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Johnny Storm would deny it to anyone who asked. Deny that his eyes had misted during the ceremony, that his throat had tightened when Sue had walked down the aisle. He'd laugh it off, claim it was just allergies or a stray speck of dust. After all, his sister marrying the love of her life wasn't supposed to be a big deal—for him.
But Reed was a good man, and he made her happy. And the way Sue looked at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears and adoration... Johnny couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever look at someone like that—or have someone look at him the same way.
A sudden flash illuminated Sue's radiant smile, pulling Johnny from his thoughts.
"Where'd you find that guy?" Johnny leaned toward Ben, nodding toward the brunette with the sizable camera, capturing moments with practiced ease. "He looks familiar."
Ben turned to glance at the photographer. "Oh, him? Alicia got his contact. Said he's from the Bugle. Guy's got a good eye."
The Bugle. Johnny shrugged it off.
But then he stared.
And stared some more.
Even later, at the reception, when the photographer was still at work, snapping candid shots of dancing guests and the newlyweds sharing bites of cake.
Johnny, eighteen, barely legal and tipsy off his one allowed glass of champagne (plus one he definitely wasn’t supposed to have), leaned against the bar and watched.
His date—Sonia? Sophia?—had lost interest somewhere between the ceremony and dessert. He couldn’t blame her. She was now chatting with Thor, giggling as her hand very deliberately slid along his arm.
Typical.
Johnny's attention returned to the photographer, who was now reviewing images on his camera's display.
Then it clicked.
The Bugle's photographer. Spidey's guy. Parker—that nerd he'd clashed with a few times. Huh.
Setting his glass aside, Johnny made his way toward the man, curiosity piqued.
A subtle glance over one shoulder, and Johnny ensured his sister was thoroughly occupied before sidling up to Parker. No need to risk a lecture if Sue spotted them together, especially considering how she'd reacted the last time they crossed paths.
“Hey, pal,” Johnny said, voice light as he slid up beside Parker. “Funny seeing you here. Didn’t peg you for the wedding photography type. You branching out from tabloid trash?”
Parker glanced up, eyes narrowing. “I go where the paycheck is.”
“Gotta respect the hustle,” Johnny said, plucking an hors d'oeuvre from a nearby tray. “Though I gotta say, never expected you to end up behind the camera at my sister’s wedding. Sue would’ve flipped if she knew who she hired.”
Parker shrugged. “The rocky guy didn’t ask for a résumé.”
“No kidding.” Johnny tilted his head, studying him. Same messy hair. Same awkward limbs. Still impossibly cute in that irritating, nerdy way that made Johnny want to shove him into a pool.
Parker moved toward the appetizer table. “Don’t you have a date to annoy?”
“She ditched me somewhere between the vows and the cake. Last I saw, she was cozying up to Thor.” Johnny popped another bite into his mouth. “I guess some girls really do have a type.”
Parker snorted. “Poor guy. Hope he brought backup armor.”
Johnny laughed. “He’ll be fine. The guy bench-presses planets. Besides, I'm not that bad a date.”
“You tried to set the reception menu on fire.”
“I said it was an accident.” Johnny leaned in conspiratorially. “And between you and me, it was an improvement. Those crab puffs were a war crime.”
Parker rolled his eyes and reached for a plate of mini-pizzas. Johnny stole one before it made it to his mouth.
“Hey, stop that!” Parker exclaimed.
“What?” Johnny shrugged innocently, chewing. “You weren’t eating it fast enough.”
That got him a glare.
“Do you ever stop talking?” Peter asked.
“Do you ever stop brooding?” Johnny retorted.
Parker flipped him off, subtle and casual as he chewed on the pizzas, cheeks full like a chipmunks'.
Johnny smirked. Cute .
“What is it with the amiability?” Parker asked, suspicious. “Last time I saw you, you wanted to burn me alive because you thought I stole your girlfriend.”
Oh, Johnny remembered Dorrie Evans just fine.
“Well, I'm working on my people skills. Sue's been on my case about showing more appreciation, not just... 'setting fire to every problem, Johnny.'”
“You're bored,” Parker deadpanned.
“I’m bored,” Johnny echoed.
They ended up lingering by the wall, not quite talking, not quite leaving. The music swelled, couples spinning by in waves of chiffon and laughter. Johnny stared past it all, eyes snagging again on Sue and Reed. She looked so… complete.
Parker noticed. “What’s the matter with you?”
Johnny shoved his hands in his pockets. “I dunno. Just… weddings, man.” He shrugged, eyes distant. “Kinda makes you think.”
Parker moved so he was standing in front of him. Johnny was annoyed by the fact that the guy was probably a couple inches taller than him already.
“I'm just surprised there's something inside that pretty head.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “You do stand-up after this photography gig?”
“It was a requirement for the job application.”
“What? Being annoying?” Johnny crossed his arms, his eyes caught a glimpse of what was supposed to be his date dancing with Tony Stark. “Well, you certainly nailed that part.”
Parker picked up another mini-pizza. “You ever think about getting your own?”
“What, pizza?”
“A date. One that stays with you the whole night.”
“Burn,” Johnny muttered. “Sick burn. I should be taking notes.”
“You should be taking etiquette classes.”
Johnny leaned in, dropping his voice. “You know, I’m starting to think you like hanging out with me.”
Parker didn’t look at him, but the tips of his ears turned pink. “Keep dreaming, pretty boy.”
“Whatever you say, Parker.”
"Call me Peter."
And if Johnny watched Peter a little too long as he walked away, camera bouncing against his chest—well. Weddings made people weird.
That was his excuse, anyway.
Peter couldn't believe he had accepted yet another job as a wedding photographer. He had sworn off weddings after the first time working for Mr. and Mrs. Fantastic, but now, things were different.
Spidey was closer to Johnny. And Peter Parker... well, after the last time, he liked to believe they were on good terms. They better be, because this was Johnny’s wedding.
Peter still remembered how surprised he had been when Johnny had told him. Just casually talked about Ben being mad at him and not wanting to be his groomsman when Johnny was marrying the woman he had been—and probably still was—in love with.
Understandable, Peter had wanted to tell him. But then he saw the almost childlike innocence in Johnny’s eyes, as if he couldn't really wrap his head around how Ben wouldn't want to be there with him. Like he thought Ben always would.
Peter was still taken aback. Not because of who Johnny was getting married to—well, that too—but just the fact that he was getting married at all.
Until then, Peter hadn’t thought about Johnny as a man who would make further compromises with anyone who wasn't his family. He guessed he was wrong. He should probably stop judging people—probably.
Peter said hi to the family and stood by the side to get the best shots. Johnny looked like the opposite of a man who was about to marry the woman he loved was supposed to look. It made Peter uncomfortable inside.
When Alicia walked in, the feeling got even worse. She looked beautiful, nothing wrong with her on the outside, but that voice inside his head kept him on his toes even as he snapped shots of the married couple.
Peter couldn't help but notice the subtle tension in Johnny's posture, the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. It was as if he were going through the motions, performing a role he wasn't fully committed to. Peter had seen that look before—in the mirror, during times when he had tried to convince himself that everything was fine.
"Who picked the cake?" Peter asked, attempting to break the silence.
The reception was quiet. Nice, but calm and private, like the wedding had been, not the first thing that came to mind when he thought of Johnny.
Johnny was holding a glass of champagne where he stood by Peter’s side. "Oh, um, Alicia did. I didn't— I wasn't too involved," he said, scratching the back of his neck.
There was this sinking feeling in his stomach. But Peter could just as well be overreacting. He didn't know Johnny well enough to know what he was like, married. He was quiet for a beat. He could hear Aunt May's nagging inside his head always urging him to speak when something felt wrong, and he couldn't believe he was about to say this.
Peter inhaled.
"You can still change your mind. I mean... is that even what you want, or did someone push you into this?"
Johnny's head snapped around to face him, eyes wide with disbelief.
"What?"
"I mean, with all due respect, I'm not getting the vibe that this is something you really desire," Peter said, glancing over at the couple. Alicia was smiling, talking to Sue and Ben. There was something almost fake about it, or so it seemed to Peter. There wasn't love in her eyes. It's all too calm, Peter thought. Like they were putting on a façade for the guests.
Johnny set his glass down with a loud click, his frown deepening. "I don't care what you think, or what the rest of the world thinks for that matter." His voice was sharp. "We pay you to take pictures, not to make commentary."
Peter sighed. He shouldn’t have brought it up. Things already had a strange feeling to them between him and Johnny. They hadn’t really talked since the last family wedding. Well, not properly talked. It was more like... pleasantries. Somewhere in the middle of getting along better than they did before but not quite the best of friends. Then again, Spidey and Torch were a whole other history.
"I wasn't making some snide comment, or at least it wasn't intended that way. I'm asking as a friend."
Johnny huffed, crossing his arms. "Is that what we are now?"
"Well, we can be," Peter shot back, almost rolling his eyes. He was frustrated. More than that, he was angry. Angry at Johnny for just getting married. Irrational. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way, but he couldn't help it. Peter wasn't mad at Alicia. She hadn't done anything. It just... it really felt like Johnny had made this decision for the wrong reasons. Like there had to be someone putting him up to it. "You just—do you even know that this is what you want?"
"Why is everyone asking me the same question?" Johnny snapped. "I'm a big guy, I can cook for myself and decide who I want to marry. For the last time, yes, I'm sure I want this, okay?"
"You don’t cook for yourself, but whatever." Peter sighed. He held up his hands in defeat. It was none of his business. He’d never heard Johnny so on edge before. That had to be a sign.
He didn’t say anything else and continued taking pictures, watching Johnny from the corner of his eye. He could feel the tension in his shoulders. Like Johnny was holding himself back from just blowing up on him. Peter didn't get a chance to talk to Johnny again that day. The groom was talking to the guests, dancing with Alicia... being a husband.
When he decided to leave, he made sure to slip away quietly, only telling Sue that he would send the pictures by the end of the week. He couldn't help it. He needed to calm his mind. He needed to figure out why he felt so weird about Johnny getting married. Not because he cared, of course not. It was just that Johnny was a good guy at the end of the day. He was Peter's friend. He just didn't want to see him screw up.
A long sigh escaped his lips. Maybe what Peter needed was to listen to Mary Jane and just mind his own business for once.
Jessica and Luke’s wedding looked like something Johnny would’ve picked for himself—
Or, at least, what he used to think he wanted.
The place was intimate, cluttered in the best way. Warm lighting and mismatched chairs, the kind of venue where you could feel the love radiating off the walls, like the entire building had exhaled in relief when they said I do.
It felt real. A little rushed, sure—but love didn’t always wait for the perfect backdrop.
Jessica’s vows had been sharp, no-nonsense—so completely her that it made Johnny's throat tighten. No frills, no grand metaphors. Just truth. And somehow, it landed harder than all the sonnets and speeches in the world. She loved him. She loved their family. She meant it. Every word.
It was... grounding. And it made Johnny think about his own wedding.
Man. That felt like another life.
Blurry now, smudged by time and regret. The rushed decisions. The words he didn’t know were lies until they were. Lyja’s eyes. Ben’s anger. The ache that lingered long after the confetti was swept away.
His jaw clenched involuntarily. He didn’t want to go down that road. Not today.
“Hey,” Peter’s voice broke through, soft and close to his ear. Johnny blinked, looked over. “You think we can convince Logan to do one of his party tricks?”
Johnny arched a brow. “You mean when he drinks himself into oblivion and starts burping the alphabet?”
“In between other things, yeah.”
Peter grinned, lazy and bright, and Johnny stared.
Then Peter stood up, brushing invisible dust from his suit and tugging his jacket into place. “Do I look okay? Gotta stand with the team for pictures. Can’t be the ugly one.”
Johnny scoffed, standing too. “First of all, if you don't want to be the 'ugly one' don't stand next to Steve.” He stepped closer, narrowed his eyes. “Second of all, how do you look this disheveled just from sitting down?”
He didn’t wait for permission, just reached out, straightening Peter’s crooked lapels, smoothing his wrinkled shirt, and gently tucking it back into the waistband of his slacks. Peter made a surprised sound, a little yelp that turned into a half-laugh.
“Hands,” Peter muttered, cheeks pink. “You know, normal people ask before groping a guy at a wedding.”
Johnny grinned, not moving away. “Good thing I’ve never claimed to be normal.”
His fingers brushed Peter’s belt one last time, lingering a little too long. Their eyes met.
For a moment, the noise of the reception dulled, faded into something distant.
And Johnny thought—
This. This was what he wanted.
Not the stage lights, or the grand spectacle. Just someone real, someone who showed up in the quiet moments and let him feel like he could breathe again.
He cleared his throat, stepping back. “There. Passably presentable. Try not to ruin it before they say cheese.”
Peter rolled his eyes, but his smile said something else entirely. Something that made Johnny’s chest feel a little too tight in his tux.
The so-called New Avengers really did know how to throw a party. There was dancing. There was drinking. There was—questionably—wrestling happening in the corner near the buffet table. Johnny was pretty sure he’d seen at least three separate Avengers twirling Luke’s grandmother around the dance floor. They were fun. Chaotic and little unhinged, but fun. And Peter? Peter looked like he needed this.
There was something about the way his shoulders had started to un-tense as the evening wore on—like he'd finally stopped holding his breath. Like the weight of everything had let up for just a second.
Johnny figured this... noise, the warmth, the mess of it all, could be a good distraction.
After everything with Mary Jane—that almost-wedding that ended in heartbreak and regret—Peter deserved a break from pretending everything was fine. Johnny didn’t pity him, but he understood. Maybe because he knew how it felt to walk away from a ceremony that was supposed to mean forever, only to find yourself standing in the ruins of good intentions.
So when Peter had asked, awkward and a little sheepish if Johnny wanted to be his plus one, “just for company, you know, friendly backup,” Johnny hadn’t even let him finish the sentence before saying yes. And he didn't regret it.
Especially not now—
When Peter was holding baby Dani in his arms with all the confidence of someone defusing a bomb. He looked terrified and careful and sweet all at once, cradling her like she might melt if he blinked wrong. Carol stood beside him, snapping a picture, laughing her ass off.
Johnny felt something in his chest twist.
Peter looked up, probably at Carol, and his nose wrinkled when the baby drooled on his tie. Johnny had to press a hand to his heart like that could stop it from going boom.
Damn, he was adorable. Adorable and trying so hard and clearly didn’t even realize how dangerous he was like that.
Their eyes met over the dance floor separating them. Peter’s face was illuminated by the blue and purple hues of the lights. He smiled at Johnny and nodded down at the baby as if saying 'can you believe this?' It made Johnny grin like a fool.
He had to tore his gaze away before he started sighing like a teenager. Instead, he grabbed a glass from a passing tray and tossed it back in one gulp.
Peter struggled with the tie like it had personally wronged him. Ties were the worst. They served no purpose except to make him feel like he was slowly suffocating. He cursed under his breath, tugging at the knot that wouldn’t sit right.
Behind him, a quiet scoff sounded, followed by footsteps. Peter glanced up at the mirror just in time to catch Johnny’s reflection—arms crossed, brows raised, mouth tugged in that infuriatingly familiar smirk.
"You are doing it wrong."
Peter didn’t miss a beat. "Oh, yeah? Thanks for the astute observation, dude."
Johnny rolled his eyes and approached him. Peter turned around to face him and Johnny pushed his hands away to replace them with his.
"Who taught you how to do this?" Johnny asked. “A YouTube tutorial made by a five-year-old with sock puppets?”
"I'm self-taught," Peter said with his eyes following Johnny’s moving hands closely. The way his fingers moved so swift and confidently, tying the knot neatly by the hollow of Peter’s throat. Johnny’s hand were warm against him. He had lent Peter the suit, which explained his presence at Peter’s place, helping with the final details before Aunt May's wedding. Her wedding. He still couldn't believe it.
"I can tell," Johnny murmured. "Doc Ock got you good." He stared at the marks on Peter’s cheeks that Peter knew looked blue and purple by now.
It had been more than a busy day. Peter was lucky enough to make it to the wedding on time. He didn't even wanted to think of the burns on his back.
"Eh, occupational hazard."
Johnny huffed. He was so close Peter could feel him breathing.
"Can I tell you something?" Peter said before he could think better of it.
"Is it gonna be dumb?" Johnny looked up at him as if he already knew the answer to that.
Peter chuckled. "You're mean," he murmured halfheartedly.
God, Johnny had really grown into a handsome young fella. He was tall, but still shorter than him. His cheeks were dusted with some freckles Peter wanted to count. He had always looked like out from some Disney movie, even when he was sixteen and flying around New York annoying Peter. He just shone so brightly Peter had thought him unreachable. Like a star.
Johnny finished with the knot and helped him with smoothing the wrinkles on the shoulders, flattening the suit. "Okay, sorry. Go on with the dumb question."
Peter stared at him. Johnny was wearing a pale blue tie that made his eyes look bluer than any sky Peter had ever photographed. Wild and endless and beautiful. He hadn’t seen Johnny look this good in a tux since—shit. Probably since the wedding. The sham one. Lyja. Peter swallowed.
"It was nothing." Peter’s gaze was stuck on him.
He was being stupid. It was crazy what Johnny’s presence did to him lately. Just made his mind go completely numb.
He had it bad. So bad.
"We should probably hurry."
“Nope.” Johnny shook his head, tilting it to the side like he was trying to read Peter’s expression. “You don’t get to bail now. I’m naturally curious. Say the thing.”
There was something soft in Johnny’s expression, something rare. Patient. Open.
“It’s dumb,” Peter said again, quieter this time. “You were right.” He felt his voice hitch in his throat. “I was just going to say thank you. For coming back and helping me with the octobots. I don't think I did earlier."
"Well," Johnny said, meeting Peter’s eyes, "it was dumb. You know you don't have to thank me for that."
"I wanted to, Torch. Let me be nice for once."
"Feels weird coming from you."
Peter couldn’t bit down the smile growing in his face. "I'll do you one better, then. You look beautiful."
Johnny’s breath caught. His cheeks flushed the kind of pink Peter wanted to press his lips against. He blinked, looked away too fast and then back again, his hands falling to his sides.
“Oh, you’re so full of it, Parker,” he muttered, voice tight, and punched Peter’s shoulder, too gentle to hurt, too familiar not to sting. “Come on. Your aunt’s getting married.”
Peter stood there for a second longer, tie perfectly in place, heart in complete disarray.
He followed Johnny out the door anyway.
Peter spend half of the wedding annoying Jameson. Still not really sure how to act or process the fact that they were related somehow now. May looked beautiful. A huge smile adorning her face while she hang from JJJ. Sir's arm. Peter had some unresolved feelings about that, but he was happy for her. Always.
The Fantastic Four had their own table, and Peter spent most of the night bouncing between them and May’s. At one point, he found Mary Jane and Flash hanging by the open bar and, against his better judgment, pulled Johnny over to join them.
That was mistake number one.
Mary Jane and Johnny were, together, the soul of the party incarnate. Watching them banter back and forth was like watching a particularly flirtatious supernova flirt with a starlet. Peter was sure he had a dream about it once.
Flash, somehow, was also having the time of his life with Johnny, which felt illegal. MJ, of course, got along with everyone because she was MJ—sunlight in human form, cutting through any tension with a wink and a smile.
Peter… well. Peter couldn’t stop watching Johnny.
He just glowed. Like happiness had made a home under his skin. Even when he was teasing Peter, which he always was, Johnny looked breathtaking.
At some point, Mary Jane demanded they do shots, and Peter initially refused only to give into her right after. If that wasn't the summary of their whole relationship.
He turned toward Johnny with a grin. "So," Peter grinned. He was holding a glass and had loosened his tie a bit. His cheeks were flushed from drinking. "It seems you’re getting along with everyone, huh? Even Flash."
Johnny tilted his head and smiled lazily. "He is fun. But blonds are not really my thing."
"So you have a type?" Peter raised his eyebrows, the alcohol making him bold.
Johnny leaned back against the wall, one arm draped over it like he was posing for a photoshoot. “Mmm.” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Brunettes.”
Peter stepped a little closer, trying to hide the way his heart picked up speed. “And?”
Johnny's grin widened. “Funny. I like ‘em funny.”
Peter laughed. “That’s pretty vague.”
“Oh, and crooked noses.”
Peter blinked. “Why crooked noses?”
Johnny shrugged, drunk and unapologetically himself. “I dunno. They’re just... real. Kinda hot, honestly.”
Peter giggled before he could stop himself. He’d never seen Johnny like this. So relaxed. So tender. His cheeks a little flushed, his hair soft and mussed like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. Peter wanted to reach out, smooth it back, press a kiss to his temple. But he stayed still.
“You’re drunk,” he said instead, fondness in his voice.
Johnny poked him in the chest, a goofy smile on his face. “Nah-uh. You’re drunk.”
Peter laughed again, and then, without thinking, caught Johnny’s hand in his. He tugged him a little closer, until their foreheads touched, the world swaying gently around them. “Are you laughing at me, Storm?” he whispered, a crooked grin on his lips. “That’s rude.”
Johnny giggled, leaning in like he never wanted to leave.
They stayed like that—close and laughing, palms pressed together. Peter didn’t care who was watching. He didn’t even care what it meant. Not in that moment. Johnny’s thumb rubbed absent-minded circles into the back of his hand, and Peter was almost sure he didn’t realize he was doing it.
“What’s your type?” Johnny asked.
Peter’s breath caught. He was still holding Johnny’s hand. Still close enough to count every freckle on his cheeks. His gaze dipped to Johnny’s lips like it had a mind of its own.
“My type?” he echoed, his voice low, uncertain. Then, without thinking: “I think you’re my type now.”
Johnny blinked, and then beamed like a sunrise. “No way!” he shouted, way too loud for how quiet the moment had felt. He took Peter’s other hand, eyes wide and delighted. “You’re my type too!”
They started bouncing in place like idiots, some off-beat, music-less dance only they understood. Peter was laughing so hard his stomach hurt. His cheeks ached from smiling. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy—so full.
He pulled Johnny into a hug, arms tight around his waist. Johnny melted into it without hesitation.
“You’re so drunk,” Peter murmured, burying his nose in soft blonde hair that smelled like expensive shampoo and warmth and something distinctly Johnny.
“I love you, man!” Johnny shouted into his shoulder.
“I love you more,” Peter whispered through his laughter, swaying them side to side.
Yancy Street was starting to fill with familiar colors. Cape flashes, supersuits, and the kind of swagger only enhanced individuals could pull off without looking ridiculous.
Johnny watched it unfold from the curb, arms crossed, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. His plans—his glorious, borderline-chaotic "Guys Night Out"—were actually coming together.
Everyone who was anyone, hero-wise, had shown up to celebrate Ben Grimm.
Wyatt stood by his side, tall and grounded and patient in that way that made Johnny feel a little more like a person and a little less like a walking impulse. He didn't say much, but Johnny appreciated him. He was the kind of presence that made silence feel safe.
And God, Johnny needed a little safety tonight.
The party bus—dubbed the "Storm bus"—pulled up, chrome obnoxiously gleaming. Inside, mood lights glowed in alternating neon blues and oranges. A tiny disco ball spun lazily above the seats.
The girls were across the street, standing in a circle and laughing about something Medusa said. Crystal barked out a high-pitched cackle. Alicia followed, tipping her head back as she giggled. Even Jen looked amused.
Johnny stared at them for a beat too long.
"Huh," he muttered to himself. "Dated her. Married a Skrull of her. Dated her. Hit on her..."
He sighed, long and theatrical. “It’s like my little black book of failure.”
"What was that, kid?" Ben grunted beside him.
Johnny blinked. "Nothing! Today is all about you, big guy. And having fun, fun, fun!"
Ben rolled his eyes but didn’t push.
The night was… eventful. That was the diplomatic word.
The UCW debacle was still fresh in everyone’s minds—someone (maybe Logan) had suplexed D-Man through a table, while Stephen was checking on Ben and his pulled groin.
They were on the bus again, on their way to the next bar when Peter dropped into the seat beside him. Wyatt had shifted to talk to Cap, leaving an open space and, apparently, a gravitational pull Peter couldn’t resist.
“Hot stuff,” Peter said, his voice low and slanted with tired amusement. “How come Ben doesn’t consider me family?”
Johnny turned, squinting. “Is this because of what he said earlier?” He snorted. “He’s just messing with you. You are family. Don’t be a baby.”
Peter shrugged, fiddling with the edge of his glove. “I mean, yeah. I guess. I just thought maybe...” He hesitated. “Do they—does anyone know?”
Johnny raised a brow. “Know what?” Then, deadpan: “That we slept together?”
Peter winced. “Dude—”
Johnny rolled his eyes and looked out the window. “It’s not like having your dick inside me is gonna rank higher than knowing me for years. That’s not how emotional math works, Pete.”
Peter groaned and pulled his mask up just enough to rub at his face, cheeks visibly pink. “No, yeah, I know. I wasn’t— I wasn’t saying—”
“You kinda were.”
“I wasn’t only saying that.”
Johnny glanced at him, expression unreadable. “Then what were you saying?”
Peter didn’t answer right away. He just stared down at his gloved hands like they were going to give him a cheat sheet.
“I just—” he tried again, quieter now, “—sometimes I think maybe we’re not just… whatever this is. I mean. I don’t sleep around. Specially not with people I like this much.”
Johnny blinked. Something stuttered in his chest.
“Oh,” he said. Like a dumbass. Like an actual idiot.
Peter scratched the back of his neck again, nervous energy pouring off him in waves. “But maybe it’s just me. You know. Overthinking. Or overfeeling. That’s also a thing I do.”
Johnny looked at him, at the guy who could lift a bus but was currently spiraling over a conversation, and thought—
God, I’m screwed.
And maybe that was okay. If it was Peter.
So Johnny took his chance.
Because at some point between the makeshift cake buffet (half of which had survived the Serpent Society’s dramatic entrance earlier) and the strip poker fiasco—where Thundra had left a roomful of men looking like they'd been mugged by a glam rock tornado—he figured, why the hell not.
Peter was off to the side, half-shielded by the remains of what used to be a very expensive dessert table, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Mask tugged up, mouth full of cake, crumbs on his chin, and wild curls spilling out like he was starring in a shampoo commercial gone rogue.
“So,” Johnny said, sidling up in just his boxer shorts. “You still want that wedding invitation?”
Peter blinked, mouth full, eyes wide. Then he swallowed hard—probably too fast—and grinned.
“Wait—are you serious?” he asked, like it might be a joke. Like maybe the cake had gone to his head.
Johnny smiled, soft and sideways. “Yeah. If we can convince Ben to be cool about it, you can come as my plus one.”
Peter went very, very still for half a beat, just long enough to make Johnny second-guess himself. But then Peter smiled. Bright. Honest.
“I... I’d really like that, Johnny.”
Johnny ducked his head for a second, weirdly flustered.
“Just a heads up,” he added, eyes flicking back to Peter with a mischievous glint, “Ben’s probably gonna tell you to ditch the costume. Even though I'm not sure he buys that Peter Parker has better luck than Spider-Man when it comes to shenanigans.”
Peter smirked, licking frosting from his thumb. “Joke’s on him. Neither of us have luck.”
Johnny laughed, bumping his shoulder against Peter’s. “Well, guess you’ll just have to charm him the old-fashioned way.”
---
The talk with Ben helped more than Johnny expected.
It wasn’t some grand, earth-shattering conversation. Just two guys in the aftermath of chaos and cake, sitting on a cold street curb after the last guest had left, the night sky making feel everything more real.
But it helped.
Johnny hadn’t even realized how much he’d been holding in—like a pressure cooker just waiting to blow. All those creeping thoughts, the low hum of anxiety in his chest every time someone he loved got married, moved on, settled down. Every time he showed up to another wedding as the funny plus one or the guy with champagne and jokes and no one waiting at home.
“All I’ve got to show for myself is one failed relationship after another,” he’d admitted, voice raw around the edges, like it had been sanded down to the truth.
Ben had listened. Then said the words:
"Be brave, Johnny Storm."
And Johnny—God help him—tried.
---
Peter was excited. Genuinely, contagiously excited.
He met Ben’s family back in Arizona and managed to charm every single one of them within five minutes, even while saying the dumbest things imaginable.
“Oh, so this is Aunt Petunia, huh?” Peter had grinned, wide and unapologetic, and Johnny had very nearly kissed him right there in front of three generations of Grimms.
Because that was the thing about Peter, he was stupid and sincere and real in a way Johnny didn’t know how to brace for. He snuck under your armor without trying.
Later, during the ceremony, when they were still inside Reed’s four-minute time bubble when Ben and Alicia kissed—suspended in that impossibly intimate, distorted space where nothing could touch them—Peter’s hand found Johnny’s, fingers threading together with a quiet kind of certainty. Johnny didn’t pull away.
“Hey,” Peter murmured, eyes on the couple, voice soft like they were the only two people in the world. “I lied, you know.”
Johnny turned to him, brows raised. “About what?”
Peter didn’t look at him. He just kept watching Ben and Alicia like they were a movie he didn’t want to miss. But his fingers tightened around Johnny’s.
“About me,” he said. “Peter Parker’s actually a pretty lucky guy.”
Johnny’s throat went tight.
Peter didn’t say anything else, just smiled, all warmth and promise and something that felt a lot like hope.
The day of their wedding started at five in the goddamn morning.
Peter stirred first, begrudgingly dragged out of a dream by the third alarm blaring from Johnny’s side of the bed that he managed to turn off using more force than necessary. Because of course Johnny had set no fewer than five alarms the night before—“Just in case, babe, I need time to do my hair. And skin. And spiritually prepare myself.”—and then proceeded to sleep through all of them like the absolute menace he was.
The only reason Peter didn’t smother him with a pillow (as he had done lovingly, semi-regularly in the past, and would almost certainly do again in the future) was because… well, it was their wedding day. And murdering his husband-to-be before the ceremony was generally frowned upon.
So instead, Peter sighed, rolled over, and pressed his face into the warm curve of Johnny’s bare shoulder with a groggy grumble. “I hate you,” he mumbled, not moving, not planning to.
Johnny, the audacious and sleeping culprit, gave the smallest hum of acknowledgment and wrapped an arm tighter around Peter’s waist.
“Babe, go to sleep.”
Peter was still too sleepy to argue. He just nuzzled in deeper, breathing in that sun-and-smoke scent that was uniquely Johnny. The kind of comfort that settled deep into his bones, that made him feel less like Spider-Man and more like a person with a life, a bed, and a man he loved so much it physically hurt sometimes.
They remained like that for a while, tangled in sheets and each other, drifting in and out of sleep in the hushed pre-dawn light.
Until the next alarm went off.
At 7:00.
This time Johnny groaned, finally stirring to reach for the phone. Which meant movement. Which meant Peter’s human heater was trying to leave him.
“Nope,” Peter muttered as he tightened his arms like a steel trap around Johnny’s torso, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of his neck that felt more like a threat than affection.
“Move your big ass back,” Johnny grunted, trying to wiggle free.
“Make me.”
And just like that, a slow-motion wrestling match erupted—half-hearted but no less intense. Limbs tangled, sheets went flying, curses were whispered with sleep-slurred mouths. The bed creaked. Peter shoved Johnny halfway to the floor.
“I hate you,” Peter grumbled again, breathless.
“I hate you more.”
Then—silence. Soft morning air. The weight of their shared breath.
Peter thought for a moment Johnny had passed out again when his fiancé suddenly murmured, “I think I wanna change the location of the ceremony.”
Peter froze. “You want to what?” He lifted his head and blinked down at him, not sure if he was hallucinating or just suffering an early-morning brain error.
Johnny shrugged beneath him, as if this was a completely normal and not at all deranged thing to say mere hours before their wedding. “I just… I would like to.”
“That’s not a compelling argument,” Peter replied, already suspicious.
“Just imagine it,” Johnny said, now gesturing lazily like he was painting the idea in the air. “A lake. An open field. You, me, sunrise. Maybe some fog, like in that scene from Pride and Prejudice—the 2005 one, obviously.”
Peter stared at him. “You want to change our entire wedding location because of Keira Knightley fog?”
“Not because of the fog,” Johnny huffed. “Because of the vibe.”
“Okay,” Peter muttered, pressing his face into the pillow to smother the hysterical laugh threatening to bubble out. “Just so I’m clear—Mr. Darcy fog is our new benchmark for wedding day adjustments?”
Johnny smirked. “You’d be Mr. Darcy, obviously.”
Peter looked up again with raised a brow, then attempted a (terrible) posh accent. “My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
The grin Johnny gave him was incandescent. “This is the part where I get emotional, isn’t it?”
“It always is.” Peter leaned down, kissing his forehead, their bare chests flush with one another. The intimacy didn’t feel sexual. Not now. It was quiet and heavy and full of something warm and wordless that wrapped around them both.
Johnny traced a hand through Peter’s hair. “Your indifference disarmed me.”
“Not unlike your own feelings, I’d say,” Peter whispered, and god, he could live in this moment forever. “Despite your dramatic tendencies, my affections have not changed.”
“Oh, I never thought mine would be returned.”
Peter grinned, brushing their noses together. “They are. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” He hesitated, suddenly serious, eyes soft. “You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”
“Don’t—” Johnny whispered, laughing.
“And I love, I love, I love you,” Peter murmured. “I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”
They were quiet for a while, fingers laced, foreheads pressed together.
Then Johnny, in his usual casual tone said, “It’s still not original, though. That’s Austen. I know you.”
“Yeah, well,” Peter muttered, hand sliding down to Johnny’s ass with casual ownership, “I’m marrying you today. I think I’m allowed a little plagiarism.”
Johnny hummed, grinning against Peter’s skin. “You should add it to your vows.”
And suddenly, that word—vows—hit Peter in the chest like a freight train.
His breath stuttered. His heart did something strange and tight in his ribcage. “Jesus,” he whispered. “I’m marrying you.” He sat up a little, looking down at Johnny, hand running down his arm until it found his hand again, their fingers twining together instinctively. “I’m marrying you.”
“Oh, shoot. Sorry I can’t be Princess Leia in that scene you like.”
Peter laughed, tension breaking like a wave, and leaned back with a smile. “You’d rock that metallic bikini.”
“You’re such a perv. That's literally the only scene of the movie you know,” Johnny said with mock-offense. After a second, he added, “But I would. I’d destroy lives.”
Peter sat up more fully and caught Johnny staring—not at his face. “Stop that,” he warned, smirking.
“Your abs are staring at me,” Johnny shot back.
Peter dragged a hand slowly down his torso, deliberately, before settling it over his hip. “They’re nervous. It’s their wedding day.”
Johnny hummed appreciatively, running his palm over Peter’s chest in lazy circles. “Tell them they’re doing amazing.”
Peter leaned in, dropping a kiss on Johnny’s temple. “They’re only trying to keep up with the rest of me,” he whispered, and then, quieter still, “I love you so much it’s terrifying.”
Johnny looked up at him, eyes wide and bright. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse, “Same.”
Peter kissed him, soft and slow, and thought; If this is the first moment of our wedding day, how the hell am I going to survive the rest?
Then again, their peace lasted exactly two hours, and around ten increasingly frantic phone calls.
The first one had been Sue’s voice, strained but polite. The second was Aunt May’s, only slightly more panicked, asking if they had eaten breakfast and reminding them to iron their shirts. By the third, Sue had dropped all pretense and gone full mother-of-the-bride energy. The fourth and fifth were May again—bless her—less urgent, but laced with that special brand of passive-aggressive worry only a woman who helped raise Peter Parker could manage.
After that, everything was kind of blurry.
Peter curled up on his side of the bed, the blanket tangled around his legs, the warm buzz of afterglow still humming beneath his skin like static.
The only reason they finally moved—finally got their asses up—was because the eighth call included a very detailed voice message from May that somehow made Peter feel both guilty and like a twelve-year-old who forgot his school recital.
“Why do they sound like we’re the wedding planners?” Peter grumbled, dragging a hand down his face.
Johnny stretched out on the mattress, gloriously naked, grinning like a cat in the sun. “Because they were the wedding planners. We were the human disasters they dragged along for the ride.”
Fair point.
Peter groaned. “I don’t even know what’s left to stress over. It’s all scheduled to the minute.”
And it was. May and Sue had planned the entire thing down to color-coded spreadsheets and mood boards that made Peter’s head spin. Every floral arrangement had a name. The centerpieces had blueprints. There were contingency plans for weather, wardrobe malfunctions, unexpected alien invasions, and Peter’s chronic inability to iron a shirt without burning it.
Everything had been taken care of.
“I still say we made excellent use of our morning,” Johnny said, smug, arm tossed behind his head. His skin was flushed, golden in the morning light, a faint mark on his throat where Peter had bitten down a little too hard. He looked thoroughly debauched and entirely satisfied with himself.
Peter turned to look at him, unable to suppress a lazy grin. “The sex was amazing,” he admitted, voice still a little hoarse. He stretched under the covers, muscles pleasantly sore, warmth coiled low in his stomach like a purring engine. “It helped. I actually feel… calm.”
Johnny arched a brow. “You? Calm? Who are you and what have you done with Peter Parker?”
Peter rolled over, resting his chin on Johnny’s chest, the steady thud of his fiancé’s heartbeat grounding him in the best way. “I mean it. I’m marrying you today and I’m not freaking out. That’s… new.”
It was new.
Peter had expected to be a mess—had braced for it, even. But here he was, completely bare, tangled up in the sheets and in Johnny, with a sense of certainty settling over him like a blanket. It didn’t feel terrifying. It felt right.
Maybe it was the sex. Or maybe it was the fact that this wasn’t just anyone. It was Johnny. It was the guy who left dumb notes in his lunch bag. The guy who snored when he slept on his back. The guy who cried at Christmas commercials but pretended to have allergies.
The guy Peter had somehow, impossibly, gotten to fall in love with him too.
And now, in just a few hours, they were going to stand in front of the people they loved and say the words out loud. Make it real. Make it forever.
Peter pressed a slow kiss to Johnny’s chest, just above his heart. “You ready for this?”
Johnny’s fingers found their way into Peter’s hair again, curling in soft, absent strokes. “I’ve been ready since the first time you accidentally called me your boyfriend out loud.”
Peter smiled against his skin. “That was not an accident.”
“It soooo was,” Johnny said, amused. “You were trying to say ‘roommate’ and then got all red in the face.”
“Semantics,” Peter mumbled.
They stayed like that for another blissful minute before Peter sighed, pushed himself upright, and resigned himself to whatever chaos Sue and his aunt had planned next.
“Alright,” he said, ruffling his hair. “Let’s go get married before someone sends Ben to drag us out of bed.”
Johnny sat up too, rubbing his hands over his face and yawning. “You’re just afraid I’ll wear you out again and you’ll be too sore to walk down the aisle.”
Peter smirked. “Let’s be honest—between the dance floor and the honeymoon, I’m not walking anywhere by tomorrow.”
Johnny let out a bark of laughter. “God, I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Peter said, leaning in for one last kiss before it all began, “Just wait till you hear my vows.”
---
The wedding was everything Peter knew Johnny had dreamed about: Young and romantic and hopeless, in that messy, full-hearted way that only Johnny Storm could pull off.
The reception, like everything, was beautifully crafted to the last detail; all soft whites and glowing golds, and a beautiful view to the city. It was the kind of wedding someone might flip through in a glossy magazine and sigh over, wondering what kind of person gets to live in a moment like that.
Johnny was that kind of person. And Peter—somehow—got to be the one standing next to him.
The years between now and Johnny’s wedding to Alic—Lyja—felt like a distant life. And the difference between them… God, it was stark. That wedding had been small. Private. Almost quiet. Strange for someone as flashy as Johnny.
This one? This one had them written all over it.
Peter found Johnny seated at the head table—his long-suffering “husbands’ table,” as May joked—with a plate of passed hors d’oeuvres in hand and that wicked glimmer in his eye.
"You cried when I walked in," Johnny teased, crunching on a canapé as Peter slid into the seat beside him.
"Shut up, I was just overwhelmed," Peter grumbled, playfully punching Johnny’s shoulder, grinning like a fool. Seeing Johnny in the white tux, walking down the aisle towards him… there was nothing in the world that could have prepared Peter for that.
"Overwhelmed by my beauty. Understandable."
"By how full of yourself you are, perhaps," Peter muttered half-heartedly.
Johnny huffed and opened his mouth as if waiting for Peter to feed him.
Peter rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed and turned his attention to the different food on the table. Without being asked, he stabbed a bite from the plate he had abandoned earlier. "Open wide," he said with a smirk.
"Don't be crass," Johnny said, but he leaned in anyway, lips wrapping around the fork in exaggerated defiance.
"You asked me to feed you."
Peter just laughed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Johnny’s forehead. His fingers lingered on his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him. "You’re very cute when you’re grumpy, y’know."
"Oh yeah, jerk, that makes total sense."
"Does it not? I happen to think you’re very cute at all times, but you’re especially cute when you’re grumpy. When you scrunch your nose up, like this…" He pinched Johnny’s nose lightly.
"Stop that!" Johnny chuckled, batting Peter's hand away with no real force behind it.
"You’re just proving my point, you know. Grumpy Johnny equals cute Johnny." Peter grinned, flicking Johnny’s forehead.
He was having so much fun with this. Being married to Johnny felt so right. Like he had come home. This was his husband. His husband. His husband. Just the thought made him feel like floating. He still wondered how he had gotten this lucky. How he had managed to end up with, well, his everything. His first and last thought.
A few friends joined at the table later. Peter’s arm was casually thrown over the back of Johnny’s chair, his fingers resting against his shoulder. Johnny was talking with Jen and Wyatt about the honeymoon and why they decided to go to skii resort and not a beach. Peter wanted to scoff. He still remembered that one argument that had him sleeping on the couch.
"I think one of your clone brothers is trying to get on Logan's nerves. And it's not Ben," Johnny said, staring at a point behind Peter.
When he turned, he saw Kaine was looming over Logan with that smirking death-wish expression he’d perfected.
"God, Kaine’s such a little shit," Peter said, turning back to Johnny. Kaine often found himself in trouble, maybe it ran in the family.
Johnny chuckled. "You're not gonna go break it up?"
"Nah." Peter shrugged. He knew he didn’t have to. Kaine was big enough to handle himself. He could deal with getting his ass kicked by Logan. He didn’t need his big brother to come save him.
"Okay," Johnny said, looping his arms around Peter's neck. "How about you take me for a dance, then?"
Peter wrapped his arms around Johnny’s waist as he stood up, pulling him up with him. He held Johnny close to his chest, resting his chin on the crook of his neck. "I thought you’d never ask."
They danced for a while, slow and close, Johnny’s arms snug around Peter’s shoulders, Peter’s arms tight around Johnny’s waist. The song was familiar. Maybe one of the many they had to practice for their dance classes. He thought their sweet teacher Lilian would be proud he hadn’t stepped on Johnny's toes for the entirety of it.
Eventually, Peter took Johnny’s hand and led them away to the balcony. It was past midnight and the party seemed to be going so well, but Peter needed some air. It was cool outside, but the silence was nice after the chatter and music the whole day. He let out a long breath, and turned to Johnny who was looking at him with a questioning expression. He ran his hands up Johnny’s chest, feeling the soft material of the tux.
"I need to talk to you," he said quietly, voice thick with something he hadn’t quite named.
Johnny tilted his head. "Okay, weirdo. What's up?"
"I’m serious, Johnny." Peter moved closer, crowding in on Johnny's personal space. The cold didn't bother him. He was surrounded by Johnny's warmth like always. He swallowed. "Sit down with me."
Johnny furrowed his brows, but let himself be led to a small sofa where they sat down next to each together. Johnny leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "So? What is it?"
Peter reached for Johnny’s hand and brought it to his face, nuzzling into the palm like it was something sacred. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he murmured, “but I need to tell you something. I’ve had this feeling… I can’t explain it. It’s not bad, I promise. Just... important.”
Johnny nodded and let his free hand find Peter's back. His fingers rubbed in-between Peter's shoulder balds almost soothingly. "Babe, just spill it. We're married, we can talk about anything."
"I know, I know, I just..." Peter sighed, the words refusing to leave his throat. He swallowed, his gaze moving to their joined hands. "Remember your sister’s wedding? You were with that girl—what’s-her-name."
“The one who ditched me for Thor?”
“That’s the one.”
Johnny snorted. “What about her?”
Peter inhaled slowly. “I told you back then that you deserved someone who wouldn’t do that. That you should find someone who wanted to be by your side and never leave.”
Johnny’s expression softened, already catching where this was going.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to be that someone,” Peter whispered. “I want to be the one who stays. Not just as a teammate. Not even just as a husband. But as someone who loves you so much that I’d have stayed in your life no matter what. Even if you didn’t love me back. I would’ve settled for scraps just to have you close."
Johnny bit the inside of his cheek. His gaze flickered down and away, but not before Peter saw the glossiness in his eyes.
Peter reached up and gently turned Johnny’s face back toward him, his palm cupping his cheek with reverence. “Hey. Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying,” Johnny lied. “It’s just—God, it’s your vows all over again. I hate you.”
“You love me,” Peter whispered.
“Too much.”
“I know. It’s pathetic.”
“Shut up,” Johnny whispered, but there was no bite behind it. His nose scrunched in that familiar, heartbreakingly endearing way.
And Peter just kept talking.
"I know I always kid, but I mean it. This. You’re just too good, y’know?" Peter held his hand tighter, his face now less than an inch away from Johnny’s. He could feel Johnny’s breath ghost over his lips. "I don't deserve you, but I want you. I want you so much."
“Shit, Pete,” Johnny murmured. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Peter’s shoulder, hiding in the crook of his neck like it might keep him from falling apart completely. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?” Peter asked, his voice suddenly soft, reverent.
Johnny didn’t lift his head. He didn’t need to. “Like I look at you.”
Peter’s breath caught, sharp and immediate. He understood what Johnny meant without needing the words. That impossible, overwhelming mix of awe and affection and something bigger than either of them.
"I know, love. I've got you."
"And I've got you."
Peter didn’t know when he last felt this peaceful. This anchored.
Here, with his husband wrapped around him, and the whole world outside the balcony, he didn’t have to be Spider-Man. Or the clever one. Or the strong one. He just had to be Peter.
And Johnny—Johnny loved that version of him.
And that meant everything.