#except that johnny??? A DOCTOR???

[oceantornadoo]

happy new years! starting 2025 by finishing this fic :)

ch9 the wrong john | masterlist

john price x f!reader, reader is johnny’s twin

-

“You dropped my hand.”

“Ye lied t’ me.”

You both frown with the same half-slant.

The doctor later found Johnny had some Vitamin D deficiency from his captivity, so you’ve been allowed to wheel him around the hospital garden for strictly one hour, IV still attached. You find a bench to sit on, parking his chair next to you so you can both stare at the ducks in the pond. 

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, Johnny. I just- didn’t think it would get this serious.” He snorts. After all these years, he can still tell when you’re lying. One duck is chasing the other around the pond, wings flapping as they play fight.

“So yer only apologizin’ cuz I found out? Not a good start, hen.” You drag your hands down your face, pressing your palms into your eye sockets until your vision goes black. “We hooked up the night before I came to base. And I thought, big whoop, maybe I’ll tell Johnny so he’ll get off my back about being single, except the guy didn’t even leave a note, so I just look desperate. And then you opened that door and he was your fucking captain! My game plan got fucked.”

You release your hands so you can see again. The ducks are cuddling at the edge of the pond. You sneak a look at Johnny and he’s staring straight ahead, unseeing. “Ye said it was me an’ you. That’s what ye said.” You let out a bitter laugh at his words. “I thought that’s what it would be. I told him at lunch that it wouldn’t work, that I couldn’t do that to you. So at that point, it was just me and you. But then I left and he started calling and he’s just terribly sweet and cocky and I hate it. And then you were gone.”

It’s the first time he’s looked at you since. It’s just a turn of the head, but his eyes are duller than usual and wet with emotion. “Wasn’t my choice, hen.” You give him a watery smile. “I know. This wasn’t my choice either. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m not sorry that it’s him.” You reach over to squeeze his hand and he lets you, but he doesn’t squeeze back. “Price can be a persuasive bastard when he wants to be.” The same laugh escapes both of you. The ducks are swimming side by side now, circling the pond.

“Still don’t get why ye didn’t tell me.” It’s the bit you’ve been circling around for a while now. You don’t answer for a second, choosing to pick at a hangnail on your thumb. Johnny’s hand covers yours, stopping your bad habit. “I didn’t want to ruin this for you. I thought What will happen to Johnny if we break up? I couldn’t ruin your new family, not after everything that happened with ours.” He squeezes your hand and you try to ignore the bandages around his wrists. “Yer my family too, m'eudail. The first of the one I choose.” 

A singular tear escapes your eyes, trailing down your face until it plops onto your lap. You turn your hand so it links with his, squeezing back. “Even though you have Simon?” Instead of answering your question, he asks one back. “Even though ye’ve got Price?” Fair enough. You lean your head on his shoulder and he dips to kiss your forehead. “Of course.” You’re not sure who says it, but it doesn’t really matter. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Johnny.” He leans his head against yours. “What’s a sister fer?” You roll your eyes, glad to have your brother back. “Dinnae kiss him in front of me. It’s gross.” You shove him off of you, then get up to wheel him back. “You’re so annoying. Don’t pretend I don’t see you and Simon snogging after he yells at people.” The two MacTavishes bicker all the way back to hospital, ducks long forgotten.

-

When you get back from the hospital, John’s doing paperwork in his office. Alone, thankfully. “Go well, sweetheart?” You nod shyly, taking the chance to explore his office. It’s neat but lacks personal effects. There’s only a few pictures, mainly of him in combat gear with various members of the task force. Except there’s a small frame closer to his actual desk that doesn’t fit the theme. It’s a woman sleeping, face half tucked into the pillow. Her back is bare but the picture’s only shoulder up, sparing any real nudity. The hair looks familiar and as you squint, you realize something. He keeps a picture of you in his office.

“When did you take this?” He barely looks up, tugging you into his lap as he continues writing with his other hand. “Yesterday. You looked pretty.” You press your forehead against his sternum, hands folded in your lap. “That was after I cried and then was covered in your cum.” He grunts, pulling you closer into his lap. “‘xactly. Pretty.” You sigh against him. His body’s so protective, muscled with a slight layer of fat that allows you to nuzzle in further. It’s like he works out everyday but doesn’t turn down dessert. You love it.

“You must like me a lot to deal with all this family drama.” It’s mainly a joke, just something to fill the silence. Instead, he drops his pen, pulling you off him so you’re eye-to-eye. Large paws capture your face, his thumbs smoothing your cheeks. “Not jus’ like, baby. ‘S a lot more than that.” Your eyes widen. His are serious, moving fast as they track your every facial expression. “Not just like?” He shakes his head. A few months ago, you would have left the conversation there. After your talk with your brother though, you feel courage seep through your veins.

“What is it, then?” His thumb brushes against your lip, pulling the bottom one until he releases it. Like he’s making sure you’re real, giving you time to take it back. “Love. ‘ve known for a while now, that I love you. There’s no pressure, sweetheart, I jus’ wanted you to know.” It’s the kindest out he’s ever given you. Fortunately, you don’t need it.

“I love you too, John. And I’m sorry for insinuating you weren’t enough for me to date. You’re everything.” He captures your lips in a slow kiss. You pour everything into it: the I’m sorry’s and Thank you’s. His hands stay on your jaw like he’s afraid to let you go. You skim down the breadth of his shoulders, the definition of his biceps, memorizing the feel. “You make me goddamn crazy, you know that?” You smile against his confession, sinking your hands into his hair. “Ditto.” You pull back from his lips to kiss his cheek, his nose, his forehead. You pepper his face until there’s not an inch unkissed and his cheeks flush red under the full force of your affection. “I love you.” It’s freeing to say, to finally give a name to this feeling. “I love you, sweetheart. Lemme finish this paperwork an’ I’ll take you to bed.” You tuck yourself under his chin and let him work.

John proposes that night and you turn him down. Well, you tell him to give you a year. You don’t know he’s got the date marked in his calendar.

-

Unfortunately, one year falls on the day of Johnny and Simon’s wedding. John might be lovesick, but he’s not dumb enough to propose at a wedding. Especially his future brother-in-law’s. He’s officiating, staring at his sweetheart in the front row as he marries two of his men. They promise to love and cherish each other for eternity, and even John can’t help the tear that falls after they kiss. What can he say, he’s a sentimental bastard.

As expected, the party lasts long into the night. Johnny and Kyle rule the dance floor with Johnny occasionally dragging his twin to join them. John and Simon sip whiskey on the sidelines, content to watch the siblings make absolute fools of themselves. “Who woulda thought?” Simon murmurs, almost to himself. “Me, for one. Knew you’d be gone for ‘im when I introduced ya.” Simon scoffs. “Piss off, Price. Me an’ Kyle had a bet goin’ the moment she walked into that office.” They settle into silence, grinning like idiots at their respective MacTavishes.

Hours later, John’s walking with your hand in his and your heels in the other. The grooms have gone all out since there’s a small amount of wedding attendees, so each party gets their own villa. The alcohol has worn off by now, but you’re still giddy, humming the last song you danced to while John leads you back. “That was so fun.” Your smile is practically permanent now, has been for hours. He loves seeing you happy. “Yeah, baby? You had some interestin’ dance moves.” You shove him, but it doesn’t really work since your hands are tangled together. “Shove off. At least I danced.” The only time he danced was with you, guiding you through a few slow songs before Johnny practically took over the DJ booth. “Y’ were beautiful, sweetheart.” He dips to kiss your forehead and you preen under his praise.

John unlocks the door with the key card, walking in first to hold the door for you and lock it after. You turn on the lights, still bubbly and light. “I loved the flowers they had. Do you think…oh.” When you turn to look for him, he’s on one knee in front of the closed door. This time he has a ring, a beautiful creation in your favorite metal. “Let me marry you, sweetheart.” Your throat chokes up. “You remembered.” You’d been almost joking when you told him to wait a year, but clearly he didn’t see it that way. “‘Course I did. Been countin’ down the days for a while now.” You walk towards him until you can run your hands through the strands of his hair, barely sparing the ring a glance.

“Yes.”

“Yea?”

“Yes, John.”

You collapse onto him in a hug, your arms landing over his shoulders until he’s smothered in you. There’s a few tears of happiness between you, such a difference from the time you were crying on a rooftop, in his arms. Always in his arms. “We’re getting married.” You whisper, still not believing it. “Could elope now if ya want, baby.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. “John Price, you know I want a proper wedding. You’ve seen my Pinterest.” He plants a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“Whatever you want, Mrs. Price.”

-

wow.

we’re done!!!

thank you all for the support you’ve given my first chaptered fic. it meant so much and helped me overcome my nerves. stay tuned for what’s next! <333

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[thebeesatemyknees]

141 as ex-husbands

Some ex-husband (ooc) Simon Ghost Riley, John Price, Kyle Gaz Garrick and Johnny Soap MacTavish x reader headcanons.

Word count: 860 || No warnings (let me know if any). || Reader: gender neutral. Pronouns: "you"

Note: In all four scenarios, you got divorced for fairly harmless reasons. You were getting along, you loved each other, there was no fighting. But perhaps you realised that you both have different hopes for the future. Maybe you got sick of waiting for him, missing him, of worrying if he's gonna come home alive and in one piece. Maybe he didn't realise how lonely you felt beside him.

Ex-husband Simon Riley, who still thinks of you as "his", but not in a possessive way. You're still his person, his family. He still would do anything for you and wouldn't even give it a second thought. 

You need help assembling new furniture? He can come by after work. Need a ride to the doctor's appointment? He needed to run some errands anyway, it's not a big deal. Anything happens while he's deployed? You can call his base and he'll contact you as soon as possible.

And he doesn't expect anything back. How could he? He's gonna do anything for you because that's what you're supposed to do for your people. And he'll give you your space, keep it clean between you. You wanted a divorce and he respects that, doing his best not to overstep any boundaries. He's mindful of the things he says, keeps his hands away from you. A respectful distance.

But God, does he miss you. If you showed the slightest interest in getting back together, he would agree immediately, going back to what you two had, as if the divorce never happened. 

Ex-husband John Price, who kinda forgets that you're not married anymore. Similar to Simon, John still thinks of you as his and would do anything for you without expecting anything back. 

But you often have to remind him that he's overstepping. "Darling" or "love" casually added to his sentences. Hands gently holding your shoulders or hips while he directs you to move to a different spot. He doesn't do it on purpose. The last thing he'd want is to disrespect your boundaries or make you uncomfortable. But keeping you close just comes so naturally to him.

He apologises quietly when you reprimand him, pulling his hands away and restating what he said without the pet name this time.

He wouldn't beg you to give him another chance. He's got enough respect, towards you and himself, to not be dramatic, to not make it messy. But he has a hard time accepting this new reality.

Ex-husband Kyle Garrick, who subconsciously goes back to courting you, as if your marriage never happened and all of it was still ahead of you. 

He's more distant, doesn't initiate touches, doesn't use pet names anymore. And at first you think it's because that's just how break-ups work, because he'd moved on. But it all seems to be caused by him suddenly becoming almost shy around you. 

He sends you messages from time to time, checking if you're doing alright. He asks you out for coffee, just to catch up. You ended things on good terms, so there's no harm in it, right? And you can see him trying to act casually about it. He brings you one singular flower he picked on his way to the café. Cuz you like them, don't you? It's not a big deal, he saw it and put it in the pocket of his jacket. So casual. Then, your conversation stays on a purely platonic path. Well, except for a few compliments and pick up lines he throws your way. But that's what friends do! And if you don't let him drive you home, he asks you to at least text him to let him know you got back safely.

If you confront him about his behaviour, he gets quiet. His jaw twitches, a shameful look fills his eyes as he looks away, unable to fully face you. He doesn't feel like he's in the position to defend himself, to argue. He's guilty. He wants you back for himself. And he so badly regrets letting you go without trying harder to fix things.

Ex-husband Johnny MacTavish, who becomes bitter towards the whole world. He's not happy about losing you and he's straightforward about it. He's hurt, filled with regrets, he's angry - but not directly at you. He understands and respects your wishes, but he's just so angry with himself. Angry that he didn't notice where your marriage was going, that he didn't change his ways, that he assumed that you're his and therefore he's got a lot of time to slowly fix things. Angry that he didn't do enough. 

He wouldn't hide his emotions. He wouldn't get shy,  wouldn't just quietly yearn for you. 

He keeps his hands to himself, making sure he doesn't make you uncomfortable and that you still feel safe around him. But he continuously asks you for another chance. He knows better now. He can be better. Just give him a chance. Or at least let him do this or that for you. And don't act as if him helping you is weird! He's yours, nothing will change that. He promised he'd be there in sickness and in health, and he meant it. No matter how much your life-paths split. So stop pushing him away and just let him help. He'll stop asking you for a second chance, but at least let him be there for you.

He aggressively offers himself to you. Getting upset and moody if you act as if he was more akin to a stranger rather than someone who belonged, body and soul, to you.

[ghcstao3]

“you don’t smoke.”

it takes a lot to startle ghost these days, but then again, soap has always been the exception, hasn’t he?

“come again?”

“you don’t smoke,” says soap. “not anymore.”

ghost does his best to keep him breathing even. “yeah, well. things change, j—soap.”

things being the bullet in soap’s head. things being the memory loss, the losing johnny. things being the doctors telling ghost there's no guarantee that soap will remember anything; remember him, what they were to each other. yet here they stand—ghost trying for a smoke in one of his secret haunts (ha), and an amnesiac soap that should be in medical or under price's supervision but has instead found his way here.

old habits die hard, ghost supposes.

"what are you doing here anyway, sergeant? surely you have something more important than bein' up here."

in ghost's periphery, soap shrugs. the expression he wears is still infected with the blankness of unfamiliarity, but ghost would be stupid to think there isn't some reason as to why soap has somehow found himself here, in a location he surely couldn't remember, if he couldn't so much as recall ghost's name without a reminder.

"got sick of medical," soap replies plainly. "my feet led me here."

ghost hums, though he knows it isn't the full truth. he balances a cigarette between his lips, fishes his lighter from his pocket, and lights the smoke. soap says nothing.

he doesn't know what to make of anything, as soap allows him to indulge in silence, and he doesn't know whether or not he'd rather this be a one-off kind of thing. on one hand, this could mean that soap might start remembering other little things, might start picking up the pieces of his past, their past. but on the other, if this is only a one-time occurrence, it might leave ghost a little more heartbroken than he already is—which could be a good thing, if only so he might eventually, finally move on from what could never be, not ever again.

"you shouldn't smoke, lt," soap says quietly, the moment ghost flicks the butt of his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot.

ghost pauses, caught off guard by the nickname he'd yet to hear again since the incident. he feels soap's eyes on him, unwavering, oblivious.

the lieutenant clears his throat in an attempt to play off his surprise. "focus on your own issues first, soap."

ghost starts past him, just barely fighting the urge to clap the sergeant's shoulder as he passes. his chest feels tight as he leaves soap behind, breath caught in his throat as he tries not to look like he's running away.

he can't do this. he can't—he can't. can't bear to have soap so close yet so far from reach. can't bear to have these glimpses into the past taunting him as punishment for innumerable sins. ghost can't do this.

how he wishes for things to have gone differently. in which way, he still isn't sure, but he thinks that anything else would be less painful than this.

[frudoo]

Literally obsessed with your Slasher 141 series, its been giving me so much brainrot

I have a few ideas;

reader feels a bit self conscious about her body and the boys make it their mission to show her how beautiful she is in their eyes (could be fluff or smut)

OR

Reader decides to be a brat over text to the boys as they were out for the day, and hides from the boys once they arrive home, resulting in them hunting and chasing her down 👀👀 ( smut and a lil fluff )

This is very self-indulgent because I've been feeling bad about my own body lately. This is for my fellow fat girls <3

Warnings: Mentions of skipping meals, food in general. Self-deprecating thoughts, somewhat poor communication. Fem!Reader is fat (in all of the slasher!141 AU). Fluff!

You’ve been off lately. During mealtime with the boys, you barely eat, just poke at the food on your plate. It isn’t like you—you’re usually the one to cook and try out all kinds of new recipes to share with your lovers, or baking sweet treats to give them after a hard day—so for you to suddenly have no interest in food is concerning. Tonight is no exception. John made your favorite, beef stew and cornbread (a southern delicacy you taught him how to make), but you just mindlessly stir the stew with your spoon, eyes focused on nothing at all.

     “How was your day, dove?” Kyle tries to break you from your trance, but you only nod.

     “Helped a chicken give birth today,” Simon stares straight at you, ignoring the incredulous looks the other three men give him.

     Still, no sort of reaction from you, other than an uninterested hum. 

     “Ah went tae the doctor earlier,” Johnny says next. “Turns oot ah’m pregnant.”

     “Nice,” you deadpan, completely oblivious to the outrageous lies these dumbasses have been telling you. 

     “Enough,” Price furrows his eyebrows, dropping his spoon with a clang. “Darlin’, you haven’t eaten in two days.”

     This time, you listen. Immediately, you rush to defend yourself, eyes narrowed at the bearded man.

     “I’ve just been fe-”

    “Don’t you give me that bullshit about bein’ sick, either. I’ve seen you sick, and it was completely different than this,” he interrupts, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Speak, baby. Tell us what’s goin’ on in that pretty head o’yours.”

     “It’s nothing,” you grumble.

     Simon sighs dramatically, slapping his palms down on the dining room table to push himself up out of his chair. Before you can protest, he picks you up and sits in your seat, then settles you in his lap. You try to wriggle free, but his hold on you is unwavering. 

     “Stop strugglin’ and tell us wha’ the fuck is wrong w’you,” the blond man grunts, strong arms wrapped around your waist so you can’t move as much. 

     “I hate my body!” You blurt, and the room falls silent. “I-I don’t know what you all see in me. I just… I look gross.”

     Tears build in your eyes and spill past your waterline, streaming down your round cheeks. All four men look at each other wordlessly, unsure of what to say. Their silence breaks your heart, and you manage to wriggle out of Simon’s lap. 

     “I’m going to bed,” you mumble, wiping your eyes with your sweatshirt and moping your way upstairs.

     Your bedroom is the furthest down the hall, the longest walk. Usually this fact doesn’t bother you, but with your state of mind the way it is right now, you can’t help but feel like it’s purposeful. You slam the door shut and lock it, purposefully avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror as you flop into bed. It creaks with your weight, and you let out another sob. 

     You end up crying yourself to sleep, clammy face stuck to your pillow. When you wake up, you find that your door is still locked and try your hardest not to burst into tears all over again. Not one of the boys came to check on you last night? It makes you feel even worse—are you that much of an eyesore that they don’t dare come see if you’re okay? The thought makes your stomach churn. A knock makes itself known on your door, pulling you from your thoughts.

     “Dove? Can you let us in?” Kyle’s soft voice sounds from the hallway. “Please?”

     “We wanna talk to you, sweet girl,” Price’s voice comes next, followed by more pleas from Johnny and Simon.

     With a shaky sigh, you oblige, unlocking the door and swinging it open. When your eyes fall on them, you bite back a gasp—they all look exhausted, puffy bags beneath their bloodshot eyes, frowns tugging their lips downward. You can’t imagine you look any better, but still, your heart aches seeing them look so down.

     “Hey, bonnie,” Johnny instantly brightens up when he sees you, and you have to fight the urge to push him off when he wraps his arms around you. 

     “Hi,” you mutter, impartial to the kiss the Scotsman plants on your temple.

     They all trail into your room nervously, and it’s just then that you notice a large jar in Simon’s arms. Your eyebrows furrow as you sit on the edge of your bed, waiting for one of them to speak up first.

     “I want to start by apologizin’, sweetheart,” John begins, sitting beside you on your bed. “We were all… well, none of us were expectin’ to hear you talk about yourself like that, and we panicked. That wasn’t fair to you.”

     You shrug, eyes focused on your lap. Price reaches out to grab your hand, gently running his thumb across your knuckles. 

     “You are absolutely stunnin’. You are the farthest thing from gross, dove,” Kyle sits on your opposite side, grabbing your unoccupied hand. 

     “Ah think ah speak fer all of us when ah say tha’ we love yer body,” Johnny hums.

     “I’m fat,” you frown, and Simon scoffs.

     “Yeah? And?” He narrows his eyes at you. “We like y’like tha’. More t’grab, more t’love.”

     “I don’t understand why,” you whisper, chewing on your bottom lip anxiously. 

     “What’s not to understand?” John squeezes your hand. “You’re soft, and warm.”

     “The fuckin’ best at cuddlin’, too,” Kyle grins.

     “Great tits,” Johnny butts in, earning himself a jab to the ribcage from Simon. “Och- wha’?! It’s true!”

     “Wha’ the wanker is tryin’ t’say is tha’ you’re perfect. For us, in general—y’complete us, love. Your body is jus’ a plus,” Simon concludes, finally stepping forward to offer you the jar.

     “What’s this?” You ask, carefully pulling your hands out of Kyle and John’s. 

     “We spent all nigh’ gatherin’ up pictures of you tha’ we love,” Kyle explains, watching excitedly as you screw the lid off. 

     Inside, the jar is filled to the brim with photos and polaroid pictures—candids of you baking in the kitchen, napping on the couch, tending to the garden or the animals, even selfies you sent to Johnny when the two of you first started talking online. Mixed in with those is printouts of text messages they’ve all sent each other, fawning over you, some of which dating back to even before you met the others. Tears stream down your face yet again, but instead of being sad, you’re overwhelmed with love and joy from these men you get to call yours.

     “I-I don’t know what to say,” you sniffle, setting down the jar to wipe your eyes.

     “Don’t say anythin’, darlin’, just let us hold you,” John murmurs, pulling you onto the bed and wrapping an arm around your waist.

     Maybe being dogpiled by your four huge husbands on an already creaky bed isn’t the best idea, but hey, all that matters is that you’re happy.

[lukesvangelista]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 ˡʰ⁴³

in which you (or your friend, rather) called, so luke came.

warnings; mention of car accidents, hospitals, losing a parent, ex-relationships, alcohol poisoning

this series was started before the awful tragedy involving johnny and matthew gaudreau. please do not read if you do not feel comfortable. as always, i am always here for you guys to reach out to if you need to talk!

part one here

part two here

part three here

You stood in the sterile hospital hallway, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you tried to breathe through the rising panic. The smell of disinfectant clung to the air, a scent that instantly transported you back to a year ago—back to the night you lost your dad.

You hated hospitals. Every part of you wanted to run, to get out of there before the walls closed in on you. But Y/B/F/N had had too much to drink, winding up in the emergency room with alcohol poisoning, and you knew you couldn’t leave. Not when your friend needed you the most.

You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet, forcing air into your lungs even as your ribs tightened with the pressure of memory, a ghost of that night a year ago swirling around you. The beeping machines. The frantic doctors. The way time had slowed as you watched the life drain from the man who had raised you. The way Luke had held you when the news finally shattered you.

Your best friend was fine, though. She had just drunk too much, reckless and carefree the way she always was, but she would be okay. She would walk out of this place alive.

Your dad didn’t.

Y/B/F/N knew that, quietly observing as you paced the floor of the hallway outside of her room. So, when you were out of view, she quickly pulled out her phone and dialed the one person she knew you needed.

Luke groaned as his phone vibrated against his nightstand, the obnoxious buzzing cutting through the silence of his dimly lit room. He barely glanced at the screen before swiping to answer, recognizing the name immediately.

"Hello?" His voice was rough with exhaustion.

"You need to get down here. Now."

Luke sat up instantly, his heart pounding at the urgency in your best friend’s voice. "What? Where are you?"

"The hospital," she rushed out. "I—it's not me, it's her.”

Everything inside him went still. Your name was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. "What happened?" His voice was sharp now, all traces of sleep gone.

"I'm fine," she assured him quickly. "I just…”There was a pause, like she was trying to find the right words, "I drank too much. Alcohol poisoning or whatever. I’m okay, but she’s here, and Luke, she’s…she’s freaking out."

Luke’s throat tightened.

Of course you were.

Hospitals had never been easy for you, not after what happened. He could still remember the way you’d collapsed into his arms the night your dad died, the way you’d trembled against him as if your body couldn’t contain the grief. And now you were back in that same place, reliving it all over again.

And he wasn’t there.

His grip on the phone tightened. "Where is she?"

"Down the hall from my room. She won’t come in here, won’t sit down, won’t—won’t do anything except stand there, looking like she’s about to pass out. She won’t leave, either. I know she’s trying to be here for me, but she’s barely holding it together."

Luke was already on his feet, pulling on a plain black hoodie with one hand while shoving his sneakers on with the other. "Did she ask for me?"

Your best friend went silent on the other end.

"No."

His stomach dropped.

"I didn’t think she would," your best friend added softly, "But that’s why I’m calling. She’s not going to ask for you, Luke. But she needs you."

He exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face. He knew that. Hell, he knew it better than anyone. But things were different now. He wasn’t your person anymore. He had no right to show up like he still was.

And yet, there was no hesitation when he said, "I’m on my way."

Luke was out the door before he could think twice.

His keys jingled in his grip as he yanked on his coat, barely bothering to shove his arms through the sleeves as he rushed down the apartment stairs. His mind was moving too fast, spinning with one thought and one thought only—you.

You were at the hospital.

You were panicking.

And you were alone.

The second he hit the parking garage, he unlocked his car and yanked the door open, throwing himself inside before jamming the key into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, but the momentary delay as it turned over made his chest tighten with frustration. He didn’t have time for this.

He needed to be there now.

As he finally hit the road, the streets blurred past him in a mess of headlights and dark pavement, but he barely registered any of it. His hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles white, his foot pressing just a little harder on the gas than it should’ve been. He wasn’t reckless - he never had been - but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care about speed limits or stoplights that took too long to change.

His mind wasn’t here. It was back at that hospital, with you.

Luke’s grip tightened, jaw clenching as he exhaled sharply through his nose. He wasn’t supposed to be the one you called anymore. That’s what he’d told himself a year ago when you’d finally ended things, both of you breaking under the weight of grief and unsaid words. It had been messy. It had been painful. But it had been final.

Or so he thought. You had told him just a few months ago that you both needed to move on.

But now, here he was, flying down the highway in the middle of the night like no time had passed at all, like he hadn’t spent the last year pretending he didn’t miss you.

Because he did.

And the fact that your best friend called him - not your other friends, not someone else, but him - told him everything he needed to know.

You still needed him.

Maybe not in the way you used to, maybe not in the way he wanted you to, but in this moment? Right now?

He was still the person you fell apart with.

And if that was all he got, if this was the only way he could still be something to you, then he’d take it.

Luke took the exit for the hospital, his heart hammering as the familiar structure came into view. The last time he’d been here, he had held you in his arms as your world collapsed. And if you needed him to do it again tonight, he would, without a second thought. Without any hesitation at all.

Because no matter how much time passed, how much distance you put between each other, to Luke, it was still you. It would always be you.

When he pulled into the parking lot, Luke moved fast - too fast. His chest burned from sprinting through along the pavement, his pulse hammering harder than it should have been, but he didn’t care. He pushed through the heavy glass doors, barely registering the sterile hospital air that hit him. He knew this place too well, knew what it had taken from you, knew what it meant that you were here.

And then he saw you.

You were curled into yourself on one of the plastic waiting room chairs, arms wrapped around your middle like you were trying to hold yourself together. Seeing Y/B/F/N’s door after continually pacing the hallway must have been too much for you. Your legs bounced restlessly, your gaze fixed on the scuffed tile floor, lost somewhere far away from here.

Luke swallowed hard, the ache in his chest deepening. You looked so small. So fragile in a way you never let yourself be.

And the worst part? You were alone.

Luke didn’t think. He never did when it came to you, “Hey.”

His voice was soft, careful—like he was afraid you might shatter if he spoke too loud. But the second it hit your ears, your entire body stiffened. Your head snapped up, your wide, red-rimmed eyes locking onto his. For a moment, you just stared, like you weren’t sure if he was real. Then, “What are you doing here?”

Luke ran a hand through his messy hair, still catching his breath. “She called me.”

You blinked, confusion flickering across your face before realization dawned. “Of course she did,” you muttered, shaking your head with something caught between frustration and exhaustion, “I told her I was fine.”

Luke desperately furrowed a brow, his hazel eyes flashing with the type of concern he only ever showed for you, “You’re not fine.”

Your jaw tightened, “I can handle it.”

He sighed, speaking again, “You shouldn’t have to.”

Something in your expression wavered then, like a hairline fracture forming in a carefully built wall. You opened your mouth - probably to argue, because that’s what you did when you didn’t want anyone to worry about you - but no words came. Instead, you exhaled shakily and turned away, blinking rapidly.

Luke felt the sting in his own chest at the sight. Slowly, he stepped closer, giving you space to pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do - he sat beside you. Close enough for you to feel his presence, but not close enough to push you.

“She’s okay,” he murmured after a moment, “The doctors are keeping an eye on her, but she’ll be fine. I promise you.”

You nodded absently, like that wasn’t what was keeping you here. Luke watched you carefully, searching for the right thing to say. The right way to pull you out of whatever dark place your mind was taking you.

But he already knew.

“It’s not the same, you know.”

Your head turned slightly, just enough for him to see the way your brows pinched together.

Luke swallowed, his hazel eyes peering into your Y/E/C ones, “This night. This hospital. It’s not the same as last time.”

Your breath hitched.

“You’re not losing anyone tonight,” his voice was quiet, steady, meant only for you, “She’s going to walk out of here, and you are too. And I’m-” he hesitated, flames of the type of love he reserved for you and only you dancing in his tone, “I’ll be right here.”

Your eyes met his again, something breaking in your gaze, something raw and vulnerable and so painfully familiar. Luke didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, you still needed him the way he still needed you.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, you did the one thing he never expected. You leaned into him.

Not much, just a small shift, but it was enough. Enough for Luke to take a quiet, steadying breath before tilting his body ever so slightly toward you, just like he used to. Just like he always would.

The silence between you and Luke stretched, thick with unspoken words and everything you’d both avoided for the past year.

He was still close - close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that if you leaned just a little further, you’d be in his arms the way you had been that night. The night your world fell apart.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his black hoodie as you stared at your lap, trying to block out the memories clawing their way back to the surface. Even the color of his clothing reminded you of the sky that night, the darkness enveloping you in more ways than one.

Luke didn’t push. He never did. But he was watching you - he always watched you, like he could see straight through you, past every wall, every carefully constructed defense. And then he spoke, his words carefully chosen as to not upset you further, “You looked just like your father as the news was delivered.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You turned to him sharply, your heart pounding, “What?”

Luke’s gaze was unreadable, his lips pressed together like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve said it. But it was already out there now, hanging in the air between you, “You looked just like him,” he repeated, quieter this time, like he was recalling the exact moment with excruciating clarity, “The way your face fell. The way your brow furrowed and the way you slightly smiled as if the doctor was joking. The way you didn’t move at first, like you hadn’t fully processed what they were saying.”

He exhaled shakily, his hazel eyes filled with something too heavy to name, “And then you did. And it wrecked you.”

A lump formed in your throat. “You saw that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Luke’s lips twitched with something sad, “Of course I did, Y/N/N. I saw everything.”

Luke half-expected you to flinch when he used that nickname. After all, when you stood outside his apartment door at 2:00 in the morning, your tone was venomous as you told him not to call you that. Tonight, it didn’t happen. Instead, you blinked rapidly, trying to keep the burning in your eyes at bay, “I don’t even remember what I looked like. I just remember… the feeling.”

The words barely made it past your lips, but Luke heard them. He always did. He didn’t say anything, didn’t push for you to elaborate, but maybe that’s why you kept going.

“It was like everything in me shattered at once. Like I wasn’t even in my body anymore. I kept thinking…” you inhaled sharply, “no, this isn’t real. This isn’t happening. But it was. It was, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t bring him back.”

Luke’s jaw clenched. He shifted then, his arm moving as if he was going to reach for you but stopping himself at the last second.

You let out a shaky breath, “I don’t know how long I stood there. But then I felt you.”

Luke’s eyes snapped to yours.

“You held me before I even knew I needed it,” you whispered, your fingers tightening into your sleeves, “Before I even realized I was falling.”

Luke swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He could’ve cried right then and there, but he held it together for you, “I couldn’t let you break alone.”

You shut your eyes for a moment, trying to keep yourself together. But there was something about being here, in this hospital, with him, that made all the cracks in you feel too wide to ignore.

You turned slightly toward him, studying his face in the dim hospital lighting. He looked different than he had back then - tired, older in a way that had nothing to do with age - but at the same time, he still looked like Luke. The boy who had been yours for so long. The boy who had held you together even after you’d broken apart.

“I don’t know how to be in hospitals anymore,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Luke hesitated, then murmured, “You don’t have to know how.” He finally let himself reach for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours in a cautious, familiar touch, “You just have to let yourself be in them.”

You stared down at where your hands nearly met, your chest tightening, “And what if I can’t?”

His fingers curled around yours, warm and steady. “Then I’ll be here.”

Your throat closed up. You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve reminded yourself that he wasn’t yours anymore, that you weren’t his to hold like this. But you didn’t. Instead, you let your hand slip fully into his, gripping onto him like an anchor. The moment your fingers laced together, something inside you cracked wide open.

Luke’s hand was warm, steady - the same way it had always been. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, a soft, barely-there touch, but it sent a shiver down your spine nonetheless. You wondered if it was instinct for him, if he even realized he was doing it, or if his body just remembered the way it used to fit against yours.

You gripped him tighter, your breath shaky, your free hand curling into your lap as if bracing yourself for something. Maybe for him to let go. Maybe for yourself to.

But neither of you did.

Luke stayed silent, watching you carefully, waiting to see if you’d push him away. You didn’t. Because for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like you were drowning.

It didn’t feel like the walls were closing in, or like the weight in your chest was pressing you deeper into the past. Instead, with his hand wrapped around yours, fingers locking like a lifeline, it felt like a revival of some sort.

You let out a slow, unsteady exhale, your gaze flickering to where your hands were tangled together. It was stupid, really, how something so small could make you feel like you weren’t completely falling apart. But it wasn’t just something. It was him.

That terrified you. You knew, deep down, that if you let yourself lean into him now, if you let yourself take whatever comfort he was willing to give, you’d never want to let go.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure he would either.

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 1

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts You move next door to a disabled veteran and his troubled partner.

Warnings and details: disabled!Johnny; established Ghoap future Ghoap/reader; domestic abuse (not Ghoap); heavy themes of suicide, violence, abuse, poor coping mechanisms, prescription drugs. I’m not sure if I have anything here, let me know if anyone is interested in this series.

#

A helicopter goes down in the mountains of Kazakhstan and it takes a piece of Soap with it. They never recovered the arm—nor the three service members who lost more than their arms in the crash. The thought is one that Johnny’s mind cycles back to often, in moments of quiet or while he lies awake at night feeling tremors in an arm that’s no longer attached. Suddenly he’ll wonder: what are those bones up to, buried in snow and ice so deep the sun will never touch them again? Do they miss me?

Fuck, he misses them.

#

After the accident, the world is very black and white. Mostly it’s black. Blackness at the edge of his vision threatens to creep in when he stands too long, when he stands on his own, when he turns his head too fast. Anytime his blood pressure rises over that Goldilocks number of 120/80, it threatens to drop him faster than Simon used to during their first weeks of training together in the 141.

The doctors say that he’s a miracle. The traumatic brain injury had his brain swelling and pushing at the confines of his skull like water freezing in a bottle. Give him a little longer in the cold and maybe his cap would blow off. Except it hadn’t; he was still dealing with swelling all over: in his thalamus, his hypothalamus, in his cerebrum, all the words he’d never bothered to learn in school and couldn’t fucking remember now no matter how hard he tries. He gets the point. Simon does too. Johnny should be dead.

Instead he just wishes he were.

Even now, when he can remember his name and Simon’s and even (more often than not) the name of the waitress who serves them chicken and waffles at the local diner every Saturday, there are still more bad days than good. Still more darkness than light. Still more nights waking up to the sound of helicopter blades slowing, the relentless hum becoming a deafening chop chop chop like the thrum of his heartbeat. There’s that moment of weightlessness when the helicopter goes down and he has yet to go with it that makes him wake in a cold sweat, nauseous and looking for something to be sick in.

Through it all, Simon is there. Simon is the light. He’d laugh if he heard Johnny say that—though a laugh is probably too generous. Simon doesn’t laugh much these days. Not when he spends three fourths of his time taking care of Johnny and the other fourth thinking about how better to take care of Johnny. If it weren’t for Simon, Johnny would have done himself in by now. There’s a thousand ways to do it; plenty of arms and munitions in the apartment they share together. Or there are the pain pills, if he wanted it to look like an accident. A few too many of those and he could crawl right through that darkness in his vision and find out what’s on the other side. As soon as the thought crosses his mind (and it crosses his mind more often than that fucking chicken crosses the road), the guilt comes, like anyone and everyone can read it on his mind: his mama rest her soul, Simon, Jesus on the cross. After all of the work that has gone into him, into saving his broken body and mind, into rehabilitating him, how can he even think of throwing in the towel?

Turns out it’s pretty fucking easy to think about it.

As a matter of fact, he’s thinking about it the first time he meets you, when you nearly do the job for him.

It’s spring, cool, and he’s working up a goddamn sweat anyway. Simon stands in the alleyway, smoking and pretending not to watch as Johnny hobbles up and down the length of the parking lot with his forearm crutch. His armpit throbs. His knee throbs. His head throbs as he continues along, beating out a strange little rhythm on the concrete—thum-thump, thum-thump, thum-thump. He says all the curse words he knows and dreams up a few new ones too. It’s supposed to be getting easier, but Simon just pushes him harder to make up for the ground he covers. That’s one of the shitty parts about loving an ex-military man; he never goes easy on you.

Johnny’s thinking about the tub upstairs, just big enough for him if he curls in on himself. Sometimes a hot bath helps the knots in his muscles, but sometimes when Simon leaves the room to get a washcloth Johnny will slip beneath the surface of the water and see how long he can hold his—

Then you come out of absolutely nowhere in your shitty little four-door and nearly hit him. As a matter of fact, you do hit his crutch, sending it sprawling out of his hand and sending him clattering to the ground on his bad side. For a moment, he thinks: this is it. This is how I die. Not in a helicopter in Kazahkstan but here, now, today, and he can’t tell if it’s relief in his belly or regret. Then your tires squeal like pigs on the pavement, the smell of burnt rubber thick in the air, and he is face to face with you and your horror, close enough that the air from your hasty turn brushes along his body and sends his heart pounding.

“What the steaming bloody fucking Jesus do you think you’re doing?” he finds himself shouting, pain lancing all along his side from his fake knee to the stump of his arm. Simon is there all at once, cigarette abandoned to smolder to ash in the alleyway, putting his hands under Johnny’s armpits and lifting him like a child even when he yelps in pain like a kicked dog. Johnny leans against him heavily. The edges of his vision are turning black. He bangs his fist against the hood of your car. “Did Jesus send ye? Did He tell ye to finish the fucking job and do me in? ‘That’s the cunt right there, beam him with your car’? Did he tell you that?”

You reluctantly get out of the car, not even wearing a goddamn seatbelt. The car’s soft, insistent alarm begins to remind you with unending politeness that the door is open and your seatbelt is off while you stand there, pallid, eyes huge and watering in the face of Johnny’s shouts.

He sees then that one of your eyes is swollen almost completely shut, blood turning the white sclera pink like the fine mist of blood over the snow when they finally pulled Johnny free from the helicopter. No wonder you didn’t see him coming, with a single functioning eye. He’s opened his mouth to tell you so (and to tell you a dozen other fucking things) when he nearly swoons, the rug of the world being tugged under his feet by the hand of God.

Simon slips a firmer arm around Johnny’s waist.

A man gets out of the passenger side. He begins to berate you for not paying attention, for nearly killing Johnny. Johnny agrees, but is annoyed all the same. He’s the one who almost died; leave the shouting to him.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke out, tears dripping near-constant from your eyes. “I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry. Let me get your—”

“Done enough, haven’t you?” Simon asks cooly. It sends you reeling back into the car where you sit with both hands over your mouth, chest hitching with your panicked sobs.

“Hey, is he, like, okay?” your partner asks.

“Fuck off,” Simon says, deftly ushering Johnny over one shoulder and holding the crutch in the other. He carries them back to the elevators without breaking a sweat, and Johnny cries on his shoulder from the pain of it, the sheer embarrassment of it the whole way home. The day before Kazahkstan he couldn’t have been able to tell you the last time he cried; now he cries every fucking day from one reason or another.

“I’m fine,” Johnny says when they make it back to the apartment and Simon eases him down into a chair. They arrange his knee in the one position that has it throbbing less, but then Johnny bats Simon’s hands away. “Go. I’m fine. I don’t need you hoverin’ over me.”

“Alright.”

“Fuck off with yer alright.”

Simon doesn’t say anything. Johnny hears his footsteps leading toward the bedroom they share—hardly a bedroom, how long has it been since they slept there together peacefully? Since they fucked? Johnny can tell you how long it’s been. Since before things went black and white. The footsteps stop then.

“You stepped in front of her, Johnny,” Simon says, his voice low but not quiet enough to count as a whisper. “I watched you do it. Don’t think you’re so fucking slick.”

He shuts the bedroom door behind him.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Fire & Ice 🔥🧊 | MCU!Johnny Storm Imagine

Link to my Marvel masterlist

Characters & Pairings: JosephQuinn!JohnnyStorm x enhanced!reader (romantic), the Fantastic Four (platonic), The Avengers (platonic).

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, mentions of canon violence and death, canon divergence, light angst | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 7K

Requested 📨 yes/no

Premise: Earth-616 is no stranger to the multiverse. Since the defeat of Thanos in 2023, the Avengers have had their fair share of visitors from other worlds and know what to expect when they do. But when a man wearing the same face of their late comrade arrives, the Avengers are in for the shock of their lives when a group of heroes tailing the individual fall through the portal behind him. And for the flying, fire-wielding, and sometimes charming Johnny Storm, he meets his match in the form of a woman whose power and reputation matches that of her cold, steel, heart.

Note: Happy 2025 everyone! To kick off the year I am gifting y'all this damn idea that's been stuck in my head the past two weeks. Now if you've been following my work since I started, then you know I was pumping out Marvel fics back in the day. Phase 1-4 of Marvel have my heart, and unfortunately the disappointment of Phase 5 (with few exceptions) had me lose interest. BUT if there was one thing I absolutely loved when I was a kid, it was the OG Fantastic Four movies with Chris Evans, Jessica Alba, etc. I watched those literally every day and before the Avengers/MCU I rolled hard with the FF, Blade, & X-Men (I've got another idea involving Deadpool & Wolverine cooking). So I have a lot of expectations for FF: First Steps especially because the MCU has had so many misses the last two years. I love Pedro Pascal, Vanessa Kirby, and Joseph Quinn, I haven't watched The Bear, but I've heard great things about Ebon Moss-Bachrach and I look forward to his and the rest of the cast's portrayal of the FF.

I've been a fan of JQ since 2022 because like majority of people I discovered him by his performance as Eddie in Stranger Things. I'll admit I haven't seen much of his filmography, but I did watch A Quiet Place: Day One and he was phenomenal. And don't get me started on Gladiator II. I was pleased to hear he'd be playing my first love Johnny Storm and I know he'll do amazing, not to mention he has said that he was a fan of the OG movies and Chris' version of the character. Whenever I hear an actor is a fan of the source material, I know they're going to deliver.

The movie hasn't come out, neither has the trailer, so I don't have much to work with. But we know that FF:FS is following the origin story of the FF and will feature the Silver Surfer. AND it's rumored to be where RDJ's Doctor Doom will debut, setting up Avengers: Doomsday and he will be the big villain of the MCU. This obviously is diverging from canon and pretty much an AU story, remember that please. SO here's my treat to my fellow Johnny Storm lovers to feed y'all since we still got months until FF:FS. Enjoy.

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

The blinding light of the sun peaking through the curtains pulled Johnny from his sleep before the alarm was set to go off. Had it been any other day he’d be upset. Wishing nothing more than to curl into the comforter and get the extra minutes of sleep. But thankfully it was Sunday--the day reserved for rest. No agenda. No training. No missions. Completely free and dedicated to recoupling after a week filled with non-stop action. 

And if there was anyone who would be displeased at waking up earlier than needed, it was the woman lying beside him. Fast asleep on her back with one hand curled beneath the pillow and the other clasping his on her chest. Body cooler than the average person, which made the atmosphere of the room comfortable considering Johnny’s was hotter than the average citizen. Figuratively and literally. 

Johnny smiled, happily tucking himself further into her space, chin leaning on her shoulder as he snuggled against her side. Allowing his eyes to flutter close and accept the slumber his body itched to claim. The fresh scent of shea butter from her shampoo and body wash filled his nostrils, and he sighed in content. 

This was what life was worth living.

But just when Johnny welcomed the darkness, the annoying, blazing sound of their alarm clock echoed against the walls, disturbing the peaceful moment and making him flinch and groan. “Dammit,” he rolled onto his back, arm reaching to slap at the air until his fingers grasped the device. Snoozing it asleep with a press of a button. 

Now he was fully awake.

Flinging himself back onto the mattress, he felt her body shift before letting out a soft chuckle, “Had you turned it off when you first woke, you’d have spared yourself this torment.” Her voice was laced with tiredness, and Johnny turned his head to find her eyes still closed but clear amusement painting her visage by the smirk on her lips. 

Rolling his eyes, he moved to lay on his side and brought his arm around her waist, “Why didn’t you? Seeing as you were also awake.” 

“Too comfy.”

“Well, so was I,” he sassed, mouth hovering over her jaw before leaning down to kiss the skin, the coolness sending a chill along his spine. She hums, nuzzling into the touch, seeking it.

“The alarm is also on your side.”

Johnny smirks against her cheek, mischief coating his gaze, “you could’ve reached over me, you know. Saved us both the hassle.” His hand reached up to stoke her jaw, trailing to tangle his fingers in her hair. Soft and silky. He takes a moment to appreciate the beauty before him. From her thick eyelashes, to her lips. Her cheekbones and kissable lips. 

“Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you,” she challenged with no actual bite to her tone, one eye peeking open. “Me on top of you in the morning.” He didn’t even deny it, flashing a toothy smile

“Very much so.” 

Instead of replying, Y/n moved to push the man onto his back, throwing her leg over his waist to lay herself on top of him. Johnny’s hands immediately grabbed her, keeping her body pressed against his with one hand on her back and the other firmly on her hips. The heat radiating off his complexion clashed against the frostiness of hers. Two polar opposites coming together in an explosion of love and devotion. 

Johnny welcomed it with open arms, bringing her mouth to his in a tender kiss. Chuckling as she fought away while mumbling about morning breath to which he didn’t care. He kissed her like his life depended on it. Like they were the only two people in existence. For there was nothing sweeter on the planet than the taste of her lips on his. 

And thanks to the fire that consumed his veins, Johnny was spared from getting frostbite.

“Happy?” She asked while pulling away, but not getting far as Johnny cupped her jaw in his hand to keep her close. Kissing her once more after mumbling, “exceptionally.”

The tale of the Human Torch falling in love with the Ice Princess begins long ago, three years to be exact, when the Fantastic Four find themselves sitting across the table of Earth’s mightiest heroes, the Avengers. 

Everything leading up to the moment was still a blur to the young Johnny Storm. One moment he and his team, the Fantastic Four as they called themselves, were fighting the formidable Doctor Doom in their 60s-style futuristic Earth. And the next they are pulled into another universe while tailing the bastard to prevent him from bringing utter destruction to the world. It hadn’t even been five minutes and the Four were surrounded by armored trucks and individuals donning costumes similar to their own. 

“Hands where we can see them!”

“State your name and purpose!”

“Who are you and where did you come from!”

Johnny’s heart pounded against his chest. The anxiety piling up like a volcano ready to explode as he took in the scene before him. There were guns pointed at him and his friends. A man in a blue tunic and red cape with his hands raised in defense next to a young girl wearing a brown tunic. Another man in a red, white, and blue tactical suit with wings who landed in front of them. His shield reflecting off the light. Next to him was a man in a similar attire with wings but in grey. Then there was a woman in all purple, bow and arrow trained on the Four. A man with five golden rings on either wrist. A masked individual in a bright red and blue suit with spider webbing detail crouched on top of a car. And finally, a woman in a striking gray tactical ensemble stood closest to Johnny with a cold look in her eyes. 

Upon making a flame with his hands, ready to defend himself and his friends, Johnny watched her face shift to amusement. Raising her brow as though unimpressed by the trick, “Don’t even try, hotshot.” And without taking her eyes off his, her palm raised up to form an icicle in the shape of a dagger. Her other arm extended to show her skin turning completely into ice. 

Yeah, Johnny wasn’t sure if it was fear or arousal that consumed him. He often confused them at times. All he knows is there was a pretty woman before him with ice powers with cold eyes ready to strike him down with God knows what laid in store for him should he dare tempt her. 

But now wasn’t the time to flirt. There were more important matters at stake. Like the fact they were surrounded by highly advanced, highly enhanced, people with an army of soldiers at their command. In a place that looked like New York but lacked the 60s style he was accustomed to. 

“Cuff them and begin transport to HQ!”

“Find me Banner and clear this area at once!” 

The Four were at a loss. Outnumbered and confused, none able to process what the fuck was going on. They lost Doom. He was God knows where and they were not a match against these strangers. So they took their loss and compiled as they were restrained by agents.

“What the fuck is happening, Reed?” Johnny demanded, struggling against the cuffs on his arms and ankles. His power seemingly unable to melt the damn things which both intrigued and terrified him. 

“I don’t know?”

“Where are we?” said Sue from beside the genius, expression full of confusion and slight fear. The last thing she remembered was falling through a glowing yellow-orange light in the shape of a ring and the feeling of nausea hitting her full force. Giving her whiplash. 

But before anyone could answer, the blinding light of the sun hit them as the door whipped open and agents ushered them out of the vehicle. Clashes of voices, cameras flashing as news crews desperately tried to breach the barrier guards had formed and even a helicopter flying above. Johnny glanced up to take in the chaos, gaze falling onto the large building before him with a giant ‘A’ 

The Four are led to a large glass encased room, still cuffed, and ordered to sit and wait while armed guards post themselves outside. Expecting someone to come in and interrogate them, they take the moment to assess the area. Noting that the glass room sat perched above a large space, like a bullpen, where people were rushing to answer phones, type on computers, or stood watching the vast tv screens splayed on the wall. The news channels played footage of what transpired on the streets moments prior. The Four tense when they see an image of Doctor Doom, disappearing after falling from what appeared to be a portal in the sky. 

Just like they did. 

The sound of the glass door opening captured their attention, turning to find the man in the wingsuit and the woman in gray. Their body language showed they were on high alert, analyzing the Four for any potential threat, and they exchanged a look before the man set down his shield on a free chair while the woman placed a stack of files onto the table. 

“I’m Captain Sam Wilson, this is Agent Y/n L/n,” The man spoke first, cutting right to the chase, “You’re not from here, are you?”

“Here?” Reed repeated, perplexed.

“Earth-616,” Y/n answered, locking eyes with each of the Four, lingering on Johnny before falling onto Reed. “At first we suspected you’re with Hydra, or part of the team Fontaine has been cooking up. But ruled those possibilities out once we saw the footage of your friend who preceded you in the portal.”

The Four processed her words, unable to identify the names she spoke of. 

“Hydra?”

“We don’t know who this Fontaine person is, but we can assure you we’re not involved with them.”

“You saw Doom? We have to find him immediately!” 

“I’m sorry, did you say Earth-616?,’ Reed reeled back to her initial answer. Y/n crossed her arms over her chest with a nod.

“I did,” she then turned to Sam, lowering her voice but they were still able to hear everything, “This isn’t going to be easy, Cap. They obviously hadn’t discovered what we know and that makes them a liability.”

“We have no choice. Whoever traveled with them is still out there and they know what we’re up against. We need them.”

“And how exactly are we going to send them back to where they came from?”

“We’ll figure it out like we always do,” Sam’s tone grows stern, but Y/n holds her ground and doesn’t reveal any ounce of intimidation. “Strange and Banner can find something.”

Johnny, having had enough of them talking about them as though they weren’t right there, spoke up with annoyance, “Can you two please tell us what the fuck is going on? What do you mean “send us back where we came from,” and that we hadn’t discovered what you apparently know?”

Reed pitches in, “Sounds like you’re suggesting the theory of the multiverse is real and that we’ve somehow breached the gap between space, time, and reality and have fallen into a parallel universe,” the genius scoffs, gaze flicking between the two as though waiting for them to say, ‘Sike!’ only for his stomach to plummet in fear as he saw how serious they were. “Oh my God.”

Reed’s reaction to the implication was enough to cause the same in his friends. Sue’s face paled, Ben froze, and Johnny felt a sudden urge to throw up. They were in another universe.

 They watch as Y/n removes a device from her utility belt, stiffening as she points it at the man, a buzzing sound emitting from its speakers causing her brows to furrow and the man leaned over to read whatever it was on the screen. “You’re human, like us, and your DNA appears to be altered with enhanced biological traits.” Glancing up from the screen, her head tilts with suspicion, “but that’s not the interesting part…..your readings indicate you obtain multiversal particles.”

The revelation sent the Four into hysterics. All denying at first the inevitable truth, speaking over each other, struggling against their cuffs--which Sam removed once they calmed down. Reed was dealing with shock and excitement, for the scientific discovery was something he always theorized was true. Meanwhile the others were more fearful of what this meant for their world and the one they were in. 

For hours after the initial shock wore off, they stayed in that room until all information was exchanged between the groups. Sam infomed the Four they were at Avengers campus, headquarters for the Avengers. A team consisting of biologically or technologically enhanced individuals responsible for the safety and order of Earth-616 against domestic, international, and intergalactic threats.

“Well now we can add multiversal to the mix,” Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly annoyed with having to deal with another damn enemy after they’d finally defeated an adversary not long ago.

Part of Johnny wanted to laugh at her irritation, but that probably would’ve made things worse on his end. So he kept his mouth shut. 

Sam and Y/n were soon joined by the man in the tunic, who introduced himself as Doctor Stephen Strange. A Master of the Mystic Arts who had experience traveling the multiverse, and had even met a variant of Reed years prior. 

He didn’t go into detail obviously of how that ended.

Not long later he was followed by a large man who’s physique rivaled Ben’s and was green. “Dr. Reed Richards, meet Dr. Bruce Banner,” Y/n did not look up from her tablet, full focus on the screen. “You two will surely get on well with figuring out what the fuck it is this Doctor Doom wants with our world.”

While they didn’t join the group, Sam explained who the other team members were that helped attain the Fantastic Four. Stephen’s protegee, America Chavez, who had the power to travel the multiverse--which had Reed’s eyes bulging from his head. He definitely wanted to have a conversation with her. There was Kate Bishop, the purple archer who trained under former Avenger, Clint Barton. Sam’s wingman, Joaquin Torres, and Shang-Chi, who possessed the Ten Rings. Lastly there was Peter Parker, the boy donning the red and blue webbed suit. 

They mentioned the Thunderbolts, another team of enhanced individuals who were more anti-heroes and had once been adversaries of the Avengers but are now allies. Then there was the Guardians of the Galaxy. A team of intergalactic heroes traveling space and protecting the galaxy from threats not on Earth. The Norse Gods of Asgard, now living on Earth. Shuri, Scott Lang, Hope Van Dyne, and the Marvels. Lastly, they touched on former Avengers. Ones who retired, like Barton, and the ones who perished. 

Finally, when things seemed to settle, Johnny decided to lift the mood by saying, “So do you guys have nicknames? Or like code for when you’re on missions?” Sue shot him a look that read, “For the love of God, Johnny.”

Y/n lifted her eyes from the tablet, giving him a once over, “Are you serious right now?”

“What?”

“Aye, take it easy, L/N,” Sam pitched in, waving a hand for emphasis. “Can’t blame the kid for being curious.” All he receives is a mock scoff. 

“Okay, Captain America.”

Johnny’s ears perked up as he looked at Sam with interest. Boyish grin plastered on his face, “You’re called Captain America? That’s really cool.” He motions toward the suit and shield, “Should’ve guessed as much though with the colors of your suit and stars.”  

“I used to be the Falcon, but Torres has taken on that mantle. Strange is just strange,” Y/n snickered under her breath, causing Johnny to bite back a smile. “We call America, Miss America.”

Ben nods his head in approval, “fitting.”

Sam continued listing off the aliases of the team, finally coming to Y/n who narrowed her eyes with a frown as he said, “And she’s the Ice Princess.” 

Honestly she should be grateful for the nickname and that it sounded quite regal in comparison to other ice related names. Hell, they could’ve dubbed her Frost. Or Snowflake. Or God forbid Icicle. At least with the Ice Princess it made her sound both menacing and dauntless. Still, it was too on the nose. And it didn’t help that before the accident that granted her the powers and the Avengers, she was a socialite in America. Before they died, her parents were wealthy investors and friends with the late Tony Stark.

Johnny didn’t try to hide his grin, “The Ice Princess,” earning a glare from the woman, obviously not amused by the nickname nor his delight from it. 

“And what do they call you, hotshot? Firestarter? Flame-man?” 

He shrugs sheepishly, cheeks a tint red, “Human Torch.” Now that has Y/n’s lips curl, fighting back the smile as she hums.

Setting the Four up at campus, they were given rooms and full access to the labs and training facilities. Reed and Ben immediately joined Banner, while Johnny and Sue decided to observe the Avengers and learn from them. Their dynamics. Their history. The way they train and how they come together to develop strategy. How they are able to make a team consisting of individuals with different levels of abilities, experience, and ethics work. 

Johnny would be lying if he said he wasn’t the most curious about Y/n. Not only was she the most beautiful, and quite terrifying, woman he’d ever met, but he was drawn to her aura. The power she held, both physically and on the team. She was extremely intelligent, a mentor to the young members, witty. Unafraid to go toe-to-toe with Sam or Strange. 

And her powers….they were exact opposites. Fire and ice. Hot and cold. Where he controlled flames, she manipulated glaciers. He turned himself into a human torch, she transformed to a human icicle. 

Talk about opposites attract. 

Days passed, and the two teams merged together with the goal of locating their common enemy. By keeping up with the news and reports of suspicious activity, they were able to narrow down the search for Doom. Suspecting him to be hiding somewhere in the New England area. 

The day before planning to scour the location, the teams trained with each other, none holding back. Showing off what they were made of. An enthralling experience considering the Fantastic Four had only been a team for a couple years in comparison to the fifteen plus of the Avengers. Banner being the only founding member there, Sam and Y/n not far behind. 

“I like her,” Sue whispered to her brother when Y/n sideswiped Joaquin and put him on his ass. The group made a circle around the matts in the gym and were taking turns going against each other. Sue caught the way the man’s gaze followed the Avenger. Mesmerized by her skill and ability. And Sue always knew when her brother had a crush. “You should go next when it’s her turn again.” 

Johnny didn’t respond, but the look on his sister's face, a cheeky smirk told him he wasn’t being conspicuous as he thought he was with his feelings. “Shut up.” 

The most tense, and nearly destructible moment, came when the Four discovered a photograph of Tony Stark on the wall of a different debrief room alongside the founding Avengers. Who bore a striking resemblance, well actually he was identical, to Dr. Victor von Doom. The man they were after. 

There was screaming. Accusations thrown at each other. Of course suspicion and confusion from the Four. Up until that point the Avengers only saw Doom with his cloak and mask from the footage, and the Four hadn’t described his appearance. And while the Avengers mentioned Tony Stark, they didn’t show any pictures. 

It calmed when Strange had to remind them about the existence of variants. He met Reed’s when traveling to Earth-838. Peter Parker met two of his. It was completely possible that their Victor von Doom was a variant of their Tony Stark. Were they the same man? Not really when one thinks about it. But they shared a face. The Reed Richards Strange met looked nothing like the one standing in front of him. While in Earth-838, Strange met a young lady who worked with Christine, that world’s version of the Ice Princess, who was not Y/n. Peggy Carter was their Captain America!

Oh, and there was the big detail in the fact that Tony Stark was dead. 

When the commotion settled and the two groups lost their steam, Johnny noted the deflated appearance of the Avengers. All falling quiet with unreadable expressions. Peter excused himself, “I-I don’t feel good. I’m gonna go lay down,” but the blonde saw the way his lip trembled and eyes watered. Rushing out of the debriefing room on a mission to get away from everyone before he burst into tears. A feeling of guilt suddenly consumed Johnny, glancing at his friends who shared the same concern. 

Banner was quiet, as was Strange. The others, who didn’t know Tony personally, shuffled on their feet and quietly excused themselves as well. Sam had his back to everyone, a distant look in his eyes as he gazed down at the bullpen below. 

And then there was Y/n. Sitting in silence with her hands clenching the arms of her chair, white knuckled and jaw so tight he swore he saw a vein protruding. Her breathing was shallow, eyes staring blankly at the wall. 

Johnny felt unease, unsure of what to do. Should he say something? Should they leave the room? Nothing felt right at that moment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this new revelation changed everything. This was no longer just containing a multiversal threat, this was personal so to say. 

He was spared the ordeal when Sam finally spoke, only to be interrupted by Y/n, “You know you don’t have to--.”

“Do not finish that sentence, Sam.”

He turned away from the window to look at her, tone serious, “I’m trying to look out for you, Kid.”

“What’d I tell you about calling me that?” 

“And Peter,” Sam continues, not letting up, “No one will fault you two for wanting to pull out of this.” 

She scoffs, offended by the insinuation as she stands from her chair. The atmosphere in the room heated up again, and Johnny tensed, watching the woman step forward so she was nearly chest to chest with Sam. “There is a multiversal madman out there and you’re suggesting I stay grounded?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “What the fuck, Sam?”

“This is different, Y/n,” his voice was steady, willing her to understand. He wanted the best for his team. And their situation was unlike anything they’d ever dealt with. “You have to realize that. This Doom is--.”

“Not him, Sam! Y/n threw her hands up, yelling as the anger she had tried to contain began to unleash, “I’m not fucking stupid! For Christ’s sake, I know that’s not Tony and I’m not going to compromise this team because the man we’re up against has the same face as him!” 

“Y/n--,” Strange attempted to intervene but she shot him a look and he immediately backed down. 

“If you think Peter and I should back out, then so should Banner,” she pointed to the man who had yet to say something since the news of Tony’s variant was revealed. “Him and Tony founded this team. And let’s not forget your history with the damn Accords. Should I go call Rhodey and see what he thinks?” 

‘Accords? Rhodey?’ Johnny thought to himself, not familiar with the term as he thought back to the lessons on the Avengers. They must’ve omitted that detail, assuming it was a rather dark part of their history. A confirmation he got from the reactions of Banner and Strange, who’s expressions were complete shock and appalled. 

Sam’s demeanor shifted to that of hurt and exasperation, her words hitting him like a bullet from a gun. “That was low, even for you.” Yeah, whatever it was they were references, the Four gathered it wasn’t good. 

Y/n stepped back as though he struck her, a flash of regret in her eyes but she kept her head up, willing herself not to break. “I’m an Avenger. I took an oath, the same as you, and made a promise to Tony that I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this planet against any and all danger. I will not break that promise, and nothing you say or do will stop me.” Y/n backs away, moving toward the door, “I’ll see you on the quinjet tomorrow, Cap.”

An eerie silence remained as the door slammed shut behind Y/n. Nobody moved. Nobody made a sound. The air was thick, and full of tension. The Four glancing at each other with uncertainty. 

“Wings up at eight,” Sam announced, voice strong with authority as though the last five minutes never occurred. Or didn’t bother him, though Johnny noted the pinched look of his brows.

The Captain then departed the room, Strange and Banner following out with a nod to the Four. Left to their own devices, the Four spent the next hour in the debrief room watching footage of the Avengers. Particularly ones with Tony Stark, the Iron Man, and the several catastrophic missions he dealt with alongside the Avengers. Provided with the mountain of videos from news channels and social media of people who experienced it first hand. 

New York 2012. Ultron 2015. The Superhero Civil War of 2016. That’s where they learned of the Accords Y/n referenced and how she and Sam were involved. The two on opposite sides of the scale as Y/n pledged allegiance to Tony while Sam supported former Captain America, Steve Rogers. Witnesses flying a private plane around the airport captured the fight between the two teams. 

Johnny watched with a frown as Y/n battled against her colleagues and friends. He could tell she was holding back on using her power to the highest degree, not really wanting to hurt them, but enough to send a message. For example, when Steve and Bucky attempted to flee to the hangar, Y/n created a layer of ice on the pavement, causing them to tumble and fall. Then she made a wall of ice to contain Scott Lang in his giant form. But that was a failure, as the wall wasn’t thick enough allowing Scott to break free, sending chunks of ice toward the ground, knocking the hero unconscious when one collided with her head, blood spilling from her temple. To prevent her from being crushed, Tony flew in a record speed to gather in his arms and rush her to safety. 

Later that night when Johnny was wandering the building, he found Y/n on the balcony overlooking the main grounds. A hue of orange and pink painting the sky as the sun set on the horizon. The dark blue of nightfall taking over lurking in the background. She was out of her suit, dressed in casual clothes consisting of a hoodie and sweats. A faint expression on her visage as she stared out in the distance. 

Gathering courage, Johnny took a deep breath before gently sliding back the door, the cool breeze hitting him in the face as he closed it behind him and approached the woman. Her head tilted slightly, acknowledging that she heard him, but made no move to address. 

They stayed like that for a minute. In silence, basking in the peace they were afforded before the impending danger they were to face. 

“I’m sorry you all had to witness that,” Y/n eventually spoke, tone neutral as her expression. “That was unprofessional of me.”

Johnny shook his head with a shrug, “You don’t have to apologize. I can’t imagine what you and your friends are feeling. And I’m sorry we jumped to conclusions--accusing you guys of--.”

“Considering what you told us of Victor von Doom,” She sent a pointed look, her voice one of understanding, “you had every right to be cautious. Plus,” she sighs, gaze flickered down to the railing, “you four are still new to the Multiverse. We’ve known about it for five years, and I remember that feeling of confusion and uncertainty. America told us all about her experiences traveling through various realities.” Y/n’s frown deepened, shuffling on her feet with unease. “In one world, she met a version of me that hated the Avengers--and tried to destroy them.” Her body shudders, and not from the wind, “That stuck me for a while. I couldn’t imagine a world where I was the enemy. Whose goal was to hurt the people I cared about. Steve, Nat, Tony.” 

Johnny nodded, leaning his elbows on the railing as he pictured it. Surely there were versions of himself out there in the multiverse. He wondered what they were like. Did they have the same power? Did they get to live a normal life like he once thought he would? Was he a hero? Or was there a version of Johnny who went against all he stood for? 

He too, refused to imagine a scenario where he’d want to harm his sister and friends. It saddened him to even think about such a thing. And the way Y/n said Tony’s name, showed him she felt the same.

“Was he your father?” the question left his lips before he could stop it. Immediately regretting upon the distant look that encompassed her visage along with the glossiness of her eyes.

“He was the closest thing I had to one after my own died,” Y/n bit her lip, scoffing lightly, “actually even when mine was alive. Met the man when I was five--my father invested in Stark Industries and the two were good friends. I have fond memories of going to Stark Tower and watching Tony’s expos.” A small smile appeared, but it soon turned to a frown. “My parents profited off the sciences and technology, but didn’t really care to understand it.” There was a bitter taste in her mouth as she spoke, and Y/n was a bit surprised she was being so open with Johnny. A rare feeling, for she was hardly this vulnerable about her past with her teammates. And she’d known them for decades almost.

“I was always smart growing up but they never acknowledged or praised me for it. Told me college wasn’t necessary since we were wealthy and what good would higher education be when we were well set. Mind you,” she shoots a glance at Johnny, who was watching her intently. “My father went to business school in Chicago and my mother was a journalist before they got married.”

“The pot calling the kettle black,” he muses, tone laced with disappointment on her behalf.

“Exactly,” she sighed, shaking her head as she looked back toward the city. “My father laughed when I told them I wanted to pursue physics at MIT. Told me if I was going to go to college then I should do business where the money was at--as if I needed more fucking money,” Johnny heard the frustration and sadness in her voice, picturing a young Y/n with dreams who just wanted the support of her parents and was denied. Thinking about it made his heart strain.

“Anyways, Tony was the one who helped me get to MIT. It was my freshman year he got kidnapped and became Iron Man. Barely saw him after that because his partnership with my dad ended.” Fiddling with her rings, Y/n closes her eyes briefly while taking a breath, then shrugs nonchalantly, “My folks were among the casualties in New York, my accident happened not long after….” she straightens up with a sniff, “Tony Stark helped me find purpose. Told me there were greater things for me--and my powers could be a tool to help people. He took me under his wing when the government advised him not to. I owe everything to him.” Turning to lock their eyes, Y/n’s gaze is filled with determination. 

“As he died I promised him to continue his legacy. I intend to keep it, until my last breath.”

Defeating Doom proved itself to be the most defining moment for the Avengers and Fantastic Four. Lasting months on end, for each time Doom was in their grasps he managed to get two steps ahead of them. Thankfully the integrity of space, time, and reality didn’t seem to disintegrate with the Four in Earth-616. Something the geniuses of the team were concerned about. 

When it was finally over, Doom neutralized and the multiverse saved, the Avengers and the Four--bloodied, bruised, and covered in grime, dragged themselves to a nearby shawarma joint to pig out. Beer flowed, music sounded from the jukebox beside the round table they took claim to. 

And after months of tip-toeing around feelings, Johnny and Y/n finally said ‘fuck it,’ falling into step together as a unit they both craved. The Ice Princess seated firmly in his lap with her head tucked under his chin, eyes fluttering closed as the exhaustion kicked in. 

For Johnny, he’d been crushing on the woman since he first laid eyes on her. Keeping his affections hidden as he knew deep down it would be unwise to pursue anything with someone who 1) was from another world; and 2) he needed to focus on the task at hand. 

The same went for Y/n, who realized her fondness for the blonde about a month after he arrived. She’d be lying if she didn’t find him attractive during that first meeting. Anyone with eyes would agree. But she knew better than to be involved with him given their predicament. 

Yet, by a power greater than universe, the man of fire melted her frozen heart. He wasn’t put off by her cool attitude, unlike most people when they first meet Y/n. Yeah he got under her skin with his boyish charm and flirtations, but he never crossed any lines. Always respectful. Always mindful. 

Neither were sure when things changed between them. Maybe it was when Y/n pushed him out of the way of a line of fire from a Doombot causing her to take three bullets to her back and nearly bleed out right there in the middle of the street. Or when Johnny spent a week in a coma for exposing himself to a deadly dose of radiation to prevent Y/n from doing so. Whatever it was, the two could no longer beat around the bush. And the night before the final battle against Doom, they confessed their feelings on the balcony overlooking Avengers campus. Sealing their promise to stay alive with a kiss.

“You sleepy, darling?” Johnny murmured against her hair after finishing a conversation with Shang-Chi. Tightening his arms around the woman when she nuzzled his chest before laying a sweet kiss to her forehead. 

“Just resting my eyes.” His finger brushed her cheekbone, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, making Y/n sigh in content. 

“Rest,” he told her, not buying it at all, and by the tone of his voice she knew he was smiling. “I’ll wake you when we’re ready to leave.” All he received was a hum, the man beaming as he carded his fingers through her hair. And when Johnny lifted his gaze he met his sister’s, who’s expression was full of fondness, shooting him a wink as she gestured toward the sleeping Avenger in his lap. 

‘Told you so,’ Sue mouthed, grinning at his pink tinted cheeks. 

‘Shut up,’ he mouthed back, though he returned the smile. 

In the days following their victory, one question remained: Will the Fantastic Four return home? America was their ticket out. All she had to do was open a portal. It may take time, but eventually she’d shuffle through enough realities until she found theirs. Luckily in the months they’d been away, the fabric of reality remained intact. 

In all honesty, that fact alone is what made them contemplate leaving. 

The Fantastic Four didn’t belong in Earth-616 having landed there by mistake, but it had been almost a year. Integrating themselves into the Avengers and developing bonds. Besides the romantic feelings between Johnny and Y/n, the remaining Fantastic Four were not sure if they wanted to leave. Reed and Ben enjoyed working with Banner and Strange. Sue longed for female companionship, and found that with Y/n and the other women of the Avengers. And Johnny connected with the guys. They all became friends.

They became a team.

And since they weren’t leaving anyone behind in their world, what harm was there by staying? The Avengers could use more allies. And who knows another high level threat would appear. Threatening the existence of the universe. They needed a strong team, and defeating Doom proved they were one. 

Yeah, it was a no brainer. 

Now here they were two years later. The Ice Princess and Human Torch cuddled in their bed, in their apartment in Avengers campus, on their day off where they could enjoy the peace as no new threats had emerged in the last two months. 

Johnny groaned when Y/n pulled away from the kiss, moving to sit up so she was straddling his hips. The comforter falling behind her as she fought against his firm grip when he attempted to pull her back down. 

“Sorry, hotshot, no sleeping in for me today. I have to get ready.”

He tilted his head, partly confused, partly offended, “For what?”

“I promised your sister I’d have breakfast with her.”

“But it’s Sunday,” He sat up, hands gripping her waist as he moved to press kisses on her neck. “We don’t do anything on Sundays. Except sleep….” he trailed off, pulling away to give her a cheeky smile, “and give each other some lovin’.”

Y/n chuckled, tilting her head back as his plush lips captured her chin, trailing down her jaw until he found the place behind her ear. “Baby, I’ll give you all the loving this afternoon until the sun sets and the moon rises,” she feels him shudder against her, smirking in satisfaction. “But I’m a woman of my word.” 

Lifting herself off him, she leaned over to her side of the bed to grab her rings off the nightstand. Returning to his lap as she placed them on her fingers. Her college ring on her right hand, and the beautiful Cartier stack consisting of her engagement and wedding rings. Once all were placed on her finger, Johnny lifted her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles just below. His own wedding band shining against the sunlight peeking through the curtains. 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long now,” Johnny flirted, chocolate eyes sparkling while pressing her hand to his chest where his heart laid. Heat radiated off his body. “I might come looking for ya.” The words earned him a playful glare.

“Behave,” she scolded without any bite. “Or I’ll punish you.”

“I want you too,” Johnny challenged, winding his arm around her waist to hold her closer. 

All she did was shake her head, laughing at his behavior while he continued his assault on her neck, allowing him a few extra kisses before she really had to get up. “You are something else, Johnny Storm.” 

“And you love meeeee.”

“I do,” she breathed out, tilting her head down to meet his lips halfway, hand cupping his jaw. He sighed in victory, chasing her mouth each time she pulled away, causing her to giggle. “Johnny! The sooner you let me leave, the sooner you get to have me all to yourself.” 

He groaned again, loosening his hold but not completely letting Y/n go. “Fine,” he mumbled, pouting, but smiled when she kissed his cheek. “Bring me back a coffee, please?”

“Of course, my love.” 

With that he reluctantly let go of her waist, allowing his wife to get up from the bed. But before she could make her way to the bathroom, Johnny caught her hand, making her turn back to him with a raised brow.

“Some say the world will end in fire.” He begins to recite the famous poem by Robert Frost. What started as a joke between the two because of their abilities, transformed into something far more intimate. The poem itself was about human emotions, and their power to lead to self-destruction. Fire was fast, Ice was slow. Together they were each other's strength and weakness. And despite being complete opposites, they both played a role in dismantling humanity. 

But for Johnny and Y/n, they managed to do the impossible. They bridged the gap between fire and ice.  

Y/n smiles affectionately, lifting her free hand to the back of his neck to scratch at the nape of his hairline. “Some say in ice.”

“From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.”

“But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate, to say that for destruction ice.”

“Is also great,” They both recite, leaning in to capture each other's lips as they whisper the final line of the poem. 

“And would suffice.”

[loves-alibi]

mdni

retired!soap is a horn dog

(this was meant to be like one paragraph but whoops)

Johnny’s going deaf. Gone deaf, really. Too many years of gunfire, explosives, and John Price screaming in his ear finally took its toll. You notice before Johnny does. The TV volume is turned up a little higher than you’re comfortable with. Johnny doesn’t hear when there’s a knock on the door. It’s harmless at first, but quickly starts getting in the way.

Going out becomes almost impossible. In group settings, Johnny goes quiet— unable to make out what’s happening among all the crosstalk. On your dinner dates, his side of the conversation is almost entirely ‘what?’s.

After catching him watching your lips when speaking (and not in a horny way), you decide to bring it up. Johnny gets defensive. He gets angry. It’s a blow to his pride, his masculinity. The thought that he’s losing something and can do nothing about it tears him apart. He doesn’t say it, but you can see it in the way he starts keeping the volume low and has his ears strained extra hard all day long. He’s trying to hide hiss struggle like it’s something to be ashamed of.

You bring up hearing aids and Johnny scoffs. Bonnie, don’t be ridiculous. You try bringing it up again and again, but it always ends the same.

You’re getting desperate. It’s hard seeing Johnny struggle (due to his own stubbornness, no less). Until you strike gold.

Johnny is a crafty man. When the kitchen sink starts giving you trouble, he comes to the rescue. You stumble upon him on the kitchen floor, shirtless, sweaty, and yours for the taking.

“Oh, Johnny,” you coo instinctively, “I need you.”

Except, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t acknowledge the words that are ordinarily enough to send him into a horny craze. So you try again.

“Baby, I need you.”

Nothing.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Nada.

Your jaw is practically on the ground when he finally notices you, greeting you with a soft ‘didn’t see you there’ then continuing his work.

Oh Johnny, seeing isn’t the problem.

You start taking count. Every time Johnny misses one of your propositions, you mark it down on a sticky note on your fridge.

Baby, I’m wet.

Tally.

I need you to take care of me.

Tally.

Bend me over this couch right now.

Tally.

The sticky note reaches 48 tallies when Johnny finally asks, “What are we counting?”

“Oh that?” You muse, “It’s all the times you didn’t hear me ask for sex.”

Now that, Johnny hears. He whips his head to you so fast it cracks.

“No,” he whimpers.

“Yes.”

Johnny’s fishing his phone out in an instant, pressing it to his ear frantically.

“Johnny, what are—“

“Quiet, Bonnie,” he snaps, “I’m calling the doctor about those hearing aids.”

[mrsparrasblog]

POLY 141 if they are not the father

Pregnant reader. if they are not the Dad

Price: He knew it shouldn't have disappointed him, but when the boy who looked exactly like Kyle glanced at him, all the thoughts that he couldn't give this to you came rushing back. He felt like half a man because of his infertility, not good enough for such a perfect woman like you. Nonetheless, he stayed by your side, holding your hand, wiping the sweat from your face. "You did so well, lovely." When he returned home, the first thing he did was sit on the porch with a cigarette, crying. Despite Simon's pleas for you to stay in bed, you walked to John, sat on his lap, and told him that you love him and that he is as much a father as the others.

Gaz: As soon as the baby, looking exactly like Simon, was born, he knew. He tried not to appear disappointed; it was okay, there would be many more chances, right? So, he took great pride in caring for you, trying to be the best partner of all of them. You only noticed his disappointment when your doctor cleared you again for the "fun stuff," and he was the first to scoop you up, moving slowly not to hurt you but still going deep, lifting your legs with his hands. "Can't let one drop go to waste, babe," he said before fucking your poor and happy cunny every day until you carried his baby.

Johnny: When that baby, who looked like a literal bear with blue eyes, was born, everyone assumed it was Johnny's. He was so happy and proud of his MacTavish genes. You still did a paternity test, as always, and the look on Johnny's face when he found out John was the father was the most heartbreaking thing you had ever witnessed. He wasn't even able to grieve; everyone was so happy about the miracle that Price could have kids that they forgot how it felt for him that the child he called his all the time was not his. That day, you cuddled up to him. "You know you're as much the Dad as Price."

"I know, Bonnie, but it still hurts." The hurt was forgotten after Johnny and his MacTavish genes impregnated you three times.

Ghost: He was happy, or at least he told everyone so. "I'm more of an uncle type anyway," he'd say. He was too big and brutish to be a dad, or so he told himself repeatedly. You didn't notice his grief until one day you overheard him talking to Riley. "I don't deserve to be a dad; I can't get anything great in my life except Y/N." You reassured him all the time that he would be the perfect dad. Much to his surprise, he became the perfect dad and gifted you two beautiful girls.

Girl Dad Simon >>>>>>>>>>

[milf-murdock]

Frozen (Ghost x Soap x 141!Reader)

Soap x Ghost x 141!Reader (Established Relationship/Established Throuple)

Summary: You, Ghost, and Soap were heading back to the safe house from a quick reconnaissance mission when you’re caught by a surprise ambush. Soap’s quick maneuvering saved your lives, but when you end up overboard in freezing waters, a whole new challenge presents itself.  Warnings: medical inaccuracies, I am clearly not a doctor and also not trained on what to do if you seriously are at risk of hypothermia. But getting naked and using the body heat of your two bulky lovers seems like a good place to start :-)  A/N: This was inspired by this scene in one of my favorite winter movies The Proposal!! I don’t know that it’s a “Christmas” movie, per say, but it’s snowy and wintery and I watch it every Christmas and @glitterypirateduck said that counts!!! So I’m also submitting this for their Holiday Challenge :) 

The speedboat was flying across the dark blue waters, bitter winds nipping at any exposed area of skin. A thick fog made navigating difficult, but you were in good hands as Soap lead the speedy vessel back towards the safe house. Perched on the cushion lining the back of the boat, you scooted closer to Ghost, both to escape the windchill and to hear him better, as you recapped what you’d seen. 

“We’ll need to put through a call to Price as soon as we’re back at the safe house,” Ghost stated, and you nodded in response, already mentally planning ahead to your next steps. With this intel, they’ll probably have you three hit the ground running by sunrise. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shot ringing through the air. 

“They fucking tailed us,” Soap shouted from the wheel as he turned the boat in a different direction in an attempt to shake the pursuers. “Couldn’t see ‘em through the fog.” 

Ghost operated on instinct—up on his feet, weapon in hand before the final ring of the shot even cleared out. He had three shots fired by the time you were on your feet as well, trying your best to stabilize as Soap gunned the engine, sending you flying even faster across the waves. 

The pursuers were finally close enough to clear the fog, their boat’s impressive speed rivaling your own’s. Unfortunately for them, this made the assailants easy targets. Their element of surprise was no match for your and Ghost’s impressive sharpshooting skills. You watched with satisfaction through your gun’s scope as the last man fell. Their boat came to a stop in the middle of the water, quickly disappearing as you sped away. 

Except they weren’t all dead. No, one final shot rang out, a literal shot in the dark from a dying man out into the open air. 

Catching everyone on board by surprise, Soap jerked the wheel to the right to swerve out of any potential line of fire. Still standing, untethered, and unprepared for any abrupt action, Ghost stumbled back before catching his footing, all 250+ pounds of pure muscle knocking into you. Between the momentum of the boat’s turn and the pure mass of Ghost’s body, you didn’t stand a chance. Before a single shout could leave your lips, you were toppling overboard and into the frozen ice water.

Ghost turned to help stabilize you, panicking at the empty space beside him before recognizing your frantic form in the water as the boat sped away. “Fuck!” Ghost shouted. “Turn it around, Johnny, we’ve gotta go back! She fell over!” 

Soap glanced back to see you floating in the water and his heart nearly stopped. 

“Steaming Jesus,” her muttered to himself, quickly yanking the steering wheel to the left, turning the boat around.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Simon cursed as Soap navigated the boat closer to your form. These waters were freezing and with the current windchill, they’d be racing thee clock to get you back to thee safe house. The boat slowed as they approached your figure, and Ghost leaned over the edge of the speeder, both arms extended to grab you. 

“Come ‘ere,” he muttered, both hands clasping around your extended wrists to help pull you up. The boat came to a stop and Soap scrambled over to help bring you aboard. 

You were shaking. All the many layers you were bundled up in soaked completely through. Both men helped drag your shaking form onto the bench, immediately discarding their own jackets to help cover you. 

“What the fuck happened?” Soap demanded roughly, an edge of panic in his voice that he just couldn’t control. 

“She fell out,” Ghost’s gruff response could barely be heard over the chattering of your teeth. 

“D-d-didn’t fall,” you gasped out. “P-p-pushed me.”

“You fucking pushed her?” Soap looked up at Ghost, equal parts rage and concern flickering in his blue eyes as he pulled you into his arms, pressing his body heat up against your freezing form. His hands frantically rubbed your arms, trying to generate heat with the friction. He glared up at Ghost, who was breaking into a medpack to pull out the emergency thermal blanket.

“I didn’t mean to, obviously,” Ghost grumbled as he tugged you back from Johnny’s form just enough to wrap you in the silver material. You shaking was uncontrollable at this point, the cold wind whipping at your already freezing extremities. “Fuck,” he uttered, taking in the blue hue forming just at the edge of your lips. “We gotta get her back to the safe house, now.” His tone was authoritative. This was quickly turning into a medical emergency. 

Soap nodded, heading back to the dashboard and getting the boat back in motion. Ghost took your shaking form into his arms. “I gotcha, darling, no worries. We’re gonna get you back safe and warm in no time.” He looked down to see you pressed against his chest, eyes fluttering closed. “Nuh uh, none of that, love,” he gently shook your shoulder. “Look at me, gotta stay awake.” Your eyes blinked rapidly as you tried to keep yourself awake. Ghost moved to brush a stray hair out of your face when he noticed it was nearly frozen solid. This is bad. Without a second thought, he had the balaclava up and over his face and in his hand. “Here love, need to put this on.” The exhaustion that gripped your body was too much; you couldn’t even put up a fight as Simon slid the warm material over your head, the soft fabric warming your frozen face. 

Ghost held your body close as Soap drove the boat to safety, pulling up to the dock just outside the safe house. It was a small, inconspicuous cabin in a fairly remote area. Soap gave the area a quick once-over, making sure the coast was clear, as Simon lifted you into his arms—no easy feat as the many layers you had on were completely soaked through.

“All clear,” Soap claimed, one eyebrow raised at Simon’s bare face. It wasn’t anything you two hadn’t seen before; after all, once the three of you were back home in your shared flat, the mask seldom made its appearance until you three were back on a mission. But to see it removed here was just a little surprising. 

“She needed it,” Simon stated matter of factly, brushing past Johnny and quickly heading into the warmth of the cabin. Johnny followed quickly behind, turning the triple locks on the door as soon as the three of you were inside. 

“We’ve gotta get her out of those clothes,” Johnny commented, side-stepping Simon as he headed straight towards the fireplace to get the fire going. 

Simon laid your form on the couch. At some point between the boat and the couch, your eyes had fallen shut, your breathing shallow. You were so still in his arms it set his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Fuck, darling” Simon muttered, unzipping your outer layers and pulling them off of you, his hands shaking slightly in desperation as he stripped the frozen fabrics from your body. He pulled your boots off, sliding the outer layer of pants. Hey stripped you down to your base layer, a tight pair of thermal pants and long sleeves. His mask still rested on your face. 

Having gotten the fire started, Johnny was pacing the floor by the couch, watching as Simon discarded layer by layer. 

“She’s not waking up,” Johnny’s voice was tinged with fear. “Simon, why isn’t she waking up?” 

Simon’s hands held your own, trying to warm the frozen digits. He looked up at Johnny. “Oi, look at me, love,” his own gentle tone a stark contrast to Johnny’s panicked one. Soap couldn’t take his eyes off of you. “Look. At. Me. Johnny.” Simon’s staccato words had the full commanding voice of a lieutenant. On instinct, Johnny’s eyes darted to Simon’s, unable to control his response to that tone. Simon saw the light sheen of tears in Johnny’s eyes—he always was the more sensitive of the two—and his heart squeezed with guilt. This was his fault. But he was going to fix it. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Simon’s voice left no room for arguing, no room for doubt. Johnny could only nod in response. 

“Tell me what to do.” Johnny raised one hand to trail across  your cheek, fingers grazing the soft fabric of the mask. 

“We need to get her to the bed,” Simon ordered, his years of training kicking in. He knew exactly the best way to warm you up. He nestled one arm under your shoulders and the other beneath your knees as he lifted you off the sofa, striding to the one bedroom in the tiny cabin. Johnny followed close behind, anxiously watching your unconscious form as Simon held you in his arms. 

“Take off your clothes,” Simon ordered as he set you on the bed, pulling off the last of your layers until you were completely bare. He gingerly removed the mask, setting it flat on the bedside table for it to dry out.

“Si, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Johnny asked, his brows furrowing in concern was he unbuttoned his pants. 

“Trust me, love,” Simon shot Johnny a look meant to soothe as he pulled his own shirt over his head. “The best way to warm her up is gonna be with our own body heat. Anything warmer and we risk sending her into shock.”

Once both men were fully stripped down, they carefully climbed into bed. Johnny was in his typical spot on the right side of the bed, and he tucked himself around your body. “Steamin’ blood Jesus,” he whispered. “She’s cold as fuckin ice.” He held you closer, pressing every available inch of his body against you, even going as far as pressing the underside of his feet up against yours. Once Johnny had you safe in his arms, Simon joined in, pressing up against your backside. He swore to himself as he powered through the initial cold shock and made sure to encompass as much of your bare skin under his warm body. 

They stayed like that are a long while, strong hands grazing up and down your body in an attempt to coax warmth back into you. They pressed kisses all along your bare skin, muttering sweet nothings to bring you back to reality. Simon and Johnny continued to exchange looks of concern as the next few hours passed at a glacial pace. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you came to, eyes blinking open as you groaned. 

Johnny was the first to jump in, relief flooding through him as you stirred. “Hey Bonnie, take it easy, take it easy, eh?” His strong hand was gentle against your bare chest, gently pressing you down as you tried to sit yourself up. 

“Fuck,” you muttered. “I feel like shit.” You screwed your eyes shut, letting the two men fuss over you. 

“I know, love,” this time it was Simon’s deep voice that had you opening your eyes once more. “I am so bloody sorry. S’all my fault.” The guilt in his voice was palpable and you knew he’d be carrying the weight of this instance for a while to come. 

“It was an accident,” you soothed, turning over to face him. You winced—your body ached and your movements were stiff. 

“S’okay, Simon,” you cooed, striving to ensure he could see the forgiveness in your eyes. “M’fine.”

“We’re just so glad you’re okay, lass,” Johnny pressed himself up against your back, trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder. “Gave us quite the scare.”

“‘Course I’m okay,” your words slurred a bit as your lids grew heavy, finding it harder and harder to keep sleep at bay. “I have you two.” 

“We will always take care of you, love,” Simon’s voice was firm, more of a promise to himself than anything. 

“Now rest,” Johnny ordered, pressing a final kiss to the back of your head. “Ye need it.” 

You were asleep before he even finished the words. 

The relief in the air was nearly palpable as both men finally exhaled the collective breath they’d been holding, knowing that you were going to be okay. 

“I’m so sorry, love,” Simon repeated, this time looking at Johnny. 

Johnny reached across your sleeping form to caress Simon’s cheek. “S’alright, dear. We managed.” He smiled down at you. “She’s alright.” 

Simon leaned over to press a kiss against Johnny’s waiting lips. 

“ I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love ye too.”

Masterlist ✧ Ask Box

[oceantornadoo]

ch7 the wrong john | masterlist | next

tw: minor violence in the last sentence

john price x f!reader, reader is johnny’s twin

--

Simon might be a ghost on the battlefield, but you become the ghost on base.

Everyone’s gone. Your only company is your cat, and even Bubbles is starting to get sick of you. You can’t work, have nothing to contribute to the base, and it’s not like the military is going to recruit you for help. 

John and Kyle are gone for weeks. Five days into your abandonment, a nurse puts you out of your misery and recruits you as a medbay volunteer. You fetch supplies, talk to injured soldiers, and deliver food trays. It’s thankless work as most of the hospital occupants are too injured to talk or too caught up in memories of the battlefield. Occasionally, you can make someone smile, especially once you start bringing Bubbles in. Dogs might be favored for therapy animals, but in the grimness of the grey medbay, your cat does the trick. Those smiles keep you going, reminding you of the task force you’ve come to regard as yours. 

Volunteer work gives you time to think. To ponder John’s words and how, despite the idiocy of him just assuming you were together, they were what you’ve been wanting to hear. You’ve been straddling this line of jealousy and avoidance, wanting John to yourself while knowing you can’t want him at all. But is that really the case? If Johnny’s dating Simon, maybe it’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could be with John. You just need to approach the subject with caution, and give him time to warm up to it. He’s never met a boyfriend of yours, so you can’t show PDA off the bat. It might take a while, but optimism seeps through your veins.

It’s the feeling you can know so much without knowing anything at all. You have no clue how Johnny will react or if John will even want to date you now that you’ve hurt him. What will Simon and Kyle think? You’ve only met them a few times, but with how much Johnny trusts them, their acceptance means everything.

Of course, all of your plans include Johnny surviving whatever hell he’s in, and that realization quickly snuff the flames of your desire. You ride this seesaw of emotions for weeks, thinking of John one day and your brother the next. It doesn’t help you have no one to talk to except your cat and soldiers in comas. Your social life is really looking up.

Eventually, the nurses stop seeing you as a nuisance and more of a new fixture on base. It’s the nurses that keep medbay functioning, especially when doctors are focused on emergency patients. Someone finds out you’re Johnny’s brother and suddenly you’re hounded by two women asking if you know of one Kyle Garrick. They must be in that love triangle John mentioned. You warn them to not get attached, something someone should have warned you months ago.

Three weeks later, there’s an early morning knock at your door. It’s barely 5 am and even the sun isn’t awake yet. You trudge your way to the door, grabbing one of Johnny’s sweatshirts to battle the early morning cold. There’s a runty almost-kid at your door, shifting from foot to foot. He almost flinches when you open the door, head snapping up to look at your face, then back to his boots. It’s a bit unnerving, how scared he looks.

“Ms. Mactavish?”

“That’s me.”

“You’re wanted at the helipad. Captain Price is back.” You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, how the rookie in front of you almost jumps back in fear. “Did they say anything about Sergeant Mactavish? Soap or Ghost?” He shakes his head and your heart drops to your stomach. “No, ma’am. That’s all they told me. I’m here to walk you to the helipad.” You’re already moving, fumbling for the closest pair of shoes, shoving them on without socks. You close the door and wait for him to direct you. He stands there, almost twitching. “Well?” You adopt a forceful tone, reminiscent of your captain. The recruit jumps slightly, then starts walking down the hall, gesturing to you to follow. You’re speedwalking, leading even though you have no idea where you’re going. Finally, after minutes of silence, he brings you to a nondescript elevator. When you get inside, there’s only one button, an up arrow. You wring your hands as the elevator moves up, every worst possible fear coming to mind. What if John comes back empty-handed? Or with two body bags? They didn’t even mention Kyle. What if he got captured too? You shake the thoughts out, knowing you’ll get your answers in seconds.

The elevator stops, dinging as the doors open. It’s dark and cold outside, but you’re fixated on the doors of the helicopter in front of you. It’s opening and you’re moving, practically running across the roof. A figure with a shaved head is jumping out, the darkness hiding his face. You finally reach him and cry out in relief.

“Johnny!”

“M'eudail.”

His response is muffled by the hug you attack him with. He’s skinnier than usual, no longer built like a tank. It doesn’t matter as long as he’s here, arms wrapped around you. The tears fall unbidden and you think he’s crying too, something you’ve only seen him once at nine years old when he broke his arm climbing a tree. You rub your arms up and down his back, calming him like you would yourself. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.” He nods against you, tears slowing as you simply hold each other. “Thought you got the memo, you’re not allowed to leave me, Johnny.” You hate how long it takes for him to find a comeback as all he does is squeeze you tighter. “Won’t do it again, hen.”

You finally pull back to take a look at him. His usually bright eyes have dulled and his facial hair is shaved unevenly. And, like you originally thought, his mohawk is gone, replaced with a terrible buzzcut. You run your hands around his smooth head and hate the feel of it. “‘M sorry, Johnny. It’ll grow back.” He gives you a watery smile, hands finally relaxing their grip on you. He blinks back the remaining tears and you can see his soldier persona take over as his back straightens. You take one more moment to kiss his cheek, then pull back out of his grip. Over his shoulder, you spot Simon being handed a medical mask by Kyle. Once he puts it on, you approach him gratefully.

“Simon.” He scoops you up in a hug. “Bird.” You smile against his mask. “Thank you for keeping him safe.” He nods against you, releasing you from his grip. “Think he kept me alive, t’ be honest.” You grin and give him the same cheek kiss you gave Johnny.

Someone clears their throat behind you. You turn and let out a shout of relief. It’s Kyle. “You’re alive!” It’s another brotherly hug you dole out, squeezing him tightly. “Couldn’t leave ya alone, angel.” You giggle. “I’m glad you’re alive. I met some very lovely nurses while you were gone who had very interesting thoughts on you.” You can hear him audibly gulp for effect, a smirk written on his face when you pull out of his grip. “We’ve got things to discuss, then.” He winks and you wink back.

There’s a pair of eyes that have been staring at you for a while now. John’s the last out of the helicopter, conferring with the soldiers around him before saying his hellos. A doctor is checking out Johnny and Simon, Kyle talking to them in murmured tones. John walks toward you quietly, stopping silently. The words of the last conversation you had float between you, bitter from weeks of overthinking.

When John opens his arms for a hug, your senses go haywire. The noises of the task force, of your brother, fade to the background as John gathers you into his arms. He smells like gunpowder and blood, that familiar scent of pine and musk nowhere to be found. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for what I said.” You murmur it into the crook of his neck. John stiffens slightly, knowing you’re referring to your last conversation. Where you told him you couldn’t be together. 

“‘M sorry f’r not communicatin’.” You shake your head against him like you won’t accept his apology. His hand traces the path of your spine and digs into the nape of your neck, gripping the base of your hair like a leash. “What’re you sayin’, sweetheart?” The hug has gone on far too long for this to be normal, for you to be having this conversation wrapped in each other. You pull back slightly to see his face, arms still wrapped around him. “I can’t not be with you, John. We’ll figure everything else out.” He pulls you in for a kiss, a short and sweet one that wraps around you like a warm blanket. The moment is perfect.

Well, it is perfect, until you remember your brother standing a few meters away. Johnny, recent captive and loyal twin, is red in the face watching his sister kiss his captain. You turn your head to see Simon put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, an attempt to calm him that does not work. Johnny’s charging the two of you like an angry bull, huffing and mad. He reaches you in quick steps, hands balled in fists at his side.

“Didnae ken who ta yell at first.” His eyes drop to John’s hand in your hair and his nostrils flare. John’s hands drop, pushing you around him and away from your brother. “Guess it’s you, Cap.” And that’s when Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, known spitfire, punches his captain.

- 50 points to anyone who can find the taylor swift lyric. hint it’s from Red and it’s an underrated song imo.

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[vampirzina]

Hello! May I pretty please request mk1 characters with a reader who is really tired and it's having some complications on her like having a harder time breathing or being dead tired?

tw: gn pronouns, sfw, mdni, alphabetical order, short hcs, illness and sleep disorders, injury

notes: anon! i hope you and anyone who feels like this get well if this has anything to do with what’s going on offscreen. i also didn’t know if you wanted specific characters or not so i did the entire roster. also apologize if it’s a little ooc. take care x

masterlist : divider credit

Ashrah paused her path to redemption to check on you. She’d ask you when you first shown signs if you were okay, but when you brushed her off she had no choice but to leave it be. She’d simply help you when you’d fell sick, until she knew you’d be okay. She wouldn’t further herself until she knew you’d come with her.

Baraka already worried constantly about giving you his disease if you weren’t already infected. So to him, your health was the utmost importance and seeing you well was a sign that he didn’t harm you. When it was reported that you’d fallen ill from the lack of sleep, he would help you as often as possible but take his frustration out on some of the colony for not looking after you when he can’t. He’d even ask Mileena if there is anything she could do to help you, or advice, but he’d rely mostly on what he knew.

Bi Han would have noticed something was up when you didn’t sleep when it came time to. He might not care too much at first when he sees you’re still functioning but that changes entirely when one of his subordinates told him that you were rushed to the infirmary because you felt like you were suffocating. He will know what’s wrong with you whether you tell him or not, and until you rest, you’ll be bedridden. If he can’t bring you things you ask for himself, he’ll get others (or his brothers) to do it for you… Except for cuddles/intimacy.

General Shao begins to worry on the inside when you start to get sick, but he keeps he’s tough exterior. He’ll investigate your current habits if he hasn’t already, and go to the best doctors in all of Outworld for help. When he gets to the bottom of it, don’t try to deny it—he notes your dark under eye. He knows what it’s like to be sick and it is not fun at all. He scolds you for not taking care of yourself, even a little offended that you’d do such a thing while with him. However, he relies on the doctors who he sends on order to report to him. You don’t get to leave until he thinks you’re okay, regardless of what the doctors say.

Geras doesn’t need sleep, but that doesn’t mean he is unaware of the importance of it. When you stay up with him to bond over the hourglass and timelines, it’s fun… At first. But when you keep doing it day after day and night after night, he hints at your depleted energy as of late. You may brush it off, but he looks into what this could mean for you. Ideally, he stops it one way or another before it could get worse.

Havik thinks it a major nuisance, and it mostly wouldn’t stop him in his endeavors. He doesn’t care for how you look. When you begin to have physical complications from your exhaustion, he lets it only so far thinking you’ve got it before he himself stops it. While he bounds you to the bed until you sleep, he’s out doing what he normally does best. He comes straight back to you, though, but don’t mention it at all to him. He doesn’t want something so tame like that exposed.

Johnny Cage would innocently comment on how you look the moment it started to show. It would start an argument from how agitated you’ve been lately, sure, but he says it’s out of concern (and love) for you. He gives you just about anything that could help you sleep. If you get ill from not being able to, he makes you see a doctor. Either that, or he “has some ideas that could tire you out”. You roll tired eyes, whatever that means.

Kenshi would also note your sullen look if he sees it [through sento], but much more cordially and obviously a lot more genuinely concerned. He doesn’t mind if he should stay home and cuddle to sleep at all, and it makes him a little sad when you turn him down. When you eventually get sick from your habits, he argues with you briefly as soon as you’re sentient again, but becomes your ultimate schedule reminder. You scared him half to death.

Kitana pulled you aside, even going as far as to get you excused you from your duties for a moment so that you could get some rest. When you fall ill from it she wants updates on your health even if you’re stagnant. She offers you certain herbal remedies to encourage sleep, and gets you a spa day so that you could look a little bit better than what you did before (and hopefully encourage you to sleep). News of your troubles don’t leave where you stay, and she’s discreet about it so you do not get embarrassed amongst your peers. Rumors are dispelled with the quickness.

Kuai Liang worries about you first, gets information second, and then makes a solution last. He listens to you talk about your problems sleeping when you eventually fall ill from the lack. He feels somewhat guilty for not checking on you as you are in his arms every night, but he feels that brainstorming with you and those who are experienced in health a plan that would help you recover is the best apology even though you remind him it’s not his fault. You’ll be required to rest, and he’ll make sure you do before he ever gets any sleep at all.

Kung Lao notices first and foremost when you start to deny rigorous activity with him. It’s only then does he realize how exhausted you look, and for once he gets serious and somewhat selfless. He fights off any of the ill feelings with medicine, all while getting you to do things not too strenuous on your body so that it gets you tired enough to sleep (even if it was just for a minute). He spends as much time needed until it goes away entirely, because he’s relentless like that and not the type to give up or leave you to it. And sometimes, when he’s trying to get you to sleep, he accidentally makes himself fall asleep.

Liu Kang already knows before it gets too late to find out, so it’s no use hiding it from him. He personally clears your schedule somehow, and if you want to work, you can’t. He’s upset with you because of how he found out you haven’t been sleeping, not because you haven’t been sleeping. He makes you prove that you are able-bodied enough to start moving around again when you insist that you can; he begins to check for you at night, having fixed a sleep schedule for you to follow. He complies if you need help sleeping again, and only leaves to return to the hourglass once you’re fast asleep.

Li Mei is the utmost level about it. After you get sick by it, she’s perfectly rehearsed and practiced, but doesn’t enjoy when others franticness starts to impede on her moves. Eventually, your comfort lie solely in her and her quarters instead of some royal infirmary or hospital. She accommodates for you, and covers for you if there are others checking for you elsewhere. She knows a thing or two about exhaustion, so she makes great efforts to help you sleep regularly from now on.

Mileena hardly leaves your side. When you collapse from your breathlessness, Princess!Mileena forgets that she’s not yet Empress. The stress does eventually get to her and it hikes up her symptoms of Tarkat, so once she bounces back from it, she immediately asks about you. She may pull away to engage in her royal duties, but she gets them done quickly and comes back to you as both Empress and Princess. She even bathes in some sort of relaxing herb so that when you both cuddle, you’ll be more prone to falling asleep.

Nitara scours her people’s remedies for a cure. It took her some time, but it doesn’t matter—it doesn’t really work anyway. You’re still tired and ill. As she searches for remedies she brings up the topic of being immortal; she doesn’t press if you deny. She asks a few of her more trusted coven members to look over you when she’s away, and she’s there in an instant when you so much so think of her.

Quan Chi is disappointed, but he helps anyway. He deals more in death and whatnot, but he knows a thing or two about the health of self. He does what he knows best, and if need be, he does great research before making a move. Whenever he feels annoyed from your stubbornness to sleep, that’s when he scolds you for being so reckless. But he wouldn’t let you go unattended.

Raiden chastises you all the way to the infirmary. You’d collapse mid-conversation, unable to breathe and now his hearts racing. When you end up okay, he wants to know what’s going on immediately. He tries not to be so upset with you, but he does everything in his power to help you. Herbal teas, medicine, gentle work over a span of hours—everything. He keeps using what he sees works best. He’s your alarm now and he forces you to sleep when he does; if he could stare at you until you fell asleep he would, but that’s counterproductive.

Rain gently taps you on the head with his staff when you look out of it. He gets annoyed when he’d have to keep doing it, and eventually confronts you. He gives you solid advice if he can’t do it himself, and he checks up on you very often. He feels a sense of shame and guilt from not being more concerned with you and more with his work, and for mindlessly hitting you in the head when you obviously weren’t feeling well. He’s unsure of how to make it up to you, but he’ll get it eventually if you don’t tell him.

Reiko acts as your personal guard already, and it’s only worsened when you can hardly function. One by one does he get some of his more insignificant duties off of him so that he has more time with you. If General Shao knows, he may offer some sort of help. Reiko sometimes makes himself late to duty so that he can take care of you, until he’s sure you’ll be fine on your own for an entire day. He sometimes comes back to you in the middle of duty, when things are boring and he can sneak away, and he helps you get as much sleep as possible from then on.

Shang Tsung makes a snide remark before casting some sort of spell on you to sleep. Before, he’d just made some sort of joke about how tired you look and smothers you with slightly sardonic pet names, but the total 180 when you couldn’t breathe could kill someone. It’s the most emotion he’s shown other than his usual in so so long, and once you’ve come to your senses he practically threatens you to get better. He’d help here and there, but your recovery is reduced to a side hustle over time.

Sindel first noticed when you became lackluster in your work. She confronted you firmly, and only backed off when you assured her that you could continue working. When she caught wind you had ended up in the medics hands, she focused on fixing you first before confronting you on your lie. She’d be hurt, at first, and she temporarily relieves you from your work. You’ll have your own private quarters if you haven’t already, and more luxury that she thinks will help you feel better. Even if you apologize, she’s already made up a reason why you did it and accepts that. However, you’re required to see her now.

Syzoth genuinely starts to act beside himself even at the first sign of complication. He searches all the land for remedies for your kind, and comes back to you to help heal you whether or not he’s successful. Outside of remedies he initiates naps, cuddles and everything nice that would get you to sleep. Deep purrs from his chest as a lullaby. He’s constantly monitoring you when you’re up and active, clinging to your side. When he thinks that you’ve been out for too long, he insists to go back to sleep some more.

Tanya covers for you before you even know. Your lack of sleep makes you overlook things, and she’s been trailing behind you and fixing your mishaps. She’s meant to confront you, and when you collapse before her unable to breathe it’s as if she already knows what to do. When you’re lying in her bed recovering from the incident, she tells you what she’s going to do—it’s not an open ended choice.

Tomas Vrbada is far too observant. He may be busy with Hanzo, but that doesn’t mean he can’t check for you. He pesters you as you get tireder and tireder each day, and eventually catches you up and not sleeping. It sprouts the conversation of your sleeping habits and he’s overall sympathetic to your guilt. He doesn’t let it get to the point of you being sick; and if for some reason it does, he’s already right there to help you (even if his heart is going a million miles an hour). He begins to stop working later so that you eat, sleep and do routines on time.

@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨

info

[ebodebo]

okay I mainly want to know about er doctor!simon, the red means I love you and salt in the wound😝😝

hii so for er doc!simon, essentially, i just need him stressed out, hands combing through his greying hair, while he makes his way to the er to see you and all the nurses & techs whisper about how they hope they’re on his rotation BAD. i have no further dialogue to give you a peak, but TRUST it’s coming<33

the red means i love you is what i have planned for a third installation of stalker!simon. i don't have too much because i, of course, still need to do the second part…but this concept was really interesting to me.

salt to the wound is the fic i’ve been putting most of my efforts into. it’s some good old no-comfort angst i’ve been working on for a couple of weeks. it’s taking way longer than intended because i want to convey so much emotion and have it be in-depth. i don't want to give away too much, so here’s just a smidge of dialogue!

"Johnny's dead."

The only words that flowed through the phone line.

The very words you had selfishly cursed for the past year and a half.

The words that had single-handedly eroded everything you had built with your Simon.

Because that day, on every level except physical, the Simon you knew had died with Johnny.

His mind merged with the very soil Johnny lay in, leaving his physical body on the surface while his soul wandered beyond your grasp.

So out of touch, so disconnected from reality.

Simon had become a shell of a human.

He wasn't living, merely surviving—going through the motions.

It was devasting to watch the man for whom you gave your heart to slowly disengage right before your eyes.

Bit by bit, piece by piece.

Until there was no more man left to see.

Just mere flesh and bones.

It was such unfamiliar territory since Simon relied on you as he relied on oxygen to breathe.

You were his sustenance, his reservoir.

An eternal flame that burned with an unyielding passion.

Now it seems he couldn't get far enough away from you.

[lemonwrap]

Imagine: werewolf Ghost turning Soap to save his life.

The mission to find Makarov goes to shit. Ghost isn’t there in time to prevent Soap from being shot. He is there in time to see Makarov fire a bullet straight through Soap’s skull, to see his beloved sergeant crumple to the ground like a sack of bricks.

He’s over to Soap’s side in a flash, clutching him close and calling his name frantically as the blood pours out. Soap is quickly dying, and there’s nothing he can do.

No, there’s one thing.

He shifts faster than he ever has in his life, in less than thirty seconds. A werewolf’s bite does nothing unless they’re in their wolf form. His clothes and gear are torn to shreds, and he pays no mind to Gaz and Price nearby as he grabs Soap’s arm, and, in a fit of desperation, sinks his teeth in.

It was the one thing he vowed he would never do. He would never turn a human. But he can’t let Soap go, he can’t just not do the one thing that could save his life. With a werewolf’s superior healing, Soap might have a chance.

Soap doesn’t die, but it’s a damn near thing. They take him to a nearby hospital, get him admitted and under the care of multiple doctors.

That was three days ago. It’s common knowledge that a human bitten by a shifted werewolf would turn within three days, and Ghost hopes that Soap is still unconscious when it happens, because the first time is a terrifying, painful process. He had been turned by Roba in his twenties. All day, he watches Soap carefully, but the man shows no signs of waking up from his medically induced coma.

Soap doesn’t wake up for another two weeks. When he does, he’s confused and utterly disoriented, and doesn’t recognize Ghost or the rest of the 141. Ghost pretends it doesn’t hurt. Even so, Ghost tells him that he had bitten Soap to save him, and Soap understands, is grateful even, thanking Ghost.

Despite his initial condition, Soap’s healing is remarkable. After a week, he recognizes his comrades again, and seems to be relieved of some of the confusion he had experienced. The wound near his temple begins to close up.

Ghost spends most of his days in Soap’s room. That room is where Soap and Ghost share their first kiss, Soap’s shaking hands grasping at Ghost’s jacket as their lips meet, Ghost whispering a soft Johnny against his lips.

Soap healed extraordinarily well, but even the healing powers of a werewolf can’t fully diminish the off and on numbness in his limbs, tremors, mood swings, and brain fog.

They medically discharge him.

Soap goes home to Scotland, and Ghost follows. For a week, they settle in, but Soap shows no signs of transforming, despite his apparent possession of a werewolf’s regenerative abilities.

It’s a good day when Soap shifts for the first time. He’s bright and happy, like the sergeant Ghost knew before, and his confusion is almost entirely gone. His tremors lessen, and Soap hasn’t complained of the numbness that sometimes annoyed him.

What he does complain about is the sudden onset of a full-body ache, as if his bones themselves are throbbing. He becomes suddenly irritable, clawing at his skin and hair and pacing, snapping at Ghost and groaning in pain.

These are signs he knows. Soap’s going to transform, and he’s going to transform quick now that it’s set in.

“Ghost, w-what do I do?!” Soap stammers, looking like he’s trying not to panic, his eyes wide and filled with fear. He’s never seen Soap panic before.

“Just relax, Johnny,” Ghost says soothingly, because he knows there’s nothing he can do other than support him. Nothing can stop lycanthropy except death. “It’ll be alright.”

“It hurts!” Soap cries out sharply, and then his cry becomes a choked sound not unlike a growl. He drops to his knees and hunches over, putting his hands on his head and gripping his hair between his fingers.

And then he starts to shift.

His mouth elongates into a snarling muzzle, baring sharp white canines, his ears lengthen and migrate to the top of his head, and the hair he’s holding between his fingers turns into fur. Soap sobs and says something that sounds like Ghost’s name, but then his vocal chords change, too, and it turns into a throaty bark. His spine and bones lengthen and grow denser, his fingernails morph into sharp claws, and a tail grows out of his spine as patches of fur grow over his skin.

It’s a few harrowing moments filled with Soap’s agonized cries and whines that make up Soap’s first shift. Ghost knows the feeling, and his stomach knots with sympathy. His own first shift had been one of the most painful things he had ever experienced.

Now fully shifted, Soap is huge, easily eight feet tall when standing upright, with a brown pelt just like his hair, a stripe along his back, long limbs, sharp claws, and a fluffy tail. His wild blue eyes, alight with fear, fixate on Ghost. Ghost tenses, nearly expecting Soap to try to attack him. He knows Soap could rip him apart before he’d have the chance to shift and fight back. That’s what he did to Roba, after all.

Soap does no such thing.

Instead, Soap lets out a whimper and curls in on himself, his tail going between his legs and his claws digging scratches into the floor. He doesn’t look like an eight foot tall killing machine, he looks like a kicked puppy.

“Johnny?” Ghost says quietly.

Soap’s blue eyes glance over to him, and he lets out another pleading whimper. His eyes hold a look of betrayal, of sorrow, of why me? His jaws open and something strangled comes out, like Soap’s trying to speak, but Ghost knows that they can’t, not in this form.

“Oh, Johnny,” he murmurs, and cautiously steps forward. He knows it’s dangerous to get in another werewolf’s space like this, but it’s Soap. When it comes to Soap, all rational thoughts fly out the window.

He reaches forward and gently touches Soap’s arm. Soap stiffens, and Ghost thinks he’s fucked up big time until Soap stumbles onto his hind legs, nuzzles into the crook of Ghost’s neck, and wraps his arms around Ghost. His claws catch on Ghost’s clothing and dig in as he grips Ghost tightly, and Ghost is momentarily stunned. He had acted in no such manner the first time he had shifted.

“See, Johnny? I told you it’d be alright,” Ghost says softly when he gets over his brief moment of surprise.

Soap stays shifted for the rest of the day, and shifts back as soon as his body is able.

It’s from there that Ghost teaches Soap how to handle his werewolf form. He transforms with Soap often, and they travel through the fields near Soap’s cabin, wrestle, play, and bond.

Ghost has never felt as understood or happy in his entire life. It’s a good life, what they’ve made for themselves.

[aennasan]

Hybrid Sanctuary AU where avian crow hybrid Johnny is so enamored by you that in your eyes he is more like a puppy than a bird. When he was rescued, his kind was already deemed extinct, until you were brought in and rescued from a mansion which collects exotic hybrids.

At first, he was so surprised by your presence that he did nothing the whole day but stare at you. It was your fault because you got lost and it was too late before you realized your mistake. You went inside his nest, your awareness has been dulled after years of being chained down. You were so scared that all you could do was crouch down as he tower in front of you, waiting for him to kill you for ruining his nest.

But nothing happened.

When the rescuers can't find you, they started frantically looking for you, and almost fainted when they saw you inside Johnny's nest. Alone, scared, and shaking in fear.

They were able to save you from him and they brought you back peacefully in your place. Later you found out that Johnny was known to be unpredictable and deadly. That's why he was in solitary for years now. No one could explain how come you got lost in a cage that was supposed to be inaccessible by another avian without permission.

Although whatever happened has been scary to everyone, especially to the doctors who have been taking care of you, they somehow deemed that maybe being around you would make Johnny less intimidating. And so your cages were moved side by side with each other, with only the glass wall separating you.

You were fully convinced it was a bad idea. You were wary of him and the thing he may do. Until you were always woken up each morning with him tapping on the glass, leaving behind gifts, placed at the side of the glass wall where you can see it first thing in the morning. He would even bring you his meals. Gets frustrated when he realized that the rescuers will not allow him in your space. But ended up with a solution anyway as he decided to eat up his meals at the same time as you eat yours. Making sure that you are looking at him before he munches and tells you it tastes good. He would even try to talk to you but all you did was stare at him, still wary about being in the presence of a male.

The behaviour that started as odd to you, has become a habit. You are not as scared of him as before but still there is fear. You started to learn to be comfortable around him but maybe it was just a calm before a storm.

The alarm blared as it signals the emergency. Metal bars started replacing the friendly glass walls and all you can do is walk away from them, as you look around, shaking, and trying to understand what's going on. The intercom keeps repeating the same thing, "Abandon the facility now!" and your brain who wasn't taught enough words may not understand what was being said, still felt danger, and in panic, you ran away.

You don't know where you at. You don't know what happened. You didn't see any hybrids running away except you. So you were alone as you made a temporary shelter at a cave, behind a waterfall. You were so tired that the moment your head was placed in something comfortable, you slept, the water sound was soothing and you finally were able to get a shut eye.

It was the feeling of warmth that woke you. A hand draped on your waist, tightening when you whined about the feeling of being too hot. Your mind was still drowsy from sleep, but all your senses snapped open when a familiar thick voice warned you to stop grinding your ass on his cock.

You try to push him away, claw at his arms, almost gauge his eyes out but he only pouts and whimpers at your efforts to remove his hold on you.

You don't understand and cannot comprehend how Johnny found you and even slept beside you without you noticing. It was as if he followed you. Then something clicks and you froze when the realization hits you.

How did you run away in the first place without the facility finding where you are? Also, this whole thing is familiar. It was as if the reenactment of how you got lost in his nest when there is no way you could be lost there.

[rememberwren]

Dichotomy of Thought || 11

Past and further chapters here.

Simon and Johnny make up.

|| Chapter warnings: Anal fingering, anal sex, baby-trapping, medication tampering, medication control.

-

Your boyfriend manages your medications, a one-man pharmacy. 

Every morning the pills are waiting for you on the table in the foyer beside where you deposit your keys in the evening. There are two of them. 

The first is oblong, tan. Your boyfriend hoards and hides the bottle, but you’d fished the information pamphlet that came from the pharmacy out of the trash, and you know everything there is to know about it from that page jam-packed with text. Sertraline, 50mg. Otherwise known as Zoloft. Just swallowing the tasteless pill makes you remember the even darker days than the ones you’re living now, the ones that had led you to that waiting room with your boyfriend in the seat beside you waiting for a doctor to see you. How do I know if I’m depressed, you had asked the doctor, bold as anything even with your boyfriend’s hand on your knee, or if my life just isn’t worth living? 

You’d learned. By God, you’d learned. 

The other pill is your birth control. Round, sometimes blue, sometimes white, depending on where you are in your cycle. Today it is white and—

It looks—different. 

He wouldn’t, you think to yourself, thumb nudging at the pill in your palm, like seeing it from a different angle might jog your memory of it. He wouldn’t do that. A kid is the last thing he wants. He wouldn’t sacrifice his own freedom just to keep you trapped underneath his thumb. 

Except—wouldn’t he? 

“Hurry it up,” he says, yawning, like you kept him up late last night. “I want to go back to bed.” 

You try to take a picture of the pill in your mind before you drop it onto your tongue, taking a swig from your water tumbler, but your brain feels so scrambled that you forget it right away. You can’t even remember the color—had it truly been white, or had it been the pale sky blue of  robin’s egg?

It goes down like a lump of chalk. He makes you show him your empty mouth before he’s satisfied that you aren’t cheeking the pills, and then he kisses you and tells you to have a good day at work, honey. 

-

“Rooster wants you in his office,” Jackie says under her breath, helping you hurriedly clear one of your tables. You’re slow with the splint on your smallest finger, the throb of pain lancing all the way up your wrist each time you use the damaged hand. Jackie has been an angel in khakis picking up your slack. 

You wish that you had one of the pills that they’d given you in the emergency department. It hadn’t taken away all of the pain, but it’d made your head feel light and floaty and like you could care less if all your fingers were broken. Or maybe you wanted one of Johnny’s pills—the ones that put him in a peaceful sleep. You haven’t had such a thing in so long that you can’t remember when, even your moments of relaxation tainted until ‘rest’ is just waiting for the next act of violence. 

“What does he want?” you ask. 

“Probably to tell you about the raise,” she says. She rolls her eyes and twirls a fingers, mouth set in a grim smile of comradery. “Fifty cents. Writing home about it as we speak. Or maybe he wants to grill you about who keeps stealing from the registers—like we all don’t know it’s Ruth.” 

Fifty cents. You can’t even turn up your nose at it. Every penny is one that brings you closer to that apartment across town. With a promise that you’ll return as quickly as you can, you step off the floor (avoiding making eye contact with any customers who would happily sideway you for refills or to complain) and into the back of the house. It’s quiet back here, cooler. Rapping your knuckles against Rooster’s door, you wait. 

There’s no response, and no sign of him in the hallway. Some of the line cooks are coming in, filtering toward the break room to start their shift. You feel their eyes on you as you stand impotently outside the door. One of them says something to the other, and there is laughter, too loud and boisterous for the enclosed space. Your heart has begun to pound, sweat breaking out at the nape of your neck. 

“Hey,” one of them says to you. 

“Hi,” you mutter, forcing a smile, unable to make eye contact. 

Still there is no sign of Rooster from either end of the hallway—never would you have considered the short man your savior. Heart racing, you crack the door open and see that the office is empty. You slip inside, shutting the door safely behind you. 

The room is as self-important as you might imagine: a desk that seems too large for the space, filing cabinets in the corner. There’s a corkboard pockmarked with holes after years of use, and you drift over to it, too anxious to take a seat in the chair on the other side of Rooster’s desk. A calendar is posted there, Rooster’s neat handwriting here and there. 

Something catches your eye: LOCKER CLEANOUT marked for two weeks from now. 

It seemed like the last locker cleanout had just happened. You had only collected five hundred dollars back then, but it was far too much to want to explain to Rooster, and you had nowhere else to stash it that was safe. In the end, it had sat in an envelope under the driver’s seat of your car while Rooster took the week and went through each of the lockers to ensure compliance with the restaurant’s rules (all because someone used to have a penchant for leaving snack cakes in their locker leading to a bad case of ants that almost led to the restaurant being shut down). It had been the longest week of your life, like driving around with a live bomb underneath the front seat. 

Now you have nearly two thousand dollars. Where the hell were you going to put it? 

The door opens. Rooster looks at you suspiciously, eyes flickering between you and the calendar. 

“Next time, wait outside,” he says, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. It makes your skin crawl to be alone with him, even if he’s never done anything slimier than asking you to pull a double shift. You know the darkness that lies inside men. All men. 

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, taking his seat in a squeaky rolling chair behind the desk. His smile is a dismal, strained thing, like interacting with you is just as painful for him as it is for you. “Next time, just wait.”  

-

Johnny and Simon spend the day in bed. 

Johnny’s knee is propped up on a pillow, red and swollen. Simon lets his fingers hover over it, gentle, feeling the warmth of Johnny’s skin. Johnny winces, like even the brush of air against his knee hurts. 

“It looks infected,” says Simon. 

“It’s not.” It can’t be. Johnny can’t handle that—can’t handle the idea of having to go through the surgery on his knee again, the recovery, the way recovery is just synonymous with pain. No, it isn’t infected. “Just looks like that because he hit it.” 

Simon leans down and brushes his mouth against Johnny’s thigh. It’s meant to be sweet but—well. It’s the closest his mouth has been to Johnny’s cock in more than six months, and just the sight of it has Johnny’s heart skipping a beat and picking up again in double-time, his face growing flush. Not privy to Johnny’s thoughts, all Simon does is press a chaste kiss to the skin a few inches above where Johnny’s swelling starts—nevermind what else might be swelling now, too. 

The two of them lay entwined together, Simon curling up around him. He plants a hand on Johnny’s clothed chest, right over his heart, like he’s trying to remind himself that Johnny’s here. That Johnny’s alive. The look in his eyes is far away, mouth drawn down into a tight frown. All at once, Johnny’s downright sick of it—sick of them not having anything to smile about. Sick of fighting. 

Johnny takes Simon’s hand, laces their fingers, and guides it down. Down over his slim, firm belly, watching from the corner of his eye as Simon’s brows climb up his forehead. Down until their hands cup his half-hard cock. Simon’s hand shifts straight away, fingers curling around the solid length, thumb stroking up the side, the gentle rasp of his calloused fingerpad loud against the cotton of Johnny’s boxers. 

“You’re hurt,” Simon reminds him. 

“Don’t care.” 

“I do.” 

“We don’t have to fuck. I just—” he doesn’t know how to explain, how badly he needs to feel something good. How badly he needs to know that his connection with Simon isn’t ruined. How badly he needs to see that they’re still lovers, that Simon isn’t just his live-in caretaker. How badly Johnny needs to feel like a human being—like a grown man. He finishes, a little lamely: “I just need it.” 

Simon’s grip goes firm. Johnny’s eyes shut, mouth falling open at the sensation. He hasn’t even touched himself like this in weeks, and while he hadn’t necessarily been keeping track, his cock clearly has been. Simon seems content to go on like this, mapping the shape of Johnny’s cock through his boxers, thumbing over the head until a wet sticky spot appears in the cotton fabric, his hand sometimes drifting down to cradle the warm heft of Johnny’s balls. 

Johnny, usually impatient, contents himself with this torture. Let Simon tease him all day, if he’d like, until Johnny is liable to go off at the whisper of a touch. The thought has his cock jerking toward the warmth of Simon’s palm, and Johnny groans when his grip tightens. 

“Fucking pretty, aren’t you?” Simon mutters, his eyes on Johnny’s face.

Johnny snorts. He tosses his arm over his eyes, but beneath his arm, he’s grinning. “Shuddup.” 

Simon clicks his tongue. “Be good, Johnny. Let me look at you.” 

Johnny moves his arm and gives his grin room to breathe. His head feels light and airy as Simon sits up and helps him work his boxers down his thighs just far enough to draw his cock out. The first touch of skin on skin has him hissing a breath in through his teeth. Fuck, it’s good. Just as good as it always was—maybe even better, because he needs it so bad. 

“Want you inside me,” Johnny says on a whim, feeling the truth of it in his chest. He doesn’t just want it—he needs it. 

Simon leans down and kisses him, just a little too hard to be mistaken as anything but desperate. How long has it been for him, Johnny wonders. He spends every waking moment with Johnny except his perfunctory showers. Does he indulge then, between soaping and rinsing off, holding his breath to hide his sounds while he strips his cock with one slick hand? 

It takes some maneuvering to get Johnny on his side, knee nicely cushioned. He can’t reach back and touch Simon, can’t grip his hip and pull him in closer, and it’s just another reason to miss his arm. Because there are a hundred thousand touches Simon deserves that Johnny can’t give him anymore. 

They’re lucky for the shelf life of the lube. It warms Simon’s fingers as he works them past Johnny’s rim. He takes his time, hands shaking where they touch him. 

“Need it bad, huh?” Johnny wonders. 

Simon snorts but doesn’t deny it. Just curls his fingers searching for that tender spot inside Johnny’s ass that makes him grit his teeth. His cock drools onto the bedspread, red and throbbing with his heartbeat. By the time Simon slips inside him, chest to Johnny’s back, Johnny feels liable to go off at a moment’s notice. 

For all the time they haven’t fucked, Simon remembers everything: the way to touch Johnny,wrapping a strong arm around his chest to make up for the one Johnny lacks, fingers playing with the whorls of Johnny’s chest hair or teasing one of his nipples; the way to angle his hips to nail Johnny’s prostate. 

“Quit,” Johnny groans, shifting until the stimulation isn’t so good, so dead-on. His cock aches, balls heavy and tight. “I don’t want to cum yet. Don’t want this to be over.” 

“Can’t miss Johnny; dick’s too big.” 

Johnny guffaws. The sound nearly startles him—when was the last time he fucking laughed? With you in the park—but he doesn’t need to be thinking about you now, not you with your small, soft hands and the curve of your mouth…

“Fuck—touch my cock, please touch my cock—“ Johnny whines, body trembling. He’s right there, right fucking there, too close to go back now, fuck it all, he wants to cum. Simon’s strong fingers curl around his cock and strip it firmly, and the pleasure inside him bubbles up and over, left too long to simmer. He nearly headbutts Simon in the face, his body shaking and jerking and cum splatters against his belly and the bedspread and down over Simon’s fingers. 

“Just like that—so good, Johnny,” Simon murmurs. His pale hand grips at Johnny’s sharp hipbone, cum smearing against Johnny’s skin. “My turn.” 

Afterwards, Simon gently helps him undress and goes to get them both fresh clothes. Johnny’s knee throbs freshly just from his muscles tensing, but he barely feels it. For the first time since his accident, he thinks that maybe things will be okay. He has no arm—but so what? There are many with a lot less. He’s John fucking MacTavish. He can do this.

Simon has gone still at their closet, holding something in his hands. Johnny leans up on his elbows. 

“What is it?” he asks. “Did you find my lighter?”

Simon holds up with no preamble a skull-embossed balaclava. It’s worn, the fabric gone gray at its most threadbare spots, but the image imprinted on the front hasn’t faded.

“Blast from the past,” Johnny says, throat uncomfortably tight with an emotion he can’t name. “Thought you threw those out.” 

“Thought so too.” He doesn’t look eager to throw this one out though, his fingers tracing over the teeth, like he’s tracing the lipless mouth of a lover. 

“You miss it,” Johnny says, the glow of their sex fading rapidly. Of course Simon misses it. The military had been his entire life—until Johnny’s accident. Until Simon had discharged with him, to take care of him. Johnny hadn’t just blown apart his own life by going down in the helo in Kazakhstan, he had blown apart Simon’s life too. 

“No,” Simon says simply. “It’s not that.” 

Johnny frowns. “What is it, then?” 

“The night of the poker party—I was Ghost again. It was the only way I could…compartmentalize. Stomach it. I’d forgotten.” 

“Forgotten?”

Simon glances toward him. “Forgotten how useful Ghost could be.” Reaching up, Simon slips the balaclava over his head, adjusting it on instinct until it rests just right against the bridge of his nose. His hair is getting long, little blond strands visible, curling at the ends. 

“Now I want to fuck you again,” says Johnny, just to fill the air between them, and because sex used to be such an easy way to fill it. 

Simon doesn’t smile. 

“Johnny.”

“I was just teasin’—“

“Not that,” Simon says. Even his manner of speaking seems different, words clipped, tone short and no-nonsense. “What if I wanted to go visit our neighbor?”

The question lingers in the silence between them. Johnny swallows, the sound of his throat an audible click in the tense air. 

“You,” Johnny wonders, when he can speak again, “or Ghost?” 

Beneath the balaclava, Ghost smiles.