ponyosmom35

[ponyosmom35]

Thank you for all the Dexter stuff I knew something was wrong with me I found him hot lol

yes of course!! its a crime that there isn't more dexter!

[ponyosmom35]

Saw these and immediately thought of you my sweet girl @luveline

[ponyosmom35]

Missed car appointments and apologies

Dexter morgan x fem reader

synopsis: when dexter realizes he forgot about a appointment with reader, he finds ways to make it up to her.

warnings: smut, angst, oral fem receiving

When Dexter stepped through the apartment door, he was already pulling off his gloves, mentally cataloging the blood patterns he’d just logged and the report he still needed to finish. He didn’t notice the silence at first. Not until he looked up and saw her sitting on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, a set of keys on the table in front of her.

The air felt... off.

He froze.

Then it hit him. His eyes snapped to the keys. “Oh, shit.”

The fucking dealership. She wanted my help picking out a new car after hers finally broke down. The same car she’d had since she turned 16. She had told me letting go of this car was emotional for her, and she wanted my help at the dealership because she knew people got taken advantage of if they didn’t know what they were doing, especially young women. And rather than being there for her I was stalking Jesus Aries, my latest victim. 

She glanced over at him, her expression unreadable—but her silence was enough of an answer.

“The dealership,” he groaned, dropping his gloves and stepping closer. 

“I waited,” she said sadly.

He ran a hand through his hair, the guilt immediate and brutal. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I got caught up at work, and then I completely spaced it. I should’ve set a reminder or—something. You deserved to have me there.”

She nodded, but her lips were pressed tight. “It’s not that you had to be there. I just wanted you to be. It was kind of a big deal for me—buying a car on my own. I thought it’d be nice to share it with you. Even if it’s just a car,”

Dexter flinched inwardly. That one cut deeper than his sharpest knife could.

Disappointing her makes me feel like the scum of the earth. 

He stepped closer. “I am sorry sorry, how can I make it up to you?”

She gave a soft sigh, staring down at the keys. “It’s okay, it happens. I didn’t really find anything that I connected with anyways.”

“How about we go tomorrow after work?” he said quietly. “And for now I know how to make you forgive me.”

She raised an eyebrow skeptically, folding her arms tighter. “How exactly do you plan to do that?”

He bent down slowly in front of her, resting his hands gently on her thighs and looking up into her eyes. “I will kiss every inch of you until you forgive me.”

Her brows shot up, but the tiniest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Is that so?”

“Every. Single. Inch,” he said, eyes dark and sincere. “I will start at your ankles. Work my way up. Take all night, if that’s what it takes.”

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh, still wanting to be mad—but he could see her walls cracking.

He smiled, moving his hands up her thighs slowly. “Let me worship you back into a good mood.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but she was already blushing.

“Ridiculously sorry,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Then her jaw. “And ridiculously excited for the idea of seeing you behind the wheel of something fast and shiny.”

She couldn’t help it—she laughed, and he kissed her mouth then, slow and soft, brushing his thumb along her cheek.

“I’ll help you name it,” he said between kisses. “And buy the floor mats. And the little air freshener.”

“Are you bribing me with auto accessories?”

“Is it working?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into another kiss, longer this time, deeper. “A little.”

“Good,” he murmured against her lips. “Because I’ve got about a hundred more ways to apologize. But if I get to do it like this, I almost hope I screw up again.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, hands already sliding under the hem of her shirt.

She laughed softly. “I can’t believe I was mad at you five minutes ago.”

He grinned and lifted her easily into his arms. “I can. But I’ll spend the rest of the night making sure you never are again.”

“Hey hey hey,” he instructs, “there is nothing more in this world that I want more than to make you feel good.”

“Dexter-”

“Can I do that? Can I make you feel good? Hmm?” he asks softly, his brown eyes looking up at her from his spot. 

She nods and he smiles. 

“Lay back,” he commands firmly as he slips her shorts and underwear off in one pull, throwing them behind him.

His hands slid beneath her thighs, anchoring her to the rug as he explored her with his mouth, every movement measured and intentional. She gasped, one hand gripping the fabric beneath her, the other finding his shoulder. Her back arched, thighs trembling, her entire world narrowing to the firelight and the man between her legs.

“Oh my god,” she whimpers 

Her entire body seizing and clenching around nothing as he sucked on her clit harshly. Unsure what to do with her body she sits up, squirming against him. He chuckles and looks up at her before reaching and large hand to her stomach and pinning her down. 

“Dexter,” she calls out desperately.

He flattens his tongue against her swollen bud and pulls back to see her resting her head against the floor, her chest heaving as her pale skin turns slightly red. She was so beautiful the way her eyes were squeezed shut. He dives back in and sucks on her and she struggles against his strong hold as she spasms and clenches. Her entire body was hot as his relentless attack on her pushed her farther than she’d ever been. She knew this was it, any moment now, and god did she want it. Tears fill her eyes as she is overwhelmed with pleasure and desperation to finish. 

“Let go for me baby,” he says, feeling how close she was.

“I can’t- I can’t-” she cries 

“Yes you can,” he says 

“Oh my god!” she gasps sharply

She came apart in his hands, breathless and shaking, a sob slipping from her throat as she let go, the intensity of it cracking her open. She blinked through the haze, eyes meeting his as he rose, his mouth swollen, his eyes dark with something that felt like awe.

He leaned over her again, pressing a kiss to her leg, stomach, collarbone, her throat, then her mouth—slow this time. Deep. Savoring.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him fully down to her. Their bodies aligned, molded, skin against skin. She could feel the thunder of his heart against her chest, could see the flicker of restraint in his eyes as he hovered over her.

“You’re pretty good at apologies,” she smiles.

“Can’t say it’s entirely selfless,” he mumbles against her skin

“What do you mean?” she frowns 

“I love this type of apology, probably just as much as you,”

He watches as her face flushes red again and she giggles. 

“Bullshit,” 

“That eager for more apologies are we?” he asks dropping back to his knees. “I’ll prove it to you over and over and over until you beg me to stop,”

series masterlist

[ponyosmom35]

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.

[ponyosmom35]

Hero?

Light Superman x fem oc series

Synopsis: Serena and Clark watch the fallout of Lex Luthor's attack, and find out what the public thinks of them.

The morning was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled in only after chaos—like the world was holding its breath to see if the storm would come back.

Sunlight bled across the floorboards, warm and golden, painting long streaks over the walls of the fortress of solitude. The desk—newly rebuilt after Lex's attack Serena sat cross-legged on the counter in one of Clark’s flannel shirts and shorts, her damp hair braided loosely over her shoulder. She looked almost peaceful.

Until the Superbot walked in.

“Good morning,” it chirped, “there has been a 74% spike in online activity mentioning your name. You are currently trending on twelve major platforms and have been featured on six news broadcasts in the last hour. Shall I compile a digest?”

Serena froze.

Clark didn’t look up from his place by the kitchen counter. “Nope. Shut it down. We're not doing this today.”

Serena's voice was soft, uncertain. “Wait.”

Clark glanced over his shoulder.

“I want to see it,” she said. Her fingers curled around the hem of her shirt, tugging it nervously. “I want to know what they’re saying.”

“You sure?” His eyes softened, but his jaw was tight. Protective. Always protective. “It doesn't matter, Serena. People talk. They always will.”

She nodded. “I need to hear it.”

He sighed, long and slow, the kind of sigh that said this is going to hurt, but he crossed the room anyway. He brushed a kiss to her temple and guided her gently to the chair at the desk.

“Alright,” he murmured. “But I’m staying right here.”

He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, grounding her as the Superbot projected the news broadcast into the air above the desk. The light flickered, and then the world was talking.

A news anchor’s voice cut in—smooth, dramatic, reverent. “Today marks one week since Metropolis came face to face with destruction, and one name has risen again as a symbol of hope…”

The screen showed footage of Superman holding up a collapsing bridge, his eyes blazing, debris raining down as he kept the structure from crushing a pileup of trapped cars.

A woman’s voice came next, recorded live from the scene. “I was gonna die. I was in the car. The building was coming down and then—he was just there. Like some kind of angel. He held it up—for me. For all of us.”

Another clip played—citizens in the streets, tear-streaked faces turned skyward, watching as the rift tore open the sky and threatened to consume everything. Screams. And then, Superman streaking through the clouds like a burning comet, disappearing into the rift.

Another voice, young and trembling: “I thought that was it. The end. But he went in. He went in. I watched it close and I thought—he didn’t make it. But then... he came back.”

Serena felt Clark shift behind her, heard the way he exhaled through his nose—quiet, resigned. He didn’t want this. The praise. The spotlight. He didn’t think he deserved it.

But she knew better.

The anchor spoke again. “Superman was not alone. Hawkgirl and Green Lantern joined the fight, while a reclusive tech genius known only as ‘Mr. Terrific’ neutralized the rift’s hold on the city. For the first time in decades, heroes worked in unison to prevent all-out annihilation.”

Serena watched the footage roll—Green Lantern shielding civilians, Hawkgirl flying into the eye of the storm, her mace crackling with electricity. Then came Mr. Terrific, standing among reassembling buildings as machines reconstructed the fractured skyline.

And then—

“An unknown figure was also spotted on the ground,” the anchor continued. “She has not been identified.”

Serena’s breath caught.

The image cut to a grainy video from a smartphone—shaky, zoomed in, but clear enough. A woman, her body engulfed in roaring flames, knelt in the middle of a collapsed intersection. But the flames weren’t spreading—they were pulling inward, like a vacuum. The fire bent toward her as if obeying her. Her face was obscured behind a glowing mask of light and ash, but her movements were calm. Purposeful.

She reached into a crushed vehicle, tore the door off its hinges, and helped pull a crying child from the wreckage. The child clung to her. Serena’s glowing hand hovered protectively over the family as she led them to safety.

And in the next clip she in the middle of an intersection, waving people forward, directing the injured, guiding civilians toward evacuation routes. She never spoke in the videos. But she was everywhere.

Serena stared at the screen, unmoving.

“I didn’t think they’d film me,” she whispered.

“They film everything,” Clark said softly.

She was quiet for a long time. Watching herself—this ghost version of her, all flame and instinct and power—do the one thing she thought she’d never be trusted to do.

Help.

“I thought they’d be scared of me.”

“How could they be scared of someone risking their lives for their own,” He leaned down, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Right now, you’re just a mystery who saved lives.”

She reached up and rested her hand over his on her shoulder, fingers laced with his. The light from the projection flickered gently across her face. Serena stared at the projection long after it ended. The footage faded to black, but its weight lingered in the air between them like smoke. Her hand slipped from his, curling into her lap. The light in her eyes dimmed.

“I’m not a hero,” she whispered.

Clark stilled behind her.

“I’ve done… so many terrible things, Clark,” she said. Her voice was barely audible, but each word landed like a confession. “I’ve killed. I’ve destroyed. I’ve burned things I can’t take back. You saw it. You know. I’m not like you. I’m not like them. I’m not—”

“Serena.” His voice cut through her spiral, firm but full of love.

She tried to stand, but he gently pushed her back into the chair and moved in front of her, crouching until his eyes met hers, clear and steady.

“Look at that screen,” he said, gesturing toward the still frame of her ushering a family to safety. “Look at it. You saved them. That family—those people—would’ve died. And you didn’t run. You didn’t hide. You went toward the fire.”

She looked away, ashamed. “Because I thought maybe if I died helping someone, it would make up for—”

“No,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You did it to save them. That instinct? That choice? That’s what makes you a hero. No one made you go out there. You chose to help.”

“I am so proud of you, Serena.”

Something in her cracked. Her chest trembled like it couldn’t contain the storm rising in her. But before she could speak, Clark grinned and stood. In one smooth motion, he scooped her up into his arms and spun her.

“Clark!” she shrieked, laughing despite herself as her feet left the ground.

“Yes! There it is!” he beamed. “That smile—I missed that smile.”

Her laughter came in soft, surprised bursts, and when he set her down, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright.

“Maybe you're right,” she said.

Clark framed her face with his hands, his thumbs brushing the corners of her smile.

“I knew it, from the moment I met you I knew that you would become more,” he said. “You are light, Serena. You are such a gift. To me. To the world.”

She leaned into him, forehead pressed against his, her arms circling his waist.

“I was so scared people would see me as a monster,” she murmured.

“They still don’t know your name,” he said softly. “But even if they did, they'd be thanking you. Just like I am.”

Her voice was fragile, hopeful. “You think one day I could really…be someone good?”

“You already are,” he said. “You just have to let yourself feel it.”

She exhaled, shaky but smiling. And for the first time in years, she let herself believe it.

Maybe she wasn’t the fire that destroyed everything. Maybe—just maybe—she was the light that came after. Just as Clark had said that day. Light.

Serena looked up at him, breath catching in her throat. The way he was looking at her—it made something ache in her chest. Clark’s hands were still on her face, warm and steady, like they’d never let her fall again. She leaned in first.

Her lips brushed his softly, like a question. Like a thank-you. Like a quiet I’m still here. Clark didn’t hesitate. He kissed her back with reverence, with all the care in the world. One hand slid into her hair, the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him like he couldn’t bear another inch of space between them.

She melted into him. The world outside—the news, the fear, the fire—they all slipped away. There was only his mouth on hers, his breath mingling with hers, the quiet hum of something long-denied now set free.

His lips moved slow at first. But when she pressed closer, fingers clutching at the back of his shirt, something in him broke open. The kiss deepened, need pouring through it—soft gasps, teeth grazing, her nails dragging lightly across the back of his neck as his tongue brushed hers in a slow, aching rhythm.

She whimpered against his mouth, and that sound undid him.

Clark backed her toward the desk with careful urgency, never breaking the kiss. Her hips bumped the edge, and he lifted her effortlessly onto it, standing between her legs. She hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer as their lips met again, and again, and again.

"Superman there has been reports of a shooting in progress at Gilmore Bank," one of the bots says, his metalic voice cutting through the heat and tension.

"Of course," Clark murmured as he rests his head against hers.

"Go, they need you," She smiles

"I will be back before you know It,"

"I know Superman, now go I'll be waiting," she says

Clark surges forward and kisses her again. He pulls back and kisses her temple before hurrying out of the room, he makes it two steps out of the door before rushing back and appearing in front of her in a flash of blue and red.

"I love you," he says

"Clark! I love you too now go!" she giggles

He places a chaste kiss on her lips and runs out of the door, leaving Serena with a blush on her face.

series masterlist

[ponyosmom35]

love isn't earned, it's given. ( johnny storm )

where johnny storm also has bad days and needs your comfort even when he doesn't know how to ask for it. cue comfort bath time as you wash away his worries and his bloody hair and remind him of all the reasons he's deserving of love especially when he can't find it in him to believe it.

human torch! johnny storm x fem! reader

themes: fluff, minor angst to comfort, mentions of insecurities- not feeling good enough etc. johnny needing a fat hug after a long day of being a superhero, lots of reassurance/ affirmations at bath time, nothing sexual just like cutely intimate.

masterlist. (queued!)

"you should go, i'm uh, i'm not much fun tonight, doll," the voice rumbles, almost with defeat like it's taken him the last of his energy to speak so much that he doesn't even look up from you from his position.

he's still in his fight suit, the white and blue branded onto his skin and you press your lips in a fine line, his gaze lowered into his lap somberly but he'd recognise the sound of your footsteps and heartbeat anywhere. a small groan leaves his lips as he drops his head into his hands, hoping to burden off some of this torturous weight but its only when you've abandoned your spot from the bedroom door and stand between his legs, fingers combing through the tangled and bloody knots of his usual blonde hair does he finally let himself fall.

though he just hates to do it at the cost of you checking in his baggage.

you pull your fingers back, wincing at the stickiness and red liquid still fresh, "you're not hurt are you?" you whisper as his head buries into your stomach.

"not mine," he mumbles, exhaustion and something dangerously close to sadness laced in his usual light-hearted voice, like the weight of tonight has dragged him down a few octaves. you nod, taking that as answer enough and wrap your arms around his neck as you tower over him.

it doesn't come immediately, but when it does it splits open your heart into two; bleeding from the edges of all the chambers you've allocated to loving johnny storm. it's ironic at how the heat, amplified by his heavy emotions tonight, freezes your blood cold at the sound of his soft cries.

its a sniffle, then a choke like he's trying to swallow up the sadness that's consuming him whole and you stroke his hair so tenderly that he breaks down completely. it's messy, heart-wrenching the way he whimpers out "i could've done more," and you don't silence him. you let him get out all the words that are weighing in on his chest/ he needs this guttural relief. and so you just bend your back and twist your form so you're crouched at his level as he reaches for you in a bone-crushing hug, baring all his weight onto you that you almost send the two of you flying back for a second.

his arms are wrapped so tightly around your back, his face pressed into your neck, the tears raw and fresh as they stick to your skin and you hold him for what feels like forever; and you'd do it for however long as he needs. he holds you with such force that he's sure the grip will mould back all the broken pieces and keep him whole again.

"johnny, my beautiful boy," you whisper into his hair, "let's get you cleaned up," your brows lift in reassurance and he just shakes his head, clings to you further.

"i just need a minute more," he chokes and you hum softly, stroking the hairs at the back of his neck and drumming a soft beat on his back; you're trying to match his pulse, regulate his breathing and give him something other than the overwhelming emotions to focus on. and it works you think, his eyes are still tightly shut but his breath becomes softer albeit a little ragged for wear and tear, but comes a lot more frequent enough for you to shed a layer of concern.

he pulls back makes an effort to stand that you match and presses his forehead to yours, swallowing the salt that has made home on his lips from all tears formed- from all the blood he's spilt tonight. "i'll uh, get cleaned up and then i'll take the couch," his voice small and gruff, like he isn't sure what to do with himself after reaching the most vulnerable he's ever felt but he's sure he doesn't want his negative energy to ruin the sacred ambiance of your bedroom; of the love you've built and shared here.

"what?" and the laughter that leaves your lips is not cruel, just a confused breathless slip.

"you've done enough, seriously baby, i can't- i love you so much, i don't want to bring this version of me to bed tonight, i'll take the couch, i uh-" and you press your lips to his, melting into his embrace as he returns the kiss easily. his hands find themselves at home on your waist as your own cups his jaw, directing him into you and it distracts him, puts his mind to ease and rest and when you pull apart you shake your head softly.

"johnny baby," and he murmurs at the sound of it, "we're going to get you cleaned up, and when we're finished if you still want to take the couch then i'm coming with, though i would just prefer if we slept in our bed," and you press your fingers to his lips, silencing him when he tries to argue his way out again.

"baby, i'm not me tonight," he breathes out, "and i don't want to you to see this side of me, i just can't- this johnny isn't deserving of you," and you freeze, silent fury buzzing off of you- not at johnny, but at the world for making him feel so inferior and less than the marvel he is.

"i'm going to stop you there hotstuff," and its all seriousness in the tone you lay on him, "if you want space, i will give you that- but if you're running away from me- from us? johnny storm i think that's ridiculous," you scoff, and he shys away the sound of his full name- he'd much rather prefer you call him hotstuff again, "you're deserving of love johnny- love isn't earned, it's given. you don't need to perform or be a certain way to receive it and johnny storm you are perfect my love- every single version of you and i'm honoured to love you, to share this home with you- and that doesn't stop because of a bad day," you breathe, "i'm here baby, whatevers weighing you down you can put it all on me, i might not be out there on the battlefield but i'm here my love, we're a team and we do this together,"

another cry leaves his lips, quieter than the ones from earlier but the tears still land the same, the rip and roar in his mind still feels the same and he lets himself break in your arms again, and deeper. you soothe him, whisper affirmations and love into his skin and when the cries die down, he lets you lead him to the bathroom.

it's dark and he uses whatever little energy he can muster to light up the room, and you look over in concern. the water runs in the bath and as you work your way around him, he sits slumped on the edge of it.

"johnny baby come on," you whisper and help wrestle him out of his costume- it clings to him in sweat, blood and tears and right now, once it lands at his feet and he stands bare and bruised, it feels like a relief- like the shackles have been freed from his wrists and heart. johnny is no stranger to responsibility but tonight? it caged him as a prisoner and you've slowly given him the key to escape.

"you know, it usually goes a lot different than this," he tries to joke as you press a kiss to his bare chest and then help him get into the warm tub. the water relaxes him instantly, soaking around his muscles, loosening the tension as you start to help him scrub down.

"well usually, you don't smell do bad," you tease and a light laugh, slightly strained escapes from his lungs and dances in the peaceful night air. he murmurs in agreement, taking the washcloth from you and reaching the spots you can't whilst he feels your fingers in his hair.

the rich smell of coconut lingers as you massage it gently into his strands, tugging at the locks that present the most tension, drifting it through your fingers and rinsing clear; satisfied when the dirty brown and faded red shines transparent. from his hair to the back of his nape you begin to slowly massage; lessing the burdens embedded in his skin, the dimples in his back and ridges of his muscular form.

he groans, sighs in relief and delight as you work your way around him. you pause for a moment, getting up to drain the dirty contents of the bath, supply fresh water and clear up the clutter of toiletries blocking the way when he catches your wrist, bringing it the side of his face to where you cup his cheek and he presses a small kiss to your palm.

"join me, please?" he asks, his vulnerability so tender and heartwrenching that you obey, undressing and climbing in. he makes space for you to sit between his legs, your cool back refreshing against his burning chest and you lean into his hold. his arms wrap around your middle as the soapy suds begin to attach themselves to your bare skin.

"i'm not hurting you, am i?" you ask

"no, doll," he drawls into your skin as he plants a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

"no seriously johnny, you'll tell me if its hurting right?"

"of course i will honey, but i think that's your super power huh- you just know when things are wrong," he bites his lip down. its quiet as you sit there in his hold, the soft slushing of water around you as you listen for his hearbeat, it slows lightly an you take it as an inclination that he's tired, exhaustion taking over. you're about to ask if he's ready to call it a night when you feel his soft whisper tickle at your skin, his words a carress to your heart.

"i'm glad you're safe," it comes, and when you turn to face him he decides to elaborate even more quieter, "there was just too much carnage tonight, i couldn't get to people in time and-" he gasps slowly, as if a painful memory shoots to the surface and he winces, "i just felt so useless like what good is my power if i can't use it enough?" and his voice cracks in ways you don't think you can mend.

"baby," you breathe, "you do more good than almost anyone could ever, you make the world a better place, you fight johnny," a dramatic shift in the air, "even when the fights not yours, when it seems youre outmatched and you feel like you've got nothing left to give, but you still do it- it's not about power johnny- it's about heart and yours is special," he soaks up your words like theyre liquified gold, hoping to burn the assurance into his existence, brand them into a memory to remind him of his worth, "you give hope baby, you're smart, you're funny, you have the best of days and the worst and i love you all the more, but you can't win them all."

"but i can try," he stretches out, the strain tugging his voice down.

"you can baby, all you want, but some things are bigger than the both of us and if you give all yourself to it then you won't come out alive- you won't come home and- i can't let you do that."

"i'll always try to make it home to you, doll." he swears and you know its true more than anything, you trust and believe it with all your soul.

"johnny?" you murmur, "you ready for bed, sweetheart?" and he nods, "please," you give him the sign to stay and wait for you as you get out first, wrapping yourself in a towel before holding out his own for him to step into. you dry, change into some of his clothes and let him waddle you to bed, his tall frame wrapped around like yours in a koala like form. he sleeps on your side tonight, the smell of you lulling him to a good night of rest and he must be absolutely shattered because he doesn't hear the knock that lands at your door at some point or the gentle pull of your limbs as you detach yourself from his spooning to respond.

the floor is cool beneath your bare feet as you stretch the door back a few milimetres and the familiar pair of ocean blue eyes you've known and loved meets your gaze.

"hi," sue speaks quietly and you send her a warm smile, "i know it's late, sorry but i just wanted to check in," she bites her lip, "he had a rough night- we all did but, johnny takes things a little differently, i suppose he's used to being the funny, carefree guy that he forgets he's human too," she leans against the doorframe. you open it wider, giving her a full view of her younger brother who sleeps soundly buried and bundled all the sheets of your bed and she smiles.

"he'll be okay," you reassure, "he's human afterall," you tease and she chuckles lightly. johnny storm who thinks he can save the whole world and burn for it without so much of a thought, he's special.

"he has you," she places a hand on your shoulder in comfort before wrapping you in a hug, "thank you," and for the third time this night, a storm sibling has trusted you enough to let their tears free fall in your orbit. you rub her back gently, just as you did for her brother previously before pulling away.

"he mentioned you earlier, i think he thought we were too far deep and he was so scared- he said to make sure that you knew how much he loved you and-" her voice cuts off as the emotion catches up with her, "i'm sorry," she grows quieter, "it's late, i should leave you-"

"sue," your voice lands firm, "thank you for taking care of him out there and bringing him home, it means more than you could ever know," and she melts at the sincerity.

"always," she promises, presses a kiss to your cheek goodnight and heads back in the direction of her room. you linger for a moment, the thought of johnny so alone and scared worrying you and then you don' thave much time to think about it, because he's murming your name softly, reaching out across the sheets to feel for you and you're there in an instant.

"i'm here baby," you press a kiss to his forehead and he buries his head into your chest as you help hold him together. his soft snores fill the air as you lie awake, toying with hair hair as his breaths stick to your skin.

always.

riya saying hi: hellloooooo johnny angst to comfort let me hear you say hell yeah ‼️‼️‼️ finally saw the movie and joseph quinn brought him to life so incredibly well like he's not comedic relief- he's funny but he's smart, he offers to sacrifice himself, he's loyal, he's the fucking world and he deserves to know it !!! this has been queued so idk if anyone will like this as much as ive had fun writing it- let me know what you think! my notifs can get insanely crazy but i do stalk through them and i love hearing you have to say. take care! and see you soon! sending my love! 💘💘💘

[ponyosmom35]

Intimacy

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series

Synopsis: After many long months reader and simon finally become intimate again.

warnings: smut, P in v, fingering, cursing, riding

She stood in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for her favorite mug. She was still in her pajamas—a loose tank top and shorts—and the morning light made the fabric seem even thinner. Simon, sitting at the table with his coffee, couldn't help but glance up as she stretched to reach the top shelf, exposing skin at her waist.

"Need help?" he asked, his voice low and steady, though his eyes lingered. Warmth spreads in his chest as he watches her, admiring how breathtakingly beautiful she was.

She shook her head, oblivious to his attention. "Nope, I've got it. Just misplaced it… Aha!" She pulled the mug down triumphantly and turned toward him, flashing a bright smile.

Simon took another sip of his coffee, smirking. "You look awfully proud of yourself."

"And you should be too, I know you like to hide things on the shelves so you can get them down for me," she said, pouring herself some coffee.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "really?"

She walked over to the table and sat across from him, cupping the mug in her hands. "Not everyone can be 8 feet tall."

"8 feet, huh?" he replied, setting his mug down.

"8 feet of pure muscle and attitude"

"That what you think of me?"

She tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Well, you're not exactly a ray of sunshine, Simon."

His eyes narrowed slightly, though there was a glint of mischief in them. "Careful."

"What? Gonna prove me wrong?" she teased, leaning forward on her elbows.

Simon leaned back in his chair, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting hers again. "You're poking the bear."

She grinned, clearly enjoying herself. "Maybe the bear needs poking every now and then. Keeps things interesting."

He tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he stood and slowly made his way around the table toward her. "Oh, you think so?"

Her eyes followed him, her heart skipping a beat as he closed the distance between them. He stopped in front of her, trapping her body against the countertop as he caged her with his arms on either side of her. He leaned down until his face was level with hers. His voice dropped to a low rumble. "You're brave this morning,"

Her breath hitched as his proximity sent a wave of heat through her. "And you're a lot cockier than usual."

Simon's lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes locked on hers. "Cocky, am I?"

She nodded, though her voice wavered slightly. "Mm-hmm."

Without breaking eye contact, he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her skin, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "You talk a big game, but you're blushing love."

Her cheeks burned as she tried to think of a retort, but the words caught in her throat. His closeness, his scent, the low rasp of his voice—it was all too much. He lifts her onto the counter effortlessly and holds her waist as she wraps her arms around his neck. As they stare into each other's eyes, a shared look that they hadn't seen since before Simon left all those months ago. An understanding that things had shifted, that they were both ready to be intimate after so long.

Simon's hand comes up to her cheek and strokes the skin gently, he dips his head down to meet hers and kisses her softly. Every part of him consumed her being. His lips were so soft, so gentle against her own. His rough hand moves up to the other side of her face. Kissing her slowly, with all the love he had.

She felt her breath catch as he moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup the side of her face. His thumb gently traced the line of her jaw, his touch so soft it was almost painful. It was the kind of touch that made her feel like she was the only person in the world, the only thing that mattered.

The tension in the air was unbearable now, every breath she took felt heavy with anticipation. Simon's face was inches from hers, his eyes flickering down to her lips as his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.

"god you're so beautiful" he says inching closer to her

She gulps as his body is mere inches from her own. His large hand touches her forearm, trailing all the way up to her cheek. He lifts her face, forcing her to look at him. "so are you" she nearly whispers

Without thinking, she closed the distance between them again, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, filled with everything she hadn't been able to say. Simon responded just as slowly, his hand moving to the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss, his lips firm yet gentle against hers.

Simon kisses her, their lips fitting together like puzzle pieces. His other hand finds her waist as he pulls her against him. She gasps in shock and responds with everything had. He pulls back looking down at her as a smile falls over his lips. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into another kiss, she couldn't get enough. She never wanted this to end.

"If this isn't what you want-" Simon starts "Just say the word"

"I want you" she whispers

Simon lifts her once again and she wraps her legs around his waist as he carries her to the bedroom. He kicks the door open and sits on the bed, holding her in his lap still. She readjusts to straddle him and sits on her knees, bringing her hands into his thick blonde hair and kissing him sensually, pressing herself against him. He grunts in approval and slips his hands under her skimpy shirt, feeling the bare flesh under his fingers. Her hands slowly move down to his shoulders as she pulls back to catch her breath, Simon moves her hair behind her shoulders and begins kissing her neck, holding the back of her head in place. She gasps and holds onto his forearms for support.

Simon continues his ministrations for several moments before she grows antsy and drags her hands down his waist and slips her hands under his hoodie, he pulls back and lets her help him slip off the warm fabric, tossing it on the ground carelessly. He grips her shirt and helps her take it off, his breath leaving him as he admires her, he is unable to stop himself from gripping one of her boobs in one hand, his mouth connecting with the other. She whimpers at the contact and grinds against him slowly.

"I don't know how I was able to survive this long without having you like this" he murmurs "missed you so much"

"I missed you too" she rasps, continuing to move against him.

"You keep that up an I'll cum in my pants" he grumbles

"Then give me more" she demands innocently

Simon flips her onto her back effortlessly, watching as her tits bounce at the sudden movement. He crawls on top of her, holding his weight as he strokes her face with his other hand. She connects their lips once more and reaches for his pants, trying to push them off with one hand. He grabs her hand and kisses it. He slips her shorts off of her throwing them over his shoulder, leaving her completely nude. The sight makes his breath hitch, he was overwhelmed with love as he stares at her needy eyes.

"Whats wrong?" she asks

"I love you so much," he says

"I love you too" she murmurs, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair.

He stands up and slips off his pants quickly, revealing his massive mouthwatering body. She gaps at him and sits up, she goes to reach for his hardened dick once more when he stops her again.

"Si" she whines

"Come here princess" he says sitting on the bed, putting his back against the headboard. She crawls over to him and he pulls her between his legs, her back pressed against his solid chest. He holds her against his chest, trapping her there as his hand moves down her body and to her throbbing clit, he runs his finger up and down her dripping core, causing her to shutter. He moves back to her clit and presses down, applying a bit of pressure as he slowly strokes her. She instantly tenses against him and whimpers quietly.

"I've got you baby," he promises

He applies more pressure and speeds up as he adds another finger, moving in a figure 8. She clutches onto his arm as she moans in his ear, she squirms against him but he is able to keep her in place as he increases his speed again.

"Fuck si!" she moans breathlessly

"Does that feel good lovie?" he asks

She is unable to answer him as he switched his figure 8s to straight rubbing her clit. After a few moments his fingers stop and she snaps her eyes open, catching her breath.

"I said does that feel good?" he asks lowly in her ear

"Yes" she says

"Good girl, you use your words when I ask you a question" he cooes as he picks back up with his intense rubbing, he slips a finger into her aching hole, grunting at the soft feeling of her gummy walls constricting around him. He pumps in and out focusing intensely on how her body reacted, clenching around him. He knew she was getting close. He adds a second finger and continues, creating a sissoring motion.

She couldn't think, all of her thoughts were him, he was everything, he was everywhere. His scent, his voice, his touch. Her body tensed as her stomach clenched over and over again. She tried to push up against his strong grip but he kept her still with his grip over her. She thrashes around clawing at him, she could feel that familiar band tightening within her. Her moans grow high pitched as her hips buck.

"Si!" she pleads as tears fill her eyes

"I've got you baby, let go for me,"

She moaned again, digging her nails into his arm as she felt like she'd explode at any second. Her strangled moans are cut off but the band within her finally snaps and her vision flashes white, she falls limp against him and leans her head against his chest as he kisses her head, rocking her gently in his hold.

"How do you feel my love?" he asks

"Increible" she whispers, enjoying the feeling of laying in his arms as he kisses her neck.

She pulls back and turns to face him, she sits on top of him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she kisses him hungrily. He holds her close, squishing her against his chest, his other hand coming up to her hair.

"I want you Si, I can't wait anymore I wanna be close to you" she whispers

"You're sure?"

"Positive" she confirms

Simon reaches down to his throbbing dick, he strokes himself twice before meeting her eyes, she lifts herself slightly and moves over him, inching herself on his shoulders. He helps her slip just the tip inside of her, and the feeling causes them both to inhale sharply. Simon grits his teeth and moves his hands to her hips, looking down at where their bodies connected. He looks up at her, noticing her eyes squeezed shut as she breathes heavily at the stretch.

"Baby-"

"It's okay, it's just a lot - been too long" she whispers

"Love we don't have to-"

"I can take it just give me a minute" she murmurs

She sinks down a bit lower, her entire body tensing at the stretch. He could tell she wasn't feeling as good as he was and the thought killed him. He reaches down to her clit and rubs it softly, causing her to whine as she forgets the stretch.

"Take your time love" he instructs

Pushing a bit more she buries her head into one of his shoulders, her heavy breaths loud in his ear, causing him to continue rubbing her gently.

"That feels good" she says softly

After several minutes of stretching, she sits fully down on him, her thighs flush against his. The feeling was enough to make him finish then and there. Neither of them has been with another person since they were last together. It was like the first time all over again.

"You okay?" he asks

"Perfect" she says lifting herself up

She takes it slow, moving up and down him painfully slowly, driving simon crazy. He holds onto her hips, helping her move up and down as she begins to increase her speed.

"Fuck" he grunts "You feel so good"

Her heavy breathes turn into small moans as she rocks against him. He pulls her closer and wraps his arms around her middle as he buries his head in her neck, inhaling the vanilla scent of her lotion. It was like heaven. She clings onto him, whimpering in his ear as he begins to thrust up into her as well.

"Si" she moans

"I got you baby, just hold on"

She begins to twitch against him as she clenches her pussy against him. He groans in her ear and reaches down to her clit, rubbing it gently to get her closer. He knew he couldn't last much longer. He kisses her cheek and her neck and her collarbone, anywhere he could as her moans get higher pitched.

"Please Si please please" she begs

"I know lovie, you can let go"

Tears well up in her eyes from the overwhelming amount of pleasure and love and she gasps loudly as she climbs higher to her orgasm. Her moans turn into sharp high-pitched gasps as he takes over completely, he thrusts up into her over and over. She was so close she couldn't even speak. Leaning against his shoulder she finally finishes, her orgasm causing her to clench around him tightly, bringing him to his own ending. She falls limp in his arms as they both catch their breaths. Remaining in the intimate position as Simon rubs her hot sweaty skin, his fingers trace her spine and keep her pressed against him.

After several moments he pulls back to look at her, he grabs her face in his hand gently, he pushes the hair out of her face and meets her teary eyes. He wipes her tears gently.

"Why are you crying my love?" he asks softly

"Because I love you"

"I love you more than anything, you're my whole heart," he smiles as he kisses her gently.

She goes to move off of him however Simon holds her close and moves a hand to her hair, "stay here a while, I'm not ready to let you go yet"

"Okay" she whispers

Silence falls between them as they clitch onto one another in the wake of their shared intimacy. It had taken a lot of pain and grief for them to get to this point. Now they were here wrapped in each other with no plans of moving any time soon. Exactly where they were meant to be.

series masterlist

[ponyosmom35]

I feel like I can breathe again

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series

Simon hadn't expected to come home to find her outside, alone. But when he stepped onto the back porch and saw her sitting there, her face hidden in her hands, he knew something was wrong. Her shoulders shook with the softest of sobs, and the moment she heard the door open, she quickly wiped her eyes, trying to pull herself together. But Simon had already seen it.

He sighed deeply and walked over to her, crouching down behind her on the steps. His presence was gentle, though he knew he was about to do something that might be hard for her. "Love," he murmured softly, "you don't have to hide it from me."

She stilled, her shoulders tense, before she slowly turned to look at him, her face flushed with the effort to keep it together. But her eyes told him everything—he didn't need to ask.

Without a word, Simon slid down next to her on the steps, his hand gently finding hers, pulling her into him. He didn't ask her to explain, just wrapped his arm around her, offering her the comfort of his presence.

It was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his voice low, as if he was carefully choosing his words. "You know, Johnny would've found a way to make you laugh right now." He smiled softly, remembering one of Johnny's endless quirks. "Remember that time he tried to teach me how to make a perfect omelet? I swear, he burned half the eggs before he even got them in the pan. And then he just laughed it off and told me it was 'a work in progress.'"

Her lips twitched, and despite herself, a soft chuckle bubbled up from her chest. She wiped her eyes, still holding back the tears, but she couldn't stop the smile that crept across her face.

"I can still see him, laughing at his own disaster," Simon continued, his voice thick with emotion. "He was the only guy who could screw something up and still make you feel like it was the best thing ever."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she sniffled, shaking her head. "I really miss him," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Simon nodded, feeling the lump in his own throat. His eyes burned with tears he hadn't allowed himself to shed, but now, as she cried, he felt the weight of his own grief pressing down on him. He couldn't keep pretending he wasn't hurting too.

"I miss him too," Simon said quietly, the words raw as he let the tears come. He squeezed her hand tightly, leaning into her. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you like I promised. I was so caught up in my own pain that I couldn't see how much this was affecting you. You've been holding it all in, and I didn't see it. I didn't see how much you were hurting."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she leaned into him, letting herself feel the release she'd been holding back for so long. "I just—" She struggled for the right words, feeling the tightness in her chest. "I just don't know how to be okay. I don't know how to move forward when everything feels wrong."

Simon nodded slowly, taking a shaky breath. "I know. I feel the same way. I've been so angry, and I kept pushing it down. But it's not going away. And I know it's not helping you either."

She sniffled, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked up at him. "I feel like I'm losing myself. I just—I'm not the same anymore. I can't pretend like I am."

"I see that," Simon said softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "But you don't have to be okay all the time, love. You don't have to pretend. You're allowed to feel everything. You're allowed to grieve, just like I am."

The weight of his words settled between them, and for a moment, the world outside felt distant, as though it had faded away. She took a deep breath, the heaviness of her emotions spilling out in a raw sob.

"I miss him so much," she cried, her voice shaking. "I don't think I ever got to thank him. He was always there for me. He was my friend, and I didn't even get to say goodbye properly."

Simon's heart ached for her, but he nodded in understanding. "I know how much you appreciated him. And he knew it. He knew you cared. You don't have to worry about that."

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "There's more," she admitted quietly, her voice trembling. "I… I miss Emma too. And the life we were supposed to have. Before all of this. Before everything went to hell. I was so excited for that life with you, and now… now I feel like I'm stuck in this never-ending cycle of grief. And every time I try to smile or laugh or be happy, it feels like I'm betraying them. I feel like I don't deserve to feel good, because they're not here to share it with me."

The words came pouring out, a rush of emotions that she hadn't let herself express in months. She buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back the tears. "I just want to go back to before. Before everything changed."

Simon's arms tightened around her as he held her close. He didn't know what to say, but he didn't need to. He just held her while she sobbed, letting the pain flow out of her. For nearly an hour, they sat there, letting the grief wash over them together.

And when her sobs quieted, when the rawness of her pain had finally ebbed, they both sat in silence, side by side. The world seemed still for a moment, the weight of the past three months hanging in the air, but also a sense of shared understanding, something that had been missing for so long.

The sunset had started to creep across the sky, painting it in soft oranges and purples. She looked at the horizon, the calmness of it bringing her a small sense of peace.

"They would've loved to see this," she said softly, her voice a little steadier now.

Simon nodded, his hand gently rubbing her back. "They can. They're with us. Always."

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she turned to look at him. "I feel better," she whispered. "Like I can breathe again."

Simon smiled back, his eyes still a little red, but there was a sense of relief in them. "Yeah, me too. It's… it's easier now that we're not keeping it all inside anymore."

They sat there together, watching the sunset, the quiet comfort of each other's presence filling the space where the pain had been. And for the first time in months, Simon allowed himself to feel a small glimmer of hope. They weren't okay, not yet, but they were together, and that was enough—for now.

series masterlist

[ponyosmom35]

Price

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series

Synopsis: Simon talks to Price man to man.

Simon couldn't help but notice the changes in her, subtle but undeniable. Her once vibrant energy had dulled. She barely ate, picking at her food as though it was an afterthought. Long, solitary showers had become her routine, twice a day, as if the water could cleanse the weight she carried. When she wasn't in the bathroom, she was in front of the TV, staring at the screen without really watching it, lost in her thoughts. It wasn't like her. She'd stopped going out, stopped seeing friends, stopped doing the things she used to enjoy. The only time she left the house was when she went to the beach, alone. He hadn't pushed her about it at first, respecting her space, but as the days turned into weeks, he couldn't ignore it anymore. The distance between them had become more than just physical—it was emotional, and it was painful to watch.

Simon tried everything he could think of to cheer her up. He'd make her favorite dinner, suggest they go out for a walk, even try to talk about anything other than the things they were both avoiding. But nothing worked. She would smile, nod, and go through the motions, but it was clear she wasn't truly present. And that broke his heart in ways he couldn't articulate.

He had to do something. The helplessness was starting to eat at him. He couldn't stand seeing her like this, couldn't stand how he felt like a stranger in his own home with the woman he loved.

One evening, after yet another quiet dinner that neither of them enjoyed, Simon found himself calling Price. He hadn't wanted to bother him, but he was desperate. He needed advice, even if it meant admitting that he was struggling too.

Simon stood in the kitchen, his phone pressed to his ear as he paced back and forth, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't quite organize. Price had picked up on the first ring, and now Simon felt the weight of his words pressing down on him. He didn't want to admit he was struggling, didn't want to admit that the man who had been trying so hard to keep everything together was falling apart at the seams. But here he was, asking for help, and that was the first step.

"Price," Simon began, his voice rough with the burden of his emotions. "I don't know what to do anymore, she's shutting down. She's not herself. It's like she's lost everything. And I feel like I've tried everything—cooking for her, taking care of things around the house—but none of it's working. She won't even talk to me. She's not eating. She's barely even leaving the house. And I don't know how to reach her."

Price's tone was calm but sharp, as though he had been expecting this conversation for a while. "You're doing what you think is best, but you're not doing what she needs. You've been burying yourself in work, trying to fix everything around you so you don't have to deal with the real issues. And in doing that, you've buried her feelings too. She needs you to face this pain with her. She's not just grieving Johnny; she's grieving the life she thought she'd have with you. You've been so focused on surviving this that you've forgotten how to live with her in it. She needs you, Simon, not the fixer."

Simon ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated sigh escaping him. "I didn't want her to see me fall apart. I didn't want her to carry my grief too. I thought if I kept it together, kept busy, it'd help. But now she's distant, and I'm not sure how to fix it. I can't just… talk to her. Not when she's already dealing with so much. I didn't want to burden her more."

"I get that," Price said, his voice steady. "But burying your emotions doesn't make them go away. It makes them worse. You're not doing her any favors by hiding it from her, Simon. She sees what you're doing. She knows you're hurting, and she probably feels like she's the reason you're keeping everything at arm's length. She needs to see that it's okay to grieve. It's okay to feel the loss of Johnny. It's okay to feel all of it, but she needs to know she's not alone in this. You can't keep pretending like everything's fine and expect her to heal."

Simon let out a shaky breath, leaning against the counter as he processed what Price had said. "I just don't know if I can do that. I don't want her to see me as weak, you know? I don't want her to think I'm not strong enough to handle this. I've been so focused on trying to fix everything else that I didn't even see how I was making things worse for her. And now I'm afraid… I'm afraid I've ruined everything."

Price's voice softened. "You haven't ruined anything. You're dealing with this how you can, and that's okay. You're not perfect, none of us are. But now that you know what's happening, you have to make a choice. It's not about fixing everything. You can't fix grief, Simon. You have to face it. With her. It's not weak to grieve. It's human."

Simon's chest tightened, the weight of Price's words settling heavily on him. He wanted so badly to fix it, to make everything right, but he knew that wasn't something he could do. He had to let himself feel the loss too. He had to let her see it. "I've been so caught up in my own anger, my own guilt… I didn't think about how she was feeling. I just kept burying myself in the work around here. Fixing things, making everything perfect. But it's not perfect. I've been pretending it is, and I think she knows that."

"You're not the only one grieving, Simon," Price said gently. "She lost Johnny too. And she's losing you right now, because you're pulling away. You can't grieve alone. It doesn't work that way. You're in this together. You need to share the weight of this grief with her, just like she needs to share it with you."

Simon's mind raced. "But what if I'm the reason she's like this? What if I've been so focused on trying to keep everything together that I've just made her feel more alone? What if she resents me for it?"

Price paused for a moment before answering. "You can't blame yourself for how you've been handling this. We all handle grief in our own way. You've been doing the best you can, but now that you know, you need to change. You're not going to fix it all overnight, but you can start by being there. Be real with her. She needs to know that it's okay to fall apart, and that you'll fall apart together if that's what it takes."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He felt the weight of his own emotions pushing against the walls he'd built. "I don't know how to even start that conversation with her. I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to have all the answers, Simon," Price replied. "Just start by being honest. Tell her how you're feeling. Tell her you're scared, that you don't know what to do, but that you're there for her. She doesn't need you to fix anything. She just needs you to be there. Let her know she's not alone."

Simon nodded, a mixture of relief and sadness washing over him. He had been so focused on pretending like everything was fine, he hadn't even seen how far they had drifted apart. "Thanks, Price. I— I'll talk to her. I need to."

"Good," Price said, his voice firm but kind. "You'll get through this, Simon. But you've got to let her in, and you've got to let yourself in too."

"I will," Simon promised. "I'll make it right."

As Simon stood there, the weight of everything still pressing on him, Price's voice on the other end of the line softened. He could hear the slight pause before Price spoke again, as though he was carefully choosing his words.

"Hey," Price said with a slight chuckle, "I know you're probably not in the mood for it, but I've got a funny Johnny story that might lighten things up a bit."

Simon hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't sure he was ready for that, but something in Price's voice made him listen.

"Remember that time Johnny tried to help you fix that old car you were working on?" Price continued, a smile evident in his tone. "You'd been working on it for hours, trying to figure out what was wrong, and Johnny—without any hesitation—just grabs the wrench, looks at you, and says, 'You know, I don't think it's supposed to make that noise,' like it was some kind of breakthrough."

Simon couldn't help but laugh, despite himself. The memory of Johnny, always so carefree and confident in his own way, flooded him. He could almost picture the scene in his mind: Johnny, sleeves rolled up, acting like the world's greatest mechanic, while Simon stood there, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it.

"Yeah, I remember that," Simon said with a breath of amusement, his voice finally loosening. "I swear, he thought he was some kind of car whisperer. We spent hours working on that thing, and Johnny's big fix was, 'Maybe it just needs a little more TLC.' He didn't even know what TLC stood for."

Price laughed, the sound warm and comforting through the phone. "God, that was Johnny. He could make anything sound like a million-dollar idea. He had that way of making everything feel like it would work out, even if he had no clue what he was doing."

Simon leaned back against the counter, a small but genuine smile on his face now. He felt lighter somehow, like the tension that had been choking him had loosened just a little. Talking about Johnny, remembering those little moments, felt like a release. It felt good, almost like the weight of his grief wasn't as heavy when he could laugh about it.

"I miss him, Price," Simon said quietly, his voice softer now. "I miss him more than I realized. But talking about him, remembering those stupid moments… I don't know, it feels better. It feels like I'm actually remembering him, not just mourning him."

Price's voice was understanding, but there was a lightness in it now too. "Yeah, it's easier when you can talk about the good stuff, the funny stuff. Johnny had that gift, didn't he? He was the kind of guy who could make you laugh even in the worst of situations. And now… now you've got to do the same for her. It's okay to remember the good times, to laugh about the things he did. It doesn't make you miss him less. It just helps keep the memory alive in a way that feels right."

Simon exhaled, his heart still heavy but the pressure starting to ease. "I think I needed that. You're right. I don't have to pretend it's all pain. There were good times too, and those are worth remembering."

Price was quiet for a moment, as if he could feel the shift in Simon's mood. "Exactly. You don't have to let the grief consume you. You can laugh, you can share those memories. Johnny wouldn't want you to be stuck in the sadness. He'd want you to live, to keep going, to remember him in the best way you can."

Simon nodded, more to himself than anything. "Yeah… I'll keep going. For her, for him. I'll remember the good times."

"And when you talk to her," Price added, "remember to share those stories with her too. She needs to hear them, just like you do."

Simon felt a surge of clarity then, something that had been missing in him for the past few months. It was like a piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place. Talking about Johnny, sharing the laughter, the moments that had made him who he was—it felt like a step forward.

"Thanks, Price," Simon said, his voice steadier now. "I needed that more than I realized."

Simon's mind was still swirling with everything he had just processed, but one thing was nagging at him. Price had been a constant through all of this, offering advice and wisdom when he needed it most, but Simon hadn't really checked in on him. He hadn't asked how Price was holding up after everything that had happened, after losing Johnny, too.

"Hey, Price," Simon started, his voice a bit softer now, "I know I've been talking about myself a lot, but… how are you doing? I mean, with everything."

There was a pause on the other end, and for a brief moment, Simon wondered if he'd made the conversation too heavy again. But then Price's voice came through, rough but with an honesty that Simon appreciated.

"I'm doing better," Price said, but it was clear he'd had to think about it. "At first, I didn't handle it well at all. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I've been in this job a long time, but Johnny… Johnny wasn't just some soldier or asset to me. He was my friend. He was… he was family."

Simon could hear the weight of the words hanging in the air, and he could feel the quiet reverberation of Price's grief. It wasn't something Simon had fully understood until now—the depth of Price's loss, how much Johnny had meant to him.

"I didn't know how to handle it," Price continued, his tone a little raw. "I buried myself in work, kept pushing it down, pretending like I was fine. But I wasn't. I was angry. I was lost. It was hard… really hard."

Simon's throat tightened at the rawness of it. Price wasn't one to show his emotions easily, and hearing him speak so openly about it made Simon realize how similar they both were in their ways of dealing with grief.

"But I'm getting better," Price added, his voice shifting slightly, becoming a little more steady. "I had to let myself feel it, you know? I couldn't keep pretending it wasn't there. I've started talking to people more, even… well, even to my own team. And yeah, it's still tough, but it's better. I've been keeping busy, too, with the work stuff. That helps, but I'm finally realizing it's okay to not be okay sometimes."

Simon nodded, even though Price couldn't see him. He felt a sense of camaraderie in the shared weight of their grief. It wasn't something Simon had acknowledged before, but now he understood—Price had been carrying a lot too. They had both been running from it, each in their own way.

"I think you're doing the right thing. Talking about it, feeling it—just like you told me."

Price chuckled softly, though it was tinged with a bit of exhaustion. "Yeah, well, I'm a hypocrite if I don't practice what I preach, right? I guess I was too busy being tough to actually process everything. It's not as easy as I made it sound."

Simon smiled to himself, grateful for the small humor Price had brought into the conversation. It was nice to know they could talk like this, not just about the mission or the work, but about the real stuff—the things they had both been avoiding.

"I'm glad you're getting there," Simon said genuinely, his voice softer now. "I think we're both still a long way off from being okay, but at least we're heading in the right direction."

Price was quiet for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them. Then he sighed, almost as if relieved. "Yeah, I guess we are. And I've got you to thank for that, Simon. You're not in this alone, mate."

Simon's chest tightened at the sincerity in Price's voice. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that, especially from someone who had been through so much himself.

"Same to you," Simon replied, his voice steady with emotion. "If you need anything, anything at all… I've got your back."

They both knew that was a promise they'd keep, no matter what.

"Cheers ," Price said, a little quieter now. "I'm gonna take you up on that soon. But for now, just keep doing what you're doing. You're getting there too."

Simon took a deep breath, feeling lighter than he had in days. "I will. I'm trying."

As the conversation drew to a close, Simon felt like a small piece of the puzzle had clicked into place. He had a lot of work to do—both inside and out—but for the first time in a while, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could start moving forward.

series masterlist

[ponyosmom35]

Projecting

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series

Synopsis: simon is projecting

It started as something small—so small that, at first, neither of them could have predicted it would turn into a full-blown fight. She had gone out to the store that afternoon to pick up some groceries. Simon had been busy in the garage, as usual, lost in his work. But when she returned, she had that look on her face—the kind that told Simon something was wrong.

She tossed the keys onto the counter, barely acknowledging him as she put the grocery bags down.

"Hey," Simon called out from the other room. "How'd the trip go?"

"Good," she replied distractedly, her voice thin. She was clearly still wrapped up in whatever had been bothering her.

"What's wrong?" Simon asked, stepping out of the kitchen to meet her in the hallway. "You're not acting like yourself."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's nothing," she muttered, her voice tight. "Just tired."

Simon frowned, sensing something was off. "You sure? You're acting… weird. What happened?"

Her eyes flicked to the counter, and Simon followed her gaze. There, on the surface of the counter, was her phone—dead. No lights. No notification buzzes. Just a dead screen.

"You let your phone die again?" Simon asked, his voice rising slightly as his frustration began to bubble up. "Seriously? You can't go five minutes without checking your phone, but you forget to charge it when you're out?"

She blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in his tone. "It's not a big deal, Simon," she replied, her voice calm, trying to brush it off. "It's just a phone."

"No, it is a big deal," Simon snapped, stepping closer. "You've been out all afternoon, and the one thing I ask you to do is keep your phone charged so I can get a hold of you if something happens."

She felt a knot of frustration twist in her stomach. "Simon, I was just at the store for like an hour. It's not like I was off doing something reckless."

"It doesn't matter," Simon shot back, his jaw tight. "You're always doing this. You don't think things through, and then I'm left wondering where the hell you are when I can't get in touch with you."

She stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. "You're overreacting," she said, voice softening but still tinged with disbelief. "It's just a dead battery."

Simon clenched his fists. "It's not about the battery," he spat, his voice rising in volume. "It's about you not taking me seriously, about you always blowing me off. I've been trying to deal with this shit for months, and now you're making it harder."

She blinked in surprise at the sudden outburst, her confusion turning into a prickling sense of discomfort. "What the hell does this have to do with the phone, Simon?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. "This is about something else, isn't it?"

Simon froze, suddenly realizing what he had said. His frustration, the anger, the emotions he hadn't been dealing with—it was all spilling out, and now it was aimed at her for no reason.

He exhaled sharply, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. "It's just… it's everything, okay?" He rubbed his forehead, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. "I'm just… I'm tired of feeling like I can't reach you. Like, you're always doing your own thing and not paying attention to the things that matter."

Her eyes softened, and she shook her head. "Simon," she said gently, "I don't think you're mad about my phone. You're mad about everything else, aren't you?"

Simon turned away, not wanting to face her, not wanting to let her see how broken he felt inside. "I don't know what you mean."

She stepped forward, her hand reaching for his arm. "You're projecting," she said quietly. "You're taking all this anger and frustration, and you're putting it on me. But it's not my fault, Simon. It's not about the phone."

The words hung in the air between them, and Simon felt like he had been caught in the act. He bit his lip and looked at the floor, unable to meet her gaze. He knew she was right. He was angry. So damn angry. But he couldn't let it out, couldn't let it show, because he didn't know how to deal with it. So instead, it all came out in tiny bursts like this—misdirected, misplaced.

Her voice was soft when she spoke again. "You've been bottling everything up for months, Simon. All that pain, all that grief… It's eating at you, and you're just taking it out on me."

Simon's throat tightened. "I don't know how to fix it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to make it stop."

She reached up and touched his arm, her touch gentle, comforting. "You don't have to fix it, Simon. But you have to stop taking it out on me. I'm here, I'm right here. But you have to talk about it. You have to let me in."

Simon closed his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. "I'm sorry. I don't want to push you away. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," She said softly. "You're just hurting. And it's okay to hurt. But it's not okay to let it destroy us. You can't keep burying everything."

He let out a shaky breath, feeling his shoulders sag as the anger that had built up inside him slowly started to dissipate. He had taken it out on her—on the one person who had been his support through everything. And he felt like a fool for it.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn't have done that."

She gave him a small smile, her hand still resting on his arm. "It's okay. But you have to let me help. You can't do this alone, Simon."

He nodded, his eyes filling with tears as the weight of everything he had been holding in finally hit him all at once. "I don't know how to let go," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I just don't know how to stop feeling like everything is falling apart."

She pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "We'll figure it out together," she whispered, her voice soft and steady. "One step at a time. But we have to face it, Simon. You don't have to do this alone."

Simon held onto her, finally allowing himself to break down. He had been so focused on holding it together, on pretending that he could control everything, that he had forgotten the most important part—that they were in this together. And maybe, just maybe, that was the first step toward healing.

series masterlist

[ponyosmom35]

Relax

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series!

As she sat across from Simon, watching him work, she couldn't help but notice how much he'd changed in the last two months. The past few weeks had been an intense blur of home improvements—every day he seemed to find a new project, pouring all his energy into fixing everything around the house. She had watched him rip up the garden and plant new flowers, repaint the bathroom, build the walk-in closet they both wanted, and even fix her car. It was like he had completely submerged himself in the work, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was more than just a need to make the house feel like home again.

They were sitting at the kitchen table now, the warm glow of the setting sun casting a gentle light through the window. Simon had just finished cleaning up after yet another successful project—this time, the porch had been stained and the deck was looking pristine. He looked tired, but there was still a certain satisfaction in his eyes, as if the physical labor had somehow given him a sense of accomplishment.

She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice soft but gentle. "Simon, can I ask you something?"

He looked up from where he was wiping his hands on a towel, his eyes meeting hers. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

She hesitated for a moment before asking the question that had been weighing on her heart. "Do you think… do you think you're burying yourself in all this work to feel better? I mean, I get that it's keeping you busy, but sometimes, I wonder if it's your way of keeping the anger and everything else at bay. Are you using it as a distraction from everything that's happened?"

Simon sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the window as he thought about her words. For a long moment, he said nothing, and she waited patiently, sensing that he was carefully choosing his response.

"I don't know," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. "Maybe I am. Working… it's the only thing that keeps my mind from spiraling. If I keep busy, dealing with the guilt. The grief. The anger, its easier,"

Her heart ached as she heard the rawness in his voice. She knew he'd been struggling, but hearing him admit it, in his own way, made everything feel so much heavier. She reached out, placing her hand gently on his.

"Simon," she said softly, her voice thick with concern. "If it's hard for you to talk about, I understand. But maybe I can help, in some way? I want to be there for you, to share some of the load, even if it's just listening."

Simon gave a small, tired smile, his eyes softening as he took her hand in his. "I appreciate that. I do. But right now, I think I just need to do this by myself."

She nodded, understanding his need for space. She didn't want to push him, especially when he was still working through everything. "Okay," she said quietly. "I'll respect that. But just know… I'm here for you. No matter what."

Simon squeezed her hand, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he looked away, clearly lost in his thoughts. He had always been someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and this was no different. But she could see the toll it was taking on him, even if he refused to admit it.

As the evening wore on, Simon went back to working on the final touches of the porch. She spent some time tidying up the kitchen, giving him the space he needed. But as the hours passed and the sun began to set, she knew it was time for her to step in and take care of him, in the only way she knew how.

She walked over to where he was sitting on the porch, his shoulders stiff from the long day's work. Without saying a word, she gently placed her hands on his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. He let out a soft, surprised sigh but didn't pull away. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting her touch soothe him.

"Let me help you relax for a bit," She murmured, her voice calm and soft as she worked her way down his back. Simon let out another quiet breath, and she could feel the tension slowly starting to ease from his body.

"Thanks love," he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

"I know you're carrying a lot," She continued, her hands moving in slow, rhythmic circles, "but you don't have to carry it alone. We'll figure this out together."

Simon nodded, his grip on the chair tightening as he relaxed into her touch. "I don't deserve you," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

She paused for a moment, her heart aching with the weight of his words. She leaned down, brushing her lips gently against his temple, her voice soft but firm. "You do. You deserve all the love, Simon."

The two of them stayed like that for a while—her hands working to loosen the knots in his shoulders, him allowing himself a rare moment of peace.

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[ponyosmom35]

Sex talk

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series

The room was quiet, the soft hum of the ceiling fan the only sound as they sat together on the couch. Junie was curled up in her lap, her gentle purring a small comfort in the otherwise heavy silence. Two weeks had passed since Johnny's death, and though life was beginning to settle back into a new kind of normal, the weight of loss still hung heavily between them.

Simon broke the silence first, his deep voice hesitant. "Love," he began, his fingers fidgeting with a thread on his sweatpants. "Can we talk about something?"

She looked up from petting Junie, sensing the seriousness in his tone. "Of course," she said softly, her heart already thudding in her chest.

He shifted uncomfortably, as if searching for the right words. "I've been thinking about… us. About how things have been since I got back."

Her stomach tightened, but she nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Go on," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled, running a hand over his face. "I know we haven't been… physical since I came home. I didn't want you to think it's because I don't want you. Because I do. More than anything."

She blinked, her throat tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. "Simon, I—" she started, but he held up a hand, wanting to finish.

"I wanted to be close to you," he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "To make up for all the time we lost. But every time I think about it, I just… I can't. It's like there's this wall, and I feel like I'm betraying Johnny. Like I don't deserve to feel anything good when he's not here anymore."

Her eyes filled with tears as his words struck a chord deep within her. "Simon," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I feel the same way. I want to be with you too, but every time I even think about it, it's like this wave of guilt crashes over me. Johnny's gone, and it feels wrong to be happy, to enjoy anything."

Simon's shoulders slumped, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It's been eating at me," he admitted. "Not just the guilt, but the worry that maybe you'd think I was pulling away from you. That I didn't want to be with you anymore."

She reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "I never thought that," she said earnestly. "I know you love me, Simon. And I love you too. I've just been… stuck. Caught between wanting to move forward and feeling like I'm leaving Johnny behind if I do."

He nodded slowly, his blue eyes meeting hers. "Exactly," he said. "It's like every step forward feels like another reminder that he's not here to take it with us."

They sat in silence for a moment, the unspoken weight of their grief filling the space between them. Finally, she spoke, her voice steadier now. "I think it's okay that we're not ready yet," she said. "It's okay to take our time, to let ourselves heal. We've been through so much, and I don't want us to rush into anything just because we think we should."

Simon's lips curved into a faint smile, and he reached for her hand, holding it tightly. "I feel the same," he said. "I don't want to force anything. When we're ready, we'll know. And when that time comes, it'll be because we're ready—not because we feel like we owe it to each other."

Her tears spilled over, but this time they were a mix of sadness and relief. "Thank you," she said, squeezing his hand. "For understanding. For not making me feel like I'm broken."

"You're not broken," Simon said firmly, his gaze unwavering. "You're the strongest person I know. And we'll get through this. Together."

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Together," she echoed, her voice soft but sure.

For the first time in weeks, the tension between them eased just a little. The pain of their loss was still there, but so was the understanding that they didn't have to face it alone.

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[ponyosmom35]

We're your family

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series

She stood in the doorway of her parents' home, her palms sweaty and her heart racing. It had been two weeks since they returned home—two weeks of trying to put the pieces of their lives back together after Johnny's death. Her parents had been calling, begging her to visit, and she had avoided them, unable to face their questions or their grief. But now, it was time. Time to tell them the truth about everything—about Simon, about Johnny, and about what had happened.

Simon stood next to her at the car, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. "Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?" he asked, his voice low, his dark eyes searching hers.

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. "Not yet," she said softly. "Just… wait in the car. I'll come get you when it's time."

He nodded, understanding her need to take this step on her own first. "Alright. I'll be here."

She turned back toward the house, inhaling deeply before stepping inside. The familiar scent of her mother's cooking hit her immediately, a mix of spices and warmth that once felt comforting but now brought a lump to her throat.

Her parents rushed to her the moment they saw her. Her mother was the first to pull her into a tight hug, her hands trembling as she held her daughter close. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured. "We've been so worried."

Her father joined them, wrapping his arms around both of them. "It's good to see you, love. You've had us scared out of our minds."

She let herself melt into their embrace for a moment before pulling back. She noticed the way their eyes lingered on the faint scars on her face and neck, their concern etched deeply into their expressions.

Her mother's voice quivered. "What happened to you? Where have you been?"

She bit her lip, struggling to find the words. "I went to London for a bit," she began slowly. "I needed to get away, to clear my head after… after everything with Simon."

Their faces fell at the mention of his name, but they remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

She took a shaky breath. "While I was there, I was taken. Some of Simon's enemies found me, and they—" Her voice faltered, but she pressed on. "They took me, and I thought I was going to die."

Her mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "my god…"

"But I didn't," she quickly added. "I didn't because Simon—he's alive. He came for me. He saved me."

The room fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. Her father's brow furrowed, and her mother stared at her as though she hadn't heard her correctly.

Her mother finally broke the silence, her voice trembling. "Simon… he's alive? Where is he?"

Her throat tightened. "He's outside. He's in the car."

Before she could say anything else, her mother rushed to the door, flinging it open and heading outside. She followed, her heart pounding in her chest.

Simon was leaning against the car, his head down as he waited. When he heard the door, he looked up, his body tensing as he saw her mother hurrying toward him.

"Simon," her mother said, her voice breaking as she reached him. She stopped short, taking him in, her eyes filling with tears. Then, without hesitation, she threw her arms around him.

Simon stiffened at first, shocked by the unexpected embrace. But as her mother held him tightly, he slowly raised his arms and hugged her back. His face was a mixture of disbelief and relief as he murmured, "I'm sorry. For everything."

When her mother finally pulled back, she placed her hand on his face, smiling through her tears. "Don't you dare apologize. You're home, Simon. That's all that matters."

Her father approached then, his steps measured, his expression unreadable. Simon straightened, his jaw tightening as though he were preparing for a scolding. But instead, her father extended his hand. When Simon hesitated, he pulled him into a firm hug instead.

"Thank you for saving her," her father said quietly. "Thank you for coming back."

Simon's voice was rough as he replied, "I never wanted to leave."

She stood nearby, watching the scene unfold with a mix of emotions she couldn't quite articulate. Relief, gratitude, and a deep, aching love for the man who had fought so hard to return to her.

As her parents embraced Simon, she stepped closer, her hand finding his. He looked at her, his dark eyes softening, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a spark of hope.

Her mother wiped at her tears and smiled at the two of them. "Come inside, both of you. Let's sit down. We've got a lot to talk about."

Simon glanced at her, a question in his eyes, and she nodded, squeezing his hand. Together, they followed her parents into the house, stepping into the warmth and familiarity that had seemed so far out of reach just weeks before.

Her hand trembled as Simon's words hung in the air, the heavy truth sinking into the room. "Our friend Johnny… he didn't make it," Simon had said, his voice low and steady, though the weight of his grief was evident.

For a moment, silence reigned. Her father's expression tightened, his jaw clenching as he absorbed the news. Her mother's hands froze where they rested on the edge of the table, and her wide, teary eyes darted between them.

Her breath hitched, her eyes glistening as she struggled to keep herself together. "Johnny's… gone?" Her mom whispers, her voice small and unsteady.

Simon nodded, his gaze dropping to their clasped hands. "It happened during the mission. He—he went down fighting, like we always knew he would, but it doesn't make it easier."

Her mother was the first to move, stepping forward and pulling her into a tight hug. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry. I know how much Johnny meant to you both."

She collapsed into her mother's embrace, tears spilling freely now. "It's not fair," she choked out. "He didn't deserve this. He was—he was family."

Her father moved closer, his face etched with sorrow. "No, he didn't deserve it," he said softly, his large, weathered hand resting on her shoulder.

Simon sat silently, his hands clasped tightly on the table as he watched she dissolve into her mother's arms. Her father glanced at Simon, then walked over, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss, Simon," he said. "You and Johnny were like brothers, weren't you?"

Simon nodded stiffly, his jaw working as he tried to keep his emotions in check. "Yeah," he managed, his voice hoarse. "He was… he was my best mate."

Her father's grip tightened, a gesture of reassurance. "I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. But you're here now. You made it back, and that's what he'd have wanted—for you to come home to her."

Simon's throat tightened, and he looked away, blinking hard to stave off the tears that threatened to fall.

Her mother, still holding her, turned her tear-streaked face toward Simon. "You carry him with you," she said gently. "In your memories, in everything you do moving forward. That's how you keep him alive, Simon."

She pulled back slightly, sniffling as she wiped at her tears. Her red-rimmed eyes met Simon's, and she reached for his hand. "We carry him together," she said softly, her voice steadier now. "He'd want that."

Simon nodded, his grip firm on her smaller hand. Her father spoke again, his voice steady and full of care. "Johnny sounds like he was one of a kind. I'd have liked to know him better."

Simon smiled faintly, a sad but grateful expression. "He would've liked you too. Reckon he'd have been teasing me by now about how lucky I got, being part of this family."

Her father chuckled, though it was tinged with emotion. "He sounds like he had a good heart."

Her mother returned to the table, her hand lingering on Simon's shoulder as she spoke. "Simon, I know this hasn't been easy for you. You've been through so much, and you still put yourself on the line to come back to her. To us. You're part of this family, and we're here for you too."

Simon's chest tightened at the warmth in her voice. He looked up at her, his normally guarded expression softening. "Thank you," he said quietly. "That means a lot."

She leaned into Simon's side, and her father wrapped an arm around both of them, the strength in his embrace grounding them. "You're not alone in this, either of you," he said firmly. "We're going to get through this together. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, you come to us."

After a moment, she sighed deeply, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her mother pressed a kiss to her forehead.

As they stood to leave, Simon lingered behind with her father. The older man's expression shifted, more serious now. "Simon," he began, his voice low, "there's something I should tell you."

Simon frowned, his body tensing as he prepared for whatever was coming. Her father hesitated, then sighed heavily. "I knew you were alive. Price told me. He asked me to look out for her, to be there for her."

Simon's eyes widened slightly, his brows furrowing. "You knew? And you didn't tell her?"

Her father held up a hand. "I couldn't. She was in pieces, Simon. If I'd told her, it would've just made things worse. She needed to grieve, to process everything."

Simon exhaled, running a hand over his face. "I get it," he admitted. "But I hate that she was kept in the dark."

Her father nodded solemnly. "I hated it too. But it was what Price asked of me, and I thought it was the right thing at the time. Please, don't tell her—not yet. She doesn't need to know this right now."

Simon hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll keep it to myself for now. But I don't like lying to her."

"I know," her father said, clapping him on the shoulder. "When the time is right, you can tell her. And Simon, if you ever need anything—an outlet, a distraction—come to me. I've got plenty of projects around here to keep you busy."

Simon managed a small smile. "Thanks. I might take you up on that after I tackle things at home."

Her father grinned, then pulled Simon into a brief, firm hug. "Take care of her. And yourself."

"I will," Simon promised. "Thank you."

When Simon stepped outside, she was waiting in the car, stroking Junie's fur. She glanced up at him, her expression softer now. As he climbed into the driver's seat, she reached over, lacing her fingers through his. They didn't speak on the drive home, but the quiet comfort of her touch said everything they needed.

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[ponyosmom35]

I let everything die

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series

synopsis: reader has a moment of reflection in her dead garden

The air was cool as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a soft glow across the backyard. They made their way outside, the quiet of the evening settling around them. Her shoulders were heavy, weighed down by the guilt she had been carrying with her all day. She hadn't been able to shake the feeling that she had failed, that she had let something slip through her fingers when she should have been there, when she should have fought harder.

She sat down in the swinging chair, the soft creak of the wood a familiar sound that, under normal circumstances, would have been comforting. But tonight, it only served to deepen the weight in her chest. She glanced at the garden—the one she and Simon had worked on together before everything had spiraled. The once-vibrant plants and flowers now looked overgrown, some of them withered and dead. The garden had been a place of peace, a small sanctuary where they could escape from everything that weighed on their lives. But now, it felt like a reflection of the loss that still lingered in her heart.

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the neglected garden. She had never imagined it would get like this, but after I found out he was gone, and the overwhelming grief that had followed, she couldn't bring herself to care for it anymore. The once-lush greenery had slowly faded into something unrecognizable, just like the pieces of her life that she was still trying to pick up.

Simon sat down beside her on the swing, his hand brushing against hers, offering comfort without words. He could feel the tension radiating from her, the guilt that was eating away at her. She didn't have to say anything for him to know what was going on in her mind.

"I'm sorry," She said softly, her voice trembling as she finally broke the silence. "I let it die, Simon. The garden… I couldn't take care of it after… after everything happened. It's all my fault. I couldn't even keep the one thing we made together alive."

Simon turned toward her, his expression soft but firm. He took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. You didn't fail, okay? You just couldn't do it all. And that's not your fault."

She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes once again. "But it was important to us, Simon. We built it together, and now it's… it's a mess. I should have tried harder. I should have found a way to keep it alive."

Simon reached up and cupped her cheek, wiping away the stray tear that fell. "We'll make it better. I promise. We'll bring it back, together.."

"But I let it die," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I let everything die, Simon. I couldn't even keep the garden alive."

Simon's heart ached for her, but he refused to let her carry that burden any longer. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she rested her head against his chest. "You didn't let anything die."

She clung to him, the warmth of his embrace soothing the sharp ache in her chest, even if only for a moment. She knew he was right. They would rebuild, not just the garden, but everything that had been lost. She didn't need to do it all by herself anymore. She had Simon. And together, they would find a way through.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I don't want to fail again. I don't want to lose anything else."

Simon kissed her forehead, his hand gently stroking her hair. "You're not going to fail. This garden, our home—it's not lost. Not yet. And it never will be, as long as we're here."

She took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of her guilt begin to ease, if only slightly. She could hear the sincerity in Simon's voice, the certainty that they would rebuild everything they had lost—together. And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe it.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice steadying. "Let's make it perfect again."

Simon smiled, the gentle curve of his lips a promise, a silent vow that they would do just that. He squeezed her hand, then leaned in to kiss her forehead once more, a gesture that made her feel like everything would be okay, even if it took time.

The swing creaked again as they sat together, the fading sunlight casting a soft glow over them, and for the first time in a long time, She felt a flicker of hope in her chest. She wasn't alone in this. They would rebuild. They would heal. And they would do it together.

series masterlist

[ponyosmom35]

Voicemails

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series

synopsis: they listen to a voicemail from Johnny.

Two days had passed since they returned home, and, for the most part, things were slowly settling back into a fragile routine. They were adjusting to their lives, trying to make sense of the chaos that had upended everything. The quiet of their home, though familiar, felt foreign after everything they had been through. It was a comfort, but it also felt like an echo of a life that no longer existed in the same way.

She had spent most of those two days trying to put on a brave face. She threw herself into small tasks around the house, taking care of Junie, organizing their things, even cooking a few meals, though every small moment seemed to carry an undertone of grief. Simon had tried to be there for her, though he too was grappling with his own emotional turmoil. They were both living in the aftermath, doing their best to stay strong, but it was exhausting.

That evening, she found herself alone in the living room, sitting on the couch with her phone in her hand. Her finger hovered over the play button. It was a voicemail, one she had never been able to listen to until now. Johnny's voice, full of life, calling her to check in, telling her he was going to be home soon and couldn't wait to see her. She had kept it all this time, unwilling to hear it, unwilling to face the reality of hearing him again, knowing what she had lost. But today, something in her shifted. She needed to hear his voice. She needed to feel close to him again.

She pressed play.

"Ankle Biter, how dare you ignore my call," Johnny's voice came through the speaker, light and teasing, the familiar tone sending a pang through her chest. "I know you're probably getting off the plane now, but just wanted to check in. I'm gonna be in town tomorrow, can't wait to see you!. I've got some stories for you, you know I do. Anyway, I've got to go now but I'll see you tomorrow lass, Talk soon."

The voicemail ended abruptly, but she couldn't move. Her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes welled up. It wasn't just the sound of Johnny's voice, it was the reminder of everything she had lost, everything they had all lost. The image of Johnny's laugh, his face, his warmth—it felt so real in that moment, but so far away, like a dream that was slowly fading.

Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably, and before she knew it, the sobs had overtaken her. She curled into herself on the couch, her hands clutching at her chest as though trying to hold herself together, but it was impossible. The grief came rushing back, an unrelenting wave that seemed to drown her. She couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop the pain from surging through every inch of her. Her body shook with the intensity of it, and the loss felt as fresh as the day it had happened.

Simon had been in the kitchen, but when he heard the sounds of her sobs, he dropped what he was doing and rushed to her side. Seeing her like this tore at him. He crouched down beside her, reaching for her, but she flinched away, her sobs too raw and overwhelming.

"love," he said softly, his voice thick with concern. "Baby, please, look at me."

She turned to him, her face contorted in anguish. "I can't—Simon, I can't do this. I can't live with this pain. I miss him so much. I miss him so fucking much. He was supposed to come to visit. He was supposed to be here with us."

Simon sat beside her, pulling her into his arms despite her attempts to push him away. He could feel her trembling, her body wracked with grief, but he didn't let go. He held her tight, letting her cry, letting her fall apart. He didn't know how to fix this, didn't know what to say, but he was here. He was here for her, always.

"I know," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I know, love."

But she couldn't stop. She buried her face in his chest, her voice muffled as she cried harder, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. The life she had known, the future she had imagined with Johnny, with Simon, it all felt like it had been ripped away from her. The loss was suffocating. The grief didn't let up.

"I can't… I can't breathe. It hurts so much," she sobbed, her words coming out in broken gasps.

Simon gently rubbed her back, his own tears threatening to spill as he held her tighter. "I know. I know, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. But we'll get through this. We'll find a way through this, together."

Her sobs began to subside, but the tears didn't stop. She was exhausted, emotionally drained, but she couldn't let go of the pain. She clung to Simon, needing his presence, needing to feel like she wasn't drowning in this overwhelming sea of grief alone.

"I'm here," Simon whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She didn't answer, but the tight grip she had on him was all the answer he needed. They sat there, in silence, for what felt like hours. Her sobs eventually quieted to soft sniffles as she rested against him, her head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. He held her, never letting go, just letting her know that she wasn't alone in this. Not anymore.

When the worst of her crying had passed, she finally whispered, "I miss him so much, Simon. I just want him back."

"I know you do," he replied softly, kissing the top of her head again. "But he's not coming back, love. We have to honor him, remember him, but we also have to keep living. He wouldn't want us to destroy ourselves over it. He'd want us to keep going, to keep fighting."

She nodded slowly, her exhaustion finally beginning to seep into her bones. She closed her eyes, feeling safe in Simon's arms, even as the grief still lingered. She knew it wasn't over. The healing wouldn't come easily, and the pain would never fully go away. But, for now, with Simon holding her, she didn't feel so alone in it. And for that, she was grateful.

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[ponyosmom35]

Don't push me away

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series

synopsis: reader tries to connect with Simon following his best friends death.

The darkness of the night pressed in on Simon, suffocating and heavy. The dream was like an endless loop. Her and Johnny, both in danger, both slipping away from him. The sounds of gunfire, the cries for help, the desperate feeling that there was nothing he could do to save them—he couldn't move, couldn't reach them.

In the dream, Johnny had been shot first, falling to the ground with that familiar, pained expression, his eyes wide with shock, then her, her face pale, her body lifeless in his arms. Her last breath, the weight of it, crushed him completely. He was paralyzed, unable to stop it, unable to protect her.

With a jerk, Simon woke up, gasping for air, his heart racing in his chest as if it might explode. His body was drenched in cold sweat, and for a second, the room around him felt foreign, unfamiliar. The nightmare lingered, the fear and panic still clouding his mind.

She stirred beside him, her soft breathing indicating she was still asleep. He looked over at her, the weight of everything crashing over him. The sight of her there, safe and alive, was a comfort—but it wasn't enough to quell the overwhelming rush of emotions that came with the nightmare.

His breath hitched as he lay there, trying to shake off the terror. He knew he had to move, to do something before the panic swallowed him whole. He gently slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her, and grabbed his jacket. The door creaked softly as he opened it, stepping into the cool, silent night.

His legs carried him almost on autopilot, his feet moving over the familiar path, but his mind was far from here. He didn't know how long he walked or how he managed to make it to the beach, but when he arrived, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was a dull roar in his ears.

Simon stood at the water's edge, staring out at the horizon, the darkness of the ocean blending with the sky. The familiar scent of saltwater filled his lungs, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the calmness around him.

But nothing felt calm.

The weight of it all pressed in harder now—Johnny's death, the guilt that he couldn't save him, the constant fear of losing her, the months he'd spent away from her, pretending to be dead, lying to her, and now, finally, being home but still not truly feeling safe.

His knees gave way as the flood of emotion broke over him. He sank to the sand, his hands clutching at his hair as sobs wracked through his chest. He couldn't hold it back anymore. The grief, the guilt, the exhaustion—all of it was too much.

"Johnny," he gasped, his voice cracking. "I couldn't save you, mate. I couldn't protect you."

The tears came in waves, hot and fast, leaving Simon gasping for breath as he struggled to hold on to something solid in the midst of the storm inside him. Every memory of Johnny, of their time together, of the laughs, the fights, the brotherhood, the sacrifices—they all felt like they were slipping away, fading into the cold, empty air.

"I'm sorry," Simon whispered, his voice barely audible over the crash of the waves. "I'm so sorry. I should've done more."

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, crumpled on the sand, his heart heavy with the weight of everything. Eventually, the tears slowed, though the ache in his chest didn't lessen. His body was exhausted, and the weight of the grief was like a constant, unyielding pressure.

But through it all, there was a small flicker of relief. He was home. She was alive. They were both safe, even if the world had changed around them.

Simon wiped his face with the back of his hand, sucking in a deep breath. He couldn't stay here forever. She would be waking up soon, and he didn't want her to see him like this. She needed him to be strong, to hold it together.

But for now, in this moment, all he could do was feel the loss, feel the grief, and allow himself a brief moment to grieve his brother and friend.

After a long pause, he stood slowly, his legs unsteady, and made his way back toward the path. He didn't know how he would face the day or how he would face her, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn't carry this weight alone. He had to let her in, to let her see the pieces of him that had shattered, and let her help him heal.

As he walked back home, the night felt a little less suffocating, but the pain was still there, an ever-present reminder of what they had lost and what they had to fight to hold on to.

When Simon finally returned home, the house was quiet, but the soft glow of a lamp caught his attention. She was sitting in the living room, a book resting open in her lap, her gaze distant. She looked up when she heard the door, her eyes immediately scanning him, noting the way he stood in the doorway, his expression weary and fragile.

He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. "love," he said quietly, his voice low, a little strained. "Why are you awake?"

She set the book aside, her lips pressing into a soft line, concern flickering in her eyes. "I woke up, and I saw you leaving. I couldn't fall back asleep after that." She gave him a small, understanding smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I wasn't sure where you were going, but I figured… I should wait up." She patted the space next to her on the couch, a silent invitation.

Simon's heart clenched, a mixture of guilt and gratitude flooding him. He felt terrible for slipping away without saying anything, for not letting her in on the weight of what he was carrying. He moved toward the couch, sitting down beside her, letting his body sink into the comfort of their home. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words, but she broke it, taking his hand in hers and holding it tightly.

Her voice was soft, but firm. "We have a lot of healing to do, Simon. You and me. But the only way we're going to get through this is together." She looked into his eyes, her gaze steady. "You can't shut me out. Not now. You need to be open with me, and I need you to trust me. And I'll do the same for you. We'll support each other through this—through the loss, through all of it—and figure out how to rebuild what we've lost."

Simon swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. He knew she was right. He couldn't carry this burden alone anymore. It wasn't just his pain to bear; it was theirs. And he needed her more than he could admit out loud. But the fear of opening up, of letting her see the broken pieces of him, had kept him silent for so long.

He nodded, the weight of her words sinking in, grounding him. She was his anchor. She always had been. He wanted to pull her close, to promise her everything would be okay, but all he could manage was a simple, shaky "Okay."

Her eyes softened as she cupped his face with her free hand, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "Promise me you won't shut me out. Promise me you'll let me help you through this, just like I know you'll help me." Her voice trembled ever so slightly, and Simon felt his heart twist with the quiet plea in her words.

"I promise," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her palm, his lips lingering there a moment longer than necessary.

She gave him a small smile, her eyes full of understanding. "Thank you," she murmured, then gently pulled her hand away, her expression becoming tender but firm. "Now go take a shower. We've got to get ready to go see my parents. I know it's probably the last thing you want to do right now, but we've got to face it."

Simon hesitated, looking away for a moment, the weight of it all hanging in the air. "I'm not sure I'm ready to see them yet," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His throat tightened as he spoke, the thought of facing her parents—the people who had been through so much with them—felt like too much to bear in that moment.

She nodded in understanding, her gaze softening. "I get it, Simon. I do. We'll go when you're ready. And if you're not ready today, that's okay." She took a deep breath, her fingers brushing over his knuckles as she continued, her voice full of sincerity. "I'll tell them the truth. I'll tell them everything. But for now, I'll respect that you need time alone. You don't have to go if you're not ready."

Simon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you," he whispered. His eyes met hers, and without thinking, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. It was brief, but it was enough to remind them both of their bond, their love, and the strength they had in each other.

She smiled softly, her hand resting against his chest. "Take all the time you need. I'm here when you're ready. Always."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment, feeling her warmth, the comfort of her presence. "I'm so glad you're here," he murmured, the words coming from a place deep inside him, where the weight of everything still lingered. But with her by his side, he knew he wasn't alone.

"I know," she said, pressing her forehead to his. "We'll get through this, together."

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[ponyosmom35]

Home

Simon ghost riley x fem reader

Liability series!

Synopsis: Simon goes home for the first time

The air was heavy in the quiet parking lot outside the base. The kind of stillness that felt unnatural, where every word carried more weight than it should. They stood near the car that would take them home, their bags already loaded, but no one was quite ready to say the final goodbye.

Kyle was the first to break the silence, stepping forward and pulling her into a tight hug. His grip was firm, almost desperate, as if he could hold her there and stop time from moving forward. "Take care of each other, yeah?" His voice cracked slightly, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure.

She nodded, her face pressed against his shoulder. "We will. You too, Kyle. Please, just… look after yourself."

When they pulled back, Kyle turned to Simon, his jaw tightening as he extended a hand. Simon hesitated for a moment before taking it, pulling Kyle into a firm, brotherly hug. Neither said anything at first; words felt too small for everything that needed to be said.

Finally, Kyle murmured, "It's not the same without him." His voice wavered, and he pulled back, looking Simon in the eye. "But he'd want us to keep going, yeah? So… just keep going, mate."

Simon gave a short nod, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You too, Kyle." His voice was rough, his usual stoicism barely holding up.

Price stood off to the side, watching with his arms crossed. When she turned to him, he opened them, and she walked straight into his embrace. Price held her like a father comforting his child, his hand lightly patting her back. "You've been through hell," he said quietly. "But you're strong. You'll get through this too."

She pulled back, tears streaming down her face. "I'm going to miss you, Captain."

"You call me if you ever need anything, you hear?" Price said, his voice firm but kind. "Doesn't matter what it is."

Finally, Price turned to Simon, his expression softening. "You've got a good thing there," he said, nodding toward her. "Don't let the ghosts take it away from you."

Simon didn't reply, just gave a sharp nod, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Price stepped forward, gripping Simon's shoulder tightly. "You've done your part, Simon. You've earned the right to heal. Don't waste it."

Simon's jaw worked as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the words. Instead, he simply held Price's gaze, the unspoken understanding between them enough.

As she and Simon climbed into the car, Kyle and Price stood together, watching them. She gave a small wave, her face streaked with tears, while Simon offered a barely perceptible nod.

As the car pulled away, Kyle exhaled heavily, running a hand over his face. "Feels wrong, them leaving. Like we're all just falling apart."

Price nodded, his gaze fixed on the fading car. "We are. But we've still got to hold the line."

They stood there in silence for a while, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them. Behind their stoic expressions, the pain of their shared loss lingered, raw and unrelenting.

The hum of the airport was constant—announcements over the intercom, the shuffle of footsteps, the occasional cry of a child—but Simon's focus was elsewhere. He adjusted the plain black mask on his face, his eyes scanning the crowds around them. Beside him, she fidgeted, pulling at the edges of her own mask.

"Simon," she whispered, leaning closer to him. "Isn't this a bit much? No one's looking for us anymore."

He glanced at her, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "You can't be sure of that." His voice was low, firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument.

She sighed, crossing her arms. "I know you're worried, but we've been careful. It's not like I'm walking around with a flashing sign over my head."

Simon didn't reply immediately, his jaw tightening as he surveyed their surroundings again. His paranoia wasn't unfounded; they'd been through too much to take chances now. "I'm not taking any risks. Not with you."

She softened at his words, her irritation fading. "Alright," she said quietly, reaching over to rest her hand on his arm. "If it makes you feel better, I'll keep it on."

He nodded, his posture relaxing just a fraction. "Thank you."

They settled into their seats at the gate, the weight of exhaustion hanging over them both. She leaned against him, her head finding a comfortable spot on his shoulder. "You're going to drive yourself mad if you don't rest," she murmured, her eyes already fluttering closed.

Simon's hand instinctively moved to her knee, his touch light but reassuring. "Can't rest," he said softly. "Not here."

She didn't reply, her breathing evening out as she drifted off. He glanced down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly in something that might have been a smile if the situation were different. His hand stayed on her knee, grounding himself in her presence.

But sleep wouldn't come. His mind raced, playing through every scenario, every possible threat that could emerge from the sea of strangers around them. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes—her being dragged away, her terrified cries echoing in his ears.

His grip on her knee tightened involuntarily, and she stirred, mumbling something incoherent before settling again. Simon took a deep breath, forcing himself to ease his grip.

The hours stretched on, and Simon remained vigilant, his sharp gaze never leaving the crowd. The mask hid his expression, but his eyes betrayed the storm raging within him.

When their boarding group was called, Simon gently woke her, his hand brushing over her hair. She blinked up at him, groggy but trusting, and he helped her to her feet.

As they walked toward the gate, her hand slipped into his, their fingers lacing together. She gave him a small squeeze, a silent message of comfort and understanding.

He glanced at her, his heart tightening. He didn't need to say it aloud—she already knew. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. Not again.

–

The car rolled up the quiet street, the hum of the engine the only sound in the stillness of the early evening. The familiar sight of their home came into view, and Simon felt his chest tighten. The small, cozy house stood like a beacon of normalcy against the backdrop of everything they had been through—a place untouched by the chaos, by the loss.

She glanced at him as the car slowed. She saw the way his shoulders relaxed, how his grip on the steering wheel loosened, and how his eyes softened as he took in the sight. He didn't say anything at first, just stared at the house, his lips pressed into a thin line.

When the car came to a stop, he turned the engine off but didn't move. His hand rested on the keys, his gaze fixed out the window.

"Simon?" her voice was soft, careful.

He blinked, swallowing hard as he turned to her. "It's been… a long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

She smiled gently, reaching over to rest her hand on his. "We're home," she whispered, as if saying it too loudly might break the fragile moment.

Simon nodded, his throat bobbing as he tried to speak again, but no words came. Instead, he stepped out of the car, his movements slow, deliberate. He stood on the gravel driveway, his eyes tracing the details of the house—the worn brickwork, the garden fence she had insisted on painting last spring, the curtains she'd picked out.

The door creaked softly as Simon pushed it open, the familiar sound hitting him like a freight train. It was the same house, the same smell of lavender and something faintly sweet from the candles she always kept around, but it felt different—like stepping into a memory he'd been forced to let go of.

For a moment, he froze in the doorway, his shadow stretching long across the floor as the setting sun streamed in behind him. His heart thudded in his chest, a rhythm that felt too fast and too slow all at once. This was real. He was here. Home.

But the weight of what it had taken to get here—to fake his own death, to sever ties with the people he cared about—settled heavily on his shoulders. He had walked away from this, thinking he'd never see it again. He had mourned it.

The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the fridge in the kitchen. His boots felt too loud against the floor as he stepped inside, his eyes roaming over the familiar details: the photos on the wall, the throw blanket draped over the couch, the stack of Junie's storybooks on the coffee table.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the couch as if to confirm it was real. His breath hitched when he saw the framed photo by the fireplace—him, her, and Junie on a sunny day at the park. He had almost forgotten how happy he looked in it.

His knees threatened to give out as the ache of all he had lost and all he had found collided within him. He gripped the back of the couch for support, his vision blurring with unshed tears.

there, curled up on the couch, was Junie, their scruffy, black-and-white cat. Junie's ears twitched at the sound of their footsteps, and when she called out softly, the cat stretched and jumped off the couch, trotting over to greet them.

"Hey, little one," she murmured, kneeling down to pet Junie as Simon stood by the door, his chest tight. Junie rubbed against her hand before turning to Simon, his green eyes narrowing, as though to say, Where have you been, you've been gone forever.

Simon couldn't hold back a small smile, but it was fleeting. He crouched down, his fingers brushing through Junie's fur, and for a moment, the world seemed to settle. But it wasn't enough to erase the heaviness in his chest.

"She likes you already," she notes, Simon stares at her blankly.

She noticed immediately. She always did.

"Simon," she said softly, her voice gentle but knowing. "You're home. We're home." She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he met her gaze, feeling the weight of her words hit him harder than he expected.

He nodded, his throat too tight to say anything. He didn't know how to express the relief, the gratitude, the raw emotion that was crashing over him. He just stood there for a moment, allowing himself to feel it, to soak in the comfort of being in this space with her again.

She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. Her warmth was grounding, and for a few seconds, Simon let himself lean into her, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of her hair. It had been so long since he'd felt this safe.

"Let's go to bed," She whispered, her voice a soft invitation. "We need sleep."

He nodded, letting her lead him upstairs. The bed was the same—soft, familiar, and waiting for them. They didn't bother with anything else. They simply crawled under the covers, their limbs instinctively finding each other, the exhaustion from the days, weeks, and months apart finally catching up with them.

She curled into his chest, and Simon held her close, his hand gently brushing through her hair. The silence between them was comfortable now, soothing, as they just relished the feeling of being in their own bed, together, again.

"I never thought we'd have this again," She whispered, her voice barely audible as she snuggled closer.

Simon kissed the top of her head, the words catching in his throat. He didn't need to speak. She could feel everything in the way his arms tightened around her, in the warmth of his embrace. He wasn't sure he could find the right words even if he tried.

But in that moment, none of it mattered. She was here. He was here.

He closed his eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing, and finally allowed himself to relax. In the quiet of their bedroom, with Junie curled up at the foot of the bed, Simon drifted into sleep, holding she close, knowing that no matter what came next, they were home—together.

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