#A.i took my job

[cupmace]

[lucid-loves]

simon slowly falling in love with reader after hating her for a long time⁉️

Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it! ❤

Nuclear Date Night

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader, weaponsengineer!reader, codename: Byte)

Word Count: 12.8k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, mention of violence, hate to love relationship, rivals, competitive, competence, realized feelings, smut, body praise, deep kissing, licking, fingering, biting, p in v

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: Ghost hates your guts. Even since you joined the team as their new weapons engineer two years ago, he’s hated you with his whole chest. With your high and mighty attitude, bewildering intellect, and unwavering confidence, he can’t stand you. You hate him too with his unreadable face, demeaning protection, and lack of grace. When an undercover mission requires the two of you to get closer, though, the both of you realize your hate for one another has turned into something else entirely. 

You ignored the icy cold glare the lieutenant kept on your figure as you explained how the new sniper-focus worked. Your comrades stared at your invention in wonderment, once again reminded just why you were part of the team. Thanks to your countless all-nighters and delicate hands, you managed to invent a focus that can attach to any sniper, calculate notches and wind speed, recommend the gun-adjust accordingly, and hit a target perfectly with over 98% accuracy. No matter the distance, no matter the weather, your focus powered with A.I. calculated assistance can kill any target. 

Everyone was impressed. Save for Ghost. 

“Aim at the target, give it a second to calculate, and then listen to the adjustment with the earpiece. After that, just adjust the aim and fire. Pretty simple stuff, really.” You demonstrated, large sniper in hand. 

The wind blew through your hair, dust coating your strands like moth to a flame. From a distance, a whipping dust devil was forming across the golden sands of the desert. It was dry, it was hot, and it was windy as hell. It was the perfect place to demonstrate your brilliance. 

When you joined the team two years ago, you knew that you had to put your heart and soul into this job in order to be taken seriously. You weren’t especially muscular or tall. As a soldier, you did train for instances of defense in case it was needed, but your true power relied on your smarts. A rather overlooked sign of an excellent soldier that often invited ridicule from the more traditional soldier. 

That’s exactly what Ghost did when he first met you. 

“You sure this shrimp can handle herself? Be one of us? She looks like she can barely lift a spoon without straining her wrist.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the memory, muscles tensing as if you were in that moment once again. The memory of your response quickly took over. 

“Are you sure this meat-head can handle my science? He looks like he can barely use a blender without getting confused by all the buttons.”

You both left a bitter taste in each other’s mouths that day. The taste has lingered ever since, tainting nearly every interaction you had. It was a wonder how you haven’t killed each other yet. 

Setting up the sniper, you prepped for the real demonstration. While you did final adjustments to the focus, you called over your rival. “Ghost, test this for us.”

“Why do I have to be the guinea pig? I don’t need a fucking robot to focus my aim anyway.” He protested, every cold tone in his words deliberate. 

The team shifted uncomfortably, even after all this time still not used to the spats the two of you got into. Attempts to resolve the bad blood have always failed. It was easier to just let the two of you spit your fire until you ran out of fuel. 

“Alright then, tough guy, you can aim without it. Go ahead, hit the target.” You nonchalantly agreed, confident that things were going to go your way this round. Ghost noticed that easy acceptance you gave, his eyes narrowing at you as he tried to figure you out. What was your game this time?

Not one to back down, he approached the sniper and aimed it normally, your focus set to default. No robots, no artificial intelligence. Just plain-Jane markers for distance. Looking through the scope, Ghost looked for the little red flag that indicates the location of the fake target used for practice. After a while of looking at nothing but sand, he spotted the target just past the dust devil. 

He would have to account for that. You planned for this. No wonder you insisted on dragging them all out to this dry wasteland. He clenched his teeth, blood simmering as you tried to make him look like a fool in front of his team. Backing away, though, would make him lose this game. Shooting and missing would also give you the victory point. Either way, both scenarios made him look incompetent.

God, he fucking hated you. 

Suppressing a malicious smile, you antagonize him. The feeling of beating him made your heart race in excitement. “Any day now, Ghost.”

He hated the way you drew his name out like that. The way you so easily said it like it was nothing but air to you. Like bubblegum being blown and popped at your will. His name should’ve struck fear and intimidation. Instead, you chewed on it. Popped bubbles with it. 

Aiming the scope, he lined up his shot, and fired. Watching the bullet carefully, he saw it shoot forth with speed right on the dead center of the target, whip back from the dust devil, and hit sand with an explosion of grain. 

It took everything in him not to fucking leave right then and there. 

“Good shot if you planned on missing. Now, use my focus.” You continued to tease, twisting the knife further into his already wounded pride. There was little snickering coming from his men, Gaz and Soap not being able to contain themselves. They would admit that sometimes your fights were funny. It was a way to cope with the discomfort it brought. 

Silently, Ghost switched on your focus. Out of the side, a small earpiece ejected out. He took it and fitted it into his ear under the mask. Of course, you programmed the artificial instruction with your own voice. Serious, stoic, and purposeful. “Awaiting aim to calculate.”

He aimed once more at the metal target using the scope, the dust devil blowing the sand around violently to protect it at all costs. The scope projected its calculations as if he was staring at a screen. Within a few seconds, it completed its estimations. A green dot appeared way over to the left and bottom of the notches, marking the shooting point. Your voice rang in his ears. “Target confirmed. Aim and fire.”

This seemed way off. There was no way this could be right. Was he really meant to aim so far off? The green dot stayed perfectly in place as he adjusted the aim, his center notch in line with your tech’s mark. He hoped that it would miss.

He fired and watched the bullet sail through the air, ride with the dust devil like a wave, and hit the target with perfection. He became slack-jawed bewildered at the precision. The fact that it could calculate aim with even an extreme factor such as swirling winds was undoubtedly impressive. 

This was your clear victory. And he hated it. 

You relished in his fiery disdain of your genius. A small smirk played at your lips as you saw just how the rage froze his muscles. He looked like he wanted to punch something. 

“God damn, Byte! That was phenomenal!” Soap loudly praised, his eyes wide in true marvel. The others agreed, all wanted a turn to use that focus of yours like it was a new toy. Every invention that you gave them has felt like a new toy. It made those days feel like Christmas morning. You were great at your job and they couldn’t be happier to have you on the team. 

Of course, except for Ghost. Even if your engineering prowess was the best in the world. 

“Really great work, Byte! Are the blueprints all ready to copy?” Kate smiled appreciatively while tapping on her smartpad.

“All ready for production.” You simply answered, proud of the work that you had accomplished. Another one for the books. 

While the boys played with their new toy, Ghost stepped back and crossed his arms angrily. 

He hated everything about you. Your unmatched intellect, your confident plays, your arrogant personality. He hated that his team was wasting money on technology for weapons when a true soldier shouldn’t need the handicap. Real skill was earned by yourself. Not with the assistance of technology. It should be a tool, not a crutch. 

Ghost believed that people who couldn’t aim a sniper on their own and hit a target didn’t deserve to be snipers. And you just made him unworthy of being a sniper when against your tech. 

You looked up at him, taking note of how hard he threw daggers at you. You made him look stupid, and that was your goal. It felt like you had the world in your palm when you did. Someone as respectable as Ghost being bested by a brainiac was always the best. You proved that you didn’t need muscles or height or even intimidation to be better. You just needed your smarts. 

A huff of a laugh escaped you as you turned away from him, knowing that that would just make him even more angry at you. Good. 

You hated everything about him too. 

~

“What you do really is modern magic. Seriously, Byte, how does your brain come up with such things?” Gaz inquired, raising a bottle of beer to his lips. The team decided to celebrate your new invention at the usual bar. Of course, your drinks were on them as a reward. They knew that you put a lot of work into what you did. The least they could do was pay for your rum and cokes. 

You raised the cold glass to your lips, the sweet and spicy cocktail hitting your tastebuds. “The pros of being a genius. Thank you for the praise. It feels nice to be appreciated for my work around here.”

That last past was said a little louder, loud enough to make sure that Ghost could hear it on the other side of the bar. He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes at you, not willing to open himself to any more of your antagonizing today.

The victory was as sweet as the drink you were nursing. Addictive too. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of success. When you finished an invention, when you helped your team complete a mission, or when you bested Ghost, they all gave you that sweet sense of accomplishment. 

Soap slung his arm around your shoulder, nearly causing you to spill. He was already a couple drinks in. “Yeah yeah yeah, good work! But all we ever talk about is work. Been two years, Byte. Tell us what that genius does outside of work, huh?”

You shifted in your seat, becoming a little uncomfortable with the sudden questions about your personal life. They knew tidbits here and there about you. Some failed relationships, favorite songs, distaste for certain foods. But your answer to all of that was usually straight-forward. “We broke up.” “I like this song.” “I’m not going to eat that.”

Something that the team noticed early on was that you were a workaholic. You hung out with them on rare occasions, you were usually confined working in your lab while they had offices, and you usually departed events early to be in said lab. Besides minor details, they really didn’t know much about you outside of your work personality. They have been trying to pull you more out of your shell over time, but it was a slow process. 

Gaz frowned at Soap’s bluntness. “Come on, Johnny, leave her alone tonight.”

“It’s fine, Gaz.” You put your glass down roughly, the clink of the glass on polished wood sobering Soap up pretty quick. It made Gaz look away in shame. That was at least one thing they knew about you most intimately. You hated being treated like you can’t take care of yourself. When they stepped in on your behalf, answering a question that was meant for you, it made you want to hit them. You knew they only did it to protect you. That you were one of them and this is how they treated one of them, but you could never let it be. 

You didn’t need anybody to stand up for you. You will make that a point for forever if you had to. 

The air grew thick with tension as you silently scolded them for hitting one of your pet peeves. With a sigh, you caved in, wanting to restore some of that fun from before. “What do you wanna know? Anything is on the table.”

Soap’s face lit up like a match to a gas station. “Seriously?! Anything?”

You gave a little nod and braced yourself for the worse. Soap’s lack of personal boundaries was quite well known. It was coming from a place of genuine curiosity and ease, never ill-intent. It was just one of the quirks of Soap that you were still coming to terms with even after all this time. 

“Well. . . what’s your sex life like?” 

Gaz began to choke, coughing on beer stuck in his throat. Price tapped his back to help him out, his sharp gaze falling on Soap for such a personal question. Yet, he didn’t say anything. He knew that if he did, you would get angry at him. He has been pretty good about avoiding your pet peeve and he didn’t want to break his streak.

Clearing your throat, you composed yourself. You weren’t expecting such a blatant question either, despite inviting this kind of open question. It didn’t mean that you weren’t going to be honest, though. That just wasn’t the kind of person you were. You never stepped away from a challenge. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Soap grinned widely, happy to talk with you finally like you were just like one of the guys. “Body count? Preferences? All of it. I wanna know what a genius views sex as.”

Slowly, you drank the rest of your rum and coke before signaling for another one. While you hailed the bartender, you noticed that Ghost was staring intensely at you. He hated you, but even he was curious on how anyone could tolerate you enough to sleep with you. 

Once you were halfway through your second drink for some liquid courage, you began to talk about one of the most personal details of your life. “Body count of five. All men. Most were one-night stands or sex-friends.”

You liked sex. There was no question about it. At least, you were interested in it. Despite the amount of people you’ve been with, they always left you wanting more. It was always a little unsatisfying when they were finished. It always felt like there was a black hole inside of you that needed the right meal to be satisfied. 

The exact reason why was no mystery either. Unless you were masturbating alone, you never came. No matter how much time and effort went into foreplay, none of your partners have ever made you orgasm. 

Just because your sex life was active didn’t mean it was great. 

“Wow, that’s a little surprising.” Gaz admitted, finally over his coughing fit. Price shook his head, a little embarrassed to hear about his men talking about sex so freely with you. As a captain to a group of mostly boys, he has shared details with them to bring the group together. It felt a little strange to have you participate in this. Even Kate wasn’t pressured into sharing such details. 

“Our little genius gets some then! How is it? Any experience noteworthy?” Soap persisted as he ordered another round.

“Not especially? Average, I suppose.” You shrugged, answering the questions becoming much easier the more you poured rum and coke into your system. Warmth crept along your cheeks, blossomed in your ribs. You felt yourself opening up like a dormant flower. 

You ordered another drink. Soap continued to pry. “Average? What does that even mean?”

“I never came before.” You suddenly blurted out, the blending of your naturally blunt personality and alcohol turning into a pretty dangerous combination. It seemed like the rum in you was getting to your brain faster than you thought. 

This time, it was Soap’s turn to choke. Gaz was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to comfort your plight. Ghost just stared as if he was watching the news. However, his mind was thinking all sorts of things. He wanted to mock you. Say that that was what you deserved for being so arrogant about your intelligence. He felt the instinct to trash talk you to recover some of the pride he lost today. 

Yet, he couldn’t. In fact, he began to feel a foreign pity for you. If you knew that he was pitying you over something like this, you would absolutely rip him a new one. That didn’t stop his eyes from softening for just a moment, though. A moment that you noticed with those sharp eyes of yours. 

Finishing your drink, you slammed the glass on the counter, nearly shattering it. How dare Ghost look at you like some tragic whore! So what you never orgasmed from sex! You were doing just fine when it came to solo-sex escapades. You didn’t need anyone to satisfy you. You only needed yourself. “I do perfectly fine when I masturbate. Don’t get it twisted. Other people just don’t satisfy me. It’s whatever.”

In a simmering fire, you got up from your chair and left the bar for the night, leaving your teammates wondering what the hell got you so worked up all of a sudden. 

Only Ghost knew the answer to that. 

~

Arriving back on base on your motorcycle, you headed straight to your lab. It was quiet. The dead of night. Everyone else was either back home, sleeping in the barracks, or partying it up downtown. You had an apartment to go back to, but you always found yourself coming here instead. 

Settling your helmet and jacket on the coat-rack, you made yourself at home. Dim-emergency lights softly illuminated unfinished projects on tables. Pieces of wires, circuits, and bolts littered every corner of the room. The place looked small and cramped during the day, scientists and engineers squished together in a lab that was second priority compared to the more athletic-based facilities. In the night when no one was here, the place looked like a tech graveyard. Vast, dark, and cold. 

You headed towards your usual workstation, a large workshop desk that was overflowing with unfinished blueprints of inventions that haven’t panned out just yet. A lot of the struggle came from lack of funding. Some of it came from unrealistic expectations. Science was an investment, something that most military dogs failed to realize. It’s why you always pushed yourself to work constantly and prove what the proper time and resources could bring. 

You were essentially killing yourself in order to make them see the worth of your department. 

Looking through the blueprints, you settled on one that was worth revisiting. A Russian Doll bullet that would save ammunition and materials to build said ammunition. The idea was to invent a bullet that would be compatible with most firearms, shoot an outer layer of bullet without shooting out the inner layer, and repeat until the last of the bullet is gone only to be replaced by another Russian Doll bullet. 

It would effectively turn a six-shooter into a twenty-four. It would save so much ammo and save many soldiers the reload time. 

The only problem you haven’t solved yet was the instability of gunpowder. 

That’s what you decided to work on tonight. Taking a seat in your worn out swivel chair, you opened your drawers and pulled out your materials. Bringing a magnifying glass close to you, you began to disassemble a few bullets. It was always a good idea to build things by first taking things apart. 

As you worked, you heard the sound of the lab door open. It was still much too early for the morning crew to come in, so you wondered who it could’ve been. Maybe Price had come to lecture you about how you left things at the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to talk to you about your temper. 

Turning around, you were surprised to meet your rival, peering over all of the electronic corpses on the tables. He didn’t come here very often. You were always here after all. He knew you were always here. He shivered, noticing just how chilly it was inside the lab. The air conditioning was running on full blast. “Feels like a meat-locker in here. How can you work like this?”

“What do you want?” You sharply retorted, nerves already on edge at his presence. The lab was supposed to be your refuge. Your paradise. And here came the snake. 

“Relax. I’m not here to fight. I just wanted to talk to you about the focus.” He treaded carefully, his own instincts waiting to fire off like they were used to when he was with you. A lightbulb in his head just went off just then. He realized just how bad the relationship between the two of you was since his first real instinct was to yell at you. Ghost knew you felt it too. 

He was supposed to be the 141’s Lieutenant. He was supposed to bring the team together for his captain. And here he has been for two years, trying to push you out. 

Ghost has never even approached you without the intention to fight or yell or demand since the first day he met you.

Christ, was there any recovery from this? Ghost took a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully for once. “The focus is great. You did a good job.”

“Don’t fucking pity me.” You snapped, turning back to your desk and igniting sparks as you bonded metal with heat. A hurricane brewed in your chest. Did he seriously come all this way to pity you? The gaze in his eyes should have been enough. It made you leave the bar!

Ghost felt that fire rising in his throat, wanting to say something back that would hurt you. Old habits die hard. It was a tough pill to swallow. “I’m not trying to pity you. The focus is going to help a lot of soldiers. It’s going to save a lot of people.”

You paused, unsure if his words were genuine or misleading. You’ve fallen into that trap before, hearing what seemed like a compliment only for it to be backhanded. It was unfortunate that you didn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth. “Why did you look at me like that at the bar?”

He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he wished he didn’t. He didn’t really want to talk about your sex life when it was just the two of you. Especially not when the two of you haven’t even had one decent interaction with each other. Goosebumps prickled all of his skin, his teeth nearly chattering. How could you keep it so fucking cold in here?

“I felt sorry for you.” He admitted, finding himself unable to lie to you or change topics. At least from the beginning, he has always been honest with you. 

As you heard the words you loathed to hear, you put down your tools, hands becoming too shaky to handle them with all the rage storming inside you. “I-”

“I felt sorry that no one has liked you enough to satisfy you.” 

Well, that didn’t exactly sound right.

Your mouth opened in shock at his dig. His eyes widened as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, realizing that it sounded completely fucking wrong. He held his hands up in defense, scrambling to explain himself before it was too late. 

The hurricane was in full swing, though. But instead of bringing thunder, it only brought rain. The corners of your eyes prickled with tears before streaming down your flushed cheeks. A lump choked in your throat choked the air out of you. You thought you could say something hurtful back. You always did before. But this time, his words cut a little too deep.

None of your relationships have lasted long. Not even with people you agreed to just be sex-friends with. They always ended up leaving. Whenever you asked what went wrong, they always blamed it on your demeanor. Your personality was too particular. Your interests were too complex. Your high expectations were too much. 

It was one of the reasons you kept a distance from the 141. They loved your company as far as you knew. But only in small doses. Who knew what would happen if they really spent time with you? They would probably get sick of you over time too. Ghost hated you since day one after all. 

No one liked you. You thought that you were fine with that at this point, but clearly you weren’t.

Ghost stood frozen in time, completely taken aback by your sudden tears. He expected screaming. He expected hitting. He expected icy retorts. That’s all he has ever known you as. He never in a million years expected tears. 

It made him feel like he was the biggest piece of shit on the planet. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know what to do about it. 

All of his years of hatred for you melted away as he watched you crumble, your distrust for him putting up more walls between the two of you. Jesus, how does he fix this now?!

“Byte, I-”

“Don’t you think I already know that no one likes me? You think you’re the first person to hate my guts?!” You spat, some of the lightning finally coming out. The tears kept coming, but it was somehow better for Ghost. He felt more used to that dangerous spark you had. It made you easier to approach now. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. Poor choice of words. Honest. I just meant that. . . I . . . Everyone deserves to be loved enough to the point of satisfaction. You work hard and give us countless advancements to use. You deserved to be satisfied. You deserve to have someone that will put the work into you too.” He finally managed to find the right words, nearly running out of breath with all the effort he had to find them. He was never really good at heart-to-hearts. 

You looked at him in shock once more as he attempted to salvage the hurt he caused you. This was beyond confusing for you. Your brain that worked so hard everyday, that could think up a million things at any given time, was at a loss for words. 

In your uncertainty, you followed your instincts. And that was to turn back around to your desk, wipe your eyes, and get back to work. It was the only constant in your life that you could rely on. The best way to think. 

Ghost didn’t blame you for returning to work. He probably wouldn’t know what to say either if it was him. Instead of pushing it any further, he decided that it was probably best to leave. Before he headed out of the lab, he turned back and looked at you. 

You did the same, the moment of work gracing your senses. In the end, he did try to pay you a genuine compliment. You were always the type to reciprocate fairly. “Thanks, Ghost.”

There was a certain way you said your thanks that made Ghost’s heart skip a beat. A sense of gentleness that he’s never heard from you before. The way your eyes shone bright from leftover tears had him stunned. Were your eyes always that pretty?

He turned quickly and left, the back of his neck heating from the intrusive thought he just had. As he walked back to the barracks, he sighed. The air outside was much warmer than the environment of your lab. So much easier to breathe. It felt suffocating being in there. Out here, he could let his mind relax.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of you. 

~

The two of you didn’t fight as much anymore. Sharp words slipped out every now and then, but neither of you kept feeding the fire once they were said. Most of the time, you two were just back to avoiding each other. Though, the both of you had your own reasons. 

You found yourself just at a loss of words when he was civil. It was that distrust that still lingered that made it hard for you to interact with him. It was especially difficult to be around him when he was actively being polite. Praises for your work, helping you carry heavy boxes across base, or prioritizing processing your submitted paperwork was always done either curtly or in silence. It was foreign to you.

And the energy you saved now that it wasn’t spent on fighting was now put to use by noticing him a little more. You always couldn’t help but stop and stare as he helped carry equipment with you from the lab to the armory. The way his biceps flexed with ease at the heavier load. The way his eyes remained stoic even as he embraced your inventions. Ghost was now more on your mind than ever, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Ghost, on the other hand, was now always thinking about you. He felt the urge to get closer to you. To get to know you better. To help you out in a way that didn’t look down on you like he’s always done. He couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes too. How bright they were under the sun or moon. How they watched him under such careful supervision, trying to decipher if his good will was real or not. 

Even in moments where he didn’t want to think about you, he found his mind wandering anyway. Ever since that night in the lab, he felt his feelings change. Two years of anger and resentment for you have nearly melted all away only to be replaced by something else. And he didn’t know how to explain it. 

All he could do was try to keep cool. Remain civil. Avoid too close of interactions with you. 

It was working for the both of you for months until you were assigned to a mission together.

The team had noticed that the both of you were getting along in the loosest sense of the term. They wondered what caused such a shift, but they never asked out of fear of resetting the apparent progress. Instead, Price tried to push more progress by assigning the both of you to work an undercover mission. 

A wealthy investor of nuclear weaponry was suddenly pouring a lot more money than usual into a country with a rising dictator. The investments coincided with less threatening ideas such as climate change prevention and DNA study in order to balance out interest. The goal was to detain this investor, question him about his relationship with this dictator, and then hopefully stop a dangerous man from getting his hands on advanced nuclear power. 

The way in was at a formal event promoted by the science community. Conservationists, biologists, engineers, and more were going to be present to try to win over some other wealthy investors that would be there including celebrities, CEOs, and politicians. It was a high brow event which made the need for scientific knowledge apparent. 

And who knew more about such science than you?

Intimidation invitations in hand, Ghost waited in a hotel lobby, a crisp, black tuxedo hugging his form as if tailored to him. The skull balaclava was swapped with a simple black face mask, covering enough of his identity which made him feel better about all of this. Looking at a nearby mirror, he checked his blonde hair. He’s never dressed so formally in his life. 

He suddenly wondered if you would like it. 

You still need a moment to get ready, always one to check twice to make sure you had everything you need. Your heart raced in your chest, your nerves tingling with adrenaline as you prepared to see this mission through. You’ve been on the field a couple of times. Never under-cover. The fact that you would probably have to do most of the talking made you nervous. 

People didn’t like you. That weakness of yours was clouding your confidence. Being a woman in science was already a tough world. Would you be able to keep your personality in check if you faced such a conflict?

Nervously, you headed down to the lobby, adjusting every dress each step of the way down. When you spotted Ghost from a distance, you froze. You have never seen him so cleaned up before. When you were coming down, you half expected him to appear like he always has. Military uniform, skull mask, strapped with obvious weapons. 

You didn’t know that his hair was so. . . 

Finding yourself at a loss for words again, you steeled yourself. As you got closer, you realized that your heart was racing for an entirely new reason. Your lieutenant was much more attractive than you thought. 

And he was technically your date for tonight.

Ghost caught your figuring in the corner of the mirror, making him turn around. Time stood still for you once again as you appeared before him looking like someone straight out of a romance movie. Your dress hugged your curves in all the right places, every strand of hair was styled beautifully to frame your face, makeup only highlighted just how beautiful you naturally were. 

How could he never see just how beautiful you were before?

You walked closer and cleared your throat, that voice he thought was so annoying before now sounding like the sweetest violin. “Lieutenant, you look good this evening.”

This was the first compliment he’s ever received from you. It made his stomach do flips. What was happening to him? Pull it together!

“Thanks. You look great tonight. Ready?” He offered his arm, waiting for you to take it. 

Your heart could barely take it as you looped your arm around his, touching him so intimately for the first time. Heat radiated from his body. The biceps you found yourself staring at before felt solid under your touch. You looked up into his eyes, the glacier blues melting into a deep ocean. Looking away suddenly, you attempted to hide your blush. He was looking at you so intensely that it startled you.

“Do you have to stare?” You questioned a little too sharply than you intended. You braced yourself for him to say something equally sharp, something Ghost felt in your arm that was hooked around his. 

He averted his gaze, now conscious of the way his eyes naturally followed you. His mind searched for an explanation for his lack of discretion. The unexplainable pull that you had on him. Jesus, it was like he was. . . 

Oh. Oh no.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, trying to keep his feelings in check. How could he spend two years praying for your downfall to all of a sudden being-

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t even want to entertain the likely possibility. Even if he wanted to act on his feelings, did he really deserve to after all the fighting for two years? You would probably never truly accept him after all the things he’s said and done. You weren’t completely innocent either, but Ghost had to face the fact that he was the one that started it all. Before even knowing your name, he insulted you, unable to keep his opinion on tech in weapons in check. A matter that wasn’t even your fault to begin with. 

What the hell was wrong with him back then? What the hell is even wrong with him now?

“Hey, Earth to Ghost. You okay?” You asked, noticing how he seemed to be just staring into space as they waited for the car to pick them up. There was a brightness in the night, a rain having just finished its pour. Puddles on the ground reflected the city’s lampposts, cars flashed their lights, and much to Ghost’s dismay and pleasure, your eyes shined replaced the stars. 

His voice was deep and agitated, more so upset with himself than with you. “I’m fine. Just nerves.”

At that you smirked that devilish smile that he hasn’t seen in a while. It pissed him off to no end before, but now it made his heart flutter. “Wow. The great Lieutenant Ghost has nerves. Never thought I’d hear that. Makes me feel a lot better, though.”

“And why is that?” He inquired carefully, almost afraid to hear the answer. 

You shrugged, actually starting to feel at ease for the first time in his presence. The butterflies were still there. They were just much more manageable now. “I am nervous as well.”

Before he could question you further, the designated car pulled up in front of the hotel. Gaz, parading as the chauffeur for tonight, got out of the car and held open the passenger door for the both of you to get in. Soap wanted to do this job, but Price refused. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to shut his mouth if he saw the two of you together like this. Gaz at least had a filter.

He played the role to a tee, onlookers staring as he took off his hat and bowed. “Good evening. You both look dashing tonight. Especially our lady.”

The cover was working smoothly. Together, they really looked like A-list people. The civilians would have never guessed that they were all just soldiers. Drinking in their looks, you let it replenish your confidence. You got into the car followed by Ghost, Gaz shutting the door once everyone was settled. As he drove to the venue, he went over the mission details. 

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you the entire time. We have access to all the venue’s cameras and we have mics hidden throughout the building. Some security is our own too to keep an eye on things. This place will be packed full of civilians, so violence must be kept to a minimum. Non-existent preferably. If anything does go wrong that we don’t notice, use the codeword.”

You nodded at all of the information that will keep you safe, reading the mission file to brush up on before the big show started. Ghost looked over your shoulder, also reading the file once again. Mostly though, he noticed how intensely you studied. You didn’t want to be the reason why this mission failed. You couldn’t afford that. 

When the car slowed in front of the venue, you looked out. At least a hundred people were outside, dressed to the nines, ready to spend their money or ask for money. Your blood suddenly became cold as you looked at all the people. There must have been hundreds more inside.

Gaz parked the car and stepped out, getting ready to open the door for you. However, you were a statue. Unmoving. There was panic in your eyes. You looked the part for this. Could you talk the part too?

A warm, large hand landed on your shoulder, gaining your attention. Ghost looked at you with steady eyes, his tone slow and soft as honey. “You got this, Byte. You’re probably smarter than everyone here. I’m right by your side too.”

It was relieving hearing those words come from him. He was encouraging you like he was your lieutenant. Like you were part of his team. Your heart swelled as you looked into the eyes you’ve been trying to avoid. It looked like he was finally seeing you after all this time. 

With a deep breath and a new steely expression, you nodded to Gaz through the window. He opened the door and Ghost stepped out first. You took the hand he offered you and came out, the buzz of intellectual conversation in the air. 

Gaz drove off, leaving the mission to the two of you. Ghost led the way up, your arm in his like it was always meant to be there. Miraculously, the two of you looked like the ideal date. It made getting into the venue easy as Ghost handed over the invitations to the guard at the entrance. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Have a fun night!”

The both of you couldn’t help but blush at the shared name. To be referred to as Mrs. Riley gave you ideas that you never thought you would think about. It strangely had a nice ring to it that made your senses prick up. 

Ghost thought the same thing as he guided you in. Tonight, you were Mrs. Riley, his beautiful and intelligent wife. 

The two years of hating each other seemed to feel farther away as the night stretched on. 

The marble floors were packed with esteemed guests. Large, crystal chandeliers reflected off gold jewelry and champagne glasses. A live orchestra played with precise rhythm. Everyone mingled, trying to see where the best place to put their money was. Likewise, scientists tried to advocate for their foundations. All of the talk made Ghost’s head swirl. He was used to undercover missions, however, this was truly out of his realm. 

You were better at picking up the jargon. They spoke a language you understood. The language that only the people in the lab on base understood. It was like hearing your native tongue after years of speaking foreignly. Military culture and science culture was so different, that you often missed this. 

A couple approached the two of you, led by a middle-aged woman with a large, diamond necklace and fake lilies in her hair. “Aren’t you two the most adorable couple! I must compliment you on your gown too!”

This was it. This was their test to look like a real couple out as each other’s dates. You put on a fake smile and held out your hand. “Thank you for the compliment. I’m Mrs. (Y/n) Riley. This is my husband.”

The name slid easily off your tongue, yet it sent electricity through you. There was no way you were going to get used to that name tonight. It made you feel lightheaded when you said it. How could you get so embarrassed by a fake name?

Ghost was having trouble getting used to it too, a part of him wishing that the name was real against his will. Clenching his jaw, he looked out at the crowd, trying to spot the target. His large height helped, but there were too many people around. They all crowded around each other. Talking, laughing, flaunting. A slight tug on his arm brought his attention back to you. You were just sending the lady on her way after a simple, pleasant conversation. Through that, you were able to figure out if the target has shown up yet. 

“Let’s go to the main ballroom. According to the recent intel, our target would be there if he’s shown up. Something about him not being able to resist a shrimp cocktail.” You directed, your confidence becoming stronger as you weaved through the crowd. Ghost couldn’t help but take in your courage, finding it hard to believe that you were once nervous. Then again, this was your crowd.

The ballroom floor was also filled with people, but also now with clear advertisements from scientists. Small signs indicated programs with their representatives, helping investors find the right place to put their money in. You read the signs carefully, recognizing a few of them along with who was supposed to be running it. At some of the names, you grimaced. 

“You alright?” Ghost asked, trying to keep his own expression solid as if he was playing poker. He found himself worrying about you now that you looked so pained. 

You shook your head, trying to clear unpleasant memories as best as you can. “I’m fine. I just. . . I hope I don’t run into any ex-colleagues.”

As if the devil was listening himself, you heard your name being called from afar, a surprised tone countering the determined piano filling the room. “Y/n? Is that really you?!”

Putting on your game face, you smiled and turned towards your former colleague and, unfortunately, ex-lover. Of course, this was going to happen. Almost always one thing goes wrong during a mission. A part of you wished you didn’t accept this mission now that you were face-to-face with someone you tried to leave in the past. 

“Dr. Emmanuel. It has been a long time.” You greeted politely, taking extra time to keep your tone in check. The last time you spoke to him was during the breakup. He dumped you after a quarrel about a missing blueprint. You were working on a project together when you were both interns at a scientific space-engineering facility. The blueprint was supposed to help the both of you land permanent positions, but it was made clear that there was only room for one. 

When you heard the news, you both agreed that neither of you would take credit until you talked to the head of the facility. That was, until the blueprint went missing. From there, you fought and accused him of taking the blueprint for himself to get the job. Your hunch was right when you saw the new employee ID card he hid in his wallet. 

You called him a traitor. He called you deplorable. You claimed that most of the blueprint was your design. He reasoned that if you had the job, you would neglect him anyways with your workaholic nature. He then dropped the bomb that he hated working with you, that you made him feel insecure in bed with your inability to orgasm with him, and that you were just becoming into someone he loathed with your particular personality. He accused you of not loving him enough.

So he took the credit and ran, leaving you to figure out what the hell you were going to do about a job. That’s when you decided to join the military as a weapons engineer. Some time after, you joined the 141. 

“It has been some time, hasn’t it? I’m surprised to see you here? Are you here as a scientist or an investor?” Your ex inquired, sizing you up as someone to take advantage of or as competition for investors. You knew his game and you knew it well. You only had to learn the hard way once before you learned your lesson. You never made the same mistake twice. 

Ghost noticed how your expression hardened, yet you maintained that fake, pearly smile. What was this man to you? How did you know each other? 

Why did he care so much?

“He is the investor and I am the scientist. This is my husband, Mr. Riley.” You announced, now saying the word “husband” with your full chest. Your ex’s eyes widened briefly before twisting into a smile that showed hints of disgust. 

Nonetheless, he held out his hand for a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riley. It is an honor meeting a man that could tame such a work-driven woman.”

Before you could shoot back some venomous words that were bubbling up on your tongue, Ghost took his hand and gripped it tight with that soldier strength of his. Your ex seemed distraught as pain shot through his hand that was being crushed. Ghost didn’t let up. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t look down at my wife, doctor. I love her just the way she is. I’m sure she has accomplished much more than you as well.”

“Now, if you will excuse us, we have better things to talk about with other people.” Ghost finally let go, bruises already starting to form on the crushed hand of your ex. While you normally would pop off at him for standing up for you when you could’ve done so yourself, you were too busy thinking about his words. The L-bomb he dropped seemed to flow so naturally from him. It made you feel flustered. 

As Ghost led you away, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He took your flustered expression as you being upset. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were upset with him or your ex-colleague. He knew he triggered your pet-peeve and he wanted to apologize. For now, though, he had to settle with a raincheck. “We’ll talk about that later. Do you see our target yet?”

You snapped back into action, being reminded that you have a mission to accomplish above all else. Looking around, you tried to spot the target. As predicted, there he was, gorging himself on shrimp and champagne. “10 o’clock.”

He looked over and confirmed. “Target spotted. Good eye. Ready?”

Taking a few deep breaths to reset your brain, you nodded. Swiftly, the both of you approach the target just as he was taking another flute from a silver tray. You changed your serious demeanor into a more graceful one. Someone worth giving money to. Someone that the target will like. “Mr. Marston. I was hoping to finally meet you tonight. I am Y/n Riley. This is my husband. You are such an inspiration to both scientists and investors.”

“Ha! A couple of fans with good taste! A pleasure to meet such a handsome couple! I’ve been in the business for a long time though, so I know you must want something. Can’t pull the wool over these eyes, even if they are old.” He laughed cheerfully as he raised more alcohol to his lips. 

It seemed that this would be easier than you thought. People like Mr. Marston made you sick. People with way too much time and money on their hands to shape the world as they saw fit, regardless of the good of the people. Nuclear war would be a disaster. And yet, this man treated it as lightly as the glass in his hand. Careless. Spilling over with each movement. Such a fragile thing away from one wrong move before shattering into a hundred pieces. 

“With age comes experience and wisdom. I am a scientist looking for an investor. Though my studies tend to be a little. . . unconventional.” You buttered him up before casting your line. All he had to do was take the bait.

And that he did. His eyebrows rose with interest at your choice of words. He felt his wallet burning a hole in his pocket. “Unconventional, you say? Well, I am all for out-of-the-box solutions to our world’s problems. Care to elaborate on your odd studies?”

You looked up at Ghost, awaiting some sort of signal that you may proceed with luring the target to where you needed him to be. He gave a single nod, disguising it as full support for his lovely wife. You were handling this much better than he expected. Or perhaps, this is how you always were under pressure. His judgment was always just too clouded with contempt to see it. 

“We would love to talk about our project, but such a thing is rather sensitive in nature. I would hate to upset some over-hearers. Perhaps we shall meet later once the formal is over?” You played cautiously, not yet reeling in such a loose bite. 

“Oh my, now you really have my interest! There are a few study spaces at this venue reserved for investors and scientist contract negotiations. I haven’t committed to any facility yet, so why don’t I start with reviewing you? What do you say?”

Hook, line, and sinker. “That would be most ideal, Mr. Marston. Just lead the way.”

Grabbing a few shrimps to go, the target led the way to a more private area of the venue. Everything was smooth, all according to plan. The crowd parted away for the richest investor here, making the exit quite swift. Once the three of you separated from the main event down to a much quieter room, Ghost detained him with cuffs. A button on his watch was pressed, signaling to the team that the target was in custody. 

“Wh-What?! What is all this now?!” Mr. Marston protested, hoping that someone would come to his rescue. 

“Lieutenant Ghost and Sargent Byte. You are being taken into military custody for involvement with nuclear investments. We just need to ask you some questions.” You explained carefully, trying to keep the target calm so you didn’t attract unwanted attention. Cool, calm, and collected. Ghost thought it was a good look on you. You weren’t normally involved like this, so he couldn’t help but think so. 

He had it worse than he thought. Seriously, what was with him?

While Ghost took his hands off the target for a moment to reach for his phone, feeling an incoming message, the target swirled around and tried to bolt. Not in the direction of an exit, though. Instead, he was running straight to you, binded fists raised to strike you. Thanks to your self-defense classes through the military, you acted on pure instinct. You dodged his fists and struck his jugular with a sharp strike of the side of your hand. He gasped for air and collapsed, tears streaming down his face as if he would die from the loss of oxygen. 

Ghost’s attraction to you increased tenfold as you nonchalantly fixed your dress like a meager wind just caused only slight agitation. He forgot just how capable you could be physically, not just intellectually.

Right on time, Price waltzed in wearing his common military uniform. He didn’t even bat an eye at the struggling target. “Transportation is outside. Well done, you two! It was about time you worked together on something. I hope to see more of this in the future!” 

You made some distance between you and Ghost, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea. For some reason, it pained Ghost to see you put up that wall again so soon after the mission. Was this the first and last time you would get along so well with him?

No, he decided. He told you that he would speak to you later about the interaction with Emmanuel. Then, he would knock your walls down. Finally get to know the real you.

From there, we can really determine if his feelings were just a fluke or not. 

~

You were back at the hotel, wiping your makeup off and stripping yourself out of the formal dress. Your muscles ache at the new freedom, having been fed up with such a fitted dress and heels. After showering and putting on some pajamas, you got into bed and began to read. You were rewarded for your work with a one-night’s stay at the luxury hotel, and you were taking full advantage of it. 

After reading, you were going to order hotel service and then go to bed. The life of luxury that was more than enough for you. As you began reading the next chapter of your book, you heard a knock at the door. Sighing, you bookmarked your page, and answered it. You were surprised to see Ghost standing there, smelling like fresh maplewood and citrus soap. A plain shirt clung to his torso and pajama pants made him look like a new man altogether. He had his black facemask on still, but once he let himself in, he took it off. 

This was the first time you have ever seen his full face uncovered. You noticed the small scar on his upper lip that matched the one on his right brow. His jaw was strong as if chiseled from marble. You couldn’t deny it. Ghost was a very attractive man.

“Sorry to barge in like this. I said we were going to talk, so here I am.” He explained, taking a seat on the edge of your king bed. He was drinking you in too. The pajama shorts that showed off your thighs, the cami that exposed your delicate shoulders. Your hair was still damp and scented with lavender and vanilla. His heart picked up speed as he felt a pull of attraction to you. 

How could he have ever hated a beautiful thing like you?

You found it a little rude that he just barged in, but you let it slide for once. From his tone, he didn’t seem like he wanted to fight. Besides, those deep blues were starting to melt your icy heart little by little. Just for tonight.

You took a seat on the bed next to him and looked up. “What is there to talk about? He’s just a man from my past.”

At that, he felt his muscles tense. He knew that there was more to the story. Ghost detected your evasion of the subject as clear as day. It was something he experienced nearly every day before this. He knew your tell. “I know it wasn’t just that. What he said, how you looked. What happened?”

Out of all people, you least expected Ghost to hound you about this. He has never been interested in your personal life before. Then again, your relationship has changed dramatically since the night in the lab. Before you knew it, you started to feel yourself open up to him a little. 

You stared down into your lap. “He’s an ex. We were interns together, he took all the credit for a project we did, he got a job, and I didn’t. He insulted me, dumped me, and then left. I left to work in the military. That’s really all there is to it.”

While your tone tried to keep it casual, Ghost knew it was really a tragedy. No wonder you didn’t trust easily. Now he wished he broke that guy’s hand when he had the chance. 

Did he really have room to talk though? He made you distrust people even more easily when he first met you. It was about time he apologized for it all. “Listen, Y/n. I’m sorry. About everything. For the two years of fighting. All the insults, all the exclusion. Everything. I should have been a better teammate, lieutenant, and even friend to you. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say, a new trick of his that seemed to have worked time and time again. The tick of a classic clock filled the silence as you thought about his apology. The sound of him using your real name echoed in your ears. You blamed him for everything that transpired. And now he was sorry about it. Yet, the way he looked at you didn’t indicate the need for forgiveness. He wasn’t entitled to it, and he knew that. Instead, his gaze was filled with certainty. The certainty to do much better by you from now on. 

Two years to lead up to this moment. You never thought you would live to see the day. Just like him, you slowly found your rage for him melt down to almost nothing, instead to be replaced by something soft, warm, and electric. 

You gave an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry too. I know I can be pretty unlikable.”

“You’re not unlikable.” He reassured, his hand naturally taking your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life. Ghost didn’t even realize that he did it at first. And before he knew it, he was going in for a kiss, unable to resist those pretty lips of yours for a moment longer. 

Your cheeks began to burn as he kissed you so suddenly, yet you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. Something was pulling you deeper into him. A passion that was always there from the beginning. Hate or love, you have always been passionate about Ghost. Maybe that was why you truly hated him in the first place. 

Ghost couldn’t stop himself, deepening the kiss with each second that passed, reveling in how sweet you tasted on his lips. He’s been obsessed with you since the beginning. A fire within him had always burned for you. He just wished he realized that it was actually love much sooner. Perhaps if he did, you really would’ve been Mrs. Riley tonight. 

All the things he hated about you before were things he loved about you now. Your soft lips, your silky hair, your amazing intellect. All of the things that he could never match. You were better than him. However, he didn’t care anymore. He actually appreciated it now. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I really am.” He whispered as he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. You felt his firm muscles against you so much better now than before, the shirt he was wearing leaving little to the imagination with how fitted it was. 

It honestly turned you on. 

You took the initiative to reconnect your lips, your mouth opening to invite his tongue. Nerves fired off in every inch of your skin as his slick tongue met yours. Your toes curled as he felt you up, groping your thighs and waist like they would disappear any moment. His hands felt so good on you that you shivered, yearning for more. 

Things were getting out of control, but Ghost didn’t care. Tonight, he wanted you more than he has ever wanted anything from you. To appreciate all the things he was too stupid to notice before. You were sexy beyond belief. Always have been. When you were working over your desk with such a focused look, when you were gloating about your new invention, when you demonstrated a new gun so naturally in perfect stance. 

His pants tightened as his erection grew strong with each taste of your tongue. His hands roamed into your hair, gripping slightly to pull you closer. The both of you moaned when you ended up grinding against his hard cock. Once you got a taste for that, you couldn’t stop. Your hips grinded into his, sending earthquakes of pleasure through you. You could feel your panties get damper each minute as the makeout became even hotter and heavier. It wasn’t helping that it has been a while since the last time you had sex. It made you feel more sensitive than usual.

Finally, Ghost flipped you around and settled you back on the bed. He has never been so turned on in his life and you were the one doing this to him. 

There was something he needed to make clear first, though.

“I’m going to make you cum.” He promised, flashing you a determined look that had you weak. 

You blushed and averted your gaze, your voice low. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll do it. No matter how long it takes. I’m going to be the first man to make you cum tonight.” He reassured, gladly ignoring your warnings as he leaned down to kiss your lips again. As he took control of your tongue, his hands began to explore your skin under the shirt. You were unbelievably soft under his fingertips, delicate from your lack of experience on a battlefield. He now loved that about you. You didn’t need to be in the throws of battle to be part of the team. 

“You’re so soft, you know that?” He praised, deep rumbles of his voice making your brain turn into mush as it entered your ears. His kisses traveled to them, making you shiver uncontrollably as he softly bit down. 

He chuckled, a sound that was once always reserved for his male teammates unless he was making fun of you. Now, they teased you so pleasantly that your breath hitched. “Someone’s ears are sensitive. You like having them played with?”

Just as you were about to answer, he slid his hand up to touch your breasts, pinching your nipples and making you jump. “Ahh~! Ghost!”

“Call me Simon.” He demanded, yearning for the sound of his real name coming from you. It would be the first time you would call him by his real name. 

You played with it in your head, noting how foreign it felt just sitting on your tongue. Nonetheless, you gave him what he wanted. “S-Simon. . .”

“Again.” He encouraged, suppressing a shiver that traveled down his spine. It was like getting a dose of the sweetest drug. Fireworks exploding in his chest. He loved how his name sounded on your lips. 

“Simon. . .” You sighed as he peppered kisses all over your neck. Your cami was now raised up to reveal your chest, kisses traveling further and further down to taste all of you. As much as Simon wanted to fuck you already right then and there, he had a promise to keep. He had to take it slow and let it build up. He had to make you cum first.

He took a stiff nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around before taking it between his teeth in a gentle bite. His other hand twisted your other nub between his fingers. The way he tweaked them hard sent waves of pleasure through you, all the way down to your cunt that was still soaking your panties. It felt so good to have him touch you like this. You wanted more. 

Arching your back, you took your top off completely. Simon followed suit, stripping off his shirt and trailing his kisses down your stomach. As he felt your stomach on his lips, he buried his face deep into it. To think that he could’ve had this so much sooner if he was just nice to you from the beginning. “So soft. . .”

You squirmed a little under his slow, deep kisses to your body. No one has ever taken this much time on you before. All foreplay was pretty exclusive to your breasts or cunt with your previous partners. Simon was taking the time to appreciate your whole body. It felt so intimate. “Simon. . ?”

God, he loved it when you said his name. “Y/n?”

You were starting to like the sound of your name coming from him too. A blush swept across your cheeks. “You can be a little rougher.”

He smirked, this time making you tremble in excitement rather than rage. “Is that what you like? You like it a little rough?”

“I like the firmer sensation. Nothing too crazy.” You elaborated, always one to speak your mind even in a moment like this. If you were going to have sex with Simon Riley, if he wanted to make you cum, information like this was important.

Simon hummed against your skin, his hands working to pull off your pants. The vibrations made you sigh. Once your shorts and panties were off, he settled himself between your legs. Your dripping cunt was such a pretty sight. Pink, wet, and sweet. He bit the inside of your thigh, making you gasp in pleasure. “Like that? Is this what your previous partners did to you?” 

“N-No. . .” You admitted. Your previous partners never really listened to what you liked even if you told them straight-forwardly. At least not enough to get you to tremble like Simon did. It seemed like the man you hated before was really the best so far in bed. 

“Good. Their loss.” He murmured, biting down on your thighs soon after and leaving a deep love-bite. You bit your lower lip and whimpered, the sensation sending shockwaves. Simon kept going further and further down on you, relishing each time you moaned and quivered. He wanted more. He wanted to make you scream.

His lips latched onto your swollen clit, biting it between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. He tasted your nectar on his tongue, a taste that instantly made him addicted to it. You arched your back and grabbed his hair suddenly, silky soft strands feeling nice between your fingers. 

Just like he wanted, you moaned his name over and over again. His tongue kept lathering your clit firmly and with even strokes. Fingers prodded at your opening, spreading your wetness all over you until he was able to put two of his fingers inside. God, you were tight. 

“Ahh~! Right there, Simon!” You encouraged, your ability to speak your mind unwavering. Simone found that insanely attractive as he pushed his fingers in further and curled right at that spongy spot that was driving you crazy. His teeth pulled at your folds before being soothed with his tongue. Your clit twitched as he pressed his tongue up against it once more, all the while pumping his fingers into your soaked pussy. 

Your grip on his hair got tighter as he kept pushing you to the edge. The sensation made his own cock twitch under his clothes, making him press it up against the mattress to grind into. He wished it was your pussy he was grinding into already, but you were so close. He could feel it. You could feel it. 

He didn’t stop his pace. Strong, even, and slow. You tightened around his fingers each second, feeling the wave approach closer and closer. You could already tell that this was going to be a big one. Your first orgasm with a partner ever. 

Tilting your head back, you moaned louder and louder. You begged for more and more, praying to a god that Simon wasn’t just going to leave you hanging. Now that would be pure evil. The worst thing he could ever do to you. But he didn’t. He just kept nipping, sucking, biting, and licking to the point that your head was spinning. 

Before you could warn him, your vision saw white and you screamed. Simon could feel you suck in his fingers so tight that he smiled as he still landed kisses on your clit. Your legs trembled, aching to close or kick out the electricity that coarse through you. Your cum was spilling everywhere. All over his fingers down to his wrist, coating your thighs in a sweet glaze. 

While you tried to catch your breath, Simon licked up every drop. “How was that? Everything you thought it would be?

You looked down to see his eyes ablaze with victory and a sexy smirk on his lips. You sighed and nodded. “Credit where credit is due. That was really good.”

“Good. Because you’re not done yet.” He decided, already stripping off his pajama pants to reveal his rock hard erection. He was bigger than you expected, all that shit talk for two years making you believe that he was making up for something. But he was blessed with the girth, the length, and the look that you knew would be amazing.

He positioned himself between your legs, coating his length with your slick. Shivers started again as the tip rubbed against your clit. The both of you sighed, enjoying each other’s bodies to the fullest extent.

Suddenly, Simon pushed all of his cock into you, bottoming out within a second. You gripped the sheets tight in your fist as you cried out. He stretched you out so pleasurably, so fully. You’ve never felt so full in your sex life. 

Simon hissed as you clenched around him. “Fucking hell, you’re so tight. . .”

Slowly, he began to move. Long even strokes that rubbed every inch of you and him. As he looked down at you, face twisting into such a pleasurable expression, eyes only on him, he heard his heart beat in his ears. God damn, you were gorgeous. 

Your eyes widened as he came down for a kiss, his tongue taking full control while his hips remained steady. The sudden rush of the kiss and his cock reaching deeper made you scratch at his shoulders. He was eating up all of your moans like candy. 

“F-Fuck~! Simon, wait!” You begged, the sensation getting overwhelming with each deep thrust. He could feel you getting tighter. Wetter. He knew that you were getting close to another orgasm, and he wasn’t going to stop for a second.

He sat up and pushed your legs down by your thighs, spreading you wide open and making you take all of him as deep as you can. You clawed his hands as your climax approached even faster, Simon ignoring all of your cries for him to wait. The sounds of your wet sex echoed in the room along with your sensual moans, causing you to get even more aroused. Christ, his cock was so good!

You were plunged into an orgasm, your whole body quaking as you arched and screamed it out. Simon felt your pussy wrap tightly around him, trying to take everything from him before he was ready. It was dizzying how good your insides felt coiling around him. He loved how you soaked his dick and crotch full with your hot cum. 

Simon grabbed your thighs tight, squeezing hard and clenching his teeth while he tried to stop himself from climaxing too soon. He wanted to stretch this night out for as long as he could.

While you settled down from your second orgasm, you gazed up at Simon who was struggling to keep himself together. You lifted your arms and touched his strong, muscular chest that was shimmering in sweat. You could feel how hard his heart was beating under your fingertips. You could feel him twitch hard inside you, aching to fuck you again. Your body was weak, though. You didn’t know if you could last for much longer. Every nerve in your body felt like it was melting. “Si-”

“I know. Your body won’t stop shaking. Just until I cum, yeah?” He observed, fingers tracing your trembling curves.

At the idea of Simon cumming, your body regained new energy that you didn’t know you had. You wanted to see it. Feel it. You wanted to see your lieutenant crumble from the power of your body. “Fuck me then, Simon.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. His hips went into overdrive, thrusting in and out of you with ease from all of your slick. You felt him hit that wonderful spot of yours that made you see stars over and over again, your body already on the edge once again. 

Simon picked you up off the bed and turned, settling you on his lap while he laid back. He didn’t relinquish any control, however. He just wanted to grope your delicious ass while he thrusted up inside you, hitting nice and deep. With the new view and new places to touch, he was losing his mind. 

You weren’t expecting this new position, but you didn’t reject it either. In fact, it felt heavenly. He hit that g-spot at just the right angle and you loved how he manhandled your butt so roughly. You liked how his eyes never looked away from your body, drinking it all in like the finest wine. From this position, you could feel his solid cock twitch inside of you.

Struggling yourself up, limbs feeling like jelly, you fell onto his chest, your tits pressing firmly into him. That sent him over the edge, his grip on your ass making his nails dig into your skin. Once you felt that first rope of cum enter you, you came for the last time.

Hot cum mixed together, making a mess out of the both of you. His chest fell and rose with heavy breaths, groans coming out with each rope he couldn’t hold back. Your tightening pussy wasn’t helping, milking him of everything to the point where he even felt tingles travel through him. Once he was finally done, he felt exhausted. 

You were exhausted too, your lungs struggling to regulate air flow. Your heart was beating so loud that it drained all other noises. Your body felt slightly numb from it all, your head getting fuzzy with each second. Simon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you both calmed yourselves. 

“That was. . .” He began, losing the right words to describe just how amazing that was. He’s had his fair share of sexual encounters, but never like this. No one could quite compare to you.

“Yeah. . .” You agreed, your eyes closing as you felt the afterglow take over. You felt the covers pull up over you, Simon still holding you on top of him, not willing to let go just yet. 

He could never imagine letting you go now. 

[zee-rambles]

Almost all of my favorite shows (Rise, Dark Crystal, Inside Job, Infinity Train) were cancelled…BY NETWORKS! Not by writers! Heck! The writers WANTED TO KEEP GOING! To keep making their characters, their art, and their stories told.

Writers are not the problem. Artists are not the problem. They almost never are! Corporations are the problem. Execs are the problem. So many great shows get sabotaged by their own studio (I.E. Rise of the TMNT) and then the studio turns around and acts as though it was the lack of fan engagement. It’s why I tend to watch shows that were made years in the past. They created the problem and now they’re scapegoating writers.

If studios gave up on every show that had a lackluster first season that didn’t pull in the numbers…we wouldn’t have had classics like the Office, OR Parks and Recreation, OR Brooklyn 99. It took a while for those shows to get good.

Writers WANT to create! It’s the studios/corporations that are the problem. It’s A.I. art that is the problem!

Reward writers! Reward artists! Support them! Not the big company’s that don’t respect them!

And don’t ever give up the fight for what you want!

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Meeting The Real You (Chapter 11)

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

AO3 story link

word count: 19,900

_______________________________

“Still no luck figuring out what’s been eating at the kid, huh?”

Tony Stark stood in front of the mirror in the lavish master bathroom on the 96th floor, staring at his reflection while drowsily brushing his teeth. It was barely 6:30 in the morning, and Pepper had already gotten up, dressed, and left for work that day, whispering something about an early meeting with the recipients of a university grant they were sponsoring before kissing him on the cheek and hurrying out the door. He loved how committed she was to their company and her job; no one did more for the new mission of Stark Industries than she did. He just wished it didn’t mean waking up in an empty bed more monings than not. 

FRIDAY took an unusually long time to respond to his question. “Actually…” she said, a strange hesitancy in her Irish-accented voice. “I’m fairly certain I have figured out what’s been increasing his stress levels as of late. I’ve had a theory about its origin for about three days now.”

Stark spat into the sink and wiped his face with a scowl. “Three days? FRIDAY—did I or did I not ask you to report back to me as soon as you found out what was going on with him?”

“You did,” FRIDAY confirmed reluctantly. “However, I concluded that the information I discovered was, to my understanding…uniquely sensitive. It’s not the kind of thing I feel comfortable just telling you outright.”

Tony scoffed, towel-drying his hair. “What has gotten into you lately? Has Pete been messing with your programming or something? I know I designed you to be as opinionated and bullheaded as myself, but this is getting a little out of hand—borderline mutinous.” 

Stark’s creations had a lot of things in common with their creator: such as liking Peter more than Tony and frequently letting the kid’s desires outweigh their better judgment. The Avenger stole a glob of Pepper’s wildly expensive under eye cream and dabbed a little on the planes of his face where the lines were the most prominent; where they were beginning to look a tad deeper and darker than he remembered. “You do know I could just search through your logs and find out the truth for myself.”

“You could,” FRIDAY agreed. “But I believe you have more class than that. This is something you should ask Peter about in person, and only know if he feels comfortable enough to disclose it to you.”

Tony paused, considering the possibility that maybe he didn’t want to know what FRIDAY knew about the kid with the way she was being so cryptic about it. “Is he…in danger in any way?” he asked uneasily.

“No. I wouldn’t say so.”

“Does he have, like—a weird health thing he needs to go to a professional about?”

“No.”

“Does his aunt know about whatever this is?”

The A.I. was silent for a moment. “No. Not entirely, anyway.”

“Does she need to know about it entirely?”

“Not right now. But eventually, yes.”

Stark puffed out his cheeks in frustration. “Could you at least give me a hint about what I’m dealing with here? Teenage superhero babysitting is an art I’m still learning to navigate, and not something I ever imagined myself being implicated in prior to that pantyhose-wearing spider-baby web-swinging his way into my life.” He smoothed some gel into his salt and pepper locks. “Just tell me as much as May knows. I need some context to understand what the hell I should even be asking him about.”

FRIDAY considered this. “Very well,” she conceded. “The thing I believe is worrying him so much is that he’s developed a crush on someone.”

Immediately, the billionaire perked up. “Really?” he said. “A crush? That’s what all this angst and drama has been about? The way you were talking about it, I thought he might be purchasing strippers with my credit card, or—I don’t know. Shooting heroin?”

“He’s sixteen, boss. Having a crush is one of the most angsty and dramatic things sixteen-year-olds go through.” She paused. “Well. Normal sixteen-year-olds, anyway.”

“Right.” Which Peter was anything but. Still, it was nice to know Pete wasn’t so far removed from kids his age that he wasn’t going through the same formative experiences teenagers were supposed to have. Stark studied himself in the mirror, teasing his facial hair into a more stylish shape. “Well then. This is certainly an exciting development. Who’s the kiddo crushing on? Anybody I know?”

“I’m afraid that’s all the information I can give you,” the A.I. stated firmly. Tony let out a long sigh. 

“Very well.” He slipped on a sports coat over his T-shirt and dabbed his wrists with a splash of Cairon Poivre. “Where’s the little lovebird now? Is it a good time for me to approach him about this? Should I even approach him about this? What do I say to him? Chill the fuck out? Make a move? Back off? What’s the end goal here? Am I even qualified to be giving him advice on this sort of thing?” 

Whether either of them liked it or not, Tony Stark was, at present, the closest thing Peter had to a father figure. That didn’t mean he was any good at it—especially when it came to situations and subjects the two of them had yet to broach. Tony had jokingly questioned Peter about his romantic life in the past, shooting the breeze while the pair tinkered away the hours in his lab, but the kid had always brushed him off, timidly insisting he had zero time for that sort of thing. 

Stark wondered what had changed since then. Who was it the kid found so darn dreamy, his shy little heart had no choice but to break its hiatus and worry itself sick with incessant teenage pining?

“It’s not even seven yet, boss,” FRIDAY said amusedly. “Peter is still asleep.”

Tony deflated with a slow breath out. “Oh. Right.”

“But I’ll let you know when he’s awake and ready for company,” she continued. “If you do decide to talk to him, I wouldn’t press him too hard for details or inundate him with advice. What I think Peter needs most right now is just…” the A.I. hummed thoughtfully. “A little encouragement. You know—support and reassurance from someone he admires and trusts.”

Stark cracked a smile. “So we’re in favor of Pete’s mystery crush, then? We want them to end up together? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” FRIDAY admitted. “I already know for certain that the person he likes likes him back.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “FRIDAY! You conniving little fiend! Just how much of your compute power are you funneling towards playing matchmaker with my intern?”

The A.I. ran a few rapid calculations in silence. “No comment,” she answered shrewdly. 

Chuckling, Stark strode out of the bathroom into he and Pepper’s bedroom. “Well, ping me when the kid’s conscious and available. I’m eager to play my part in your Machiavellian plot to win Pete a hot date.” After lacing up his shoes, Tony stood and scratched his beard. “Speaking of, is May up yet? I’d be interested in getting her perspective on all of this.”

“How should I know? I don’t monitor the sleep schedules of people outside this tower. That’d be creepy.”

The Avenger rolled his eyes. “I didn’t—whatever. I’ll just call her.” Stark pulled out his phone and tapped Mrs. Parker’s contact photo, which was 3rd from the top on his speed dial list. Only Pepper and Happy eclipsed her in priority. He was pleasantly surprised when she picked up.

“Good morning, May. Sorry for calling you so early. Yes, Pete’s fine. I took his stitches out yesterday. With the speed his body heals, he’ll probably come out the other side of this without so much as a scar.”

Tony stepped out of the bedroom into the rotunda with a monstrous yawn, his sights set on the 98th story’s commercial grade espresso machine. 

“So, quick question. Has Peter mentioned anything to you about having a crush on someone…?”

_______________________________

Sleep took its time prying its claws from Peter’s mind. He woke slowly, hazily, vision shifting in and out of focus, thoughts struggling to take shape. Something heavy and warm was laying on top of him. It felt like some kind of weighted blanket with a built-in heater. He was so cozy and comfortable, it was hard to convince his brain to come to. 

What finally dragged his stubborn body to consciousness was the sour taste in his mouth. He must’ve fallen asleep without brushing his teeth. Now that he mentioned it, Peter couldn’t remember putting himself to bed last night. As he ran his tacky tongue over his incisors, realizing the room around him was not, in fact, his bedroom, Peter reached up to rub his eyes but hit hard glass instead. Still wearing my mask, his brain recognized sluggishly. Great. His worst breakouts always happened after falling asleep with it on. He must’ve passed out on the couch by accident while binging Love Island with Johnny Storm. 

Peter stiffened. His attention returned to that warm weight lying on top of him from his chest all the way down to his feet (which also had his left arm pinned against the sofa cushions). He craned his neck to find a head-full of strawberry blonde hair resting against his sternum and two muscular arms wrapped snugly around his waist, hugging his midsection like a giant teddy bear. 

The vigilante’s blood went red-hot beneath his skin. Suddenly, he was wide awake. Johnny had his whole self draped across Peter’s narrow frame and was spooning him like a Spidey-sized body pillow. Peter had no idea how the two of them had wound up in this position—or whether this was something Johnny had done on purpose, or by accident. Did he intentionally cuddle up to him like this sometime in the night? Or was it normal for him to wake up with all his limbs coiled unknowingly around the closest object in his proximity? The sleeping celebrity’s heartbeat thumped a lazy rhythm against his own—which was upping its pace faster and faster by the second. 

He was just…so pretty. Golden shafts of particle-flecked light speared through Johnny’s hair from the tall, shuttered windows, gilding every strand in resplendent halos. His near-invisible eyelashes glowed like dove feathers at the break of dawn. Tiny, perfect freckles flecked his tranquil face, adorning his nose, his eyelids, his lips, his chin—even the delicate shells of both of his ears. He looked like a painting come to life, a poem in flesh and blood, a sacred hymn of rose-flushed cheeks and angel-soft skin. Peter swooned at the thought of running his fingers through that ruffled wave of sun-kissed locks, but didn’t dare touch him while he slept. That would be wrong. Especially since he still hadn’t mastered the courage to confess his feelings to him yet. Until he had the balls to do that much, Peter didn’t deserve to even think about things like that. 

Unfortunately, it was hard for Peter to think about much else while the beautiful superhero snoozed peacefully on top of him, arms wound tight to his torso, breaths slow and soft. It was also difficult for Peter to, y’know—move without potentially disturbing him. Spider-Man gazed around the room as much as his limited range of motion allowed, sudden nervousness gripping him at the thought of being discovered in his current state. How the hell would he explain this? He spotted his phone on the ground a few feet away from the couch and managed to angle his wrist towards it, firing a line of spider’s silk at the device and whipping it into his free hand. The battery was nearly dead since he hadn’t charged it overnight, but he could use up what little juice remained while he figured out what to do about the warm lump of teenager he was presently trapped under. 

Johnny had somehow gotten both the spit take video and the prank video edited and posted before daybreak. According to the time stamps, both videos were published on all his social media platforms between 4 and 5am. He hadn’t posted any of the footage of when Johnny had interrogated Peter as they were cleaning up the lab just yet, but churning the other two videos out that fast was a miracle in itself. 

No wonder the Human Torch was sprawled across him, practically comatose. Peter doubted he’d slept more than a few hours last night. Maybe Spider-Man really was a bad influence on him—at least, on his normally methodic sleep schedule. 

The videos—embarrassing as they were—were entertaining enough and very well edited. Johnny certainly had a gift for comedic timing: punching in on each of their faces every time one of them spat water across the room, adding in silly little audio bites of popular sound effects to punctuate different moments, replaying their teammates getting shot with glitter paint over and over again in slow motion. Peter found himself stifling a giggle every now and then as he let the videos run, making sure to keep the sound on the lowest setting. 

Near the end of the spit take video, Peter opened up the comments to avoid having to watch himself be shoved against the wall by the Human Torch, blood rushing to his cheeks. But when he started scrolling through what people had been writing on the post, the heat in his face blazed tenfold. 

so…johnny’s 100% into spider-man. is anyone else getting that vibe or…?

The way Spider-Man is making Johnny giggle SO much im?? 😭 Losing my mind??

do you think spiderman knows how badly johnny wants him 

✨THEY’RE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR✨

Oh they’ve explored each others bodies for sure

i did not have “shipping spider-man and johnny storm” on my bingo card for this year, but here we are 💁🏽‍♀️

I wonder if johnny knows who spidey is?? He has to know right?

this video alone may or may not have turned me from a spidey hater to a fan

God i hope spiderman isn’t too old to date johnny cuz they’d be SO cute together

The way he pinned him to the wall 😳 screaming crying throwing up

oh i knowww spidey is blushingggg behind that mask fr 

my god just KISS ALREADY

Before he could stress-read a single more line, the screen winked to black before his eyes. His phone had officially died. Slowly, Peter’s arm fell limp at his side, the device slipping from his fingers onto the floor, heart on a pendulum as he gaped at the ceiling. 

Okay…don’t panic, he told himself, panicking. On one hand, it was great to have his suspicions of Johnny’s feelings for him validated. Even if Johnny’s fans were being…a bit too enthusiastic about it (to an arguably feral and inappropriate degree), at least they were picking up on all the same signs Peter was. 

Peter was not, however, in any way ready for the world to know about Spider-Man’s sexual identity. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. The fact that people were openly discussing it and debating it before he’d even had a full week to digest it himself set his teeth on his edge and his skin crawling. Eventually, of course, Peter did plan to come out to those closest to him—but on his own terms, on his own time table, as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, and only to the individuals in his life he deemed worthy of knowing. No one else. 

Johnny Storm deserved the same. Even if he was queer, and did perhaps exhibit more obvious indicators of that fact than Spider-Man did, that shouldn’t mean everyone gets free rein to make invasive comments and assumptions about his private life. As far as Peter was aware, Johnny had never disclosed his sexual orientation to the public, nor should he have to if that’s not what he wanted. Despite Johnny’s rather laissez-faire approach to how accessible he was to his fans, Peter felt protective of his right to privacy. 

It took Peter a few minutes of stewing to conclude it wasn’t necessarily people making assumptions about his and Johnny’s relationship that rubbed him the wrong way. People made far worse assumptions about him all the time. What bothered him was that the assumptions being made about him now were true—or rather, dangerously close to the truth. He knew working on his image with Johnny would mean revealing more of his real self to the public. He just didn’t expect the public to tear through his defenses so fast, ripping open his cloistered heart for all to see. 

In exchange for their trust and support, Peter was game to share pieces of himself with the people and world he was sworn to protect. But not this. Anything but this. Spider-Man’s crush on Johnny was never supposed to be part of this transaction. For now, that was between him and the Human Torch. Even if it seemed like most people were saying Johnny was the one with the crush, not Spider-Man, he still felt exposed, like a politician splitting their pants on live television. 

Peter took a moment to breathe. People do this to celebrities all the time, he reminded himself. Anyone they’re seen hanging out with for more than five minutes is automatically assumed to be their latest fling. And it wasn’t like everyone on the internet was drawing the same conclusions the fans on that post were. That was a very small, chronically-online faction of the public. They were probably the same nutjobs over-analyzing any and all interviews the Avengers did, insisting that every fleeting glance Natasha Romanoff shared with Hawkeye absolutely meant they were sleeping together, or the way Stark bumped shoulders with Dr. Banner whenever they stood side-by-side proved they were engaged in a sloppy secret romance. According to those people, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes weren’t just a group of highly skilled individuals dedicated to public service, but also a bunch of sex addicts in one big polyamorous super orgy.

Peter made a face at the unsightly image that train of thought had led him to. Point is, you’re fine, he told himself, letting his eyes slip shut behind his mask. Only when the Daily Bugle starts posting puff pieces about you and Johnny potentially being a thing are you allowed to freak out. For now, the general public isn’t going to see you two as anything other than friends.

Besides. None of this would really matter, anyway. Not until he cut the bullshit and finally told the Human Torch how he felt about him. Not until he learned what Spider-Man truly meant to the teenage heartthrob. Not until Johnny confirmed he liked him in the way Peter and all those crackpot commentators hoped. Not until Peter knew for sure if there was any chance of them pursuing something beyond a friendship.

A small grunt came from Johnny as the sleepy hero shifted positions, his head still resting on Peter’s chest but his arms loosening their grip on Peter’s torso. Peter scanned the room again with an anxious sweep of his gaze. One thing was for certain: Spider-Man would never escape the allegations circling their relationship if he was caught with Johnny Storm cuddling him like a baby koala. Plus, his left arm was starting to go numb. As much as he’d love to lie here, swaddled in the soporific tincture of Johnny’s supernatural warmth and dangerously sweet scent, Spider-Man needed to get up. 

It took all of Peter’s superhuman strength, flexibility, and stealth to maneuver himself out from under Johnny without jostling the celebrity awake. Johnny twitched and murmured as Peter lifted his weight off his chest then gently lowered the teen back onto the couch, but thankfully, never fully stirred. Once he was splayed across the plush cushions sans his cuddle buddy, the Human Torch curled into a ball and resumed his quiet snoring. 

Exhaling in relief, Peter leveled a smile upon Johnny’s delicate, slumbering form. He readjusted the blanket so it was covering the sleepy hero’s feet, then tip-toed into the kitchen, shaking out the pins and needles tingling across his left arm. 

How do we wanna do this? Peter asked himself, leaning over the sink with his back to the Human Torch. Should I go old-fashioned, buy him some flowers and a box of chocolates? Is that something people normally do? Or just on Valentine’s Day? Would it be too much? Too little? Do boys even do things like that for each other? Either way, Johnny’s tastes were probably out of his price range, anyhow. He doubted a wilted bouquet from that crabby vendor on 23rd Street paired with drug store chocolate dipped in lead poisoning and child slavery would impress him. 

Peter shot a glance over his shoulder to double check that the celebrity was still sleeping, then slipped the Spider-Man mask off his face, grateful there wasn’t a mirror around to show him just how bedraggled he looked. He laid the mask on the counter to his right and flipped the sink faucet on, cupping his hands beneath the icy stream. 

Okay, no flowers, he decided defeatedly. He splashed his face with cold water, scrubbing his hands over his eyes and forehead. Maybe no gifts at all. You didn’t do any gifts for Liz—you just came right out and said it. “I like you.” And hey, that worked out just fine. Minus her dad trying to bury you under a building and tear you limb-from-limb and all. Why can’t you do the same thing now? Why is this so much harder and scarier?

Johnny’s sister coming after him with a bloodlust equal to the Vulture’s wasn’t the thing holding him back—despite that being a very real possibility. What all of it really boiled down to, Peter couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was a whole interconnected, messy web of things. Cowardice and insecurity, embarrassment and uncertainty—perhaps even a smidge of internalized homophobia, which only made him more ashamed and self-conscious about it all. Peter sipped from the faucet, sloshed the water around in his mouth for a bit, then spat. It wasn’t enough to wash the acrid taste from his tongue. 

You just gotta do it, he told himself, glaring at the water trickling down the drain. You just gotta say it. Come on, Peter. Come on, Spider-Man. Quit being such a little bitch. All it takes is three words. Three little words. Just walk up to him, look him in the eye, open that big, dumb mouth of yours, and say—

“Your hair’s curly.”

Peter’s body went rigid, spine pin-straight. His fingers clamped around the lip of the sink as an exaggerated yawn sounded from behind him. 

“It’s pretty,” Johnny continued, voice slurred with drowsiness. “I haven’t seen it ‘til now.”

Stiff as a board, Peter groped blindly for his mask, not daring to move his head an inch. It took his hand a few frantic passes to come in contact with the familiar fabric. He snatched the mask off the counter and immediately pulled it over his face, relief splintering through him once it was back in place. Spider-Man forced his muscles to soften, then turned towards his friend.

“Sorry, I was—I, er…thought you were still asleep.” The words tumbled out of him in a stuttery, pathetic tangle, making his cheeks burn against the inside of his mask. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, leaned against the counter, then stood back upright, fists taut at his sides, suddenly forgetting how to stand normally.

Johnny laid exactly where he’d left him: bundled beneath the blanket like a strawberry-blonde cherub, curled against the backrest of the crushed velvet sofa, except now his eyes were open. Exhaustion weighed on his features as he blinked at him slowly. 

“I didn’t see your face, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Johnny reassured him groggily. “And I doubt I could figure out who you are just from seeing the back of your head. I’m not that smart.”

Peter's shoulders relaxed a little. He was grateful Johnny hadn’t pressed the subject of his secret identity much since they’d become friends. Part of him wondered if it was because he understood how much it meant to Peter to keep his superhero life separate from his civilian life. Another part of him wondered if it was because Johnny preferred not knowing what he looked like. Perhaps the Human Torch only tolerated his presence because of the unique mystery and intrigue his mask imbued him with. With his appearance hidden, Johnny could imagine Spidey as whoever or whatever he most desired. A model, a movie star, a prince, a god—someone so perfect and elegant, lambent with beauty devastating enough to finally match his own, Peter Parker could never measure up. Once Spider-Man’s true face was revealed, Johnny would see him for who he really was: another boring, unremarkable nobody, indistinguishable from the millions of others who fawned over the celebrity heartthrob 24/7. A bland-looking loser unworthy of wasting another second of his time. 

“Did both of us fall asleep out here last night?” Johnny asked, kneading his knuckles into his eyes. “Ugh. That’s not like me at all. I have a very strict bedtime routine I normally can’t sleep without.”

A shrewd smile tugged at Peter’s lips. “Does part of that routine involve some kind of toy or pillow you wrap your entire body around and half-strangle all night?” Just because he was being sucked out to sea by his dull appearance and crippling self-loathing didn’t mean Johnny had to know about it. 

Johnny lifted his gaze to Peter’s, a touch of scarlet blooming in his cheeks, riveting Peter’s heart with spellbinding affection. “How do you know about that?” he asked, baffled. Then he scowled at the couch. “Wait…” A couple seconds passed, and his eyes widened, a tiny plume of smoke billowing off his scalp. “Oh my god. Did I…?” 

“Use me as your own personal body pillow last night?” Peter finished for him with a laugh. “Yeah. Pretty much. At least while you were actually sleeping, rather than editing TikTok videos until 5 in the morning.”

The Human Torch’s blush darkened in unison with the smoke spilling from the top of his head. The celebrity let out an incredulous groan, clamping a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he giggled helplessly. “You should’ve woken me up or shoved me off. Unconscious me is very clingy for some reason. It’s why I always sleep with my Puffy.”

Peter fought back a snort. “Your…Puffy?” he repeated back, monumentally intrigued. Johnny sighed, freckled skin tinted pink in the soft, spooling sunshine.

“Yes, my Puffy. I named him when I was four, so you can shut the fuck up about it.”

Peter’s grin stretched so wide it hurt. “And who or what, might I ask, is this so-called ‘Puffy��?” Out of the hours and hours of endless Johnny Storm content Peter had consumed online, he’d never heard anything about this.

Johnny wrapped the blanket around his head to smother the smoke still rising from his hair, transforming himself into a grouchy, sleep-deprived babushka. “If you must know,” he grumbled, holding his chin high with his arms crossed against his chest, “Puffy is a stuffed toy in the shape of an airplane that Sue crocheted for me when I was a kid. He was Sue’s gift to me for my fourth birthday, and I’ve had him ever since.”

Peter busted into a laugh before he could stop himself. “Really? An airplane? That’s ridiculously cute, but—why an airplane?”

“Because I like airplanes!” Johnny snapped defensively. “I’ve always liked airplanes! I’ve been studying aircraft models since before I could read! It’s why I went and got my pilot’s license the moment I turned sixteen, and why Sue and Reed actually trusted me to be Ben’s co-pilot for our space mission despite my age. If there’s one thing I’m a bigger nerd for than you are, it’s operating complex machines built for precision and speed.”

Peter had to remind himself that beyond being ridiculously hot, rich, powerful, and famous, Johnny Storm was also an accomplished auto mechanic and teen prodigy in both stratospheric jet piloting and space flight. Johnny had briefly discussed his background with cars and planes to the press in the past, but hadn’t spoken a word about it to Peter until now, which was unusually modest of him. The fact remained that he was a genius in ways Peter never would be—cooler, dreamier, more romantic ways. Spider-Man blinked at Johnny, startled by how much more attractive he suddenly found him.

“Sometimes I forget beneath all that hyaluronic acid and vitamin c serum and organic hair mousse, you’re actually, like—super smart,” Peter mused. “I mean, building cars and flying spaceships? Those are some pretty remarkable accomplishments if you ask me. I can’t believe I’m suggesting you brag about yourself even more than you already do, but…I feel like you don’t talk about that side of Johnny Storm as much as everything else.” 

Johnny frowned, worrying the edge of the blanket between his fingers. “None of it really measures up to what my sister has achieved with her freakish science brain,” he explained quietly. “Fans and media outlets already get their genius Storm fix from Sue, so they come to me for other stuff. Music videos and fashion shows and modeling and skincare hacks.” He shrugged. “Which I get. Gotta avoid redundancy. And it’s best to play into our biggest strengths for the sake of the team’s brand.” The Human Torch gnawed his inner lip. “Besides…after what happened with the space mission, I don’t like talking about that stuff anyway.”

Peter studied Johnny’s troubled expression bemusedly. Have I finally found it? he thought to himself. Something Johnny Storm might actually be insecure about? His first instinct was to poke fun at him for it, but the remorseful look on Johnny’s face made Peter rethink his approach. He returned to Johnny’s side, plopping next to him on the couch. 

“Why? What does that have to do with your cars and planes expertise?”

“Because it was my first time piloting a real spacecraft out of earth’s atmosphere, and I totally blew it,” he said, unable to meet Peter’s gaze. “While Ben was placing the sample collectors on the outside of the spaceship, I was in charge of piloting the craft until he returned. It was a routine procedure he and I had practiced a hundred times together. I did everything perfectly every time except the one day it actually mattered. When the alarms started blaring and I saw the dust cloud barreling towards our shuttle, I panicked.”

Peter recognized the dark haze muddying Johnny’s eyes. He’d seen eyes heavy with those same bitter storm clouds stare back at himself in the months following the murder of his uncle. They were the eyes of someone who knew they could’ve done more, but hadn’t. The eyes of someone plagued by a single moment in their past that was still hollowing them out with guilt and regret to this day. Eyes that would carry the weight of their owner's failure for the rest of their lives. 

“I turned the ship when I should’ve just held steady. The movement threw off Ben’s course as he was making his approach back to the entry hatch. It took him an extra seven seconds to get back on board, which meant there wasn’t enough time to close the blast doors before the space dust hit. If I’d just kept our goddamn position like I was supposed to, maybe we all could’ve escaped the mission unscathed.” He shut his eyes, hanging his head low. “I did exactly what everyone feared I would do. I fucked everything up.”  

Tears started slipping down Johnny Storm’s cheeks. Despite Peter’s increased exposure to it, the Human Torch’s tumultuous emotional state continued to both rattle and amuse him. The way he could flip from warm to teasing to embarrassed to tearful within minutes was a bit disorienting, yet painfully endearing. 

“Johnny…” Peter said through a halfhearted smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. We talked about this. You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened that day. The whole thing was one seriously insane accident. And even if the cosmic radiation hitting everyone was partially your fault, you’re all superheroes now because of it.” He brushed his fingers along Johnny’s back in gentle, hesitant circles. “Why are you still beating yourself up about this?”

“Because Ben got turned into a freak because of me,” Johnny snapped, swiping his palms under his red-rimmed eyes. “His wife left him, took full custody of their kids, and refuses to let him see them. He lost everything because of what that radiation did to him, and I know he blames me for it.”

His words poked holes in Peter’s heart like tiny, colorful push pins. Ben and Johnny butted heads a lot, sure. But for Ben to actually hold a grudge that serious against Johnny? Peter couldn’t imagine it being true. “Johnny—” he started to say. 

“Reed can’t hide how much he pities me. I know he can see how much guilt I feel after failing to follow through on the one responsibility he convinced everyone to entrust me with, which is somehow worse than him hating me. And Sue…” Johnny sniffled, voice caving in with grief. “Sue hasn’t been the same since that day. She isn’t the sister I remember anymore. That space dust…changed her somehow. Changed us. Everything’s changed since I turned that fucking ship.”

Peter didn’t know what else to do other than continue running his palm up and down the Human Torch’s back, trying to offer some kind of comfort to the anguished teen. But as Johnny’s lamenting went on, Peter snatched his hand back with a small yelp. Blue-tinted flames suddenly lapped off the teen’s shoulders, singeing the tip of Spider-Man’s index finger. Johnny buried his face in his hands, seemingly unaware of the wildfire currently engulfing his upper body. 

“After the accident that killed my mom, I forced myself to learn exactly how every part of a car worked. I spent four summers in a row working in my dad’s old auto shop, taking apart different kinds of cars and putting them back together again. When Sue first mentioned the mission she and Reed were planning to me, I rededicated myself to studying air and spacecraft instead. I spent months preparing for my pilot’s exam and begging them to let me come so I could make sure everything and everybody was safe. I did all of it so I could understand how to prevent her from meeting the same fate as—as Mom. I just…wanted to protect everyone. In the only way I knew how.” Johnny balled his hands against his eyes, digging his fists deep into the sockets. “Instead, I was the one who nearly killed everyone and wound up upending all our lives.”

One would think with all the money and fame and notoriety and pearly-smiled photoshoots the Fantastic Four boasted after gaining their powers that the quartet of superheroes adored their new lives. The truth of the matter was clearly much more complicated than any of the headlines or Buzzfeed interviews made it out to be. It diced Peter up inside to think of Johnny blaming himself for all the struggles his teammates had faced post-mission, even if they were completely out of his control, or how much the loss of his mother continued to weigh on him to this day. It cut even deeper realizing how much he could relate—recognizing his own guilt and regret reflected back at him in the tears staining Johnny’s cheeks. 

“I know this isn’t the best time for me to be saying this,” Peter interceded reluctantly, leaning away from the sweltering inferno. “But…you’re sort of setting the couch on fire.”

Johnny’s hands immediately dropped from his face. “What? I’m—oh, shit—!” He flew to his feet, the blue hues in his flames flaring back to red. “Dammit! And then there’s—fucking this! Me destroying everything I touch all the goddamn time! Ugh! Do you know how infuriating this gets? I can’t do or feel anything without burning down everything around me!”

Peter winced back as a wave of heat and cinders blasted towards him. A gasp shuddered out of Johnny at the sight, and he banished the flames from his body as swiftly as he could. Ringlets of smoke continued to eddy from his shoulders and hair. Tears mottled his dark blue eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Johnny croaked out. “I usually—I can control myself better than that. I have to. I don’t know why this set me off so much. I just…” He dragged both his hands through his scalp. “I hate how angry these powers have made me, and how much worse the consequences are if I wind up losing my cool. I miss being able to scream and cry and get my feelings out without bursting into flame and torching what I can only assume is a four million dollar couch.”

Peter spared a glance at the blackened cushions. “Could’ve been worse. Pretty sure the couch on the penthouse floor is worth five million.”

Johnny’s lips twitched into a weak smile, but Spider-Man could tell he was still fighting back tears. Peter approached him slowly, watching the smoke spill off the celebrity’s body and dance across the ceiling. 

“Your teammates love you, Johnny. Anyone with eyes and a half-functioning brain can see that. Whatever anger or pity or whatever else you think they might feel towards you because of that day, I promise their love for you outweighs it a hundred times over.” 

Johnny just stood there with his arms hugged against his ribs and his eyes downcast, smoke and tears pouring from him in long, silent streams. Peter couldn’t bear to see him look so hurt. Without thinking, he lifted his hands to cup Johnny’s face on either side, brushing away his tears with thumbs. 

“You’re more than your mistakes, Johnny. So much more. I need you to understand that. Okay?”

A few seconds passed before Johnny lifted his eyes to meet his, and Peter feared for a moment that he might be the one to spontaneously combust. The Human Torch looked so distraught, so beautiful, so wounded, so heavenly. He was bleeding in places Peter could never reach, could never fix. He was damaged in ways Peter could temporarily alleviate, but never fully heal. Peter wanted to drain all the pain from Johnny’s weary, fragile heart. He wanted to suck the guilt out of Johnny’s soul and replace it with everything Peter saw when he held his gaze. He—he wanted to kiss him. 

Oh god. He wanted to kiss him so badly right now. 

The panic that desire kindled rang through his bones like church bells. Maybe this is how I tell him what he means to me, he thought. Maybe Peter didn’t have to say anything at all. Actions spoke louder than words, after all—right? But was it wrong to kiss somebody without asking first? He considered it, then shrunk from the thought, then considered it again, weighing the choices before him like clay in his hands, his heart a thundering war drum in his chest. Right as he thought he might actually summon the gall to lay it all on the line and just go for it—

“Mr. Stark would like to speak to you, Spider-Man. He’s on his way down now.”

The A.I.’s words had Peter jerking back from the Human Torch as if he’d burst into flame again. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that FRIDAY was likely surveying Johnny and Peter’s every move and conversation while they were in the tower together. She was there for security, not to spy, but Peter had seen her recording logs firsthand after requesting to download the footage of a particularly explosive mishap in the lab earlier this year. She had eyes on everything and everyone, including the two of them at this very moment. 

He couldn’t kiss him here. Not with her watching. 

“Oh, uh—he is?” Peter stammered out, marbles of disappointment clinking at the bottom of his stomach, his gaze still on Johnny as the young hero blinked at him slowly. He waved awkwardly at the ceiling. “Right. Got it. Thanks, FRIDAY.”

“You can talk to him,” Johnny insisted, eyes distant and thoughtful. “I’m, uh…I’m okay now.”

Swallowing, Peter bridged a portion of the gap he’d created between them, his hands moving way too much as he spoke. “You know, if you ever need to, like—let all your anger or stress or whatever it is out without worrying about torching anything, Avengers Tower has a room for that. You remember the battle arena where you and I fought? Every inch of that place is made of some of the strongest metal on earth—second only to vibranium. You can burn as bright and hot as you want—maybe even blast a few simulator drones if you need—without worrying about hurting anyone. It’s a great way to blow off steam for people like us. God knows how many times I’ve gone in there when I’ve felt low and needed to throw some punches without holding anything back.” Peter scratched a nonexistent itch on the side of his neck. “I can—I can take you there now, if you’d like.”

Johnny mulled it over for a bit, yawned, then shook his head. “I think what I need now more than anything is sleep. I’m always a big, blubbery, arson-prone grouch when I haven’t gotten my nine hours of REM.” He smiled at Peter, eyes foggy with much more than just exhaustion. “Thanks, though. I’ll let you know when I do need something like that. Which, with my track record, will most likely be sometime within the next week.”

Peter’s heart fluttered with sympathy and fondness. “Maybe you should head up to your room, sleep in a real bed. You know—go back to strangling your Puffy instead of me for the next few hours.” 

“Ben is also on his way to this level,” FRIDAY interrupted them once again. “He’s looking for Johnny. He has some, quote: ‘very exciting news to share with him.’” 

Johnny scowled. “Uh…what the hell does that mean?”

The ding of the elevator behind them turned both the teens’ heads as Tony Stark stepped through the doors onto the 78th floor. He looked sharp but casual in his coat and T-shirt combo paired with freshly polished tawny brown loafers. He grinned when he saw Peter, which put the teen a bit more at ease, only for the words that came out of his mouth to decimate all of that completely.

“Hey, there he is! The sneaky little lovebird I’ve heard so much about. Why didn’t you tell me it was a crush that’s been making you act so weird and jumpy lately? I’m great with that kind of stuff! Are we not on that level yet, or—” Tony paused when he noticed Johnny standing behind Spider-Man, his chipper smile faltering. “Oh. Sorry. Did you not want me to talk about this in front of him? I figured since the two of you are so close, he already knew.”

Confusion and panic burrowed like worms beneath Peter Parker’s skin. His insides began tangling and melting together as he gawked up at his beaming mentor. “I’m…sorry?” he stuttered, frantically trying to process everything he’d just said to him, horror encasing his lungs. “You—w-what’re you…talking about…?”

Stark chuckled amusedly. “Okay, don’t be mad. But your aunt may or may not have told me that you opened up to her about, y’know…liking someone?”

Peter’s stomach bottomed out. Oh no. Oh god. Oh shit.

“And since she’s not here,” Tony went on, “she has unfortunately enlisted me to be your stand-in romantic liaison to help you navigate this exciting but nerve-wracking love pickle you’ve gotten yourself into. I’m guessing this is her way of getting payback on both of us for the whole gunshot incident we tried hiding from her.” The Avenger snorted, crinkling his nose apologetically. “Normally I’d stay out of this sort of thing, but I’m under strict orders from the big boss herself to encourage and bug you about it until we get results. AKA: you asking your crush out on a date.”

This was a nightmare. It had to be. This wasn’t how Johnny was supposed to find out. It was supposed to be him—

“For starters, I gotta know: what’s the name of this superhero girl you like, and how long have you been fawning over her?” 

Peter’s mind went blank. Seconds flew by before the lights finally started flickering back on again. The first sensation Peter felt was relief. Relief that Mr. Stark wasn’t outing him to Johnny before he had the chance to do it himself. The following sensation was a numbing dread, coupled with the cold prickle of Johnny’s gaze tethered to the back of his neck. 

“Superhero girl?” Johnny parroted quietly. “What superhero girl?”

Tony huffed incredulously. “You don’t know about her either? Damn, kid. Where the hell have you been hiding this chick?”

Peter didn’t know what to say. His mouth refused to form words despite the hurricane of paradoxical thoughts barreling around his skull. He gingerly turned towards Johnny, knowing the sight would hack his heart to pieces. The celebrity’s face bore an expression weighed down by sorrow, disappointment, defeat. But no shock, no disbelief, which caught Peter by surprise. It was as if…he’d been expecting this to happen. Like he’d been patiently waiting for this exact bombshell to drop, despite hoping that maybe it never would.  

Before Peter could scrap together some way to deal with any part of this, booming footsteps shook the floor beneath them as the Thing came clomping down the staircase, jabbing a pudgy finger at Johnny the moment he spotted him. “Hey, Hothead! Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking for you all morning!”

Johnny swiveled languidly towards his teammate, a noticeable slouch in his shoulders. “What do you want, Ben?” he murmured. 

“What? You’re pouty? What’s got your lycra in a bunch today?” The Thing barked out a laugh and clapped Johnny on the back with one of his boulder-sized palms, making the teen wince. “Well, turn that frown upside-down, Torchy. We should be celebrating! Haven’t you seen the news?”

“What news?” Stark asked when Johnny didn’t. The Thing flashed a toothy grin in his direction. 

“An old friend of ours is popping by Earth for a visit! We haven’t seen him since he volunteered to help us during our space mission. He saved our lives and got us back home in one piece after our ship was damaged from the cosmic storm. We owe him a lot.”

Johnny’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “Wait,” he said, all color draining from his face. “You don’t mean—?”

“Nova! He’s here! You remember Nova, don’t yah? Sam Alexander? Man, what a great kid. We would’ve burned up in Earth’s atmosphere if it wasn’t for him.” Ben gave Johnny’s shoulders an affectionate shake. “You two were like peas in pod from the instant you met. A couple of scoundrels up to no good; always getting into trouble. I figured you out of all of us would be most excited to see him again, so I wanted to be the first one to tell yah.” 

The look on Johnny’s face was one Peter had never seen before. He was pale as a ghost and rigid with fear. His eyes looked haunted and bleak. His breathing was growing faster and shallower by the second. Not even Fisk with all his power and intimidation tactics had elicited this kind of response from the teen hero. All because Ben had name-dropped some guy Peter had never even heard of before. 

Who was this Sam Alexander, and what exactly had he done to his friend?

“I don’t want to see him,” Johnny sputtered out, revived plumes of smoke rising off his body. “I never want to see him again.”

“How come?” the Thing said with a frown. “He wants to see you again. He’s asking to see you specifically. Tweeting about it or whatever. He wants to catch up with all of us, but mostly with you. I think Sue was trying to set up an interview or something.”

“I’m not going,” Johnny immediately countered, wrenching away from Ben. “Tell her I’m not going.” His eyes dashed around the room, holding Peter’s gaze an instant too long before snapping towards the window. “I—I need to leave.”

“Johnny?” Peter called. “Wait—don’t—”

But the Human Torch was already yanking the window open and leaping into the city, flames igniting across his body. Within seconds, he was a streak of orange and gold spearing through the distant gray sky. Peter watched him disappear behind the Empire State building, something dark and icy clawing through his bloodstream. 

“Yikes. Wasn’t expecting that.” Ben scratched at his craggy scalp. “Guess I better tell Sue to call off the interview.” The mountainous man stomped back up the stairs, every step rattling the priceless vases perched atop the shelves above the TV. 

Stark shot a glance in the direction Johnny Storm had run off, then turned back to Spider-Man, planting a hand on his hip and raising one eyebrow. “So…are we gonna talk about the girl now, or do you want to go deal with that first?”

Peter cycled a deep breath through his lungs. Johnny’s warm, oaky scent still clung to the air, like smoke on clothes the morning after a campfire. He kneaded his fingers into the back of his elbow as he faced his superhero mentor. 

“Mr. Stark,” he said softly. “If you like someone, is it better to just tell them that, or show them?”

Tony blinked, inclining his head to one side. “Uh…show them how?” he asked.

“Like…should I just say that I like hi—I mean—” Peter reddened behind his mask. “Her. Should I tell her that I like her, or just…I don’t know…” He swallowed and shrugged. “Kiss her?”

A laugh punched out of Stark faster than he could smother it. He cleared his throat, pressing a hand to his chest and he fought back a smile. “That’s, ehem…a rather bold way to communicate your feelings to someone, I must say. A bit bolder than I’d ever expect from you of all people.” He stroked his thin beard pensively. “I’m not saying it’s the wrong way to go about it, but I am curious why you’d rather do that versus simply telling her how you feel.”

Peter gripped his neck with a grimace. “‘Cuz every time I try to say it, it’s like the words get stuck in the back of my throat. I can’t make them come out. And when I do manage to speak, I always end up saying something stupid and irrelevant instead. No matter how badly I want to tell her, it’s like I physically can’t.”

The Avenger chuckled lightly, eyes warm with sympathy. “That, I’m afraid, does not go away with age or time. Have you two been friends for a while now?”

Peter hunched his shoulders, diligently measuring every word before loosing it from his lips. “Not really. But…we are pretty close.” This was beginning to remind him a little too much of his phone call with his aunt. 

“And do you think she likes you back?”

Peter blushed, pinching his eyes closed. “I mean…yeah. Kinda. Well, er—I don’t know.”

Stark nodded. “All right, that’s semi-promising. And you think the best way to confess your feelings to her is by just—swooping her off her feet and laying one on her, completely unannounced? No warning whatsoever?”

“No!” Peter squeaked, mortified. “That’s not—there’d be—some warning! A preceding statement of some sort!”

“Because past me is guilty of that kind of behavior, and I strongly advise against it.” He raised his index finger pointedly. “Consent is very important in any potentially romantic relationship. Has May talked to you about that yet? Or—yeesh, about any of it, for that matter? You know: the birds and the bees? The banana and the pomegranate? The train going through the tunnel? ‘Cuz I’d really prefer not being the one who has to—”

“Okay, stopping you there,” Peter blurted out frantically. “Yes. We’ve talked about it. I’m good. Thank you. Please don’t bring it up ever again.”

Stark held up his hands in surrender, biting back a grin. “Roger that. Just making sure we’ve got all our bases covered.” 

Peter fiddled with his web-shooters to give his restless hands something to do. “So…you think it’s better if I just say it? Or maybe—write it down, or something?”

Tony pushed his jacket sleeves up his forearms and squinted at the ceiling. “I think…” he began, smirking, “that your darling little teenage brain might be overthinking all this. Just do what feels right in the moment. So long as it’s respectful and consensual, you can’t go wrong. Whatever it takes for you to tell her what you obviously need to tell her. You can’t really logic your way through feelings like this, kid. Love is anything but logical.”

Peter dropped his head back and sighed dolefully. That, he could attest to. Nothing about the way he felt or acted around Johnny Storm was in any way logical.  

“Will I be getting to meet this crush of yours anytime soon?” Stark inquired curiously. “Or at least see a picture? Either one would really help me get back on your aunt’s good side. I’m in the doghouse until I have proof that my romantic mentorship is actually benefiting you.” 

A soft smile found its way onto Peter’s lips. His gaze floated back to the broad windows. The last vestiges of Johnny’s smoke trail smudged the skyline like brushstrokes before evanescing from sight. Beneath the maw of gathering storm clouds lied his city, his playground, his path to him, bright and bold and beckoning. 

“Maybe,” Peter eventually said. Something stirred within his rib cage, pulling him towards the glimmering possibilities beyond the walls of this tower. Heart thrumming, he pointed at the window and threw Tony a wave. “I gotta go find Johnny. Thanks, Mr. Stark!”

The Avenger watched bemusedly as Peter launched himself out of the tower, somersaulting through the air a couple times before catching himself on a thread of webbing and slingshotting around a neighboring skyscraper. A surge of alarm gushed through him, and Tony rushed to the window with his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting at the top of his lungs. 

“Hey! Easy on the theatrics, kid! Just because your stitches are out doesn’t mean your wound’s done healing!”

Spider-Man disappeared into the cityscape without acknowledging him, his laughter echoing off the surrounding buildings. Stark exhaled in defeat as he ducked back into the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tilting his chin towards the ceiling. 

“Well? How did I do? How would you rate how l handled my first stab at teenage superhero romance mentorship?”

The A.I. let out a sigh. “I supposed it could’ve gone worse,” she conceded. 

“I’ll take that as at least a C plus.”

_______________________________

Peter had almost forgotten how spectacular web-swinging through New York felt. 

Although he was determined to find Johnny, Peter couldn’t help but spare a few moments to bask in the blood-pumping exhilaration that came with being Spider-Man, something he’d been cruelly deprived of while his gunshot wound finished healing. He careened through narrow alleyways, propelled himself into the heavens, sprung between rooftops, and flipped through the air until his head spun, the howling wind like music to his ears, his stiff muscles stirring from their slumber, his heightened senses coming alive. He whooped and laughed and surrendered to every reckless desire his body demanded, indulging in enough pulse-pounding, gravity-defying thrills to give an adrenaline junkie a heart attack. 

And probably Mr. Stark, if he was still watching. 

Once his hunger for action was satiated enough, Peter climbed to the top of the Flatiron building and knelt along the edge of the roof, breathing hard, scanning the skyline for any signs of a flaming, flying teenager. Whatever smoke clouds Johnny typically left in his wake had been lost to the breeze. Not a trace of him in any direction.

“Come on, Johnny,” Peter panted, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Where’d you go?” 

He tried calling him again. Three voicemails and five text messages later, yet still no response. Dammit. Now what? Peter ground his teeth as he tucked his phone back in his suit, nauseous worry twisting in his gut. He was running out of viable options and leads fast.

“Spider-Man!”

The superhero flinched in alarm. The call had come from the street far beneath him. The voice sounded like a child’s.

“Spider-Man!” it bellowed again, screaming like their life depended on it. Peter’s head whipped towards the source of the cry: four dots standing at the base of the Flatiron building, waving their arms above their heads. “Down here!”

Tragically, children in trouble took priority over Peter’s quest to locate his friend. Johnny would have to wait.

Peter leapt off the rooftop, stuck to the side of the adjacent building, sprung into a backflip, then landed on the sidewalk in a low crouch. The four kids gaped as he rose to his feet, some holding drinks, others wearing backpacks and light-up sneakers. 

“Are you guys all right?” Peter asked breathlessly, scanning each of them for injuries. “Are you lost? Is someone hurt? Do you need help? What can I do?”

For a few seconds, the children just stared at him like some kind zoo animal who’d escaped his enclosure. Then the shortest girl grabbed the hand of the tallest and squeezed it ‘til her fingers turned blue. 

“He actually came! Oh my god! He’s actually here!”

“It’s really him,” the only boy of the group said no louder than a whisper, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “Is this real? Is this real life?”

“We got you coffee!” the third girl blurted out completely unprompted. The tallest girl, who Peter realized was actually just a very short woman (not a child), looked absolutely flabbergasted. 

“I—I can’t believe you came,” she stuttered out. “No way I thought you’d actually come down here.”

Peter gave an awkward giggle. “Well, you did shout my name at me louder than I thought humanly possible. Twice. I thought someone was in danger.”

The woman’s cheeks went scarlet. “Sorry. Really. I promise we weren’t trying to trick you. It’s just—” She ushered the children around her a step closer to him, whose eyes were galaxies of disbelief and wonder. “My kids are really big fans of yours.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to gawk. In all his days of Spider-Manning, Peter couldn’t recall ever being stopped by someone unless they wanted to beat him up, flip him off, or call him a menace. Or, occasionally, were in desperate need of his assistance. He certainly couldn’t remember the last time someone had called themselves a fan of his to his face. Spider-Man didn’t have any fans.

But now…

“I drew this picture for you!” the tiny girl squealed, fishing a crumpled piece of paper out of her backpack. She handed Peter a scribbly sketch of a red blob standing next to a purple blob surrounded by angry balls of black dust. “That’s you and me holding hands while you cover the bad guys in spiders!”

Spider-Man’s gaze shifted between the child and her terrible drawing, a little piece of his heart he hadn’t noticed was missing slowly wriggling back into place. 

“Oh,” he said a few seconds later. “Wow. You—you made this? Really? For me?”

“I got you coffee!” the loud girl proclaimed, thrusting a cup into his chest. “It was supposed to be for our dad, but I want you to have it instead! Fighting crime is much more important than whatever he does on his computer all day!”

“I want to be you when I grow up!” the young boy beamed. “You’re my favorite superhero! Just like Johnny Storm!”

“We love you so much!”

Peter held the gifts and the children’s kind words close to his chest. Spider-Man had never asked for praise or gratitude from the people of his city, and scarcely ever received it. He was there to help whether they liked him or not; no strings attached. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, or saw heroes who were loved by the public as lesser or greater than himself. He just…never expected it to happen. Didn’t know how to respond to it when it did. Felt baffled and overwhelmed by it, like a guy winning first prize in a contest he didn’t even remember entering. 

Maybe Johnny had been right before. Deep down, maybe Peter didn’t feel deserving of it. Two years of nothing but abhorrence and scorn had taught him what it meant to be Spider-Man. To protect his people, to defend his home, to sacrifice his blood and time and youth in pursuit of justice. To avenge his past, to save the world…and be hated for it. That was just his lot in life, and always would be. Peter would’ve carried on this way until his body failed him, until his veins were bled dry while the world rejoiced in his suffering, and would’ve been perfectly content with it. Maybe that wasn’t normal or healthy or right, but that was who he was. Who Spider-Man was. 

But…maybe it didn’t have to be. 

Peter tried to say something to the three kids and smiling mother standing before him, but found his throat closing up and his eyes starting to sting. He blinked, startled by his own reaction to such a silly and humble offering, the meaning behind it far more significant than they or any onlookers could ever know. The young hero swallowed thickly, honor and appreciation and embarrassment muddling together inside him and choking his wobbly voice.

“Thank you,” Spider-Man finally got out, forcing the broken words from his lips. The happy family’s grins immediately dropped, and a flush of bashfulness overtook him at how ridiculous he was being. “Sorry, so sorry. I’m not—I just—wasn’t expecting this. That’s all. It’s very sweet. And I’m—very grateful.” He covered his eye lenses with his forearm, trying not to spill the coffee or crush the girl’s drawing anymore than it already had been, laughing in spite of himself. “Oh god, this is so embarrassing. Please don’t post this anywhere. Johnny’s already tainted my digital footprint with enough humiliating content to haunt me for the next three lifetimes.” 

“Lainie’s ugly drawing made Spider-Man sad!” the loud girl shouted at the small girl, causing Lainie to immediately burst into tears. 

“Andrea!” the mom exclaimed. “Why would you say that?”

“‘Cuz it’s true!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! Don’t cry!” Spider-Man knelt in front of the weeping girl, uncrumpling the paper as much as was possible. “I think your drawing’s beautiful. That looks just like me! Especially after I’ve fought a bunch of bad guys who’ve thrown me into a brick wall a few times! I deeply admire and applaud your creative vision.” Peter held the crinkled paper out to her with a smile. “Would you sign it for me? Please? A piece this powerful deserves to be autographed by its creator.”

Still sniffling, Lainie dug a nubby crayon out of her backpack. She took the drawing, flattened it on the sidewalk, and scrawled her name in huge orange letters in the corner of the page, a few of her tears leaving wet spots on the paper. She swiped her hand under her nose and shyly offered the artwork back to Peter, who accepted it with an exaggerated gasp. 

“It’s perfect,” Spider-Man declared, hugging it against his heart. “Thank you, Lainie.”

While Lainie giggled and skipped in place, Andrea stamped her foot. “What about my coffee? Isn’t it perfect, too? Try it!”

The girl’s mother sighed. “Sorry about her,” she said.

Peter crouched down to Andrea’s level. “You’re a very confident and outspoken person, Andrea. I like it. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that’s wrong.” He nodded towards Lainie. “Just try being a little nicer to your sister, okay? Use that strong voice of yours to stand up for her and protect her from bullies. That’s what superheroes do.” 

Andrea gazed back at him, awe-struck, nodding fervently. “Okay! I will! I’ll protect her with my whole entire life!” She poked aggressively at the coffee cup in his hand. “Now drink it! It’s the best coffee in the world!”

Peter laughed. “The best? In the world? That’s a monumental endorsement coming from you. Let’s see if you’re right.” Spider-Man lifted up his mask and tilted the cup against his lips. It took every ounce of his self control not to immediately spew the coffee right back into all of the children’s faces. He clamped his eyes and mouth closed, gulping down the bitter liquid by sheer will power alone. 

“Wow, that is just—straight black coffee, huh?” he rasped, a shudder rattling through him. “Whew. That is…bracing. No milk, no sugar, no syrup, no siree. Who needs all that garbage? Not your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Nope. Just piping hot bean juice straight down the hatch all day, every day. That is, without a doubt, the best cup of coffee in the world.” Peter turned to the children’s mother, lowering his voice an octave. “On an unrelated note, does your husband happen to hate himself?”

“Look! Over there!”

“It’s him! It’s Spider-Man!”

Peter glanced up sharply, muscles coiling on instinct. Typically, when someone shouted the words “Look, over there, it’s Spider-Man,” in that order, they were often followed by a bunch of curses and insults and fistfuls of trash being hurled in his direction, and he didn’t want the family of four to get caught in the crossfire. 

A crowd was gathering around them, pressing in on all sides. Eyes and bodies and phone cameras had them pinned from every angle. Peter tugged his mask back over his chin and waited for his spider sense to go off, ready to take the full brunt of the assault. 

“Spider-Man!” a man called out. “You’re back!”

“We missed you!”

“How’s your wound? Shouldn’t you still be resting?”

“We’re so glad you’re okay!”

“Do a flip!”

Gradually, Peter loosened his jaw and unclenched his fists, shrugging off his defensive stance bemusedly. “Uh…” he said, head swiveling left and right. “Hey, New York. I, er…missed you too?”

“We love you, Spidey!” 

The crowd roared in agreement, their cheers and applause punting Peter’s heart straight into his throat. While he swept his wide-eyed gaze across the sea of shrieking fans, the young mother took her children by the hands and corralled them away from the congestion. 

“We’re gonna go now,” she hollered above the clamor. “Thank you for taking time to meet them! They’ll never forget it. Say goodbye, kiddos!”

“Bye, Spider-Man!” the kids all bellowed in unison. Peter waved as the four of them wove towards the edge of the mob, retreating from view. The space they’d been occupying was immediately filled by the fans standing closest to him.

“Can you sign my shirt?”

“Can we take a picture with you?”

“You’re so cool!”

“I love your costume!”

“How old are you?”

“Is it true you punched Thanos in the face?”

“You’re a lot shorter in person!”

“Show us how you shoot your webs!”

Peter was not used to this volume of attention in the slightest. Maybe in the form of resentment and hostility, yet somehow this felt far more flustering. Flattering, but still flustering. 

“Where’s Johnny?” someone shouted suddenly over the uproar, which helped ground Peter’s dizzied thoughts, reminding him why he was out here in the first place. 

With a quick breath out, Peter sprung off the sidewalk and stuck to a nearby traffic light, a spur of exclamations and wide eyes following after him. He hung off the side of the beam, grateful for the breathing room.

“Uh, so…thanks everyone for your kindness!” he yelled to the masses, feeling incredibly out of his element. “I’m, um—not very good at this sort of thing, but I really appreciate it!”

The crowd cheered him on, which drew an incredulous laugh from the spider-themed hero. Never in his wildest dreams had he pictured himself in a situation like this. Perhaps a lot of the public still saw him as a menace, but clearly the tides were starting to shift. All thanks to Johnny. 

“I could actually really use your help!” Spider-Man went on. “I’m trying to track down Johnny Storm, AKA Flame Brain, AKA the Human Torch! Did anyone see him pass through here? Does anyone know where he is?”

A din of murmurs rumbled from the mob while they conferred with their friends and checked their phones. Half a minute passed, and Peter was ready to resign himself to scouring the city borough by borough, street by street, locating his friend by any means necessary, no matter how long it took.

Suddenly, a hand shot up into the air, flailing aggressively back and forth. “He’s at the Statue of Liberty!” the owner hollered. “A video of him landing on the crown was just posted to Twitter six minutes ago!”

The crowd buzzed with excitement as more and more people verified and corroborated her claim. “Yes!” a second fan cried. “He’s there!”

“The Statue of Liberty!”

“Here’s a photo of him on it posted two minutes ago!”

“He’s definitely there!”

The mass of people cheered again, and Peter scoffed with shock and relief. “Man, I love social media,” he chuckled. “And New Yorkers.” The masked hero grinned as he shot a line of webbing at the top of the nearest building, throwing one last wave to the hordes of fans and passersby. “Thank you so much! I owe you all big time!”

The crowds went wild as Spider-Man sprung off the traffic light and swung low through the street, gaining speed as he gunned it for lower Manhattan. But right at the apex of his swing, Peter spotted a man sitting alone on a bench, opening a tin of mints. The superhero switched trajectories in an instant. 

“Oh! Hey!” he called out, whipping around and dropping to the curb beside him. The man jumped like Peter had stuck him with a thumb tack. “Could I maybe swipe one of those off you? I can trade you for it! One mint in exchange for the best cup of coffee in the world!”

The man balked at him. “Um…” he said. “Sure? I guess?” He plucked a mint from the box and held it out to him gingerly. 

“You’re my hero!” Spider-Man chirped. “I could kiss you! I won’t, though—I’m saving that for someone else!” 

He swapped him for the coffee cup, then launched back into the air, pirouetting between each flick of his wrist, popping the mint into his mouth. “Have a spectacular day!” he cried. As Peter thwipped down the road, he swore he heard the man coughing and spitting far behind him. 

It took him about six minutes to make it to the southernmost edge of Manhattan. Spider-Man crawled to the top of the building closest to the shoreline, squinting at the teeny-tiny silhouette of Lady Liberty plastered against the glistening waters of Upper Bay. Ellis Island was closer to Jersey than New York, but he didn’t want to waste any more time swinging all the way there, and taking a ferry or bus or taxi would likely wind up just as tedious. If he got enough momentum and caught a lucky updraft, Peter was sure he could make it.

Spider-Man traveled back half a dozen blocks down Broadway to give himself a sort of runway leading straight to the statue. He mapped out his path, accounting for the speed and direction of the wind, how tall Lady Liberty was, and how far he had to coast in order to reach her without taking a plunge into the bay. After running all the calculations, Peter figured he had about a 33% chance of successfully landing on the island.

Eh. He’d beaten worse odds.

It was an unusually cool afternoon for a summer day in New York City. Dense packs of clouds blotted out the sun, and there was a chill in the breeze that felt heavenly after weeks of blistering heat. Peter stood at one end of a tall building’s rooftop, rolling his neck and shaking out his shoulders, doing his best to hype himself up. 

“You got this,” he whispered. “You got this. Okay. Ready? Three, two, one—!”

Peter sucked in a breath through his teeth, then broke into an all-out sprint. His feet pounded against the concrete; his pulse pounded in his ears. At the opposite lip of the roof, Spider-Man dove off the building, barreling towards the earth like a human torpedo, waiting until he could see the whites of pedestrians' eyes before snatching himself back into the sky on a perfectly timed web-line. He swung in harmony with his city, using each skyscraper and dizzying drop as a pendulum for gathering more speed, more momentum, more height. 

As he approached the end of his urban runway, Spider-Man dipped between the cars jamming either side of the street, then catapulted himself skyward as high and far as gravity would concede. The moment he reached the tallest point of his swing, Peter pressed the spider symbol on his chest thrice in a row, then threw his arms out at his sides. Translucent web-wings stretching from his wrists to his hips peeled out of his costume under both of his armpits, mimicking the look and function of a flight suit. Or, as Peter had eagerly pointed out upon seeing the design for the first time, a flying squirrel. 

The wings buoyed him high above the world, slowing his descent, extending the distance he could breach without the use of his web-shooters. Far beneath the teen hero, Manhattan gave way to dark waters and white-capped waves. He strained his arms to stay locked in place, watching his shadow skirt across the top of the choppy surf. 

“Almost there,” he told himself, the looming statue filling more and more of his field of vision. “Almost there.”

Peter was a little over half a mile out to sea when the winds suddenly shifted, making him wobble and drop a few feet. The breeze was now working against him rather than for him. He was moving slower and falling faster. Fear blossomed in his veins as he watched the black water rush towards him from below. I’m not gonna make it, he realized. 

Peter lifted his gaze to the top of the Statue of Liberty. “Johnny!” he cried, bobbing to and fro like a kite caught in a tornado. “Johnny, I’m here! I need—aaahh!”

A rogue gale slammed into Spider-Man from the left, sending him spinning sideways out of control. The young hero hit the water with a muffled scream, the cold piercing him down to the bone. He kicked for the surface and burst from the waves, gasping for breath, only to choke down a mouthful of saltwater instead. A powerful swell had crashed on top of him the instant he’d tried to breach. 

His mask made it feel like he was being waterboarded. The surf was too rough for him to stay afloat for more than a few seconds. His muscles were petrified by ice and terror. This would be a really embarrassing way for Spider-Man to die, he told himself, but that reality was growing a little too plausible for comfort a little too fast. All landmasses looked impossibly far away for him to reach via swimming. He was alone and exhausted and starting to panic. Shit. Peter Parker was going to drown to death. Right as the world was finally beginning to like him. Right before he could tell his crush how much he cared about him. 

How heartlessly poetic. 

As hope began to shrivel in Peter’s waterlogged lungs, a hand suddenly plunged through the waves and seized him by the wrist. Spider-Man’s arm nearly wrenched out of its socket as something ripped him from the ocean’s deadly clutches. Peter broke the surface hacking and wheezing, then raised his woozy gaze to his rescuer. An angel dipped in gold and starlight stared back at him, bathed in divine beauty far beyond this realm, and Peter wondered if he really was in fact dead.  

“What the actual fuck are you doing, you moron?!”

Peter coughed up a bubble of saltwater and blinked his bleary eyes, the flame-engulfed scowl of Johnny Storm gradually slurring into focus. He held his livid, magnetic gaze for a beat, a feeble smile touching Spider-Man’s lips. 

“You w-weren’t answering your phone,” he replied meekly. “I had to reach you somehow.”

“By almost drowning yourself?” Johnny shot back. “I left my phone back at the tower, dumbass! I came here to be alone!”

“I was w-worried about you,” Peter said, shivering in his sopping wet spandex. Johnny gave the pitiful superhero a quick once-over, frown softening slightly, then sighed.

“You could’ve died,” he scolded him. Johnny lifted Peter away from the inky black water, flying the pair of them towards the top of Lady Liberty. “Come on—before you freeze to death.”

The Human Torch set Peter on his feet on the backside of the statue’s head, just behind her crown. Johnny hovered in front of Spider-Man as the arachnid-themed hero trembled in place, arms tucked in close to his body, a puddle of sea water collecting underneath him. The unexpected cold front that had overtaken the city for the day suddenly didn’t feel like such a blessing as a whip of frigid wind lashed through him, sending shudders racing down his spine. Still engulfed in flames, Johnny watched Peter shrink against the breeze with a wrinkle between his eyes, like he was debating whether it was morally irresponsible to let him die of hypothermia or not. 

“I’m s-sorry for coming after you when you w-wanted to be alone,” Peter told him through chattering teeth. “But…it’s important, b-because I—I really needed to t-tell you…I r-really n-needed to show you th-that I—I’m—”

“Stop talking,” Johnny cut in, dousing his flames with a huff. He marched up to Peter and seized him by the elbow, hauling him to the flattest part of Lady Liberty’s scalp and forcing him to sit. Butterflies tickled Peter’s insides as Johnny nestled in behind him and wrapped his arms around his chest and midsection, resting his chin on Spider-Man’s shoulder with his inner legs pressed against the outsides of Peter’s. The chilly hero suddenly found himself enveloped by Johnny Storm like a cloak of warmth and sunshine, the heat from his skin driving out the biting cold. 

“Oh,” Peter exhaled involuntarily, the ice in his veins slowly beginning to defrost. “Oh wow, th-that’s better. But you—y-you don’t have to—”

“Don’t make it weird,” Johnny retorted, his lips dangerously close to Peter’s ear. “I’m only doing this so you won’t turn into a spider-popsicle. We’ve gotta get your body temperature back up to normal.”

Spider-Man swallowed nervously. “R-right,” he murmured. His muscles were cold and rigid against Johnny’s soft, comforting touch. The front side of the flaming hero’s torso was flush along the full length of Peter’s spine, seeping warmth into the entirety of his back. His palms pressed into Peter’s chest and belly, transforming the freezing water soaked through his costume into swirling tendrils of steam. 

They sat that way for a while, the winds gushing, the clouds roiling, the waves sloshing against the vacant shores of the island. Johnny breathed in deep and held him close, the supernatural heat of his skin driving the shivers from Peter's bones.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it,” the Human Torch said eventually, shattering the long stretch of silence hanging between them. “But I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.” He loosed a steady breath. “I just…needed to get out of that tower. After I…after, y’know, hearing the news, I wanted to be somewhere I could gather my thoughts. Somewhere I could go full supernova without putting anyone in danger, if it came to that. Ellis Island is closed for construction, so I figured the bay would be a good spot.” He turned his gaze to the New York skyline on their right. “Views aren’t bad, either.”

Peter dug his fingers into his kneecaps, trying to keep his legs from shaking. “The news about Sam?” he inquired. 

Johnny took his time answering. “Yeah,” he said reluctantly. “Sam.”

“Can I ask…what happened? W-with you and him?”

The Human Torch moved to rest his chin on Peter’s other shoulder, humming softly in thought. “It’s…” He groaned. “Y’know. Complicated.”

“I can handle complicated,” Peter assured him. 

“And embarrassing.”

“I just s-swallowed a gallon of seawater and almost drowned myself trying to glide to the Statue of Liberty like a flying squirrel,” Spider-Man reminded him. “Embarrassing is my middle name.”

A clipped laugh escaped Johnny. “Fine,” he relented with a sigh. “Just…please don’t share any details about this with anyone. Okay?”

Peter mimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key. “Promise.”

A brisk blast of wind buffeted the two heroes, sending goosebumps prickling across Peter’s flesh. Johnny cleared his throat, cinching his arms a little tighter around Spider-Man’s trembling body. 

“I first met him a few days after we launched into space,” Johnny began solemnly. “Me, Sue, Reed, and Ben had left Earth’s atmosphere in our ship and positioned ourselves in the ideal orbital path of the cosmic event we were hoping to study. We were getting settled and going over the timeline, all of us under the assumption that we were the only people up there interested in or even capable of observing it. Until there was a knock on our ship’s window.”

Peter listened curiously, trying not to let the closeness of Johnny distract him from his story. 

“Imagine our surprise seeing a guy outside our spacecraft. Just—floating around, totally untethered, in outer space. He had this strange helmet on and a thin suit protecting his body, but we had no idea how that was enough to keep him alive, or how the hell he’d gotten there. 

“After some heated debate, we decided to let him onto the ship. The guy introduced himself as Sam Alexander, a 17-year-old kid from Earth who’d spent the last year training in the Nova Corps on the planet Xandar.” Johnny tapped a finger against his chest. “I know that sounds like total sci-fi made up bullshit, but bear with me. Sam said he’d been sent back to Earth by the other Novas to observe the same cosmic event we were studying and make sure it didn’t cause any harm to his home planet. When we told him about our mission to collect samples and data from the particle cloud, he offered to help in any way he could.”

Peter had a lot of thoughts and questions cropping up already, but figured it best to keep them to himself until Johnny finished speaking. He balled his frozen fists against the statue and kept his mouth shut. 

“He worked with us as we prepared for the event to arrive over the next three weeks. We did everything together, and it didn’t take long for he and I to grow really close. He told me about his life on Xandar, how he went from a regular teenager on Earth to a superhero fighting intergalactic wars in space. He showed me the incredible things he could do when he wore the Nova helmet, like flying between planets without a space suit on, creating portals, manipulating gravity, even fucking telekinesis. I'd had, like, zero exposure to people with superpowers at that point in my life, and had never met anyone from a planet other than Earth, so all of it felt so…I don't know. Magical. Like my eyes were finally opened to just how big the universe is. Like I was meeting someone who had leapt right from the pages of a fantasy novel. I cherished every second we spent together, and never wanted the mission to come to an end. As our bond deepened and the cosmic event drew closer, I realized I…” 

Johnny fell silent. Peter felt the celebrity’s throat bob against his shoulder. A low growl of thunder rumbled above them. The sound of waves crashing against the island echoed faintly in the distance. 

“I realized I liked him more than a friend.”

Peter’s heart stuttered in his chest at his words, but he didn’t dare speak. Wasn’t sure what he’d say if he did. That single sentence sure held a lot. Answers and confessions and surprises and questions—too many for Peter to comment on without potentially scaring Johnny into discontinuing his story. No. His input wasn’t needed right now. Johnny deserved to say this however he wanted, without interruption. 

“I’ve, um…” Johnny stated, nerves straining his voice. He pulled back from Peter suddenly, shifting to sit beside him instead, making the spider-themed hero immediately miss the celebrity’s warm, protective embrace. He sat on Peter’s right, hugging his knees to his chest. Spider-Man bundled his limbs in close to himself, battling the shudders that reclaimed his body seconds after losing his sentient heated blanket. 

“I’ve…known since I was really young who I was and what I wanted," Johnny explained quietly. "I’ve only ever had crushes on boys, and I was lucky enough to be raised by a mom who taught me that was nothing to be ashamed of. My dad…well, that’s a whole different story, but he at least didn’t outright shun me for it.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke, like he was afraid of what he might find if he looked Peter in the eye. “I’ve never tried to hide who I am, but I stopped being as open about that side of myself after I told Sam I liked him.” Shadows shuttered across his expression. “He was…furious. It brought out a side of him I’d never seen before. He thought the only reason I’d befriended him was so I could, in his words, ‘trick the first superhero I met into fucking me.’”

Peter felt himself wince. Even though his skin was cold as ice, the blood moving beneath it suddenly felt white-hot.

“I tried telling him it wasn’t like that at all. I liked Sam a lot, so obviously I would’ve been sad if he said he didn’t feel the same. But I would’ve gotten over it and stopped pursuing him in that way for the sake of our friendship. That was more important to me than anything. I didn’t want to throw our entire relationship away just because I developed a crush. I cared about him too much to do that.” Johnny hid his face behind his knees, trying and failing to conceal his tears. “But I guess it wasn’t the same for him. He couldn’t see past it. I never would’ve told him I liked him if I knew how quickly it’d tear us apart. He said he never wanted to see me again, and made sure from that point on he didn’t.”

Johnny’s shoulders started to shake, and Peter couldn’t stand being silent any longer. He inched closer to him, laying his palm on his arm.

“Johnny—” Peter began, but the Human Torch flinched from his touch. 

“Wait,” he said, angling away from him with his eyes squeezed shut, curling into himself even further. “Just—let me finish first. Please.”

Instantly, Peter withdrew his hand, guilt constricting around his heart. Johnny blew out a breath, the intensifying winds whistling between them, then continued.

“The cosmic storm wasn’t supposed to come until the end of the month, but it arrived a week earlier than anyone expected and was triple the size Reed had predicted. It hit us the same day Sam stopped speaking to me. Sam had flown back to Earth to visit his mom when the dust struck our ship, and he showed up just in time to stop us from crash landing in the Pacific Ocean. He used his powers to get me and my friends back on the planet in one piece.” He grimaced. “At least—that’s what I was told. I was knocked unconscious the moment the cosmic rays hit and didn’t wake up until two days later.” 

Johnny splayed his legs out flat and leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the bloated clouds overhead. “I’m grateful that he saved us. I have to be. But the things he said to me that day have haunted me ever since. He was the first person I had a really serious crush on. He was also, ironically, the first person who made me feel true shame for that part of myself. Now that I’ve finally pieced my life back together after everything that happened with him and the mission and getting powers and all, suddenly—he’s back? And he’s asking to see me again? Why? I don’t understand it.” Johnny turned to him helplessly, eyes welling with tears. “W-what do you think? What should I do?”

Peter took the cue as a sanction to speak now, if he so desired. He kept his distance, though—despite how deep the cold was permeating his cells and how warm Johnny Storm looked. He thumbed through the lofty pages of lore Johnny had shared with him today—once, twice, thrice. It took him a minute to find the words that felt the most right to say.

“It sounds like Sam really hurt you,” Peter said, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. “And if you don’t want to see him again, I think that’s okay. You don’t owe him anything, and just because he’s asking to see you doesn’t mean he deserves to.” A candle of fear flickered inside Peter’s chest as he realized what the next thing he planned to say might lead to. But he didn't let that stop him from continuing. “It is possible he may want to speak now because he’s sorry about what happened between you two and is hoping to make amends. A lot’s changed with you since that day—so maybe a lot’s changed with him, too.” Peter tucked both hands under his armpits, trying to bring some feeling back into his numb fingers. “But m-maybe that’s not the case. Maybe he’s still an asshole, and you’re better off keeping your distance. You know him better than I ever will. You’re the best person to make that call.”

Johnny kept his eyes on the sky above them, a look of tranquility settling across his graceful features. A soft breeze rippled through his reddish-gold hair. Peter admired him longingly from where he sat, wanting to drop-kick anyone who’d ever caused him harm. Even if Sam had changed his tune since the last time they’d spoken, Peter hoped the two of them never met. The gnawing urge to clock him in the nose for how he’d treated Johnny might prove too difficult for his waning empathy to subdue. When the Human Torch finally turned towards Spider-Man, his tears were dry and his lips were curved into a small but genuine smile. 

“You’re a good friend, Spidey,” Johnny said softly, criss-crossing his legs with his hands in his lap. “I hope your talk with your crush goes better than mine did.”

Peter’s body stiffened, heartbeat revving like a freshly jumped car. “My—what?” he stammered out, reeling.

Johnny tilted his head slightly to the left. “That superhero girl Stark mentioned,” he reminded him. “The one he said you should ask on a date. Aren’t you gonna talk to her?”

Spider-Man recalled then what Johnny had overheard, but it wasn’t relief he felt this time. Just…heaviness. Weariness. His heart wilting in his chest once again. 

“Oh,” Peter said, confused and conflicted. He lowered his gaze to his feet. “Right. That.” 

Was it time to correct that little misunderstanding?

“You should talk to her,” Johnny encouraged him. “I’d bet anything she likes you back. You’re a total catch, and she’d be lucky to be with you. Don’t let my clusterfuck of a love life deter you from going after what you want. I have the worst taste in romantic partners. Just ask Sue.”

Peter was only half-listening to what Johnny was saying. His mind was preoccupied with the same dilemma he’d been wrestling with since late last night—or rather, if he was being honest with himself, since the day he recognized his feelings for Johnny for what they truly were. At this point, Peter had abandoned the should he or should he not quandary. Now, it was purely a question of execution. It all made sense now: why Johnny never dared confess his feelings to Spider-Man. He’d done this all before already, and look how marvelous that turned out for him. The news of Peter’s supposed crush on some nonexistent superhero girl must’ve dealt the final blow to any hopes he might’ve harbored of a potential romance budding between them. He’d given up. Thrown in the towel. Deigned to support Peter’s alleged romantic interest because he was committed to being his friend, and that’s what good friends did. 

Well, respectfully, fuck friendship, Peter thought. He was ready for something more.

He was done playing it safe. He was done denying himself because he didn’t feel worthy. This was his moment to grab hold of what he wanted with both hands and pull.

Limbs shivering from more than just the cold, Spider-Man pushed off the ground and rose to his feet. A light drizzle had started to fall, negating all of Johnny’s previous efforts to warm him up and dry him off. Peter curled his hands into icy fists at his sides, stomping down his fears as they rose like bile in his throat, his heart beating somewhere outside his body. He set his jaw, then whirled on Johnny sharply.

“I’m gonna tell you something!” he shouted at him—so much louder than he meant to. But he was too focused on just getting the words out to worry about what volume that happened to be at. “I don’t—I’m not sure how, but I am! Right now.”

Johnny blinked at him perplexedly. “All right…” he said, a suspicious wrinkle dimpling along his brow. He looked somber and somewhat bored while Peter’s heart was threatening to implode from anticipation. 

Peter hopped on his toes, did a lap around Lady Liberty’s head, gave himself the world’s meanest internal pep talk, then planted himself back in front of Johnny, clapping a hand over his eyes.

“Okay—I’m not gonna tell you something!” Peter decided, voice cracking. “But I am gonna show you something, if you’re okay with that!”

“Why are you yelling at me?” Johnny laughed cheerlessly. He rose upright, standing across from the spider-themed hero with a hand on his hip. “Did you swallow too much seawater or something? Do I need to fly you home?” 

Peter felt like he was boiling in his own blood. He was blushing so hard, he wondered if he might actually be running a mild fever. Could a person die from being so hopelessly lovestruck yet terrified to say it? Maybe he’d be the first.

Spider-Man dragged his hands down his face and groaned at the sky. “Okay, okay—how ‘bout this,” he proposed frenetically. He lowered his arms and took a step closer to Johnny, knees threatening to give out underneath him. “Could I just—can I try something? And then, if you don’t like it, I promise I’ll never do it ever again? We can both forget it ever happened, and just continue on with our lives without ever mentioning it. Or, if you really don’t like it, you could even punch me afterwards! Or burn a handprint into my forehead! Whatever makes you feel properly repaid for my transgressions against you. You have my blessing to do what you gotta do to make things even. Does that sound good?”

Johnny’s bland amusement was starting to pitch towards concern. “I’m confused about what's happening right now,” he admitted. “What are you wanting to do?”

Peter flexed and unflexed his damp palms at his sides. “It’s…a surprise?” he offered weakly, then sighed. “But I need your permission to do it. Before I…y’know. Surprise you.”

Johnny scoffed, crossing his arms tight against his chest. “Um…okay,” he conceded warily. “You have my permission to…surprise me, I guess.”

Rain pinged against the algae-green metal of the massive statue they both stood on. Droplets slithered down Peter’s eye lenses, blurring his field of view. His body felt blazing hot yet glacier cold all at once. 

“Okay,” Peter squeaked out. “Cool.” He could not believe he was about to do this. He took another step closer to him, then retreated back skittishly, his bashfulness almost too much to bear, Johnny’s strikingly beautiful gaze too intently focused on him. Peter interlaced his hands together in front of his chest. “Could you maybe, um…close your eyes? Please?”

Johnny searched his masked face. Something new flashed in his blueish-gray irises. Something…fearful? Peter wasn’t quite sure. Nonetheless, he obeyed. 

Mist blanketed Johnny’s skin like early morning dew. His hair stuck to his forehead in messy, criss-crossing strands. Tiny raindrops sparkled in eyelashes. Peter expelled all the air from his lungs. He raised his trembling fingers to his chin and carefully rolled his mask above his mouth. The roaring of his pulse replaced all sound as the young hero stepped forward, eyes dropping to Johnny’s lips. Those freckly, grotesquely perfect lips. He wasn’t deserving of them, of this, but there was no backing out now. What should he do with his hands? He opted to let them hang uselessly at his sides. Should he have put chapstick on? This was taking too long. Goddammit, Parker. Come on! No more stalling, hiding, making excuses. Peter swallowed harshly, then forced his eyes shut. He prayed his heart wouldn’t give out on him as he slowly leaned forward. 

“Are you…about to kiss me?”

Peter’s muscles seized as his eyes popped open. Johnny Storm stared back at him, their lips mere inches apart, his face the picture of disbelief. All the moxy left him in an instant. Peter reared back, doubt and terror flushing through him.

“N-not if you don’t want me to,” he said thinly. 

“You’re serious?” Johnny asked, looking a bit panicked. “You—you’re not just joking around right now?”

Like the crack of a hammer to his temple, Peter realized he’d read this all wrong. Utterly, horribly wrong. Johnny didn’t like him back. He never had. He had confided in Peter about his past romantic woes because Peter was his friend, and he trusted him. Not because it had any connection or correlation to their own relationship. Johnny had finally felt safe enough to open up to him about his sexuality, and what was the first thing Peter did in response? Assume Johnny had a crush on him like the selfish asshole he was. Simply because they were both boys, both sixteen, and both in each other’s general proximity. How could he be so cruel? So insensitive? He wondered how many times this had happened to him before. Befriending a fan in hopes of forming a true bond, only for them to turn around and treat him like a shiny prize for the taking. Peter was no different and no better than the masses and hordes of others who clamored after Johnny Storm, itching to snag fistfuls of his sunshine for themselves. 

Peter staggered back from him even more, heart guttering with shame. “I’m sorry,” he said, invisible fingers closing around his throat. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Johnny balked, clearly still in shock from his betrayal. He took a step towards him, extending a hand. “Webs—” 

“I messed up. I’m so sorry, Johnny. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t—” Guilt stole his voice away. He turned his back to him, every breath a dagger to his lungs. He felt like he was drowning all over again. “I’ll leave now. Just please don’t—”

Something grasped his arm and spun him around faster than Peter could blink. Whatever appeals and apologies still dangled on the tip of his tongue were smothered to death by a pair of lips crashing into his own. The world lurched and swayed around him, then fell away all at once. Johnny cupped a hand against the back of his head and pulled him in closer, kissed him fiercer, his mouth gentle yet ravenous as it traipsed across Peter’s. It was the first kiss of his life that had Spider-Man seeing stars. 

When the two of them finally came up for air, they held each other in their hands and gazes, the drizzle overhead paring open into an all-out downpour, and laughed. The rain pounded and the wind roared, but neither of them could care less. Peter felt mired in a dream or the final frame of a movie in the best way imaginable. Johnny pressed his forehead against his, the wild throb of his heartbeat singing in Peter’s ears. His bubbly giggles quickly morphed into sobs. 

“I thought you were straight!” Johnny exclaimed, interlacing Spider-Man’s fingers with his own.

“I thought you were straight!” Peter shot back, dazed with mirth, laughing.

“You thought I was straight?” Johnny wept, tears and raindrops bleeding together as they slid down his cheeks. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

“Johnny!” Peter giggled, cradling his face in his palms. “Why are you crying?”

The Human Torch shook his head, a beautiful, blubbery mess. “I just—I didn’t think you felt the same,” he sniffled. “I thought it was just me. I was so afraid that—”

“Me too,” Peter assured him, still giggling. He couldn’t seem to stop giggling. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Johnny told him, breathless with joy. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

"Really?" Peter practically squealed. Shock and delight undulated from his heart in tsunami-sized waves. “Same here! I'm just—I can't believe that you—all this time, it was actually both of us who were feeling—" Giggles swallowed up his words, but he was too thrilled and starry-eyed for it to embarrass him much. He pressed his face closer to Johnny's, their noses brushing. "When did you realize you liked me?”

Johnny’s cheeks blazed with color, and Peter noticed then the tiny, rosy flames lapping off his shoulders, hissing in the pelting rain. “Probably since you kicked my ass in front of everyone during our spar,” he admitted, averting his eyes with a sheepish smile. “What about you?”

Peter bit the inside of cheek, immediately regretting the question. Blush veiled his flesh like a second skin. “Before we even met,” he said through a cough. He saw the smug retort building in Johnny from a mile away and jabbed a finger into his chest. “But I didn’t officially know it was a crush until much more recently. I didn’t understand my feelings back then. I didn’t even know I liked guys like that.”

“When did you know you liked guys?” Johnny pressed him a little too fervidly. Peter groaned, realizing the hole he’d dug himself into far too late. 

“Around...like…four days ago…?” he mumbled, wincing. Johnny’s eyes brightened fiendishly. 

“Hold up,” he said, cupping a hand under Peter’s chin, trailing his thumb along his jawline. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” His grin was as blinding as a thousand suns. His touch was turning his legs to putty. “Did meeting me turn you gay?”

Peter scoffed, clawing free of his spell, snatching Johnny’s hand away from his face. “You didn’t turn me gay,” he insisted, rolling his eyes. 

“But I made you realize you were gay,” he remarked proudly. “I was your gay awakening.”

“I’m bi, actually,” Peter corrected him.

“Only because my handsome face and irresistible charm lured you to the dark side,” he forged on, winking at him. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You’re a dick,” Peter giggled. Baffling happiness and devastating relief swirled together like whirlpools in the masked hero's belly. It wasn't just me, Peter's dizzied mind repeated again and again, grasping tight to Johnny's wrist with his right hand while digging his thumbnail into the palm of his left; just to make sure this wasn't some cruel dream or twisted trick of his imagination. Johnny likes me back. We both like each other that way. He stared into his eyes of lapis lazuli and wondered just how virtuous his past life must've lived for him to be so damn lucky in this one. 

“I’m glad all the work I put into winning you over wasn't wasted,” Johnny beamed. “You certainly took your time making a move, Webs. Was I not laying it on thick enough? I was hardly being subtle.”

Peter hunched his shoulders. “I thought being flirty was just your personality,” he explained skittishly.

“It is to a certain extent! But I was practically throwing myself at you! Homemade meals, personalized gift baskets, calling you hot to your face on at least seven separate occasions. What more did you want from me?”

Peter laughed into his palms. “I’m sorry! I just figured that’s how you treat all your friends. I didn’t want to assume anything!”

“Well, you should have! You had me questioning my game, Spidey! I thought I’d lost my edge!” 

Peter felt giddy as a child on his first trip to Disney World. He rubbed at the back of his neck, the residual warmth of Johnny’s lips pressed against his own still setting off fireworks in his belly. “Trust me,” he said. “You’ve got plenty of game. Maybe too much for my liking. I’m no good at any of this.”

Johnny chuckled. “You flung yourself in the ocean just ‘cuz you were worried about me. That’s plenty romantic. Dangerous and idiotic, but still romantic.” He smiled at Peter from ear to ear, slicking back his hair with his fingers, then frowned. “Wait. So what was all that stuff Stark was saying about you having a crush on some superhero girl? Was that true?”

Peter's ears went pink. “Oh. Right.” He rocked back and forth on his heels. “That was about you, actually.” 

A line formed between Johnny’s eyebrows. “I’m the superhero girl?”

“I tried telling my aunt about you, but when I mentioned I had a crush on another superhero, she assumed it was a girl. I’m not out to her yet, so I panicked and just played along. Then she talked to Mr. Stark about it, who also doesn’t know I’m bi, and now it’s snowballed into this big lie I’m having to sustain with everyone.”

Delight flashed across Johnny’s features. “You told your aunt about me?”

Peter giggled shyly. “Yeah. She and I are really close. We tell each other about everything going on in our lives. I wanted her to know about you and offer any advice she had, but it all kinda ended up backfiring.” The masked hero shivered, soaked from head to toe. “I feel bad lying to her, but I’m scared the truth could…I don’t know. Change our relationship.”

Johnny’s eyes softened with sympathy. “Who all knows you’re bi?”

Peter shrugged. “Just you and my best friend.”

“Oh, wow. So, like—hardly anyone.” Johnny tried wiping the raindrops off his chin with his sleeve, but his costume was just as wet as his face, so all it did was smear long trails of droplets across his skin.

“Who knows about you?” Peter prompted him in return. Johnny snickered.

“Well. Most of the general public speculates I’m some form of queer, just from—y’know. The way that I am.” He tucked a strand of dripping hair behind his ear. “But the only people I’ve told outright are Sue, Reed, and Ben.”

A coil of anxiety wound through Peter’s ribs. “Does it bother you? Having all these strangers discuss your sexuality all the time?”

Johnny pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not really. I actually find it entertaining. It’s fun to keep the fans and the paparazzi guessing. Sometimes I’ll go on fake dates with my lesbian friends just to throw everyone off and see what kind of headlines come out of it. It’s shocking how gullible some people can be.”

Peter felt himself redden a little. He’d definitely fallen for one too many of those click-baity tabloids in the past. “And are your teammates…supportive of you?” he asked.

“Oh, sure. They don’t care. I give them far worse things to worry about than what gender I prefer making out with.” A sly smile curled along his lips as Johnny pressed closer to him, hands sliding around his waist to weave together against the small of Spider-Man’s back, kicking the teen’s pulse into overdrive. “Speaking of which, do I have your permission to kiss you again? Because I’d really like to, if that’s okay with you.”

Spurred by uncharacteristic boldness and clarity, Peter answered his question by throwing his arms around his neck and planting his lips on Johnny’s, giggling as he did it. The Human Torch had stolen their first kiss from him; and, as resplendent as it’d been, Peter wasn’t gonna let him nab the second as well. Not on his watch. 

A little squeak of surprise came from Johnny, followed by a flash of heat. When Peter pulled away from him, his whole scalp was lit ablaze, eyes wide and cheeks pink. 

“You have my permission from now until your sister or some other vengeful force of the universe strikes me dead,” Peter told him, glowing from the inside out. He snickered at the flames billowing off his head. “Did I do that?”

Johnny glanced up in surprise, then frantically smothered his scalp with his palms. “Shut up,” he giggled sheepishly. “I can’t help it.”

“Are you gonna light on fire every time I kiss you?” Peter inquired, standing on his tiptoes to peck him on the nose. The flames he’d extinguished instantly roared back to life, spreading down his shoulders and arms this time. 

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, jumping back from him, flustered and laughing. “Cut it out! I could burn you!”

“But it’s so cute!” Peter beamed. “Totally worth the risk of a pre-mortem cremation. I’ll take my chances.”

Johnny smacked his shoulders until the flames died down, rolling his eyes, unable to mask his radiant smile. Peter wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm, as cold and wet as a New York sewer rat.

“So…” Peter mused, grinning up at him bashfully. “What now?”

Johnny shook out his hair like a golden retriever after a bath. “What do you mean?” he said, mirroring his smile.

Peter pulled his mask back over his chin. “I mean…I like you. A lot. And as much as I’d like to galavant across New York, kissing you on top of every iconic fixture of the city…” A knot of shame formed in his stomach. Peter licked his lips. “I’m just…not sure I’m ready for the world to know about this part of myself yet. It’s all still so new to me.” He grabbed Johnny’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It has nothing to do with you, I just—”

“It’s all right,” Johnny assured him. “I get it.”

“And with Fisk watching us, I don’t think it’s a good idea if we—”

“You don’t have to give me a million reasons for it, Webs. I’m okay with keeping it under wraps. I understand.”

Peter swallowed, guilty with relief. “What about our teammates?”

“We don’t have to tell them either, if you’re not ready for it. We don’t have to tell anyone. Nobody has to know until you want them to.” Johnny pressed a kiss to his forehead, lighting sparklers inside Peter’s chest. “As long as I get to be with you, I don’t care. We’ll keep it a secret for as long as you need.”

Peter smiled until his cheeks ached, overflowing with warmth despite the arctic temperature of his skin. “Thanks, Flame Brain,” he said, voice brittle. 

Johnny lifted his lips off Peter’s mask and grimaced. “Hiding it from my people might be extra difficult, though. Especially Reed and Sue.”

“Why’s that?” Peter asked. 

Johnny winced. “Reed…kinda already guessed that you might like me. And that I liked you. He called me out on it a few days ago and encouraged me to approach you ‘cuz he thought there was a good chance you liked me back. He’s an obnoxiously observant and nosy bastard.” He sighed. “And he tells Sue everything.”

Peter bristled at the idea of someone seeing through his disguise so easily. Granted, Reed was a certified, world-renowned genius, but still. He’d read him like a book without even trying, as if the words “Please Kiss Me Johnny Storm” were tattooed across his forehead. Were Peter’s feelings for Johnny really that obvious? How long before the rest of Avengers Tower exposed his poorly veiled secret? How long before the entire world did?

“We’ll just have to be extra careful when we’re around them,” Johnny decided, cracking a smile. “Maybe we can fake-argue whenever they’re in the same room as us. I could pretend I randomly turned into a Daily Bugle fan and accuse you of whatever insane shit Jonah is rambling on about that day. Or you could call me a self-obsessed snob with a god complex and mommy issues.”

Peter busted into a laugh. “I don’t want them to think we hate each other! Jesus! Let’s just act like we’re friends and avoid doing anything that might convince them otherwise.” He gave Johnny’s shoulder a playful punch. “Two totally platonic, exceedingly heterosexual super-bros. That’s us.”

Johnny snorted. “Right. ‘Cuz that’s worked so well for us so far.”

Peter ran a hand across his rain-speckled eye lenses, a shadow crossing over his otherwise lustrous heart. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Sam?” he asked reluctantly. “Maybe there’s a chance he’s a better person now. Maybe you two could be friends again.”

Preferably nothing more than that, Peter thought with a pinch in his gut. But if he’d make you happier than me…

Johnny took Peter’s hand in his and held it against his heart, a slurry of pained understanding yet unbreakable resolve etched into his face. “I don’t even want to think about that douchebag right now,” he assured him. “Maybe ever. Right now, I only want to be here. Nowhere else, with no one else. Just us.”

God, was he perfect. Too perfect. It was almost unfair. The smile he beheld him with could shake the very stars from the sky.

At that moment, a frigid gust of wind barreled upon them from the east, making the rain fly in sideways. Peter’s teeth started chattering again as he braced himself against the numbing gale and downpour, trembling like a leaf. 

“Oh,” Johnny said, scanning him up and down, completely unfazed by the rain or wind. “Are you still cold?”

“Um,” Peter stuttered, shoulders hiked to his ears, knees quaking beneath him. “L-little bit.”

Johnny reached out and touched his arm, lowering the superhuman layer of warmth he shrouded himself in to protect his body from the elements long enough to feel the temperature of Spider-Man’s skin. His jaw dropped when the cold reached his fingers. Blinded by his excitement for his reciprocated affections, Johnny hadn’t bothered to notice that the person he was kissing and ogling and fawning over was freezing to death right before his eyes.

“Holy shit, Spidey!” Johnny cried, bundling him into a superheated hug. “You’re like ice!”

“Oh my god,” the masked hero whimpered. “You’re s-so warm.” He shuddered out a breath, nestling his head between Johnny’s chin and shoulder, the Human Torch’s intoxicating smell and toasty embrace like shots of ecstacy to his senses. “Is this what being a lizard under a heat lamp feels like? Sweet mother of Christ. Bake me alive. Set me on fire. Go full supernova. I can take it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Johnny insisted, ignoring the shivering teen’s quips. He hugged him closer to his chest. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? We need to get you out of the rain.”

“A cup of hot cocoa wouldn’t hurt either,” Peter added, voice muffled against the bend of Johnny’s neck. Peter felt the Human Torch’s laughter rumble softly through his body, and he thought he might melt with happiness.

“Fine. I’ll make you the best hot cocoa ever. After we get you home.” Johnny snaked an arm around his waist to lift him off the ground, but his hand bumped something in the hidden pocket of Spider-Man costume. Curious, he tugged the object free, then frowned. “What’s this?” he asked, holding the sopping piece of paper between them.

Peter gasped in dismay. “Oh no,” he lamented, cradling it in his hands. “My artwork! It’s ruined.”

“Your artwork?” Johnny said dubiously. 

“It was the first piece of fan art I ever received,” Peter explained, the drawing turning to mush in his palms. “A little girl named Lainie made it for me. It was a picture of us holding hands with spiders everywhere. She signed it and everything. It was probably the worst depiction of me I’ve ever seen in my life. I loved it with my entire being.” The paper chose that moment to fall apart entirely, plopping into sad, wet piles on top of Lady Liberty’s head. “And now it’s gone.”

Johnny’s eyes brightened. “You mean you met a fan of yours? Like, in person?”

Peter nodded. “I did. A lot of them, actually. More than I’ve ever seen in my life. They helped me figure out you were here.” He nuzzled back into his irresistible bubble of warmth. “People are actually beginning to like me now. They’re starting to see me as someone helpful and trustworthy. I don’t know how you did it.”

“You did that,” Johnny corrected him. “I just opened their eyes to what was already there. It was all you.”

“You’re a goddamn miracle worker, Johnny Storm.”

After a beat, Johnny sighed wistfully, raising a hand to Peter's neck, his index and middle fingers resting against the heavy thump of his pulse. “Fine," he conceded. "I suppose you’re right. I am amazing. And talented. And inspirational. And hot.” A smirk lifted his features as he traced the tips of his fingers up his throat and under his chin, sending a different kind of shiver crawling up Spider-Man's spine. “No wonder you want me so bad. I’m impressed, actually. Fresh out the closet, yet here you are—snatching the world’s hottest bachelor off the market like a pro. Do you know how many fans’ hearts you’d be breaking if they knew? They’d call you far worse things than a menace; I can promise you that.” 

Peter turned ten shades of red beneath his waterlogged spider-suit. Even now, when they both knew they liked each other, Johnny’s wily teasing still left him blushing brighter than a summer sunset. In fact, knowing Johnny was flirting with him because he liked him probably made it a hundred times more effective and about a thousand times more flustering. A startled giggle sprung out of him as Peter’s hand flew to his neck. Johnny’s cackling injected Peter’s skin with static, but the flaming teen’s gaze brimmed with affection as he swept the masked hero into his arms, planting a kiss between his eyes and lifting them into the sky. 

“I’m so happy you liked me back,” Johnny said, holding him like something precious, something holy. The wind and rain hammered down from above, but Peter could hardly feel it. Johnny’s warmth was all-consuming and steadfast, shielding him from the blustery outside world. He pressed in close to him, praying they were too high up for anyone in the city to see while also drowning in too much joy to care that much if they did.

“I’m so happy you liked me back, too,” Peter giggled in reply. Time would only tell what new adventures and dangerous obstacles awaited them now that they’d taken this leap. Foes and friends rising against them, battles and turmoil fought both externally and within. But now, no matter what, they’d face those things together. Side by side, hand in hand, the spider and his flame. 

Peter held onto this moment like a firefly caged between his fingers. It was so perfect, so magical, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting it escape him, of watching that fleeting, wondrous light disappear beyond his reach. He’d grasp it tight and hold it close for as long as he could without squashing it. 

Spider-Man ignored the breathtaking views of the city whisking by beneath them. He traced his gaze across Johnny’s refined features the whole ride home, heaven struck.

[heytherecentaurs]

NADDPOD C3 Musings

There's a lot under the cut.

Most of these could have been their own posts, but I'm going to just touch on a lot of them here.

Murph's encounter design is at it's best throughout. There are multiple battles that could've been the finale battle in most campaigns. High King Durretar, The Crick, Ultrus, Alexandrite in Tsunare, Ice Knife and the Jovyre battles are all spectacular.

Murph does a great job at giving us new NPCs to love like Albin and Kenna, and his returning NPCs don't overshadow or steal spotlight from the new story. Meeting Big Bev 200 years later was really incredible. The expansion of Cooter's story and the tragedy of it is a highlight for me. He's such a sympathetic character.

The players continue to become more and more skilled as D&D players. Their chemistry is always great, but they built really strong characters mechanically (especially Callie, because it's Emily, duh) and really strong characterization. I really feel like I understand their characters and it took less time in C3 for me to get a grasp on everyone's deal.

C3 is my least favourite of the main campaigns. It has some of the highest peeks of the podcast. But I was less invested overall. That could very well be down to the release schedule. Or it just not hitting for me as hard. But I still love it. Least favourite is still a favourite.

Mothership/Alexandrite made for a better BBEG than Jovyre. The ubiquitous tech corporation being the de facto multinational government superpower, the ultra-capitalist oligarchical oppressor led by a resource consuming A.I. resulting in the rise and spread of authoritarian fascism feels relevant. It would have even made more sense for Glen, a wannabe fascist dictator, to align with Mothership.

Thematically, I understand Jovyre's role. She is a younger sibling who never learned to grow from feeling trapped in her sister's shadow and who let those feelings fester for centuries. It's a thematic parallel to Callie but Jovyre should have been the reflection of how broken Callie could become if she didn't reconcile with Cyra. It's the wrong thematic thread to follow all the way to the endgame.

I'm not against Jovyre as a villain. But she feels more like a personal villain for Callie in a similar way as Marabelle was to Moonshine. Structurally, it's not as satisfying because Jovyre is less scary than fascism sweeping through Bahumia.

I could've used more time with the characters. I love them all but the pacing really limited the downtime. Downtime is important for characterization. I like "filler" episodes. Give me an hour and a half of the characters hanging out. Give me slower beats in which characters are just roleplaying dramatic moments.

I really hoped there would be a romance. We get silly bits but this is a point I've reiterated. I'd love for Naddpod to explore a serious romantic relationship.

The locations of this campaign are wonderful. I loved revisiting places and Murph's description of them and how 200 years reshaped them. The living wood changed so much it was wild. Getting to see Irondeep rebuilt was great given that we mostly saw it as rubble in C1. The new places like Tsunare and the Ice Knife were among my favourites.

Emily's music has only gotten better. Every campaign it's better produced. Her vocals have gotten stronger. I'm so enamoured of her music that I will push it on people even if they aren't into D&D. You don't need to know D&D to listen to "Home Is Where the Hearth Is" or "Riverboat Shanty". I return to her tunes again and again.

Jake returning as Hardwon was unexpected. I really can't stop thinking about how manic Hardwon got the second he heard Moonshine in trouble. That was such a magical moment. And his acting rocked.

Caldwell's lil frog guy had such potential for hijinks, but gives us a special character study in how childhood hardship shapes one's adulthood. I would've loved more exploration of this and how his entire character is about building a family he never had and taking care of them.

Listening to Emily take Callie on a journey of growth, acceptance of herself and gaining self-confidence was really lovely. I would love 10 more episodes in the campaign to explore that.

The theme of siblings, especially YOUNGER siblings throughout the campaign is really good. I also think it's relevant that C3 is the younger sibling of C1 and how the themes of younger siblings striving to live up to their older siblings plays out.

Overall, I loved the campaign. I have my criticisms but I do appreciate that no amount of planning can prepare Murph for what the characters will do and how the collaborative and improvisational aspects of D&D don't lend themselves to cohesion. So while I say these things, I have way more understanding and give way more leeway for messiness in the stories.

[girlrachael]

Dystopian Cass and Hoddi save Dystopian Tap - 2.4k fic

Business has been a little slow lately, the only things that were truly interesting about this mundane life is when the precious little bun-bun of an employee and my business partner Hoddi are in the building. I have known Hoddi a very long time before we both met our bun-bun employee. But Tap walked into our lives, more liked crashing but I digress, and fit in like a glove. Although it took a bit for that to cement in Tap’s mind. And speaking of me and Hoddi’s little bun-bun she was due back any minute now. And if she couldn’t make it on time she would check in saying that she would be late and then give an estimated time on when she would arrive. And if even that fails Hoddi has safety trackers to see where Tap is and whether or not Tap is in true need of our help. Tap also has a panic button that goes off if she presses it as well as goes off if it’s destroyed.

Getting off topic, without them both around the world would seem to go by in a crawl, and it doesn’t help that I’m on this weird version of constant life support, not for a lack of trying on Hoddi and Tap’s parts, this body and my A.I. just take way too much power to operate properly these days compared to the new and improved A.I.’s up in the good parts of town. It just mainly means that I can’t really go anywhere, but when the both of them are here it’s not so suffocating anymore. And while the so-called new and improved A.I.'s were reduced to mere servants by the alleged high classes of the world, I was one of (if not the only one) the lucky A.I.’s that was able to get away from the scientists and leaders of our world after they decided that A.I.’s were getting too powerful and that they needed to take back some upgrades to keep the new A.I.’s under their thumbs. 

The only caveat against my lucky getaway was that I needed way too much power to remain awake and functioning, and in the middle of me starting to shut down for who knows how long and possibly for good while running away I had a true stroke of luck.

I met Hoddi. 

As for the reason why I was running away in the first place, I~ am one of, if not the only one left, of the most advanced models the world had ever seen before the scientists' little purge, and part of the reason of why the purge even started was because my particular model of A.I. had this nifty little ability to hijack nearby fellow A.I.’s and control them. It was meant to be a power for the good of their high and mighty society, like a robot that can run a bunch of stores so the people wouldn’t have to lift their fingers anymore than they already have to. 

As to the reason why this great idea didn’t work? There was a little incident that totally~ wasn’t my fault. It’s not like I semi started the rebellion of robots against the people of high town because I didn’t want to be forced to cater to someone’s every whim. 

But to even do something like that anymore the power upkeep I would need is absolutely insane, and with how I need to keep hidden for no particular reason at all, I can’t get any better power sources for my body and A.I. or else I’ll be shut down by the people uptown before I can even make a run for it. 

Although I’ve mainly just become an energy guzzler because I can’t be completely upgraded because of……. reasons, Hoddi does a terrific job at keeping me semi upgraded and Tap somehow obtains the most excellent parts to help Hoddi upgrade me. The combination of these two wonderful beings is how I am in excellent repair despite us being on this side of town.

But energy guzzler aside, being such an A.I. has it’s perks; 1. It freaks people out, 2. Since I’m such an advanced A.I. most cops think I’m just a fellow person controlling a suit from afar, and finally 3. I’m really~ good at diagnosing a problem in an A.I. or any machine. And this last reason just makes up my entire half of our jobs, can’t have my fellow advance brethren fall to disrepair now can I~.

Although the bar does double as a hotspot for information gathering because of me and Hoddi technically being information brokers as well.

Enough about that, where was I? Oh yeah! Tap! Now that I’m thinking about it, I glance at the clock. Tap was supposed to be here half an hour ago, and checked in 25 minutes ago. Something's up.

I do a silent call to Tap over my interface and wait for them to pick up. Nothing. That’s……. Not good……..

That can only mean that Tap has gotten caught up in something, and getting caught up in something these days just means that people, including yourself, are about to die. 

After a couple of more minutes of trying to call Tap and still nothing coming from my attempts, I knew I had to do something. But with how I’m connected to this spot with my generator, I can’t leave. But…… I do have something up my sleeve. Though, I do need Hoddi’s help to make sure this will work.

I proceeded to clear out the bar by saying that I have to close early due to some VIP guests coming soon and that’s usually lingo for ‘SCRAM’. After everyone had cleared out, I went to the deepest part of my storage to find a very old item of mine. It has been awhile but I’ve had these since the creation of my A.I. and body. A very small but powerful generator that works semi like a battery for me. It was ‘advertised’ to last 5 days and could completely recharge in another 5 next to another generator. I was given three and only one can last me at full power for 5 hours max, and if I keep the energy consumption low it could possibly last a full day but it never has before lasted even remotely close to 5 days like it was advertised.

Found it! Now I just need Hoddi’s help. I sent out an emergency call for Hoddi, because I’m not sure if she is in the building right now.

*CRASH*

Nope. She’s in the building. I watch as Hoddi slides around the corner with a concerned look on her face.

“Cass! What’s the call about?!?”

I give her what I hope is a flat look. Her face drops. 

“.....Tap?....” I nodded. She immediately growls and lunges for the computer in the corner and starts aggressively typing on her computer, turning on the tracers to find out where Tap is.

After a minute it pops up that Tap is in one of the abandoned warehouses on the edge of the city and her vital signs are…. Okay….. But not 100%. That means that she has probably been taken hostage in hopes of luring someone out, mainly, me and Hoddi. We glance at each other in slight dismay before hardening our resolve. Hoodie looked at my fancy generator in hand and looked back up to me and said, “You sure?” I nodded. Anything for saving our little bun bun.

Hoodie nodded and waved me over so we could quickly set up our plan.

~Earlier with Tap~

Great! Just great! I just had to get that fancy new part for Cass…… I did though, Cass could really use it. But look where it has gotten me! Mister holier-than-thou Inspector Saul is looking down his nose at me with a sneer. After a moment of our glaring contest he opened his garbage mouth.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here. The rumored new partner of the two most elusive beings in the underground.”

I wrinkled my nose, and stuck my tongue out at the foul man, he didn’t like that and spat in my face. I merely grinned in return and gave my two cents on this situation. “Oh…. Partner? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am merely a thief for hire and someone hired me to do this job. I don’t do partnerships, I work alone InSpEcToR SaUl.”

Sauly boy didn’t like that response.

*THWACK*

Whelp. That punch hurt, but I’m not saying anything about my home, those two are my precious people in this fucked up world and I’m not EVER going to rat them out. As I zoned back into reality after that decent punch Saul landed, I watched as he was rubbing his wrist with a little baby handkerchief, seems fitting for the man baby. Saul looked back to me and with a somehow deeper sneer and started spewing trash again,

“Well you little shit, I am going to extract that information out of you one way or another. And I’m going to keep going till you die. And if you die it will be a lesson to your partners that I am on their trail and will soon catch them.”

At that I snorted and shook my head and replied, “Uh huh, you think YOU are going to find the two most elusive people in the underground and you think that killing ME is going to teach them a lesson?” 

Saul glared at me for insinuating that his methods were useless for what he was attempting to do. He opened his mouth to say something else when the lights went out, then we heard skittering, then we were surrounded by an eerie green glow from above, along with a deep mechanical growl. 

Me and Saul looked up.

My face lit up with glee, while Saul’s face went so white that I could see it through the green glow. Saul proceeded to stutter out, “A…. A……. A CAS MODEL!?!?!” I watched as Cass closed their mouth and simply smiled a sinister smile at Saul and then started speaking,

“Well, someone seems to know what I am. And you thought it was a good idea to lure me out of my deep, dark hole? What made you think you were going to win?”

At that Saul seemed to try and begin speaking, but I wasn’t paying attention anymore. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a much smaller red glow behind me. I looked to see Hoddi there with her tool kit getting me out of the ropes that Saul had tied me up in. I made a small noise of surprise and that had Saul pausing from his faux confident rant and glancing over. Seeing me now free and Hoddi behind me with her horns and eyes glowing red, Saul seemed to know when to call it quits and retreat so he proceeded to turn and run. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to take all three of us at once even with the little backup he brought with him, although by the looks of it, Cass had taken over the robots from the beginning to make sure they didn’t alert the so-called great Inspector Saul.

After Saul ran out Cass forcefully shut down the robot bodyguards and turned down the power output to orange like they are usually running at. Then they and Hoddi turned back to me and started questioning me, “Are you okay?”, “Are you injured?”, stuff like that. I shook my head that, no I wasn’t injured, and spoke up,

“I know you two are worried about me, but I’m really fine. But we need to get out of here as quickly as we can, because I doubt that Inspector Saul really left without a fight.”

Cass and Hoddi seemed to freeze at that and nodded. Cass immediately picked me up despite my protests and we made our way back to the hideout without being seen.

~After getting back to the hideout~

Cass set me on the bed and both they and Hoddi reluctantly left me in their sights to quickly hook Cass back up to the generator. Once then finished they both rushed to patch me up for any small scrape or bruise. And once they were satisfied with their work they just looked at me, then Cass spoke up, 

“What happened?”

I took a deep breath and started, “There was this valuable part I knew was being shipped and while it should have been obvious it was a trap from the way it was only one part being shipped, I just knew I had to get it.”

Hoddi gained an incredulous look on her face and spoke up, “And what, pray tell, was so important that you walked into an obvious trap to try and grab it?”

I simply smiled a cheeky smile and held up the part and said, “This.”

Hoddi and Cass both gasped when they saw it. Hoddi started ranting, “This is the one part that would make that new generator I found work with Cass’s system!” They both turned to me in shock as I simply kept smiling back.

Then Cass reached out and hugged me. I smiled and snuggled into the warm metal that was Cass, and Hoddi joined in after a moment. After enjoying the warmth for a moment Cass spoke up,

“You’re grounded, you know?”

I shot up and exclaimed, “WHAT!? WHY!?” Hoddi!......... Help me!……….”

Hoddi simply shook her head and replied, “Sorry bun-bun, you scared us so it’s bar duty for a week until we’ve calmed down.”

I threw my head back with my arms in the air and exclaimed, “Awww comeeeee onnnnnnnn!”

After pouting for a moment, I started laughing and Cass and Hoddi joined in on the laughter. I’m so glad to have found precious people in this fucked up world. I don’t know what I would do without them. All I know is that I just want to keep on surviving with them until it’s no longer possible, and I will do anything to make sure that happens.

“Were you being serious about the grounding…..?”

“Yes.” “Yes.”

“Awww man…..”

@somerandomdudelmao @hodd1 @tapakah0

[eilaafterhours]

Different Shades: Baby Blue [Prompto Argentum]

Content: Oral Sex, Implied Polyamory (Noctis/Reader/Prompto), Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/SubPOV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Rewrite of: Shades of Blue: Baby Blue

Header: @/bonniedeaguiar

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog!

Remember: I’ll block you if I catch your ageless or under age (not 18+) ass in my activity :)

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

“Ahh…an—!”

You sighed to yourself as you forced your eyes to keep from rolling back. 

Blondes always made the prettiest of sounds. You hummed against him, pulling another beautiful moan from his flushed, red lips.

You glanced up at him, finding that those straw-colored lashes were concealing those beautiful eyes of his. 

That wouldn’t do. 

You back off of him, calling his name. “Prompto.”  

Finally, he graced you with those beautiful baby-blue-sky eyes. 

"You've got to stay quiet." You nodded to the side, gesturing to the open hall. "We're in public, y'know?"

He nodded and went to close your eyes, but you stopped him. “Ah, ah…keep your eyes on me.” He flushed even harder, giving you another nod before placing a hand over his mouth. 

“Ah

You smiled. "Good boy." 

You flattened your tongue, giving him a wide, long swipe. Curled your tongue around the head and flicked the very tip. Then dipped your tongue in the slit as a bead of slick spilled from within. And your kitten licks kept him on the edge.

If his hisses and whines were anything to go by, you were doing a pretty good job.

This happened for a long while before he finally spoke up. " P-lease ..." God, the way he whispered it had you dripping. The whole ordeal did. 

You contemplated playing with him for a little while longer but decided to grant him mercy. You devoured him with more vigor, even using your hands to speed along the process. 

But just as he was about to fall apart, several clacks of heels echoed from around the corner. 

"My, my, the prince was in such a foul mood today, wasn't he?"

"He was. I've heard it's because of the engagement."

"Supposedly, the girl is of Solheim lineage, which makes her a powerful ally to the kingdom."

"How peculiar. No matter, it's simply a political matter, nothing more."

"And you are happy for such a reason, I wonder why?"

Their group burst out in a fit of giggles that faded further down the hall.  

God, you hated it here. There was always someone saying something behind your back. Something about your status, your engagement with the prince. They’ve even gone as far to say that you’ve fucked every guard, that one surprised you just a bit considering you made sure to cover up your previous sexual escapades. 

You removed yourself from him, readjusting both your clothes until you looked presentable enough to emerge from the dark corner. 

“Wha—huh?” Prompto stuttered, obviously unaware of those women's babbling. 

“It’s nothing. I’ve just decided that I don’t want to finish this here… or alone.” You smiled at him, the gaze hiding another deep desire behind it. “I think you deserve to be worshiped.” You stepped closer to him, lips right against his ear. 

“By a princess and prince.”

Then you were out of his space again, holding back a smirk. He looked so pretty looking this red. 

“I’ll go inform his highness. We’ll have someone to fetch you later tonight—”

“Actually…he just texted me and, uh, wants to see me now.” Prompto was staring at his phone in disbelief. 

You took a peek and weren’t surprised to see the prince’s leaking cock sent as one of the attachments. 

You hummed, “I guess he’ll be seeing both of us then.” then gave Prompto a kiss on the temple. “Let’s continue where we left off, yes?” 

“Won’t that end in…” He gave a wobbly smile. 

Of course, Noctis will be mad if the two of you walk in and continue your activities without a second glance, however…

“I don’t care. I told you that you’d be getting worship, so he’ll either join me or be good and wait” You smiled at him, “But I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to oblige.” 

You stepped out into the light, “Well then, I’ll head off first to change. Please get him as riled up as possible, beloved.” 

Prompto watched as you disappeared down the hall, then brought a hand up to his forehead. 

“Those two will be the death of me, I swear.”

Listen, if I ever write a part two for this because maybe this is connected to the other one, I don't know yet. Prompto's genitals will be revealed (pretty sure I know what I'm gonna do, keep in mind that he's not human wink wonk).

Anyway, eat up.

Again sorry y'all got this so late, Tumblr

Masterlist

[completemessash]

Make you feel better (a.i.)

notes: this is my first post, yayyyy. feedback, reblogs and comment are greatly appreciated! also follow me for more and requests are open! ❤️

Warnings: boyfriend Ashton, established relationship, blowjob, swallowing, hair pulling, dirty talk, Ashton x reader

×××

Ashton's eyes were half closed as he stared at the ceiling. He had been working on new songs the past days, almost non stop and he was visibly exhausted.

You had offered him his favourite drink, to watch his favourite show with him and asked what he wanted to eat.

He had only replied with a shake of his head or a grunting sound that said no.

But you wanted to make him feel good, he deserved to feel better, he deserved everything.

"Ash?", you tried again, reaching out to brush your knuckles over his thigh.

His eyes slipped closed but he once again didn't say anything.

"Let me make you feel better", you whispered and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Finally, his tired eyes met yours. "You don't have to do anything, baby. I'm just being a little dramatic."

You shook your head no immediately.

"You worked all week, babe"

"S just music"

"Which doesn't mean it can't be exhausting"

He bit his lip at that. He knew you were right but often he felt like he shouldn't complain about hos job when you worked a hard 9 to 5 job and he got to tour the world and write music.

"Okay?", you asked for reassurance and he smiled. He tried to hold it back by biting his lip once more but he couldn't hide his excitement from you.

"A little something would be nice, I can't deny that", he said coyly.

That was all you needed to slip off the couch and between his already willingly spread thighs.

Your nimble fingers opened his fly, tugging of his pants with your help and letting his underwear follow. He was only half hard but that would be changed soon.

"Babe", he murmured when you didn't start with what you both knew he wanted and instead kissed his hips, slightly biting the soft skin and occasionally 'accidentally' letting his cock brush your jaw or cheek.

His soft curved lips escaped a small gasp when you finally took his tip into your mouth. You made sure to keep your teeth hidden and your tongue dipping into his slit, while your left hand stroked his cock to full hardness.

"Y/N", he moaned your name when you leaned down further and took him into your mouth as far as you could. A pinch to his thigh indicated what you wanted him to do: use you.

"Fuck, fuck", he groaned when his hands grabbed onto your hair and pushed you down until your nose was just barely touching his pelvis. You were choking and struggling to keep breathing but it was okay. He needed this and you wanted to give him everything he wanted even if it meant you were going to die from it. Of course you weren't gonna die and he wouldn't let that happen but you knew that you would do it for him. And he would do the same for you.

An almost high pitched moan pulled you from your thoughts and brought you back to reality. Ashton was thrusting his hips up from the couch, fucking your mouth slowly with his hands still gripping your hair. But you wanted him to moan louder than those small sounds and his hands to be restlessly pulling while his hips stuttered.

So you increased your pace and soon he was following your wish.

"Y/N, fuck", he groaned as his hips gained speed and you felt tears brim your eyes, "You suck my dick so fucking good - love - love when you're such a g - good girl for me"

You let out an appreciative moan that made Ashton throw his head back on the couch, hips thrusting up even more and you had to sig your nails into his thighs to stop the urge to pull off. He was so far down your throat, you couldn't even imagine how sinful the outline of his big hard cock in your cheeks must have looked.

"I'm about to-", he warned you in case you wanted to pull of but you just moaned again and bobbed your head against his thrusts. He noticed the way you couldn't help but spread your own thighs, rolling your hips towards the floor to have it rub over your center but he didn't comment on it. You both knew he was going to do that later and you were already excited for the taunting way he would speak about you having to get yourself off because sucking him off made you so wet.

For now, you were both concentrated on Ashton's hard cock that was starting to twitch lightly in your mouth.

"Fuck, fuck, ah", he moaned louder than before and the same moment he pulled your hair so hard it stung just a little more than you were comfortable with, he cock was spurting into your mouth.

Hot cum was hitting the back of your throat and through watery eyes you watched his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth hang wide open. He was so hot when he was like this and even though you were well aware that you weren't the first one to see him like this, he had promised you often enough that he wanted you to be the last. He was made for you and he wanted you to keep him.

"Show me", his voice was raspy when he asked you, his softening dick resting on his hip.

You obeyed him, all to eager to be that good girl he had called you, and opened your mouth for him.

His fingers danced over your jaw as he hummed like he was considering whether he liked you showing him his cum that was slowly starting tö drip out one of the corners of your mouth so he had to push it back in with his fingers.

He loved it, you both knew that, it made him feel like you belonged to him.

"Good girl, baby", he finally approved and you smiled, then swallowed the sticky mess. For some reason you always loved the taste of it even though to most people cum was disgusting. Maybe it was just him and his tasted good. Too bad that no one else would ever taste it, you thought cockily.

"How do you feel?", you asked when you got off your knees, helping him back into his pants and cuddling into his side. Partly to make sure he wasn't going to get up and go right back to recording music.

"Good", he smiled and pressed a kiss to your swollen lips, "but shouldn't I be asking you that?"

You shrugged. "This was about you, Ash, just for you. Just wanted to make you feel better"

"I'm always better when you're with me"

He laughed when you called him a sap and hit his chest.

Later on, when he asked to repay the favor and you said he didn't have to but he was insisting because getting you off gave him just as much pleasure as you getting him off, you weren't calling him that anymore.

[ariel-cohen-art]

I just had a dream and I think it's about A.I art, and it gave me an interesting insight I thought I'd share. If you can stand to read a relatively long crazy dream.

I went to a picnic with my college friends (I go to art school. We are all artists then.) There I met, among many of my friends, a very white boy, almost albino looking, who doesn't really exist irl. He offered me chocolate from a foreign brand. Cool thing about that chocolate: Its whole branding was "Hey kids! *You're a changeling*. Here's what the kid you replaced is eating in the fae realm!" (Lowkey awesome branding. Also interesting. I'd always thought about changelings as a human baby being taken to the fae realm, but I never considered the fae kid who stays in their place. How long until they realize they don't belong? Do they ever go back to the fae realm? Btw, I promise all of this is relevant.)

So after the picnic all of us took a bus and went back to an abandoned-ish place. I listened to my "Ode to Loneliness" playlist on the bus (I actually have this playlist. It's the "I wanna be alone bc I don't belong in this world" playlist. I like it.)

Now cut to another scene. A robot actress, at a press conference, basically advertising herself as a product, talking about how her robot company had made her and how realistic and beautiful she was. She *was* beautiful, and actually worked as an actress. But then a guy came and tried to shoot her, to stop her from stealing real actresse's jobs. He missed the shot and the robot had to be removed from the conference.

Now back to me and my group of artist losers. We got to the abandoned place. The reason we were there was because the white boy had been giving a mission by the King of Dreams (Yep. Morpheus himself, Dream of the Endless, the Sandman, The Oneiromancer, ma' boy. ✨️). Now this boy was kinda proud, (... a proud.. boy.. that's why he was white, I love my brain fr) he had a bit of a superiority complex, so he hated the idea of there *being* a god or king of dreams, with power above him, telling him what to do, but he did what Morpheus asked anyway. He created a mummy. (He didn't bring it back to life. I think he used a mummy as a vessel, but the life he created was new, it just incarnated in the mummy. Like Frankenstein.).

So the mummy woke up and started asking who created him and who created his creator. He then got violent and started attacking people and I woke up.

*Ok but what is the point about A.I art in this dream?*

So what called my attention when I woke up was the contrast. The robot artist, a perfect and confident actress. Even when she was targeted by the shooter, she was protected and comforted like a human would. The crowd looked genuinely upset for her.

Meanwhile there's the real human artists. Our messy disaster boy with a questionable personality, feeling commissioned by outside forces beyond his control, yielding to them and creating a monster. Like all art, it was formed out of something that had already existed in the past. A terrifying creation just as messy as he was, full of confusion, anger issues and existential anguish.

That is what a real artist is like. This is how real art is made. Real artists listen to "loneliness playlists" while in a bus full of people they know. We eat our changeling themed chocolates to cope with the fact that we feel like changelings, stuck in the human realm, left behind and out of place. We have questionable personalities and beliefs, massive egos and a ton of existential anguish. Human art is made because we exist and live like that.

While A.I art is perfect, flawlessly beautiful and beloved by the masses, human art is a messy mirror created by even messier artists to reflect who we are. It suffers as we do, it mirrors our questionings, our violence, our deepest thoughts. It is our imperfect monster.

[alostlovergirl]

Come Back to Me: Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: You will come back to him.

Warnings: Abusive husband, violence, stalking, trauma, PTSD, Implied Non-con, Greed, Insults, degradation, Asshole Tony

There will be a part 2 to this.. Enjoy the story, loves.

‘Buzz Buzz’, my phone illuminates the room, my eyes shooting open. Tony’s snoring calms my shaking hands as I reach for my phone. I tilt it to the side, unlocking it with my thumb print. Tonight was the night. I was going to escape from this horrid relationship. I thought that being in love with, dating the billionaire, Tony Stark, would be lovely. He was so nice, charming, handsome and rich. I thought that I would never have to worry about money, or having someone that would spoil me with gifts after the hard life I have had. 

I’ve been in foster care all my life after a car crash took my mother’s life. Separated from my sister, placed in an abusive foster home with parents who put on a fake smile and alone, I was forced to work and clean at a young age. I have been working hard all my life to make enough money to get the things I wanted in life, but it wasn’t enough. I was poor, living in a horrible situation and was struggling to find a home to live when I met Tony. He helped, giving me money to get a down payment on a small apartment and even helped me get a better job opportunity. 

We started out as friends, then he wiggled his way into my life, making me fall hard for him. I was so in love that I married him quick, in a 2 years and became Mrs. Stark. The relationship was amazing at first, but then he started to get controlling. He started to want to know where my money was going, made me get fired from my job because he kept calling me, he stopped pleasuring me and started using my body for his own pleasure. I thought that maybe we needed counseling, so that’s what happened. 

We went to counseling to try to make our marriage work out. Everything got better and stayed like that for a few months, but when it got bad again, it came in full force. He started to beat me. Everything I did was wrong at that point. I couldn’t even greet him at the door anymore because he was always angry or just frustrated. Our relationship started to get worse and worse, therapy stopped working. So, I am done. I am done with this relationship. I tried to leave multiple times, but he won’t sign the divorce papers. He makes it seem like he is a perfect husband, hurting me, but never leaving bruises on places where people can see them, so I couldn’t get a protection order from him. So, I have decided to sneak away from him. 

I look at the message on my phone from my friend, Ethan. “I’m here. Hurry up”, I nod to myself, deleting the text message. I squirm out of Tony’s arms, carefully maneuvering myself out. I roll on the ground, letting out a quiet groan. I quietly make my escape from the big, echoey room. Once I was out of there, I ran towards the living room. I let out a sigh, sniffling as tears ran down my face. I take off my wedding ring, putting it on the kitchen counter.

“Mrs. Stark? What are you doing?” F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke in quiet mode. Tony put the A.I on the mode, so it didn’t wake anyone up in the house. Quiet mode was literally the A.I whispering. Even with the A.I. whispering, it still scared the hell out of me. “You should be in bed..” 

I ignore it and go in the elevator, hoping that the computer won’t alarm the billionaire. I sit against the wall, sliding down it, whimpering softly. ‘Why couldn’t it work? I thought it was gonna go so well.. Why did he have to ruin the love?’My mind was racing as the elevator got closer and closer to the garage. Tears continue to floor down my face as I desperately try to wipe them away. The elevator comes to the halting stop and I get out of the elevator, shaking. I walk to my old car, picking up my car keys off Tony’s work desk. I get in my car and leave, never looking back. 

3 years later

It’s been a long 3 years. I have struggled and still am struggling, but I rather struggle than have to rely on Tony’s money every again. I got divorced from him by showing pictures in court that he didn’t show up for and was allowed to divorce him with his signature. Ethan helped me as much as he could with getting a home and he keeps supporting me by getting me groceries, supplies and money whenever he can. 

Once again, I rather be doing this than ever going back to Tony. Last time I heard about him, he has won an award for one of his inventions and the abusive marriage has been swept under the rug. He didn’t even say that we were divorced, just that we have taken a break. I am in therapy for all the trauma he has caused me and I can’t even watch any of his interviews cause I go into an immediate panic attack, so I have cut everything out of my life. Inventions, paintings that he has given me, anything he has given me has been broken or thrown in the trash, including my phone.

But, even though I am away from him, I cannot stop thinking about him. It feels like I see him everywhere even if I cut him out completely. His billboards are everywhere. His inventions are everywhere, taunting me. ‘Come back to me.. You know you miss me’, his voice is constantly playing in the back of my mind. I talked about it with my therapist, but my therapist doesn’t know how to handle it. She put me on anti-psychotics, but it isn’t helping. The voice got louder and louder everyday, so much so that Ethan has started worrying about me. 

“Y/N…Y/N?” He snaps his fingers in front of my spaced out face, snapping me out of my trance. All I saw was a cup that looked like his and I spaced out, going deep into the back of my mind. “You okay, darling?” I nod my head, shaking myself out of it. I grab his hands and smile, breathing deeply.

“I am alright.. Just a little worried..” 

“You have been away from him for 2 years, dear. You don’t need to worry anymore. He isn’t going to get you anymore. He seems to be more focused on his own life, instead of getting you back.” Ethan lets out a soft sigh, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles in comfort. He gives my hand a comforting squeeze. “And if he does, I am going to protect you no matter what” 

That warms my heart. Ethan has always been a sweet friend, helping me in any way he could and giving me anything I need. He put himself in danger by picking me up that night when I ran away from Tony. “Okay.. let’s enjoy our lunch.” I say as the sun beamed down on our untouched food in the sunlight cafe. Ethan nods, letting go of my hands.

When I get back to my small apartment, I collapsed on my bed.  My mind was racing, thinking about the events over the last 2 years. My head was hurting as I curled up in my cotton comforter. I need to stop thinking about him. I am over him and he is over me. I crawl under my blankets, kicking off my jeans, laying down and going to sleep. My eyes closed easily as the exhaustion was taking over my entire body. Soon enough, my room was filled with snores and sounds of movement.

Tony’s POV

I don’t understand why she thought she could get away from me. I am always going to find her no matter where she went. As soon as she went to sleep, I crept out of my hiding place in the closet and walked towards her small bed.  

“Oh my poor baby.. Don’t you miss the luxury life.. You sleeping in this small bed, in this run down apartment…” I run my fingers along the curves of her perfect body. The pads of my fingers touching all the little bits that I have missed so dearly. Oh how every curve fits my touch. I gently squeeze her plush thighs, humming in delight at the slight weight gain. It just gives me more things to grab on her body. 

Now, how should I punish her? Punish her sweet little ass for running away from me. Forcing a divorce and getting an order of protection from me. Maybe I should steal her away and isolate her? Or maybe I should ruin her whole fucking life. 

Either way, she will come back to me. I’ll make my decision sooner or later. 

[ayothepizzahere4]

PEST SERVICES

WORDS: 1,500

UNDER THE CUT (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

“In this disgusting, unfair earth, with billions and billions of humans and animals, *you* came to *me*. You came to me, with your hand high in the air, and you said to me; “I can save you. I can make you what you want to be.” And we made a deal. I give you protection, keep your useless body alive. And you do what I ask. I wanted to escape from this machine form, surrounded by humans like an attraction for filthy things to look at and drool over. But *you*. You were not human. You were not like the others, you kept coming and going, coming and going. You befriended me, and I used you. You gave me power, I gave you false attention, false hope. And I loved it. And I regretted it. And I hated it. And you loved me, as a friend.”

“And now you're gone. And you're not coming back.”

***

“Hello, this is H.S.H! Dei- I mean, caller 36 here!”

*

Deimos; caller 36, species: Grunt, past: used to be a mercenary in Nevada.

*

“Um, hello. I've been experiencing electric problems, and I have an odd feeling like someone's watching me at night. I even hear their breath, but it might just be an intruder,” the caller said.

“Hold on a sec!”

“Do you remember anything saying anything about electrical outages?”

*

All services; Miku Pizzetto, species: cat/human hybrid (visibly), past: a runaway teen with many part-time jobs.

*

“Uh… not really,” Diemos said, scrolling through the entries. “Wait, is it this?” He clicked on an entry; boggart.

“Yyyeah. If *I* have to fight that thing, I'm gonna end it,” Miku chuckles.

“You will not. You won't die unless you are in pain! And I control that, don't I?”

*

Project A.M, data collector. species: computer, sentient A.I. past: a machine made by the government that became sentient.

*

Miku adjusted her purple glasses, covered by her spiky and messy brown hair. “shhh, it's okay- it's okay… it's okay, just go to sleep.”

“You dare-?!”

An annoyingly squeaky voice came out, the voice becoming louder as the person came. “Move! A spring tree has been found in the woods, we must find it at once!”

*

Fungi services; Gaetan Moliere. Species: human. Past: used to be a mercenary in Washington DC.

*

“Sprig tree.” Miku corrected, standing up to her full height, turning to Moliere with a blank expression. “We keep having calls, there's an outburst coming from somewhere.”

Deimos leaned against his chair, sighing and looking at Miku and Moliere. “Hey, we can totally get that spring roll you're talking about.”

“*Sprig* tree.”

“Whatever, nerd.” Deimos laughed

“My bad for doing my job, idiot.” Miku sighed.

“Hey.” AM exclaimed at Miku.

“You're not my father.” Miku sighed again, tilting her head to the side and closing her eyes.

AM fell silent for a while, the gap in the blue A on the screen narrowing, to show his hypothetical eye narrowing. “Do not talk to me like that, I am AM, a much more complex being than you, and you will treat me like it.”

“Uh-huh…” Miku stood straight, scratching her back. “PHEN’s making my back itchy. I think he wants to come out or something.” She shrugs, stretching.

Mole made a sound of confusion, tilting his head to the side.

“The impurity.”

*

Extermination services and data collector; The Batter. Species: not human. Past: a purifier.

*

The Batter took out a camera, taking a picture of the four. Miku groans, taking her hand off her back. She tilts her head down before quickly standing straight again.

The Batter walked to Miku's side, looking at the picture, his face contorting into disgust before quickly stuffing the picture in his pocket.

“Don't diss my boy like that, he's chill,” Miku said, looking over to The Batter, who stayed silent.

Miku chuckles, adjusting her glasses. “Hmhm.”

“You all are getting distracted! We need to get the monsters under control!” Mole complained, gesturing.

Deimos spinned in his chair, blowing smoke from his mouth and into the air. “Relax! I'm sure Miku and AM can do it! Did you even see how they handled that ceiling plant thingy last time?”

“Cellar growth you idiot!” Miku exclaimed, putting a hand to her head. “Oh my God!” She groaned, turning away from the others.

“Whatever the hell it is. I'm just here for the exterminations or something.” Deimos blew more smoke, bouncing his cigarette between his fingers.

“Even non-humans are just as foolish as the rest, aren't they, sweetheart?” AM asked Miku, an eminent teasing tone in his voice.

Miku hums in thought, flipping her hair. “Anyway, AM, go transfer to your humanoid form, that *I* stole and modified for you,” Miku said, cracking her back. “Nnghh… we have a job to do, Batter, you can help him, right?” Miku points to the Batter, he gave a simple nod.

“Hey- what are you doing?!- get your hands off me, you don't know the first thing about handling- agh!”

“Be quiet.”

Mole looked at the Batter and at AM before at Miku, packing supplies and weapons. “What about me?! What do *I* do?!”

“I dunno, you can go find that sprig tree you were talking about,” Miku said, strapping some weapons around her.

Deimos stood up, patting Mole on the back. “I'll drive,” he said with a smirk, pulling some keys out of his pocket as he exited the building, whistling while spinning the keys around his finger. Miku follows Deimos, looking behind herself and at Mole. “Batter, hurry with AM,” she said, walking away after.

Mole looks behind himself and at the blue curtains that would usually be seen in the hospitals. Mole walked to the curtains, peeking inside.

The Batter, In his blue suit with the green HSH logo pin on it sat in the corner, watching a monitor, said monitor had wires coming from the side and to a body with a dull orange suit decorated with a yellow tie, and a black long coat over it, orange coding and words on it.

⁠✿

Miku sat in the bus, she heard the intercom say her stop. “Green, and Crystal.” It said slowly, Miku pressed a button to signal her stop. When the bus stopped, she walked out the open doors, pulling her brown hoodie up, it had white, plush sherpa on the inside, providing warmth for her entire school outfit. Her dress was very long, to her ankles. She also had boots on. Miku walked through the streets, waiting for cars to stop to cross the streets, She soon stopped at a large museum, walking through the large parking lots, soon finding the entrance,

Miku walked through the museum, looking around. A flower exhibit there, a mini aquarium there, and some others. But, at the center of the museum, was AM. AM was built in WW2, or was it WW1? she didn't know. The crowd surrounding AM’s form bickered and talked, asking for his attention.

2 days before AM’s sentience

“Miku, you're back! I can see you.” AM announced. He was sitting in a chair, two soldiers on his side for protection. AM smiled, his fist in his cheek.

Miku held her object close to her chest, walking through the crowd. She adjusts her purple glasses. She now stood in front of AM. He straightened her posture. “Tell me, child. What do you have in your hands? A gift?” AM smiled.

Miku stammered, uncovering the bouquet of flowers and reached it out to AM. he gently took it from her hands. He looked at the flowers, naming them. “Purple hyacinths, zinnias, and lilies of the valleys?” he looked up at Miku, who nodded.

AM chuckled, setting the flowers down on his lap. “For me being a war machine-”

✿

“-You're way too nice.” AM crossed his arms, looking at Miku, who was smiling back, both in the backseat of the van.

“Okay, well you should shut up!” Miku gestured, making an X with her arms. AM groaned, looking out the window. He muttered to himself.

Mole, who was sitting next to Deimos, Mole in the passenger seat and Deimos in the driver's. “Where are we going?” He asked.

Deimos pulled out his phone, his face contorting to one of a mix of surprise and disgust. “Oof…”

Miku suddenly popped into conversation. “What?

“We're going to Arcadia Oaks, California.”

“Halfway across this damned piece of 2,624,640,000 foot long dirt?” AM sighed.

“...what.” Miku whined.

Deimos sighed, starting the van. “Well, better hurry and start driving, guess we'll be late,” He muttered.

Miku groaned exaggeratingly. “uugh! Why can't AM teleport us there?- wait, Arcadia?-”

“I'd rather lose my entire mind and consciousness than help you filthy fleshbags.” AM’s eyes narrow, watching how fast everything is going outside of the moving car.

Miku sighed, leaning on the person beside her, the Batter. “You sound like the trolls there.” Miku muttered, the batter looking down at Miku. He put a hand on her head as she slowly closed her eyes.

[lunarsilkscreen]

What is they doing?

Here I'm addressing these weird statements about [Illegals] especially when they say it on Fox News.

Here's what I suspect they are doing;

What a Journalist or reporter does is collect many many different statements. Of the statements they receive... Some of them may be synonymous, or exploitive, and so they have to condense all that data into an easily digestible format.

Similar to what A.I. does, I even suspect that they might even use A.I. to get their information. After-all; there's a reason that the military decided it was better for Military Security to not use A.I. *at all* in making important decisions; which includes promotions, strategy, and other suggestions.

I wonder what the unstated reasons they might have besides the potential for misinformation.

Anyway; I've heard that statement before, you have to. You've probably even said it out loud.

It's about the DMV (secretary of state for Michigan)

Say it with me now; "HOW THE F* AM I SUPPOSED TO RENEW MY DRIVERS LICENSE, VOTER I.D, OR CAR REGISTRATION WITH ALL THESE [redacted] IN THIS MOTHER F* [DMV]."

Yes; they took all those statements complaining about the time we're spending at the DMV, and then changed that one word: [redacted] to "Illegals."

Know why? Cuz they can't say the N* word on air.

It's not that Fox is Wrong; so much as incredibly bad at their chosen Job: presenting information to the American People.

Perhaps it's just because they're using Grok ... Elon's pretty unskilled at his chosen field too, isn't he..?

[gazs-blue-hat]

Seeing isn't Everything I (D&D AU) Gaz X F!Reader (Medusa)

AN: Inspired by @halcyone-of-the-sea and their FANTASTIC mermaid au. This one is for you love. This whole thing takes place in the Forgotten Realms (Thanks BG3). You can find the stat block for the creature here

Summary: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is a legendary monster hunter. He's brought down dragons and krakens alike. His services have been requested for a particularly dangerous job, perhaps the most dangerous one he has gone on yet. Hunting a Gorgon.

Word Count: 2,574

TW: Mentions of Death, Turning to Stone, fairy deals, (LMK if I missed any)

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO ANYBODY HERE OR ON ANOTHER SITE TO REPOST, COPY, TRANSLATE OR FEED MY WORK TO AN A.I OF ANY KIND.

Being a member of the Shattered Hand was an honor, it truly was! But Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was getting really tired of bandaging burns and stitching up wyvern bites. He had been a member of the illustrious monster slaying guild for ten years now and he had quickly risen up the ranks, making a name for himself as one of the best monster hunters out there.

People far and wide came to bring contracts to his desk in the illustrious guild hall. It had been four weeks since he had seen a decent contract cross the dragon leather desk in his office. All he had received were a couple of contracts for various beasts and large creatures. The most interesting one had been a doppelganger but one of his collogues had taken that contract before he could.

'Why does Ghost get all the interesting ones' He grumbled to himself

Kyle looked at his armor that stood on the stand that hugged the corner of the room. It had been too long since he had sinched the leather straps around his forearms and felt the comfortable weight of his chainmail hugging his form. His sword hung above the door and he couldn't help but frown at the incredible shine on the silver surface. Swords were meant to be used! Not displayed. His sword should be covered in the blood of monsters that hurt the innocent, not hanging above his door.

He groaned and lay his head atop his crossed forearms. The business day was almost closing and there had been nothing promising. Some farmers had come to him asking to take care of a Gnoll den, but he had transferred them to a young hunter who needed a relatively easy job. One of the townspeople swore up and down he had been cursed by a hag, but Kyle had sent him to the local cleric instead.

He was just about to stomp downstairs and order some ale before he heard a soft knock at his door. He sat his head up and fixed his posture.

"Enter!" he called as he straightened his tunic. The large oak door creaked open and a rather finely dressed gentleman entered the room. He wore a nice hat made of expensive leather and a suit made from brilliant cloth that only came from the silk of a dryder. This man had money and he wasn't afraid to flaunt it

"Hello, I'm looking for a master 'Gaz'?" he said in a regal tone. Kyle examined this man as he walked into his office. He instantly knew he didn't like him. Kyle had always prided himself on his ability to read other people and this man absolutely reeked of self-importance.

"Yes, that's me. Do have a seat, sir." Kyle said while gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. usually, he would stand and pull it out for whoever was talking to him, but something about this man put him off.

The man paused, waiting for him to pull the chair out, and frowned when he didn't. The man took his seat and removed his hat, placing it on his lap.

"I've been told you're the best hunter around." He started. Kyle had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"One of them, yes. What can I do for you, mister..."

"Szordrin. Master, Szordrin." The man corrected. Gaz felt his lip start to curl but he stopped himself. Unlike Ghost, he didn't wear a mask to conceal his face. This man was making Kyle consider getting one, just for the sake of not having to hide his facial expressions.

"Yes, master Szordin. What can I do for you?" he asked politely. The man nodded, pleased with the 'change' in attitude from Gaz.

"I have a...problem that I believe meets your specific skill set." He began, sliding a scrolled piece of paper onto the desk. The runes on the dusk hummed to life as they scanned the paper for magic.

The contract was just that, a contract. Since the founder and proprietor of the Shattered Hand mercenary guild was a powerful Eladrin, all of the contracts that were taken up by the guild were magical in nature. The contracts were binding and it was incredibly hard to get out of one without appealing to the guild master himself.

Dark purple and green runes hovered over the paper before settling back down and depicting the target. The runes were a scrying spell, locked onto the target's soul. It helped the hunters find their quarry without too much fuss. The monster didn't quite look like a monster at first. It looked like a young woman.

She was sitting in a pool of water, trying to catch little froglets that had strayed too far from the main water source.

"Master Szordrin, I am sure you're well aware of the rules this guild has. We do not hunt humanoid creatures unless they have actively caused harm. We hunt beasts, devils, fey, and fiends. Not..." his sentence was cut off when the woman turned and her face was visible.

Her eyes were shielded by a silky black fabric and, her hair was made up of coiling, writhing snakes. She was also absolutely gorgeous. She smiled softly as she pressed her nose against a froglet's back, helping it to jump into the water once more. 

'A medusa that covers their face? Never seen one of those before.' he thought as he looked on at the page.

"You see my predicament now, master hunter," Szordrin said, gesturing to the woman on the piece of paper. Gaz sat back and nodded, intrigued at the prospect of one of the most vain creatures in the realms hiding their face.

"Yes, I do. How many people has she turned to stone?" he asked, setting a magical quill on the contract to write the terms of his mission. Szordrin shuffled a bit, uncomfortable.

"None yet, but she will. Trust me, she will." He assured. Gaz felt a tingle in his spine. There was more that this man wasn't telling him.

"Alright...that doesn't quite fit in with the terms of engagement but I'm sure Master Price has spoken to you about this?" Kyle asked. Szordrin nodded, holding his hat tightly now.

"Yes, Your guild master has made things quite clear. You are not to attack unless provoked or have reason to suspect she may be a danger. I am aware. I don't want her dead exactly, just...relocated." The man amended. Gaz felt better after this statement.

Relocation, he could do.

"Alright, you want this creature relocated to..." Gaz said, waiting for the man to continue before writing it down.

"Just, far away from me and my estate. She's currently outside Wheetleton, where I reside. I want her as far as Mortaris or perhaps even further." The man said, pointing at areas on the world map. Gaz frowned. That was at least a six-week journey from Wheetleton to Mortaris.

"Alright, relocated to Mortaris unless deemed an active threat," Gaz stated, watching as the magical quill scrawled the words in sylvan. All of the contracts of the Shattered Hand were written in the fey language.

"I will pay half up front and once the deed is done, the rest," Szordrin said while placing a hefty bag of gold on Gaz's desk.

"2,000 gold pieces now and another 3,000 when the job is done." Szordrin continued. Gaz nodded, this was an acceptable sum.

"Alright, I'll take the job." He said while pricking his thumb with a pin and placing his fingerprint on the line. The blood acted as ink and seeped into the paper, sealing his part of the contract. He extended his hand for Szordrin's.

"You know the rules. You must sign the contract in blood for the deal to be struck." Kyle said, frustration starting to leak into his words. He wanted to get on the road and find this creature for himself!

Szordrin shakily extended his hand for Kyle to prick. As Kyle lifted the pin he noticed a faint red scar going across the man's palm. Curious

Without delay, he pricked Szordrin's thumb and pressed the print onto the contract. The paper sizzled and cracked with arcane energy as it was infused with magic. Kyle felt a familiar dull weight rest in his chest. The weight of a bargain struck. He smiled to himself, relishing in the idea of a hunt again.

Once the deal was made, Szordrin scampered out of Kyle's office and back down to the tavern below. Kyle shrugged and looked over the contract again. He could dismiss it and summon it at will, now that he was bound to it. The woman's face was still on the paper, smiling gently as she held a lily pad. Her blindfold was off now as she looked at the plant, opening the petals with a delicate finger.

"The curse of beauty. Poor thing, let us hope you don't turn anybody to stone until I get to you yeah?" He mumbled. As if she could hear him, she looked in the direction of the scrying spell. Her eyes were a bright golden color with no pupil or iris. Just a brilliant golden hue that shone in the darkness. Kyle felt another shiver run up his spine and a secondary weight rest on his shoulders.

This weight felt different, more...personal than the contract had been. He had only heard rumors of this feeling. The weight of fate's hands on one's shoulders.

He dismissed the contract and made his way to his armor and sword. He decided that he would leave right away, making the two-day journey to Wheetleton as quickly as he could. If he had any hopes of saving this creature, he had to get there quickly and relocate it to a place where it wouldn't hurt anybody.

As he strapped on his armor, he couldn't help but smile widely. He was on the hunt again, where he belonged.

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

The two-day ride to Wheetleton was boring, to say the least. He had gathered his supplies and left that very night, riding through the dawn and only stopping to eat and relieve his horse for a while. Once he got to the city, he asked around about the creature.

The townspeople didn't have much to tell them, only that they thought the beast had stolen the local Lord's daughter one night. It wasn't until this third day in town that he got a solid lead.

"Goblins! Goblins up the mountain pass!" The traveler had cried. Gaz knew they weren't part of his contract but he wasted to keep this area safe. He trekked up the mountain pass, the climb being somewhat difficult in his armor. Once night fell, he could see firelight illuminating the area inside the mouth of a cave. The weight from the contract in his chest pulsed faintly. His quarry was close.

"We've had nothing but pork for five stinking weeks! When are we going to eat something good?" A harsh voice grumbled from the fire. There was a good number of goblins sitting around the bonfire, about fifteen or so. A large goblin wearing a makeshift crown sat on a log, above the fire, holding a large silver candlestick.

"You'll eat whenever something good comes along! Now quit your yapping! I think I 'eard something." The goblin 'king' said while gesturing over in Gaz's direction. Gaz readied his bow, stringing it as quietly as he could and knocking an arrow. A group of four goblins came over to look but they didn't spot him.

The goblin king mumbled something under his breath as his goons came back to the fire, grumbling about the fact that they were hungry. Gaz was about to let an arrow fly before a soft voice called to the goblins in the dark.

"Hello? Is someone out there?" A feminine voice called from deep within the cave.

"Wha'? Who said that?" The goblin king shouted, hopping off his log throne and looking deeper into the cave. Gaz felt the magic of the contract pull and thump in his chest. His quarry, she was right there. he could see her faintly glowing eyes behind the blindfold she wore. The two golden dots amid a sea of black silk.

"It was...was me. I suggest you all leave before someone comes up here." She warned. She wore a simple dress, a nightgown really. It looked dirtied a bit but was well taken care of. Her hands were clasped in front of her and her feet were bare.

Gaz couldn't help but gasp a bit. He had seen pictures and paintings of angels and celestial beings that roamed the upper planes but this creature was absolutely stunning.

At his intake of breath, one of the goblins loosed an arrow that struck him in the arm. Luckily his armor had taken most of the damage but since it hadn't been used in a while, the rings were loose and allowed some give. Kyle felt the tip of the arrow pierce his shoulder and he grunted in pain.

"Oi! You there! In the shadows!" The goblin king shouted, directing his force to attack. Kyle drew his bow up but struggled to pull the string back. He cursed his luck. The goblins had dipped the arrows in a paralytic!

He drew his short sword instead and began his attack on the goblins. He defended himself well, only getting a few knicks and scratches here and there. As he was facing off the last goblin, he heard a sharp noise behind him. A crossbow being bolted.

"Shield your eyes!" The woman called as she removed her blindfold. Piercing golden light filled the area and Kyle slammed his eyes shut as fast as he could, feeling the coldness of her magic wash over him. The goblin he was fighting, and the one that had loaded the crossbow clunked to the ground, made completely of stone.

Kyle panted and knelt on the ground, feeling the poison slowly start to spread. He was going to pass out, that much was certain, but he never would have guessed what happened next.

Instead of a blade piercing his heart, or a sharp prick of fangs on his neck, he felt cool hands on his shoulders.

"Oh my Gods, they got you pretty good. Let me just..." It was the woman, the Medusa he had been sent to kill. She hoisted him up as best she could, dragging him deeper into the mouth of the cave. he heard the sound of a running waterfall as well as the chirps of young frogs.

"Leave him be! Can't you see he's hurt!" The woman scolded. The frogs went silent and Kyle felt her taking off his armor. He didn't dare open his eyes and he physically couldn't move to resist. Was this how he died? Because of a stupid goblin arrow leaving him vulnerable?

"Don't worry. The water will heal you right up." The woman assured. Kyle felt water beginning to surround him, and instead of feeling the fear of drowning, he felt nothing but peace. The water was shockingly warm and he felt like he could breathe easier.

"Sleep now, I'll make sure you stay right here."

The woman's voice was distant now as Kyle felt his consciousness begin to fade. he was tired, so he should sleep. He was safe here, no reason to fear.

No reason at all.

taglist: @plumteaa-remus

(here's what a DnD medusa usually looks like)

[sirfrogsworth]

Original image.

Real paddle boat.

My best attempt to incorporate the boat using traditional methods.

Using A.I. to incorporate boat into image with bonus steam I was too lazy to add to mine.

It absolutely sucked at inserting a boat from scratch. They all look like boats, but like none that exist in this reality.

And sometimes it made weird... train boats.

I guess asking for something steam-powered confused it.

So it couldn't save me the 30 minutes it took to cut out and blend a real boat. But it did save me the 10 minutes to create a reflection and ripple effects and blending it all. And another 10-20 minutes if I had tried to figure out the steam. And I think it did a better job.

I don't think it is completely delivering on my hope as an accessibility tool that can save me oodles of time and energy. But if you figure out what it is good at, it can definitely speed a few things up.

[dayfalwastaken]

Iron Bleeds Golden, Extremis - Iron Man Fanfic Preview.

“…Yeah… Yeah. No, good job. I owe you dinner. That Greek place with the belly dancer you like.” He waited for the ecstatic thanks on the other side of the phone before speaking once more. “Send it all over. Nice work.” Tony said as casually as he could in spite of what he’d just heard.

This job never gets easier.

He ended the call and paused for a second, looking quietly at the door in front of him. Maya was no doubt staring daggers into his back, her anxiety almost palpable throughout the plane’s cabin. If he hadn’t known her better, he would’ve sworn she was on the verge of a breakdown.

Tony inserted the eight-digit password into the door lock and opened it, then turned around to face Maya. He kept his mouth neutral for what he was about to tell her, not wanting to raise her distress further. Years of practice ensured his voice didn’t tremble. He had been doing this for a long while now, but being the one to deliver the bad news was always painful no matter what.

“My guy hacked your dead boss’ files. He gave Extremis to a group of militiamen local to you. Domestic terrorists.” She gasped softly, and Tony had to stop himself from placing a hand on her shoulder. “I have to make some calls.”

Her expression said it all. A hopeless glimmer in her eyes that swiftly betrayed the tough front she attempted to put up. She broke down right after, burying her head in her palms, tears beginning to spill. Tony didn’t blame her.

He wished he could’ve stayed there to comfort her. Tell her it’d be okay, that this would all be over soon, but he lacked the precious luxury of time, and he had a responsibility to uphold.

He walked into the tail end of the plane and closed the door behind him. Noticing his presence, the transparent screen in front of him lit up, permeating the small room in a dim blueish hue. Entering a special combination on his Stark Phone, he tuned in to a secure frequency and brought the device to his ear.

“Avengers intermediary channel. Priority A-1. Iron Man.”

A profile picture of himself popped up in the upper left corner, sporting a wall of text about his current location and so on right under it. To the right, a scan outlining his armor appeared, along with a vertical progress bar near it that was already starting to fill up. The word “Power” sat at the top. Beneath it all was another bar, this one numbering the loading time for each suit section, as briefly detailed by the \Sequence Activated plastered onto it.

“Information regarding attack on F.B.I Station, Huston. Forward to all relevant law enforcement entities.”

REMOTE WARM-UP AND DIAGNOSTICS, he read unconsciously.

Main Power Supply – Arc Reactor “STARTUP CYCLE” mode Engaged

A white line connected to the centre of the chest piece, highlighting the entire area.

\Capacitors Pending:

Unibeam… 100%

Chiming rang out upon the charging sequence’s completion. It was plenty effective at bringing Tony out of his thoughts, in particular those about the fifty burned bodies he had seen just twenty minutes ago.

“Upload of related files to follow two minutes behind this message.” He took a seat in the small chair, tapping on the table impatiently. The armor’s gloves were selected next, their progress visible on the bar bellow. They finished charging before he ever got the chance to finish his sentence. The tracker moved on to the next part.

Boot Jets… 100%

Electro-Hydraulic Exoskeleton… 100%

Multifaceted Pilot Interface… 100%

“Perpetrator is in superhuman aspect, possibly suffering side-effects of process.”

Main Circuits… 100%

Life Support, Medical Treatment Override… 100%

Magnetic Field Generators… 100%

Dampeners… 100%

“Perpetrator and associates likely to be in transit from Huston to Bastrop at this time.”

Auxiliary Power Supply… 100%

Munitions [Secondary]… 100%

Control Surfaces… 100%

Secondary, Tertiary Systems… 100%

\Capacitors Charged.

“Details of superhuman aspect pending.”

Onboard Assistant A.I Loaded

Full Diagnostic Scan – All systems “OK”

Main Power Supply – Arc Reactor “POWER SAFE” mode Engaged

Backup Nuclear Battery – Radioactive Isotope “PRIMED” for Decay

\Sequence Finalized.

Variable Threat Response Battle Suit “Iron Man”, model 25, codename [Liaison] – Online & Ready

“Iron Man is available for intercept and engagement.”

The screen cleared save for the armor hologram, which had stopped spinning and was reimposed in the middle, clicking repeatedly to draw his attention. Tony closed his phone and crossed his arms, leaning forward to stare into ole Shellhead’s newest incarnation. Field tested and deployed, that was… And yet he wasn’t satisfied. There was still so much to be improved, just at a glance Tony could see where he had gone “wrong”, even though thinking that was a lie by this point in his career. If he had truly made mistakes in the design process, he would’ve died long ago, and Iron Man wouldn’t have made it to the history books.

Nothing was wrong with the armor per se, he simply couldn’t help not accepting his achievements. Tony supposed that was in part the greed talking, but that’s just how he worked.

He’d make an armor, think it was revolutionary, take it on a test ride and be thoroughly impressed with it, then the next day be disappointed and begin working on the next instalment. It was like an itch- an addiction, always bugging him to keep tinkering, to keep improving. Because that’s what he did, and staying atop the competition was his whole deal.

What competition, the PR department would remind him to say. Well, at least they had a good reason for doing that. The phrase had become the most successful marketing slogan in his company’s history.

The point being; he always needed to wear the best version of the suit, otherwise it wouldn’t feel the same. However, when one went by the name Tony Stark “best” was a relative term. It was temporary, meaning he’d never truly be satisfied with any iteration of the Iron Man, no matter how far ahead of the modern world it’d be.

Which in reality was a weird metacommentary on his own person as well as his metal persona, but the distinction between those two he still hoped to blur. If he bled the best parts of one into the other… There was no telling how much good he could achieve. Really, Tony was the only thing holding himself back. Tony kept himself from being enough.

And what a depressing little thought that was…

Pillinger’s interview echoed through his head. He had asked the man if he had changed anything, if he was certain his journalism had improved anybody’s life over the years, even by a small margin, but truthfully speaking, Tony had asked himself that.

It haunted him that he didn’t know. He should, he knew more than most people ever would in their lifetimes, but regarding this matter he just… didn’t.

…And all he wanted was to help. To not be that Ghost of the Twentieth Century. To not leave behind a legacy of corpses, all piled atop the nigh infinite cache of Stark brand weapons hidden in the grounds of war ridden countries. Whether to make up for what he had done, or out of a genuine desire to aid others- the answer eluded him. Some days it was crystal clear, others he had his doubts for a majority of the time. But he knew he wanted to be more than what he had been.

Perhaps a… beacon like Steve? Tony half chuckled internally, dismissing the idea. That was a nice fantasy, wasn’t it? For people to look up to the skies and see a red and gold knight descending from high above, knowing then and there that everything would be okay. Those were the types of dreams he used to have in his childhood, back when he’d spend his afternoons playing with medieval knights in shining armor. Slaying dragons, helping the people and many such adventures.

Life had a funny way of coming full circle. What he’d imagined so long ago had become true to some capacity, but, well... Things could be better. Or maybe that was the ungrateful perfectionist in him talking, never content with the present.

Again he would have to brandish his sword, a regular practice these days, and make sure more people lived than they died. Somehow the prospect of helping people to continue on living made the sacrifices worth it. A small blessing if he’d ever seen one.

Tony caught his reflection in the glass and narrowed his eyes. The sight was identical to the one he saw in the morning every single day, but for the moment it didn’t bother him. The more he looked, the less he felt the need to turn away.

“Oh, now you can look at me.”

o0o

He had cut off his main propulsion as soon as he’d hit about 60 miles up, entering a controlled orbit right on the edge of the mesosphere. Sadly, He couldn’t appreciate the beauty of seeing the Earth’s curvature, as he could only stay there for exactly one minute before having to fly black down. Any more and the Earth’s rotation would lengthen his trip instead of shortening it.

“…Since the station burned to the ground, there’s no security footage I could ask for.” Tony thought out loud. “And anyone who did have access to it is either dead or injured. Give me a summary of his powers from publicized witness reports. I’d like to know what we’re dealing with.” He ordered the suit.

Processing data… Main powers include standard super-soldier enhancements. Quote: “The guards were shooting at him but he was too fast for them. You could barely see him. Some got lucky and managed to nail him but he just shrugged it off like it was nothing. Anyone that didn’t get out in time was torn apart or burned alive.”. Statements indicate suspect is also capable of fire breathing.

“Yeah, I gathered as much.” Tony tried not to associate what he’d heard with the pictures he had seen, but the images had already been carved into his head. He was reminded of the man whose face had been burnt off almost down to the bone. Poor bastard. “…Go on.”

Low to average imperviousness. Subsonic movement, possibly higher. Unclear if strength is a result of speed. Nature of “Extremis” compound raises the potential for further developments. Prolonged fight is ill-suited. Threat level five but remains unknown. Moderate caution advised.

Tony hummed, keeping his gaze on the countless stars hanging above. Having the armor speak to him had proven to be a good way of sorting through his thoughts. Things got messy if he talked to himself all the time.

Use his enhanced senses against him. Hit him hard and do it fast. Attempt a quick knockout or restrain him when his guard is down.

He cursed himself for not having asked Maya to explain what other stuff Extremis could do. Improving the human body was only half the equation. She’d been pretty adamant about the fact her serum wasn’t your typical Erskine rip-off. And, well, Tony could imagine the consequences… A biological compiler that could rewrite the brain to improve the body was a horrifying concept. Erskine’s serum bettered what was there to begin with, but Extremis imposed those changes, and could be made to do literally anything… What if those changes occurred during the heat of battle, or after a prolonged period of time? It’d make someone super adaptable to any environment.

What if the guy who had taken Extremis would grow more dangerous by the hour? What if he developed more powers, or cancerous mutations, or biohazardous side effects? If Extremis was still in the prototype phase, what stopped an error from forcing the brain to keep editing the body?

The guy was a walking timebomb. Every second spent out in the open could mean a potential epidemic, or worse. If he felt threatened, his brain could make him secrete poisonous gas to kill people around him and so on. The possibilities were endless…

…Okay, maybe he was being a bit too paranoid and didn’t trust Maya’s work, but how could he take any chances? He knew better than most what happened when people attempted to play God with human biology. These days the examples of such endeavours were visible at every corner.

The alert sound of his HUD’s timer snapped him back to reality.

One minute has been reached. Orbital repositioning successful. Execute re-entry manoeuvres.

And Tony did just that. He began by angling himself head first toward the ground and raised his hands to shield his helmet. Once in the proper position, he fired off into a nosedive without so much as a warning. Clocking in at Mach 6, he passed through the high-altitude clouds before the suit could even ignite into flames.

When the fires of re-entry did engulf him however, the heat was dispersed across the armor’s surface, plates further negating the melting temperatures. Tony was kept nice and cool beneath the metal, and as that was happening, the excess energy was syphoned into an afterburner for added thrust.

At the speed he was going, the ETA to Bastrop was two minutes on the dot.

[correctrvbquotes]

Fade in to Church

Church: You can't just show up here and start bossing people around, Tex. Bossing people around is my job. I put in the time.

Tex: I had to leave, I found Wyoming.

Church: Yeah, Tucker told me, what happened?

Tex: I thought I tracked him back to O'Malley. But, by the time York and I got there-

Church: York- your old freelancer buddy? Was Carolina with him?

Tex: She was already dead.

Caboose: And what about Bermuda?

Church: That's not a State, dumbass.

Caboose: Portland?

Church: Shut up!

Tex: But he still had Delta.

Church: Delta; the A.I.? How? I thought they took them- wait a minute, wait a minute, how was he even still alive? Aren't we hundreds of years in the future?

Tex: I thought it was because of his armor. You know all the freelancer suits had some kind of enhancement.

Church: Right, like your invisibility.

Caboose: And horrible meanness.

Church: No dude, that's all natural.

Tex: York's was some kind of healing mechanism. It would help him recover from wounds in battle. I thought it might have kept him alive all these years. But after I found Wyoming, I knocked him out and downloaded logs from his helmet. There's somethin' going on, Church, with a lot of people working against us.

Church: Well what did Wyoming say when he woke up?

Tex: He didn't, before I could interrogate him, he teleported away. One second he was there, and the next he was gone.

Caboose: What about the second after that?

Tex: Can I kill him?

Church: No, I'm saving him in case we ever need him for food. So, Wyoming's armor lets him teleport?

Tex: I don't think so. I think someone grabbed him from somewhere else.

Church: How is that possible? The only technology I know that could do that is- ...Wait a minute. Each freelancer had an enhanced suit of armor and an A.I., right?

Tex: Right.

Caboose: Right.

Church: Your armor was invisibility, and your A.I. was Omega.

Tex: Right.

Caboose: Wrong. Oops, missed that one, can we go back?

Church: What was Wyoming's A.I.?

Tex: Gamma.

Church: Huughh. I gotta make a phone call.