#joequinn

[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. 

[sweeteststing]

I wonder what being their concubine is like

...I wonder if i could be one...

[joesquinns]

JOSEPH QUINN as PRINCE PAUL in Catherine The Great

[daleyeahson]

two peas in a pod 🖤

[werejustlefttodecay]

I watched Hoard just now and it was certainly something, made me cry near the end. Definitely recommend if you're into strange but meaningful coming of age type films.

[wolfiescosplay]

His curls are everything!

[steddieonthen]

How dares he be so adorable???

[bobiverses]

is joe not coming to the New Orleans fan expo anymore? We were planning on going and he’s been on the website for months but the last time I went to check he is not on the appearances list 😭😭😭😭

[shiscarvalho]

[thnksfrthquinn]

A Bond Forged in Shadows ~ Part 3

Part 1 - Part 2

Summary: As the daughter of Rome’s most trusted senator, you grew up alongside Emperor Geta and his brother, forging a bond of friendship in the shadows of imperial power. Now, as Geta ascends the throne, your world is thrown into turmoil when your father arranges a political marriage to secure alliances for Rome. Though bound by duty, you can’t suppress the growing unease in your heart—nor can Geta hide his own discontent at the thought of losing you. Amid the treacherous intrigue of the Roman court, stolen moments and unspoken feelings blossom into a forbidden love that defies the expectations of duty and empire. With alliances at stake and betrayal lurking around every corner, you and Geta must navigate the perilous divide between loyalty and desire, risking everything for a chance at happiness in a world that demands you sacrifice it all

WC: 3k

Warnings: No spoilers from the movie // Smut // Violence // soft!Geta // rough!Geta // Geta x Reader

Taglist: @himikoquack @prestinalove @eddies-puppet @mysticalstar30 @chloe-skywalker @1950schick @wordsaresimple-imnot

(if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know)

The dimly lit corridors of the palace felt different now, every flickering torch casting shadows that danced along the marble walls, mirroring the tension thrumming between you. Geta’s hand on your waist was firm, possessive, and with each step, his thumb grazed the curve of your hip, sending sparks of anticipation shooting through your veins. The silence stretched, heavy and charged, broken only by the distant echoes of your footsteps. You could feel the heat of his body beside you, his presence overwhelming yet intoxicating. As you rounded a corner, away from prying eyes and curious whispers, Geta suddenly stopped, his grip tightening just enough to pull you flush against him. His gaze darkened, flickering between your eyes and lips. 

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart pounded, but you refused to let him see the full extent of his effect on you. You tilted your chin up defiantly, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

“Then show me,” you whispered back, your voice a challenge laced with undeniable desire. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and in the next breath, his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fierce, all fire and fury, like the tension that had been simmering between you for years had finally snapped. His hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn’t bear a single inch of distance between you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, matching his intensity with your own. He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. 

“You’re playing with fire.” Geta huffed. You grinned, your forehead resting against his as you caught your breath. 

“Then let me burn.” A dark, satisfied look crossed his face before he seized your hand, leading you swiftly down the hall. When you finally reached his quarters, he pushed open the heavy door, pulling you inside with a hunger that sent your pulse racing. The door slammed shut behind you, the sound echoing in the room, sealing you both inside this moment, this reckless, intoxicating plunge into the unknown. Before you could catch your breath, Geta had you pinned against the door, his lips finding yours again, more demanding this time, as if he needed to remind you who was in control. But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch, matching your own wild rhythm.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered against your neck, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin.

“And you love it,” you whispered back, your breath hitching as his hands found the curve of your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

The night stretched ahead of you, full of promises and peril, and as Geta led you toward his bed, you knew one thing for certain—this was only the beginning. 

As Geta's hands roamed your curves, you felt a thrill of excitement mixed with trepidation. This was a dangerous game you were playing, but the risk only heightened the pleasure.

"You're so responsive," he growled, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your gown to stroke the bare skin of your abdomen. "I can't wait to see how loud you'll be when I make you cum.” His words sent shivers down your spine, and you arched into his touch despite yourself. You knew he was trying to undermine your control, to break through that last wall between you and surrender completely to him. But you wouldn't let it happen that easily. With a fierce determination, you grasped his wrist and held it in place over your stomach.

"Not yet," you managed to gasp out, even as your body screamed for more contact. "I'm not yours until I say so.” Geta's eyes narrowed at the challenge, flashed with a mix of amusement and desire at your defiant words. He leaned in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispered,

"Oh, but you will be mine, my dear. It's only a matter of time.” His free hand trailed up your side, fingertips ghosting over the thin fabric of your gown. You shivered involuntarily, your grip on his wrist loosening slightly. Geta took advantage of your momentary weakness, twisting his hand free and using it to cup your face.

"Such fire," he murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip."I do so enjoy taming wild things."

You tried to muster a sharp retort, but your voice caught in your throat as his other hand slid higher, just barely grazing the underside of your breast. Your body betrayed you, arching into his touch even as your mind screamed to maintain control. Geta chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that sent heat pooling in your core. As you both got to Geta’s bed, Geta gently laid you down on his plush bed, his eyes roamed hungrily over your form. He began to undress slowly, his movements deliberate and teasing. First, he removed his ornate outer robe, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle. His fingers then moved to the fastenings of his tunic, unhurriedly undoing each one.You watched, transfixed, as more of his skin was revealed. The lean muscles of his chest and abdomen rippled with each movement, a testament to his physical prowess. A trail of dark hair led enticingly downward from his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his undergarments. Geta's eyes never left yours as he continued to disrobe. His hands moved to the laces of his undergarments, and he paused, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked, his voice low and husky with desire. You bit your lip, your hands roaming up and down your own body trying to tease him back. Geta's fingers worked deftly at the laces of his undergarments, loosening them with tantalizing slowness. His eyes, dark with desire, remained locked on yours as he gradually revealed more of himself. The fabric slid down his muscular thighs, pooling at his feet before he stepped out of them gracefully. Now fully nude, Geta stood before you in all his glory. His body was a masterpiece of lean muscle and sun-kissed skin, every inch of him exuding raw masculinity. Your gaze was drawn inexorably to his impressive manhood, already half-erect and promising pleasures yet to come. Geta's lips curled into a predatory smile as he noticed your appreciative stare. He moved towards the bed with the fluid grace of a stalking panther, his eyes never leaving yours. As he reached the edge of the bed, Geta paused, drinking in the sight of you sprawled across his sheets.  His large hands found the hem of your gown, slowly sliding it upwards. The rough pads of his fingers trailed along your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Let's see what treasures you've been hiding," he growled, his voice thick with lust. The silky fabric of your gown whispered against your skin as Geta peeled it away, revealing your body inch by tantalizing inch. His breath hitched as your breasts were exposed, the cool air causing your nipples to harden into tight peaks. 

"Exquisite," he murmured, lowering his head to place a hot, open-mouthed kiss on the swell of your breast. Geta continued to push the gown higher, his calloused hands caressing your sides, your ribs, the soft plane of your stomach. His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arched into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth found the sensitive skin just below your navel. Geta’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your garments, tugging them down with agonizing slowness. 

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and teasing. “To taste every inch of you.” He discarded your garments, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of you laid bare before him. Geta’s hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide as he settled between them, his warm lips pressing kisses up the inside of your thighs, nose pushed into the crease of your hip as he inhales every breath of you. Eyes closed when he savours the whimper you make at the way his tongue drags along your abdomen, circling your navel, chin grazing lower, lower until he holds your gaze and lays the softest of kisses directly to your clit. His mouth descended, his tongue flicking out to taste you, and you gasped at the sensation. “So sweet,” he groaned, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. He devoured you with a hunger that left you breathless, his skilled tongue driving you to the brink of ecstasy. His tongue was a fucking revelation. You grabbed his hair and pulled him closer, grinding against his mouth. He was relentless, taking you to the edge and then pulling back, over and over again. You were aching for more, your body begging for release. And when he finally slid his fingers inside you, you shattered. Your body convulsed, a cry of pure pleasure tearing from your lips as you came undone beneath him. Geta didn’t stop, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony to prolong your orgasm until you were a trembling, panting mess. He finally pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal, and gave you a wicked grin.

 “I could do this all night,” he said, his voice rough. “But I think it’s time I showed you just how good I can make you feel.” As he spoke, Geta's eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire, his gaze roaming over your body like a caress. He towered over you, his presence enveloping you in a wave of heat and desire. You could feel the warmth of his skin radiating towards you, making your own skin tingle with anticipation. Geta's hands reached out, gently grasping your hips and pulling you towards him. His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, "I'm going to take my time with you, savor every moment, and make sure you remember this night for the rest of your life.” His words were like a promise, a vow to unleash a torrent of pleasure upon your body. As you lay there, his gaze never left yours. He angled himself just between your legs, his hard member tensing as you looked up at him. 

“I want to feel you.. all of you” you hummed, your body burning with lust. He grabs your thighs and holds them up, nearly above your head, he wants to see all of you. He leans in, his cock gently stroking your glistening folds and then he slowly entered you. You consumed him, wincing as you took all of him in. 

“Such a wet little rose you are” His thrust began to deepen, his grasp on your thighs softening. You were all his in this moment. Moans and grunts filled the air around you both. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you feel him pulsing through your core. Geta lets your legs down and his hands fall by the side of your head. He leans down, pausing when your lips barely touch, his hot breath on your skin causing you to go dizzy. He moves down to your collar, leaving small but desperate kisses. His thrusts become deeper, you reach for his shoulders, digging your fingers into his flesh. 

“By the gods, you feel so good” he purred, his voice a low growl, into your collar. Your gaze never left his, although you were seeing stars. He adjusts himself, now onto his knees, fucking you faster, his hand moved to your neck. A perfect necklace. His grip tightening, nipping at the sensitive skin there. His pace quickened, each thrust deliberate and purposeful. 

“Tell me you’re mine” He commanded, softly applying light pressure with his fingers against your throat. “Only mine” 

“Im yours.. and only yours” you cry out. 

“Again” Geta hissed. “Say it again” His hands tightened slightly around your throat. “I. Want. To. Hear. It” He punctuated each word with a powerful thrust, hitting deeper than before. You head falls back onto the bed, you grip the sheets hard. 

“Im yours, my lord.” You whimpered. Your insides twisted, legs trembling. “Im so close..” Geta’s gaze was almost primal, he let go of your throat, his hand moving down to your breast, gently circling around your erect nipple. 

“Id est .. bona puella” he purred, his voice husky. This was enough for you to reach your release. A fire pooled low in your abdomen, your vision fading to black. It was ecstasy. Your moans were a mixture of curse words and Geta’s name. Geta’s pace slowed, your moans were intoxicating to him. His cock slips out of your entrance as you come to the end of your orgasm. 

“Get on your knees now..” Geta ordered. You did as you were told, slipping down off the bed onto your knees. You positioned yourself in between Geta’s legs, his cock throbbing right before your eyes. 

“Make your Caesar cum” You nodded, holding onto his thighs. You swirled your tongue along the head, making full eye contact with him, making sure he was enjoying it. Geta’s eyes rolled back as he grunted, his hand cupping your cheek. “Such an obedient little thing you are” His eyes were dark, looking down at you like you were a piece of meat. You start off slow, lapping at him with these kitten licks and mouthing down the bulging vein on the underside.

"mm, fuck," Geta moans, hips shakily punching up when you finally sink down over the head of his cock properly with your lips wrapped tightly around his cock, the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him. His hand reaches for your hair, gripping slighting, pushing you down further on his manhood. Your eyes begin to water as you take him all in. Geta sat back in rhapsody, losing himself in the delirium of having you choke on his cock, as your spit puddled his length. 

“Look a you, doing such a good job” He pulled you off his cock by your chin, looking down at your spit glistening over your lips. He pulls you up and sits you on his lap, his hard cock twinging against your tummy. Smirking arrogantly, he runs his thumb over your swollen lips, pushing it inside your mouth briefly. "See what you do to me? All hot and needy" He whispers, grabbing your waist and positioning you over his length. "Ride me,” You begin to bounce up and down on his cock, your both a sweaty mess at this point. His head falls back as you start to move, a low groan rumbling in his chest. His large hands grip your hips, guiding your movements. 

"Faster," he demands, lifting you up and slamming you back down onto his lap. "Use those pretty little hips,” His grip tightens, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he sets a brutal pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed with your soft whimpers and his guttural groans. He leans forward, capturing a nipple in his mouth, biting down gently. 

“I want you to cum, fill me up please..” You pleaded, wrapping your hands around his shoulders, a free hand gripping onto his hair. His hands move to your thighs, pulling them further apart as he wraps his arms around your legs, hooking them over his elbows. He lifts you higher, hitting deeper spots inside you. "Look at me," he growls, his face contorted with pleasure. He watches your expression, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. 

"You want my seed inside you?" He asks darkly, his thrusts growing more powerful. He hits that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back, your inner muscles tightening around him. "Answer me,”

“Yes.. YES” you howled. With a final, deep thrust, he holds himself inside you completely, releasing with a loud grunt. 

"Take it... take every fucking drop." His warm seed fills you, and he keeps you firmly in place, maintaining eye contact. "You're mine now. Mine completely." He whispers possessively. Still deeply inside you, he runs his hands possessively over your body. "Stay here. I want to feel my cum dripping out of you... I want you to sleep with my seed inside you tonight." He pulls you close against his chest, one hand moving to caress your hair. As Geta pulled you close against his chest, the heat of the moment slowly gave way to something deeper—an unspoken connection neither of you had been willing to acknowledge until now. His hand moved gently through your hair, his breathing still heavy against your ear, but his touch had softened, as if grounding both of you in the reality of what had just happened.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of your emotions hung in the air, thick and undeniable. When he finally did break the silence, his voice was low and sincere, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he usually wore like armor. “You drive me mad,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “But I’ve never felt anything like this before.” His confession lingered in the space between you, heavy with meaning. You looked up at him, your heart pounding—not from desire, but from the vulnerability his words unlocked.

 “Neither have I,” you admitted softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. The playful defiance that had always been a part of your dynamic still lingered, but now it was laced with something far more dangerous: genuine affection. Geta’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. 

“Then what are we going to do about it?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek with surprising tenderness. The question wasn’t just about the two of you—it was about everything: your loyalty to Rome, your family’s expectations, the dangerous game of power you both were entangled in.

But for now, none of that mattered. For now, it was just you and him, tangled in a moment you both knew could change everything.

[catherinnn]

perfect fic for today <3

Birthday smut for the Birthday Boy 💀

Requested by @harrys-four-nipples ✨sloppy toppy✨ as she called it, I almost died. I will now be using that in my daily vocabulary.

The pictures are for the effect 💀 Under 18's DNI.

In your own opinion, you'd started off Joe's birthday well, the January sun seeped through a little space the curtains held, instantly putting you in a good mood. Unexpectedly waking up before him because you were obviously too excited to give him your first gift, not that it was rare, it happened most mornings but it'd usually be Joe having his own way with you. In a way, every day was like his birthday in sex terms if you were to put it bluntly.

You innocently admired his relaxed and beautiful features that still remained in an unconscious state before slipping underneath the covers to be met in a dark, warm space underneath the sheets. Your face just hovering next to his crotch, his boxers tented securely by his length encaged with morning glory and you couldn't help but touch - expertly tracing your fingers around the outline, biting down on your lip whilst you placed a single finger onto the edge of his tip, letting yourself stroke straight down to the base.

Your ears prick up to the sound of heavy breathing stalled, silence occurring outside of the sheets you're currently covered by when your tongue replaces your fingertip and hotly slides along the material from his boxers, the tip of your tongue hits no soft bumps on the way down, a twitch erupting from no where when the erection stiffens further from the contact.

"Baby?" The noise is muffled since you're further down, but Joe's gravelly voice brings sudden heat and attention flying down from your ear drums, through your body and stopping right at your core. Not just from the thrill of what you were about to do but from pure excitement of pleasing your man. Joe wafts the covers up and over you so you were in full sight, his eyes freezing right to where your face lifts to meet his.

"Well good morning to me." Joe traces his lips with his tongue, a slight smile appearing making your heart thud. How could he possibly make you feel multiple emotions all at once?

You hummed as you continued your hasty work, no time for small talk. You continue leaving hearty kisses into the dampened cloth straight and directly caused from your own saliva and partly from the tip leaking alone, ignoring the way Joe's retinas clearly burned through your movement. Removing yourself just for the moment, you bring your hands to the waistband and peel them away. Joe lifts himself so you can get them off with ease, he kicks them off when they touch his feet. Your eyes shoot back to view him in all his glory, the beautiful vision of his cock laid ready and waiting up against his stomach aching and impatient, needing your undivided attention.

You lick a stripe from the base upward this time, the taste of him so appealing that you do it again, guiding your finger underneath to lift it up, slurping your lips straight over the almost visibly swollen head causing Joe's body to jolt upward, a little moan slipping through his gritted teeth causing your body to reek goose-bumps.

"Don't tease me love, my cock fucking needs that filthy mouth of yours around it." Joe managed to blurt out, interrupting the show you were putting on for him, you shook your head and he huffed a sigh at you, knowing full well you were taking your time and he wasn't getting his own way in a hurry.

"Just enjoy it, birthday boy." You snapped back looking up at him through hooded eyelashes, his wicked chuckle made you smirk.

Joe's hands moved over his face, rubbing over it harshly to ease his frustrations to your answer whilst you got back to your enjoyable task. You spat down onto the leaking tip a couple of times, spreading the combination of saliva and pre-cum all over his length, wrapping your fist securely around him and began to pump slowly, his little mutters to himself gave you the perfect ammunition to continue to do just what he said not too, you were going to edge Joe until he couldn't take no more.

You avoided your hands movements, letting yourself scoot down even further until your mouth came into contact with his balls, tonguing at them and latching your mouth around them one at a time, each time causing a more fierce moan to eject from his own. "Shit, I love it when you do that." His head arched back, almost in tears when your tongue fell down to just beneath his sack, flickering and flattening it against the crease between them and his ass. You seemingly hit the spot a few times, your fist becoming more rapid wanking off his shaft. Joe came without warning, his seed spewed onto his stomach in a rapid motion, a fountain of cum leaving his body squirming as you attacked the spot harder, slightly angered yet humbled that he'd let go without at least telling you first.

"Fuck." Joe panted. You lifted yourself back up and cleaned up his stomach, purely drinking the cum where it had spilled.

"Did I say you could cum?" You gestured an over dramatic dead eye his way and his face instantly fell apologetic. He tried to reach for you to bring you up to him but you slapped him away when his hands pulled at your head.

"Did I say I was done?" Your hand still firmly wrapped around his cock began to erratically move, his breathe hitching when you squeezed the grip tighter, the veins still highlighted from his erection bulging out of the skin.

"Apparently not." Joe giggled a little nervously and you smirked his way, he knew exactly what was going on; a second orgasm made for a very happy boyfriend.

You swirled your tongue around his once ruined tip, there was no going soft in the way you handled him at this moment in time, in fact it was seemingly so that Joe was so turned on by your actions he wasn't quick to refuse a thing you were willing to do this morning.

You could hear his breathing shaking, his lungs were working at twice the speed to receive the air that he needed to survive, but you took that away from him the more you worked your mouth. It now covered the pre-cum ridden mushroom head, the colour of it a beautifully deep purple tone from the blood that had rushed up into it in a hurry.

"Suck my fucking cock, baby. Be my good girl." An ounce of pleading ruptured from the sound of his voice, his hands clung to the pillow under his head, hoping you were going to just dive in deep.

You answered his wish, not being able to get the words that he'd just spoken away, the vibration of his voice repeating constantly inside of your mind like a broken record. Removing your hand away from his length and sunk your mouth down, taking it down to the base where the tip swept past your tonsils and to the back of your throat, your gag reflex hit it's peak and you choked, saliva streaming from the sides of your mouth and tears fighting their way through as you pushed his cock down as far as you could possibly take it. The hand that once occupied him was now massaging away at his balls that had quickly refilled themselves in your continued actions and you instantly had him like putty in your hands once more.

"Yes, yes, yes. That's it. Take my cock Y/N. You know just what to do." He stammered his way through the sentence, egging you on to repeat your actions. Bringing your head back up and slamming his cock straight back to where it previously filled. Moans, whimpers and profanities were flying through the bedroom, echoing through into the hallway of your home from the rising volume of Joe's vocal chords, the further you took him, the more he'd sound out.

You released his cock from your mouth immediately when you felt his body twitching, the eyes in the back of your head saw his toes begin to curl. You stopped, the only thing touching his cock now was your thumb pressing down on the slit of his tip, a refusal and unspoken denial that he was not allowed to climax just yet.

"Don't even think about it Joseph." The full first name indicated to him that you were deadly serious. You arched an eyebrow at him and he bit down on his lip, his eyes practically pleading at you to let him release. You lifted yourself up to meet his face, crashing your lips down onto his and plunging your tongue straight into his mouth to dance around his, the slight salty taste of his seed lingered on your muscle which made him slightly grimace, but fuck it, he enjoyed the passionate and desperate kiss that he was receiving.

Your hand went back to wrap around him, jerking uncontrollably whilst you attacked his lips with yours, your moans intertwining together into a beautiful melody that were only meant for your and his ears. The kiss broke when Joe's lips stayed parted, paralysed and unable to move when he felt the way you fist fucked his cock. You rested your forehead on his, watching the way his eyes rolled into the back of his head, his entire body writhing beneath your touch in a way that screamed that he belonged to you and that you had him in a way nobody else ever could or would.

"I n-need to c-cum. P-please l-let m-me c-cum." The begging was apparent. Your work was done. You flung yourself back down and latched onto his cock immediately, bobbing your head up and down fast, teeth grazing his length and tongue sliding through your movements. A silent gesture for him to go ahead. His second orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks, his already over sensitive stimulation from the first climax sent his body lifting, his soul ceased reality and guided itself straight to heaven, the tingling sensations causing his whole body to to jolt uncomfortably, your name being shouted in a loud squeak.

You swallowed every last drop, wasting nothing until he was milked dry. Giving him time to ride out his high by slowing down your movement and then releasing him completely, you hovered back up and fell to the side of him, his arms wrapping around you to pull you into a delightful cuddle.

"You are amazing, you know that?" His breathing still unsteady, but his head now settling back into a reality which brought him back to you completely. Your fingers stroked along his chest, fiddling with his chain that hung around his neck as you smiled up at him innocently.

"Happy birthday, baby." You cooed. Joe leaned down to meet your lips, kissing you sweetly.

"Thank you my darling. Now do I get my breakfast in bed?" You pondered on his question. Which way was he going with this? Knowing Joe he was being the dirty bastard he meant to be yet the look on his face told you he meant food. His poker face and excellent talent in acting didn't give away what he really meant.

"What do you fancy?" You asked.

"Your tight, pretty little pussy wouldn't go a miss." Joe pushed you onto your back forcefully and kissed you from the jaw down, ready to relish in the taste of you and eat you up until he was fully satisfied. Was it your birthday too? Evidently not but you weren't complaining.

[sweeteststing]

You know...I'm not against it. 10/10 would smash

[joesquinns]

so soft pt. 44

[ronandreams]

tagged by @joequinns , thank you lovely! 💗

coffee or tea | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party .

i can't choose between secret garden and secret library, i will simply take both 😅

tagging: @nanbyers , @winterflell , @andrewmimyard , @tommishelby , @bruceewayne , @waddinghamhannah , @und0miels , @darknightstarryeyes, @swkywalker, @coffee-in-europe, @octobermidnight, @dykejaskier, @annacoleman, @eizagonzalezs, @cavarage, @yeris, @stilllovedtheshow, @hellshee, @kuoro , @jeanmoreaux, @fireplceashes.

[softspiderling]

shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals <3

nicole ily <3

nobody gets me - sza

obsessed - olivia rodrigo

who’s afraid of little old me - taylor swift

my boy only breaks his favorite toy - taylor swift

guilty as sin - taylor swift

is there a recurring theme idk

[wolfiescosplay]

His dad is so proud!! Look at him showing the photos he took!