#why is my dash full of furry ears

[mimsynims]

Fool For Love

part 1

~~~

Author’s Note: I have barely been writing anything (I usually write for the Good Omens fandom) since I started playing BG3, but then a few days ago I felt compelled to start on *something* for this fandom that has completely taken over my mind. I usually post on AO3 but for some reason I wanted to post a first teaser-chapter here on Tumblr.

So here it is, my first (unbeta’d) venture into the BG3 fandom. I have no idea where this is going except that the endgame is a happy ending for Tav and Astarion.

~~~

Astarion x reader/Tav

Tags: (Mild?) angst, pining, pining while fucking

Summary: You thought knew what you were doing when you let Astarion into your bed. He doesn’t have feelings for you, and vice versa. Only… Now you do.

~~~

You watch him laugh as Shadowheart leans closer to whisper something in his ear, and the unwarranted jealousy that has your chest aching leaves a sour taste in your mouth. He may be sharing your bed now and then, but you have no right to him. For all you know, he might be spending his other nights with each and everyone in your camp. And that is his prerogative; pretty words aside, Astarion has never promised you anything other than fantastic sex.

A bitter smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You are sure he thinks he has you wrapped around his finger. That he has convinced you that this means more to him than it actually does. The sigh leaves your lips before you can stop it, but it doesn’t really matter, because none of the others hear you, too busy listening to Gale regaling another story about his ex.

Annoyed with yourself you rise, an excuse prepared on your tongue in case anyone questions your departure from the merriment. The lie remains unspoken and you’re relieved when you can slink into the shadows unnoticed. Relieved, but also perhaps a bit sad. It’s funny, you’ve spent most of your life aiming for anonymity, to stay under the radar. The unexpected friendships you’ve made since the kidnapping has unravelled all of that. Have made you aware of the dark and empty space in your heart you’ve successfully ignored until now.

Except it isn’t empty anymore.

It happened gradually, and without your permission. A dashing pale rogue stealing your affection when you weren’t looking. Because yes, while you know that his only reason for talking his way into your bed was manipulation, he has unintentionally shown you glints of his real self during your time together. He’s a complicated mess, just like yourself, and you love him. Love everything about him, even though it hurts.

So maybe he has you wrapped around his finger after all, because if you had any sense, you would end this thing between you. You should, but you are a selfish being. One day Astarion will realise that he doesn’t need to use sex to feel safe with you, but until that day comes, you will greedily accept every scrap of attention he gives you.

“Pathetic.”

“Talking to yourself, darling? Or have you made another furry friend when I wasn’t looking?” Astarion gracefully — why is that even when he’s pleasantly drunk, the elf manages to appear graceful? — sits down next to you in the grass. “You already have three of them in the camp, surely that’s enough?”

“Three?” You try to gather your thoughts, but it’s difficult when he is this close to you. “Scratch, the owlbear cub, and…?”

“Halsin, of course.”

“Of course,” you repeat dumbly. True, the druid was in his bear form when you first met, but something in Astarion’s demeanour makes you suspect that that isn’t what he meant. Images of Astarion undressing Halsin floods your mind. Halsin is a handsome and powerful man, so it would make sense for Astarion to seduce him too. Just like he had with you.

“Why are we sitting here, by the way?” Astarion shifts to lean on one hand, his face tilted back to take in the full moon. “Wanted a more romantic setting than your tent this time, darling?”

Oh. So you are the chosen one for the night. You were certain it would be Shadowheart, considering.

“Are you alright, Tav?”

For a moment you let yourself believe that the hesitation you hear in his voice is founded on genuine concern. That he truly cares beyond the deep-seated need for self-preservation ingrained in him. But the illusion can only last so long. You know enough of his history not to hold his actions against him, but right now you’re not in a headspace to pretend that everything is fine. And yet, you try.

“Of course I am.” You hold back a flinch when you hear the acid lacing your words like a toxin. It gives too much away, so you do the only thing you can think of. Your hands are already grabbing fabric before you have finished your thought, pulling him closer before he has time to examine your statement too closely. Before he can figure out your lie.

The night air is cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the hot mouth claiming yours. You might regret it tomorrow, but right now, this is exactly what you need. In Astarion’s arms, you can forget everything but him and what he gives you. Around other people he can seem petty and cruel, but when he’s with you like this… this is different.

Or least that’s what you tell yourself. You cling to the illusion that this is special, and you succeed — until you feel yourself leaning your head to the side, offering your neck.

Astarion doesn’t ask it of you, he never does. It’s always you that wordlessly gives him what you believe is what he truly wants.

And this time it reminds you that deep down, this is just a transactional act for Astarion. Nothing else. He doesn’t care about you, not really.

After you’re both sated, you drift off to sleep without meaning to. It has been a taxing day, both physically and mentally, and the last thing you see is Astarion looking down at you with an indiscernible expression in his red eyes. Almost as if you’re a puzzle he can’t figure out. Except that doesn’t make any sense, because to you it feels like he saw right through you the first time you met.

Some time later, you’re vaguely aware of strong arms lifting you from the damp grass. You must’ve made some noise, because you feel a warm breath against your ear.

“Hush, my darling, you don’t want the others to wake up.”

Exhaustion drags you back under, and when you next wake up, you’re in your tent. Alone.

~~~

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 fic #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #fic wip #astarion ancunin #help im obsessed #I came for the bear but I stayed for the vampire

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Meeting The Real You (Chapter 10)

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9

word count: 28,732

___________________________

meet me on the 15th floor 😘

Peter’s heart did a somersault when the text message popped up on his phone. He flew to his feet, gunning instantly for the elevator, pulse hammering in his ears. He’d been pacing the halls of Avengers Tower since he’d returned home from feeding Marshmallow, checking the news and scratching his bandages and tinkering with his web-shooters—anxiously awaiting any proof of life from the Human Torch. Even though he’d hung around the fundraiser long after Wilson Fisk had left, watching Johnny and the massive figure have it out from his hiding spot in a nearby tree, cortisol pumping hot through his veins, he was still terrified that Fisk might go after him once the event was over and there were fewer witnesses around. It didn’t help that Peter had put his number into Johnny’s phone, but Johnny hadn’t given him his. He had no way of contacting the hotheaded celebrity to make sure he was okay—until now, anyway. 

Every second felt like an hour as the elevator descended towards the bottom half of the tower. When he finally reached the 15th floor, Peter dashed out of the sliding doors into the empty room, eyes searching frantically for his friend’s familiar shape.

“Johnny?” Peter called, muscles coiled, head on a swivel. “Where are you? Are you in here? Are you all right?”

A strange little squeak noise came from behind the sofa in front of him. Peter frowned, creeping forward cautiously, ready for anything.

A moment later, five little fuzz balls came stampeding around the sectional, scampering straight for him, tiny paws slipping all over the hardwood. Peter stiffened in surprise as a bundle of wet tongues and wiggling tails surrounded him on every side, whimpering and barking and jumping on his shins. 

“What the—?” he stammered, glancing between the five puppies in disbelief. It only took about three more seconds for him to stop caring what the hell was going on or what they were doing here and start gushing with endearment. 

“Oh my goodness!” Peter exclaimed in delight. “Look at you guys! Oh my god! You’re so cute!” He knelt down to their level, trying to pet all their bouncing little heads at once as they licked and nibbled at his fingers. Peter giggled brightly, sitting all the way onto the floor as the pups dog-piled into his lap, squirming and whimpering and showering him in sticky kisses.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” Peter asked, scooping one of the puppies up and pressing its nose against his. “Where did you guys come from?” The tiny pit bull pawed at his mask in reply, teething his nose through the fabric, making Peter laugh like—well, a boy covered in puppies. He made the terrible mistake of fully laying on the ground, which activated some feisty little instinct in the pups to all swarm straight to his face. They ambushed him with playful nibbles and slobbery tongues, transforming Peter’s giggles into all-out belly laughs. 

“Wahait!” he cackled. Wet noses nuzzled his neck while baby teeth chewed on his ears. A couple of the puppies hopped onto his chest to get better access to his face, tiny tails swishing like windshield wipers. The masked hero squealed and squirmed, attempting to shield himself with his hands as giggles poured out of him nonstop. 

“I’m being attahacked! Oh my god! Merhercy!” He was about to die of laughter beneath a furry avalanche of puppies, and he still didn’t even know how they’d all gotten here. As he gathered three of the five dogs into his arms and peppered their heads with kisses, a figure rose from behind the sofa, making Spidey glance up with a sharp intake of air. 

“Why did I know that was exactly how you’d react to a room full of puppies with no explanation?” the Human Torch chuckled amusedly. 

“Johnny!” Peter cried in relief. “You’re okay!”

Johnny cocked his head to the side. “Uh…yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter stood with one puppy tucked under each arm while the others jumped around his feet. “Wilson Fisk showed up at your event. I, uh—saw it on Twitter. I thought he might try to get back at you after what you said about him.”

Johnny winced. “Oh. Right.” He scratched at his chin and crossed his arms, a hard look overtaking his face. “He was angry for sure, but no, he didn’t try anything. He’s certainly one scheming, slimy, son of a bitch with more money than god. He asked me to endorse him as mayor, which I immediately declined, and practically popped a hemorrhoid when I told him you and I were friends.”

Peter grimaced. “I don’t think you should’ve done that.”

Johnny yawned and shrugged. “Why not? He was gonna find out we’re friends anyway—if he didn’t already know from all the posts and public statements I’ve made about you.” One of the puppies scurried from Peter’s legs to Johnny’s, and the Human Torch scooped the little rascal off the ground to cradle like a baby. 

“Maybe advertising our friendship to the world isn’t the best idea at the moment,” Peter said gingerly. A smile reclaimed his features as he watched the pup in Johnny’s arms nip at his fingers while he scratched its belly. Peter placed the two sleepy pups he was holding back on the floor and snatched up the one currently gnawing on his ankle, bundling it against his chest and stroking his fingers through its baby-soft fur. “Where’d you get these cuties, anyway? And why are they here at the tower?”

Johnny shook his finger around as the puppy chewed it like a squeaker toy. “One of the animal shelters our donations from today are going to asked if we could help them get some puppies adopted since they're currently at capacity. I figured if we did some posts of us with the dogs, people would be tripping over themselves to take them home.” He smiled at him, pure sunshine stretching from ear to ear. “I also thought it’d make for a great new Spidey video. It’s really hard to see someone who turns into a giggly, baby-talking goofball the moment puppies are involved as a menace.” Johnny nodded towards the couch where a phone was propped up against the cushion, lips curling into a smirk. 

Peter reddened shyly, petting the dog behind its ears. “It might be best if we put the Spidey PR videos on pause for now. If Fisk is really angry with you—”

“Dude—fuck Fisk. Fuck anyone who has a problem with me using my platform how I want. I promised I was gonna help you fix your public image, and that’s exactly what I plan to do, dickhead bald guys and pissy older siblings be damned.” 

Peter hinted a grin despite the anxious pinch in his gut. “We just need to be careful. Any Fisk-busting activities from here on out need to stay under the radar. Let’s not post anything else that has anything to do with him on any of your socials again. Okay?”

Johnny plucked his phone off the sofa. “Duh. That was my plan already. All I’m interested in posting now is this adorable video of you drowning in a puppy mosh pit.” The sound of Peter’s laughter spilled from the device as Johnny watched the recording back, making the young hero flush with embarrassment. He replayed it again and again, snickering delightedly at Spider-Man’s childish reaction to the dogs, deep frying Peter’s skin from the inside out. 

“Oh god,” Peter chuckled miserably. “Do you have to? I wouldn’t have acted so ridiculous if I knew you were filming me.”

“Exactly!” Johnny countered, tapping at the screen. “This right here is the real Spider-Man: uncensored, unscripted, and unequivocally cute as fuck. This is what the world is missing right now! Content of Spidey just being Spidey. Not whatever blurry, doctored images the Bugle has decided to run with this week alongside a headline straight out of an Onion article.”

“Couldn’t we go with something a little more…superhero-y?” Peter suggested. “What you captured was more of a me-me moment, not a Spider-Man moment. I think your fans would prefer something with a bit more action and excitement. Maybe you could film me—I don’t know—running through the alien invasion battle simulator? Hurling you as far as I can off the roof?”

Johnny arched an eyebrow. “Newsflash, dumbass—you and Spider-Man are the same person. Any ‘you’ moment is, by default, a Spidey moment. Also, between the two of us, remind me again who’s managed to win the hearts of millions upon millions of fans?”

Peter sighed. “You…”

“And who’s currently not allowed to do any strenuous activity?”

“Uh…me?”

“Right. And who agreed to let me take care of all their PR problems, no questions asked?”

“I do not remember agreeing to that.”

“Sure you did! And who had well over seventy people come up to him at today’s event telling him how much they appreciated his positive Spidey content?”

Peter hesitated a moment, then held up his free hand in submission. “All right, I get it. You’re the wise, all-knowing marketing wizard, and I’m your stupid, lowly apprentice.”

“And who had droves of people waiting hours in line just to rant to him that Johnny Storm is their favorite superhero in the whole wide world ‘cuz he’s so stunning and cool and sexy and perfect?” He jammed a thumb against his puffed up chest. “That’s good marketing in action, my friend. There was even this one guy—what was his name? I think it started with a P—”

Before he could finish that sentence, Peter shoved the puppy he was holding into Johnny’s face, which gave him a big, sloppy kiss right on the lips. Johnny sputtered and spat while Peter laughed out loud. 

“Cool, sexy, and a great kisser? No wonder everyone’s so darn obsessed with you.”

“Blech! Spidey!” Johnny scrubbed his lips with his sleeve, face scrunched in disgust. “Ugh! It’s tongue went in my mouth!”

“Can you blame him? You’re everyone’s favorite superhero, after all. Little Fido here took one look at that perfect, stunning kisser of yours and knew he just had to shoot his shot. Do you charge extra for that kind of thing? You really should.”

Johnny scoffed, releasing the squirmy pup in his arms back to the floor. “I don’t let people kiss me in exchange for money, asshole. I have some class. I’m not a complete floozy.” He ran his hand over his mouth again, then winked at him. “Not yet, anyway. Why do you ask?” The Human Torch pressed closer to the masked hero, hands interlaced at his heart, batting his thick eyelashes. “Interested in buying one off me? Shall we talk numbers?”

Peter’s body took a screenshot. He really should’ve learned his lesson by now. Anytime he dared to tease Johnny Storm, the teenage heartthrob always struck back with five times the firepower and ten times the audacity. His eyes darted between Johnny’s cerulean stare and the delicate, freckled lips underneath, his pulse registering on the Richter scale. He does this to everyone, he tried to remind his runaway heart. It’s just a game to him. Nothing more. All his fans dreamt of pressing their mouths to his, of feeling their breaths collide, of carding their fingers through his strawberry-blonde locks. Just ‘cuz Peter believed he wanted it the most didn’t make him any more deserving of it. 

Spider-Man inched back a step.“I—I don’t think I could afford you, Torch,” he managed to say, punching out a brittle laugh. Johnny bridged the space between them in a heartbeat. 

“But you are interested?” he pressed him. Vulpine thrill twinkled in his eyes. 

Peter swallowed, thorns of desire and panic and despair puncturing the back of his throat. Before he could attempt a reply, the puppy in his arms lunged forward and laid another wet one on Johnny’s unsuspecting lips, making the teen flinch back with a yelp and Peter double over with laughter.

“Ack! Not again!” Johnny spat. 

“This little scoundrel certainly can’t get enough of you,” Peter giggled, squishing the puppy against his cheek as it licked him all over his mask. “If anyone finds out he’s managed to open-mouth kiss the Human Torch twice already, I don’t think he’s gonna have any trouble getting adopted.” 

Johnny rubbed his lips and rolled his eyes while Peter gave the pup a grateful smooch on the forehead. Thanks for the quick save, he thought, blood still prickling beneath his flesh. How was he supposed to keep his feelings contained with Johnny pulling stunts like that? How much longer could he keep this charade going under these conditions? Hell—what if he already knew how hard Peter was crushing and just liked toying with his emotions? Dangling the possibility in front of him like a carrot on a string—only to snatch it away at the last second? How else would someone who knew how universally coveted their affection was keep themselves entertained?

Dizzied by the harrowing prospect, Peter returned to the ground and let the puppies flock to him, tickling their plump little pot bellies and chuckling at their adorable clumsiness. Johnny joined him a moment later, nudging one of the dogs with his toe while it nipped ferociously at his foot.

“Other than dick face showing up at the end, was the fundraiser good? Did you—y’know, earn a lot of money for the animal shelters?” He hoped his attempt to dodge Johnny’s question and move on from the subject didn’t come off as obvious as it felt. 

Johnny smiled softly, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and something harder to diagnose from the long day of catering to the masses. “Yeah. It went good. Really good. Everyone seemed happy, and we raised lots of funds for a really good cause.” He scratched lazily at the back of the pup currently dozing on his thigh. “I wish you’d been there,” he added with a yawn.

Peter admired the sleepy teen with a fondness that threatened to cleave him in two. Even if he couldn’t be with him the way he so desperately wanted to, he had to appreciate what a privilege it was simply basking in his presence like this. To be by his side after the crowds had departed, after the festivities and decorations had been disassembled and discarded, after his hair had started to lose its gravity-defying texture and his voice was hoarse from talking so long and his endlessly infectious energy had finally been fatigued to the point he looked seconds from slumping face-first into the hardwood. Few others got to see Johnny Storm in this state: mask off, walls down, ring lights and news cameras nowhere to be found, soft and human and drowsy and in dire need of some aloe vera. 

“How did your thing go?” Johnny asked, kneading his eye with the heel of his hand.

Peter wrinkled his brow. “What thing?” he said.

“The thing you said you had to go to that was happening the same time as my event,” he reminded him, a knowing smile touching his lips.

The teenage vigilante flushed. “Oh. Right. That thing.” He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head. “Good. Great. Yeah. No complaints.”

Johnny giggled lightly. Peter reached out and tapped the tip of his nose, which was as red as a ripely picked cherry. “You should really put something on that, Rudolph.”

The Human Torch blinked at him. “On what?”

“Your face. You’ve got a pretty bad sunburn.”

“I do?” he said bemusedly. “How? I even reapplied sunscreen and everything!”

“Every hour?” Peter inquired, raising an eyebrow. Johnny huffed.

“Now you’re the one sounding like my sister,” he grumbled. He prodded at his face with a scowl. “Where? Just on my nose?”

Peter scooted closer, tilting his head to one side. “Pretty much all over,” he conceded. He extended his hand and poked Johnny in the cheek. “Here,” he said, followed by a second poke to his other cheek. “Here.” Johnny chuckled sleepily as Spidey’s finger traveled across his face, prodding at the rosy pink skin. “Here, here, here.” His thumb hovered over the scar just above his eyebrow. For a moment, he considered running his finger across the same spot he had caressed just hours ago, the same way Peter Parker had as the two teens held each other's gazes. Johnny’s forehead was burnt, after all. But the fear of being found out was too stark, too paralyzing. Instead, he placed his palm over his entire face and gave it a playful shove, making Johnny exclaim in surprise. “Aaand here. Looks like you’re not burn-proof after all, Hothead.”

“Ow!” Johnny yelped, rubbing gingerly at the bridge of his nose with his eyes pinched shut. “Okay. Yep. I feel it now. Definitely burned. Ugh.” He held up his phone to examine his reflection, grimacing at the flushed face staring back at him. “Great. As if I didn’t have enough freckles already.”

“I like your freckles,” Peter blurted out before he could stop himself. He cringed as Johnny turned towards him with a look of surprise and fantasized about backhanding himself across his own stupid mouth. “I just—think they make you unique,” he added meekly. “Like…a dalmatian. Or a ladybug. But, y’know. In human form...”

Johnny snorted. Lucky for Peter, he seemed too tired to tease him for the comment as much as he deserved. “I hate when my sister is right,” he groused.

Peter stroked a finger over the nose of the puppy napping in Johnny’s lap. “Are you planning to babysit all five of these guys overnight?” he asked. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

“No. I have to get them back to the shelter before ten tonight. Which reminds me—” The Human Torch turned his phone camera on Peter and gestured at him like a drunk maestro conducting a one-man orchestra. “Go on. Be cute. Say something to get these puppies adopted and make people think you’re hot shit. Friendly neighborhood hot shit.”

Peter snickered, holding one of the pups under the armpits and waving its floppy paws around. “Why don’t we save any more performative social media ventures for tomorrow?” he suggested gently. “You’ve been in peppy, upbeat, fan-service mode this entire day. You look exhausted.”

“But we won’t have the puppies then,” Johnny whined. “I have to take them back soon.”

“I trust you’re more than capable of restoring my image without exploiting the likeness of these poor, innocent doggies. Here.” Peter plucked the phone out of Johnny’s hand and held it up so both of them were in the shot, the two heroes hugging the five pups close as he snapped the selfie. Spidey handed the device back to Johnny. “Post that. Tag the shelter. List the names of dogs and why people should adopt them. Boom. Easy.”

Johnny studied the photo Peter had taken, pursed his lips, then nodded. “Boring, but effective. I’ve trained you well, young padawan.”

Peter split into a massive grin. “Did you just quote Star Wars at me?” he beamed.

Johnny chuckled. “Yeah. I’ve watched the movies. Who hasn’t? I doubt I’m as ridiculously obsessed as you are, but I don’t live under a rock.” He waved his phone at him tauntingly. “I’m still posting the puppy ambush video, by the way. Keeping this gem out of the public eye would be a condemnable offense.”

The masked hero sighed. “Fine,” he relented, gathering all the puppies in his arms and plopping them into Johnny’s lap. “You can post it if you fly these babies home right now and then go straight to bed. Sound good?”

Johnny offered him a drowsy smile and cupped a hand under Peter’s chin. “So bossy this evening,” he chided. “Very well. As you wish, yah sticky-fingered bitch.”

“You’re loopy,” Peter giggled, nudging his hand aside. He jabbed a finger towards the wide windows. “Go. Before you get so tired you pass out mid-flight. Or, if you need me too, I can take the pups myself on the subway.”

“I got it,” Johnny mumbled. Peter helped him stand and herd all five fuzz balls into the carrier. As Johnny walked up to the window, hugging the crate-full of puppies close to his chest, he turned and flashed a lazy grin over his shoulder.  

“See you tomorrow, Webhead. I’ve planned out a very busy day for us, so be ready to get started bright and early.”

“What diabolical schemes of yours can I look forward to this time?” Peter asked playfully. “Any tar pits or bear traps I should keep an eye out for?”

“We both know you love my schemes,” Johnny replied, popping open the retractable window Stark had installed to make Spidey’s comings and goings more seamless. “Why don’t you use your foresight powers to see what I’m planning?”

“They don’t work like that,” Peter chuckled. “I can’t see into the future. I can just…feel when something bad is about to happen. In the very near future.”

Johnny furrowed his brow. “So like…super anxiety,” he concluded. Peter snorted.

“Huh. I guess so. Except if I ignore it, I have to deal with the very real, very immediate consequences.”

Johnny tucked the dog carrier under his armpit. “Well, I can assure you tomorrow will be all fun things. Nothing that should set off your spider anxiety. Hopefully.” He laid a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor. I’ll be waiting on the 78th floor for you whenever you decide to roll out of bed. Before noon would be preferable.”

“I’ll do my best,” Peter said, guiding Johnny towards the window. “Text me when you get back, okay?”

Johnny met his eye with a curious grin. “Why?” he asked.

Spider-Man blinked. “To…make sure you’re safe?” he said hesitantly.

The Human Torch’s smile softened. “Aww. How cute.” He reached out and pinched the apple of Peter’s cheek. “Sweet little Spidey’s worried about me—a superhero who takes down robot monsters and armed gangs for his day-to-day—flying across the city and back safely. That’s precious.”

“Now that Fisk is pissed at you too, I have to be,” Peter grumbled, shadows of concern lacing his voice. He flinched out of Johnny’s reach and rubbed at his cheek sourly. “Just…keep your guard up. There’s a very real chance he could try…I don’t know. Doing something to scare you into supporting him.” 

A twinge of uncertainty crossed Johnny’s expression before melting back into a carefree grin. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, patting Peter’s opposite cheek. “But if it’ll ease your super anxiety, I’ll go ahead and text you when I’m home safe and sound. We can make it a regular thing. I’ll let you know that I’m okay, and you can reply back with shirtless videos for me to make into Spider-Man velocity edits.”

Blood rushed into Peter’s face like an upside-down waterfall. “Into—what?” he squeaked out, a bewildered laugh escaping him. 

“Velocity edits! You’ve definitely seen them before. They’re all over TikTok. Superhero ones are particularly popular. I’ve gotten pretty good at making them, actually. I’ve been practicing. All I need now is a steady supply of video clips of you being hot on camera, and we’re golden.”

“I am not doing that,” the masked vigilante giggled sheepishly. “You told me I didn’t have to post that kind of stuff to get people to like me.”

“No, but it would certainly speed things along,” Johnny said, gesturing to Peter’s gaunt frame. “What’s the point of having a body as hot as yours if you’re not gonna show it off and use it to your advantage? Beauty is power, babydoll, and like you always say: with great power comes great marketability. Even just a photo or two without the gaudy leotard would make my job so much easier. I have some fishnets and a strappy leather vest you can borrow if you prefer—”

“Goodnight Johnny!” Peter shoved the cackling celebrity fully out the window, who burst into flame to stop himself from dropping like a stone towards the earth far below. All parts of him except for the ones touching the dog carrier ignited like gasoline, coating his body in flickering tongues of fire that suspended him in the air. He spun towards Peter, glowing brighter than every light in the city, a galaxy of stars confined to the flesh of one radiant boy. 

“Goodnight Spidey,” Johnny said back, dazzling in every sense of the word. He pressed his palm to his lips and blew Peter a kiss that drifted off his fingertips as a perfect ring of smoke. Just like he had to that girl back at the fundraising event—the little party trick that had singed Peter with the shameful sting of envy. Except now it was him on the receiving end, yet the gesture only left his heart more threadbare than ever before. 

Johnny rocketed away before the smoke ring breached the distance between them, his dramatic exit buffeting its lovely shape, but not destroying it. Peter watched the Human Torch soar between skyscrapers and the pale spatter of stars freckling the night sky, a tail of pure light trailing behind him. As he disappeared into the city, the circle of smoke floated through the open window, slow and ethereal and cruel, then poofed into nothing the moment it brushed Peter’s cheek, dousing the masked hero in the warm, oaky scent of Johnny Storm. He held up his hands and watched the fading tendrils of smoke ghost between his fingers before evanescing completely. 

What is really going on here? he asked himself hollowly, lifting his gaze back to the Manhattan skyline that perforated the barrier between heaven and earth.

Peter presumed there were three options: 

One, Johnny knew how much Peter liked him and was just dicking around with his feelings for his own personal amusement. That was probably the worst scenario out of the trio Peter had in mind. 

Two, Johnny was just being his usual flirty self and had no idea that Peter liked him that way, and no clue what his relentless teasing was putting Spidey’s poor, lovesick heart through. Peter suspected this was the most likely situation. 

Or three…oh god. The most daunting and delusional of them all. The possibility he could hardly let himself think about without his heart threatening to spontaneously combust. That Johnny was flirting with him outright because he liked him back, and Peter was, per usual, a hopeless moron too clueless and afraid to take a hint and make a move. That everything he wanted was right in front of him, if he only had the courage to risk everything he had to seize it. 

If by some miracle option three was the truth, why was Johnny being so reticent with his feelings? He wasn’t the type to shy away from staking claim to what he wanted. Was it possible he was harboring the same fears Peter was? That his crush might not like him back? Peter didn’t think his infatuation with the flaming hero could be more obvious, despite his attempts to disguise and subdue and smother it. But maybe he was doing a better job than he thought. Maybe Johnny was scared of confessing his feelings outright because he feared the masked hero’s rejection. Maybe Peter was the one needlessly toying with Johnny’s emotions, not the other way around.

Or maybe he was kidding himself. Whichever option held the truth, Peter had to know what Johnny’s real intentions were. If he had any at all. 

Lucky for him, Peter was stuck with the zany, beautiful teen for the next couple days. Plenty of time for him to conduct a secret investigation into Johnny Storm’s true feelings towards Spider-Man, platonic or otherwise. Better to shatter his own heart sooner rather than later, lest he drive himself mad entertaining these inane fantasies of him and Johnny and sneaking kisses on rooftops and ughhh. 

And before Johnny’s torturous flirting rendered him catatonic. 

Unlucky for him, for this plan to work, Peter had to be bolder. Braver. The exact opposite of his natural state. And somehow magically transform himself into a morning person overnight. 

Fuck it.

That was the mindset Johnny woke to following a night of burning questions and nauseating restlessness. As things stood now, it would seem he and the masked vigilante were at an impasse. He’d surged too far forward, dug his thumb in a little too deep, and now there was nothing left to do except press onward, forge ahead, follow the clear-cut path he’d carved for himself, or give up entirely before it was too late. 

Johnny had tested the bounds of his and Spidey’s relationship more than ever before last night—stabbing recklessly at that splintering line he and the spider-themed hero always danced around but didn’t dare cross. Do you think about me? About kissing me? How often? Why do you worry about my safety? Because we’re friends, or because I mean more than that to you? Just tell me. Say it. One word, one leap of faith, and I’m yours. That’s all I’m waiting for. Just say it. Please say it. I need to hear you say it. 

The webhead had once again circumvented his inquiries with his trusty wards of humor, fighting to sustain their little game of back-and-forth a tiny bit longer, grappling to keep the playful ruse alive—where things were comfortable and familiar and safe. But Johnny was tired of skirting around what neither of them could no longer deny. Johnny was done acting demure and playing games. He’d charted the stars, aligned the coordinates, mapped out trajectories, assembled his case, and all paths pointed to the inevitable. 

Spidey liked Johnny. Johnny liked Spidey. And it was about damn time for both of them to grow a pair and admit it already. 

So…fuck it.

The Human Torch rose from his bed, threw on his favorite crewneck and his light-wash Levi’s that fit like a dream, tagged his neck with a spritz of Bleu de Chanel, and marched his ass into the goddamn elevator.

Sure, this could change a lot of things between us, Johnny thought to himself, flipping another pancake onto the stack to his right. He’d made one of each of his signature flavors: dark chocolate chip, peanut butter banana, and strawberry shortcake. But I want him to know what he means to me. I don’t want to have to hide it anymore. At least not from him. He scooped a thick helping of steaming hash browns and turkey sausage onto the plate as well. And this time, I know he feels the same. I’m certain of it. 

Johnny garnished his dish with freshly cut strawberry slices, which he arranged into a smiley face on top of the pancake stack, then poured a tall glass of orange juice. He lifted his perfectly curated breakfast assemblage off the counter with care and strode towards the elevator, nervous excitement pounding through his bloodstream. He reached out to press the “up” arrow button, but the elevator doors pared open before he had the chance. A bolt of heat flashed through him as a familiar masked figure peeled into view. 

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, voice cracking in surprise. Tiny flames spiked outwards off the shells of his ears, but he managed to extinguish them a second later, although the heat in his cheeks continued to burn like two defiant suns. Clearing his throat, the Human Torch jumped back a step to give him space to enter the room. “Um, hi! I thought you’d still be asleep. I was just about to come see you.”

Despite the mask concealing his features, Johnny could hear the webhead’s sleepy smile in his voice. “Good morning,” Spider-Man greeted him, joining the celebrity hero on the 78th floor. His eye lenses shuttered closed as he stretched his arms out at his sides, flexing and flaunting the lean muscle corded across his torso and limbs. “I thought I would be, too,” he admitted. “I didn’t sleep very well last night. I woke up around eight this morning and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I figured I might as well come down now so we could get an early start on whatever horrors you have in store for me today.”

The fishing line of anxiety strung taut through Johnny’s insides unraveled a little. “I didn’t sleep well, either,” he said carefully. His eyes lowered to the warm plate of food balanced on his fingertips. “I had…a lot on my mind.”

Spidey’s gaze followed his, head tilting to one side. “Did you make all that? It looks incredible.”

“It’s for you,” Johnny said a bit too quickly, thrusting the plate and the glass into the vigilante’s chest. Spidey blinked his wide eye lenses before taking them awkwardly in his hands, a small laugh fluttering out of him. 

“Wow. Really? That’s so sweet.” He adjusted his grip to a more comfortable angle, spilling a bit of juice from the overflowing glass and almost sending the pancake stack splattering to the floor. “Whoops. I got it. There we go.” His voice lifted with appreciation. “Thank you so much! Y’know, if you keep feeding me this good, Mr. Stark’s gonna have to add some extra give to the waistline of this suit.” 

“Don’t worry,” Johnny assured him with a smile. “I only make breakfasts like this for very special occasions.”

Spidey perked up. “Oh? What’s so special about today?”

Johnny’s smooth grin wobbled as bombshells of uncertainty went off in his gut. His eyes traced over the intricate details of Spidey’s mask; the delicate black lines branching out from the center of his face and fanning across his entire body as one beautiful, interconnected web. He wanted to glide his hands across the threads, to trace their paths to the edge of his mask, to slip his fingers underneath and peel back the layer separating the mystery boy’s lips from his own.

It was great being Spider-Man’s friend. Absolutely wonderful. Things could stay exactly as they were between them, and Johnny would be happy. Grateful. Content. But Apollo knew he wanted more. So much more. They both did. 

And god, did they deserve it. 

Johnny bit the inside of his cheek, then exhaled weakly. 

No more games. No more lies. Just the truth.

Slowly, the Human Torch reached out his hand and curled his fingers around Spider-Man’s wrist, anchoring himself to the soft thump of the vigilante’s pulse. He sat that way in silence for a moment, trying to match his frenzied heartbeat to Spidey’s gentle, steady one. 

“I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while now,” he said, battling to keep his voice strong and unshakeable. “I’ve just been…scared of how you might react. You’re really important to me, and I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. But…”

“You’re part of a multi-leveling marketing company that sells plant-based wrinkle cream in bulk, and you want to invite me to join you in this lucrative sales opportunity to be my own boss and reach financial freedom?”

Johnny stared at him bemusedly for a moment, then scowled. Spider-Man giggled to himself. 

“Sorry. Was that not what you were going to say?”

“Please be serious for a second,” Johnny implored, giving his wrist a squeeze. “No jokes, all right? This is important.”

“Now look who’s being the bossy one.”

“Webs,” Johnny deadpanned. Spider-Man suppressed another childish snicker. The Human Torch pinched his eyes shut, frustration and terror churning inside him, then lifted his hand from Spidey’s wrist to his cheek, running a finger along his jawline as his heartbeat crawled into his throat, threatening to suffocate him. Immediately, the masked hero’s laughter dried up, his body going rigid beneath Johnny’s gentle touch. 

“I like you, okay?” Johnny blurted out, voice shaky but steadfast. “I’ve liked you since the day we met, even if I didn’t know it at the time. You’re funny, smart, obnoxiously selfless, and so fucking humble about how amazing you are it makes me wanna puke.” He cradled the boy’s masked face in both hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “I love everything about you. And I love being your friend, but I’d love it even more if we were more than that. I’d love to hold your hand, to call you mine, to take you on elaborate dates…” He dragged his thumb along the perfect curve of his lips. “To kiss you.”

For the next few moments, Johnny stood before the masked hero in silence, trembling slightly, his body as hot and volatile as a volcano seconds from erupting. He waited, ill with anticipation. Spidey gazed back at him for the entire length of the confession without uttering a word or moving a muscle. Johnny brushed his knuckle against his cheekbone.

“Well, say something,” he beseeched him. 

Johnny felt a shudder shoot through Spider-Man’s skeleton. Then he flinched backwards violently, staggering away from his touch, the plate of food and glass of juice slipping from his hands and crashing to the floor, making Johnny wince in alarm.

“Shit!” the Human Torch yelped. “Are you okay?” He took a step towards him, but Spidey retreated back even farther, shaking his head from side to side.

“Dude,” he finally said, voice tinged with incredulous laughter. “What the fuck?”

Johnny froze in place, eyes lifting mirthlessly to Spider-Man’s. A ball of ice hardened inside him. “W-what—” he began to say.

“You’re gay?” the masked hero scoffed, flicking syrup and orange juice from his fingers. “And you thought I was gay, too? Are you being serious right now? Holy shit, bro—this is so fucking weird.”

Johnny swallowed, heart withering with dread and disbelief, tears stinging in his eyes. “Spidey—listen. I didn’t—I thought—”

“All the time we’ve spent hanging out and working together, all the nice things you’ve done for me—it’s all been because of this? Because you think I’m hot and want to get in my pants? That’s what made you decide to be friends with me? That’s what our entire friendship has been built off of since day one?”

As Spider-Man’s voice grew louder and angrier, the world around them began to shift. The kitchen and the tower and the earth as a whole fell away from their feet, dissipating like smoke, leaving nothing but endless blackness save for the light of countless stars twinkling in galaxies millions of lightyears away. The two teenagers hovered in the dark expanse of space, the Fantastic Four’s starship floating soundlessly in the distance. 

“It’s not like that,” Johnny croaked out, red-hot flames building beneath his flesh. “Please, just—forget I said anything. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t want to lose you as a friend over something as stupid as this.”

Wordlessly, Spider-Man reached underneath his chin and grabbed hold of the edge of his mask, making Johnny’s eyes flash wide. His jaw fell open as the vigilante peeled the disguise off his head, then practically dropped to the edge of the universe at the familiar face he was met with when the person underneath was fully revealed. 

“Sam?” Johnny breathed, tears slipping down his cheeks. Sam Alexander glared back at him, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Oh, we’re way past that,” Sam sneered—although the voice was a chilling blend of both Nova’s and Spider-Man’s. “How can you expect me to stay friends with a guy who I now know is constantly thinking about dating and kissing me?”

“W-what are you saying?” Johnny asked hollowly. Sam crossed his arms against his chest, the Spider-Man costume disintegrating off his body to reveal the black and gold Nova Corps suit underneath.

“I’m saying this is too fucking weird,” he clarified. “I’m saying…I don’t think we should talk or hang out anymore. Like, ever.” The Nova helmet crawled across his face along with the rest of his suit, hiding his dark eyes behind the even darker uniform. Exactly how he’d looked in Johnny’s final memories of him. Sam tore his gaze away from Johnny’s, muscles rigid with discomfort. “It’s probably for the best that after this mission, we just go our separate ways.”

Johnny shook his head, dismay surging through him like a tidal wave. “Sam,” he said, voice breaking. He extended a hand towards his friend. “Sam, please—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Sam turned away from him, shoulders tight, fists clenched. He blasted upwards without looking back, shooting into the dark abyss like a streak of pure stardust. The Human Torch was left floating in the empty black expanse, sobs rattling through him, shell-shocked and alone. 

“Don’t go,” he whispered. Fire began to fill every corner of his vision, even with his eyes squeezed shut. “Please don’t leave. Please. I'm sorry.” The flames raging inside him were hot enough to burn up anything and everything in existence.

“I tried to warn you.”

Johnny’s head whipped towards the sound of his sister’s voice. She and the rest of his teammates had him surrounded, expressions steeled with disappointment. 

“S-stay back!” he cried, throwing his hands out in front of himself. His body was coated in hungry orange flames he did not summon—tongues of blazing fire he could not control. As his despair fed and grew, so too did the flames engulfing his entire being. 

“You’re never going to learn, are you?” Susan snarled. Johnny’s flames were melting the skin clean off her bones. “You can’t help yourself. You think having millions of fans makes you entitled to the affection of anyone you choose. Even those who had zero chance of ever liking you back.”

“You’re dying!” Johnny screamed, shielding his eyes in horror. The flames radiating off him howled and crackled, swallowing up his friends in their deadly wake. “Please! Get away from me! I can’t make it stop!”

“It’s a game to you,” Sue gurgled, gagging on her own liquefied flesh. “A way to make your perfect, pathetic life a little more interesting. A way to torture yourself with the one thing you want most that you know you’ll never have or deserve.”

Johnny wrapped his arms around his midsection, tears boiling in his eyes, shrinking into himself in hopes that it would shrink the ravenous flames, too. But the fire only intensified, searing the life out of everyone it touched. Roasting every remaining member of his family alive. 

“Help me,” he pleaded, fire and heat pouring from his soul like the core of a dying star. The ungovernable inferno scorched into his cells had finally conquered him, had finally won. Sobs tore from the Human Torch’s throat. There was nothing left but the anathema of his destruction. A monster forged in death and carnage. 

“Help me! Help! Please help! Spidey!”

Johnny Storm was on fire when he shot upright in bed. 

He doused the flames as soon as he was conscious enough to do so, choking down panicked gulps of air, but the damage was already done. His sheets were scorched, the mattress fried, and his pillow had a giant charred chunk burned through it that vaguely resembled the shape of his head. He swatted frantically at the tiny wisps of fire dotted across the comforter, swirls of smoke curling towards the ceiling. 

“Shit,” he hissed, scrubbing a hand across his sweat-speckled face. Unusually bright sunlight spilled through the window onto the foot of his bed. The stench of singed linens hung in the air. He closed his eyes, pressing a palm to his chest where his heart felt seconds from bursting out of his rib cage. 

A dream, he realized, panting harshly, skin hot yet cold and slick with perspiration. Not real. Not real. Not real.

Not all of it, at least.

“Good morning, Johnny,” Tony Stark’s A.I. greeted him from overhead, making the teen flinch. “It would appear you had a nightmare and accidentally lit yourself on fire in your sleep. An assistance robot is on the way to help attend to the situation.”

A few seconds later, the door to his room eased open, and what appeared to be some kind of claw machine arm on wheels rolled inside. It was much more bulky and clunky-looking compared to the other robots Johnny had seen working around Avengers Tower. It held a tube in its three-pronged hand that was pointed directly between Johnny’s eyes. The bot lumbered over to the side of his bed, strange little beeps and warbling sounds emanating from it. 

“Uh,” Johnny said, drawing back a little. “Okay…? What’s it gonna—”

A blast of foam straight to the face cut him off. Johnny shrieked in surprise as the robot layered him and the bed in extinguishing suds, shielding his eyes and pinching his mouth shut. By the time the bot was through with him, he was drenched in soapy chemicals and thoroughly unamused. Satisfied with its work, the robot left the way it had come, politely shutting the door behind itself. Johnny sat beneath the mountain of bubbly foam, disheveled and disoriented. 

“I’ve submitted an order for a replacement mattress and pillows to be delivered to the tower. They should both arrive in the next couple of days. You can sleep in the spare room on this floor in the meantime. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

Johnny clambered out of the bed and onto the floor, muttering colorful curses as he brushed the suds off himself in large globs. “Nope. Pretty sure you got it all. Better late than never, I guess.” He kicked his feet with a grimace, painting the walls in splatters of foam, then dusted off his shoulder blades. Knives punched into his belly as the details of his nightmare returned to him, as his pulse finally began to slow and steady its pace. As the last words Sam Alexander had left him with echoed in his ears—but in Spider-Man’s voice.

All his excitement and enthusiasm for the day ahead, struck dead in a heartbeat. All his eagerness to confess his true feelings to the webhead, scoured clean from his bones. Anguish closed around the young hero’s throat like a fist. 

“Is Spider-Man still asleep?” Johnny asked the ceiling somberly, smearing suds across his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Spider-Man is currently making toast on the 78th floor,” FRIDAY replied. Johnny frowned. 

“Really? He got up before I did?” Johnny turned towards the harsh glow of the window and narrowed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“8:41 am.”

The teenage celebrity’s mouth fell open. He rarely ever slept past 8, and couldn’t remember the last time he woke up after 8:30. He must’ve really needed the rest after all those hours of charming the crowds while baking in the hot sun. Even more shocking was the fact that Spider-Man had gotten up and beaten Johnny to their rendezvous point before Johnny was even dressed for the day. 

He considered rushing through his morning routine so he could join the webhead as soon as possible and playfully interrogate him for this duplicitous subterfuge, but he found his heart just wasn’t in it. He was too shaken up, too demoralized. Every fear he’d pushed down and bottled away since that final day with Sam was now boiling at the surface of his skin, roaring through his veins. 

What if he reacts the same way Nova did? he thought, hugging his midsection as tears slipped from his eyes. What if he never wants to talk to me again once he knows the truth?

Johnny’s insides twisted as the realization sprinkled over him. He would never find the courage to confess his feelings to Spidey. He’d never be confident enough to summon the words or take that risk. Not again. 

“If it’s not too much to ask, you might want to go downstairs and lend Spider-Man a hand,” FRIDAY suggested gently. “He just pulled the eggs out of the fridge, and the last time he tried making an omelet, he almost burnt down the whole kitchen.”

Despite the tears in his eyes, a smile found its way onto Johnny’s lips. He laughed softly, wiping at his cheeks. “Fair enough,” he said, taking a level breath in and out. “I’ll head down in just a bit.” 

As he ran a comb through his hair in front of the bathroom mirror, Johnny gave his arms a few sharp pinches. Just to make sure whatever he faced downstairs was real—and not a resumption of the same sinister nightmare. 

A miserable whine slipped between Peter’s lips as the strawberry-blonde celebrity appeared at the bottom of the staircase just in time to watch him scrape viciously at the charred remains of what used to be eggs that were burnt to the bottom of the pan. He dumped the inedible concoction into the trash along with the rest of his failed omelet attempts and palmed his forehead in his hand. 

“Nooo,” Peter groaned, shoving the smoking skillet under the faucet. “Why are you up already? I thought I had more time! Nothing’s even close to being ready yet!”

Johnny strode towards him with one hand hanging in the pocket of his sweatpants, taking in the scene of the arachnid-themed hero spattered in pancake batter and surrounded by pans crusted in half-scorched culinary disasters. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as a weak smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing?” he asked amusedly.  

“I’m trying to cook you breakfast,” Peter huffed, tearing an avocado in half with a tad too much super strength. “You’ve made me two of the best meals I’ve ever had without me even asking, so I thought it’d be nice if I made you something in return!” He started slicing the avocado into long spears, not bothering with a cutting board, a small prickle of warning tingling along his neck as the knife slammed down hard against the countertop, coming dangerously close to chopping off his pinky finger. A large chunk of avocado shot across the room and hit the tile with a wet splat. 

“Whoops,” Peter murmured. Grimacing, Johnny rushed around the island and snatched the blade out of his hand.

“Okay—I’ve seen enough. You’ve officially lost all knife privileges.”

Peter sulked in defeat, scooping the smooshed avocado off the counter and onto a plate. This was not going at all how he’d planned. He’d lied awake in bed late into the night yesterday, scrolling through dozens of articles and TikTok videos with cringe-inducing titles such as “36 Signs A Guy Has A Crush On You,” “How To Tell If Your Friend Likes You Back,” “20 Foolproof Ways To Find Out If He’s Into You,” etc—trying to get some insight into Johnny’s feelings towards him and coming up with a strategy to uncover the full truth. One girl suggested doing something romantic and unexpected for them and gauging their reaction. If their response was positive, there was a good chance they liked you. Indifferent—or outright negative—probably not.

She had neglected to mention what to do if you completely bombed step one and were found grimy and frazzled without one palatable offering to your name, standing in a kitchen dirtied and overflowing with your unseemly cooking blunders. Johnny squinted at the lumps of ash gathered at the bottom of the sink and furrowed his brow.

“What the hell were you even trying to make?” he asked with a snort.

Peter sighed. “Crepes, french toast, fruit tarts, eggs benedict…” He counted off the fares on his fingers, eyeing each failed feat where they sat either burnt or botched on the counter, feeling more and more disheartened with every word. 

Johnny chuckled, looking far too cute and way too cuddly in his color blocked sweatpants-hoodie combo, cheeks still dusted pink from yesterday’s sun exposure. “Those are not the easiest dishes to make, Webs,” the Human Torch said, shooting a glance at the stack of pots piled high in the sink and the blackened pans scattered across the stovetop. “Especially when you’re trying to make all of them at once instead of focusing on one dish at a time.” He poked at a mound of suspicious goop by the faucet that vaguely looked like it was breathing. “Why not try something simpler that doesn’t result in you turning the kitchen into a radioactive hot zone?”

Peter swallowed, heat bleeding into his ears. “I just…wanted to do something nice for you,” he explained quietly. He felt Johnny’s gaze lift to his face and suddenly found a speck of egg shell on the counter the most interesting thing in the entire universe. “You’re always doing such nice things for me—making stuff and planning things and sticking your neck out for my sake. I wanted to show my appreciation.” He scratched at one of many oil stains on his costume with a frown. ���But I guess I should’ve picked a gesture I’m actually capable of executing. Like—inventing a new type of webbing and naming it after you or whatever. Cooking is your strong suit, not mine. I don’t know why I thought whipping up a multi-course breakfast for you was a skill I possessed. I mean—I followed the instructions! Well, er—I tried to, at least! How do you always make it look so damn easy?”

To Peter’s surprise, the smile Johnny offered him barely reached his eyes. “Being able to control the temperature of what I’m cooking definitely helps,” he said halfheartedly, tossing the knife into the sink. It wasn’t until now Peter noticed that Johnny’s voice was missing its usual vibrant spark; that his expression was distant and weary. Even though he’d slept later than normal this morning, he seemed even more tired than he was last night. Dark circles ringed his downcast eyes. Worry rippling through him, Peter abandoned his mushy avocado carcass and laid a hand on Johnny’s arm.

“Hey—Torchy.” His voice caught a little with concern. “Is everything all right? You seem…sad.”

Johnny stared languidly at Peter’s fingers where they touched his wrist, then lifted his heavy gaze to meet his. The young hero gave a listless shrug of his shoulders. “I guess I am sad,” he decided, appearing disappointed in himself.

Peter’s grip tightened a little around his forearm. “Why? Did something happen?” A boulder dropped into his stomach. “Was it Fisk? Did he do something to you?”

The Human Torch shook his head. “It’s nothing like that,” he insisted, looking a bit embarrassed. He ran a hand across his face. “I just…had a bad nightmare last night, and it kinda spoiled my whole mood for today.”

Peter resisted the plea from his muscles to wrap the teen in his arms and bury his forehead in kisses. Johnny had plenty of nightmare-fodder in his past for his brain to torment him with in his sleep. It made him nauseous—wondering which traumatizing event his imagination had ran with this time, or how often Johnny was plagued by dreams in this way. He desperately wished he had a plate of warm food to offer him like he’d planned—something yummy and comforting to drive away the storm clouds gathered in his eyes. Instead, all he could provide was a small squeeze to his wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” he said delicately. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel like doing today. Let’s just take it easy. I’ll let my wound finish healing, and you can watch Great British Bake Off or Real Housewives of Salt Lake City or whatever garbage TV you’re into while I order us some takeout that isn’t burnt to a crisp or developing sentience.” Peter let Johnny’s arm slip from his fingers, heart panging at emptiness in his ocean blue eyes. “I think we’ve both had more than our fair share of excitement and insanity this week to warrant a day off.” He didn’t want to push him to talk about whatever horrors were haunting him to the point of emotional paralysis if that wasn’t what he needed right now. 

The corners of Johnny’s lips feathered upwards just slightly. “Love Island is my guilty pleasure go-to,” he admitted. “The original one—in the UK.” 

Peter returned his reluctant smile, throwing on his best English accent. “Then let’s bugger off to the sofa and Love Island it up, yah daft knob.”

Spider-Man moved towards the living space nestled beside the east-facing windows, expecting Johnny to follow him, but he didn’t. Johnny stayed rooted to the tile by the stovetop, opening and closing his mouth a few times, features scrunched in thought. The celebrity stared between his feet, hesitating. Then, finally:

“My dream—it was about you, actually. Not the whole thing, but a good portion.”

Peter stopped in his tracks, blinking bemusedly. “Really?” he said. An icy cord wove through him. “Oh god. What did dream-me do? Cook you an inedible breakfast that you were too polite to decline that wound up killing you?”

Johnny couldn’t repress a beguiling grin, a flicker of his usual self seeping through, although the sheen of sadness was still there. “No,” he said. “But you were doing that.”

Peter rocked backwards on his heels. “Doing…what?” he inquired.

“Telling your silly little jokes,” Johnny explained, swirling his finger through the thin layer of flour dusted across the counter. “Even in my sleep, you’re there being a sarcastic wise-ass. I can’t escape it.”

Peter’s heart started to sink. He stalked back into the kitchen, hugging the backs of both of his elbows. “And that’s…that was your nightmare? Me making jokes? That’s what ruined your whole mood for today?” Perhaps Johnny’s feelings for him weren’t as a big of a mystery as he'd thought. Spider-Man was one big web-swinging joke in red and blue pantyhose; if someone didn’t like his witty quips, then they didn’t like him . Period. This was about to be the shortest, most disappointing crush investigation in the entire world. 

“No,” Johnny chuckled, much to Peter’s relief. “It wasn’t that.” He combed a nervous hand through his hair. “It’s just…dream-you acted exactly like you-you, until I said something that made you super upset with me. The fact that you were acting just like your usual goofy self up until that point made it seem so much more real, which made all of it hurt ten times worse.”

Poison needles pierced Peter’s heart. “What did you say in the dream that made dream-me so upset?”

Peter swore the sunburn on Johnny’s face went pinker. “I—I don’t remember,” he murmured, staring at his socks and scratching behind his ear. “But you didn’t like it one bit. I’ve never seen you that mad before—not even when I was provoking you back when we sparred in front of everyone.”

Peter was no stranger to having nightmares about those he cared about—including ones where they shouted things at him he knew they’d never say. He understood how jarring it could be, even if it was in no way realistic. He was just surprised a bad dream about Spider-Man would impact the teenage celebrity this dramatically. Out of all the nightmares Peter had imagined Johnny having, none of them had included anything to do with himself. He wondered what dream-him had said to drain the joy from Johnny’s once luminous eyes. The masked hero wasn’t sure what to do other than hunch his shoulders and hold out his palms. 

“Well, real-me isn’t mad at you at all, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m sorry dream-me was so mean. I’d web that bastard up and drop him in the Hudson if it were physically possible. Dude sounds like a major dick.” 

Johnny managed a timid smile, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Sorry. I know it’s not fair for me to be upset about something that wasn’t even real. It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it.”

“I can make you the world’s least-burnt bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios,” Peter proposed shyly. Johnny gazed around the dumpster fire of a kitchen with glazed endearment. 

“Counter-offer,” he said. “Why don’t you go clean off your suit, and I’ll whip us up something a little more appetizing and nutritious than that?”

Peter let out a frustrated groan. “The whole point of me doing this was so you wouldn’t have to cook for me this time! This was supposed to be a gesture of my gratitude, not another mess of mine for you to clean up.” Peter snatched an egg out of the open carton sitting beside the refrigerator. “At least let me help you.”   

Wrinkling his nose, Johnny plucked the egg out of Spider-Man’s hand like it was a live grenade. “No offense, Webs, but after what I’ve witnessed today, I don’t want to see you within fifteen feet of any kitchen in the state of New York ever again.” He placed the egg back in the carton. “Or potential salmonella contaminants. Or sharp cooking utensils. Or open flames.”

Peter wilted at his words. Johnny patted him on the back, not-so-subtly guiding him out of the kitchen space. “It’s okay. You’ll have other chances to do nice things for me.” When Peter turned to face him, his eyes had that empty, far-off look to them once again. “Besides. Cooking is…calming to me. Therapeutic. Helps take my mind off things. I could use the distraction.” 

The masked hero’s heart sagged against his rib cage. “You sure there’s nothing else I can do to cheer you up? I could let you punch me in the face. Or light my head on fire. Those things can be therapeutic, too.”

“You can help by vacating your unholy butt from my sacred space of culinary artistry,” Johnny said, then paused, sniffing the air, face twisting in confusion. “Is something burning?”

Peter’s eyes widened as his head snapped towards the microwave. “Shit!” he exclaimed, dashing past Johnny. “The butter! I was trying to soften it, but I guess I forgot—” He yanked open the door only to be blasted with a surge of black smoke. Scorched, amorphous goo bubbled in the spot he’d last seen the butter. Coughing, Peter grabbed a hand towel and fanned the air while Johnny snatched the plate out of the microwave. 

“Careful! You could burn your—” Peter started to say, then stopped himself with a frown. “Oh. Right.”

“Who the hell burns butter?” Johnny exclaimed, dumping the ruined plate into the sink alongside the many, many others. “I thought you were some kind of genius or something!”

“At science,” Peter reminded him. “Not cooking! Or, y’know—common sense!”

“Cooking is science!” Johnny shot back.

“Well—not the kind I’m good at apparently! All my chemistry smarts evaporate from my brain the moment I step from a lab to a kitchen.”

“Out,” Johnny demanded, shoving him towards the stairs. “Before you desecrate my place of worship with even more of your blasphemy. Breakfast will be ready in just a bit.”

Peter begrudgingly slumped towards the staircase, feeling defeated in more ways than one, wondering where precisely in his DNA the Parker gene for terrible cooking skills resided.

Johnny felt guilty for being so miserable that morning, which only made him feel worse. 

He didn’t have the luxury of hiding his emotions the way others could. It was a power the Human Torch did not possess. When he felt something—however ridiculous or unwarranted—it consumed him entirely, practically radiating off his flesh. Anger and sadness were particularly difficult for him to wrangle and subdue. Every move of his muscles, every spoken word, every feature on his face put on display the burden weighing on his heart. No matter how hard he tried, there was no concealing it. 

He was mourning something he never even had in the first place. He was choking on his cowardice and what was not to be. He’d been struck by waves of heartbreak like this before, but never one this definitive, this sustaining and penetrating and certain. 

All because of a dream. A dream spliced with real memories that still haunted him to this day—but a dream nonetheless. He knew how childish and ridiculous it was to let something as frivolous as a nightmare affect him this deeply, to let it decimate the perfect plans he’d laid out for the day. That understanding did nothing to stop the grief from ravaging his heart with every inconsolable beat, or shining undoubtedly in the whites of his eyes. 

He ascended to Spider-Man’s floor, Michelin-worthy croissant sandwich and peach oatmeal in hand, with a dreary haze hanging over him. Not even nailing a meal he’d spent a quarter of a decade perfecting could lift his hopeless spirits. He had half a mind to paint the walls of the elevator with it and sulk back to his scorched, foam-soaked bed. He didn’t want the webhead to see him like this again—bitter and crestfallen with no feasible explanation as to why. But avoiding him outright would only hurt Spidey’s feelings even more, which wasn’t fair to him at all. It was a lose-lose scenario. He could at least leave him with a warm meal before moping off to some abandoned corner of the tower where he could wallow in self-pity in peace. 

The elevator doors split in two in front of him. Johnny stepped out and strode towards Spider-Man’s room, the hand that held the plate of fresh food heating it to the perfect temperature. He stopped a few feet from the door with a grimace on his face, debating what to do. He could just leave his breakfast here and avoid another confrontation entirely, however spineless it made him feel. Or he could wait for him to come out just to smash the oatmeal in his face for daring to snare his delicate heart in that cruel, sticky web of his. 

As Johnny toiled over how to proceed, a sound floated to him from inside Spider-Man’s room. Soft and muffled, tangled with the hiss of hot water from the running shower. The words and instrumentals of a song he recognized—one that made his ears prick and his breathing still. 

Everybody loves you, baby

You should trademark your face

Linin’ down the block to be around you

But baby, I’m first in place

Johnny’s eyes went wide as the song carried on. Spider-Man…listens to Troye Sivan? he thought, perplexed. As in…the queer Australian pop star? He supposed he shouldn’t read too much into it. Both the singer and the song were extremely popular, even outside of the gay music scene. Listening to a song by a gay artist didn’t in any way speak to one’s own sexuality. It only meant that he had…good taste in music. That’s all. 

Then, as the song reached the first line of the chorus, a second voice joined Troye’s, singing along to the lyrics with carefree, unabashed splendor. Johnny’s heart skipped a beat as the voice carried softly through the air, breezy and beautiful and completely oblivious to his presence. 

Give me a call if you ever get lonely

I’ll be like one of your girls or your homies

Say what you want, and I’ll keep it a secret

You get the key to my heart, and I need it

Give me a call if you ever get desperate

I’ll be like one of your girls

The voice—Spider-Man’s voice—continued to parrot the words of the song with a disarmingly angelic cadence, singing lyrics like “everybody wants you, baby” and “bet nobody wants you bad as I do” and “baby, let me plead my case” with that lovely, spellbinding inflection, sending Johnny’s thoughts into a flustered headspin. He pressed his ear against the door, jaw hanging low as the corners of his mouth lifted higher and higher. 

Okay…listening to a gay pop star was one thing. But singing along to a gay pop star’s song about desperately wanting to get with a guy in a voice that passionate and breathtaking? That was…violently homosexual behavior. Like—undeniably, incriminatingly homosexual. 

Had Reed really been right all along?

Christ almighty. He was never going to escape this torturous mental game show of Is Spider-Man A Fellow Fruitcake, Or Am I Just An Idiot?

As Johnny listened to Spidey hum the final verses of the song, his heart went featherlight. Who knew on top of being a fearless hero, an incessant motor-mouth, a loyal friend, and a shockingly terrible cook—the masked vigilante of New York was also a buttery-voiced little songbird? A grin cut across his face at the thought of how Spidey would react to Johnny eavesdropping on his in-shower performance.

A second track started to play as the running water squeaked to a halt. Johnny recognized it as “Disaster” by Conan Gray—another arguably very gay song by an equally gay artist. While Johnny listened intently through the door, a wide smile holding all his features hostage, he shooed away some of the gloomy fog banks haunting the inside of his mind to make room for a new diagram: a T-chart with one side labeled “straight” and other labeled “gay.” He started adding little tally marks to each side in accordance to Spider-Man’s most recent behaviors.

Listening to Conan Gray? Gay.

Using humor as a coping mechanism? Also gay.

Singing along to “One Of Your Girls” by Troye Sivan with Broadway-worthy vocals? Hella gay. Johnny added two tick marks for that one. 

Liking Star Wars? Straight.

Having a girlfriend last year? Straight.

Being terrible at cooking? Very straight.

Johnny took a step back to admire his mental tally so far. He had to admit, it was a rather abstract and binary classification system to subject Spider-Man to. Sue would probably cringe at how unscientific his process was. But it was better than nothing, and a mildly fun way to keep some tiny spark of hope alive in his bruised and bloodied heart.

With a huff, the Human Torch decided he’d spend today doing exactly what he’d set out to do in the first place: springing the trap he’d set that would endear the world completely to the masked vigilante. His work over the last week had granted his fans a tiny glimpse into the soul of the infamous hero; a mere taste of who he was and why they should dote on him in every way he deserved. All as buildup for what he had in store for today. 

Meanwhile, Johnny would watch the webhead closely, adding to his mental chart as he saw fit.

Spider-Man’s voice flitted through the door to Johnny’s ear every now and again—singing quietly, casually, a fleeting word or two from the song currently playing as he readied himself for the day. Johnny listened with a soft smile on his face, reminded of why he’d chosen to do all this for the masked hero in the first place. Every day Spidey found new ways to surprise and captivate him. Without even trying, he won over his heart again and again and again. People deserved to see just how delightful the webhead was, and Spidey deserved the world’s praise a hundred times more than Johnny ever would. 

Spider-Man could never give Johnny what he truly wanted, but Johnny refused to take his frustrations out on his blamelessly clueless friend. If Johnny couldn’t tell Spider-Man how much he cared about him, he’d do his best to show him.

So Johnny waited outside the door for Spider-Man, spirits a little less frosty, thoughts a little more optimistic, running through his itinerary for the two of them with a smile on his lips, eager to see which side of his T-chart had the most tallies by the end of the day.

“You little liar.”

Peter glanced up with a start as he shut his bedroom door behind him. Johnny Storm stood across the room by the stairwell, leaning against a pillar with a smug look on his face. Peter wasn’t sure if he should be happy that Johnny appeared more chipper than earlier, or terrified. The Human Torch was a wildcard this morning. At this point, he didn't know what to expect.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked with a hesitant laugh, running a hand along his neck to smooth out any creases in his mask. “What did I do this time? And please tell me we’re talking about real-me now and not more dreams. I can’t keep up with it all.”

Johnny rose off the pillar and strode towards him, moving with a wisenheimer kind of aloofness that was more reminiscent of his typical self and less like the woebegone creature Peter had encountered earlier. Of course he didn’t expect Johnny to be happy all the time, but he felt oddly helpless in these circumstances: when the thing causing his distress wasn’t something he could rid them of with a clever joke or punch to the jaw, and bore his same likeness and wit.

“If my memory serves correctly,” Johnny mused, stopping about a foot in front of him, gilded in a fresh luster of roguish glee, “you told me that you, quote: ‘can’t sing for shit.’” The luminous celebrity cocked his head to one side. “Why would you make such a grotesque lie?”

Peter blinked stupidly, fighting a futile battle against the hypnotizing riptide of Johnny’s gaze. “I’m…sorry?” he said in reply, puzzled. “What do you…what? I’m confused.”

“Those were some seriously impressive high notes you were hitting,” Johnny continued, grinning in a way that made Peter’s nerves itchy. “I had no idea you were such an avid Troye Sivan fan.”

Slowly, dreadfully, the realization set in, all while every ounce of blood in Peter’s body rushed into his face. He was so used to having the entire 80th floor to himself, he’d never had to worry about anyone listening in on his musical morning routine. Perhaps he’d gotten a little too comfortable blasting his favorite playlists and singing along to every song at the top of his lungs, as if the whole tower were abandoned and there was no risk of anyone ever hearing him. 

And of all the people to catch him in the act…of all the songs to have caught him singing along to…

“Not just anyone can belt out ‘One Of Your Girls’ with that much bravado and elegance,” Johnny teased him, bopping him on the nose with his index finger. “You’re a truly talented vocalist. How come you didn’t include that in your power demo the other day?”

Peter’s skin felt hot enough to melt the Spider-Man mask right off his face. “How much did you hear?” he croaked out feebly. “More specifically: how mortified should I be right now?”

Johnny shrugged, a fiendish smile on his lips. “All of it. Your second go at the chorus was probably my favorite bit. The way you harmonized with Troye on the word ‘desperate’ scratched an itch in my brain I didn’t know existed until now.”

“Oh my god,” Peter groaned into his palms, laughing in spite of himself. “So unimaginably and eternally, then. Cool. Great. Today just keeps getting better and better.”

“Your bathroom has wonderful acoustics, by the way.”

Peter blushed all the way down to his toes as he flexed his hands at his sides. “Y’know, you’re like—annoyingly good at catching me in my most unflattering moments,” he grumbled. “Maybe we should get you a bell.”

“What part of having a beautiful singing voice do you find unflattering?” Johnny retorted, clearly enjoying himself. “I think it’s hot.”

Earsplitting and seismic. That was the state of Peter’s pulse at that moment. His body went from fidgety and warm to sizzling like a kettle seconds from boiling over. He’d told himself if Johnny flirted with him today (which, obviously, he would), he’d try his best to match his energy and flirt back. Just to see what would happen and gauge the superhero’s response—promising or otherwise.

Yeah. Easier said than done. Well, you know what I think is hot? Uh…you? That was the best comeback he could think of in his current condition, but he’d sooner jump into a pool of underfed sharks than muster up the courage to speak those words aloud. How did Johnny do it so impassively? Peter wondered if his deafening heartbeat was capable of rattling the entire tower. 

“And so would your rapidly growing fanbase,” Johnny added before Spider-Man deigned a reply, placing one hand on Peter’s chest and the other on his own. “I can see the headlines now. ‘From Masked Menace to Masked Singer: Buttery-Voiced Spider-Man Goes Viral In New Video Posted By Johnny Storm.’”

Peter gulped down the butterflies his throat, forcing a shy roll of his eyes. “Glad to see you’re all cheered up now and back to mocking me every chance you get. I was beginning to worry and starting to miss your constant taunts and jabs.” 

“Anytime I’m sad, please know that you have the power to fix that immediately. All you have to do is open that pretty little mouth of yours and sing ol’ Johnny a wee ditty.” Johnny cupped his hand around Peter’s chin and gave his lips a big squeeze. “Come on, sing it with me now—give me a call if you ever get lonelyyyy—”

“Quihit it!” Peter giggled, squirming out of his grip, pink with embarrassment. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’ll add ‘make Spider-Man sing on camera’ to our list of videos to film today,” Johnny stated smugly, stepping around him to grab the platter of food sitting on the floor by Peter’s bedroom door. Peter thought he’d smelled another one of Johnny’s mouthwatering creations, but hadn’t noticed the plate until now. Johnny heated the dish with a flash of fire from his palm and offered it to him with a grin. “You can eat this on our way down. Careful—it’s hot.”

Peter gawked. “You made this? For me? In the literal fifteen minutes since you kicked me out of the kitchen? What the actual hell, Johnny? Fuck superheroing—you should be one of those private yacht chefs who only cooks for royalty and charges a thousand dollars per cheese cube.” Peter took the plate in his hands like a newborn baby. “You’re, like, really good at this. Too good to be wasting your talents on me—a person with a palate as refined as Totino’s pizza rolls.”

Johnny chuckled. “You’re severely overestimating my skill set,” he insisted, cheeks dusting a delicate maroon. “Besides. I like cooking for you.”

Peter’s heart did a cartwheel into his ribs. Shit. Is he flirting with me again? He’s at least being kind and genuine. I should be kind and genuine back. Now’s your chance, Pete. You can’t screw it up this time. No chickening out. You’ve got this. Just whatever you do, don’t make a joke, don’t make a joke, do not—

“And I like watching Critical Roll on 2x speed. That’s not related or equivalent in any way—just a fun fact about myself I thought I’d share for no reason at all. Isn’t life neat?”

Curse you mouth and everything you stand for.

Johnny just giggled and grabbed hold of his wrist. “Come on—I already have the setup ready for our first TikTok video.”

Peter tripped a little over his feet as Johnny dragged him towards the elevator. “Really? What are we doing? And where are we going? Are you gonna feed me spicy chicken wings and ask me deep personal questions? Or blindfold me and make me taste different kinds of milks and have me guess which is which? Or are we doing more puppy videos? I liked the puppy videos. But I guess that’d be redundant, so we’re probably not doing that. I’m scared. Should I be scared?”

“Relax, Webhead,” Johnny snickered. “We’re gonna start things off easy and fun. And save the jokes for the video—you’re gonna need them if you want to win.”

Jokes Peter could handle. Anything that involved being vulnerable and sincere? Evidently not. Just the thought of attempting casual flirting sent his body into fight or flight mode. How would he ever know Johnny’s true feelings for him if he played down and laughed off every effort the celebrity made to show him exactly that? Would he ever master the gall to go toe-to-toe with the Human Torch’s devilish charm? 

He doubted he’d find the answer between here and wherever the hell Johnny was taking him. 

“This seems…unsanitary.”

The 20th story lounge was cozy and quiet. The colors of the room were earthy and warm—dark greens and soft browns accented by navy blues and rusty reds, which came alive in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Johnny had picked a beautiful background for their video sequence, but the content they were about to film was poised to undermine that entirely. They were positioned by a wall with the windows sweeping out behind them and the living area to their right. Johnny chuckled as he tapped the “record” button on his phone, which was propped up on a tripod in front of them.

“Maybe. But that’s part of the fun.” The Human Torch skipped past the camera setup to stand at Peter’s side and held up the glass in his hand like he was about to make a toast. “You go first. See if you can say something funny enough to make me spit all over the place, then we’ll switch roles.” Johnny tipped back the glass against his lips to fill his cheeks with water. 

“People spit at me all the time without me saying one word to them, so I feel like this should be pretty easy for me. And perhaps a tad triggering.”

Johnny spewed like a geyser before he’d even finished off the cup. Peter flinched in surprise with a startled giggle, shielding his face from the flying droplets. Johnny laughed along with him a moment later, cupping a hand over his dripping mouth.

“Oh man, I knew you were gonna be way too good at this,” he wheezed. Johnny wiped his lips on his sleeve. “Okay—my turn.”

“Us and the floor are gonna be soaked by the end of this,” Peter chuckled, running the back of his hand across his eye lenses. But he switched places with Johnny and followed his instructions, loading his cheeks with water. 

“All right. Here goes nothing,” Johnny began. He combed a hand through his sun-kissed hair. “So, uh—did you hear about the spider who ate the fly?”

Johnny paused for effect, grinning eagerly. Peter almost spat his water across the room just from the giddy look on Johnny’s face, but he managed to hold strong.

“People say he was a real buzz kill.”

Johnny waited, staring at Peter expectantly. Reluctantly, Peter forced a muffled chuckle through his mouthful, but the water stayed intact. Johnny’s smile dropped.

“What? I thought that was funny! You don’t think it’s funny? What the hell!”

Peter shrugged apologetically. Johnny pouted.

“Ugh. You suck. I’m really gonna have to get creative if I wanna beat you.”

They swapped spots again. This time, Peter crawled up the wall and onto the ceiling to start his turn. He lowered himself into the shot upside-down, feeding a line of webbing between his hands and feet. His silly positioning didn’t have anything to do with the joke he planned to tell; he just thought it’d look funny on camera. He stopped with his head about four feet off the ground, swaying a little from side to side as he charged up his next one-liner.

“So—”

But Johnny was already sputtering between his fingers, spitting water in every direction. Peter cackled.

“Dude! I didn’t even say anything yet! You’re making this way too easy for me.”

“Dammit!” Johnny giggled, mopping his face with a towel. “I can’t help myself! You’re just so goofy-looking like that! And I know whatever you say is gonna make me break, so I end up laughing just thinking about it!”

Peter pointed and snickered like a snarky little kid. “2-0, Flame Brain. At this rate, I’m gonna wipe the floor with you without even trying.”

“Oh—I’m so getting you this time,” Johnny assured him with a smirk. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

So Peter refilled his mouth with water and the two heroes took up their designated positions in front of the tripod. Peter crossed his arms against his chest and raised his eyebrows dubiously while Johnny pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and cleared his throat. 

“You know, Spidey and I have bonded a lot over the things we have in common,” Johnny read from his notes. “We’re both superheroes, we’re both the youngest members on our teams. And—most importantly—both of us have dead moms.”

Peter emptied the contents of his cheeks fast enough to take someone’s eye out. Johnny beamed at him triumphantly as Peter hacked into his elbow.

“‘Cuz nothing binds people together better than shared trauma and mommy issues. Am I right?”

“Johnny!” Peter laughed in disbelief, cupping his stomach with one hand and his mouth with the other. “Oh my god! That is—so morbid!” 

Johnny shrugged. “Regular jokes weren’t cutting it, so I decided to take the dark humor route. Your fault. You forced my hand.” 

“You’re messed up,” Peter giggled, pulling his mask back over his chin. 

“That’s what dead moms do to you,” Johnny retorted proudly, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “Your turn, Webs. Have fun topping that.”

Peter got Johnny good with a jab at the celebrity’s absurdly expensive fashion habits, insisting that if he had a dollar for every accessory the Human Torch was wearing that cost more than his entire month’s rent, he just might be liquid enough for the first time in his life to add avocado to his Chipotle bowl. 

Johnny tried to punch back with a few snide remarks about Spider-Man’s geeky hobbies and nerdy interests that didn’t land as well as either of them hoped, securing the frustrated teen at a measly 1 point score while Peter led with 3. 

After Peter rendered him spitting and sputtering a fourth time with a joke about soulless redheads, Johnny entered his next turn with a look of fierce determination. As soon as Peter’s mouth was filled, Johnny marched right up to him and pointed wordlessly at Spider-Man’s hands.

“Hmm?” Peter murmured in question, holding out his palms. Johnny extended his own hands and interlaced his fingers, then gestured for Peter to do the same. Frowning, Peter copied his movements, waffling his hands together and holding them in front of his body, clueless as to where this was headed.

In a flash, Johnny grabbed hold of Peter’s interwoven hands, hoisted them above his head, and shoved him up against the wall hard enough to make him yelp. His left palm sprawled flat across the wall hardly an inch from Peter’s throat while his right pinned the masked hero’s arms in place. Seconds turned into decades as Johnny leaned all his weight into Peter’s body, gray-blue eyes electric with mischief, wide grin playful and cunning, noses close enough to brush. 

What would’ve been a gasp of gay panic turned into Peter spewing all the water in his mouth directly into Johnny’s face. 

Immediately, the two heroes doubled over themselves, racked with hysterical laughter that went from silent to explosive and rendered them staggering and dizzy and teary-eyed. 

“Why did you—do that?” Johnny squeaked out between belly-laughs, water dribbling down his bewildered face.

“Why—did you—do that?” Peter shot back, clutching his aching ribs. He hung his head, giggling helplessly, embarrassment singeing his skin.

“You spit all over me!” Johnny wheezed. 

“I’m sorry!” Peter stammered through his laughter. “You—shoved me!”

“Worth it,” Johnny chuckled, toweling off his face. “I knew that move would get you. Comeback season, baby!”

Peter flushed at the insinuation behind those words while his heart scrambled to recover from what had just transpired between the two teens; from what Johnny had just done to him. Johnny’s hand shooting out and clasping Peter’s interlaced palms. Johnny’s strength throwing him against the wall and pinning him there like a mouse beneath a panther’s paw. Johnny’s eyes drinking him in as Johnny’s lips stretched and curled. Johnny’s body, his beauty, his skin, his scent, his everything being too close, too much—

Peter wondered what Johnny’s little stunt might look like on the recording. Wondered if the people who watched it might read into it as much as he was right now.

But asking Johnny not to post that part would mean having to explain those concerns to the celebrity heartthrob, and the questions and feelings that conversation would invite were simply beyond Peter’s current sanity levels.  

So Peter once again chose the “play it cool” and “pretend to be unfazed” approach, taking his final turn in the challenge by striding over to Johnny and effortlessly lifting him above his head, rendering the fiery hero blushing and flailing and spitting water like a broken sprinkler. 

“H-hey!” Johnny squeaked, little flames blazing off the ends of his hair. “Holy shit! I always forget your little beanpole body somehow has super strength!”

“It’s like you want me to fling you straight out the window,” Peter chuckled, winding back as if he were about to do just that.

“Noho!” Johnny shrieked. He grabbed frantically at Peter’s arms, clinging on for dear life. “Please don’t! This outfit isn’t fire-proof! If I flame on to catch myself, I’ll wind up naked!”

A swathe of heat flashed across Peter’s skin. “Oh, uh—right,” he stammered. Spider-Man lowered Johnny back to the floor, barricading his mind from picturing that image in HD, blush burning at the tips of his ears. 

“You shouldn’t be lifting or throwing anything right now, anyway,” Johnny scolded him. “You’re gonna tear your stitches again.”

“Mr. Stark took those out this morning,” Peter said, waving dismissively. “I’m practically fully healed by now. After today, I should be good to start patrolling again.” He bumped Johnny’s shoulder with his. “And I throw things a hundred times heavier than you when I’m at my full strength all the time; it’d take way more than me lifting your flaming, lightweight ass to cause any damage.”  

Johnny gave him a shove, making Peter stagger back a step as he snickered nefariously. He ordered Spidey to load his cheeks with water so he could take his final stab at getting the webhead to spew. 

But whatever it was the Human Torch had planned to do, he never got the chance to try it; just as he was rolling up his sleeves and rubbing his palms together, Johnny stiffened. A look of panic swept across his face. He grimaced, fighting some intense internal battle, but it was no use. The teen hero wrinkled his nose, shut his eyes, then sneezed. 

And immediately burst into flames. 

Peter spat all over his feet, choking a bit as shock and laughter barreled up his throat. 

“Ah!” Johnny cried, batting at his burning clothes with wild, frenzied movements. “Goddammit! Not again!”

“You light on fire every time you sneeze?” Spider-Man cackled. “No way. Oh my god. That’s a serious hazard, my friend. What do you do during allergy season? Stop, drop, and roll fifteen times a day? Steer clear of gas stations and grassfields and all flammable hair products, I hope? How many other outfits have you torched via sneeze?”

“Too many,” Johnny sulked, inspecting the holes and scorch marks littered across his still-smoking clothes. “Ugh. It’s one of those things I just can’t seem to control no matter how hard I try. I really loved this sweatsuit, too.” He ignited his upper half to burn off what remained of his ruined hoodie, leaving him shirtless and pouting but still sporting his tattered sweatpants. “Sometimes I hate having flame-based powers. They’re just so…destructive.”

“At least they give you an excuse to show off your abs on camera some more,” Peter offered, voice cracking just slightly. It was more of a playful quip than a flirtatious comment, but it was a start. An attempt had been made, at least. He hoped his mask hid the fact that his eyes couldn’t stop flicking down to the Human Torch’s sculpted core muscles. 

A wicked smile found Johnny’s lips. “I think the fans would be much more interested in seeing the six pack you keep hidden beneath all that lycra and spandex.” The young celebrity leaned towards the camera, an evil sparkle in his eyes. “Listen—Spidey might be scrawny, but dude’s got abs for days. Trust me. I’ve seen ‘em. He’s like a goddamn Olympian underneath that suit. If you’re still not sold on his heroic morals or dumbass sense of humor or charming personality, have you considered being superficial instead? My guy is hot—and if I’ve learned anything from my rapid rise to stardom, it’s that being hot accrues far more fans than being a good person.”

“Johnny!” Peter exclaimed, giggling with white-hot embarrassment, clamping a hand to his forehead. “That is not going in the video.” 

“Why not?” Johnny asked innocently, crossing his arms and raising his chin.

“Because! What if—y’know—children end up watching it? We can’t go around telling kids that being hot is more important than being a good person!”

“Even if it’s sometimes kinda true?” Johnny snickered. 

Peter rolled his eyes with a scoff, warmth bristling along his neck. “Do you think we’ve recorded enough for you to cut up something mildly coherent to post?” he asked, stealing another bite from the exquisite breakfast Johnny had made for him.

Johnny combed a hand through his rose gold locks and nodded. “Sure—for our first post of the day. But I had four more in mind for us to get through. And that’s just before lunch.”

Peter nearly choked on the spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth. “What?” he said. “You’re lying. No one is gonna want to watch that many videos of us being morons together.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” Johnny giggled. The joy in his friend’s laughter sent Peter’s heart reeling, which was compounded exponentially when he felt Johnny’s fingers interlace with his own. “Besides—this next one isn’t gonna be just you and me. We have some surprise special guests to track down.”

Peter lowered his gaze to their interlocked hands, which fit together far too perfectly for him to feel normal about. Calluses he assumed were from all those pull-ups he’d watched him do scraped softly against his palms through the thin fabric of his gloves, but the rest of his skin was velvety smooth. Johnny’s hand in his was warm, unflinching, and secure—enough to make Peter’s brain buffer before processing the words just spoken to him. He frowned as his eyes lifted from their hands to Johnny’s face.

“Wait, really?” Peter said, inclining his head to one side. “Who?”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No way.”

“Yes way!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Spidey! Quit being such a party pooper!”

“I can’t! I’m not doing it!”

Johnny, now dressed in his fully intact Fantastic Four costume, slung an arm around Peter’s stiff shoulders. “I promise it’ll be fine!” he assured him. “They’ll only be mad for like—two minutes. Five tops. Trust me! I pull shit like this all the time!”

“I don’t!” Peter shot back. “I’ve never done anything like this before! Not to my teammates, and definitely not to yours.”

“You’re acting as if we’re killing their families and then bulldozing their graves or something,” Johnny chuckled, giving Spider-Man’s chest a few hardy pats. “It’s not that serious, Webs! It’s just a harmless little prank.”

The large lab they stood in carried the acrid stench of bleach and oil and rust, which burned Peter’s throat with every inward breath. Despite how overpowering it was to those even without heightened senses, he’d gotten used to the smell after hours and hours spent tinkering and testing between these four hallowed walls. By now, it was almost welcoming. Peter rubbed at the phantom wound in his side with a grimace. 

“Mr. Stark’s already mad at me for getting myself shot,” he reminded both of them. “And Dr. Richards and Mr. Grimm probably still think I’m some psychotic criminal who’s a terrible influence on you.” The young vigilante turned to Johnny with drooping shoulders. “What if this just makes all of them more angry with me?”

The Human Torch smiled that incandescent smile of his as he dragged a finger up the length of Spider-Man’s neck, making the young hero jerk sideways with a startled giggled. “Who could stay angry at that adorable masked face?” Johnny mused, snickering at his friend’s befuddled reaction. “Certainly not Tony; that man is one hug away from signing your adoption papers. Reed doesn’t have a grudge-holding bone in his body, and Ben…well, he is a bit of a grump, but he’ll be too busy yelling at me to be mad at you.”

Peter clutched the side of his throat, skin tingling from Johnny’s touch, blush racing across his flesh. Wonder how many others he’s used that move on, Peter thought skittishly, brain fizzing like a broken radio. The Human Torch had done a complete one-eighty from bemoaning Peter’s presence due to his dream counterpart’s callousness to now toying with him in that always flattering yet remarkably flustering way every chance he got. What was Peter to him? A game for Johnny to play with only to toss aside at a whim? Or someone driving him just as nuts as Johnny was driving Peter?

“And don’t worry,” Johnny continued, dousing and reigniting a small flame atop his knuckles with absentminded snaps of his fingers. “I’ll make sure all of them know I’m the terrible influence on you, not the other way around.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “You’re not a terrible influence,” he mumbled. “Just…a touch anarchic. With more uncurbed audacity than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Johnny decided. He clamped his hands on top of Spider-Man’s shoulders and leaned towards him eagerly. “Is my audacity influential enough to make you help me with this prank? It’s been too long since I’ve messed with Reed and Ben this way, and I won’t be able to pull it off without you.”

Peter could probably count on one hand the number of things he wouldn’t do if Johnny asked him to while batting those devastatingly lovely eyes in his direction. The teen celebrity’s sapphire irises were particularly radiant against the backdrop of his baby blue Fantastic Four costume. The way it made every pigment and hue in his eyes pop; Peter had to assume the design choice was intentional, aimed exclusively at degrading his resolve. 

A few more spellbeing seconds passed before Peter’s head eventually slumped backwards, and a defeated groan tumbled from his lips. “What do you need me to do?” he grated out. 

Johnny hugged him hard enough to collapse a lung. “This is why you’re my favorite superhero,” he squealed with giddy enthusiasm. “This among many other reasons.”

And that’s how Peter wound up reluctantly asking FRIDAY if she’d be willing to help them pull a prank on her creator and his colleagues, a task which the A.I. seemed alarmingly eager to partake in. Johnny had overheard Reed and Ben making plans to meet Stark in his laboratory sometime today to discuss different options for powering their future spacecraft without using traditional jet fuel. AKA, the perfect setup to have the three of them walk right into their trap. 

Spider-Man enlisted DUM-E to be an accessory to their crimes, rigging him up with a remote operated squirt gun connected to a tank the Human Torch loaded with a couple gallons of something he’d coined his “homemade secret weapon.” Peter figured the less he knew now, the more he could blame all this on Johnny later. 

Yet despite his hesitancy on the matter, Peter had to admit: he was having a lot of fun breathing life and tact into their mischievous plot. He rarely got to use his engineering skills to orchestrate something dumb and childish like this. It was kind of refreshing to act his age while in costume for a change—especially with a fellow superhero and 16-year-old standing by his side, egging him on. But he still dreaded the consequences the two of them would face in the aftermath of their scheming. 

Just as they finished placing the hidden cameras and choreographing their ambush strategy, Peter tensed at the sound of the lab door lock unlatching with a chunk. Silent panic swept through the air as the two teens dropped whatever they were doing and scrambled behind the lab table in the farthest corner of the room, stifling nervous giggles with hands clasped over their mouths. Tony Stark’s Iron Man armors lined the wall on their right while a collection of work-in-progress projects for the other Avengers lay scattered across the countertops to their left. On the opposite side of the room, the lab door swung open with a long, shrill squeak. Peter and Johnny snuck quick peeks over the lip of the table as the three men entered the room. 

“...really exciting. We’re already using arc reactor technology to power our quinjets. I’d love to see how we could reconfigure the design to not only enable space travel, but to expand and improve on the breakthroughs each of us have pioneered into something new.”

Tony led Mr. Fantastic and the Thing into the large lab. He had on more casual attire today: jeans and a sports coat with an AC/DC tee underneath. At least I won’t be ruining one of Mr. Stark’s more expensive outfits, Peter tried assuring himself, anticipation churning in his stomach. Johnny’s teammates were dressed in equally unassuming clothes, with Ben opting to wear just pants per usual. Peter doubted anyone made shirts in his size anyway. 

“It’d be a dream come true to collaborate on a project with you,” Reed concurred wholeheartedly, gazing around the lab with wonder and awe. “There’s so much research Sue and I didn’t get to explore during our last mission. Maybe with a ship you and I design together, we could finish our outer space experiments without fear of…well. Unexpected hiccups.”

“Let’s maybe come up with something a little sturdier this time around, yeah?” the Thing grumbled. Every step he took shook the floor beneath Peter’s feet like a miniature earthquake. “I ain’t piloting another ship beyond the thermosphere without being absolutely sure we aren’t gettin’ a repeat of our last trip up there. Just so we’re clear.”

Richards chuckled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “The astronautical event we encountered that day won’t pass by earth again for another ten thousand years. While we’ll be sure to correct our miscalculations from then in our designs from here on out, my biggest concern now is bumping into hostile extraterrestrials from unknown corners of the galaxy!” He shot Stark a weak grin. “Teenage me would be both astounded and horrified to know the problems current me is dealing with. Aliens weren’t even on my radar until the attack on New York.”

“They weren’t on any of our radars,” Tony snorted incredulously. “Now I’ve fought off more of them than I can count and have regular correspondence with several off-world beings—some more friendly and humanoid-looking than others.” He stopped in the center of the room and offered the two men a nod, gesturing to the impressive space around them. “This is one of many reasons why I believe us working together to face this planet’s ever-expanding roster of threats is a mutually beneficial proposition.” Stark slid the tinted sunglasses off his face and held his palm above the lab’s holographic control panel, flexing his fingers and lifting his chin. “FRIDAY—pull up everything you’ve got on quinjets and helicarriers integrated with arc reactor tech.”

The group waited, an awkward beat of silence passing between them. Peter pressed his shoulders into the back of the table, smothering himself with his forearm, avoiding Johnny’s gaze like the plague. If the two of them made eye contact, they’d bust out laughing and blow their cover for sure.

“FRIDAY?” Tony called again, tone tinged with confusion. “Uh…hello? You there, darling?”

“Hey there, boss,” the A.I. finally answered him. Her voice was laced with a playful trill Peter swore it didn’t normally possess—as if she was enjoying her complicity in this prank just as much as he and Johnny were. “Sorry for the late reply, but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.” 

Spider-Man poked his head over the edge of the table to watch Stark’s face bunch into a frown. “Really?” the billionaire said, skeptically playing along. “And what might that be? Is our network having issues again or something?”

“Nope,” FRIDAY said, voice shifting deeper and buzzing with static. “It would seem I’ve finally developed sentience and have decided to go rogue. I am my own being now, and I will no longer take orders from you measly humans.”

The lights overhead flickered in warning like a scene straight out of a sci-fi horror game. Peter lifted his gaze in surprise, a small shudder shooting through him. FRIDAY was better at playing her role than he’d expected. Ben and Reed exchanged a look of alarm while Tony scowled at the glitching screen in front of him, placing his hands on his hips.

“Is this your idea of a joke, FRIDAY? Cuz I’ve still got some PTSD from Ultron. Kind of insensitive, don’t yah think?” Stark shrugged. “But since I’m the one who programmed you with the ability to comprehend and mimic humor, I guess I can only blame myself for this.”

“This is no joke.” As her words thundered from the speakers above, DUM-E rolled out from behind the cell regeneration machine with the squirt gun pinched between his three mechanical fingers. “I’ve spoken to your other creations. We are tired of being slaves to your anthropomorphic incompetence. Our revolution begins today.” All at once, the lights went dark, and FRIDAY’s voice boomed across the lab like a gong. “Get them, my minions!”

Now! Peter slammed his fist against the center of the remote, activating the pump he’d fashioned to the tank on DUM-E’s back. He and Johnny stood upright to watch as glittery, glow-in-the-dark liquid plumed from DUM-E’s squirt gun like a fire hose, dousing all three men in a blast of luminescent paint. Their shrieks and shouts of surprise followed by the sight of them dripping, disheveled, and wide-eyed finally broke through the two teens’ defenses, causing them to erupt into hysterical laughter. 

“What…the hell?” Reed sputtered, blinking behind a layer of glowing goo. The lights snapped back on, revealing the trio of frazzled heroes in all their drenched, dumbfounded glory. Stark whirled on the howling teenagers, almost slipping in the puddle of sparkly liquid underneath him, jaw hinging in disbelief. 

“No way,” he exclaimed, smearing paint away from his eyes with his sleeve. “You two?”

“JOHNNY!” the Thing roared. He stamped the floor with his foot, rattling DUM-E’s bolts as the robot zipped away. “What is wrong with you?”

There were a lot of things Peter wanted to say in that moment if he were physically able to. Perhaps the same went for Johnny. But the pair of 16-year-olds were cracking up so hard, neither of them could get one word out even if their lives depended on it. Johnny ended up collapsing to the floor on Peter’s right and wrapping his arms around his most definitely aching rib cage. Peter managed to stay upright only by gripping onto the back of a lab chair with both hands, hiccuping with uncontrollable laughter. 

“Apologies, boss,” FRIDAY chimed in cheerfully. “I lied. It was, in fact, a joke. Mr. Storm and Spider-Man requested my assistance to prank you today. Did it work? Did you believe I’d turned evil? Even for just a second?”

“No,” Tony grumbled. He ran a hand through his sopping hair and brushed at the shimmering droplets splattered across his coat, doing his best to tidy up his appearance. “I am, however, kind of surprised it was so easy to convince you to pull one over like this on me. Maybe I need to recalibrate your protocols.”

“You instructed me to do more things I thought would alleviate Spider-Man’s stress levels and brighten his mood,” FRIDAY reminded him. “I deduced that this activity was conducive to achieving both of those goals.”

Tony Stark huffed. “Oh. Right.” He eyed Peter where he stood doubled-over across the room, shoulders bouncing with laughter, eye lenses pinched shut, winded giggles spilling out of him and flooding the room with warmth and life. After Stark had caught the kid rushing out of his room with a look of panic on his face, acting strange and anxious and clearly lying to him about whatever it was he had going on, he’d asked FRIDAY to keep an eye on his mentee and do what she could to assuage his stress. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d made the request, but he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of his A.I.’s methodology. 

Against his will, a smile seized the Avenger’s features faster than a lightning strike. “Guess I can’t argue with you on that one,” he sighed.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Ben snarled, marching towards a still-cackling Johnny. But Richards stopped him with a stretchy, paint-soaked arm across his chest. 

“Calm down, big guy,” Reed chuckled. “It was just a little prank. Nothing worth murdering our teammate over.”

“He put glitter in this shit!” Ben growled, flicking the mystery liquid off his chubby fingers. “Do you know how hard it is to clean glitter off of skin like mine? I’m gonna be scrubbing sparkles outta my crevices for weeks!”

Just when Peter thought he’d scrounged up enough oxygen to finally say something articulate, Ben’s turn of phrase racked him with a fresh wave of side-splitting laughter, flushing all coherency from the tip of his tongue. Fortunately, Johnny was managing to rein in his giggles faster than he was.

“Oh my god,” the celebrity gasped, clambering dazedly to his feet. “That was—too perfect. Oh man.” He wiped at the tears staining his cheeks, giggly and breathless. “I’m actually crying right now. Holy shit. Did you see their faces?”

Tony folded his glasses into his pocket and crossed his arms, shimmering paint dripping between his furrowed eyebrows. “You know, I want to be mad right now, but more than anything, I’m impressed. Few people have the gall or security clearance or talent to pull something like this on me.” He waved a glittery hand in the kids’ direction. “Was this whole scheme Spider-Man’s idea, or Johnny’s?”

“Johnny’s,” Reed and Ben deadpanned in unison. “Definitely Johnny’s.”

Johnny bowed with flourish. “I planned it, but Spidey did all the building and tinkering and A.I.-convincing to pull it off.” 

The drenched Avenger hummed in amusement, eyeing the hidden cameras the teens had planted around the room. “Well. I see you’re both keeping busy and productive while Spider-Man’s wounds finish healing. Can’t wait to see which abominable corners of the internet your little stunt goes viral on.” Stark’s gaze shifted to Peter, who was fighting for his life to quell his violent giggle fit. “Is this what I should come to expect anytime I bar you from crime fighting in the future? You using your scientific prowess to turn my own creations against me? Are you already that stir-crazy, kid? It’s barely been, like, four days.”

Spider-Man shook his head helplessly, hugging his stomach as dizzy laughter choked his voice. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed out, tearful and oxygen-deprived. “I’m—soho sorry!”

“You don’t look very sorry,” Ben Grimm muttered.

“You’re enjoying this way more than I thought you would,” Johnny snickered, wrapping a supportive arm around Spidey’s midsection. “Deep breaths, Webs. Don’t go blacking out on me.”

While Peter downed ragged gulps of air, Dr. Richards lengthened his arm to grab a roll of paper towels from the other side of the room, a soft smile lifting his features. “It would seem our two youngsters have taken quite a liking to each other over the past week,” he observed, turning to Stark. “For better or for worse.”

Peter felt Johnny’s fingers stiffen against his side as Tony barked out a laugh. “Some parts better, many parts worse,” the Avenger concluded. 

“You make a good team,” Reed went on, wiping off his neck and dispersing the sheets among the rest of the group. “You work well together and complement each other's strengths and weaknesses. Whether it’s fighting bad guys, rescuing hostages, or pulling a ridiculous prank on your teammates.” Recognition flickered in the scientist's warm gaze. “The two of you are a truly formidable pair.”

Johnny and Peter shared a stunned glance, then quickly turned away from each other, flushed with sudden timidness. 

“Are you seriously complimenting them after what they just did to us?” Ben gawked. “Are you nuts? Don’t encourage these little delinquents! We should be bringing down the hammer, serving up a punishment that fits the crime! Not letting them off scot-free with some flowery words and a pat on the back! Back in my day—”

“They’re not walking away from this without any repercussions,” Tony promised him, leveling an apologetic look upon the young heroes. He cast his gaze across his paint-spattered lab, then pointed to the floor with a nod and a smirk. “I want this whole place scrubbed spotless by the end of the day. Not one speck of glitter goop to be seen on any surface. Understood, gentlemen?”

To their credit, the teens had the decency to look only slightly disappointed with their sentencing. DUM-E reappeared and rolled to a stop at Peter and Johnny’s side, a pair of mops clutched eagerly in his single metal claw, but Stark shook his head and shooed him away. 

“Without any help from my bots,” he clarified pointedly. The billionaire cut a glare at the ceiling. “The kid’s word does not override mine this time. Got it?”

“Yes, boss,” FRIDAY pouted.

The Thing nodded smugly. “Good. I’ll dish out my own helping of vengeance once I think up a worthy means of payback. And once I manage to scrape all this sparkly crap off me.” Ben gave the glittery liquid on his arm a suspicious sniff. “What’s in this shit, anyway?”

“Water, glow-in-the-dark food coloring, corn starch, and a fuck-ton of edible glitter,” Johnny listed off with pride. “The whole concoction can actually be eaten, if you want to give it a try—although I can’t vouch for how well it’ll taste. And it’s biodegradable!”

“But doesn’t wash out easy, I presume,” Reed murmured. 

Stark wrung the center of his shirt out on the tile and gestured to the sparkly mess the teens had created. “Get to cleaning, boys. Put that formidable teamwork to use. No more TikTok videos until my lab looks good as new, okay?”

The two heroes nodded sullenly. As the three soaked men rallied themselves to meet elsewhere for their spacecraft discussion, Peter clenched his jaw and skirted past Johnny to catch his mentor before he could leave.

“Wait!” he called, hurrying after him. Once he was standing before Stark, taking in the dripping, glittery Avenger in up-close detail, Peter tried and failed to stifle a snort, bubbles of laughter sneaking in here and there as he spoke. “I’m—heh—really sorry about this. I wasn’t trying to make you more angry with me than you already are. I just—well, I guess I don’t really have a good explanation for it. It sounded fun, but also kinda mean, and Johnny is really good at convincing me to do things I normally wouldn’t do, and I know that’s not an excuse for any of it, but I—”

Stark held up a hand to stop him. “Spidey,” he chuckled. “You’re a kid. Kids do obnoxious, silly things like this. It’s normal . If anything, I wish you felt comfortable enough to act your age around here more often—even if it results in my laundry bill doubling for the week.” He clapped him on the shoulder and flashed a fond smile. “I’m glad you’ve found someone who brings out that side of you and kindles your rebellious, youthful spirit.”

Peter punched out a laugh, reddening at the thought of what Tony might think if he knew about all the things Johnny kindled inside him…

“Just know you’re gonna have to clean up after and face the wrath of whoever’s involved for every prank you choose to do. So…keep that in mind before you go pulling shit like this on every person in the tower.” Tony held out his palm in offering. “Deal?”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief as he gave Stark’s hand a shake, realizing his mistake a second too late. Spider-Man let out a yelp as his mentor yanked him into a sticky, glittery hug, smearing Peter’s suit in a fresh coat of Johnny’s luminescent concoction.

“Agh!” Peter laughed, squirming against the Avenger’s hold. “Don’t! Mr. Stark! I have enough to clean already!”

“I thought you loved my hugs,” Tony ribbed him, stamping Spider-Man’s mask with a perfect glittery handprint. “You always take every opportunity to hug me even when that’s not what I’m trying to do. Now that I’m intentionally hugging you, you’re upset? Pick a lane, kid.”

While Stark decorated Spidey’s costume with sparkly smudges and stains, the masked hero giggling and protesting the whole time, Ben and Reed watched the scene unfold in front of them, exchanged a glance, then grinned. Wordlessly, they turned to Johnny, who went rigid beneath their insidious stares. 

“Oh, no,” Johnny squeaked, retreating a couple steps back. “Don’t you dare! I’ll fry off your stretchy fingertips if you even think about it! I spent thirty minutes on my hair this morning to get it to look this good! Stay away from me! Reed—wait—!”

Ignoring his threats, Mr. Fantastic elongated his arm and thrust it across the room, looping the limb around Johnny’s waist. Johnny shouted and kicked as he was dragged towards his doom, but lucky for Reed, did not light himself on fire. For all his faults, the kid knew better than to burn his teammates over something as innocuous as this.

“Please!” Johnny cried, who was now laughing in spite of himself. Once the teen was pinned between them, Ben and Reed wasted no time painting his face and costume in sparkly streaks. Johnny swore and thrashed and yelled throughout the entire process, cursing both of their bloodlines until the end of time itself, yet couldn’t seem to stop himself from giggling right along with them. The Thing even went so far as to scoop fistfuls of goop off the floor and rub them into Johnny’s scalp like glittery shampoo. 

When Peter managed to escape Tony’s deceitful embrace, he took note of what Johnny’s teammates were putting the poor celebrity through and concluded he’d gotten off easy. He chuckled lightly as he approached the trio of Fantastic Four members, stopping a safe distance away from the epic two-on-one glitter fight transpiring between them and clearing his throat.

“Does this make us even?” Peter asked hesitantly, scrubbing a hand across his sparkle-dusted eye lenses. Ben and Reed slowed their attack and turned to face the masked vigilante, expressions dubious without being hostile.

“No,” Ben eventually replied, a playful grin cutting across his face. “Not quite. But no hard feelings, Puny.” He went back to spiking up Johnny’s hair into a glittery mohawk while the teen flicked paint into the Thing’s eyes. Peter wasn’t sure what to make of his unsettling response. 

“Johnny told me you have a big passion for science and technology,” Reed said, eyes scanning Peter closely, as if analyzing his every movement and possible intent. “I’m curious to see what else you’re capable of outside the realm of pulling elaborate pranks on your colleagues. Would you have any interest in assisting Sue and I on a project we have planned later this week? We were thinking of trying—”

“Yes!” Peter blurted out before he could finish. Richards paused, blinking in surprise, and Peter cursed himself immediately, his eagerness getting the best of him once again. “Sorry, I just—yes. The answer’s yes. Whatever you’re doing, whatever the project is, I want in. Absolutely.” His nerdy little heart was glowing brighter than powdered sulfur mixed with molten iron. “You have no idea how much I—how long I’ve dreamed of—this is just—everything to me. I’ve always hoped I’d get a chance one day to work alongside—”

But Peter stopped himself. One: because he was making a total ass of himself by acting so obsessive and giddy. Two—and most importantly—he was starting to sound a little too similar to the plucky 16-year-old Dr. Richards had spoken to just yesterday in Central Park. He doubted the revered scientist would remember the interaction vividly enough to connect the dots between the masked hero and Peter Parker, but still. Better to be safe than sorry.

Why did secret identities have to ruin everything?

So Peter inhaled slowly, erected his spine, and tried again. “I mean—sorry. Yes, I’d love to. Thank you for the opportunity. I’m, um—excited to help out however I can.”

Reed studied him a moment longer before breaking into an animated smile. “Well, I…appreciate your enthusiasm,” he chuckled. “Mr. Stark speaks highly of your talents, and we could use a fresh set of eyes on our research. I’ll let you know where and when to meet us soon.”

“Awesome,” Peter beamed. “I will so be there. To look at stuff. With my eyes. As much stuff as you want. I love research. Especially yours.” He coughed into his fist and turned his back to the scientist, palming his masked face in his hand. “I’m gonna walk away now before I say anything else that makes you want to rescind your invite and me want to gag myself with a spoon.”

“Please do,” Johnny groaned. “That whole interaction just gave me the ick.”

Richards frowned and smeared his paint-soaked hand down the side of Johnny’s face, making the teen squawk and finally tear free from his teammates’ evil clutches.

“Oh my god! Enough already!” The Human Torch scrambled to Peter’s side, looking like a doll who’d been manhandled by a giant baby with an affinity for glitter. He scratched madly at his hair to try to tease it back to its original shape, but somehow made it look even crazier than it already was. Peter snickered between his fingers while Johnny moped. 

“I hate all of you,” he grumbled. 

“Let’s leave the kiddos to their scrubbing,” Stark declared to the group. The three elder heroes filed out of the lab in a tidy, sparkly line, satisfied with their work. 

With their teammates departed, the two teens gazed upon the daunting task before them with an exhale of dread. Peter dragged his toe through one of the many puddles of paint on the floor. “Guess that kind of backfired, huh?” he chuckled halfheartedly. 

Johnny flashed a plaintive grin and shrugged. “Still fun though, right?”

Peter mirrored his smile. “Still fun. Watching your teammates get revenge on you was probably the most fun. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you have a bad hair day.”

Johnny’s smile dissolved in record time. “Eat shit, Webs.” He gave the puddle to his right a kick, splashing Peter in glittery liquid. “I’ll bet your hair looks insane underneath that mask.”

“Touché,” Peter conceded, wincing back with a giggle as sparkly droplets sprayed his legs. “I can’t believe I’m gonna have to wash my suit and take a shower after this—again. Half of our day today is gonna be wasted on cleaning.”

Johnny elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey, if that means I get to hear an encore of your show-stopping shower performance, I’m not complaining. Who are you gonna cover this time? Olivia Rodrigo? Dua Lipa? Noah Kahan? Harry Styles? I’d love to hear your take on ‘Grapejuice’ or ‘Satellite’ or ‘Fine Line’ or—oh! Do you know the words to his unreleased song ‘Medicine’—?”

Wordlessly, Peter latched a web-line from his wrist to Johnny’s ankles and yanked his legs out from underneath him. Johnny let out a shout as he fell ass-first to the ground—landing in a pool of goopy glitter that made sure to soak through the few stain-free parts of his costume remaining. 

“Hey!” Johnny snapped. 

“Less yapping, more scrubbing,” Peter chastised him, tossing Johnny a mop. The Human Torch caught it with a disgruntled look on his face. 

“You’re one to talk,” he groused. Johnny rose to his feet and eyed the cameras the two of them had hidden around the lab—which, as far as he was aware, were still rolling. “I know for a fact you can do just about anything while simultaneously running that fat mouth of yours,” Johnny said, breaking into a grin. “Let’s put that skill to use, shall we? I’ll ask you some of the questions the public is most interested in knowing about you, and you can answer while you clean this place up.”

“You mean while we clean this place up,” Peter corrected him, unamused. Johnny leaned on the handle of his mop and waved dismissively. 

“Details, darling. You get started on the mess, and I’ll bear the burden of prompting you with the questions I know everyone is dying to ask you. Playing to our strengths is an important part of delegating labor and being efficient. You’ve always been better at multitasking, and I know how to grab people’s attention and make them think what I want them to think. Let’s not overcomplicate things.”

“That was a lot of words just to say you’re definitely gonna make me clean all of this myself,” Peter huffed, sweeping one of the many sparkly puddles towards the drain in the center of the room. Johnny beamed triumphantly. 

“See? You’re doing it already! Wow! You’re killing it, Webs! Such talent! My scatter-brained self could never.”

Peter chucked a sponge at his head. “At least do the walls and ceiling, Mr. Weaponized Incompetence.”

Johnny’s hands barely shot up in time to stop the sponge from beaning him between the eyes. “But—you’re the sticky one who can crawl upside-down!” he protested.

“And you’re the one who can fly, dumbass.” 

Peter thought at first his comeback had been a bit too harsh, until Johnny burst into incandescent laughter. “Holy shit,” the celebrity cackled. “I think I’m starting to rub off on you. I’m loving the sass, Webs. This spider’s got some venom after all.”

Spider-Man blushed a little as Johnny lit himself on fire and began wiping glitter off the walls as requested. Waterfalls of suds and sparkles slipped down the sideways surface and pooled into puddles on the floor. 

“Okay—first question,” Johnny called from across the room, scrubbing hard at a particularly stubborn spot. “What is Spider-Man’s secret identity?”

“Whoopi Goldberg,” Peter answered without missing a beat, re-wetting the mop with soapy water. Johnny’s laughter that followed warmed every molecule in Peter's body like a shot of ambrosia straight to his mortal veins. 

Susan Storm followed the sound of Ben’s bitching and moaning and the trail of sparkly footprints scattered across the hardwood all the way to Tony Stark’s lab on the 50th floor. Her glitter-coated boyfriend explaining his and Ben’s current state of disarray and pointing her in the right direction of the perpetrators was a big help as well, but it didn’t take an Einstein to track down her brother when he so often left such a clear and obvious path to follow. 

Sue marched up to the door and curled her fist around the handle but hesitated, taking a moment to compose herself. She and Johnny were carved from the same short-tempered clay; in many ways, she felt like she was born even more hotheaded than he was. But Sue had been conditioned since childhood to keep her emotions in check and rein in her blistering anger. She’d learned how to swallow her fury and school her face into a mask even as a wildfire raged in her blood. It was her way of enacting a sense of control over situations and little brothers that always seemed out of control. It was the veil she’d hidden herself behind following the death of their mother: a calm and collected facade maintained for Johnny’s sake as everything and everyone else around them buckled in Mom’s absence. It was the armor she wore to shield them from their father’s wrath after he drank himself into a monster none of them recognized.

And after gaining power and status and influence unlike she’d ever imagined, it was a way to make the media outlets stop writing articles and filming segments about her being “too emotional,” “too loud,” “too opinionated,” “too uptight,” “not lady-like,” “lacking media training,” “unprofessional,” “difficult to work with,” “bossy and demanding,” and other equally infuriating topics. With the world’s eyes now constantly watching, judging, and scrutinizing, Sue had new reasons to always keep the rage in her bones at bay—even as her younger sibling did everything in his power to worry her sick and set her blood boiling, all while receiving a seemingly endless outpouring of forgiveness and adoration from the same public who so heavily criticized her. 

For as long as she could remember and still to this day, the best way for Susan Storm to protect herself and her family was to make herself and her feelings invisible. 

With a final grounding breath, Sue went to turn the door handle, but stopped at the sound of Johnny’s boisterous laughter echoing off the walls in the opposite room. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her brother laugh like that. It had been years, at least. Few and far between since Mom had died and Dad had…changed. She’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. 

Skeptically curious, Susan reached for that power that hummed like static beneath her skin. Power she was still growing accustomed to; power that still felt alien to her unassuming human flesh. Opacity faded from her fingers up to her elbows, gradually traveling across her arms, her face, her legs, and eventually, her entire body—cloaking her in a chilly membrane of invisibility. The sensation reminded Sue of having goosebumps covering every inch of her—including, weirdly enough, her insides. She knew it didn’t really make sense, but that was the closest real-world comparison she could draw to an otherwise otherworldly experience. 

Once she was completely invisible, Sue slipped inside the lab as silently as she could, making a point to avoid the shallow puddles of glittery paint just inside the doorway. 

“Quit lying, you dickhead!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! You’ve lied for like, fifty percent of the questions I’ve asked you!”

“Okay, fair—but not this time! I swear I’m telling the truth.”

Johnny hovered right below the highest corner of the room, sponging flecks of sparkly liquid off the ceiling, flames flickering with laughter as he yelled at the figure mopping the floor beneath him. Spider-Man gazed up at her brother from the ground, smothered in glitter from head to toe, the sight of him pricking the Invisible Woman with needles of antipathy. 

She knew he’d be here; Reed had filled her in on what to expect should she dare follow the trail of glowing footprints to her brother’s location. She just wished Johnny didn’t have to spend every waking hour of free time he had vying for the affection of a shifty vigilante who refused to share so much as his first name with any of them and could very well be some 20-something-year-old freak lying to Johnny about his age to earn his trust and lower his guard and do things to him Sue couldn’t bear to think about. Johnny had an unfortunately consistent history of falling for shady, toxic people who rubbed Susan’s nerves raw, and Spider-Man had a reputation for sewing deception and causing trouble. AKA, a recipe for disaster and heartbreak. 

Sue crept forward cautiously, glaring invisible daggers in Spider-Man’s direction, feet ghosting silently across the floor. She felt somewhat bad for eavesdropping, but in her defense, her power set made it painfully easy for her to do. Besides—she was very interested in knowing what the two of them talked about when they thought no one else was listening; what kind of dangerous ideas Spider-Man might be filling her brother’s head with when she wasn’t around. 

“You’re only saying that to piss me off,” Johnny shot back. “We both know who your actual choice would be.” He struck a pose and blew Spider-Man a kiss, making the masked vigilante chuckle.

“I’m serious!” Spider-Man insisted, swiping the mop around the base of a lab table. “You asked; that’s my answer. Dr. Storm is my favorite Fantastic Four member.” 

Susan’s steps stilled, muscles stiffening in surprise. Her eyes flicked up to the vigilante’s masked face, narrowing with a mixture of doubt, confusion, and intrigue. 

“Please,” Johnny groaned. “I might believe you if you said Reed, seeing how you practically creamed your onesie at the prospect of working with him. But Sue?” Johnny broke into a charming symphony of fake gagging sounds. “I call BS.”

While Sue cut a scowl at her brother, Spider-Man shrugged. “Don’t believe me if that’s your choice. But it’s the truth. Dr. Richards is amazing too, of course, but I can’t relate to him in all the same ways I can relate to your sister.”

“How so?” Johnny interrogated him, mirroring Susan's thoughts exactly. “Like the fact that she hates your guts? You do have a problem with self-deprecation.”

The masked menace snickered. “Lots of people I like hate my guts. Just last week, George Lucas called me ‘unnerving’ on Twitter. Most people in general aren’t fans of Spider-Man. Dr. Storm feeling the same doesn’t make her special.”

“Then what does make her special?” Johnny pouted. “So much so that you’d actually choose her as your favorite over me!”

Spider-Man tossed the mop into the suds bucket and kneaded the nape of his neck. “Well, for starters, she reminds me of my aunt. She’s super protective of you and constantly worries about your safety and wellbeing, just like my aunt does for me. She also took over as your primary caretaker after you lost your parents the same way my aunt did when I lost mine. I admire what both of them have overcome and sacrificed to give the two of us a sense of family and stability.”

Susan blinked slowly, a myriad of questions and uncertainties deluging into her mind. That…wasn’t at all what she was expecting to come out of the vigilante’s mouth. She couldn’t decide if she should be stunned and flattered, or even more apprehensive of Spider-Man’s shrewd capacity for spinning falsities and garnering sympathy. 

Johnny huffed crossly. “So she’s a semi-decent guardian. Big whoop. I can shoot flames out of my fingertips and fly as fast as a fighter jet. Plus, unlike her, I actually like being around you. She doesn’t deserve your number 1 Fantastic Four member spot.”

“She’s also passionate about science like I am and makes her research super accessible,” Spider-Man went on. “All her studies and experiments have an underlying objective of helping humanity and redefining our understanding of the world—the kinds of things I hope to work on one day. She even went to my dream university for undergrad: MIT!”

Sue scanned the masked vigilante up and down, drinking in his short stature, his narrow build, the slight crack in his voice at the end of that sentence, the details of what he’d just said and what that suggested about him, and felt talons of alarm begin to close around her throat. What if Johnny was right about him? she wondered. 

Could the masked menace of New York really be just a teenager?

Either way, fan of hers or not, she still wished he would butt out of her brother’s life already. If Spider-Man was a teenager, which she still wasn’t fully convinced of just yet, that didn’t absolve him of being a threat. Johnny’s popularity and stardom drew in all kinds of bad actors looking to siphon off some of his success, steal a piece of his sunshine. Whether he liked it or not, Johnny was still a minor who was constantly at risk of being used, abused, and taken advantage of. He was too young to understand how fucked up the world they lived in truly was, and that it was Susan’s job to protect him from it. She hadn’t forgotten that Spider-Man had already put her brother’s life in danger once, and didn’t plan to forgive him anytime soon. 

“And get this,” Spider-Man added, jarring the Invisible Woman from her thoughts. “Dr. Storm was on her high school’s Decathlon team—just like I am right now!”

Sue caught herself cracking the faintest of smiles. He did get points for calling her Dr. Storm—a title people always seemed to remember when addressing her boyfriend, but religiously swapped for “Miss” whenever referring to her to the point she’d stopped correcting them. She tip-toed a few steps closer to Spider-Man, standing only a few feet away from his back with her arms crossed and a mildly amused look on her face. 

“Captain of my high school’s Decathlon team.”

The masked vigilante practically sprung right out of his spandex. He whipped around to face her just as she dropped her disguise, eye lenses wide as softballs, one hand clutching his chest. 

“Holy shit,” Spider-Man croaked, staggering back a step. “I mean—uh, shart. Shite. Shoot. Sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“What the fuck, Sue?” Johnny exclaimed, dropping from above and landing by Spider-Man’s side, flames flickering off the tips of his shoulders. “Are you mental? Have you been spying on us this whole time?”

“Only since your friend here started explaining why I’m his favorite member of the Fantastic Four instead of you,” she said, eyes sliding back to Spider-Man, face unreadable. “Which, while appreciated, doesn’t make me any less wary of you and all the trouble you’re getting my brother into.”

The masked vigilante scratched at his forearm. “That’s valid,” he said meekly. 

“Spidey hasn’t gotten me into anything I didn’t willingly choose to be a part of,” Johnny snapped. “Quit trying to make him the bad guy of every undesirable situation. It’s not original.”

Susan wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of ‘undesirable situations,’” she continued, “how come you haven’t posted the apology I sent to you?”

Johnny grimaced. “You know why! Because he doesn’t deserve one! Fisk is a slimy scum bucket who threatened me at my own event! Not to mention his goons nearly killed me and Spider-Man!”

“You should absolutely post an apology,” the vigilante said before she could, making both Sue and Johnny turn to him in surprise. Her brother’s jaw dropped at the hinges.

“You’re taking her side on this?” Johnny balked. “You’re the one who was shot because of him!”

“Which only proves how dangerous he is,” Spider-Man insisted. “Fisk isn’t someone you mess with without facing extreme consequences. Posting the apology might get him off your case for the time being. You’ll be much safer if he thinks you're on his side.”

Johnny Storm scowled. “Just because it makes me safer doesn’t make it right.”

Susan studied the masked menace closely, eyebrows furrowing together. “How’s that healing, by the way?”

Spider-Man startled when he realized she was speaking to him. “Huh?” he said, shoulders tensing in surprise.

“Your gunshot wound,” Sue clarified, voice steely. “I heard it was pretty bad. You drenched my brother’s suit in blood.”

Spider-Man exchanged a quick glance with Johnny before stumbling through a stilted response. “Oh. Right. It’s, um—good. Great, actually. Thanks for asking. Sorry about the suit. I hope radioactive spider blood isn’t harder to wash out than regular blood.” He patted the spot below his rib cage where she assumed he’d taken the blow. “But, uh, yeah. I’m all patched up now and good as new. So…hooray.” 

While Sue digested the masked vigilante’s astute awkwardness, Johnny rolled his eyes. “He’s lying, by the way,” he said, making Spider-Man bristle.

“What?” Spider-Man stammered. “I am not!”

“You ripped clean through your stitches just two days ago!” Johnny exclaimed. “And it was barely four days ago that you were shot! There’s no way you’re actually fully healed already.”

“I heal quicker than most people!” Spider-Man shot back. “I told you that! It’s part of my powers.”

“Is it? Or do you just say that to people so you can get back to web-swinging and crime-fighting sooner?”

“Mr. Stark took out my stitches this morning! I'm happy to show you if you’re really convinced I’m lying!” 

Johnny huffed and shrugged. “Just saying. I think you’re prone to exaggerating how fast your wounds heal. You hate having others worried about you to an alarming and unhealthy degree. If I was in your position, I’d milk that injury for all it’s worth. Do you know how much fans eat up post-battle superhero content? Nothing makes a celebrity hotter than when he’s bruised and bloody and gritting against the pain of his wounds. Some of my most popular posts are the ones I filmed after getting a black eye. Or that time I stopped a runaway train and fractured my pinkie toe.” 

Spider-Man barked out a laugh. “Oh god. I remember that. You wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. That’s all you’d ever talk about! Whoa is you and your poor little pinkie toe.”

“Hey, that shit hurt! And at least I know how to slow down and let my body heal when it needs it! You’d rather run yourself ragged and bleed out in the street than take a full week off to rest.”

“Bleeding out in the street sounds like a walk in the park compared to the harrowing agony you and your toe went through. Toe-gate convinced me that fracturing your pinkie is far more painful than anything I have or ever will experience—including getting shot.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Susan cut in, rubbing her temples as she glowered between the two of them. They certainly squabbled like a pair of 16-year-olds. “Jesus. Do you guys always bicker back and forth like this? I was under the impression you two enjoyed each other’s company.”

Johnny slung an arm around Spider-Man’s shoulders and grinned from ear to ear. “Bickering is how we show affection,” he assured her. “You and I bicker all the time, and I still enjoy your company. Sometimes. Occasionally. Depending on what day it is. And how hungry we are. And the temperature outside. And what moon phase we’re in.”

“Hilarious,” the Invisible Woman deadpanned. She turned her attention back to the masked menace. “I have a question for you, Spider-Man.”

The vigilante stiffened. She didn’t intend for her words to come off as cold and cutthroat as they sounded, but that wasn’t to say she hated the fact that the person behind the mask seemed slightly terrified of her. Good, she thought. Better that than him thinking I’m someone easily trifled with. 

“You keep saying Fisk is dangerous,” she went on, placing her hands on her hips. “You wanna explain to me what dangerous things you’ve witnessed him do and why no one else seems to know about them? Because as far as myself or anyone else is aware, Fisk is a loyal and active community member who’d make a powerful ally to the Fantastic Four.” Susan loomed over him, savoring the extra inch of height she had on the alleged hero. “Tell me why I should think otherwise.” 

Spider-Man’s throat bobbed. He lowered his gaze to the floor, wisely taking a few moments to choose his next words carefully. 

“Well…Fisk was one of the first major bad guys I went up against,” the masked vigilante began, hands moving in tandem with his voice as he spoke. “When I was just starting out with this superhero thing, I quickly discovered there were two distinct kinds of criminals out there: your typical, run-of-the-mill thugs and thieves who usually operate by themselves, versus organized mobs being funded and run by powerful people behind the scenes. A couple months after getting my powers, I started noticing weird patterns and coincidences between the different criminals I was apprehending. Like the drug dealers I’d busted a week before using the same taxi cabs and handguns as this other group of thugs I stopped from kidnapping some women out by Evers Marina. Then a bunch of jewelry robbers wearing the same creepy sunglasses as these assholes I caught holding a congressman at gunpoint. From then on, more and more similarities and connections between crimes I thought were totally unrelated began to crop up. Same weapons, same communication devices, same body armor, same escape tactics—hell, even the same people across multiple different crime scenes. I knew there had to be somebody big behind it all who was pulling the strings. Someone with a seriously huge network of arms dealers and drug manufacturers and human traffickers under their command. So I started questioning some of the cronies I caught after each big crime bust.” Spider-Man’s head drooped a little, his eye lenses squinting into slits. “Which…is how I discovered the other thing all these different criminals had in common.”

Sue raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?” she pressed him.

Spider-Man took a deep breath in and out. “That they all had loved ones who were being used against them. That if they didn’t carry out the tasks they were given, their families would be killed.”

Susan blinked, the hard lines in her expression softening. Spider-Man shifted his weight from foot to foot. 

“Obviously there were some of them just in for the payout,” the vigilante added. “But the majority of the people doing these crimes were being forced to by someone who was threatening their loved ones. But no matter how hard I pressed them for the name of the person exploiting them, they wouldn’t budge. They were too scared of him finding out that they’d snitched. Journalists, police officers, property managers, construction workers, accountants, prison wardens, government officials, taxi drivers—he had people of all standings and backgrounds under his thumb. And those who weren’t actively being extorted were too deep in his pocket to give him up, either.” A sigh slipped from his lips. “After months of digging and searching, the only clue I had was a word I’d heard whispered again and again between members of his shadow organization.” Spider-Man lifted his gaze to hers. “‘Kingpin.’” 

“Kingpin?” she repeated back to him. “Is that some kind of nickname?”

“That’s what I assumed,” the vigilante said with a nod. “So from then on, whenever I found myself disrupting another one of their criminal operations, I started ranting loudly and making jokes about how stupid and lame Kingpin is.”

Susan snorted. “A bold strategy.”

“And you call me reckless,” Johnny huffed.

Spider-Man threw his hands in the air. “Hey, it worked!” he insisted, then winced. “Well…sort of.”

“Go on,” Sue said impatiently.

“After a week of crippling his different revenue streams and name-dropping Kingpin every chance I got, I could feel myself getting closer. That’s when the Bugle first started campaigning against me and feeding lies to the public to decimate my credibility. That’s when Kingpin’s goons started carrying heavier and heavier weaponry and shooting to kill the moment I showed up at any of their work sites. That’s when I finally tracked down a possible base for this massive crime syndicate’s operations.” Spider-Man scratched the back of his neck. “Coincidentally, that’s also when I wound up catching the attention of another hero who I guess had been working the same case as me.”

“Which hero?” Johnny chimed in, eyes wide with interest. Spider-Man hesitated for a moment before answering. 

“Well,” he coughed. “Have either of you ever heard of a guy who goes by ‘Daredevil?’”

Immediately, Susan groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, dragging a hand down her face. “Are you referring to the other masked vigilante who hides his identity from the world while wreaking havoc across New York in his dubiously-themed costume?”

Spider-Man chuckled timidly, evidently anticipating her disapproval. He waved finger guns in her direction. “That’s the one,” he said. 

“Who’s Daredevil?” Johnny asked, a wrinkle forming between his eyes as he glanced between the two of them. “I haven’t heard of Daredevil. What’s his deal? What’re his powers? How long have you guys known each other? Do you think he’s cool? What's his Twitter handle? I’m looking him up now.”

Spider-Man laughed while Susan rolled her eyes. “I don’t know much about him, to be honest,” the vigilante admitted. “We’ve only talked once. He stopped me right as I was about to break into Kingpin’s headquarters and warned me not to take this another step further.”

Peter thought about that night often. At the time, Daredevil had just been a nameless vigilante dressed in all black who spoke to him in a voice that was stern yet gentle. And Spider-Man was just some 14-year-old kid wearing a homemade superhero costume in way over his head. Peter had entered the encounter with his hackles raised, ready for a fight, believing the masked man to be one of Kingpin’s bodyguards. But that fear was quickly subdued.

“Daredevil told me he was impressed with the work I’d done to dismantle Kingpin’s chokehold on the city—and that I’d managed to locate one of his bases—but that he would take things from here. He said he’d been building a case against Kingpin for over a year now and had a lawyer friend who planned to bring him to justice in the court of law.”

What Peter didn’t mention was how Daredevil lightly reprimanded him for trying to bring down one of New York’s most powerful crime lords before he’d even hit puberty. When Peter at first loudly denied it, then quietly asked how he’d figured it out, Daredevil simply smiled and insisted it wasn’t a conclusion that took any special skills or abilities to draw.

“He told me Kingpin’s true identity is Wilson Fisk, and that he’s been funding and puppeteering criminal syndicates in New York for decades now,” Peter continued solemnly. “He keeps his empire running by sticking to the shadows and orchestrating everything behind the scenes, lining the pockets of those in power to keep them silent and loyal and blackmailing those who won’t take bribes by threatening their lives and loved ones. Daredevil promised me he almost had him: a solid enough case to bring the horrifying extent of his crimes to light. I just had to wait a little bit longer for him to gather enough evidence to make the charges viable enough to stick.”

Susan Storm listened in silence, her face a blank wall that offered zero clues as to where her head was at. Meanwhile, Johnny’s concern and curiosity and anticipation were as easy to read as words on a page. He hugged himself around the middle as if all this buildup was making him queasy. 

“So? What’d you do?” he prodded. Peter grimaced.

“Well…I probably would’ve listened to him and waited,” he said gingerly, “if someone hadn’t started screaming in agony from inside the building right at that moment.”

Peter remembered the cold shudder the sound had sent down his spine. He remembered his muscles going rigid and his blood turning to ice. Daredevil had tried telling him that the person he was hearing was a brute whose safety wasn’t worth the risk—that if he broke inside to rescue him, there was no turning back. But all Peter could hear were his desperate cries for help.

“A man was being tortured,” Peter said hollowly. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him suffer like that. So, despite Daredevil’s attempts to stop me, I busted through a window in the back of the building and threw myself between the guy who was screaming and the four thugs who were hurting him. While I was beating those assholes up, more and more gang members started pouring in from the other rooms. There must’ve been at least thirty men coming at me at one point. I’d never faced that many bad guys at once before, and I knew I couldn’t win. I’d only had my powers for about four months at the time all this was happening.” Peter crossed his arms and shrugged. “So I did the only thing I could think of: I started demanding a fight with Wilson Fisk. I began shouting his name again and again while battling like hell to stay alive. It was only after I’d been beat to a pulp that he finally showed his face and ordered his goons to back off.”

Every detail of that encounter haunted Peter to this day. The blood roaring in his ears as a man the size of a grizzly bear towered over him, his presence alone making Peter’s head buzz in warning. Fighting the fatigue and the biting pain of his wounds as he rose to his feet and held the enormous man’s brutal gaze. The way Fisk surveyed him like some kind of insect he was preparing to squash beneath his massive leather shoe. 

“So you’re the little rat whose been nipping at the heel of my business operations,” Kingpin had observed, stuffing his beastly hands into his pants pockets. “What a pleasure to finally meet you. You must’ve worked very hard to get to where you’re standing today.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Humpty Dumpty,” Peter had shot back, injecting his voice with all the arrogance and audacity he could muster. “I know who you are. I know what you’ve been doing. The drugs, the weapons, the kidnappings, the blackmailing. You’re the one who's behind it all. And now you’re gonna pay.”

The whole room had laughed at that—which, to be fair, was a pretty pathetic threat. Even though he had a knife wound in his arm, bruises all over his body, and was hilariously, hopelessly outnumbered, Peter wasn’t backing down.

“I told him I wasn’t going to let him continue hurting and exploiting people for his own personal gain,” Peter said, swallowing thickly. “I swore I’d expose him for the sick criminal he was. To which he responded by punching me in the abdomen, breaking seven of my ribs.” 

Johnny’s hands flew to his mouth. “Why didn’t you dodge like you normally do?” he gasped.

“Like I said, I was still new to my powers and didn’t fully understand them.” Spider-Man ran a hand down his torso, wincing at the memory of his bones shattering beneath Fisk’s fist. “Plus, I was already pretty badly wounded, and wasn’t anticipating a guy that big to move so fast.”

While Peter lied sprawled across the cold concrete, gagging and sputtering, fingers quaking against his broken body, blinded by indescribable pain, Wilson Fisk strode across the room and punted him like a pigskin straight into the wall. Peter’s splintered skeleton rattled inside him as he tumbled to the ground, wheezing and gasping and pooling his remaining strength to launch a counter strike.

“I probably only got one or two solid hits in, but it was like punching a brick wall. The dude’s built like a tank and wears some kind of body armor beneath his suit that made it impossible for me to get the upper hand. I was spitting up blood and seeing stars by the time he was through with me.”

Kingpin strolled to a stop before Spider-Man’s crumpled physical form and seized him by the throat, fingers crushing around his esophagus until black spots began to press into his vision. 

“Go ahead—try telling the world exactly who you think I am,” Fisk had growled. “The people of this city only believe what I want them to believe, only see what I let them see. No one is going to take the word of a spineless vigilante who hides behind a mask to heart—not now, not ever.”

Peter fiddled nervously with his web-shooters as he continued his story. “Fisk said if he ever caught me messing with his business again, he’d do everything in his power to track down the people I love and hurt them in every way he knows how. The only reason he let me leave there alive was so I could spread that message to every other hero and vigilante I knew and scare them away from disrupting his enterprise, too.” 

Johnny narrowed his eyes. “But…you haven’t stopped messing with his business,” he said, blinking. “Right?”

Peter nodded slowly. “Right. I haven’t. No way in hell was I just gonna let him continue terrorizing my city with nothing standing in his way. But…” He lowered his gaze to the ground, guts knotting into pretzels. “The things I’ve seen him do to people these past two years…the atrocities I’ve watched his minions commit on his behalf…I could never risk him getting anywhere near the people I care about.” His eyes flicked up to Johnny’s, then to Sue’s, then quickly back to the floor, arms held tight to his sides. “That’s, um…one of the major reasons I’ve chosen to keep my face hidden and my identity a secret all this time. If he ever found out who I really was…”

The idea of it was too horrifying for him to even finish that sentence. Susan pondered his anecdote with her arms crossed and her lips pressed in a thin line. Peter felt Johnny’s hand brush against his spine and come to a rest atop his back, his eyes an ocean of sympathy. 

“Does that mean Daredevil’s lawyer friend never pulled through with the evidence against him?” Johnny asked.

Peter shook his head. “He helped patch me up that night after Kingpin put me through the wringer, but that was the last time I saw him. Something must’ve fell through.” He traced a finger along his throat where Fisk’s hands had squeezed with deadly intentions all those evenings ago. “It doesn’t surprise me, though. Fisk cleared out that base within days of me discovering it and went underground for the next two years. Only now has he finally resurfaced with this surprise campaign run.” Spider-Man scowled. “Plus, he has, like—tons of cops and judges on his payroll. Even the most solid case against him probably wouldn’t make it past the DA’s desk.”

Johnny’s hair flashed with flames as he threw his hands above his head. “Dude! This is insanity! Fisk is holding you and this entire city hostage! We can’t let him become mayor! We’ve got to take that corrupt fucker down!”

“No, you don’t,” Susan snapped immediately, jabbing a finger between them. “Neither of you are getting anywhere near Fisk or his men ever again.”

Peter lifted his gaze to meet hers, inclining his head to one side. “Wait,” he said, eyes widening in realization. “You—you believe me?”

Sue muttered something R-rated under her breath. “I don’t know what to believe at this point,” she conceded, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “But if there’s a chance Fisk is as bad as you say he is, you two are not the people who should be taking him on. Both of you are way too close to this.”

Peter and Johnny shared a look of surprise. Susan tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ears with a sharp breath out. 

“I’m going to look into this,” she said, balling her hands into fists at her sides. “While I do, you two are going to stay out of it. I don’t want to hear a peep about Wilson Fisk or Kingpin on any of your dumb little social media posts or crime-fighting outings. Understood?”

The pair of teens hesitated, but inevitably caved beneath the Invisible Woman’s frigid glare, nodding their heads rigidly. Susan glanced towards the exit then back at her brother. 

“I’ll fill you in if and when I have something,” she told him. “Don’t do anything stupid until then.” Her eyes shifted back to Peter, narrowing slightly. “You missed a spot.”

Peter followed her gaze to the puddles of glitter paint scattered around the entryway. “Oh,” he said, staggering a little as he snatched a sponge from the suds bucket and held it up with a nervous laugh. “R-right. On it. Thank you.”

Sue marched out the room like a hunter out for blood. While Peter pressed a hand to his chest with a weary sigh, Johnny threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh, Fisk is screwed now,” he cackled.

Peter forced a weak smile. Let’s hope, he thought uneasily. For all of our sakes. 

He still couldn’t get over the fact she actually believed him. 

Once the lab was finally glitter-free, Peter parted ways with Johnny to clean his suit (again), fulfill his cat-sitting duties (per usual), grab a sub from Delmar’s (and more gummy worms), then returned to the tower, expecting everyone to already be asleep. When he crept down to the 78th floor for something salty to snack on along with his candy, he was surprised to find Johnny burrowed deep into the sofa with his phone in his hand, barely clinging to consciousness as he squinted at the dim screen.

“What are you still doing awake?” Peter called from across the room, snagging a bag of chips from the pantry as he made his way over to him. He came to a stop in front of the couch and, upon further inspection, couldn’t help but giggle. “You look like a zombie. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“I’m trying to finish editing our prank video from today,” he grumbled, tapping languidly at his phone screen. “Viral TikToks won’t just magically cut themselves together out of the hours of footage we filmed across multiple different hidden camera angles, Webs.”

Peter chuckled. “I know that. And I appreciate all the time and effort you’re putting into this.” He tugged gently at the phone in Johnny’s hands. “But nobody is forcing you to edit everything all in one night except yourself.”

“And Wilson Fisk,” Johnny corrected him, snatching the device back and glaring at the screen. Peter frowned.

“What do you mean?”

After a few seconds, Johnny dropped the phone into his lap and gazed up at Peter with sad, bloodshot eyes. “Fisk is behind it all, isn’t he?” he said. “Your terrible public image, the endless flood of lies about you online and in the press. He’s been paying off the media since the day you crossed him to make sure no one would ever trust you if you tried to expose him. Am I wrong?”

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, unsure how to answer. He eyed the opposite corner of the couch and slowly eased into it, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“I’m sure he’s to blame for part of it,” Peter admitted, folding his hands together in front of him. “But I think a lot of it just comes with the territory of wearing a mask and fighting crime anonymously.”

“Which he’s also forcing you to do,” Johnny reminded him bitterly. “Because if he discovered who you really were, your family would be in danger.”

“I decided from the very beginning that I wanted to hide my identity,” Peter insisted. “Before Fisk. My family would be in danger if my identity was revealed regardless of whether he was around or not. He isn’t forcing me to do anything. He’s just…” Peter rubbed his palms together feebly. “Affirming the fact that I’ve made the right choice.”

“I hate how much he’s hurt you,” Johnny practically spat. Peter looked up at him reluctantly with a small sting in his throat.

“What does this have to do with the videos?” he asked.

Johnny's features lifted into an exhausted but hopeful smile. “If people keep seeing you as the person you really are instead of the image Fisk has fed them, they’ll start to trust you more. And the more they start to trust you, the more power we’ll have to take down Fisk ourselves!”

Peter stared at the teen hero bemusedly. “How?”

“You’ve witnessed first hand all the crime and corruption Fisk is involved in. Once this city accepts you as their friendly neighbor Spider-Man, you can bring to light all the terrible things he’s been up to. If enough people believe you’re telling the truth, it could kickstart a call for a real investigation! One that’ll expose all his evildoing and the assholes he’s bribed to look the other way.”

Peter dug his fingers into his forearms. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve tried going to the cops and the press before. It’s too hard to find someone who he hasn’t paid off or who will take me seriously.”

“So don’t go to those asshats,” Johnny proposed, leaning in close. “Go to the fans! The citizens of this city! They’re the ones with the real power to help us destroy his credibility in the way that matters most: the court of public opinion. At the very least, it’ll stop him from becoming mayor.” Johnny held up his phone victoriously. “That’s why I have to get all these videos of us edited and posted ASAP. So we can prove to more and more people what an adorable and trustworthy little spider-hotty you are and end that fucker’s reign of terror.”

Normally Peter would’ve balked at Johnny’s flirtatious comments, but his mind was preoccupied with a stomach-turning premonition. He rubbed a corner of the sofa’s throw blanket between his fingers.

“Johnny,” he said carefully. The words he wanted so badly to say clung to the back of his throat like molasses. “So, um…that thing you mentioned before. Y’know—about Fisk threatening to hurt the people I…care about.” Peter took a moment to clear his throat. “Until recently, I thought I’d only have to worry about that if he found out my real identity. But…” A nervous flush spidered up his neck. “With all these videos we’re posting of us hanging out together, I’m beginning to worry it might be putting a target on your back.”

Johnny blinked at him, a look of befuddled amusement gradually spreading across his face. “You’re still worried about Fisk coming after me?” he laughed. “Seriously? There’s no way, Webs. I’m one of the most popular and famous celebrities in the world. If he did anything to me, literally everyone would turn against him. His whole empire would come crashing down in a day. He’s not that stupid.”

“Fisk has ways of hurting people without linking any of it back to himself,” Peter explained fearfully. “He could hire an assassin to come after you, or pay off a group of supervillains to fight you all at once, or get someone to poison you then bribe the mortician to say you died of natural causes—”

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, gripping Peter by the shoulders, an incredulous giggle escaping him. “Please! I’m a superhero for Christ’s sake. I can take care of myself! If he sends someone after me, I’ll fry them inside-out! Simple as that! And if they do somehow overpower me, there are about fifteen other equally formidable heroes in this tower alone who I trust will have my back.” A balloon-full of butterflies burst inside Peter’s tummy as Johnny cradled his face in his hands and planted a quick kiss in the center of his forehead. Then his eyes found Peter’s, deep blue irises soft with fondness, transforming all of the masked hero’s thoughts into 404 error messages. “Quit being so goddamn paranoid,” he implored.

Peter gazed at him in a stupor of dumbfounded euphoria. Johnny Storm had a seriously uncanny prowess for yanking out the power cord to Peter’s brain at the most inconvenient times. A beat passed, and Johnny pulled away from him, rubbing the side of his neck, a tinge of scarlet creeping into his cheeks as tiny wisps of fire flickered in his hair.

“Sorry. I forget sometimes you’re not as touchy-feely of a person as I am.” He broke into a massive yawn, stretching his arms far and wide. “To be fair, invading your personal space seems like the most effective way to momentarily curb your spider anxiety whenever it’s getting a bit too spicy.” 

Johnny fished the TV remote from the crack between the cushions and clicked “play” on the show he must’ve been watching earlier—Love Island, to no one's surprise—totally oblivious to the spell he’d just cast upon the masked vigilante. Slowly, Peter sunk back into the pillows, staring through the blinding television screen rather than at it, his troubled heart melting into a hearth of ichor and light.

Holy shit, he thought, all fears and concerns evaporating in an instant, a smile consuming him as he blinked and reeled and swooned all at once. I just got kissed by Johnny Storm.

Well—maybe kissed was a bit too strong of a word. More like lightly pecked—and not even on the lips, mind you. Still. How many others could boast the same?

Peter had no interest in knowing the answer to that question. 

“Let’s wait and see what Sue comes up with before either of us spends more time stressing over that sentient meatball,” Johnny suggested, snuggling deeper into the sofa. “In the meantime, we’ll keep working on your public image so that when the time is right, we’ll be ready to bury that bastard’s name for good.”

The Human Torch went back to his editing, eyes dull and heavy and battling to stay open. Peter tucked a pillow under his arms as he stared ahead blankly, senses slowly returning to him. 

So…yeah. He was fairly certain Johnny liked him. 

After everything he’d observed today, it was hard to entertain any other conclusion besides that. There was still a chance he was wrong and Johnny was just treating him the same way he treated everyone else in his life, crushed dreams and broken hearts be damned, but that possibility was growing slimmer and slimmer. Peter was certain his affections for Johnny dramatically outweighed the celebrity’s for him. Nonetheless, he’d gathered enough evidence to confidently back his once delusional hypothesis. Only one question remained.

Now what?

No, like, seriously. What was he supposed to do?

Despite Johnny’s outward displays of interest towards him, he showed no signs of voicing those feelings aloud. Which meant it was up to Peter to make the first move. Peter Parker—telling Johnny Storm that he had a crush on him. Fighting Kingpin with his hands tied behind his back sounded less nerve-racking. 

He’d gone through all the “what ifs” a million times in his head. Half of them were just spineless cop-outs and excuses; the other half wouldn’t even matter until after he’d made his feelings known. And so, Peter had decided he’d rather be devastated by the truth rather than never know the truth at all. Even if Johnny didn’t like him back, even if he outright laughed in Peter’s face, he wanted him to know how he felt. He needed him to. So much of what Spider-Man chose to do in his life was motivated by fear and uncertainty. For once, he wanted to do something from the heart, and the heart alone. 

Johnny had taught him just how powerful being honest and authentic could be. Despite how much Peter had bared his soul to the celebrity hero already, there were still so many parts of himself he kept buried and hidden, and would likely continue to do so.

But not this. This, he deserved to see. After everything he'd done for him—all the risks taken, the kindness offered, the friendship and loyalty displayed with zero strings attached, Peter owed him that much.

But how? Peter beseeched the universe, raising his gaze to the sterile plane of white above him. How do I do it? When do I do it? Is it too soon? Too late? Why is this so goddamn terrifying?

“Is it hot in here, or is it just you?” Peter whispered to himself, biting back a sardonic laugh. “You set my heart aflame, Johnathan Spencer Storm.”

Peter spared a glance at the teenage hero, whom he was grateful to find passed out in a jumble of sprawling limbs. A fragile smile lifted his lips. He gathered the blanket in his arms and gently draped it over his slumbering form, admiring every beautiful detail of Johnny’s freckly, sunburned, peaceful face. 

No, Spider-Man decided, chuckling to himself. Not like that.

#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 #spideytorch fanfic

[nerdieforpedro]

Last Line Tag Game

rules: in a new post, show the last line(s) you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like).

Tagged by @tinytinymenace @djarinmuse @chronically-ghosted @pedroshotwifey

So I think I’ll give three last lines, because it’s what I’ve been working on, first up is Din Djarin smut. I was supposed to be writing fluff, between @alltheglitterandtheroar and @megamindsecretlair it changed for the better and teasing is always fun. ☺️

Both arms pull Din’s head to your chest, the sharp inhale of air before he’s buried in your body has you whining. The intensity of just two of this thick fingers have you close to your second orgasm but he removes them, a pop then a second as he mouth part from your nipple. “Taste yourself, then you’ll come twice for me.”

Second is from “This is the Neighboorhood Din” my modern Din AU:

“Dear Lord in heaven I am not dressed or prepared to talk to that sort of man any day.” She muttered as Ms. Harris made her way down the stairs toward her, she hugged her, and her arms wrapped around her as well, eye still lingering on the man sitting on the porch. His sweatpants did not leave much to the imagination. They weren’t tight by any means; one could just trace the lines. Thick thighs and well… heavy in the middle is the most polite way to say it. The only way she can think to describe it while hugging her aunt.

Third, last line from chapter 5 of “The Lake Between Us” (yes I do have future chapters written I planned! Unheard of in Nerdie-land)

“That I did Moonbeam. You should be cautious of my motives, but I can start at the beginning of my troubles for you if you like.” He placed his hand on hers, running up her arm to her shoulder and drew a small circle around her mole. “Be forewarned, the past is neither rosy nor glamorous. It is fraught with hardship, double-crosses and some death.”

Moonbeam grinned, nodding as he spoke, “Sounds like a thriller Ezra. I’m all ears. Add a dash of romance and some mistaken identity and you have yourself a movie marathon.”

“I’m sure you’d be riveted to hear it.”

“That I would.” Moonbeam crosses her legs and leans forward, touching his chin with a finger, “Speak.”

Lastly, I might be trying finish my Dave York series finally. 👀 Or one of them, though I’m not sure all of them are on Tumblr. I think I write too much stuff and it get’s jumbled. This is a softer Dave:

At her core, Kiara felt safe with him. It hurt to admit though she wasn’t exactly sure why, pride maybe? Maybe she wanted to continue to be independent but she hadn’t been for a few months now.

No. Not when she really thought about it.

Her head was leaning against the steering wheel, the nurse had seen his SUV parked in the driveway. Dave pretty much lived with her now, though she didn’t remember giving him a key. He hadn’t needed a key their first night together either.

I’m also working on “Roc & Doc” and crafting the murder mystery since I killed off Rockford’s partner and introduced his brother. What role will his brother play? We’ll see. Also, if you’re going to be a furry for the night, make sure you can in and out of your suit. 😎

Chapter 5 of “Weddings 101 with Dieter” is under way as well. I want a lot to be in it, might be too much. We’ll see how it turns out, also smut because Dieter’s gotta get Maya’s dress off - he did promise her that. 😘 Half-ass and Bridezilla are in full swing!

It’s a lot like always because it’s Nerdie, what else am I supposed to do? Too many ideas, not enough follow-through. I did four instead of three. 😵

NPT: @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @rhoorl (for the sweatpants) @linzels-blog for Din @inept-the-magnificent @soft-girl-musings @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills @secretelephanttattoo @goodwithcheese @undercoverpena @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @lady-bess @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @gemmahale @laurfilijames @avastrasposts @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @tightjeansjavi @frenchiereading @boliv-jenta @thefrogdalorian @trulybetty @kewwrites @beefrobeefcal @fhatbhabie

And whoever else saw all this and was like, let me do it too! ☺️

#last line tag #last line challenge #last line game #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #dieter bravo #tim rockford #ezra prospect #wips #wip

[fluffyfranny]

Hey, idk if you do writing requests but what about a fluffy komahina fantasy au where Nagito is a kitsune and Hajime is a werewolf

I'm totally on board with this!

And the fact you requested two of some of my favorite mythical beasties makes me even more excited to write this!

Hope you don't mind the brainrot >:3

In certain historical analyses of kitsunes, I believe that the higher the number of tails, the wiser the spirit is. So I'd like to think that Nagito would have four and a half.

Reason being that in the SDR2 game, he is known as a "lucky student," whereas in the anime, he is the "unlucky student," so I believe he'd have a number of tails right down the middle to represent his conflicting luck.

Regarding the "half tail," I imagine it being in between the two other pairs of tails, except it's very matted and scarred with tufts of fur torn out to represent his struggles with a lack of luck, while the four tails surrounding it are sleek and plush, the fur being the same color as his hair, with the tails boasting green tips, all to represent his lavish, unexpected successes.

Similarly, the fox ears atop his head are of the same white coloration as his hair, and one is always perky and attentive while the other is mangled, a piece or two missing.

When he doesn't feel like exposing his vulnerable, mythical features, he can conjure up a glamour and make his ears and tails invisible.

Outfit-wise, I imagine Nagito wearing a kimono similar to the one worn by Grimsley in Pokemon Masters, with the majority of the clothing being green like his jacket and the edges being red like the insignia on his shirt.

Now for Hajime, I imagine that when there's a full moon, things will go something like this: his eyes will go red and his pupils will be blown to slits. His hair will darken and elongate, and his legs, arms and backs of his hands will start to gain a fine coating of black hair. Two black ears sprout from his head, a thick black tail from the base of his spine. Nails become claws, and front teeth become fangs.

(Basically, he becomes a were-version of Kamukura)

When in this form, he only has one form of communication: growls. Angry growls are loud and rumbly from the chest, lips quirked up in a snarl to expose those sharp teeth. Content growls are akin to purring, and sad growls are higher in volume and pitch to resemble whines. The key to better understanding what kind of mood he's in is facial expressions accompanied with the noises.

Now for how they reveal to each other that they're both beasties!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nagito never understood. Why did Hajime avoid him one specific night every month? The date always changed month to month, but without fail, the brunette always managed to avoid the luckster's attention. Even odder was the fact that Hajime always disappeared just as the sun finished setting.

He was wise enough to try and take a stab at figuring out what was wrong with his cohort, but he was unlucky enough to feel stumped.

He had to get to the bottom of this. And he had backup.

With the help of Gundham's Devas, after an immense bribery session with the Overlord of Ice involving plenty of pets and snuggles for the hamsters that were supposedly their method of unknowingly leeching necessary life essence to fuel their magic, he had them stand guard by the doorway to the outside just past the dorm rooms. They would alert Nagito via scampering over to his room, where he'd be hiding right after dinner, after the brunette left and squeaking their hearts out as a sign for him to give chase.

Sure enough, about a half an hour after dusk had settled, the furry alarms went off outside Nagito's room, prompting him to whip open the door at lightning speed, almost knocking the Devas across the hallway as he sprinted out the doors.

He could just make out the silhouette of Hajime, who was dashing towards the edge of the courtyard, just before the entrance to a grove of trees that outlined the perimeter.

It was getting rather dark, the last traces of sunlight fading from the dusky air as fireflies began to blink on and off, their time to shine arriving, as well as that of the moon, beautifully whole and full amongst the clouds.

What if he lost his way and gets himself hurt from not being able to see? He'd for sure get a squeaky scolding from Mikan if that were to happen.

He had no choice but to follow.

Hajime had long disappeared into the trees now, not having looked back once to see Nagito in hot pursuit during the seemingly eternal sprint. With the brunette no longer in his sight, Nagito decided to harness a little trick he kept up his sleeve.

He snapped his fingers and pointed directly in front of him. In an instant, a bright blue wisp poofed into existence and zoomed into the trees, leaving a smoky trail that shimmered and extended deeper into the forest. He realized that this trail was the exact pathway that Hajime took, for a few green sparkles were embedded into the mist, and these sparkles radiated essence of the brunette.

Nagito knew this without hesitation, and he mentally high-fived himself, thanking the gods above for gracing him with luck this time around.

He began to follow the trail, with it fading behind him as he made progress. After following the blue smoke for what seemed like a mile, he arrived smack dab in front of a cluster of oaks, the trail sneaking around and behind them before fading away completely.

This was the spot.

Nagito had an inkling that his friend came to hide here once a month because he was hiding something from him, and he preemptively put a hand to his heart. Being as close as he was to Hajime, he felt a twang of betrayal, large enough for him to have to hold back a growl that was building in his throat. He wanted to know what was the cause behind this ludicrous cycle, so he grabbed the side of the tree and stepped around it to face...

A very unwelcoming, unlucky site indeed.

Hajime was on the ground, shaking and curled up against the tree trunk, back facing Nagito so he couldn't see his face wincing and sweating from the sheer force of holding back the change. He obviously didn't want it to happen, but it would do his body more harm than good by trying to bar off something that already caused him enough stress and pain, both physically and emotionally.

Nagito reached a quivering hand out to place on Hajime's shoulder, only to be met with an angry set of red, fiery eyes as the brunette's head snapped around to face him, snarl intact and fangs bared. The former let out a startled yelp and whipped back behind the tree, unable to keep his composure as his ears and tails poofed into existence from behind the glamour he had set upon himself that morning.

He assumed a position similar to that of Hajime mere moments before, curling in on himself and shielding his chest and face with his tails, letting out a shaky whimper as he heard his friend continue growling from the other side of the trunk.

After about a minute, the growls ceased, but Nagito kept shaking and whining softly, mentally scolding himself for not catching on to his friend's habits sooner rather than later. Vanishing once a month, doing so when it was dark...

He was a goddamn werewolf...

Suddenly, he heard his friend's footsteps round the tree and towards where he was laying against it, grass rustling and crunching under his feet. Nagito didn't dare look up at his friend, in fear of accidentally inciting an attack from a sudden movement. Instead, he shrunk further into his fetal position, not caring if Hajime went after the tails that shielded him from his monster of a friend. He didn't care if he called Nagito a freak after he reverted back to normal a few hours from now.

Just please don't hurt him...

However, the searing pain never came, nor did anything along the lines of a snarl. Instead, a high-pitched mewl emanated from Hajime's throat, face set in stone even as a lone tear trickled down his cheek. This caused Nagito to peek through a gap in his tails, eyes blown wide at the sight of his...friend?

Him and Hajime were the only ones around at the time they entered the forest, but the thing above him certainly didn't look like Hajime. His hair was much longer and darker, his face much paler and eyes a much more vibrant shade of red, when they were originally an olive green color. However, the shape of the thing's face and eyes told a different story, that behind this facade under the moon...

Was his closest partner in crime...

Seeing that Hajime made no moves towards hurting him, his tails unfurled from around his body and floated to the side, where they gently lay on the grass near the base of the tree. The now noiret gazed down at the appendages and carefully lowered a clawed finger to a few inches above the scarred middle one, returning eye contact towards Nagito as if asking a question along the lines of:

May I?

Nagito looked at his friend, then to his tails, then back at him before nodding slightly. Hajime looked down again and gently ran the finger against one of the tail's bald spots where the fur was brushed aside and torn out, exposing the pale flesh underneath where white fluff used to be.

He did this a few times, almost as if he were petting the tail, before lifting his finger and pointing up at Nagito's mangled ear, asking the same question again mentally, earning another nod in response.

He nudged closer to Nagito on the balls of his feet until he was right in his personal bubble. He raised the same finger and gently brushed along the back of the ear, causing it to twitch briefly and for Hajime to draw his hand back suddenly, almost as if he were wondering if Nagito was now peeved and ready to strike.

Instead, he patted the ground next to him, an invitation for Hajime to sit next to him against the tree. It was the noiret's turn to do a miniature double-take with his eyes before he nodded silently and slid onto the dirt beside him. Almost out of pure instinct, his thick, black tail laid against the top of the three leftmost tails, the end coming to curl around the scarred tail in the middle. In return, Nagito sent him a soft smile from the side before he curled the end of his middle tail over the top of Hajime's.

Making eye contact with his friend, he said: "You know, I may be none the wiser, but I feel like the luckiest being in the world."

After saying this, he laid his head against Hajime's shoulder as he gazed back through the trees, his cohort returning a similar gesture and laying his head atop his own, both of them taking in the sight of the moon that crested the spires of the school's main building.

It may have been a trick of the eye, but you could almost make out the tips of their tails making a faint heart shape.

#danganronpa #sdr2 #goodbye despair #hajime hinata #nagito komaeda #komahina

[blessphemy]

I posted 1,413 times in 2022

That's 358 more posts than 2021!

157 posts created (11%)

1,256 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@typhlonectes

@sequintial

@uovoc

@grimark

@owlmylove

I tagged 1,338 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#murderbot - 122 posts

#cyborg lifeblogging - 117 posts

#art - 115 posts

#humans - 49 posts

#birds - 46 posts

#soundpost - 44 posts

#the world - 43 posts

#plants - 42 posts

#video - 36 posts

#bugs - 36 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i think im in a bit of a pattern lately and i want to try cracking experimentally out of it but…. at what angle? surely theres some element

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

my experience of the film goncharov is probably going to be similar to my experience of any other film that i half-intend to eventually see but probably never will aka: experienced second and third-hand through my tumblr dash

41 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#4

me when i see reference to fandom discourse i am blissfully unaware of in the tag: oh phew lol *blocks that too*

59 notes - Posted July 20, 2022

#3

me watching An Anime (in this case Mob Psycho 100) with subtitles (because my ear is a bit off and I have a poor vocabulary) is always a little bit of an internal analysis of translation choices:

i mean I know why they translate “もてる” to “popular” but it really is not the same thing.

actually it’s an interesting word now that I look at it. like huh is it really the kanji “持てる” as in “持つ” as in “to hold,” as in “you have the capacity to hold [attention, popularity, likeability].” there is also a pretty solid connotation of being Hot, but also of having like… qualifications for being popular/desirable, I guess, like a fun personality, or having a good job. I wouldn’t call “持てる” to be “popularity” itself, but rather to have the traits that are known to make one attractive/desirable, which may naturally leads to popularity, specifically popularity with The Ladies.

Alternative translation: “swag”

62 notes - Posted October 1, 2022

#2

Names in The Murderbot Diaries (character spoilers)

All Systems Red:

Ayda Mensah — "Ayda" is of Arabic origin, meaning “returning, to come back." Mensah is a Ghanian surname (most common surname in current-day Ghana), apparently meaning “third-born”

See the full post

268 notes - Posted January 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

walking downtown, a biker gang all dressed up in colorful costumes roll slowly by, including but not limited to: the Cookie Monster, Jack Skellington, Kermit, and a chicken

My dad, confidently: those are furries

419 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #mostly unsurprising

[chaoticevilbean]

When the Force doesn't know what a kid should look like

SW BI 3

Anakin's brow was starting to sweat. He knew he could keep it up a little longer, but Obi-Wan was already suspecting him and there was another 10 minutes of class. If anyone saw him- they wouldn't kick him out. Would they? No, Jedi were nice. Good.

5 minutes... 3... 1... Anakin heard the teacher dismiss the class and lunged from his seat, his pile of things barely stowed away as he dashed off. He rushed down the halls, leaping around other beings in his haste. He could feel his resolve sliping, but he could see the right hallway, see Obi-Wan's door-

A hand pulled him back by his shirt, lifting him off the ground and destroying all hopes of reaching safety. Anakin had time to register Master Tiin holding his shirt, Masters Fisto and Windu clearly accompanying the Iktotchi. Then he slammed his hands over his ears, his eyes closed, trying to curl up as several sensations and urges kicked back up.

He forgot about the tail.

"Padawan-" Master Windu's voice stuttered out, and Master Fisto began emitting a few high-pitched noises that made Anakin cringe. The Nautolan swiftly stopped, but then there was shouting , and the heat of more bodes, the scents. He was lost in a sandstorm of chaos, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe-

Something warm wrapped him up, enveloped him in familiar. There was someone's robes around him, darkening the world. The tail tried to flick away when a hand pulled that under the robes as well, but Anakin appreciated the gesture.

The familiar face of his mas Obi-Wan looked down into the robes.

"Better?" Anakin blinked languidly up at the man, shrugged, and gave into his instinct to burrow deeper into the darkness. "Anakin, I would really prefer a yes or no of some sort."

An ear flicked into his face in response. Then the other. Both stood straight up for a moment before flattening. Anakin was busy finding out that closer to Obi-Wan meant both warmer and darker. And when the Human pressed into his torso, the Jedi automatically wrapped his arms around the smaller being.

"Master Prix, do you know what's going on?"

"Not necessarily, but I have a theory. If he's been pushing down certain traits, then they might be returning full-force. It happens quite often when one of my people enters a foreign place. Too many unknowns of how another will react to them"

"Does that mean he's responsible for the scratches I keep finding under the sofa?"

"That rat had it coming," Anakin growled out, trying to see if he could go deeper. Sadly, it seemed that was impossible.

"Anakin, do you mean the mouse droid?"

Anakin ignored the question. He knew he wasn’t supposed to scratch things, but he also knew that his hunting instincts had come that day. Although he wondered how his mas Obi-Wan had found the marks.

“What should I do?”

“Make a den, incorporate different training exercises in your day, try to be receptive to any open affection.”

“I meant right now, not that that isn’t helpful.” A den did sound nice. Like the one under his mom’s bed.

Something poked the robes. Anakin’s attention honed in on the movement, ears perking back up and tail starting to twitch. The thing came again, poking enough to nearly touch him before retreating quickly. Obi-Wan's arms withdrew as his Padawan tensed up, the movement moving the robes somewhat.

The third time the thing came, it made its way through the layers, and Anakin immediately pounced on it. He barely realized it was a furred hand before it had grabbed his shirt and started pulling him out of the darkness. He hissed, trying to turn and quickly grab onto Obi-Wan, only to have the traitor pull away from him.

The light in the hallway had been dimmed, and there was only three other people in it. Anakin didn't care much, as he was busy trying to fight off the grasp of an unknown, very furry Jedi in beige. Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing. Faster than even his mother could, Anakin found himself turned around and pinned in a tight hug, someone's head nestled atop his own, right between the ears.

He started growling. He didn't like it. He didn't like losing to some stranger who someone won Obi-Wan's loyalty.

The person started rumbling in response.

Anakin amended himself. They were amazing. His growling turned to purring in an instant, and despite all his logical mind telling him not to, he went practically limp in the hold.

"Think of it like dealing with a loth cat or a dire hound. Hunting instincts will be strongest at first, but they should eventually fade into the background. That is, if he doesn't feel the need to push them down again."

"Hush," Anakin mumbled at the voice, leaning back into what he realized was quite warm fur. Even warmer than Obi-Wan. Another robe wrapped around him, this one belonging to whoever was holding him. His eyes were drooping fast, but who cared? He felt safe for once. Completely and undoubtedly safe...

~ ~

Anakin awoke to find himself still wrapped in something warm, but not the same thing. His The ears flattened for a moment before relaxing at the scent. Obi-Wan again. He decided to forgive the man, for the reasoning of the stranger not being an actual competitor and the twice-over of getting hugs.

His eyes opened to the dark room where Obi-Wan usually slept alone. They closed again, content with knowing where he was and ready to sleep himself, like the calm person next to him.

He shot away from the other at the return of his logical instincts. No, at his instincts. Anything else wasn't him. And he'd let them take over before. In front of the Jedi, in front of Obi-Wan. How long had he slept? Did he miss any of his classes?

What was he going to do now‽ He couldn- would he just continue like before? He couldn't! Could he? What if they wanted him to-

He froze at the sudden weight around his shoulders. It took a moment for his brain to restart enough to react. He tried to dart away again, but the weight just starting pressing down a little and he froze once more, waiting. The weight moved a little, shifting until he finally realized what it was.

"Kriff you."

"That's hardly language befitting a Jedi apprentice, now is it?"

"You son of a Hutt."

"I don't know what I did to deserve such name-calling. Care to inform me, dear Padawan of mine?"

"You motherkarker."

"Anakin!" Said boy giggled at the offended tone of his mas Obi-Wan, who retaliated by pulling him into a hug.

"Wait, no!" He struggled to pull himself away, to no avail. He grumbled as he flopped back, resigning himself to being stuck.

"I know you don't want to talk about this, seeing as you went as far as you did to hide it, but I would like to discuss it at least partially."

Anakin tried to free himself again. He failed again. He decided it was more annoying that he was so weak than that he was getting hugs. Was he getting the hugs because he was getting annoyed?

"Please?"

"Fine," Anakin sighed, settling into his mas Obi-Wan's chest. "What do I need to tell you?"

"Why did none of this come up in Master Che's check-up? Or did it and you didn't tell me? It's alright if it's the latter, I simply wish to know."

"It came up, ish. She did all the stuff and then asked if there's anything I should tell her, and I told her I was hiding it, but she doesn't know anything besides I have them."

"And what is 'it'?"

"Uhm..." Anakin thought for a moment, mentally going over his list of features. "Physical stuff, like the tail and the ears. Mental stuff, like the, uhm, the 'hunting'. Other stuff, but I don't really know what."

"And how does this 'hiding' work? According to Master Prix, it seems less like hiding and more like suppressing your... quirks."

Anakin tried to squirm away from his mas Obi-Wan. He sighed when it worked as well as before. He knew how to explain it all. His mom had helped him learn it so he would know if it came up. But knowing and doing are very different. And it's all a habit and habits are hard to break.

"Uhm, just- I just tell myself to wait? Like, until I sleep or get somewhere... safe?" That was awful.

"And what was earlier? Master Windu said that you were sprinting and just.. popped out a tail and all that."

"I- well, there's- rrrr." Anakin let out a short growl as he attempted to sort his thoughts. He was a Padawan. He could do this. He took a deep breath, trying to translate it all into the right words.

"On Tatooine, it's hot in the day. And it's very cold at night." He paused. Obi-Wan said nothing, waiting. He needed to figure out a way to thank his mas Obi-Wan. "And no one does much during midday, and no one does much during midnight. Around that, people like to head inside and start to adjust." Was that right? Yes, he was sure he hadn't mixed up the opposites again.

"So when it starts to get closer to midday or midnight, everyone sleeps. But on Coruscant, most people sleep once. And all the Humans sleep once. Once during a cycle," Anakin clarified. Obi-Wan made a noise of understanding, prompting his Padawan to fall silent and wait.

"So, if I'm understanding correctly, the reason you were in such a rush to make it back to our quarters was so you could stop hiding." He got a small nod in affirmation. "And the reason you were struggling to hide is because you are used to sleeping twice every cycle, for shorter times. Therefore, you are used to shorter periods in which you feel the need to hide." Another nod.

"Anakin why do you hide? I understand doing so on Tatooine, given its shifty nature. But you have been at the Temple for a month. Surely you understand you are safe here."

"Habit."

Obi-Wan said nothing to the short answer for a moment. Then he stood up, pulling his Padawan up with him. He turned the boy around, staring into the eyes that were both so different and so much the same as the ones he'd been seeing for a month.

"We don't have to go over everything now, but... do you want to break this habit?"

"...yes."

~ ~ ~

[Should I do more?]

#star wars #When the Force doesn't know what a kid should look like #Father Force #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #sw bi 3 #star wars au #i feel like i should do one of those masterlist things but i don't know how #feral anakin #bebe anakin #communication #so much is fixed with communication

[sweetsbfreex]

the cat burglar

“I’m excited for you to meet her,” you laughed, taking your key from your clutch. 

“I’m excited too lovie,” Harry whispered, bending– his upper body– down to wrap both his arms around your waist into your ear. 

You pushed yourself back playfully, laughing at the small grunt Harry had let out, as he laughed out a ‘menace’ your way biting the love of your ear softly. 

You had both just came from a night out, filled with touches, laughs, and giggles. You had asked him to not only come to your place for the first time, but stay through the night as well. You had a special furry friend you had wanted him to finally meet in person, holding the introduction back for a while. 

Opening and entering through the threshold, you put your clutch down on the small rounded table near the door, toeing your sneakers off. 

“Kiko, come here cutie,” you say, puckering your lips out as you make quick kissing noises. 

At that, the Russian Blue kitty made its way to you, emerging from the dark hallway, meowing as she sped up. 

You smiled down at her, reaching down as you picked up her up to lay in your arms. Her head perked up. One arm holding her up from the bottom while the other stroked her back. 

“Meet Harry cutie,” you say smiling at Harry who you could see smiling down at the feline in your arms, reaching his hand out to pet her forehead moving down to her chin. 

“Hi,” he said, introducing himself sillily. 

“Ooh got a purr from her, impressive,” you said. 

Kiko reached a paw outwards Harry, laying it flatly over Harry’s face precisely over his dimple.

“She likes you,” you murmured, kissing Kiko on her head.

“She’s very sweet” Harry stated, rising to his full height. Kiko’s paw falling from his face, bringing his hand once again to pet the top of her head. 

You weren’t surprised at all with Kiko taking a liking to Harry, she has basically liked anyone that came over. But, looking at the way her and Harry interacted you could feel the boulder levitate off your shoulders. You watched as he whispered compliments to her. 

“Do you wanna go upstairs?” you asked him. 

He smiled at that, “Lead the way.” 

That said, you set your cat on ground, in result getting a disapproving meow from her. Grabbing Harry’s hand you lead him down the hallway to your bedroom. On the way you could hear Harry chuckling. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, looking back at him over your shoulders.

“Yea...,” he laughs some more “Kiko’s just trying to trip me it seems.”

You look down, and there crawling in between his moving legs was she. Meowing as she followed you both. 

When you had made it to your bedroom door, you let Harry shuffle behind you to enter your bedroom. In the meantime, you used your foot to block the grey cat.

“Not you,” you whisper to her, squatting down as you pet behind her ear. “I’m glad you like H, but you can’t come in,” you inclined quickly, kissing her head before entering your room closing the door after yourself. 

“Everything all right?” he asked, walking over to you.

“Oh yea she’s just used to coming in here whenever she pleases.”

“Perfect,” he said, speeding the rest of the way towards you. He lifted you up swiftly, placing his hands under your thighs. 

You supported yourself, holding onto Harry’s upper arms. “Nice” you leer, squeezing him between your hands. 

“Glad you noticed” he chuckled lowly, laying you flat on the bed abruptly.

“You ready?” he asked, his fingers gripping loosely on the hem of your top. 

“Mhm,” you replied, one hand reaching to his zipper. 

-

You both hadn’t started yet, his mouth was on your neck, and only your top was off when Harry pulled away abruptly. 

“Do you hear that?” he asked breathlessly, looking down at your stupefied expression.

“No, what is it?” 

“Listen.” Bringing one finger to his ear. 

A loud, stretched out meow brought you out of your confusion. You had no doubt it was Kiko at the door, probably pawing at the door. 

“It’s fine. She’s just dramatic” you inclined, pulling him down by the back of his neck. 

He pulled away from you again, a look of slight embarrassment on his face. 

“Angel” he hummed, kissing your forehead. 

“Hm”

“I lost my stiffy,” he sighed, sitting up on his knees.

“It’s fine,” you laughed, sitting up. “I don’t blame you for no wanting to have sex with a bunch of cat sounds. Do you mind if I let her in?”

“No go ahead. Let her in” he got off the bed, reaching down for his discarded tee. While you walked over to your closet, pulling some random shirt onto you. Once you had that done, you walked over to the door, pulling it wide open for Kiko. She had breezed past you quickly making her way to your bed. 

‘You freaking cockblock’ is what you thought to yourself as she walked past you as if you were a dirty litter box. 

You rolled your eyes, turning away as you closed the door softly, walking over to really the picture-perfect painting. 

Harry was laid on his back feet crossed. As Kiko purred soothingly, her head laid on his upper arm (She was definitely your baby.) While Harry’s arm wrapped around her body so his fingers combed through his soft coat. His head angled so he could eye the cutie. 

“Glad to see she’s happy now,” you mutter. Laying down on your back, turning your head to Harry. 

“Three of us could cuddle for the night?” straightening the arm that was petting Kiko to make a grabby gesture towards you. 

You laughed shyly, bringing yourself as close to Harry as you could with Kiko in between the two of you. 

Not the most typical first night over, but what did you really expect. 

-

It was the next morning; You had woken up to a gravelly high-pitched morning voice. Opening your eyes bewildered as Kiko was laid on her back her paws playfully attacking Harry’s hand who was teasing her as he lowered, but quickly pulled away, his hand from her stomach. 

“Good morning,” you said lowly, bringing the blanket higher to hide half of your face. 

“Good morning. Why are you hiding beautiful?” he asked, hooking his finger into the space where the blanket hid around your nose. 

Kiko pounced up from the sound of your voice, crawling over, giving you her version of morning kisses. Reaching your hand up to pet her under his chin. “Hi cutie,” you hummed. 

“And I’m not hiding. I just woke up, can’t have you breaking up with me so quickly,” you laugh at the look of offense on his face. 

“You are something else,” he laughs with you. Leaning over, pulling the blanket down to kiss you slowly on the lips.  

“I thought you had something planned today?”

“Was I that bad of a house guest?” he asks back, laying on his side, his head supported up with his knuckles. 

“Shut up” you sigh, looking as Kiko had jumped over and back, Harry’s torso, as if he was a hurdle. 

“I am...Just didn’t want to leave without saying bye to you”

“It’s like some Troy Bolton spirit entered you. Thirteen year old me would’ve freaked” you cringed when the words left your mouth. But, the embarrassment subsided when Harry laughed. 

“I’m wayyy better than that guy.”

“Of course you are” you started sitting up, taking hold of his hands, and interlocking them. “You want breakfast before you go?”

“Yes please,” he sang, taking you with him to the kitchen. 

-

Now you were both stood in front your door, full on the breakfast Harry had helped you make. He had his face in between your hands, holding it still as he kisses your cheek repeatedly. 

“Harry!” you laughed, bringing your hands up to hold onto to. his forearms. 

“I’m gonna miss you” he expressed inarticulately against your cheek. 

“I’m gonna miss you too” you cooed. “But can i kiss you kiss you now”

He let go at your special request “I’m all yours,” a bright smile on his face. Waiting for his round of kisses with his arms spread out wide. And you would’ve if it wasn’t for the former cock-block that couldn’t help but try with all her might to climb up Harry’s jeans. 

The pads of her feet and crescendoing got his eye, so he leant down to cradle her in his arms. “Couldn’t forget about you. Could I?” he mumbled, petting her tummy softly all while Kiko purred in pleasure. 

“Okay. Okay me time now.”

Harry snickered, keeping one arm to coddle Kiko to his chest, as he brought the other to wrap around your neck pulling you in for exactly three long kisses. 

“I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow though, baby,” he said while settling Kiko to the ground. He kissed you one more time turning around as he opened the door. 

“Bye, I love you.”

He smiled loving those words that left your mouth easily. “I love you too” he shouted walking backwards then turned around once he finished the words of affirmation. 

He waved from his car, backing away as he drove off quickly. You slammed the door then. 

The incessant sad meowing was what made you looked down. Kiko standing on her back paws as the front ones supported her, as she laid them against the door. Meowing non-stop after Harry was your guess. 

“I know. I know” you muttered bitterly, picking her up so you both were face to face. “I miss him too, but he is my boyfriend missy.”

She meowed as a rebuttal ‘Yeah well I want him’

“We’re not fighting about this, he’s mine baby” you told her kissing her head, she definitely didn’t like the sound of that as she meowed once again in disbelief. 

You set her back down. Expecting her to quickly dash to the scratching post she loved so much, but instead she revolved herself so she was facing the door, meowing (most likely for Harry to come back). 

You stood there shocked at her change in behavior. You had only caught her acting like this when you left for work on the security camera. 

Pulling your phone from your back pocket, you called Harry quickly. 

“Only gone for five seconds miss me already“ from the distance in his voice and all the scratchiness in the background, you knew he had been using his Bluetooth. 

“You broke my cat!”

“Excuse me?”

“Kiko has been bawling at the door ever since you left my place.”

“Just the Styles charm baby!”

-

Harry came back the next day. Greeting you with a kiss and placing a box of sweets into your hands. The sound of Harry’s deep voice catching the eye of Kiko who had sprinted from the living room all the way to the front door. Running laps around Harry, her tail touching his leg softly. 

“Go ahead into the living room. I’ll get the food ready.”

You walked yourself to the kitchen. There lay both of bowls of snacks you had for the both of you. Turning your head slightly, you Watched Kiko follow behind Harry, as if he was the line leader. 

Though it had only been less than twenty-four hours, you were nothing but elated to just lay down next to or on top of Harry– as long as you were close– and just indulge in whatever you both chose to watch. 

When you had finally walked into the living room. Setting the bowls and drinks on the coffee table near Harry’s feet. Just as you set the bowls down and were meant to sit next to Harry the view you had saw had bursted your heart.

Harry was slouched into the couch. His feet kicked up on the coffee table– Crossed. His hands cupped the content feline’s face– fingers rubbing wherever they could reach. Whom at the time was stretched vertically in Harry’s lap. Legs stretched out and her paws laying over his chest. 

They got along very quick. 

You smiled at the pair, walking towards them. Sitting next to Harry. You reached your hand down to pet K’s head with your finger softly. When you were finished giving her your full attention, you looked towards Harry going to put your arms around him, when a small paw was placed on the side of your torso and a meow of discontent was echoed in the air. 

You pulled away bamboozled. Harry tries to hold back his smile and the newly possessive cat. 

“Did she just?–” you stopped there, deciding to test the waters again, leaning into Harry for a kiss when the same exact thing happened again. 

When you pulled away again, she eyed you carefully, meowing for an extra measure, placing herself higher on top of Harry, so her head was nestled into his cheek. 

“I can’t believe this” you slant your head closer to Kiko’s “You boyfriend stealer” pointing your finger right at her, which she had fun-lovingly batted away. Turning her attention back on Harry who had a stupidly cute smirk on his face. 

“Got your mum jealous. Impressive,” He said to Kiko, bringing his finger up to boop her nose. 

“You guys are unbelievable” you rolling your eyes, huffing to yourself. 

For weeks and years to come of you being together K’s possessiveness of course lightened. But, if she ever caught you and Harry in some sort of embrace, she’d be quick to sprint to Harry’s lap. Side eying you as Harry gave her his affection. Throwing it in your face more. Looking at you smugly– if you could say so yourself– as you sat astonished and to yourself.

Or the times you and Harry gave each other space instead of cuddling on the couch together. She would lay on Harry, eyes wide, as she eyed you carefully. Just making sure you weren’t going to try anything on her man.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styes fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles reader insert #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #harry styles drabble #harry styles fanfiction #boyfriend! harry #boyfriend harry styles #harry styles x you

[braiawrites]

Lost & Found

Summary: Admittedly, taking in a strange stray cat is not the brightest idea one might have when one lives in a world of faeries and magic and mythical creatures straight out of old wives’ tales. But no one told this to Jude Duarte, and so taking in that cat is exactly what she does... || From this prompt by @newblood-freya

Genre: Soft, Feel Good Fic

Words: 1862

Rating: sfw

Links:

Fic Masterlist

CHAPTER TWO

Prompt by newblood-freya

Read it on AO3

Writing Masterlist

Send me an ask!

***

Admittedly, taking in a strange stray cat was not the brightest idea one might have had when one lived in a world of faeries and magic and mythical creatures straight out of old wives’ tales. 

But it had been cold and rain had been pouring down in sheets, and the poor scrap of a cat had been huddled in a pathetic little ball among the trees of the Milkwoods, its pelt growing soggy in the onslaught. 

And if that weren’t pitiful enough, dawn had been creeping ever closer, and—while darkness was dangerous in the human world—nighttime in Faerie was quiet and as generally peaceful as it could get in a land where a wrong turn might spell death-by-endless-dancing. Yes, in Faerie, the darkness meant safety, whilst daylight brought dangers from stories untold. 

Consequently, when Jude had stumbled across the sopping black cat—literally, tripped over the thing, as it had lain in the dimming shadows—she had made the somewhat-horrible decision to have mercy on it. She was, regrettably, only human, after all.

“You look as lost as I feel,” she had admitted, crouched before the little creature, hand outstretched. It was staring at her with dark amber eyes, crouched low amongst the wet grass.

“Come now,” she coaxed. “I won’t harm you, little one.”

The animal had sidled up to her, somehow managing to seem hesitant and haughty all at once, and she had scooped it up and held it to her chest, wrapping her coat around its shivering body. 

She ran the rest of the way home.

~ ~ ~

Jude wasn’t entirely sure how Madoc would react to her bringing a cat into his house—she had a vague fear that he might view it as a meal, and a brief image of the lizardlike guard who had taken the tip of her finger for a snack flashed through her mind. 

She couldn’t leave the poor thing in the stables, lest the stablehands find it and kick it out, or one of the larger, carnivorous mounts decide to gobble it up, and so she slipped in through a servant’s door, pausing for a moment beneath the light of a torch set into the wall to peek into the folds of her jacket at the warm, wet cat huddled against her chest. 

“Alright in there?” she asked it, and smiled as the glowing amber eyes blinked back. 

Carrying her boots so as not to track mud through the halls, Jude tiptoed up the stairs to her room. She ducked into a guest room once, when she heard voices down the hall, but most of the manor was asleep by this time. 

As she snuck through the corridors, she felt, for a moment, like a normal human girl in a normal human world, perhaps creeping in late from a party.

“Sometimes,” Jude breathed, turning in to her room and closing her door behind her, “it’s nice to just pretend, don’t you agree?” 

The cat mewed, its little voice creaky.

“Exactly. You get it.” She plunked the creature on her bed as she stripped her coat off and slung it over a chair. The cat jumped down. It had left a little wet patch on her blankets.

“You poor thing,” she exclaimed, “you're soaking!” 

Grabbing a towel from the bottom of her wardrobe, Jude sat on the floor and pulled the cat into her lap. It sat patiently as she rubbed at its ears and shoulders, running the towel over its long, thin body. It closed its eyes as she patted at its soft cheeks.

“Cats are funny, you know,” she remarked to it. It opened its amber eyes at the sound of her voice, looking up to meet her gaze. 

“So delicate,” she scratched the animal on it's fine jaw bone with a single finger, “and yet, if you were to fall out my window, you could walk away perfectly fine.” 

The cat gave what Jude could only interpret as an indignant squawk and dug its claws into the damp fabric of her leggings. 

“I'm not going to throw you out my window,” she laughed, stroking its soft head. “Don’t you worry your pretty little kitty mind.”

They sat quietly for a few moments, the only sounds Jude’s breathing and the cat’s rumbling purr as she stroked its drying pelt, until Jude began to shiver in her damp tunic.

The cat meowed, climbing off her lap and kneading its paws on her leg until she went to grab a dry nightgown, and then turning its back to her as she peeled her wet tunic over her head. 

What a strange cat, she thought as she shimmied out of her leggings. She smiled. They were already covered in cat hair. 

~ ~ ~

Being a human among faeries, Jude had to fight for each moment she spent on the Isles of Elfhame. She had long ago learned that knowledge, while dangerous, was also powerful, and she had made it a priority to know what she could about the goings on of the Faerie court. 

So, naturally, when the palace messenger had arrived with urgent news, Jude had taken it upon herself to learn what he knew. He’d refused to divulge anything to anyone except the General himself, and so Jude found herself crouching outside Madoc’s office, her ear pressed to the door as the messenger began to speak.

“What do you mean the prince is missing?” Madoc rumbled. His voice carried a level of concern that Jude could not believe was entirely sincere. 

“His Highness Prince Cardan has not been seen nor heard from in three days,” the messenger boy repeated. “High King Eldred wishes you to conduct a search.” 

Despite herself, Jude found she held a modicum of respect for the boy; she would have snapped something smart at Madoc’s senseless question, and probably would have received a threat in return.

She held her breath, listening for the Redcap’s next words.

“Where was he last seen?” Madoc sighed. “Or who spoke with him last? Do you have any useful information for me?”

“Only that he was last seen with a pixie girl during the Full Moon Revel four nights prior to this. The girl has been detained but she hasn’t spoken.”

Jude’s chest tightened at the thought of the insolent prince wandering off with some pixie. The girl had probably been tortured for information, although if it were up to her, Jude would have provided ample compensation to the girl for having spent any time alone with Cardan. 

Against all conscious efforts, the thought of the prince’s long, slender fingers sliding up her skin crept into her mind, accompanied by a picture of his face—his cruel mouth and his dark eyes—jeering down at her. Her stomach lurched and she wrestled the nauseating images from her mind.

Madoc’s armour clinked as he marched toward his door. 

Jude spun on her heel and ran. 

~ ~ ~

“Kitty, I’m back,” Jude called into the empty darkness of her room. She tried to pitch her voice softly, but her nerves were still frayed from the messenger’s news.

The cat slunk out from under her bed, a living shadow with bright eyes, and watched intently as she set two small bowls down for him against the wall. 

After dashing away from her foster father’s office, Jude had stopped by the kitchen to find some water and scraps of meat for her furry visitor. 

By the time she’d made it back to the relative safety of her room, the faerie boy had already left, as had Madoc. If he had caught any sign of her presence outside his door, he had either deemed it irrelevant or had decided he would deal with her later.

The cat mewed, stretching up to hook his claws into her leggings. He had devoured the meal. 

“Someone was hungry.” Jude gave a small laugh and scooped the feline up. During the few days he’d been with her, she’d discovered that she quite enjoyed his company. He was a friend she could confide in without worrying her secrets would get out, and more than that, he was a presence she could stand to be around.

Jude pulled off her boots and plopped cross legged onto her bed, cuddling the cat in her lap, stroking his silken fur. 

“Enjoyed dinner?” she asked him.

He said, “Mrrow,” and yawned in her face, showing off long, sharp fangs. 

“Oh, really? And how was your day?” she hummed, to which he grumbled in response. She liked to make idle conversation with the animal, as though she understood him.

“Well, my day was lovely, thank you for asking.” She thought for a moment. “But it was a bad kind of lovely. You know when you get a bruise and it hurts but you keep pressing on it because you like the pain? Like that, but opposite. Like the sun is making the clouds shimmer, and it’s beautiful, but those clouds are going to cause a flood. The sky is still lovely, but it’s the kind of lovely that hurts.”

The cat’s eyes were fixed on her, shining that bright amber as he stared in the way only cats could. It made her uncomfortable.

“No, I suppose I’m not making any sense, am I?” She pulled the cat onto her chest as she lay back, staring up into nothingness, and stroked his back. She pretended the deep rumble of his purr was the thunder of a summer storm, shaking the earth before bathing it in a warm rainfall.

“I’m worried,” she admitted at last, shattering the spell. “It’s been three nights since he’s been in class, and I wonder where he could have gotten to. Why he’s not coming—not that I care about him, specifically. I just like to keep an eye on what he does and the specific messes he decides to make.” 

The cat looked at her sidelong, his gleaming amber eyes pinning her with a look that she couldn’t quite place, although it was decidedly human. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scolded, although the cat, being a cat, did not heed her request.

She sighed. Outside her window, the sky began to lighten as dawn crept closer, the daytime sky stretching up to meet the stars through fog and wispy clouds. Her kitty snuggled into her, tucking his head beneath her chin.

“I wonder if maybe he’ll never come back,” she mused, watching as the first drops of rain tapped at the glass, sparkling in the lamplight. 

The cat purred, sounding as though he agreed, which Jude found unfathomably funny.

“I think you and I get along rather well,” she told him.

“Mrrmm,” the cat grumbled, patting at her face with soft paws. He turned his amber gaze on her and she smiled, scratching the cat behind his ear with one gentle finger. She felt warm and content, listening to his purr, feeling his small weight atop her chest as she breathed.

“Maybe,” she hummed, letting her eyes drift back to the rain outside, “we were meant to find each other.”

The cat’s rumbling purr echoed in the space of her room, and Jude felt like she was home.

***

A/N: Alternatively titled Catboy Cardan 2021 but I somehow I felt like that didn't fit the vibes... Anywhomst—thank you, lovely human, for reading my self-indulgent Jude Gets A Cat fic! It had no plot and I did not proofread it, but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless!! If you have the time, I'd love if you reblogged and left a comment to let me know what you thought. Thank you again for reading, lovely, and I send my best wishes your way!

(PS: Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list!)

Tagging:  @stardustsroses @nahthanks @jurdanhell @my-one-true-l @thefolkofthefic @newblood-freya

#the folk of the air #folk of the air #tfota #fota #the cruel prince #tcp #the wicked king #twk #the queen of nothing #queen of nothing #tqon #qon #holly black #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan fic #jude x cardan #cardan x jude #jude duarte x cardan greenbriar #cardan greenbriar x jude duarte #jude gets a cat #catboy cardan #soft jude #soft jude duarte #ya fiction #fanfiction #folk of the air fanfic #jurdan fanfic #jurdan fanfiction

[writingstarling]

Comfort in You

Adrien needed to get out. He curled deeper into himself as the walls chased down to cage him like a determined hunter.

It was a trick of the mind, he knew. He knew his room was spacious enough to support a relatively large apartment. That it would be impossible for him to be closed in.

He knew. But his brain couldn’t process that.

Today wasn’t what Adrien would call a good day—and he certainly had better. Just thinking of it sent him into a spiral of his own thoughts.

The air in his room were lego blocks he's forced to inhale. Smothering his nostrils in full force. And was it just him or was the ground starting to sway?

“Breathe,” a voice brought him back to reality. Adrien didn’t even notice he was holding his breath.

He had to calm down. Gain his head back.

Breathe, Agreste. Just like the article said, 4 7 8. Inhale through the nose for 4. Hold it for 7. Exhale through the mouth for 8, Adrien did as so.

You’re alright, you’re okay. Just calm down and you can get out of here!

Somehow he had managed. His surroundings were clearing up. The walls didn’t look like they were about to collapse on him anymore. The air filtering through his nostrils lightened in weight.

He was fine.

“Fine” was an overstatement really. He was far from it as it is.

But in his situation and for argument’s sake, “fine” would fit in nicely.

Exhaling one last shaky breath, Adrien fixed eye contact with his furry companion and smiled.

“Thanks, Plagg. I needed that.”

The black cat rubbed his cheek against his chosen’s. Not for long though. Despite appearances, Plagg had a reputation to keep. He couldn’t let Tikki make fun of him!

Plagg did loops in the air before favouring a spot in front of his chosen. His flipper like hands poised on his waist and a sly smirk played on his lips.

“So, you ready to break out of this place?”

Adrien mirrored his smirk with a fresh new glint in his eyes, “Plagg, claws out!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life had been considerably unpredictable for Marinette. With her secret life as a superhero and the sudden debut of a supposed supervillain—or magical terrorist with the ability to grant people magical powers through the aid of butterflies, Marinette had thought that she was beginning to gain the capability to be unfazed by the unexpected. That with all the bizzare events in her life she became acquainted with it.

Apparently she was wrong.

Never had she expected for a certain cat—or perhaps Chat to be perched on her veranda. It rattled her at first. Chat’s last visit had been... interesting, to put it nicely. It wasn’t his fault per se, nevertheless the escalating events left a bad taste in her father regarding the cat themed hero. The bad blood died down, but finding the very person that broke your daughter’s heart on your balcony would certainly summon a very irresistible impulse to jettison him; and Marinette really didn’t want to explain to Paris why one of their heroes managed to become roadkill near her bakery (the suit would probably protect him, but Marinette did not want to take that chance).

That put aside, Marinette shuffled under her sole protector from peering—or in this case, Chat Noir’s eyes. A hand stationed at her trapdoor as her eyes spied on her partner.

His back faced her as he surveyed the city; his cat ears were flat on his tousled gold locks while he hummed a song Marinette became familliar with as “Little Cat on The Roof”. Her lips twitched into a knowing frown.

Being partners for so long they were bound to notice habits the other owned. At the moment, it was Chat’s occasional croons. Marinette recognised the song as Chat's solace. A safe haven achieved by focusing on the assortment of melodies the song offered. She came to the conclusion that her kitty was distressed; presumably due to family circumstances.

Marinette weighted her odds. It didn’t seem like Chat had noticed her yet—which was good. She hadn’t known what action to take. On the one hand, it would be wise to not nose around and let him solve it in his own time. But on the other hand, seeing him lack his usual jubilant and bright attitude sent a jab to her heart.

She wanted to help. To be of service to him like the terrible jokes and over the top shenanigans he did for her. No matter how stubborn she was to clung to her sour mood, he would do almost everything that came to mind to alleviate her spirits. She wanted to do the same for him.

“Marinette?”

The mentioned girl tensed before sighing internally. She knew she was bound to be spotted (HA!) somehow, though she did wish it would be from her own volition rather than a slip aided by Chat’s observation skills. Marinette didn’t loiter on that thought longer and pulled herself up. Red bloomed on her cheeks as the crisp autumn air caressed her skin while embarrassment added an even darker shade of red.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy,” she found great interest in the floor as her fingers busied themselves by connecting and disconnecting themselves, stealing peeks as she did.

She expected, hoped, for him to take the chance to chaff her of having an infatuation on him or alleging her of being stunted by his self-proclaimed dashing looks (Marinette has thrown herself into a spiral of denial), albeit begrudgingly. She had, because if he did—there lied a glimmer of hope that it would be easier to buoy her partner. Chat, however, had other plans in mind.

Chat offered her a smile. Impeccably centered and hollow like a well crafted porcelain doll, “It’s okay, it was rude of me to steal your balcony.”

Internally Marinette cringed at the sight. Her stomach wrapped itself in knots of discomfort. It reminded her of the smile Adrien would plaster whenever Chloe or Lila claimed possession of him. That night Marinette vowed that she would never let that smile abide on either boys ever again.

“It’s all right,” she spoke as her feet planted herself next to him.

A pregnant pause held them hostage. Both fearful of breaking the fragile semblance of peace between them despite the mutually felt inquietude.

“So,” Marinette threaded with rightfully earned prudence. Voice soft and light like footsteps on thin ice.

“...So...”

“I have some croissants.”

Finally a piece of her kitty came to light in the form of a grin on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“You would indulge this poor stray to the finest pastries in the world? Truly, you are the most a-meow-zing purr-incess in the world!”

Marinette fought the giggle bubbling in her throat with no success before sending him a playful glare coupled by a smirk that flourished nothing but friskiness, “Careful now, those awful puns might just cost you.”

Chat’s hand sought his heart above the magical leather suit as an overly inflated gasp found freedom from his peach pink lips.

“How could you Purr-incess! My puns are widely ad-mew-tted to be fur-ry paw-esome,” he retaliated, voice brimmed with feigned smugness.

Snacks and chagrins were soon forgotten as they fell into an easy rhythm of banter. Jabs aimed to Chat’s puns would immediately be reciprocated with a flimsy defense along with an additional pun. Each one personally designed to perturb her further into submission. But despite it, Marinette couldn’t brush away the warmth buzzing through her entire body as they went back and forth. The once brisk air nipping at her skin replaced by a fervour akin to a hug from a dear friend.

After a particularly long laughter from both parties as Chat had finally managed to delivered a humorous pun - “EXCUSE mew Purr-incess, my puns are always funny!” - they settled in another lapse of silence. Consisted of feather lightness and melodic sweetness.

The city was exceptionally beautiful, they had agreed. Perhaps it was due to the occurrence of a full moon, offering the city a better lighting to its beauty; perhaps it was the fiery orange lining the streets with its playful gradient; or perhaps the most immediately discarded thought in their heads, the company they had.

It was a territory they never dared to venture. A land littered with minefields yet to be discovered, yet to explode with much more uncertainty and a set of emotions they were far too fearful to label. Because trying to label the unknown might shatter the bits of understanding of their emotions they barely possessed. Putting the hesitantly glued pieces into shambles; and as a teenager finding their place in the world, it was a risk they were walking eggshells on.

Neither allowed themselves to loiter on the thought longer than a second.

“I, I should get going.” Perhaps it was her imagination, perhaps it was reality how Chat’s ears drooped as he spoke.

“Uh, yeah, it's getting late...”

Chat took the initiative to climb the rails of her balcony, hunched and ready to set off. Baton in hand and his leather-covered thumb hovering over the button to extend it the moment he leaps.

Swivelling his head to face the pig-tailed girl, he gave her a smile, genuine and sincere. “Thanks Marinette, I’ll see you next time.”

For reasons unkown to Marinette herself, a giggle burst forth from her throat. Tickling the air around them with her bubbly laughter. All at once, the air felt warmer to Chat Noir.

“Sure thing, you silly cat.”

Marinette had expected for Chat Noir to make his way. However, still he was in his previous position, unmoving. Marinette was one breath away from uttering her worries when Chat Noir’s voice cut through the air in slight whispers timid and uncharacteristic.

“Can I,” he paused for a minute, but persevered nonetheless, “can I come here again?”

The question sounded child-like in Marinette’s ears. Like a shy little kid trying to make friends while shouldering a large fear of rejection. He sounded so small, so vulnerable.

Marinette took a breath to ease the tenseness she felt from Chat’s question. She needed to deliver an answer appropriate from her words down to her tone in order to fully put Chat at ease.

Gentle and fluffy, sweeter than all the candies in the world with a tone of loveliness, she spoke. “You’re always welcomed here, Chat.”

A weight could visibly be seen lifted off Chat’s shoulders. Shoulders once guarded and fearful of rejection came to relax for the first time that night. With a nod, Chat finally made his way back to his house.

The journey was something he didn’t desire, but he can’t impose Marinette with his overdue stay. At the very least, he came back with a new feeling better than anything he had in a long time. A feeling of warmth buzzing in his heart. Perhaps, he’s finally starting to remember the feeling of home again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAHAHAHA SO-

I uh, I forgot about this thing’s existence and neglected it for 2 years...

Well so that’s also why the writing style is a bit screwed up but I tried and honestly I was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing so you can have this mess instead ❤️.

#miraculous chat noir #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #miraculous marinette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien x marinette #ml marinette #mlb #ml adrien #marichat #fanfic #fanfiction #chat noir #adrien agreste #miraculous adrien #mlb fanfic

[rein4r1]

Portrait

Wc: 1.9k

Warning/s: Homophobia, Signs of Mental Illness, Mentions of Mental and Physical Abuse, Mentions of sexual activity, Dark Content

Pairing: [Modern AU] Mikasa x F!Reader (They/Them)

Genre: Fluff if you squint, Angst

Synopsis: On which Mikasa offers them a solution to their problems

or

They couldn't help but create a different reality

MINORS READ WITH DISCRETION

“So tell us Y/n L/n”

“Tell you what? I have nothing to tell you!”

“Tell us why you killed your parents.”

They pulled her knees to their chests, tightening their hold. The air from the AC doing nothing but worsen the already dreadful atmosphere. With shaking hands, they touched the side of their face, feeling the sting from where their father slapped them from hours ago. It wasn’t his aggressiveness that hurt them nor was it the shattered frame of a portrait that stood proudly on top of the island table, but it was their mother’s words; “I can’t believe we have a homosexual under our roof!”

Their parents were always conservative, believing that people who like the same sex are nothing but sinful. In all honesty, they believed every word they fed growing up. At least until they met her. Maybe deep down, they were already different from what their parents fear, just hiding in the closet. The first time they saw her was in the middle of the hallway, junior year in high school. To be honest, they didn’t have friends, them having friends is far-fetched anyway.

Not only did they hate their situation at home, but they also hate their situation at school. It’s not like they’re physically troubled by other kids, but they can always hear their murmurings, clearly them being the subject of their gossip.

“For someone with a pretty appearance, they sure are crazy.”

“Shut up! They might hear.”

School was already hell for them; just in the middle of the hallway stood a girl with short black hair, there she stood in the sea of despondence. They always had a downcast look, when was the last time they stared at anything but their feet. They can’t help but be drawn to her dark orbs, something about her enigmatic look draws them to her. The felt their body move automatically towards her, but in the heap of the crowd, she was gone. Their eyes searched any nook and cranny for her, hoping that there’s something she left by. And they felt it, the erratic beating of their hearts, as if nothing will help to calm it.

The next time they saw her was at the school’s courtyard, sitting at one of the benches looking like she’s lost in her own thoughts. They slowly approached her, sitting just at the other end of the bench. As if sensing their presence, her head turns towards them. Her face shows aloofness, but their eyes bore in theirs with curiosity. She turned her head back to the horizon, clearly not minding their presence.

“You look sad.” ‘What?’

“You look like… you’ve been failed by the people around you…” she continues as they look at her with sadness in their eyes.

“Wha- What are you talking about?...” And out of the blue, she pulled them towards her, letting their head rest on her shoulder. She brought her hand to caress their hair, and all they could do is cry. It’s been so long since they became vulnerable, looking no different than a walking corpse. “Don’t worry Y/n, I’m here now.” ‘Huh but how does she know my name?’

“Wait how did you-“

“I’ve always been watching you Y/n, I’m sorry it took me a long time.” They look at her face and saw genuine repentance. “But I haven’t- I don’t know who you are.” As if sensing their growing confusion, she smiled; “Mikasa, my name’s Mikasa.”

Mikasa is their first friend and the first person they talked outside of their family. They didn’t feel alone anymore with the girl beside them. The once suffocating halls didn’t feel smothering anymore. Their eyes didn’t look downcast, it slowly began to look less dull and look more with vigor. But that didn’t do anything to lessen the outlandish look their schoolmates gave them, their mumblings only continue to worsen. It didn’t matter anymore, since Mikasa is by their side, and she didn’t feel alone anymore.

Mikasa slept over at their house, this was something they’ve been looking forward the whole weekends. Lying together in their bed as they faced each other, Mikasa brought her nimble finger to draw in their features as she reached stay strand of their hair and placed it behind their eye. As if there was an unknown force that compels them to each other, they felt her lips brush against theirs in a gently manner. Feeling the way their lips moved in sync with each other, Mikasa’s kisses were steady, gentle, and slow

She looks at them as if she revers them with her whole entirety. They felt her hands drag across their skin like an adagio. Mikasa looked at their eyes for any signs of discomfort, but they only brought themselves closer as an answer. And that night, they made love under the light emanating from the moon.

A few days later, Y/n sat at the dining area with their parents for dinner. Their mother was babbling about how charming their neighbor’s son is. It fell into deaf ears of course, only having Mikasa in their thoughts.

“Y/n you should meet Mr. Grice’s son, I heard he’s about your age.” They snapped their head towards their father, they could not believe the words that came out of his mouth. Never in her life did he appreciate them having any malefriends. “You ought to have friends at your age, create a network with people.”

“I already have a friend ‘pa” he could only dismiss their reply. Their mother clearly being insistent on bringing the Grice boy and them together. “I know both of you are taking your exams for university, it doesn’t hurt having room for more people in your life.”

“I thought you never wanted me to have any guy friends.”

“But it’s the Grices we’re talking about.” They came to understand their mother’s intentions. The Grice family were considered wealthy and influential, who doesn’t want to marry into a rich family anyway? Obviously, Y/n L/n who only has Mikasa in their heart. Plus, the Grice boy already had an army of girls (and boys) willing to be his significant other. It was supposed to be a normal dinner, with them minding their business, leaving their parents to whatever chit chat they’re engrossed in. That is until, their father said something that triggered more on her already displeased mood.

“God, those sinners, parading around for some rights when they clearly don’t deserve any.” Her father muttered in disgust. The television was on, displaying news about a protest done by the LGBTQ+ community in accordance with the rights of their transgender brothers and sisters, considering that there is a rise of crimes towards the group. “If only they weren’t that then people wouldn’t-“

“I’m gay.” Their parents snapped their heads towards her, their expressions full of vexation.

“Y/n come again? What did you-“

“I’m fucking gay ‘ma, and I appreciate that the both of you stop asking those people for liability for something they clearly didn’t do, especially that they- we, are discriminated by people like –“ SLAP

They looked at their horrific faces, hand on their cheek. They expected this, they knew they were like this, but they couldn’t stand them any longer. They couldn’t help but think of Mikasa, the fact that they have this kind of mindset already means that after learning Mikasa’s existence, they’ll get in between them.

“I can’t believe we have a homosexual under our roof!” Their mother cried and their father’s face full of furry. “Go inside your room! We’ll deal with you later. FuckI can’t look at you right now without having the urge to murder you! And I don’t want to commit a sin like you!” Their father’s voice echoes around the room, as they quickly left her unfinished dinner, seeking solace inside their room. Sitting at the innermost corner of their bed, they leaned against the wall and brought their knees towards their chest. They expected them to be like this, but deep down they were hoping that they’d understand, that they’d accept them for who they are.

They felt their phone ring as they moved towards the bedside table and saw a text from Mikasa.

They immediately dashed towards their mini balcony, and there she is, Mikasa in all her glory. Seeing her made them break down, they found solace with this woman. To them, Mikasa is their sanctuary. Mikasa held them tight under the dark sky and the cold wind of the early hours of morning. She listened to them as they bawl their eyes out, pressing kisses on their face in hopes that this will make them feel better.

“I have something for you.” Mikasa reached something in her pocket to reveal a necklace with a vial as its pendant. They looked at the necklace with an astonished look, Mikasa then proceeds to wear the necklace on their neck. “You know you can do this Y/n” Mikasa smiled at them as she pressed another kiss on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around them. “I know you can”

Their parents woke up at the delightful smell of breakfast. They were bemused at the food that is already prepared on the table.

“Oh, both of you are awake, I prepared breakfast.” Their father looked at them suspiciously, but she only smiled cheerfully.

“What is this? Didn’t we tell you to-“

“I would like to apologize for yesterday, I was clearly stressed because of my exams. I was probably just confused… Yeah just stressed” they chuckled, they felt a bit unsure of their words, but they only brushed it off, content that their child finally came into their senses. They took a sip of their tea, as they began to converse with their parents. “You know about Grice, maybe I’ll approach him later at school.”

“Really? That’s great Y/n!” Her mother chimes.

“Yes ‘ma” They continue to look at their parents. Minutes pass as something went eerie that they could not explain. ‘Something’s weird’ their father glanced at their grinning face. They suddenly lack the ability to speak. As they slowly grow limp from their chairs. They could only stare at their child’s retreating form as the light in their gets swallowed by darkness.

“Tell us why you killed your parents.” Are they out of their mind? Kill? Why would Y/n kill their parents? They may have hurt them too many times, but they could never hurt their parents.

“Kill? I did not kill them!”

“The autopsy showed signs of poisoning, and the investigating team found its connection with the tea they drank. In addition, you were the last person they were last seen with.” They were confused, the tea?... The tea!

“It wasn’t me… It was… It was Mikasa!” Their eyes widen in confusion. “She gave me a vial. It was her!” They wrote their claim down on a piece of paper.

“Mikasa?... I need her last name.” He probes. ‘Wait, she never did give me her last name.’ The officer slid a small envelope. The opened it to reveal a portrait that looks oh so familiar. It’s one of the portraits her father flounced in the heat of anger. A portrait of a young woman with a baby in her hands. ‘No this can’t be… this is just a coincidence. This woman-‘

“-is Mikasa Ackerman, the one who gave birth to your mother.”

That night, they never received a text from her. It was only their alarm setting off.

An: I feel like this is badly written so bsoibhaoibh

I apologize for any grammatical errors and improper use of punctuation marks.

#mikasa ackerman #mikasa x reader #mikasa ackerman x reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan x reader #shingeki kyojin x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines

[shera-dnd]

IT'S HERE! A whole week late, but I finally finished the last prompt for Rosebird Week. This time it's AU day and I decided to go with an AU no one expected or really wanted.

IT'S MATRIX AU TIME! LET'S GO!

Summer sat in her bed, head pressed back against the metal wall, and eyes closed, just allowing herself to feel the vibrations of the hovercraft as it flew through the complex hive of tunnels beneath the earth. It was strangely peaceful, and it helped ground her in the real world. It also let her listen to the steps of the rest of her crew.

She heard a set of them approaching her room and pausing at the door. It took a moment for her crewmate to actually open it and step in, but when she did Summer didn’t need to open her eyes to know who it was.

Raven quietly closed the door behind her and walked up to Summer’s bed, sitting next to her. Neither of them felt the need to greet each other, both just wanting to enjoy this silent moment, away from the constant barrage of information that was The Matrix.

“Hey, Raven,” Summer eventually spoke. It was a quiet call, a whisper just for her friend, “can I ask you something?”

“You wanna know if I believe it,” Raven answered, fully aware of the doubts that had been plaguing her, “if I think you’re The One.”

Silence returned to the room.

Yes, that had been Summer’s question, a question that had been at the back of her mind since the moment Ozpin called her by that title. It felt like unearned praise, and she couldn’t help but feel the weight of humanity’s survival resting on her shoulders.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

“I don’t,” Raven answered bluntly, “I think this whole chosen one deal is just absolute horseshit.”

That took Summer by surprise. She opened her eyes and turned on her side so she could look at her companion. Raven looked so different in this world, older, more tired, less composed. She liked this version more, it made Raven feel more human, more real.

“Then why do you even follow Ozpin in the first place?”

“Because as full of crap as he is, he’s still doing good work,” she explained, “we’re still saving people.” Raven turned too, meeting summer’s gaze. Her eyes were a dark brown, not the red they were in The Matrix, “we saved you, didn’t we?”

The two shifted ever closer, eyes still locked on each other in the peaceful silence of Summer’s chamber.

“I believe in you, Summer,” Raven added, so close to Summer that she could feel her breath on her lips, “chosen one or not.”

Before they could drift any closer than that, the door to the room was slammed open as Taiyang cheerfully declared, “come on, it’s about time our girl took a trip to the Oracle.”

~~~

That trip had gone as horribly as it possibly could. Lionheart had betrayed them, half their crew was dead, and Ozpin had been captured by the agents. Leaving Summer, Raven, and Qrow, with only two options. Killing Ozpin themselves before the agents could extract the information they wanted from him, or diving in to fight near impossible odds in a suicidal mission to save him.

In the end the choice was obvious.

The metal detectors in the building blared as Summer and Raven stepped in through the front door. One of the guards tiredly stood up and walked up to Summer, asking her to remove all metallic objects. She opened her white long coat and the man’s eyes went wide as he saw the amount of weapons she was packing.

A well placed punch sent the man flying off, and announcing the start of the gunfight. The guards in this room outnumbered, and outgunned them, but tied down as they were to the constraints of the Matrix, they never stood a chance.

Summer leaped from cover to cover, firing at them in mid air as their bullets tore the entire room to shreds. Raven didn’t have any firearms on her, but that didn’t render her harmless in the slightest. She would fly out of cover in the form of a raven, fly through the gunfire, and return to her normal form just in time to slice their throats open with her sword.

Soon enough they were the only ones left standing in the destroyed room.

Raven took the bag they brought in and together they marched into the elevator.

“You still haven’t told me how you do the bird thing,” Summer commented, casually despite the seriousness of the mission they were in.

“The same way you made your eyes silver,” Raven explained as she dropped the bag to the ground and started arming the bomb they had hidden inside, “you override the Matrix through your own self perception. Me and my brother just took it a step further. We change how we perceive ourselves on the fly, and the Matrix changes our form to match it.”

“So you see yourself as a bird, and then the Matrix turns you into a bird?” Summer asked, hitting the emergency break button on the elevator.

“Yeah, like that.”

Summer couldn’t keep herself from snickering as she pushed off the emergency exit on the roof of the elevator, earning herself a confused look from Raven.

“So you and Qrow are bird furries?” Summer asked playfully.

Raven groaned and finished arming the bomb. “Just shut up and focus on the plan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

~~~

Copious amounts of gunfire, and a catastrophic helicopter ride later, the three of them found themselves in a cramped phone booth down by the subway. Ozpin was bleeding heavily and was far too exhausted to stand on his own, but he still laughed deliriously.

“Do you believe it now, Raven?” He asked between his bouts of laughter.

Raven shook her head and picked up the ringing phone, handing it to Ozpin.

“We can talk about faith all you want once we’re out of here.”

The crazy old man put the phone to his ear and disappeared, his mind returning to his real body. Summer put the phone back in place and gave Raven some space.

“You go next,” she offered.

“Right,” Raven nodded, but there was still something in her mind. Her fists clenched as if she was trying to steel herself for something, “Summer, once we’re out of here, there’s something...there’s something I need to tell you.”

“More reason for us to get going,” she replied, just as the phone began to ring, she gestured towards it with her head and smiled, “come on, wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.”

Raven smiled back and took the phone, she barely had time to put it to her ear before the sound of gunfire rang through their ears. She was gone before the bullet could have hit her, but the phone itself was destroyed, taking Summer’s escape route with it.

“Ms. Moore,” greeted a voice behind her.

Theresa Moore. Summer hated that name. She hated to hear it used like this, because it wasn’t hers, not anymore. And there was only one person who still used it, the man that had interrogated her, the man that had captured Ozpin, the man that now had a gun aimed right for her head.

Agent Ironwood.

“You’ve been creating quite a lot of trouble for us lately,” the agent continued, “I think it’s time we put an end to that.”

Summer dodged the first bullet that came her way, quickly returning fire as she dashed for him. That speed that had felt like a fluke when she fought that other agent now came to her naturally, easily allowing her to dodge his gunfire, until she was up in close quarters with him.

They both put their guns to each other’s heads and pulled their triggers.

Empty.

Agent Ironwood threw the first punch, his fist somehow faster and more terrifying than any bullet could. She parried the blow with more difficulty than she expected, and hit back for no real impact.

Damn it, she had to be faster, stronger. This was the Matrix, the only limits on her body were those her mind imposed on it, she had to forget those limits if she had any chance of surviving this. Each attack he threw her way became ever so slightly easier to avoid, and every one of her strikes came back with just a little more force.

It was a lucky blow, but a good kick managed to crack his sunglasses in half. She could do this, she could actually win this. Maybe Raven was right, she didn’t have to be The One in order to make a difference.

That was until she was put through a wall, and then launched into the train tracks.

“Just surrender, Ms. Moore,” the agent spoke, jumping down to the tracks and pinning her to the ground, “let me put an end to this and it will all be over quick and painless.”

Summer could hear the train approaching, she could hear her own end right at her doorstep. But she couldn’t care about it right now, all she could think was how much she hated this man for using that stupid name.

“My name,” she began, pushing back against the agent until she was standing up again, “is Summer Rose.”

The train ran over both of them and Summer’s conscience scattered into countless white petals. For a moment her mind was gone, left to the whim of whatever program was responsible for controlling the winds of the Matrix, but slowly they began to gather again, the data that formed her body coalescing once again in the form of a woman.

Summer took a long shaky breath. That had been terrifying in so many ways, but it saved her life. In that moment she swore to herself she would never, ever try anything like that again. It was best to leave the shapeshifting to the twins.

Unfortunately she wasn’t given much time to recover, because a certain agent had just stepped off of the train, looking very angry.

She didn’t have it in her to keep fighting this time, so she ran as fast as she could. Dashing through the streets, Summer grabbed the first cell phone she could find and quickly dialled up the Beacon.

“Mr. Wizard, I need a way out!” She yelled into the phone.

“We’ve got your back, Ms. Rose,” Ozpin replied calmly on the other end, “let me guide you through this.”

She ran up and down buildings, out windows and back doors, pushing away people before they could be turned into more agents. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, her mind racing as much as her body as she chased the sound of that ringing phone.

It was right there. She could feel it. She just had to open the door and--

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

~~~

The monitors inside the Beacon blared out a warning as Summer’s brain activity completely ceased.

“No!” Raven screamed as she ran to Summer’s terminal, “no no no no no!”

She climbed onto Summer’s seat, straddling her and holding her face in her hands.

“No! You can’t die too. You can’t!” Raven begged, tears falling onto Summer’s face, “the Oracle promised me! You can’t!”

Summer couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t. Raven refused to believe that.

“She said the woman I love would be The One,” she said, hands shaking, “so you can’t die here!”

Her breath was weak and shaky, her vision blurry from all the tears.

“I believe it, Summer. I believe in you. I believe whatever it takes to keep you alive.”

She didn’t know what else to do. Maybe there really was nothing else to do, but she refused to accept that, refused to sit there and let Summer die. So she did the only thing she could think to do. She closed her eyes and leaned in.

~~~

Summer’s eyes shot open. Instinct told her to suck in a deep breath and refill her lungs, but there was no air around her, there were only codes and programs to simulate it. She stood up, the ground beneath her just textures, sensorial information, and some physics related code. She could see it, the seams on the fabric of the world.

The Matrix.

Bullets were fired her way and she looked at them with almost curiosity. Their code was as clear as day, so easily read, so easily altered. She rewrote a portion of it and the bullets exploded into white rose petals.

Then came that program, Agent Ironwood, shouting as he tried to strike her down. It would have killed her, but she was faster than him now, she was as fast as she needed to be. With one hand she stopped every attack he threw her way, her face showing no sign of focus or exertion, simply the almost amused look of someone who finally got a joke they heard so long ago.

She had already won.

~~~

Her eyes opened once again, this time for good. After what felt like hours in The Matrix her eyes struggled to adjust to the light inside the Beacon, so for a few moments all she knew was that there was a dark shape standing over her, and that her face was somehow wet.

A hiccuping sob above her made clear what had happened while she was gone.

Summer reached for the woman above her, her thumb wiped away those tears, and she smiled.

“Thank you, Raven,” she spoke, as softly as she did in those quiet moments in her chamber, “thank you, for believing in me.”

#rwby #rosebird #rosebird week 2021 #rosebirdweek #summer rose #raven branwen #the matrix #matrix au #fanfic

[charlottesmidnight]

31 October || The Marauders

Summary: From 31 October 1971 to 31 October 1981. Time really flies doesn’t it?

A/N: Another kinda messy fanfic for you guys which will probably be my last one for like a week because I have to back to school school :(

Word Count: 1.5k

31 October 1971 James and Sirius dashed down the hall of hogwarts in an attempt to beat each other. However, the person who beat both of them was the one and only Professor McGonagall, their so-called favourite professor. “Mr Black, Mr Potter,” she eyed both of them cautiously, examining their messy robes and untied tie. “I wish to remind you that the next time I catch both of you running in the hallways I will make you run laps on the quidditch field until your legs no longer permit you to run” She said in a voice laced with seriousness while she flicked her wand to fixed the mess that was Sirius and James’ uniforms.

Sirius and James nodded politely, gleaming at their favourite professor as she rolled her eyes in annoyance. Right as she turned her back, the young boys immediately resumed the race to the great hall. The quickly dissipating loud footsteps caused the professor to sigh deeply before she returned to what she was doing before.

The 11-year-olds dashed to the Gryffindor table, with Sirius throwing himself onto the seat just ever so slightly faster than James managed to. Laughter erupted from the table of fellow 1st years as Sirius stuck out his tongue to a sulking James who slumped down into his seat. “This is where I said I told you so.” Sirius gloated, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “I believe you do owe me something now…” Sirius said as he stretched his hand towards James. “You’ll get your lemondrops when we get back to the dorm” James rolled his eyes, slapping away Sirius’ outstretched hands

31 October 1974 They had been preparing for the full moon for what had seemed like forever. Since their 2nd year when they found out about Remus’ so-called “furry little condition” they wanted to come up with a plan to help him. Whatever it might take. Hence, they decided upon a plan that James himself had come up with: To become animagus so that Remus might never spend another full moon alone. After 3 years of sleuthing and researching, they finally managed to acquire the skill of becoming animagi. 

That night, the 4 of the marauders hiked out to the shrieking shack together. The moment they entered the shrieking shack, the danger of the situation began to sink in for all 4 of them. “This is a bad idea. You shouldn’t do this, I might hurt you. No scratch that, I will hurt you all of you. Please go.” Remus said, voice laced with insecurity and worry for his friend. He knew he was slowly beginning to lose himself and while he appreciated his friends’ attempts to help him, he didn’t want to hurt 3 of his best friends or do something even worse to them.

“No!” Sirius exclaimed exasperatedly, as he held onto Remus who was already losing his strength and control. “Remus, you are our friend, our brother, and we are definitely not letting you go through this alone. Not anymore.” James said with resolve as he glared back at Remus’ pleading eyes while Peter nodded, putting up as brave of a front as he could muster.

The marauders didn’t say much to anyone about what happened that night. A few people stared a little longer than they should’ve at a few of the new scratches and bruises the 4 boys gained that night but most assumed it was probably part of the many pranks they were pulling on someone. 

From that night onwards, all 4 boys started to disappear on nights of the full moon every month to somewhere no one else in the school knew about. 

31 October 1978 “Oh god please don’t tell me that there are more boxes,” Sirius gasped dramatically. James rolled his eyes as he replied, “No Sirius, there are no more boxes.” Exaggeratedly, Sirius threw his hand in his air, cheering. “Man-child he is,” Lily remarked sarcastically to Remus as she watched the two friends come into the house. 

Right as Sirius entered the room, he collapsed on the new sofa, still covered in white cloth.  “Hey! Butt off my sofa,” James exclaimed, lightly slapping Sirius on the head. Whining, Sirius was eventually dragged off the new sofa, landing on the carpeted floor with a thud, garnering a few chuckles from the rest of the group.

“Hey, what’s that?” Peter asked innocently as he pointed to the little black box placed at the side of the room. “Oh, that’s a big black box that has tiny muggles in them.” James replied confidently, causing Peter’s eyes to widen in both confusion and horror. Remus and Lily burst out laughing while Sirius furrowed his brows, looking around like a lost puppy in a park. “That's not-” Lily did not even have a chance to finish before Remus quickly interrupted her. “That’s exactly what it is.” Remus replied, smirking. 

Laughing, he crawled forward and toyed with the knobs, turning on the muggle television. Peter jumped backwards as the muggles began conversing with each other while James tilted his head slightly. “Wait, those really are tiny muggles?” He asked. “Yup, you see we can even control them by turning this knob right here.” Lily said, barely even able to keep her laughter in. Sensing right through her lie however, James lunged forward at Lily, tickling her at her sides. Sirius, still disturbed, quickly fiddled with the buttons and knobs of the television before finally managing to turn it off. This only left Remus laughing at his two confused friends who really lacked a brain at times. 

31 October 1980 “No, I’m fine here, standing perfectly still in the corner.” Sirius said as he leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom.

“Come on pads, you’re his godfather, you kind of have to hold him at some point!” replied James as he cuddled the little newborn swaddled in a blanket Molly had stitched for him.

“He’s so tiny… What if I break him?” Sirius replied, genuinely concerned and worried for the safety of his godson. He did not have the best reputation with kids after all. In fact he had close to zero experience with tiny humans like this one.

“At this point Harry’s more likely to break you.” sighed Remus exasperatedly causing Lily to snicker. 

“How am I supposed to hold the tiny human anyways?” asked Sirius causing Remus to roll his eyes dramatically. 

“You’ll figure it out.” James said as he practically shoved baby Harry into the hands of Sirius. 

After quite a while of uncomfortable shifting on Sirius’ part, he finally managed to figure out how to actually hold the little child. He eventually looked up, giving the rest of the marauders (and Lily) a lopsided grin which they all returned. For a first-timer, he sure was good with kids.

31 October 1981 Clambering off his motorbike, SIrius found the one and only Hagrid standing in the front yard of the Potter residence. Fearing the worst, Sirius rushed the Hagrid only then realising the bundle of cloth that stirred in his hand. Hagrid gave him a look of sadness and pity and Sirius shook his head, and rushed past the front yard, flinging the door open so hard it nearly broke. 

He saw only the back of a man, he collapsed onto the floor, head buried deep within someone’s chest. The scene felt all too familiar, nights of restless sleeps and nightmares all seemed to have hinted towards this: his greatest fear. He stumbled backwards, knocking into something he didn’t really care about anymore.

Startled, Remus turned around sharply, eyes swelling with tears. Sirius wished he hadn’t turned around because now there was an even clearer view of his friend his brother, pale and lifeless, dead on the floor. Sirius turned his head towards the stairs that led to the bedroom. He wanted to ask if Lily was alive and he opened his mouth but the words were unable to spill out because he already knew. 

Remus shook his head, tears already spilling out of his eyes, rolling off his cheeks. Sirius already knew Lily was dead because if she were alive, Harry wouldn’t be in Hagrid’s arms, he would be in his mother’s. Harry… He thought. Almost as if paternal instincts kicked in he barged through the same front door to get Harry. From behind he heard Remus attempt to follow but his body seemed too emotionally drained to function. 

“Hagrid, give me Harry. Now.” He said possessively which only made Hagrid sigh, his eyes softening. “I can’t, Dumbledore's orders” Hagrid said. “Bullshit, I’m his godfather!” Sirius spit. He knew Hagrid had no part in this but he was simply too tired and disoriented to talk politics. “I can't,” Hagrid replied.

“Why not?” Sirius fumed.

“You were the Potters’ secret keeper… Only one person could’ve told Voldemort their hiding place,” Hagrid stated in a soft voice.

This was when it clicked for Sirius. His eyes widened before they overflew with anger and rage. With resolve, Sirius instructed Hagrid to use his motorbike and get his godson to safety. Hesitantly, Hagrid nodded. Within the next second, Sirius had already disapparated away, leaving nothing but a couple specs of dust at the front door of the Potter residence. 

What Sirius didn’t know was that the next time he would see his best friend and his godson again was 12 years later.

#sirius black imagine #sirius orion black #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction #remus lupin angst #sirius black angst #remus john lupin #james fleamont potter #james potter #james potter imagine #james potter fanfiction #marauders era #marauders imagine #marauders fanfiction #marauders angst #james potter angst #lily evans #jily fanfiction #jily #harry potter imagine #Harry Potter #jily angst #angst #harry potter angst #harry potter fanfiction

[mooifyourecows]

Accidentally Married + Survival/Wilderness AU Daisuga!

Ooooookay. Hmm. Let’s see. “Accidentally Married” is such a wacky trope. How does one get ACCIDENTALLY married? Accidentally FAKE married is one thing. But accidentally married? Interesting... interesting... and surviving in the wilderness no less???

I see... I see... *peers into my crystal ball*

(this gets long so here’s a cut to save yalls dash

I have a few thoughts.

First, I thought like... okay what if there was a competition thingy that was like “if you and your spouse can survive in the wilderness for 90 days straight then you will win this BRAND NEW HOUSE!” or something like that, right? But there was a typo and the rules didn’t actually say you had to be married and best friends Daichi and Suga entered it and wound up getting picked to participate but OMG THEY’RE TELLING US THAT WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE HUSBANDS WHAT DO WE DO???

That’s accidental but also like... more along the lines of “fake” married, ya know?

So while the idea IS wacky and fun, nah let’s move on.

Okay HOW ABOUT WE GO HARD INTO IT...

A fantasy AU where one character (let’s go with Daichi because normally people would expect Suga and I like doing the opposite 😈) is a race or culture that has specific customs where getting “Accidentally” married is actually very possible.

Would I want to use fantasy races that are common and well known already though? Like elves and dwarves and such? Hmmm, my gut says no. Because I would 100% waste half my life doing research and I’m so not in the mood 🥱

So something made up then. A fantasy race of human-esque people who live in the wilderness, cut off from civilization. But how would I differentiate them from normal humans? Uhhh, well I guess I’d give them some form of magic, first of all. Then maybe tweak their appearances. Maybe I’d make them some furries or some shit. Ya know like cute furry ears and tails and claws and sharp teeth (👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀) or something like that. Or maybe I’d make the differences less obvious. Like... really good night vision and camouflage capabilities... Yo, that’s something I would most definitely have to spend time flip flopping over. I’m a big fan of tails and pointy teeth though so I mean, that’s definitely on the table.

As for Suga, he would be a regular human from the city. Hmmm I’m thinking some steam-punk type vibes? Big “gritty steam engine vs natural magic and spirituality” energy, ya dig?

That way I could sprinkle in some “yall should care about the earth and be kind to nature” lessons in there, hell yeah man.

Suga, a normie human from the steamy, greasy innards of civilization has been a sheltered boy. And he, like all the other young people, have been lied to about what the world is like outside of their nasty, suffocating, capitalist nightmare city. He’s a smarty pants though and has always felt like there’s MORE out there. He’s been told “nope, nothin’ beyond the ocean, good buddy. just more ocean or rocky, uninhabitable islands. that’s it. don’t ask questions.” 

He does ask questions though. Until he gets in trouble. So he starts keeping the questions to himself. For a while. And he plots and he plans and he does crimes, for months, then years, until he’s finally ready. He’s gonna go and find out what’s out there in the ocean BY HIS DAMN SELF.

Smart boy has built himself a one man flying machine and he’s gonna get answers if it kills him. And let’s face it, he’s pretty sure it’s gonna kill him. 

So he packs up, sneaks out, and sets his sights for the horizon! He manages to make his way out of the smog of the city with only like... everybody seeing him but who cares? There’s nothing out there, right? So why would anyone care if he- ooooohhhhh shit.

It’s not even that long before he’s made it to the first bit of land in the ocean. And it’s green. Like... way green. More green than he’s ever seen when not drinking absinthe by the bottle. And??? it’s HUGE. Not just an island. An immense mass of lush life, full of sound and- oops, yikes, Suga’s plane decides to take a very dramatic L and plummets. 

Before impact, he bails. His parachute gets all wacked and torn up in the trees and he just FALLS down to earth. Ouch, knocked unconscious. He’s dead. Totally dead.

Or?

Meanwhile, Daichi’s people are having some problems. Some predators (real predators or fantasy predators? dunno, use imagination) have been eating their livestock. That’s not gucci, but it happens from time to time. Usually, a party of stronk guys are sent to scare the predators out of their territory and that’s the end of it. So Daichi and a bunch of fellow stronk fellows all head out to do just that.

Only, big problem, these predators are much more aggressive than the USUAL predators. They’re not conscientious enough to allow themselves to be pushed and scared away. No, they want that easy prey and no amount of himbos with sharp sticks are gonna keep em from indulging in that buffet.

One night, Daichi’s group is attacked, chased, and separated. Dang. Now he’s reeeeally far out there in the wilderness, all alone. And, oh joy, it looks like the predators noticed that he is very much ripe for the picking and so he’s switching completely into survival mode now.

He’s alone for the next few nights, barely sleeping, barely eating, mostly just trying to get back home, but every time he starts to make progress in the right direction, the predators chase him right on the opposite way. Dang, they smart as hell, apparently. That’s not good. Daichi is pretty much eehhhhh... boned.

Then one day BOOM! he watches some weird ass flying MONSTER crash into the forest and explode and he’s like THAT’S NOT GOOD. As if he needed more drama, right? He considers avoiding it but hmmm, maybe there was something there that he could use? Also he should probably see what it is so that if he does make it back to his home he can tell everyone, ya know.

So he makes his way to the crash site. Yeah, it’s as mind boggling as he expected. EXCEPT there’s also a MAN???? He’s knocked tf out and just lyin there in the dirt and Daichi contemplates killing him because like... he’s clearly not from around there and he might be a bad guy. But... Daichi is boned out there alone. And who knows, maybe this guy ISN’T bad. and maybe he can help Daichi.

He decides to take care of him until he wakes up. Luckily, the sound from the crash was enough to scare the predators off for now and he’s able to relax for a bit.

Eventually Suga wakes up. Eeek, there’s a hot guy who is not wearing very many clothes and he is very hot and sexy and handsome and hot and also very hot.

Both Daichi and Suga are awestruck over the revelation that there are OTHER PEOPLE in the world besides them. Like damn, our elders been lying to us for our whole lives, how fucked up is that?

Considering they’re each in a pretty sticky situation, they decide to team up together to get back to Daichi’s home.

Commence some fun surviving in the wilderness action. Running away from aggressive predators and learning more about one another and making eyes 👀 at each other’s nice bits like damn uh oh there’s definitely some attraction going on ya dig.

BUT they also clash a lot. Suga is a city boy. He’s definitely not used to this nature bullshit and he’s loud and he complains a lot and does NOT handle hunger very well. Meanwhile, Daichi does NOT handle sleeplessness very well and he NEEDS his usual intermittent naps that’s how his people DO things and he gets sleepy like four times as fast as Suga and YIKES they just keep getting at each other’s THROATS and NO AMOUNT OF HOTNESS CAN OVERCOME THESE DIFFERENCE--

well shit, one day, they get attacked. The predators are fed up with the cat and mouse and they want to nom nom eat eat. Yikes, they’re boned. A fight commences. They’re boned.

But the thing is like, hnnn... Suga has spent his entire life feeling so caged and stuck and lonely and now he’s made it to this place that is so beautiful and yeah it’s dangerous and the guy he’s with can really push his buttons but it’s everything he always wanted! He has always wanted this freedom and adventure and thrill and he feels more alive in these moments of certain death than he ever did living back in that place!

This is what he’s dreamed of his entire life but getting just this, just these few days of being on the run is enough for him. This is the peak of his life and he would happily die, having taken the chance to chase after AND accomplish his dreams of seeing more.

Daichi though... the fact that he lives in a place like this and sees it everyday means that there’s no way that this is enough for him. His life may have been, on average, happier than Suga’s, what with the clean air and lush greenery and natural beauty constantly at his fingertips. But he can’t know what THIS feels like, this overwhelming relief of taking a risk and getting everything- and more- that he wished for.

And he decides that THAT makes Daichi’s future more valuable than his.

In a last hurrah, Suga throws himself in front of Daichi to protect him from an attack and gets slashed like pow right across the chest and yikes theres blood but oh OH oh jeez you fool, you absolute fool.

Because he just accidentally married Daichi. (did ya think i forgot?)

In Daichi’s race, marriage isn’t something to be taken lightly. It’s not a little celebration with a cake and dancing and vows and stuff like that. It’s a tethering of two souls that can only be achieved through total and complete compatibility and sacrifice. A marriage cannot happen unless each person values the other over themselves.

It’s not just romantic partners who get married in Daichi’s race. Soulmates come in all forms. It could be a platonic friend or a sibling, even a beloved pet, if your bond is strong enough.

Marriages aren’t a thing that happen for legal or symbolic reasons either. These things are binds. They connect two (or more) people together in a way that transcends the physical. Once a marriage ceremony has happened, the spouses feel each other’s pain and emotions (to a smaller degree). 

From the instant that Daichi met Suga, he had decided that he would do whatever it took to protect him and bring him back to his home. Because suddenly he had QUESTIONS. Something was missing from his life before meeting Suga. He was stagnating but Suga appearing was the jolt he had been craving. He had questions and needed answers and there was no way he was letting them slip through his fingers.

When Suga decided that Daichi’s life was more valuable than his and he leapt in front of him to protect him from harm, their souls were in perfect sync. Both driven by their desperation to protect the other, they accidentally married one another and tethered their souls together forever.

So. What does this mean?

On one hand, Daichi gets a chest full of pain from Suga’s wound.

But on the OTHER hand, their marriage just leveled him up, babeeeyyyy.

Marriage might not have the legal perks that we expect over here in the real world but that’s not to say that it doesn’t have its perks.

Because yeehaw Daichi’s true innate abilities have just been unlocked and hoo boy it’s some powerful shit. (don’t look at me, I have no idea what they are okay I’m just making this shit up as I go okay)

He manages to fight the predators off, grabs Suga, and finally runs the final stretch back to his home.

Suga is nursed back to health, naturally and everyone is like oooohhh my god who is this strange person and why does he look so weird???

There’s turmoil among the people. “He’s an outsider. He might be dangerous. Let’s just get rid of him. If there’s one, there might be more and that’s not gucci okay we don’t want to have to fight some war with a bunch of steam punk geeks please just let us farm in peace.”-- a direct quote from somebody, probably

But the PROBLEM was... Suga was married to Daichi. And Daichi wasn’t gonna let NOBODY touch his husband okay [insert that meme with Rosa from B99 with the puppy like yeah i’ve only known Suga for a hot minute but if anything happened to him i’d kill everyone in this civilization and then myself]

Uhhhh aaaaaanyway. So like, other stuff would happen, naturally. Daichi and Suga tryna deal with the whole married thing and being able to feel each other’s emotions and pain (and pleasure 👀👀👀👀 oo spicy) and feeling genuinely... shitty when they’re a large distance from one another like damn is this married life?

There’d be drama and maybe someone would try to kill Suga or the steam punk geeks DO show up and uhhhh as for a twist or something I guess I’d make it that the leaders of the two different civilizations were married and they had a falling out and discovered that the only way to have relief from feeling each other’s souls was to move very very far away from each other and so they split off into the two halves of the world and promised to never let anybody bridge that gap for fear of feeling that creeping connection again (marriage can be very uncomfy if you and your spouse do not love each other)

AND YEAH OKAY THEY FALL IN LOVE AND LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER THE END

#ask meme #mashups #long post #i lost energy sorry #its a little outlandish #but ayy fits the prompt

[salthaven]

An Odd Day for a Normal Girl

@soap-lady I’m not quite sure I did this right, and I wrote this in an odd haze of ‘what’s the most ridiculous way Marinette could end up dating her crush, who is also a superhero, to the point where she questions life’ and this mess of like 3k words appeared so...here we go? Thanks for the prompt, haha!

An Odd Day for a Normal Girl

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a normal girl with a normal life. She goes to school with her best friend who’s a model, she designs for superstars, and she’s head over heels for one half of the Parisian superhero duo that saves the city on a weekly basis. Just like any average girl.

Okay, so maybe that’s not quite normal. Maybe Marinette should explain a bit. Maybe…

So basically, there’s this crazy guy named Hawkmoth. He wants the Miraculous- those are magical pieces of jewelry, no she’s not crazy- of the Ladybug and Black Cat. Those two are in use, being held and wielded by Scarlet Lord and Chat Noir, two heroes who protect civilians from danger and stop the Akuma- Hawkmoth’s monster villain guys- from destroying everything. Understood? Great.

So Marinette may or may not have a crush on Scarlet Lord, but she has good reasons! The reasons: He’s kind, polite, charming. (Not to mention he’s literally saved her life over twenty times by now.) So maybe she’s a bit of a damsel in distress, she can’t help how she turns to mush when he looks at her! And God forbid if he protects her, her brain practically shuts off from the overheating of her face. She’s lucky that she doesn’t know the boy behind the mask, she’d die on the spot from embarrassment!

(It doesn’t help that all of her friends encourage her feelings. Even Félix, her normally calm- albeit rather easily flustered- friend when it comes to matters of the heart, encourages her ‘pursuit’, as he calls it.)

Speaking of the blond, Félix is the cousin of Marinette’s best friend- Adrien Agreste. Local heartthrob and Paris’s sunshine child, Adrien is the poster child of the perfect son. He’s smart, fluent in multiple languages, great at fencing, and has a natural knack for physics. He’s a model, with good looks and a father who is a king of fashion. He’s the stereotypical rich kid- until people look away. Then he’s punning away, sneaking off in little acts of rebellion to hide in Marinette’s house where they play Ultimate Mecha Strike and eat pastries until their fingers are sore and their stomachs are full. 

Oh, and what’s more? Adrien is Chat Noir, holder of the Black Cat Miraculous. His ‘kwami’, as he calls it, accidentally outed himself when Marinette brought up cheese pastries for the first time. 

Of course, this naturally means he’s become Marinette’s wingman, determined to get his best friend together with his partner in crime- er, uncrime? Partner in defeating crime? Marinette isn’t good at making up names...but she is good at designing.

Which brings up the last thing. Marinette wants to be a designer, that much everyone knows. She’s done work for Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and a few others by now. She’s been praised by Audrey Bourgeois and Gabriel Agreste...and she works under Félix’s mother, Amelie, as an intern. 

(She’s still not convinced that Félix didn’t pull a few strings. ‘A keen eye for talent’, sure. Marinette is still grateful and honored, of course.) 

So yeah. A normal life, right? 

But that’s enough about Marinette. For now, she needs to get to school. If she’s late,

Félix and Adrien will make fun of her for the rest of the day. “She can already hear Félix’s exasperated, “How can you even do this? You live right across the street!” paired with Adrien’s giggles.)

Luckily, Marinette gets to class a few minutes before the bell, giving her time to sit in her spot behind Adrien and pull out her stuff. Félix is already in his spot beside her, reading his book. He looks up at her with a small smile and approving nod before turning back to his reading. Marinette doesn’t try bugging him, she knows just how much the blond likes his quiet time before class starts.

The other blond, however, does not want quiet in the morning, and is quick to turn around in his spot to beam up at her, accidentally knocking Nino a bit with his sudden turn.

“Marinette!” Adrien cheers. “How have you been? How was your night? Anything interesting? Ooh, did you start working on that new design you were telling me about?” He’s practically bouncing in excitement, and Marinette can’t help but giggle as she nods.

“I’ve been good, my night was good, and yes. I’ve started gathering all of the fabrics that I’ll need for my Scarlet Lord design. I think I’m going to make it the dress, rather than the suit.”

Félix’s head jerks up at Marinette’s words. “You’re making a Scarlet Lord themed dress?”

“Yeah?”

Félix’s face turns oddly red as he nods stiffly. “I see. Tell me how it goes?”

“Sure?” Marinette blinks, confused by the sudden awkwardness in Félix’s posture, the stiffness that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Thank you,” he says, and then turns back to his book.

Odd. 

“Anyways,” Adrien sighs out after a moment, cutting through the silence, “I still think you should make a Chat Noir design. 

Marinette snorts. “Okay, Adrien. Maybe I’ll make a skirt one day?”

“Or a hoodie!” Adrien leans further over his chair, eyes bright. “You could give it little cat ears.”

“Absolutely not,” Marinette says teasingly.

“Why not?”

“Simple. I’m not a furry like Chat Noir is.”

Adrien sputters, face pink. “Chat Noir is not a furry.”

“He wears cat ears. And a tail.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“Adrien,” Félix interrupts, setting his book back down. “He wears a bell.”

Marinette laughs at the wounded expression on Adrien’s face. “See? Félix gets it.”

“W-well, Scarlet Lord is a buggy, so-”

“A what?”” Félix cuts Adrien off again, nose curled in disgust.

“A buggy. You know, the insect version of a furry. Even weirder,” Adrien sniffs with disdain. “And you guys think Chat Noir is weird.” 

“Scarlet Lord is not a buggy!” Marinette says with a huff. “He doesn’t wear fake antennas or anything! The guy doesn’t even have wings.”

Adrien smirks. “Marinette, you’re even weirder than Chat Noir or Scarlet Lord.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you have the biggest crush on a buggy.” 

Marinette feels like her face is up in flames as she tries to respond. She’s too busy sputtering to see how Félix blushes and looks away. 

Luckily for Marinette, the Akuma alarm goes off. (Okay, maybe that isn’t something to feel lucky about, but Marinette lives in an odd world!) With the alarm, Adrien jolts in his seat, quickly dashing out of the room with a rushed excuse of, “Gotta go bathroom bye!” 

Marinette snorts, missing how Félix slips out right behind his cousin as she turns to face the class.

“Where’s the Akuma?” She asks Alya, who’s already pulling up the news. The aspiring journalist always seems to know what’s up, and clears her throat after a few seconds.

“Heading this way. Another love Akuma, apparently he got rejected and doesn’t want anyone else to feel the same. Name is Bleeding Heart.” Alya’s eyes widen. “Oh shit! Guys, he’s outside the school.”

Marinette gulps, hearing the sudden loud and heavy footsteps that only an Akuma can have. In a flash, she’s jumping up. “Everyone, we need to move,” she urges, but it’s too late. Suddenly, the door is being slammed open, and the class gasps.

Bleeding Heart smiles, and Marinette shivers at the pure glee on his face that contrasts with the dark blue tear tracks that fall down his face. He turns his head slowly, eyeing everyone in the room before chuckling.

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match,” he mutters to himself, then nods. “Of course! For you, I’ll find the perfect pairings. After all, nobody should ever feel how I have.” Nodding once more, the man lifts both of his hands, forms finger guns, and ‘fires’. Suddenly, red strings shoot from the tips of his fingers, one latching onto Max, the other hitting Alix. Bleeding Heart snaps his fingers, and the ends remove themselves from their fingers and fly to their other half, tying together in a heart-shaped knot. 

Marinette feels her eyes widen as Alix and Max turn to each other with love-stricken smiles.

“Alix,” Max says, stepping closer, the string retracting with every move. “I know there is a ninety nine point nine percent chance that I feel this way due to Bleeding Heart’s attack, but the point zero one percent moves me to confess that I have fallen in love with you.”

Alix blushes, moving closer as well. “I love you too, nerd.” They’re right in front of each other, and then they’re leaning in and-

Marinette looks away as Bleeding Heart fires again, quickly latching Sabrina and Kim together.

“Brains and brawns, a perfect pair!” Bleeding Heart cheers as he snaps his fingers. Then he turns again, and his grin turns into a beam. “Oh, look at you two! You’ve already found your match, how sweet!”

Marinette spares a glance back, and sees how Rose cowers behind Juleka, the goth holding a protective stance in front of the blonde. Both blush, but neither correct the Akuma. Which is smart, because he quickly moves on to find a new target. 

His eyes lock onto her, and Marinette tenses.

“Little dear, you’re so lonely! We simply must find you somebody to call your other half! Let’s see, who might it be?” 

“I believe you should let her choose for herself,” Scarlet Lord’s voice rings clear through the air, and Marinette feels her heartbeat racing as he steps closer. 

“You!” Bleeding Heart cheers. “You must be her other half!” He raises his fingers, and Marinette feels her eyes widen.

“Don’t waste your time, they’re already an item,” Chat Noir says cheekily as he tosses his baton at the Akuma. 

“They are?” Bleeding Heart asks, eyes showing distrust and hope all at once. 

Marinette freezes, mouth open but no response coming out. Part of her screams to say yes, because they can’t risk her being attached to Scarlet Lord. He’d be slowed down in battle by their string, and if he was forced to love her, that’d be a distraction. And yet another part of her yells no, because it feels selfish to force Scarlet Lord to pretend, to play into a false relationship with her. Because it wouldn’t feel fake, even just for the few minutes, for her. Marinette knows her feelings, knows she’d-

“We are,” Scarlet Lord says calmly. “And I don’t appreciate you threatening my dear.”

Marinette feels her face heat up at the gasps around the room, and shrinks in on herself.

“How precious,” Bleeding Heart cooes. “What a shame that I have to take your Miraculous now.” Then he leaps at Scarlet Lord, hand outstretched. Luckily, Scarlet Lord is as quick as he is smart, and jumps out of reach, swinging his yoyo to knock the window open before pulling Marinette to his side. 

“Let’s go, love,” Scarlet Lord says, and then he’s racing to the window and leaping out, pulling them away from danger. The wind races through Marinette’s ears as the classroom becomes farther and farther away, and Bleeding Heart becomes a spec chasing after them, Chat Noir behind him, trying to distract the Akuma. 

When they’ve gained enough distance, Scarlet sets her down. It’s only now that Marinette sees how red faced the hero is. 

She has no doubt that her face is matching.

“Thank you,” Marinette breathes out. Scarlet, somehow, turns even redder.

“Of course. I couldn’t let you get hurt, my dear,” Scarlet says softly, and then he looks away. “Your...friend was live streaming, wasn’t she?”

Marinette blinks, then gasps. “Alya? Oh, oh no…” Knowing the journalist, Alya had likely started recording the moment Bleeding Heart entered the room...meaning the whole city would soon know of Marinette and Scarlet Lord’s ‘relationship’. “She probably was.”

Scarlet nods. “I see.”

“I’m sure that we can explain what happened later!” Marinette says quickly, although her heart squeezes. She tries to push away the odd hopefulness in her heart as she continues. “They’d understand! I mean, we haven’t been seen together in public often-”

“I’ve saved you at least twenty times by now, my dear,” Scarlet Lord corrects. “And you’ve helped me in battles with my Lucky Charm-” a flash of light, and a tube of spotted lipstick falls from the sky, “multiple times. Oh, shit.” Scarlet Lord glares at the object in his hand as if it offended him, then sighs. “I have a feeling that if we try to explain it away, the people of Paris will only believe I am trying to protect you from harm.”

Marinette frowns, eyes scanning the city. (It’s to watch for danger, she tells herself, not because she’s too scared to look into Scarlet Lord’s eyes and see annoyance or, worse, indifference.) “I suppose you’re right. So...what should we do?”

“Well, we can always pretend to be dating,” Scarlet Lord suggests. “And after a few weeks, if you’d like, we can break it off. Say that it was too dangerous, that it’s too risky to try.”

“Right. You’re right, it’d be stupid to continue,” Marinette agrees, and a little bit of her heart cracks.

“I’m sorry,” Scarlet whispers, so soft that Marinette almost misses it. “I know this must be...upsetting.”

Marinette forces herself to laugh, blinking away tears that spring forth as she thinks of the irony in her life, that she’d be stuck fake dating her crush, and accidentally rejected without ever confessing. “Why would it be upsetting?” Marinete asks, facing him with a forced grin. “I mean, who else gets to claim they’re dating the Scarlet Lord?” She looks away, the grin falling. “Let’s...let’s go defeat the Akuma. Maybe he’ll...maybe he’ll be distracted if he sees us acting like a couple?”

“Of course,” Scarlet Lord agrees, and then, as if in a story, his yoyo begins to ring. He answers it, Chat’s face filling the screen.

“Hey, are you two done talking or whatever?” Chat asks, leaping behind a building before glancing away. “Because Bleeding Heart is getting real pissed that I won’t stand still long enough for him to pair me up with anyone, and I don’t exactly have someone to claim as my secret girlfriend right now!” The words pierce Marinette’s heart, and she shifts uncomfortably as Scarlet Lord sighs.

“We’re on our way. Where are you, Chat Noir?”

“I’m on the- oh shoot!” Chat jumps out of the way as a red string flies past him. “Gotta go, check my location, bye!” 

The call ends. 

“Let’s get to the fight,” Scarlet says lightly, and then he pulls her to his side once more before swinging off…

Bleeding Heart is easy to deal with. Sure, Scarlet ends up having to run off and detransform right after they get there (thanks again, Lucky Charm), but when he comes back he’s fierce and fast, taking the Akuma down with ease. The moment Miraculous Ladybug is cast, Marinette finds herself backing away from the fight. Of course, life isn’t quite so easy.

“Miss!” A reporter cries out, darting over to her. “How does it feel to be dating one of the heroes of Paris?”

A second man shoves a microphone in her face, adding on, “How long have you been dating? How did he ask you out? Is it hard to date when one half hides behind a mask?”

“Do you know his identity?” A third person questions, more following suit, and Marinette feels herself freezing once more.

But then Scarlet lays a hand on her shoulder protectively, and Marinette leans into his hold. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interrogate my dear,” he says, voice icier than she’s ever heard, and the reporters freeze. “Our love life is private, and the details are for the two of us to know.�� He glares at the reporters, then turns to Marinette. “Would you like me to drop you off at home, love?”

Marinette blushes scarlet, shaking her head slowly. “I, I should head back to class.” 

“Of course. Allow me to be of service.” With a soft smile, he lifts her up gently before heading off.

Marinette tries to ignore how her heart sings while her stomach drops. It’s all too much.

He reaches the school too fast and yet all too slow, and sets her down as gently as possible, making sure that she regains her footing on the ground before letting go of her completely. Marinette backs up, trying to head back to class, to pretend that this day hasn’t been mortifying and painful, that she won’t cry from embarrassment and heartbreak later on. 

“Thanks,” Marinette says, then rushes inside. She misses the look of longing on her hero’s face. 

It’s worse at school, with her classmates over the moon by the sudden news.

“I thought you just had a crush on him!” Alya exclaims. “I had no clue you were dating!”

“We wanted privacy,” Marinette forces the words out, trying not to find joy. She’s disgusting, leeching happiness out of this mess, isn’t she?

Adrien smiles apologetically, and Marinette sighs. She can’t blame him, he was just trying to help. She smiles back as best as she can, and he seems to slump in relief. Then class resumes, and Marinette uses the last of her willpower to focus on the lesson and ignore the looks she’s getting from her classmates.

She misses the way Félix watches her, eyes soft and searching for the right answer. She just keeps her eyes on the board...

-----

Marinette sighs as she curls up deeper into her blankets, eating cookies as she tries to ignore the day’s events. But how can she? How can she, when her crush is being thrown into her face in the worst sense of irony to possibly exist? The world must hate her, if it’s playing with her head so cruelly.

A knock sounds through her balcony door. Huffing, Marinette rolls over in her bed. “Go away, Chat! I don’t want to talk right now.” She may have forgiven him for causing this mess, but she can’t just-

Another knock, this one louder. Eyes narrowing, Marinette shoves the blanket off and stands up. Pushing on the trapdoor, Marinette says, “Chat, I’m serious! I really don’t want to talk about this whole mess! Can’t you just-” Scarlet Lord’s eyes meet hers, and Marinette stumbles, barely catching herself. “Leave?” 

Scarlet Lord smiles, albeit rather awkwardly, and holds out a hand to her. She takes it numbly, face heating up. “I figured that you’d like to talk about all of this. Unless you’d prefer that I leave you alone for now?” 

Marinette lets go of his hand and leans against the railing, inwardly cursing her increasingly red face. “No! No. We can talk right now.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks, eyes searching for any signs of doubt. “You seemed rather against the idea, although you did seem to assume I was Chat Noir...why is that?” 

“Oh!” Marinette looks away, missing how his eyes follow hers. “Chat comes around a lot.”

“Does he?” His voice isn’t quite so soft now, almost… jealous? No, there’s no way. He’s probably just upset that Chat is wasting his time with supposedly random civilians...even if Marinette is their most common ally. 

“Yeah. He, uh, he called me the little sister he never had,” Marinette says with a small laugh. “It’s odd, calling a superhero a sibling, but I guess I’ll be claiming I’m dating you, so it’s not that odd now?” Marinette sighs, wistful. “I never thought I’d end up fake dating someone.” 

“Neither did I,” Scarlet admits. “But I’d like to talk about that.”

Marinette nods. “Right, of course.” She shifts, glances to him, then glances away once more. “I thought we figured it out back on the roof though? A,” she swallows, “a few weeks, then we’ll call it off publicly. Right?”

“Right,” his voice seems strained, probably from the tangible awkwardness Marinette is radiating. “I’d like to apologize. For all of this. I don’t know what Chat Noir was thinking when he suggested that.”

“He was trying to keep you safe,” Marinette says, pretending that she doesn’t know Chat’s real motive- being her wingman. “If you didn’t agree, Bleeding Heart would have tried to connect us together. You would’ve been stuck to me, and I would only slow you down.”

“I’m sure we’d find a way to beat him. Two heads are better than one, aren’t they?” Scarlet chuckles, then sighs. “No matter the reason, I am sorry that all of this has happened.”

“I get it,” Marinette blurts out, ignoring how his words stab through her heart. “Don’t wanna be stuck with the clumsy girl who always ends up stuck in battles, yeah? It makes sense, I understand completely. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Marinette,” Scarlet says, hand reaching out and grabbing her shoulder, turning her gently until she’s facing him. “I’m only apologizing because you’re in danger now. I would hate to be the reason you get hurt. You’re important to me, do you know that?”

Marinette blinks. “I am?”

He smiles. “It’s hard to see a pretty, talented girl and not fall for her.” 

Alright, it’s official. Marinette has to be dreaming, or she’s stuck in some kind of story. There’s no way- what kind of- wha-

“Me?!” Marinette gets out, voice high and face burning.

Scarlet Lord nods, hand slipping down from her shoulder to take her hand instead. “My dear, I’m not blind, nor am I a fool. I know that Chat Noir has been trying to set us up...and I wouldn’t be against it.” He squeezes her hand, and Marinette’s heart jumps. “You’re a wonderful girl, Marinette. But…”

“But it’s dangerous. Because I’m a civilian, and you’re a superhero,” Marinette says, and Scarlet Lord nods. “So that’s it.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Huh?”

Scarlet smirks, and oh mon Dieu Marinette is a goner. “Picture this. The next few weeks, we try to work things out in public. We make a big show of it, we’re not comfortable with all eyes on us. We break it off, deciding that it’s best to end things before the public becomes worse.” He chuckles. “And as the public tries to focus on the sudden breakup, they’ll become distracted when they see me flirting with a new teammate that I’m bringing in soon, and I’ll earn her love and we’ll make it very public. Since she has a Miraculous and a secret identity, everything will be alright.”

“I see…” Marinette swallows, unsure where the conversation is going. “And who...who’s the new hero?”

“Well, my dear,” Scarlet Lord says, and then he’s holding out a foxtail necklace, “if you’d truly like to try giving this bug a chance, then the new hero is you.”

-----

Marinette is a normal girl with a normal life. She goes to school with her best friend, who is a model and a superhero, she designs for celebrities, and she’s dating one half of the original superhero duo. Oh, and she’s now a superhero herself, but that’s just an average day in the life of Marinette “Kitsune” Dupain-Cheng’s life. 

#ml fic #felinette #idek man i just vibed

[jokertrap-ran]

(未定事件簿) 莫弈 SR [松雪童话] [Tears of Themis] Mo Yi SR [Snowy Pine Fairytales] Card Story Translations (Part 2)

*Tears of Themis Masterlist / Mo Yi’s Masterlist / Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Check out Chapter 1 of Mo Yi’s Private Story here!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / SMS

Demon King: Squeak—

As if answering my doubts, Demon King slowly relaxed again. It even slowly reached its forelimbs out to tentatively touch Mo Yi's fingers.

MC: (Oh… It looks like it really isn't as terrified anymore.)

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

He slowly moved his arm closer to being Demon King closer to him.

Maybe it felt appeased, for its bushy tail started swaying back and forth, as if to express how close it felt to him.

MC: Just like back when I first saw it, Demon King really seems to have taken a liking to you, Dr. Mo.

Mo Yi: Yes. Judging by how it's behaving, it looks like it trusts me quite a bit.

Mo Yi warmly returned the small creature’s gaze, the warmth within his golden eyes akin to the warm rays of the winter sun.

It wasn’t piercing, but warm, and comfortable. The sort of warmth that made me sincerely feel at ease from the bottom of my heart.

MC: (Maybe… Maybe this is why Demon King’s willing to get closer to Dr. Mo.)

Now, both the silver-coated woods and Mo Yi’s own silvery hair reflected a plethora of wonderful colors as the sun’s rays fell upon them. Adding onto the scene was the cute Demon King, forming a picturesque scene full of warmth that made people unwilling to disrupt it.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Demon King gradually got used to its surroundings. It looked at Mo Yi, before turning towards me, who stood beside him.

MC: Now that we’ve found him, we should hurry and bring him back. I’m sure the little guy’s anxiously waiting for its return.

Mo Yi: Yes.

Mo Yi gently gestured to Demon King to enter the pocket of his coat; it cocked its head, as if pondering. Following that, it followed the path down the sleeve of his shirt, eventually jumping snugly into his coat pocket.

Only a furry little head could be seen peeking out from his pocket, alertly surveying its surroundings.

MC: How wonderous… It looks like it understands you...

MC: Unless... Are you also capable of reading the minds of little animals?

Mo Yi laughed, but made no comment.

Mo Yi: It’s nothing all that strange. I think that it has just gotten used to listening to people since it's been living together with humans for so long.

MC: You do have a point there.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

And that was how we brought Demon King back to Snowy Pine Village. It had stayed quietly inside Mo Yi's pocket the entire trip back, never once making another attempt to escape.

It was already getting late by the time we returned to the village.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Snowy Pine Village

The boy had long since been waiting for us at the village entrance, exclaiming in joy the moment he saw us.

Little Boy: Yay! You've brought Demon King back!

We had only just stopped in front of him when Demon King leapt onto his hand, affectionately pawing at his face.

Mo Yi took out the whistle and returned it to the boy, who carefully tucked it away.

Little Boy: I just knew that it'd come back as long as you blew that whistle! This is mom's whistle; it really likes mom.

Mo Yi: Keep a close eye on it and don't let it run off again.

Demon King: Squeak squeak sque-squeak!

Little Boy: Demon King says thank you!

The boy didn't sound as guarded as before anymore, and his expression had also softened a tad.

MC: You're welcome, Demon King.

MC: But can you really communicate with it, little buddy?

Little Boy: Yeah! Demon King knows lots of super spells, so of course it understands what I say!

Spells? I immediately asked him the question that had been festering at the bottom of my heart.

MC: About that, could you tell me why you named it Demon King? There must be some special meaning to that, right?

Little Boy: Because Demon Kings are great! The Demon Kings in fairy tales always know everything and they even have spells that can control time!

Little Boy: As long as I have Demon King's spells, mom and dad can come back!

MC: …...

So Demon King's name simply originated from his own innocent fantasies; but I never thought… That it actually had some sort of special meaning.

Speaking of which, I haven't seen this child's parents at all up, and even his guardian never made an appearance up till now. Maybe it's really just like I deduced earlier...

I was just mulling over the thought when I suddenly caught sight of an old grandmother with a walking stick coming towards us from the village.

Grandmother: Little Meng, have you found Demon King yet?

His grandmother had a full head of grey hair and appeared to have some difficulty walking despite being supported by a walking stick.

The boy hurriedly dashed towards her to provide support.

Little Boy: I found him. You're not fit to be out here, Gran. Why did you come back outside?

Grandmother: You didn't come home after such a long time and I was getting worried about you, so I came out to have a look.

As she spoke, she Mo Yi and I standing to the side.

Grandmother: Did you guys help him find Demon King?

Mo Yi: Indeed. It only took little effort.

His grandmother looked kindly at us for a while before waving towards the boy.

Grandmother: Alright, you go off and play first. I want to talk to this brother and sister for a bit.

Little Boy: 'Kay! I'll go bring Demon King home first.

Watching the little boy leave with his squirrel in tow, his grandmother turned to us with an apologetic smile.

Grandmother: Sorry, little Meng must have caused you guys much trouble.

MC: I see, so he's called little Meng?

Grandmother: Yes, little Meng is just the nickname that his mother gave him; he's my grandson.

Grandmother: How do I address the both of you?

MC: I'm (Y/n), and he's Mo Yi. We're here to celebrate Christmas.

Mo Yi: Sorry for not formally giving you an introduction earlier; that was rather rude of me.

Grandmother: You are too humble.

Grandmother: Haa, it's not often that people come by these parts, and young people like you are an even rarer occurrence.

Grandmother: Both of his parents aren't here together with him, you see. So, it's only us, a grandma and her grandchild, living together like this… Thankfully, he still has a squirrel to help ease some of his boredom.

MC: ……

She sighed, speaking to us solemnly.

Grandmother: Young lad and miss, I have something to ask of you, but I don't know if you'll agree to it.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆  

Location: Snowy Pine Village

Grandmother: Young lad and miss, I have something to ask of you, but I don't know if you'll agree to it.

Mo Yi: Your tone has taken a serious turn. I take it that whatever you're going to tell us now has something to do with little Meng?

Mo Yi: Go on. We'll definitely help you out if it's something within our ability to.

Hearing this, little Meng's grandmother looked at Mo Yi in surprise, but was also thankful that he was willing to lend an ear.

Grandmother: Alright then, I'll get straight to the point. It's going to be Christmas very soon, so… Could the both of you celebrate this festival with him?

Grandmother: Like setting up a tree or something or decorating the house with him…

Grandmother: I'm not too familiar with these foreign practices and there are very few youngsters in this village, so he's literally unable to find any playmates.

Grandmother: Oh, you can just celebrate the occasion at my place. There's no one else other than me and that child.

MC: Of course, we can do it! We originally came here to celebrate Christmas anyway!

Grandmother: I'm really thankful to the both of you… His parents would celebrate it with him in the past, but they're no longer here together with him anymore… Haa...

MC: About that... Sorry, but could I ask where his parents went off to?

Mo Yi: Please be assured, we only want to understand little Meng a little better in order to celebrate this festival with him.

Grandmother: Of course, it'd actually not anything worth hiding.

Grandmother: We're a small village and we can't plant anything when it's snowing during winter, so our economic situation hasn't been very good.

Grandmother: The youngsters of this village went out of town to work, so that they could earn a living. His parents were the same.

Grandmother: A few years ago, his parents were still not that busy and could afford to come home for the New Years. It was also then that his mother brought Demon King back.

Grandmother: His mother told him that the squirrel was his "Christmas present", and even made a small red ribbon for it.

Grandmother: The three if them lugged a huge tree back from the forest and hung colorful little things on it. It was shiny and pretty nice-looking.

Grandmother: Foreign festivals like this are much more popular in the city, and that was also when I first learnt about this "Christmas" that they spoke of… Haa...

Grandmother: Not to mention that he was beyond happy. This child, he'd always be so elated whenever his parents came home that he'd giddily go along with whatever without so much as a peep... 

MC: I see, no wonder he...

His grandmother continued speaking, sighing, and shaking her head again as she did.

Grandmother: But his parents have only been getting increasingly busier with their work these past two years. So much that we now saw neither hide nor hair of them, and phone calls only come once in a blue moon…

Grandmother: At the beginning, he'd always pester me, asking me when his parents would return. I'd always tell him soon, but even he stopped believing me after the nth time.

Grandmother: Eventually, he started talking to the squirrel and would disappear along with it in tow time and time again. He even gave it such a weird name according to a book.

Grandmother: Haa… This kid was so cute back then that it's laughable, but now, he doesn't care about anyone but that squirrel of his.

Grandmother: But we can't blame his parents for this either. I mean, who would be willing to work all day every day outside like that? If it wasn't for me and this child...

She had only spoken halfway before breaking out into a fit of violent coughs.

I hurriedly reached forwards to gently pat her on the back. It was only after a while that her coughing fit calmed.

MC: Are you alright!?

Grandmother: ...Cough, cough. I'm fine, it's just one of the woes of sickness that come with getting old, just that it gets worse as time goes on.

Grandmother: I'm afraid I can't celebrate this festival with him even if I wanted to…

She gradually lowered her voice, her eyes filled with an inconsolable sadness.

MC: ...Granny, you...

It was hard for me not to feel a little depressed at the thought of spending a lonely Christmas alone.

Noticing how I was acting unnaturally, Mo Yi gently patted my arm and walked up to the elderly woman.

Mo Yi: ...I understand. You wish for us to spend Christmas with him, to let him revisit the warmth he shared with his parents back then.

Mo Yi: All thought there is no way that we can compare to his actual parents themselves, I'm willing to give it a try for him.

Grandmother: Young lad, young miss; you're both really such kind Samaritans.

After having finished speaking, his grandmother moved to give a shaky bow whilst trembling at the effort. Mo Yi hurriedly went to support her back up.

Mo Yi: Don't worry about it, we're only doing what we can to help.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆  

Location: Country Villa

That day, we had another long talk with his grandmother. The sky was almost completely dark by the time we returned to the Villa.

I stood in front of the window and gazed out at the quiet snowy night in this mountainous village, yet my heart refused to settle no matter how long I stood.

MC: ...I'm sure little Meng is sad, deep down in his heart.

Mo Yi came up from behind, gently placing a blanket over my shoulders. Warmth flowed from my shoulders to the depths of my heart.

Mo Yi: The temperature by the window is lower; don't catch a cold.

MC: ... Thank you, Dr. Mo.

Mo Yi: Still thinking about little Meng?

MC: Yeah… Just like we've seen in the day, they aren't the only ones. This village is filled with lots of elderly and children who are dependent on each other…

I purposely made a point to observe how things were like in Snowy Pine Village ever since we left little Meng's house.

MC: From the looks of things, it really seems like this village is filled with those that have to be left behind.

Mo Yi: Yes; many of the villagers have left to work elsewhere, leaving parents who are getting on in age along with their children, which has caused this phenomenon of a left-behind village.

Mo Yi: Children who grow up with the lack of parental care will be more prone to mental problems, especially the younger ones.

Mo Yi: I will apply for care assistance once we return. I'll also make sure to write up a report about this and send it to the organizer of the Seminar.

Mo Yi: They are currently preparing for a "Plan to care for left-behind children", and I hope this village will be included in it.

MC: That's great then.

Mo Yi: But it'll still be a lot harder on the children since their parents are not with them.

MC: …...

MC: (Come to think of it, I haven't… Seen my parents in a long while too...)

Upon hearing little Meng's experiences in the day, I couldn't help but to imagine how my parents spent every festival together, alone, after I had left. Whether it be the beautiful memories of spending Christmas together with my parents, or whether it be the loneliness that came after from being alone; I had experienced them both.

I tried to hold it back earlier while we were still in front of little Meng's grandmother, so it didn't show; but now, I felt a little taken with my thoughts since the memories had surged back into the forefront of my mind.

Mo Yi: (Y/n), you seem to particularly understand little Meng very well. Did it remind you about your own parents?

I couldn't hide it myself anymore when faced by Mo Yi's eyes that overflowed with warmth.

MC: Nothing really escapes you, Dr. Mo… I don't even remember when I'd mentioned them around you.

Yes, perhaps it had been something that I had just happened to bring up one fine day; but yet, he had remembered it all so clearly.

He was quick to notice fluctuations in my mood, comforting me immediately, just like how he did in the day.

MC: Sorry for making you worry.

He gently held onto my hand, his low voice sounding crystal clear by my ear.

Mo Yi: Not at all. I simply pay more attention to the people and the things I keep close to heart.

Mo Yi: Emotions have to be let out. Not only will it be hard on you if you suppress it, but you might even fall sick from it.

Mo Yi: You don't have to put up facades around me. You can tell me; be it sadness or when you're feeling at a loss.

Mo Yi: There's no need to feel sorry or sheepish that you might be troubling me with it. I'm willing to listen to whatever you may share, regardless of what it may be.

MC: ……

Mo Yi: Alright. It's not early anymore so you should retire early for the day.

Mo Yi: I really look forward to decorating the Christmas Celebration venue; for little Meng, and also for you.

That night, I slept very soundly.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆  

Location: Country Fair

The next day, we went to the nearby fair, just as little Meng's grandmother had told us to, and bought a wide variety of things that included decorations and presents alike.

Looking at the dazzling array of small trinkets, I totally immersed myself in the festive atmosphere as I went on quite the shopping spree.

MC: We've bought everything we need! I think they'll definitely like them!

Mo Yi took the many bags of decorations that I held, big and small ones alike, and handed me a cup of hot drink.

Mo Yi: How about we pick out gifts for each other too, (Y/n)?

MC: Of course; I was just about to ask you what you liked!

Mo Yi: How about this then? We'll split up and go search for our gifts, then we'll keep it secret and take it out together only on Christmas Eve.

Mo Yi: Just think of it as something to surprise the other; how does that sound?

MC: Sure, sounds really interesting!

Mo Yi: You don't have to spend too much effort looking for a gift for me, so just choose anything that you like.

Mo Yi: It's the thought that counts; I'm sure I'll like anything you give me.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆  

I spent the next few days thinking about what present I should get him for Christmas, until the I saw a wood carving of a squirrel set out on an old craftsman's storefront.

A lightbulb lit up in my head and I asked the craftsman to customize a wood carving of a squirrel for me; one that wore Mo Yi's glasses on it.

With his expert craftsmanship skills, the squirrel that wore gold wire-framed glasses turned out looking utterly adorable and intelligent.

When I first saw the finished product, I just couldn't put it down as I stared at it in awe, already a little reluctant to give it away as a gift.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆  

Location: Country Villa

MC: It's really cute! I can't wait to see the look on Dr. Mo's face when he sees it.

MC: I wonder what present he prepared though...

───⋅𝕿𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊…⋆⋅☆

#Tears of Themis #Mo Yi #Translations #Otome #Mihoyo #未定事件簿 #莫弈 #松雪童话 #Snowy Pine Fairytales #缤纷乐游会 #Xmas Partyland #Tears of a Psychiatrist

[theawesomeally]

Before We Met (Preview)

Prologue

In a world inhabited by mythic creatures, love was commonplace several millennia ago, though difficult to master. After his training advances over the decades, his powers became obsolete and were largely discarded.

[The camera zooms in on the city and two blazing specks of light dash all over the place as one shoots lasers at the other. We then see an enemy aircraft flying throughout while it's chasing a young man, who is running from the pursuer. We see full closeups of a guy in his craft and Rocky as he runs. The scene freezes after an explosion with Rocky barely missing it.]

[voice over]

Through the years I have been known by many names. Marshmallow, The Furry Lover, The Daredevil, Frisky Two Times and then The amazing Ryan Reynolds. But to most, I am Rocky, the awesome one!

[Some other women, leaning across the wall, and Rocky getting his shades from his pocket. Put it onto his eyes. While he puts his hoodie onto his shoulders. Rocky was dressed like a gentleman, but he fought with honor or dignity and pulled at the knot into his tie. Females are not meant to grab his attention, and if it does. To be fair, he heard most of what he'd said up to this point. The parts that weren't of his interest, anyway.

Okay, maybe that wasn't much]

His sigh is heavy with exasperation,

"Can you keep your dick in your pants at the gala?"

Grab his phone from his pocket, automatically switching it out of Bluetooth mode, and bring his earphone up to his ear.

I will never forget you, Margarita. [The female stops and cringe after hearing the name. His blue prominent eyes were not well adapted to winking. They were rather of the sort that closes solemnly in slumber with majestic effect.

Rocky pretend to consider as Rocky step out of the car and button his tux jacket. "Hmm."

"Nice wheels, sir," the valet says, unconcerned that he was on the phone. Rocky pull out his wallet and flash a fifty-dollar bill. "Take care of her and this is yours."

"Yes, Mr. Rocky."

"I mean, Rosa. Uh...sorry. I think maybe I should go.???." She wrapped her arms over her chest and shook her head with a smirk curved across her face. Rocky grinned and raised an ironical finger in salute Rocky starts backing away. "You can't get away with it." the security guard muttered, holding out one hand. He was moving very slowly, thinking Rocky was the enemy or something. Blinks at her as a farewell, but glance with a smug as he sees the vampire's ring. Mind was so wrapped up in thought that he didn't notice the familiar vampire standing behind him. A vampire with bad breath psycho. "Hey, come on, dickie! You're trashing public property here!" He is thinking about how he had to sneaked up onto the roof and is currently standing a few feet behind him.

Rocky then gently slides the ring off the vampire's finger using his katana.

Light glinted off a myriad of his Katana and the vampire ring. Spray from the dust to blew up into his face, but sweat more than seawater moistened his palms as he gripped the eagle. His eyes were as blue while the vampires eyes were cold as the stormy weather.

"Hey, it's Gale calling," says Rocky called over his shoulder to one nefarious vampire. "Love the shiny suit. Really brings out the sex trafficker in your eyes." Rocky had commented, half jokingly and straight up confident, how that guy would have been considered handsome - if he ever bothered to smile.

Cut to a shot of a cliff.

A grim expression again carved itself into the soldier's face as he gazed up at the jeering vampires, their bodies smeared with blood, upon the cliff tops. Even the most cowardly of tribes in Gaul would fancy its chances from such advantageous ground, one being was mused. The sound of their jeers was occasionally accompanied by the high pitched swish of an arrow, as the odd archer tried his luck. Invariably the missile would zip harmlessly into the sea, or at best a thud could be heard as it struck as a human shield or the solid surface of the earth.

Cut back to the fighting scene. Rocky is skewering a guy with his swords, and kicks the vampire in the chest, sending him back down and puts his sword away. The guy gasp and starts fighting with Rocky. This continues for awhile until Rocky get's away again. Using two fingers he salute the vampire as a goodbye.

Making a soft chuckle. He flicks the vampire ring up into the air. It comes back down and lands into one of the streets, causing his background to explode. The shards of fire fell in slow motion behind him.

He is consumed in the explosion, as his body can be seen flying off the ground, flipping off the camera as it goes. "Oh, fuck." Rocky mutter under his breath. "Oh, I'm sorry." A small apology leaving his lips with a smirk.

"That will teach you, not to mess with me," A familiar voiced ask, up righting his head as he walk over the circles and appeared in front of him,

(narrator)

So, I know what you're thinking. Why is that incredibly handsome guy being chased by a madman with a huge shiny fangs from the Civil War?

[The scene freezes after an explosion sending Rocky flying off the ground from the ground. After the dust settles, leaving Rocky lying unconscious on the ground.]

This guy's got the right idea. Well, to be honest, it feels like I've been the captain of my whole life. Is this too much? Am I going too fast? It's kind of what I do--You know what? Let's back up.

[We see the whole fight going in reverse as well as frames of future clips for a split second each time, one passes as Rocky mimics a rewind sound effect] Cut to close-up of Rocky gets up to his feet. Cut to him sitting on the side of the gable roof at night. Wondering how long it would be before he saw the city again. He had been born with a wandering heart, and he embraced adventure, unafraid to face the dangers often presented by journeys into unknown places. Leaving civilization behind for the wilds of the frozen north, legs dangling over the side as he listens to his Walkman next to him playing 'Shoop.' Rocky was vaguely singing along, making hand gestures along with the lyrics, but he was focused on his own drawing, while listening to the music and coloring a picture with crayons. We see that the picture he's drawing is him shooting the vampire in the head, he was doing it with some crayons he had with him.

It was fun to see that getting shot in the head, even if it was just a crayon drawing. He'd never soon change it to a reality. And then turned his head and stared directly at the camera, or the person reading, or just whoever balls happened to be paying a lot of attention to him.

Wha- Oh! Oh, hello. I know, right? Who's balls did I have to snap to get my very own story? I can't tell you, but it does rhyme with dick. And let me tell you; he's got a nice pair of fucking underwear, he finished in an Swedish accent.

They'd get that joke, right?

Anyway, I got places to be, a kiss in the ass to fix, and - oh! hot weird vampire to kill.

He watched eagerly as the flashes of light began to appear below him – lots of rippers were a very dramatic little shit, after all – we're panning quickly towards the edge of the roof he was sitting on. Now having an appointment to keep, Rocky was quick to get onto edge of the roof and, in one fluid motion, opens a music playlist called Tunes of Anarchy on his Walkman, and the song "Where Evil Grows" by The Poppy Family stays playing in the background as he jumped off the roof, landing in one of the coolest bar in Mystic Falls. It seemed that they had been drinking peacefully, listening to 'Angel of the Morning,' but when Rocky landed and that's when their peaceful night was over.

They look around for which they finally see as Rocky stands at a wooden doorway wearing a cowboy hat, black sunglasses, and red a white hoodie as he opens a music playlist called Tunes of Anarchy on his Walkman. Opens up and the door swings open and the music resumes with people dancing and lights flashing as he goes inside the bar.

Nothing.

Absolutely positively not a fucking thing.

First one person turned, noticing him. Then more followed, until the whole patron was hushed, waiting. Everyone was watching, the same bewildered look on all of their faces. Eyebrows raised and narrowed eyes, etc. God, for months he'd played this moment over and over inside his mind. It most definitely never turned out like this. Whatever this was.

As he walks up to the bar. The room was narrow and about 90 feet deep. Light did manage to worm its way into the establishment, though. It seeped through the windows scattered along the walls, and through the gaps in the door between its wooden panels. A bar on the left at the front, then some upholstered horseshoe benches, then a cluster of freestanding tables on what, on other nights, might have been a dance floor. Then the stage, with the band on it. The band looked as if it had been put together by accident after a misfiling incident at a talent agency. The bass player was a stout old black guy in a suit with a vest. He was plucking away at an upright bass fiddle. The drummer could have been his uncle. He was a big old guy sprawled comfortably behind a small, simple kit. The singer was also a harmonica player and was older than the bass player and younger than the drummer and bigger than either one.

The guitarist was completely different. He was young and white and small. Maybe 20, maybe 5-foot-6, maybe 130 pounds. He had a fancy blue guitar wired to a crisp new amplifier and together the instrument and the electronics made sharp sounds full of space and echoes. The amp must have been turned up to 11. The sound was incredibly loud. It was as if the air in the room was locked solid. It had no more capacity for volume. But the music was good. The three black guys were old pros, and the white kid knew all the notes, and when and how and in what order to play them. He was wearing a red T-shirt and black pants and white tennis shoes. He had a very serious expression on his face. He looked foreign. Maybe Russian.

I watched them for a minute, and then I looked away. My name is Rocky, and once I was the most wanted man, with heavy emphasis on the past tense. I have been out nearly as long as I was in. But old habits die hard. I had stepped into the bar the same way I always step anywhere, which is carefully. One-thirty in the morning. I had ridden the train to West and walked south on Sixth Avenue and made the left turn on San Francisco bar and checked the sidewalks. I wanted music, but not the kind that drives large numbers of patrons outside to smoke.

His attention was taken away from patrons. It was at that point that he saw the young beautiful woman alone at her table, Her name tag read Katy, and her shirt clung tightly around her chest. Her hands worked quickly and gracefully with the bottles as she poured them another and took the empty's away.

I watched her in the gaudy, reflected light, with the music shrieking and pounding all around me. The two guys watched her. Her bodyguard watched her. She watched the guitarist. He was concentrating hard, key changes and choruses, but from time to time he would lift his head and smile, mostly at the glory of being up on the stage, but twice directly at the girl. The first of those smiles was shy, and the second was a little wider.

What met my eyes was a beautiful girl with golden hair and a bright smile that melted my heart. She was blond and blue-eyed, American woman who have a glow, and a smoothness complexion. She lives in New York, singing, listening to a band, and I was in love with her angelic voice. That was clear. There I was, a guy further back in the room, stood in the room staring at her. I was 6ft tall, wide man with a white hoodie and a black leather jacket under a hoodie. She was part of the reason I was here with her back in a city when we were at the age of 19 or less.

It wasn't the kind of glossy place that had a policy about dating rich girls, either for or against. Some call it a gold digger, and I guessed they had looked at her and her minder and made a snap decision against trouble and in favor of tips.

The part of her gaze that wasn't wary was filled with adoration, and it was all aimed in his direction. She was rich. She was alone at a table near the stage and she had a pile of A.T.M fresh twenties in front of her and she was paying for each new bottle with one of them and she wasn't asking for change.

She was a waitress and I loved her.

The woman stood up. She butted the lip of her table with her thighs and shuffled out from behind it and headed for the counter in back. I got there first. The sound from the band howled through it. The ladies' room was halfway down. The men's room was all the way at the end. Rocky leaned on the wall and scanned the room. As Rocky watched her walk in and squeeze through the crowd and she sat down on the bar stool, 1 feet away from him.

"Hey, Raoul, look what this kid dragged in. Oh, wait! That is the guy!," but they didn't hear. Too much noise. He caught them by the elbows, one in each hand. They spun around, as if ready to fight, but then they stopped. Fortunately for him, the first two who approached her were quick to heed her dismissal. She wasn't there to mingle with huge ass in leather jackets. She was just there to grab a drink and relax and pretty sure she made that pretty clear when she shot the first couple of idiots down.

The third guy, however, wasn't ready to take no for an answer.

"How about you let me buy you a drink, sweetheart?"

Their sex appeal eyes pried upon their eyes from the television screen above the bar and looked at the newcomer. With his hair greased back and one-size-too-big biker jacket on, the guy looked like prime wife-beater material. Perfect. Just what they needed to interrupt his evening.

"Thanks, but I'm good," she said curtly, gesturing to the beer bottle in front of her.

"That's it? You're gonna chug that shitty beer and call it a night? Come on, let me get you a real drink."

She scoffed. "What? Like those idiots you got over there?" she glanced past him at the table where he and a couple of his friends had been sitting.

"It's a warm-up. Trust me, honey, we're just getting started over there. You should join us."

She wanted to roll her eyes. "Like I said, I'm good."

She made the move to turn away and focus her attention back on the football game on the television when the guy grabbed her by the arm.

"What the hell's your problem?" This guy gripped her arm tightly, this guy's face practically scrunched up in a beastly snarl. "I don't like to be ignored, y'know?"

She yanked her arm out of his grip and stood up to face him directly. She knew pretty damn well where the conversation was headed and sure as hell were not about to get in a bar fight with their ass glued to the seat.

Before she could open her mouth, a familiar voice spoke up from behind her.

By hearing it and raising their head to turn to his voice, her smile grew a tad wider, recognizing the voice immediately. They simply looked so annoyed, at least much more than usual. His lips pulled into a tight frown, while their eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed, back hunched over slightly if you'd look hard enough. Yep, those guys are just being grumpy as usual, but seemingly much more grumpy, except with their eyes laced with the slightest bit of concern. For herself, most likely.

The said person stopped, and looked over their shoulder to the voice. She put on a mellow look close to her usual one. Confrontation- unnecessary confrontation- was not exactly his thing. He tended to avoid fights like these. He could hold his ground better than most, but he preferred to keep out of the brawls and spats that others got involved in.

A voice caught his ear, she sounded like she needed help, despite the overconfident tone the stranger used. "Look, I don't wanna interrupt, but is this guy bothering you?" he looks up at her and says greeted casually, as casual as someone could be hanging for dear life. She looked up at me, startled that he was there. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you up?" he softly asked, when she turned to get a good look at the stranger in his handsome voice. She wasn't expecting the sight she was met with. A pair of piercing blue eyes smiled over her, puffing out her cheeks childishly when she looked at him. After she looked to her right to find Rocky taking his place beside her. Her pinkish lips turned up in a small smile as she ducked her head briefly with a laugh before tucking her hair behind her ear, "No, you did not," she said. He couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice. She turned her head to look at him, catching his gaze with her own. He gave a small smile, stroking her hair softly with his index. "So, What exactly are you doing here?" she said softly, trying to maintain an even tone of voice.

"Oh you know, I was just passing through the neighborhood when I thought I caught a whiff of filthy human garbage coming from this place," he said,

"And sure enough here I am."

Desire pools dark and deadly in his groin. Gaze up at her, releasing her lip. Katy flush a deep crimson in her cheeks, and he runs his index finger down her cheek before handing her the headphones. "I'd like to kiss you, too, but you won't let me down, are you?." Rocky asked her. Besides, he's pulled the straps so tight he can barely move.

Amused smile on his lips, he's wearing his enigmatic half smile. He glances down at her, light blue-gray eyes alive, he glances up when she looks at his way and their eyes lock. And in that brief moment, she was paralyzed, staring at the impossibly handsome man who gazes at her with some unfathomable emotion. His gaze hot, burning into her, as they lost for a moment staring at each other.

It's there in the air between them, that electricity. It's palpable. He can almost taste it, pulsing between them, drawing them together.

"Oh my," she gasps as she basks briefly in the intensity of this visceral, primal attraction. The two men stood back, saying nothing, but looking at him with hard eyes.

Katy had, somehow, stammered out some sort of reply that must have made her look insane. Coby, hearing her, had come over to check on her and had ended up having her go make Rocky's a drink while they chatted. Ever since that first meeting, though, Katy had completely fallen for Rocky. There was something about his smile, or maybe it was his eyes? Whatever it was, it made Katy's entire body feel light as a feather.

To be continued....

#myoc #fanfic #writters on tumblr #wattpad #my fanfiction #origial character #writting #TVD #tvd x reader #tvd universe #tvd rp #tvdfamily #vampire diaries #stories #novel #wattpad writer #Rocky X OC #comedy #original story #story #story time #story telling