abby1600

[abby1600]

Hold You Tight: Part 31

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 30 | Series Masterlist | Part 32

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.5k

Chapter Summary: You continue to bond with Bucky, and you pay Lois a visit.

Chapter Warnings: Kissing, mention of oral sex (f. receiving), tension, inner turmoil, discussion and aftermath of physical assault and being held hostage, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 and @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You were up before Bucky, the events from the previous night playing in your mind. Opening up, though not fully, to Addison was needed. Fun with the girls, which should’ve been what the winery entailed, felt normal. But Bucky going down on you…

You pressed your legs together when Bucky held you closer, pushing that thought away. It wasn't just taking back power by letting desire sweep you away. It was giving him a piece of you and praying he wouldn't break it. He held the cards, but at least you were playing the same game now and you didn't have a losing hand. 

You turned your head, studying him. He looked soft, serene. He didn’t look anything like the man who broke into your place or ran his world with an iron fist. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was smiling in his sleep. He looked like someone who could rest easily because he had the entire world in his hands. And he did, didn’t he? 

“Okay, you need to let me go so I can get up,” you whispered, trying to get out from under his arm. 

“No,” he mumbled, nuzzling your neck. Maybe he hadn’t been asleep after all. “Wanna hold you.”

You sighed and stared at the ceiling. “You’ve been holding me all night,” you reminded him.

Bucky held you in his chair after you recovered from your orgasm. He held you when he led you to the car and didn’t let you go once he buckled you in. And he continued to hold you once you went to the guest room to sleep. Yes, you were still sleeping there.

You felt him smile. “And I’ll keep holding you until I’m satisfied.”

“I’m going to the hospital to see Lois,” you said. You weren’t planning on staying long, just enough to see for yourself that she was going to be just fine. “You can hold me later.”

“Can I go down on you before you go? Or after? Can’t get your taste out of my mind.” His lips touched your skin, not aggressive. Slowly, tenderly. “I’m addicted.”

You tilted your head, which only gave him more access to your neck. You bit back a moan when his hand slid to your breast, his thumb brushing your nipple through your top. “Quit distracting me,” you demanded, gripping his wrist.

“But I’m so good at it,” he smiled, lifting his head to look down at you. “Sounded so pretty when you said my name. I’ll bet you scream even louder when I fuck you.”

“My god, you’re just like Dana. A dog with a bone,” you muttered, but you found yourself smiling at the eagerness in his eyes. It was better than feeling fear or repulsion. Safer.

His eyes had a dreamy gloss to them. “I’m keeping that desk forever.”

“I’m sure you are.” You managed to push his hand away so you could sit up. “I have a question before I see Lois.” You needed to get his mind off of sex, which wasn’t going to be easy since he seemed to want you constantly. 

“What is it?”

“What should I tell her if she asks about Cl…” You trailed off when the playfulness left his eyes. You had almost forgotten for a moment that he didn’t want you to say Clark’s name. “Her ex.”

The room suddenly felt colder when he smiled since there was no warmth behind it. “She has already been assured that he’s gone, but you can tell her the same if she asks.”

But you didn’t know what exactly had happened to him. You were in the dark. “I’m still not used to this,” you whispered. 

There was no guide on how to fit in his world. Looking back you wondered if you could’ve gone about some things differently. Maybe you could’ve fought more, but you had to give yourself credit and grace for fighting back the only way you knew how. You tried to establish boundaries and did what you thought was right to protect your friends. You were still doing that. Even if you broke again, you didn’t let any of this defeat you.

“You’re doing your best, and your best is more than enough,” he whispered back.

The scary thing about his pretty poisoned words was that they didn’t kill you. They simply lingered and slowly grew within you like a parasite you couldn’t carve out. He was in your veins. “Thanks.”

With a kiss to your forehead, he finally let you leave the bed. “Science.”

“Science?” you repeated.

“That was my favorite subject in school,” he told you, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “I just… want you to know more about me.”

He was offering your facts about himself unprompted, the kinds of things couples would know or ask each other about. His mom likely supported his love of science, and that thought warmed your heart. “It’s a fascinating subject. With your love of books, I would’ve guessed English was your favorite.”

“That was my second favorite subject,” he said. “I always envisioned a future with flying cars, and I’m disappointed that we don’t have them.”

“Like The Jetsons cartoon?” you smiled.

“Exactly like that,” he smiled back, his eyes lighting up. 

You found yourself sitting back down on the bed. “Flying cars would be nice, but I’d rather have one of those beams that can teleport you anywhere you want to go.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You’d choose that over a flying car?”

You giggled at his expression and the almost normalcy of the conversation. “I mean, a flying car sounds cool, but it’s basically a mini helicopter or plane, right? The beam wouldn't take up much space and it's a much faster mode of transportation.”

“But with the car you can see exactly where you're going. You can't do that with the beam,” he argued and smirked when you nodded. He thought he won the “argument”, but his opinion didn't sway you. 

“Sometimes you have to embrace the fear and the unknown and trust that you’ll end up exactly where you need to be,” you said, giving him your own smirk. 

He stared at you with intense focus. “Kind of like what you're doing with me.”

Your heart thudded. Was he right? You had embraced parts of your new life, but trust was something a little more fragile. Last night was a big step, and it showed he could keep his word and loosen the hold on you. 

“You know what? You’ve convinced me. Teleportation beams beat flying cars,” he declared, taking your hand and kissing it. “But since we don't have either of those yet, I’ll just take somewhere on a private jet after Addison's wedding.”

“Wait, what?” you asked. How did you go from discussing futuristic transportation to a real trip?

“Private jet. You. Me. Romantic trip. Anywhere you want to go.” He kissed your hand again. “No thinking about work, the club, future endeavors. We’ll just focus on each other.”

A romantic trip just the two of you after Addison's wedding. It almost sounded like he wanted a honeymoon even though it wasn't your wedding. “You’re distracting me again,” you teased, getting up, but he didn't release your hand. 

“Your existence distracts me,” he teased back. “Just think it over and don't worry about the cost of the trip because I know you will.”

You couldn't argue with that. “If I say ‘yes’ to this possible trip, will you let me go so I can see Lois? If so, yes.”

He smiled triumphantly and let you go. “Our first romantic trip. It'll be a dream come true.”

“I’m sure it will be,” you said. Whatever you asked for, Bucky would move heaven and earth to give it to you. “Now, please, go have breakfast so I can get ready.”

He pouted when you went toward the bathroom. “Not having breakfast with me?” 

“How about lunch or dinner?” you offered. It was a fair compromise. 

“Lunch and dinner,” he countered. 

“Go,” you giggled, watching him fall back on the bed before you shut the door. 

You leaned against it and sighed. The morning felt so ordinary. The conversation was so easy. Was that what it meant to really be with Bucky?

There was a knock on the door. “Kotyonok?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I said I was thankful for letting me worship you last night, but I didn't thank you for the thing that really mattered.”

You turned to face the door and cracked it open, his eyes bright and crystal clear. “For what exactly?”

“For letting me in,” he replied, reaching in and touching your cheek. “I know we still have some bumps to repair on our path, and it means a lot that you're giving me a chance to prove my worth.”

He had certainly gotten under your skin. “You look like you want to kiss me,” you whispered. 

“I do,” he breathed, pushing the door open enough so his lips could meet yours. He took advantage of the gasp you let out and slipped his tongue inside. The kiss didn’t last long, only mere seconds, but it felt like he had kissed you for hours when he pulled away. How did he go from looking in control one moment and ready to lose it the next? “Sorry... I’ll let you get ready.”

You caught your breath once he shut the door, leaving you alone once again. You pressed your fingers to your still tingling lips. It was never just a kiss with Bucky. It was a promise of more, something both vulnerable and full of feral desire. The man pivoted from soft confessions to raw hunger like the turn of a page, unsettling and captivating. 

 I didn't thank you for the thing that really mattered… For letting me in. 

Did you let him in, or did you stop fighting so hard against the tide? The hold he had on you seemed softer, but you were still tethered to him. He was subtly weaving himself into the fabric of your thoughts and fiber of your being. And was the trip a step in being a good boyfriend or was he firmly solidifying his place in your life?

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. The fear in your mind and heart were morphing into something much more complex. There was an undeniable physical pull between you and Bucky, a strange sense of affection. It was dangerous to give in more, but the alternative of the constant resistance was exhausting and almost impossible. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you were adapting.

You splashed some cold water on your face to clear the lingering fog of Bucky’s presence. You needed to focus on things outside of his immediate orbit, like Lois. Focusing on yourself was important, too. 

But as you got ready, you kept picturing how his eyes lit up when you talked about The Jetsons. You smiled, too, before reminding yourself that beneath his easy smiles and playful banter that he held power and wasn’t afraid to use it. He wasn’t afraid to play dirty. There was lingering darkness even if he tried to distract you with romantic trips and more. 

But in the darkness was your light, and you were allowing it to shine on him little by little. 

Curtis accompanied you to the hospital, but didn’t say anything before you left the penthouse. That may have been because Bucky had snuck in another kiss or two right in front of him before you both left. Your bodyguard didn’t say anything on the ride over either. His posture didn’t seem as relaxed today when he helped you out of the car, his eyes a bit more narrowed as he took in his surroundings. Had Bucky said something to him, or was there something else going on?

“Is everything okay?” you asked, carefully carrying the flowers you put together. You checked beforehand to make sure she wasn’t allergic, and you hoped they brightened her day even just a little.

“Just some things on my mind.” The corner of his lip quirked. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

You wouldn’t push, but you did hope he was okay. “You know, I half expected to see you on the dance floor last night when that random guy started bothering me.”

Bucky had ushered you home so quickly after you recovered in his office that you don’t remember seeing Curtis follow you out. 

He nodded. “I was ready to step in, but Jax beat me to it,” he said, giving you the gentlest of nudges. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for defending me, but you know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

You nudged him back. “I know, but I wanted to because Bucky had no reason to treat you like that,” you countered. Whatever Curtis had done, blood on his hands or not, it wasn’t Bucky’s place to say anything. “And if I said or did something to make him jealous-”

“Don’t blame yourself because you didn’t do a thing,” he gently stopped you. “He’s just insanely jealous when it comes to you.”

“But he doesn’t treat Ray like that,” you said. He had complete faith in his right-hand man. Why trust Curtis with your life while treating him the way he did?

“He thinks I partially understand you in ways the others don’t and that bothers him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you understand? Besides being trapped with nowhere else to go?”

Curtis met your gaze with a sad smile. “Focus on Lois. You and I can talk later.”

You nodded and headed to the desk. She was the reason you were there. “Hi. We’re here to visit Lois Lane,” you said, giving your name.

Once you had the room number and okay to go, your steps felt a bit heavy. You remembered visiting Bucky’s mom and how thankful she was for your visits. For a moment you felt like you were wrapped in a hug, comforting you and lifting your spirits. 

“I’ll be right out here,” Curtis whispered when you stopped at the door. 

With a deep breath, you stepped inside. In the bed lay a beautiful woman with long dark hair. Her fair skin was marred with fading bruises and she had a cast on her right leg. You wouldn’t say she looked tired, but maybe bored, like she had better things to do than lay in bed. 

You bit the inside of your cheek. Clark put his hands on her, hurt her. Bucky was many things, but he wouldn’t put you in a hospital bed like this.

“Lois?” you asked quietly, not wanting to startle her. 

She looked your way and surprised you with a welcoming smile. “So, you’re the florist. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, her gaze flickering to the arrangement in your hand. “Those are beautiful.”

“Oh. Thanks,” you smiled, setting them beside her bed. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

You twisted your fingers, unsure of what to say. What could you say? Clark had attacked you, but he hurt her before that. Guilt ate away at you even though none of it was your fault.

“Don’t apologize to me,” she said, startling you. “You just have this look on your face like you want to say you’re sorry when there’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

“I just… I really don’t know what to say other than I’m glad you’re okay.” You took a breath and looked her over. How could Clark do that to her? “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer right away, her attention drawn to the flowers. “Clark was great at first. A little awkward, but still great in his own way even with the hero complex,” she said wistfully. “I’ve always been a little independent and he liked that at first, but he was a little too protective. Always asking questions, stepping in when I didn't need the help. Over time he got a little tired of the fact that I didn’t want to rely on him. I was just… used to taking care of myself.” 

You took a seat in the nearby chair. The hero complex made sense since he felt the need to rescue you. “Am I allowed to ask what happened?”

“I tried to leave, that’s what happened,” she answered. You expected bitterness and there was a little anger, but there was mostly sadness. “We were fighting more than we got along and I was tired of it, and tired of this city. After a big fight, I said I wanted to go back to Metropolis without him. I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

Clark told you something similar, how stubborn and headstrong she was. “And he stopped you from leaving,” you whispered.

“In all of our fights, he never raised a hand to me. Not once.” Lois tried to look impassive, but there was underlying fear in her eyes. “One second I had a bag in my hand and the next I was on the floor in pain. It felt like a dream, but it was a living nightmare.”

You ached, remembering how Clark had thrown you to the floor. You quickly shifted your focus back to her. This wasn’t about your pain. 

“I don’t even think he realized what he did at first, but he freaked out and wouldn’t let me leave. Said he knew I’d go to the cops and he couldn’t have that. So, he dragged me to the guest room and made sure I had no access to my phone or computer. I tried screaming, but either no one heard me or they didn’t care.” She blinked a few times, her fingers gripping the sheets hard. But she didn't cry. “He brought me food and water and tried to play nice, until I broke free. That’s when he broke my leg, which he blamed me for.”

You gasped and fought the urge to be sick. You knew Clark was strong, but to break a bone? That was horrible. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” you said. She didn’t deserve that.  

“I told you you have nothing to be sorry for,” she said, smoothing out her sheets. “Truth be told, I was more worried about you than me.”

“Me?” you asked. Why was she worried about you when Clark held her captive?

“He came home one day and mentioned this beautiful florist who needed rescuing from Bucky Barnes, the one who always put together the roses he brought me. Said you couldn't fight for yourself, so he had to do it for you." You went stiff at the mention of Bucky and Clark’s words. “He said once he got you to Gotham he’d find a way to let me go free, but I knew he’d never let me leave that apartment.”

You shivered. Did she think she was going to die there? “Clark did go after me, and Bucky saved me,” you explained. She had a look of understanding, but also curiosity. “And Clark. Well, he’s…”

“Gone,” she filled in the blank, the implication lingering in the air. She didn’t sound at all surprised or upset. “So, Bucky saved you and you saved me.”

You brushed that off. “I didn’t save you.”

“You did. The men who rescued me said you asked Bucky to make sure I was okay. So, yeah, you saved me.”

“I… All I did was ask Bucky to check on you,” you said. It was the right thing to do. 

A faint smile touched Lois’s lips. “Asking is more than enough sometimes. Knowing someone cares means everything, especially when you’re trapped and alone.” Her gaze drifted to the nearby window. “He tried to make me believe that no one would care, and that I deserved to be there because I didn’t ‘appreciate’ him enough. You, a complete stranger, questioning my safety was a crack in his lie.”

A lump formed in your throat. The sheer terror Lois must’ve experienced and that psychological torment on top of her physical abuse was chilling. “I’m just glad you’re safe now.”

“Me, too.” She met your gaze, a fierce determination taking over the sadness. “I don’t know what’s next for me, but I won’t be trapped like that ever again, and I’ll be okay. I’m heading back to Metropolis as soon as I’m cleared, and I’m going to start over.”

You admired her strength, and you’d be sure Zemo kept his word to cover her medical expenses and give her extra to help her out. “That sounds like a great plan.”

A spark of curiosity filled her eyes again. “And what about you and Bucky Barnes? Clark was really jealous of him. Beyond jealousy, actually. He hated him.”

You shifted in your chair. What did she know about him? “Bucky and I are together, and I moved in with him after… everything.” You didn’t want to share too many details of Bucky’s world or your complicated feelings to someone who was getting over her own nightmare. “He’s very protective of me.”

Lois laughed, a dry sound. “Is he protective or possessive? Because Clark was protective at first, too,” she said with a sharp stare. Not judging, but concerned. 

You hesitated. Bucky was protective and possessive. The way he kissed you, how he treated Curtis, went off on your parents, handled any potential threat to you, it was a fine line. “He isn't like Clark,” you said, not just to convince her. Bucky was intense and manipulative, but you didn't believe he would be that cruel to you. 

“I hope not,” Lois said softly, not pushing even though she looked like she wanted to. “You seem like a good person. You deserve someone who supports your independence and doesn't try to control it.” She rested back more with a yawn. You wanted Bucky to support you, too. “Thank you for the flowers. And for caring. For… well, everything. I owe you my life.”

You stood up slowly. “Nothing to thank me for, and you don't owe me a thing,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you and the guilt you’d carried lightened. You were just glad she was okay. “I’d offer to hug you, but-”

“Actually, I'd really like a hug from someone I know won’t hurt me,” she said. 

You held back tears when you leaned down, careful not to hug her too hard. She sniffled and held you for a few seconds before she let you go. It was a shame to meet such a great woman under terrible circumstances, but she was one of the reasons why you wanted to help others. You wanted them to rebuild, to have hope for tomorrow. She deserved a good life. 

“I’ll let you get some rest, and I’ll try to come back and visit again before you leave for Metropolis, if that’s okay?”

“I’d like that,” she said, her smile kind. “I could use a friendly face that isn’t a nurse or a doctor. Or someone with a hero complex.”

You laughed a little. “No hero complex here.”

“Wait. Before you take off. One of the men was nice enough to grab my bag for me when they got me out.” She urged you to hand it to her. “In case you need anything.”

She dug out two business cards and handed them to you. One had her phone and email address. The other, you read the name once. Twice. 

Bruce Wayne

“I heard he wouldn't like someone like Bucky in his city.”

“Bucky? Probably not.” She shrugged. “You? I think he’ll make an exception.”

When Bruce’s name came up at the club you hoped you’d never meet him, and now Lois was offering you his card. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Zemo already owed you a favor, and now you had Bruce Wayne's number. 

As you turned to leave, Lois called out to you. “Sorry. One more thing.” You stopped and looked back at her. “The men who rescued me… they weren’t the cops, and the cops haven't been by to question me. Not once.” You swallowed when she tilted her head. “They were Bucky’s men, and they're keeping the cops away, aren't they?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Good. Clark deserves to face some brand of justice, whatever that may be.” Lois’s smile widened slightly, a hint of danger in it. 

You weren't sure what to say to that, but you agreed that he deserved justice. He had hurt her in so many ways. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you asked. You weren’t an expert, but you had faced your share of life altering events recently and the aftermath of what Clark had done might hit her when she least expected it. You didn’t want her to face that alone.

“I’ll be okay,” she whispered, sounding so much like you that it was like looking in a cracked mirror. “Tell Bucky I appreciate everything. And you.”

“Take care,” you managed to say before you slipped out of the room.

Why was your stomach still in knots after seeing for yourself that Lois was safe?

Curtis was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, scanning the hallway with a glare. He straightened up when you approached, his expression softening slightly. “How’s she doing?”

“He really hurt her, but she’s resilient,” you said, tucking the card away before he could question it. You admired the hell out of her. “I think she'll be okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, walking close beside you. “What did she give you?”

You glanced at him. You should've tucked the card away before you left the room. “She gave me her number.” You waited a beat. “And Bruce Wayne's number.”

Curtis hummed and held out his hand. “Mind letting me see Bruce’s card?”

Your stomach sank before you took it out and gave it to him. “I didn't ask for it,” you said right away. Why did you feel guilty when you didn't do anything?

“I know.” He snapped a photo of the card before he handed it back to you. “But just in case he tries to get rid of it.”

“You think he’d do that?” you asked, knowing he probably would. 

“Bruce is an interesting man, and Bucky wouldn't want you mixed up with him,” he answered, giving you a wry smile. “And I don't think I have to mention the jealousy factor.”

You sighed. “No, you don't,” you agreed. You were well aware of it. 

Like he knew you two were discussing him, your phone went off. 

“I miss you, Kotyonok. Have Curtis bring you home.”

You frowned. Bucky was home already and wanted you back? “Speak of the devil…”

“And he shall appear,” Curtis finished for you, his voice low. “C’mon. I’ll get you home.”

Home where Bucky was waiting, and what would he do when you told him Lois gave you Bruce’s number?

Poor Lois. I think the aftermath of the visit is going to hit Kotyonok back at the penthouse. And a bit of Curtis's backstory to come in the next part. How's Bucky going to react to you having Bruce's number? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[abby1600]

Hold You Tight: Part 30

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 29 | Series Masterlist | Part 31

Chapter Word Count: Over 7.1k

Chapter Summary: You have fun with your friends, and you cross a line that you may not come back from.

Chapter Warnings: Kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, tension, inner turmoil, swearing, mention of assault, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 and @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You were proud that you made it to the VIP area with the right amount of composure. Either you were getting used to feeling Bucky’s eyes on you, or you were at least mostly confident that he’d keep his word. The smile on your face when your friends got up was nice and easy and it lingered when they pulled you into a group hug. It should’ve felt suffocating, but it was somehow easier to breathe. 

“I’m glad you’re all here,” you said. You were glad to see them again after the winery incident.

“I’m only semi-surprised you chose to meet here,” Addison said, hugging you for a bit longer. “Guess we should get used to hanging out here since your boyfriend owns the place.”

“Yeah,” you said. You understood some of the shock since it wasn’t your usual scene. “And before you all ask, I told Bucky this was a girls’ night, so no boys allowed,” you added, and hoped you sounded convincing enough. It would also be easy to say he had work to do if they asked.

“Is your plan to get laid in his office or something? Because that’s a ‘fuck me long and hard’ black dress and heels.” Dana commented, backing up to give you a once over. “Holy shit.”

You almost laughed since you weren’t trying to get laid, but you did want to wear something that made the club owner drool. It worked. Judging by the leers you got when you walked to the VIP area, he wasn’t the only one looking. You didn’t care about them, and you certainly weren’t about to use some poor sap to make your guy jealous.

“Either that or Bucky did something to upset you before you came out, and you’re making him eat his heart out,” Gina countered, looking past you. “I don’t think he took his eyes off you when you walked over here.”

You glanced behind you but didn’t see Bucky in the crowd. You didn’t see Curtis or Ray either, but you did notice that Jax and Ari were much closer to your area. They knew you were the most important thing to Bucky, so it made sense that they were watching. They’d probably keep guys from getting too close, too.

Addison got your attention when she asked, “Did Bucky upset you?”

“No,” you answered immediately, making her raise an eyebrow. She’d see through you if you didn’t act fast. “But I’ve admittedly had a bit of a rough time and I will tell you about it later. Maybe after a drink?”

As if by magic, Hal suddenly appeared a few feet away with his drop-dead gorgeous grin before Addison could respond. “Ladies, ladies, ladies. I’m feelin’ a little neglected over here ‘cause I’m waiting to make drinks and you ain’t ordering.”

Dana swooned at the sight of his abs. “I’m a taken woman. I’m a taken woman.”

“Yes, you are,” you said, giggling when the bartender winked at her. “Good to see you, Hal.”

“Good to see you, too. Just a friendly reminder that drinks are on the house. Perks of dating the boss,” he said, giving you a smirk. “I’ll take good care of you and your friends."

You sighed inwardly. Hal was such a bright light and so charming. Why was he here? What sucked him into Bucky’s world?

“Yeah, you will,” Dana mumbled. She was a dog with a bone.

“In that case, how about a round for my friends and me?  Bartender’s choice,” you suggested.

Hal looked impressed. “Brave and beautiful. Y’all sit tight and I’ll make you something special.”

Dana bit her lip. “Just five minutes with him?”

“Not worth throwing your relationship away,” Gina said, tugging her over to sit.

“You know I’m kidding. I’d never cheat. Cheaters are the worst.”

“I need to go to the bathroom. Come with me,” Addison said, pulling you away before you could protest.

Hal’s head snapped up when you left the area and you felt Jax and Ari watching, too. That wasn’t what sent a chill down your spine. Somewhere out there Bucky was also watching you.  You felt it in the air. You practically felt his breath on the back of your neck.

When you got to the restroom, you expected your friend to go into the stall alone, but she pulled you in with her and shut the door. There wasn’t much space to move and she held a finger up when you opened your mouth. Chattering and giggling carried on around you before it eventually ceased. Once the restroom went quiet, she stared into your eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Look, you can’t tell me that you’ve had a bit of a rough time and expect me to wait until after a drink for you to talk to me,” she said, reaching over to rub your arm. “So, what’s going on?”

You didn’t speak for a minute, your eyes glossy. You thought you’d have a little more time this evening before reopening your wounds. They weren’t fully healed to begin with. Would you infect yourself by cutting them open, or was it a necessary part of the process to keep bleeding?

“What is it?” she asked, gentler, worried. 

Bucky had eyes and ears everywhere, but he wouldn't have something in the bathroom, right? “After the winery, a customer from the shop showed up at my place.” You took a breath. “He broke in and attacked me.”

Clark hurt you and helped take your haven away. Permanently. Speaking about it was still strange. It was your experience, your reality, and you wished to God it wasn't, but you couldn't change it.

Addison pulled her hand away like you burned her, her eyes wide with fury and despair. “You were attacked?” she whispered, her hand shaking when she reached out again, almost like she was afraid to touch you and was silently asking for permission to do so. 

You nodded, your shoulders slumped and heavy. “Yeah.”

She covered her mouth to smother her sob. Her anguish for you broke your heart. “Did… Oh, god. Did he-”

“No, he didn’t… rape me, if that’s what you were going to ask,” you assured her, but tears sprang to your eyes anyway. “Bucky stopped him before he could do any real damage.”

The damage was done though. Your living room ended up trashed from the fight. He hurt you. He left a mark within you. You wouldn’t let it taint you. 

Her hand fell. “Bucky? He was there?”

Your palms began to sweat, but you couldn't dodge the question. “He showed up. He stopped him,” you replied. There was no need to put her in danger by telling her that your boyfriend bugged the place. But didn't he recently promise you that he wouldn't hurt the people you cared about?

She sighed. “Thank God he was there,” she said. Maybe she assumed he stopped by to hang out when you got back. It was best to just let her think that. “And the fucking creep who did this? Is he-”

“He’s never going to hurt anyone else again,” you cut in. You were sure of it. “Bucky takes it very seriously when anyone ‘wrongs’ me, so someone putting their hands on me? He didn't take too kindly to that.”

“Did he kill him? Because I hope he did,” Addison said so seriously that you struggled to take your next breath. You should've expected it. She was protective of you. She loved you. Frankly, if someone had done something like that to her you’d want justice, too. “My God. How could anyone do that to you?”

You shook your head. “Just bad luck, I guess,” you whispered. In the grand scheme of things you were lucky it was you since you had someone crazy for you in your corner who rescued you.

Addison sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “This is probably the dumbest question ever, but are you okay?”

“As okay as I can be. I’m still processing everything,” you answered truthfully. You were figuring things out, mentally and emotionally, and allowing yourself to feel everything as it surfaced. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you right away.”

She sucked in a breath, her eyes wide again. “Do not apologize for not immediately telling me about something traumatic. I'm just glad you told me.” Guilt still ate away at you. “What about your apartment? Are you okay staying there?”

You shook your head again. “I’m actually staying at Bucky’s. It’s safer there. It’s… nice.”

You didn't like how easily that came out, how truthful it sounded. Bucky had been wonderful about letting you have your space in the library and wouldn't put a hand on you to harm you. You didn't feel like you were in any danger, even though a dangerous man essentially trapped you. 

A confused look crossed her face. “You're staying there. I know you were on the fence about moving in with him,” she said. You had told her that, so it made sense that it would be a concern. “Why don’t you stay with Brady and me until you figure things out?”

You sniffled and hoped that everyone out there had a friend like her, but a surge of fear filled you when you imagined what Bucky’s reaction to you leaving might be. “I’m not going to intrude on your space so close to the wedding,” you argued, holding a hand up when she started to protest. “I appreciate it more than you know, but it’s a hectic time for you, and Bucky is making sure that I’m taken care of.”

Addison looked at the ceiling and sighed. “Okay,” she whispered with acceptance. “I’m sure this is just temporary until you decide on the next step.”

You didn’t correct her because you knew in your heart that you were permanently staying with Bucky, and it was best not to open that can of worms. “I really do appreciate you offering to let me stay.”

“I’m going to talk to Bucky about all this sometime this week, okay? Not tonight since…” She looked over your outfit. “Wait, what exactly are you doing here tonight?”

It was a valid question. It could’ve been seen as shutting down inside or acting out in a way. “I just want some of my control back, you know? I want to call the shots and feel strong,” you explained. She wouldn’t understand the full extent since she didn’t have all the pieces to the puzzle of your fucked up life, but she’d understand enough. “And, yeah, maybe I wanted to tease Bucky a bit in this outfit.”

Gina was spot-on with you wanting Bucky to eat his heart out. You felt beautiful in your body tonight and it was a bit twisted that you wanted him to look at you, but you deserved to do and act however you wanted. You earned that privilege. 

You realized you were falling deeper down the rabbit hole of his world by suggesting to be here tonight and you weren’t stopping yourself from tumbling down. If anything, you were welcoming the plunge and you had no idea but you hoped your resilience would continue to shine through. Most of all, you hoped your light wouldn’t dim and you’d remain who you were in your core as you continued this crazy journey. 

“You’re such a boss bitch, and I mean bitch in the most affectionate way.” Her eyes softened. “Can I hug you?”

You couldn’t answer her with words. You simply opened your arms and closed your eyes once she hugged you with everything she had. As much as you wanted to break down, you didn’t. You did, however, let yourself feel safe and warm in the comfort of a friend.

It was one of the reasons why you stressed to Bucky that friendship was important. They’d celebrate the good times and support you during the bad. If you fell in love with Bucky and lived happily ever after, you’d still need your friends. That would never change.

“This stall is a little crowded,” you joked, making both of you giggle.

She pulled away and wiped under her eyes again. “It was either this or outside, and I didn’t want to get cold or deal with people in line watching us.”

“Good call,” you said.

“So, you’re not exactly okay, but you will be?” she asked. 

Your lips turned up in a small smile, a believable one. “I will be,” you answered. You had to be.

Once you both left the stall and made sure your makeup wasn’t smudged, Addison looped her arm with yours. You hadn’t told her about what happened with your parents, but that was a story for another day. Telling her just a bit about Clark helped bridge some of the gap you felt between you two. That made your steps lighter. 

But you froze once you made it back to the VIP area and saw Steve standing nearby. He gave you a small nod and a lopsided smile. “You have a sec?” he asked over the music.

You ushered Addison toward Dana and Gina, who were both busy laughing at something Hal said. “What’s up?” you asked. Did Bucky send him over?

“Just wanted to check on you after everything,” he said, chuckling when you raised an eyebrow. “Buck didn’t give me a push to ask, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

You had to give it to him for sounding sincere. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he did,” you muttered, drawing another chuckle from the blonde. “I’m as okay as I can be at the moment.”

He observed you with blue eyes that seemed to see everything all too well, very similar to Bucky. “You’ve taken a lot of hits and you’re still standing. I admire that,” he said, taking you by surprise. “Mind if I show you something before I let you get back to your friends?”

“Sure,” you said, noting how he stepped closer while maintaining a decent amount of space, like he didn’t want to touch his best friend’s girl. 

“I was cleaning out some old stuff at my place and I found this,” he said, tapping the screen of his phone. You caught him smiling when he held the device closer. “Feels like ages ago.”

You found yourself smiling, too, when you looked at the old photo. You immediately recognized Bucky and Steve, but they were so much younger. The man beside you looked so much smaller in size in the photograph. There was so much light in their eyes, so much hope. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you reached out and zoomed in on Bucky’s face. His hair was shorter, his smile wide and open like he had nothing to hide. Your heart contracted because he seemed to be looking right at you without a single trace of darkness. “He looks happy,” you stated. You wondered what it would’ve been like to know him then.

“Things were different back then. Not easy or perfect, just… different,” Steve said, a tinge of regret and something heavy in the air. “But no matter, what we always had each other, and we won’t stop looking out for one another. And believe me when I say I didn’t see him smile like that for the longest time until he saw you.”

You may not fully understand the depth of Bucky’s psyche, but you did know what it was like to have a friend like that. “Do you have any other photos like this, or photos of him and his mom?” you asked, smiling when he nodded. “Do you mind sending some to me? I’m going to assume you have my contact info.”

“Yeah, I do.” The sheepish look had you laughing. While Bucky seemed to be insanely jealous of Curtis, that didn’t appear to extend to Steve. “Planning something for him?”

“Maybe,” you said. You weren’t sure what compelled you to ask for them, but you wanted more glimpses of Bucky’s past.  

“I’ll send them as soon as I can,” he promised.

“Thanks. And thanks for checking on me,” you said. Whether it was out of genuine concern or because you were with Bucky, but he didn’t have to go out of his way to ask and it was nice that he cared enough to do so.

“I’m sorry things got as far as they did,” he said. Did he mean Clark or Bucky or both? “But I won’t keep you since you’re here with your friends and we have that double date just around the corner. I should be checking on my girl anyway.” He had respect in his eyes when he looked back at you. “I really am glad he found you.”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out when he turned away. The crowd parted as he walked through, commanding the space the way his best friend did. Both loyal and dangerous.

“Hey! Hal’s waiting to make your drink,” Dana called out. 

You plastered a smile on your face and went back to your friends. “Let’s not keep him waiting any longer.”

The bass thumped through your bones as you laughed and danced with the girls, lights flashing as you moved. The air was thick with energy and tension, the beat seemingly matching the rate of your heart. You limited yourself to one drink, which was more than enough from the generous amount of liquor that Hal put in it, and it loosened you up and made you briefly forget about everything that was bothering you. It was nice to let go and just live in the moment, even if it was only for a short time.

Addison stayed close to you and narrowed her eyes whenever a guy came near you, her arm reaching out to block their paths before they could get any closer. Dana had given her a funny look at one point, but shrugged and lost herself in the music. You appreciated that Addison was looking out for you, and Dana and Gina likely assumed she was doing it since you were with Bucky and had no interest in any other guys hitting on you. You didn’t want their attention anyway.

“Let’s howl!” Dana suggested.

“What?” Gina laughed and elbowed you. “Did she just say we should howl?”

“Fuck yes, I did. We’re a pack, and packs howl.” Dana looked around excitedly before she threw her head back and let out a loud, long howl. It took half a second before Gina joined in. “There we go! That’s the spirit!”

“I guess we should howl, too?” you asked Addison. She shrugged and smiled, so you threw your head back and let out a howl, too. It was a little awkward and ridiculous, and you were certain that a few people turned their heads to stare when Addison finally joined in, but it felt liberating. You were letting go of some of the pain you’d been carrying around.

You tried to picture the look on Bucky’s face when you started howling. Did it amuse him, or would he try to howl later and claim you were part of his pack instead? You could almost see him doing it, trying to outshine your friends, and a snort escaped your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Yes! Sisters in heart!” Dana exclaimed, wrapping her arms around you and Addison.

“Sisters for life,” Gina agreed, joining in on the group hug.

You felt a rush of happiness before the hug broke apart. Sisters in heart, sisters for life. “You know this means we have to howl at my wedding reception,” Addison said.

You snorted again. “Brady’s going to love that.”

“Hey, he knew what he was getting into when he proposed to me,” she said, everyone laughing in agreement.

Enjoying the moment was short-lived when you felt someone right behind you. Your nose wrinkled at the overpowering scent of cologne and alcohol when you turned to see a guy with a confident grin on his face. You felt a chill when his eyes roamed over you and lingered on your chest. Addison’s eyes flashed with a warning when she stepped forward, but the guy sidestepped and kept his eyes on you.

“Hey, sexy. Want a drink?” he asked, holding up his glass. “Or maybe a dance?”

“Eww,” Dana breathed. “If he knew who your boyfriend was…”

You shot the stranger a sharp look, not to be rude, but to show him that you weren’t interested. You didn’t know if Bucky was close by, and you remembered his warning that he’d ruin anyone who touched you. He wore jealousy almost as well as he wore his tailored suits, and his threats were more than words.

“Sorry, but I’m here with my friends and I’m not interested. Thanks though,” you said firmly, hoping the guy would take a hint and walk away.

You scanned the crowd quickly and didn’t spot your boyfriend, but Jax had already made his way closer. He didn’t grab the guy, but he did step forward, his eyes fixed on you and waiting for you to give him the signal to handle it. You knew if you needed him to, he would intervene. You were also impressed that Bucky hadn’t made his way through. He was keeping his promise to give you space.

In fact, Bucky hadn’t bothered you at all since you’d left his side. There were no texts, no calls, no random visits to the VIP section. If you hadn’t walked in with him, you wouldn’t have known he was there.

“Just one dance. Don’t be so uptight,” the guy pressed, his eyes still on your chest when he tried to grab your arm.

You tensed up, but stepped out of reach. Addison pulled you back even more, giving the guy a dirty look. “She said she isn’t interested. Back off.”

“I didn’t ask you,” he snapped at her.

“It’s okay,” you assured Addison, giving Jax a subtle nod. You didn’t need Bucky to step in when you had a bouncer right there ready to help.

Jax purposely bumped his shoulder into the guy so hard that he winced. “There a problem here?”

“No problem because I already told him I wasn’t interested,” you smiled, tilting your head. “So, you were just leaving, right?”

His gaze flickered to Jax, who made a show of crossing his arms over his chest and clenching his jaw. You had no doubt he’d break his bones if you asked. “Yeah, yeah. I was just leaving,” he muttered, backing away quickly.

Jax signaled to Ari to follow him and flashed you and your friends a handsome smile. “Someone bothers you again, you let me know, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks,” you said, watching as Jax disappeared back into the crowd.

“Why is everyone who works here so hot?” Gina asked, eyeing up Jax’s retreating backside. “Seriously, I want to sink my teeth into his ass.”

“You sound like me,” Dana said, giggling and throwing an arm over her shoulder. “I’m so fucking proud.”

“You two are impossible,” Addison said, shaking her head and looking at you carefully. “You okay?”

You exhaled and nodded, some of the tension dissipating now that the guy backed off. You didn’t want drama and you didn’t want anyone to get hurt because you got attention from some stranger. But some sick part of you hoped Bucky was watching and seeing that you weren’t interested, that his men helped only when you asked for it.

“Yeah. Let’s keep dancing,” you said, starting to move to the rhythm again.

You hoped Bucky saw you lose yourself in the music with your friends. You prayed that he saw you smile and heard you laugh, that he knew you needed this. He said you were strong, but he had to witness it in silence and watch you live part of your life without him controlling it.

Because if he really loved you, he’d give you that and more.

It felt like hours later when you watched the girls walk out the front door. Dana had thrown a handful of bills at Hal after unsuccessfully trying to put them in his pants, and Addison made you promise to call her tomorrow so she could talk with you more. A wave of happy exhaustion washed over you, but the night wasn't over yet. You had to see Bucky.

You were almost in disbelief that he had been true to his word. You admittedly kept glancing over your shoulder as you danced and waited for the imposing figure to emerge from the shadows, but he kept his distance and gave you the space you asked for. Were you getting through to him in some way?

The energy around you suddenly felt different, and you found yourself making your way toward the stairs that led to his office. Ray stood there and clasped his hands in front of him, almost as if he had been waiting for you. “Enjoy your evening?”

“I did,” you said, smiling softly. “Are you doing okay?”

He pushed his glasses up. “You don't need to worry about me,” he said. 

“I'm asking because I care,” you said, looking around when he dipped his head. “You don't happen to know where Curtis is, do you?” You half expected him to be the one who stepped in earlier instead of Jax, but you hadn't seen him all evening. 

Ray didn't smile, but he looked slightly amused. “Keeping an eye on you is his job, and he wouldn’t be doing a good job of that if you spotted him. He hides well in the shadows and in plain sight. It's why you never noticed him following you before.”

“That's... both assuring and creepy,” you teased, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle on your dress. “Am I okay to go in and see Bucky?”

“You're the only one allowed in his office tonight,” he told you, motioning for you to follow him.

The air felt cooler, the music muted, as you walked toward the office. Your heart thudded when Ray quietly opened the door, not bothering to knock, and nodded for you to go in. The door shut behind you as soon as you crossed the threshold and you held your breath when you spotted Bucky at his desk. 

The warm glow of the lamps surrounded him as he typed on his laptop, pausing to take a sip of his whiskey. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and you found yourself staring at the veins on his right arm. The scent of him filled the space and enveloped you as you stepped further into the room. You were waiting for him to speak, daring him to. 

But he didn't immediately snap his head up, even when you knew he sensed your presence. His fingers hovered over the keyboard when you stopped in front of his desk, and he slowly and deliberately lifted his gaze. The lights around him didn't soften his intensity, and a faint smirk played at his lips when he leaned back in his chair.

“Finally,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the quiet space. There was a silent invitation in his posture, his eyes twinkling with a gentle warmth as you sucked in a breath. “I missed you.”

“How could you miss me when I wasn’t gone?”

“You weren’t gone, but you weren’t really here with me, were you?” he asked. Part of the point of tonight was to be in his orbit without him being a part of it. “You had fun.”

“I did,” you exhaled. It was nice to be with your friends, and you were glad you got to tell Addison some of what was going on. “You gave me space.” Did he realize how much it meant to you that he did that?

“I want you to have faith in me and that can only happen by trusting me, which I have to earn.”

You didn't argue since that was true. “I figured you'd still be watching me when I came in,” you said, glancing at the screens. “I'm kind of disappointed.”

“And I’m disappointed that you didn’t ask me to join you for a dance.” He chuckled, pushing his chair back and gesturing for you to walk around and join him. “I only sat down a minute ago when I knew you were talking to Ray. Trust me, Kotyonok, I was watching you the whole night.”

A shiver rolled down your spine. “And did you like what you saw?” you asked, slowly walking around the desk. Instead of pulling you into his lap, he moved his laptop and set you on the edge, his hands lingering on your hips.

“I didn't like that you and Addison looked like you were crying when you left the bathroom,” he said, moving his hands to the top of your thighs. He really did see everything. “And I didn't like that some prick almost put a fucking hand on you.”

“Almost is the key word there. He didn't touch me,” you pointed out. Addison and Jax made sure of that. 

The flash of anger in his eyes died immediately. “You're right. He didn't,” he agreed, making small circles with his thumbs and sending sparks of heat through your veins. “I saw Stevie chat with you and that was nice.”

“He wanted to make sure I’m okay,” you said, and you were impressed once again that there wasn’t a hint of jealousy. Was it because Steve had his sights set on someone else?

“You know what else I saw that I liked?” 

“What did you see?” you whispered, searching his face for the answer. 

“I saw you living your life with happiness. I mean, you howled like you didn’t care who heard or saw you, and it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen,” he said.

His words hung in the air and wrapped around you like a warm and snug embrace. Your heart fluttered, a mixture of elation and trepidation filling your chest. “You saw that?” you asked, barely above a whisper. He watched you and you knew he had, you'd imagined what his reaction would be to it, but hearing him say it… God, to be seen in such an unguarded moment of joy startled you, even though you were the one who ordered him to look.

He nodded, your cheeks warm when his thumbs traced a deliberate path to the hem of your dress. “I saw every second. The way your eyes sparkled before you threw your head back, how raw and primal and free you looked. It was like I witnessed a star igniting in the sky for the first time.” His unwavering gaze made you feel like you were the light in his night sky.

An almost shy smile touched your lips. “It was just a howl,” you murmured. Something you did with your friends to release some of your pent-up emotions.

“It wasn’t just a howl, Kotyonok. It was pure, genuine happiness.” His voice dropped, longing entering his tone. “That’s what I crave to see in you, and I crave to be the one to put it there and bring it out of you.”

“I…” You couldn’t formulate an argument. In a perfect world, he’d be a source of your happiness. If he wanted your happiness so badly, why did he do what he did? And how long would you continue to hold his actions over his head?

“I wanted to go to you so badly and touch you. I wanted to bask in your laughter and make you smile.” He opened your legs with ease and leaned forward to close the distance between you. He bypassed your lips and went to the base of your throat. Shivers went down your spine when his breath ghosted over your skin. “I want to be the reason you howl like that. I want to be the one who puts the sparkle in your eyes.”

“Giving me a bit of freedom did that,” you said, sliding a hand up his arm. That bit of space to just be yourself did wonders. 

“You deserve to shine, and I want to destroy everything that dims your light.” His fingers tightened slightly on your thighs, anchoring you to him. 

The raw honesty in his voice stole your breath. From another man it would sound like a fleeting desire or an empty declaration. But not him. “We keep going in circles, and it’s making me dizzy,” you said, gripping his shoulder. “I keep slamming doors in your face.”

He pushed and you pulled, you gave an inch and he took a mile. You made excuses in your head and your heart, and there was a chance he did the same to defend his actions. The standstill was dragging you both down, but he seemed to enjoy the sinking sand since it meant he was with you. Who else would endure that?

“I deserve it, and I want to earn the keys to unlock them. I selfishly want to keep you in my world, but I want it to be a world where you bloom.”

“Can a flower bloom in a cage?”

“Is my love a cage?” He trailed kisses up to your ear. “Or is it the thing that can set you free?”

Love and freedom went together because to love someone was to make them feel free. Bucky should love you enough to help you fly and not clip your wings. Maybe for one more moment tonight you didn’t need to think about him suffocating you. Maybe… Maybe you could let go a little bit more.

You didn’t think when you lifted his head and pressed your lips together. It was you pulling him closer between your legs instead of him trying to get closer. It was your sigh he swallowed when he deepened the kiss. Electricity didn’t crackle between you. It was a hum that built and built. 

Was this taking back control, or were you willingly walking into the cage he built for you?

He kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, slowly, reverently, his hand following the path like he was trying to memorize you. “I don't want to take from you,” he breathed. 

You barely managed to whisper, “Then give me something instead.”

Something unspoken settled between you before his mouth was on yours again, answering a question you didn't dare ask. His tongue traced the seam of your lips and you didn't hesitate to accept his invitation. There was deliberate hunger as he kissed you, like every moment apart tonight had been an eternity. The hum building between you thrummed in every cell of your body and you couldn't ignore the need if you tried. 

There was no aggression in his touch when he pulled you further onto the edge of the desk, his passion controlled for the time being as he broke the kiss and dropped to his knees. You tried to catch your breath when he pushed your dress up and hooked his thumbs through your underwear, his eyes wild with promise to consume you if you let him. 

“Let me give you pleasure. Let me worship you,” he begged, kissing your trembling thigh before he tugged the fabric down. “I’m desperate to taste your pussy, but I’ll stop if you say so. You're calling the shots tonight.”

The logical part of you could've stopped him, but you didn't want to think anymore. There was plenty of time for that tomorrow. “Just make me feel good. Make me forget,” you demanded, and you weren't quite sure what it was that you wanted to forget. 

You knew he was desperate, but he took his time slowly brushing his lips up your calves and thighs, his fingers close behind. When was the last time someone went down on you? What if he didn't like the way you tasted? Wait, why did you care about that?

“I don't want you holding back,” he said, brushing a kiss against your thigh as he opened your legs more. Your chest quickly rose and fell and you could tell it only made him want you more. “Moan, cry, scream. Let me hear it.”

“But Ray or-” You gasped when he nipped your thigh. 

“I don't want you saying another man’s name when I can smell how wet you are,” he gritted, his heated gaze making you bite your lip. “It's just us. No one else will ever hear or see you like this. Only me.”

You looked down and shivered when he threw a leg over his shoulder, devouring the sight of you on display for him. “Only you?”

“Only me.” You almost stopped breathing when you saw how blown his pupils were. “Jesus fucking Christ, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Wish I could take a picture and jerk off to the sight of it.”

“Oh, my God,” you gasped, resting back on your hands when he encouraged you to. He looked at your pussy like it was the greatest treasure in the universe. 

“Not God, Kotyonok. Just me.” 

A surprised gasp came out when his tongue darted out to taste you. The groan he gave you in response was deep, close to a growl. No one ever made that sound with you before. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, dipping his tongue inside for a proper taste. “You taste so sweet. Knew you would. This is heaven.”

“I taste good?” you asked, gripping his hair and feeling like your body would burst into flames from embarrassment at your question. 

He buried his tongue deeper before he licked up toward your clit. “You’re fucking delicious,” he promised, circling the bundle of nerves. “My favorite meal and dessert.”

He licked and kissed your pussy like it was an honor to do so, adding two fingers with his tongue to stretch and fill you. Your head fell back as you got lost in the sensation of him taking you apart. He nipped your inner thigh again after a minute and your head snapped up in surprise. “Keep your eyes on me, pretty girl, and breathe. I told you I want to hear you and I can't do that if you're holding out on me.”

It was hard to breathe. You told Bucky you wanted to forget, but he wanted your eyes on him so you'd remember that he was the one doing this. He was the one who offered to worship you and you didn't stop him. You weren't sure if you should push your hips closer or pull away and you didn't want to be too loud, but you keened and arched your back when his fingers curled. 

“That’s it. That’s my girl,” he praised, tracing patterns with tongue and overwhelming you. “Want you for breakfast, Kotyonok. Wanna start the day with the taste of your pussy on my tongue. Wanna smell you on my fingers.”

A soft mewl came out as he worked you over, the coil tightening within you. It should've been wrong for him to be between your thighs. Why did it have to feel so good? So perfect?

“Want you for lunch and dinner,” he continued, your breaths coming in short pants. “You're so fucking wet. Want that all over my cock.”

“Bucky!” you cried out when he sucked on your clit, threading your fingers tighter in his hair. You cried out so loudly you were certain someone heard you outside of the door. It was crazy to think that people were out on the dance floor grinding and losing themselves to the thrill and were none the wiser that the very owner of the club was eating you out like a starved man. 

And to think just weeks ago the very things he wanted to do to you made you sick and now you were opening your legs for him. Did you pass the point of no return? No. You weren't going to think. Only feel. 

You had a right to feel pleasure after all the pain. 

“You can let go,” Bucky urged. He wasn't demanding your orgasm as it built. He wasn't ordering for you to fall over the edge. It was about your control and he was letting you know it was okay. If you were ready, you could let go. 

You erupted, waves of pleasure washing over you. Your legs shook as you rode it out, pushing yourself closer to his face. He didn't pull away, drinking every drop of you down with his own moan of ecstasy. You felt him smile as you fell to pieces, but it wasn't a smile of triumph. It was pure, genuine happiness. The same kind you felt earlier in the evening. 

You slumped against the desk, a high pitched sound filling your ears as your heart continued to pound. You stared at the ceiling and didn't realize tears had fallen from your eyes until Bucky wiped them away. You expected victory in his eyes when he pulled your trembling body into his lap, a smirk, something. There was none of that. He simply guided you back to reality with his lips against your forehead and his arms around you like you’d bolt as soon as you had the chance. 

The weight of everything came back, but it didn't frighten you like you expected. Bucky’s hold wasn't as stifling as usual. Was it a post-orgasm haze? Maybe. It was mind-blowing. 

Of course, he’d have a skilled mouth and fingers. You were sure he had lots of practice with past lovers. But he tasted you like no one else before you ever mattered. You didn't have to ask him to know they didn't. They weren't you. 

“You howled my name,” he whispered. “It was fucking beautiful.”

You hummed. He made you howl just the way he wanted you to. “You win.”

“You won, Kotyonok. Everything tonight was because you wanted it to happen.” He tilted your head and didn't let go of your chin. “I'm just thankful you let me worship you, and I'll do it every day if that's what you want.”

He didn't press any further, just letting you rest in his embrace. 

Power was a funny thing, how quickly it shifted from one hand to the next. Bucky shared control with you, but how soon would he take it back? Now that he tasted you, how long before he wanted more? Because giving him another piece of yourself would only make him want the whole thing. 

Sooner rather than later. 

Well, lovelies, I did say things might heat up, didn't I? What does this mean? Are we moving forward? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[abby1600]

The Wonder of You : ̗̀➛ Johnny Storm x Reader

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Reader

Summary: Over your four years working for Reed Richards, you'd given yourself one job: you can be his friend, but don't fall for Johnny Storm's charms. Too bad you had already failed that mission before it could even begin.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, SMUT (making out, unprotected sex, p in v, nipple play, oral f. receiving, temperature play, creampie, aftercare), porn with a LOT of plot, slight hint of some angst, fluff, friends to lovers, Johnny is a massive flirt, mutual pining, SPOILERS! for The Fantastic Four: First Steps, female reader but no characteristics described, mentions of parental loss, maybe some incorrect stuff regarding the 60s and how it worked but it's a fantasy world, lightly edited so apologies for any mistakes

Word Count: 17,433 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“We need to adjust the parameters for this. There’s a few more levels that I want to adjust, to ensure that we’ve scanned the baby for all possible anomalies,”

Years ago, when you had miraculously been offered the position as Dr. Reed Richards assistant, it was a dream come true. The smartest man alive, holding 18 Doctorate degrees himself, choosing you out of the thousands of applicants to be his assistant was a ‘pinch me’ moment. Of course, he didn’t want an assistant, it was thrust upon him by his wife, but you liked to think after all this time you’d wormed your way into his heart.

Working with Reed…was something else entirely. It was a learning curve, understanding just how the man’s brain worked. Even to this day, you weren’t sure you understood it. Even when things went perfectly, when test runs on prototypes worked out better than you could’ve ever imagined, Reed was never satisfied. Something could always be better, be improved, as if his brain was factoring in the hundreds of thousands of possibilities that could occur and alter your data. You made it work, though–with patience and understanding–you managed to find the best way to work around Reed’s faults and work with him, to support him.

What was supposed to be just a job in the Baxter Building became so much more. Through it, you gained a family you never thought quite possible.

Reed’s wife, Susan Storm, was another one of the brightest minds that you had ever encountered. Kind, compassionate, but fiercely loyal and unafraid to step up to the plate when a challenge arrived, when the people she loved were threatened. You admired her and everything she stood for, the way she carried herself day in and day out. And since the day you had arrived at the Baxter Building, she welcomed you with open arms, as if you had always been part of the family.

Ben Grimm was the most talented pilot you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. The perfect counter to Reed and his panicky mind at times, having known the man long enough to understand his quirks in a way you could only hope to. Ben was always kind, always open, always ready to lend a hand or be a shoulder for anyone that needed to listen.

Johnny Storm…was the bane of your existence, in the best way.

“Wrong address, sweetheart. The modeling agency is two blocks down. I could escort you over there, if you’d like?”

Those were the first words the hot-headed younger brother of Sue Storm had said to you, passing by you in the lobby of the building on your first day, a wink thrown in for good measure when he’d spoken.

Having followed Dr. Richards' work long enough, which meant knowing bits about his personal life, you were well aware of the reputation that Johnny Storm carried. The papers and magazines, talk shows and gossip blogs, all called him a playboy simply because he’d never been in a long-term relationship but was still a ladies man. You never saw him like that, though. All you saw was a brilliant guy, a lover of space, even if that passion of his was sometimes overlooked because of his ‘love for women’.

And, oh, how you wished his empty, blatant flirting with you didn’t bring a blush to your cheeks every time, or make your heart skip a beat, but it did. Every single time, it did. You weren’t blind: Johnny Storm was objectively handsome and much too charming for his own good, and you decided right then and there that you would use every ounce of your willpower to ignore his empty flirts. You didn’t need to become another girl hopelessly in love with the heartthrob of the Fantastic Four, even if your heart ached when you saw him with anyone else.

Those four had become important to you in ways that you would never be able to describe, but Sue always described it best: a family. 

That’s why when four of the closest people to you in life went up into space for Reed’s exploration mission, and came back cosmically changed forever, you never left their sides. They were your family, and family stuck together, no matter what.

“Reed,” your comment was cautious, hands stilling at your work station in the lab of the Baxter Building. Glancing over your shoulder, Reed was hunched over the machine he’d built in just a day, specifically to monitor the health of the baby growing inside of Sue’s stomach, as Herbie rocked back and forth beside him. “You’ve scanned Sue a thousand times at this point-”

“That’s an exaggeration. I’ve scanned her 123 times-”

“That’s not the point,” he glanced over at you then, looking away the second he saw the pointed look you were throwing at him. With a sigh, you abandoned your work, leaning back against the table behind you to watch him fret over the device. “We have run every test possible, scanned for every data point that links back to the fluctuations in your DNA from the cosmic rays we noted years ago, and we’ve gotten nothing. Your baby is okay.”

“There are still more tests to run,”

Another sigh escaped past your lips, and you allowed yourself to hang your head with a shake.

Since the moment Sue had announced her pregnancy, he’d been like this: even more on edge than usual. Baby-proofing the kitchen, smoke detectors in every single room and hallway, baby gates around every corner, it was getting insufferable. A sweet gesture, overall, and a testament to how much he loved and adored Sue, but exhausting to everyone else that had to be in his presence.

“Fine, but I’m not breaking the news to Sue that you want to scan her…again,”

“I already told her to meet me down here before dinner for another scan. We can adjust the parameters tomorrow. I want another data set from today’s scan at the current parameters to compare the changes with,” Reed never looked in your direction, still fiddling with the machine in front of him. “You’re staying for dinner, yes?”

“I’m making it,” was the response you shot back to him, powering down your workstation in the lab and rising from your chair, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Apparently Sue has been craving spaghetti, and requested my family recipe.”

“You can’t argue with a pregnant woman,” Reed muttered, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still never looked up. “I’ll see you up there for dinner, then. There’s a few more tests that I want to run.”

“You also have a meeting at 5:45 and one at 6:15,” you shot back to him as you turned to leave the lab, checking the desk calendar lying beside your work station. There was a hum from the man, the smallest acknowledgement you were going to get, so you set your sights on Herbie and waved him forward. “Come on, Herb. An extra hand in the kitchen is always nice.”

As much as you thought of the Fantastic Four as your family, you never stayed for dinner often. You always tried your hardest to uphold the lines between your work life and personal life, not wanting to blur them completely (though, you were sure you had already blurred them enough for it to be too late). There had been plenty of times over the years where you’d stayed for dinner, usually once a month at this rate.

Sue always invited you, and you never wanted to disappoint her, and you gave in often. Ben had a way of wrangling you into saying yes before you were ever given the chance to speak at all. Reed had only asked once, asking you to stay back for the dinner months ago in which they announced to you that Sue was pregnant.

Johnny asked every day. You said no, most of the time, but when you did stay for dinner it was usually because those captivating, bright blue eyes were staring into your soul and pleading with you to stay.

Speak of the devil: there he sat at the dining room table. Clad in a white t-shirt with their logo resting over the pocket and the blue pants of his suit, a weird sight given that you had been in the lab with Reed all day and didn’t think any of them had left to attend to any ‘hero’ work.

You didn’t say a word as you strolled past him into the kitchen with Herbie on your heels, simply plucking the box of Lucky Charms from his hands as you swooped past. It was impossible not to smile to yourself at the scoff of indignation he let out at your actions.

“Hey-!”

“You’re going to spoil your appetite,” you shot back at him, throwing him a smirk over your shoulder before slotting the now closed cereal box into the cupboard where it usually sat.

Herbie beeped out a set of beeps that, over the years, you had come to understand. This time, he was agreeing with you, pointing out some facts about how eating out of the box lacked moderation, and would in turn actually spoil his appetite. You gave the little robot a fist bump for that, something that Johnny shot the little helper a glare for.

“Come on, Herbert, you’re supposed to take my side on these things!” There was no real malice in his words as he got up from the dining room table, rounding into the kitchen as you took the pots and pans that Herbie had gathered for you, setting them out along the counter where you needed them. “Baby, you didn’t tell me you were staying for dinner.”

When you told yourself that you weren’t going to fall into the trap that was the charming and charismatic Johnny Storm, you weren’t prepared for two things.

One: when he got comfortable around someone, he could be an even bigger flirt. Pet names were constant. Baby, sweetheart, honey, doll, love…you name it, Johnny called you it. Constantly. So constantly you were sure the blush on your cheeks was a permanent staple. He’d even once called you his little flame–that had been met with the tip of your heel being dug into his foot.

The second thing you weren’t prepared for: touch. Johnny Storm didn’t understand personal space, not when he was comfortable around you. If you were in the room with him, he was standing less than a foot from you, and you always knew because you could feel the warmth that radiated off his unusually hot skin. His hands would always rest on your arm, your elbow, right at the bottom of your lower back.

Moments like this in the kitchen were normal, and yet they still fried your brain. That simply little pet name, and Johnny’s warm hand ghosting over your lower back, before coming to rest on your hip. Clearing your throat, you gently pried his hand from your body, shooting him a look as you moved around to get the ingredients for dinner, hoping your flushed cheeks didn’t give you away.

“When your pregnant sister has cravings for my personal family recipe spaghetti, I’m required to oblige her,”

“I asked you to make this for me two weeks ago and you refused,”

Johnny followed close behind you, like a little puppy following its owner. You tried, and failed, to contain your smile at his actions. The media might paint him as some sex god (you weren’t going to lie…if he wanted to be, he could be) but you saw him for what he was: the epitome of a little golden retriever at times.

“Well you aren’t a hormonal pregnant woman with super powers,” you shot back at him, taking the opened jar of spaghetti sauce from Herbie’s hand and dumping it into the pot on the stove top, turning up the heat on the boiling pot of water for the noodles Herbie had laid out for you.

“No, but Johnny is a hormonal guy with super powers, who adores your cooking,” bumping his hip with yours, Johnny stole the wooden spoon from your hand with ease, dipping it into the simmering sauce to stir. With that same ease, he leaned down just slightly, leaving a kiss to your bare shoulder that felt as if it had left a brand into your skin. “Johnny also happens to just adore you, and loves when you stay for dinner.”

You had given up on the blush by now. He’d surely seen it enough over the years with his incessant flirting, there was no use in hiding it. Bumping your hip back with him, biting into your bottom lip in a failed attempt to conceal the smile spreading across your lips, you stole the wooden spoon back from him.

“Johnny also talks in the third person too much, and is an insufferable flirt half the time,” he dipped his hand into the sauce, coating his fingers in red as you whacked lightly at his hand, forcing him to withdraw as quickly as he’d dipped in. “What have I told you about doing that!”

He’d laughed, one of your favorite sounds, as you glanced over at him with a bright smile, unable to truly stay mad at him…ever.

That was, until he dipped his sauce-covered ring finger and middle finger into his mouth to lick the sauce clean off, eyes never leaving yours and a smirk curling up on his lips. It forced you to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat and look away as quickly as you could, feeling a different kind of heat swelling in your body: yeah, Johnny knew exactly what he was doing.

“Not sure, baby, that look you’re giving me right now doesn’t scream that I’m insufferable-”

“Oh, that’s exactly what it’s screaming,” you shot back, even with the ghost of a smile pulling at your lips as Herbie readied the garlic bread on the counter behind you. “If you’re not going to help, you can leave this kitchen. I don’t care if you live here.”

Johnny rolled his eyes in response, hopping up onto the counter next to the stove where you worked. You caught the box of noodles he knocked over before they could fall to the ground, shooting him a look as he held his hands up innocently, dumping them into the boiling water pot.

“You basically live here, too,”

“I don’t-”

“Yeah, because you keep refusing the room that Sue prepared for you,”

He…wasn’t wrong. Two years ago, Sue had transformed what was previously the guest room into a room that looked like it had been built just for you. Your favorite color on the walls, a matching quilt set on the bed, and she’d offered it to you. A place to stay, to live, given that Reed sometimes had you in the Baxter Building until the oddest hours of the morning.

You declined, still desperate to keep that line between your work life and your personal life separate, as tempting of an offer as it was. Sue wasn’t slighted by your decision at all, instead offering it to you to use whenever you needed to. There had been times in which you had taken up that offer, a few changes of clothes tucked away in the room on the odd chance that you’d need them.

“This place is your home, not mine,” you didn’t look at Johnny as you spoke, simply shaking your head as you stirred both the sauce and the noodles in their respective pots. “I’m Reed’s assistant, I’m not family-”

“Stop it,”

Even with the heat that rolled off Johnny Storm, every time his bare skin touched your own it sent a shiver straight down the length of your spine. His hand curled around your jawline, thumb and index finger pinching at your chin to force you to look up at him, to gaze into those intense blue eyes and the look on his face that had morphed so quickly from playful to serious.

“Johnny-”

“You are family, whether you like it or not,” the statement didn’t surprise you, it wasn’t the first time in your four years of knowing him that Johnny had said something like this to you, or anyone on the team for that matter. It always made you feel warm inside, though, to hear him say it, to see that loyalty and love for the people he cared about shine through in his words, such a stark contrast to the way the media sometimes portrayed him. “There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for you.”

That was new. He hadn’t made a declaration like that to you before.

It was something about the look in his eyes as he said it–so genuine, so soft–that had you melting into his touch. His hand curled back up to your cheek, thumb just barely caressing the apple of your cheek, leaving a trail of heat with every swipe of his finger against your skin. Your heart betrayed you, fluttering in that moment like it always did.

These moments used to be few and far between. You didn’t know how else to describe them besides just calling them moments. Over the first few years of knowing Johnny Storm, there were small moments where that empty flirts verged on the edge of something different, something raw and real. But in the last year, they happened more often than they didn’t. Johnny wasn’t pictured out with as many women anymore, wasn’t brazenly caught flirting with anyone with legs and a pulse at events. And in moments like this, even in front of his family, he’d touch you, caress you, speak to you in a way that felt so genuine, that felt like it was real. Like the flirting was no longer just empty, meaningless fun.

That line between your work and personal life might have been a muddled mess, but the line between being Johnny Storm’s friend and something entirely more was practically non-existent now.

“You say that to all your women?” you quipped back, trying to hold your own, even as you were melting inside and your voice came out as a whisper. The playful look on Johnny’s face returned in a second, his fingers instead pinching the cheek he’d just been so softly caressing.

“Never, honey. Those words are reserved for my brother-in-law’s pretty little assistant,”

In typical Johnny fashion, he was able to dissolve and ruin whatever the moment was in an instant with his usual ‘charm’. Swatting his hand away, you returned your attention to the food on the stove in front of you, smiling to yourself as Herbie beeped out a popular song you’d heard on the radio behind you.

“You always have a line, don’t you?”

“Hey, you know what you signed up for, being friends with all this,” he jokingly motioned to his body, and you caught sight of the smile lighting up his face again as you laughed incredulously at his actions. “As part of the package deal, being friends with me, you are legally required to attend movie night in the living room with me after dinner.”

You hummed in response, even if you were smiling the entire time just from listening to him talk.

“This sounds like an impromptu movie night-”

“All of our movie nights are impromptu, babe-”

“I saw earlier that channel 2 is playing The Sound of Music tonight,” you shot back at him, finally looking up at him with an expectant look on your face. “That’s what I want to watch.”

Johnny groaned, throwing his head back and knocking it against the cupboards with a wince on his face. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his overdramatic antics, as usual.

“But channel 3 is showing Psycho!”

“And you dipped your hand–which, god knows where that thing might have been–into my sauce for dinner,”

Johnny opened his mouth to speak, before mulling over your words, and effectively shutting it with a nod.

“You know what, if it gets you to have a movie night with me, then I’ll take it,”

God, you adored this man, more than you should. More than you wanted to. In his presence, especially now, you were pretty sure the smile on your face was a constant, that it would never leave, as you laughed at him once more. 

Finishing off the special blend of additions to your sauce, giving it another swirl with the wooden spoon, you brought it up to your lips for a quick taste. Satisfied, you held one hand under the spoon to keep it from dripping, holding it up toward Johnny.

“Alright, give it a taste,”

His eyes stayed locked on yours, that familiar intensity and warmth in them keeping you locked in place, holding your breath, as he took a quick slurp from the spoon. Smacking his lips together, running his tongue out along his lips, he gave a definitive nod.

“As always…perfection. Though, I expect nothing less from you,”

Before you could retort to his cheesy comment, his hand reached out, eyes still locked on yours, as he cupped your chin once more and ran his finger over your lips. With the slightest of glances down, you saw the small spot of red on his finger, the remnants of the sauce he’d so gently just wiped from your lips.

Glancing back up to those blue eyes you loved more than you cared to admit, you caught the way they finally glanced down at your lips, before looking away as if to not get caught.

“...am I interrupting something?”

As if Johnny had burst into flames and burned you, you jumped away from him immediately the second you heard the voice of Sue Storm across the room. You never even looked back up at Johnny, or turned around to look at the woman by the dining room table, just stared down into the sauce pot as you continued to stir it and the noodles.

“Actually, sis, you very much are interrupting something here,” Johnny called out across the room, and you could see him gesturing with his hands between you both from the corners of your vision.

“Johnny,” you rolled your eyes, glancing over at him with flushed red cheeks from what had just transpired. “Sue isn’t interrupting anything.”

“She kind of is. We were kind of having a moment here-”

“Johnny, we were not having a moment,”

You very much were having a moment, but you weren’t admitting that to him. His ego burned hot enough, no need to stroke the fire.

Sue laughed, rounding into the kitchen as she stopped by Herbie, thanking him and taking the garlic bread tray from him to pop into the oven he had preheated.

“Johnny, why don’t you go get cleaned up for dinner and stop bothering the poor girl. Bad enough I’m making her cook for me, she doesn’t need you hovering,”

The man let out a sigh, muttering something mocking toward his sister, as he threw himself off the counter with dramatic flair. He wasn’t done making your heart race, though, his hand curling around the back of your head as he planted a kiss directly to your hairline, before he disappeared from the kitchen with a pat to Herbie’s head.

The pots on the stove were forgotten as you turned around, simply watching him disappear with an incredulous look on your face. Quickly, your eyes shot to Sue, who was watching you with a smirk as she leaned against the island counter.

“There was nothing happening there,”

“I didn’t say there was,”

“But you’re giving me that look,”

“I’m not giving you any kind of look,” the blonde laughed, stepping up beside you to take the wooden spoon from your hand, tasting the sauce herself with a happy little sigh. “Just…enjoying watching the show from the sidelines, waiting for one of you to make a move.”

“Sue, there’s no move to make. He’s just…he’s Johnny,”

“And Johnny is my brother,” she shot back with a grin. “And Johnny has never been like that with someone, just with you.”

You didn’t get to respond, before Herbie cut in with another series of beeps. Your eyes shot wide as you listened to what he was saying, cheeks flaring an even brighter shade of red as Sue choked on air, laughing to herself at your side.

“HERBIE! THAT’S SO INAPPROPRIATE!”

❤︎

It had been two weeks, and Reed had somehow managed to scan Sue a total of 142 times, now. Sometimes, you wondered how she was able to put up with his hovering, the hovering that had gotten exponentially worse since she announced she was pregnant.

“I’m not getting clear imaging,” Reed called out from the other side of the lab, the only sound in the room being the incessant beeping of the machine he’d built to monitor the baby, and the solder iron in your hand as it worked away on the small device in front of you. You shook your head at his comments once more, adjusting the eye protectors resting on the bridge of your nose as little sparks jumped up as the last piece of the triangular device was finally attached. “I’m going to have Herbie recalibrate this, I don’t like the data output I’m getting, I want a clear image on the next scan. Is the second bridge device ready?”

“Just finished fixing the soldering on the stand, so it should be good to go,” you shot back, tossing your eye protectors down at your workstation, lifting the device carefully and carrying it over to Reed’s station, setting it down with the matching device. “And, once again, you really don’t need to scan the baby again.”

You were met with silence, unsurprisingly. Until, the workstation down the room set off its alarm bell, a familiar tone that had you stand up straighter where you stood.

“New deep space transmission,” there was a hint of elation in Reed’s tone as he said it, quickening his pace across the room with Herbie hot on his trail. “Let’s identify the origin, then record it for further analysis.”

Quickly walking back over to your workstation, your eyes drifted to that desk calendar sitting next to you, and to today’s date: a poorly drawn flame, and the time “2:15” scribbled in a barely legible handwriting that you recognized instantly. Even if you hadn’t, the terribly drawn heart with your initials in it scribbled in the corner would’ve given it away.

“Your analysis is going to have to wait, Reed,” you called out with a sigh, knowing you weren’t the one who put this meeting on the calendar, but you sure knew who had. “You have a 2:15 incoming.”

“2:15? What 2:15?” Reed never even looked in your direction, focused on the new transmission. “You didn’t tell me there was anything on my calendar.”

“Well, I didn’t put this one on the calendar myself, but you must have cleared it at some point…”

Just then, the elevator doors to the lab popped open with a familiar ding sound.

“Ah–Reed!”

Good god, Johnny Storm was trying to kill you. You weren’t even sure if that was an exaggeration at this point, because you wouldn’t put it past him.

Blue looked good on him, it always had, but the navy blue button up he was wearing was doing nothing for your mind that was screaming at you to “keep it professional.” It didn’t help that the first few buttons were already undone, giving a slight peak to his chest. The white chinos–those were the nail in your metaphorical coffin. They had no right to be that tight, and he had no right to look so damn good in them.

“Ah…that 2:15,” you tried your best to conceal your laugh at Reed’s comment across the lab. “Johnny, do we have to today?”

“Johnny, do we have to today? As if I didn’t ask to put it on the schedule,” the blonde man in question mumbled mockingly to himself as he slid up to your side at your workstation as you laughed at his antics. One of his hands grabbed the back of your neck, tugging you closer before you could even think about it, pressing another kiss to your hairline. Suddenly, you felt like you were back in the kitchen weeks ago. “Darling, have I ever told you how breathtaking you look in your lab coat?”

“It’s a white coat, Johnny, it’s nothing special,” you deflected, taking just a short glance up at him before you had to look away, already knowing you were as red as the table beneath your hands.

“But the girl wearing it is-”

“Johnny, do you want to have this meeting or do you want to flirt with my assistant?”

You hung your head with a groan, even as Johnny laughed at the comment from his brother-in-law. His arm slung around your waist, hand settling on your hip as the heat that rolled off his body enveloped you for a moment, letting yourself lean into the side hug he gave you and the squeeze to your hip, before he was gone.

“There’s enough time in the day to do both! No, I had some thoughts about the new suit designs,”

“There are no new space suit designs-”

You glanced over at the pair as they met face-to-face in the middle of the lab, Johnny holding up the sheet he was concealing behind his back.

“You finished them years ago…they have dust on them,” Johnny deadpanned, letting out a sigh as Reed took the design sheet from him. “Look, I get it. You’re going to be a father soon, you’re scared-”

“I’m not-I’m not scared,” Reed cut in immediately, and you could hear the anxious undertone that overtook him immediately at Johnny’s words. Without even having to be summoned, knowing how his brain worked after all this time, you simply shrugged off your lab coat and stalked over to the pair, taking the design sheet from Reed’s hands without a word and placing it on his chalkboard full of equations. “I’m-I’m busy, Johnny. I’m busy. I’m busy, there’s a difference.”

“He means busy on his pace to scan Sue at least 200 times before she gives birth,” you shot back, sending Reed a bright smile that he frowned at, clearly seeing that you were siding with Johnny here. “Not terrified of becoming a father at all, those two things definitely don’t correlate.”

Johnny laughed, smile bright, and it only brightened the one on your face, a tug somewhere deep in your chest pulling on you when he locked eyes with you. Reed snapped your attention back to him in an instant, running a hand down his face as he gestured in Herbie’s direction.

“Just handle the new deep space transmission, please, instead of ganging up on me with Johnny,”

You laughed, heels clicking against the floors of the lab as you joined Herbie’s side as he waited for the transmission to be scratched into the record. There was a woosh of air, the air beside you heating up instantly as a hand found its way to rest on your lower back.

“Have you listened to it yet?”

The smile on your face softened as you glanced over at Johnny, who was staring down at the record in front of you both with pure excitement in his eyes. Beyond the physical moments, his flirtatious moments, these were the moments that had your plan to not fall for Johnny Storm splitting at the seams, if it hadn’t already.

“Seems to be a lot more of the same, just another complex signal,” Johnny left your side, the heat going with him, as he leaned against the blue table behind him. Herbie took the record from its place, rolling over to Johnny to hand it directly to him. “You’re more than welcome to take it with you, give it a listen.”

He twirled the record in his hands with a grin, absentmindedly reaching out to scratch the top of Herbie’s head. That simple little action elicited a giggle, hand coming up to cover your mouth as Johnny glanced up at you with a smirk.

“What’s so funny?”

“Herbie isn’t a dog, and yet you treat him like one,” you explained, stepping up just in front of him and grabbing his hand lightly, stopping the twirling of the record in his hands. “Also, you do know you aren’t supposed to get your fingerprints all over these, right?”

It was Johnny’s turn to laugh as he spun his hand, catching it in his palm and bringing it up to his lips, leaving a scorching hot, but gentle, kiss to your knuckles, sending a shiver straight through your bones. He didn’t even have a retort to your comment, just simply held your hand in his, thumb stroking along your skin, while your entire body flushed with a feeling you wanted to ignore.

“Johnny, what have I told you about flirting in my lab? I need my assistant, we’re trying to run a test,”

The moment was gone in seconds, your hand dropped from Johnny’s as he raced to the other side of the lab, following closely behind Reed and tossing the record onto the closest table.

You could only shake your head with a laugh, walking beside Herbie to join them, knowing Reed would be mumbling to himself the rest of the week about this moment and how much Johnny liked pissing him off.

“Cool! I got time,”

Reed didn’t roll his eyes as you and Herbie joined them back at your workstations, but you could see how much he wanted to. Holding the device you’d just finished off in his hand, you watched in the same awe you had for four years as his arm stretched across the length of the lab, placing it right back beside your own workstation.

“Bridge teleportation test one,” grabbing the notebook lying beside the device that contained your notes on the project, you flipped to a new page, prepared to note down any disparities that occurred during the test, as Reed placed an egg on the newly soldered stand. “Movement of organic matter six meters.”

Johnny grabbed the protective glasses beside the work desk, about to slip them on, before Reed took them with no hesitation and slipped them on himself. The blonde turned to you with an incredulous look that simply drew a laugh from you.

“Those are his pair, you can’t touch his pair,” you teased the man, who simply shot you a wink in return, as you both took the pairs that Herbie was holding out to you both. Johnny gave the little robot a quick fist bump.

Such a simple action that still had you grinning in childlike adoration at the side of his face.

Reed gave you a simple look, confirming you were ready. You gave him a nod, as he took hold of the switch to activate the device.

“Let’s run it,”

The whirring of the machine sounded, three silver beams of energy emitting from the device and encasing the egg within a sphere of energy. There was a shift in the room as that energy grew, as the hum of the machine filled the air, before there was a simple POP–and the egg was gone.

One glance from each of you over your shoulders was enough to confirm that the egg was, in fact, sitting on the opposite platform. Completely untouched and intact.

“It worked!” Johnny exclaimed, gesturing toward the egg.

That’s when the power to the building cut out.

It wasn’t surprising, given the notes you both had taken. The amount of energy that needed to be funneled through the device in order to channel enough energy to actually move organic matter without hurting it was sure to be beyond the energy limits of the Baxter Building. A full power outage…not what you were expecting. Not that you could write that note down in the pitch black of the room.

“Johnny,” Reed’s voice called out in the dark, steady with no hint of any emotion you could decipher in it. The man in question came to life beside you, body engulfed in flames, the flame resistant fabric of his specially tailored clothing working overtime to keep him from being stark naked. He stood with his hands on his hips, and even from the side you could see the smirk curling up on his lips. “Could you reset the breaker?”

You’d known Johnny long enough now, been his friend for enough years, to know him. Know him better than a colleague should. The instant dip in his smirk to a frown was clear, the tension in his broad shoulders, as he tossed his glasses down onto the table. He didn’t spare either of you another look, crossing the room to grab the record.

“Other way-”

“I know,” Johnny snapped, beside his flame engulfed body was on the other side of the lab, flipping the breaker as the electricity of the building roared to life again. The second it did, he was in the elevator, doors shutting without another word.

Neither you nor Reed spoke for a moment, simply looking down at the bridge teleportation device on the table in front of him.

“I’ve upset him,”

Reed didn’t phrase it like a question, he said it like a statement. Both were true, though. Reed always knew when he had upset Johnny, but never how he had really upset him.

You took a deep breath, nodding, as you scribbled a note in your notebook before turning on your heels, stalking back to your own workstation.

“Well, he went out of his way to put time on your calendar just to talk to you about the suits, and you did dismiss him…” you trailed off as you reached your station, eyes flickering back down to that desk calendar beside you. You couldn’t help it, letting your fingers lightly trail over that little heart with your initials, smiling to yourself, wishing it meant more than what it did mean: nothing. “Johnny loves space, he only got to go up once before…this all happened. You can’t blame him for wanting to go back.”

It was quiet for another moment in the lab, before Reed spoke up again.

“You know him well…better than I think I do,”

The flush in your cheeks was inevitable at that, embarrassment flooding you as it was easy for you to read between the lines of what Reed was trying to insinuate.

“I-I just listen to him. I always listen,”

It was quiet again.

“Go check on him,” was all Reed said. “If there’s anyone he’d want to talk to right now, it’s you.”

You wanted to argue, to save the crumbling bits of that wall between work and personal, but even you knew it was too late for that.

Johnny’s bedroom door was just two down from the guest room Sue had offered you years ago, a bathroom being the only thing that separated them. Ben’s room was at the other end of the hallway, along with the nursery where the soon to be baby Richards would sleep.

You may not have stayed in that guest room often, but you’d been in these hallways enough to know it like the back of your hand. To know it like it was your own home. 

There were countless nights, before you’d make the short walk back to your apartment, where Johnny had coerced you into movie nights in his room. He’d never try anything, never push you into something, always leaving the door open to make sure you knew he wasn’t bringing you upstairs for some alternative reason. His room was just quieter, and felt more private. It gave you the chance to see the side of Johnny that the world didn’t get to see.

The space lover, who spent his life dreaming of being an astronaut, of going into space and seeing the stars. He was a thrill-seeker, always wanting to live his life on the edge, to find joy in those rushes of adrenaline. But beyond it all, just a good man. A man who had an entire collection of records lining one wall of his room, organized from his favorite records to his least favorite, even though he claimed there wasn’t really a least favorite. The world got to know the Human Torch, but in  the confines of those four walls, you got to know Johnny Storm. The second you did, you knew your heart was fucked.

You found him in a spot you’d found him in before: leaning against the floor to ceiling windows of his room, staring out at the spaceship he hadn’t stepped foot in for four years. Your heart broke slightly from where you stood in the doorway, able to see the longing that was woven into his frown, that shone through his eyes that never strayed far from the Excelsior.

“You know,” with a few steps into the room, standing beside the record player, you lifted the needle to stop the replay of the foreign language from the deep space transmission that played on a loop. Johnny looked over, a soft smile overtaking his frown at the sight of you, as you kept your own voice soft and light. “I don’t think deep space transmissions are the right background music if you’re going to stare longingly out your window.”

Johnny laughed in a huff, turning on his heel to flick through his record collection.

“And suggestions then for a melancholic moment such as this?”

“Elvis typically has some hits that can set that mood,”

You watched him, the slight shake in his body that hinted he was laughing again, before he plucked a record from the shelves and rose back to his feed. Standing beside the record player with you, he slid it into your hands without another word and plopped into the chair just across from the player.

With care, like you’d done it a hundred times before (you had, right here in this room), you slipped the record onto the player, dropping the needle down as it coasted along the grooves etched into the record.

When no-one else can understand me, when everything I do is wrong…you give me hope and consolation. You give me strength to carry on.

The lyrics settled in you heavily, but it made your body feel lighter. It was impossible not to read into them, to not think too hard about the deliberate music choice that Johnny had made. You couldn’t help that, somewhere deep in your heart where you had buried your feelings for the flaming man years ago, you were hoping these lyrics were a personal message to you.

“Reed send you to check on me?” Johnny asked after a moment, leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his chest as he watched you. Composing yourself for a moment, shoving the flurry of butterflies beating against your chest down, you turned to face him and his blue eyes with a shrug.

“Technically, but I would’ve come on my own,” Johnny hummed, the ghost of a smile on his lips, as his gaze found its way back to the spaceship taunting him just beyond the window. “Come on, matchstick, talk to me.”

He huffed out another laugh, stretching his arms above his head as you tried your best to keep your eyes trained on his face and not drift down his torso. Eventually, his arms settled back across his chest, his gaze still stuck out the window.

“I don’t know…it’s stupid. Last time we went up, we came back with superpowers, trust me, I get that. Now, he’s got a kid on the way. But I know–I know–that he knows how much space means to me. So, when he just dismisses me like that-”

“It makes you feel inadequate? Like you’re a child?” Johnny’s gaze found you again as you shrugged with a light smile. “I’ve worked in an enclosed space with him almost every day for four years, Johnny. He used to make me feel that way all the time, until I realized that Reed’s never trying to make me feel like that.”

“I know he’s not doing it on purpose…doesn’t mean I’m not going to shit talk him in the confines of these walls,” he gestured around the room as you laughed, coming to stand beside his chair, looking down on him as he sighed once more. His hands fell, gripping his knees, as he rubbed them back and forth against the fabric of his pants. “I love space. Simple as that.”

You hummed, bending down beside the chair Johnny sat in so that you were essentially squatting before him, having to look up at him. Hesitation caught you for just a second, your brain actively fighting a war with your heart as you raised your hands, but you ultimately took his hands in yours. 

All it took was a second for your eyes to drift over to the table beside him. One lamp, a stack of books, and the flash of a polaroid photo leaning against those books: a photo of you. Taken at some point in the lab, laughter written across your face, your hand almost blocking a portion of the lens as you tried to stop him from taking the photo. You didn’t even remember it being taken in the first place.

Good god, he was really going to be the death of you.

Eyes quickly back on him, with a little squeeze to his hands, you gave Johnny the most comforting smile you could, even as your heart did somersaults in your chest.

“I know you do. You’ll go back to space, Johnny, I promise,”

His eyes watched your hands, and you could see it on his face: that hint of adoration, that hint of something genuine that suggested it wasn’t all just a game, that you weren’t imaging moments for more than they were.

“What if I don’t?”

“You’re Johnny Storm, I’ve never seen you not get something you wanted before. Especially not something you want this bad,”

His mouth parted just slightly as he hesitated. You watched as his tongue darted out, just barely grazing over the edge of his bottom lip, before you flicked your eyes back to his.

“You’re wrong…I think there’s something I want more. Been trying to get it for awhile, but…she just keeps slipping through my fingers somehow,”

That tug on your heart was back. Your heart was surely beating so fast that it could be heard, hammering against your ribcage, as his thumbs glided back and forth across your skin. You could barely think of a response, too stuck on his words: the closest thing to a confession of any kind you’d heard in four years. Raw, real, genuine.

Johnny stood quickly, barely giving you a chance to potentially think of a response as he tugged you back to your feet. His arm enveloped your waist, your hand falling to his bicep as he still held your other hand in the air beside you both. You weren’t sure now if the flush crawling up your neck into your cheeks was from the moment, or from the heat radiating off of him.

“W-What are you doing?”

“We’re dancing,” he said it as if it was the most casual thing in the world, that usual smirk of his back on his face. Whatever had happened moments before, whatever confession may or may not have been said, was brushed away in an instant, that charming, flirty personality of his back in full force. “Can’t turn on Elvis and not dance, I think that’s a literal crime.”

“I didn’t know you even knew how to dance,”

“Oh, I don’t, Sue’s been telling me for years that I have two left feet,” Johnny shot back, shooting a wink down at you as his hand readjusted its grip along your waist. “Can’t be that hard with the prettiest girl in the building in my arms, right?”

Swaying back and forth, wrapped up in the heat of his body, in the faint smell of the cologne that coated his clothing, you were very certain that Johnny Storm was going to be the death of you.

And when you smile the world is brighter. You touch my hand and I'm a king. Your kiss to me is worth a fortune, your love for me is everything.

Johnny tilted his head back from you by just a hair, and you followed suit. Deep blue eyes, as captivating to you as they were the first time you ever saw them, shone with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. If you could, you weren’t sure you would survive knowing. 

Faces just an inch away, the closest and most intimate moment you’d ever shared with the man you knew in your heart was never going to be just your friend, your colleague, you were verging on the edge of making a terrible choice. Of opening the floodgates, of unlocking the feelings you’d buried away so long ago and letting them flow.

“This is an interesting little relationship you and I have, you know,”

Johnny always found a way to ruin these moments, and this was just another example. Lips tugged up into a smirk, mischief swarming his eyes as he teased you, that fleeting moment of raw vulnerability was gone.

Hand slipped from his, body pulled back from his and a roll of your eyes, you turned on your heel within seconds.

“So typical of you, Storm,”

“What-? What did I do!”

You huffed out a laugh, a smile creeping onto your lips even as you tried to keep it at bay, as you threw your comment over your shoulder as you walked toward the door.

“You went and killed the moment, Johnny, as per usual,”

“...so you admit it, we WERE having a moment!”

You barked out a laugh, shaking your head as you crossed through the doorframe. You could never stay mad at him, not when your heart yearned for him in a way you wish it didn’t.

“Come on! At least let me make it up to you. Will you stay for dinner?”

With a final glance cast over your shoulder toward him, you shot him a bright smile.

“If you’re lucky, flame boy!”

❤︎

Yeah, you really couldn’t say no to Johnny Storm.

Not when he’d spoken so sweetly to you, held you so tenderly, and all around just invaded every part of your brain and your heart. To be fair, he barely had to try honestly to do that.

It wasn’t shocking to see Ben in the kitchen, it seemed to be one of his happy places. You weren’t complaining: on the nights you did stay for dinner, and Ben was cooking, you knew you were going home with the best leftovers the city of New York had ever seen.

“Decided to stay for dinner again?” Sue called out toward you with a smile, giving Herbie a pat on the head as he worked away at carving a pumpkin. You shot her a smile in return, pouring yourself a quick glass of water before making your way toward Ben.

“Johnny asked…and I decided to be nice and oblige him,” you didn’t miss the teasing hum that Ben let out, lightly whacking him on his rocky shoulder. Not that it did you any good, hurting your hand more than it would ever hurt him. His laughter was ignored as your eyes lit up, catching sight of the familiar black and white cookies he was dumping onto a plate. “Oh my god, did you go grab these from Maisie’s?”

“Yes,” Ben waved your hand away when you went to reach for the cookies, producing another paper bag and sliding it your way. “These ones are yours.”

The smell that wafted from the bag was enough to have you almost moaning in the middle of the kitchen, eagerly digging one of the cookies out. Maisie’s famous snickerdoodle cookies, the perfect blend of cinnamon and sugar that you had adored since you were a little girl. One bite of the cookie had you in absolute heaven.

“Oh my god, I haven’t had these in ages!” Ben and Sue both laughed at your excitement as you took another bite of the warm cookie in your hand. “How did you know these were my favorites?”

Ben’s smirk wasn’t hard to miss at all.

“Oh, I didn’t. Johnny asked me to pick those up for you,”

It was probably time to accept that blushing around this family was the only thing you were capable of.

Sue’s laughter rang loudest as she rounded the island counter, high fiving Ben as she shot you a pointed look.

“You really have my brother wrapped around your finger without even trying, huh? You know, before I went to get scanned–again–in the lab, I stopped by the nursery to check out the crib progress. Heard a little The Wonder of You from down the hall, thought I’d peek in…”

The groan you emitted could probably be heard from the other side of the country, leaning down to barely bang your head against the countertop. Ben and Sue’s laughter rang through the air again as you looked up, desperately waving your hands.

“I swear, it wasn’t what it looked like-”

“What wasn’t what it looked like?”

Of course, Johnny chose to make his grand entrance at that moment. Thankfully for you, he’d changed out of that ridiculously hot button up. Unfortunately for you, he was still wearing those god forsaken white chinos.

“Your little dance Sue was telling me about earlier,” Ben teased, easily catching your hand as it came up to whack him again in his rough, oversized one. “What’s with the long face?”

“Oh that dance was exactly what it looked like. Thanks for coming to dinner though, sweetheart, glad you like the cookies,” Johnny tacked on a wink in your direction, one you affectionately rolled your eyes over, before his smile was back to a frown. “And what of it, Ben?”

“Sounds like your 2:15 with Reed didn’t go well. I’m sorry, pal,”

From across the room, you could see Johnny’s shoulders move in a huff of laughter as he clapped, bringing down the cabinet shelf that held the same box of cereal you had taken from him two weeks ago. You moved around the island counter, filming your cup with more water before standing opposite of Ben while Johnny made his way back over.

“Hey, I’m fine,” he spoke, though the edge in his words was clear as he did, coming to stand directly at your side. “I don’t mind or anything, it’s just, uh-”

“I hear you, pal. We’ll go to space again,”

“That’s what I was trying to tell him earlier,” you tacked on, bumping your hip with Johnny’s, who quickly did the same back to you.

That smile you adored was back in moments, though, as he dug his hand into the box and produced the action figure waiting inside: a miniature Johnny Storm. His bright grin was turned in your direction as he waved the toy toward you, his signature catchphrase from the cartoon–flame on–ringing through the air as Reed entered the room, greeting his wife by the dining room table.

“They captured my likeness so perfectly, don’t you think?” he quipped, activating the catchphrase once again as you rolled your eyes. “Do you still have the one I gave you a few months ago?”

“Yeah, buried in the junk drawer of my kitchen,”

Johnny feigned shock, pinching your side quickly as you squirmed away with a laugh.

“At least upgrade me to your bedside table so I can be with you while you sleep,” that stupid line was accented with another wink before Johnny thrust the toy in Ben’s face. “Come on, admit it’s cool.”

That catchphrase just kept repeating.

I’m Johnny Storm! Flame On!

Flame On!

Flame On!

Ben grabbed the toy from Johnny’s hand in seconds, crushing it to nothing but dust and blowing it back in Johnny’s face with a smirk. You tried everything to conceal your laughter, but it was inevitable.

“Flame off!”

Sirens rang outside the balcony of the building’s living room. The flying cars of the police force raced past, bathing the room in red and blue lights. The second they disappeared, another squadron flew past in the other direction, the sirens all intermixing in the air.

These were the moments you never got to see often, when the team sprung into action. It was clear in Johnny and Ben alone, how their silly little moment was forgotten as they thrust into action, prepared to go running out of the building into danger. Reed simply held up a hand, shaking his head at the group.

“No, no, it’s alright. This is me,”

Ben and Sue followed Reed out onto the balcony, but Johnny hung back, his gaze stuck on you as you hadn’t moved from the kitchen. He simply tilted his head toward his family, holding his hand out for you. Such a simple move that shouldn’t have kickstarted your heart into what was surely an irregular rhythm, but it did.

The second you were at his side, Johnny’s hand rested at the small of your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt just so to tug you slightly closer to his side. Together, you stepped out onto the balcony of the Baxter Building beside Ben, overlooking New York as it was bathed in every corner in red and blue.

“For the past few months, I’ve been tracking a small number of criminal organizations throughout the city,”

You shot a look down at your boss, eyebrow raised.

“That’s what you’ve been doing in that notebook by your desk?” Reed simply waved your comment off, pointing just down the block, fairly close to the area in which your apartment resided.

“47 of them, to be exact. Including the Puppet Master in the Bowery, the Wizard in Gramercy Park, and Diablo in Washington Heights,”

Everyone on the balcony went quiet for a moment.

“You…baby-proofed the world,” Ben finally spoke. Sue’s sigh could be heard from the other end of the balcony as she tried to defend her husband.

“It’s a sweet gesture,”

“It’s a little insane,” you mumbled to yourself, just loud enough for you and Johnny to hear. The blonde at your side simply shrugged, glancing down at you and catching your gaze.

“It’s not totally crazy. He’s trying to protect the things he loves, what’s most precious to him…” Johnny’s lips quirked up just slightly. “I’d do it too…I’d do it for you.”

He said it so…so earnestly. With so much conviction in his tone, as if this was a certainty to him. That protecting not just his family, but you, was something he needed to do. That if it came down to it, he’d do it without a second thought.

“You…you have to stop saying things like that to me, Johnny,” you hated how breathless your voice came out, how wrecked you sounded as you whispered your response back to him, the conversation still droning on in the background between the other three.

The smile on Johnny’s face only widened, his hand slipping around from your lower back to your waist, as he gave you a light squeeze.

“Stop saying what, the truth?”

No, you need to stop saying things that are making me fall in love with you.

Love. That was a word that had only crossed your mind once when it came to Johnny Storm. 

It was two years ago, a week to the day that you had lost your mother, your biggest supporter in life. You stood at that funeral, surrounded by estranged family members you hadn’t spoken to in years, and family friends who wept for your loss. Reed, Sue, Ben and Johnny had come, offered their condolences, paid their respects.

When the others left, Johnny stayed. He stood by your side through the first viewing, never left it during the second viewing, and stood with you in the pouring rain an hour after they’d put her in the ground. You had cried, he held you, and he’d simply never left you alone that day. The colleague that had quickly become a friend, who flirted with you every chance he got, never uttered a single flirtatious comment that day. He’d simply been there, been the shoulder you needed.

That was the day you realized you may have fallen in love with the one man you told yourself not to fall in love with, and you buried those feelings in your heart for what you thought would be forever.

“Stuck in your head over there? Come on, it’s dinner time,”

Ben’s voice broke you from your stupor. The team had all started to make their way inside while you were left at the balcony railing, hands white knuckled on top of the rail. 

Johnny’s hand was held out toward you, and you ignored every part of your brain that told you not to and slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you back in toward the living room.

That’s what their watches all went off, alerts blaring in sync with one another.

It was like a firework went off, a boom shattering the night air of the city. The clouds, the sky, were painted in gold, streaks of meteors and debris crossing the sky as they fell to the earth. The sound that emitted from the golden cloud that stretched across the sky, bathing the city in its light, felt…otherwordly. Like a scream, like a warning.

A warm hand enveloped your face, turning your wide eyes away from the scene.

There were very few times you saw Johnny as serious as he was now. Jaw locked, eyes narrowed but still soft as they looked at you, the cascades of gold shone over his face, highlighting his features as another boom sounded off in the distance.

“Go inside, don’t come out,”

Words were caught in your throat. All you could manage was a nod, his thumb doing a single swipe over your cheek, before he patted Reed on the shoulder and launched himself over the railing and into the air, igniting himself as he went.

If not for the moment, you would have stopped to admire him as he flew, bathed in the reds and oranges of his fire. You were awestruck every time you got to witness those cosmic powers firsthand.

Reed, Sue, and Ben had followed not long after, as you could hear the familiar whirled of their car through the air, chasing after Johnny through the city, following whatever had just appeared from the sky.

You? You sat on the living room couch, wringing your hands together to keep them from shaking. You’d been there as they had dealt with Red Ghost, or even Moleman, but this? 

This was different. This was otherworldly. This was terrifying. And when Herbie flipped the switch of the television, rolling to your side, you were greeted with the sight of the silver alien woman hovering in Times Square for the first time.

“Your planet is now marked for death. Your world will be consumed by the devourer,” 

Her voice sent a single chill down the column of your spine. Herbie’s robotic hand reached out for yours, ceasing the endless wringing of your hands together. You took it without hesitation, though you wished in your heart it was someone else’s hand holding yours in this moment.

“Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak. Use this time to rejoice, and celebrate, for your time is short. I herald his beginning…I herald your end…I herald, Galactus.”

And thus began the longest night of your life since the day your colleagues went into space and came back forever changed.

Sending the team into space was the only option, to confront this mystery at its source. Reed had given you the basics in passing: the threat was real, there was documentation of plants across the universe disappearing entirely, the chrome woman’s signature left on each of them. He’d tasked you to the launch team, to prepare Excelsior for launch in T-16 hours.

Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak.

Those words rattled around your brain the entire night, into the wee hours of the morning. Even as you helped Lynn set up the press conference, as you conferred with the launch team to ensure that the Excelsior was prepared in every conceivable way, as you checked and double-checked every data point throughout the entire ship, her words never left you.

Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak.

The anxiety was clawing at you, even as you threw yourself into work. The notion of what her words meant, of what could happen, of how close the end could be.

The clock read sometime around 2 a.m. when you had finally stepped foot in that guest room made for you. There was no way you were walking home tonight. Besides, come morning, there would still be too much to do, too many data points that needed to be checked, too many scenarios that would need to be run through to make sure your team came back to you.

You knew sleep wasn’t coming to you, though, not when that metallic voice was rattling around your head. Not when an alien threat was upending your life. Not when, two doors away, there was a man that you did, in fact, want to hold close…in case you never got the chance to again.

You loved him. All it took was the end of the world to admit it.

Clad in nothing but an old t-shirt with the 4 logo on the front, one you were sure was Johnny’s, and a pair of shorts, you didn’t care what you looked like as you tore out of the room and into the hallway. Not now, not when your world was being threatened, not when your entire life could be ripped from you in a matter of seconds.

Johnny was awake, just as you knew he would be. White shirt, plaid blue pants you’d seen him sleep in so many times, he stood in his dark room by the windows once more, watching the crews rush around on the ground as they prepared the ship for launch in just a few hours. That same record from earlier in the day was still playing.

I guess I'll never know the reason why you love me as you do. That's the wonder, the wonder of you.

With a step into the room, shutting the door behind you and flicking on the lamp just beside the door, Johnny finally met your eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” was the only thing you could manage to say. Johnny tilted his head, studying you silently, before he held out his hand just as he had done hours before.

“Come here,”

Crossing the room in a matter of moments, you all but fell into his arms. His outstretched hand ignored, he was frozen in place for just a moment as you curled your arms around his neck, throwing yourself into his arms. The faint smell of his cologne lingered, as did his bodywash, and the sigh you let out the second the smell hit you was in comfort.

It didn’t take Johnny long to unfreeze, his arms finding their place around your waist. One hand rested on your upper back, one pressing into your lower back. A faint kiss was placed to the side of your head, heat lingering for a second. Heat lingered in your entire body, radiating off of him in waves.

“You have to talk to me, baby,”

Talk? The truth was, you didn’t know where to start. How were you supposed to explain that, since the moment you had met Johnny Storm, your heart was already his. That in all your moments over the years, you’d fallen for the man you told yourself not to fall for. And as the threat from the metallic woman loomed over the world, as he prepared to try and save life as you knew it, the only thing you wanted was to be held by him. To know he was here, that he was okay, that he was with you.

“I-I’m scared,”

Those were the only words you could settle on. Johnny pulled back, his hands sliding gently around the fabric of the shirt hanging loosely from your body until they reached your face. He cradled you, so softly and gently in his hands, it was almost involuntary the way you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, his warmth, chasing the feeling of security it brought you.

“It’s okay to be,” the gentle tone in his voice washed over you, covering you like a blanket. It’s exactly how he had spoken to you that day, standing in the rain when you refused to leave your mother’s side, reassuring you he was there. “I don’t care what the herald said, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

Of course you knew that. If there was anything you knew for certain in this world, it was that when Johnny Storm said he’d protect you, he meant it. He’d spent long enough proving that to you.

There was no hesitation on your part when you laid your own hands overtop of his. Fingers curling around them, tugging his right hand just barely from your cheek, you turned and pressed the lightest of kisses to the palm of his hand.

Johnny froze. You could feel it. The slight tilt of his head, the questioning look that flickered across his face in the moonlight that shone through the windows. It was all fair. You were never the one to cross the boundary like this, to make a move such as this.

“I can’t stop thinking about what she said,” was how you tried to explain yourself, stopping and starting your sentence over and over as you tried to find the right way to explain yourself, the walls crumbling and the floodgates bursting wide open. “Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak…it’s why I came to you.”

A single emotion crossed Johnny’s face in seconds: understanding.

That signature smirk of his was back in moments, even if it was twinged with a softness reserved only for you. The heat left your cheeks, but found your hands as Johnny’s fingers intertwined with yours, hanging your joined hands down between you both. There was a bright light that passed over the window for just a moment, bathing the two of you in bright light, before you were plunged back into the darkness of his room yet again.

“You did come to me…why’s that?”

“You know why-”

“I do,” he said it so matter-of-factly, that smirk growing just a tad as he leaned into your personal bubble by just a hair. “This push and pull, four years of ‘will they’ or ‘won’t they.’ I want to hear you say it, baby.”

“It’s not that easy,” you immediately shook your head, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip as Johnny simply watched you. “Saying it…makes it real.”

He scoffed, the sound mixed with laughter, as his head cocked slightly more to the side.

“You came into my bedroom at 2 in the morning–wearing my shirt, might I add–is that not real enough?”

“When you’ve spent years trying to ignore how you feel and refusing to say it, it’s not that easy to say,” you desperately tried to explain. “If I say it…then everything changes.”

Johnny took barely another step forward, and you almost wanted to step back, to bring back the space between you and preserve the small, crumbling wall that still stood between you both.

“A sexy, naked alien woman came to earth and basically prophesied our demise, darling. If there was ever a time to ‘change everything’ and lay it all on the line, I think it’s now,”

Your heart wanted to hang onto the word darling, but your brain was too stuck on the ‘sexy, naked alien woman’ part of his sentence. The sigh that escaped you was instantaneous, as well as the frown, as you shot the blonde man a pointed look.

“Sexy, naked alien woman, Johnny? Seriously?”

“Come on! She was–objectively–attractive. You can’t deny that!”

It was your turn to scoff, tearing your hands from his in a heartbeat, before spinning on your heel. You felt like an idiot–on the precipice of finally confessing your deepest, darkest secret you’d kept locked away for years, and this is what you got.

“I try to be serious with you, Johnny, and you turn it into a joke once again-”

You didn’t get far from him. A hand enveloped your upper arm mid sentence, tugging and spinning your back around. A gasp fell from your lips as you collided with the chest of the man before you.

Whatever you were going to say never saw the light of day. Not when Johnny Storm gripped at your hips, tugged you as impossibly close as he could, and finally–finally–kissed you.

The kiss you’d dreamed about for four years, finally yours.

Johnny’s lips were soft as they slanted against your own, enveloping you in his warmth. They moved against you in a steady rhythm, passionate but still gentle, still testing the waters of the line you had never crossed before. 

His hands curled into the fabric of the t-shirt clinging to your body, pushing it up just enough so that his hands could dip underneath. Your breath caught, even as his lips continued to move against yours, as his heated skin made contact with yours, and any part of your brain begging you to stop this was silenced as you melted into him.

Hands landed on his broad chest, gripping the fabric as you let him mold your body to his, the scent of his bodywash enveloping you as your body almost became one with him. In the pits of your stomach, as those heated hands trailed up your waist and ghosted over your ribcage, another flurry of butterflies erupted as a moan slipped past your lips, swallowed by his mouth.

A moan left Johnny’s lips at the sound of your own, one hand leaving your waist to curl around the back of your neck. Those slender fingers buried themselves into your hair, gripping just enough to have another groan of pleasure tumbling from your lips, as he guided your mouth against his own.

“You can’t keep making little noises like that,” his mouth barely left yours as he spoke, lips moving against yours, as he dove back in for another kiss the second he was done speaking.

“Your fault,” was all you could manage out, trying to back away just enough to speak, but Johnny never let your lips go far. Your hands glided up his chest, his neck, curling into his short hair as your thumb crested the ridge of his ear. “I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“Be mad at me later,” was his immediate response, his lips leaving yours just to find their place along your jawline and slide down into the hollow of your neck. His tongue danced its way across your skin, leaving tingles of electricity everywhere he touched you, his words murmured into your neck as he buried himself there. “I’m trying to kiss you.”

There was some part of you that wanted to protest him–over what, you weren’t even sure at this point–but you couldn’t. Not when his teeth dug just so into the side of your neck, leaving his mark on your skin as if he was claiming you as his.

You were always his.

“You c-called–oh god–you called the alien sexy while I was trying to confess,” you just barely managed to get the words out through your moans. Johnny was slowly walking you backward, straight in the direction of his bed while his lips never left the side of your neck, leaving his mark on every inch of skin he could see.

Your foot caught on the raised edge of the platform his seating area sat on, your feet stumbling backward. Johnny was there–he was always there–and tugged you back into him. And god, if you loved those blue eyes before, you loved them even more now: pupils blown wide, Johnny Storm looked about as wrecked as you felt.

“Your confession was four years late, and I’m impatient,” he stole another kiss from you, his teeth sinking just barely into your bottom lip, tugging gently. He let go, pressing a messy kiss to your lips to soothe the pain of his bite, words fanning out over your lips. “I’ve been trying to tell you I’m in love with you for four years now, so please just shut up and let me show you instead. Now–jump.”

At this point, you’d do just about anything he asked of you.

Johnny caught you with ease, both of his hands splayed out across the bare skin of your thighs, locking your legs around his hips. A choked moan fell from your lips the second your core was dragged against the painfully hard length bulging against his own pants, hands curling into his hair as you, this time, desperately pulled him into a kiss.

I’m in love with you. Those words repeated like a mantra in your head. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, the world’s fire boy and hero that they painted like a sex symbol. The ��playboy’ with a new girl all the time, never able to hold down a girl…was in love with you.

Your back hit the bed, body bouncing just slightly before settling. His eyes never left you as you crawled back just slightly, propping yourself up on your elbows to look up at him in the dark of the room, lit only by sky and the lamp by the door. The music played faintly in the background, but at this moment, it meant nothing to you.

Johnny’s hands gently touched your knees from where they dangled off the edge of the bed, parting them just so in order to step between them. You watched, entranced by every move he made, body flushed from the heat that coursed through your bare skin at the slightest of touches from him. With a practiced ease, his hand took hold of the back of his shirt, yanking it over his head without hesitation. It found a place to lay somewhere across the room, discarded until the following morning.

It was impossible not to stare. His broad chest, those biceps that always threatened to bulge out of every shirt he wore. His toned abdomen and the trail of hair that led straight to the waistband of his pants, the outline of him still prevalent and straining against the fabric.

“I need to know that you’re sure…about this,” you weren’t used to it, the vulnerability in Johnny’s tone. He leaned over you now, hands splayed across the bed on either side of you, barely a few inches from your face. Those blue eyes flickered down to your lips time and time again. “Because if I kiss you again, I’m not stopping until you’re mine.”

There was no hesitation on your part. Just a single movement of your arms, tossing the old shirt hanging from your upper body across the room to join his. As simple as that, you sat bare before him, chest heaving with every deep breath you took in.

“I was already yours. I always have been,” there was only certainty in your tone as you held his gaze. “Speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak…that’s why I came to you. Because if this is the end of the world, I needed you to know that I love-”

He didn’t let you finish your words. His next kiss was anything but gentle.

Messy, spit coating your lips as Johnny’s tongue seemed to invade your mouth and every one of your senses, his lips devoured yours as if you were his first meal in decades. He kissed with the hunger of a starved man, his hands grasping at every part of your skin they could–your waist, your hip, before finally your ass. The squeeze he gave to your skin, the uptick in heat you felt as if he was burning himself just slightly hotter on purpose, had another moan tumbling from your lips and into his mouth.

The hand still gripping your ass tugged you upward on the bed until your head fell against the silk pillows at the headboard. Your hands never left Johnny’s hair, carding through the strands as you frantically kissed him back, addicted to the feeling, as his hips ground into yours. That bulge in his pants pressed heavenly into your core, the friction rolling your eyes into the back of your head as you let your head fall to the pillows with a moan.

Johnny’s lips were everywhere. From your jawline, to your neck, until they finally reached your collarbone. He lavished you with his lips, tongue running over your skin as his hands trailed up the sides of your lower abdomen, stopping just as they reached the swell of your breasts.

“Since the day you walked in, I’ve thought about this,” his voice was raspy, the words barely understood as they were spoken against your skin. “Since the moment Reed introduced you to us.”

“I-I was wearing a lab coat,” you choked on your words as Johnny’s lips reached your sternum, trailing kissing down your chest, but never where you wanted him. “Hardly sexy, I’d argue.”

“It is when I’m picturing you in that coat and your heels, and nothing else,” he tacked on, before his lips wrapped around your nipple without warning.

You mewled at the sudden contact, one hand returning to his hair on instinct as your back arched off the bed and into him. Johnny’s hand on your abdomen was quick to push you back down, holding you down against the bedding beneath you.

God, with the fire that felt like it was burning through your body, you could’ve sworn that Johnny had caught you on fire. His teeth just barely grazed the sensitive bud in his mouth, a sharp intake of breath leaving your lips on instinct. He was quick to soothe you, tongue swirling around the erect and sensitive bud with rapt attention. A moan slipped through him, felt through your entire body, as your other hand tore into the bedding. Desperate for something to hold onto. Something to ground you in your pleasure.

“I’ve dreamed about you under me. Kissing you, tasting you, loving you,” his practically purred out every single word, tongue flicking back and forth over your sensitive nipple. He moved to the other one easily, delivering the same rapt attention to it.

“I’ve thought about you, too,” you relented, divulging every secret you held dear to the man who lavished every inch of you in love and adoration. “In the kitchen, the lab, in that stupid button up from earlier-”

“I knew you liked that shirt. Wore it just for you,” his husky tone sent another shot of pleasure through you, heat curling through every inch of your body.

The tips of his fingers trailed lightly down your stomach. When Johnny’s head lifted for just a moment to lock his eyes with yours, that familiar smirk on his face, you weren’t given a second to react before heat poured through his touch.

Gasps mixed with moans of pleasure fell from your lips on instinct, that unnatural heat of his pouring through his touch and into your skin. Every movement of his fingers over your ribcage and down your abdomen felt as if it was leaving your skin on fire, branding his touch into your skin so that you would never forget the feeling. Burning him into your memory so that you would always feel the phantom sensations of his touch on your skin.

“You’re absolute perfection, you always have been,” Johnny moaned into your skin, lips trailing over the mounds of your breasts with another series of a thousand kisses. Those heated fingers dipped past the waistband of your shorts, pressing directly against your clothed clit without a warning. The moan you let escape mixed in the air with the moan that tumbled from Johnny’s lips against your skin. “Jesus Christ, baby, you’re so soaked.”

The heat was still there in his fingers, setting off every little nerve ending in you even through the soaked fabric of your panties that you desperately wanted gone. Your hips ground up into his hand, whimpers falling from your lips as you chased after the feeling of him, desperate for friction.

“All for you,” even this hint of pleasure had you stumbling toward the edge, babbling almost incoherently. With a tug to his hair, you were quick to bring Johnny’s lips back to yours, arms wound around his neck. He gave into your needs immediately, devouring you in a kiss as heated as his touch was, fingers rubbing slow circles over where you needed him so desperately. “Please–Johnny, please! Please, I need you. Need you–need you so bad.”

“I got you, baby. I got you. Keep moaning my name like that, and I’ll give you the world”

Those whispered words stayed on your lips, lingering, as Johnny left you. His touch wasn’t gone long. Fingers curling into your shorts, they were discarded across the room in a flash, panties gone with them as well.

For the first time, you laid completely bare in front of the man you loved–the man you denied loving for so long. And Johnny Storm was a mess. His hair stuck up in multiple directions, skin flushed, but he was still beautiful. The most beautiful man you’d ever met, inside and out.

Johnny didn’t give you a second to truly breathe once he was done admiring you. He sprawled out along the end of the bed, head dipping between your thighs, as he licked a single stripe with his flattened tongue directly up your center.

“Fucking beautiful, and all mine,” his words were growled into your core, two fingers lazily moving between your folds and spreading every ounce of wetness around, holding you open so he could see every inch of you. “Sweeter than I ever dreamed you could be.”

He dove into you like you were the only thing that mattered. Fingers spreading you open, giving him access to every square inch, his mouth devoured you. A cool drink of water for a starving man in the middle of the desert. Johnny moved his tongue with precise expertise, as if he knew exactly what your body craved.

Delving into you, flicking back and forth as he drank in every secretion of arousal that dripped from you. That same tongue dragged its way up to your clit, swirling around in figure eights, flicking back and forth.

Cries fell from your lips wantonly, hands digging into his hair. Eyes fluttered shut, head tilted back to the ceiling, there was only one word you could repeat over and over again: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. 

His name was all you knew anymore, too lost in your own bliss and pleasure.

In one fell swoop, your thighs were settled over his shoulders, before his head was back where you wanted it more than anything. His lips and tongue focused on your clit, still swirling back and forth, as his fingers dipped slightly lower, dancing right across your opening.

It started with one long, slender finger sliding into you. One of your hands was forced to leave Johnny’s hair, falling over your own mouth to try and conceal the cry that threatened to burst from you, afraid that the others would hear you.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he laughed against your core, his finger curling just perfectly against your walls as they clenched around him every time he dragged his finger back and forth. “Want to hear you.”

“Don’t want to–fucking hell, Johnny–let the others hear,” 

“Let them. Let them hear me love you,”

Fuck Johnny Storm and his stupid lines. His stupid dirty talk that had your walls clenching around him again and again.

Another finger joined the first, followed by another, before you were stretched as wide as you could be around Johnny. The squelch of your juices rung through the air with every move of his fingers–dragging so deliciously into you, curling up, before dragging out just to the edge of your opening. His mouth–god, his mouth–never let up, lapping away at your core like it was his job, what he was meant to do.

That coil of pleasure deep within your lower body came out of nowhere, sneaking up on you just like your love for this man had.

“Johnny–baby–I can’t. I can’t–I’m gonna-”

“Let go, darling,” came that growl in his voice again, the speed of his fingers increasing. “I got you baby, let go.”

That coil snapped in seconds after he spoke. The precipice of your orgasm was earth-shattering, like you’d never felt before. Like trails of fire through your veins, the pleasure coursing through you had your head buried into the pillow behind your head, desperately trying to conceal the wails of pleasure that tumbled from your lips. Your thighs snapped shut around Johnny’s head, but his ministrations never let up as he eagerly drank up every bit of your arousal that leaked from you.

The come down was slow, like waking up. Your breath was uneven, heart beating erratically when you finally pulled your head from the pillow. Eyes bleary, it took a moment to blink them back to life.

Johnny stood at the edge of the bed, discarding his pants and boxers to the pile of clothing littering the other side of the room. And even in your fucked-out, blissful state, one look at him for the first time had that burning desire coursing back through your veins.

He was big. There was no way around it, no denying it, no other way to put it. Flushed, hanging with that beautiful reddened tip, one large and prominent vein throbbing along the edge of it. Beads of precum collected at the tip, his hand smearing it down along his length as he gave himself one single pump before he was crawling back onto the bed.

Johnny knelt between your legs again. Even with limbs that felt like Jell-O, you met him halfway, dragging yourself into a seated position. It was the smile on his face right now, the one erupting those butterflies once more, that you decided was your favorite: soft, adoring, loving.

It was your hands that cupped his cheeks, bringing him into a soft kiss. The taste of you lingered on his lips, sweet just like he said. You poured every ounce of emotion into your kiss, trying to convey to him the years you’d spent loving him so quietly that you couldn’t admit it.

“I might be addicted to you, Johnny Storm,” your words were mumbled into his lips. He laughed so gently, stealing another peck.

“Glad you finally caught up with me, princess, I’ve been addicted since day one,”

Pressed to him, his lips stealing a thousand pecks from yours, the lust in your bones was back in full force. All you could do was hum in response, one of your hands trailing down his chest, nails dragging slowly over his abdomen, before you finally took his throbbing cock in your hand.

He felt even bigger than he looked, which didn’t even make sense in your mind. But he was hot, the skin searing into your hand in the best way. You gave him one squeeze, one tug, and you smiled at the hitch in his breath. The twitch of his cock in your hold.

Johnny’s hand quickly grabbed yours, though, unlatching it from him. All you could do was shake your head, practically whining as you tried to take your hand back.

“Johnny-”

“God, it’s so hot how eager you are to touch me,” he laughed again, tilting his head to leave a single kiss to the column of your throat. “This is about you, doll. Save that for next time. It can be a ‘welcome home from space’ gift for me. A ‘thanks for saving the world’ gift, if you will.”

Space. 

That word was enough to have your next words caught in your throat as the weight of everything came crashing back down on you. The threat, the herald, the space launch commencing in a matter of hours now, the events that brought you here in the first place.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, when a single tear slipped down your cheek, but Johnny caught it. Eyes full of concern, but understanding, he simply wiped the tears from your cheek, laying a kiss to the wet splotch of your skin.

“No crying, none of that. Just lay back, baby,”

You listened, letting his hands guide you gently to rest back against the pillows once more. Parting your legs, Johnny placed himself between them, holding himself up over your body on his forearms. Right where he belonged.

Your hands rested on his chest, sliding up so gently to his neck. His eyes never left yours, his length sitting right against your soaked and sensitive core, gliding back and forth with each gentle twitch of his hips.

“You didn’t let me say it earlier. So let me say it, for the first time outloud,” you gave him a watery smile, lips quivering as you looked up at him. “I love you, Johnny Storm. I’ve loved you for so long. I’m sorry it took the world maybe ending for this, that I didn’t let myself be yours sooner.

He smiled, that same charming smile he always did, as he rolled his hips once more. His cock caught just along the edge of your opening as Johnny dipped down, breath fanning over your lips.

“Like you said: you’ve always been mine,”

The first press of his length into your core stung. As wet as you were, as prepared as you were for him, it had been so long. He stretched your walls little by little, taking his time as your body adjusted to him. Then, inch by inch, he sunk within your walls that clung to him tightly.

His cock bottomed out, sunk fully within you, bare hips pressed to bare hips as you both let out shaky breaths. Your nails dug into the hair at the nape of his neck while his hands trailed up your ribcage, squeezing every moment or so as choked out moans fell from his lips.

“God–so tight for me, baby–you feel like heaven,”

His name was the only thing you could manage to choke out between your moans as he dragged himself back to the tip, before burying himself again to the hilt. Your moans, your cries and the way your hands threaded into his hair only spurred him on more, Johnny’s hips snapping into yours again and again and again.

His lips found yours amidst every snap of his hips, every drag of his cock against your walls. Every moan that slipped through your lips was drowned out by him, by the feverish movements of his lips against yours. They trailed away, back to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva connecting you together as he bit another love bite into the side of your neck. It didn’t matter to you how this would look to others, how scandalous you might look in the light of day to others.

All that mattered was Johnny Storm.

“Oh god, Johnny!” your head fell to his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin as his hips snapped against yours over and over, driving him deeper with every thrust into you. “Holy fuck, w-why weren’t we doing this for years?”

“Because you’ve been a stubborn–fuck–little tease all these years,” his tongue dragged up the column of your throat, peppering kissing up and down your skin as his cock dragged against your walls. “Bent over your workstation in the lab–oh god–you don’t know how many times I’ve thought about it. Thought about walking in and taking you right there, making a mess right at your desk.”

“R-Reed would walk in and you’d scar him for life,”

“Sounds like a win-win to me,” there was shared laughter, punctuated with a shared moan as his cock dragged right against that spot nestled within you. “And try not to talk about my brother-in-law when I’m fucking you.”

There was no time to reply as Johnny scooped up your wrists in his hand in a single motion, pinning them down above your head. He adjusted your waist, suddenly driving into you at a new angle that had you mewling his name all over again.

Johnny whispered your name into your skin with every kiss, timed just so with every snap of his hips against yours. That coil of heat was burning, wounding itself tighter and tighter for the second time that night. All you could feel was him, was Johnny.

His warmth, the heat that burned off of him. It warmed your skin, it had beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. It was uncomfortable in the best way. His one hand still trailed up and down your ribcage, every so often tweaking your sensitive nipple between his thumb and index finger and coaxing another moan of pleasure from you.

He worshiped you, every inch of you, like you were the greatest thing to ever grace the earth. To him, you might have been

“Fucking perfect, baby. Fucking made for me,” his lips found yours again, slick with spit as his tongue dipped into your mouth to taste every inch of you possible.

His stroke faltered, the rhythm uneven, and you knew he was close. That coil of heat in your stomach was threatening to snap any second every time his cock pulsed and throbbed within your walls. His grip on your wrists was tight, even as you struggled against him, desperate to just hold him.

“Johnny–baby–please I-I’m so close-”

You choked on your words once more, the hand still trailing across your stomach heating up again, leaving a burning trail of heat in your skin. Those heated fingers found your clit like it was second nature, a cry of pure pleasure leaving your lips as they circle that bundle of a thousand nerves over and over again, hips still snapping into you as quickly and desperately as they can.

“Let go,” his voice was husky, eyes blown wide as he looked down at you. Your wrists were finally let go, your hands immediately finding their place in the strands of his hair again as his free hand cups the back of your neck, smashing your lips into his in a flurry of moans. “Let go, baby, let go.”

Your second climax burned hotter than the first.

The pleasure burned so hot, so bright, you were practically sobbing, every cry and moan of pure bliss muffled by his kiss. Your legs locked around Johnny’s waist–tightly–so tight he could barely move away from you. It was overwhelming, the shockwaves of bliss that ran through your veins, the shaking of your thighs as you held onto his hair like it’s a lifeline.

He ground himself into you over and over, rhythm so far gone he was struggling. But all it took was your lips lazily finding his neck, teeth sinking in to leave your matching mark to his, for his hips to still as he spilt into you.

Johnny breathed out every moan into the side of your head, your name tumbling from his lips along with a flurry of swears. The grip he had on your hip was bruising, so tight you think he could snap the damn bone if he held any tighter. And his cock? Seated so deeply inside of you it’s as if you are one, heat pooled within your lower abdomen with every wave of cum that filled you to the brim.

On the other side of the room, the record was still playing softly. Bright lights still flashed by the windows every so often, crews still at work on the spaceship set for launch by mid-morning.

None of it mattered in the silence of the bed.

You aren’t sure how long either of you laid there. Your heartbeat, eventually, returned to normal, even as your chest still heaved to take in every breath that it could. Johnny still laid half on top of you, pressing repeated kisses to the side of your head, but said nothing. Your hand stayed in his hair, carding through it, as your core pulsed. It would ache come morning–hell, it already did–but it was worth it. It was so worth it.

Neither of you were quite sure when he pulled out of you, or how long you simply laid there and basked in the afterglow of a moment that should’ve happened years ago.

Eventually, Johnny shifted down. His lips trailed down your body in worship, like they’d done already that night. From your cheek, to your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, and down your lower abdomen.

“Careful…not sure I’d survive a round three,” your voice was hoarse, mouth dry. Johnny laughed against your skin, still kissing every inch he could see.

“I don’t think I would, either,”

His hands were heated once more, but not for the same purpose as moments before. Now, his touch was gentle, massaging every piece of you that he could get his hands on. His thumbs rubbed into your wrists, your waist, and your hips, digging into the muscles. A sigh escaped you at the comforting feeling, taut muscles loosening at the feeling of the heat and the movement of his hands.

With every kiss pressed to your skin, you could feel it: Johnny was humming. It didn’t take long to know which song he was humming, which lyrics: that same song once again.

I guess I'll never know the reason why, you love me as you do. That's the wonder, the wonder of you.

“Is that our song now?” you laughed, even if your heart was clenching at the mere thought. The mere idea of that song belonging to the two of you–the idea that Johnny Storm belonged to you.

You could feel his smile against your abdomen as he spoke. “It should be. It’s accurate. Because I don’t ever think I’ll get over the miracle that is you…loving me.”

It’s not a miracle. What you really want to tell him is that falling in love with him was so easy, you barely realized you had done it. It might be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

Johnny crawled back up your body, slotting himself onto the bed beside you, before tugging you in. There’s no hesitation on your part, simply curling into his side with your head over his chest and arm slung around his waist. Words aren’t needed in the silence, not when you’ve both clearly laid everything out on the table now. Instead, you just listened to the beat of his heart, the natural rhythm that lulls you into a state of peacefulness.

He’s yours. Johnny Storm is yours. He’s always been yours, you just didn’t know it.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, hand cradling the back of your head as he said his next words confidently.

“We’re going to go up there tomorrow, and we’re going to stop this guy. We’re going to protect this Earth, like we’ve sworn to do. But me? I’m going to do it so I can come home to you, and love you for the rest of my life. I promise,”

He can’t promise that, you knew he couldn’t. There was no telling what might happen when that ship took off tomorrow, what they might encounter, or who this Galactus really was.

But Johnny Storm loved you. For now, in the quiet of the night, just between the two of you, that’s enough.

[abby1600]

NONSENSE

Johnny Storm X Female!reader || WC: 5.6K

SUMMARY: Being best friends with Johnny Storm had always come naturally, maybe a little too naturally. Somewhere between late-night movies and whispered secrets, your feelings began to shift. But you kept them to yourself, tucking the crush away and convincing yourself that friendship was more than enough. So when Susan and Reed ask you to help Johnny watch Franklin, you agree without hesitation. What could go wrong?

WARNINGS: Contains minor Fantastic Four: First Steps Spoilers! Established friendship, eventual friends to lovers, cursing, oblivious idiots in love, fluff galore, flirty banter, Reed and Susan are unintentional matchmakers, domestic uncle!Johnny, slight angst, suggestiveness but no smut!

A/N: The way Johnny acted whenever he interacted with Franklin had to be one of my favorite parts of the entire movie! Men that are good with kids are just INCREDIBLY attractive. So this one-shot is purely self-indulgent! Hope we get more of them in the future!! Divider by @saradika-graphics <3

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The Baxter Building had practically become your second home. Between late-night movie marathons, joining impromptu family dinners, and Susan’s gentle insistence that you never needed an invitation. It's safe to say you’d spent more time there than in your own apartment lately. The elevator doors gave a gentle chime before gliding open, revealing the sleek, interior of the Fantastic Four’s private floor.

H.E.R.B.I.E. zipped into view the moment you stepped out, whirring cheerfully with blinking lights and enthusiastic beeps that filled the hallway like confetti. You laughed and crouched down slightly, holding out your hand as the robot spun in a delighted little circle. “Hello, H.E.R.B.I.E., you miss me already?” You grinned, giving the top of his head an affectionate tap.

Before you could ask about the others, a familiar figure emerged from around the corner in a whirlwind of motion. Reed Richards looked like he'd just walked out of a scientific hurricane, shirt slightly wrinkled, tie askew, and hair in the kind of tousled state only existential stress could cause. “Oh, thank goodness.” He breathed, already halfway across the hall and closing the distance with long, purposeful strides.

In a rare show of affection, he wrapped you into a brief but firm hug, clinging like a man about to board a rocket. “Jeez, Reed,” You chuckled, stepping back as he released you. “Don’t you look thrilled for date night.” His expression twisted with half a smile and half a wince as he ran a hand down his face, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt like it was suffocating him. Behind him, H.E.R.B.I.E. let out a low, sympathetic beep.

Reed pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded a lot like a plea to the universe. “Johnny.” That was all you needed. One name, and the entire situation became crystal clear. Your best friend was a whirlwind of chaotic energy, and wherever he went, trouble wasn’t far behind, usually smiling, charming, and completely unapologetic.

Almost as if summoned by name, or more likely because he had been eavesdropping, Johnny Storm burst into the room like a one-man parade. “There’s my favorite girl!” He announced, arms already open wide. Before you could react, he was scooping you up in a familiar, dizzying spin, his laughter rumbling against your ear. You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped you, the sound bubbling up like it always did around him, effortless, easy.

Only when he seemed satisfied with the display of affection did he finally set you back down, but even then, his hands lingered on your waist like he hadn’t quite decided to let you go. You didn't exactly mind. When the room stopped spinning, you looked up, and instantly regretted it. God, he looked good. Too good. A maroon bomber jacket was thrown over a white tee, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows with casual flair, displaying his veiny forearms that never failed to make your mouth water.

His blonde hair, annoyingly perfect as always, caught the light just enough to look sun-kissed, and those blue eyes sparkled with mischief, like he was already planning his next stunt. Behind him, Reed cleared his throat meaningfully. Johnny glanced over his shoulder with a grin that was all innocence and zero guilt, as if he hadn’t just been encouraging a toddler to weaponize household objects moments prior.

“Causing trouble already?” You asked, folding your arms with mock sternness and one raised brow. “Me? Never.” He winked, oozing charm, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him completely. At last, his hands dropped from your waist, and even that small absence left your skin tingling. You tried to focus as he dashed off, already on a mission to corral the minefield of toys strewn across the living room floor.

You watched as he picked up a stuffed alien by one leg, then a miniature drum, and then immediately dropped both to make a siren noise with a plastic fire truck. Unsurprisingly, the room was destined to be chaos again the moment Franklin reentered it, but Johnny was at least pretending to tidy up, which was worth something. “How do you deal with him?” Reed asked, sounding as exhausted as he looked.

He stood there taking in the sight of his brother-in-law playing with his son's toys, rubbing at his temple with the air of a man who knew he’d never truly be free of the chaos. You offered a shrug, casual but fond. “Years of practice. He grows on you, eventually.” You didn’t even have to look to know Johnny had heard you. A dramatic gasp echoed behind you, followed by the sound of him stumbling backward as if wounded.

“Hey! I can hear you!” He cried, one hand over his heart like you’d mortally offended him. Grinning, you stuck your tongue out at him like the mature adult that you were. Before Johnny could retaliate, probably with a pillow launched in your direction or another lecture about how everyone secretly loved him, a small blur shot around the corner like a pint-sized comet.

“Y/N!” You turned just in time, crouching down with open arms as Franklin launched himself at you. His tiny body slammed into your chest, and you caught him easily, steadying the both of you with a laugh. “Whoa, careful there, sweetheart.” You chuckled, pulling him in tight. His little hands curled around your neck as if he hadn't seen you in years, and you pressed your face into his soft hair.

“My goodness,” You whispered, leaning back to take a better look at him. “You have got to stop growing.” You showered his chubby cheeks in kisses, laughing as he giggled uncontrollably, little legs kicking in excitement. The sound lit something up in you, pure, uncomplicated joy, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded out. All that mattered was the warmth of Franklin’s hug and the sound of his happiness echoing off the walls.

Which is why, you didn’t notice Johnny had stopped moving. Across the room, he stood frozen mid-step, a toy truck dangling forgotten from one hand. His usual smirk had softened into something quieter, eyes fixed on you and Franklin like he was watching a dream he hadn’t dared name. There was something in his expression, something fond, unguarded, maybe even a little stunned. For once, Johnny Storm was speechless.

“Y/N, hello darling.” Susan’s voice broke through the chorus of giggles still echoing in the room. You glanced up to find her walking in with effortless grace, powder blue dress nipped at the waist, pearl earrings, blonde hair pinned up in soft curls. Even when wrangling genius husbands and precocious toddlers, Susan Storm somehow made it look easy. You shifted Franklin on your hip, his arms still looped loosely around your neck as you rose to greet her.

“Hi, Sue, you look gorgeous.” You grinned, wrapping one arm around her in a warm hug. “Thank you.” She returned the smile, her eyes softening as she squeezed your hand with that calm, nurturing energy only she could exude. Her gaze drifted to Franklin, then flicked briefly toward Johnny, who was now pretending to inspect the bookshelf but had clearly not stopped watching you since you walked in.

A knowing glimmer sparkled in her eyes, but she let it pass with only a subtle lift of her brow. “Are you sure this isn’t an inconvenience?” She asked gently, though the hesitation in her voice told you she already felt guilty. “I know watching a toddler on a Friday night isn’t exactly ideal.” You scoffed before she could finish the thought, pulling Franklin a little closer. His sleepy weight pressed against you like he belonged there.

“He’s my godson, there’s really nowhere else I’d rather be.” You replied easily, brushing a bit of hair from Franklin’s forehead before placing a loving kiss on his forehead. “Get outta here, lovebirds.” Johnny chimed in, slipping an arm over your shoulders with the casual ease of someone who’d been doing it since childhood. His other hand waved dramatically toward the door. “Franklin’s in fantastic hands.”

You rolled your eyes, snorting at the awful pun. “Really?” You muttered under your breath, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. He grinned, utterly unapologetic, and leaned a little more of his weight against you like he had no intention of moving anytime soon. “Both children will be in one piece when you two come back.” You promised, giving Johnny a pointed side glance.

Susan let out a quiet chuckle, her eyes flicking toward her brother, clearly amused. “We won’t be out too late,” She assured again, though her tone had softened, more relaxed now. “If he gets fussy, there are snacks in the kitchen, and his bedtime is around eight.” Reed reappeared from the hallway, his composure mostly restored, tie straightened, coat neatly draped over one arm.

With his usual efficiency, he helped Susan into her coat, adjusting the shoulders with a care that made you momentarily forget he was the world’s most distracted genius. Before leaving, Susan turned one last time, her gaze resting on you and Franklin, and just briefly, on the way Johnny’s arm still lingered around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing idle patterns against your upper arm.

She mouthed one final thank you, before slipping through the front door with Reed in tow. The soft click of the latch left behind a hush that settled over the room, which left just you, Franklin, and Johnny. “So,” He drawled, quirking a brow, blue eyes fixed on you. “You, me, and one dangerously powerful toddler. What could possibly go wrong?” You smirked. “Everything.” And somehow, you were looking forward to every second of it.

As predicted, the moment you set Franklin down, he making a beeline straight for the living room. Without hesitation, he scooped up as many toy cars as his tiny arms could manage, cradling them to his chest like precious cargo. He dropped to his knees with all the focused determination of a world-class engineer, lining up the miniature vehicles in a meticulous row alongside the winding, high-tech racetrack Reed had crafted in the lab.

Johnny wasted no time. He vaulted over the back of the couch like a kid on Christmas morning, skidding into place beside Franklin on the rug. Within seconds, he was deep in the throes of an imaginary race, arms outstretched, making high-pitched engine noises, mimicking tight turns, screeching tires, and dramatic crashes. At one point, he even narrated the race in a terrible British accent, which made Franklin laugh so hard he rolled backward into a pile of pillows.

You leaned against the doorway, arms folded, unable to wipe the smile off your face. Watching Johnny with Franklin was unfair in every way. He looked too good like this, lit up from the inside out, eyes crinkled with laughter, hair slightly mussed from all the movement. Your ovaries were overwhelmed with joy, hormones, and entirely inappropriate thoughts that you had absolutely no business entertaining while a two-year-old was in the room.

To distract yourself, you busied yourself in the kitchen. The warm light over the counter glowed like amber as you set out apple slices, crackers, and a juice box, arranging them on a plate shaped like a cartoon spaceship. But, toddlers are nothing if not delightfully unpredictable. “Uncle Johnny’s loud.” Franklin announced from the floor before trotting over to you, toy car still clutched in one hand. “Book now, pwease.”

With zero resistance, you scooped him up and headed for the couch, already grabbing the well-worn copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar from where it laid on the coffee table. Franklin nestled into your side like he belonged there, head on your shoulder, thumb in his mouth. You flipped open the book, voice gentle as you began to read. Or at least, you tried to read.

You stumbled over words you’d read a hundred times before, tongue tripping more than you’d like to admit, not because of Franklin, who was happily turning pages too soon, but because Johnny was watching you. His gaze hadn’t left you since you sat down, blue eyes softened with something too warm, too intense for casual friendship. You refused to meet his eyes, cheeks burning hotter than any of his fire tricks.

After dinner, Franklin was back to racing around with his cars. Only now, he wanted you and Johnny to play too. Which is how you ended up cross-legged on the living room floor again, mid-race chaos, with Franklin assigning you very serious car duties, like “crash dis one” and “make dis one fly.” Johnny, of course, took it way too far.

He zoomed his car off the edge of the coffee table with a dramatic explosion noise, tossed Franklin gently in the air, which earned him a fierce scolding glare from you, and then proudly unveiled a mini Johnny Storm action figure from one of the toy bins. You groaned, the moment it crackled to life with a mechanical, over-enthusiastic: 'FLAME ON!'

“Bet you didn’t think I’d let this masterpiece go out of production.” Johnny puffed his chest out like he’d won a Nobel Prize. “It talks? “Why on Earth does it talk?” You deadpanned. “Because it's genius,” He stated matter-of-factly, holding the tiny figure like it was sacred. “And because the world needs more me.” You opened your mouth to disagree, but Franklin grabbed the figure from his hand and hugged it to his chest like it was made of gold.

"Uncle Johnny, cool!" Johnny beamed, smiling from ear to ear. “See? The people agree.” You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw another dimension. You wanted to argue, saying Franklin was clearly biased, but the truth was, watching him, with Franklin curled up against you and laughter echoing around the room, you couldn’t remember the last time your heart had felt this full.

Seeing as Johnny had playtime thoroughly covered, complete with dramatic reenactments and the occasional sound barrier being broken, you took the opportunity to slip away and handle the aftermath of dinner. The dishes weren’t going to wash themselves, and frankly, you needed a few minutes to cool down. Watching Johnny be good with Franklin, be soft, had your heart doing things that felt mildly illegal.

You stepped into the kitchen just as H.E.R.B.I.E. glided up beside you, silently offering the now-empty plate Franklin had used for his macaroni masterpiece. With a fond smile and a quiet thank you, you reached for it, and that’s when all hell decided to break loose. “OW! Buddy, not the hair!” Johnny’s voice cut through the room, followed by a shrill, high-pitched wail that had every maternal instinct in your body firing at once.

You sprinted the short distance from the kitchen to the living room, nearly slipping on one of Franklin’s rogue race cars. The scene that met you was peak disaster, Johnny was crouched on the floor, a frazzled mess with a toy still in one hand and Franklin squirming in his arms, red-faced and wailing. Johnny’s blue eyes snapped up the moment he heard your footsteps. His expression was a mix of panic and guilt.

“Give him to me.” Your voice was calm, instinctive, even as your arms reached out without hesitation. The moment Franklin caught sight of you, he lunged like a rocket, practically leaping into your embrace. You caught him easily, cradling his small frame against your chest. His sobs were still jagged and hiccupy, but they began to slow as you rocked him gently from side to side, your fingers drawing soft, rhythmic circles against his back.

His little fists clung to your shirt like lifelines, breath hitching in that pitiful post-cry rhythm that tugged at every heartstring you had. You murmured soft nonsense into his hair, words that didn’t matter so much as the tone, reassuring, steady, warm. Gradually, the tension left his body, replaced by that heavy-limbed drowsiness that always followed a toddler meltdown.

Over Franklin’s head, your gaze drifted to the wall clock, it read 7:58 PM. Of course, his body knew. Right on cue, the crash before bedtime. “Can you finish cleaning up?” You murmured, glancing over to Johnny, who was still sitting there, looking like he’d just been emotionally sideswiped. “I’m going to try and get him settled for bed.” Johnny nodded, standing quickly, carefully. As he stepped closer, he placed a gentle kiss on Franklin’s tousled head.

Then, his hand came to rest on your shoulder, warm and grounding, fingers giving the faintest squeeze as he brushed past you and disappeared into the kitchen. The touch lingered even after he was gone. And for a second, just a second, you let yourself close your eyes and breathe in the moment, Franklin's weight against you, the quiet settling over the room, and the echo of Johnny's tenderness still trailing behind him.

As you disappeared down the hallway, cradling a drowsy Franklin against your chest, Johnny let out the breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. It left him in a slow, uneven exhale, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, not because of exhaustion, but because watching you like that wrecked him in ways he couldn’t begin to explain. The sight of you, arms wrapped protectively around Franklin, murmuring in that soft voice that made even the toddler’s screams quiet down.

He dropped into a chair at the kitchen island, elbows on the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face as if it might shake off the feeling tightening in his ribcage. God, he was so screwed. It wasn’t just the way you looked tonight, though, yeah, that was enough to short-circuit him on a good day. The soft, lived-in familiarity of your smile, the way you rolled your eyes when he got too cocky, the gentle way you brushed Franklin’s hair back like you’d done it a thousand times before.

It wasn’t new. The feelings had been there for a while now, growing in quiet corners between inside jokes and late-night calls, rooted in the unshakable way you just got him. But this? Tonight? Watching you soothe his nephew like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he just stood there helpless, hair askew, ego bruised by a toddler? Yeah. That cracked something open.

Johnny leaned back, staring at the ceiling like maybe the answer to his emotional ineptitude was hidden in the plaster. He wasn’t good at this part, the messy, vulnerable, heart-in-his-throat stuff. Flirting, he could do blindfolded. Grand gestures? Easy. But feelings that mattered? Feelings that made his pulse stutter and his brain go fuzzy and his mouth forget how to be clever? That was harder.

But no matter how loud his heart got, there was one thing louder: the fear of ruining everything. You were his best friend. The constant in his chaos. You just got him, ego, flaws, fire and all. And the thought of letting these feelings consume him, of risking what you already had for something that might never work out? That terrified him more than anything.

Because what if he said something, did something, and it changed the way you looked at him? What if the easy laughter and casual touches turned awkward? What if he lost you? He looked toward the hallway where you'd disappeared, the quiet hum of your footsteps still echoing faintly in his ears. You’d taken Franklin like he was yours. Like you belonged here, in the middle of this family chaos, perfectly slotted into a space you hadn’t even asked to fill.

And somehow, everything felt quieter with you in it. He glanced toward the sink, eyes landing on the half-finished dishes, but his mind was still on you. Your hand on his shoulder. The way you didn’t flinch when things got messy. The way Franklin launched himself into your arms like it was instinct. Johnny rested his chin in his palm, staring at nothing in particular, lips curving just a little despite himself.

He was in love with you. Completely, stupidly, irrevocably in love with you. And the most ridiculous part? You probably had no idea. So he did what he always did. He swallowed it. Pushed it down, tucked it behind a grin and a joke and a wink. He’d take the way you looked at him now, fond and familiar, over losing you entirely. Even if it meant sitting here in the quiet, heart full of things he didn’t know how to say.

“Finally got him down.” You sighed, stepping back into the kitchen with your shoulders drooping slightly, weariness and warmth both lingering in your expression. You set the baby monitor on the kitchen island with a quiet clink, the soft static crackle filling the space just enough to remind you he was still only a room away. Johnny blinked, snapping out of whatever tangled thoughts he’d been drowning in.

“Sit.” His voice was gentle, coaxing, already rising from his chair. One hand brushed the small of your back, a fleeting touch, but enough to make your breath catch. He pulled out the chair next to his, guiding you into it with a casual attentiveness that never failed to send a zoo of butterflies stampeding through your stomach. You dropped into the seat with a sigh that was part exhaustion, part resignation. “But the dishes—”

“Herbert and I got it.” He interrupted smoothly, shooting a smirk toward H.E.R.B.I.E., who rolled up at just the right moment with mechanical precision. Johnny bumped fists with the robot, taking a bowl from his outstretched arm. You raised your hands in mock surrender, lips curling into a tired smile as you leaned back against the chair. Your eyes followed Johnny as he casually peeled off his bomber jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair.

Without it, he was all forearms and muscle, the short sleeves of his t-shirt hugging the defined curve of his biceps and the broad stretch of his chest like it had been designed with malicious intent. You glanced away quickly before your gaze betrayed you, but not fast enough to stop your face from flushing. You could feel the warmth blooming at your cheeks and cursed him, silently, lovingly, for existing so effortlessly.

The room fell into a quiet rhythm: H.E.R.B.I.E.'s faint whirring, the occasional clink of dishes, the lullaby-soft hush of a house winding down for the night. Then Johnny’s voice broke through, soft and unguarded. “You know…” He began, fingers still lingering on the edge of the countertop, but his eyes now fully on you. “You’re going to make an amazing mom one day.” The words landed with more weight than you expected. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it.

Not as a joke. Not as some offhand compliment. It came out quiet, earnest, a whisper of a truth he couldn’t stop himself from saying aloud. Your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. For a beat too long, you stared at him, trying to read what was hidden behind the usual mischief. There was no mask this time. No smirk. Just Johnny, bare and sincere in a way he rarely let himself be. You smiled, small and surprised, a flutter stirring in your chest. “You think?”

He shrugged, but the smile he wore was warm enough to melt through any doubt. “I know.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, heart full and aching in a way you hadn’t expected. That look in his eyes, bright, a little reverent, maybe even something closer to love, it made the air feel too thick, too still. You wondered if he felt it too. That quiet hum between you, the one that had been there for years but now felt impossible to ignore.

And then, without even trying, the words fell from his mouth as if he’d been fed a truth serum. “I think about it a lot, honestly. More specifically, you being the mother of my children." Your breath hitched. Time slowed. Even H.E.R.B.I.E., bless him, seemed to sense the gravity of what had just been released into the room and rolled discreetly out of the kitchen. Johnny stood frozen, one hand clenched around the dishcloth, knuckles white, eyes wide.

Like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but now that it was out, he couldn’t take it back. And frankly, he didn’t want to. A nervous laugh escaped him, breathless and uneven. “Shit, that sounds way more intense when it’s not just in my head.” You turned to face him fully, your heart beating so fast you were sure he could hear it echoing in the silence. “I mean it.” He added quickly, voice dropping, sincerity bleeding through every word.

“It’s not just some passing thought I get when I see you with Franklin, or when you laugh, or when you fall asleep during movie nights and drool on my shoulder.” You made a quiet noise of protest, heat blooming across your cheeks. He grinned softly at that, but it faltered just as quickly, replaced by something more hesitant. “I try to ignore it, y'know?” His fingers fidgeted with the hem of the dish towel, eyes focused on the counter like it might help him stay grounded.

“Because I didn’t want to mess this up. You and me... we’re good. We work. And I kept thinking, if I opened my mouth, I’d ruin it all. That I’d lose you.” His eyes finally met yours again, open, uncertain, completely unguarded. “But lately? It’s like... I can’t not feel it anymore. It’s everywhere. You're everywhere. Every time I look at you, I think about what it’d be like to wake up next to you. To build something real. I think about how natural it feels when you're here, like you're already part of the family.”

His hand hovered near yours on the counter, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat between your fingers. “I’m tired of pretending it’s not there. Tired of pretending I don’t—” The words caught on his tongue. “Tired of pretending that I don’t love you, Y/N.” And there it was. Simple. Raw. Undeniably real. The air between you felt electric, charged with everything that had been buried under years of stolen glances, long talks, missed chances, and the quiet kind of love that grows too strong to ignore.

"Oh, fuck it." Before you could react and before he could talk himself out of it, Johnny rounded the kitchen island with a kind of reckless purpose, his restraint unraveling in real time. And then, he was there. He surged forward, big hands finding your waist, as his lips crashed against yours. Your eyes flew open, shocked by the force of it, by the sheer heat, but your body answered before your brain could catch up, instinct overriding reason.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed him back, years of pent-up tension igniting like gasoline meeting flame. His hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you flush against him as his mouth moved hungrily against yours. When his tongue pushed past your lips and brushed against yours, a soft moan slipped out of you before you could stop it, swallowed by his mouth like it was the very thing he’d been starving for.

You felt him groan low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending another wave of heat straight down your spine. His hands roamed, one sliding up your back, the other briefly gripping your hip before pulling you impossibly closer, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was really happening. Your hands had a mind of their own, smoothing up the planes of his chest, over his shoulders, fingertips trailing across the warm skin of his neck and into his hair.

He shuddered beneath your touch, deepening the kiss like he never wanted to come up for air. It was messy. Intense. Every press of his mouth against yours was filled with every stolen glance, every suppressed feeling, every unsaid word that had sat between you like a live wire for years. When he finally did pull back, breathless and wide-eyed, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving, and so was his.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” He breathed out, voice low and wrecked with emotion, his forehead pressing gently to yours. His thumbs stroked your hips, like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he’d started. You nodded, still catching your breath, eyes searching his face for anything, regret, hesitation, but there was none. “I thought I was dreaming,” You whispered. “I’ve been in love with you since I can remember.”

The words, settled over your skin like a warm blanket, uncomplicated, long-overdue, and unmistakably true. “Say it again.” He begged, voice hoarse, like he needed the sound of it more than air. Like your confession might be the only thing tethering him to reality. “I love you, Johnny.” That did it. He surged forward again, but this time there was no urgency, no crashing wave of desperation, just reverence.

His lips met yours with a gentleness that threatened to undo you entirely. No rush, only the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone as his mouth moved against yours, patient and aching, as though he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips and the rhythm of your sighs. Your hands curled around his wrists, anchoring yourself to him as he kissed you like it was sacred.

His breath hitched slightly when your fingers threaded back through his hair, but he didn't press further, didn’t deepen the kiss like before. This was about worship. Like he'd spent years imagining this, and now that he had it, he wanted to slow time down and savor every second. When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes remained closed, like he was afraid they’d snap open and find it had all vanished.

You couldn't stop the airy laugh that left you lips. "You've seriously thought about me as the mother of your children?" You raised a brow, hand absentmindedly tracing the veins of his forearm you ogled more than you'd like to admit. "Baby, seeing the way you act with Franklin always gets me all hot and bothered. Anything you do really." He stated matter-of-factly, smirk breaking out onto his face. You rolled your eyes, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you.

"Why do you ask, want to practice?" Johnny huskily murmured in your ear, his breath hot and intoxicating as it fanned across your skin. The low rasp of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, awakening something dormant and long-suppressed. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive curve of your neck before pressing a deliberately slow, kiss just beneath your jaw. The heat of it bloomed across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and your breath hitched involuntarily.

Years of unspoken desire and stolen glances rushed to the surface, threatening to unravel your composure. As much as you wanted to surrender, to drown in the fantasy you had nursed for so long, a quiet voice inside pulled you back. You placed a gentle but firm hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. The tension between you crackled, heavy with want, but you pushed him back, just enough to create distance, not rejection.

"Not with the two-year-old were supposed to be watching less than ten feet away." Johnny pulled back with a dramatic groan, his expression pure betrayal. You watched as his eyes had darkened considerably, but they still sparkled as he opened his mouth to throw out another flirty one-liner your way, only to be cut off by a familiar, high-pitched wail echoing from the baby monitor that made both of you freeze.

“Traitor.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the tiny screen like it had done it on purpose. You placed one more chaste kiss to his heated cheek, patting his chest sympathetically, before you were already on your feet, chuckling as you padded toward the hallway. He followed with reluctant steps, grumbling under his breath but unable to stop glancing at you with that soft, besotted look he probably didn’t even realize he was wearing.

Later that night, when Susan and Reed returned to the Baxter Building, they were met with an unfamiliar but very welcome sound: silence. Brows furrowed, Susan kicked off her heels and made a beeline toward Franklin’s room, her mom instincts already stirring. Her heart skipped as she peeked into the dimly lit nursery, only to find the crib empty. “Reed?” Her voice was barely a whisper, nerves creeping up her spine.

“Hold on.” Reed called quietly from down the hall, standing in front of Johnny’s bedroom with the door slightly ajar, light from the hallway spilling just enough to illuminate what was inside. Susan joined him, brows raised in silent question. He merely tilted his head toward the crack in the door. Inside, Franklin lay curled on your chest, tiny hand fisted in your shirt, lips slightly parted in sleep. Your head rested against Johnny’s shoulder, your breathing steady and deep.

Johnny’s arms wrapped around both of you, one across your waist, the other lightly covering Franklin’s back in a protective cocoon. Susan exhaled slowly, something warm blooming in her chest. “Looks like you were right.” Susan’s smile was nothing short of smug as she crossed her arms. “I’m always right.” She quipped, fully planning to tease both of you relentlessly at breakfast. But for now, she simply stood there, soaking in the quiet proof of what she’d suspected all along.

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[abby1600]

Blabbermouth

johnny storm x fem!reader content warnings: none! all fluff! summary: on a mission, Johnny gets sprayed with something that makes him way too honest. you try to keep him quiet, but he blurts out all the things he’s been holding back, especially how long he’s been in love with you. wc: 2k

masterlist.

It was supposed to be a standard sweep.

Alien bunker. Low threat. Weird tech, strange symbols, and enough glowing crystals to make Reed’s voice crack with excitement. Johnny had been bored from the start—hovering in the back of the group, tossing a ball of flame between his fingers while Ben kicked open doors and Sue cleared the path.

“I could be on a beach right now,” Johnny muttered, singeing the edge of a scorched blueprint with his pinky. “I deserve to be on a beach.”

“You got terrible sunburn last time,” Sue reminded him without looking back.

“It was a controlled burn.”

The air in the corridor felt stale, like something hadn’t breathed in there for centuries. They moved cautiously through the underground chamber, scanning for trip wires or pressure plates. Nothing. Just strange writing etched into the walls, humming with quiet energy.

That was the first sign something was off.

The second?

The pod.

It sat in the corner of the room. Dull silver, cracked slightly open, leaking a strange violet mist that curled and floated like it had a mind of its own.

Johnny, naturally, poked it.

“Johnny.” Ben snapped, too late.

The mist shot upward in a perfect puff—like a firework in reverse—right into Johnny’s face.

He blinked. Coughed once. Waved the smoke away.

“What the hell was that?” Sue asked, backing up with her arm half-raised for a shield.

“I’m fine,” Johnny said, squinting. “That was barely a breath. Not even spicy. Smelled kind of like lavender.”

Reed was already scanning him with some handheld monitor, muttering calculations under his breath.

Johnny grinned. “Relax, I’m fine. I feel great, actually.”

Then he looked at Sue and said, completely deadpan:

“By the way, your meatloaf sucks.”

A beat of silence.

“Excuse me?” she said, affronted.

“I’ve been pretending for years. I’m sorry. It’s bad. It’s like sadness in a pan.”

And that was when Reed declared the mission over.

The Baxter Building lobby smelled like smoke.

Not the scary kind. No alarms, no shouting, no flaming holes in the ceiling. Just a lingering warmth in the air, like someone had lit a match and forgot to put it out. You looked up from your notebook as the elevator doors slid open and the Fantastic Four filed in, one by one.

Reed had a sample tube in his hand. Sue was wiping green goo off her shoulder with a sigh. Ben was muttering something about “next time, I swear I’m bringing a flamethrower.”

And Johnny…

Johnny was beaming.

“Hey, guys!” he said way too brightly, his eyes going wide when he spotted you. “Look who it is! It’s the prettiest person in the tri-state area. No, the planet. Actually, the universe. Easy.”

You blinked. “Johnny?”

He marched right up to you with zero hesitation and zero regard for personal space.

“Hi,” he said, grin full blast, cheeks flushed. “You look amazing. I love that shirt on you. And your hair? Perfect. Is that a new lipstick? It’s making me go crazy. In a good way.”

“…Are you okay?”

“Me? Never better,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Got sprayed with a weird puff of alien gas in a tunnel, but I feel fantastic. And also, I’ve been thinking about how your laugh sounds like windchimes, and how it makes my chest all floaty and-”

“Johnny,” Reed interrupted from across the room, brows furrowed behind his glasses. “I need you to sit down.”

“I am sitting down,” Johnny replied.

“You’re standing.”

“Well, emotionally I’m sitting. Emotionally I am in a beanbag chair. Staring at-” he turned back to you, “a literal work of art.”

Sue groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Reed, tell me he didn’t breathe that stuff in.”

“He did,” Reed said grimly. “And based on his current behavior, I’m hypothesizing a psychochemical compound similar to a truth serum. But stronger. Less filtered. More impulsive.”

“Sweet,” Ben said. “So he’s just gonna be running his mouth until it wears off?”

“Correct.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good.”

You turned back to Johnny, whose attention hadn’t wavered once. He looked like a golden retriever that had just discovered affection. His smile was stupid. His eyes were shining. His hair was a little windblown and he had a small scratch on his cheek, but he looked annoyingly good.

“I am so sorry,” you whispered, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You probably don’t feel like yourself right now.”

“I feel great,” he replied. “Your hand is soft. Did you know that? Have I told you that before?”

“Johnny-”

“And I love that perfume. It’s not too much. It’s, like, subtle but deadly. I would let it kill me.”

“Okay-”

“I’m in love with you, by the way.”

Silence.

Your mouth dropped open.

Sue choked on her coffee.

Ben muttered, “Aw, hell.”

Johnny blinked. “Oh. Should I not have said that?”

The words just…hung there.

Like a balloon popped in the middle of a silent room. Time slowed. You felt your ears go hot, your heart skip. Johnny stood there, blinking at you like he didn’t just say that, like he hadn’t just detonated the emotional equivalent of a nuclear bomb in the middle of the Baxter Building.

“Okay,” you said, voice tight. “Okay. So you’re, uh. You’re drugged. That’s cool. That’s fine. Everything’s cool-”

“I’m not drugged,” Johnny said proudly. “I’m just finally free.”

Sue set down her coffee with a loud clunk. “Johnny, shut up.”

“I won’t!” he declared, like he was giving a toast. “I have been in love with her for, like, six months- maybe more, who’s counting, not me, except that I definitely wrote it in my notebook at one poin=t”

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“And I didn’t say anything because I thought, hey, you’re normal, right? And I’m me. Human torch. Fire boy. Disaster man. I figured if I told you, you’d run for the hills or laugh or worse. But I think about you all the time.”

“Johnny-”

“Like, all the time. Like, embarrassing amounts. Like I have quotes you’ve said stuck in my head like song lyrics.”

"Johnny can you-"

“I memorized the way you say my name,” Johnny added, eyes wide, honest to God sincere. “You say it different than everyone else. It’s like…softer. Like you’re letting me be someone else when you say it.”

You wanted to disappear.

No. You wanted to melt into the floor.

Or maybe fly into the sun.

But instead you stood there, frozen, while Johnny kept going, still not done.

“One time I flew over your apartment window to make sure you got home okay after that dinner with that guy you didn’t like. And I pretended it was a patrol run, but really I just wanted to make sure your lights turned on. And I saw them. And I smiled for, like, an hour.”

“Oh my God,” Sue muttered into her hands.

“Also!” he added brightly. “I have a collection of vinyls in a box labelled ‘If She Ever Lets Me Kiss Her’ and I will be playing it in full if that moment ever comes."

Ben was red in the face now, shaking with laughter. Reed just looked concerned.

You finally grabbed Johnny’s arm and pulled him into the hallway with a rushed, “I just need to talk to him, excuse us.."

Once the door clicked shut behind you, Johnny looked up at you with a dreamy smile.

“You’re holding my arm,” he said, like it was the best part of his whole day.

You stared at him. “Johnny.”

“Yes?”

“You are not in your right mind.”

“I’m in love.”

“No, you’re chemically compromised.”

He grinned wider. “Wow. That’s my favorite way someone’s ever said that.”

You ran a hand down your face, trying not to laugh. Trying not to feel the way your heart was pounding.

“You can’t just…say all that to me,” you whispered. “You can’t say things like that and not mean them.”

Johnny paused.

The smile softened. For the first time all afternoon, he looked a little serious. A little still.

“I do mean them,” he said quietly. “Every single word.”

You stared.

He wasn’t grinning now. He wasn’t performing. He was just looking at you like you were the only real thing in the room. No sparks. No flash.

Honest.

Open.

Yours, if you wanted.

“But,” he added, blinking slow. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I can…walk that back. Just, like, tell me, and I’ll make myself forget. Or I’ll pretend this never happened. I’ll do whatever you want. Just…don’t stop being in my life. I need you. Even if I don’t get to have you.”

You didn’t realize you’d moved until your hand was on his face, fingers cradling his jaw, thumb brushing the side of his cheek.

He leaned into it instantly, heat curling off his skin like instinct.

“You didn’t even ask if I feel the same,” you said softly.

“Do you?”

You nodded. Barely.

He didn’t say anything.

He just kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t fiery.

It was warm. Solid. Real.

He tasted like cinnamon gum and something a little electric. He sighed into it like it was the one thing he’d been holding his breath for all this time.

When you pulled back, he looked dazed.

“You taste like strawberry chapstick,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

You laughed, breathless, forehead pressed to his.

“What happens when the serum wears off?”

“I panic. Sue makes fun of me. Reed writes a report. I pretend I don’t remember any of this.”

“And then?”

He looked at you again.

“Then I kiss you again,” he said. “But on purpose this time.”

By the time Johnny woke up the next morning, the serum had long worn off, and the crippling realization of everything he’d said had kicked in.

He lay on his back in his bed, arm over his face, replaying it all in horror:

“I think about kissing you, like, constantly.” “I flew past your window to make sure you were safe.”

He groaned. Out loud. Into the void. Into his pillow.

“Oh my god.”

There was a knock at the door.

He flinched. “Go away.”

The door opened anyway.

“Morning, lover boy,” Ben said, way too cheerfully.

“I said go away.”

“Too bad. I brought company.”

Sue followed behind, sipping her coffee. “How’s our little truth bomb?”

Johnny rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. “Dead. Gone. I’m quitting the team.”

“Aw, come on,” Ben said. “You were adorable. Real rom-com material.”

“Kill me.”

“I didn’t know your middle name was ‘romance’” Sue added.

“I swear to God-”

“And Reed says he’s almost done charting your ‘emotional spike timeline,’” Ben said. “Apparently you got more honest every time she smiled at you.”

“I will burn this entire building down.”

A soft knock interrupted his growing spiral of despair.

You stepped into the doorway, holding two mugs of coffee. One of them had little flame doodles on the side. Johnny peeked over his pillow, eyes wide like a scared cat.

You gave him a slow smile. “You, uh…remember yesterday?”

He groaned. Again. “Please say it was all a dream.”

“Nope.”

You walked over and handed him the flame mug.

“But it was a very good dream for me.”

His ears turned red. Bright red. Like the serum had activated all over again.

You sat gently beside him on the edge of the bed.

“I liked hearing the things you said,” you added. “Even if they were…sudden. And chaotic. And a little concerning.”

“So…you’re not never speaking to me again?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“Definitely not.”

You leaned in, brushed your hand across his cheek, and kissed the corner of his mouth, warm and quick and real.

“I kind of want to hear more of the truth,” you murmured. “This time without the alien chemicals.”

His eyes widened. “You do?”

“Only if you promise to show me that collection of records.”

Johnny grinned, wide and stunned, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I’ll even throw in choreography,” he said. “But I’m warning you—it’s a lot of finger guns and dramatic pointing.”

“Perfect.”

And for the first time in twenty-four hours, Johnny Storm thought:

"Yeah. That wasn’t so bad after all."

[abby1600]

Late for Dinner

Johnny Storm x fem!Reader

Summary: The one thing that Johnny Storm did not know how to be was on time. But it’s hard to resent a man that takes you on dates and makes you feel good in bed.

Tags: no Fantastic Four: First Steps spoilers, angst, smut (MDNI), ever so slight dom!Johnny, reader and Johnny are in a relationship

A/N: I know I haven’t written on this blog in like legit years but my Johnny Storm hyperfixation is rampant right now and I needed to write him.

You watched the television with intent, eyes glued to the little box in the windowsill of an electronics shop. People were gathered around the small corner store, watching with you as the Fantastic Four were plastered on the screen, saving the city from evil yet again. There were murmurs and hushed whispers of intrigue and concern, hoping that The Four would be able to defeat Mole Man yet again. But as you watched, your eyes were fixed on the ball of flame that was soaring through the sky. Johnny Storm himself.

So that’s why he didn’t call me back this morning, you thought to yourself and bit your cheek in annoyance.

With a huff, you made your way out of the crowd and headed back to your apartment. It was understandable that as a member of The Fantastic Four, Johnny was a busy man. When he wasn’t in the streets saving the city, he was busy with all the interviews for magazines and photoshoots for ads that came along with being a superhero. Even when he was in the Baxter Building, he was typically busy helping plan for their next space expedition or annoying Reed in his lab.

It was understandable that Johnny was too preoccupied to even think about you, even though he’s the one who wanted to be in a relationship with you in the first place.

The resentment started to seep its way into your bones as you stepped into your apartment and locked the door behind you. After hanging up your coat and putting your bag down, you sat on the couch and clicked on the TV, hoping for a distraction from the mess that was your relationship. Plastered on every channel was the press conference with The Fantastic Four after what seemed to be a successful mission. You grunted and threw your head back, clicking the remote to turn the TV off.

The sun was just now beginning to set over the horizon of the city and colors of orange and purple were painted beautifully across the sky. You were supposed to have dinner plans with Johnny but that apparently wasn’t happening. If you couldn’t get a call back, there was no way that he would remember to come over for dinner. He was too busy being his perfect self for the rest of the world.

Thoughts swam around your mind as you cooked yourself dinner. Was this the end of your relationship? Was that the reason why he wasn’t calling you back? You and Johnny had only been dating for a few months but you still felt that large sense of connection. When he was present, he was sweet and caring, wanting to cater to your every want and need. At his core he was a good partner and he did what he could to show it. It just hurt when he was forgetful and distracted.

A knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts. You placed the spoon down on the counter and wiped your hands on a dishtowel before walking over to open it.

Johnny stood on the other side of the door dressed casually in jeans and a blue t-shirt, holding a bouquet of roses. He offered a soft and apologetic smile and you rolled your eyes at him before opening the door fully to let him in. He shut the door gently behind you both, watching as you walked back to the kitchen to get back to cooking.

“You’re late.” You gritted and stirred the pasta with your back toward him.

Johnny placed the bouquet of roses down on the counter and stepped toward you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Things just got busy and I–”

“I know. Superhero stuff.” You sighed.

The tension was thick in the air as his eyes scanned you over. You continued to cook and go about your business, but it was clear that the wheels were turning in his head.

“Listen, if you don’t want this, I can leave.” Johnny said, his tone low and serious.

You turned, eyes burning into him as you stepped forward. How could he say that? How could he just assume that because you were mad at him, that meant you didn’t want a relationship. You took a breath to try to keep it together before speaking, trying to make sure that the emotions didn’t overtake you.

“You didn’t call me back this morning. Then I see you running around the city saving everyone and getting interviewed because you’re so perfect and you’re such a hero and all the girls love you. Meanwhile, you can’t even take the time to call the girl who you just slept with not even twenty-four hours ago.” You seethed and glared at him.

The words seemed to cut deep because Johnny closed his eyes and took a breath before muttering, “I knew this would happen.”

“What?”

“That my job would get in the way of this.” He stepped forward, his body now mere inches from yours. “Get in the way of us.”

Silence filled the room for a moment as you stared at each other. Part of you wanted to reach out to touch his arm, but the other part of you was still so pissed at him that you wanted nothing to do with him. His brown eyes scanned your face yet again, analyzing and trying to figure out what to say next.

“I know that I’ve been busy and I’m sorry.” Johnny spoke in almost a whisper. “I want to make it up to you. To show you that I’m still in this as much as you are.”

He softly placed his hands on your waist and pulled you closer. His touch alone made all of that anger and resentment slowly start melting away, especially when his face became close enough that you could feel his breath. Slowly, his lips came down to meet yours and his kiss consumed you. You melted into his touch and an arm wrapped around your waist to catch you.

You reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss. In a swift motion, he lifted you so you were sitting on the counter with him standing between your legs. Heat began to seep into your core as Johnny began to kiss down your neck, occasionally biting and sucking at your soft skin.

“I have to cook.” You breathed out.

“We’ll get takeout.” He muttered against your skin, reaching out to then turn the stove off so the apartment didn’t burn down but wasting no time to put his hands back on you.

You had to give him credit, Johnny Storm had a damn talented mouth. From the hickies and marks that were left all over your neck to the way that your shirt and bra were suddenly off and he was licking and sucking at your breasts. The man wasted no time making sure that your pleasure came first. While his mouth worked one nipple, his fingers pinched and pulled at the other, causing you to roll your head back with a pleasured sigh.

“I’m going to make it up to you, sweetheart.” Johnny reiterated and then lightly nipped at the underside of your breast. “I want to make you feel good.”

You watched as his hands unbuttoned your pants and he pulled them off in a swift motion. He roughly pulled your hips to the edge of the counter, lips continuing to trail down your body, moving to your core.

He made eye contact with you as he dropped to his knees and spread your legs. This was one hell of an apology, but it was one that you were already loving. Johnny kissed your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your core. You reached down and ran your hands through his hair, gripping his head ever so slightly.

He swiped his tongue up your pussy slowly, savoring the taste of you before getting to work. The tip of his tongue circled your clit and your back arched, causing a low chuckle to escape him. He leaned in, lips capturing around your clit and giving a harsh suck. Moans and whines started to come out of you as Johnny gripped your hips tight and began to work your core with his mouth.

How could you even think of being mad at him when his mouth felt this good? All of the tension left your body and all you could focus on was pure ecstasy.

Johnny’s eyes scanned locked with yours as his tongue circled your entrance. You gripped his hair tight and bucked your hips into him, craving more. He obliged, plunging his tongue into you with a satisfied hum.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” You whispered.

He let out a low chuckle and went back to sucking on your clit. Slowly, his fingers lifted and his middle finger began to circle your entrance. A breathy moan came from you as he began to push into you slowly, his finger curling, so close to that sweet spot.

“Johnny,” You moaned out and arched into him. “More. Please.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He obliged by sinking his finger all the way into you. There was a smirk that formed on his lips when he saw your little reactions to what he did to you, especially when he had you literally wrapped around his finger like this.

Pressure began to build in the pit of your stomach and you knew that it was only a matter of time before your pleasure spilled over. His mouth felt so good and that mixed with him adding a second finger only made your orgasm creep closer. Johnny could tell that you were close and he was clearly anticipating seeing you come for him. His eyes scanned you as he sucked harder on your clit.

“Come for me, baby.” He commanded softly.

With the curl of his fingers, you came hard, feeling euphoria wash over you. You rode the wave with shaking legs and breath heavy as Johnny coaxed you through it, fingers and mouth still working overtime. His small praises only made you want to work yourself up and come for him again.

“Such a good girl for me.” Johnny praised and kissed the inside of your thigh before standing. His fingers still pumped in and out of you slowly as he stood between your legs and kissed your lips.

You whined when he pulled his fingers out of you, but he just chuckled and licked them clean. He glanced at your wet pussy before meeting your gaze once more.

“I figured you might want something else.” Johnny said, unzipping his jeans and pulling his length out.

He pumped his cock slowly, a smirk on his lips as he noticed your fixation on him. The one thing about Johnny Storm was that he was big. Long enough to hit all of those sweet spots over and over again but girthy enough to stretch you out. Not even your own toys would satisfy the craving of his cock deep inside you.

Johnny positioned himself between your legs and pressed his tip into you slowly. He swore underneath his breath and gripped your hips tight, clearly feeling the same heated pleasure that you did. His lips came down onto yours, sloppily kissing you as he sank into you further.

“You feel so good, sweetheart.” He muttered in a shaky breath. “So good and tight for me.”

Once he was fully inside of you, he pressed his forehead to yours and took a moment to adjust. You gave him a small nod, encouraging him to move. Slowly, Johnny began to thrust in and out, breath hitching every time you took him all the way. You gripped his shoulders tightly and dug your nails into his muscles, loving the fullness of his cock.

“Johnny,” You moaned and reached up to run your fingers through your hair. You locked eyes with him as he stretched you out so well, that heat building in your belly once again. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“Such a good girl for me, taking me all the way.” His pace began to pick up and sweat beaded on his forehead. It was clear that Johnny was loving this just as much as you were and by the look of it, it wouldn’t be long before he would be coming undone inside of you. After all, it had been a long day for him and he had almost gone a whole twenty-four hours without fucking you. That was too long for even him.

His thumb came down to circle your clit as he pounded into you, causing you to gasp. His grip on you was tight and his pace was now merciless. Johnny Storm needed to fuck you and he would be dammed if he didn’t get what he wanted. His grunts of pleasure only made that coil in your stomach grow tighter, just begging for release.

“Don’t come just yet.” Johnny commanded, somehow sensing that you were already close. “I want you to come with me, baby.”

With his thumb circling your clit, it was becoming hard to hold onto control. The man in front of you knew just what to do to make you feel euphoric and yet he wanted, no, needed you to wait. His pace was becoming sloppy and rough and you could tell that he was starting to lose himself in his own pleasure. His grip was definitely going to leave bruises on your hip, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was this moment, this feeling, being with him.

“Come on,” Johnny breathed out. “Come with me, sweetheart.”

It was like a cord snapped within you both. You clenched around him, that familiar wave of ecstasy coming over you yet again, but this time it came along with him filling you. Johnny groaned and continued to thrust into you as he came. For a moment you both just breathed and existed, your head fuzzy with the aftermath of your orgasm.

Johnny leaned in to kiss you, his hot and labored breath fanning against your face. He reluctantly pulled out of you, slow and careful, then looked down to look at the mess that he made out of you.

A cocky grin found its way onto his lips. “So do you want pizza for dinner?”

[abby1600]

girl, resurrected - 7

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Magically setting this in the 1990s because I can. There will be plot holes. I do not care. 😂😘❤ Warnings: adult themes, past mention of captivity & punishment. This is OOC yandere unhinged John Wick we're dealing with here... chapter map

7. i know who i want to take me home

On Friday you get home late from work, and you practically sprint to the answering machine when you see that little red light blinking. 

“Heyyyyyy y/n…” You instantly recognize Jack’s voice. And, adorably, he sounds a little drunk. “They’re giving me a medal for shooting Harry!” 

“You sonofabitch,” Harry interjects through Jack’s boyish laughter. 

“Anyway. I hope you’re doing ok. We’re celebrating down at Rick’s Place, we’ll be here a while. It would be cool if you wanted to come down. But if not I understand, sorry it’s late. I was just thinking about you…” 

“Jesus Christ kid, you gonna propose or what?” Harry snarks. 

“Shut up, old man,” Jack laughingly tells his superior officer.

“A guy can’t get any respect–BEEP!” 

That’s where your machine cuts off, and you can’t stop giggling, grinning from ear to ear. You’d been following the story on the news, of course, and even though every iota of your being longed to see Jack again, you didn’t want to bother him while he was busy with the shitstorm. Seems like the boys were finally getting to cut loose a little. They fucking earned it. 

You veritably skip to your bedroom to change, and your hands shake as you rifle through your closet, yet for the first time in a long time you’re actually not afraid. 

🌆🌆🌆     

Rick’s Place is close to LAPD headquarters, so you guess it makes sense that it’s filled with cops. 

As you walk through the door you see none other than Tom Ludlow sitting on a stool with a compatriot, shooting the presumable shit. You’re relieved to see he has a beer in front of him, not that lethal clear liquid in a glass, and that his eyes are relatively sharp when they land on you. 

“Damn, y/n. What are you doing here?” 

He tries to be subtle about it, bless, but you totally see him look you up and down. It still takes you by surprise when you get these little reminders that he sees you as a woman, and not some scruffy stray cat he found on the side of the road.

If you weren't here to meet Jack…you might have given some thought to that.

“Meeting a friend. How are you?” You kiss him on the cheek like you would a favorite uncle, going in for the side-hug. His long arm lingers around your waist, patting your hip. Ok, maybe he is a little buzzed.  

“I been alright.” There’s an uproar across the bar, drawing both of your attention. “The SWAT boys think they’re hot shit tonight,” Ludlow grumbles. “Saved an elevator full of people some terrorist tried to blow.” 

“I know, I was in it.” 

“WHAT?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Jeezus, y/n. I ever mention you’re a magnet for trouble?” 

“I know, aren’t you impressed?” How far you’ve come, that you can joke about this with a smile, bumping him with your hip. 

“A little, yeah.” He holds you a little harder then, like he’s thinking about what could have happened if SWAT wasn’t as lucky as they were that day. Like…they would have had to clean up what was left of you with a sponge. And of course, that’s when Jack Traven looks across the bar at you, seeing you with Tom. 

He totally narrows his eyes before schooling his expression to something more neutral, and starts making his way through the crowd towards you.  

Sigh. 

“There’s my friend. Catch up with you later?” you ask. 

“Sure. Good seeing you, honey.” 

But Jack be quick, and he is across the bar before you can extricate yourself. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” you say, looking up at him with what you know is the dopiest smile in the history of all damsels. 

“You’re here for this meathead?” Ludlow interrupts your moment, and for a second you consider banging your head on the bar in frustration. 

“How do you know Tom Ludlow?” Jack asks with equal disdain. 

“He helped me out of a jam when I first moved here,” you’re quick to answer, before Tom can make more trouble for you. 

“Nice of him.” 

However, Jack is looking at his brother in blue with a hefty amount of suspicion. 

“That’s me,” snarks Ludlow, taking a swig of beer without breaking Jack’s gaze. There’s a tension between them you don’t entirely understand; it can’t only be over you. 

“So…I liked my message,” you try to change the subject, taking Jack’s arm. “Is Harry still here?” 

“Yeah, everyone’s here. Come on.” You let him lead you away, finger-waving at Tom, who salutes you with his bottle. You have to resist the urge to turn back and make him promise he’ll stick to beer tonight. You’re not his wife or his daughter or his keeper, but there is a part of you that wishes you could make him make good decisions for himself. 

Once you’re on your own together you feel the tension leak from Jack’s sturdy frame; you can’t say he softens though. The bicep under your fingers is heartbreakingly solid, and he pauses to pull you into a hug. “Hi,” he starts your evening over again, and god, it feels good to be wrapped up in his arms.

“Hi,” you answer with a smile, leaning against him way more than you have to but fuck it. You’re not going to pretend anymore, or play it cool. It’s the least this man deserves, after everything. 

“Want a drink?” 

“Gin and tonic?” 

So much for staying away from the lethal clear stuff…ah well. 

He gets the bartender’s attention way more efficiently than you could with his superior height. You guess it probably doesn’t hurt that he and his team are the men (and women!) of the hour. 

“So…how are you? Are you ok?” 

“Yeah. Actually…I’m fine, thanks to you.” Maybe you’ve just been through too much lately, but the elevator incident didn’t exactly rattle you like it should have. You’ve been floating on cloud nine after reuniting with Jack, and you’ve felt like you’re fucking bulletproof all week. You guess the fat commission from that sale to Donaka Mark didn’t hurt the wind in your sails either. Lucky you, he didn’t cancel the check after you were smart with him on the stairway.

Maybe he understood that people say stupid things after stressful situations. Or maybe he’ll never do business with Larry again. Either way…you’re good. So good. And it’s all thanks to this man who has you tucked up against his big body like he’s never going to let you go. 

“What about you? What do you mean ‘you shot Harry?!”

Jack throws back his head with laughter and you realize what must be trademark cop gallows humor, and tells you all about it.

🍺🍺🍺     

The evening goes on, and you find you are ridiculously content to lean against Jack’s side and listen to cop stories and banter. 

You’re a little drunk. Jack’s a little drunker. Harry passed into skunk territory long ago. 

They are talking about the terrorist bomber, and how he decided to take his own life, but miraculously not Harry's and Jack's with him. The thought only makes you hold on to him harder, and he pats your hand with a little smile, eating it up.

"We were good," he tells his superior officers. "We won."

"No, Jack," Mack and Harry interject at the same time, Harry slurring yet speaking from the heart in total inebriated honesty. "We were lucky."

You didn't say it out loud, but you were thinking the exact same thing.

Jack seems to ruminate on this, and then he holds you a little tighter too as some of that youthful confidence dampers, and it sinks in that it doesn't always matter how good you are or that right is on your side.

Sometimes, the bad guys just win.

The evening is drawing to a close, and when Jack excuses himself to use the bathroom Harry turns to you.

"Hey y/n. I know it’s none of my goddamn business. But can I ask you a favor anyway?” 

“Of course,” you say, thinking he’s going to ask you to babysit or something. 

“Can you promise me…you’ll be good to him?” he says, looking in the direction Jack disappeared. “He’s such a good kid.”

Even though Harry is utterly sloshed, you know there’s some serious weight behind this request. You feel like you’re signing your name in blood when you nod. You mean it when you say, “I promise, Harry. I’ll be good to him.” There’s a part of you that knows if you leave with Jack tonight, there will be no going back.    

Maybe you've finally lost your mind, but…you're ok with that.

Jack returns soon after, looking between you two with a lifted eyebrow like he knows you've been conspiring. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," covers Harry with a badly disguised wink at you, pushing shakily to his feet. "I'm ready to go home and have sex with my wife."

Jack laughs, clapping Harry on the back. "Harry…you're going to go home and puke."

"Well…that'll be fun too."

The two of you escort Harry outside, making sure you see him safely into a cab. He gives the two of you the thumbs up as he's driven away, and you chuckle together, imagining the ass-chewing he's going to get from Carol when she has to drag him out of the cab into the house.

"So…" Jack sidles closer, shuffling to stand toe to toe with you on the sidewalk. He's so tall, and so close, and it's ridiculous how safe you feel in the shelter of his body. You're able to hold his warm gaze for about three seconds before you look down, shy as a school girl.

It's the first time you've really looked at his feet tonight. He is wearing such a nice suit—and the most beat up construction boots in the city of L.A. It's so him, true to himself in this city full of artificial appearances, that you can't help but smile up at him.

"Nice boots."

"Yeah?" he counters, clearly amused. Most women hate them.

"Yeah."

Maybe you decide that you tortured him enough that you owe him the first move. Or maybe, standing this close…you're just the first one to break, smoothing your hands over those heartbreakingly solid pectorals to steady yourself while you offer up your lips.

He pulls you closer with hands that utterly engulf your waist, kissing you softly like you are something precious in his grasp, and if he's not careful you just might break. It's so sweet you could cry, but you're tired of crying, and your tired of waiting, and you're tired of being afraid.

You surge against him, throwing your arms around his neck as you deepen the kiss, sweeping the inside of his mouth with your tongue. It surprises him, but he rises to the occasion, wrapping you up in his arms, a low bass moan vibrating from deep in his chest that curls your toes. You lose yourself, kissing this dreamboat of a man in public on the street, until a sound that is ingrained in your primal memory as surely as the growl of a prehistoric beast enters your sphere of attention.

A vintage Mustang roars past, going way too fast for this city street, and for a moment you freeze in absolute terror, gripping Jack like he is the last safe thing left in this world. For a moment you are certain this is it. The hammer is coming down, and John Wick is going to kill you both.

But the Mustang keeps going, its crimson taillights demonic unblinking eyes glaring back at you. Jack watches the sportscar disappear down the street, and when he turns that sharp gaze back to you, you decide that he's not nearly as drunk as you thought. He sees you with cop eyes—and you almost wish he didn't. You know its only a matter of time before he puts all this together.

"Jack?" you sigh, resting your head in the bend of his neck. He is warm, and smells wonderful, and you think you could just hide against him forever.

He speaks against your temple, his lips petal soft. "Yeah, baby?"

You're so tired of being afraid, and every time you think you're recovered enough to just live your life something like this happens. You want something, someone, you've chosen for all your own.

"Do you…want to come home with me?"

There's a long pause in which he seems to fight a battle with himself, the good fight against animal lust and too many feelings for how short a time he's known you, when he knows he should just do his duty and protect you. Finally he answers, "I'll make sure you get home safe."

Your heart falls; it's literally what you asked, but not what you meant. He thinks you're too fragile, or too damaged.

You guess you can't hardly blame him.

But then that defiant little voice inside you lifts its head. The one that always carries you through when your doubt and your demons howl the loudest. You kiss him again, sweet but hungry with sliding tongue and nibbling teeth and there is no question left as to what you mean. "No," you protest. "Come home with me."

Eyes dark with desire, he holds you just this side of too hard with those strong hands you want all over your body, not just respectfully at your waist. He really is too good for this world.

When finally he nods you narrowly resist the urge to weep. Instead you kiss his cheek, and you know you are doomed.

TBC...

chapter map

Our playlist so far:

hand in my pocket - alanis morissette

6 underground - sneaker pimps

come as you are - nirvana

miss world - hole

even flow - pearl jam

wonderwall - oasis

closing time - semisonic

[abby1600]

Gaze

Secret Garden

Part II

Category: Drabble

Yandere John Wick x Reader

Warning: None really

The GIF does not belong to me; credit to the original owner.

Unedited

The place is grand. All glitter and gold, clinking glasses and trays floating around with formally dressed staff offering appetisers and drinks to everyone. This ‘party’, if one can call it that, is beautiful to you like a classic piece hanging on the wall of a reputed art museum. You can admire it all you want, but from afar. Admiring the technique and beauty with your limited knowledge about art would be futile, though you can come up with a story .

You are technically a guest because you are accompanying your friend, who is seeking to expand the reach of his art gallery. His collection has caught the eye of a man well-known in the circle, and so came the invitation.

You glance at your friend speaking to... well, you don’t remember. From above, you can see every individual walking into the main hall, mostly with a ‘plus one’. And only a few, alone. You count the people entering out of sheer boredom-

One

Three

Five

Seven

Nine

Eleven

Twelve

Thi—

You stop midway, just looking.

Because this is the first guest who has looked up, directly meeting your gaze. He is handsome, no doubt, but not more than the magazine-worthy faces you have seen today. Yet he stands out somehow. Dressed in all black, ebony, chin-length hair and a maintained patchy beard that calls for your fingers to run over them, he could have easily become one with the crowd. But he does not. 

There is just something about him that strikes out in a way that you straighten up, as if something primal is bringing you to alertness. It’s pure instinct, something years of evolution could not suppress, or perhaps had nurtured. You don’t know, but you stand slightly straighter, more alert, and you look into his. 

Ah, yes. It is his eyes. A strange and alluring studio of softness and steel with a tinge of melancholy that one can miss if they do not look for long. They are observing and assessing you. And you just know that he already knows that you do not belong here, that you are bored, and a silly part of your brain goes the extra mile to be afraid that he can read your thoughts. 

Yet something about his gaze is electric and awakening. What has awakened within you? The sharp heat that takes your spine and your abdomen before warming your cheeks? Or the realisation that you might be somewhere you should not be. His gaze is disarming—not like those giggly romance novels; it is disarming like a dark surrender. As if you know what ever you do, wherever you go, you are powerless here; there is no other option but to surrender.

You want to look away. At least a part of you does, but you simply cannot, you feel compelled to keep looking, drinking in everything his gaze has to offer–dark, soulful eyes—hypnotic, electric gaze, and you are caught, butterfly in a jar.

With sheer will, you manage to drop your gaze to your drink and turn around, baffled and flustered. Maybe it is about time you get laid; hopefully, those eyes will not haunt you the way they have imprinted themselves in your mind at the moment. Every time you close your eyes, you see his them.

Maybe you will find him again.

Maybe he is a stranger to you, but to him, you are not.

Maybe you will never find out that your friend has been explicitly instructed to bring you along in exchange for his gallery’s expansion.

He will only look for now, as he has been doing for so long.

****

Thanks to @johnwickb1tsch's Donaka bots, I got the idea of involving an art gallery. Whew! It has been a while since I wrote a John Wick drabble.

[abby1600]

Vampire!Jonathan who becomes Dracula's sole interest, his possession. He is all Dracula has wanted in a companion of the dark, and so, he makes Jonathan a vampire. The Brides of Dracula at the castle envy this sudden attention, and with their help, Jonathan only spends a year being tortured as a fledgling who refuses to feed the way Dracula wants him to do.

Human!Reader who has not heard from her beloved in over a year, who has mourned her loss. You dress as a widow, despite the two of you never having the pleasure of marriage, the black gowns and veil typical now. You never really wanted to accept that Jonathan was truly gone, but you knew that you could not wait any longer. You must mourn something, hope was no longer an option. You noticed the looks in town, and your father urged you to be done with this, to go on to marry someone anew. But Jonthans picture by your bedside, and his letters in your nightstand, haunt your waking hours. You dream of darkness, blackness, and fear. You feel devoid of all joy without him and at the loss of what never was. Of what was almost.

Vampire!Jonathan who has lost everything inside that damned castle, including, to him, his soul, who still finds a way to crawl home to you. He never forgot it was for you that he took the cursed job, wanting to impress your more wealthy father so that you two may marry. Now, he has come back less than a shell of a man, something evil, twisted, a hunger that is never full lingers inside him. He finds himself in a tunnel of darkness, with you as his only light to cling to as he traverses his way back to England in anyway possible.

Vampire!Jonathan who shows up, covered in blood, delirious from the trip home, and weeping to see you again. He can't believe he actually made it, and you can hardly believe how pale he has become. His hair is twinged with white, the stress of it all having been preserved after the vampiric change. You, of course, invite him in, pratically begging as you pull him inside, unaware of how dangerous your fiance has become in the year away from you. Tears streak your weary eyes as you see him for the first time in so long. You can hardly stand from the sudden emotion of it all, reaching out with begging hands, asking "why?" and "where?". He can hardly speak to answer your flood of questions, only throwing himself to you, his savior of the dark.

Vampire!Jonathan who falls into your arms, and finds himself at your neck, you, who is worried sick from his disappearance. He hasn't fed in days, and he hardly can, or wants to, remember when he last did. As you console him, you don't realize how stiff he's become at first. His body is ridged from how tight his muscles are, from how he is stopping himself from biting into that soft, supple neck of yours. You smell absolutely delicious. He has never smelled something more enticing in his undead life. None of Dracula's poor victims that he shared with Jonathan came anywhere near as good as you do. His hands clench around your arms, his body moves deeper into your neck. You feel that fear again. The kind you feel in your dreams. His fangs throb with want, his hunger manifests a low growl in the deepest part of his being. He must draw away from you, back into the dark of the doorway, and out of the light. The act itself could only be accomplished by Jonathan from the love he has held on to for you. You catch a glance of his eyes, the crimson in them clear. You gasp, stepping back into the light of the parlor.

Vampire!Jonathan who is gone in an instant, and you, who is left wondering if you had some how seen a ghost after all. You would think so too if you hadn't felt his grip on you, his face pressed to your neck. What happened? You simply close the door after a while, heading up to be. Jonathan watched through your windows in the chilled night as you do so, still barely containing the horrible thoughts of returning inside to your warmth and taking what he hungers so deeply for.

Human!Reader who somehow falls asleep that night and has her first dream in over a year. You clench your soft, white sheets in your sleep, sweat glistening in the pale moonlight. You dream of fog, mist that is so thick you're utterly lost. And finally, you see it. Those red eyes, and when you go near it suddenly you are swept up into a strong pair of arms, too strong. A mouth is back at your neck, and you want to scream out as the fangs plunge in. You wake in the morning, breathless and mouth tasting metallic. You wonder if the strange visitor was real. Your throat holds lost warmth and the weight of a stone.

[abby1600]

"ˢʰᵉ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵐⁱˡˡⁱᵒⁿ

ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵘʳⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢʰⁱⁿᵉ"

Mob Boss!John Wick x Mob Wife!Reader

Premise: It's the early 2000s, New York City. You're 27 years old, your husband, John Wick, is the head of the Slavic crime syndicate in New York. Your father married you off to him 6 years ago, to end a feud between your families. You have been John's wife for so long, but still feel like you barely know how he feels about you. He's quiet, comes home bloody and bruised, tries to keep you out of the business even though this life is all you've ever known. Will John reveal his true feelings for you when a rival family kidnaps you and holds you for ransom?

Tags/CW: stoic and suave!john, possessive!john, predator coded!john, prey coded!reader, kidnapping in, drug use, canon violence for john wick series as well as the sopranos, smut, more tags to come in later chapters.

A/N: This is going to be a 3 part limited series, but I would love to write drabbles/imagines/one-shots for these two in the future! This chapter is mainly an intro to you and John's relationship and some shameless smut, more drama in the next chapter!

Words: 3k

Gold. Your favorite color as a child, the same color as your daddy's pinky ring, you can remember peeking at it over the old wooden poker table. Your daddy laughed along with all the other men in the room, like a language you couldn't understand, the cigar smoke bitter, but sweet like vanilla if you inhaled enough. You can see all sorts of shiny objects on the poker table. You spot a silver glinting metal of a few of the men's guns politely placed on the table. The liquor they're drinking is glinting in crystal glasses, sloshing around as the men get rowdier and more incoherent. Your eyes always come back to that ring, however. Embellishments of diamond inlaid into that honey colored metal. The only thing you liked better than the glint of gold was the flash of a diamond. And daddy's ring held both. You knew even then, no more than 6 or 7 years old, that that ring would be yours one day.  You were right.  Your husband John, gave it to you as an anniversary gift last year after killing the men who killed your father. It's big enough on you to fit on your ring or middle finger. Your dear old dad was a lot of things, most not things that you loved. The only other thing he gave you in life that you were truly grateful for was arranging a truce between feuding families and setting you up to marry John.  You had no idea who this man was, not to mention he was 20 years older than you, and was the head of New York City's Slavic crime syndicate. Along with his family being a family that rivaled yours for so long, the idea of marrying this man, the man they call 'Baba Yaga', was frightening. He was harsh when you met him. You only talked 3 times before you saw him at the altar.  When you did meet him, he was well kept, incredibly so. His hair was dark, a bit long, slicked back perfectly. His face though, that was what really sent cold shivers up your spine. He looked like a wolf, his eyes were hungry for something, you couldn't even say what for sure, but you hoped your father wasn't shepherding you as a helpless sheep into John's pasture.

You were surprised when he took your hand softly, all the edges of his face jagged and sharp like a freshly cut jewel, and pressed his lips into your hand. It was from then on that you knew, despite everything else, that he would take care of you. There was something in his kiss and his steeled eyes that promised so from the get go. 

From the moment you kissed him at the altar, you knew there was something those lips were hiding, however. They were so soft, but somewhere in your mind you couldn’t help but taste blood, coppery, metallic on those perfect lips. He looked at you then, having only seen you three times before, like he was looking at something as precious as gold. You felt coveted. 

Despite this, as the honeymoon waned, and you two began to settle in as husband and wife, you thought perhaps, maybe this could work for you two. And it did, for all intents and purposes. Over the years, you two have fallen into a routine, not one you're displeased with per se. You know this is the life you were born into, being able to be a pristine trophy inside John's luxurious apartment never bothered you. He treated you well, always kept your needs met. But he was cold, distant, especially about work. You know the business, you've known it your whole life so you have no idea why he feels the need to keep you so in the dark most of the time. He barely speaks when he comes home bloodied up, weak, ready to collapse into the couch and sleep off the night finally. You dutifully help clean his wounds, silent, but those piercing eyes of his look into yours, saying more than those lips ever did. 

Because of John's reluctance to allow you anywhere close to the business, you're surprised when he comes home one night and tells you that he'll be taking you to a party. 

"A party?" Your glossy lips utter, turning around to face John from your seat at the vanity as he enters the bedroom with the news. Quite frankly, after being married for six years and rarely leaving this apartment, you're shocked. "You never take me to parties?"

"It's important you come tonight." John says simple, stepping closer to you, and slowly beginning to take off his dark suit, going down to suspenders and a crisp white button up. He isn’t giving anything away just yet. 

"Finally decided to trade me in for someone newer?" You say, obviously joking even though you know it happens. These parties that men in the business go to, your father found six different wives at them after your mother, you know how women are treated in this world. You are seen as no more than a currency of status, and you know you’re not getting any younger. 

John, however, gets really serious. His head jerks towards you, and he has that wolf look in his eye again. He bores you down with his dark, almost black eyes, his jaw set. The fear you feel from that look is one you never wish to again. 

"Don't you ever joke about that." John finally says, but he doesn't soften. "I would never let anyone else have you."

If there's one thing you know for certain that John feels about you, it's possession. He always has been protective of you, to a fault most of the time. You feel as though he's set you in the world's most gilded cage most days, and at night he comes home and tears into your body like an animal. John was never soft. He wouldn't start to be in the bedroom. He would never push you away from cuddling after, however. He just didn't seek comfort from you the way you did him. But you were grateful he allowed you to have the comfort you craved from him, even if he was silent for most of it. If you were lucky, he may even pull an arm around you after a particularly aggressive fuck. 

Not to say either that you didn’t enjoy how he took you in the bedroom, taking everything from you but your blood. And you knew he could take that too if he pleased. The aggression, the rawness of his body against yours, you had to admit, it turned you on. He never made your feel like you were lesser in the bedroom, in fact, he could give just as much as he could take. There were many times he had you propped up on the pillows, spread for him, and he lapping at you with a fervor you could hardly stand. He would tease you relentlessly if you let him, if you didn’t grab that dark hair of his and pull him into your aching pussy while telling him what you need. Begging him for what you need. His black eyes would look up at you from where he supplied pleasures that made your head spin, as if to say ‘You see this? I give you this, do not forget that I can give you such pleasures.’

And Lord, did you know, that he could do just that. Even now, as you see him undressing for the night, you can feel yourself begin to ache with want. 

John can tell he has frightened you from how he has spoken, though. So he crosses what feels like the great expanse between you two, and he kneels in front of you, his hands on your thighs. 

“Listen, I need you to understand that you never have to worry. About anything, with me.” His eyes are not exactly soft, but they are trying, which counts for something. “These eyes are focused on one woman and one woman only, do not ever doubt that, my love.”

You couldn’t help but feel compelled to believe him. Not to mention it was one of the rare times that he told you, or at least implied, his love for you. You did find yourself questioning often what John’s idea of ‘love’ was, however. You aren’t so certain your vision of love matches his, but at least it seems as if he is true to you. You begin to feel foolish for the cracks of doubt that have been plaguing you lately, you have no reason to believe John would cheat on you other than that the other mob wives have to deal with it constantly from their spouses. John is different, you must remember that. 

You nod, a few tears coming to your eyes, and John’s large hands are there to wipe them away before you even have to wonder. 

“Do not cry, solnyshko.” He says, his voice gruff, but understanding. “I do not wish for you to be hurt.”

“I hurt from being locked away here for so long…” You don’t know why you feel brave enough to say it right now, but you do. John’s eyes suddenly look unusually pained, and he glances away, blinking as if to gather himself. 

“I know, I hope bringing you to this party will help. I just…” His hand on your cheek begins to tighten, not on you, but as if the muscles in it are desperate to grasp for something they know they must not. “I do not trust your safety for much of what I do, I…I cannot lose you.”

You don’t say anything, just look at him, on his knees for you right now, seemingly begging you to understand. It’s more than you’ve seen from him in the six years you’ve lived with him. It honestly causes a few more tears to fall, you’re not sure why seeing him this way does this to you. It means a lot to you. 

“Okay, John. I will go this party with you, glady.” You say, accepting the idea, and John seems relieved. 

“Good, now, no more tears,” He brushes the last few that have sullied your cheeks with his thumb. “Come, let’s go to bed my darling…” 

As he stands from where he knelt before you, his strong hands take your arms in them, pulling you off of the plush vanity stool, and into him. He smells like smoke and gunpowder, mixed with that expensive cologne he always wears, the one that smells like pine trees and reminds you of the woods. He gently, for once, takes you into the large, black silk bed. Once you’re settled, it’s like he is ready to make a feast of your body. He’s so primal, animalistic and ready to be drunk on your scent. You let him take you, his teeth already into your neck, leaving indents, leaving his mark on you. He goes slow this time, really lets you feel how much he wants you. It doesn’t take him long to completely undress you, his hands are swift, and they work quickly to fling the little you had on to the bedroom floor. 

You gasp when his hands decide to reach for your pussy next, and you hear him chuckle as he suckles on your breast, which are heavy with lust. 

“You’re already so wet for me, my dear…” He whispers into your skin, the biting and nibbling beginning again as soon as the words leave his lips.

His hands work like magic, starting with teasing your poor pussy. He doesn’t go for your clit right away, no, he works slowly, but deliberately around it, testing your want and your wetness. He continues to lower his bites along your body, going down further and further, saving your swelling clit for his tongue to savor. He spreads your legs roughly, your breath catching as you’re so suddenly exposed. You feel the cold air of the room against the heat between your legs, and watch as John looks over your body with nothing but pure hunger and satisfaction in his eyes. You can’t believe you ever thought he would look for someone else when he looks at you like this nearly every night. How foolish…

Before your thoughts can be taken by things that simple do not matter in this moment, John is plunging his tongue into your cunt, hungry to taste you, a low growl escaping his lips and vibrating the tender flesh there. You moan out, your legs trying to close, but a firm hand guiding your thigh back down to the bed, holding it there. You continue to squirm, your hands finally finding purchase in his tossled dark hair, and you feel as if you have found an anchor in the deepest depths of an angry sea, ready to consume you if you do not hold onto something. 

You breath hitches higher as he sucks on your hardening clit, pulling all of it to attention in his mouth and driving you mad. He continues to over stimulate you like this until you’re begging him, breathless and tossing your head back into the silk pillows, to stop, to let you go. Unfortunately, you are his prey, and he will have his way with you however he can, so while he releases your tender clit from his mouth for a moment, he is slipping two fingers inside you with a swiftness that causes you to see stars. You always forget how good he is at this, how could you ever underestimate his power to bring you to the edge like this?

John pumps his fingers inside you, working that spot that drives you crazy, and you can barely speak coherently. He loves making you such a mess for him, a wordless, breathless mess that tangles in John’s sheets. 

John allows you to get closer and closer like this, and just when you’re screaming out his name, finding some words that convey how close you are, how you’re so ready, does he slip his fingers out from inside of you. The whine you let out from this surprises you, even makes you blush from embarrassment. You can’t believe how badly he makes you want him.

John lifts himself to his knees, freeing his cock from his tight pants, and you’re always taken back from how long and girthy it is. You know you can take his cock, you have many times before, but you know how much it stretches you out anyways. Your stomach is in knots from how full you wish to be of him. John can see the hunger in your eyes and wastes no time, grabbing your thighs and pulling you close in one fell manuever. He lines himself up with you, then wets his cock with your juices so he can slide into you easily. He always makes sure not to rut into you dry, he wants you soaking for him at all times during this. 

John finally gives you what you want, your moan loud enough that you don’t doubt the neighbors know what this man does to you. His cock slips in so perfectly, going deeper and deeper, inch by inch, until he is at his limit inside you, your pussy completely full of him. You reach out to pull him close to you, but John stops you. 

“I want to see you touch yourself for me, darling. I need to see your face when you cum on my cock…” He is so instructional, so demanding. You know you have to give him what he wants. 

You stay laid on your back, while John keeps up on his knees, still so deep inside of you. You work your hand down to your clit, your other hand grasping at your own breast with desperation for something to hold onto. You can’t help it, you’re already losing yourself, your hands working and your moans giving a show for John. You know he loves when you really let yourself feel it, and you can feel yourself tighten around his cock as it pumps into you from how good you are feeling. 

As John continues, you look up at him, your eyebrows drawn and your face so close to ecstasy, your body so tight and close to giving you the release you desperately need. You know John's close too, his face turning from one of someone so focused on their partner's pleasure, to someone who can barely keep their eyes open from how good it feels. The thought that somehow, right now, you have a small bit of power over him, turns you on. The fact that it's your pussy that makes him devolve into a mess of breaths and soft groans is so satisfying you can feel yourself start to cum. That's all it takes for John to join you, his cock twitching and full, going deeper into you with each long thrust as you both finish together. You can feel the rush of heat as he delivers his pleasure unto you. 

John collapses beside you, spent. You move, your body sore where John held your legs open for so long. You find your way onto his sweaty chest, laying your head down onto his defined chest muscles. John wraps an arm around you, his hand gently, so slowly, petting your hair. You know he isn't the super affectionate type, but you also know that you've been together long enough that your husband cannot refuse you on much. Especially not when the two of you can relax into each other. 

You softly close your eyes and count John's breath, trying to match yours to his. You aren't sure after what count it happened, but you fall asleep in John's arms. 

[abby1600]

Please tell me there will be more?!?!

Premise: When a mission goes wrong, young John “Jardani” Wick is dragged into the dark by something ancient and monstrous, leaving his partner behind to return to the ballet company alone, bloodied and broken. Branded a failure and a liar, she’s forced to dance through her grief under The Director’s cold eye, haunted by the loss no one believes was real. But John isn’t dead. Changed into something unholy, he watches her from the shadows, starving for the taste of her blood, the comfort of her body, and the memory of who he used to be. To return to her without destroying her, he’ll have to master a hunger stronger than death itself.

CW/Tags: vampire!john wick, young!john wick, ballerina!reader, john and reader are partners, intense yearning, bloodlust, horror/drama, soulmates, grief, eventual smut, slowburn.

Words: 2.6k

A/N: reply to this post to be added to the taglist for the next chapter!

Dust ebbs and flows through two ever searching streams of light, your boots crunching on years of built up debris in the run down mansion. You’ve been on missions before, this isn’t close to your first time going out with your partner and hunting down your target as instructed. That thought only barely quells the hairs standing up on the back of your neck and the chill that follows down your back in a hot, cold flash.

Crunch…

“John?” You whisper in the darkness, knowing you shouldn’t talk right now, but not being able to stop yourself, the feeling of danger increasing.

“…yeah?” It takes him a moment to reply, and you imagine his face as he walks behind you, serious as always and searching for any sign of who you’re looking for.

“Something feels…not right…” you try to drop your voice as low as possible, for his ears only.

Crunch…

He doesn’t respond, and you feel your stomach drop as you worry you’re alone in this, trying to calculate in your head just what seems so wrong about this place.

Crunch.

The long, grey dilapidated hallway holds harsh shadows, and your feet try to freeze as your beam of light from your handgun drifts over long, gouged scratch marks on the wall. They end toward the bottom of the wall, where thick black blood is slowly becoming abundant in pools that mix with the grit of the ground.

Crunch…

You can’t help yourself, you turn to John, and you can just barely see his thin, dark brows furrowing together. Your eyes scream at him as if to translate just how much fear is beginning to set in your body.

“Something is wrong here, John…” you plead with him, softly padding closer to him, afraid to be to far away. “Those marks don’t look…”

“…human.” He finishes your sentence, looking away from the deep claw marks and back to you.

His nostrils flare as he tries to assess what to do. He knows if he returns home without the target dead The Director’s punishment will be brutal, and the level of trust they have in him and you will be wavered, setting both of you back, taking on lesser missions from now on.

Crash.

He doesn’t have time to decide. Something from the open doorway to his right sends his partner flying down the hall, your body tossed so easily. You skid through the dirt and blood you saw earlier, scratches and scrapes forming before the later bruises you’ll see later.

If there is a later.

Your mouth falls open in a wordless scream as you watch John being pinned against the hallways wall, and just what exactly is pinning him you can’t comprehend.

It looks human.

Or maybe once human.

Faking being human.

But those claws, that distended jaw that opens and leaves trails of spit between razor sharp teeth. The naked, twisted body, bones not where they should be under grey translucent skin.

Oh god.

The eyes.

They’re looking at you now and you realize the screaming finally broke free from your body, guttural and ancient, a primal scream you had no idea would even come out of you. True fear.

John’s struggling under the creatures grip, his hands gripping the oversized claw that threatens his neck, his face red and breaths spitting between gritted teeth as he fights with all his might.

“Run!” He yells as he connects his boot with the torso of the thing, not helping himself, but attempting to give you time to flee.

The thing recovers its attention to John, and you stumble to your feet, fear making you fumble with your handgun, trying to aim in a way that doesn’t hit John.

You fire.

It hits into Its shoulders.

It doesn’t care.

It’s already driving its fangs deep into John’s tender neck.

It’s slurping.

John screams in agony.

You fire again hitting it in the back, and It growls.

Faster than you can understand it drags John screaming back down the hallway until your flashlight only captures the dust swirling in the dark once again.

You run.

————

It’s like a black hole.

Like the photographs of your memories of that night have been burned in the middle, leaving only the most horrific, over exposed snapshots to haunt you when you least expect it.

A whisper of snowflakes take nest in your hair, the rest dancing around in street lights, the road desolate and quiet save for your whimpering and limping down the sidewalk.

You don’t even know how you stumbled home, the Belarusian cold numbing every part of you. Your tears are frozen against your cheeks as you fling open the doors to the ballet company.

Those on watch have guns on you before you can blink, trying to figure out who and what and why.

They let up when they realize it’s you.

Only you.

You feel them shaking your shoulders, your body seizing in pain and your mouth blubbering a cry.

“Where is he?” They demand.

“Where is John?”

You can hardly make out who exactly is even talking to you, the world too bright and the faces simple shadows that shout questions and give orders.

Another shake.

“Answer me!”

You open your mouth, and your lips tremble, your whole body trembles.

“It…It got him…”

————

It’s been days.

You’ve hardly seen the outside of your room.

They’re treating cuts, the chunk of skin missing on your knee and your swollen ankle, the mild frostbite on your fingers. You hardly even notice when they enter and when they leave.

You’re not sure why you haven’t been punished.

You know The Director doesn’t take failed missions lightly, but you wonder if it has to do with what happened to John.

John.

You just keep hearing his screams bouncing off the walls ringing in your ears. You blame yourself. You blame how you didn’t do anything to stop it, how you didn’t run towards him, try to fight. You also know deep down that if you had, you’d be as good as dead.

Just like him…

Your heart aches so deeply you don’t know what to do with it.

They teach you here not to form relationships with one another for a reason, and you suppose you know why now.

This pain was unimaginable.

You don’t even know how to explain what you and John had. It was moments of softness when all eyes were closed. It was breaths in the cold as you share a secret cigarette on the fire escape outside your window. It was hands exploring just what one another had in the dark beneath your bedsheets.

You aren’t sure if you could call it love. If you deserve to call it love. But the pain of never having it again doesn’t lie.

Your days continue with cooling bowls of soup outside your door, and the covers over your head while your mourn.

————

“Tell me again what happened.”

The Director’s voice has no emotion. She sits back in her chair, her office lush and extravagant, rich smells of incense fill your nose as smoke from their fragrance and her cigarette billow in the room. The fireplace roars and cracks in your silence, your eyes unfocused on the floor.

“It came out of nowhere,” you speak slow, concise about what happened, too many details bringing too much hurt.

“It targeted Jardani, and it bit him. I shot It, but it didn’t matter, It already had him, and It dragged him away.”

“And ’it‘ looked like…?”

“I already told you… It wasn’t like us, it was something else. Something too tall, too skinny, too many teeth…”

“You expect me to believe that пачвара, that a…monster, took Jardani?” Doubt was one of her specialities.

“You can believe what you want. I know what I saw. It was not human.” You grit your teeth, the pain of having to relieve what happened combined with her probing and doubt leaving you short-toned.

Your almost surprised in yourself with how you’re talking to her, but losing all will to care.

She says nothing, mulling over what you’ve said.

The fire sizzles and snaps loudly.

“There still must be a punishment for failing to complete your assigned task.”

“There is no punishment that could hold a flame to what I’ve just experienced.”

—————

You’ve been stripped of everything.

No one is allowed to glance your way. No one shall speak to you.

You take the stage nightly after everyone else has run their routine.

You’ve lost The Director her most prized weapon, her most cherished son. For that, you must pay.

“You are not dismissed. You are reclaimed. You will dance every set he ever touched. Alone. Night after night, until the ghost of him is burned into your muscle memory.” Her voice echoes in your head as you begin, the stage silent except for your breathing.

“No name. No partners. No contact.”

A pause. Her voice softened for just a moment, sickly sweet.

“Perhaps, in your silence, he’ll hear you calling. And if not…”

She turned her back on you like you were already buried.

“Then we dance for the dead.”

Your feet strike the stage with precision. Your muscles tight and controlled, your hands trying to achieve the same strength, the same flow, as that of what John had. You twirl into his signature pose, leg wobbling and forcing you to give up on landing it, and you know it will take weeks before you’ll even come close to being what Jardani was.

You start his routine again.

And again.

And again.

The ghost of him your only partner in this hell.

—————

The days pass, and your body aches nightly, you try to keep your bloody feet from failing you with cloth bandages wrapped around them tight. It feels as if you haven’t slept since that night. You simply lie awake until the hours pass, facing the plain aging wall of your tiny bedroom made for one.

You hold your pillow, eyes following the cracks in the wall when you hear a creaking on the rusty fire escape outside your window.

Instinct takes over and you’ve instantly sat up, head swerving around to monitor just where the sound has emerged from, a shadow crossing your bedroom floor as something moves out of sight from the window.

You jump out of bed, flinging the window open and squinting as the icy night air quickly chills you to the bone. You scan the dark alleyway outside, looking for any sign of movement or life, your body cold in your skivvies.

The night is just as lonely as you are out there.

—————

He watches from the shadows as you close the window, your scent hanging heavy in the freezing night air. His gums are throbbing, and the pit in his stomach aches with want just from smelling you. It’s delicious, sharp and sweet to his senses, a fine liquor mixed with the smell of dark cherries and almond. A shaky hand has to wipe the drool from his chin as his tongue lusts for you.

He doesn’t even know why he’s come.

He knows what kind of monster he is now.

Something that can never be trusted.

Something that can never be safe.

And yet, he’s crawled his way back to you.

His eyes shine animal-bright in passing car lights, fangs extending longer from bloodlust.

Jardani knows he must do what he does best if he’s to ever have a chance of coming face to face with you again.

If he can want you, but not taste you, then he may still be some semblance of a man.

He must learn control.

——————

No human blood. No animal blood. Nothing. Jardani trains in front of mirrors that do not see him, goes through the motions of routines he knows the memory of deep in his muscles. He focuses on how long he can last without breaking, each attempt longer than the other.

“I once learned to throw a knife through a man’s eye without blinking. I can learn this too.”

He repeats this to himself between push ups, keeping his body busy and moving as much as possible.

When he does break, he does so without carnage, without killing and draining his prey dry like a beast. He controls his kill. Leaves no drop of blood undrank, returns back to his chosen hovel, an abandoned warehouse near the studio, without a mess of blood on him.

His first kill, instinct.

His second, survival.

His third, choice.

———————

It wasn’t easy sneaking into the studio, but Jardani knew of the most secret ins and outs of this place. He moves like a wolf in the shadows, slipping across the grid above the catwalk with ease.

He narrows his eyes, zoning in on just who’s below on the stage, carefully studying a few of his former fellow students as they finish up their routine for the night. There’s a few minutes of pause, some chatter backstage as most of the students head back to their rooms for the night. Finally, even The Director leaves and the studio falls silent.

That’s when you float out onto the stage, ballet slippers en pointe, holding all of your pain in the perfect precision of your body. You’re shroud in flowing white, a ghost that dances alone and for no one. His breath is held.

You begin Adagio, slow and fluid, an extension of yourself, before working your way into an Arabesque, arms held out, searching, reaching for someone who’s not there. You twist and flip, having to catch yourself, when you should be dancing with a partner who shares the burden of the dance, who guides your weight to where it should be. You move as if you may fall any minute, as if he may still be there to catch you.

Jardani can smell your scent wafting up into the rafters, the sweat and the rosin on your slippers, that sweet swirling scent of your blood that threatens to drive him mad. He grips the metal of the grid, gritting his teeth and trying to stop the hunger that grows within him.

“You must resist her. You must not give into the temptation of her blood.”

But oh, how he wants.

He wants not only your blood.

But you.

Your body, your warmth, your fingertips on his chest as you moan in pleasure underneath him. He wants to hear you say his name like a prayer in the dark.

Hunger clawed up his throat. His fangs throbbed with want and pressed down against his tongue.

He imagined descending the ropes like a phantom, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your neck, inhaling that sweet scent from the source and feeling your pulse flit against his lips.

Not biting.

Not yet.

Just having you.

He wanted to bury himself in you, take everything with greed. Bury in your scent, your heat, your pain.

But he couldn’t.

Couldn’t touch you without unraveling. He could barely be this close now without thoughts of himself drinking deeply from you creating fuzz of noise in his head he could hardly ignore.

Instead, he steadied himself as much as he could, attempting to hold on as long as possible, to prove to himself that he could stand it, he could be in the same room as you, someone made so perfectly for his new, monstrous tastes.

He crouches in the rafter, shaking with want and salivating at the thought of letting go.

Wanting to hold you.

Wanting to feed.

Wanting to take all that pain away.

But the dead don’t get love stories.

Only hunger. Only distance. Only you, on stage, dancing for the ghost he’d become.

[abby1600]

You are pulling me in again! You are so good!!!

girl, resurrected - 6

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Magically setting this in the 1990s because I can. There will be plot holes. I do not care. 😂😘❤ Warnings: adult themes, past mention of captivity & punishment. This is OOC yandere unhinged John Wick we're dealing with here... chapter map

6. cuz maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me

Unlike the other passengers in their indignant confusion, you know it’s an explosion. 

You know it in your gut; you recognize the sound and that heart-stopping concussion that rocks you to the marrow of your bones. You’re not proud of it, but you freeze up through the freefall, flashing back on that terrifying night the assassins attacked Wick’s home. 

Despite the ringing in your head, you hear the ear-splitting screeching of metal upon metal, the emergency brakes saving you all from total oblivion–for now. 

By the time you come back to yourself, there is nothing that can be done. The executives in the elevator are yelling and complaining and there’s no calming them down. The doors won’t open, and you know you’re all suspended hundreds of feet in the air, trapped in a steel box.   

Fuck. 

So much for winning the day. 

Eventually the worst whiners tire out, the Karens and Chads figuring out that they can’t get themselves out of this situation by threatening someone’s job, and everyone settles into sitting on the floor, exhausted, scared, and hot. You feel strangely resigned to your fate; it was stupid of you to think that the lucky break you caught in your new life could last. 

It feels like an eternity before you finally hear an announcement from above. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the LAPD.” 

At first you think you must be hallucinating, tricked by wishful thinking when you imagine you recognize that deep voice. It’s a little pathetic that when you’re stuck in a life-and-death crisis, you wish Jack Traven would be the one to ride to your rescue.

There’s no fucking way. 

But then the officers pry open the doors, and through the sliver of light you see him, a hunk of a guardian angel in a tactical vest, the sunshine through the window backlighting him like a halo. It’s stupid, how your heart utterly soars, a tingling lightness that has nothing to do with fear filling you to the tips of your fingers. You are so not over that man, and in that moment you feel like both the luckiest and the stupidest woman in the world. 

What ensues next is nothing less than chaos. 

You watch, frozen in the back, as the SWAT officers do their best to evacuate the besuited passengers through the narrow opening in the door one by one. You help an older lady make her way through to the front before the crowd elbows you back again.

Then there’s another explosion, and the car plummets several feet before bouncing precariously on whatever little support is left. You don’t know that Jack and Harry ingeniously rigged a crane cable from the roof all the way down the elevator shaft. You only have one thought: 

You’re so gonna die. 

Their efforts double, and there’s shouting and scrambling and one by one the rest of the passengers are yanked through the opening to safety, until just you and one last corpo Chad remain. 

That’s when Jack really gets a good look at you. “Holy shit! Y/n?!” 

“Hi, Jack.” You try for nonchalance, but it comes out small and pathetic and scared. The car lurches again, and you lose your footing like a bad bounce on a trampoline, falling hard to the ground of the elevator.

“Fuck! Come on, y/n, take my hand!” There’s only a sliver of an opening left now, and you can feel the elevator practically trembling with anticipation of plummeting into oblivion. As you struggle to get to your feet Chad powers forward, jumping up to grab Jack’s outstretched hands. You see the annoyance on the SWAT officer’s face, but he doesn’t drop the terrified office worker, he and Harry hauling him roughly up through the hole. 

Jack is back in seconds, holding out his long arms to you with a desperation in his dark eyes that almost scares you more than the bomb. 

He thinks you’re going to die too. 

“Come on, y/n, take my hands!” he demands with a force you never could have imagined possible from him, before. Startled, you try to obey but your legs are jell-o. You push up, and the elevator sways, making you stumble. “Now, y/n!” he yells at you. “Come on! You can do it, two steps forward for me, baby, please!” 

You’re not sure if it’s the baby or the please or the authority in his voice that gets your motor going. You find the last reserves of your strength to power forward, jumping for his outreached paws. Those big hands you’d so admired clamp on to you like a vise, yanking you up and out just as the elevator breaks loose, slicing like a shear not but a centimeter from your feet. 

Jack has you wrapped in a crushing grip, your feet barely touching the floor, like he can’t quite believe he actually pulled you through in time. You’re having trouble believing you’re not dead too. You’re both breathing like you’ve just run a marathon, chests heaving against each other; time seems to go still as you pull back to look at each other from so close. 

Adrenaline sings through your veins; it sharpens every detail as you get to look at him again. His handsome face and high cheekbones, that heartbreaking dusting of freckles, those almond-shaped eyes so wide with disbelief–in just the right light his irises are an exquisite shade of amber. 

It all comes crashing back. Every iota of warmth and affection you ever felt for this man hits you like a freight train after this near-death experience. God how you missed him, and GOD you are stupid. 

That moisture blurring your vision isn’t tears. It’s just…something in your eyes from the explosion, surely.  

His heart runs the full gamut too; all the tenderness, the longing, the hurt, and ultimately the total disbelief that in this city of 3.5 million people, he’s the one that saved you. How many extra times a day did he check his machine, hoping he’d missed a message from you? Miguel told him you got another job somewhere at some junk store, didn’t know where. And sure, he’s a cop, and he could have dug a little deeper to find you…but he didn’t want to scare you anymore than he figured you were already scared. It hurt like fucking hell, but he decided to respect your decision, and let you go. 

But now you’re here with him again, in his arms, and that protective streak he’s always felt for you comes back howling with a vengeance. He might not ever let you out of his sight again.   

In the heat of the moment you’re not really sure who moved first. Only that in the next second your mouths are pressed together desperately, a kiss that borders on cannibalism as you war with lips and teeth and tongues. Your fingers latch onto his vest like claws, holding him to you like you never intend to let him go. 

“I’ll have what she’s having,” snarks one of the female executives, clearly trying to play off the pure terror of the situation they all went through not moments ago. 

You both ignore her, pulling back to look at each other with new wonder written across your faces. “Hey,” he greets from inches away, and it’s as adorable as it is redundant. 

Ok. So you might be in love now. You’re certainly in lust, your curves mashed against the unyielding line of his lean form, his strong arms still holding you up like you weigh nothing. Tools and hard lumps affixed to his vest are poking you, but you don’t care.

“Jack...” The brittle laughter that falls from your lips sounds pathetic even to you. 

“Hey, you’re ok. I’ve got you.” 

“Yeah.” Boy did he. You almost died. 

Again. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, still unable to wrap his head around the coincidence in all this. 

“Working?” 

“Oh. Me too.” 

You grin at him; you both must be in shock. You get to indulge in one caress of your fingertips across the spiky velvet of his hair before Harry clears his throat at his partner. “Hate to interrupt…” 

Reluctantly, Jack sets you back down on your feet, his hands lingering at your waist under your blazer. “Hi, Harry,” you say, embarrassed to the fucking tips of your toes, your ears blazing. 

“Hey, kid. I gotta borrow your boyfriend. We kinda got a perp to catch.” 

With a sheepish look Jack turns to follow Harry down the hall. “Sorry, gotta go.” 

You know it’s stupid, but it feels like watching a piece of your own heart walk away from you, and now that you’ve found him again you just can’t stand it. “Please be careful!” you call after him, and Jack turns back to you with a cocky grin that is somehow both infuriating and insanely hot, the maniac.  

“You sayin’ I got something to live for, sweetheart?”

It’s like no time passed at all, like the beach could have been yesterday, and you didn’t ghost him for months. Is he really that forgiving? Maybe in his line of work, he's learned not to sweat the small stuff. Maybe…you are the luckiest girl in the world after all.

Maybe you shouldn't fucking squander it this time.

You know you’ve gone insane, when you clack forward in your heels to take his hand, producing a pen from your jacket pocket. You scrawl your number across his wide palm, going over the five twice because your hand is shaking so badly it looks like a two. “Call me.”

“Yes ma’am.” There’s a sparkle in his eye that sends you into orbit, and you watch those two insanely brave men trot down the hall, possibly towards more danger. You’re not the praying type, but you admit in that moment you plead with whatever deity might be interested that he makes it home safe today. Please please please protect him, from evil men and himself. And Harry too. And all the rest of them. Jesus fucking christ I’ll light a candle or something just please don’t let them die?

“Y/n? Are you alright?” There’s a light touch on your back, breaking your fixated stare, and you turn to find none other than Donaka Mark towering beside you, with two very intimidating bodyguards flanking him. 

“I’m…fine, Mr. Mark,” you stammer. “Do…you know what happened?” 

“Not yet, but I fully intend to get to the bottom of it.” You guess this is kind of embarrassing, considering his profession. You don’t say that, of course, but he’s got to be feeling it. “Come on, let’s get you to the ground floor.” With a hand on the small of your back he ushers you towards the rest of the crowd of people shuffling towards the stairs at the behest of an officer in uniform.  

You don’t see it, but Jack turns back to look at you one last time, and sees that wealthy businessman touch you like he knows you. Red-hot jealousy flares like a bomb in his chest, but he shakes it off. They’ve got a perp to catch, and he can’t think about any of that right now. 

Easier said than done. 

“I take it…you know that policeman?” asks Mr. Mark as you descend down the stairwell together. You don’t know him well enough to pick up on the chill in his neutral tone–but he’s jealous too. 

Oblivious, and maybe due to all the stress of the past hour, you can’t stop yourself from falling back on your native sarcasm, quipping, “No, we just met.” 

Donaka narrows his eyes down at you like he can’t decide if you're telling the truth or joking at his expense. You’re sure he is not used to the latter, and most of the rest of the long walk down transpires in silence. 

You have no idea what a foolish error you’ve committed. 

That you would turn him down, Donaka Mark, but throw yourself at some neanderthal SWAT officer?

This isn’t over by a long shot. 

There are more police on the ground floor, and you are swept away to be checked by paramedics and give a statement. 

While you’re waiting for the clear to leave the scene, and definitely hoping to see Jack again, a camera crew finds you on the sidelines. “Ma’am, can you tell us about what happened inside?” 

Too late, you throw up a hand to obscure your face. “Sorry, I have no comment,” you say, walking away in the opposite direction. Talking to a news crew is the last thing you want to do. 

You want to go home…and wait by your phone. You were a fucking idiot before, but you’re feeling pretty brave after cheating death, and you are not planning to let that man slip by again. 

TBC...

chapter map

Our playlist so far: hand in my pocket - alanis morissette 6 underground - sneaker pimps come as you are - nirvana miss world - hole even flow - pearl jam wonderwall - oasis

[abby1600]

girl, resurrected - 6

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Magically setting this in the 1990s because I can. There will be plot holes. I do not care. 😂😘❤ Warnings: adult themes, past mention of captivity & punishment. This is OOC yandere unhinged John Wick we're dealing with here... chapter map

6. cuz maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me

Unlike the other passengers in their indignant confusion, you know it’s an explosion. 

You know it in your gut; you recognize the sound and that heart-stopping concussion that rocks you to the marrow of your bones. You’re not proud of it, but you freeze up through the freefall, flashing back on that terrifying night the assassins attacked Wick’s home. 

Despite the ringing in your head, you hear the ear-splitting screeching of metal upon metal, the emergency brakes saving you all from total oblivion–for now. 

By the time you come back to yourself, there is nothing that can be done. The executives in the elevator are yelling and complaining and there’s no calming them down. The doors won’t open, and you know you’re all suspended hundreds of feet in the air, trapped in a steel box.   

Fuck. 

So much for winning the day. 

Eventually the worst whiners tire out, the Karens and Chads figuring out that they can’t get themselves out of this situation by threatening someone’s job, and everyone settles into sitting on the floor, exhausted, scared, and hot. You feel strangely resigned to your fate; it was stupid of you to think that the lucky break you caught in your new life could last. 

It feels like an eternity before you finally hear an announcement from above. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the LAPD.” 

At first you think you must be hallucinating, tricked by wishful thinking when you imagine you recognize that deep voice. It’s a little pathetic that when you’re stuck in a life-and-death crisis, you wish Jack Traven would be the one to ride to your rescue.

There’s no fucking way. 

But then the officers pry open the doors, and through the sliver of light you see him, a hunk of a guardian angel in a tactical vest, the sunshine through the window backlighting him like a halo. It’s stupid, how your heart utterly soars, a tingling lightness that has nothing to do with fear filling you to the tips of your fingers. You are so not over that man, and in that moment you feel like both the luckiest and the stupidest woman in the world. 

What ensues next is nothing less than chaos. 

You watch, frozen in the back, as the SWAT officers do their best to evacuate the besuited passengers through the narrow opening in the door one by one. You help an older lady make her way through to the front before the crowd elbows you back again.

Then there’s another explosion, and the car plummets several feet before bouncing precariously on whatever little support is left. You don’t know that Jack and Harry ingeniously rigged a crane cable from the roof all the way down the elevator shaft. You only have one thought: 

You’re so gonna die. 

Their efforts double, and there’s shouting and scrambling and one by one the rest of the passengers are yanked through the opening to safety, until just you and one last corpo Chad remain. 

That’s when Jack really gets a good look at you. “Holy shit! Y/n?!” 

“Hi, Jack.” You try for nonchalance, but it comes out small and pathetic and scared. The car lurches again, and you lose your footing like a bad bounce on a trampoline, falling hard to the ground of the elevator.

“Fuck! Come on, y/n, take my hand!” There’s only a sliver of an opening left now, and you can feel the elevator practically trembling with anticipation of plummeting into oblivion. As you struggle to get to your feet Chad powers forward, jumping up to grab Jack’s outstretched hands. You see the annoyance on the SWAT officer’s face, but he doesn’t drop the terrified office worker, he and Harry hauling him roughly up through the hole. 

Jack is back in seconds, holding out his long arms to you with a desperation in his dark eyes that almost scares you more than the bomb. 

He thinks you’re going to die too. 

“Come on, y/n, take my hands!” he demands with a force you never could have imagined possible from him, before. Startled, you try to obey but your legs are jell-o. You push up, and the elevator sways, making you stumble. “Now, y/n!” he yells at you. “Come on! You can do it, two steps forward for me, baby, please!” 

You’re not sure if it’s the baby or the please or the authority in his voice that gets your motor going. You find the last reserves of your strength to power forward, jumping for his outreached paws. Those big hands you’d so admired clamp on to you like a vise, yanking you up and out just as the elevator breaks loose, slicing like a shear not but a centimeter from your feet. 

Jack has you wrapped in a crushing grip, your feet barely touching the floor, like he can’t quite believe he actually pulled you through in time. You’re having trouble believing you’re not dead too. You’re both breathing like you’ve just run a marathon, chests heaving against each other; time seems to go still as you pull back to look at each other from so close. 

Adrenaline sings through your veins; it sharpens every detail as you get to look at him again. His handsome face and high cheekbones, that heartbreaking dusting of freckles, those almond-shaped eyes so wide with disbelief–in just the right light his irises are an exquisite shade of amber. 

It all comes crashing back. Every iota of warmth and affection you ever felt for this man hits you like a freight train after this near-death experience. God how you missed him, and GOD you are stupid. 

That moisture blurring your vision isn’t tears. It’s just…something in your eyes from the explosion, surely.  

His heart runs the full gamut too; all the tenderness, the longing, the hurt, and ultimately the total disbelief that in this city of 3.5 million people, he’s the one that saved you. How many extra times a day did he check his machine, hoping he’d missed a message from you? Miguel told him you got another job somewhere at some junk store, didn’t know where. And sure, he’s a cop, and he could have dug a little deeper to find you…but he didn’t want to scare you anymore than he figured you were already scared. It hurt like fucking hell, but he decided to respect your decision, and let you go. 

But now you’re here with him again, in his arms, and that protective streak he’s always felt for you comes back howling with a vengeance. He might not ever let you out of his sight again.   

In the heat of the moment you’re not really sure who moved first. Only that in the next second your mouths are pressed together desperately, a kiss that borders on cannibalism as you war with lips and teeth and tongues. Your fingers latch onto his vest like claws, holding him to you like you never intend to let him go. 

“I’ll have what she’s having,” snarks one of the female executives, clearly trying to play off the pure terror of the situation they all went through not moments ago. 

You both ignore her, pulling back to look at each other with new wonder written across your faces. “Hey,” he greets from inches away, and it’s as adorable as it is redundant. 

Ok. So you might be in love now. You’re certainly in lust, your curves mashed against the unyielding line of his lean form, his strong arms still holding you up like you weigh nothing. Tools and hard lumps affixed to his vest are poking you, but you don’t care.

“Jack...” The brittle laughter that falls from your lips sounds pathetic even to you. 

“Hey, you’re ok. I’ve got you.” 

“Yeah.” Boy did he. You almost died. 

Again. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, still unable to wrap his head around the coincidence in all this. 

“Working?” 

“Oh. Me too.” 

You grin at him; you both must be in shock. You get to indulge in one caress of your fingertips across the spiky velvet of his hair before Harry clears his throat at his partner. “Hate to interrupt…” 

Reluctantly, Jack sets you back down on your feet, his hands lingering at your waist under your blazer. “Hi, Harry,” you say, embarrassed to the fucking tips of your toes, your ears blazing. 

“Hey, kid. I gotta borrow your boyfriend. We kinda got a perp to catch.” 

With a sheepish look Jack turns to follow Harry down the hall. “Sorry, gotta go.” 

You know it’s stupid, but it feels like watching a piece of your own heart walk away from you, and now that you’ve found him again you just can’t stand it. “Please be careful!” you call after him, and Jack turns back to you with a cocky grin that is somehow both infuriating and insanely hot, the maniac.  

“You sayin’ I got something to live for, sweetheart?”

It’s like no time passed at all, like the beach could have been yesterday, and you didn’t ghost him for months. Is he really that forgiving? Maybe in his line of work, he's learned not to sweat the small stuff. Maybe…you are the luckiest girl in the world after all.

Maybe you shouldn't fucking squander it this time.

You know you’ve gone insane, when you clack forward in your heels to take his hand, producing a pen from your jacket pocket. You scrawl your number across his wide palm, going over the five twice because your hand is shaking so badly it looks like a two. “Call me.”

“Yes ma’am.” There’s a sparkle in his eye that sends you into orbit, and you watch those two insanely brave men trot down the hall, possibly towards more danger. You’re not the praying type, but you admit in that moment you plead with whatever deity might be interested that he makes it home safe today. Please please please protect him, from evil men and himself. And Harry too. And all the rest of them. Jesus fucking christ I’ll light a candle or something just please don’t let them die?

“Y/n? Are you alright?” There’s a light touch on your back, breaking your fixated stare, and you turn to find none other than Donaka Mark towering beside you, with two very intimidating bodyguards flanking him. 

“I’m…fine, Mr. Mark,” you stammer. “Do…you know what happened?” 

“Not yet, but I fully intend to get to the bottom of it.” You guess this is kind of embarrassing, considering his profession. You don’t say that, of course, but he’s got to be feeling it. “Come on, let’s get you to the ground floor.” With a hand on the small of your back he ushers you towards the rest of the crowd of people shuffling towards the stairs at the behest of an officer in uniform.  

You don’t see it, but Jack turns back to look at you one last time, and sees that wealthy businessman touch you like he knows you. Red-hot jealousy flares like a bomb in his chest, but he shakes it off. They’ve got a perp to catch, and he can’t think about any of that right now. 

Easier said than done. 

“I take it…you know that policeman?” asks Mr. Mark as you descend down the stairwell together. You don’t know him well enough to pick up on the chill in his neutral tone–but he’s jealous too. 

Oblivious, and maybe due to all the stress of the past hour, you can’t stop yourself from falling back on your native sarcasm, quipping, “No, we just met.” 

Donaka narrows his eyes down at you like he can’t decide if you're telling the truth or joking at his expense. You’re sure he is not used to the latter, and most of the rest of the long walk down transpires in silence. 

You have no idea what a foolish error you’ve committed. 

That you would turn him down, Donaka Mark, but throw yourself at some neanderthal SWAT officer?

This isn’t over by a long shot. 

There are more police on the ground floor, and you are swept away to be checked by paramedics and give a statement. 

While you’re waiting for the clear to leave the scene, and definitely hoping to see Jack again, a camera crew finds you on the sidelines. “Ma’am, can you tell us about what happened inside?” 

Too late, you throw up a hand to obscure your face. “Sorry, I have no comment,” you say, walking away in the opposite direction. Talking to a news crew is the last thing you want to do. 

You want to go home…and wait by your phone. You were a fucking idiot before, but you’re feeling pretty brave after cheating death, and you are not planning to let that man slip by again. 

TBC...

chapter map

Our playlist so far: hand in my pocket - alanis morissette 6 underground - sneaker pimps come as you are - nirvana miss world - hole even flow - pearl jam wonderwall - oasis

[abby1600]

girl, resurrected - 5

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Tom Ludlow mentioned. Magically setting this in the 1990s because I can. There will be plot holes. I do not care. 😂😘❤ Warnings: adult themes, past mention of captivity & punishment. This is OOC yandere unhinged John Wick we're dealing with here... ch 1/ch map

5. thoughts arrive like butterflies

He doesn't call you, and after a week you are ready to climb the fucking walls. 

Part of this is because you never actually gave him your number–but you don’t remember that. 

You don’t see him at the coffee shop either, and the fluttering inside your heart turns into something like anxious butterflies hopped up on PCP. 

Inevitably, your thoughts turn darker. Of course he doesn’t want anything to do with you. It was glaringly obvious that you’re damaged goods, and he deserves so much better. You can’t blame him. It’s for the best, remember? Remember the deadly man you ran across the country from, and with whom you don’t want to mix anyone else up as collateral?

You do the obligatory staring at the ceiling for a few days. Then you throw yourself into distracting yourself with your art, and it’s kind of refreshing to fill your sketchbook with something besides John Wick’s burning gaze. One real day in his company, and you’ve already committed the lines of Jack’s heartbreakingly handsome face to heart. 

Finally, you decide you’re going to venture out to see more of the city. It felt good to get some sun at the beach. You try that again, though it’s not the same without Jack at your side. 

You explore the shops around your neighborhood, then farther afield. Thrifting and bus fare is pretty much all you can afford at the moment, but you enjoy poking around an antique store filled with beautiful things from ages long past. There are paintings and objet d’art, furniture and books and jewelry and everything else under the sun. You can’t help but think to yourself that John would love it. It aches like sticking a finger in an almost healed wound. Oops. 

Maybe you can’t afford anything in there, but amusingly you find yourself talking another well-heeled couple into buying a bronze art nouveau figural lamp with blown glass shades, mostly because you could tell the wife wanted it but the obviously loaded husband wasn’t quite convinced and was being a dick about it besides. 

“That was pretty slick,” says the wry old man behind the counter after the happy couple have gone. You shrug, amused with the outcome, looking at the contents of the jewelry case, ogling the beautifully crafted baubles you could never afford. 

“You should have a sign that says ‘Antiques are cheaper than divorce.’”  

He cackles at that. “Maybe I should. You want a job?” 

You laugh, because you think he’s joking. 

Turns out, he’s dead serious…and after chatting with him a little while you decide that maybe it could be time for a switch in careers. You have a background in art and art history, and your prospective employer, Lawrence Dubois, says he’ll train you on everything else you need to know. It pays better than slinging java, and you get commission too. And maybe it’s stupid, but the coffee house just reminds you of Jack. It aches, to go into work every morning and not see him there. You’ve even started to worry, but it’s not like you can call up the precinct and ask about him. 

Well. You could, but that would be a bit much, even for you. Hello, 911? I had one date with Officer Jack Traven and he hasn’t called me?

Yeah, that would go over great with the LAPD.

You’ve scoured the papers, and haven’t seen any reports of him being injured on the job.

You come to accept it’s time for another new beginning…and that’s when you find the note taped to your door. 

Hey. Couldn’t find you at the coffee house. Sorry I’ve been super busy, it feels like the city has gone off the deep end. I can’t stop thinking about you. Can I take you to a movie or something? -Jack 

And there at the bottom in his left-handed scrawl are seven numbers that chuck the ball into your court. 

You sit by the phone, and you weep. 

You do not call. 

Now that a little time has gone by and you’ve slightly leveled out after that magical day at the beach…you’re reminded of how men complicate things, and how love makes you border-line insane, and you know you can’t be around Jack Traven without falling for him head over heels. It took one day in his company to prove that and you? 

You are a coward. 

You don't know how to love someone without giving every little piece of yourself–and  you’re not sure you have anything left to offer him.

You kiss the paper before folding his note in half, and you keep it beside the phone. Maybe you are a bit of a masochist; you can’t bring yourself to throw it away, but you just can’t find the courage to act on it.

What does it say about you that it’s easier to live in misery, than take a chance on falling in love again with someone who would be so good to you?

💔💔💔       

Months go by, and for the most part you like your new job. There’s something new to tackle every day. You’re constantly learning about obscure objects of history, what they were used for, and the people who used them. 

It’s an interesting distraction. 

Lawrence DuBois, your boss, is a colorful man. He’s cranky yet somehow also charismatic. He can smell a good deal from a mile away. And, you’re half-convinced now, he might be a low-level crook. Some pretty shady characters come through the door sometimes. 

Typically you prefer to be in the back room, processing the new lots of items that Lawrence buys from estates. Silver, jewelry, and collectibles require research, cleaning and inventorying and it keeps you busy. But sometimes you get to meet the characters who Lawrence does business with, like the moneyer who buys all the gold from jewelry you cannot sell for making some kind of specialty coins, or the stupidly handsome, sad-eyed diamond buyer, Lucas Hill, who purchases stones from you when you get in a real whopper. 

But today, you don’t get to hide in the back. You have to make a delivery to one of Lawrence’s most prestigious clients, an art collector and CEO of Security Systems Alliance. You have a 19th century repousse silver dragon teapot in a padded box under your arm, payment contingent upon approval. Apparently Donaka Mark can be difficult to please, and Lawrence thinks sending a pretty young lady to deliver it to his office downtown can’t hurt his chances of making the sale.   

You’re not exactly sure you like that line of thinking, but you will like the commission if you manage to pull it off. Your new job does pay well, and you’ve been able to save a little nest egg, (or a bug-out fund, should the day ever come).

You still think about John Wick every day. You should be charging rent, for the amount of real estate that motherfucker takes up in your brainmatter. 

You think about Jack Traven too; the memory of his smile still inspires the most exquisite ache in your heart, a pain that has not dulled with time. Sometimes you like to torture yourself at night, thinking about what your life might be like if he was still in it. Sweet kisses and snuggling in bed. Couples showers (to conserve water in this desert city, of course). Long naps that end with him inside you. Home cooked meals and breakfast in bed and sleepless nights staying up worrying about him. Quarrels that end in make-up sex in the kitchen, and more love in your heart than you can possibly stand.

You really are a fool.

As per your instructions, you take the sleek modern elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor, and check in with the receptionist for your appointment. You’re nervous, but you shove it down, gripping the case under your arm and admiring the rosewood carvings on the wall as you wait. 

You’ll be fine, you tell yourself. 

You almost feel like a real adult, in your blazer and tailored pants and stupid high heels (Lawrence wouldn’t let you wear your stompy Doc Martins). Your only real bit of personal flare is your jewelry. Silver rings on your fingers, and in your ears, and an antique sterling medallion on your neck bearing the likeness of Athena in her warrior’s helm, your new personal favorite in the Greek pantheon. You’ve bolstered yourself best you can, and besides…

How scary can this guy be?

As it turns out, the answer to that question is: very.

He’s tall, clean-cut handsome, immaculately dressed in a designer suit, perfectly polite–but Donaka Mark has a menacing presence that you’re sure does wonders in a board room. For dealing with a novice antique dealer, it’s overkill, and after shaking hands you notice he dials it down a notch. 

Maybe Lawrence was right afterall, goddammit. 

You try not to stare like a wide-eyed woodland animal when he rounds his desk to shake your hand, said appendage utterly disappearing within his own. Long fingers. Strong grip. Callouses too, which makes you wonder what he does in his freetime. The thought does not make your lady parts flutter like the idiotic bitch she is.

You really do need to get laid. Or invest in some toys…the latter is the safer option by far. 

You’re proud that you’re able to disguise the tremor in your hands as you unpack the valuable silver teapot, setting it up on a side table for Mr. Mark’s perusal. It is a fabulous example of Chinese export craftsmanship, hand-chased dragons and clouds swirling all across the surface of the pot, the spout, and arching over the handles. You’ve really enjoyed looking at it on your desk, and you’ll be sorry to see it go. 

“Are you familiar with the symbology of dragons in Chinese mythology?” you ask, squirming under Mr. Mark’s exacting gaze. You feel him looking at you as much at the teapot, and though it doesn’t feel exclusively sexual, there is definitely an element of assessment in it. Exactly what are you worth? You know this is L.A. and that’s the game the rich play with peons like you here, but you don’t have to like it. 

“Do enlighten me, Ms. y/n.” He says it with amusement, like he doubts you have something new to tell him, but you spent hours honing this spiel and you’re going to use it, dammit. 

“They're symbols of power, prosperity, and the masculine energy of the yang. ” You recount some legends of dragons from Chinese folklore, and he actually seems to listen to you while you expound on the subject, leaning against the edge of his desk with those mile-long legs crossed at the ankles, his intense dark gaze fixed upon you. You wrap it up with, “They're benevolent and wise protectors of humanity. A fitting sigil for a man who heads a security company.”

“That’s quite a sales pitch,” he says with a tightly amused smile, fixing you with a stare that surely causes men and women alike to wilt before him. “But I might need further convincing.” 

Your heart dives for your feet; not so cute and clever after all, are you?

“As you like.” A dangerous thing to say to a man like this, but you’re kind of backed into a corner. 

“You like mythology, Ms. y/n?” He steps in closer, fingering the medal of Athena you wear around your neck, and it’s all you can do not to jump in the air when his fingertips brush your skin. 

“I do.” 

“What does it mean, that you’ve chosen a goddess of wisdom and war as your talisman today?” A single eyebrow twitches at this; the corner of his mouth slightly pulls. He just thinks you’re a bag of laughs, apparently. 

“That is a very personal question, Mr. Mark.” You lean back just enough to dislodge your pendant from between his fingers. It makes him smile wider, a flash of teeth that reminds you of a tiger somehow, scenting prey on the wind on his tongue. 

“You can tell me about it over dinner tonight. I’ll give you a tour of my art collection.” 

Maybe you haven’t been here long, but you know that’s code in L.A. for: then I’ll show you my dick.   

You hate to admit that for the barest moment you are tempted. You could certainly do worse. He's good looking, wealthy, educated... But there is something dangerous about this man. You sense it seething just beneath the surface of his immaculate suit and perfect manners...

If you made the decision not to expose your heart to a good man like Jack Traven, you are certainly not going to walk into this obvious massacre waiting to happen. Even if...he is so fucking handsome it hurts.

That's what you tell yourself, while you freeze like a rabbit in the sights of a wolf. Does that count as keeping your cool? Inside, you tremble like a leaf in a hurricane, but somehow you dig down to find the pluck to ask, “Do you extend dinner invitations to Mr. Dubois when he brings you things?”

“He’s been to my home several times,” Mark sidesteps. Oh, he’s good. 

You are going to kill Larry for letting you walk into this.

 “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Mark, but I have to decline. Thank you for your time today.” You start to pack up the teapot with shaking hands, though kudos to you for not dropping the damn thing. 

“Hold on,” he scolds with a baring of teeth, clearly not used to being denied. “Can’t I think about it?”  

“You may, though I have another interested buyer in Hong Kong,” you fucking lie through your teeth. “We extended first option to you as a courtesy to our favored client.”

He doesn’t get mad, per se, though somehow the pressure in the room changes with just a look from this man, and you’re afraid your heart is going to explode. 

“Hong Kong is like a second home to me. Who’s my competitor?” 

Fuck. 

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that, sir.” 

He smirks down at you with his arms crossed over his muscular chest, and you’re pretty sure he knows you’re full of shit. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you today, y/n. You drive a hard bargain.” 

🐉🐉🐉   

Ten minutes later you find yourself in that sleek elevator headed back down to earth, two pounds lighter and a check for 20,000 dollars folded into your inside pocket. 

You’re not sure how you pulled it off, but somehow Donaka Mark was more amused than offended by your grandstanding. 

Or maybe he believed you, and couldn’t stand the thought of someone else possessing his prize.

Either way…you hope you won’t have to come back here again. 

People file into the elevator floor by floor as you all make your way down, until you are squashed into the back by bodies clad in Tom Ford and Gucci and wearing way too much Chanel perfume. You close your eyes and lean against the wall, sick from adrenaline and the feeling of the floor dropping out from under you as the elevator descends. 

The first explosion jolts the elevator car right above the thirtieth floor.

TBC...

chapter map

*author's note: you guys...i cannot EMPHASIZE enough how big a debacle communication could be back then when we weren't connected with absolutely EVERYTHING at our fingertips...😂😂 it was a simpler time... *and Donaka's appearance is TOTALLY Hannah's fault!!! 😂😂😂 She inspired me, as ever! ❤❤❤❤

**Some silver dragon vessels I have loved: (the bottom two are japanese)

[abby1600]

girl, resurrected - 4

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Tom Ludlow mentioned. Magically setting this in the 1990s because I can. There will be plot holes. I do not care. 😂😘❤ Warnings: adult themes, past mention of captivity & punishment. This is OOC yandere unhinged John Wick we're dealing with here... ch 1/ch map ch 2 ch 3

4.    i am the girl you know, can’t look you in the eye

You feel way more comfortable now, peeling off your soaked clothes and laying out on a towel in the sun. Jack sprawls his long body next to you, not touching, yet you are achingly aware of how close he is, and how broad, and his huge hands, and how he would utterly engulf you underneath him if you were somewhere with more privacy than a crowded beach in the middle of the afternoon… 

Yeah. You’re really good at this keeping it casual thing. Well done, champ. 

You think you keep your cool, but you can’t stop curling your toes in the sand, and jesus god you are praying Jack doesn’t notice. 

He does, though he’s not entirely sure it means what he hopes it means. 

You’re a tough cookie to read, and he has this feeling in his chest like he’s about to jump off a building or sweep a room for armed combatants.

Both of you valiantly try to downplay the tension between you, you chatting quietly with Carol and Jack and Harry continue to banter, while Abigail naps in the shade under the umbrella and Kevin doggedly works on a sandcastle through half-lidded eyes, exhausted but determined not to admit defeat. But when the sun dips low in the sky it’s time to go. 

You pack up your things, exchange hugs and goodbyes. It’s nice, that you feel like you’ve made some new friends. You like Carol and Harry is funny, you can tell Jack looks up to him. Abigail even gave you one of her seashells, and you know you’re going to keep it for the rest of your life. Harry gives Jack a look of good luck kid you’re going to need it, before getting behind the wheel of their car. When they drive off in their station wagon you and Jack are left alone on the sidewalk, and that low-simmering tension between you returns again. 

“Want…to grab some dinner?” Jack asks hopefully, scrubbing at the back of his neck in that self-conscious way that makes you want to kiss his forehead. 

There is a part of you that is ready to run for the hills. You’re tired, your social battery is drained, and…you really like this man. Every attempt you’ve made to control yourself and keep this thing casual has gone down in flames. You’re doing that thing where you stare up at him in awkward silence like a woodland creature caught in the headlights. 

You should say no. 

You should go home. 

You should nip this thing in the bud before it has a chance to grow into something that might strangle you both. 

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” 

The mind and the flesh are weak.

🌮🍔🍟      

You’re grateful when he picks a food truck with outdoor picnic tables, because you’re sandy and salty and still slightly damp from your dunk in the sea earlier. He orders an assortment of tacos, sliders, and fries for you both, and he’s strangely gratified when you actually eat it. This town is cruel, and he feels bad for women who are afraid to eat in front of a guy on a date. 

Or maybe you still don’t consider this a date, and he’s getting his hopes up for nothing…  

But then, you open up a little when it’s just the two of you. You’re not too specific about your recent past, just that you moved here from New York after a bad breakup. He senses that there’s a lot more information packed into those two little words. He’s a cop, afterall, and he has a sense for when people are hiding things. But for now, he doesn’t push. 

He tells you about growing up in San Dimas, and how he didn’t have much direction in life until his dad shipped him off to military school. The structure of it helped him realize his potential, and he did a tour in the Middle East before coming home to California and joining the LAPD. He plays the bass. He rides a motorcycle.

You are done for.  

He doesn’t want anything too complicated out of life, just hoping to find a good woman to share it with. Maybe kids and a dog in a house all their own someday if he’s lucky. It’s so wholesome and sweet, hearing it feels like getting punched in the ovaries. 

Once that might have sounded perfectly boring to you. Now, after what you've been through? Maybe not so much. 

You like children, but you’ve never really aspired to having a family of your own. But then again, you’ve never been with anyone who you didn’t expect to let you down in some catastrophic way, eventually. Part of that is colored by watching your own parents split, and part of it is just your realistic view of people. No one’s perfect, and men will be men. 

So why does this man feel like he would be there through thick and thin?  

You think it’s brave of him to put all that out on the table, in this city where most people have big dreams and big schemes. You sense this man is honest in a way that is few and far between. He’s way more honest than you, for sure, and you know you have no right to be within ten feet of this upstanding man, much less having dinner with him, letting him give you those puppy dog eyes over fries with truffle aioli sauce. 

“So…do you have any siblings? You’re really good with kids.”

Usually a leading question like this on a first date would throw your walls up fifty feet high. But he’s just. So. Genuine. So you tell him about your parents splitting when you were young, trying to be cool about it even though it still stings like a sneaky blade twisting in your heart. You explain that there’s such a gap between you and your younger half-siblings that you’re more like the cool aunt in their lives than a big sister, on the rare occasions that you see them. 

How is it, that this is the moment that the realization truly hits you? That for as long as John Wick might be alive…you can’t see them? The risk is too great, to you and to them, and with a tightness in your throat you reel as you realize you might never see them again.    

And if John Wick really wanted to bring you out of the woodwork…no. He wouldn’t hurt a child? Surely that would be a line too far, even for him? 

Jack must see it all written across your face. “Hey, are you ok? I’m sorry.”

This man is going to think you are a spazz–and you guess he wouldn’t be wrong. 

You shake your head, waving it off with a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m fine. I just don't talk about this often.”

He nods, but he's looking at you with smoldering cop eyes now, like he knows there's something more to the story. He's kind enough to let it go for now, changing the subject. He's seen you drawing all the time at the coffee house and asks if you came to L.A. to try to make something of your art. You shrug, unwilling to admit that you came to Los Angeles because you thought it would be an easy place to disappear, or even retreat to Mexico if you managed to save some money. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here,” you say truthfully. “I just…needed a change.” 

He nods to that, and slowly he reaches across the table, giving you all the time in the world to reject him before he takes your hand, lacing his long fingers with yours. “I feel lucky that we met, y/n.” 

The watery smile you pay him does not match the way you squeeze his strong hand in yours, like something steady to hold on to in this crazy world. You hope he doesn’t change his mind about that, someday. You pray you won’t give him a reason to, because you already know this man deserves nothing but good things in his life. 

Maybe once you felt good about yourself as a person, but these days you’re not really sure you make the cut on that anymore. 

🎡🌃✨          

You linger over ice cream, talking and holding hands like teenagers at the picnic table with the neon lights of the carnival on the Pier in the background, and it’s all so sweet you could die.

When it’s time to go home you finally agree to let Jack drive you. He doesn’t want you walking home alone at night. He’s seen too many bad things in his line of work; it makes him paranoid and a little overprotective. Something he knows has gotten on girls’ nerves in the past, but he just can’t shake it.  

You don’t tell him that you’d probably be fine. That your ex was a feared international assassin who taught you some brutal things, for no reason other than making things more interesting when he chased you around the mansion where he kept you prisoner, and because he liked it when you fought back when he caught you. Maybe you never got one over on John Wick, but your average street mugger would not walk away from you with all his bones (or his balls) intact. 

Ludlow taught you some things too, though mostly about guns, something John declined for obvious reasons. Any time you can bring a gun to a fistfight, honey, do it. He took you to the range until you were comfortable with any variety of semi-auto or revolver pistols, and gifted you a 9mm of dubious origin with the serial numbers filed off. You don’t carry it, because you’re not a psycho, but you like having it in the false-bottomed drawer of your nightstand.  

You like bumping along in Jack’s vintage Bronco; it’s fun, if not jarring. It’s ok, you didn’t need your spine anyway. He walks you to your door like a perfect gentleman, and that inevitable question weighs heavy between you; to kiss, or not to kiss? 

You know that you want to. 

And, you know that you absolutely shouldn’t. 

“Thank you for today,” you say, and you mean that from the bottom of your heart. Spending the day with him has left you feeling like an actual human being again; something you weren’t sure would ever really be possible. 

“It was fun. Maybe…we can do it again soon?” 

“I’d like that,” you agree, because it’s true, and to shoot him down now would be beyond cruel. 

Let him digest his day with that strange girl from the coffee shop, and see if he even actually calls, you reason. 

He reaches up to touch your cheek, light as a feather, looking down at you with those wise dark eyes that you fear miss very little. It makes you feel seen and raw and from there you’re not sure why it’s like the most natural thing in the world to wrap your arms around his neck in a warm embrace. He squeezes you around your ribcage and holds you for as long as you want to be held. A good long minute, as it turns out, and it could have been longer if you weren’t so embarrassed after throwing yourself at him like a needy little spider monkey. 

You draw back a little, looking at him with wonder, and you know if you don’t kiss him you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. You’re not greedy about it. All you allow yourself is a light press of his pillow-soft lips, and you think it's possible your soul leaves your body. His big hand holding the side of your face engulfs you, and his lips on your forehead heal some fissure deep in your soul. 

This man is too good for this world. 

“I’ll see you soon, y/n.” 

He makes himself go, because five seconds more and he won’t be able to leave you. You’re precious and sweet and he wants to wrap you up from all the bad things in the world and keep you safe, and if he says any of this out loud he knows he will lose you before this thing has even begun. 

You watch him retreat on those long legs with an ache in your heart and a weakness in your knees that has you wobbling through your door like a human noodle. 

TBC...

*a HUGE thank you again to @scarlettspectra , Jack’s backstory is ALL hers and it’s so perfect, it’s totally canon to me now! And a big thank you as well to @sweetwolfcupcake for her idea about Ludlow training Reader a little for the big bad world, isn’t she a genius?!

[abby1600]

girl, resurrected - 3

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Tom Ludlow mentioned. Magically setting this in the 1990s because I can. There will be plot holes. I do not care. 😂😘❤ Warnings: adult themes, past mention of captivity & punishment. This is OOC yandere unhinged John Wick we're dealing with here...

3. come as you are

“So you invite this pretty girl to the beach and I’m the best wingman you can come up with? Kinda pathetic, kid.”

“Harry…it was last minute.” All Jack’s other friends had made plans when the beach thing fell through earlier that week, but he didn’t want to freak you out flying solo. He sensed that he got lucky somehow, that you’d changed your mind. When he found you waiting at the sidewalk by the Pier you looked panicked in the crowd of people, like you might turn and bolt at any second.  

“Just sayin’. Saturday in Santa Monica and you’ve got her babysittin’ my kids? Not complaining, but…” 

One of the kids in question–Abigail, age 2 (AND A HALF!) squeals with laughter as you are building her a fabulous mermaid tail out of sand, complete with crabby sidekick. Her slightly older brother Kevin, age 4, (ALMOST 5!) helps by bringing you buckets of sand and sea water, essential raw materials for this sculptural undertaking, all while spouting off facts about various forms of sea life. (Did you know an octopus has 9 brains? No, you did not.) 

The truth is you gravitated towards the kids, when you and Jack walked up to their encampment in the sand and gracious introductions were made to his partner Harry, his wife Carol, and the rugrats. The little ones were safe territory. The moment you saw Jack take his shirt off, muscle-toned sun-bronzed beach god that he is, you felt like you might die, of lust or nerves, you’re still not sure which. He has a torso that might make a grown woman cry. 

“She’s…kinda skittish,” Jack muses with a frown, watching you playing with the small children, pouring wet sand to make scales on the tail and making them laugh. You’re good with them. Patient, silly, sweet. If he wasn’t already half in love with you, he feels himself falling for sure now. 

“Really?” Harry saw the way you looked at Jack, even if you were trying to be subtle about it, and didn’t quite get it. 

“Yeah. I think…something happened to her.” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. But I like her.” 

Harry nods, putting two and two together while watching you adorn his little girl with sea shells in the sand. “She’s really sweet.”

“I know.” 

“What the hell is she doing with you?” 

“Ha ha.”   

“Seriously, kid. We’re cops, we want to save people. We can’t help it. But sometimes in your personal life that ends in more heartache than it’s worth. Just be careful.” 

“I think she’s worth it.” Jack says with a frown. He knows that he doesn't even really know you yet, but there is just something about you, and he can’t look away. Yes, you look totally cute in your loudly printed halter top and jean shorts, and yes, it was adorable how shy you were when he offered to put sunscreen on your shoulders, and it was distracting, how small you seemed under his big hands when he slathered you down with no funny business. But there is something beyond the physical attraction with you and if he doesn’t find out what it is he's afraid he'll regret it for the rest of his life.

Harry nods, having done his due diligence. Because even if you have some baggage, (because who the fuck doesn't?) you seem like a good kid. He certainly hasn't seen Jack this twisted up before over someone he just met, and the handsome bastard gets hit on all the time, it's so fucking annoying. 

“Well, hate to break it to you but you better get in there before my son makes his finishing move.” It’s true, that Kevin is now sitting in your lap while you chat with Harry’s wife, and Abigail re-gathers her sea shells [ie serious loot].

Jack grins wolfishly. “Little dude is totally making eyes at my girl!”

Harry chuckles, tired but happy. He wasn’t expecting this to turn into such a fun day.

“Last one into the water is a rotten egg!” exclaims Jack, sweeping Abigail up onto his broad shoulders like she is a feather, winning peals of delighted laughter.

“Hey!” squeals Kevin, horrified at the thought of being bested by his little sister, watching her being carried like a princess towards the water’s edge. He grabs your hand and pulls you, waking you from your admittedly distracted stupor watching Jack’s muscled back, determined to catch up with them. 

You look back at Carol with a sly smile. “That makes Harry the rotten egg!” you dig, trotting along to the water. You wade in up to your knees, and watch the children clamber over Jack in the shallows like he is their personal jungle gym. Is he trying to make your ovaries explode? 

“Come on, y/n!” little Kevin calls in his high pitched voice. 

“I’m in the water!” you protest, never having actually gotten up the courage to take off your clothes, fairly content in your jean shorts and halter over your bathing suit. 

That’s when you see a scheming look pass between Jack and Kevin. “Should we get her?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Hey!” It all happens too fast, and it’s so not fair. Even Carol is laughing beside you, as Jack hands the toddler off to her before sweeping you up into his arms like you weigh nothing. Sweet baby jeezus on a cracker he is strong. “Wait! I’m still in my clothes!” 

“Sad story, babe!” he exclaims laughingly before dunking you both. 

When you surface you’re not sure if you’re coughing or laughing, half drowned and clinging to his warm pillar of a neck in the cold water. “Oh my god! Betrayal! Sabotage!” 

The children are jumping and laughing in the surf with their mother, pointing at you because undoubtedly you look like a drowned rat. “Not fair, Officer Traven! Excessive Force! Abuse of authority!” With a smirk he pulls you deeper into the waves, and oh. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, than in this man’s arms. You find yourselves just looking at each other in this semi-private moment, swaying in the waves, your arms around his neck. Water beads on the tips of his eyelashes, glittering like diamonds. You study the sweep of his eyes, the cut of his cheek bones, the line of his jaw. The dusting of freckles across his cheeks–he’s so beautiful it hurts, and the soft way he’s looking at you just might prove the death of you. 

“Is this ok?” he asks quietly.

You nod, because you can’t seem to find where your voice has gone, with his big hands on your waist. Probably down to hide in the trenches with your coward of a heart that’s considering imploding on itself like a black hole. So much for just friends and playing it cool. 

“Are you having fun?” 

You nod, still mute. 

“I guess…I didn’t think about how hard it would be to get to know each other with the kiddos here.” 

You laugh at that. “It’s ok. They’re great. I’m going to have to sleep for two days after this though.” 

He grins at that, nodding. “Harry says that sometimes he’d rather take on a hostage situation with ten armed perps over a two year old that needs a nap.” 

You giggle at that. “Jeezus. You guys…deal with that often?”

“Terrible two-year olds?” You splash him in answer, winning that heart-stopping grin. “No day is the same on L.A. S.W.A.T.”  

“So…you’re kind of an adrenaline junky, huh?” 

His full mouth dances as he tries not to smile–and ultimately fails. How does he manage to seem bashful and cocky all at the same time? And why is that so adorable to you? “I guess I do alright under pressure. How am I doing now?”

You lift an eyebrow, losing your own battle over your mouth. “Are you in a stressful situation right now?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got this totally cute girl in my arms, and I’m still not sure if she even likes me.” 

You snort at that. “If I didn’t like you, you’d know it buddy, believe me.” 

“Ahhhhh, ok. Tough girl, huh?” 

You don’t know why this makes you freeze up when two seconds before you were so utterly pliable in his hands. In the flash of a few seconds you think about everything you’ve been through. What you endured under John’s hands, a man who loved you but ultimately tried to break you. The commando-style home invasion by the mafia assassins that could have ended you both. You shot a man to save the lover who kept you captive for months. And you left that lover bleeding on the floor after calling the paramedics for him. Maybe you’re tough–but you’re not sure you made it out totally sane. 

Would Jack even like you, if he knew the extent of what you’ve lived through, and the things you’ve done?

Jack knows immediately that he fucked up, though he’s not sure how. Just that he watched you clap shut like a spring-loaded trap door right in front of his eyes, when the two of you had been having so much fun just a second before. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“I’m ok.”  You are not ok, and you realize you’re digging your nails into the firm curve of his ridiculously sculpted trapezius dorsi. “Sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s cool. C’mere.” 

You barely know this man–you don’t know why the snarling hounds in your heart quiet down, when he pulls you into a hug and holds you in the swaying waters of the Pacific ocean. 

“Jack?” 

“Yeah?” 

You don’t think you could say it, if you were looking him in the eye. But nestled into the curve of his neck, his short hair velvet-soft against your cheek, you feel brave enough to tell him, “You’re a really nice guy.” 

He sighs, squeezing your ribcage a little tighter. “Don’t hold it against me, ok?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Dunno. Girls seem to prefer a bad boy, is all. Happens to me a lot.” He doesn’t get it, but he knows he’s lost more than one girlfriend to being too nice, and he knows that he shouldn’t, but the thought of losing you already just makes him want to hold you harder. 

You know exactly what he means. You even went through a bit of that yourself, didn’t you? See what it won you?

“I think…I’ve grown out of that phase lately,” you tell him quietly, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t ask you any more questions, just holds you. 

The moment only breaks when the children get impatient, Kevin yelling for you two to come back to entertaining them some more. “Uncle JACK! Come ON!” 

“Uh oh. Think I’m in trouble for hogging the pretty girl,” Jack says with a grin, and somehow just like that your mood lifts and the day is bright again. How did he do that?

“Where?” you tease, looking around the water. 

Though the fact is, this is Santa Monica beach, and there are plenty of hotties around. It made you feel really self-conscious when you were waiting around at the Pier, watching the beautiful people go by. It’s just not normal, how many insanely good-looking people there are in this city. You’ve started to notice how the obsession bleeds into everything here. 

And Jack…is totally one of them. He could be a movie star if he wanted. He could fill seats and sell soda or faster cable or luxury cars or whatever else on TV. But instead…he risks his life every day, for the thrill of it and you suspect, he just likes to help people. 

“Ha. As if, cutie pie,” he teases back, giving you one last squeeze before the two of you make your way back to the shore.

TBC...

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[abby1600]

girl, resurrected - 2

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Tom Ludlow mentioned. Magically setting this in the 1990s because I can. There will be plot holes. I do not care. 😂😘❤ Warnings: adult themes, past mention of captivity & punishment. This is OOC yandere unhinged John Wick we're dealing with here...

2. i live my life like i bleed, too much

Jack doesn't come back the next day, probably too embarrassed by your rejection, or giving you space like the good guy he seems to be. 

“I guess it wasn’t the muffins after all,” Miguel observes wryly with a sideways look. Of course, he overheard the whole thing, your blatant lie included. “You better not show up here Saturday,” he threatens cheerfully. “I’ll call 911 and tell them to send Officer Traven.”

You glare at your boss with very little real venom behind it.

When Jack doesn't come in the second day either, you feel his absence keenly, a pain you cannot medicate, or an itch you're powerless to scratch. Something restless starts to grind inside you.

Maybe you've been living like a ghost these past months, but now you’re finding…you’re yearning to live again. You were content to hide, to make yourself small, to leave no trace, to only rely on yourself…now it feels like a new cage that you are outgrowing in your discontent. You are tired of your fear, and you resent John Wick in a brand new way. 

Even after everything that man did to you, you have still oscillated between pity, love, guilt, and regret when you think of him. You feel all that shifting into a new type of righteous anger, and you wish…you could just be done with it, and have your life back.

You can’t remember the last time you smiled like such a fucking idiot, as on the Friday Jack Traven returns to the coffee shop. It actually hurts your face. He blinks like you’ve hit him with a spotlight, the sparkle returning to his high-polished onyx eyes once again. 

Bless this man, but he doesn't make it weird for you. Doesn’t push his offer again, even if the longing in his heart is tying him up in knots. In fact…you were kind of hoping he would mention the beach again. Give you an opportunity, just in case you changed your mind. But he just accepts his coffee and his muffin with a brave smile and bids you a good day.

You watch him put distance between you step after step with those long legs (goddammit he’s tall!)--and you feel something stretching inside you as he goes, until you feel it snap. Your feet move of their own accord, and before you know it you've rounded the counter and crossed the floor of the shop, following him out the door. 

Lucky for you, he had to park halfway down the block this time. 

“Jack?”

He whirls, the look of happy surprise on his face utterly precious. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

You stand there looking at each other like star struck idiots for only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

“If I was free tomorrow…are you still going to the beach?”

He said it can be casual. You can be cool about it. Right? 

He flashes you a smile bright as the sun, and you’re pretty sure your heart stops in your chest. It’s possible you died right then, for just a beat. This man…is too pure for this world. “Totally. Want me to pick you up?” 

You bite your lip for way too long, considering this while you stare up at him with wide eyes. You know you’re being weird, gripping the pen in your hand way too hard, but you can’t help yourself. 

“Or you can meet us. It’s all good.” He holds up his hands (those absolute catcher’s mitts for hands!) in a gesture of peace, even though you haven’t said a word. This man is way too adept at reading body language. 

You won’t be able to hide in plain sight from this one. 

You shouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. 

Your heart is beating too fast; you’re breathing way too hard. If you don’t get a hold of yourself you’re going to pass out on the sidewalk. 

Maybe he’ll give you mouth to mouth.

“Sure. Where should I meet you?” You think you sound like a normal human being when you finally manage to get out those six simple words, even if you feel like you just ran up a mountain. 

“How about by the Pier? Say around 11?” 

You’ve lived in Santa Monica for months now, and you’ve still never visited the Pier. Or the beach at all, for that matter. But you know you can walk there from your apartment. Convenient, because you don’t have a car anymore. The less things registered to you the better these days, you figure, even with your fake name.

“Okay.” 

“Cool. See you then.” The smile he pays you is its own reward, and you can tell he is reluctant to go as he slowly turns to continue down the sidewalk. It’s idiotic, the absolute thrill it gives you, when he turns back to look at you again. 

He laughs, mostly at himself, and waves before climbing into the old Bronco.

And you, dear Reader? 

Are fucking toast. 

👙👙👙

It’s not long after that endearingly awkward exchange that you realize you don’t own a bathing suit anymore…or for that matter, anything that might be useful at the beach. You have plenty of flannel shirts and your black stompy boots, but not a bikini to your name.

When Tom helped you find this place he set you up with an envelope full of cash you were afraid to ask the origin of. Most of it went to thrift store furniture and the little things you needed to get your life started again. You spend most of your meagre paycheck on rent and food and what little is left usually goes to art supplies…or the occasional house plant. Your windows are filled with them now, and your walls are filled with art–you’ve made this little box of a space your sanctuary.

This is the first time in a long time you’ve even wanted to explore outside. The prospect is as scary as it is exciting. Maybe once you were Miss World Traveler and always outdoors–but you’re going to have to work your courage up to that again.

You oscillate between feeling stupid, and telling yourself that you’re allowed some trepidation, after what you went through. 

Maybe a little shopping isn’t a totally terrible place to start.

TBC...

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