[multific]

Whatever the Queen Wants

Thranduil x Reader

Summary: On a boring day you have time to walk around, and recall different memories from your past.

You loved taking walks in the woods and your gardens.

Seeing your kingdom bloom and glow just did something to you, it was special.

Spring was your favourite season. Seeing new life everywhere around you made you want to be a mother once again.

You could still recall when your son was born.

Legolas became the center of your world in a simple moment. As soon as the midwife-elf placed him in your arms, it was over.

Both for you and for your husband.

He was the cutest little elfling you have ever seen. Looked just like your husband but behaved just like you.

Even when he was little, you took him out to the gardens on walks, showing him the world. Every single time you looked at all the different rose bushes or hydrangeas all you could see was him as a little elf let's elfling playing amongst them, you just wished you had something to capture that moment with so you would be able to show it to your husband.

Now Legolas was a fully grown up elf, who was more interested in all the different kinds of fighting styles than nature, and also your husband did sometimes had time to spend with you right now he was too busy with his kingly duties, so you were left alone to walk the woods and your gardens.

And that is exactly what you were doing that day. You woke up and somehow amazingly sunny it was that day, so you made your way out to your favorite place in the garden. Your favorite place was where there were these huge hydrangea bushes, all different colors and shapes and sizes you loved every single one of them.

That part of the garden was a present from your husband to you as an anniversary gift. Since he knew how much you adored flowers, he added every single flower that she liked to the garden just to please you.

There were different statues as well in the garden, all of them beautiful.

You left out a long side on your way to your favorite bench. If only you could have the two men who meant so much to you there with you.

You felt so lonely at that moment, it might sound arrogant to some people that the queen was complaining but you really were rather sad that you had to spend such a nice day all alone although you did enjoy every second of it and you did make the best of it, but you still missed both of your boys.

Maybe that's why the idea of having another child was so inviting to you, then you would have finally someone who would need your attention all day long and they would give your attention all day long as well before they grow up. You missed that, you missed having someone who relied on you so much. Legolas it's already too old for him need you in such a way. Even If he did sometimes come over to you asking for your advice it wasn't the same.

When you tried to hint a new baby to your husband but he was too oblivious for your tries or he simply didn’t want to tell you that he did not want another child.

So, you didn’t bring the topic up after that. Although, it did hurt a little bit, you were happy with your life. Even if you felt lonely at times like this, you were happy.

“Naneth,” you heard someone say.

“Oh, Legolas. What are you doing here?” you asked as your son came over to you and sat down next to you.

“You looked lonely, Mother. So, I came to keep you company. Is Father still in a meeting?”

You offered him a kind smile, it warmed your heart that he thought about you.

“He is. But you don’t have to be here, I am not lonely, I have my flowers, you should practice.”

“Nonsense. No training or practice is more important than you, Naneth.”

“Thank you. How was your day?” he always loved to show or talk to you about his training. Ever since he was little he was a quick learner.

“Really good…” then he went on and on about his day. Telling you everything about swords, bows and more.

If you were honest you never truly understood everything he said or referred to but you still listened with a smile. Seeing him be so interested and happy about something warmed your heart.

You listened to everything he had to say. Every single word.

You saw so much of your husband in him. But you were there as well. You still couldn’t believe that you had the privilege to be the mother of this exceptional elf.

“Adar!” said Legolas out of nowhere which made you look the way he was looking. And you saw your husband, walking towards the two of you.

“Nin hén, Nin mel, what are you two doing out here in such an hour?” you failed to notice that the sun started to go down.

“Mother was lonely so I came over to give her some company.” replied Legolas as Thranduil joined you.

“It is getting late, it would be best if we all headed to rest.” you said and both of them agreed. Thranduil guided you towards your chambers after you said your goodbyes to your son.

“We have a wonderful child.” he said as you laid down in bed.

“Indeed, I cannot believe he is so big, I feel like I can still recall holding him as a young elfling.” you let out a long sigh at the happy memory as you felt your husband’s arms move you towards him. “I have been thinking, Nin mel.”

“About?”

“Another child.” Thranduil almost jumped up as you said that.

“A-another?”

“I have been feeling lonely with Legolas leaving us so frequently and with you being in meetings all day. I always wanted a daughter as well, you know that.”

“I do. I know it.”

“It was a silly idea.” you said after his long silence. “Forget it, Thranduil. I’ll be fine.”

“We can have another child. I’m only thinking of ways to ensure it would be a girl.” his confession nearly made you choke on air, then you smiled.

“No need. I would be happy with a boy as well.” you said as you pulled him closer and kissed him.

Thranduil knew, whatever the Queen of Mirkwood wanted, she got it.

Translation:

Naneth – Mother

Adar – Father

Nin hén – My child

Nin mel - My love

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[multific]

A New Chapter

Beorn x Fem!Reader

Words: 1.4K

You expected your morning to go smoothly, as it usually does. You went out to gather some mushrooms for lunch before returning, you heard Beorn chopping wood as you opened the door.

Keep reading

[multific]

Queen Under the Mountain

Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Words: 640

Summary: After the fight, Thorin had one last thing to take care of.

Thorin had everything he ever wanted.

The mountain.

His Kingdom.

His people.

And his throne.

He had everything, except for one thing.

He still had one mission, but this one, he had to do alone.

He had to get his Queen.

Keep reading

[multific]

Gold-Sick

Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Summary: Thorin's sickness was getting worse by the day.

As you stood there and looked at yourself in your gold gown, you felt utterly lost.

Dwalin did warn you about this sickness that overtook Thorin. You knew, yet this was worse than you could have ever imagined.

It all started when you entered the mountain.

Thorin's confession and promise of eternal love came as a surprise, yet you accepted his love. You felt the same way about him for a long while now.

Ever since you first saw him in that blacksmith workshop.

And now, he called you his Queen as he sat upon his throne, calling out for you to join him while the others looked for the stone.

He requested for you to change as he had placed a dress in your room.

The door behind you opened and in came Bilbo. With tears in your eyes, you looked at him.

"You have it." you whispered and he nodded once. "Give it to Gandalf, or the Elf King, I do not care but this... man, is not my Thorin." you said as he nodded once more and you exited your room heading to the throne room.

You dried your tears before Thorin could see and offered him a smile.

"My Queen! My gorgeous Queen, dripping in jewels and gold as you deserve." he said as his hand moved to your face and his other to your waist.

You held back your tears and leaned in to kiss him.

He twirled you around, but he wasn't admiring you, no, he was looking at the gold.

You begged for this to end soon.

---

"Thorin! We must help them!" all of the dwarves begged but Thorin didn't listen.

"Are you against me as well?" he looked at you and you looked at the floor. "TRAITOR!" he yelled which made you jump.

You finally had enough.

"You are not the dwarf I fell in love with! Not the King I followed here! Not the man I want!" you said before you turned and got ready for battle with tears running down your cheeks.

On your way out you did see Dwalin enter the room, you only hoped he would put some sense into Thorin.

---

You were out of breath as you ran.

The fight was over and you have won.

But where was Thorin and Bilbo? Kili and Fili?

You asked Gandalf but he just smiled and as you turned, there they all were. Thorin, injured yet alive. Kili was in bad shape and so was Fili but they will survive.

You rushed over to Thorin, hugging him close as he groaned but soon stopped with his complaint.

You pulled back and looked at him.

"Now, this is the dwarf I fell in love with." he smiled as you kissed him.

"Marry me." he said when you pulled back to catch some air.

"I thought you would never ask." you said with a laugh as everyone around you cheered and celebrated.

It was so much better to get ready for a wedding than a funeral.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname224646

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[multific]

Under the Mask

Summary: You slowly realise your boyfriend Miguel O’Hara is Spider-Man through his patterns.

Miguel O’Hara is a man of patterns.

You learn them slowly.

The way he always chooses quiet restaurants. The way his hand finds the small of your back without thinking. The way he stiffens when sirens start, even when he pretends not to hear them.

And then there are the disappearances.

Every time something goes wrong in the city, Miguel is suddenly gone. 

A phone call. An excuse. A hurried kiss pressed to your temple. He promises he will be right back.

He never is.

Spider-Man is, though.

You see him on the news, red and blue cutting through smoke and chaos. Saving people. Catching falling debris. Swinging between buildings while your boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

You tell yourself it is a coincidence. 

You tell yourself you are paranoid. You love Miguel, and love makes excuses easily.

Until the night it becomes impossible to ignore.

You are halfway through dinner when the ground trembles, a distant explosion rattling the windows. Miguel freezes. His jaw tightens.

“I need to step out,” he says too quickly. “Just for a minute.”

“Miguel?”

He is already gone.

You step outside moments later, heart racing. Smoke rises a few blocks away. Sirens scream. And there he is, Spider-Man, vaulting over a wrecked car, heading straight for the disaster.

Panic grips you.

“Hey,” you shout, running toward him. “Please. My boyfriend was just here. Miguel. Please, can you help him?”

The mask tilts toward you. For just a second, something breaks in his posture.

Then he is gone.

Miguel returns ten minutes later, breathless, hair dishevelled, acting as if nothing had happened.

You do not confront him. Not yet.

The truth reveals itself a week later.

You are at his apartment when news of a fire lights up your phone. Miguel glances at the screen, then at you.

“I need to go to the store. We are out of a few things.”

You nod. Smile. Pretend your heart is not pounding.

While he is gone, you shower. The water is hot enough to sting, but it does not quiet your thoughts. When you step out, wrapped in a towel, you open his dresser, looking for one of his shirts.

At the bottom drawer, beneath folded clothes, you find it.

An old Spider-Man mask.

Worn. Faded. Carefully kept.

Your hands shake as you put it back exactly where it was.

When Miguel returns, you kiss him. You laugh. You act normal.

But you know now.

You just need the right moment.

It comes on a crowded subway platform.

Something goes wrong. 

You barely understand what happens before the lights flicker and people start screaming. Metal shrieks. The tunnel trembles.

Spider-Man is there in seconds, holding beams, shouting orders, saving everyone he can.

You help people limp away, guiding them to safety. One by one, the platform empties until it is just you and him.

Then the ceiling groans.

A chunk of concrete crashes down, pinning your leg. Pain explodes through you.

“No,” Spider-Man shouts, straining against the debris. “I have you. I have you.”

You grab his wrist, fingers slick with dust and blood.

“It’s okay, Miguel, get out of here. It’s going to collapse.”

He does not react at first. He is too focused on saving you.

Another tremor. You scream in pain.

“It’s okay,” you say again, voice shaking. “You did your best. My leg is broken. I can feel it. Miguel, please.”

He freezes.

Slowly, the mask turns toward you.

“How,” he breathes.

“I love you,” you say softly. “But please. Save yourself.”

He argues, of course, he does. His voice cracks. His hands shake. He refuses every word you say.

Then the ceiling collapses further.

With a roar of effort, he lifts the debris, hauls you into his arms, and swings you out just as the tunnel caves in behind you.

You cling to him, pain and relief tangled together. He lands near the hospital and carries you inside without a word.

When you wake, your leg is wrapped and elevated. 

The room is quiet.

Miguel sits beside your bed in civilian clothes, eyes red, hands clasped tightly together.

“How did you know?” he asks quietly.

You tell him everything. The disappearances. The dates. The mask. The way your heart had known before your mind caught up.

He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours.

“I wanted to protect you. I never wanted to lie to you.”

You cup his face gently.

“You did protect me. And I would choose you again. Every time.”

He kisses you then, careful and trembling, like the world might shatter if he is not gentle.

“I love you,” Miguel says.

You smile through the pain.

“I know."

Recovery is more peaceful than the chaos that brought you here.

The hospital room smells faintly of antiseptic and clean linen. Machines hum softly. 

Your leg is heavy with bandages, elevated and aching in a dull, constant way. 

Miguel barely leaves the chair beside your bed. When he does, it is only to pace a few steps before sitting again, like moving too far from you physically hurts.

He learns your pain schedule better than the nurses do.

“You are due for medication,” he murmurs before you even glance at the clock.

You smile weakly. 

“You memorised it.”

“I memorise things that matter,” he replies, eyes never leaving you.

He helps you wash your face in the mornings, holding the basin steady, handing you the towel like it is something precious. When you struggle to move in bed, he moves instantly, careful hands bracing your shoulders, your waist, always asking permission with his eyes even if his voice stays quiet.

At night, when the ward settles, he finally talks.

“I was so scared,” he admits once, voice barely above a whisper. “Not of losing you. Of surviving you.”

You turn your head toward him.

“Miguel.”

“If you had died because of me, I would have broken. Completely.”

You reach for his hand. He grips yours like it is an anchor.

“But you did not. Because you stayed.”

That seems to undo him more than anything else. He bows his head and presses a kiss to your knuckles, breath shaky.

When you are discharged, Miguel brings you home.

Your crutches lean against the wall by the door. 

He has moved things to make space for you. A blanket was folded neatly on the couch. A pillow positioned just right.

“I set up the shower chair. And I bought groceries. Probably too many.”

You laugh softly. 

“You panic-shopped.”

“I prepared,” he corrects, but his ears redden.

Domestic life with Miguel is gentle.

He cooks while you sit at the table, leg propped up, watching him move through the kitchen with precision. 

He asks your opinion on everything, seasoning, temperature, portions. When he brings your plate, he kneels slightly to place it in front of you, as if serving you is something sacred.

At night, he helps you into bed. He changes your bandages with care.

“You can tell me if it hurts,” he says every time.

“I will. You do not need to be afraid. You won't break me.”

He exhales slowly. “I am learning.”

Sleep comes easier when he is there. He lies on his side, facing you, one arm draped carefully over your waist, like he is afraid to hold too tightly.

Sometimes you wake to find him watching you.

“What?” you murmur.

“Nothing, I just like knowing you are still here.”

One afternoon, as rain taps against the windows, you catch him staring at the drawer.

“The mask,” you say gently.

He nods. 

“I do not want secrets anymore.”

He retrieves it and places it on the table between you. It looks smaller somehow without the weight of lies attached to it.

“This is not all I am, but it is part of me.”

You reach across the table and take his hand. 

“And I love all of it.”

That night, when he kisses you, it is slow and unguarded. No urgency. No fear. Just warmth and certainty.

Later, as he helps you settle back against the pillows, you catch his wrist.

He curls beside you, careful of your leg, forehead resting against yours when you hear the sirens. 

You know he heard them, his body reacted much like before.

“Miguel.” you spoke.

“Yes?”

"Go."

"Thank you." his voice was barely above a whisper, by the time you sat up, he was already in his suit ready to jump out the window.

"I love you, Miguel." 

"Love you too, Mi Amor." He smiled before his mask covered his face and jumped out the window.

You lay back in the bed, happiness filled your chest as you looked at the ceiling.

~Masterlist~

[tired-biscuit]

bumping into your really nice alpha neighbour in the hallway (who you’ve been on again off again flirting with for weeks now), but squeaking out a little “sorry!” while having to rudely push past him so that you can get into your apartment before your heat gets out of control

vs

him being unable to resist following after you the second you scurry upstairs, every step he takes now getting a little more urgent, his blood hotter, until he’s pacing in front of your door, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; trying everything in his power to keep himself from knocking because the way he is moving now reminds him of a predator and he doesn’t like it - he’s nice, goddammit, he’s nice

[gem-writes]

Go Go Juice

A/N: Requested by @eddiemunsonkiss3r

First one-shot from my Sabrina-inspired collection.

Pairing: Ex-Boyfriend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s 2am and you receive a drunken phone call from your ex-boyfriend, Eddie- and when Eddie is drunk he has a lot to say.

Content Warning: 18+ smut, drunk!eddie, ex-boyfriend!Eddie, dirty talk, inappropriate/suggestive language, profanity, threatening to drive while under the influence (DO NOT drunk drive y'all. I will beat you with a stick)

A/N: Sorry if this sucked. I was trying to dabble more in phone-sex type writing. The original request was also for reader to be the one to drunk dial Eddie but I thought it would be interesting to switch it around.

────────

“Hello?”

Your voice was tired as you picked up the phone, rubbing your sleep-heavy eyes at you glanced at your alarm clock.

1:47am.

“Give me the phone, dude. You’re gonna regret this in the morning.”

You heard the sound of mumbles and rustling on the other end of the line as you tried to make out what it was that you were listening to- who the hell was calling.

“Nonono. Shhh…shut up. I just wanna. Hey! No! Gimme….gimme that baaaack. I wanna talk’ta her. C’mon. Gimme.”

You heard the familiar sound of Eddie Munson’s voice on the other end of the phone. A voice you hadn’t heard in over a month- not since the breakup.

“Hey, are you there?”

“Gareth?” You ask, trying to make sense of all of this. It was far too late for you to be dealing with it.

“Hey, yeah, sorry. That was Eddie.” He sighs heavily “We told him not to call you. But you know Eddie. He kinda just does whatever he wants.”

“Is everything okay?” You ask, sitting up in bed.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s just drunk. And stupid.”

And then you hear it again.

“Hey! Don’t tell her I’m stupid! M’not stupid!”

“Here we fucking go.” Gareth grumbles “Yes, Eddie, you are stupid. You literally just drunk dialed your ex-girlfriend at two in the morning.”

“Not my ex-girlfriend anymore after I-“ His words get cut off as he hiccups loudly “Will you lemme talk’ta her? Please? Pretty please? C’monnnn!”

You could hear the drunken giggles in Eddie’s voice. It was always a dead giveaway that he was tipsy. He got goofy. Well, goofier.

“Eddie, no.” Gareth says sternly “You are not talking to her right now.”

“But I neeeeed to.” He whines “Just wanna talk’ta her for a second. Just, like, a teeny tiny second.”

“No.”

“Gaaaaareth!”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you struggled not to laugh. Fucking Eddie. It was far too late for this shit.

“Baby? Hey, baby!” He bellows in the background as Gareth groans.

“Eddie, she doesn’t wanna talk to you, man. Go drink some fucking water and sleep it off like I told you to.”

“Are you sure he’s okay?” You ask, growing worried at how exasperated Gareth sounded. Eddie must have been giving him a hard time all night.

“Yeah. Like I said, he’s just stupid.”

“How’d he end up calling me, anyway?” You ask “I-“

But your words were interrupted by Eddie yelling in the background.

“Baby! Hey! Baby, baby, baby! Listen! Gare, is she listening? Babe, are you listening?”

“No, Eddie. She is not listening.”

“Oh, fuck off!" Eddie replies “I know she can hear me. Baaaaabe! Tell Gareth you wanna talk’ta me. I’ve got somethin’ to tell you. Somethin’ important.”

“Jesus Christ,” you sigh “He’s really off it, isn’t he?”

“You have no fucking idea.”

“Baaaabe! Baby, baby, babes. Sweetheart. Honey. Hey!”

“Eddie, will you please shut the fuck up?” Gareth finally snaps.

“Gare?” You sigh “Just put him on the phone.”

“You sure?” Gareth asks “I don’t think-“

“It’s fine, Gare. I’ll just let him say what he needs to say.”

“Alright…” Gareth replies, his voice unsure. The next thing you knew, the phone was being hijacked by Eddie whose voice bellowed over the line.

“Baby?”

“Yes, Eddie?”

“Fuck, finally!” He exclaims “Never thought he’d get off the phone. He hogs the fucking line like he pays the bill or something.”

“Eddie, you’re calling from his house.” You point out.

“….Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Semantics and all that. How’ya doin’, baby?” He flirts “S’been awhile.”

“What do you want, Eddie?” You ask, cutting right to the chase. You didn’t have time for games.

“Ea-sy.” He sasses “Goddamn. A guy can’t call his girl to ask what’s goin’ on? Geez…”

“Eddie, I’m not your girl.” You remind him.

“Yeah, whatever, babe. Semantics.” He states “What good are they in the grand scheme of things, anyway?”

“Well, in this case, I think they’re pretty important.”

“I don’t concur but you are free to your own opinion, m’lady. My…beautiful…lady.” He laughs, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Eddie, you have five seconds to get to the point or I’m hanging up.”

“No! Don’t! Don’t hang up, please. Just talk’ta me. Miss your voice, angel. Miss you. So much.” He sighs longingly “That pretty, pretty voice of yours.”

“Eddie, this isn’t funny. I’m hanging up now.”

“Nooo! Do. Not. Hang. Up. I need- Baby, just listen….M’sorry. I know you’re mad. I was stupid. Soooo stupid but I miss you. Miss you so much. Can’t stop thinkin’ about you.” He rambles “You’re in my head.”

“Well, Munson, I hate to you break it to you but you need to get me out of your head.” You warn “You doing this right now isn’t good for the both of us.”

“Says who?” He challenges.

“Me.” You argue “Now, hang up the phone. Go take some Advil, drink some water, and go to bed before you make a fool for yourself. You’ll regret this in the morning.”

“No, baby. ‘M not gonna regret this. I regret letting you go. I was so stupid. So fucking stupid. Stupid, Eddie. I was a stupid, bad boyfriend.” He agonizes “Don’t wanna be stupid anymore. Wanna be with you, baby. I miss you.”

“Eddie. No.” You reply sternly “Stop.”

“Nooo.” He groans “I can’t. I love you, baby.”

“Eddie, you don’t love me. You’re drunk.”

“S’true.” He laughs “M’drunk but I also love you. Love you sooo much. Never stopped.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Y’know what I love about you th’most?” He asks, a tiny hint of a giggle escaping his lips.

“What?” You sigh.

“You put up with m’shit.” He says “Y’do it better than anyone else. I was s’lucky. Lucky me.”

“Well, not anymore.” You sigh “Now Gareth puts up with your shit.”

“Yeah but s’not the same. I miss you.” He whines “D’you miss me?”

“Eddie…”

“D’you even think about me?” He pouts “You’re probably already seein’ someone else. Probably fucking someone else. I fuckin’ think about it and it kills me, baby.”

“Why?” You ask “We’re not together anymore, Eddie. We can both have sex with whoever we want. That’s how breaking up and being single works.”

“But I don’t wanna be single.” He complains “Shit sucks! Don’t wanna have sex with anyone else either. Jus’ you. Only you, baby. Couldn’t even get hard for anyone else if I fuckin’ tried. All I wan' is you.”

“Eddie..” Your heart pounds in your chest at his admission. Even after all this time, he still had the power to make you feel wrecked over his words. He was probably so drunk that he didn’t even realize it.

“C’mon, baby. We were so good together.” He pleads “Come back t'me.”

“That was before, Eddie.” You point out, trying to stay firm. You absolutely could not fold.

“Yeah but we can fix this. I can fix it, baby. Lemme fix it, sweetheart.” He pleads “I’ll do anything to get you back.”

“Eddie, you are so drunk right now.”

“Mmm.” He hums “And horny. Don’t forget horny.”

“Another reason why you need to hang up and go to bed.”

“But I don’t wanna.” He whines “Not when I’m getting somewhere.”

“Getting where, exactly?” You huff out a laugh.

“I dunno but you’re still talkin’ t’me so I must be doin’ somethin’ right.” He points out.

Cocky little shit.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Nooo, wait!” He says “C’mon, baby. I miss you. You miss me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“C’mon sweetheart, I know ya do. Fuck, I miss you. God, I miss you. Haven’t gotten off in so long. My fucking balls are hurting, baby.”

“Eddie!”

“What? S’the truth!” He says “Using my hand isn’t the same. Doesn’t feel as good as you. God, I fucking miss you. You and that tight, wet-“

“Oooohkay!” You gasp “Stop! That’s enough!”

“Oh, c’mon, sweetheart. Don’t act all shy. You used to like it when I would talk to you like this.”

“That was before, Eddie. Now I don’t.”

“Maybe you just need a reminder then.” He suggests “Because I’ve never forgotten, sweetheart. Fuck, I remember everything. How good it was. How good you feel. How you taste. Mmm fuck!”

And, for some reason, you stay on the line. You close your eyes as you throw your head back into your pillow. Fuck, this sucks.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yeah.” You sigh “I’m still here, Eddie.”

“Good!” He says “Good, good, good….because I’m horny, sweetheart….and lonely. Sooo fuckin’ lonely. I want you, babe. I need you.”

“Eddie, this isn’t-“

“Shhh! Stop it. Stop tryin' ‘ta fight it. It’s pissin’ me off.”

“You’re the one who’s pissed off?” You scoff “You called me. With your bullshit. At two in the morning, might I add.”

“Yeah but you love my bullshit, baby. You looooove it. You put up with it s’well ‘cause you know that I make it worth your while.” He chuckles deeply.

“And how exactly do you make it ‘worth my while’?”

“Mmm….Cause I dick ya down so fuckin’ good that you always forget why you’re mad.” He flirts “S’why you lemme get away with s’much, right, sweetheart?”

“Edward Munson, I swear to god I’m hanging up now.”

“No you’re not. You’re not gonna hang up. I know you. Know you soooo well. Know what makes you weak.” He hums “Know what’s makes you tick. If you wanted to hang up, you woulda done it already. No, you don’t wanna hang up. You wanna listen to me as I tell you allll the dirty fuckin’ things that I’ve been thinkin’ about, baby. It’s been weeks. So much time for me ‘ta think. You wanna know a secret?” He laughs, coming out deep and mischievous.

You couldn’t help but be curious. “What?”

“You’re gonna hate me but I, uh, I still use those pictures of you. You know which ones I’m talkin’ about? The dirty ones?”

“Eddie!” You exclaim “You were supposed to throw those out!”

“Oops.” He laughs “Silly me. Silly, silly me. Must’a slipped m’mind, baby.”

“Yeah. Sure.” You huff.

“You wan’ ‘em, back?” He offers “I mean, because if you do, you’d have to come over’ta my place and come get ‘em.”

“Whatever, Munson. Keep them. I don’t even care.”

“That’s not true.” He tsks “You don’t mean that. You do care. As a matter of fact, I think you care soooo much. I think you secretly get off from knowin’ that your ex still needs to look at you ‘ta cum….and, baby, there’s soooo much cum. So, so much now that you’re not here to help me empty my fuckin’ load in you.”

Before you can stop yourself, you let out a desperate whimper. It was so quiet- hardly even there but you knew that it wouldn’t have slipped past Eddie.

God fucking dammit.

“Oh…” Eddie chuckles, low and deep in your ear as you squeeze your eyes closed. Fuck. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Fuck, I knew you would. Always looooved to see me suffer. Loved to hear me be fuckin’ needy for you. Well, baby, m’so…fuckin’…needy without you. Dunno whatta even do with myself. So lost without you, angel. You and that tight…wet…cunt of yours. Fuck. Miss my girl, baby. Miss you sooo much.”

"Eddie..."

"Tell me, sweetheart, do you miss me? Do you miss my cock? My big fucking cock stretching you open. Fuuuck, I bet you fucking do, baby. God, I miss you. My good girl. Used to be so good for me. Used to let me fuck you anytime I wanted it. Fuck, you were always so fucking horny for me. You still horny for me, baby? Hm? Tell me. Fucking tell me."

"Fuck...yes, Eddie. I...I'm still horny for you, okay? Is that what you wanted?"

"Mhm. Exactly what I wanted, baby, thank you." He hums appreciately.

"Fucking jackass..."

"Your jackass, baby. All yours. Never stopped being yours. Only wanna to be yours. Still want you to be mine. Want you back. Fuck, I need you back. Do I have to fucking beg, sweetheart? 'Cause I will. God, I need you back. Need you wrapped around me. That fucking pussy of yours....those lips. God, sweetheart, I'm so fucking gone for you and you don't even care."

"I do care, Eddie." You admit "I just-"

"You just want me to suffer. That's it, right? You wanna teach me a lesson. You wanna make sure that I know what life is like without you. Well, sweetheart, it fucking sucks, okay? So lets just fucking make up already so that I can fuck you stupid. Like you're mine again..."

"Never stopped being yours." You whimper, growing so wet at his words. His devotion.

"Yeah? Fuck, baby, I knew it. Knew you still loved me." He sighs longingly "Fuck, I need you right now, angel. Right fucking now. Are you home?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Don't go anywhere."

"Eddie, you can't fucking drive!" You exclaim "You're drunk. You're not thinking."

"No, baby. No, no, no. I'm thinking too much. About you. God, you're in my head. Need you so bad."

"Eddie, baby, you're drunk. How about you just sleep on it, okay? How-"

"Nope!" He interjects "Need my keys. Where are my fuckin' keys? Keys....keys, keys, keys....fucking keys! Gareth! What'd you do with my keys, you dickhead?"

"Eddie-"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck.....okay.....new plan. You, sweetheart, need to come to me. Yeah? How's that sound?"

"Eddie, maybe we should just wait it out. It's not-"

"Sweetheart, listen, I don't think you get me right now. I have been without you for over a month. I am literally dying here. I need your pussy. Desperately. I need relief. Sweet fucking relief. I need to fuck you. I need to fucking bend you over the nearest fucking surface and fuck all of the fucking cum that I have been fucking backed up with for weeks. All of it. Need'ta give it to you. Right fucking now. I need to fucking bury my dick in that tight....sweet...little pussy of yours. I don't care if it's the last thing I do. I don't care. I neeeeeed it."

"Fuck, Eddie..." You moan "You sound so hot when you say things like that...."

"Yeah? You think I'm hot when I say filthy shit like that, baby? 'Cause I'm about to be fucking gorgeous by the time I get over there. So, what's it gonna be? You gonna be a good girl and let me come fuck you? You gonna let me give you this hard fucking dick? Huh? Or are just going to play games?"

"Okay." You say.

"Okay?" He asks.

"Come over here and fuck me, Munson."

The line goes silent for a moment. So silent that you were worried that the call had dropped. Then you heard the most guttural, animalistic growl that you've ever heard come from him.

"Fuck, baby, Christ! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Don't fall asleep on me! I'll be there in fifteen minutes, sweetheart! I love you!"

The line immediately goes dead.

Well, you thought- staring at the phone in your hand before hanging it up.

So much for not folding.

────────

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[ratantics]

I needed to see this today.

[grimquil]

The Fire Lord’s court was in session, the grand hall filled with the low murmur of advisors and the steady, droning voice of the chamberlain.

It was one of the rare occasions you had agreed to sit beside Zuko during the proceedings — something he had quietly requested more than once. Now that you were here, positioned just to his right on the raised dais, Zuko found it nearly impossible to focus.

His golden eyes kept drifting sideways.You sat tall and composed in the formal robes he had commissioned for you, the deep crimson and gold complementing your frame perfectly.

Every small shift of your posture, the way your fingers rested on the arm of the chair, the subtle scent of your presence — it all pulled his attention like a magnet. The chamberlain’s words about trade routes and provincial taxes blurred into meaningless noise.

Zuko’s gaze lingered on the sharp line of your jaw, the way the light caught your cheekbones, the calm strength in your expression as you listened. He should have been paying attention. He knew he should.

But all he could think about was how devastatingly handsome his husband looked sitting beside him in the heart of the Fire Nation court.“—My Lord?” the chamberlain’s voice cut through the haze, expectant. “What are your thoughts on increasing the tariff on imported steel from the Earth Kingdom?”

Silence.The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.You turned your head slightly, catching Zuko staring directly at you instead of the chamberlain standing at the bottom of the dais.

His expression was soft, almost dazed, completely lost in thought about you.You discreetly elbowed him in the side.Zuko startled, blinking rapidly as reality crashed back in.

A faint flush crept up the scarred side of his face. He had been caught — blatantly, obviously caught — and the realization made his ears burn.He cleared his throat, shifting upright in his throne with as much regal composure as he could salvage.“My apologies, Chamberlain,” Zuko said, voice steady despite the slight roughness. “Please repeat the proposed tariff adjustment. I want the full details before rendering a decision.”

The chamberlain bowed slightly and continued, though a few curious glances were exchanged among the court officials. Zuko kept his gaze forward now, jaw tight, doing his best to look attentive.

But under the cover of the long formal robes, his hand slowly moved until it brushed against yours on the armrest. His fingers curled around yours, squeezing once — a silent apology, and a quiet admission all at once.Even as he forced himself to listen to the chamberlain, Zuko’s thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, his attention still fighting a losing battle between duty and the man sitting beside him.

He was hopeless.And he didn’t particularly mind.

[katsbooks24]

Valentine's Prank

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: When all the girls in Hawkins High decide to dress as their type for a day as a Valentine’s Day prank, Eddie Munson finds himself under the spotlight of attention: the jocks keep shaking their heads, their girlfriends giggling and the Hellfire members seeming to be even more in awe of him as usual, acting like he's some sort of a ‘Casanova’. What is happening and what does a girl from Eddie's biology class, dressed  suspiciously like him, have to do with it?

Eddie Munson did not have any game. That’s not to say he never dated - there was Layla, a girl from his primary school that used to give him her snacks during recess, and Simone, who in middle school drew him a cute valentine in a shape of an anatomically correct heart, and of course there was his pathetic crush on Chrissy that didn’t quite end up in a happy ever after. And there were also countless hookups with girls from bars in other towns Eddie liked to go to on the weekends. 

Eddie Munson knew how to flirt, but girls didn’t fall to their knees when he walked into a room like they did with Jason Carver.

So imagine his surprise when on the morning of February 14th, 1986, he waltzed into Hawkins High, chin up and another spiel about how forced conformity is killing the kids ready, only to be greeted with an array of giggles from the girlfriends of the jocks as they stood next to his locker, as their boyfriends just sighed and seemed more disgusted than angry at Eddie compared to their usual faces.

Eddie furrowed his brows as he slowly made a move towards the crowd as the bell signalling the beginning of the first period rang, causing pretty much everyone in the corridor to flinch and quickly pace to their designated classes.

The next surprise appeared as Dustin, quickly jogging through the corridor, had slapped Eddie's shoulder, screaming into his ear like they were at a concert:

'Eddie, how could you not tell me you actually had game, man?! Way to go though!'

Whatever that spectacle was, Eddie figured it was another one of the kid's antics and he'll just ask him at lunch, hopefully by then figuring out the reason behind the increased public attention towards him.

As he pushed his belongings into the metal structure, Eddie quietly groaned under his breath as he realised his first lesson of the day was bio in Mr.Jenkins' class. The man was ancient and every time he moved, the whole class held their breath as they practically felt the screeching of his bones. Every year added the teacher's age seemed to only fuel his passionate hatred towards teenagers, Eddie himself very much included. It seemed like for every rind or chain he had, another ton of loathing was added in Mr.Jenkins' eyes. No matter, Eddie desperately hoped that as it was Valentine's Day after all, then maybe some poor soul is spending it with the man and his mood will be better at least today? Eddie hoped so because today was the lesson when they were being divided into paired projects and he would really like to not have another jock as his partner.

As Eddie stormed into the classroom few minutes after the bell rung, he was expecting to be met with countless annoyed and exasperated stares of both his classmates and Mr.Jenkins himself, as usual. While the latter remained true to his expectations, the class burst into an array of laughs and giggles as none of the students seemed to even attempt to cover up their joy. This wasn't quite the reaction Eddie was expecting, so at his puzzled expression Mr.Jenkins huffed and motioned towards the back of the room:

'As you've decided that being on time for your lesson is apparently optional, Munson, the pairs have already been assigned. So for the love of god, tame your speeches and just sit with your partner in the back row, will you?'

Eddie grinned widely as he listened to the lecture, bowing theatrically by the end and proceeding to make a move towards where the girl sat. As he kept moving through the class, he couldn't help but notice the increased attention to his persona - the girls a row in front of him kept coughing in an attempt to hide their laughs.

As he finally reached the back of the classroom, you could hear a pin drop as Eddie's eyes found his supposed partner for the next few weeks. He didn't pay much attention to her before - a classic quiet girl that he didn't hear talking once. Sure she was pretty, but it's not like she would like the Freak of Hawkins High, so why burden himself with a hopeless crush?

But this time, as Eddie raked his eyes down her body, he found himself starting to smirk as he took notice of the old worn-down Metallica t-shirt, black ripped jeans and a variety of silver rings and necklaces covering her skin. She seemed as equally surprised as she stared at him like a deer in headlights as he took his seat next to her.

Now, Eddie Munson wasn't stupid. He heard something about some girls planning to dress as their boyfriends or crushes on Valentine's Day as a cute gesture, but he just figured that this had nothing to do with him; at the end of the day it's not like he was wildly popular amongst the female population of Hawkins. So as he felt the puzzle pieces click into their places in his brain as he connected the event with the unusual outfit, Eddie knew he had to say something to his apparently very brave project partner - it's not every day you see someone dressing up as the public outcast without fear of rumours or bullying.

Eddie slowly, as if moving not to spook a frightened animal, leaned towards her:

'Not that this isn't the best thing I've seen in a while, but you do know that you didn't have to dress up as me just to get my attention, sweetheart?'

The pet name seemed to melt the girl's nerves away as she lowered her gaze and softly whispered as to not bring even more attention to the pair:

'I didn't have any other ideas so I figured I'd just take my chances now, you know? I thought you were really cool and wasn't sure how to show it'

Eddie felt his heart rate pick up at her sweet words, leaning even closer towards the girl, slowly moving a stray strand of her hair from her face, eliciting a small gasp from her:

'Well, I definitely appreciate the gesture, honey, so how about you let me thank you properly, huh? I'd love to take you out, sweet'

And as the pretty girl in front of him quickly nodded, Eddie felt a spark of interest begin to appear; he didn't quite expect this from Valentine's Day, but he definitely wasn't going to complain.

[fireladylisa]

art by benzoine on tiktok

public sex with zuko ends with a fire, thank god his wife is a water bender!

wc: 1k

was craving obsessed zuko but what's new | zuko masterlist | main masterlist

‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤঌ

Zuko was obsessed with his wife in a way that concerned everyone around him, even the same advisors who all but demanded he marry you since you were the only women he ever gave his attention to, ignoring his concubines that had been carefully hand picked for him. 

So he did, literally one week later. The ceremony was small of course, just something sweet between the two of you and a few months later came the actual event. When you protested, stating it wasn’t necessary, the manchild you married crossed his arms and told you that you were a beautiful fool and of course he was going to take any chance he could to show you off.

He married the hottest woman in the known and unknown world and everyone needed to know that, just like everyone needed to hear him fuck you into a stupor night and day. The servants gossiped, your face would heat up in embarrassment and Zuko would grin with pride, telling you there was honor in your husband being so attracted to you that he could hardly go a few hours without being inside of you.

It’s not that you didn’t like it! You were on Zuko just as much as he was on you, leaving reminders on his neck and back of just how good he made you feel. Only you grew worried when he started neglecting his friends, claiming he was still in his honeymoon phase a year after your wedding and it was just too bad they’d have to wait until it was over. 

When you’d finally convinced him to join his friends on a simple mission that would take less than two days, he made sure to let you know he’d be thinking of you the entire time. However when he returned a day late, he was absolutely furious as he kissed down your neck and stripped you of your robes. Ranting about how he’d nearly gotten into a scuffle with Sokka, who suggested time away from the fire nation was healthy but Zuko of course, took it as “time away from your wife is healthy” which couldn’t be further from the truth. 

As far as Zuko saw it, he was healthiest when he was with you and Sokka was an idiot. 

So to say he was annoyed when you surprised him with a trip to each nation with his friends, just an opportunity to bond with people you knew he loved, would be under-putting it. He instantly rejected the idea, claiming he was needed here by your side. 

“No.”

You laughed at his tantrum and stood on your toes to kiss his lips before whispering in his ear. “What if I came with you?” 

Needless to say, you were both currently in the outskirts of the earth kingdom, giggling like children as Zuko pulled you toward the woods, the only light coming from the moon. The trip had only just started two days ago but Zuko hadn’t had a moment alone with you since you left your kingdom, and he was growing desperate for a release. 

Which is why as soon as he could, he was dragging you to a private area and bending you over behind a tree, his cock pounding into you so sweetly that you were seeing stars, your pants and panties dropped to your ankles.  

“Not too loud, don’t wanna get caught right?” He laughed at your attempt to hold onto the tree and cover your mouth at the same time, even though he had to fight back several moans himself. This was so fucking filthy, Zuko would never fuck you outside in normal circumstances but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

The way your pussy was dragging across his cock had your husband shaking with his impending orgasm. You were only going at it for five minutes but you had already come once and was nearly at your second climax and the world was spinning. 

“Harder, fuck me harder!” You cried out, throwing your hips back against him and he was grunting like an animal as he gripped your hips tighter and started pounding into you at a speed that sent you over the edge. 

“That’s it, love. You're doing so beautifully, such a good girl. Fuck, I love you.” You bit into your fist as your pussy contracted, squirting your juices all over Zuko and the ground. The feeling of his hands growing hot, his breath picking up and hips slamming sloppily into you, dragging it out just a few seconds longer. 

“Fuck!” He cried out, loud enough that you heard his friends start to jump up asking what’s wrong.

 Zuko was so gone he didn’t even realize, too busy shooting a fat load into his wife’s tight pussy, head thrown back and mouth open as he accidentally breathed fire. It was too much, cum spilling out and down your thighs. Zuko pulled you tight against him, hips twitching as he emptied the last of his load into you, grinding deep until there was nothing left. 

“ZUKO THE TREE!” You yelp as you both fix yourselves, ignoring his friends running over and opening the water vial on your neck. You immediately manipulated it, expanding it and throwing it against the growing fire, cursing before pulling enough water vapor from the muggy air. You didn’t stop until you were sure it wouldn’t start up again. 

When you were done you glared at your husband but he was already smiling sheepishly past you, rubbing the back of his neck before pulling you over and fixing your fallen tunic sleeve. When you turned, a few burnt leaves fell in your view until they passed and revealed a few very pissed off faces. 

“Fucking seriously guys?!” Sokka screeched. 

The next day, Zuko was content as ever, making sure to tell his friends just how much he appreciated them and thanking them for taking him in when they didn’t have to. He even softened up enough to admit he might love them and view them as a part of his family. No one mentioned of course, that the only reason he was saying this was because you were by his side, but the looks they gave each other said more than enough. 

Zuko was totally whipped for his hot water bending wife.

‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤঌ

note: guys i haven't written for zuko in five days and i was lowkey tweaking tbh, had to cook up something real quick!

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[gem-writes]

What’s Mine is Yours

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: If there was anything that your boyfriend loved, it was fucking you while you wore his t-shirts.

Content Warning: 18+ smut, penetration (p in v), dirty talk, suggestive language, softdom!Eddie, swearing, sexual/suggestive language

────────

It took a while for Eddie to notice that his t-shirts were going missing. He couldn’t understand why his favorite Judas Priest shirt hadn’t resurfaced after weeks of searching or where his Metallica tank top had disappeared to. It was like his personal wardrobe was dwindling down to nothing. After a month of this, he finally found the culprit- you.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so hot.” He pants as he drives his hips into you, causing your back to arch off the mattress. It had been going on like this for at least an hour- after you had opened the front door of your apartment to let your boyfriend in. When he laid his eyes on you wearing only a pair of black panties and his Iron Maiden t-shirt, he couldn’t help himself. He had you pinned against your mattress in less than five minutes flat.

“Fuck, Eddie.” You whine, your arms grasping onto his biceps as he snapped his hips into your wet core- fucking you hard enough to make it difficult for you to walk tomorrow.

“Yeah, baby?” He whispers “That feel good?”

“So good, Eds.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, you look so good.” He moans, pulling away a bit to stare down at your hardened nipples poking through the fabric of his shirt. He pinches a part of the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, admiring.

“Tell me again,” He breathes “Who does this belong to?”

He was asserting dominance and you loved it. You loved when your boyfriend put you in your place in the bedroom. Especially when he was so sweet to you any other time.

“Yours, Eddie.” You squeak as he hits a particular spot inside of you that had you seeing stars “It’s y-yours.”

“Damn right.” He says, grabbing your legs to hitch them over his shoulders to fuck you at a whole new angle.

“Oh shit! Holy fuck!” You scream out as Eddie smiles down at you cockily.

“You know, sweetheart, I usually don’t like to share but I’ll make an exception just for you. Because you look so damn cute. How does that sound? What’s mine is yours.” He smirks seductively.

“F-fuck!” You stammer, taking Eddie’s hard cock as he thrusts into you with fervor.

“Isn’t that right, baby? Hm? What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine? Isn’t that what they say?”

You were too cock drunk and stupid to respond with more than desperate nods.

“Good.” Eddie purrs “Guess that means this pussy is mine, right?”

────────

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[silentscionparallax]

Making out with Miguel O'Hara

The soft hum of the Alchemax laboratory always felt like a shield from the chaotic neon streets of Nueva York. For months, you worked as Miguel O'Hara’s primary research assistant, completely oblivious to the fact that his intense, brooding gaze followed you every time you turned your back.

To you, Miguel was just your brilliant, fiercely protective boss who happened to be the Spider-Man of 2099. You knew he was a man of few words, driven by duty and a heavy past. What you did not know was that your presence had become the only anchor keeping him grounded.

The realization hit you on a rainy Tuesday evening. You were leaning over a holographic console, analyzing a glitching dimensional portal. Your hair was a mess, and empty caffeine cups littered your desk.

"You need to go home," Miguel’s deep voice rumbled from the shadows of the

catwalk above.

"Just five more minutes, Miguel," you mumbled, not looking up. "If I can stabilize this matrix, you won't have to risk your life tracking anomalies tomorrow."

Suddenly, the air pressure in the room changed. You looked up to find Miguel standing right beside your desk. He hadn't used his suit, but his massive frame still towered over you. His sharp features were tense, and his dark eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"I don't care about the matrix," Miguel said, his voice unusually raw.

"What?" You blinked, confused. "But you said this was top priority—"

"You are the priority," he interrupted, stepping closer. The distance between you dissolved. He reached out, his large, clawed hand hovering near your face before his fingers gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was incredibly light, a stark contrast to his overwhelming strength.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Miguel... I don't understand."

Miguel let out a low, defeated sigh, his shoulders dropping slightly. For the first time, the imposing Spider-Man looked entirely vulnerable.

"Of course you don't," he muttered, a faint, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. "I’ve spent months fixing anomalies across the multiverse, yet I can't even manage the one right in front of me. I am in love with you. I have been for a very long time."

The laboratory fell dead silent. You stared at him, your mind racing to recontextualize every late-night coffee he bought you, every time he insisted on walking you home, and the fierce way he shielded you whenever danger breached the lab. It hadn't been professional courtesy. It was him, desperately trying to show you what he couldn't bring himself to say.

"Miguel..." you whispered, the realization finally washing over you.

He started to step back, misinterpreting your shock. "Forget I said anything. It’s a distraction you don't need."

Before he could retreat into the shadows, you reached out and caught his wrist. His skin was warm, and you could feel the rapid pulse beneath his veins.

"Don't go," you said softly, looking up into his eyes. "I just need a moment to catch up to you."

A look of profound relief broke through Miguel's usual stoic expression. He turned his hand over, tangling his fingers with yours, pulling you just a fraction closer into his space.

The sudden warmth of Miguel’s hand in yours was the only invitation you needed.

You pulled him down by his collar, closing the remaining distance between you. Miguel gasped slightly against your lips, his stoic composure shattering instantly. The shock lasted only a fraction of a second before his instincts took over, and his grip on your waist tightened, lifting you slightly so you were flush against his massive frame.

The kiss was intense, fueled by months of his unspoken longing and your sudden, overwhelming realization. His lips were soft but demanding, parting yours with a low, desperate growl that vibrated against your chest. His large, clawed hands—always so careful around you—cupped your face, his thumbs wiping across your cheekbones with surprising gentleness.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in his thick, dark hair. The sterile, metallic smell of the Alchemax lab faded, replaced entirely by the scent of rain and leather that always followed him.

Miguel pressed you back against the edge of the holographic console. The digital blueprints flickered and beeped in protest as your hand accidentally brushed the controls, but neither of you cared. He leaned into you, his weight grounding you, kissing you as if you were the only solid thing left in a crumbling multiverse.

When he finally broke the kiss for air, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was heavy, and his dark eyes were wide, looking at you with a mixture of disbelief and fierce adoration.

"I am never letting you go," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, his hands still anchored firmly on your hips.

Before you could answer, a bright yellow light flashed in the corner of the lab.

"Wow. Okay. I did not have this on my 2096 bingo card," LYLA’s holographic form materialized on the desk right next to you, wearing giant sunglasses and holding a tiny digital box of popcorn. "Should I reschedule your 9:00 PM brooding session, Boss?"

Miguel didn't break eye contact with you, but a muscle twitched in his jaw. "LYLA. Leave."

[swaniette]

𝓪cross 𝓯or 𝓬omfort ✩ miguel o'hara

♡┆ summary: when he feels that the weight of the world is crushing him, miguel can only think of one person he can go to and unravel his biggest fears. he'd go to you even though you are far away from across the multiverse. ♡┆ pairing: spiderman 2099! miguel o'hara x civilian! reader ♡┆ themes/tropes: hurt/comfort

♡┆a repost of an old work.

miguel knew that he divided the spider society the moment he let everyone know that they would not stop until miles morales was brought back to him.

anger coursed through his veins when the young spider-man managed to slip through his fingers and escape from the society again. he’s been defeated by a sixteen year old boy, who only had a year experience as a vigilante, who didn’t know much about the big sacrifices all spider-heroes had to make. and yet, he managed to draw everyone out of headquarters so that he can escape where no one can find him.

but miguel will make sure that miles is found, even if he has to take drastic measures in order to protect the multiverse.

the boy wasn’t supposed to be spider-man , and yet miles managed to outsmart him single-handedly. outsmarted himself , spider-man 2099. who has been protecting the multiverse for years with more experiences compared to the young hero. who has never seen how fragile the universe is. who made one mistake that caused the ruins of other people’s lives, wiping their existences off the arachnid humanoid poly multiverse (yes, that name does sound a little far-fetched, but he will always refer to the multiverse as that). miles morales reminds him of himself, and miguel hates it . the one who thought that he can have the best of both worlds; saving lives and having the people close to them alive.

i thought we were supposed to be the good guys?

we are , he told gwen. they still protect the multiverse, saving people’s lives. he was keeping the universe together. and yet, he couldn’t get her words out of his head that echoed in the back of his mind. miguel knows that the weight of his words and actions have divided the society, but what was he supposed to do when he tried to explain the situation to miles calmly and it didn’t work out? and the possibility of another multiverse wiping off its existence can happen again?

miles morales reminds him of himself , believing that spider-man can have everything in his life. the reality of it is that they can’t . no matter how hard he tried and the consequences led to severe destruction because of him— it was selfish of miguel to think he could have it all .

miguel sneers when a couple of the spider-heroes give their updates that they couldn’t find miles morales in the universe they’re assigned to. his fangs bare under his mask, the tone of his voice edge command and hint of desperation as he commands the heroes to continue their search on the young vigilante. the multiverse is large and he knew that miles could be anywhere. but the boy wouldn’t be able to hide and escape away from him for too long. miguel knows that—he’ll make sure to find miles morales and confinement will have to be done.

setting up coordinates to a certain dimension, he strode into the wormhole and reappeared at the end of the time tunnel. the rain has stopped and he’s greeted to a new environment. it was pitch black, quiet and the full moon brightens up the dark canvas of the skies. feeling the serenity in the air, calmness begins to settle in him, something that he hasn’t felt in a long time. he scouted the multiverse, taking notes of which universes he visited so that he could look for miles. earth-223 is no different; his mission is still to catch the young boy. but a thought crosses his mind when he comes to this universe, and his heart starts to race a little faster.

miguel hasn’t visited earth-223 in a while and his stomach curls as he overlooks a part of the city. he glances down at his gizmo and as he suspected, there are no energy levels of anomalies on earth-223. he has a job to do—to protect the multiverse—but at that moment, his mind is drawn to one thing that he’s been hoping to do since his arrival.

he moves and swings swiftly from one place to another, going to a place that he had in mind. with one last jump, miguel lands on top of a roof building perfectly, landing on his feet and rising up to stand. he overlooks a particular street apartment that he’s been looking for. his eyes look down at the street and observe the citizens that walk past by. miguel knows that he shouldn’t be doing this but a part of him couldn’t help himself to go along with the plan. to find someone from this universe that he knows well.

and within his view, there you were. walking down the streets of where your apartment complex is. seeing how late it is at night, you must have just got off work, ready to return back to your home. he watches as you approach the apartment’s main entrance, taking out your keys and watching you enter the building.

miguel lets out a breath that he didn’t realise that he was holding back. you live on the fifth floor of the building and he contemplates on if he should do what he’s been wanting to do with you. in the apartment, he has a hunch that you’re walking up the stairs to your flat. it should take less than five minutes at least and his mind races as he debates on whether he should take the leap or not.

“lyla,” miguel speaks up. “call them.”

“a-are... are you sure you want to do that?” lyla questions. you should be on the way up to your place, maybe walking down the corridor as you prepare to get your keys out to get inside. he knows your routine like the back of his hand.

“just do it,” his voice firms. “call them.”

lyla doesn’t argue and she tells him that she’s connecting his earpiece to your phone number. through the window of your apartment complex, he can see that the front door unlocks and opens. you step in, put down your bag and take off your coat to hang it up. miguel sees that you stop midway and your hands pat down to your side pockets. he knows that his call is ringing on your phone because a smile appeared on your face despite how tired your day must have been. “hey,”

“hey,” miguel responds back. he notices you move around in your apartment, going to the kitchen. your voice speaks to him on your end of the line, asking about what he has been up to with that calm and cheerful tone of yours. he keeps it brief about his day because he would rather hear about yours, than to remember the crisis he is currently facing. the mask on him disappears away as miguel listens to you. his free hand rubs against the pad of his fingers together, sometimes running through his dark brown hair. his eyes never leave your sight as he sees you walking around in your kitchen, listening to you talk his ear off that he welcomes deeply.

“when are you ever going to stop calling me that?” miguel half jokes. the corner of his mouth curves up into a half smile. though his words come across displeasure, his heart races at the nickname you made. please never stop calling me that. “ miguelito? really?”

“well, you never complain.” you tease back. there’s a moment of pause before he hears you speak up again. “hey, i can tell something is bothering you. you okay?”

miguel realises that he can never escape from your skepticalism, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. you’re the only civilian who knows about his identity and what he does, even if he isn’t the spider-man from your earth. he knows better than to let anyone in but when it comes to you, he couldn’t stay away. drawn to you like a moth to flame. maybe in truth, the reason he is on your earth is not to find miles morales. but rather, to look for you .

“i don’t know if what i did was the right thing to do.” miguel’s voice wavers.

quietness settles between the two of you, and he allows himself to lower his guard down as his voice guides him. “i know that i have to be the one to do it. but i just… don’t know where i am going with this. i thought i knew what it takes to carry this burden.”

miguel sighs, the weight of his thoughts and words prior tightens in his chest. he finds it a struggle to downright say that he wants to express at times. he stayed silent and exhaled out slowly, his chest deflated. miguel’s eyes clock on your figure by the window and though he could only see a side profile of you, he catches a small glimpse of you quietly as well. not long after, you speak up. “i’m really sorry that you’re having a rough time.”

“i feel that i did this to myself. always so… rigid.” a solemn expression etched on his face.

“true but you have gone through a lot.”

“there’s this new kid who isn’t like the rest. different. which worries me.” miguel begins. “i told him about the predicament of the future of all spider-man—that we will all lose someone close to us. and, miles wouldn’t accept that.”

“i see.” you say. “who is he predicted to lose?”

“his father, a captain.” miguel says. “miles is trying to change the future and i can’t let that happen.” his voice sterns for a brief moment. “or else he’s making the same mistake as i did. have the same guilt that i carry.”

the invisible weight he feels in his mind and chest lightens somehow when he tells you what’s going on. you’re quiet when he’s done talking and there’s a moment of pause lingering between you two.

“i don’t really know much about the effects of messing up timelines,” you say. “but from an outsider’s perspective, it seems that miles would go against the predicted fates because he would rather give all he’s got than do nothing. even if he’d get hurt by messing up the timeline, i think miles would be even more hurt and guilt-ridden if he didn’t give it a try for himself to save someone.”

miguel stays quiet. there is something in your words that reaches him, anchoring him to see things differently. you’ve always been good at putting things into a different perspective.

“i know you care for the kid, miggy.” you continue. “even though you have an odd way of demonstrating that.”

he could imagine the corner of your mouth curving up into a smile as you chuckle softly at your end of the line. and he does the same; cracking a smile on his face for once since the mess of the spider society everything happened. miguel allows himself to venture with the idea of a peaceful life with you; a life where he would return home to you on his good and bad days, and you would be the one he is excited to come home to. he wants to be comforted by you. to hold you in his arms, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

he wishes he could just be with you. to him, you are his world. but he knows that you’re only a tiny fraction of this multiverse he swore to protect, even if it means keeping his distance away from you.

“miguel? are you still there?” your voice speaks through the earpiece.

he cleared his throat, breaking away his thoughts of a life he knew that he couldn’t really have. “yeah, i’m here.”

“thought i lost you for a moment, there,” you say. miguel sees you moving around in your living room and settles to sit in the middle of your sofa. you cross your legs in a lotus position and he couldn’t help but watch you, feeling himself strained to stop the smile from forming. but he couldn’t help it, not when you look so carefree and safe.

“anyways, are you free to swing by? i made an extra batch of food to share.” you said. “feel like i cooked a bit too much this time.”

“not this time i’m afraid.” miguel says. “work’s getting intense.”

“that’s a shame,” you tell him. “well, i don’t know where you are but that doesn’t mean you can’t escape from me telling you off. and to remind you to look after yourself.” he sees you stuff a spoonful of food into your mouth. he gives you a moment to eat but still manages to talk to him. “or else who am i going to ramble someone’s ear off but yours?”

you are what he is protecting, and he’ll do anything to make sure the world you’re in is safe.

© swaniette. more content can me found on my blog.

[blvdblues]

Statistically Significant!

Pairing: Johnny Storm x scientist!reader

Summary: On a random Tuesday, Johnny takes a compatibility test designed by Reed and his childhood best friend (who is also his longtime crush). He only did it to annoy Reed, but he wasn’t aware that he’d get a horrifying score of 98.9% on his compatibility with said childhood friend.

This makes Johnny determined to make a move on her once and for all, and nothing won’t stop him. Absolutely nothing. Except the fact that she’s currently dead set on being immune to his advances.

Oh well, guess he just has to try harder.

Word count: 10,7k

Tags: Childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, it's literally only fluff i don't know what to tell you, idiots in love, but mostly idiot!Johnny, desperate!Johnny, slight jealousy, no use of y/n

a/n: honestly i didn't end up liking this as much as i thought i would towards the end but i was in too deep to actually do anything about it. well, i hope anyone who's reading this enjoys it anyway!

It all started with a stupid machine that was never even supposed to tell Johnny Storm that he needed to date you. Before this, he was perfectly content with being your number one best friend since childhood, doing all sorts of things with you while admiring you in a different light from afar—okay, maybe he wasn’t really content with that, but at least he could pretend that he was!

You met Johnny Storm at the tender age of six, when he was just a tiny blond boy with a stupid-looking bowl cut on him that you never fail to make fun of till this day. He really did look ridiculous. It was a bright, sunny day when you first saw him in the local neighborhood park, and you approached him because you were jealous that he had a cool rocketship plushie held in his hands. Ever since then, you clicked instantly, becoming the bestest of friends. If you ask Sue, she would say that Johnny had always liked you since you were both kids. Maybe it was a puppy crush, maybe it was real love, but either way, she’d recognize the sparkle in her brother’s eyes whenever you were there with him. Something that never seemed to dim after all these years either.

Unfortunately, after their mother passed, they had to move away, and you never saw them ever since. 

Almost twenty years later, here you are, an aspiring biologist, being personally called in to work in the Baxter Building by Reed Richards himself. It took a good year to readjust to your current work environment, but it has been worth it. Especially being able to reconnect with the Storm siblings once again.

“Your design model is still compensating too aggressively during high-stress simulations”, you mutter, scrolling through the latest batch of data projected across the holographic screen in front of you. “See? It spikes here.”

Reed adjusts his glasses, eyes narrowing thoughtfully at the graph. “Hm. you’re right. The emotional variance threshold is overcorrecting.”

“Which means the system’s still prioritizing instinct over learned behavioral patterns.” You sigh.

“It’s a prototype,” Reed says simply.

You let out a snort. “That’s basically saying ‘it barely works.’”

“It works enough.” You can see Reed’s lips quirk up a bit.

The machine sitting in the middle of the lab says otherwise. The Synchronization Index prototype, or as you call it, the compatibility testing machine, looked less like revolutionary technology and more like someone had combined an MRI scanner together with a gaming console. After close to four months of development (even with Reed’s brains), the project was still deeply unfinished. 

The original purpose had been simple enough: improve the team’s coordination during missions by analyzing behavioral compatibility and predictive patterns under stress. The deal was also simple. Reed handles all the computational side of things while you focused on the neurological aspects of it.

Johnny, naturally, called it a soulmate machine.

“It’s not a soulmate machine,” you had told him at least four times this week alone.

The lab doors slid open before Reed could respond, followed immediately by the familiar sound of someone humming dramatically off-key. Johnny strolls into the lab.

“There you are, Stretch,” he says, pointing accusingly at Reed. “I’ve been looking for—”

He stops mid-sentence.

Slowly, his gaze drifts toward the machine in the center of the room. Then toward the holographic screens floating overhead. Then towards you.

“Oh my god,” Johnny breathes. “You finally built the soulmate machine.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, but Reed answers before you can. “It measures adaptive synchronization and predictive behavioral compatibility.”

Johnny stares at him blankly.

“So,” he says carefully, “the soulmate machine.”

“It is not—”

“The soulmate machine,” Johnny repeats firmly.

You cross your arms. “Why are you even here?”

“Doesn’t matter now, it can wait. I’m more interested in this.” Johnny immediately drops into the chair connected to the machine. “Test me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s unfinished.”

“That’s never stopped any of you before.” He’s unfortunately correct.

Johnny leans back further into the chair with the confidence of a man who has never once feared consequences in his entire life. “C’mon. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

Both you and Reed look at each other, then at him.

Johnny points between the two of you. “Wow. Okay. Little concerning that you both did that.”

Reed steps toward the console, thoughtful. “Actually, this could be useful.”

You blink. “Reed.”

“We need additional live-response data.”

“With Johnny?”

Johnny gasps dramatically. “I’m an excellent test subject.” 

You sigh, then look at the clock. 3:52 PM. “Well, I have a meeting with the higher-ups from my department.” You look at Reed. “Do what you gotta do, the ball’s in your court now.”

You give a small wave goodbye to Johnny, taking off your lab coat and walking out of the lab. 

The second the lab doors slide shut behind you, Johnny swivels lazily in the chair to look at Reed.

“So,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head, “how exactly does the soulmate machine work?”

“It is not a soulmate machine.”

Johnny points at him. “You saying that only makes it sound more like a soulmate machine.”

Reed sighs softly, then gestures toward the neural monitors attached to the chair. “The system analyzes how effectively two individuals function together under varying conditions.”

Johnny grins. “So basically, which of the team I’d survive a road trip with.”

Ignoring him, Reed scans through the available baseline profiles, though most of them are incomplete. Then he pauses. “Hm.”

Johnny immediately narrows his eyes. “That ‘hm’ never means anything good.”

Reed taps something on the console. “You require a baseline comparison subject.”

“Okay?”

Your name sits at the top of the compatibility database, and Johnny straightens in the chair almost immediately. “Oh.”

“The two of you possess nearly two decades worth of history,” Reed explains. “The system also has extensive conversational and behavioral references involving both of you.”

Johnny tries very hard to act normal about that information, but of course he fails immediately.

“Aww,” he says weakly. “We’re scientifically best friends.”

Reed continues typing. “Additionally, your stress-response stabilization patterns consistently improve in her proximity.” 

“Reed.”

“And according to mission analysis, you subconsciously prioritize her positioning during emergency scenarios.”

“Reed.”

“In theory, she is the ideal baseline candidate.”

Johnny stares blankly at the screen for several long seconds.

Then, “…Huh.”

Reed looks at him. “Anything wrong?”

“Nope.” Johnny clears his throat. “No problem. Totally normal amount of information to learn about yourself on a random Tuesday. I’m down, let’s do this.”

Reed presses the final command anyway and the machine hums to life. Blue light flickers across the monitors as the sensors attached to Johnny’s temples begin scanning neural activity. A holographic screen expands overhead, rapidly cycling through data points.

Johnny watches the loading bar with mild suspicion.

“So what happens if the results suck?”

“They likely won’t.”

“Wow,” Johnny says dryly. “Your confidence in me is inspiring.”

“You misunderstand. The system favors familiarity.”

Johnny opens his mouth to respond, but the machine suddenly lets out a sharp chime.

Processing Complete. The holographic display shifts, then, a percentage flashes onto the center screen.

98.9%

The room goes completely silent.

“The previous highest recorded compatibility score,” Reed says slowly, “was ninety-one percent.”

Johnny tears his eyes away from the screen. “And mine is—”

“Ninety-eight point nine.”

“…That feels illegal somehow.”

Reed steps closer to the display, studying the rapidly expanding analysis graphs now populating the screen.

“Fascinating. This level of compatibility is statistically abnormal.”

Johnny’s eyes widened. Statistically abnormal. With you. His brain suddenly begins replaying every interaction he’s had with you over the past year at lightning speed.

The way you automatically know what he needs before he asks for them, the way you know exactly what his different silences mean, the way he always looks for you first whenever he walks into a room, the way being around you somehow makes everything feel—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Johnny slowly sits upright in the chair.

Reed glances at him briefly. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Johnny says immediately.

Reed pauses, and Johnny points dramatically toward the glowing percentage still floating on the screen. “I need to date her.”

“…What?”

“I need to date her,” Johnny repeats, now sounding genuinely alarmed by the realization. “Like, immediately.”

Reed blinks once. “You arrived at that conclusion very quickly.”

“Reed, the science literally said we’re soulmates.”

“It did not say that.”

“It basically did.”

“The machine measures adaptive synchronization.”

Johnny lets out a short laugh. Not because anything’s funny, but mostly because he suddenly feels a little insane.

Of course it’s you.

Of course.

The girl he’s been stupidly in love with since he was young apparently turns out to be his cosmic statistical anomaly too. That honestly tracks. Johnny drags a hand down his face. “You have gotta be kidding me.”

Reed glances up briefly. “Is something wrong?”

“Reed,” Johnny says slowly, “this machine just told me I’ve been wasting my own time for years.”

“That is not what it—”

“Ninety-eight point nine percent,” Johnny repeats. “Do you understand how bad that is for me emotionally?”

Reed considers this. “I don’t think the results are inherently negative.”

“No, see, that’s because you’re happily married.”

Johnny stands abruptly from the chair and starts pacing. He looks at Reed with newfound determination. “I know what I have to do now!” And before Reed could respond, he rushed out of the lab, into the elevator.

The kitchen was quiet and peaceful before Johnny speed-walks inside, tripping over the stairs on his way in. “Ben,” he says urgently.

Ben is halfway through making dinner, and he doesn’t even look up from the stove when Johnny walks in. “You blow somethin’ up?”

“No.”

Ben looks up at Johnny, raising a rocky eyebrow in question. Johnny looks deeply distressed, and he notices this, so he turns the heat down slightly. “Alright. What happened?”

Johnny runs both hands through his hair before pointing accusingly into the air like the compatibility machine personally offended him. He then says your name.

“The stupid compatibility machine thing said me and her are ninety-eight point nine percent compatible.”

Ben blinks once then goes back to stirring the pasta sauce.

“…That all?”

Johnny stares at him. “What do you mean ‘that all’?”

“I mean,” Ben shrugs, “sounds about right.”

“What?”

Ben finally looks at him properly now, expression somewhere between amused and exhausted. “Dude, you’ve been in love with her since before your voice dropped.”

“I have not.” He’s not that obvious, is he? Ben gives him a look, and Johnny immediately folds.

“Okay, fine,” he mutters. “Maybe a little.”

“A little,” Ben repeats flatly.

For a moment, the kitchen falls quiet except for the sound of simmering sauce and Johnny aggressively rethinking the last ten years of his life. Then,

“What do I do?”

Ben blinks. “About what?”

Johnny gestures wildly. “About her!”

Ben stares at him. “…You ask her out.”

Johnny looks bored. “That’s your advice? I was expecting more.”

“That’s usually how datin’ works, yeah.”

“No, but what if she thinks I’m joking?”

Ben’s expression shifts slightly.

Ah, there it is.

Johnny slumps further against the counter now, suddenly looking far less dramatic and far more nervous than before. “I mean, c’mon, Ben,” he says quieter. “Look at me.”

Ben’s lips quirk up a bit. “Unfortunately, I am.”

Johnny lets out a frustrated breath, dragging both hands down his face. “I mean, seriously, Ben. Why would she take me seriously?” He gestures vaguely toward himself. “I’m me.”

Ben snorts. “Yeah. Tragic condition.”

“Hey, I’m serious.” Johnny can’t help it, his lips pull down to a frown.

“I know.”

Johnny leans back against the counter, arms crossed tightly now. “She’s smart. Like, terrifyingly smart. She overthinks everything.” A pause. “What if she thinks I’m just someone who dates for fun and I’m not… serious enough for her?”

Johnny stares down at the countertop as he keeps talking, words coming easier now that he’s started. “I mean, I’ve never exactly given off ‘stable long-term investment’ vibes.” He laughs weakly. “Half the city thinks I’m emotionally allergic to commitment.”

Ben pulls the garlic bread out of the oven before finally speaking.

“Johnny.”

Johnny looks up, seeing Ben setting the tray down carefully. “You know why this is different?”

Johnny shrugs helplessly.

“Because you’re scared.”

Johnny blinks, Ben points at him with the giant oven mitt. “You don’t get scared about girls.”

“That is wildly untrue.”

“No,” Ben says. “You get nervous sometimes. You get awkward sometimes. But scared?” He shakes his head. “Not like this.”

Johnny doesn’t answer because unfortunately, Ben’s right. He leans back against the counter across from Johnny. “You’ve liked her for so long you forgot there was ever a version of your life without her in it.”

“And if she matters that much to you,” Ben continues, “then act like it.”

Johnny lets out a slow breath. “…How?”

Ben gives him an incredulous look. “By bein’ honest.”

Johnny immediately grimaces. “Again with this terrible advice.”

Ben laughs. “I’m serious.”

“I know, that’s why it’s terrible.”

Ben shakes his head fondly before saying, more gently this time. “If she thinks this is just another thing for you, then you prove it ain’t.”

Johnny takes a few seconds to internalize everything that Ben has said, but then, they both hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. It was Sue, standing there with her cup of tea, giving them both an impressed smile. 

“Aw, you’re finally growing up.” She nods to Johnny. Johnny gives her an unimpressed scowl.

That night, Johnny starts to conjure up every plan that would finally make you realize that he was in love with you.

Well, maybe “conjure up” was too elegant of a phrase. Obsess over was probably more accurate.

The plan was simple. He would tell you how he felt, eventually.

After some preparation.

Maybe a little preparation.

Okay, maybe a lot of preparation.

Because there was a difference between knowing what you wanted to do and actually doing it. Johnny knew he wanted to ask you out, but the problem was that every time he imagined himself saying the words out loud, his brain immediately supplied several horrifying possibilities.

You’re laughing—no, you’re staring. Hm… maybe you’ll just outright say no. Or maybe, just maybe, you saying yes and then asking why it took him almost two decades.

Which was how Johnny arrived at the conclusion that he should start small. You know, ease into it, test the waters and everything.

A concept he had never successfully practiced his entire life.

From the next day onwards, he was absolutely insufferable. He would be everywhere, and while he usually is everywhere you are, this was just on another level.

One day, Johnny appears in your lab sometime after lunch, leaning casually against the doorway. At least, he thinks he looks casual, but in reality, he's been standing there for nearly thirty seconds waiting for you to look up from your tablet.

You don't.

He shifts his weight, and still nothing.

A few more seconds pass before you finally glance up.

"Hey."

The smile you give him is immediate and familiar. Johnny has seen that smile thousands of times over the years, and somehow it still manages to hit him like a truck.

"Hey yourself."

You return your attention to whatever you're working on, but eventually, he clears his throat. "You know, I was just thinking."

"Dangerous."

The response comes so quickly that Johnny almost laughs. "See, normally that joke would hurt my feelings."

"Normally?"

"Normally."

You finally set your tablet down and look at him properly. "What do you want?"

"Wow."

"What?"

"Straight to business."

"Johnny."

"Fine, fine." He pushes himself away from the doorway and wanders further into the lab, pretending to inspect one of the monitors nearby. Really, he's just buying himself time, because suddenly the line he'd been planning feels incredibly stupid.

Not that it stopped him.

"I'm admiring the view."

The words leave his mouth before he can reconsider them.

You furrow your brows in confusion, then glance over your shoulder toward the large monitor behind you. "The graph?"

Johnny stares. "No."

Your eyes move toward the windows lining the far side of the lab. “Manhattan?"

"No."

You look back at him, and slowly, realization dawns on your face.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

For one glorious second, Johnny thinks he's finally done something right. Then you tilt your head. "That was terrible."

His confidence immediately evaporates. "What?"

"You've used that before."

The accusation is so immediate that Johnny almost chokes. "What? No."

"Johnny."

"Okay, maybe once."

Your eyes narrow.

"More than once."

"I knew it," you say.

"You knew what?"

"You have a system."

Johnny gasps, genuinely offended. "I do not have a system."

"You absolutely have a system."

"I'll have you know my flirting is entirely improvised."

That only makes you laugh harder, which unfortunately, is still the best reaction he's gotten all day. “I’ve known you since we were kids, fireboy. I know how you work.” You point at him with your pointer finger.

Johnny plops down a chair, leaning back and groaning. “Ugh, I was just trying to be… nice.” He finishes lamely with a smile. 

“Or… you want something from me.” You approached him, ruffling his hair to annoy him. He doesn’t try to swat your hand away this time, which makes you raise an eyebrow as he tilts his head of messy hair when you pull away. “Mmm, no, not really.” He says with that lazy smirk of his.

You look at him for a few seconds, and scoff playfully, going back to your work.

A few moments later, he ponders again, trying to come up with another plan. He vaguely remembers Reed telling him that a way to Sue’s heart was with direct compliments. Maybe it’ll work on you too?

That evening, he finds you in one of the common lounges of the building, probably wanting to get out of the lab and work in a newer setting. You’re sitting on the couch reading through some notes handed by your team.

“Hey.”

You wave without looking up. Johnny tilts his head, curious as to what you were doing, and sits right beside you. Maybe a little too close, but you don’t notice, not really. Or maybe you do, he thinks. It’s impossible to tell. He observes you under the warm light of the room.

“I think you’re really pretty.” The words leave his mouth before he can overthink them. You finally look up.

“Aw, thanks.” Then, “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” You eye him suspiciously, as this behavior was a stark contrast to his usual teasing and provoking.

“What? No! I just wanted to say that.” Johnny grins like he’s proud of himself. He waits, and nothing. No realization, no blushing, no dramatic revelation, just… gratitude. Like he’d told you the weather was nice. 

You return to your notes, and a beat passes. “I think you’re pretty too.” You don't even look up when you say it.

You just continue highlighting something in your document, and Johnny spends the next ten minutes trying to remember how breathing works.

Johnny recites all of his efforts to Sue, and she just laughs at him. Laughs! He gives her an offended, yet desperate look. “What?”

When Sue’s laughter dies down a bit, she begins to give him some advice: be more direct using actions. Actions, okay, he can do that. Absolutely no problem at all.

The first thing Johnny tries is flowers. You look up from your workstation when he walks into the wet lab carrying an enormous bouquet. Your eyes widen.

"Oh wow."

Johnny straightens. Here we go.

"You got flowers."

"Yeah."

"Who's the lucky girl?"

Johnny freezes. "...What?"

You point at the bouquet. "Are these for someone?"

For a brief, horrifying second, Johnny considers lying. But he internally sighs and sucks it up. "They're for you."

"Oh."

His heart immediately starts beating faster when you give him a smile, a genuine smile. The kind he usually loves seeing. Except,

“That’s so sweet.”

Not romantic. Sweet. Like he’s somebody’s grandmother.

You take the flowers. “Thank you.”

Johnny waits.

You place them in a vase, mentioning something about how this wet lab was actually the perfect place to deliver them because it was coincidentally a plant science lab! How nice!

Then you immediately return to your microscope, and the conversation is apparently over.

Johnny leaves the lab ten minutes later feeling like he somehow lost.

The second thing Johnny tries is lunch. Surely lunch is more date-adjacent, right? So when he remembers you mentioning a tiny sandwich shop three neighborhoods away, he immediately flies across Manhattan to get your favorite order.

You blink when he sets the bag on your desk.

"What's this?"

"Lunch."

You give him a grateful look, “Aw, is this you finally repaying me for all I’ve cooked for you?”

What?

Oh, that’s right. You cook for him—a lot. You mentioned that cooking was one of the ways you destress, and you keep making extra food for yourself, so you started cooking up two portions instead. One for you and one for him.

“Uh, yeah..” He chuckles awkwardly.

Then, you look at the logo stuck into the parchment paper. "Wait."

Johnny perks up.

"You remembered my order?"

"Of course I remembered your order."

You look genuinely surprised, and somehow that feels worse. "Johnny," you say carefully, "I told you that one time. Like eight months ago."

"Yeah."

A pause.

"...That's actually kind of impressive. Thanks."

Johnny immediately decides to survive on that compliment for the next week. Okay, so he’s getting it now! Cater to your wants and needs, not just give you things he thinks sound good.

Johnny starts making notes. Like, actual notes. Like he’s conducting a science experiment. In his chicken scratch writing, he writes down all the attempts he did, and what the outcome of it was.

ATTEMPT #5: Complimented hair, and she said thank you. Outcome: inconclusive.

ATTEMPT #7: Brought coffee, and she smiled, promising to grab coffee with me sometime. Outcome: promising.

ATTEMPT #10: Asked if she would ever date a superhero, and she said probably not. Too busy, too dangerous. But she still said it depends. Outcome: devastating.

The first person you mention it to is Sue, mostly because you’ve known her for two decades now, and also because she’s the safest option. Someone you’re able to trust.

Ben would immediately make it weird, Reed would probably start taking notes, and Johnny… well, Johnny is the problem. So Sue it is.

You, Reed, and Sue are scattered around Reed's lab on a surprisingly quiet afternoon. Reed is buried in whatever world-ending project currently occupies his attention, Sue is reviewing mission reports, and you're attempting to organize several weeks worth of research data.

Attempting being the operative word, because Johnny keeps interrupting your thoughts.

You finally let out a frustrated sigh. Across the room, Sue glances up.

"Everything okay?"

You hesitate, but decide to ask her anyway. "Has Johnny been acting strange lately?"

Sue immediately looks interested, which should have been your first warning.

"Strange how?"

You spin your chair around. "I don't know." A lie. You know exactly how, you just don’t know why. You tap your pen against the desk. “He’s been…”

Sue waits.

“Different…”

“Different.”

“Mm. Different.”

Sue's mouth twitches, and you narrow your eyes. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"The thing where you clearly know something."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Fortunately, Sue respects her brother enough not to air out his feelings about you.

"Liar."

Sue laughs, and you slump back into your chair.

"It's just weird."

"What's weird?"

You gesture vaguely. "He's been showing up everywhere."

Sue hums.

"He keeps bringing me things."

Another hum.

"He complimented me three times yesterday."

Sue raises an eyebrow.

"Only three?"

You throw a pen at her, but she catches it effortlessly with her powers. Of course she does.

"My point is," you continue, "Johnny's always been nice, but this feels… intentional. Like every interaction has an ulterior motive behind it.”

Sue studies you quietly. "What if he's just paying more attention?"

You snort. You seem to do that a lot these days. "Why?"

The question slips out before you can stop it. Why now? Why after all this time? Sue doesn't answer, or maybe she chooses not to. Instead, she returns her attention to the report in front of her. You make a mental note to dig into that later.

Then, you suddenly remembered something. “Hey, Reed. How did it go with the synchronization index results two days ago? You know, the one that Johnny took?”

Reed pauses, but you don’t really seem to notice it. You ask again, absentmindedly. “Who did you use as a baseline comparison? Was it Sue?”

“Uh, no. We used you, actually.”

“Oh, cool! What did Johnny and I get?” You ask with curiosity.

Reed runs a hand through his hair. "So, you know how the highest compatibility score previously recorded was ninety-one percent."

You stare.

"...Okay?"

"Your scores were ninety-eight point nine percent."

The room goes completely silent.

For a moment, you genuinely wonder if you heard him correctly. A strange warmth blooms in your chest. Ninety-eight point nine, you and Johnny. A ridiculous part of you immediately wants to smile, because of course it's Johnny.

Of course the person who knows you best would be Johnny.

But then another thought creeps in.

Slowly, unpleasantly. The timing.

The sudden attention, the compliments, the flowers, the lunches, the flirting, the everything.

Your stomach drops.

Oh.

Oh. That explains everything.

You look away before either Reed or Sue can notice the change in your expression, because suddenly it all makes sense. Johnny took the test, got the score, and he started… trying. Not before, but after. You hate how the realization quickly settles, and how neatly all the pieces fit together. Because for one stupid second, you'd let yourself wonder if maybe…

No. You shut that thought down immediately.

This wasn't romantic, this was Johnny.

Johnny, who turned everything into a competition. Johnny, who chased things because they were exciting. Johnny, who had never looked twice at a finish line he hadn't crossed yet.

Ninety-eight point nine percent. This was a challenge, a goal. You hate how much that possibility bothers you. Maybe because a small, selfish part of you wanted it to mean something else. Wanted all those lingering looks and stupid compliments to be real. Wanted him to choose you because he wanted you.

Not because some machine told him he should.

You force a smile onto your face. "So that's why." You mumble.

Sue's eyes flick toward you, observant and knowing. Unfortunately, you don't look at her long enough to notice. Because by then you've already made up your mind. Whatever this is, it needs to stop.

Before you start hoping for things Johnny Storm was never actually offering.

Johnny realizes there's a problem three days later. Not because you reject him, no, that would’ve been easier. No, the problem is that you're being nice. The kind of nice that creates approximately twelve feet of emotional distance.

"Thanks for the coffee, Johnny."

"Thanks for the meal, Johnny."

"Thanks for helping me carry those samples, Johnny."

By Thursday, Johnny is standing in the kitchen staring into the refrigerator like it personally betrayed him. "This is bad."

Sue barely glances up from her tea, like she already knows what he’s talking about. "How bad?"

"She thanked me."

Sue blinks, and Johnny points dramatically. "Exactly."

"Johnny, most people like being thanked."

"Not like this."

Sue studies him for a moment. "You think she's avoiding you."

"I know she's avoiding me."

"Did she say that?"

"No."

"Then how do you know?"

Johnny groans. "Because it's her." He throws himself into a chair. "I know her." That was the problem. Johnny knew exactly how you acted when you were annoyed, stressed, happy—everything! And lately? You were acting careful, like somebody trying not to touch a hot stove.

Sue watches him sulk for a moment before finally setting down her mug. "When was the last time you showed interest in something she likes?"

Johnny frowns. "I know things she likes."

"No. I mean actually interested."

"I am interested."

Sue gives him a look. "Johnny."

"Oh." The realization visibly hits him. “You mean… science? I like science, this should be easy.”

Sue stares at him. “No, like… biology. Things that are in her field. Let her know that you care about the things she’s doing, and the fact that you love listening to her. It’ll get her to open up to you more.”

“Sue, you’re a genius!”

Johnny becomes aggressively committed to the bit. He appears in your lab the following Monday wearing glasses.

You stare. "Why are you wearing glasses?"

Johnny immediately touches them. "Oh, these?" He adjusts them casually. Too casually. "Been reading a lot lately."

You narrow your eyes. "Reading."

"Yep."

"What kind of reading?"

Johnny shrugs. "Scientific reading." The answer is so vague that it somehow circles back around to being suspicious. You slowly set your tablet down.

"What scientific reading?"

Johnny freezes. Not because he doesn't know, but because he knows too much. The last three nights have been spent with his face buried in journals while Reed chuckled at him from across the lab. Now his brain is suddenly trying to sort through a ridiculous number of scientific terms at once.

"Cells."

You blink. "Cells."

"Yeah."

A beat.

"There are a lot of those."

Your stare intensifies, and Johnny immediately folds. "Okay, fine. Molecular biology." Now you look genuinely surprised. "Oh."

For the first time all week, Johnny feels like he's accomplished something.

"Why?"

There it is. the question he's been trying desperately to avoid. Why. Because saying because he’s hopelessly in love with you feels a little aggressive for a Monday morning. So instead he says, "I wanted to understand your work better."

The words come out before he can stop them. And for a second, neither of you say anything. Something shifts briefly in your expression, it softens. But at the same second, it disappears.

"Oh."

Johnny's stomach does a weird thing. Because that sounded way more sincere than he'd intended. Which is unfortunate because it was completely true.

You clear your throat. "Well."

You point toward the journal tucked under his arm. "If you're reading that one, chapter four is outdated."

Johnny looks down, then back up. "You've read it?"

You immediately look offended. "Johnny."

"Right. Stupid question."

"Very stupid question."

"You know, I walked directly into that one."

"Yes, you did."

You chuckle, and Johnny feels like his heart is about to burst. “Do you actually wanna learn these things?”

“I mean, yeah!” He nods enthusiastically. Seeing this, you walk over to one of the shelves in the corner of the room. It was quite high up, but you were pretty sure you were able to reach it last time. So you stood on your tip-toes, and tried grabbing the massive textbook sitting on top. 

Johnny immediately comes over. “I can reach that—”

“No. I can do it.” You say as you hold the corner of the book. 

“No, no, really, I can help you.” He says, and he reaches a hand to the same book, but it ends up falling onto the floor with a loud thud. You look at him with an unimpressed look. He purses his lips, hands behind his back now, looking guilty and looking everywhere but your eyes.

You inhale and exhale sharply, but you grabbed the book from the floor anyway, and placed it in front of him. It was a worn down copy of a ‘Campbell’s Biology’ textbook. “This was with me throughout my high school and university days.” You open up a specific chapter.

“If you really want to learn a few things, you’re welcome to come to me any time. I know you’re smart and capable, but if you have too many thoughts sitting in that brain of yours, I’d love to help you sort them out.” You looked back to the book. “I’d start with this part of the textbook.”

Johnny follows your gaze to the page you've opened. The margins are filled with tiny handwritten notes, some written in different colors, accumulated over what looked like years of use. Several sections had been highlighted, and a few pages were dog-eared.

The book practically screamed that it belonged to you. For some reason, that realization settles strangely in his chest.

He'd expected a polite dismissal. Maybe a sarcastic comment about how long this latest phase of his would last. Instead, you'd handed him one of the textbooks that had followed you through high school and university and were now offering to help him through it.

The fact that you seemed completely sincere about it only made the feeling worse.

Or better, he wasn’t entirely sure.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he carefully turns a page. "You're really volunteering to tutor me?"

You glance up from the chapter. "I'm offering to answer questions."

"That sounds suspiciously like tutoring."

"Only because I know you'll have questions."

Johnny lets out a quiet laugh. "Wow. Good to know you have so much faith in me."

"If I get stuck," he continues, trying, and failing to sound casual, "you're not gonna make fun of me, right?"

You look genuinely puzzled. "Why would I do that?" The answer comes so quickly that he almost misses it. As if the idea had never even crossed your mind. Johnny feels something warm settle in his chest.

Because that's just it, isn't it? You never treated him like he was less intelligent than the people around him. You'd always looked at him like he was perfectly capable of keeping up if he wanted to.

"You'd be surprised," he says lightly.

"Johnny."

Your voice softens just enough to make him look up. "I know you're smart."

The statement is delivered so matter-of-factly that it catches him completely off guard. Johnny flashes a grin. "Careful. Keep saying stuff like that and I'm gonna start developing self-esteem."

You immediately roll your eyes.

"Tragic."

"Absolutely devastating."

Johnny shows up in your lab the next morning like he’s been doing it for years.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just leans into the doorway for a moment, watching you work, then crosses the room and places a small stack of printed pages on the edge of your desk.

You glance at them, then up at him.

“What’s this?”

“Lab notes,” he says.

You blink once. “…From who?”

“Reed.” That at least makes sense.

You pick up the top sheet and scan it quickly. It’s formatted the way Reed likes everything formatted—dense, precise, slightly over-detailed in a way that assumes the reader is already three steps ahead. Still, it’s useful.

You look back up at Johnny. “Why are you delivering these?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was already coming here.”

You study him for a second longer. He looks… normal. Casual, even. Like he’s just passing through. But he’s also watching you closely, like he’s waiting to see whether this counts as helpful or intrusive. “Put them there.”

Johnny does.

For a few minutes, the lab is quiet again except for the usual hum of equipment and the soft rhythm of your pen making contact with paper.

You assume he’ll leave. He doesn’t.

Instead, he drifts further into the room, stopping near one of your benches. He looks around like he’s trying to decide whether he’s allowed to exist in that space without an explicit task.

Then, carefully, he picks up a pair of gloves from your supply tray.

“You don’t need those,” you say without looking up.

“I know.”

Another pause, then he puts them back. After a moment, he starts to speak again. “Can I touch the cabinet?”

You don’t look up. “Yes.”

“Cool.”

You hear movement behind you after that. Cabinets opening. The faint clink of containers being shifted. At first, you ignore it. Johnny has always been… present. This is not new. What’s new is the silence. When you turn around again, he’s reorganizing one of your supply shelves. By size, at first glance. Then by category.

Then, after a moment of observation, you realize he’s also separating things by how often you reach for them. The most frequently used items are already drifting toward eye level.

You stop. “…What are you doing?”

“Helping,” he says, without looking at you.

“That’s not helping.”

“It is if I’m right.”

You step closer, arms folding. “You don’t know what I need where.”

Johnny finally looks at you then, one hand still holding a labeled vial. “I think I do.”

The confidence in it makes you pause, not because it’s arrogant, but it sounds… considered. Like he’s been paying attention in a way you didn’t realize required effort.

You glance at the shelf again. It is, inconveniently, better organized than it was before. “…Why?” you ask finally.

Johnny shrugs, setting the vial down carefully. “Because you shouldn’t have to look for things twice in the same day.”

That’s all he says, like it’s not something worth making a big deal out of.

You stare at him for a second longer than necessary, then look away first. “Fine,” you say. “But don’t reorganize anything else without asking.”

He smiles a little.

“Bossy.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Right. Sorry.”

A beat.

“…Boss.”

Your lips quirk up just a tiny bit.

A few days after that, you notice something different in your lab. Your bench is already set up when you walk inside. Not partially, but fully set up. The samples are arranged in labeled rows. The pipettes you prefer are already out. Even the centrifuge has been pre-adjusted to the settings you would have chosen yourself, down to the slight calibration you usually account for.

You stand there for a moment longer than necessary.

“…Reed,” you talk into your communication device, still looking at the bench. “Did you come into my lab this morning?”

A pause. “No,” Reed answers. “Why?”

You glance around, though you already know the answer isn’t going to change. “Someone set up my experiment.”

“That’s unusual,” Reed says, in the tone of someone who is already mentally moving on to five other problems.

Then, mildly, “Is anything missing?”

You look again. Nothing is missing, everything is exactly where it should be.

You turned off your communication device, and that’s when you heard him.

“Morning.”

Johnny is leaning against the doorway like he’s been there the whole time, like he didn’t just quietly rearrange your entire workflow before you arrived.

You stare at him. “…Did you do this?”

He looks vaguely pleased with himself. “Maybe.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s a pretty good one.”

You walk over to your bench, slow and deliberate.

“You prepared my experiment.”

“I set it up,” he corrects. Johnny pushes off the doorframe and walks closer, hands in his pockets like this is all completely normal.

“I remembered what you said last week about wasting time on setup when you could be running data sooner.”

You blink. That was something you said once, in passing, but you hadn’t even been talking to him. “…You remembered that?”

Johnny shrugs. “You were annoyed when you said it.”

You glance at him. “That’s not an explanation.”

“It’s a reason.”

You don’t respond immediately. You exhale through your nose and turn back to the bench. “Don’t make a habit of entering my lab before I do.”

Johnny’s expression shifts slightly, like he’s bracing for a stricter rejection than the one you actually give him. 

“But since you’re here already… you mind helping me out?” You grabbed a spare lab coat and tossed it to him.

He beamed at you like you handed him the keys to the city.

It doesn’t make sense at first. That’s the part you keep coming back to. Johnny Storm doesn’t set up experiments. He doesn’t organize supply shelves. He doesn’t remember small things you said in passing weeks ago and act on them like they mattered.

You sit at your workstation, but your attention keeps drifting back to the bench he prepared.

Everything is already in place. Clean, ordered, functional. Not just “good enough,” but it’s efficient. Annoyingly efficient. You glance at it again. Then, you catch yourself doing it and look back at your screen.

At first, it had been easy to explain away. The compatibility score, the machine, the timing of it all. Ninety-eight point nine percent.

It gave you something neat to hold onto, a reason for sudden behavior that didn’t quite match the version of Johnny Storm you were used to. Because that version made sense. He overdid things and got excited. He moved fast and moved on faster. But somehow… this isn’t that. This has been consistent.

You had told yourself it was all tied to the test, a reaction to being told something about himself that he now wanted to prove or act on. And while that still could be true, it’s just getting harder to fully believe it, because none of this looks like showing off anymore.

You don’t change what you do at first. It’s not obvious, at least not immediately. You just… stand a little closer than usual when he’s talking. Close enough that he notices, but not close enough that it should matter.

Johnny notices anyway because of course, he always notices you.

He’s mid-explanation about something he probably understands better than he’s currently articulating when he pauses for half a second too long, eyes flicking down like he’s just become aware of where he’s standing in space. Then he clears his throat and continues talking.

A little faster this time. You don’t move away.

Later, when he brings you a set of revised lab notes, you take them from him and your fingers brush his hand for a second longer than necessary.

It’s nothing, barely even contact. But Johnny goes still in a way that is immediately noticeable if you’re looking for it.

Which, unfortunately, you are. “Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says too quickly. Then, after a beat, “Yeah. Totally fine.” He smiles like he means it, but… it doesn’t quite land.

You nod and go back to your screen.

The next day, you repeat it on purpose. Not dramatically, just enough to see if yesterday was coincidence.

You lean slightly closer when he’s showing you something on a monitor. Not touching him, just narrowing the space between you and him until he has to decide whether to acknowledge it or ignore it. He chooses neither.

He stops talking for half a second, then resumes with the wrong sentence and has to restart. You file that away quietly.

Interesting.

By the third day, you add something else. A little bit of… sauce, if you will. “You look tired,” you say when he walks in.

Johnny immediately straightens. “I’m not tired.”

“You’re slouching.”

“I’m standing.”

“You’re slouching standing.”

“That’s not a thing.”

You tilt your head slightly. “It is for you.”

He makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so strained.

Then, you reach out and fix his collar without thinking about it too much. It’s a small adjustment. Barely a touch. Something you’ve done before in passing when he’s been too distracted to notice. Except this time, he does.

He goes completely still. Just… frozen in place like his brain has temporarily stopped accepting new input. Just as soon as you start, you finish adjusting it and step back.

“There,” you say. “Better.”

Johnny nods once. “Yeah. Great. Perfect. That’s—yeah.” He clears his throat. “You’re acting strange.”

“I’m not acting strange.”

A pause.

“You’re acting strange,” he repeats, like that fixes it.

The next scheduled debrief for the development of the Synchronization Index is today. You don’t think much of it when you hear about it.

It comes up in passing, the way most things in Reed’s lab do. Something about recalibration, about running comparative datasets again to stabilize the Synchronization Index after recent adjustments.

Your name is mentioned, briefly, almost absentmindedly.

You barely look up from what you’re doing. “High compatibility,” Reed says, like it’s nothing particularly remarkable.

And it isn’t, not really. The system has been producing results like that more often now, different pairings, different variables. You nod once, as if filing it away in a place that doesn’t require further attention.

“Ninety-four point six percent. Interesting,” you say, and move on. You don’t think about it again.

Not yet. But Johnny hears about it, and of course he makes a huge deal out of it. “Wait,” he says immediately, stopping so abruptly it almost looks like he’s bracing himself. “Back up a second.”

Reed pauses, patient in the way he always is when Johnny is involved.

“You ran her with who?”

“Dr. Scott,” Reed replies.

There’s a short silence.

Johnny’s expression doesn’t change right away, but something in him clearly does. “…Why?”

“Control comparison.” That seems to make things worse.

“No,” Johnny says, too quickly, like the word alone should be enough to undo the situation.

Reed blinks once. “No?”

“That’s not—” Johnny gestures vaguely, as if trying to physically rearrange the concept in the air. “That’s not how it works.”

“It is how it works.”

“No, because the machine doesn’t understand context,” Johnny says, already building momentum.

“It does,” Reed answers calmly.

Johnny ignores him completely. “It must’ve been off,” he decides.

Reed studies him now, more carefully.

“The system?”

“Yes.”

“It produced consistent results.”

Johnny immediately shakes his head. “That just means it was consistently wrong.”

From somewhere behind them, Sue makes a sound that might be a cough or might be laughter she is actively suppressing. Johnny continues pacing lightly now, more animated the longer he talks, as if movement will make the conclusion feel less real.

“It’s probably calibration drift,” he says. “Or environmental interference.”

“You are suggesting the machine is unreliable.”

“I am suggesting,” Johnny says, pointing vaguely as if the argument is already settled, “that the machine is not accounting for real-world variability.”

“That is the same thing.”

“It is not.”

Reed does not look convinced.

Johnny exhales, running a hand through his hair, trying again with more urgency. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t make sense.”

Sue finally looks up from her tablet. “What doesn’t make sense?”

Johnny answers immediately. “That.”

Sue tilts her head slightly. “That… what?”

He hesitates, then gestures vaguely again, like the answer is obvious and frustratingly invisible.

“That it would do that.”

Reed watches him carefully now.

“Do what?”

“Be inaccurate.”

Sue leans back slightly in her chair, watching him with an expression that is far too knowing for his comfort. “You don’t like the result,” she says gently.

“That’s not true.”

“It is a little true,” Reed adds.

Johnny turns toward him immediately. “It’s not.”

Reed raises a brow.

Johnny pauses for half a beat, then corrects himself. “It’s… not about liking it.”

Sue hums faintly. “Then what is it about?”

Johnny doesn’t answer right away. There isn’t a clean answer that doesn’t sound like something he is not ready to say out loud, he thinks. Instead, he defaults to what he knows:

“Repeat the test,” he says.

Reed studies him for a long moment.

“Why?”

“To verify consistency,” Johnny replies immediately.

Sue’s expression shifts slightly at that. Not amused anymore, just observant. “That’s not why,” she says again, quieter this time.

Johnny looks at her. For a second, something almost slips through his expression, something that’s… unguarded. Then he shakes it off like it never happened.

“It is why,” he insists, and huffs. He looks back while rolling his eyes, and spots you. He immediately calls out your name and beckons you over.

You smile once you see him, and you walk towards him casually with your hands inside your lab coat pocket. "What?"

Johnny points at you immediately. "Tell Reed the machine is wrong."

You exhale with a smile, looking at his determined face. Determined for what, you don’t know yet. "...Hello to you too."

"Hi. Tell Reed the machine is wrong."

You glance between him and Reed. “What happened to our machine?"

"You got ninety-four point six percent with Dr. Scott."

You wait. "Okay?"

Johnny stares. The fact that you're not immediately alarmed somehow makes him look even more alarmed. "No, not okay."

You laugh. "Why?"

"Because it doesn't make sense. I mean what does the machine think is happening?" Johnny asks, already spiraling. "You guys barely know each other."

You open your mouth, but Johnny keeps going. "You've worked together for, what, eight months?"

"A year and a half."

“That’s not helping,” he mutters immediately.

You study him for a moment. “Helping what?”

Johnny ignores that completely. “It’s not just about time anyway,” he continues. “It’s about context. Shared experience. Patterns. You don’t just build compatibility off proximity and shared work hours.”

“…And what counts as real compatibility?” you ask quietly.

Johnny opens his mouth, but nothing comes out right away. For the first time, the confidence slips just slightly at the edges, because the answer he almost gives is not scientific at all.

And he knows it.

Johnny is beginning to feel beyond frustrated. He’s done all this and all that, but he just… doesn’t have enough confidence yet. He doesn’t have that one final push to make him brave enough to actually tell you about his feelings. Tonight, he’s pacing in the common room like the floor has personally offended him. Then, he sees a rocky, orange build in front of him. “Ben!”

Ben stops, then sighs. “Whatever it is, you’re doing it wrong.”

Johnny blinks. “I haven’t told you what it is yet…”

Ben finally turns back to face him. He shrugs. “I’ve got an idea.”

Johnny huffs. “Nothing’s working. I don’t know what else to do to get her to come to me.” Johnny drags a hand down his face. “I tried the normal way, didn’t work. I tried the direct way, didn’t work. I tried… whatever I did, and it still didn’t work.”

Ben nods like this is normal information. “Then stop doin’ it.”

Johnny looks at him. “That’s your advice?”

Ben shrugs. “You ever try not runnin’ at a wall?”

Johnny blinks.

“…What does that mean?”

“It means,” Ben says, leaning back, “you keep actin’ like you gotta prove somethin’. Just stop chasin’ it.”

Johnny tilts his head, a bit confused, but somewhat getting it. Bless him. “So I… don’t initiate.”

Ben squints. “If that’s what you wanna call it, sure.”

Johnny nods, already locking in the interpretation. “I don’t initiate.” Johnny had stared at him for a long moment before asking, “And then what?”

Ben had shrugged. “Then she comes to you.”

Which, in hindsight, was not actually advice. It was just a sentence. But Johnny, unfortunately, hears it like a strategy.

The first time, you don’t think much of it.

Johnny not showing up to the lab at the usual time isn’t unheard of. He has missions. He has Reed. He has whatever chaotic schedule comes with being Johnny Storm. So you keep working. You assume he’ll appear later, sliding into the room mid-task like he always does, making some comment about how you look like you haven’t blinked in hours.

But he doesn’t.

Huh, must’ve been super busy today. You think.

The second time it happens, you catch it early enough that it feels worse. You run into him in the hallway outside the lab in the morning, and you see him before he sees you.

When he finally sees you, his expression changes the way it always does, like you’ve become the most natural point of focus in the room. The warmth is there, the familiarity is there, but something underneath it feels restrained, as though it doesn’t quite reach the surface the way it usually does.

“Hey,” he says when you approach.

“Hey,” you reply, automatically matching his tone, because that part hasn’t changed yet.

For a brief moment, it almost feels normal. You ask him if he’s still available later to go get some coffee you’d scheduled together, expecting the usual easy confirmation, maybe a joke about how you’re the only person who tries to make him sit still for breaks.

Instead, Johnny goes quiet for a fraction too long. It’s subtle, not enough to interrupt the rhythm of the conversation outright, but enough that you notice the shift in him as he searches for something to say.

“Yeah,” he starts, then hesitates, and when he continues, it comes out slightly less certain. “Actually, I might have to rain check that.”

“A rain check,” you repeat, because it sounds wrong coming from him.

He nods quickly, a little too quickly, like he’s trying to reinforce it before it can be questioned. “Yeah. Reed’s got me tied up with something. It came up at the last minute.”

There’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t sit right. Most importantly, he is not someone who usually steps away from time with you without making it sound like a loss he intends to fix.

You study him for a moment longer, and that’s when you start noticing the details you might have missed otherwise. The way his posture is slightly more controlled than usual, the way his gaze flickers away from yours a fraction too soon, like he is afraid that if he holds it too long, something will slip.

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

Johnny nods immediately, but there is a delay before the nod settles into something convincing. “Yeah,” he says. Then, after a beat that feels like an afterthought he didn’t mean to reveal, he adds, “I’m fine.”

He looks at you properly then, and for a second you see it more clearly. Not distance exactly, and not indifference, but effort. Like he is trying to maintain a version of himself that does not naturally fit the situation he is in.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. When you don’t respond right away, he continues, a little more quickly now, “We’ll reschedule. I’ll let you know.”

By the third, fourth, fifth time, you stop pretending you don’t notice. He still shows up (sometimes), still helps, and still answers when you ask him things. But everything has shifted half a step to the side, like he’s deliberately trying not to occupy the same space in the same way.

Even the jokes change.

They’re still there, just… less immediate. Like he’s letting silence happen before deciding whether to fill it. And worse than that, he starts leaving first. Not in a rude way, but in a careful way, like he’s trying not to overstay something you didn’t realize had a limit. 

It takes you a while to bring it up, mostly because at first you keep convincing yourself there isn’t anything to bring up. People drift a little without it meaning anything deeper than that. Except Johnny doesn’t really “drift.” Not like this.

So when you finally catch him alone in the lab doorway one afternoon, you decide you’re just going to ask. He looks up when you call his name.

“Hey,” he says, like always.

“Hey,” you reply, but you don’t move back to your work this time.

Instead, you just look at him for a second longer than usual, trying to figure out where exactly the shift happened. Johnny notices that immediately. Of course he does.

“Everything okay?” he asks, a little too quickly.

You hesitate, then shake your head slightly. “I think something’s changed,” you bring it up.

That makes him pause. “What do you mean?”

You lean back slightly against the edge of the table, folding your arms without really thinking about it.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “You’ve just been different lately. You’re around less. You keep rescheduling things. Even when you’re here, it feels like you’re halfway somewhere else.”

You pause, then add, a little more quietly, like you’re afraid that this is the case, “Did I do something?”

That finally gets a reaction out of him. “What? No,” he says immediately, almost horrified by the idea.

But then it fades a little, like the certainty doesn’t hold. “No, it’s not that.”

You watch him carefully now. “Then what is it?”

Johnny opens his mouth, closes it again, and lets out a breath through his nose like he’s trying to decide whether he’s about to say something stupid or something irreversible.

“It’s… advice,” he says eventually.

That makes you blink, looking at him like you’re silently saying ‘are you kidding me?’

“Advice.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding once, like that explains everything and also absolutely nothing. “From Ben.”

You stare at him for a second. “…Ben told you to start avoiding me?”

“No,” Johnny says quickly, then corrects himself just as fast. “Not like that. He said I was doing too much. Like I was…” He stops, clearly searching for the wording, then gives up a little. “He said I should stop chasing and just… let things happen.”

You narrow your eyes slightly.

“And your interpretation of that was to disappear?”

“I thought,” he says, slower, “if I stopped being in your face all the time, you’d have space. And then you’d… come to me.”

That lands in the air between you in a way that makes the room feel quieter than it was a second ago.

“…Come to you?”

He nods once, like he fully hears how bad that sounds now that it’s out loud. “Yeah,” he says, more uncertain now. “That was the idea.”

I shake my head in even more confusion. “What do I need to come to you for?”

“Just… uhhh…” Johnny stands there, confused on how to go on with this.

“Okay, don’t answer that, just… That is the worst plan I’ve ever heard you describe out loud,” you say.

Johnny gives you a look. “Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.” For a second, it almost resets into something lighter. But then he goes quiet again, and whatever humor was in his expression fades back into something more unsettled.

“I just didn’t know how else to do it,” he admits.

You take a step closer without really thinking about it. “Do what?” you ask, softer now.

Johnny looks at you, and this time he doesn’t try to joke his way around it.  Instead, he just exhales, like he’s been holding something in for too long. “Tell you,” he says quietly. “That I like you. Without messing it up.”

For a second, you don’t say anything.

It isn’t that you don’t understand him. You do. It’s just that your brain takes a moment to process what exactly he just said, because it doesn’t fit neatly into any of the explanations you had been building over the past week.

Johnny watches you carefully while that happens, which only makes it harder to think, because he looks like he’s bracing for impact even though he’s standing completely still.

“I—” he starts, then stops himself almost immediately, shaking his head slightly. “Okay, no, I’m not doing the talking thing right. Just—ignore that. Forget I said it. That was—”

“Johnny,” you interrupt gently, not loud, just enough to pull him back.

He goes quiet again. You take a breath, slower than usual, trying to steady yourself in the way you normally do when something unexpected comes up in the lab.

“So,” you say after a moment, “your plan was to avoid me until I came to you.”

He hesitates. “…Yeah.”

“And that was supposed to help you tell me you like me.”

“Also yes,” he admits, a little miserably.

You nod slowly, like you’re processing experimental results that don’t behave the way they’re supposed to. “That’s not how people work,” you say.

“I know that now,” he says quickly. “I panicked.”

“You’ve been panicking?” you ask.

Johnny lets out a breath that sounds halfway like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Kind of,” he says. “Yeah.”

You glance down briefly, then back at him. “I thought you were… I don’t know,” you admit, a little more honestly than you intended. “Trying to prove something. Or that it was just the test. Or that it was easier to turn it into a challenge than actually… yeah.”

Johnny shakes his head immediately. “No,” he says, firmer now. “No, it wasn’t that.”

He hesitates, then adds, more carefully, “I didn’t start doing any of this because of the test. I started because I was trying not to ruin it.” He looks at you like he needs you to understand that part specifically.

“I’ve known I like you,” he says, a little more quietly now. “For a long time. That’s not new. What’s new is that I actually said it out loud and then immediately realized I have no idea what I’m doing with it.”

Then, almost helplessly, “So I listened to Ben.”

You huff a small laugh at that before you can stop yourself. Johnny shifts slightly, like he’s preparing himself again, but this time it’s not for retreat.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he says more simply. “But I think I already kind of did.”

You look at him for a second, then shake your head. “You did something very stupid,” you agree.

He nods immediately.

“Yeah.”

“But,” you add, after a pause, “you didn’t mess it up.”

That makes him look up properly. You exhale, a little softer now. “You just made it more complicated than it needed to be.”

Johnny stares at you for a moment like he’s not entirely sure whether that’s better or worse.

“…Is that fixable?” he asks.

“I mean, it’s not like you burned down my lab or something. Of course it’s fixable.” You say with a smile. That gets a real laugh out of him this time, and something tight inside him finally loosens. 

Then, quieter again, “So… what now?”

You look at him for a second longer than necessary, and this time, instead of overthinking it, you just answer him plainly. “Now you stop avoiding me,” you say. “And we figure it out properly.”

Johnny nods once, absolutely no hesitation this time. “Okay,” he says.

In the warm afternoon light of the building hallway, he starts to lean in, almost instinctively. You do too, but then,

“Wait.”

Johnny pulls back slightly, confused, and a bit worried. “What is it?” He asks in a low voice, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

“You did all of that because of the stupid soulmate machine?” You immediately regretted the words that came out of your mouth, because—

“You called it the soulmate machine!” Johnny exclaims, wide eyes and a smile that’s brighter than the sun. 

“Oh my God, no, I—” You start, but he interrupts you.

“Nope! No take backs! You called it the soulmate machine, it is officially named the—”

You kiss him.

Honestly, it isn't even a conscious decision.

One second he's standing there preparing what is undoubtedly going to become the most obnoxious victory speech in recorded history, and the next you're grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down.

The rest of the sentence disappears completely, and for perhaps the first time in his life, Johnny Storm shuts up.

The hallway goes very, very quiet. When you finally pull back, Johnny just stares at you. You stare back.

His brain is clearly attempting to reboot.

"...Did you just kiss me?" he asks.

You immediately roll your eyes.

"Oh my God. No, hold on." He points at you, looking genuinely overwhelmed now. "You kissed me."

"Yes."

"You kissed me."

"Johnny."

"You kissed—"

You place a hand over his mouth.

"You're ruining it."

He makes a deeply offended noise against your palm for approximately two seconds. You release your hand, then the biggest grin you've ever seen appears on his face.

"You like me."

You groan.

"I literally just kissed you."

"I know!" he says, sounding absurdly pleased with himself. "I'm just making sure we're both on the same page!"

additional notes: thanks for reading till the end!

the title idea was literally inspired by a statistics class that i'm doing in uni atm, the same class that i have finals for in a week...

also, as i've mentioned before i definitely felt disappointed with the end results of this fic but!!! it's my first one in a long time, and it's my first ever in this account. so please stay tuned for more works! i swear i'm planning to write something better for you guys :)

okay, one final thing, i have never posted in tumblr before so i am completely clueless as to how to navigate this app. please bear with me. if any of you want to help me out i would most definitely appreciate it. i don't know what the hell i'm doing with this app.

[menmadeofwarninglabels]

Neighbor Leon Kennedy

Summary: you hear a bump in the night and call your neighbor to come check it out.

Words: 1k

You're standing in your kitchen, ridiculous yellow gloves on while you scrub a particularly stubborn plate. Then you think you hear it. You turn the sink water off, turning your head like trying to catch a signal.

The first sound is small. Too small to mean anything on its own. A soft scrape somewhere in the house that makes you pause mid-scrub, dish still in your hand, suddenly very aware of how quiet everything else is.

Then it happens again. Closer this time.

Your stomach drops before your mind catches up. You don’t think. You just move. You pull your phone out of your back pocket as you back up to the kitchen counter, sinking into a squat against it.

While you're whispering to yourself that it’s probably nothing, the house settling, a branch, anything normal, your fingers are already dialing.

You don't know why you're calling your neighbor. Even though he's a big, buff, federal agent, you two aren't that close. But your body recognizes where safety is in a moment of crisis.

Leon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah.”

It’s all he says at first.

And somehow that steadiness is what breaks you out of your paralysis.

“I think someone’s in my house,” you say, voice too tight, too fast. “I heard something. I don’t–I don’t know.”

His tone instantly shifts.

“Lock yourself in a room. Now.”

You’re already moving.

“Bedroom,” he adds. “Door locked. Stay on the line.”

You do as you’re told without question, because there’s something about the way he speaks that doesn’t leave space for hesitation. The line stays open while you sit on the edge of your bed, listening to your own breathing and the faint, distant sound of your house feeling wrong.

“Leon,” you whisper after a moment. “I’m sorry, I just, I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You did the right thing,” he says immediately.

Nothing extra, just certainty.

Minutes later, you hear another sound outside. Not inside your house this time. A car door shutting too firmly. Footsteps on gravel.

Your phone crackles slightly as he says, “I’m here.”

You hear the front door open.

“Hey,” his voice calls out, lower now, closer in real space than the phone. “It’s me.”

His boots make their way to your bedroom. A soft knock follows.

“You in there?”

“Yeah,” you shout back, fiddling with the lock.

When the door opens, Leon steps in like he belongs there. His eyes are scanning, posture already assessing every corner of the room before they land on you.

Nothing about him is rushed. That’s the first thing your body registers. Like the world can be falling apart, but he’s already decided how to stand between you and it.

“It’s okay,” he says again, quieter this time.

You shake your head.

“I thought…I thought someone was–”

“I know.”

He doesn’t let you finish the spiral. Just closes the distance carefully, stopping close enough that you can feel his presence without him crowding you.

“I checked the house,” he adds. “Front, back, windows. Nothing’s broken. Nobody’s inside.”

Your breath catches like your body doesn’t quite believe it yet.

Leon watches you for a second longer, then says, “You’re safe.”

You force out a short breath, a sheepish smile crawling onto your face. You scratch your cheek with trembling fingers.

A nervous habit.

“Well that's embarrassing,” you say softly.

“Hey.”

You look up.

“If you hear something again,” he says, “you call me sooner.”

You can feel it once the adrenaline fades. Embarrassment rushes in to take its place.

Your hands twist together in your lap. “God, I’m sorry. I probably freaked out over nothing.”

Leon doesn’t accept the premise. He just leans against the doorframe, still half in assessment mode, like he’s making sure your fear doesn’t come back the second he leaves.

“It wasn’t nothing to you,” he says.

You huff out a small, awkward laugh. “Still. I made you come over here for basically… paranoia.”

“You didn’t make me do anything.”

There’s no annoyance in it.

You're still embarrassed.

You glance at him, then away again, heat creeping up your neck.

“I feel like I should make it up to you.”

That gets a faint shift in his expression. Subtle curiosity.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But I want to.”

He studies you for a second like he’s deciding whether to argue further. Then he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says simply. “How.”

You blink, thrown.

“Uh.”

The seriousness of him makes your brain scramble for something equally serious. Something appropriate. Something adult and neighborly.

And then, because your brain betrays you in moments like this, you say, “Do you like pie?”

That earns the slightest pause.

Leon’s mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly.

“Pie.”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he says finally, like he’s confirming a detail in a report.

Relief loosens your shoulders immediately.

“Good. Okay. I can do pie. I can definitely do pie. It’s like the least weird thank-you food.”

“I wouldn’t call it weird.”

“That sounded like you almost did.”

“I was considering it.”

You laugh, properly this time. It surprises you how easy it is around him, even after something like tonight.

Leon pushes off the doorframe a little.

“You don’t have to pay me in pie for checking your house.”

“I’m not paying you,” you insist. “I’m… expressing gratitude. With baked goods. Very normal human behavior.”

He nods once. “Understood.”

That makes you smile again, softer now. Less frantic.

“Okay,” you say. “Then it’s settled. Pie.”

Leon hesitates like he’s about to refuse out of principle, then doesn’t.

“Alright,” he says. Then, quieter, almost like an afterthought: “What kind.”

You blink. Almost smile.

“Apple,” you say. “Is that okay?”

Leon considers it with the same seriousness he gave your broken locks and your fear.

“Yeah.” He nods his head. “I like apple.”

Something about the way he says it, simple and unguarded, makes the whole moment feel different.

Not just a rescue or neighborly obligation. More like the beginning of something. Something unspoken but shared.

You nod, smiling a little to yourself.

“Okay. Then I’ll make you apple pie.”

Leon straightens slightly, like the conversation has officially concluded in his head, but he doesn’t leave immediately. Instead, he glances at you once more.

“You’re okay now?” he asks.

You think about it. Then nod.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I am.”

He holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary.

“Good,” he says.

And this time, when he finally turns to go back outside into the night, it doesn’t feel like he’s just your neighbor anymore.

A/N: I love the stoic awkwardness at the end. Leon 'I can't let myself enjoy something that I think I might really enjoy' Kennedy, everybody

[janeisoffline]

Simon Riley has a hard time getting it up (18+)

After the life Simon Riley has had, it’s really not surprising that he just can’t get it up anymore. He’s tried, time and time again, but the blood doesn’t pump through him the same way it did. And it isn’t that he doesn’t have a sex drive, god no, one look at you and he wishes he could fuck you into the mattress until your tears stain the pillows and the only sounds falling from your mouth are screams of pleasure.

You walk around the apartment, his big t-shirt on, no panties underneath, and it drives him insane. You’re an entire decade younger than him, young and sexy, and he can’t help but feel guilty for letting you stay with him knowing that he can’t give you what you want in bed.

It doesn’t stop him from eating you out until your clit is puffy and your walls are rubbed raw by his calloused fingers. When his head is between your legs, he tries, he really does. He gets so worked up, grinding his soft cock against the bed, willing it to get hard so he can fuck you right after, but it never does.

All it ends in is you cumming on his face one too many times and him walking out of the room without saying a word in pure humiliation.

You don’t take it to heart, you know he beats himself up for it, saying he isn’t good enough, that you should find someone who can actually give you what you want and keep up with you at that. Every time you reassure him, that he does satisfy you, that he never fails to make you feel good regardless of how he does it, but it seems to go in one ear and out the other.

But tonight, tonight is different and you will find a way to fuck your man.

You lay naked on the bed, legs spread, juices glistening off your folds while Simon hovers above you. His arms cage your head in as he kisses you rough, his tongue sliding over your soft lips, yours entering to explore the expanse of his mouth. He kisses the length of your jaw, down your neck where he licks the salty-sweet skin, bites just hard enough for you to writhe beneath him, and sucks until purple bruises are left to ache in the best way possible.

Before he can lower himself between your legs, you let your fingertips brush just under the waistband of his sweatpants, and his mouth stills against yours.

“Si… just let me try something tonight. I really want to,” you say breathlessly, pulling away from the kiss, gazing up at him with a look that is more of a beg than anything.

He kisses your forehead, moving his hand down to pull yours away, but before he can you reach in deeper, squeezing the base of him and earning a rumbling groan from him instead. His fingers wrap around your wrist, not moving you, just simply holding on like he has to steady himself.

“Lovie, please. Don’t embarrass me now,” he whispers, voice rough and low, wavering ever so slightly when your hand begins to trail further up his limp cock.

You don’t reply, but you do run your thumb against his tip, swiping the precum beading from his slit, evidence of his arousal despite him remaining soft. Lips meeting him again, he’s reluctant, but eventually he finds your rhythm.

Pushing his sweatpants down, you pull his cock out, stroking it gently and your warm, soft palm against him feels like you're touching his raw nerves. Even if he couldn’t get it up, it is still incredibly sensitive from months and months of pent-up need and no sex. Not that you hadn’t tried before, because you have, and every time he gets frustrated.

There’s not much you can say to convince him to try again on the same night.

Nonetheless, you focus on his tip, gliding your thumb under the ridge, rubbing against his slit, and you feel his cock twitch barely in your hand. You pull his body closer to yours, resting his cock on your folds, and he hisses from the sheer pleasure of that alone. Your body heat, your slick, the thought of him touching your aching clit like this has him beyond needy.

“Just slide against me. It’ll feel good, yeah,” you say, nodding your head slowly in encouragement.

His hips roll against you, his cock sliding underneath your palm and through your folds, and he bites back a whimper while shivers run down his spine. Simon can feel his cock hardening, just barely, just enough that he might actually be able to feel your walls wrap around him, so he wastes no time in finding out.

“Please, please,” he says under his breath, begging his body to let him pleasure you in ways he usually can’t, just for tonight if that’s what it takes.

He grabs the base of his cock, positioning at your entrance, and it takes a few tries but his semi-hard tip pushes through your entrance. You gasp softly, the feeling foreign and orgasmic, and your walls clench hard around him. A guttural groan rips from his chest when he begins to rock into you, his eyes meet yours, passion and desire swirling around as his pupils dilate from the sight of you taking him regardless of the conditions.

“You feel so good, Si,” you moan, lifting your hips to give him easier access, glancing down every few seconds to watch the way his impossibly large and yet still soft cock rubs through your walls.

“You feel like a dream,” is all he can get out before his eyes are shutting tight and his fingers are tangling in your hair.

Your body meets his, helping him through it, helping him get to where he needs to be so that just for tonight, he can feel man enough for you. And when he cums deep inside of you, his tip pulsing with long, thick ropes of warm cum, ‘thank you’s’ fall from him repeatedly before he kisses you with a newfound confidence.

“Again Si, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He stays rocking inside you, cumming again and again until his cock is too raw, until your pussy is full of his cum, and you feel every last bit of him. When he’s done, he lowers himself between your legs, cleaning his mess and sucking your clit, watching you cry from pleasure, watching you squirm away, but there is nothing he could give you that would ever come close to the feeling of showing him that he is enough for you.

│Masterlist│

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A/N: since someone had an issue with the fact that i said the reader is a decade younger than simon and "young and sexy" let me clarify that i never specified an age anywhere in the fic lmao the reader could be 24 and simon be 37 the reader could be 35 and simon be 50 for all i care thats for you to decide and that is why i dont specify certain aspects of the reader i simply wanted to emphasize an age gap to make the guilt simon feels more profound simon finds the reader sexy and shes younger than him there is nothing to read in between the lines or imply about that literally at all