#Being dry and cryptic to me

[stuckinapril]

I genuinely love not having a crush like I’m not over here feeling physically sick over some mid guy being dry to me I’m literally chilling

[puzzled-pegasus]

Here's some silly little metaphors that I think the dragon tribes would use

SkyWings

“Don’t count your clutch before they hatch.” (Don't plan too much too soon)

“Gold is better than silver, but silver is better than nothing.” (If you can't do it perfectly, still try your best. Most dragons forget the second part.)

“‘Sorry’ can't suck the fire back in.” (The damage is done and now you're dead to me.)

“You been eating too much burnt meat or something?” (Are you nuts?)

“Stop all this smoke and use your fire.” (Stop rambling and get to the point already; or stop complaining and do something)

“Doesn't know his tail from his wings.” (Stupid or clumsy)

“You fly like a depressed pigeon.” (Slow flier)

“There's no fire in a rainstorm.” (Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to work.)

“Nighttime is for the NightWings.” (What are you doing up? Go to sleep.)

SandWings

“She’s all rattle, and no strike.” (Like all bark no bite)

“A diamond in a pile of quartz.” (Like a needle in a haystack)

“You’re watering the cactus and ignoring the sapling.” (You’re focusing on the wrong thing; barking up the wrong tree)

“Everyone thinks the camel looks silly until the dry season comes.” (Don't listen to them, they don't know how unique and strong you are)

MudWings

“Crocodile tears.” (Fake crying in order to gain sympathy)

“You can only catch a trout if your mouth is open.” (Be open to new experiences)

“If the tree gives away too much, it ends up as a stump.” (Don't let people take advantage of your generosity)

SeaWings

“Happy as a clam in high water.” (Very happy)

“The flying fish feels like a fool when it sees an osprey.” (Don't compare yourself to others, run your own race.)

“Plenty of fish in the sea.” (Plenty more opportunities to come.)

“You’ve got ink in your eyes.” (You're blind to something important)

“Lobsters only die when they don't leave their shell.” (Keep yourself busy with new experiences and you'll life a long life)

NightWings

“Sleep is for the dead.” (Why waste your time sleeping when you could be productive)

“SeaWings know their fish and SandWings know their cactuses, but we NightWings know everything else.”(NightWing supremacy propaganda)

“Being nice to a deer never got one in my mouth.” (Other dragons don't matter, only your goals.)

“A prophecy always comes true.” (I told you so but more cryptic)

"You're counting the stars." (You're doing something tedious towards an unachievable goal)

RainWings

“Gray’s her favorite color.” (She's a huge bummer)

“A lemon is yellow on the outside, doesn't mean they're not sour.” (Referring to someone who is two faced or fake)

“I love honey, but I’d rather not get stung by the bees.” (I could do this, but it requires effort so I don't wanna)

“Nobody likes a rotten banana.” (Nobody likes a bummer/downer)

“Don't tie your tail in a knot” (don't get all upset)

“I have all my berries in a basket” (I have everything sorted out)

“You couldn't sneak up on a pineapple” (insult to one's camouflage skills, popular among children)

IceWings

“The seal who asks why the orca is chasing him is the first to get eaten.” (A favorite of parents telling their kids to shut up)

“Not the sharpest icicle on the roof” (kinda stupid or slow)

“Clear as polished ice” (i understand or see it very well)

“You're looking a little pink in the face” (you look sickly. IceWings can turn pink from eating too much krill; a symptom of malnutrition. This line can be applied to any illness.)

“Blue blood kills, red blood spills.” (Patriotic propaganda implying that IceWings win every fight

“The SkyWings toss their blue eyed hatchlings because they're worried they'll be as strong as an IceWing.” (More propaganda)

HiveWings

“Pretty is for the SilkWings.” (Vanity is stupid and impractical)

“If it buzzes like a bug and bites like a bug, it's a bug.” (Don't ignore the obvious)

“Clearsight works in mysterious ways.” (I don't know the answer to your question, now go away)

SilkWings

“It's not always good to know how the honey gets made.” (Don't stick your snout where it doesn't belong)

“She's got a couple of threads loose.” (Calling someone a little crazy, threads refers to weaving)

“The bee minds its flowers and the spider minds her silk, it's when they mix that bad things happen.” (Mind ya business)

LeafWings

“Flytraps only trap because the soil doesn't feed them.” (Dragons don't get angry out of nowhere)

“Looking like a leaf only hides you in the forest.” (Time and place)

“If a branch doesn't bend, it breaks.” (Be flexible)

“Even the corpse flower attracts the flies.” (Even someone who seems ugly to one dragon they can seem irresistible to another)

[barcaatthemoon]

down bad || lena oberdorf x reader ||

your teammates tease you about your crush on lena.

your mouth went dry as you looked at lena's post. she looked good, ridiculously good if you were being honest. it was embarrassing how attracted to lena you were at times. your teammates definitely loved taking the mick out of you because of it. however, you liked to claim that it wasn't your fault that lena was so hot.

"what are you going to do when she gets here next month?" sydney asked as she threw her arm over your shoulder. you tried to play it cool, but the thought had been weighing on you for quite some time. you had no idea how you'd function with that hot german constantly around.

"maybe if i stick with magda, we'll never have to talk to each other," you tried. obviously it wasn't a good idea as sydney started laughing so hard that she was falling over. "i'll think of something."

you tried to push the thought of lena coming to the back of your mind, and you were successful for the most part. that meant when you received the email about all of the new signings coming a bit early, you didn't have time to prepare yourself to see lena. you just walked into an off-season training session to see her in the gym with sydney, pernille, and georgia.

"(y/n), over here!" georgia called out. she knew exactly what she was doing to you. georgia was one of the worst about your crush on lena. the only one who ever seemed to come to your defense was madga, but you couldn't see her anywhere. "have you met lena?"

"not officially," lena answered for you. she covered your hand with both of hers, shaking it gently before bringing it up to kiss your knuckles. your cheeks immediately turned pink, and for a moment, your other teammates didn't exist. "it's nice to meet you. i'm lena, but you can call me obi if you'd like."

"(y/n)," you mumbled. she smiled, and you thought you were going to die for a moment.

"it's a very pretty name liebe," lena told you. you just nodded dumbly until pernille took pity on you and ushered you away. once you were away from lena, you seemingly snapped out of whatever weird little trance she had put you in.

"what the hell was that? you have got it bad for her," pernille said. you covered your face in your hands and let out a quiet little scream of frustration. "i hate saying this, but you are pathetic honey."

"yeah," you agreed sadly.

it wasn't easy, but you managed to avoid lena for the rest of the day. throughout the following weeks, you'd run into her around the training facility or the coffee shop that sydney swore by. whenever you'd see each other, you'd always smile and wave, but she rarely tried talking to you. you thought that you were done for, that lena just thought you were a little freak she was better off not associating with.

once the pre-season started, things changed a bit. you found yourself not hanging around sydney or georgia's because lena always seemed to be around. you felt bad for ditching your friends with lame excuses, but you had yet to get a handle on your feelings for lena. it didn't help that you now shared a locker room and gym space together, so you got to see quite a few of the selfies she posted being taken in real time.

"pernille is worried about you," magda said as she plopped down next to you. you glanced over at the swedish defender, who had been one of your closest friends since chelsea. she was like your big sister, only much nicer to you than your actual siblings ever had been. you were sort of on your own before magda came along and unofficially had her parents adopt you. "sydney said that you haven't been over in a month. your friends miss you, even the ones you haven't made yet."

"what the hell does that mean? why do you always say cryptic shit?" you weren't proud of it, but you were huffing and puffing. it had been a hard month, and honestly, you were done with people trying to convince you to go out after practice.

"i mean that lena wants to be your friend. she was asking about you, i think she likes you." magda nudged you with her elbow, seemingly giddy about the idea of lena having a crush on you. magda hadn't seen you date anybody other than jessie, and while that had been a good relationship for the both of you, things just hadn't worked out.

"she doesn't like me. she's way out of my league. things haven't been good for me since jessie, and i don't want to subject lena to that shit," you sighed. magda wrapped her arm around your shoulders and held you in close. "maybe i should have stayed in england."

"absolutely not. now, you look at me and listen, okay?" magda waited for you to nod before she continued, "you're amazing, kid. the first breakup sucks, but then you go out there and find someone new. you fall in love until you find the right person. it's rare to find someone who can look at you the way lena does without really knowing you. i have it on good authority that you've been talked up quite a bit. lena will be here for a while, just like you, so why not give her a chance?"

"when did you get so wise?" you asked as you wrapped your arms around the back of magda's neck. out of the corner of your eye, you could see pernille watching the two of you. "oh, that's when."

"i told you she's worried about you, and she knows that you'll listen to me. now, go out there and charm the kit off of lena," magda told you. she pushed you off of the bench, where you fell ungracefully onto the floor.

"magda!" pernille chided. she threw her arms up into the air as she approached her partner. magda let herself be dragged away as lena made her way over to help you up.

"are you okay, liebe?" lena asked as she pulled you up onto your feet. she didn't let go of your arm, holding you close as the two of you spoke.

"i'm fine," you answered. lena let out a small sigh, seemingly in relief. you felt your cheeks heat up as she smiled at you. there was a distinct lack of privacy in the locker room, but neither of you could bring yourselves to care. "i think her plan the whole time was to shove me onto the ground."

"maybe, but look at us now." lena had a point, but you knew that you had to actually tell her that you liked her now. "i'll shove her later for you."

"definitely gonna take you up on that, but right now i think i have to tell you something," you said. lena was patient with you, waiting until you were ready to speak without pushing you there. "i think that you're really attractive, lena. i keep making a fool of myself around you, so i started to avoid you, but i like you. not in the way i like sydney or georgia, but in the 'i want to kiss you and am down terribly bad' way."

"hey, i'm a catch!" sydney scoffed. lena turned and glared at sydney, who promptly pretended that she wasn't eavesdropping. "sorry, go on."

"i like you a lot too. maybe after this we can get ice cream. i heard from a very reliable source that we like the same place," lena said. you caught georgia's eye from over lena's shoulder just in time to catch her wink. you smiled as you nodded, giving lena's hand a gentle squeeze.

"i'd like that, but for now, we should get to the pitch," you told her. lena nodded and let you grab your things. she walked alongside you out to the field, both of you falling into an easy conversation with each other.

…

"come on, get in closer," lena said as she pressed her body into yours. you weren't sure how you could possibly get any closer to her for the picture, but you let lena try. it was like this every single time the two of you went out somewhere. lena loved to show you off, even more than she liked showing off her own outfits anymore.

"lena, stop! you're gonna leave a mark," you whined as she started to suck on your neck. that wasn't the only reason you wanted her to stop, but if you admitted to being turned on, lena would never let you go. the woman could go from a complete gentlewoman to a teenage boy in an instant.

"you look good in purple though." lena pouted at you, but it didn't work. you turned to give her a quick kiss, careful to not linger too long in her arms. the two of you were meeting sydney and laura for dinner. it seemed that with every game came an outing with some of lena's german national teammates, all of whom were eager to meet you.

you had never thought that lena's feelings for you could have run in the same vein as yours for her. the attraction turned crush eventually forming into a budding love story. you had never thought of her viewing your stories and liking your pictures the same way that you had done hers. in hindsight, you felt stupid, but lena had been patient in waiting for you.

"please, do you want to give syd more to tease us about?" you asked. lena didn't mind the teasing as much as you did, but it bothered her to see when it pushed you too far. lena shook her head and promised to be on her best behavior for dinner where you learned how nice it was to not be the main focus on the teasing. you didn't think that you had seen lena blush as much as she did when laura brought up her constantly viewing your instagram page on international camps.

[loveinhawkins]

There’s perks to working a summer job where there’s seemingly no manager. Steve got an at most five minute interview with an overly smiley dude who said, “An independent workforce is very important to us,” and didn’t even check his references before telling Steve that he was hired.

So it’s down to him and Robin alone to open and close Scoops Ahoy. And the lack of any boss—not even a supervisor—is mostly great, means that no-one’s hovering over their shoulders droning on about ‘company policy’, means they can take their breaks as and when, and no-one’s tapping their foot with an eye on the clock.

But then there’s the times where it’s absolutely swamped with customers, and the statistical likelihood of having to serve an asshole skyrockets; and most assholes don’t tend to think of teenagers slinging ice-cream as being worthy of even the tiniest shred of respect.

“Are you wilfully this stupid, missy?” a douchebag snaps at Robin during the lunchtime rush, after she added chocolate sauce on his sundae instead of raspberry.

She remakes the order with a look that, if there was any justice in the world, would make him drop down dead on the spot. But instead, he just scoffs when she passes him the new sundae.

“Have a spectacular day,” Robin says acerbically, and if it was any other time, Steve would be ducking down behind the counter, pretending to check on stock levels so he can hide his laughter.

Except Robin’s also doing that thing where she blinks a lot, and Steve knows she’s fighting tears of frustration because he privately does something remarkably similar.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest coupled with what’s becoming a steadily frequent flare of protectiveness. That one usually comes with the kids and The Upside Down—except Robin is a girl who’s round about his age, so he half-heartedly assumes it must be because he has a crush on her.

But he’s not even thinking about said crush at all when he gently bumps her towards the break room with his hip and says, “Take yours first, I’ve got this.”

For half a second, Robin’s eyes seem to shine in gratitude before she puts a hand over her heart and declares, dripping in sarcasm, “You’re a god among men, Harrington, I never believed what anyone said about you.”

“You’re wel—hey, what did they say about me?”

The door to the break room shuts, but not before he hears Robin let out a genuine snort of laughter. He smiles and pivots back to the register.

The line’s calmed down; Steve recognises a substitute teacher waiting to be served: Mrs Greeves, who’s been at Hawkins High since the sixties, at least. There’s no other adult in the shop, so it’s presumably her little granddaughter who’s running about the place, without so much as a glancing eye on her.

But Steve doesn’t have to worry about a potential lost child scenario, because a guy suddenly slips out of the booth he’d been sitting in, bending down to the kid’s eye level and subtly ensuring that she doesn’t hightail it out of there.

It takes a few seconds for Steve to recognise him; he’s still getting used to the whole phenomenon of seeing people without the high school setting behind them. Like, Robin used to be just a name from a class he can’t even recall, and now he knows her for her dry wit and love of cryptic crosswords.

And this Eddie Munson is sort of a different beast from the guy Steve saw stomping around the cafeteria tables.

He’s dressed pretty much the same, (Hellfire shirt sans the leather jacket must be the ‘summer look’, Steve reckons), but he’s quieter as he chats with the little girl, letting her try on one of his skull rings to distract from her obvious boredom. His grin is softer, too.

Mrs Greeves clears her throat, and Steve promptly puts on his vacant ‘delightful customer service’ smile.

“Afternoon, Mrs Greeves, what can I do you for?”

She orders a simple strawberry cone for the kid, Abigail, and two scoops of lemon and vanilla in a cup for herself—appropriate, Steve thinks, because her face looks like she’s sucking on a lemon half the time.

As he prepares the ice-cream, he’s quickly remembering why she’s on the list of substitute teachers that students dread, even if he’s only had the ‘pleasure’ of being in a class supervised by her once. He has vague memories of how she’d talk with other teachers in a scandalised stage whisper about students from ‘broken homes’—he’s pretty sure she’s still an austere teacher at the Sunday School, too.

“Abigail,” she says sharply, when Steve finishes the cone, and she finally seems to realise her granddaughter isn’t by her side, “what have I told you about—”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Eddie says hurriedly. Abigail hands him the ring back, very carefully dropping it into his palm, and he gives her a gentle smile. ���I don’t mind—”

“—not talking to strangers?” Mrs Greeves finishes, as if Eddie hadn’t spoken.

“But,” Eddie says with tiny frown, “you know me, ma’am, I’m—”

“Let me be plain then, Mr Munson.” She finally turns to favour Eddie with a scathing look. “I meant that I don’t want my granddaughter around a corrupting influence.”

There’s an awful silence while Abigail collects the cone.

“Oh,” Eddie says, still crouched down by the booth. He sounds very small.

And Steve’s view of Mrs Greeves quickly turns from a general dislike to an icy hatred.

“And here’s yours,” he says, sliding the cup over.

She looks down. Her mouth goes all pinched in displeasure.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“It’s your ice-cream,” Steve says, playing up a confused blink. “Is—is this not what you ordered? I’m terribly sorry for the—”

“Don’t be obtuse, Mr Harrington. These scoops are tiny; they barely fill the cup!”

Yup, Steve thinks with a savage satisfaction. They’re the size of a melon ball, and even that’s being generous.

“Mrs Greeves, I’m afraid it’s store policy. Nothing to do with—”

“What kind of policy could possibly justify—”

“Rudeness,” Steve says smoothly.

Eddie’s head jerks up at that, his mouth slightly agape.

“Mr Harrington,” Mrs Greeves says, her face turning puce, “I would like to see your manager.”

“The manager,” Steve says flatly. “Okay, sure. I’ll go get him.”

What he does next, compared to everything else that’s happened in his life thus far, isn’t all that stupid.

Well. Maybe a little.

It’s worth it though, to see the way Eddie Munson’s eyes widen at the sight.

Making sure to have zero expression throughout, Steve mimes walking downstairs, throws off his hat while crouched behind the counter, then re-emerges with a quick ruffle of his hair.

“How can I help you?” he asks, like they’ve only just met.

The cup of minuscule ice-cream is soon up-ended as Mrs Greeves storms out, barking over her shoulder, “Abigail, come here!”

Eddie stands to let the kid out of the way, who seems blissfully ignorant with her cone. Steve’s sure he hears him mutter under his breath, “Jesus, she’s not a dog.”

“I’ll be reporting you, Steve Harrington, make no mistake!”

Yeah, good fucking luck. I sure as hell don’t know who really runs this place.

“Uh-huh,” Steve says. “Looking forward to it. Harrington with two ‘r’s one ‘n’, ma’am.”

“Shit, Harrington,” Eddie drawls. He’s leaning next to the booth, hip cocked, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’d seen it himself, Steve might’ve been convinced that the Eddie from a moment ago was a different person. “That was not worth getting fired over.”

“I’m not getting fired,” Steve says—although honestly, if that had been a real threat, he thinks his actions would probably have been the same. Huh. “I meant it, dude, there’s no manager here.”

Eddie nods slightly, looks up at the Scoops Ahoy sign and grins. “So you and Buckley are the skeleton crew on this ship.”

“Uh, I guess?”

Come on, man, Steve thinks, as Eddie keeps up the wide grin like it’s a shield. This isn’t the high school cafeteria; I’m not about to hit your lunch tray or whatever.

Out loud, he calls into the back, “Hey, Robin, the chocolate’s low. I’m just gonna put in a new batch if you want some of the old stuff.”

The sliding doors open.

Robin sighs as if she’s just had a very relaxing facial, but she’s actually holding a folded newspaper with the cryptic crossword all finished.

“I am so chilled out,” she says, with a delivery that could rival Eddie Munson’s trademark dramatics.

“You’re so weird,” Steve says mildly while making up a cup with the leftover chocolate ice-cream.

“You’ve just got no taste, Harrington.” She waggles the crossword at him. “You should give ‘em a try.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “I’m no good at that code-breaking stuff.” He passes her the cup, goes to start assembling his own and pauses. “Hey, Munson, you want some?”

“Oh, uh, I’m good,” Eddie says, sounding suddenly wrong-footed. “Sorry, I’m just, uh, killing time before my movie starts. The other stores said if I wasn’t buying anything I should get out, so…”

“So you’ve come to our oceanic sanctum,” Robin deadpans.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know, just ‘cause you do crosswords doesn’t mean you have to turn into a dictionary. Ow.” He doesn’t quite duck in time to avoid the newspaper smacking him in the face. He turns to address Eddie again, who appears to be fighting back laughter. “What’re you gonna see, Munson?”

Eddie’s eyes glance away for a second. “Something very scary and befitting of my stature, Harrington.”

Robin, who’s made a habit of memorising the mall’s movie schedules, checks her watch and narrows her eyes. “Return to Oz?”

Eddie’s cheeks start to glow. “Fuck off, Buckley, I’ve never liked you.”

“You’re such a liar, I’ve heard your applause at band practice—”

“Okay, but,” Steve cuts in, jumping up onto the counter with one hand. “I thought the whole point was Oz was a dream. How can she return to—?”

“Christ, I don’t know, Harrington,” Eddie says. “I didn’t pick it for critical analysis; the poster had a dude with a pumpkin head on it, and I thought it looked cool.”

“Oh, I saw that,” Robin says. “Made me think of when all those pumpkins went bad. Like, imagine if they had faces.”

Unthinkingly, Steve says around his ice-cream spoon, “No way, I’m not dealing with that, too.”

“Excusez-moi?” Robin says.

“Hmm?” Steve says innocently.

“Hey, you missed quite a show earlier on, Buckley,” Eddie says. “Reckon Harrington deserves a tally in the ‘you rule’ column.”

Steve glares at Robin. “I told you to keep that outta view of the customers.”

“Ah, but I’m not buying anything,” Eddie points out, “ergo, not a customer.”

“Ergo,” Steve mimics.

“That board is strictly for romantic successes,” Robin says.

Eddie snorts. “Aw, that’s hardly fair. I think it should have more… rounded criteria.”

Robin’s eyes narrow again. “Eddie Munson, you’ve never complimented a jock in your life, don’t start now.”

“Hey,” Steve says, overselling a ‘wounded’ expression. “I’m more than that, y’know. I contain multitudes.”

“Sure,” Eddie says, smiling. “Folks, we’ve got Hawkins’s own Whitman right here.”

Steve flips him off and, on a whim, decides to channel his inner Dustin.

“Maybe I just see the world more clearly than you two ‘cause I’m free of societal constraints.”

“You’re working in a mall,” Robin says.

“High school societal contraints. I am unshackled and ergo, free.”

“Damn,” Eddie says, patting down his pockets for an imaginary pen, “I should use that.”

“Stop inflating Harrington’s ego and go catch your totally scary movie,” Robin says.

Eddie checks his own watch. “Oh, shit. Um.” And Steve thinks that it almost looks like he’s reluctant to leave. “Time flies, I guess. Better go ashore.” He catches Steve’s eye, gives a tiny little salute as he leaves. “May your summer continue to be mundane and manager-less.”

“You’re a poet, Munson,” Steve says, even though Eddie’s already out the door.

“So what was the show I missed?” Robin says. “I couldn’t hear anything back there.”

“Nothing that exciting.”

Steve tells her, and even though a smile tugs at her mouth as he re-enacts his mime, for some reason her eyes are kinda sad for most of it.

“Good job, Popeye,” she says thoughtfully—and though it directly contradicts her own words, she marks up a singular ‘you rule’ tally for the rest of her shift before wiping it off.

Eddie doesn’t re-appear after the movie—not that Steve’s keeping track of time, or anything—but at least they don’t have anymore nightmares for customers. As Steve mops, he thinks about how Dustin’s return from Camp Something Something is approaching—and the fact that he’s circled the date with a goofy smiley face is between him and his bedroom calendar.

He smiles to himself while clocking out of the now ghostly mall, recalling Eddie’s parting words.

The thought of a mundane, manager-less summer stretching before him sounds pretty damn good.

[fear-is-truth]

INTERVIEW WITH THE ANTICHRIST

── michael langdon x gn! reader. || wc: 980

The chamber was eerily silent, illuminated only by the flickering candles and the warm glow of the fireplace. You were seated in a plush armchair, stiff and cold beneath your fingers, your back pressed tight against the cushions.

The air was thin, as if it was being slowly siphoned away. You felt small, trapped. Like an insect in a glass jar. Langdon had only arrived at the outpost a day ago, but already, you could feel the shift in power. Even Venable—the high and mighty bitch who ruled over all—was clearly shaken by his arrival.

No one knew much about him, only that he was important. And dangerous.

The interviews with Langdon had quickly become a topic of annoyance among the other inhabitants. Each person who had been interviewed complained about his cryptic nature and nonchalant attitude. Whatever his purpose here, it felt like a game to him—a clever farce meant to toy with you all.

And now it was your turn to entertain him.

You kept your gaze fixed ahead as Langdon rose from behind his desk, the sound of his boots against the floor the only disruption to the stifling silence as he approached you. He did not bother to sit. Instead, he stood before you, arms clasped behind his back, his expression inscrutable as he studied you.

“You’re the seventh,” he announced, and his voice was smooth, like a glassy winter pond. You nodded, swallowing hard, unable to tear your eyes away from him as he began to circle you. The way he moved was languid, graceful.

You fidgeted slightly, trying to suppress your nerves. Langdon was, undeniably beautiful— angelic, even. He looked as if he had been sculpted from marble, with sharp, almost impossibly perfect features—chiselled cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. Long, golden hair fell in soft waves over his shoulders, and his pale skin stood out against his all-black attire. The dark clothing gave him an air of authority, likely because he was sent by The Cooperative.

“Tell me. How do you feel your life here, at the Outpost?” he purred, his voice curling in the air around you. The question seemed casual, yet there was something in the way he said it that made you feel anything but.

“It's...” You paused, your throat suddenly dry. “It’s fine,” the words felt hollow on your tongue, laughable, given the bleak reality of your existence here. Sure, you were relieved to be alive, the temptation of sweet oblivion often lingered at the edge of your thoughts. Langdon moved behind you, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could feel his bright blue gaze drilling into the back of your skull.

When he spoke again, his voice was a soft, coaxing whisper, like honeyed velvet.

“What do you miss the most?”

The question struck you off guard. It wasn’t what you had anticipated—then again, you hadn’t known what to expect.

“…I’m sorry?”

“Prior to… all of this,” he clarified, gesturing vaguely at the surrounding walls,

“What do you miss most?”

You exhaled shakily, gripping the armrests tighter as you spoke.

“I… I miss the colours. The sky, the sunsets. And the trees, the ones that lined the sidewalks. The way they change in autumn.”

He chuckled softly, and you swore you could detect genuine humour in the sound. Embarrassed at the wistfulness in your tone, you stared down at your lap, at the monotonous gray of your uniform.

“You miss beauty, don’t you?”

he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned closer. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw in the lightest of touches. Stunned into silence, you simply nodded.

He stopped in front of you now, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if appraising your response. The silence stretched, tension pulling at the edges of the room until it felt unbearable. Then, he deadpanned,

“The world outside is a wasteland now,”

There was no trace of emotion, his words as detached as if he were reading from a script. He stepped closer, leaning in. The cool press of his hand settled against your cheek, the metal of his rings biting into your skin. You froze under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

“But perhaps,” he mused, his voice soft, almost to himself, “some beauty has survived after all.”

Just as quickly as he had touched you, he withdrew his hand and resumed circling. Every step he took only made the knot of anxiety in your chest tighten further.

The questions that followed were innocent but somehow, simultaneously intimate. He asked about your favourite book, about what scared you most as a child, your childhood best friend.

Throughout it all, his piercing blue eyes never strayed from you. They stripped you bare, as though he was peeling back the layers of your very soul. You answered as best you could, because you had a nagging suspicion that he already knew the answers before you spoke.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, the interview ended.

“That’s all for now.” Langdon turned on his heel, striding toward the door with the same measured grace. His fingers brushed the sleek panels, sliding them open with ease. He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. His expression was unreadable, yet there was something lingering in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite put your fingers on.

“I look forward to our next meeting.”

You blinked, unsure if this was the end. The knot of nerves tightened in your stomach as you stood from the armchair, wringing your hands together.

“Wait,” you called after him, your voice trembling slightly.

“Have I… did I get in?”

Langdon turned fully to face you, a faint, almost amused smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“You were already in before the interview,” he murmured, as if it were an afterthought.

“I just wanted to speak to you nonetheless.”

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[wandascrush]

Hail Hydra

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Avengers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fighting, kissing

Part 5 of my DIWK series

The following few days were a whirlwind of missions, training, and more double agent work that left your nerves frayed and your mind constantly racing. You tried to shove down the persistent unease Wanda’s cryptic knowledge left lingering, but the tension only grew. Whatever secret she knew, it felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. Every interaction with her now carried a strange weight.

But there was also Natasha.

    Every glance she threw your way, every smirk or light touch, made your pulse quicken. Yet, you kept your distance, still a little hurt by your past conversation- and also confused by her signals. Some days she was warm, charming, gentle- and others she was cold and distant; treating you like nothing more than another colleague. Throwing you snarky remarks, or simply shutting you out completely. Hardly even a friend. It felt like walking on a tight rope with her. 

Maybe you loved it. You couldn’t tell yet. 

    That night, as the compound settled into a rare quiet, you found yourself wandering the halls, unable to sleep. Maybe some water would help? The weight of the mission, of Fury’s expectations, of your tangled relationships, all pressed down on you. As your feet padded the ice cold floors, turning a corner- you nearly bumped into Wanda, who was pacing the hall herself, face deep in thought.

“Wanda?” you said, your voice softer than you intended.

She stopped, blinking at you before offering a half-smile. “Hey.”

You fell into step beside her, the silence between you surprisingly comfortable. You could feel her stealing glances your way, her body tense as though she was holding back something.

After a few minutes of walking, she broke the silence. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

You glanced over, catching the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “Tired of what?”

“Of having to hide everything.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Of pretending all the time.”

The question hit too close to home. You swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of your own secrets suffocating you. “Yeah… I do.”

Wanda slowed her pace and stopped, turning to face you. Her green eyes bore into yours, and there was something raw in her expression. “I feel like I’m pretending too much,” she whispered. “With everyone. I miss being…me.” 

Her words lingered in the air between you. A part of you knowing exactly what she meant, even if you weren’t ready to fully acknowledge it.

  You took a step closer, feeling the magnetic pull between you, your fingers itching to reach out and close the distance. But before you could act, Wanda’s hand gently brushed yours, her touch feather-light but enough to send warmth spreading through you. 

   You locked eyes with her, “What is it that you know about me Wanda? My secret?” 

Her thumb grazed the back of your hand. “Your sister.” 

Your throat ran dry. 

“How-” you sounded breathless, and the hum of your heartbeat against your chest was loud enough for everyone to hear. You were sure of it. 

“I stole the file that was in your bag. Few weeks ago. I’m sorry- I was suspicious and I couldn’t help myself.” 

Your breath hitched at her words, the vulnerability in her tone catching you off guard. Her touch lingered, her fingers grazing yours as if testing the waters.

The tension—the unspoken questions—remained.

“And? What did you find out?” 

“The file barely had anything, just basic information…and at the bottom family relations.”

“So. Now you know. Any more questions?” 

“How old were you when they-,” Wanda's words caught in her throat. 

“I was 13. My sister was 10.” 

“Do you think she’s involved with Hy-,” The little witch saw your entire demeanor change. Guilt flooded her system, poisoning the air, “Nevermind.” 

You took a step back from her, clearing your throat, “Next time just ask.”

The silence spoke volumes.

   The next day, things with Natasha picked up in intensity, and that only added to the confusion. You were sparring in the gym, exchanging blows and banter as usual, but something in her gaze was different—hungrier, more focused on you in a way that made your breath catch.

   After landing a particularly well-placed hit, the assasin smirked and stepped closer than necessary, her chest almost brushing yours. “You’re getting better,” she teased, her voice low and almost sultry.

“Maybe you’re just getting rusty,” you shot back, your heart thundering as her proximity sent a rush of heat through you.

  Those green eyes narrowed playfully, but there was an intensity in her gaze that made your stomach flip. She didn’t step back. Instead, she reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her touch lingering a beat too long.

“Am I?” Natasha’s voice dropped, and suddenly, the playful banter felt like something much more serious. Her eyes locked onto yours, searching for something. She leaned in, her breath warm on your skin, and for a moment, you thought she might kiss you. Again. 

Your lips parted, and you could almost feel the moment tipping over, the tension that had been building between you both ready to snap. But just as you were about to close the distance, a voice interrupted, startling you both.

“Nat, Y/N, we’ve got a debrief in five,” Steve’s voice called from the doorway, and the spell was broken. Fucking Steve. 

   Natasha stepped back, her smirk back in place, though you could see the frustration simmering just below the surface. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you before turning and walking away said enough. 

    Later that night, you were back in your room, replaying the day’s events in your mind. Wanda’s words, her touch. The weight of your secret lessened, but you were still annoyed with her. You felt insulted. Hurt. It was all a tangled mess, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep balancing everything.

Later, as you were about to turn in for the night, there was a knock on your door. Your heart skipped a beat, expecting it to be Natasha, but when you opened it, Wanda was standing there, dressed in her familiar hoodie and sweats.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice soft, and something about the way she looked at you made your chest tighten.

You nodded, stepping aside to let her in. She glanced around your room before sitting on the edge of your bed, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, looking up at you. “I’ve been thinking about… things.”

You moved to sit beside her, the air between you charged. “Yeah? Like what?”

Wanda hesitated, biting her lip as if unsure how much to say. Finally, she looked at you, her eyes full of something raw and unguarded. “Like you.”

   The room felt too small, too warm, and your pulse quickened at the weight of her words. Truthfully, the little witch had no idea what she was doing. Or why she was doing it, but some annoying part of her twisted and turned and flipped at the thought of you. And it felt good. Wanda reached out, her hand resting gently on your arm. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you felt yourself leaning in, drawn to her in a way that felt inevitable.

You could hear the soft hum of rain on your window, falling all around the two of you. 

    Wanda’s eyes flickered to your lips, and in that moment, all the tension that had been building between you snapped. You closed the distance, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative. Your gentle hand cupped her jaw, she unknowingly pressed into it. As soon as you felt her respond, her fingers threading through your hair, the kiss deepened, turning into something more urgent, more desperate.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Wanda stepped back, shyly smiling, “This is complicated,” she whispered.

You nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, it is.”

That night, as the rain continued to pour and life moved on- you stood up as the reality of what happened with Wanda hit you harder than any mission briefing could. You hadn’t slept much, your eye bags deepening by the minute. You’d crossed a line with her, one you weren’t sure how to come back from. Or want to come back from. The feeling of her lips on yours still lingered, and despite the complications, you couldn’t push the memory away. But what now?

     The tension of the previous night still lingered in the air as you boarded the transport that would take you to the HYDRA base. You couldn’t afford distractions now. Your mission was dangerous, and every visit to HYDRA put your life on the line. The stakes felt even higher now that they were starting to get suspicious of your role.

    As the aircraft cut through the clouds, you steeled yourself, mentally going over the details Fury had drilled into you. Fake files to hand over. Just enough information to keep HYDRA from questioning you, but not enough to do any real damage to the Avengers. It was a delicate balance, one that was becoming harder to maintain with each mission.

   When you landed at the base, the cold, sterile walls greeted you like a prison. There was no warmth here, no camaraderie like with the Avengers. You walked through the halls, keeping your expression neutral, passing by agents who nodded at you with stiff respect. They trusted you, but you knew that could change in an instant.

  Samantha, your least favorite person to exist, was waiting for you in the debriefing room, her sharp eyes tracking your every move. She was one of the more dangerous operatives, the type who didn’t need powers to be lethal—just her instincts. She had been a close friend when you first joined HYDRA undercover, but lately, you could feel the cracks forming in your facade, and you knew she had too. Her friendship turned to disdain in a second.

“Y/L/N,” she greeted you with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve missed your intel.”

You forced a smile, trying to match her energy. “Good to be back. Got some new information for you. Try not to choke me this time.”

You handed her the folder Fury had given you, filled with carefully crafted lies and non-sensitive data. She flipped through the pages, her sharp gaze occasionally lifting to scrutinize you. It was subtle, but you could feel her trying to gauge whether you were still loyal—or if you were hiding something.

“Interesting,” she murmured, setting the folder down. “You’ve been quiet lately. Not much action from you or the Avengers. What’s going on over there?”

You kept your face neutral, your heart pounding in your chest. “Things have been tense. The Avengers are getting more cautious, harder to infiltrate. They’re watching everyone closely, even me.”

Samantha leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Is that so? Well, you’re lucky we’re patient. But patience only lasts so long. HYDRA wants results, and you haven’t delivered anything substantial in months.”

Your stomach tightened. She wasn’t wrong. HYDRA was growing restless, and you knew that if you didn’t give them something soon, they would turn on you.

“I’m working on something big,” you said, leaning in as if confiding in her. “I need a little more time, but it’ll be worth it. Trust me.”

Samantha’s eyes flickered with suspicion, but she didn’t press the issue. “You better hope it’s worth it, Y/N. Because if you’re lying…” She let the threat hang in the air, the meaning clear.

You gave her a tight smile. “I’m not lying.”

Samantha stared at you for a moment longer before standing up, dismissing you with a wave of her hand. “We’ll see. I’ll expect an update soon.”

You nodded, trying not to let the tension show on your face as you left the room. Once you were out of her sight, you let out a shaky breath. This was getting too close. You needed to talk to Fury again, but you also knew you couldn’t risk breaking your cover.

As you sat in your temporary quarters at the base, you stared at the walls- you had a job to do, but with each visit to HYDRA, it became harder to keep up the act. One slip-up, and they’d realize the truth. They’d know you were a traitor. A liar. An enemy.

Your thoughts wandered to the Avengers. To Natasha. To Wanda. Being here felt like another world, but the feelings you had for them were ever-present. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep lying to everyone. 

  A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts, and you tensed. It wasn’t often people came to your quarters at HYDRA.

You opened the door, and there stood Samantha again, her eyes cold, calculating.

“Mind if I come in?” she asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

You stepped aside, letting her in. She walked around your room, her fingers tracing the sparse furniture, her eyes never leaving you. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” she began, her tone casual, but you knew better than to relax.

“Oh?” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Samantha turned to face you, her expression serious. you could feel her eyes boring into you. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and for a moment, you were sure she knew—knew about the fake intel, knew about the mission. ‘You’re getting sloppy, Y/L/N,’ she muttered, her voice low enough to send a chill down your spine…”and something doesn’t add up. You’ve been here for months, and we’ve seen very little from you. And somehow, these past few months the Avengers have been one step ahead of us at every corner. I’m starting to think you’re holding out on us.”

You felt your pulse quicken. “I told you, I’m working on something big—”

Samantha stepped closer, her eyes boring into yours. “And I’m telling you, I’m not convinced. You better be very careful, L/N. HYDRA doesn’t take kindly to traitors.”

Her words hung in the air, the threat unmistakable.

“I’m not a traitor,” you said, your voice steady. Keep cool. “Maybe you are.”

   Samantha was caught off guard by your statement, letting out a dry, humorless laugh. Her cold blue eyes studied you for a moment longer before turning to leave. At the door, she paused, glancing back at you. “For your sake, you should hope that’s true.”

[herejusttosufferalong]

So did N post the Brazil restaurant pics and talk about it in an interview (a bit randomly) because she knew a lot of people were taking pics of them, and she wanted to control the narrative? Play it down and hush rumours? I don't recall her posting any other dinner photos during the tour?

Given the precise timing, I suspect the new photos/video that were released today may have been taken by staff who were under a 90-day NDA (from Part 1 release). I know of other photos that were posted in real time of L and N at the hotel restaurant. For some reason, they were not restricted to post? Maybe just a casual diner or guest? It just occurred to me that the two photos of them (on different nights) taken from a distance may have been screenshots from a video, as the quality is so poor? That's an interesting thought.

Then there's the NY Premiere videos. Why were some released in real time while others were released precisely 90 days after the release of part 1? Why would NDAs apply to some people but not others? Unless the videos posted today were purely by influencers via their official accounts and the other videos posted in real time were from random guests and anonymously leaked?

I'm confused as to why NDAs would be in place? Is it just a safeguard in case anything scandalous happened that would effect viewership numbers? And in the case of the Brazil hotel, just a general privacy thing? But why would it be limited to 90 days if that's the case? Unless they thought something would happen at the hotel that could effect viewership numbers?

Idk. I'm so confused about today. Particularly when you pair it with the week of posting from N. No surprises she posted something social awareness related today (all eyes on her) either because she anticipated today's events OR she had a look at her socials and saw that things had been posted and wanted to make the most of public interest. But still, why the lead up with her own cryptic and love-struck posts? And radio silence from L and all adjacents since he posted the Bridgerton bloopers?

Here are my key takeaways from today (and this week):

They spent a shit ton of time together in Brazil, and didn't get sick of each other. Even going to two separate restaurants in the hotel on one night. They had at least two outings together, without their teams in earshot, across two nights.

He enjoys grabbing her hand unnecessarily just as much as she enjoys grabbing his. Their level of physical affection is unsettling to me, even when certain adjacents are around.

Certain adjacents are just hanging around, whether they know they're being filmed or not. Where is the affection or physical comfort?

A few days before the Premiere, N posts a song about waiting for someone, asking them to give her 'a look again' to get things going. Then in the week leading up to the end of a 90-day period from Part 1 release (and possible NDA expiration), she proceeds to post about someone giving her a call after not hearing from them in a while, and admitting their love for one another (the caller expressing their feelings first). She then posts a song about getting it on with a person where there's no pretending, who knows her so well. Someone who makes her want to dress up and go dancing. Makes me think of that song she posted after S3 filming (I think) and possibly again during tour? - "we should kiss like real people do". What's this whole theme about pretending vs. reality? Being real/yourself vs. fake? What's this in relation to? I mean, I have a few theories...

I can feel it in my loins that the next few days are going to be enlightening, and could literally go in any direction. But did any of us predict this turn of events in what was suppose to be the 'dry period' before s4 filming begins??? This is honestly the best show I've ever watched.

.

[many-shades-of-violence]

dear doctor

✢ content: NSFW, Medical Kink, Doctor-Patient Roleplay, Dom-Sub Dynamics, Glove Kink, improper use of Devil Fruit, Electrostimulation

✢ pairing: Trafalgar D. Law x f! Reader

✢ characters: Law, Bepo, Shachi, Penguin, Ikkaku, Uni

✢ word count: 7.500

Life on the Polar Tang was delightful to say the least.

With a wonderful crew, a comfortable bed, delicious food, your very own Polar Bear on board, and last but not least, the company of your lover and partner, Trafalgar D. Law, you shouldn't have had much reason to complain. Well, perhaps, except for the fact that you were being pursued by the World Government due to your listed bounty. But apart from that, life was pretty good, especially when compared to the time before you joined the Heart Pirates. And slowly, but surely, you had even found yourself falling in love with none other than your own captain.

At the start of your relationship, Law had warned you that he was preoccupied with his duties, studies, and crew. He made it clear that these responsibilities were just as important as you, and that he would strive to care for them equally. Of course, you understood what you were getting into with a warning like that. Law's focused and determined demeanor was one of the many things that had captivated you, after all. And despite his initial warning, whenever he had to cancel your plans for sudden matters at hand, he always made it up to you in some way.

However, despite all of this, you currently found yourself pondering the state of your relationship. Law was avoiding your touch as if it were made of seastone, and this had been going on for a rough week. It wasn't unusual for you two to go without intimacy over some periods of time, but Law wouldn't even share a proper kiss or allow himself to be held while sleeping, and you knew how important latter was to him, considering the numerous nightmares he had to endure.

At first, you had tried to suppress your hurt over his distant demeanor. However, after enduring a dragging week, you finally reached your breaking point in front of Ikkaku. The poor girl had jokingly inquired about life in paradise, likely intending to check up on you, as you had formed a tight bond with the female crew member, but before you knew it, tears had welled up at the corners of your eyes, streaming down your cheeks within seconds.

Fortunately, Ikkaku responded with genuine sisterly concern, guiding you to a quieter section of the sub-marine where you could be alone. With a gentle hand stroking your back, she hushed you softly as you poured out your frustration from the past few days through tears.

"Shh, it's okay, y/n," Ikkaku whispered, offering you a heartfelt smile in an attempt to console you.

Tears still welling in your eyes, you looked up at her and spoke with a trembling voice, "I just don't know anymore, ´Kaku. He doesn't even talk to me. It's not like we even fought or anything."

Ikkaku raised an eyebrow at your words and let out a sigh of defeat. "Ugh, as much as I respect him, Captain can be so cryptic sometimes," she admitted, rubbing her neck uncomfortably. She then continued, "You sure there's no way you unintentionally upset him?"

Shaking your head, you looked down at the ground, attempting to control the flow of your emotions. Ikkaku seemed to understand your struggle and promptly produced a handkerchief, offering it to you. "Here, you poor thing. Take this."

"Thanks," you mumbled, using the handkerchief to dry your tears and blow your nose, working to steady your breathing. Meanwhile, Ikkaku appeared to be considering various possibilities for your captain's odd behavior. "Maybe we should approach this from a different angle. When did all of this start? Any idea? Take your time if you need."

You nodded in agreement with Ikkaku's suggestion, taking a moment to reflect on the past days and the onset of Law's sudden change in behavior. As you thought back, you shuddered as memories surfaced—countless instances when you had attempted to connect with your raven-haired lover. Each time, he had either brushed you off with something else on his busy mind or directly stated that he wasn't interested in your advances. The sting of hot tears threatened your eyes once more, your lower lip quivering in the face of this defeat, when suddenly, a vivid scene flashed through your mind.

You were immersed in a book as the door to your shared room swung open, announcing the return of none other than your boyfriend. Your gaze lifted from the page you were reading, attempting to remember where you had left off. A smile crept onto your face as you beheld Law's appearance – his dark, tousled hair still damp and droplets of water adorning his skin. He was dressed only in his blue jeans with black spots, the fabric fitting snugly low on his hips. A white cotton towel draped lazily over his right shoulder, partially concealing a fraction of the numerous black tattoos that adorned his tanned, well-defined torso.

A sensation of arousal began to stir within you as he entered the room. The weighty iron door closed behind Law automatically as he ran his fingers through his short hair, his inked fingers deftly arranging the strands. His sharp, yellow eyes met yours, a knowing smirk gracing his weary features. "Like what you see?" he purred, his voice deep and textured.

With an eager nod, you agreed, though you couldn't help but feel a touch embarrassed at being caught gazing at him so intently. "Don´t have to ask twice," you responded. Law casually tossed the towel aside, then crawled onto the bed you both shared. He briefly glanced at the book in your hands before placing it face down, ensuring you could resume reading it later. He sealed this act with a kiss on your temple, his skilled hands tracing the contours of your body.

"Wanna get a feel?" Law's voice rumbled, planting another kiss near your neck and sending a shiver down your spine as he exhaled warm air against your skin. You couldn't help but emit a soft, pleased sound at the feeling of his goatee brushing against you, relishing the delicate scratchiness it provided. Gradually, you shifted your position, now sandwiched between Law's body and the bed. Your gaze met his as you lightly traced one of the many inked lines on his chest. Your voice adopted a sultry tone as you parted your lips, ready to playfully tease your lover. "Right at your disposal, doctor."

For a brief moment, Law didn't react at all. His gaze seemed fixed on what you could only assume was nothingness. Then, with a sudden movement, he excused himself, pressing his hand to his forehead and muttering about being much more tired from the surgery than he had anticipated. He sought refuge under the thick blanket of the bed. While his reaction was a bit surprising, you didn't dwell on it too much. Sudden waves of exhaustion were nothing out of the ordinary when it came to your hardworking boyfriend.

However, as you replayed the scene in your mind, dissecting it frame by frame, a realization struck you like a bolt of lightning. This had to be the exact moment when Law's odd behavior had begun, starting with his turning away from you in a manner that made it impossible for you to snuggle up to him, as was your usual sleeping arrangement.

A surge of understanding flooded over you, and you swiftly turned your head towards Ikkaku, who was now vigorously gesturing in your direction. Yet, her frantic movements weren't directed at you. You turned your head, recognizing a familiar figure – a slender man wearing a Penguin hat.

"Get lost, Penguin!" Ikkaku exclaimed to him, her tone assertive. The young man scratched his cheek sheepishly, clearly caught off guard. "S-Sorry, I heard some sobs, so we—"

Ikkaku cut him off abruptly, her tone curt, "Don't you worry your pretty little head about this. y/n's dealing with some grown-up issues, and it looks like we need some grown-up solutions." She gestured for him to leave immediately, but her eyes widened as if another thought struck her. "Wait, did you say 'we'?"

Penguin nodded, his embarrassment evident. Just then, another familiar face appeared around the corner – none other than the other half of the renowned Heart Pirate duo, Shachi. He greeted you casually, "Sup!" It seemed as if Ikkaku was on the verge of giving up on the whole situation. She brought a hand to her forehead and let out a loud sigh, muttering to herself, "May the gods save me from whatever idiocy is going to come out of this."

In that moment, Penguin knelt in front of you, gently taking the handkerchief from your hand and using it to dab away the traces of tears and mucus you had missed. "There, there, y/n. No need to cry. It's just good old Shachi and Penguin."

Meanwhile, Shachi shot Ikkaku a disapproving look, planting his hands on his hips and gesturing first towards her and then towards you. "A bit of respect for your seniors wouldn't hurt, you know. Anyway, what's going on with them?"

"We're practically the same age, Shachi. And need I remind you of the captain's words? We're all equals, including Bepo," Ikkaku retorted, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. However, she quickly realized that bringing up the problem at hand might not have been the best choice, as a surprised squeal from Penguin shifted her attention back to you, still teary-eyed.

"Hey, everything's okay, y/n. Whatever's on your mind, we'll find a way to sort it out," Penguin assured you, doing his best to soothe your distress by gently patting away the lingering traces of moisture around your eyes. As you and Penguin tried to calm yourselves, embarrassed by the presence of not only Ikkaku but also two of your boyfriend's closest childhood friends, Penguin unexpectedly placed his hat on your head. The warm fabric cocooned your head snugly.

Eventually, your tears subsided, leaving only occasional silent hiccups in their wake. During this time, Ikkaku reluctantly filled Penguin and Shachi in on your situation, offering them insight into your current state, even if she seemed a bit unwilling to share at first.

Shachi let out a defeated sigh and scratched the back of his head, looking down at you over his tinted glasses. "So, any clue why he's been acting so distant? Captain must have one damn good reason to be giving you the cold shoulder like that, because to put if quite frankly, he got a lot of free time right now." His scarlet red eyes met yours, and you offered a weak nod, sensing his keen interest. "I'm not entirely certain, but I think it all started last week when he returned from his shower...." you mumbled, avoiding his gaze and blushing slightly.

"Oh my god, spare us the details if it happened during your intimate moments. I can live without that kind of insight into Captain," Ikkaku protested, shaking her head vigorously and crossing her arms defensively.

Shachi chuckled at Ikkaku's reaction, revealing his sharp teeth as he retorted, "You know how the saying goes, Ikkaku, the devil's in the details."

You felt a twinge of embarrassment, wishing you hadn't let your guard down so much around the crew. The thought of Law finding out that you had discussed your relationship issues with them made you cringe. But considering your lack of options, you knew you had to proceed.

Penguin's gentle voice brought you back to reality, his blue eyes locking onto yours. "Pay no mind to those two scatterbrains. You don't have to tell us if you're uncomfortable, but if you accidentally stepped on his toes somehow, we might be able to help you sort it out if you open up about it. Shachi and I have plenty of experience with that, believe me." He offered you an encouraging pat on the shoulder, while Shachi and Ikkaku now turned to face Penguin together, hissing in protest, "We're not scatterbrains!"

With a sigh, you gathered your thoughts and began explaining the situation that you believed marked the beginning of this strained dynamic. Just as you finished describing how Law had suddenly turned away, Penguin and Shachi exchanged a knowing glance before focusing back on you. Shachi grinned and chuckled. "Hey, y/n, you don't have to answer, but did you happen to do anything unusual?" You replied in a hoarse voice, "What do you mean?"

Penguin continued Shachi's line of thought. "Like, you know, anything new. Like a pet-name or something?" Both of them watched you intently, and you gave a wide-eyed look, feeling embarrassed as you nodded slightly. Ikkaku let out a dying sound, almost covering her ears with her hands. "Oh my god, do I really want to hear this?"

Shachi's snickering continued as he flashed his teeth, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "No need to explain. If my hunch is right, poor y/n stumbled into the biggest blunder imaginable." Just as Shachi finished his statement, Penguin's neck snapped in your direction, his eyes widening as realization dawned on him. He couldn't help but blurt out the revelation to Ikkaku anyway, his voice too loud for comfort. "Did you call him 'doctor'?!" You winced at the volume of his words, wishing you could disappear into thin air at that moment. Slowly, you nodded, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Ikkaku seemed torn between wanting to join you in your vanishing act and wanting to console you. She spoke up, trying to offer reassurance. "Well, it's not a big deal, right? I mean, it's literally his profession, so it's not like it's something out of the ordinary."

Shachi rolled his eyes at her words. "That's precisely the issue." Ikkaku looked at him, confusion etched on her face. "What do you mean?"

Letting out another sigh, Shachi brought his hand to his forehead and began to explain while gesturing. "Captain might be a pirate, but he still holds onto his professional ethics as a doctor. Not that I think he´s not into this. We all know he´s a perv. But knowing him, he probably struggled with the moral aspect anyhow." Penguin nodded in shared agreement, then laid a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I´m fully with you at your endeavor though. Nothing out of the window on a ship full of medical professionals."

Shachi, looking somewhat shocked, threw his hands up theatrically his mouth wide open. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Taking in all the information, you let out a sigh, a wave of sadness washing over you. You were aware that Law had strong emotional barriers, but if Shachi and Penguin were right, you hadn't realized that he couldn't even communicate his preferences to you openly, even when it was related to his ethical standards. You shivered slightly but composed yourself, gaining the attention of those around you.

"So, what's the plan?" Ikkaku raised an eyebrow, curious about your next steps. For a brief moment, you looked down, clenching your fists before responding. "I suppose I need to talk to Law. I already feel bad for burdening you guys with all of this."

As you looked back up at them, you were met with surprised expressions on Ikkaku's, Shachi's, and Penguin's faces. Color drained from their features, and they all seemed to be staring right behind you. Confused, you turned to see what had captured their attention, and a cold chill ran down your spine as you heard no other than Law's sulky voice.

"Do you now?" His voice rang out, catching you off guard. Ikkaku cried out in surprise, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Shachi quickly joined in with a question, "Captain, what brings you here?!"

You didn´t have to turn around to know that Law was frowning at them. “I could ask you the same to all of you. One moment I´m in my study, the next moment I get informed from Uni that four members of the crew are from their posts without notice.”

You swallowed hard, realizing the predicament you had unintentionally dragged the others into. Not wanting to implicate them further, you turned toward your captain, locking eyes with his stern gaze as you prepared to respond. However, when your gazes met, you found yourself unable to form any words. Each syllable seemed to stick in your dry throat, likely from the aftermath of your recent crying spell.

It didn't take much for Law to piece together the situation. The tear stains on your face, the handkerchief in Penguin's hand, the concerned expressions on Ikkaku and Shachi's faces, and most telling of all, Penguin's hat still resting on your head like a dorn in his eye – it all added up to a clear picture. With a deep sigh and a quick rub of his temple, Law motioned behind him. "Shachi, Penguin, Ikkaku. Get back on your positions. Now."

As you felt your crewmates start to scramble behind you, you sensed Law's strong hand on your head, gently yet determinedly removing Penguin's hat from your head and returning it to its owner without a second glance. Just as the other three began to move away, Ikkaku sent you a worried look, Shachi and Penguin giving you reassuring thumbs-up gestures from a distance.

Once they had left, Law stood still for a moment, his full attention on you. You silently reached out to him with your gaze, a question forming in your eyes. "What about me?"

He gave you a brisk look before he turned around. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten you. You wanted to talk, right y/n-ya? Then follow me." With a gulp, you gathered your resolve, trailing after Law through the dimly lit corridors of the Polar Tang. The tension hung heavily in the air as you walked, uncertain about what was to follow.

The two of you came to a standstill only a few minutes later. Lost in your thoughts about the impending conversation, your mind already racing with imagined scenarios, you suddenly realized that Law hadn't led you to your shared living quarters but instead to the submarines' operation room. Irritation welled up within you, and you shot him a pointed look as he pushed open the sturdy iron door and held it open for you.

"What? You need a personal invitation?" he remarked with a smug smile, raising one of his dark eyebrows. His behavior only fueled your frustration, aggravating how he could act as though the past week hadn't even occurred.

With a hint of sarcasm, you retorted, "Nah, I just didn't think I had a doctor's appointment today," before slipping past him and entering the dimly lit operating room, the frown on Laws faces evident. You were well aware that your snappy response wouldn't do any favors for the situation, especially if Shachi´s guess was right, but the way he was nonchalantly messing with you despite the recent tension ignited a raging fire within you.

As your eyes gradually adjusted to the dim lighting, you mustered the room you stood in. The space was bathed in a subdued, bluish light that emanates from overhead fixtures, casting an almost ethereal glow over the space. The walls are paneled in dark metal, giving the room an industrial feel, while shelves and cabinets are neatly arranged along one side, storing medical supplies, instruments, and equipment.

In the center of the room stood a sturdy, adjustable operating table with clean, white sheets draped over it. Overhead, a collection of lamps that could be adjusted to provide focused illumination on the table, created a well-lit and sterile environment for medical procedures. A sleek console nearby housed monitors and displays that provided vital information during the many surgeries your crew performed, one of them being the anesthetic machine you knew Penguin operated most of the times.

Near the table, there was a sink with multiple faucets and a variety of soap and disinfectant dispensers, underscoring the emphasis on maintaining a sterile environment. Cabinets around the sink stored gloves, masks, and other protective gear. A small workstation with a computer and medical records was positioned against the opposite wall, enabling the crew to access crucial information during procedures.

The room wasn´t overly spacious but was carefully organized to ensure efficient movement.

Just when you had finished your quick inspection, you heard the hefty iron door shut behind you, sealing you both inside. Standing close to the operating table, you turned towards Law, finally taking his form in for the first time this today.

His tall figure was framed by the subdued bluish light, casting angular shadows that only accentuate his sharp features. His raven-black hair fell messily over his forehead, the strands catching the faint glow from the overhead fixtures. On a closer look, his eyes seemed even more tired than usual. He's dressed in familiar attire, a black shirt with the Heart Pirates Logo embroidered on it, as well as his signature spotted jeans and hat.

Law's attention focused on you, his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he watches your reactions and body language. His intense gaze held a mixture of concern, and perhaps a hint of regret. Despite the apparent nonchalance he displayed earlier, you could now see the underlying vulnerability that he couldn't quite manage to conceal now all alone with you, the lines on his forehead and the subtle tension in his jaw especially prominent.

You cross your arms in front of you, creating a protective barrier against the eerie atmosphere that seems to hang in the air. The dim lighting accentuates the tension between you and Law, amplifying the weight of the conversation that's about to unfold. Taking a deep breath, you finally break the silence, your voice steady despite the unease you feel.

"So, care to explain why we gotta talk here of all places?" you inquire, your tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Your gaze locks onto Law's, searching for any hints in his expression that might reveal his intentions. His usually unreadable eyes hold a mixture of emotions, and you can't help but wonder what he's truly thinking.

Law's response is measured, his voice carrying a touch of that characteristic calm that has both comforted and confounded you in the past. "It's neutral ground. This is our best chance from distractions and prying eyes. I don´t want even more of the crew to get involved in this.” he gives you a stern look, hinting at the situation he just dissolved.

You look guilty to the ground, nodding in understanding about his reasoning even if you weren´t entirely convinced since the roof deck would also have done the job. It felt more so that the operation room's sterile environment and its connection to Law's profession as a doctor seemed to be the room where he felt emotionally most stable for a conversation like this.

"Look, I'm sorry about that, but we could've talked about a potential break-up in our room or somewhere less... formal," you whisper, your voice carrying a touch of vulnerability as your gaze slowly returns to Law's. Tearful frustration lingers in your eyes, a reflection of the emotional turmoil that has been churning within you over the past week.

At the mention of the word "break-up," Law's eyes widened in genuine surprise. His usually composed expression briefly faltered, replaced by a mixture of shock and regret that's almost palpable. His golden eyes held yours, as he spoke quickly, a touch of urgency in his voice. "Are you crazy? I'm not planning to break up with you."

You hold his gaze, unsure how to react properly to his intense response. Your emotions swirl within you, a mixture of relief, confusion, and lingering frustration. Overwhelmed by it all, you decide to follow the crew's motto and follow your heart's lead.

"Then why avoid me like the plague? You could've just said you're not into the whole doctor-roleplay thing due to your ethics" you huff, your words tinged with a mixture of irritation and longing.

As you unfold your arms, it's a silent acknowledgment that you're willing to engage in this conversation, even if it means doing so in a place that feels slightly uncomfortable. The operation room's equipment continues its low hum, a steady backdrop to the charged atmosphere that envelops you both.

Law seems to wrestle with his words for a moment, his gaze flickering away from you briefly before returning, his expression a mix of resignation and determination.

He takes a step closer, bridging the emotional gap between you as a sigh escapes him, tinged with an air of resignation. "I'd be lying greatly if I said I'm not into this, y/n-ya, and that's precisely the problem," he confesses. You gaze at him, your eyes widening slightly at his unexpected admission.

"Hell, I'd willingly comply with any desire you express in that regard," he continues, his tone carrying a mix of sincerity and frustration. "Whether it's indulging in role play or dissecting you all over this damn place. But my concern lies in the consequences. If my professionalism wavers, then what? I've already been labeled a freak by the world, and I couldn't care less about that but what about my crew? And most importantly, what about you?" His voice softens, as if he's revealing a truth that has been weighing heavily on him.

Law words linger in the air, the gravity of his dilemma palpable. The ambient sounds of the room seem to fade as you both stand there, engrossed in this intimate conversation.

"When you were on our bed, looking so alluring and ready for me," he continues, his voice almost a whisper now, "I found myself grappling with that very question. And truth be told, I still haven't found a satisfactory answer."

His eyes bore into yours, as if he's trying to convey his sincerity through his gaze alone.

You listened, your heart pounding as he lays bare a part of his emotions that he rarely exposes. It's both comforting and utterly terrorizing to witness Law like this. However, in reality you wanted to lay this part of him even barer to your eyes. Collecting your answer to follow your agenda, you replied to him, a slight smile on your lips.

"But thats kinda the charm, right? After all, who could juggle this risk better than the genius Surgeon of Death?" you ask, your voice softer as well, as you take one of his hands into yours, grazing slowly over his finger tattoos reading “DEATH”.

Law takes a moment, his gaze briefly drifting to the floor before meeting yours again. His cheeks are slightly tinged, a reaction to the praise you've just offered. "Well, duh, this would be horrible without my ROOM. Even I'm not that sick," he quips, a hint of his usual playful sarcasm in his voice. His tone turns more serious as he continues, "You gotta understand, this is all about endurance and trust, y/n-ya. If you don't like-."

You shush him with a simple gesture, bringing Law's fingers to your lips and placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles. "I trust you, Law. With my life. Please know that I would never say this lightly." you reassure him, your voice carrying the sincerity of your emotions. Your gaze meets his, and for a brief moment, the intensity of your connection is palpable.

Law's eyes reflect a mixture of emotions, a pained expression surfacing as he realizes the depth of the trust you're offering him, despite the turmoil he had inadvertently caused in the past week. "God, how did I deserve you," he murmurs, a genuine sense of wonder in his voice. In a sudden surge of emotion, he closes the remaining distance between you, his pink lips capturing yours in a fervent kiss.

You respond eagerly, the heated kiss igniting a passionate dance between your mouths. Your tongue pricks gently at his lips, coaxing his own to meet yours in an intimate tango. Law's response is immediate, his lips parting to allow your tongues to intertwine in a dance of shared desire. The room's atmosphere seems to intensify, as if the charged energy between you is affecting the very air you breathe.

The kiss deepens, a reflection of the emotions that have been building between you over the past week. In this moment, the operation room's clinical surroundings fade into the background, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken promises that hang between your heated touches and the mingling of your breaths. Only after your break off the kiss to catch some air, do you realize, that Law has elevated you onto the steel table behind you, the cold sensation making your spine chill.

"Are you okay with continuing here?" Law murmurs against your skin, gently nipping at your neck. It's clear that he's very enamored with the smell and feel of being so close to you again. "Sure. Just surprise me, doctor," you giggle, running your fingers through his thin hair. Law glances up at you, his face blushing slightly before he straightens up and scratches the back of his neck. "God damn, it's going to take some getting used to hearing that from you in a setting like this."

You grin at him, giving him a playful wink. "I'm not complaining. You look adorable when you're embarrassed."

"I'll show you adorable," he grumbles to himself, turning towards the table and the station nearby. You watch with interest, trying to see what Law is taking from the wardrobe. His broad frame intentionally blocks your view, making it impossible to see what he's doing. After a few moments of trying to distract yourself by kicking your feet back and forth in the air, you hear a loud snap of rubber coming from where Law was standing.

Your head snaps to him, realizing that he's covered his hands with a pair of medical gloves. He slowly makes his way back to your side, sitting on a rolling steel chair in front of you, a smirk on his lips. "Let's start all of this light, alright? So tell me, why are you here today?"

You already wanted to answer his first question when you realized that Law had already slipped into a role. For a brief moment, you were amazed at how effortless it seemed for him to play his part, but on the other hand, it shouldn't surprise you, considering his expertise. "Well-um..." you struggled to think of a reason, feeling that simply pointing at your cunt would be too quick as a starting point.

Luckily, Law quickly caught on, raising an eyebrow in amusement at your loss for words. "Any recent health problems? Need a check-up?" you contemplated your options before Law started to grin mischievously. "Too horny to think?" "Law!" you exclaimed, pouting.

"Sorry, what was that? I don't know any Law," he countered, crossing his arms in front of his chest playfully and smirking. "Sorry, Doctor," you chuckled. "Doctor-?" he asked once more, clearly wanting to hear something more specific. You sighed, already questioning whether this was a good idea, because it seemed that Law was way deeper into this than you had guessed. "Doctor Trafalgar," you sighed before continuing.

"Say, do you tease all your patients like this? Because if so, I have questions," you remarked, exaggerating a playful sense of exasperation in your tone. You couldn't help but smile as you spoke, the earlier tension of the conversation fading into a more lighthearted atmosphere.

Law responded with a nonchalant shrug and a widening grin. "Only the ones that catch my interest," he replied, his voice carrying a teasing undertone. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he gazed at you, his golden eyes filled with mischief.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head in mock disbelief. "So, I'm just another interesting case for you, huh?" you retorted, playing along with the banter.

His fingers idly tapped against a nearby counter as he maintained eye contact, his playful demeanor undeterred. "Oh, you're much more than just a case, y/n-ya," he said, his voice lowering slightly. "You've managed to intrigue no other but the Surgeon of Death himself."

You raised an eyebrow in mock suspicion, a smile tugging at your lips. "And what exactly has intrigued the Surgeon of Death so much?"

Law leaned in closer, his gaze never wavering from yours. "Why don't we find that out together? For starters, you could get rid of all that fabric. Makes it terribly hard for me to conduct a proper screening of my dearest patient."

Oh.

You gulped, amazed at how well Law was maintaining his character. Encouraged by this, you tried to take it a step further. "Well, I guess you're gonna have to help me with that, Doc. You see, I've got this terrible headache."

Law grins cheekily at that, his hands gliding slowly over your top. "And why should a mild migraine interfere with your ability to undress?"

"Well, you see…" you start to explain, but Law cuts you off as he drags his fingers slowly along your sides, towards the hem of your shirt. "Seems to me like you want my help for another reason," he says with a smug grin. "But how could I deny you that, when you´ve been so good up until now?"

He softly places a kiss on your neck before helping you pull off your top, leaving you only in your bra. His tan tattooed hands quickly roam over your clothed breasts, as his lips continue to trail along your neck. "Might as well check for some lumps while we're at it," Law mumbles into your skin, his teeth lightly grazing your sensitive spots. He unhooks your bra to gain better access to your breasts.

Once the lacy material comes off, his slender fingers massage the outermost layer of your breasts, gradually moving in circles. You can't help but stifle a moan, even though the fabric of his gloves is still between his smooth skin and yours, creating a unique sensation. As his fingers reach your nipples, he grazes over them, causing them to tighten. "I-I don't know if that's really necessary for the diagnosis, Doctor," you huff, searching for Law's mouth with your own.

"Oh, but I've heard it does wonders for a patient's well-being," he grins into the kiss, seeking your approval. As you nod, Law quickly reprimands you with a firm squeeze of your thigh. "Mind your manners. You have to answer your doctor properly, or I won't be able to diagnose you correctly." You squeal at his action, a quick "Yes" escaping your lips.

"Yes…?" he tries again, teasingly biting your lip with his teeth.

"Yes, Doctor Trafalgar" you moan, desperate for more stimulation. "That's right."

Slowly, Law glides down your body, his hands cupping every curve of your torso as he continues his exploration.

As Law reaches your breasts, his mouth cups around one mound of your nipple, sucking sweetly on the pink, hard bud. Another moan escapes you, and Law continues to massage your other breast with utmost care, while his other hand lightly traces circles over your thigh. As he switches sides, tending to your other nipple with his tongue, he switches the side of your thigh as well.

With so much happening at the same time, you can't help but squeeze your legs together. The heat that starts to accumulate in your lower body becomes too much to handle without proper relief. The cold steel table underneath you provides support, but you crave something more. Luckily, just as you're about to say something, Law pulls away from you, a small connecting line of saliva still linking your nipple to his mouth.

Quickly wiping it away, he gives you a quick peck on the lips, mumbling, "All clear. Found no anomalies." You sigh into the kiss, and your hands slowly wrap around his neck, gently cradling it with your nails.

"Well, that's good to know," you respond. Law responds with a low rumble in his tattooed chest before slowly pulling away, leading the two of you through the room. However, with your nude breasts right in front of him, nipples perky and glossy from his earlier attention, it's hard for him to deny his building arousal.

He slowly approaches you once again, one of his gloved hands trailing down your right side before coming to rest atop your plush thighs, and his other hand cupping your chin gently. Your lips are close to touching, and he whispers with ragged breath, "Are there any other things we should check? Maybe around here? I haven't had the pleasure of performing your pelvic exams yet.", he muses, slowly dragging his hand that rested on your thigh over your abdomen, his fingers drawing small circles on it.

"Yeah, good idea," you breathe out, your breath hitching as you squirm under Law's hot touch. His skilled fingers swiftly free you from your pants, leaving you only in a pair of panties

"These will also need to go," Law hums, snapping the band of the lacy fabric, earning a quiet moan from you. You complain that it's unfair for only you to be nude. Law grins into the kiss he plants on your neck, before adding, "Now, now. It wouldn't be very professional of me to strip in front of my dear patient, right y/n-ya?" He quirks an eyebrow, giving you a teasing smirk as his hands slowly start to cup the mound of your clothed vagina, his fingers sliding tauntingly slow over the small hill.

"Fine, then let me do it, Dr. Heartbreaker," you huff, slowly opening up his shirt, revealing the tan tattooed artwork of black curved ink that covered his chest. You gradually trace over Law's chest, your fingers rippling slowly over each of his abdominal pecs, following the small black happy trail.

Just as you reach the hem of his pants, Law grasps your panties, sliding them to the side. His fingers delve carefully between your swollen folds, gathering the slickness with a naughty grin on his lips. "Seems like you definitely don't have a lubrication issue," he remarks.

"Law!" you huff, your fingers gripping on the cold steel under you, searching for more pressure from his gloved fingertips. Law is all too happy to satisfy your craving, his two gloved fingers diving deep into you just after chuckling to himself. "Sorry, sorry," he mutters.

The feeling of the firm rubber initially makes you cringe for a second, but you quickly adapt to the foreign sensation. You even relax a bit, enjoying the chilled texture it provides. With a stifled moan, you push yourself against him, desperate for stimulation. You're relieved to notice that Law has gripped your hips with his other hand to stabilize you on the table. His fingers start slowly but surely moving in and out of you.

The squelching sound of the rubber gloves and the juices of your cunt only spurred you on more, when Law hit that very special spot inside you. “Fuck, right there.” You moaned, arms slung around Laws neck, trying to hold the angle that gave you the so much needed stimulation, the heat in your core rising and rising until it was close to snapping. Law seemed to realize exactly how close you were to cumming, because just when you tensed up, close to spilling over he retreated his gloved fingers, the most self-sufficient smile on his sharp features.

“God, no, you´re so mean!” you quiver, legs shaky from the sudden break of contact, your orgasm ruined to no avail. “And you´re so very desperate.” He retorts with a sly grin, freeing himself of the gloves and disposing them on the small tray next to the table, before he´s back at your side, slowly opening up the button of his pants, peeling them down to reveal his clothed bock by a pair of dark spotted boxers. “But I know exactly the thing you need as a cure for that.”

You look down at him, eyeing the tent in Laws tight skinny jeans. You grin weakily, seeing the state he was in, slowly dragging your hand over him. “Do you now? Seems to me, like it´s more for your own treatment, Doctor.” Law groaned at the sudden contact of your hand on his clothed cock, sucking some air through gritted teeth as you dragged out the pet-name, before giving him a firm squeeze.

“Our treatment.” Law retorts, a groan escaping him as you pull his boxers down with much vigor, his tan cock springing free. You lick your lips at the sight. You´d always appreciated the stark contrast between Laws tan skin and the pink tip of his cock, but in combination with the trail of precum dripping down from it towards one of his most prevalent blue veins, you could feel your core throbbing with need to feel him as deep inside you, as he could possibly enter you.

Slowly you cradled his length, giving it a few taunting pumps, thumb swiping experimentally over his leaking cockhead. “And what does that treatment involve exactly?” you look up to him through long lashes, licking over your lips to moisten them.

Law replies with ragged breath. “You´ll just find out in about a second. Now, be a good girl and spread your legs.”

Your quick to oblige, settling yourself on the cold steel under you with your elbows, all spread out for your lover to see. He gazes at your form for a brief second, absolutely love drunk before the feeling of your knowing smirk gets to heavy. He quickly grabs a condom from the small tray on his right side, pulling it over his length, before he aligns himself quickly with your entrance. His hands wrap carefully around your hips to keep you in place, before calling your name.

“y/n-ya.”

You look up to him, surprised when he leans in for a loving kiss on your lips, slowly sliding inside you as he whispers, "I love you."

You moan at the pleasurable sensation that comes with Law's intrusion, his throbbing member filling you perfectly. As your walls adjust to being stretched since the last time you were intimate, you respond to your lover's declaration, tangling your hands in his black locks as you search for Law's lips.

"I love you too, Law," you mewl, feeling the doctor's erection stretching you. Law's breath hitches as you tighten around him. "God... you're so wet."

 "Just keep going," you moan, rocking your hips against his. A deep groan escapes Law as he slowly pulls out before forcefully thrusting his hips back into yours. "Fuck, Law!" you gasp wantonly, your captain groaning in response, holding you in place as he pounds your wetness with increasing intensity. "You're so desperate, y/n-ya, it's way too cute," Law huffs with a grin, partially withdrawing before hooking one of your legs around his hip.

"You're the one fucking me over your own OP table," you retort, crying out in pleasure when Law suddenly hits your sweet spot, a grin spreading across his face at your reaction. "And you're enjoying it," Law's dark voice resounds near your ears as he leans closer, angling himself to penetrate deeper into your soaked core.

Overwhelmed by pleasure, you cry out, digging your nails into your lover's tattooed back. Burying your head in his neck, you inhale Law's scent, the musky aroma mixed with alcohol making you dizzy. "You like it when your doctor fucks you like this, sweetheart? All spread out and at my mercy?" Law groans through clenched teeth, nearing climax.

"God, I love it!" you reply, the intense heat building up in your core suffocating you with each passing second. "And do you trust me, y/n-ya?"

You nod eagerly, capturing your lover in another passionate kiss before he presses his thumb against your throbbing clit, sending electric jolts through your body.

"Counter Shock."

For a brief moment, everything turns white as your orgasm crashes over you unexpectedly. Before you can comprehend what just happened, you realize that your mouth is wide open, Law's name slipping from your lips like a mantra, and your sweet juices flowing over his cock while your walls tighten around him, milking him until the last drop.

With a groan, the handsome surgeon climaxes inside you, a low moan of your name escaping his cracked lips as your sweaty bodies stick together on the operating table. Trying to catch your breath, you look up at Law, who is also trying to calm himself.

"What in the devil's fruit name was that?!" you ask. Law gives you a tired but mischievous grin.

"That was Counter Shock. I just discovered it recently. It's a Haki-infused electrical power." Law's eyes glint with mischief. You can only gasp at the revelation that your lover just brought you to orgasm through electrostimulation before playfully hitting him on the shoulder. "You're such a sick man, Trafalgar!"

"Coming strong from Miss Med-Kink." he said with a playful smirk, referring to the recent intimate moment they shared. With a nonchalant demeanor, he pulled out and efficiently put his trousers back on. Law promptly handed you a towel, gently wiping you down and planting a tender kiss on your temple.

Assisting you in getting back on your feet, you slowly dressed yourself while helping Law sanitize the room. As you stood just outside the heavy iron door, the scent of alcohol lingered instead of the previous scent of passion. Law glanced back at you before speaking.

"Oh, and y/n-ya," he called out to you.

You turned to face your captain. "Yes?"

He cleared his throat before continuing. "This time, everything we just experienced remains strictly confidential. Understood?"

You flashed a mischievous grin, giving him a wink before resuming your position, leaving Law blushing behind.

"Of course, dear doctor."

[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.

[crashandlivewrites]

A valentine's gift for @ohworm-writes from the lovely @bunnyreaper's latest writing event. I had fun writing Nikolai! He's always been a guilty pleasure so I hope I could do him justice.

Pairing: Nikolai (COD) x GN!Reader (afab presenting, Cam's name is used a couple of times) x John Price

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, John being a voyeur in his own relationship, unprotected PiV

WC: 2.3k

To say Nikolai made you nervous would be an understatement. Despite having been with John for several years, as large of a man as he was, there was something about Nikolai that made your heartbeat a little faster, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

John was fully aware of it too, even participated in light teasing once Nikolai was out of earshot. But tonight was different. John had invited Nikolai over for dinner and drinks, something which you’d been happy to accommodate and leave the men to their business. However, it seemed John had other plans. 

There was a point where you’d attempted to bid the men goodnight, but you hadn’t gotten far. A heavy arm brushed against your body, a firm hand tugging on your waist until you found yourself perched in John’s lap.

You tried to protest, but John’s grip was solid, holding you against his chest as he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, before continuing his conversation.  

“Are we boring you, sweet thing?” Nikolai chuckled, his voice low as he leaned back in his seat, draining the rest of his glass. “I thought you would have been even more nervous about tonight.”

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you look over at Nikolai for a moment before glancing at John, who was just staring, unblinking at you. 

“I haven’t brought it up yet, but I don’t think they’ll take much convincing to come around.”

“Haven’t told me what?” John’s hand tightened on your waist, fingers dancing under the hem of your loose shirt and teasing the bare skin underneath.

“Just an idea I’ve had floating around for a while.” His cryptic reply wasn’t helped with the way his hands continued to slide up your torso, squeezing softly as he went. “I see how you get around Nik, love. Just got me curious, if you’d be interested.”

Turning your head back to look at Nikolai, you felt a shiver run through your body at the intensity of his stare. Ducking your head, you almost felt ashamed of the way your body reacted to him, but that didn’t last long. Reaching around you, John tilted your head back to face him, his eyes soft and understanding. Cupping your cheek tenderly, he leaned in to whisper in your ear. 

“I want it, love. Want to see you and him together. Think you can do that for me?”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded, slowly sliding off his lap and pushing yourself up to walk over to Nikolai, who was still lounging in the chair. As you stepped closer, he spread his knees wide, giving you the space to stand between his legs. Pushing himself forward, Nikolai slid his hands along his thighs to rest on his knees, fingertips dancing a hair’s breadth away from your legs. The air felt charged, tense as the pair of you stared at one another, waiting for the other to make the first move. 

Finally, Nikolai shifted, sucking in a breath as he watched your expression carefully. 

“Do you want this? Anything you don’t want, Cam, you let me know.” You nodded in response, but Nikolai tittered, shaking his head. “I want words from you, sweet thing.”

“Yes, Nik. I want this. I want you.” Speaking felt like an effort with how dry your throat felt. Nikolai just smirked, eyes darkening as a large hand slid up the back of your thigh, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap. 

“Much better.” He grinned, sliding his hands up your shirt, slowly pulling it upwards, giving you enough time to stop him if you wanted. Tugging it off and throwing the cloth aside, he let out a deep rumble in the back of his throat. “John said you were gorgeous. Didn’t nearly give you justice.”

“I had to give you something to look forward to.” John sniffed a reply, making Nikolai chuckle.

“I still would have wanted to get my hands on them even with a clear picture of what they looked like.” Heat coursed through your body at his words and you felt your heart skip a beat. Blinking, you drew your lip between your teeth and you slid your own hands up Nikolai’s broad chest, earning a wide grin.

“You want me?” You couldn’t help the coy tone to your voice as your hands crept upwards to wrap around his neck.

“Why wouldn’t I want you, sweet thing?” He purred, hands gliding up and down your torso as he leaned in to pepper kisses up your neck. Sucking in a breath, you tilted your head back, giving him better access and he groaned appreciatively. “So responsive.” 

“I know they are.” John’s voice lulled in the background, a hint of amusement in his tone. “But come on, Nik. Thought you were going to give me a show?” 

“Patience goes a long way, Captain.” Nikolai gave John a sparing glance over your shoulder before returning his full attention to you, and lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Come on, sweet thing, let’s give your man a show, then, since he’s so impatient.” 

Giggling, you thread your fingers through his long hair before your mouth descends on his, kissing him deeply. His hands immediately slide down to your ass, squeezing the flesh momentarily before giving it a sharp slap. Gasping in surprise at the sting, he used the distraction to push his tongue into your mouth. 

One of his hands left your ass to cup the back of your head, holding you to him as his other encouraged your hips to begin grinding. Moaning, you followed his direction, rolling your hips over the seat of his pants as his kiss became consuming, making your head spin. The stubble on his face tickled your cheeks as the kiss intensified, his breath fanning over your face as your fingers tugged at the hair on the base of his neck.

Then, he breaks the kiss, pulling back to watch as you whine in frustration, chasing his swollen lips. Chuckling, he taps a finger under your chin, thumb tracing over your bottom lip. 

“Wanna see you, sweetheart. All of you.” Nodding, this time eagerly, you pushed back off his lap to strip off the rest of your clothes, but his hand quickly closed around your wrist. “Slowly, darling. Give us a show.” 

You did as you were told, slowly taking off the rest of your clothes as you were watched by the two hungry men. John hummed in his chair, eyes dark as he brought his cigar to his lips, other hand palming his trousers. 

“That’s it, love. Show Nik why you’re so good for me.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, no wonder John brags about you.”

The praise boosted your ego, their words making you feel more desirable than you ever had before. As you pulled down your underwear, finally leaving you bare before them, Nikolai’s jaw was clenched as he fumbled with his belt and tugged down his pants, pulling out his thick, ruddy cock. The tip was already weeping as he gave it a few tugs, beckoning you over with a twitch of his fingers.

Moving obediently, you settled yourself back onto Nikolai’s lap once more, eyes trained on the hard cock throbbing in Nikolai’s hand. A sliver of doubt crept its way into your mind at his size, and it must have shown on your face, because Nikolai huffed out a laugh.

“Don’t you worry. You’ll be able to take it. I’ll make it fit in you, sweet thing. No need to use that pretty head of yours, just take my cock like a good little whore.” His words dragged a whine out of you, hands pawing eagerly at his plush torso as you rocked your hips forward, your wet slit dragging up the thick length of his cock.

“Please…” Your breath hitched as your eyes fluttered, cunt aching and empty. Nikolai’s hand struck your ass once more, before rubbing it soothingly to ease the sting. 

“Patience.” He growled. His hand on your ass held you steady as his other slid between your legs, fingers tracing your wetness, circling your hole teasingly as he glanced over your shoulder. 

“Didn’t tell me they were impatient slut.” Nikolai’s tone was chiding, but you could hear John laughing, brushing it off. 

“Can’t ruin all the fun, Nik. Need to learn some things for yourself.” John’s voice was strained with arousal, that familiar gruff tone making your body shiver. “Look at that, love. Not even touching you and I affect you so much.”

Turning your head to look over your shoulder, you took in the view of John. He was slouched on the recliner, legs spread with his hand cupping his prominent bulge, pressing the heel of his palm against it as he rocked his hips upwards. Your mouth practically watered reflexively, but a firm hand around your jaw quickly redirected your attention. 

“Eyes on me.” Was all Nikolai said before he pressed two of his fingers deep into you. Moaning at the sudden intrusion, your nails dug into the meat of his shoulder as he brought his lips to your chest, sucking and nipping dark marks along the line of your collar bones. “That’s it, sweetheart. Sing for me.”

Your noises of pleasure filled the room, as did Nikolai’s words of praise, and John’s soft grunts. Nikolai took his time opening you up, spreading you over his thick fingers with careful precision, not stopping until you were practically dripping on his lap.

“Nik, please.” Your voice was strangled as your hips jerked in a feeble attempt to ride his fingers. Clicking his tongue, he withdrew the digits, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking them clean. Watching him with wide eyes, heat coursed through your body at the sight of him tasting you, and at the deep rumble he let out. 

“Fuck, you taste so fucking good. Need you on my cock now.” Pushing yourself up onto your knees, you hovered over his dick, feeling the bulbous head drag teasingly between your legs, collecting your slick before pressing into you, shallowly thrusting the head in and out of you. Groaning and rolling his head back, Nikolai’s large hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he continued the torturously slow pace.

“Nikolai, I swear to god–,” The words you were trying to say were cut off by a sharp moan as Nikolai bucked his hips up as he pulled your hips down into him, burying his cock deep in you. Without waiting for you to adjust, he immediately began to bounce you on his lap, setting a harsh pace that made you choke on any words you tried to get out. 

“That’s what you needed, huh? Just needed a cock in you to shut you up, filthy whore.” 

“Fuck, Nik. Keep talking to them like that.” John grunted out behind you, the familiar slick sound of him stroking his cock joined the wet sounds of you bouncing on his friend’s dick. Whimpering softly, you blinked your eyes open, looking pleadingly at the man before you. 

“That’s it, slut. Take my cock. You were fucking made for it, weren’t you? So wet for me, so fucking good.” His voice dropped to an even rougher edge, gritting his teeth as you clenched around him and his hand struck your ass once more. “Fuck, do that for me again.”

You did, cunt pulsing around him as you felt yourself hurtling towards your release at an alarming rate. Moaning pathetically, you found it increasingly more difficult to keep your head up the more he fucked himself into you. His eyes were glued to the sight between your legs, watching his cock plunge in and out of you, covered in your slick.

“Nikolai… please. Please, please, please!” The words were pouring out of your mouth now, uncontrolled and desperate as your thighs ached with the effort.

“Do it. Come on, sweetheart. Come all over my cock.” The sight of Nikolai panting beneath you did you in. Between his rough pace and even rougher hands, you found yourself moaning sweetly, cunt spasming as you clenched rhythmically around his cock, making him curse and falter in his thrusts. 

Faintly, you could hear him mumbling something in Russian as he groaned, sweat dripping from his brow as he slammed you down on his cock one final time. You could feel him throbbing inside you, spilling his warm release deep with every twitch, making you shudder. Panting, you dropped your head down to rest on his shoulder, trying to collect yourself. One of his hands stroked up your back soothingly as he murmured sweet words of praise into your ear. 

“Did so fucking well for me, Cammy.” He whispered. “Looked so good for me, for us.” The mention of us brought you back to the situation, and you remembered John was in the room as well. Glancing back at him, you realised he’d moved and was now standing just behind you. 

“So proud of you.” Following Nikolai’s example, John glided a soft hand along your sweaty skin.

“Can we do this again?” The eagerness in your words was palpable, and John laughed.

“He’s a big man, love.” John mused, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he came up behind you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Think you could take us both?” 

“I know I can take you both.” You fluttered your lashes as you spoke, looking over your shoulder coyly at your partner. Nikolai let out a deep chuckle, hands gripping your ass and spreading your cheeks for John. 

“That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart. Gonna be so good for us, aren’t you Cammy?” The thick cock that was still stretching you out twitched with interest and you knew the night had only just begun.

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick sighed as he dragged himself up the stairs, eyes dry and gritty.  He hadn't slept properly all week and he finally, finally had a weekend off.  All he wanted to do was sink into bed.

There were several downsides to not being a corrupt ass-kisser in the Bludhaven PD, and one of those was that his captain hated him.  He was pretty sure Redhorn would love if he expired of exhaustion, but Dick wasn't going to give the bastard the satisfaction.  He joined the police to do good, not take money and look the other way, and he wasn't going to let anyone bully him out.

Unfortunately for Redhorn, Dick was also damn good at his job, and overbooking his schedule was about the only thing the man could retaliate with.

It took him three tries to get the key in the lock--he was tired enough that his vision had started to go hazy, and every second he stayed slumped against the door increased his chances of falling asleep on his doormat--and he yawned jaw-creakingly wide as he stumbled inside.

Bed.  He was so close to sleep.  He didn't care if it was eight in the morning, that was what blackout curtains were for.  He was just musing on whether he should choke down a microwave meal so he wouldn't wake up feeling like his stomach was trying to digest himself when he saw the guy with the gun.

Dick, three steps into his living room, froze.

The guy with the gun smiled.  Before Dick could reach for his own gun, or drop to the ground, or let his sleep-deprived instincts catch up to the danger of the situation, his exhaustion-addled senses noticed the second guy with the gun.  And the third.  And the fourth, though this guy didn't have a gun pointed at Dick, he was just casually poking around Dick's bookshelf like breaking into a cop's home to examine his interior decorating was something he did on a casual Tuesday.

Was it even still Tuesday?

"Detective Grayson," the silver-haired asshole examining the pictures on his bookshelf said, not even turning to look at him.  "Can I trust you not try anything stupid, or do you need to be disarmed?"

Dick's fingers twitched to his gun, but he didn't think he could unholster it and fire before the other three did, not with his current level of exhaustion.  He mentally mourned the loss of his planned sleep.  "Depends on why you broke in here," Dick said evenly.  There was no cover between him and the door, so he couldn't even head out that way.

"If I meant to kill you, Detective Grayson, you'd be dead," the man said, finally turning around.  "Come in and have a seat."  One ice blue eye glittered dangerously.  "Get comfortable.  You look like you've had a long day at work."

Dick's heartbeat was pounding in his ears, everything abruptly clearer with the sudden surge of adrenaline.  He did as he was told, crossing the room slowly and sitting stiffly on the sofa, never moving his gaze from the tall, broad, one-eyed man smirking at him.

"You have a lovely family," the man motioned to the pictures.  "They seem very happy."

Dick resisted the urge to curl his hands into fists.  "Is that a threat?" he asked as evenly as he could.

"A threat?" the man looked amused.  "You're certainly very paranoid, Detective Grayson."

"One of the biggest mob bosses on the East Coast is holding me at gunpoint in my own apartment," Dick said tersely, "I think it's justified."

Slade Wilson shrugged, as if to say can't argue with that.  He turned back to the pictures, as though he was studying them, and Dick went tenser.

Bruce was rich, he reminded himself.  They had security.  Tim was resourceful, Jason was destruction on two legs, and Dick pitied the poor fool that tried to kidnap Cassandra or Damian.  They would be fine.

"No," Slade said finally, "it isn't a threat.  Merely an observation.  Family is important, isn't it?"

Dick forced his racing heart to slow down.  "What are you doing here, Wilson?" he said, just shy of a growl.  "Cut it with the cryptic bullshit."

Slade arched an eyebrow, but Dick didn't take it back.  He was already being held at gunpoint in his own home, he wasn't sure his situation could get much worse.

"I came here," the mob boss said, "because I have a case for you--"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No," Dick repeated, keeping Slade's gaze even when he felt like flinching back at the dark scowl on his face.  "My loyalty isn't for sale, Wilson.  I'm not going to take your money, and I'm not going to be your lackey."

Instead of being met with a bullet to the head, Dick was met with, shockingly, a smile.

"I'm not asking you to do anything other than your job, Detective Grayson," Slade said, retrieving an envelope from his side pocket and tossing it onto the coffee table in front of Dick.  "There's been a kidnapping--"

"Go to the station and file a missing persons report," Dick said evenly, not picking up the envelope.

"Unfortunately, circumstances require discretion," Slade said, expression darkening again.

"And half the department is in your pocket," Dick argued.  He’d found that out the hard way when he’d been forced to watch as Grant Wilson strolled out of the interrogation room with a smirk.  "Why did you decide to come to me?"

Slade was silent for a stretching moment, and then he sighed.  "There's a traitor in my organization," he said plainly.  "I don't know who it is, and unfortunately, that means there's very few people I can trust.  In the absence of those whose loyalties may have been shifted," Slade pushed the envelope closer to him, "I decided to find a cop that was loyal to his job."

Dick kept Slade's intense gaze for a moment longer before reaching for the envelope.  "I'm not going to do your dirty work," Dick reiterated, pulling out the papers inside.  "If this person hasn't been kidnapped and doesn't want to be found, I'm not--" his words trailed off into empty air when he saw the photos.

A young girl, not yet a teenager, scowled at him in the first picture, hair the same color as the man she was sulking next to.  The second, third, and fourth pictures showed the same girl, but tied up and gagged, her surroundings dark, looking up with wide, bright eyes at the camera.

"My daughter has been missing for five days.  They've increased the ransom demand twice."  Slade's expression is a mask of fury, but Dick can hear the desperation in his voice.  "They're hurting her."  Dick withdrew more papers, all the evidence that Slade had apparently collected.  "I don't know who was involved, and I'm not going to risk my daughter's life on it.  Can you find her or not?"

Dick looked again at the first person.  'Dad & Rose' had been scrawled on the back of it, and despite the sulking of the preteen, Dick could see her leaning into her father's side.  "Yes," Dick said quietly.

"Great," Slade said.  "You have twenty-four hours before the ransom drop."  Wait, what?  "And if anything happens to her, Grayson," Slade's expression was colder than ice, "I will ensure you share her fate.  Do you understand?"

Dick swallowed and nodded.

~#~

Twenty-four hours.

The first thing Dick did once all the criminals were out of his apartment was set a timer.  The second thing was to scarf down a microwave meal as he glanced through the evidence and wrote down preliminary thoughts.  The third thing was to take a nap, because Dick was going to get nowhere on fumes.

Eight hours later, Dick felt marginally more human.  Unfortunately, he was also a third down on his time limit, and most of his previous notes were utter gibberish.

Dick took a deep breath, put aside the indirect and direct threats of a mob boss that had broken into his home and held him at gunpoint--Dick was moving after this--and thought about this logically.

Rose Wilson had been kidnapped five days ago.  The fact that she hadn't been found already meant that the mob's resources couldn't find her.  Slade said that he hadn't contacted anyone in the police department, so police resources hadn't been exhausted.  However, if Dick treated this like any other missing persons case, he ran the risk of tipping the kidnappers off and getting a bullet in the head.

Dick checked the time.  Fifteen and a half hours left.

Maybe--maybe he was looking at this the wrong way.  Slade had mentioned several offhand things--if they were all connected, that would give Dick a starting place.

So.  Assume there was a traitor in the Wilson Family.  Assume that they were working with corrupt cops.  Assume that they had used police resources to snatch Rose Wilson.

Dick needed to get to the precinct.

He made it all the way to his building entrance before halting in the street.  There was an expensive black car parked--illegally--right in front of him.  One tinted window rolled down, and Dick met Grant Wilson's unamused expression.

"Get in," the other man ordered.

Dick wanted to point out that he didn't work for the younger Wilson, but getting into a shootout on a busy street seemed like a spectacularly bad idea.  Plus, the clock was ticking.

"Where are you headed?" Grant asked, voice terse.

"Precinct," Dick responded warily, but all Grant did was nod and pull into traffic.  "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think, asshole?" Grant gave him a dirty look.  "You spent nine hours in your apartment.  Did you find Rose?"

Dick decided not to tell him that he'd been asleep.  "Your father told me I had twenty-four hours until the ransom drop," Dick pointed out.

Grant jerked the car to a hard stop and turned to glare at him, eyes burning.  "That's my baby sister that's missing, you fucking pig, so you're going to get one thing straight," he hissed, not noticing or not caring that Dick's hand had immediately gone to his gun.  "If there is so much as a single hair missing from her head, I'm going to make personally sure that you regret it for the rest of your miserable and agonizing life, do. you. understand?"

Dick met his vitriol with artificial calm.  "Was that supposed to incentivize me to work with you?"

Grant growled, actually growled, and Dick remembered that antagonizing the guy rumored to have a hair-trigger temper was not the smartest of plans.

"Look," he interrupted before Grant could speak, "I said I'd help, and I swear, I will do my best to find your sister.  Which means going to the precinct to follow up on my lead, unless you think that being threatened is a better use of my time."

Grant's glare didn't diminish, but he did start the car again.  Dick sat there in silence and wondered how the fuck he was supposed to explain this to anyone.  Sorry, Internal Affairs, I was briefly held hostage by the Mob, but instead of reporting it, I investigated one of their cases and continued working with them.  Redhorn would have a field day if he learned about this.

"So what's your lead?" Grant asked tersely.

Dick decided not to point out that they were going fifteen miles above the speed limit and answered the question.  "I'm going to check if any of the cops have been investigating you guys recently.  If you're worried about a traitor, I thought it was a good place to start."

Grant didn't seem to think so, between the mutters of "Jesus, did Dad tell you everything?" and "it took you nine hours to come up with that, genius?" but he dropped Dick off a street away from the precinct.

"Fifteen hours," he reminded Dick with a glower as Dick slipped out.

The precinct was marginally more tolerable.  Dick made up an excuse that he needed to check something for a case, and it looked like most people bought it.  Redhorn, of course, continued scowling at him from his office, but Dick ducked quickly into the records room, where it didn't take much to sweet-talk the sign-out list from the records keeper.

It turned out that there were a lot of people in here looking up records for cases Dick was pretty sure they weren't working on.  But checking the sign-out list for the last month, there was only one who'd checked the Wilson Family open cases.

"Well, I always knew you were a bastard," Dick murmured, staring at Redhorn's name.

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober 8

8. Sex Pollen/Fuck or Die, Chastity, Sexual Competition

You are going to die.

It didn’t take that first time, almost two thousand years ago when they hammered you up, but now? In this bed? Oh, this is it. You’re going to cum to death.

“One more, nightingale.”

“I can’t,” you choke. The tears have been dry for a long time, you simply have no more left in you. Now you’re just exhausted. The apex of your legs felt like it was on fire three orgasms ago and now you’re at a grand total of eight - four from each of them.

They can be utterly petty when it comes down to brass tacks. Your boys started getting under each other’s skin over something small, which turned into an argument, which turned into something they wanted to rope you into. And that became “which first time did you prefer?”

You cannot answer that question. To compare them is to compare apples to oranges, and you want a whole fruit salad. Making love to them both is so utterly different you couldn’t begin to pull at threads because it’s always better together.

They didn’t accept that answer, though. So they took you to bed.

They’ve taken turns fucking you. You’re so full of come there’s no chance of it staying inside you, now. Your hole is fucked-out and pliant, your lovers’ spend dripping from it in a sinful cocktail. Their mouths, fingers, cocks, cunts - all of them have made you come as they shift into whatever the next challenge is.

You’re boneless. You’re exhausted. You’re sure you’ve been taken in every possible way on this bed, all angles, all positions, and you can’t do it any more. You’re not certain if it was Aziraphale holding you up against the wall and pistoning into you that did it, that sex-filled slap of skin on skin; or if it was Crowley pressing his pussy down onto your face while he took deep mouthfuls of your sex which definitely already tasted like both him and the angel.

As Aziraphale moves to put his hand between your legs one more time you hiss and push him away. He immediately retreats.

“Darling?”

“No more!” you cry, throat raw from fucking and moaning. “No more. I’m done.”

And then you can cry again, and suddenly they’re either side of you, not to rut but to comfort. Aziraphale catches your hand and presses soft, feather-light kisses to it, Crowley caressing your face. A glass of water is summoned and they help you drink it, a cold washcloth pressed to your sex. You hiss and then relax as it begins to cool you down.

“We’re sorry, nightingale,” Crowley whispers, yellow eyes full of concern and care. You wave it off.

“Don’t apologise to me. I’ll be fine. Apologise to each other for being so silly. If you’re going to give me eight orgasms again I’d much prefer they were collaborative,” you say, laughing huskily. And it’s true. All is forgiven on your part; if you tap out they’ll listen. Crowley and Aziraphale lock eyes across the plains of you, the remnants of their lovemaking.

“I’m sorry, angel.”

“I’m sorry, Crowley.”

They kiss, long and slow and sincere, and you smile.

“There we go,” you hum, bringing them both to your chest to hold them tightly. “I like fruit salad.”

“What?”

“Mmm, nothing.”

@bootlmoth @elleofdragons  @angelic-anarchy27 @yeethaw13 @candlewitch-cryptic @kwyn-q @rat-that-writes @buryustogether @letthenightingalessingagain @ltlthetrifecta @angiestopit @purplefrog1sblog @wereallbrokenangels @angelspathway @clarina04 @belilwen @chaospossum @eightsdoctor @oo-delallymrcrow @silcosmoke @climbingivy97 @live-logs-and-proper @project-sad @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @imagination-phantom @anonymously35 @corgis04 @peytonpenguin37 @catlynharper @unabashedgentlemenpirate @wolfe-houler @darktealrat @mxxny-lupin @willbedecided @detectiveapparatiagreen @shadowluna25 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @xquinn-bartonx @blue-bell22 @foolishprincipalitee @fandomawesomeness @eweweweewewe @latersgaters-steven @llamaproblem @night-affiliate @randompost18 @hunterispunk @jessica-laufeysdottir @uxcaran @bunnymallowo @jae-michael @jelly-terror @larkiesparkie

[dragonrider9905]

Racing Heart

Chapter 2

(Part 1)(Part 2)

Summery: You catch up with the Batch at last...and you can finally learn the truth about Tech and what he feels for you. Warning: Angst with a happy ending; jealousy; feelings of anxiety.

You pulled the drop of your hood further down to obscure your face and swirled the contents of your drink. The colors spinned and turned but refused to be mixed. The blue and purple layers were separated by a yellow one and when you turned the liquid about, it created a fascinating illusion. The lights were dim in the bar where you sat, but the illumination behind the bar created just enough light to throw beams into your glass. The ice cubes caught and increased the colors. It was a good thing it was all the entertainment you needed because you’d been sitting there a long time. 

“Can you please stop that? You’re making me dizzy.” Your companion grumpily slurred. 

He was bent over the counter, same as you, but his eyes darted to and fro, expertly and unsuspiciously. He turned his glass more gently, as if he were a connoisseur trying to decide how he felt about it. You didn’t understand how he could be so cool and act like he’d belong in any setting. You admired it. You wished you possessed the same amazing tactics but you didn’t. You were easier to read than a book. If it wasn’t for him, you'd have been spotted sooner than a sore thumb a long time ago. You’d been seen as you were, lost and far from home in a big and threatening galaxy full of scary beings. You were good with facts and figures. Data and books and computers. Dealing with people wasn’t really your forte.

Of course all that time in the field refined his talents but it was a talent nevertheless. In fact, if Crosshair hadn’t insisted on taking over at Safa Toma, you would have begged him to. 

You and Crosshair walked into the Safa Toma Speedway like you owned the place. The glare and saunter were natural to him, but for you, well, it was less so. Crosshair rolled his eyes. 

“Could you look any more phony? I asked you not to stand out. Your glare looks like you’re going to combust. Literally screaming “ask me, I have a secret”. Just relax and think about the time Wrecker spilled spaghetti sauce all over that white uniform of yours right before the decoration ceremony, and you had to wear that ridiculous looking jacket that didn’t match your pants in front of the entire assembly.” 

You scowled at the memory and your face heated producing a fine, red blush. You’d had to wear your oil stained brown pants from helping Tech upgrade the Marauder with a spare gray uniform jacket. They didn’t match in the slightest, but were the only things you had in the closet as your spare uniform was dry-cleaning after your latest mission. You were the only one out of the ten receiving metals to look that ridiculous. Wrecker apologized profusely and Tech assured you no one seemed to notice. Maybe he hadn’t, but others certainly did. You were completely and utterly humiliated. 

“Precisely, look annoyed and follow my lead. You’ll be fine. Try crossing your arms. Usually does something for me.” 

You huffed a laugh and the corners of your mouth turned up.

“Wipe that smile off your face.”

“Why? Can’t smiles be just as menacing?”

“Not yours. Yours are always too sweet.”

You had to figure out if that was a compliment or an insult or both. 

“Ooookaaaayyyy.”

“Am I detecting a high level of sass?”

You tried hard not to smile, but a chuckle came out anyway. 

“And they say I’m the difficult one.” Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Just don’t say anything. And try not to look like a lost puppy.”

You arrived at the apartment said to be Millegi’s, the sponsor for the racer named Venim, to test your theory about his association with ‘Cid’. Considering he responded with your cryptic message by saying he’d meet you. You were pretty sure you were correct. 

Upon entering the finley furnished apartment, you saw Millegi sat reclined on his sofa, a hint of malicious humor on his face. He cut right to business just as you suspected. 

“I hear you’re looking for Cid. What do you want with her?”

Crosshair put on his coldest face and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s say I have unfinished business with her, and I hear you know how to find her.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I know powerful people, and trust me, I’ll make sure you disappear so fast, you’d wish I’d gifted you with death.”

And that’s how you found yourselves sitting in Cid’s bar. Waiting. Forever. Waiting for the runaways to return home. The longer you waited the more you wished you hadn't come. You didn’t know if dreaming about this moment and wishing so hard it hurt was better than the actual waiting because right here, right now, reality was happening. In your dreams you’d run to Tech and he’d wrap his arms around you and everything would be happy and fine. You could control the outcome. Everything would turn out how you planned no matter the scenario.

This was the unknown. You didn’t know what would happen. And to top it off, what would happen, would be final. No more alternate scenarios. No more differing factors. You didn’t know if Tech would even be happy to see you. What if he didn’t even remember you?!? Despite Crosshair’s assurances and annoyance at something that should be obvious (which was honestly more comforting than the assurances) the familiar anxiety bubbled in your stomach and you felt the bile rise in your throat. Unconsciously, your knee started bouncing against the chair. 

“Hunter’ll hear that all the way from the space port.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“This isn’t exactly an easy moment for me, either.���

Your knee stopped bouncing and regret seeped into your bones. 

“I’m so sorry, Crosshair. I haven’t been considerate. I’ve been so focused on myself and my problems…” You sighed and looked down. “I’ve done so much wrong.” You ran your fingers through your hair, trying not to disturb the cloak too much. “I can’t even seem to do right by my friends. You deserved so much more consideration. Your step took more courage than mine; and I haven’t expressed enough how grateful I am that you came with me.”

“You’ve expressed it almost every day since we left.”

You shrugged. “I am grateful. I just want all of us together again, the way it should be. But this waiting is unbearable. Not knowing how they’ll accept us is the worst part. I mean, you’re they’re brother. You’re more likely to be wanted than me.”

“Don’t count on it after our last meeting. Not to mention what I’ve done since.”

“Crosshair—” You’d been over this so many times with him. Thinking of different ways to defend him but he was obstinate in his self-loathing.

“Save it.”

Crosshair glared but the ice melted when he saw the hurt in your eyes. He sent an apology look, not able to find the words he wanted to say, and not even knowing exactly what to say. But spending weeks with Crosshair on the run, you’d learn how to communicate with him this way. You felt you knew him on a whole new level and could talk without words. 

You wished you could still say the same about Tech. 

Then a noise caught your attention. The three patrons who’d been second-handedly annoying the both of you for the past few hours excitedly welcomed someone. 

“Well look who’s back!” the one you ascertained was Bolo, said. 

“Hey, when are we getting another dejarik game! It’s been pretty boring without you.” the one named Ketch added. 

The female pirate by the identity of ‘Phee’ spoke next. You’d been listening to her stories and they seemed too fantastical to be true, but they were entertaining to listen to while you waited. You thought Crosshair’s eyes would get stuck behind his skull with how often he rolled his eyes while she spoke, claiming he had better ‘real’ stories. But he must have enjoyed them enough because he kept listening and making off-handed comments.

“Well look who it is, if it isn’t my favorite group of clones.” 

You peaked in the direction to see the Bad Batch file in and try to scoot past the overly excited, ‘bored’ patrons. Probably to talk to Cid if they had just gotten done with a job. 

“Limping again, Brown eyes? You really ought to be more careful.” Phee put her hand on Tech’s shoulder and you almost lurched at the hint of softness in her voice. He had found someone after all. In the corner of your eye, you saw Crosshair give you a sympathetic look but you refused to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe this was a dumb idea.”

“No.” Crosshair said sternly. You looked up to meet his eyes and saw a kind earnestness in them. “No it wasn’t. No matter how this ends, what they say, we’re out of the Empire and that’s all that counts. I have you to thank for that.”

You smiled faintly. “We could always trek out on our own. I have the brains and you have…well everything else.”

Crosshair chuckled. “Let’s say we get this over with.”

You could only let out a breathy “Okay.”

You were aware of a hush that came over the boisterous group. 

“Who are those two?” You heard Hunter stage whisper. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know he’d crossed his arms and was staring at the two of you. 

“Dunno, they’ve been sitting there since before we came in. Long time.” Ketch said. 

“Hm.” 

You could bet they were sharing concerned looks among each other, trying to decide what to do. Your breathing quickened.

You heard Crosshair’s chair turn. “No one important. Just your brother and your friend.” 

Okay, Crosshair, maybe not the best intro. 

You stayed glued in place, not wanting to face them. 

“Crosshair?” You couldn’t tell which of the brothers said that. All the world started to turn before your eyes. The blood rushed to your ears and you completely missed the exchange happening between the torn Batch. The loud fuzziness overtook all that was happening around you. You were only focused on the void, empty feeling. 

Tech has someone.

“Glad you’re back, brother.” broke through the haze along with the clanking of armor. You could only guess that meant they embraced. 

They wanted Crosshair back. That’s good. Maybe I should just leave quietly…

Maybe you didn’t have a place with them anymore but you did return their prodigal brother to them and that was reward enough. 

Then you heard teary laughing and other clanky embraces. You heard an excited little girl squish her face into her brother’s chest or shoulder (depending on whether or not Crosshair knelt for her or not) and cry happily. 

This was your chance. You moved swiftly and silently like Crosshair had shown you over the last few weeks and made your way toward the back exit. The shadows of the backroom covered you and you took one last glance where the light poured in. You saw happy faces of a reunited family. Laughing and jesting and happy, relieved tears were poured out. Just the way they should be; you felt a smile growing on your face. Yes, all was well. 

You turned to leave with that last happy memory. 

You made your way out the back door and out the alley toward the front entrance and slowly started to make your way to a spaceport to book a passage with the fake ID you made. You had a few credits left. You could get by on them until you thought of what to do next. 

The day was ending and the world was alive. The day-timers were heading home from work and the night-shifters were getting up and going to their posts…or bars. Wherever they kept vigil. That wasn’t for you to know or care. The sun was setting and giving off the most beautiful orange…

You heard your name and you turned around surprised. You knew who the voice belonged to and a part of you wondered if you were dreaming. There would be no way Tech was actually chasing you, could there be? 

You saw him bobbing in the crowd, looking about frantically. You’ve never seen him so scattered. He called your name again, louder, more frantic. If you had half a brain left, you would have answered. But you were tired, numb, and heartbroken. Your feet hurt and you didn’t know if you could face him. Instead of leaving quietly or approaching him, you stood there with your mouth agape, watching as if this were a holofilm and you were not the main character on the screen. You couldn’t be the main character. You’d plain forgotten your lines. 

Your feet decided to move without your brain’s permission. You didn’t know if you were going to go toward Tech or turn away, and you never found out because in that moment, Tech spotted you and your eyes locked. He smiled a full smile and pushed through the moving masses toward you and was by your side in an instant.

“Mesh’la, you’re here! You’re here!” Tech excitedly said. There was a dancing fire in his eyes and a laugh on his lips. “I can’t believe my calculations, you’re here!” Before another moment passed, you were wrapped in a hug. His arms came around you and brought you close to his chest. He lowered his head so it was resting on yours, then stayed silent for so long it started to worry you. Tech was never silent.

“Tech.” Your voice cracked from how dry it was.

He parted and cupped your face.

“Mesh’la.” 

You felt your whole face on fire and you couldn’t look Tech in the eye. Your ears were pink to the tips. You knew what that word meant. He couldn’t possibly mean it. Did Crosshair put him up to this?

“What?” Tech looked taken aback and slightly hurt.

Woops, must have said that part out loud. 

You cleared your throat. “Did Crosshair…I mean…” tears filled your eyes and you sighed. You tried to look anywhere but him but his hand, though gentle, was firm and held your head in place. Besides, you were loath to lose the contact just yet. “Crosshair knew…so I was wondering if he sent you…told you to…”

“Crosshair knew what? Told me to?” He repeated.

You took in a deep breath and held it. You’d say it fast. 

“Crosshair knew that I loved you and was searching for you forever and when I saw you racing I knew I could find you and really wanted to find you so I decided to trust him to see if he wanted to come and we left the Empire together to find you. You’re a good racer, that was good racing.” You let out the rest of the air in a heavy sigh. One breath. 

Tech smiled. “You were searching for me?”

You tried to look at your shoes. “Yes.” Your voice was so small but that was all you had left. 

“You love me?”

“Yes!” That was a little more vehement and you rolled your eyes. You had a transport to catch. If he didn’t mind, you really had to get going. “It KILLED me when I thought you were dead. I didn’t know…”

He leaned in closer to your ear. 

“I love you too.”

You let out a sob and pressed your face into his chest. Your heart felt like it exploded and adrenaline rushed through your veins and you started to feel dizzy. Your muscles relaxed and the tired, achiness returned, reminding you you needed to rest. Tech felt the extra weight and shifted to support you. But your happiness was replaced with confusion.

“But…your girlfriend? How can you love me if you have a girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Tech sounded so surprised you had to look him in the face. His eyebrow was up in a quizzical form. The one he always made when he was drawing a blank. You loved this expression because it was so rare, and he could never replicate it when he tried at your request. It was a look of complete honesty. You almost laughed at the hope your heart started to thud to. 

“Phee, the pirate woman…”

“She is most definitely not my girlfriend. Did she say she was? Or did you draw that conclusion from her rather flirtatious greeting?”

“Maybe I did have incomplete data.”

“Did you notice I did not address the flirtations?”

“No…my mind was too busy reeling.”

Tech smiled again, but this time mischievously. 

“What if I give you a better subject for you to meditate on?”

He leaned in and kissed you. Softly and perfectly. You broke it first.

“We’ll have to continue later.” You chuckled, “I can’t stop smiling.” You rested your head against his chest and heaved a relieved sigh.

“I agree, we shall have to continue this exercise later.”

You laughed and started back toward the bar. Tech limped after you and your smile turned upside down. You hadn't noticed before. He moved with such urgency and swiftness. It had to hurt.

“You’re limping.”

“Yes, I had a misfortunate accident on the last mission.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“No it’s not. Let me have a look.” You returned to his side and brought Tech’s arm around your neck so he could lean on you for support. “Where’s your ship? Do you have any ice for me to help bring down the swelling, or should I run back to Cid’s real quick to get the ice then bring you to the ship or…” 

You were cut off by Tech’s chuckle. “We have the necessary supplies on the ship. That way.” He nudged his head in the right direction, but his gaze remained on you. It sparkled with all the love and adoration you never thought you’d see aimed toward yourself from the goggled eyes. Your heart swelled and your lips radiated that happiness with the biggest smile you’ve ever made. You were where you were meant to be. You were home at last. 

Dividers by @djarrex and @ve-ti-ver

[welldonebeca]

GHOSTFACE & the Girlfriend**

Summary: Dean and his girlfriend play a little game.   Warnings: Established relationship. Alternate universe - no supernatural. Roleplay. Smut. Multiple orgasms. Teasing. Degrading kink. Praising kink. Dirty talking. Patreon Promo. Predator/Prey type of D/s play. Lots of aftercare.

Annie squirmed a little at the loud sound coming from the screen, flinching under the strong lights of the TV and into Dean's chest.

They'd been going over the entire Scream saga for their horror movie night date - which was more like a mixture of the afternoon and the night, but that was just semantics anyway.

It was his idea. Dean really liked horror, with other cryptic and strange stuff, like Urban Legends and anything spooky and unnerving.

She squeezed his hand in hers, holding him close.

It wasn't that Annie was scared of the killings, but did it have to be so loud?

Well, at least she could be all close to him without needing an excuse.

"You know, some people actually claim to have a copy of the first Stab," Dean told her, turning from looking at the screen for a moment.

She tried to think a little deeper about it.

Dean had a lot of little bits of knowledge of the franchise, which was very nice, but it never ceased to make her confused.

Stab was the movie inside the movie, which people made based on the fictional murders.

But it didn't follow anything that made sense.

"It thought that was fake?" Annie looked down at the popcorn bowl before running her hand down to touch his, playing with his fingers. "Like a whole parody inside it."

He had a very nice hand.

Dean shrugged, just turning his palm up for her to entertain herself with - she would guess.

"It is," he agreed. "But I wanted to check if you were really paying attention."

Annie's eyes shot up to his face, and she glared at him.

"You're all cuddly and playing with my hand..." he pointed out. "We got into Scream 3, and you decided making out was way more fun than the screen."

"GHOSTFACE & the girlfriend" is a Patreon Halloween fic! To read it now, subscribe to my page. It's just $2 a month and I promise you won't regret it.

Here, have a peek at my favourite part of the story.

"Antoinette!" he exclaimed darkly, speaking her name so slowly as she whined, still quivering. Her eyes watered as he cackled again. "Did you serious cum at being stabbed?!" More laughing, and he let her go, and her weak knees didn't do anything to hold her standing as she fell on them, and she used her hands to hold her body up for a moment.

She would be bruised for days, she knew it. She would see and remember it for weeks. God, she wanted to rub her fingers against the bruises as she rubbed her cunt and fingered herself every goddamn night. "How pathetic!" Ghostface exclaimed. "Little piece of ass, all worked up after she was chased... all horny after running for her life." Annie could only stare at him from her spot, feeling the tears running down her cheeks as he crouched down. "You really are a dumb bimbo," he decided. "So fucking predictable." He grabbed her by her hair, making her standing up, taking her to the living room, to the couch where Dean had been snuggling with her not even an hour ago. "Present yourself like a good bitch," Ghostface commanded. Annie didn't know she could have gotten wetter - and she did. "Wait," she squirmed on the spot. "Wait, please, I want to look at you." Ghostface chuckled behind her. "You want to look at me?" he repeated. "And why is that, little bitch?" Her face burned, and she hid it in a pillow for a moment, embarrassed. He didn't care, manhandling her to face him. Annie's eyes zeroed on the white mask, and her mouth went dry as she watched him under the moonlight. Her heart was so loud she imagined he could hear it as he tilted his head slightly. Annie watched as he tossed away the prop knife, taking the switch blade from his pocked, and she kept herself frozen as she watched. She had seen Dean play that blade many times, when he was deep in concentration or just zoning out. He moved his hand to her body, dragging her nightie up and slowly, scratching her skin with the dull side, until he reached her panties, when he turned them and cut the fabric with the sharp side of it. "So wet," Ghostface exclaimed. "Pathetically soaked." Annie panted, fighting to keep her legs spread and not clench her thighs for relief. "I'm salivating to eat that cunt," he declared. "But you don't want that, do you? You want to look at me. You want to see my mask as I fuck that cunt."

[glitchy-npc]

54 for whump prompts?

54: “You were right.”

Thank you @keltena for the same prompt!

Late afternoon, maybe an hour till sunset. 

The Boneyard is almost empty this time of day. Only a handful of people and their dogs, the last few stragglers trying to tire out their energetic companions before heading home for the night. 

Routine. Normal. Not that you’d know.

Is this what your life would have been like if you had been born human? A boring, safe, nine to five job and a dog to come home to? Something to care for, to guard you in return? Love, free from judgment.

It doesn’t matter, those thoughts are pointless. You’re not here for the dogs or their people, you're here to confront your tail. You don’t know who but you’ve felt someone tracking you the last few hours. Not direct thoughts but a prickle at the back of your neck, a feeling of being watched and you’ve survived too long to ignore those kinds of instincts. In an initial spike of panic you had been worried it might be the Special Directive, but waiting so long isn’t their style, they’re far too efficient. You doubt it's Ortega either, even if you can’t read him he’s never had any patience and he should be all too eager to confront you now after what you did to him. Stop thinking about Ortega, nothing good ever comes from that.

Did Hollow Ground send someone to babysit you? Watch you? Either way, maybe the presence of witnesses will keep things from getting messy.

You close your eyes and wait. 

It's not long before someone sits down heavily next to you. You don’t jump, you felt the familiar portcullis of the Marshal’s shields slam shut around his mind as soon as he entered The Boneyard, a bigger tell than even his heavy gait. His work legs you’d guess. That doesn’t bode well for you, neither does his silence.

“How long have you been following me?” Maybe letting him know you're not as easily ambushed  as the first time he met you here will level some of the playing field.

“What makes you think I’ve been following you?” Of course he answers a question with a question. Asshole. 

“Please,” you scoff. “Do you expect me to believe this is a coincidence? You're not even here with Spoon.” That thought makes you a little sad, you suppose you’ve lost your dog walking privileges now that you’re a known villain. That's a shame, Spoon is a good dog. 

The Marshal doesn’t bother to offer any other excuse. Maybe you don’t deserve one.

“So are you here to arrest me?” Might as well start with the worst possible scenario.

“No.” The admission is quick, the ‘not yet’ left unsaid. 

“Then what, just here to remind me not to fuck up?” Your laugh is dry.

“What makes you think you haven’t already fucked up?” You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t take the bait, you keep staring straight ahead. You wonder if he means your choice of career or the mess you've made of your friendship. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You’re fine with me off the leash for now but if I fuck up and get someone killed, that blood would be on your hands too.”

“There's already blood on my hands, for a long time” His sigh is heavy and tired. You sneak a glance as he clasps them together, mechanical fingers interlocking. “At some point you just stop trying to wipe it clean…and try to do better.”

“Do better…” You echo his words and shake your head. “Is that what this is? Honestly I’d prefer being arrested over having to sit here and listen to your platitudes.” It’s not much of a joke but it gets something between a laugh and a cough out of him. 

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to lecture you.” You're about to call bullshit before he continues. “I thought you might have questions for me.” 

“Sure, I got one, is cryptic bullshit just wired into your brain or something? You always do that.” Talking like you're supposed to know what he’s talking about, reading minds doesn’t work miracles. You roll your eyes but catch a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe, but you’re smart enough to figure it out.” Ugh. Flattery? Asshole.

But he’s not wrong, it’s been almost six months after the crash and you haven’t seen any of the Rangers since – well, aside from a not so gentle reminder from Lady Argent that she’s getting impatient with your lack of progress on your little shared project, but the Marshal doesn’t need to know that. Instead you opt for something safer. Maybe you can spin this into information you can use. 

“Has Herald been keeping up with his training?” Somehow calling him Daniel feels wrong. That was a name he shared with Tegan, not Retribution. 

“I’m…not sure, he’s mostly been out on patrols.” Is that a warning? Maybe you should watch the skies more often. 

“You're just a wealth of information aren't you.” 

“To be fair, I thought you’d ask about Ricardo.” 

Fuck. As if that wasn’t the most dangerous topic between you. Maybe the Marshal will let you get on with your work so long as you toe the line, but you doubt he’ll keep letting you break his best friend's heart, not after last time. You wonder if he’d care if it's breaking yours as well. 

“Is he still mad about you keeping the photos from him?” The photos, what a quaint little term for the evidence of your torture at the hands of the Farm. Impossible to survive, maybe that makes them feel unreal. It’s a low blow shifting the blame, but then again, you are the bad guy here.

“We talked.” There's an undeniable tension in his clipped words.

“You mean you fought.” 

“I mean we talked. Yes, it got bad…and maybe he won't forgive me, but we cleared the air. It’s a start.”  

“Never would have pegged you for an optimist.”

“I‘m not but…are you?” You catch his quizzical look out of the corner of your eye.

“You have got to stop fucking doing that, I am litterally not reading your mind right now!” You curse yourself for losing your cool but it's really the most irritating thing about him. He never says what he means.

“Are you still angry? That I kept the photos from him.” He’s looking at you but you don’t dare look back, you can feel his gaze practically searing into your clenched jaw.

“When I was…recovering” A simple word for the agony that was being trapped in a medical bed in your base, helpless, hurting and all too vulnerable. “All I did was hate you.” If Ricardo had known, even suspected you were alive, maybe he would have tried to save you, maybe none of this would have had to happen. Maybe-

No. You’re long past maybes.

“And now?” There's something fragile in his question, not something you're used to hearing from him. Not fear, but something terribly adjacent to hope. 

Your sigh feels bone deep. You can only lie to yourself for so long. Even when it feels so much better than the truth. 

“No. You…you were right.” You wish it didn’t feel like pulling barbed wire from your skin to admit that. “He would have gotten himself killed looking for me…and I don't want that.” The last is said no louder than a whisper.

The Marshal nods, maybe he's made up his mind about you, or himself, you don’t know. You don’t want to. He stands up before the silence between you grows too long, looks like your interrogation is over.

“Take care, Tegan.” Your old name feels like a bruise neither of you will stop poking. 

The words slip out before you can stop yourself.

“Say hi to Spoon for me.” 

Chen hesitates, but doesn’t turn around.

“I will.”

[eksvaized]

Part Six König / Ghost / Reader [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist (if you want to be added - let me know!): @strawberrygato, @ghostslittlegf, @eskalotte, @abcdbleh, @yawning-grave81, @liamwholover, @valira-demaur, @idek101-01, @mizu-bozu

After König has done his utmost to soothe your frenzied state, he gently ushers you into the bedroom. With a gentle push, he makes you lie down before wrapping you in a mountain of blankets. Then he disappears into the bathroom because he still needs to take a shower and wash all the dirt and grime off his body.

During this interlude of solitude, you attempt to corral your frenetic thoughts, which are galloping through your mind at a frantic pace. The relentless racing of your thoughts intensifies the throbbing in your head. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot. Strands of your hair cling to your damp cheeks. But, at least your sobbing has ceased, and your tears have evaporated, leaving behind only their salty residue.

The silence that cloaks the room, like a comforting shroud, begins to massage your nerves, unknotting the taut tension in your shoulders. It’s as if an oppressive weight is slowly being lifted, and the waves of stress and anxiety are receding.

Everything that happened—days filled with worry, nights marred by a lack of sleep, the conversation with König—now seems just like a distant, bad dream. A nightmare that you’ve just woken up from.

Surprisingly, when you accused König of cheating, the argument did not escalate into a full-blown fight. Despite the tension and your skepticism, he was able to persuade you that there’s nothing going on between him and Sarah. He confessed that there might have been times where their interactions could have been misconstrued as flirtatious, but he assured you that his relationship with her remained strictly professional. König made it clear—she isn’t his type, and he has absolutely no intention of jeopardizing the relationship that he has built with you over the past two years just because some woman happened to bat her lashes at him.

When you asked why he keeps entertaining her presence, why he doesn’t outright reject her advances, his response was that he simply couldn’t afford to ignore her. He revealed that the higher-ups had grown suspicious of Sarah, likely due to her recent transfer. Their tendency to scrutinize everyone and everything, as if looking through a magnifying glass, had led them to task König with the responsibility of monitoring her activities. This was an assignment he had initially desired to refuse. However, his resistance was eventually chipped away by the promise of additional compensation for his efforts.

“And I need that money—” His statement caused your eyebrows to knit together in confusion. After all, his current income was more than sufficient. “I’m saving it for something.”

His cryptic response only ignited your confusion, like a spark in dry tinder. When you probed, he only offered a shake of his head. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He planted a kiss on your forehead, and said, “Can’t tell yet.”

You trust König, and you want to believe him and everything he’s told you. However, after your mind refuses to quiet down, you get out of bed. As your bare feet touch the cool floor, a shiver slithers down your spine. You kneel down in front of König’s duffel bag, which he has thrown down by the wardrobe. After rummaging through the pockets, you pull out his phone.

Deep down, you know there is something you need to do, something crucial, before you can forget about all of this, before you can lay your doubts to rest.

The soft hum of the shower from the bathroom abruptly ceases. Your eyes dart to the closed door as you freeze in place. You strain your ears, listening for the telltale sound of footsteps, but there is none. You know you can’t let König find you snooping through his phone again. So, with your heart pounding in your chest, when he doesn’t come into the room, your attention returns to the phone in your hands. You enter his passcode and unlock it.

Your mind is consumed, fully focused on one task: checking for any new text messages from Sarah. Every ounce of your being needs to know, to confirm, if he and Sarah had been in any form of contact while he was away. Your eyes hungrily skim through all the conversations, the old ones, and the recent ones. But after what seems like an eternity, you come to a heart-wrenching realization. The entire conversation thread between him and Sarah, every single exchange, has vanished. He has scrubbed his phone clean, like a crime scene, meticulously wiped of any incriminating evidence.

Why would he go to such lengths to delete everything if there was truly nothing going on between them? After all, you’ve already read all their messages, so there’s no point in hiding them now... unless he didn’t tell you the whole truth.

The whirlwind of thoughts in your mind is unrelenting, each one darker and more terrifying than the last. Amidst this chaos, an idea emerges. It’s a foolish one, so much so that you can almost hear the voice in your head chastising you for even giving it a moment’s consideration. It’s an idea you shouldn’t even entertain, let alone consider acting on. Yet, time is a luxury you simply don’t have. You take a moment to draw in a deep breath, attempting to steady the storm within you. With a newfound, albeit shaky, resolve, you press the call button.

Slowly, you walk to the window; the phone clutched tightly in your hand. As you press it to your ear, the nerve-wracking beeping sound echoes in your head. Each beep seems to amplify your unease, stirring up a churning sensation in your stomach. Deep down, buried under layers of rational thought and logical reasoning, you know it’s wrong to call Sarah. But you want to hear her voice; you need to speak with her, even if you are not sure what you are going to say.

The beeping comes to an abrupt halt, and your heart seems to stop beating for a moment when you hear the high-pitched ‘hey’ from the other end of the line.

You hold your breath, remaining silent, hoping that she wouldn’t catch on that it isn’t König who is calling her.

“Miss me already, hm?”

The urge to say something, to tell her to stay away from König, is overpowering, but the words are stubbornly stuck in your throat. Your body freezes, as if ensnared and bound by unseen chains that constrict tighter with each syllable she utters. Your fingers curl around the curtains, grasping them tightly as if their thin fabric could somehow prevent you from collapsing. Your legs feel wobbly, like they might give way underneath you at any moment.

“You left without saying goodbye, and now I can’t stop thinking about you… and your promise to have a cup of coffee with me after you return. Although I was thinking… Maybe we should go for something stronger? A beer for you, and some nice fruity cocktail for me. Of course, I’ll expect you to be the gentleman I know you are and pay—”

As if in slow motion, the phone slips away from your trembling hand. It crashes onto the ground with a sound that reverberates throughout the room. Skidding across the floor, it disappears from sight, hiding somewhere under the dark abyss of the bed. Despite its disappearance, Sarah’s piercing voice continues to echo, as she giggles, calling out to König in an annoyingly sweet tone.

This is all too much for you: you shouldn’t have called her, you shouldn’t have dared to touch König’s phone. This was all a mistake—trusting König was a mistake.

A crushing pressure, akin to an iron band tightening around your chest, begins to build, making breathing feel like a grueling battle. Your breaths become rapid, erratic and shallow, and each gulp of air is harder to catch than the last. Your vision blurs at the edges, the world around you spinning out of control. Panic sets in and you realise you need to escape from the house; an overwhelming urge to leave, to run and hide from the world until it stops spinning, takes over. Until the feeling that you are going to run out of breath and faint subsides.

Managing to gather some strength, you hurriedly pull a sweater over your head and stuff your feet into your sneakers. With a newfound urgency, you bolt out of the bedroom, forcing your legs to move even faster when the sound of the bathroom door creaking open reaches your ears. But before König has a chance to see you, before he has an opportunity to catch and stop you, you’ve already fled the house and the front door slams shut behind you.

The icy breeze greets you outside, whipping against your exposed skin and leaving a chilly, tingling sensation on your face. You stand there for a moment, allowing the cold to seep into your bones and the uncertainty to creep into your mind. But then your feet carry you across the empty street. After a few minutes of frantic doorbell ringing, or rather, smashing the button with your index finger until your nail chips off, the door finally creaks open. Simon’s face peers through the crack, his eyebrows knitted together in surprise. It’s clear that he didn’t expect to see you tonight, especially because you had declined his earlier offer to come over.

“Can I come in?” You ask with a trembling voice. But before he can answer, you push past him and step inside. You’ve decided that you aren’t ready to take no for an answer—not tonight. Your options are limited, to say the least. Your family lives across the country, and you don’t have any friends you can turn to. Simon is the only one you can rely on.

A few days ago, in the serene hours of a late-night conversation, he made a promise to you. He told you that you could count on him. That no matter what happens, if you ever need anything, he’s there for you.

After you step inside, Simon closes the door, his tall figure casting a long shadow on the worn-out carpet. He turns around to face you, his eyes filled with quiet patience as he waits for you to explain why you’ve shown up at his doorstep like this, why your eyes are red and puffy from what seems like hours of crying, and why you look like you want to kill someone.

“I think he is lying to me,” you say. Simon’s face contorts into a puzzled expression. He’s unsure about what you’re referring to. “My boyfriend. I confronted him earlier. He said he wasn’t cheating, but I didn’t believe him. I don’t know why—I ended up calling her...” You trail off, pausing to exhale. “I don’t know why I did that. But when she picked up—she didn’t say much—but just the way she spoke, the flirty tone in her voice... makes me think he didn’t tell me the whole truth.”

Simon lets you vent for the rest of the night and listens to you without interjecting. At first, you struggle with articulating your whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, but the encouragement in Simon’s eyes, the light hand squeezes, and his small, understanding nods embolden you. He keeps you talking, letting you rant until your words run out and there’s nothing left to say.

“You can stay here tonight,” Simon offers. “...if you want.”

You nod. The idea of spending the night on his couch doesn’t necessarily sound like the epitome of comfort, but the thought of going home tonight fills you with a sense of dread. You don’t want to see König; you can’t even bear the thought of looking at him. You need a brief respite from his presence, some time to process everything and decide on what you want to do next.

As your eyes graze over the clock, you can feel the weight of exhaustion settling in, realising how late it is.

“You don’t need to babysit me for the rest of the night. You should go to bed,” you say, but Simon shakes his head.

“I don’t mind staying up, and I doubt you want to be alone.”

As you lean into him, you find a comfortable spot where your head rests on the curve of his shoulder. Your hands fall into your lap and you tug at the hem of your sweater, fiddling with the loose thread. His arm drapes over your frame. The rhythmic motion of his fingers on your shoulder, tracing soothing, tight circles, releases the anxiety in your body, leaving you feeling completely relaxed.

A yawn escapes your lips, and you rub your eyes in an attempt to ward off your drowsiness. Simon says something, but his words are lost to you since you’re not paying attention. You raise your chin to look at him, a question “What?” leaving your lips.

“Are you tired?” He repeats and his eyes lock with yours. “You can sleep in my bed if you’d like. I’ll take the couch.”

You suddenly become aware of just how close he is—the space between your faces is virtually nonexistent. You can feel his warm breath on your skin as he exhales, his arm slowly slipping down from your shoulder, his fingertips lightly tracing your curves before he rests his hand on your hip.

Your eyes, drawn as if by a magnetic force, gravitate towards his lips. An insistent voice in the back of your mind scream at you to draw away, to retreat from the uncharted territory you are about to cross. However, you choose to defy it, silencing the voice and clearing your mind. Slowly, you inch forward, closing the remaining gap. Simon doesn’t recoil. He doesn’t reject your advance. After an initial moment of stillness, he reciprocates, his lips brushing against yours.

As he kisses you, his touch on your cheek is both soothing and exhilarating—a paradox of sensations that leaves your heart pounding in your chest. His thumb traces gentle circles on your skin as he deepens the kiss, subtly urging you to tilt your head to accommodate him. You find yourself being gently maneuvered onto the couch, with him looming over you. His body presses against yours, becoming a source of heat in the cool room.

You know that you shouldn’t be kissing him, that you shouldn’t be allowing him to touch you. Yet, you find that you can’t, or perhaps more accurately, don’t want to stop. And he, in his silent acquiescence, doesn’t move away from you either.

A/N: this will be the last update till the weekend cuz I have to focus on uni and exams for a bit p.s. most of you know that I'm editing this fic (hence why I deleted the old chapters), and so, if you have read this story already & know how it will end, please don't spoil it in the comments because I enjoy reading reactions from people who have stumbled upon this story for the first time anyway, thank you for reading and commenting!! all the feedback motivates me and makes me excited to edit and post rest of the chapters :)