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archivequinn · 7 days ago

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Heat Signature | Johnny Storm

Summary: You are a brilliant young scientist, recently recruited to collaborate with the Fantastic Four on your most ambitious project yet. The mission? Present your prototype to the world, secure funding, and finally prove your ideas right. Everything was supposed to go smoothly. But nothing is ever easy when Johnny Storm is involved.

As he offers his surprisingly insightful support and insists on becoming your personal assistant (because of course he does), you're pulled into an unexpected partnership filled with banter, brainpower, and barely contained sparks. Things get even more complicated when a hotel mishap forces you to share a room, and long nights working together start to blur the lines between professional and... something else entirely.You’re supposed to be focused on the mission—but how do you stay scientific when your assistant has cheekbones that should be illegal and a smile that feels like setting the world on fire?

Words: 5,760

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part 1

You are a scientist. Not just any scientist.

You’re the kind that rewrites blueprints in your sleep and questions the laws of physics for fun—like they’re puzzles left behind by an ancient god daring you to dream bigger. You breathe data, eat uncertainty for breakfast, and wear your curiosity like armor in a world that often underestimates ambition wrapped in a white lab coat. You're driven, tenacious, and just the right amount of arrogant to survive in a building where the average IQ could short-circuit a satellite.

From the moment you stepped foot into the Baxter Building—a towering monument to innovation and impossible dreams—your life has been a whirlwind of experiments, hypotheses, and groundbreaking discoveries. You remember the way the elevator hummed beneath your feet that first day, how your fingers twitched with anticipation, notebook clutched to your chest like a secret waiting to change the world.

Working with Reed Richards himself—yes, Mister Fantastic, the human rubber band with a brain that makes quantum computers look like typewriters—is something that still feels like fiction. Sometimes you catch yourself staring at him mid-sentence, wondering if you accidentally walked into a dream built by sheer intellect and a ridiculous amount of stretch. He’s your mentor now. Endlessly patient, maddeningly curious, and somehow always three steps ahead of a universe that can barely keep up with him. Being in his orbit is like standing in the gravity well of a collapsing star—overwhelming, illuminating, and transformative.

Then there’s Sue Storm. The Invisible Woman. And oh, you could write a thesis on her alone.

She’s brilliance wrapped in calm. Grace under pressure. Arguably the most powerful person in the entire building, and somehow also the most grounded. Her force fields could level a city, sure—but it’s her emotional equilibrium, her quiet authority, and the way she sees people that leaves you breathless. She enters a room and shifts its center of gravity—not by force, but by sheer presence. She listens to your ideas with genuine attention, offers feedback without a trace of condescension, and reminds you, with a soft touch on the shoulder, that even the best minds crack sometimes—and that’s okay. You carry her inspiration with you like a lodestar, stitched between the lines of your every breakthrough.

And of course, there’s Ben Grimm.

The ever-lovable rock wall with a Brooklyn accent and a soul soft as warm bread. He treats you like you’ve been part of the team since the Big Bang, always cracking jokes that are half-groan, half-hug. He brings bagels every Friday morning because, in his words, “science runs on carbs, and you deserve the good stuff.” Sometimes, he’ll hold your tools while you rant about data corruption like a war general, nodding solemnly, adding the occasional “sheesh” for effect. He teases, sure—but there’s respect in his humor. Solid, unshakable. Like you’re one of his own. Like you already passed the test you didn’t know you were taking.

You're one of the youngest researchers to ever be offered a permanent position at Baxter Labs, and let’s be clear—it wasn’t luck. You earned this. Bled for it. Burned through sleepless nights and empty coffee cups and the kind of obsessive perfectionism only a true visionary can afford. Your project—an experimental energy harnessing system designed to convert atmospheric pressure into clean, unlimited power—isn’t just a fancy light show. It’s a revolution waiting to be born. Think: energy towers in the most remote, forgotten corners of the globe. Limitless electricity humming through places that were once cloaked in darkness. No more fossil fuels. No more geopolitical extortion. Just a new world, quietly blooming under the hum of progress.

You know what this means. They know what this means. And for the most part, they support you every step of the way.

Well… almost everyone.

Because then— There’s him.

Johnny Storm. The Human Torch.

Golden boy of the Fantastic Four. The literal hotshot. A walking flame with a jawline sculpted by chaos and a grin so criminally smug it probably has its own SHIELD file. He enters every room like it’s already his, radiating a confidence so infuriatingly casual that it leaves smoke trails in its wake.

He doesn’t technically work in your lab. And yet—somehow, he’s always there.

Perched on counters, stealing your test results to “check your math,” throwing peanuts into your beakers and calling it a “stress test.” Once, he tried to “optimize” your prototype by melting its casing with his finger—purely in the name of curiosity, of course.

“Relax,” he said, watching you panic over days of lost work, “you should thank me. Now you know it can’t handle extreme heat. That’s… like, important data, right?”

You tried not to scream. You really did.

He’s infuriating. A menace in designer sunglasses. The kind of guy who sets off the fire alarm just by entering the room with too much attitude and half a joke tucked behind his teeth.

He calls you things like “Einsteinette” and “Lab Coat Babe,” and once had the audacity to introduce you at a press conference as “the real genius around here—but don’t tell Reed.” You spent the next three days avoiding eye contact with your mentor, convinced you were seconds away from being vaporized by Reed’s disapproval-laced silence.

But here’s the thing: He’s not mean. Not cruel. Not careless in the way that would actually harm.

In fact, there’s something stupidly charming about the way he teases you, like a schoolboy yanking the hair tie of the girl he’s secretly in love with—but doing it with fire-tipped fingers and a smirk that could melt steel. It’s infuriating, honestly. He brings you coffee sometimes—only to immediately steal a sip with the most unapologetic grin you’ve ever seen, as if your caffeine dependency is somehow his business. He fixes your wiring when you're too tired to see straight—then denies it ever happened, like your suddenly functioning equipment just magically repaired itself in the night.

He listens when you talk about your project, even if he leans back dramatically in his chair, yawning and muttering sarcastic comments under his breath. And somehow, he always knows when something's off—like the day your test chamber collapsed and wiped out three months of data and progress in under three seconds. You were seconds away from breaking down.

But he didn’t say much. Just sat beside you on the cold, scuffed lab floor, like it was the most natural thing in the world, handed you a half-melted protein bar, and nudged your shoulder gently until your breath hitched and a reluctant laugh slipped out before you could stop it. No lectures. No false promises. Just presence. Just him.

He’s there. Always somehow... there. Like gravity, like inertia, like a law of nature written into the physics of your days.

And despite how much you pretend to hate it—how you roll your eyes when he bursts in without knocking, or groan when he calls you Einstein in that exaggerated tone—you’ve started to expect him. You’ve started to look for him in the room before you even realize it. You’ve started to look forward to him.

Which is absurd, of course. You’re a serious scientist. A respected one. You don’t have time for distractions—especially not ones with cheekbones like Greek architecture and flames for fingers, ones who walk like they own every room they step into and smile like they know your deepest secrets.

Still, every theory has an exception. And somehow, he’s the one anomaly you can’t solve.

Today is the day you’ve been working toward for what feels like your entire life. The culmination of years of sweat, setbacks, breakthroughs, and breakdowns. The Baxter Building’s main lab has never been this full—scientists from across the globe, advisors from powerful institutions, Reed’s most respected peers, the kind of minds who write the future of science rather than merely follow it.

All seated. All watching. All murmuring in anticipation, their voices a dull thrum beneath the quiet hum of the machines. Cameras hover silently, mechanical eyes blinking red, and the glass panels between you and the audience shimmer faintly—fragile, transparent boundaries separating genius from failure, acclaim from humiliation.

You stand center stage. Your palms are damp. Your heart pounds like it’s trying to escape your ribs. Your pulse roars in your ears like static, like warning—but your voice, miraculously, remains steady as you begin.

“Today I’ll be presenting a working prototype of the Atmospheric Pressure Converter. A system designed to extract clean, renewable energy from weather systems already present in our atmosphere.”

It sounds simple. Polished. Practiced. But you know the weight those words carry. Because behind that sentence are months of grueling research, towers of dog-eared notes, blown circuits, abandoned blueprints, and sleepless nights you stopped counting after week six.

Your hands hover over the console, trembling ever so slightly. You type in the final sequence. Every keystroke feels like a countdown. You glance up once—Sue gives you a firm, encouraging nod, calm and grounded like always. Reed watches closely, already calculating the variables. Ben lifts his chin with a subtle but solid you got this expression.

And far in the back, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, half-shadowed and entirely unfazed, is Johnny Storm. The Human Torch. Your personal fire hazard.

He catches your eye. Raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. Mouths, Go get 'em, Einstein.

You smile. Briefly. Despite everything.

Then press the activation key.

There’s a low hum. A flash of blue light across the console. Something stirs in the core of the machine—you feel it, like the first pulse of a heartbeat. For one perfect second, it looks like it’s working. Like the years of effort have finally, finally paid off.

But then comes the sputter. The flicker. The pop.

Suddenly, the lab fills with smoke. Dense, chemical, stinging your eyes. Alarms whine in high-pitched chorus. Red lights strobe. A gust of cold air pushes through the vents as emergency systems roar to life. The prototype emits one final, sickly whine— —and dies.

Just dies.

You freeze. Fingers clutching the edge of the table. Your eyes sting—not from the smoke, but from something sharp and hot rising in your chest.

You hear someone coughing. Glass scraping. A chair being pushed back too fast. The crowd on the other side of the glass ripples with confusion, then disappointment. Then, worse—amusement. A few people whisper. One of them snorts.

And then comes the silence. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that lands on your shoulders like a lead blanket, thick and heavy and suffocating. The kind that makes your heartbeat sound like thunder in your own head. The kind that feels like failure echoing louder than any explosion ever could.

Your cheeks are burning. Your throat is dry. You try to explain—to speak, to move, to salvage something—but your brain is jammed. Glitching. Stuck in a loop that only says you failed you failed you failed you failed.

And all you can think, over and over, is: I failed. I failed in front of everyone.

You turn on your heel and walk out. Not slowly. Not with grace. Not with some dignified speech.

You bolt.

By the time you reach the smaller lab space you’ve been using as your private workroom, your chest is aching—tight and burning like the embers of something that never quite caught fire. Your legs give out the moment the door clicks shut behind you, a soft but definite sound, like the final punctuation on a sentence you didn’t want to finish. You collapse to the floor, spine pressed to the cold, sterile wall, curling into yourself. You draw your knees up, holding them close like they’re the only thing left that won’t fall apart if you squeeze hard enough.

It’s not fair. You worked so hard. You knew it was ready.

But the world didn’t agree. And now all you’re left with is the ringing silence of failure.

What went wrong?

You don’t even realize you’re crying until your fists, clenched in the sleeves of your lab coat, grow damp. Your fingers tighten around the fabric as if anchoring yourself to this reality might somehow undo it. There’s a wet warmth at the corners of your mouth—a trail left behind by tears you didn’t invite. A quiet, broken gasp escapes, and you clamp your lips shut like you can hold back the flood. But it’s too much. The pressure in your chest builds, thrums like a second heartbeat, demanding release. So, finally, you let it out.

A stack of folders beside you gets the worst of it. They crash to the ground like toppled dominoes, papers scattering in a flurry of disarray—fluttering down like autumn leaves torn too soon from their branches. Some pages catch the edge of your worktable, others skim across the floor as though trying to flee the scene. You lash out at a nearby chair without even looking; it tips, crashes down. A loud, metallic thud. You don’t care. You’re already broken open. What’s a little more mess?

Somewhere behind you, the door creaks open.

It’s a small sound. But in the vacuum of your grief, it feels enormous.

You lift your head just enough to catch the silhouette of someone tall, framed in gold by the hallway’s flickering light. The sharp contrast makes him look almost unreal—like a statue caught between dimensions.

Johnny.

He hesitates in the doorway. He always does when you're like this. Not out of fear—no, Johnny Storm doesn’t know what fear is—but uncertainty. Guilt, maybe. Not knowing if this is a moment where words help or hurt. Not sure if you want to be found.

“Hey,” he says, and it’s so soft, you almost don’t catch it. Like he’s afraid to disturb you. Like he’s learned the language of your quiet and is trying not to speak too loud.

You turn your face away, burying it deeper in your knees. “Go away.”

But of course, he doesn’t.

He never does.

Instead, he carefully steps over the wreckage you’ve left in your wake, graceful despite the chaos. He crouches beside a few scattered pages, gently gathering them up with the clumsy reverence of someone handling old love letters. He holds them in the wrong order, squints at them like they’re hieroglyphs.

“I think this one had a diagram? Or a doodle,” he murmurs. “Maybe both.”

You don’t laugh. Not quite. But something involuntary escapes you—a breath, shaky and soft, caught halfway between a sob and a scoff.

He glances at you, then carefully lays the papers aside like they’re pieces of a broken puzzle he doesn’t know how to fix. “Okay. New plan.”

With a small flick of his wrist, fire blossoms at his fingertip—a spark that dances and then steadies. He draws the flame into his palm, shaping it slowly, almost meditatively. You watch, your tears still clinging to your lashes, as the fire stretches and flickers and curls inward. It breathes. It blooms.

And then, impossibly, it becomes a rose.

Not a cartoonish flame flower, not a haphazard shape—but a rose. Delicate and impossibly precise, petals glowing in shades of orange and gold, pulsing like it has a heartbeat of its own. Alive, but not burning.

“For you,” he says, as if offering you a paperclip instead of a miracle. His crooked smile is familiar, crooked like the rest of him. “Don’t tell Sue I’m using my powers indoors.” He holds it out. “It’s non-flammable. Promise.”

You stare at it—this ridiculous, beautiful, useless thing—and for the first time in hours, something in your chest eases. You smile. Just barely. But it’s real.

“Better,” he says, smug and proud. “Though, to be fair, I thought about making you a tiny fire-dinosaur. But I wasn’t sure if you were more of a T-rex or a stegosaurus person.”

You shake your head, lips twitching. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer ‘devastatingly charming.’ But I’ll accept ridiculous,” he says, with a faux-formal bow.

Then he drops down beside you, sitting cross-legged like this is just another Tuesday. His fingers absently spin the flame-rose in midair, making it twirl like a ballerina made of heat.

“I saw the whole thing,” he says after a beat. His voice dips lower, softer. “The presentation, I mean. You were... amazing. Up until the part where your machine kind of... exploded. That part was slightly less amazing.”

You grimace. The memory is still too raw. Too loud.

“I know today sucked,” he says, nudging your knee gently with his. “And yeah, okay, not ideal when your Big Moment goes up in smoke—pun extremely intended—but hey… I’ve torched entire press conferences before. At least yours didn’t melt anyone’s shoes.”

You wince at the reminder, but it’s softened by the sheer absurdity of his tone. Typical Johnny. Bright enough to burn, but somehow always finding light in the ashes.

“But you know what?” he continues, voice laced with something rare—earnestness. “Every single genius I know has had something blow up in their face at least once. Reed’s first interdimensional gate turned his eyebrows green for a week. True story.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. It bubbles up, unexpected and uncontrollable. It cuts through the fog like sunlight.

“There you are,” Johnny grins, triumphant. “Knew you were still in there.”

Then, more gently, with a gravity he rarely shows: “You’re not done. Not even close. Whatever broke today, we’ll fix it. Together.”

You turn to look at him again—and this time, you really look.

His eyes are steady. Still full of mischief, sure—but underneath, there’s something unwavering. Something that says: I see you. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.

And somehow… Somehow, for the first time in what feels like hours, you believe him.

“I should look at the internal stabilizer,” you murmur—your voice hoarse, rasping from fatigue and tears, but there’s a steadiness returning to it now. Like the storm in your chest has passed, leaving behind something quieter. Sharper. “It was the last component I installed. If anything misaligned during calibration…”

Johnny raises both brows, that ever-present mischief already flickering to life behind his eyes. With the kind of overdramatic flourish he probably practices in the mirror, he straightens up and extends a hand like a gentleman at a Regency ball.

“Well then, Doctor,” he says, that infamous smirk creeping back into place like it never left, “shall we science the hell out of this mess?”

You blink. A breath. A heartbeat.

And then—you take his hand.

He pulls you up, maybe a bit too dramatically, as if he’s casting you in some invisible movie scene only he can see. It’s absurd, and exactly what you need. Your legs are unsteady, your joints stiff from sitting too long in grief, but the moment you’re standing beside him—close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin like a living ember—it’s like your balance resets.

Maybe not hope yet. But movement. That’s something.

Together, you approach the wreckage of your prototype like detectives returning to the scene of a very personal crime. You drop to your knees beside the housing panel, already thinking through component hierarchies and conductivity flow, while Johnny casually starts clearing debris like a man auditioning for America’s Got Magicians.

“Careful,” you mutter, your voice dry. “That’s the focusing ring, not a frisbee.”

He holds the circular piece like it’s a bagel he’s not quite sure how to eat. “Noted. No throwing the glowy donut. Even if it glows really, really temptingly.”

You roll your eyes. But a corner of your mouth quirks upward. You let it.

Time slips after that. The hours don’t tick—they hum.

You adjust calibrations with trembling fingers. He hands you tools without needing to ask. You think aloud, mapping logic into the air like it’s a language only the two of you understand. He listens. Occasionally tosses out a wild theory. Sometimes it’s complete nonsense, other times it sparks something useful—and once, just once, it makes you stop mid-sentence and whisper, “Wait… that could actually work.”

He grins like a kid winning a science fair.

He never leaves. Not even for a second. He doesn’t check his phone, doesn’t get bored, doesn’t make an excuse to duck out. He just… stays. A constant, chaotic flame beside you. Comforting. Steady, in his own unpredictable way.

Eventually, your body starts to give out before your mind does. Your fingers cramp. The numbers stop making sense. You blink too long between thoughts, and equations begin to unravel into meaningless squiggles.

Johnny notices immediately.

“Okay, genius,” he says, nudging your knee with the gentlest pressure. “Time to take five. And by five, I mean horizontal.”

You shake your head, bleary. “I can’t—there’s still a fluctuation in the thermal grid and I—”

“You’re fried,” he cuts in, and—for once—there’s no pun layered underneath the word. Just quiet, unvarnished concern. “Literally and figuratively. You’ve been running on fumes since Tuesday, and I know caffeine is like your fifth vital sign, but even you can’t keep this pace forever.”

You want to argue. Really, you do. But the edge of the workbench is right there, and your skull feels like it’s being held up by willpower alone. So instead of a retort, you let your forehead rest against the desk, eyes drifting shut just for a moment.

Just a moment.

When you open your eyes again, the world is different.

Dim. Quiet. Soft around the edges.

Johnny’s hoodie is draped over your shoulders like a makeshift blanket, its warmth soaked into your skin. You’re curled on the battered couch in the corner of the lab, its cushions lumpy but familiar. You have no memory of walking here, no recollection of lying down.

And it’s morning.

Pale sunlight filters through the blinds in strips, painting stripes across the cluttered worktables and upturned chairs. You shift groggily, blinking sleep from your lashes. Your joints ache. Your mouth is dry.

Then, you see him.

Across the room, Johnny is perched at your desk—hair mussed, back slightly hunched, sleeves rolled up. There’s a graveyard of energy drink cans at his elbow and a small constellation of highlighters scattered like fallen stars across your papers. Your notes are spread out in front of him, messy and brilliant, with his own chaotic scribbles threading between your equations.

He’s so focused he doesn’t even notice you.

You watch, wide-eyed, as he lines up a scrap of circuitry with the schematic you gave up on hours ago. He tilts his head, murmuring under his breath like he’s translating from a language no one taught him. “That’s why the frequency kept looping… it wasn’t the stabilizer. It was the dampener coil.”

He says it like it betrayed him personally.

Then he adjusts something in the prototype, carefully, precisely—and powers it up just enough to see.

A soft blue light flickers across the panel.

And holds.

You inhale sharply. The air catches in your throat.

He… did it.

You slide off the couch in silence, blanket falling around your ankles like shed armor. He hears the soft shuffle of your steps and looks up, surprised.

“Oh—hey. Morning,” he says, as if this is the most casual thing in the world and not a cinematic redemption arc unfolding before your eyes.

You stare at the machine, then back at him. “Did you just…?”

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Uh, yeah. I mean, I couldn’t sleep, and you were snoring like an angry squirrel, so I figured I’d—”

“Johnny.”

He stops talking.

You approach slowly, reverently, like the prototype might vanish if you move too fast. Your fingers graze the edges of the modified coil. You trace the new connection—precise, subtle, clever.

You see it now.

The loop was too tight. The output needed the tiniest breath of delay. A fractional pause. Something only a heat-reactive element could provide.

He didn’t guess.

He understood.

You turn to him. The weight in your chest expands and contracts at once.

“You stayed up all night,” you whisper. “You fixed it.”

He shrugs, but his voice is softer than before. “Team effort.”

And just like that, your heart trips over itself.

Because this man—this beautiful disaster, this self-proclaimed human sparkler—sat in your failure without trying to smother it or sweep it away. He didn’t run. He learned. For no reward. For no recognition.

Just for you.

You don’t even think. You close the space between you and wrap your arms around him.

He goes stiff—like you short-circuited something. But after a breath, his arms circle your waist and hold on. Not too tight. Just enough. His chin finds the top of your head like it belongs there.

He holds you like someone trying to stay grounded. And maybe… that’s what you both are now. Anchors. Balance. Fire and focus.

“I told you,” he murmurs against your ear, voice low and steady. “You’re not done.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever… you smile.

Because maybe brilliance doesn’t come from isolation. Maybe it doesn’t need perfection or applause.

Maybe it just needs someone who stays.

Someone who burns.

The second chance doesn’t come easy. Reed is skeptical—of course he is—and it takes a week’s worth of data reconstruction, hypothesis defense, and shameless begging to get him to approve presenting the repaired prototype. You know he’s only giving in because Johnny keeps popping into the lab mid-meeting with a “Come on, Stretch, don’t be a drag,” and somehow, every time he speaks, Reed sighs like a disappointed professor but waves his hand in reluctant permission.

The new presentation is scheduled at a much larger scientific symposium in another city—higher stakes, bigger audience, potentially career-defining. Naturally, everything needs to be perfect. And Johnny—chaotic, loud, infuriatingly charismatic Johnny—has volunteered to be your assistant this time.

“I still think ‘assistant’ is too humble a title,” he says, leaning casually against the lab bench as you pack your notes into a case. “I prefer ‘co-pilot.’ Or ‘mission specialist.’ Or—wait for it—‘hot sidekick.’”

“You’re literally just carrying the clicker,” you remind him dryly.

“Yeah, and emotional support,” he adds, placing a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “You think Reed approved this trip because of your graphs? No, sweetheart. It’s my winning smile and disturbingly good hair.”

He’s impossible, but at this point, you’ve stopped fighting it. He is helping. He stays up sorting your diagrams while you recalibrate the simulation. He runs coffee during the worst of your breakdowns. And when you stress spiral over whether the new stabilizer will hold, he’s the one who reminds you to breathe.

The trip begins with a six-hour drive in the Fantasti-Car—because Johnny refuses to take a commercial flight when he could, quote, “look this good while flying solo.” And for a moment, it's easy to pretend this is just… normal. Like you're two regular people on a work trip, not one brilliant scientist and a literal supernova in human form.

That illusion shatters at the hotel lobby.

“I’m sorry,” the desk clerk says, blinking at the screen. “There’s only one room under your reservation.”

You frown. “That can’t be right. Herbie was supposed to book two.”

Johnny glances over your shoulder with a grin already tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And let me guess… one king bed?”

The clerk checks again, sheepish. “Yes. That’s… what it says.”

You turn to Johnny. “Tell me you didn’t bribe Herbie.”

He gasps, hand over chest. “How dare you accuse me of something so—okay, maybe I suggested he book us somewhere with a hot tub. But that’s entirely beside the point.”

“There is no point. I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

Johnny leans in slightly, smirking. “Come on. We’ve literally fought interdimensional threats side by side. You’re telling me this is the line you draw?”

“I like boundaries. And personal space. And uninterrupted REM cycles.”

“Well,” he says, slinging an arm over your shoulders, “good thing I sleep like a log. You won’t even notice I’m there.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re afraid they might stick, but the damage is done. There’s only one room, and nothing available for miles thanks to the conference crowd. Begrudgingly, you follow him upstairs.

The room is… fine. Neutral. Corporate beige. Two lamps, one desk, and one very large bed that now feels impossibly small.

Johnny tosses his bag onto it like he owns the place, already kicking off his shoes. “You want left or right?”

“I want a completely different room, preferably on a different floor.”

“No refunds,” he singsongs, flopping back onto the mattress with a dramatic groan. “This is kinda nice, though. Like a school field trip. Except we’re way smarter. And hotter.”

You sigh and drop your case onto the chair, ignoring how your pulse picks up every time his shirt rides up slightly as he stretches. He doesn’t mean anything by it—he never does—but you’re starting to.

Because somewhere between the jokes and the endless teasing, he’s wormed his way past your carefully calculated walls. And now, trapped in this room with him, it’s getting harder to pretend he’s just a distraction.

Later that night, you're both side by side on the bed, laptops open, notes spread out like a paper sea between you. He’s surprisingly focused—eyes narrowed, fingers tapping as he scrolls through a simulation you coded just yesterday. Every so often, he makes a joke, and you laugh—maybe too loudly. He looks over, and for half a second, the room is silent.

And then he says, “You know… I’ve worked with a lot of scientists. Been to a hundred of these boring tech things. But this one? I actually care about. 'Cause you're in it.”

You stare at him, heart thudding. “That’s… dangerously close to a compliment.”

He smiles, soft and a little too genuine. “Maybe I’m just evolving.”

The room is warm. Maybe it’s the lack of proper AC or the oversized windows swallowing the evening sun whole. Or maybe—it’s just him.

Johnny lounges across half of the bed like he owns it. Which, technically, he doesn’t. The plan was two beds. Two separate sleeping arrangements. Nothing remotely intimate. But somehow, due to Herbie’s enthusiastic but questionable booking skills, there is now one king-sized bed and a very long night ahead.

You stand stiff by the desk, pretending to check tomorrow’s itinerary for the sixth time, your fingers twitching around your tablet like it might suddenly give you a second bed if you poke hard enough.

Johnny glances over his shoulder, his eyes flickering with mischief. “You’re pacing.”

“I am not pacing,” you mutter, very much pacing.

“You are. You’re doing the anxious little professor shuffle.”

You shoot him a glare. “There is no such thing as a ‘professor shuffle.’”

“There is now. You invented it. Congrats.” He grins. That same grin. The one that could probably make flowers bloom or planes crash, depending on the mood.

With a dramatic sigh, he shifts, flopping back against the pillows and folding his arms behind his head. “Look, I know sharing a bed with me must be a tremendous hardship for you.”

“Oh, absolutely agonizing,” you say flatly. “I’m practically trembling.”

He chuckles, soft and smug. “You could just admit I’m kind of charming.”

“I could also admit you’re a narcissistic fire-hazard with a flair for dramatics.”

Johnny mock-gasps. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

He rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, eyes fixed on you. “You really think I’m a fire-hazard?”

You look at him. Really look at him.

His hair’s still a little messy from the flight, tousled in that frustratingly perfect way. His eyes glow—not just metaphorically, but with this actual, barely-there amber hue, as if the sun never truly left him. You wonder if he’s always this warm. If it’s a power thing, or just a him thing.

And God, those arms. Not fair. Scientists shouldn't have arms like that. Especially not ones currently folded around a pillow like they’re auditioning for some late-night fantasy commercial.

“I think you’re…” You hesitate. “...a bit much.”

His grin widens. “A bit much?”

You nod. “Loud. Chaotic. Obnoxiously confident. And sometimes—very occasionally—you’re… helpful.”

Johnny blinks. Something shifts in his gaze. Just a fraction. The smile’s still there, but it softens. Like he heard more than you meant to say.

“You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” he says. “Brilliant. Scary smart. Kind of terrifying when you go full lab-mode. And I like that you don’t let me get away with anything. Makes life interesting.”

You feel your throat tighten a little. You’re not used to this—him being sincere. And it does something weird to your insides. Something uncomfortably fluttery.

He shifts again, this time sitting up, legs folded under him, his presence magnetic in the quiet room. “I know I joke around a lot, but... I’m not clueless. I see the way you look at me sometimes.”

Your heart stumbles.

“I don’t—”

He raises a hand. “It’s okay. I look at you too.”

There’s silence. A heavy, electric pause that crackles between you.

And then he’s closer.

You don’t remember moving. Don’t remember crossing the space. But somehow, your knees are brushing, your breath is shallow, and his fingers are just barely grazing yours like he’s asking permission without saying a word.

Your brain screams to calculate, to classify, to analyze—but your body moves faster. Leans in. Tilts up.

He meets you halfway.

The kiss is surprisingly gentle at first. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he touches you too much. But it deepens quickly—warm and insistent, as if he’s been holding back for way too long.

His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. You’re acutely aware of every inch of him—the way his lips move with yours, the subtle heat radiating from his skin, the fact that he smells like smoke and something golden.

When you finally pull away, breathless, he grins against your lips. “Told you I was charming.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, voice low, fingers still tangled in yours. “It’s already there.”

dividers by @strangergraphics

#fantastic four #fantastic four first steps #johnny storm #joseph quinn johnny storm #johnny storm fantastic four #johnny storm fic #johnny storm fanfic #johnny storm one shot #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm x you #fluff and romance #flirty and protective Johnny Storm #slow burn #friends to lovers #sharing a bed #the human torch #human torch #fantastic 4 #joseph quinn fantastic four

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v00do-d0ll · 3 months ago

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Do you ever wake up scared from a nightmare where something has happened to your parent(s), and you get an inexplicable need to make sure they are alive. Cuz I was thinking about that with Damien and Bruce.

Like Damien waking up with a gasp because he just dreamt that Bruce died in a brutal way right in front of him; and you know how in your dreams you can’t move as fast as you want to, that happeneds to him and he was stuck there forced to watch his father die in front of him.

And it takes him a moment to realize what happened but he eventually recognizes it was a dream. He knows the manor is safe and that no one could get in without anyone knowing. He knows that Bruce is fine…

But he has to go make sure, because what if that dream was his brain trying to tell him something. What if Bruce stopped breathing in the night and nobody knows. What if he’s had a stroke or a seizure… yea it’s better to just go check. A quick glance to make sure he’s okay.

So he goes to Bruce’s room determined to not get caught. Just in and out and he’ll go back to bed.

But Bruce has always been a light sleeper, and is always aware of his surroundings even in his sleep. He wakes up after hearing the floor creak ready to attack, grabbing the batarang that he keeps under his mattress ready to strike only to stop once he see’s Damien.

“Dami? What happened? Is something wrong?”

Damien just kinda stands there shocked at how quick Bruce went from Batman to Bruce so quickly.

“Nothing is wrong father, I’m sorry for disturbing you. I will go back to bed.”

Damien turns to leave only for Bruce to stop him. “Damien” Bruce calls out softly “Would you like to sleep in here with me tonight?” he says, with a fond look on his face.

Damien silently contemplates Bruce’s offer, not wanting to look weak in front of Bruce but wanting to stay.

Bruce can see the turmoil on his sons face, so he just scoots over on the bed and lifts the blanket. Not saying anything to rush Damien but letting him know he wants him there.

At his father’s actions, Damien silently crawls into Bruce’s bed. Bruce covers them both, letting Damien have his space.

Wanting to know what happened to make his son want comfort, but not wanting to push. But he can see that something is wrong.

“Dami” Bruce calls out. “Are you okay?”

“Of course father, why would you believe otherwise.” Damien says not looking at Bruce.

Bruce throws a look his way that Damien doesn’t see. “You don’t normally come in my room at night.”

Damien doesn’t say anything for a while but Bruce can see he’s hesitant about something. So he just gives him time, just watching the different emotions pass on Damien’s face.

After a while Damien finally says “I had a nightmare.” And Bruce…, Bruce is familiar with those, he’s had them since his parents died. He knows what they can do to a person because he’s the living proof.

“Do you want to tell me what happened in your dream?”

Damien takes a long pause, so long that Bruce thinks that he’s not going to respond, but he eventually whispers…

“I had a dream that you died… and I had to watch as you were brutally murdered in front of me, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

There was a tense silence in the air after Damien spoke. Scared he just shouldn’t have spoken at all, but before he could make any type of move, Bruce turned and pulled Damien into his arms.

Damien stiffens at his father’s movements, not use to embracing like this with Bruce. “I’m sorry you had a nightmare, but I’m happy you came to me when you wanted to.” Bruce says as he rubs Damien’s back.

Damien goes slack in Bruce’s arm at his ministrations. In a small voice, spoken into Bruce’s chest Damien says. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry I woke you up baba.”

“It’s okay Dami, you can always wake me up.” Bruce pauses for a moment before continuing. “I use to get those nightmares all the time when I was younger. I still get them from time to time.”

Damien looks up a little at Bruce’s words

“I would also crawl into Alfred’s bed when I had them. Most of the time they were about my parents, but a lot of them were about Alfred dying. So I would go check on him while he slept as well .”

Damien’s face looks shocked at what Bruce just told him. Not expecting Bruce to admit that he use to crawl into Alfred’s bed. But it makes him feel better knowing that Bruce understands his feelings.

Damien looks back down to hide in Bruce’s chest but also to discreetly listen to his heartbeat. Just to add that last bit of reassurance that Bruce was okay.

And that’s how they fall asleep, Damien feeling protected in his father’s embrace. Bruce stroking his son’s hair to lull him back to unconsciousness.

Both boys hearts soothed with Damien having learned something new about his father, and Bruce having physical proof that even though their relationship started out rocky, Damien cares deeply for Bruce.

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girl-named-matty · 1 year ago

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Sharing a bed with the Boys (Hogwarts Legacy Headcanons)

Sharing a bed with the boys. Tags: Fluff, Sharing a bed, gn!reader, Sebastian x Reader, Ominis x Reader, Garreth x Reader, Leander x Reader. (this is barely proofread haha) Rating: General Audiences

Summary: My Headcanons for sharing a bed with the boys!

Sebastian:

When you first asked him if he wanted to share a bed, he practically jumped straight in it. He was so excited.

But that was just the first time.

He stays up reading almost every night so good luck getting him into that bed in the first place after that.

And by late I mean genuinely unholy hours of the night kinda staying up and he wonders why he looks so tired.

If you do eventually get him in bed, it doesn’t take him long to actually fall asleep. Aside from the constant lack of sleep he usually gets, he’s always been one to fall asleep quickly.

He is a human body heater.

Some nights you may not even need a blanket because he’s just that warm.

I feel like Seb would be the kind of guy to practically sleep on top of you. Like not enough to crush you but instead it feels like a really nice weighted (and warm) blanket.

Except for this blanket snores.

Loud

I’m sorry I don’t make the rules.

Sometimes it's really annoying to share a bed with him and other times it's really nice.

If he ever comes to bed early, it’s how you know he’s had a rough day and just needs to be in your arms for comfort. ..

Ominis:

Unlike Sebastian who would totally be up to sharing a bed, he would be more hesitant.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to, per se, but he’s used to having his own space and he’s not necessarily the most touchy person. But eventually, he says he’s ready.

Kinda awkward the first few nights. He slept with his back towards you and didn't make any physical touch at all.

But after a couple of nights, he slowly starts making the shift to get closer to you and he comes to enjoy it.

After that, he finds it hard to sleep without you.

Due to not having the best childhood, he often has nightmares. And for him his nightmares are extremely unnerving due to the fact that he can’t see anything, only hear things.

But one of the best parts about sharing a bed with you is the fact that whenever his nightmares wake him up, you’re right there next to him.

He often finds himself reaching out for you in the middle of the night, just to make sure you’re still there.

He’s definitely a side sleeper so sometimes you’ll sleep in the spooning position together. This also reassures him a lot that you’re still next to him. ..

Garreth:

Didn’t take long for you two to start sharing a bed at all.

Since he has so many siblings he probably had to share a bed with one of his brothers at some point in his childhood anyway.

But just because he might be used to it does not mean he’s easy to share a bed with.

This boy is a BED HOGGER.

If you are quite literally not right up against him, you’re falling off the bed.

You thought Seb gets hot when he sleeps?

Well, Garreth has him beat by a LONG shot.

You could probably fry an egg on this man's back just saying.

But we all know Garreth has that soft tummy action going on so he’s super comfortable and when he’s not hogging the bed, it’s really nice to cuddle up to him.

When you too are cuddling, he wants to be as close to you as possible.

So, really, just the sweetest boy to ever exist. ..

Leander: (because he deserves his place on this list)

He’s similar to Ominis and opposite of Garreth.

Had very few siblings growing up, probably only one or two so he was used to having his own space. So it took him a while before he was all good with it.

This boy is lanky af.

It’s obviously okay. He’s tall, long, lanky, whatever you wanna call it.

So he probably sleeps with his legs up somehow to keep his feet from hanging off the bed/smacking into the headboard.

It probably took him a while to get used to cuddling with someone in bed but now that he’s used to it, he loves it.

He loves it when you sleep on his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and hold you close.

He’s definitely not a morning person so have fun getting him out of that bed.

Also has really bad bed-head. How do I know this? No man would style his hair the way he does unless he has bed-head so take my word for it.

100% a cuddler now. ...

Who should I do next? I was thinking Andrew and Amit but lmk in the comments!

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firelilyfox · 3 months ago

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In your skin

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: After a mission the two of you have to share a room & at first Bucky gets really mad about it but ... he means well.

Words: 2,3k

Warnings: mention of trauma, weapons, sharing a bed, fluff, heart to heart talk, real sad Bucky

Note: english isn't my mother tongue so sorry in advance :)

____________________________________

It got late real fast after the successful mission in Nairobi.

The African heat gave way to the cool night, making it way more pleasant to find some sleep soon. Part of the Thunderbolts found shelter in a luxury hotel in the middle of the lively city, but there were almost fully booked so the only two rooms left had to be evenly shared. Yelena, Alexei, Bucky and me.

„I will not let my daughter sleep in a room with another man“, Alexei barked. „No offense Winter Soldier, I have deeply respect for you. But my daughter will be protected from you manly charme by myself.“ His strong russian accent marking the importance of his protectiveness about Yelena.

„Alexei I’m a grown woman and can protect myself from stupid men“ Yelena says unimpressed. The four of us were standing in the empty hallway, on each side a closed door and fitting keycards in my hands. I look at them and then up at Bucky. He was easily two heads taller than me with a strong disapproval look on his face, but he kept quiet. He was always the quiet one of the group (besides one or two snarky comments from time to time). „You can sleep with him then if you want“, Yelena adds.

„Don’t be ridiculous. I will not let you out of my sight with this nasty wound. You are my daughter and I will protect-…“ but Alexei couldn’t finish the sentence because Yelena shut his mouth with her own hand.

„Got it old man. So its the two of us and the two of you then.“ She pointed at me and at Bucky afterwards. I opened my mouth for approval but got interrupted immediately.

„No fucking way“, Bucky grumbles.

Okay. Ouch. That was unnecessary and a bit rude.

Even the farther-daughter duo frowned in confusion. It was true that Bucky and had a …complicated way of acting around each other for the last couple of months. At first I thought we would be good co-workers. He always kept an eye out for me when I started to train with the Thunderbolts because I didn’t knew my way around and had a tendency to stumble into very unfortunate situations. For example that one time in Norway … ugh I rather not think about that. Nonetheless with time passing by he had become more like … a friend I think. Bucky was always there if I needed him - but never too close. Even a little part of me, that I desperately try to suffocate, wants him to be just … closer sometimes.

„Do I get to tell my opinion in this?“ I ask a bit annoyed by his sudden rudeness. „I have no problem to stay with you in a room.“ He shoots me a deadly look but that doesn’t scare me off. Not the tiniest bit. No clue what his problem his, but I won’t let him push me away like that. If he has something to say, then he can tell me whilst sharing a god damn room.

„Great! Its settled then. You two get to - ...“

„This isn’t an option“, Bucky interrupts Alexei again and this time he almost exploded. His voice had a much deeper and darker ring to it now. But it didn’t made me flinch. It made me mad.

„Why does everybody interrupts Alexei all the ti-…“

„Well I don’t care. Here.“ I handed Yelena and her father one keycard and kept the other one for Bucky and myself. „I’m done with this conversation. Get in here.“ I tell him and opened the door with a soft clicking sound.

„Have a pleasant night“, Yelena chuckles and disappeared with Alexei in the room across the hallway. Bucky stands still as a stone without any muscle moving. My rage was overflood by hurt. Was it really that awful to share a room with me?

„I have no idea why its such a problem for you to stay in a room with me. If it’s because I am a woman then I can assure you it’s more than common in this century for a man and a woman to …“

„It’s not because of that. I shared a room with a woman before.“ He says and stepped around me into the hotel room. Paying close attention to our arms not touching by accident.

I closed the door behind me. „Well good for you I guess.“ A little stab of jealousy hit me. „But if it aint that then why -…“

„We should get some sleep.“ And just like that there was another sentence that won’t be finished this evening. Great fucking fun.

We got changed into our nightgowns and by that i mean that Bucky was still wearing his black shirt and boxer. While i got rid of almost every piece of clothing. In my underwear and a simple tanktop I sat down on the bed beside him. His metal arm flexing a few times he looked lost in thoughts.

„How does it feel?“ I ask before I could stop myself.

He frowns. „What do you mean?“

„I mean do you really feel everything? Like heat when you burn yourself while cooking or the fabric of a blanket?“ No clue why I was bubbling with stupid questions like that out of the blue. Might be the sight of him in boxers that fried my brain a little bit. I’m thankful he isn’t a mindreader.

A soft smile lays down on his lips. The first since we entered this room. „Yeah. In Wakanda they have some very advanced techniques and great minds who work on stuff like that. I have not the slightest idea how this works.“ He holds his metal hand with the palm up and looks at me. „But it works.“

Without any thoughts I lay my hand in his. I expected the metal to be cold and hard. But somehow it felt warm and … real. Like it is more than just a piece of dead materiel. I moved my fingers along the palm and up to his wrist. It was formed exactly like his other arm. Strong and even the muscles were mirrored to the tiniest detail. Something comes over me and out of pure curiosity my other hand finds his real arm to compare the two of them.

For a moment Bucky stayed completely still. He was not moving at all and I doubt that he was even breathing normal anymore. „Does it feel the same?“

He cleared his throat. „No.“

„What’s the difference?“ I look up and almost drown in his blue eyes. His face must’ve come closer. Or did I move in his direction? I don’t recall. All I know is that his nose was only inches away from mine, wich means that his lips were…

„You should get some sleep. Now.“ Bucky rumbles with a husky voice. Within a second he stood up from the bed and moved to the other side of the room.

There it was. The hurt from before hits me like a truck.

„You really find me that repulsive?“

He opened his mouth. Stopped. Closed it and opened it again. All without saying a single word. Understood. „Will you come back?“ I ask instead.

He has one hand on the doorknob. „Yes. When you are asleep.“

And so I did. I cried myself into a dreamless sleep. Drowning in my own self-pity because the guy I like would rather run away in the middle of the night, than share a bed with me.

A bright crack tore me out of my slumber and I was wide awake in the matter of seconds. But not because of the thunderstorm outside the window. My fingers were curled around something cold and hard. The silhouette of Bucky was calmly sleeping beside me. My senses knew the feeling of this heavy metal and it wasn’t the arm I felt earlier tonight.

It was a gun.

A fucking gun in my hand.

What?

„Bucky?“, I whisper. „Bucky wake up!“ My voice pitched high, wich made him wake up instantly.

„What is it? What happened?“ He asks breathlessly, eyes wide in shock, head snapping from side to side to make out any danger. But the only thing what would fall in that category appeared magically in my hand while I was asleep.

I hold the gun up and waved it slightly. „Hello? Why do i have your gun in my hand?“

„Why are you so certain it’s mine, doll?“ His eyes narrow. I try to pull myself together because I didn’t expect him to call me by his pet name for me. He only used it a couple of times before and only when we were alone.

„Oh please Bucky! I know your guns by heart. So why is it in this god damn bed?“ I shriek.

He broke the eye contact and shuffled himself into a sitting position. The thin blanket that we both shared shifted down to his lap. Bucky leaned his back against the headboard and let out a deep sigh. „Just in case.“

„I beg you pardon?“

„Just in case you need it.“ He still has his eyes closed but I could hear in his voice that he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

„James Buchanan Barnes you better cut that shitshow and tell me why you put that thing in my hand“, I say as I sit up, not caring that the blanket completely vanished from my body.

Bucky turned to finally look at me. His expression were serious at first, but then his eyes dart down to my naked legs and at the waistband of my top that slipped up a bit, showing a small gap of my hips and stomach. I could swear to see his throat move as if he had to swallow … hard. And his face transformed from serious to something much more intense. Was it longing or am I now completely loosing my mind?

„You are the only person I allow to call me like that“, he says with a tight voice.

„Cut the crap. Now.“

Bucky sighs again. „Fuck. Okay fine. The gun is for emergency. In case you have to take me out.“

My heart stops beating for a painfully moment. With widened eyes I look at him. He sits there looking so broken, so serious about what he just confessed to me. His sad sad blue eyes studying me, waiting for a response. I know what his reasons are. He has terrible nightmares. Bad ones from his past and even darker ones made from his guilt.

„The fuck I will.“ With two quick moves I dissemble the gun in its individual parts. Bucky watches me with disbelieve in his eyes. „I refuse to let you think I would ever do that.“

„Maybe you will not have a choice when it becomes bad!“ He tries to grab the metal pieces but I throw them away without a second thought. „When the Winter Soldier takes over I can’t guarantee for anything. He could do …“

„I don’t give a shit!“ I bark. „You would never hurt me. I know that in my bones.“

He lets his hand sink and land on my knee. It needs a lot of self control to not follow it with my eyes. „You’re right. I would never. But he could.“

I lean forward, just a little to make my point clear. „I trust you.“

„You shouldn’t.“ His voice was nothing more than a whisper. I could feel it brushing over my cheeks. „I’m a threat.“

I cock my head to the side. „Is that the reason why you didn’t want to share a room with me? Because you were scared that you might attack me in your sleep?“

He nods. And my heart shatters into a million tiny pieces. His hair falls in strains into his face making him look even more exhausted than ever. I've come to thinking about the fact that his mind had to be constantly in stay alert mode.

„Do you ever let yourself catch a break, Bucky?“

At first he stays completely still. Then a deep, tired sigh. And when he finally looks up to answer he da the saddest smile on his face that I’ve ever laid eyes on. „I don’t think so, doll. Can’t remember.“

I reach forward to place my palm above his heart. It beats slow but a little uneven - as if my touch had an effect on him too. „You deserve to feel safe for at least one night. You deserve so much more than that.“ I leaned in his direction, let my body sink against his and gave him the chance to slowly get used to so much skin to skin contact. But he didn’t hesitate as I thought he would do. Instead Bucky pulled me so close that I imagined to morph fully into him. Melt together and finally feel complete.

His metal arm laid wrapped around me and gave me the support I needed. His other hand placed at the back of my head - fingers tangled up into my hair. I feel his body relax beneath me and a little smile appeared on my lips.

„Nothing I could do would ever made me deserve you, doll.“ His words rushed my system like a big tidal wave and i shook my head up from his chest to look at him.

„You don’t have to do anything. Bucky you already own my heart. And you truly deserve it.“

He smiled softly. I could feel his hand on my head pulling me closer up to him. I obey happily. „I will take good care of it, doll. I promise to be worthy for you.“

„I know because you already are.“

Bucky kissed me. His lips were touching mine with such softness I almost cried. Hands so tender and carefully holding me while his mouth claiming my whole consciousness. I leaned into him to feel as much of him as I could. He deepened the kiss and I let out a sigh of relief. I swear I could feel him smile against my lips.

I know I will never get tired of this. Ever.

———————

Thanks for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙(Please don’t copy my work)

Bucky Barnes Masterlist 🦾

#fluff #marvel #bucky fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #deep talk #mcu fandom #thunderbolts*#ptsd #mental illness #sharing a bed #love confessions #love #night talks #angst

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capybaramurdock · 4 months ago

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♡ RED RING — Daredevil x Reader Series Masterlist ♡

Arranged marriage. Emotional tension. A slow burn set in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.

Pairing: Daredevil/Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ Mature (eventual smut, angst, and canon-typical violence)

Summary:

Matt Murdock never believed in arranged marriages—until he agreed to one. To protect a women’s shelter and the woman who runs it, he strikes a dangerous deal with her father, a man whose morality is as murky as Hell’s Kitchen itself.

She’s softer than he expected. Kinder. And nothing like the family she comes from.

But Matt knows that in a world where nothing is truly free, even kindness can be a weapon.

She’s an enigma. A mystery wrapped in quiet warmth and hidden shadows.

Prefer to read on ao3? Available on there too! https://archiveofourown.org/works/64668514

Chapters:

♡ Chapter 1 — “The Scream in the Rain” (Matt’s POV - 25 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 2 — “The Man at the Door” (Reader POV – 25 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 3 — “The Offer” (Matt POV – 24 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 4 — “The Bargain” (Reader POV – 23 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 5 — “The Proposal” (Shared POV – 22 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 6 — “Through the Glass” (Matt POV – 21 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 7 — “The Bed and the Storm” (Reader POV – 20 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 8 — “The Guest List” (Shared POV – 19 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 9 — “The Doubt Creeps In” (Matt POV – 18 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 10 — “Paparazzi” (Reader POV – 17 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 11 — “The Church” (Matt POV – 16 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 12 — “The Weight of His Hands” (Shared POV – 15 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 13 — “The Dress that Doesn't Fit” (Reader POV – 14 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 14 — “The Menu and the Misunderstanding” (Matt POV – 13 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 15 — “The Cake and the Chase” (Shared POV – 12 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 16 — “The Interview Trap” (Matt POV – 11 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 17 — “The Late Night List” (Reader POV – 10 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 18 — “The Night It Cracks” (Shared POV – 9 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 19 — "The Tail" (Matt POV – 8 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 20 — “The Fallout” (Shared POV – 7 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 21 — “The Breaking Point” (Reader POV – 6 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 22 — “The Scripted Toast” (Shared POV – 5 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 23 — “The Photograph” (Shared POV – 4 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 24 — “The Reckoning” (Matt POV – 3 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 25 — “The Dress” (Shared POV – 2 Days Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 26 — “The Silence Before” (Shared POV – 1 Day Until the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 27 — “The Altar” (Shared POV – Day of the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 28 — “The Vow” (Shared POV – Day of the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 29 — “The Night That Was Theirs” (Shared POV – Night of the Wedding)

♡ Chapter 30 — Epilogue

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theosbabydollx · 5 days ago

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Pillow Wall

Theo Nott x Female Reader. Enemies but crushing

The trip had been Mattheo’s idea. A weekend getaway in a rustic house by the lake, all of us together, no adults, no rules. But what none of us expected was that Draco, sweet Draco, would mess up one of the room reservations.

"Okay, relax. It's only for two nights" he said, raising his hands as he checked the confirmation email.

"Wait, what do you mean ‘one bed’?" I asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"Technical error" he shrugged.

"Perfect" I muttered under my breath, turning to look at Theo, who was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing that smug smile that never seemed to leave his face.

"Relax, I don’t bite... unless asked" he said.

"I’m putting pillows between us" I replied instantly.

The house creaked in the cold forest night. The rest of the group was still downstairs playing cards, but I had come up early. Not because I was tired, it was because being in the same room with all this silent tension building between us was starting to feel... inevitable.

As I finished preparing my clothes and my toothbrush for a shower, Theo entered the room and looked at me with a small smile on his lips.

"What are you doing?" Theo asked.

"I’m showering first" I said, grabbing my pajamas and disappearing into the bathroom. The water was warm and quick. Just enough to make me feel comfortable. I changed and came out with damp hair and an oversized shirt.

Theo was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone. When he looked up, his eyes lingered on me a second too long.

"You can take a shower if you like" I said, dodging his gaze.

"Going to spy on me through the door?" he asked with that low voice of his, always carrying something underneath.

"Please," I scoffed. "As if you're that special."

Still, when he pulled his shirt off and walked into the bathroom, I glanced. Just a little.

Minutes later, he came out with wet hair, a gray t-shirt, and cotton pants. He looked… too good. Too comfortable. Too close.

"I already set up the pillow wall," I said, nodding at the line I’d built down the middle of the bed.

"How formal..." he muttered as he laid down on his side. "Such a proper Gryffindor."

I turned the lights off without responding and faced away from him.

A few hours passed.

The room was silent except for the soft hum of the fan and his slow breathing. At least, that’s what I thought.

Until I felt him. Slowly, his body inched closer. One arm slipped carefully over my waist. His breath mingled with mine, warm and close. The pillow barrier was gone. He didn’t say a word. He was pretending to be asleep. But I knew.

And I didn’t turn around.

I didn’t say anything.

I just stayed still, feeling his presence, his warmth, that quiet closeness behind me.

I smiled to myself in the dark, heart racing, breath caught in my throat, and eyes wide open.

Then I closed them again... and drifted back to sleep.

Tomorrow, I’d have something to say to him.

Though... maybe he’ll be the one to speak first.

#theo nott #theodore nott #theodore nott imagine #theo nott x reader #theosbabydollx #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #sharing the same bed #sharing a bed #one bed trope #one bed #slytherin #slytherin boys

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estrellami-1 · 8 months ago

Text

Keep Me (And I’ll Keep You)

Ao3 Link

Eddie hums contentedly as he sits on the couch, beer in hand. The couch is cotton, a soft brown that matches the rest of the living room. It’s one of those fancy sectionals that, up until knowing Steve, Eddie had only seen in catalogs. It’s a comfy couch, and he hums again as he settles in, wiggling his butt and shoulders, doing his best to let the couch envelop him.

Steve, to his left, snorts as he sits down. “Looks like you’re trying to become one with the couch.”

“Hey, it’s comfortable,” Eddie says, giving an aborted shrug and leaning his head back.

Steve chuckles, then sobers. “Y’know, sometimes I think when I move out, what’s the one thing I’m gonna miss the most? What’s the one thing I want to bring with me? And nine times out of ten, it’s this couch.”

“What’s the other one?”

“The microwave.” Eddie snickers. “Hey, you laugh, but those things are expensive!” Steve defends himself, also laughing. He’s got one knee up on the couch, turned to face Eddie, leaning sideways against the back of the couch.

A shout startles them both, and Eddie whips his head around to the dining room, where the Party is gathered. Will is DM today, after a long brainstorming session with Eddie. He’d brought the kids here and is available in case Will gets stuck, but Eddie silently thinks Will downplays his abilities. He’s a damn good DM, especially for his age, and Eddie was actively considering joining in.

Ultimately he decided to let the kids have this one. Erica, no doubt, would’ve joked (at least, he thinks it’s a joke) about Eddie cramping their style.

So here he is, relaxing on the couch with the man of the house, who’s relaxing now that he knows there’s no actual danger, only imagined.

Steve sighs, leaning forward to put his beer on the coffee table. “One of these days I’m gonna wake up and find a grey hair, and I’m gonna know it came from them.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh, man, you think that’s bad,” he jokes, and continues on to tell a story about something the kids had done involving Dustin’s second cat, a balloon, and a car tire. He leans forward to put his beer down, too, and when he leans back again Steve slides forward, head coming to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

And here’s the deal, right? They don’t do that. They don’t casual touch like that. Eddie does, with most anybody, but Steve is in a class of his own, one that Eddie knows not to mess with for his own heart’s sake.

Said heart rabbits in his chest as he freezes, words drying up. He slowly looks over at Steve and sees closed eyes and open mouth. “Oh,” he whispers, cataloging the soft wisp of eyelashes resting on cheeks, the crinkle on his nose, scrunching up his moles, the lips slightly parted, driving damp puffs of breath to land on Eddie’s arm.

The next thing Eddie notices is Steve’s neck is at a weird angle. If he were to guess, he’d say Steve hadn’t been sleeping very well, and waking him is the last thing he wants to do. He tries to shimmy down the couch a little, to relax Steve’s neck some, but Steve’s upper body moves with his head, and now Eddie thinks the crick in his neck is more severe. “Fuck,” he mutters, shimmying down more, because surely it’ll work this time.

Something happens. He doesn’t know what, exactly, just knows that as he shimmies down Steve’s head slides down his shoulder, down his chest, to land on his stomach.

Steve murmurs something and shifts, turning his face into Eddie’s stomach as he stretches out, still asleep.

Butterflies awaken with a vengeance.

Shifting down his body means Eddie’s arm is free. He lifts it up nonsensically, as if not touching Steve of his own will is better than whatever the fuck is happening, but he can only hold his arm up for so long, so he eventually, gently rests it over Steve’s back and side. “What the fuck,” he mouths to himself.

It’s quiet and comfortable, though, the low murmur of voices in the other room doing nothing to keep Eddie awake, so it’s not long before he begins to drift off, too.

Sue him, he hasn’t been sleeping all that well, either.

He opens his eyes to Will walking into the room before seeing them and freezing. Eddie forces himself more awake, blinking rapidly until some of the fog lifts. He gestures Will closer with the hand not on Steve, and Will shakes his head, smiling. “We’re done,” he whispers. “I’ll call Jonathan.”

The words take a minute to make sense in Eddie’s brain. When they do, he shoots Will a thumbs up.

Will leaves, and Eddie succumbs to the siren call of sleep once more.

When he wakes up, he’s alone.

It’s morning, he can tell by the light in the room, natural now instead of artificial. His back is screaming at him, and his neck isn’t too happy either, so he takes his time sitting up and stretching, imagining the jokes Wayne would throw his way.

“Oh,” someone says, and Eddie looks over to see Steve, pink-cheeked, holding two mugs of coffee.

He seems to make a decision and crosses over to the couch, handing Eddie one of the mugs. It’s blue-and-white checkered, like Dorothy’s dress in The Wizard of Oz, and something about it makes Eddie smile even before Steve says, “Here. Enough sugar to give a bull a heart attack.”

Eddie takes a sip and hums gratefully. “Thanks, man.”

“I, uh. Think that’s my line.” Steve’s cheeks are even pinker now, and he’s studiously not looking at Eddie. “And sorry. For falling asleep on you.”

There’s about a million things Eddie wants to say that he bites his tongue on. Ends up with, “Actually, I slept really well last night.”

Steve’s cheeks are still pink, but he at least glances at Eddie when he says, “Yeah. Me too.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Eddie thinks. “I haven’t been sleeping super well, actually. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “I do.”

It’s silent for a second, long enough that Eddie begins to inanely suggest, “Maybe we could-”

At the same time, Steve starts, “What if we-”

They break off at the same time, blinking at each other before laughing. “You first,” Eddie says.

Steve’s cheeks burn again. “What if we did it again?”

Eddie grins. “I was gonna say maybe we could do it again,” he admits.

Steve giggles, and Eddie has to work to not stare at him with actual hearts in his eyes.

“Not every night,” Eddie hazards. God knows he wants to do it every night. God also knows it’s the fastest way to break his own heart.

“No, of course not. Just- when it gets bad?”

It’s bad every night, Eddie swallows, chokes on. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

“And- we’ll just call each other, I guess.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “You- you’re welcome to call whenever. Day or night. Doesn’t matter.”

“Same for you.”

“What about Wayne?”

“Works nights. And I’m home during the day. If I’m not, I’m with you guys. No chance of waking him up.”

Steve snickers. “Unless you sleep through the phone ringing.”

Eddie snorts. “Fat chance. Every little sound wakes me up, now.”

Steve really looks at him. “Yeah,” he finally murmurs. “I know how that is.”

They finish their coffee, Eddie leaves, and Steve heads into work.

That night, four seconds before Eddie gets up to call Steve, the phone rings.

He bolts down the hall, grabs it so hard he hears the plastic casing creak. “Hello?”

“Eddie.” Steve sounds… small. Relieved, like he wasn’t sure Eddie would answer. “Thought-” Eddie can hear the crease between his brows. “Dream, I guess.” He sniffs, clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“No, hey,” Eddie tells him, “that’s why we’re doing this, you don’t need to say sorry. D’you wanna stay on the phone for a few more minutes? Or can I go for, like, ten minutes?” Usually the drive to Steve’s house is more like fifteen, he knows, but like hell is he following the speed limits when they’re both feeling like this.

“No,” Steve murmurs. “I can- I can go, sorry, you should- you were asleep, I bet-”

“Nope,” Eddie tells him cheerfully. “I wasn’t asleep and I actually was about to call you. I’m gonna hang up so I can drive over, Steve. Are you at a place where you’ll be okay if I hang up?”

Steve hums. “Think so.”

“I’m not getting off until that’s a yes.”

Steve huffs out a breath. “No, it’s- ‘m fine, sorry, you can- if you wanna go-”

“Steve. You’re kinda proving that you’re not okay right now.”

“Oh.”

Eddie huffs out an approximation of a laugh. “Yeah. Think you can take some deep breaths for me?”

Steve takes a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll do it with you, ready?” He coaches Steve through a breath, then through three more, until Steve’s able to inhale without it sticking. “Good. How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Steve admits. “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to.”

“Stevie, baby, I don’t have to do anything.”

He’s grinning, hamming it up for Steve, and can hear the smile in return, the little huff that means a laugh. “But you’re coming over? Because you want to?”

“Ding ding ding, that is correct!” Steve giggles. When it dies down, Eddie quietly says, “I’ll see you in ten, okay?”

“Fifteen,” Steve counters, “don’t speed.”

“Five,” Eddie says nonsensically.

Steve giggles as he says, “You’re already here?”

“I’m already in your bed, are you kiddin’ me? I got there half an hour ago.”

Steve laughs again. When he sobers, he says, “Fifteen. I’ll unlock the door in thirteen, not a minute sooner.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Eddie says, “seven,” and hangs up to Steve’s laughter.

He’s smiling as he pulls shoes on and grabs his keys and wallet. He’s out the door in two minutes, locking it behind him and hopping into his van.

He makes it to Steve’s in twelve minutes, hoping the door’s unlocked so he can walk in.

Steve opens it before he can even get there. “What happened to fifteen?”

Eddie shrugs, smiles. “You know me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he moves to let Eddie in. “Unfortunately I do.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, affronted, “what’s that mean,” and pulls Steve into a hug before he can say anything.

Steve stiffens for a second, not expecting the hug, but then relaxes into it so quickly Eddie’s almost sure he imagines the stiffness. “Thanks for coming,” he whispers.

“Thanks for calling,” Eddie whispers back, pulling away with a smile. “Bed? Or not yet?”

“Bed,” Steve agrees, leading him upstairs before stopping halfway. “Or- would you prefer the couch?”

“Why the hell would I prefer a couch over a bed,” Eddie demands, nudging Steve to keep him moving. His words are soft, though, as he says, “Wherever you want.”

“Bed,” Steve agrees, just as softly.

They climb in then stare at each other. “How do you wanna do this?” Steve asks him.

“However you want.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’ll take too much,” he whispers.

Eddie thinks, privately, Steve’s more fucked up than anyone knows. “Not if I’m willing to give you everything,” Eddie swears, heart in his throat and on the line. “C’mon. You called me. Help me learn how to help you.”

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“It won’t be,” Eddie swears, “but yeah. I’ll tell you.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment. Eddie does his best to keep his expression open and willing. He’s not sure how he’s doing, but it must be good enough for Steve, because he burrows in, tucking his face into Eddie’s chest, throwing an arm over Eddie’s waist and relaxing.

Eddie responds in kind, laying an arm over Steve’s, around his back, and pulling him in that little bit closer. “Sleep,” he whispers, even as he succumbs and his eyes close.

When he awakens in the morning, it’s still dark, but Steve’s getting up. He makes a questioning noise, reaching out for him.

Steve squeezes his hand before placing it down again. “Just going to the bathroom,” he whispers. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again, Steve’s back in bed, curled up against him, breath whiffling across Eddie’s chest.

Something in his chest cracks open as he lets himself study Steve. There’s a slight furrow in his brow, like even in sleep he’s still holding onto stress. Eddie wants to hold him by the ankles and shake him until all the bad thoughts come out and only the good remain. A sigh escapes his mouth at the thought, wisping over Steve’s face, and it’s apparently enough to wake him. Eddie watches as Steve’s face scrunches and his feet kick out in a stretch. He rolls over closer to Eddie, putting his face in Eddie’s chest, then freezes and pulls back, looking up at Eddie with a confused frown that quickly turns into a shy smile. “Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” Eddie responds.

“Y’wake?” Steve asks nonsensically, but Eddie understands: is he really up, or is he going back to sleep.

Eddie shrugs in response. Steve nods, rolling back over into Eddie’s chest and sighing.

The thing in Eddie’s chest cracks more.

He wraps his arm around Steve again. He feels it, the moment Steve falls asleep, all tension leeching from his body.

He’s warm and solid, breathing evenly, and Eddie’s eyes don’t want to open, go longer and longer between blinks.

He falls asleep.

When he wakes up again—the third and final time—Steve’s out of bed, and the sheets are cool to the touch. “What,” he mutters, brows furrowed, palm on the sheets next to him. The area is slowly warming up, from his body heat, but they were definitely cold.

He sits up, stretches, scratches his head, and makes his way downstairs to look for Steve.

He can smell coffee and pancakes halfway down. The thing in his chest is wide open, hungry, hurting.

Hunting.

He thinks, stuck halfway down the stairs, he needs to stay away from Steve.

He has no idea how he’s going to do that.

He finishes his walk and finds himself in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wall, watching Steve cook.

He flips a pancake, shimmies his hips when the pancake is perfectly brown, and slides it off onto a stack next to him. He pours more batter in and turns to get some coffee, freezing for a second when he sees Eddie. “Hey, you’re up! How’d you sleep?”

Eddie nods, watching Steve walk over to the coffee pot and grab two mugs. “Pancakes are almost done, coffee’s here, sugar’s here-” he points, “-and milk’s in the fridge. Help yourself.”

“Um,” Eddie says, and heads toward the coffee.

Steve grins. “Not a morning person? I can tone it down if you need me to.”

Eddie waves him off, doctors his coffee, and takes a long sip, humming at the taste and warmth. “You’re fine,” he finally says. “I just need, like, five minutes for my brain to go oh, we’re awake, I should work.” He adopts a funny voice for his brain, smirking when Steve laughs.

“Fair enough. Any plans for the day?”

Eddie hums as he thinks through his schedule. “Band practice with the guys tonight, and…” he doesn’t have any plans with Wayne, but he knows he needs to talk this through, so, “Wayne wants my help with… something. I dunno.”

Steve snorts. “Sounds exciting.”

“Oh, yeah, the height of excitement, I’m just gonna expire from anticipation.” He sends Steve a flat look, and Steve cackles as he flips another pancake.

“Well let me know if this super-exciting thing you’re doing needs another set of hands.”

“Will do,” Eddie says. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

Steve shrugs. “I like cooking. Not much reason to when it’s just me, so I don’t usually do pancakes, but I do enjoy it.”

“Well,” Eddie says, leaning on the counter, “isn’t that reason enough?”

Steve stills for a moment, tilting his head. “Huh. I never thought of it that way.”

The thing in Eddie’s chest grumbles.

His stomach also grumbles, and Steve hears that, laughing as he retrieves a plate. “Here, take some, syrup is in the pantry and jelly is in the fridge.” He stacks a plate with four pancakes, thrusting it Eddie’s direction.

Eddie notices there’s only two on his plate, takes one from his pile and puts it on Steve’s. “Only if you eat too.”

Steve smiles at him, a small, real thing that makes the thing, the monster in his chest ache. “Okay.”

Eddie leaves soon after, quoting his thing with Wayne, makes sure Steve knows he can call if he needs someone.

Steve makes sure he knows the same.

The monster claws at his chest.

He covers the wince with a grin, waves on his way out, jumps into his van.

Turns the tape up until the drumbeat drowns out his thoughts.

He’s back to the trailer in fifteen. Wayne’s there, awake, facing the door when Eddie comes through. “Thought so,” he says, first thing. “You needta talk.”

Eddie collapses into a ball on the couch.

Wayne joins him, pulls him in, like he’s two instead of twenty, like a heart in danger of breaking is the same as a skinned knee. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to me. That’s what you do.”

“I really like him, Wayne.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s- he’s so nice, but he-”

He sniffles. Only realizes then that he’s crying. “Wayne,” he asks, “am I a good person?”

“You are.”

“Why’s the worst shit always happen to good people?”

Wayne sighs. “I wish I knew.”

“He’s better than me. And he’s had so much shit thrown his way. And I just- I wanna help but I dunno how when I see him like this.”

“You wanna take care of him.”

“Yeah.” Another sniffle. “But he doesn’t want that.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Didn’t need to. I can see it.”

Wayne hums. “Y’know when you first got here, you were scared of me? Not ‘cause I’m Al’s brother. Because of me. ‘Cause my face scared you. You thought I was always mad. Sometimes what you see isn’t how it is.”

“But how do I know?”

“You don’t. Not unless you talk to him.” He rubs a hand down Eddie’s spine. “How ‘bout that Birdie girl? She’s his best friend. She might be able to tell you more.”

“She won’t tell me anything.”

“My momma had a saying. Honesty begets honesty. Talk to her. Tell her the truth. She’ll tell you a truth right back.”

“…Today?”

“Better sooner ‘n later, but I guess it don’t gotta be today.”

Eddie sighs. “Today.” He picks at the knee of his sleep pants, worn with age. “How?”

“How do you talk to her?”

“Mhm.”

“Honesty, boy. ‘S about all y’got.”

Eddie sighs, leans into Wayne. Lets himself be held for a moment longer.

Wayne sighs, too. “Wanna watch that animal documentary?”

Eddie immediately perks up. “Really? You’ll watch it with me?”

Wayne smiles, nudges him off his lap. “Go put it in.”

Eddie grins as he races to do so, and the next two hours is lost to polar bears and orcas.

After it’s over, Wayne stands with a sigh and ruffles Eddie’s hair as he walks past. “Got work tonight. Y’mind bein’ quiet today?”

Eddie hums. “Imma go find Robin. Talk to her. Wish me luck.”

“Y’dont need it,” Wayne says, “but luck anyways.” He waves as he passes into his room.

Eddie grabs his car keys, looks down, and sets the keys back down before trudging to his room to change.

Soon enough he’s walking into Family Video. “Buckley!” He greets happily.

“Munson!” She parrots before her voice flattens. “The fuck you want.” Her eyes are sparkling, though, and the corners of her mouth are twitching up, so he pays no mind to her words. He drapes himself over the counter with a dramatic sigh. “You ‘lone?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we… talk?”

“This is starting to feel like a visit to the principal’s office.”

He pops his head up, eyes wide. “No, no, no! It’s not that at all! It’s me.” He lays his head back down with another sigh. “It’s… okay, so, let’s say, hypothetically, I… liked someone.”

“Steve, got it, go on.”

He puts an arm over his face. “And let’s say—still hypothetically—I did something, said something, that means we’re gonna be in close contact a lot more than before.”

“Okay. I’m following so far.”

He shrugs. “What do I do?”

“What’s the thing?”

“Y’know how he hosted Hellfire last time?”

“Sure.”

“Well I wasn’t playing, Will was DM and I was just there for guidance if he needed it, which he didn’t, kid’s a natural, but. Anyways. I was sitting with Steve in the living room, and we were talking, and I start telling him this story and… he falls asleep on my shoulder.” He groans. “And he looked so peaceful, I couldn’t disturb that, y’know?”

“Okay, I’m following so far.”

“Well turns out when there’s nothing to do but sit there, you end up falling asleep, too.” He clenches a hand in his hair. “We cuddled, Birdie. And then we told each other that we slept well, so I, like the absolute fool I am, said he can call me. If he wants. If he needs someone.”

“He called you last night.”

“He did. I dunno what to do, Robbie.”

“I’m not in the business of telling you what to do. But I can tell you if you told him, he wouldn’t react badly.”

“You’re sure?”

She lays her head down next to his, meeting his eyes. “I’d bet my life on it.”

“So… you think I should tell him?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Eddie.”

He groans and shuts his eyes. “This sucks.”

“Feelings usually do,” she nods, standing up and ruffling his hair. “But if I were you, I’d talk to him.”

Eddie makes a face. “Today?”

Robin shrugs. “Is there a better time?”

Eddie thinks it through. “Tomorrow,” he decides. He looks up at Robin. “If I don’t tell him tomorrow, can you tell him the day after?”

Robin raises her brows. “You want me to?”

“Yeah. Like… like incentive. Because if I know it’s gonna happen anyways, it’s better if I do it, right?”

Robin smiles. “I’ll tell him the day after tomorrow if you don’t.”

“Thanks.” He squeezes her hand, straightens up. Smiles. “I’ve gotta run. You’re a good friend, Buckley.”

She smiles, rolls her eyes. “Get outta here, Munson.”

His grin grows wider. “You’re a good friend, Buckley, I don’t know what I do without you!”

“Die, probably,” she deadpans, also grinning. She makes a shooing motion. “You said you’ve gotta run, so go!”

He laughs and runs out, waving over his shoulder.

He makes it to practice just as Gareth does, and not much practice happens that day, but is it really his fault that Jeff’s mom made lemonade and cookies for them?

He gets home that night, tired but happy, and watches a little TV before going to bed.

It’s a scary movie, not one he’s seen before, with a girl with long, dark hair, obscuring her face. She seems to grin right at Eddie and walks toward the camera. He laughs, because it doesn’t even look real.

Except suddenly it is. Suddenly she’s climbing through the screen, doing things he’s never seen a contortionist do, and heading straight for him. He scrambles over the couch and runs for his room, the girl close behind. He closes and locks the door, searching for his walkie. When he finds it, he depresses the button and yells, “Code red! I repeat, code red! Can anyone hear me?”

Only static greets him when he lets go of the button. His hand begins to shake.

“Code red,” he says again, quieter this time. “Please help, someone, please- it’s a code red, I’m serious!”

She rattles his doorknob, long fingers sneaking under his door, reaching and growing until they can almost reach the lock.

“Hello?” Someone calls out from inside the trailer.

Steve.

“Oh, holy shit-” he can hear Steve scramble back. “Eddie? Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Eddie says, “I’m alive?”

The fingers stop growing. In the blink of an eye, they’re gone. The girl hisses, and Steve whispers out another curse.

Eddie tiptoes to his door amid the sound of fighting. When everything goes quiet, he opens his door.

He can’t see anything at first. He silently walks out of his room, looking around, freezing at the sight of Steve on the ground, eyes open, mouth agape, and the girl crouching over him.

She’s hissing at Eddie, but he can’t even care about that right now, because Steve is looking directly at him, and he knows what it looks like when someone’s dead, and he-

Steve-

Eddie swallows bile, drops to his knees. “Steve?”

He never got the chance to say anything.

Only had one day to enjoy holding him.

He could’ve had longer, if he’d said something before now, if he’d made a move-

Or if not, at least Steve wouldn’t be here, dead-

He swallows a sob. The girl turns to him, still hissing, and slowly advances.

He closes his eyes. Waits for the inevitable. Sends a silent apology to his uncle.

Except… nothing happens.

He blinks his eyes open carefully, confused when he’s in his dark room. He sits up, looking around, grateful the moon is bright enough to light up his room enough for him to see.

He creeps out of bed, carefully opens his door, and looks around.

His eyes catch on the place he’d seen Steve dead, and it’s a dream, he knows it was, but he still feels-

He dials. Tries to keep breathing as the phone rings. “‘Lo?”

“Steve?”

“Eddie.” A yawn. “You alright, man?”

“Uh,” Eddie says, looking for the right words, but apparently Steve speaks Eddie.

“Am I going over there or are you coming over here?”

“N-no, you- you don’t have to-”

“Eddie. I don’t have to do anything. I’m doing this because I want to. Are you gonna be okay for fifteen minutes?”

“Define okay,” Eddie says, still unsure what words mean. What he’s saying.

“Okay, that’s a no. Eddie, I need you to take a couple of deep breaths for me, okay? I’ll do it too. Ready? We’re gonna breathe in… in… in… now hold it, two, three, four, now out… slowly… out… and hold. Two, three, four. Twice more, okay?”

He guides Eddie through the exercise, pausing when they finish. “How’re you feeling now?”

“Better,” Eddie agrees, sighing. “I’m sorry, man, you really don’t have to come over.”

Steve scoffs. “Unlock the door, Eddie, I’ll be there in fifteen, alright?”

“M’kay,” Eddie murmurs.

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Steve ends the call, and Eddie blinks as he puts the phone back on the hook. He moves to unlock the door then sits on the couch. He doesn’t look at the TV, doesn’t look at the spot on the floor where Steve-

He flinches, a full-body shudder, when the door opens. “Eddie?” Steve asks, locking eyes with him. “Hey, man, everything okay?”

He’s alive. He’s breathing, he’s moving, he’s-

Eddie reaches out for him, face shuddering, and Steve’s quick to respond, crossing the room in three long steps and throwing himself onto the couch next to Eddie, pulling him into a hug, and Eddie can breathe again.

“Fuck,” he mutters into Steve’s neck.

“Bad one, huh?”

He holds Steve tighter. “Dreamed… code red. No one answered. You- you came.” He swallows. “I saw-” he shakes his head, buries his face into Steve’s neck. “I know what it looks like when someone dies,” he whispers.

Steve stiffens, then relaxes and pulls Eddie even closer. “I’m so sorry.”

“I keep- seeing, you-”

“Hey.” Steve grabs his neck, makes him look at his face. “I’m right here, okay? Im right here. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re both here, and we’re both alive.” He grabs Eddie’s hand, puts it on his chest, over his heart. “Feel that? Feel my heartbeat?”

Eddie looks down at his hand. Feels the rising and falling of his chest from breathing. Feels the steady thump-thump of his heart. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“I’m right here,” Steve promises, also whispering.

Eddie lets out a shaky sigh and rests his forehead on Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

Steve rubs his back for a few minutes, then pulls back a little to ask, “Wanna try and go back to bed?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“Okay. How about TV?”

“No.” His fingers clench, digging into Steve’s chest, and Steve’s hand comes up to cover his, to smooth it back out, to calm him down.

“That’s okay. How about we get something to drink?”

Eddie sighs, takes one deep breath, lets it out. “I’m a shit host,” he jokes. “You want somethin’?”

“I was thinking tea for you,” Steve replies, smile evident in his voice. “How about it? A nice cuppa?”

Eddie snorts and pulls away. “Alright then, mate,” he jokes, affecting a British accent, then back to his normal voice. “Long as you’ll join me.”

“Always,” Steve promises, and the monster growls.

Steve makes the tea. He won’t let Eddie help, but doesn’t oppose to him sitting on the counter and watching.

After they’re finished, Eddie dumps the mugs in the sink with a mental promise to get to them tomorrow. “Okay,” he says around a yawn, “your tea worked. I’m tired.”

Steve smiles. “Bed?”

“Bed,” Eddie agrees, pushing the monster in his chest down and taping its mouth shut. He only hesitates a little when he sees his bed, but climbs in anyways, holding the covers up for Steve.

They get settled, and before he knows it, Eddie’s drifting off.

He wakes up to sunlight on his face. He groans and rolls over, snorting and pushing back when he runs into Steve, who had already been awake. “Morning,” Steve offers.

Eddie plops his head back down and resolutely shuts his eyes.

“Or not,” Steve agrees, amused.

He’s about to speak, to wake up more, when Steve shifts and puts a hand in his hair.

He melts.

He thinks his brain might be melting out of his ears, all his thoughts leaking with it, because suddenly his head is blissfully blank.

He falls asleep again.

He wakes up as Steve settles back in bed next to him, glancing up with bleary eyes. He’s got a steaming mug in one hand, glancing down at Eddie with a smile. “Morning?”

Eddie hums out something that isn’t a word in any language. He blinks, long and slow, but he’s up. He tilts his head away from the pillow to speak. “Wha’s-” he squints at the mug. “Coffee?”

Steve smiles, grabs a second mug from the nightstand, hands it over. “Enough sugar to knock out the Duracell bunny,” he teases, and Eddie’s hard pressed not to blurt out a love confession right here and now.

Except… why not, he thinks. He promised Robin he would. And sure, it doesn’t have to be right this second, but… when else would he do it? He knows himself, he’d just chicken out.

He sits up, accepts the mug. Hums at the sweet taste. Gulps down half of it in the hopes of it waking him up faster.

Steve snorts. “You’re not gonna run out, Eds, there’s more in the pot and we can always make more.”

Eddie smiles sheepishly at Steve. “‘M tryin’a wake up faster.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. “You don’t have to be up just because I am, dude.”

Eddie shakes his head, leans against the wall. Can’t look at Steve when he says, “No, I, uh. Actually wanted to talk to you?”

He can see, in his periphery, Steve turning to look at him. “About what?”

He works his lip, takes another sip. “About…” he sighs. “About what we’re doing. About how I don’t think we should.” He ducks his head. “I- I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s fine, I swear, I can get over myself. But I can’t if we keep doing this. ‘Cause I’m, like… stupidly gone on you, man. And I can’t- I can’t keep doing this.” He shuts his eyes. “I could, I could make myself, I could try to tune it out, I could- I could break my own heart. Which is exactly why I can’t.” He doesn’t know when his voice lowered into a whisper, but it did, and the last word comes out scared and breathy.

Steve takes a shaky breath. “You… like me?”

Eddie breathes in. Breathes out. Nods.

Steve swallows audibly, turns to face him. “How?”

He’s whispering, too, and Eddie looks up at him. Looks into honey-brown eyes, full of muted hope. “How do I like you?” Steve nods, and Eddie blows out a breath. “I like you… in the way I always want to make you laugh. In the way I want to always be there for you when you’re sad, or scared, or need help. In the way I want to know every piece of you so well I know how you’re feeling before you do. I want to make you dinner, and pull you close on the couch when we’re watching a movie, and wake up every morning to your face. I want to take you to Enzo’s and play footsie under the table with you until we’re both laughing way too hard and the waitress is staring at us because she just wants us to order. I want to scream it from the rooftops, even though I know I can’t. I want to hold your hand and run my fingers through your hair.”

“You want to keep me,” Steve whispers.

Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah. I want to keep you. I want you to be mine the way I’ve been yours.”

“I am yours,” Steve murmurs. “I want you to keep me.” He watches Eddie for a second. “You want to kiss me?”

Edie looks up at him. Slowly nods.

“Then do it,” Steve whispers in a hiss, and Eddie does.

And he does thoroughly.

“Mine,” he whispers against Steve’s lips.

Steve pulls back, takes his mug, puts it on the nightstand with his own. Turns back to Eddie, grabs his hand, lays his head on Eddie’s chest. “Yours,” he whispers, smiling when Eddie puts his other hand in his hair.

They don’t fall asleep. It’s a close thing, but they don’t have time before Steve has to get up for work.

He hesitates in the doorway. “Tonight,” he murmurs, then falls silent.

Eddie smiles at him. “Come over?”

Steve brightens, nods. The monster in Eddie’s chest purrs, satisfied.

259 notes · View notes

miserablemuffin · 29 days ago

Text

I Think I Love You

Roy Harper x Jason Todd

Summary: Guys I had this idea that:

I headcannon that Jason wrote Roy love letters when he was Robin and left them in the tower for Roy. Roy never knew who they were from but kept them none the less. Skip a few years and Roy and Jason are trapped in a hotel on some mission. Jason is getting pissed that the gang he’s tracking doesn’t use the internet and asks Roy to check over his letter to see if it’s all ok. Roy looks over it and realises Jason wrote those letters. Badda bing badda boom snogging and other stuff happens. I might write this.

And I did write it! It changes slightly but that pretty much the story!

Thoughts: Chapter Title from a song called I think I love you by David Cassidy and the Partridge Family.

I’ve never wrote anything before romantic centric so I hope it’s have decent.

This is how Jason and Roy get together in my you’re gonna go far fic but you do not need to read it to understand it.

Enjoy x

Jason Todd was many things but not many would peg him for a romantic. If you’d known him when he was younger you would believe it. His black baby curls and his dimpled smile, he looked like he stepped out of a fairytale. Of course he would believe and partake in romantic ideals.

The Jason Todd now looked like he didn’t know the meaning of romance. Familial love, sure, depending on the day, time, week, month and planets aligning, meaning it was very fucking rare.

But Romance? Jason Todd who was freshly twenty-four did not look like he knew the meaning of romance. He told himself time and time again he didn’t want to know and didn’t deserve to know.

So now, as he watches his best friend Roy Harper he only thinks of depressing things and revenge and that ginger hair and his tatts and that fucking cap and what he wouldn’t do if he had one chance, just one chance.

Maybe the things he were thinking weren’t exactly romantic but they certainly weren’t fucking familial. He didn’t realise how long he was staring until Roy caught him.

Those eyes.

“You ok Jason?”

“Hm?”

“I said are you ok?”

The concern seeping into his voice knocked him out of his state. God last thing he needs is Roy finding about his…crush. It was so embarrassing. Years later and he was still infatuated with him. Not even death could kill that crush.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine it’s just this weather doesn’t look like it’s giving up.”

That was an understatement. The weather was heavy sheets of ice, not hail, ice. Ice that came down in continuous streams and seemed like it had no intention of slowing.

Roy was the one driving as Jason wasn’t to be trusted behind the wheel after the accident that happened a few days ago. What was the accident? Bumping into Oliver Queen. That’s right. You swore he bumped into the fucking 96 year old king of an ancient city the way Oliver fell to the floor, grasping at the air.

Roy and Oliver’s relationship was strenuous at the best of times, just like his and Bruce’s. So Roy made a big show of putting a ban on Jason driving for their trip.

Even when he was so clearly tired and needed a break from all the driving on their cross country mission, he still didn’t relent.

“Yeah I’m gonna have to pull over soon. You ok with that Jaybird, this won’t quench your thirst for revenge on those cult members.”

“Hey fuck you. They deserve what’s coming for them. We should keep going”

“And since we’re so thorough with our investigation, we know that they wait six weeks before they strike. Hey Jaybird?”

Jason let out a sigh. He could already see the indicators blinking.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what week they’re on?”

He let out a long suffering sigh.

“They’re on week two.”

“Exactly. Do you know how long it takes to get to Nebraska from here?”

“One week.”

“Which means we have three spare weeks if we need to eat into extra time.”

“Roy.”

“Jason.”

“We’re pulling over aren’t we?”

“I’m glad we had this chat.”

Roy pulls over fifteen minutes later at a rundown motel. It has an L shaped layout and there was only one sketchy car that seemed to be leaving as they arrived. The walls had plaster crumbling down them, if he had to guess he would say the colour of the motel was murky custard.

Jason whistled as he stepped out the car.

“Roy I can’t believe this. A fiver star resort.”

“Only for you babe.” Roy walked passed him, gave him a wink and smacked his ass.

Jason flamed from embarrassment or something else he didn’t know.

Would he say Roy made a habit of smacking Jason on the ass.

Eh yes, yes he fucking would.

It all stared about a month ago. Jason had stayed over at Roy’s after a stake out. He thought the least he could do was make him breakfast or Alfred would somehow sense his well taught manners not being used and curse him or something.

It’s what Dick told him when he was a kid. He thought it was true, but now he knows better…he still doesn’t want to test his look.

Anyway, breakfast was made and Roy Harper strolled in with a chattering Lian. A chattering Lian who gravitated towards the table with neatly stacked pancakes which left her Dad and Jason in the kitchen.

Which means Lian wouldn’t see Roy pat Jason’s ass and whisper in his ear—“Looks real good.”

Jason’s face flamed and only hummed in response. Since his reaction wasn’t exactly negative Roy took it as encouragement.

Jason Todd getting his ass smacked by Roy Harper was a regular occurrence now. Who would’ve thought.

Apparently Lian Harper, who, before they left for their mission was getting dropped off at Ollie and Dinah’s place. She was in the car, with JUST Jason and decides to drop a metaphorical and pretty much physical bomb on him.

“Jason?”

“Yeah peanut.”

He was pulling up to her grandparents house now, he could see Ollie in the drive way.

“You like my dad the way my mom used to like my dad, don’t you?”

That’s, ladies, gents and everyone in between, was how he bumped into Oliver Queen and got his driving privileges revoked for this trip.

So somehow a literal seven year old caught onto his feelings for Roy before Roy himself.

He could only sputter at Lian before Ollie was crying out in rage.

Back to the present, with his dignity intact, he walks with Roy up to reception shack. Aka, the wooden shed that looks one wind away from toppling over. You chuck some money at it and it shoots out a key.

Roy and Jason race each other and the rain up the stairs and into their humble abode. Jason makes his way to the window while Roy flips the switch of the light.

“Hey room with a view.”

The pool, pool of not water but sludge, with fluorescent lighting was right outside their back window.

“Chance are some cuppla try skinny dipping.”

“Chances are that couple is us?”

Jason’s heart gives a leap on the word couple and takes a deep breath to calm his stuttering heart.

Stay cool Todd. Stay cool.

“Have you seen the state of the pool?”

“Have you seen the state of the bed?”

Jason turns then to face the bed. Roy is analysing him or more so his reaction. He doesn’t think Jason is going to react well to the bed which is weird.

It has no weird stains, Roy can’t tell if it’s lumpy as he hasn’t moved from his place at the door, the frame isn’t the most sturdy but other than that the be—oh god.

There is nothing wrong with the bed it’s just a bed.

A bed.

Singular.

Not plural.

Jason knows for a fact his face is crimson.

“Oh.”

“Oh is right.”

“I’m going to see if they have another room.”

“Yeah you do that.”

Roy salutes him before his whistling fades down the hall.

Jason all but knocks down the bathroom door in his haste to do something. He yanks off his clothes and turns on the water. Boiling. The water could scorch skin off but that what Jason wants. Something to fake his mind off the alternative of Roy not getting a spare bed.

Jason groans and covers his head with his hands. He remembers his first ever time to woo Roy and didn’t that end spectacularly. He promised himself no matter how much he loved Roy Harper he would never, ever make a move again.

💘

Jason was fifteen years old and he had finally had his first crush. He knew he was always different growing up. He grew up slower. He was a late bloomer and was teased mercilessly by Dick who couldn’t believe he never had a crush before.

Jason just never found anyone interesting enough to even consider liking like that. One afternoon with a bow and arrow with Roy Harper really changed his perspective on it.

Was the eighteen years old way out of his league. Yes.

Would Roy ever take a chance on him in a million years. No.

Would Bruce allow it. No.

Would Dick allow it. Fuck no.

Would all these facts stop Jason from writing a letter to Roy…no.

Jason wanted to let Roy know how he found him incredible and he was amazing both in and out of hero costume cause he doesn’t think many people do. He wants to tell him how he only spent one evening with him and he was already in love with him. Ok, that bit was a tad strong.

Point still stood though.

He had a feeling his message wouldn’t be well received if he said it face to face so when his actions couldn’t reach Jason fell back on his old reliable words.

It had stared off small. Little post it notes with harmless comments. He made his move when the Teen Titans Tower had their bi-monthly peoples day.

This meant the first three levels of the tower were free game to the public and activities with the best upcoming superhero’s were held all day. Each Titan had to make an appearance at these events.

Jason helped Dick organise and clean at these things. He had many jobs, one being to collect all fan mail in each Titans designated box and hand it over to each of them.

This meant Jason could easily sneak his little notes into Roy’s pile. They were harmless.

I like your hair.

You’ve got really good aim.

You’re my favourite out of the Titans.

I’d let you snap my back like a glow stick.

Ok he didn’t send that one but he was pretty fucking tempted.

So on and so forth. Each note being identical to the last.

He had built up a name for himself and the Titans speculated which regular it could be at the event. Dick had his bets on a pretty blonde girl who always came but Jason was pretty sure he was there for Kory.

He couldn’t do it every time, as sometimes he wouldn’t be allowed to attend by Bruce or Dick decided Jason was annoying. He hated that. When Dick would get this look in his eyes that screamed replacement and he wouldn’t want to spend time with Jason.

It happened less frequently now but it still happened.

With those two things in mind he knew he couldn’t send one every time as it would be suspicious that one wouldn’t appear when Jason didn’t appear. One nosey Titan would catch on.

The Jason decided to send him a letter. Just one letter in the hopes to make Roy feel better about himself. He had heard Dick on the phone to him calling Oliver Queen all sorts of names. Apparently he won’t speak with Roy at the moment because of some issues.

Roy apparently took it pretty hard and probably needed some cheering up that alcohol can’t provide.

So Jason decided to step up his game and slip his letter that took three weeks to write into Roy’s box.

Only to then be called indirectly creepy by Roy himself.

Roy and Donna, Roy’s ex-girlfriend, were discussing something, Jason didn’t mean to easvesdrop but Donna’s words made him stop.

“Come on Roy, first these and now a letter, this is stalker behaviour.”

Jason’s breath caught in his lungs and he froze.

“I know Donna. What sort of creep sends this.”

Roy’s waving something around in his hand. He’s doing it so frantically that it’s a blur but Jason knows what it is. It’s his letter that seems to be opens and read.

‘What sort of creep sends this.’

Jason makes a dash for the bathroom and promptly pukes.

God, stupid, stupid, stupid. How could he. Eugh. He’s unbelievable. How did he manage to fuck up this badly.

Jason can’t even stomach being in the tower right now. He goes to find Dick but realises Dicks in costume. He can’t exactly go up to him.

‘Nightwing my bro any chance you can call our Bruce and ask for a ride.’

That would go down so smoothly.

Instead he hops on the mini bus that brings people to and from the island and manages to high tail his way to the manor. How? With his dignity still intact, an IOU and a bare wrist.

Throughout his journey he didn’t even think about how mad Bruce will be when he gets back. Instead all he could think of was how much of a fuck up he was. God how could he be so stupid.

When he knocks on the manor door Alfred look surprised.

“Master Jason I did not expect you so soon. Where is Master Dick?”

“He’s kinda still at the tower.”

One furry eyebrow exceeds the other as Jason is led to the kitchen.

“Is Dick and Jason here Alfred?”

“Just Master Jason.”

“Dick leave so soon?”

“I’m afraid Master Dick never came back.”

“Oh Jason you need to think lad. We’ve been over this.”

Bruce enters the scene with a concerned look at Jason upon seeing the state he’s in. The expression turns into disappointment upon hearing what Jason did.

But Jason did think. He thought about sending that letter to Roy for two months before plucking up the courage to actually write the thing. He thought about how he could be a better brother for Dick but Dick still sometimes had that look in his eyes.

He thought a lot about how Bruce inevitably would always prefer Dick over him but he also thought of ways he could be a better sorta son.

All ever Jason did was think and he was so, so sick of it.

He burst into tears. Proper crocodile tears, he was hysterical and his sobs echoed throughout the manner.

The last time Jason cried was six years ago when he lost his mother. He hadn’t cried since because if he did he knew he wouldn’t stop.

He knew that if he cried on the street it would waste energy, do nothing for his situation and alert him as prey to hungry pervs.

He never cried in the manor at first for the same reasons he didn’t cry in the streets. It would achieve nothing. His mom wouldn’t want him to weep over her, she would want him to move forward. So he did.

As time progressed he didn’t cry cause he hadtnothing to cry about. He had school, patrol, food, warmth and what he thinks is love.

Sure him and Dick don’t always get on and Bruce and Jason fight sometimes but they never hit him. Not like his dad used to. They never said they didn’t love him when he did something wrong.

But Jason had a reason to cry now. He was a creepy fuck up. A creepy fuck up that’s been accused of never thinking when all he does is think.

“I-I-I’m sor-ry.”

That’s all Jason could muster before he bolted up the stairs at the speed of light.

Jason, if not so distraught, would’ve taken a picture of Bruce’s face if he could. Bruce was still as a statue. Alfred even looked shocked. Soon however he could hear Bruce chase after him but Jason had the door bolted before collapsing.

He didn’t care how loud he cried, he had six years to make up for. He sobbed for all the shit he’s endured these past years.

Bruce was in hysterics the other side of the door.

“Please Jaylad, open the door.”

“N-no.”

“Was it something that happened at the tower.”

Jason only cried harder, he was no better than the pervs on the street. He was only trying to be nice.

“Was it Dick.”

“Pl-plea-please Bruce j-just drop it.”

“Jay I can’t do that you’re…”

Bruce trails off unsure. When Dick cried he’d make sure Bruce knew exactly how he fucked up. He wouldn’t forgive him for days and his tears were angry and loud.

Jason’s tears were quiet and heartbroken. They made Bruce’s heart and soul ache differently to Dick’s. Dick’s tears would build up, Jason’s tears just broke.

Bruce was at a loss. What happened at the fucking tower to make Jason like this. In the six years he’s known him Jason had never cried.

As Bruce was having a crisis on the other side of the door Jason was slowly calming down. His mind cleared and he knew two things.

One. He would never ever go back to Titans Tower.

Two. He would never ever make a move on Roy Harper again.

Jason cried a second time three months later when the numbers on the bomb hit zero. Bruce was no where near him that time to hear his cries.

So present Jason made him remember those promises, no matter how tempting or how out of it he was, he would never ever make a move on Roy.

💘

How could Roy be so stupid. He ruined a perfectly good make a move on Jason chance. God, and the skinny dipping comment, Jason was killing him.

Walking down those slippery steps he wished he’d just fall and hurt something good so Jason could carry him. That would make him feel a lot better about his stupid mouth. Jason might even kiss the injury better.

You seen Roy’s teensy weensy crush on one Jason Todd started around the time Jason walked back into his life and held a knife to his throat. Romantic right.

In all fairness, Roy did shoot him with an arrow, which landed in his thigh.

That's how their love story stared. Little by little, mission after mission, breakfast with the two of them and Lian, Roy had fallen for Jason, hard.

Old Roy would’ve made a move two years ago but Roy now wouldn’t. He didn’t want to fuck it up like he did with everything.

Lian needed Jason in her life, Roy needed Jason in their life.

If Jason didn’t return his feelings he would show hide nor hair of himself for about a year, leaving two Harpers heartbroken.

So Roy was slowly making his move. His first big leap was getting Lian to make sure she never called Jason Uncle.

“Why can’t I call him uncle?”

”Cause Sweetie he’s not your actual uncle?”

”So? Neither is Uncle Dick and Uncle Conor and Uncle Wally and Uncle Garth and—“

”Ok, ok. I get it but Jason’s different.”

”Ohhhh. Daddy you want Jason to be my other daddy.”

Roy could only sputter but he didn’t deny it. Technically the end goal was to make Jason Lian’s second Daddy.

“Something like that sweatpea.”

”It’s ok daddy, I won’t tell anyone.”

Turns out ‘everyone’ does not apply to Dinah and Ollie.

They were all at their annual Sunday dinner when Lian announced that she was going to be getting a second Daddy. Everyone paused, forks still lifted to mouths when all eyes turned to Roy.

Conor, the little shit, asked. “Don’t you mean mommy Lian?”

That fucker knew full well who Lian was on about, he just wanted to stir shit.

Lian scowled. “Jason’s not a girl.”

The room erupted into noise. After that disaster Roy swore he would never turn back to his natural shade. One of the biggest results of that family dinner was Lian winking at him and giving him a thumbs up whenever he said something too much to Jason.

His second big leap was giving Jason hugs. Hugs that would last too long and would leave no room for the Holy Spirit between them. Jason always reciprocated them. If he thought it was weird he didn’t showcase his feelings so Roy took it as a win.

His third big leap was smacking Jason’s ass. What possessed him to do it, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that Jason turns bright red after each one but never shoves him away, only rolls his eyes. He’s taking that as a good sign.

So as he chucks a five dollar bill into the shack, he can’t help but feel like he’s missed a big leap. Two minutes go by and no key comes. Roy gives the machine a good shake but nothing comes out.

Roy spends another minute starring dumbly at it. No freaking way. He takes it as a sign. He’d give that shit shack another five dollars for the setup. He pretty much skips up the stairs, back to their hotel room. Big leap numero 4 is happening today and boy is Roy ready for it.

When he gets back to the room he can hear the shower running and no sign of his Jaybird.

“I’m surprised the shower even runs.” Roy shouts as he makes himself comfy on their bed.

“Yeah but not for long, you might have to go without one.”

“Are you serious?”

“Mhm. Looks like you’re out of luck Harper.”

Smug bastard, he can practically feel Jason’s shit eating grin.

“Huh. Guess I’ll have to go skin dipping in the pool after all, unless you don’t mind budging up in there for little old me.”

He swears he hears Jason trip in the shower.

“Ha fucking ha.”

Two minutes go by and Roy’s resorted to blowing raspberries.

“Jaybird I’m bored.”

A long sigh sounds out from the bathroom.

“So go find something to do.”

“But there’s nothing to do.”

“Do you see the Red Bag with the white straps.”

“Uh huh.”

“There’s a letter in there that I need you to read over.”

“Oh how fun! I definitely won’t be bored reading a letter.”

“Shut up.”

“Why a letter?”

“Old school cult, don’t use anything but pen paper.”

“Fair enough.”

Roy hums as he rifles through Jason’s bag before BINGO! A rolled up piece of paper tied with string. He unrolls it and begins to read. But there’s something about the letter that bugs him. He can’t put his finger on it and—oh.

Oh.

He knows this writing, this fancy scrawl that is so unlike Jason’s usual blocky writing.

💘

Roy had a secret admirer, not a stalker but an admirer. Who would’ve thought. If only the person knew how much an idiot Roy was then Roy was sure they wouldn’t write so highly of him.

Some of the Titans teased him and others thought it was sweet but he wanted one persons opinion on the matter the most, Jason.

Why would he want Jason’s opinion? Because according to Dick he’s a guru when it comes to this stuff and he would be able to discreen whether this mysterious person was coming off as romantic or friendly.

But Roy never asked Jason cause that kid was sunshine. He was just so nice. He always helped, always friendly with the visitors and somehow knew exactly how to handle screaming kids.

But the main point is Roy never asked him. He kept each and every sticky note in his bedside locker. At the events he made sure he was sober, not sorta sober but sober so he could try and find the mystery person but to no luck.

It was at one of these events when his admirer left his final note or well letter.

Jason had given them each of their boxes which Roy and Donna had on the table. The rest of Titans were performing their tricks that they always did at the end of these things.

Him and Donna were sorting through their mail when Donna cried in outrage.

“This bastard never knows when to stop!”

She passes a letter with loopy writing to him. He already knows it’s from her fanboy Ken. His actual name is Kieth but Roy called him Ken cause he looks like a Ken doll.

Donna pitied the guy and went on one date with him. Turned out to be a total creep and now he won’t leave her alone.

“Are you sure he’s 110% a stalker creep?”

He knew for a fact the sicko was but he loved winding up Donna.

“Come on Roy, first these and now a letter, this is stalker behaviour.”

It was her tone of voice that makes Roy give it up.

“I know Donna. What sort of creep sends this.”

Roy waves around the letter hoping it would magically burn.

“Do you want me to read it or you?”

“Oh give it here.”

The letter told Donna that she had one last chance before he would move on for ever.

“Do you think he’s serious?”

“He better be or he’ll have to stay away from windows.”

“You wouldn’t shoot him.” She says it in tone that’s supposed to be stern but her big smile gives her away.

“Brilliant, you already know what you’d say to the questioning cops. ‘But my Roy wouldn’t shoot that sicko’.”

“Yeah, yeah. What about your admirer.”

There’s no sticky note but a letter. Roy and Donna share a look but before he opens it the rest of the Titans pile in. Roy shoves the letter up his shirt.

Dinner is ordered and comes within fifteen minutes. Perks of saving a pizzeria from an alien.

The letter is still up Roy’s shirt and it burns at him. He needs to read it and then ask for Jason for advice. How bad is it that he needs to ask for a fifteen year old for advice but he’s the expert. Dick told him he used to make money writing letters for romantic fools.

Speaking of Jason, where is he?

Dick and Kory only entered the room ten minutes ago and from the looks of it they weren’t just holding hands.

“Dick.”

“Hm?”

“Where’s Jason.”

Dick who was focused on Kory whipped his head around to Roy.

“What? He’s not here.”

“Eh no?”

The rest of the Titans stop eating.

“I last saw him heading towards the kitchen.” Garth said. “When we were starting our show.”

“Me and Roy were in the kitchen and he didn’t come in. Dick?”

“JASON.” Kory shouted down the hall but no one answered.

“Ok let’s not panic, he has to be here. We just gotta look.”

Thirty minutes later and it’s safe to say they were fucking panicking until Dick got a call from Bruce.

“Bruce, Bruce oh my god I can-“

“…”

“What do you mean he’s at the manor, how?”

“…”

“Crying! Jason doesn’t cry.”

“…”

“No, no I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

Dick was now fucking max panicked.

“Jason, he’s out the manor and I-I need a lift. I took the train.

Roy volunteered.

Roy didn’t go into the manor, it wasn’t his place. He was worried about the kid, he was one tough nut. Whatever it was that was bothering him would be dealt it.

With nothing else to do and no cigarette in sight he remembers his letter.

Dear Roy,

I hope you don’t mind me writing this letter but I need you to hear this.

It think you’re incredible, admirable and quite good looking but most importantly you’re a hero. You’re kind and good and you don’t think you’re above the rest of civilians which some hero’s do.

I love your hair and the way you dress. I love how you can fight with a bow and arrow and somehow win against outer world threats. I love your humour and the way you talk when you’re slightly not sober.

I hope one day I’ll get to say these face to face but if I don’t I’m glad I got to write them down.

Yours truly,

Roy can only stare and gulp, stare and gulp and don’t cry, don’t cry. He’s saved by a knock on the window.

His stomach drops when he see’s the state he’s in.

“Master Roy I’m afraid Master Dick will be staying the night.”

“Is everything alright Alfie?”

“I’m afraid Master Jason is not feeling the best.”

“Ah ok.” Roy thinks it’s a lot more than that but he’s not in the mental state to push.

“Well tell him I hope feel better, goodnight Alfie.”

“Goodnight Master Roy.”

Roy drives off with heart squeezing, he’ll find out who this person is and when he does he’ll give them the biggest hug imaginable.

But first he’ll have to ask Jason for advice, should he write a letter back?

He never does ask Jason. He dies three months later.

The Titan Tower events also die three months later.

Roy hits rock bottom a year later.

Lian Harper is born three years later.

Jason Todd walks into his life a year after Lian was born.

That’s when shit starts to look up.

💘

Roy is gobsmacked. He only looks at the letter that’s shaking. No. Roy’s shaking. Roy’s fucking shaking because it was Jason. All those years ago Jason sent those letters. Jason thought he was handsome and incredible and nice.

Jason Peter Todd. Who could easily slip his notes into the box.

Jason Peter Todd who was currently naked in the room next to him.

Jason Peter Todd who would be sharing a bed with pent up Roy Harper.

Jason Peter Todd who currently came out the bathroom, with only a towel wrapped round his waist and was red in the face.

Roy wanted to lick each and every droplet that fell from that chest.

“Sorry, I um left my clothes.”

“That’s ok Jaybird.” Roy sounds strangled and he quickly runs to get his clothes.

“Are you ok?”

He clears his throat.

“Yeah. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Oh. It might be a little cold.”

Jason looks guilty, Roy gives him a look up and down.

“Guess we should’ve shared.”

Jason looks like he’s about to faint.

“Yeah.” Jason’s voice cracked.

As the bathroom door closes and Roy gets hit with lukewarm water he decides to tell Jason the news.

“There’s no other room available.”

💘

No other room available. Jason was still trying to process that information.

“But we’re big boys, we can share.”

Jason didn’t bother to respond. Two six foot men were about to share a single bed. Jason hopped into the bed or more so his side.

He tries to think about everything but a certain red head when Roy struts in. Tank top and boxers. Jason’s mouth waters and he tries his best not to stare too much.

Roy scoots into the bed and Jason rolls round to face the wall. Roy switches off the lamp and darkness encases the room.

Jason tries his best to fall asleep and puts as much room between him and Roy as possible.

Roy doesn’t share that same rule and snakes a hand round Jason’s waist.

“I’m so cold.”

That’s all he provides as an explanation. Jason can’t refuse it because A.) he doesn’t want to and B) he used up the hot water.

A leg snakes in between his and suddenly Roy Harper is pressed up against him.

“Jaybird you never asked me about your letter?”

They’re going to talk about that now!? Fucks sake Roy.

“It’s not that interesting.”

“I found it very interesting.”

“Yeah cause you’re a boring bastard.”

“You don’t think that.”

“Oh I don’t? Ok Roy what do I think.”

“You think I’m admirable, and nice and handsome.”

“I have never spoken those words to you in my life, sure this isn’t a fantasy of yours?”

“You’re right about the spoken part, anyway, you also think I’m good with my bow and you think I’m down to earth and you like the way I dress and you like my humour.”

“And again, I never said those to you.”

Now Roy’s other hand had managed to snake his way underneath Jason’s neck and was held tightly against his chest.

He swore he felt a brush of Roy’s lips against his neck.

Those words they sounded so familiar but from where.

And then Jason realised. His letter from years ago.

Jason gasped. “You.”

Roy grinned. “Yeah.”

“How…?”

“From reading your boring cult letter.”

“I-I-I.”

Jason stuttering from embarrassment and also, Roy’s hand going further down south.

“Is this ok?”

Jason can only nod.

“Words babe, I need words.”

“Yeah yeah this ok.”

“Good.” Roy all but purred and he was being palmed through his pants by Roy Harper. Jason had to remember to breathe.

“Jaybird do you wanna know what I think?”

Jason was being manoeuvred to lie on his back and Roy was now looming over him.

“What.” Jason manages to croak out.

“I think I love you.”

Their lips crash together at a speed that could rival the Flash. Roy had one hand cupping his face and the other holding Jason’s hand.

It was better than Jason could ever imagine. He’s never kissed anyone before so he hopes he’s doing alright. Soon they’re both gasping for breath and pull apart. Two seconds later Roy is pressing wet shapes onto Jason’s neck.

“Wait I thought you thought the letter was creepy.”

“I never said that.” Roy told him in between marring his neck as he descended down his chest.

“Yeah you did, you said that to Donna.”

“Didn’t peg you to bring up an ex in bed but I guess why not.”

Jason bats him away and Roy decides to take a pit stop and rest his chin on his stomach, looking up at him innocently.

“Fuck off. Remember you were in the kitchen?”

There’s recognition behind Roy’s eyes and he only shakes his head.

“Yeah I said it was creepy that Donna’s stalker sent her a weird ass letter.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah ‘oh’. But it’s ok Jaybird cause I have a way to make it all up to you.”

Jason then realises Roy’s down there and begins to slowly peel away his boxer.

💘

Two rounds later and he swears Roy’s some sorta meta with his stamina.

They’re both panting in the bed when Roy turns towards him.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”

“I thought you knew!”

“With the moves you were doing down there you could be a master, or maybe you’re right and I’m just easy to please.”

“I’m never doing it again.”

“I take it back Jaybird, just for future reference though if you haven’t done something before don’t tell me when I’m halfway in.”

“You’ll be lucky if there is a next time, dickhead.”

“You like this dick’s head.”

Jason groans and smothers his face with a pillow. Roy stays quiet for a minute before he’s up and running again.

“So you’ve liked me since you were fifteen huh.” He waggles his eyebrows and Jason wonders how he loves this idiot.

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Oh it already has. Wait till Lian hears.”

Jason fidgets with his fingers. “She won’t mind.”

Roy’s expression softens even more. “She fucking adores you Jason.”

“I’m glad cause I’m pretty fond of her too.”

“What about her dad, are you fond of him too?”

“I think he already knows.”

“He does but he wants to hear you say it. You didn’t say it back.”

He tightens his grip on Jason’s wrist above his head.

“He’s waiting.”

“Roy?”

“Yes babe.”

“I love your ass.”

“I love it too, who needs a cushion when you have this bad boy but is there something else you’d like to say?”

Jason sits up and Roy copies his movement.

“Roy Harper.”

“Jason Todd.”

“I love you.”

Roy tackles him to the bed with a kiss.

“Round three baby.”

Jason and Roy end up catching the cult members in the end. He has to leave Roy in Star City. As he makes his way back to Gotham he can’t help himself but smile the entire flight, he probably looks weird cause you only smile if you’re going away from Gotham but he doesn’t give a shit.

When he arrives in Gotham everything goes well until an unidentified meta scaled an entire wall and called him Ben. Later he would come to know that kid as Dick’s kid and his nephew, Peter Parker.

💘

Jason wasn’t sure if him and Roy were together now but at Jason’s 24th birthday party he figured it out.

Peter, that angle of a kid, put Lian to bed which meant Roy had all the time in the world to quench Jason’s doubts about what they were.

💘

“Did you do what I said?”

“Yeah Grandpa I told Jason what you told me to say?”

“And what did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything but he was bright red.”

“That’s my girl.

Extra thoughts: So…what do we think.

Guys I’m 16 so I ain’t writing the devils tango and also I’ve never kissed anyone so like that whole scene was wrote from everything I’ve read. I hope it’s good but if you have tips on have to improve it please let me know.

It was weird writing that letter that I’m still not happy with and the dialogue but I didn’t do too shabby I hope.

If you have any constructive criticism I’d love to hear it!

My ao3 account is Crankycake if you want to check it out

Likes and comments are greatly appreciated and I hope you have a lovely weekend

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