#his versace should be on my floor

[maximura]

[miraclewoozi]

hey what if i have tears in MY EYES, huh. what then. WHAT ARE U GONNA DO ABOUT THAT.

VERSACE ON THE FLOOR. -l.jh

ooh, i love that dress but you won’t need it anymore –

Or, the time you and your homebody boyfriend* decide to just… not go to your dinner plans.

pairing; lee jihoon x fem reader. content; fluff, suggestive (MINORS DNI). established relationship. warnings; relatively warning free (y'all i didn't even swear???) but just in case -- a couple of dorky jokes, reader wears a dress, makeup and heels, making out, undressing. let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c; 2.4k (apparently i am in my shorter fic era? party.) note; if there's one thing i'm gonna do, no matter what day of the week it is, it's be disgustingly delusional about jihoon. get ur dentists on speedial, it's a tooth rotter (/j). note 2.0; i've had this one in the drafts for so long i had forgotten all about it! but then VOTF came on shuffle a few days ago (and i started thinking about light a flame woozi at the same time, which nearly fucking killed me), so. here we are. enjoy.<3

You don’t go out for dates very often. Not anymore, at least.

When you and Jihoon first got together, he took you out all the time. For dinners, to cocktail bars, to the movies, for walks down the beach, picnics by the river. It didn’t matter where you went as long as it put a smile on your face — all he ever wanted to do was make you feel special. No expense has ever been too great for his favourite girl, after all; he’s always loved to spoil you.

Now several years into your relationship, you’re a real pair of homebodies. Sure, he could take you out for a four course dinner at an expensive restaurant in the middle of the city, or reserve a table at a pretentious cocktail bar that plays slightly too loud music that’s always just to the left of either of your tastes. Then again… He could cook a nice meal for you to have at the apartment you share, where you can make your way through a bottle of bubbles without one of you needing to stay sober to drive home or else risk your lives in a sketchy cab. 

It’s something you’ve talked about several times, and on every occasion, it’s quite apparent that you’re both very happy with the way things are. If anything, it makes it all the more special when he tells you he needs you to keep your weekend free because he’s making plans, and he wants to whisk you away.

Like now, for instance. The hotel suite he’s booked is gorgeous and you’re perched on the edge of the plush bedding, bent over double so that you can properly fasten your shoes while he finishes getting ready in the bathroom. Now and again, you hear a grumble or a click of his tongue float through the ajar door; every time, you feel a smile play at your lips as you shake your head. He never changes. (You’re so glad.)

“Jihoon,” you call to him softly. You can practically see how he’ll be standing – facing the mirror, on his tiptoes to lean over the bathroom counter and get as close to his own reflection as he possibly can. Pouting as his fingers drag through his hair to try and fix the strands in place just a tiny bit better. “Don’t you dare come out here looking like Sonic the Hedgehog. You know the more you play with it, the more annoyed you’re going to get.”

A few seconds later, he emerges, an eyebrow raised in challenge, an amused grin tugging his lips out of their habitual frown. 

(And lo and behold — his hair looks absolutely fine.)

But the second he sees you, whatever witty comeback he was obviously very proud of dies on his lips, and you straighten up with only one of your shoes secured to your foot, the other just slipped on over your toes.

“Wow,” he says, in that soft, deep, quiet way that he does when you’ve really taken his breath away. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows; you see his brow crinkle and his eyes widen, as if he’s trying to see as much of you as he possibly can. “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” you nod proudly, sitting back and smoothing your hands over the dress you’re wearing. “From our first anniversary.”

As his eyes move over you, taking in everything from the way the straps sit on your shoulders to the way the hem lays across your thigh, your own eyes move over him. The top three buttons of his shirt are still unfastened and his tie hangs either side, tucked beneath his collar but not knotted yet. His slacks have been cleanly pressed, a neat, crisp seam running down the front of both legs. Shoes shined to perfection. Expensive watch strapped around his wrist. 

He might just be the most handsome man in the entire world.

“I remember you saying you really liked it, so… I dug it out, special.” 

“You look incredible,” he says. It’s so gentle, so sincere, that you think your heart is about to burst clean out of your chest. Warmth trickles the length of your spine, and it isn’t exactly helped when you realise – only now as he starts to cross the room to get closer to you – that he hadn’t moved an inch since he surfaced from the bathroom almost a full ninety seconds ago.

He shrinks down so he’s rested on both of his knees in front of you, skilful hands moving to help with the shoe you hadn’t managed to lace up yet. every time his fingertips so much as brush against your skin, the electricity in his gentle touches shoots all the way from the point of contact up to your brain and leaves it fogged, impossible to make any sense through the thick clouds of intimacy and adoration. More-so as he smoothly lifts your leg a little and presses his lips once to the inside of your ankle, even foggier still as he trails kisses up the length of your calf towards your knee. 

“Jihoon,” you laugh breathlessly, laying a hand on his shoulder as you feel his tongue press lightly against your skin. He finally sits back on his heels, running his fingers up and down the backs of your legs; he’s successfully managed to hike your dress up a few inches now, too, and he keeps flitting his gaze between your face and your thighs. “We can’t – we’ll be late.”

“We have ages,” he frowns, shuffling closer and trying to bump your knees apart, but you keep your muscles engaged and he doesn’t pull at them that hard, so they don’t budge.

“We have to get there, too,” you remind him. He throws his head back and sighs dramatically. The neckline of his dress shirt seems to open a little more when he looks back at you, drawing your attention down the length of his neck to his bulging chest, and the muscular forearms that he crosses in front of it.

“And this is why we don’t go out.”

“What, because you’re horny all the damn time?” You tease. 

He gently swats at the top of your thigh before soothing it with another small kiss. 

“Because when you look this good, how am I supposed to want to go and eat a steak instead?” 

He grins up at you from the floor, quite clearly delighted with himself for his little gag. You, however, flop back onto the mattress and cover your face with your hands.

“That was so bad,” you chuckle. You’ve been trying for years to not melt to his very specific sense of humour, but it’s all been completely futile. Your reluctant laughs turn to sweet, breathy giggles by the time he lays both his arms across your legs and rests his chin on top of them. You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him; he’s staring up at your face like he thinks he’ll never see anything as beautiful as you for the rest of his life. 

“Maybe… We don’t have to go out for dinner,” he suggests. “Maybe we can stay in tonight, too.”

“Horndog.” You tsk. But you’re not disappointed at the idea of staying in, either, regardless of whether your teasing implies otherwise. “I knew you’d say that.”

“No — really,” he swallows. You aren’t sure if you can feel his heart beating a little faster where his chest is pressed completely against your shins, or if you’re just imagining it. But the tips of his ears are going pink too, so you think it’s safe to trust your intuition on this one. “I mean-… we don’t have to go. I could-…”

He bites the inside of his cheek before he looks down, pressing his forehead against his arms and hiding his face completely.

“I could do it here.”

He says these words quietly. Mumbles them, really. You aren’t sure if you were meant to hear, or if he was just talking to himself. But either way, it has to be worth a shot to find out.

“What do you mean, Ji?”

One, two, three seconds pass. And… Nothing. 

“Hey.”

You bounce your thighs a little so he’s forced to look up at you, and you can see something swimming in his eyes. Something brewing. He sits back from you and pushes a hand through his hair; a few strands lose their stick to the rest of the main body and tumble down over his forehead. Exactly in the way he was trying to prevent. 

“I could just do it here.”

He says this louder. Clearer. With much more finality. You sit up properly, then, both your hands clasped together in your lap. 

“Do what here, baby?”

His eyes find yours and you sit there for a few moments, unwrapping each other's minds with nothing more than a look and a matching pair of gentle — but slightly concerned — smiles. 

He moves one hand down and slips it into the back left pocket of his slacks. You think you can feel the world around you start to slow. 

When he shifts a leg from beneath him so he’s on one knee before you and presents you with a glittering diamond ring, it stops altogether. 

“Jihoon,” you breathe. 

He glances between the ring and you, biting his bottom lip before he speaks. 

“I had it-… I had everything planned.” He laughs, looking away from your face as even more rising heat becomes evident on his own. “Down to the second, even. But just like you always do — just like the first time I saw you, and just like every time since… You threw me a curve ball and… Somehow, you’ve changed everything. But you made it so much better. 

“I think I was supposed to find you, y/n,” Jihoon says. “I don't know what’s up there, what’s in charge of when we meet the people we meet and why we fall in love with the people we fall in love with. but I know that they were really looking out for me the day you came into my life.” 

You can feel your eyes starting to sting at the corners and you will the tears away, desperate not to smudge the makeup you spent so long trying to perfect. You know he’d love you either way — mascara tear tracks and splotchy concealer and all — but… 

“I am so in love with you that sometimes, it really hurts. It hurts because I know that no one’s ever going to come close — about anyone in the world — to feeling the way I feel about you. I feel bad for everyone, a bit. Because you’re not-… you're not with them. You’re with me. But I wouldn’t want any of them to be with you, because-... and… and if you’ll have me, I want you to be with me forever.”

You don't know when you started slowly nodding along to his little monologue, but you definitely are. You’re not sure when you started holding your breath either, but that’s two for two. He looks up at you, expectantly, fluttering his eyelashes and stuttering out a long, deep breath. 

“Y/n, will you marry me?”

Some decisions, you’ve always thought, are made for you at a cosmic level. Your favourite colours. Your favourite foods. Hot and cold weather people. Loving or hating marmite. A predisposition to enjoying scary movies or being the kind of person who hides behind a pillow. 

This is another one of those. You don’t have to think twice about it — you just know. You know because a great unstoppable force managed to squeeze you together at the perfect moment in time; the ever-expanding universe around you has kept you and Jihoon side by side through everything it could possibly throw at you. 

“Yes.”

Of course you want to spend your forever with him. 

The word leaves your mouth in a whisper and everything flies back into motion. The first black droplet rolls down your cheek. His usually so steady hands fumble with yours to slide the ring over your finger. A perfect fit. You’re hurtling through space and time as he gets up off his knees and cups your cheeks, gently pulling you upright and crashing his lips against yours. You stumble into him slightly in your heels; his kiss is more a chaotic clatter of teeth and giddy laughter than perhaps the intense, romantic gesture he was aiming for, but it’s completely, utterly, unequivocally perfect.

Jihoon’s fancy dress shirt creases under your fingers as you ball it into your fists where the top buttons are spread open, pulling him as close as you can, laughter dying down as he loses himself in you and as you lose yourself in him, right back. He swallows all of your gasps and sighs, hands sliding down from your face to the sides of your neck, until he’s resting a palm on each of your shoulders. A single finger slips beneath one of the straps and he pulls it out of the way, down onto your arm, withdrawing from your mouth so that he can press a series of kisses down your cheek and to your jaw instead.

“Ji,” you murmur, tipping your head back and fumbling at the buttons running the length of his torso, trying and failing to get them open. He chuckles, his other hand coming to rest over yours to stop you. You lace your fingers together, feeling him squeeze. Your heart pounds.

“Let's take our time,” he whispers to you, thumb grazing over your collarbone. “Okay?”

All you can do is nod as he kisses lower, and lower, pressing his lips everywhere he can while he’s still standing. Your neck and shoulders feel ablaze, tickling with the heat of the burning stars his mouth paints across your skin. 

“Need-... Ji, you need to-... call… call the restaurant,” you stutter. “Gotta…. we need to cancel…”

The fleeting sting of his teeth against your throat interrupts you and you’re only aware of him reaching behind you to tug the zipper of your dress down when the material falls completely slack..

“In a minute,” he says, helping you walk backwards until your calves collide with the bed behind you once again. He eases you to lie down on the comforter and crawls on top of you, caging you in with both arms, taking hold of your left hand again.

He looks down at the ring on your finger, his entire face breaking into the most brilliant of smiles. Every inch, from the creases at the corners of his eyes to the paling stretch of his beautiful lips. 

“My future wife needs taking care of, first.”

– no you won’t need it no more, let’s just kiss ‘til we’re naked, baby.

hehe thank u sm for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this bc it was a bit special 2 me. likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all, as always, greatly appreciated.<3

[ihave-atummyache]

versace on the floor

hwang hyunjin one shot/imagine

NSFW!! 18+++ MINORS DNI

summary: the most stunning couple at the award show… in matching versace, of course.

3.2k words (OFFICER I CAN EXPLAIN)

(this is the best foreplay i have ever written oh m y g o s h)

i couldn't decide who your best friend is dating in the group so just make it up yourself>_<

also u all already know that i think hyunjin is just the nastiest mfer ever so i, once again, completely indulged that

"I'm insanely lucky," you mumble out, staring straight ahead as your boyfriend walks with his band down the red carpet. Your best friend chuckles beside you before snapping in front of your face.

"Earth to y/nnnn, snap out of it. We get it, you're obsessed with your boyfriend," she playfully rolls her eyes but still pulls out her phone to record her own boyfriend, right up there with Hyunjin in his own designer brand.

"Now who is obsessed with their boyfriend?" you tease and she chuckles but you both turn your attention back to the boys when they start getting bombarded by questions.

You glance at your boyfriend and you can’t help but let your eyes trail down his body. He has on the prettiest Versace suit that you have ever seen. It's just an all black suit with some tiny gold detailing on it but you swear he has never looked more mouth watering. His long black hair is slicked back away from his face and the icing on the cake is the black polish adorning his nails and, of course, his rings.

When you let your eyes trail back up his body, they meet Hyunjin’s and he has the most smug grin on his face that you have ever seen. Of course he caught you checking him out but, in your defense, everyone is checking him out right now.

But he would describe you the exact same way. You're dressed in a black sculpted column Versace gown. The gown itself is pretty simple, but the jewelry adorning your skin is what really makes the outfit. Just like your boyfriend, you're head to toe in Versace, as per his request. Down to the hairpin in your hair.

You bite down on your red lip and Hyunjin's gaze drifts to your lips for a moment before he quickly turns his attention back to the interviewer.

You and your best friend aren't able to meet back up with the boys again until the afterparty. You're at the drink table, grabbing a glass of champagne before you feel a familiar set of arms wrap around your waist and your boyfriend's scent fills your nose.

"I think we're the best dressed couple here tonight," you chuckle against the rim of the glass and you feel him chuckle in response before placing a gently kiss to the side of your neck.

"Mm. I agree. But did you have to wear that lipstick color?" He asks and you frown before turning around in his arms and locking eyes with him. His grip tightens around your lower back when your eyes meet.

"You don't like it?" You can hear the pout in your own voice but Hyunjin immediately shakes his head.

"No, baby. I love it. Maybe a little too much," he leans into your ear, making sure nobody around you can hear you, "I've been hard since I saw you while walking the red carpet. I can't stop imagining those lips around my cock," he whispers into your ear and you choke on a sip of champagne, coughing slightly.

He chuckles and tucks a strand of hair that had fallen loose behind your ear. You clear your throat before taking another sip of champagne. Your boyfriend grabs the fluke from you and downs the rest of it, having no patience for you to babysit your drink.

"Oh no! Your drink is empty. Looks like we should leave," he smiles innocently at you before wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging you towards the back door. (lol)

"Wait! Shouldn't we tell someone we're leaving?" you object, glancing over your shoulder but nobody is looking your direction.

"They'll figure it out," he replies before opening the backdoor and peaking out. There's nobody but a security guard there and Hyunjin asks if he can call a car for you two which he immediately does. The car arrives in less than five minutes and you're back at your hotel in less than fifteen.

You step into the elevator and press the button to your floor. Hyunjin's hand wraps around the back of your neck and before the doors can even close, his lips are on your's.

It feels like he's devouring you, like he's going to swallow you whole. But honestly, you love it. The kiss is wet and sloppy and you can't help letting your hands thread into the back of his hair, tugging at the strands.

The groan that leaves his mouth and enters yours is deliciously erotic and you pull him impossibly closer. The two of you are basically one entity but it still doesn't feel like you're close enough.

The elevator door dings and Hyunjin pulls away from you. Your lipstick is every where. It's all over his chin and lips, the tip of his nose, literally every where. You try not to imagine what you look like right now. As if he can read your thoughts, he reaches out and runs his thumb under your bottom lip, presumably fixing some misplaced makeup.

"You're so fucking beautiful," the words leave his lips and he drags you behind him as he makes a beeline for your hotel room, pulling out the keycard and pushing into the room.

He immediately turns you around and pushes you against the door. He reaches one hand up and locks the hotel deadbolt. As his hand trails back down the door he brushes the same hair from earlier out of your face again before reattaching your lips.

You let out a moan when his thigh finds its way between your legs. However, you can barely get any friction due to the dress being custom made and practically skin tight.

Much to your surprise, Hyunjin's hands make their way to the slit up the side of your thigh and before you can stop him, a loud rip echoes through the room.

"Hyunjin!" You exclaim and he leans in again to kiss you, his thigh pressing fully into your core this time.

"Jinnie, this is so expensive!" you object, pushing his shoulders away from you to glance down at the damage but he resists, pulling a moan from you when his grip tightens on your hips and his thigh pushes harder against your core.

"I can afford it," his voice is deep in your ear and he uses his grip on your hips to grind you against his thigh. A whimper leaves your mouth and you let your head fall back against the door.

Maybe it's from the half glass of champagne or maybe its from how good your boyfriend looked tonight but you feel more riled up than you ever have in your life.

"You're so fucking hot," you breathe out, your eyelids low and he tears his eyes away from where you're sat on his thigh to lock eyes with you.

One of his hands leaves your hips but you continue to grind against his thigh, wedged between your legs. He grabs your jaw gently before leaning forward and licking your parted lips. It's simultaneously the nastiest and hottest thing that he has ever done.

"You were made for me," he grunts out before pulling you off the door and turning you around, guiding you backwards until your knees hit the bed and you fall backwards. He wastes no time in climbing over your body and biting at the exposed skin of your chest.

The strapless dress made it easy for him to pull the top down slightly, letting your breasts spill out and also be the next to fall victim to Hyunjin's mouth.

He wraps his lips around one hardened nipple, sucking and nipping, making your hips rut up into his pelvis. You make slight friction and he lets a deep noise escape his throat before he lets his hips relax and you are able to fully grind against him.

The more you grind, the harder and faster he bites and sucks at your chest, sure to leave marks that won't go away for days.

"You're gonna make me cum in my pants," he chuckles into your ear before sitting back on his haunches and staring down at you. He is even more covered in your red lipstick than he was in the elevator, it's all over his neck and jaw and face and you can't help but thinking how fuckable he looks right now.

"We already ruined the dress. Might as well ruin the pants too," you tease and he glances down at where he had ripped your gown. He places his hands on your thighs, and you jump slightly at the feeling of the cold rings on your flush skin. He slowly lets his perfectly manicured hands slip under what's left of the fabric until he reaches your hip bones.

"No panties?" he raises an eyebrow at you and you gulp, shaking your head as he begins to rub circles on your hips with his thumbs.

"Been wanting me to hike this pretty dress up and fuck you all day, haven't you?" he teases, letting his hand trail towards where you need him most. His finger tips finally make contact with your wet cunt and you can't help the sound that you let out, a mix between a whine and a whimper.

"I love how wet you get for me," his voice is gruff and you dont have time to reply before he plunges two fingers into you and immediately curls them to hit the spot that has you seeing stars and squirting on him every single time.

"J-Jinnie, you know I w-won't last long if you d-do that," you whine out but he doesn't listen, continuing to plunge his fingers in and out of you.

"I want you to cum until you can't think . You deserve it for looking so damn good tonight. There aren't enough words in any language to describe how gorgeous you are," His words have your head falling back against the mattress and your hands gripping the sheets.

He moves his other hand to the already ripped fabric and rips it further, exposing you to him fully before he leans down and places a kiss to your clit. You back arches off the bed at the contact.

His tongue begins to lap at the bundle of nerves as his fingers continue to brush against that soft spot inside of you.

"J-Jinnie, baby, I'm-I'm-"

"Shh, I know, angel. Cum for me. I want you to squirt on my face. Can you do that?" He interrupts you and you nod vigorously before he lets his mouth reattach to your clit and he speeds up his attack, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until you can't hold it anymore.

"Right thereeee, I'm cumming. Fuck I'm cumming," you start to ramble and he hums in response, the vibration adds to the stimulation and before you know it, you're squirting all over his face, the bed, and yourself. He pulls his fingers out but continues to lap relentlessly at your clit, elongating your orgasm.

"Okay okay okay okay," your hands wrap into his slick hair, trying your best to pull him away from your poor pussy. Between his strong grip on your thighs and your weakened state from just having an oragsm, you're useless against him, especially when he gets pussy drunk like this.

"Jinnie, hurts," you whimper out and he replaces his mouth with his fingers, rubbing against your swollen and overstimulated clit.

"Shh, baby. I know, I know. Just want you to cum one more time with me down here, okay? That's all then I'll let you take a breather," his voice is soft and any other time, you would know better than to fall for it but you're already so out of it that you're getting caught right under his spell.

You let out a disgruntled noise, almost an uncomfortable sound when your next orgasm falls over you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and tears begin to fall from your eyes. Hyunjin is happy he switched techniques and is able to see you in all your glory right before his own eyes.

The tears falling down your cheeks and the way your face looks in that moment is more beautiful than any art piece he has ever laid eyes on.

He stops rubbing at your clit when your body starts to jerk under his touch. He pull his hand away and rubs soothingly at your hip, his other hand trailing up your body before it wraps around the back of your neck and he pulls your limp body up to sitting.

"Are you okay?" he leans in, his forehead against your's as his hand that isn't supporting you creeps around your back and unzips the dress. He had some how managed to rip it so severely that he didn't even have to unzip it all the way for the fabric to fall away from your body.

He pulls the ex-dress away from your body and tosses it on the floor. Your wobbly hands reach out and you begin to undo the buttons on the front of his Versace suit jacket. He patiently waits for you to finish before shrugging the jacket off and tossing it onto the floor with what used to be your dress. He makes quick work of his belt next, your eyes focused on his pretty fingers and blushing slightly at the realization that those same fingers were in you, moments ago.

This leaves him in just his tank top and suit pants. The pants squeeze his waist and legs perfectly and with the removal of the jacket, it accentuates his waist in the most delicious way.

You can't stop your hands from reaching out and trailing your fingertips down his toned shoulders and arms. You smile to yourself when the goosebumps rise on his skin, satisfied that your touch has that much of an effect on him.

"You drive me crazy. Take it off for me," he glances down to his own body and your hand dips into the waistband of his pants, pulling his tank top free and slowly pushing it over his head.

Once the fabric is over his head, you let your hands gently trail down his chest and abs, just like you had done with his arms. Once you reach his happy trail, you curl your fingers, letting your nails scrape against the skin, little red marks immediately showing up on his pale skin.

He sucks in a sharp breath before grabbing both your wrists in one of his hands, the other making its way into your hair. He wraps his hand into your hair, the hairpin falling from it's place, and pulls back, exposing your neck to him.

He leans down, his breath hot against your skin and you bite your lip in anticipation. Hyunjin's lips are amazing, no matter where they are on your body.

"You're perfect," he presses a kiss to your throat, making you swallow at his touch, "An angel on earth. You're fucking perfect," he continues, sinking his teeth into the spot right next to your throat before pressing a kiss over the same spot.

"Hyunjin. Just fuck me already," impatience is dripping from your voice and he chuckles, pulling his face away, his grip still in your hair. A small smile sits on his face as he studies your ruined makeup.

"What makes you think you're in charge here? Plus, didn't you say you need a breather? Are you that desperate for my cock? Poor thing," he feigns a pout at you and you feel a blush creep up your neck before he lets go of your hair and slides onto the bed next to you.

"Be patient, my sweet girl. We have all night," he smirks at you as you lock eyes with him again over your shoulder. Despite his words, he rearranges the pillows and lays back, propping his head up. His nimble fingers snap open his slacks button before sliding down the zipper and you already know what he wants without him having to say it. You reach over and grab the waistband of his pants, sliding them down his legs. Even his underwear are Versace and you can't help but chuckle lightly at this before sliding them down as well.

"Ride me, sweetheart," he pats his thighs before you swing one leg over, straddling his hips. Your cunt was only a few centimeters away from touching his cock, red and ready to be inside of you. He can feel the heat radiating from you and it's taking everything in his power to not just pull you down to take his full length.

However, he doesn't have to wait much longer because your patience is also wearing thin. You reach between the two of you, sliding his cock through the slick created from your previous orgasms. You finally line yourself up and slowly begin to sink down onto him. Despite your preparation, the stretch is still slightly painful, making you pause. Hyunjin's hands rub soothing circles on your thighs, trying his best to get you to relax.

"You can do it, love. Just a little more. Doing so good for me. Taking my cock like you're fucking made for me," his words fill your ears and encourage you. You lean forward, pressing your hands to his chest before letting out an exhale and fully sinking down onto him.

“There you go, just like that. Good girl, such a good fucking girl for me, aren’t you?” he asks before wrapping his hands under your ass. He pulls your body up before letting you sink back down onto his cock, a groan leaving both your mouths.

“Just for you. I’m such a good girl for you,” you ramble as you begin to bounce up and down on your boyfriend’s cock. Grunts continue to leave your’s and his mouth, mixed in with different nicknames as you speed up your pace.

Hyunjin’s hands make their way up your back, slightly pulling you forward before he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth again. The new angle makes his cock hit you completely different as well as rubs your clit against his pubic bone, creating the friction you need.

“Shit baby. So wet around me. Clenching already? Already gonna cum for me again?” His voice is muffled in your ears but you nod and that’s all the conformation he needs before he wraps his arms around your back again and pulls your chest against his.

He bends his knees and plants his feet on the bed before suddenly speeding up and fucking up into you like a madman. The change in speed has uncontrollable moans leaving your lips and you can’t even warn Hyunjin before you’re cumming again, squirting all over his stomach, hips, and thighs.

“There you go, atta girl. Good. Doing so good,” he’s mindlessly praising you, pressing kisses to your temple as you come down from the strongest orgasm of the night.

It only take about ten seconds before he starts to move inside of you again, making you jump and try to get out of his grip.

“J-Jinnie w-wait,” you whine and bury your face into the crook of his neck.

“What did I say, darling? I’m not done making you cum yet. Plus we aren’t done until I’ve painted this sweet cunt with my own cum,” he punctuates his sentence by thrusting up into you one time, making a squeal leave your lips. He chuckles before pressing another kiss to the side of your head.

“God, I love you,” he whispers into your hair and you reply by pressing a kiss to his shoulder, not yet in the right headspace to form real words.

[minranghae]

touch | 18+

》 pairing: c.jongho x f!reader

》 genre: hurt/comfort, smut, fluff

》 warnings: ceo!jongho, grumpy jongho, whiny reader, hurt/comfort, smut, piv, oral (f. receiving), fingering, piv, pet names (princess, baby, etc.), aftercare, makeup sex, age gap (not a major plot point)

》 wc: 4.2k

》 thank you so much for reading this, it's my first full fic that i've written on here!!!!! if i forgot any tags, please lmk :) reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 also, the main song i listened to when i wrote this was versace on the floor by bruno mars

“Jongho, sweetheart, don’t you think you should come to bed now? I think you deserve a break,” you whine as you enter his office, a pout forming on your lips seeing his still, working figure.

You take a moment to admire his features on your way in. His dark hair that perfectly framed his face, those piercing eyes that seemed to cut through you every time he looked at you, and those strong arms you just loved to be wrapped in whenever he hugged you.

Well, that was if he did decide to hug you. Just as strong as his arms is Jongho’s work ethic. Sure, any CEO is bound to be busy. When you’re busy it’s easy to get stressed, and when Jongho gets stressed, it’s as if you don’t exist. He was never super touchy to begin with, but every morning he retreats to his home office without even a hug or a kiss. Just a simple good morning, or sometimes, nothing at all. With Jongho’s already packed schedule and new business plans, it’s clear you weren’t going to get his attention any time soon. But, who would you be if you didn’t at least try to get some from him? 

Making your way to his desk, you prepared yourself to put on your cutest face; wide puppy-dog eyes and a sad lip bite at the ready, but with the way Jongho looked up at you, the only emotion present on your face was nervousness. You could see the dark bags forming under his eyes, seemingly becoming darker by the second, and paired with his furrowed eyebrows, you began to think maybe it would've been better to just cuddle with your teddy bear tonight.

“I-it’s just when you work so hard like this, you don’t seem happy at all, you know? I just want to see you smile again. I know, I know, work is busy and you have deadlines and all that, but can’t you just come sleep with me… just this once? I miss you holding me every night. I feel so lonely, Jongie,” You pleaded with him in your shakiest voice. Maybe that would convince him, if he just saw how desperate you were to spend some time with him. Fidgeting with your hands, you awaited his response. Too anxious to look up at him, you focused your sight on the floor beneath you.

“Y/n, you know I can’t do that right now. It’ll get better, but I really need some quiet right now. So…” He looked at you with pursed lips, then quickly looked back towards the door. A silent signal that it was your time to leave. You weren’t going to let him get rid of you that quickly though. No, he just had to see it your way.

“Jongie, are you sure?” You questioned him with a higher pitch, using the nickname you know he usually melts for. He just leaned forward in his chair, pushing his glasses further up on his nose, trying to regain his focus. He let out a soft hum, acknowledging you, but deciding not to indulge you. 

Soon, you find yourself sneaking behind him, your hands resting on his shoulders. You tried to press a kiss to his cheek, but he shrugged you off quickly with a huff of annoyance.

“Y/n, stop bothering me. I’ve got some really important stuff to catch up with here. Stop being so clingy.” Jongho breathed out, frustration evident in his words.

God, you’re such an idiot. Did you really expect this little plan of yours to work? Jongho is a busy man. You really shouldn’t bother him just because you’re feeling neglected. Sure, the bed is cold at night, but he does so much for you. You wouldn’t have the lifestyle you do without him. If you two hadn’t met that day two years ago, you'd still be a broke college student, struggling to make ends meet. Maybe instead of interrupting him, you should just be thankful for what you have. At the end of the day, at least he’s there.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes, “I’m sorry for interrupting Jongho. Won’t happen again.”

And with that, you scurried out of the office and back into your shared bedroom. The shared bedroom that was slowly becoming just yours each and every day.

--------

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your eyes shot open. 

“God, what time is it?” You murmured to yourself, words slurring together. The bright light from your phone nearly blinded you as you checked the clock. It was 3 am. He’s just finishing now? I wish he would get some proper rest.

“Can I come in?” Jongho’s voice broke into the room. He sounded serious. What if he was getting ready to break up with you? After all, Jongho had always been one to cut out unnecessary distractions from his life. Normally you admired that; his determination and drive was nothing short of excellence. His maturity and guidance was what first attracted you to him. But it broke your heart knowing that you were next on his chopping block.

Truth is, Jongho heard you crying. Really, you’re not subtle when you’re upset. He went to check in on you a few hours ago, actually. But when he saw his t-shirt draped over the teddy bear he’d given you months ago, your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks pressed into said teddy bear, he knew he fucked up. The past few weeks had just been so stressful for him. With a never ending to-do list, Jongho didn’t have much time to think of anything else. 

He did think of you though. He always did. The picture of you two on vacation that sat on his desk never went a day without being picked up to be examined. It was one of the first things you two did together as a couple, and god, he wished he could go back. Jongho normally didn’t show much affection in public, instead opting to keep his cold appearance up. But being there with you was too much for him. It’s like you two were connected at the hip on that vacation. Everywhere you went, Jongho had his hand on your hip or around your shoulders. You just make him so happy, and he loses himself around you. Not that that’s a bad thing.

He never wanted to make you upset. But, he lost track of himself. Of course, that wasn’t an excuse, but maybe if you saw it his way then you’d be able to forgive him. After checking in on you earlier, Jongho devised a plan. He quickly got to work in his office, this time solely focusing on you. He first made a call to an assistant of his, apologizing for the late notice of his request, and asked for a bouquet of flowers. He wanted something sweet and dainty- something that reminded him of you. Thirty minutes later, the assistant showed up with a bouquet of Lily of the Valley flowers, beautifully tied together with green and purple ribbon. Next, Jongho wrote a sweet note, apologizing for his treatment of you over the past couple of weeks. It was always hard for Jongho to express himself verbally, so this would be the best course of action for him. Finally, he had taken off of work for a week, allowing time for him to devote himself completely to you. He swore to himself that wasn’t going to let himself upset you anymore, and it was finally time to show you that.

You looked up at Jongho as he poked his head in from behind the door. His eyes softened as they met yours. He began walking towards you with his hands behind his back, hiding his surprise for you. But with the way you jumped up and just about sprinted to him, it seemed like he was the one in for a surprise.

“Look, I know I messed up Jongho. I’m sorry, I really am! Just, please don’t break up with me,” you looked up at him, guilt wracking every part of your body, “I promise it won’t happen again. I even cleaned up around here! I figured I’d get some of the more unimportant things out of here for you.”

Jongho looked around the room. He noticed the lack of knick knacks you always seemed to bring home with you after a day out. The sheets were changed from the pink floral set that you adored to a plain white set. Everything in the room seemed dull. The only semblance of normalcy left in the room was the teddy bear sitting on the bed.

“I-” Jongho started, not quite realizing what an effect he’d had on you. You were never one to change so easily; it was one of the things he loved about you. This only made him feel worse. Not only that, but the way your voice shook as you talked and the obvious tears swelling in your water lines, Jongho had to stop himself from crying. 

“Sweetheart, I would never break up with you. You know that, right?” he reassured you, pulling out the bouquet and note he’d prepared. Your eyes lit up upon seeing this, confusion and relief swelling in your features simultaneously. 

“Here,” he said, sitting down on the foot of your bed, beckoning you to join him. Just before you could sit next to him though, he patted his leg, signaling you to sit in lap. As you do, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in as close to him as possible. He hands you the bouquet and note, allowing you a moment to look at the gift and read the note. As you read it, tears begin to fall down both of your faces. Sure, you felt like you needed to be touched like this, but you didn’t expect it to be as emotional as it was. As for Jongho, the guilt of hurting you had really begun to sting. Seeing you so broken up over a few absent-minded words had confused him at first. But once he finally had you in his arms again, he realized it had been weeks of neglect leading up to this point. He was hurting not only you, but himself, too. He just didn’t know he was doing it.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I never meant to hurt you like this,” he explained, wiping the tears away from your face and simply letting his own soak into his skin. His hands raked through your hair gently while he admired your face. “Never gonna let it happen again. Can’t believe I let this go for so long.”

“S’okay, Jongie,” you stammered out between soft cries. You tightened your arms around his neck even more, fingers gripping at shirt, as if he was going to leave any second. “I understand you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“Princess, you’ll always be number one on my list. You’re my top priority,” he said, finally regaining his composure and moving you to straddle him. Taking the gifts from your hands, he gently placed them to the side and took your face into his hands. He circled his thumbs on your cheeks, quietly asking you to stop crying. 

“I missed this, Jongho. I just love you so much. I’m sorry I’m such a burden sometimes-” but before you could continue, he cut you off.

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one that should be sorry,” he looked deep into your eyes, making sure you internalized each word he said, “and I am. I’m so sorry, baby. I know how much you care, and I want you to know how much I care, too. I love you so, so much, darling. I know I’m not the best with my words, so will you let me make it up to you another way?” Jongho questioned, his fingers tracing the edge of your pajama shorts, occasionally sneaking underneath the fabric. His eyes met yours, looking needier than ever. 

With your nod of approval, Jongho lifted your shirt off your body, exposing your bare chest. His hands were quick to touch you, rubbing and pulling lightly at each nipple. You leaned into him further with each touch, and soon, your lips connected in a sweet, tender kiss. Jongho only deepened the kiss as he let his hands run freely over your body, as if he were rediscovering a terrain that he had begun to forget. His hands snuck inside your shorts, past the band of your underwear, and began to rub soft circles into your clit. Occasionally, his fingers would briefly slip into your hole, gathering some of your slick to use as a lubricant, still circling your clit at a steady pace.

Jongho pressed his forehead against yours in order to catch your attention, “How do you want me, baby?”

“Doesn’t matter, just want you, Jongie,” you babbled, so desperate for him to go faster with his ministrations. Your hips bucked onto his fingers each time they left your clit, hoping he’d slip a finger fully in.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, “It’s all about you tonight. Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he insisted. Awaiting a response, he pulled his hand from your shorts, eliciting a whine from you. He hooked his arms under your legs, picking you up and laying you down on the bed. Gently, he pulled your shorts and underwear off together in one go. You could almost see the sparkle in his eyes as they traversed your body. He leaned down leaving just inches between your faces, “You gonna answer me, baby?”

“I think I want your tongue-” you began, but before you could finish, Jongho had pulled you to the edge of the bed and kneeled down, coming face to face with your cunt. He lifted your bottom half up, placing one forearm under you and the other on top, letting your legs rest on top of his shoulders. He let one thumb come to your clit, picking up from where he left off earlier. It didn’t take him long to dive into your pussy. Lapping at it like a starved man, he’d drag his tongue up and down your soaked cunt, occasionally dipping his tongue into you. With each drag of his tongue, you could feel yourself getting closer to a release, but everytime Jongho heard an influx of moaning and felt your hips buck up, he’d slow down slightly, not wanting you to cum just yet.

“So pretty, princess,” He said, coming up for air. His mouth and chin glistened as he smiled up at you with nothing but affection. It was as if he were touching you for the first time all over again. He was trying to take things slow, wanting to solely focus on making you feel good, but he couldn’t help but rut himself into the mattress when he heard those sweet moans of yours. He removed his hand from your clit, bringing it down to your hole instead. He toyed at your entrance, not quite deciding if he should go in or not.

“Please Jongie, want your fingers, too.”

And his mind was made up. He plunged two fingers in, focusing his mouth on your clit now. Your pussy basically sucked his fingers in, a sloshing noise coming from it. Jongho watched your face contort in pleasure. Your eyebrows strung together and your cheeks stained with a light blush. What a sight to see. It only made him want to work you harder. Shoving his fingers in up to the knuckle this time, he pistoned in and out of you, occasionally twisting them upwards to press his fingertips into your most sensitive spots. He just couldn’t get enough of how amazing your pussy felt; so soft, warm, and wet. So perfect for him.

“Gonna cum, Jong…So close” you whined out, pleasure filling every inch of your body. It was like he was sent into overdrive, his soft licking at your clit turned into harsh sucking at it, lips surrounding the bud completely. His fingers fucked into you at a pace you’d yet to feel in your life. It was desperate on both ends, each of you melting completely into one another’s touch.

Jongho had almost missed it, too focused on getting you there to notice your quickly approaching orgasm. He lifted his head up to watch you cum, as it had always been one of his favorite sights. The way your head slammed back into the mattress and your back arched up, sending your tits into the air for him to admire made him swear up and down that you were an angel sent for him. Giving you time to come down, he listened to the warbled sounds coming from you and collected the slick that was slowly leaking out of you onto his fingers and pushed it back into you.

“Jesus Christ, I missed that,” Jongho said with a groan, standing up to hold you in his arms. He lifted your back up so you were now sitting on the edge of the bed with him still slotted in between your legs. He brushed some strands of hair out of your face, his hand coming down to trace your jawline. He brought your face up to his and stole a couple kisses from you. You nudged your face into his hand, hoping somehow it could stay there forever. Something about his touch was always so grounding.

“Still okay to keep going, sweetheart?” He looked down at you, hoping to get the greenlight from you. 

You don't answer verbally, instead choosing to undo the buckle of his belt, using it to bring him in closer to you. As you unzip his pants and pull them down, his cock springs out, nearly hitting you in the face. Your tongue poked out of your mouth, getting ready to devour him until you felt his hands on your shoulders.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes then. Lay back, baby. Gonna take such good care of you tonight.” He gently pushed you back, noticing a look of concern on your face. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He said, slightly panicked.

“Don’t you want me to… you know,” You said, making a blowjob motion towards him. 

God, you’re so cute.

“Darling, I’m making it up to you, aren’t I? You don’t have to do anything tonight, just let me make you feel good.” A smirk adorned his face, enamored with how sweet you are. His hands traced up and down your sides, a gentle, but steadying motion. 

You reached your arms up, looping them around his neck to pull him into a kiss. It was chaste, quick and simple, but so passionate. It was as if you were kissing him for the first time again. You let his tongue explore your mouth, enjoying the low groan he let out as he did so. Barely breaking away, you looked into his eyes, deep and glistening, and asked, “Can I have you inside me now? Want’ to feel you inside.”

That was all he needed to hear before he lined himself up with your entrance, pumping his cock a few times before he did so. He teasingly dragged the tip up and down your folds before sinking into you. It was slow, but languid. He wanted you to feel every part of him, every vein and curve on him, just to remind you that you’d never have to go without again. His voice was low and throaty as he bottomed out, letting soft moans fall from his lips. 

“Baby girl, you feel so good,” he stops, waiting for you to adjust to the size. Once ready, he pulls his hips back achingly slowly, almost pulling out all the way, just to force himself back in. Your fingers curled into his hair and your legs wrapped around his waist, begging for him to be deeper in you. 

“Love feeling you inside like this, Jongie,” you whine, “please keep going.” 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he assured you, “never gonna leave you alone again.” 

He took your face into his hands, planting kisses all over your face. His hips pick up their pace, hitting your sensitive spot repeatedly. While his pace was still slow, it was steady and deep. Jongho wasn’t fucking you to get himself off, he was fucking you to get you off. And god it felt so good. As his hips continued to snap into yours, the loud sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, you could feel yourself coming close to your climax. And you knew Jongho was almost there, too, based on the wince he let out each time he thrusted into you. 

“I’m so close, Jongie, are you?” You asked, the heat burning in your core only getting warmer. He nodded, unable to speak through his own groaning. He planted one hand by your head to steady himself while the other took yours into his, lacing your fingers together. Even though his orgasm was slowly approaching, he wanted you to cum first. He forgot how much he loved the way it felt when you came on him. 

Staring down at you, Jongho quickened his thrusts, making sure to hit that spot deep inside you that he knew felt so good. Over and over again, harder and harder. It sent a rush of electricity through your body, limbs shaking and back arching as your orgasm washed over you. He loved how your cunt clenched down on him, a warm rush of arousal pooling around the base of his cock. 

“That was so good, princess. Such a sweet girl,” Jongho barely let out, “Think I’m gonna come now, too.”

“Want it inside me, Jongho.” 

That was enough to send him over the edge. His hips rutted into yours desperately. Spilling his seed into you, he stopped thrusting and just sat there for a moment, basking in the warmth around him. His forehead pressed against yours, noses nudging together and eyes staring into each other with great affection. 

“You forgive me yet?” He pulled out, eliciting a whine from you. 

“I forgave you when I saw the flowers,” you chuckled, sitting up on your elbows. Jongho flopped down next to you. His chest rose and fell shallowly, trying to regain some of his breath. 

“I figured,” he looked at you, eyes gleaming with joy, “but it was still nice, right?” 

“Of course it was. I love it every time, you know that. And I missed it so much, you don’t even know.”

“Baby, I don’t even think I knew how much I needed it,” he pulled you into him, his hand massaging into the skin of your hip, “I know I said this, but I’m never gonna leave you like that again, got it?” You returned a simple nod, too tired to answer verbally. 

“Ready to get cleaned up?” You answered again with a nod, sleep already seeping into your bones. Jongho left the room, heading to the bathroom to clean himself up and fill up the tub. Not long after, he came back for you, pulling you up into his arms to carry you to the bathroom. Checking the water temperature and deciding it was alright, he placed you into the tub. It was silent between you two, but that’s what you liked about aftercare with him. You didn’t need words to bring you back to your normal mindset, his touch was always enough.

His hands massaged your shoulders, knocking every knot and tight spot out of your body. They moved down your body, working until he could confidently say you wouldn’t feel sore in the morning. He then went on to take a washcloth to your body, scrubbing the sweat and other body fluids off of you, paying extra attention to the insides of your thighs. During all of this, he gently hummed one of your favorite songs. It was a ritual for him to care for you like this. It made him feel good, like he protected you like no one else could. Sure, he was always working, but when he was working to please you, it made him feel so much more important. 

Once finished cleaning you off, he drained the tub. Turning his attention back to you, he planted a kiss to your forehead and helped you out of the tub. You purred as he wrapped a warm towel around you, pulling you in for a hug. The two of you stayed there for a moment, just swaying in each other’s arms. 

He didn’t want to say anything to ruin the quiet atmosphere in the bathroom, so instead he hooked a finger under your chin, pulling your face up to look at his. He placed a tender kiss to your lips, knowing that you’d understand just how much he cared for you in that moment. 

[97linelover]

MASTERLIST ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Just a silly girl that writes about men that don’t leave her head. English is not my mother tongue so please be kind. All my story’s in one post!

Do not translate / copy / change my works.

♡= Angst ☆= fight ❀= fluff ♛ = smut

Unspoken Words ♡ ☆ summary: when your boyfriend comes back home after an fight, you did not expect your world falling apart.

It will always be her ♡ ☆ summary: You finally thought you found your soulmate, but you never had a chance in the first place right?

It´s always the quarterback ♡ ☆ ❀ summary: the quarterback and the nerd, how cliché- well not every cliché story has their happy end. The Story between you and Soonyoung started out like in the movies, but what if he betrays you?

Dont let me slip ways please ♡ ☆ ❀ summary: Dating an Idol was not always easy, you once again felt it with their newest comeback. What if your Boyfriend pushes you away and you could only watch? content: Idol Wonwoo x non Idol reader, fight,angst, happy end,fluff, smut

Where do broken hearts go? ♡ ☆ ❀ summary: Marrying the man of your dreams will finally come true, but what happens when the day comes and the Man is not there?

Shielding your heart. ♡ ☆ ❀ summary: When Jeon Wonwoo becomes embroiled in a scandal that threatens to expose the love of his life, to a ruthless public, he makes the heartbreaking decision to leave her. For Y/N, being with Wonwoo has always meant living in the shadows of his fame, but when the paparazzi uncover her identity, the stakes become dangerously high. Determined to shield her from the relentless scrutiny and vicious backlash, wonwoo ends their relationship, believing it's the only way to keep her safe. As he navigates the fallout from the scandal alone, Wonwoo is haunted by the love he sacrificed and the woman he left behind.

False number alert ♡ ☆ ❀ summary: it´s normal to chat over your phone nowadays, but what happens if you receive a text from a stranger? And what if this stranger is not who he claims to be?

Better off without me ♡ ☆ ❀ summary: nearly 10 years.. that´s the time you´ve been with Kim Mingyu. But what if his plans about the future are not the same as yours? What if the guy you love the most breaks your heart within seconds?

Don´t treat me like a Baby ♡ ☆ ❀ ♛

summary: Being the only Daughter in the Choi Family made you Precious. What if your Dad hires Kim Mingyu as your Bodyguard. And what if you develop a huge crush on him?

Did you hear what the rumor said? ♡ ☆ ❀ summary: Dating as Idols means, keeping it a secret. Rumors will spread, people will get hurt. What if this one Rumor brings you over the edge and you no longer can handle this Secret?

Versace on the floor ♡ ☆ ❀ ♛ summary: You´re sure of one thing, leaving the house with your Fiancé in a Suit, will lead to a steamy night.

Birthday of 2024 ❀ ♛ summary: it´s your boyfriends birthday, you decide to suprise him. Well the night gets pretty steamy.

Gym Session ❀ ♛ summary: when your boyfriend decides to workout late at night you won´t refuse, but your favorite part is always the after session.

Fatal desires ♡ ☆

summary: 5 Years of Marriage should mean something, right? Well your Husband did not seem to think so.

[tasteracha]

a/n: this was 100% inspired by the news of hyune being made a global ambassador of versace (i'm so proud of him i'll cry). also this wasn't proofread in any way. oops.

you were in the middle of trying to make it look like you weren’t waiting at the door like an excited puppy when hyunjin came home, the lock to the front door rattling a bit as he unlocked it. he hasn’t been home this early in weeks, too busy with schedules and practices and meetings. you’re always immensely proud of him, happy to sit at home while he lives out his dreams but the pang of missing him has hurt a little more than usual lately.

all pretenses of trying to act cool flew out the window when you saw him though - he’s always beautiful, but something about the flowing silks and elegant patterns of his new versace clothes makes him look other-worldly. versace, the brand he was now a global ambassador of. 

you didn’t know he was coming home all done up like this. even the shoes he kicks off are absurdly nice, smooth leathers complimented by lines of gold metal. your own body is clothed in your sleep shorts and an old worn out t-shirt, but the look of awe he gives you rivals the one on your face as he takes you in, the first thing he lays eyes on after a tiring day. 

“hi, gorgeous,” he says, sweeping you into a hug and pressing a kiss onto the top of your head. 

“shouldn’t i be the one calling you that?” you say, pulling back a bit to look him up and down. “you look amazing, mr. fancy brand ambassador.”

“it doesn’t matter what you wear, you’re always perfect,” he says sweetly, a fond smile on his face. he’s so sweet. but with the way he looks right now, like a greek god walking straight out of a myth, you suddenly don’t want sweet.

his eyes widen a bit when yours narrow in on him for a second, calculating. all your plans of cuddling him while you watch a movie and share a bottle of wine fly out the window as you pull him straight to the bedroom, not asking if he’d eaten or needed water or rest - that can happen later. once you’ve gotten what you wanted from him.

“i have to be careful with this, hmm?” you don’t waste any time as you slowly unbutton his silk shirt, the fabric rippling like water under your hands. “this probably is worth more than i am.”

“no,” he gasps when you get it open and run your hands up and down his chest, stopping at his nipples. you’ve caught him off guard. good. “yes. i don’t know?”

“awh, does my pretty boy feel shy because he’s all dolled up?” you tease as you slide the fabric off of his shoulders and neatly place it on the dresser. you know your words will push the wrong buttons. or the right ones, depending on his mood. for all of his shyness, he doesn’t usually like being teased in the bedroom. he likes it slow and sweet, sometimes hard and rough, but for the latter he needs to be pushed there. 

“watch it,” he says, voice sharp in a way that slices right through you, just as you expected. you shiver when he pulls you close, his hand a harsh grip on your waist. you can smell his perfume from this close, the flowery scent mixing with his own natural one creating a melody of intoxicating aromas. his eyes are still soft though, he rarely ever looks at you with anything but pillowy fondness.

but the way he rips your shirt off when you just smirk at him in response is a sharp contrast to how you discarded him of his. it’s quick and rough, and you’re surprised that it didn’t rip before he threw it onto the floor behind you. 

“you’re buying me a new shirt if you’re going to treat it like that,” your voice trembles when he cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing just so. for all your words, you know he’s winning this round. it’s a game of chess that you had prepared to lose.

“i’ll buy you a hundred shirts if you shut up and let me fuck you,” he almost growls, the frustration building up. fuck. 

“i don’t know,” you pretend to think, placing your chin in your hand and rolling your eyes upwards in an exaggerated display. “why should i?”

before you can blink, he’s sliding your shorts and underwear down and pushing you backwards, and you feel the swoop of the fall in your stomach as your back hits your mattress. you let out a breathless laugh when he almost trips trying to get his own pants and boxers off, hopping on one foot when the other gets tangled up. 

“do you need help?” you ask, voice sugar sweet and gaze locked onto him through your lashes. the final puzzle piece you needed, you realize, as his eyes ice over and the beautiful features on his face sharpen. he rids himself of the last of his clothes in one smooth movement, striding over to kneel on top of you on the bed.

“what’s gotten into you today, hmm?” he purrs, the hand that isn’t holding himself up over you is rubbing slow, hard circles into your inner thigh. you don’t answer, but the fight leaves you as you melt under him and your eyes flutter closed, content. he leans down to press a soft kiss to your jaw, then behind your ear, and finally to your mouth. “are you that desperate to get fucked?”

he pushes two fingers into you at once, making you keen and your eyes fly open as he starts pumping them in and out of you. he crooks his fingers just right every time, and you’re already seeing black spots in your vision as the pressure in your lower belly pools up.

“hyune-”, you gasp out, hands fluttering on his back. “what, ah-”

“you want me in control, right? i’m going to make you come on my fingers,” he pants out, his hand not slowing from its brutal pace. “and them i’m going to make you come on my cock. and you’re going to lay there and take it.”

the thought makes you groan and move your hips up to meet him, and when you look up at him hovering over you he looks like an angel. his hair is still done up, red-tinted lips parted and sparkly brown dusted eyes focused on how his fingers look inside of you. he moans when you clench hard around his fingers, like he’s feeling your pleasure too, and it sends you over the edge. you pull him down to meet you, parted pairs of lips meeting in a messy kiss as you all but sob into his mouth. 

he doesn’t give you any time to recover as he pulls his slick-soaked fingers out of you, using it to pump his hard cock a few times before sliding it into you, propping himself onto his elbow so his entire body is covering yours. his mouth is still on yours, sucking and biting at your bottom lip, and even with that as a distraction you can feel every inch of him entering you. you can’t help the way your walls tighten around him when he starts moving and you break his kiss to throw your head back, an embarrassingly load moan leaving your mouth.

his lips move to your neck, latching on like his mouth can’t stay away from you. you can feel his breath panting out onto your skin, aligning with your own ragged breaths. you hook a leg around his waist, your hands scratching gently across the smooth planes of his back. 

he comes before you do, pumping you full as he bites down on your neck, and he keeps fucking you until you follow him into the high. your legs shake and he whimpers, holding you close and burying his face into your neck as you both gain control of your breathing. 

he rolls off of you once he can take breath that isn’t ragged and you lay your head on his chest, not minding the sweat. the both of you are serene, basking in the glow when you remember to ask - 

“…do you think i get free clothes out of this too?”

[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 12/? Word count: 3726 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 10. Unaware

"Hey," Matilde said when she entered the room next to her office. Galileo was already working behind his desk. "Do you have a minute so that we can talk?"

The young Italian nodded, knowing what this was about. "Of course."

"Do you want something to drink? I'm getting a cappuccino."

Galileo raised his eyebrows and really wanted to say something, but he thought it was best to keep his mouth shut. "No, thank you."

Matilde had to do her best to hide her grin. It was 14:00, and technically, according to the Italians, it was too late to drink a cappuccino. But she didn't care. People in this office didn't care about her, so why should she care? "Okay. I'll be back in... five?"

"Yes, absolutely."

The Dane walked to the coffee corner on the same floor and asked the barista for a cappuccino. Again, she received the side eye, but Matilde only smiled, causing the barista to make the cappuccino anyway.

A few minutes later, Matilde entered her office and called Galileo in. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," he nodded as he sat across from her. "How about you?"

Matilde pressed the corners of her mouth down, acting casual. "Fine, fine," she mumbled. "I will go straight to the point because, apparently, I have a board meeting now." She noticed the stress on Galileo's face when she said it. "How come I was unaware of the inauguration ceremony this morning?" Matilde asked and looked at Galileo. 'And the board meeting?'

The young assistant parted his lips and looked at his boss. His heartbeat became fast; he forgot to inform her about the inauguration ceremony and the board meeting. "I... I forgot, I think."

She nodded. "Thank you for being honest with me, Galileo," she said. "Look, I would be lying if I said it is okay and can happen. I need to know when these things happen, these events are very important for me, the team and for the representation of this team. You are here to support me, manage my appointments and to make sure I am aware of it." Matilde shared a warm smile, she could see how sorry he was. "For now, it happened, and there's nothing we can do about it anymore. But for the next time, double-check everything, okay?"

"I will. I am sorry," the young Italian said.

"Thank you."

Galileo got up and was about to leave the office.

"These things happen, but make sure you learn from them. Without making mistakes, you won't learn properly," she reminded him before he left.

Once he left the room, her smile dropped, and she turned around in her chair, facing the wall behind her desk. She blinked a couple of times and yawned. Being a team principal was literally being a teacher to toddlers. Matilde took a deep breath and got up, taking her laptop, notebook and coffee with her. She made her way to the meeting room, ready to be attacked and to defend herself in front of the most influential people of Ferrari.

"Hello," she said when entering the room, leaving the door open.

The big people looked already annoyed, a great start. She showed no fear and made her way to the only available seat.

"We've been waiting for you for over fifteen minutes," a woman said.

Matilde didn't remember her name, only that she looked like Donatella Versace. Matilde glanced at her, ready to say something, but she got interrupted by a knock on the door. She looked at the person, it was Mario. "Mario," Matilde smiled.

"Sorry to interrupt. Can I ask you a question?" Mario said.

"Of course. What is it?" She nodded and opened her laptop.

Sighs filled the room, causing Mario to look uncomfortable. Glances were shared; why did Mario interrupt? But a more important question was: why did someone from the night shift ask for her?

"The order that is missing, do we have an update on it yet?" Mario asked, hoping the order had arrived.

Matilde blew up her cheeks. "I have not seen a note yet, so I don't think so. I will follow it up after this meeting, you will hear from me."

The night shift manager and the team principal looked at each other; both wondering why they were present at the office. Mario squeezed his eyebrows together. "I thought you were supposed to be here at..." Mario pulled up the sleeve of his watch. "Six o'clock?"

"Well," she countered. "And what are you doing here then?" A cheeky smile came on her face.

"Mhm-mhm," Mario chuckled. "I will hear from you," he winked and walked away.

It was silent in the room again. Matilde looked around, raising her eyebrows, waiting for the meeting to start.

"What was that all about?" the same woman as earlier asked.

"If you work a shift, you are not allowed to start your next shift eleven hours after your previous shift ended. And since the night shift ended eight hours ago, we are legally forbidden to be here and work until six this afternoon," Matilde explained, reminding the board about the rules.

No one reacted to the comment. Instead, Simone started the meeting with a small introduction of why the board came together. "Firstly, do you have a reason why you were late to this board meeting, Matilde?"

Matilde looked up from her laptop and blinked a couple of times, taking a sip of her coffee. "Legally, I am not supposed to be here. My shift ended eight hours ago, which I explained a few seconds ago. I am making an exception to be here," she mentioned. "So the reason why I am late: I am still off duty."

No one seemed to find a suitable answer to her reply. Again, they were sharing looks with each other, trying to understand why she took a night shift.

"For clarification: I am taking night shifts every other week?" Matilde looked around, she thought people were aware about that. She always wrote it down in her work agenda and everyone has access to her agenda.

"Noted," Simone said and he looked at his notes. "So the reason why you were late at the inauguration ceremony is also because of the break-rule. But may I ask why you're here? You are legally not allowed to be here for four more hours, as you said so yourself."

"Exactly." Even though that wasn't the exact reason why she was late at the ceremony, she thought that was an excellent reason for this board. Galileo made a mistake, but that was something between them, and Matilde wanted to protect him from the board. "And the reason why I'm here is because I was bored at home. And I'm the team principal, I always have work to do."

The woman who spoke to her at the beginning, took over. Wasn't her name Antonia? A sly smirk appeared on her face, she was ready to attack the young team principal. "We received a message from PR about the celebrations in Miami."

Oh, here we go, Matilde thought. How did PR know about this? Who talked? Matilde nodded, accepting that she had to explain her side of the incident.

"We understand that you are delighted to celebrate your first win - as you should, but we received videos of you partying with Max Verstappen and some employees of Red Bull Racing. You have to understand that that is not great for your image."

Matilde straightened her face. This was about Max and Red Bull? She looked around, everyone looked sternly at her, like she had damaged their reputation. "Well, yes-"

"We understand you have your friends at your former team, but you cannot be seen like this." The tone of Antonia was unrelenting.

Matilde was prepared to defend herself and maintain her professionalism, but the weight of their expectations was palpable. She took a moment to generate her response. Of course, she knew the delicate balance she had to follow between maintaining relationships in the paddock and upholding Ferrari's image.

"Matilde, do you think that action was appropriate?" Simone could see Matilde was thinking about a response, but he wanted her to be faster. He was taking notes, looked up and waited for a further response. "It could be perceived as celebrating with a competitor, a rival."

"I appreciate your concern," Matilde began, her voice steady. "And I acknowledge that appearances matter. However-" Before she could elaborate further on her intentions, someone else cut in.

"Our image is important. We cannot afford to have our team principal's actions misinterpreted, especially with a rival team." The voice of the man was sharp, but impatient.

The frustration in Matilde's veins simmered just below the surface. But she maintained her composure. "As I was trying to say, we must also consider the context. I was not celebrating with Max and Red Bull Ra-"

"You have to understand that it's not just about the context."

This meeting was about interrogating Matilde, to share their criticisms without allowing her to respond fully and to defend herself. Matilde had expected a severe meeting about the team's performances, not this relentless lecture that made her feel increasingly unheard and undermined.

Matilde clenched her jaw and she took a deep breath, now her irritation began to bubble up. She didn't get the chance to explain herself, as they only seemed to be interested in one side of the story. She refused to back down on her story. "I understand the importance of our image-" she repeated, her voice tight.

But yet again, she was cut off by Simone, who seemed to have a lot of fun by irritating her. "Our team's reputation is at stake here. You may see it as a small gesture, but the public won't always perceive it that way," Simone looked at Antonia. "Antonia, you have set up a statement. Matilde, we want you to publish a statement for this incident."

Matilde squeezed her eyebrows together, and she looked around as if she was the main character of The Office. "Excuse me? Why?" Her tone was openly irritated now. "I acknowledge the importance of the team's image, but let's not lose sight of the bigger picture here. This obsession with a harmless moment is counterproductive."

"Matilde, the perception of our team matters. We need to control the narrative. A statement will help manage this situation," Antonia said.

Matilde almost groaned in frustration. They weren't listening to her, it was like they were fixated on the statement and not the reason behind it. "I understand your point, but let's not forget the context. I believe we are blowing this out of proportion. If I just may-" Her patience was wearing thin.

"You have to-"

"If you could, please let me finish," she repeated, raising her voice a little bit, demanding to have the word. "The reason why I was standing next to Max and Red Bull was because I was not invited to our own team's celebration dinner," she explained.

The board members exchanged glances, and Simone leaned back in his chair, a look of incredulity on his face. "So you decide to celebrate your win with our rival?" He repeated, as though the idea was utterly preposterous.

Matilde blinked a couple of times, looking unheard. Did they just not hear what she said? "In other words, yes," she responded. "Because I was not invited to the team's celebration dinner. And I want to clarify this: Max Verstappen is my friend, Red Bull is filled with my friends-"

"We need to address this issue promptly and professionally," Antonia chimed in, her tone critical. "Drafting a statement is the right course of action."

Matilde's frustration had reached its peak. She couldn't believe how obstinate the board was being, seemingly ignoring her explanations. Their need to release a statement was maddening. "Are you even listening to me? Why do I need to justify myself for the fact that I, the team principal, was not invited to the team's celebration dinner? It makes more sense for you to justify this situation." She felt so extremely selfish to say that she wasn't invited and that she had to be invited. Perhaps everyone disliked her and it was their plan not to invite her, and perhaps it was her expectation she had to be invited. Perhaps she was the issue.

"You are the team principal, you are a model to not only your team, but to the entire field and fanbase," Simone emotionlessly replied.

"Fine, but then make sure Leclerc is not allowed to talk to Gasly outside of work anymore, or meet with him outside of the track. And ban Sainz from golfing with Norris," Matilde shot back.

While the board was discussing the situation, the entire floor could hear their debate. Even though there was a lot of work to do, the entire floor of employees were more interested in the conversation. People gathered around, close enough to the meeting room to hear everything, but not to be seen by the board members. It had been the first time they heard Matilde speaking up like this. People doubted if she ever could get angry, but after this weekend and this discussion, they figured out Matilde could get angry very badly.

Charles and Carlos were sitting at a desk, in the engineers room, discussing some points for the sim later this afternoon. They could hear the discussion very well. Even they stopped working to follow the discussion.

"She's feisty," Charles said perplexedly. "Oh, my gosh." He covered his mouth with his hand.

"After Sunday, I didn't think she could surprise me anymore, but I didn't expect this," an engineer mentioned.

Carlos' mouth hung open, focussing on the conversation. "We have to say something, this is something between her and the board, not us."

"No, no, don't," Charles replied, raising his arm.

"But this is unacceptable. You're nosy."

"It is their problem, not ours. They shouldn't have left the door wide open," Charles shrugged. Carlos got up. "Don't," Charles said disappointingly.

Carlos shook his head, left the engineer's room and walked through the hallway. He noticed how the entire floor was standing close to the meeting room. It was serious, very serious. Charles joined him on the walk, he couldn't resist the urge to get closer to the commotion. They squeezed between the people, careful not to obstruct anyone's view.

"I can't believe they're making such a fuss about this," Charles muttered under his breath.

Carlos looked behind him, not realising Charles had followed him. He nodded in agreement. "It's absurd. They're treating her like she committed a crime." He stepped to the room, everybody collectively holding their breath. When he stood in front of the room, Matilde was in the middle of her sentence.

"I still cannot figure out how me, having a night out with my friends, bothers you the most out of that evening?" Matilde asked.

To Carlos' surprise, Matilde was still looking and speaking professionally. He knocked on the door, alerting them to his presence. "Hey, I am..." He pointed at the door.

She looked at him and held up her hand. "You can leave the door open, Carlos," she said before continuing on the same tone with the rest of her words. "Do you know what bothers me the most? Besides the board not understanding this situation, the fact that the entire team, not just a few people, but everyone, went out for dinner to celebrate the win and they did not even bother to ask me to join them on purpose."

Carlos stood speechlessly in front of the meeting room. He looked to his right, to his team, with rounded eyes. He walked back to his team. "This is serious shit," he said.

"I will not publish a statement," Matilde finished her story. "I think it will be time for us to hire an external coach or a psychologist. The way of communication has to change internally and as quickly as possible. Especially the communication between employees. That is the main issue in this team. This meeting is over. If there are any questions, don't hesitate to contact my assistant. Good afternoon, everyone."

The people in the hallway didn't know how fast they had to return to their desks. They had to pretend they hadn't been listening. Carlos ran after Charles back to the engineer's room. They jumped down on their seats. A second later, Matilde passed them. Silence fell on the entire floor and they all looked at Matilde; she showed no emotion.

"Holy shit..." Charles whispered. "That was something else," he remarked.

Carlos nodded, still impressed by Matilde's determination. His respect for her grew. "She's not one to back down, that's for sure."

The entire floor has just witnessed their 'puppy' team principal push back against the board with an intensity that was rarely seen. The engineers were buzzing with discussions about what had just transpired. It was clear that Matilde's impassioned defence had made an impact on everyone who had heard it. The board, too, was left with much to consider after her strong words. Her speech had ignited a new level of respect among the team, who now saw her in a different light. Her actions had solidified her position not just as a team principal, but as a leader who wasn't afraid to fight for the people, even against the most powerful figures within Ferrari.

Charles got up from his chair and made his way to Matilde's office. He ignored Galileo, who told him not to enter the office. After knocking, Charles swung open the door; Matilde was standing in front of the window, arms crossed, looking outside, her posture reflecting frustration and exhaustion.

"Hey..." he gently spoke.

Matilde looked over her shoulder. Once their gaze met, she showed just a smile - a smile without emotion or meaning. "Hello," she replied.

"Would you like to grab a coffee?" He pointed behind him. "There's a new coffee stand on the campus."

She considered Charles' offer for a moment. The tension from the board meeting still lingered, just like the unaware ceremony and incident from Sunday. However, she knew a short break and some fresh air would do her good. She stared at her watch and she nodded, she had some time left before her next meeting. "Yeah, sure," she replied, her smile now carrying a bit more warmth.

Charles hoped that this coffee break would provide her some rest and reset. Matilde grabbed her pass and sunglasses before they left her office. In silence they walked over the campus. Charles didn't feel the need to say anything, he wanted to make sure that Matilde could empty her mind.

As they approached the stand, Matilde scanned the new stand. She hadn't seen it before, but it looked cute. It was quite a minimalist stand, it was a stand that could go viral on Instagram for the aesthetic. Matilde was surprised to see that they served iced coffee, so she ordered that. Charles ordered a simple espresso.

"Thanks," Matilde broke the silence. They had their coffee and sat down on a small wall next to the stand. Charles looked at her, sharing a questionable look. "For... You know, this."

"Of course." He offered a supportive smile. "A small break can do miracles."

"I..." She took a deep breath. "I really appreciate it."

"Anytime." Charles looked in front of him. "And about Sunday... I didn't know what was happening. I assumed you were at the dinner, but somewhere...I don't know, somewhere where we couldn't see you."

"It's okay. It happened."

"It's not okay and it wasn't classy from our side."

"It is what it is, Charles. I hope it was miscommunication and I hope we all learn from it," she responded. Momentarily, Matilde didn't like the team, but she couldn't show it. She had to deal and work with it. "And I didn't celebrate the win with Max. People told me there wouldn't be a party because of the early flight the next day, so I wanted to get a drink at the hotel. I bumped into Gemma, my best friend. She works as a PR manager for Red Bull, and she dragged me to the restaurant. If I knew about your dinner, I obviously wouldn't have done it."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and he looked at her, it looked like she regretted everything.

"I have my friends at Red Bull. Max and I joined Red Bull at the same time, we 'grew up' together, I met my friend group there. And everyone assumes I moved to Ferrari to spy for Christian. When we see each other, we briefly talk about F1, we mostly talk about bullshit and ourselves, not about our work. I signed a million documents, they signed a million documents, why do people assume we share the team's deepest secrets?"

"You don't have to explain yourself, Matilde. I understand you." Charles knew it was better if she could just rant, let it all out, he wanted to let her know that it was safe to rant with him.

"And this morning, I got here and it was basically the same thing all over again. The ceremony thing and the board meeting I wasn't told about." Her voice cracked and she let out a loud sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," Charles replied and put his espresso next to him on the wall. He wrapped his arm around her and rubbed her arm.

Matilde leaned into the comforting gesture. Fortunately, she was wearing sunglasses. "I just want to do what's best for the team. I do what I think is the best," she admitted, her voice filled with raw emotion. "And I know this role isn't for softies, but there's just so much friction."

"Ferrari is a tough team to work with. I can't approve of what happened this week, but it's been a stressful time," he shared.

She straightened her back and dried her eyes. "Thanks." Matilde looked at him. They held each other's gaze for a few seconds. Charles shared a warm smile, Matilde couldn't help, but smile because of his smile. "God, this isn't professional. I am sorry."

Charles chuckled. "Team principal or not, you have feelings and sometimes you have to let them out. This stays between us, alright?"

"Thank you." She got up and looked around. "Let's get back to work. I have a feeling there are more wins in store for us."

Next chapter

[sooniessoulmate]

𝙻𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚗 - 𝚌𝚑.𝟷𝟼 - 𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝟶𝚝𝟾

♥️𝚌𝚑.𝟷𝟻♠️ 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝♦️𝚌𝚑.𝟷𝟽♣️

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟼 - 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛

Y/N made her way into her new bedroom. Mingi was sitting in the corner of the room reading a comic book when she entered.  He looked up stunned seeing her standing in the doorway in a towel, “you need to wear clothing,” he huffed. 

“I’m aware,” she stated. “My clothing is in here.”

“Why wouldn’t you take your clothing with you to the bathroom?” Mingi asked. 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t be back until I was dressed,” Y/N sighed. “But as normal my plans didn’t go accordingly.”

“I want a monkey too,” Mingi announced, full of excitement. “But Seonghwa says I can’t get one.”

“You want a monkey?” Y/N asked, confused. 

“Yea one that plays the accordingly. I saw one at a circus do that, a long time ago and have wanted a monkey ever since,” Mingi smiled. 

“I think you mean an accordion,” Y/N smiled. 

“Yea that’s the same thing,” Mingi rolled his eyes before looking back at his comic book. 

“Ok,” she said, deciding not to argue. “Would you mind leaving the room so I can get dressed?”

“Actually yes I would mind,” Mingi huffed. “Just because everyone else bows down to you, it doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

“I don’t want you to bow down to me, Mingi. I would just like some privacy so I can get dressed,” she explained. 

“Well maybe you should have taken your clothing to the bathroom with you then,” Mingi sighed. 

“Fine, don’t leave the room,” Y/N snapped. “But please don’t look at me.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Mingi growled, turning around in his chair to face away from Y/N,  forcing a small smile to form on her face. 

She walked over to the pile of her clothing laying on the floor next to the bed and picked out a pair of her pajamas. She placed her wet towel on the bed and slowly got changed into the new clothing. Mingi tried to stay focused on his comic but couldn’t resist glancing in the reflection of the computer screen. He stared for a moment, dropping his book on the floor. 

“Fuck,” he snapped, bending over to retrieve the book, trying to avoid looking in her direction. 

“You can look now,” she announced. “I’m dressed.”

“I could have looked the entire time,” Mingi scowled. 

Y/N giggled as she sat down on the bed. Mingi got up and sat down next to her. He put his finger out, almost pointing at her, “pull my finger,” he ordered 

“Why?” she asked. 

“Just do it,” he demanded, trying to hold back his laughter. 

Y/N reached out grabbing the finger that was pointed at her and pulled it. Mingi lifted his butt off of the bed and left out a huge fart making him laugh, hysterically out loud. 

“I got you good,” Mingi continued laughing. 

Y/N took a deep breath, trying hard to be annoyed but a small smile broke through. 

“Do you want to sleep head to toe?” Mingi asked. 

“Head to toe?” Y/N repeated. 

“Yea like your feet will be where my head is and vice versace,” Mingi explained, proudly. “Oooh but I do kick a lot in my sleep so I don’t know if that will be safe for you.”

“No we don’t have to do that,” she smiled. “I think we’ll be ok to sleep with our heads next to each other.”

“But what if I kiss you?” Mingi asked, staring into her eyes for a few seconds before breaking out into another laughing fit. “As if I’m gonna do that.” He roughly smacked her leg and crawled onto his bed. 

A knock sounded on the door before it swung open as Jongho entered without hesitation. 

He scowled at Y/N before speaking, “you need to go to the boss’s room.”

“For what?” she asked. 

“Don’t ask questions, just do as your fucking told,” Jongho growled. 

“This is getting really fucking old,” yn complained standing up to leave the room. 

“If I’m sleeping when you come back, don’t wake me up,” Mingi ordered. “I don’t like being woken up, unless you have ice cream. Then you can wake me.”

Y/N ignored Mingi’s innocent comment as she stormed out of the room, headed towards Seonghwa’s bedroom. When she reached the door, she knocked a few times but the door didn’t open. 

“This feels like deja vu,” she said to herself, turning to head back to Mingi’s. 

“Not so fast,” Jongho snarled. “You need to go inside.”

“But he didn’t answer the door,” Y/N argued. 

“It doesn’t matter. He said you needed to go into his room and wait for him,” Jongho explained. “Now be a good little tramp and do as you’re told.”

“I’m really getting tired of all of the different names you guys are calling me,” she huffed. 

Jongho laughed in response, “go in now.”

“Whatever,” Y/N sighed as she opened the door to Seonghwa’s bedroom and cautiously entered. 

The room appeared to be empty, lending a little false hope to Y/N. She sat down on the bed not knowing what she was expected to do. 

After a few minutes the bedroom door flew open and a clearly drunk Seonghwa entered with his arms wrapped around two unknown, barely dressed women. 

Seonghwa smirked at Y/N sitting on his bed but didn’t say anything. He turned to the blonde girl and started kissing her then to the brunette and did the same to her. 

“Strip,” he whispered to them. 

The two women released Seonghwa and started to remove the little amount of clothing that they were wearing. Seonghwa stripped down to his boxers and laid on the opposite side of the bed where Y/N was sitting. 

The blonde girl hopped on the bed and started licking his abs, the brunette followed her lead. They pulled his boxers down, exposing his hard cock, immediately putting it in their mouths like they would a lollipop. 

“What the fuck,” Y/N snarled starting to get up from the bed. 

Seonghwa reached over grabbing her thigh, “no you need to stay,” he ordered. 

“Why would I want to stay for this?” Y/N snarled. 

Seonghwa put his hand down pulling the blonde off of his dick, he flipped her over onto the bed, crawling on top of her. “Because I want to look at you while I fuck them,” he announced. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Y/N gasped. 

Seonghwa thrusted, causing the blonde girl to scream out in pleasure, making Y/N wince discomfortably and look away. 

Seonghwa looked at the brunette, “you make sure she keeps watching,” he ordered. 

The brunette stood up, walked over to Y/N and held her head, forcing her to look at Seonghwa having his way with the blonde woman. Once he was finished with her, the blonde and the brunette switched positions and Seonghwa continued to make eye contact with Y/N until he was done with her. Then he rolled over on the bed, breathing heavily and dozed off to sleep. 

Once Y/N was certain that Seonghwa was asleep she stood up and crept out of his bedroom and headed back to Mingi’s room.  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she crawled into bed next to Mingi, trying not to disturb him. 

Mingi reached his arm over and poked her in the back, “are you ok?” he asked. 

“I’m fine,” she lied. 

“Then why are you crying?” Mingi wondered. 

“I’m not crying,” Y/N lied again, “I’m sorry that I woke you and I don’t have any ice cream for you.”

“It’s ok,” Mingi said. “Just stop crying and I’ll forgive you.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She laid restless most of the night, trying to understand why Seonghwa did what he did. She was unable to make any sense of the situation and eventually fell victim to another restless sleep. 

In the morning, Y/N rolled over and realized Mingi was no longer next to her. She got out of bed and started to leave the bedroom to go get some coffee. When she opened the door, she saw a bouquet of red roses in a beautiful vase sitting in front of the door. She picked them up and brought them inside the room, pulling the card out. 

“I fucked up. I’m sorry,” she read aloud. 

She took a deep breath and put the card on the desk next to the vase and walked out of the room. She made her way down to the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t run into Seonghwa. Inside the kitchen she noticed a pot of coffee had already been brewed. There was a second card sitting next to the coffee maker with her name on it. 

Y/N opened the card. On the front was a picture of a couples’ shadow holding each other under the moon, on the inside was a handwritten message. 

Y/N read the card to herself, “I hope you will be able to forgive me for my bad behavior. I should never have put you in a situation like that. I will give you your space but please know that I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart. You didn’t deserve to be treated like one of those whores. I know you like your coffee in the morning so I brewed you a pot.” 

“Why is he doing all of this,” she asked herself, pouring herself a cup of coffee and returning to Mingi’s room. 

The day flew by while she watched tv. Mingi would pop in from time to time to check on her.

Around 4, Y/N looked out the window and decided she was hungry. She left the bedroom and headed down to the kitchen. She looked through the cupboards to see what was there to make, deciding on manicotti. Seonghwa stood in the doorway watching as Y/N filled up a pot with water to boil to cook the noodles. After placing the pot on the stove and turning the gas on, she turned around getting startled by the onlooker. 

“Hey,” Seonghwa said. She ignored him as she gathered the eggs, spices, spaghetti sauce, and the cheeses out and a bowl to mix everything together in. 

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa sighed, moving closer. 

“That was really fucked up,” Y/N grunted. 

“I know it was,” Seonghwa agreed. “And from the bottom of my heart I’m really really sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” she sighed as she started to combine the different ingredients into the large mixing bowl. 

“What are you doing?” Seonghwa asked. 

“Making manicotti for everyone,” Y/N announced. 

“You want some help?” Seonghwa smiled. 

“You can if you want,” she hesitated. 

“Great,” Seonghwa continued to smile as he rolled his sleeves up. He walked over to the sink and washed his hands, “not to brag but I’m kind of a master chef.”

Y/N instinctively smiled at him but after catching herself she immediately frowned and looked back at the bowl. “So what do you want me to do?” he wondered. 

“Watch the pot of water, when it starts to boil dump those noodles into it,” she instructed. 

Seonghwa did as he was told while watching y/n with a small smile on his face as she mixed the ingredients together and then coated two glass baking dishes with spaghetti sauce. 

After the noodles were done cooking, y/n drained the water and turned to Seonghwa, “now comes the fun part.”

“Just tell me what to do,” Seonghwa said. 

“Ok so now we gotta stuff the noodles with the cheese mixture…like this,” she explained demonstrating on the first one. 

Seonghwa picked up a noodle and grabbed a spoonful of cheese, “this shouldn’t be too hard,” he smirked, attempting to shove the cheese into the noodle, failing miserably, “what the fuck,” he complained. 

Y/N laughed, “I thought this was gonna be sooooo easy for the master chef.”

“Shut up,” Seonghwa said, touching her nose with cheese on his finger. 

“Hey stop it,” she said, moving her face away from him. 

Minghao started to enter the kitchen and witnessed what was going on. He observed for a few moments but left without disturbing the two. 

“Can you feel the love tonight,” Hao sang to himself as he walked back down the hallway. 

She continued to fill noodle after noodle, while Seonghwa continued to work on his first one. 

Once all of the noodles were filled with cheese, she poured more spaghetti sauce on top, covered the pans with aluminum foil and placed them into the oven. 

“And now we wait,” Y/N announced. “Thank you for the apology, Seonghwa.”

“Of course,” he smiled. “It was wrong of me and I don’t know why I did that to you. I just hope you can forgive me.”

“We’ll see,” she said. 

“Well, after dinner I have one more surprise for you,” Seonghwa announced with a huge smile on his face.

“What’s the surprise?” Y/N asked. 

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he sighed.

♥️𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟 ♠️𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝♦️𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝♣️

♥️♠️𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽♦️♣️

@stayatinykatsy @vampiregirl215 @xuchiya @veebyvee

[chainrave]

I think you should still consider making a list of influential fanfics, even if you don't have links to them or can't remember the details. Maybe someone on here will know what you mean! And even if not, might be fun (or emotionally damaging, kind of fun too) to reminisce!! :)

you know what you’re totally right! so here is a list of the ones i remember off the top of my head that are still up on ffnet (all kh fics btw, mostly akuroku)

Boys — Casey V soriku/akuroku. 90s high school au. a highly acclaimed classic for good reason. listen to nirvana for a more immersive experience.

A Lesser Beauty — Versace Frolic akuroku. modern-setting college au. another classic. *slaps roof* this bad boy can fit so much mental illness in it.

Suburbia — Falaphesian soriku. modern-setting au. interesting characterization & a gut-punch ending. references one of my favorite murakami short stories. holy shit this was written in 2006??

A Pillar of Salt — Versace Frolic akuroku. modern-setting au. vf hits it out of the park yet again. most succinct way to describe it is a single muttered "fuck..."

failures of flight — lhbaghead akuroku. modern-setting (sorta) au. fucked up boys being fucked up boys over a span of several years. 9/11 is mentioned and is actually kinda relevant.

Dispatch to the Sea Floor — Sowing Poppies akuroku. modern-setting au. some cross-dressing roxas to heal the soul. but also some tragedy to hurt the soul.

My Girlfriend, Who Lives in Canada — Quillslinger akuroku. modern-setting au. i'm overusing "classic" but it's a classic. who hasn't read this one?

Deceitful Above All Things — Quillslinger akuroku. canon compliant but written pre-days. axel-centric take on his time with roxas in the org. heart-wrenching, of course.

there are probably a dozen more. annie christ had some good akuroku fics but they're gone now, there's a bunch of high school aus i can't remember but i know i liked them, there's a few unfinished stories that haven't been updated since obama's first term, and of course there's all the purged smut & stories with """questionable""" content

[melanieph321]

You asked and you shall receive! Here is another Lichantony fic for you addicts!

(P.S I believe this is the reason Lisandro started rocking bucket hats) 😅

Summary- Lisandro let's Antony dye his hair. A big mistake.

Lichantony - Rins and Repeat

Enjoy!

Typically, friday meant a day off from training, a day off from any sort of commitments, a day meant to be spent with loved ones.

Antony was particular excited about friday, because this was the day Lisandro was gonna let him color his hair.

"How about this shade? I think you'll be a very hot blond"

Lisandro lifted his head from where it had been laying in the sink. He frowned. "I can't go blond like you, I'll look ridiculous."

It was even more ridiculous how fast Antony turned Lisandro's bathroom into his own personal hair salon. Combs, hairpins and scissors lay scattered all over the bathroom floor.

"Don't be silly. You'll look cool, like me." Antony smiled.

This made Lisandro chuckle. "If it turns out bad I'll kill you."

"Let's pray to the God's then." Antony strapped on a pair of black rubber gloves.

Lisandro sighed and put his head back in the sink. He reminded himself that Antony needed this. After his recent injuries, he needed to take his mind off football. If this meant turning Lisandro into a chic wanna be Versace model, so be it. He would do whatever necessary to put Antony in a better mood and in a good mood he was, too good Lisandro feared.

"Okay, it's says here that we should rins your hair first." Antony read the label on the backside of the hair package.

"We or you?" Lisandro frowned, lifting his head from the sink.

Antony pushed his head back into the sink, muttering something in the likes of "shut up and watch me work."

Lisandro sighed. However a good rinsing of his hair was much needed and Antony massaging shampoo into his scalp, wasn't so bad either.

"You like that?" Antony smiled, seeing Lisandro surrendering to his touch.

"Maybe." He said, showing off his dimples.

Antony stopped massaging his scalp and bent down to kiss his lips.

Lisandro eyes flung open, suprised by the sudden action. His hole body had tensed but quickly relaxed seeing as the bathroom door was shut behind them.

"You can't do that." He muttered.

"What, kiss you?" Antony questioned, although he was well aware of what Lisandro thought about being affectioned with each other during the light of day.

Lisandro sighed  "You can't kiss me when she's here."

"But she's on the other side of the wall."

"She's still here."

"Get rid of her then."

Lisandro chuckled but remaind resolute, "Forget it Antony, we're not having this discussion again."

Antony knew not to argue further. He continued to rins Lisandro's hair in silence. Once the hair dye was applied it needed to sit for a couple of minutes. In the meantime Antony started cleaning up the mess he had made in the bathroom.

Lisandro watched him from where he sat on a stool, his back to the mirror, hair, mashed up with sticky hair dye. "You know you don't have to clean up everything." Antony to paused to look at him, broomstick in his hand. "I'll help you once you've washed out this mess in my hair."

"I got it, thank you." Antony returned to the task.

Lisandro understand that he was at fault, at fault for Antony's sudden mood. Although he'd do anything to cure it, he also had a habit of causing it. Unintentionally, of course.

Lisandro waited for Antony to clean up near him, lunging forwards once he was close enough to wrap his arms around him, bringing Antony to fall back in his lap.

"I'm sorry." Lisandro said, planting kisses down Antony's tattooed arm.

"Sorry for what?" Antony dropped the broom to wrap his arms around Lisandro's neck. He let his forhead rest against his.

"I'm sorry for what I said." Lisandro muttered.

"Although you meant it." Antony corrected.

Lisandro smiled. "Although I meant it."

"I accept your apology." Antony said, rising from Lisandro's lap. He loved it when Lisandro got all lovey dovey with him it. It was a reassurance some how, a reassurance that they really cared for one another.

"Let's get this dye out if your hair shall we?"

Antony began the tormenting process of rinsing and repeating until all dye was washed out of Lisandro's hair. The result was worth recording.

"Antony you idio–"

Lisandro held his tounge see as Antony had pulled out his phone to record his reaction. He wouldn't want his Manchester teammates to think that he was upset about the result. Even though he was.

"I thought you said you'd turn my whole head blonde, like yours, not just the front of it." Lisandro turned his head in the mirror, no angle to mend the pain he felt.

"No, I said I'd make you look cool. Blond at the front makes you look cool."

"To whom?" Lisandro exclaimed dramatically, running a anxious hand through his hair.

"To me." Antony protested, but pouted his lips in a way that made him look less guilty. It worked, seeing as Lisandro face softened. He turned back to look himself in the mirror. "I guess it mite look better once it dries.

"Yes, exactly." Antony nodded, although he might have gotten a bit carried away with this one. Either way, that was something for Lisandro to realize at practice tomorrow.

[littlelovelyspiderling]

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

AO3 story link

word count: 15,303

_______________________________

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 was enough.

It had to be enough. 

[empty-and-nameless]

OUR FARM - KTH. PART 1

» Part 2

« Prologue

MASTERLIST

× paring: kim taehyung x reader (female reader)

x warnings: mentions of death, grief, workaholic behaviour, flirting, in some chapters (maybe) smut but I'll give a warning

x genre: slow-burn, farm life, coming of age, AU

x rating: maybe some explicit scenes, minors dni

x word count: 2k

x inspiration: The Hannah Montana Movie

x teaser: Y/N is the adopted daughter of a farmers couple. She lives in the big city now and is the head of a fashion label. One day she receives bad news that her parents died in a car crash and that she is now the owner of the farm her parents left behind. Now a journey of healing and learning to love begins....

P A R T 1

The door of my driver's vehicle opens for me and I step out, walking straight to the glass doors with golden framing of one of the biggest skyscrapers in the city. It is the entrance to my company building. My stiletto heals click in a smooth rythm above the marble floor that lead to the front desk and elevators. A few of my employees bow and greet me, some gave me pityful looks, knowing that I'm still mourning my late parents death. Arriving at the entrance I greet our absent-minded front desk lady, Ashley, she's bored out of her mind as ever. "Hello Ashley, do you happen to know my schedule for today." I asked her gracefully. She just looked at me wide-eyed and bewildered. Then she began to rummage through a stack of papers and shrugged her shoulder's at me popping a bubble of gum. A few angry words wanted to leave my mouth this instant, but a steady hand on my shoulder calmed me down.

"First of all, you need to look through the old collections and compare them. Then's the meeting with your parents notary and after that we need to talk about the new collection asap. Dior is going to one up us if we dont release a teaser for our new collection soon. The press is also onto us and wants a statement on your absence." It was Namjoon, my assistant and secretary, he rambled to me about my schedule while pressing a coffee into my hand. All while talking to each other we walked towards the elevator and rode to the 30th floor, which was my office floor. What would I do without this clumsy but organized man?

"Namjoon I have no clue what we should do." I said in a torn up voice. Namjoon looked at me and pushed up his glasses. "Well, we could hire a few stars to promote the collection. Maybe even make a short film about it or do something scandalous. I bet if we do that our new collection will get more attention than Gucci's or Versace's." He nodded towards me. "That's the problem Namjoon. There's is no new collection. I have nothing. No ideas. No sketches. Nothing. Nada." I told him truthfully. Namjoon stopped in his tracks, throwing his hands on my mouth. "Psssshhhh" he shushed me and dragged me into the nearest office, which happened to be mine. He closed the door and violently pulled down the blinds, so that no one walking by my office could see us. "Have you gone mad? Oh my god are you in your Andy Warhol phase?" he exaggerated. "No. Namjoon, oh my god stop exaggerating! I've just been so drained of creativity and energy since...you know, since it happened." I said in a weak voice. Namjoon's gaze softened and he gave me a soft hug. "Why did you even shush me and drag me in here?" I asked confused by the sudden location change.

He proceeded to look around nervously. "If anyone hears that you have no ideas for the next collection, we'll be ruined. The public will hear about it and soon the press too. They'll call you a worn-out designer. The company will be in trouble and the employees will lose trust in you and some of them may or may not consider to leave us. Gucci and Dior have offered some of our employees a better deal, most of them stayed out of sheer respect for you and your grief." He explained. He's right, it all depends on the new collection. "Namjoon, I will find a solution. You're absolutely right, no one can know about this. Although if they want to leave us they are unloyal petty bitches anyway so--" Namjoon shoved me in my big office chair without any further words to my sentence before.

"What can I do to inspire you?" Namjoon said, more to himself than to me, while roughly massaging my shoulders. I shoo him away and he starts pacing up and down in my office,making me quiet nervous actually. "Namjoon stop pacing! I'm going insane." "Sorry, that's how I think best."

While Namjoon is in his thought-zone I began to read through the archive of my old collections and started to compare them to each other. Crossing out what has already been done. Also doing a bit of research on what is defined as fashionable right now and what the competition is up to. I've always been a low-key designer. Never one to attend a lot of gala's or fashion shows. I always wanted to make affordable clothes, but somehow my label got a lot bigger and way more high-end than I intended it to be. It did bother me a little in the beginning, but it had its perks beeing a high-end fashion designer. One of them is the creative freedom I have, while also being my own boss and head of my company. It comes with a lot of cons too though. Considering that I have zero to no free time usually.

"How about a power-suit collection for women. Let's hop onto the equality and female rights train. We make a whole collection consisting of power suits in neon and bright colors or maybe patterned." I said springing out of my seat on my desk, very excited about said idea. "Gucci and even Zara already did that honey. Vogue made a whole article about it." Namjoon said in a sassy voice shaking his head left to right. "Ugh, I'm clueless." I told him while sinking into my seat again.

"What if we create a coat collection. A faux fur coat collection." I uttered. Namjoon looked equally excited as me and asked: "In unnatural colors? Like pink, green and yellow? Neon fur coats?" "Yeah, that's exactly my idea? Omg how did you know?" I ushered excited with a smile on my face. Namjoon's smile fell and he rolled his eyes. "Because we already did that two years ago. Cardi B wore it to the Met Gala. Remember?" He said annoyed. "Oh yeah right. I designed that." I answered disappointed. Namjoon looked exhausted. It wasn't always easy with me... "It'll come to me. I will give you the perfect idea tomorrow morning. Deal?"

Namjoon looked at me sceptical, but put his hand out anyways as to say "Deal".

With a rather awkward smile I kept on going with my day and greeted the employees. I was never good at hiding secrets, especially not when these secrets could cost them their job.

As I walked through the corridors I received the message from Namjoon that I need to attend the meeting with my parents notary, that I oh-so dreaded to attend. Decisions were to be made about my parents belongings and about what they've inherited me. I was mentally prepared to be the one to clear out their house if something might happen, because I'm their only child, but never for that...

The notary, a very good-looking man called Kim Seokjin, scattered his papers around my desk and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Y/L/N. I'm gonna ask you some questions now, just for formality." He said. As a grieving person, this sentence is nothing but a formality itself aswell, it doesn't help you recover from the death of your loved-ones. But I'm thankful for him being this considerate thusfar, so I nodded in acknowledgement. "Your parents were Y/M/N and Y/F/N, farmers on the southside of the outlands? Is that right?" I nodded again. Not daring to say a word. Mr. Kim sighed. "Miss, I'm not here to take something from you. I am the person that enforces your parents will. You don't have to be scared at all. Any questions or anything you'll need help with, I'm here." Mr. Kim gave me a heart-warming smile and held my hand in his for a few seconds which made me breathe a relieving breath. "Ok let's go on Mr. Kim, I'm ready."

"Ms. Y/L/N, I assume your parents adopted you?" Mr. Kim asked cautiously. I released a small laugh and said "Does it really matter, they are my only real parents. I was an accident and my biological parents decided to give me up. These people raised me." Maybe I got a little too defensive, but right now it is a sensitive topic to me. Because knowing what's on the line for me, I would really want some keepsakes to remember my parents. Maybe something small, like clothes from my mom or my dads old watch.

"I'll just get right to the point. You parents inherited you, their only child, the farm and the whole property." Mr. Kim said with a straight face. My coffee mug fell to the ground with a loud clash. Coffee spilling everywhere. I guess it was loud enough to alert Namjoon. He stormed into the room with a look of concern. "Everything alright in here?" His eyes widening as he saw the coffee mug and my shocked face. "I'm gonna clean that up." He said and ran away to get cleaning supplies. Namjoon has always been a neat person and also very clumsy, so for him it nearly is a daily task to clean up messes. But he couldn't help me clean up the mess that is my life right now.

I woke up from my deep thoughts because Mr. Kim put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and asked me if I was okay. I just nodded.

Mr. Kim took a seat again and cleared his throat, probably to get my full attention. Folding his hands up on the table he looked at me. I couldn't decipher his look. Maybe pity? Anyways, I couldn't keep the farm even if I wanted to. I have to handle a company. Fashion Week is about to happen and I have enough stress in the city to just move up to the outskirts right now. It just couldn't happen, how could I possibly turn my life upside down.

"We have two options now, Miss. And I say We because I'll be there for you along the way, that is my duty and my job." He said. "Either you inherit the farm or we have to give it up for sale. Which would make the people of the bank really happy as they have been luring over this peace of land." Oh god, I'm not mentally stable enough to make such a decision. "What would the bank do with the farm?" I asked, basically already knowing the answer. "They would tear it down and build something on it, a shopping center, parking space, anything capitalistic." Mr. Kim and I met a few times before. He knew my parents well and has spent a week or two at our farm with his family. He has always been an honest person (so my father told me) and somehow has had a soft spot for our family since forever. "It would be a shame you know..." He said, his business voice now totally gone. He's speaking from his heart.

"A total shame to give up this beautiful farm. In the end it is your decision. But I know it was your parents dream and it is a peace of you. I will await your decision. I can only give you till tomorrow. I think this might help." He ushered a sheet of paper towards me. It was a letter in my fathers handwriting. Mr. Kim bowed and showed himself out, while I just looked at the last words my parents will ever address to me.

"Dearest Y/N,

If you read this, we'll probably be gone, but Nick/Name don't cry, you'll always be our baby. We know it will be hard for you, to live without us. Just as it would be hard for us without you. Of course we know that you are very busy. Our daughter the CEO and fashion designer of your own brand. We are so unbelievably proud. We still want you to inherit the farm, because you are the only one we trust with it. We wouldn't want you to give everything in your life up for the farm. Maybe you'll find a balance or a solution. You are our smart daughter. The bank has been on our backs, trying to buy the land from us, but we'll do anything to keep our dream alive. It still is the place we're you grew up. We'll fight for it. Please don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do...in the end you'll do the right thing.

We love you forever and always

Mom and Dad"

I know exactly what I need to do....

[miraclewoozi]

i do not give permission for anything posted on this blog to be reposted or translated either here on tumblr, or on any other platform.

minors are not welcome and DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT to read anything posted on this blog.

everything shared here is self indulgent fiction and in no way reflective of how any of these people think, feel or behave in real life.

ODE TO A CONVERSATION ( stuck in your throat ). everything with seungcheol has always been easy. easier than with anyone else, anyway. ( smut. exes to lovers. 6k words. )

ELECTRIC. your best friend is many things. smart, funny, empathetic, a complete and utter pain in your ass to name but a few. and on the evening of his twenty-eighth birthday, you discover something a little unexpected: jeonghan is very afraid of thunderstorms.  ( smut. fluff + mild angst. friends to something? 6.3k words. )

BURNIN' UP. you really were just trying to enjoy a cool treat by the pool on a hot summer’s day. honest. ( smut. friends who fool around. mean!dom josh. 3.1k words. )

nothing here, yet !

JUST THE TWO OF US? ( prompt drabble. requested. fluff. friends to lovers. 1.1k words. )

BEST BEHAVIOUR. ( prompt drabble. requested. smut. sub!soonyoung. 1.1k words. )

nothing here, yet !

DON'T SWEAT IT. today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — jihoon is forced to notice you. ( fluff + smut. gym crush. strangers to lovers. 18k words. )

VERSACE ON THE FLOOR. or, the time you and your homebody boyfriend* decide to just… not go to your dinner plans. ( fluff. suggestive. est relationship. 2.4k words. )

LEE JIHOON, YOUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT I.T GUY. (prompt drabble. requested. coworkers to lovers. fluff. 2.3k words.)

nothing here, yet !

nothing here, yet !

UNDER THE COLLAR. your unlucky-in-love best friend goes on a date with someone who, by all accounts, should be his perfect person. so… how exactly do you end up being the one who tucks his sorry, drunk ass into bed? ( fluff. some angst. mildly suggestive. pining. friends to ???. 4.6k words. )

TIL DEATH DO US PART. ( prompt drabble. requested. angst. zombie apocalypse au. TWs : death/blood/body horror. ~900 words. )

[ 22:38 ] ( smut/pwp. 1.5k words. )

NOW YOU SEE ME. you can't say you're surprised that your boyfriend leaps at the thought of throwing some sensory deprivation into the mix of your sex life, but you're maybe a little shocked at just how into it he gets. ( smut. est relationship. blindfolding. 4.5k words. )

NETFLIX AND --? you try everything in your power to try and help your workaholic boyfriend unwind on his night off. you quickly find out that vernon doesn’t know how to just do nothing. ( domestic smut. est relationship. 2.3k words. )

[ 5:55 ] ( smut/pwp. married au. christmas morning. 2k words. )

DO YOU DREAM OF ME? the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome.  or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it.  ( fluff. mild angst. soulmate au. 5 times fic. f2l. 9.6k words. )

HIGH FIDELITY. | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking one very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time? ( fluff/angst/smut. up and coming rockstar au. miniseries. s2l. est. 38k words. )

DRIVE. or, the night you realise it’s actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place. ( fwb to lovers. angst, smut + fluff. 7.8k words. )

FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE. (prompt drabble. requested. exes to lovers. fluff/smut. 5k words.)

MTL : able to undo your bra with one hand.

[weclassybouquetfun]

The End is the Beginning is the End. We put the Golden Globes back in the doghouse and look forward to the last batch of awards shows to close out the film awards season. The SAG awards nominations were announced today, the BAFTAs will be announced on Jan. 19th and the Oscars on Jan. 24th so there will be more fashion to look forward to. I hope those red carpet looks will be more impressive than the Golden Globes.

Donald Glover in Saint Laurent *Best dressed man of the night. No competition. Suave, sexy, love the moustache. The entire look is gold.

Diego Calva in Gucci *Second favourite male look of the night. I adore it! It has a retro vibe which is fitting as he's the star of BABYLON. Love the cut and colour. He looks amazing.

Laverne Cox in John Galliano *I was saying during last year's award season how former awards staples Marchesa (Georgina Chapman, former wife of Harvey Weinstein) and John Galliano will never seemingly be embraced again, and while it is not a new design as Galliano is still in Designer Jail, Cox reached back in the vault for this vintage Galliano gown and it's the best she's ever looked. She looks sensational.

Lily James in Versace *One thing Lily James is going to do besides have an affair with her costar, is look great on the red carpet.

Angela Bassett in Pamella Roland. *Love this quasi nod to Old Hollywood look. Very glam.

Barry Keoghan in Louis Vuitton *I'm torn about the neckerchief/bow tie gone wrong, so it must mean in my heart of hearts that I like it. The look gives me Guy-Running-From-the-Garda-Runs-Into-Costume-Shop-And-Puts-On-Bullfighter-Costume.

Rihanna in Schiaparelli Couture.

*Bad Girl Ri-Ri didn't walk the red carpet and could, seemingly, be seen exiting the event early after congratulating her competition, MM Keeravani whose "Naatu, Naatu" won.

MORE FASHION

Billy Porter in Christian Siriano

Ayo Edebiri in Rosie Assoulin *Now she knows those gloves are a mistake. It's like when Andre Leon Talley (RIP) dressed Jennifer Hudson the year she won her Oscar and gave her a great dress with pockets (yes) but put her in a bolero (no).

Letitia Wright in Prada

Ana de Armas in Louis Vuitton

Newly married Anya Taylor Joy in Dior

Jenna Ortega in Gucci *That's too much dress. In consideration of her height everything should have been shorter - hem, sleeves. It would have been even better to modify it to a sleeveless dress. Her hair colour looks great with the dress, though.

Jeremy Pope

Jessica Chastain in Oscar de la Renta *This dress is like the film THE GOOD NURSE. Good, but basic.

Eddie Redmayne in Valentino *He's looking as if he just caught his reflection and wondered WTF his stylist was on to put that on him. The flower should be burned and it would have been nice if he had on black shoes to not look so monochromatic and the pants are too long. The only brown clothes he needs to be in is Thom Browne.

Niecy Nash in Dolce & Gabbana *People should just embrace capes and go. This puffy floor length wrap nonsense is for the birds. The plum-colour dress is gorgeous and the wrap just distracts.

Margot Robbie in Chanel *Please get this woman a better stylist. Someone adventurous; someone to take her out her comfort zone. Nice dress, but underwhelming.

Sheryl Lee Ralph in Aliette. *My favourite female look of the night. Colourful, hair fits the look.

Britt Lower in Bach Mai

Bailey Bass (AVATAR: THE WAY OF WATER and the fantastic INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (AMC+) in Dior *It's a great dress for sure - though I wish it was either an empire waist or it was a two-piece with the top being a corset, but barring that, I wish she would have gone with how her hair is in IWTV. If she wore her naturally curly hair it would look so great framing her face.

Viola Davis in Jason Wu

Michelle Yeoh in Armani Prive *Exquisite.

Salma Hayek in Gucci *Of all the Gucci designs at her disposal she went with this??? I have seen her in some insanely incredible Gucci designs over the years so the fact that she wore something so relatively matronly offends me.

Michelle Williams in Gucci *Oh jayzus. What a disaster. It's THE SON of dresses.

Pregnant Claire Danes in Giambattista Valli *I'm guessing she left the house forgetting that she was wrapped up in her quilt.

Andrew Garfield in Zegna *Love the colour. I'm disappointed because I mistook the overly long psudeo-tie for a sash and thought there was some creative flair to the look. No such luck.

Tyler James Williams in Amiri *He gets 10 points for not being boring. Do I love that he looks like he just come out of the rain (and considering it's been storming here for two days, maybe he did), but I love the wide legs trousers and jacket.

Emma D'Arcy in Acne Studios

Michaela Jae Rodriguez in Balmain

[mysteriousangels]

Flashback Para (Ada/Della): On my Doorstep

Ada had plenty as soon as Waylon expressed any concern about Della knowing about things. Of course, when he sidestepped her assumption about giving out information, she knew she had to be right. And the little comment about haunting her, as much fun as it would be, suddenly gave her quite the loose lips. 

Ada applied her makeup outside of the building as the sounds of gunshots calmed down. She hummed softly wondering if they could take one or two back, just to see if she could build her homunculus but that mostly depended on the fact that Della didn't shoot where all the vital organs were. But knowing how her friend operated that was exactly where she killed them. If anything, Della was precise in her work and maintained the cover and lifestyle she chose. Because it was either that or die for being a traitor, hell even more so now since had actively killed other agents. Ada knew about it all and it didn't bother her she respected that Della would go to these lengths.

Once everything had calmed down, Ada walked into the building, her steps quiet as she walked over a few dead bodies and paused at one. "He was cute, she could've kept him alive. " She patted him down and raised her brow before clearing her throat and taking his ID card out of his pocket. The building was small and remote, strictly a mid-waypoint for active undercover spies working on cases that dealt with people like Ada or Inessa. Ada sighed and pouted. "I have to throw away these heels, blood is hard to get out." She mumbled to herself. As she quietly walked through the building trying to mentally calculate where exactly Della would hide. She decided to check the fourth floor since that was a midway point and out of sheer laziness, she took the elevator. 

Riding up the elevator Ada hummed to the elevator music and leaned down to pretend like she was having a conversation with the slump dead body next to her. “Nice weather we're having huh? You know, my lethal gas killed way more people than this. But this is just so messy, totally not my style unless you/re the fucking Queen of England. Fuck that bitch, I have a poison just for her if I ever get the chance to kill that whore. Oops, lost my cool there for a moment. Well, this is my floor, nice chat. Someone should really close his eyes, like god he’s so creepy.” Ada walked out the elevator only to be met with the sound of a gunshot and excruciating pain in her thigh. “FUCKING HELL DELLA, YOU SHOT ME? IN VERSACE!” She screamed and then covered her mouth remembering where they were. A painful wail came from her as she fell to the ground trying to focus on anything other than the pain, she was in.

When Ada screamed at her Della came out of her hiding place and looked at Ada in shock before running over to the girl and immediately started to try and do first aid. “Shit shit shit. Ada what the hell are you doing here, I thought you were another agent?!” Della said as she quickly took out the bullet in Ada’s leg and applied pressure to stop the bleeding. At the time she didn’t even remember that she had coated the bullets with poison. Ada let out a muffled scream as Della got the bullet out and glared at Della.

“I came because Waylon is a dumbass and from what I assume accidentally helped Sadie expose your sister’s whole team. He wanted you to know that he’s dumb and thinks with his dick when it comes to attractive people younger than him.” Ada embellished a bit and flinched as Della bandaged her up too tight for her liking.” I want to keep my limbs, Della.”

“Violet got exposed because of Sadie. I’m not surprised this was the outcome. You could tell Sadie was a bit off her rocker, but it is what it is now. Even if I was around, she wouldn’t have listened to me, but I am still upset about what happened. In fact, I’m livid at everyone involved in that cluster fuck of a problem but I have no right to get involve or voice that anger at Violet and them.” Della said on a deathly calm voice, it was voice of any real emotion. Della was taking in the news, and she knew how she what she was saying was her feelings, but they weren’t her current feelings since she couldn’t actually process anything right now. After bandaging Ada up. she stood and held a handout to Ada. “You’re so smart but so dumb, you should have sent Inessa.”

“Inessa got herself locked into a magical legal contract that she can’t break. Although I’m not sure she wants to break it since it means she gets to spend time with mermen and octopans.” Ada took Della’s hand and stood up, she stumbles slightly but took no notice of it since she just assumed it was from the fact that she had just gotten shot. “Buy me an expensive fugu dinner and I’ll call it even. Also, that way we can say you didn’t kill me if I die.” Ada joked and Della rolled her eyes.  They left the building together after Della finished doing a thorough check of the building, but as they were walking Ada gasped in pain and fell to the ground as her vision stared to blur. For a moment, she was confused and couldn’t think, then she remembered a few years ago after the first fire Della coming into her room. They had talked and Ada told her about the poison she had made for the Queen and Della asked if she could use it for traitors to the circus. Of course, Ada said no, but she would make a similar version that had an antidote. Damn her own hatred for the Queen had come to bite her in the butt, but she couldn’t help but be proud because she was certainly wishing for a swift death instead of the pain she was in now.

When Ada fell Della got concerned all over again and checked Ada pulse and forehead. She didn’t understand what was happening until she saw Ada mouth poison. Fuck. She had totally forgot. She carefully picked up Ada and put her on her back sending Waylon a quick text. She was mentally calming herself down trying to keep herself from getting overwhelmed with everything that was happening right now. It was all too much, she was only 22 and everything she had ran from 5 years ago was all landing at her doorstep and bombarding her with a life and obligations she didn’t want.

[percontaion-points]

KLO chapters 9 & 10

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Chapter 9

This place is … honestly? It puts my house to shame. Two leather sofas. A glass table with some sculpture thing in the middle. Neat stacks of magazines and, of course, art on the walls. It smells great too. A little lemony and floral. Shiny hardwood floors. Can I move in here?

Why does he work at the grocery store if he’s making enough money to support this?

“If you can afford all of this stuff, selling your art, then … why can’t you just give your dad money? Help out the grocery store’s financial situation?”

Really? That’s the question that you’re asking? And not why he’s doing a job that he hates so much?

“Dream about something you’d like to do tomorrow. When you wake up in the morning, tell me what it is.”

Chapter 9 summary: As promised, Cash takes Lilla dancing. She’s a little self-conscious when she realises that he meant in a club/bar, but he’s quick to remind her that everybody will be too drunk to care or remember. Inside, she ends up drinking a lot, despite telling the readers that she’s a bit of a lightweight. But it does help her to loosen up and actually have fun.

But she’s really drunk, so Cash takes her to his home. He’s apparently doing quite well for himself, selling his paintings and what-have-you. He insists that he can’t help his father out of the debt the store is in… But never once addresses why he’s working at the store in the first place. 

However, when it comes to the actual sex… Cash tells her that she’s drunk. So he’s going to have an affair with a married woman, but draws the line when she’s too drunk to consent? Sure buddy. 

Chapter 10

PART TWO CASH

Did we need a POV switch?

I want to knock her love out.

Yeah, hi. What the fuck does this mean?

“Can I hide here?” She looks over her shoulder. “My stalker is following me.” 

I swing the door closed. “What stalker?”

“This guy Joseph. He keeps following me. Sending me messages online. Posting on my Facebook wall his love and devotion. Changing his status to read he’s married to me. It’s damn creepy.” 

My fucking head throbs. “I thought girls loved that shit?”

Literally no girl in the history of ever wants this. 

“How about coming up to a girl and just plain asking! I’m so scared to go home. What if he follows me? What if he has a shrine in my honor that he prays to every night, Cash? What if he has skins of other women he has mutilated that he drapes over his body, using them like last year’s Versace? What if!” 

“Do you realize how crazy you sound, Georgia? And no offense, but you’re not really that interesting. If I was going to stalk someone, I think I’d choose a chick who is at least mildly amusing.” 

You do realise that people who are mentally ill enough to start stalking women are exactly that? Mentally ill? 

Simply because Cash doesn’t find Georgia interesting doesn’t mean that her stalker doesn’t. 

“I didn’t think I’d feel guilty,” she whispers. 

“What did you think you’d feel?” 

“I don’t know. Better? Like I proved something? I just feel like shit.”

This should be the point where she realises that having sex with random men isn’t going to magically fix her. That the solution to her problem with Adam rests in divorcing him, not having a string of affairs. 

Highlighted cheeks turning crimson as she silently remembers where all these designs came from. How they came to be. Adam at the back of her thought process.

“You.” As intended.

Chapter 10 summary: We randomly switch over to Cash’s POV for this. He is standing over her as she sleeps, painting. She wakes up, and then they finally fuck… but most of it is a fade-to-black.

Instead, we skip over to later the next morning, when Cash’s neighbour starts to pound on his door. She begs for Cash to hide her from a stalker, but Cash finds that she’s hysterical and doesn’t believe her. The entire thing is beyond shitty, but whatever. Lilla comes out, and Georgia warns her away from Cash. 

After kicking Georgia out, he makes coffee for Lilla. She’s really quiet, and he demands that she actually speak with him… Because that’s what people in a healthy relationship do: talk to one another. She confesses that she feels guilty, and her problems aren’t magically solved.