[Description: a looping bouncy animation of grace and Rocky from project hail mary. Grace throws himself onto rocky for a hug, smiling and nuzzling his face to the top of Rocky's xenonite covered carapace. Rocky brings a claw up to ruffle Grace's hair and grace throws himself even more on top of rocky, rocky wrapping his arms around grace. End description.]
"Clark, you hate me now?" You ask, stiffling a giggle as you walk a couple of steps behind him with your phone out and recording.
"Huh?" Clark asks in front of you, not stopping. His hands are full with bags.
You went for a little shopping spree, and ended up buying more shit than necessary. And Clark as always refuses to let you even lift a finger.
"Why aren't you holding my hand?" A small giggle escapes you as you see him manhandle all of the bags into one hand immediately. It looks very uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem too fazed by it.
He wiggles the now empty hand for you, and this time you laugh loudly as you reach out for it. "Sorry, sweetheart."
Clark says apologetically and you giggle even more. Why is your boyfriend so unbelievably sweet? Carrying all the bags for you AND apologising for not holding your hand? Yeah, you are a goner for this man.
"What's so funny?" Clark finally questions, the corners of his mouth up, too. "Are you recording?"
"Yes." You chuckle. And oh god, your friends are going to love this video. They were the ones that suggested that you should try this trend on your kind-hearted boyfriend.
"Okay." He just says, dropping a kiss to your forehead as you walk to his car. Your heels click against the pavement, you regretted wearing these kitten heels to go shopping an hour ago.
"Do you feet hurt badly, doll?" Clark asks, when he hears a soft wince from you. You never hit the stop button so the video keeps going.
"It's okay, we are almost at the c-"
You don't even get to finish your reply, when his muscled arm sneaks round your body and lifts you up.
You squeel and then laugh. You just fall in love with him even more when he does things like this. Your sweet, sweet boyfriend.
His hands are more than full now with all of the bags in one hand and you in the other, but his face screams happiness when he looks at you. Reflecting the feelings in yours.
-
Clark doesn't even ask about the video. Not until he comes to the Daily Planet and has the whole floor swooning at him, he learns about the little viral video you made.
At first Bruce was relieved, seeing his son do normal teenager things, like ignore everyone around him with his face in his phone, was a good bit of normalcy in both their lives.
The novelty ran it's course pretty quickly.
Tim started giving him confused glances during meetings when Damian would have his head down, phone under the table, clearly only half listening.
During dinner, every time his phone would vibrate, he'd slip it under the table and type a reply before going back to eating. In the car, at gala's, even during training.
He thought it was just Jon at first, maybe correspondences with the Titans or other heroes, but the way Damian would lock his screen the second anyone got into viewing distance of it made him rethink those theories.
He managed to hold himself off from snooping until he had evidence that his son's new habit was actually negatively affecting him. Like, for example, catching him hunched over on some random apartment roof, typing away when he should've been patrolling.
Figuring he had a right to snooping now, Bruce crept behind him like a shadow, finally getting a good look at what the hell had his son so distracted.
"Cute."
Damian fumbles with his phone and tries to throw a kick behind him but Bruce catches it. He meets his father's cowl and Bruce catches the split second of genuine fear on his son's face. Bruce must've let his amusement show because Damian's scowl returns in full force, he stands up on the ledge, towering over his father.
"That was an invasion of privacy-"
"World's sexiest girlfriend?"
Damian's shoulders tense all the way up to his red ears, completely forgetting the accusations he was throwing to instead defend his honour.
"She put that stupid name as her contact! You really think I-"
"You didn't change it?"
"...It's none of your business!"
Bruce crosses his arms, he's a father of four sons, he's dealt with this kind of thing before but he never actually thought he'd have to with Damian. A strange fatherly pride swells in his chest.
"It is when you do it on the job. If I catch you slacking again, I'll have to tell your girlfriend you're grounded. Don't make me do that."
Bruce tries his best to sound like a tired parent, like he isn't completely amused by this situation. As his youngest angrily grapples away, he can barely hide the delight in his voice when he says,
Synopsis: Johnny is still not over you and it shows. +18 mature content
So that’s my fic submission for @jqficexchange
Hope it’s alright. Haven’t written in a while and never for Johnny Storm. 😂
You stood barefoot in the kitchen at 2:17 a.m. Inside: almond milk you didn’t buy, takeout containers labeled in Reed’s neat handwriting, and a single slice of pizza wrapped in foil with DO NOT TOUCH – JOHNNY written aggressively across it.
You closed the fridge.
“Pizza’s mine if you didn’t know.”
You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who it was. With Johnny, it was usually easy to know.
“Relax,” you replied flatly and took a bottle of water. “I wasn’t going to eat it. I value my life.”
“Good,” he grinned before sitting on the counter. “I love left over pizza. It’s the best.”
“I know, Johnny.” You grabbed a glass and filled it, deliberately turning your back to him. Exes were easier to deal with when you didn’t look at them too long. Especially exes who could burst into flame when emotionally compromised—which was the case for Johnny.
There was a beat of silence.
“So,” he continued after a brief moment. “You’re still up.”
You hummed and took a sip. “Good job, Sherlock. So are you.”
He grinned at the nickname and shrugged. “Yeah, but I have a natural terrible sleep schedule. Comes with being a sup. What’s your excuse?”
You gave him a meaningful look. “Insomnia. Also unresolved issues. Some of them fire-related.”
“Ouch.” He winced, then hesitated. “Look. About what happened last time I—”
“Don’t,” you cut in, finally turning to face him fully. “I don’t want to have that talk again.”
He blinked and huffed. “Hey. I was just trying to—”
“Johnny. No.” You refused categorical. You already had that talk. It was the same each time. He would try to apologise. You would forgive him and be happy for a few weeks…then you would return to the same old routine of breaking up because you were simply not…right for each other.
He sighed, hands lifting in surrender. “Okay. Okay. Tomorrow. Or…later today. Whatever.”
Never. Another silence settled between you two. You moved past him towards the hallway. You didn’t want to feel like that ever again. Last time…when Johnny had crossed a line and almost hurt you. You could still feel the flames…
“Hey,” Johnny called after you and you momentarily stopped. He smiled apologetically at you. “For what it’s worth…I’m glad you stayed with the team. You know…even if we aren’t together anymore.”
Your hand was on your bedroom door and you hesitated. You didn’t know what to say. You had stayed to help Reed with his research. Not for…him.
“Thanks, Johnny.” You eventually replied with a weak smile. You weren’t happy about the breakup. You never were. But he refused to learn and you refused to give in this time.
You wanted Johnny to grow up. He needed it—and so did you.
You closed the door behind you.
Two months later.
The announcement slips out at dinner.
“I’m going out tonight.”
Sue looks up first from her laptop, immediately smiling at the news and Ben pauses mid–protein bar. Johnny—who had been upside down on the couch, feet hooked over the armrest—freezes.
“Oh?” Sue replies with a sweet smile. “A date?”
You nod, already regretting telling them in front of Johnny. “Yeah. Nothing serious. Just…dinner.”
Ben grins and playfully ruffles your hair. “Hey, good for you, kid. Took ya long enough.”
Reed—who had been silent so far—offers a polite, absent-minded nod. “Statistically speaking, moving on is healthy after the dissolution of a romantic partnership.”
You snort. “Yeah. Thanks, Reed.”
You glance at Johnny who is staring at the ceiling. His jaw twitches. You wait and see that he is upset. It is the first time that you actually try seeing new people after a breakup. You wonder if you should at least tell him ‘sorry’. Would that be better? But you do not have the time to think more about it.
“…Cool,” he utters after a beat. He then swings his legs down and stands in one smooth motion.
“Johnny?” Sue frowns. “Where are you going? We’ve got a briefing in—”
“Yeah, I just—forgot something.” He’s already backing away towards the door. “I’ll be back. Probably. Maybe.”
He looks at you then. For half a second, the mask cracks—pain flashing behind his eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced with that familiar crooked grin that used to make you swoon.
“Have fun tonight.” And then he’s gone. The door shuts harder than necessary and the room falls silent.
Sue slowly turns to you. “…He’ll be fine. Probably.”
Ben clears his throat. “Kid’s faster than a rocket, but when it comes to feelings? Still hits walls.”
You swallow, heart thudding in a way you didn’t expect. You hadn’t thought he’d care this much. Your phone buzzes in your hand—your date checking in. But all you can think about is Johnny, vanishing in a hurry…and the look of pure despair in his eyes.
Later that night.
Your date is…nice. Genuinely nice.
They laugh at the right moments and listen when you talk. You catch yourself smiling without forcing it. Catch yourself thinking, Oh. This is what normal feels like.
“So,” they say, swirling their drink, “what’s it like living in the Baxter Building?”
You chuckle awkwardly and take a sip of your drink. “Exciting. Occasionally terrifying to be honest. But wouldn’t have it any other way.”
They grin and nod back. “Sounds…really nice.”
“It’s overrated,” you tease. “I like quiet evenings. Good food. No explosions...”
You freeze. You want to slap yourself. Explosions…Why did you have to talk about explosions? But your date only nods understandingly and you resume the conversation with a smile.
However, a sharp alarm suddenly starts blaring through the restaurant. A waiter approaches your table quickly, face pale but composed.
“I’m so sorry,” he tells you both with a tense small smile. “I need you to gather your belongings and exit the building immediately.”
You look around and see other people leaving in a hurry. You frown worriedly. “What’s going on?”
The waiter sighs. “There’s been a fire reported in the basement. Emergency services are on the way.”
Fire. Your stomach drops. You’re already standing before your brain catches up, your chair scraping loudly against the floor.
That…IDIOT.
“A fire?” your date echoes, confused. “How—”
You grab your coat, pulse racing.
No. No, no, no.
Smoke everywhere.
A familiar, unmistakable pressure in your chest. Your date stands beside you, confused and unsettled. You barely notice. Because you already know.
Your phone buzzes violently in your hand.
JOHNNY.
You stare at the screen for half a second too long before answering.
“Johnny,” you reply and your voice sounds cold and composed—even when you are boiling with rage inside. “Where are you?”
“…You need to get away from the building,” he urges you. “Now.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. “That was you.”
Silence. There’s no doubt now.
“I didn’t mean for it to spread.”
You close your eyes. Of course. “…Where are you right now, Johnny? Just tell me.”
He doesn’t answer for a moment. Then he sighs and confesses. “I’m just outside the restaurant.”
You run outside, scanning the street—and there he is, across the way, amongst the curious onlookers.
Your date stands awkwardly beside you. “Uh—should we—?”
“I’m so sorry,” you interrupt, already stepping away. “I—this is complicated. I’ll message you.”
They nod, stunned but kind. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. See ya.”
You don’t wait for them to leave. You cross the street, ignoring the shouts, the sirens in the distance and follow Johnny into an alley.
“Tell me the truth,” you confront him, voice low. “Did you set a fire because I went on a date?”
His jaw tightens. Flames flicker—just for a second—then die.
“No. I set a fire because I couldn’t breathe.” He turns back towards you and you can see the genuine sadness in his eyes. “I landed, and I was mad, and the basement door was unlocked and I just—lost it for half a second.”
You swallow. “People could’ve been hurt.”
“I know.” His voice cracks. “That’s why I called it in. I wouldn’t— I’d never—”
You step closer. “Listen, Johnny. I didn’t go on that date to punish you.”
His eyes flick up to yours.
“I know,” he whispers. “That’s the worst part.”
Johnny exhales shakily and shakes his head. “I thought I was okay. Thought I was doing the mature ex thing but…I’m still me. I’m still me, Y/N.”
Your heart clenched in your chest. Still with that same old excuse of ‘fire burns and you gotta deal with it’. Well…no. No—you wouldn’t deal with it. Not this time. He had to learn. He had to.
“People could have gotten hurt because of you!” You finally snap and glare at him.
Johnny flinches as you raise your voice at him. “I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what?” you cut in, voice sharp and shaking. “Didn’t mean to set a building on fire? Didn’t mean to put civilians in danger? Or didn’t mean to completely humiliate me in front of someone who was actually nice to me?”
His eyes soften and he sighs. “That’s not fair—”
“Oh, it’s more than fair.” You laugh bitterly and lift an accusative finger at him. “I tell the team I’m going on a date and you do this?! What is wrong with you?!”
He clenches his fists. “I told you. I lost control for a second.”
“You’re a superhero,” you fire back. “You don’t get ‘a second.’”
People are staring now. You don’t care.
“You don’t get to decide that my moving on is an emergency,” you continue, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to sabotage my life because you can’t handle your feelings.”
“I wasn’t trying to sabotage you!” he snaps back, finally meeting your anger with some of his own. “I was trying not to fall apart!”
“Then fall apart away from me and my date,” you say coldly.
Johnny’s eyes widen in shock and his voice drops as he confesses. “I couldn’t help it. I hate the idea of someone else touching you. It hurts me.”
You glare at him. “That is not my problem anymore.”
That one particularly hurts him. You can see it. His shoulders sag just a little.
“You broke up with me,” he reminds you and shrugs. “Was I supposed to just step aside while you find my replacement? ‘Cause let’s be honest. There’s NO ONE like me out there. There’s no one for you but me. I am your one and only, princess. Better get used to it.”
You blink and your eyes water. But you quickly wipe the tears away. “Wow. Just wow. You know why I broke up with you, Johnny? I did it because you do things like this. Because when you’re hurting, you burn everything around you and expect me to stand there with a fire extinguisher and a smile.”
You take a step back.
“Well…I’m not cleaning this up for you. You’re on your own, J. I won’t protect you anymore. Not ever again.”
Johnny looks like he wants to say a thousand things. You don’t give him the chance. You turn and walk away—past the crowd and past the restaurant that was supposed to be a fresh start.
The one Johnny Storm had ruined.
…
For a week, Johnny Storm does not exist.
Day one is easy.
You leave the apartment early. Headphones in. Eyes forward. When Johnny’s door creaks open behind you, you don’t turn around. You don’t acknowledge the heat shift in the hallway or the way he says your name.
You don’t answer.
By the time you reach the elevator, your hands are shaking.
Day two is awkward.
Sue corners you in the lab while Reed is distracted with equations that look more like abstract art.
“He’s not doing well,” she warns you gently.
You don’t look up from the coffee machine. “Neither were the people he endangered.”
Sue sighs. “I’m not excusing it.”
“Good,” you reply dryly. “Because I’m not fixing it. I’m not fixing him. It’s not my job. It never was. Now, let me focus.”
She lets it go.
Day three is weird.
Johnny laughs too hard at Ben’s jokes. He flames on during training longer than necessary, pushing until Reed orders him to stand down. You watch from the sidelines with your arms crossed. What are you doing, Johnny?
He glances at you once. You don’t look back.
Day four is petty.
Someone—Johnny—leaves your favorite mug cleaned and placed exactly where you like it. Handle turned outward. Tea bag beside it. A silent peace offering.
You pick it up. You put it in a different cabinet.
You use a disposable cup instead.
From down the hall, something thuds against a wall and a curse follows. He knows.
Day five hurts.
You come home late. The apartment is dark. Johnny always leaves lights on. You find him on the balcony, sitting on the floor with his back against the glass, knees pulled to his chest.
He looks up when you open the door.
Hope flashes across his face.
You walk past him without a word.
The door clicks shut behind you.
Day six is even worse.
He stops trying. No notes.
No jokes muttered under his breath.
No hovering in doorways like he’s waiting for permission to exist. You tell yourself that’s good. It still sits wrong in your chest.
Day seven is unbearable.
The team eats together. Johnny takes the seat farthest from you. Doesn’t speak unless spoken to.
Ben shoots you a look. You ignore it.
Later that night, you hear him in the kitchen—glass clinking, water running too long. You stay in your room, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding like you’re the one on fire.
Your phone buzzes. A message from Johnny.
Time-stamped 3:12 a.m.
You don’t open it. You set the phone face-down.
For an entire week, you ignore him.
You’re stretched across the bed, knees bent, book resting against your thighs. The story is good, but tonight you’re rereading the same paragraph for the third time, eyes skimming without absorbing.
And then…your door swings open so hard it rattles the frame.
You don’t look up.
“Say something.” Johnny’s voice is raw and you can already tell that he is pissed.
You turn a page. That’s when he snaps.
In two strides he’s at the bed. His hand comes down—not on you, never on you—but on the book, fingers closing around the spine.
“Johnny,” you warn, calm on the surface, brittle underneath.
He yanks it out of your hands. Heat surges.
The pages curl, blacken, disintegrate—ash drifting down between you like gray snow. The smell of burned paper fills the room.
Your breath catches.
Not because the book is gone. But because his hands are shaking. Because his eyes are lit—not with flame, but with something far worse.
Hurt sharpened into fury.
And that’s when you understand.
He isn’t sad anymore. He’s angry.
“You think you can just erase me from existence?” he snaps, voice cracking under the force of it. “Pretend I don’t exist? Like I’m just—what—background noise you can shut off?”
You sit up slowly, ashes slipping from your fingers. “Johnny—”
“No.” His jaw tightens. “No, you don’t get to talk now. Not after a week of walking past me like I’m already dead.”
Flames lick up his forearms, uncontrolled, bright and furious. The room grows unbearably warm.
“Well, try ignoring this.” He grabs your face—careful despite everything, thumbs hot but not burning—and crashes his mouth against yours. For half a heartbeat, your body betrays you—muscle memory flaring, heart slamming, heat answering heat.
Then reality crashes back in. You shove him away and Johnny stumbles back a step, shock flickering across his face as the flames sputter violently.
“Don’t,” you seethe, voice shaking now, anger finally breaking through. “You do not get to do that.”
He stares at you, chest heaving and his eyes holding a terrible sadness. “You were ignoring me.”
“Yes,” you snap. “Because you scare me. Because you crossed a line, Johnny. You keep crossing every line I try to set!”
Silence drops heavy between you.
“I didn’t know how else to make you look at me,” he admit hoarsely and his eyes sadden as he looks down at the ashes on the ground.
You laugh. It hurts. “Congratulations. You burned a book and kissed me. Gold star, Johnny. You should be proud of yourself.”
He winces.
“I—” He runs a hand through his hair, ash smearing across his knuckles. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know what you were trying to do,” you interrupt. “And that’s the problem. You have no control over yourself. None.”
Your chest rises and falls fast now. Johnny swallows, eyes glassy, voice barely above a whisper. “I just…I can’t stand being invisible to you.”
You meet his gaze, steady despite the ache.“You brought this upon yourself. I loved you Johnny…but apparently it isn’t enough to love you. You need more. You always need more. You need a mother, a sister, a caretaker, a girlfriend, a wife and a problem solver! You…need too much.”
The room is quiet again. He moves again. His mouth crashes against yours a second time—desperate, pleading, messy with everything he hasn’t said—and you stop it. You shove him. You have had enough.
“Johnny,” you call him sharply, breath uneven. “Stop.”
He freezes and his voice breaks.
“You love me,” he tells you with tears in his eyes. “I love you. Just—just fucking stay with me. Don’t leave me. That’s not fair.”
That hurts. Because he’s right about one thing. You do love him. You close your eyes, jaw tight, fighting the ache in your chest. “I am tired, Johnny...I need time.”
He swallows. “By pretending I don’t exist?”
You sigh and shake your head. “Johnny…”
He looks wrecked and started begging. “I need you. Please.”
“That,” you say, opening your eyes and meeting his, “is exactly the problem.”
Silence stretches. Then you lower your hands.
“…I need you to act like a man, Johnny. Not a child.”
He nods immediately. “Okay. Yes. I—okay. I will be a man for you.”
“Say it again,” you demand.
“I will be a man for you,” Johnny obeys, voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “And I’m scared. And I’m angry. And I screw things up. But I’m here. I’m not running. I’m not lighting anything on fire. I just—I want to fight with you, not against you.”
You inhale. Then—only then—you lean in. This time, the kiss is different. His hands stay where you guide them. His mouth softens when yours does. He’s trying to follow your lead. When you pull back, your foreheads rest together.
“This doesn’t fix everything,” you whisper.
“I know,” he concedes. “But please don’t shut me out.”
You exhale shakily. “I’m not promising anything.”
“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “Just…don’t give up on me.”
You don’t answer right away. But you don’t step back either.
…
A few days later, the Baxter Building is quiet in the way it only ever gets when something’s wrong. Johnny notices it immediately. You didn’t come out for breakfast. You didn’t yell at Reed for reorganizing the fridge.
He knocks once on your door—soft, careful.
No answer. That’s all it takes.
He opens it and finds you curled up in bed, blankets piled high, hair a mess and your cheeks flushed. Your nose is red. Your breathing is shallow. There’s a tissue graveyard on the nightstand.
“…Oh,” he murmurs as he finally gets it.
You crack one eye open. “Johnny. Get ou—”
“Nope,” he interrupts you, already at your side, hand hovering over your forehead. “Wow. You’re hot. You’re usually hot but…this is on a new level.”
“Cold,” you mumble. “I’m freezing.”
At that, Johnny doesn’t hesitate. In seconds, he’s stripping—shirt, pants, everything tossed aside without ceremony.
You squint at him weakly. “Johnny…?”
“Shh,” he shushes you gently, sliding under the covers with you. “You’re sick. This is science.”
“Is it?” you whisper as your eyes slowly close.
“Absolutely,” he answers confidently, then wraps himself around you from behind, chest to your back, legs tangling with yours. You gasp softly despite yourself as warmth floods through you.
“Oh my god,” you breathe. “That feels—”
“I know,” he says quietly with a smug grin. “I’ve been a space heater my whole life.”
His arm settles over your waist, firm but gentle, hand splayed against your stomach. His chin rests near your shoulder and he sighs.
“You should’ve told me,” he adds, softer. “I would’ve come sooner.”
Your throat tightens. “Didn’t want to bother you.”
He frowns. “You’d never bother me, darling. You know that.”
You relax into him despite yourself and Johnny presses his lips to your shoulder.
“Rest, sweetheart. You’re sick. You’re cold. And am gonna warm you up in no time. Just leave it to me.”
Your body shifting closer in your sleep, seeking warmth. Your hand curls into the sheet, then into his side. Your forehead nudges back against his jaw. Johnny stills, breath caught. And then, your lips brush his. A ghost of a kiss. Warm, unfocused, all instinct and no intention.
Johnny’s entire body goes rigid.
He tells himself not to move. Tells himself this doesn’t count. That you’re sick and half-asleep. That he should be better than this.
You kiss him again.
This time it’s slower. A little more sure. Your lips linger, part just enough to breathe him in before settling again…Johnny exhales shakily. He holds out for half a second more.
Then he breaks.
He turns just enough to meet you, kisses you back softly. He keeps it gentle. Keeps it brief.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours with his eyes shut tight. You sigh in your sleep, content, and nuzzle closer—nose brushing his throat, lips ghosting his skin again before you settle. Johnny laughs quietly, breathless and helpless.
He doesn’t sleep after that.
…
Later that day
You wake up slowly, dragged out of sleep by two things at once.
One: your nose is no longer freezing.
Two: something very solid is pressing insistently into your side.
You frown, half-awake, brain foggy with cold meds and warmth. You shift a little—and the pressure shifts with you.
“…What,” you mumble. Your eyes crack open. Johnny is still behind you, arm draped over your waist, chin tucked near your shoulder. He’s very much awake. Very still.
The realization hits you all at once.
You freeze. He freezes harder. There’s a long, painful beat where neither of you says anything.
Then Johnny clears his throat. “Okay. Before you say literally anything—”
You groan softly and bring a hand up to cover your face. “I’m sick. This is harassment.”
He lets out a helpless, strained laugh. “I swear to God, I was fine until you kissed me in your sleep. Twice.”
You peek at him over your fingers. His ears are red. Like, really red.
“I did?” you ask weakly.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “And I tried to be noble. I really did. But I’m also human. A human with a functioning body who can occasionally get horny.”
You sigh and carefully shift onto your back, creating a little space between you. He adjusts instantly, pulling away just enough to give you breathing room.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “Didn’t mean to…start anything.”
“You didn’t start anything,” he reassures you quickly. “You’re sick. You were asleep. This is a me problem.”
You glance at him. “…You okay?”
Johnny presses his lips together, then nods once. “Yeah. I can handle it. I’ll just—think unsexy thoughts.”
You snort. “Like?”
“Taxes,” he replies grimly. “Reed explaining physics. Ben’s feet.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself, which immediately turns into a cough. Johnny’s arm is back around you in a second, rubbing your side, warmth carefully calibrated.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Don’t die. That’d be awkward.”
You relax despite yourself, cheeks warm now for a different reason. You close your eyes. Johnny stays very still. And if he keeps one eye open the rest of the day, staring at the wall and counting backward in Spanish while acting as your personal radiator—
Well. That’s his problem.
A few days later.
Reed’s meeting is announced over breakfast like it’s nothing. “Overnight symposium. Negative Zone applications. I’ll be unavailable until tomorrow evening.”
Johnny barely reacts—until later. Until he hears your bedroom door open. He looks up from the couch. And forgets how lungs work.
You’re dressed for trouble. Something that hugs in all the right places. Hair done. Lip gloss catching the light. You don’t even look at him at first, just slip on your shoes like you’re not about to ruin his entire evening.
“…Where are you going?” he asks, voice already high-pitched. Translation: where are WE going?
You glance over your shoulder and shrug. “Out.”
That’s it. Johnny is on his feet in two seconds.“Out where.”
You shrug again. “Does it matter?”
Yes. Yes, it absolutely does.
He closes the distance between you in three long strides.
“You look like that,” he tells you quietly, eyes dragging over you, “on the one night Reed’s gone?”
You tilt your head. “What? I’m not allowed to feel good about myself?”
His jaw tightens. A smile ghosts over his mouth.
“I didn’t say that,” he murmurs. “I’m just saying…I wanna go with you.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Johnny—”
He leans in, voice dropping to your ear. “I’ve spent weeks trying to be good. Trying not to crowd you. Trying not to set anything on fire. And you decide to wear that in my presence? Knowing perfectly well that I wouldn’t let you leave without me? Fuck, princess. That’s cheating.”
A hand finally settles on your waist. “That dress is a amazing by the way. All for me now to unwrap like a pretty present.”
Your pulse jumps. “That sounds like a threat.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you and shakes his head. “Hey. Tell me no. And I’ll back off. I swear. But know that am begging. That dress is gonna be in my head for the rest of the night…Come on. You know I’ve been trying. I’ve been a good boy. I’ve learnt my lesson. Don’t I deserve a little kiss for good behaviour? Please?”
You hesitate. Then you sigh in defeat. At this point, you know you’re in trouble. You grab the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. Johnny groans softly, hands sliding up your back like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.
Johnny doesn’t say another word.
It’s like he finally understands that talking is the thing that always gets him in trouble.
You pull him towards the bedroom and close the door. His hands slide from your waist—slow, deliberate—thumbs tracing heat through fabric as his mouth trails along your jaw, your throat.
You feel him pause.
Then…he drops to his knees in front of you.
The shift alone steals your breath.
Johnny looks up at you from there, eyes dark, reverent, hungry in a way that makes your stomach flip. One hand hooks gently around your thigh, thumb brushing warm circles on your bare skin.
Still asking.
You tangle your fingers in his hair.
That’s all the permission he needs.
He exhales against you—slow, hot—and then his mouth is leaving soft kisses along your inner thigh.
Your head tips back before you realize it.
Johnny hums softly—pleased, focused—and the sound alone sends a shiver straight through you.
He doesn’t rush.
When he finally looks up at you again, his lips curve in a knowing smile—
“See?” he murmurs. “I can shut up when it matters.”
You laugh breathlessly, pulling him back up by his shoulders. Your lips find his again and his hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. You break the kiss just long enough to trail your fingers down the front of his shirt. Johnny huffs, a sharp, startled sound that melts into a low groan as you begin undoing buttons with confident, steady fingers. He leans into your touch, letting you take control, chest rising and falling under your hands.
When the shirt finally slips over his shoulders, you pause, taking a moment to appreciate him. You let your hands explore, sliding over his chest and tracing the lines of muscle that ripple under your touch. He tilts his head back, letting out a soft moan that makes your pulse spike.
Your fingers undo his belt, a slow, deliberate tease, and you finally slide his pants down. Johnny’s lips find yours again immediately.
“Y/N…” he breathes against your lips and grins. “I really missed you.”
You grin back against his mouth, pressing him back until the back of his legs hit the bed. “Did you now? Did you miss me…or miss this?”
Johnny smirks. “Both.”
The bed creaks under you as you both end up on it. Johnny’s movements are both gentle and eager. Moans and whispers fill the room, punctuated by the occasional sharp gasp as he pulls you close. Your bodies move together and he pants as he tried to find a rythm that would satisfy you both. By the end, you’re both trembling, breathless, bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing in unison.
He kissed your neck.
“I love you.”
…You do not answer.
…
In the morning, you are awaken by soft lips tracing a path down your neck, hot and feather-light. Johnny’s hand tangles in your hair while the other presses your body close.
“Morning, gorgeous…” he murmurs.
Your eyes flutter open, still blurry with sleep, and before you can even protest, his lips are leaving hickeys along your skin. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.
“Johnny…” you manage, voice thick with sleep and want.
He lifts his head just enough to smirk down at you. “Yeah? You finally awake, gorgeous?”
Before you can answer, he’s back at your neck, teeth grazing, lips pressing, whispers of “sweetie” and “fuck” tumbling out in a rhythm that makes your chest tight, your pulse quicken, and the world outside your bedroom disappear completely.
Yeah. You’d never get rid of him. You don’t know how you thought that was even ever an option.
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 21
