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cw: sfw, fluff, bruce wayne x reader, husband!bruce, spouse!reader, gn!reader, mentions of Brucie Wayne, maybe OOC.
wc: 636
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You knew the tabloids would be full of hot-boy-summer this year — just never thought it’d be this much.
So, yeah, your Brucie Wayne was on the cover of a scandalous magazine, tan lines and sunburn on display for the hoard of women who adored the multi-billionaire. If anything, you could feel the brow-knitted look on your face attempt to become permanent when your husband walks in, fingers working the buttons on his shirt over.
“Good morning to you, too,” Bruce murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He peers down at the magazine in your hands before clearing his throat, shifting his chin upwards to sign at you in silence. It helps you snap out of your thoughts, magazine forgotten atop the bedsheets.
Your own fingers find their way to the last three buttons on his shirt, slowly pulling them through the holes and patting the fabric down. He stares at you through his eyelashes, eyes half lidded and lazy at the sight of the robe over your shoulders.
“Brain worm?” He asks, knowing well it’s anything but. A hand slides to rest at your hip, pulling you close enough for a quick peck on the lips, the taste of coffee in his breath making your nose scrunch. “Just a magazine,” you answer softly, trailing a finger up and over his sleeve. It goes on until you reach his shoulder, which makes him flinch.
You pull your hand away quick, expecting the worst of it to be a wound from another night on patrol, only to find the tips of Bruce’s ears a distinct shade of red. “Sunburn,” he coughs out, using his palm to cover his mouth, head turned to look elsewhere.
Now, by no means was Bruce Wayne a vampire, but he remains a very white man. Enough to the point you could easily spot the veins in his cubital fossa from a mile away.
You smirk at him, pressing your finger over the sunburnt line beneath his shirt, making a hiss draw out from between his lips. “Now, dear, don’t be mean,” he speaks shakily, voice pitching just the slightest bit too high for his liking. One of those freakishly soft groans leave him, sounding as music to your ears.
He pulls your hand down above his right pec, holding it firmly with the determined look of a man who is anything but ready to be embarrassed by his spouse. Mischievousness was not a proper title for any job, but Bruce considered it yours. If anyone could make his life just a little harder than usual, it would be his one-and-only, and not necessarily in a bad way.
“You didn’t think to apply any ointment before putting on your Sunday’s best?”
He chuckles a good one at the statement, chest beginning to feel tight. Maybe he was losing the grip he had left from lack of sleep, but treating himself to any therapeutic skin treatments after a long day of photo shoots and ‘under the sun fun’ hadn’t crossed his mind until you’d mentioned it. “Would I sound like an idiot if I said no?” He asks, leaning in.
“Perhaps,” you answer, grinning.
“Then I’m an idiot.”
His tongue swipes over the plush of his bottom lip, hands finding their way to your cheeks, thumbs caressing the skin as if a treasure. His lips ghost yours, interrupted by the gentle press you instigate by pulling on the collar of Bruce’s shirt. His heart skips a beat, those delectable hums escaping his mouth before he can stop them.
When your arms come rest around his neck, another flinch in pain settles into your interaction, a sheepish laugh creeping in the air. “Maybe I’ll stay home today.” The idea sounds far too nice.
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summary: a little spice in the kitchen never hurt Jason Todd.
cw: sfw, fluff, bf!jason, gn!reader, mention of marriage, barely suggestive, praise, kitchen romance, mention of j-shaped scar on Jason’s face
wc: 402
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“I love how those clothes fit you.”
The knife clatters onto the kitchen counter when you hear Jason’s voice. Cooking in your usual pyjamas — the grease and food stains from eating binges with your boyfriend on the fabric — didn’t seem like an attractive concept at all.
“You’re crazy,” you say, turning your head to look back at him. Cheeks flushed and shaky smile on your lips, Jason couldn’t help but laugh. You’d been together so long, he hadn’t expected such shock from a simple compliment.
“What?” He smiles, sliding up behind you, hands finding their way under the hem of your shirt. They’re cold and make you shiver, a snicker leaving those perfectly parted lips. The j-shaped scar that reached his mouth made it look all the wider. “You look good. Really good.”
His palms are pressed into your sides, sliding up and down, feeling the goosebumps on your skin and hiding his fit against the back of your neck. His hands don’t move elsewhere, kept in that small range just to tease.
There’s confusion in your features and he has to take a good look at your face to see it, finally settling his chin on your shoulder.
“Don’t make that face.”
“Or what?”
A pause.
“Might have to marry you, wipe that confusion off your brow with a big rock.”
You double take, letting out a scoff at his words, but there’s red creeping up the tips of your ears. You turn around in his hold, nose to nose with the same tan skin that dotted goosebumps over yours.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you murmur beneath your breath, lips ghosting his.
“I’ve been keeping this a promise for three years already, doll,” he speaks the words into your mouth, making a gesture between the two of you, leaning in for the prize.
Those soft, perfect pink lips on yours couldn’t taste any better than old cherry cola, giggles between the smack of lips and swipes of tongues.
A singular hand of his finds its way up to your right cheek, cupping it and making sure to steady you at the hip with the latter one. He gives one of those tiny bites to your bottom lip. You gasp.
“Oh, Mr. Todd!” You pinch his bicep, smiling.
“Would it kill you to be quiet f’me,” He’s grinning a proud one, nose rubbing up against yours, “Mrs. Todd?”
summary: Jason Todd has an accident and seeks comfort in his all-time favourite nurse.
cw: sfw, fluff, Jason gets hurt, italian-american Jason, mentions of Jason Todd-Wayne, mentions of scars/wounds, afab reader, reader described vaguely as a woman, best friends to lovers, Jason lowkey doesn’t hate Bruce that much in this one, healer/vigilante dynamic, extremely inexperienced romance, singular mention of Damian, kinda OOC? idk.
word count: 1.7k
a/n: this is my first fic pls give me tips :(
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Okay, maybe it was a bad idea to do a stakeout mission on a beat-down motorcycle when Gotham got rainy— so what? Jason Todd had done it plenty of times before, it couldn’t be so difficult. Or so he thought.
His helmet pounded with the sound of raindrops, the right leg of his pants torn from skidding sideways and landing his leg a little too close to the asphalt. Well, a lot too close, actually. It bled with torn pieces of skin casting a perfect frame around the wound. He couldn’t help the grunts that left his lips as he climbed the fire escape of a dingy Gotham apartment complex, sliding a window open and squeezing himself through it.
“Rough night?” You ask, a smile at your lips before realising the very beginning of a serious situation was at hand. You sat in the dark, waiting for him to arrive as always, the routine you’d made up of nursing Jason back to health ever present. Jason only grunted, limping his way onto the leather sofa, letting his weight pull him down with a harsh plop on the rather uncomfortable cushions. He was silent for the most part, which meant there was a rush.
“Are you going to keep staring or..?” He makes a gesture with his hands, pointing at the wound on his right leg before propping it up on your thigh, a hiss-like sound coming out when your index finger traces the outside edges of the wound. “Asshole,” he mutters, sliding his bicep over his eyes and covering them, gritting his teeth.
It’s all less than a minute before a warmth exudes from your hands and covers the living flesh, muscle fibres moving and beginning to tie together just as they had been before the motorcycling mishap. Jason almost lets out a snort. “Barely even hurts anymore.” It’s those whispers that drive you absolutely insane. Not everybody praises your work or abilities with that pathetic whine in their throat.
He can hear the way your lips part to form a smile, taking his bicep off his eyes just as quickly as he’d initially covered them. Usually, whenever you did these type of things, his muscles hurt to rebuild. Maybe with the adrenaline, he couldn’t feel it this once.
“So,” you clear your throat, attempting to keep your focus as you spoke, “how’s, uh, how’s life at the manor for Jason Todd-Wayne?” Banter always distracted him, and oh-so-much so when the Wayne name was attributed to his own. You should’ve filmed the scowl that made its way to Jason’s face, you think, almost laughing.
“Don’t call me that,” he rolls his eyes, flinching softly at the feel of a certain nerve rebuilding itself under your touch. Still, the black card in his back pocket with the hyphenated last name was a testament to either social conformity or acceptance of his adopted roots. For someone who hated Bruce Wayne so much, Jason was a carbon copy of him. From the way he tilted his head to the side when someone spoke to him, to the way he’d stand when a formal event was in place, Jason was a Wayne, whether he liked it or not.
The palms of your hands grow cold as they leave Jason’s skin, the white streak in his hair covering a singular eye of his. A silence falls between you both, cough and clearing of throat following close behind. “Todd-Wayne,” you say quickly, earning one of those looks from Jason that said just about everything they needed to.
It doesn’t take long for him to pull you into a headlock, the living room filling of laughter and gasps when he pulls you back against his chest, already starting one of those play-fights nobody ever won.
You manage your words out with difficulty from within the commotion, teasing tone on your lips up until Jason’s fingers reach your ribs and press inwards, tickling the sensitive skin. “The Todd-Wayne name will live onward!” After that, it’s a mess of squeals and strangled laughs, trying to get away from his hold with a multitude of failures until he tires out of the action.
“You suck,” he pants out as if he were the one who’d gotten the brunt of incessant teasing. Perhaps holding your kicking body down tired his adrenaline-tight muscles out. His eyes soften when he notices the way your chest heaves, short of breath and practically slouching into his warmth.
Jason’s fingers find their way in your hair, brushing stray strands away from your face with that infuriating toothy smile. Your forehead is sweat-slicked, his gloved palm swiping it before he slips it off. “You suck harder.”
“No, I don’t,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, you do. You’re a vigilante who can’t go one night without getting hurt.” It’s one of those statements that make him pinch your side, and you can’t help but squirm and slap his hand away.
He smirks to himself, pressing his forehead to your shoulder from behind. “Sei una spina nel fianco,” he laughs into your shirt, breath ghosting the back of your neck. It’s embarrassing how well you two get along.
“Say that again?” You whisper, turning your head to look back at him, the Italian murmurs not slipping by you at all. It takes all but a moment for his eyes to widen, cheeks flushing a soft pink colour on his tan skin. “…Nope. One time thing. Never happening again.” It was always a surprise when Jason’s accent slipped, but a full sentence? You can tell with the way his eyes shine that it wasn’t intentional.
The way he tries to deflect is almost desperate, sucking in a breath and pointing his nose towards the kitchen. “Get me a water, yeah? I’m thirsty.” But as his words disappear into the air, he’s not quite ready to let go of you, arms loosened around your waist with the half-promise of returning.
The footsteps that pound into the floor are almost melodic, bringing Jason a sense of peace at knowing they’re yours. The low hum of your busted refrigerator grows louder when you open it, pulling out three bottles of water, all half-drunk. “One of those,” he calls, and you shrug at the thought of his lips around the same rim yours had been on. You walk back and hand him the drink, plastic crackling under your fingertips. He takes it easily, twisting the cap and placing the rim to his lips.
Two gulps. Two big, thirsty gulps is what takes him to finish the bottle. He sets the plastic down on the floor, kicking his feet onto the living room table. A sniffle or two pass in the silence, his fingertips brushing yours on the sofa. It’s abrupt how he entwines your fingers as if the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t say anything, the noise of the clock ticking in the background drowning out along with the annoyingly loud sounds of the appliances in your apartment.
It’s awkward. You both know it. He glances at you, you glance at him, and it’s a competition of who gets reddest first. “So,” he drags the o-sound out, tilting his head back to rest on the leather cushion. “So,” you answer, doing just about the same. This had become a torturous routine. He shifts onto his side, staring straight at you and sucking his left cheek in, biting the inside skin.
“Don’t make that face at me.” The sentence leaves your lips before you can stop it, dragging your free hand along and pushing his face to look another direction. He lets out one of those shocked breaths that sound almost offended before looking back at you again, the soft click of his throat showing it was simply laughter.
The sofa groans under the weight of you both, every shift Jason makes as he scoots closer dragging out a sound from the weak springs inside. His knee touches yours and, suddenly, you’re aware of how childish this looks.
“I’m serious, don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, gaze set elsewhere. “Che?” His fingers tighten around yours, pulling your hand atop his thigh, holding securely. The scars on his hands — the missing bits from before meeting you — make your stomach churn. It’s second nature when your hand warms up again, the scars becoming nothing on Jason’s skin. “Like… that. You know. Wide-eyed, searching.”
His fingers grip yours just the slightest bit tighter, turning his head upwards to stare at the ceiling instead. Another bout of silence stretches out between you, where your body instinctively searches for Jason’s and leans into the heat of his side. His eyes are set on the popcorn-texture of the ceiling, pressing his cheek to the side of your head, taking in the scent of your hair. “Is that the shampoo Damian got you?” There’s a rasp in his voice, like it means something to use a gift specifically from the Arabic devil of a boy.
You shrug and nod, which is promptly received with Jason’s nose nuzzling into the soft waves, the hand that’d been holding yours peeling away from between your fingers and sliding up your arm. It found its way along your shoulder, crossing it to reach the opposite, his own arm resting along the expanse of the fabric over your skin. You’re trapped between his arm and chest, listening to the thump of his heart and the inhale and exhale of his lungs.
He squeezes the curve of your shoulder, bringing you closer, your thigh pressed tightly against his now. “It’s still two in the morning,” you whisper, grabbing your phone from the pocket of the pyjama pants you wore. It was exactly two forty-seven. “And?” His voice bites the air, knowing well what you were about to say. “It’s late. You should go home.”
Jason bit his bottom lip, letting out one of those frustrated sighs he knew so well to do. “I am home.” He looks insulted at your insinuation that he should leave, eyebrows knitting tight momentarily. He shoves his boots off, letting them bump on the floor. Your downstairs neighbour must hate you for all the noise.
“Ice cream?” You suggest, shifting your head to look up at him.
“Ice cream.” He smiles, pressing his lips to your forehead.
A COVERT OPERATION . you’re not jason’s girl, except you kinda are. pairing ! ex!jason todd x fem!reader wc ! 4.5k warnings ! sfw. fluff. written like a disaster rom com with more com than rom, jealous ex bf! jason, mr. spanky appearance sorta, a creepy unnamed guy appears + a misogynist asshole. reader does not take any shit. so yeah. mentions of alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking (reader & jason) + nicknames used : baby & amore (towards reader).
🗒️ based on this request and italian-american bf jason i & ii. also yeah, he’s pathetic and grovels a little.
art creds : @/shr0uds
now playing ! why don’t you do right — peggy lee 🎧
The first time it happened, you felt bad for the poor guy.
“Jay’s girl, huh?” You turned at the sound of the voice, the warm bar lights casting a harsh glow over the man’s frame.
Sly, slimeball, or whatever the hell the guy told the bartender his name was as he racked up his tab — eyed you up and down, dark hair gelled to the side and a finger idling at the rim of his glass. He was huge, even from where he sat hunched against the side of the bar, his head tilted to the side and legs open in your direction.
You ignored him, plucking the toothpick from your glass and sinking your teeth into the cherry. How long had it been since you and Jason broke up? A week? Two maybe? Not that you’d seen him around lately to keep the score.
He was like that, with his profound ability of becoming a ghost and slinking away to the darkest crevices of the world, never to be seen unless he willed it, which you cursed the son of a bitch for because here you were with the utter bad luck of not being able to do the same.
His neighborhood was also your neighborhood.
His friends were your friends — some who you consider family, and while it might’ve been cute at first to be known as Jay’s Girl™ from here in some washed up family owned bar all the way to the best food joints in Little Italy then to every bookstore in the Bowery and back — it afforded you no anonymity. Or rather, no time to mourn your failed relationship while pretending not to, because God forbid a girl just wants to get a drink at 9 PM without someone mentioning Jay.
“This guy givin’ you trouble?” Paulie, sweet, pure hearted Paulie who’d never hurt a fly — except for that one time he put three guys in the hospital for casing his joint sometime last Christmas — murmured to you, his hands busy drying a glass with the fluffy white towel slung over his shoulder.
“Cause I can get him outta here if he’s giving you a hard time.”
“I’m all good, thanks P,” you smiled, lifting your glass over the bartop to nudge his wrist. “Buuuut, you can top me up again.”
“You’re out of it, kid,” he laughed, but took the glass from you anyway. He hadn’t asked you about Jason the whole night, and despite how refreshing it was, it still felt sort of odd.
Did everybody know where he was except you? Or was the alcohol finally turning you into the pitiful sap you always knew you were?
That solace turned reflection was cut short however.
“I’m just saying, everybody’s skirtin’ around it and looking at me sideways.” The Slimeball chuckled to himself, as if he expected the tiny crowd to join in his amusement. “But you’re a good looking girl… like a fine piece a’ somethin’ you know?”
Paulie, in the middle of mixing your drink, looked to you, then to the guy, and back to you again.
You only shrugged. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
“What? Are you shy?” The guy turned to face you now, the sleazy grin of his face growing by the second. “Don’t pay attention to them, baby, focus on me.” His stool scraped the floor with a high pitched squeak and in the next second he was on his feet towards you.
Immediately, you tensed, but he leaned forward just as quickly. “You actually need to back up—”
“Hey, man— you need to watch it. Jace doesn’t play about that one,” came a random voice you’re sure you recognize, another neighborhood cousin or something.
“And you need to mind your fuckin’ business,” Grimey Guy whipped his head around. “Cause if that’s true, it’s his fault for not watching his girl.”
Upon turning around though, he reached a hand out to touch you.
Your drink was already raised halfway when Paulie and another guy rounded the counter and practically yanked the guy out of his chair. For good measure — and some well needed release of frustration — you downed half your drink then threw the rest in his face, after which he was dragged out back and kicked out — and maybe kicked around a bit, who knows?
But, Jay’s Girl remained triumphant, and the fairytale lived on, until it didn’t. Sort of.
“Well, that sure is a sight.” Roy whistled long and low over the thumping bass. He twirled a Marlboro Red between his fingers idly, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.
Meanwhile, Dick’s mouth fell open, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as a hand reached up to clutch his chest. “No way... isn’t that…?”
“Shut up,” Jason, who stood only a few steps away from their little wives-at-teatime gossip huddle grumbled. His lips were set in a deep frown, eyebrows knitted tight and gaze dark.
A humorous sight, if one were to take into consideration that all three of them were in ‘disguise’ for tonight, gathering intel on some high profile guest here at Eden, aka The Cathouse, one of if not the most popular nightclub in East End.
It was alive, electric, bass vibrating through the floorboards and the scent of fruity liquor cloaking the air.
Across the sea of bodies was you, dressed in a silky little thing that was borderline obscene, and the very picture of everything Jason did not want to see, but so desperately needed to.
In truth, this was supposed to be Roy’s job but the fuck-up fucked up and so now he’s here with reinforcements — a bored Dick Grayson who should’ve been back in Blüdhaven yesterday but caught wind of the breakup, which he called ‘The Great Departure’ and figured he’d stick around to boost his poor little bro’s morale — so now Jason is here.
He’s here in this shitty club where some illiterate hog had his hand inching closer to your ass by the second.
You were dancing, hips swaying and chest heaving with the rhythm, yet despite the effort you looked perfect, every bit of you.
From the slight staticky halo of your hair to the soft shine of sweat on your collarbone that looked like glitter and stardust and all things sweet, to your lips that moved in sync with the lyrics of the loud music — those lips, even when painted or lined or plain he can remember the exact curve and shape of them around the syllables of his name, the hiccup of a ti amo, the whisper of an amore mio, the shout of a fuck you, when he suggested that maybe another break is what you two needed.
“Wow,” a whisper came from Roy and Dick nudged him so hard with his elbow that the fake mustache he was wearing hung loose on one side.
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Jason huffed, downing the last of a shot of something whoever left on the bar counter. And that fucking mustache just kept itching him, Jesus Christ.
The hog in question, God forgive him, had his hands on your hips, chest pressed tight against your back — a little bird’s chest, Jason thought.
His uncle, or really his neighbor that he called Zio Laurenzo because it was just how he grew up — would say it’s a cardinal sin to not have some meat on your bones to keep a woman warm.
Did he keep you warm? Jason wondered. He knew he always ran cold, you’d tease him for it all the time but he didn’t even know why he was wondering about that now. Zio Laurenzo was a bum with a beer belly and two divorces under his belt. The only thing warm about him was his zuppa di pollo.
Madonna, he cursed in his head. He’d been listening to punks and bums all his life, no wonder he messed up with you.
“You’re a natural,” the guy whose name you’d already forgotten murmured against your ear. “You related to Lola Falana maybe?”
You laughed loud and loose, just the slightest bit tipsy and feeling yourself too much. It’s been a minute since you’ve gone out, a couple more minutes since you’ve entertained a guy just for the sake of it.
“Maybe.” It felt good. Not exactly fulfilling, but fun. You needed fun.
His hands guided your hips into a steady rhythm, your heartbeat matching each bump of the heavy bass.
You got lost in the music, in the heat rather quickly, your collarbones and forearms slightly slick with sweat and cold to touch but the alcohol hot inside your veins, the bumping and grinding of your hips against his even hotter.
“You still haven’t told me your name,” he shouted near your ear over the music, taking a gentle hold of your hand and spinning you around to face him. And oh boy, was he fine.
You told him your name with a playful smirk teasing at your lips, eyes hung low and a hand on his bicep.
The moment the last syllable left your mouth, the guy looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost, the heat of the club long diffused and an expression on his face that read bewilderment instead of sex.
“Repeat that?”
You said your name again and a hand came over his mouth instantaneously in utter shock. You could hardly believe it. “Woman, you tryin’ to get me killed?” He exclaimed in horror.
“What the hell are you even talking about?” Your lips curved into a frown.
He drew in a sharp inhale through his nostrils. “Look, you’re a nice girl and all…” he met your gaze and cringed just a little, fearful. “Like what I mean is, you’re nice— in a friend kinda way— like I wasn’t tryin’ to put no kind of word to you or nothing like that—”
The longer he spoke, the more your shoulders slumped and your nose scrunched up in confusion. Was this guy one of those fucking mood-swing-having kind of drunks, because the fuck?
“It’s just… you know, I don’t know what’s the situation with you two and if you’re steppin’ out,” he went on, scratching the back of his neck. “But I can’t go there— not that I was trying to, of course! Let’s get that solid— cause you’re Jay’s girl and I—”
“Excuse me?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He shook his head firmly. “Everybody knows he doesn’t play about you.”
“Everybody knows this?” Your face screwed up in a mix of disbelief and offense. “Listen, we broke up—”
He barked a laugh, right in your face. “Look, dolly, I came for a good time, not to get my ass beat. So I suggest you sing that little freshly divorced song with like, I don’t know, at least six feet between us.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“You have a good night,” he shrugged. “And congrats when you two get back together,” he said, giving you a quick nod before he walked away, easing between swaying bodies in the direction of the bar.
“Fucking punk!” You yelled after him. What a drag.
“Do I have to keep wearing this mustache?” Dick groaned, index finger itching at his upper lip. He was sitting on one of the barstools, attempting to survey the crowd.
“Oh, lookey here!” Roy’s posture straightened and his teeth shone in a grin, a tiny umbrella that he plucked from a glass idly twirling between his forefinger and thumb. “Cassio is steadily approaching.”
He turned to Dick who gave him a quizzical look.
“You’re not well read at all, man,” he continued, tossing the umbrella towards a brooding Jason, leaning against the bar with his hands crossed over his chest.
“And who are you supposed to be, Bianca?” Jason’s brows rose, then his expression shifted as he realized who Cassio was in question — the fucker that was dancing with you earlier.
A silence fell over the group as the guy rounded the bar and ordered a drink, scratching at his brow. He looked at Roy, then at Dick, both pretending not to look back at him.
Then he looked at Jason who was staring him head on.
“Do I know you?” The guy squinted, brows furrowed and head tilted forward. “You from around here?”
“No.” Jason responded, voice a little deeper for his disguise, or maybe something else entirely. Either way, it was fucking hilarious.
“Ah,” the guy nodded, looking away. The air was heavy and awkward, and Roy’s lips pursed with the effort of holding back a laugh.
“So, uh,” Dick cleared his throat, fingers thrumming against the bartop. “That’s a nice necklace, man.”
The guy looked up at him oddly. “You tryna rob me or something?”
There was a pause, and Dick stuttered slightly before the guy chuckled. “Just fucking with you, sorry. But, yeah, thanks,” he reached a hand up to finger the chain. It was a silver cross with a few tiny diamonds. “My girl got it for me.”
Jason’s jaw ticked.
“Oh, you don’t say?” Roy grinned. Dick turned away to stifle a laugh under his mustache. “Damn. That’s real sweet, huh, Johnny?”
Johnny — or Jason, grunted under his breath in response. “Li mortacci tua.”
No way you moved on already. And least of all with BirdChest. No way, there’s just no way.
He reached for the Marlboro Red that Roy abandoned on the bartop and fished a lighter out of his pants pocket. Before he could light it, Dick snatched it from his hands.
“Yeah, she’s a real nice girl… nags like hell though,” Random guy who you might’ve possibly moved on with, said. “Just the way these broads are, I guess.”
“It’s a bit much talkin’ shit about a lady who can’t defend herself ‘cause she’s across the room,” Jason intervened. Which he might as well, now that the scrub was calling you out of your name and he didn’t have a cigarette between his teeth because somebody felt like parenting him on what should be a covert operation.
“Oh, that one? Nah, not her.” The guy shrugged, sipping his drink. “That one just set me up to fucking die, can you believe that shit? Came out to escape the nagging and what I get instead is a one way ticket to Death Row.”
“What do you mean?” Dick leaned closer, and when Roy looked at him with a bottom lip drawn between his teeth to hold a laugh, he only shrugged. Good goss is good goss.
“She’s a real cute thing, you saw her right?” Roy and Dick nodded simultaneously. Jason scoffed. “We’re dancing, right? And I’m feeling her and she’s feeling me—”
“Yeah, fuckin’ stunad…” Jason grumbled to himself.
“Then I go and ask her name, she tells me, and I’m thinking to myself, where do I know this piece from, y’know?” The guy continued. He shook his head. “Man, would you believe that’s Jay’s girl?”
Dick and Roy exchanged a look, then shrugged in faux ignorance.
“Jay? You know how many Jays are in Gotham—” Roy started.
“Fuckin’ Jay from the Alley, man,” the guy exclaimed. “Big, burly son of a bitch. The one with the scar on his face. Motherfucker’s built like a matador—”
“Oh, really?” Dick rested a hand against his jaw.
“Really,” the guy huffed. “And she’s just out here looking like that and dancing on people— have you seen the size of that guy’s fist? Fuck’s sake… I could’ve lost my life...”
Jason smirked to himself then shook his head to get rid of it. You weren’t his girl, you weren’t. Not really and not in all the ways that mattered.
Was he wrong for feeling a liiitle bit on cloud nine at the notion of Bird Chest the Handsy Hog fucking off because of two words? Maybe. But he’d been wrong about plenty of things in his life, he could do with another on his conscience.
“Yo, Benny!” Came a shout and the guy in question whipped his head around. Oh, Bird Chest Benny. You would’ve loved to witness this in real time, he thought.
“Go easy, fellas,” Benny said, downing the last of his drink and stuffing a few bills under the glass. “And watch out for that girl I told you about. Wouldn’t wanna see any of you on the Missing Persons’ list.”
When Benny left the bar there was silence between the trio, a heavy, amused silence as Dick cradled his stomach to keep from bursting out into a guffaw.
Roy was the first to speak, and he sighed, long and dramatic, rising from his stool to stretch his aching arms. “O beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on—”
“—You’re done.” Jason interrupted, damn near lunging towards Roy who cackled with mischief, and Dick, who was still sitting there holding his stomach, had his lips pursed in intense thought.
“Oh, wait a minute, I get it now!” Dick shouted, rising from his seat. “Othello!”
“Need a light?”
Your entire body went stiff for a moment and a yelp escaped your throat. “Fuckin’ hell,” you whipped your head around, cigarette dangling carelessly between your fingers and eyes wide with momentary fright.
“Announce yourself first, Dracula.”
Jason could only fix his face in a sheepish little smile, stuffing a hand into his jacket pocket to fish out the lighter he’d intended to use earlier but didn’t have the chance.
The music from inside the club was muffled, the bass reduced to something like a tickle under your feet from where you both stood at the darkened back entrance.
You leaned forward, hands cupped and raised up to the click of his calloused thumb against the lighter, the small flame warming your fingertips.
“You got a ride home?” Jason asked, one hand cradling both of yours and raising them nearer to the flame, the tip of the cigarette finally catching light.
“Something like that,” you murmured, drawing in a puff, a soft plume of smoke leaving your nostrils. You withdrew your hands from his and he nodded, shoving the lighter back into his pocket.
He understood why. Of course, this wasn’t a thing, not exactly and not anymore. So he kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, still unable to hide the long gaze that raked over your features from where the timid light of the cigarette and the brightness of the moon cast shadows over your face. You were beautiful.
“What’s with the mustache?”
He blinked. “Huh?”
You were so beautiful and he was so stupid.
“Oh, that… that, uh…” Jason reached up to peel the embarrassingly fluffy, hairy thing off his face. “That was part of a covert operation,” he said, his voice coming out a little higher than he intended it to.
You laughed despite yourself. “A covert operation?”
“What’s it to you, Columbo?” He grumbled, a smile stretching on his mouth. He missed you. You hadn’t even been apart for long and he missed you.
You dug your heels into the asphalt, taking a deep drag of the cigarette between your fingers. With a long exhale, you looked over at him then looked away, but he caught your gaze in between, his gaze shooting to the ground.
“So… you and that guy in there—”
“Is that seriously how you wanna start right now?” You turned to look at him. “You were watching me?”
“I was gonna say sorry,” he looked up at you. “For ruining your night. He didn’t seem to stick around long, so I figured…”
“No, you’re not.” You shook your head, an almost bitter laugh of disbelief leaving your mouth in huffs of smoke. “No, you’re not, you fucking asshole—”
You were laughing, hiccuping through each harsh draw of breath and wheeze of laughter. Jason bit back a shit eating grin because of course you knew him well enough to call his bluff.
“You’re right,” he nodded, the words coming as a brief mumble under his breath. “I… I don’t know, I just can’t remember why we broke up.”
“If I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted a break—”
He turned his body towards you and interrupted. “A break, not a break up.” Jason sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “And then you just started throwing shit at me, what was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, Jason,” you flicked your cigarette away, outing the meek flame under your shoe. “Maybe call? Maybe come look for me? Maybe don’t spy on me with the Jay sanctioned protection squad?”
He straightened his posture, blinking slowly. “If this is about what happened at Paulie’s…”
You scoffed. “What happened at Paulie’s was none of your business. I can handle myself.”
Jason’s eyebrows rose in mock pride. “Yeah, word on the street is you waterboarded the guy with a glass of rum and coke.” The smile on his face faltered slightly, and his voice came quieter. “I know you can. I know that. It’s just different because—”
“Because I’m yours?” Your gaze met his, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look the slightest bit pathetic. Good, he deserved that. You wasted half a rum and coke because of his stupid ass. “Don’t make me laugh.”
He swallowed, taking his hands from his pockets and wiping them on his jeans. Okay, so yeah, he did deserve that. “I was an idiot. I’m still an idiot… And I didn’t mean to disappear on you like that.”
“But you did.”
“But I did,” he hung his head. “I did, and I fucked up, and you shouldn’t even hear me out. Because I was too much of a fuckin’ coward to come find you but seeing you here tonight, I just….”
“You just what?” He watched the way your mouth curved over the syllables. “Got jealous?”
“Follia,” he huffed. “Don’t get hasty, I didn’t say all that—”
“Oh my God, you were jealous,” you grinned wolfishly, eyes bright with amusement as you stepped closer to him. “You thought I was with that guy in there.”
“As if,” Jason rolled his eyes. “Look at him and look at you, in what world would you ever go for that sorta—”
“But I was with him and not you,” your lips pursed just the slightest, a tease, but nothing short of the truth. “Did it make you mad?”
A brief silence passed between you two, his dark blue eyes drifting from your eyes down to your lips, then back up again.
“What do you think?”
“Jealous, mad,” you raised two fingers, wiggling them slightly as you counted. “Mad or jealous. Uno dei due.”
“Brava,” he hummed. “You’re a natural.”
You tried to ignore the way your stomach did a somersault. “I’m still mad at you, and probably will be for a long time,” you said, lifting your head and pointing your nose at him firmly. “So, if you felt jealous, boo fuckin’ hoo, that’s your penance to pay.”
“I know that,” he nodded. “And I wouldn’t expect you to forgive me, not unless I really worked for it, I’m sure.” Jason reached for your hand and you let him, a calloused thumb stroking the back of your hand.
He was so warm compared to you right now, even though he ran cold. “But I do want to apologize, if you’ll let me.”
You pretended to think about it, your other hand reaching up to scratch the side of your head. “I mean, it really depends on the quality of your apology. You did leave me high and dry to go dress up as Mr. Potato Head—”
“Again, it was a covert operation—”
“I just don’t think a little apology is gonna cut it…” you sighed with faux hurt.
“I swear to God, I will get on my knees right now.” Jason said, deadpan.
You quirked a brow at him. “You wouldn’t.”
Before the last syllable had left your mouth, his knees hit the cold asphalt in front of you, those dark blue eyes staring up at you, electric and determined. Your heartbeat roared all the way up to your throat.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Jesus Christ, Jason—” you ducked your head in embarrassment, a shameful heat prickling your skin. You were suddenly aware of everyone and everything that could witness this display. A car driving by, a girl slipping outside to answer her phone, a guy idling on a bike parked a decent few feet away.
“Guardarmi,” he whispered. You looked up at him immediately. “Focus on me. Let me fix this.”
Your breath stuttered but you nodded all the same. “Apologize,” you said.
“I was wrong,” he scooted closer. “I was wrong and I’m sorry and I swear to you—”
“Don’t promise me anything,” you interrupted, looking down at him. The faintest redness dusted the flesh of his cheeks. “Apologize, better.”
“I messed up,” he continued. His hands rested on the dips of your waist. “I should’ve called or come to you but I didn’t. But I’ll fix it, I’ll do better by you. I know I don’t own you… I know that, but when you take me back—”
“If I take you back,” you clarified firmly. “I’m not your girl—”
Jason pressed a kiss to the hem of your shirt. “And if you don’t like it, I’ll set it straight so no one calls you that again, you know? I never need you to be my girl — maybe not even mine, I just need you.”
“Not your girl yet,” you murmured, finishing your previous sentence. “I don’t hear you apologizing.”
“Madonna Santa,” Jason nuzzled his forehead against your stomach. “I know, I fuckin’ know and I’m begging on my knees here, doll,” he groaned. “Mi dispiace, mi perdoni…”
He looked up at you with those eyes and you covered your face in defense. “Don’t… don’t look at me like that, it’s cheating.”
“Amore,” he whispered but you shook your head with a muffled mm-mm. “Ho bisogno del suo perdono.”
You peeked down at him from between your fingers, and he was still staring up at you with those big, wet eyes.
“Oh my God, get up, you look stupid,” you huffed, but a smile played at the corner of your mouth the whole time.
“Does this mean—?” Jason shifted, rising onto one knee.
“Fuck no,” you rolled your eyes. “At least take me home first,” you grumbled and he deflated slightly, the sadness evident in the smallest downturn of his lips. You had to bite back a laugh.
“But, you do owe me a rum and coke,” you continued as he rose to his feet, already walking ahead of him. Jason tried and failed to hide his enthusiasm, a grin blooming on his features.
“Yeah?”
“What about your little entourage?” You asked and he looked at you quizzically. “The rest of Mustache Incorporated.”
Jason’s brows rose in realization. Roy and Dick were still inside. Nevertheless, he shrugged. “They’re uh… working on some notes about Othello for me.”
“Othello?” You chuckled, and he caught up to your side.
“Covert operation, remember?” Jason whistled. “We have to have codenames.”
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warnings: bad day, Ryland and reader are in a committed relationship, some arguments, lots of kissing, overall romantic (I hope so), some flirting, she deserves all the best.
note : You had an exceptionally bad day, but you also have an exceptionally supportive boyfriend.
[Ryland Grace masterlist] [main masterlist]
Ryland glanced at his watch as he hurried down the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the carpet beneath him. Damn. The meeting had taken way longer than he'd expected. End-of-semester faculty meetings required full attendance, and even if he'd tried, there was no way he could've escaped early. Still, he hadn’t thought it would drag on this much.
He reached into the pocket of his yellow jacket and pulled out his apartment keys. The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
The hallway was dark, but farther inside, a dim, warm light glowed softly.
“Babe, I’m home!” he called as he stepped inside.
He set his helmet on the table and quickly kicked off his shoes, leaving them carelessly against the wall. He’d deal with them later.
“Sorry. I thought we’d finish sooner, but Mrs. Morrison still had something else to add. That woman genuinely has no sense of time—”
He stopped halfway across the living room when he spotted you curled up on the couch, wrapped so tightly in a blanket that you barely looked human anymore.
“Oh my,” he muttered, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I never thought I’d live to see my girlfriend turn into a human burrito.”
You stirred slightly before pushing the blanket down just enough to look at him.
“Hey.”
Your voice was barely audible, and Ryland felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. He crouched beside the couch, gently brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.
“Hey, pretty burrito,” he said softly. “Have you seen my girlfriend anywhere?”
“I had a terrible day,” you mumbled. “An absolutely, horribly terrible day.”
Ryland rested his chin on his hand and looked at you sympathetically.
“On a scale from one to ten? Where one is just a bad day and ten is the end of the world?”
“Eleven.”
“Geez,” he said quietly. “Rough day, huh?”
The two of you sat there in silence for a moment before Ryland sighed dramatically, stood up, and started taking off his jacket.
“Move over.”
“There’s no room. This is a one-person zone of emotional suffering.”
“Don’t you know misery loves company? Scoot.”
“Ry—”
Grace could be incredibly stubborn. You knew that. Which also meant you knew you had absolutely no chance of winning this argument. A moment later, he was lying beside you, pressing you gently against the back of the couch. He smelled faintly of cologne and cold wind.
“Tell me everything.”
So you did.
You told him how your day had started horribly after you spilled coffee all over yourself that morning. About the mountain of work waiting for you at the office. About your unbearable coworker. About forgetting lunch and ending up with a terrible sandwich from the vending machine. About your phone dying halfway through the day.
“And then it started raining,” you finished miserably. “And I didn’t even have an umbrella. Susan says it’s Mercury retrograde.”
Ryland blinked. “What?”
“Mercury retrograde,” you repeated more quietly.
“Sweetheart.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I love you, you know that. But when I hear things like that, as a scientist…” He shook his head. “Mercury retrograde is an interesting astronomical phenomenon, but its ‘effect on people’s lives’ is more about belief than actual science.”
You buried your face in his shirt with a muffled groan. “I know, but I can’t help it.”
He kissed the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you as tightly as the couch allowed.
“Okay,” he said after a moment, once you finally looked up at him again. “Let’s break this down scientifically. We have one spilled coffee, one terrible coworker, one terrible sandwich, one dead phone, and one missing umbrella.”
“Are you seriously about to make a graph out of my breakdown, Dr. Grace?”
“If necessary, yes.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and lifted a finger like he was about to start a lecture. “Individually, none of these events are catastrophic. Together, however, they create the illusion of a statistically significant bad day—”
“Ryland.”
“—however,” he corrected quickly, “I am willing to acknowledge that human emotional responses do not always correlate with objective data.”
“Wow. Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome,” he said softly.
A quiet pause settled between you. Then, more gently this time, he added, “But also… yeah. That really does sound like an awful day.”
Something in your chest loosened at that. “It was,” you admitted quietly.
Ryland looked at you carefully—really looked at you—and then reached up to tug the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders. A second later, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Wait a second.”
Before you could react, he pulled part of the blanket away dramatically.
“Is that my shirt?” he asked, his voice going slightly higher than usual.
A sly smile spread across your face. “Maybe.”
“It’s definitely my shirt! I recognize that cat!”
You grinned. “Ryland, you like it when I wear your clothes. Besides, I came home sad, wet, hungry, and lonely. I needed emotional support.”
He opened his mouth, fully prepared to argue that he absolutely did not like it when you stole his clothes. Which would’ve been a complete lie.
Sometimes you borrowed his sweatshirts, and afterward they smelled like your perfume for days. Ryland would put them on and instantly feel calmer, softer somehow, like a part of you was still there with him. But there was absolutely no way he was admitting that out loud.
“That’s theft, young lady,” he announced firmly. “Take it off.”
“Oh, you’re using your teacher voice now?” you teased. “You know what that does to me.”
He cleared his throat immediately, pretending your comment hadn’t sent a very real shiver down his spine.
“I’m counting to three.”
“Make me.”
The apartment filled with laughter almost instantly.
Ryland lunged for the blanket while you tried desperately to hold onto it, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. Within seconds he was hovering over you, pinning you against the couch while tears gathered at the corners of your eyes.
“Ryland!” you gasped between laughs. “I can’t move!”
“That’s gravity, my dear.”
He braced himself on his elbows above you, breathing hard, his glasses hanging crookedly off one ear.
“Are you surrendering?”
You shook your head stubbornly. “Never.”
“That was a very expensive shirt.”
“That’s not true,” you argued. “Besides… I can pay for damages.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Oh? And how exactly are you planning to do that?”
Instead of answering, you grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. It was warm and a little messy from laughter, but sweet enough to make his chest ache.
“Deal?” you whispered against his lips.
“It’s a valuable shirt,” Ryland muttered weakly without opening his eyes.
You kissed him again.
“Vintage, actually.”
Another kiss.
“I’m emotionally attached to it.”
“You’re a difficult negotiator, Dr. Grace.”
He kissed you again before you could say anything else, slower this time, softer.
God, he loved you.
He loved you so much it honestly terrified him sometimes.
With you, he never had to pretend to be someone cooler or smoother or less awkward than he really was. You saw every strange, anxious, overly talkative part of him—and somehow, that only made you love him more. Even if you kept stealing his clothes, he’d probably give you everything he owned without hesitation.
His hand slid lower against your waist as he lifted himself slightly, watching you loosen his tie and undo a few buttons of his shirt.
“You know,” he began thoughtfully, “I think we should consider conducting some practical research regarding Mercury retrograde.”
You laughed softly. “I thought you said that was bullshit.”
“Yes, well.” He adjusted his glasses with exaggerated seriousness. “Science requires an open mind. And according to extremely reliable research, after a day this bad, the best possible treatment involves direct physical contact and significant emotional support.”
“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow. “The research says so?”
“Very serious research.”
“And Dr. Grace agrees with these findings?”
“Completely.”
Your smile made his heart stutter. “Well,” you murmured, pulling gently on his tie again, “I suppose I should trust the science.”
“Good choice.”
You kissed him once more, soft laughter still lingering between you.
For a brief moment, Ryland’s mind drifted away from the warmth of the couch and the comfort of your arms, wandering instead to the jewelry store window he’d passed on his way home—the one he’d been stopping in front of for weeks now just to stare at the rings inside.
The thought still scared him sometimes. Wanting this much. Wanting a future this badly.
But sitting there with you tangled together on the couch, your fingers still curled loosely around his tie, he found himself thinking:
Tomorrow, he was finally going to walk into that store.
And if Mercury retrograde really was real… Well, then he’d just have to risk it anyway.
grace, who has been alone for five minutes: oh my god. an alien! im not alone anymore! i hope he wants to be friends :)
rocky, coming up on 50 years of solitude, imprinting on grace in ways baby ducklings can only dream of: if you leave me to sleep where i can't watch your heart beat i am blowing up this tunnel with us both in it
Description: When Johnny is sent to investigate suspicious steam coming out of a sewer, he doesn’t expect a woman from another dimension to climb out of it. You look at him like he’s your knight in shining armor, and he realizes very soon you possess the ability to completely derail his life.
Inspired on the movie Enchanted ✨
Tags/Warnings: whimsy!reader, fluff, humor, cheeky references to other characters and universes, yearner!johnny being down bad for women out of this world.
Notes: I’ve been feeling whimsy lately and it’s all thanks to my dear @vividxpages, so this one is dedicated to her 🤍 I’ve also missed writing our dramatic prince Johnny, and ended up giggling a lot while writing this. Enjoy 🫶🏼
Masterlist
Johnny had just walked out of the shower when his Fantastic Watch™ beeped. Wrapped in only a towel from the waist down, he steamed the remaining water off his body as he reached for it.
‘Steam rising from a sewer system detected in Midtown, please go check it out – Reed.’
He chuckled. The situation seemed a little bit dramatic to call a whole superhero, but Johnny Storm never missed a public appearance if the opportunity arose. He quickly got dressed in his blue suit, making sure his hair was fully dry before smiling to his reflection, and stepping out into the living room.
Ben, who was reading a book on one of the large couches, watched Johnny stroll to the kitchen island to snatch a fresh Maisie’s cookie from the batch H.E.R.B.I.E was putting on a tray, giving him a little pet in the process.
“Hey, J,” Ben called, just as Johnny reached the balcony and burst into flames. “If you find anything weird down there, try not to flirt with it,” he teased without looking up, and a robotic giggle was heard from the kitchen.
Traitor, Johnny thought, narrowing his eyes at Herbert.
Ben thought he was so smug ever since the whole Herald fiasco. But Johnny, ever the sweet summer boy, just gave him a pearly white condescending smile before finally taking off into the night.
A few minutes later, Johnny lands in the middle of a street in Times Square, where traffic has stopped and a crowd has gathered around a rattling sewer lid. There’s indeed thick white clouds coming out of it, and Johnny can feel the high temperature as he lands next to them.
People gasp when they see him, then cheer and whistle because salvation has arrived.
‘Human torch!’ ‘What’s happening?’ ‘I told the mayor he needed to check on the system ages ago!’
“Alright everyone, back up,” he puts on a smile, shooing people away with his arms. “I got it covered–”
A loud metal sound makes him turn around, and the manhole cover blasts upward landing on top of a car nearby with a loud crash. People scream and scatter away, and Johnny flames on instantly, absorbing all the heat that pours out of it.
The white steam subsides, replaced by some lilac, glittering particles that make Johnny cough a few times, swatting at it with his gloved hands. Once Johnny can see clearly again–or maybe not–he notices there’s something peeking out.
Is that…a hand?
A hand comes out to grab the edge of the sewer, but he sees no claws or scales or weirdly colored skin, no…it’s a woman’s hand wrapped in delicate lace gloves. Then the other hand comes out, clearly trying to prop themselves up.
Johnny’s fire dies when he sees no imminent danger, and he frowns at the small coughs coming from inside, stepping closer to see when something finally emerges from the sewer.
You emerge.
“Oof,” you say, using all your strength to climb out of…whatever you were in.
The puffy white gown you’re wearing spreads around you as your heels finally touch the ground, layers upon layers of sparkling fabric drag through the glittery pavement when you straighten yourself up. You brush away dust from your giant skirt, too lost in your own world to notice that the crowd around you has gone dead silent, and Johnny looks flat out bewildered.
That is, until a car blasts its horn, making you jump so hard you almost fall back into the sewer.
Strong, warm arms wrap around your waist, catching you immediately. You yelp, clinging to your savior, and that’s when your eyes finally meet. Your breath hitches, but all you needed was one look to that perfect blonde hair and those bright blue eyes to exhale in relief.
“Oh, thank goodness!” you say giddily, “Is this the Barbie Kingdom?”
Johnny doesn’t answer because quite frankly, what the fuck?
You don’t seem to mind, your melodic voice keeps spilling out excitedly. “My bad, Ken. I know it’s not a kingdom anymore! That democracy thing you have going on is spectacular, I really admire–” your enthusiasm dies out a little when your eyes dart around, realizing there’s zero pink in this place, only strangers, a bunch of weird colored lights, and the guy you’re holding onto for dear life is looking at you like you’re insane. “But this…doesn’t look like Barbieland,” you add with a nervous laugh. “Are you…a prince?”
Barbieland. A prince?
(I mean, he’ll take the compliment, but ????)
Johnny’s confused gaze darts all over your face, then down to your dress. A wedding dress. There are actual sparkles woven into it, and he’s sure your skirt alone weighs more than him. The white fabric is pristine and you smell like flowers, not like you just crawled out of a sewer.
And you just called him Ken. Thank God Ben is not here.
“Umm, kind sir?” You snap him out of his trance, still gripping his forearms. “Can you please tell me what kingdom is this?”
He looks at you, then at the crowd that’s just as confused as him, before replying hesitantly.
“...Manhattan?” He says, and it does very little to calm you down. He clears his throat, finally releasing you from his grip so you feel more comfortable. “You can call me Johnny, by the way,” he says, giving you his best trademark smile.
You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Well, Johnny of Manhattan,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself and trying to avoid making eye contact with the people whispering around you, and the noise of those weird metal boxes with wheels. “Do you know Andalasia?”
Even with all the extensive space knowledge Johnny possesses, he can’t really point out a place in the universe named like that.
“Is that your planet?” He asks, making you chuckle softly. Johnny delights in the sound, he feels like any moment now birds will wake up to surround you and start chirping.
“It’s my world,” you say, your voice turning more nostalgic now. “I was meant to marry The Bat Prince Edward today, my Eddie, and now I’ve fallen into this terrible place...”
“…Right.”
Johnny tries to consider all options.
Maybe you hit your head? Or you were some junkie? A very dedicated theater kid? Method actor? Or maybe, crazy idea, you were telling the truth. He doesn’t get much time to dwell on it because your laced gloved hand suddenly reaches for his.
“Please, can you help me go back?” You ask desperately.
Johnny looks where your hands meet, and decides to ignore the creeping blush on his face and the intrusive thoughts. She’s engaged. She’s probably crazy. But she’s so beautiful–no! Stop it, Johnny.
The last time he had a crush on a woman that showed up unannounced on his planet, things had not ended well.
“I know someone who might,” is all he says, avoiding your eyes. Since when does Johnny Storm get shy?
You squeal immediately, practically leaping into his chest to give him a hug he certainly wasn’t expecting. Johnny laughs surprised, trying not to get lost in your sweet perfume. A white flash suddenly blinds you, and your eyes widen in panic at the crowd closing in.
‘Johnny, who is she?’ ‘Another Herald?’ ‘Is this for a movie?”
Without thinking you cling tighter to Johnny, who you’ve decided is the only person you can trust in this weird place, and that does something alarming to his stupid little heart. Red flag, red flag–whatever, he decides to step up to the role, shielding you from the photographers.
“Alright, show’s over everybody!” He announces with a smile, never losing that golden boy persona, before turning back to you. “Okay, princess, you’re coming with me,” he says, pointing upward.
“...How?” You ask, staring up at the sky with a frown.
“You just hold on, and try not to scream,” he winks at you, and before you can react he’s picking you up bridal style, bunching the skirt of your dress so it’s not on the way. “I’ll try not to scorch it, but no promises.”
“Scorch it? What do you mea–oh my god…”
The night sky glows with fire coming out of this man’s body, as he flies you across the Manhattan realm. Truth to be told, coming from a world of magic and curses, this may not be the craziest thing that has ever happened to you.
You land on the balcony of a tower that looks absolutely nowhere near the ones made of stone back home. And thank the universe you’re too busy gawking at the view, because Johnny is able to sneakily pat the ends of your dress that caught on a few flames without you noticing.
“Oh wow…” you whisper, placing your gloved hands on the railing, overwhelmed by all the movement and lights and floating things. “Your world is strange, Johnny of Manhattan,” you laugh softly.
Johnny chuckles, and wow, this is not what he thought his night would be like. But then you gasp, pointing at the sky.
“We have the same moon!” You exclaim, placing your elbow on the railing and your cheek on your palm as you stare longingly at the sky. “Don’t you like it, Johnny? Knowing she’s always there?”
Johnny smiles, but he’s not sure it’s because of the celestial body he’s admired since he was a little boy, or the way you seem completely mesmerized by it.
“I’ve always loved her,” Johnny says fondly, stepping next to you with both hands on the railing, but he doesn’t look up. His eyes stay on you. He watches you sigh dreamily, and it makes him smirk. “Is this the part where we start singing about our heart’s wishes?”
“What? Noo,” you chuckle, without taking your eyes off the moon. “It just means home must be close if we can see the same stars…”
Right, home. Johnny forces himself to take his eyes off you, and as he peeks inside the empty living room, he notices Ben is no longer there. Perfect.
“Come on, let’s go inside, princess,” he says, and you turn to him with a smile.
He bows to let you go first, and you do a little bow in return. Your enormous skirt barely manages to cross the threshold with a few tugs. The black fabric at the ends, courtesy of the human torch, drags across the carpeted floors as you slowly take in every detail. He guides you into a big metal box, and presses a panel. You extend your arms for balance as the thing begins going up all of a sudden.
“Fascinating,” you whisper.
Johnny watches you with a smile and pride blooming in his chest. The Baxter Building is a marvel even for normal people, to you? It must be mind blowing. The innocent awe in your face makes Johnny feel that familiar flutter of butterflies in his stomach he hasn’t felt in a long time.
Bad Johnny.
“Okay, number one rule,” he clears his throat, compensating by the thing he does best: joking. “We’re going into the ogre’s swamp, so you’re better off not touching anything.”
He feels proud of it, at least until you look at him horrified and recoil in fear.
“An ogre? Oh no no no no…” you shake your head, reaching for the panel and pressing it frantically until the thing stops moving. “I don’t like those, absolutely not.”
“No, wait, sorry,” Johnny apologizes. “It was just a joke. We’re going to my brother in law’s lab, and he’s a bit…particular,” he explains, and only presses the button to keep going up when you nod. “Just uh…follow my lead, and you’ll be fine,” he says, when the elevator comes to a stop.
He stretches his neck, bouncing slightly on his feet and giving himself a small pep talk you can’t really understand. Then the doors open to another colorful, open place that makes your eyes go wide. Johnny strolls in first, and you follow behind like an anxious lost puppy.
“Reed!” he calls out dramatically, to a figure leaning over a counter. “I bring gifts from my mission!”
The man–not ogre, thank the stars–Reed, doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. His intention to ignore Johnny doesn't last long though, because he hears a pair of heels clicking on the floor that definitely don’t belong to his brother in law. He lifts his gaze, and his eyes immediately land on you.
“Why is there a bride in my lab?” He deadpans, looking at you up and down. “For the love of God, Jonathan, don’t tell me you–”
“Uh-uh,” Johnny cuts him off, holding a finger in the air before spreading his arms in a flourish to gesture at you. “I present to you: the steaming sewer.”
“Hiii!” You smile politely, waving at Reed. “Are you the ruler of this realm?”
Reed now looks at Johnny, exasperation written all over his face. “Explain yourself.”
“She came out of the sewer,” Johnny shrugs, looking too smug for his own good. “Dress and all.”
“I did,” you nod enthusiastically, not really helping at all.
Reed sighs, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, but by the time he opens them again, you’ve already wandered to one of his old models with a curiosity that reminds him of his own son.
“Oooh, what’s this?” You ask, reaching for a red lever.
“No, don’t touch–“
You gasp in delight as the lights flicker when you pull on it, but Johnny catches your hand just in time before you pull the whole thing and cut the power of the entire building. He gently guides you away from the counters, smiling apologetically at Reed’s resting bitch face.
Ogre, indeed.
The doors of the metal box you arrived in open again, and a woman storms in carrying a child in her arms. He doesn’t even look a year old.
“Not only are you working late, but you’re messing with the power while I’m trying to put Franklin to bed and I–” The woman stops in his tracks when she sees you standing in the middle of the lab. Her eyes go to Johnny, and she only has to raise her eyebrows for him to look like a scolded child.
“Sue, I can explain. Don’t panic, she’s just a–”
“Pwincess!” The baby in her arm babbles, clapping his little hands together.
You coo at the baby, but stay put where you are, not wanting to crowd the woman narrowing her eyes at you. You gather the fabric of your dress and give them a little curtsy.
“Thank you, little bean. But I’m not a princess yet,” you say, pressing one hand to your chest.
Sue notices the way you clutch the fabric of your dress nervously, and curiosity gets the best of her.
“Did you escape from your wedding?” She asks, but there’s no real malice behind it.
“I didn’t escape,” you shake your head, looking down to the floor. “I believe someone may have tried to kill me and I ended up here instead.”
“Oh honey,” her expression softens, not entirely sure why she believes you’re harmless to her family. At least at this moment.
Johnny does, and he sighs, because now you’ve activated Sue’s mom instincts. How is he supposed to not get attached?
At least she won’t be telling him to kill you.
“Where exactly did Johnny find you, sweetheart?” She asks, bouncing little Franklin on her hip.
“Johnny says it’s called a sewer!”
Sue just nods, looking between Reed and Johnny but the latter just smiles with a shrug. A sudden blue light washes over you, but before you can panic Johnny shows you it’s coming from a little device Reed is hunching over.
“He’s just scanning you to see how we can help,” Johnny explains reassuringly, and you nod as the light keeps going all over you.
“Fascinating,” Reed says after a few minutes, walking away from the thingy to circle you. “No traces of chemical intoxication. Her body has adapted to survive in our environment, but her clothing fibers are unlike anything I’ve seen on this planet.”
“Oh! My dress was hand sewn with the help of my friends. Mouses and rabbits are very talented when it comes to special fabrics,” you say matter of factly.
“Mouses and rabbits.” Reed repeats and you nod happily. Jesus Christ.
“H.E.R.B.I.E told me you were all here. What’s going on?” A new voice echoes across the lab as the doors open again. ”Uhh, is Johnny getting married and didn’t tell us?”
You turn around to see a tall man made out of orange rocks and your shoulders sag in relief. Finally, someone normal around here. But before you can ask him if he knows how to get to your kingdom, Reed is already gesturing for him.
“Perfect timing, Ben. Team gathering. Now.”
Ben obeys, following him without taking his eyes off you. Sue walks past you, and Franklin giggles when he tries to grab one of your puffy sleeves and fails. Reed motions them deeper into the lab, and Johnny walks backwards to look at you.
“Don’t touch anything,” he mouths, and your eyes drift immediately towards another lever device on the counter. “Especially that!” He whisper-shouts, and you nod innocently, clasping your hands behind your back.
He flashes you a grin before jogging to meet the others, who are already explaining the situation to Ben. You can hear the whispering, but you can’t really make out what they’re saying, so you distract yourself with your own dress.
On the far corner of the lab…
“She came out of a sewer, and you believe she’s a princess?” Ben asks, biting back a smile as he watches Johnny roll his eyes.
“She could be delusional. Experimenting a psychological episode perhaps.” Reed says.
“Then why didn’t your scans show anything?” Johnny crosses his arms.
Reed hesitates, because the machine may not show physical abnormalities, but your mental state is a different thing.
“My love?” Reed asks the person he trusts the most in the room.
“She looks harmless,” Sue shrugs, shifting Franklin who’s starting to fall asleep on her shoulder.
“She is harmless,” Johnny says immediately.
“You've known her for like twenty minutes,” Ben teases.
“Yeah, and in those twenty minutes she’s been overwhelmed, yet polite enough to ask for our help. After all we’ve seen lately, I think we’re safe–just…look at her.”
They all glance back.
You’re standing exactly where Johnny left you, carefully lifting the edge of your gown and gasping in visible distress when you notice it has turned black.
“Oh no…my dress…”
Johnny mentally slaps himself when you look at the singed fabric with a sad face. Okay, maybe flying in flames while carrying a hundred pounds of magical tulle had been a bad idea.
“So who’s the lucky fella?” Ben whispers, nudging his arm to get his attention.
Johnny takes a second too long to take his eyes away from you, before turning back to the group with the answer.
“She said she was marrying some prince named Eddie,” Johnny explains, trying to sound as casual as possible. “But I don’t trust him, what if he’s the one who sent her away?”
“Or…maybe you just want to steal his bride,” Ben says without hesitation, making Sue snort. Even Reed’s mouth twitches.
Johnny groans, stepping back to point between them defensively.
“No, no, no. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong! Absolutely wrong,” he defends himself, but his family has the audacity to laugh in his face.
“Johnny–”
“No! This isn’t another Shalla-bal situation,” he insists, crossing his arms. “That was months ago. Besides, can you really blame me? She was gorgeous.”
“And do you think the princess is gorgeous?” Sue asks with a knowing smile.
He glances at you once again, and it’s a bad idea, because Herbert has rolled into the room too and now you are bending slightly so you can pet his weird head. You were actually petting him. The droid is complimenting your dress, and you thank him giddily because you somehow understand what he’s saying.
“I fear the gown may be ruined, though,” you add with a small laugh.
“It still looks pretty on you,” Johnny blurts out loudly from his spot.
You straighten up to look at him, and your flustered face makes it difficult for him to not smile like a lovesick puppy. What the hell is happening to him?
When he turns back around, everyone is staring at him. Johnny closes his eyes with a grimace, sighing.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“I say you’re toast already,” Ben says, amused, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Good thing you can handle some heat–“
“I’m not handling any heat–“
“Alright!” Reed shuts them up. “Until we understand what happened, we can’t exactly send her anywhere,” Reed says, exhaling in defeat.
That makes Johnny perk up immediately with a smile that’s nothing but trouble.
“So we’re keeping her?” He says.
“We are letting her stay temporarily because she clearly needs help,” Sue corrects, giving him a warning look. “And you are going to behave.”
“Yes, absolutely!” Johnny nods, way too fast and completely unconvincing. Sue narrows her eyes at him. “Your mistrust wounds me, sister. I’m always on my best behavior.”
She glares at him one last time, before gesturing with her head at the group to walk back to you. She notices H.E.R.B.I.E has stuck to your side, and seems to be charmed by you as much as Johnny is. Which is another positive point in your favor.
“You can stay with us until we figure things out,” Sue says with a reassuring smile. “We’ll do our best to find your home.”
Your eyes go wide, the relief washing your face makes you look even brighter. Johnny has to keep himself from clutching his chest dramatically.
“Oh, I’m eternally grateful to all of you,” you say, lifting the fabric once again to do a full curtsy. “But especially to you, Johnny of Manhattan, because you were the one to trust me enough to bring me to your castle,” you add with a smile, straightening up and walking toward him to pressing a soft kiss on his warm cheek.
Johnny stills on his spot as your lips delicately graze his skin, before you pull apart a walk alway like nothing happened. His hand lifts instinctively to touch the spot you kissed, and this time his family’s snickers are inevitable.
Maybe Ben was right. Maybe he’s toast. Burned toast.
As he watches you obliviously hum a little tune for Franklin, who’s drooling away on Sue’s shoulder, acceptance hits him like a train.
He was absolutely doomed the second you climbed out of that sewer.
Thank you for reading this small fairytale! Feedback is always appreciated 💗🦇
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things that absolutely murder me about the project hail mary (book) ending
the chapter title is notated in eridian numbers
grace fully thinks in eridian numbers now actually
IT'S BEEN 16 YEARS. HE'S 53.
he eats his own cloned muscle tissue and calls it a meburger. hannibal lecter who. (i'm gonna be honest my dad told me this one as we walked out of the theater and i fully thought he was lying)
cane user grace. he means everything to me
he's fully fluent in eridian so rocky speaks to him completely fluidly. and also swears.
after SIXTEEN YEARS eridian scientists discover that sol has returned to full luminosity
grace doesn't know what wars have happened and how many died but he DOES know that humanity truly saved themselves. with his help
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
blakekathryn
kaledo-art
