#someone needs to lock up my credit card

[cherryredstars]

Next door part two! I NEED THEM IN MY LIFE THAT WAS SO GOOD!

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Wet Dreams, Sexual Fantasies, Brief Mentions of Male Masturbation, Blowjob, Cum Eating

Summary: Nice but naughty, a heart that’s pure. She's the girl next door.

Word Count: 2.6K (Not Edited)

Part 1

He’s driving himself fucking mad.

It’s been almost two weeks since he last saw you in person. It’s somewhat his fault. He hasn’t been avoiding you exactly, just giving you room. You were so dazed when he left you, he could almost smell the remains of sex on you. It drove him crazy, fists clenched as he stood outside your closed door for what felt like years. He cock strained so painfully against his pants that he had half the mind to pull it out and jerk off in the middle of the hallway. 

He didn’t want to scare you. Big, old him running after small, delicate you. A pretty and young thing that he wouldn’t mind locking in his bedroom and fucking until the sun rose and he was off to work. He could- would - worship you. He has done it thousands of times in the last two weeks in his dreams. They plague him almost every night, his body pressing you down into the mattress as you mewl out for him. He can hear the sound of your arousal as his balls slap against you echoing in his ears. Your phantom grip on his cock follows him when he wakes up, his hands wandering into his pants to try to replicate the feeling. 

He’s always interrupted by the sound of your front door slamming as you rush out to go to one of your little classes, his frustration and want burning strong in his chest. But he has to be patient, has to wait for you to seek him out. He can’t just break through your door, no matter how badly he wanted to and show you how a real man would treat you. How he’d treat you so good, spoil you in a way that none of the boys your age can. He could make you his pretty little girlfriend, giving you anything you want. Fuck, he’ll pay for your entire college tuition if you asked him to. 

Or, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d make you beg for it. Maybe he’d force you to work for it. He can already imagine it. He’d have you riding his cock, maybe even his face, laying back and watching you take your pleasure from him. He’d enjoy himself, moaning as you gasp and cry above him. You’d look so pretty with tears running down your face, asking him so sweetly to give you what you wanted. Your hips working to show him how much you deserved it, how you’re his good girl who deserves the right to every one of his credit cards. He’d have you coming until he’s satisfied with your pleas, finally giving in to you a-

Fucking annoying piece of shit.

Miguel’s eyes snap open, wondering to the alarm clock on his nightstand. The numbers are still blurry, and the sound of someone knocking on his door is the last thing he wanted. Especially when it pulls him away from his private time with you. His cock is poking a dent into his sweats, and he runs his hands down his face in frustration. He groans to himself as he gets up, adjusting his pants as he goes. His mind is still semi-stuck in his fuzzy little fantasy when he opens the door, mind slow as they try to process the sight of you. 

You’re looking up at him with regretful eyes, a blanket draped loosely around your shoulders. His eyes can’t help but travel down your body, salivating at the way your cropped long sleeve shirt pokes out from your nipples and reveals the expanse of your navel. His eyes travel further down, catching on the plaid pajama pants that sit low on your waist with the strings untied. If his cock wasn’t hard before, it definitely is now. 

“I’m sorry to wake you up,” Your siren voice calls to him, his eyes snapping back to your shy face as you bite your lip. “But, my heater is acting up again and I can’t sleep with it switching between hot and cold. I already called the landlord, but he said he’d send someone by next week.”

You look so pretty before him, cheeks slightly red from embarrassment as you stare up at him like he’s your savior. His hand grips tight on his door as he processes what you said. His poor little baby, suffering in her apartment. You should have come to him sooner. He would have gladly taken care of you. This just goes to show how he’s the only man capable of taking care of you, the only man you need to take care of your needs. 

His hand covers the expanse of your stomach as he touches it. His warm hand is instantly met with your cold skin, sending shivers up your spine as he pushes you back so he can walk through his door. You walk obediently, taking a step back for every step he takes forward until you’re following him like a sweet puppy into your own apartment. It’s ice cold when his bare feet hit the wooden floors, his eyes trailing down to your own sockless feet. It brings a frown to his face, brows furrowing as he leans down and picks you up. 

Your cold hands shock his shoulders as they hold onto him tight. The most precious squeal leaves your lips at the unexpected move, looking up at him with wide eyes as he carries you to your room. Most of the lights are on from your journey to the front door, but your bedroom is still clad in darkness. Your bed is soft when his knee sinks into it, lifting the covers to tuck you in where you’ll be nice and warm. He wraps them around you, covering you as much as possible. He makes sure you’re taken care of before he goes off into the hallway to check the heater. 

It’s a quick fix, something he can do easily and doesn’t need a maintenance guy for assistance. It’s just dirty air filters, and he has spares in his apartment. It's a quick trip, with minimal labor. It takes him less than an hour to complete, but it’ll take some time before the heat starts filling up the place. When he walks back into your bedroom, you’re still under the covers and they shake slightly from the way you’re shivering. 

“Got it fixed, should be working fine soon, give it an hour max.”

The soft thank you and beaming smile you give him tempts him to break something else in your house so you can give him more. He walks over to you, sitting next to you on the bed. Your skin still quakes from the chill, and he hates to see you so uncomfortable. His hand comes up to your cheek, attempting to warm the skin with the heat of his hand. You instantly melt into the touch, practically purring as you lean into his hold. He’s seen this scene so many times in his dreams that he can't help the dirty thoughts circulating in his head. 

The darkness of your room hides the glazed look in his eyes as he studies your mouth, his thumb rubbing the expanse of your cheek, “You’re so cold, cariño. Needa find a way to warm ya’ up quick.”

The words are almost unheard, his thumb sliding down your face until it presses into your bottom lip. Your lips part slightly from the movement and he doesn’t ignore the temptation to slip the pad of his thumb through. Your mouth is warm and oh so inviting, your saliva coating his thumb print. You instinctively suckle at the skin, eyes shining bright at him as you open your mouth wider. It makes him groan softly, pressing his thumb further into your mouth until his hand is supporting your chin as his thumb presses flat against your tongue. It holds you still, blinking innocently at him as he rubs gently. 

He can feel his cock twitching in his pants, and it doesn’t take him long before he picks you up again, dragging you and the covers to the floor until it forms a pile before him. You’re on your knees, body half covered in blankets and sheets. They protect you from the icy cold of the wooden floors, and simultaneously makes you look like an offering for him. Miguel spreads his legs, grabbing your chin again until your face is hovering at the same height as his stomach. Your beautiful doll eyes blink up at him and he smiles at the sight of you. 

“It’s okay, I got a way to make you feel better again.” He mumbles down at you, his free hand fishing into his pants until he grips his cock.

It’s heavy and burning in his touch, a bead of precum glistening at the tip as it meets the frigid air. You stare at it in wonder, leaning your face closer to see better through the darkness. He watches you closely, slowly stroking his base as he basks in your attention. His hand leaves your chin, moving around until he grips the back of your neck. He pushes your face closer to him, stopping when your face is pressed to the underside of his cock. 

The skin burns where the two of you meet, and his cock jumps in excitement. His hips move slightly, slowly dragging his cock along your face, the tip of your nose brushing just under his tip. Miguel lets out a muffled moan, his hand squeezed tight at his base as he slaps his dick against your face. Your eyes instantly closed, taking it without complaint besides a low whine. 

Miguel lets out a low ‘fuck’ as he looks down at you, pulling your face away until his tip presses against your lips. He rubs his cock along the seams of them, watching as they get glossy with his precum. Your tongue tentatively slips out, gathering some of it as you hum out. His cock is quick to follow your pink muscle, slipping in the crown of his tip into your mouth. He can feel your hot breath on his tip as you gasp at the intrusion, your tongue pressing against him. 

He lets out a pleased sigh, slipping his tip back out to slip it back in. You try to call out his name, but it gets swallowed by his cock reentering your mouth. Your hands fall to his thighs, gathering the fabric in your fingers as you lean into him. You instantly gag when you do, mouth and throat not used to taking something thick. It makes Miguel moan, knowing damn well he’s nowhere near the back of your throat yet. You’re so fucking sensitive. He pulls back, but you eagerly try to follow. His grip on your neck tightens, making you whine as he keeps you in place and he slips out. 

“Careful now, muñeca. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You whimper at his words, blinking teary-eyed at him. He coos gently down at you, shutting you up by sliding himself back into your mouth. You hum against him, eyes shutting as he works himself in and out. He barely gives you anything, going no further than the end of his tip as your tongue glides against him. He moans, finally feeling what he’s wanted for so long. You’re sloppy, tongue uncertain as it prods at his slit and drinks up the precum he spills into your mouth. It’s warm and slightly salty as it travels down your throat, making something warm bloom in your stomach. Your hands fist his pants tighter and Miguel’s eyes drop down to them. 

His finger is gentle as it glides over the back of your hand, the cold skin raised with goosebumps. He tsks lightly at you, grabbing your hand and placing it around his length. He moans at the contrast in temperature, hips bucking into your touch. 

“Shit, baby, gotta warm up those hands too.”

He grabs your other hand, putting it slightly lower than your other on his cock. His hands leave your body, falling over your own as he guides you to stroke him. His tip still lingers in your mouth, and you moan around him from how heavy and warm he is in your grasp. Once you work up a rhythm, Miguel’s hands leave yours. His hand falls back to its original position at the back of your neck, letting out soft groans and grunts as you work him. He massages the pressure points near the back of your neck, encouraging your mouth to relax and start sucking at him again. 

Miguel can’t help throwing his head back, eyes shutting as you work waves of pleasure out of him. He can feel his balls grow heavier. His cock twitching and jumping in your mouth the more you play with him. He’s close, and he looks back down at you before he pulls his cock away from you again. You cry out in displeasure, looking up at him with a pout on your wet lips. He sighs deeply at you, moving back to grip your chin. 

“Open your mouth for me, yeah?”

You instantly do, not needing to be asked before you stick your tongue out eagerly. He chuckles lowly at your desperation, hand tight around his base as he rubs his tip against your tongue. You whine at him, eyes getting droopy as he slaps his cock against your muscle. It doesn’t take long for him to cum in your mouth, watching as thick, white liquid spills onto your tongue. He moans as he finishes, tapping his cock against your tongue a few more times to make sure he’s given you everything. 

When he pulls his cock away from you, you close your mouth and swallow. Your eyes close as you savor the flavor, feeling the warm liquid slip down your throat and warm your belly. The warmth makes you sleepy, eyes half-lidded as you lean forward and press your head to his stomach besides his semi-hard cock. His hand comes to stroke your hair, humming at you as your warm breath hits his skin. Sometime during his attempt at warming you, warm air has started to spill into the bedroom. Miguel sighs in content, leaning down to kiss the top of your head before picking you up for the last time. 

You instantly snuggle into him, always whining out when he deposits you into the bed. Your covers are soon placed over you, and you watch as Miguel tucks himself back into his pants before sliding into bed beside you. You’re quick to snuggle up against him again, basking in the extra warmth he gives off. The warmth in your stomach and from Miguel loll you into a sleep, your body pressed hard against him. 

The comfort of it all and the post-orgasmic bliss makes Miguel drowsy, breaths beginning to slow. He can feel his eyes drooping, taking in the final sights of you before his eyes close. But once they do, a loud band echoes in his head. He’s quick to spring up from the bed, eyes opening as he finds himself staring at a wall. His wall. In his bedroom. In his apartment. Even from his bedroom, he can hear the sound of you rushing towards the elevator and on the way to class. 

Miguel blinks in confusion, eyes moving towards the alarm clock at his bedside table. 8AM. He groans, falling into his bed as he sighs in frustration. His hands trail down his body, moving towards the aching dent in his pants.

Just another fucking dream about the girl next door.

Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

Extra 1

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[ncroissant]

you can ignore this request but can I ask you to Make a story of Francis mosses and like a housewife reader who has an ignorant husband so when the milkman comes visit she "pays" him very nicely

switch! francis mosses x fem! reader

summary: paying your neighbourly milkman a hefty tip

wc: 2.2k

content warning: nsfw, cheating, double infidelity, masturbation, slight nipple play, soft dom francis energy, slightly subby francis, kind of unrealistic p in v (i was too lazy to write foreplay), creampie, very fluffy

author's note: hii anon, thanks sm for the ask :)) i love this sm and i hope ur okay with some sub married francis teehee >:) this was soooo self-indulgent :O hope u guys enjoy this one !! not proof read, minors please dni!!

your marriage was bland to say the least.

your husband was a busy man, working to provide for you to max out his credit card, but never giving a second of the day. he always blamed his lack of time at home on his job, never taking accountability.

you felt bored. he promised you a life of luxury with no work, but it was boring staying at home all day. weekly visits from cleaners to clean up the apartment gave you absolutely nothing to do at home.

but the longer your husband stayed away, the more time you spent listening in on your neighbors to past the time.

the milkman and his wife were a noisy couple.

you could hear the headboard thunking against the wall, his grunts and her awfully loud moans. he must be so good to her, you thought, feeling your fingers slip down your pj shorts.

you felt yourself passing the time, humping pillows, playing with toys and fucking yourself with your fingers. you could read every book in your apartment, watch tv for god knows how long and still be bored.

but one particular night, you heard a knock on your door.

you perked up, almost skipping to the door in excitement. you haven't had a visitor in ages and it was about time someone kept you some company in this little cage of yours.

"milk delivery." your eyes widened when you fully opened the door, realizing who was in front of you.

the buttons of his uniform were struggling to close, his hands veiny from his grip on the milk box he held in his arms against his stomach. seeing him this late at night was making you think of not so holy thoughts.

"what're you doing here so late? it's almost 9," you peered up at him, unaware of how your breasts nearly spilt out of your lingerie. you were wearing a skimpy little nightgown, forgetful of how you were married and half naked in front of another married man.

he smiled, placing the milk box beside your doorstep. "you're my last stop since we're neighbours. did i disturb you?" he crossed his arms, his biceps bulging.

you felt your heart beating out of your chest, you could feel your fingertips vibrating. "no, not at all..." you bit your lip, feeling your thighs clench tightly.

"i needed some milk for my tea. would you like some as well?" you worked up the courage to ask, looking at him with an expectant look in your eyes. "if you're not tired," you clarified, lifting your hands.

he didn't look like he took much time to think it over, nodding at your suggestion. you didn't wait for a verbal response, ushering him inside, locking the door.

now, here he was, sitting at your kitchen table while you made tea. if only you could see what he could see. the entirety of your back was exposed, a v-cut just above your ass to cover the rest of your lower half.

"chamomile or green tea?" you called out softly, snapping him out of his daze. you looked back at his lack of silence, looking at how flustered he looked for dozing off.

"green tea," he murmured, averting your gaze. he was so comically large, making your kitchen chair look small. his hands were gathered on his lap, his back straight against the backrest, waiting for you to finish making his tea.

you sauntered over to his, leaning your hip against the kitchen table. "n-nice place," he stuttered when he got a closer look of you, trying to break the silence.

you didn't expect him to come in, but now that he was here, you didn't want to waste this perfect opportunity. "mhm...i decorated it myself," you leaned closer, giving him an innocent smile.

"y...you're very good at decorating," he swallowed. his hands were sweating, he felt them grip at his slacks anxiously.

"isn't it so sad that my husband didn't help me decorate at all?" you pouted, puffing out your lower lip. his eyes switched back and forth from your eyes to your lips.

francis mirrored your nod, gulping when he realized how close you were. you placed a hand on his cheek, caressing it with your thumb. "you're very cute, francis," you chuckled as you pulled away.

you scurried away to turn off the stove, watching the water spill out of the kettle. when you reached your hand to grab the kettle, you felt a hand reach over yours to pull you back.

"careful, it's hot." he was pressed up against you, his painfully obvious bulge pressed against your ass. maybe it was because the only thing that was preventing your bare skin from touching his was his shirt, or how small you were compared to him, but he was literally shaking.

you spun around, hands now holding onto his sleeves. "help me onto the counter?" you looked up at him, slowly tugging him towards you.

francis was a loyal man. he was dedicated to his wife, to his work and to everything else. but however wrong he wanted to feel about lifting you onto the counter and smashing his lips onto yours, he just couldn't.

"so pretty," he mumbled against your lips, while your hands found themselves tangled in his brunette locks. "you're so pretty," he was almost whining, brows knit from the intensity of the kiss.

your other free hand cupped his cheek, dragging his even closer to deepen the kiss. his kisses felt even better than imagined. lips soft, tongue warm, sloppy.

you were scared that he would hear the way your heart thumping out of your chest. "f-francis," you'd pant, but he'd be too lost in the way your lips felt against yours to focus on anything else.

he'd pull away to just soak in the sight of you, admire the lips of the woman he just ruined. he'd look at you like you were the most precious thing in the world, watching the way you'd nuzzle against his hand when he wiped away his spit off your lip.

"are we stopping here?" you frowned with a huff, tugging on the loop of his belt. "or can i tip you, hm? for the delivery?" you pleaded, tilting you head to look cuter.

he fell for it, having no intentions of stopping. "yeah, yeah. tip me or whatever, just don't stopping kissing me," he pressed kisses up your neck trailing up to your cheek.

you wanted to chuckle at his neediness, but you were feeling the same. your arms wrapped around his neck, allowing him to effortlessly lift you into his arms.

while you two made out, he carried you to you and your husband's shared bedroom, laying you down. he toppled over you, knee nestled between your thighs and arms caging you in his hold.

"i wish you could see yourself right now," he pulled away, his hand trailing up to your chest. your nipples were poking through the thin fabric of your night gown, his fingers toying with the neglected nub.

you jolted, biting your lip to hide an embarrassing moan. "d-do i really look that pretty?" you hide a moan with a laugh, throwing your head to the side when he pinched your nipple lightly.

"you're gorgeous," he sighed, rolling his fingers under your gown to lift it off your body. you were more beautiful than he had even imagined, waiting so patiently for him to do something.

before he leaned down to kiss you again, you tugged at his shirt. "take this off? 's embarrassing being the only one naked," you blushed, his eyes widening.

for a married woman, you were surprisingly inexperienced. francis never heard you getting railed by your husband. he could only hear your pretty whimpers when you pleasured yourself with toys, but never finishing.

he could only chuckle, reminiscing your frustrated sighs when you couldn't get yourself to finish. he smirked knowing now he could take matters into his own hands.

"whatever you want, sweetheart," he effortlessly tugged at his bowtie, unbuttoning his shirt. he was so handsome. lean, but not entirely skinny. bulky, but not too much. he was perfect.

you wrapped your arms around his neck to press your lips against his. "you're so handsome, francis," you cooed. he felt his ears flush from your compliment, his knee riding higher up your thigh.

you moaned when you felt it reach your core, feeling yourself grind on it for more friction. "make me feel good, hm?" you flicked his loose hairs out of his face, making him bite his lip.

"want it inside, francie," your fingers trailed down to your pelvis, slightly opening your folds. his felt his dick throb, his eyes unmoving from your cunt.

almost immediately, he felt his dick throbbing against his suddenly too tight slacks. he grunted as he finally unzipped to let his cock free, his dick slapping against your tummy.

you gulped at the size, looking up at him in awe. "j-just the tip," he whined, his cock sliding against your stomach. a part of him still wanted to be somewhat loyal, but you so badly wanted him in you, your fingers wrapping around the head.

"you're so big," you gasped, your eyes were still widened. he could only rub himself against your fingertips, whimpering at the friction. "just the tip, hm?" you grabbed the head, dragging it down to your entrance.

when francis felt the warmth of your cunt against his cock, he was almost 100% sure his loyalty would be thrown out the window. "j-just the, hngh..."

he felt himself thrust into your wet, soppy cunt almost too quickly, completely devoid of reason. he was nestled so deeply into your core, allowing you to adjust to his massive length.

"i-i'm suhh...sorry, i said just the tip, but i...mnghh..." he could barely get a word out, too lost in the feeling of your tight cunt sucking his cock in. "y-you feel so, so good. it's so good, so..."

he was chanting it like a prayer, babbling whatever came to find. "francis, can you move?" you bluntly asked, guiding his hands to your waist.

almost like a switch, he thrusted into you wildly. his cock was reaching parts that you weren't even sure were possible to reach, especially with your husband's tiny, flimsy cock.

"am i making you f-feel good?" he asked, his lips just barely ghosting over yours. you felt his breath brushing against your face, the neediness evident on his face.

you nod, pressing a kiss on his lips. you moaned against his lips, feeling so full of him. "p-please say it. please say i'm making you feel good, ngh," he pleaded, pressing kisses against your neck.

your eyes were nearly rolling back, the entire galaxy filling your line of sight. "you make me feel so good, francis," you squealed when he hit a specific spot in you.

satisfied with your answer, his pace sped up. he was entirely bottomed out in your cunt, his pelvis pressing against yours.

you felt yourself getting close when his thumb trailed down to your pelvis to roll it against your weeping clit.

the squelches from him fucking you were so vulgar, it made you remember the sounds you heard when he fucked his wife. and finally you were living in the dream you so desperately wanted to come true.

"'m so, so close. m-might cum," you groaned, throwing your head back against the mattress.

he shook his head, feeling his hips stutter. "no, no. wait for me please. wanna cum together, hm?" he panted, mouth filled with saliva. he had grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand tightly.

you could feel the coolness of his wedding ring against your fingers, making yourself get closer. you, a married woman, were fucking married man. the dirtiness of it all excited you so much.

here he was, the man you've been masturbating to for weeks, begging you to cum at the same time. "t-together, right?" he begged, his high coming so, so soon.

his thrusts were getting sloppy and your cunt was getting tighter. you nodded, his lips crashing onto yours, kissing you until you came together.

his cum spilled so deeply into your cunt, filling you generously. "you're so beautiful," he sighed, wiping the sweat soaked strands of hair off your forehead.

he just stayed inside of you for a few minutes, admiring you.

he'd tend to you right after. taking a bath with you, drying your hair for you, cooking you a meal. he did all the things you wished your husband would do for you.

and when it was finally time for him to leave, you'd be in bed sleepily, arms wrapped around his torso, head leaned against his chest. "don't leave," you whined.

he didn't want his wife to question why he came home so late, so staying the night was out of the question. "i'll be back again, okay?" he smoothed out your hair, patting your head.

"i'll be back here tomorrow same time with another delivery, hm?" he smiled, hugging you tightly. you were so cute when you were clingy and nearly asleep.

"i'll tip you again," you yawned, feeling your eyelids get heavier with every blink.

he placed you onto the bed, tucking you in well. he looked at you once more, brushing your hair out of your face. "sweet dreams," he whispered, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

you smiled as you drifted off to sleep, knowing he'd be there same time again tomorrow.

[mareastrorum]

I have never enjoyed a D&D series more than Misfits & Magic and it's entirely because of Brennan Lee Mulligan. I am fully aware that most viewers thought Evan Kelmp was ridiculously over the top and played up for laughs. I'm sure so many people thought it was for comedy.

I have never seen a poverty-stricken and violence-afflicted character portrayed so well.

People who have not experienced that level of desperation rarely ever comprehend the constant level of fear, but Brennan was locked in on it wonderfully.

Every moment is fixated on food, safety, and shelter. It takes so much effort and emotional vulnerability to shift attention from it. Free food? Gotta gently press to get more and more and more and more, but you can't ask too quick or people might kick you out. Someone's a threat? Gotta make it 100% clear that you will not be fucked with, and it does not matter what it costs you socially. Need to do something long term? Gotta figure out where and how you're going to sleep without anyone to watch your back; can you lock yourself in somewhere? Can it be somewhere alone? Where can you hide?

What will this cost?

The strained politeness and immediate switch to a fight response was excellent. People who want to help you do not trigger violent responses. People that do not want to help you and are in your business need to be dealt with. Brennan knew exactly how to demonstrate the tension of usually being treated as a dangerous animal rather than a person. It instills a script to be as perfect a person as possible, and as soon as anyone veers off the social script, be exactly what they're afraid of: a monster. Better to be a monster than a victim.

The one mistake was during the holiday special that he said credit cards instead of (stolen) gift cards for making a shank with razor blades. You'd get a secured one at 18, but not before then. Otherwise would have been perfect. (Duct tape's expensive, but not too hard to steal. I carried a bag with my laundry coins as an impromptu weapon. As soon as he ordered any drink with a glass bottle, I yelled, "Make a shank!" AND HE FUCKING DELIVERED.)

I often get so annoyed at terrible portrayals of children that grew up in impoverished, violent circumstances, but this is the first time I legitimately enjoyed myself.

Well done.

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Left Behind

ai-less whumptober day 19- left behind/why wasn't I enough fandom- dp x dc TW- abandonment Summary- The Fenton parents leave their kids at the Gotham Public Library

ao3 ailesswhumptober masterlist part 1 of TFR

Barbara was working the closing shift at the library. She was putting some books away when she overheard a conversation.

“Do you know when mom and dad are going to pick us up?” said what sounded like a teenage boy.

“No, I– Oh, wait they just messaged me.” said what Barbara thought was a slightly older teen girl.

Silence.

“Jazz?

“They left.”

“What?”

“Someone posted about a possible sighting in Metropolis. They said they’ll be there for a few days.”

There was more silence. Barbara stayed quiet.

“So, they left us behind.”

“Yeah.”

“Again.”

“...Yeah.”

Barbara closed her eyes, thinking of Tim and how he had been left home alone so much. And these kids… their parents had abandoned them too.

“Well at least we’re not helpless.”

“I hate them.”

“Jazz–”

“No, Danny. I hate them. They’re supposed to be our parents. They’re supposed to take care of us.”

“I know. They always chose something else over us. Why aren’t we enough, Jazz?”

“I don’t know.” she sniffled.

“Jazz, hey, look at me. We’ll be okay.”

“I'm sorry, Danny. I'm just so tired.”

“I am too.”

Barbara was about to speak up when they continued.

“At least i have a credit card this time so it won’t be like the time they forgot is in Bridgton.”

“Yeah, that sucked. We were lucky we were able to sneak onto that semi.”

“Well, tonight we can get a hotel room and then get bus tickets tomorrow.

“I could just... you know. Do my thing.”

“I guess, but we should at least get a hotel for tonight. I don’t want to try traveling while you’re exhausted.”

“That’s fair. But–”

Barbara finally decided she should make her presence known. She cleared her throat as she made her way around the bookshelf.

The two teens startle. They looked like siblings. The girl was a redhead with teal eyes, and the boy had black hair and blue eyes.

“Hello, I’m Barbara. I work here at the library. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.” she paused as the siblings glanced at each other, the boy reaching over to grab his sister’s arm. 

“What do you mean?” asked the girl, Jazz, if Barbara was correct.

“You need a place to stay tonight? It’ll be hard to find a good hotel at this hour. I’ve got an extra bedroom at my apartment, and you’re welcome to stay the night. You won’t owe me anything.”

“Why?” asked the boy, Danny.”

Barbara considered for a moment. “I have a friend who went through a similar situation as you guys, so I’m familiar with what it's like to have your parents be too busy. And you wouldn’t be the first kids I've let stay the night. I can help you find bus tickets in the morning. I’m familiar with most of the routes and can let you know which ones are the safest and quickest.”

The girl glanced at her brother, who stared at Barbara. There was a moment where his eyes seemed to glow and Barabar felt as if he were really looking at her. She suppressed a shudder at the intense feeling. 

Then he turned to his sister and nodded.

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’m Jazz and this is Danny.”

“It’s nice to meet you both. I have to finish locking up so I’ll meet you by the door.”

They nodded and started gathering their stuff.

Barbara went to finish the rest of the closing shift duties. 

She also had a call to make.

[iamumbra195]

Random One Piece incorrect quotes cause I'm bored

Some of these are modern au though

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

*Sanji's not there*

Usopp: HELP! I TOLD LUFFY I’D COOK DINNER TONIGHT BUT I CAN’T COOK!

Zoro, pouring alcohol directly into a cereal bowl:

Zoro: And you thought I could help?

...

Luffy: In my defense, I was left unsupervised.

Nami : Wasn't Zoro with you?

Zoro: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised

...

Law: I trust Mugiwara-ya.

Penguin: You think he knows what he's doing?

Law: I wouldn't go that far.

...

Sabo: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life

Ace, confused: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind?

Sabo: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die.

Luffy: edible

...

Nami: We need to get through this locked door. Usopp, give me your credit card.

Usopp: Here.

Nami, pocketing it: Thanks. Luffy, kick down the door.

...

Chopper: You know those things will kill you, right?

Zoro, pouring another glass of whiskey: That’s the point.

Sanji, smoking a cigarette: We’re trying to speed up the process.

Luffy: *Nods while eating raw cookie dough*

...

Robin: Why is Luffy so sad?

Nami: He took one of those “Which Character Are You?” quizzes

Robin: And...?

Nami: He got Buggy

*Zoro cackling in the background

...

Zoro: Self care is actually getting into fights with randos in dark alleys.

Nami: No, self care is stuff like taking a bubble bath, or putting on a lot of makeup if you like it, or taking a nice warm nap!

Kin'emon, trying to be poetic: Self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you!! Self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists!! Self care is the fear in your enemies’ eyes!!!

Usopp: Lmao self care is taking Luffy's birthday meat cake just so I can eat the frosting.

Luffy: If you touch my meat cake I’ll make you eat your hands.

Sanji, losing his mind: WHY IS THERE FROSTING ON MEAT?

...

Franky, about Jinbe: Apparently we’re getting someone new in the group.

Robin: Are we stealing them?

Brook: New or used?

Franky, cackling: Wonderful responses, both of you.

...

Smoker: You’re receiving a ticket for having three people on one motorcycle.

Sanji: Shit.

Usopp: Wait, three?

Smoker: Yeah?

Nami: OH MY GOD ZORO FELL OFF!!!

...

Kin'emon: Tonight, one of you has betrayed us.

Ashura: Is it me?

Kin'emon: No, it’s not you.

Denjiro: Is it me, Kin?

Kin'emon: It’s not you either.

Kanjuro: Is it me, Kin'emon?

Kin'emon, bleeding from several debilitating injuries:

Kin'emon, mockingly: Is IT mE kiN'eMOn?

...

Usopp: Can I be frank with you guys?

Luffy, confused: Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help.

Chopper: Can I still be Chopper?

Franky, snickering: Shh, let Frank speak.

...

Sabo: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Koala: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Sabo: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING ROBIN-CHAN WITH ME

Hack, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

...

Law, walking into his submarine: Hello, people who do not belong here.

Zoro: Hey.

Sanji: Hi.

Robin: Hello.

Chopper: Hey!

Law: I gave you my vivre card for emergencies only!

Luffy, grinning: We were out of meat.

...

Sanji: You know, I'm starting to regret showing you how that blender works.

Luffy, drinking meat: Why do you say that?

...

Zoro: Do you take constructive criticism?

Nami: I only take cash or credit.

...

Koala: Why are you on the floor?

Sabo: I'm depressed.

Sabo: Also I was stabbed, can you get Ivankov, please.

...

Robin: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death?

*everyone looks ay Karasu

Karasu: What? How am I supposed to know?

Lindbergh: You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult.

Karasu: *sighs*

Karasu: You wouldn't be trapped

...

Vivi: I love you guys, you're the best thing that's happened to me.

Nami: We're the best thing that's ever happened to you?

Vivi: Yes!

Usopp: ... I'm starting to feel a little sorry for you.

...

Usopp: WHY. why did you give Luffy a KNIFE?!

Zoro, shrugging: He said he felt unsafe.

Usopp: Now I feel unsafe!

Zoro: ... would you like a knife?

...

Dragon: What did you do with the target's body?

Sabo : What didn’t I do with the body?

Dragon:

Sabo: Okay, that sounded more sexual than I intended. I disposed of the corpse respectfully.

...

Luffy, texting Ace: Ace! Help I’m being kidnapped

Ace: Where are you?

Luffy: I’m with some strange person. In a car. Help.

Ace: I’ll call Gramps.

Garp, answering their cell: Y’ello?

Ace: Where’s Luffy? He texted me that he was being kidnapped.

Garp: Luffy? Whaddya mean, he's right next to me-

Garp, who shaved his head:

Garp: I’ll call you back. *hangs up*

Garp: THE NEW HAIRCUT ISN’T THAT BAD!

Luffy: WHO ARE YOU?!

...

*Ace, Sabo and Luffy sitting in jail together*

Sabo: So who should we call?

Ace: I’d call Gramps, but I feel safer in jail

...

Roger: Garp, my old arch enemy.

Garp: ... I thought I was your only arch enemy?

Roger: I have a life outside of you, Garp

...

Zoro: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container.

Luffy: The cow???

Zoro: What?

Sanji: *disgusted shudder* LUFFY, W H Y?

...

Usopp: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 billion berry?

Zoro: Nami can stab me, and then when my leg gets better, we buy a big-ass house and erase my debt

Luffy: You can stab me too, then we'll have 20 billion.

Zoro: Good thinking.

...

Kin'emon: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.

Denjiro: You were flirting with O'Tsuru.

Kin'emon: So what? She's my wife.

Denjiro: You asked her if she were single.

Kin'emon:

Denjiro: And then you cried when she said she wasn't

...

Marco: What time is it?

Ace: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out

Ace: *Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune*

Izou: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING

Ace, proudly: It’s 2 am

...

Luffy: I can’t believe you live nearby, and you won’t let anyone crash at your place.

Law: You people already know too much about me.

Kidd: I know exactly three facts about you, and one of them is that you won’t let any of us crash at your place.

...

Sabo, an enabler: Tell Ace about the birds and the bees.

Luffy: They're disappearing at an alarming rate.

...

Brook: Schrödinger’s cat is overrated. If you wanna see something that’s both dead and alive you can talk to me any time of the day.

...

Zoro: With great power comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later.

...

Law: When someone points at your black clothes and asks whose funeral it is, having a look around the room and saying 'Haven’t decided yet' is typically a good response.

Bepo: Captain, no.

...

Law: Nothing in life is free.

Chopper: Love is free!

Luffy: Adventure is free!

Robin: Knowledge is free.

Nami: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

...

Usopp: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Luffy will and will not eat.

Franky: Grass? Yes!

Usopp: Moss? Yes!!

Franky: Leaves? Ohh, yes!

Usopp: Shoelaces? Strange but true!

Franky: Worms? Sometimes!

Usopp: Rocks? Usually nah.

Franky: Twigs? Usually!

Usopp: Zoro's cooking? Inconclusive!

Chopper: How did you… test this?

Usopp: You just hand him stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if he eats it, he eats it.

Chopper: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.

Nami: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SHOELACES WENT?

Robin: What about humans? He tried to eat Crocodile once

Everyone: ...

Usopp: I think I might be too afraid to ask

(Someone pls draw this one XD)

...

Betty: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Koala: *turning to Sabo* How tall are you?

...

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

That's it, this took forever to write lol

[elderwisp]

◁ || ▷

Robin: Yep, he’s gone. Left without any word as usual. N-No he doesn’t know. Hey, I gotta go. Talk to you later.

Ares: Hey mom. 

Robin: Hi love. You have a good shift?

Ares: Uh, yeah. Work was slow. Are you going somewhere? You look nice.

Robin: Oh! Yeah, the girls and I are going out to dinner.

Did you grab something to eat?

Ares: I-

Robin: I’ll leave you my credit card. Grab something for your sister.

Ares: You don’t gotta do that-

Robin: Hey. My treat. Look at you. You’re all g-grown up.

Ares: Mom-

Robin: You’ve always hated to make others uncomfortable. It’s alright-t. You’re not a burden.

Ares: I think you’ve had too much to drink.

Robin: [ a small laugh ] Just a little afternoon pick me up. 

Ares: What’s so bad about today that you need that?

Robin: Nothing! [ phone buzzes ] That must be the c-cab. Lock up, okay?

Ares: I- Yeah. 

[ door opens ]

Jayme: Just you?

Ares: Mhm.

Jayme: [ snorts ] Well you ordered like you had people over.

Jayme: And you didn’t even bother to save me any. 

Ares: There’s… Stuff in the fridge.

Jayme: Like protein shakes and old takeout? You shouldn’t have!

Ares: I didn’t know you’d be home tonight.

Jayme: I’m giving you a hard time. You still got mom’s card?

Ares: Yeah, it’s on the counter.

Jayme: You think she’d notice if I bought a hundred burgers?

Ares: [ chuckles ] Probably not.

Jayme: I wonder if they ever really planned us out.

Ares: Well I was an accident. 

Jayme: That’s like the worst information they could have told you.

Ares: But to answer your question, no. Not at all. 

Jayme: Twenty years of marriage and you’d think they’d have it locked in by now. We’re just a byproduct at this point.  

Ares: Hold up. Twenty? I thought it was nineteen.

Jayme: Not after today. Surprised he didn’t call or send flowers. He’s usually good about that stuff.

Ares: Yeah but I’m starting to realize we don’t know this version of our parents.

Jayme: I don’t know if we ever did. I’m starting to think forever is a game of how long you’re keeping up appearances.

Ares: If you see it like that then you’ll never be open to finding the right one.

Jayme: But how do you know who is the one, genuinely? I mean at some point, our parents were in love. Believed they were soulmates. Then things went to shit. Someone gave up first.

Ares: You’re overthinking it, Jay.

Jayme: You should be careful, Ares. That good heart of yours will get you in trouble. Eventually.

[saddleups]

ok hear me out but surprising wesker with one of those "naughty nurse" costumes...

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 4.7k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . request , complete. ALBERT WESKER X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . implied boss x employee dynamic ( could be read in tandem w/ office diaries ngl ) . nurse/doctor roleplay . switch!wesker . oral ( m! & f! receive ) . overstim p_rn w/o a plot !

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . to be completely honest i'm not sure if he'd gaf. HOWEVER, he would appreciate the effort and tease you for your desperation. i'm editing office diaries so he's been on my mind ( *crowd boos* ) i wrote this embarrassingly fast !!!

The mansion was quiet, the kind of oppressive silence that settled in your bones. You could hear the fait hum of the heating system, the distant ticking of a clock, but nothing else. Even the air seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the monotony.

Doctor Albert Wesker worked often, far too often, leaving you alone to roam the mansion. At first, you found ways to entertain yourself—ordering luxuries with his credit card, drifting through empty rooms in search of anything that might entertain you—but even that had grown stale. You’d known what being his girl entailed; Wesker had been clear about the terms. He’d wanted someone obedient, someone who would accept the lonely hours and unspoken rules.

And, for the most part, you did.

But you had needs, desires that sometimes grew louder than his rules. And tonight felt especially cruel. He was home, tucked away in his office locked in his endless work. The sound of his voice, low and gravelly, filtered through the heavy door. It was a welcome intrusion, a reminder that he was home, but it also served as a harsh reminder of just how unreachable he was. Doctor Albert Wesker. Your boss, your lover, was locked away in his work, buried under a mountain of papers and calls, and you were left to fend for yourself once more.

You sighed, the sound barely audible, and turned your gaze to the robe draped over your bed. It was soft, luxurious, the kind of thing you’d never have bought for yourself, but Wesker had insisted on it.

“To keep you warm,” he’d said, though the gesture had been more about control than comfort. Still, it had its uses.

With a determined set of your jaw, you slipped the robe on, feeling the fabric brush against your skin. Beneath it, you wore the costume you’d ordered on a whim—a playful nod to the “naughty nurse” stereotype, complete with a little cap and the faintest hint of lace. It had been a gamble, but one you were willing to take. Tonight, you needed him to notice you, even if it meant forfeiting your pride.

Gathering your courage, you padded toward his office, the heels of your shoes tapping softly against the polished wood floor. The closer you got, the louder his voice became, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You paused outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

This was it. There was no turning back now.

Taking a few quiet steps forward, your heart pounds in your chest. Wesker's head snapped up at the sound, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you. For a brief moment, there was confusion in his gaze, as if he couldn't quite place why you were here interrupting his work.

But it'd been so long, the look on your face hinted at your frustrations. He was a smart man, the recognition dawned, and his lips curled into a faint, imperceptible smile.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone cool and detached, as if you were nothing more than an interruption.

“I think so,” you replied, your voice low and sultry. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been working so hard lately. I wanted to check in.”

Wesker’s eyes flicked to the sash of your robe, which you’d begun to toy with absentmindedly. The material had already started to slip open, revealing a glimpse of the risqué outfit beneath. His gaze lingered there for a moment before returning to your face, a calculating gleam in his eye.

“Is that so?”

You nodded, letting the robe fall open just a bit more, enough for him to see the high hemline of the skirt, the curve of your leg. With each step closer, you felt more confident, more in control. This was what you wanted—no, it's what you needed. To be seen, to be noticed, to be desired.

“Poor thing,” you murmured, your voice dripping with sympathy as you placed one hand on the back of his chair. “You look so tense, Doctor. I think you need someone to take care of you.”

Wesker’s hand paused mid-note, the pen hovering above the paper. He studied you for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he laid the pen down and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Alright,” he said, his voice smooth and sardonic.

“Show me what you can do.”

A thrill shot through you at his words, at the way he’d accepted your game so easily. Without another word, you slipped fully into character, fingers grazing his shoulders as you began your “treatment.”

“First, let’s get you relaxed,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. You began to knead his shoulders, pressing into the muscles with just the right amount of pressure. Wesker sighed, the sound almost content, and closed his eyes, surrendering himself to your ministrations.

You worked your way down his back, your hands moving with purpose, squeezing and releasing the tension in his muscles. What a difficult man he was, keeping his composure. But the way his brows furrowed, his breath hitched. It fueled your determination, making you want to push him further. To see how far you could go before he cried out a moan.

“How does that feel, Doctor?” you asked, your voice sweet and innocent, a stark contrast to the heat building between you.

“Fine,” he rumbled, his voice thick. “I think you can do better.”

You grinned, a spark lighting up your eyes. “Oh, I intend to,” you replied, leaning in closer until your lips brushed against his ear. “But first, I need you to do something for me.”

Wesker’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto yours. “What’s that?”

“Unbutton your shirt,” you commanded, your voice firm but gentle.

“I need to get to the source of the problem.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your intentions. But then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the buttons of his shirt and began to undo the first three of them.

You watched in rapt fascination as the fabric parted, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the ridges of muscle flexing with each movement.

When he was done he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “Happy?” he asked, his tone mocking.

“Very,” you purred, your hands moving underneath the fabric to rest on his bare shoulders. “Now, let’s see what we can do about those knots.”

You began to massage his chest, your fingers digging into the hard planes of muscle, seeking out the tension that lurked beneath the surface. Wesker groaned, the sound deep and guttural, and pressed himself into your touch, offering himself up to your service.

He muttered your name, voice strained. “You know just how to…”

His words trailed off as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. “How to what, Doctor?” you whispered, your breath fanning out against his skin.

Wesker shuddered, his hands gripping the arms of the chair as if trying to ground himself. “Distract me,” he growled, his voice rough.

“Good,” you murmured, nipping at his earlobe before pulling back to meet his gaze. “I think that's just what you need.”

Finally, you removed your robe revealing the naughty nurse costume in all its glory.

Wesker’s gaze lingered on your outfit, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes flicked over the lace details and playful cap. Though he didn’t break his cool exterior, you caught a glint of amusement in his eyes—a hint that he found your little act amusing, though he’d never admit it outright.

“Quite the unique uniform,” he drawled, his tone laced with that familiar edge of sarcasm. “Did you really think a costume like this would work on me?”

His eyebrow arched, and though his words were teasing, his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest, lingering just a bit too long on the curves revealed by the costume. He was giving you just enough of his attention to keep you guessing, that subtle taunt characteristic of the ever-cool Albert Wesker.

You met his gaze, undeterred. "Considering you’re still sitting there letting me 'work,' Doctor, I’d say it’s working," you shot back with a sly smile.

His smirk widened, the faintest hint of warmth entering his steely demeanor. “Is that so?” His hand moved from the chair to rest lightly at your hip, pulling you slightly closer as he leaned back, maintaining his air of authority even as he allowed himself to indulge.

“I suppose I’ll let you finish… but be warned,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “I don’t often tolerate interruptions.”

A subtle thrill coursed through you, a mix of anticipation and defiance at being so close to him after all this time. You held your ground, leaning closer still.

“Then I’ll make it worth the risk.”

Wesker’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of challenge and fascination. He didn’t speak further, simply allowing his gaze to travel over you in silent approval, that slight smirk never leaving his lips as he let you continue, fully aware of the effect he had on you, and savoring it.

With a confident stride, you led Wesker to the plush leather couch that sat against one wall of his large office. It was a stark contrast to the rigid orderliness of the rest of the room, a place where he could unwind if he ever allowed himself to. Tonight, however, it would serve a far more pleasurable purpose.

Wesker followed you with measured steps, his eyes refusing to leave your form as you walked ahead of him. The playful sway of your hips in the tight nurse outfit seemed to draw his gaze like a magnet. When you reached the couch, you turned to face him, a impish glint in your eyes.

"Sit," you commanded softly, pointing at the couch with your index finger.

He complied without hesitation, sinking into the cushions with an almost regal grace. His shirt, though slightly unbuttoned, clung to his broad shoulders. The fabric taut over muscles that spoke of relentless physical discipline. Kneeling before him, your hands gently brush against the sides of his thighs as you positioned yourself comfortable on your knees.

Your fingers traced lazy circles around the hem of his shirt, teasing him with anticipation. Wesker stared at you, completely transfixed. His hand resting casually on the armrests, you could see the tension coiling beneath his calm exterior.

"You seem wound up, Doctor," you purred, a hint of amusement coloring your voice. "Let's see if I can help you relax."

With deliberate slowness, you began to unbutton his shirt, peeling back the layers of fabric to reveal the chiseled expanse of his chest. Each button undone excited you, the sight of his bare skin sending a jolt of desire through you. His chest rose and fell steadily under your scrutiny, a testament to his self-control.

Once his shirt was open, you let your hands roam freely over his torso. Your fingertips danced across his pecs, tracing the ridges of muscle with reverent precision. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, and you reveled in the sensation of touching him so intimately.

A low growl rumbled in Wesker’s throat as your hands continued their exploration. His eyes were half-lidded, locked onto yours with a mixture of anticipation and challenge.

"Is this all you've got?" he murmured, his voice husky with restrained need.

You chuckled softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his sternum. "There's plenty more where that came from," you assured him, punctuating your words with another kiss just below his collarbone.

His breathing grew heavier as you shifted your attention lower, your hands slipping beneath his belt to find the growing bulge in his pants. Wesker’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head tilting back slightly as he surrendered to the sensations you were provoking.

You undid his belt with practiced ease, popping the button on his pants and pulling down the zipper. The sound echoed in the quiet room, a sharp contrast to the slow, deliberate pace of your movements. With gentle pressure, you coaxed his erection free from the confines of his boxers, releasing it into the cool air.

The sight of his hardened length made your pulse quicken, a flush of heat spreading through your body. You wrapped one hand around his shaft, feeling the smooth skin and the subtle veins pulsing beneath your touch. Wesker inhaled sharply, his eyes snapping open to meet yours once more.

"Naughty nurse, huh?" he teased, his tone dripping with dark amusement. "I didn't realize they provided this kind of treatment."

You grinned up at him, feeling a surge of confidence. "Only the best for my favorite patient," you replied, giving his cock a slow, deliberate stroke.

His breath hitched at your touch, the tension in his body ratcheting up even further. You took your time, exploring every inch of him with your hands, your mouth hovering just inches away from the tip as you breathed hot air over his sensitive skin. The contrast between the warmth of your breath and the coolness of the room heightened the sensations, driving him wild with anticipation.

Wesker narrowed his eyes, he tilts his head slightly, as if challenging you. "Is this really what you think I need?" he queries, his voice low and laced with playful authority.

"Trust me," you reply, meeting his gaze with confidence. "This is exactly what you need."

When you judged him sufficiently aroused, you leaned in and enveloped the head of his cock with your lips. The taste of him—salty, masculine—filled your mouth, igniting a fire in your core. You swirled your tongue around the crown, relishing the way his muscles tensed beneath you as you took him deeper.

Wesker groaned, his hands gripping the edge of the couch tightly. His cock pulsed in your mouth, the rhythmic throb matching the beat of your own heart. You teased him mercilessly, sucking and licking with a teasing rhythm that kept him perpetually on the edge.

As you pleasured him, you couldn't help but marvel at how utterly captivating this man was. Even in this vulnerable position, he radiated an undeniable aura of command, as if he were simply indulging in a momentary lapse of control. It only fueled your desire to push him further, to watch him unravel completely under your ministrations.

Your lips leave his cock with a loud pop, and you greedily stick your tongue out to slap against the thick girth before you. “Good boy,” you praise, watching as Wesker's eyes darken with need. You can almost hear him whimper as you unbutton your costume just enough to reveal your heaving breasts.

With a devilish grin, you guide his throbbing length between the soft mounds of flesh, feeling his pre-cum leave a slick trail in its wake. As he thrusts into the warm embrace of your breasts, you squeeze them tightly around him, a thin strand of saliva escaping your pursed lips to lubricate his pulsing shaft. Unable to resist any longer, Wesker drives his hips forward, plunging deeper into your cleavage. “That's it,” you encourage, reveling in his submission. “Such a good boy for me.”

Tongue flicking against the sensitive tip of his throbbing cock, you can feel him losing control. His body tenses with every thrust into your cleavage and his breathing becomes ragged. You can sense the desire burning inside him, even as he tries to maintain his cool facade.

But you know better. You know that Wesker needs this just as much as you do. As you release your grip on your breasts, his thrusts come to a sudden end. A desperate groan escapes his lips as he realizes that his release has been denied.

"Do you want to fuck me, Doctor?" Your voice is dripping with seduction, taunting him until he can't take it anymore.

He looks at you with defeated hunger in his eyes before swallowing hard and answering, "Yes." The hunger in his voice matches the fire in his eyes as he moves closer, ready to claim what he desires most.

With that one word, the air thickened with an intoxicating mixture of dominance and longing. Wesker’s hand gripped your chin, his thumb wipes the salvia staining it, before he tilts your gaze up. You meet his smoldering gaze as he pulls you closer, the tension crackling between your bodies like electricity. You invite him into your space with an enticing arch, “Then take what you want,” you coax softly, your voice a sultry whisper.

Wesker's composure breaks like glass under pressure; he surges forward, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. The heat radiates off him, intensifying the unusual power dynamic in the air. His lips crash against yours—demanding, possessive—as if attempting to stake his claim not just on your body but your very essence.

"Let me show you how it's done," he rasped, the command laced with urgency.

You felt a thrill shoot through you at his words—his danger, his power, amplifying every pulse of desire within you. With a swift motion, he guided you onto the couch, his body hovering over yours like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. The gleam in his eyes promised something far more than indulgence; it was a challenge. Wesker’s composure breaks like glass under pressure; he surges forward, his hands gripping your waist to pin you in place. The heat radiates off him, his lips crash against yours—demanding, possessive—as if attempting to stake his claim not just on your body but your very essence.

As the kiss deepens, you can taste the faintest hint of desperation mingling with his usual resolve. Your fingers dig into his hair, urging him on as his hands explore your form with fervent determination. Wesker’s grip is unyielding as he holds you close, an unsatiated hunger driving him to devour every inch of your mouth, the taste of passion strong enough to drown in.

Wesker's hands slid down your sides, rough yet gentle, as he pushed your costume up and out of the way. Your skin tingled where he touched you, the heat radiating from him almost overwhelming. He leaned closer, letting his lips brush against your ear as he whispered darkly,

“You’re going to scream my name tonight.”

This is what you wanted—his surrender wrapped in a shroud of lust—and there’s a wild thrill at having brought a man of such power to this moment of bare vulnerability. Breaking the kiss, you look into his eyes—intense pools swirling with desire and something deeper.

“I thought you were too busy,” you taunted, low and teasing. You could feel him hard against your thigh—imposing yet utterly captivating—and it fueled your own mounting arousal.

“I never said I was above a little distraction,” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk.

Wesker’s fingers deftly pulled your costume further up your thighs, exposing your bare skin to the cool air in the stark contrast to the fire burning within you. The slight chill felt rousing against your heated flesh. Wesker’s eyes darkened as they traveled over every inch of you, and suddenly you were no longer just teasing him; he was drinking in the sight like a man starved.

“Dearheart, you've made quite the mess, haven’t you?" He asked, his voice low and sultry as his hands gently parted your legs further apart. You could feel your pulse quicken as his breath tickled against your skin, anticipation winding tighter within you like a coiling spring.

“Only for you,” you breathed back, taunting him further. It was exhilarating to see him so unraveled—yet still so dangerously in control. The power shift ignited something primal deep inside both of you.

With that, he dove forward, catching you off guard as his mouth latched onto your most sensitive spot. You gasped, back arching as he dove deeper into your cunt, his tongue swirling expertly around you, igniting sparks that raced through your entire being. Each flick and thrust of his tongue sent waves of pleasure cascading over you, pushing you toward the edge in an spellbinding spiral of pining.

You dug your nails into the leather of the couch, desperate to ground yourself as Wesker's mouth worked with remorseless precision. The heat pooled low in your belly, a dark fire igniting with every moment he lavished on you. He consumed you entirely, his slow torture blissfully relentless—an exquisite torment that made your breath hitch and your body writhe beneath his skilled service.

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmured between kisses along your inner thigh, his voice dripping with wickedness. You could only nod fervently, unable to form coherent words, the mere act of breathing becoming a challenge in the wake of such pleasure.

“Speak pet,” he commanded softly yet firmly, his eyes locking onto yours as he paused to hover just above you—a predacious gleam dancing within those depths.

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, struggling to maintain control even as desire threatened to engulf you whole. “I want more… I need more.”

With a wicked grin spreading across his face, Wesker surged back into action, fingers working in tandem with his mouth, thrusting deep into you as he continued. The sensation punctuated the air with an urgent tempo, a rhythm that echoed every thundering heartbeat in your chest. Each movement felt like an electric jolt, sparking fire through your veins.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," he growled, the determination in his voice vibrating through you like a deep bass note. His fingers curled inside you, drawing gasps from your lips as he found the perfect spot. With each thrust, he pushed you closer to that precipice where you could finally let go of everything else.

“Doctor…” His title was a prayer and a plea, spilling from your lips like raindrops in a summer storm. You gripped his hair tighter, urging him on as pleasure surged hotter and brighter. It was dizzying—both intoxicating and grounding at the same time.

But Wesker wasn’t done yet; instead of succumbing to your mounting desire, he withdrew just slightly, teasing you as he stared deeply into your eyes. “You wanted me to claim you,” he murmured darkly, “then I will do it right.”

Wesker roughly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a feral hunger in his eyes as he gazes down at you. Your head hangs over the armrest of the couch, your body manipulated into position by Wesker's strong hands. Your legs are bent and spread, one foot planted on the polished floor while the other is lifted high over his shoulder.

He positions himself between your thighs, slowly sliding his glistening shaft up your slick entrance, coating it in your sweet essence. The mere sensation of him inside you makes you whimper and squirm, but Wesker relishes in your arousal and helplessness. With agonizing slowness, he eases himself deeper, watching with dark satisfaction as his length disappears completely into your trembling form.

“Sing my name, dearheart.” He growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your core. “I want to hear it on your lips as you come undone.”

His hips begin to move in a slow, steady rhythm- deep, lingering thrusts that push you higher and higher. With each stroke, Wesker seems to burrow deeper into your depths, possessing and claiming you on a primal level. His grip on your hips tightens as he picks up the pace, driving you both closer to the edge of sanity.

“Al-Albert!” The name escapes your lips in a ragged moan, a plea for more and release. His only response is a low growl of approval as he ramps up his relentless thrusts, pounding into you with single-minded focus. The room is now filled with a symphony of wet flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated by your moans and his growled commands.

"Good nurse," he pants, glistening sweat forming on his brow as he leans over you, pressing his hot breath against your ear. “Let the world know who owns this delectable pussy.”

"Oh, God, yes," you moaned, arching your back. "Dr. Wesker! It's yours! I'm yours!"

Wesker's eyes glimmered with a feral intensity as he absorbed your words, each syllable wrapping around him like silken chains, binding you more thoroughly to him than any promise ever could. He leaned into you, the heat of his body suffusing the air between you; it was almost overwhelming, and you felt your senses heighten. The scent of sweat mingled with the rich, earthy smell of leather that clung to him like an aura, enveloping you in a cocoon of passion.

“Yours,” he repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue slowly, savoring it like a fine vintage wine. With every thrust, he established his claim anew—each powerful stroke resonating through your core and melding with your very essence. You felt as though he were drawing out something innate within you, awakening instincts you hadn't known you possessed. Your body responded eagerly to his demands; every gasp and moan that escaped your lips was a testament to his power over you.

Wesker’s fingers dug into your flesh, leaving heated trails behind as he relentlessly thrust deeper and deeper. Each time he pressed against that delectable spot within you, stars burst behind your eyelids like fireworks. You felt dizzy from the overwhelming pleasure that washed over you in waves, each more fierce than the last.

Your voice is trapped in your constricted throat, unable to escape as guttural moans turn into high-pitched whines and desperate shrieks. He's forcefully extracting something that lay dormant within you for far too long, igniting a need that almost feels violent.

Your body writhes under his rough touch, craving the release that only he can provide. In a frenzy, you beg for him to paint his seed inside you, your back arching so far that you feel weightless on the couch, your chest pressed against his in a heated embrace.

The sensation of your hardened nipples rubbing against his tender flesh causes Wesker to surrender a boyish moan, lost in the intense pleasure of your bodies colliding. Your roles in this game fade away as both of you reach the edge of sanity, desperate to break free and unleash the carnal desires that have been building between you.

Wesker grabs your face, locking eyes with you as he punctuates each thrust with a deep grunt. He slips his thumb into your mouth, and you eagerly welcome the intrusion, sucking on it with reckless abandon. A dark chuckle escapes him as he revels in your unbridled passion. "You're clenching," he taunts, causing furrows to form on your brows as you try to grasp onto any sense of control amidst the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

“Just come already!” You demand, nails digging into his flesh as you pull him closer. “I can feel it, Doctor. Your cock is twitching inside me.” Between breathless pants, you beg for more.

His cool facade crumbles as he gives in to his instincts. His once immaculate appearance is now disheveled, his hair tousled and sweat glistening on his skin. As your bodies move together in a frenzy, his moans fill the room.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your voice desperate and raw.

He obeys, pushing deeper inside you as his release washes over both of you. Your walls clench around him, never wanting to let go.

“Please don't pull out,” you plead with him, desperate to keep him connected to you for just a little longer.

He obeys your command, his warmth mingling with yours as the two of you reach an explosive climax together. Sweat drips down both of your bodies as you revel in the intense pleasure that courses through you both.

In unison, you tumble onto the leather couch, your bodies entwined. Lying atop Wesker’s steady, rhythmic breaths, you press soft, lingering kisses against his chest and collarbone, savoring each touch. His hand, once so firm and rough, now rests gently against your hair, stroking softly, a quiet acknowledgment of your hard work.

“You passed your check-up.” You say, breathless.

[handmade-witch]

part 6 of Slytherin Boys x Incorrect Quotes~~

Part 1 ☆ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ☆ Part 4 ☆ Part 5

Draco: Am I right, Mattheo?

Mattheo: I’m almost certain you’re not, but to be fair, I wasn’t listening.

☆☆☆

Mattheo: I’d kill someone if you asked me to.

[Y/N]: I’m pretty sure you’d kill someone even if I didn’t ask you to.

☆☆☆

Theodore: Can I ask you for a favor?

[Y/N]: I would literally die for you, but continue.

Theodore: We need to talk about you starting sentences that way.

☆☆☆

Mattheo: Is something burning?

Lorenzo, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you.

Mattheo: Lorenzo, the toaster is literally on fire.

☆☆☆

Lorenzo: Are you okay?

[Y/N], crying: Yeah, it was just the onions.

Lorenzo: *Picks up an onion* What the fuck did you say to [Y/N]?

☆☆☆

[Y/N]: I’m sad.

Lorenzo: Don’t be sad, because sad backwards is das.

Lorenzo: And das not good.

☆☆☆

Blaise: You know you can die from that, right?

Theodore: *smoking a cigarette* That’s the point.

Mattheo: *drinking alcohol* We’re trying to speed this up.

[Y/N] and Lorenzo: *Eating raw cookie dough and nodding*

☆☆☆

Kidnapper: We have your child

[Y/N]: I don’t have a child?

Kidnapper: Then who just asked for warm milk and made us cut the crusts off their sandwich?

[Y/N]: Oh god, you have Draco

☆☆☆

Theodore: Where are you going?

[Y/N]: To get MYSELF a gift cause somebody didn't get me one!

Theodore: I told you I did! Its coming here on Friday!

Mattheo, knowing full well that Theodore got [Y/N] an engagement ring: *eating popcorn*

☆☆☆

[Y/N]: I made this friendship bracelet for you.

Mattheo: You know, I’m not really a jewelry person.

[Y/N]: You don’t have to wear…

Mattheo: No, I’m gonna wear it forever. Back off.

☆☆☆

Theodore: Hey Blaise, do you wanna help us?

Blaise: Oh, I would... but I don’t want to.

☆☆☆

Theodore: This can’t get any worse. Can it?

Mattheo: Sure it can - just give me a minute.

☆☆☆

Mattheo: I am the most responsible person in the group.

Blaise: …You just set the kitchen on fire.

Mattheo: Yes, and I take full responsibility for that.

☆☆☆

[Y/N]: We need to open this locked door. Blaise, give me your credit card.

Blaise: Here.

[Y/N], pocketing it: Thanks. Mattheo, break down the door.

☆☆☆

[Y/N]: We all have our demons.

[Y/N], grabbing Mattheo: This one’s mine.

☆☆☆

Mattheo: This date is boring!

[Y/N]: This isn't a date. I said I was going to the store.

Mattheo: Then why did you invite me?

[Y/N]: I didnt, I specifically said "don't come with me," then you said, "fuck you [Y/N] I'll do whatever I want!

☆☆☆

[Y/N]: Why are you following me?

Theodore: Because we're dating now.

[Y/N]: Okay... what about Mattheo?

Theodore: We're a package deal.

Mattheo: Buy one idiot, get one free.

☆☆☆

Mattheo: *sneaking in through their window*

Lorenzo: *turning in their chair and flicking the light one* You want to tell me where you've been all night?

Mattheo: I was with Theodore?

Theodore: *turning in their chair* Wanna try again?

☆☆☆

Mattheo: All in all, a 100% successful trip.

[Y/N]: But we lost Draco.

Mattheo: All in all, a 100% successful trip!

[cleangirlxoxo]

winter arc 2024 (how to glow up)

winter arc

i've been seeing this term a lot on Instagram/TikTok and the basic concept is to take these winter months (October, November, December, January and February) to lock in and complete your goals with no distractions. recently I have been trying to focus on myself and achieving my goals so I feel like this is a perfect trend for us girlies trying to rebrand ourselves!

this is something I am going to be taking very seriously, as I feel like i'm in desperate need for an era of just focusing on myself completely. for the next 5 months we are only going to be directing our energy (and thoughts) on the improvement of ourselves. i am going to be categorically laying out the rules I am going to be following for the next five months; hopefully this motivates someone out there wanting to change themselves for the better.

01. health + fitness

-taking supplements everyday

-gym 4x a week

-eating clean

-drink 60 oz of water a day + track how much i'm drinking

-no caffeine

-yoga daily

-no drinking alcohol or smoking

-skincare every day and night

-8 hrs of sleep every night (!)

-hair oiling once a week + no heat damage

-lash serum every morning and night

-guasha exercises everyday

-whiten teeth + oil pull daily

-face mask + lip scrub atl once a week

-take makeup off every night

-wash face before and after working out

02. finances

-take care of bills

-open up a credit card

-save as much money as possible

-prioritize work

-don't spend money frivolously

-rewards for achieving goals

-start investing

-find a side hustle

03. intellect

-learn a new hobby (mine will be sketching/drawing)

-finish atleast one book a month

-get good grades/work hard in school

-practice writing everyday

-stay off of social media

-try to stop using foul language

-keep a habit tracker

04. mental health

-meditate daily in nature

-repeat affirmations of the month in the mirror everyday

-visualize desires as if they are yours

-script dream life in a journal

-keep a diary and write an entry everyday even if it's brief or boring

-work on positive self concept that is aligned with goals

-no negative thoughts allowed

-no thoughts about other's opinions or critical thoughts of others

-spend most of time alone for true enrichment

-watch movies you've always wanted to see

-decorate walls of room more

-girlblog

[freedelusionshere]

I don't want to set any unreasonable expectations, but the sleight of hand and legerdemain mention in S3 could also be referring to the status of Syd and Carmy's relationship.

While I think it definitely refers to the fine dining smoke and mirrors going on (while The Bear is broke, changing the menu everyday Jeffery Ballet, trying to recreate Empire), and Carmy being trapped in his own illusions of grandeur (and trapping others with him, primarily Syd, who shields the others), it could also be about their relationship.

There is plenty of subtle evidence of stuff happening, and maybe more off screen. First and foremost, their comfort at showing resentment of each other while sticking it out regardless. They behave like a married couple bickering in several scenes. There is a subtle progression here:

Syd calling herself his accomplice is a big one for me. Seems a bit resigned, doesn't she?

Carmy' wanting to lock down Syd by promising her the star and a partnership agreement to make it legal. Which she is hesitant to do for a number of reasons.

Syd making the margins wider for him after the funeral of Marcus's mother, where the message we know they hear is that they have to look at each other close up. It indicates Syd reaching for him emotionally.

Carmy telling Syd she's dressed nice and obviously wondering where she's been outside the restaurant. The way their voices both get soft in this scene. I know people think stuff will happen with Luca, but really, it set up Syd as "cheating" on their restaurant this season just like he did last season with the C-person.

How did Syd get her apartment lease when she has bad credit and would likely need someone to co-sign? It's not her dad's doing, the show made sure we knew that. It's likely Carmy. And she's on deferred pay.

Carmy saying he's sick of this shit. He is sick of the restaurant. He is very clearly not sick of Syd, though!

Syd treating Nat, Pete, and the baby like family and looking out for them. His whole family pressuring her to sign the agreement.

Carmy telling her to go home and get some rest and he'll finish up in Apologies, and also asking her to be his plus one in public outside the restaurant.

Him cleaning his side of the street up, spraying off shit in the back of The Bear and seeming somehow mostly unbothered and feeling hopeful about the future even after Cicero tells him about pulling the funding and pressuring him to talk to his mom. Why? Because he knows he's going to see Syd later.

Carmy getting ready to go to the Ever dinner. We see he has a scrunchie and there are hairpins on his dresser. Syd pins her hair up for the Ever dinner. She wears scrunchies. It's on the prayer card and Syd is associated with Mikey constantly. Carmy makes sure to get there before her so he can introduce her and have her be seen with him.

Despite what happens with Chef David, he comes out on the other side seeming more clear-headed about what he wants. Then, the other shoe(s) drop in true cliffhanger finale style.

In S4, my expectation is that we're going to get a lot of Syd POV about all of this.

[thegettingbyp2]

Extra Credit

A/N: This was from the request I got with three different ideas so this is the request where Austin is the readers teacher

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You rolled your eyes as the two girls sitting in front of you in the lecture hall giggled whilst your Professor was talking. Ever since Professor Butler took over your Theatre Studies lectures, every single lecture was filled with girls trying to get his attention and it annoyed you. It didn’t annoy you because he wasn’t attractive, he was stupidly attractive with his blonde hair, chiselled jawline and bright blue eyes. It annoyed you because he was your boyfriend and you didn’t appreciate all of your classmates fawning over him.

When Austin began working as your Professor, you were instantly struck by how attractive he was but you didn’t want to group yourself in with the girls who began acting like fools around him. That seemed to grab his attention when he noticed that you were the only girl in the class who didn’t look phased by him, leading to him calling you out in class, eventually, asking you to stay behind after class to talk to him about your essays. It was after one of your lectures that he kissed you for the first time and your relationship bloomed. Since then, the two of you took every opportunity to spend time together and you were hoping that he’d see your request you’d sent through on the College’s online platform before the end of class.

You were impatiently tapping your pen against your desk, zoning out slightly when Austin’s voice brought you back into the moment. ‘Miss (Y/L/N), do you mind staying behind for a couple of minutes? To discuss the extra credit request you submitted earlier?’ you looked up to see Austin watching you from the front of the class, a smirk so small playing on his lips as he looked at you that you could only tell it was there because of how well you knew him. You nodded in response and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ before looking back at the notes you’d made this lecture, knowing that Austin would let you borrow his lecture cards if you needed them.

As everyone packed away their things at the end of the lecture, you went at a much slower pace before slowly making your way down the stairs and walking over to Austins desk, setting your bag down next to it and waiting while Austin saw everyone else out. Once the last student had left the classroom, Austin closed the door and the click of the lock was all you needed to hear.

Austin cleared the space between you in a few strides and took your face in his hands, crashing your lips together. Your hands came out to twist in his jacket, pulling his body even closer to yours as he tilted your heads to deepen the kiss. His hands moved from your face, down to your waist as he hummed happily against your lips.

‘Hi,’ he murmured quietly, a smile growing on his lips as he broke the kiss, still keeping his face close to yours.

‘Hi,’ you replied, smiling back at him as you draped your arms around his neck, leaning in to peck his lips once more. ‘Great lecture today, you had all the girls giggling and vying for your attention,’ you teased, and even you could hear the tinge of bitterness in your voice.

‘Yeah? From the sound of it someone’s jealous,’ he said, pulling back and grinning at you.

‘I’m not jealous,’ you protested, refusing to meet his eyes and playing with the lapels of his jacket, ‘I just don’t like them thinking that they have a chance with you. It’d be so much easier if we could tell everyone. Just think about how great it would be to be able to walk around Campus, holding hands, taking about anything and not having to come up with different reasons to stay behind after class. I mean, the amount of extra credit requests I’ve put through, I probably should have graduated last year or something.’

Austin laughed softly, his eyes sad as he looked at you. ‘Baby, you know we can’t do that. I want that too, you think I don’t want to be able to take you out on a date without having to drive at least an hour away from Campus. I want to be able to walk down the street holding your hand and to be able to kiss you without having to make sure that the doors are locked and there’s no one around. But we both know that, until you graduate, we can’t do that.’

‘I know,’ you sighed, feeling your body slump slightly. Austin stepped closer to you, letting you rest your body against his. You stayed like that for a while, content to just sit in Austin’s arms, breathing him in for however long you could before you’d inevitably have to go back to pretending that you weren’t in love with him whenever you saw him in the hallway.

‘Do you still want to go on a date tonight?’ he asked softly, smoothing his hand along your hair gently.

‘Of course, what’s the plan?’ you asked, feeling yourself perk up slightly at the thought of having him to yourself for the whole evening.

‘How about, instead of driving for God knows how long, you come to mine and we’ll order take-out and have a movie night and I’ll be able to hold you all night. How does that sound?’

‘Amazing.’

[harlowsbby]

Cater 2 U 💘

Requested, Giving Jack a little spa day at home I feel like he’d appreciate it so much and would honestly love it.

When Jack was finally able to make it back home after a long day at work he was beyond grateful. Today hasn’t exactly been the best of days.

He’s been in meetings nonstop that we’re back to back to seemed like, he had Neelam and Drama in his ears nagging and just frustrating him all day.

Urban obviously knew his friend was on the verge of a breakdown so he had texted you prior to Jack coming home and letting you know that he wasn’t feeling that well.

When he finally managed to unlock the front door he sighed in relief and quickly shut and locked the door.

He made his way into the living room and was a bit taken back massage bed that sat in the middle of the living room.

“Baby?” He called out for you. “Why do we have a massage table in the middle of the living room? Did you steal this?”

Next to it was a mini table with a few of your skincare products and a few little tools he’s seen you used whenever you did your skincare.

“No I didn’t steal it you silly.” You smiled as you made your way over to him. He smiled upon seeing you and placed a kiss on your lips.

“So if you didn’t steal it why is it here? I need to make sure to lock my credit card.” He tried mumbling that last part but you heard him loud and clear.

“That isn’t nice.” You elbowed his side making him hiss. “No what you just did wasn’t nice.” He said.

“Always.” You rolled your eyes. “This is for you Urban called me earlier and said you’ve been stressed out all day.” You told him.

“So I figured why not doing a little spa day at home for my man.” You grinned.

Jack chuckled and shook his head at you he was honestly amazed and impressed but he was also beyond grateful to have someone as amazing as you.

“Thank you baby I appreciate this I really do.” He said and you smiled. “Go ahead and change into something more comfortable while I set everything up.”

He went upstairs and changed into a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt and made his way downstairs. “You ready for me?” He asked.

You smiled and nodded your head. “Yes I am just lay back on the bed and I’ll do the rest.” Jack laid down flat and you grabbed his face softly.

You started off by putting on one of your many spa headbands you used whenever you did your skincare routine.

“What are you doing first?” Jack asked. “Ima start off by plucking a few of your eyebrows because I’m sorry but you’ve been looking like a caveman.” You stated and Jack gasped.

“Yeah ima definitely give you a one star review after this session.” You both laughed. You leaned forward and plucked a few of his eyebrow hairs.

Once you were done with that you grabbed Clay face mask and applied it evenly all over his face and let that sit for about fifteen to twenty minutes.

When the timer was done you grabbed a wet washcloth and wiped his face clean and went in with your face serum. When the serum was applied on his face you grabbed your Gua Sha.

“What the hell is that?” Jack eyed the took suspiciously. “It’s a Gua Sha.” He took the tool and inspected it.

“A who? What does it do? I don’t want no weird shit on my face babe.” You smacked your lips and pushed him back down on the bed.

“It helps tone your face like it helps with your jaw line and makes it sharp.” His mouth formed into the shape of an o.

“Are you trying to say I have a double chin coming in?” His hands immediately started rubbing his face trying to check and see if his chin was hanging.

You giggled. “I mean you have been eating out a lot with Urban.” He gasped.

“Oh that’s just rude.” You giggled again. “Just be quiet and let me work.”

He raised his hands in defense. “Yes ma’am.” When you finished using the Gua Sha you went ahead and rubbed in the serum into his face which gave him a natural glow.

“What are you gonna do now?” Jack asked. “I’m going to put this lip mask on your lips it makes them feel hydrated because I’m tired of kissing your chapped lips.” You joked.

“Damn I didn’t know my masseuse was allowed to talk to me this way, ima need to speak to a manger or something.” He joked.

“Mhm you’re speaking to her, now shh and let me put this on you.” Jack relaxed into your touch.

You took the thin sheet mask out of the package carefully not wanting to rip it once it was finally put you placed it on Jack’s lips.

“I’ll be right back I’m going to clean up and put everything away.” He put a thumbs up and closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

While you were putting everything away and cleaning up your little mess Jack ended up falling asleep.

He hasn’t felt this relaxed in ages he was beyond grateful he was able to call you his because honestly he wouldn’t know what to do without you.

“Ima take the mask off now and then you can go ahead and take a show-.” You stopped mid sentence upon hearing a snoring Jack coming from the massage bed.

“Ain’t no way.” You chuckled but nonetheless you took one of the blankets that laid on the arm rest of the couch and wrapped him in it.

“Sleep tight Jack.” You placed a kiss on his forehead and allowed him to get some much needed rest.

[mamirhodessxox]

Carlos: Remember, when burying a body, make sure to cover it with endangered plants so it’s illegal to dig up!

Carlos: Make sure to follow me for more gardening tips!

———————————————————————

Y/N: Bottling up negative emotions is bad for your health, so you shouldn't do it.

Leon : I know, that's why I bottle up all my emotions, both positive and negative, so it cancels out.

Y/N: Th-that's not how that works-

———————————————————————

Leon: I love you.

Y/N, not paying attention: What was that?

Leon: I said I’m selling you to the zOo-

———————————————————————

Carlos: Standing next to sunflowers always makes me feel weak like ‘look at this fucking flower. This flower is taller than I am. This flower is winning and I’m losing.’

Jill: Wow, you are not ready to hear about trees.

———————————————————————

Leon: Are you an F5 key? Because that ass is refreshing.

Y/N: Are you a software update? because not right now.

———————————————————————

Y/n: Oh, fiddlesticks! That really ruffles my feathers!

Leon: Please, just say fuck.

———————————————————————

Chris: Where are your parents?

Leon: What are parents?

Chris: That’s just about the saddest thing I ever heard get said.

———————————————————————

Y/n: We need to open this locked door. Leon, give me your credit card.

Leon: Here.

Y/n, pocketing it: Thanks. Carlos, break down the door.

———————————————————————

Y/N: Listen, in the wild wild west there is always a woman in the saloon and nobody messes with her even though they all have guns.

Leon: That's because she's a prostitute.

———————————————————————

Leon: What’s sexting?

Y/N: I'm not having this conversation with you.

———————————————————————

Y/N: Know why I called you in here?

Leon: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic.

Y/N: *Stops pouring two glasses of wine.* Accidentally?

———————————————————————

Leon: We should get you to a doctor for a check up immediately. What if it happens again, and there isn’t anyone around to help you? What if it’s congenital? Oh my God! Was it me? Did I hurt you?

Y/N: …You realize any other person that made their partner pass out on bed would simply feel really proud of themselves, right?

———————————————————————

Leon: I’m proud to identify as morosexual. I’m attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses exclusively. Someone asked me what the Spanish word for "tortilla" was once, and now I dream of kissing them under the moonlight.

Y/N: What kind of animal is the Pink Panther?

Leon, already taking off their clothes: God, Y/N, you’re so fucking stupid.

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Meeting The Real You (Chapter 11)

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

AO3 story link

word count: 19,900

_______________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I wouldn’t say so.”

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

“No.”

“Does his aunt know about whatever this is?”

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

“Does she need to know about it entirely?”

“Not right now. But eventually, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_______________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

do you think spiderman knows how badly johnny wants him 

✨THEY’RE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR✨

Oh they’ve explored each others bodies for sure

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

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

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

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

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

oh i knowww spidey is blushingggg behind that mask fr 

my god just KISS ALREADY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your hair’s curly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Johnny?” Peter called. “Wait—don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And do you think she likes you back?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_______________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spider-Man!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now…

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

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

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

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

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

“We love you so much!”

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

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

But…maybe it didn’t have to be. 

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

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

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

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

“‘Cuz it’s true!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look! Over there!”

“It’s him! It’s Spider-Man!”

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

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

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

“We missed you!”

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

“We’re so glad you’re okay!”

“Do a flip!”

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

“We love you, Spidey!” 

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

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

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

“Can you sign my shirt?”

“Can we take a picture with you?”

“You’re so cool!”

“I love your costume!”

“How old are you?”

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

“You’re a lot shorter in person!”

“Show us how you shoot your webs!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Statue of Liberty!”

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

“He’s definitely there!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eh. He’d beaten worse odds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How heartlessly poetic. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can handle complicated,” Peter assured him. 

“And embarrassing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it time to correct that little misunderstanding?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you…about to kiss me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?” Peter asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your artwork?” Johnny said dubiously. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[buttsmasher]

The Time Vinny came to the Pharmacy

Tags/Warnings: Face Farting, Gay Face Farting, Willing Victim, Underwear Farting, Semi-Public

You lay across the counter, another boring day at the pharmacy. You’re scrolling through Instagram when you have to stop and stare at a picture your high school crush, Vinnie, posted. It’s a side view of him lifting a barbell and it highlights his arms, and that ass that you always wanted to be near in high school. The caption read, “It looks like leg day has been really paying off.” You, of course, double tap the photo.

“Yeah, that was a pretty good photo.” You look up to see Vinnie standing in front of you giving you his signature smile. All of your high school memories come rushing back and you quickly remember why he was your crush. 6’3”, charming smile, hot body, and he was honestly one of the nicest guys in town. “Not to brag or anything.” His smile disarms any awkwardness you might have felt. 

“What brings you in?” You ask putting your phone away, giving him your full attention.

“I’m here for a prescription.” 

“Gotcha.” You go ahead and enter his name into the system and quickly grab his prescription. “So how’s life going?” You make small talk as you scan the barcode of the prescription bag.

“Oh you know, just trying to survive the end of the world.” You both chuckle. “But my girlfriend broke up with me so... trying to get over that.” 

“Sorry to hear it man. It’s $15.12.”

“Yeah, she said I was going to the gym too much. And she said I was too gassy for her.” He pulls out a credit card and hands it to you. 

“Gassy?” You raise your eyebrow as you take his card.

“Yeah. It’s probably the protein shakes because they go right through me. But imagine being broken up with because you’re too gassy.” You shake your head, not able to imagine it. 

“Sounds like to me you need someone who’d appreciate your gassiness.” You give him a wink as you hand him his card back and prescription. You then go back to leaning onto the counter, elbows on the counter with your head being cradled by your heads.

“Is that so?” He looks you up and down briefly before leaning onto the counter himself.  “Do you know anyone, within a, oh I don’t know, one minute radius because I got some big ones brewing.” 

“Hmm,” You pretend to think about it. “Carla I’m going on break!” You yell to the pharmacist on duty. You walk out from the employee section and gesture towards Vinnie to follow you into the exam room. 

He doesn’t miss a beat, he follows and you close the door and lock it. Before he even says anything you are on your knees pulling at his gym shorts. His boxer briefs are a bit sweaty, most likely he came straight from the gym.It doesn’t stop you from smashing your nose into his musky crack and taking a deep whiff. It’s intoxicating, and you let out this small moan that just makes Vinnie laugh. 

“I haven’t even farted yet.” He jokes as he lets you inhale his scent. 

“Sorry, sorry, you just smell…”

PFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT

He lets a harsh fart that interrupts your sentence. You don’t even try to finish the sentence, instead you just focus your energy on inhaling the toxic air. It’s bad, and you kind of understand why his girlfriend broke up with him.The smell reminds you of a skunk and it’s just pure rotten ass fumes. You can’t help the fact that you’re so painfully erect.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Vinnie chuckles. “I just couldn’t hol’ it in anymore.”

“It’s good.” Your voice is strained but you give him a thumbs up. 

“Man, you must of inhaled all of it, because I didn’t get a whiff of it up here.” He wiggles his body a little bit bouncing you in between his butt cheeks. “Shit I just may need to keep you around as my fart vacuum.” 

“No complaints here.” You pull your nose out his ass and begin to stand up causing him to push you back down.

“I didn’t say I was finished.” He wraps his hand in your hair before pulling you back against his sweaty undies. 

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT

This one was even worse than the previous. It was horrid and you honestly kind of wanted to pull your face away. But before you even get a chance to appreciate that last bomb, he’s hitting you with more gas.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFTTTT PFFFFFFBBRRFFFFFFFFTTTT

He wasn’t joking when his girlfriend said he was gassy. You did your best to keep up with his butt bombs, but you feel yourself starting to get dizzy from only being able to breathe in his rotten egg smelling farts. You forcibly pull away from his ass and take a deep breath in before you push your nose back in against his clothed hole.

PFFFFFFFF PFFFFFTT

He lifts his leg as two squeakers expel from his nasty ass. “Fuck.” You groan as you keep taking loud huffs. “Jesus christ, how do you have so much gas?” You pant as you pull away from his ass again.

“I’m telling ya, it’s gotta be the protein shakes.” You try to catch your breath.

“Fuck man.” You wipe your forehead where there’s sweat beading on your face. 

“You want more?” He’s biting his lip like he’s holding a big one in.

“Hell yeah!” You don’t waste any time getting back into position.

“It’s a big one, do you think you can take it?” He warns.

“Take your best shot, big guy.” You give a playful smack against his ass.

“Your funeral.” He starts grunting, and for a moment you’re honestly worried that he’s about to shit himself.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTT

He lets out the loudest and nastiest fart you’ve ever heard. And the smell is god awful. Somehow mixing all sorts of horrid scents that you didn’t think were possible. At first you smelled rotten eggs, but then somewhere around the 5 second mark it went to old garbage, and then another few seconds and it was sewage. There wasn’t any way you couldn’t pull away from that.

You are hacking up a lung as Vinnie laughs at you. “I warned you man.”

“Fuck. I didn’t know you were that brutal.” You gag, somehow getting a taste of his nasty brew. “I-I don’t think I can take anymore.”

“That’s fine.” He reaches down and pulls his shorts up. “It’s not every day I get to bomb someone.”

“Well if you were dating me, that wouldn’t be a problem.” You try to turn the situation in your favor, but you’re still trying to catch your breath.

“Hm, how bout we get coffee first.” 

“Deal.” You say as he helps you get back on your feet. 

“You think you can go back to work?” You give a thumbs up as he helps walk back to the employee area.

“What did you do to him?” Clara takes you from Vinnie and then scrunches her face. “God you stink.” She moves her face as far away as she can. “God, that’s awful, you need to go home.” She kind of pushes you away and Vinnie catches you again. You both kind of laugh before Vinnie helps you out to your car.

“You free tomorrow?” You ask nervously.

“Yeah, meet me at the Piñata Cafe at 10:00.” 

“Cool.” You give him a small wave. 

When your door is closed and his back is to you, you start dancing. You’ve got a date with Vinnie, your high school dream almost fulfilled.

[atlafan]

“You’re acting like that meme of Jamie Lee Curtis where she’s aggressively drinking that water and telling someone off at the same time.” Layna groaned at her boyfriend who finally stopped glaring at his phone to look up at her.

“I have absolutely no idea what that is.”

“Yes you do, I’ve sent it to you before!” Layna takes her own phone out and shows him after searching it quickly on Google.

“Ohhhhh.” He smirks. “Right, now I remember. It’s usually you who looks like that when you’re about to brawl with someone.”

“Now that you’ve calmed down, can we think about what just happened rationally?”

“No, and I will try to call customer service again.” He holds his phone up to his ear.

“Your ass is not on the phone!”

“I’m listening to a voicemail!”

“Okay, Mr. Corporate.” She rolls her eyes.

“Just because I was promoted at the gym, does not make me a corporate meow meow asshole. I think it’s perfectly reasonable for to be upset about this.”

“I’m just going to go in and see if we can book a new reservation with my credit card. The room is technically available..”

“Not until I get to the bottom of this.”

“There’s nothing to get to the bottom of.” She groaned.

“The bottom is gaping. This is a job for the FBI.”

“Who are you, Kris Jenner?”

“Ew, no.” He grimaces. “She’s insane, why would you say that?”

“Because you just said…ugh! Why can’t you know the same references that I do?”

“I’m so sorry that I haven’t spent hours upon hours watching E! I’ll try to rectify that at some point. Now, let me do what I need to do.” He taps a few things on his phone and then presses it to his ear. “This is why I hate credit cards, cash is so much easier.”

Layna pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She reached into his pocket for the paper confirmation Harry had brought with them so they could check into their hotel with ease. He has wanted to plan a long weekend for them, so he booked everything with his name and his credit cards. When you check into a hotel, you need to show the card you used to reserve the room. The woman said the cards didn’t match. When Harry tried again, the app for his card put a lock on his account. So now they’re out on the curb trying to figure it out.

As Layna scans the paper she furrows her brows, then reaches into Harry’s pocket again for his wallet. He pays her no mind while he speaks with another representative from the card’s customer service line. She takes out the credit card he used to reserve the booking and realizes that Harry inverted the expiration date, and wrote Harry Edwerd Styles, instead of Harry Edward Styles. Two simple mistakes that the woman behind the counter could have been nicer about helping with instead of just turning them away.

“Harry…hang up the phone, baby. I figured out what happened.”

“Yeah?” He hangs up the phone. He was on hold so who cares?

“Um…I don’t want you to feel embarrassed because I’ve made mistakes like this before too, but it appears that you inverted the expiration date on your card…and spelled your middle name wrong…”

“I did?!” He snatches the card and the paper and scans them both. “I’m not seeing it.”

“Can I point to them?” She asks gently and he nods. She shows him the expiration on the card and then points to what’s on the paper. “See, the expiration is 06/29, you put 09/26…and you spelled Edward with two E’s…”

“Oh.” His cheeks redden, obviously very embarrassed by his blunder. “I should have had you look at it before I submitted…”

“It happens! I’ve done with my security code and my exportation date before. I think if we go back in, we could explain it better. And then see if that snotty lady will be cooler about the mistake.”

“This is so embarrassing.” He groans.

“I know it feels that way right now, but I promise, I’m not judging. I know your dyslexia flares up more when you’re stressed and reading all the fine print for a hotel reservation can be really daunting.” She wraps her arms around his neck and pecks his nose. “The sooner we go inside and fix the reservation, the sooner we can go to our room and I can help you forget alllll about this.”

“Might have times where I think of it randomly and I feel embarrassed all over again.” He grips her hips, squeezing them.

“Then I guess wherever we are you’ll just need to pull me aside and use me until you forget again.”

No Complaints Blurb