#flambae fic

There was once a time were you had a partner in crime. 

You met Flambae in one of the dingy villain dive bars, a couple of months after you first moved to Torrance. Boredom got the best of you, and while you’re not the usual type to go out for drinks, Prism was the one who insisted.

“Baby being holed up in your apartment is not  the way you should spend a Saturday night.”

“Prism, you know I don't drink–”

“You don't gotta if you don't wanna! I’m sayin’ just hang around a bit, oggle at some dudes and laugh at drunk people, yknow!” She grins, checking her hair in the mirror while you reluctantly reach for a better shirt than your usual home-wear. 

“Oh! And I got this cutie I want you to meet,” She dabs a finger on her lips to better apply her lipstick before continuing. “He’s annoying as hell, but you’ll love him.”

“Well, don't threaten me with a good time,” You huff, sliding into your leather jacket and sliding next to the woman. She glances at your reflection before checking herself again, a grin on her lips.

“It’ll be fun, you can trust me,” Prism smiles, leading you out of your home and into the Los Angeles night.

When you and Prism arrived, she scanned the bar before a man at one of the booths waved his hand. She smirks and hooks an arm around you, immediately ushering you to follow her. When you two got to the booth, said man is wearing a deep red button-up, though it should be considered a button-down with how many buttons are loose. Jet black hair is tied back, a dangerous grin supporting his lips.

“Ayee, it’s good to see you, Prism,” He stands to greet the woman. His eyes glance towards you as he raises a brow. Prism took the hint as she nodded back towards you, standing just to her side. 

“Right, Flambae, I want you to meet my friend,” She introduces you, keeping your identity a secret. “He goes by Snow Storm, but Stormy for short.”

“Stormy for friends.” You corrected, flashing a sharp smile towards Flambae.

Said main hums before he smirks, mirroring the same dangerous grin. “Oh yeah? A friend of Prism’s a friend of mine,” 

“We’ll see,” You chuckle, shaking his extended hand, letting your frost power seep through just a bit. “And I take it your powers are… fire?”

“I control the fire and flame, I am Flambae,” He smirks, sparks of orange dancing around the clasped hands. Your senses immediately surround your hand with your power, protecting you from his display of fire. 

Prism catches the palpable tension between her and sighs loudly, pushing past both of you in the direction of the bar. “You men, I swear!”

“Imma go get us some drinks, try not to kill each other while sober!” She rolls her eyes as she walks, leaving you and Flambae alone. You groan, dropping Flambae’s hand and taking a seat facing him. He does the same, eyes still dissecting your profile. There was silence between you, only interrupted by the bar music and the murmurs of the other patrons' conversation. You glance around, finding subjects to focus your mind on instead of the annoyingly pretty man in front of you before he opens his mouth again, questioning you.

“So uh… How’d you meet Prism?” He raises a brow.

You shrug, tapping a finger on the table. “We were friends before I moved here, I mean– I didn't realize she moved here too, we became close again since she’s the only other person I knew that's from Michigan,” 

“Oh, so what brings you here, then?”

“Came here cuz uh… I got bored, I guess.” 

“What? Robbing innocent shops isn't as entertaining anymore?” You chuckle at Flambae’s question, shaking your head.

“Aim for a bigger prize is what my folks used to say,” Flambae only hums as a response, before he continues.

“With powers like yours, I thought you’d be running an ice cream truck instead of becoming a villain,” He snickers. “No offence, but uh… your powers aren't exactly… Destructive.” 

Flame runs up his arm to his palm, the man's power just as flashy as his personality. You huff and roll your eyes, thinking just how fitting his abilities are to the man. “Right, and you would be better off being somebody’s water heater, but you don't see me saying anything about that,” 

His smile drops; instead, Flambae chuckles darkly, a hint of teeth behind a grin, visible annoyance within his eyes. Frost creeps between your fingers, hairs on your skin anticipating a brawl, and yet, Flambae surprises you with a full laugh. You almost lost your composure from his shocking change of demean, but immediately school them back as the man’s laughter dies down.

“Prism has a great taste in friends,” He grins. “She’s friends with me, so of course she does– obviously–”

You were about to interject before he continued with a finger pointed your way. “But you? I like your whole uh- style. It suits you,”

“Thanks…?” You sputter, though you let the compliment simmer within you. When your brain finally caught up, Prism came back with three shots of alcohol, setting them in front of you and Flambae before she made you scoot deeper into the booth.

“Good to know you both haven't torn down the place yet, watch’u been talking about anyway?” She glances between you and Flambae, a smirk playing on her lips. 

You stare at Flambae’s hand that's on your shoulder, hairs on your arm standing when you hadn't noticed the man had moved closer. “Just how much of a good friend you are, babe, isn't that right, Stormy?”

“Sure,” Tension makes itself known on your jaw, though you force an easy smile for Prism. Her eyes sharpen before eventually sighing.

“You damn right I am, but you both better not be fighting behind my back,” She points between the two men in front of her. “I wanna record it,” 

Ever since then, you, Prism, and Flambae became closer. The relationship was friendly, though between you and Flambae, there was an underlying tension that has yet to be named. Months flew by, and you and the two friends had hung out more than you can count. It was mostly on weekends or after a successful robbery. Prism would bring you, and Flambae never rejects a party. Eventually, the dive bars turn into lunch at local diners, then to random hangout places. The warmth of friendship started to seep between the cracks of the group, and while you kept your secrets deep within you, Flambae was easier to crack than you expected. Whenever he would get drunk, somehow the man finds himself crashing at your place while muttering pieces of his history. 

You learned his name, his family, his native background, all from the man rambling in the dead of night. While you're still learning to trust him, you know the first code of maintaining a good villain-friend relationship was to not leak each other's secrets— without payment. So you kept his personal information filed inside your brain, away from prying eyes, even when Flambae often wakes up hungover and cranky, at which he would tumble around your kitchen as you fix him breakfast and drive him back to his place. It almost became a routine, a familiar ritual, to the point of you making mental notes to buy more groceries in case Flambae decided to crash. You got used to his presence. 

“You know I can fly, right?” His voice was softer than the radio you almost missed his question. The car was stopped in front of an intersection. The traffic light was on a bright red. It was a bright Friday morning, Flambae sat at the passenger seat while your blank face stared into the streets.

“I’m sorry?”

“This? Driving me home? I don't need it.” He mutters. Your brow furrows, a visible crease on the edges of your lips.

“Okay? You know I don't mind… ” Genuine confusion must be visible as Flambae immediately turned away when he tried to meet your eyes. 

“I don't need your charity case, alright?” Flambae answers, his tone clipped. You feel your confusion starting to transition to anger, though you knew better than to escalate.

“I’m– This isn't a charity case, Flambae. I don't think it’s wise to fly around while you’re fucking hungover.”

“Oh, so you care about me– No, I’m not fucking hungover, wise guy!” He bites back, sparks start to show between Flambae’s digits. You inhaled sharply, turning back to face the road when the cars behind you began to honk. Annoyed, you continue to drive, mainly to distract the growing anger. 

“Yeah? So it’s okay for me to just kick you out onto the street, right now?” You smile mockingly, glancing at Flambae. You knew stroking the fire was not advised, especially inside your only car that you had no insurance on—It was stolen, alright? Cars are expensive. 

“Oh please, y’know that might be for the best,” He crosses his arms, dropping back into the seat, sarcasm laced in his words. You were about to drop the argument before you heard muttering under his breath. If you’ve known Flambae long enough, you know the man was saying things he wished you had heard but didn't. 

So instead, you ask, “Okay, then let me ask you one thing;” 

“Why do you keep coming back to my apartment, when you’re fucking wasted? Do you know how many times I wish I didn't need to see your stupiddly pretty face all drunk on my goddamn couch and make me worry about what you were doing all night–” 

The car halts, a red light you almost ran. Your anger has slipped; you realize when you stare back at the man beside you, out of breath. His expression shocks you, a mixture of embarrassment and anger on his usually confident demeanor. You gulp, holding back the gnawing anger instead. “I… You don't have to answer that– I didn't mean to say–”

“Shut up.” 

The air grew humid, a mixture of your abilities leaking into the car and Flambae on the edge of lashing out with his. Crackles can be heard, you gulp, and keep looking at the man beside you, though he has his eyes boring into the dashboard.

“I didn't–”

Flambae pushes open the car door and swiftly slams it closed. You immediately follow him out of the vehicle, shouting his name. The man bursts into flames in front of you, which had you covering your body with a layer of ice, avoiding a serious burn. His eyes are glowing outlines, staring into you before he mutters, “Don't come looking for me.”

He surges upwards and flies away, leaving a scorch mark on the concrete below. You follow his path before Flambae disappears between the clouds, at which you release a pent sigh. Dread settles deep inside your heart, something worse follows the feeling, but you didn't have the capacity to dissect it at that moment. You walk back into your car before the traffic becomes the reason you’re arrested. When you settled back in, you hadn't realized the burn mark that runs up your arm, from your wrist to your upper arm. Flambae’s fire must have burnt through your ice, or amidst the panic, you didn't cover it with enough layers of ice. 

Though the wound hurts, it reflects the pain within your core, a mess you have yet to realize. 

Weeks had passed by before Flambae talked to you again. Thought it was mostly for Prism’s birthday party. She invited both you and Flambae to her mansion and promised alcohol. While you hesitated, you truly do hold the woman close to your heart, and she was your friend who goes back before you became a villain, so you relented.

You wore your best party casual, keeping your hair tidy and accessorizing appropriately. You decided to wear a cologne, keeping it simple enough for Prisms' usually lavish parties.

The house isn't exactly a mansion, but it is bigger than most apartments. Her house is outside of Beverly Hills, a drive away from your place. When you arrived, the party had already started, judging by the booming music from inside the place and multiple cars and bikes parked outside. You rang the bell and were greeted by Prism in a gorgeous outfit with gold accents, her hair braided down but still supporting the blue and pink colors. 

“Stormy, you made it!” She cheers, bringing you into a hug. You laugh, hugging the woman back. 

“Wouldn't miss my best friend's birthday party,” You grin. “Oh, and here, it’s a surprise,”

You handed her your gift, which was a necklace wrapped within a shoe box you found, intending to be a prank when she found the smaller jewelry inside its actual box instead of a pair of shoes. She chuckles and sets it aside onto a table piled with other gifts, towering over you. 

“Come on! The party’s just gettin’ started!” Prism drags you inside and you follow easily. What you didn't prepare for was to see Flambae on the other end of the lounge, sitting beside another man. The stranger has his arm around Flambae’s shoulder, a sly smile on his lips. Though you're uncertain if Flambae had spotted you, you certainly saw the display, making a putrid feeling in your gut start to swell. 

In the past weeks, you had to convince yourself there was nothing between you and Flambae. You were only kind to him as a partner in crime, as someone who's also in the villain world. When he would ramble about his family, you only ever listened intently as a means to gain leverage over him—if ever the time comes. Everything you did had an ulterior motive, is what you kept saying to yourself. 

Is what you keep repeating inside your heart, regardless of what you feel. 

Prism’s birthday party was amazing, as all lavish parties are. There were drinks, a DJ, you watched your best friend cut her tiered cake, and hosted a dance circle in the middle of the lounge floor. Prism controlled the partygoers with her natural confidence as she danced and sang her original songs, creating an easy atmosphere that everyone followed. The song transitioned into something slower; the bass carried a beat through the room, and the lights had dimmed to a dark indigo. With a few drinks in your system, it was easier to move between the crowd, slipping past bodies with a simple shuffle. 

You were nursing your cup of alcohol before your eyes widened at the arrival of Flambae just meters in front of you. He’s making his way between dancing bodies, with a hypnotizing stare that meets your eyes. The room seems to spin, though you would blame the influence of the alcohol; it certainly did not play a part in the warmth you feel creeping up your cheeks. Flambae doesn't break eye contact until he’s chest to chest, practically moving against your body, and a prominent sweet scent goes into your senses. 

“Here,” His calloused fingers trail down your arm until they reach your cup. He sets it aside, though he slips his fingers between yours, pulling himself against you. 

The music and drinks nurture an intoxicating atmosphere, almost dream-like as Flambae’s lidded eyes take his fill. He whistles lowly, a dangerous smirk on his lips. “Don't you look pretty,”

You huff, feeling the heat on your face, thanking the dim light that it shouldn't be as visible. “I should say the same for you,” 

Flambae chuckles as he guides your arms to settle on his hips, letting his own easily hang on your shoulders. You follow his steps into an easy sway, slow and rhythmic, following the beat of the music. The lights flicker a hue of blue and purple, a ghost of white and red follows it. Both of you continued to bathe in each other's warmth, in Flambae’s alluring eyes as he leads the movements.

It wasn't until Flambae grazed the healed burn on your arm did you realized the predicament you both are in. “I’m happy you didn't come running after me like a lost dog,”

Your movements halted. You furrow your brows, staring straight into Flambae. “That's… no– I shouldn't be doing this.” 

Flambae feels your hands shake, wavering as they leave his hips. You slowly push him away, making space between the two of you. He hadn't caught on that said space has gone cold, small snowflakes appearing from your hand that pushes against his chest. 

“Don't– Don't do this, Flambae.” 

The man in question stares at your hand, a sense of bewilderment behind his eyes that he tries to cover with his faux confidence. “Do what? I only wanted a dance–”

“No. You… You left me.” Flambae scoffs as you meet his eyes. “You were the one who left, you don't get to do this to me.”

“I didn't do anything. You don't need to make all this drama.” 

“Drama?” You tilted your head, feeling your ice shards seeping through your skin. “Us having breakfast together, talking about our damn lives– That's drama to you?”

“You're making a big deal out of nothin’. Don't wear your heart on your sleeves, Stormy.” Flambae mocks, crossing his arms. You stare at him, mouth slightly agape. 

The once simmering anger instead dies down, leaving only a gaping wound within you. Your abilities retract, only poking small holes in the inside of the jacket you wore. You scoff, finding the floor to focus on. “You're right. It was nothing,”

“And it shouldn't become anything.” 

You take a step back, permanently widening the rift between you and the man. You gulp, meeting his eyes. There was a tinge of visible regret within Flambae’s eyes, though with how heavy your head seems to feel, you could be mistaken. Instead, you gathered every part of yourself that wasn't hurting. “For a man who talks big about controlling fire, you sure are a coward, Flambae.”

The music continues to thump behind you as you leave the house. You immediately start your car and pull out of the driveway, and if you saw Flambae running out of the house, you decided to pay no attention to it.

—

You were one of the first people to join the Phoenix program. After some time, doing villain work, robbing banks, and stealing stuff can only get so fun until it becomes mundane. You're mostly settled with the amount of money you've gained and so you decided to hand yourself over to SDN to join the new rehabilitation program. It's been a couple of months since you’ve been under Chase, with a team of renowned heroes, while Blonde Blazer gathers more reformed villains into the team. 

When Blazer called you into her office, she informed you that she had finally gathered a team of villains to formally start the Phoenix program, and she hoped you could meet them and get yourself acquainted with the team since you’ll become a part of them.

“I’ll be holding a meeting this afternoon, it’s mandatory to come, okay?”

“Like I have anything better to do, miss Blazer,” She regards you with a look which you only shrugged. She’s grown used to your mannerisms, and while you were a former criminal, you’re the least likely to cause trouble in the SDN building. She sends you off to do your shift.

It was an hour past lunch, which was the designated time for the meeting. You finish washing your hands from the sandwich you had earlier and head into the meeting room. As you were about to open the opaque door, a familiar hue of orange and black raised your hairs. You blink, hesitating now to push into the meeting room when Chase suddenly appears next to you.

“What are you doin’ out here kid? Aint ya’ supposed to be there with Blazer, meetin’ all o'those fuckers?” He shakes his head and opens the door. “Come on ya’ ice maker, don't pussy out so now,”

Your answer was cut short when those same sharp eyes met yours. The scabbed wound was suddenly ripped open, beginning pain anew within your rib cage. You scan the room to see familiar and unfamiliar faces, the only comfort you managed to find was Prism's familiar grin, her shining eyes behind her visor. 

“There you are,” Blazer smiles, pulling you to stand beside her. “Alright, Z-team, meet your last new member, Snow Storm.”

“Now you all will be working together as a part of the Phoenix program, so I expect some camaraderie and teamwork when you're under your own dispatcher, understand?”

The room mumbles in agreement, though your eyes were glued to Flambae and his frown. Your hand rubs at the burnt skin on your arm. You did not expect to see him again after years of avoiding him, of pushing that hypnotizing smile and borderline-illegal body of his. You did not expect to be working with him either. 

You sent a silent prayer to whoever will be the Z-team’s future dispatcher to have the best of luck.

Your analog clock reads 6.30 PM as you adjust your lapels, the fabric already flawless as it only serves to soothe your anxiety. The mirror reflects your combed hair and the outfit youve decided to don as tonight's armour, although something hopeful within you is expecting said armour will be shed sometime soon. You shook yourself from the thoughts unless you want a repeat of what happened in the locker rooms.

“Girl, did you use like– half of this perfume? Cuz’ I swear when I gave it to you it ain't–” Alice’s eyes go over your figure appreciatively, a slow nod from her as she regards you. “Okaay, lookin’ good as ever, prince charming,” 

“Shut up,” You chuckle, catching the perfume she throws at you, either from her eye-roll or from her cheekiness. The bottle hisses its scent around you as you make sure to cover your heat points, considering your normally cooler body temperature.

“I’m being so for real when I say this–” She slides herself in front of you, pressing down on your shirt and jacket. “Chad dont know what’s comin’,” She chuckles. 

“I thought you’d be with him right now, with yknow, the whole dynamic duo thing,” 

Alice huffs as she pats your shoulders. “Eh, I’ll let him panic on his own this time,” 

“I’m always with him when we lost contact anyway, it doesn't kill a girl to spend less time with that man,” She waves her hand dismissively, making you chuckle. She takes a step back, addressing you once more before she nods, a seal of approval from Prism herself. You did a small turn, showing the whole outfit towards her, which she chuckles at. 

You turn to face the mirror once more, seeing yourself in such a state is definitely not something you're used to. Oftentimes, you only ever see yourself when youre hurrying out the door of your apartment or checking over yourself after a tiring shift. It’s glass only ever sees you in a perpetual state of hurry and worry, although tonight's churning in your gut doesn't seem any different. Alice notices the faint lines between your brows, her eyes softening as she stands beside you, her hazel eyes softens. 

“It’ll be fine, you’ll be fine,” Her hand rubs at your arm. “And if it won't, I’ll make sure Chad won't be able to see for at least a month,” 

“Alice, please,” You laugh, your hand rubbing over your face to wash away the anxiety. 

“Thats a promise and you know it!”

“Yes, of course I know.” You chuckle, taking one last glance towards the mirror. 

The anxiety doesn't come from anticipating Chad, no, the current rumble within your stomach is mostly out of fear. Whenever youre with the man, the memory of your burn scar becomes prominent. The day he leaves you, that morning when you thought the man had left you just as he left so many others, it petrifies you. Chad was the only other man you’ve truly enjoyed your time with. After so many years of villainy and secrecy, he was the only other person who truly touched your cold heart—both figuratively and literally. Now, with the addition of the healing tissue in your palm, it serves as another reminder of just how much he has affected your life. 

And yet, hope still shines behind those scarred lines. It’s blinding, and it’s inviting—it’s the reason you even allowed the man to ask you out, to allow yourself to become vulnerable once more. Hoping Chad will do the right thing, will love you like you thought he did all those years ago; even with how little the expectations may be, it still burns brighter than your fear.

That's how you found yourself standing in front of the restaurant he reserved, idly checking your phone as your eyes darted to the corner to check the time periodically. It was turning 7, the sky turning a hue of dark blue as the sun set in the distance. You huff, turning to check if you could spot the man anywhere, or if he’s coming in blazing like a meteor. 

To your surprise, when you turn to the right, you spot said man jogging your way without his signature smirk. You half expected him to arrive while flying.

“Hey uh– I’m a bit late, sorry,” His eyes are trained to the ground. Before you could answer, he shoves a bouquet of roses into your arms, sending another wave or surpise through you. “I didn't know what kind of flowers you like so, there.”

You regarded the bouquet before turning to the man currently collecting his confidence, and chuckling. Chad visibly gulps at your laugh before he finds the courage to chuckle lightly.

“I uh…” You cough, eyes softening as they met his. “Thanks, I like them.”

“Do all of your clothes have those little flames on them?” Chad follows your pointed finger to his trousers, a pair of black faux leather jeans with fire slithering up their sides. He scoffs as he straightens up.

“Clearly, you don't know fashion,” He rolls his eyes. You grin, watching him cross his arms. 

“It suits you, you look good.” You smile, earnest in your words. Chad regards you and your outfit as well, a spark of heat behind his eyes as he pauses a little too long at your hips.

“You too, almost too good for this date,” He smirks, the dangerous shine in his eyes returns just as fast as it vanishes. Chad turns to the doors of the restaurant as he extends an arm. “But, I promised a date, and a talk, and i dont back away from my promises,” 

You shake your head before taking his arm, letting the man lead you into the building. The place he reserved wasn’t too expensive, but it’s definitely a little above your hero paygrade. The waiter brings you both into a booth seat, secluded from the rest of the room, though with a clear exit route. You can't help but map the path, a habit that comes from saving people out of rubble, you suppose. 

As you both took your seats, the man handed out the menu and leaves, letting comfortable silence wash over you and Chad. 

“So… How was your shift?” Chad's voice catches your attention.

“Chad, we’re on the same shift.”

“I know, I know, but uh… I didn't see you as much today,” He flips the menu over. “Bob-bob didn't exactly pair us a lot this shift.”

“Well, you're not wrong,” You huff, having made your mind on what to order as you set the paper down. “My shift was okay, saved a family of five from a burning building, helped Visi and Golem clear some rubble, and went with Mel to a catholic school's seminar.”

“Which was odd, i dont know what Robert was thinking with that one,”

Chad scoffs, setting his menu aside. “I don't think he was.” 

The laugh escapes you so quickly that it almost scares you, although it comes out so naturally. Chad follows suit, laughing on his own, a soothing melody you didn't realize you missed. It eventually dies down as another short silence was shared before the hand you rested on the table was covered with warmth.

You wouldve flinced if it weren't for Chad's fingers carefully tracing your knuckles.

“How’s your hand?” His eyes follow the grooves of your veins; it snakes in between your fingers. His gaze softens, as if any hints of harshness would reopen the wound. You sigh. You turn the palm over to instead entwine it with his. The man before you shivered slightly at the sudden change of temperature.

“I’m fine, really. It’s already healed over anyway,” You smile, letting yourself brush over his digits. Chad releases a breath he didn't know he was holding before meeting your eyes once more, 

“I’m… I really am–”

“Are you both ready to order?” The waiter comes back in such a swift move that it almost surprises both of you. Your hand would've instinctively hidden itself back under the table if it weren't for Chad's insistent grip. Your eyes glance over your entwined hand before coughing and uttering your order.

Chad does the same and he adds a bottle of champagne to the list. You regard him with a look before he shrugs. “Why not?” The man smirks.

You roll your eyes, a fond smile on your lips. As the waiter concludes the list, he suddenly turns to you as he squints his eyes. “I’m sorry, i dont mean to impose, but are you that superhero Snow Storm?”

You blink repeatedly before managing an answer. “Y-yeah, yes i am,”

“Oh man, I'm a huge fan, you saved my cat from that building last week!” 

“I did? Oh, it was that fluffy tabby cat wasnt it?”

“Yes! Him! If it's not too much– um–” The man offers his notepad and pen to you. “Could I get your autograph?”

You chuckle in disbelief. As long as you have been an SDN hero, you’re hardly on the front cover of the promotional material for the network, but you suppose there are still your fans hiding. Youre certainly flattered as your acts of heroism are remembered. “Yeah, sure man.” 

You wrote down your autograph, a flashy written Snow Storm with a flourishing line beneath it. Admittedly, you’ve never actually signed anything that's not legal papers in your hero life, so you did improvise your autograph a bit. You handed the pen and pad back to the man, said man smiled widely as he looked over the writing.

“Thank you so much, I’ll make sure you both get your food quickly,” He says in a rush before he disappears into the other side of the restaurant.

The interaction surprised you so much you found yourself chuckling, which turned into a laugh. You shake your head, settling down from the high and finding Chad with a glare directed at the waiter's back. You raise a brow, brushing your thumb over his fingers.

“You… okay?”

“What? Yes, of course I'm okay,” He rushes. You were about to ask again before he interjects, “That was a bit rude, no?”

You chuckle, eyes hovering at where you both are connected. “I thought it was nice,” 

“Mhm, yea, sure,” Chad scoffs, his hand tightens his hold. “A little fanboy. Didn't even asked me, and I'm way more popular,”

“Wait–” You shake your head, your brows raised high. “Are you– Chad, are you jealous?”

His cheeks immediately grow a deep red, the temp on his hand rises. “Fuck no, what gave you that idea?”

You found yourself laughing once more, a bit louder this time, which raises Chad's embarrassment. He bores into the table, his face a deep crimson now. His hand’s temp keeps rising as your laugh continues. When it dies down, you take into account the pout he’s supporting. His expressions twist something within you, making you turn your palm just a bit cooler to respond to his heat. Chad huffs as he turns back to you, finding a small smirk on your lips.

“That’s cute, youre cute,” You smile. 

The man scoffs, though his hand responds by wrapping itself even tighter between your digits. “You should learn to shut up,” 

—

After dinner was finished, there was only the bottle of champagne left between you two. Your glass is half full with said liquid, while Chad is pouring himself another serving. 

“I was saying uh…” He falters when you pick up your glass, though he continues. “I really am sorry about your hand… and for burning your arm,” 

“I never wanted to hurt you. That was the last thing I would ever consider doing,” His voice softens as he sets the bottle aside. There's something hidden behind Chad's hardened hazel eyes, an emotion cowering after years of protecting himself as youve protected your own. 

He sighs. “I admit I was a… Coward, for leaving you. I didn't know what I was thinking, and like you said, I was scared.” 

“Of you, maybe? Of us? Of what we could've been…” 

You took in his words, every cadence in his voice, everything he uttered. You didn't realize it was the first time you truly saw the man. All those years ago, the drunken stories shared between your couch and the carpet at your apartment were only the tip of the giant iceberg. You knew the man before you was capable of being vulnerable, and yet this instance of him pouring his heart out, being honest to you and himself, was the first time you see trough Chad’s facade. 

This was the Flambae you fell in love with. It wasn't the bold hero with the burning desire to flaunt and shine, it wasn't those strong muscles paired with the tall ego, it was the man that compliments those traits. It was the funny and witty man who had every quick reply loaded in his barrel, the caring man who cares about his niece, the gentleman who wants to please. The man who hid his vulnerability behind a bold, fiery mask. 

“All I'm saying is that… i wasnt ready back then, but I knew I loved you. I would be lying if I wished you didn't offer to drive me home every time I came to you drunk as shit.” 

You both chuckle at the memory, knowing almost every weekend you would find a grouchy Chad on your couch as he fought with the hangover. He smoothes over your hand again, calloused fingers brushing against hardened knuckles. “But I'm ready now, if you’ll take me?” 

A smile makes its way to your lips. You lean over the table as you brought Chads hand closer, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand, your eyes following his. “I’ll have you.” Your words brushes againts his knuckles.

Chad gulps, a rising heat behind his heavy lids. He clears his throat and takes a hurried sip of his champagne. “You’re so cheesy,”

You chuckle, sitting back yet you haven't let go. “Oh, you like it,” 

“Ugh, sure, whatever,” He rolls his eyes. 

Both of you share a laugh again, enjoying the perfect temperature shared between your hands. Not long, Chad flags down the waiter again and asks for the bill. He comes back and with said bill, and when you were about to pull back your hand to reach your wallet, the man before you beats you to it as he sets his card on the tray. You fixed Chad with a glare, knowing he deliberately held you back so he could pay, instead of enduring the back and forth that was supposed to happen.

When you exited the building, the cold night air had already covered most of LA. You shove one hand into your pockets while the other holds on to your bouquet close in hope the breeze won't steal it. Chad stands beside you, gazing upwards into the stars as you did the same. 

“So uh, since I paid, will you come back to my place?” He smirks as he nudges at your elbow. 

“Oh is that what this is? Transactional?” 

“I– no I meant–”

“I’m joking,” You chuckle, Chad's sudden bursts of red enough to crack you. “Yes, I will,” “After all, the dates not over yet, right?” 

Chad’s brows raised in surprise, but were immediately replaced by a sharp smirk as they furrowed. He closes the gap between both of you as his lips press against yours, too quickly to even react. The man pulls back and slides an arm around your waist and tugs. “Of course not,”

—

“Nice place,” The floor is lined with a soft carpet that separates the kitchen and living room, a couch near the window with a flatscreen facing it. There was an abstract painting above the couch, its smaller twin beside a tall bookcase. Small ornaments and pictures adorn the shelves, the space you definitely imagined Chad to have. 

“Thanks,” He drapes his jacket and offers to take yours when you’ve shed yours. You set the bouquet on the kitchen island, peeking into the other room to spot his bed and ensuite bathroom. 

“Huh… I thought it’d be… bigger,”

“Rent isn't exactly cheap, y’know, with our pay from SDN,” He shrugs as he presses a button on the thermostat. “Plus, most of my dirty money is in my niece’s college fund; it’s not like I can use it anymore,” 

When he turns, he finds you with a soft smile, without your jacket covering most of your body. Chad hadn’t really taken in how well you've grown into yourself. He sees you plenty of time in your hero suit, but it doesn't have the same effect as seeing the man he has avoided and loves in such a lax state. You leisurely extended your arms, an inviting embrace. 

“C’mere,” Your slow grin entices him, Chad's body moving on its own volition as he saunters to your body. Despite being a head taller than you, he practically drapes himself over you like a jungle cat; his immediate temperature sends a jolt up your spine that smoothes down the rest of your body. You think your body will eventually get used to the walking heater currently smothering your face with his chest, and if it doesnt you will force your powers to get used to it. 

Meanwhile, Chad is soaking in the cold breeze that seems to trail you, breathing in the sharp scent of snow and fresh water like a man in a draught. You definitely run cold, that's what he can infer, so much different than himself, who often runs hot, which results in sweltering summers, despite him being used to it. Chad rests his chin atop your head, taking another lungful of your scent. 

His eyes flutter when you softly push at his chest, finding himself in the palm of your hand. Chad leans into your touch, the want that scratches at his throat awakens. He gulps when he turns, nosing in between your digits, his hazel eyes lit with a shimmering heat. 

Static courses between you and the man before you; his choked-off groan feeds into the fire in your gut. Your hand slowly angles him towards you, lips a mere inch apart, breathing in each other's hushed breath while eyes dart between breaking contact and plush lips. The noises dropped, silence veils the livingroom as tension grew thick, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation is shared.

Chad groans. “Fuck it,” 

He rushes to capture your lips, the immediate contact causes you to almost stumble if it weren't for his steady arms that anchor you to his body. You push back against him, lips against lips, ripping sharp inhales and moans from one another. Chad’s surprised groan works as your opportunity to slip your tongue inside, tasting his fiery lust and gulping down every noise you managed to coax out of him. You found your hands gravitating towards his hips, and with a sharp squeeze, he relents his control, throwing his head back with a bitten off curse.

Your hands continue to press against his ample skin, feeling the jolt you cause that hides beneath the fabric of his shirt. Chad groans when you begin to bite down on his jaw, igniting a trail of kisses and bruises through the column of his neck to his clavicle. While you continue to thumb at the small exposed skin between his belt and shirt, Chad’s insistent fumbles with your buttons. When you realized the man was trying to free you from the confines of your clothes, you grinned and pushed yourself away from him to finish his progress, removing your button-up and easily maneuvering your belt. 

Chad’s parched as he watches your finger move easily, awkwardly losing his mind with his imagination running wild. It wasn't until an expectant look from you that he nodded and began divesting himself of his shirt and jeans. He was busy throwing his pants somewhere that he did not notice your hands that grabbed at his arms and rested them on your shoulders.

“Leave it, I’ll open my own gift,” You chuckle as you toy with the waistband of his boxers. Chad groanswhile he allows himself to be walked back, his legs hitting what he assumes is his bed before trusting you to catch his fall. To his surprise, his plush linens did greet him, and so was your evident eagerness when you crawled on top of him with a look he had never seen on you before. 

The flaming hero notices he’s never truly imagined how you’d be in bed, especially on top of him. Another part of his hind brain only ever supplied those thoughts with your voice, your familiar smile he used to cling to, to find release. But he never taken in account how he’d react to said voice when he’s about to find out how your dick tastes. 

Chad’s silence throws you off rhythm, noticing that side from his heavy breathing, the man is only following your movements with barely opened eyes. “Baby? Hey, you okay?”

He leans into your palm once more, sighing between them. “Yes, yeah im good, just…”

“It’s okay, we don't have to–”

“No! Not that, it’s uh…” He groans, eyes shutting immediately. “This is so stupid, you’re stupid,”

“That’s not nice,” You scoff, your thumb brushes over the bridge of his nose. 

“Shut up. I’m… I guess this wasnt what I was expecting,” He sighs, turning away from your touch. 

Your brow furrows, his isible pout makes you sit on your knees to allow space between both of you. “What were you expecting?”

“I just thought… back then, you were so shy, I thought I’d be on top, and you’d be screaming my name.” He shrugs, his usual bravado seeping in. You chuckle, though when Chad intertwines his hand with yours, you continue with another offer.

“You can be on top, if you want,” He swiftly meets your eyes. “You can also fuck me, if that's what you’re comfor–”

He suddenly charges towards you, his blunt nails raking down your back as those simmering amber glows behind his eyes. “No. Not that. I want to feel you,” 

The pain makes you hiss, immediately wrapping your hand around him. “O-okay, you can be on top, and I’ll fuck you,” You smirk, finding the courage to grab at his ass, “Real good.” 

“Ooh, you better.” Your own lust rivals his own, an accepted challenge as though the dance between you is a competition. Chad uses his strength to turn you against him, which had you end up lying on the bed in his previous position. You didn't miss using your own acquired strength to pull his hips closer, effectively grinding upwards against Chad’s dick. A symphony of groans is echoed through the room, the combined arousal suffocating the air. 

He moves to remove your briefs, impatient as his hands shake when you help him by kicking the rest of the fabric away. Chad had seemingly recalled what you said earlier as he moved closer upwards, directling your to slip beneath his boxers. The man groans as you reveled in his beauty, fully erect cock already gleaming with precum at its tip. You toss the offending fabric somewhere in the room while he grinds back, the heat between his ass making you choke out a moan.

“Fuck– Wait, Chad, we need to prep you,” You managed between ragged breaths while he reached over his nightstand, a bottle of lube and a strip of condom tossed beside you. His hips push insistently, at which you grab at his legs to reiterate your sentence. His brows furrow, rolling his eyes as another blush flares across his cheeks.

“I already did…” He sighs, busying himself with the cap of the lube instead. 

You blink, mouth joining in the repeated movement. “I– You what?”

“I already fingered myself open, okay? Fucker, making me say it…” 

A sudden wave of thirst rushes over you while Chad tries, yet fails, to contain his embarrassment as his trembling fingers finally pop the bottle open. The image of this gorgeous man arching his back, one or two fingers deep within himself– or would he be on his back, finding the angle easier to reach those sensitive spots, chest rising with labour as he moans around the digit stretching him. 

Chad gasps when you push yourself upwards and attack his mouth, deepening the bruise you've already planted on those plush lips. He moans, the bottle drops somewhere on the bed as he scratches through your hair, earning himself a low groan. You closed your eyes, letting yourself nose against his sharp jawline, feeling the slight prominent stubble there. “Show me that,”

“Next time, I want to see you do it,” You grin, making Chad chuckle above you, his fingers drawing lines on your nape. He nods, breathless.

He watches you lie back down, his eyes widen though as he spots the red hair tie he usually has around his ponytail beside your index finger. He reaches for the loose strands that already cascade down his shoulders, grumbling when he fixes you with a stare. “Fucker.”

“You look pretty,” You smirk, squeezing the strong muscle on his thigh. “Don't you, gorgeous?”

He scoffs, though a smile fights its way on the edges of his lips. “You really should shut up,” He says as he reaches for the forgotten bottle. 

He tears a condom packet and slides one over your dick, the touch making you sigh, sensitive from the stimulation. He pours a generous amount of lube on you and himself, one hand planted on the bed while the other rubs slightly, making sure he’s ready himself. Chad moans as he slips one finger in, experimenting, while you encourage him with another squeeze. The bottle was thrown haphazardly again while you made a mental note to retrieve it later, though your eyes never left his as he arched to position himself. 

Chad aligns your dick and carefully pushes it inside, and holy fuck was it usually this hot? 

You held your breath, hypnotized by Chad’s bareilly restraint groan while he continues to push your dick deeper, engulfing you in his fiery heat that's definitely warmer than anything you've ever felt around your cock. No sex toy will ever amount to feeling Chad’s hole, the divinity of its pleasure paired with his soft moans, his brows pulled together in concentration, his lust; all accumulate to its own holy experience. His hair spills as it curtains his taut jaw, pushing inch by inch inside, the picture before you is a beauty you gladly will die for. 

As he bottoms out, a drawn-out groan escapes him, his head dropping as he collects his thoughts. You drew circles around his knees, rubbing encouragingly as you held yourself with thin restraint, understanding you know better than to move when he’s only inserted your dick in him. 

“Agh– Fuck… I haven't done this in a while,” He manages between stuttering breath. You were about to utter a question when he suddenly grinds back, the words died on your tongue when you groan. He smirks, the exact reaction he wants, as he slowly raises that plush ass and drops it down with an obscene slap. 

You could taste his flame as Chad now sets a fast and harsh rhythm, moving his body in such a way that it rips a moan out from you. The man in question isn't faring any better; his laboured breath and groans only show how he’s losing control. He continues the harsh movement, ass bouncing against your thigh, those filthy sounds filling the room, the only other thing you can focus on and Chad’s moans. If you decided to indulge yourself in the feeling of the man's tight hole around your dick, the heat it encapsulates around you, you fear you might cum way too soon.

It wasn't until Chad was stuttering slightly, his movement halting every other beat, that you realized he was reaching his peak. When you sat on your elbows, he reached for your arm and placed it on his cheek, breathing into your scarred palm. His eyes captivate you, his hot breath fanning on the healing flesh, soft lips pressing against it in reverence. He angles your hand just so to reach the scars that run up your arm, every inch of skin worshiped by his lips, the gestures break your last rope of restraint. 

“Fuck.” was the last thing Chad heard before he was jostled when he pressed down on you, your arms posesively digs into his hips, your breath cold against the column of his neck. You move with vigor, increasing what Chad had already done, but instead with speed, you grind deep within him, knowing youve hit his prostate when the man’s moan heightens. His shouts and mewls increase in volume with every thrust, each one hitting deeper than the last. Chad swore he could practically taste your dick from his throat. Each push upwards is a deep grind as you lower his body, using your strength to move him entirely, letting the man scratch at your shoulders for purchase. Dark hair frames the pure bliss expression on him, urging you on.

You continue your pace, relentless, as Chad’s voice grows hoarse. “Fuck– I’m ah– I’m not gonna last,” 

“Thats okay–” You breathed against his clavicle. “Thats okay. I’m gonna– ugh– cum too,”

Your grinds reach deep but faster while you chase your release, the impending coil within you pleadingto be released. You feel your nails dig into Chad's skin. You continue to bite around his skin, already littered with your other claims. It wasn't until you bit particularly hard on his shoulder that you had the devilish idea begging to be tested. On said bite mark, you use your power to blow a cold breath against it, just enough for small flakes of snow to touch the sweaty skin.

“Ah fuck!” Chad shouts, his eyes shot open and clenches hard. 

“Chad– Shit!” You stuttered as the heat that engulfed you suddenly grew hotter, tipping you over the edge. You feel yourself cum, the hot liquid spilling into Chad’s insides, the sensation making you groan while you slow your movements. The man's own cum drips down from his dick, some splattering far enough to reach just below your chest. 

Your breath mingles with his as you both try to level your heartbeat. His forehead presses against yours, Chad’s eyes are closed yet you can't seem to take your eyes off of him. The sweat creates a sheen over him, the rise and fall of his chest, his hair now tangled in odd angles, though it retains its immaculate form. You could spend days, months, just in this position, allowing time to stop as you continue to bathe yourself in the afterglow and in Chad’s presence. 

Eventually, you move to lay the man beside you, careful not to prolong any bruises you might have caused. You removed the condom and threw it in the trash, grabbing your discarded shirt from outside while swiping a water bottle from the fridge that Chad thankfully kept fully stocked. When you returned, Chad had rolled over to his stomach, his hair set to one shoulder as he thumbs over your bitemark, seemingly deeper than you intended.

‘Shit, did it break skin?’ 

“Does it hurt?” You hand him the bottle, the man thanks you and gulps it down. He finishes and places it on the nightstand, still observing your mark. 

“Nah,” He shrugs. “It’s for all the times I burned you,” 

You found yourself chuckling at the absurdity of his word, fondness leaking out of each laugh. He grins, letting you pat him clean with the shirt you brought, before doing so to yourself and throwing the shirt somewhere on the floor. Chad moves to make you, allowing you to easily slip beside him, wrapping your arms around him while he lets himself be the one hugged. Arguably, it looks a little odd with the larger man inside your arms, but he feels nice to hug and you appreciate your walking heater. 

“Was it true?” You begin, licking your lips with a sudden gulp. “That you haven't seen anyone in a while?”

Cha dwas silent, contemplating, before he shrugged. “Yes, not since…”

“Since…?”

“Since we saw each other again at the start of the Phoenix program,” He concludes.

‘That was so long ago…’ 

Chad presses his lips to the scar on your arm once more, rubbing it gently, tracing each groove of the deep scars as if trying to read them. You smile, your free hand tangling itself around his hair, feeling the softness of it as he practically purrs from the touch. You grin, kissing the skin behind his ear before settling down to rest your head on the pillow. He turns slightly, only to lean against your chest, finding comfort if his contented sigh is any sign.

You were about to fall asleep when he spoke. “So… I’m driving you home tomorrow?”

He laughs beside you as you tighten your embrace. You press a kiss to his crown, eyes half lidded as you fight off the wave of fatigue. 

“Sure, only if we go on another date.”

“Deal.” He smirks.

Silence finally covers Chad's apartment; only the faint noises of the wind outside accompany you two. You sigh as you allow sleep to take you, embracing the love of your life as he nuzzles into your arms. 

—

“Hey… We’re gonna talk about that temperature thing, right? Cuz’ that was pretty hot, but you're cold so it was like– I was surprised–”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Chad.”

Robert has surprised you in so many ways ever since he became the Z-teams' official dispatcher. The last few never lasted more than a day, always quitting on the spot once the next day rolled in, said ex-dispatcher would walk out of Blonde Blazers' office with daggers aimed at the team. You found the predicament amusing, especially when they try to leave with a threat in hand. They always held a grudge against the team, but it wasn't your fault; you were all dysfunctional freaks that trauma-bonded with one another. 

You’ve always gravitated towards Prism ever since the start, but as the months went by, you've gotten closer to Coupe and Punch-up. Melevola, Sonar and Golem have also earned a spot on your hangout list. Even Invisigal, whom you had a rough start with, primarily because of her childish nature, has grown her own vines around you, somehow always going on coffee runs with you and finding interests in your hobbies. 

Yet, despite knowing one man better than almost everyone in the group, there's one man you can barely stand; his mere presence brings an unease into your stomach. 

You spend your time mostly in the SDN gym when the day starts. The gym is empty around the early hours of the shift, no one to hog your weights and machines, and since it's highly recommended by Blazer for any hero to use on their own, she always advocates for her employees' health after all. 

The beat of your workout playlist accompanies you as you begin your third set on the bench press. You feel the blush backrest as your grip tightens around the bar, taking a deep breath in, before pushing it upwards. The burn of the weight is what you focus on, the world outside a blur as your eyesight is trained on the moving bar above you, careful not to awaken your powers unless you want the bar to slip from your hands. There was that familiar pain of a good workout coursing through your body, sweat running down your chest and back, having to regulate your breath, and a truly tranquil environment you can escape into. 

Once you’ve finished the set, the metal sound of the bar hitting its resting point brings you back to reality. You sat up from the bench, wiping down your face with the towel sitting beside your phone and water bottle. It wasn't until you stood, water bottle a breath away from your lips, did you spotted an annoyingly familiar figure leaning on the weight racks. 

“Flambae.” You greeted, sharp eyes regards him. The man has his arms crossed, that provoking smirk etched on his lips. 

“Hey Stormy, long time no chat,” He begins to make his way towards you. You promptly turn to drink from your bottle, pausing your playlist with the other hand. Your once private workout session is now interrupted, you’re ready to clean up and head to the showers. 

Flambae grabs one of the bigger weights from the dumbbell section. It was beyond you whether the man was about to show off or if it was truly his power that gave him the strength. He sits at an empty bench, easily curling said weight, looking up to where you caught yourself watching his muscles flex. “You don't miss talking to my handsome face?”

“I miss when I didn't have to talk to your ugly face.” You busy yourself with something irrelevant on your phone. “You’re not usually in this early.”

If the other comment didn't bother him, Flambae did not show it. Instead, he scoffs, dropping the weight onto the floor with a dull thud. “Can't a guy come in once in a while to work out–” he grunts.

“-Not that I need it, of course,” 

You roll your eyes when you turn your back to him. “Then what? Came out here just to see me? ‘Cuz as you said, you don't need the workout,”

The clatter of the weight almost shook you, though you held your ground. Flambae clicks his tongue, undeniably annoyed at this point. “Oh, don't fatter yourself, Stormy, I could care–”

“Don't call me that.” Flambae stops, his brows furrowing at your words.

“What?”

“You’re not allowed to call me by that name, not since you left me.” 

The room was deathly silent, not even the hum of the office outside, starting to fill up with employees, broke the palpable tension. You had to blink away the anger to let your ice shards melt before they even finished forming around your arm, and if you felt a sudden increase of heat from behind you, you refused to look around. 

“Is that what all of this is about? Our ‘thing’ back then? Really?” You hear the man stand; the fabric of his leotard shifts as he moves. “You’re still sensitive about that? And I thought we were both adults here,”

“If you took a second to look past your goddamn bravado, you would realize that there's only one adult between us, and it isn't you.” You bite. 

Another beat of silence, a sudden jolt of heat radiates behind you. You gulp, tightening your hold on your phone. “Just… Leave me alone outside of work, Flambae.”

You exit the gym, and a wave of exhaustion overcomes you. The intense feeling and the fatigue after a workout do not mix well. You begin to think of ways to avoid the man's presence, maybe moving your work out even earlier if the office allows it. A sigh leaves you as you begin walking to the shower rooms, getting ready to start the work day.

—

“I don't need a goddamn babysitter, Bob-bob!” Flambae shouts into the intercom, which almost made you want to mute the whole damn thing itself. “It’s a simple rescue mission from a goddamn forest fire! This job was practically made for me!”

“Yes, but there's a lot of hikers on this one, and while I know your skin doesn't burn, we normies do burn.” You were about to grab another can of energy drink before Robert continued. “So, I'm sending Snow Storm with you to clear a path.” 

“I’m sorry?” You choke around the drink, wiping away the droplets from your lips. 

“I think you two will be fitting for the mission, like I said, evacuate the hikers and use your specialty to make sure everyone gets out safe,” You hear the man type into his computer. “And try not to burn any more trees, Flambae,”

Flambae scoffs. “I’ll burn your goddamn house down, Robert,” 

“Counting on it,” Robert deadpans. You could only sigh, throwing the can away as you began to secure the straps on your suit and shoes. The sudden burst of orange flies away from the SDN building, which reminds you of the partner you're currently assigned to. The pit inside your stomach bubbles, though you try to force it down in hopes the mission won't burn to a disastrous char.

You pushed yourself from the open balcony of the 2nd floor of the office, following Flambaes' flaming residue as he soars through the sky. Your powers allow you to push yourself off the ground, propelling yourself upwards with blasting freezing wind behind you. If the citizens below you feel a residue of melting snow, you just hope the kids find joy with it, and the rest won't be too burdened with it.

Flambae had arrived first before you land beside him, couching into your sleeves as flame surrounds both of you.

“I’ll put out some of the fires, you go find those hikers!”

“Don't tell me what to do, damnit!” Flambae pushes at your chest. You roll your eyes, grabbing his hand and pushing it right back to his sternum.

“Would you just fucking listen to me this one time?!” You shouted, the roaring flames bite around your body. “We don't have time for this shit, just go!” 

A shout broke through the wall of fire, no doubt the trapped hikers. You groan, letting the man go and using your powers to make a safe walkway with snow. “The faster we find them, the less time we spend with each other!” 

That was the last thing you told Flambae before you left him in favor of the hikers, your priority. Delving deeper into the burning forest, you found two of them hiding bellow a charred trunk. The relief they felt at your presence was extended towards you, glad to see the civilians safe. You extended another snowy path outside the fire's perimeter, careful to make sure the two are following you. When you finally exit the fire, you usher them outside to the waiting medics and firefighters before running back inside the forest. The thick smoke and high flame don't worry you, mainly because you're sure your powers would serve as enough shield if the fire doesn't spread any wider. 

Making your way into the burning walls of wood, you squint your eyes as one hand continues to part the fire with your snow, the other covering your face from suffocating through the smoke. As you continue to walk and shout for any hope of a response, you spot Flambae flying away with a hiker in his arms. Relief runs through your heart, but not before hearing another shrill of help, at which you immediately shout back and head towards the voice. When you found the source of the shout, it was a mother and son, trying to push away the fire with a charred tree branch.

“I got you, ma’am! Stay put!” You immediately cover the flame around them with snow, ensuring their safety. They thank you profusely as you guide them outside, into the safety of the professionals. 

“Is that all of them?” You check with one of the medical team, one of the hikers sitting at the edge of the ambulance, wrapped in a blanket. 

“I think my friend is still in there!” He interjects before the medic can answer. You nod, immediately turning back to find said hiker. 

You continue to clear a path, but the flame keeps fighting back, melting your snow easily, which requires you to force your powers into overdrive. You can feel the tips of your fingers tingly, the biting sensation of numbness you're familiar with. When you've used too much of your powers, your skin becomes vulnerable, like someone who's beginning to succumb to frostbite, sensitive to the smallest heat introduced to them. Though your priority is currently on the last survivor, at least you're hoping they are.

You've lost count of how much ground you've covered; the snow-covered path you're currently stepping on is the only indicator that you haven't gone in a circle. You cough into your jacket, the oxygen starting to deplete at a faster rate than you anticipated. Just as you were about to continue your search, Flambae lands beside you, a worried expression on him. The man must have caught you coughing earlier. 

“I can continue the search on my own!” The crackle of fire is the only other thing you hear besides the man's shout. 

“I’m fine! We need to cover as much ground as we can!”

“That’s what I'm saying! You can't continue, you’ll suffocate!” He insists, fire dancing within his eyes. You groan, turning around.

“I told you I'm fine, fuck! Why do you suddenly care, huh?! I don't need you to–”

“I can fucking lose you like this!” Flambae grabs your hand, and an immediate surge of pain flares up your arm. Like a million biting ants have crawled up from your palm and spread through your entire left arm.

“Shit!” You shout as you pull away from Flambae's grip, clutching your burnt hand. “My goddamn– Fucking forget it, Flambae!”

“You only care about me when I'm about to fucking die? When we are supposed to focus on saving a civilian's life? Some selfless prick you are!” Your words dig daggers into Flambaes' core, even if they are invisible. “Fuck off and find the damn guy!”

The last thing you wear was the man taking off as you turn back to continue your snow path into the flames. A couple of meters into the fire, there was another shout for help, which you immediately head to, replying every time to better locate the person. They were surrounded by a circle of burning wood when you found them, immediately extinguishing the flames. He thanks you as you rush outside the forest fire and hand them over to the medic team.

You were talking to one of the medical team, briefing you on the number of casualties and how many need urgent care when Flambae approaches. You were about to thank the medic for the information before they pointed at your left palm, the burn marks visible now without smoke surrounding it. “Oh my god, that looks– That's a very bad burn,” 

“Please, take these!” He pushes a bottle of ibuprofen and a roll of bandages into your arms. “There isn't anything better I can give you, is it–”

“It’s okay, sir, my powers allow my skin to heal from frostbite, but the uh…” You glance down at the angry red marks that scar your skin. “I must have gotten too close to the fire; it’ll heal on its own.” 

The medic regards you with concern, though he puts his faith in you. You nod as you look and take in the surroundings, multiple ambulances scattered around, and as you look behind you, a lot of choppers have already started raining down water, and if your vision doesn't fail you, Waterboy is in one of said choppers, expelling more water than you've ever seen. Robert must have sent the man as part of the clean-up crew, which you're grateful for, since your injured palm won't be much help. 

Between the people tending to the wounded and firefighters securing the area, you found your eyes gravitating towards Flambae’s who was standing far from you. Despite the crowd, you can't help but find his worried eyes between them, his brows furrow as his eyes travel from yours, down to your hand. You watch his expression turn from concern to regret in real time, awakening that once forgotten knot within you. You tear yourself away from the man's gaze, angling yourself to soar away from the people as you've finished your primary mission, forgetting whether Flambae will be following or not.

—

The locker room was empty when you walked out of the showers. The Z-team’s shift has ended, and another mostly successful day has been added to the records. You said your farewells to the boys when they began filing out of the locker room. Sonar had invited you out for drinks, but you needed some private time to clear the smoke in your head, so you declined. The half-bat pouted, but with your promise to join him next time, he pats your shoulder before exiting the room. 

That's how you found yourself sitting on the bench in nothing but a towel around your hips, your locker wide open, your hero suit hanging within, the slight burn marks looking back at you as a reminder. Though said reminders are unnecessary when you have a larger, more prominent mark on your left palm. You knew you should've adorned your gloves instead of leaving them behind, but you hate how the fabric felt against your skin, especially since you haven't upgraded them to be able to withstand heat, unlike your skin, which has a built-in shield against it. Though once you've exhausted your powers, said shield bites back against you. 

You let your head hang, droplets of water slide down your hair as the tiles of the locker room gain your interest. The prominent fatigue claws at your muscles, and when you glance back at your slowly healing palm, it fuels the slight anger within you. Speaking of anger, the man who's responsible for your injury has arrived. 

Flambae drops his bag to the floor, meters away from you, as he scratches the back of his neck. “I uh… Are you… Okay?”

You scoff. “Peachy.”

“Oh you didn't need to– Listen, I'm just checkin’ up, alright?” He rolls his eyes, annoyance always hanging on each of his sentences. “After that damn fire and your uh… Hand,”

“Oh, this old thing? I’ll be fine in a day or two, it heals quick.” You snap back, inhaling deeply to regulate yourself. 

“What are you so pissed about? We got a job well done!” He raises his voice before abruptly cutting himself off. “It’s just– I'm sorry, okay? For your uh- hand…”

You chuckle, sarcasm drips from your tone. You find yourself standing, finally having the energy to face the man. The fact that he has his hair down slightly surprises you, igniting that annoying feeling once again, before promptly shaking it away. “You’re sorry? For my hand?”

“Is that all you had to say? Just about my hand?” Your tone is clipped as you take a step towards him. You disregarded the sudden change of temperature in the room as you sneer. “After all of that, all of this, you're sorry about my goddamn hand?” 

“You know what I mean!”

“Then tell me with your own goddamn words, coward!” 

The next thing you registered was the man’s hand at your sides, pushing you against the lockers as they rattle angrily, his lips merely inches away from yours. “P-Please… listen to me,”

You gulp, a shiver runs down your spine as you steel yourself. You nod once, allowing him to continue. “I… I was scared. I could've lost you, back then,”

“I’m so shit with this whole– feelings bullshit! I just… I couldn't lose you, I–” You follow his tongue as it runs across his lips, a prominent blush starting to show itself on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, for– for leaving you, for treating you like shit, for your scars,” 

“I don't want to be like that anymore. Please let me be better,” He huffs. You feel his heat against your skin, temptation against your senses. It’s like the man finally registers just how little distance is between you two as he visibly shakes, lips almost prodding yours. “Can I kiss you?”

A beat of silence, before– “How can I say no to you?” 

His lips press into yours, you immediately find a path to tangle between his strands of black hair. Flambae kisses like a starved man, gulping down each push and pull you grace him, drinking in your sounds as he releases his own. You felt the man relinquish his initial lead, which you took the chance to slip your tongue into his mouth, smirking around the groan he whispers. He tightens his hold around your hips, brushing his legs against yours, at which you softly push at his chest. Surprisingly, the man yields, pulling back with heavy eyes, burning ambers within them. 

“I’m… I’m surprised you could even say sorry. How out of character.” You smirk, which makes Flambae groan.

“You’re ruining the–” You stop him with another kiss, promptly silencing him, which makes you chuckle.

“But,” You continue. “It’ll take a while for me to forgive you,” 

He huffs, a visible pout on his lips. “What, do you want me to beg? Is that it?”

You chuckle, raking your fingers through his strands. “While that would be entertaining…”

“How about you start by actually talking to me?” He blinks, and another surge of blush goes through his face. He coughs into his shoulder, turning away with squinted eyes. 

“Y-yeah I can do that–” He clears his throat once again, earning an arched brow from you. “How about a uh… Dinner with me? Tomorrow?” 

“I’ll talk, like for real. And I won't leave you, I promise.” He nods.

You find yourself smiling, brushing your knuckles against his cheek, before cupping the man's jaw. Flambae’s eyes flutter before he nudges at your palm, and a sharp eye glares at you. You were not familiar with this side of the man, almost a shy demeanor hidden behind his bratty facade. It both scares you and intrigues you. “Okay, dinner sounds nice.” 

And just as you were interested in his shyness, it disappears as quickly as it came. “Of course it sounds nice, you’re going out with me,”

“After all, who could resist?” He smirks, brushing back his fringe. You groan, easily pushing him away as you walk back to your locker, starting to gather your belongings. 

“Go home, Flambae,” You smirk, watching as the man relents and grabs his bag from the floor, slinging it around his body. 

“I'm going, I’m going,” He chuckles. Just as you hear the door to the room open, you hear Flambae’s last sentence. “But uh– You should probably take care of that,” 

“Of what–” You glance around before your eyes drop to your crotch, a prominent tent peaking from the thin layer of towel you wrapped around yourself. “Shit!” 

Flambae watches from the door as you fumble around your locker, finding god-knows-what items to save your shredded dignity. “What can I say, I'm irresistible,”

“Oh fuck off,” You groan, accepting defeat as he finally leaves the room, allowing silence and solitude to grace you once more. You groat, sitting down on the bench once more, replaying the events that had just happened. The jolt of Flambaes' lips against yours can still be felt, reminding you of what's to come in the future, and if the man keeps his word, it might allow you to finally learn much more from him.

Now it was a matter of choice: relieving yourself in the shower or waiting for the erection to settle down by itself. You sigh, glancing back at your hero suit, the small patches of soot and grime showing themselves in front of the blue and white colors of it. 

every single day since he'd watched you walk into that conference room, innocently sitting down and listening as the first— of many— dispatchers gave their warm welcome... you'd nestled in between the wrinkles of his brain and remained there. worst part was, it only grew the longer you stuck around.

the more small changes you made, the more you clung to him— like an ever-evolving virus avoiding every vaccine engineered to kill you off in his head. trimming your moppy excuse of a cut (that, frankly, looked more like a bob), growing out a small 'stache, bulking up in a way that legitimately made his mind go blank whenever you stretched juuust so... (god forbid when you once commented about needing a bigger size of clothing, he wanted to tear himself open)

but, as much as everyone exploited the lack of HR at SDN, he chose to sit this one out. i mean, sure, he teased and pushed you around a bit. mostly on missions, and definitely doing it to hype himself up more than put you down. but you weren't reciprocating— he even tried the weightlifting trick!— so, he kept his distance... in a way. that distance being not asking you to fuck or marry him immediately.

but that all came to a heading one fateful day. the z-team was kicking back in the conference room before work, chatting with one another about the latest dive bar they had the pleasure of being banned for life from.

"you shoulda seen the look on that motherfucker's face," prism boasted. "cried like a bitch."

"bet my casualty-count was 'ire," punch-up proclaimed.

all the while, flambae, feet propped up on the table, watched no one but you. he saw your gaze flicker to the main speakers, saw your knee begin to bounce, saw the way you held yourself tight when you clearly had something to add. it made his lips tighten.

"nah. golem and i tore that place up," invisigal shot a glance to the rocky morph at the end of the table.

"you know it," he rumbled out flatly.

"no, no, you guys *had* to see robert's face wh— en—" you began, but your voice quickly cut off as a syllable came out less like a steady sound... and more like shattered glass.

the room went quiet... for about two seconds before erupting into snickers, gradually ramping up into laughter. your face felt like it'd heated up by 100°, your palms instantly breaking into a furious sweat as that painful twist knotted your stomach.

"having a little trouble there, laddie?" punch-up teased.

"jesus christ, you sound like me 10 years ago... but sadder," sonar stated flatly.

"damn, little man, did you walk into the wrong building?" malevola hopped on. "daycare's just down the way."

"real man, my ass," invisigal snickered.

they continued to make the rounds, laughing harder at each progressive riff. you, meanwhile, sank back in your chair, wanting to become one with the floor and disappear.

flambae was silent, his eyes wide and darting around the room. he'd thought your voice was something infuriatingly hot to listen to, small cracks and all. of course those assholes had to hop on the nearest joke and— ohmygod, you looked just about ready to die—

"would you fuckers shut up for five fucking seconds?!" flambae snapped, feet hitting the floor. his chair squeaked against the ground as he stood abruptly, palms slamming down on the table. smoke flickered up from his shoulders and the tips of his hair, his back visibly rising and falling with each heavy breath.

everyone went quiet, eyes locked between flambae's angry form and your utterly humiliated one.

"i can't hear my own fucking thoughts," he huffed out, voice rough. "yes, his voice sounds..." he wavered, "... dumb. but, you assholes are acting like bitchy hyenas. it isn't that funny. shut the fuck up."

the two of you locked eyes for a moment, your lips parted. flambae's eyes widened briefly, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest, before he kissed his teeth and sat back down.

"... damn, who pissed in your—" invisigal began, before coupé sat a hand down on the table and made eye contact with her, shaking her head slightly. invisigal reluctantly shut her mouth, sighing as she leaned back in her chair.

thankfully, robert and blonde blazer didn't take long to show up. they only silently questioned the quiet atmosphere before launching into the daily schpiel. all the while, flambae and you would exchange small glances, barely listening to the meeting.

afterwards, before flambae could disappear off to his station, you caught up to him, tapping his shoulder. "uh— flambae?"

"what?" he questioned sharply, whirling around to meet your eyes. the muscle in his jaw feathered slightly, hands curled into fists to output his rapidly increasing heartrate.

"sorry, i didn't mean to— nevermind. anyways, i wanted to thank you," you fumbled out, forcing some stability back into your tone. a rasp edged your words, and you cringed slightly at the sound of it, unbeknownst to flambae's mental salivating. "for, uh... for standing up for me back there. i really, really appreciate it."

you gave him a small smile. out of politeness, probably, but flambae could've died right then and there. the scent of smoke was rapidly increasing, and he could feel the flames stoked in his palms. he almost forgot to respond, eyes locked on your lips.

"... it's whatever," he drawled out, cracking his neck. "you just looked like such a sad, pathetic bitch that i needed to do something before i puked out of..."

he saw a small flinch in your brows, and he sucked in a ragged breath through his nose. he reached out and grabbed the top of your head, ruffling your soft hair.

"don't mention it, little shit," he muttered, the insult carrying no weight. before he walked off, he looked back at you, hand on his hip. "if any of them give you trouble, tell me, yeah? i'll... handle them."

and that look you gave him, a mix of surprise, confusion, and amusement all packed in a half-grin... fuck. you had no idea what you did to him. or, y'know, maybe a little.

"i'll... keep that in mind," you replied, rocking back on your heels. "see you out on the field, flame-boy."