#peter: visibly sweating

[cherryheairt]

A Long Day's Night

Remmick x reader

need a pathetic yet protective husband fs

It wasn't unusual for you to keep your doors locked and curtains drawn. The same went for all of your neighbors, and their neighbors after. Your husband considered himself resilient to the outsiders, and you did too. Though their oppression was strong and their numbers mighty, you stood stronger in your core values and beliefs.

No outsiders would tell you who or what to be.

They didn't like that attitude. Thousands upon thousands resisted, though eventually succumbed to them and their brutish ways. Kings and kings and kings fought over land that none would ever set foot on themselves. You were lucky to live outside of the cities, away from the worst of the war and the foot soldiers that invaded unsuspecting citizen's homes. The outskirts of Dublin were as quiet as war-ravaged plains and starved, rumbling stomachs could be. This didn't quell the fear burning a hole in your throat when your husband didn't come home at his usual time.

His days at the farm were long and troublesome, and yours were mentally straining with keeping the children of your little village occupied whilst their parents worked their day away. But it was worth it to reunite at sundown and wind down in a quiet peace together.

His sun-kissed skin was always warm and smelled of soil and sweat when he walked in, wiping his glistening forehead with his sleeve while kissing you delicately on your temple to not sully you with grime. You never cared much, pulling him down surely and meeting his lips with your own, dry and cracked as they might be from his labours.

You'd cook a small dinner to share between the two of you, ensuring he wouldn't pass out from exhaustion and hunger the next workday (not an uncommon occurrence these days amongst the farmers) and drawing a cooling bath for you both to soak in and take in each other's company.

Life was better before they came. Still, any life with him was a good one. Whether that meant starving most days or fearing your door being the next one knocked down—so be it. You knew he shared that exact sentiment.

So where was your dear husband?

It was well past sunset, and the birds had long since made a peep. Even the critters were silent tonight, and you couldn't help the nausea crawling up your throat from worry.

After what felt like hours of pacing your worn wooden floors, potato soup long gone cold, you heard the frantic stomps of a man stalking through grass and gravel outside of your home. Without truly thinking it through, you swept open the door and grabbed your lantern to lighten the pitch black midnight.

There, at the bottom of your porch steps, was your husband, heaving and gasping for breath like a man hunted.

“Micky!” You abandoned the lantern at the table next to the door, rushing down the steps to grab him and hold him up. He swayed a bit before straightening himself, just barely, looking down to you with a wild look of fear in his deep brown eyes. For a moment, you didn't think he registered who you were.

Blood stained his white cotton shirt. It was aged and worn before, but mended carefully by you on the regular. Now it wasn't salvageable—torn at the collar and arms, ripped like claws had dragged through at the waist. Any visible skin on him was muddled red and you couldn't even tell where his wounds were nor how deep. The nearest clinic had to be a few miles walk, one he couldn't possibly make.

His breaths were still ragged as you guided him to the first step carefully. His weight nearly knocked you down. “Mick, talk to me. Did they come to the farm?” You spoke hushed as if the invaders might be in the bushes listening to you.

“Baby—” He coughed, wet and choking. He spit after a few moments of tense heaves, and what left his mouth could only be the very thing covering his body.

“You're coughing up blood, we need to get you to Peter's,” Before you could take another step, he righted himself. He stood rod-straight and seemed broader than when he had left this morning. He wasn't wheezing any longer, but took completely silent and controlled breaths. His grip on your waist tightened and he shifted his hands to your face, inspecting you carefully.

Like he gained some kind of new consciousness.

“Yer’ scaring me, Mick.” You whispered, his intense gaze boring into your own avoidant one.

“You're okay?” He asked, his first full sentence, ignoring your own. “No one came by?”

“No one.” You assured. “What—”

“We need to leave. Now.” He grunted out, stained hands leaving wet marks across your cheeks as he released you and guided you by the waist to the doorway. All the while he shot his head back and forth and looked into the treeline to ensure no followers. If you went silent, you swore you would be able to hear his anxiously racing heart, and maybe your own running right alongside it.

You didn't have much of an option except to blindly follow. You trusted your husband more than anyone, and his judgement hadn't failed you this far. Not when he decided to move outside of the city after your wedding, not when he chased off the men following you home from work, and certainly not tonight when he had clearly seen hell and came back from it.

As you crossed the house's threshold, you paused when you noticed him flinch. He jerked back away from you like he'd been burned, a noise of surprise and pain leaving his chest.

“Remmick?” You turned, eyeing his figure in the doorway. He looked paused in time, brows knitted impossibly tight and grasping onto the frame like he was about to kneel over. “Come on, what was that?”

Remmick glances between you and the creaky floorboards. With a tentative step forward, he crossed the doorway and met you in the living room-kitchenette.

His moment of hesitation didn't last long as he started stuffing necessities into bags. Every few seconds, he moved at an inhuman pace for a brief moment before pausing and taking a deep breath, righting himself and continuing rummaging through cabinets. You stayed glued to your spot, worrying that your husband hit his head when he was attacked.

“I think you need to sit down, Rem.” You squinted, placing a palm on his shoulder and clenching your jaw when he flinched. He was cold to the touch, something you hadn't noticed when you found him outside. You thought it was simply the cool night's air chilling him through thin clothes.

He muttered something incomprehensible.

There was nothing you could tell him. Nothing that could break him from this trance and get an explanation. Wordlessly, you allowed him to move around the home while you wet a washcloth from the cold water left in the kitchen's pail.

“Remmick,” you grabbed his arms, gentle but still firm in your toeing back to the dining table where you sat him down in a chair. He looked up at you, and the lighting finally illuminated him properly. He looked absolutely awful, the product of some massacre you would surely hear about from the town’s mothers the next morning. Something about him stayed eerily still, and you weren't quite sure if his shoulders were moving up and down anymore.

You started with his face, cleaning smeared crimson from around his mouth and down his neck. His stare bored into your face as you worked. The clothes were destroyed completely, but he didn't seem to pay any mind to the damp and shredded linens on his body.

Tugging it off from the waist on up, lifting it over his head was all too easy when he followed every silent command like a dog.

“Are you holdin’ your breath?” You asked, placing your hand over a cleaned part of his chest.

His jaw ticked. His eyes closed for a minute and slowly, he nodded.

“You gotta breathe, baby.” You ushered. Holding his face in your hands, you rubbed your thumbs over the highs of his cheek soothingly. “They're not here. It's just me and you.”

When he opened them again, the flash of red made your heart jump. It was gone in a silver of a second, just a trick of the light against his brown hues, but enough to catch your own breath.

He noticed, of course, being too observant when it came to you. He grasped onto your wrists. “I killed him.”

That shouldn't have surprised you. When he showed up looking like a hound dog fresh from a hare hunt, murder was the most obvious answer. Either for him to commit or another to attempt.

Death wasn't a foreign concept anymore. No, not with war on your front porch.

Death had become your neighbor. He was your neighbor just as much as Mary Corono down the street was. When she went missing—as many did, these days—you kept your questions to yourself. The curious cat gets no reward besides his own end. This time, it was your own business. Your own husband. There was no avoiding him.

Still, you didn't know what to do or say to comfort your husband. It must be justified, it must. Remmick was a good man. Remmick was good.

“I don't know what happened,” he swept his hands through blood-crusted hair. “I woke up and everything felt wrong, I felt like I was seeing someone else's life through my own eyes.”

You shifted to sit on the chair opposite him, still not allowing too much distance between the two of you but letting your shaking knees rest.

“I was so hungry.” He exhaled, finally. He didn't take a breath in to counter, just kept talking. “He stood over me and I could see myself through his eyes. He saw himself, too.”

“Did you take something from Peter?” You asked slowly. His dilated pupils could be from the new drug medication. His panic, hunger, violence.

He continued on.

“He saw you. I saw what he would do to you—what he did to me.” Remmick grasped your hands, grip becoming more than firm and certainly bruising. “I couldn't let him get you.”

Fear was in your husband's darkened eyes as plain as moonlight on the lake.

“He was ancient. Older than countries and laws. I couldn't even move my own body at first.” He swallowed harshly, adam's apple bobbing and splitting his throat.

There were no other sounds, you realized. No crickets chirping away or cicadas ruining a peaceful night of sleep. The world felt dead around you, and you started to believe Remmick was telling the truth.

“He had a way of controlling me. Controlling every man he'd ever turned into this. . .” He closed his eyes. “Thing.”

“I couldn't let him get you. I couldn't, baby—” The hoarseness and guilt in his voice broke your heart.

You'd never know what happened in the fields that night. If the man was innocent or guilty. All you could do was trust Remmick like you had for years.

“I'll keep packing.” You managed to mutter, forcing your voice not to tremble. “We'll leave before sunrise. Get cleaned up and into different clothes.”

His eyes flashed a red that nearly matched the dark smears across his clothes. This time, you knew you weren't crazy. There was no light flickered that made a man's eyes blood-lusted and red. You watched his shoulders finally lift on command as he inhaled, lightly resting his jaw against the smooth area of your neck. Automatically, your hands met his hair and you soothed it down, feeling the warm restraint of his large hands around your waist.

"We'll be okay. Wherever we go, whatever life transforms us into." You murmured lowly, kissing his temple. "We're together. That's all we need."

By the time the sun rose in the morning and your neighbors came a’knocking on your door, the house was empty and lanterns cold.

This ended up fairly shorter than what I imagined but basically occurs during the time when Remmick would first be turned, during the time of Ireland's colonization and invasion by two other countries/parties. I thought it would be an interesting concept if he truly did have a wife, and whether or not he turned her is completely up to the reader.

working on some remmick reqs still! feel free to add some more to my inbox.

[nymphomatique]

wanna sit on nerd miguel’s face while i use my phone to snap other guys that’s my little chair fr😔😻

this just changed the trajectory of my life in a way you cannot understand.

cw: slight d/s dynamics, sending nudes, munch miguel makes an appearance once more, bro literally FEASTS, new character yippee (v minor), brief choking (more like a neck squeeze tbh), praise, squirting LOL, miguel gets kicked out again 😔 reader catching feelings?? we may never know. semi proofread today i felt nice. this is a longer one than usual, so enjoy!

“stop fuckin’ squirming down there and eat me out properly,” you say, looking down at miguel. his eyes are hazy and hooded, his glasses somewhere on the bed, his brown eyes clear as day. you grip his head by his hair and position him to where his nose brushes above your clit, and you moan at the feeling. “l-like that, okay miguel? be good for mommy.”

miguel takes heed of your instructions and begins to lick, suck, and thrust up into your wetness, making it hard for you to maintain something relative to your composure. in the throes of miguel’s mouth work, your phone screen, next to miguel’s head, lights up with a snapchat notification from none other than the star quarterback of your school, peter parker. you bite the corner of your lip, mouth pulling up in a smile at an idea. you grab your phone and open it to snapchat, seeing peters name at the top of your snap list. you open his snap and it’s a picture of him shirtless, abs on display, his happy trail just peeking over the band of his pants. his snap is captioned with text reading ‘wyd?’

you prop your camera up, angling it enough that miguel’s face and your pussy are out of frame. miguel stops for a moment to ask what you’re doing, but before he can get a word in you speak up, “if you stop, this will be the last time i ever let you touch me. got it? keep fucking going.” and wordless, miguel does as he’s told, going back to eating you but with a new energy this time. it catches you off guard a bit, and you let out a light f-fuck in response, but you don’t let it derail you from answering peter back.

peter. you and him have had.. complicated history to say the least. since high school, the two of you ran in the same social circles, with him being on your high school football team and you, a cheerleader. a true status quo. the two of you had ended up attending the same underaged parties, hooking up and even going steady for some time, until the blonde busty thing known as gwen stacy walked into your high school in sophomore year and made her claim on your then boyfriend. you figured it out after you walked in on them under the bleachers post-game, the spot where you habitually got on your knees to congratulate peter for his win. you stayed with him after a profuse apology and intense “i’m sorry” fuck session, to your dismay, but broke up with him in the beginning of your senior year. now, you two fuck from time to time, scratching an itch when you have it.

you look back at the tease of a photo on your phone, your tits spilling out your plunge neck crop top and your abdomen cutting off right above your pubic area, your pink thong still visible coming up the sides of your hips. you feel miguel plunge his tongue into you, causing you to fall forward, steadying yourself with one hand, phone in the other. “keep this up and i’m gonna squirt on you, but i bet you’re into that huh?” you laugh out a little, miguel moaning into you in response. you try not to get distracted and caption your snap to peter ‘nothing really’ and press send.

immediately, you see that he opens it and he replies just as fast, this time the photo of him in grey sweats with a visible tent, layer out on his bed. the caption attached, ‘wanna turn your nothing to a something? ;)’ and you roll your eyes. you move to answer him with another midriff picture, but you change your mind. “hey, look at me dweeb,” you say, turning the camera so that it’s capturing the angle of miguel’s mouth on your pussy, covered in spit and your juices. he looks up and sees the camera of your phone pointed down towards him and he goes red in the face and tight lipped. “remember what i told you about stopping,” you remind him, and he maintains eye contact with the camera as he goes back to lick a strip up your pussy, from your leaking hole to your clit. you move your unoccupied hand to his face, palm to his cheek as you slowly caress him with your thumb. “that’s a good boy.”

you move your hand from his cheek, trailing softly down to his strong neck and you wrap your hand around his neck and squeeze. at the pressure he lets out a groan, his hands moving to grip your thighs tighter to his face. “fuck miguel, you’re making mommy so happy right now- ah! fuck, just like that. keep doing that, o-okay?” you moan out. he says nothing, his eyes, still maintaining contact with the camera, clouded with lust, answering for him.

you snap a picture, turned on at the lewdness of it. it’s your pussy on miguel’s face, pink panties pushed to the side as his mouth is sucking on your clit, his hands gripping the fat of your thighs, and your hand around his neck at the same time. you make quick work to save the photo and caption it ‘busy, sorry’, feeling your orgasm approach. you press send and drop your phone, ignoring the back to back buzzing, probably of peters reply to your salacious snap.

a steady heat begins to boil in the pit of your stomach, and you keen forwards, your hand leaving miguel’s neck to grip the white sheets on your bed. “i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna-“ and with that, you feel the pleasure within you tighten then burst, like a damn breaking way, and you begin to tremble as miguel continues his work down on you. the overstimulation begins to hit you, and you feel a spurt of liquid leave your body and miguel groan and suck. “oh my god,” you heave out, “st-stop, no more.”

miguel places a final kiss to your mound as he moves to lift your limp hips for you. he feels sheepish how, his sweater and mouth drenched with your liquids. he wipes his lips and makes way to speak to your still firm on the bed. “are- are you okay?”

you say nothing, grab the nearest pillow you have, and throw it at him. miguel dodges and understands that means get the fuck out.

after collecting yourself, your body still spent and sheets still wet, you roll over on your back and grab your phone to look at what peter replied to you. you open his snap, and laugh a little at his responses.

peter 🚮

| is that fucking o’hara..?

| you’re fucking with me???

| fucking whore

| you sleep with nerds now??

you make way to reply to peter one more time, opening the camera and taking a picture of the wet bedsheets, caption it ‘nerds that can make me cum? yeah’ and unadd him after.

you finally haul yourself up to change your sheets when you see miguel’s glasses on your bed. you grab them and put them on your nightstand, feeling heat rush through your blood to your face, thinking of him and the mess he made of you.

fucking dweeb.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

JASON TODD | RED HOOD (generalized canon)

—

“Marks” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader)

| After you and Jason’s first time together you have some suggestions.

| NSFW, 18+, minors dni, post sex happenings, hickies, bite marks, descriptions of naked bodies - vigilante!reader & curvy!reader

| Goddamn I love this man so fucking much. Also, the reader-insert has waist beads because the imagery came to me and it was too good to pass up.

| The pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story (Pic source: Gotham Knights video game)

| 1k+ words

A yawn cracks your already sore jaw and you let yourself relax, basking in the heat of laying with Jason. Being wrapped in his embrace with your head on his scarred chest was by far the calmest portion of y’all’s night, but definitely no less amazing.

Maybe ten minutes later you sigh before forcing yourself from his bed. The vigilante complicates your plans though, with the way his arms are locked around you.

You scowl down at him from your position halfway sat up. He’s done nothing but slip down your body, head resting closer to his arms on your stomach and the practical muscle that sat beneath.

“Ni— Boy, get off me,” you say, voice light with your mirth as you push halfheartedly at his arms.

Jason cracks one eye open with his cheek squished into your body, forehead pressing lightly into your beads.

“Nah,” his breath puffs warm on your umber skin, “I’m comfortable here.”

His deep voice peters off into a satisfied grumble towards the end and you choke on a laugh. Your stomach shakes and your core aches with the remnants of the workout he just put you through.

“Come on, where could you possibly need to go?” He murmurs the question into your skin, presses quirked lips to you to kiss your soft belly.

You huff out an amused noise, ignoring the way your stomach flutters, and run your hand through his hair. Jason sighs into the touch, melting under your fingers. It’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen; you fist your hand and pull against those loose curls anyway.

You feel a little bad at the utterly miffed look he throws you and give him an apologetic smile.

“I have something to do Jason.”

“What cou—”

There’s a visible second where you watch as Jason pauses, catching himself. He pulls away and sits up till his back’s against the headboard like you just caught on fire. His hair is a mess of wild curls and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat with red kiss bitten lips, by all means the image of post orgasmic bliss. Or he would be if it wasn’t for the way his eyes have hardened and those ruddy lips have twisted into a scowl.

“I mean,” he gives you a one shouldered shrug, “if you want to leave I’m not gonna stop you.”

Your brows go up some and you slip off the bed to stand, crossing your arms in the dim light of the room from the one lamp still on.

“What?”

“You wanna go then go,” he grunts. You don’t think he means for it to sound so thin.

‘Oh,’ you mouth with a nod of your head. “Jay, who said I was leaving, period?”

“You just did.”

His face pinches while he waves a hand to indicate you and you're honestly a bit thrown. Somehow it hadn’t crossed your mind that his aloofness on the field could be played up, but the reality is staring you right in the face. You sigh, arms dropping and then crawl back onto the bed.

The faint, tender redness around his eyes after you’d driven him to release made more sense now.

Jason stiffens, your dewy skin sliding up against the pallor of his inner thighs catching exactly how tense and hard his muscles get, but you push past that to peck his cheek.

His glare stutters just a little bit.

You speak slowly now that he’s willing to look at you again.

“I am going to take a piss, Jay. That’s literally it.” You nod to the singular window in the room. “Unless you bodily throw my ass out that window I’m staying until I have to go to work, okay?”

After a beat he nods, watches you hard, assesses. You stamp down your own urge to tense, making sure to stare back calmly instead. Jason’s not going to attack you out of nowhere.

It’s incredibly unlikely at least.

And he doesn’t. Only taking a few seconds in the night’s stillness to search your face then roving around to check the rest of you. You make sure to keep yourself relaxed; which isn’t a hardship since he’s not even alarming you. Hell, you just asked him to make you scream and he obliged with open enthusiasm, it’d be weird if he did.

Satisfied Jason eventually pushes further away from the headboard with another nod. To anyone else, anyone not in y’all’s line of work, his inspection might have seemed inappropriate, even threatening, but you know what he was looking for. You weren’t good enough to hide the lines of deception in your body language from him and he knew it.

Not, especially, when you were stark naked at his hand.

You hum, “We good now?”

“Peachy,” he says and you let some of your pleasure at that show on your face. Hard won progress was often the best progress after all.

He licks his lips then, a slow smile spreading across them in response. There’s a flash of teeth as he grins.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Your lips quirk and you duck your head to hide the evidence threatening to bloom on your face.

“Yeah, you can see me again tomorrow,” you nod. Another thought comes to you in the next second and a grin splits across your face, your dark eyes lighting up. “Maybe I’ll even kick your ass for a second night in a row and everything.”

“You ambushed me,” Jason points out, eyes narrowing playfully.

When you lean into him more he easily welcomes your weight. With your lids low over your eyes and your lips brushing his, you meet his blue, ever calculating gaze.

“And you were impressed,” you murmur over his mouth.

When you quirk a brow, daring him to argue, Jason only chuckles and pulls you into a quick kiss. Or at least it’s supposed to be quick. Jason’s lips are soft, if you run your tongue along his bottom lip you can feel the permanent devit there from taking one hit to the face too many, his body’s warm and his hands on you are hungry. It’s tempting to go another round, it really is, but you’ve got to deal with this or it’ll be nagging at the edges of your mind the whole night.

You pull away.

“Bathroom,” you say pointedly.

Jason lets you go after one more peck on the lips, reclining so he can watch the way your ass moves as you make your way there. You add a little bounce to your step just for him.

So preoccupied with the near miss in the bedroom and how giddy Jason in general makes you feel — his eyes on you, his hands squeezing you, his voice in your ear and that gruff Bowery accent, the fact that you’d be seeing him again — you forget to do anything other than close the door to his attached bathroom before you sit on the toilet.

That oversight is pointed out instantaneously.

Your pussy queefs. There’s a beat of silence where your head snaps up and you stare in front of you wide eyed and then low raucous laughter flutters in from outside.

It barely lasts ten seconds but for the life of you you can’t stop the way your head drops into your hands and how your face heats up.

“That mean I do my job right, Gorgeous?”

Against your better judgment your own laugh bubbles past your lips.

“Oh my god,” you mumble into your palm.

You make sure you finish up there thoroughly though, because yeast infections were no laughing matter, before getting up to wash your hands.

You’re opening the door to leave when something catches your attention.

The telltale bruising of a hickey stamped onto the side of your neck. And another one a centimeter below the first. Then a trail of two more; one on the curve of your right breast and on the skin covering your sternum. Shifting a little more brings to attention a bite mark against the pouch of your stomach next. Your brows raise.

“Hmph,” you hum in mild surprise before aborting your leave to lean closer to the mirror.

About four hickeys in total. Four bruises that he managed to suck into your skin hard enough that they were fairly prominent against your brown tone. Deep in color and just a tad tender to the touch.

There’s only one bite mark though. Supple around the edges, but only a little tender to the touch. It’s clear upon closer inspection that he’d revisited the spot though, the imprint of his teeth vaguely overlapping a few times.

You snort.

“You okay?” Jason asks and your eyes immediately slide to the doorway because he sounded much too clear.

Sure enough in your exploration Jason hadn’t even bothered to slip on his boxers and traveled closer without your notice and was now doing the worst imitation of someone who couldn’t care either way what answer you gave him. Aloof your ass, you’d stalled for nary a minute and he was already by your side with a downturned quirk of his lips.

It was amazing how cute he was for being a man that the descriptor wouldn’t normally be prescribed to, who you’d monitored through coms cracking a man’s shoulder blade in one strike. It was especially difficult to ascribe the word cute to him when he was drawing closer. You’re both naked — because what are clothes when you’ve been inside of and have had someone inside of you? — but your jaw still goes slack at all not-insignificant pounds of your bed partner sidling up to you. Jason’s all thick thighs and torso, corded muscle covered by a layer of fat that’s only noticeable cause he’s not flexing; he was, in short, a sight.

You swallow.

He is a very nice to look at man, and you knew that before you got involved with him, but there was something even better about being able to see him like this; naked and not afraid of it. For your eyes only. Scars and all.

“Uh huh,” you draw out in a sigh that’s far too dreamy before clearing your throat and allowing a tiny coy smile to take over your lips. “Somebody got a little…excited.”

You shove your thumb at the mirror and give him a pointed look. He falters, brows furrowing, but braces a hand on the frame and leans enough into the bathroom that he can watch you in the reflection.

He stays momentarily transfixed. Catalogs each bruise, eyes greedily wandering over the dark newly adorned expanse of your neck and chest and stomach. A smirk plays on his lips.

“God, you look so fucking good like that,” he murmurs.

He snaps out of it when he absentmindedly makes eye contact and sends you an apologetic look.

“Shit, I mean, sorry. I should be more careful next time, huh? That’s my bad.”

“Nah,” you shake your head. “I like the marks, Jay. Some more would’ve been even better, actually….”

His hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck prior to him giving you a lopsided grin. “Well gee,” he jokes, “I’ll have to keep that in mind then. I just didn’t want to scare you off our first time.”

You nod, “So considerate, Jay. I’m only telling you for — you know? — next time.”

“Mm,” any leftover sheepishness slips from his face, replaced by that easy smirk again as he enters the bathroom. “What I'm hearing is that you're already desperate to have my cock back inside of you. Is that it, Gorgeous?”

You tamp down the wanton sound that immediately climbs up your throat. Although by the way Jason’s looking at you your attempts at lessening its volume by biting your lip have failed.

He chuckles, eyes lighting up, and grabs hold of your waist beads to pull you towards him. You go with a surprised ‘oof’ as he manhandles you. Once you’re up against his chest he wraps his arms around your middle and shifts to kiss at the side of your neck. Right over a particularly prominent bruise.

You laugh as he noses along the brown of your skin, following the short trail of marks he left. Large hands run down your plush thighs before squeezing and pulling your bodies flush together. You moan softly, head thrown back, as your ass meets his hardening cock.

“Oh fuck…”

“Yeah,” Jason nips at your neck, thrusting into you with a groan, breath leaving goosebumps along your flesh. “Don’t worry, Gorgeous, I’ll be way more thorough this round.”

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!🫶🏾

Finally posting my back up fic; this one’s a cutie. Just a cozy, sexy little gal.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[sleepberries]

croffles and rainbows (gen, 1.9k)

here's my obligatory first day of pride fic!! this is just a sweet ficlet but i hope to explore some more serious aspects of queer joy and experiences throughout the month. it's important to point out that all over the world, queer rights are increasingly more under attack by governments and societal shifts. it is incredibly important to be vocally in support of queer people and actively support those within your communities. happy pride!!

The parade had been incredible—a vibrant blur of floats, music, and celebration that left Jason's head spinning in the best possible way. Now, as the official procession wound down and crowds dispersed toward food trucks and vendor booths, he found himself being dragged through the throng by an increasingly excited Peter.

"Food," Peter announced, practically bouncing on his toes. "I'm starving, and there's supposed to be some really good stuff around here."

Jason glanced at his boyfriend, taking in the sight that had been making him smile all day. Peter's bi flag tank top was slightly damp with sweat, the pink, purple, and blue stripes bright against his skin. His old basketball shorts from high school—ratty things he refused to throw away—hung loose on his hips, and there was rainbow face paint smeared on his left cheek from when he'd hugged that drag queen an hour ago.

Jason's own outfit was more understated but no less intentional. His black fitted workout shirt showed off the progress flag armbands Peter had convinced him to wear, and the remnants of rainbow face paint decorated his cheekbones where Peter had applied it that morning with as much concentration his sleep-addled brain could muster.

"Look at this," Peter said suddenly, stopping so abruptly that Jason nearly collided with him. They stood before a food truck with a line stretching halfway down the block, its bright pink and gold signage declaring "PRIDE CROFFLES" in glittering letters.

Jason looked at the menu board mounted on the side of the truck and immediately winced. "Twenty-five dollars for a waffle?"

"But it's not just a waffle," Peter said, his voice taking on that particular tone of exaggerated importance he used when he was about to spend money on something ridiculous. "It's a croffle. Croissant-waffle hybrid with rainbow icing and edible glitter. Look how pretty they are!"

He pointed eagerly at the display case, which housed what were quite possibly the most elaborate pastries Jason had ever seen. Each croffle was a work of art—flaky, buttery layers twisted into waffle shapes and covered in swirls of rainbow-colored icing, edible flowers, and enough glitter to be visible from orbit.

"Peter, that's highway robbery," Jason said, but his tone lacked any real conviction. He was already calculating whether he had enough cash, because Peter had that expression—the one that meant he'd made up his mind about something and would deploy increasingly creative arguments until he got his way.

"It's Pride!" Peter exclaimed, gesturing broadly at the celebration around them. "Everything's overpriced at Pride. It's like... festival tax. Plus, when are we ever going to eat rainbow croffles again?"

Jason studied the ridiculous pastries, then Peter's hopeful face, then back to the pastries. They were objectively absurd—expensive, over-the-top, completely unnecessary. The kind of thing he would normally walk past without a second thought.

But Peter was looking at him with those big brown eyes, practically vibrating with excitement, and Jason realized he was absolutely going to buy his boyfriend a twenty-five-dollar croffle.

"Fine," he said, pulling out his wallet with an exaggerated sigh. "But I'm buying, and you're sharing, because I'm not eating an entire croffle by myself."

Peter's face lit up like Jason had just offered to solve world hunger. "Really?"

"Really. But we're getting one because that price is still insane."

"Deal!" Peter bounced on his toes while they waited in line, occasionally standing on tiptoe to peer over the crowd at the truck's preparation area. "I can't believe you said yes. I was fully prepared to deploy the puppy dog eyes."

"The puppy dog eyes don't work on me," Jason lied smoothly.

"They absolutely do. You bought me ice cream last week specifically because I gave you the puppy dog eyes when I had that bad day with my advisor."

"That was different."

"Different how?"

Jason considered this. "You looked pathetic."

"I look pathetic frequently. It's part of my charm." Peter grinned. "Plus, you love spoiling me."

Jason couldn't argue with that, mostly because it was true. Over the past six months, he'd discovered he genuinely enjoyed doing small things to make Peter happy—bringing him coffee during late-night lab sessions, picking up groceries when Peter's schedule was packed, listening to him ramble about whatever documentary had captured his attention that week. Small acts of service and gift-giving had quickly taken over Jason’s own lovelanguge in many ways.

Which extended to buying him overpriced festival food shaped like rainbows.

When they finally reached the front of the line, the woman behind the counter—who was wearing rainbow face paint that put Jason's subtle stripes to shame and had glitter in her hair that sparkled when she moved—handed them their purchase with a cheerful "Happy Pride, boys!"

The croffle came in a small cardboard boat, accompanied by two plastic forks and a stack of napkins that Jason suspected they would definitely need. It was even more elaborate up close, the icing swirled in perfect rainbow gradients and topped with what appeared to be actual gold leaf in addition to the edible glitter.

"This is either going to be the best thing we've ever eaten or a complete disaster," Jason observed as they searched for somewhere to sit.

"Those aren't mutually exclusive," Peter pointed out. "Some of the best experiences are complete disasters."

They found a relatively quiet spot on the steps of a nearby building, far enough from the main crowd to hear each other speak but close enough to watch the ongoing celebration. Street performers juggled fire nearby, a group of teenagers had started an impromptu dance party around someone's bluetooth speaker, and vendors hawked everything from rainbow flags to glittery temporary tattoos.

Peter immediately pulled out his phone and began photographing their croffle from every conceivable angle, his expression serious with artistic concentration.

"Instagram?" Jason asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Obviously. This is peak content." Peter adjusted the position of the croffle slightly, tilting his head as he considered the lighting. "The aesthetic is immaculate."

Jason watched, amused, as Peter continued his impromptu photo shoot. He’d long grown accustomed to Peter's social media habits—his genuine enthusiasm for documenting his whole day and posting as many shots as he was proud of. (Jason thought it was cute.)

"Okay, try it," Peter said finally, setting his phone aside and picking up one of the forks.

Jason took a cautious bite and was surprised to find that the croffle was actually delicious. The pastry was buttery and flaky, with just the right amount of sweetness from the icing. The edible glitter was unnecessary but harmless, adding a subtle sparkle that caught the afternoon sunlight.

"Verdict?" Peter asked, watching Jason's face carefully.

"It's..." Jason paused, considering. "Actually really good. I mean, still overpriced, but good."

Peter's grin was triumphant. "I told you! Sometimes you have to trust the process."

"The process of spending twenty-five dollars on a waffle?"

"The process of embracing joy through carbohydrates and artificial coloring," Peter corrected solemnly.

They ate in comfortable companionship, trading bites and people-watching as the celebration continued around them. Jason found himself relaxing in a way that still surprised him—he never would have imagined himself at a Pride parade, eating glittery pastries and letting his boyfriend document the experience for social media.

But Peter had a way of making everything feel natural, like the most obvious thing in the world. There was no pressure, no expectation that Jason be anyone other than exactly who he was. Just gentle encouragement to try new things and the steady certainty that Peter would be right there beside him, ready to share whatever came next.

"You've got glitter on your nose," Peter observed, reaching over to brush it away with his thumb.

The gesture was casual, unconscious, but it made Jason's chest tight with affection. "You've got rainbow icing in your hair."

"That's what I get for being enthusiastic about food." Peter attempted to locate the icing in question, succeeding only in making it worse.

Jason laughed and reached over to fix it properly, his fingers gentle as they worked through Peter's already messy curls. "There."

"Thanks." Peter's smile was soft, the kind that made Jason want to kiss him right there on the steps in front of everyone.

So he did.

It was just a quick press of lips, nothing dramatic, but Peter's responding smile was radiant. Around them, the Pride celebration continued—music and laughter and the joyful chaos of thousands of people celebrating who they were and who they loved.

"I'm posting the croffle pics," Peter announced, picking up his phone again.

"Don't post the one of me," Jason said automatically.

"Why not? You look cute. Very 'stoic boyfriend reluctantly enjoying overpriced festival food.'" Peter showed him a photo where Jason was mid-bite, his expression skeptical but clearly enjoying himself.

Jason studied the image. He looked... happy. Relaxed in a way he rarely saw in photos of himself. "Okay," he said, surprising both of them. "But if your aunt makes fun of me for eating glitter, I'm blaming you."

"May loves you. She thinks you're responsible for my improved eating habits." Peter was already typing a caption, his thumbs flying over the screen. "Although she did ask if you ever smile at people who aren't me."

"I smile."

"At me, yes. At other people it's more of a polite grimace."

Jason bumped Peter's shoulder with his own. "I smiled at the queens."

"That was fear, not joy."

"They were very... enthusiastic."

"They were amazing and you know it." Peter hit 'post' with a flourish. "There. Now the world can witness our croffle adventure."

Almost immediately, Jason's phone buzzed with a text notification. He glanced at the screen and couldn't suppress a laugh.

"Tim," he explained, showing Peter the message.

saw Peter's Instagram post

you eating glittery food at pride was not on my 2025 bingo card

also you look happy

it's weird but good 🎉

"Tim actually follows my Instagram?" Peter asked, delighted.

"Apparently. He says it's for 'intelligence gathering,' but I think he just likes your skyline posts."

Peter's phone was already buzzing with notifications—likes and comments rolling in from friends, family, and acquaintances. Jason watched him scroll through the responses, his face bright with joy at the positive reactions.

"May commented," Peter said, turning his phone so Jason could see. "'My beautiful boys and their overpriced pastries. Jason, you look wonderful. Peter, that haircut was worth every penny.'"

Jason felt that familiar warmth in his chest, the feeling that came from being included so naturally in Peter's family, in his world. May had never made him feel like an outsider, never questioned his place in Peter's life or made him feel like he had to prove himself worthy of her nephew's affection.

"Your aunt's great," he said.

"She adores you. Keeps asking when we're coming to dinner again." Peter finished his half of the croffle and sat back with a contented sigh. "This was perfect."

"The croffle?"

"All of it. The parade, the food, getting to be here with you." Peter's voice was soft, sincere in a way that made Jason's throat tight. "Our first Pride together."

Feeling the familiar soft squeeze of his heart at the words, Jason reached over and took Peter's hand, threading their fingers together.

"First of many," he said, and meant it.

Peter's smile was radiant, transforming his entire face with pure joy. "Many more overpriced pastries in our future."

"I'm bringing my own snacks next year."

"You say that now, but wait until you see the pride donuts."

Jason groaned, but he was smiling. Around them, the celebration continued—a joyful chaos of music and laughter and people living authentically, openly, without apology. He squeezed Peter's hand and let himself be part of it, glitter-covered and happy and exactly where he belonged.

[adrixivy]

Imagine Peter starts working out.

He has super strength but he wants the physique and to look like he does have it. He works out to keep up with his civilian identity because it’s getting tiring for him to hold back and he actually wants to do sports in school and not hold back so much of his actual strength. So imagine how much weights he’s carrying in the gym just to feel something.

Peter, after doing a 750lb benchpress: Woah, that was a tough warmup!

Tony is looking at his son in slight horror, not expecting a slight cardiac arrest accompanying his son to the gym: I felt like something short circuited in my heart.

Sam, who happened to be in the gym too, eyes wide and jaw dropped to the ground before his hands are in the air in complete jealousy: He did twice the amount of my record. How the hell is that a warmup!

Steve, visibly impressed and even proud: He did a hundred more pounds than our warmup, Buck.

Bucky, impressed and nodding along: He sure did Steve

Sam and Tony just realising how strong this superhumans can be and genuinely believe that they can tear the non-super people in half if they wanted to: *eyeing the trio cautiously*

Now imagine Peter’s in a public gym because all the gyms in the tower are under renovation or something. Everyone’s eyes is on him and they’re all in genuine disbelief. They can tell Peter’s 15 by his looks too. Some think he’s younger.

Random: Yo is that kid actually doing that or is it just me?

Arrogant bastard: I bet some of that are fake weights. He’s not even sweating!

Peter, who was doing a 500lbs deadlift which is half his usual warmup because he didn’t want to give away that he’s some mutant and have the American forces on his ass. And the gym didn’t have enough weights to add up to his warmup anyway: *didn’t hear people’s comments through the loud music blasting in his ears and dropped the weights to move on to pull ups with 100kg*

People who didn’t believe that a 15 year old kid could pull of that deadlift thought that there were actually some fake weights. Soon, one by one, people came up to what Peter previously lifted and they all grabbed it, fully expecting it to be lighter than it seems. They soon immediately gave up and stared in shock at the kid doing pull ups with weights on him too with little effort that it actually terrifies some of them. And again, he’s not breaking a sweat!

Imagine someone from Peter’s school recognized him. Their jaws are dropped because Peter Parker, the weak nerd, just did all of that when he can barely chase after the ball in soccer lessons!(He fakes it) Absolutely more hilarious if it was Flash. He definitely nearly fell or did fell off his treadmill when he saw that scene. Either way, Flash or not, they’re definitely not saying a thing since they just witnessed how capable Peter is of breaking their bones if he wanted to(Flash still doesn’t stop bullying him though since Peter didn’t know he was there but he definitely went softer on Peter since he’s mildly scared still)

[mpregnerd]

Initiated & Impregnated

Chapter One: Welcome to the Brotherhood

Brian yanked at the collar of his too-tight pledge shirt — gray, itchy, and stitched with the cursed gold letters: ΦΚΨ. The thing hugged his dad bod like a punishment. Great, he thought. Nothing screams undercover like visible nipple chafe.

Across the quad, Peter was doing a pathetic job of blending in. His five-o’clock shadow, deep crow’s feet, and the glint of cop-grade paranoia didn’t exactly scream “eager freshman.” Oh, and he forgot to swap out his tactical boots.

“This is the dumbest fucking thing we’ve ever done,” Brian muttered into his wire.

“Correction,” Peter’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “This is the dumbest thing you dragged me into, you emotionally constipated divorcee.”

“Me? You’re the one who said this was our last shot before we got canned.”

Peter didn’t answer — just clenched his jaw as a 6’3 lacrosse god named Blake slung a muscled arm around his shoulders and pulled him into the AEPi house like he’d been claimed.

Brian watched him disappear, then turned toward the Phi Kappa Psi house and muttered, “Here goes nothing,” before stepping through the doors and into hell.

The smell hit first. Sweat. Cheap whiskey. Axe body spray. And underneath it — something floral and wrong. Incense? Pheromones?

Inside, the party was an orgy of noise and hormones. Shirtless frat bros grinding to bass drops. Strobe lights flashing over oiled abs and pelvic thrusts. Red Solo cups flying. A pledge was doing body shots off someone’s ass in the corner. Another was being handcuffed to a beer keg.

The room pulsed like it had a heartbeat.

“You made it!” a voice called out over the chaos.

Brian turned — and holy fuck.

There stood Kai. Tall, dark hair slicked back, cheekbones that could cut glass, eyes like trouble. He looked him up and down slowly, like he already knew what size he’d stretch to.

“I’m Kai,” he said, lips curving into a wicked smile. ���You’re mine this term.”

Brian opened his mouth to object, to pull rank, to say something that didn’t involve tongue-tied silence. Instead, a cold cup was shoved into his hand. The crowd swallowed him whole.

At the AEPi House, Upstairs

Peter had no idea what was in the punch, but it hit fast. His skin was flushed, his shirt halfway undone. Blake leaned close, explaining something that sounded a hell of a lot like a cult pitch.

“Every pledge gets soul-bonded to a big,” Blake said, voice low and weirdly reverent. “It’s not just initiation, bro. It’s legacy. You get chosen. You get filled. You get… reborn.”

Peter blinked. “You make it sound like we’re joining a fucking sex cult.”

Blake just smiled. “Not a cult. A bloodline.”

Later That Night

They woke in separate beds. Separate houses. Same problem.

Brian groaned, the sheets twisted around his bare thighs. He blinked against the sunrise bleeding through the blinds. His head throbbed. His chest ached. Not hangover ache. Deeper. Like someone had rewired his nerves.

His hand drifted to his stomach.

Bloated. Warm.

“Shit…”

Peter stumbled out of a bedroom wearing someone else’s shorts. He caught a glimpse of himself in a hallway mirror and stopped cold.

His abs — gone. In their place, a soft swell. Puffy. His nipples were visibly dark through the thin tank top.

“What the fuck…”

Three Days Later at the Hawthorne Campus Drugstore

They moved like fugitives, hoodies pulled low, sunglasses at night. Brian was clutching his stomach like it might burst. Peter looked like he hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours.

“I swear to God, Brian, if this test comes back positive—”

“It won’t. It’s hormones. Frat drugs. Maybe we got dosed with estrogen or some weird experimental sh—”

They emerged from separate stalls.

Five minutes later.

Two pink lines.

They stared.

Peter whispered, “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Brian didn’t look up. “No. No no. This isn’t happening. We’re men. We’re fucking men. I have two kids, Peter.”

“I had a girlfriend until she left me for her Pilates instructor, Brian. Don’t act like you’re the only one spiraling here.”

They stepped outside, dazed, holding the tests like time bombs.

Then — footsteps.

Half-naked frat brothers emerged from the dark like wolves. Shirts open. Eyes gleaming. Waiting.

Kai stepped forward. “You thought you could leave?”

Blake followed. “Once you’re seeded, you belong to us.”

Peter took a step back. “This is some fucked up hazing ritual—”

“It’s tradition,” Kai said, grinning. “And tradition is everything at Hawthorne.”

Brian stared as they closed in.

He was pregnant.

Peter was pregnant.

And all he could think was:

"Fuck. What the hell did we get ourselves into?"

Chapter Two : First Trimester, Final Warning

Three days after the test.

Brian stared at the mirror like it had personally betrayed him.

His stomach was round. Not bloated. Round. Tight. Firm. Like he’d swallowed a goddamn basketball. His nipples had gone weird — darker, sensitive, and tender in a way that made brushing against his shirt feel borderline pornographic.

“What the actual fuck…” he whispered, lifting his shirt again like the bump might vanish if he squinted.

He pressed a hand to it. It was warm. It shifted slightly under his palm. Alive.

Knock knock knock.

Peter burst in, hoodie zipped high despite the suffocating heat. He looked pale. Greasy. And yes, there were saltines stuffed into his pocket like he was on a road trip to hell.

“We need to go,” Peter hissed, wild-eyed.

Brian turned slowly. “You too?”

Peter pulled up his hoodie and slapped his hand over a visible curve. “I threw up three times this morning, cried over a dog food commercial, and if someone tries to take my gummy worms again, I will kill them with my bare hands.”

Brian groaned. “My boobs feel like someone filled them with lava.”

“We’re fucking pregnant, Brian.”

Brian nodded slowly, deadpan. “Oh, believe me. My tits agree.”

They waited until midnight.

Flashlights in hand. Frat hoodies up. They snuck into the Restricted Archives, stepping over dusty volumes and security gates that hadn’t worked since the Bush era.

Peter scanned the shelves, muttering to himself until his fingers landed on a thick, leather-bound book behind a cracked glass case.

Fraternitas: The Sacred Womb of Brotherhood

Brian read aloud from the passage Peter held open with trembling fingers:

He who is chosen by the Brother’s Seed shall carry forth the Bloodline of the House, his womb consecrated through Ritual and Bond. Initiation shall be complete only when the Newborn is delivered during the Moon of Binding.

Brian blinked. “The fuck do you mean ‘womb’?”

Peter just gestured at his stomach. “Apparently… we’ve got those now.”

They kept flipping — past sketches of men swollen with life, bare-chested and glowing, etched symbols pulsing across their skin. One page was crusted with something dark — old blood? Wine? Hell, maybe afterbirth.

Brian’s voice cracked as he read:

To abandon the Rite before Term is to trigger the Wrath of the Founder. The Carrier shall be Claimed. There is no exit. There is only Birth.

He shut the book.

“Well, shit.”

The next morning at Phi Kappa Psi

Brian had made it halfway down the hallway with his packed duffel before the door locked itself behind him. His phone screen went dark. No signal. Again.

He spun around — and there was Kai. Barefoot. Shirtless. Eyes glowing faintly like a smug, sexy demon.

“You’re not leaving,” Kai said calmly.

Brian took a breath. “You don’t own me.”

Kai tilted his head. “No? Then explain that.”

He pointed to Brian’s stomach — glowing faintly under the fabric. Brian looked down. The curve had deepened. The veins beneath the skin pulsed with a golden hue.

“You’re not a man anymore,” Kai whispered, stepping closer. “You’re a vessel. You’re his.”

Brian’s jaw clenched. “You knocked me up at a fucking frat party. I’m not honored. I’m violated.”

Kai’s grin widened. “You’re glowing, baby. That’s not shame — that’s legacy.”

Meanwhile in the AEPi Kitchen

Peter was curled up on the cold tile floor with a heating pad shoved under his hoodie and a half-empty bottle of Tums in his hand.

Blake knelt beside him.

“You okay, man?”

Peter’s voice cracked. “My ass hurts. My tits are leaking. And I almost bit a freshman who tried to offer me a granola bar. What the hell do you think?”

Blake just smiled.

“First trimester’s a bitch. But you’re doing amazing.”

Peter blinked. “You’ve seen this before?”

“All of us have,” Blake said, smoothing Peter’s sweaty hair like they were in a Lifetime movie. “We don’t recruit anymore. We reproduce.”

Peter’s blood ran cold.

“You’re not a pledge,” Blake whispered. “You’re a legacy bearer.”

That night the dreams came.

Brian saw himself in a massive temple. His body was huge. Glowing symbols floated over his bare stomach, which pulsed like a star. A group of robed brothers surrounded him, hands pressed to his thighs. There was pain. Power. Pressure.

And then he screamed.

He woke drenched in sweat, panting, his hand already resting over the hard swell of his belly.

His navel had popped.

Across the room, Kai was watching him from a chair in the dark, hands folded calmly over his lap.

“We’re getting close,” Kai said.

Brian didn’t scream. He just whispered: “Fuck me.”

The Escape Attempt at 3:12 a.m.

They met behind the gym, panting, swollen, both of them visibly bigger than they’d been three days ago.

Peter hissed, “Okay. New plan. We find the altar. Blow it the fuck up.”

Brian groaned. “Or it blows us up. Ever think of that?”

Peter was already pacing. “I’d rather die from magical detonation than deliver some glowing demon baby in front of a room full of beer-soaked frat bros who think foreplay is doing pushups.”

Brian paused. “Fair.”

He rubbed his belly, wincing.

“This kid is kicking the hell out of me.”

Peter blinked. “Did you just say kid?”

Brian groaned. “Oh fuck. We’re getting attached.”

Chapter Three: The Founder’s Curse

Four Weeks In

Brian had officially outgrown every pair of pants he brought.

His last clean pair exploded across the breakfast table after a heated argument with Kai over whether “womb-nourishment berries” were a real thing or just some culty bullshit that tasted like regret and grass clippings.

“I’m not eating that!” Brian snapped, swatting the bowl off the table. “I’m a cop, not your fucking incubator!”

Kai, infuriatingly shirtless and smug, just nodded to Brian’s glowing belly and said, “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

Brian would’ve tackled him if his ankles weren’t the size of softballs and if his belly didn’t knock over a chair every time he turned too fast.

Across Campus at AEPi

Peter had entered what the house referred to as the “Glow Phase.” Which sounded cute—until it involved leaky nipples, unsolicited belly rubs from robed frat bros, and Blake leaving aphrodisiac-laced body oil on his pillow with a winking emoji Post-it.

He stood in front of the mirror, shirt off, lotion bottle in one hand, rage in the other.

“Why do my fucking nipples look like I’m about to breastfeed a Greek god?”

His belly shifted suddenly — a slow, snakelike roll just under the skin.

Peter dropped the bottle. “Oh fuuuuuck no.”

Midnight in the Library

They were done waiting. Done glowing. Done pretending.

Peter slammed the duffel bag of fireworks on the library table. “We found the blueprint. Hawthorne’s original chapel — it’s under the old ROTC building. That’s where it started. That’s where it ends.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “That’s your plan? We’re magical womb-bombs in the making and you want to double down with explosives?”

Peter patted the bag like it was sacred. “It’s this or we birth the Antichrist in a kiddie pool surrounded by horny frat druids.”

Brian grunted and rubbed his lower back. “Just don’t make me take stairs.”

1:00 a.m. in the ROTC Building

Condemned since ‘88. Smelled like mildew, old testosterone, and broken promises. The floors creaked like they knew what was coming.

They found the hatch under a busted vending machine.

Etched across the rusted metal:

ΦΚΨ • ΑΕΠ Bound not by blood… but by seed.

Brian snorted. “God, I hate this school.”

They pried it open and descended.

Below the Chapel

The air down there was thick — damp with time, dust, and power. The altar stood dead-center, cracked marble etched with ancient runes that glowed when the two of them stepped close.

Peter reached out.

The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the whole room moaned.

Then—

Peter doubled over. “Oh, fuck—fuck—fuck—”

Brian barely got to his side before he buckled, clutching his belly as a white-hot pain ricocheted down his spine and into his hips.

They collapsed to the ground, side by side, both panting, both soaked in sweat, both clutching their hard, glowing stomachs.

“Why… is this happening now?!” Brian gasped.

Peter whimpered. “It’s the altar. It’s… it’s like it knows. It’s triggering labor.”

“NO. No fucking way. I didn’t even pack a hospital bag.”

Another contraction slammed through them.

Peter’s fingers clawed at the floor. “We’re not ready. We are NOT fucking ready!”

Brian screamed as his belly pulsed again — skin glowing gold, stretched so tight it looked like it might tear open.

“We have to destroy it,” he gasped. “Before this thing makes us give birth to Satan in matching Greek jerseys.”

Peter yanked the fireworks from the bag, his hands shaking.

“Light ‘em up.”

Upstairs — Alarms

A piercing keening began. Not a siren.

A ward.

The Brotherhood knew.

The Explosion Happened

They lit the fuse.

The altar screamed — a high, unholy sound that rattled their bones. The runes flared, golden veins cracking across the stone like lightning. The air shook.

Then— BOOM.

Marble shattered. The light exploded.

When the smoke cleared, Brian and Peter lay on the ground, drenched in sweat and golden afterbirth-like mist, bellies still round and very much still occupied.

Brian groaned. “I think we bought ourselves some time…”

Peter opened one eye, weakly. “Or cursed ourselves harder.”

They tried to crawl away—

But they weren’t alone.

Aboveground – Waiting

Ritual robes. Bare chests. Lit torches.

The Brotherhood was ready.

Kai and Blake stepped forward as Brian and Peter emerged, weak and wobbling, looking like nine-months-pregnant escapees from a supernatural maternity ward.

“You broke the altar,” Kai said, expression unreadable. “But not the bond.”

Peter growled. “The fuck does that mean?”

Blake grinned. “It means… you’re not carrying babies anymore.”

Brian’s stomach flipped. “Then what the fuck are we carrying?”

Blake stepped closer, voice reverent.

“The next generation of the Brotherhood.”

Chapter Four: “Due Date

Day 38. Or so they thought.

Brian had been carving tally marks into the wall with a broken pencil for three weeks. It was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Thirty-eight days since they went undercover. Thirty-eight days since they were impregnated at a fucking frat party.

But his body?

Didn’t give a damn about time.

His belly was huge. Tight. Skin stretched to its limit. Veins bulged like lightning under the surface. He waddled now. There was no walking — it was a slow, shifting sway like a man trying not to fall forward from the gravitational pull of whatever the hell was inside him.

His belly button had popped two weeks ago.

His back felt like it had been hit by a truck.

And his nipples? Sensitive to the point of obscene.

He leaned against the wall of what the Brotherhood called a “Birthing Suite.” No windows. A bed with wrist restraints. Cameras in the corners. No phone. No signal. Just soft music and lavender-scented candles that made him want to puke.

A low moan echoed through the air vent above his head.

Peter.

Still alive.

Still inside AEPi’s own holding chamber across campus.

Across Campus in AEPi’s Lower Chamber

Peter wasn’t moaning anymore. He was screaming.

His belly looked even bigger than Brian’s. High, tight, and constantly shifting. Like something inside was pressing against his insides, stretching them, testing their limits.

The baby — or whatever the hell it was — had started to move differently.

Less fluttering. More… pacing.

Peter groaned, sinking back into the pillows, shirt soaked with sweat. Blake entered wearing a ceremonial robe and a calm, cult-leader smile.

“You’ll deliver soon,” he said softly, placing a hand on Peter’s belly.

Peter swatted him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Blake chuckled. “You’ve been so strong. So fertile.”

Peter’s voice cracked. “I swear to God, if you say one more spiritual bullshit sentence, I will crawl out of this bed and beat you to death with my own placenta.”

Blake knelt beside him, rubbing slow circles on the blanket. “You’re not just a carrier, Peter. You’re a chosen vessel. This isn’t a child—it’s the Founder. His soul. His power. Reborn in you.”

Peter blinked. “I’m giving birth to a goddamn demon baby.”

Blake smiled wider. “No. You’re giving birth to a legacy.”

Phi Kappa Psi in Brian’s Room

Brian tried to sit up — only for a deep, sharp pain to tear through his pelvis.

His hands flew to his belly. It was rock hard. Contracting.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck no—”

He stumbled to his knees, bracing against the mattress. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He was shaking.

Another contraction.

Worse.

Deeper.

Real.

He screamed.

“KAI!”

The speaker crackled above him. Kai’s voice, calm and far too chipper:

“Time doesn’t exist down here. The closer you are to delivery, the faster it accelerates. You’re right on schedule.”

“You lying bastard!” Brian bellowed, gripping the bedframe as his belly twisted beneath him.

“You’ll survive,” Kai said. “But you won’t be the same.”

Peter Minutes Later

Peter’s water didn’t break.

It exploded.

A burst of glowing, golden fluid shot across the room like a fire hydrant. He screamed — not out of embarrassment, but pure pain as another contraction hit like a wrecking ball to his spine.

“FUCK!”

The walls shook. Lights flickered. Something inside him kicked, and every inch of his body screamed for relief.

Blake rushed in with robed brothers behind him. Towels. Ritual herbs. A fucking gilded surgical lamp.

“What the hell is that?!” Peter shrieked.

Blake just smiled. “He’s coming early. He’s ready.”

“I am NOT,” Peter shouted. “I didn’t write a birth plan. I didn’t take a class. I didn’t even make a goddamn playlist!”

“Shhh,” Blake cooed, brushing his hair back. “You won’t need one. He already knows the way.”

Surveillance Room – Dean Wallace

Dean Wallace watched it unfold on her monitors like a stage play — two glowing bellies, two bodies unraveling.

It was working.

Finally.

“The Ritual failed in ‘83. And ‘96. And 2012,” she whispered. “But this time…”

She placed her hand on the ancient scroll beside her.

“This time, he returns.”

The Convergence at 2:11 a.m.

Reality fractured.

The walls of the frat houses bled golden light.

Dorm windows cracked.

Across campus, dozens of frat brothers fell to their knees, chanting, glowing faintly, their voices syncing in an unholy rhythm.

Brian screamed.

His belly had dropped. Fully. Pain shot through him, primal and unforgiving. His hands shook. His thighs trembled.

“GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Kai knelt behind him. Calm. Reverent.

“You’re almost there.”

Brian bared his teeth. “You said that six contractions ago, you gaslighting son of a—AAHHH!”

Peter pushed.

Sweat and golden light poured from him. The air rippled around his body. The runes on the walls glowed brighter.

The Founder was coming.

Chapter Five: The Delivery

Peter’s Room at 2:03 a.m.

Peter was beyond screaming.

His throat was wrecked. His body — soaked in sweat, fluids, and magic — trembled with the kind of pain that only came from being forcibly converted into an ancient myth’s glorified birthing chamber.

His belly was massive. Unnatural. Glowing with power.

And it would not stop moving.

Every contraction sent a surge of gold through his veins. His skin pulsed like a living rune. His hands gripped the sheets hard enough to tear them.

Blake knelt at the foot of the bed, face beatific, voice calm.

“You’re doing beautifully. He’s almost here.”

Peter whimpered. “I feel like I’m being split in half.”

“Because you are,” Blake said reverently. “It’s the price of carrying divinity.”

The ceremonial lamp overhead buzzed. The Brothers circled him now, robes swaying, mouths open in low, synchronized chant.

The room vibrated.

Peter’s back arched.

And from deep inside him, he felt it—

Descending.

Brian’s Chamber – Same Time

Brian was on all fours, gasping like a man possessed.

Sweat rolled down his chest, soaking his shirt and the floor below. His belly had dropped. The pressure was unreal. Like the weight of the universe was trying to escape through his spine.

Every contraction felt like an earthquake centered inside his pelvis.

Kai knelt behind him, hands braced gently against Brian’s hips, voice low and measured like a fucking midwife.

“You’re so close, Brian. You’re opening perfectly.”

“Don’t fucking narrate it!” Brian bellowed. “GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Kai chuckled. “Just push.”

Brian’s whole body tensed. His back arched. He pushed.

And something inside him shifted.

Down.

Lower.

Ready.

Brian screamed like a man being exorcised. Like something ancient was tearing its way free.

Which, in fairness, it was.

The Campus at 2:11 a.m.

Lights burst across campus.

Windows cracked. Ivy glowed.

Students in their dorms jolted awake, clutching their bedsheets, sweating, confused, aroused. Something had changed.

The Brotherhood stood in full formation across both houses, eyes glowing gold, mouths chanting:

“He returns. He is born. We are made whole.”

Peter's Delivery

The pressure was unbearable.

His legs were bent wide, thighs shaking. Brothers held his hands as he bore down, red in the face, eyes glowing white-hot with strain.

Push. Push. Push.

He screamed through clenched teeth — until a burn tore through his lower body, and something wet and heavy slid free.

Peter collapsed, shaking violently.

Then he heard it.

A cry.

A low, otherworldly chime that vibrated through the walls like a bell rung from another dimension.

Blake caught the child in both hands, holding it up like a divine offering.

Swaddled in white silk.

Eyes wide.

Glowing.

Peter blinked, barely conscious.

“What… is it?”

Blake whispered: “He is everything.”

Brian's Delivery

Brian felt the ring of fire. The stretch. The impossibility.

His body pushed anyway.

His screams were ragged and hoarse, his arms braced against the mattress, his hips trembling under Kai’s guiding hands.

Then, with one final, guttural roar—he birthed it.

The moment the child was born, the whole room filled with blinding light.

Kai lifted the baby — slick with golden fluid — and held it to his chest.

“Welcome home,” he whispered.

Brian collapsed forward, trembling, tears running down his face.

“I’m… still alive?”

“You are,” Kai whispered. “But you’re no longer just Brian.”

The Awakening

Both infants — radiant, impossibly still, and watching — were brought to the center of the ruined chapel.

Dean Wallace stood beside the rebuilt altar, scroll in one hand, dagger in the other.

Brian and Peter were dragged in, limp, glowing with afterbirth and exhaustion, their bodies still pulsing faintly.

The babies were placed between them.

The Brothers began to chant.

“ΦΚΨ… ΑΕΠ… He returns. He awakens.”

Brian rasped, “We were supposed to end it…”

Dean Wallace didn’t look at him.

“You never had a choice,” she said softly. “You were chosen before you were born. Just like them.”

Peter sobbed, staring as the two babies began to float, lifted by nothing but light and legacy.

Their eyes opened fully.

Golden. Endless.

The babies merged — one glowing orb of cosmic energy, suspended in air.

And the entire campus shook.

The Founder had returned.

Chapter Six: “Legacy Bound

Silence.

The world didn’t end.

Not like they thought it would.

No screaming skies. No apocalypse. No thunder of fire raining down from the heavens.

Just…

Silence.

And golden light.

Brian woke slowly. Naked beneath silk sheets. His belly — deflated, soft, sore. A phantom pressure still lingered between his hips, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that it was over.

He reached down, touched the stretch-marked skin, the ridges, the faint pulse that still thrummed deep inside.

He wasn’t the same.

Not even close.

Beside him, Peter groaned.

Same bed. Same sheets. Same look of what the actual fuck just happened on his face.

Their hands met in the middle.

“Are we alive?” Peter croaked.

Brian’s voice was sandpaper. “Define ‘alive.’”

They both looked up.

The altar had been rebuilt — bigger now. Cleaner. And standing at the center, floating inches off the floor, was Him.

The Founder.

No longer a baby. Not even a man. Just light. And shadow. Bones woven in stardust. Eyes as old as the void.

He spoke directly into their minds.

“You have served well.”

Peter clenched his jaw. “We didn’t ask for this.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Brian sat up slowly. “You used us.”

The Founder’s voice didn’t waver.

“I elevated you. You were dying — broken, discarded men. I made you immortal. You are now part of the Line.”

The Brotherhood stood behind Him, in full ceremonial robes. Watching. Silent.

“You were not meant to stop me. You were meant to bring me home.”

Peter whispered, “So what now? We just… become your disciples?”

“You become my origin.”

Brian tried to stand, stumbled. His knees were jelly. His insides still echoed.

And that’s when he saw it.

On the far wall — the school crest had changed.

Two crowned infants. A blazing cradle. And below it:

Founded by Blood. Reborn by Seed.

Peter looked down at his hands. They glowed faintly.

“We’re not cops anymore,” he said hollowly.

Brian met his eyes.

“No. We’re something fucking worse.”

Epilogue: Fatherhood at Hawthorne

Six Months Later

Peter lived in a remote cabin surrounded by salt lines, dreamcatchers, and three layers of magical wards. His son, Elias, could already walk. Spoke full sentences. Once looked into a mirror and shattered it with a whisper.

Peter didn’t sleep much anymore.

When he asked Elias who he was talking to in the night, the kid always said the same thing:

“I’m talking to myself.”

Brian moved to Maine. Quiet. Cold. Off-grid.

His son, Sol, never cried. Never blinked. Just stared.

Once during a storm, every light in the town went out — except the nursery.

He tried to pretend it was normal. Pretend that maybe, somehow, this would fade.

But every time Sol touched his stomach, he felt that pulse again.

The Brotherhood wasn’t gone.

It had just… evolved.

They kept in touch.

Burner phones. Video calls once a month. Not to check in on each other.

To compare symptoms.

To warn each other when the boys said something they shouldn't know.

When they started glowing again.

When the dreams returned.

When they caught their own reflections smiling before they did.

They weren’t just fathers.

They were the Founders now.

And the Brotherhood?

Would never die.

[exhaslo]

Puzzle Pieces Ch10

(Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9

Warning: Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex, shower sex, praise

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were trapped there again.

Afraid.

Your body was already shaking, just anticipating the heavy footsteps once that creaky door opened. Your breathing hitched as those thoughts became reality. The loud creak made you stumble as you hurried to the kitchen.

Swiftly, you tried to stop your hands from shaking as you prepped a plate. Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you heard a heavy bag hit the floor. Your heart was about to burst out of your chest. You couldn't focus and because of that...

CRASH.

"Fuck, woman." Eddie hissed.

You started sobbing and apologizing as you attempted to clean up your mess. His footsteps grew louder and harsher as they drew closer to you. Your breathing stopped as Eddie appeared in front of you. A harsh scowl on his face as he looked down at you.

"Tch, so useless. Clean this shit up and get my dinner ready. I got to head out again soon." Eddie spat as he gave you a swift kick to your stomach.

"S-Sorry....hn...I-I'm so s-sorry." You sobbed, holding your stomach in pain as you kept cleaning.

"Can't believe I got stuck with you."

---------

"I'm sorry!" You gasped, crying as you awoke.

It was hot. You felt sweat all over your body as you scooted off your bed. Another nightmare about him. This was the first one you had since you officially dated Miguel. Unable to stop shaking, you hurried to your living room and grabbed a puzzle.

It had been two weeks since Halloween night. You were happy with Miguel. Everything was going so smoothly, so why. Why were you having nightmares again?

"It's s-so l-late...I-I...d-don't...want...want to bother...." You sniffled lowly, shaking as you reached for your phone.

Miguel had told you to call him whenever you needed to calm down. He was so understanding. Shuddering as you felt your chest tighten, you hesitated to press on Miguel's name. It was almost midnight. What were the chances that he was awake?

-------

Miguel sat alone in a dark room. The only visible thing were his eyes that seemed to have a red glow to them. An echo of a tap was heard until the door creaked opened. Miguel exhaled softly as he watched Miles and his little crew enter.

"Still nothing?" Miguel's tone was more than annoyed.

"Our lead got us nowhere. The best we can do is just keep watching the supermarket." Peter stepped in. Miguel's eye twitched,

"Why is it so hard to find one man?"

"Well, to be fair, we're always fighting someone so our attention isn't that focused on this one dude," Gwen sighed and glanced at Miles, "Maybe we can draw-"

Miguel slammed his fist against the desk. His glare more prominent than normal. Everyone took this as a sign to leave. Not before apologizing to Miguel first. Once they were all gone, Miguel hissed lowly as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from under his desk.

Right as he poured the liquid into a glass, Miguel growled at the sound of his phone. It was late and Miguel was ready to go home, but of course, that new pest of a mafia group had to cause trouble. This new Venom group was going to be destroyed one way or another.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel whispered as he saw your name on his phone, "It's late, Conejita (bunny), why are you still up?" He lowered his voice for you.

"I...I had a n-nightmare," You whimpered.

Miguel's eyes soften as he leaned back in his seat. Your voice was scratchy and low. You've been crying. That and your stuttering was pretty bad. Oh, how he wished you were in his arms right now for him to comfort you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Miguel glanced at his watch, his own exhausted eyes drooping slightly,

"N-No...I...I just...j-just need to c-calm down. I-I like...h-hearing y-your voice." You whimpered softly. Miguel inhaled deeply as he found the energy to stand,

"I'll be there in a bit, amor (love). Don't worry."

"O-Okay,"

Miguel smiled softly as he heard the relief in your tone. He hung up, then immediately called his driver. Despite still having a lot of work to do, Miguel was going to call it a night. He can have his men and women do his dirty work for now.

Miguel needed his relief.

----------

You played with your sleeves as you fixed up your place. It helped you clear your mind a bit since Miguel was coming over. Hurrying to the bedroom, you doublechecked his spare clothes. Since you started dating, you bought Miguel some cozy clothes in case he ever decided to stay over again.

You were always the one to sleep over at his place.

Feeling your cheeks burn, you shook the thought away and hurried back to the living room. Miguel was going to come over any minute now. You needed to finish your puzzle.

'Pick up this shit! What are you a fucking child?'

Your breathing shuddered as the voice screamed from the back of your mind. You held the small piece in your palm, unable to stop shaking. Your sleeves slowly rolling down, revealing the scars you gave yourself as a means of escape.

'Do you have ANY FUCKING IDEA how fucked I'll be if you tried to fucking kill yourself? Don't be a stupid little bitch!'

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you sobbed once more. Why did his voice have to come back and haunt you? Why was he such a poison in your mind? Eddie was a venom. Eating away at your soul until you were nothing left.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel knocked against your door.

Quickly, you hurried to him. You tackled Miguel, wrapping your arms around him as you sobbed into his chest. With ease, Miguel picked you up and carried you into the bedroom. You didn't want to let him go.

"What's wrong, (Y/N)?" Miguel asked, sitting you on the bed. He noticed a pair of clothes set aside for him, "Hm?"

"I-I k-keep hearing...h-his...his voice. I-I can't..." You tighten your grip against his jacket, "I-I'm sorry. S-Sorry I'm a burden."

"But you're not," Miguel sighed softly and lifted your chin, kissing your tears away, "He is no longer in your life. Y estoy planeando matar al cabrón por ti, mi conejito. (And I'm planning on killing the fucker for you, my bunny)."

"Mhm, M-Miguel..." You whispered, only understanding the 'bunny' part, "Um...I, um...I got you some comfortable clothes...to s-sleep in. W-Would you like s-shower first?"

"Only if you join me,"

You bit your lower lip and slowly nodded. Honestly, just having Miguel here was calming you down. Following Miguel into the bathroom, you helped set the water and squeaked softly as Miguel already started to get undressed.

You followed suit, still hesitating with your clothes. Miguel approached you, his hands gently holding your waist. You closed your eyes, finally removing your shirt. Miguel responded with a hum and proceeded to kiss you,

"My beautiful girl," He whispered, slowly pulling you into the shower with him.

Your heart fluttered every time Miguel complemented you. Your shower was small, so your bodies were pressed against each other. Miguel had you in his embrace, his head resting against the crook of your neck as the warm water hit his skin.

"(Y/n), whenever you think of that asshole, I want you to remember that I'm taking care of you now," Miguel whispered in your ear as his hands stroked your sides, "That I cherish you for the wonderful woman you are."

"M-Miguel," You whispered, feeling your back pressed against the wall.

You whimpered softly as Miguel started to kiss and nibble at your neck and shoulder. You slowly wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders as Miguel lifted you up. You shuddered as Miguel started to grind his hips into yours, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

"Call out of work tomorrow, amor. Let me spoil you."

"B-But...mhm, I-I can't...c-call out again." You whimpered softly, resisting a moan as Miguel's dick slid against your folds, "M-My...b-b-bills"

"I'll take care of everything," Miguel hummed, making his marks on you, "You deserve a break. Let me take care of you."

"M-Miggy," You moaned as his tip poked your hole.

You arched your back against the wall, giving Miguel more space to mark you. He hummed in response, his fingers slowly rubbing circles against your clit. The heat of the shower was fogging your mind as you started to give into the pleasure.

"That's right, let me take care of you." Miguel hummed, stealing your lips in a kiss as he gently slid his dick inside you.

"Mhpm~"

Your legs tighten around Miguel's waist as he started to thrust into you. His gentle yet rough thrusts sending you to nirvana with each slap. Whimpers and moans were coming out loudly as you clenched around Miguel's cock.

Every time Miguel fucked you, it made you remember the difference between him and your past relationship. Miguel was far too good for you. Gasping, you fell victim to an orgasm with another simple rough thrust from Miguel.

"Gooooood girl. That's right, you're doing so good for me," Miguel groaned, his thrusts getting a little faster and harsher.

You flung your head back, crying out as Miguel kept hitting your sweet spot. Your hands were gripping his hair, your head resting against his shoulder.

"Miggy~"

-------

Miguel grunted as you kept clenching around his dick. Your blissed out expression gave him full to keep going. You were doing better giving yourself into him. Miguel just needed you to realize that you didn't have to work anymore.

That you could live with him.

Hearing loud knocking from against the shower wall, Miguel chuckled darkly. Seems like his shy bunny was being too loud for your neighbors. You didn't even notice as Miguel drew another orgasm out of you.

"Let's take this to the bed," Miguel chuckled.

Still holding onto you, Miguel turned the water off and brought a towel. He placed the towel on the bed before laying you on your back. His harsh and rough thrusts continued as he pressed you into mating position.

"I'll treat you like the princess you deserve to be," Miguel grunted as he unloaded inside of you.

"M-Mig..." You breathed out, "P-Please...K-Keep going,"

Miguel just chuckled as he kissed you deeply. Your cute fucked out expression just begging for more. Miguel flipped you on your stomach, pressing himself against you back. You whimpered and moaned as his rough thrusts continued.

"Ah, sabe tan bien. Eres mi dulce conejita en celo, ¿no? ¿Quieres que te dé una razón para ser mía? (Ah, taste so good. You are my sweet little bunny in heat aren't you? Want me to give you a reason to be mine?)" Miguel whispered, falling into his own lust.

Miguel pressed his hand against your back, watching you grip the bed sheets. Your moans filling his ears like music. Your sweet pussy dripping and sucking his dick, forming a white ring around his cock. Your moans were almost pornographic as Miguel finally let loose.

"I'm going to treat you so well tomorrow. I've had such a long day." Miguel whispered in your ear, "Going to make you forget all about what hurts you."

"Miguel~!" You cried out, collapsing after a harsh orgasm.

Miguel sighed softly as he finished. Another grunt and a moan, Miguel gave you one last load of his cum. A loud sigh escaping his throat as relief washed over him. As he pulled out, Miguel smiled at his work once more.

You were fast asleep, your body twitching softly with his marks all over you. Miguel put on the clothes you got him and proceeded to wipe you down. He found some new pajamas for you and got you dressed before finally climbing into your bed.

"Not the best way to comfort her, but this works too," Miguel told himself before falling asleep.

---------

"Took forever, but we finally had time to get here." Eddie huffed as he stood in front of the supermarket you worked at, "Now to take back what belongs to me."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

next chapter

@migueloharacumslut @18lkpeters @deputy-videogamer @leahnicole1219 @synamonthy @thedevax @jolynesposts @thraetor @freehentai @2099hitmylineyline @vvampir3s @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @secretadmirerisnowonline @jadeloverxd @bunnibitez @oharasfilipinawife @randomgoosegame @lilbanas @daisy-artfield @axi-moore @mimiemie @darkfairy102190 @jazzyj1011 @mcmiracles @innercreationflower @spoderssimp @thel0velykey190 @moonvoidpng @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @scaleniusrm @love4saturn @nyxgoddessofchaos13 @slutty-chronicles @ghstypaint @migueloharastruelove @brainmatterdump @a060403 @trendyharold @yannauauau @kimivixen @angel-xx-1 @nxrdamp @miguelzslvtz @lynxslokley @wafflefries786 @pochapo @what-the-jams @flaps200 @ii-angelsrolltheireyes-ii @nakimushiohime @tojishugetiddies @aya-world @supercowgirl04 @mysteris-things @daisy-artfield @mcmiracles @alexa4040 @llama--drama @kpopscoups17130000 @havkjhdecs @ruexvn @tojishugetiddi @openup-yourmind @black-swan-blog27 @xstarsdiary @kiddisquacking @gachagator @yujyujj @emmyrxx @blackteamint @sockears @black-swan-blog27 @soraya-daydreams @byjessicalotufo @nanoinn @bunnibitez @aockskcw @l3laze @dimitri-needs-therapy

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝

Parings → Dad! Peter Parker x Mom! Reader

Warnings → fluff, swear words

Summary → Baby Parker learns a new word.

The sound of something hard being stepped on echoed through the living room, followed by Peter’s exasperated voice. “Shit!” He hissed in pain, immediately hopping on one foot while holding the other, glaring down at the brightly colored toy car he'd just crushed under his weight.

You looked up from where you were sitting on the couch, stifling a laugh as you took in the sight of your husband cursing under his breath while clutching his throbbing foot. "Are you okay, Pete?"

Peter rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah, just... stepped on one of Ben's toys. It hurts like—"

Before Peter could finish, the small voice of your three-year-old son, Ben, piped up from across the room, sitting on the floor surrounded by more toys. “Shit!”

Both of you froze. Ben, giggling, clearly enjoying the new word he'd just learned, repeated it, louder this time. "Shit! Shit!"

Your hands flew to your mouth, barely containing your laughter. Peter, wide-eyed and mortified, immediately crouched down in front of Ben. "No, no, buddy. We don’t say that word, okay? That’s... that's a bad word."

But Ben only grinned up at Peter, eyes twinkling with mischief, before chanting again, “Shit!”

You finally let out a laugh, unable to hold it in anymore. Peter shot you a look of despair, his face already red with embarrassment. "This is not funny! He's going to be saying that all day now!"

"Oh, come on, it’s a little funny," you teased, getting up from the couch and ruffling Peter’s hair as you walked by. "Besides, it’s your fault for saying it in front of him."

Peter groaned, plopping down onto the floor next to Ben, who was still giggling and playing with his toys. "I’m such an idiot. Now our three-year-old knows how to swear." He slumped against the wall, rubbing his face. “Aunt May is going to be here soon, and God forbid he says that in front of her.”

You smiled, watching the two of them, Peter looking utterly defeated while Ben was thoroughly entertained. "Don’t worry," you reassured him. "We’ll just have to make sure Ben doesn’t say it again tonight."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly do you propose we do that?"

You shrugged, grinning. "We'll just have to pray."

Peter sighed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. "Great. Prayer. That’ll totally work with a three-year-old."

Ben, oblivious to the chaos he'd caused, grabbed one of his toy cars and drove it across the floor, making little engine sounds. You sat down next to Peter, leaning your head on his shoulder. "It’ll be fine," you said, though the amusement in your voice betrayed you. "May won’t even notice."

Peter gave you a skeptical look. "You’re way too calm about this."

You just smiled, deciding to let him sweat it out a bit longer. After all, it was Peter’s fault for swearing in the first place. And besides, Ben repeating the word was kind of hilarious, in a mischievous, toddler way.

The doorbell rang later that evening, signaling May’s arrival. Peter jumped up, giving you one last pleading look. “Please, please make sure he doesn’t say it.”

You smirked, raising your hands in mock surrender. “I’ll do my best.”

Peter opened the door, greeting May with a hug. “Hey, May! Come on in.”

May smiled warmly, stepping into the living room, her arms loaded with shopping bags. “Hello, my favorite people!” She said, beaming when she saw Ben. “And how’s my little man today?”

Ben’s eyes lit up at the sight of his grandma, and he bolted toward her, excited. “Gramma May!” He squealed.

Peter shot you a quick, nervous glance as May bent down to greet Ben. “Hi, sweetheart,” she cooed, reaching into one of her bags. “I brought you a new car!”

Ben’s eyes grew wide with excitement, and you saw Peter visibly relax. For a moment, it seemed like everything was fine. But then it happened.

Ben, his face full of glee, clutched the new toy car May handed him and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Shit!”

The room fell into stunned silence. Peter’s face drained of all color, while you slapped a hand over your mouth, trying — and failing — to hold back laughter. May blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What... did he just say?”

Ben, grinning up at his great-aunt, held up his new toy car proudly. “Shit!”

Peter scrambled to explain, his voice high-pitched and panicked. “No, no, it’s not what it sounds like! I-I stepped on one of his toys earlier, and I accidentally swore, and now he’s—he’s just repeating it, but it wasn't on purpose, I swear!”

May raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Peter Benjamin Parker, you taught your child to swear?"

“I didn’t mean to!” Peter blurted out, running a hand through his hair. “It just slipped out, and now he thinks it’s funny!”

You couldn’t hold back anymore and burst out laughing, the whole situation just too absurd. “He’s been saying it all day,” you wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “It’s kind of hilarious.”

May looked between the two of you, shaking her head, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Peter, you really need to watch your mouth around your son. He’s at that age where he’ll repeat anything.”

“I know, I know,” Peter groaned, facepalming. “But how was I supposed to know he’d pick that up so fast?”

Ben, completely unaware of the chaos he’d caused, started playing with his new toy car, still occasionally muttering “shit” under his breath as he zoomed it across the floor.

May shot Peter a stern look, though you could see she was holding back a smile. “Well, you’d better figure out how to stop him from saying it before he starts doing it at school.”

Peter let out a long, defeated sigh. “Yeah, I’ll work on that.”

As the evening wore on, Ben’s new favorite word thankfully began to lose its charm, though every now and then he’d whisper it just to get a reaction out of Peter. But by the end of the night, Peter had accepted his fate.

As May said her goodbyes, she patted Peter on the back. “Good luck, sweetie. You’re going to need it.”

Peter just groaned, rubbing his temples. "Thanks, Aunt May."

After she left, you turned to Peter, still grinning. “Well, that could’ve gone worse.”

Peter gave you a halfhearted glare. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you replied, chuckling.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[word2thawise]

Peter figures it out by accident.

He’s at the Tower, eating snacks with the Avengers, when he casually says something about his Spanish class.

Tony just freezes. Then squints at him. Really hard.

"Wait. You’re still in high school?"

Peter stares back. "Tony. You signed my permission slip for a field trip."

And THAT’S when everyone realizes.

TONY STARK HAS NO IDEA HOW OLD SPIDER-MAN IS.

Peter watches in real time as Tony starts running back every single conversation they’ve ever had.

"You— you have a BEDTIME?"

"You’re not even old enough to DRIVE?"

"OH MY GOD, I LET YOU FIGHT ALIENS.”

Steve is dying. Natasha has to leave the room. Thor pats Tony on the back like he just lost a loved one.

Tony IMMEDIATELY sends Peter home. Effective immediately.

Peter tries to protest. "I have super-strength!"

Tony, visibly sweating: "YOU HAVE HOMEWORK."

Peter has never seen a man go through five stages of grief so fast.

[supercap2319]

"Thank god we're finally done!" Peter cried as he collapsed on the couch with his mask in his left hand. He stinks, and his costume is covered in acid stains.

"You're telling me. Next time, tell Tony he can fight the sinister six." Y/N sighed.

"I know, right? Mr. Stark promised us the day off, and we had to spend it fighting?"

"Well, he owes me a new costume. My hood is ruined." Y/N stripped the red cape and armor off his body and was standing in front of Peter sweaty and shirtless, dabbing his forehead with his ruined cape. Peter's eyes widened as he took in the sight of Y/N's sweaty and shirtless form. He couldn't help but lick his lips, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. "I could do something about that."

"Really? You could fix it?" Y/N turned to Peter.

"Well, I can try." Peter stood up and walked over to him, his hands moving to gently brush some of the sweat off Y/N's skin. As he did so, his fingers accidentally-on-purpose grazed against his toned abs. "Woah, Tiger. My eyes are up here." He teased.

"I can't help it. You look so delicious all sweaty and... well, you know." Peter's cheeks turn pink at his own comments, but he continues teasing, running his hands down his sides and back up to cup his waist lightly.

"I think someone wants to play after a hard night's work kicking villain ass." Y/N said.

Peter grins and nods, his hands sliding lower to gently grabs Y/N's ass cheeks, squeezing them softly. "Yeah, I think we both need some stress relief after that fight."

"Do you wanna be fucked or be the one who does the fucking?" Y/N groans as Peter squeezed his ass.

"I think I'd like to be the one who does the fucking." Peter's voice is husky with desire, his hands squeezing Y/N's ass cheeks more firmly as he leans in close, their bodies almost touching from chest to groin.

"Then by all means. Make me your bitch." Y/N grins.

"Oh, you want it rough?" Peter's grin turns wolfish, his hands moving to grip his hips as he pulls his boyfriend closer. "You're gonna scream my name and beg for more."

"Fuck, Pete. Do it." Y/N moans.

With a growl, Peter lifts Y/N up off his feet and slams him down onto the couch. His body follows, pinning Y/N beneath him as he traps his wrists above his head with one hand. "You like that?"

"Fuck, yes! You know I like when you take control." He smirks.

Peter smirks back at his boyfriend, a feral glint in his eyes. "Good to know..." His other hand moves to stroke his now very visible erection through his uniform and underwear, causing Y/N to groan.

[pinkhelados]

//cw! Slight age gap for those who are uncomfy w it! (Pete’s around 40 and reader is 28 :3)

Dilf!Insecure! Peter B. Parker who feels like he really let himself go after his divorce with MJ :( What was once a set of sculpted abs was now replaced with a soft tummy, his brown hair streaked with grey. Peter felt distain towards his appearance and often thought others would to. But he would’ve never expected such a pretty, young thing like you to come into his life to love on the things he hated so much.

“Baby…” He whispered in disbelief. Peter watched with bloated pupils as your hands lingered on the trail of hair leading down to where he wanted you most. Your hands were so soft and small and…oh god, you were kissing his stomach. Peter swallowed when he felt his cock twitching in his sweats. It was an outrage! Why did you have to look so beautiful while he…

“Peter,” He heard you huff and he turned his head to you. Your lips where wet with saliva as a string of it connected your glossy lips to the tip of his cock. Your eyes were half lidded and only a ring of your eye color was visible due to how dilated your pupils were. You liked seeing him like this, and that made his balls ache.

“How’d I get so lucky with you, sweetheart?” He whispered and you responded with a giggle. Perer’s eyes rolled back as you took him into your wet mouth once more. Oh you were so warm and so sweet His pretty little darling that had come to his aid during one of his grey days where he needed reassurance. You bobbed your head between his thighs, taking in as much as you could and touching what you could. You see lapping and tracing every vein of his cock so good that he had to resist pushing you down to take more.

“Fuck, fuckfffuck…”

He was babbling, thrusting into your wet cavern with tears rolling down his cheeks. Peter wanted to fill his sweetheart, watch her swallow his seed and that’s exactly what he planned on doing. “Open wide, honey” is what you head as his thick cum filled your mouth.

[blitzor0de0]

I wouldn't mind reader more about Saint Peter and Redeemed!Reader adventures in heaven.

Maybe you could write about their first date? First kiss?

Maybe Redeemed!Reader has a nightmare about their 2nd death and Saint Peter comforts them?

Maybe some jealous Saint Peter? Someone tries to flirt with Redeemed!Reader and Saint Peter get a little possessive over them? Like wraps one of his wings around them, protecting them?

Not sure you'd be up for making smut for this pairing, but that would be nice as well. :)

hihi ! I decided to go for the nightmare one since I love torturing reader 🤭🤭

I told myself this one was gonna be rlly short because my brain was just lacking juices but here we are again over 1k words and yet ?? I still rushed half of it between my overwatch deaths and games 😭

cw: reader death mention, nightmares and by extension ptsd, tooth rotting fluff lowkey

word count: 1.2k

part 1 part 2 part 4

Delicate (Saint Peter x Redeemed!Reader)

Chills ran up your spine as the scene replayed itself before you.

All you could feel was the stab of the trident magnified by a million. It was torturous, and yet the scene had replayed every night since your arrival in Heaven. You couldn't escape it, causing you to spend many sleepless nights, drinking coffees, going on walks. Anything to resist falling asleep, afraid of your death haunting you.

Said sleepless nights were taking a toll on you, everywhere you went, you'd see the executioner in the corner of your eye, causing your heart to drop.

You would doze off in the middle of dates with Peter, meetings with Emily, at your job. Everywhere you went were reminders of that dreadful day.

Sure, you could talk to Sir Pentious about it, but the guilt of making him remember his own death ate you alive, but the passing glances the two of you would share could say a million words, the bags under his eyes just as visible as yours.

It didn't take long for Peter to notice something was up with you, especially with how you froze up when Lute passed by the two of you in the Plaza, scowl evident on her face.

At first, he just suspected it to be you just being afraid of her due to the battle, but witnessing your paranoia get the better of you just made him feel stupid.

Offering you a small "Are you okay?" he frowned, he always had faith in you and believed in you, to see his love this dishevelled, it freaked him out. You were always a stronger person than he would ever be, in all means of the word.

"I'm fine..." Is all you could utter, it was only a phase, something you would get over, right? You could overcome it on your own, that's what you believed.

Peter could only nod and say "If you do need me, at any time, you know where to find me."

Tonight was one of those nights again, in your exhaustion, the fluffy pillows, the oversized duvet, the memory foam mattress, it enticed you into its warm and loving arms, enveloping you as you drifted off to sleep for the first time in days.

The nightmare, your past reality played in your mind once again. The sharp stab of the strident, the smug smirk upon the executioner's face.

Everything was perfectly recalled.

With a sob, you awoke yourself, sweating and shaking as all you could do was hold yourself, sitting up and pulling your knees up to your chest.

Glancing towards your digital clock upon your side desk, your first step of grounding yourself was checking the time which resulted in an unsurprising 2:38am.

Sniffling, you picked up your phone, quickly dialling Peter's phone number.

It took a few rings for him to pick up, and when he uttered out a groggy "Hello?" It wasn't hard to tell that you had just woken him from blissful slumber. The thought only made your guilt bubble up inside you, internally debating whether or not to hang up then and there to let him be. This was a pathetic reason to call someone, anyways.

But you couldn't bring yourself to, sniffling down the microphone as you fought against your will to speak. It was as if your words were lodged in your throat, as if speaking would kill you once again.

“...Peter” You weakly whispered.

Well that certainly woke him up, his tone of voice switching from gruelling grogginess to concern.

“Hey? Hey! Are you alright?? Are you crying? Oh my goodness, do you want me to come over, is that alright?” Quite the rambler he was, but at least his intentions were always pure at heart.

“Please?”

“I'll be right there, unlock the door for me, alright?”

And with that he hung up, hurriedly making his way over to your house.

Deciding your room was far too dangerous to stay in right now, you opted to listen to Peter, heading down to the door and unlocking it before situating yourself on the sofa, blanket wrapped around you.

Too lost in your own thoughts, you hadn’t noticed your friend? boyfriend? — You didn't know the two of you hadn't made it official yet — enter the house, crouching down in front of you. It was only when he placed one of his hands upon yours did you notice him.

You were a mess, it was hard to miss, hair stuck to your forehead, tangled and knotted, dried tear tracks down your cheek, and yet Peter looked at you with all the fondness in the world, as if you were the most gorgeous person to grace the three realms.

“You're okay now,” His voice instantly soothed you to your core, being around Peter always seemed to do that. “I'll make some tea,” He stood, but before he could turn on his heel,

"Don't leave.." You whispered, catching his hand with your own as you glanced up at him with glossy eyes.

With his gaze, ever so gentle, he smiled down at you, taking your other hand, pulling you up into a hug.

It was warm, full of emotions. Peter's adoration for you, and you for him, but the sadness of your nightmare, of your trauma lingered, evident by your shaking from as tears started to slip once more.

Peter rubbed your back in an attempt to soothe you. He didn't dare let you go, only allowing you to break the hug first, Lord knows that you needed it, who knows how long it had been since you got a hug in the first place.

You didn't know how long the hug lasted, and didn't care to know either, the hug felt like home, like you were always meant to be there in Peter's arms. Eventually, you did pull away, “Thank you.”

“At a time like this, there's no reason to thank me whatsoever, c'mon you want some tea?” You shook your head in response, Peter's presence was enough, and besides you felt the sweet embrace of sleep calling your name.

With a yawn, you spoke at ease for the first time that night, “Come to bed with me?” Causing Peter to smile, “Of course.”

You could feel yourself longing for his touch still, deciding to link your pinkie finger with his, craving any sort of touch, any proof that Peter was in fact here with you.

You led him up to your bedroom, a little nervous, you'd yet to fully decorate your room to your desires, so the walls were looking a little bare and there were some clothes scattered across the floor, but Peter didn't mind at all, it only humanised you in his eyes.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course I do, you've helped me so much and just… you bring me a lot of comfort Peter.. Besides, you can scare away the nightmares if they return.” A small childlike jest, but knowing Peter, he would kick that nightmare’s ass if he could.

“Oh,” you continued, not before taking a big yawn “I'll tell you about it all in the morning, just hold me for tonight please.” You sat yourself on your bed, pulling Peter besides you with what sleepy strength you could muster.

It didn't take long to grow comfortable, laying yourself between Peter's arms. Sleep quickly took over your senses, but not before you could hear the angel utter out a quiet

“I love you.”

[sstormyskyess]

wrote some more robot!ghost for @glitterypirateduck's ghost challenge!! i used prompt #81 and pushed robot!ghost in a river >:)

[tiny suggestive warning!]

The sixth month of your service as Ghost's technician was coming to a close, and along with that, autumn was just starting to peter off into winter. The air was colder and the wind bites just a little harder than it did before.

Your breath is visible in the air when you stop to catch it, having exerted yourself on your morning run. Your feet have taken you off base today after deciding to work yourself a little harder. If things went as planned, you would be following the task force off base within the next couple weeks for a longer mission, one where Ghost wouldn't be able to visit as promptly. So, to make sure nothing catastrophic happened with you too far away to address it, you would be going with them.

You wipe the sweat off your forehead as you make a detour into a small cafe on your way back to base, the bell above the door jingling when you push it open. Despite the fact that the little shop was packed for the afternoon rush, things were rather quiet. It was a tad confusing, to be frank.

The cause of this awkward and uncomfortable silence is made clear once you spot a certain hulking man standing next to the front counter, arms crossed over his chest.

You walk over to him with curiosity in your eyes. "Ghost? What are you doing here?" Why would an automaton be in a cafe of all places? Or anywhere that serves food for that matter?

His glowing red LED optics focus on you when he hears your voice and he shrugs in response to your question. "Getting drinks for the others." His voice is plain and deadpanned as usual, explaining himself as though it were obvious and well-known that he served as the task force's personal coffee delivery boy.

You make a little 'oh' noise and glance away from him. Those damn eyes of his continue to send a shiver down your spine every time he stares at you so intently. Expectantly, almost.

The silence is palpable for a few moments before you try to start a more substantial conversation. "So, um... do you do stuff like this often? Getting food for the other guys, I mean."

His voice box makes a low, metallic rumble in response and looks at the queue on the tiny monitor showing what orders were coming out next. "Pretty often. Don't get tired and don't have to work out daily. Got plenty of extra time," he says before glancing over at you and nodding toward the counter. "Might want to get your order in, mate."

Oh. That is what you were here to do, isn't it? You mosey over to the waiter and give them your order, feeling Ghost's eyes on the side of your face while you speak.

When the both of you get your orders--one cup of coffee for yourself and a variety of teas and coffees for the boys--you and Ghost head out together and start on back to base. Conversation flows somewhat easily as you walk as you exchange small stories with each other; most of his consist of various past operations, yours are generally about your clients over the years.

About halfway back, catastrophe strikes.

The two of you are on your merry way when you hear the sound of car horns blaring only a little ways away. All of a sudden, a car is swerving and coming directly toward you. You freeze at the sight and aren't able to react until it's almost too late. Lucky for you, you have a 6'4" automaton bodyguard, one that's able to quickly shove you out of the trajectory the speeding car is taking.

The result is him flying over the guardrail along the side of the river you're walking next to, right into the water.

"Ghost!" You look over the edge, eyes wide in shock. You turn your gaze to the driver of the car that nearly crashed into you. "What is wrong with you?!" You bark at them before trying to find some way down to help Ghost out of the river. You curse under your breath when your search comes up short and resort to climbing over the railing and sliding down the steep drop to the lower walkway.

Luckily, he's already swimming to the side, albeit a bit slow. You take hold of his hand and drag him closer the best you can, helping him onto the concrete footpath.

Now, usually, water wouldn't be an issue for an automaton as advanced as he is, but the fact his chassis was crumpled up by the car hitting him, water was able to get underneath his waterproof outer casing and into his circuits. You call up Price on your phone and he's there to take the both of you back to base within minutes (not before getting the culprits plate numbers and information, though--that person was really going to get it, you already know).

Ghost is stumbling by the time you make it back to your office and get him laying on the workbench to be treated. You have to tell Soap to shut up when he makes a stupid comment about just putting him in a tub full of rice, and he promptly fucks off when he hears the venom in your voice.

You're quick to remove his damaged chest casing and set it to the side. He's instinctively resistant to the action after recently experiencing high levels of trauma, and his hands shoot up to stop you multiple times as you open him up, but eventually he gets too weak to hold you back anymore.

A grimace sets upon your face when you see the water sloshing around in his most fragile parts. Towels first, then you can really take care of him. "I'm gonna wipe you down first, okay? The fabric will probably feel strange or hurt a bit at first, but it's all necessary, okay?" You reassure him while you get the towels out of your tool cabinets. He gives you a strained, glitchy grumble in response.

When you start patting him down, his limbs twitch and he groans softly, his eyes flickering. "Fuckin' hell--" he hisses, his voicebox chopping his words up and his back arching off the table involuntarily. It makes you falter for a bit; it almost sounded like a groan of pleasure instead of pain...

But there's no time to speculate about whether or not your patient was a masochist. Even if your face started to heat up a bit, both from the shame of thinking about him like that and from the inappropriate thoughts passing through your mind. So unprofessional, you scold yourself.

But after that day, you can't get the thoughts out of your head. Yet another thing about that man that captivates you. This was starting to become a problem.

more robot!ghost on the masterlist!!

[sleepberries]

Spiderhood 39 (maybe some angst?)

39. falling in someone’s arms

The explosion tore through the warehouse like a beast unleashed, steel beams groaning as they buckled under the force. Peter felt the heat wash over him in waves, his spider-sense screaming warnings he was already too late to heed.

"Hood!" he shouted into his comm, but got nothing back except static. The earpiece had been damaged in the blast, leaving him blind to Jason's location in the maze of twisted metal and smoke.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Peter swung through the skeletal remains of what had been a three-story building, scanning desperately for any sign of red leather. The Penguin's weapons cache had been bigger than intel suggested—way bigger. What should have been a simple recon mission had turned into a goddamn disaster.

He found Jason pinned beneath a collapsed support beam, his helmet cracked and discarded three feet away. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, and his left leg was twisted at an angle that made Peter's stomach lurch.

"Jace," Peter breathed, dropping beside him. "Hey, talk to me."

Jason's eyes fluttered open, unfocused. "P’te?" His voice was slurred, words thick with pain and probable concussion. "Thought you were... thought you left."

"Never," Peter said firmly, already assessing the beam. Heavy, but not impossible. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? Just hold on."

He braced his feet and lifted, muscles straining against the weight. The beam shifted with a groan of protest, and Jason bit back a scream as his trapped leg was freed. Peter could see the break—compound fracture, bone visible through torn leather.

"Shit," Jason gasped, trying to push himself up. "Can't... can't feel my fucking leg."

"Don't try to move," Peter ordered, catching Jason as he swayed dangerously. "Building's not stable. We need to get out of here now."

Jason nodded weakly, then immediately regretted it as his vision swam. "Can't walk on this," he mumbled, gesturing vaguely at his mangled leg.

"You don't have to walk," Peter said, sliding his arms under Jason's shoulders and knees. "I've got you."

Even injured and disoriented, Jason's instinct was to protest. "Too heavy. You can't—"

"Shut up," Peter interrupted, lifting Jason with the same ease he'd show picking up a backpack. "I've bench-pressed subway cars, asshole. You're not too heavy."

Despite the pain, despite the fear clawing at his chest, Jason felt something warm unfurl in his stomach at the casual strength in Peter's arms. He'd seen Peter lift cars, sure, but feeling it—being cradled against that deceptively lean chest like he weighed nothing—was different.

More intimate.

"Hold on tight," Peter murmured, and Jason's arms came up instinctively to wrap around Peter's neck. The position pressed them close, Jason's face tucked against Peter's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his suit's fabric softener beneath the smoke and sweat.

They moved through the ruined warehouse like that, Peter navigating the debris with impossible grace while Jason fought to stay conscious. Each step jarred his broken leg, but the steady rhythm of Peter's breathing against his ear kept him anchored.

"Almost there," Peter whispered, and Jason realized he was trembling—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being held, of being carried to safety by someone who gave a damn whether he lived or died.

"Pete," he managed, voice rough.

"Yeah?"

"Don't drop me."

Peter's arms tightened fractionally. "Never," he promised, and Jason believed him.

When they finally emerged into the night air, Peter didn't immediately set him down. Instead, he held Jason close for a moment longer, both of them breathing hard, alive and together.

"I've got you," Peter repeated softly. "Always."

Jason closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the warmth of Peter's arms, into the steady beat of his heart against his ear. For once, he didn't fight it—didn't try to be strong or self-sufficient or any of the other bullshit masks he usually wore.

He just let himself be held.

"Good," he whispered against Peter's neck. "Don't let go yet."

Peter's grip tightened in response, and Jason thought maybe this—this trust, this surrender—was the most dangerous thing he'd ever done.

[babybatscreationsv2]

The Kissing Booth

Marvel | Peter/Tony/Steve/Bucky

Peter decides to host a kissing booth to raise money for Decathlon, but he definitely wasn't expecting to be so popular.

Rating: Teen

Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets, he cocked his hip to one side, and he prayed that he looked as cool as the actor he'd seen on the cover of GQ. Most people passed by the booth while visibly refusing to look his way. Others walked by and giggled at the idea of paying to kiss a random teenager. A woman even stopped to ask if he were old enough to be doing a thing like that and seemed only more appalled when he confirmed that he was eighteen.

The only kiss his kissing booth had gotten him so far was one from a cheerleader with bouncy blonde hair. He was pretty confident she'd only done it to tease him, but her lips were soft and covered in strawberry lip gloss so he wasn't complaining. Plus that was two dollars in the decathlon team’s nationals fund and they were getting a little desperate. Peter just hoped that Flash's cookie stand farther back into the fairground was doing better. He'd never been good at baking so he'd opted out. Now MJ stood behind him, playing the scowling chaperone to discourage unwanted tonguing. The school wouldn't approve the booth unless he agreed to keep the kissing innocent. "As if you're kissing your own mother," the principal said and then blanched when he realized that Peter didn't have one.

"How long do we stand here before we decide we've humiliated ourselves?" MJ asked.

"I'm not sure how this is a 'we' situation," Peter said. His eyes scanned over the crowd. Maybe he could get a pitty kiss if he could make eye contact with the right person.

MJ scoffed. "Because I believed in your stupid kissing booth idea. Not that you're not pretty, we're just living in the wrong decade."

"Nah, I think everyone's just shy. Maybe you should come show them how it's done to break the ice."

"Pass." MJ went back to her chair and sat down. Peter laughed quietly. If they could just make a few more bucks, he'd call it a success. He hadn't been expecting to fund the whole trip this way, but he at least thought he could lure in a few pranksters looking to peer pressure their friends into it.

He stared out at the crowd and caught sight of Tony Stark entering the fair along with his gang. They were already laughing and goofing off. Perfect targets. Peter licked his lips shiny and leaned against the side of the booth. He sent what he hoped was a flirty look in their direction. If he couldn't score a kiss from the biggest man whore in school, then he was a failure for sure.

His heart skipped a beat when Tony's eyes met his. The other boy grinned as he took in the booth. He elbowed his friends and the whole group came walking over.

"What do we have here?" Steve Rogers asked. Peter blushed as he looked between him and Tony. Then he spotted Bucky in the back. Three of the hottest guys ever were standing in front of him and sure they were probably about to make fun of him before running off to play, but the idea that they were standing at his kissing booth made his palms sweat.

"Kissing booth," Peter declared, trying to find his confidence when internally he was shaking. "I'm raising money for our nationals trip."

"You guys made it to nationals?" Steve whistled, impressed.

"Is it that surprising with Peter on the team?" Tony added.

Peter blushed. He couldn't tell if they were making fun of him or not, but they sounded so genuine. He cleared his throat. "Two bucks for a kiss if you guys are interested in showing your support."

Tony and Steve looked at each other and they looked at their friends. They all smiled and shrugged their shoulders. Peter wished he knew what secret they were all in on as Steve pulled out his wallet and took out a five dollar bill.

"Two seems a little low don't you think?" He grinned. Peter rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs. Were they really doing this?

MJ jumped up to take her spot beside him. He grabbed the cash and dropped it into the collection box. "Chaste kisses only, people! No tongues!" she declared.

Peter leaned over the booth, eyes on Steve's handsome smile. He half expected the boy to smash a pie in his face, but instead he got gentle lips pressed against his own for 3- 4- 5 lingering seconds. When he pulled away, Peter's breath went with him. He blinked away the shock as Steve moved out of the way for the next boy in line.

Bucky Barnes slammed his cash down on the table top. "Keep the change, Jones," he announced as he pushed a ten dollar bill her way. He grabbed Peter by the collar, but he didn't break the rules when he pressed their lips together.

Peter wasn't sure what insane reality he'd fallen into where half the football team was willingly kissing him, and paying for it at that, but he never wanted to leave.

Bucky was followed by Rhodey, Sam, and Bruce who all over paid in fives and tens. Then finally there was Tony. Peter couldn't even pretend he hadn't been waiting for him. By the look on the boy's face he knew it, too.

"Got one left for me?" he asked. He was so suave as he leaned on his hands against the table.

Peter nodded, feeling breathless. He swallowed. "Always for you, Tony." Peter blushed as the words escaped, but Tony's laugh was fond.

Peter leaned across the booth to meet him. It was only a soft little kiss, but it made his whole body shiver down to his toes. Seconds passed, he held back in the impulse to moan, to part his lips, to ask for more. MJ cleared her throat and finally they separated.

When Tony stepped back, Peter realized that they had gathered quite the crowd. A long line was forming as everyone wanted to imitate the school's coolest seniors and get a kiss from Peter. Tony looked over his shoulder and smirked.

"Opps," he said with a laugh. "I'm not sure your mouth will survive that line."

Peter laughed with him. "At least we'll get to take our trip."

"How about this," Tony leaned over the booth to speak quietly. Peter's heart skipped at the intimacy of it. "How much for you to close the booth and come on a date with me instead?"

"I uh-" Peter felt his head spin for a second. His palms pressed against the table stop for stability. "Well, I don't know how much Flash made at his booth so I don't know exactly-"

"No problem. Have Mr. Harrington call my dad. He'll send a check."

"Are you sure?"

Tony offered Peter his arm. "Come on. I'll buy you a funnel cake."

Heart fluttering, Peter walked around the booth and took Tony's arm.

"Hey!" Steve cut in. "That's cheating, Tony."

"What?" the boy smirked. "It's not like I'm kidnapping him."

Bucky scowled behind Steve. "Not all of us can afford to buy the booth out, dickhead."

Tony shrugged. "Some of us are born winners, Barnes."

Peter gasped as Steve shoved him and he fell back against the booth. He backed out of the way as he processed what he was seeing. Tony and Steve, absolute best of friends since the sixth grade, were fighting over him. Meanwhile Bucky stood smirking while he held back Rhodey and the other boys looked unsure of who's side to be on.

"Stop it!" Peter screamed. He jumped into the fight, barely avoiding catching Steve's elbow in his ribs as he pushed his way into the middle. Bucky grabbed Steve and pulled him away before Peter could get hurt leaving Tony grinning as he leaned against the booth.

"Let's just all go," Peter suggested before Tony could say anything else to start more fighting.

"I think that's a great idea, Pete," Bucky agreed. He threw his arm around Peter's shoulders and steered him away from the booth. "Unless you jackasses are still measuring up?"

Steve huffed, but his eye roll was friend when Tony bumped his shoulder on the way past. He offered Peter his arm again and he took it with Bucky's arm still on his shoulder.

They walked through the fair in a row of four with the other boys following behind. Peter was anxious after the fight, but he noticed Steve slip his hand into Bucky's back pocket as they walked along and an idea came into his head. Maybe they could all do more than enjoy the fair. But maybe all of this kissing was making him over confident.

They stopped at the basketball hoops and Tony paid the carny. Peter laughed as his own ball hit the edge of the hoop and went flying into the net. They each got two tries and by the end of it, it was Bucky who handed Peter a chubby blue teddy bear that was half his size while Tony and Steve walked away with pocket sized plushies.

"Just for you, gorgeous." Bucky was smug as he handed the toy over. Peter grinned as he squeezed it in his arms. He was undeniably delighted even if he did feel a little bad watching Steve stuff his toy into his pocket while Tony handed his to a passing toddler.

"Don't worry about them," Bucky slung his arm over Peter's shoulder. The other two walked a few paces ahead as they shook off their embarrassment. "They have to learn to quit their bullshit sooner or later."

"I can't believe they're fighting over me."

"They'll get over it. They always do."

Peter looked at him. "Or are you just trying to steal me away for yourself?"

Bucky stopped them in the middle of the walkway. He put his hand gently under Peter's chin, staring deep into his eyes. Peter swallowed.

"Do you want me to?"

"I..." He blinked fog in his brain. "I was kinda hoping... well I was thinking..." He chewed his lip. Bucky waited for him to continue. "Well, you and Steve seem to be... and you know what people say about Tony... I thought..."

Bucky grinned. "It's okay, kitten. Tell me what's on your mind."

"What if I didn't have to choose? Maybe we could all just..." Peter blushed. "I just think we could all have a lot more fun if no one was fighting."

"I think you're as smart as you are pretty." Bucky leaned a little closer. He kissed him again, almost as innocently as he had before. Almost.

"What the hell are you doing back here?" Tony startled them both out of their little moment. Him and Steve stood in front of them now, but Peter couldn't tell exactly what they were thinking. They didn't look angry... Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

"Hey Stevie, that's our ride," Bucky said. He gestured down the path at the flying saucer ride before giving Peter a look.

"Oh, I don't like that one," he said. "You two should go. Me and Tony will wait by the duck pond."

"Perfect!" Bucky unwrapped himself from Peter and slung his arm over Steve's shoulders instead. Peter heard Steve protest, but he stopped quickly at something Bucky whispered to him.

Tony looked pleased as the two of them disappeared. "Just us then." He offered Peter his hand and they started to walk once again down the trodden dirt road.

Peter rolled the idea around in his head unsure of how to bring it up. Eventually he decided the best thing to do was to figure out how all of this even got started. "So what was all of that back at the booth?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You got all of your friends to kiss me so you could take me on a date? And then that fight with Steve?"

Tony laughed. "Yeah alright... Me and Steve weren't sure which of us you're always staring at. We're always together, ya know? I made him go first so I didn't make a fool of myself, but then I saw how you looked at me even after all of that." He stopped abruptly. "I'm not crazy, right? You wanted to come with me."

"Yeah, of course. I'm so happy that you asked me. But I'm really happy that we're all here together."

Tony sighed. "I really like you, Peter."

"I like you too. And Steve and Bucky. And I mean... you guys are best friends. You share everything anyway..."

Tony looked at him for a moment. Then he smiled. "That's not the worst idea I've ever heard..."

"I'm pretty smart, remember? I do decathlon." He gave him a playful smile.

Tony pulled him in closer. "And they would be nothing without you."

They waited by the exit of the flying saucer ride. Tony's hand had slipped into his back pocket and Peter definitely wasn't complaining. When he spotted Steve and Bucky coming out, Steve's cheeks looked a little pink and the color only deepened as they reached the exit.

"You guys talked?" Bucky asked.

Peter grinned. "We sure did. How uh... your talk go?"

"Are you sure about this, Peter? You don't have to be afraid to play favorites. It's okay to just choose one of us," Steve said.

Peter stepped away from Tony to give Steve a soft kiss. "I want this. I don't want to choose and it looks like I don't have to."

Steve's face slowly shifted from a bewildered daze to an excited smile. "If you're sure."

"Definitely sure." Peter handed his teddy bear to Bucky. Then he hooked his arm through Steve's and pulled him along to hook his other arm in Tony's. He looked at Bucky who took his place with an arm around Steve and the bear under the other. "I think the Ferris wheel has room for four."

[flamingwordsinthesky]

So this took a while but I finally finished my entry for this SpideyTorch bingo! Honestly it wasn't one at first but seeing as how I was writing a roommate fic (I know, how original) I decided to throw this into the ring. Anyway I also did a little collage for the fic as well.

So please enjoy this fic about Johnny trying to pretend that everything is okay.

***

When Johnny jolted awake he was surrounded by darkness. For a moment, he couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of steel cutting through his abdomen, screaming crowds at his fall, and the piles of bodies beneath his feet. Johnny rubbed his wet hands on the bed sheets before realizing that it wasn’t blood, it was cold sweat. He breathed heavily as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

The outline of his dresser, the scattered clothes across his bedroom floor that Johnny hadn’t bothered to clean up. Then he looked at the shadow of his outline in the mirror. The moon shone in bathing Johnny in light that showed his thinner figure, his taunt face, the blonde hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. 

How frail he looked in that moment, less strong, barely visible scars hidden in the darkness. 

Johnny flipped the covers over and got out of bed, cleaning up his clothes, and then falling to the floor to do push-ups. For every push-up, he imagined every horrifying image falling out and disappearing into the floor. Not keeping track of how many he can do before his arms begin to shake and he collapses onto the floor. 

Once he gets a second wind, he gets up from the floor and into the rest of the apartment. Silence, just like when he went to bed. Peter was out doing the Spider-Man thing but Johnny stayed behind. Lying and saying he was going to a party. Really he just wanted to be home alone.

Alone to clean, alone to shower, and alone so he could sleep. But that didn’t help the ache that sat in his chest and stomach. The feeling of sharp steel against his skin, a strong punch against his jaw, the way his neck tingles awaiting a sharp pain, and the squirming of bugs underneath his skin. 

Even as he walks around the dark and quiet apartment, apart from the hustle and bustle of the city outside. What used to bring him some comfort brings a sense of the world continuing. Just like it continued without him. 

With that thought, Johnny walks into the living room to see the form of a body sleeping on the couch. Johnny stopped before noticing the webbed lining of red spandex and a discarded mask on the side of the couch. There was a shuffle and a snort before the body moved then stilled again. 

He could have just left Peter to sleep on the couch for the 4th time that week. Johnny had no real reason to linger, but he did. As he walked closer to the couch, Peter’s peaceful face was illuminated by the street lights outside and the moon. 

It always annoyed Johnny how handsome Peter was. Even with a busted lip and a nose that had been broken more than three times, Peter still looked effortlessly handsome and peaceful in his sleep. There was a strand of brown hair that Johnny wished to brush out of his way but his hand stayed at his side. Peter’s breathing was slow and peaceful, his lips parted slightly as he slept.

Johnny put away the thought to kiss those parted, busted lips. 

The sight of the blood on Peter’s lip made Johnny’s fingers twitch with a forgotten feeling.

Johnny went to grab a blanket from the linen closet, haphazardly drape it over Peter’s body and head, then went to take a shower. 

After his shower, he looked to see it just turning to 7:00 am. The usual time he would be getting up. Instead he got his nicest and cleanest black boxers, one of his many aprons, and put them on. 

For breakfast Johnny used the last of their eggs and milk to make simple scrambled eggs with some toast. As he got the pan and ingredients ready, he kept an eye on Peter on the couch, still sleeping, still snoring slightly.

He could have gotten Peter up himself, but where was the fun in that? There was a part of Johnny that enjoyed seeing Peter stumble and fall. The way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips went thin and downturned. Johnny couldn’t help but find it cute. Johnny used to imagine kissing that frown away alone, sometimes he’d just annoy Peter to get him to make that face.

And Johnny found out quickly that getting dressed in his apron and boxers while cooking breakfast was the new annoying thing he could do. Then again Peter never asked Johnny to put on clothes. Even when he shrieked the first time he caught Johnny doing just that. In truth he just didn’t feel like wearing clothes that day. It was muggy and all his clothes felt too heavy to wear. 

Peter made a noise from the other room and Johnny bit down his smile. 

“Mornin’ Sunshine!” Johnny called as he heard a loud yawn. Some smacking of lips. A whispered swear. And then scrambling of feet into the other room. Johnny tried not to laugh.

Peter almost flew out of his bedroom, tie still undone, suit still slightly wrinkled, and spidey suit still visible underneath the suit. Peter tried to brush past Johnny and out the door but instead turned around and ran back to the kitchen table where the food had been just set. 

He looked at Johnny, eyeing him up briefly before sitting down and eating his breakfast.

“What? No ‘Good morning sweetheart?’ not even a morning kiss?” Johnny joked as he sat down at the table. He got a glare from Peter then.

“I don’t kiss people who make me late for work.” Peter said in between a mouthful of eggs. As if Peter would ever kiss him. Johnny rolled his eyes as he began to dig into his own breakfast. Even before Johnny’s coffee was half way empty, Peter was done and wiping the crumbs off his suit.

“You’re not gonna be late. Can’t you just swing your way to work? You did say it’s faster than the subway.”

“I don’t have time for this. I’ll see you later.” Peter said, his eyes avoiding Johnny’s direction. His face looked slightly flush and his lips doing the thin downward turn. Johnny smiled as he sipped his coffee.

“We need milk and eggs.” Johnny yelled at Peter who was out the door the second his plate was in the sink. Not even bothering to clean it up. 

Typical Parker Johnny thought as he continued to eat his breakfast. 

Once Johnny was done, he cleaned up, got dressed, and realized he had nothing to do that day. He didn’t really have anything to do. The Future Foundation was still working out if they should bring back the Fantastic Four.

But even if they did, Johnny still was unsure if he should join. He knew his family would accept him back with open arms. But even then he was two years older, even coming back made him closer in age to all of them. But it still didn’t feel like he was on their level. At least not like it used to be. 

Instead of dwelling on that feeling, Johnny distracted himself with chores. Cleaning the apartment was done within two hours and he started playing video games. Once the games got too repetitive and unengaging. He went out for a walk. 

The city of New York welcomed Johnny back with open arms, but outside a few fans stopping him to get pictures, another store scrambling to get rid of their spidey merch in favor of Johnny’s return, it didn’t feel right. 

He was right back where he started. Just the flashy golden boy of New York City. Another celebrity superhero with more tabloids than Tony Stark. It was almost as if no one seemed to care that he had spent years of his life fighting, surviving, and overthrowing a tyrant. 

Two months for them. He was only gone for two months. It was hard to remind himself about that. 

Johnny returned home without the milk and eggs. Leaving that chore to Peter. He texted Peter quickly and saw that no one had messaged him. Not any of his old buddies, not Wyatt, not even Sue. 

Johnny pulled up Sue’s messages and was tempted to just check in. But her last message was a simple “Good night and stay safe” from the other night. 

He sighed, sent the message to Peter, and shucked his clothes off. 

Johnny crawled into bed, not tired but unwilling to stay awake. He surrounded himself in the blanket as if the room was freezing, despite that having not been an issue for him since the cosmic radiation. He laid there for what felt like hours before Johnny’s eyes grew heavy and he closed them. 

Wishing for a dreamless nap.

In the arena the screaming crowds chant and cheer as Johnny watches another fighter fall to the ground. Burned to a crisp. Johnny remembers the smell of burning flesh and it makes him want to hurl. But he held it in. He’s a champion, he needs to show it. No fear. No mercy. Even if he can never unsee the piles of bodies at his feet. 

He looks up to see the bug tyrant himself, Annihilus, staring down at him, unamused. Johnny flipped him off, a gesture Annihilus learned was rude and snapped his fingers. There was a clanking of chains and rumble steel against steel. Johnny looked behind him as the large metal door slid up to reveal the darkness. Darkness he knew contained Annihilus’ abomination. A creature of arms, legs, stitched together and lumbering. Its shape large and imposing, it was almost like a dragon as its multiple yellow eyes set their sights on Johnny. It’s multiple hands opening like a flower to reveal the skull of a once living lizard like creature that still opened it’s only mouth to growl at Johnny

Johnny backed away as the creature dragged itself out with large claws of alien creatures he couldn’t even begin to explain. Reed always had a better way to describe things than Johnny. He missed Reed so much and his ready explanations for everything. Not this creature that Johnny could barely comprehend just by looking at it.  It had no mouth yet it could still speak. 

Johnny hated when it spoke. 

Because it had no voice of its own. The voices that came out of the creature were various harsh imitations of his friends, family, and past lovers. Johnny could barely think of shooting his fire at it. A large claw slammed close to him and he shouted “FLAME ON!”

He fought the creature, even as it spoke insults with its stolen voices. 

“Worthless brat” Ben’s voice growled out of it. Johnny aimed for one of the creature's eyes.

“Ungrateful!”  Sue’s voice screamed as the creature backed away after having some of their eyes burned out. 

“Useless” Reed’s voice came out like he was so disappointed. That made Johnny falter for a moment before he remember what it was doing. 

More insults emanate from the creature, every person Johnny had ever loved called him worse and worse things before finally his flame flickered out. The creature took its large claws to capture Johnny and bring it to his face. 

The final voice that emanated made Johnny shake, his eyes wide and he wished that the creature would just eat him already.

“You were never worthy of love” Peter’s voice was cold. Johnny knew it was true, but he screamed anyway as the creature tore him apart.

“JOHNNY!” Peter’s shout woke him up as he shot up awake. Johnny tried to find his bearing, feeling his body still intact. No bugs, not gore, no left over blood. Just Johnny’s beating heart and a strong grip on his shoulders. 

As Johnny calmed down, he noticed that Peter was holding him, on his bed, and looking like he found Johnny dead. His brown eyes filled with worry yet relief as he told Johnny to breathe. Comforting him with words of It’s okay. You’re alright. You’re okay. 

But the nightmare’s final words are ringing in his head. It was so perfectly Peter’s voice that it almost scared him. He couldn’t shake how easy it was for him to believe the words of a monster he never fought said to him. 

He can still feel sharp claws digging and tearing his flesh apart. 

“Y’good?” Peter asked as Johnny finally began to breathe again.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m good. Just….a nightmare. That’s all.” Johnny said with a half-hearted smile. 

Peter was silent as he eyed Johnny. Rubbing his shoulders and looking at him with such an intense look. Johnny could not distinguish what he must have been thinking. 

Another moment before Peter responded. 

“You’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately.”

“Great observation, Sherlock.” Johnny said with more bite than intended. Peter let go and Johnny removed himself from the bed to get up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked, his voice unsure and cautious. Johnny simply scoffed at the question.

“Just a nightmare Peter. Nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about? This is the fifth time this week I’ve heard you screaming. You party, come home, then I have to hear you scream late at night.”

“Oh? You sure I wasn’t screaming for a different reason?” Johnny asked with anger, looking at a standing Peter, his tie undone and his dress shirt unbuttoned a little at the top. He must have just gotten home.

“Johnny that’s not funny. I’m worried about you.” Peter said but Johnny’s annoyance didn’t falter.

Peter took a deep breath as he walked over to Johnny’s side of the room. But Johnny didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t feel like sharing a pain Peter could never understand. No one could ever understand what he had to do. If he told Peter everything he did while in the Negative Zone, Peter just might not like him anymore. 

“Johnny.”

“It’s fine. It was just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about.” Johnny reassured Peter, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes.

“Johnny.” Peter’s voice was firm and a hand reached to touch Johnny. 

“It’s fine! How many times do I have to say it? I’m fine! 100 percent! I’m the golden boy of New York City! There’s nothing to worry about!” Johnny’s defensiveness even shocked him for a moment. Peter retracted his hand but didn’t stop looking worried about Johnny. 

He hated how worried Peter looked. 

“Don’t lie to me.” Peter said, his voice a slight wobble to it. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying! I’m fine! What is this? An interrogation? You're gonna ask where I was yesterday at a certain time? I was out! I was having fun! I even made out with a few people! See! I’m the good ol’ Johnny Storm again!” Johnny was flailing his arms and stepped away from Peter. 

“Johnny please. Just tell me what’s going on. What happened? What are these nightmares?” Peter tried to touch him again but Johnny brushed past him.

Peter tried to talk to Johnny as he got dressed, he couldn’t be here. Not right now. He couldn’t stand to see Peter worry about him. It hurt when Sue asked about the nightmares. But he can’t let anyone know. Johnny needed everyone to stop worrying. It's clear they just want things to go back to normal.

Or maybe, he just wants things to go back to normal. 

“Johnny! Stop ignoring me! Tell me what’s going on!” Peter shouted as Johnny started putting his shoes on. 

“There’s nothing to talk about webhead.” Johnny’s voice was firm and devoid of feeling. 

“There’s plenty to talk about!” Peter said as he tried to grab Johnny’s arm but he pulled away.

“I said there’s nothing to talk about. You’re making a big deal out of nothing! I’m fine!” Johnny said as he slammed the door in Peter’s face as he left. Once outside the apartment building, Johnny turned on his flames and flew. 

He flew and flew and flew across the sky of New York City. No destination in mind. He wanted to feel the air and wind rush past him. Ignoring the phantom pains of steel, claws, large hands breaking his neck. So much pain that his skin itched. 

His powers were beginning to fade and soon Johnny landed on the side of a random skyscraper. He didn’t know where he was but the sight of the Baxter Building in the far distance made him huff. He hadn’t seen any of the four in a few days. They text him from time to time. But even they knew to leave him alone.

Yet he didn’t want to be alone. But alone seemed safe, seemed comfy. 

He convinced himself it’s where he needed to be. 

Johnny turned to face away from the building to watch the sun sink into the horizon. He remembers the first time he saw the sun rise when he returned home. He was awake from another nightmare and refused to go back to sleep. So he watched the sunrise alone on top of the Baxter Building. He remembered the tears that fell from his face and the great relief that he could see such a sight. Something he missed desperately for two years. 

That morning Ben made breakfast. Sue helped catch up with what Johnny had missed during the two months. And Reed smiled at him and patted his shoulder as he gave Johnny coffee. 

It was a warm and friendly feeling. 

But the dread never went away. 

The dread that none of it was real, that he would blink and Johnny would wake up back in the Negative Zone, the last few months being nothing more than a peaceful dream for an undying champion. It never came, he was still on Earth, in his home. 

But that dread clings to him, clings to his soul and turns his stomach at the very possibility that none of this was real. 

Thwip. 

Thud

“Johnny?” 

Johnny didn’t turn around. He knew who it was but he didn’t want to see his friend.He didn’t want to see anyone. There were footsteps that crunched against the rooftop before Spider-Man placed himself over the same building edge as Johnny then and there.

The last of the sun’s rays set over the river as the city lights slowly came to life. 

They sat there in silence, listening to the sounds of the city with the lights illuminated underneath them. Car horns and laughing chorus underneath their feet. Johnny let the silence embrace him, Trying to ignore the body heat of Spider-Man close to him. His pinky just inches away from touching Johnny’s own. 

Johnny did take a glance at Spider-Man at his side and saw Peter remove his mask. The other man took a deep breath before exhaling, then glanced at Johnny. Catching his eye for a moment before looking out into the city. 

“When Gwen died, I used to have nightmares about it,” Peter said suddenly “It was like replaying that moment over and over again.” Peter said, solemnly and Johnny gripped the side of the half wall, his hands and fingers getting scratched by gravel.

 “Then the nightmares kept getting worse. Sometimes Gwen would come back, and ask me why I let her die? Why didn’t I try something else?” 

“Pete-”

“I realized, all she was doing was asking questions I ask myself every time I think of her.” Peter said as he leaned forward slightly, “But Gwen, My Gwen, the Gwen I remember? She wouldn’t have done that. I had to remind myself that she wouldn’t have blamed me for what happened. Even if I do from time to time.” 

Silence again. Johnny watched as Peter’s eyes glazed over, as if he was focusing on a memory. He knew Gwen was a touchy subject. Johnny had only seen Gwen from time to time, even tried to hit on her once. She slapped him and walked away and Johnny never met a more beautiful girl. 

He knew then how lucky Peter was to have someone like Gwen in his life. One night Peter had even told Johnny he was going to marry her. 

Then she was gone. 

Then Peter was Spider-Man.

And suddenly it all made sense. 

“It’s funny. I don’t really have those nightmares anymore.” Peter said suddenly to break Johnny out of his own head. “I usually have the usual nightmares. Naked in front of the Avengers. Being late for High School even though I’m almost 30. Y’know. Typical stuff.”

“But the Gwen nightmares?” Johnny asked. 

“I don’t have them as much.” Peter said with a sigh, sitting up straight and looking to the sky. 

 That’s when Johnny felt the groves of Peter’s webbed gloved hand cover then held his hand.

“I know it’s really cheesy to say, but it does get better. Yes, there are somethings in this life that we'll never get over. But we can still find good reasons to stay alive. We have our family, friends, and the people we love.” Peter squeezed Johnny’s hand. “And I just want you to know, I care about you. A lot. So I hate seeing you like this.”

“Peter?” Johnny’s voice cracked out, As Peter leaned in closer, Brown eyes on the verge of tears. Johnny's free hand reacted by holding the side of Peter’s face, his left thumb rubbing against flushed cheek. Peter leaned into his touch and Johnny couldn’t believe this was real.

“I can free up my schedule tomorrow. We can do whatever you want, racing, pick out a car, go visit the Four, you name it. Except maybe going clubbing. You know what? Screw it, we can go clubbing if you want.” Peter rambled with a dopey smile only reserved for Black Cat and when he was talking about Mary Jane Watson. But this one was for Johnny.

“You talk too much,” Johnny said as he leaned in closer. 

“I’ve been told.” Peter retorted as he closed his eyes.

That's when a bomb downtown went off.

Ah. New York. Home of more supervillains than cops. They both let out a large and begrudged sigh. Peter putting on the mask and Johnny summoning his rejuvenated flames. The Human Torch and Spider-Man, together again. Off to fight a criminal and save the people. 

When Peter sent their apartment door flying, Johnny knew Peter was panicking. One lucky stab wound on his side and Peter was acting as if Johnny was dying. It would be amusing if he could get the webslinger to calm down a little. 

As Johnny laid out on the couch and held his side, blood seeped through the fabric of a spare t-shirt Peter had on hand. He watched as Peter disappeared to find the First aid kit. Johnny just rolled his eyes and removed the shirt and used his heat to help close the wound, blood boiling away removed the shirt to take off the top part of his suit before Peter came back in. 

With a first aid kit in hand, Peter started cleaning and taking care of Johnny’s stab wound. All Johnny could do was watch as Peter took his time cleaning, stitching, then bandaging the wound. Yet Johnny couldn’t ignore how Peter was touching him far more than he needed to. His cool hands tracing Johnny’s abs and sides. Johnny almost forgot how to breath as Peter finished the bandaging and looked at him, with sad brown eyes but a relieved smile.

“Good as new.” Johnny joked as Peter laughed slightly. 

“Any other pain I should know about?” Peter asks, his hand still on Johnny’s chest, right where his heart should be. Johnny just hoped that Peter didn’t feel how fast it was going. 

Johnny shook his head.

“You healed me nurse. Maybe you should kiss it better too.” Johnny joked again and Peter simply rolled his eyes. What Johnny had expected was Peter to get up and leave now that he was okay. 

What Peter did shocked him more than the stab wound to his side. Peter leaned up and kissed Johnny’s forehead, then placed his own forehead against Johnny’s. He stayed like that for a moment, long enough to make Johnny forget how to breathe.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Was all Peter said before leaving Johnny’s side. The lack of another’s body heat made Johnny shiver for only a moment. As Peter was about to disappear into his room, Johnny got up from the couch and made a mad dash to Peter. 

Thinking about the -almost- kiss before the fight. How soft Peter looked at him in that moment before the bomb went off. How the feeling of Peter’s lips lingered on Johnny’s skin. Before Peter could say anything, Johnny grabbed Peter’s suit and pulled him for a quick but aggressive kiss. One that Johnny had been holding back for far too long. 

Once Johnny pulled away, Peter looked dazed but there was a smile on his face.  Johnny kept him close as he wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck. 

“Now that’s a thank you I can get used to.” Peter said before kissing Johnny again. Peter kissed Johnny like he missed him, like he cared for him, and almost as if he loved him. But Johnny put that thought away and kissed Peter back with as much devotion as he could. 

“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight” Johnny confessed as Peter held him close and kissed his neck. Soon Peter pulled Johnny into his bedroom, where they stayed the rest of the night. 

In the morning Johnny woke up to Peter, lying next to him, still in his spidey suit, his arms wrapped around Johnny’s naked torso. They’d cuddled most of the night, talking about nothing and simply holding each other until they both fell asleep. It was more than Johnny could ask for, he had no nightmares that night, just a simple dream of riding the coastline in his nicest Impala, with Peter at his side, standing and shouting to the wind. Without a care in the world. 

When he woke up, Peter was still asleep, his face could almost be described as peaceful. Were it not for the slight frown on Peter’s face. Johnny couldn’t help but giggle, actually giggle, at the sight. Only Peter could still look a little mad in his sleep. 

There were strands of brown hair that curled at the ends along Peter’s forehead. So Johnny brushed them gently out of Peter’s face, before leaning up to kiss his cheek. Peter made a noise and moved slightly before pulling in Johnny closer. Close enough that Johnny’s nose was almost touching Peter’s own. 

He leaned up to kiss Peter on his lips, chaste but loving. It was enough to wake Peter who kissed him back. With a simple push Johnny was on his back as Peter continued to kiss Johnny’s face. From his forehead, to his chin, and even his eyelid. Johnny laughed before Peter finally kissed his lips. 

When Peter pulled away, Johnny let out a simple sigh, keeping his eyes closed as graceful fingers traced the outside of Johnny’s face. 

“How’s that for a morning kiss?” Peter asked while letting his fingers comb through Johnny’s hair. 

“Hmm. It’s okay.” Johnny said with a wide grin that made Peter roll his eyes. “Maybe give me another one?” 

So Peter did, better than their first and the ones they shared now. Each kiss feeling like Johnny could float off into space and be at peace. Someone who made him feel safe, and someone who could kiss away the nightmares. It was all Johnny wanted.