♡ He wanted all of it. And somehow, impossibly, he wanted it all with you.
Warnings: 18+ / MDNI! • Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Female Masturbation (Use of a Vibrator), Dry humping, Voyeurism (Accidental), Steve Harrington Being Hopelessly in Love (and Coming in His Pants)
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!Henderson!reader
Word count: 6.4k
Summary: Steve Harrington walks in at the worst possible moment. Fortunately for both of you, it forces a conversation you should have had years ago—preferably not with something buzzing between you.
Author’s note: One day I won't accidentally turn a pure smutty request into a feelings fest complete with mutual pining, emotional constipation and a confession. Today is not that day... apologies to you ♥︎
Also, has the quote in the header inspired another idea yes... no further questions, good day ♥︎
The crumpled post-it note hanging from the fridge was the first sign that something was… different. The second was the absence of Dustin's voice—which, quite frankly, should have been audible from three streets away.
"Mom? Dustin?" Your voice echoed through the empty kitchen.
Nothing.
Frowning, you crossed the room and pulled the note from beneath the heart-shaped magnet holding it in place. The bright yellow paper was covered in your mom's unmistakable looping cursive.
Book club at Belinda's. Dustin at Wheelers. Pizza money on the counter. Love you Hunnybuns xxx
You can't remember the last time you had the house all to yourself. No Dustin yelling your name from the other side of the house because he couldn't find something that was right in front of him. No Dustin barging into your room without knocking. No Dustin demanding lifts off of you.
Just peace and quiet. And well, you couldn't possibly let that go to waste…
"Oooo girls, they wanna have fu-u-un..."
You sang (screamed)–dressed in mismatched socks, an old Hawkins High T-shirt and pyjama shorts, your hair tied up and hanging together by sheer determination, sliding across the kitchen tiles with a whisk doubling as your microphone.
You weren't exactly giving Cyndi Lauper a run for her money, but the half-empty bottle of red wine sitting on the counter was doing a fairly decent job of convincing you otherwise.
You swung open the oven door, immediately being hit by a wave of warm, sugary goodness. Tilting your head, you squinted at the tray of cookies. Misshaped and definitely not done.
You hummed, and with a decisive nod that suggested you had far more baking expertise than you actually possessed, you pulled the rack out slightly and turned the tray around. "There," you informed the cookies. "That'll fix you."
Whether it actually would remained to be seen.
You shut the door and immediately reached for your wine glass, taking a long sip as the next song drifted through the radio. The red wine was pleasantly cool against your tongue, and you leaned back against the counter, swaying slightly to the music.
For a moment, a thought slipped through the haze of music and sugar and warm cookie-scented air. An unwanted thought that maybe, just maybe this wasn’t what a twenty-something-year old should be doing when she got the house to herself. Rather than say, have friends over; you knew the older members of the gang were free tonight bar Robin who had a late shift at the squawk.
Maybe you should, instead, be throwing some crazy party that people would talk about for years or, maybe—maybe you should have invited a boy over.
You immediately shook your head, as if you could physically dislodge the thought from your head. If only it was that easy; because yes, there was a boy… but he didn't want you. Not the way you wanted him.
An annoyingly familiar ache settled itself into your chest, yet again. Unwelcome. Persistent. Stupid, really, considering you'd spent months (years, if you’re honest) trying to convince yourself you were over it. Over him. And his stupidly, beautiful face and stupidly soft hair and stupidly sweet smile and–
The shrill ding-ding-ding-ding-ding of the egg timer nearly sent you through the ceiling.
"Jesus Christ!" You slapped a hand against your chest, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the glass as your heart launched into your throat. You might have definitely, completely and utterly forgotten that you’d set that.
You flicked the timer off and immediately opened the oven door, a wave of warm air washing over you. The cookies had finally reached that perfect golden colour around the edges, chocolate chips melted into glossy puddles across the tops.
Far better company than Steve Harrington.
The thought slipped in uninvited.
You groaned. Apparently your brain wasn't finished torturing you. Or lying to you.
Because as much as you wanted to deny it—and would, repeatedly. As much as you wanted to roll your eyes and pretend otherwise, given the choice between a tray of fresh cookies and Steve Harrington?
Well.
It wasn't exactly the cookies you were thinking about at night now, was it?
Curled beneath your blankets, a plate of still vaguely warm cookies balanced beside you and your wine glass perched precariously on your nightstand, you watched Ronald Miller grin at Cindy Mancini like she was the only woman in the world through the glow of your television screen.
You hadn’t stopped glaring at it. "Oh, please." As if any man was actually like this, well–
The cookie paused halfway to your mouth.
On screen, Ronald was pulling that awkwardly charming routine that was clearly supposed to make audiences swoon. It made you scoff. Actually scoff. He wasn’t that charming. Okay , maybe a little… but he tried way too hard. Steve never even had to try. Steve could walk into a room wearing a ridiculous sweater, carrying six video tapes and complaining loudly (maybe a little obnoxiously), and somehow every eye would still end up on him anyway.
Not based on true events obviously but who cares. The wine certainly didn't. Because suddenly Ronald Miller wasn't even on the screen anymore.
Instead, your mind wandered to broad shoulders, to hands constantly pushing through impossibly soft hair, to warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. It was deeply unfair.
The man couldn't even complain properly.
Somehow, even when he was whining about Dustin dragging him across town for some ridiculous emergency or being roped into babysitting duties for the kids yet again, he still managed to be annoyingly endearing.
Ronald Miller might have looked good in a varsity jacket, but Steve had spent years making one look utterly unfair.
You could still picture him leaning against his BMW outside Hawkins High, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, letterman jacket hanging open, sunlight catching in his hair while half the female population of Hawkins suddenly found excuses to walk past.
The truly irritating part?
Time hadn't fixed the problem. If anything, it had somehow made it ten times worse.
Because somehow Steve Harrington had traded a varsity jacket for a stupid lime-green Family Video vest and had still come out winning.
You could picture him again outside waiting at the end of the day, one arm hanging out the driver's side window, sunglasses shoved into his hair; though this time he was here for you… and Dustin but that’s beside the current point.
On those rare, glorious days you made it to the car alone, his face would immediately light up. "Hey, Henderson."
Then he'd be out of the car, arms wrapped around you before you could even blink, squeezing you in a quick hug that always lasted just long enough to leave you smiling afterwards. Who are you kidding? Just seeing him made you smile for days afterwards.
If Dustin got there first, however, it was a completely different story.
Steve would immediately become trapped in one of your brother's endless monologues while you trailed behind, rolling your eyes as Dustin launched into a detailed explanation of whatever "disaster" had occurred that day. You'd get a quick smile thrown your way as Steve somehow managed to keep up with the conversation, and then you'd open the back door yourself, sliding into your usual seat while the two of them continued talking/bickering.
But then there were summers.
Summers were the worst.
Long afternoons at the lake with the entire gang sprawled across towels and blankets. Robin and Eddie stretched out in the sun. Dustin arguing with Steve about music. Nancy pretending she wasn't people-watching while reading a book. Or days at the local public pool. Dustin loudly insisting he could swim despite never having taken a single lesson because he'd skipped them in favour of science classes. You and Steve watching his every move.
Steve always so close, yet never really there. Sun-bleached hair falling into his eyes, swim shorts hanging low on his hips, and a permanent tan that appeared every summer without fail. The sunlight always seemed to cling to him somehow, turning his skin golden after mere minutes outside.
It was annoying. It was all very, very annoying.
Especially when he laughed and tipped his head back, exposing the line of his throat, or stretched his arms above his head after a swim like he had absolutely no idea what he was doing to the people around him.
Not that you were paying attention. Obviously.
However, more than once you had caught Max and El whispering to each other, looking in Steve's direction. The second you'd followed their gaze, both girls would immediately start grinning.
Which was rich.
Because at least they had the excuse of being teenagers.
You were a grown woman.
A grown woman who should have been perfectly capable of sitting beside Steve Harrington without becoming acutely aware of every accidental brush of shoulders, every lazy smile, every moment he turned toward you and gave you his full attention.
He was the sun.
And you, despite knowing better, had spent years turning your face towards him anyway.
God, you needed a stronger drink–you were turning poetic.
Or, as Eddie constantly insisted, you needed to get laid. Preferably by Steve, but at this point, you'd probably settle for anyone willing to knock some sense into you. ‘Cause god did you need some.
The man was lucky he was your best friend otherwise you would have hit him. It also helped that he was.. maybe not entirely wrong but whatever.
With a sigh, you reached for your wine glass and took another long sip, determined to focus on the next movie instead of your increasingly embarrassing train of thought.
Let's be honest, if any man was capable of making you stop thinking about Steve Harrington, it should have been Westley.
The man literally crossed countries, fought pirates, survived torture and came back from the dead for the woman he loved.
Objectively speaking, that was insanely romantic.
Steve would do that. Your mind immediately countered.
You groaned. "No, he wouldn't."`like saying it aloud might make that true but, hadn't he already kind of done that.
Not the pirate part. Obviously.
But the rest?
The man had been beaten up, battered, dragged through a nightmare dimension and survived being tortured by Russians, all because somebody he knew needed help.
Because that's who Steve was.
You stared at the television, but your mind had already wandered. To a day you’d recalled more times than you can remember. Back to Steve leaning against a tree, chest rising and falling in sharp breaths as everyone caught their bearings. Dirt streaked across his skin. Dried blood along his cheekbone. His hair shoved back from his forehead with trembling hands.
You remembered the fear first.
Then maybe, a little jealousy. The way Nancy had stood so close to him afterwards. The way Steve had looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him upright. Like seeing her there had made everything worth it.
You weren't necessarily proud of those feelings.
But you did have a pretty good defence, if you say so yourself. You'd been in love with the boy for years and had just survived being attacked by a swarm of murderous bats in an alternate dimension. Emotions were running a little high. Okay?
You definitely hadn't found any of it attractive at the time. You'd been too busy being terrified. Too busy trying not to imagine what would happen if Steve–if any of you—didn't make it home.
But afterwards?
Now, a few years later, safe in your room with a glass of wine and absolutely no sense of self-preservation?
Well. Now your mind could wonder. And god, did it like to.
Steve had looked wrecked that day—hair matted with sweat, jaw tight, his usual charm stripped away—but strong. Too strong for someone bleeding in another dimension.
You remembered the split skin across his chest. The way he'd dragged himself upright despite every reason not to. The way his first concern had been everyone else. Nancy. Robin. Any of you. All of you.
Fuck. Your breath hitched.
Yes, he was hot. Broad shoulders, strong arms, sun-kissed skin and a smile capable of causing minor structural damage to your common sense. Yes, he was handsome. Sharp jaw, warm brown eyes, impossibly good hair and the sort of face that made complete strangers trust him immediately.
But beautiful?
Beautiful was different.
Beautiful was the way kindness seemed woven into him. The way he always made room for one more passenger in his car, one more problem to carry that was never his to begin with.
Beautiful was the way he laughed with his whole chest. The way he looked at the people he loved like they hung the damn moon but never expected it in return. The way he threw himself in front of danger without a second thought if it meant somebody else got to go home.
Beautiful was Steve Harrington, entirely unaware that he was.
God, you needed to get over Steve. Or at the very least get your mind off him. And while you couldn't exactly follow Eddie's advice to a tee, you did have something better than another man.
Something pink, buzzing, and stashed in the bottom drawer of your nightstand—purchased on a whim after one too many late-night fantasies involving a certain ex-jock-turned-bat-wilding-hero. Your fingers twitched toward the drawer before you hesitated, glancing at the still-open bedroom door. A reckless laugh bubbled up—since when did you care about locking doors?
The house was empty. It was only slightly ajar; enough that you’d surely hear if your mom came home early. Though she never did on book club nights; her and Belinda always cracking open a few too many bottles and turning what was supposed to be a two-hour book discussion into an all-night event she needed picking up from no earlier than midday the next day.
Your fingers fumbled against the drawer handle—once, twice—before finally yanking it open with a little more force than absolutely necessary. The vibrator was cool against your palm, its smooth surface already warming as your thumb flicked on the lowest setting then the next.
The first press between your thighs was electric, blunt and insistent through the thin fabric of your shorts.
Your breath stuttered out as you arched into it, your free hand gripping the sheets beneath you. The movie’s dialogue blurred into static, replaced by the low, persistent hum vibrating against your skin.
Fuck, you’d forgotten how good it felt—or maybe you’d just never let yourself just be in the moment, too wrapped up in the fantasy of someone else’s hands, someone else’s mouth.
But this?
This was all you.
Your fingers curled tighter around the toy as you slipped it beneath your waistband to drag it against your already damp panties; shorts discarded halfway down your thighs.
Adjusting the angle of the toy until your hips jerked up on their own accord—until the pressure was perfect, relentless, too much and not enough all at once.
The sound that escaped you was embarrassingly loud—half-moan, half-sigh—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when you were home alone, not when the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter and–
You bit your lip, hard, but it did nothing to stifle the next noise, high and breathless as your hips stuttered against the mattress.
God, you were close—so close you could already feel the tension building, tightening like a spring in the pit of your stomach—but you didn’t want it to end just yet.
Your fingers fumbled for the dial, twisting it down—just enough to take the edge off, to draw it out—and you groaned at the loss.
Your free hand drifted up, fingers skimming over your stomach, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt—your touch hesitant, almost unfamiliar–God, it really had been far too long.
Your breath hitched when your fingertips brushed over your nipples—already peaked beneath the fabric—and you rolled one between your fingers, testing the pressure.
Fuck.
Fuck, you were—
“Henderson?”
Steve knocked twice before trying the handle.
Nothing.
He frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The lights were on. Dustin knew they had plans tonight. Dustin had already forgotten they had plans last week, leaving Steve sitting outside the arcade for nearly forty minutes before he realised the little asshole had completely forgotten–he better not have stood him up, again.
"Dustin?" he called through the door.
Silence. With an exasperated sigh, he pushed the door open. It moved without any fight. "Mrs. Henderson?"
Still nothing.
The house wasn't empty. It couldn't be. Door unlocked. The television was playing somewhere upstairs, faint enough to be distant but loud enough to carry down the hallway.
Knowing exactly how much your mom hated shoes in the house, Steve carefully shut the door behind him before toeing off his sneakers beside the mat.
"Dustin?" he called again as he wandered further inside, reaching the kitchen—which quite frankly looked like a war zone.
Flour dusted the countertops. Mixing bowls sat abandoned beside the sink. A cooling rack crowded with freshly baked cookies occupied most of the available space, and an almost-empty bottle of wine stood proudly amongst the chaos.
Immediately, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
You.
This had you written all over it.
He could practically picture you here. Music blaring. Dancing around the kitchen. Leaving a trail of destruction in your wake while baking something sweet. Without thinking, he reached over and stole a cookie. For investigative purposes. Of course.
"Henderson?" he called again, louder this time.
The smile slowly faded.
Normally he'd have gotten some sarcastic response from upstairs by now. A yell telling him to help himself. A complaint about Dustin. Something.
Instead, the house remained strangely silent.
Then he heard it.
The sound was faint. Barely audible over the television upstairs. Soft. Unfamiliar. His brows immediately pulled together. "Henderson?"
Still no response, but then it happened again. His stomach dropped–you sounded distressed or hurt. And then suddenly every possible worst-case scenario flashed through his mind.
Had you fallen? Burned yourself? Passed out? Those were some of the tamer possibilities.
Steve's mind had spent entirely too much time fighting monsters and interdimensional horrors to jump to reasonable conclusions anymore. "Henderson!"
The next time it happened he was moving–fast–crossing the living room and heading for the stairs.The television continued playing somewhere above him. Another similar sound drifted down.
Softer this time. Weaker. Definitely coming from your room. Concern tightened violently in his chest.
Steve Harrington had never been particularly good at ignoring people he cared about when they might need help. And he was even worse at ignoring you.
By the time he reached the top of the stairs, his heart was hammering against his ribs. The hallway stretched out before him, your bedroom door sitting slightly ajar at the end.
You'd never been particularly good at shutting doors. Still, Steve slowed as he approached, his stomach twisting tighter with every step.
"Henderson?" he called again, voice softer now.
Nothing.
Then another sound came from inside the room, and Steve's concern sharpened instantly because that had definitely not sounded right.
Without thinking, he pushed the door open and nearly passed out at the sight in front of him.
“Henderson?”
The word left his mouth before he could stop. He stood frozen in your doorway like he’d just walked into yet another alternate dimension. Because this—this—was not happening. Couldn’t be happening. Not with you. Not with him. Not you with your back arched off the bed, pajama shorts rucked down around your thighs, one hand shoved beneath your shirt and the other disappearing past the waistband of your—Jesus Christ—underwear.
His brain short-circuited.
So did yours. Evidently. As your hands stayed in the same place for another half a second.
Steve's knuckles went white around the doorframe. His pupils dilated—dark and drowning—before snapping up to your face. Trying and failing to look like he hadn't seen anything.
Your body locked up, legs snapping shut with a mortified squeak, yanking your hand out from under your waistband so fast you nearly elbowed yourself in the ribs. Pulling your shorts up to recover some form of modesty. The vibrator clattering to the floor—still buzzing—but neither of you moved to grab it.
A sharp inhale. Then—silence. Well silence bar the buzzing. The kind that makes your ears ring. The kind that makes you wish a Demogorgon would burst through the ceiling and swallow you whole.
The wine haze evaporated in an instant, replaced by the kind of embarrassment that makes your skin feel two sizes too small.
Steve cleared his throat. Twice. "So." His voice cracked. "Uh." His gaze skittered away—past your shoulder, over your bed-frame, to the wall—anywhere but down. "Cookies were good."
You wanted to disappear, to fall through the floor all the way to the upside down to–your eyes involuntarily moved down.
Oh. God.
Did your mind make this up? Did your fantasies catch up to you?
But the grey sweatpants. The thick outline pressing against the fabric. The way his fingers twitched slightly—subtle, reflexive.
You needed him to leave. Now. Not so you could finish—Christ, no—but so you could plan your escape from Hawkins immediately. No way were you ever facing anyone again—let alone him. You were going to live the rest of your days at a convent somewhere far, far away until the sheer level of embarrassment overwhelms you and you die.
But your traitorous body didn’t get the memo.
Heat pooled low in your belly, your thighs pressing together instinctively—like you could trap the ache between them and suffocate it. Spoiler: it didn’t help. Not in the slightest.
Not when Steve’s nostrils flared slightly, his grip tightening on the doorframe like he was physically restraining himself from—from what? Entering? Leaving? Dropping to his knees and finishing what you’d started?
No. Your brain screeched. No no no. This is reality. Earth-shattering. Life-ending reality.
Then—movement. Steve exhaled sharply through his nose before stepping forward—not out—into the room, the door clicking shut behind him with finality.
He took another step, then another until his knees bumped against the edge of your mattress, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
“So,” he said again, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it and his fingers brushed against the hem of your shirt, tentative, questioning—shaking.
Your pulse hammered against your ribs as his thumb traced the dip of your hipbone through the fabric. Testing the waters. Giving you time to push him away—to laugh it off—to pretend this wasn’t happening—but your body betrayed you (or, more accurately, did you a favour) by arching into his touch instead.
Hey, maybe you could pretend this was just another fantasy. That the wine had gone to your head. But you knew the wine had left your system the second you heard your name in that breathless, low voice of his.
“Fuck,” Steve breathed before his hand slid down then slipped beneath the hem of your shirt. Warm. Calloused. Familiar in a way that shouldn’t have been possible—not when he’d never touched you like this before. Or really at all.
The TV flickered—Westley’s face melting into static—casting shadows across Steve’s expression. His lips parted slightly as his fingers brushed over your stomach, tracing a line upwards. “Is this okay?” he murmured, and you nodded (a little too quickly).
Steve chuckled lowly, completely not believing that this was really happening and in the glow of the television, you could truly see how red his cheeks were. His hair—always perfect, always soft—was mussed from nervous fingers running through it.
You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat—if he knew how loud it was—how fast—how yours matched the frantic rhythm of his own pulse beneath your fingertips when you finally reached for him.
His breath hitched when your hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer until his knee pressed between your thighs and the heat of him seared through the barrier of your shorts.
You weren’t sure who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you–it probably was—but suddenly his lips were on yours, hungry and insistent, swallowing every gasp, every moan, every desperate noise you didn’t have the sense to be embarrassed about anymore. He’d seen worse just moments ago.
His knee pressed harder between your thighs—an accident, perhaps, but one that made your hips jerk forward, chasing the friction, chasing the relief you’d had to put on pause.
Steve groaned against your mouth, his fingers tightening on your waist as your hips rolled against him—slow at first, then faster—each grind drawing another ragged sound from him, another whimper from you.
"Jesus—" His breath hitched when you arched up again—his praise coming out in rough whispers between kisses—"fuck, Henderson, knew you’d be like this” His fingers tangled in your hair, gentle but firm, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. "Knew you’d be a good girl—god, knew you'd be perfect—"
The words sent a shiver down your spine—how long had he thought about this? How long had he imagined you like this?—but the thought shattered when his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending sparks skittering across your skin.
You gasped and Steve grinned against your lips, chasing the sound with his tongue before pulling back just enough to murmur, "Yeah? That good?" His knee pressed harder between your thighs—without a doubt not an accident—and your fingers curled into his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach. "C'mon, baby—let go for me."
And you do. So hard and so sudden you didn’t even realise you were that close.
He gently eases his knee back, but his mouth doesn’t leave yours. His thumb traces idle circles against your hipbone as you come down, as your breathing slows. “Sound better than I ever imagined,” he murmurs, voice rough with something like wonder, like he can’t quite believe you’re really here with him, like this—after so many years being so close yet so far.
He’s not the only one.
You blink up at him—dazed, boneless—and Steve’s grin turns crooked, smug in a way that should be infuriating but just makes your stomach flutter instead. His free hand drifts up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead, “You good?”
You nod and his thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone before he leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then your nose. Then your forehead.
Then he pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes, and you both smile. Then laugh. Quiet at first, huffed against each other’s lips, before it bubbles up properly—giddy and disbelieving—until you’re both breathless again for entirely different reasons.
Your fingers tighten in his shirt, wrinkling the fabric further as he shifts slightly but his grin falters when his gaze drifts lower. A slow blink. Then—"Oh." His throat works. "That’s—uh." His fingers twitch against your hip. "Still going."
Your brain catches up a beat too late—the buzzing still faint but unmistakable—and your mortified squeak cuts off abruptly when Steve abruptly slides off the bed. Not to leave, but to scoop the vibrator off the floor with a curious tilt of his head. Like he’s inspecting some alien artefact.
“Huh," he murmurs, thumb brushing over the controls before glancing back at you—your breathing still too fast, your thighs still trembling—and his grin turns certifiably wicked. "Ever used the highest setting?”
Your breath hitches—sharp and punched-out—before you’re lunging for it, but Steve twists away effortlessly, holding it just out of reach.
"Steve—" His name comes out embarrassingly close to a whine, but he just laughs, warm and breathless, before leaning back in. His lips brushing your ear as his free hand skims up your thigh.
"C’mon, Henderson," he murmurs, voice rough with amusement and something darker. "Thought you liked a challenge?"
The man knew you far too well.
You pout because yes, you enjoyed that, but you wanted more. Quite honestly you wanted him. You’d waited long enough.
Your fingers curl into his shirt once again, tugging him closer; peering up at him with eyes so readable Steve hesitates before his grip tightens on your hip, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. "Hey," he says softly, suddenly serious in a way that makes your stomach flip.
"I wanna do this right," he murmurs, and your brows pinch together—confused, impatient—until he continues, voice rough with sincerity. "The first time—our first time—I want it to be right. For you. For us.”
He paused, before seeming to get lost in his own thoughts as he rambled, “I want us to go out on a real date first. Dinner-or-or a picnic. Whatever you want–I mean not whatever whatever. Golden dragon with the killer egg rolls and the duck you love. Then we’d go to the drive-in and see The Princess Bride” - you blush even deeper, eyes briefly flickering behind him,“or Sixteen Candles or honestly whatever cheesy rom-com is on because I know those are your favourites even though you never admit it.”
And he's still going.
"And if it rained, we'd just stay in the car. Bring blankets. Hot chocolate. Maybe sneak in extra snacks because the food at the drive-in sucks. Then I’d drive you home and–"
You wanted him to keep going–forever preferably–but "Steve." You needed him to take a breath.
He blinks, face screaming that he’d said way more than he ever intended. "...What?"
“You thought about this?” You can’t hide the shock and quite frankly awe in your voice as you stare up at him all starry eyed.
"I have." His eyes stay locked on yours, impossibly open, impossibly honest. He pauses. Takes a deep, deep breath before adding, "...A lot."
You can't help the smile that spreads across your face. He’d thought about this. Not, just a brief oh that would be nice–no, he’d planned it. Curated it for you. Remembered your favourite food, your favourite movies.
Steve takes your silence as something else entirely–you can practically see his mind going a hundred miles-per-hour—so, slowly, you reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Then you let your fingers drift through his hair.
You swear your heart does a complete somersault at the look in his eyes–softer than you've ever seen them–and the way he unconsciously leans into your touch. You’d thought about doing this—brushing your fingers through his hair, being this close, kissing him—for years. And now here you are.
You really needed to pinch yourself subtly because there was absolutely no way this was real.
You think if this was all you could ever have of Steve–a quick fuck because he’d caught you touching yourself–you honestly don’t know if that would be better or worse than having never had him at all.
Better because at least you knew, in some capacity, he felt something for you too; even if that was just base-level attraction.
Worse because you knew what it was like to have him so close. You knew how he kissed. You knew the exact shade of brown his eyes turned when he looked at you from this close.
Before you could pretend. Now you knew. And you knew you’d never be able to forget a moment of it.
But here he was. Telling you outright that he didn't want this to be all you had. And not just that—he wanted more. Had planned for more. Planned for all of it.
And somehow, impossibly, he wanted it all with you.
So, could you wait?
Yes. Yes you could.
Especially if you got a free chinese.
"I'd like that," you murmur. The words barely audible–inaudible if his face wasn't inches from yours.
His eyes widened, looking genuinely shocked, as if the last few minutes had been wiped from memory. Or maybe as though he'd never expected you to want this.
To want more.
“Yeah?” The single word is so hopeful, so achingly sincere, that it makes something in your chest squeeze painfully tight.
“Yeah.”
The smile that breaks across Steve's face is immediate–the kind that made his nose scrunch slightly at the bridge. For a moment, you just stayed like that. Smiling at each other like the lovesick idiots you were, caught somewhere between disbelief and happiness.
Then the faint buzzing seeps back into it.
Your eyes flicked to it simultaneously, the object still clutched in his hand, then back to each other and then you were laughing, breathless and giddy, foreheads bumping as he exhaled sharply through his nose.
His thumb hovered over the power button of the vibrator, his breath still uneven from laughter. "We can stop—" he started, already moving to switch it off, but your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist with a boldness that surprised even you.
"Or we could..." Your grip tightened slightly, guiding his hand back toward you. "...not?"
Steve’s throat worked visibly. Frozen in place once again, his eyes locked on yours as your legs parted slightly.
Then he moved. Fast and clumsy and perfect all at once. His free hand cradled the back of your neck as he kissed you again, deeper this time, all heat and barely restrained want. You could feel the shape of his grin against your lips when you arched into him, your thighs bracketing his hips as he leaned over you.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts with a reverence that made your breath catch—not tugging, not demanding, just resting there, warm against your skin, waiting. Your hips lifted instinctively and Steve exhaled sharply through his nose before dragging the fabric down inch by torturous inch, his knuckles brushing the inside of your thighs as he went. The air was cool against your newly exposed skin, but the heat of his gaze more than made up for it.
The vibrator buzzed faintly between his fingers as he pressed it against the damp cotton of your underwear, the sensation muffled but still electric.
You gasped into his mouth, your fingers twisting into his hair—soft, always so damn soft—as he kissed you with a focus that bordered on worship. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then lower—to the pulse point beneath your ear, to the hollow of your throat—each touch igniting a fresh wave of heat under your skin.
Your hands roamed over him greedily, mapping the familiar slopes of his shoulders through his t-shirt before slipping beneath the fabric. His skin was warm, taut with muscle that flexed under your touch as he adjusted the angle of the toy, pressing harder just to hear you whimper.
"Christ, Henderson," he muttered against your collarbone, his free hand skimming up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast. "You’re su—" The rest dissolved into a groan when your nails scraped lightly down his back, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, the rough drag of his sweatpants against your inner thighs sending sparks up your spine. “–fuck–good girl.” He scraped out.
The tension coiled tight in your stomach snapped all at once. A sudden, shuddering release that left you gasping against Steve’s shoulder, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Your second orgasm hits you even harder than your first.
Distantly, you registered the choked noise he made against your neck, the way his hips stuttered against yours, the tremble in his thighs where they pressed against the mattress. But the haze was too thick, your own satisfaction too consuming, to parse what it meant well until your hand drifted lower.
You hummed dazed, still riding the aftershocks and reached for him, fingers brushing the waistband of his sweatpants with clumsy intent. But before you could slip beneath the fabric, Steve’s hand covered yours, peeling it away gently.
You blinked up at him, confused, until you caught the flush creeping down his neck—the way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but all that came out was a shaky exhale. Then you looked down.
Oh.
The realisation hit you like a bucket of cold water. The strained fabric. The damp spot. The way his thighs tensed when he shifted slightly.
Steve let out a breathless chuckle, his grip on your hip tightening reflexively as you couldn't stop the little breathless giggle you let out.
His cheeks burned brighter at the sound, one hand coming up to scrub awkwardly at his face as he exhaled sharply through his nose. "Christ," he muttered, voice rough with embarrassment and lingering arousal. "That's—uh—never happened before."
The admission made your stomach swoop—equal parts giddy pride and aching tenderness—and you reached for him instinctively, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. Steve's breath hitched when your knuckles brushed his stomach, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. And you really couldn't help yourself when you said:
“Better last longer next time Harrington, or I might regret saying yes.”
Steve groaned but caught your wrist gently, pressing your palm flat over his thundering heartbeat. "Shut up," he muttered, but there was no bite to it, just a breathless warmth you wanted to hear everyday for the rest of your life.
His thumb stroked over your pulse point absently before he exhaled and rolled onto his back beside you, staring up at your ceiling. The silence stretched, comfortable yet still charged, until he turned his head slightly, cheek pressed against your pillow. "So. Drive-in next Friday?"
The casualness of it—the normalcy—startled a laugh out of you. As if you hadn’t just—as if he hadn’t—
The laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in your chest—hysterical and breathless—and you nodded, pressing your cheek into your pillow as you turned to face him.
“Yeah,” you managed between giggles, the word dissolving into another helpless laugh when Steve grinned and kissed you again, his nose bumping yours awkwardly in his haste. It was messy and off-center and somehow still so goddamn perfect—his lips still curved with laughter as they moved against yours, the taste of shared amusement sweeter than any wine.
Jesus you were down bad. But luckily for you, so was he.
Dividers by @designlikenonsense (aka me hehe… had to do some shameless self promo)
P.S. Did not expect the reaction to the teaser... hope whoever interacted with that is not disappointed...
P.P.S. Playing around with paragraph lengths! I always write longer paragraphs, but thought that made it harder to read on here so I've been chopping them up but... I've seen discourse to the opposite so im trialling (what I call) 'mid-length paragraphs'
Can i do an espresso with vanilla syrup and a double shot and some cookies to go. Thank you greatly
how the tables have turned | eddie munson x f!reader
mdni ⸝⸝ fingering ⸝⸝ dom!eddie ⸝⸝ no upside down au ⸝⸝ references of corruption ⸝⸝ no use of y/n ⸝⸝ light choking ⸝⸝ mirror sex ⸝⸝ daddy kink if you squint ⸝⸝ bratty reader ⸝⸝ 0.9k
1k celly | masterlist
“don’t you dare look away,” eddie breathed against the shell of your ear, his voice slightly raspy with lust. “you’re gonna watch every goddamn second of this.”
he had you on the floor, positioned between his legs, your own spread wide over his thighs, back pressed up against his bare chest in front of the floor-length mirror next to your bed. his fingers were circling torturously slow against your clit, his other hand gripping your jaw to keep you from moving your head around.
"eddie..please..," you whined, squirming in his grasp as you looked at your reflection. you barely recognized yourself: your hair was mussed up, a light sheen of sweat coating your body, your chest heaving from how worked up you are, arousal spread all along your cunt.
it seemed like a lifetime ago when you would have been embarrassed at the thought of him touching you in front of a mirror and making you watch. you had always been shy, quiet, what most people would consider a good girl. once eddie munson came into your life, good girl took on an entirely new meaning.
he had taught you how to take every single inch of his long, thick cock in your tight, perfect little cunt, how to blow him just the way he liked, how to beg so pretty for him to ruin you, how to hold off on cumming until he said you could. a small part of him loved that behind closed doors, he was the only one who got to see you that way. yet, at the same time, he wanted everyone to know that you, as sweet and innocent as you are, were nothing more than a dirty whore for him.
“you love this, don’t you,” eddie groaned, his dark brown eyes trained towards the mirror as he pressed two ringed fingers into your cunt. you tried to answer, but a strained moan that tore itself from your throat. and that was all eddie needed to know that you did, in fact, love everything he was doing to you.
a smug smirk broke across his features, and he leaned down to press hot, wet kisses along your exposed neck. “hmm..of course you do, even though you act like you’re so fucking innocent. we both know you’re anything but.”
eddie’s proximity to you, his hot breath fanning across your heated skin, the wet sounds your cunt makes as he easily pumps his fingers in and out of you, his soft groans of appreciation mixed with your own moans and whimpers, the filthy words he spoke. it all drove you fucking insane. you needed more - craved it with every fiber of your being.
your back arched slightly as his fingers curled against your inner most sensitive spot, moaning loudly. he clasped his hand over your mouth, shaking his head disapprovingly. “shhh…,” he cooed, completely stopping the movement of his fingers, but not removing them from you. “be quiet. you don’t want your roommates to hear you being finger fucked like the whore you are, do you?"
at that moment, you didn’t care. all that mattered was him moving his fingers again. he wasn’t going to make it easy for you. he never did. he always made you work for what you wanted, usually in the form of begging and pleading with him. but you couldn’t do that with his hand covering your mouth, and judging by the smug expression on his face, he wasn’t going to remove it anytime soon.
you rolled your hips against his hand, experimentally at first, testing to see if he would stop you from doing so. when he didn’t, you did it again, and again, and again, eventually finding a perfect rhythm.
“fuck…look at you,” he mused, trailing his darkened eyes down the expanse of your body. the sight of you unabashedly fucking yourself on his fingers, so desperate to feel him, any part of him, made his cock twitch, and he didn’t know how much longer he could go without being buried inside of you.
your lashes flutter as he curls his fingers upward, the tips of his fingers brushing against your sweet spot repeatedly. his hand slipped from your mouth to grip your throat firmly. you gaze into the mirror once more, catching a glimpse of his own fucked out and needy expression.
"like what you see?" you asked, your tone low and sultry as you look at him with a smug smirk. "hm, daddy?"
eddie's body tensed at the name. up until that point, you had never called him that, and he couldn't deny the way it did things to him. the grip on your throat became tighter, his eyes narrowed; turning almost black with a feral glint to them, his cock throbbing painfully.
"i think you do," you continued, the smirk now turned into a shit-eating grin. "wanna know how i can tell? your dick is so fucking hard. i can feel it against my ass. you love that i'm using you to get off."
he growled, the sound low and rumbling deep within his chest. he gripped onto your hair and yanked you back harshly, your head falling onto his shoulder as you giggle.
"careful with that fucking mouth of yours," he warned, glaring down at you, nostrils flaring slightly.
"what fucking mouth?" you taunted, batting your lashes innocently at him. "not sure what you mean."
Summary: You and Eddie Munson had always toed the line between just friends and way more than friends. But what happens when you finally take things just a little too far during a smoke session in the back of his van?
A/N: It’s late right now. I’ll edit the grammar and typos later.
Sorry if this isn’t up to standard. I had a ton of progress on this but then lost it when the Tumblr app crashed which means I had to re-write it again. Mama’s hella tired…
Credit: Dividers by @cafekitsune
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His lips kissed roughly against yours as you grabbed a fist full of his leather jacket- pulling him closer. He tasted like nicotine and the spearmint gum he had been chewing before he spit it into an old fast food cup in his cup holder. You and Eddie were no strangers when it came to getting hot and heavy like this. It had only been a little less than a month since you both had started hooking up and you were already starting to crave him.
“Eddie, fuck me.” You pant after pulling away from the heated kiss, looking into his brown eyes. “Please?”
“Fuck, baby.” He groans “There’s not enough time. Think you can wait until later?”
“No.” You shake your head defiantly “Can’t wait. Need you now. Right now.”
Eddie sighed out a shaky breath as he watched how needy and wrecked you were. He wanted so badly to touch you- to get you off the way that he loved but he knew that your friends would be showing up at any moment to the spot in the clearing where you agreed to meet. He couldn’t just pull your panties to the side and fuck you like he wanted. Especially when your arrangement was meant to be a secret.
“Sweetheart, we can’t.” He groans “Just wait a little bit longer and I’ll give you what you want, okay?”
But you weren’t budging.
Your hand immediately flies to the waist of his jeans, ready to unbutton them before he grabs your wrist to stop you.
“Baby.” He states, looking at you sternly “I said no.”
“But I need you.” You pout “Need you so bad, Eds. Don’t you want me too?”
And that sentence just about destroys him.
“Sweetheart, of course I do.”
“Then. Fuck. Me.” You enunciate, staring him down with hungry eyes.
“Jesus Christ, babe.” He says, stifling a moan “Just listen, alright? Just be a good girl for the next, like, hour and I will fucking give it to you any way you fucking want, alright? I just need you to-“
“No, Eddie, I need you to put your huge fucking-“
Your sentence is cut off by the sounds of knocking on the back door of the van, causing Eddie’s body to jump.
“You guys in there?”
It was Robin.
“Yeah, just give me a sec!” Eddie stammers, trying to get his ragged breathing back to normal “The back door has been jammed.”
A blatant lie and you knew it. It causes you to smirk. Eddie catches it, turning towards you with a warning look.
“Be Good. Got it?” He hisses into your ear.
“No promises.” You purr.
────────
The smoke session felt like agony.
You were sitting in the back of Eddie’s van in a clearing at Lover’s Lake as everyone settled in for a rotation.
Nancy was going on and on about some newspaper internship that she applied for at the beginning of the summer and didn’t get. You tried to listen but you couldn’t stay focused. Not with the way that the muscles in Eddie’s biceps flexed as he grabbed his grinder and began to grind up a nug- preparing to roll the group a joint.
You watched his hands move expertly as he filled the rolling paper, having done this so many times that he had gotten it down to a science. Which, you thought, was probably the reason why he fucked you so well with his fingers. Rolling joints and playing guitar. A lethal combo.
As Robin begins to jump into a story about some dickhead customer at Family Video that complained about the late fee on his copy of Risky Business, Eddie began to tuck in the ends of the joint- bringing it to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he could catch you staring him down as he licked the edge of the rolling paper to seal it.
You watched the way his tongue easily glided over the edge- just the way that it did when he held down your open thighs so that he could curl his tongue inside of you. Eddie stiffens, immediately able to read your mind. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what you were thinking about.
Eddie watched as you bit your lip at the thought. It was a such a subtle action but it was enough to have him growing hard beneath his jeans. Eddie knew that you were thinking about his tongue licking at other places.
Eddie tries to ignore your longing stares as he packed the rest of the joint, twisting it closed with his thumb and index finger. After he finished, he waves the joint around triumphantly. “Voila, my friends. Who wants to do the honors?”
You don’t hesitate as you pipe in.
“Me please.” You say, your voice coming out with a flirty lilt “That okay?”
You look around the circle at Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan. Nobody objected. Then you look towards Eddie whose heart beats hard against his chest. Fuck, how could he not cave for you when you looked like that?
“Eds?” You whisper seductively, batting your long eyelashes.
“‘Course, sweetheart.” He clears his throat, trying to act normal. But it was so hard when your eyes looked at him like that.
He passes the joint to you as you take it, making sure to brush your fingers against his as you grab it. He watches intently as you put the joint between those pretty lips of yours.
“Light me up?” You flirt, leaning towards Eddie as he stared. It takes him a second to snap out of it.
“Sure, yeah.” He stammers “I got you, princess.”
Eddie fumbles in his jacket pocket for his lighter, flipping it open as he ignites the small flame. You lean forward to meet it with the tip of the joint, making sure that you bent towards him enough to give Eddie a good look down your shirt. No bra.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Thank you, Eddie.” You flirt, voice soft as you straighten up and take a drag of the joint. Your lips wrap around the tip as Eddie watches. He imagines what it would feel like right now to have your mouth wrapped around his tip instead.
He has to stop himself from letting out a needy little groan in front of your friends.
After taking your hit, you pass it to Nancy who was next to you in the rotation. She continued to speak about the newspaper internship.
“It would just look really good on my resumé, you know?” She sighs before taking a drag.
“Nance, I don’t think you should worry about it. I know you’re bummed but you already have a pretty impressive resumé. You don’t really need this internship.” Jonathan says as she passes him the joint.
“Yeah but still.” Nancy finishes.
From across the circle you lock eyes with Steve who had been staring at you for a while. A long while. You had noticed- and you weren’t the only one to pick up on it.
While alone together in the past, Eddie had made small comments here and there about how Steve Harrington thought you were hot. Eddie would tell you about how hard it would be for him to listen to Steve talk about you and how badly he wanted to take you out while, behind the scenes, Eddie was fucking your brains out at least three times a week and had to keep quiet about it. Steve wasn’t your type and Eddie knew that but, you thought, what was the harm in a little bit of flirting? Especially if it ended up having the desired result that you wanted from Eddie.
“Stevie,” You start, looking over at him with the most flirtatious look that you could muster “I really like your hair today.”
You watch as Steve’s face heats up in a blush, his mouth quirking into a flirty smile.
“Really?” He asks “Thanks. I didn’t really do anything special this time. Maybe a little extra product this morning.”
“Can I touch it?” You ask, batting your eyelashes “It looks really soft. I’ve always wanted to touch your hair.”
Eddie tries to school his face into staying neutral but, inside, he was starting to burn with jealousy. Eddie knew that you were well-aware of how he felt about Steve’s little crush on you. You were definitely flirting right in front of his face to get back at him.
“Yeah, sure.” Steve charms “Anything for you.”
You pull yourself into a kneeling position before leaning into the middle of the tight circle, stretching forward onto your hands and knees as you reach up to run your fingers through Steve’s brunette locks. In the process, you make sure to really stick your ass out in Eddie’s direction where he had been sitting next to you.
A lump formed in Eddie’s throat as he watched you stroke another guy’s hair just like you do to his when you’re alone. Eddie instantly began thinking about how you would run your fingers through his curls as he went down on you and the thought made him sick to his stomach imagining you doing the same thing to someone else.
“It is soft.” You coo, gently feeling Steve’s tresses “And it smells good.”
Eddie had to prevent himself from balling his hands into fists. That’s what you would say to him when you buried your face into his mane of curls after hooking up with him.
Before you could continue your compliments, Eddie pipes in.
“Harrington, it’s your turn. Stop letting the joint run.”
Steve looks over to his right, noticing that Robin was holding it out towards him to take.
“Shit, sorry.” Steve winces before taking it in his hand.
“It’s fine, dude. Just pay attention.” Eddie sasses.
You try to hold back a smirk as you sink back into your spot. But then you get an idea- a diabolical idea. While trying to sit back down, you feign as if you lost your balance- “knocking” into Eddie’s side as you fall into him.
“Oops!” You exclaim, pretending to be shocked “Sorry, Eds. Clumsy me.”
As you try to pull yourself back up, you artfully place your hand on his upper thigh- so close to his crotch that Eddie has to swallow back a gasp. As you straighten yourself up to sit back down next to him, Eddie narrows his eyes towards you.
“Sorry.” You wince but Eddie knew it was all an act to seem innocent. He knew exactly what you wanted but he never expected you to play dirty to get it.
Eddie begins to panic internally when he notices that he’s getting hard. Blood rushing to his dick, causing him to get a boner in front of everyone. In the back of his tightly packed van where everyone could probably see. He had to prevent this- and fast.
Thinking on his feet, Eddie reaches behind him and grabs an old blanket that he usually stowed under the front seat, dragging it out and attempting to casually drape it over his lap. Steve notices as he passes him the joint, arching an eyebrow questionably.
“Kinda cold in here.” Eddie blurts out nervously “Anyone else cold? Just me?”
“I’m a little cold.” You pipe in, causing Eddie to look over at you. As he meets your gaze, he notices a mysterious glint in your eyes. He immediately knew that you were up to something. “Can you share with me, Eds? Please?”
Jesus fucking Christ…
Before Eddie could even think to say anything, you were already scooting in closer to him- your body pressed up to his side as you reach for the blanket in his lap. Eddie holds his breath as your hand ghosts over his crotch, pulling the material over to cover up yourself as well. Suddenly you were so fucking close that he could feel your body heat, smell your hair, hear your breathing. It only made things ten times worse as his cock hardened even more.
“This okay?” You asked, curling up to his side enough for your breasts to brush up against his bicep. His breathing catches.
“Mhm!” He hums, voice shaky “That’s…yeah.”
“Eddie?” Steve calls.
“What?” Eddie nearly snaps, causing Steve to look at him funny.
“Your turn, man.” He answers, eyeing Eddie suspiciously.
“Shit, sorry.” Eddie shakes his head, taking the joint from Steve with shaky hands.
Eddie is silently thankful that the joint had finally made it to him, hoping it would mellow him out. He slowly brings it to his lips, trying to forget that you were next to him- trying to forget what you were playing at.
As Eddie closed his eyes and brought the joint to his lips, he tried to focus on his hit. He tried to focus on anything else but you. However, you weren’t going to let that happen. Eddie was foolish for even thinking that you would.
As he was inhaling, he felt it. A small brush of something against his upper thigh. He tried to put it out of his mind until he felt it again, followed by a firm pressure against the budge in his pant. You grasp it with a tight squeeze that caused him to gasp. He suddenly inhaled too much of the joint and caused himself to enter a coughing fit. Letting out sputtering coughs as he tried to catch his breath.
“Eddie, are you okay?” Nancy asks, her voice laced with concern as she watched him try to catch his breath.
“Yeah.” He nods, trying to get his breathing back to normal “I’m fine. Cool. Totally cool.”
“You sure?” Robin questions “‘Cause it sounds like you’re dying over there.”
“Yeah, man.” Steve teases “Thought you were the experienced one here.”
“Fuck off, Harrington.” Eddie croaks.
Eddie wordlessly holds out the blunt to you, giving you a hard look as you lock eyes. You pretend not to notice, taking the blunt from between his fingers. You lick your lips, causing him to watch intently as you brought the joint to your mouth to take a hit. You keep your hand still over his erection. You wanted to keep him on his toes. You wanted him at your mercy.
After your hit, you pass it to Nancy- thankful when she starts talking about something involving Mike and Will. It took the attention off of you for a moment. Enough for you to continue on with your assault. Your fingers brush up against him again, gripping him as he lets out another startled gasp. Steve look at him again, a concerned look on his face.
“Dude, you sure you’re okay?” Steve questions.
Eddie felt like he was trying to swallow a rock as he nodded.
“I’m fine, Harrington.” He chokes out “Don’t worry about it.”
Steve just shrugs before turning his attention back onto Robin who was yapping away about something. Eddie’s head whips over to you with a hard expression on his face. He leans in close enough to you that only you could hear, whispering in your ear.
“You better fucking stop while you’re ahead.” He warns, his tone cold and serious.
“Oh yeah?” You whisper back “Or what?”
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t let yourself find out because I fucking swear to you that you’re not gonna like it.”
“What makes you so sure that I won’t?” You tease, a smirk on your lips.
“You really wanna play that game, dollface?” Eddie challenges “Because I can promise you that you’re gonna lose.”
“Aw really?” You pout, keeping your voice low “But you know how much I love to play, Eds.”
He leans away as if you had burned him. It was a wonder how no one else in the circle noticed. He felt like his mouth had gone dry. How does he even respond to that besides pulling you onto his lap and draping you over his knee- making you take his hard hand against your ass as punishment. But you weren’t alone. This wasn’t an option.
As Eddie’s mind begins to run rampant with ideas on how he was going to get you back, your hand begins to travel further into his lap. This time, your target was the zipper of his jeans. When your fingertips brush against the button at the waist, he narrows his eyes at you.
“Don’t…you…fucking…dare.” He hisses.
But it only spurs you on. Your thumb and forefinger expertly pop open the button on his jeans. It was a trick you had performed on him many times that had turned him on wildly, but now, he hated that you were misusing it to your advantage.
“Stop.” He whispers through gritted teeth as you pinch the zipper, sliding it down with a practiced ease.
“You really want me to stop?” You whisper, looking at him with hungry eyes as you watch his expression falter. A sign that he didn’t want you to stop- not really. So, you didn’t. It only served as encouragement to push him further.
You slide your hand down, bypassing the waistband of his jeans and his blue checkered boxers as he let out a soft moan. Barely audible but it was there.
His body softened underneath your touch. But only for a moment. Then he was quickly reminded that you weren’t alone. That you were trying to jerk him off in front of your friends that he was surprised hadn’t begun to pick up on what was really going on beneath the blanket. Maybe they were well aware of what was going on and they were just being polite by not saying anything. Eddie didn’t know what was worse.
Eddie tries to keep his expression neutral as your hand gripped the base of his cock. He tries to control his breathing so that he wouldn’t let out another startled gasp and bring attention back onto him. But it was hard. Almost as hard as he was in your hand- his dick already angry, sensitive, and leaking precum from your relentless teasing.
You carefully tug him out, trying to keep your hand movements undetectable underneath the blanket. That didn’t stop his aching cock from springing free and slapping at his lower stomach. You heard Eddie inhale sharply as you reached for it again, wrapping your fingers around it as you begin to stroke it lightly. You were so focused on watching him that you had barely caught Nancy asking you how things have been.
“Oh, you know.” You start, moving your hand up and down Eddie’s shaft “Nothing interesting. I got a summer job to keep me busy.”
And Eddie Munson fucking your brains out every other day of the week.
“Really?” Nancy asks “Where at?”
“Hawkins Community Pool.” You answer.
Which only makes things worse for Eddie because now he couldn’t help but think about you in that little red Speedo one-piece that you sported as your lifeguard uniform. The way the neckline was low enough to give him a tasteful peek at your cleavage. The way the high-cut bottoms of the suit caused your ass to spill out of it deliciously. Eddie couldn’t help but buck into your hand involuntarily. You respond by giving his cock a light squeeze, causing him to groan.
“Okay, what is up with you?” Robin chimes in, looking at Eddie curiously.
“N-nothing!” Eddie stutters, his cock pulsing in your hand as you continued to stroke him slowly. Tightening your grasp enough to have him biting his lip.
“Okay then…” Robin shrugs, still eyeing Eddie suspiciously.
“Anyone else cramped in here?” Jonathan chimes in, commenting on how everyone was packed so tightly into Eddie’s van.
“Nah, I am too.” Steve adds “My foot’s falling asleep.”
At first, you thought nothing of it until you got an idea. Probably the most wicked idea you’ve ever had- and you knew that Eddie was going to hate you for it.
“I can scoot over.” You offer “It’ll give you guys more room.”
“Yeah but scoot over where?” Robin points out, raising an eyebrow.
“I can sit on Eddie’s lap.” You suggest, trying to sound casual while Eddie’s body noticeably tensed by beside you “You don’t mind. Do you, Eds?”
His mouth ran dry as you looked at him, fluttering your eyelashes at him as he thought of what to say. But there were no words. His mind was completely wiped and it was all because of you. All he could do was shake his head.
“Thanks, Eddie.” You coo, moving towards him as you scoot into his lap- sitting right onto Eddie’s erection. He inhaled sharply as he felt your ass on top of his dick. Your soft, grab-able, smack-able ass rubbing up against him which only served to make him hornier. What he didn’t realize was that what you planned to do next was even worse.
As you cover yourself with the blanket, you pretend to be uncomfortable as you shift around on his lap- grinding onto him.
“Ouch. Eddie, your belt buckle is digging into my back.” You lie. Eddie raises his eyebrows in confusion. He wasn’t even wearing his belt today.
“Wha-“ You opens his mouth to ask before you cut him off.
“Don’t move.” You order “I’ll fix it.”
You reach behind you, feeling around in the space between yours and Eddie’s bodies as you pretended to feel around for his nonexistent belt buckle. As you reach down further, you grasp Eddie’s cock in your hands once more. You don’t give him time to process as you hold his dick steady.
Once again, you feign as if you were shifting around to get comfortable in his lap- quickly removing your index finger from your grip on Eddie’s member and using it to hook into the crotch of your panties. You crook your finger to pull them aside enough to get them out of the way as you slide Eddie into your core. You quickly bottom out, making Eddie feel like the air was knocked out of him as you take every inch of him. By the time you were fully seated, Eddie was gritting his teeth.
“Better, sweetheart?” He asks, an edge to his voice that only you could pick up on.
“Yep.” You nod “Much better.”
You were wet, warm, and had him completely sheathed in you. All Eddie could think about was how fucking evil you were. How you were not only sitting on his hard cock right in front of your friends but you were torturing him. Every little wiggle of your hips, every little laugh you let out, you purposely clenching around him as you acted as if you were completely innocent around everyone else had him seething. But nothing was worse than when the joint made its way back to you.
Eddie had skipped his turn in the rotation entirely, far too distracted to continue smoking like everyone else was. You, on the other hand, kept on. Steve passes you the joint, it was dwindling down to nothing and Eddie was glad. Because it meant that, soon, all of your friends would end up leaving. He would finally be alone with you again and he definitely had plans for you. Wicked plans.
You place the joint between your lips, talking a long drag. As you inhale, you begin to cough- deep sputtering coughs that you felt in your body, and to Eddie’s horror, against his dick. Every time you coughed, your muscles contracted- causing you to unintentionally grip his dick with your walls. Eddie had already begun to react to the pressure before he could stop himself.
“Oh fuck!” Eddie gasps, hands flying down to your hips as his ring-clad fingers gripped onto you- his eyes squeezing closed.
“Eddie, are you okay?” Nancy asks, furrowing her brows in confusion as she unknowns watches Eddie moan out in pleasure.
“Ah! Y-yeah!” He stammers “I’m good! I just…my leg was cramping. Ow! Fuck!”
He tried to play it off convincingly as you tried to bite your lip to prevent yourself from smirking.
God, he was going to kill you.
As if by a saving grace, Robin looks down at her watch.
“Shit.” She sighs, looking over towards Steve “We should probably go so we’re not late for work.”
“Damn. Yeah.” Steve agrees “Gonna need to take a shower before so I don’t smell like weed. Keith already fucking hates me. Don’t wanna make being baked on the job another reason.”
“Yeah, Nance and I have to go pick up Mike and Will from the arcade.” Jonathan pipes in.
“Not that they’ll care if we’re late.” Nancy shakes her head “Mike’s been saving all of his quarters so that he had enough money to play Dig Dug all day.”
“Yeah.” Jonathan laughs “But we should definitely do this again.”
Eddie sat quietly, watching as every one exchanged pleasantries, declared how they should definitely do it again, and made promises to call. But Eddie didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was getting you alone. All he could think about was getting you back for what you had done.
To Eddie’s relief, you finally free him from what had surely become his own personal version of hell- withdrawing his dick from your warm wet heat before you crawled out of the back of the van along with everyone else. As Eddie inconspicuously tucked himself back into his pants, he can’t help but groan as how wet you had been- having left your wet arousal on him.
He climbs out of the van as he joins in on the goodbyes, glad that he had time to adjust himself well enough that his friends wouldn’t be able to spot his raging boner. He watched you as you went over to each friend one-by-one and hugged them. He took note in how low Steve’s hands were on your waist. Just the cherry on top of how angry he was.
Eddie watched as Steve and Robin climbed into Steve’s BMW and began to peel off, closely followed by Jonathan and Nancy. Eddie stood next to you and waited until the cars were out of eyesight. As soon as things were in the clear, Eddie turns towards you- gripping onto your arm as he backed you into the doors of the van. He had you pressed between him and the vehicle as he loomed over you, staring you down with a hard glare. He was pissed.
“So, you think that shit was funny, huh?” He questions, voice icy as he stared you down with his dark brown eyes. “Bet you thought you were cute, pulling that shit in front of our friends, right?”
He waited for an answer but all you could do was look back at him, stunned by his shift in demeanor. You’ve never seen Eddie get so…rough.
“Cat got your fucking tongue?” He patronizes “You sure weren’t shy when you were practically riding my dick in front of everyone. Listen, sweetheart, if you expect to get anything from me you better fucking answer. You want me to touch you? Fuck you? You better start talking.”
“I-“ You begin but quickly falter, not knowing what to say. Not when you were the subject of his angry scrutiny “I’m sorry, Eds. I don’t know why I did it.”
“Bullshit.” He answers, trapping you even tighter against him with his body “What’d you want? Attention? That it? You wanted to humiliate me? Huh? Tell me.”
“No.” You shake your head “I…I just…I needed you, Eddie. So bad. I was so fucking wet for you.”
“Oh, baby.” He tsks “I know. I could feeling feel how wet you were. But none of that fucking matters now. Wanna know why? Because, instead of waiting, you acted like a desperate fucking slut and practically rode my dick in front of everyone. All I fucking asked was for you to wait and you couldn’t fucking do that, could you? You that much of a whore for my dick?”
“Y-yes.” You stammer “I wanted to feel you. Couldn’t wait.”
“Yeah? Now look where that got you. Told you that you could have me any way you wanted me just as long as you stayed patient. But nooo.” He mocks “You had to have it right fucking then, right? Hm? Well, sweetheart, you’re gonna get it. But now you’re gonna have it my way. Got it?”
You could feel Eddie’s hard cock press up against you. You hadn’t expected him to still be hard. But now, he was even harder- his raging cock pressing against the zipper of his jeans.
“Fuck, Eds. Can I touch you? Please?”
You reach your hand down to try and grasp him through his pants but Eddie was too quick, his hand wrapping around your wrist before he yanked it above your head and pinned in to the van.
“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head “You think you can just do whatever you want? Yeah, not how it works, Sweetheart. I’m in charge here. I’m gonna fuck you. But I’m gonna do it how I want. Understand?”
You were too stunned to speak, just staring at the man in front of you that was hard and dominant. The complete opposite to his usual soft and gooey demeanor that he had towards you. You had pushed Eddie too far and you were about to reap the consequences.
Before you could process it, Eddie cups your jaw in his hand- forcing you to look him in the eyes as he spoke
“I said…” He growls “Do…you…understand?”
“Yes, sir.” You answer automatically, earning an amused smirk from him.
“Good. Now, I’m a few seconds, I’m gonna let you go. When I do, you better not try to pull any of your bullshit again. When I let you go, I want you in the back of that fucking van. Panties off….face down…ass up. And you’re gonna wait for me. As long as it takes for me to decide when I’m ready to fuck you.”
Eddie stares you down one last time before releasing your wrist. You let it fall limply against your side as he begins to back up, giving you space to move. You quickly turn, obeying his orders while you yank open the back doors of the van.
“And Sweetheart?” His voice rings out from behind you as he takes out his pack of cigarettes, selecting one before casually placing it between his lips. His icy tone of voice sends a shiver down your spine.
“Yeah?” You ask.
“No foreplay.” He drops “So you better make sure you’re fucking wet for me.”
how his fingers could taste like the last cigarette he smoked or the cheeto dust from the last snack he had.
how after a shower, he stands in a low hanging towel, and clips his nails but not too much. you like them long enough so you can feel them when he scratches your back before bed. if he doesn’t clip them, he usually will chew them.
how every time he puts on his rings, he asks you which one should go on which hand. you always put the one you gave him for his birthday on his left ring finger because duh.
how when he’s on the phone, he has to wrap his fingers through the cord and tangle it.
how he loves you massage you, from your feet all the way up to your neck. and his hands are like magic on the knots in your back and shoulders. you always joke that he could be a masseuse. 
how when he fucks you with those delectable fingers, you demand his free hand to be wrapped around your throat or in your mouth.
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x resident!reader
Warnings: none, fluff and comfort, slight nervousness/panic.
Summary: When a fever leaves you completely exhausted, Abbot steps in to take care of you; unbeknownst to you, entirely validating a hospital wide betting pool on his secret crush.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
A/N I had an idea in mind but I feel it didn't turn out well, like when you plan an outfit and then the clothes don't match lol but anyway, I hope you enjoy it!!!
🎀 based on this request 🎀
The ER was always noisy, but tonight it felt like a physical burden. Going back to work after four days with a fever meant being completely exhausted after five hour. At a certain point, exhaustion stops being a feeling and becomes a physical ache in your bones.
You leaned against the central nurse station, staring blankly at a patient chart on the monitor. A tear of fatigue slipped down your cheek.
You quickly wiped it away, hoping no one saw.
But of course, he did.
Across the desk, Lena caught your eye. But she looked at you with the expression of someone watching a romantic tragedy unfold in real time. She nudged the resident next to her, who glanced up, saw you, and immediately checked his watch.
"Any minute now," Lena murmured softly.
"What happens at any minute?" you asked, your voice raspy.
Before Lena could answer, Dr. Jack Abbot walked out from a trauma bay. The second his eyes scanned the floor and landed on you, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The entire nursing station went quiet.
You didn't notice.
You just thought everyone was as tired as you were.
Jack handed the papers he had on his hands to a passing intern without looking and detoured straight toward you.
"Hey," he said. "You look like you're about to collapse into the desk."
"I'm fine, Dr. Abbot," you breathed. "Just trying to finish up a discharge."
Jack looked at the dark circles under your eyes, the slight tremble in your hand, and the absolute exhaustion radiating from you.
A protective frown line appeared between his brows.
"Lena," Jack said, his eyes never leaving your face. "Who is covering the east wing for the next hour?"
"Dr. Langdon’s doing night shift today," Lena replied instantly, a small smirk playing on her lips. "And I can handle the paperwork. Go ahead, Abbot."
"Great. You're off the clock for sixty minutes," Jack told you, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Breakroom. Now."
You blinked, panic instantly cutting through your fatigue. You stood up on shaky legs, your heart hammering against your ribs as you followed him down the hallway.
Behind your back, Lena silently handed a five dollar bill to a nurse. “Told you he’d break protocol to get her off her feet before 2 AM,” she whispered.
Unaware of the betting pool you were currently central to, you walked into the breakroom. He closed the door behind you.
"Dr. Abbot, if I made a mistake on the trauma intake—"
"Oh, no, no," Jack interrupted gently, putting a hand out to stop you. "You didn't make a mistake. You've been on your feet for five hours, non stop, after days of fever. This is an intervention."
He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a protein bar along with a bottle of water, and placed them on the table.
"Take a break," he commanded softly.
You took the food and sank down onto the sofa; the relief of finally sitting up was so intense it made your head spin. Jack stepped out for a second and returned with a jacket in his hand. Without a word, he placed it on your lap. It was warm and smelled of his cologne.
"Jack, I can't sleep, I have patients," you whispered, using his first name only because the walls of the room felt like a safe haven. "It looks bad. The other residents..."
Jack chuckled and sat down in one of the chairs, elbows resting on his knees. "Let them talk. I’m the attending. If anyone has a problem with me making sure my best resident doesn't faint on a patient, they should talk to me."
Jack's gaze was entirely focused on you. He wanted to reach out, to pull you against him and tell you that he’d carry the weight of the whole hospital if it meant you could rest.
But he didn't. He kept his hands to himself, clamping down on the feelings he'd been harboring for months. You were his resident; there were lines he couldn't cross, no matter how much his chest ached every time he saw you smile or, worse, saw you cry.
"Eat. Drink. Rest for an hour at least," Jack said, his voice a low, soothing anchor. "I'll be out there handling everything. Nobody is going to disturb you."
"Thank you, Jack," you murmured, tearing open the wrapper with clumsy fingers. You looked up at him. "You're a really amazing mentor. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Jack's heart did a painful twist. Mentor.
He offered you a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just doing my job. Get some rest."
He left the room and crossed paths with Frank as he reached the central desk. Frank glanced at him sideways, letting out a sigh.
"You've got it bad, Abbot," Frank whispered. "You know the entire night shift is currently running a pool on when you're actually going to tell her, right?"
Jack’s jaw tightened, his cheeks flushing slightly. "She's exhausted Leave it alone, Langdon."
"I'm just saying, the girl is brilliant, but she’s medically blind to the fact that you look at her like she hung the moon," Frank countered with a smirk. "You're going to have to spell it out for her. Preferably after she graduates residency."
"She needs to focus on her career. She doesn't need the complication of an attending crossing lines," Jack said. "And right now, she just needs a safe place to rest. That’s all I’m giving her."
Frank stared at him for a second. He patted Jack on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Jack. A miserable, pining man, but a good one. I'll cover her for the next hour."
"Thanks," Jack muttered.
At 7:30 AM, you were waiting for the day shift to finish taking report. You reached into your scrubs pocket for a pen, only to realize you were wearing Jack’s jacket. You smiled faintly, the scent of him clinging to the fabric.
"Alright, pay up," a loud whisper hissed from around the corner of the desk.
You paused, your hand still on the zipper of the jacket.
Lena was holding her palm out toward Mateo. He was grumbling under his breath as he fished a ten dollar bill out of his wallet and slapped it into her hand.
"I still say it’s cheating," Mateo complained. "You had inside information."
"I didn't have inside information, I have eyes and know how to bet," Lena countered smoothly, pocketing the cash. "He didn't just give her a nap break; he gave her his jacket."
You blinked, standing entirely still. His jacket?
Slowly, you stepped around the corner. "Is there a problem with Dr. Abbot''s jacket?"
Both Lena and Mateo froze. Mateo immediately looked down at the clipboard, suddenly fascinated by a trauma intake form.
"I definitely didn't say anything about a bet." Lena said. "Aren't you leaving? It's 7:30 already."
"Lena," you said, your eyebrows knitting together as you looked between her and the dollar bill sticking out of her pocket. "What bet? Were you guys betting on this jacket?"
"Oh, honey. Not just the jacket," Lena said, leaning her elbows on the counter and looking at you with a mixture of affection and disbelief. "We’ve been betting on the entire ecosystem of your life for the last four months."
"My life? Why?"
Lena let out a laugh. She looked at Mateo. "She’s serious. She really doesn't know."
"Know what?" you asked, a sudden spike of anxiety hitting your stomach. "Did I do something? Is there a rumor about me?"
Lena’s expression softened instantly. Seeing your genuine panic, she reached across the desk and gently patted your arm. "Hey, no. It’s not a bad rumor. It’s just... sweetie, how can someone so brilliant in the trauma bay be so blind?"
You stared at her, completely lost. "Blind to what?"
Lena sighed, shaking her head. "To Dr. Abbot, darling. To Jack."
The name made your heart skip a beat, though you tried to keep your face completely neutral. "What about Dr. Abbot? He’s a great attending. He’s incredibly supportive of my residency—"
"He is completely wrapped around your finger," Lena interrupted bluntly.
Your jaw tightened slightly. "What? No, he’s not. He’s just a mentor. He does things for everyone."
"Oh, really?" Mateo chimed in, unable to keep quiet any longer. "He didn't bring me a specific brand of protein bar last week just because I said I liked it."
"And the jacket," Lena pointed to the one you were currently wearing. "Jack Abbot is very serious when it comes to his personal stuff. I once saw a medical student accidentally knock a smoothie onto that exact jacket, and Jack looked like he was going to perform an unanesthetized appendectomy on the kid. And tonight he literally tucked you in with it."
You looked down at the jacket, your mind racing, replaying a dozen different interactions over the last few months.
The way he always happened to be near the desk when your shift ended.
The way his voice grew remarkably quiet and gentle whenever he spoke to you, completely different from his sharp and commanding attending persona.
The way he’d look at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.
"Everyone knows," Lena said softly. "Nurses, residents, security staff. We actually have a timeline. Langdon put twenty bucks on 'After Graduation,' but I’m rooting for you two to figure it out by the end of the month."
"He... he has a crush on me?" you breathed, the words feeling entirely surreal on your tongue.
"Crush is a word for teenagers, sweetie," Lena said, looking at you with a gentle smile. "What Jack Abbot has for you is a profound case of being completely gone. He’s just too much of a gentleman, and too worried about crossing professional lines, to tell you himself."
Your hands gripped the edge of Jack's jacket, the warmth of it suddenly feeling entirely different. It felt like a protective shield of a man who was desperately trying to take care of you from a distance.
--
For days, you were a walking disaster of nervous energy and Jack noticed every single second of it.
Whenever he walked into a room, you suddenly found a patient chart that desperately needed your attention across the floor.
When you handed him a suture kit in the trauma bay, your fingers brushed, and you jumped as if you’d been zapped by a defibrillator.
You couldn't look him in the eye for more than two seconds without your face turning red.
A week later, the tension was unbearable. Jack was quietly losing his mind, convinced he had somehow crossed a line or made you uncomfortable during your shift.
Needing air, Jack retreated to the roof, the only place in the hospital where the noise couldn't reach him. The cool wind whipped at his scrub shirt as he leaned against the metal railing, his mind completely consumed by thoughts of you.
The door to the roof groaned open.
Jack turned, his breath catching when he saw you step out. You were holding his jacket tightly against your chest.
"Hey," Jack said softly. He took a step toward you, his eyes scanning your face, filled with worry.
"Lena said you came up here," you breathed, the wind catching your hair.
Jack stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out to you. "Look, we need to talk. You’ve been... avoiding me? For days. If I did something to upset you, or if I made you uncomfortable by putting my jacket on you the other night, I need you to tell me. I’ll back off. I swear I will. Just please tell me what’s wrong between us."
The panic in his eyes broke the dam. You gripped his jacket tighter, took a sharp breath, and the words just tumbled out of you.
"It makes me nervous being around you because you like me and I like you and they have a bet about you with me, did you know that?"
Jack froze. He stared at you, his brain completely stalling out as he tried to process the words that had just exploded from your mouth.
"I... what?" Jack stammered.
"The nurses! And residents! And even security!" you blurted out, your face burning so hot it made your cheeks hurt. "They bet on what time you’d kick me out of the floor to take a break, they bet on when you’d give me your jacket, and they told me you bought a specific protein bar for me, and Langdon has twenty dollars on us figuring it out after I graduate!"
You stopped to gasp for air. "I didn't know, Jack. I swear. But now I do, and every time you look at me I forget how to read a lab report, and it just makes me so nervous because I do like you, and I didn't think you liked me back, and now I know everyone in the whole hospital is watching us and can't even look at you without blushing."
Silence fell over the roof, save for the sound of traffic below.
You squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly wishing the roof would open up and swallow you whole.
Great.
You just broke the professional boundary.
And sounded like a lunatic doing it.
Then, you heard him.
You opened your eyes. Jack was smiling. He let out a disbelieving laugh, his frown completely vanishing. What Langdon said the other day, "preferably after she graduates", kept echoing in his head for a couple of days.
"Frank put twenty on it?" Jack asked.
"That’s the part you’re focusing on?!" you wailed, hiding your burning face into his jacket.
Jack closed the distance between you. He grasped your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. You looked up and his soft eyes made your knees weak.
"No," Jack whispered, his thumbs softly tracing the inside of your wrists, his gaze dropping to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. "That’s not the part I’m focusing on."
He took a deep breath, stepping even closer.
"You like me?" he asked, as if he needed to hear the words clearly just to believe they were real.
"Yes," you whispered, feeling nervous and a little dizzy. "I like you, Jack."
"Good," Jack murmured, his hands sliding up from your wrists to cup your face, his palms warm against your cheeks. "I like you, too. Langdon was right. I am completely gone over you. I’ve been trying to be the responsible attending, keeping my distance because I didn't want to complicate your residency. But it has been absolute torture."
"So... you're not mad about the betting pool?" you asked softly, staring into his eyes.
Jack laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned down, his forehead gently resting against yours.
"Oh, I'm furious!" Jack joked, his warm breath against your skin. "Especially because Frank made a bet about not having the guts to tell you I like you before you graduate. We're going downstairs, I'm going to kiss you right in front of them and make sure Lena gets all the credit."
You let out a soft laughter, the tension completely evaporating into the cool night air.
"Wait," you murmured, your hands finding their way to the lapels of his scrub shirt. "If you kiss me in front of them now, Frank loses his twenty bucks, sure, but Lena wins. And as much as I love her, she's been smug about this for days. Want her to suffer a little bit."
Jack paused, a spark lit up his dark eyes. "You want to see Lena loose her mind? You're evil," Jack whispered. "An absolute menace."
"I learned from the best attending in the hospital," you countered softly.
"Alright," Jack agreed, his hands sliding from your cheeks down to your waist, pulling you against him. "We keep it a secret a few days. No hand holding, no extra protein bars, and absolute professionalism in front of them."
"Deal," you smiled. "But, can you kiss me now? There aren't any cameras up here."
"No, there aren't." He didn't hesitate and leaned down, putting one of his hand on your chin to capture your lips. His hands held you firmly, securely, as if he were making sure you wouldn't walk away from him. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck, completely lost in him.
When he pulled back, his breathing was shallow, and your eyes were shining. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling away.
"Keep the jacket," Jack murmured, as he looked down at the jacket still clutched between your chests. "Looks good on you, baby."
You blushed and bit your lip as you walked back towards the rooftop door, Jack's fingers intertwined with yours for a moment, before he let go and took a step back to let you through the door first.
I wrote this for @nonscathingbullets I hope you like it!
It is a Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x shy!female!reader imagine.
Warnings: mean comments (something like body shaming, but it's not explicitly body type related), use of curse words, I would like to say that I wrote this as a request, it wasn't my idea, so if you're uncomfortable with what you're reading please don't be upset with me, I tried to be as respectful as possible
You had been in love with Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw ever since you first met in 9th grade, and you were lucky enough that he returned those feelings wholeheartedly.
Bradley and you were a couple three months after that, and happy ever since.
You supported him with his career and moved with him wherever he needed to go, which did bring a lot of fresh wind into your lives.
Very quickly Bradley's friends turned into yours as well, you were grateful for the people you got to meet.
Your Fridays evenings were always spent at the Hard Deck with your mutual friends, which was just like the evening you found yourself in.
You were invested in a heated but playful game of pool with Nat when you noticed Bradley at the bar, in a conversation with an eager blonde.
She was pretty, sure, but Bradley seemed obviously reluctant, and you smiled at that.
He was leaning away from her while engaging in polite conversation, but she didn't seem to take the hint.
She came closer and closer to Bradley, smiling and holding onto his forearm.
Bradley was fast enough and pulling his arm away but still the picture stung, and you excused yourself from your game with Nat to go talk to him.
The moment you reached your boyfriend one of his arms instinctively wrapped around you, much to the annoyance of the blonde.
“Wait, THAT's your girlfriend?” She exclaimed, her face contorting in something clearly mirroring disgust.
Her words hit you like a slap to the face and you turned to look at Bradley, whose immediate reaction was that his fingers started soothingly stroking your back.
“Yes, she is”, Bradley replied, and leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek.
The discomfort in you swelled to a new high when the woman scrunched her nose, her eyes roaming your body until they returned to your face.
She had the bland but perfect features of a model, which wasn't exactly what you looked like.
“You deserve so much better”, the woman said.
This time her words manifested as an aching feeling in your guts and you just wanted to run away.
This time Bradley's roaming fingers stopped as his grip tightened, and an incredulous yet angry look appeared on his face.
“Why the fuck would you say that?” He asked, and blondie took a step back at his obvious aggressive tone.
“I mean you're… well you're gorgeous, and she's like, not?” she tried to reply, but Bradley certainly didn't like that answer.
“Yeah she is”, he said, not just a statement but an exclamation, which intimidated her further.
“She is, and you have no fucking right to say things like that”, he said, and you felt like you could slowly breathe again.
She was silent for a few seconds and masked her shock by sipping something from her very pink beverage, whatever that was.
“Honestly, the way you're behaving it's a shame you're generically pretty, it certainly doesn't fix your character“, he added.
"Penny, we've got someone who'll buy all of us a round", he shouted, and Penny earned loud cheers when she rang the bell.
The woman was confused until Bradley pointed at the sign in the middle of the bar, reading 'disrespect a lady, the navy, or put your cell phone on my bar you buy a round'.
“Now fuck off, neither of us want to see your face tonight or ever”, he added, standing up straighter, as if she needed more intimidation to leave the bar.
Her anger was obvious as her nostrils flared.
“Whatever”, she spit as she turned around on her heels, walking away with hips that were deliberately swaying.
Bradley didn't give her a second more of his attention as he handed you the drink that was the reason why he was at the bar in the first place.
“I'm sorry baby, are you alright?” he asked you, and you gave him a slow but determined nod, yet tears were still brimming in your eyes.
“You’re the most beautiful person in any room to me, you know that, right?” he added, and a smile appeared on your face.
Of course Bradley was right, it only mattered what you and your friends thought, and ugly people didn't show their true features until they opened their mouths.
⋆˚꩜｡summary: deadlines are approaching, and eddie makes you take a break before you stress yourself to death<3
⋆˚꩜｡tags/tw: explicit content 18+ minors do not interact (you'll suffer of tuberculosis if you do), no y/n, afab reader, sloppy blowjob, too much fucking spit, spit play, unprotected piv (don't do this, you'll get pregnant and die), soft dom/sub dynamics, eddie tries to be somewhat demeaning (ig?) but he's just a softie<3, brief aftercare
⋆˚꩜｡wordcount: 2.6k+
⋆˚꩜｡a/n: this takes place in the same universe as whatever you want, baby, but can be read as a stand alone :) this has been sitting for almost 2 weeks in my drafts and i just couldnt wait anymore, hope yall enjoy theehee
You’d had a little more than eight weeks to scratch your head, cry your eyes red and raw, and write the five college papers that were all due next Monday. But you hadn’t done any of it – no research, no writing, not even the crying you’d scheduled between breaks in your planner.
And now it was Friday night, and it looked as though a tiny library had exploded across your boyfriend’s kitchen table. You sat hunched over one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs, your ass practically numb after hours of refusing to get up.
Eddie had stolen more than a few glances in your direction throughout the evening, concern finding its way back into his eyes every time he looked at your tense shoulders and the way you held your head as though you were seconds away from a breakdown. He had tried numerous times to get you to take a breather. To step away from your work for a few minutes and give your fingers and wrist a chance to rest. To come outside with him, get some fresh air, maybe have a stress-cigarette.
Every attempt had been met with the same response. You barely looked up from your books, mumbling under your breath that you were too stressed about missing the deadline to take a break.
He was practically sprawled across the old couch, his eyes drifting from the glow of the television back to you every few seconds. By now, he could practically feel the deep crease between his eyebrows settling permanently into his skin.
“Okay, that’s it,” he muttered, pushing himself off the couch and making his way over to you. His hands found your shoulders instantly, fingers digging a little deeper than usual as he worked at some of the knots that had taken up residence beneath your skin. “I’m not asking this time. Get up.”
He sounded firm – almost curt – in the way that let you know he wasn’t playing around.
An exhausted sigh escaped you as you tilted your head back against his stomach, the pencil slipping from between your fingers and landing on the wooden table with a soft clank. You blinked tiredly up at Eddie, the bags beneath your eyes making your eyelids feel heavy.
Despite the tone in his voice, the expression on his face softened the moment he saw your exhausted stare, worry etched plainly across his features.
“Come sit with me on the couch.” He tilted his head for a brief second before his hand trailed down your arm and found yours, his fingers intertwined with your own as he gave your hand a gentle tug. Eddie made sure to wait until you were on your feet before heading back into the living room.
He easily settled back into his spot on the couch before pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around your frame. Your head immediately dropped into the crook of his neck as you breathed in the scent of his cheap shampoo – a smell that felt more like home than your own bedroom ever could.
You stayed like that for a moment: his arms wrapped tightly around you, and your eyes drifted shut for what was supposed to be just a few seconds, while the low hum of the television filled the silence between you.
“What do you need, baby?” he mumbled softly as he brought a hand up to smooth down the strands of hair you’d been pulling at all afternoon. “A shower? A nap? Greasy pizza?”
Your breath hitched for a moment, the first few words that left his mouth made your brain short-circuit for a split second before the rest of his question finally registered.
“I, uh…” you trailed off quietly before gulping.
You pressed your face further into him, burying yourself beneath his soft curls as you refused to meet his gaze.
Eddie let the silence linger for a few more seconds before he gently pushed you back, just enough that he could see your face.
“Hm?” he tilted his head to the side, searching your eyes for something as his fingers pushed a rogue strand behind your ear. “Tell me, sweetheart.”
A hint of embarrassment flashed across your features as you let out a deep sigh. Your fingers found the ends of his hair, curling the strands around your digits as you silently waited for Eddie to learn how to read your thoughts, just so you wouldn’t have to voice them aloud.
“Do you…” he trailed off softly, distractedly running his tongue over his chapped lips before trying again. “Do you wanna do that thing again?”
You stilled for a split second before shaking your head. Then you hesitated, nodded, and immediately seemed to reconsider. Eventually, you gave up on answering altogether.
“Just wanna shut my brain off,” you whispered softly, still refusing to meet his gaze.
Eddie’s eyes lingered on your face, searching for something until it finally clicked.
“We can do that,” he murmured, continuing to smooth down your hair.
He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than they usually did before he finally loosened his grip around your waist.
You quietly climbed off the couch and kneeled between his legs, patiently waiting for him to pull down the soft cotton of his sweatpants.
Eddie watched transfixed as anticipation coiled tight deep in his stomach. A part of him still didn’t fully understand how sitting between his thighs and having your mouth on him could help you relax the way it did, but he would never fail to surrender himself completely whenever you needed him like that.
The warm amber light of the kitchen spread into the living room, making your eyes glimmer when you looked up at Eddie.
His hands pushed the elastic band down until the black fabric pooled around his feet. You helped tugging it off, and threw it somewhere behind you.
Eddie’s hand tangled in your hair as he guided your mouth to meet his hardening cock still hidden behind his boxers. Soft gasps escaped him at the first brush of your tongue against him, spit seeping into the fabric.
His breath caught in his throat as you free his straining erection from his boxers, gently tugging the fabric down until it fell on the ground.
Your fingers felt warm and soft against his skin when you wrapped your hand around his cock, sending tiny sparks of pleasure racing up his spine. Eddie bit back a groan when your lips met the sensitive tip of his cock in feather-light kisses. A shudder rippled through him, muscles tensing and relaxing in waves as you trailed kisses down his length until reaching his fuzzy sack. You gave the skin a softly suckle, your eyes fluttering shut for a split second before you let go of his balls, and trailed back up until his tip rested gently against your lips. You gently part them and take him into your mouth, giving him lazy kisses and flicks of your tongue, in no hurry whatsoever.
Eddie’s breath came in short, sharp pants with each brush of your lips, each flick of your tongue. He reached for a loose strand of hair, pushing it behind your ear before the palm of his hand found your cheek. Your warmth seeped into his fingers and spread up his arm, sending little bursts of lighting down his spine.
“Take your time, baby,” he mumbled lowly while his thumb brushed soft circles against your cheek. “Atta girl, just like that.”
Your eyes were blinking lazily up at him as you slowly took more of him into your mouth. Eddie was long and thick, and you had learned long ago not to force your throat to take all of him at once.
Obscene wet sounds filled the living room as you took him deeper, dragging your tongue as you went. Eddie’s finger sank into your hair when your throat muscles fluttered around his length. He didn’t pull at your hair, just held you there for a second longer until a low gagging noise cut through the air. Your eyes fluttered shut and a soft, satisfied exhale escaped your nostrils when the swollen tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. The way his cock always forcefully stretched your throat open never failed to drown out the noises in your head – there was nothing else but Eddie, Eddie, Eddie echoing in your mind. Nothing else, just him.
A string of spit connected his red, swollen tip when you pulled back, thick drops of spit rolling down from his cock to his balls. Your chest heaved in desperation for a fresh breath of air as you gave him sloppy, open-mouthed kisses before you took him back into your mouth and bobbed your head down.
“Is this what you needed, hm?” Eddie’s voice was thick and warm, sending bolts of lightning down your spine.
When you opened your eyes again, you were met with the most beautiful view you’d ever seen – his lips were as red and swollen as his tip, and he had a deep furrow settled between his eyebrows as he looked down at you. His molten brown eyes were glued to your mouth, stretched tightly around his girthy cock while your spit somehow continued to find its way down his length.
“Don’t make a mess, baby,” he mumbled as he let go of your hair. He slid his hand between you, coating his fingers in the spit that had trailed down to his balls, and brought his digits back to your face, staining your skin just like you'd done to him.
Heat spread across your features when he kept trailing his wet fingers across your face, and before you knew it, a desperate, muffled groan escaped you. “God, you look so pretty like this.”
Eddie gave you an accidental thrust of his hips when he felt your throat tighten around him. “Fuck. Sorry, sweetheart,” he breathed out.
His big eyes glistened when you blinked slowly at him before shutting your eyes altogether. Your lips were slick, head bobbing up and down in slow, deep strokes before you pulled away.
“C’mere,” he murmured softly as he leaned forwards and pulled you up.
Eddie’s fingers found the elastic band of your panties underneath the oversized shirt you’d thrown on earlier, tugging it down until it fell on the ground, and pulled you into his lap.
He sucked in a sharp breath as you straddled him, your soaked fold sliding along his hard cock before you enveloped him in one fluid motion. A broken whine escaped you when the sudden, exquisite pressure nearly undid you.
Eddie wrapped his arms around your frame, holding you flush against his chest while you hid your face into the crook of his neck, soft pants and broken whimpers spilling from your lips. You humped him slow and helpless, every protruding vein rubbing against your slick walls, driving you absolutely insane.
Eddie felt you gush around his thick base, your arousal dripping down his balls and mixing with your spit. Sweet, sticky strings of your essence broke every time you bounced on his lap.
“You’re so messy,” he muttered in your ear and tightened his hold on you while his hips jerked up to meet yours. “I’m practically drowning here in spit and slick.”
“S-sorry, E-Eds,” you nearly choked on air when the words slipped from your mouth.
You were absolutely putty in his arms as he gave you slow thrusts, hitting that special, hidden spot. Something incomprehensible fell from your lips while his cock slid in and out of your velvety walls, loud slikslikslik’s echoing through the living room, leaving you no choice but to wrap your arms tightly around his neck for extra support, nails digging sharply into skin.
“Mmpff! Ed-Eddie!”
You desperately needed him, right then and there, as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm. One of his hands slipped under your shirt, gently trailing up and down your back while tiny tears rolled down your cheeks – almost like he was comforting you. And maybe he was, because the torturous drag of his cock was absolutely overwhelming while he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.
“C’mon, baby,” he whispered in your ear, giving you one a hard thrust. “Give it to me, lemme feel you.”
The mounting pressure finally snapped, the muscles in your legs tensed up before they relaxed into a wobbly mess on each side of him, your sticky cum trailing down his length as he continued snapping his hips in pursuit of his own release. Your mouth hung open while he continued fucking into you in that pace that drove you insane, prolonging the buzz underneath your skin.
“That’s my girl.” His voice was hoarse and dripped with lust
Utterly spent, you clenched around him on purpose, again and again, until his rhythm finally stuttered and broken moans spilled from his lips.
Eddie came with a loud, broken whimper, hips pushed flushed against yours as he pumped warm, sticky ropes of cum and filled you to the brim, thick rolls of milky white fluids rolling down his length and mixing with your essence and spit.
He brought one of his hands to the back of your head, holding you there as he nudged the tip of his nose against your skin, breathing in your sweaty scent mixed with faint traces of the perfume you’d sprayed earlier that day. Eddie stayed deep inside you for a moment longer, feeling his cock twitching helplessly every time your pussy fluttered around him, the last few waves of ecstasy still lingering.
“God, baby, I love you.”
“Mhmm,” was all you mastered to groan out.
Eddie placed a soft kiss against your temple while he dragged his eyes towards the clock hanging in the kitchen – a little after one, late enough he could make you come to bed with him without having you complain about your deadline. Not that you’d have been able to put up much of a fight anyway, already half-asleep with your face buried against his neck.
He pulled you away from the crook of his head just enough so his lips could swipe over yours for the briefest kiss. His hands curled around your thighs and he pulled you up, stilling for just a second when he felt his legs wobble, and then making his way to his bedroom with his cock still deep inside you.
“Let’s get you some sleep, hm?” he whispered softly, placing another kiss on your temple as he lowered you slowly on his bed. He hissed as he pulled out, his softening cock twitching when you fluttered at the movement. You hummed absentmindedly at his words, eyes fluttered shut.
Eddie kneeled down in front of you and picked the first piece of clothing he laid his eyes on, and gently dragged it through your folds, cleaning you with as delicately as he could.
“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered softly when you racked a sob and twitched under his hands. “Almost done, yeah?”
When he was done, he leaned over and brought a finger under your chin, pulling you in for a soft, quick kiss. He climbed up beside you and pulled you flush against his chest, kissing the top of your head while he got himself comfortable.
“You feel better, sweetheart?”
There was a tender glimmer in his gaze when he looked at you.
You were already gone.
Eddie chuckled under his breath and kissed your temple one last time before closing his head and following you to the land of the dreaming.
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
READ PART 2: The Wonder of Him : ̗̀➛ Johnny Storm x Reader
“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.
Description: Johnny Storm needs a change in his life. So when he goes looking for an apartment to move out of the Baxter Building and live a “normal life”, he ends up being your roommate. As you both struggle with the highs and lows of dating in New York, through shared takeout on the living room floor and dances under the refrigerator light, you may realize what you needed has always been right in front of you…or in the room next door.
This is a Part 1, loosely inspired by the movie When Harry met Sally. Set in the early 80’s of the Fantastic Four canon retro-futuristic world.
Tags/Warnings: romcom vibes, fluff, domestic moments, johnny loves women and johnny loves music, talks about sex, one smut-ish scene, cheeky easter eggs and cameos.
Note: When I tell you I’ve been wanting to write this since December!!! When @nexxen24 made me watch When Harry met Sally for the first time 🤍 This is by no means a retell of the film, but it’s inspired on the essence of it. I had so much fun writing this part, enjoy 🫶🏼
Masterlist
Johnny spent a lot of time feeling stuck.
Stuck at the Baxter Building, for starters. Living with his sister, brother in law, Ben and a droid as the world’s most renowned family, could be considered ‘fantastic’ most of the time, but it could also be…exhausting.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love them, of course he did. They were his team. His family. But lately, Johnny had started wanting something different. For once, not something shiny, or bigger or better. Quite the opposite really, just something…simpler. Something a little closer to normal.
Which was laughable, considering who he was. Johnny Storm had never had “normal” a day in his life, even before the powers.
Maybe that’s why he craved it so bad. Or…maybe it was just a quarter life crisis.
He didn’t exactly know when it started, but suddenly he wanted to know what it felt like to walk through a lobby where no one greeted him like he was the president. To buy laundry detergent and groceries and whatever people who don’t have a Herbert to do it for them, well, have to do. To have a mailbox in a locker with a little key, and no need to go through a dozen levels of security clearance just for some fan mail.
Maybe that’s why he found himself going through rental listings at two in the morning in the darkness of his room. Half laying on his round bed, one arm raised up in flames to illuminate the newspaper in front of him.
This is ridiculous, he thought. He told himself he was just looking. Killing time. He wasn’t going to do it, he was just thinking about it. Swear to God he was not actually going to do it. But an ad caught his eye.
Roommate Wanted
Apartment in Brooklyn, Park Slope. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. Looking to split rent 50/50. 4th floor. Girls only, unless you’re famous, then we can talk. Call after 7pm if you’re interested.
“Unless you’re famous,” Johnny chuckled, re-reading the ad, and the name attached to it.
The ad was pretty vague, but Johnny recognized the location. Safe neighborhood, no rooftop pools in that area, and definitely no doorman.
It was perfect.
The next day he counted the hours until 7pm came. He wanted the full experience, so instead of using the fine piece of technology on his wrist to call the number he saw on the ad, he took some coins from Franklin’s piggy bank in exchange of a generous twenty dollar bill–you’re welcome buddy–and found himself a random telephone booth at Central Park, just in time.
Big breath, here goes nothing.
-
The landline phone hung on your kitchen wall rang exactly at 7:01pm. You cleaned your hands with a napkin, leaving a bowl of heated leftovers on the counter before picking up.
“Hello?” You said, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder.
“Hey! I’m calling for the apartment ad, I’m very interested.”
The voice on the other side of the line surprised you. So far only women have called you and unfortunately none of them had agreed with the rental fee. “Uh, sure…what’s your name?”
“I’m Johnny Storm,” he said immediately.
Okay, pause. Is this guy being for real right now?
“…Right,” you said after a moment, dragging your words and fiddling with the tangled cord. “And…you’re looking for an apartment?”
The disbelief in your voice made Johnny sigh. Only when the words left his mouth he realized how ridiculous his name probably sounded. But what else was he supposed to say? He wasn’t planning on hiding who he was, even if it was just a call. That felt wrong.
“Yeah…listen I–uh…I know this may seem a little off, but I’m looking for a place for…personal reasons, and your ad caught my eye. I really like the area and I can definitely pay rent on time.”
He chose to leave out the fact that he could actually pay rent four years in advance. That seemed a little overkill.
“I swear I don’t set couches on fire, not unless you ask,” he added with a nervous laugh, but his whole body relaxed when he heard the chuckle you left out. “And you said being famous was the exception so…can we talk about it?”
You contemplated for a moment. To be honest? It seemed too good to be true. On the other hand, you had nothing to lose…and you wanted to go back to your dinner. So you just shrugged.
“Alright,” you said, “I’ll tell you what, Johnny Storm. There’s a café a few blocks from the apartment, called “Geta’s”. Let's meet there, Saturday at noon. If you’re actually who you say you are, you’re paying for coffee. If you’re not, I’m calling the cops.”
“Geta’s” Johnny grinned. “Roger that. I’ll be there.”
You weren’t actually planning on calling the cops. Or well, you hoped you didn’t have to call them.
Worst case scenario, some random guy was pretending to be Johnny Storm, and you’d have to ditch the clown and go back to answering calls. Best case? Well…you hadn’t really considered that one, because come on. Johnny Storm, Manhattan’s golden boy, Mr. Baxter Building himself, apartment hunting in Brooklyn?
Absolutely not.
Still, you got to the café ten minutes early. Picked your favorite table by the window, with a good view of the street and a close exit in case things get weird. You ordered your usual drink, a side of mini croissants, and the wait began.
You were mid sip when you heard the familiar ring of the bells above the cafe’s door.
"Mr.Storm!" someone called from behind the counter, way too cheery to be greeting a conman. “Welcome to Geta’s!”
Your head snapped up, and…yup. There he was.
Johnny Freaking Storm. Golden hair, golden everything. A pair of sunglasses perched on his head, paired with some designer jacket and perfectly fitted pants and that pearly white smile you’d only seen on billboards.
He looked unfairly good in real life.
He nodded to the barista, who was currently having a mini stroke behind the register, then turned his gaze toward the tables, looking for…you?
Right, yeah. You.
You raised your hand awkwardly, giving a tiny wave that said yep, that’s me, the girl who didn’t think you’d actually show up. He smiled wider at your stunned expression, and strutted straight to you, sliding onto the chair across from you.
“I didn’t actually think Johnny Storm was going to show up today,” you blurted out, making him chuckle.
“I get that a lot,” he said, shrugging.
“Do you…want a mini croissant?”
“Only if they’re not poisoned,” he joked, narrowing his eyes playfully.
“Right. You’re the Johnny Storm. You probably have someone test the croissants for you.”
“That would be Herbert, yes,” he nodded cockily, getting another chuckle out of you.
This time you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to process the entire fever dream. He just tilted his head, matching your face expression in amusement. You shook your head and leaned back a little, crossing your arms.
“Okay, I feel like I need to say this out loud so I know I’m not hallucinating. My apartment is not in Manhattan. It’s not a penthouse. I don’t live next to models or celebrities. Are you sure you replied to the right listing? Or is this just you…pulling a bit? Like a prank show? Because I really do need a roommate.”
Johnny chuckled, shaking his head.
“No cameras, I promise,” he reassured. “I know where the listing said it was. Park Slope. Two bedrooms. 4th floor. You said girls only unless you’re famous, which, considering…”
He leaned back with a shrug, gesturing at himself.
“Yeah but that was a joke. I mean you could, I don’t know, live anywhere. Somewhere crazier like…the moon or space in general,” you gesture vaguely, because him living in another galaxy sounds more realistic than him sharing a couch with you.
He seems to find it funny, at least, but something in his face softens before he lets out a sigh.
“Listen, I know this is weird but…I’m not joking. I don’t want a penthouse. I’m not looking for anything “crazy” or fancy or with zero gravity. I just…want something a little quieter. A little more normal, you know?”
You raised your eyebrows, still skeptical. “Well, Johnny, life in an apartment building is not necessarily “quieter”,” you chuckle. “Normal? For sure. But you’re telling me the big Human Torch, who flies over the stadium to see the Mets, wants normal?”
He shrugged, but there’s no cockiness to it anymore.
“I know. Shocking, right? But I do," he said. “I mean, the tower’s great and all, but it’s…a lot. And it’s all I’ve known for most of my life. Cameras, tech, Reed in general, it just…never stops. It always feels like everything needs to be perfect, you know? I kind of want a door I can lock and a couch I don’t have to share with a 500 pound rock man. Maybe just with…a normal roommate."
You stared at him in silence. If there was anything you learned from Johnny Storm in that short interaction, it was that he had the bluest of eyes, and the way they were looking at you, like he needed to be understood by some random girl he just met, made something in your heart clench.
Still, you had questions. You weren’t going to be swooned into giving away half your apartment.
“A normal roommate…” you drawled, still waiting for the punchline of this whole situation. “So, you don’t mind the fact that I have a regular job and I don’t throw superhero parties?”
That makes him grin again. “Well, I was kind of hoping you threw superhero parties. But that’s okay, I can tell spidey to meet me somewhere else.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. Okay…maybe you’re getting a little swooned. You looked down at your drink, trying to play it cool.
“And you know I probably won’t scream when you come out of the shower shirtless or whatever?”
Johnny grinned wider.
“I mean, you can. You’d have shirtless privileges as long as you don’t go around selling pictures of me.”
That makes your smile grow. Damn him.
You really tried to stay skeptical. Tried to keep a cool head and ask more serious questions. But shit, they weren’t lying about the Storm charm.
And the sad truth was…you liked it. The way he made you laugh. The way he was looking at you. Not just in a flirty, over the top Johnny Storm way. He seemed genuine, not necessarily trying to impress. You could tell he was truly interested…maybe even hopeful.
And I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You really needed a roommate like, yesterday.
“Okay, Johnny Storm,” you shrugged. You had nothing to lose. “Wanna go see it?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to fly up the fire escape?” You tease, eyeing the four flights of stairs ahead of you as you walk into the building.
“Please. I’m going for the full normal experience, remember?” He gives you a smug little smirk.
You snort, then pretend you don’t hear him panting by the third floor. But all the amusement goes away as you open your front door, totally not freaking out about the fact that Johnny Storm–your potential roommate–is about to come inside.
Time for the house tour.
The apartment is not that big, not like anything in New York is anyway, but the layout looks decent under the soft light coming through the windows. The ceilings are high, the wood floors shine when the sunlight hits them right and the open kitchen is small but cozy.
Johnny walks in with an unreadable expression in his face. Still, you can’t help but look at it the way he must be seeing it now; the single couch in the living room with carefully picked mismatched throw pillows, the thrifted coffee table you sanded and painted yourself, the small black and white TV, the organized mess on every surface but…it’s home. It’s been home for a year now.
He turns around in a slow circle, taking it all in, eyes landing on a small desk by the window with a typewriter on it and stacks of paper all around it. He wanders over there, leaning a hand on the window frame as he looks out over the rooftops.
The view isn’t breathtaking, not at all like the one he’s used to back home, or the one he sees when he flies over the city, but it’s beautiful nevertheless. Lived in. Rows of shoulder to shoulder red brick facades, dozens of arched doors with molding and tall trees lining up the street.
Standing here, he feels small. In a good way.
“It’s actually very nice,” he says, turning to you with a smile.
“Thanks…” you say. Relief washing your features. “Does it meet the great Johnny Storm’s expectations?”
He shrugs playfully, eyes darting across the floor like he’s looking for something. “I’m still expecting at least one cockroach cameo.”
You gasp in mock offense, but can’t fight the smile on your face.
“Give it time.”
You gesture for him to follow you into the mini hallway to access the rooms, separated by a bathroom in the middle.
“This one’s my room,” you say, pointing to the one that faces the front street. “Yours would be the one on the left. It has good light in the morning.”
He hums, peeking inside the empty room. “I like that.”
“And then…there’s a smaller third one next to yours. I’m using it for storage, and I wasn’t planning to fill it but…I was actually going to talk with my new roommate about considering renting it too. But–”
“How much more do you need to make it work?”
“What?”
“Well, if you’re gonna have to bring in a third roommate, then I assume the math doesn’t quite work yet. I can do more than 50/50,” he offers like it’s nothing.
“Johnny…”
“60/40? 70/30? Just tell me what you need, I got it.”
“That’s not really the point,” you say softly, shaking your head. “Look–I just…I’ve loved this apartment for over a year now but rent went up and it’s been a bit tough finding someone who can help afford this place. The building is nice but people’ve been turning me down when hearing their part. So, I thought I might have to split it in three. But I’m not trying to take advantage of anyone, of you...it’s just a big deal for me, living here you know?” You shrug, suddenly feeling self conscious.
“You’re not taking advantage of me if I want to help,” he says, just as softly. “Seriously. I like it here. This whole thing I’m trying is…kind of a big deal for me too.”
Your shoulders relax a bit, and a smile tugs at your lips.
“So you really want to live here?”
Johnny looks at you like obviously, before that cocky grin sneaks into his face again. “I already committed to the stairs. I’m invested now.”
That gets a laugh out of you.
“Well,” you smile, stepping toward him, extending your hand, “then I guess we are roommates, Johnny Storm.”
“Roommates,” he nods, sliding his warm hand into yours.
“Better than the moon, then?” You tease.
“Way better,” he smiles. And oh, that smile is trouble.
Four months later.
Living with a celebrity has been…surprisingly uneventful.
No paparazzi hiding behind the trees, no fans camping outside the lobby, no wild afterparties. In fact, it’s been almost too normal…if you ignore the fact that your roommate is technically flammable.
Johnny hasn't set anything on fire. Not on purpose, at least.
The kitchen had two close calls. Both were an attempted murder breakfast. He claimed the stove was not user friendly because “it has no lights like the one at home”, so you had no choice but to ban him from using it unsupervised.
Still, he tries. On some nights when you come home dragging your feet from work, he’s already waiting by the TV with takeout bags in hand and his sweater sleeves pushed up as if he made the meal himself.
You’ve also noticed his little communicator/watch thingy beeps every Wednesday at 8 pm for family dinner back home. He flies off the fire escape, only to return a few hours later with something delicious like Ben’s lasagna or Herbert’s infamous cheesecake (you’ve learned he’s actually a droid and not a private chef.)
“Figured you could take some for lunch tomorrow,” he’d say casually, placing whatever he brought carefully in the fridge.
Oh, and the fridge! We have to talk about the refrigerator. A ridiculous piece of fine technology he barely managed to fit through the apartment door. It’s framed in shiny silver, with curved glass doors you didn’t even think was possible a fridge could have. He said he had a similar one at home, and figured your place could use something with the same aesthetic.
His words.
And you still remember the day he moved in like it was yesterday. He arrived with an obnoxiously big truck that had to return half full to the Baxter Building, because he overestimated the space he was moving into.
The bed was the funniest, for sure. Or at least…the attempt to get it in. It took him forty whole minutes of directing two movers to realize his round, ridiculous, king sized bachelor bed would simply not fit through the apartment door, let alone his designated bedroom. Not by angle, not by disassembly, not even with your upstairs neighbor offering unsolicited advice from the stairwell.
Funny times.
Your favorite part of that day, though? When Johnny took out a shiny, white sphere-shaped turntable out of a blue velvet lined case with more care than you've ever seen a man apply to anything in your life.
He brought his entire record collection too. Countless boxes of them. He even had custom shelving made for the living room, right above the small tv stand. The wood midcentury curves contrasted perfectly against the brick wall, and were packed to the brim with all his colorful records. Johnny was very proud of it. Back then he’d even said they were for “shared enjoyment,” and you took that to heart.
Johnny hadn’t noticed how many romantic records he owned until you started wearing them out. He doesn't mind at all, he’s caught himself smiling more than once when he hears you play one without asking for permission anymore. He even keeps your favorites on the shelf closest to the turntable.
Cause that’s what roommates do.
He admits it’s a little weird, sharing a space with someone who’s not family or you’re not romantically involved with, but he likes it so far. The simplicity. Sure there’s no cabinets that open with a clap of his hand or a rocketship parked in his backyard, but there’s walking out of his room for a midnight snack only to find you already there making some tea, humming in your pjs under the soft glow of the refrigerator light. That, until he lifts his hand and starts bragging about his flames heating your tea faster than a kettle. There’s watching you spend an entire Sunday hunched over your desk, giving the poor typewriter a run for its money while you play Sinatra in the background.
You also notice things about him. Cause that’s what roommates do.
Johnny likes dancing. It’s not a rare occasion to find him swaying his hips to Marvin Gaye or Michael Jackson in the middle of the living room when you get home at night. He’s been trying to master the moonwalk, which you discovered one day you arrived early from work (he’s getting there.)
Johnny likes to be active. He gets very fiddly when he’s not saving the world, so he always has to be doing something. Whether it’s cleaning his custom golf clubs, doing push ups in the middle of the living room, or trying to figure out a rubik’s cube Franklin can solve in less than five minutes, but who’s counting?
(Not Johnny.)
He has an unhealthy obsession with cereal, but we all have guilty pleasures, don’t we?
Johnny also pays the bills. All of them. You’ve tried to argue, even tried to pay some as soon as the receipt came, only to find out he’d already done it because it gets automatically drawn from his bank account. He even goes grocery shopping like you have a pantry the size of the entire apartment.
“No Johnny, you can’t keep buying in bulk, we don’t have space for all that stuff!!”
And…he’s still The Human Torch.
He disappears sometimes. You just hear the beep of his watch and he’s gone in a yellow blur. You’ve learned not to worry. Not because you’re not worried, but because he always comes back.
It’s your new normal. It’s easy. Domestic in a way you didn’t expect after the last…person you lived with. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep deflecting the question that pounds your head every now and then. Is this–whatever this is–the best mistake you’ve ever made?
“What do you do for a living anyways?” Johnny asks, his attention going from the movie to your spot on the floor next to the couch.
It’s almost 9pm on a random Tuesday. You’re folding some laundry into baskets after Johnny convinced you into joining him watching “The Godfather.”
“You see me leave every day with a lanyard that says New York Times, Johnny,” you chuckle, still focused on the shirt you’re folding.
“Yeah, but with the way you abuse that typewriter at night I’d think you’re running a secret gossip column about me or something.”
You finally look up, only to find him munching his popcorn in amusement. You reach for his bowl to steal some, he pretends to pull it away only for a second, only to extend it closer to you with a grin.
“Sure Johnny, because I have nothing better to do than write fan fiction about you for the Flaming Heart’s club zines,” you snort, shaking your head, but his tilts in confusion.
“...What’s a fan fiction?”
The question makes your wrist full of pop corn stop mid-air.
“Uhm…you’re better not knowing,” your voice comes out a little too high pitched, trying to brush it off.
“Right…” he says hesitantly, making a mental note to get the next Flaming heart’s club issue.
“I write for the paper’s lifestyle section,” you say, trying to stir the conversation away from that topic. Fortunately, he seems to perk up at that. “But it wasn’t always like that, I actually started writing about sports.”
“Sports?” He asks, lowering the tv’s volume and turning his body more towards you. “You never talk about that.”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly passionate about it. They hired me for whatever they needed. And they needed someone to write about the Mets.”
“The Mets…so you’ve seen me there?” He wiggles his eyebrows, making you roll your eyes playfully.
“I covered four seasons Johnny, four. I think I saw the human torch painting the game score on the sky a few times,” you chuckle, wiping your hands on your shorts to grab another piece to fold. “Don’t think I could watch another one, though.”
“Do you hate them?”
“I don’t hate them specifically but…I can’t really stand being in a stadium anymore. My head hurts and it makes me feel sick. It’s so loud, and the games last so long. I had no idea they were that long.”
He tries to be serious, he really does because you’re opening up, but the words leave his mouth before he can stop them.
“That’s what she said.”
You look at him stunned for a second, before you both burst into laughter. Of course. But you don’t get mad. If anything, it helps ease some tension off your shoulders.
“Okay, okay, sorry,” he apologizes after a moment, clearing his throat when your laugh subsides. “So, lifestyle then?”
“They moved me last year. Which is better…I guess.”
It’s not just your hesitant tone that makes Johnny soften, but the way you start to fold a pair of socks like your life depends on it. His gaze goes to your desk by the window, still stacked with mountains of papers and the cup of tea you forgot to take to the sink last night.
“That still doesn’t explain the aggressive typing at midnight,” he adds, prying a little more. “Unless you’re too passionate about throw pillows or vitamins or whatever a lifestyle column is about, but by the way you told me about it…I’m guessing that's not the dream, right?”
You chuckle at his analysis, but there’s more sadness in it than amusement.
“I want to write novels,” you admit quietly. “Romance, actually.”
That makes his eyebrows go up.
“Oh, now that makes sense,” he says with a teasing grin.
You whip your head toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh come on,” he laughs, leaning back on the couch to look at the ceiling, gesturing dramatically in the air. “The girl who listens to love songs repeatedly, wants to write romance novels? Not very surprising.”
You gasp, nudging his knee so he looks at you.
“May I remind you those are your records I’m playing?”
“Oh, please. You put them on more than I do.”
You try not to smile, but with Johnny…you’ve learned that’s impossible.
“Yeah, well, it’s not my fault you’ve got a softie’s taste in music,” you tease, going back to your stupid pile of clothes when he finally looks at you, feigning offense.
“I will not tolerate slander in my own home.”You both fall into soft laughter again, before he decides to turn the volume back up, not really caring about what he might’ve missed. Romance novels, huh. He’s definitely using that against you later.
It’s supposed to be another random Tuesday night.
You’ve called it a day, and intend to sit back and relax and enjoy your evening. You’re about to walk out of your room to make some tea for bed, when you hear the familiar rustle of Johnny’s keys on the front door, but it’s not just his footsteps you hear.
No, there’s a giggle. A girl giggle.
“Oh my god, you weren’t kidding about the stairs!” She says, followed by a breathless little laugh. “Wait…this is it?”
You’re still in your room where you can't see them, but by the sound of the girl’s voice, she’s not exactly impressed about the place Johnny Storm brought her into. But he doesn’t seem to mind, instead, you can hear his footsteps going toward the turntable, probably rummaging through his “setting the mood” shelf.
“Yep. This is where I live.”
There’s a brief pause, where you assume the girl is looking around trying to find a camera that would explain this is just a bad prank.
“…Really? I thought you lived in a penthouse,” she says, laughing nervously again. “I don’t know, something with a view, at least?”
“Nope,” Johnny says, and you can hear the unbothered smile on his face. “This is home.”
She doesn’t say anything back, but you’re guessing she’s probably trying to smile politely like her life depends on it. After all, she’s not stupid enough to waste the opportunity of spending the night with the human torch.
You don’t know what makes you step out of your room, maybe curiosity killed the cat, but you regret it the moment you see the girl Johnny brought home. The brunette looks like her face belongs in a billboard as much as he does. She’s still standing by the door, shifting awkwardly, and her eyes widen when she sees you walk out in pj’s.
“Oh hey!” Johnny says quickly, gesturing between you with a little laugh before she spirals. “This is my roommate. And this is, um…Paige.”
You smile, just enough to be polite, crossing your arms over your chest to try to keep at bay whatever you’re feeling.
“Hi, Paige.” That’s all you can manage to say. Johnny pretends going back to choosing a record, but he watches you from the corner of his eye.
Paige straightens on her spot, smiling way too cheerfully for the expression of bewilderment she had just seconds ago. “Hi! I love the place. It’s so…cozy.”
You nod, ignoring the way she looks up and down at you, and decide it’s wiser to forget about that tea.
“Nice meeting you. I’ll uh…leave you both to it…” you mutter, before doing the only thing a sane person would do.
Retreat to your room, shut the door, and pretend you don’t exist.
You decide to go back to your plans of enjoying the evening, and curl up with a good book in bed–thinking a glass of wine wouldn't be the worst idea–when you hear music coming from the living room. And it’s not just any song. Of course it’s not.
The opening sultry sequence is unmistakable, so instantly recognizable that your eyes go wide as your head snaps toward the door.
“I’ve been really tryyyyyyin’, baby…”
“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself.
“Tryin’ to hold back this feeling for so looooong…”
You rush to the door, pressing your ear to the wood to confirm you’re not hallucinating. Johnny really is shooting his shot with Marvin Gaye in the background.
Way to set the fucking mood. Literally.
“Oh my God,” you slap a hand over your mouth to stop the disbelieving laughter bubbling out of your chest. “That’s his move?”
You can’t help it. You have to see this. You crack the door open just enough to take a peek of the living room. The record spins on the turntable, as Johnny stands in front of the couch Paige is sitting on.
“Let’s get it on…”
And girl, Johnny’s getting it on. He has his arms up in front of him, elbows bent, fists and eyes closed, completely surrendering to the groove. He rolls his shoulders seductively, and his hips are doing a slow sway that makes your jaw drop to the floor.
He’s performing, right in the middle of your apartment, and you’re not sure if you should be horrified or turned on.
The girl on the couch is surely eating it up. She giggles, covering her mouth like this is the most charming thing she’s ever seen. Johnny throws in a little hip circle, that feels unnecessarily dramatic in your humble opinion, but she squeals louder, clapping as she melts under his mating spell.
“Let’s get it on…let’s love, baby…”
You can’t believe him, you can not believe him…and yet, your lips twitch at the way he’s completely unaware of how stupid he looks because he’s too busy having fun doing his weird seduction ritual.
Of course this is how he flirts. Of course he dances like that. And of course people fall for it.
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. Paige laughs again, and Johnny grins wide, clearly proud of himself. He offers his arm to her with a wink, leaning forward, and she takes his hand with a delighted gasp that seems to seal the deal.
That also means you’ve seen enough.
You close the door softly, pressing your back against it as the music and the giggles muffle behind it. You tell yourself that you should be annoyed. You should be rolling your eyes. But god help you, there’s this weird tender feeling blooming on your chest, and you hate it. Because even when he’s being ridiculous, even when he’s dancing to Marvin Gaye for someone else…You still find him stupidly endearing.
-
Unfortunately, Johnny’s wasn’t the only performance of the night.
Oh no, you wish you could go back to the stupid mating dance instead of…this.
First you just heard the creak of a bed. His bed. Followed by a sound that could only be described as a high, breathy, and absolutely overdone…moan. A performative moan. The walls are thin, not paper thin, but still enough that every exaggerated sound from his guest bleeds through.
“Oh my goood, Johnnyyy…”
You try covering your ears with your pillow, hoping it’ll help muffle the show Paige is putting on next to your room. But no, this girl is committed. She’s moaning as if she’s trying to convince someone. Anyone. Everyone.
God, what if your neighbors think that’s you?
Your groan is muffled by the pillow. This is torture, absolute torture. You know Johnny must be good in bed. That’s not the problem. The problem is that she sounds like she’s aware she has an audience.
You lift yourself on your elbows to glance at the clock and sigh at the time. 1:07 a.m.
Who goes on a date on a Tuesday?
Granted, if you were fucking Johnny you probably wouldn’t mind the day, or the hour–alright STOP right there. That’s not the point!
You plop back down, exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come easily. You just stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks you’ve never bothered to notice before, in an attempt to ignore Johnny’s muffled groans.
You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself you’re a grown adult who can handle the fact that her roommate has a sex life. There was never a rule against Johnny bringing someone home. He lives here. He pays for almost everything for God’s sake. He’s allowed to bring anyone wants.
It's just…you were naive enough to think he wouldn't.
Girl, whatever.
Wednesday’s morning sun hits you like a slap in the face.
You couldn’t sleep well, not with the symphony next door. So you forced yourself up from bed and got ready for work by a miracle. Now, yawning and barely keeping your eyes open, you drag your feet toward the kitchen to find some salvation in the form of caffeine, but you don’t make it two steps outside your bedroom before you collide directly into something solid.
And wet. And warm. Too warm.
Johnny.
Who was just stepping out of the bathroom with water dripping down his golden skin. A white towel hangs low on his hips. Like low low. His clenched fist barely keeps it in place. Blonde hair sticking in strands to his forehead.
You freeze in place.
“Morning,” he says, smirking, “You okay? You look like you just saw a very handsome man.”
You don’t really hear him. And you absolutely do not stare at his chest, his abs, or the water trickling down his happy trail. But you do notice the hickeys adorning his glistening pecs. Bright and fresh and mocking you.
“It’s okay if you want to scream.” His teasing voice makes you roll your eyes as you shove past him.
“Put on some damn clothes, Storm.”
Johnny lets out a chuckle, leaning over the bathroom’s door frame with his arm.
“Why? You looked like you were enjoying the view,” he adds, and just to show off more, he steams the water off his body in a matter of seconds. “You know, you can just say I’m hot. I’d be flattered, really.”
He expects you to say some witty remark, or give into him with a laugh like you always do, but you give him the cold shoulder treatment. Then you distract yourself by stabbing the buttons on the espresso machine he brought in just last week. Johnny notices not only that, but your sudden aggression toward the cereal box and the bowl you set a little too harshly onto the counter. He frowns, stepping slowly into the kitchen.
“Hey…wait, are you–“
“I’m not mad,” you say, still not looking at him.
“I didn’t say you were,” he shrugs, lifting one hand innocently before smirking again. “…but are you not though?”
“I’m just tired, okay? Some of us had to sleep last night instead of entertaining their very loud…guest.”
“Ohhh,” he clicks his tongue, grin only growing bigger. “So this is about last night. That’s what you’re mad about.”
“I said I’m not mad!” You snap.
There’s a few seconds of silence where Johnny debates turning around and hiding in his room before you throw a knife at him or something, but since he apparently has no survival instinct, he leans closer, tilting his head inquisitively at you.
“…Are you sure?”
You set your palms on the counter with a sigh. But instead of going for the knife in the drawer to your right (very tempting) you step away from him.
“Johnny–listen I’m not mad that you brought someone over,” you start explaining, a little hesitant because wow, this is awkward. “You live here too and you can bring whoever you want. It’s not about that.”
“Okay…” he drags the word, waiting for the but.
“It’s just…it was a weeknight, alright? I have work today and I could barely sleep.”
You see the shift in Johnny’s face when he takes in your exhausted features, your slumped shoulders and the lame work outfit you didn’t seem to care much about. His brows furrow in something that looks like concern as a mild pink paints his cheeks. That’s when you straighten up, shaking your head in an attempt to take it back as sudden embarrassment takes over you.
“Sorry, that probably sounded dumb. Swear I’m not trying to police your sex life–you’re an adult! You can…you can do whatever you want, whenever you want–” you fumble through your words, but this time Johnny is the one shaking his head as he steps closer to you, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his bare chest.
“Shit. I didn’t even think–you’re right,” he says, scratching the back of his head as he turns redder. “I’m sorry…I should’ve thought about that. I really didn’t mean to…make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t, not in the way you think,” you reassure, lowering your eyes to the bowl on the counter with a little shrug. “Maybe I just didn’t need to hear…all of it. You know?”
He nods a little too quickly. “Yeah yeah, totally, I get it. This uh–this roommate thing’s still new to me, but I’ll be more careful next time. Promise.”
Next time. Promise. You’re not sure why that didn’t make you feel better. Next time. Next time you’ll–
“Thank you,” you mumble, feeling Johnny’s gaze fixed on you as you nod and turn away from him toward the coffee machine again.
Johnny hums, and decides to retreat back to his room, bare feet dragging over the wood floor. The roommate thing is not necessarily new new to him, but living in a shared apartment with thin walls is. At least back at home no one complained about his night endeavours anymore after Reed installed a soundproofing system specifically for this purpose.
He stops right outside his room, his hand resting on the doorknob when he turns to you with that charming smile he wears when he knows he’s done something wrong and he needs to fix it.
“Lunch tomorrow?” He asks casually, almost laughing at the way your head snaps up toward him with wide eyes. “To make it up to you. It’s your day off.”
The perplexed expression on your face doesn’t change.
“You…know?” You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes at him.
“You marked it on the calendar with a little face next to it.” He grins, shrugging cockily.
“I didn’t–” Your eyes land on the calendar next to the landline phone on the wall, and sure there is a little smiley face next to your circle. “You drew that there!” you accuse with a small laugh he follows.
“Whatever. It’s still my treat, what do you say?”
“But…Paige won’t be mad?” you tease, and he bites back a chuckle as he shakes his head.
“She was just a one time thing.”
His expression doesn't falter, but something about the quickness of his reply makes your heart do something stupid again.
“Then…yeah, guess I’d like that,” you say softly.
“Good. I’m picking the place,” he nods with a smile.
You definitely don’t stare at his back as he disappears into his room.
“I got sunshineeee, on a cloudy day…”
The music coming from the jukebox is lively, and matches the bright diner Johnny brought you to. He’d tried hailing a cab to get there, but you dragged him toward the subway, where he insisted on getting his own card to cover your fare at least.
He adored the subway, though! That poor innocent soul.
You weren’t really sure where he was taking you, but you liked the place he chose.
“Can I get you anything else, honey?” The waitress asks Johnny after scribbling down your order. A kind middle aged woman with bright red lipstick, who has apparently known Johnny since he was a kid.
“That’s everything for now. Thank you, Glinda,” he smiles, sending a wink her way.
She laughs, shaking her head, used to him doing that every other day. Then her gaze travels between you two with a smile you can’t quite decipher.
“You two are cute,” she says suddenly.
“We’re not–”
“Thanks!” Johnny cuts you off, and before you can protest, he nudges your foot under the table until Glinda leaves. He chuckles when he sees you narrowing your eyes at him. “Let her believe it. We’ll get better service.”
“Huh. Did that work with Paige too?” You tease with a tilt of your head, and Johnny raises his eyebrows in surprise.
“Wow. So we’re doing that today?”
You shrug, a laugh escaping your lips. “I’m just saying, if I’m gonna be one of your girls of the week, I should know if you’re using the same techniques.”
“Oh don’t worry, you’ll meet the rest of my harem later and you can ask them yourself,” Johnny plays along, making your grin widen. “But if it makes you feel better, you’re the first one I’ve ever brought here.”
Something about the comment makes something flutter in your stomach. You look around, and this is definitely not the place you imagine the girls Johnny dates hanging out. No wonder he hasn’t brought them here, after all, this is just a casual “I fucked too loud the other day and I need you to forgive me” spot.
“How do you know this place?” You ask.
“Sue used to bring me here when I was little,” he explains, smiling softly as he recalls the memory. “Best burgers in the city. I didn’t want to eat anywhere else."
You smile, and shake the bad thoughts away, grateful to be the first one he decided to share this space with besides his sister.
Your food arrives eventually, and the conversation flows easily between you, just as if you were sitting on the floor of your living room. He always shares stories about his missions that seem too good to be true, and when you share stories from your job, the craziest thing you can tell him is the absurd HR drama of the week.
“...I guess you'd say
What can make me feel this way?...”
The music fills the restaurant, and the food is so good, you can’t help the delight on your face.
“Oh my god, you weren’t lying about these,” you say, a little muffled, after the last glorious bite of your burger.
Johnny chuckles, nodding like ‘I told you so’. You’re too busy tasting heaven to notice when he leans forward on his booth, and before you know it, his hand is reaching toward your cheek, wiping some leftover sauce with a napkin.
“There you go,” he says softly.
The gesture is so sudden that you freeze on your spot and stop chewing, but Johnny looks unbothered as ever, leaning back again with both arms resting on the edge of the booth like that was nothing. You stare at his relaxed position, and finish swallowing what was in your mouth, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of his warm fingers grazing your skin.
“Thank you,” you manage, clearing your throat.
“Anytime,” he shrugs, flashing you another one of his pearly white smiles.
“...My girl (my girl, my girl)
Talkin' 'bout my girl (my girl)...”
-
“Well, I think that should cover the noise,” Johnny says, following behind as you enter the apartment after getting back from the diner.
“Fine. Apology accepted, Storm.” You roll your eyes, but can’t help a smile as you go straight to the living room.
You plop down onto the couch, and Johnny throws himself beside you. There’s a comfortable silence for a few seconds, one he couldn’t wait to ruin by opening his mouth.
“Don’t worry, next time I’ll keep it down,” he says nonchalantly. “I can be considerate.”
Maybe he meant it as a joke, you tell yourself. Next time. It really shouldn’t bother you, but it’s the second time he says it like the idea of having another woman on his bed is as casual as eating a burger.
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t–
“Well, hopefully the next one doesn’t fake it so loudly.”
The words left your mouth before you could think about their impact. Johnny turns fully toward you, straightening up on the couch.
“I’m sorry, what? Did you just say Paige was faking it?”
You consider getting up and ignoring the conversation altogether, but that would make you look worse than you already do.
“I didn’t say any names,” you try to brush it off.
“You absolutely meant Paige,” he retorts. “And she wasn’t faking it.”
“…Okay,” is all you say, pursing your lips together. Johnny narrows his eyes.
“You don’t believe me,” he says defensively, and it’s a little hard not to laugh at Johnny's genuine offense.
“Well, did you believe her?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.
He looks at you like you’ve gone mad. “Yes, of course I did! I’m very attentive with those things. I would know.”
“Okay then,” you shrug, leaning forward to take the tv remote from the coffee table, but he beats you to it, and hides it behind him. “Johnny!”
“No! Don’t patronize me,” he points at you with his finger, “I pay attention, okay? I’m not saying I’m Casanova–”
“You kind of are.”
“Well not the point,” he glares at you, but you just bite back a smile and wave your hand for him to continue. “What I mean is, women don’t fake it with me.”
He says it with such conviction, that all you can do is bite the inside of your cheek to not burst out laughing. I mean, of course certified hot stuff™ Johnny Storm would believe that.
“Okay–”
“Stop saying okay!” He groans dramatically, running his hands through his hair like this is physically wearing him out, and then holds them in front of you. “You wanna hear the details? Fine. She said she came ten times.”
“Ten times?”
“Yeah.”
“Johnny.”
“What?”
“Ten??”
“Yes. Ten,” he says proudly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Did you also come ten times?”
He goes quiet for a moment, his mouth opening and closing in offense. You raise your eyebrows and nod with your head, prompting him to talk.
“No that’s…that’s impossible,” he huffs. All you have to do is give him a look. See? “Okay–stop. It’s different for women.”
“Yeah, I know it is. That’s why you don’t understand,” you sigh, trying to sound nicer now because despite everything, you’re not trying to humiliate him. “Listen, I’m sure you’re good in bed, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen for us. And sometimes girls don’t want to stop everything and explain that in the middle of it, so they fake it to be…polite.”
He looks flabbergasted to say the least.
“Polite? So you’re saying faking orgasms is what, being generous with us?”
“I think she was very generous, making you believe it was twelve times.”
“I said ten,” he snaps.
“Right, ten. God forbid I say an unrealistic number.”
Johnny narrows his eyes at you, but your amused smile doesn’t falter. That’s the moment when the devil on his shoulder whispers something to him, and a glint appears in his eye.
“Well, what about you, then?” He asks casually.
“What about me?” You narrow your eyes.
“Do you have to fake it a lot with the guys you are with?”
“Johnny…” you laugh, rolling your eyes at how he turned it around.
“I’m just saying,” he smirks. “You seem to know a lot about it. Did you have to do it a lot?” He’s teasing, you know it, but there's a bit of genuine curiosity under all that.
“Like I said, sometimes it just doesn’t happen for us,” you shrug, chuckling again but it doesn’t reach your eyes this time, “my last partner was…attentive. So I didn’t have to. At least…not at first.”
“Your last partner?"
You hesitate for a second, then nod.
“We were together for five years.”
“Five years?” Johnny straightens up, unconsciously sliding himself closer to you on the couch. “You were with someone for five years?”
“Yeah. I actually thought I was gonna spend the rest of my life with him,” you smile sadly. “His name is James.”
Johnny hates James.
He’s not sure what to say besides that. You’ve never told him this before, and God, that look on your face…makes him watch you more carefully now. No more teasing, no smirk.
“Did it end badly?” He asks softly. You shake your head.
“It wasn’t ugly per se, just…sad. We didn’t want the same things anymore,” you sigh, he just listens. “We had dreams, you know? Big ones. Penthouse in Manhattan, fancy dinners, skiing holidays. He wanted to go into politics, make it to congress, I wanted to become a New York Times best seller. So, we’d agreed we didn’t want kids or the whole marriage thing. Just success,” you chuckle, because it sounds so foreign to you now. “But after so many years together I changed my mind. I wanted a family. I wanted…more. I wanted to live the love I was writing about.”
“And he didn’t,” Johnny adds quietly.
“No. He didn't. Didn't think we could have both.” You meet his gaze, and you see true concern there, so you smile. “It’s been about a year since we called it off. I’ve healed a lot since then. Found this place and made it home.” you say, as if he’s the one who needs reassurance.
Johnny’s heart burns under his chest. He’d never stopped to think about the life you had before him. There was a whole imagined future that someone destroyed, and he had no idea.
“I heard he made it to congress last month,” you add, toying with the hem of your shirt. “Guess that leaves me here, still writing in my pjs thinking I can make it big one day,” you chuckle, but Johnny doesn't find it so amusing.
“Hey. Don’t say it like that,” he says softly, shaking his head. “You’re doing it. You’re writing, maybe not in some fancy tower office or bestselling list yet, but you’re on your way. I’ve seen you type for hours on that thing,” he points at the typewriter by the window. “And you’re going to find someone who wishes the same things as you. You deserve someone who wants to give you all that, and more.”
“Yeah…maybe,” you nod. He huffs, nudging your leg playfully with his support.
“Definitely.”
This time you let yourself smile genuinely. You’re not sure why you let yourself share all of that with Johnny. Surely, he’s never had to worry about success, and there’s a line of girls who would gladly marry him anyday. But the way he’d looked at you, so…earnest. You deserve someone who wants to give you all that, and more. His words echo in your head, but maybe you shouldn't dwell on it. He was just being nice–
“It’s a little quiet in here, isn’t it?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and when you turn to look at him, he’s got his devilish smile back on.
You narrow your eyes, but he just raises from the couch and walks toward the turntable.
“I say, we need some music to lighten up,” he half turns to you without stopping, winking.
You snort, shifting on the couch to peek at what vinyl he wants to play, but he purposefully covers it with his body. You don’t have to guess for long, because a familiar groove fills the apartment when he drops the needle.
“Johnny, you can’t be serious right now,” you chuckle when you recognize the tune.
He turns away from the turntable, and he already has that mischievous glint in his eye, making a “come here” motion with two fingers. His hips start moving to the rhythm as he walks toward you, and you have to bite back a smile.
“Come on, I already heard your sad story. Let’s dance now.”
“My sad story?” You gasp in exaggerated offense. “Oh you're dead, Storm.”
“Yeah?” He grins, stopping right in front of you but never halting his moves. “Why don’t you stand up and show me you can move, then?”
“I won’t–”
“Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man no time to talk…” he cuts you off, singing and pointing at himself. His voice comes out so high it matches the record, and you cover your mouth to hide your smile. He keeps dancing to the groove, “And now it's all right, it's okay. And you may look the other way…” you do just that, but Johnny slides to stay in your line of sight.
“…Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother
You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive…”
You cover your face, peeking through your fingers. He keeps moving so easily, so unashamed, and for a moment it feels too familiar. It’s just like the other night, except today, you are the girl he’s dancing to.
“Ah ah ah ah, staying alive…” Johnny channels his inner Travolta, and busts out the signature disco move: left hand on his hip, the other moving up and down in the air as the chorus hits. You can’t hide the delight on your face anymore. A giggle escapes out, and he just smiles brighter, stopping his move only to offer his hand. “Come on, dance with me.”
You want to say no.
“Scared of a little fun?” He teases.
It’s a trap. It’s a trap. But he’s standing right there with his hand outstretched, hips swaying to the beat, and those impossible blue eyes daring you to stop thinking about fake orgasms and failed relationships and just join the moment. He looks so ridiculous, yet you’re rising up from the couch before you can really think about it.
Johnny cheers approvingly, stepping back to give you space, and you let yourself go. Your own moves are looser, less practiced than his, but still good enough to raise to the challenge. You shake your hair playfully, spinning around so Johnny is standing behind you as you join the rhythm. You sway from side to side in opposite directions, catching brief glances of each other’s faces. He lets out a low whistle.
“Ohhhh she dances,” he praises, eyes shamelessly trailing your movements.
“Shut it,” you shoot back.
And you both dance.
“…Well now, I get low and I get high
And if I can't get either, I really try…”
The apartment fills with music and laughter, and you get lost in your own Saturday Night Fever extravaganza. At some point he reaches for your hand again and twirls you, making you stumble into him, and you collide chest to chest. The song keeps playing, but it fades out when his bright blue eyes set on you.
You’re breathless, and you try to play it cool, but it’s impossible when he’s right there.
“You’re smiling,” he says teasingly, but you don’t try to hide this time.
“Only because you’re ridiculous,” you manage.
Johnny shrugs smugly, making you yelp when he steps back and spins you around faster than before, then prompting you to dance again. “Then be ridiculous with me.”
As you both laugh and surrender to the rhythm, you come to the realization that you could learn to love this.
The dancing.
It’s Friday night, and you decide to give dating a chance again. It’s about time after all.
You smooth down your outfit, fix your hair one last time, and give yourself a final look in the mirror of your room. It’s been a while since you actually dressed up for something that wasn’t work, and god, it feels good to remember you still have it in you.
You step out of your room hoping to leave without making too much of a fuss, when you come across a shirtless Johnny leaning on the breakfast counter, wearing his human torch pj pants– way too low to be considered PG– and eating from the cereal box in his hand. Only the glow from the refrigerator bathes the kitchen in a pale golden hue.
Not an unfamiliar sight at all, yet…you always find yourself staring longer than you should. For Johnny, however, watching you come out of your room looking like that as you leave a trail of expensive perfume he’s sure you’ve never worn before, is unfamiliar.
“Wow,” he says, straightening up against the counter, a teasing smile on his face. “She actually cleans up nicely.”
You snort, looking around for your coat and pretending you don’t feel Johnny’s burning gaze on you when you put it on.
“Date night?” he asks. His voice definitely didn’t come out higher than normal.
“...Yeah,” you mumble, fixing the collar of your coat. “Guy from work. He’s um…we’re going dancing.”
“Dancing? People still do that?” He teases. Hypocrite.
“Ha. Ha. Very funny Storm,” you retort, walking to the door to grab your keys on the little hook next to it. “Please don’t burn the place while I’m out.”
“I can’t promise anything,” he shrugs unapologetically, rounding the counter as if to walk toward the couch in the living room, but he really just wants to get a better look at you before you leave. “You look very beautiful.”
His words make your hand freeze over the doorknob. There’s something about the softness in his voice that knocks the breath out of your chest. You turn around to look at him with a small smile.
“Thank you, Johnny,” you say, but before you can reach the knob again he perks up.
“Wait–he’s not coming up to get you?”
“No…he said he’d be outside at 8,” you shrug, but Johnny doesn't seem to take it as lightly as you do. If anything, you’d say he looks scandalized to say the least.
“Yeah–no. That’s not happening,” he shakes his head, dropping the cereal box on the counter as he walks towards you.
“Johnny–”
“No way I’m letting you wait outside alone in the cold while some guy honks his car like he’s doing you a favor,” he says, walking ahead to open the door. “I’ll wait with you.”
“...You’re only wearing pants.”
“Yeah, and they’re my favorite pair,” he deadpans. “Let’s go.”
“Okay…” you shrug, but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips as he guides you outside the apartment. “Thank you,” you whisper, when he offers his arm to help you down the multiple flights of stairs.
Date night hasn’t even started and you’re already flustering.
Once you’re in the lobby, Johnny doesn’t seem to mind the fact that he’s standing shirtless and barefoot next to the glass doors. If anything, he’s more interested in seeing who this mystery man is, if he even has the decency of at least walking inside to get you. For a moment he just stares at you from the corner of his eye, resisting the urge to send another compliment your way.
The clock ticks, minutes go by, and you’re still smiling but the slight waver of your stance doesn’t go unnoticed by Johnny.
He glances at you, then at his watch. 8:15. Shit.
"Are you sure he said eight?" Johnny asks carefully.
“Yeah. Eight. Michael called me yesterday to confirm it,” you nod, eyes still glued to the street outside.
Johnny hates Michael. He hates him so much and he doesn’t even know him. But he forces a reassuring smile for you.
“Maybe traffic?”
“Yeah,” you agree too quickly. “You know how it is on a Friday.”
He just nods, and turns back to the street. He doesn’t feel the bite of the cold, but he notices the way you wrap your arms around you. He silently steps closer to you, increasing his body temperature so can share some with you. You don’t say anything, or even move, but time does.
8:25.
You shift your weight from side to side, trying to come up with something to at least make the silence a little less awkward, but nothing comes out.
8:30.
Johnny’s gaze turns to you again, and you fear he sees the moment of cruel acceptance in your face. Why did he have to wait with you? This would be less embarrassing if he’d just stayed upstairs so you had time to come up with an excuse less pathetic than “I was stood up.”
At 8:40 you decide it’s been enough of this humiliation, so you exhale, turning back to the stairs while avoiding Johnny’s eyes.
“Well, he probably got caught up in something,” you shrug, trying to sound casual. A shaky laugh escapes your lips. “Maybe an emergency. Or maybe he just didn’t want to come...”
“I don’t think–”
“I’m gonna go back,” you cut him off, clearing your throat. “I’ll just change and order something. It’s no big deal.”
Johnny doesn't have time to offer his arm this time, because you’re already halfway up the stairs ahead of him. So he follows behind, no questions asked.
The hurt is not even about the guy who didn’t show up, because you haven’t known him long enough for this to be a proper “heartbreak”, but you hate that you got all dressed up and hopeful. How you let yourself believe someone might want to see you that badly. Oh he’s gonna hear it from you on Monday.
And now you’re walking back upstairs with your roommate in the front row of the whole shitshow.
Your roommate who held the door open and helped you down the stairs.The one who hasn't made a single joke about the situation even when you’re sure he’s never had to worry about being stood up in his entire life. The one who said you looked beautiful with such softness in his voice that your stomach still flips thinking about it.
Your roommate who also happens to be Johnny Storm.
And the worst part?
Part of you wishes he was the one who stood you up. Because at least then, it would’ve meant he wanted to take you out in the first place.
God, you’re being ridiculous.
You don’t really want to talk when you approach the apartment. Johnny closes the door behind you with a soft click, and you don’t even bother turning the lights back on since the idea of ordering something doesn’t seem that appealing anymore, instead, you bend down to take your shoes off. Your night ended before it could even begin anyways.
“Goodnight, Johnny.”
You don’t wait for a reply as you straighten up and make a beeline for your bedroom, but you stop when you feel his warm fingers wrap gently around your wrist, the same one holding your shoes.
“Wait,” he says softly. “Just…wait.”
He lets go almost as quickly, his brief touch a mere ghost feeling on your wrist as you watch him walk with determination toward the turntable in the living room, flipping through the basket of records on rotation you keep next to it. You’re about to open your mouth to tell him you’re really not in the mood for this, but he beats you to it.
“Ah ha!” He celebrates when he finds the one he was looking for, but from your spot it’s hard to recognize the cover in the darkness. He places the record on the player, and turns to you a little bit shyer. “This isn’t, you know…a fancy dance floor. But I figured you deserved your dance anyway.”
His dashing smile is soft and lopsided and even a little sheepish as he waits for your response. Your heart thumps so loud and quickly you struggle to process everything you feel in that moment, and the sting in your eyes doesn't help either.
You stay speechless, but Johnny doesn't mind, he only turns again to drop the needle on the vinyl before walking to your spot.
You expect the melody to come out of the turntable to be lively, something ridiculously sexy or extravagant like the other day, but when you recognize the soft chords of a guitar, you have to stop yourself from gasping.
“I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me…”
Frank Sinatra's voice dances across the apartment, just as Johnny stops in front of you and extends his hand with a soft smile.
“What do you say? Wanna dance under the glow of our ridiculous fridge?”
A chuckle escapes your lips. To think that you would’ve expected him to mock you for what happened, but no, he’s offering you a dance instead. Again. Words are foreign to you still, but you drop your shoes to the floor and take his hand.
“And if we go some place to dance I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me…”
His hand finds your waist, and yours land over his bare shoulders almost instinctively. You start to sway to the melody, glassy eyes meeting his piercing blue ones. His face is washed by the faint glow coming from the kitchen, enough to look ethereal as he guides your hips from side to side. His body is hot beneath your touch, and you find it hard to coordinate your moves with the unsteadiness of your breathing.
“And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two…”
The record choice doesn’t help your state either. That song. That damn song. The one you’ve been playing every Sunday morning. The one you sing along to in the middle of typing as you try to recreate that love with your words. The one you reach for when the apartment’s too quiet and you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts.
This is not like the other day. This…this is everything.
“And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’...”
Johnny breaks eye contact to spin you around softly, almost letting out a tiny huff when your chests collide back together. That’s familiar. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly, and your fingers find their way to play with his hair.
You don’t want the moment to end. And neither does he. So you keep going, careful not to let your face bury into his bare chest, as you sway barefoot under the refrigerator light.
“The time is right, your perfume fills my head
The stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue…”
Maybe getting stood up wasn't so bad.
“And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’...”
Maybe this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
The next time you decide to try dating, it’s with a better man. A totally normal, grounded, emotionally available man who shows up at your doorstep when he says he will.
Joseph has brown eyes and brown hair. A warm voice with an accent that had you internally giggling and kicking your feet when you were introduced at a work event. He’s sweet and listens and laughs at your jokes and doesn't have a superhero suit in his closet.
Nope, he just works in finance.
That’s good. That’s smart. Joseph’s normal. He doesn’t light on fire at will. And he's oh, so handsome. Which is why, after many successful dates, you knew you wanted more with him.
Johnny hasn't been home on a Saturday night since he moved in. You don’t know exactly where he goes; missions, friends, clubs, space? Who cares, Saturday is his disappearing act, so you were counting on having the apartment to yourself.
So when Joseph said I’d love to come inside after kissing you against the front door, you said sure with a little grin and the warmth of two glasses of wine running through your veins. You fumbled with your keys a little, giggling when Joseph’s hands roamed down your waist when you opened the door…only to find him on the couch.
Johnny.
Wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt with a 4 logo. Bowl of popcorn in his lap and a movie glowing on the screen. His head whips in your direction when he hears your little messy entrance, and smiles a little too wide for someone who just ruined your plans entirely.
“Heeey,” he beams, leaning back on the couch as his eyes narrow at the man standing behind you.
“Hi,” you say, clearly taken aback. “...You’re home.”
“Yep.”
Ugh. Can’t a girl get laid in peace?
“Everything alright?” Joseph asks hesitantly, clearly not expecting to find Johnny Storm on your couch.
“Yeah–yeah, sorry. Come in,” you step aside, gesturing awkwardly between them. “This is uh–Johnny. My roommate.”
“That’d be me,” Johnny throws a salute in his direction. “And you are?”
“Joseph,” he flashes a confident grin, tightening his grip around your waist. “Nice to meet you, torch.”
Johnny nods at him, eyes traveling to his hand placement, and you swear you catch his posture faltering for a second, the thousand alarms going off behind that perfect smile. So she doesn’t like blonds…
“Don’t you uh…have somewhere to be?” You ask, gesturing with your eyes toward the door in a silent plea, but he just shakes his head, smiling wider and leaning back onto the couch. He even has the audacity to laugh when you glare at him.
“Oh please, don’t mind me here! I’ll just finish my movie.”
Your eye twitches. So he wants to stay? Fine. You’re not leaving either.
“Well!” you say a little too enthusiastically, one hand reaching for Joseph’s to pull him toward your bedroom. “Don’t mind us either, then.”
He shrugs, pretending to turn to the TV again but you feel him watching as you walk away.
“Don’t forget the walls are thin!”
You don’t turn around or answer to him, just tug Joseph inside your room and shut the door. You twist the lock and try the knob a few times, just in case.
It doesn’t take long before Joseph is all over you. You’d already been worked up on the way there and the drinks fogging your mind helped you ease the nerves. This is what you wanted after all, a normal night with a normal man. A very sexy one at that.
His roaming hands are warm and his mouth finds places that have you leaning on the wall behind you so you don’t fall apart completely.
You really try to be quiet. Respectful. Because unlike him, you’re not trying to put on a show. Seriously, what was he thinking? He’s gone every single Saturday and today he chooses to “watch a movie”. I swear to God, he can be a pain in the ass when he wants to–
Okay, maybe let’s not think about Johnny Storm when another man is on top of you.
But your bed creaks, just like his that night. You tell yourself to relax, to let go, yet you bite your lip and keep your sounds low. Careful little breaths barely muffled by Joseph’s neck. That is, until it starts to feel too good, and the moans slipping out stop being something you can control.
Outside, the movie is still playing. Johnny, however, doesn’t even know what’s going on in that screen anymore. He turns the volume up and tells himself that whatever is happening inside your room is none of his business.
You brought a guy home, big deal.
It explains why you’ve been giggling on the phone late at night and disappearing every now and then all dolled up. Not that he has noticed, really. You have every right to do whatever you want, with whoever you want. Really. He’s even glad this guy didn’t stand you up like the last one. You deserve to be happy.
Even if he’s not happy right now. Because he really shouldn’t be listening to you like that.
She’s faking, he thinks immediately, when the sounds start to slip past the walls of your room. You have to. There’s no way that guy is that good.
Something in his stomach twists when the sounds you’re letting out just prove your theory from the other day: he’s an idiot who can’t tell.
But he would know with you, he would–no.
He stands up so abruptly the plastic bowl of popcorn goes flying from his lap, making a mess all over the woodfloors. Whatever, he’ll deal with that later. Right now, he has to leave, or he’s gonna die in this house. And in a whoosh of raging fire, he’s gone.
Weeks went by, and Johnny never brought up that night. Just like you never brought up finding the TV still on and the popcorn all over the floor next morning.
You both went back to normal. You kept seeing Joseph and Johnny went back to disappearing on Saturdays. You even had a feeling Johnny was seeing someone too, and confirmed it the day you found a pink bra peeking out of his laundry pile.
So you were both dating…other people. Big deal.
Despite that, things didn’t really change between you. Because at night? You still came home to each other. You still ate takeout together on the floor, still watched movies, still bickered over who jammed the garbage disposal.
Normal, normal, normal. Just like tonight.
“So, when are you moving in with your boyfriend?” Johnny asks playfully, setting down an empty noodles box on the coffee table.
For a second you choke on your last bite of noodles, and cover it up with a cough that has him looking at you amusingly.
“It’s a little early for that,” you shrug casually, fiddling with your chopsticks on the empty box.
He nods, serious for only a second before he sighs dramatically, putting one hand over his heart and the other over his eyes. “And here I was, thinking it was because you liked living with me too much.”
This time you snort, shaking your head. The worst part is that he might not be wrong about that, but don’t tell him that I said that!
“Don’t flatter yourself, Storm,” you scoff instead.
“Oh, come on,” he whines, pushing your thigh with his foot. “I’m great to live with. I know you’d miss me if I left.”
I might wither and die.
“I would not,” you say firmly. “What is there to miss, the burnt toast and the bra’s in the laundry?” You tease.
“Those aren’t mine,” he says seriously.
“Well thank you for clarifying that, Johnny. I was really having doubts if you were a C cup or not,” you shake your head, and this time you can’t fight the laughter that flows so easily between you. “And for the record, if there’s anything I’d miss, it's the refrigerator, or your vinyls.”
He snorts and rolls his eyes, standing up to take the empty box from you and walk toward the kitchen to throw it away. You can’t help but glance in his direction, and heat warms your cheeks when he turns around and catches you staring. But the teasing never comes, no, only a sweet smile, softly illuminated by the fridge in question.
You look away before you say something you're not supposed to.
Wow, look at that! Another Saturday Johnny didn’t disappear. Why? Because this morning Johnny decided to casually announce that the Fantastic Fucking Four were dying to see your shared apartment and finally meet you, the roommate, tonight.
So yeah, he had you running like a headless chicken all day from store to store–dragging him along, of course–to have everything decent for them. He even bought a dining table with express delivery and ever faster assembly service, since your thrifted coffee table wasn’t gonna fit his fantastic family.
Perfectly normal Saturday.
“Johnny, does your sister have a preference for napkins?” You ask, holding up as many brands as you can, the fancy ones, but when you turn to him, he’s in deep conversation with that watch thingy he has.
“No, it’s a family thing…” he says to the person on the call. “...I know, baby. But I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, alright?...Come on, don’t be like that…”
You move farther away when you realize who he’s talking to, but when you watch him from the corner of your eye, he looks like he’s trying to bargain something with a toddler. A few minutes later, he sighs and hangs up, and you pretend to read the back of two napkin brands like your life depends on it. A casual whistle was the only thing missing.
“So…” he says nonchalantly when he reaches you, or at least that’s how he thinks he’s coming off like, “…Vicky is coming tonight too.”
He smiles, even if he’s ready for you to snap at him since it was just supposed to be his family. But you just purse your lips together.
Of course she’s gonna come. The bra girl.
“Great!” you say, maybe a little too fast, then clear your throat because you have bigger things to focus on. “Now help me with the napkins, I don’t want your family to silently judge us for having the wrong ones.”
Johnny’s shoulders sag in relief and amusement. “My family doesn't have a preference, it’s just napkins,” he says, but then he eyes the multiple brands on your hands and feels as lost as you are. “You know what, let me ask Herbert to be sure.”
You should get extra points for not passing out when he introduced you to his family. Especially when Sue Storm hugged you like you’d known each other your whole lives. Johnny had then decided to give them a full tour of the small place, and you’d made yourself scarce with the excuse of putting away the dessert Ben brought. The truth is, you just needed a moment to process the fact that four superheroes were in your apartment right now.
You tried not to think about how crammed it looked right now, since the sitting area had been reduced due to the space the new table took. If they noticed, it never showed in their kind faces.
Just as expected, his family was as golden as him.
You’re sliding the dessert tray into the fridge when you hear the soft click of heels behind you. Turning around, you find Sue standing there with crossed arms and a curious smile. She’s dressed in cashmere and a pair of boots that probably cost more than your rent. You look over where Johnny is, proudly showing them the view, completely unaware that his sister had left the audience.
“So, this is the girl my brother hasn’t stopped talking about,” she says, drawing your attention back from Johnny.
“Oh…me?” You ask a little confused, closing the fridge and wiping your hands on your legs.
“Unless there’s another roommate with a fondness for love songs and typewriters, I think I’ve got the right one,” she says teasingly, and you notice she has the same spark in her eye Johnny does.
Wait, she…she knows those things?
You resist the urge to glance at Johnny again, and nod. “Oh yeah, I just..thought maybe you meant Vicky,” you chuckle nervously.
“Vicky…?” She tilts her head with a frown, trying to place the name, but then she shakes her head. “No, he’s only ever mentioned one girl. His roommate…and that’s you. He says he likes the–” she cuts herself off, finding the right word. “...Balance, this place gives him.”
“He said that?” This time you can’t keep from looking at him, demonstrating to Reed how comfy our worn couch is. Our. Sue nods.
“He didn’t really have that growing up, you know. The world’s always been loud for Johnny, and it felt like he was always chasing something. But now…” she looks around the apartment with a big sister smile, “he’s still chasing things, but he has somewhere stable to come back to. And I’m glad it’s here.”
You let the words sink it for a moment, as you swallow the lump in your throat. Sue’s eyes soften, and she reaches to squeeze your hand reassuringly. The brief moment breaks when the bell rings, making you both jump and then laugh at each other’s reactions. You clear your throat, and walk toward the little intercom by the wall.
“Yes?” you ask.
“Hi! It’s Vicky!” a bright voice rings louder than the bell itself.
“Come on up,” is all you say, pushing the button to open the lobby door.
A good glass of wine doesn’t sound like a bad idea right now.
Sue lifts a brow curiously from her spot when she sees you pour yourself a cup and then one for her, but you just flash a smile and excuse yourself, smoothing your clothes and fixing your hair before opening the door.
And there she is…Vicky. Golden hair, golden everything. Just like Johnny. Just like…his world.
“Hi! Oh my god, the stairs always get me,” she exhales with a little giggle, and yet not a single bead of sweat on her forehead or a piece of hair out of place. “I brought appetizers!” she beams, holding up a tray.
“That’s so nice of you,” you smile politely, but narrow your eyes when you realize they look a little suspicious. “Are those–”
“Oh, shrimp bites! They’re to die for.”
You barely manage to keep your polite expression in place, ready to explain that Johnny hates shrimp and would rather die than be in the presence of it, but the king of Rome itself materializes next to you before you can.
“V!” His voice comes out way more affectionate than it did at the store earlier, as he approaches her. “You made it, baby.”
You step aside just in time to witness him plant a loud smooch to Vicky’s cheek, and that’s the perfect moment to take a big sip of your drink. Or maybe not, because the second you get distracted, Johnny reaches for the tray.
“Well, don’t mind me,” Johnny says, popping one of the little shrimp abominations into his mouth before you even bring your glass down. But you look just in time to see the exact moment his eyes go wide when he chews, and his entire soul leaves his body.
Vicky, absolutely oblivious to the horrors Johnny is going through, has already set her gaze on something behind you.
“Oh J, this must be your sister!” she squeals. She barely gives you time to balance your glass as you catch the tray she tosses to you, shouldering past you to wrap Sue in a big hug.
Johnny has never been more grateful to throw his sister under the bus, using the distraction to discreetly spit the whole bite into a napkin, wiping his tongue dramatically and trying very hard not to gag. You bite back your amusement as you walk up to him, placing the tray gently on his hands. He immediately scowls at it, looking up at you in betrayal.
“Here you go,” you grin, taking a sip of your wine as you walk away toward the couch where the rest of his family is.
Sue looks past Vicky, who keeps yapping away about how much she’s heard about Johnny’s big sister and can’t believe they haven’t met yet so she had to come tonight, and finds Johnny looking in the direction you took off.
Interesting.
–
After brushing his teeth twice, Johnny had survived the shrimp fiasco, and everything was going well so far. Vicky had sat on his lap as you all got to know each other, chatting away in the living room. Honestly, he’d actually planned this to be just his family and…you. But then things happened, and well, seems like he wasn’t the only one with surprise guests.
His gaze followed you as you excused yourself from the conversation, to open the door to Joseph (🙄) with a bright smile on your face. Of course. It’s only fair you invited him too. Not that Johnny cares anyways.
Joseph walks in wearing a loose black suit, with his stupid wavy brown curls tousled by the stairs trials, and holding a stupid bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“Hi, darling,” he says with a warm smile, meant only for you. “You look beautiful.”
Your soft laugh dances through the room as he steals a kiss from you. Johnny turns back to the conversation. He doesn't notice how he sits up straighter on the couch or how he sets his drink down a little too hard on the coffee table. He doesn't even notice when Vicky leaves his lap to go to the bathroom. But what he definitely notices is the moment your smile turns from genuine to polite, when you get handed flowers he knows you don’t like.
He knows that, because you scowl at them every time you pass them by the supermarket, so why doesn’t your boyfriend know?
Joseph leans in to kiss your cheek now as he steps inside, and you lead him toward the kitchen. Johnny notices how you set the flowers down on the breakfast counter instead of looking for a vase to display them.
“So…” Ben, who’s sitting to his right, nudges his arm. “Are we not gonna talk about it?” He mumbles.
“About what?” Johnny whispers back, still looking at you.
“About how her boyfriend looks exactly like you.”
“What?” Johnny’s head jerks toward him, looking baffled as Ben just shrugs with a knowing smile.
“Just saying, man. It’s like seeing you with brown hair…and lawyer shoes.”
“No it’s not. We do not look alike.” Johnny scoffs.
“You do.”
“We don’t.”
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
Ben leans back with a grin. He enjoys rage baiting Johnny whenever he can, but there’s truth in his words. Johnny looks back to his alleged doppelgänger and shakes his head.
“Seriously?” He says. Ben chuckles, and shrugs. Johnny rolls his eyes, and leans toward the armchair his sister is sitting at, “Hey Sue, psst.”
Sue looks away from her conversation with Reed, and lifts her eyebrow at Johnny.
“C’mere,” Johnny says, patting the spot on his left side. Luckily, she excuses herself from her husband and takes the spot. Ben and Johnny turn to her expectantly, whispering, “Okay, do not say yes just to annoy me, but…do you think I look like him?”
“Who?”
“Joseph,” Johnny deadpans. “Do I look like Joseph?”
Sue tilts her head, pretending to be analyzing the British man making you laugh in the kitchen, but there’s a knowing smile creeping on her face.
“Oh…a little,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.
“A little??”
“Well, yeah. He’s like you, if you had brown eyes…and less of a tan…or a cute accent…” she says, watching her brother grow more scandalized by the second.
“A cute accent?” Johnny mocks. “Please. He sounds like a knockoff Beatle.”
Sue and Ben share an amused look.
“I don’t think he’d be a singer. He has more…actor vibes,” Sue taunts, adding fuel to the fire inside Johnny’s veins.
He almost choked in offense.
“Okay, so he’s an actor now? He doesn’t even have that kind of face,” Johnny huffs, reaching for his drink again because what kind of fuckery is this.
“So you’re saying you don’t have that kind of face either,” Ben adds, this time Sue snorts, shaking her head.
“I do have that kind of face. The face. He doesn't because we don't look alike.”
“Sure, Johnny.”
Sue stands up before he can protest like a toddler again. “I’m gonna help her with the food,” she announces, winking mischievously at them and walking away.
“Oh I love these napkins!”
He hears her say when she reaches the new shiny table setup.
That makes you perk up from the kitchen. Right in that moment, your gaze moves from Joseph to Johnny, and you smile proudly at him like “told you so.” Johnny smiles back, but before he can get up and say anything about how much influence he actually had on the napkin choice, a pair of long legs trap him on his seat.
“What did I miss, babyboy?” Vicky asks as she plops down on his lap again, wrapping her arms around his neck to play with his hair.
Reed and Ben pretend to look everywhere else. Johnny just smiles, taking another sip from his drink.
–
Vicky had left earlier than anticipated, claiming a friend called her to get her out of a shitty date, or something like that. Johnny didn’t really ask.
He has to admit he was a little nervous about this whole get together. Afraid that they would be too much. But he wanted nothing more but to brag about his apartment and his roommate, and the little life he’d managed to build for himself. Even if their world had always been filled with big things. This could’ve gone wrong in many ways, but all things considered, he finds himself smiling when his eyes land on you.
He's standing close to the front door, and seeing you confidently showing Sue, whose kitchen had been designed by Reed–the king of gadgets himself–the tiny spice rack you installed last week, made something inside him flutter.
“Hey, man. Have you been to a lot of Mets games?” A familiar British accent startles him.
The fluttering dies immediately.
Joseph has stepped beside him, glass in hand and that stupid smile plastered on his face. He forces himself to look away from you. You’re close to them, but not enough to hear the conversation.
“I mean, yeah. It’s kind of hard not to, I can fly,” Johnny replies drily, but Joseph just laughs easily.
“Right, right, of course,” he says, glancing toward the kitchen, mirroring the way Johnny was just looking at you seconds ago. “Sometimes I forget she lives with a superhero...”
Johnny chuckles, shrugging nonchalantly (he’s actually trying very hard not to puff his chest right now.) “Why do you ask?”
“Ehh…just wanted to know if you got any recommendations for seats? I’m still new to the city, but I’ve been told not to miss the games,” he shrugs. “I’d like somewhere not too close to the cameras, if possible. I’m not…really into all that.”
“The cameras?” Johnny frowns.
“Yeah, the whole crowd cams, people watching you all the time, that whole thing.”
Johnny listens and tries not to judge. But see? This guy could never be an actor. Or a Beatle. Johnny could, shame there’s not a blonde Beatle. Ohhh, but there’s always wigs though! He’s sure he could rock one, with his bone structure and all–
“Mate?”
Johnny snaps back to reality, and just flashes a golden smile.
“There’s cameras everywhere, mate,” Johnny replies, “but I can hook you up with the good tickets, if you’d like. How many do you need?”
“Oh wow that–that’d be perfect, yeah, thank you,” he says, not really expecting that. “Just two, man.”
“…Are you going with a friend?” Johnny narrows his eyes, but Joseph chuckles, shaking his head.
“I’m taking her,” he says, gesturing at you with his glass.
Fuck.
“You…are taking her to a game?”
“Yeah. It’ll be fun on her day off.”
Johnny knows when your next day off is. He painted another happy face next to your mark on the calendar just to make you smile. He also knows that you like to spend those free days curled up at home, certainly not at a freaking stadium.
He knows because it mattered to you when you told him. He remembers because you matter to him.
“Did you…ask her if she likes baseball?” Johnny pries carefully.
“Not really. I mean, I figured she’d be fine,” he says, a little defensively.
There’s a few seconds of silence where Johnny debates to keep quiet, but that has never been one of his strengths, so he ends up blurting, “She doesn’t like going to the stadium.”
“Really?” Joseph frowns, eyeing him.
“She told me once that all the noise makes her sick. And I get it…it’s not the most comfortable place to be,” Johnny chuckles, trying his best to sound casual about it.
“Oh,” Joseph says. For a moment it looks like he’s contemplating, but after thinking about it for exactly three seconds, he shrugs. “Well… she can bring earplugs or something. It’s just one game.”
Johnny’s not sure if his eye twitching was only a product of his imagination, but given the lack of acknowledgement on Joseph’s face, he figures he managed to keep his emotions at bay. This is not what you deserve. This is not what he wants for you.
Don’t flame on right now. Do not flame on right now. Do not–
“You know what? I can get you access to the VIP suite, so you two can be more comfortable,” he offers instead, plastering on his best plastic Ken smile.
He’ll get you the best suite, with shade, AC and all the unlimited appetizers you could ever need. If that makes the experience a little more bearable for you.
“Yeah I guess that would work, thanks, mate!” Joseph says, patting Johnny’s shoulder, but regretting it immediately. He retracts his hand with a hiss, switching the glass to that one to help cool it as he laughs nervously. “Jeez. You’re burning up, man.”
He’s boiling up, actually. But he manages to tone down his temperature, patting Joseph’s cold shoulder firmly before walking toward the kitchen where you’re laughing at something Sue just said.
Just the sight of you manages his temperature to calm down.
“Everything alright?” You ask curiously when he steps beside you with a suspicious smile, noticing the way Joseph kept opening and closing his hand as he headed toward the bathroom.
“Peachy,” Johnny smiles innocently.
“Mhm,” you hum, narrowing your eyes at him. Even his sister eyes him suspiciously, but Johnny ignores her.
“Is there anything I can help you here with?” He asks casually, gesturing to the pots simmering on the stove.
“Nope! But maybe you can pour some more wine for our guests," you say quickly, stirring him away from the stove for everyone’s safety. Sue bites her lip.
“Roger that,” he says, diligently opening a new bottle on the breakfast counter.
Johnny notices Sue leans in to whisper something in your ear that makes you throw your head back and laugh, before whispering something back to her.
He can’t fight the smile on his face when he realizes you’re talking about him, but it dies down when his eyes land on the flowers Joseph brought you on the counter. The conversation with him is still making fire run through his veins, and this just added more to it.
Safe to say, Johnny now hates Joseph too.
To be continued…
Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated 💗
ugh OF COURSE JOHNNY had a DANCE ROUTINE for sex bc that actually makes so much sense.
Joseph and I are about to fight bc wdym ‘she can just put ear plugs in it’s just a game’ nahhh thats horrible a migraine on a date? joseph do better …… actually JOHNNY DO BETTER
Summary: Eddie's on the hunt. What happens when he catches you?
Word count: 4.2k
Tags and warnings: Smut (not super explicit), fluff, vague horror elements, psychic vampire Eddie, established relationship, established roleplay (predator/prey kinda vibes - reader's consenting!), reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+! Minors, please do not interact!
(Some more vampire!Eddie AU! This is a vague part 3 of my other two vampire fics - part 1 is Creature in the Night and part 2 is Come and Love Me. The CCODtober prompt was 'vampires'. Title is from Animal by W.A.S.P. Also, the LOTR film mentioned is the animated one from the '70s.)
Eddie Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist
There’s something to be said about the taste of fear.
Even when he was alive, Eddie loved being scared half to death on the rickety old rollercoasters at the summer fair, or the excitement of screaming bloody murder in the changing rooms while the jocks were cooling off from a game, before hightailing it out of there as fast as his legs could carry him.
But his favourite was always watching scary movies with you. He loved when you’d freak out at something he could have seen coming from a mile away, because it always meant that you’d end up cuddled up close to him, with your face pressed into his chest. Every time he offered to turn it off, you’d shake your head, insistent that you could handle it.
Eddie wondered if it was just your excuse to spend a couple of hours in his arms. He certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.
Now, though, after everything that’s happened to him, everything that’s changed…
Well, there’s a little more to it.
It’s about a week before Hallowe’en when he notices it. You’ve just come back from the video store with an armful of tapes you’ve rented for over the weekend - one of them being a horror movie.
“You know you don’t have to keep watching these if you don’t like them,” he says, looking at the tape’s gruesome cover.
“It’s fine, it’s just the one,” you reply. “Besides, you can make it up to me by watching this afterwards.”
You lift one of the other tapes, drumming your fingers along the plastic case. Eddie looks at you with his eyebrows raised.
“You think you need to twist my arm to get me to watch The Lord of the Rings?” he asks in mock-exasperation. “I’m offended.”
As if you weren’t there with him when his own copy finally gave up the ghost halfway through the movie. He was honestly on the verge of tears.
You roll your eyes in reply, putting the horror movie into the VCR and flopping down onto the couch next to him. You’re not even through the coming attractions when Eddie’s doing his usual bit of pretending to scream and hiding behind a cushion to tease you.
“Yeah, yeah, keep it up,” you say, as if you’re actually annoyed. “I’m the one with the remote, you know, and I could just…”
Your finger hovers over the big red OFF button. Eddie quickly concedes defeat, and you give him a big satisfied smile. He knows it doesn’t bother you, not really, and you’ve told him as much when he’s asked. And he doesn’t make fun of you when you’re really scared - that would just be shitty of him.
You’re about twenty minutes into the movie when it happens. It’s quiet, eerily quiet, and Eddie knows something’s about to happen. He’s seen it a million times before - nearly every one of these movies is more or less the same, just switch out the mask or weapon. Then the high-pitched string section kicks in, and the camera pans around to the killer standing in what was, not ten seconds ago, an empty doorway. You scream at almost exactly the same time as the heroine, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. Eddie’s about to ask if you’re okay when he suddenly feels an overwhelming shiver run down his spine.
It takes him a minute to realise what it is, then it hits him.
It’s your fear. He can taste it, and he likes it.
He also can’t help but feel a little guilty. You’re scared, he shouldn’t be enjoying that.
But then it happens again. You let out a yelp, burying your face into his shoulder, and he slides an arm around you, trying to ignore that overwhelming feeling again.
It keeps coming. Every time you get scared, he gets another taste, and by the time the movie’s done, he feels a bit sick, like he’s been eating too much candy. You’re still in his arms, albeit a lot quieter now.
Tired, Eddie realises guiltily.
He should tell you. That way, you’ll know, and he won’t feel so bad about it.
“Sweetheart? You still with me?” he asks softly, giving you a little squeeze.
“Mm?” you murmur sleepily, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Listen, I, uh…I have a confession to make,” he says sheepishly. “I’ve, uh, well…”
“You’ve been feeding,” you finish, almost matter-of-factly. “I know.”
Eddie frowns. “How’d you-”
You turn yourself around to look up at him. “Because you’re not subtle, dumbass.”
He can see you trying to hold back a smile, but he still feels bad.
“I’m sorry, baby, really I am,” he says sincerely. “It just kinda hit me outta nowhere.”
“Yeah? But you didn’t stop, did you?” you retort, reaching up to poke him lightly on the cheek. “The first couple of times? Fine, I get it. But an hour and an half? Really, Munson?”
Eddie just chews at his lip nervously. You gently pry it from between his teeth.
“I’m not mad,” you tell him, and you sound as if you’re telling the truth. “If anything, it’s kind of a good thing, because I, um…I might have a little confession of my own.”
“Oh, yeah? You? Miss Goody Two Shoes?” he teases, making a fuss when you poke his cheek much harder.
“Oh, shut up. Look, lately I’ve been thinking about…Well, I know you’re not the exact same, but you’re still technically a big, scary vampire and all…”
“I am a big, scary vampire,” he replies smugly.
He’s still not over the fact that he’s not the bloodsucking kind, but hey, he did always want huge bat wings, so it’s a fair trade-off.
You shake your head. “Will you let me say it before I completely chicken out?”
Eddie mimes locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“I’ve been thinking about those movies, y’know, the really old ones with the vampires? And I guess what I’m saying is…I wouldn’t mind if you…y’know…”
You’re obviously struggling, and Eddie can’t help himself. “Snuck into your room in a big velvet cape and had my wicked way with you?” he suggests, with a growing smirk.
You hide your face against his shoulder again with a groan, and that’s answer enough.
“You didn’t have to say it like that,” you tell him, your voice muffled.
“But that’s the gist of it, right? That’s what you want?”
He feels you nod.
“Hey. Look at me. This is important,” he murmurs, tapping his fingers gently at your side.
You lift your head back up, just about making eye contact with him.
“You trust me with this?” he asks.
Without hesitation, you nod again, and a feeling of warmth blooms in his chest.
“You know I would never hurt you, right?”
His voice is soft, timid even. But it’s the truth. He could never hurt you. He’d never forgive himself if he did.
“Yeah, of course,” you reply, with a shy smile.
Eddie leans in to press a big messy kiss to your cheek, and you weakly swat at him.
“We’ll need to work out some details, okay?” he murmurs. “I don’t wanna scare you.”
You just raise your eyebrows at him in disbelief. He quickly relents.
“Okay, fine, you know what I mean. I just…I don’t wanna push you too far, y’know?”
Eddie watches you carefully. You’ve never been the most comfortable with eye contact, but on this one, you stand resolute, holding his gaze. You mean it. A wide smile spreads across Eddie’s face then. He can’t help but wonder how he ever got so lucky.
“Just promise me one thing,” you say.
“Anything,” he replies, completely focused on your every word.
You try to stifle a laugh. “Please don’t actually wear a cape.”
It’s late, sometime after 11pm. The days are gradually growing colder and darker as fall comes around again. A thick layer of fog obscures most of the view from your bedroom window, and except for the occasional car passing by somewhere in the distance, the world is quiet. Peaceful.
You’ve just finished changing into your pyjamas, and you’re all set to climb into bed with a book and disappear into another world for a while.
You’re barely a chapter in when you hear it. A soft, scratching sound, as though something’s being dragged across glass. You glance up at the window.
There’s nothing there.
A few minutes pass before you hear it again. The same noise as before, only a little louder this time. Again, you look up to find nothing.
An uneasy feeling settles over you, and you reach over to your bedside table to switch the light off. Maybe it was a bird, you try to reason, attracted by the glow of the lamp.
The noise stops. Somewhat reassured, you lie down, trying to get yourself comfortable to go to sleep. Your book can wait until tomorrow.
Tap, tap, tap.
You bolt upright in bed, eyes fixed on the window. But there’s nothing there.
You slip out of bed, creeping towards the window. The world outside is still dark and quiet, and you can barely see a thing through the fog. Warily, you begin to make your way back to bed.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
You freeze, squeezing your eyes shut in fear. You struggle to keep your breathing under control. Maybe if you stay completely still for long enough, it’ll go away.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
It doesn’t seem to matter what you want; whatever it is, it wants your attention. Slowly, you turn around, almost tripping over your own feet when you see the pitch-black eyes staring at you through the glass.
You can’t move, can’t breathe. The eyes never once leave you, staring at you with such a horrid intensity that it makes your skin crawl.
“Sweetheart,” a voice sing-songs at you.
Your stomach drops. You know that voice.
And it’s then that you realise, far too late, that your window is still open. You didn’t close it properly, and it hangs open slightly, just off the latch.
Eddie continues tapping one finger rhythmically on the glass. The smile on his face is enough to make a shudder drag the length of your spine.
"You can't come in," you force yourself to say. Your heart feels as if it's stuck in your throat. "I'm not letting you in."
Eddie tilts his head to one side, dark eyes so wide and innocent.
"I can't come in?" he asks. "Come on, don't be cruel. You really gonna make me stay out here all night?"
His fingers curl under the window frame, and it swings open slightly with a creak. You can't bring yourself to move, as if you're glued to the spot.
“No. No. You can’t do that, I didn’t say you could- You told me-”
You’re not even paying attention to what you’re saying, your already frayed nerves getting the better of you.
Eddie shakes his head, with a patronising click of his tongue.
"I'm a monster, baby," he coos at you. "Why would you believe anything I tell you?"
He pulls at the window, harder this time, and it gives way easily, swinging open enough to let him in. He takes his time climbing into your room, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing.
As if you’re not slowly backing away from him in the hopes of escaping.
You’re too transfixed on Eddie to even notice where you’re going, and it isn’t until your back hits the wall that you realise that you’ve trapped yourself. Eddie’s still taking his time, and somehow that’s so much scarier than if he just ran at you. Not knowing what he’s about to do is driving you crazy.
“Baby,” he murmurs with a put-on pout. “You’re doing a great job of making a guy feel unwanted.”
You press your palms against the cold surface of the wall behind you, trying to give yourself some leverage. If you can push off hard enough, maybe you can-
Eddie tuts quietly, as if in disbelief.
“You think I can’t see what you’re planning?” he asks.
He gestures to the door, in a mockingly theatrical way.
“Oh, by all means, if I’m bothering you so much,” he says, his honeyed tone quickly turning sour.
Your eyes dart back and forth between him and the door. It’s not that far away, you could make it if you ran. But all of your limbs feel as if they’re locked in place, and you know Eddie doesn’t have the power to do that. At least, you don’t think he does.
You’re letting yourself get distracted, and it’s the one thing you can’t afford to do, not right now.
Not with the way Eddie’s watching you, like he wants nothing more than to devour you.
He starts to move then, and your heart feels like it might just give up the ghost any minute now. He’s still moving in that languid, lazy way that’s leaving you completely on edge. The closer he gets, the smaller your chances of escape are, but your brain and your body are not cooperating with each other at all. All you can do is watch him as he draws nearer to you; until at last, he stops. He presses his hands to the wall on either side of you, leaning in until his nose is no more than an inch from yours. His pitch-black gaze never leaves you for a second, and he lets his wings stretch out behind him, before they slowly curl in around you both, caging you in.
“You had your chance to leave, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low and taunting.
His nose brushes yours lightly, and it feels like an electric shock.
“But…” He drags the word out, as he moves closer to your ear. “I can make it worth your while. What do you say?”
You flinch as his teeth snap together.
You can’t seem to make your mouth work at all right now, your mind repeating the sound of that harsh bite over and over. Eddie reaches for your arm, his index finger making three slow taps against your skin.
You doing okay?
You hold back a smile, tapping on the back of his hand twice.
I’m fine. Keep going.
“Well?” he prompts impatiently, sliding back into it like nothing happened. “Answer me.”
You make yourself nod. “You’ll…be careful with me, right?” you ask, voice quiet.
Eddie laughs then, and he sounds downright feral. As if he’s holding on to the last of his control by a thread.
“Is that what you want?” he asks in turn. “Because if you say yes…”
His hands find your hips, his grip tight as he slots his leg between yours.
“...then I’ll know you’re lying.”
And you can’t bring yourself to argue with him, because he’s right. You would be lying, you don’t want him to be gentle with you at all. You want him to take and take and take, for as long as he wants.
He moves then, pressing his thigh up harder against you, and you gasp at the sudden contact. It’s not enough. Nowhere near it. And it doesn’t help when you can feel that he’s just as affected by all of this as you are.
His fingers curl under your chin, tilting your head towards him. It’s a struggle not to squirm under his heated gaze, not when he so easily leaves you feeling like prey. His eyes narrow, his hold tightening just enough to pull a tiny noise from you, and he finally cracks. You whine as his lips meet yours - out of desperation or relief, you’re not sure which.
He drags his hands down to your ass, squeezing you as he pushes you down against his thigh. His teeth nip at your lip as he pulls back.
“Where’d all that fight go, hm?” he asks, his tone patronising. “Just a few minutes ago, you were trying to escape, and now you’re practically humping my leg.”
Your face burns when you realise that he’s right - he’s not the one moving, it’s you. You force yourself to stop, the shame of being caught quickly washing over you.
“Hey, you don’t have to stop,” he says, his voice deceptively sweet. It’s unsettling how he can change at the drop of a dime like that. “Sure, it’s a little pathetic, pretty girl like you all desperate for it like that, but…”
He grinds his thigh against you, over and over until you’re squirming.
“…you don’t hear me complaining, do you?”
If he keeps toying with you like this, you’re going to cry. Maybe that’s what he wants.
“You want me to touch you?” he asks, his hand wandering around the waistband of your pyjamas.
You nod, almost choking when he actually does it. The angle’s a little awkward, but it’s enough to ease some of the pressure that’s been building since he climbed through the damn window.
He stops as quickly as that. You should have known better than to think he’d give in that easily.
“What’s the magic word?” he asks smugly.
Your head drops forward in annoyance, thumping against his chest.
“I can give you a hint, if you want,” he says. “Starts with a P. Puh, puh…”
He trails off, and you don’t need to see his face to know that he’s eating this up. In more ways than one.
You grip at his shirt, fingertips leaving little dents in the fabric. “Please,” you mumble.
Eddie hums to himself, as if he’s really giving it some thought.
“No,” he says at last, and your hands ball into fists in frustration. “And before you go calling me lazy…”
You hear the buckle of his belt rattling, and fabric being shoved at. He slides his arms under your thighs, and suddenly your mouth feels dry.
Oh, he’s not-
You don’t even have time to finish the thought before you’re given the answer. His grip tightens, and a panicked yelp is pulled from you as he lifts you off the ground. He pins you against the wall, his hands planted under your ass to hold you in place.
He’s so good at hiding how scarily strong he is now that it’s easy to forget until he does something like this. You wrap your legs around his waist, worried that he might let go of you, and right on cue, he does. You throw your arms around his neck, and he laughs.
“Easy there, doll,” he murmurs, with a little smirk. “You might give a guy the wrong idea.”
One of his hands starts to wander, and you try to wriggle away, embarrassed that he’s going to find out how wet you already are just from his teasing, but it’s no use. You’re completely trapped.
When he finds what he’s looking for, his eyes widen in mock-surprise.
“Or the right idea,” he says, almost giddily. “Guess I was wrong.”
He looks so pleased with himself. You’d hit him if you weren’t so afraid of falling. Eddie falls quiet for a moment, and you quickly find out why. His fingers hook into the seam of your underwear and tug them to one side, leaving you exposed.
“You gonna admit you want this now?” he asks coyly. “I mean, I already know, but…”
He slides the tips of his fingers through the mess you’ve already made, and you bite back a gasp.
“…it’s always nice to hear it.”
You shut your eyes tight, shaking your head. It’s not that you don’t want it - of course you do - but it’s humiliating when he makes you say it. You feel him start to move then, inching away from you, and you cling harder to him in desperation.
“Don’t,” you warn, but your voice is far too soft to sound even remotely threatening.
He stops where he is, still leaving you dangling precariously from him.
“You know what to do,” he says.
He gives you another few seconds before he pulls back again, and you’re very much ready to throw your shame out the window now.
“Okay, okay. I do. I do want this, I really do. Just please come back before I fall,” you babble at him.
Slowly, Eddie returns to where he was before, holding you steady. He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“There we go,” he murmurs, the comforting tone almost mocking. “Was that so hard, doll?”
You shake your head. Now that he’s got you again, you can feel how badly your arms are shaking from holding onto him.
“That’s my girl,” he purrs. “I think you’ve earned a little reward now, yeah?”
One hand reaches underneath you again, and you suck in a breath as he starts to push into you. Finally.
Eddie’s never been boring by any means - he’s got the energy to match his imagination, and he can be exhausting to keep up with sometimes - but you’ve never done anything like this before, and now you’re wondering what took him so long to think of it. Not once have you felt him tremble or waver at all. It’s like you weigh nothing to him, and just the thought of the power he has over you is enough to leave you dizzy.
And now that he’s got you exactly where he wants you, he can’t seem to keep himself under control anymore. Not that you’re faring much better. He quickly loses the last of his patience, pushing himself close until his hips are flush against you, and all you can really do is hang on to him while he gives you what you both desperately want. He ruts into you like an animal, sharp teeth nipping at your neck, and it’s getting more and more difficult to keep pretending that he’s still a big, scary monster, and not your undead boyfriend who agrees to the most ridiculous things just to make you happy.
A hiss escapes you as you feel him bite harder, and you know you should stop him - he’s going to leave bruises - but you’ll worry about it later. Right now, all you care about is how good he feels. You love when he gets like this, so caught up in his own hunger and lust that he can’t think about anything else but you.
You hear him swear under his breath, and you know he’s getting close already. His fingers dig into your skin, strong enough to leave marks, and you tug at his hair, dragging him into a bruising kiss. One of his hands snakes between your legs, and between that and his constant teasing since he showed up, you barely get a warning before you’re hitting your limit. You cling to Eddie as he coaxes you through it, your forehead pressed to his.
“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck- You’re doing so good for me,” he grits out.
His teeth sink hard into your shoulder as he follows you over the edge, and you just manage to push your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from crying out. You can feel yourself shaking all over, adrenaline coursing through you in waves.
Eddie presses a careful kiss to the mark he’s no doubt left on you, and you wince. He wraps his arms around your back, pulling you away from the wall and carrying you to bed, where he gently lays you down, before collapsing next to you.
No sooner have you caught your breath when he’s on you again, scooping you into his arms and squeezing you tight. He brushes his nose against yours, his hair tickling your face, and just like that, he’s your Eddie again.
“You okay, sunshine?” he asks softly.
Sunshine. It’s not a pet name he uses very often, but when he does, it always makes you smile so wide. You nod, and he sighs in relief as he kisses you.
“You sure? I wasn’t too rough with you?” he asks, and when you shake your head, you feel him relax his grip on you a little. “Wasn’t too mean and scary, huh?”
You laugh as he snaps at you playfully.
“Oh, by the way,” he says, as he rummages around in his pocket. “I can’t believe this actually worked.”
He pulls a folded piece of paper out, holding it up triumphantly. Your invitation. His permission slip, he’s been calling it.
“Can I keep this?” he asks. “Or is it like a hall pass? Do I have to give it back?”
“Of course you can keep it,” you reply, and Eddie takes no time at all in tucking it away safely again.
Something’s nagging at you, but the words keep getting caught in your throat. You know you have nothing to worry about, but it’s hard not to feel embarrassed over what you’re about to say all the same.
“I was just thinking…” you start hesitantly.
You take a breath, forcing it out before you can change your mind.
“You can be meaner and scarier next time,” you tell him in a rush.
His eyes widen, and he tilts his head every which way to meet your gaze. You press your hands to his face, to try and get him to stay still. And it works - for a couple of seconds.
“Next time?” he echoes, surprised. “You sure that’s what you said? I didn’t make that up?”
You just roll your eyes fondly.
He really is the most ridiculous person you’ve ever met, but you couldn’t possibly imagine him any other way. Undead or not, you love him exactly as he is.
Synopsis: Your grief swallows you whole. And so will he. 18+ ONLY, minors do not interact.
WC: 7.0k
Content: Predator/prey (he basically hunts you in the forest), no use of y/n, kinda ooc Eddie cause he’s Kas/a vampire, discussions of grief/loss, somewhat detailed (but brief) description of eddie's scars (from the demo-bats), taunting/mocking, unprotected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, fingering, pussy pronouns, tiny bit of spit play, blowjob (kind of?).
A/N: I did a little research on Kas so some of his character is incorporated into this but I also took my own creative liberties. So this is not supposed to be a totally accurate depiction of Kas.
He must have been lurking in the murky shadows and fog clinging to the trees. Or maybe he was part of it—moving through the fog as the mist himself. Of course, you were initially ignorant to his presence, drowning in grief as you were.
The dense wood of the forest effectively dampens sound from beyond, making it easy to pick up on any snapping twigs or skittering up in high branches.
But he—it?—moved silently. Swiftly. Evading sight.
Then there was this sense. Like a sixth one kicked into gear, raising goosebumps on dewy skin. An overwhelming presence which immediately triggered your fight or flight response.
You should run. But you’d always been one to freeze. Vulnerable. Easy prey.
This time is no different. You don’t move a muscle, standing stock still in front of the large old tree stump. Staring down at the polaroid of that grinning face you miss so dearly, which lays among the trinkets and things left there by his little sheep and the band. All laid out nicely atop the stump, it’s many rings—some light, some dark—barely visible beneath the clutter. Though it will never spend another season growing additional rings.
With your heart slamming against your ribs and the blood rushing in your ears it takes you a second too long to regain control of your muscles. To flee this place–this crudely cobbled together memorial, unstained by public view & tampering.
So when you turn to leave, there he is.
You freeze. And you swear your heart stops pumping blood through your arteries. Terror taking over as your blood runs cold.
Moonlight slashes across half his face, illuminating one sparkling brown eye and a slice of that slowly spreading grin. Sharpened canines slide over dark lips, pleased to find you here.
Pinkish-red scars decorate his flesh, shredded skin healed unevenly, giving them this odd webbed effect. They begin at his jaw and crawl down his neck only to disappear beneath tattered clothing. His bat tattoo, your favourite, is present but marred by the deep scars where the demo-bats tore away at his flesh. The irony is not lost on you, but the sight is too grim to dwell on.
When he leans in closer you can smell him. An odd mimicry of Eddie. Different from before when his heart pumped blood through his veins. Something in your body naturally resistant to it, but simultaneously lured to him—an unadulterated pull. With every erratic inhale you crave more, like a smoker greedily sucking nicotine into their lungs.
You loathe to admit its intoxicating effect. Because this—this thing—can’t be Eddie. Not your Eddie. But some spectral version, warped by the mirror world.
It’s only when he speaks that you have any sort of visible reaction to him at all. Like he could’ve been some figment of your interminable grief—unbelieving in him until his acknowledgment of you.
“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”
Stupidly, you gasp in surprise, stumbling backward, hand reaching out behind you for something to tether you to this earth because surely you must have gone mad.
The rough and textured feel of bark scrapes against the sensitive skin of your palm. Though it does little to ground you.
He moves swiftly toward you again, this bona fide creature keeping close, commanding the fog to shift around you. Invading your senses. That grin is ever-growing and increasingly self-satisfied.
Though his scent is somehow subtly altered, his voice remains much the same, but with richer notes of darkness. An almost imperceptible difference. His tone differs too. It’s mocking, yes—not in the same playful way Eddie used to be—but it’s also curious, unfamiliar.
It presses the heavy implication over your heart that he doesn’t recognize you. How could that be?
The way he examines you reveals his unfamiliarity, though his eyes remain unchanged—the same shade of dark chocolate. And it is this which elicits an aching longing. One that burrows deep in your heart.
Though he looks like him. Sounds like him. And almost smells like him. It isn’t him. You know this to your marrow, like you know that the sun will rise tomorrow. It’s his body, yes. But not his mind. At least, not all of it. Clearly, it does not carry his memories.
When he reaches up, cold fingertips ghosting past your chest, your collarbones, your neck, you have to suppress a shiver. But the renewed goosebumps rising on your skin betray you.
His lips curl into a smirk, this one self-satisfied and hungry as the knuckle of his index finger grazes the sensitive flesh of your cheek. Try as you might not to, you flinch. He pouts at you mockingly, his touch unyielding.
“I could devour you, sweetheart,” he whispers, like the thought has only just come to him as his flesh met yours. Like it excites him to no end and sends the fresh scars pressed into his flesh thrumming.
“You won’t,” you say shakily, not because you know this, but because you’re hoping.
But your heart is beating out of your chest like a bunny that’s been caught between the sharp teeth of a fox, who knows it’s only a matter of time before its heart stops pounding and its blood ceases to pulse through its veins.
You wonder if he can hear it with the way his face twitches and he appears to stop and listen, savouring some near silent thumping. This has you suppressing another shiver.
Do you want him to devour you?
No.
You want him to try.
“I won't?” he retorts with a tilt of his head, his voice suddenly taking on a sharper quality. A dangerous edge to it like he’s responding to a challenge—provoked by the suggestion that he could be merciful.
He could tear you to shreds right here and now and you’d let him–couldn’t stop him. He wants to. You can see it in his eager gaze. While this incites deep seated fear, it’s also a thrill. Something which awakens you after the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. Spending your days sleepwalking, rather than living. You realize it’s the first time you’ve felt alive since he took his final breath in your arms.
He must see it in your face—as perceptive as he was in life.
“Watch me,” he spits. Watch me tear you apart.
You swallow, throat dry.
He leans in and you almost bear your neck to him, seemingly ready for him to take you from this earthly plane.
Suddenly, his gaze snaps sharply down to his left. Your heart lurches in your chest, stomach flipping as your eyes flit over his shoulder to the left. Then to the right. Has he heard something? Possibly, a presence that could put an end to this? Oddly, the thought does little to relieve you. Instead, panic surges—a need to keep him here with you, if only it will result in your end–burning bright in your body.
The treeline remains empty and dark, save for the still hovering fog choking the trees.
If you were going to escape, this moment offers an opportune window. But that panic of losing his presence keeps you as rooted against his chest as these very trees are to the ground.
Of course, you don’t hear it. The disembodied voice only falls on his sharp ears when it hisses, “She serves a grander purpose.”
His sword, sheathed in its scabbard, speaks. He is ever bound to its command, whatever it calls for.
Your eyes return to his—finding with a shock that his gaze has already fallen upon you again—when he speaks.
“A greater purpose than a meal?”
His gaze rests upon you, but the question is evidently not for you—who it is for, you may never know.
Whatever one-sided conversation he was having must yield unfavourable results because his jaw ticks and nostrils flare. Frustration, maybe even anger, bubbles behind dark eyes.
He must obey.
But he’ll still have his fun.
Eddie decides right then and there that if he cannot satisfy his blood lust for you—if he cannot indulge in his thirst—then he will instead seek to satiate an alternatively carnal form of hunger.
Drinking your blood is not the only method of sowing terror. There are other means. He can get creative.
He leans in then, teeth bared, and you catch his canines growing sharper, protruding further from his gums when he whispers, “I'll give you a head start…run.”
When he says it it’s like the forest goes silent. Like all those tiny, near undetectable noises cease when he speaks. It’s eerie the way you don’t notice them until they’ve quieted.
At that moment, you tear through the woods, blowing past his memorial. Leaves crunch and twigs snap underfoot. You’re the opposite of stealth. Something this Eddie seems to be well-versed in. You’re clumsy in your terror, easy prey.
Having spouted falsities, he gives you no head start, immediately tracking you effortlessly through the fog.
You ignore the stitch quickly cutting into your side and keep running. But your sense of direction fails you quickly, everything beginning to look the same–all looming trees, dappled moonlight, and menacing shadows. All you can do is keep moving forward.
Then there’s movement to your left.
Is your mind playing tricks on you? Morphing the shadows of great oaks in your periphery to resemble the creature that’s hunting you? Or is he right there, just waiting for the ideal moment to strike? Letting the fear build in your gut before he pounces.
You just need to keep moving.
One moment it sounds like he’s hot on your tail, but when you chance a look, he isn’t there.
There’s the quick scratching against bark like an animal hurriedly climbing a tree, traversing it as effortlessly as a duck floats on water.
But you can’t look again, unwilling to tear your eyes away from the winding paths to see him scaling trees. Just the idea raises the hair on your arms.
The road. Only a sliver of it, gently illuminated by a dull street lamp, is visible through the dense wood. But it’s there. Just a hundred feet or so ahead–freedom and safety coming into view.
Despite your terror though, your all-out sprint fades into a jog. Hesitating in the densest part of the forest.
You lost Eddie once. This would be like losing him all over again, wouldn’t it?
You crave just one more glimpse of him because running from him after weeks of yearning to hold him in your arms again feels wrong. But you know your grief is clouding your judgement, and a voice of reason pops up, telling you to run, go!
When you realize what he’s done–lead you into the densest part of the woods on purpose–it’s too late.
Your moment’s hesitance costs you.
He led you here so you could hardly revel in the warm embrace of safety before coldly tearing it from your grasp.
Nearly nose-to-nose, Eddie seemingly materializes from the mist in front of you. “Boo!”
“Shit!” You jump, falling hard onto the dirt floor of the forest. You groan–heart hammering and tailbone aching, just laying there, willing your heart to calm.
Then he’s gone. There, in terror-induced vibrant clarity. And then a vanishment so swift you can’t be sure he was ever really there to begin with.
Laughing darkly from somewhere above–a sinisterly, amused sound–you venture a hesitant look upward, into the dense branches above.
Eddie is in the tree. There, he crouches on a thick branch as he observes you with the tilt of his head. His curious smile seemingly glowing in the darkness with the top half of his face shrouded in shadow.
And then once again, he manifests by your head.
He’s more menacing like this. Always was taller than you. But from this vantage point he’s a leering predator appraising injured prey. An easy meal. He could make quick work of you.
“That stupid, huh?” he laughs as if the prospect is the most amusing thing in the world. “Thought you’d get away easy?”
He continues to taunt you as he stalks around you, now standing at your waist.
You try to raise up onto your elbows, but to no avail as searing pain shoots up your spine.
“Hm?”
It should be the last thing to spring to mind right now. But his tone strikingly resembles the condescending one Eddie would use in bed. When he’d ask: That feel good? Hm? And he knew it did.
It forces you to look at him—like Pavlov’s dog drooling at the sound of the bell. A conditioned response.
Eddie’s practically glowing in the soft moonlight.
He’s so…alive.
It chokes you up a bit. A lump forming in your throat as unshed tears sting your eyes. You tear your gaze from him, guilt sinking into your belly like an anchor in the ocean.
“Look at me,” he demands immediately, voice proud and controlled. Despite the guilt, you cannot reject your body’s reaction to him. It’s that tone. It sends shivers up your spine and warmth into your gut—a pleasant ache for something raw and intense.
You obey.
Maybe it’s the grief. The sudden loss of someone so dear. But as you lay here—bruised and tired, and gazing up at him—you don’t mind that he has no memory of you. He’s still right here, standing in front of you, isn’t he? You think you’re still trying to convince yourself.
You are a tangled, contradiction of feeling. Fear continues to nip at your neck while intrigue licks at your spine as you observe this freakishly orphic creature observing you. He’s…enchanting, captivating.
Eddie sighs deeply, gazing up briefly at the moon peeking through the leaves. It hangs bright above you, branches extended toward it, as though worshipping it.
The sound he makes is like savouring relief. Upon feeling the open air on his skin, thankful for the reprieve from the shadows that the moonlight brings. Though you can’t know this—that he is confined to the darkness for all eternity.
You’re finally able to push yourself up on your elbows–not without wincing–when he returns his gaze to you. Your breathing slows and deepens as another pleasant and warm feeling twists in your belly.
“What am I going to do with you?” he ponders sardonically, excitedly.
You find the answer comes out of your mouth without thought. Another involuntary response from your body.
“Anything.” It sounds so needy. Feathery, as your response floats off into the trees.
Were you crazy or desperate? Or maybe just so haunted by his ghost that what he is–what he’s turned into–is irrelevant? Whether he be an apparition of your own imagining or a real monster twisted by the mirror world. Maybe he doesn’t have Eddie’s soul. But he has his face. His body. Is it so wrong to want him?
When he leans over you, you whimper, “Please.”
He pouts at you in faux sympathy.
Is the mercy you seek defined by his departure? Or does your version of “mercy” mean letting him devour you like he’d promised?
When he flashes those pointed canines and a mischievous dimple carves into his cheek you have your answer. You no longer need to question or analyze your thoughts. You just want to feel.
As Eddie leans in and strokes your cheek with the back of his index finger, you press gently into his touch. Feeling warm all over, buzzing with electricity.
Strangely, you feel safe under his scrutinizing gaze. A crease forms between your brows as he leans in even closer. Your parted lips brush his tenderly. You might catch fire.
Just as your eyes fall shut in anticipation of his kiss—your first with him in weeks—you hear his humorous scoff. Your face heats as your eyes open to find him leaning back.
“Pathetic,” Eddie whispers.
“I-” you’re not sure what you’re going to say in your defence, but he cuts you off anyway, with a curt:
“Lie down.”
His hand is a firm pressure against the center of your chest, pushing you toward the ground after stooping down next to you. Your back presses into the cool dirt floor of the forest.
Will he devour you now? Take you without another word?
No. He isn’t done teasing you yet–another similarity between the human Eddie and the creature Eddie. Always itching to get you writhing and whining beneath him. Never satisfied until he could make you beg for it.
The hand that pushed you to the ground remains on your body, cold as it drags slowly down in quiet curiosity. As if feeling you for the first time, just getting used to the way your body curves and trembles beneath his touch.
Calloused fingertips just barely brush your tits on his way down, raising goosebumps beneath your top. When you gasp and arch into his hand imperceptibly, he pauses just as the rough skin of his palm ghosts over a sliver of your exposed belly, above your navel.
His eyes flit to your chest, only remaining there for a single inhale before returning to his hand which continues to skate painstakingly down your body. Studying you.
The path of his hand ends at the edge of your skirt, caressing the skin there with a tender touch. You have to bite the inside of your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. Not wanting to seem too desperate. Although you’ve probably already failed at that.
“Eddie,” you sigh, head lolling over to look up at him. He meets your gaze, hand curving over your hip.
Humming thoughtfully, Eddie tilts his head at you. Like you’re the one who’s become a creature. Morphing into a small thing, bursting with need and a deep desire to be taken care of.
All the while, his hand continues its path down until he meets the skin of your thigh where he squeezes the doughy flesh roughly. Like he can feel the thrumming of your veins beneath your skin, yearning to take a bite out of you.
“Oh, God.” Your skin tingles delightfully. A soft moan, as quiet as the sound of skin brushing against skin escapes your throat.
The barest hint of a satisfied smile cracks his features.
You may be so haunted by him that you’ll entertain this potential dream or nightmare, or whatever this is. But you are also undeniably desperate. To feel his touch on your skin again is transcendent. Like the very first time he touched you, it feels as though every single one of your nerves is exposed. Readily available for him to toy with.
Excitement courses through your veins, a drug only able to be injected by his hand, as it curves over your leg. Hand pressing into the flesh of your inner thigh, he squeezes again, his blunt nails scratching sensitive skin. He pushes them open, giving him the easiest access to slide his hand up your skirt.
When he finally tugs your panties down, and finds the soaked mess between your thighs, he releases a breathy, “Oh.”
Stroking his fingers through the mess, he says, “Look at this…”
Your hips flex when he dips gently into your dripping hole, collecting the sticky stuff before pulling his hand from you to put your desire on display.
When his now sodden fingers come into view, and he pulls them apart to show you just how wet you are, you whine high in your throat. Embarrassed that you’re this worked up when he’s hardly done anything to elicit your lust.
Thin lines connect his fingers, your essence seemingly sparkling in the moonlight as gentle waves of humiliation crash over you. Watching on as he savours the taste of you on his fingers, you huff impatiently.
The moment his hand returns to your heat, his fingers swipe through your wetness again, dragging it to your sensitive clit where he rubs his middle finger in a dizzying circular motion, the slide smooth. Upon the second circuit of his fingers, you’re gushing around him, getting wetter by the second. A fire blazes in your belly and your hips twitch, finding it difficult to remain still when he’s working you up so.
“Fuck, look at you. Could probably make you cum from just this,” he laughs, applying more pressure as he continues his torturous circles over that magic little button.
The lewd sounds from your pussy fill the still night air as the lustful haze in his eyes grows more determined–his teeth sinking into his bottom lip in concentration.
It’s all too much and on pure instinct your own hand wraps around the wrist of the hand up your skirt. That you’re still fully clothed—sans underwear—makes this feel all the more dirty. Let alone that you’re in the woods on the filthy ground, the exposed sliver of your back likely coated in a thin layer of dirt.
Though your grip is loose on his wrist, he doesn’t let you get away with it. Grabbing both of your wrists in his free hand, he pins them above your head.
“Stay,” he orders.
You watch helplessly as he presses his two middle fingers into your pussy, curving them on the first stroke. If this were months ago, and Eddie had you like this in his bed, you might think the squeeze he gives your wrists—bound by his own hand–was an act of reassurance. Now, you know it is solely an act of dominance. I have you at my mercy.
“Fuck,” you whimper. “Eddie…”
You forgot how nicely his fingers filled you. How you feel like a bright, burning star when he touches you like this. Deep and slow, like he’s forcing you to savour each stroke. How the tips of his fingers, longer than yours, caress parts of you that you couldn’t fathom. How he works in earnest to pull noises from you that you didn’t even know you could make.
The pace he sets is simultaneously torturous and delicious, his aim clearly being to tease and overwhelm. Tears burn behind your eyes as his thumb rolls over your clit and you whine, that familiar feeling slowly beginning to build in your belly. Like you’re on the incline of a rollercoaster.
“That feel good? Hm?” he asks with a syrupy tone as he watches you fuck yourself on his fingers like you’re in heat. With your hands pinned, it’s all you can do to writhe in his grasp.
“I-yes!”
You’ve never seen him more smug and satisfied.
“Yeah?” you nod furiously, mouth occupied by wanton moans. “I know, I know, baby…Know you’re dying to take my cock.”
A delicious heat twists in your belly. “Please!”
Before you reach the peak of your rollercoaster, he pulls his fingers from you, releasing your wrists simultaneously–though they remain above your head. You whine in protest, feeling suddenly cold and empty without a part of him inside of you. Though this feeling does not last for long as he moves quickly.
Eagerly, Eddie swiftly removes his scabbard and undoes his jeans and fly, shoving them down just enough to free his cock. It bobs, hard and leaking so much pretty precum your mouth waters for it. Beautiful as ever.
The sigh he releases when he strokes his dick is euphoric as he smears your wetness from base to tip. Already soaked with you. You shift your hips, fidgeting in place, impatient. Wishing it was your warm mouth encircling his girth instead of his own hand.
Just as quickly as he’d tugged his jeans down, he’s on top of you again, slotting himself between your thighs before flipping your skirt up. Getting his first proper look at you.
“Fuck, look at the mess you’ve made, sweetheart. All for me?” He says it like he’s mesmerized by the sight, eating up the way your body unabashedly calls for him.
Grasping himself at the base, he lines himself up, your breathing growing shallow and quick. Anticipating the feeling of him inside you, desperate to feel every ridge and vein. The warmth as he fills you.
You hold your breath.
Meanly, he paints the flushed red tip up and down your soaked folds, causing you to whine and writhe against him. When it glances your clit you gasp and your hips jump as white hot pleasure zips up your spine.
Your eyes are on high branches now, but you hear his low, satisfied chuckle. He wants for you to experience a unique kind of anguish before he rewards you for your perseverance.
You’re about to lose it completely when he smacks the head of his cock heavily against your clit. The sticky sound it elicits is vulgar. It forces your eyes to roll into the back of your skull and groan.
He is not merciful. But, eventually, he puts you out of your misery. A sharp inhale marks the moment he finally slides the first inch of his cock inside of you.
Bracing for the inevitable fullness and slight sting that comes along with it proves unnecessary as he does not nudge himself any further. It only takes you a moment to realize he’s still teasing and you release another low whine. Just his weeping tip penetrates your fluttering hole, making your head spin.
He is going to make you earn it.
“Jesus, it’s like she’s suckin’ me in,” he mutters under his breath in disbelief. “Beg for it, sweetheart.”
You don’t waste any time. Not a single second before you begin to plead with him, cutting him off before he gets the pet name out.
“Fuck me, Eddie! Need it so bad. So, so bad,” you mewl pathetically. “Please, please, please, please-” you might be embarrassed if you weren’t an absolute wreck, distraught on account of his teasing. Right on the edge of intense pleasure, feeling like you can’t take it anymore and might-
His cock sinks into you fully, not slowly but roughly. His heavy balls slap against your ass as he tugs your legs up to sheath himself even deeper inside of you.
Twin groans float into the air, his eyes locked on yours. His become impossibly dark, like the slow spill of black ink across a page. Pleasure explodes in your belly as stars seemingly explode in the night sky. You are a live wire casting sparks in every direction.
He is all that matters right now. The world could be ending around you, and you would be ignorant to it, lost in the feeling of his cock sliding home inside of you.
His large palms pin your thighs back, as close to your chest as they can stretch while he stretches you out on his cock. And, fuck, is it a stretch after all these weeks.
Your pleasure errs on the side of pain, but you savour it nonetheless and let him devour you. The sensations commingle and soon, you cannot tell the difference between the two. The pleasure is pain and the pain is pleasure.
On a particularly rough thrust, as his balls collide with your ass with a sharp smack, you cry out, moaning his name freely into the open air. The sound gets trapped in the thick trees, as do his groans.
For the first time since he pinned your hands to the ground, you wrap them around his neck, exploring his back, heavily textured by scars. Feeling the way his muscles flex beneath your hands as he continues to pound into you. Slowly, they find their way up into his hair, feeling his waves between your fingers. Somehow soft and knotted at the same time.
But he doesn’t let your hands roam free for too long before pinning them back above your head again, one palm still pressing firmly into the back of your right thigh. When you try to wrap your legs around his waist, he simply presses them back toward your chest, his throbbing cock reaching deeper inside of you as the obscene squelching sounds amplify.
Your own sounds rival the distant symphony of insects–somewhere far off in the meadow, the chirping crickets and singing cicadas are drowned out by your moans. The tiny creatures may as well be silent with how loud your wails have become. But how could you be quiet when you can feel him in your belly?
“Take it,” he growls, as if you are not laying here fucking yourself back onto his throbbing dick. Meeting his deep thrusts with your own, feeling his tip kiss your cervix and whining. “Tell me how good my cock feels inside of you.”
All you can do is whine and gaze up at him, barely registering his words as your heart unexpectedly swells at the sight of his gorgeous, pleasure-stricken features.
Every minute detail is identical to your Eddie. Every freckle–including the tiny one just below his eye. His cheeky dimples. The sparse trail of hair below his navel that you used to trail your tongue down, causing his hips to jump in response.
Predictably, you get lost in his beauty and the overwhelming sensations, barely recognizing when his hand abandons the task of binding your wrists. Abruptly, you are snapped back to the moment when that same hand lands a sharp slap to your clit. It only causes you to squeal, your pussy fluttering around his dick as the sting quickly merges into pleasure. You get more lost in the haze of dizzying pleasure-pain.
Realizing that he only succeeded in further blurring your thoughts, Eddie grasps your face in one large hand. He squishes your cheeks until your lips pucker, smearing your wetness across your face. “Tell me.”
Dizzying pleasure continues to cloud your mind, making it difficult to recall what he’s asking of you, let alone produce a response.
You must take too long to answer as he squishes harder, your teeth pressing harshly against the inside of your cheeks. The feeling borders on pain, causing you to whimper again as heat sinks into your belly.
With a jolt, you remember what his question was.“Tell. Me.”
He needs to know.
“It’s g-” you choke when he thrusts deep, kissing that sweet spot deep inside.
With the hand still gripping your cheeks, he shakes your head a little, like he’s trying to shake the thought free. “Huh?”
“Good!” you squeal. “L-love your cock!”
“You ‘L-love’ it?” Eddie laughs dryly, clearly enjoying the praise and the way you struggle to give it to him.
That sweet humiliation warms your chest, feeling almost as good as the way he presses inside of you. Hot and heavy.
You agree with a moan, lacking the wherewithal to respond coherently. When he removes his hand from your face, it travels to grope your tits greedily over your thin top. Arching into his touch, you close your eyes and revel in the sweet sensation.
His groans and the filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fill your ears as he repeatedly strokes that wonderful spot inside of you. Pleasure bursts in vivid colour behind your eyelids.
When his hand travels further down your body, middle and marriage fingers pressing into that tender bundle of nerves at the top of your cunt, your pleasure surges to new heights. The coil which has been tightening slowly while he fucks you threatens to snap.
Pace slowing in favour of deep, calculated thrusts, Eddie leans down to your ear. “Gonna make such a mess of you,” he whispers, sending shivers straight down your spine. The promise is like molten lava on your skin.
More reckless moans spill from your lips as he nips at your earlobe, then drags his teeth slowly down your neck. A reminder that he could easily sink his teeth into your flesh. It sends a thrill through your body–not unlike the one that licked at your spine as he hunted you through the woods.
“Promise?” you ask breathlessly. A fucked-out smile on your face.
He stares hungrily, longingly, at your neck for just a moment before returning to your eyes after registering your words. A challenge that quirks his brow.
Bracing himself with an elbow dug in the dirt, his pace quickens again as he works furiously at your clit. His rhythm is clumsy, but successful at continuing to send shockwaves of twisted pleasure through your body. His hips slam so hard against you that it would be unsurprising to find light green bruises pressed into your ass tomorrow morning.
You gasp, tossing your head back on a particularly deep and perfectly angled thrust. He dangles you over the cliff’s edge, keeping you on the precipice of release. It’s all you can do to tighten your hands into fists as you twist your them in his unrelenting grasp.
He doesn’t even have to ask you to beg this time. The pleas for release simply tumble out of your mouth with little thought. “Please! Gonna cum, Eddie! Please, please can I cum?”
Hot, overwhelmed tears threaten to spill over in anticipation of his permission. You doubt you’ll be able to hold on much longer with that perfect pressure on your clit and incredible fullness. His heavy panting indicates he isn’t far behind you.
“Cum all over my cock…Let me ruin you for anyone else.” He’s breathless as he says it.
It’s his words that inevitably shove you over the edge, pleasure swelling inside of you. Your clit numbs and you cry out, cunt clenching around him as you drench his cock. It is not a soft, gentle climax that graces your body, but an intense thing that seems to carry on forever.
“I love you,” you whisper into the cool night air, your body still twitching with your orgasm as tears slip down your cheeks. The phrase so easily blurts from you and it’s then that he groans and begins to spill inside of you too. Face pressed into your neck as he shoots hot spurts of cum into your cunt. Rope after rope of the stuff, warming your belly fulfillingly.
His thrusts slow and eventually stop as he collapses on top of you.
Aftershocks flow through you in raw, euphoric waves as you pant into his curls. A sated smile tugs at your mouth and you tremble against him, boneless when he’s done with you. A blissful giggle escapes your throat.
The both of you lay there for moments, just listening to each other’s heartbeats slow as the insect’s song replaces your moans. The moon gleams in the sky, spinning stars winking at you.
All too soon Eddie pulls away from your neck and observes the damage. You’re sure he finds he succeeded in making a mess of you. Your wetness still smeared across your cheek, hair completely mussed, and your bottom half covered in dirt as you draw in heaving breaths, still coming down from your mind-numbing orgasm.
There’s a small smirk that reaches his eyes more than his mouth before he tugs his hand from between your bodies. Lewdly, he shoves his two middle fingers between your lips. “Hmph!”
Once the surprise wears off and you cup his hand in both of yours, you allow your eyes to drift shut. The mild taste of your own cum pervades your mouth as he presses his fingers deeper. Your tongue swirls around them, sucking softly. He continues to test the waters, pressing in further until the pads of his fingers grace the back of your tongue, causing you to gag lightly around them. When he pulls them out, they’re wetter than before. He smears the spit over your cheeks, just as he had done with your wetness. An act of dominance which leaves you breathless and twists your stomach into knots.
As you open your eyes, you watch him push himself away from you, sitting back on his haunches.
“Clean up your mess.” The meaning of his statement only briefly eludes you.
With wobbly limbs you stumble a step or two on your knees closer to him, intoxicated by your co-mingling scents before his palm finds the crown of your head and he presses you down against him.
You gaze lovingly up at him and you’re sure the sight from above is simply obscene.
It’s been too long since you’ve done this which makes it all the more satisfying when your lips wrap around his slowly softening cock. The gentle weight of him in your mouth, the best feeling in the world. Warm and heavy on your tongue as the salty taste of his cum graces your tastebuds and the musky scent of him reaches your nose.
He inhales sharply on the first suck, then groans as he pushes your head down more. The scent of him here–with your nose nearly nestled against the dark curls above his dick–is dizzying. You try not to gag around him this time before he lets up a bit and allows you to move more freely, greedily licking up your combined juices as his warm cum slowly drips down your thighs.
Eddie allows you to slurp happily up and down his cock for a few more moments before he decides you’ve cleaned him up sufficiently. When he pulls you off, wetness drips down your chin. He thumbs at the spit there and you watch as he licks it off his own thumb, like he’s savouring chocolate ice cream that dripped off the cone.
Then, he pets the top of your head gently in appreciation. “Good girl.”
Your heart simply glows in your ribcage. This blooming feeling is quickly stamped out and replaced with rising panic when he goes to leave. Your heart reaches out for him and comes up empty, as it had when the life had drained from his eyes. It is not the panic from before which left you frightful at the prospect of being caught between claws and sharp teeth. But a panic which urges you to capture him, to keep him in your grasp, even if just for a little while longer.
When you catch his wrist, he spins around and bares his teeth like an abused animal anticipating harm and hurt–one who has never experienced a soft touch. What’s happened to him? What has he gone through these past few weeks while you’ve been grieving him, unable to eat or sleep or think at all?
Now that you’ve had him, back again in your arms with a beating heart and warm skin, you couldn’t bear to part with him again.
This panic, the terror of being clouded with grief again, is what drives you to stutter out, “W-will I see you again?”
Guarded features soften a touch as he stares into your face, trying to determine your motivations. To decipher that hopeful look in your eyes.
When he leans down to caress your chin softly, you know he’s come to a conclusion. You look imploringly from his left to his right eye, awaiting his response as your heart hammers in your chest.
"On the next night that the fog creeps over the hills...maybe I'll sneak into your bedroom...and devour you."
You sigh as he gently licks your top lip, close enough now that you could kiss him easily.
Gently, he grabs your face, his thumb resting on one cheek and his other four fingers on the other. Just before he kisses you you ask him softly, lips brushing, “Promise?”
It’s then he presses his lips to yours, and it’s almost tender before he drags his teeth over your bottom one. A final kiss is pressed to your mouth, soothing the gentle sting that you savour.
For the briefest of moments you linger in the feeling after he’s pulled away.
And when you open your eyes, he’s disappeared into the fog. Evaporated into the mist. And it’s like he whispers back to you, Promise.
⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆
You wait for him.
All the while, thinking only of him and nothing else. It’s like your grief has intensified—worse the second time around—and after a while you begin to wonder whether you imagined the whole thing. It isn’t much of a stretch to say so.
After he died, you often took to lying in bed for all hours of the day, staring out the window and watching the shadows grow long before drifting off into a fitful slumber. Tortured by your grief, even in sleep.
Could it have all been a dream?
As the days and weeks stretch on and you begin to question your grasp on reality—you return to this schedule. Lying in bed. Watching the world move as you remain still. Nightmares. Repeat.
You always dreamt of him. Nothing else. Watching the light drain from his eyes. The blood pool around his body.
He rots until he becomes pearly white bones. And the skeleton comes to life, badgers you with questions. He would ask you, Why didn’t you save me? Why aren’t you dead instead? This is all your fault! I’ll never forgive you!
Your encounter in the woods must have never occurred. It was just another fucked up way for you to torture yourself over his death.
Some nights you never slept, trying to keep the nightmares at bay. And, despite yourself, watched desperately for the fog to roll in.
It’s weeks before the fog returns to Hawkins.
When it does, and you hear the slow and steady creak of your window being opened as you lie in bed, you know it was all real.
And Eddie kept his promise.
Thank you so much for reading!! Please reblog and let me know what you thought!
Vamp Eddie sneaking into your room at night and failing miserably. He is a mega dork in this one.
Fumbling with the edge of the window from the outside, Eddie manages to hook his clawed hands on the ledge. He can see you in your bedroom, cleaning up the clothes on the floor in the dim lights. Eager to see you he digs his feet into the roof tiles, wings spread wide as he pulls. They flap as he stumbles back and it gives way easily.
You hear the ssss of the window sliding followed by a soft “shit!” Whispered. He tucks his wings in, wiping his hands on his jeans. You turn then, watching with raised brows as he ducks into the open window.
Eddie makes eye contact with you then. Hes cute when he’s flustered.
“Oh- hi.” He starts. “Dont mind me, sweetheart, just gonna…”
“I have a front door.” You reply, laughing a bit at the way he tries to wedge his shoulders through. The wings get stuck.
“God- fuckin damnit,” he twists, putting his hands out as he finally gets them folded enough.
“Are you done yet?” You cross your arms.
“This was supposed to be hot, okay? You told me about the fantasy of a vampire coming to feed from you in the middle of the night and- umpf-“
“Its 7pm.” You correct him “the sun isnt even all the way down.”
He pull his legs through and then pushes himself off the plush carpet of your bedroom. “I wanted to deliver before- that- before that happened.”
“I love you.” You walk over to ruffle his hair. “Dumbass.”
“I love you more.” He states, pushing himself up onto his feet. “Well, arent you gonna uh- freak out and..”
“You just took a full minute and a half to fit into that window.” You reply, fully amused. “Least scary thing a vampire could possibly do.”
“I can be scary!” He steps closer. You smile.
“No you can’t. Prove it.”
The wind from the outside blows, pushing your curtains around. Its cold. Eddie’s eyes glint as he pushes his wings open to intimidate you, baring his mouth full of fangs. You back up. From the corner of your eye, you spot the demobats catching up with him, crawling through your window at his summoning.
“Fear me….” He coaxes, using that goofy voice borrowed from narrating DND.
“Eddie alright, alright.” You press your hands against his chest. “Dont let those things in here!”
“Huh?” He turns, realizing his mistake. His wings knock stuff off of your dresser. “Dude!” He scolds the bats. “Fuck off! I didnt mean to- go, go go,” he shoos them as they waddle along on your bed and scale your walls.
“Sorry.” He sighs. “I suck at this paranormal shit.”
You cant help but feel bad for him. “You do suck, yeah. Just not like that.”
“Funny. Seriously though, Im supposed to be like- the most metal thing a dude can be.”
“You are,” you reassure him. “Look at yourself. You had to cut holes in all of your favorite band tees and jackets for those wings to fit. People who used to bully you give you all the space in the world.”
“Ill never get a fuckin’ job, or a normal life. Im stuck as ‘the devil of hawkins’ forever.” He sulks.
“Stop,” you approach him, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Come here.”
He crowds your space until he’s standing between your legs. The look in those soft brown eyes makes you melt. “Dont pout. Are you hungry?”
“Very.” He replies, pushing you down. “Ive been thinking about this all day. Took you so long to get off work I almost took a bite out of Harrington.”
“Munson,” you scold. “He’s a teacher!”
“Yeah? Thats his karma for choosing a shitty profession.” He noses at you, long curly hair falling over you like a veil. “The education system in hawkins sucks. Those kids are better off with a half eaten teacher.”
You laugh, hands threading in his hair. “You joke too much.”
“Maybe…” he mumbles, his smile all toothy. “where do you want me?”
You give him a small kiss. “Neck is fine.”
“Awe,” he places his hands on your thighs. “I was hoping for the femoral vein.”
“Shut up,” you push him playfully and he hisses at you, fangs bared. Eddie latches onto you then. It hurts- feels like when you cut yourself accidentally. Then it fades into a sting more akin to receiving a hickey. He makes a whimpery noise and you get goosebumps. “Eddie, slow down.” You find yourself absentmindedly grabbing at him.
“Mmmh,” he says with his mouth full. “Mm- hm mh.”
It goes on for another minute until you’re smacking him, indicating that you’re starting to feel dizzy. He licks a stripe up your neck, saliva sealing the bite.
“Ew!” You squirm. He peppers your neck with kisses. “Eddie gross.”
“Oh im sorry would you rather bleed out?” His hands find your sides to tickle you. “Would you? Huh?”
“Ha HA- ed-!” You kick at him, twisting from his hands. “Eddie you fucker! No! No I dont want- to bleed out.” You catch your breath when he stops. He has a goofy smile on his face, lips and teeth stained with your blood.
“Thats what I thought.” He comments softly. Eddie lets you up, standing. “Allllright sweetness, I was thinkin… trip to that diner out on the edge of Hawkins with the milkshakes and the shitty 24 hour breakfast. Get you somethin’ to eat, and then…” he puts his hands on his hips.
“Go scare the kids that have been picking on wheeler’s little sister….” He lists. “And then after that you crash at my uncles new place and we cuddle. Yeah?”
“Scare the- huh?” You ask.
“What? He paid me.” Eddie digs in his pocket for the crumpled bills. “How else do you think I’m taking you to eat?”
summary: modern!au - eddie munson is the type of guy with an empty instagram profile, never even opening the app. but when he suddenly starts posting on his stories one summer when he's two states away that include a mystery girl, his friends need to do some digging.
wc: 1.1k+
one of the dividers by @bernardsbendystraws
Eddie was always late to the trends. For many of his teenage years he spent time going to the skate park or hanging around in empty areas of the forest, trespassing with friends and selling his drugs to his classmates. He liked to party, to meet people organically.
But eventually, like everyone else, Eddie downloaded social media. He stuck to his roots, never posting, not having so much as a profile photo. He never even opened the app. Though Eddie was ‘the freak’ Munson, girls complained about it in secret to each other because ‘He just has so much potential!’
One summer, after the boy went on holiday with his uncle, everything changed. A profile photo appeared, and so did the stories. Every night, a new one popped up, and the hundreds of people who followed him opened them to find Eddie Munson with his arms wrapped around a girl, smiling into the camera.
With the way you leaned into Eddie’s body, one of his hands placed on your upper thigh, touching your bare skin courtesy of your shorts, everyone knew you couldn’t just be friends.
Eddie got endless messages from his friends. Whether it was the group of friends his age or the younger teenagers, everyone was asking about this mystery girl. ‘I missed so many chapters’ and ‘Since when do you have a girlfriend’ were upon dozens of other inquiries.
But Eddie hadn’t opened a single one of these messages. He opened the app to repost the story you had posted, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before putting his phone away in the depths of his backpack.
At home, Nancy had organised an entire game plan to find out who you were, as she and the rest of the friend group gathered around her in Steve Harrington’s backyard.
“Remind me why you guys are doing this?” Asked Mike, only still there because his sister would take him home later. Dustin slapped his arm, saying matter-of-factly “Dude, Eddie has a girlfriend.”
“Okay, Robin will request to follow her. No one else do it otherwise it’ll look suspicious.”
“Why me?”
“Rob, you like women.” Nancy said, her expression communicating the ‘duh’ she so badly wanted to say. She was met by Steve, Robin and Jonathan’s blank stares. “She won’t think you’re a threat. If any of the boys do it, Eddie will find it weird.”
Robin hummed at the logic, taking her phone out of her back pocket and opening instagram. She instantly went to Eddie’s profile, thumb pressing on his profile photo. She gasped as the image opened up in front of her eyes, noticing the little star icon in the corner next to the letters that spelled ‘close friends’.
The photo was taken by someone else, probably one of the many people who had appeared in the previous stories, photobombing in the back. The photo showed Eddie’s van, the doors to the back opened as you sat inside, staring at the bonfire you’d made in the forest in front of the parked van. You were sitting down in the back of the van with Eddie laying down between your legs, head resting in the crook of your neck with both arms tightly wrapped around your waist.
The hickeys on your neck were visible in the image, and, with Eddie’s hair out of his face, packed in a bun on the back of his head, so were his. A bold line of text was placed above you guys in the image, with a cheeky caption ‘Guess what we did before this?’
“Eddie Munson, my man!” Steve exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat. “Okay, hard launch.” Commented Robin with a grin. She pressed on the post, and a little tag popped up with your username.
She pressed follow.
And now, they would wait.
You lifted your head up from Eddie’s chest as your phone buzzed. “Eddie, who’s robinbulky and why is she requesting to follow me?” Eddie laughed, the sound deep in his chest. “Robin’s my friend,” You swallowed at his words, eyebrows furrowing slightly with insecurity. Eddie raised his eyebrows in amusement at your obvious jealousy. “My lesbian friend, and she’s probably requesting you because I’ve been spamming photos of us on instagram.”
“Should I accept it?”
“There’s no harm in that. She's chill.”
Within ten minutes, Robin got the notification. Jumping up, she shrieked loudly, yelling “I’m in! I’m in!”
Two states across the country, you were climbing onto Eddie’s lap, pressing your lips to his in a deep kiss. A moan vibrated in Eddie’s throat. You giggled, feeling him immediately get hard under you. “Already?” You teased. “Come on baby, you know I was a virgin before you.”
You pulled away from him as your phone buzzed again, sitting back on Eddie’s thighs. “Babyyy…” Eddie whined, gripping your hips as you giggled at your phone. Your boyfriend tipped your phone towards him so he could see what you were looking at.
Robin had messaged you.
‘heyy!! I just wanted to say, I saw you on Eddie’s story and you are absolutely gorgeous!!!’
Eddie frowned. Was she flirting with you?
You replied with a ‘thank youuu!!’ then clicked onto Robin’s profile and scrolled through a few posts, pressing the follow back button before adding ‘so are you! i love your hair!’
Then, much to Eddie’s surprised, you clicked the camera button, resting your head on Eddie’s chest and angling the phone towards you both. “Baby, smile.” You instructed, smiling for the camera. Eddie squeezed your cheeks together, pulling a face to the camera. You snapped a photo. “That’s so cute, I’m saving that.” You told him, turning to press a short kiss to his lips before sending the photo to Robin.
Robin screamed and Nancy jumped up. “Oh my god!”
“I can’t believe we got the most contact with Eddie through his girlfriend!”
“Oh please, with the way they’re acting, she’s going to be his wife soon.”
Eddie took hold of your phone, throwing it across the bed. You didn’t mind. “Come on, you can do more talking to her when you meet her.” You hummed in agreement, leaning forward to press your lips to his again. “Did you forget that Uncle Wayne and I are just here to help you move back?”
Giggling, you rolled off Eddie, holding your hands out for him to take. “Let’s go on a walk. We’ve got a long trip the next few days.” Eddie took your hands, making you pull hard to get him off the bed.
“Wanna go for one last round in the back of the van?”
a/n: so i started making a ‘getting ready’ playlist in the middle of writing this and then went an looked for a song that that been stuck in my head for years and i havent been able to find it bc its in a foreign language (which i found out is armenian). i found the song but was disappointed in how easy it was to find bc i could have been listening to such a bop for all those years. and then i got distracted texting my sister and now i have a half finished playlist.
ANYWAY lemme know if you want a pt2 where she meets everyone.
Silly thoughts about the first time you have sex with virgin!vampire!Eddie...
or basically, Eddie learns something new about the "vampires can't come inside without permission" rule-
He's honestly not sure how he lasts as long as he does. From the first thrust; his brows are furrowed, his lips make a cute little o, he's whining.
He's so close.
But he just... can't cum?
You're nice enough to let him keep trying until you can't take it anymore. You're fucked out of your mind and your cunt is swollen from cumming so many times. Severely overestimated.
He finally relents when you tell him you can't take anymore.
He pulls out and it only takes a few quick tugs of his cock to have him painting your stomach white.
You both decide it was probably just nerves. That embarrasses him more. You think it's cute.
Hell, most virgins have the opposite problem, so you really can't complain.
The second, third, fourth time. They all end the same way.
Eddie convinces himself that it's some kind of mental block he needs to overcome. And damn if he doesn't set his mind to it, trying to convince you to let him take you all the time and everywhere.
Except, you're a little insecure by this point. Is it you? Is there something you do during sex that turns him off? Is there something that just... doesn't feel right about your pussy?
Mid-make-out you drop to your knees in front of where he sits on the couch. Eddie makes you feel so good and you're done letting him only finish from the feeling of his own hand.
And he's whining. Sobbing. He wants it so bad that he's basically fucking into your throat.
It just won't happen.
"Come on, Eds. Want you to cum in my mouth, baby. Please." You babble through gasping breaths when he pulls back. Tears run down your face and your throat feels raw and there's an itch to feel Eddie finish in one of your holes that desperately needs to be scratched.
He nods with a broken whimper and pushes back into your mouths.
As soon as he slides inside, he's spilling warm and thick spurts onto your tongue. So much that it runs past your lips and down your chin while you suck him through it.
Fucking finally.
Well, actually not finally.
The next time he gets inside you, it just doesn't happen.
He's about to give up. He's convinced that there's something wrong with him.
He starts avoiding your touch.
After about a month, it's driving you insane. Maybe it's selfish and silly but you miss his dick and the way it stretches you.
You replay every moment of the time he finished in your mouth.
You're laying in your bed with your fingers thrusting desperately and wishing it was him when the the thought hits you-
You pull on your jacket, grab your keys, and rush to the trailer with little regard for traffic laws.
"I have to invite you!" You yell as soon as you throw the door open. It's rushed and incomprehensible but you're aching. Your clit throbs and your thighs are sticky in your pants from your own little self-help session.
"What the hell are you talking about?" His head snaps up from where it was hanging off the end out the couch, watching some horror movie that's in his regular repeats list.
"Vampires have to be invited before they can come inside." You grin, throwing the door shut. You're already tugging down your pants before he has time to process the words.
He doesn't argue. He's been hoping for a miracle at this point.
"Please, cum inside." You beg breathlessly in his ear as you sink down on his dick.
So when that feeling first creeps up after a few of your rough bounces on his lap, he doesn't fight it. He doesn't realize he needs to.
His head falls back with a choked cry as you ride him through it, milking his cock for everything it will give you.
He spends all night making it up to you and recovering for lost time. It's hardly an effort, the sight of his spend leaking out of you gets him going again in seconds.
Now, he has free reign to test out the vampire stamina.
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