#as in used to when younger and still does

[revelboo]

Hi Boo! Could you grace us with something really cute and domestic with Kup, the reader, and their sparkling? How would Springer react to having a little brother or sister?

Cute! That old mech deserves to be a sire- I think there’s two other recent asks about Kup, too

Domestic

Kup x Reader

• ‘No, Kup, wait,’ Springer protests, and Kup almost laughs. This is what the kid’s scared of? Not Decepticons or battle? A tiny, helpless sparkling. And Springs puts his hands out in self defense when Kup places his sparkling in his adopted son’s arms, showing him how to cradle the sparkling against himself and to support his head. “You aren’t going to drop your brother, so quit making a fuss, kid,” he growls as Springer stares at the sleeping youngling. And the younger mech’s head comes up in surprise, staring at him. Had the kid actually thought he’d stop being his son now that he has a youngling he’d sparked?

• Watching the two of them with your son, you know Springer’s not related to Kup, but that he’d raised him. And he’s a good kid, even if he’s grown and centuries older than you are. “You’re going to help with him,” you call out and they both look back at you sitting on the berth. “Kup’s getting up there in years and we need the help,” you add to make your mate work his cygar between his denta, even though he knows you’re teasing him.

• “You didn’t think I was too old last night,” he growls, smirking at the memory. “Pretty sure you were the one who needed a break.” And your face reddens as Springer vents tiredly. ‘I’d rather not hear about you two doing that,’ Springer mutters, as Kup laughs. “How exactly do you think we got a sparkling, kid?” Before Springer can retort, his son whines, optics opening and he expects the sparkling to wail about being held by someone new. But the little one just stares up at Springer, warbling uncertainly. ‘Hi,’ Springer whispers, smiling to leave Kup warm. Because this is his family. Springer’s still his son even if he didn’t sire him, always will be.

• Relaxing when you realize the baby isn’t going to scream his head off, you watch Kup reach to offer him a servo. Father and son both fussing over your son. All three normal sized, so you’re left out on the berth. Your baby bigger than you are right now. Until his head turns and he chirps, legs kicking. Seeing you. Recognizing you and you smile. And nearly have a heart attack when he mass shifts and Springer snarls, cupping the even tinier sparkling in his palms, his optics wide. “He does that,” you manage weakly, heart racing and feeling almost sick as you can’t breathe watching them.

• Spark thrumming frantically, Kup clears his vents loudly, too old for this sort of thing despite his insistence he’s not as Springer lowers his hands so you can climb into his palm and pick up his son, kneeling in Springer’s hands as the sparkling chirps, mouthing at you hungrily. “You’re staying for a meal interval,” Kup says, trying to hide that he’s shaken up as Springer just stares at you in his hands cradling his little brother. Making him painfully aware of how fragile his happiness is. This second chance something he never expected, something he’d given up on having at his age. That you and his sparkling are both so vulnerable. Helpless. ‘Sure,’ Springer murmurs, staring at the sparkling with a hunger Kup understands. Wanting his own family, his own chance at happy and Springer’s servos flex.

[demie90s]

What about nonchalant fem reader who is only down bad for Kahleah Cooper (or another nonchalant vet), but Kahleah wants to keep it private. Up until she remembers reader used to be a player and is a little too good at being nonchalant in public (maybe even better than Kahleah). Especially if the reader is playing into “being single”. Kahleah makes sure to remind reader of their relationship status / why reader is so down bad for her, and tell everyone else. Younger but not necessarily rookie reader. Whatever this may or may not inspire <3

All Me

Kahleah Copper x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: You’ve always been calm. Except when it comes to Kahleah. But when her desire to keep things private clashes with your old player habits, she decides to put some pressure back—just to remind you who you belong to.

Word Count~ 1.2k

Genre: Smutty slow burn, established relationship, public/private tension, light angst, lots of flirting

Warnings: sensuality, possessiveness, light dominance, sexual tension, public flirtation, marking

Kahleah’s halfway through brushing her edges when you come up behind her, still in your boxers and a white ribbed tank. Calm as hell. Mouthful of apple, eyes half-lidded like you just woke up—even though you’ve been up, bothering her, since nine.

She doesn’t say anything. Just tilts her head while you wrap your arms around her from behind.

She’s used to it now. You being soft in the mornings. You pressing into her back like you ain’t got plans. You stealing all the damn heat.

“You said eleven,” you mumble into her shoulder. “It’s ten-forty.”

She looks at you through the mirror. “So get dressed.”

“I am dressed.”

“You not even close.”

You shrug, biting into the rest of the apple. She gives you a look—flat and unimpressed—and then keeps it moving, lip gloss in one hand, bag in the other.

By the time you make it to the front door, she’s already got her sneakers on, keys in hand. And you—black tee, chain, loose jeans that hang just right on your hips—lean into the wall like you’re still debating if you wanna go.

She watches you for a second too long.

“What?” you ask, playing dumb.

Her voice is smooth. “You gon’ act like that all day?”

You grin. “Like what?”

She sucks her teeth, turning toward the door. “Like you not obsessed with me.”

You follow right behind her. “I am. Just in private.”

“Shut up,” she says. But she walks slower this time.

In the car, Your hand resting between her thighs like-usual. You don’t make a big deal out of it. Just calm contact. Fingertips slow and warm. She doesn’t move your hand. Doesn’t say anything either. She scrolls through her phone, checking texts, responding to someone from the team about seating.

“You drivin’ or just cruisin’ for no reason?”

“I’m cruisin’ with you. Ain’t that enough?”

She shakes her head, but there’s a soft little grin on her face now. You just keep drivin’.

“You still not hungry?” she asks, not looking up.

You shrug. “I could eat.”

“Then order something when we get there.”

“I will.” You won’t. She knows that.

The spot’s already halfway full when y’all pull up—mimosas on the tables, a few pitchers of water, three different servers trying to figure out who’s with who. It’s a casual team brunch-slash-whoever-was-in-town hangout. WNBA players, staff, college kids who got invited by somebody’s somebody. Chill, loud, relaxed.

You walk in next to Kahleah, one hand hovering low on her back. Not touching. Not claiming. Just there. She doesn’t move away. You’re not subtle—but you’re not messy either. And that’s the thing. People never know what y’all are. You like it that way.

You dap up a few folks. She does the same. Lexi throws a napkin at you for being late. Satou leans in for a hug, already half-drunk. Kahleah’s talking to someone near the hostess stand when you slide into a seat with Britney and Satou, nodding to whoever’s across the way without looking too long.

Satou notices your empty hands.

“You didn’t order?” she asks, brow raised.

You sit back in the chair, legs spread lazy, sunglasses still on. “I could go up.”

“But you won’t.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, cool as ever.

Brit laughs. “You gon’ eat off her plate like always.”

You don’t respond. Just stretch a little, glance around the patio like the sunlight don’t even hit you the same. You feel good. Chill. Nonchalant. And maybe that’s the problem.

Kahleah comes back five minutes later with a tray in hand. Chicken sandwich, sweet potato fries, something green for balance. She sets it down in front of the seat beside you, then eases into it—crossing one leg over the other, lip gloss still perfect.

You reach over before she even unwraps the sandwich. She don’t care. Not right away. You take a fry, slow. Bite into it like it’s yours.

“Damn,” she mutters, watching you. “Save me some.”

You chew, calm. “Damn What they use to season this?”She stares at you.

You go in for another. Dip it in the little sauce cup, lean back, kick one foot up under the table.

“You know you didn’t order,” she says, voice low.

“I know you did.”

“This mine.”

You shrug. “It’s ours now.”

Across the table, Satou’s giggling behind her glass. Britney deadass pretending she ain’t listening. Nobody says anything. But they all catch the energy.

Kahleah shakes her head like you draining her soul. She sips her drink and says nothing else. But her leg starts bouncing. You don’t miss it.

You know that bounce. You used to cause it. You should’ve known better.

It don’t start off messy. Just energy. Shift in the atmosphere.

People showing up. New faces. A few old ones. Someone from the training team. Somebody’s cousin. Couple of overseas girls who hoop in Spain but always fly through Chicago in the summer.

You still chill. Eating. Laughing. Playing with your straw.

Then a seat opens beside you, and somebody you might have messed with back in 2021 slides into it real casual. You don’t mind. Don’t lean. Don’t blink. You don’t even remember her name. But she’s smiling like y’all still know each other.

Kahleah doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t look up. Just sips (our) her drink slow, leans back in her chair, and speaks under her breath.

“Come here.”

You freeze. Head turning just enough to confirm what you already knew. She’s not even looking at you. Her eyes are still on her phone.

But her hand lifts—real calm—and points to the empty seat on her other side.

You’re up before anyone even processes it. Not a word. Not a moment. You slide across the patio and drop down next to her.

She doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t smirk. Just grabs her cup and sips again like nothing happened. Somebody down the table snickers. Coughs loud, fake as hell.

You ignore it. You’re still chewing her fries. Still leaning into her side. Still down bad in every way that counts. She knows it.

The ride home is quiet.

Windows down. Sun setting. Kahleah not saying much. You tap your fingers against your knee, other hand on the wheel, eyes flicking to her every few blocks.

“I wasn’t even flirting,” you say finally.

She glances out the window. “Didn’t say you were.”

“You told me to come over like I was misbehaving.”

“You was being single.”

You let that sit. You don’t argue.

She sighs, low. “I forgot you used to be fuckin’ around. Like actually good at this shit.”

“I’m not anymore.”

“That’s what scares me,” she says. “You got too good at playing calm. Like people don’t know they don’t stand a chance.”

You turn toward her. “They don’t.”

Kahleah finally looks at you. Eyes slow, full of heat.

“So act like it.” You grip the wheel tighter.

Because yeah. You’re calm. Cool. Collected. But she’s the reason you’re down bad. And if she wants people to know?

You’ll let her show them.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[withluvvenus]

　　　　

　　　　❝ GOD 𝓕ORBID 　 A GIRL HAS PASSION ❞

　you're literally o͟b͟s͟e͟s͟s͟e͟d͟ with a guy who you have never met . 　　　UGH . so what ?! 　 an insight on venus's fan DR

　

　

　

　

　

　

　　✶　　WHO IS ﹫LUCKYGIRLSYNDROME ?!

　　　　well truth be told ? that username belongs to the one and only , the most delusional girl ever on the face of the internet , venus . yep , the girl who is also known as ' hamzah's little sister ' or ' one of the slushynoobz friends ' . to popular belief , hamzah and venus aren't actually biologically related , venus is still the eldest daughter and the sister of a younger brother who IS blood related . people just like to confuse the two with a sibling bond because that's what they used as a defense line when people started to ship them . gross ! venus sees hamzah as the elder brother she never got , and hamzah only sees the girl as his little sister that he must annoy every single day or else the world might end .

　　　　but who else is she , if not the people who make up her mosaic of humanity ? she's an addictive lovergirl who believes in the good of the world and the axis that the earth spins on is made up of it's own sunlight energy . how is she going to prove that ? no idea ! other than that , venus is a teenage girl stuck in a twenty year old woman's body . she still obsesses , fantasizes , and daydreams like a high schooler in the middle of her physics class would do if there was a clear window nearby . venus never had empathy for anything science related , but she has empathy for everything else in the universe . someone hurt her ? " oh , what if they're going through something ? " somebody insulted her ? " they're probably having a bad day . " it's awful sometimes , being like her . thank god she's not like this 24/7 ! sometimes she has those days where she's extra mad , has more rage in her voice than any boxer before their match could even try to possess.

　　　　and where does she take this rage out on ? her podcast , of course !

　

　　✶　　SHE'S SOCIAL & SHE'S A PODCASTER !

　　　　a walking podcast is what they used to call her when she was in ninth grade , the first year of high school in the states . her friends , her classmates , or anyone who were graced by her thoughts that are usually stored in her trusty journal told her to start a podcast . why ? because she talked a lot . too much even , some of her teachers admitted . so that's what she did , she started a podcast just as a ' passion project ' in the summer in which it transitions from chill to absolute chaos , also known as the summer between sophomore year and junior year of high school . the project didn't turn out so well , as she slowly started to descend into a madness that only juniors understood . she was too busy with SATs and ACTs , APs and boy crushes , that she completely forgot about her one place where she could rant happily .

　　　　yet , she has a podcast still . why ? because she got bored one day . got bored so badly that she bought herself a mic and recorded in her car . it was a whole segment of nonsense , in her head , nothing was making sense . but when the words disappeared into thin air , and she rewinded the audio and listened , there was a smile on her face nonetheless . and that , dear lucky clovers , is where luckygirlsyndrome started , the podcast . at first , she didn't get a lot of views on youtube and listens on spotify , but slowly her popularity sky rocketed when she first appeared in a slushy noobz video . venus had been friends with mandy , martin's girlfriend , for a while , somehow . the friendship was one of those in which nobody remembers where it started from . however , venus flew to toronto the summer she graduated , spent her whole summer with mandy and the others , and became friends with them . now the comment sections searches for her in every video just because of the vibe she had bought .

　

　　✶　　DELUSIONALGIRLSYNDROME

　　　　oh she has a crush alright , a big crush , like one that almost any girl has felt throughout the span of her life . this one is ungodly , though . she always talks about him in her podcast episodes , slips his name into the cracks of conversations . what ? like he's gonna watch a podcast like her's ?

　　　　one of the sturniolo triplets , the middle one to be exact , is the one she has had the biggest crush since her senior year of high school . she found one of their videos , watched it all the way through , but didn't register a single word that was said because her eyes were on him the whole time and her ears had blocked out everything else . she had to rewatch the video , force herself to look away . she laughed , whole heartedly . her final thoughts ? they were funny , especially nick . she thought she was just like chris . and oh boy , she had developed a ' celebrity ' crush on matt , alright . she never grew out of it , no matter how often she watched their videos or the gap in which she had grown too busy and too bored . but he was still present , somewhere in the back of her mind . now she's a college dropout because her podcast is making numbers and she's living the real influencer life . but one things for certain , matt sturniolo will just stay as her celebrity crush .

　　　　right ?

　　　　　　　　　　　　　 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗹𝘂𝘃 ✶ 𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘂𝘀

[red5cars]

been a minute since i talked about a hybrid!au so bringing back service pup reader x jack abbot

tags: dog-hybrid!reader, heats, fingering, p-in-v, just soft sleepy sex

warm.

that’s the only word his sleep-addled brain can muster, “warm”.

an unusual feeling considering he keeps the house fairly cool, leaning into how comfortable his life is if he ignores all the thundering thoughts in his brain.

he opens one eye, not expecting to be met back with two, half-lidded and glassy.

it’s pretty normal to wake up with you on top of him, your weight grounding, breaching his subconscious and pulling him out from the night terrors. what’s not normal is the way you grind your hips onto his thigh.

thankfully, this isn’t an isolated incident.

both eyes open now, he greets you with a lazy smile, one of his hands settling on your back, “well this definitely beats an alarm clock,” he mumbles, other hand coming up to the pet the spot between your ears. a quiet huff leaves your lips, leaning more towards satisfaction than annoyance.

with a grunt, he moves his hands, urging you to lift your hips as he adjusts himself underneath you. when he brings your body back down, your legs straddle him, stray fur from your tail tickling the inside of his thighs.

jack hums, smoothing a hand over your ass, “heat came a little earlier than we planned,” and you nod, speech harder during the beginning of your heats. he can only tut in sympathy, “poor baby.. been like this for a hot minute, yeah?”

while words may have left you, your judgement hasn’t as you roll your eyes, giving him a look that says get on with it.

and he’s more than happy to.

the hand on your rump slides into your panties, already dripping so much slick he’s surprised there wasn’t any on his thigh. he strokes two fingers over the hole, slipping in easy as they push inside.

your lips part, quiet moan sounded out against his chest. he does his best to listen, to feel you out. noting what makes your breath hitch or what has pushing back against his hand. brings the hand on your head down to grab one of your cheeks, pulling and spreading your whole even wider around his fingers.

he continues to tease you like that, taking his time. sometimes, he’ll even pull his fingers out, using two more to rub over your hole, earning a soft whine from you.

after a few more thrusts of his digits you come, frenching his fingers as you clench. your breathing is heavy, the rise of your chest pushing against his own. he’ll never get used to seeing you like this, savoring it all like it’s the first time.

sliding his fingers out of you results with you whimpering, and jack can’t help but chuckle. his (dry) hand comes back to rest on your hand, ruffling your hair before pinching your cheek, “greedy girl,” he admonished fondly, pushing a finger between your lips. sharp canines poke at his flesh, even piercing against it in hopes to pierce him. it’s satisfying, but the way your eyes go out of focus for a minute bests that.

removing his hand from your face, he uses both to give you what you need. takes him a good minute to work down his boxers, sleep still wrapped around his bones. you being on top of him doesn’t help either, but he’ll never complain about any of that.

if he were a few years younger his cock would spring up, hitting you right against your folds. shame what time does, jack having to give himself a few extra pumps before he’s ready.

slowly, he eases you down onto his cock, watching you wince from the intrusion. it strokes his ego, even if he knows it’s more about your sensitivity then his size. someone like you is meant to take something bigger.

it’s in his dresser for later.

the whole time you sink down, you nudge your face further against his chest. it’s like you’re trying to bury yourself inside him, chasing that warm feeling, pulling on the cords of his heart till you’re tied up in them, wrapped around like some organic shibari.

he’s wide awake the moment your ass is flat on his hips, taking in lungfuls of his scent. the two of you stay like that, for a minute, the only noise your deep breathing. after a couple of clicks, you’re moving.

jack watches you take what you’re owed, his own breathing picking up and he’s hardly doing anything. the way you move is just so exhilarating, any smart comments leaving him because he’s too focused on you bouncing on your cock.

in place of those comments is praise, murmurs of “good girl” make your tail wag and your hips move even faster.

isn’t long before you cum, the telltale signs like you’re jaw clenching and eyebrows furrowing letting jack know. his arms wrap around you just as you do, lifting his hips to kiss that gummy spot inside you while you meet him with a rough slam of your hips.

your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you come down, your breath hot as it hits jack’s shirt.

his hold loosens, rearranging his hands so they’re rubbing your sides now. “better?” he asks, bit breathless from you bouncing on his cock.

you find your voice, nodding as you mumble a quick “yes,” emphasized by the slow wag of your tail.

he can only smile, leaning forward to kiss your temple, “‘m glad,” it’s spoken into your hairline, the intimacy leading you towards a more syrupy headspace.

without fully pulling you off his cock, he tugs you a little closer, holding you tight while resting his chin on your head.

“let’s take a quick power nap before the next round, okay?” he’s met with a quiet mmf which sounds like an “okay” to jack.

[gugudalala]

ft. sae itoshi / rin itoshi x reader

synopsis: They grew up together, hearts quietly entwined — even when Sae left for America. Now that Sae's back, Rin is done watching from the sidelines and pushes his way between them, Sae's long-suppressed jealousy boils over — the quiet bond they once shared threatens to erupt into something far more dangerous.

TW: smut with plot, spanking, degradation, size kink, unprotected, praise, ect+++

words: 1087

A/N. I do not own any of the character or picture (credit to the rightful owner) only the plots are mine. 

Enjoy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

CH: 1 | 2 | 3

────୨ৎ────

You slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Rin. Last night was never something you imagined would happen. He had always been the quiet, kind younger brother you grew up with. Your family member would never question the night as you sometimes sleep over at his place after some long night tutoring and today they would leave with his family for a trip Sae provided as a gift.

As you dress and move to leave his room, you try not to make a sound, not wanting to disturb anyone else in the house. But just as you reach the hallway, you stop in your tracks — Sae is standing by his door, half-naked as if he’d been waiting for you all along. Without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his room, the door slamming shut behind you. Before you can react, you're tossed onto his bed, the mattress dipping beneath you.

“Sae?” you breathe, barely getting the name out. It feels like last night all over again but this time with Sae. 

His eyes burned with anger, yet beneath it, I could feel the heat of his desire “If I had known, I would fuck you way sooner” he grunted as he got down to the side of the bed. Reaching out to you and force your leg open “No!” you scream as you try to close them. You didn't want him to see the tace that had been left from the night before. But that does not stop him as he forces you out of your dress and rips out your panties keeping you wide open for him. 

“You're sore” he mentioned as his hand spread you open. Tracing along your slit, he yank his hand to slap your pussy “I had you first, but you let him steal what already belonged to me”  he slapped again on your slit, on your clit, on your tights. You try to squirm and close your leg only to be forced open and slapped harder you choke out a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan as you feel both pain and pleasure from him “I want it red” he demanded as he gave you one last hard slap 

he grabs you tight with both hands and keeps you open as he takes his time viewing his work on you. His face was so close to your cunt, you could feel his breath on you. He then licks your pussy soothing the pain that was there. He takes his time tasting you. As he pushes his tongue into you, you whine from the soreness of the night before. But that didn’t stop him as he kept linking using his tongue to pleasure you. You can’t help but feel the tension in your stomach knowing that soon you will cum, you grab onto his head trying to push him out only for him to dig in deeper, and you come onto his face. By the time you come down from your high the whole lower half of the face is soaked and dripping and he still doesn’t stop 

“Please, no more…” you plead. But that does not stop him. He used his tongue to play with your clit as he used his finger to gather your juices to play with your arse “No! Don’t—please, not there… I’m begging you” you cry out to him “You give him your front, then I should take mine as well” he murmurs, voice low, taunting. He pushed his finger in deeply, spreading you open. He kisses, licks, and plays with your clit to make you feel nothing but pleasure. You could feel the coil coming back, you reaching your peak again with a shaking leg. He got up and remove his pants, at this point you are too tired to even move. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap with your back to him and your leg wide open. You could feel the cold air hit you cunt. He adjusts himself and rubs his cock on your slit taking all the juices before then he slowly pushes it back into your arse. 

You tense up as you feel it going into your back “Relax” he groans as one of his arms holds you to him he uses his other hand to finger you. Being distracted from the pleasure from your front makes you relax and he was able to make you sink down to him, talking him whole. 

“I know you can take it, what a good slut you are” his hand continues to finger you as he makes you bounce on his cock. He slides in and out, harsh thrust, so deep that your eyes roll back and you let out choked moans. You never felt this much pleasure from both front and back, you can't help but scream his name. 

“That right scream my name, so he knows who fucking you” he thrust in harder both front and back. “Too much, too much” feeling from both sides, making you feel dizzy. The pleasure is too overpowering but what Sae did next pulls you back to your senses “Look who is here to watch” he whispers against your ear. You look up, coming to your senses to see Rin standing in front of you. Your eyes widen, heart pounding, as you meet his eyes burning with a mix of desire. But even with Rin in front, Sae didn’t stop he kept on thrusting while all you could do was whimper and taking it all.

You let out a broken moan reaching yet another climax and he grinned “Go on come, come like a whore you are” You came squirting, making a mess all over the place. His finger doesn’t stop making your mess go everywhere “Good fucking girl” after a few thrusts he comes into your arse.

You’re so far past tired, it’s like your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. Every inch of your skin is still echoing with last night’s touch and this morning’s cruelty. Sae lowers you onto the bed and Rin is still there, unmoving—silent, unreadable like a storm waiting to break.

Their eyes meet over your barely conscious body, and the air thickens. Something cracks between them, quiet but violent. You can’t tell if it’s jealousy, guilt, or possession snapping taut, but it coils in your chest like a warning.

You know, with a sinking certainty, that today isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

[thestoryteller-thedreamer]

Ninjago Music Headcanons

Jay: He's a musical kid. He will rap along to Hamilton, try to reach the high notes in Phantom of the Opera, and act out scenes from Wicked. You better believe he's made animatics for EPIC and is trying to convince Nya to get him tickets to Les Mis for his birthday. According to his parents, it was the cultural class in his homeschooling

Nya: She usually cares more about the message/ words than the beat, so if the lyrics match her mood, she'll be listening to it on repeat. Whatever fits the *vibes* she's going for, though she does tend to gravitate toward rap and Kpop. And also anything that will channel her feminine rage (usually when she's training and needs to channel her anger at the punching bag). She also obliged Jay and learned some of his favorite songs from musicals, so they could duet together.

Cole: Oldies from the 1960s-1970s. They remind him of his mom, who used to sing all the time before she died. Brown Eyed Girl, Ain't No Mountain High Enough, Dancing in the Moonlight, Good Morning Starshine... he's actually a good singer when the song fits his voice range, and the other ninja can occasionally convince him to sing for them on roadtrips.

Zane: Lo-fi. Apparently it covers up the faint whirr of his gears that accompanies everything he does. Usually played very quiet, barely audible even, but it makes for a nice accompaniment from time to time. He plays the same thirty songs on repeat, in order, starting from the beginning of the playlist, so he knows what to expect.

P.I.X.A.L.: She loves pop. Though she tells the others it's because she's still trying to figure out normal human behavior, they see her bobbing her head and singing the words to her reflection in the mirror. Zane took her to a Taylor Swift concert once and stood completely frozen the entire time, watching P.I.X.A.L. in utter surprise and awe as she sang all of the lyrics to every single song (she downloaded them into her memory bank, using up her vast but not unlimited storage space to get them all down).

Kai: Usually Imagine Dragons, but he also loves Bruno Mars and Benson Boone. They are the songs that he plays in the shower as the hot water runs down his back, washing away his grief and panic. Of course, his portable speaker has to be loud enough to be heard over the water, so all of the other ninja know he's having a bad day when "Beautiful Things" is blasting through the monastery. And yes, Kai cries every time it comes on (he's had his family taken away too many times to get numb to the lyrics, even when it's overplayed)

Lloyd: He goes along with anything and everything. Since the other ninja basically raised him, all of their musical tastes remind him of being younger. Even though he can never be a kid again, never relive a more carefree and naive life, listening to their music makes him feel safe. He's made a comfort playlist combining all of their different tastes, and easily jumps from musical to Benson Boone to pop to rap to oldies to Lo-fi. The only stuff he refuses to listen to is anything by NF because it tends to make him break down.

[charliesunreyes]

charlie headcanons

hi i have autism and i really like charlie reyes so here

- Charlie is born in late November, and winter is his favourite season!

- His favourite animal is dogs because he’s basic, but a close second favourite would be monkeys.

- Hes bisexual. Argue with the wall.

- A lot more sensitive than Stefani is. Used to cry a lot as a kid, but has somewhat covered it up with anger now that he’s older.

- When his mum left, he was 5, and he would sit outside his house on the curb, waiting for her to come back.

- He started learning to skateboard after Erik quit - he got bored and gave his board to Charlie, who loved it and would always ask Stef or the cousins to take him.

- Has absolutely cried about snakes not having arms at least once in his life.

- For his 16th birthday he wanted to get both his ears pierced. Erik finished one lobe and Charlie was crying so bad he literally couldn’t do the second one. Charlie still loves the piercing he does have though.

- His mums generational trauma hit both him and Stef bad, but Charlie moreso because she was younger when she left. Because of this, he had severe anxiety about almost everything growing up. He’s more or less grown out of it, but is still petrified of rollercoasters, needles, and driving.

- When he was 12, he found out Stefani was going out of state for college, and tried to lock her in her room so she couldn’t go (despite the fact that she wasn’t actually going to college for another 2 years).

- Once posted a tiktok dance and Erik bullied him so bad for it Charlie took the post down and blocked Erik for a month.

- ^ When Charlie complained to Julia about it a month later, she showed Charlie Erik’s old myspace posts and Charlie unblocked Erik solely to laugh at him.

- He was crushing on Jenny for a good couple years before he asked her to prom. Julia was ready to hit the boy for not confessing sooner.

- Most of his music taste is from Erik, just on the softer side. Erik takes him to buy records and band tees every other month.

- Charlie and his dad fight a lot, specifically over Charlie’s grades. Where Stefani thrived academically, especially in STEM, Charlie is more creative and struggles a lot more.

- Can play the guitar and the ukulele, but prefers the ukulele since his hands are smaller.

- Will go to the gym with Julia and Bobby sometimes. He lifts the least out of the three and gets bullied for it :(

- Relentless teasing from the cousins. It’s how they show their affection so he tolerates it (even if sometimes he forgets that they’re just teasing).

- Cries listening to ‘Let Down’ by Radiohead everytime without fail.

- He doesn’t want to go to college when he finishes school, and doesn’t know how to tell his dad.

- CONSTANT comparisons to Stefani. His dad loves him and wants what’s best for him, but doesn’t get that college might not be that necessarily.

- Major inferiority complex, especially around Stefani and Erik, who more or less seem to have their lives together. This is why Stefani flunking out of school was a big moment for him.

- Ungodly vocal chords, went for the school musical and landed the lead almost instantly. The whole family went to see him except from Stefani and his dad.

- Very artsy! He has a sketchbook full of doodles and drawings, and he’s very good at it! He has a more cartoony style.

- His favourite mug is one with a little illustration of a fox with the tagline ‘No Fox To Give’. He thinks its hilarious.

[francislangdon]

MILKY PLEASE we decide to play a game of chicken together which leads to one thing or another AU or we dated when we were younger and now we’re step siblings AU 🙇🏻‍♀️ on my hands and knees

we dated when we were younger and now we’re step siblings

It was barely even one year that she dated Frank Langdon.

Mel didn’t tell anyone. Not her friends, definitely not her dad— even Becca didn’t know.

It’s a warm secret, one that she keeps close to her heart, the only rebellious thing that she ever did as a teenager; date an older boy— a senior when she was still a freshman— and a boy with a girlfriend at that. “It’s not serious with Abby. We’re not exclusive,” Frank says, “But don’t say anything because she’ll freak out if she sees me with someone else.”

Mel nods, dumbstruck, her lips still tingling with the kiss they shared, clandestine and fervent against her locker when she should have been in math class.

The only time she ever skipped classes was that freshman year, asking for the bathroom pass and not so inconspicuously taking her bag with her so she could meet Frank during sixth period. He completed most of his credits already, doubling on math and science classes when he was a junior, taking no electives his senior year so that he could leave school early— usually with Mel in tow.

“You can probably do the same,” Frank says, while they’re sitting in a McDonald’s drive-through at noon on a sunny day, her classes forgotten, “You’re definitely smart enough.”

Mel already quizzed him about that, planned out exactly what AP and honors are worth it. Of course, she’ll need to make up for everything she’s missing right now, in Frank’s car instead of world history, but then he hands her fries and an oreo flurry to share and for once, Mel decides not to worry about it.

He’s a little bit of a bad influence.

Later, Frank kisses her syrupy-sweet in his bedroom, the house empty in the middle of the afternoon. It’s all clothes strewn on the floor, Nirvana and Oasis posters, an electric guitar in the corner. She’s worried he won’t like the press of her braces on his tongue, catching his lips, but he smiles against her mouth.

“You’re so cute, Mel,” before he kisses her again, deeper, doing something with his tongue that makes her quiver. Frank takes her virginity in that bedroom.

It’s always like something out of a movie with him. Cutting class to be with him, sneaking out of her window at night to meet him in the park. Sometimes, he even brings her around his friends, all older than her, hockey players and stoners.

Frank pulls her onto his lap as she declines the blunt and lets him pass it to one of friends instead.

“Who’s the freshman? I thought you were still dating Abby,” the guy says, eyes red and a laughing tone under his voice.

He shrugs, “If she asks, don’t tell her I brought a girl over,” he looks at her and winks, “Besides, Mel is like a sister to me. Nothing’s going on between us.”

“Nothing,” Mel repeats clumsily, blushing at their shared secret. It’s exhilarating to know something no one else does— only her and Frank. His arm tightens around her waist, squeezing her close to his chest.

He drops her off at home before the sun comes up, a few blocks away from her house so no one sees, and Mel climbs back through her window with shaky legs and an undercurrent of satisfaction.

They inevitably break up in the spring. Frank is going to New York for college, Mel is stuck in Pittsburgh for three more years with no expectation that he was ever going to wait for her. An expiry date was stamped on their relationship from the moment it began. It’s only a little melancholy when it finally does end.

She keeps a few pictures of them, a stack of his chemistry notes, his green hoodie, two sizes too big for her. Other than that, the memory of him is covetous, something surprising for her college roommate to giggle over when she tells her. My ex-boyfriend was four years older than me. Shaggy black hair, blue eyes. He was very cute. He played the guitar. But it’s only that— a memory.

It feels, almost, like dating Frank happened to someone else. It was so out of character for Mel, in those idyllic and unrepentant few months they snuck around. She could hardly tell you what came over her when they were together.

Frank is a ghost of a memory, one that Mel only glimpses occasionally. That’s why she doesn’t know how to react when she comes home from her first semester of college and finds him solid, standing in her kitchen, chatting casually with her dad.

Mel knows that her father remarried while she was at school. The woman is nice, she hears. Margaret, a widow as well. She has three sons, all older then Mel and Becca.

The youngest of which is, apparently, Frank Langdon.

Her dad introduces them. Or, he thinks he does. “This is my daughter, Melissa. Mel, come say hi to your brother.”

Mel cringes at the word brother when it’s describing Frank, tall and handsome still, a little more well-built than the last time she saw him.

“It’s…nice to meet you, Mel,” Frank says carefully, eyes roaming over her. His hand twitches in an aborted gesture, like he’s going for a handshake before thinking better of it.

She presses her hands against her neck, shaking her head slightly, trying to fight the automatic instinct to touch him, to play with his hair or pull him down for a kiss. Brother. Step-brother. “Um, l-likewise, Frank.”

He catches her eye and she reddens.

They’re going to be normal about this. She’s capable of being normal about this.

“These are new,” Frank says, later that night, after he sneaks into her bedroom. Their parents— their shared parents— are asleep. She’s in his lap, grinding against him softly as he plays with her tits, bigger now than when she was fourteen, “Guess my baby sister is all grown up now.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Mel winces. He pinches a nipple, grinding his cock into her through the layers of clothes.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda hot? You liked the whole forbidden thing when we were dating.”

“It’s gross,” her breath hitches when his clothed erection slides against her clit just right. She impatiently tugs at his sweats, “You’re not my actual brother. Our parents are just married.”

Frank swipes his hands over her hips to pull down her shorts, “My sweet little sister,” he teases, “Waited for me while I was away at college, right?”

An involuntary whimper comes out of her. It’s the thought of Frank coming back to her, like it’s a given. His cock rubs against her folds, gathering slick as they rock together. She fists a hand into his shirt, his body warm underneath her. He makes all those adolescent feelings come rushing back, everything raw and vernal where he touches her.

“Yeah,” Mel mumbles, “Missed you.”

He sighs contentedly, “Can’t believe I get to come home to this now.” His hips roll, he notches his cock at her entrance. “You have no idea how much I fantasized about fucking this cunt again.”

“Really?” she asks, nudging him deeper.

“Mmmh, fuck yes,” he groans, sliding home, “This pussy is just as sweet as the last time I had it.”

“Don’t leave again,” Mel blushes, starting to stutter out a desire that feels almost too filthy to speak, “You’re my big brother now, you can’t leave.”

“That’s right, baby, big brother’s not going anywhere,” Frank pulls her in close to his chest and starts to thrust into her properly, remembering exactly how she likes it. It’s so sedative, comforting— familial.

[pushspacetocontinue]

"I couldn't break the mop he was carrying. It was a metal handle, and I wasn't as strong as I am now, but I did the next best thing and broke him instead," Travis said, "A month of detention, but it was worth it, and I told the younger kids that if he dared do it again, just to tell me."

And the janitor hadn't dared try it again from what he had heard. He had learned a lesson from having the absolute snot beaten out of him and seeing how he liked someone bigger than him treating him like that.

"I'm not good at being sneaky," Travis said, "I'm hardly subtle about anything, me. But I bet the effect when one of you two do it. I imagine it happens a lot by accident too though."

Of course, Travis hadn't known about it, but there was that time where had Erica had inadvertently snuck up on Antonio before their mission to rescue Leofric.

"I never got a chance to do it when she was alive," Travis said, "I was in prison when she died. That was the third best news I got in there. The second of course was the news that I was finally getting out."

But Travis did look interested.

"I think I might just have to do that, thanks for the tip," Travis said, as he started to get driving away from the area. As disappointing as the car itself was, at least it was a smooth ride so far, "I wonder if she'd be able to see Lewis and let him know that we're doing all right. I'll have to hear those stories sometime. And that's up to you, Willow. I'm good either way."

Travis then grinned.

"Now that's a song of choice."

Russell didn't seem to notice that Lucien and Rook were keeping a slightly firmer eye on him for the moment. He was more focussed on looking at the things around them.

"Heh, it's not, not as yellow though, or, or, or as terrifying," Russell said, "At, at least not, not to use right, right now. I, I guess it, it knows we're, we're not threats, and, and with Rook here taking, taking us through."

He really had no idea how it worked in all honesty, so it was just a guess.

"I suppose it is a bit more like the Infinite Ikea," Bill said with a grin as he took in the details a bit more now that the plague doctor mask was off properly.

Antonio managed a small smile of his own at Rook's comforting gesture, reaching up to gently pat her hand with his own.

"That sounds about right, arrogant prick," Bill said, "He would think he's the best so why bother to improve? Even I'm constantly learning new things, and I'm centuries old."

"We all are," Leofric agreed, "Perhaps he would have been different in another life, a timeline far from this one, and ultimately, it did little to serve him. But in this one, he simply became a power hungry bully, as you said, Veronica, and if we do have to face him again, then I will do without hesitation."

"Some people just shouldn't be parents," Bill said, before he smiled at Rook, "I'm glad I didn't either. And I'm glad I was with you, well, everyone here, to deal with him together."

But then he spoke up as soon as Veronica said what to do.

"It's almost like we're ducklings," Bill said, as soon as he realised just what Veronica had mentioned before, "Oh dear..."

It looked like he was going to be the one taking the express route today.

"No, I, I don't mind," Russell said, "As, as you said, it has been a, a long fight and if, if you gotta, you gotta fuel up, you, you gotta..."

Not the most eloquently put, but hopefully it still got the point across.

"Yeah, you do what you need to do," Simon said.

Leofric just nodded.

"We can wait for you, sorellina," Antonio agreed, "You've been brilliant today."

"I suppose while she does that, we can take a moment to have a look at this gold pile," Leofric suggested, a subtle way of telling the others to allow Rook some privacy.

Erica, of course, couldn't do anything but cheer at that. "Heck yeah! That guy deserved all the bruises he got."

Somebody had to stand up for children. It was nice of Travis to take the matter into his own hands.

"It sounds like willow and I." Erica said, before she pointed to her double, "She scares people just by standing around and nobody ever hears me coming!"

Both taking great pleasure from the effect they had on people. Willow's attention briefly shifted to the car as Travis got it started and listened to the noise of the engine just a moment before losing interest. Disappointing like its former owner. She might let the others keep this one, after all.

"I'm sure it would be her pleasure to do so." Willow replied, "You should inquire about it directly. There is a high chance she already has some stories to share."

It would have been beneficial in more than a way. The ghost lady would have loved to brag about doing something like that. Having that waiting for her on the other side might have actually persuaded her to take time off more consistently with her needs.

"Let's leave the area. Then I will provide directions to our destination." Willow instructed, "Or we could have a little fun with the GPS."

"We should put on that song that plays in that sketch with the three guys in the car!" Erica suggested.

"We shall, Erica."

They could indulge as long as it was funny.

Like a good host, Rook was keeping track of her guests, especially the ones who had visited before. Russell had made it through on his own last time, strong of the fact that the pocket didn't enjoy holding onto regular humans.

That had changed, but Lucien was already on the case.

"Well, now we know what it feels like to visit the Backrooms." the half fae mused.

"It's more like that infinite Ikea thing." Rook replied. She was quick to summon two endless shelves filled with all kinds of books and knickknacks that stretched past them as far as the eye could see.

It was an excuse to flex the full extent of her occult collection, but it also offered a distraction while she quietly reached to place her hand on Antonio's shoulder. Younger siblings had to be supportive too when needed.

"In my professional opinion, his entire family has never really shined in that regard." Veronica said, "They're just a bunch of power hungry hypocrites. It wouldn't surprise me if he was actively discouraged to improve his technique. He wouldn't be this deranged if he did. They essentially ruined their own child."

As a parent, she simply couldn't stand the thought.

Rook briefly looked at the chainmail, before shutting the chests. "I'm glad you didn't need that."

The battle had gone better than she could have ever hoped for. Both chests floated up to an empty spot on one of the shelves. They would be safe there for the time being.

"Alright, then. Let's all line up and follow mum outta here!"

Veronica sighed and moved to lead the way. "The first one to make a duck joke will take the express way out."

Lucien opened his mouth to reply, but decided for his own good to keep quiet.

Rook fell into step, moving more quickly now that her wings were gone.

"Do you guys mind if we stop by my stash? It's been a long fight..."

Her marks were starting to nag her already.

[kpopsexstories]

QUICK FIX GAY #16: BTS Jungkook x TXT Yeonjun (Big Brother, Little Brother)

This is a 100% gay story. Check out this post for my straight smut and this post for more gay smut.

Pairing: BTS Jungkook x TXT Yeonjun

Content: Yeonjun and Jungkook film a home-made p*rno using the camera equipment from “Are You Sure?!”. Gay, Doggy style, Standing, Jerking off, Cumshot, Cum in mouth, On camera

Type of Sex: UNCONVENTIONAL

Word Count: 961

Big Brother, Little Brother gay "Quick Fix" stories: An older and younger male k-pop idol are doing it. They refer to each other as "brothers" and the short stories in this collection showcase various funny or hot smut scenarios.

“Hey brother,” Yeonjun said when he walked into Jungkook's room wearing only a pair of swimshorts. “Are the cameras gone?”

They men of BTS had just finished filming. Jungkook stood shirtless in a pair of low-hanging jeans, trying to untangle a t-shirt. “Except that one,” he said and pointed.

Yeonjun smirked. “Wanna turn it on?”

Jungkook looked at his younger ‘brother’ and grinned. Then he gave up on the shirt, tossed it aside and pulled down his pants.

*****

Yeonjun was bent forward, hunching in front of the camera. His soaked swim shorts lay in a pile around his feet.

Jungkook, whose hair was still wet, had taken his jeans and underwear off. He was standing behind his friend, eyes closed, dick in Yeonjun's ass, grimacing while thrusting his hips.

“Ah, Ah, Ah,” Yeonjun moaned repeatedly. He had a naughty grin on his face, like an actor, and occasionally looked straight into the camera with a seductive smile.

“Mm, mm, mmpfh,” Jungkook groaned toward the ceiling. He rocked back and forth on his toes with a firm grip around Yeonjun's hips, fucking his brother good.

“Flex,” Yeonjun suggested and turned his head slightly. His body was shaking, moved by Jungkook's thrusts and pulls.

Jungkook opened his eyes and looked down, at the back of Yeonjun's head then at the twenty-something’s long back. He smirked, glanced at the camera, and flexed his buff chest and toned arms.

“How does it feel to be the it boy?” Jungkook asked and let his hands glide up Yeonjun's sides while pushing his dick in deeper and harder.

“Uh-uh-uh-uh, great,” Yeonjun panted, grimacing as Jungkook's cock filled him up.

“You're fucking cool,” Jungkook said, slightly jealous that he never got the same title.

“I know,” Yeonjun said and smirked. He was pretty proud of it.

*****

A little light on the camera was blinking. Jungkook pushed on Yeonjun's hip to turn him sideways, his dick still inside as they moved their feet on the floor to present their hot sex in profile. They both looked at the camera as they positioned themselves, and the home-made porno continued.

Jungkook, standing behind his bent friend, lowered himself slightly for a deeper penetration, and held on to Yeonjun's hip for balance. His own ass seen from the side was round and smooth, and his chest muscles clearly visible. He was quite satisfied with the look and angle.

Yeonjun grabbed on to a table. He arched his back and stuck his ass out. Jungkook started pulling and thrusting again.

Slowly at first, while he stood up straight and watched his shaft go in and out with a big grin on his face. Then fast, when he leaned back down and stroke his friend's ass and side.

Before long it was time for the finale. They both closed their eyes and faced straight ahead. Jungkook pushed and pulled, grunting while his groin clapped against Yeonjun's rear. Yeonjun grimaced and panted.

“Mm, mm, MMMPFH, MMMPFH!” the older brother said loudly as he came closer to an orgasm.

Yeonjun grabbed his dick and jerked it. He held it out under his stomach to make sure the camera would get the shot. He stroke his cock fast, flicking his wrist to match Jungkook's fast pace.

“Ahhh, ahhh, AHHHH!” he said and grimaced excessively, putting on quite a show.

Jungkook was getting hot and flustered. His voice was shaking and trembling. “Mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm,” he said repeatedly, then announced to Yeonjun and the imaginary audience: “Ahhh, Ahhh, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come!”

Yeonjun moved his hand faster and stuck his ass out further. “Ahhh, Ahhh, AH-AH-AH-AHHHHH!”

He was seconds from coming too but Jungkook beat him to it, as evident when the older brother suddenly opened his eyes wide, pulled out, grabbed his dick and held it over Yeonjun's ass and back.

“MMM, MMM, I'm coming!” he announced while furiously stroking his shaft. “Fu-uck, you're so hot! MMM, MMM, MMMMMPFH!”

His orgasm arrived and he ejaculated across Yeonjun's ass and spine. He grabbed his friend's tight cheek with one hand and squeezed it while he finished.

Yeonjun felt the hot cum on his skin but never stopped jerking. He kept flicking his hand and grimacing, until he suddenly swirled around and Jungkook, who had finished, immediately hunched down in front of him.

Yeonjun stood up straight and angled his dick toward the camera. Jungkook kneeled, closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Yeonjun came, and shot his load in Jungkook's face.

The man on his knees twitched and opened his mouth wider. Yeonjun on his feet clenched his ass cheeks and bucked his hips, spraying the lips near his cock with fresh cum.

“Ahhh, holy shit!” he exclaimed and panted loudly, and glanced down at Jungkook's hot face and body.

“Mmm,” Jungkook said and smiled, then swallowed.

They took a few seconds to calm down, then Jungkook slowly stood back up. They leaned in and kissed for the audience, touching and feeling each other's muscles. Yeonjun giggled when he got cum on his lips.

Finally Jungkook turned and walked directly toward the camera. He reached for it while Yeonjun stood naked and hot, dick still in hand, behind him.

Then the picture went black.

“We better delete that,” Yeonjun said when he bent down to pick his wet shorts up from the floor.

“Not before I save it on my phone,” Jungkook said and smirked. He walked naked with the camera in hand toward a laptop on the table, and playfully slapped his friend on the ass in passing. “But yeah, this can't get out.”

“Imagine that,” Yeonjun said and chuckled. ”If this made it into the show.”

Jungkook smiled wide and winked. “It would be our most viewed episode ever.”

[forsaken-headcanons]

ok so i have more to add to my small pile of hc, 1st of all spawn is a god but was created by of most admins, when the spawn was in its early days( like 100 years) the admins would help and raise them, the spawn does care about the admins, dusekar in my hc was more active in the spawns life.

2 the spectre has a simmler ability to the spawn as it was a failed creation, in my hc spawn and spectry are like siblings as the spectry is older than spawn. spectry likes to impersonate spawn mostly for thier own benifit to keep thier cult together (spawn cult)

-------

heads up i forgot what hc i put last time...

robloxian live for a long time so like but they still can "die" but spawn perventes it, but once the roblixian dies enoghf times spawn can't reivive them. on the other hand admins are like gods in my hc, but they all have mortal forms, they do not realy enjoy being in thier god forms bc people hate what they do. (roblxians does't know that admins can change into "mortals")

on to the suvivors today (taph)

taph has 3 pairs of wings, one one his back and 2 on his head, he loves shiny things. expect when you go into thier room there is a bunch of shiny rocks. Taph in my hc is one of the younger ones in the suvivors, noob being the youngest. taph hides all of thier wings when a subsapce trip mine expodes near by, they "talk" the most to the admins bc they know what he is saying, taph loves "talking". The crystals that he puts into his subspace mine was created by the admins, the admins suply him with them, admins just spawn it out of thin air bc.. they are gods.

-potato anon??? (i am just going to use this one) i made another one with this one... so i am just going to use it

awe wait we really like the idea of the spawn being made by the admins! cuz the spawnpoint itself was sort of "made" by them if you get our logic. yoinked! ignoring the spectre cuz it's a jerk huffs (/silly love the idea of them being siblings too)

taph the silly demolitionist who definitely hasn't wrongly blown up several houses before. noooo. absolutely not! /silly love how people just unanimously agree he has Some kind of wings. pats them

[bluejayadler]

Thoughts on this post?

https://www.tumblr.com/do-be-careful-charles/786662921427206144?source=share

I thought it was fascinating and and fun and would love to hear someone else's thoughts on it.

Parallels!

So I received this ask in my inbox from an anonymous human, and it has given me an excuse to talk about parallels!

Now, the OP mentions Edwin being paralleled with Wilfred, the WWI ghost, and Charles being paralleled with Hope Devlin. But someone in the tags also brings up Crystal with Esther and Niko with Mick. So we're gonna look at all the Core 4 and their parallels.

Parallels are used in narrative and storytelling for a few different reasons. Largely its to compare or contrast two points or things - two parallel scenes might show progression along an arc, two parallel characters might show diverging character arcs or converging character arcs - loss of self of one character, reclamation of identity, the fall, the rise! So many things. 

Edwin to WW1 ghost - this was a fate he could've had, but the sad thing is, that even though he escaped this fate, he really didn't. WWI and WWII battlefields, like most warzones, were described as Hell. Edwin died the year the draft was initiated. Sure, he wasn't old enough yet, but he may have still ended up drafted soon enough. Edwin actual death involved him being sacrificed to Hell - figurative or literal hell, no autonomy or agency in ending up there. Edwin's parallel is essentially a reflection. Also consider that there would've been a good chance he died MIA or ended up buried as an unknown soldier. Edwin may have been lost the No Man's Land and Hell just as easily. He didn't really "escape" this parallel fate but rather endured a more twisted version of it.

Charles to Hope - again, this is a fate Charles could've had but still basically did, in a twisted way. Hope tries to leave home and is murdered before she can. Charles does leave home, off to boarding school, but still ends up murdered. You'd have to wonder if Charles saw Hope and thought, just for a second, "even if she left, nothing would've changed" because, that was the truth for him. He escaped and then didn't. The fact is, either fate would've left him murdered by someone meant to care for him and protect him, someone he was meant to trust. And I don't think Charles would've found any more justice if he'd been killed by his own father. Child abuse is grossly under investigated, and even when it is, is very under-punished. Charles's father may not have received any real punishment, if he got caught at all. If anyone even cared.

I think the big thing for me with the boys and their parallels is that they both still essentially had their fated death! But also, them having their parallel in front of them fits so well with the themes of justice and "we didn't matter". Parallels in story telling serve a few different purposes - usually around comparing and contrasting. Often its holding a character up against an older or younger version of themselves (either literal version of themself or just representative/figurative version) and saying "this is what you could become" or "this is what you could've been". With Charles and Edwin, its oddly both or kinda neither. Sorry, I should be asleep. These are what they could've been and, at the same time, what they could become - Charles could become trapped in a loop of his own pain (and he kinda does) and Edwin could be cursed to forever live through that Hell again (which, again, kinda almost happens). Edwin and Charles both "escaped" that parallel outcome, but not really. 

But their parallel is less about comparison to me, and more about the theme of justice. Again, parallels can be used for different things. In the case of Edwin and Charles, I think it helps highlight a core theme of the show.

Going back to the "we didn't matter" scene (amazing scene) - Edwin says "we didn't matter, so these cases matter. They have to matter." And I think this is what their parallels more play towards. Edwin and Charles come face to face with their parallels, but they are able to give those parallel ghosts something they didn't get - some level of justice or closure. And its not perfect by any shot of the imagination. Charles and Edwin don't PREVENT tragedy, just like no one prevented theirs. Given how against taking a living client Edwin is in ep 1, it's easy to imagine they do it VERY rarely, so unless they are hired by a ghost to save someone, they are coming in AFTER the tragedy occurs. That is also the nature of a detective who usually investigates AFTER the tragedy. The boys aren't preventing their parallels but they are allowing the next part of the story to be different. They see the parallel in their cases, some as strong as Hope and Wilfred, and others as not. But they don't leave their parallel in the same place. They step in - something that wasn't done for them.

And its interesting how they interact with these parallels - or rather, with each others parallels. Charles is the one that steps in with Wilfred. He offers him closure in that moment. And this makes sense for his character - Charles is the more positive one, the more social one. It tracks he'd be the one focused on that while Edwin was focused on leaving before the blue light came. But, Charles is also the one that offers Edwin safety too, the way Edwin offered it to him. Charles, in that moment, becomes to Wilfred what Edwin was for him in the attic - paralleling the moment of his own death and the arrival of his own blue light. In the Devlin house, Charles can't act. He tries but gets stuck in the loop. The same way Edwin was stuck in his loop in Hell - unable to escape the Doll House. Edwin pulls Charles from that loop, by destroying the tape and actually, with the help of Crystal, physically pulling Charles up off the floor. This is paralleled when Charles pulls Edwin out of Hell. Because, the Devlin house, seeing his own parallel and being unable to stop it, would've been figurative Hell for Charles. So, their parallel ghosts aren't even JUST about them separate but them together and their entire afterlife purpose. Its not just "what could've been" but "what can we make it", which is not a common use for parallels, least, not that I can think of.

So yeah, the boys' parallels are AMAZING! But the post I was sent included Crystal paralleled with Esther and Niko with Tragic Mick. So, lets look at that.

Cause, DBDa has a LOT of parallels, which I love. They have scenes that parallel each other and characters that parallel each other, and its fascinating. But focus, focus on just the Core 4.

Crystal and Niko fall more into the traditional comparison type parallels - the younger character paralleled against an older version of themself and "what you could become" motif.

Crystal and Esther - I touched on them a little bit during a previous NGL where someone asked if I thought Crystal was getting through to Esther during the final fight. Crystal and Esther parallel amazingly. They both are women who were wronged - betrayed in some way by people they loved who were meant to love them. They both turned to some power to protect themselves, specifically taking the route of power to keep others from hurting them, even if it meant hurting others first. Esther is the most obvious, but Crystal does this - the mean girl mentality hurting her friends emotionally, giving people nightmares, and the whole making someone walk into traffic! Add to this that both Esther and Crystal get their power from a similar place. I mean, Crystal's is her own, but it is strengthened by her ancestors. A female ancestral source. Esther gets her from Lilith, the first woman and goddess of wronged women. They both turn to this source as some point. And this is where they branch and they do it in a way I enjoy. Because, Crystal doesn't go all the way down the same route as Esther, even though she starts down that path. She stops. Her memories are gone. She doesn't remember being hurt. She knows she has the power to get what she wants and do what she wants. And she does - she helps. She finds Becky. She finds connection! Crystal is lost and alone and could use her powers to take, but instead, she uses them to help. And when she fully reconnects with her ancestors, her first act, is to save others. I like how her's is handled, because she never has an explicit "this is who I could become" moment, which, I've seen a lot of. This idea that either the character or the audience needs to parallel to be explicitly written out for them. But the audience doesn't. We can see Crystal struggling with herself, her past actions and current decisions and how to use her power in a way that helps without hurting, including herself. When she calls on Esther's pain and shares her own, she's calling out that parallel. She had a moment like Esther, and she chose to do better. But she isn't explicitly comparing herself or saying "I don't want to become you." The sentiment and arc are there and the show manages to tell it without having to explicitly write it out. I like this, because this is more real to me. Which, yes, I'm saying "more real" while referring to a sow with ghosts and demons and witches. But, DBDa does an amazing job ay making the characters and the arcs very human. If you think about all the big scenes people talk about - they're all human scenes. Like, human connection. The big scenes are huge set pieces or explosion or huge moments of action. They're focused on the humanity of the characters. And, in our life, we will probably see parallels to ourselves, but we often don't get the chance or have the foresight to think "this is what I could become or what I could've been" - not in a moment where that change it possible. Often, its unseen things and small choices that we make that get us there. We may have the idea someone in our mind, like Crystal, but Crystal didn't change because she looked at Esther. She changed because the let herself care and she found support and connection and wanted to be better than who she was before. Crystal does parallel Esther, and we as the audience get to see what Crystal could've become, but she changed for herself and for the people she came to care about. This is why I love her parallel in the show. 

And now, we have Niko. And Niko gets another fun dual parallel, like the boys, but not exactly. Niko, I think, parallels Tragic Mick very well. Tragic Mick is cursed - living an isolated life, unable to return home. Niko, when we meet her, is just the same. And neither of them chose it. Tragic Mick was "sent away" by his mother, a punishment essentially for wonder. He was curious. He wanted to know about people. But his mother was hurt by them, so she cast him out. Niko was sent away by her mother, who was grieving, and for whatever reason, didn't want Niko there. She was sent away from home, just like Mick. And once gone, her wonder led her to a field of dandelions, where she was infested and "cursed" resulting in her own isolation. Both of them didn't deserve their fate. They didn't actively cause. They were essentially punished for their own curiosity/wonder and more so, for things outside their control (Huh, both got impacted by intergenerational trauma) and had to suffer through the results. Mick remains largely isolated - constantly seeking a way back to what was. Niko ahs her moments of doing the same. She obsesses, for one episode, about getting her father back. But, when the Night Nurse says "you don't want him back like that", Niko accepts it. Its where her parallel branches off. Niko is able to embrace the pain and what comes after. Not entirely. She still ahs to endure it and get through it. But she doesn't remain in isolation. She could! After the sprites were gone, she could've remained in her room, constantly focusing on what was and how to get back to a place that's no longer there. But she doesn't! She moves forward. She finds new connection and new joy. Like Crystal, part of Niko's shift from her parallel is her own action and part is the action of others - which again plays so well into the show's themes of humanity and connection. Niko would've ended up in a tragic fate were it not for Crystal and the boys intervening. But even after their intervention, she still had to make the choices to chance. Like Crystal - the agency gave her the opportunity and support so she could make the change.

And this brings me to the second parallel for Niko - the Principal. Who is Niko. So, maybe not a parallel, but I'm counting it. The Principal is great because she is what Niko becomes - keeping part of her parallel from Tragic Mick in the "you never know when the good you do will come back around" but also having her own path. The Principal is the parallel that happened because Niko found connection and now she continued the work of the agency from a different side - still helping, in some way, in her way. Because we have the Principal, which we know is Niko, while also having Tragic Mick who is Niko's parallel, we oddly enough get a complete parallel storyline! Yes, Crystal has turned off the path that Esther went down, but something could push her back. And the boys, well, they already ARE their parallel. But Niko, we get a glimpse at this more tragic potential future and instead we see what she does become - the Principal. We don't know how she got there, but we know she held pieces of her journey - quoting Mick, pausing at the sight of her name, using her "reading comprehension" to help, being brave and wanting to find closure for others. Niko becomes the Principal, in part, due to her parallel arc with Mick.

The parallels in this show do an amazing job of highlighting the individual characters while also bringing out the overarching themes of the show - humanity, connection, justice, "the good you do", etc.  Thank you so much for the ask! I hadn't considered the Core 4 parallels with other characters before!!! So this was a fun analysis to do when I should've been sleeping.

[silkieluv]

Found my old notebook from seventh grade and it has a full page dedicated to headcanons I had/have for Jay……. You know what that means!!

*First I’ll state all the headcanons, then I’ll comment about them

Deliberately did a poor job whenever it was his turn to clean to manipulate Zane into doing it instead

Isn’t the biggest fan of sea food, yet frequently pretends to like it (specifically in front of Nya)

Frequently oversleeps

Terribly afraid of spiders and giant animals

As a child was incredibly energetic and restless, often exhausting Ed and Edna

Still, nobody is aware of his adoption for the sole reason that he’s scared of having a meltdown if anyone asks ‘how do you know?’

Picked up driving faster than the others

Feels the need to make any serious situation/predicament into a joke, otherwise getting severe panic attacks

Bought a silly pajamas for 3999.99$ (aka got scammed), and isn’t allowed to shop at all (offline/online)

Has a collection of shiny stuff that Maya threw out, mistaking it for trash

Mild anger issues

Used to brush his teeth 5 times a day or -9 times

Bawled when watching Lion King. *After finishing the movie, Kai compared Jay to that crazy monkey

Star is his favorite shape

Shiny colors? Shiny colors!

Keeps handmade gifts

And now for my opinion….. if you have a different opinion of mine (like something I don’t/vise versa) and want to comment, but feel like you shouldn’t, you’re totally welcomed! Don’t listen to me, speak your mind!

Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. He doesn’t need to ‘manipulate’ Zane, and Zane is smart enough to pick up on it. And if not, Cole and Kai will pick up after maximum two days (if you have siblings you know that you always search where your sibling is, to see if they’re also doing a chore to make sure they’re (God forbid) resting while you’re working) and tell Zane and get revenge on Jay. That scheme will not last for more than three days. Bonus: Jay confesses he just doesn’t know how to do it and Zane warmly offers to teach him

Somehow even more stupid? What led me to think about this? I would’ve agreed if only we would’ve known Nya was the water ninja before Possession. I can totally see Rise of the Snakes through Legacy of the Green Ninja Jay doing this, but it makes no sense if nobody knows about Nya’s powers. So, just no. (*because it’s out of character for Possession Jay to pretend, and I really want to believe Skybound Jay isn’t this pathetic)

Gyatt dammit. Funny how I wrote that then yet today I headcanon that he ‘never fully sleeps’ and even if he does hit the deep state, it’s never for long (I won’t elaborate about why, I think I reblogged some smart post talking about this and have been obsessed since)

Love the reminder I’ve always been a Skybound fan. You know what, Sure. I’ll humor you, younger, silly me. Sons of Garmadon with that crab? Yeah. Jay had a panic attack behind a giant rock. Adam from Master of the Mountain? Jay couldn’t sleep for two days.

Totally. Great headcanon! Lightning never sleeps. Enough said, your honor!

I wouldn’t say ‘nobody’s aware’… I’d like to think Nya has a vague memory of him screaming about his adoption back at the island (I headcanon that post-turning back from losing herself and her memories, she forgot most of Skybound thanks to my wonderful moot). I’d like to think he told the team, but keeping it a secret seems cute. Surely, Ed and Edna knows, as well as Wu

Sure. Why not, honestly. He had knowledge from video games, most likely travelled using a bicycle/motorcycle he built as a kid/teen, and is a fast learner. Seriously, cool

Way to state the obvious. Are we Joppy from seventh grade or Nadakhan from that one scene, am I right you guys? Plus I think a ‘panic attack’ is a little of an exaggeration of his situation. I would like to say that in stressful situations he often has the need to crack a joke. In case the situation isn’t fit for a joke, he plays in his head self-degrading jokes

NO. JUST NO. SHUT UP. He’s a very intelligent, smart, and most importantly, TECHNOLOGICALLY ADVANCED man. He would NEVER IN A BAJILLION YEARS fall for a scam. He probably programmed that scam if anything!

Uh…. Sure? I’d like to think of Jay as a hoarder (he literally grew up in a junkyard), and one day he was like “So pretty…” and started collecting. Probably stuff from their adventures! (Like stolen a little something in Legacy of the Green ninja, the last episode (I think) WHATEVER THE BEQUEATH EPISODE, got himself a golden tooth from Misfortune’s Keep, stole Morro’s remains— there’s a lot of possibilities!)

Again. Canon. Get original dammit.

Makes no sense, not sure what I meant by that. I probably meant that he either brushes his teeth 48 times a week (double than the required/normal/advised amount), or he brushes his teeth nine times a whole month. Uh…. No….? The ninja probably have a routine of doing things like that together (probably as a competition to start the day with a punch), and as a kid I believe his ma always reminded him of self-care (based on her screaming for water in Hands of Time)

I never watched the Lion King. Idk why I felt the need to headcanon this, but now I headcanon the whole team secretly hate that movie and agreed to never see it. something about it being ‘overrated’ (Kai secretly watched it) (he was ignored for a day) (Zane and Pixal secretly watched it together) (their crime is still unfound)

Superstar Rocking Jay based. Love.

Okay that I have no idea. I think I meant neon colors or something, but I think I was referring to something about Superstar Rocking Jay?? I don’t know what to say since I have no idea wtf does it mean

Cute. I’d like to think he has a special drawer/place to put everything he got as a gift that was handmade (it’s mostly full with things from his ma)

[sharkbitten-sailor]

rq - plspls with a cherry on top could you write platonic HCs for older brother c00lk1dd from TRUD??? js cried for 30 mins over this ine fanart with him and c00lkidd from forsaken thnak u!! take ur time with this btw no rush

[tr:ud] c00lk1dd & sibling!reader headcanons .ᐟ

a/n; ah, my first trud request! this was originally meant to be deleted since i hadn't opened writing requests for trud yet, but thanks to the 100 followers poll, here you go!

warning: potential ooc & mischaracterization ahead, first time writing hcs for trud character so bear with me </3

- just a heads-up: reader uses they/them pronouns, is a survivor, and likely the younger sibling. they were supposed to be a killer but i feel like angsty today :]

- c00lk1dd has a mess of amnesia. he doesn’t remember you. or maybe he does? there’s something in the corner of his mind, whispering that you matter. painfully important. that he knew you once, deeply.

- but the memory never surfaces. your name sits on the tip of his tongue, always out of reach.

- and for you? it hurts more than anything else. because you do remember. he’s your brother. the one you loved so fiercely it still hurts to breathe.

- so instead of trying to make him remember, you avoid him. every chance you get. because pretending you’re strangers is easier than slicing the wound open all over again. besides, how could you ever be close again when you now stand on opposite ends of the hunt? one marked as prey, the other molded into a predator.

- it never fails to piss him off. that strange twist in his stomach, that feeling he can’t name. so he lashes out. targets you the second the round starts like instinct. sometimes, he even tries to make it brutal. like that'll fix something.

- but it never works. not once. the feeling’s still there. worse, even. deeper, sharper, like a blade turned inward. especially when you look at him like that. with those eyes. pitiful. quiet. haunting. and it sticks with him. even after you're gone.

- he starts look at you like he’s trying to solve something. not the sharp gaze of a predator hunting prey. more like someone chasing a memory they can't quite reach. like you're the missing piece to a puzzle he never knew he lost.

- they call him a monster. a glitchy brute with no soul. and maybe they’re right. but around you? he falters. every single time. blade raised, hesitation blooming. voice caught between a snarl and a question he doesn’t know how to ask.

- so now you’re often the last one standing. spared by ‘accident,’ or taken out quickly like ripping off a bandage. either way, it always leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. even now, he still can’t get used to it.

- it gets worse when he sees you patching yourself up with trembling fingers, panic mixed with tears in your eyes, blood that isn't quite yours staining your hands. there's something about that image that rattles him. a voice buried deep screams that this isn't how it should be. not you.

- and yet, trial after trial, he fails to stop. fails to act. fails to remember. all he does is hesitate. and in that space between memory and instinct, you always run.

- he doesn’t chase. not right away.

- he starts calling you 'kid' without knowing why. scowls after saying it, like the name betrays him. but deep down, it feels oddly natural. familiar. like it belongs to you.

- he won’t walk beside you, won’t look directly at you- but you’ll notice him lingering nearby. like he’s making sure the other killers don’t push too far. like some part of him still wants to protect you, even if he doesn’t know why.

- or maybe it’s that quiet warmth again. the kind that used to come from shared laughter and childhood secrets. now it flickers in your presence, foreign but familiar. he feels it every time you’re near. and though he doesn’t understand it, he can’t stay away from it either.

- might fidget with his gloves when you’re nearby. doesn’t know what to do with his hands. like they used to hold yours in another life and miss the familiarity.

- one time, seeing you fumble with your medkit… hands shaking, bandage peeling off mid-wrap… just snaps something in him. like the ache in his chest had been simmering and this?? this clumsy self-patching nonsense?? it boils over.

- he appears out of god knows where, grabs your wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to freeze you in place and yanks the medkit from your hands. you don’t even get the chance to flinch before he’s roughly, grudgingly, patching you up himself. fast. practiced. like he’s done this before, a thousand lives ago.

- all the while, he’s grumbling. loud. frustrated. “you look pathetic.” “what, never learned how to wrap a wound properly?” “fool.” but underneath the venom, it’s panic translated into anger. he’s scared, because this wasn’t supposed to shake him like that.

- when he finishes, he doesn’t wait for thanks. he drops the kit beside you, clicks his jaw, and vanishes back into the mist with a choked static growl.

- you’re left behind with a half-wrapped bandage, a heartbeat in your ears, and the gut-deep realization: he still cares. he just doesn’t know how to show it anymore.

- hope sparked that day. you held it tight, chasing the wish that once felt too far.

- he doesn’t remember being your brother. but something in him starts to act like one again.

a/n; you can guess tumblr fucked up my inbox and drafts to the point it crashed out like this.. sighs.

[thnksfrthquinn]

Pretend to Ignite – Johnny Storm (modern AU) x Reader - One Shot 

Summary: After a messy breakup with your ex, Patrick, the last thing you expect is for Johnny Storm — cocky, infuriatingly charming, and your best friend’s younger brother — to offer his help. You’ve always clashed, but when your lives keep overlapping (and your mail keeps ending up in each other’s hands), a plan is born: fake date Johnny to make Patrick jealous. But somewhere between brunch showdowns, sleepovers, and stolen glances, the line between pretend and real starts to blur. And the boy who used to set your nerves on fire might just be the one to heal everything your ex broke.

WC: 8.5k

Warnings: Swearing / Mild Language / Emotional Manipulation by Ex / Mild Confrontation / Verbal Conflict / Light Angst / Some Heated Arguments (Resolved) / Intimacy (non-explicit, emotional-heavy) / Modern AU /Fake Dating /(Not-Quite) Enemies to Lovers /Mutual Pining /Slow Burn / Soft!Johnny Storm / Protective!Johnny

There’s a letter wedged under your door when you get home—again. The chunky black print reads Storm, and you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes as you crouch to scoop it up. 

“Third time this week,” you mutter to yourself, peeling off your jacket as you step into your apartment. “And it’s only Wednesday.” 

You toss your keys into the bowl by the door and glance out your window. Across the street, the third-floor loft opposite yours glows with warm light. Of course it does. Johnny Storm keeps the place lit like it’s always golden hour—even if it’s 10 p.m. and raining. 

Your phone buzzes. 

Sue Storm: He still hasn’t sorted his mailbox out? 

You: He thinks it’s the mailman’s fault. I think it’s his entire personality. 

You laugh softly at your own message and grab the letter, tucking it under your arm. No doubt it’s another magazine he probably forgot he subscribed to. Last week, it was GQ and a bill for $346. This week, it’s something thicker. Government-looking. 

You should probably be annoyed. But deep down, there’s a rhythm to this by now. A strange, familiar beat to your odd friendship with Johnny Storm—your best friend’s reckless younger brother who, up until a month ago, you were sure would never outgrow his frat-boy energy. Now? 

Now he glows. Literally. 

The elevator in your building is still broken (as usual), so you hike up the stairs of the building across the street, rain still dampening your hair. You buzz his door twice. 

It swings open a second later. 

Johnny stands there shirtless, towel slung low around his waist, steam wafting behind him like he’s walking out of a damn romance novel. His hair curls damply over his forehead, and a cocky smile curls on his lips the moment he sees you. 

“Oh hey, neighbor,” he drawls, voice all gravel and warmth. “Come to return more love letters?” 

You hold the envelope up and push past him, brushing water off your coat. 

“No, just your government correspondence. Possibly something about setting things on fire in a public park,” you tease. “Or, I don’t know—your glowing fingertips.” 

He lifts his hand and flexes his fingers. The tips do flicker faintly orange before fading. You’ve gotten used to it. Or you’re pretending you have. 

Johnny sighs dramatically. “What can I say? I’m a public menace. But a charming one.” 

“You’re lucky your sister loves you,” you say, tossing the envelope on his kitchen counter and turning to leave. 

“Wait—” he calls after you, and there’s something quieter in his tone this time. “You doing anything Friday night?” 

You pause, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Why?” 

“Because if I end up getting sued by the city,” he says, that grin returning like clockwork, “I might need moral support. Or bail money. Or... someone to bring snacks.” 

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway. 

“God, you’re exhausting,” you say over your shoulder, stepping back out into the hallway. 

“Don’t pretend you’re not charmed,” Johnny calls after you, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice as the door clicks shut. 

You're halfway down the stairs before you let your smile fully break. You’re not supposed to think about him like this. He’s Johnny — Sue’s little brother, the human personification of a golden retriever with a lighter and no supervision. You’ve known him since college breaks when he’d crash Sue’s apartment and drink all the milk. He used to be this loud, annoyingly attractive kid with no filter and even less accountability. 

And now? He’s still loud. Still annoyingly attractive. But there’s something under the surface now, like his fire has finally found shape. You’d never say it aloud, but post-accident Johnny is... different. Quieter, sometimes. Restless in ways he tries to joke through. 

You tell yourself the only reason you’re thinking about him at all is because you’re bored and not dating anyone. That’s all. That, and maybe the way he looked at you tonight lingered a second too long. 

You try not to think about it. About the weight in his gaze, like he saw something in you no one else had noticed yet. You’d laughed it off, shrugged the whole night off, like always. That’s what you do with Johnny Storm. You tease, he pushes, you roll your eyes, he smirks — it’s been the same pattern for years. 

But tonight something feels… different. 

Back in your apartment, you toss your coat over the back of a chair and collapse onto your couch, rubbing at your eyes. The TV flickers with a half-muted cooking show you’re not watching. Rain ticks gently against the windowpanes. It’s late, but you’re wired. 

And that’s when your phone buzzes. 

Again. 

You don’t have to look to know who it is. You’ve memorized the pattern by now: two texts spaced thirty seconds apart, always when he’s bored, drunk, or just lonely enough to remember you were once someone he held onto a little too tight. 

EX: Hey… You up? 

Then: 

 EX: Thought about you today. Wish things had gone different. 

You stare at the screen. 

Wish things had gone different? 

Yeah. You wish that too — specifically, that you’d seen through his charming lies sooner. That you hadn’t wasted two years trying to become smaller, quieter, easier to love. That you hadn’t let him convince you that you were lucky to be chosen, instead of someone who deserves more. 

You type something. Delete it. Throw your phone across the couch with a groan and flop back dramatically. 

Ten seconds later, you sit back up and grab it again. 

Because if he keeps texting you like this, he’s not going to stop. Not unless he thinks you’ve moved on. And what better way to shut him down than with a distraction that would make him lose his mind? 

A distraction with an annoyingly beautiful face and a flirty streak ten miles long. 

You bite your lip. 

You shouldn't. 

You definitely shouldn't. 

So obviously, you do. 

You type quickly: 

You: Hey. You around? Can I come back over for a sec? 

The reply comes thirty seconds later: 

Johnny Storm: Miss me already? Door’s open, babe. 

You roll your eyes — of course he’d say something like that — and grab your hoodie. 

Johnny’s apartment is exactly the same as you left it ten minutes ago: warm, a little cluttered. He’s sprawled on the couch in grey sweats and a threadbare college hoodie, hair flopping boyishly over his forehead. 

He looks up with a lazy grin. “Round two? That was fast.” 

You don’t sit down. You pace instead, hands in your hoodie sleeves, energy buzzing beneath your skin. 

He watches you, a little more serious now. “Hey. What’s going on?” 

You stop. Face him. The words come out faster than you plan. 

“My ex won’t stop texting me.” 

His brow lifts. “The finance guy with the receding hairline?” 

You blink. “How do you—” 

Johnny shrugs. “Sue talks.” 

Fair. You sigh and sit on the edge of the armrest, staring at your knees. 

“He keeps texting me. Saying he misses me. That he regrets how things ended. That we should grab coffee. I think… I think he just wants to feel like he could still have me if he wanted to.” 

Johnny’s jaw tenses. “And do you?” 

You look up sharply. “Do I what?” 

“Want him to have you.” 

Your breath catches, just a little. “No. God, no.” 

There’s a pause. 

“So what do you need?” he asks, gentler now. 

You twist your hands in your sleeves. “I need him to back off. To think I’ve moved on. That I’m with someone who’s the opposite of him. Who’d never make me feel small.” 

You look up. 

And Johnny’s watching you the way he did earlier — like you’re more than just the girl across the hall. Like he’s listening in a way nobody else does. 

Then, you say it. 

“I need you to fake date me.” 

He blinks. 

You rush to explain. “Just for a bit. Just to scare him off. I’ll post a picture or two, maybe let it slip to mutuals. You don’t have to do anything real. You’re already flirty enough, and Sue knows you well enough that it won’t seem totally fake. It’ll be easy. We’ll fake it until he gets bored and disappears.” 

Johnny leans back against the couch, expression unreadable. 

“Fake date you.” 

“Exactly.” 

A beat. 

“You want me to pretend I’m crazy about you,” he says slowly, “when I’ve been doing that for years.” 

Your heart flips. 

He doesn’t take it back, you bury what he just said deep and continue. 

He just stares at you with a challenge in his eyes — like he’s daring you to admit you knew all along. 

You scoff, mostly to keep yourself from melting. “You’re ridiculous.” 

He smirks. “So you’ve mentioned.” 

“This wouldn’t be anything serious,” you add, holding your ground. “You’d just play the part.” 

“Oh, I can play the part,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. “The question is: can you?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You think I can’t handle it?” 

“I think I’ve been under your skin for years and you’re only just realizing it.” 

Your mouth opens. Shuts. You hate that he’s right. You hate it more that he knows he’s right. 

He stands up, steps toward you until there’s barely a breath of space between you. And then he grins — cocky and golden, the Johnny you’ve always known. 

“Well?” he says. “Do we shake on it? Kiss on it? Blood pact?” 

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway. 

Johnny steps back a little, giving you space like he knows you need to steady yourself. The teasing fades just enough for the room to settle again. He drags a hand through his hair and exhales, then gestures toward the couch. 

“Alright. Operation: Make Your Ex Jealous,” he says. “Let’s plan this.” 

You flop down onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” 

“Hey, you came to me.” 

“You’re the only person I know who can convincingly look like someone I’d rebound with.” 

“Was that a compliment or a cry for help?” 

You smirk. “Little of both.” 

He snorts, but opens his phone and pulls up Instagram. “Okay, what’s his deal? What gets under his skin?” 

“Patrick?” You lean your head back. “He’s the kind of guy who needs to feel like he ‘won.’ Like he moved on first. And he’s always compared himself to people like you.” 

Johnny blinks. “People like me?” 

“Loud. Charismatic. Always the center of attention without trying.” 

He looks over at you. “And?” 

“And… reckless. A little chaotic. Exactly the kind of guy he’d assume I couldn’t handle.” 

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “So we want him to think you can handle me.” 

“Exactly.” 

He nods, tapping on his phone. “So what’s the move? Subtle posts? A soft launch? Or do we go full PDA in front of mutuals and burn his fragile ego to the ground?” 

You smile despite yourself. “I’m thinking something in between. We don’t want it to look staged. Just believable enough that he knows he doesn’t stand a chance anymore.” 

“Okay.” Johnny shifts toward you, more serious now. “What’s he still watching? Instagram stories? Your grid?” 

“Probably both. He’s still got me muted, but I know he checks from his alt account.” 

Johnny whistles. “That’s healthy.” 

“Welcome to dating in the 2020s.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, then: “What if we post something casual tomorrow? Not you and me looking together, but like… you’re here, I’m in the background, there’s something unspoken.” 

You glance at him, impressed. “You’ve done this before.” 

He smirks. “I’ve been someone’s fake boyfriend before.” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?” 

“Long story. She was trying to get her landlord to fix the heating. I played the overprotective husband. We got free rent for two months.” 

You shake your head with a half-smile. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.” 

“I’m very persuasive,” he says solemnly. “Anyway, we can start with something low-key. Maybe brunch tomorrow?” 

You pause. “With Sue?” 

He shrugs. “Why not? If she sees us acting couple-y, it’ll get around. She’s basically a walking group chat.” 

You chew on your lip, thinking. “I could post a story. Just a picture of a coffee mug and, like, your hand or something.” 

“Or my hoodie on you.” 

You glance at him. 

He’s not being flirty. Not now. He’s just… planning. Efficient. Helpful. 

Which is somehow worse. 

Because if he’s not flirting, then why is your heart doing this weird fluttering thing? 

You push the thought away. 

“Alright,” you say. “Brunch. A story. Something just vague enough to stir the pot.” 

Johnny nods, tapping notes into his phone. “We should probably hang out for a bit beforehand. You need to be comfortable with me touching you.” 

You give him a flat look. 

“I mean casual touching,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “Like—arm around the shoulder, hand on your back. Not, like… that.” 

You try not to laugh. “God, this is going to be a disaster.” 

“Nah,” he says, standing and stretching with a loud yawn. “We’ll crush it. Tomorrow, 11 a.m.? I’ll text Sue and tell her we’re coming.” 

“You’re scarily good at this.” 

“I contain multitudes.” 

You glance at your phone. Another text from Patrick — “Still thinking about you. We should catch up sometime.” 

You lock the screen. 

Johnny sees the shift in your face. “You alright?” 

You nod. “I will be.” 

He tilts his head. “You’re not doing this just to get back at him, are you?” 

You pause. 

“No,” you admit. “It’s not about getting him back. I just want to stop feeling like I’m still in orbit around him.” 

Johnny’s voice is soft. “Then we’ll pull you out of it.” 

You meet his eyes. There’s no smirk this time. No teasing. 

Just quiet certainty. 

You feel your chest tighten. Not in a bad way. 

And that’s when he grins again, suddenly back to normal. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to be someone’s romantic weapon of mass destruction.” 

You’ve read the last text from Patrick three times now, and each time it makes your stomach twist a little tighter. 

Still thinking about you. We should catch up sometime. 

You hate how casually cruel it is. Like he’s checking the weather. Like your time together wasn’t a storm he made you walk through barefoot. 

You toss your phone face down on your bed and look at yourself in the mirror. 

This isn’t about him. Not anymore. 

This is about you taking control of the narrative. 

And maybe, just maybe, about what happens when you let someone like Johnny Storm step into the picture — someone who was never supposed to matter this much. 

You grab a sweater — soft, slouchy, off-the-shoulder. Something that could be read as effortless… or intimate. You pull your hair back, simple but styled. Natural makeup. Glossy lips. 

You pause. 

Then, almost impulsively, you grab the hoodie Johnny gave you last time he crashed on your couch after a night out. It still smells faintly like him — smoke and citrus and something warm. You tug it on over your sweater. Oversized. Familiar. Disarmingly convincing. 

You look at yourself one more time. 

It’s not armor. But it’s something close. 

Johnny’s door opens before you even knock. 

He leans in the doorway, brushing crumbs off his T-shirt. “You’re early.” 

You step in. “You’re still eating crackers in your doorway. We all have our coping mechanisms.” 

He shuts the door behind you, grinning. “Yours is dressing like you just woke up in my bed?” 

You give him a look. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s strategic.” 

He eyes the hoodie, then you, then the hoodie again. “Well. I have to say. You wear me well.” 

“Johnny.” 

“Right. Sorry. Focused.” 

You take a breath and scan the space — still as chaotic and lived-in as always, but it feels less like a frat boy’s den now, more like a space someone is genuinely trying to settle in. You notice a book half-read on the kitchen counter. A candle burning on the windowsill. Little things. Unexpected things. 

He tosses you a cereal bar. “Fuel up. Sue’s expecting us in, like, twenty.” 

You catch it mid-air. “You told her we were coming?” 

He shrugs. “Told her I had ‘company.’ She filled in the blanks.” 

You blink. “What blanks?” 

He raises a brow. “You, wearing my hoodie. Me, looking smug. The rest writes itself.” 

You groan and sit on the arm of the couch. “This better work.” 

Johnny plops down beside you, unusually quiet for a beat. 

“You nervous?” 

You shrug. “A little. I know it’s not real, but part of me still feels like I’m walking into enemy territory.” 

He watches you for a moment. “Just remember why we’re doing this. It’s not for him.” 

You glance at him. “I know.” 

“We go in, we act close. Like we’ve been seeing each other quietly. I’ll laugh at your jokes, you can pretend you think I’m charming—” 

“I always pretend that.” 

“See? You’re a natural.” 

You both smile, but there’s a current under it — something unspoken, like you’re both hovering on the edge of a line neither of you fully expected to walk. 

You stand, brushing off your jeans. “Let’s go cause some chaos.” 

He grabs his keys and follows you out, pausing as you both reach the front steps. 

Then, casually, he slips his hand into yours. 

You freeze. 

He doesn’t look at you — just keeps walking, hand warm, grip relaxed, like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not the first time. Like it won’t be the last. 

And somehow, that’s what makes it so much worse. 

Or maybe better. 

You haven’t decided yet. 

You and Johnny walk hand-in-hand down the street, a soft breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of his hoodie on your frame. You try to focus on the plan: act comfortable, stay close, subtle touches, believable glances. Just enough to be convincing. 

But the problem is—it’s already too easy. 

Johnny doesn’t act like someone pretending. His thumb rubs absent circles into the back of your hand as you walk. He holds doors open without smirking. He doesn’t tease or flirt—not like he normally does. He just walks beside you, quiet and warm and steady. Like this isn’t a game. 

And maybe that’s what’s throwing you. 

Sue’s already waiting when you arrive. You spot her at the corner table of the café, hair pulled up, sunglasses perched on her head like she’s starring in a low-budget detective drama. She stands when she sees you, her face lighting up—then flickering in a very specific way when her eyes land on your joined hands. 

“Oh,” she says, voice full of restrained curiosity. “You two came together.” 

Johnny grins. “Yeah. We’ve been spending some time together... for a while now” 

You’re shocked by how normal he sounds. Confident. Settled. 

Sue turns to you, mouth twitching. “Did he bribe you? Or lose a bet?” 

You let out a soft laugh, letting go of Johnny’s hand as you slide into your seat. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Johnny takes the seat next to you, not across from you. Bold. Strategic. Perfectly calculated. 

Sue raises one brow behind her iced coffee but doesn’t press. Not yet. She’s too good at the long game. 

“So,” she says slowly. “Anything new?” 

You feel Johnny’s knee brush yours under the table. Just enough pressure to say I've got you. 

You reach for your menu. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

Sue hums like she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Interesting.” 

The conversation drifts into casual territory—her work, something about Reed’s latest meltdown over disappearing lab equipment, gossip from a friend’s baby shower—but every so often, her eyes flick to Johnny, to you, to the hoodie you’re still wearing. 

And then the door jingles. 

Your stomach drops the second you hear the voice. 

“Hey—do they do oat milk here?” 

You don’t need to look. You know it. The cadence. The lazy tone. The half-laugh like he’s asking the barista for a favor he doesn’t deserve. 

Patrick. 

You freeze. Your blood goes cold. 

Johnny must sense it because his posture shifts subtly beside you. One of his hands drifts under the table, finding your thigh and resting there gently. Grounding you. Quietly protective. 

You don’t dare turn around. You stare straight ahead at your untouched mimosa and try not to breathe like your past just walked in and sat down five feet away. 

But Patrick sees you before you can hide. 

“Well,” he says, and your name sounds smug on his tongue. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

You force your gaze up. 

Patrick stands there, iced coffee in hand, an uncomfortable grin tugging at his mouth. His hair is longer than it was. He’s wearing that beige button-down you once told him he looked good in. He looks exactly like the version of himself you finally outgrew. 

You blink slowly. “Brunch,” you say. “It’s a Friday tradition.” 

Patrick’s eyes flick to Johnny. 

Then to the way Johnny’s sitting—leaned into you, his hand still resting on your leg beneath the table. 

Then, very obviously, to the hoodie you’re wearing. 

His jaw tics. 

“Oh,” Patrick says, masking surprise with condescension. “Didn’t know you two were… a thing.” 

“And here I was thinking you’d be laying low after everything,” Patrick says smoothly. “Guess not.” 

Johnny doesn’t give you a chance to respond. 

“She’s been doing great,” Johnny says, a bit too brightly. “We both have.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows rise. “We?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny says, stretching one arm across the back of your chair, clearly staking ground. “You remember me. The hot one.” 

You bite your lip to keep from smiling, but Patrick's face hardens. 

“Right,” Patrick says. “The reckless one with the… fire thing.” 

Johnny grins. “Still more reliable than a guy who ghosted her for three days before deciding he ‘wasn’t sure about the relationship.’” 

Patrick’s smile tightens, looking down at you “Didn’t realize you were keeping score.” 

“She wasn’t,” Johnny snaps “But you made it really easy.” 

The table goes quiet for a beat, tension thick as steam from the espresso machine. 

Sue raises an eyebrow, clearly ready to throw hands or hot coffee — whichever lands first. 

Patrick’s eyes flick down to your hand, to the rings you’re wearing — specifically the one you’d hastily shoved on this morning to look “emotionally thriving.” 

“I see you’ve moved on,” he says, voice now brittle. “Pretty fast, don’t you think?” 

“Actually,” Johnny interjects smoothly, “we’ve been together a while.” 

You glance at him, startled. 

Patrick frowns. “Seriously?” 

“She didn’t want to rub it in your face,” Johnny says with a shrug. “But since you’re here, I guess it’s not rubbing anymore.” 

Sue snorts into her mimosa. 

Patrick folds his arms. “And this isn’t just some—what, rebound?” 

You straighten in your seat, voice cold now. “No, Patrick. You were the rebound. You just stuck around too long.” 

He stares at you, jaw flexing. 

“She’s happy now,” Johnny says, calm and final. “You don’t get to poke holes in that just because you’re miserable.” 

Patrick’s face twists with something unreadable. He glances at Sue like she might rescue him, but she raises both brows and sips her drink. 

“I didn’t come here to cause a scene,” he mutters. 

“Then maybe go before you do,” you say, blinking away the heat behind your eyes. 

Patrick opens his mouth like he’s going to say something — a dig, a plea, something slimy — but he must think better of it. Instead, he just huffs out a bitter laugh and turns away, walking out of the café with his hands jammed in his pockets. 

You feel your throat tighten, but you nod. You lean in slightly. Let the world think whatever it wants. And then he walks off to the patio like he didn’t just detonate a mine in your chest. 

The silence that follows is thick. 

Johnny turns to you gently. “You okay?” 

You blink fast. You don’t want to cry—not here, not now. “I’m fine.” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just slides his hand from your leg to your hand, gripping it quietly, giving you space to feel whatever you need to. 

Sue sips her coffee and sighs. “So. That’s what this is about.” 

You look at her sharply. 

She shrugs. “I’m not mad. Just mildly annoyed that I wasn’t looped in sooner.” 

You open your mouth to explain—but she waves you off. 

“No, no, don’t explain now. I’m letting it slide because A: he sucks, and B: I haven’t seen Johnny this calm since the incident that shall not be named involving the rooftop and the flaming barbecue tongs.” 

Johnny chokes on his water. 

You laugh, relieved, tension finally breaking. 

“Thanks, Sue.” 

“Anytime,” she says, standing to flag the waitress. “Now let’s get pancakes. And next time you do something wild like fake dating, maybe don’t pick someone with better cheekbones than you. It’s distracting.” 

You roll your eyes. 

But when you glance at Johnny, he’s watching you with something careful in his eyes. 

Not playful. Not smug. 

Just there. 

And you think: maybe this stopped being fake the second he reached for your hand. 

The city outside is soft with the kind of quiet that only comes after a long day. Streetlights flicker through Johnny’s apartment windows, casting gold against the dark wood floors and messy scatter of takeout boxes. There’s a half-drunk bottle of wine on the coffee table. A folded blanket on the arm of the couch. Music playing low from his speaker—jazz again, but slower this time, softer, as if it knows you both need the space to breathe. 

You’re curled into one corner of the couch, Johnny sprawled in the other. Neither of you has really spoken since you got back from brunch. The plan had gone off perfectly. Sue had side-eyed her way through the entire meal, and Patrick had absolutely taken the bait. But somehow, instead of the rush of satisfaction you expected, all you feel is… heavy. 

Tired. 

Johnny made hot chocolate, you sip it quietly. It’s a little too sweet. You don’t mind. 

Johnny clears his throat beside you. “You ever think maybe we overdid it?” 

You glance over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“The way we were acting. At brunch.” 

You shrug. “I thought we were subtle.” 

“You were subtle.” He looks over at you with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I was incredible.” 

That earns him a small laugh. He smiles at the sound, then sinks deeper into the cushions. 

But the silence doesn’t stay easy. It stretches again. Something unsaid hangs in the space between you. 

You look at him sideways. 

“Johnny,” you murmur. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re really... different lately.” 

He shifts a little, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. 

“Since the cosmic storm, you mean?” 

You nod, watching him carefully. 

He looks down, rubs the back of his neck, voice quieter now. “It changes things. Not just the fire part. I feel like I’m always on, y’know? Even when I’m off. People expect me to be this larger-than-life thing, and when I’m not, it’s like... disappointing.” 

You blink, taken off guard by the honesty. The vulnerability of it. You’ve seen Johnny flirt, joke, deflect — but not this. 

“You don’t have to be ‘on’ around me,” you say, voice softer now. “You never did.” 

Johnny lets out a low laugh. Not his usual golden-boy laugh, but something more hollow. 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he mutters. 

Your brows knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He pushes himself up, suddenly restless. Tosses the last bite of pizza into the box a little too forcefully and paces to the far side of the room, hands in his hair like he’s trying to shake something loose. 

“You never liked me,” he says, not looking at you. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. Every time I came around Sue, you’d roll your eyes or sigh like I was just this burden you had to put up with. The annoying little brother. The screw-up. The joke.” 

You feel something sharp twist in your chest. “Johnny…” 

He waves a hand. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to backpedal. I get it. You’re smart, and serious, and have your shit together. And I was the loud one who flirted with anything that moved and barely made it through school. You didn’t see me until I started glowing.” 

You stand, slowly, your mug still warm in your hand. “That’s not true.” 

He finally turns to look at you, eyes a little too bright. 

“Oh, come on. You practically made it your mission to remind me how immature I was every time I so much as breathed too loud around you.” 

“Because you were immature!” you snap, voice rising without your permission. “You lit things on fire for fun and you slept through your sister’s birthday brunch!” 

“I didn’t sleep through it. I was hungover. That’s very different.” 

“Not to Sue!” 

The room falls into silence again, this time jagged and hot. The kind that makes your skin feel too tight. 

You press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “God, why do you always do this?” 

“Do what?” 

“Push me until I say something I don’t mean.” 

He squares his shoulders. “What if you do mean it?” 

“I don’t.” 

“You sure about that?” 

You step toward him, closer than you should be, and feel the heat rolling off him. Not his mutation—him. 

“You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re infuriating.” 

“Good.” 

“Great.” 

You’re both breathing hard now. Staring each other down. Too close. The space between you sparks. 

Then, softer—wounded: 

“You always look at me like I’m a mess you can’t fix.” 

The words hit deeper than they should. 

“I don’t want to fix you,” you say, your voice cracking a little. “I just… I wanted to stop caring when you didn’t.” 

Johnny flinches. “You think I didn’t care?” 

“You flirted with everything that moved and turned everything into a joke,” you shoot back, eyes burning. “And I thought—if I stayed away, if I just kept it together, I could stop thinking about you.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment. His voice, when it comes, is rougher. Lower. 

“And did it work?” 

You shake your head. “No. Obviously not.” 

The silence thickens. The whole apartment feels like it’s holding its breath. 

He takes one careful step toward you. “You know… I never flirted with you.” 

You scoff. “Yeah. I noticed.” 

“Wanna know why?” 

You swallow. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.” 

He stops in front of you, eyes searching yours. “Because with you… if I flirted and it didn’t work—I don’t think I’d recover from it.” 

You blink, startled. Your breath catches. 

He steps forward again, closer now. Close enough that you feel the warmth of him, humming beneath his skin like it’s aching to be released. 

“You think I wasn’t paying attention,” he says. “But I was. I saw the way you covered your mouth when you laughed. How you always looked out for Sue, even when she didn’t ask. How you only let your guard down when you thought no one was watching.” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “You were watching?” 

He nods. “I was always watching.” 

Your hands tremble a little, still holding your mug. You set it down on the table beside you, slowly. 

You don’t know what to do. Or say. Or how to react.  Because this?  This doesn’t feel like a joke.  This doesn’t feel like Johnny being Johnny.  This feels like the moment the mask finally cracked — and something real slipped through. 

Your heart beats faster. 

He’s still standing in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him in waves, and not just because he literally runs at a higher temperature now. This is something else. Something almost magnetic. 

Your voice is soft. Uncertain. 

“Was that… were you… are you saying you—” 

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales sharply, like he’s been holding something in for years and finally let a little too much of it out. 

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to say all that. Not like that.” 

You blink at him. “But you meant it.” 

He meets your eyes then. Really meets them. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I did.” 

You suddenly feel like the floor under you is less stable. Like you’ve been walking a tightrope and didn’t realize how high up you were until you looked down. 

This wasn’t part of the plan. 

Fake-dating Johnny was supposed to make your ex jealous. It was supposed to be harmless. Controlled. 

But nothing about this feels controlled now. 

And you’re not sure if you’re terrified of falling… or if you’ve already started. 

You step back, instinctively, needing space to think. To breathe. His eyes flicker with something—hurt?—but he doesn’t move. 

“I just… I didn’t know you saw me like that,” you say. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he replies. “You always seemed like you had me figured out. The flirty guy. The walking disaster. I didn’t think you’d ever take me seriously.” 

You swallow hard. “I didn’t think you took anything seriously.” 

He gives a sad little smile. “That was the point.” 

Silence again. This time, not angry. Just full. Weighty. 

You sit down slowly, perching on the edge of the couch, fingers twisting in the hem of your sleeve. 

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you admit. 

Johnny nods, standing awkwardly in the center of the room like he doesn’t know where to put himself. “You don’t have to do anything. I just… couldn’t not say it anymore.” 

He’s retreating now — pulling back, retreating into defense mechanisms and half-shrugs. Back into Johnny Storm, Human Torch, golden boy with a grin and a punchline. 

But you’ve seen too much now to unsee it. 

You’ve seen the fire and the fear. The way he looked at you when Patrick showed up. The way he stepped in like it was instinct. Like it wasn’t pretend. Like it had never been pretend. 

You speak again, barely above a whisper. “You really never flirted with me.” 

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “You were the only one I was actually scared to.” 

The confession hangs there between you, suspended and bright like an ember in the dark. 

He turns then, heading toward the kitchen, probably to bury himself in something — cleaning, distraction, anything to defuse the moment. 

You watch him go. 

And you realize something, in the quiet that follows: this wasn’t a mistake. Not from him. And maybe not from you either. 

Because deep down, even now, with everything spinning out from under you…  You don’t want to stop him. 

You just don’t know how to start. 

So instead, you ask the only thing that feels safe: 

“Do you want to sit down?” 

Johnny pauses mid-step. Turns back, surprised. “What?” 

You pat the cushion next to you — not teasing. Just open. 

“Just for a bit,” you say. “We don’t have to figure it out right now.” 

He hesitates. Then slowly — carefully — he walks back across the room and sits beside you, not too close this time. Like he’s giving you space to breathe. 

But you feel the gravity of him again, even from here. 

This time, he doesn’t say anything clever. 

This time, neither of you does. 

You just sit in the quiet, in the soft flicker of lamplight and low jazz, and let the moment settle between you. Unfinished. Unspoken. Real. 

You’re not sure how long you sit like that—side by side on the couch, the hush of the apartment pressing in around you. The lamp glows soft in the corner. The last of the hot chocolate sits cold on the table. The air still feels like it crackles, but neither of you speaks. 

It should be awkward.  But somehow, it isn’t. 

Johnny’s arm rests along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. He’s staring at the window, jaw relaxed for once, like letting the truth out earlier let him breathe properly for the first time in a while. 

You glance sideways at him. “You ever do this before?” 

He blinks. “What? Fake date someone to mess with their ex?” 

You smile faintly. “No. I mean… let someone see you like that.” 

He doesn’t answer immediately. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. 

“Not really. I guess I thought… if people didn’t see the real me, they couldn’t reject it.” 

You nod, looking down at your hands. “I get that.” 

He turns to you. “Yeah?” 

You let out a slow breath. “I think that’s why I kept you at a distance. Not just because you were annoying—” 

“Thanks,” he deadpans. 

“—but because it was easier to box you in as the guy who didn’t take anything seriously. It made it safer to… not feel anything.” 

His gaze softens. “But you did.” 

You glance at him, cheeks heating. “Apparently.” 

Johnny smiles. A small one. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just real. 

“I didn’t know what to expect when we started this,” he says. “I figured we’d mess with Patrick’s head a little, have some laughs. I didn’t think it’d—” He stops himself. 

“Didn’t think it’d what?” you ask. 

He runs a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think it’d make me feel like this.” 

You blink. “Like what?” 

He hesitates, then says it: “Like maybe it stopped being fake around the time you put my hoodie on.” 

You don’t answer. You don’t know how to. But your heart’s doing somersaults in your chest. 

He looks down at his hands. “I’m not good at this. The honest thing. It’s not really in my wheelhouse.” 

“You’re doing okay,” you say gently. 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

The silence stretches again, but it’s warmer now. Like a pause between verses, not a goodbye. 

Breaking the silence, not quite looking at him, “Can I ask you something?” 

He turns his head slightly. “Yeah?” 

You hesitate, then go for it. “Can I… stay here tonight?” 

He blinks. “Here?” 

You nod quickly. “I just… I don’t really want to go home right now. I know it’s stupid. It’s just—Patrick’s been texting again, and the thought of being in that apartment alone just… it feels wrong tonight.” 

You can hear your own voice start to falter. You hate it. 

“I can crash on the couch if you want,” you add quickly. “Or I’ll take the floor. I don’t care. I just don’t want to be alone.” 

Johnny’s quiet for a second. Then he shakes his head. 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he says softly. “You can have the bed.” 

You frown. “Johnny—” 

“I’ll take the couch.” He flashes a small smile. “It’s seen worse.” 

You feel your shoulders relax a little, the pressure in your chest easing. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. 

He stands, grabbing a spare pillow and blanket from a nearby basket. You watch him work in silence, folding and fluffing with a surprising tenderness for someone who once set a toaster on fire just to see if he could. 

You follow him down the short hallway toward the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, flicks the switch on, then glances at you. 

“It’s not much,” he says. “There’s laundry on the chair and I think the sheets smell like my cologne.” 

“That’s fine.” 

He nods, then lingers a second too long like he’s about to say something more—but doesn’t. Instead, he just hands you the pillow. 

“You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

You step into the room, but turn at the last second. 

“Hey,” you say, stopping him in the doorway. 

He meets your eyes. 

“I meant what I said earlier too. About seeing you differently now.” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, really looks. Like he’s trying to burn the moment into memory. 

Then, softly: “Okay.” 

You close the door behind you, heart thudding too fast. The room smells like him — warmth and spice and something a little sweet, something undeniably Johnny. You pull the blanket around you and lie back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

The truth of it presses gently against your ribs: you feel safer here than you have in a long time. 

You don’t know if this is the start of something, or the moment something finally cracked open. 

But when you close your eyes, you’re still thinking about the way he looked at you in the doorway.  And how, just maybe, he’s been waiting for you to stay all along. 

The room is dark now. 

You’re curled up under Johnny’s blanket, one arm tucked beneath your pillow, your back facing the door. The sheets are warm, soft, slightly tangled from where you’ve shifted, but sleep won’t come. Your mind is too full—of brunch, of Patrick, of everything Johnny said before and after. 

Of the look in his eyes when he offered you his bed like it was nothing, like it was everything. 

Your heart thuds in your chest, slow and uneven. You shift, let out a soft breath, and close your eyes even though you’re wide awake. 

Then you hear it—footsteps just beyond the door. Light ones. 

The door creaks open slowly. You don’t move. 

“Hey,” Johnny whispers, his voice low and careful. “You okay?” 

You don’t answer. Not because you can’t—but because you don’t know how. So you pretend. 

Still. Quiet. Breathing steady. 

A pause. 

Then, the door eases shut again, soft as a secret. 

You expect him to go back to the couch. Instead, there’s a faint rustle, and then his voice, muffled and low. 

It takes you a second to realize he’s on the phone. 

“Sue?”  A beat.  “No, sorry. I know it’s late.”  Another pause. Then a sigh. “Yeah. She’s here. She’s in my bed.” 

Your eyes snap open, though your body stays perfectly still. 

“I didn’t plan for this,” he says, and he sounds exhausted. Not physically—emotionally. Like someone who’s been carrying something too heavy for too long. “I was just helping her with the Patrick thing. Fake-dating. You know.” 

There’s a silence, and you can almost hear Sue’s voice on the other end. Soft but pointed. The way she always gets when she’s seeing right through him. 

“No, I didn’t do anything,” Johnny says, a little sharper. “She asked to stay. I gave her my bed.” 

Another pause. A faint, self-deprecating laugh. 

“Yeah, I know. That’s what I’m saying. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.” 

Your breath catches. You don’t move. 

“I thought I could just ride it out, y’know? Be the guy she needed for the week, help her get under Patrick’s skin, maybe annoy her a little.”  A quiet laugh, soft and fond. “Classic me, right?” 

You hear him shift his weight. A creak from the couch. 

“But she’s not just Sue’s best friend anymore. She’s... her. She’s this sharp, stubborn, infuriating person who makes me want to be better. Even when she’s calling me out, she makes me feel—seen.” 

Something twists deep in your chest. 

“She’s asleep in my bed right now and I’m out here like an idiot, hoping she’s dreaming about me. Isn’t that pathetic?” 

Sue must be saying something, but you can’t hear it. Johnny chuckles, a low and tired sound. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I’m screwed.” 

There’s a long pause. Then quieter, rougher: 

“She’ll go back to her place tomorrow. Probably won’t think this meant anything. It’s just the plan to her. Still part of the act.” 

Your fingers curl into the sheets. 

“I just didn’t expect it to get real for me so fast,” he admits. 

Silence. The call must end, or maybe he just stops talking. You hear the soft thunk of his phone being set down, then nothing but the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. 

He doesn’t come back to check on you again. 

And you don’t sleep. 

You lie there, eyes wide open in the dark, heartbeat loud in your ears, body still and aching with everything you’ve just heard. 

He thinks you’re still pretending.  He thinks he’s alone in this.  And you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that. 

The city is still asleep when you quietly swing your legs off Johnny’s bed and press your feet to the cool floorboards. Your phone screen says it’s just past 5 a.m. — the sky outside still that pre-dawn grey-blue, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. 

You move slowly, cautiously, the way you used to sneak out of sleepovers as a kid. Except this time, you’re not trying to avoid someone’s mom. 

You’re trying to avoid him. 

The blanket falls from your shoulders as you stand. You fold it without thinking, neat and careful, your fingers fidgeting like they need something to do. Something normal. Like folding a blanket will distract you from the storm swirling in your chest. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. Why you’re leaving. You just… can’t stay. 

You can still hear his voice in your head — that soft, cracked confession to Sue on the couch. 

“She’ll go back to her place tomorrow. Probably won’t think this meant anything.” 

Your heart twists, hard. 

You want to scream at how wrong he is. You want to go out there, grab him by the face, and tell him it meant everything.  But you don’t.  Because now you’re scared too. 

Scared that this whole thing — this spiral from fake to real — wasn’t fair. To him. To you. That maybe you pulled him into something he didn’t ask for, not really. That maybe you were just selfish, desperate for comfort in the fallout of Patrick, and Johnny had been caught in the crossfire. 

And yet… he hadn’t run. He’d stayed. 

That’s what makes it worse. 

You push the door open slowly and step into the dim living room. Johnny’s curled up on the couch, blanket tangled around his legs, one arm tucked beneath his head. His mouth is parted just slightly. His brow is smooth. He looks peaceful. Soft, even. 

You want to kiss him.  God, you want to kiss him. 

Instead, you move carefully across the room, aiming for the door. 

You make it halfway. 

Then— 

The floor creaks. 

You freeze. 

“…Your leaving?” 

You close your eyes. Damn it. 

You turn slowly to find Johnny sitting up on the couch, rubbing sleep from his face, his hair a wild mess and his voice rough from sleep. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you say quietly. 

“You didn’t,” he lies, blinking at you. “You were really gonna sneak out?” 

“I wasn’t sneaking,” you mutter. 

He stands up, blanket slipping off him, arms crossed over his chest. “Then what was that? You’ve got your shoes in your hand like you're about to crawl out the window.” 

You fold your arms too, suddenly defensive. “I was just trying to avoid a scene.” 

“Well, congrats,” he says flatly. “Nailed it.” 

You exhale, frustrated. “I didn’t want to make this worse, Johnny.” 

“Worse?” he repeats, stepping forward. “You think this is worse? Leaving without a word? After everything yesterday — after everything I said—” 

“I heard what you said.” 

He freezes. “You heard me?” 

“On the phone. With Sue.” 

His mouth opens and closes again. He looks like you just punched him in the chest. “So what — you heard me say I liked you and decided that was your cue to bolt?” 

“It’s not that simple—” 

“Yes, it is!” His voice rises. “It is that simple. I told Sue I was falling for you, and instead of talking to me about it, you tried to disappear.” 

“I didn’t know what else to do!” you snap, throwing your hands up. “I panicked, okay? I wasn’t supposed to feel any of this either!” 

Johnny’s eyes burn into you. “Then why are you acting like this is some huge mistake?” 

“Because it wasn’t supposed to get this far!” you shout back. “This was meant to be a joke. A plan. A stupid fake relationship to make Patrick jealous and now—” Your voice cracks. “Now I feel like I used you.” 

His expression softens for a fraction of a second, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. 

“You didn’t use me,” he says. 

“You’re sure about that?” 

“Yes.” He steps forward again. “You didn’t use me. I volunteered. I wanted to help. I wanted to be around you. I didn’t care what excuse we used.” 

You shake your head, eyes burning. “It wasn’t fair to you.” 

“What’s not fair,” Johnny growls, “is that you got scared and decided I couldn’t handle how you felt.” 

You blink. “That’s not—” 

“You assumed,” he cuts in. “You assumed this meant more to me than it did to you. Like I’m the idiot who caught feelings while you stayed detached. But you’re not detached. You’re terrified.” 

You stare at him, stunned. “Screw you.” 

“Isn’t that easier?” he shoots back. “Being mad at me so you don’t have to admit this is real?” 

“I’m not mad because I’m scared, I’m mad because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says, stepping even closer, his voice low and sharp. “I’m talking about the way you looked at me at brunch. I’m talking about the way you didn’t move when I touched your hand. I’m talking about the fact that you stayed.” 

You’re breathing hard now, chest rising and falling. 

“I stayed,” you say, quieter but no less furious, “because for the first time in weeks, I felt safe.” 

Johnny flinches. 

“And now?” he asks, softer now. 

“Now I feel like I’m in too deep.” 

He swallows. “Good.” 

You frown. “What?” 

He steps into your space, gaze intense. “Good. Because same. I’ve been in deep since you called me that night, crying about Patrick. Since I saw you in my hoodie. Since you kissed me on the cheek and made it feel like my entire brain short-circuited.” 

You’re shaking. Maybe from adrenaline. Maybe from everything you’ve kept inside finally cracking open. 

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur. 

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” he fires back, voice low. 

You stare at each other for a moment, breath tangled, hearts pounding, barely a breath between you. 

And then— 

It happens. 

You grab his shirt. He cups your jaw. And your mouths crash together like a wave finally breaking. 

It’s messy. Desperate. Like neither of you knows how to go slow now that the wall is down. His hands slide into your hair, your fingers curl into his chest. The kiss is heat and frustration and hope and finally, all wrapped into one. 

You pull back just enough to breathe. 

“I’m not going to leave..” you whisper, lips brushing his. 

His eyes search yours. “Good.” 

He kisses you again, slower this time. Sweeter. And it feels like something settling into place. 

When he finally rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, the tension is gone. Replaced with something terrifying and brand new. 

Honesty. 

Realness. 

You’re in his arms now, and for once, you’re not pretending. 

[sexisbetteronthemoon]

you write a lot of trans bottom lance but what about trans top keith? i feel like because strap-ons can be really versatile lance would be really into picking what kinda dick hed like to be fucked with that day

(↓ 3.5k words, contains: magic au, age difference; older half-creature trans domtop Keith, younger human cis subbottom Lance, loving Keith, slight feminization, strap use, anal fingering-fisting-sex, breeding kink, biting, mpreg. ↓)

Keith is lounging on the couch, reading the latest advancements in potion-making. he’s got his legs up, flip flops on the floor, wearing nothing but trunks and a muscle tee made out a crew neck shirt that’s cut so low in the arms that one can see his surgery scars. his hair is still in a braid as his husband left it that morning, though his impossible bangs escaped a while back.

said husband is puttering around the kitchen, grabbing a drink or making something. Keith isn’t sure, but he likes the background noise because it makes him aware he’s not alone.

it becomes very clear to Keith that Lance is simply dawdling when he wanders over and slowly scoots into his lap, like if he does it slowly enough, Keith may not notice.

it’s adorable, and Keith smiles to himself as he sets the tablet aside on the coffee table and meets Lance’s sheepish gaze.

“hey, beautiful,” he greets, fond affection in his tone, “did you want my attention?”

Lance goes pink in the cheeks, always so receptive to Keith's compliments.

“i was just wondering,” Lance says, scooting further onto Keith, hands like paws with his fingertips tucked in as he gets closer.

soon he’s stradling him, red stockings with a purple floral pattern covering his long legs as they settle on either side of Keith’s thighs. this immediately ticks Keith’s interest, and he begins to take in the rest of him. he notices Lance is also wearing one of Keith's own shirts, which, because of his muscle definition, always fit Lance a little loose and long, despite his wider shoulders. Keith lays a hand on Lance’s thigh, thumbing the pattern, and sees the clinging ends of a garter belt attached. he runs his hand up, lifting the shirt out of the way, and raises an eyebrow.

Lance is wearing (all) his “come hither” lace, the red french cut underwear with the garter belt strapped to thigh highs. and if he were to pull off that shirt, he would surely find the matching lace bralette.

oh, Keith thinks, someone wants dick before dinner tonight.

though Keith begins to thrum with arousal, he affects ignorance and looks up at Lance with nothing but an attentive smile.

he says, “yes?”

Lance reddens further in the cheeks. they both know what he wants, but Keith isn’t going to make it easy tonight. usually, he’s always ready to please Lance and anticipate his needs, but he thinks he might like being in charge for a change.

and asking Lance to be clear in his desires is the perfect way to go about it. Lance finds it embarrassing to ask for sexual favors, and it robs him of his usual confidence. it makes him shy and sweet, and Keith is really enjoying making him blush.

Lance bites his bottom lip, and he turns even redder as he says, “can we use the Dragon tonight?”

he never has to ask, is the thing. Lance can simply choose what he wants and hand it over, and Keith is more than willing to pull on the harness to fuck him with it. the fact that he is asking, however, means he also wants a bit of change tonight.

“the Dragon?” Keith says, pretending to be surprised. “you think you can handle it?”

Lance shyly nods his head, and Keith smirks.

“i don’t know,” Keith says, “it might be too much for a princess like you.”

“i can take it,” Lance whispers. he raises his hands and walks them up Keith’s shirt to his chest, fingertips still tucked in like a kitten making biscuits. “i can.”

he wraps his arms around Keith’s neck and leans, giving him his best pouty look. it quickly dissolves under Keith’s unblinking stare, and he ducks his gaze.

tilting his head, Keith pretends to think.

“please?” Lance says, small and embarrassed.

grabbing hold of Lance’s waist, Keith pulls him closer. Lance makes a small wanting sound, always so weak to Keith’s easy displays of strength.

“if that's what my princess wants, then that’s what my princess gets,” Keith says. he takes Lance’s chin and kisses him hard. Lance whimpers into his mouth and hands grasping at his clothes and tugging, like he wants to get them off but doesn’t have the wherewithal to actually get it done.

Keith pulls back and uses his other hand to smack Lance’s ass soundly. he loves the way the cheek bounces back into his hand, and he squeezes a handful of it. Lance gasps, grinding against him, and Keith says, “go get it, sweetheart.”

Lance is up in a flash and rushing off. Keith stands and limbers up.

sometimes, they can go all night, and though Keith is sturdier than most, it’s usually hell on Keith's hips and joints the next day. he's not as young as he used to be after two-hundred years, so it's best to loosen up before sex. he glances over at the mirror on the wall by the door and proudly thinks he doesn’t look a day over thirty.

he wishes he felt the same.

soon Lance is back in the room, and Keith can see he’s sporting a bit of a tent already.

he really wants it bad, Keith thinks. although, Lance is barely twenty, and his enthusiasm is expected.

“here?” Lance asks.

“here,” Keith confirms, and he drops trou. he’s not wearing underwear, and Lance bites his lips as Keith undresses without an ounce of shame. then he comes forward with the leather harness and the massive Dragon cock he’s placed into the ring. he kneels, helping Keith into it, and Keith carefully inserts the length of his large clit into the opening at the base.

holding the phallus there, he mutters an incantation. the runes on both the dildo and the leather straps brighten, and soon the straps tighten themselves, fitting to his body. he runs a hand over the silicone, and he shivers as the touch goes directly to his clit.

“there we go,” he says, and Lance gives the tip a little lick.

Keith shivers and tugs Lance up to him, lifting him right off his feet.

Lance gasps, and Keith turns to settle him on the couch. with a muttered word, the shirt is across the room. Lance is indeed wearing the bralette, and Keith is kissing him from throat to pelvis. Lance is all long limbs, smooth, brown skin, and squirming beneath him. his nipples are hard, his dick even harder, and Keith pauses to nibble on his little tits over the lace.

“so pretty, my love,” he says, and Lance blushes, writhing on the couch as he spreads his legs and tries to entice Keith to fuck him.

“please,” Lance says, “use your magic.”

“no,” Keith says. “i want you to feel it.”

Lance makes a sound of complaint, but Keith is determined. he tugs down the lace underwear with his teeth and gathers them in his hand before pressing them to his nose to breathe in.

they smell like musk, sweat, and pre, and Keith’s clit throbs hard. he shoves the underwear into his mouth and keeps it there, just for the moment. but it doesn’t take long before it’s soaked through with his saliva, and he pulls them out, smirking.

“open,” he says, and Lance’s jaw drops obediently as he leans up, ready for Keith to shove the underwear inside.

Lance pants and closes his mouth while Keith's still got his fingers inside, trying to suckle them.

“greedy,” Keith says, and Lance whines. he pulls his fingers out and summons lube with a snap of his fingers.

“let’s get you ready,” Keith says, and Lance spreads his legs even wider.

Keith runs a single finger over the crease of Lance’s ass, and it dips down to his hole, pressing against it firmly. Lance wiggles, trying to get more, and Keith pulls back.

smearing lube on his fingers, Keith inserts two.

Lance is more than used to this. they fuck so much that he can easily take Keith’s smallest dildo without prep. it’s 1.5 inches in diameter, and they often use it when Lance is impatient to get Keith inside of him.

impatient like he is now, it seems, but he’s going to have to exercise some restraint because the Dragon is easily five inches at its thickest width, and Keith has no desire to hurt him or to use his magic to make this snappy.

he steadily works Lance open, descending upon him to kiss and mark up his body. Lance leans into every touch, moaning breathily as Keith runs his lips and tongue over his skin, nibbling and biting. he scrapes his sharp teeth on Lance’s shoulders and earns himself a wanton muffled mewl.

Lance is human — though married to Keith as he is, his life will share in Keith’s longevity — but when he acts like this, he could almost pass for a cat hybrid in heat. he’s sinuous and bendy, always trying to push his ass toward Keith for a mounting. he moves his body in ways Keith doesn’t think he’s aware of even doing, far too turned on to pay attention to his own reactions.

Keith takes his hand with the golden band, and he threads their fingers together possessively. his dragon heritage seldom comes out, but when it does, it’s always in relation to Lance, the only person in the world Keith has ever felt such burning desire for.

pushing the bralette aside, Keith sucks a nipple into his mouth. he bites down and Lance jerks, though he doesn’t even feel as Keith slips a third finger inside, working that little knot of pleasure inside of Lance that makes him moan and gasp so sweetly.

long minutes go by, Keith working Lance open finger by finger until he can fit his entire fist inside of him.

Lance's legs are shaking, head thrown back over the armrest, legs splayed wide into a near split, one thrown over the back of the couch, the other pinned up by Keith’s forearm.

Keith descends to Lance's thighs, ignoring his weeping dick. Lance doesn’t like it played with while he’s being stretched. he comes too soon; he says, and he doesn’t like being too tired to be fucked.

Keith kisses Lance's trembling thighs, sucking more marks into them and biting the skin until Lance is jerking up against his mouth for more. Keith's still working Lance’s asshole open, carefully spreading his fingers inside of him and twisting his wrist.

Lance begins to babble, and Keith reaches up with his unoccupied hand to pull the wet panties from his mouth.

“i'm ready, i'm ready, i'm ready,” Lance begins to chant, words slurring and eyes wet with tears. “please, please, please!”

he’s hitching his hips up in the air, trying to get Keith's fist out to begin searching for the tip of Keith’s strap. Keith places his free hand on his belly and presses him down flat and still.

“Keith,” Lance whines.

“i see i’ve spoiled you too much,” Keith says, and Lance lets out a pitiful little sob. “behave, and i’ll give you what you need.”

Lance, who is still squirming, goes still and limp, the breath leaving him in defeat. he lets out a high whine, and Keith pulls his hand from Lance's belly to spank his thigh. Lance jolts and goes still.

he sniffles.

“aren’t you my perfect princess?” Keith asks softly.

“yes,” Lance says miserably, pouting at the ceiling.

“then be still,” Keith says firmly.

“i'm still,” Lance says petulantly, and Keith gives him another smack.

“sorry,” Lance says.

“good,” Keith says, and he soothingly rubs his hand over the leftover sting.

and after another minute of working his hand inside of Lance, he deems him ready and pulls out with a squelch.

Lance’s tract clings to his hand as he goes, the greedy thing, and Keith lowers himself to mouth at Lance’s balls. they’re tense and Keith suckles on them just long enough to hear Lance begin to whimper. then he pulls away and lubes up the cock.

“here i come, princess, you ready?” he asks softly.

“yes, please,” Lance says eagerly, taking hold of his legs and pulling them back by the knees until he's nearly folded himself in half.

Keith’s clit throbs, and presses the tip to Lance’s hole, gliding the head around the stretched rim. he presses forward, but he doesn't go in, kissing the head to Lance’s eager, winking hole. he can feel it in the tip of his clit, the wrinkles and the silkiness of Lance’s skin. he sighs and slips the head in halfway before pulling out.

he does it again.

and again, groaning softly.

“Keith, please,” Lance hisses, panting and strained.

Keith slips the head inside and stays, watching Lance melt as he awaits the rest.

“yes, yes, yes, yes,” Lance chants, head thrown back over the armrest; “yes, please!”

Keith summons a damp towel and cleans off his hand before he sets both on Lance’s waist, lifting and slowly pulling him down onto the cock. Lance smoothly takes it in, his hole spreading beautifully until it’s taut around the widest part.

a strangled noise leaves him when Keith pauses.

“look at you,” Keith says, reverent, “made to take anything i give you. my beautiful princess, my darling, my love.”

he sinks in with a sigh and watches as the cock bulges Lance’s belly.

Keith’s clit is throbbing like a heartbeat, fast and aching, the sight of that bump unlocks something primal inside of him. he’s all need and desire, and he yanks Lance down the rest of the way, pupils narrowed to slits and beginning to glow and mouth pooling with saliva as Lance takes the rest in.

his stomach rounds, and Keith swallows hard as he pulls out, a harsh breath leaving him as the bump becomes smaller once more.

Keith csn’t have that, he decides. he fucks inside, a need building inside of him as he watches Lance round out once more.

“yes,” he hisses. “my gorgeous babygirl.”

Lance mewls.

Keith moves, dragging out and pushing back inside to watch Lance swell once more.

Lance drops his hands to grip Keith’s wrists, mouth open and breathlessly moaning, gasping as Keith fucks him hard and fast, keenly watching his lower belly swell with him.

he wants it. he wants Lance to swell and stay swollen with him, with a seed he lacks. he grits his teeth and fucks into him harder, thighs loudly smacking into Lance’s cheeks as he shouts himself hoarse.

his neglected dick is swinging back and forth, leaking everywhere like a messy little slut.

“yes, yes, i'm your messy slut!” Lance cries. “yes, baby, yes, daddy, yes, sir!”

he’s babbling, saying anything and everything he thinks will please Keith. but Keith can barely hear him over the whoosh, whoosh in his ears as he fills Lance’s hole over and over, imagining him swelling up nice and fat with a litter of whelps, all with Lance's pretty brown eyes and gorgeous head of curls. with his plump lips and perfect nose, with Keith’s eye shape and thick eyebrows.

“gonna fill you up so good,” Keith pants. “you’re gonna be such a good mother.”

Lance sobs, reaching for Keith, and Keith pulls him up and onto his lap. Lance wraps his arms around his shoulders and Keith yanks his bralette out of the way. he puts his mouth to Lance’s chest, biting and licking like a man possessed.

“oh, your titties are going to grow so nicely,” Keith groans, sucking on one and palming are the other, his other hand helping to hold Lance up as he fucks up into him.

“so soft, so pretty, so full of milk, ripe with me — oh, princess.”

Keith runs possessive hands down Lance sides and grips his ass, holding his cheeks apart as he pistons into him.

Lance is whimpering and red in the face, his dick a deep rouge and wet. he's trying to rub against Keith’s abs, but Keith is the one controlling the pace, and all he can do is hold on.

Keith shifts around, pressing Lance against the back of the couch and lifting his legs up and back until his knees touch the back cushions and he’s humping into him.

like this, the bulge is even more apparent, and Keith feels his jaw ache as his teeth grow, itchy with the need to bite.

Lance already wears his mating mark, and Keith's never felt the need to bite him again, but he does now. he needs to bite Lance. so he pulls out, turns him around, and presses him down flat on his belly, cock bullying back into him as he covers him with his whole body and sinks his teeth into Lance’s nape, holding him still as he plunges back into him.

Lance has snuck a hand down between the cushion and himself, and he’s working his dick fast, whimpering as Keith growls and strikes his prostate over and over, relentless and wrecking his hole.

Lance comes, shouting hoarsely, and Keith seizes up, hips jerking to a stop and pressing in as deep as the cock can go. his clit pulses, his teeth sink deeper, and he comes in strong waves. his vision goes blurry and colorful before he finally stops shaking and huffs through his nose, winded and exhausted in a way he hasn’t been since the day they first mated.

pulling his teeth out of Lance’s neck, Keith licks the wound clean and whispers a small healing spell to seal it. he presses a kiss to the scabs and murmurs an apology.

Lance mumbles incoherently back at him, and Keith chuckles.

he gives Lance five minutes before they go again.

and again.

all night long.

in the wee hours of the morning, when false dawn is upon them, Keith gets up off of Lance, his legs shaky like a newborn colt, and he picks Lance up into his arms.

his beautiful husband is limp and satisfied, and Keith takes him away to clean him up, bathe him, and tuck him into bed.

then Keith promptly passes out for sixteen hours, completely dead to the world.

for the next week, Lance teases him every chance he gets by calling him “old man”. and Keith takes it because it’s true, though he’s a bit chagrined by it.

by the end of the week, however, he feels back to his old self, but Lance is sick. he's got a stomach flu that just won’t quit, and Keith does his best to help his nausea. he casts spells and makes potions, but nothing works.

he’s flabbergasted. his potions and spells have never failed him before.

Lance calls his ownmother for help, and takes her advice. then he sits quietly at the kitchen table with a simple mug of ginger tea and some soda crackers. he looks thoughtful, brow furrowed and lips pursed to one side, when he says, “why do you think nothing worked, but ginger tea and soda crackers did?”

Keith shrugs.

“one reason for magic not to work is a barrier spell that negates magical effects,” he says. “would make sense if your illness was magical in nature, but i gave you something for that, and it didn’t work.”

“what’s another reason?” Lance asks.

Keith snorts and says, “you’re pregnant.”

Lance stares at him.

“a baby comes with its own natural protections,” Keith explains. “they repel minor spells and potions.”

Lance is still staring at him.

“you don’t have a womb, princess,” Keith reminds him. “i’m just messing with you.”

“unfortunately,” Lance says. “i’d make you very good babies.”

Keith chuckles and carefully doesn’t say anything about the melancholy tightening around his heart at those words.

a few days later, Lance is still ill.

Keith drags him to a real doctor, and they receive the shock of their lives.

Lance is pregnant.

Lance is so shocked he's speechless. later, when they’re home and sitting on the couch, the first thing he says is, “you wanted to knock me up that badly?”

Keith immediately goes red and sheepishly says, “i didn't think i actually could! i thought it was just — you know! kink!”

Lance laughs. he doesn’t seem distressed by the news. in fact, his cheeks are pinkening, his eyes are shiny, and his lips are forming a soft smile.

“i guess the only thing left is to decide whether we want to keep it,” Lance says.

Keith keeps silent.

“what do you think?” he asks Keith.

“i think you’re the one who’ll have to carry it for the next ten months,” Keith says carefully. “i want what you want.”

Lance cradles his flat stomach and looks off into the distance, eyes soft but unsure.

“i’ve always wanted kids,” he says quietly, and Keith’s heart fills with joy, though he maintains a neutral façade. “i want it.” he glances at Keith, bottom lip drawn between his teeth. “is that okay?”

Keith pulls him into his arms, so happy he could burst.

“it’s perfect,” he says.