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littlelovelyspiderling · 2 years ago

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Meeting The Real You (Chapter 7)

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

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word count: 15,303

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The two heroes stopped for snacks, parted ways to run some errands—Johnny heading to PetSmart to grab some crickets and Spidey swinging by Marshmallow’s apartment to fill her food bowl—then reconvened for more snacks and a bit of strategizing. Sue always came by before bed to say goodnight to him—a tradition as embarrassing as it was touching—so Johnny would claim he was hitting the hay early, bid her goodnight, then sneak upstairs to meet Spidey on the penthouse floor balcony.

Unbeknownst to the webhead, he did so by yelling at her through her bedroom door and running away the moment her grunt of acknowledgment came from the other side. Johnny was compartmentalizing Sue’s warning from earlier fairly well, too distracted and excited by the rebellious thrills that lay ahead. But one more steely look from his sister could send him reeling down another heartsick spiral he had no desire to excavate. Soaring above the city and knocking a few heads sounded a lot more fun.

They found each other on the Quinjet launching pad, bellies filled with double stuffed Oreos and excitement buzzing beneath their skin. Spider-Man claimed he always left the tower this way, but Johnny insisted they be extra stealthy. They were only a few stories above his teammates’ rooms, and the last thing Johnny needed was another run-in with Sue with the masked vigilante by his side.

“I never thought between the two of us, I’d be considered the bad boy rebel type,” Spider-Man giggled, leaning over the railing. It was the only thing between them and the 98-story drop to the city below.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Johnny asked. Warm wind whipped at his hair. The drone of traffic hummed from the glittering, distant streets. “You don’t think I’m a bad boy?”

“You’re America’s favorite golden child who wears Versace sneakers and only drinks bubbly water,” Spider-Man laughed, turning towards him daringly. “Plus, you made us tip-toe around the place like a couple of kids up past their bedtime instead of two superheroes fighting crime. Of course you’re not a bad boy.”

Johnny scoffed, raising his hand in front of his eyes, flames dancing between his fingers. “I’m a teenager who can light his entire body on fire at will. That makes me hot, combustible, and deliciously dangerous. What’s more bad boy than that, Spider-Man? Or should I say, Afraid-of-Spiders-Man.”

“How about a masked menace with a secret identity and a shady reputation who scours the streets of the city in the night, angsty and alone?”

The young hero poised the question in a deep, sultry voice, only to bubble with laughter a second later. Johnny rolled his eyes.

“All that mysteriousness disappears the moment anyone actually meets you. In reality, you’re a goofy little science nerd who laughs at his own jokes and wears Hello Kitty pajamas to bed. And I’ve got the photo to prove it.”

Spider-Man pouted. “You’re gonna be holding that one over my head for the rest of time, aren’t yah?”

Johnny stood up tall to emphasize their height difference and leaned in close with a smirk on his face. “Just until you admit I’m more of a rebellious bad boy than you are.”

The young hero gazed up at him, the lights of the city twinkling in his eye lenses. Realizing what he was doing—again—Johnny backed off a bit, cursing himself in his head. Spider-Man stared across the skyline, then hopped on top of the railing.

“Race yah to the Williamsburg Bridge. First one there wins the title of King Bad Boy.”

Johnny snickered. “You know, the more we say the phrase ‘bad boy’ out loud, the less cool it sounds.”

“Famous last words of a 2nd place un-bad boyish loser,” Spidey taunted him, making an “L” with his fingers and holding it against his forehead. Then he backflipped off the balcony and dove towards the distant pavement, hollering like a howler monkey as he fired webbing from his wrists.

The Human Torch chuckled softly to himself. He watched the masked vigilante swing between buildings—a speck of red in an ocean of sparkling gray. He stepped up onto the railing but hesitated, fresh uncertainty gnawing at his gut. Johnny Storm liked to flirt; the world knew this, especially his fans. Nobody was safe from his suave compliments and teasing smooth-talk. It was a way to win others over, assert his dominance, and showcase his charm; it didn’t insinuate he intended to pursue anything with those subjected to it. He simply enjoyed flaunting his ability to flatter and fluster people.

In that case, he shouldn’t feel weird about flirting with Spider-Man. Right?

Spider-Man knew his rep. He’d seen him interact with his friends and fans before. Flirting was part of his personality. There was no reason for either of them to read anything into it, including Johnny himself.

The problem was, when Johnny flirted with others, they were the ones who got bashful and coy, not the other way around. But every time he caught himself playing his usual tricks on the masked hero, a nervousness he rarely experienced found its way into his throat. It was as frustrating as it was telling.

But like Sue said, nothing was going to happen. So what did it matter? As long as he didn’t push things too far, Johnny could mess with Spider-Man as much as he wanted without any repercussions. Altering his behavior to act less like himself around him would only further confirm his affections for him. And if the webhead hadn’t caught on by now, Johnny doubted he ever would.

“Come on, slow poke!” Spidey shouted from below, cupping his hands around his mouth at the peak of his swing. “Whatcha waiting for?”

Johnny breathed deep, exhuming the unnecessary anxieties from his lungs, then grinned. Absolutely nothing to worry about, he told himself. He could get over these ridiculous emotions for the sake of their friendship. Easy-peasy.

He stepped off the ledge, letting himself drop for a few terrifying, thrilling seconds, then went up in a roar of flames. With a cheer, he blazed forward, rocketing past the masked hero in seconds, making him jolt in surprise mid-swing.

“I figured I’d give you a head start,” Johnny countered smoothly, circling back to hover in front of him, “seeing how I could fly to the bridge and back before you even left this block.”

Spider-Man twirled and spun between each “thwip” of his webs, swooping low to then launch himself skyward. “Probably,” he admitted, somersaulting into his next swing. “But I’d look cooler getting there.”

Johnny shot a puff of flame from his fingers right as Spidey fired his next web-line, slicing the silk in half and making him tumble through the air with a yelp, limbs flailing. The Human Torch cackled as the young vigilante caught himself on a second strand of webbing, his typically graceful movements turned clumsy and frantic.

“Dude!” Spider-Man scoffed, nervous laughter lacing his voice. “Not cool!”

“I’ll say!” Johnny wheezed. “You looked like a frog falling out of a tree!”

In retaliation, Spidey fired a glob of webbing at his face, rendering the teen celebrity spitting and sputtering as he tried to wipe it away while the masked hero giggled boisterously. Spider webs plus fire evidently led to sticky melted goop that smelled like burnt popcorn.

“Ugh! This stuff is like glue!”

“Thank you,” Spider-Man stated proudly. “Engineered it myself.”

Johnny cleared the rest of the webbing by flaring the flames surrounding his body, slowing to a glide at the masked hero’s side. “Oh, your enemies must love you—getting caked in this shit all the time.”

“You know what? They should be grateful when I use it on them. Do you have any idea how long it took me to perfect this formula? Finding the right tools and materials was not easy! Not to mention, testing how much of each compound to add and what temperature to heat it to and for how long and—”

“Jesus Christ,” Johnny laughed. “You’re worse than Sue and Reed combined. You’re like my sister’s nerdy little mini me—swooning over science experiments and chemistry shit like there’s nothing more exciting in the world. You should talk shop around her more often; maybe her love of science could eventually supersede her hatred of you.”

Spider-Man pirouetted out of his swing and landed atop a giant digital billboard. Johnny swerved to hover in front of him, flames gilding the edges of his vision.

“Unfortunately, once somebody decides they hate me, it’s really hard to change their mind.” He gestured to the screen beneath him. “Exhibit A.”

The image switched from an iPhone ad to a blurry photo of Spider-Man overlaid with flashing red text. Hear It Here First! The Latest Atrocities Committed By The Scourge of New York City! Find Out Why YOU Should Despise The Masked Menace Spider-Man! Only On The Daily Bugle.

Johnny winced. This Jameson dick really had it out for him. “Well, you changed my mind,” the Human Torch pointed out. “Maybe, with the right approach, you can change Sue’s mind, too. Hell, even Jonah’s!”

Spider-Man threw his head back and laughed brightly. “I think you’re becoming even more sunny side-up than me.”

The image on the board shifted again, now to a Gucci ad of Johnny Storm wearing baggy cargo pants, a giant belt, and a black crop top. His hands were tangled in his hair, which was lit ablaze, and his face was tilted towards the heavens, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Normally, Johnny loved seeing his face splashed across screens and TVs and billboards for the whole world to worship. But right now, the Human Torch found himself blushing.

Spidey chuckled again. “Oh, the duality of superheroes,” he lamented. He pointed between the giant Johnny’s eyes in disbelief. “Oh my god. Did you used to have a nose ring?”

Johnny camouflaged his embarrassment behind a suave grin. “Still do,” he replied. “But if I wear it while my flames are on, it usually ends up melting. So you’ll only see me with it every now and then.”

“I’m actually mad at how good it looks on you,” Spider-Man grumbled. “You and your goddamn model face can pull things off I’d never dream of trying. Also, nose ring definitely adds extra points to your bad boy rating.”

The Human Torch ran his fingers through his flaming locks with a dreamy sigh. “I get it, all right? I’m gorgeous, and you’re obsessed with me. Get in line.”

A nervous giggle escaped the spider-themed hero. “Ugh. Remind me to never compliment you ever again.” He launched himself off the sign and whipped around the closest skyscraper. The Human Torch followed shortly behind.

“I’ll try,” Johnny teased him, catching up to the masked vigilante and flanking him on the left, “but you just can’t seem to help yourself. There’s so many wonderful things about me for you to gush over.”

“Get bent, Johnny,” Spider-Man laughed, using the momentum from his next swing to kick off of his back like a fiery springboard.

“Hey!” Johnny cried. He wobbled in the air for a moment before regaining his balance, then shot after the cackling hero as he thwipped ahead.

“My advice from before still stands, by the way!” Johnny called, catching up to him. “If you want to try to mend your public image, I can help you! We could make a page or profile for Spider-Man together.”

The masked vigilante cupped his hand behind one ear as if he’d spontaneously gone deaf. “Huh? What’s that? The wind’s too loud! I can’t hear you!” He dashed across the windows of an office building and extended his pointer finger in front of him. “Anyways, the bridge is just ahead! And I’m totally gonna beat you to it!”

“You liar,” Johnny scoffed, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “You told everyone back at the tower you have heightened senses! I know you can hear me! Hey! Wait up! Spidey!”

Spider-Man pressed forward as fast as his webs would carry him, sprinting and swinging and slingshotting his way between buildings. For a few moments, Johnny let him take the lead. He watched him bob above the skyline and dip towards the earth, admiring the lovely shapes his body made as he arched and soared. His hard edges seemed to soften between flips and somersaults and swings, like the warm wind was eroding away his points. He was a perfect stone skipping across a pond’s glass surface. He was a colorful kingfisher swooping and breaching the surf. He was a fairy in the cosmos bounding between constellations.

And then…he was falling.

Johnny watched in shock as Spider-Man made his signature “thwipping” motion only for nothing to come out of his web shooters but a puff of smoke. Mid-drop, he tried again, aiming with his left wrist this time. Again—more smoke, no webs. He ran through a rapid-fire list of expletives as he plunged towards the ground, arms windmilling through the air. Johnny raced forward to catch him, but it was too late. Spider-Man crashed stomach-first into a streetlamp, his body folding in on itself from the impact, a painful “oof” punching out of his chest. In an instant, the magic spell Spidey had him under was broken, replaced instead by the vigilante’s true essence—a dumbass teenager in full-body pantyhose who’d just belly-flopped into a light post.

“Oh my god,” Johnny exclaimed, half-laughing, half-concerned. He dove down to where the masked hero had fallen. “Dude! Are you okay?”

Moaning, the young hero clambered on top of the light, hugging his midsection pitifully. “I’m good…y-yep. Totally good. That wasn’t embarrassing at all. Ugh…” He raised his arm in front of his eyes and tapped at his palm triggers. A tiny metal capsule shot out of the device on his wrist, spinning and steaming. He snatched it out of the air and huffed bitterly. “Forgot to load my web-shooters with new cartridges. You’d think with all times I’ve ate shit after running out of webs, I would’ve learned my lesson by now. But no.”

Johnny snickered into his hands. “You have a knack for switching from remarkable athlete to helpless klutz in the blink of an eye. You’re like a cartoon character. It’s very entertaining.”

“Mm-hmm, great. So glad one of us is entertained by this. You know what’s not entertaining? Ramming your gut into a pole after inhaling six handfuls of Oreos. Why did I have to go for double stuffed? Ugh…regrets…”

The Human Torch extended his arms above his head and spoke in his best Anchorman voice. “Breaking news: Spider-Man crashes into a streetlamp then pukes all over the sidewalk! Will his reign of terror never cease? Maybe if he let his friend Johnny help him restore his reputation, dumb stories like these would stop making headlines.”

Spider-Man perched on top of the light post, rubbing gingerly at his belly. “I told you before, Johnny. I don’t care what people like Jameson think about me.”

“I think you do,” Johnny countered, crossing his arms against his chest. “Not Jameson, specifically. But this city as a whole. It’s okay for it to bother you, you know. Being hated isn’t fun. Not that I would know—I’m adored the entire world over.”

The masked hero chuckled feebly. “It isn’t fun,” he admitted. “But I’m used to it by now. And I have better things to do than trying to change their minds.”

“You wouldn’t have to do anything. I would head the entire operation. Since you’re obviously incapable of unburying your rep on your own.”

Spider-Man stood and started to say something else, then backtracked. “Uh,” he stammered, eyeing the sidewalk below. “We’re kind of attracting an audience.”

Johnny turned towards the small mob forming beneath the lamppost. Teens and adults alike were gathering along the curb, murmuring and whispering excitedly, filming the two of them on their phones. The Human Torch grinned and waved, sending a thrill of squeals through the crowd, and a lightbulb went off inside his head.

“Hey friends,” he called. He rose to hover at Spider-Man’s side, dousing the flames on his right arm and slinging it around the vigilante’s shoulders. “Make sure to capture me and Spidey’s good side, yeah?”

Exclamations of surprise and snapping camera shutters bubbled from the pedestrians. Spider-Man shot a glance at him, eye lenses wide, squirming a little beneath his embrace.

“Johnny…” he said nervously. “We shouldn’t—I mean, your sister will—”

“To hell with my sister,” Johnny hissed under his breath. “Just follow my lead, Webhead! Smile and wave!”

“Johnny! Hey Johnny!” a man hollered from below. “Are you friends with Spider-Man?”

“Of course not!” another guy answered for him. “Have you been living under a goddamn rock? Spider-Man is a criminal! Johnny Storm is a hero!”

Johnny frowned, raising his hand. “Hold on a minute—”

“Are you taking the masked menace to the police for burning down that boba shop?” a woman interjected.

“Or assassinating JFK?”

“Or running a whorehouse out of every bagel shop in Queens?”

“It’s true! I’ve seen it! Einstein’s has been overrun by prostitutes! Just look at the outfits those cashiers wear! And it’s all Spider-Man’s fault!”

“Oh my god,” Spider-Man groaned, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, people! I’ve never even been to an Einstein’s before! Everyone knows Hot Bialys Bagels is where it’s at!”

The crowd’s booing drowned him out. Other than a few supporters sprinkled here and there, the majority of the mob seemed staunchly anti-Spider-Man. Their bitter animosity made Johnny’s stomach twist.

“Get out of our city!” one guy yelled.

“Leave Johnny Storm alone!” another hollered.

“Can I get a selfie?”

“We love you, Johnny!”

“Fuck off, menace!”

“You’re my hero, Spider-Man!”

“No he’s not!”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Stop sexualizing bagels!”

Spider-Man sighed. “Love you too, New York,” he said begrudgingly. Then he tugged at Johnny’s non-fiery arm. “I think we should go.”

“But—” Johnny began, grasping for the right words. But the masked hero was already zipping away on silken threads, dodging a few handfuls of garbage flung at him from the streets below. The flickering flames on the Human Torch’s shoulders flared in frustration. He turned towards the growing mob, floating high above their heads.

“You’re wrong about him, you know!” he shouted over their bickering, stunning a section of them silent. “You shouldn’t believe everything you see on sketchy news sites!”

“Don’t get caught in his web of lies, Johnny!” a young woman cried. “You’re one of the good ones!”

“Have my babies, Johnny Storm!”

“Sign my forehead!”

“Step on my throat!”

“Fantastic Four Forever!”

Johnny huffed defeatedly. No matter what Spider-Man did, people continued to hate him. And no matter what Johnny Storm did, people continued to love him. Both of them were caught on opposite sides of the same inescapable fate, but Johnny was determined to drag Spidey over to his end of the spectrum. Unfortunately, at this rate, it’d probably take more than an impromptu photo op or shouting at randos on the streets to make it happen.

With a sigh, Johnny blew a flaming kiss to his fans, sending a wave of shrieks cascading down the sidewalk. Then he jetted after Spider-Man, who was swinging between skyscrapers once again.

“Bagel prostitutes, huh?” he said, moving close enough to see himself glimmering in the whites of Spidey’s eye lenses. “That’s a new one.”

Spider-Man shrugged mid-thwip. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Against his will, Johnny busted out laughing, which made Spidey giggle, too. Johnny considered saying more—about the billboard, the mob, the cruel nonsense they’d spouted about him. But the bridge was in their sights, looming dead ahead, poking above the horizon. And the young vigilante was picking up speed, cutting eager glances his way, daring him to keep up. They zoomed down Delancey Street, passing pie shops and bodegas and fancy overpriced ramen restaurants, the world blurring at the edges of their vision, the wind howling in their ears. Taxis and tour buses whizzed by like race cars. Spider-Man moved like a web-slinging machine and wore the city’s colors well.

Johnny could easily blaze ahead of him, but flying by Spidey’s side was much more fun. He started bobbing up and down to match Spider-Man’s swinging motions, which made the masked hero laugh.

“You look like a flaming dolphin!” he giggled, slightly out of breath.

Johnny smiled. “You look like this city was made just for you.”

Spider-Man’s eyes snapped up to meet his—so quickly, in fact, he fumbled a little on his next swing, very nearly letting the web-line slip right through his fingers. “O-oh yeah?” he sputtered in response, gripping onto the thread for dear life. Johnny laughed into the wind and rocketed forward.

“Eat my flames, web for brains!”

He circled Spidey in a few wide arcs, wondering how they must’ve looked from afar. Perhaps like ice skaters mirroring each other in the rink, or a brilliant comet orbiting its favorite red and blue planet. As they cleared the final stretch of land between them and the East River, Johnny propelled himself into the lead, weaving between suspension cables to land atop the bridge’s first tower. He turned to watch Spider-Man brachiate up the metal wires and flip onto the concrete platform beside him. Once he found his footing, the masked hero doubled over with his hands on his knees, wheezing with breathless laughter.

“You’re looking a little winded there, buddy,” Johnny teased him, extinguishing his flames to pat him on the back. “That’s embarrassing. I haven’t even broken a sweat.”

“Shut up,” Spider-Man chuckled, clutching his ribs. “I have to actually exert effort to go fast. You just—I don’t know—think about it, and it happens. Like Iron Man or Captain Marvel with your goddamn rocket booster feet.”

“You mean like two of the most powerful superheroes ever? Guess I’m in good company, then. Cooler, less smellier company.”

Spider-Man sank to his knees with a huff, then flopped dramatically onto his back, letting his legs dangle off the edge of the tower. Johnny sat beside him, tossing a tiny ball of fire between his hands.

“How long have you had your powers again?” Spidey asked, gazing up at the sky. “Four months?”

“Almost five,” Johnny replied.

The vigilante shifted to fold his arms behind his head. “I know you’ve talked about it in interviews and stuff, but…what was it like? The incident in space, waking up with superpowers, all of it? Did anything happen that you’ve never told anyone before?”

Johnny narrowed his eyes and rested his chin on his knees. “Hmm. I peed a little when I got hit with the particle cloud. Does that count?”

Spider-Man snickered in that adorable little way that spun Johnny’s brain to scrambled eggs. “Seriously? That’s all?”

The Human Torch stared across the glistening river, reliving the moments that had changed his life forever, trying to remember the jumbled thoughts that had raced through his mind. He snuffed the tiny fireball in his fist.

“When the particle cloud hit, I was…the last one to get struck by it. Ben, Reed, and Sue were in front of me, and I had to watch all three of them disappear behind a wall of radioactive space dust.” The menacing storm colliding with their ship and swallowing his friends whole replayed behind his eyes.“In that fraction of a second, everything kinda…dipped into slow motion. I was certain I’d just witnessed all the people I had left to care about die in one fell swoop. And as the ship’s co-pilot, it was partially my fault.”

Something thorny squeezed the inside of his throat. Johnny swallowed, turning towards the vigilante. “Do you know what I was thinking in that moment?”

Spider-Man sat up slowly, holding his gaze, uncharacteristically quiet. Johnny stared at his fingers as they kneaded the fabric on his forearms.

“I thought, ‘if this thing kills them, then it better fucking kill me, too.’”

A couple seconds passed before Spider-Man laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Johnny glanced at him quickly then lowered his gaze, feeling queasy and exposed all of a sudden, wondering how the masked hero always found a way to pull these kinds of confessions out of him. Wondering why things that normally felt impossible to say spilled from his lips so easily in his presence.

“I’m really sorry you felt that way,” Spider-Man said. “You’ve lost a lot of your loved ones at a really young age. Losing the ones you’ve got left is the scariest scenario imaginable for people like us. I know that had to be terrifying.”

With a groan, Johnny turned away from him, wiping at the tears suddenly falling from his eyes. “Goddammit, Webs,” he laughed, throat tight. “How do you always manage to turn me into an absolute sap? This is not very King Bad Boy of me.”

The masked hero giggled apologetically. “For what it’s worth, being emotionally vulnerable is the most bad boy thing ever in my book. It’s something I’ve always admired about you.”

“I hate it, but thanks,” Johnny chuckled. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a slow, shaky breath. Johnny Storm’s tendency to feel his feelings very strongly was one of his fans’ favorite things about him. He just wished he could control them more instead of them controlling him. His therapist said big feelings often signify that we embrace life fully because we’re not repressing our natural reactions, but being unable to properly regulate them can be frustrating and scary. It was a very difficult balance to strike—managing without repressing.

“You know what?" Johnny sighed. "You can keep your bad boy title. I’m more of the overly sensitive manic pixie dream boy-type anyhow. If I wanted to come off as dark and mysterious, I’d probably have to follow your example and start wearing a mask. And I don’t see that happening anytime soon; it’d be criminal to cover a face this pretty.”

Spider-Man leaned back with his weight on his palms and his chin tilted towards the clouds. “I’m not gonna lie—on top of hiding my identity, that was one of the main reasons I decided to start wearing one.”

Johnny pulled his hands away from his eyes in surprise. “Really? You’re a big crybaby, too?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Definitely not as big as you are,” he ribbed him. “But…despite all of the life-or-death situations I’ve gotten myself into, I still get scared a lot more often than people probably realize. When I’m fighting bad guys ten times my size and double my age, or getting shot at by machine guns, or struggling to save someone, knowing one wrong move on my end could get them killed…I’m petrified.”

The Human Torch studied him curiously, the smile on his lips waning. Spider-Man tapped his eye lenses with his fingers.

“If my enemies and teammates and the people I rescue could see how scared I am all the time, I don’t think they’d have as much faith in me to do what I do well. So I wear a mask and crack stupid jokes to seem cool and chill and in control instead of four seconds away from shitting my pants. Or bawling my eyes out.”

Johnny traced the contours of Spider-Man’s mask with his gaze, his brain deconstructing and rewiring its understanding of the vigilante in real time. He gave his leg a playful punch.

“Guess we’re both just a couple of dumb, terrified kids in way over our heads, huh?”

“Probably me more than you,” Spidey giggled. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared at the cars buzzing beneath their feet, his voice suddenly timid. “I used to be scared of heights, you know.”

Johnny cracked a grin. “No way,” he said.

“It’s true. Have you seen that footage of me scaling the Washington Monument? At the time, that was the highest I’d ever climbed before. When I finally got to the top and looked down, I thought I was going to puke. Or faint. Or both.”

“That is so adorable,” Johnny cackled. “Aw, man. Poor Webhead. Scared of heights, scared of spiders. Fate dealt you one helluva hand, my guy.”

Spider-Man huffed. “I’ll have you know I sacrificed one of those poor, defenseless crickets you gave me to Benji, and I only screamed for fifteen seconds. Did I want to scream more? Yes. Did I make myself watch as he tore that helpless insect to shreds? Of course not. I don’t even know if he ate it. I very likely could’ve missed his cage entirely. I had my eyes shut the whole time.”

Johnny snickered into his palm. “At least you’re referring to Benji by his name instead of ‘it’ or ‘monstrosity’ or ‘nightmare fuel.’ That’s progress!”

A helicopter passed overhead, chomping at the air, lights winking. After a beat, Spidey nudged him with his elbow.

“Hey, so…in case no one’s ever said this, I want you to know you can’t blame yourself for what happened on the space mission. Nobody could’ve predicted that—not even Dr. Richards, and he’s one of the smartest guys ever!”

Johnny blinked, bit his cheek, then furrowed his brow. “I know,” he murmured eventually. “It just…it could’ve been really bad.”

“But it wasn’t,” Spider-Man reminded him. “Instead of hurting your friends, the particle cloud gave you all superpowers. I think you were meant to be there when the space dust hit. I think everything happened exactly as it did for a reason.”

A hesitant smile found Johnny’s lips. “And what reason might that be, Thwippy?”

The masked hero shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe so you can save the world. Maybe to give you a family again—one that’s united unlike any other family out there.” He pressed his finger against the Fantastic Four symbol in the center of his chest, making Johnny stiffen and glance down. “But I know for a fact this didn’t happen for nothing.”

His touch lingered just long enough to stir Johnny’s heart inside his ribs, and he wondered if Spider-Man could feel it. When he withdrew his hand, which felt decades later yet far too soon, the masked hero giggled.

“You’re not about to cry again, are you?”

Jarred back to the real world, Johnny managed a curt laugh. “No, asshole,” he snapped, even though he suddenly felt like bursting into tears. He gave him a shove for good measure and ran the back of his hand under his nose. “I’m not that pathetic.”

The masked hero chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “It’s all right. I think it’s sweet how much you care about your teammates. Even though you act like you hate each other most of the time.”

“Oh, I do hate them,” Johnny corrected him. He grabbed a handful of Spidey’s suit in his fist and yanked him forward with a playfully threatening grin. “And if you tell them I said anything that suggests otherwise, I’ll deny it all and sneak little Benji under your pillow while you’re sleeping. How’s that sound?”

Spidey laughed skittishly, curling his fingers around the ones gripping his suit. “I don’t know. Still feels worth it to me.”

“Then I’ll tweet out to all my followers that Spider-Man is scared of spiders and heights.”

“That’s all you got? I have far more damning things tweeted about me every day. Try again.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, my friend.”

“Danger is my middle name, Torch.”

Johnny had released his hold on him by that point, but they were still leaning towards each other, gazes locked, faces recklessly close, kneecaps brushing, breaths stilled. Each daring the other to be the first to back away, chicken out. It wasn’t going to be Johnny. His pulse raced as he pressed the tiniest bit closer, blood electric, voice small.

“Spidey, I—”

“Something’s wrong.”

Johnny opened his eyes, which had unconsciously slipped shut, to find himself facing the back of Spider-Man’s head. The masked hero was looking behind them towards the Brooklyn side of the city beyond the Williamsburg Bridge. The Human Torch blinked, the fairy lights untangling from his heart, the rose-tinted sparkles dissolving from his vision. Sickly embarrassment replaced all other emotions. He shrunk into himself, swallowing.

“W-what is it?” he asked in a hollow voice. Spider-Man rose to his feet.

“Someone’s in trouble,” the masked hero said, animated with urgency. “Like…really in trouble. We have to go.” He kicked off the tower, waving for Johnny to follow him. “Come on!”

Johnny stood up slowly, watching the red and blue figure swing down the center of the bridge, lines of webbing hooked between swooping suspension cables. He emptied the stale air from his lungs. God, I’m an idiot. At least Spidey was too clueless and heterosexual to take a hint. He’d never fallen for anyone this quickly or acutely before. It was bordering on pathetic—unhinged, even. Johnny Storm could have anyone else he wanted: so why did he choose to torture himself by crushing on a guy so clearly not interested? He had to stop entertaining this delusional fantasy. He had to quit reopening old wounds. No more toeing needlessly inflammatory lines. After all the shit Johnny had put him through—from scoffing at his kindness to exploiting his compassion and now forcing his affections on him when they weren’t reciprocated—it was a wonder Spider-Man still wanted to be friends with him at all.

Self-destructive tendencies ran deep in the Storm family. It was time to end this before he officially ruined everything.

Igniting the fire in his veins once again, Johnny chased after the masked hero, a trail of embers on his tail. They cleared the bridge and zipped above the bustling streets of Brooklyn, the city growing darker and quieter as they approached the more residential neighborhoods near Prospect Park. Spider-Man followed whatever 6th sense instinct was guiding him all the way into an alley between two apartment complexes, which reeked of rotting takeout and sewage. Johnny braked to hover at his side and grimaced.

“Blech,” he said, pinching his nose. “You sure your danger detecting powers weren’t leading us here because that dumpster is emitting some kind of bio-hazardous radiation? ‘Cuz that’s a bit below my pay grade.”

“No,” Spider-Man insisted. “It’s something else.”

“You said so yourself your senses can be a bit finicky. Maybe the threat’s already passed.”

“That’s not how it works,” Spidey snapped, taking a couple steps forward. “I can feel it. Someone’s in trouble really close by.”

“Could it be someone in one of these apartments? That’ll take ages to figure out. Maybe we should look for an easier victim to rescue.”

Spidey faced him with a scoff. “Johnny! Somebody needs our help! We can’t just leave! We have to find them!”

“All right! I’m just saying! Maybe this ‘spider sense’ you claim to have isn’t as reliable as you think.”

“It’s reliable enough to be buzzing like crazy right now! Which I know means there’s danger nearby!”

“Well maybe the danger you’re sensing is the smelliest dumpster in all of New York that you’ve decided to park us by! I mean, Jesus, Webhead! Are your eyes not watering right now? ‘Cuz mine are practically melting out of my face!”

Spider-Man groaned and turned back down the alleyway. “I know someone’s in trouble. You can go if you want, but I’m staying until I find whoever it is.”

Johnny mumbled a few choice words under his breath, but reluctantly followed him. “This would be a lot easier if the person in danger was actively vocalizing that fact. You know, screaming, wailing, flipping some kind of alarm. Doing something to alert us that they need our—”

“Help! Please help!”

The two heroes stiffened in surprise, wide eyes meeting in the pale darkness. What? No way.

“Help me!”

Spidey and Johnny gasped in unison. Oh shit. Yes way.

To their horror, the weak cries were coming from inside the rancid dumpster beside them. Immediately, Spidey sprung into action. He stuck to the wall above the bin and got right to work digging through the muck, a fresh stink of ungodly horrors bubbling up and assaulting their airways.

“Oh god, I’m gonna puke,” Johnny croaked. He dared not imagine how anyone could survive being trapped in that noxious filth.

“We’re coming! We’re gonna get you out!” Spider-Man plunged his entire arm into the garbage, rooting around feverishly, then shot Johnny a look. “I could use a hand here, Gucci Couture!”

“B-but what if there’s something flammable in there? I don’t want to accidentally light you both on fire!”

“Then turn your flames off!”

The Human Torch whined in defeat and extinguished the fire encasing him. “This is not what I had in mind for our superhero team-up night.” He definitely would’ve stayed home if he knew this was what he was signing up for. Looking away with his eyes pinched shut, Johnny gingerly pawed at the sticky trash pile, cursing and gagging into his elbow. The whimpers from within grew louder and louder. As Johnny’s dinner threatened to make a reappearance, his fingers bumped something that felt strangely solid. Johnny ventured a glance into the dumpster to find a hand poking out of the debris.

“Here!” he cried, only to break into a nauseous coughing fit. While Johnny dry-heaved against the opposite wall, Spider-Man cleared away another layer of garbage and seized the buried man by the wrist.

“I gotcha!” he said. Spidey pulled him out of the trash mound, an avalanche of filth falling around them, then scooped the man into his arms bridal-style. He hopped off the lip of the dumpster and knelt to the ground, brushing banana peels and Pop Tart wrappers out of his hair. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

The man blinked dazedly, his eyes distant and bloodshot, his clothes smeared and stained. He had a large bruise on his left temple that was crusted with blood and other smaller wounds sprinkled across his body. Early thirties, Johnny guessed—a waiter, based on his attire. Johnny’s heart twinged at the sight of him while his stomach turned from the smell.

“Sir? Can you hear me? We’re going to call you an ambulance, okay?”

“My son,” he wheezed, his eyes flashing with realization. He sat up rigidly, grabbing Spider-Man’s arm. “Please. They took my son!”

“Who took your son?” the masked hero asked. “Was it the same people who did this to you?”

“Yes! They ambushed me! They cornered us, ripped him right out of my arms, b-beat me unconscious, then—” He choked on his words, tears flooding his eyes. “I have to get him back! Please! I’ll do anything!”

“Did you see where they took him?” Johnny said. “Did they have a vehicle?”

The man was weeping hysterically now, hands shaking, hardly able to speak. “I don’t know! It h-happened so fast! I couldn’t protect him! Why would anyone do this? Who would steal someone’s child?”

He doubled over his lap, racked with sobs. Spider-Man laid a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re going to get him back,” he assured him. A far-off scream suddenly cut through the air, sending a chill through Johnny’s skeleton. The two teens winced in alarm, then dashed to the end of the alleyway, entering the street it fed into. At the nearest intersection, four men were wrestling a teenage girl into the back of a van. She was kicking and shrieking with all her might, but horrendously, painfully outnumbered. Adrenaline sizzled like pop rocks in Johnny’s bloodstream. Spider-Man whirled towards the father on the ground.

“Call 911!” he shouted. “Tell them we're in pursuit of the kidnappers! And have them send an ambulance!”

Without waiting to see if he followed his demands, Spider-Man launched himself towards the van on taut strands of webbing. Johnny rocketed after him, pulse humming in his ears.

“Shit!” one of the thugs hissed. “It’s him! The spider freak is here!”

“Who’s that with him? Oh, fuck! Is that that fruity flaming kid?”

“Let her go, dipshits!” Spidey cried. A glob of webbing splattered across the largest goon’s face, muffling his cries of terror.

“Call it in! We gotta get outta here!"

"Step on it!”

The men shoved the girl into the vehicle and piled in frantically behind her. Just before the back doors clapped shut, Johnny caught a glimpse of a tiny figure huddled in the corner, arms hugging his knees, feeble cries tearing from his throat.

“Daddy!” the boy wept.

“Help!” the girl screamed.

Then they disappeared behind tinted windows as the van peeled away from the curb.

“They’re getting away!” Johnny cried. “We have to stop them!”

The vehicle screeched around a corner. Johnny zipped after it, pumping everything he had into propelling himself faster, leaving Spider-Man far in his wake. He was gaining on the kidnappers, pushing closer and closer, reaching out to grab hold of the door handles on the back—

And then, two more vehicles appeared.

Zooming up from behind, flanking Johnny on his left and right, gunning it at eighty miles an hour at least. The Human Torch wavered in surprise, glancing between the pair of unexpected bonus vans, squinting to try to see through their near-black windows.

“The hell—?” he started to say.

“Johnny!” Spider-Man’s voice called from above, his red and blue shape leaping from the rooftops in his peripherals. “Watch out!”

Johnny’s gaze whipped forward just in time to stare down the barrel of a handgun. Poking out of the passenger side window, aimed directly between his eyes. A finger pulling back on the trigger. Johnny sucked in a gasp. His heart lodged in his throat. He wouldn’t be able to dodge in time.

Shit, he realized. I’m about to be shot!

The muzzle flashed, a bang rang out, but something struck him before the bullet could, knocking him out of the way. The air was punched from his lungs twice: once when he was tackled, and again when his body crashed into concrete. Searing pain blossomed in his shoulder, making him cry out. He gripped his upper arm and groaned furiously, the weight of whatever had hit him rising off his chest.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Spidey hissed. Johnny peeled his eyes open to find the masked vigilante kneeling over him, swatting at his torso and waving his arms around. “Gah! Shit! That was not my brightest idea!”

Johnny blinked, the recognition flooding in. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “You…that was you? You knocked me out of the way?” He blinked again, the rattled gears in his head gradually clicking back into place. “I…I was about to die. You saved me.”

Spider-Man dusted the remaining cinders off his suit, bits of burnt fabric falling away to reveal blistered skin underneath. “Are you okay? That was a close call. You fell on your shoulder pretty bad, huh? Sorry I hit you so hard.”

The piercing pain snaking down his arm was still present but bearable. Johnny sat up with a grimace, the rumble of car engines fading into the distance, drinking in the scorch marks on Spider-Man’s costume and flesh. Despair lashed around his stomach.

“Fuck,” he choked out. “I burnt you.” He doused his flames immediately, fingers hovering over the freshly seared skin. “Oh my god. You're burnt all over.”

“I’ll be okay,” Spider-Man assured him unconvincingly. “Nothing a little aloe vera can’t fix. Who knows—maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll peel into a tan.”

He flinched when the Human Torch brushed the exposed flesh on his forearm, driving a nail straight through Johnny’s heart. He’d never burnt someone he cared about this severely before. Sure, he’d singed the occasional eyebrow off, fried a few teammates’ reading glasses to ashes, but not this. Nothing like this.

“You’re really hurt,” Johnny croaked, tears pricking his eyes. “You’re hurt because of me.”

“It’s not that bad. And It wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who body-slammed into you, remember?” Spider-Man was putting on his cheeriest, most comedic facade to try to lighten the mood and lessen Johnny’s remorse, but the streaks of blistered skin peeking through his blackened suit spoke for themselves.

“I shouldn’t have come,” the Human Torch whispered, skewered with guilt.

The masked hero clasped his arm and gave it a shake. “I promise I’m fine. And if you’re fine too, we’ve gotta get moving. We can’t let them escape with the kid and that girl.”

The thought of the two of them trapped with those monsters was enough to anchor Johnny’s focus. Bleary-eyed, he tried his best to swallow down his emotions—just enough that he could execute the task at hand. People needed their help. For their sake, he had to shift his concern. Temporarily, anyway. The despair clinging to his throat sloughed into his stomach and boiled to rage.

He rolled his aching shoulder and nodded. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Spidey stood, helped him to his feet, and together, they were off: zipping between buildings, tracking the three vans through Brooklyn. Johnny couldn’t help but notice the masked hero favoring his left side as he swung, which was a little less burnt than his right. The Human Torch kept his distance so none of his heat or embers would accidentally blow into Spider-Man, guilt branching through his insides. He was never going to burn him ever again.

Two blocks ahead, the trio of dark vehicles came into sight, weaving recklessly through traffic. Johnny scrutinized them from afar, fire licking the edges of his vision.

“We need to work together to get to the hostages without getting shot,” Johnny called to Spider-Man. The masked hero swung off a flagpole at his side.

“What did you have in mind, Torchy? You’re the better team player here.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes and pressed a little faster forward. “You focus on getting to the front car and rescuing the captives. I’ll cover you, disarm anyone who has a weapon, and try to take out the back-up vans.”

Spider-Man nodded. “We’ll cover each other. Just be careful going after the other two cars; for all we know, they could have hostages inside, too.”

The Human Torch balled up his hands at his sides. “Let’s bust these douchebags.”

Spidey charged ahead first, catapulting skyward and slingshotting himself down the street. Johnny jetted after him, eyes darting between the three vans, fistfuls of fire at the ready. Right as Spider-Man landed on top of the front car, the right side door of the van on the left clattered open, revealing three men dressed in black and armed with the scariest machine guns Johnny had ever seen.

Jesus Christ, Johnny thought, alarm coating his throat. What kind of kidnappers are these guys? Military-grade weapons and matching body armor weren’t prevalent among everyday criminals. These men had funding far beyond any street gang Johnny had encountered. One of the thugs leaned out of the van and pointed his gun at the back of Spider-Man’s head. Magma ignited in Johnny’s blood.

“Nope!” he cried, hurling a fire blast at his hands. “Not today, sir!” Flames exploded in the man’s face, making him drop the weapon with a shout of surprise. The Human Torch propelled himself inside the van, kicking the now unarmed thug into the two other gunmen. They staggered into the back door, scrambling to get to their feet, gawking at the flaming teenager hovering before them. Johnny’s blaze cast a flickering orange glow across the walls of the vehicle and flashed in the men’s dark sunglasses. He swept his gaze across the hostage-less van and smirked.

“No captives,” Johnny noted. “Perfect. No one to get in the way of me wiping the floor with you three.”

“The fuck?” the disarmed thug exclaimed. The other goons grappled frantically with their guns as Johnny summoned flames to his palms. Before they could shoot, Johnny seized the barrels of their assault rifles in his fists and heated his hands so hot, they melted shut. He bashed the useless weapons into their skulls, stunning both men dizzy. The third guy pulled a baton from his belt that buzzed with electricity. Johnny laughed.

“You seriously think that’ll hurt me? I’m made of plasma, dude.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the thug growled. The men had thick Russian accents, like they’d been plucked right out of a James Bond movie. They had such visceral “bad guy” energy, it was almost laughable.

Almost.

“Don’t kidnap children, and I won’t have to be,” the Human Torch countered. The sound of a gun cocking rang from behind him, making him whip around with frenzied movements.

“Don’t shoot!” the goon with the baton ordered. The van’s driver lowered his weapon, looking just as confused as Johnny. “Not that one. We only kill the Spider-Man.”

Johnny faced the thug with a puzzled scoff, throwing his hands in the air. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not good enough for you to kill?”

“Knock him out,” he demanded. “Save your bullets for the Spider.”

Sticky unease swam through his entrails. Why would they want him dead but not me? The goon twirled the baton in his fingers, then charged at him. Johnny met him in the middle—darting forwards and ramming his good shoulder into his chest, knocking him hard enough into the back doors to bust one off its hinges. He screamed and flew out of the van onto the broken door as it skidded across the pavement, sparks flying. Within seconds, he was a receding dot in the distance. The wail of approaching police sirens found Johnny’s ears. Hopefully the cops would grab him before he could make a getaway.

Johnny snatched two pairs of handcuffs from the ominous pile of restraints in the corner and cuffed the remaining thugs to the metal support bars on the wall. Gunfire suddenly exploded from behind him, making him yelp in surprise. Johnny spun around to find the third van careening towards him with four more men inside. They were shooting at Spider-Man, but their car was barreling straight for Johnny. The Human Torch hit the deck as the vehicles collided. The crash made his teeth rattle inside his skull. The van he was in went airborne. He braced for the second impact.

But it didn’t come. Instead, the van bounced and wobbled like it had landed in jello instead of crashing into the sidewalk. Dizzy relief crossed with wary confusion swirled through Johnny’s system as he crawled across the lopsided surface and staggered to his feet. He poked his head out of the sliding door to find the van suspended about ten feet above the pavement, strung between buildings by thick nets of webbing.

Cursing, the vehicle’s driver flung himself out the window to try to escape, only to drop into the tangle of spider webs and wind up trapped and squirming like a fly awaiting a gruesome demise. Far ahead, Spider-Man tottered on top of the van in front, hopping and dancing all over the place to avoid the bullets blasting through the roof beneath his feet. The vehicle zig-zagged between lanes in attempt to shake him off while the second van revved to catch up. Flashing police cars barreled up the road behind them, the overlapping wail of sirens drowning out everything except the pop of gunfire.

Johnny spared himself a moment to admire Spidey’s quick web work, then launched out of the van. Red-hot flames pulsed off his body as he chased the runaway vehicles, which the police were gradually gaining on.

The two remaining vans were charging madly down the road. They clipped parked cars and rammed aside any other vehicles in their way, sending sprays of shattered headlights bounding across the pavement. Spider-Man shot quick globs of webbing at the men in the adjacent van while struggling to dodge the gunfire from the thug in the passenger’s seat underneath him. He caught Johnny’s eye and gave him a wave.

“Johnny!” he called. “Could you—?”

“On it!” Johnny said, racing past him. He whacked the pistol out of the gunman’s hands and grabbed hold of his arm through the window, ignoring his cries of pain. Or perhaps, rather, savoring them. This man was the bastard who had almost shot him. He was the reason Spider-Man knocked him out of the way and wound up getting burnt. He was also, not to mention, a goddamn kidnapper. He deserved every ounce of pain Johnny’s fingers were searing into his skin. Johnny held on a little while longer, tightening his grip just for good measure, the stench of fried flesh filling his nose. Then he kicked off the side of the van, dragging the man out through the window, and chucked him into a pile of garbage bags stacked on the curb. He hoped they smelled just as rank as the dumpster they’d left their captive’s father in.

Spider-Man ducked behind the side of the van as bullets erupted from the opposing vehicle. Johnny faced the car overflowing with thugs and assault rifles as it gunned towards him head-on. Liquid fire coursed through his veins. Summer wind whistled in his ears. He took a deep breath, gathering oxygen into his lungs, then released it as a blast of flames from his palms. The stream of fire spilled over the van’s front tires, making them burst. The car swerved uncontrollably, scraping along on metal rims, streaks of melted rubber trailing behind it. It veered off the road and crashed into a fire hydrant, sending the goons hanging off the sides spilling onto the concrete. A spume of water arched high above their heads and rained across the hot pavement. Johnny checked the van for hostages and was grateful to find none. The police were quick to surround the wreck, so he left the scene for them to handle. The most important pieces of this car chase were still trapped in the final van.

Dead ahead, Spider-Man was clinging onto the remaining vehicle, whose doors remained firmly locked shut. He climbed around to the back of the car and grabbed hold of the handles, yanking with all his might. The doors tore away like tissue paper and bounced down the street. One shivering girl, one crying child, and a trio balking men greeted him on the other side.

Three things happened in the next three seconds.

First, quick as lightning, Spider-Man latched a web-line to the girl’s waist and whipped her out of the van, pulling a shriek from her lips as he flung her down the road. A web hammock unfurled beneath her from a perfectly timed, perfectly aimed web grenade, softening her landing and leaving her ruffled but safe.

“Sorry!” Spidey shouted to her over his shoulder.

Next, a flash bomb went off inside the van, as loud as it was bright, catching the masked hero off guard. He cried out and clutched his eyes, giving the thugs the opportunity to strike. Unaffected by the blast—perhaps due to the creepy sunglasses they all wore—the largest of the men barreled forward and rammed two electrified batons square in the center of Spidey’s chest.

Lastly, Spider-Man fell off the back of the van and struck the unforgiving pavement, rolling and tumbling before sprawling to a stop in the middle of a wide, bustling intersection.

“Spidey!” Johnny gasped. The Human Torch rocketed ahead of the incoming traffic to scoop him off the street—seconds before a semi could stampede over his battered body. He extinguished his flames as much as he could to safely hold him and still stay airborne. The masked vigilante moaned in his arms, volts of electricity jittering through his muscles, hands kneading at his eye lenses. They were squinted into slits and fluttering out of control.

“Agh! Shit! Is that you, Torch? Dammit! We have got to stop meeting like this.”

“Are you all right? Your eye things—they’re flipping out.”

“No kidding. Ugh. Now I have two very different but equally scarring stories to tell about getting flashed in Brooklyn. Still not sure which one hurt my eyes more, but this is certainly giving ‘old man in untied SpongeBob bathrobe’ a run for his money.”

“But you’re okay, right?”

“Mentally speaking? Absolutely not. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the horrors I bore witness to that bitter autumn day. All my remaining innocence, ripped away in a heartbeat. Curse you, old man in untied SpongeBob bathrobe: ruiner of childhoods.”

Worry and frustration boiled to the tip of Johnny’s tongue. “Would you stop making jokes for two seconds and just tell me if you’re all right?”

Startled, Spidey pulled his hands away from his eyes. The lenses were still pinched small and twitching, but gradually returning to normal. He stared at him in silence, tiny rivulets of blood running down his arms and leaping into the breeze.

“You don’t have to do that,” Johnny added, the anger melting from his voice. “You can’t confess to me you crack stupid jokes to hide your fear then turn around five minutes later and try to use it against me. I’m not gonna let it slide.”

Spider-Man started to say something in response, but it died on his lips. Probably another preloaded wisecrack he had to stop himself from unconsciously retorting with. His scorch marks from before were now bisected by a fresh collection of scratches and road burns. The poor hero looked like he’d been thrown into a pit full of rabid, fire-breathing cats.

“I…sorry,” he eventually mumbled, the artificial spark leaving his voice, head slightly hung. “Force of habit. Turning it off is like trying to make yourself stop blinking. Now I’m kinda regretting telling you about that. It’s like my constant, go-to thing.” He gave a frail, awkward laugh, then cleared his throat. “I’m fine, really. I just got stunned by the flash, and it gave them the chance to get a cheap hit in. Heightened senses also means heightened sensitivity, unfortunately. It was a shock to the system, but I’m okay.”

Johnny breathed out slowly, then set his jaw. “We’ve both nearly died way too many times today. I don’t think this ‘team-up’ thing is going so hot for either of us.”

“Hey, at least we know we’re good at rescuing each other seconds before certain doom.”

“Certain doom that we got each other into,” Johnny added grimly.

“Both of us would’ve gone after the kidnappers, whether we were together or alone,” Spidey insisted. “I’m glad we’re doing it together.”

Johnny hinted a smile. “Me too.”

Spider-Man’s gaze dropped to observe his current position: bundled in Johnny’s strong, protective arms. Suddenly bashful, he squirmed against his hold. “You, uh—you know you can put me down now, right? We’ve still got one more rescue to make.”

“I know,” Johnny answered, a grin lifting his lips, making no move to let him go. “You’re just so light and easy to carry. It’s like holding a little puppy. Or a newspaper. Or a handful of grapes. Or one of those sticky climbing toys you throw against the wall. Or—”

“Okay, got it, thank you,” Spider-Man grumbled. He shifted to escape his grip, then stopped suddenly, shooting a glance at the van up ahead. “Wait. That actually gives me an idea.”

“Really?” Johnny snickered. “Which part?”

He turned back to face him. “The throwing the sticky guy part. You’re going to fly as fast as you can towards the back of the van and throw me inside.”

Johnny blinked. “I’m sorry—what? Absolutely not!”

“I need to get between them and the kid!” Spidey explained. “This will catch the thugs by surprise and give me enough momentum to break through their wall of muscle and guns and poorly masked body odor.”

“What if they flash bang you again? Or worse?”

“I’ll be ready this time. Trust me.”

Johnny’s eyes flickered to the three brawny men crowding the cramped van and the obscured shape of the child huddled behind them. He swallowed, throat dry with uncertainty.

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” Johnny said. He fed the fire pulsing off his feet, the flames creeping up his legs and fanning across his torso, driving the two of them faster forward. “Just get the kid out of there, okay?”

Spider-Man nodded. “I will.”

As the fire consumed more and more of his body, Johnny released Spider-Man so the only part of him he was still hanging onto was his wrist. He dragged the masked hero underneath him, their speed climbing, the city streaking by.

Once the goons spotted the heroes making their approach, they started chucking pinecone-sized objects in their direction. The first one hit the ground and exploded on impact directly beneath them, sending Johnny swerving sideways in terror. He leveled himself, gawking in disbelief. Grenades! he realized. They’re throwing goddamn grenades at us! Who the hell is selling these assholes grenades? Better yet—who’s giving them money to buy them? To make matters worse, a constant stream of bullets poured from the back of the van. Johnny wove to avoid the barrage of deadly projectiles: ducking and rolling and snaking left and right. It didn't take long to notice they were shooting at Spider-Man, not him. He had to swing the vigilante around like a red and blue pendulum to keep his narrow frame out of the gunmen's path. Chunks of concrete whizzed past the two teens as more and more explosions tore into the road.

“I’ll try to slow down the driver while you save the kid!” Johnny shouted.

“Okay!” Spidey hollered. “Ready? Throw me…now!”

With a grunt of effort, Johnny swung Spidey back then hurled him forward. The masked hero road the momentum perfectly, bellowing: “Special delivery, coming in hot!” as he flew into the van. Shrieks of surprise sounded from inside as Spider-Man plowed into them feet-first. Johnny whispered an anxious prayer for anyone who was listening: Please keep him safe. Then he soared to the front of the car, locking eyes with the frazzled man in the driver’s seat.

“Stop!” the Human Torch roared, flaring his flames to punctuate the demand. Instead, the driver screamed and floored it. A choked gasp punched out of Johnny’s chest as the van rammed into him. His top half flattened across the hood while his legs knocked against the grill. He grimaced and groaned, hoping the hit hadn’t fractured any of his ribs.

“Jesus,” he coughed, flames flickering weakly. “That’s the exact opposite of what I said.” Shouts and gunshots and the sound of fists landing blows echoed from the back of the van. The whole vehicle bounced and shook, fresh dents buckling out of the frame every few seconds. He couldn’t see how the fight was going—only hear it and hope the masked hero was holding strong. He pushed up on his elbows, palms burning handprints into the paint, weighing his next approach.

Then a man flew screeching from the car, sticking to the nearest streetlamp in a cocoon of webbing. A couple yells and fired rounds later, another thug tumbled from the back onto the street, coated in a layer of spider’s silk as thick as a sleeping bag, wriggling uselessly. Spider-Man is winning, Johnny realized, new strength surging through him. We’ve got this! Almost there!

Johnny clambered the rest of the way onto the hood, white-knuckled as the vehicle bucked and swerved. Maybe if he burnt through the van’s battery cables, he could end this wild car chase once and for all. But if he wasn’t precise enough, he ran the risk of blowing up the entire vehicle. Perhaps he could punch through the windshield and yank the driver out. Or counter their forward momentum by pushing the van backwards with all the power of his flames behind him. He had to act fast. He had to come up with something before—

HOOONK! The shrill warning gave Johnny only seconds to register the incoming disaster. A truck was pulling out in front of them on the left. The van was hurtling through a red light at full-speed. If he stayed put, he’d be crushed between the two vehicles.

But what about Spidey and the kid?

He had no time to think. He kicked off the hood in a panic as the van struck the front of the truck. The van skidded in circles until the wheels lost traction with the road. Johnny sailed into an abandoned construction zone on the sidewalk, taking out a few traffic cones along the way. Debris spewed in every direction as the van crashed down the street, eventually groaning to a feeble stop. When the Human Torch rose off the gritty asphalt, he spotted the van on its side about fifty feet away, smoke streaming out of the engine.

“Shit,” he hissed, rocketing off the ground. The top of the car had been crushed to the point that it blocked the opening to the back of the van. Spider-Man and the kid could be trapped inside, their heads bashed in as much as the vehicle. Johnny dropped behind the car and pulled at the jagged barrier with all his strength, the plastic shell of the van melting beneath his grip. He wasn’t moving fast enough.

“Spidey! Can you hear me? Please tell me you guys are okay!”

No answer came. What if they were dead by the time he pried the car open? They could be bleeding out right now, their bodies twisted into unnatural shapes, their faces slack with shock. Were their hearts still beating? Were they breathing their final breaths? He tried to blink away his last moments with his mother, yet the images rallied to the forefront of his mind. The splashes of red mottling her skin, the crooked angle her neck was bent at, the lively spark fading from her eyes.

“Answer me!” Johnny pleaded, clawing frantically at the mangled van. One of the pieces had softened enough for him to tear. As he ripped it away and flung it aside, a figure came into view—a person sprawled across the floor of the vehicle, moaning and still. Terror seized him, followed by crippling relief, then confusion.

It was the last of the thugs. Thoroughly battered, probably concussed, but alive and likely to stay that way. Too beefy and bulky to be the webhead. Johnny’s arms fell to his sides. But if they aren’t here, then where—?

“Torchy!”

Numb, Johnny spun on his heels. At the end of the block, surrounded by overturned traffic cones and pot holes and smashed car bits, Spider-Man stood in the center of the street, holding the young boy in his arms. Although the masked hero was burned, bruised, and tremendously bloody, he was alive, and the child was, too. Spidey gave him a wave, and Johnny's heart soared. He blasted down the road, scrubbing the tears from his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Spidey asked. Johnny answered by dousing his flames and wrapping the vigilante into a lung-crushing hug. A startled squeak leapt from his throat, followed by a strangled laugh. Johnny squeezed him so hard and held him so close, he could hear the masked hero’s heart thumping inside his chest.

“Ouch! Johnny!” Spider-Man giggled. “Easy! You’re gonna smoosh the kid!”

Even so, the Human Torch hugged him a couple seconds longer, only letting go after the child gave his head a shove. “Oh! Sorry!” he stammered. The boy whined and pouted his lips, burying his face back into the crook of Spider-Man’s neck.

“He’s okay,” Spidey insisted. “Just scared and shaken.”

“That makes two of us,” Johnny said hoarsely. “I thought you guys were trapped inside the van! I thought you were dead!”

Spider-Man glanced at him in surprise. “Really? I guess it was hard to see from your angle. We got out right before the truck hit. I had warning tingles coming from pretty much every direction, but one that big was impossible to ignore.”

Johnny must’ve looked as ashen and haunted as he felt, because the masked hero changed his tune from bright and sunny to soft and reassuring. “We’re fine, all right? Everything’s okay.” He gestured to the chaos scattered around them. “We stopped the bad guys and got everyone out safe.”

The Human Torch clenched his jaw, lowering his gaze. “I hate car wrecks,” he said hollowly.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Neither hero spoke for the next few moments, both of them mourning people who’d passed long ago. Then the kid slowly raised his head from Spidey’s shoulder, tears shining in his eyes. He looked about two with dark hair and skin like his dad.

“Hey there, bud,” Spider-Man said gently, shifting the boy higher up his hip so he sat at his eye-level. “You doing okay? That was scary, huh? You were super brave, though! Avengers-level brave! We’re gonna get you back to your dad real soon, okay?”

At the mention of his father, the boy immediately burst into tears, scrunching up his hands into angry little fists. Johnny flinched back in alarm. He had no experience deescalating toddler meltdowns. Fortunately, Spider-Man stayed calm.

“Shhh, it’s okay! Hey! Watch this!” The masked hero raised his hand in front of the kid’s face, and a card appeared between his fingers—seemingly out of thin air. Then, just as quickly, he made another motion, and the card vanished. The little trick was enough to pique the boy’s interest and distract him from his sobbing. He stared at Spider-Man’s empty palm, sniffling softly, cheeks stained with tear tracks. Spidey faked a dramatic gasp.

“Where’d it go? What do you think? Wait a minute!” He reached behind his ear, wiggling his fingers against his neck as he did, and produced the card once again, saying: “Ah-ha! Here it is! You were hiding it!”

The boy’s hesitant smile transformed into shy giggles. He grabbed for the card, and Spidey let him take it. The softness of the scene was enough to melt Johnny’s heart.

“You’re good with kids,” he observed.

Spider-Man shrugged. “Me-me babysits a lot, but it’s not so easy when I’m in costume. The mask tends to scare them.”

Johnny gestured to the card the boy was currently chewing on. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“Antman showed me,” Spidey beamed. “That guy is weirdly good at close-up magic. There’s one more trick I can do. Let me see if I try—”

He held his palm up to his mouth, but cards suddenly spilled out of his hand, shooting off in random directions and fluttering to the ground. Spider-Man groaned in defeat as Johnny and the child laughed.

“Did you mean to do that?” Johnny snickered.

“No. It was supposed to look like I was barfing them up. Guess I need to keep practicing.”

Johnny grinned at the giggling child. “The kid still liked it.”

Spidey bounced the boy in his arms, making him laugh even harder. Johnny watched the pair like a spectator at the movies: delighted and endeared yet detached from the moment. Cheering others up when they were at their lowest came so naturally to the masked hero. It was like another superpower of his. Johnny wasn’t sure if Spidey even understood the effect he had on those around him. He dismissed his own well-being and acted playful and calm even while in pain—all to make others happy and keep them safe.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Johnny said. He gave the vigilante a hardy clap on the back. It was meant to be a friendly love-tap, but he was surprised when Spider-Man jerked from his touch like he’d electrocuted him, releasing a sharp gasp. Frowning, Johnny retracted his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His gaze wandered down to his palm, which suddenly felt damp. The deep blue of his glove was drenched through with purple stains. It took him a moment to realize his hand was soaked in blood.

Johnny’s eyes snapped up. A particularly dark section of Spider-Man’s suit stood out against the other lesions peppered across his body, smudged just below his rib cage. Up until now, the child had been blocking it. His abdomen had a puncture wound that was leaking a scary amount of blood down his midsection and his back. The fact that Spider-Man was acting so normal and plucky made the devastating injury difficult for Johnny’s mind to grasp. Slowly, his smile fell.

“Spidey…?” he said, trying to read his unreadable stare. He pointed to the spot with his bloodstained fingers. “What is that? What happened? You’re dripping blood!”

The masked vigilante shushed him like a grouchy librarian. “Not in front of the kid!” he snapped. “I don’t want to freak him out any more than he already is!”

Johnny just stared at him. “You’re bleeding out in the street, and your biggest concern is not freaking people out? We need to get you to a hospital!”

“Shhh! Johnny!” Spider-Man spoke in a hushed, exasperated tone. “Avengers Tower has a fully stocked medical bay, all right? I’ll get myself fixed up there, no problem! It’s not a big deal!” He was talking at breakneck speed, as if trying to convince himself.

“Not a big deal?” the Human Torch exclaimed. “What kind of masochistic bullshit are you on? You have a gaping wound in your side!”

“Johnny! You can’t say bullshit in front of kids!”

“I think the gravity of the situation more than warrants it! Besides—you just said it, too!”

“Whatever! I’m telling you I’m fine, okay? I’ve been shot before!”

“You were shot?” Johnny spluttered, gripping the sides of his head in his hands. “What the actual fuck, man? When were you planning to tell me you had a bullet wound in your stomach? Who the hell did that to you? How long has it been there? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Before he could respond, the child erupted into violent sobs once again. Spider-Man sighed, rubbing the boy’s back with one hand and cradling his head with the other.

“Great. Now he’s crying again. Thanks a lot.”

Smoke fizzled from Johnny’s shoulders and fists. “I don’t understand how you’re acting so calm right now! You’ve been shot!”

A crash and a grunt from behind them made both teenagers turn their heads. The van’s driver had smashed through the window and tumbled out of the vehicle onto the street. He started booking it down the road as fast as his legs would carry him.

“Hold this guy a sec,” Spidey said, handing Johnny the kid.

“What? Wait—I don’t—” he began to protest. But suddenly the boy was in his arms, and Spider-Man was marching after the fleeing thug. “Spidey! Come back! I’m not a baby person!”

Spider-Man stopped beside the overturned van and aimed his wrist in front of him. He fired a web grenade down the block, planting it on the side of a car parked a few paces ahead of the thug’s trajectory. At just the right moment, the trap went off; webs exploded all over the kidnapper, pinning him to a trash can in a squirming, screaming heap. Spidey withdrew his arm and pressed a palm to his bullet wound, pinching his eyes shut with a groan of pain. Blood dribbled off his fingers onto the ground.

“Stop moving, Jesus Christ!” Johnny jogged up behind him, laying his free hand against Spider-Man’s chest. “You’re bleeding all over the road!”

“He was getting away,” the vigilante replied, voice a little more ragged, breaths a tad more strained. “I had to stop him.”

Johnny scanned the battered hero up and down. He could see the adrenaline seeping from his bloodstream in real time, giving way to his body’s true state of wounded exhaustion. His arms hung heavy at his sides. He was swaying a little on his feet. The hand holding his injury was saturated in blood. Johnny’s frustration persisted, but the sight of him so broken and pathetic singed every trace of it from his lips. He grabbed Spidey’s wrist and gave it a light squeeze.

“For someone with dodging with powers, you’re awfully good at getting your ass kicked, you know that?” He shook his head in dismay. “Is this a regular thing for you? Getting beat half to death every time you go on patrol?”

The masked hero chuckled thinly. “Happens more often than I’d like to admit, but today’s ass beating was something else. My usual thugs aren’t armed like these guys. They knew my fighting patterns, how to counter my attacks, how to knock my senses out of whack. It’s like they were expecting me to come after them.”

Johnny nodded. “I think they were. They were aiming their guns at you specifically, like they were following orders from someone. The same someone who must be funding their operation; no regular street criminals are packing that kind of firepower.” He pressed the heel of his palm on top of Spidey's hand to help him stem the bleeding, pulling a shivery whimper from his lips. “I can’t believe how badly they hurt you.”

“I couldn’t either,” he hissed through his teeth, “until I noticed the company name on the side of those vans.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, craning his head away from the child, who was trying to rip out fistfuls of his hair. “What do you mean?”

“Veles Taxi,” Spidey said, sparing a glance at his blood-soaked midsection. “It took me a while to realize where I recognized it from. It’s a company that’s owned and operated by the Russian mafia, who are in turn controlled by Kingpin.” He glared at the thug still bound to the trash can. He’d given up trying to break free of the webbing and had resigned himself to pitiful whimpering. “These kidnappers work for Wilson Fisk.”

The Human Torch scoffed. “Fisk? You mean that bald rich guy from Hell’s Kitchen? I didn’t know he was evil. I heard he was trying to win candidacy for New York’s next mayoral election.”

Spider-Man’s eye lenses bulged as wide as physically possible. “What? You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

“I saw it on the news a couple days ago. He even voiced his support for the Fantastic Four—said we were vital to keeping the city safe and that he wanted to work with us if he was elected.”

“That bastard,” Spidey snarled. “How could he…h-how could anyone…?”

He staggered suddenly, knees buckling beneath him. Johnny rushed to catch him, the wounded hero’s weight sagging into his chest. Spider-Man grappled sluggishly with Johnny’s arms, trying to lift himself back upright. The skin on his face that was visible through the cuts in his mask looked sweaty and pale.

“M’fine,” he rasped, pushing him away. “Sorry, I—I’m fine. Tripped.”

“We have to get you some help,” Johnny said distraughtly.

Seconds later, the NYPD came screeching onto the scene. Howling police cars surrounded them, bathing the teenagers in colorful flashing lights. A drizzle of relief settled over Johnny’s heart.

“Shit,” Spider-Man hissed.

“It’s okay,” the Human Torch assured him. “They can help you. We’ll ask them to give you a ride to Avengers Tower.”

“Liam!”

A man stumbled out of one of the cop cars and charged through the barricade of police. It was the father they’d dragged from the dumpster—still grimy and bruised but buzzing with wild hope. The cops roared at him to stop, but he ignored them. He raced towards the superheroes in the center of the road, tears flooding his eyes.

“Daddy!” the boy cheered, reaching out for him. Johnny handed the child to his father, who buried him in his arms and a million adoring kisses.

“My son! My boy! My beautiful Liam!” he wept. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

The reunion inundated Johnny with indescribable warmth. If Sue were here, she’d be scrambling to get pictures taken, people posed, interviews lined up. It was refreshing to save the day, to return a stolen child to his father, and simply bask in the joy of that triumph, instead of exploiting the moment for fan content.

The dad lifted his face from his son’s dark curls and met Johnny’s gaze with an endlessly grateful smile. “Thank you,” he sniffled. “Thank you both. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”

“It was all this guy,” Johnny said, wrapping an arm around the wounded vigilante, who was fighting to stay on his feet. “Spider-Man’s the one who got him out of there. I just burned some shit, flipped a van or two.”

The father turned to the masked hero nervously. “Thank you, Spider-Man. Please take care of yourself. That looks really bad.”

Spider-Man gave him a bloody thumbs up. “Yep. That’s up next on my to-do list.” His voice sounded gravelly, like he was speaking through gritted teeth. “Make sure you get yourselves checked out, too. And give Liam all the chocolate pudding he wants for being so brave. He t-told me it’s his favorite.”

The dad chuckled. “Will do.”

As father and son were led to an ambulance, the cops approached the two teens on high alert. Johnny slung Spidey’s arm over his shoulder and started to guide him towards the police, but the masked hero dragged his feet.

“Johnny…” he grated out. “I can’t. They’re not going to help. I have to go.”

“What?” Johnny exclaimed. “Of course they will. They saw you save the kid. Plus, you’re with me. I work with them all the time. It’ll be okay.”

“Mr. Storm!” the cop at the front of the wedge of officers called. “Step away from Spider-Man and stand aside!”

Johnny approached the policewoman with the masked hero in tow, throwing her a wave. “Chief Yuri! Nice to see you! Loving the new haircut! Really complements your bone structure!” He patted the side of the vigilante’s head, which was slightly drooped towards the ground. “My friend Spider-Man here got shot by those thugs and needs a ride to Avengers Tower for medical assistance! Could one of your officers give us a lift?”

“Stop where you are!” Chief Yuri demanded, fingering the gun in her holster. “Don’t make me ask again, Storm! Drop the vigilante and stand down!”

Johnny froze in place, unfamiliar fear spearing through him. He swept his gaze across the sea of icy stares and glinting badges. His grip tightened around Spidey’s waist.

“What’s your problem?” he snapped. “Can’t you see he needs help? He just risked his life to save two hostages! Why are you acting like he’s the bad guy here?”

“Please, Johnny,” the injured hero implored. “I can get back on my own. Just let me go.” He tugged weakly against Johnny’s hold. The Human Torch pinned him to his side and clasped his wrist in his bloody fingers.

“Spider-Man is under arrest for unlawful vigilantism, arson, theft, destruction of public property, and too many other things for me to list out right now. He’s not worth the trouble, Storm. Hand him over and step aside, now.”

Johnny’s tongue tasted like lead. Even when people witnessed Spidey’s heroics firsthand, they still rallied against him. How could they be so blinded by lies? Why couldn’t they see him the way Johnny did? What possessed the world to love the Human Torch so fondly and hate Spider-Man so mercilessly?

The officers pressed in around them, guns at the ready. The masked vigilante was fading by the second. Johnny’s hands were slicked with his blood. He stared down the police chief, fury churning in his gut.

“If I leave with him, will you shoot me?”

Yuri’s eyes widened. “Don’t do anything rash, kid. You’re a hero. He’s a criminal. I’d hate for that to get twisted.”

“And I’d hate to think how my fans would react to the NYPD killing their favorite superhero,” Johnny countered. “My teammates, too.”

“At this rate, they may not be your fans for long.”

Johnny bared his teeth, then laughed. “The chief of police, trying to lecture me about good PR. That’s rich. You’re the ones the public barely trusts. Your image depends on me smiling and shaking hands with your officers like they actually help us instead of just getting in the way. You need my endorsement, but I don’t need yours.”

“He doesn’t mean that!” Spider-Man blurted out. “I’m sure you’re all v-very good at your jobs and want to stay friends with the Fantastic Four and wow chief that haircut does frame your face well and—mmph!”

The Human Torch smothered him into silence. “Hey! Can it, Webhead!”

The block fell eerily quiet. Spider-Man spat muffled curses into his palm. Chief Yuri shook her head.

“You’re making a mistake, Storm.”

Johnny tilted his chin towards the sky. “I’m leaving.”

Bright yellow flames jetted cautiously from his feet, lifting the two of them off the ground. Johnny held the police chief’s gaze, daring her to stop him. Yuri’s face twisted with frustration, but her hand lifted reluctantly from her holster.

“Hold your fire,” she demanded. “Clear the street.”

A tiny crumb of his anxiety eased. Johnny hooked an arm underneath Spidey’s knees and whisked him fully off his feet, ignoring his protests as he cradled his spindly shape close to his chest. He looked and felt so fragile—and this time, it was true. Fire encased his lower half and carried them above the city, away from the leering cops, the wreckage, and out of harm’s path. Skyscrapers whisked beneath them, followed by the dark maw of the river. Johnny braced his hand against the exit wound on Spider-Man’s back so both sides of the bullet hole had pressure on them. A ragged moan rose in his throat.

“I got you, okay? I’m taking you home.”

“You d-didn’t have to do that,” Spider-Man said, voice choked with pain. “Now the cops will hate you, too.”

“Let them,” Johnny growled. “I never liked those bastards, anyway. ACAB, am I right?”

The masked hero managed a dismal laugh. “Yeah. Fuck the police.”

The moon hung low over the East River. Spider-Man’s head rested just beneath Johnny’s shoulder, close enough for him to lean down and plant a kiss on his temple. The thought made him blush, and he discarded it immediately. The audacity of his emotions never ceased to astound him.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” Spidey murmured. His eye lenses blinked slowly, half-closed and drooping. “This w-wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“As far as team-ups go, it was a pretty badass evening. Dangerous criminals, mid-car-chase battles, a son reunited with his father, pissed off cops. As soon as you’re healed, I’m crashing every last one of your late night patrols from here on out.”

The hand Spider-Man wasn’t clutching his wound with tightened its grip on Johnny’s shoulder. “Thanks for s-sticking up for me,” he said.

Butterflies danced up Johnny’s throat. “Oh—of course. How could I not?” He swallowed as many of them down as he could. “You risked your life to save those people. You took a bullet to protect them from those monsters. I am now and forever officially crowning you the Ultimate King Bad Boy. Congratulations, your majesty.”

When Spider-Man didn’t respond, Johnny glanced down in surprise. The masked hero’s eye lenses had slipped shut, and his cheek was squished against his sternum. At first, Johnny marveled at how cute and sleepy he looked. Like a baby kitten snoozing in his arms. Then he remembered he was on the brink of bleeding out, and gave the vigilante a violent shake.

“Whoa! Hey! Wakey-wakey, Webhead! I know you must be tired, but you can’t fall asleep yet!”

Spider-Man jerked back to consciousness, then scrunched into a moaning little ball, gripping his bloody torso. “Ugh. No fair. You’re the one who woke me up at crack of ass o’clock this morning and didn’t let me nap after the p-power demos…”

Johnny deflated with relief. “We’re almost there, okay? Just hang on a little bit longer. And once we get you all fixed up, I’ll let you sleep as late as you want tomorrow. No early morning wake-up calls.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Spidey slumped against his chest with a pitiful whimper. “It’s so hard,” he whined. “My eyes won’t stay open.”

Johnny pursed his lips in thought. “Why don’t you tell me about something sciencey? Go on one of your nerdy little rants. That ought to keep you awake.”

The masked hero’s eye lenses flicked wide, blinking twice. “Does it annoy you when I talk about that kind of stuff?” he asked timidly. It broke Johnny’s heart when he realized he was being genuine. It was a challenge not to immediately drown him in words of affirmation.

“It pisses me off that you’re so much smarter than me,” Johnny chuckled. He gazed across the shimmering expanse beneath them and the blue-black endlessness above, unable to meet his gaze. “But no, it doesn’t annoy me. I like listening to people talk about the things they’re passionate about. Even if I don’t understand half of what you’re saying.”

Spider-Man hummed in sleepy acknowledgment, eye lenses sinking closed again. Johnny gave him a second shake, this one a tad more gentle than the first.

“Come on, bud. Tell me more about your webbing. You said it was hard to make, right? Walk me through it. Every nitty-gritty detail.”

He yawned into Johnny’s shoulder. “Can I do it with my eyes closed?”

“As long as you’re awake and talking.”

“Mm’kay,” he mumbled. He snuggled a little deeper into his embrace. “Let’s see. The hardest thing was f-finding the right balance between strength, malleability, and stickiness. The tensile strength of natural spider silk is 1.75 GPa, which means it’s really strong, but not flexible enough for my purposes. 1.0 gigapascals wound up being the sweet spot. Load-bearing and strong, able to withstand extreme amounts of weight and stress, but with a little stretch to it. I borrowed some materials from my school to synthesize my first formula. I started with salicylic acid, toulene, methanol, carbon tetrachloride, and potassium carbonate, but something was missing…”

He rambled in his arms the rest of the way to the tower, nodding off a couple more times mid-sentence, forcing Johnny to softly rouse him. He prompted him questions when his tangents slowed, asking what this word meant, what that compound did, why he decided to try this thing instead of something else. He listened and held him and tried not to think about the warm, wet stickiness of the vigilante’s blood on his hands. He listened, and decided it was enough.

This was enough. Just being around him. Being his friend. Bearing witness to his goofy, reckless, motor-mouth way of moving through the world. Watching him throw himself in harm’s way to protect others; defending him from those who sought his destruction. Coaxing out his radiant laugh and sunning himself in the halo of light that gleamed off the webhead like a warm, perpetual aurora. Learning his quirks and passions and fears. Fighting by his side. Overriding his self-sacrificial tendencies. Teasing, taunting, poking fun. Being super awesome superhero besties, and nothing more.

Johnny Storm wasn’t allowed to fall for Spider-Man. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

But what to do with this abundance of affection with no place to go?

Well.

If he couldn’t love him, perhaps the world could love him for him.

In that moment, with the wounded hero prattling drowsily in his arms, Johnny vowed he would make the universe see Spider-Man for who he was. No more deceptive headlines, no more twisted narratives, no more blatant lies. No more Daily Bugle tabloids running unopposed; no more pacifying Sue or their investors. Spidey was a hero, and Johnny Storm was going to prove it. Once the public got a glimpse of the real friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, they wouldn’t be able to resist it. They’d have no choice but to fall in love.

Avengers Tower rose like a beacon on the horizon. Johnny Storm bore the masked hero across the city determinedly.

It was enough.

It had to be enough.

#slow burn #spider-man #spideytorch #peter parker x johnny storm #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #johnny storm #my writing #bi peter parker #fantastic 4 #fantastic four #enemies to lovers

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kvetchlandia · 2 years ago

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I’m an old man now, and a lonesome man in Kansas but not afraid to speak my lonesomeness in a car, because not only my lonesomeness it’s Ours, all over America, O tender fellows— & spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy in the moon 100 years ago or in the middle of Kansas now. It’s not the vast plains mute our mouths that fill at midnite with ecstatic language when our trembling bodies hold each other breast to breast on a mattress— Not the empty sky that hides the feeling from our faces nor our skirts and trousers that conceal the bodylove emanating in a glow of beloved skin, white smooth abdomen down to the hair between our legs, It’s not a God that bore us that forbid our Being, like a sunny rose all red with naked joy between our eyes & bellies, yes All we do is for this frightened thing we call Love, want and lack— fear that we aren’t the one whose body could be beloved of all the brides of Kansas City, kissed all over by every boy of Wichita— O but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me— On the bridge over Republican River almost in tears to know how to speak the right language— on the frosty broad road uphill between highway embankments I search for the language that is also yours— almost all our language has been taxed by war. Radio antennae high tension wires ranging from Junction City across the plains— highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow lanes curving past Abilene to Denver filled with old heroes of love— to Wichita where McClure’s mind burst into animal beauty drunk, getting laid in a car in a neon misted street 15 years ago— to Independence where the old man’s still alive who loosed the bomb that’s slaved all human consciousness and made the body universe a place of fear— Now, speeding along the empty plain, no giant demon machine visible on the horizon but tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky’s edge I claim my birthright! reborn forever as long as Man in Kansas or other universe—Joy reborn after the vast sadness of the War Gods! A lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear imagining that throng of Selves that make this nation one body of Prophecy languaged by Declaration as Pursuit of Happiness! I call all Powers of imagination to my side in this auto to make Prophecy, all Lords of human kingdoms to come Shambu Bharti Baba naked covered with ash Khaki Baba fat-bellied mad with the dogs Dehorahava Baba who moans Oh how wounded, How wounded Sitaram Onkar Das Thakur who commands give up your desire Satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquility Kali Pada Guha Roy whose yoga drops before the void Shivananda who touches the breast and says OM Srimata Krishnaji of Brindaban who says take for your guru William Blake the invisible father of English visions Sri Ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes half closed who only cries for his mother Chitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise merciful Chango judging our bodies Durga-Ma covered with blood destroyer of battlefield illusions million faced Tathagata gone past suffering Preserver Harekrishna returning in the age of pain Sacred Heart my Christ acceptable Allah the compassionate one Jaweh Righteous One all Knowledge-Princes of Earth-man, all ancient Seraphim of heavenly Desire, Devas, yogis & holymen I chant to— Come to my lone presence into this Vortex named Kansas, I lift my voice aloud, make Mantra of American language now, I here declare the end of the War! Ancient days’ Illusion!— and pronounce words beginning my own millennium. Let the States tremble, let the nation weep, let Congress legislate its own delight, let the President execute his own desire— this Act done by my own voice, nameless Mystery— published to my own senses, blissfully received by my own form approved with pleasure by my sensations manifestation of my very thought accomplished in my own imagination all realms within my consciousness fulfilled 60 miles from Wichita near El Dorado, The Golden One, in chill earthly mist houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward in every direction one midwinter afternoon Sunday called the day of the Lord— Pure Spring Water gathered in one tower where Florence is set on a hill, stop for tea & gas

Cars passing their messages along country crossroads to populaces cement-networked on flatness, giant white mist on earth and a Wichita Eagle-Beacon headlines “Kennedy Urges Cong Get Chair in Negotiations” The War is gone, Language emerging on the motel news stand, the right magic Formula, the language known in the back of the mind before, now in black print daily consciousness Eagle News Services Saigon— Headline Surrounded Vietcong Charge Into Fire Fight the suffering not yet ended for others The last spasms of the dragon of pain shoot thru the muscles a crackling around the eyeballs of a sensitive yellow boy by a muddy wall Continued from page one area after the Marines killed 256 Vietcong captured 31 ten day operation Harvest Moon last December Language language U.S. Military Spokesmen Language language Cong death toll has soared to 100 in First Air Cavalry Division’s Sector of Language language Operation White Wing near Bong Son Some of the Language language Communist Language language soldiers charged so desperately they were struck with six or seven bullets before they fell Language Language M-60 Machine Guns Language language in La Drang Valley the terrain is rougher infested with leeches and scorpions The war was over several hours ago! Oh at last again the radio opens blue Invitations! Angelic Dylan singing across the nation “When all your children start to resent you Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?” His youthful voice making glad the brown endless meadows His tenderness penetrating aether, soft prayer on the airwaves, Language language, and sweet music too even unto thee, hairy flatness! even unto thee despairing Burns! Future speeding on swift wheels straight to the heart of Wichita! Now radio voices cry population hunger world if unhappy people waiting for Man to be born O man in America! you certainly smell good the radio says passing mysterious families of winking towers grouped round a Quonset-hut on a hillock— feed storage or military fear factory here? Sensitive City, Ooh! Hamburger & Skelley’s Gas lights feed man and machine, Kansas Electric Substation aluminum robot signals thru thin antennae towers above the empty football field at Sunday dusk to a solitary derrick that pumps oil from the unconscious working night & day & factory gas-flares edge a huge golf course where tired businessmen can come and play— Cloverleaf, Merging Traffic East Wichita turnoff McConnell Airforce Base nourishing the City— Lights rising in the suburbs Supermarket Texaco brilliance starred over streetlamp vertebrae on Kellogg, green jeweled traffic lights confronting the windshield, Centertown ganglion entered! Crowds of autos moving with their lightshine, signbulbs winking in the driver’s eyeball— The human nest collected, neon lit, and sunburst signed for business as usual, except on the Lord’s Day— Redeemer Lutheran’s three crosses lit on the lawn reminder of our sins and Titsworth offers insurance on Hydraulic by De Voors Guard’s Mortuary for outmoded bodies of the human vehicle which no Titsworth of insurance will customize for resale— So home, traveler, past the newspaper language factory under Union Station railroad bridge on Douglas to the center of the Vortex, calmly returned to Hotel Eaton Carry Nation began the war on Vietnam here with an angry smashing ax attacking Wine— Here fifty years ago, by her violence began a vortex of hatred that defoliated the Mekong Delta— Proud Wichita! vain Wichita cast the first stone!— That murdered my mother who died of the communist anticommunist psychosis in the madhouse one decade long ago complaining about wires of masscommunication in her head and phantom political voices in the air besmirching her girlish character. Many another has suffered death and madness in the Vortex from Hydraulic to the end of 17th –enough! The war is over now— Except for the souls held prisoner in Niggertown still pining for love of your tender white bodies O children of Wichita!

-- Allen Ginsberg, “Wichita Vortex Sutra” 1966

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koishua · 2 years ago

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UNFORGIVEN ALBUM REVIEW

i have so much to say about these tracks y'all the wait was worth it it always is when it's with them!! UNFORGIVEN as a title track slaps i can't overstate how amazing this turned out thank you nile rodgers this is incredible i adore the beats though i wish that for the "unforgiven girls" part, the vocals were stronger in volume and impression bc it's SUCH a hype section i can already imagine ceremonies starting with that exact part!! the melody just evokes that feeling if you know what i mean?? and yunjin's grungy voice compliments this song and its message so so well. also kkura's deep voice?? she is an icon she has always been the moment but oml zuha's wings and her lines are SO good i won't even start talking about chaewon bc y'all know how i feel about her gosh she never ever disappoints. now for manchae oml she has come so far from fearless and she's getting better and better each comeback and she's starting to solidify her presence on stage im so excited for five years down the line how she's going to turn out!! the choreo snippet from knowing bros had already surprised me so much i love love love their choreos and this one has to be one of my top threes?? anyways not to get too deep into this so im going to just keep it like this and move on. overall 9.5/10

NO-RETURN (INTO THE UNKNOWN) — the bass!! they have a signature feel-good sound to their tracks similar to this you just want to get up and jump or dance around with a smile on your face. the saxophone is that a saxophone in the chorus that took me off guard in the best way really. the brass is so cnncncbc!! chaewon and yunjin carry the vocal heavy parts and they do it amazingly like they may not be the strongest vocalists ever but they're strong in their own ways that fit le sserafim's sound so well!! overall 9/10

EVE, PSYCHE & THE BLUEBEARD'S WIFE — i know a club song when i hear one despite not ever being in one 😔😔 the beat im salivating this is my three am hallucinating dancing in the dark in my own room type of song i swear to you the verses after the first chorus has me in a chokehold. the things i would do to get to listen to this in a concert setting and ascend with the bridge and then the drum pads that come in right after like stfu. overall 9/10

FEARNOT (BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND THE LAMPPOST) — i just started writing a small fic based on this song and its vibes!! this makes me feel all sorts of things and the lyrics are straight out of a heartwarming story. this is one of my most favourite songs from this album. it's so atmospheric with the electric guitar building up to the chorus and the drum beats that kick in and their vocals. the melody is beautiful and i just can't get over the vibes. i cried while i first listened to this half an hour ago actually ;-; i don't have any single thing to complain about in this song. "i go where you go" line being given to chaewon was an amazing decision because her voice is so pure and it felt like i was pulled into another world for the brief moment she sung with the background going silent :') i think this will be one of my most listened to songs on spotify this year. overall 10/10

FLASH FORWARD — this is exactly my vibe i listen to these kinds of songs everyday all day it's just so vibey and you can strut playfully to this song down the street and sway and jam all you want and it feels like flowers of all bright colours are blooming all around you as you go!! it's like it brightens up the world around each step you take :< it's just feel-good. overall 9/10

FIRE IN THE BELLY — when i say hot damn i want to shake my hips and call my latina friends and have them listen to this. the chorus makes something in my chest feel so full with life!! reminds me of my childhood especially the olé olé olé in the background chants ugh im a little tired from all of the jumping and screeching i did within the last hour so my brain is slowing down just know that it's overall a 9/10 for me for this too

CONCLUSION i love them they occupy a large spot in my heart i can't ever dislike any song they release and i know it seems like im giving way too many compliments but i can't help it idc if it's subjective they just make good ass music ‼️

#tp #le sserafim #unforgiven

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xasha777 · 8 months ago

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In a world not unlike our own, where the line between science and magic blurred, the city of Neo-Gotham had always been a beacon of human ingenuity. The glittering skyscrapers, born from the restless dreams of architects and alchemists, stood tall against the canvas of the ever-changing sky.

But that day, the sky was an angry swirl of thunderheads, and the city was on the verge of despair. The citizens of Neo-Gotham had faced many challenges before—corporate warlocks, cybernetic beasts, rogue AIs—but the tempest above was the herald of something far more ancient and formidable.

Aranyaka, the primeval force of nature that had slumbered in the heart of the Neo-Gotham Central Park, had awakened. The very essence of wilderness, the spirit that predated the concrete jungles and neon lights, was stirring, its energies disrupting the fabric of the city.

Amidst this chaos, there emerged an unlikely hero. Whiskers fluttering in the storm, a feline figure stood proudly upon a gnarled branch that overlooked the metropolis. Clad in a shimmering cape with the emblem of a storied hero from another era, this was no ordinary cat.

His name was Leo, but the streets whispered his legend as "The Super Cat." Genetically enhanced by a forgotten technology, Leo possessed intellect and powers that rivaled the greatest superheroes of yore. His once-human companions had designed him as a protector, a guardian of the peace in a world teetering on the edge of tomorrow.

As the storm unleashed its fury upon Neo-Gotham, Leo's eyes glowed with a cosmic light. He could feel the pulse of Aranyaka, the wild heartbeat of the world, calling to him. It was a call to restore balance, to weave together the strands of science and nature that humanity had so carelessly unraveled.

With a graceful leap, Leo soared into the belly of the storm, his cape trailing like a comet's tail. The rain lashed at him, the winds roared their defiance, but Leo was resolute. He had to reach the core of the tempest, where Aranyaka's power was the strongest.

There, at the eye of the storm, Leo found the heart of Aranyaka—a vortex of primal energy, pulsing with life and ancient knowledge. It was not wrath that drove the spirit but a plea for recognition, for a place in the neon glow of the city it once called home.

Leo, with his paws channeling the ancient rites of the techno-mystics, began the dance of communion. He wove around him a tapestry of quantum spells and whispered enchantments that spoke of coexistence and harmony.

As the incantations grew stronger, the storm abated, the winds calmed, and the skies cleared to reveal the stars above. Neo-Gotham, bathed in the celestial light, looked on in wonder as their Super Cat descended, the tempest tamed and the spirit of Aranyaka soothed.

From that day forward, Neo-Gotham thrived like never before, a city in balance, where technology and nature existed as one. And at the heart of it all was Leo, the feline guardian, the bridge between worlds, the Super Cat who had saved them all.

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shop-korea · 1 year ago

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10 MUST HAVE gorgeous girly Summer outfits! 🤍 ~ Freddy My love

youtube

YESTERDAY - LESS - INTENSE

BUT - SHORT - HURRICANE FL

METROMOVER - STOPPED AT

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EIGHT STREET

THUS - DID - LIGHT - VERSION

LEILAH ISAAC - BELLY DANCE

NEW - YEAR's - BUT - MONDAY

MAIN - LIBRARY - CLOSED - SO

SAMSUNG - OFF - THUS - LEFT

DURING - BREAK OF - IAN - YES

NO - 'TRANSPORTATION' - BUT

$$$ - STORAGE - SO - WALKED

WENT - AGAIN - SW 7 ST - YES

OLD - STORAGE - SW 2 AV - SO

LIGHT - RAIN - WALKED - THAT

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GOING - DOWN - FLOOD - THE

R SIDE - WORRIED - CROSSED

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OVER - 5 MIN - WALKING -

ONLY - TAKES - LONG TO -

GO 2 - METROMOVER SO -

WILL - FIND - GUY - CAN I -

HAVE - ELECTRICITY AND -

FOLDABLE - ELECTIC YES -

KETTLE - SMALL BACK OF -

MEASURING - TAPE - ONLY -

17 CM - BY 13 CM - CUTEST -

FOUND - SMALLER 2 BAGS -

RED - PINK OVER - $11 AND -

WATERPROOF - BACK FOR -

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RIGHT - NOW - THUS - TAKE -

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OVER - 5 MIN - WALKING SO -

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GO - 2 - INNER - LOOP - EXIT -

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IS - GROOVY - EVERYTHING -

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JESUS - IS - LORD - GIVERS -

FOOD - DRINK - CLOTHES -

HISPANICS - & CATHOLICS -

99% - SUPER - COOL - YES

#Youtube

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b0kksu · 4 months ago

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The beauty of luscious green that he once tended to with nimble hands, warmth that exhibits itself in long digits, he loved the way each vine would grow. In these halls, his figure would move with a feline-like elegance, the eternal boy that burned with a purity all too lost in this cruel world, he would laugh && call it home. The song remains the same, encapsulated in times, a reputation that forced his hands to move in the same rhythm, just like before, one, two, three - dance. All that is missing was sunlight, the absence that grows thick over time && somewhere, in the void of darkness he wondered if his heart became lost too. Satoru could not weep, crying was an unthinkable act, he was to be higher than a regular ghoul, a dream that no human could conjure up in their wildest of fantasies.

Why was he here? In mid air, his fingers stop && eerie nature the all perfection in pristine white appears confused. I live here, he wants to retort, I have lived here long before && even when you were gone. In another life, the bench would be occupied by them both, there would never be an empty seat in the audience. “My house is near, the train station isn’t too far, don’t you remember?” luxurious neighbors with their pristine French deco homes, obscene wealth && fancy cars, he walked their streets - none were the wiser. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru they sang his name in saccharine coos, interviews, glossy magazine sheets with his image upon them, would they butcher their idol if they knew the reality? Without hesitation. His eyes roll, behind the designer brand glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose - this time, the wire frame is switched for red glossy cherry, jelly like, absurdly carefree.

“It’s fine, I bought it yesterday, it won’t spoil” he doesn’t elaborate any deeper, there was no need, those who could not hunt had the option of meat via butchers - the irony made him want to laugh. There’s a low hiss, guttural && irritated, he loved that song. Precious, like a prayer he selfishly made when everything told him to become an altar, the fabled one eyed god who must give, even when his corpse was licked clean, his bones would never be his own. “Stop, I’m not arguing with you anymore” exasperated he sounds nostalgic, the phantom-like mimicry of their collective story, Suguru always worries even when he had no obligation. Hunger is another word for yearning, in a world where might && strength triumphed over all, he had no qualms cackling in the midst of a battle high; then, why must it be so difficult to protest when they were together? “You’re not supposed to be here” neither is he.

The single bed that nudges sweetly against the window, he wants to curl into the soft fabric && wait till morning, let the light kiss his cool cheeks, feed the absence of a love that has paused once used to. Immaculate nails curl into his palms, leaving behind crescent indents, the eye weeps && red always remained to be his color. It’s low, a desperate chitter that entwines itself in the casualty of their shared dialect, a lilt that rivals the melody he plays spoken sweetly && heart wrenching.

“You’re just as starved as I, don’t you see it? A couple of pastries can’t fill our bellies. Not even a fresh kill, it’s why we can’t leave this place, the fridge could be filled with the most sweetest of cuts && we’d still starve to death” his pale grasp reaches upwards, coiling around the other’s wrist && there is a hesitation in his touch as he taunts. “My mate used to feed me from his palms, he knew each cut, there are times I ponder - does he remember or has he willfully forgotten?”

The small gods of the sacred places Geto Suguru penetrates in his forbidden return knew the truth: his whole existence was a violation. It's in the creaking of the wooden floors and the low humming of the refrigerator kept well-stocked and running ( no one's turned off the electricity here; someone's still paying the bills and leaving foot prints on the carpet, so the spores never have a chance to settle even if the still air grows stale and bitter with time — but no one lives here anymore; they just come and go, shake the dust and breathe in mothballs like imperfect guests in the wake of perfect residents laid to rest with one last goodbye that spans the length of his whole life and follows him like the corpse of his errors and the spirit in his ear that asks: is the house haunted or is it him? look at you, Suguru, always making ghosts for yourself but you can't stay dead / you can't stay gone / why'd you even leave? ), and how the apartment sighs when inhabited by bodies that have never left. Not really, anyway.

( He closes his eyes and he's sixteen again, with his whole life ahead of him, and this place is home and not a hiding place: a place he hides in his heart, a place that stays hidden, a place he wishes he could hide. He feels like a stranger in this place. )

“Why are you here?” He addresses the wraith sat on the piano bench, but it's only a delusion to think Satoru remains untouched by time even if he plays the same song. It's missing violin accompaniment: a companion ( and whose fault is that? ). He stops to listen to the melody of the past as Satoru talks about modern things with a thin voice. It's the fault of humans. “Don't tell me you're hiding from Doves and starving yourself. Waiting for a sale?” There's no point in waiting for the perfect moment. “You should take what you need from them. I'll check the meat.” ( In this way, he makes himself useful. ) “If it's gone bad, we're going hunting. The Family Mart's open 24/7.” Everyone needs to make ends meet. He thinks they needed it more than them. He thinks they have never really been hungry enough if they call places of nourishment convenience stores. All humans cared about was their own convenience. That's all the more reason Suguru, a ghoul whose existence was inconvenient, needed to take from them. They've taken something from him; among their history of taking, they've committed a theft most unforgivable. They've stolen something they should never have touched as long as he was alive. “Satoru.”

He closes the lid to the piano and hides the monochrome keys that divide the song in black and white. “You're coming with me. I can tell you're hungry.”

#timeline: TOKYO GHOUL.*#kuidaorc #// satoru vc: bruh could you close the fridge I pay the power bill #// haunting your former lover just casual straight dude things

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murderousginger · 4 years ago

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Wild Heart

John Shelby x reader

Word count: 1126

Warnings: They're criminals guys, they do bad things.

This song requested by @peakyrogers. John's 16 in this, before the war.

1911

Their laughter echoed the halls, louder than the grunts and grumbling of the officers dragging them both to the cells.

"They're both fuckin' mad," one of the officers exclaimed as he yanked John's arm to keep him from kicking another officer.

Two officers held your arms as you laughed and fought behind John and the three officers holding him. You both stunk of whiskey and were dazed, wild eyed and hyper.

"They say we're mad, John boy," you cackled, throwing your head back and almost headbutting an officer behind you.

"Mad as hatters, doll," John yipped as he bucked backward from their grip and crashed into you, kissing you hard before they pulled you apart.

"Separate cells," one of the officers yelled to the one unlocking a cell ahead. "We'll need separate cells or else she'll be knocked up by morning."

"You think bars'll stop that if we want it?" John laughed as they threw him in the drunk tank with two other men. He grabbed the bars and swung around as he made a wild call.

They opened the next cell over and pushed you in. You stumbled into the cell before you gathered your footing and rushed to the shared wall. John followed, cupping your face as you both kissed through the bars.

"Young lust, eh?" One of the officers laughed.

And maybe it was, but neither of you cared.

The night had started like any other. You both snuck out of your houses and met each other on the cobblestone in hushed giggles. John spun you until you squealed and kissed you to quiet you, laughing against your lips. He took your hand and you both ran down the road until you were to the canal.

John's grin split his face as he pulled a full bottle of whiskey from a bush.

"You plannin' on getting me drunk and takin' advantage of me, John Shelby?" You asked with a smile.

"Who's to say you won't take advantage of me?" He scoffed. "Those eyes don't look so innocent."

"Guess we'll have to find out," you sang as you came close and kissed him before wrestling the bottle from his hand and skipping off.

And drunk you both were.

You had finished off the bottle and got bored dancing through the empty streets, so John had decided to drag you to the local tavern to find his older brothers.

"The kids got a visitor," an officer called an hour later as he opened the door for an older boy to walk through.

John yipped.

"Arthur!" He called as he stood up and opened his arms. "Never thought I'd be so happy to see your ugly mug."

"Now, brother, don't go insulting your savior," the boy warned with a finger. "You're lucky I answered the door without Pol waking up."

"Oh she most certainly woke up," an agitated voice called out.

"Bloody hell, John," the older boy chuckled. "You're in for it now."

"Shut up, Arthur, as if you're any better," the woman snapped as she tugged a sleepy child behind her and a teen girl rested in the doorway. "What in the hell did you do now, John Shelby? What did he do?"

"Fuckin' hell," John said as he rubbed his face. "Where's Tommy to make it a whole body family affair?"

"Gone in the night but not caught by the coppers," the woman quipped. "So what did he do?"

The woman glared at the policemen fiercely, waiting for an answer. One of the policemen finally stepped forward.

"He and the girl were making mischief, mum," he said. "They were throwing bottles at people and the boy got in a fist fight."

"It's always some bloody girl," she growled as she scanned the room and locked eyes with you. "This the tarte?"

"Seeing as I'm the only girl behind bars, ma'am, I'd hope so," you giggled drunkenly. "Otherwise our John has some explaining to do."

Your eyes floated to John, whose demeanor has completely changed. He was stiff-backed and his face had fallen. He shot you a glance, making a quick cutting motion with his hand.

"So you've found a girl just as stupid as you," the woman said as she cocked her eyebrow. "No wonder you're behind bars tonight. What's your name, tarte?"

"Y/N, ma'am," you said quietly as your hands fidgeted with your dress.

"I got her into this, Pol," John said as he stepped closer to the bars.

"Aunt Pol," the woman snapped. "You're still under my care and if you're going to grovel, do it properly."

"Aunt Polly," John corrected as his hands reached the bars and he pressed his face to them. "It's all my doing, really. I'm to blame. It's not fair to keep her here all night because of me."

"And who said you weren't staying in that cell tonight?" Polly eyed him. "I've a mind to let them keep you. What happened to your lip?"

"We both know you wouldn't drag everyone out of bed to show me off like a pony just to leave me here," John reasoned. "Especially with work in the morning."

"He split his lip fighting for me, ma'am," you said quietly as you stepped forward. "A man had grabbed me and he was defending my honor."

You reached the bars near the corner closest to John and he silently reached for your hand. You clasped his hand in baited breath as you waited for Polly to speak.

Polly looked between you both and then at your hands, held between bars.

"I've barely enough to get your arse out," Polly sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I've got it," Arthur spoke up. "I can cover her if you've got John. Was the plan to get him out without bothering you, anyway, until Ada woke you."

"So Ada's the rat," John said as he stuck his tongue out at the teen girl with her arms crossed by the door. "See if I keep quiet about that boy next time, dear sister."

Ada flushed and rolled her eyes as Polly and Arthur's eyes shot to the girl.

"Bloody teenagers," Polly muttered before looking back to the policeman. "Fine then, let them out. I'll take them both. Bloody idiots."

1914

"Are you coming back?" You said, refusing to let go of John. "Please tell me you're coming back."

Your fingers gripped his uniform, wrinkling the fabric as he hugged you back tightly before pulling you away from his chest. His hand rested protectively over your swollen belly as the train whistled behind him.

"I'd be crazy not to," he said with a soft smile.

"They say we're mad, John," you whispered hoarsely as he kissed your forehead.

"Mad as hatters, doll."

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #john shelby #storytime with murderousginger #john shelby x reader

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theshelbyclan · 4 years ago

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Childhood Sweethearts

Summary: You and Finn had been together for a while now and it was all going great. The only problem was, all of the brothers didn’t know yet

A/N: Requested by a lovely anon: hey can i request a Finnxreader where Finn got her pregnant and her brothers come in the Garrison with guns and all and are like "We dont care who you. That you're a shelby, but you got her pregnant and you're gonna marry her" and than Finn has to explain to his bros that he is kinda dating her for a year and some fluff please??? I got so many requests for my baby Finn and I’m ignoring how they changed him in season 5. Hope you like it!

Words: 2605

***

When you’d first met Finn, he’d been boxing. You had only been fourteen at the time and he was only thirteen, but he was a Shelby, so there were expectations. “Call yourself a Shelby?” the owner had kept on shouting out at him. And you could see Finn was really trying, but he just wasn’t that type of Shelby.

Your brothers were at the gym as well, which is why you were there. Women weren’t allowed, no exceptions. Well, except little sisters. You were let in when you came to pick them up and the youngest Shelby sister couldn’t be kept away, but apart from that, no women allowed.

And then it’d happened. Arthur went feral, everyone went crazy and Finn reacted like no one else could. And you watched him, calmly, but with interest. Afterwards, you handed him a towel. He suddenly looked young, not at all like he had seemed while fighting, and he’d said: “No women allowed.” You had smirked and replied, “Then go.” *** And so the two of you had become friends. First it had just been talking on the streets about brothers and life in general. Because if there was one thing the two of you had in common, it was the burden of having too many older brothers. While the Shelby’s had big plans with young Finn, yours seemed to want to keep you ‘sweet and innocent’ for as long as possible. Neither fit the pair of you really.

“What would you do?” Finn asked you one day, “You know, if you could do anything.” “Hmm…” you thought out loud, while trying to balance on some forgotten piece of scrap, “I could open a salon, or make ice-cream all day, or I could fly a hot-air balloon to Paris!” You were always the one making up stories and Finn would just sit there and listen. He was definitely the quiet one. In his world of chaos and violence, he could do with a bit of imagining. “I could buy a camel!” you laughed out loud, “Go to Egypt dressed as a man and raid one of the pyramids. I’d become the richest woman alive and no one would ever even know that it was all stolen, including my fake name.”

Finn grinned, “You’d probably get away with it too…” “Or, I could steal some expensive jewels and seduce the man guarding them,” you spun around a lantern post feigning seducing it, “I’d kiss him when he’d catch me and tell him I’ll split the profit with him. I’d say to meet me in Paris at midnight, but never show up. Then, years later, after I’ve come back from Mexico…” “Mexico?” Finn called out, enjoying this story way too much. “Mexico, obviously, where I’ve been hiding?” you replied with a face like it was obvious, “After Mexico, I’d go back to find this man and tell him to follow me. He would, of course, and I’d tell him to meet me in London. Then, and this is the best bit, I go back to Paris to get the jewels and blame it on him!” Finn grabbed your hand and spun you around, both laughing, “Y/N? Ever thought of becoming a Peaky Blinder?” “That!” you joked, “If I could do anything, I’d take over the Peaky Blinders and…” “Move to Mexico,” he finished. “Move to Mexico,” you said softly, because the two of you were suddenly no longer dancing. Standing closely, noses almost touching, you were, for the first time, lost for words. “Ask me,” Finn practically whispered. You raised your eyebrows slightly in question. “Ask me, Y/N,” he repeated, “What I would do if I could do anything.”

You indulged, “What would you do, Finn?” “I’d marry you.” “But we’re only fourteen,” you blushed a little. He was completely serious however. The two of you were always laughing and playing, but his eyes were no longer sparkling with childhood joy. Something else had settled in there, “Then I’ll wait, for now.” After that one evening, the two of you became inseparable. ***

Sneaking out at night was easy, especially after the two of you just watched how Ada did it. As you got older, your games of truth or dare became more and more dangerous. Late at night, you met in dangerous places and together, you grew up at midnight. Making love under the bridge, kissing quickly in the Garrison when no saw and holding hands under the table, it was all still a game to you. But the love, that was real, and it only kept on growing. How no one found out about it was a miracle and a tragedy at the same time. You’d grown up with five older brothers and a part of you now wondered if they even acknowledged your existence. Surely, you two were not that subtle? And besides, you had the horrible habit of talking too much and had often divulged a little, but they never picked up on it. Guess they were too busy with their own lives, which was just as well, because loving a Shelby was not a preferable situation. But sneaking off to secret rendezvous was easy, concealing love was also manageable, but hiding a belly with a baby inside of it? That was going to be hard. “They are literally going to kill me, Finn,” you sobbed. Why did you even sob? You never cried before. “Don’t worry,” he put his arms around you and spoke soft and lovingly, “They’ll kill me, not you.”

“That is not fucking helpful!” “I know,” he looked down, “Sorry…” The two of you were sitting in a closed Garrison. Luckily, the pub was never truly closed for a Shelby. Here you could find some peace at least and no one there to disturb you. “A baby though, Y/N,” you could see the sparkle in his eyes, “Our little baby!” You sighed deeply, “I don’t think you understand how serious this is.” “I don’t think you understand how wonderful this is!” “Finn…” “No,” he interrupted you, which he never ever did, “We made that.We did. Like, I loved you so much and you put up with me for so long and then this happened. Can you imagine? That’s amazing, isn’t it?” You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness and excitement, “Someone did tell you where babies come from, right?” He smiled broadly and kissed you suddenly. “Finn?” you asked, a little unsure, “I think my mum knows I’m pregnant.” “How would she know?” “She knows these things,” you shrugged, “She had seven kids.” Finn frowned, “What do we do?” “Well, if she knows, we’ll find out soon enough.” You hadn’t even finished your sentence properly, when a loud noise came from the door of the Garrison and five big men walked in. They didn’t look pleased. “On your feet, boy!” one of them bellowed. Finn had no idea what to do, so he decided it would be best to get up.

“This him?” one of your brothers now turned to you.

You nodded solemnly, “This is indeed Finn Shelby.” Another asked, “This the one that knocked you up?”

“That’s a charming way of putting it…” you protested. “Well, how do you want us to put it?” “You could ask me if I’m alright?” you suggested, “Or: is this the boy of your dreams? Or: is this the man who will take you to Mexico? Or…” “Alright, we get the fucking idea, Y/N,” your eldest brother interrupted you, “No need to get poetic about it.” From the corner of your eye, you could see Finn had sat back down again. While you and your brothers continued arguing, he started downing whiskey. Did you blame him? Not really, what else was there for him to do but wait really.

And suddenly one of your brothers turned away from you and pointed at Finn, “Right, now I know you’re a Shelby and we know how you do things!” “Do things?” Finn genuinely didn’t understand. “You’ll not be taken our sister to some fucking doctor.” “Finn wouldn’t,” you quickly said, “He’s not like that.” Finn still didn’t understand though. “You don’t even know him,” your brother said, “Just because he fucked you…” “Oi!” Finn called out suddenly, lifting one hand to his cap. But your brothers were big and annoyed, so they picked Finn up like it was nothing and simply placed him outside the pub. If you weren’t pregnant and miserable, you could’ve died of laughter.

“Okay, listen…” you started, but they didn’t let you finish. Through the door they started shouting at Finn about taking responsibility and pretty soon you decided it was no use trying to get them to listen. So you rolled your eyes, sat back and waited for the storm to be over. And then there were more voices coming from outside the pub and you sat up to try and get a look at them. An angry voice seemed to be reprimanding Finn and a calm, low voice kept on interrupting the other. Without warning, the three oldest Shelby brothers barged in. Now, this was all you needed: more brothers in the room. There were eight now, all yelling, and slowly, you could see Finn moving back in through the door. You two exchanged glances, admitting defeat and decided to just wait.

“I don’t give a fuck who you people are…” one of your brothers was now actually screaming. “Let’s not play games, eh?” Tommy replied calmly, “You know exactly who we are.” “He will do the fucking right thing!” “And he will!” “That little rat may have thought he could just have his way with her and not carry the consequences...” “WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU CALLING A RAT…” Finn crept down next to you and leaned over to whisper in your ear, “Should we tell them?” “How?” you mouthed back, “They’re kind of busy right now, wouldn’t you think?” “Let’s wait,” Finn suggested. So, the two of you got back to watching eight grown men bicker like small children.

“This was never her idea!” “Wasn’t Finn’s either, he doesn’t even know how to spell his own name, isn’t that right, Arthur!” “She’s nineteen! She’s just a child!” “She might be your sister, but she’s a grown woman.” “Okay, why the fuck are we talking about Y/N? Heis responsible and he is going to marry her.” “I agree,” Tommy suddenly said. So, Finn decided this was the best time to try again, “Actually, if you’d all listen for a second…” “I think you’ve done enough, mate,” one of your loudest brothers interrupted quickly. “But, me and Y/N…” Then Arthur was the one to push his little brother back in his seat, “Shut up Finn and let us handle this. Full of frustration, the youngest Shelby sat back down, only to stand back up again. He picked up another bottle of whiskey and started pacing the room a little. “Stay off the whiskey, Finn!” one of his brothers scolded, “Here, eat this,” and he handed him an apple. With eyes wide, he stared at the sudden piece of fruit in his hand and exclaimed, “I’m not a fucking child anymore, John.” But his brother just winked and said, “Apparently,” and went back to arguing. So Finn walked and bit his nails and paced and pondered and decided there was nothing left to do, but eat the apple and jump in the Cut.And you couldn’t help yourself. A small giggle escaped you mouth and soon after you could no longer contain yourself and burst out laughing. “What’s the matter with you?” Finn hissed. “Don’t know…” you hiccupped, “but by the time they’ve finished I’ve already given birth probably!” And out of nowhere, all the brothers fell silent. Tommy, as always, took the word, “Right, this is how we’ve decided to do it…” “You’vedecided?” you repeated angrily. “Shut up, Y/N, you’re in enough trouble as it is,” one of your brothers bit.

But the great Thomas Shelby held up a hand and silenced the room with a gesture, “We’ve decided that the two of you are getting married. Now, you might hardly now each other, but the damage is done, eh?” “Actually…” “Finn, shut up, I’m still talking. Now, don’t worry Y/N, Finn will take good care of you. And Finn, you do the deed, you pay the consequences. The marriage is in a fortnight. Congratulations.” The room went quiet again and all eyes were on the two of you. You could now actually taste blood and realised you’d been biting your lip to keep from laughing a little too hard. Finn looked like he was either going to explode or just disappear. Almost inaudible, he muttered, “In a fortnight…” “Yes,” his brother confirmed, “Gives you a chance to get to know your bride.” “I’VE KNOWN HER FOR FOUR FUCKING YEARS, TOM”

So he did explode. “EVER SINCE SHE WAS FOURTEEN AND I WAS THIRTEEN, WE’VE BEEN TOGETHER.” “Finn, babe,” you put a hand on his arm, “Calm down.” He turned to you, his eyes still hilariously wide, “Why the fuck do they never listen? Pinch me or something… can you even see me? Am I real? Am I a ghost?” So you did as any woman would and slapped him in the face, “Stop the dramatics. You’re here.” “Ask her,” one of his brothers urged him, “Ask her properly.” Finn sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, “I did ask her ABOUT FOUR YEARS AGO.” You nodded wisely, “He did.” “Well, what did she say?”

“That we were too young?” ‘Too fucking right!” one of your brothers shouted out. Within seconds, eight men were once again yelling without listening to each other, and the Garrison became chaos for a second time.

“Okay, wait!” you held up both hands and much to your surprise, everyone stopped talking. Guess there really was power in being pregnant, “This is good news, right? We both want to get married! Yay?” And then they all started again! New subjects for arguments were found in the fact that you’d been sneaking out, that they let their brother be with you, where the wedding would be and who with, and there seemed to be no end to it. So, Finn put the apple in his pocket and with a sudden certainty to it, grabbed you by the hand and marched you out the door of the Garrison. There, in the filthy streets of Small Heath, he kissed you long and deep. “How about it then?” he asked. You smiled back at this wonderful boy and said, “No, let me do it. You already got to do it when we were kids.” “Okay,” he agreed at once. “Finn, if you could do anything, what would you do?” “I’d marry you in a fortnight!” he almost shouted out. And you deeply into his eyes, wondering how you’d even managed to find such a soft, sweet and still strong man, and finally said, “Will you marry me?” “Yes,” he said almost before you could finish the question. After another long, long kiss he got this sudden twinkle in his eyes and suggested, “Let’s go home.” “Home?” you laughed. “Yeah,” he pointed to the Garrison, “They’re all busy in there, right? The house is empty…” You looked down at your bulging stomach and joked, “Damage’s already done.”

Hand in hand you walked through the streets, feeling like the king and queen of Birmingham.

“Mexico then?” a small smile was tugging at his mouth now too. You nodded, feeling more in love than ever, “Mexico.”

*** Masterlist

2K notes · View notes

bimbo-jk · 4 years ago

Text

bitchin’ rides: the sequel | jjk

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x female!reader

genre: racer!au, smut, angst (kinda), jealousy, fluff

warnings: another wild ride (lol get it?), racing, dangerous driving, street racing, jealous, sex, angry sex, choking, face slapping, blood choking (he’s like really jealous lol), unprotected sex (stay safe), creampies (yes multiple), cockwarming, creaming, cum eating (sigh), cum play (lol), cum drinking (yes, again), spanking, hair pulling, oral (remale and male receiving), bondage, overstimulation, forced/multiple orgasms, dirty talk.

summary: you and Jungkook have known each other for 8 months, and have been dating for 6 1/2 months. he’s still racing and you’re still in college, close to earning your associate’s degree. problems arise, however, when his racer buddies show up at your front door; his jealousy.

Turning over and yawning, you wince slightly at the annoying alarm going off on your boyfriend’s cellphone, causing you to groan, pressing snooze. Noticing Jungkook is still sound asleep, you untangle his arm from around your waist, rolling out of the bed, yawning and then stretching. Slipping into his, quite large, white t-shirt, you head downstairs to cook breakfast for the both of you.

Flipping the pancake in the pan, you exhale as you feel a pair of cool hands lift up your (his) shirt and begin to leave a trail of goosebumps as they travel up your thighs and to your hips, exposing your upper thighs and lower belly. You feel his lips press against the quickly heating skin of your neck. He begins sucking over a bruise he placed there last night, darkening it. You begin to feel yourself getting slick, your panties sticking to your center uncomfortably. You whine when he squeezes your hips. “Jungkook, what about breakfast”, you huff out. He presses his erection into your ass, smirking against your skin, “I want you for breakfast, baby”.

He flips you around turning the stove off and lifting you onto the counter. Dropping the spatula, you open your legs and he steps between them, placing kisses against your temple. Wrapping your bare thighs around his waist, you kiss up his jawline, sucking your own version of dark marks into his unblemished skin. A breathless chuckle leaves his lips at the whimper that graces his skin, forced out of your mouth at his unexpected fingers plucking at your nipples. “You’re so beautiful”, he murmurs, twisting your hardened buds in his gentle yet firm grip. You whine, enjoying how easily he can draw this submissive side out of you. You just loved how he could get you there so quickly.

A knock at the front door causes him to halt, your eyes fluttering open in confusion; you didn’t hear a thing. Of course, until a deep male voice called out, “Jeon”, and your boyfriend let out a slightly irritated sigh, lifting his head from the crevice in your neck. His jaw ticks as he finally catches your gaze, “Go get dressed”, and to avoid your upcoming protests, he places four quick pecks to your lips. He attempts to pull away, but you whine, tightening your thighs around his waist, “Daddy”, and he sighs, already beginning to feel his cock stiffening, “Baby, please don’t do this right now”, and they knock again. You stare, pouting for a moment, before ultimately releasing his waist. He flashes his bunny teeth at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Thank you, cheonsa”, he whispers against your skin before rushing off to answer the door, and as he does, you hop off the counter and head upstairs to get dressed in something a bit more appropriate.

Changing in the bedroom, you hear your front door open and soft voices from behind the closed door. Doing the basics, you hurry to finish getting dressed before you’re exiting the shared bedroom and out to the living room, six different men standing around and Jungkook in the middle.

You stand in the doorway for a while longer before Jungkook turns his head and sends you a soft smile, motioning you over to come sit on his lap. Doing so, he wraps his arm around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder, half interested in what his ‘friends’ are saying. Half of his attention is on you, his lips rubbing against the shell of your ear before he ultimately turns his attention back to the men speaking.

It seems like you’ve caught the end of the conversation, however, because by the time you actually tune into listening, they seem like they’re waiting for your boyfriend’s response.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook speaks up, “Well, if they want a race, then we’ll give them one. What’s their bet”, he hums, his hand dropping down to your lower back. They all send each other a look before the leader of the group seems to let out a heavy sigh, sending a glance your way.

“Well, if you lose, they want Y/n..”, he mutters, trying to gauge how violent Jungkook’s reaction would be. Surprisingly, he stays silent, but what gives him away is the grip at your lower waist, tightening and making you shift in his lap. “You don’t have to take up the bet, of course, but Jungkook you’re our best racer and we need this territory. You’ve never lost a race, this time wouldn’t be any different, just what’s at stake.”

The guy has a point and instead of being afraid, you turn to Jungkook and grab his arm, squeezing it before kissing the bridge of his nose and he looks at you. “They have a point”, you start, your voice soothing the fire in his eyes, “We both know you wouldn’t lose me. Just do it”, and his eyes widen. He looks at you for a few seconds before nodding, his eyes darting back to his friends.

“Fine, when’s the race?”

“Tonight.”

Pulling up to the starting line, you rest your hand on Jungkook’s thigh, feeling the way his muscles tense in anxiety. Tracing a pattern on his jeans, you look up at him and find his eyes staring straight at you, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “You don’t need to do this”, he murmurs under his breath, his hand dropping to squeeze yours.

“I know, but I want to. I believe in you, baby”, you whisper, leaning across the arm rest to kiss his lips, “You won’t let them win”, you murmur against his plush skin. Jungkook kisses you back with fervor, his hand coming to cup the back of your neck possessively.

Climbing out of the car, you watch as Jungkook makes his way over to his crew, waving at them while he leaves you resting against the hood of his car. Your eyes follow him before your friend Natasha steps into view, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug. “Y/n! I’ve missed you”, she mumbles into your shoulder, rubbing your back before pulling away and smiling at you.

“Hey Natts, what’re you doing here”, you ask her, scooting over to make room against the car. She leans back with you and eyes her own lover, Taehyung. “Came to support Tae, you know we’ve been dating now”, she chuckles. You laugh, rolling your eyes, “No shit? Really”, you sarcastically remark before giggling along with your friend.

Suddenly, though, Nat stops laughing before arching her eyebrow. “What the fuck is she doing”, she mutters, nodding her head towards the guys. Looking over, you catch Jungkook’s ex girlfriend Carly, her hands wrapped around her bicep as she laughs at something that no one else found funny. Jungkook seems uneasy but nevertheless, laughs along with her.

A fire of jealousy burns in your belly as you push off from the car, making your way around dancing bodies until you’re standing behind Carly. Clearing your throat, she turns around and immediately stops grinning. Jungkook does the same, shrugging her hands off and fixing his eyes on your face, trying to figure out your reaction. You do nothing but step around her and tuck yourself into Jungkook’s side, his hand coming to securely wrap around your waist.

“Hey there, Carrie”, you mutter, purposely fucking up her name, “How’ve you been?”. She rolls her eyes before crossing her arms, “It’s Carly-”, you cut her off. “I don’t fucking care. Keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll break them off”, you hiss, and Jungkook whips his head down to look at you, his eyes widened slightly.

She huffs before stomping off, her flimsy skirt swaying behind her. Jungkook turns to you before biting his lip, “Someone’s a bit jealous, aren’t they”, he chuckles, pulling you closer by your hips. You chuckle before twisting out his grip, “Yeah, whatever”, and sulk back over to your bestfriend. Jungkook watches with a smirk on his face, shaking his head before turning to finish going over the plan with his crew.

Once you’re in front of your bestfriend, you’re about to inform her about what happened but someone’s hands wrap around your waist instead, and you have the split thought it’s your boyfriend. But a different voice proves you wrong.

Jungkook should’ve been paying more attention to you, especially considering how you were dressed. That thought hits him when his eyes find you struggling to get one of his racing opponents off you.

What the fuck?

You don’t know what you expected Jungkook to do once he saw the guy harassing you, but you knew it probably wasn’t going to be gentle. What you didn’t expect was for Jungkook to snatch him off you and deliver a firm punch to the guy’s mouth. He swears at the undoubtedly hard hit, blood pooling in his mouth as he speaks, “What the fuck was that for, Jeon”, and Jungkook’s jaw ticks, anger swimming in his eyes. “Keep your hands off my girl”, he all but growls.

Grabbing your elbow, he pulls you away from the crowd and back towards the starting line. Walking up to the passenger side of his car, he opens the door and nudges you toward it, “Get in the car, Y/n”, and before you reply, he presses his lips to yours hard, his eyes open and staring into your own; there was a burning jealousy in his gaze, mixed with anger, love and adoration all at once. Guilt consumes you and you obediently slide into the seat once he breaks the kiss, the door slamming shut behind you.

A few minutes later, he’s sitting next to you on the driver’s side, checking his car and testing god knows what without even sparing you a glance. You decide to use the uncomfortable silence as a chance to actually speak up, “Jungkook, I can explain-”, and his head whips to look at you. “Stop talking, Y/n”, and your mouth shuts instantly. “I don’t feel like talking about the fact I can’t trust my girlfriend alone”, he mutters carelessly as if that one sentence didn’t just cause your heart to stutter in your chest. Jungkook could be cruel when he was upset, but it still didn’t stop the gasp that left your lips and his head turned to actually look at you. The obvious hurt on your face and the tears pooling in your eyes caused his mouth to open, but before he could speak, knuckles knock at the driver side window.

Turning your head as tears fall down your cheeks, you listen as your face reflects on the window. “Are you ready”, the referee asks, and Jungkook sighs before nodding, rolling his window back up and starting his engine. He looks over at you and rubs your thigh, sighing quietly before leaning over to kiss your cheek; an apology. “Baby, put your seat belt on.”

A few minutes pass and the referee is counting down. Nervousness pools in your gut, but you notice Jungkook is calm so you try to relax and give off good vibes to keep the atmosphere steady. The last thing you need is for Jungkook to lose because of your nerves. Nodding at the ref, Jungkook revs his engine and the opponent revs back. You watch the racers standing at the edges to cheer for your boyfriend. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as the referee drops the flag and Jungkook’s foot slams down on the gas pedal, the car racing forward.

Jungkook’s knuckles turn white with the strength of his grip on the steering wheel, his other hand shifting to grip the gear stick. Coming up on a turn, Jungkook doesn’t hit the corner fast enough, his opponent jumping the curb and snatching that small width of space and pulling ahead. You hear your boyfriend swear, his jaw tight with irritation at the action. You grab his hand on the gear stick, squeezing it reassuringly. His head snaps to you, forgetting you were there, and then his gaze drops to your hand and back to the road. He needed more.

In a short burst of courage, you let his hand go and scoff, “Cmon Kook, are you really about to let this fucker win”, you ask rhetorically, “Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe he’ll actually please me”, you snap, wanting to give life to the possessiveness living inside him. Lucky for you both, it works, the idea of losing you getting under his skin. Just as the finish line is approaching, Jungkook turns on his nitro boost and his car jets past the other, crossing the finish line first.

He yanks the steering wheel, halting the car and getting out, the opponent pulling past and stopping as well. Watching, you see Jungkook shake his hand, his eyes still dark. You also watch as his crew member and friend, Jimin, approaches him and asks your boyfriend what time he’s coming to the victory party. But to your surprise,Jungkook shakes his head and heads back towards you and the car. Opening his car door, he slides in next to you, closing the door and pulling out his phone. You watch as he orders something and then slips it back into his pocket, starting the engine and heading in the opposite direction.

“Kook, why aren’t you going to your victory party-”, but he shushes you, stopping at a red light. He peeks over at you before tilting his head, “I’ll be too busy teaching my girl how to watch her mouth”.

Stopping in front of your apartment complex, Jungkook parks at the curb and tells you to get out as he does the same, locking the doors. Before you can begin walking to the door, Jungkook scoops you up into his arms, throwing your smaller body over his shoulder. You yelp as he delivers a firm spank to your ass, no doubt leaving a mark. Chuckling darkly, he opens your front door and sets you down on your feet, a smirk on his face.

Before you even get the chance to speak, Jungkook’s hand comes up and grasps your throat tightly, cutting off a sliver of oxygen. You don’t fight back, letting him back you up against the door and pressing you to it. His eyes glow with lust and that familiar fire; jealousy. He gives you a sinister smile, squeezing to the point where your mouth drops open in a gasp, drool pooling on your tongue. Jungkook takes the chance to spit into your mouth, gripping your jaw with his other hand and forcing it closed. “Swallow”, he growls. You do.

Your eyes close when he begins to lean forward, instead of pressing a kiss to your lips, he sucks your bottom flesh between his teeth, gnawing at the soft, plush lip and enjoying the whimper that creeps up your throat. He swallows it down, his hand tightening around your throat more. Your eyes begin to roll and you stomp your foot, the lack of oxygen causing your head to swim in arousal and adrenaline.

He latches his lips over yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth, stepping forward to press his body against yours. In a fit of brattiness, you playfully nip at his tongue causing him to grunt in irritation. He pulls away, slapping your cheek slightly and you let out a whine. To shut you up, Jungkook drops his hands from your figure, instead reaching down to remove his belt. You know what’s coming next, instinctively holding out your wrists.

The corners of his mouth lift up into an approving grin, beginning to wrap the belt around your wrists, effectively tying you up. Looking into his eyes, you see that gentleness fade, his gaze now holding the darkness it did before.

Excited, he pushes you down by your shoulder to your knees, looking down at you expectantly. Without breaking eye contact, he continues to unbuckle his jeans, pulling them down his thighs and his dark boxers following. You notice he’s wearing the boxers you bought him, and your heart flutters at the small thought of it. He sees the smile spreading in your eyes and chuckles, that dominant side faltering slightly as his hand drops to your cheek, stroking the heated skin.

Just as quickly as it appeared, you cause it to wither, “Now show me how to watch my mouth, Sir”, and that dark look is back, a snarl gracing his lips. “I plan to, now open up, slut”.

Obediently opening your mouth, your gaze drops to his awaiting cock, the sight causing a breath to stutter in your lungs before you inhale sharply. You could never get over his size; the sheer length and thickness of him caused your mouth to water. Sticking your tongue out, Jungkook watched as drool dripped off the tip of it. He grips the heavy weight of his cock, rubbing his tip against your tongue, the salty precum causing your saliva glands to produce more at the tangy taste.

Deciding to bypass all the bullshit, you envelope his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over his slit. The action gives you the exact reaction you want. He moans loudly, his head tossing back, “Fuck, darling”, it comes out as a broken whine which soaks your panties further. Jungkook loses his patience, pushing his hips forward and causing you to gag. He grabs your head, thrusting shallowly into the back of your throat, hitting it and causing tears to fall down your cheeks and onto his fingers.

Jungkook’s head is tossed back when you look up at him through your eyelashes, his throat bobbing in pleasure. He swears, the next time he thrusts his hips, you lift your head and instead of him hitting the back of your throat, he goes down it.

You swallow around him and he whines, “Shit, baby, do that again”, he moans, cupping your cheek. You obey, swallowing around his cock and he fists your hair, cumming down your throat. Swallowing gulps of it down, he pulls out of your mouth once you’ve finished, his cock still very much hard.

He pulls you up, turning you around and walking you toward the dining room table, his lips pressing into the heated skin of your neck, sucking dark marks into the unblemished skin. Your cheeks darken, heating up at the gush of wetness that rushes out of your cunt, your knees trembling when he grips your ass.

Bending you over the dining table, he reaches around the front of your hips, unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them down, leaving your soaked panties to stick to your cunt. He drops down to his knees, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. You let out a yelp when you feel his teeth sink into the curve of your ass cheek, your back arching. One hand crawls up and presses into the dip in your spine, holding you to the table.

His lips work their way up to the covered cunt in front of him, panties soaked with wetness. He buries his nose into your cunt, inhaling before kissing your labia, ghosting his lips down over your clit. You stomp your foot, and Jungkook slaps your ass in warning. “Behave”, he growls out, yet you whine in protest.

Listening to your pleas, finally, Jungkook pulls your panties to the side, sticking his tongue out to prod at your leaking entrance. You moan out his name, your forehead dropping against the polished wood of your dining room table. In a new burst of motivation, he latches his soft lips over your flit, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth. Bringing his hand up, his index finger pokes at your entrance, pushing in and settling against your tight, warm walls. The teasing lasts a minute before he takes pity and adds a second finger, pulling them both out until your glistening juices are sticking to his fingertips, a few lines connecting him to you. He only finds this more attractive, a gush of precum dripping out of his tip and running down his length.

Still eye level with your cunt, he unlaces your shoes, lifting your body with one arm and uses his unoccupied hand to pull them off. Once he’s tossed them to the side, he pulls your bottoms and underwear off, sliding them off and nudging them to the side.

He stands, still palming your bent over ass, and he aims the fat head of his cock to your quivering hole, the veins in his arms straining against his skin as he eases into you. You whine as you feel the thick head of him stretch you open, the feeling of your quivering wet walls causing him to push forward abruptly. You whimper once he’s buried to the hilt inside of you, your eyes watering as drool pools in your mouth.

Jungkook holds his bearing, feeling his balls tighten, he sighs when he cums inside of you, his hot cum splashing against your walls. However, he doesn’t pull out, instead he holds himself steady, rearing his hips back before slamming into you again, his balls pressing against your slit and getting drenched along with the rest of him.

Your cries are loud, almost positive that the neighbors can hear you getting your back blown out. He must be thinking the same because he grunts before stuffing two of his fingers into your mouth, his knuckles already glistening with your spit. “Mm I’m sure the neighbors can hear me fucking you brainless, hm”, and you moan, tears staining your cheeks.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head up so your throat is visible, eyes staring straight into his, “Say my name, bitch, let them know who’s fucking this perfect cunt”, he growls. His thrusts grow more animalistic as your cries echo off the walls. “Jungkook”, you say breathlessly. He slaps your ass, “Louder, baby. I can’t fucking hear you”, he snarls, and his hand drops down to toy at your clit, forcing your eyes back into your skull. “Jungkook!”, you cry, drool leaking down your chin and neck.

Dropping his hand down to wrap around your neck, he pulls you up, your back flush against his bare chest. Bending over to mold himself to you, his teeth grazing your ear as he whispers into your ear, “Gonna cum baby? Hm? Gonna cream on my fat cock”, and the deep growl of his voice causes you to lose it, the hand wrapped around your throat intensifying your orgasm all the more. He follows not too far behind, emptying inside you for the second time, making a mess of the floors once he pulls out.

After you both clean yourselves and the dining room up, you’re lounging on the couch in your boyfriend’s arms, watching another Marvel movie. After a while, Jungkook turns to you and grabs your hand, locking your gaze.

“Y/n, do you want to race?”

#bitchin rides #bitchin rides: the sequel #bitchin rides 2 #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts #bts smut #smut #angst #fluff #established relationship #racer!jungkook #racer jungkook #racer au #racing au #domestic au #domestic fluff #domestic smut

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moonbeambucky · 4 years ago

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 23)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Peter Quill x Reader Word Count: 3787 Warnings: fluff, light angst

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Sorry for the delay but it’s here now, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 22 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

It was hard to come to the realization that Bucky did want a relationship but you didn’t cut it. The weekend at the wedding was a test and you failed. You may have gotten high scores but obviously there was something about Claire that made her better than you. You’ve known Bucky for almost a year but in one date she was able to capture his heart in a way you never could.

The truth sits in your stomach like a rock, feeling the pain each time you move. It’s a boulder tied to your leg and you’re drowning but Peter cuts the rope, with soft gazes and a tender touch, sweet words and sweet sounds he pulls from you as you’re tangled together in bed.

You let go, let yourself be pulled into a bright world where Peter is waiting, because he actually wants you. There is no test. No competition with the exception of Groot. Even Rocket warmed up to you, the temperamental animal preferring to cuddle up in your lap over Peter’s. There was light now that the sea was no longer about to swallow you whole.

The group chat would still go off with messages about plans but you chose not to attend, taking the time to be alone with Peter or hang out with his friends. Drax was a fellow firefighter, a burly man, bald as an egg and covered in tattoos. Thor was a firefighter too, tall with cropped blond hair and biceps bigger than your head and then there was Gamora, the first friend Peter made when he moved to the city. And by friend you think he meant girlfriend though they have more of a platonic relationship now. She was effortlessly beautiful with rich brown eyes and hair, with the ends dyed a bright magenta that complimented the warmth of her skin.

It was nice to hang out with different people and it opened you up to seeing a new side of Peter when he was with his friends. Sometimes he was the Peter you knew, lighthearted and playful, teasing Drax for being too serious to understand a joke, other times Drax would make fun of him; a booming cackle coming from deep in his belly as he laughed at Peter’s expense. Most of the time Gamora would roll her eyes, calling them both idiots.

Thor did his fair share of teasing too although much less now that he was transferred to a new station. It’s probably for the best considering how often he and Peter seem to be in competition with each other though it’s all friendly underneath and you could tell how close everybody was.

They acted like a family and quickly accepted you as a part of theirs but your heart ached behind your smile, missing your own family. Steve who was like a brother to you, Wanda your sister, Peggy the mom of the group who was always there to care and comfort you if you were hurt, and Natasha the other mom that struck fear into the hearts of anyone who would dare hurt her family. Sam and Clint were the troublemakers and then there was Bucky.

You couldn’t think of how to describe him when you didn’t know what was real anymore. The Bucky that exists today is not the person you first knew; the man that was passionate about his music but apologized the moment he realized he was inconveniencing you. He didn’t have to do that. He could have been your asshole neighbor but instead he became a friend.

Peter takes your hand, jolting you from your thoughts as he pulls you off the couch to dance to “Come and Get Your Love.” It’s a fun distraction and you allow yourself to enjoy being swept up by it and surrounded by Peter’s affection.

Groot became accustomed to seeing you in Peter’s apartment, giving you a big greeting as you came over for dinner after a long day of work. Peter was able to steal a kiss before the big dog demanded more of your attention.

“Babe, can I use your laptop?” you asked, kneeling down to rub Groot’s stomach, hitting the spot that made his leg twitch.

Peter stepped away from the stove, wiping his hands quickly on a towel before getting his laptop from the bedroom. With Groot satisfied by his tummy rubs you were free to say hi to Rocket though he was sleeping.

“Here you go,” Peter said, handing you the laptop and leaning in for a better greeting. His tongue slipped past your lips as he deepened the kiss, pulling away when the hiss of boiling water splashed against the flames.

You set the laptop down on his table, bouncing your leg as you opened the cover and waited for it to load. Commencement was next month and you hadn’t applied for graduation yet. An email reminder you got earlier today sent you into a panic as the deadline was coming up.

It was not like you to forget something as important as this. Sure, there’s been a lot going on in the last month but there is no excuse to have let this slip your mind. You’re eager to take care of it right away, ready to log on to your school’s website but the last page Peter browsed was still up and it made your jaw drop.

“Oh my god Peter!” You flipped the laptop around to face him as he craned his head back. “What is this?” you asked, bursting with laughter.

Peter bloomed red like a rose, eyes going wide as he laughed, “Oh shit, sorry!”

The Sex Files, a threesome with an Agent Mulder-esque man having sex with two alien women, a busty brunette painted dragon fruit pink and the other a slim redhead with Wicked Witch green skin.

“Aliens, really?” You raised a brow questioning him with a smirk.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, slightly embarrassed. “It was on the main page. I gave it a chance,” he shrugged, chuckling.

You shook your head laughing, opening up a new tab so you could finally submit your graduation application. As Peter finished preparing dinner you ordered your cap and gown, smiling a little wider when you saw the citron hood, a symbol of all the hard work you’ve put in towards your Master’s degree.

Over dinner you teased Peter a little more about his video. “It’s fine if you’re into that but you won’t catch me painting my skin. Do you know how messy that would be?”

“You might as well. If I had a black light, I bet this place would already look like a Jackson Pollock painting.”

Groot lifted his head at your loud burst of laughter, playfully shoving Peter’s arm. You wouldn’t be lying if you said his joke was still on your mind later that night, lying together in his bed after having just added to the invisible art.

Hot sticky skin against each other’s, the sheets lightly draped over you as the mugginess of the air settled in the room. Your eyes closed languidly, watching the rise and fall of Peter’s chest as you drifted to sleep.

The sun blazes on the street of a sweltering Sunday morning as you walk towards your destination, wiping the sweat from your brow as you huff down into the seat beside Natasha and Wanda whose hair were nearly identical now though Wanda’s had a more fiery copper tone. A tiny smile pulls at your lips when you see mimosa flutes already on the table; now it was officially time for brunch.

You apologize for not seeing them as much lately and thankfully they understood. Wanda was practically inseparable from Sam when they first started dating so she definitely didn’t blame you, although she still thought you were making a mistake.

Bucky was in the back of your mind though you did your best to ignore the fact that you were at the same place you met Wanda almost a full year ago to complain about your new neighbor. So many things have changed but obviously it’s for the better.

“So…” Natasha said with an enticing tone in her voice. She wiped crumbs off of her lips, a faded cherry red from the lipstick that still clung to them. “I have big news.”

“You’ve set a date!” “You’re pregnant!” You and Wanda spoke at the same time, waiting with anticipation to see who was right.

“No,” Natasha laughed. “I made partner!”

“Congratulations, that’s amazing!” you said, leaning over to hug her.

Wanda followed suit and as you sat back down you kept your lips pressed tightly together, eyes widening as Natasha raised a brow to question Wanda about her guess. She sunk back into her seat, clenching her teeth with embarrassment but Natasha was only kidding (or maybe she wasn’t, sometimes you couldn’t tell.)

“Clint and I are going to throw a party once it’s official, nothing big. Y/N is it okay if I invite Bucky?”

Natasha’s turned towards you, holding your gaze with compassion overflowing in the depths of her eyes. She knew what happened between you and Bucky. Whether someone told her or she put it together herself, the latter most likely, it didn’t matter. She knew. She knew and she wasn’t looking to force a resolution but to make sure that you as her friend would be comfortable being around Bucky. You assumed she realized you weren’t only spending time with Peter because of your new relationship but still Natasha didn’t question your actions. She waited patiently, a soft smile on her pillowy lips until you gave an answer.

“Of course Tash, you can invite Bucky.” Wanda started to look as green as her avocado toast as she gave you a worried stare. “I promise, I don’t have a problem with him.”

No one questioned your answer despite the opinions they held back silently and the rest of brunch was spent playing catch up since Steve’s birthday. You hadn’t really missed much, Clint was sleeping until noon most days, Steve was still growing in his beard, Bucky was… still with Claire. Yeah. You figured. You may have checked her Instagram again, seeing a picture of two coffee orders tagged at The Grind House.

After leaving the girls you went home with a seed of anxiety planted in your stomach, knowing it will grow larger every day until Natasha’s party where you would have to see Bucky and Claire again. You wanted to get this over with, rip the band aid off and see them but sometimes life liked to mess with you. Natasha’s party wouldn’t be until the following weekend because this weekend she and Clint were going to Vermont so he could participate in an amateur archery tournament.

You try your best not to focus on the countdown until the party despite the sequoia sized tree of anxiety, each limb a different scenario playing out in your mind of all the terrible things that could happen. It didn’t help that this was your last week at Metro-General as the semester was over. While you were thrilled to have finally finished your hours leaving Elena made you emotional.

This was the end of a long journey, a ride you never expected to be on for so long but now it was over; this is the end of the line and part of you doesn’t want to get off the train. Your legs are atrophied from being in the same spot, Stark Industries, Metro-General, soon it would be time to walk away from both but you’re not sure you remember how. The real world is scary and your doubts and fears are starting to take over.

On the Monday before the party there’s a knock on your door and all you can do is smile. You’ve expressed to Peter just how anxious you are about actually achieving your dream. He comforted you, reminding you there was nothing to worry about and to cheer up. Peter always knew how to bring out your smile and you suspect he’s orchestrated another flower delivery for you. A pre-graduation congratulations of sorts, something to lift your spirits and get your mind back on track to where it needs to be.

You open the door without looking, expecting to see a grand bouquet, or even courier holding balloons but instead there was Bucky. You felt the tree twist within your body, growing to an enormous scale. Your eyes catch sight of an item in his hand, a hanger wrapped in plastic and beneath it the dress you wore to the wedding.

“Hey nei– ” He cleared his throat, speaking your name instead after watching the way your whole body dropped at the sight of him, from the smile that faded to the slouch of your shoulders. “I needed to get my suit dry cleaned and I forgot about this. I got it dry cleaned too so, uh… don’t worry about it.”

He rambled a bit, nervous, handing the dress to you.

“Thanks.” You said, biting back the nauseous feeling that crept its way up your throat.

“Going to Nat’s party?” he asked, hoping small talk would open the door to a real conversation.

Yes, I was friends with them first. “Yeah.” The curtness stayed in your mind only though your short answer wasn’t any friendlier.

Bucky nodded his head, “Kay… cool,” he said, with an uneasy tone that tried to pass itself off as calm. “See ya there.”

You smiled with tension, shutting your door. Tears were burning in your eyes, falling down your cheek as you jolted at the sound of his door slamming beside yours. Your dress was tossed to the side as you ran into the bathroom, running the water in the shower to mask the sound of your body heaving over the toilet. Bile burned up your throat, hot tears streaked down your cheeks and your heart felt like it was being torn apart by wolves.

Avoiding Bucky didn’t help you get over him, and seeing him now, clutching your dress… a painful reminder of the weekend you spent together made it all worse. You wanted to call Wanda, to cry in her arms again, or Steve or even Val, to get drunk with and forget this ever happened. But you couldn’t call anyone. You couldn’t do anything but sink onto the cool tile floor of the bathroom, wishing you never met Bucky, sorry that he ever moved next door in the first place. You cried until there was nothing left to give.

Now that you were done with your internship you were back at Stark Industries full time, devoting your days to The September Foundation, and helping coordinate a guest list for the opening gala. It was a lot of work that kept your mind very occupied so when it was time for Natasha’s party you were feeling better.

Better but not great.

Every time you glanced over at Claire’s arm looping through Bucky’s you felt weak and gripped Peter with a tighter hold. Each time he would lean down to kiss your temple, to hug you, hold you, show affection in any way while being ignorant of the real meaning behind your touch.

Claire waved her hand in front of Bucky’s eyes, having apparently been calling out to him though he didn’t hear it. He was caught up in his thoughts, lost in a tunnel that plunged him further into darkness every time Peter caressed your sweet skin.

He apologized, snapping himself back, taking note of the concern held in Claire’s eyes. He forced his muscles to fake a smile but it was useless, just as he tried to force the emotion that was absent in their kiss. Does Claire feel it too? It’s been that way for a while, empty actions, going through the motions so Bucky can continue to convince himself that something is there but he can’t do it anymore.

The next day he breaks up with Claire and it isn’t a surprise. They part on amicable terms and while Bucky should feel better he doesn’t. You’re still with Peter, and it was his stupidity that sent you straight into his arms.

Claire was supposed to be something special, that relationship he had been longing for but instead she was just a distraction, a voice to occupy his mind, a warm body to keep him company, but none of it worked. Her voice was nails on a chalkboard compared to yours, her body a pair of dice thrown across a half empty puzzle; it wasn’t a match, she wasn’t you.

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to avoid you, staying quiet in his apartment, taking the stairs so he didn’t have to chance meeting you in the elevator. He can’t handle it. He walks quickly past your door, his heart wrenching every time he’s forced to think of you, remembering what he lost.

Emptiness creeps in like a fog, loneliness settles in the empty cavern of his heart, without you life has lost its rhythm.

It’s late in the day when you receive an email from your school that sends you reeling. You couldn’t graduate. You thought it was a mistake, it had to be! There was no way this was correct.

Shaking fingers dialed the school as shaky hands stumbled across the keyboard, logging into your records and double checking that every class you’ve taken over the years is complete with a grade, and then you saw it. Your internship. INCOMPLETE.

Upon the school’s review you didn’t have enough hours, which is impossible because you have been busting your ass since the Fall semester to do this. You planned it, calculated every day, every hour and yet somehow you were wrong.

Your voice cracked as you begged for a resolution, bawling to the person over the phone that you’re thankful can’t see the way tears and snot are streaming down your face, sorry for the fact that they have to hear the way you loudly blow your nose into the phone.

By the end of the conversation you have a plan but it isn’t one that you like. You can walk for commencement next week but you would have to make up the hours and won’t receive your diploma until December.

You cleaned your face, barely, hoping to avoid everyone as you made your way down to Steve’s desk. You broke the moment you saw him, trying to keep your composure as best as you could until he was ready to leave.

Steve was devastated for you as was Wanda when you spoke to her that night. Natasha was already looking into your school’s policies to see if there was any legal recourse. “We can prove negligence on their behalf by failing to communicate in a timely manner to you the student that you did not meet the necessary requirements for graduation, therefore breaching their contractual obligation to provide adequate course guidance in accordance with…”

She went on with more legal jargon before you stopped her. “No, Nat this is my fault. It was my responsibility to calculate my hours. Would it have been nice to have an accurate figure to go off of? Sure, but I was the one who should have double checked. If I went in for an audit I would have known exactly how many hours I needed to get complete before the deadline.”

Natasha let out a sigh of frustration, wishing there was something more she could have done. Instead she let you lean against her, curled up on her couch as Clint prepared a giant bowl of ice cream topped with whipped cream, M&Ms and chocolate syrup.

“Thanks guys, I really appreciate this,” you sniffled, wiping a stray tear away.

It was nice to have your friends around for the night considering Peter was working. You could have texted him about this but chose not to. His shifts are long and stressful as it is and you didn’t want to add to whatever might already be on his mind.

But the next day you went to his apartment after work, somberly dragging yourself in through the door. Groot was able to put a smile on your face, and Rocket too, sticking his little hand out to try and unlock his cage upon hearing your voice but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears.

You took Peter by surprise as you wrapped your arms around him, soaking through his shirt as you cried. He held you close, stroking your hair gently as he whispered, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

Peter walked you to the couch, his thumb softly wiping away tears, squeezing your hand in his as he waited for you to let him know what was going on. And when you did he let out a sigh of relief. “You scared me so much. I thought something bad happened.”

You were taken aback by his reaction, confused for a moment because maybe in your tear riddled conversation the truth about what happened got lost.

“Peter, I can’t graduate. I have to wait until December.”

“Right but you’re going to graduate. You can still go to commencement and all you have to do is make up the hours right? Did you talk to Elena?”

Of course you spoke to Elena, she was sorry to hear about what happened and is going to work something out with you but that wasn’t the point.

“Peter, I don’t think you understand what this means to me. One of my best friends died from a situation that could have been prevented if a social worker was involved. Ever since then my only goal in life was to become a social worker, to never let something like that happen again. And now I have to wait four months to graduate, four months before I can apply for jobs and go on interviews.”

“It’s just four months.”

Whatever Peter said after you didn’t hear. Everything was white noise as four simple words destroyed your soul. How could he not understand? It doesn’t matter that you will be able to make up your hours (which you will), it doesn’t matter that you are allowed to walk for commencement next week (which you won’t because it isn’t real). What mattered was that after all this time, all of your hard work, the sacrifices you’ve made, working full time while you were in school, exhausting yourself to the bone with your internship, that none of it was enough and you still have to wait. It isn’t just four months, it's a painful setback for your dreams.

Peter doesn’t get it.

Bucky got it...

PART 24

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #peter quill x reader

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