#Sue Storm One Shot

[seumyo]

will bakugou choose seoul, korea or your wedding anniversary?

Bakugou had turned the damn house upside down three times.

“Where the hell is it?” He hissed under his breath, storming through the hallway closet for the third time in two days. He’d torn apart the shoe rack, the document folders, and even flipped through the cookbooks in the kitchen, just in case he’d used it as a bookmark. No dice. The damn passport was still missing.

His hair was sticking up more than usual—half from stress, half from the static of the hoodie he’d thrown on that morning in frustration. They were supposed to leave for Korea in three days. Three. It was the biggest pro-hero conference he’d ever been invited to—panel talks, interviews, awards. Best Jeanist, Lemillion, and even Halfie had their confirmations sent in already.

And what did he have?

An expired copy of his license (he got a new one; the expired one’s just in his drawer), a half-crushed protein bar, and a very pouty, very pregnant wife in the living room.

You had your feet up on the couch, ankles slightly swollen beneath the oversized hoodie you’d stolen from his wardrobe. You were scrolling on your phone with one hand, the other resting on your baby bump, lazily tracing circles. When Bakugou stomped past, you looked up with the slow blink of a cat.

“Still lost?” you asked, not bothering to hide your amusement. Even laughed under your breath.

The audacity, he thinks, though it wasn’t frustration. He could never be mad at you.

Because he knows you’ll get mad at him, too.

Bakugou didn’t answer. He grunted instead, pulling out another drawer in the cabinet near the TV.

“Maybe it grew legs and walked off,” you teased. “Or maybe your big fat ego swallowed it.”

He shot you a look. “Not helping.”

You hummed. “Not trying to.”

Your pout had gotten more dramatic since hitting six months. Bakugou noticed it more these days, how you’d stare down your food like it personally offended you, or how you’d sigh theatrically every time the topic of even him leaving the house came up. At first, you’d been supportive—even joked that you’d video call him during the conference and heckle him from the screen. But once you found out the biggest day of the event landed on your wedding anniversary, the whole game changed.

Suddenly he feels like he’s on house arrest.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you murmured, taking a sip of the juice he made you this morning. “Maybe you’re meant to stay home this time.”

Bakugou scoffed. As if.

“Ain’t no damn sign. It’s just misplacin’ shit.”

“You don’t have to go,” you said again. “You could stay. Cuddle me. Eat cake. Listen to me cry about clouds.”

“You said I could go if I find my passport,” he pouts, brows furrowed, and his lips jutted slightly.

“I did, and don’t be mad,” you replied. “I want you to go. Really. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Then why do you look like you wanna punch me in the throat?”

You blinked at him. “Because it’s our anniversary and I’m hormonal. Sue me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I hope you don’t find it.”

That was the end of that conversation.

-

The night before their anniversary came sooner than expected.

Bakugou had made a reservation at one of the nicest rooftop restaurants in the city. Private booth, soft fairy lights, cityscape twinkling behind them. The host even laid a small bouquet of lavender on the table when he told them it was for a special occasion. He hadn’t told you where you were going, only grunted, “Wear that dress you like—that comfy one. You know the one.”

He hadn’t mentioned anything new about the passport ordeal. You, who figured he’d either given up or accepted fate, were mostly content to enjoy the evening.

You looked like a dream, so his focus was entirely on you. Someone who he somehow managed to have (maybe his bond with his guardian angels came in clutch and even contacted Cupid himself to arrange an arrow for you two).

You waddled into the restaurant, cheeks a little fuller, eyes glowing. He still looked at you like he couldn’t believe he got so lucky. He thinks it makes you shy, how intense his gaze got, even after everything—the morning sickness, the mood swings, the late-night hospital runs due to paranoia.

“You okay?” he asked, placing a hand on your lower back as you walked in.

“Mm,” you hummed, leaning into his touch. You could barely hide your smile at this point. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t even deny it. “I am? So what? Can’t a man just appreciate his wife?”

Dinner went well, for the most part.

You had one hand on your belly, the other wrapped around his fingers on the table. You were halfway through your chocolate mousse when Bakugou reached into his jacket pocket and slid something across the table.

“No,” you said slowly, setting your spoon down. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

He didn’t look smug at all, more like... hopeful.

Your brows furrowed. You reached for the passport, flipping it open.

There it was. His damn passport. Found. Intact. Stamped. His most recent picture was taken only a few months ago.

Yoh stared at it. Then at you. Then back at it again.

“…You found it?”

“Yup.”

“Where was it?”

He cleared his throat, gaze shifting to the side.

“…Behind the dresser in the guest room. Stuffed in that red envelope labeled ‘Important Shit,’ which you labeled in your handwriting, by the way.”

You paused. Your cheeks puffed again as your lips turned downward in the softest pout he’d ever seen. You looked down at your half-eaten dessert, spoon idle.

“You’re really gonna go?”

“I want to,” he admitted. “But I don’t wanna leave you pissed off and lonely, either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just poked at your mousse with your spoon. Your lashes were low, and he could tell you were struggling. Not angry, just…sad.

Finally, you said, “It’s just one. It’s just one anniversary. We’ll have dozens more, right?”

“We will. We’ll have centuries more.”

“…And you’ll video call me. Every day.”

“Morning and night.”

“And text me when you land. And when you eat. And when you leave the venue. And—”

Bakugou reached across the table and tugged gently at your hand. His hands are rough against yours, but they’re filled with sincerity and utmost love that a man could give to his wife.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

His voice softened.

“Seriously, d’ya think I’d leave you without a plan?”

You blinked.

“I’m leavin’ you flowers and your cake. I told Kirishima to drop off that spa basket thing you said you wanted last month. And your mom’s stayin’ over the night of. I made sure. I even stocked the fridge.”

Your mouth parted slightly, tilting your head to the side. “You…did all that?”

“Yeah.” He looked almost bashful now, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t want you to think I forgot. Even if I ain’t here physically. I’m still here.”

Your eyes shimmered just a bit. A good sign, Bakugou notes.

Then you smiled—soft and tired and affectionate.

“God, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Tch. Don’t cry. I’ll look like an asshole.”

You laughed then, nose crinkling. “You are an asshole. But a sweet one.”

“Yeah, you love me.”

“I do.”

You two didn’t talk about the passport again that night. Not after that.

Instead, you finished dessert. Slowly. Your hand stayed in his the whole time.

When you walked out of the restaurant, he kept his arm around your shoulders, guiding you carefully down the steps like you were made of glass. You leaned into him, soft and warm, your belly pressing into his side.

And when they got home, you told him, “Let’s open the anniversary cake early.”

He didn’t say no. Not when you looked that happy. It doesn’t matter that he’s already full from the chocolate mousse you two had earlier.

When night finally settled, and Bakugou’s wiping the excess frosting off the corners of your lips with a napkin, he hears you say, “Come home soon, okay?”

He nodded, then softly kissed the crown of your head.

“Always.”

Always come home to you.

-

The morning of Bakugou’s flight started earlier than usual.

He had been up before the alarm even went off, brushing his teeth with the kind of intensity that only came from years of military-grade discipline… or nerves (also because he wants all bad germs on his mouth to die). Not that he’d ever admit to the latter. He stood in front of the mirror, towel slung low on his hips, steam curling from the hot shower as he stared at his reflection.

This was it. The day he was supposed to fly out to Korea.

Except—he wasn’t going.

Not really.

He’d made his decision last night, somewhere between the weight of your hug and the feel of your heartbeat against his body when you fell asleep on his chest. The moment you started snoring softly, your nose slightly buried in his shirt, he realized there was no way in hell he was getting on that plane.

Not this time.

But you didn’t need to know that just yet.

Because if there was one thing Bakugou knew about his wife, it was that you’d throw a fit if he skipped a life-changing professional opportunity just to spend your anniversary folding baby laundry and rubbing your swollen ankles. Plus, he knew you’d never allow him to stay. And if you knew he was lying about leaving, you’d huff and puff until he actually made him go.

So, he planned ahead. Like a goddamn mastermind.

By the time you woke up—slightly groggy with pillow lines on your cheek—he had already “packed.” His suitcase was zipped shut and positioned neatly by the door. His travel duffle bag sat upright next to it. His travel documents were tucked inside an envelope labeled “Do Not Open Unless Emergency.” (Totally blank inside.)

You blinked at him sleepily, rubbing your eyes as you waddled into the living room in his oversized T-shirt. One of the many shirts he was sure was missing from his closet.

“You already packed?” you murmured, voice small and pouty.

He turned from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. Acting too nonchalant to not give anything away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t wanna rush.”

You crossed your arms over your bump. “It’s only a three-hour flight, Katsuki. Not an expedition to the Arctic.”

“Still gotta prep,” he said, biting back a grin.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the smell of something sweet distracted you. Bingo.

He stepped aside, revealing a neatly arranged dessert box sitting on the counter. Inside: four of your favorites—strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream, a slice of creamy Basque burnt cheesecake, a generous portion of tiramisu, and your current obsession: mango sticky rice.

“You bought me desserts?” you awed.

“I bought you a stack,” he corrected. “Don’t think I don’t know you get all sad and start craving sugar when I leave.”

You scoffed. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said, crossing his arms smugly. “You pouted so hard last time I left, I came back to find the fridge empty and you passed out with a half-eaten ice cream tub on the couch.”

“That was one time!”

“And I’m not takin’ chances.”

He bent forward, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then to your rounded belly. “Eat well. Don’t lift anything heavy. Text me when you’re sleepy. I’ll land by lunch. Kirishima’s already on the way, but it’ll take a while because of traffic since the bridge is getting repaired.”

“You’re acting suspicious,” you said, frowning as you clung to his shirt. “You never say goodbye this… nicely.”

“That’s rude,” he muttered. “I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re normally grumpy and say something like, ‘Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.’”

He smirked. You weren’t wrong entirely.

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna come back to find out you’ve cried over an empty dessert box.”

Your lip wobbled, and he kissed you again—softly this time, with an extra squeeze to your waist.

“I’ll be back before you know it. It’s just for two nights.”

-

He left around nine. Or at least, pretended to.

Instead of heading to the airport, he drove straight to his agency, parked in the underground garage, and holed up in his office. There was a bottle of juice in the mini fridge, emergency snacks in the bottom drawer, and an absurd number of congratulatory emails flooding his inbox that he ignored.

The hours ticked by slowly.

He checked his phone a dozen times. No calls. No texts. Just one blurry photo from you of the dessert box with the caption: You’re lucky I’m in a sugar coma right now. Or I’d be mad you left without triple kissing me goodbye.

He snorted.

Around lunchtime, he got restless. Then irritated.

Then, at exactly 1:00 P.M., he got in the car and drove home.

No warning.

No heads-up.

He half-expected you to be lounging in the living room, watching drama reruns and fanning yourself while complaining about heartburn. But when he pulled up the driveway and unlocked the front door—

The house was suspiciously quiet.

His brows pulled together.

“[Name]?” he called out, stepping in.

Nothing.

He frowned and shut the door behind him, stepping out of his boots. He heard a thud from the back hallway. Then a low grunt. A shuffle.

His eyes narrowed.

Then he heard you muttering.

“Come on, come on, I’m not that heavy—”

He rounded the corner—and stopped cold.

There you were.

Standing in the hallway. Sweaty. Red-faced. Holding a large box half your size with both hands, your bump barely giving you enough room to balance it. Your lip was caught between your teeth as you struggled to carry what was definitely one of the boxes he had explicitly labeled: Do Not Touch.

“…What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You screamed.

You literally screamed—jumping nearly out of your skin, eyes wide like you saw a ghost.

Or a burglar.

Or both, at this point.

“—Katsuki! I thought you were in Korea—what the hell—”

“Put the box down.”

“You can’t just walk in like that, I thought—I—”

“Put it down, [Name].”

You dropped it with a loud thunk, wobbling backward and grabbing your shoulders.

“Oh my god, I thought you were a home invader! I was ready to throw a candle at you—why are you back?!”

Bakugou marched toward you, still wide-eyed with a mixture of rage and pure panic. He can’t believe this at all. “More importantly, why the fuck are you lifting boxes?!”

“I was bored!”

“Bored? So you decided to tear a disc and pop a blood vessel?!”

“I didn’t tear anything! And it wasn’t heavy; it’s mostly baby blankets!”

He crouched down instantly to pick it up—still heavy, despite your excuses—and carried it to the nursery, grumbling the entire way. “Goddamn woman’s gonna give me a stroke,” he muttered, though there was never any heat in his words.

You waddled after him, still stunned.

“Wait. Why are you here?!”

“I never left.”

“You… what?”

“I stayed at the agency. Figured I’d come back after you thought I was gone. Catch you red-handed.”

“You liar!”

He turned toward you, his frustration subsiding.

“You’re not even a good liar! You went full fake goodbye mode this morning! You even left me mango sticky rice!”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I knew you’d snoop around and start being reckless the second you thought no one was watching.”

Your cheeks puffed up again. That damn pout.

“I was just nesting,” you mumbled.

“Nesting doesn’t involve deadlifting half a closet,” he shot back. “You promised you’d take it easy.”

“…I thought you were in Korea.”

“Yeah, well, again, surprise.”

You blinked up at him again, eyes soft now, overwhelmed. “…You really stayed just for me?”

When he sets the boxes down, he exhaled and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. “You really thought I’d leave you alone on our anniversary? Pregnant? Carrying boxes? Eating dessert by yourself? What do you take me for? A shitty husband?”

You hit his chest weakly.

“You’re so unfair,” you muttered.

“I know,” he grinned. “And I love you.”

You melted then. Completely.

Wrapping your arms around him, your bump pressing into his stomach, you buried your face in his chest and whispered: “I love you too, you dramatic maniac.”

That night, there was no flight. No press. No conference.

Just takeout on the couch, your feet in his lap, mango sticky rice on your plate, and his hand splayed across your belly like a homecoming gift.

Bakugou may have missed a headline.

But he made the right choice.

And that mattered more.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[murdock-slvt]

𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 (j. storm x female! reader) ▄▀▄▀▄

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: johnny storm x female! reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: johnny doesn’t expect to be so turned on when he sees you be a mother figure towards sue and reed’s kid… but johnny isn’t one to ignore his desires

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 16+ CONTENT, rough sex, suppressed breeding kink? breeding kink, praise kink, vaginal sex, hair pulling (johnny receiving), lots of flirting, usage of ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’, edging, unprotected sex (wrap it!), erection fondling, aftercare, lowercase! intended

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: joseph quinn as johnny storm, I will forever love u. i never particularly liked chris evan’s performance, just never felt like johnny johnny, but so far, quinn seems like he got johnny down 🥹 so excited for fantastic 4! also, if u don’t like the ‘daddy’ kink, don’t read this!

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

you were always so grateful that sue and reed trusted you enough around franklin when he was born— if reed and sue could trust johnny, they could trust you.

sue and reed had entrusted you and johnny to take care of the one year old franklin as the super couple went on a date night that was definitely needed and definitely earned. ben was out doing some charity event stuff which made you and johnny stuck on babysitting duties— but neither of you could care; johnny wanted to prove to his sister (and reed) that he is a damn good uncle, and you didn’t mind spending the night with johnny.

the thing about johnny though, is that he always knew what type of man he was; he was the sexy playboy of the group. the hot shot who knew everything and winked at every camera he saw. he saved people, absolutely, but he also did it with a sexy smile on his face and with the playboy aesthetic comes the idea of settling down. seeing you take care of franklin in such a good way, it’s awakening a feeling he’s never had before.

does he want to be a daddy?

it doesn’t seem that bad; you make it seem pretty damn fun.

seeing you take care of franklin gave johnny an unfamiliar yet warm and welcomed feeling in his chest; you looked perfect taking care of the new member of the family, finding his thoughts imagining you with your own kid, from his dna too, parents. it made johnny spiral in all the best ways.

his thoughts were a mile a minute, seeing you with the one year old, acting as a place in mom for the kid. johnny thought of a baby that was both of yours, that was configured by both your guy’s sperm and dna… his own baby, with their own features— fuck. he was supposed to be the womanizer of the group, not this shitty sappy romantic.

his thoughts drifted into the dirtier crevices of his mind… imagining how he’d get you pregnant, how stuffed you’d look, with your beautiful eyes filled with tears as he fucked a baby into you… oh god it seemed too good.

he watches from the baxter building’s kitchen, seeing the slight arch in your back as you sat with franklin. the boy had a thing plushie in his hand, throwing it around and doing whatever one year olds do with things they don’t know anything about but are learning how to be a human being.

the back arch wasn’t even that sexual… it wasn’t… but the way your back was, bent slightly with your ass perched perfectly, it’s an innocent position that johnny’s mind can’t help but make dirty.

he couldn’t stop looking, he couldn’t stop his eyes. it felt perverted, but he couldn’t help it. he blinked, forcing his eyes to advert to the stars as they shined outside, through the curtains of the baxter building. he tried his fucking hardest to not go back to seeing you, back arched slightly with the perfect amount of ass out, and he cursed himself when he felt his pants begin to tighten.

snap out of that johnny— you’re better than this.

his feet quickly move his body, excusing himself and putting on a front that he wasn’t absolutely hard as a rock watching you be a great aunt to franklin. going into the closest bathroom, he leaves the door open but the light off, turning on the faucet and splashing ice cold water onto his face. he needed these thoughts gone, or at least under some semblance of control.

he shook his head, water droplets flying as he tried to calm his nerves. he held onto the sink as his cheeks flushed. why was this thought causing him this much trouble… and the hard cock throbbing in his pants certainly didn’t help. fuck.

“you look like a hot mess, baby.”

your words echo to his head as he turns around, seeing you standing in the doorway of the bathroom, hands on your hips as you stare at your boyfriend. you know exactly what got him worked up, it’s funny really.

johnny looks at you with furrowed brows before turning off the faucet, straightening his back and crossing his arms. “aren’t you supposed to be with frankie, my love? y’know he’ll tear some shit up if you’re not in there.” he asks you, hiding it (not very well) that he just discovered he had a secret kink of you pregnant—

you smile at his words, shrugging lightly as you look at your nails, then back up at the blonde. “franklin’s a little tired. ‘m letting him get his energy out right now before putting him to bed… but looks like he’s already knocking out…” you say as you look at franklin, drool slightly leaving his mouth and landing on the thing’s thick plush fist, he was an adorable baby that’s for damn sure.

“besides, even if he wasn’t tired, it’s not like he’s going to burn the house down… he’s not you.” you joke, pulling johnny out of the dark bathroom by his belt.

chuckling at your words and the way you tease him, johnny steps out the bathroom, trying to hard to not groan at your hand on his belt, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m not that reckless!” he tries to defend himself. “only like, half the time, and that’s with reed here!” he puts his chin on your shoulder as you look at him over your shoulder, holding the belt. “besides… you left the kiddo to look for me, you sure has different priorities, princess…”

“shut up, hot shit.” you say, looking at franklin before you turn around to face johnny. “I care about little frankie, ‘cause clearly you sure other priorities than trying to help me take care of your nephew…” you shook back, the same playful grin as you place your left hand on his bulge.

“hey! i’m helping too.” he protested weakly, but the protest died when you touched his shaft through his pants, making him shiver.

“I’m just multitasking, princess...” he adds slyly, a smirk on his stupid face as his hand runs through his blonde hair, making it too sexy for his own good.

“multitasking, huh?” you ask, a smirk growing on your face as you hear his words. you step a bit closer to him, his hand still on his crotch, squeezing his shaft confined in his pants as your other hand moved to his face, stroking his strong jawline.

“hell yeah, multi-tasking baby… taking care of little franklin then imagining you fat with my own…” he says quietly— as if franklin the one year old who still calls sue ‘daddy’ and reed ‘mommy’ could hear his filthy words. it’s the first time he’s admitted the secret kink that’s slowly been harboring in his gut.

his mouth continues; “mmm, you have no clue what you’re doing right now…” he murmurs lowly, his hands beginning to roam your body, sliding up to the top three buttons on your sleep shirt.

“oh I think I’m doing everything you want me to do, johnny…” you say, your voice bordering on sultry. the way he talks about you being pregnant and just imagining his cock ramming into you— it sent a thrill through your body and to your pussy. “you’re such a pervert, y’know?”

he chuckles, unbuttoning the top two buttons of the shirt you’re wearing. “oh but you don’t even know the half of it, darling.” he says back to you, kissing your cheek. the way you’re talking and squeezing his cock is too much for him.

he could throw you against the wall and pound you into the wall and wouldn’t think twice.

but, johnny is able to stop himself, looking at franklin as the sleeping boy nearly falls over as he sleeps on the couch.

you look over your shoulder at the new addition to the richards-storm household, remembering what you were supposed to be doing. you pushed yourself off johnny. “c’mon, I’m going to put frankie in his crib… then we can do what we want…”

johnny pouts at being denied his prize for a bit. but the look at franklin stops him. he grumbles something about blue balls, something you can’t quite hear… but he could never be mad at his little nephew.

you bend over as you pick franklin up, grabbing the thing plushie as well as you walk over to the nursery reed and sue had for franklin, built by johnny, ben, and reed and supervised by sue. you place franklin in the crib, placing the thing plushie right next to the sleeping boy (who takes it back right away) and the boy has no trouble falling back asleep, watching the little rocket ship and solar system toy overhead of the crib slowly hum in circles.

you and johnny look over at the sleeping one year old. he’s already having features of his parents, johnny putting his chin on your shoulder, his hand on his lower back. “I think we make a pretty kickass aunt and uncle duo…”

“we do, don’t we?” you say back to him, placing your hand over johnny’s that sits on your hip, stroking his knuckles lightly. you watch little frankin for a moment, his eyes closed, a tiny smile on his little baby face. johnny swears he melts a little at the sight.

he then asks the question his dick was hard to thinking about; “you think we’d be a good mommy and daddy?”

you smile at his words, it’s rare to see johnny vulnerable, but when he is, he’s open and you appreciate that. your arms wrap themselves around his neck as you think. “I think we’d make good parents… maybe even great.” you say, a grin on your face still as you push a strand of blonde hair out his face.

you look into his big, blue eyes, making sure to not be too close to franklin so the baby can get his beauty sleep. “why do you ask?”

“just thinking, ‘bout how you looked so damn natural, taking care of the little guy.” johnny murmured, holding you just a bit closer to him. he liked this feeling. “and the way you bent over earlier didn’t help.” he added slyly, a smirk on his face as his hands started to slide down to your ass.

you roll your eyes, smacking his chest playfully. “you can’t keep your mind clean, can’t you, johnny?” for a moment you two are silent but with grins and flushed cheeks, you continue however, a low whisper in his ear. “is this your way of asking me to let you get me pregnant, storm?”

“i just want you to be the mother of my kids.” johnny tells you; he says it so casually as his hand groping your ass a bit rougher as he starts backing you out of the nursery. (while keeping his eye on little franklin)

you smile, hearing the soft clicking of the nursery door closing as franklin is put to bed. you bat your eyelashes at the fire-man before tilting your head, pretending to think. “I mean… it doesn’t hurt to try…”

johnny looks at you with a smile, you give him the same look; lust and love as you go into his bedroom…

▄▀▄▀▄

“ohhhhh! fuckkkk, johnny!” your moans echo throughout his room as the bed creaked loudly, the headboard pressing against the wall constantly.

johnny had you on your back, your legs on his shoulders with your hands free to do whatever they please, right now they’re pressed on johnny’s chest as he pushed his thick cock into you, his tip kissing your g-spot constantly.

his grunts are so sexy as he angles his hips perfectly. “yeah? that feels good, baby? like how I’m fucking you?” he asks, beads of sweet dropping down his forehead as he pounds into your sweet pussy. he holds your thighs, not leaving any room to even think about it, his pace quick and mean.

you nod with intense enthusiastic. “yes! oh fuck, johnny! feels so- so good.” you moan out, your words breaking as your walls are stretched by his dick. “s-so big, oh fuck…”

he smiles, kissing your right ankle as he drags his dick in and out, he’s leaving no space between his hips and your pussy, not wanting to waste any inches. “yeah? you think my dick’s big? that’s why you can barley take it, pretty girl?”

you grunt, digging your fingernails into his chest as he makes fun of you not being able to take him. you shake your head. “t-taking it pretty fuckin’ good… s-shit!”

he chuckles. “see, told you you’re a smart girl… knowing exactly how to take daddy’s dick.”

oh fuck. that’s when you rip out a sob. it shouldn’t feel so good when he calls himself that… it really shouldn’t but it does.

you can’t respond, your eyes rolling back as he fucks into you harder with the pet name he gave himself. your mouth can only let out his name in broken whimpers and moans. your hands moving up to the back of his head as he leans forward, forcing your legs to bend, your knees pressing into your own breasts.

“cant even respond, can you? just so dumbed down because of my dick.” johnny says, it’s not cruel, just cocky. he knows the effects he has on you

you look at him, one hand going into his blonde locks and the other going to his bicep, digging into both, his blonde strands go in between your fingers. “p-please… ‘m close— so close…” you brokenly whimper.

johnny kisses your ankle again, your walls clenching as he thrusts deeper. “oh yeah? my pretty girl wants to cum all over me?”

you nod your head quickly, too busy whining, moaning and feeling all sorts of ways as his cock pistons into you. the way he looks as he fucks you is too much… you can barely form any coherent words. “please… oh… oh fuck…”

“poor girl, you can’t even form a sentence right now…” he coo’s, rubbing your thighs again as he stops his cock from moving.

your eyes look at him frantically, feeling him stop his cock. you need to finish so bad, you’re right on the edge, your orgasm right on its tail and you need it so fucking bad. almost like it’s going to be ruined if you don’t get it right now.

“j-johnny please… please I need it, ‘m close, so close.” you beg, hating the cocky son of a bitch.

johnny looks at you, tilting his head, almost thinking. you deserve it, but for teasing him earlier? but you did it so good that he couldn’t really blame you. “you want it—“

“please please please, johnny, need it— need it.” your begs cut him off, he didn’t even get to finish his words before you’re already begging him again.

he could never say no to you, truly.

he leans forward, pushing his hips and beginning a deep pace all over again, almost like resuming your tumble towards your orgasm, collecting the pieces right back up again. his thick cock stretches your walls.

his left hand presses on your stomach, feeling himself push in and out while the right hand goes down to your puffy cunt, rubbing it in tight circles and making you go over the edge. “c’mon baby, give it to me, give it to daddy…”

a loud moan leaves your mouth as you successfully go over the edge. your eyes roll back as your mouth hangs open, nails dug deep into johnny’s hair and his shoulder, your toes curling as johnny’s name leaves your mouth over and over again, like a religious name.

johnny smirks watching you go over the edge, still moving his hips smoothly to soothe you through your high. “there you go, good girl, knew you were my good girl…”

it feels so damn good, and johnny’s words don’t help.

your eyebrows furrow as your eyes roll back to their normal spot, hazed and on a different cloud than nine. you look johnny in his eyes. “c’mon baby… give it to me… cum in me johnny.”

he looks at her with his eyes glistening, as if you just asked him for the world. “oh, you want me to give you a baby? you want me to stuff this tummy full and give you a little bundle of joy?” he asks, pressing down on your stomach a little. he groaned at the thought, imagining his little fantasy of seeing you get fat with his baby and being the best daddy possible.

you whine at his words, only nodding. “f-fuck yes, johnny, please… ‘need your baby, want it deep inside me, p-please.” you beg, not even having any shame. thinking about johnny baby’s inside you is making you go fucking crazy.

his balls squeezed as his dick twitches at your words. he tries to hold his smirk, but it’s hard when you feel so damn good. “oh yeah… gonna give you a baby, ‘make you a mommy…”

“y-yes, please, make me a mama!” you beg, pulling at his blonde locks. “l-let me make you a daddy.”

he smiles, those are all the words that make him finally break. his head throws back as he grunts one last time, thrusting as deep as he could as his tip itches closer to your womb. he finally breaks, his dick twitching as he empties himself within you.

in a slow but delicious span of ten seconds, you feel your pussy flutter and hot semen shoot into your womb, painting your walls with white.

“oohhhh, johnny… daddy… feels ‘so good.” you whimper out, completely satisfied and fucked stupid. his hot cum just adds to how good it feels.

johnny moves his head back down, his hair a mess from your hand and his back is aching from the nail marks made by your fingers. he has a stupid loopy smile on his face as he finds solace in your now cum-filled pussy.

he leans back, letting your legs drop back to the bed as he leans down, bringing his lips to your cheek. “so good for me, baby.” he mutters before looking at you, your lips, then back at you. “thank you… ‘not just for this pussy… for you.”

you smile back, cupping his jaw as you kiss his lips. it’s a soft one, it’s full of love and softness. “and thank you for being… you… my johnny, my boyfriend…”

he shakes his head. “don’t sell yourself short, sexy… if we keep this going, my ring finger might become yours.”

“oh baby, you’re just the best, aren’t you?” you chuckle at his insinuation, ruffling his hair and kissing his lips again…

and when the pregnancy test would come back negative in the next two weeks, it didn’t deter the younger storm sibling; in fact it gave johnny even more reasons to get you naked.

▄▀▄▀▄

johnny boy, oh johnny boy. I love him. next johnny smut will be more asshole! johnny because as much as I love making this bastard a perverted romantic, he’s so hot when he’s an asshole! hope u enjoyed!

✦ comments and reblogs are always appreciated! ✦

@murdock-slvt 2025!

[pucksandpebbles]

𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒔, 𝒋𝒉⁸⁶

"Smoking cigarettes on balconies I ain't jumping, but I'll die to settle scores All your bidness getting back to me You don't know it but it's 'bout to be a war, yeah" You find out what Jack's been doing since you broke up, and decide to get your own back

a/n: heard this song and this came to me so here's a quick blurb. as per its not proofread - sue me! No warnings but just some in general lewd behavior...

wc: 1.3k

Since the breakup, you’d been moping, gorging on takeout pizza and canned cocktails like the main character in a rom-com post third act break up. Except you weren’t going to get back together, this was the end - you’d tossed his hoodies and jerseys back in his face and in the trash. Not the jerseys, you sold them on EBay, and managed to get a good payout out of the break-up at least. For weeks now, your best friends had been nagging you to get out, move on to someone new. Your best friend had made a point of it being necessary to find someone new before he did, the satisfaction of a hookup would always be better than a crushing feeling of finding out your ex has moved on before you.

You’d huffed. Made some dumb point about morality and took another bite out of your meat-feast pizza, wiping at the salty residue under your eyes.

But now, now you were wishing you’d listened to her. 

You almost choked on your breath when you saw it, plastered across social media. Jack. Seemingly, enjoying his summer in Michigan, with numerous different girls; and one, one girl in particular.

You watched her bleach blonde hair in the fan video sway gently back and forth. Her hands running up and down Jack’s torso, wandering and encroaching on a territory that was supposed to be yours, he was supposed to be yours. Their mouths locked together, moving in sync, his hips grinding down and her spine fluctuating in a movement that felt almost criminal to watch. You watched the video again - once, twice, three times, over and over until it made you feel sick and your eyes hurt with your squinting at the screen.

It was like something snapped in your brain the fourth time, the hurt and the upset and the tears were gone. All there was left was thought of revenge, of getting your own back. No, you weren’t mad, you didn’t own him and the breakup was the right thing to do. But, doing better without you, no - that was not acceptable.

The feeling surged through you. You tossed your phone to the side and stormed into your bedroom, and for the first time in forever swung open the wardrobe doors to look for something that wasn’t sweats

Within moments, you’d struggled your way into the sluttiest dress you owned - the one that always made Jack gape, made him handsy. You could tell that it was his favourite and a sick grin slid onto your face as you adjusted it in the mirror. You dolled yourself up, putting on your best and most expensive things, wearing the bag that Jack had bought you as a birthday present and making sure your eyeliner was sharper than a knife. 

As you were pouring a shot on your kitchen table, ready to go out to the clubs - tipsy and ready to have fun - a text came through your phone, popping up on your screen like a cruel memory making its way to the surface. You stared at it for a moment, your fingers curling around the shot glass.

Quinn Hughes: have you been on social media 

Quinn Hughes: don’t look you don’t want to see

You sighed. Unlocking the chat and replying apathetically.

You: see what? the photos of Jack with his mouth latched onto some random girls?

You: you are way too late for that 

You threw the shot back, feeling the sick burn of the vodka down your throat - it filled you with a rush of giddiness.

Quinn Hughes: i’m sorry you had to see that

Quinn Hughes: if it makes you feel better, she didn’t stay

You got a notification that your uber had arrived and you grabbed your bag, looking down at the open chat as you made your way out of your flat and down to the car waiting in the dark.

You: that’s a shame, she looks just his type 

Another notification in the chat popped up but you ignored it, choosing instead to watch out the window as the car sped through the streets of your city - the tall buildings and the blinking of lights in the night. You let the cold night air fill your lungs in deep breaths, every time you closed your eyes you could see the image flashing like the flash of a camera. Each detail amplified. The way Jack’s fingers dug into her hips. How she was pushed up flush against him. The stubble on his cheeks grating on her face. Her golden hair creating a shining curtain over the faces as she twisted her head as they kissed.

The uber driver dropped you off at the club, an old haunt - a place of the schemy, the underhand, the leering strangers.

You got to work.

One drink in. You chatted up a guy at the bar, he was hot, tall, looked in certain lights like the boy you used to love. For that detail, you stuck your tongue a little further down his throat for good measure.

You kissed one, two and let a third grope you in a not-so-secluded spot around back.

Two drinks in, the dance floor was your haven, you grinded, you shook, you let the dress give everything away under the strobing lights. You watched the flash of a couple iphone cameras, you sang to the lens shoved in your face.

Another shot. Your friends had arrived, hearing of the good time from your drunken texts. You did another round with them.

Four, five. Karaoke. You sang along to Blue Strips by Jessie Murph. Shaking your ass on the table as you belted out the lyrics with a thick southern twang. Your friends and a couple guys and strangers threw dollar bills at you as you screamed out, “throwing ones at your bitch!”.

When you got down for another round, a guy leaned in, his breath hot and heavy and stuck a 100 dollar bill down your bra. You smiled, 

“How ‘bout a drink?”

You kissed him out in public, his hands trapping you against the bar. You paid little mind to anything except what his mouth was doing, sloppy against yours and the brilliant white flashing lights of iphone camera. Oh this was so going online. 

You took him back to your flat. Your home. Had clumsy drunken sex with him in a bed that Jack no longer slept in. Kicked him out after, sticky and uncooth.

The photos ended up all over social media. Every site you clicked on, every app, every page, you saw yourself - the shocking headlines, the lewd commentary, the photos of you taken in dim light from every angle, with every guy, doing every shot. And then, the one. A picture of you standing on the bar counter, flash illuminating your face as you bent down to level your face with a guy, the hook-up, a 100 bill sticking out of your top, its blue strip shimmering in the light, your expression was one of want. In the photo you could see how he looked, peach fuzz around his mouth, long hair like Jack’s - they looked so similar in that lighting. 

You saved the photo. Posted it to your instagram, no caption, just the song. Blue strips. Closed the app.

A message popped up from Quinn first.

Quinn Hughes: Are you serious? What the fuck happened?!

Then more. You watched with a pounding head as they filtered in.

Luke Hughes: Woah, I must have seriously underestimated your craziness

Trevor Zegras: Wild night huh. Jack is crashing out btw

Cole Caulfield: Let me know to never piss you off. That post is insane behaviour

A couple of hours later, still nursing a hangover, you lay on your bed. The messages had gone unread mostly, you’d indulged Luke a little, he was still like a little brother to you. It was beginning to get dark again.

A message lit up the darkened room.

Jack: Really?

You lay back and smiled. Really.

[glasvera]

I have zero idea if this how to send requests lmao but how abt an iron man x healer!reader where they have a hard time aiming upwards to heal him (totally not me) and eventually he notices so he decides to make it easy for them and comes down to them personally :3 this happened to me a few games ago and it was adorable 😭😭

(Yes, this works perfectly fine for sending in requests!!)

As an Adam Warlock main, I'm spoiled by my auto-aiming, bouncing heals, so every time I play Invisible Woman I feel this in my bones.

Still

Iron Man x GN!Reader

Description: Things are looking dire, even with your team giving it their all, but thankfully there's one man that can turn the tide of battle... with your help and the help of Sue Storm, of course.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Mostly fluff! There's a bit of a battle and some brief descriptions of injury and pain (getting shot at but not piercing past armor/suits), but nothing too graphic I hope.

A/N: Originally I wasn't going to stray too far from the prompt, but for some reason I was itching to write at least a little bit of a battle scene. Trying to expand my horizons beyond fluff and smut and all that.

Word Count: 1.7k

It was your job. Your job! You had some of the most potent healing capabilities out of anyone you had seen in these battles you fought day after day. Under the right conditions, you alone could change the course of a fight. There was so much power crackling at your fingertips, so much potential to mend and soothe and reverse…

…That is, assuming you can aim those powers. Thankfully, you weren’t the only medic on the field, and they seemed to be taking care of your more mobile allies well enough. Doesn’t mean you don’t try.

You were incredible on the ground; of that, there was no doubt. Buildings could topple, crumble, crash around you, and lasers could be firing from all angles, but you would still persist, still heal, still fulfill your duty. Sweat could pour down your forehead and the salt would sting your eyes, and yet you would never falter once.

Still, nobody is perfect. When someone is that effective on the field, it only makes sense that they would become the focus of enemy fire, and eventually, something is bound to hit. You see Castle’s turret assembling in the distance and prepare for the worst.

“Punisher’s got a turret! Find cove-augh!” Your warning cuts off when several bullets embed themself into the shoulder of your suit, and you hiss at the sharp ache that echoes from the site of your new wounds. The durable material is strong enough to keep them from piercing the skin, but that doesn’t make the pain much better. When you try to roll your arm, to get back in the fight, a searing agony burns at the edge of your clavicle. There’s definitely a clicking sensation that wasn’t there before. 

Heaving a breath, you duck behind a crumbling wall, clutching your arm. Healing energy courses through your fingertips and finds its way to your shoulder, and you tense and shudder, gritting your teeth as the injury reverses itself. It’s never been the most pleasant thing, but it works, and it’s fast, fast enough that it’s only seconds before you’re back in the fight.

Thankfully, it seems your callout didn’t go unheeded. The rest of your team peeks over cover, alternating their fire towards that damn turret, bringing a sigh of relief to your lips. If any stray shots graze them, you’re quick to wave your hand and reverse it in an instant from the safety of your hiding spot. Still, it’s difficult to find a proper opening as the fight heads towards a stalemate.

“We can’t stay like this forever!” you hear your co-healer, Sue Storm, stress from somewhere several feet away. “If they keep us pinned here, it’s only a matter of time before the rest of them collapse on us.”

She’s right. Slowly drilling damage into that turret won’t be effective enough if the rest of your enemies can take advantage and push forward. Your team needs something big, and fast.

Enter Tony Stark. Enter Iron Man.

If you were the pillar holding up your allies, he was the bulldozer tearing through the enemy. He was a force to be reckoned with in that suit. Nearly unstoppable.

“Just keep them off me. I’ve got this.” 

That confident voice fills your heart with hope. The whirring of propulsion jets whizzes past you, whipping your hair into your face as you duck out of the way, but you do your best to follow him with starstruck eyes and a beaming smile.

It wasn't your best-kept secret, your crush on Tony. Adam Warlock nearly outed you once when he described you “having a certain glow” about you whenever you were near the charismatic philanthropist. Poor guy was absolutely blindsided when you nearly jumped on him to get him to shut up.

He zips about, dodging bullet after bullet. Sue keeps him shielded while you focus on healing your allies on the ground, occasionally throwing a few healing rays towards Iron Man that never quite seem to find purchase. Still, they're able to take the pressure off of Tony just long enough--

“MAXIMUM PULSE!”

Even behind the crumbling wall that covers you, the heat and blinding light hit you in an instant. It’s deafening. Sue withdraws her shields to cover your team as the shockwave blasts across the battlefield. Rubble clatters across the translucent barrier over your heads. Once the dust settles, everything falls silent save for the sounds of exasperated breaths and the telltale rumble of propulsion jets, but even that is muffled by the lingering ringing in your ears.

Finally, you venture a peek. The area is absolutely decimated thanks to Stark's weaponry. Punisher's turret is nothing but scraps, you think you see the remnants of a few of Hawkeye's experimental arrows, and a few pieces of one of Rocket’s beacons lie scattered about. The enemy team themselves are nowhere to be seen. Thankfully, the exact opposite is true of your team, and a quick once-over on the ground confirms that everyone is alive and accounted for.

Your smile only widens as relief washes over you.

“He did it!” you exclaim, allowing yourself a pump of your fist into the air. It’s as if a weight has been lifted from your chest, leaving you light as a feather, and you smile so wide that your cheeks start to hurt.

“We did it. I can't take all of the credit here.” Iron Man's voice suddenly behind you nearly has you leaping out of your skin. Damn tinnitus. “Even if I wouldn’t mind the praise of doing it all by myself,” he adds jokingly. 

The rest of your team gather their bearings, groaning a bit as they stand but otherwise hale and whole, and before Sue goes to inspect them for any lingering injuries, she gives you a knowing smirk. “I'll take care of these guys. Why don't you give the star of the show a more… personal touch?”

Your eyes widen and she giggles behind her hand, refusing to elaborate further as she ushers the rest of them away and leaves the two of you alone. You clear your throat awkwardly.

He hovers in his suit in front of you when you turn to face him, heat creeping up your chest and face. The faceplate of his helmet retracts, and you’re greeted with that familiar, handsome mug that regards you warmly.

“Promise I’ll sit still this time,” he quips.

Ah, so your efforts had not gone unnoticed. You’re not sure whether to be touched or embarrassed by that. A nervous hand scratches at the back of your neck.

“Yeah, I…” you pause, tittering shyly as your eyes flicker up to his and then quickly back away. “You’re pretty fast. Hard to keep up with you sometimes.”

That earns you a chuckle, and he slowly lowers down to stand properly on the ground. Now that he’s standing still in front of you, you can see that he didn’t come out of the battle entirely unscathed. It’s nothing serious, thankfully, and there doesn’t seem to be any blood, but you venture a step closer, examining the dents and dings on his armor that could potentially be causing any internal damage underneath.

When he sees the power beginning to glow at your fingertips, he nods at your hands. “Would it be easier if I removed my armor, or--?”

“N-No, this is fine,” you respond quickly, giving him a feeble smile. “I can just reverse the damage, so it’s honestly easier if the site of the injury remains unchanged.”

He huffs out a quick laugh. “Got it. I won’t pretend to understand this magic stuff, and I certainly won’t question your expertise.”

Your smile grows a bit wider at that. “I appreciate it. Fair warning, this might hurt a little.”

Before he gets the chance to properly protest, the energy surges forth, and in that tiny bubble you reverse time as armor shifts back into place and flesh begins to lose its bruising. Tony’s eyes go wide and his lips press into a flat line, desperately trying not to let out anything more than a discontented grunt as he’s forced to relive the pain in reverse for a fleeting second. Such are the drawbacks when it comes to the nature of your powers, but no one can argue the effectiveness of it.

At least it distracts you from the closeness you two share, even if you’re not eager to break it.

“That should be good, but…” Your voice trails off as you admire the shining red metal, examining it for anything you might have missed. There are a few trivial scuffs here and there. Feeling slightly braver, you rest your palm directly against his armor and trace along the scrapes and chips that linger from the suit’s everyday use. “There you go. Good as new.”

You glance up at his face and blink in surprise when you find him watching you intently. Perhaps your eyes fail you, or you’ve been staring at crimson for too long, but you swear his face is ever so slightly flushed. The healing energy fades, and your fingertips rest gingerly against his plated chest.

“Fascinating,” he breathes. “Does that work on wrinkles, too?”

A snort leaves your nostrils. Shaking your head, you reply, “Probably not. At least, I’ve never tried, but my power works in real time. I’d have to be at it for days, weeks, months, even.”

“An excuse to spend more time with you? Perish the thought,” he jests, leaving you to part your lips softly agape in shock. You never realized that he enjoyed his time with you as well. 

“Oh, and…” he adds, tapping a finger to his smirking lips, “You missed a spot.”

With your heart thumping in your chest, you decide to play it safe and take his words literally as your hand tentatively rises to meet his face. He chuckles and presses a soft kiss to your fingers before taking your hand in his, guiding it away from his face and leaning forward to claim his real prize. His lips meet yours tenderly and for only a fleeting moment, but it’s enough to leave you stunned and speechless before him. “There. Now I’m all better.”

[fqolai]

thinking about the new avengers first fight. they have a million firsts together and a million fights. but i mean their first really big, really bad fight. like team is breaking up kind of fight. it’s bound to happen and probably already did in those fourteen months we skipped.

i’m not a fic writer at all but here’s how i think it would play out...

with no one taking them seriously as the new avengers, tensions are high. especially for valentina. she banked everything she had left, which was admittedly, not much, on this whole sham. everyone’s doubting them. no one believes they measure up to the old avengers. and to top it all off, sam wilson is threatening to sue.

feeling pressured to get them good publicity, valentina arranges — what should’ve been — a layup for them. some small community assignment. all they had to do was show up, smile for the cameras, shake a few hands, etc. but one thing led to another and boom: utter catastrophe.

the press is having a field day. fourteen year olds on tiktok are having the time of their lives. reddit users have never felt so employed.

everyone on the team is arguing. the worst in everyone is coming out. alexei is trying to keep the team positive but it’s only making things worse (and everyone more annoyed). it’s getting bad and bob is frightened.

yelena… who has finally got a taste of what walking in her sisters footsteps felt like — who finally had a shot at a real family, at belonging — can see it all crumbling. she’s trying to hold them together (maybe even trying too hard). it comes from a place of love, of desperation, but she can’t express that in the moment.

ava can see the end coming and she’s seen enough to know it’s better to leave than to be left behind. so she’s the first to throw in the towel.

john follows quickly after. he should’ve known this would never work out. alexei, confident that he can bring them back around, rushes after them.

bucky had been silent the whole time. and yelena, in her anger, lashes out at him. she accuses bucky of not really being a part of the team. of never really letting any of them in. of never getting to know them or letting them get to know him. oh, how he must be so relieved that he can go back to sam wilson now that the whole charade is over. no pesky complications getting in his way.

yelena storms out and bucky doesn’t bother to follow.

and mel? mel needs a raise. again. cleaning up valentina’s messes is never an easy task. but this might just be her toughest assignment yet.

in talking with bucky, mel realizes that they’re all still dealing with their traumas and regrets and that maybe they just need a push in the right direction.

and quickly. valentina is seriously considering creating a world-ending event to bring them all back together. that cannot happen.

so she goes to yelena first. makes it clear val didn’t send her and asks how she’s doing. yelena insists she’s fine. who needed the avengers anyway? not her. and what a relief to no longer have to worry about valentina or the public breathing down their necks and judging their every move.

mel asks after bob. how is he doing? it must’ve been hard on him with the team breaking up and all. yelena stops to realize that in her anger, she didn’t check in on him before leaving. she had promised him they would stick together. yet, she had broken promise.

she sets out to find him and make things right.

she finds bob in his room in the tower. the darkness creeping up on him. she pulls him back. they’re still a family. sometimes family fights. but it will work out in the end. yelena does her best to sound more confident than she feels. she thinks bob can probably see right through it though.

mel finds alexei after. he’s inconsolable. he’s lost yelena again. he couldn’t stop their team from breaking up. he had to watch the light slowly fade from yelena’s eyes as the arguments got louder and louder. mel points out that he hasn’t lost anyone yet. yelena or the team. but he could, if he doesn’t do something about it. alexei leaves, convinced that a grand gesture is the only way to bring the team back together and bring some light back to yelena's eyes.

next, mel goes to john, who is spiraling into new levels of self-hatred. she thinks she sees him arguing with a reddit user under a burner account before he manages to hide his phone screen from her.

mel asks about his ex-wife. how are the custody negotiations going? she heard he got visitation once a week. that olivia was finally starting to trust him again. though, being an avenger after all, it may be hard to keep to a regular schedule. but, hey, on the bright side, if the avengers are done, that means john has free time on his hands. he can go back home, make things right with olivia, get a regular 9-5, watch the rest of the action play out on social media like everyone else these days. maybe that would be enough?

john sees through what she’s trying to do, but he supposes that she’s not wrong. he wouldn’t be satisfied with that life. she leaves him with a lot to think about.

then mel goes to find ava. she asks her why she was the first one to walk out. mel understands. it’s scary to let people in and know that they’re the only ones with the power to hurt you as a result. but if ava recalls, no one had mentioned leaving until she had brought it up. it was only after ava had left, that the others had followed.

was she too ready to give up at the first sign of strive? to protect what was left of her already fragile heart. perhaps, she had been too hasty...

bucky goes to see sam. to tell him… he was right? it all blew up in their faces? it was never gonna work out? whatever he meant to say, he doesn’t get a chance.

you see, sam has some opinions on this so-calle d‘team’ if that’s what they still are. he doesn’t know them. not really. he only sees what anyone else on the outside does:

yelena, an assassin, who loves being an avenger and all the glory that comes with it. who’s never had to work to make up for the bad things she’s done. and didn’t she just try to kill clint last christmas?? (sam doesn’t know how much she regrets what she’s done. that being an avenger is how she begins to make up for it all. and the whole killing clint thing, well… bucky can’t really defend that and if he’s being honest, it’s the first he’s heard of it)

alexei, a former soviet asset, working for one of america’s biggest enemies for most his life, and seems to want nothing more than to go back to the good old days. (sam doesn’t know about alexei’s biggest mistakes. and maybe that’s a blessing in disguise. but he doesn’t know alexei’s regrets. of allowing natasha and yelena to be taken to the red room. of not being there for his daughter who died worlds away. of almost losing yelena right in front of him. of failing both his daughters, time and time again, and trying to get it right this time)

john walker, a murderer, an asshole, who killed a man with steve’s shield. who’s wife left him and took custody of his child with her. whose ego won’t allow him to admit that he’s a terrible person. (sam knows john more than the others, certainly, but he hasn’t seen what bucky has over the last year... sam doesn’t know that john hates himself more than anyone could ever hate him for all those reasons and more. and that’s not to say he’s absolved of his sins because he feels bad about them. but bucky had heard from yelena about john nearly walking straight off the edge of the elevator shaft when faced with those regrets… hard to argue about the asshole part though)

ava starr, who sam knows has some history with scott before going completely off the grid. she seems to have as much trouble playing with others and making nice as the rest of them. self-isolating. alone. doesn’t really spell ‘reliable teammate’ does it? (sam wasn’t there during the fight. he doesn’t know that she was the first to suggest going after yelena in the void. he doesn’t know that she’s the first one to throw herself into danger to protect the people she cares about. that she would always come back for them and never leave anyone behind in battle)

and who the hell is this bob guy anyway???

it was all wrong. they were never a real team. not to sam. not to the public either. they're not cut out to be heros and everyone knows it.

but bucky? bucky who was the winter soldier. who was a former asset, though, against his will. who's killed a lot more people than john walker ever could. who has trouble nurturing his friendships and is alone more times than not. who is lucky enough to be one of bob’s friends.

for the first time since this had happened to them all, bucky gets defensive. protective of this thing they had made their own. hearing sam speak about all the reasons why the others weren't good people and realizing how much he has in common with them really puts things into perspective.

sam doesn’t mean to offend bucky. bucky isn’t like them after all. he’s different. but bucky isn’t so sure that’s true.

defensive and faced with their differences, bucky decides to leave without telling sam that the team was done and goes for a long walk. he has a lot to think about.

back at avengers tower, ava, the first to come back, finds yelena and bob asleep on opposite ends of the couch. a movie still on the tv. she turns the volume down and settles into the reclining chair for the night.

the next morning they awake to john loudly complaining about the mess left out. bob volunteers to clean up and do the dishes.

ava and john quietly acknowledge the other came back. but they don’t make a big deal about it.

bucky returns to the tower next. yelena teases him. says that he looks awful. like he hasn’t slept. bucky knows it's her way of saying that it was good to have him back. her way of apologizing for how they’d left things. bucky keeps the mood light. jokes that this is where is bed was so of course he didn’t sleep. they don’t talk about it any further, just an unspoken agreement to let bygones be bygones.

this is when alexei returns. he teases yelena about how cute she and bob were, snoring away on the couch. sleeping like the dead. yelena tries to protest that she doesn’t snore but doesn’t get the chance — not that anyone would have believed her.

alexei ushers them into another room where he's set up a huge party while they were sleeping, with mel’s help, of course, to celebrate their 1 year anniversary as a team. it hasn't been one year yet technically, but alexei insists it’s close enough (and "happy anniversary" was the only cake topper left at the market so they’d just have to go with it).

alexei gets emotional about how much the team means to him. and about how much he knows it means to yelena. how they need to do better. to really be there for one another.

yelena, teary-eyed, accepts a hug from her dad. says she doesn’t blame anyone for their mistakes at valentina’s stupid publicity event. being honest, they never should’ve agreed to go to begin with.

bob repeats what yelena had told him the night before. that family fights but they always come back together.

ava apologizes for being the first to leave. she promises not to assume the worst anymore and to stick around, even when it gets tough.

john jokes that the team is better with him on it anyway. what with his practical skillset. no one is amused. but he admits that maybe, just maybe, he’s better with the team at his side too.

everyone turns to bucky. it’s his turn now.

it looks painful for him, but bucky opens up about how being open to friendships is a reoccurring issue for him, according to his therapit anyway. this is the first time he’s had people who truly understand the things he’s been though. who have been through some of those same things. this is all new to him: the whole letting people in thing. but he's making an effort to learn to trust them. they'll just need to be a little patient with him.

john commends him for the beautiful speech. bucky tells him to shut up. they enjoy alexei’s party.

mel calls valentina to let her know the crisis has been averted. and to cancel the attack she was planning for new york, for god's sake.

[moonriizing]

Goodbye Summer (preview.)

Genre: childhood friends to lovers(?); smut Pairing: Anton Lee|Chanyoung x afab!Reader Notes: This is a preview. The final fic is 17k words. To be posted on 1/26, Sunday.

“What’s your problem?” you snapped as you pushed your way into his bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Anton didn’t even flinch. He casually walked over to his closet, rummaging through it for a fresh shirt. “What is it this time?” His tone was too monotonous, almost mocking.

“‘That’s just how you’ve always been.’” You gestured wildly, your voice rising with frustration as you mimicked his indifferent tone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Anton?”

His brow twitched, and for a split second, you thought he might actually look sorry. But no. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world to deal with your meltdown.

“It’s not that deep,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You’re overreacting.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Overreacting? You’ve barely said two words to me since I got here, and when you finally do, it’s to throw some passive-aggressive jab about how I’ve ‘always been’ like that? What is it exactly? Too loud? Too much? Too—”

“Annoying,” he cut in, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through your tirade.

The word struck a nerve, silencing you. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

“Annoying?” you echoed, your voice shaking. “Wow. So that’s what you think of me now? Or have you always thought I was annoying?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if this conversation was physically exhausting him. “Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Am I?” You took a step closer, your pulse quickening as anger spiked through you. “Alright then, sue me for always being like this. I didn’t change like you did. I’m still annoying, and I’ve—” You made air quotes, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “—‘always been like this.’”

“Enough,” Anton sighed, exasperated.

“What other grievances do you have against me, Anton?” you shot back, your patience worn thin. “Come on. Let’s hear it.”

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, uttering your name warningly in a way that made your stomach flip—not with fear, but with something far more complicated.

But you weren’t about to back down. “No, I’m not done. You don’t get to act like you’re some untouchable, brooding—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist—not hard, but enough to make you freeze. His other hand settled on your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you closer. You opened your mouth to protest, but his lips crashed into yours before you could even make a sound.

Anton kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was messy and careless, born of frustration and something you couldn’t put a finger on. Your hands pressed against his chest instinctively, not enough to push him away but not quite pulling him closer either.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was warm against your cheek. His grip on your waist loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.

“See?” he muttered, smirking as he took a small step back. “Still annoying.”

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind a storm of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite name. Anton seemed completely unfazed, tugging his shirt off and changing right there in front of you. You were still frozen in place when he glanced back at you, flicking your forehead with an almost playful arrogance.

“Ow!” you groaned, snapped back to reality.

“It was just a kiss. Don’t obsess over it,” he teased, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before he turned, striding toward the door.

Crazy what two years can do to a person.

What do you mean the cutie pie, adorable ball of sunshine Chanyoung Lee, has turned into this tall, grumpy, and unfairly hot specimen who calls himself Anton?

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter two

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): mentions of blood (finger cut), mansplaining 🤢, angst

author's note: second chapter! sort of a filler chapter while we see a glimpse into jj and reader's relationship. the plot picks up the next chapter. also thank you so much to the lovely people who already joined the taglist, i hope i don't disappoint <3

join the taglist | series masterlist

previous chapter | next chapter

“Come on, you piece of crap,” Y/N mumbled, falling back on her hands and giving her knees the relief she needed from squatting for the past fifteen minutes. She groaned as she removed the flashlight lodged between her teeth. The generator for the charter shack had shut down in the afternoon but with all the Pogue’s campaigning to get people to show up to the impending courthouse hearing, the shop had been closed and no one bothered fixing it. 

Y/N looked out to the water, staring at the moon as it hung low over the water. She hadn’t wanted to come out here to fix the generator, much preferring the comfort of the hammock she had been lying in, but she doubted anyone else was thinking about it. If she didn’t get this thing working tonight, the lights would be shot for the early-morning charters, and JJ would never let anyone hear the end of just how much business they were losing – even though he could’ve been out here trying to fix the problem.  

As much as Y/N wanted to try to repair the generator with a begrudged attitude, she knew she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit JJ was partly why she was out here so late. She didn’t hate JJ Maybank, not by a long shot. Y/N believed hatred should only be reserved for people with dark hearts, full of evil and malice. JJ was not only far from that level of rotten but also a good guy. In her heart of hearts, she knew he was probably one of the best guys on this island. But knowing someone wasn’t a bad person didn’t mean you had to like them all the time. 

And God had she spent the last few months severely disliking him. She just wasn’t the type of girl who could exercise enough patience when someone like JJ ran amok. John B had told her a few times that JJ had a rough go at life and sometimes that made him act irrationally, impulsively. But hadn’t they all? It wasn’t even a question– she knew they all had been dealt some shitty cards. She never understood the way the Pogues would let him off with an exasperated expression or a few angry words when they’d all seen hard times. They had lost all the money they’d gotten from the El Dorado gold over stupid decisions and she felt like she couldn’t even be mad about it. 

Sure, there was a rare beauty in what they’d created due to the aftermath of those decisions. She hadn’t felt the sense of belonging she got when she was with the Pogues in this eclectic home they’d built since she was thirteen. She’d known other types of love, like the love she received from Terrance, but it wasn’t like this, like the love only a family could give you. Terrance had taken care of her and Cleo in ways a father should have, but that didn’t change the fact that he was their captain. She answered to him and had to follow his every order, no matter how she felt about it. That kind of dynamic couldn’t produce unconditional love, even if she knew a deep kind of love still existed. With the Pogues, she knew it wasn’t like that. She’d gotten through the tests of loyalty they never explicitly told her she was taking and that gave her a permanent spot on their DIY family tree. But why did that love have to mean they stayed broke forever?

So, yeah, she couldn’t always stand JJ and his quirks, sue her. Yet, here she was, on a late night, the only light around her from the moon and the flashlight she held, trying to make sure JJ could do something that made him happy tomorrow. She could admit, probably only to herself, that she cared enough about him to want that. Since she’d stolen Genrette’s letter from JJ, her stomach had twisted every time she thought about it. JJ’s tense family relationships, or lack thereof, weren’t a secret, though Y/N didn’t know the extent of how bad it could get. To think that he now had to deal with the possibility that everything he had known was a lie and that everything he had endured growing up hadn’t been written for him made her feel sick. The one thing she could cling to on nights when her mind seemed to play a constant loop of her worst childhood memories was that she knew where she came from. She knew her name and she knew what that meant, even if her name was all she had left to show for that part of herself. JJ might not even have that. 

At some point, Y/N had found herself closing her eyes as she listened to the distant slap of waves against the pilings and occasional creak of the shack. There wasn’t much Y/N could do for JJ, nor was there much she wanted to do for him, but she guessed it wouldn’t hurt to repair some dingy generator. It’s not like she didn’t have experience doing these kinds of jobs.

Sighing, Y/N stuck the tiny flashlight she’d brought back between her teeth and resumed her crouching in front of the black and yellow box. The beam of her flashlight shook slightly as she spoke her next steps aloud, trying to find where she kept going wrong. Y/N wasn’t a patient person, though, and as more time went on she felt the same frustration creep up. Her movements began to grow quicker with every passing second, trying anything and everything that could work. In her franticness, her fingers slipped, grazing a sharp edge, and she hissed pulling it back to examine her finger. Sucking in a breath, she rolled her eyes at the cut on her finger. Somehow she’d managed to cut herself deep enough that she’d need to wipe off the blood and find a bandaid. Just as she was going to get up, she heard the sound of familiar footsteps padding against the deck. Y/N could recognize the sound of  JJ’s workboots anywhere. There was a time she used to look forward to that sound, though she’d never let anyone know. That was before the blond-haired boy had shattered her trust. 

“What are you doing out here?” JJ asked, not waiting for her to turn around and acknowledge him. With one last glance at her finger, Y/N moved to look at JJ. From the light of the moon, she could see he was wearing a muscle tank and some shorts, his hair tussled in every which way indicating he’d likely been sleeping before this.

“Fixing the generator,” Y/N said, flicking her flashlight to the box behind her. “It shot out earlier today.” She turned the flashlight back towards JJ, causing him to flinch from her shining the light directly in his eyes.

“Jesus, don’t blind me,” JJ covered his eyes with his forearm, waiting until Y/N moved the light and mumbled a ‘sorry.’ He moved closer to where Y/N was standing to try to get a better look at the generator behind her. “I didn’t realize the generator was acting up.”  

That was odd. JJ always noticed when something was wrong around the store, especially if it could influence his chartering. He must have been really out of it today if he hadn’t noticed something as big as the generator being out. 

“Yeah,” Y/N said, deciding against pointing out how worrisome it was that JJ hadn’t noticed. “But it doesn’t look like the piece of shit can be fixed. I’ve checked everything that could be wrong.” 

“Did you check the fuel levels?” JJ asked, sticking his hand out for Y/N to pass him the flashlight. 

“First thing I did.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N let him have the object. No point in stopping the inevitable.  

“What about the oil levels? Or the air filters. Maybe they’re blocked.”

“Nope, checked both those things.”

“Alright let me just check the wiring. It cou–”

“Already did that,” Y/N’s voice was a bit louder now, forcing JJ to snap his head up. “And I have a cut to prove it. Now is there any more advice you want to mansplain before I leave?” Y/N’s arms crossed across her chest, not trying to hide just how irritated she was with JJ. When did she ever?

JJ blinked, his mouth opening and closing. He shook his head, looking down. The slight tilt of his head was her only indication in the low lighting that he looked ashamed. He kind of looked like a scolded child. She hated that she found it cute. 

“No, ‘m sorry,” JJ muttered, moving away from the generator and stopping directly before Y/N. “Here, let me see.” 

Before she could try to stop him, JJ flashed the light to where Y/N’s hand now rested uncrossed. Comparing both her hands, he reached for the one that was bleeding, before mumbling a curse under his breath. JJ’s touch was gentle as he tilted her hand to assess the damage. JJ’s thumb grazed the back of her hand in a steady pattern. Y/N wasn’t sure if he noticed the way his touch lingered or if it was just an unconscious reflex, but the moment his thumb skimmed across her skin, she felt a rush of warmth spread through her, settling deep in her chest. Her breath caught and she couldn’t figure out why such a simple action was suddenly making her so aware of him. 

“Got yourself bad,” JJ said, his voice coming out in a whisper as if any increase in volume would shatter this moment around them. She wasn’t sure why, but Y/N didn’t want to be the one to shatter it either.

“I-it’s nothing,” She assured him, the level of her voice matching his. “Just a cut.”

“Yeah, but you’ll still need to clean it.” JJ’s hand lingered on Y/N’s for a moment longer, before stepping back and giving the girl some much-needed space. “I’ve got a first aid kit, one sec.” 

“The first aid kits we bought are in the house, not here,” Y/N reminded him, her voice returning to its regular cadence, when he stepped towards the door of the shack. “Remember?”

“I keep one here,” JJ explained, stepping through the doorway that led to the tiny store. A moment later he returned with what looked like a blue and white first aid kit. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the box in JJ’s hands. The Pogues had bought a bundle of two first aid kits when they had opened the store because Pope insisted that it was important to keep one on hand. But those kits had been red and white, so when had JJ bought this? Or why? It seemed kind of a waste.

Without saying a word, JJ sat himself down on the steps that lead up to the deck and motioned for Y/N to join him. 

“JJ, I can clean the cut. You don’t have to worry about it,” Y/N assured him, not moving towards the stairs.

“There ain’t much light, otherwise I wouldn’t insist,” JJ called back, shifting through the supplies in the box. “I know you’re tougher than a little cut. I just want to help.” There was something in his tone that told her it might be more than a want. “I won’t screw it up, don’t worry.”

Y/N suppressed a sigh, letting her head fall while he couldn’t see. Maybe she was too harsh on him. She didn’t want him to feel so dejected around her, she just expected more from him. Hesitating for only a minute longer, she moved to sit next to him on the rickety staircase. Wordlessly, she positioned herself so her knees were turned towards JJ, her bare skin brushing against the fabric of his shorts. She waited as JJ pulled out the necessary materials and took the flashlight from him when he held it out to her.  A moment later, JJ looked up at her, making her breath catch again.

The shadows softened the sharp edges of his face, hiding most of him from her view, but the faint moonlight caught just enough – the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, and the faint outline of his lips. The limited light didn’t do much to illuminate his features, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken. The way his eyes, even in the dark, seemed to fill the gap of silence between them, was unnerving. The shadows seemed to lean into him, framing his face like a half-finished sketch that was the most captivating piece of art she’d ever seen. JJ was handsome in every light, but there was something enchanting about him in the moonlight.  

“I’m gonna need your hand,” JJ spoke, breaking Y/N out of her trance. 

“What?” Y/N asked, too dazed to cringe at how dense she must’ve sounded. She watched JJ’s lips stretch into a smirk and again, even in the dark she could see that teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Your hand? You know, to clean the cut?” JJ broke eye contact with Y/N to look at her hand, which was tucked away at her side. With JJ’s eyes concealed from her, Y/N snapped out of her thoughts and looked down at her hand too. 

“Oh, right.” Y/N extended her arm, so her hand hovered above the first aid kit in JJ’s lap, silently berating herself for her lapse in focus. She thought JJ would definitely be letting that go to his head, but instead of taking this moment to embarrass Y/N, JJ simply took her hand in his grasp.

“Flash the light this way,” He said, his voice only slightly teasing. “Perfect.” He worked in silence, letting go of her hand to open an individually wrapped alcohol wipe before his warm fingertips wrapped back around her palm. The silence would have been a nice change of pace from JJ’s incessant need to fill any quiet moments, but right now Y/N didn’t trust herself. The less they talked the more she’d stare.

“Thanks,” Y/N controlled her voice so that it didn’t betray any discomfort as she spoke. “So um… how are you doing?”

“Hm?” JJ asked, the small sound endued with confusion.

“About the letter,” She clarified. “That news is a lot to handle.” She felt JJ’s hand tighten for a moment before loosening up. He chuckled, not stilling his movements as he placed the bloodied wipe next to him.

“You could say that,” JJ’s tone carried a sense of amusement, but she knew it was just a front. He let her hand go again, to unscrew the cap of the generic Neosporin. When he began applying the ointment to the cut, he didn’t take her hand in his again, instead letting it hang in the air. “I’m fine. Don’t really believe any of it anyway.”

“You don’t?” 

“You do?” JJ said, looking up at her. Y/N turned the flashlight in her hand to get a better read on his expression, causing JJ to flinch back like before. Shielding his eyes, he shouted, “Stop doing that!” 

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Y/N said frantically, but her apology was overpowered by a fit of laughter. 

“Seriously! You keep doin’ that and I’m gonna need a seeing-eye dog, woman.” JJ quipped, causing her to laugh even harder.

It took her a moment to calm down from her laughter and when she looked at JJ he had a small smile on his face. Simply chuckling, he shook his head and started to apply the ointment. Not wanting this conversation to pass them, Y/N continued with her earlier thought. “It’s not that I do believe it, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility. It could be real.” JJ’s smile disappeared, but she could tell from the position of his shoulders he wasn’t upset. 

“It feels like it is…. Impossible, I mean.” Y/N nodded as he spoke waiting to see if he’d elaborate. When he remained silent, she didn’t push. JJ needed to talk to someone because she had seen how everything played out disastrously when he didn't. But she wouldn’t push him to talk to her. They’d been better friends at one point. JJ had been one of the first people she bonded with when she’d joined the Pogues, aside from Sarah who she had felt an immediate inclination towards on Terrance’s ship. It didn’t matter though, that she’d once considered him her (second) closest friend in the group because she definitely wasn’t that person for him. She probably had a large part to play in that, but acknowledging that didn’t change how things were. She knew she had no right to force him to talk, so she shifted her attention to something else to fill the space between them. As she searched for another topic, she noticed JJ was already wrapping the bandaid around her finger, meaning he was almost done. 

“So, since when do you keep a first aid kit here?” Y/N asked, not wanting him to leave just yet– not after their first good moment in a long time. “This one’s different from the ones we got with Pope.”

“I’ve had it for a while,” JJ shrugged, throwing the bandaid wrapper to the growing pile of trash next to him. Y/N aimed the flashlight at the box of medical supplies, taking a proper look at it for the first time. It was a total wreck: silver wrappers spilling out, oversized bandage wrappers crumpled haphazardly, and a few tools resting on the rubbish she couldn’t properly identify. She’s not sure why the mess surprised her considering the kit belonged to JJ and he could be a bit clumsy, but how had he used so much already? 

“How long is ‘a while’?” Y/N pressed, leaning forward to shuffle through the mess. She shifted through the mess, tugging out a half-crumpled roll of gauze. “This thing’s been through the wringer. No wonder it took you so long to find the stuff.” She tossed the gauze back up in the box, noting the moment his expression changed. 

“Yeah,” JJ said before his jaw tightened and he stood up abruptly with the box in his hands. “It works fine.” JJ roughly set the first aid kit on the ledge of the shack, turning to face away from Y/N. 

Y/N frowned, not intending to have stuck a nerve with him. “Hey, I didn’t mean–”

“You know what?” JJ interrupted, spinning completely to face the generator. His movements were sharper now, less fluid. “I’m just gonna check one more time. There’s gotta be a way to fix this.”

Y/N rose to her feet, her stomach already clenching with the fear of an impending mishap. “JJ, stop. Leave it. I already–”

“I’m sure you checked it properly,” JJ cut her off as he crouched beside the generator. JJ’s hands moved frantically, tugging wires, and removing lids. “You probably just missed something, that’s all.” 

“JJ, hold on,” Y/N urged, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and shining her flashlight where JJ was still working. “Let’s just—”

JJ shrugged her hand off, his movements growing more erratic.“No– relax…just relax. It’s fine, see? I’m just gonna–” JJ kept twisting wires and prying things that didn’t need prying, parts that even Y/N hadn’t dared to touch despite spending the better half of her life on various ships.

“Please. Stop,” Y/N insisted. She knew this JJ, she’d seen him too much recently. “You’re making it worse.” JJ visibly flinched at her words but didn’t slow his movements.

“I’ve got it!” JJ snapped, his voice loud in the silent night. “I can fix this. Just let me fix it.” Y/N heard the way JJ’s voice waivered at the end, but she didn’t have time to figure out what it meant. Suddenly, JJ began to hit his hand against the side of the generator mumbling, “It just needs a little push.” 

Y/N’s protests fell on deaf ears as JJ continued his harsh beating of the generator, his movements extreme as if the generator had personally insulted him. JJ’s didn’t stop, until finally, miraculously, the entire deck lit up. Y/N looked around, her eyes wide as she took in the sight. There was no way…

“See?” JJ got up from the floor, his arms spread out on either side of him as his breath began to slow down. “Just needed a magic touch.” As he walked closer to Y/N, JJ gave her a pointed look that was no doubt meant to say ‘I told you so.’ Y/N pursed her lips, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting he’d fixed the problem. It wasn’t because she hadn’t been able to do it herself. It was because once again JJ had let his impulsive behavior take the wheel and this time he just got lucky. Pushing past her ego, Y/N was about to say thank you when –

A loud SNAP interrupted her, followed by a mechanical whine before she was met with complete silence. And darkness. Save for the orange sparks flying out from somewhere in the generator. JJ cursed under his breath, as he and Y/N ran down the stairs and off the deck. It was silent as they watched to make sure nothing else happened and the sparks didn’t lead to a fire. When she was sure there wouldn’t be anything else, she turned to JJ, her jaw set in annoyance. 

“You’ve got it?” Y/N repeated his words back to him, dripping in sarcasm. “You broke it, JJ.” 

JJ didn’t take even a second before defensively responding, “Well, it was already mostly broken.” 

Scoffing, Y/N looked to the sky, praying to anyone who’d listen to give her patience. “Mostly broken? It was off, JJ. Off and fixable. Now it’s dead. You just killed it.” 

JJ’s hand moved to the back of his neck, as he muttered something under his breath. He tilted his body away from Y/N which made her furious. Stepping to the side, she faced him head-on. 

“You just couldn’t leave it alone, huh? Why do you always have to–” 

“I was trying to help!” JJ argued and she couldn’t miss the unguarded, almost raw way he sounded, but she had to ignore it. Because no one else would tell him how bad this really was. “It wasn’t working before either, what’s the difference?”

“The difference, JJ,” Y/N said, her teeth grinding against each other. “Is that before we could have called a mechanic to fix it. Now, we need to buy a brand new generator. With money, that I don’t need to remind you, we don’t have! And we’ll be cut off from any profit we get from everything in here.”

They stared at each other, the flashlight beam caught awkwardly between them. JJ’s face was once again shrouded by darkness, but she could see the pout of his lips. 

“I’ll figure something out,” JJ’s voice was quieter now. “It’ll only cut into the early morning charters. We can keep track of profit the old school way– pen and paper.” 

“The early morning charters are half our business,” Y/N shook her head. “Just– stop making excuses, alright?”

JJ’s shoulders fell as he nodded, “Okay…” 

Y/N stared at JJ, not responding or furthering her chastising. JJ wouldn’t meet her eyes and she was glad. His usual bravado was missing as he tugged at what she presumed were loose threads on his shorts. If he had the gall to keep arguing right now, she would’ve lost it even more than she already did. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything more, so she just shook her head and left back towards the house.

“Y/N,” JJ called, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible over the waves. Y/N just ignored it and continued on her path. She wanted to turn around, she wanted to tell him they’d figure it out. But she didn’t know that they would and she hated to lie. With that explanation to herself, she kept walking away from JJ, not knowing she was delivering the final blow to his heart.

taglist: @tpwkyarely @ayy1234567 @theater-bitch

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Happy Birthday” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Now Leave (She's Sleeping).

Reneé’s dimly lit hotel suite in New York City. Heavy blackout curtains drawn. A soft beam of light cuts across the tangled sheets. The room smells faintly of sleep and sugar from the cake someone half-ate at 3 a.m. last night.

You're both tangled in a heap of limbs and warmth. Reneé is spooning you—one arm slung around your waist, your fingers curled in hers like it's instinct. You’re still dead asleep, your breath soft against her collarbone.

She blinks awake just as— BANG. DOOR OPENS. LAUGHTER. FLASH.

"🎉 HAPPY BIRTHDAAAY RENEÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉÉ—"

It’s the cast of Mean Girls. All of them. In full unhinged early-morning energy, someone’s clearly had an espresso shot too many. The phone in their hand is livestreaming. There’s already thousands watching.

But instead of Reneé sitting up excitedly or giving a teary-eyed speech—

She groans, squints into the hallway light—

—and notices the chaos and the phone and you, still sound asleep and nestled on her chest like you belong there.

She lifts her hand out from under the blanket, points to the door, and whispers with enough power to knock over a building:

"OUT."

"But—but we’re live! They’re saying happy birthday to you!" one of them protests, mid-whisper-laugh.

Reneé:

"Then tell them she’s sleeping and I’m busy being held like a Build-A-Bear. GO."

Someone in the back whispers, "Is that... is that your girlfriend?" Another voice: "I thought they were just besties—" A third: "I knew it. I KNEW IT."

You stir slightly, mumble something incomprehensible and instinctively tighten your arms around Reneé’s waist.

She smiles, protective, grounding. Her hand finds your hair again. Then she deadpans to the hallway:

"Close the door and delete the live before I sue all of you."

SLAM. Gone.

Silence again. Just the distant sound of a group whisper-arguing outside the suite. Reneé exhales, adjusts the blankets, and tucks your head beneath her chin. She kisses your temple softly and murmurs:

"Happy birthday to me, indeed."

You sigh in your sleep, perfectly unaware of the storm you just survived by doing absolutely nothing.

[thnksfrthquinn]

Pretend to Ignite – Johnny Storm (modern AU) x Reader - One Shot 

Summary: After a messy breakup with your ex, Patrick, the last thing you expect is for Johnny Storm — cocky, infuriatingly charming, and your best friend’s younger brother — to offer his help. You’ve always clashed, but when your lives keep overlapping (and your mail keeps ending up in each other’s hands), a plan is born: fake date Johnny to make Patrick jealous. But somewhere between brunch showdowns, sleepovers, and stolen glances, the line between pretend and real starts to blur. And the boy who used to set your nerves on fire might just be the one to heal everything your ex broke.

WC: 8.5k

Warnings: Swearing / Mild Language / Emotional Manipulation by Ex / Mild Confrontation / Verbal Conflict / Light Angst / Some Heated Arguments (Resolved) / Intimacy (non-explicit, emotional-heavy) / Modern AU /Fake Dating /(Not-Quite) Enemies to Lovers /Mutual Pining /Slow Burn / Soft!Johnny Storm / Protective!Johnny

There’s a letter wedged under your door when you get home—again. The chunky black print reads Storm, and you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes as you crouch to scoop it up. 

“Third time this week,” you mutter to yourself, peeling off your jacket as you step into your apartment. “And it’s only Wednesday.” 

You toss your keys into the bowl by the door and glance out your window. Across the street, the third-floor loft opposite yours glows with warm light. Of course it does. Johnny Storm keeps the place lit like it’s always golden hour—even if it’s 10 p.m. and raining. 

Your phone buzzes. 

Sue Storm: He still hasn’t sorted his mailbox out? 

You: He thinks it’s the mailman’s fault. I think it’s his entire personality. 

You laugh softly at your own message and grab the letter, tucking it under your arm. No doubt it’s another magazine he probably forgot he subscribed to. Last week, it was GQ and a bill for $346. This week, it’s something thicker. Government-looking. 

You should probably be annoyed. But deep down, there’s a rhythm to this by now. A strange, familiar beat to your odd friendship with Johnny Storm—your best friend’s reckless younger brother who, up until a month ago, you were sure would never outgrow his frat-boy energy. Now? 

Now he glows. Literally. 

The elevator in your building is still broken (as usual), so you hike up the stairs of the building across the street, rain still dampening your hair. You buzz his door twice. 

It swings open a second later. 

Johnny stands there shirtless, towel slung low around his waist, steam wafting behind him like he’s walking out of a damn romance novel. His hair curls damply over his forehead, and a cocky smile curls on his lips the moment he sees you. 

“Oh hey, neighbor,” he drawls, voice all gravel and warmth. “Come to return more love letters?” 

You hold the envelope up and push past him, brushing water off your coat. 

“No, just your government correspondence. Possibly something about setting things on fire in a public park,” you tease. “Or, I don’t know—your glowing fingertips.” 

He lifts his hand and flexes his fingers. The tips do flicker faintly orange before fading. You’ve gotten used to it. Or you’re pretending you have. 

Johnny sighs dramatically. “What can I say? I’m a public menace. But a charming one.” 

“You’re lucky your sister loves you,” you say, tossing the envelope on his kitchen counter and turning to leave. 

“Wait—” he calls after you, and there’s something quieter in his tone this time. “You doing anything Friday night?” 

You pause, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Why?” 

“Because if I end up getting sued by the city,” he says, that grin returning like clockwork, “I might need moral support. Or bail money. Or... someone to bring snacks.” 

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway. 

“God, you’re exhausting,” you say over your shoulder, stepping back out into the hallway. 

“Don’t pretend you’re not charmed,” Johnny calls after you, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice as the door clicks shut. 

You're halfway down the stairs before you let your smile fully break. You’re not supposed to think about him like this. He’s Johnny — Sue’s little brother, the human personification of a golden retriever with a lighter and no supervision. You’ve known him since college breaks when he’d crash Sue’s apartment and drink all the milk. He used to be this loud, annoyingly attractive kid with no filter and even less accountability. 

And now? He’s still loud. Still annoyingly attractive. But there’s something under the surface now, like his fire has finally found shape. You’d never say it aloud, but post-accident Johnny is... different. Quieter, sometimes. Restless in ways he tries to joke through. 

You tell yourself the only reason you’re thinking about him at all is because you’re bored and not dating anyone. That’s all. That, and maybe the way he looked at you tonight lingered a second too long. 

You try not to think about it. About the weight in his gaze, like he saw something in you no one else had noticed yet. You’d laughed it off, shrugged the whole night off, like always. That’s what you do with Johnny Storm. You tease, he pushes, you roll your eyes, he smirks — it’s been the same pattern for years. 

But tonight something feels… different. 

Back in your apartment, you toss your coat over the back of a chair and collapse onto your couch, rubbing at your eyes. The TV flickers with a half-muted cooking show you’re not watching. Rain ticks gently against the windowpanes. It’s late, but you’re wired. 

And that’s when your phone buzzes. 

Again. 

You don’t have to look to know who it is. You’ve memorized the pattern by now: two texts spaced thirty seconds apart, always when he’s bored, drunk, or just lonely enough to remember you were once someone he held onto a little too tight. 

EX: Hey… You up? 

Then: 

 EX: Thought about you today. Wish things had gone different. 

You stare at the screen. 

Wish things had gone different? 

Yeah. You wish that too — specifically, that you’d seen through his charming lies sooner. That you hadn’t wasted two years trying to become smaller, quieter, easier to love. That you hadn’t let him convince you that you were lucky to be chosen, instead of someone who deserves more. 

You type something. Delete it. Throw your phone across the couch with a groan and flop back dramatically. 

Ten seconds later, you sit back up and grab it again. 

Because if he keeps texting you like this, he’s not going to stop. Not unless he thinks you’ve moved on. And what better way to shut him down than with a distraction that would make him lose his mind? 

A distraction with an annoyingly beautiful face and a flirty streak ten miles long. 

You bite your lip. 

You shouldn't. 

You definitely shouldn't. 

So obviously, you do. 

You type quickly: 

You: Hey. You around? Can I come back over for a sec? 

The reply comes thirty seconds later: 

Johnny Storm: Miss me already? Door’s open, babe. 

You roll your eyes — of course he’d say something like that — and grab your hoodie. 

Johnny’s apartment is exactly the same as you left it ten minutes ago: warm, a little cluttered. He’s sprawled on the couch in grey sweats and a threadbare college hoodie, hair flopping boyishly over his forehead. 

He looks up with a lazy grin. “Round two? That was fast.” 

You don’t sit down. You pace instead, hands in your hoodie sleeves, energy buzzing beneath your skin. 

He watches you, a little more serious now. “Hey. What’s going on?” 

You stop. Face him. The words come out faster than you plan. 

“My ex won’t stop texting me.” 

His brow lifts. “The finance guy with the receding hairline?” 

You blink. “How do you—” 

Johnny shrugs. “Sue talks.” 

Fair. You sigh and sit on the edge of the armrest, staring at your knees. 

“He keeps texting me. Saying he misses me. That he regrets how things ended. That we should grab coffee. I think… I think he just wants to feel like he could still have me if he wanted to.” 

Johnny’s jaw tenses. “And do you?” 

You look up sharply. “Do I what?” 

“Want him to have you.” 

Your breath catches, just a little. “No. God, no.” 

There’s a pause. 

“So what do you need?” he asks, gentler now. 

You twist your hands in your sleeves. “I need him to back off. To think I’ve moved on. That I’m with someone who’s the opposite of him. Who’d never make me feel small.” 

You look up. 

And Johnny’s watching you the way he did earlier — like you’re more than just the girl across the hall. Like he’s listening in a way nobody else does. 

Then, you say it. 

“I need you to fake date me.” 

He blinks. 

You rush to explain. “Just for a bit. Just to scare him off. I’ll post a picture or two, maybe let it slip to mutuals. You don’t have to do anything real. You’re already flirty enough, and Sue knows you well enough that it won’t seem totally fake. It’ll be easy. We’ll fake it until he gets bored and disappears.” 

Johnny leans back against the couch, expression unreadable. 

“Fake date you.” 

“Exactly.” 

A beat. 

“You want me to pretend I’m crazy about you,” he says slowly, “when I’ve been doing that for years.” 

Your heart flips. 

He doesn’t take it back, you bury what he just said deep and continue. 

He just stares at you with a challenge in his eyes — like he’s daring you to admit you knew all along. 

You scoff, mostly to keep yourself from melting. “You’re ridiculous.” 

He smirks. “So you’ve mentioned.” 

“This wouldn’t be anything serious,” you add, holding your ground. “You’d just play the part.” 

“Oh, I can play the part,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. “The question is: can you?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You think I can’t handle it?” 

“I think I’ve been under your skin for years and you’re only just realizing it.” 

Your mouth opens. Shuts. You hate that he’s right. You hate it more that he knows he’s right. 

He stands up, steps toward you until there’s barely a breath of space between you. And then he grins — cocky and golden, the Johnny you’ve always known. 

“Well?” he says. “Do we shake on it? Kiss on it? Blood pact?” 

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway. 

Johnny steps back a little, giving you space like he knows you need to steady yourself. The teasing fades just enough for the room to settle again. He drags a hand through his hair and exhales, then gestures toward the couch. 

“Alright. Operation: Make Your Ex Jealous,” he says. “Let’s plan this.” 

You flop down onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” 

“Hey, you came to me.” 

“You’re the only person I know who can convincingly look like someone I’d rebound with.” 

“Was that a compliment or a cry for help?” 

You smirk. “Little of both.” 

He snorts, but opens his phone and pulls up Instagram. “Okay, what’s his deal? What gets under his skin?” 

“Patrick?” You lean your head back. “He’s the kind of guy who needs to feel like he ‘won.’ Like he moved on first. And he’s always compared himself to people like you.” 

Johnny blinks. “People like me?” 

“Loud. Charismatic. Always the center of attention without trying.” 

He looks over at you. “And?” 

“And… reckless. A little chaotic. Exactly the kind of guy he’d assume I couldn’t handle.” 

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “So we want him to think you can handle me.” 

“Exactly.” 

He nods, tapping on his phone. “So what’s the move? Subtle posts? A soft launch? Or do we go full PDA in front of mutuals and burn his fragile ego to the ground?” 

You smile despite yourself. “I’m thinking something in between. We don’t want it to look staged. Just believable enough that he knows he doesn’t stand a chance anymore.” 

“Okay.” Johnny shifts toward you, more serious now. “What’s he still watching? Instagram stories? Your grid?” 

“Probably both. He’s still got me muted, but I know he checks from his alt account.” 

Johnny whistles. “That’s healthy.” 

“Welcome to dating in the 2020s.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, then: “What if we post something casual tomorrow? Not you and me looking together, but like… you’re here, I’m in the background, there’s something unspoken.” 

You glance at him, impressed. “You’ve done this before.” 

He smirks. “I’ve been someone’s fake boyfriend before.” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?” 

“Long story. She was trying to get her landlord to fix the heating. I played the overprotective husband. We got free rent for two months.” 

You shake your head with a half-smile. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.” 

“I’m very persuasive,” he says solemnly. “Anyway, we can start with something low-key. Maybe brunch tomorrow?” 

You pause. “With Sue?” 

He shrugs. “Why not? If she sees us acting couple-y, it’ll get around. She’s basically a walking group chat.” 

You chew on your lip, thinking. “I could post a story. Just a picture of a coffee mug and, like, your hand or something.” 

“Or my hoodie on you.” 

You glance at him. 

He’s not being flirty. Not now. He’s just… planning. Efficient. Helpful. 

Which is somehow worse. 

Because if he’s not flirting, then why is your heart doing this weird fluttering thing? 

You push the thought away. 

“Alright,” you say. “Brunch. A story. Something just vague enough to stir the pot.” 

Johnny nods, tapping notes into his phone. “We should probably hang out for a bit beforehand. You need to be comfortable with me touching you.” 

You give him a flat look. 

“I mean casual touching,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “Like—arm around the shoulder, hand on your back. Not, like… that.” 

You try not to laugh. “God, this is going to be a disaster.” 

“Nah,” he says, standing and stretching with a loud yawn. “We’ll crush it. Tomorrow, 11 a.m.? I’ll text Sue and tell her we’re coming.” 

“You’re scarily good at this.” 

“I contain multitudes.” 

You glance at your phone. Another text from Patrick — “Still thinking about you. We should catch up sometime.” 

You lock the screen. 

Johnny sees the shift in your face. “You alright?” 

You nod. “I will be.” 

He tilts his head. “You’re not doing this just to get back at him, are you?” 

You pause. 

“No,” you admit. “It’s not about getting him back. I just want to stop feeling like I’m still in orbit around him.” 

Johnny’s voice is soft. “Then we’ll pull you out of it.” 

You meet his eyes. There’s no smirk this time. No teasing. 

Just quiet certainty. 

You feel your chest tighten. Not in a bad way. 

And that’s when he grins again, suddenly back to normal. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to be someone’s romantic weapon of mass destruction.” 

You’ve read the last text from Patrick three times now, and each time it makes your stomach twist a little tighter. 

Still thinking about you. We should catch up sometime. 

You hate how casually cruel it is. Like he’s checking the weather. Like your time together wasn’t a storm he made you walk through barefoot. 

You toss your phone face down on your bed and look at yourself in the mirror. 

This isn’t about him. Not anymore. 

This is about you taking control of the narrative. 

And maybe, just maybe, about what happens when you let someone like Johnny Storm step into the picture — someone who was never supposed to matter this much. 

You grab a sweater — soft, slouchy, off-the-shoulder. Something that could be read as effortless… or intimate. You pull your hair back, simple but styled. Natural makeup. Glossy lips. 

You pause. 

Then, almost impulsively, you grab the hoodie Johnny gave you last time he crashed on your couch after a night out. It still smells faintly like him — smoke and citrus and something warm. You tug it on over your sweater. Oversized. Familiar. Disarmingly convincing. 

You look at yourself one more time. 

It’s not armor. But it’s something close. 

Johnny’s door opens before you even knock. 

He leans in the doorway, brushing crumbs off his T-shirt. “You’re early.” 

You step in. “You’re still eating crackers in your doorway. We all have our coping mechanisms.” 

He shuts the door behind you, grinning. “Yours is dressing like you just woke up in my bed?” 

You give him a look. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s strategic.” 

He eyes the hoodie, then you, then the hoodie again. “Well. I have to say. You wear me well.” 

“Johnny.” 

“Right. Sorry. Focused.” 

You take a breath and scan the space — still as chaotic and lived-in as always, but it feels less like a frat boy’s den now, more like a space someone is genuinely trying to settle in. You notice a book half-read on the kitchen counter. A candle burning on the windowsill. Little things. Unexpected things. 

He tosses you a cereal bar. “Fuel up. Sue’s expecting us in, like, twenty.” 

You catch it mid-air. “You told her we were coming?” 

He shrugs. “Told her I had ‘company.’ She filled in the blanks.” 

You blink. “What blanks?” 

He raises a brow. “You, wearing my hoodie. Me, looking smug. The rest writes itself.” 

You groan and sit on the arm of the couch. “This better work.” 

Johnny plops down beside you, unusually quiet for a beat. 

“You nervous?” 

You shrug. “A little. I know it’s not real, but part of me still feels like I’m walking into enemy territory.” 

He watches you for a moment. “Just remember why we’re doing this. It’s not for him.” 

You glance at him. “I know.” 

“We go in, we act close. Like we’ve been seeing each other quietly. I’ll laugh at your jokes, you can pretend you think I’m charming—” 

“I always pretend that.” 

“See? You’re a natural.” 

You both smile, but there’s a current under it — something unspoken, like you’re both hovering on the edge of a line neither of you fully expected to walk. 

You stand, brushing off your jeans. “Let’s go cause some chaos.” 

He grabs his keys and follows you out, pausing as you both reach the front steps. 

Then, casually, he slips his hand into yours. 

You freeze. 

He doesn’t look at you — just keeps walking, hand warm, grip relaxed, like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not the first time. Like it won’t be the last. 

And somehow, that’s what makes it so much worse. 

Or maybe better. 

You haven’t decided yet. 

You and Johnny walk hand-in-hand down the street, a soft breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of his hoodie on your frame. You try to focus on the plan: act comfortable, stay close, subtle touches, believable glances. Just enough to be convincing. 

But the problem is—it’s already too easy. 

Johnny doesn’t act like someone pretending. His thumb rubs absent circles into the back of your hand as you walk. He holds doors open without smirking. He doesn’t tease or flirt—not like he normally does. He just walks beside you, quiet and warm and steady. Like this isn’t a game. 

And maybe that’s what’s throwing you. 

Sue’s already waiting when you arrive. You spot her at the corner table of the café, hair pulled up, sunglasses perched on her head like she’s starring in a low-budget detective drama. She stands when she sees you, her face lighting up—then flickering in a very specific way when her eyes land on your joined hands. 

“Oh,” she says, voice full of restrained curiosity. “You two came together.” 

Johnny grins. “Yeah. We’ve been spending some time together... for a while now” 

You’re shocked by how normal he sounds. Confident. Settled. 

Sue turns to you, mouth twitching. “Did he bribe you? Or lose a bet?” 

You let out a soft laugh, letting go of Johnny’s hand as you slide into your seat. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Johnny takes the seat next to you, not across from you. Bold. Strategic. Perfectly calculated. 

Sue raises one brow behind her iced coffee but doesn’t press. Not yet. She’s too good at the long game. 

“So,” she says slowly. “Anything new?” 

You feel Johnny’s knee brush yours under the table. Just enough pressure to say I've got you. 

You reach for your menu. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

Sue hums like she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Interesting.” 

The conversation drifts into casual territory—her work, something about Reed’s latest meltdown over disappearing lab equipment, gossip from a friend’s baby shower—but every so often, her eyes flick to Johnny, to you, to the hoodie you’re still wearing. 

And then the door jingles. 

Your stomach drops the second you hear the voice. 

“Hey—do they do oat milk here?” 

You don’t need to look. You know it. The cadence. The lazy tone. The half-laugh like he’s asking the barista for a favor he doesn’t deserve. 

Patrick. 

You freeze. Your blood goes cold. 

Johnny must sense it because his posture shifts subtly beside you. One of his hands drifts under the table, finding your thigh and resting there gently. Grounding you. Quietly protective. 

You don’t dare turn around. You stare straight ahead at your untouched mimosa and try not to breathe like your past just walked in and sat down five feet away. 

But Patrick sees you before you can hide. 

“Well,” he says, and your name sounds smug on his tongue. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

You force your gaze up. 

Patrick stands there, iced coffee in hand, an uncomfortable grin tugging at his mouth. His hair is longer than it was. He’s wearing that beige button-down you once told him he looked good in. He looks exactly like the version of himself you finally outgrew. 

You blink slowly. “Brunch,” you say. “It’s a Friday tradition.” 

Patrick’s eyes flick to Johnny. 

Then to the way Johnny’s sitting—leaned into you, his hand still resting on your leg beneath the table. 

Then, very obviously, to the hoodie you’re wearing. 

His jaw tics. 

“Oh,” Patrick says, masking surprise with condescension. “Didn’t know you two were… a thing.” 

“And here I was thinking you’d be laying low after everything,” Patrick says smoothly. “Guess not.” 

Johnny doesn’t give you a chance to respond. 

“She’s been doing great,” Johnny says, a bit too brightly. “We both have.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows rise. “We?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny says, stretching one arm across the back of your chair, clearly staking ground. “You remember me. The hot one.” 

You bite your lip to keep from smiling, but Patrick's face hardens. 

“Right,” Patrick says. “The reckless one with the… fire thing.” 

Johnny grins. “Still more reliable than a guy who ghosted her for three days before deciding he ‘wasn’t sure about the relationship.’” 

Patrick’s smile tightens, looking down at you “Didn’t realize you were keeping score.” 

“She wasn’t,” Johnny snaps “But you made it really easy.” 

The table goes quiet for a beat, tension thick as steam from the espresso machine. 

Sue raises an eyebrow, clearly ready to throw hands or hot coffee — whichever lands first. 

Patrick’s eyes flick down to your hand, to the rings you’re wearing — specifically the one you’d hastily shoved on this morning to look “emotionally thriving.” 

“I see you’ve moved on,” he says, voice now brittle. “Pretty fast, don’t you think?” 

“Actually,” Johnny interjects smoothly, “we’ve been together a while.” 

You glance at him, startled. 

Patrick frowns. “Seriously?” 

“She didn’t want to rub it in your face,” Johnny says with a shrug. “But since you’re here, I guess it’s not rubbing anymore.” 

Sue snorts into her mimosa. 

Patrick folds his arms. “And this isn’t just some—what, rebound?” 

You straighten in your seat, voice cold now. “No, Patrick. You were the rebound. You just stuck around too long.” 

He stares at you, jaw flexing. 

“She’s happy now,” Johnny says, calm and final. “You don’t get to poke holes in that just because you’re miserable.” 

Patrick’s face twists with something unreadable. He glances at Sue like she might rescue him, but she raises both brows and sips her drink. 

“I didn’t come here to cause a scene,” he mutters. 

“Then maybe go before you do,” you say, blinking away the heat behind your eyes. 

Patrick opens his mouth like he’s going to say something — a dig, a plea, something slimy — but he must think better of it. Instead, he just huffs out a bitter laugh and turns away, walking out of the café with his hands jammed in his pockets. 

You feel your throat tighten, but you nod. You lean in slightly. Let the world think whatever it wants. And then he walks off to the patio like he didn’t just detonate a mine in your chest. 

The silence that follows is thick. 

Johnny turns to you gently. “You okay?” 

You blink fast. You don’t want to cry—not here, not now. “I’m fine.” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just slides his hand from your leg to your hand, gripping it quietly, giving you space to feel whatever you need to. 

Sue sips her coffee and sighs. “So. That’s what this is about.” 

You look at her sharply. 

She shrugs. “I’m not mad. Just mildly annoyed that I wasn’t looped in sooner.” 

You open your mouth to explain—but she waves you off. 

“No, no, don’t explain now. I’m letting it slide because A: he sucks, and B: I haven’t seen Johnny this calm since the incident that shall not be named involving the rooftop and the flaming barbecue tongs.” 

Johnny chokes on his water. 

You laugh, relieved, tension finally breaking. 

“Thanks, Sue.” 

“Anytime,” she says, standing to flag the waitress. “Now let’s get pancakes. And next time you do something wild like fake dating, maybe don’t pick someone with better cheekbones than you. It’s distracting.” 

You roll your eyes. 

But when you glance at Johnny, he’s watching you with something careful in his eyes. 

Not playful. Not smug. 

Just there. 

And you think: maybe this stopped being fake the second he reached for your hand. 

The city outside is soft with the kind of quiet that only comes after a long day. Streetlights flicker through Johnny’s apartment windows, casting gold against the dark wood floors and messy scatter of takeout boxes. There’s a half-drunk bottle of wine on the coffee table. A folded blanket on the arm of the couch. Music playing low from his speaker—jazz again, but slower this time, softer, as if it knows you both need the space to breathe. 

You’re curled into one corner of the couch, Johnny sprawled in the other. Neither of you has really spoken since you got back from brunch. The plan had gone off perfectly. Sue had side-eyed her way through the entire meal, and Patrick had absolutely taken the bait. But somehow, instead of the rush of satisfaction you expected, all you feel is… heavy. 

Tired. 

Johnny made hot chocolate, you sip it quietly. It’s a little too sweet. You don’t mind. 

Johnny clears his throat beside you. “You ever think maybe we overdid it?” 

You glance over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“The way we were acting. At brunch.” 

You shrug. “I thought we were subtle.” 

“You were subtle.” He looks over at you with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I was incredible.” 

That earns him a small laugh. He smiles at the sound, then sinks deeper into the cushions. 

But the silence doesn’t stay easy. It stretches again. Something unsaid hangs in the space between you. 

You look at him sideways. 

“Johnny,” you murmur. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re really... different lately.” 

He shifts a little, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. 

“Since the cosmic storm, you mean?” 

You nod, watching him carefully. 

He looks down, rubs the back of his neck, voice quieter now. “It changes things. Not just the fire part. I feel like I’m always on, y’know? Even when I’m off. People expect me to be this larger-than-life thing, and when I’m not, it’s like... disappointing.” 

You blink, taken off guard by the honesty. The vulnerability of it. You’ve seen Johnny flirt, joke, deflect — but not this. 

“You don’t have to be ‘on’ around me,” you say, voice softer now. “You never did.” 

Johnny lets out a low laugh. Not his usual golden-boy laugh, but something more hollow. 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he mutters. 

Your brows knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He pushes himself up, suddenly restless. Tosses the last bite of pizza into the box a little too forcefully and paces to the far side of the room, hands in his hair like he’s trying to shake something loose. 

“You never liked me,” he says, not looking at you. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. Every time I came around Sue, you’d roll your eyes or sigh like I was just this burden you had to put up with. The annoying little brother. The screw-up. The joke.” 

You feel something sharp twist in your chest. “Johnny…” 

He waves a hand. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to backpedal. I get it. You’re smart, and serious, and have your shit together. And I was the loud one who flirted with anything that moved and barely made it through school. You didn’t see me until I started glowing.” 

You stand, slowly, your mug still warm in your hand. “That’s not true.” 

He finally turns to look at you, eyes a little too bright. 

“Oh, come on. You practically made it your mission to remind me how immature I was every time I so much as breathed too loud around you.” 

“Because you were immature!” you snap, voice rising without your permission. “You lit things on fire for fun and you slept through your sister’s birthday brunch!” 

“I didn’t sleep through it. I was hungover. That’s very different.” 

“Not to Sue!” 

The room falls into silence again, this time jagged and hot. The kind that makes your skin feel too tight. 

You press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “God, why do you always do this?” 

“Do what?” 

“Push me until I say something I don’t mean.” 

He squares his shoulders. “What if you do mean it?” 

“I don’t.” 

“You sure about that?” 

You step toward him, closer than you should be, and feel the heat rolling off him. Not his mutation—him. 

“You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re infuriating.” 

“Good.” 

“Great.” 

You’re both breathing hard now. Staring each other down. Too close. The space between you sparks. 

Then, softer—wounded: 

“You always look at me like I’m a mess you can’t fix.” 

The words hit deeper than they should. 

“I don’t want to fix you,” you say, your voice cracking a little. “I just… I wanted to stop caring when you didn’t.” 

Johnny flinches. “You think I didn’t care?” 

“You flirted with everything that moved and turned everything into a joke,” you shoot back, eyes burning. “And I thought—if I stayed away, if I just kept it together, I could stop thinking about you.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment. His voice, when it comes, is rougher. Lower. 

“And did it work?” 

You shake your head. “No. Obviously not.” 

The silence thickens. The whole apartment feels like it’s holding its breath. 

He takes one careful step toward you. “You know… I never flirted with you.” 

You scoff. “Yeah. I noticed.” 

“Wanna know why?” 

You swallow. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.” 

He stops in front of you, eyes searching yours. “Because with you… if I flirted and it didn’t work—I don’t think I’d recover from it.” 

You blink, startled. Your breath catches. 

He steps forward again, closer now. Close enough that you feel the warmth of him, humming beneath his skin like it’s aching to be released. 

“You think I wasn’t paying attention,” he says. “But I was. I saw the way you covered your mouth when you laughed. How you always looked out for Sue, even when she didn’t ask. How you only let your guard down when you thought no one was watching.” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “You were watching?” 

He nods. “I was always watching.” 

Your hands tremble a little, still holding your mug. You set it down on the table beside you, slowly. 

You don’t know what to do. Or say. Or how to react.  Because this?  This doesn’t feel like a joke.  This doesn’t feel like Johnny being Johnny.  This feels like the moment the mask finally cracked — and something real slipped through. 

Your heart beats faster. 

He’s still standing in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him in waves, and not just because he literally runs at a higher temperature now. This is something else. Something almost magnetic. 

Your voice is soft. Uncertain. 

“Was that… were you… are you saying you—” 

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales sharply, like he’s been holding something in for years and finally let a little too much of it out. 

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to say all that. Not like that.” 

You blink at him. “But you meant it.” 

He meets your eyes then. Really meets them. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I did.” 

You suddenly feel like the floor under you is less stable. Like you’ve been walking a tightrope and didn’t realize how high up you were until you looked down. 

This wasn’t part of the plan. 

Fake-dating Johnny was supposed to make your ex jealous. It was supposed to be harmless. Controlled. 

But nothing about this feels controlled now. 

And you’re not sure if you’re terrified of falling… or if you’ve already started. 

You step back, instinctively, needing space to think. To breathe. His eyes flicker with something—hurt?—but he doesn’t move. 

“I just… I didn’t know you saw me like that,” you say. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he replies. “You always seemed like you had me figured out. The flirty guy. The walking disaster. I didn’t think you’d ever take me seriously.” 

You swallow hard. “I didn’t think you took anything seriously.” 

He gives a sad little smile. “That was the point.” 

Silence again. This time, not angry. Just full. Weighty. 

You sit down slowly, perching on the edge of the couch, fingers twisting in the hem of your sleeve. 

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you admit. 

Johnny nods, standing awkwardly in the center of the room like he doesn’t know where to put himself. “You don’t have to do anything. I just… couldn’t not say it anymore.” 

He’s retreating now — pulling back, retreating into defense mechanisms and half-shrugs. Back into Johnny Storm, Human Torch, golden boy with a grin and a punchline. 

But you’ve seen too much now to unsee it. 

You’ve seen the fire and the fear. The way he looked at you when Patrick showed up. The way he stepped in like it was instinct. Like it wasn’t pretend. Like it had never been pretend. 

You speak again, barely above a whisper. “You really never flirted with me.” 

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “You were the only one I was actually scared to.” 

The confession hangs there between you, suspended and bright like an ember in the dark. 

He turns then, heading toward the kitchen, probably to bury himself in something — cleaning, distraction, anything to defuse the moment. 

You watch him go. 

And you realize something, in the quiet that follows: this wasn’t a mistake. Not from him. And maybe not from you either. 

Because deep down, even now, with everything spinning out from under you…  You don’t want to stop him. 

You just don’t know how to start. 

So instead, you ask the only thing that feels safe: 

“Do you want to sit down?” 

Johnny pauses mid-step. Turns back, surprised. “What?” 

You pat the cushion next to you — not teasing. Just open. 

“Just for a bit,” you say. “We don’t have to figure it out right now.” 

He hesitates. Then slowly — carefully — he walks back across the room and sits beside you, not too close this time. Like he’s giving you space to breathe. 

But you feel the gravity of him again, even from here. 

This time, he doesn’t say anything clever. 

This time, neither of you does. 

You just sit in the quiet, in the soft flicker of lamplight and low jazz, and let the moment settle between you. Unfinished. Unspoken. Real. 

You’re not sure how long you sit like that—side by side on the couch, the hush of the apartment pressing in around you. The lamp glows soft in the corner. The last of the hot chocolate sits cold on the table. The air still feels like it crackles, but neither of you speaks. 

It should be awkward.  But somehow, it isn’t. 

Johnny’s arm rests along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. He’s staring at the window, jaw relaxed for once, like letting the truth out earlier let him breathe properly for the first time in a while. 

You glance sideways at him. “You ever do this before?” 

He blinks. “What? Fake date someone to mess with their ex?” 

You smile faintly. “No. I mean… let someone see you like that.” 

He doesn’t answer immediately. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. 

“Not really. I guess I thought… if people didn’t see the real me, they couldn’t reject it.” 

You nod, looking down at your hands. “I get that.” 

He turns to you. “Yeah?” 

You let out a slow breath. “I think that’s why I kept you at a distance. Not just because you were annoying—” 

“Thanks,” he deadpans. 

“—but because it was easier to box you in as the guy who didn’t take anything seriously. It made it safer to… not feel anything.” 

His gaze softens. “But you did.” 

You glance at him, cheeks heating. “Apparently.” 

Johnny smiles. A small one. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just real. 

“I didn’t know what to expect when we started this,” he says. “I figured we’d mess with Patrick’s head a little, have some laughs. I didn’t think it’d—” He stops himself. 

“Didn’t think it’d what?” you ask. 

He runs a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think it’d make me feel like this.” 

You blink. “Like what?” 

He hesitates, then says it: “Like maybe it stopped being fake around the time you put my hoodie on.” 

You don’t answer. You don’t know how to. But your heart’s doing somersaults in your chest. 

He looks down at his hands. “I’m not good at this. The honest thing. It’s not really in my wheelhouse.” 

“You’re doing okay,” you say gently. 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

The silence stretches again, but it’s warmer now. Like a pause between verses, not a goodbye. 

Breaking the silence, not quite looking at him, “Can I ask you something?” 

He turns his head slightly. “Yeah?” 

You hesitate, then go for it. “Can I… stay here tonight?” 

He blinks. “Here?” 

You nod quickly. “I just… I don’t really want to go home right now. I know it’s stupid. It’s just—Patrick’s been texting again, and the thought of being in that apartment alone just… it feels wrong tonight.” 

You can hear your own voice start to falter. You hate it. 

“I can crash on the couch if you want,” you add quickly. “Or I’ll take the floor. I don’t care. I just don’t want to be alone.” 

Johnny’s quiet for a second. Then he shakes his head. 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he says softly. “You can have the bed.” 

You frown. “Johnny—” 

“I’ll take the couch.” He flashes a small smile. “It’s seen worse.” 

You feel your shoulders relax a little, the pressure in your chest easing. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. 

He stands, grabbing a spare pillow and blanket from a nearby basket. You watch him work in silence, folding and fluffing with a surprising tenderness for someone who once set a toaster on fire just to see if he could. 

You follow him down the short hallway toward the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, flicks the switch on, then glances at you. 

“It’s not much,” he says. “There’s laundry on the chair and I think the sheets smell like my cologne.” 

“That’s fine.” 

He nods, then lingers a second too long like he’s about to say something more—but doesn’t. Instead, he just hands you the pillow. 

“You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

You step into the room, but turn at the last second. 

“Hey,” you say, stopping him in the doorway. 

He meets your eyes. 

“I meant what I said earlier too. About seeing you differently now.” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, really looks. Like he’s trying to burn the moment into memory. 

Then, softly: “Okay.” 

You close the door behind you, heart thudding too fast. The room smells like him — warmth and spice and something a little sweet, something undeniably Johnny. You pull the blanket around you and lie back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

The truth of it presses gently against your ribs: you feel safer here than you have in a long time. 

You don’t know if this is the start of something, or the moment something finally cracked open. 

But when you close your eyes, you’re still thinking about the way he looked at you in the doorway.  And how, just maybe, he’s been waiting for you to stay all along. 

The room is dark now. 

You’re curled up under Johnny’s blanket, one arm tucked beneath your pillow, your back facing the door. The sheets are warm, soft, slightly tangled from where you’ve shifted, but sleep won’t come. Your mind is too full—of brunch, of Patrick, of everything Johnny said before and after. 

Of the look in his eyes when he offered you his bed like it was nothing, like it was everything. 

Your heart thuds in your chest, slow and uneven. You shift, let out a soft breath, and close your eyes even though you’re wide awake. 

Then you hear it—footsteps just beyond the door. Light ones. 

The door creaks open slowly. You don’t move. 

“Hey,” Johnny whispers, his voice low and careful. “You okay?” 

You don’t answer. Not because you can’t—but because you don’t know how. So you pretend. 

Still. Quiet. Breathing steady. 

A pause. 

Then, the door eases shut again, soft as a secret. 

You expect him to go back to the couch. Instead, there’s a faint rustle, and then his voice, muffled and low. 

It takes you a second to realize he’s on the phone. 

“Sue?”  A beat.  “No, sorry. I know it’s late.”  Another pause. Then a sigh. “Yeah. She’s here. She’s in my bed.” 

Your eyes snap open, though your body stays perfectly still. 

“I didn’t plan for this,” he says, and he sounds exhausted. Not physically—emotionally. Like someone who’s been carrying something too heavy for too long. “I was just helping her with the Patrick thing. Fake-dating. You know.” 

There’s a silence, and you can almost hear Sue’s voice on the other end. Soft but pointed. The way she always gets when she’s seeing right through him. 

“No, I didn’t do anything,” Johnny says, a little sharper. “She asked to stay. I gave her my bed.” 

Another pause. A faint, self-deprecating laugh. 

“Yeah, I know. That’s what I’m saying. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.” 

Your breath catches. You don’t move. 

“I thought I could just ride it out, y’know? Be the guy she needed for the week, help her get under Patrick’s skin, maybe annoy her a little.”  A quiet laugh, soft and fond. “Classic me, right?” 

You hear him shift his weight. A creak from the couch. 

“But she’s not just Sue’s best friend anymore. She’s... her. She’s this sharp, stubborn, infuriating person who makes me want to be better. Even when she’s calling me out, she makes me feel—seen.” 

Something twists deep in your chest. 

“She’s asleep in my bed right now and I’m out here like an idiot, hoping she’s dreaming about me. Isn’t that pathetic?” 

Sue must be saying something, but you can’t hear it. Johnny chuckles, a low and tired sound. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I’m screwed.” 

There’s a long pause. Then quieter, rougher: 

“She’ll go back to her place tomorrow. Probably won’t think this meant anything. It’s just the plan to her. Still part of the act.” 

Your fingers curl into the sheets. 

“I just didn’t expect it to get real for me so fast,” he admits. 

Silence. The call must end, or maybe he just stops talking. You hear the soft thunk of his phone being set down, then nothing but the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. 

He doesn’t come back to check on you again. 

And you don’t sleep. 

You lie there, eyes wide open in the dark, heartbeat loud in your ears, body still and aching with everything you’ve just heard. 

He thinks you’re still pretending.  He thinks he’s alone in this.  And you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that. 

The city is still asleep when you quietly swing your legs off Johnny’s bed and press your feet to the cool floorboards. Your phone screen says it’s just past 5 a.m. — the sky outside still that pre-dawn grey-blue, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. 

You move slowly, cautiously, the way you used to sneak out of sleepovers as a kid. Except this time, you’re not trying to avoid someone’s mom. 

You’re trying to avoid him. 

The blanket falls from your shoulders as you stand. You fold it without thinking, neat and careful, your fingers fidgeting like they need something to do. Something normal. Like folding a blanket will distract you from the storm swirling in your chest. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. Why you’re leaving. You just… can’t stay. 

You can still hear his voice in your head — that soft, cracked confession to Sue on the couch. 

“She’ll go back to her place tomorrow. Probably won’t think this meant anything.” 

Your heart twists, hard. 

You want to scream at how wrong he is. You want to go out there, grab him by the face, and tell him it meant everything.  But you don’t.  Because now you’re scared too. 

Scared that this whole thing — this spiral from fake to real — wasn’t fair. To him. To you. That maybe you pulled him into something he didn’t ask for, not really. That maybe you were just selfish, desperate for comfort in the fallout of Patrick, and Johnny had been caught in the crossfire. 

And yet… he hadn’t run. He’d stayed. 

That’s what makes it worse. 

You push the door open slowly and step into the dim living room. Johnny’s curled up on the couch, blanket tangled around his legs, one arm tucked beneath his head. His mouth is parted just slightly. His brow is smooth. He looks peaceful. Soft, even. 

You want to kiss him.  God, you want to kiss him. 

Instead, you move carefully across the room, aiming for the door. 

You make it halfway. 

Then— 

The floor creaks. 

You freeze. 

“…Your leaving?” 

You close your eyes. Damn it. 

You turn slowly to find Johnny sitting up on the couch, rubbing sleep from his face, his hair a wild mess and his voice rough from sleep. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you say quietly. 

“You didn’t,” he lies, blinking at you. “You were really gonna sneak out?” 

“I wasn’t sneaking,” you mutter. 

He stands up, blanket slipping off him, arms crossed over his chest. “Then what was that? You’ve got your shoes in your hand like you're about to crawl out the window.” 

You fold your arms too, suddenly defensive. “I was just trying to avoid a scene.” 

“Well, congrats,” he says flatly. “Nailed it.” 

You exhale, frustrated. “I didn’t want to make this worse, Johnny.” 

“Worse?” he repeats, stepping forward. “You think this is worse? Leaving without a word? After everything yesterday — after everything I said—” 

“I heard what you said.” 

He freezes. “You heard me?” 

“On the phone. With Sue.” 

His mouth opens and closes again. He looks like you just punched him in the chest. “So what — you heard me say I liked you and decided that was your cue to bolt?” 

“It’s not that simple—” 

“Yes, it is!” His voice rises. “It is that simple. I told Sue I was falling for you, and instead of talking to me about it, you tried to disappear.” 

“I didn’t know what else to do!” you snap, throwing your hands up. “I panicked, okay? I wasn’t supposed to feel any of this either!” 

Johnny’s eyes burn into you. “Then why are you acting like this is some huge mistake?” 

“Because it wasn’t supposed to get this far!” you shout back. “This was meant to be a joke. A plan. A stupid fake relationship to make Patrick jealous and now—” Your voice cracks. “Now I feel like I used you.” 

His expression softens for a fraction of a second, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. 

“You didn’t use me,” he says. 

“You’re sure about that?” 

“Yes.” He steps forward again. “You didn’t use me. I volunteered. I wanted to help. I wanted to be around you. I didn’t care what excuse we used.” 

You shake your head, eyes burning. “It wasn’t fair to you.” 

“What’s not fair,” Johnny growls, “is that you got scared and decided I couldn’t handle how you felt.” 

You blink. “That’s not—” 

“You assumed,” he cuts in. “You assumed this meant more to me than it did to you. Like I’m the idiot who caught feelings while you stayed detached. But you’re not detached. You’re terrified.” 

You stare at him, stunned. “Screw you.” 

“Isn’t that easier?” he shoots back. “Being mad at me so you don’t have to admit this is real?” 

“I’m not mad because I’m scared, I’m mad because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says, stepping even closer, his voice low and sharp. “I’m talking about the way you looked at me at brunch. I’m talking about the way you didn’t move when I touched your hand. I’m talking about the fact that you stayed.” 

You’re breathing hard now, chest rising and falling. 

“I stayed,” you say, quieter but no less furious, “because for the first time in weeks, I felt safe.” 

Johnny flinches. 

“And now?” he asks, softer now. 

“Now I feel like I’m in too deep.” 

He swallows. “Good.” 

You frown. “What?” 

He steps into your space, gaze intense. “Good. Because same. I’ve been in deep since you called me that night, crying about Patrick. Since I saw you in my hoodie. Since you kissed me on the cheek and made it feel like my entire brain short-circuited.” 

You’re shaking. Maybe from adrenaline. Maybe from everything you’ve kept inside finally cracking open. 

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur. 

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” he fires back, voice low. 

You stare at each other for a moment, breath tangled, hearts pounding, barely a breath between you. 

And then— 

It happens. 

You grab his shirt. He cups your jaw. And your mouths crash together like a wave finally breaking. 

It’s messy. Desperate. Like neither of you knows how to go slow now that the wall is down. His hands slide into your hair, your fingers curl into his chest. The kiss is heat and frustration and hope and finally, all wrapped into one. 

You pull back just enough to breathe. 

“I’m not going to leave..” you whisper, lips brushing his. 

His eyes search yours. “Good.” 

He kisses you again, slower this time. Sweeter. And it feels like something settling into place. 

When he finally rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, the tension is gone. Replaced with something terrifying and brand new. 

Honesty. 

Realness. 

You’re in his arms now, and for once, you’re not pretending. 

[itsthestutterforme]

Just Try (A Johnny Storm Drabble)

Summary: You and Sue grew up together and Johnny has always been on the sidelines in your mind. Until one day, he gives you a hypothetical.

Notes: GIF is not mine, this is not a beta’d read, mentions of Ari Levinson, allusions to sex

—

“Johnny’s been in his head a lot lately. Have you noticed?” Sue questions, applying her mascara in the vanity mirror next to you while you brushed your lash extensions with a spoolie.

“I mean, he has been more quiet than usual. But I didn’t think much of it. What could Johnny possibly think so hard about?”

“Do you think he’s talking to someone?” You stopped brushing your lashes and looked at her. “Are we talking about the same Johnny Storm?”

She nudges your side with her hip, causing the two of you to chuckle.

“Can you at least try to talk to him? He talks to you more than he does with me.” You leaned against the vanity table and took the mascara wand out of her hand.

“Hey, none of that. There is no sad talk allowed on your birthday.” “I’m not sad. I just.. I know I’m hard on him, but that’s because I want what’s best for him. And now he doesn’t trust me.”

“Of course he trusts you, Sue. You’re his big sister. He just doesn’t want to disappoint you.”

“And I said enough of that,” you set the mascara on the table and pulled her to her feet. “You’ve been playing big sister all day. Now it’s time to let loose and shake some ass.”

A knock on the door brings your attention from the mirror. Johnny leans his body against the door, giving you a quick once over.

He wore a simple black t-shirt and some jeans. But he felt a little underdressed once he saw what you and Sue were wearing.

“The limo’s here,” he states. He spun on his heel to wait by the front door when you called his name.

“How does she look?” You motioned to Sue but his eyes was trained on you.

“Beautiful- she looks beautiful. You better not bring anybody home.” He says, finally shifting his glance from you to Sue.

“As if. That’s something I should be saying to the two of you,” Sue snorts, pushing past him with her coat and purse in hand.

“Hey, I haven’t brought a guy home in a while.” You called after her. Johnny’s gaze fell to the floor at your words.

“Yeah, yeah.” She calls back. You spared yourself one last look in the mirror when you noticed Johnny meeting your gaze through the mirror.

“Everything okay?” You ask slowly, hugging your trench coat close to your chest. You had closed the gap between you.

Despite the fact you were wearing heels, you still had to lean back a little to look him in his eyes.

The scent of your perfume eased his nerves but your gaze combated that eased feeling, making his heart stutter in his chest.

“Johnny?” “Uh, yeah- yes, I’m fine.” “Are you sure?“ he opens his mouth to say something when Sue reenters the room.

“You guys ready?” Sue asks. “Yep, ready when you are.” You answer with a smile. You and Johnny follow Sue to the front door and took the elevator down to the lobby.

His eyes were glued to his phone the entire limo ride to the club, despite the music and Sue opening all of the windows and climbing through the sun roof to shout after a couple shots of tequila. A few people walking on the street wished her a happy birthday.

You had closed your eyes, relishing how the wind kissed your cheeks and smoothed over your silk pressed hair.

The music drowned out and it was just you and the wind. Johnny notices your silence and lifts his gaze to you. Time slowed when he watches your features relax, your head leaning further out the window.

Every night he thinks of what life would be like if he was with you. Not just with you in bed but with you. Loving you.

Things he never gave the time of day was now flooding his mind every chance it gets. Truth was, the thoughts were always there.

He suppressed them.

He turned his attention towards motocross and being a womanizer. But none of that stopped him of seeing you smiling when he would close his eyes at night.

He hasn’t been on his A game in months. He complete disappeared from the media. No instagram posts. No interviews. No special appearances. Nothing.

He felt like a love sick puppy.

He could tell by how limp your neck was that you were falling asleep. He hesitantly reached over the seat and touched your knee, refusing to acknowledge your dress was riding up your thighs.

Your eyes slowly peeled open at the touch, meeting Johnny’s concerned gaze.

“You okay?” He asks. “Oh God. Did I fall asleep?” You sat up straight at the realization. “You did.”

“Please tell me she didn’t notice,” the two of you looked to Sue shouting something about an apartment key through the sunroof. Mostly likely something about Reed.

Then she mumbled something about fuck men, which was definitely about Reed.

“I doubt it,” Johnny states, making the two of you chuckle. “Doesn’t take much to get her drunk, huh?”

“No, I guess not.” You met his gaze again, the warmth of his hand remained on your skin. There that feeling was again, a thrumming under your skin at the connection.

What was happening right now?

“We’re here!” Sue squeals, dropping back down into the limo.

Johnny hand pulls away from you and you cleared your throat, adjusting your dress as Sue opens the car door.

Johnny gets out first to help you and Sue out of the car.

You made an effort to avoid eye contact with Johnny throughout the night. You don’t know what is going on but it’ll stop if you ignore it long enough. Right?

Johnny watches as a man weeds his way through the crowd to where you and Sue were dancing.

He smooths a hand over your waist and you looked over your shoulder at him. He flashed you an award winning smile that immediately made you weak in the knees.

“I’m Ari,” he says into your ear, smiling when you said your name in return.

Johnny’s jaw clenched at the sight, taking a long swig of his beer. Ari drapes his arms over your shoulders, his hips rolling against your backside as he whispers something in your ear to make you laugh.

Why were you laughing with him? He doesn’t know you, Johnny thought to himself.

“Hey Johnny,” a woman greets, sliding into the space next to him. “You here with someone?” She asks, sliding her hands up his clothed chest.

Johnny looked to see if you noticed her touching him, only to see your eyes closed as Ari kissed the side of your neck.

“Fuck it,” Johnny says allowed, cupping the blonde woman’s cheeks before kissing her.

“Gross, get a room you two!” Sue shouted at you and Ari over the music. “And leave you? No way!”

“I’m sure Johnny will take me home.” Sue mediates. The two of you looked over to Johnny who had his tongue down some blonde’s throat.

“Looks like that’s not happening. Let me take you home.” You told her. “No. I’ll call an Uber. It’s okay.”

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you here drunk and alone while you wait for your Uber to get here.”

The two of you continued to bicker until Ari stepped in.

“I can take drop her off if you’d like,” “No, Ari. You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s really no problem. I don’t like the idea of any woman being alone and drunk either. People don’t exactly have the best intentions.” Ari explains.

“And after you drop her off?” You asked, his gaze darkening at your words.

“Well that’s entirely up to you, sweetheart.”

**

The morning after wasn’t anything like you expected. Typical, the morning after consisted of getting dressed and doing the walk of shame out of their apartment.

Except the morning with Ari meant morning sex with you on top, him drilling into you from below.

His arms encircling you so you couldn’t writhe away from him. He wanted you to take every inch.

While you were fucked out on his bed, he made you Belgian waffles and poured you some orange juice.

He offered to drive you home but you strongly insisted against it. Instead you called yourself an Uber to take you home, reminiscing at how Ari knew your body like the back of his hand.

You knew that meant that he was a fuck boy like Johnny was, but that didn’t take away from the fact that he made you feel like you were on Cloud 9.

You bit your lip as you reminisced on Ari’s hips slotted between yours. The smile fell from your face when the Uber driver pulled up to the curb in front of your apartment.

You thanked him before taking your heels in your hands and stepped onto the curb. You unlocked the front door, sighing when you closed it behind you.

“It’s almost noon,” a voice states behind you.

A yelp leaves your lips when you spun around, grabbing the nearest thing you could. You held the umbrella tightly in your hands until you slowly recognized the man in front of you.

“Damn it, Johnny! What the fuck!” “You really should have better security,”

“I had security. No one knows where my spare key is and I have a ring camera,” you explain, setting the umbrella back on the rack.

“A ring camera that would work better if you didn’t mute the notifications,” he retorts. “I’d got annoying after a while, okay. It’s a busy street.”

“What are you doing here, Johnny? Did something happen to Sue?” You added, changing the topic of conversation.

“No, Sue is fine. I thought something happened to you,” “You thought- why?” Your gaze fell to the blanket sprawled out on the couch. “You spent the night here?”

It wasn’t the first time he’s slept over your place. Most of the time it was because he was hung over from the night before and needed a place to sober up. You hadn’t thought much of it until now.

“Yes. I told you I was worried.” “Why?” He disappears into the kitchen and came back with some coffee and ibuprofen. You graciously took the cup of coffee and tossed the two pills on your tongue.

“Something felt off about the guy you were with last night,” he said, watching you take a careful sip of your coffee.

“Right, like you could make such an observation when you’re too busy making out with some blonde chick.”

“Didn’t think you cared much. Considering you let that guy fondle you in the middle of the club.”

“I did not let him fondle me,” you pointed, annoyed with his accusation.

What was this? Why were you bickering like you were.. a couple?

“Look, I don’t care about who you take home. So why do you care about who I take home?”

“I didn��t take her home, alright? She tried to take me back to her place but.. I couldn’t.” “Why not?”

“Let’s just picture something for a second, okay? A hypothetical. Me having a girlfriend. An amazing, smart, independent, long term girlfriend. We go on trips together and do interviews together. And just be happy together.”

“I’m sorry but I’m having trouble figuring out where all this is coming from, Johnny? If you have a crush on someone, just ask them out. You’re Johnny Storm. Talking to woman is as easy as breathing at this point.”

You take another sip of your coffee and Johnny stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Not this woman. She makes me freeze every time she looks at me. I can’t think straight. It’s like I’m back in grade school all over again.”

“Wow. She really has you in the palm of her hand, huh? Who is she?”

You take a longer sip of your coffee once you felt the coffee had cooled down a bit. You wait for his response but he simply stares at you, waiting for you catch on.

Your face fell when the silence set in the room. “No,” Shaking your head, you step around him and walk into the kitchen.

“Y/N,” he calls after you. “No, Johnny.” You said, lifting your hand not wanting to make eye contact.

“Come on. Is this so far fetched? You know me better than anybody. I know you better than anybody. Definitely better than that guy from last night,”

You rounded the counter top to put some distance between you, sighing in disbelief. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“You are a fuck boy and I have serious commitment issues. Not to mention, you’re my best friend’s little brother. It’s not going to work.”

“Aren’t relationships about work? Wanting to better yourself for someone else?” “Change because of someone else never lasts,”

“Just give me a chance,” he rounds the countertop to near you. He huffs when you backpedal away from him.

“Is this why you’ve been acting different? To get my attention?” “Not exactly. I just made the decision to work on myself and shy away from the optics for now.”

“Don’t you hear how insane that sounds coming out of your mouth? The motocross playboy wants to shy away from the optics.”

“I know it sounds insane.” He takes another step to see if you would move away. When you don’t, he slides into the space next to you, resting his elbows on the counter top.

And I know you feel the same way from the way you looked at me last night,” “I was buzzed so that doesn’t count,”

“Oh yeah?” He starts, encroaching in your space.

Placing a hand on either side of you, bowing his head until he was at eye level with you. The tip of his nose grazed the bridge of yours.

The smell of his cologne enveloped you, forcing you to resist leaning into him.

“And how about now?” He smiles when you lifted your head in defiance, you tense when you feel his leg brush against yours.

You couldn’t make any movements with touching some part of his body.

“I feel absolutely nothing,” “Liar,” he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“It’s lust at best,” you crossed your arms, using your body weight to nudge him away from you. He nods in understanding, smoothing a hand over the back of your head.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. Your eyes fluttered at the gesture, meeting his gaze for the hundredth time since last night.

“Then it looks like I’ll have to convince you otherwise,”

He pulls away from you entirely, crossing through the kitchen back into the living room to put on his shoes. He doesn’t say anything else before he strolled out of your apartment, leaving you in silence.

“What the fuck?” You said aloud, taking your phone into your hands to call Sue.

[psychewritesbs]

Chapter 236: Go South—JJK is generational

Gosh. Can we pleeeease just like... have a moment of silence for the one and only...THE Man, Gojo Satoru.

Ok, time's up.

Moving on.

Word vomit under the cut.

The process of reading this chapter was a very interesting one this week because the fandom got really noisy as soon as the leaks dropped.

Between allegations of bad writing and the utter sense of grief Gojo fans were expressing, it was quite the 💩 storm.

And then the actual scanlations started dropping, and little by little they replaced most of the noise with the utter sense of calm and peace and satisfaction that Gojo felt in his last moments in this plane of existence.

I gotta say that I just absolutely loved how Gege depicted those emotions (outside of Gojo's "dream") through shots of the devastated Shinjuku district.

The remnants of the battle of The Strongest, as if the landscape and the buildings themselves represented the end of an era, the devastation of the structure of Jujutsu society itself.

After all, as The Strongest sorcerer in the modern era, Gojo represented the very system he was trying to destroy.

Gege loves his irony.

Now, I would normally say that the words in the speech bubbles are superfluous because Gege creates such a beautiful atmosphere through the setting alone. But it is the words themselves that re-contextualize not just the battle, but also shed more light on Sukuna's interest in Megumi, which I feel we haven't seen the extent of what he had in mind.

Now I'm hoping this isn't a dream

Listen, I must admit I've never cared for Gojo.

I don't hate him, I don't love him, I simply never really cared for him.

That, of course, changed with this chapter.

And it is perhaps Gojo's death that really solidified in my mind the idea that one of the underlying themes in jjk is... dun dun dun... DEATH.

Yeah, I know. Sue me, I'm late to the party lmao.

But it's not just death itself that is a theme, but rather the face we put on when death comes knocking at the door.

There aren't many things that we can be certain of in this life, but death is one of them. So how we confront death and our mortality shapes the sense of self.

I know a lot of people were dissatisfied with the transition from 235 to 236 and Gege not showing how/when Gojo got slashed in half, but I find the abrupt transition makes sense, and I even dare say was... quite poetic.

For one, now knowing that Gojo knew Sukuna was holding back, a lot of incidents throughout the battle are given new meaning. Like that look of confidence on Gojo's face as he "thinks" he's finally managed to "get through" to Sukuna.

So I have to say that I loved that Gege starts the chapter with Gojo becoming aware that he has died or is dying.

In other words, Sukuna's attack was so sudden that Gojo's next moment of awareness as "Gojo Satoru" is in what we would normally think of as "the light at the end of the tunnel" where he is greeted by people who were of significance to him in his youth.

And can we please just talk about how Geto is the first person he sees when he becomes aware that he is dying?

Please. This is fucking poetry!

Insert keyboard smash.

Screaming in jjk.

Go South

I literally lack the words to explain why I love this whole chapter so much. Which is a lot to say because I am about to word vomit about it. But like...

Again, hindsight is 20/20.

I always thought of the panel above as Geto being jealous of Gojo surpassing him in strength but, in retrospect, I think Geto's disappointment had more to do with Gojo's sense of self over-identifying with the title "the strongest" and how that made him harder to relate to, which is one of the main themes in this chapter. I'll come back to this in a sec.

But first...

Quick depth psych segway. I think I've said this before, but it bears repeating again that an overwhelming sense of self is all ego. There's nothing wrong with ego per se.

The problem is that an over-identification with ego means inherent separateness because, as an organ of the psyche, the ego sense of self is what gives us a separate identity from the collective.

On the other hand, soul/heart (another organ in the psyche) is the principle of relatedness--love, the single energy that can bring us all together as a collective.

But as we already know, the stronger the sorcerer, the more overwhelming the sense of self.

Unfortunately, because an overwhelming sense of self = separateness, this also means the person in question can't relate to others.

And is this not thematically perfect for a sorcerer whose perfected cursed technique was meant to render others unable to "reach him"?

In other words, Gojo saw himself as separate (because he was "The Strongest") and that made it harder for him to relate to others, but only because he self-identified as "The Strongest".

Infinity ∞, in this sense, is also about the self-fulfilling prophecy Gojo was stuck playing out in his life in regards to seeing himself as "The Strongest".

But like a serpent eating its own tail, Gojo came back full circle, and in the moments before his death, learned that what really mattered to him was not strength for the sake of strength, but rather the connections he had fostered with others.

PLEASE. GEGE. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK?!!!!!!!!!!!

To bring it back to "Satoru became 'The Strongest'"...

I just loved so much that seeing Geto as soon as he becomes aware he's died felt like an encounter that meant Gojo had returned to the person he was before he self-identified as "The Strongest".

But more importantly, Gojo's imagination of himself as back when he was young also speaks both to how much he cherished that period of his life, and to how he was emotionally frozen in time due to his encounter with Toji.

It makes me wonder whether Gojo was afraid of dying alone when Toji almost killed him. So it's almost like what he took away from that battle was that he was always alone, and so he sought to push others away.

The kicker is that he simultaneously feared his existential isolation and yet craved the very source of his fear--human relations.

But in choosing self-preservation, he was a selfish to the very end.

What an idiot (tragically affectionate).

Anyways. How much of this is hc? Someone tell me please 😂. I feel like I went off the deep end in the last few paragraphs.

Like everyone else in this fandom I've lost all objectivity when it comes to Gojo because his departure from the story was truly one of the most heartbreaking moments in jjk.

I understand people's complaints about the "execution," but I think the world-wide phenomena that Gojo's death has spurred speaks to Gege's ability to elicit deeply archetypal emotional responses as a story teller.

With Gojo's death, a part of our own psyche too has died. And what's most significant about this death is that it was, true to Gojo's character, "something that needed to die because it represented the very thing it sought to destroy."

And this would be why I love Gege's writing.

A fitting way for Gojo to go out

I know not everyone agrees, but I really appreciated that he was satisfied and at peace in the very end.

He got his cake (battle to death with Sukuna) and got to eat it too (reconnected with his loved ones).

Sukuna

But we can't talk about Gojo without talking about Sukuna as the one who liberated Gojo from the burden of his existential isolation.

Sukuna gave Gojo a fun battle, but if it weren't because Sukuna figured out how to cut through Gojo's metaphorical defenses by learning to cut through space-time itself--the very fabric of reality, Gojo might not have found his humanity once again.

The outcome of this battle spells out in no uncertain terms how dire the situation is as Sukuna has proven himself to be the uncontested "Strongest".

But in a sense, the end is a new beginning, and this time, there is no light at the end of the tunnel.

JJK is generational

I get the feeling that everyone will remember where they were when this panel dropped.

I was in bed. It was 6 am and Tasokare, my miniature panther, was demanding attention.

A moot was on the way to the gym. They never made it out of the house after seeing the panel.

Another moot was completely avoiding Twitter to avoid leaks, but her brother, who does not even read jjk, saw the panel on Facebook and showed it to her.

Yet another moot was on vacation at the beach.

JJK is generational like that and there's just so much more I can say about this chapter and its implications (like the idea that Sukuna can now cut through space-time, why?! what does he want to get out of this ability?), but I just don't even know what more I can say right now.

Anyways, thanks for reading. I'm looking forward to any thoughts you might have. Just a heads up, I'm very, very slow at replying.

[pucksandpebbles]

𝒃𝒆𝒕 𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂, 𝒒𝒉⁴³ - 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒

<< previous part next part >>

But the lights are off Your so-called friends are gone Oh, I know what you're 'bout to say

a/n : this went a little longer than expected but that could be considered a pay off for this taking so goddamn long because it felt like pulling my hair out writing the ending - so if it feels rushed that's whyyyyyy! Also why is this chapter to argumentative, I promise the next one will be lighter…

Enjoy nonetheless and remember to not be a silent reader - I love you guys and the love you've shown this series :)

wc : 1,8k

Nervousness wasn’t usually a part of your vocabulary, but heading up to the wives and girlfriends’ suite had a funny way of striking fear into you. You pulled your jacket around the goosebumps covering your arms as you made your way up, alone, Quinn already having gone earlier to warm up. It had almost taken him an army to convince you to sit in that room, it could’ve been called a couples’ spat, if you two were dating and things were like that between you two. But there wasn’t anything between you two, in fact that’d been your main point of contention in the argument. Quinn, however, had insisted on it and eventually, with enough pleading kisses and shameful withholding of sex, you had caved. You were skeptical though, this was your third time going up and being with the group and the whole thing made you exceedingly anxious. Quinn could tell, he would ply you with sweet kisses each game day morning as if he were trying to calm you before the big event, as if you were the one who should be needing to be calmed down. God.

“It’s the ‘wives and girlfriends’ room Quinn, and I don’t know if you noticed but I’m neither a wife or girlfriend, it’s not my place.” You had scoffed, wrapping your hand tightly around the coffee cup, voice scratchy and strained.

He rolled his eyes, “Well goddamn it, you’re not far off it!”

Pushing away from the counter, you shook your head, raising your voice, “But I am pretty far off it. I’m not a partner, I’m not family, I’m barely even a friend. I’m your brother’s ex-girlfriend who you’re fucking on the side.”

Quinn threw his hands up, abandoning his drink on the counter and furrowing his eyebrows as he retorted, “Oh, barely even a friend, someone I’m fucking on the side? I didn’t realise things were so impersonal between us.”

“God, Quinn, you’re unbelievable. What did you think this was?”

He turned away from you as you stepped forward, watching as he ran a hand through his long hair, “Sue me for thinking that you’re at least my friend, aside from the fact that I find you attractive. I just want you there, is that so hard to do?”

You watched as his hands dropped to his sides, clenching and unclenching periodically, and his face scrunched up and his nose pinched by his fingers. You whirled around, putting your head down and running a hand through your own hair. 

“I cannot even believe that we are having this conversation.” You said lowly.

Quinn erupted again, throwing up his hands suddenly, “Oh well I’m sorry, I thought we were on the same page about us. Or whatever this is anyways.”

Pressing your tongue into your cheek, you bit back even more forcefully, “You do not get to play that card Quinn, seriously. I should not be there, it’s not proper.”

“I would’ve thought you cared more about me, than being proper.”

I wish you’d think about someone who’s not you. This is so hard for me, but I don’t have any choice. This is my job.

You grabbed your purse off the side, swiping it with force as you shot your words at him, bullets from the gun of your own insecurity, “You are just like your brother,” you said, storming out of the apartment, with a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’d won the argument anyways. However, you had never resolved the real question of the argument - what were you to each other. 

In the wives room, you told everyone that you were just close friends, but your argument weighed deep on your chest every time you looked at Quinn. Thinking about what you might be to each other made you break out in invisible hives, itching and scratching around the question and unable to keep your hands from rubbing yourself raw with your overthinking. Where did friends end and benefits begin? 

‘You must be Quinn’s girlfriend’

Still you tried to cover over your nervous smile with false confidence as you sat down to watch the game unfold beside the other girls, who were - in all respects - very kind and welcoming to you as a newcomer, most of them anyways. 

You couldn’t really keep your eyes on the puck, it was difficult that evening, as if out of instinct, your eyes chose to follow Quinn, and only Quinn as he rushed across the ice. The game was a heated one, tensions were running high amongst the group of women and you silently rang your hands as you watched the unfolding chaos on the ice. What happened, you barely had time to process it, the hit, Quinn going down. There were shouts around you and you were on your feet without even realising it. And then, then he didn’t get up. And you couldn’t see anything.

It felt like hours between the moment that he hit the ice and the medics hauling him off, disorientated and weighted, but you knew it could only be minutes.

Your breath was panicked and quick as you forced it out into your cupped hands, covering your mouth in shock. The moment rang round in your head like a mantra and someone was leading you out of the room.

It was one of the girls, leading you down to the medical room, she had her hand comfortingly on your arm and stayed by you as the medic explained that he had a concussion, that you needed to keep his away from bright lights, make sure his condition didn’t worsen, that he might experience nausea and vomiting.

Quinn might have had a concussion, but god did it feel like your head was spinning. It wasn’t until he was finished speaking that you realised that you were his supposed partner, that everyone assumed that you would be the one looking after him, staying by his side. You felt as if the words, the truth, had gotten stuck in your throat and you were desperate to see Quinn. It was like everything had happened all at once.

It was like time had stopped until you saw him again, lying in a darkened room with an ice pack pressed against his temple.

“Oh baby,” you whispered softly, the pet name slipping out your mouth as you knelt by his side.

His voice was strained and crackly almost, he looked like he was labouring to open his eyes, “Hey.”

Taking hold of the ice pack, letting his arm fall down as you held it in place instead, you said, “You’re okay, just relax, I’ve got it.”

That would be your mantra for the next couple weeks.

You awoke in a darkened room, some orange sun just peaking through the edges around the blinds casting lines of light over the navy sheets and bedroom floor, and also to the sound of retching. With hasty hands, you rubbed away your bleary eyes and rushed through to the pitch-black bathroom, you could make out Quinn, hunched over the toilet, coughing and vomiting up nothing in the dark. 

Your heart ached for him as you knelt down and rubbed soothingly on his back, murmuring a comfort as you did so. 

He tried to shoo you away with a croaky voice, “It’s okay, go back to bed.”

“No, I said I would look after you. Do you need some of that medication?” You asked, eyebrows pressed down deep in concern, watching the figure of Quinn heave and pant.

A quick nod indicated to you that he did, so you quickly got up and rushed into the kitchen of Quinn’s apartment where you had been staying for the past week, his sole caretaker as he recovered from a bad concussion.

Hastily, you retrieved the anti-nausea medication that he had recently been issued and filled up a cup of water, padding around the room in the early hours of the morning in little more than your night-dress. When you returned with the medication and water, Quinn gulped most down happily, resting his head on the side of the seat.

The both of you stayed there a couple more hours, until the nausea had mostly subsided and the sun had fully risen. 

You coaxed him to eat as much breakfast as he could and let him pass out on you watching an episode of The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives. 

As he was snuggled into your side, clutching at the hoodie you were wearing - which was actually his - and legs tangled up with yours, a text pinged through on your phone. A message from Ellen, who you’d been communicating with on Quinn’s behalf, and who seemed totally unfazed by the fact that despite your history with Jack, you had taken time off work to stay home and look after Quinn. 

She was heading to Vancouver to come stay with Quinn and give you a reprieve and a chance to get back to your job, which you had thanked her for incessantly but she wouldn’t hear any of it.

Ellen: I will be there in 10 minutes. Looking forward to seeing you honey!

Smiling at the message, you tapped out a reply and then went back to lightly combing through Quinn’s hair as he slept.

When the doorbell rang, you slowly pushed away from Quinn, letting him stir independently, whispering to him that his mum had arrived. You rushed to the door, not wanting to keep the woman waiting, jiggling the key in the door until it clicked open and swung open limply.

“Hi.”

“Jack,” You breathed out, feeling like your heart had stopped in your chest.

There he was, waiting in your doorway, dressed in his sweats and clutching a suitcase sheepishly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why was your life so messy?

Panic flooded your emotions and suddenly you stepped forward, out of the apartment, closing the door behind you swiftly.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You whisper-yelled.

Jack looked blank, “I drove my mum. Suppose I don’t have to ask what you’re doing here.”

You scoffed, “Do you want to have this conversation right here, right now?”

Jack shook his head, giving a slight shrug which indicated absolutely fuck all, “Why not?”

“You never did understand time and place.”

With that, Ellen came up the stairs to the apartment, smile bright and sunny as always. You stepped away from Jack, to give her a warm hug and watched as she entered the apartment, letting the door swing closed again behind her with her sharp words, 

“I think I'll leave you two to have a little chat.”

Under much protest, Jack drove you back to your apartment, but the car ride was far from silent, an exchange of weepy and shouted words, however by the time you ended up outside your door - you were wiping up your tears and gave Jack a quick and resigned hug, closing the chapter on what had happened between you two.

He simply left you with the words, “Whatever’s happening between you and my brother, don’t fuck it up.”

You thought dimly, that you might have already.

[cleoenfaserum]

The Rocky Horror Picture Show  (1975) (reblog 1264)

The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a 1975 independent musical comedy horror film, directed by Jim Sharman. The screenplay was written by Jim Sharman and Richard O'Brien, who also played the supporting role Riff-raff.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a 1975 independent musical comedy horror film produced by Lou Adler and Michael White, directed by Jim Sharman. The screenplay was written by Jim Sharman and Richard O'Brien, who also played the supporting role Riff-raff. The film is based on the 1973 musical stage production The Rocky Horror Show, with music, book, and lyrics by O'Brien. The production is a tribute to the science fiction and horror B movies of the 1930s through to the early 1960s.

The film was shot in the United Kingdom at Bray Studios and on location at an old country estate named Oakley Court, best known for its earlier use by Hammer Film Productions. A number of props and set pieces were reused from the Hammer horror films. Although the film is both a parody of and tribute to many kitsch science fiction and horror films, costume designer Sue Blane conducted no research for her designs. Blane has claimed that her creations for the film directly affected the development of punk rock fashion trends, such as torn fishnet stockings and colourfully dyed hair.

Still in limited release in 2024, some 49 years after its premiere, it is the longest-running theatrical release in film history. In many cities, live amateur shadow-casts act out the film as it is being shown and heavily draw upon a tradition of audience participation. The film is most often shown close to Halloween. Today, the film has a large international cult following and has been considered by many as one of the greatest musical films of all time. In 2005, it was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant."

THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW Dir. Jim Sharman (1975)

The story centres on a young engaged couple whose car breaks down in the rain near a castle, where they search for help. The castle is occupied by strangers in elaborate costumes celebrating. They discover the head of the house is Dr. Frank N. Furter, an apparently mad scientist, who creates a living muscle man named Rocky. Frank seduces the couple and it is finally revealed he is actually an alien transvestite from the planet Transsexual in the galaxy of Transylvania.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show - Wikipedia

A newly-engaged couple have a breakdown in an isolated area and must seek shelter at the bizarre residence of Dr. Frank-n-Furter.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) - IMDb 7'4

link https://ok.ru/video/1867006806598

[spiderman2099sleftnipplepiercing]

Dropping snippets of SpidermanAU! because I can…. Yes, I reuse poses sue me. Pose thief here 🫣

From Earth 1985

Johnny Lawrence is the Valley's one and only Spiderman. (I know it's cringe okay, but couldn't decide between Encino or Reseda.)

His biological Father split, but he continues to live with his Mother and ass hat step-dad.

Kreese is the one who gets shot when Johnny storms out the Cobra Kai dojo one night. (Uncle Ben styled canon event)

His boyfriend Daniel Larusso, whom he failed to save when he was thrown from the clock tower. By none other, then his ex-best friend, turned green goblin Tommy. (Cry about it- Gwen Stacy who?)

These are just notes. Please hath mercy.

(Waiting for YA'LL to say NO MERCY.)

[fallingbutnotforyou]

a cute angsty wolfstar one-shot + david bowie?

HEY HI GUYS SO IM BACK AND I WROTE A THING. READ IT IF YOU WANNA (aka pls pls pls ily) and tell me what you think!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/57515527 SUMMARY:

Left alone in Grimmauld Place during a storm, Sirius struggles with old memories and trauma from his family. When Remus arrives, the two share warmth, comfort, and a reminder that they're never truly alone. (which may end up with them in the same bed)

or;

i was playing with the idea of "reverse fanfiction tropes" where I take common tropes (ie: only one bed), reverse them, and make them wolfstar. SO! this mayyy become a series of things like this. keep on the lookout! I have another collection for the marauders planned too so keep an eye out for that as well!

(yes, i suck at summaries, sue me :( )

to anyone who reads and/or comments ILY MWUAHHH 😻😼😽 GIMME A KISS AND LETS GET MARRIED LIKE RN RN RN. <3

[iammuchanger]

You, the innocent casual super hero fan:

Omg I love Captain Cool Helmet Man! He just looks so cool!

The sour and devoid of hope of change Marvel fan:

Yeah... Captain Cool Helmet Man is kinda cool in his adaptation but his origin is different, despite these days being known as a classic member of the X-Men Captain Cool Helmet Man actually had his first appearance as a Guardians of the Galaxy villain in 1971 where he was kicked into a planetary sized woodchipper by Yondu Udonta. He disappeared for 11 years before having a minor appearance fighting Mark IV sentinels in an X-Men story in 1982 where it was Revealed his Cool Helmet Powers were actually due to his X-Gene, he was a major part of the main X-Men theme and got into a relationship with Green Lightning Woman until their relationship ended in 1985 after their Domestic Violence Arc. Captain Cool Helmet Man then became part of Spider-men stories until 1994 when he joined the Avengers, where his personality completely changed and he was like a totally different character, before getting kicked out in 1996, though he did have minor appearances during Civil War. At some point he just kinda went back to showing up in X-Men stories with no reintroduction but these last few years he has actually been in the previous team of the Thunderbolts (before the movie came out) where he had his second Domestic Violence Arc. Needless to say he was greatly involved in the Krakoa Arc where he started trying to "claim" the word mutie and colossus told him to shut up, he was also involved in the confrontation against the Fantastic 4 where Sue Storm punched him in the dick. Honestly if you Wanna read good stories about him your best hope is his original X-Men run in 1986 or the solo run written by Toby McCloseLane(no relation) in 1992 where his backstory was retconned to be his more well known back story where his mother beat his father to death with a Tire Iron and then threw Captain Cool Helmet Man out of a window which first activated his Cool Helmet Powers, after those you might as well drop the character forever.

The Whimsical, Agreeable and a tad in Denial DC Fan:

Captain Cool Helmet Man? Oh yeah that guy! That's actually Cole Helmsman the third Captain Cool Helmet Man, the first Captain Cool Helmet Man, Guy Dudeman, got blasted by a plasma cannon in Warworld and the second, Henry Helmut was a One-off in a fake resurrection plot back in '85. Cole Helmsman is an interesting guy, he is mostly depicted as one of the closest friends of Hawkman and actually shows up somewhere in a lot of his stories, but his original appearances were as a founding member of the Justice Society after Crisis on Infinite Earth's, then there was his god awful redesign in the new 52, though in the Rebirth continuity (Where, yes, both previous Captain Cool Helmet Men had their whole careers in 5 years) he is actually well explored in his themes of legacy and the importance of carrying the good deeds of those who came before you. If you Wanna read more about him please don't pick up the new 52 Hawkgirl run, it isn't worth it, actually I would recommend Justice League #567 to #574, Justice League of America #211 to #217, and The Flash #433 to #438 those were some of his best explorations, you could also read the character's first ever solo run from 2019!

The content, understanding and occasionally misogynistic Image Comics fan;

Oh man! Captain Cool Helmet Man is my GOAT! He was really such a jerk in his first appearance in Super Dragon Punch vol.3 but getting rescued by Punch Dragon in Super Dragon Punch Vol.5 really sent him into a character Arc that turned him into one of the most interesting secondary characters in the series and one of Punch Dragon's best friends, even saving his life in Super Dragon Punch vol.8. Such a huge shame that he died in Super Dragon Punch vol.11 when the Atom-Miser's minion, the Particle-Scrooge hit him in the back of the helmet with a Dial Telephone and shot him twice in the back with a 1930's Tokarev-TT30. Though I would really recommend anyone that is a fan of his to read his one off solo spin off, Super Dragon Punch Spin-Off: Captain Cool Helmet Man Solo Story.

Famous Comics Writer Alan Moore:

I FUCKING HATE CAPTAIN COOL HELMET MAN, HIS HELMET IS STUPID AND HE HATES MINORITIES!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAGHGGGGGGGHHHGGHGHH!!!!!!!!