted into the crowd and then back at this all too perceptive boy. He put his arm around Will and started them walking toward the shop.

“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking,” Steve started slowly, “I’ve known I like both for awhile now. It was just easier to focus on the one. The one that was socially acceptable, you know?”

Will nodded. “I can see that. And then he came barreling into our lives and a good kind of upside down happened?”

Steve smiled fondly. “Yeah. He is so sweet. He’s everything I thought I wanted in Nancy.”

Will grinned. “You do have a type.”

He scuffed Will’s hair a bit. “Yeah, yeah.”

They walked in silence for awhile before Steve spoke up again.

“I feel I should give you a heads up before we get to the shop,” he said with a wince.

Will looked over at him in confusion.

“I may have talked the merchant in to holding it for you by giving them a ten dollar deposit to hold it.”

Will’s jaw dropped. “You can do that?”

Steve laughed. “No, not really. By I can be persuasive and he was willing to do me the favor.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Will murmured. “You’ve done so much for us, I think we take you for granted sometimes.”

Steve half shrugged. “My parents suck and while some of you have actually decent parents and older siblings, I don’t mind being the babysitter the one you guys look up to and come to for advice.”

Will smiled. “Any tips on how to tell your best friend you have a crush on them?”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “Look, the one time I did that I was drugged up on truth serum and literally couldn’t lie. I don’t think that’s going to help you.”

“Too bad Robin bats for the other team,” he said with a smile.

Steve smiled back. “Nah, I think her telling me that is what made it easier for me to realize that having those feelings can’t make you a bad person. Not when she was so amazing.”

Will cocked his head to the side. “That’s fair.”

“Come on you,” Steve said, “let’s go get you this wizard staff.”

Will stopped in his tracks. “You said it right. You never say the DnD terms right.”

Steve raised a finger up to his lips and winked. “I do it because it drives Dustin up the wall and Eddie just loves explaining it to me, so I kill two birds with one stone.”

Will laughed. “Yeah, okay.”

As they wove their way through the crowd, Will smiled to himself. Steve and Eddie both liked boys, knew they liked boys, and were still unapologetically themselves. And maybe he could be too.

But first, he was going to get that wicked staff he saw yesterday because he had two brothers looking out for him. His biological one and Steve. Someone who cared so deeply that even when he should have walked away, he stayed.

And Will always could use more people that just...stayed.

****

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

For those that don't know "The Witcher" was an original short story in a Polish sci-fi/magazine in 1985. I couldn't figure out if Jeskier was in the original tale, so shush if he isn't.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss @croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv @dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #steve is a history nerd

[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

[rorywritesjunk]

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. There’s 3 new characters thrown in because why not? Future Wife gets a name as well! A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be. I just started on the 4th chapter but I’m excited to write it out! I had fun with the original fic and decided to write the prequel to how they met. Enjoy!

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 4

The girls refused to speak to you because of how you defended Buggy. They still thought he was rude and didn’t like him, and they didn’t understand why you’d defend him. They were also mad because not only did they have to clean the kitchen twice that night, but Miss Pins had them sort fabric scraps by color before organizing all the threads the same way over the last few weeks. The final act of punishment was organizing all the pins and needles by length and gauge. 

They didn’t think it was fair. 

Had you been in charge you would have dismissed them from their apprenticeships entirely. 

Yes, Buggy was loud, had been rude each visit to you and Miss Pins but he was a pirate and all the shop’s customers were pirates. A lot of them were rude to you and Miss Pins, some even threatening, but he was also becoming a repeat customer and overpaid you each time, and when you brought it to the attention of Miss Pins, she let you keep the extra amount because you took on helping him. 

Honestly, and you didn’t want to admit it to your boss just yet, but you liked Buggy. So far he hadn’t tried to flirt with you, act inappropriately, or threaten you. Countless others had since the day you started as an apprentice. Miss Pins was protective of her girls, having no problem pointing a gun at any pirate creeps should they make her apprentices uncomfortable. Buggy was loud, demanding, but he wasn’t a creep.

It had been a month since you last saw Buggy and you figured that you weren’t going to see him again. Why would he return to the shop after what the girls had said? You felt bad about it and wished you could have talked with him a bit more, but he took off so fast that you didn’t get a chance to. 

You still had his socks that you fixed for him and even secured him an extra pair. Maybe he’d stop by to pick them up? You weren’t going to hold out a lot of hope. No doubt he would be on his ship, sailing for treasure or adventure, forgetting about the incident a month ago. 

Hopefully.

The shop was closed for the evening but you were still working when you saw him again. You wanted to get extra work done before taking a few days for yourself to celebrate your birthday. The girls originally wanted to do something with you but now that they weren’t talking to you, you got to do whatever you wanted. 

You were going to go to a nearby lake and feed the ducks while enjoying a packed lunch. 

The pounding at the door startled you. You grabbed a broom to protect yourself as you approached it and looked through the peephole. You saw the bright red nose and immediately relaxed as you opened the door, smiling at him as he stood on the doorstep.

“We’re closed, you know.” You told him teasingly. “We’re not a clinic where you can stop by whenever you need me to fix something.”

He looked flustered as he tried to think of a response, but you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the shop, closing the door behind him as you headed back to your work. He followed after you, looking around at the different bolts of fabric on shelves, the trays of thread, and several dresses that hung on a rack behind the counter. You took a seat and gestured to the other chair as you picked your sewing back up.

“You left your socks, you know.” You said as you passed the needle through the fabric. You were finishing up another dress for a customer, attaching the bodice and skirt together with piping along where the two pieces met. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back for them.”

Buggy sat down and crossed his arms, turning his attention to what you were doing. Your fingers were careful as you worked, your fingernails guiding along the piping to keep it in place as you sewed. He didn’t think you actually made things, just repaired them, so he watched you for a moment before responding.

“I had other socks.” He mumbled as you removed a pin and stuck it into your little pin cushion. “I… was going to come back.” He glanced up at your face, seeing the look of concentration, and looked back down at your work. “Why are you up so late?”

“Why are you at the shop late?” You countered as you stuck a pin in your mouth before repositioning the fabric. He hesitated and looked away. “Surely not for your socks, Buggy.”

“I… was out on a walk.” He replied as he clenched his jaw. “And I saw the light on and thought maybe you were being robbed.”

You took the pin out of your mouth and stuck it back through the layers of fabric. “And you knocked so kindly.”

“I don’t have-”

He stopped himself and took a deep breath, trying not to overreact. You were just teasing him, trying to rile him up, but there was no malice in your voice. He looked back at you and saw you were smiling at him and his heart skipped a beat and his face was warm. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“I just wanted to stop by and… say hi. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Well, hello and good evening then.” You chuckled. “What would you have done if Miss Pins answered the door with her shotgun?”

“I’m not scared of her!” Buggy shot back. You looked over his shoulder and grinned.

“Good evening, boss.” 

Buggy spun around, eyes wide, but you laughed. There was no one there. Oh, you were cruel. He turned back around and glared at you. You were still laughing as you set your sewing down. Buggy huffed and looked away from you with a glare on his face. 

“Sorry, sorry.” You giggled as you wiped the tears from your eyes. “As for your question about why I’m up so late… My birthday is in two days so I want to get as much work done as possible so I can relax.”

“Oh, birthday?” He repeated. Girls liked getting gifts. Should he get you a gift? Why would he get you one? He looked back at you as you picked your sewing back up now that you had calmed down from laughing. What kind of gift would he get you if he was to get you something? He was a pirate, he could go find some treasure and give half to you, but would that be weird? Why was he even considering that?

“Mhm.” You nodded. “I’m going to go feed and watch the ducks and have lunch.”

“Ducks?” Buggy laughed. Ducks were not exciting, but if you liked them, he would take you all around to show you all the ducks in the world if you wanted. “Just duck watching, that’s it?”

“Yea.” You frowned when he laughed. It wasn’t really anything to laugh about. You didn’t need to do something exciting to enjoy yourself, just sitting and taking it easy was enough. “It’s something I like to do, Buggy.”

“It’s your birthday, though! You should be going out and doing something fun!” He said. “Drinking, having a party, something like that! Go on a raid or something!”

“I’m not a pirate, Buggy.” You reminded him as you looked back at your sewing. “I’d rather do something quiet.”

He leaned back in his seat and watched you with a frown. You lived in a town frequented by pirates, you had to be used to what they got up to, so why would you want to do something as boring as watching ducks? Maybe you were just never given the opportunity to do something fun. Buggy would change that.

“How about we-”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence because he saw you look up, eyes widening at something behind him. He wasn’t going to fall for that again so he rolled his eyes. “The old hag’s not there, so don’t try and trick me again.”

THWACK

“Get the hell out of my shop!” Miss Pins barked as she raised the broom up again. “Do you realize how late it is?!” 

Buggy fell out of the chair and dodged the blows from her broom. He almost made it to the door before she threw it at his feet, tripping him up as he scrambled. She stormed over to him and grabbed the door, pulling it open before pointing out. 

“It’s too late for you to be coming around!” She snapped as he hurried out the door, but not before he looked back at you for a split second. You were still in your chair, looking rather amused by the whole exchange. At least you weren’t frowning at him anymore. Maybe he could sneak back around for your birthday. He just needed to find out where the ducks would be.

Miss Pins slammed the door behind him before rounding on you. “Stop encouraging him!” 

“I haven’t done anything!” You exclaimed. “I’m just being nice to him!”

“That’s encouraging him! I don’t need another lovesick pirate after you, Sunny! He’s as bad as the last one!” Miss Pins snapped. “I can’t keep chasing these pirates off!”

“He’s not like the last one!” You shot back. “And he’s not lovesick, he just needs a friend, Miss Pins. It’s not like he’s asking me to marry him every time he sees me!”

Your boss glared at you as she locked the door and picked up the broom. The last one wasn’t like that until the fifth visit, where he had demanded you to marry him while you were fixing his coat. You were only 19, the man was almost ten years your senior and if your boss hadn’t been there, who knows where you would have ended up. She wasn’t going to lose you then to that man and she wasn’t about to lose you to some nobody pirate. 

“He’s not welcome here anymore.” Miss Pins told you. “And next time you see him you tell him that.”

She left after that, returning upstairs without another word, leaving you alone to think about what she said.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

[idontknowreallywhy]

Contents post for Recrudesence & Estera

(Nothing to see here, just to avoid copying all the hyperlinks at the start of each chapter as that is getting cumbersome! Now I can just update this one!)

RECRUDESENCE by @sofasurf

[AO3]

1. The Beginning 2. Focus

3. Realisation 4. The Past

5. Flashes 6. Walking

7. Things Unseen 8. Words

9. Out of Depth 10. Thunderbird

11. Breaking 12. Burning

13. Drastic Measures 14. Coming Back

15. Handle With Care 16. Virgil Struggles

17. John 18. Nightmares&Needles

19. Morning 20. New Alliances

21. Patricia 22. Healing

Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness

ESTERA by @idontknowreallywhy and @sofasurf

[AO3]

1. Colour 2. Dinosaur

3. Shoes 4. Thunderbird

5. Lesson 6. Safe

7. Gull 8. Deliver

9. Coffee 10. Flight

11. Run 12. Fall

13. Trying 14. Hide

15. Wait 16. Distraction

17. Haunted 18. Falling

19. Calling 20. Thread

21. Consult 22. Assist

23. Jump 24. Drive

25. Cracks 26. Meet

27. Yarn 28. Routine

29. Bez 30. Introduce

31. Stories 32. Trust

33. Questions 33. Questions epilogue

34. Anniversary

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tb Estera #index post only please ignore #Estera #Scott Tracy #Tw: ptsd #bereznik aftermath #Tw: war #Recrudesence #sofasurf fiction #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #Scott has malaria #hurt/comfort #Actually quite fluffy despite all of the above