#joseph quinn x you

[icallhimjoey]

https://www.tumblr.com/icallhimjoey/769345688851103744/i-asked-for-pyjama-vibe-joe-and-forgot-about-his

Ohhh can we get a soft pyjama and glasses Joey? Like him wearing the combo for the first time because it’s a new relationship and we looooove it. Or us stealing the shirt after freaky time. Or idek! The possibilities!

soft pyjama and glasses joey, at your service Wordcount: 2.1K

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Not A Wink

“Wait, can you… wait here. Wait, no. Just. Yea… wait here and, also, um... yea, maybe... maybe close your eyes a second…” you pushed Joe away from your closed bedroom door, two hands to his chest.

Joe took hold of both of them as he laughed, easily letting you push him back, stepping backwards down the hall.

“What are you hiding in there that I can’t see?”

You were having a hard time hiding your own smile.

“No, nothing, I just… I’ve got to just check something, quickly. Just in case. Wait here.”

You were the cutest girl he’d ever met. Joe couldn’t quite believe he was allowed into the home of the cutest girl he’d ever met.

“Close your eyes.” You insisted, and Joe couldn’t help laugh more, his arms stretching as you walked back to your bedroom, touching until you were out of reach.

“I can’t see anything from here!”

“Close your eyes!”

Joe gave you a deadpan stare, shoulders dropping, but joy never leaving his face. When you waited by the door, hand on the handle, and looked at him in silence for a moment, he rolled his eyes and finally complied.

“It’ll just be a second,” you said, your smile evident in your voice.

Joe heard a door open, then soft footsteps, some light shuffling, and then silence. He wondered if he was going to be able to tell what needed a last minute wipe down. As if he was going to care about a crease in your bedsheets. You should see his bedroom…

“Okay, ready. You can open your eyes.”

Joe’d been a good boy and had really kept his eyes closed. When he opened them, it was to you stood in your doorway, both hands behind your back, biting down on your bottom lip as you smiled.

Cutest girl in the world.

“Yea? Am I allowed in?”

Joe got to see your bedroom exactly as you wanted it to look every day, but how you never managed to leave it. With everything in its place, no dirty laundry on the floor, no clothes on the clothes-chair, no half-empty mugs on the bedside table and, most importantly, the bed made.

You never made your bed. You’d do it once when you changed the sheets, and then left a rumpled mess behind when you rushed out of bed after sleeping through your alarm each morning.

“Wow,” Joe said, overdoing it a tad, just to fuck with you. “This looks like a hotel room.”

It didn’t. Not really.

“Thanks.” You smiled, ignoring his humorous tone and taking the compliment as if he’d really meant it. When you looked at him, you saw how his gaze had landed on where you slept in your bed. He pointed a finger as he raised his eyebrows.

“Is this from where you send me voice notes every night?” Joe took a step forward, his eyes on you as his index finger still pointed at your pillow.

You nodded, teeth digging into your lip. It was impossible to lose your smile.

“This is…” Joe started, looking at your bed for a moment, scanning the sheets and trying to picture you in that spot. No make-up, pyjamas on. Face in your pillow, phone in hand. In a short while, he wasn’t going to have to imagine that anymore. “This is sort of strange, isn’t it?” Joe mused, turning his face to see you stood in your doorway still.

“Why?” you asked, watching on as Joe sat down on top of the covers, acting like he just took a seat on a throne which made you giggle. “You’re making it strange.”

“It’s like I’m visiting a famous landmark.”

You grinned as you watched him sensibly bounce on your mattress a couple of times, getting a feel for it.

“It is like visiting a famous landmark.” You joked, and then quickly added. “Don’t leave a Google review though, I move around a lot in my sleep and I couldn’t bear the negative feedback.”

Joe laughed as he got back up, couldn’t help his arms reaching out to grab hold of you as your face beamed with pride at making Joe laugh like that. You bit your lips so hard, you nearly drew blood.

For a moment you just stood like that. Close. Holding each other, faces just inches removed, twin smiles about to burst. You weren’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

“Did you um,” you cast your eyes down to his button-down shirt. To his jeans. “Did you bring a more comfortable outfit?”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I brought my pyjamas?”

“Were you planning on watching a film in jeans?”

Ha, he thought. A film. If he’d got the chance, he’d be watching you more than he’d be watching any film this evening. His eyes tended to stick to you with too much ease.

Like right now.

“Or is this a no-bottoms sort of evening?” you challenged light-heartedly.

Joe’s eyes scanned your face a moment as he grinned.

“I brought pyjamas.” He then said, leaning down a little in hopes of sneaking a kiss.

You let him sneak one without any fuss. Warm lips of a warm smile to warm lips of a warm smile.

“In your overnight bag?” you teased, having made a big deal of the backpack he’d walked in with earlier, before dinner.

“In my overnight bag.” Joe didn’t mind how the simple fact that he brought some things over was somehow entertainment he was providing you with. It was either that, or the bad puns he’d make, and a giggle at a pair of soft pyajama bottoms didn’t feel quite as embarrassing as an awkward joke would likely make him feel.

Joe was told to change whilst you made your way into the bathroom to take your make-up off.

You felt real butterflies about the prospect of having Joe over properly for the first time ever. This was the first time you had made plans that extended to the next morning. This was going to be more than just some raunchy touching in your living room before he’d leave just before or just after midnight to go sleep in his own bed.

You were going to be wearing pyjamas around each other.

Brush your teeth in your bathroom before you’d crawl into bed together.

Prepare and have breakfast in your kitchen the next morning.

You swiped a cotton round over your eyes and heard Joe move around in your flat. Just him existing on his own in your space made your stomach flip. Halfway through your facial cleanse, Joe suddenly appeared behind you, and for a moment, you smiled at each other in the mirror. He was still in his button down, but his jeans had been replaced with a pair of faded black joggers. For a moment you thought maybe he had a question about something, but before you could even ask, he stepped forward and casually placed a dark blue toiletry bag next to the sink.

So domestic.

You refrained from opening it and having a peek inside as you finished up in the bathroom, hair tied up, face clean and bare. You made your way back to your bedroom to change into your own pyjamas and found evidence of Joe left behind. His charger in the socket on the side of the bed where he’d be sleeping. His backpack to the side. His clothes semi folded in a messy pile on the dresser.

Looking at all of Joe’s things in your bedroom with the background noise of him pottering about in your kitchen made you smile so much, you wondered when your cheeks were going to grow sore.

So domestic.

“What do you want to drink?” he called across your flat, and earlier, when Joe had offered you a drink in your own home, it had solely been to make you laugh. This time, it didn’t feel so much like a joke as it felt like he genuinely wanted to do something nice for you. Get you a drink so you wouldn’t have to get it yourself. A simple sweet gesture that probably wasn’t meant to make you feel the way it did.

There were so many things about the beginnings of a new relationship that you didn’t like.

The risk of letting a new person into your life wasn’t lost on you. Letting someone in too quick, too soon. Revealing too much of yourself too quick, too soon. The vulnerability that opened you up to the possiblity to get hurt...

Scary stuff.

But the excitement of it all? The constant uncontrollable smile you couldn’t seem to wipe off your face. The butterflies wreaking havoc inside of your stomach. Giggly breathlessness that turned nerves into excitement. The way all of it could make you feel lightheaded in the good way?

Fucking gold.

With your body in a soft cosy outfit, you found Joe in your kitchen wearing an outfit not unlike your own. For a fraction of a second, the nervous thought of Joe getting to see you in your factory settings crossed your mind.

But then you saw his glasses.

Joe hadn’t yet worn his glasses in front of you, and stood here in your living area now, in a cream-coloured cotton long-sleeved shirt, you couldn’t help the way that made your eyebrows pinch together.

How could a man look sexy and adorable at the same time?

“Glass of–... uh oh,” Joe turned around holding up a freshly opened bottle of wine, but stopped mid-sentece when he saw your expression. “Sorry, was I not meant to–”

“No, no!” you cut him off, and tried your very best to keep the laugh that bubbled up inside. “No, that’s��� yes. Yes. That’s fine, yea. I would love a glass, thanks.”

Joe frowned a little in confusion, eyes narrowing, but his smile unwavering.

“It’s just,” you hestitated telling him. Thought maybe he wouldn’t appreciate what you considered to be a genuine compliment.

“Just... a bottle of wine that you were saving for a special occassion that I wasn’t meant to open?” Joe made a face, and it was becoming a little bit embarrassing at how easily he had you in stitches. “Or what?”

“No,” you laughed, and Joe couldn’t help the slight muddled huff of laughter that escaped his nose. This really wasn’t helping the cute allegations. “No, it’s just that,” you tried again, grabbing two glasses from a cabinet and placing them down in front of Joe. “You look...”

Before you finished that sentence, you let your eyes dance over him. The flash of selfconsiousness across his face only endeared him more to you.

“A mess?”

“Cute.”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you were expecting, but you definitely didn’t think the comment was going to make Joe blush so fiercely. Hadn’t anticipated him turning slightly shy as he put the bottle down, dropped his head to his shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut whilst an arm reached to pull you in.

“Sorry,” you said through a giggle as you got trapped into a tight hug.

“Stealing my compliments now, are we?”

“I think it’s the glasses,” you gladly accepted the firmly pressed kisses to the top of your head.

“You think?” Joe pulled back a little and adjusted them on his nose as he looked at you through the lenses.

“Yea, I do.” You smiled, peering up at him, hoping that if you smiled and looked at his lips for long enough, he’d get the hint.

He did get the hint, but didn’t give you what you were asking for before he got both his hands on your face, both thumbs on your cheeks, both pinkies hooking your jaw.

“Guess I’ll keep them on then.” Joe managed to say through a kiss, and he said it like he’d be doing you a favour.

Which, he would be, actually. But he was joking, so you laughed against his mouth, and the giggle made Joe want to eat you alive. Swallow you whole. Squeeze your bodies together until they weren’t able to ever unstick again.

There was an open bottle of wine on the counter next to you, a TV waiting for someone to press play on its remote, and a bed eager for two bodies to occupy it all the way until the morning.

But Joe was kissing a cute girl in her kitchen, glasses bumping into her nose, and felt no rush to move out of the hold you had on him.

Cutest girl in the world.

Yea, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep this night.

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The Taglist

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Add yourself

[musingsofheaven]

MOUTH HABIT

summary: Johnny comes home to find you already overstimulated and curled up on the couch with a popsicle in your mouth. He knows what you need before you can say it and knows exactly how to take care of you. He just has to put his fingers in your mouth and his tongue between your thighs.

pairings: johnny storm x afab!reader

warnings: 5.5k words. mature themes. oral fixation. oral sex. (f!receiving) fingering. dacryphilia undertones. emotional dysregulation. praise kink. body fluids. (drool/cum) d/s dynamics. overstimulation. read responsibly.

note: in honor of my ongoing oral fixation smuts… i wanna add johnny to the growing collection. this is very soft dom!johnny and i love how it turned out. hope you will like it too. (reblog to support me!)

It started on Monday. One small thing after another, stacked and silent. A forgotten class quiz. The weird look from your professor when you asked to reschedule. Your phone screen cracked. Even when your shampoo ran out, it pissed you off and maybe it’s your fault because you didn’t remember buying new stock in the first place. When you walk in the hallway, you couldn’t forget the way someone hit your shoulder and didn’t even apologize. You also almost cried when the bus left five minutes earlier than the practiced and memorized schedule you already knew. Your charger sparked when it plugged in. A guy catcalled you while you were walking with groceries.

Tuesday didn’t give you time to recover. Neither did Wednesday. By Thursday, you were sucking the sleeves of your hoodie again. Biting the plastic spoon from lunch until it split down the middle. Swapping it for a straw that left soft welts in your lip when you clamped down too hard. Everything started buzzing- skin, scalp, joints- like your body was trying to say something but you wouldn’t let it. Couldn’t.

Friday brought the storm. He was gone again, called away two nights earlier. Something about being him in the Fantastic Four. You already know what it means. No updates. No text. No voice note, even though he always sends one. But not when he’s on the mission. You were left pacing the apartment like it could summon him. Fingers twitching. Gums sore. Too afraid to bite your nails again. Not with how raw your skin already felt.

Now it’s late. You lost count of the hour after the third shower. The last popsicle is already half-melted, clenched between your lips while you curl into the couch cushions, legs pulled up loosely and a blanket slipping off your knee. You keep sucking. It doesn’t help. He finds you like that. The door unlocks with the quiet click you’ve trained yourself to hear. You don’t turn your head. You don’t move at all.

“Hey.” His voice is rough. Not like something’s wrong- just tired. Just used. There’s a bag drop, a zipper tug, keys sliding into the table, and then the creak of old floorboards as he moves closer. Your eyes stay fixed on the carpet. One sticky drip from the popsicle rolls down your wrist. “Baby…” You flinch when his hand touches your shoulder. It’s not because you are traumatized by him or he’s hurting you. It’s also not because you don’t want him. It’s about your body being sensitive and turned up too high for days. You’re overstimulated and don’t know how to turn it down yet.

“I didn’t get a chance to text.” He says to assure you that it was not his intention to ignore you. His fingers gently trace across your back and it’s warm through the thin shirt you wore since last night. “Sorry, baby,” Your tongue shifts the popsicle further in. It scrapes the roof of your mouth too hard. “Hey. Look at me,” he mutters before he drops to his knees in front of you. His white tee is fitted enough to cling to his chest and a little damp at the collar because of sweat and wrinkled at the hem. There’s soot smudged across his jaw, and a faint gash near his knuckle that looks fresh.

One hand is placed on your knee while he moves closer to you. His eyes look down at your lips as his voice turns lower. “Baby. Come on. What’s going on in that head?” You try to answer. Something stutters behind your teeth, but the popsicle muffles it. Your jaw feels so sore you don’t even want to open it to answer him. He reaches forward to take it out of your mouth gently. Slide it from your mouth with two fingers. Clear saliva stretches, then breaks.

“You've been like this when I’m gone?” That’s when your face crumples. No sound. Just the kind of cry that folds everything inward. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t freak. Just set the popsicle aside and lean in, palms on your thighs. His voice is soft and even now. “Want me to help you?” Your head jerks in a nod before your brain can catch up.

“You wanna feel good?” His thumbs trace lazy circles over your legs. “Let me help, baby. Just let me.” No answer leaves your mouth. Not right away. Not even when he tilts his head and waits for one. The popsicle’s long gone, set aside somewhere near the table, but the stickiness still lingers on your lips. He can tell. You haven’t blinked much. Haven’t breathed right in maybe hours.

The blanket shifts under your palms. One slow push downward and it falls off your legs completely, folding over the cushion beside you. You don’t break eye contact. Don’t say a word. The edge of your shirt lifts with the motion, and suddenly it’s all skin- your bare thighs, your stomach, the curve of your hip showing under the band of thin cotton. Just your panties. Nothing else. Because what for? You’d been alone and anxious.

This was comfortable. This was all your body could handle. Johnny takes a deep breath as if he saw the most softest thing in his life. Hand sliding higher from the knee up to your thigh. Knuckles are brushing the soft flesh inside. He doesn’t even look smug, considering he always looks smug. Doesn’t even look turned on. Just focused. Careful. One finger lifts the hem of your shirt, then lets it fall again like he’s checking if you’re still. “You want my help, baby?”

The question’s barely above a whisper. His thumb strokes your skin once. Then again. “I can make it better,” he adds, eyes tracking the lines under your eyes. “You don’t have to think. Just let me.” Still nothing from you. But your legs shift. Just enough. Not spread, not yet, but parted enough to breathe easier. Enough to let him fit his hands there without question.

He reaches for you again, this time higher. Two fingers lift toward your face. It’s slow and easy. His palm open. He waits. “You need somethin’ in there, right?” His voice stays low, coaxing. “It’s okay. Just this. I got you.” Lips part around his knuckles before he touches you. They slide in like it’s instinct, like your body’s been waiting for this exact shape. The moment they press against your tongue, your jaw trembles again- but this time, the tears don’t come.

Warmth seeps back into your mouth, your cheeks, your chest. “That’s it,” he murmurs, already pushing in further. “There we go.” His fingers move gently between your lips, never too fast, never choking. He watches you with that look again- not hungry, not impatient. Just still. It’s like he’s enjoying studying you- this very version of you today that welcomed him home. He also checks how deep he can go with you and how gentle he needs to be.

And then his free hand starts to trace the waistband of your panties and tugs it slowly. Not rough. Not rushed. Just curling his fingers under the side, soft and slow, sliding them down your hips, inch by inch, until the cotton peels away from your cunt. He doesn’t even look yet. Keeps his eyes on your mouth, the way you’re sucking his fingers like you’ll shatter without them.

“You’re okay,” he says. “I got you, alright? Gonna take care of it now.” Fingers stay hooked inside your mouth even as the waistband is tugged down and off completely. Damp cotton clings for a second before peeling from your skin, leaving a faint string of slick stretched between the gusset and your cunt. His hand doesn’t leave your lips. Still pressing into your tongue. Still curled against it like he knows you’d cry if he stopped.

Both hands wrap around his forearm just to make sure it stays. Nails bite in. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to show it matters. Your mouth sucks around his fingers harder than you mean to, like they’ve replaced breathing. The taste of salt and faint soot lingers in your throat. Between your legs, he shifts. Thighs fall open as his palms guide them, spreading you wide enough to let him fit.

His eyes lift- just once, just long enough to check if you’re still there. That you’re still with him. Then he dips his head and presses his mouth to your inner thigh. Warm lips drag over skin still trembling from hours of tension. He placed a kiss just above the curve of your knee first. His breath warms it before he moves higher. It’s slow and steady, he’s taking his time. It’s also like a silent thing between the two of you that you already did before.

The scrape of his stubble leaves your legs twitching. His mouth never breaks contact, like each inch of untouched flesh is a wound that needs sealing. Another kiss. Then another, higher. Tongue flicking at the crease just beside your cunt. It’s so close where you want him but it’s also enough to make your hips jerk forward. Fingers fall away from him just for a few seconds to brace yourself. You whimper around the ones still in your mouth.

His thumb presses under your thigh to hold it higher. His other hand slides under your ass for leverage as he leans closer, lips grazing the inside of your upper thigh before finally nosing between your folds. Mouth opens, tongue slipping out to taste you slowly. The first lick is lazy. He doesn’t rush. Just a flat drag from bottom to top, soaking you with spit, letting your pussy twitch under it. Then he does it again, slower. A warm breath follows right after, cooling the slick he left.

The fingers in your mouth curl just a little. Your eyes flutter shut. Knees try to close, but his broad shoulders pin them apart. When he kisses your clit, it’s gentle. Almost sweet. Barely a press. Then the tip of his tongue traces it in a circle, patient, like he’s memorizing the shape. The muscles in your belly tighten on instinct. A soft “mmphh” escapes with the next suck on his fingers. He grunts low when you squeeze around him again, like he feels every flutter.

One hand keeps you open. The other dips back down. His middle finger teases your hole without pushing in, just slicking up the entrance. Tongue flattens over your clit again, firmer now, sliding side to side. The pace builds slowly- too slow, really- but you can’t form a sound to complain. His mouth covers you completely, sucking just enough to make the nerves spark and sizzle, then pulling back again like he’s keeping count.

Tongue flicks fast- once, twice, then slow again. It makes your back arch. The fingers in your mouth get wetter the more you drool, the more your throat tightens around the weight of them. He never pulls them out. Just lets you keep them there like a pacifier. A tether. You hold his arm with both hands again, anchoring him in place. Like you’re scared he’ll stop if you let go. He doesn’t stop.

Keeps licking. Keeps kissing. Keeps tasting you like it’s all he’s thought about since his boots hit the apartment floor. When his tongue dips down to your hole again, he groans softly into it, tongue pressing forward like it wants in. Then he drags it back up with a hum that makes your clit throb. Another low sound escapes you- wet, desperate.

Your hips roll against his mouth without thinking. One more lick. Then another. Then a kiss, deep and open-mouthed, tongue pressing hard into the same spot until your whole body tenses, but still, he doesn’t let you come. He just keeps going. One hand stays in your mouth. Warm fingers resting heavy on your tongue, wet to the knuckle now, almost too deep.

Your jaw’s already started to tremble from the pressure, and he can feel it. That little shake. That soft, tired flutter of muscle while your lips stay wrapped, trying to keep him in. There’s drool starting to slick his wrist, and you don’t even try to wipe it. He’s never pulled away when it happens like this. Never once told you to stop. Below, his other hand works between your thighs.

Sticky, swollen, dripping so much it’s hard to stay still on the couch. Every pass of his fingers through your folds sounds wet, filthy. There’s no space to breathe down there- not with the way he moves. Not with how slow his tongue is, how he doesn’t rush. Just sucks so soft, circles the tip of his tongue around that throbbing knot like you’re not already crying from how long you’ve been waiting.

“I know, I know,” he mutters, voice muffled against you, a little rasped at the edges. His tongue flattens, slides up, and presses hard just under your clit before wrapping around it. “I know it’s too much.” A few more sucks. Slow ones. Languid, focused, greedy. His mouth stays latched while he talks. “Couldn’t get back sooner,” he says between licks. “Wasn’t allowed.”

Your hips twitch under his grip, and he drags two fingers down your inner thigh to hold you steadier. Doesn’t stop eating you. His lips are slick. The sounds echo inside your apartment- mouth on cunt, fingers in mouth, soft breath hissing between your teeth every time your throat tightens around the need to moan.

Another slow lick. Then another. “You waited for me?” he asks, more of a murmur now, the heat of it spilling straight into your pussy. “Didn’t fuck yourself once?” You blink hard. His hands are holding his forearms tighter. Nails digging into it that will leave moon marks. Not rough, but desperate. It’s the only way you can keep his hand up near your mouth. You’re not sucking anymore- you’re just holding him there now. Letting him press down on your tongue like he owns your mouth.

He groans low, just from seeing it. Shifts a little closer on his knees, enough to press his chest against your calves where they hang off the couch edge. Then he mouths at your clit again. “This is what happens when I’m gone, huh?” The question’s slow, almost cruel with how softly it comes. Every word makes your chest cave a little more. Not from pain- just from too much. You’d already been dripping when he came in.

Already overstimulated before he even opened the front door. “You wait right here, suck your popsicles, and cry for me?” He lifts his mouth to breathe, fingers slipping lower to rub just around your entrance, teasing. “And I wasn’t even here to watch.” Your pussy clenches, but he doesn’t push inside yet. Just strokes his fingers there, so slow it makes your toes curl against the cushion. Then he lowers his head again.

His tongue presses flat again. Stays there. Lips suck right around your clit while he rubs two fingers just beside your hole, never giving more than that. The pressure is thick, cloying, a little maddening. You make a tiny noise around his hand, and he moans against your cunt. “Don’t stop,” he says low, voice sliding down your skin. “Keep my fingers in, pretty girl. I need that.”

Your chest jerks up again, like air doesn’t want to stay inside. He feels it. “Don’t hide your sounds.” One more lick. Then a slow suck. Then a kiss right against your folds like he missed them. “Let me say sorry properly.” His tongue doesn’t stop after that. Tongue dragging slow, heavy, wet- he sucks on your clit with his lips slack around it, mouth lazy like he’s drinking from it.

One hand remains underneath your thigh to hold it up and keep pushing it open so you won’t close your legs. He’s pinning you down while you threaten to close your legs around his head. He groans straight up into your cunt every time your thighs twitch and squeeze together like he wants his head to be crushed. Like the pressure turns him on more.

But the hand there didn’t stay for long enough. He sneaks it between your legs to slip his finger inside without giving you any heads up. You know how thick his fingers are so it makes you jumpy when you feel it. The pace is just slow and sliding effortlessly to your pussy like it belongs there. No buildup, no teasing, just in and it stretches you open, warm and full, his knuckle curling shallow on the first thrust. Then again. Then deeper. “You’re dripping,” he mumbles against you, tongue circling in tight, wet strokes. “Still fucking leaking.”

Suction pulls hard at your clit when he says it. He keeps licking even when he talks, mouth not stopping, like the words are just coming out through it- tongue messy, lips shining. “Missed how this tasted. Didn’t even get to-” He swirls his finger deeper and hooks it inside. “-fuck you properly last time.” Saliva coats his fingers as you keep sucking them. Lips stretched around his middle and ring, jaw sore and mouth warm.

Your tongue moves around the knuckles, sloppy now. Not neat anymore. Not teasing. Just needy. His forearm flexes under your grip when you tighten your hold on him. It’s not about balance anymore- you’re not steadying yourself. You need him to keep his hand up, or you might cry if his fingers slip off your mouth. The need to keep him stay there and to keep fucking your mouth like this is beyond measurable. There's a drool at the corner of your lips that keeps leaking out of your mouth. It slips down to your chin down to your covered chest. You don’t care at this point if it will get soaked.

Your eyes are barely open. Knees twitch every time his lips close around your clit and suck, and you choke around his fingers each time his finger curls inside your pussy a little harder. “Don’t close,” he mutters, voice low and thick as he pulls back just enough to talk clearly. “Let me- let me see.” A breath lands warm against your inner thigh. “I like when it’s open.”

Tongue presses flat against you again. He doesn’t waste time, just drags it up the full length of your slit, slow and deliberate, finger pushing in deeper like he’s guiding himself with every lick. Another groan slips out when your legs threaten to snap shut again, but he shoves your thigh higher, forces it wider, and plants a kiss right above your clit like a reward.

“Still so fucking pretty,” he breathes. His voice sounds almost lazy now. Wrecked, but in control. Like he’s just settling in. “You gonna stay still for me? Hm?” The finger inside you moves again, gentle this time. His tongue presses down with it, and your whole body jolts. Every nerve keeps lighting up brightly like electricity that is plugged directly into his mouth and hands. You don’t stop yourself from moaning- you don’t even try to silence yourself when your mouth is already full. It’s full enough to get muffled, let out wet sounds, and hum that pulls out from your throat. Your hips are bucking twice and desperate for something harder, but you know this is what you can take right now.

Your pussy clenches down hard around his finger. “Mmph- fuhhck…” It’s barely a sound with how wide your lips are stretched, but it’s there. It’s needy. It’s messy. He hears it. Hears you struggling. And laughs once, dark and low, before sucking hard on your clit again, tongue flicking fast underneath.

“Can’t stop now,” he says to you. His breath is wet, voice coming through your cunt like a vibration. “You’re close.” Finger still pumping slow inside, curling each time like he’s looking for something deeper. The drag of his knuckle makes you twitch again. Your legs lift. Toes curl. “Let me stay here a little longer, baby.” Another kiss against your folds, mouth lingering. “Don’t close. Keep her open for me.”

The more you try to keep your legs open for him, the harder it shakes and the muscles harden. They’re refusing to cooperate. You could feel how it clenched up tight like instinct. It’s too much, too fast- your cunt squeezing around his fingers again while your thighs twitch around his head. Every small shift only smears your slick higher onto his wrist, every squeeze of his knuckle-deep fingers pulling a sound out of your mouth that isn’t even a real word anymore.

“Mm-hm. Try to keep ‘em open for me,” he says, voice rough against your clit, lips grazing it as he speaks. “Come on. Thought you wanted to be good.” Your eyes roll the moment he pulls his fingers back until they reach the tip of his nails just to thrust them deep again. Drool didn’t stop slipping past the corner of your mouth as you kept his other hand’s fingers on your mouth. Lips stretched enough to fit his two fingers, and your chin feels wet but hot and stringy at the same time. It’s slicking his wrist too.

A wet patch darkens your shirt where it soaks in. “Still suckin’? Even like this?” he murmurs. His breath cools your skin when he lifts his head just enough to watch your face. “What the fuck am I gonna do with you?” Thighs press tight against his cheeks, crushing in when his tongue flicks fast and steady at your clit, tip dragging back and forth while his fingers curl hard inside you.

The pressure makes you clamp down so suddenly that your body jerks forward, shoulders curling in while you fight to keep your hips from escaping the pace. But he doesn’t stop. A fresh gush leaks out of you when he fucks his fingers deeper, and all you can do is moan around his hand. “Mmfh- nnnhg- ah-! fuck, fuhh-”

You’re drooling too much to breathe through your nose, wet and messy and shaking all over as you try to speak through it. “Please- please don’t stop- don’t- hahhn, I’m- I can’t, I can’t-” His mouth stays locked over your clit, tongue stilling just enough to suck on it like he’s trying to bruise it, then flicks again when your hips jump under him.

Your thighs twitch like they’re going to close again, but this time, he presses them apart at the knees with one wide palm, holding you down as you start to tremble harder. “Let it out,” he says low against you. The heat of his mouth returns so quickly you flinch. “C’mon. Give it to me. Let me feel you do it.”

Pussy tightening around his digits and there’s a sudden snap in your stomach that sends heat climbing up to your spine. Wet pulses grip him as your clit throbs between his lips. The orgasm punches through your stomach like it’s tearing something open, and your whole body locks up back arching, legs clenching, jaw slack around his soaked fingers. You don’t even realize how hard you’re crying out until your throat burns from it.

Every breath afterward is broken. You’re shaking, moaning, sucking air in through spit-slick lips as you ride it out, hips grinding into his face like your body’s forgotten what to do without him. Tongue stays buried against your clit. Not flat anymore. He’s fucking into it now- short, thick motions, tip stiff and flexing like he’s trying to push in, like he thinks he can make you feel filled there too. That soft flicking you could almost ride has turned brutal, all hips and thrust, and he’s still fingering you while he does it.

Still fucking you open down there like his mouth isn’t already dragging everything raw. You buck up into his face, thighs shaking, cunt leaking. The mess is loud now. Wet noises every time his fingers pump in deep, then curl. His wrist rolls to chase your spot with every thrust and you don’t even realize you’re grinding down harder, letting him push in all the way just to keep feeling full. His fingers don’t stop. They slip faster, twist, spread inside you when you clench too tight.

He groans low like he feels it in his mouth- tongue shoving hard against your clit as he holds you still by your thighs, his hand gripping down so firm your leg jumps. Heat rises up your chest again. You’re still sucking on the fingers in your mouth, wet and glossy from drool, barely tasting skin through the pulse in your throat. You can’t breathe right. Can’t stop moving. His tongue won’t let up.

He lets out a low grunt against your cunt, hot and rough, then pushes his face in deeper like he wants you to cum again. Like he knows you can’t, not yet, but he’s gonna ruin every second trying. “Mmf- shit-” You break around the fingers in your mouth, words falling apart in your throat. “Too- fuck, Johnny, too much-”

Doesn’t slow down. He just curls his fingers deeper inside you like he’s trying to scrape the high out of you early. Tongue still thrusting against your clit, wet and stiff and relentless, hips barely moving now except for the small grind of his face against yours. He’s hungry. Eyes half-lidded, breathing heavy through his nose, lips slick with spit and cunt.

Your leg kicks. Doesn’t matter. He shoves your thigh back open, forces it wide with his arm so he can stay right there. All you can do is sob around his fingers while cumming. It feels like a drop off a cliff. Your thighs twitch and lock in midair, feet sliding down the bed with no grip, toes curling against the sheets, and he’s still- fuck, he’s still- he’s still sucking and fingering and licking you like you didn’t just gush on his face thirty seconds ago.

Shudders rack your hips in quick, wet jerks while your pussy clenches down on his fingers. They keep moving. One curls hard, stroking along that sweet spot that’s already sore and swollen. The other presses just under your clit, not rubbing it but keeping it trapped, stuffed, filled so deep you feel him all the way behind your belly button.

Muscles spasm from the inside out, dripping slick around his knuckles, and it just won’t stop. Warm gush pushes out again, thinner now, messier, pattering between your thighs while your pussy tries to squeeze it back in. But he pulls out. Pulls out with a wet suck and a slap of his palm flat over your inner thigh to hold it open.

Then his tongue replaces his fingers. It dips right in, mouth sealing over your hole like he wants to kiss the cum back in. Nose smushed tight to your clit while he slurps and swallows everything you spill. The sound is obscene. Wet, hungry, like he’s starving. Tongue curling as deep as he can force it, licking into the center of every twitch while more slick leaks down the curve of his chin.

Something breaks in your throat. Not a cry. Not a moan. Just a thin, cracked ahhh- lost halfway out of your chest. Teeth bite down hard on his fingers still inside your mouth, just to keep yourself from screaming. “Mmf- ngh, fuck,” slips past anyway, drooling around the knuckles you’re trying to suck through it.

Drool keeps flowing out of your mouth like a waterfall. It goes straight to your neck and sticks to your wrist where your hand is pressing tightly against your face. It even lands in the collar of your shirt. It’s warm and slick, and soaking the fabric. He groans into your cunt. That low sound from his chest sends another pulse through your pussy, another twitch of your thighs, another roll of your hips like you’re trying to hump his face even though your muscles aren’t working right anymore.

Still licking. Still swallowing. Still sucking your hole like it’s feeding him. You clamp your thighs around his head and whimper into his fingers, still biting down hard, not to hurt him- just to keep from falling apart again. Tongue glides through the mess he made, slow now. Not teasing, not hungry- just gentle, warm strokes to catch the last of your cum and drink it down.

He kisses your pussy like he’s calming it, sealing over your folds with one last soft suck that makes your hips flinch again. Everything’s still twitching, sticky, wet, and swollen. Too much. When he finally pulls away, your legs don’t uncurl. They stay loose over his shoulders, knees bent and trembling. Breath comes thin and shaky. The space between your thighs feels raw, slippery, stretched open too long. His face is soaked. Mouth swollen. Chin slick with the wet that’s still dripping down from your cunt.

He looks up and gives you the softest hum, lips parting so you can watch him swallow all of it. Then he climbs up your body. Palms brace on either side of your waist as he moves over you, slow and careful like he doesn’t want to press too hard. The moment his face gets close, your hand reaches up on instinct. Fingertips smear against the wet on his cheek while your eyes meet, and then he leans down and kisses you.

Mouth warm. Tongue lazy. He likes the taste of you. It’s salty and sweet, just right for him. Your thighs are squeezing against his sides as he kisses you deeper. It’s slow like he doesn’t want to stop. Like this is the after. Not the cleanup, not the end just this, the kiss. You whimper into it when he starts to pull away. “Shh,” he breathes against your lips, brushing hair off your forehead. “I’m just getting something to clean you up. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Still makes you whine. Makes your fingers curl in the sheets where he used to be. The second his weight leaves the bed, your body feels emptier, colder, too bare. Cunt still wet and throbbing with leftover sensitivity, lips fluttering like they don’t know if they’re done being used. He moves fast. Crosses the room, grabs tissue off the desk, then glances around like he’s mentally taking stock of everything he needs. Comes back with water, too, a small bottle already uncapped.

One of his hands wipes clean the slick from his mouth as he sits beside you on the couch. “Lift your hips a little for me,” he asks you in a low and soft voice. It’s like he’s talking to a patient. The tissue’s warm from his hand. He dabs between your thighs first, being careful not to touch your clit. Cleans the mess dripping from your hole, the slick sticking to your inner thighs, the smear near your ass. Switches to a fresh one and folds it carefully, using the clean edge to blot around your folds.

Each motion is slow, delicate, respectful- but it still makes your breath hitch when the paper drags over the most tender parts. “Doing okay?” he asks while working. “Mm,” is all you manage. Lips sticky. Throat dry. Muscles useless. He smiles. Leans over to press a kiss to your hip while he finishes wiping you down, then tosses the tissues aside and holds the water bottle to your mouth.

“Drink a little,” he says, thumb brushing under your chin. “Just a sip.” Plastic touches your lips. Cold water slides into your mouth, and you swallow with your eyes closed. A second sip. Then a third. He lets you go slow. “You were amazing,” he says after a beat. “I mean it. I’ve never- fuck, I’ve never seen anyone fall apart like that. So pretty, baby. You made a mess all over me.”

Your hand tries to cover your face to hide your face, but he’s faster and catches your wrist before pressing a kiss there. Moves it away just so he can see you better. One last tissue is used to gently clean the edge of your mouth where drool had dried during your orgasm. Another soft wipe across your cheek. Then he tosses the rest aside and leans back in to kiss your forehead.

“Come here,” he whispers, arms curling under you to help guide you upright. He doesn’t let you do anything. Just pulls you into his lap, sits you between his legs, and wraps his arms around your waist like you’re breakable. Chin rests on your shoulder while your cheek presses against his. You can feel his heart under your hand. Still fast. Still thudding, even now.

“I’ve got you,” he says, kissing your neck. “You did so good. Just breathe. Take your time.” Warmth blooms in your chest. Body still weak, mind still floating, but everything starts to settle. His voice makes it easier to come down. His arms, his hands, the soft rock of his lap while you lean into him- everything feels safe here. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs again, right next to your ear. “Every time.”

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⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

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[pankowcrumbs]

Took you long enough X Joseph Quinn

MasterList

Joseph Quinn Masterlist

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

Joe POV-

I’ve always been good at hiding things.

Being an actor, you get used to keeping things beneath the surface secrets, emotions, things that don’t belong in the light of day. I thought I was good at hiding this too. The way my stomach twisted when Y/N smiled at another bloke, the way my chest tightened when she laughed a little too hard at someone else’s joke.

I thought I was good at it. Until tonight.

The pub was busy, packed with the usual Friday night crowd, the air thick with the scent of beer and cheap cologne. Our group had taken up a few tables near the back, but Y/N had disappeared to the bar a few minutes ago to grab another round. That’s when he showed up.

Tall. Dark hair. Smug smile.

I saw him the moment he leaned in, the way he slid up next to her like he had a right to be there. The way she laughed at something he said. And suddenly, I wasn’t hearing anything the rest of our mates were saying.

“Joe,” Charlie nudged me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You’re staring.”

I tore my gaze away, forcing a scoff. “Am not.”

Charlie smirked, glancing over at the bar where Y/N was still chatting with Tall & Smug. “You are so jealous,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

I felt my jaw tighten. “I’m not jealous.”

Charlie just shook his head, taking a sip of his pint. “Mate, you’ve been in love with her for years. It’s painful to watch at this point.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but well, he wasn’t wrong, was he?

Y/N and I had been close for ages. Since university, when we bonded over bad takeaway and even worse flatmates. Since she stood front row at every one of my awful, unpaid theatre gigs and I spent all-nighters helping her study for exams. Since she became my best friend, the person I trusted most in the world.

And, at some point, without me even realising it, since I fell completely, hopelessly in love with her.

But she never saw me that way.

At least, that’s what I told myself. That’s what I had to believe.

Until now. Until watching her at the bar, watching some random bloke place a hand on her arm, made something hot and restless curl in my stomach.

And just like that, I knew.

I was screwed. Because I was jealous.

And even worse—I finally understood that I didn’t just want her. I wanted her to be mine.

Y/N made her way back to the table then, two pints in hand, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Got caught chatting,” she said, sliding into the seat next to me, handing me a drink. “Some guy at the bar.”

I took the pint, my fingers brushing against hers for half a second too long. “Yeah, I saw.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

I shrugged, focusing on my beer like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

She tilted her head, studying me, a small smile playing at her lips. “Joseph Quinn… are you jealous?”

I scoffed. “Am not.”

Her grin widened. “You are jealous,” she teased, nudging me with her knee under the table. “And may I add you’re a terrible liar.”

I looked at her then, really looked at her, and something in her expression something knowing, something expectant made my pulse jump.

She knew.

Of course, she bloody knew.

And suddenly, I was done pretending. Done hiding.

I set my pint down and leaned in, just close enough for her breath to hitch. “Took you long enough to notice.”

She blinked, surprise flickering in her eyes. “To notice what?”

I reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers brushing against her skin. “That I’m absolutely fucking mad about you.”

For a split second, she just stared at me, her lips parted, eyes wide.

And then

She kissed me.

It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t careful. It was like she had been waiting for this as long as I had, like she was just as sick of pretending as I was.

My hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into me like she belonged there. The background noise of the pub faded, everything else disappearing until there was only her her hands tangling in my hair, her lips pressing against mine, her breath mingling with mine like she was breathing me in.

When we finally pulled away, she was smiling. Smirking, really. “Took you long enough to admit it, Quinn.”

I laughed, forehead resting against hers. “Yeah,” I murmured. “Guess I’m a bit slow.”

She brushed her fingers along my jaw, her gaze soft. “Good thing I was patient, then.”

I grinned, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Good thing.”

From across the table, Charlie let out a loud, satisfied sigh. “About bloody time.”

The rest of our friends laughed, and Y/N and I just grinned at each other, like we had a secret no one else did.

[darnell-la]

FOREVER JOHNNY STORM

pairing: professor!johnny storm x college student!reader

summary: Johnny loved women, so when he caught himself teasing a young lady in his class, he began questioning himself. the way she stared at him and giggled whenever she thought he wasn’t looking made him feel a way he hadn’t felt in a year. her being a student should’ve been a red flag, but he’s Johnny, and one thing Johnny never does is turn down a pretty woman.

warnings: age gap, reader is of age, flirting, workspace tension, making out, oral (male receiving), etc

notes: here is part two — I’ll forever love Joseph Quinn, and for right now, his Johnny Storm look is the absolute best (maybe it’s tied with Eddie Munson)

WE DO NOT ACCEPT COPYRIGHTING!

Teaching wasn’t something Johnny wanted to do until he figured everything out with that silver surfer woman. She was hot and an outer space alien, but it was time for him to move on.

Johnny loved women, and women usually loved Johnny. Especially the older ones. That’s why he grew confused when he noticed how shy y/n, one of his college students being nervous whenever he spoke to her about work.

He couldn’t help but notice the lack of eye contact, the way her legs crossed, whether she was standing or sitting, and her lip bits to keep back embarrassing words. God, her lips were so perfect. They sat on her face just right.

Even right now, she was nervous. He’s talking in class, giving a small story about a crime he fought a few weeks ago, and what is y/n doing? Smiling hard, slightly hiding her face so that she wouldn’t look too visible to him.

Johnny knew she didn’t want him to see her because when he finally took a glance at her, she quickly looked down and rubbed her face, hoping he didn’t catch her cheesing, but he did with a chuckle. Something in him liked how nervous she got.

He couldn’t explain why, but for some reason, he continued to tease y/n. Johnny would call her to answer questions or to come to the board, even if she wasn’t raising her hand. He even tells her to stay after class for a few minutes to talk about the excellent job she has been doing in his class.

“And, don’t forget the student and teacher meeting later on today before finals! If you want to pass, I recommend you show up, or else my sister's grumpy old husband starts complaining to me at dinner,”

The students laughed as they stood up and left the room. Class was over, and y/n was ready to go on with her day. That was before Johnny called her name.

“You comin’ tonight, y/n?” He asked, making her stop in her tracks. “I mean, you don’t have to since you have like the highest GPA at the university, but still. It would be nice to see a smart face,”

Y/n wanted to speak, but God, was he hard to look at. He was unbelievably attractive. She still couldn’t understand why a teacher would be this hot. Literally. He was on fire.

“Earth to y/n,” Johnny said as he waved his hand in her face, adding flame to it just to tease. He knew everything these young ladies liked, and usually he never tried to get at any. Y/n was just too hard to miss. He tried ignoring her for a good month, but those damn eyes.

“Oh- Sorry, I’m just — I’m just tired,” y/n lied as she avoided eye contact as usual. His blue eyes would have her lost in seconds. She swears she’d melt even if he didn’t flame on. “And, why is that? You know you should be getting sleep, yeah?”

Y/n had noticed Johnny tried to look at her face. He’d love and sway his head to catch eye contact with her, but failed. That was because y/n kept her head down or to the side.

“I’ve been sleeping, I’m just- I don’t know,” y/n said, not knowing how to have a simple conversation with her teacher. Why? This was so unprofessional, but she couldn’t help feeling a certain way about him. He was perfect. Too perfect to be a professor.

“Well, how about I see you later today before you sleep. Maybe we’ll have time to speak about how good you’ve been doing,”

Without thinking, Johnny had lifted his hand to cup her chin and slowly make her look up at him. Once their eyes made contact, she could’ve sworn she was going to faint. She felt like a die-hard fan.

“O-Okay,” y/n stuttered low, scanning his eyes as he scanned her face. She was soft and smooth. He couldn’t help but wonder if she felt this way throughout her whole body. Sometimes he’d feel disgusted by his thoughts, but God, her eyes would hypnotize him.

“You don’t need to be so shy around me, y/n. I’m your teacher. You should be able to feel comfortable to come to me about anything,”

“I do feel comfortable! — It’s just- I’m not a talker? I don’t know how to explain it,” y/n said, trying to find something to back her physical actions up, which only made Johnny chuckle. So cute…

“Well, how about you explain it later today? — See ya then,” Johnny said as he flew backwards to his desk, leaving y/n there in shock. Why was he playing with her like this? She wondered if he knew she had a thing for him, and he did.

After being in a room full of students and listening to teachers speak for almost an hour, y/n felt like leaving. After Johnny spoke, that was it. Everything became boring, and now she wanted to head back to her room and relax for the night.

Y/n slowly began making her way out of the huge room she was in. That instantly caught Johnny’s eye, making him get up and out of his seat to excuse himself to the restroom.

“Hey- Wait up!” Johnny shouted after y/n as she walked down the hallway. “Oh, hey Professor Storm,” y/n said, making Johnny fake gag at the name. “Just call me Johnny like the rest. It sounds better,”

“Anyway, what are you doing? We haven’t talked yet,” Johnny said as he stepped a bit closer to y/n to make her look up at him. “I just thought the meeting would be too long, so I decided to make my way back to my dorm,”

“Didn’t wanna see me?” Johnny said in a fake sad tone. “What!- No, I do! I-I mean — I’m just a little tired,” y/n sucked when it came to lying, and Johnny loved that. How nervous she got would egg him on and on.

“You wanna see me, huh?” Johnny smirked, forcing y/n’s face to grow hot. “C’mon, tell me. Make me feel good about myself,” y/n looked down as she thought about what she was going to admit to. She wanted to stay silent, but something in her gave her the courage to speak.

“I was excited to see you,” y/n admitted. That’s when Johnny cupped y/n’s chin once again to lift her head up. “Exited? Didn’t think you liked me that much,” Johnny lied, knowing he was going to have y/n shocked with the next line.

“Actually, I did — Not too hard to see,” y/n’s eyes instantly widen. She was, in fact, shocked. “What?” Y/n tried playing dumb. “You’re too shy around me, sweetheart. I know how you young girls get here when it comes to attractive men,”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mister-“ y/n tried speaking, but got cut off. “Johnny, I said- And, yes, you do know what I’m talking about. You know exactly what I’m talking about,”

Y/n wanted to lie, but lying seemed off the list right now. He knew, and she couldn’t hide it. Of course, she couldn’t. She should’ve changed classes like she wanted to months ago.

“I’ve gotta go,” y/n spoke, breaking the short but long seconds of silence. “Why is that? Is this too intense?” Johnny asked as his free hand moved to her side, now gripping down onto her to give her some type of tension.

“I just need to go to sleep — I’ve got exams tomorrow,” y/n lied, knowing she had finished everything early so that she could relax while everyone else struggled in the morning all week.

“You really wanna play that game with me, missy?” Johnny asked as he slowly began to lift off the ground with both of his hands on her hips to lift her. “Johnny, I really think I should head home,” y/n said, trying to get out of this wonderful dream come true.

“Ah uh, I think you should stay here — With me.” That’s when Johnny flew to the nearest unlocked room to get out of the hallway before anyone saw the two. The janitor's closet isn’t as clean as his bedroom, but it’ll do for now.

“Johnny, what are you-“ y/n went to ask, but the man cut her off with his lips, now exploring the inside of her sweet mouth as she whined. She tasted amazing. Definitely better than he imagined.

Johnny wasted no time digging into her tank top to pull her breasts out. “Fuck,” the man breathed out as he leaned back, taking a look at her beautiful skin and pretty tits. She was perfect.

Johnny licked and sucked her nipples for a few seconds, sending pleasure through her body. She had never had her nipples played with like he did. He knew exactly what he wanted to do to her.

“On your knees, sweetheart.” Johnny stepped back as he fumbled with his belt. “H-Huh?” Y/n asked, confused, yet heard him correctly. “You heard me, princess, now get down,” the man demanded once again. This time she did as told.

“Good girl — Never thought I’d get this far with you — I’m glad I am though because, goddamn, I need you,”

Y/n stayed silent as she looked up at the older man. Once his cock fell out, she didn’t know how to react. He was huge, and the shock through her body went straight to her heart. She just knew her panties were soaked.

“You like the view? I know I do,” Johnny chuckled as he stroked his cock onto her cheek. “I-Is this even appropriate?” Y/n asked, already knowing the answer. “I’m having you either way, baby.”

Within seconds, y/n’s mouth was as full and h Johnny’s thick and long cock. She could barely take him, but he made sure to push her to her limits. Her throat felt too amazing to pull out of.

“That’s it,” Johnny sighed as his head tilted back for a few seconds. Both of his hands guided y/n’s head back and forth as his hips thrusted forward. Her mouth was so slick. It’s only been a couple of seconds, and she’s already the best he’s ever had.

“Gonna keep this our little secret, honey? Maybe I’ll even eat that pussy during our breaks we share,” y/n moaned with a head nod without thinking. She couldn’t care less about professionalism. She needed him bad.

“That’s my girl,”

[shortnspidey]

DUMB & POETIC

Johnny Storm X Female!reader || WC: 6.1K

SUMMARY: Johnny Storm flirted like it was a reflex, so when he starts showing up at work with that grin and some line about taking you out, you didn’t flinch. You want to believe him, want to think there’s something real under all that fire and flair, but it’s hard when every time you look, some starry-eyed fan is hanging on his arm.

WARNINGS: Fantastic Four: First Steps minor Spoilers! Typical Marvel themes, angst, fluff, steamy kiss (no pun intended), cursing, Sue being Johnny’s defender yet still humbles him, self-deprecating thoughts, Ben and Johnny banter, lots of pet names, lovesick!Johnny

A/N: As soon as I saw the first trailer for this movie, and saw Joe Quinn as Johnny I knew he would do the role justice! I’m just sad now we have to wait until next year for the next set of Marvel movies! 😩 Divider by @saradika-graphics <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ johnny storm masterlist

Weekends at Maisie’s Delicatessen were a whirlwind of clinking dishes, muffled jazz from the radio behind the counter, and the sweet, yeasty warmth of the oven creeping into every corner of the narrow shop. Nestled on a street corner in Manhattan, its red neon sign buzzed softly beneath the fire escape, a beacon for locals and regulars alike. Inside, mismatched chairs and linoleum floors bore the scuffs of a hundred hurried mornings.

Your hair had been shoved into a bun since dawn, already loosened by the heat radiating off the pastry case. You moved nonstop, dodging customers and slinging paper bags filled with brownies, marble loaves, and chocolate croissants to neighborhood regulars. The cookies, especially the chocolate chip, were gone before noon, and you'd slipped a few warm ones to the kids who lived across the street, ignoring their mother's frazzled protests. Kids needed sweetness in a city like this.

You leaned against the counter for the first time in hours, arms dusted with flour and sugar, the faint hum of a delivery truck idling outside. You took a quick sip of water, your lips still tasting faintly of cinnamon. Then came the bell, ding-a-ling, that delicate sound above the door. You glanced up and froze in amused recognition. Ben Grimm stood in the doorway, trying (and failing) to disguise his massive, craggy frame beneath a trench coat that strained at the seams.

His fedora sat low, shadowing his unmistakable orange brow, but you’d recognize that stance anywhere. A few folks glanced up, but New Yorkers were practiced in the art of pretending not to notice things that didn’t concern them. “There’s my favorite customer!” You grinned, the weariness melting from your voice as you waved him in. Ben chuckled low in his throat, the sound gravelly and warm. “The usual, a dozen black and white cookies, fresh outta the oven.”

You beamed, already holding out the brown paper bag before he could part his lips. Ben’s rocky features relaxed into a rare, boyish grin. The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, even beneath the shadow of his hat. “You spoil us way too much, Y/N.” He murmured, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat with those thick, stone-like fingers. Before he could fish out his wallet, you gently laid your hand against his arm. “Nah,” You whispered, your eyes crinkling. “It’s the least I can do. You keep our city from crumbling, literally.”

He hesitated, then chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth pulling into something half-sheepish, half-grateful. The coat shifted slightly as he straightened up, careful not to knock over the tiny table near the window. Outside, the city kept humming, taxis honking, a dog barking somewhere down the block, steam curling from a grate on the corner like clockwork. Ever since that mission to space, the one that turned the four of them into something the world had never seen, they'd been more than just heroes.

Earth-828 called them protectors. Some folks whispered “miracles,” others muttered “monsters,” but to you, they were still people. People who liked black and white cookies warm and still a little gooey in the middle. Ben tucked the bag under one arm with reverence, like he was holding something precious instead of simply just cookies. “Reed says carbs’ll slow me down,” He grunted, already lifting one to his mouth. “But he doesn’t know what he’s missin’.”

You laughed, the sound light above the soft vinyl music playing from the back. The overhead light flickered briefly, a flaw in the old wiring you never bothered fixing, casting a golden glow across the glass counter and catching the powdered sugar still clinging to your forearms. “Anything else I can get for you?” You asked, tilting your head as Ben scanned the pastry display. “Will you let me pay for it this time?” You shrugged with a playful glint in your eye watching as he shook his head in disapproval.

“Just the cookies today. I’ll take the offer next time, though.” Ben grunted, approval or defeat, it was hard to tell, and adjusted his coat. “Fair enough,” You smiled, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Tell everyone their favorite baker said hello.” You added, wiping your hands on your apron. As if summoned, the front door jingled again, and in blew a gust of hot air and unmistakable cologne. “Ben! What a coincidence!” Johnny Storm strolled in like he owned the block, hair windswept, a grin already loaded and ready to fire.

He clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, more for show than anything, before swiveling toward you like a sunflower toward the sun. “Why hello, gorgeous.” He purred, leaning casually against the counter, elbows propped like it was a bar and not a bakery. His blue eyes flicked over you, every detail catalogued in a glance that burned hotter than anything the ovens could crank out. You didn’t flinch. You’d seen this act before. “Johnny.” You replied, arms crossed more for protection than posture.

It didn’t stop your heart from racing, not with him standing there, all charm and endearing smile. He’d been flirting ever since the first time Ben sent him to pick up cookies, weeks ago now, throwing one-liners your way. It had become routine, really. Every day around noon, Johnny would stroll through the doors of Maisie’s Delicatessen, sometimes in uniform, sometimes in civilian charm, like clockwork.

He’d order the same cherry danish or lemon tart he never finished, pick at a croissant he claimed was “too flaky,” or simply ask for something sweet and then spend twenty minutes leaning on the counter and making small talk. You’d never seen him eat more than a bite. The truth? He didn’t like pastries. You knew. You noticed the way he’d discreetly leave half of them on the plate, or slide one into a napkin and “forget” it on the windowsill. But he came back anyway.

Every. Single. Day.

Only unlike all the women in New York City, you’d brushed him off. You always did. The whole city knew Johnny Storm’s reputation. He was the Human Torch, flashy, unpredictable, and impossible not to look at. Blonde hair like sunlight, eyes blue enough to drown in. You weren’t naive. You just weren’t stupid enough to fall for him and get your heart broken. At first, you assumed it was just Johnny being Johnny, chasing a pretty face with his signature swagger and a smirk that could melt through steel.

His flirtation had seemed harmless. But lately… something about him felt different. He asked questions that had nothing to do with your looks. Asked about your favorite books, your childhood dog, whether you liked jazz or doo-wop better. He once brought you a bouquet of tiger lillies because “you looked like someone who deserved a Wednesday pick-me up.” He listened. Really listened. And yet, you still didn’t let yourself believe it. Because he was Johnny Storm.

Famous. Reckless. Traveled to space. And you? You baked cookies on 3rd and Grand and slipped extras to neighborhood kids. So when he leaned in across the counter today, eyes locked on yours like you were the only person in Manhattan, it made your stomach twist. Because you couldn’t tell if it was all just part of the game, or if maybe, just maybe, he meant it. Still, you reminded yourself to breathe, burying the stupid crush on the blonde-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker as far down as it would go.

You’d dug that hole weeks ago, right around the time he started showing up for pastries he didn’t eat, and you’d kept digging ever since. “Surprised you’re not at the Baxter Building,” You teased, grabbing a nearby rag to wipe a nonexistent smudge on the counter. “Don’t you have a world to save?” He grinned, eyes glinting. “Figured I’d start with yours.” You almost choked on your own breath. Ben rolled his eyes so hard you could almost hear them click.

“Flamebrain, pick up your danish and let the woman work.” But Johnny didn’t move. He leaned in further, elbow resting against the counter like he had all the time in the world. “Aw, come on, Y/N.” He drawled with a smirk so effortless it should’ve been criminal. That wink, practiced, perfect, probably had women lining up around the block. You huffed a laugh despite yourself, because dammit, he was impossible not to smile at. Shaking your head, you turned your back to him, pretending to be very, very busy with the new tray of croissants still warm from the oven.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was still watching you, you could feel it. You grabbed the pineapple danish, the one he always claimed was his favorite, though you were 99% sure he hated pineapple, and placed it gently on the counter between you. “Have a nice day, Johnny.” It was meant to be the end of it. A line drawn in powdered sugar. But the way he lit up when you said his name made your chest tighten in a way that was wildly inconvenient.

His whole face softened, the cocky veneer still there, but something genuine flickering behind it. The corners of his mouth curved, his blue eyes twinkling like he'd just won something. He pulled out his wallet, soft leather, edges worn, and slid a crisp $10 bill across the counter without breaking eye contact. “See you next time, beautiful.” That should’ve been it. Any normal person would’ve taken their pastry and left. But Johnny Storm wasn’t normal. Before you could even blink, he leaned in again, this time reaching for you.

Reflex made you freeze, lips parting on instinct as his hand came up to your face. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitched. Your skin went electric beneath his touch. “Gotcha.” He whispered with a smug grin, dusting flour off your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, like some cinematic fever dream, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, slow, gentle, and let his fingers linger just a second too long.

You couldn’t even look at him. Not directly. Not with that smile. Not with the way his cologne curled through the air, something warm, woodsy, and undeniably him. Not with his broad shoulders in your peripheral, framed by the soft golden light of the storefront window. Your heart was pounding like the city outside, and you hated how easily he could turn you to absolute mush. With one last cheeky wink, he straightened up and strolled past Ben toward the exit like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain.

You stood frozen, still gripping the edge of the counter as the bell above the door chimed again. Ben lingered for just a second longer, eyeing you with something between amusement and pity. “He’s trouble, kid.” You managed a breathless laugh, cheeks still burning. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He gave you one last tip of his hat before he was out the door. Through the foggy window, you watched Ben shove Johnny as they walked down the street, his expression deadpan as Johnny laughed, head tilted back, beaming.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the stupid smile tugging at your lips. The rest of the evening passed like a worn-out record, quiet, predictable, and just a little too slow. No more superhero drop-ins, no flirtatious banter, just the comforting rhythm of clinking coffee cups, parents herding sugar-hyped kids, and the usual faces grabbing day-old rye for half price. You moved on autopilot, smiling when necessary, nodding when expected, but your thoughts weren’t behind the counter anymore.

They were still caught somewhere between Johnny Storm’s hand brushing your cheek and the lingering scent of him that had somehow stuck to the sleeves of your apron. At four o’clock sharp, you finally peeled off the fabric, folding it with practiced hands. You greeted your coworker with a tired wave, slung your bag over one shoulder, and grabbed the small box of pastries you’d stashed for yourself, your ritual comfort after long shifts. With a practiced motion, you nudged open the back door and stepped into the fading amber of early evening.

It was cooler now, a soft breeze threading through your sleeves, but it didn’t soothe the heat still smoldering beneath your skin. You leaned against the brick wall beside the shop, juggling the box and your bag awkwardly as you searched for your keys. Of course, they’d sunken to the bottom. Because today was that kind of day. “Geez, Y/N! Don’t you know it’s not safe out here?” You jumped slightly, box nearly tipping. But then the voice registered, cocky and warm like always, laced with amusement.

You glanced up, and there he was. Johnny Storm, leaning casually against the wall beside you, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing a fitted maroon tee that left nothing to the imagination. His eyes sparkled under the streetlamp like he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. You didn’t even bother hiding your eye-roll this time. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a woman when it’s nearly dark?” He laughed, that rich, golden sound that always felt like it was meant just for you.

“Walking a beautiful girl to her car after a long shift? That’s not rude, sweetheart. That’s practically chivalry.” You hated the way your heart fluttered. “I might even ask her out to dinner, if she doesn’t already have plans.” He added, stepping a little closer. “You never quit, do you?” Your voice was breathier than you intended, your composure already fraying. The city seemed to fall away, no cars, no lights, no sound, just the heavy press of his presence and the impossible closeness of him.

He took one more step, caging you. His arms bracketed the space like a promise. His eyes were softer now, but blazing all the same. “When it comes to you? I don’t.” You looked up at him, and you felt it, that dangerous pull. Like you were standing on the edge of something steep, and he was gravity. For one brief, selfish second, you wanted to fall. His gaze searched yours, blue eyes impossibly sincere, and you felt your whole body lock up. You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or lean in.

It was too much, all at once, the heat, the closeness, the way his words curled inside your chest and ignited everything you’d been trying to bury. “Johnny—” You started, just as quick reality struck. “Johnny! Johnny! Can we get a picture?” A chorus of high-pitched voices broke through the quiet. You both turned. Across the street, three girls, all wide smiles, glossy hair, and miniskirts, were waving excitedly. “Please! We love you!” His shoulders stiffened. For once, he was speechless, gaze flickering between you and them.

And that’s when it hit you.

Of course girls like that followed him. Of course they screamed his name and got his smile and maybe more. Girls who were everything you weren’t, glamorous, shiny, effortless. You felt plain in comparison, dusty from work, apron-wrinkled, flour on your jeans, your lipstick smudged from hours behind the counter and sneaking coffee during your breaks. You felt your throat tighten, breath catching behind clenched teeth.

He looked at you, torn, visibly. You saw the guilt, the hesitation. But you couldn’t handle it. Not the look. Not the choice. You beat him to it. “Go,” You whispered, voice thick. “Take pictures. Sign autographs. Don't let me stop you.” His head whipped back to you. “Y/N—” But you were already slipping. Already falling back into the walls you had spent so long building. Don’t get attached. Don’t believe him. Don’t be a fool. “I’ll see you around, Johnny.” Your smile was brittle.

A cracked-glass version of the one you used to give him. You turned before he could speak, before he could reach for you, because you knew, if he said the right thing, if he looked at you that way again, you’d stay. And you couldn’t. You clutched the pastry box like it was armor and speed-walked to your car, fumbling with the keys as your eyes blurred. You slammed the door shut behind you, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make your knuckles pale.

You let out one shaky breath, but it didn’t help, your chest still felt like it was caving in. The first tear slipped down your cheek, and you swiped at it with the back of your hand. You blinked hard, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from sobbing, swallowing the thick lump that refused to go away. Through the windshield, you could still see him, standing there, not moving. Not chasing after you. Of course not. He was Johnny Storm. And you? You were just the girl who made the cookies.

It had been two days. Two painfully long, quiet days. Ben had still come in like clockwork, trench coat tight around his frame, tipping his hat with a low grunt and walking out with his usual dozen black and white cookies. Business carried on, regulars filtered in and out, the register chimed, the espresso hissed, and the world, somehow, didn’t stop turning just because Johnny Storm hadn’t walked through your door. But you noticed.

You hated how your heart leapt every time the bell over the door jingled, hated how your eyes darted up from the pastry case expecting him, golden hair tousled like he’d just stepped off a beach, sunglasses halfway down his nose, wearing that crooked grin that always seemed a little too proud to be real. But it was never him. An old man wanting lemon bars. A tired mother with her toddler. A delivery guy. Anyone but Johnny.

By the second afternoon, you were scolding yourself. You’re fine. You don’t care. It didn’t mean anything. It never meant anything. But even that was starting to ring hollow. So when the bell chimed again near closing and your head shot up on instinct, eyes connecting with familiar blue ones. Only it wasn’t Johnny. “Sue?” You breathed out, heart stumbling in your chest at the familiar face, equal parts relief and renewed confusion bubbling up behind your smile. “Hi.”

Her face lit up, warm and elegant as always, framed by a neat headband and soft waves, dressed in a powder blue coat that fell just past her knees. You rounded the counter before she could say a word, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Congratulations, you and Reed, you’re both going to be such amazing parents.” Susan laughed softly, pulling back, her hand instinctively resting over the small swell at her abdomen.

“Thank you, darling.” She whispered, her smile tender, eyes softening at your touch as you caressed the curve just barely beginning to show. Susan glanced around the shop, the quiet obvious now that the last customers had filtered out. She must have seen something flicker across your face, something you didn’t mean to let show, because her gaze settled on you a little too knowingly. "Johnny and Ben didn't tell me you were stopping by."

You hoped it sounded casual, but your voice betrayed you, just a little. She tilted her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, Ben's been busy helping Reed with all the baby stuff,” She replied gently. “And, I don’t think Johnny's mentioned anything the last day or two, actually. He’s... been a little off.” Off? Your chest tightened. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t have the right to. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even sure you were a friend.

You were just the girl who made the pastries he didn’t eat, the one he flirted with until fans screamed his name and you reminded yourself to be practical. Still, it gnawed at you. The absence. The silence. The ache that felt like a bruise just beneath the surface of your ribs. You forced a smile. “I’ve got some brioche cooling in the back. Want to take some home?” Susan smiled and nodded, but her eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary.

And you wondered, how much did she know? Because if anyone could see through the armor, it was the Invisible Woman. You wrapped the warm loaf in parchment, the buttery scent of brioche rising with the steam as you folded the edges with careful precision, anything to keep your hands busy while your mind threatened to spiral. Susan lingered just past the counter, fingertips brushing along the glass display case, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Her silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just... weighty. Like she was debating whether or not to cross a line. The silence stretched a few beats longer before she finally broke it. “You know,” She began, almost too casually. “Johnny’s a lot of things. Loud. Reckless. Infuriating.” A wry smile tugged at her lips. “A complete pain in the ass, honestly.” You snorted quietly, folding the twine over the loaf and tying it into a neat bow. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Her gaze sharpened at that, the playful warmth in her voice dipping into something more sincere. “But he’s also been completely, hopelessly hung up on you.” You froze, not dramatically, but just enough that your fingers faltered mid-knot. Susan leaned in slightly, voice softening. “I mean it. Ever since he met you, it’s been nonstop. You’d think Reed and I were hosting a teenage girl in love. Every dinner, it’s always ‘Y/N made me try this pastry’ or ‘You should’ve seen the way her eyes lit up when I told her a dumb joke.’”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry as your heart pounded loud enough to rival the ticking bakery clock. “I thought it was just another Johnny phase,” Susan continued, her eyes kind now, but serious. “He’s... well. He’s had his share of admirers. Most of them louder. But none of them stuck. None of them made him show up every morning like he forgot how to sleep or act like a lovesick teenager.” Your lips parted, but no words made it out.

Susan gave you a long look, stepping closer until her voice dropped again, almost conspiratorial. “You know what really got me? He started asking me about baking.” You blinked. “He what?” She nodded, confirming that you in fact had heard her correctly. “Wanted to know how long croissants proof. What makes a good butter ratio. If semi-sweet chocolate was the same as milk chocolate, I nearly dropped a plate.”

She gave a quiet laugh, brushing her coat sleeve with her thumb. “He burns toast, Y/N. He once tried to boil eggs in the microwave.” That startled a weak laugh out of you, but the ache behind it remained. “I’m not trying to play matchmaker,” Susan added, gentler now. “And I know he’s a mess, God, he really is, but... this isn’t a game to him. Not this time.” You stared down at the loaf in your hands, chest tightening under the weight of everything she wasn’t saying outright.

You could still feel the ghost of Johnny’s hand on your cheek from two days ago. The way his voice had softened when it was just the two of you. How his grin faltered when he thought you weren’t looking. The worst part? You wanted to believe her. You really did. Yet, that quiet voice in the back of your head, the one that always whispered your insecurities when the lights dimmed and the bakery closed, wasn’t so easily silenced, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

Why would someone like him want someone like you, when he could have models, actresses, girls with legs for days and zero baggage?

You pushed the thought down, deep, wrapping the last piece of tape around the box like it could hold you together too. Susan’s hand landed lightly on your arm, anchoring you for a moment. “Whatever you decide, just don’t let the noise drown out what’s real.” You met her eyes. And in them, you saw none of the pity you were bracing for, just quiet encouragement. Understanding. You gave a faint nod and offered the brioche across the counter.

She took it gently, her smile warm as she tucked it into her bag. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.” And then she was gone, the bell jingling softly behind her as she disappeared into the golden spill of the afternoon light. You exhaled slowly, and for the first time in two days, you didn’t flinch at the thought of Johnny Storm. You just ached. The door had barely swung closed behind Susan when you stood there, motionless, loaf of brioche crumbs still scattered across the counter like the remains of a decision just made.

Your heart pounded so loudly you swore the walls could hear it. The hum of the bakery lights, the tick of the clock over the register, the faint laughter of kids down the block, it all faded beneath the sudden, sharp thrum of possibility. What if she was right? What if he wasn’t just another cocky grin in a fireproof suit? What if, under all the swagger and fanfare, Johnny Storm had been waiting, hoping, for you to see him the way he saw you?

Your hands moved before your fear could stop them. You ripped off your apron, tossing it onto the hook so fast it spun, grabbed your purse and keys, and locked the till with barely a glance. You rushed around the counter, fumbled with the light switches, not bothering to sweep the back or double-check the signage. The “Closed” sign swung crooked in the door’s window as you burst out into the late afternoon sun, scanning the sidewalk like a woman on a mission.

There she was. Susan, a block away, was sliding her sunglasses on as she reached the driver's side of a navy blue Fantasticar. You called out her name, your voice cracked with urgency and nerves. She turned, brows lifted in surprise, then slowly tilted her sunglasses down as you approached, breathless and wide-eyed. “I need a ride,” You exhaled, planting your feet like you might change your mind if you moved again. “To the Baxter Building.”

A slow, knowing smirk curled on her lips, like she’d known this would happen all along. Like she had simply laid out the breadcrumbs and waited for you to follow them. Without a word, she unlocked the car with a flick of her wrist and gestured to the passenger side. You slid in, heart hammering, palms damp, and stared out the window as the city blurred by. Your mind ran faster than the wheels on the pavement. What would you say when you saw him? What if he laughed? What if you were wrong?

But then you remembered the way he looked at you. Not like you were an option. Like you were it. The crack in his cocky demeanor when he thought nobody was looking. Susan glanced at you from the corner of her eye, her voice casual as she merged into traffic. “Took you long enough.” You glanced down, flushed and nervous, but a small smile crept across your lips. “Yeah, I guess it really did.” And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel afraid of what came next.

The drive to the Baxter Building felt endless, not because of traffic, but because of what waited at the end of it. Every red light was another second for doubt to crawl back in. Every street corner flashed with reminders: his face on magazines in bodega windows, girls with teased hair giggling over autographed photos, memories of your own reflection feeling small in comparison. Still, you didn’t ask Susan to turn around.

The building rose ahead like a monument, sleek steel and glass stretching toward a stormy Manhattan sky. As you stepped through the lobby, nerves clamped around your lungs, but Susan’s hand on your arm kept you grounded. “Just breathe,” Her eyes told you without a word. The elevator ride was silent, the kind that buzzes with everything unspoken. When the doors opened, both Reed and Ben turned like they’d sensed a bomb ticking.

Ben looked you up and down like you’d grown an extra head, half a cookie still in his massive hand. Reed’s brows lifted, already calculating variables. But before either of them could utter a syllable, Susan threw them a look sharp enough to slice concrete, one perfectly arched brow raised, hand on her hip. You chuckled inwardly, thinking she had definitely mastered the 'mom look'. Ben grunted, glanced between the two of you, then quietly retreated toward the kitchen, muttering something about minding his own damn business.

Reed blinked a few times and gave a tiny, approving nod before following suit. You turned to Susan, your pulse thudding like it might give up entirely. She only smiled, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Third door on the left. Go.” You didn't need to be told twice. Your heels clicked softly against the polished floor as you approached the door, H.E.R.B.I.E chirped a happy greeting in your direction. You waved, resting a hand on the smooth top of the robot’s head with an affectionate pat.

As you eyes locked on the door just past him, you could have sworn your heart lurched. You didn’t bother knocking. Your hand turned the knob, and the door flung open with all the force of your barely-contained storm. There he was. Johnny Storm, sprawled across his navy couch in a gray NASA tee and sweatpants, wearing a full space suit helmet. His posture screamed boredom, limbs flung over the cushions, one leg lazily propped up on the coffee table, until he saw you.

His eyes widened, nearly cartoonish behind the visor, and he jolted upright with such force the helmet slipped sideways on his head. “Y/N!” The name flew from him like he’d been holding it in for days. His voice cracked with disbelief as he scrambled to yank the helmet off, his hair sticking up wildly from the static. “Uh, hi! I mean—hey, you’re here. You’re… in my room.” You stood just inside the doorway, hands curled into your coat pockets to keep from fidgeting.

He blinked at you, breath shallow, eyes flicking from your coat to your flushed cheeks to the tense set of your jaw. “You okay? Did something happen? Are you—?” You didn’t even let him finish. Five steps, that’s all it took. You crossed the room with a force you didn’t know you had, your palms gripping the soft cotton of his white t-shirt, knuckles white with all the tension and longing that had been brewing for weeks, and tugged him down to your level.

Then you crashed your lips into his like it was the only way to keep from falling apart. Johnny’s breath stuttered, caught completely off guard, but only for a second. One of them slid up your spine, fingers splayed wide, pulling you impossibly closer until there was no space left between your bodies. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss like he’d been starving for it.

Your tongue brushed his, tentative at first, but then his low, guttural moan vibrated through your chest and your grip tightened in his shirt, knuckles aching. You kissed him deeper, mouths moving in perfect sync, hot and messy, with the urgency of two people who had waited too long and couldn’t wait a second more. Johnny broke the kiss just long enough to gasp your name against your jaw, voice rough and reverent.

He ducked his head, lips dragging down your neck in soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath catch. When his teeth grazed just beneath your ear, a sharp whimper escaped you, unfiltered and raw. “God, do you have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was hoarse, like the words had clawed their way out of him. You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. Not with your pulse pounding in your ears.

Not with the way he was looking at you like you were something sacred. Instead, you kissed him again, harder this time. The scent of him, smoke and whatever cologne he wore that made your knees weak, clouded your senses as his tongue swept across your bottom lip. Your teeth knocked, breath mingled, and his hand slipped down to the back of your thigh. Without breaking contact, Johnny bent slightly, hooking his arms under your legs and lifting you as if you weighed nothing.

You gasped into his mouth as your back met the cool plaster of his bedroom wall, the contrast making you shiver, but Johnny’s body was all heat, all fire pressed flush against you. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his hips, and the sound he made in response, part growl, part groan, was nearly enough to undo you right then and there. He kissed you like a man possessed, like he’d held back every second since the first time you handed him a croissant and smiled in his direction.

His fingers flexed at your hips, anchoring you, grounding you, while his mouth explored yours with a tenderness that burned hotter than anything reckless. You broke apart only when your lungs screamed for air, panting, foreheads pressed together. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped you, and your own were buried in his hair, fingers tangled and unwilling to let go. Your gaze met his, blue eyes wide, wild, soft, and for once, all the noise in your head quieted.

You could feel it in the space between heartbeats, in the way his thumb brushed over the back of your knee, in the breath he stole and gave back with each kiss. This wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t a game. “Now, can I take you to dinner?” He murmured, lips brushing yours. You let out a breathy laugh, stealing one more chaste kiss that left both of you grinning like fools. “I think we might've missed a couple steps.” You teased, hands absentmindedly playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

The same ones you’d always dreamed of running your fingers through but never dared to. His eyes softened, that usual cocky glint melting into something heartbreakingly earnest. “I don’t care in what order it happened,” He whispered, blue eyes tracing every line of your face like he was trying to burn it into memory. “As long as it’s you.” Your chest tightened, the words wrapping around something fragile and long-buried in you. He leaned in, nudging his nose gently against yours, and the breath that left him was barely a whisper.

“I should’ve stayed with you that night. I should’ve kissed you the second I saw you leaning against that wall. I should’ve never let you walk away. God, I’ve been such an idiot.” You drew in a shaky breath, heart swelling in your chest. Lifting your hands from his neck, you cupped his face in your palms, thumbs brushing across the faint hint of stubble along his jaw. “Hey,” You coaxed, voice soft but firm, grounding him before his thoughts could wonder. “I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

He closed his eyes like he didn’t trust himself to believe it until you said it again, so you kissed the tip of his nose. Then the corner of his mouth. Then fully on his lips, almost as if sealing the promise between you. A knock sounded faintly, followed by Reed’s voice muffled through the door. “Johnny! Is your friend staying for dinner?” You paused, eyes meeting his. There it was again, that flicker of vulnerability, like the part of him that still feared you’d run if given the chance.

But you didn’t even need to speak. Your smile answered for you. Johnny turned toward the door, cocky grin returning with full force. “Yes she is!” He called out, eyes never leaving yours. “Tell Herbert to set another plate at the table because—” He leaned closer, pressing a final lingering kiss to your flushed cheek. “My gorgeous girlfriend is staying over for dinner.” You couldn’t help it. You beamed. That word, girlfriend, made your skin tingle.

It felt impossibly good. Honest. Earned. You tugged him back down for one more kiss, slow and sure and full of everything you’d both kept buried for far too long. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t second-guessing it. You were exactly where you wanted to be. Where he wanted you to be. Wrapped in the arms of a man who once flirted like it was a reflex, and now held you like you were the only thing in the world that ever made him feel real.

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[plaidcowboy]

── NIGHT LIGHT ⟢

( SYNOPSIS ) ── after another one of reed’s infamous power outages, your boyfriend johnny comes with the solution to all your problems.

( WARNINGS ) ── no spoilers!! being scared of the dark. nothing else!

It had happened again.

Another one of Reed Richards’ late night experiments had blown the power grid, leaving your apartment in pitch black silence. Living just a few blocks from the Baxter Building had its perks, proximity to your superhero boyfriend being the main one, but moments like this made you question whether it was all worth it.

The bad part? Losing power twice a week, like clockwork, thanks to Reed tinkering with things the city’s infrastructure was clearly not built to handle. The worse part? You were still, to this day, hopelessly afraid of the dark. A childhood thing. Unresolved, unimportant. At least that’s what you always told yourself.

But the good part? Johnny always came.

The second the lights flickered out, he was already on his way, like muscle memory. Hovering outside your window, flames crackling gently across his body, casting warm light across your bedroom walls.

You were curled up in bed, flashlight wedged under the blankets like some makeshift bunker, when you heard a soft tap at the glass. That familiar quiet hum of fire accompanied it, comforting, warm, familiar.

You peeked your head out from under the comforter, already smiling. And there he was, floating a few feet from your window, his face illuminated by a soft amber glow, brows raised, that charmingly smug smile already in place.

You climbed out of bed and crossed the room, opening the window just enough for him to slip inside. He extinguished the flames across most of his body the second he landed, except for the steady flame burning on his right hand, casting gentle light across your room like a makeshift lantern.

“I heard someone was in desperate need of a hero,” he teased, his voice soft but playful. “Lucky for you, I happen to know one.”

You rolled your eyes as he stepped closer, his hand finding your hip like it always did when you needed grounding. He bent down and kissed your forehead, lingering for just a second longer than usual.

“I came as soon as the lights went out,” he said more gently now, his voice dropping to something quieter, more gentle.

You hummed softly, leaning into him without a word, because you didn’t need to say anything. Johnny already knew what came next.

The two of you made your way back to bed, you already dressed in your favorite pajamas while Johnny stripped down to his boxers, climbing in behind you. He settled in with the back of his head resting against your headboard, one scorching arm stretched out across the nightstand, casting a warm, amber light across the room.

With a quiet laugh, you climbed over him, nestling between his legs. Your hips rested comfortably against his and your head found its place on his bare chest, your arms curling around his waist. You nuzzled your nose against his skin, the heat of him grounding you.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in my nightstand,” you murmured against him with a sleepy smile.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I did all the shopping for your apartment, remember? Fireproof nightstand, babe.”

Your laugh was muffled against his chest, eyes already fluttering shut. And just like that, you drifted off in his arms, soft snores slipping from your lips, your face relaxed and peaceful against his warmth.

Johnny brought his free hand to your hair, gently brushing it back from your face. He watched you for a moment, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. Only when he was sure you were completely asleep did he dim his glowing hand, sighing softly as he shifted to get comfortable beneath you.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a final kiss to your head. Both arms wrapped around you tightly, like he could anchor you to this exact moment. “’Night.”

It was always like this. He’d come over and stay up just long enough to see you safely asleep before turning off his ‘night light’. And every morning, without fail, you’d wake up in the same place, wrapped in the arms of the boy who swore your nightstand was fireproof… even if the scorch marks told a slightly different story.

( TAGS ) ── @jclolz22 @pittsick [to be added]

[deniable-masterpiece]

guys i love him so badddd I NEED HIMMM

[hearts4johnwick]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ Accidental Blessing. / Johnny Storm.

SUMMARY. 𝜗𝜚 johnny comes to your house one day inciting you to a mission to outer space, which reed gave permission to invite anyone he would like—who else would he invite if not you? but, what you thought would be a great adventure with your boyfriend, took a turn for the worse.

CW. 𝜗𝜚 4.4K words. fluff, angst. established relationship, make outs, radiation storm incident, johnny loves you more than anything.

A/N. 𝜗𝜚 YES, reader after the incident is a DIRECT copy of jean grey from dark phoenix after the solar flare incident because im extremely unoriginal and her powers look so cool in dark phoenix <33. since the movie doesn’t show them getting their powers, i took the scene from the 2005 one (but this is joseph quinn’s johnny)

You yawn as your elevator doors open, the ding waking you up slightly. You walk out and head to your apartment, 224. You see your neighbor going inside theirs, but they stop to speak to you.

“Hey, sweetheart, it seems you left your door open when you left to go downstairs…” your kind neighbor says, your eyes travel to her feet, where her cat was rubbing itself on her leg.

“Thank you, Candice. Have a good night.” You say with a smile.

“You too baby.” She giggles and shuts the door. You look at the door, and you see it’s open by inches, your eyebrows furrow.

As you approach your door, you pull out the pepper spray in your purse. You open the door and you press your lips together when it creaks, groaning softly to yourself.

You mumble incoherently as you continue to hear stuff coming from the kitchen. Your eyebrows remained furrowed, but they rose when you entered the kitchen.

“Johnny?!” You exclaim. He turns around quickly and groans.

“Oh Goddammit! You weren’t supposed to be here until later.” He says as he places his fingers between the bridge of his nose.

“What are you doing here?” You question and he tilts his head.

“You gave me a spare, don’t you remember?” You close your eyes and rub your forehead, then nod.

“Yeah, I do.” You exhale. Johnny approaches you and rubs your arms gently.

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes still shut, you lean into his arms and press your face to his chest, listening as his heart begins to race. “Oh.”

“I’m just tired.” You mumble and he hums.

“Well, I made charcuterie, and I just opened a bottle of wine, don’t let it go to waste. Let’s rest on the couch and eat it.”

“Johnny.” You call out his name in a whimper, as if you were about to cry. His eyebrows raised. “I would love that.” You jump and wrap your arms around his torso, urging him to take you to the couch without another word. He places you down on the couch softly and then he brings the wine and charcuterie.

When he sat down, you sat closer to him, wrapping your arms around his and resting your head comfortably onto his shoulder, he chuckled and placed a kiss on your head.

“What did you do today?” Taking in his mouth some cheese and a strawberry.

“Woke up at 5. Went to the gym. Then brunch with the girls, then we went to the mall, then later we went for dinner, until finally I’m home.” You say, a bit mumbly since you were tired out of your mind. “And you?”

“Was at the Baxter building with Sue and Reed.” He says and you hum.

“All day? You texted me but I don’t remember what time it was.” You say and he nods.

“Yeah, all day.”

“What did you guys do?” You ask him and he stays silent for a split second.

“Reed found this massive storm of cosmic radiation traveling through Earth’s atmosphere.” He says, and your eyebrows raise.

“Woah—“ you exclaim, but Johnny cuts you off.

“That’s not all. Reed wants to study it further. He wants us to go and see it, too.” Johnny says, looking at you, grip firm on your hands.

“Wow, Johnny, that’s amazing but, I’m literally a veterinarian. I don’t think veterinarians belong in space.”

“Baby, please.” He says, cupping your cheeks softly, eyes begging for your company. “Everything is going to be okay. Look, all of us are gonna go—Reed, Sue, Ben, and me! Reed said I could invite you, because he knows everything will be alright.”

You and Johnny stay looking at each other in silence, minutes go by, you look away from him but he pulls your face for you to see him again. His fingers graze over your lips, eyes still begging for you.

“I’m too scared.” You didn’t want to sound like a wuss, but, you had to be honest.

“I will be too, if you don’t come with me.” His eyes glow, you can see your reflection in them. “I can call Reed, tell him to tell you that everything is going to be alri—“

“Okay, fine, I’ll go.” Johnny is cut off by those four words, and your hands on his cheek.

“S-seriously?!” He smiles widely and you return it, you nod and he exclaims. He raises his arms and then wraps you in a warm embrace. You laugh as he begins to smother you in kisses as he lays you back down.

Now, he’s hovering over you, his finger tracing the features in your face, thumb grazing your full lips. Your thumb caresses his cheekbone back and forth, and you share a smile as you lose yourself in each other’s eyes.

“God, I love you.” Johnny whispers. Your smile turns white, brightening the look on Johnny’s face.

“I love you more.” You reply and he now returns the toothiest smile. He leans down and places a soft peck on your lips, which quickly turns into something more.

“You know you’re wrong.” He says as he pulls away, his lips still brushing against yours as he speaks. You smile and scoff.

“We’re not having this discussion.” You pull him back into the kiss, your hands playing with his hair as his thumb caresses your hips.

𓂃

“Alright. Blasting off in 10…” Reed begins the countdown until the ship takes off, and you breathe in heavily and swallow the lump in your throat.

You look to your side and look at Johnny, who smiles at you then extends his hand, which you take. You hold it tightly as the ship begins to shake. “3…” as Reed approached the final number, you shut your eyes, your fist tightening its grip on your seatbelt and Johnny’s hand, you swore you could almost crush it.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself already leaving Earth’s atmosphere, and you gasp. It’s all happening too fast for you to take in, you begin to panic, but try your best not to show it.

It took you half an hour to arrive at the space station where you would be staying for studies of the radiation. Your ship rests above the station and all of you leave to go to your designated rooms.

“We’re so glad you could come, ___!” Sue says, you smile and dismiss her.

“I was forced, practically dragged out of the comforts of my own home by your lovely brother, but, I’m here to enjoy spending time with you, and seeing your work.” Both Reed and Sue nod in approval before they head to their room.

You head to your room and leave your things resting beside the bed. You take in a deep breath and give your neck a quick massage, you crack a few knuckles, and check yourself in the mirror before heading to Johnny’s room.

“First mission together…” you say excitedly as you go behind him, placing your arms on his shoulder, he smiles and turns around.

“And certainly not last.” He says, placing his hands on your hips. You grimace and exhale sharply.

“Hmm, don’t push your luck.” You now place your hand above his cheek, brushing his eyebrow.

“Oh come on, after this mission you’re going to love it so much you’re gonna wanna go on every single one! With or without me, preferably with me…” he says and you chuckle.

“Yeah, with you because if something happens, I don’t want to die alone.” You smile widely and he sputters.

“You’ll never be alone, you know that. Not as long as I’m living and breathing.” Your face softens and you see that familiar twinkle in his eye as he speaks to you.

“You better be right, Johnny.” You raise yourself on your tip-toes and place a soft kiss on his lips, breaking away quickly.

“Am I ever wrong, though?” You laugh sarcastically and meanly. Johnny furrows his eyebrows.

“Oh, Johnny. When are you not?” Your lips trail from his eyes to his lips, then his eyes again. Your hands are now traveling from his neck to his torso.

“That’s not true.” He says and you hum.

“You wanna test that theory?” You back off, crossing your arms.

“Try me.” He says and you scoff.

“Alright.” You look down, thinking of a question. “Let’s go simple. What’s my favorite col—“

“Purple.” He cuts you off, catching you off guard, and your face lights up. He hums, raising an eyebrow. “Favorite food is sushi, favorite date location is being home and painting, favorite flowers are orchids—“

“But those are easy ques—“ you cut him off, but then, he cuts you off.

“I’m not done.” He says, you recoil and smile. “Favorite animal is a whale shark, favorite movie is Downtown Beauty, the original one from the 50’s—“

“Aha! You’re wrong.”

“What?! No, it’s definitely Downtown Beauty, with Jennifer…what’s her name?”

“It’s actually the sequel… Downtown Baby.” Johnny furrows his eyebrows, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

“What the f…” you approach him and place a hand on his forearm.

“It’s okay baby, at least you know me well enough for basic stuff.” You shrug and he rolls his eyes playfully. “Alright, you want redemption? I’ll give you redemption.”

“I got this.”

“How old was I when my mother abandoned me?” Johnny stays silent, his ears getting red by the sudden change of mood. “Johnny.” You call him out, eyebrows knitted together, confused on whether he knows or not. “Serious—“

“7.” He as usual, gets it correct. You roll your eyes and he laughs. You cross your arms and turn around, but he grabs your forearm and pulls you to him. “I know you more than you know yourself.” You hum in annoyance but when he wraps his arms around you, you smile.

You place your chin on his chest, looking up at him. “I just remembered we’re in space right now.” Johnny traces the scar right below your right eye and he hums.

“Yeah, kind of crazy.”

“Kind of?” You chuckle. “I was kind of having a panic attack when we were taking off.”

“I know.” You tilt your head.

“Your lip quivers when you’re anxious or panicking, also, your right eye kind of twitches, especially around the scar area.” You look at him in pure awe, how had he been so watchful of these things you didn’t even know about yourself.

“Oh, Johnny.” You swear you kind of tear up, Johnny has always been laid back, he always showed his love for you, of course, but you never thought that he would be capable of loving you beyond kisses, hugs, and simple I love yous. “I love you.” He smiles and bends down slightly to kiss you, and you raise yourself on your tip-toes to kiss him back.

You grip his hair tightly, as the kiss goes further than just a peck, you feel his arms tighten their grip around your waist, but then you break apart to catch your breath. You lay your foreheads against each other and stay there in soft silence.

That was until you were rudely interrupted by Reed’s loud running footsteps. You both recoil, your heels now touch the ground normally, and a disturbed, Reed catching his breath stands on Johnny’s doorstep.

“What? What?” Johnny asks, you place a hand on his chest to calm him down.

“Reed, what’s wrong? Where’s Sue?” You ask as well, and Reed finally answers.

“The storm. It’s coming, and it’s coming now.” He says, in a terrified tone. You look at Johnny, concerned.

“What? I thought you said it wasn’t going to be here for another 7 hours!” Johnny asks, and Reed shakes his head.

“We need to abort, now!”

“What?!” You exclaim. Reed then leaves. “Johnny…” You look at him, your soft look weakening his heart.

“Stay here.” He caresses your hand and goes after Reed.

You look around and swallow the lump in your throat, your breath shaking. Of course, due to pure curiosity, you leave Johnny’s bedroom and walk to the nearest window, and see the massive storm, you gasp, but your fright doesn’t begin until you notice a familiar space suit on the railing outside, your eyes widen.

“Oh my God! Ben is still out there!” You grab an earpiece lying on a console right next to you and put it on. “Hello?! Hello?! Ben! Ben! You need to get out of there now!”

“But sweetheart, I ain’t done yet.”

“Ben, I don’t care! The s-storn is here! Come back!” You shout frantically into the microphone. You look out the window and see him making his way back, but the bright and colorful storm of pure cosmic radiation follows behind him. “Oh God!” You go over to a console which is made for the exit chamber, you pull a lever and the doors open. You see Ben inches away from entering.

“Ben!” You yell out for him, begging to God that he could somehow hear you as you bang your hand on the glass, because the cloud just got to the doorstep, but not him.

You hear footsteps behind you, but you’re too distracted by the storm you stay frozen, shock has taken over your body, paralyzing every bone.

“Get away from the doors!” Reed’s screams muffle as you get blinded by the storm.

“No, no!” Johnny couldn’t even get inches close to you before you were impacted by the storm.

The impact of the storm sends Ben flying into the exit, unconscious. While you were knocked off your feet, but not onto the ground. The radiation of the storm taking a whole of your whole body, and your body takes all the energy, even as you scream in agony.

Johnny attempted to extend his arm to you, to get a hold of you, but he couldn’t, his body was also taking the same energy yours was, same with Reed, and Sue.

You were a direct hit for the storm, the main target. Ben was the first to get hit, but you were the one who took all the radiation, slipping into your veins, bloodstream, and heart.

Johnny fought the storm with all his mind, as he crawled to you, just to get a hold of you. He called out your name, screamed out your name, but you had no response, not even after the storm had passed.

Your limp body drops to the ground. Johnny mutters a soft “no…” but that didn’t stop him from pushing himself, pushing his body by putting one arm in front of the other and dragging himself. He groans as he sits up.

He grabs your body and cradles you, you’re burning from the touch, but this doesn’t have an effect on Johnny. He moves the hair out of your face and rubs your cheek.

You force your eyes open, but with no success. Your vision is blurry, but you know the one holding you is who you love. “Johnny.” You call out, dragging your raspy voice, breathless.

You try to raise a hand but fail, but Johnny grabs it and places it on his cheek. While looking at you, Johnny caught a glance or something odd. Your eyes flashed orange, a fiery orange. His eyebrows raised, the more he looked at you, the more he saw. Your skin was cracking, as that of a broken porcelain doll, or cracked walls, again, glowing a fiery orange through the cracks.

“I-I’m here.” He says, but you close your eyes again and rest your eyes, and as for your breathing, it’s there, but barely noticeable, same as your heartbeat. “No…no…” Johnny whispers, holding you close to him, hugging you.

“Oh my God!” Reed and Sue enter, Reed is holding Sue by her arm around his shoulder. She places her hand in her mouth, as tears seep through.

“Is she…” Reed asks. Johnny looks up, tears rolling down.

“I don’t—I don’t know.” Reed approaches you, grabbing your face. He places his hand below your nose to check your breathing, and his ear on your chest, to check your heartbeat.

“She needs severe medical attention. Now. If she doesn’t…” Reed begins, Johnny’s expression changes.

“If she doesn’t, what? What will happen? Can’t you help her?!” Johnny questions angrily, and Sue puts her hand on his shoulder, caressing him and calming him down.

“Johnny. She needs help on Earth. We have a medical center here but… nothing compared to what they can do on earth.” Reed assures and Johnny turns back at you, once again bringing you closer, resting his forehead against your head.

“Let’s just go.”

“Where’s Ben?”

𓂃

“Ahh, hey Ben! How are you feeling?” Ben walks in, rubbing and cracking his neck as Reed slaps him on the back.

“I feel… drained. How long was I out?”

“3 days.” Ben’s eyebrows raised.

“Holy moly…” he exclaims and Reed chuckles, eyes going back to his computer. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve been running some tests every day since we landed back on Earth. It’s weird how all—“ Reed begins, but stops quickly to clear his throat. “Most of us survived perfectly fine.” Johnny shoots Reed an unpleasant look.

“Wait, most?” Ben looks around, Reed, check. Sue, check. Johnny, check. “Where’s ___?” He asks for you.

There’s a silence that fills the room, almost a grieving one. “She’s… she’s in critical condition.” Johnny looks down, shutting his eyes. “She was the one whose body absorbed the most energy—“

“But, I was the first one to get hit, and look at me.” Ben adds.

“Yes, you’re correct, but, since your body shut down almost immediately your body was rejecting the energy. ____ took it all, we took what was left. It’s like the storm was attracted to her, as if the target was her.” Johnny clenches his fists against the desk and breathes out. “She should be dead.” Reed adds, and Johnny raises.

“But she’s not. So can we stop pretending like she is?” Johnny speaks, loudly, making his point heard across the entire room.

“Johnny…” Sue calls him out softly, but he sighs.

“I’m gonna go…check up on her.” He informs and storms off.

Upon arriving in your medical room, Johnny sniffles, rubbing his nose. He looks at you from outside before he enters.

As he approaches you, he stands next to your bed, watching you rest. Then, he begins to feel every stage, Denial. Reed is just being exaggerated, you shouldn’t be dead, you’re fine, just like all of them.

He grabs a chair and sits down, grabbing your cold hand and kissing it. “Baby, please…” his hand moves up to your face, brushing an eyebrow, which then travels down to your cheek to caress your cheekbone.

As he begins to feel his anger come in, his blood boiling as he begins to think of everything he could’ve done to save you, or at least prevent you from getting as hurt as you did.

You swallow, your throat burns and you quickly sneer, but your face softens when you recognize the soft touch around your hands, but you can’t open your eyes just yet. The potent lights are hurting you, but you manage to utter his name, so soft he didn’t hear it the first time.

“Johnny.” Your eyes open by millimeters, blurry, but you can see his distinctive blonde hair.

You hear him gasp, then he stands up, hovering above you. “Baby, baby…” he caresses your hair and cups your cheeks. “Oh my, God.”

“Johnny.” Your voice cracks, and your eyes begin to pool with tears. You raise your weak arm and bring him close, hugging him and crying your eyes out.

You stay embraced in each other until the moment you tell him you need water, he quickly brings you a cup which you nearly chug down, but he tells you to drink slowly.

“What happened?” You question, and Johnny’s face lifts, his thumb caresses your hand.

“Baby…you don’t—remember?” He questions, and you look into his eyes, your soft, innocent look makes him sigh. He kisses your hand and begins to explain.

By the time he’s done explaining, it’s been almost 30 minutes, and you’re already feeling better—you think it must’ve been the nearly 4-day coma that made you feel weak and drained.

After your talk, you tell Johnny you want to see the rest of the family, and he demands you stay in bed, and that he’ll tell them to come to you, but you deny.

You change into some more comfortable clothes, and Johnny helps you with walking, since you still feel just a little bit weak, and also he’s scared, he sees you fragile now, and horrified of the moment when he turns around and you’ll no longer be there.

“Oh my, God!” Sue exclaims with a gasp, announcing your entrance. Reed and Ben smile and approach you, waiting for Sue to break the hug apart so they can hug you.

Ben immediately wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly, maybe a little too tightly.

Next was Reed, who kissed you on the cheek, and next was a hug. He rubs your arms and asks “How are you feeling?”

“A little weak, must be that nearly 4-day coma feeling, but other than that, I feel fine!” You say with a smile, Reed hums.

“Do you have any memory of the events that happened?” Reed questions and you hesitate.

“I didn’t. But, Johnny told me everything. I don’t know how I’m alive.”

“Neither do we.” Ben says and you chuckle, Johnny scoffs.

“Do you mind if I run some tests on you? Just to check to see if there’s nothing wrong…” Reed asks and you nod.

“Not at all. Go ahead.”

Reed runs your tests, analyzing your blood and DNA, and so far, nothing out of the ordinary, but he dismisses you after he collects these samples so he can analyze them with patience.

As you leave Reed’s lab, you come across Johnny and he tells you to head to the terrace for a little bonfire, just the two of you, to which you agree.

“Hey, where’s Ben?” You ask Sue and Johnny keeps pulling your hand.

“He went to bed, he said he doesn’t feel too good.” Sue replies and you hum. “I might go do the same, I feel exhausted.”

“Oh, yeah, of course! Goodnight.” You dismiss her and she blows you an air kiss before you go out to the terrace with Johnny.

He starts a fire with some branches and a lighter, and after three tries, it finally catches. The bright orange light makes you flinch, you don’t know why, but you just did. And you freeze, staring at it as if you were in awe.

Johnny sits down next to you and wraps his arms around you as you lie in them. He then places a blanket over you, and you stay watching the fire.

You’ve seen fire before, orange, bright—blinding, hot. Same thing. But God, this felt different. The fire was too specific—too familiar.

You feel the vibrations of Johnny speaking against your back, but you don’t hear him speak, it’s muffled—all muffled.

You stare deep into the fire, and you see it morph into something else. You groan and close your eyes. A bright flash, a colorful storm coming your way, taking control of your body. You groan again, your eyes roll back in pain.

“What the—baby?” Johnny puts his hands around your arms, shaking you awake, but you’re out, like something is happening to you, but you’re unconscious.

Johnny gets deja vu when he sees your fiery eyes, and you cracked fiery skin. “Oh my, God.”

You stand, but you can’t stand straight, it’s as if you’re drunk, and you have to hold yourself against every single thing close to you.

You continue to groan and moan in pain as you make your way into the kitchen, you hold your head as the flashes get brighter, and your screams replay in your mind, right there, in the kitchen, you drop to your knees, and now you’re groans turn into screams, you terrify Johnny, who’s standing beside you, watching you, feeling helpless.

“No, no…” Johnny mumbles as he approaches you. He calls you by your name, but you cry out.

“Stop! Johnny, no!” You extend a hand out, prohibiting him from getting closer, but he disobeys, and once you feel his gentle touch on your arm, you can’t control your “No!” Before you can even regret yelling at him like that, you see Johnny is now about 10 feet away from you, knocked on his back—because of you.

You hold yourself up with your hands smacking the cold floor. You hold your chest as you gasp for air, you look next to you and see Johnny still lying on the ground.

You make your way to him, kneeling as you help him up. “Johnny, Johnny, oh my, God I’m so sorry…” you say as he cups your cheek.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” he winces as he grabs his side. “What…did you do?” You both look around, and see some chairs knocked down, cracked tv’s amongst fallen vases.

“I don’t—I don’t know…” you say when you look back at him.

“Reed needs to run those tests again.” He says and you nod.

Ben, Sue, and you got it the same day. Ben turned into a pile of rocks in the shape of a man, he remained Ben, just, different. Sue let out a scream when she went to the bathroom but didn’t see her reflection, and was even more impressed when she blocked a shard of glass coming her way.

Johnny got his the day after, when Reed was checking to see if he had broken something after you knocked him with one of your shockwaves. The thermometer was going through the roof, but that didn’t say much, not until he tried to do some “Get better” pancakes for you and nearly burned his hand on the oven, when you saw his entire body on fire you began to panic until you realized it wasn’t doing any damage.

Reed was testing out the millions of abilities he could have had. Laser vision, negative. Telekinesis, you and Sue already got dibs on that one. Telepathy, you. Shapeshifting, no-go. Super speed, no, slow as always. Elasticity, bingo. It was odd compared to the other four of you, but you were too deep into the euphoria of being superhuman, you didn’t pay much mind, not unless Johnny made fun of him for being the lamest.

The years after these discoveries were something else. Something your veterinarian ass could have never been prepared for—and all because of wanting to accompany your boyfriend. Though, if the opportunity presented itself once more, you would do it all over again.

[whatsupsonnyboy]

the first time || Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The first time you and Joe meet, something clicks—quiet but unmistakable. Like the start of something that doesn’t need to be explained. And really, who were you trying to fool?

wc: 7.3K

warning: smut (mdni!!), p in v sex, protected and unprotected sex, fluff, midly slow burn (but not really lol), there's just lots of sweet boy joe and amazing sex

a/n: hey, so as i've already post about, i've been writing a bunch of one shots of how it might feel (in my mind ofc) to be in a relationship with this golden boy... so here it is, the first one. I'll post more eventually, it’s not really a story with parts but more like a collection of scenes that pop into my head (find the rest here). They’re not directly connected, but they all belong in the same universe. Hope you enjoy it! 🫶🏾

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

You hadn’t planned to stay long.

Just a drink or two. Say hi to Wes. Smile politely, maybe sneak out before midnight with the excuse of a fake early morning.

But then he was there.

You didn’t even notice him at first—just another face in the mix, half-shadowed by the glow of string lights and the low thrum of music. But then he laughed. God, that laugh. Low and rough and golden around the edges. And when you turned to look, really look, he was already looking at you.

That was the first hit. The first crackle of something electric and new.

Wes introduced you. Casual. Effortless. And suddenly you were standing closer than necessary, drinks in hand, eyes locked, trading names like they meant something more.

He was funny. Way funnier than he had any right to be. And warm. Charming in a way that wasn’t performative, but lived-in. Like he didn’t need to impress anyone but couldn’t help doing it anyway.

You asked about his work—half curious, half testing. He didn’t dodge, didn’t show off. Just smiled, scratched the back of his neck, and said, “I love it. Even when it’s a mess. Maybe especially then.”

You nodded, because you got it. Because you were already thinking the same thing about him.

Time blurred after that. Drinks refilled. Conversations spiraled—music, books, worst dates ever, the best breakfast food after 2 a.m. You laughed so hard at one of his stories you had to cover your mouth with your hand, and he just grinned at you like you were his new favorite thing.

When people started leaving, neither of you moved. You were leaned into each other now, shoulders brushing. His fingers drummed absently on his glass. Yours curled around the edge of the sofa like they wanted to close the space.

So when he offered to walk you home, it didn’t feel like a decision.

It felt like the natural next breath.

You walked through the quiet streets, city humming softly around you, your conversation dipping into silences that weren’t awkward, just charged. Your arms bumped once. Then again. And neither of you apologized.

By the time you reached your building, the air felt thicker somehow. Like it knew.

You paused outside the door, keys in hand, heartbeat tapping like a warning or a dare.

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked.

And he—of course he did.

The elevator was quiet, slow, and small enough that your shoulder brushed his again. This time, he didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He looked at you—really looked at you—and that was it.

You kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No awkward pause. Just the sharp inhale before your mouths collided, hot and eager, like you’d both been waiting for permission all night.

His hand cupped the back of your neck. Yours slid into his hair. You kissed like the elevator could betray you at any moment, like you only had seconds, and every one of them mattered.

When the doors slid open on your floor, your lips were still touching, your breath caught between kisses.

And you have no idea what you were doing, but it felt so right that questioning yourself about it wasn’t even an option. 

-

The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely registered the sound. Your hand was still in his, and your smile—soft, a little crooked—was the only thing anchoring him.

You tugged him gently into the apartment, fingers laced with his like it had been that way for years.

No small talk. No tour. No hesitation.

Just the unspoken hum that had been building all night, finally breaking the surface.

When you turned to face him, your lips already parted, he didn’t wait. He kissed you like he needed to. Like the moment he’d felt your mouth in the elevator hadn’t been nearly enough.

You tasted like wine and something sweeter he couldn’t name. Your arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth when your hips pressed into his.

It hit him all at once—how good this felt. How easy. The way your bodies seemed to move in sync, like instinct, like muscle memory from a dream he hadn’t realized he’d been having.

You gasped into his mouth, and that sound—sharp and breathless—lit him up like a live wire.

His hands found your waist, then your back, then slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you closer. He was hard already, pressed up against you through his jeans, and when you shifted just right, grinding into him with a little roll of your hips, he swore under his breath.

“Fuck, okay,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded, mouth dragging down to your neck. “You—god, you feel insane.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he bit gently just beneath your ear.

Then everything sped up.

Your jacket hit the floor. Then his. His fingers were under your shirt, warm and demanding, tracing up your spine as if memorizing you. You didn’t hesitate—you lifted your arms, let him peel the fabric off you like a second skin.

He stared.

Because shit.

You stood there in a bra that barely held you in, chest rising fast, eyes blown wide. You looked wrecked already—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“You’re...” He exhaled hard. “Jesus, you’re unreal.”

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t sweet. It was starving.

He backed you into the couch, hands everywhere—pushing, pulling, gripping, needing. You tugged at his shirt until it was gone too, and your hands ran across his chest like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. He loved that. The urgency. The want in you.

When your mouth landed on his jaw, then slid lower, biting down on the edge of his collarbone, he groaned—loud, filthy.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he panted, rutting against your thigh without even meaning to.

Your hand dropped to his waistband, teasing. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice wrecked and dangerous.

He nodded, helpless.

“Then let me.”

The way you said it—it wasn’t a question.

You palmed him through his jeans, slow and confident, watching the way his breath hitched, the way his eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t used to being this undone this fast. But you had him—already.

His hands slid behind your back, unclasped your bra with practiced fingers, and when the straps slipped off your shoulders, he barely gave you time to react before his mouth was on you. Tongue and teeth and lips, worshipping, making you moan—fuck, that sound, he’d chase it forever.

The way you arched under him, like every touch was too much and not enough.

The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered.

It was pure heat. Messy and fast and real.

And when you whispered, breathless, “Come to bed,” your lips swollen, pupils blown wide, he didn’t even hesitate.

He didn’t care about tomorrow. Or what this was. Or where it might lead.

All he knew was that he needed to feel your body under his. Needed to hear you fall apart.

And if he was lucky, he’d get to wake up beside you.

You led him by the hand, your steps quick, your breath even quicker. The apartment wasn’t big, but every second it took to reach the bedroom felt like an eternity stretched tight with want.

The moment you were through the door, you turned to face him, pulling him in again like you couldn’t stand the distance. Your back hit the edge of the bed and you kissed him like you meant to steal the air from his lungs.

He smiled against your lips when you fumbled with the button of his jeans, your fingers slightly clumsy in your rush. You cursed softly, laughed under your breath.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t be.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

Every little misstep, every shaky inhale, every wide-eyed second of wonder—it was perfect.

His jeans hit the floor. Then yours. You tugged at each other’s underwear with a mix of eagerness and surprise, and when he finally kicked his off and you stood in front of him completely bare, his breath caught in his throat.

You were stunning. Not just beautiful—though, fuck, you were—but alive. Lit up from within. Chest rising fast, lips parted, looking at him like he was something you couldn’t wait to taste.

And god, he wanted to be tasted.

You lay back on the bed, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation, settling between your legs, both of you skin-to-skin for the first time. It was overwhelming. It was right.

Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, your mouth brushing along his jaw, and he felt everything. Every inch of contact. Every trembling breath.

And when he dipped his head to kiss your chest again, slower this time, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips lifted into his without thinking.

“I don’t have—” he began, breath hitching.

“In the drawer,” you whispered.

He reached blindly, found the condom, tore the wrapper with shaking fingers. You helped him roll it on, your touch so tender it nearly broke him.

He looked at you once more, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want this.”

Fuck. So did he. More than he could admit out loud.

The second he pushed into you, slow and deep, your mouth fell open with a gasp that echoed straight through his chest.

“Fuck—” he groaned, breath catching, head dropping against your neck. You were tight, so wet around him it was almost unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, like anchoring himself was the only way not to lose it too fast.

And you—you arched into him, legs curling higher around his waist, nails dragging down his back.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, voice already wrecked. “So fucking good.”

Joe swore under his breath. He could barely think. Could barely hold back. The heat between you was blinding, raw, something feral clawing at his insides.

He pulled back, thrust in again, and your body met his with such perfect rhythm that his control slipped a little—hips snapping harder, breath rough in your ear.

Your hands roamed down his back, fingers brushing the dip of his spine, then slipping between your bodies until they were there—on your clit, teasing yourself as he fucked into you.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned, back arching, head thrown back. “Right there, just like that—”

Joe looked down at you, eyes dark and hungry, and the sight of your hand moving against yourself while he was buried deep inside you… it undid him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, replacing your fingers with his own. “Let me.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as he rubbed slow circles, watching you unravel for him. Your face. Your breath. The way you bit your lip to muffle the sounds that wanted to break free.

“Let them hear you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t hold it in. I want every fucking sound.”

You obeyed.

You moaned like the world was ending. Like no one had ever touched you right until now. His name on your tongue, over and over, like a spell that made you shake.

He was losing it.

You clenched around him, again and again, dragging him deeper, and he couldn’t stop the filth that poured out of him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So perfect. Taking me like you were made for it.”

You whimpered beneath him, hips rolling in rhythm with his, and then your hand was on him, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you like it was the only way to stay grounded.

You kissed him open-mouthed, messy, tongues sliding together, both of you panting, slick with sweat, chasing something neither of you could name.

When you broke away, your voice was hoarse, breathless.

“Harder, Joe. Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He grabbed your thigh, lifted your leg higher over his hip and started thrusting harder, deeper, until the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

You cried out, high-pitched and desperate, and your walls tightened so suddenly around him he swore.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, and then you were falling apart, shaking, clenching around him so tight it pulled a raw, broken moan from his chest.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, and he felt it—watched it—his fingers still working your clit through it all, not letting up.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking perfect—” he stuttered, barely holding on. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot. “Come inside me, baby. Come for me.”

And that was it.

He came with a groan, hips stuttering, pulse racing, holding you so close he thought he might crush you. You took every second of it—his shaking, his panting, the broken way he whispered your name like it was salvation.

Then silence.

Then breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat. Skin against skin.

And the most beautiful fucking quiet.

He stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you trembling.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Holy shit.”

He smiled, dizzy and wrecked. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit.”

-

Your breathing was still uneven when he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. His skin was warm and damp, and yours probably wasn’t any better. But when his arm instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

There were no words. Just the soft rustle of sheets and your fingertips drawing lazy, invisible patterns over the curve of his bicep. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head—gentle, almost reverent—and you let out a quiet sigh, one of those that come not from tiredness, but from fullness. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.

And you stayed like that. Breathing together. Letting your bodies cool down but your connection settle in deeper. There was nothing awkward. No pressure. Just warmth. Familiarity. His thumb brushing your side. Your knee nudging his softly under the sheets.

You didn't mean to fall asleep. But you did.

And somehow, when your eyes blinked open hours later, he was still there.

The light was pale and golden, sneaking in through your curtains. Your bedroom looked dreamlike, still hazy with sleep and the remnants of the night before. You turned slightly and found him already looking at you, face resting on the pillow, eyes still heavy-lidded, hair a mess of curls flattened on one side.

And it didn’t feel weird. Not at all.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice still raw from sleep.

He smiled, lazy and crooked, and it made your stomach do something ridiculous.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice low and warm and sleepy. “You drool a little, you know.”

You gasped, pushing at his chest with the back of your hand, laughing despite yourself. “You liar.”

“Swear on my life.” He grinned. “Just a little. Cute though.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, but he only laughed, that soft, raspy morning laugh that already felt too intimate. Too familiar.

Like you’d heard it a hundred times before.

When you peeked out again, he was still watching you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something.

“I usually hate sleeping next to someone,” he murmured.

Your heart skipped.

“But with you…” He shrugged slightly. “Didn’t even notice. Slept like a baby.”

You smiled then—slow, genuine, a little unsure. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

He shifted closer, his forehead gently bumping yours, and you felt his hand stroke slowly up and down your arm. His thumb brushed over a spot on your shoulder, then traced lazy circles on your skin.

Neither of you said anything else. There was no need. 

Eventually, you turned, slow and careful, until your back was pressed to his chest and his arm slipped around you without hesitation. His hand settled on your stomach, warm and still.

You let out a soft sigh and nestled into him, your legs tangling under the covers. For a moment, everything was quiet—breath and body, shared warmth, the steady thud of his heart against your spine. Then his fingers shifted, just slightly. Slid lower.

The first thing you felt was heat—his chest pressed against your back, the slow roll of his hips, still half-asleep but already there, already hard. Your breath caught as his hand skimmed your stomach, fingers brushing lower, exploring like he hadn’t had his fill last night. Like he’d only just begun.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, scratchy with sleep. “You’re already—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting your hips back against him, shameless.

He groaned, the sound low and desperate, and you could feel it vibrate through your spine. His lips found the spot behind your ear, open-mouthed, warm, lazy like everything about that morning, but hungry in a way that made your pulse spike.

“You sure?” he murmured, fingers sliding between your thighs now, stroking through the wetness he found there, drawing a sound out of you that was all need. 

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and he looked wrecked already—his curls a mess, his gaze still soft with sleep but blown wide with want.

“Yeah,” you breathed, not hesitating. “Just finish outside.”

He stilled for a moment. Just a beat. Long enough for the gravity of it to flicker in his eyes. But then you reached back, guided him to you, and that flicker turned to fire.

“Fuck—okay. Okay.”

The first push inside was slow, careful, but deep—achingly so. You both gasped, your body stretching to take him, his hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“Jesus… you feel amazing” he whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief. 

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, forehead dropping to the pillow as he began to move, drawing back, then pressing in again with that maddening control. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t have even if he tried.

It wasn’t frantic—this wasn’t a race. But it wasn’t slow either. It was deep. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. His hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit, stroking in tight circles as he thrust, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies met like it might disappear if he blinked.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So good like this. So—shit—warm. Wet. Fuck.”

Your mouth dropped open, hands gripping the sheets as the pressure built, deep and consuming. Every snap of his hips sent sparks up your spine, every stroke of his fingers wound you tighter.

“Joe—”

“Say it again.”

“Joe—oh my God—”

He bent over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“Feel how deep I am?” he murmured, cock pulsing inside you. “I can feel you gripping me, baby, fuck—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

You came with a strangled cry, your body locking around his, muscles fluttering, your whole self unraveling in waves. He thrust once, twice more, desperate now, but then pulled out with a groan—messy, hot, and helpless as he came on your lower back, one hand braced on the mattress, the other gripping your hip like it might keep him from flying apart.

His breath was ragged, your name half-formed on his tongue, and for a second, all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears and the high-pitched whine of satisfaction in your bones.

You lay there, both of you trembling, panting, your bodies still joined, sweat cooling between your skins.

There were no words. Just the beat of your hearts, too fast and completely in sync.

He kissed your shoulder, once, twice. You reached back to touch his thigh, his hip—anything to anchor him to you. To keep him right there.

And for a moment, neither of you moved. No guilt. No fear. 

Just skin. Breath. Fire. Somehow, trust.

You lay there, breathing together, warm and safe beneath the quiet weight of morning. Your legs tangled again. His hand resting on your hip. His thumb started drawing circles along your arm as he could memorize you by touch.

And when you finally started drifting off again, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he pressed one last kiss to your temple.

Soft. Unthinking. Like second nature.

You smiled against his chest.

Neither of you meant to fall asleep again. But you did.

And somehow, that felt like the most intimate part of all.

- 

The second time you woke up, it was to the scent of coffee and the quiet sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.

For a moment, you thought you’d dreamt the whole thing—until you stretched, and the ache between your thighs reminded you vividly that you hadn’t.

You reached for a hoodie, padded barefoot into the living room, and there he was—standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers and one of your oversized mugs in hand. His curls were still a mess. His back was turned, but when he heard your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Morning, again,” he said, handing you the mug without missing a beat.

You took it, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “You made coffee?”

He shrugged, modest and smug all at once. “Well, I didn’t burn anything, so technically I made magic.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and sat on the edge of the couch as he poured his own cup.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of morning where you both felt like you’d skipped a few steps. Like you were already past the awkward stage. You talked about nothing in particular—your mutual distaste for early mornings, how Wes never mentioned either of you to the other (the bastard), the fact that you both hated people who didn’t rinse their dishes before putting them in the sink.

He made you laugh. A lot.

And at some point, still barefoot, hair wild and shirtless, he leaned against the counter and said, “Last night was… not what I expected.”

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

“God, no,” he said immediately, then softened. “It was just—better. More. You know?”

You nodded. Because you did know.

There was something about it. About him. About this. And you could both feel it pulsing under the skin, but neither of you tried to name it.

Eventually, the time came. He went to grab his things—shoes, phone, jacket—and you trailed after him, not quite ready to say goodbye, but not wanting to be that person either.

He stood by the door, pulling his jacket on, one arm still half out of the sleeve, when he turned to you with a smirk.

“So… am I allowed to ask for your number, or is this one of those magical one-night-stand rules where I disappear like a gentleman and we pretend we don’t exist?”

You blinked, then laughed, genuinely caught off guard. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Flattering,” he replied. “But I’ll take it as a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone. “Give me yours. I’ll text you.”

He rattled off the digits, and you sent a simple “Hi” before he even finished spelling out his last name.

He looked at his screen, smiled, then looked back at you like he was about to say something else—but didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Familiar, again. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“See you around,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence he left behind was anything but empty.

It was full.

Full of something unnamed but very, very real.

-

You never had the talk.

No labels, no declarations, no drawn-out conversations about what this was or where it was going. It just was.

He texted you that same afternoon. Something dumb and funny. A meme you still had saved in your camera roll. You answered. And he answered back. And suddenly, you were talking every day. Not constantly, but consistently. Steadily. Like the kind of tide that always comes back to shore.

The first time you met up again, it was spontaneous. He was nearby. You had an hour to kill. You grabbed coffee and sat in the park. He stole your cookie. You punched his arm. He kissed you mid-laughter, with your cup still in hand, and just like that—there it was again.

That thing.

And then came the nights. The way his hand would slide against the small of your back as you opened the door. The way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for days, even if it’d only been hours.

You’d fuck on the couch. In your kitchen. Sometimes barely making it to the bedroom.

It was intense. Messy. Addictive.

But never rushed.

He made you laugh mid-moan. You pulled his curls just to hear the sound he made when you did. He always made sure you came first—sometimes second—and then held you like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving. Sometimes he stayed. Sometimes you did.

You shared breakfast. Showers. Bad TV. Inside jokes. His hoodie. Your leftovers.

Somehow, he learned how you liked your tea. You learned what cologne he wore. He kept a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. You found one of your scrunchies on his nightstand once.

And none of it felt like a big deal.

It was just natural.

You’d text him something random at 1AM. He’d reply with a voice note that made you laugh out loud in bed. You'd call him when your day sucked. He'd show up at your door with snacks and that face that made everything easier.

You never talked about exclusivity. You never needed to.

Because even if no one had said it aloud, you both already knew.

It wasn’t casual. Not really.

And still, neither of you used the word "relationship."

But it didn’t matter.

Because every time he kissed your forehead before leaving, every time he whispered “sleep tight” like a secret, every time you caught him staring like he was still surprised you were real—something in your chest softened.

Something in you knew.

And maybe you weren’t officially together.

But your hearts hadn’t gotten the memo.

-

He didn’t really notice when it started to change. Maybe that was the point.

There was no sudden shift, no dramatic realisation. Just a quiet accumulation of small things that began to matter more than he expected.

Like the way his phone would light up and he already knew it was you. The way your name on the screen felt like a hit of dopamine—something in his chest unclenching without him even realizing it. The way the days stretched a little too long when he didn’t hear from you.

He started keeping snacks you liked in his apartment without thinking. He started recognizing your routines—how you stole his hoodie when it got cold, how you took your coffee with oat milk and exactly one sugar, how you always asked if he’d eaten after a long shoot. He noticed the way you hummed softly when brushing your hair, and how your laughter lingered in his apartment long after you'd gone.

He hadn’t planned to stop seeing other people. It just happened. Not out of obligation. Out of instinct.

You stopped replying to those flirty messages. He stopped swiping right out of boredom.

It wasn’t something you ever discussed. There was no awkward conversation, no labels. Just a quiet understanding—like turning down the volume on a song that didn’t hit the same anymore.

One night, Wes texted him asking if he was going out to their usual bar, and Joe found himself replying, “With her tonight.” He didn’t even think twice.

“You seeing her now?” Wes asked.

He stared at the screen for a while. Not officially. Not technically. But yeah. Yeah, he was.

And maybe the most surprising part was that none of it scared him. Not like it used to.

There was this night—you were curled up on his couch in his shirt, eating cereal at midnight, laughing at something stupid he’d said. And he watched you, spoon halfway to his mouth, thinking, Fuck. I really like her.

He didn’t say it. Of course not. But it was there. In the way he touched your back without thinking, or the way he waited for your laugh to fade before kissing you.

He got used to you without realizing.To the way your shoes sat by the door when you stayed over. To the way you wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, like his body was where yours belonged. To the way the silence between you didn’t press down—it settled around you both, warm and easy, like a shared blanket.

He hadn’t realised how much space you'd taken up in his life until he was scrolling through his photos one night and found more of you than anything else. Pictures you didn’t even know he’d taken—your head thrown back in laughter, curled up with a book, sleeping against his chest.

He remembered waking up before you one morning, the light slipping through the blinds, your arm thrown across his stomach, your hair a mess, your face half-buried in the pillow. He just laid there, watching. Not because he was having some big epiphany. Just because it felt nice.

Then came that Tuesday. You were in the bathroom, hair up in a messy knot, brushing your teeth with one hand and scrolling on your phone with the other, wrapped in his old t-shirt like it belonged more to you than him. Joe sat on the edge of the bed and watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a shit, this feels good kind of way. In a please don’t let this go anywhere kind of way.

You caught him staring—of course you did. You always did. Mouth full of toothpaste, you raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He just grinned. “Nothing.”

But he meant everything.

Because it wasn’t just the way you looked in the morning, or how you always denied stealing the blanket.It was the way you’d become his soft place to land. It was the cardigan draped over his chair. The mugs in the sink with your lipstick on the rim. The playlist on his Spotify titled hers.

The lines between you and him had blurred so gently, it didn’t even feel like change.

It just felt right.

And no, he hadn’t said it out loud yet. But when you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm pulled you closer like instinct, he didn’t need to.

You probably already knew.

-

He’d been pacing around the apartment for most of the afternoon, fingers stained with ink from scribbled notes, corners of scripts folded and dog-eared, empty mugs lining the coffee table like some modern art installation of a man losing his grip. The flat smelled faintly of coffee, highlighters, and the Thai food box he had grabbed in that small local in front of his gym and barely touched.

His phone buzzed earlier—your name lighting up the screen like a small calm in the storm.

“hey, out for a bit but I’ll swing by around eight?”

He’d smiled when he read it. A quiet kind of smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth even as his eyes were half-glued to a page of dialogue he couldn’t get right.

“Perfect. I’ll order pizza.”

And then he forgot about it. Not you, exactly. Just the time. The waiting. The worrying about whether you’d show or not. You’d said you’d come, and that was enough. You’d always done what you said so far. He trusted that. Trusted you. It was himself he didn’t quite trust lately.

The new script was a minefield. The director intimidating. The pressure building behind his temples like a storm he couldn’t quite outrun. Somewhere between scene fourteen and seventeen, he pulled his hair back into a tie and rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something half-human under his breath.

He hadn’t even realized the sun was already setting when Wes’s name lit up on his screen.

“you bailing on us tonight?”

He blinked, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Had plans. Next time i swear”

A beat. Then another buzz. Wes had sent a photo.

Dim pub lighting. Clinking glasses. And you—laughing. Head tilted toward someone familiar. Keith. A friend of a friend. All easy charm and textbook good looks. The kind of guy who always had too much confidence and not enough shame. His arm wasn’t touching you, not exactly. But it was close.

“well… maybe you should reconsider”

And that—that—was when it hit.

A flash of something ugly and electric shot straight through his gut. Not quite anger. Not quite panic. Just that instinctive, animal sting of I don’t want anyone else that close to her.

He tossed the phone onto the couch, harder than necessary.

Fuck. He didn’t want to care. Hadn’t planned on caring. You weren’t his girlfriend. You hadn’t talked about exclusivity, or commitment, or any of that. You were just… seeing each other. Spending time together. Sleeping together.

But still.

He ran a hand over his mouth and stared at the photo again.

Just a few hours ago, he hadn’t had a single thought like this about you. You were the one thing not stressing him out.

Now, you were burning a hole in his brain.

He flipped his phone face down. Then face up. Then picked it up again. He’d stared at the photo so long it had burned itself into his vision. The way you were laughing, the exact curve of your shoulder leaning toward Keith. The lighting didn’t help. It could’ve been a casual moment, an ordinary conversation. But in his head, it had already become something else. A whole story.

Keith. That charming asshole with an ego bigger than his biceps. The kind of guy who calls waitresses “princess” and still manages to get dates. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not exactly. It was a sharp, nagging sting of insecurity. Of fear. Fear that you were out there realizing you could be with someone easier. Less complicated. Someone who didn’t have their brain split between you and a script that read like ancient code.

He stared at a fixed point on the floor, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed, legs tense. The script beside him felt more like a threat than an opportunity. The notes he’d taken—now scattered across the table—looked like pieces of a mind that didn’t know where to begin.

He went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, stared at himself in the mirror. Didn’t like what he saw. Came back to the living room. Sat down. Stood up. Turned on the TV. Turned it off. Checked the time: 8:04 p.m.

Not late. Not really. Four minutes was nothing. But to Joe, it felt like a century.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge without knowing what he was looking for, then closed it again. The pizza he’d ordered—maybe a little too early—was already getting cold. Like him. Like everything.

He forced himself to sit back on the couch. Put on an old record—one of those he used when he needed to focus. But the needle barely hit the first chords before he got up again, restless. He went to the window. Pulled back the curtain. You weren’t there. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it once more.

8:11.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He didn’t want to be that guy. The one spinning drama in his own head. The one building stories before the movie even started.

But there he was.

And the knot in his chest was pulling tighter by the minute.

Everything about the new film was overwhelming him. He wanted to scream at the ceiling. Throw the script against the wall. Nothing made sense. And the only thing that did—was you. It was you, goddammit. The one thing that didn’t need decoding. That felt simple, and somehow, impossibly huge at the same time.

That’s why it hurt. Because exactly for that reason, the idea of losing you—or worse, realizing you weren’t as in it as he was—felt unbearable.

And then, at 8:16, the doorbell rang.

His heart did this stupid little jump. He got up too fast. Felt that ridiculous urge to pull himself together, to act normal, to pretend he hadn’t been falling apart on the inside.

He wanted the sound of your arrival to reset everything.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the noise. Not when the doubt was already echoing in his throat.

And when he opened the door… he didn’t know if he wanted to pull you into his arms or put you on the spot. If he wanted to kiss you or yell.

And that—exactly that—was what pissed him off the most.

-

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his face. 

It wasn't the kind of wrong you could smooth over with a kiss or a joke about the pizza going cold.  It was the kind of wrong that sat heavy in the air, thick in your throat.

"Hey," you said, stepping inside. Smiling, out of instinct, even when your gut already knew better. "Sorry I’m late. I stopped by the pub for a bit, lost track—"

"Yeah," Joe said. Short. Sharp. Already turning away.

You shut the door behind you, heart picking up speed. The living room was a mess hunched over, papers scattered around him like a small, personal storm. 

He laughed, low and humorless. "I didn’t know if you were still coming."

You blinked. "I told you I was."

"Right," he muttered. "But maybe you were grabbing pizza with Keith instead"

You stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed his phone from the couch, tossed it onto the table. The screen still lit up with the photo: you, standing close to Keith, laughing over something stupid, a drink in your hand. Frozen mid-smile.

"Are you checking up on me now?" you said, a little sharper than you meant.

"Wes sent it." He raked a hand through his hair. "He was concerned."

Your stomach twisted. "No. You were concerned."

He laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. "Yeah, well maybe I was, especially when I saw you smiling at him like that."

You stared at him, anger flickering up, hot and defensive. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to throw that at me when we never—"

"I know!" he cut you off, standing up suddenly, voice breaking. "I know we never said anything, okay? I know we were both just... assuming things and pretending it was all casual and cool and whatever the fuck, but it's not. Not for me."

The words hung there, raw and electric.

You stepped back, heart hammering, because it was true for you too. You just hadn’t said it. Hadn't dared.

"I’m not seeing anyone else," you said, almost without thinking. "I haven’t even thought about it since you."

He stared at you like you’d just said something unbelievable. Like maybe he didn’t deserve to hear it.

You swallowed hard. "And yeah, I was talking to Keith. Didn’t realize that’d be a fucking crime”. 

Joe closed his eyes for a second, like the weight of it physically hit him. When he opened them, he looked wrecked. And beautiful.

"I’m sorry," he said, hoarse. "I’m fucking scared, alright? I’ve got this project that’s swallowing me whole and half the time I think I’m gonna fail, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel like maybe I won't. Like maybe I’m not a complete fuck-up."

You felt your chest tighten, emotions crashing all over you.

"Then don't push me away," you said, stepping closer. "Don’t look for reasons to doubt this when I’m standing right in front of you."

He shook his head, almost helpless. "I don't want anyone else," he said, voice rough. "I don't even see anyone else anymore. It's just you."

You could feel your throat tightening, that sting behind your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay steady.

"It's you for me too," you whispered.

The silence felt thick and heavy and full of everything you hadn't said before tonight.

Then Joe moved — fast, almost clumsy — closing the space between you, pulling you into him like he couldn't bear the distance for a second longer. His mouth found yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or careful — it was desperate, claiming, full of everything that had been burning between you for weeks.

And you let him. You let yourself fall into it, finally, completely. Because you knew. He knew. It was real.

You didn’t make it to the bedroom. You barely made it past the couch.

Joe kissed you like he meant it now. Like every inch of his mouth on yours came with a promise. No more holding back, no more ifs. Just you and him, here and now, and whatever the hell this was that had already swallowed you whole.

He pressed you against the wall, hands threading into your hair, breath hot and ragged against your cheek. "Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, like the hours apart had been unbearable.

"You had me yesterday," you gasped, tugging at the hem of his shirt, needing him bare, needing him now.

"Not like this." He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor, eyes hungry and tender all at once. "Not after hearing you say it."

You stilled for a second, chest rising too fast. "Say what?"

He leaned in, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your ear. "That you wanted me. That you weren’t going anywhere."

You cupped his face in your hands, staring into those stupidly beautiful, frantic eyes. “I didn’t say it tonight, Joe.”

He blinked.

“I’ve been saying it every time I’ve come back.”

And then he lost it.

He picked you up, hands under your thighs, your legs wrapped tight around him, and carried you blindly through the apartment until you crashed into the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother pulling the covers down.

Clothes disappeared like they were on fire.

His mouth was on your neck, then your chest, then lower—devouring, tasting, worshipping. You were already shaking by the time he slid inside you, both of you gasping like it hurt, like it healed.

“Jesus—fuck—you feel like home,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting deep, slow, relentless.

You grabbed at his back, his hair, anything to ground yourself. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”

He didn’t.

He moved like you were the only thing keeping him together. Like if he stopped touching you, he’d fall apart entirely. The rhythm grew rougher, faster, but still so full. Not desperate. Claiming.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasped, eyes wide and wild. “I’m yours, Joe—fuck—I’ve been yours.”

He groaned into your mouth and slammed into you harder, and it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was real. It was raw and feral and exactly what both of you needed.

Your orgasm hit like a wave you didn’t see coming—hot and electric and blinding. And he followed almost instantly, moaning your name like it was a sacred word, collapsing on top of you, chest heaving, heart pounding against yours.

Silence.

Just the sound of breath and skin and the world finally slowing down.

You felt him shift, just enough to look at you. His eyes—open, vulnerable, like he’d just been cracked wide.

And then, softly, so softly—

“I love you.”

You blinked, breath still uneven.

And smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

And just like that, there were no more questions.

Only answers written on skin, on sighs, on mouths still swollen from too much kissing.

[pyronovas]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Emperor Geta x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Emperor Geta takes a liking to you but ends up with far more than he bargained for.

author's note | full blame on @hauntedhowlett. also don't look at me and tell me that man doesn't have a mommy kink, he does.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!geta, dom!reader, mentions of spousal/child loss, brief mentions of pregnancy, subtle mommy kink, lactation kink (titty suckin' hell yeah), oral (f receiving), use of sweet boy/good boy, unprotected piv

word count — 4.2k

A widow, a mourning would-be mother—naive amongst your youthful glaze, the softness in your features as you stare down the two brothers from across the long, crowded table. It has only been a fortnight now, but your face proves entirely unsuspecting.

This meeting was about you—not of your late husband, not of legality or current issues to address, but your qualification to have a spot amongst men. Most were unaware of your puppetry with your late husband and his place in the senate—an older man triple your age that had brought you for a price.

Easily to manipulate, easy to convince.

“There is no place here for a mockery like this,” An older gentleman with stringy, greying hair chirped up from his seat, fist tucked under his wrinkled chin, eyes carefully examining your figure, licking his split, dry lips, “she is young—negotiate a price with her father and—”

“He is dead,” You state flatly, a piercing glare shot down the line toward the spoken male, seemingly ticked by the sound of your voice, expecting submissiveness, “And I will assure the price is one you will never afford.”

Caracalla, as aloof as he was, seemed to snicker at that. A high-pitched cackle that slips from his lips as Geta raises a brow, his mouth hidden behind his curled fingers, opposite hand spread out wide on the arm of his throne.

“I am well versed,” You address both of the emperors directly, “Educated—my husband would be displeased to hear me say this, but he was not the smartest man. I have lost more than just him, but I am not here to beg.”

There was no love lost, fortunately. He wasn’t a good or bad man, only a man. He frequented brothels often, voiced his displeasure when you weren’t serving him correctly, and only forced a child upon you because of societal standards. It was distressing, still deep in your own grief as you avoided the deadlocked stares from the surrounding men, praying that one of the two young emperors would have a soft spot, or even a weakness. 

You would find it, if needed. But, Geta’s amusement was a comforting sign. 

The same man, displeased with your presence, grips hard enough at his wooden cane that it starts to crack, “Better yet, force her to work in the brothel. Plenty of use for you there,” His gaze switches from the head of the table to you, nodding his head with a triumphant smirk.

“As I am sure your wife would love to hear about your visits,” There’s a collective tenseness, both of hands gripping the table and men shifting in their seats, eyes flickering back and forth between the volleying conversation, the dueling man’s face going slack, “do not act surprised, you keep company of men with loose lips, be thankful one of them has died with the rest of your pitiful secrets.” 

Geta clears his throat then, sharing a brief moment with his brother as they nod in unison.

“I will consider this,” He begins, tongue swiping along the inside of his bottom lip, “given the suddenness of—”

“Your highness, do not fall victim to her deception, she is—”

“If you value that head of yours,” Geta’s words are biting, quick, “you will not interrupt me when I am speaking.”

He’s highly temperamental, the dagger he’s spent twirling in his hand for the past several minutes tossing lazily against the wood as he flicks a hand up dismissively, “Get out of my sight,” He excuses them all, aside from his finger pulling like it was held on a string to aim in your direction, “you—stay.”

You’ve just resigned yourself to death, surely.

–

The wine is dark, staining his upper lip as he drinks, clunky rings tapping against the glass of his cup as he passes you off a cup of your own. He had his own private quarters, opposite of his brother and hidden down a long, trailing hallway, an office-like room attached to his quarters.

You weren’t going to defy his command as unsettling as it felt, his glittering and colorful robe dragging against the tile floor as you stood silent, a comfortable distance away. 

Your dress was unbearably tight, back straight as an arrow while your shoulders ached, but you didn’t waver, didn’t slouch. Your breasts spilled over the fabric, barely covered by the shawl draped over your shoulders, signs of motherhood that had yet to dissipate. You cleared your throat, shuffling quietly on your feet. 

“I do not like nervousness,” Geta announces, turning his head over his shoulder as he swivels his body to lean against the edge of the desk—the room was clearly unused, aside from now. 

“I am not nervous,” It wasn’t that at all, rather an uncertainty. 

“Drink,” He suggested, nodding his head toward your full glass, “it will help.”

He doesn’t seem to believe you and you defy his order further, traveling toward him to rest the glass against the desk, hands settled at your stomach as you look at him, his eyes carefully tracking your movement as he sloshes the wine around in his mouth, a fingertip trailing the rim before he mirrors your actions.

“G—your highness,” You begin indecisively, “forgive me for sounding…selfish, but is there something you require? Do I serve a purpose being here?”

“What are your current living arrangements?” He asks suddenly, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, tilting his head in question. 

“I am living under the selflessness of a senator’s wife—though, if he knew, it would not be welcomed with open arms,” Geta is aware of your steadfast gaze, rare that you ever looked anywhere but his face, not the usual roaming nervousness he had become acquainted with.

“Ah,” He chuckles, “If I may pry—well, I am…is it—”

The man who had challenged you earlier with a wife too gracious for her own good.

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

Geta contemplates—he wasn’t against you having a voice within his council, aware that it wouldn’t be well-met, but there was a way to ensure safety and submission; he's learned to mold and shape to achieve what he wants at the lift of a finger. It was a mix of power and practiced manipulation. 

“You will relocate here, to the palace,” He informs, “as an extra measure and because I am fond of your…bite,” His mouth upturns in a lazy smirk, “you will be well cared for here, I assure you.”

A man who was far too fond of his toys, you notice the glint in his eyes as soon as his expression morphs. Greed; he could have everything and even that wouldn’t be enough. 

It was only minimally amusing, his confidence. 

And within a few hours and a few snaps of his fingers, you were set up comfortably in your own room, a pleasant conversation with his less than stable brother and the obedient monkey perched on his shoulder—he was endearing, but visibly paranoid. 

You refuse the help of the servants as you attempt to retire for the night, brow furrowed in frustration as you reach unsuccessfully for the tied string of your dress, resilient and stubborn in your unwillingness for help as you curse to yourself, half a second from ripping the fabric in half before the door to your room is opening quietly, creaking on it’s hinges. 

“I assure you, they are here for a reason,” Geta remarks fondly, the faint fire of the candles lit around your room painting him in a warm glow, softening an unusually rigid man, he approaches without a word as you relent, hands curling around the edge of a nearby chair, his hand working methodically along the knotted fabric at your back, a few minutes passing before he’s tugging it loose, a breath of relief slipping beyond your lips.

Geta takes a few steps back, ringed fingers interlocked behind his back as he watches you expectantly, watching quietly as you turn with your arm clutching the fabric to your chest, hair loosened, your face relaxing into a natural scowl.

“Do you require anything of me?” You ask, curious of his lingering presence but not feeling threatened or undermined—shockingly, he seemed unsteady. Unsure. His confidence failed him for the first time in his young life, “If there is…something you would like to address, I will listen.”

“When did you marry?” An odd start, but you answer with ease.

“Fifteen—he promised my family wealth, it was a simple trade. They died not long after. Tuberculosis, or so I was told,” You shift from one bare foot to another as Geta’s lips pull together in a narrow line, “You know, we are not much different.”

That grabs his attention, his eyebrow raising in a silent question as you approach slowly, arms crossed over your chest now, holding the fabric in place, “Coyness is unbecoming, Emperor.”

“Enlighten me,” Geta replies, his restless hands finding their way over the collars of his robe as he tightens it around himself, joining him near the end of your bed—a strange thing to claim; this entire room, yours. 

“If my math proves me right, we are of the same birth year,” You begin, “—those men, your advisors, they severely underestimate you and Caracalla. They are scared of you, yes. But, if given the chance, they would strike you down without a thought,” He turns his head, blinking away a sour expression, feeling particularly bare despite his state of dress.

Your gaze was powerful, intense, even Geta could not handle it.

“I am trying to say that I understand,” You clarify, tilting your head to catch his eyeline, reaching out slowly to provide a comforting touch, hands curling around his wrist, “not that I understand your role and the burden it carries, but being young and overlooked. I have felt that, I still feel it.”

He’s never been approached so openly—though he prefers the proclivity of men who bow down without question, his psyching was always searching for something more. A poor boy without love, or meaningful relations. You offer a soft smile as he turns his head to you.

“You came here for a reason,” You remind him, “—make it clear.”

His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, your fingers curling over the rough, coarse lining of the dress as it pushes your breasts up, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip in a wordless hunger.

“Did you plan to force yourself upon me?” You ask curiously, his face flushing with embarrassment, “Or, perhaps, hope that I would be charmed by you?”

“It is rare that I am denied,” He explains, like a petulant kid preparing to be denied their favorite toy, “—but, you are not mine.”

“I belong to no one,” You clarify, “I am not a whore, or a servant. We are…equals, yes?”

“Not entirely,” Geta counters, still donning the crown on his head—more subtle than the formal one he wears around, a delicate band of gold leaves adorned with gems, “but, it seems—”

You smirk slightly to yourself as you reach forward with one hand, plucking the band gently from his hair and tossing it aside to the bed, fingertips trailing down to his chin as you tug his face to look at you.

“You need not put on a performance for me,” You comfort him, his features softening as his eyes flicker toward the crown, “it is as simple as just asking, Geta.”

At level ground, it feels more appropriate. If he wanted your head, he would have it.

Eagerness invades his mind, clawing forward as his palms form to your neck, jaw, lips pressing against yours with impatience, a hum of hunger laying in wait in his throat. For a second, you allow it. Indulge in the simplicity of desire that has been long forgotten, sighing fervently against his mouth before you’re taking grip of his robe and forcing him back, his eyes blackened with lust and his mouth open, blinking with confusion.

“Ask me,” You demand him, “I have allowed so many in my life to take, not this. Not you.”

Geta clears his throat hastily, closing his mouth, gathering the immense willpower it took to listen, comply, “May I—may I kiss you?”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face as he lunges forward eagerly once more, held back by your surprisingly powerful grip, unaware of how your dress had shifted down, held up solely by the body contact against Geta, chest to chest.

It was teasing, taunting him with the ability and control you had over him, lips grazing against his testingly as he laughs too, a quiet and joyous noise as you finally let him have it, arms wrapping over his shoulders as his own hands roam down your sides, around your back and down your side, squeezing a hand at your thigh and bringing it up, high enough that it can rest at his hips, his fingers kneading into the exposed skin near the slit of your gown, toying with the delicate skin that he could reach.

You revel in the neediness, an intense feeling of want washing over you, his nose following the lines of your face as they nudge at your chin, forcing your head up as his kisses trail down, spit slicked lips pressing into your skin, bodies separating as you dress falls, as bare as he under his own robe, plump breasts pulling his eyes down, a slow blink and an instant flick up towards your face.

“Seems the effects of motherhood are taking their time to dissipate,” You admit, his fingers twitching at the sight of them, “If that is an issue we can end this he—”

“No,” He growls, “it—sorry, it is not.”

You reach for his hands quietly, his gaze following your direction as you cup them over your breasts, the heavy weight of them in his hands, the gentle squeeze that would otherwise make you wince but instead has your thighs clenching together. Geta was practically salivating at the sight, mesmerized by the fullness and warmth, his thumbs rubbing carefully over your hardened nipples, a small opaque drop of liquid painting his finger.

You grab his thumb suddenly, shoving his hand away at the sight.

“Despite a loss my body continues to provide,” You explain, “ It is not a lot, but it lingers.I have tried…everything to will it away.”

“Why?” Geta asks, looking up at you with newfound curiosity.

“It is not ideal, you see—”

“Who has told you this?” Geta pesters, watching the liquid drip down his finger before he brings it to his mouth, “I see no issue.”

Your nose twitches in uncertainty, his fingers trailing an abstract pattern into the underside of your breasts, around the side, admiring, “I have always been curious,” Geta admits, his voice trailing as you slowly guide yourself to sit on the bed, the emperor following in suit as he kneels against the edge of the mattress between your open thigh, “did he appreciate your body for everything that it was?”

“He was barren,” You admit, “He liked my mouth on his cock and that was all. He did not care for much else or my pleasure at that, he was much too inadequate anyways.”

He doesn’t address the glaringly obvious admittance—a much longer story for another time that neither of you cared for at the moment, “May I?” He asks politely, his hot breath ghosting over your chest as you nod, his mouth latching onto your skin in an instant.

It starts at the center of your chest, face buried between your breasts as he pulls his robe open, aided down by the push of your hands, his alabaster skin contrasting the plum sheets, his knee rising briefly to push into the sheets as you catch a glimpse of his cock, hanging heavily and intimidating in its size, anticipating of the stretch if you allowed him so far. 

His tongue follows a planned path, along the underside of your breasts and around your nipple, grazing over the pebbled skin with the subtle taste of sweetness seeping into his taste buds as his lips wrap around and such, the faintest push of teeth in your skin as his eyes peer up at you, your brow furrowing in delight at the sudden shock to your cunt, nothing like you’ve felt before.

You did not know pleasure like this, a fair trade. It was a shock to the system. 

He’s looking for acknowledgement, trading off to share the same care to the other breasts, his free hand trailing to the side of your face and under your neck, cradling you with a gentle touch as the hand on your breasts curls around and squeezes, sucking gently at your breasts as his head tilts into your comforting touch, your opposite hand turning as you run your knuckles alongside his jaw.

“Sweet boy,” You praise, “is that what you wanted?”

As if he hadn’t been eyeing you the entire meeting, breasts squeezed together as you leaned daringly over the table to argue with your aggressor, quenching the hunger all day with a steady diet of wine and the assorted fruit placed around the palace, always within reach, watching you quietly. 

He nods slightly, distantly, as he’s focused on his current task.

“Geta,” Formalities forgotten by now, his eyes widened as you stare at him, rising on your elbows with a waiting expression, “have you lost your tongue?”

“It would—it would seem I have not,” He chuckles with a knowing smirk, swiping his tongue around your nipple in a circular motion, “I am pleased, yes.”

He shifts his arms around you, curled fists landing in the sheets beside your head, his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh as he settles to his knees, a fresh flush to his chest as he admires your state of nakedness, trailing two wondering fingers from your chest to your pelvic bone, a slow dance in the low light of the room.

You nudge his hand away, “You are eager,” You note with a fond tone, watching as began to lean into you, eager to capture your lips once more, but your fingers are pressing over his lips before they reach their destination, shaking your head in disapproval, “I have ideas for better use of that mouth, Emperor.”

He pulls back with grin, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as you filter your fingers through his ginger hair, curling your hand over the back of his head as he bows, settling on his belly with his cock trapped between the sheets, slowly his nose buries into the coarse curls, his tongue dragging down the seam of your pussy.

Geta can only liken it to a taste of the divine, or the closest he would ever reach, settled between your open legs with a mission to please, to satisfy. And for the first time in his life—serve someone other than himself. Normally he would bark at the informality of things, only allow his given title, a strict instruction of a bowed head and obedience, but he finds himself bending to your rule and dropping to his knees, if you demand.

“You have your wits and sharp tongue,” He hums against your cunt, a delightful noise slipping out as you tug at his hair, “I suggest you put them to good use.”

As he does, you find yourself drifting.

He is precise, thorough—which is not at all expected from a man of his status, or any man, really. They were never concerned with the pleasure of anyone but themselves, but Geta has proven you wrong in many ways as undesirable as his ruling may be. 

You only cared for your life anymore, witnessing how delicate it could be when it came to everyone around you.

He likes to watch, too. It isn’t at all surprising, eager for praise he brings you to a quick and intense, but fleeting orgasm. It swells in your stomach, the heat pooling before it explodes, hearing the satisfied groan as he licks you clean, murmuring a shaky, “Good–good b-boy,” as you force yourself to catch your breath, allowing him to climb his way back up your body with the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, both of you sighing into the shared space as your foreheads meet and Geta was completely at your control, awaiting your next command.

“Are things often like this?” You ask curiously, “Is this what you seek?”

Domination; someone to submit to.

In a daze, he shakes his head, lips parted slightly.

“Do you enjoy that I make you feel this way?”

He smiles, sated, nodding in response.

“I want to feel you,” It was a whispered request, his eyes searching your face—again, even just the nudge of his cock between your folds was enough to make you tense and you find your own fingers drifting between your legs, dipping inside of you as he looks down, mesmerized as you guide his hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his as you work together in tandem.

When his brow draws together, you guide him inside of you, staving off his impending orgasm.

“Slow,” You instruct, hands traveling to grip his face, nodding his head between your hold, “You are…quite large, I am not used to that,” Geta seems to find a surge of confidence at that, leaning forward greedily to capture your lips, his teeth dragging along the fleshy skin as he angles his and pulls back slowly, entering you at the same pace despite the impatient shake to his body, eager for more, “slow—slow, look at me,”

“You’re obedient,” You praise, “far more than I expected.” 

“My brother likens you to a goddess,” Geta notes, the odd timing sending you into a gentle snort of laughter, “I must say I agree, you are mesmerizing.”

“I prefer Caracalla not be a topic as your cock is buried inside of me,” You retort with a kind smile, his own morphing into a frown of concentration as your knees hike around his hips, encourage him to lean his weight against you as he rocks his hips, a gentle rhythm that is drowned out by the sounds of the city at night.

His itching impatience grows tiresome, gripping desperately at whatever skin he could reach, pitiful moans of pleasure inked into your skin with the silent plea of more—please, more?

“Make me come once more,” You urge him, “and take what you need.”

It was all he needed to hear, taking the opportunity to slip out of you as he guiding you toward your stomach, guiding one knee up toward your chest as he hovered over you, turning your head to face him as he pushed his cock back inside of you, your walls fluttering around him in satisfaction of being filled again. 

There was a perfect view of the sky this way, a small alcove open to the night breeze, stars twinkling against the contrasting colors of midnight, “It is beautiful,” He begins, not admiring the same sight as you, a shakiness to his voice as he pumped his hips at a nearly unbearable pace, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.

He’s panting into your skin, a feeling you’ve experienced in plenty of other circumstances, with a well-versed ability to separate yourself from your body as men chase their pleasure, but with the emperor, it was a different experience.

A cacophony of small whimpers followed by an utterances of words you’re not sure he or his brother have spoke often, “Please—-please, may I—“

The gravity of the situation flips as you realize your mistake, giving a man with far too much reach and power any type of influence over you, your brain searching for a way to counter his plea as you turn your body, arm wrapping around the back of his neck as he shakes with his impending orgasm.

Words are lost, unable to speak before he’s pulling out of you, the drip of his warm seed coating your skin, the tight grip at your chest loosening in an instant.

Thank the gods, you pray silently. 

“I apologize,” He breathes heavily, bottom lip swollen and red from the mutilation of his teeth, chest flushed bright and burning, “if—if I scared you.”

He uses his discarded robe to clean you up, unthinking of the consequences as he leaned back to stand, fully nude as he extends his hand in wait, beckoning you closer.

“Scared me?” You challenge, curling your hand into his own as he pulls you up, legs bracketing his thighs as your hands come to rest against his abdomen, staring up at the emperor. 

“Your bark is quite frightful,” He admits, “I can only imagine how you would rip me apart had I gone too far,” His words trail, a softening to his voice as he curls his hand around the side of your face, a gentle gesture.

“Would you like that, Geta?” You ask with a creeping suspicion, a smirk spreading across your face, “For me to rip you apart?”

A man of such power, unrestrained and chaotic—shrinks.

Almost too shy to admit it.

“Careful, my lady,” He warns, “I am still a ruler of Rome, such disrespect is—”

“Punishable by death,” You confirm, “but, you promised me safety, yes?”

Geta nods silently, watching the slow crawl of your fingers up his chest before they grab his chin, your thumb smoothing over the dimpled skin, his lips pulling apart in a shaky exhale.

“And I am sure a good boy like you will keep that promise?”

[icallhimjoey]

hi, I love your writing. I know you’re currently writing a series but I just thought I would ask if you could write a quick one shot about Joe comforting his partner when they feel unworthy/undeserving of love? im really going through it right now :,(

BABE i gotchu <3 hope you're ok and that this will help a little! Wordcount: 2.4K

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Held

You’ve never been hugged.

Well, of course you’ve been hugged, but every time you’ve hugged someone, it has felt like you were hugging them. You were the one providing the comfort for the other person, even if that didn’t make sense for the situation.

You can recognise that there’s a weird beauty to it, but it been starting to feel a little heavy.

It’s bothering you now.

It’s subtle, hard to name. Just this quiet ache that stays behind your ribs long after the arms fall away. You’re always the one holding, anchoring, giving. It feels like no one ever quite wrapped around you.

You’re the one that hugs.

You’re the one that comforts. That carries the burden.

It’s a quiet truth, not something Joe’s ever said out loud, not in so many words, but you feel it in the way he softens when he walks through the door. The way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day. The way he brushes his fingers along your shoulder when he passes behind the couch, as if just to confirm you’re still here. You are the exhale. The letting go. The place he lands.

And it’s not nothing, to be someone’s soft place.

You know what it’s like, to have no such thing.

So you offer it up to him. Your warmth, your presence, your willingness to sit in silence if that’s what he needs… You don’t always have words for the way his jaw clenches when he’s frustrated or how his shoulders ride up when he’s overworked, but you know how to draw a bath and sit on the floor beside it while he soaks, cracking jokes that make him laugh without quite meaning to. You know how to stay up late with him on the bad nights, how to touch the inside of his wrist with your thumb and say nothing until the storm passes.

And he lets you. He lets you be that for him.

So it’s jarring, honestly, when the ground shifts.

When you turn into the person that doesn’t want do the hugging, but wants to be the one that gets hugged.

Held.

You’re no good at it though. Haven’t had the practice.

Joe, however, is fucking fantastic at being hugged.

Joe knows how to let himself lean.

A true talent.

Joe is the one who lets you take off his coat and hold his bad days gently between your palms. He’s the one who drops his head to your shoulder at the end of a long shift and breathes you in like you’re peace and sleep and everything he didn’t know he needed until you gave it to him without being asked.

You never mind it.

Never question it.

You like being that person. Like knowing he can come home to you and let the weight go.

But tonight, it’s you who’s unraveling.

It’s a Tuesday. You haven’t cried in months, not properly. You don’t really cry in front of people.

Not even him.

Maybe especially not him.

But something small and stupid snags at you midday, something barely-there that shouldn’t matter, and then something else follows, and then another thing, and another, and by the time he walks in, keys jingling and shoulders tired and expression already softening because you’re here, the pressure behind your eyes is like a balloon about to pop.

It’s fine, though.

Joe looks like he needs a hug.

You’ll deal with whatever is making you ache behind your ribs later, in secret. For now you can pretend it doesn’t exist. You ignore the voice in your head, that sharp familiar one, that whispers that you’re only lovable when you’re useful. That says if you stopped being someone else’s gravity, you’d just silently float away without anyone noticing.

Joe gets his hug.

“Oh my God, I’ve wanted this all day.”

Your arms are strong behind his back, and he lets the whole day slide off of his shoulders. He groans into your neck a little when you tighten your grip on him even more – you’re a really good hugger.

Had lots of practice, you see.

“Can we just stand here for the rest of the evening?”

It’s a joke you would’ve laughed at had you been in a different mood. Would have maybe even seen it as a compliment, but today you press your lips into a line and duck into the kitchen with some half-baked excuse about dinner.

That feeling, that gnawing, stupid, shapeless feeling is expanding behind your ribs.

It’s only been a minute when Joe finds you sitting on the kitchen floor with your back against the cabinets, staring at your knees like they might offer answers. He doesn’t speak right away, just crouches beside you, something slow and deliberate in the way he folds himself down to your level.

“Hey,” he says softly, like the gentlest knock at the door.

You shake your head without looking at him.

“Don’t,” your voice cracks right on the edge. “Please. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

His tone isn’t accusing. Just quiet. Open.

You suck in a breath that doesn’t help.

“Just tired.”

He hesitates, then reaches out, tentative and unassuming, and offers you his hand.

It’s nothing, really. Just a simple gesture. But your chest tightens like it might crack open, and you can’t take it. You can’t. So you tuck your hands between your knees and look away, and after a beat, he lets his fall.

You hate that.

Hate how his hand looks empty now. You did that. He was just being kind, and look how fucking quickly you folded in on yourself.

You’re being too dramatic.

God, get over yourself already.

You try to.

Your thoughts are racing and none of it is kind towards yourself, but you think that if you make your way through all of it you’ll somehow come out on the other side and will be able to just get up and get started on dinner, like you said you were going to do.

Joe moves to fully sit down next to you now. Back against the cabinets, just like you.

He doesn’t push.

Doesn’t say anything.

He just… sits with you.

You’re unsure how long you’ve been staring at your knees, jaw tight and brow furrowed, when you decide Joe deserves a least a little more of an explanation. It comes out in a rush, “I just… I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”

You leave a pause for a reaction, but you don’t get one.

Joe’s quiet.

Listening.

“And I hate that you have to see it,” you add.

He mirrors your frown and asks, “Why?”

And that’s too much.

“I’m sorry, I’m being dramatic, I’ll–”

Joe stops you, “I asked why.”  

“Because I’m supposed to be–… I don’t know.” The strong one. “And you just, you must have had a long day at work, how was… are you tired? You must be tired. Hungry?” You try your best to switch gears. You’re supposed to be his person. You don’t know how to be the one who needs.

You can feel how the skin on the inside of your cheek has broken from biting on it too much.

“We’ll have dinner.” You say, moving to stand up. It’s silly that Joe found you sitting on the kitchen floor and joined you there, you suddenly realise, and you chuckle humourlessly. “Come on.”

Before you can get even close to getting up onto your feet, Joe grabs hold of your sleeve and keeps you there, sat on the tiles right next to him.

“What?” you ask, and you can hear how thin your voice sounds.

Joe’s eyes are soft when he looks at you.

“I lean on you all the time, don’t I?” he says gently, completely ignoring your questions about how his day was, or about dinner. “That’s never made me weak. Why would it make you?”

You don’t answer.

You didn’t even say any of that.

He shifts a little closer. “If you need to lean on me for a second, I’ve got a shoulder right here, ready and waiting.”

You try to brush it off, to laugh like it’s no big deal, but your voice catches in your throat unexpectedly.

Joe sees right through it. “Hey… talk to me. What’s going on?”

You shake your head. “It’s not one thing. It’s just… I keep trying to be okay. And I am, you know, I’m fine. But, like… I don’t know, I guess there’s a part of me that will always feels like… if I stop being… if I don’t… I don’t know…”

“You can say it.”

You’ve never been hugged.

“If I’m not the strong one,” God, that sounds so fucking cliché, doesn’t it? “I’ll disappear.”

You can see how that touches something within Joe that you didn’t mean to touch, and you’ve not even said the worst thing yet.

“You will disappear.”

Joe’s face drops.

Gut punch.

A moment of quiet.

You said the quiet part out loud and now, it’ll probably actually happen, won’t it?

Joe will realise that you’re right and he’ll get up and walk out of your life.

That’s it.

You’ve just gone and completely ruined your own life for yourself.

Well done.

Joe breathes out slowly, then asks, “Where did you learn that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Everywhere.”

His hand, the one you didn’t take before, finds yours again. More gentle this time, if that’s even possible, but it doesn’t wait for you to grab hold of it. Instead, it does all the holding for the both of you.

“Silly. You don’t have to earn being cared for…”

Oh.

“That’s not how this works. I don’t love you because you’re really good at holding it together– at holding me together. Baby, I love you because you’re you. All the messy, tired, brilliant parts.”

You look down at your joined hands.

You want to believe him.

God, you really fucking want to.

But it’s hard to unlearn a lifetime of bracing for impact.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. If I really let myself break, I’ll become someone even I can’t stand.”

Joe doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t correct you. Just thumbs slow circles against your knuckles.

“Well… you’ve held me through my worst days,” he says matter-of-factly. “And I’ve never once resented you for it. Or myself, for that matter. You think I wouldn’t want the chance to do the same for you?”

You blink. Hard. Tears threaten at the corners of your eyes, but this time you don’t swallow them.

“I’m… I’m just tired,” you admit, voice trembling.

“I know.”

You look at him, finally, really look, and there’s no hesitation in his gaze. No frustration. No waiting for you to pull it together. Just quiet, steady presence.

“Just need carbs and… hibernation.” It’s not a joke, but you both laugh anyway.

“Come on,” Joe uses your hand that he’s still holding to pull you up as he stands. When you’re up, his other hand finds your face, fingers warm against your cheek.

For a moment, you think he’s going to pull you into a hug that you don’t want to give him. It’ll be a hug that he’ll want to give you because he’ll feel like you need it, and the hug you’ll give him will just feel like you’re doing him a favour by reciprocating.

You’ll be hugging him.

Not the other way around.

“Come sit with me.”

And you want to tell him that, actually, you need to get started on dinner. Like you said you were going to do. Joe must have had a long day, his call time was so early this morning.

You’re tired, but surely, so is he.

However, to your own surprise, you let yourself be guided to the sofa by Joe’s hand that pulls you right along.

You let Joe move some cushions before he makes you sit.

Let him disappear for a moment and return with phone in hand.

Let him sit beside you with his left knee tucked under your right knee, close but not crowding, his body language as open as the night sky whilst he orders food to be delivered in thirty minutes.

When that’s done, Joe looks at you and waits for you to look at him when he tells you, “I’m not going to force you to say anything. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just be here. With me.”

You let the silence stretch between you, your eyes burning. There’s a part of you that wants to argue. That wants to reject this kindness before it can disappoint you later. But you’re tired. And he’s here.

You’ve never been hugged.

Not really.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are.”

He’s right.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Then we won’t.” he simply says, and drapes an arm along the back of the sofa, not quite touching you, but just there. A quiet offer. Just like his hand earlier.

You’ve never been hugged.

You lean in.

Hesitantly at first, and then with a bit more weight.

Joe’s hand finds your shoulder, then your hair.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, and you close your eyes.

The tightness in your chest doesn’t vanish, but it eases just slightly.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he murmurs. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

You breathe in, long and slow, with his scent, his steadiness, his heartbeat against your arm.

You think of all the times you’ve been the one to catch him, and now, here he is, catching you.

Joe kisses you again, warm lips to your cheek, and uses his other arm to cross over your front. Wraps you up.

You’re no good at this.

Haven’t had the practice.

Yet.

“Here, lean back a little. No, into me.” Joe shuffles you into place. Makes sure the two of you fit together comfortably. “There you go.”

Held.

Just like that.

You’re being hugged.

You’re letting yourself be hugged.

“If it helps, I think you’re fucking tough as nails letting me do this.” Joe whispers right by the shell of your ear, and to your own surprise, a soft giggle bubbles up your throat.

“Not going anywhere, you hear me?”

You’re being hugged.

This hug’s for you and for you only.

Fucking wild.

“Staying right here.”

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add yourself

[musingsofheaven]

THREE THINGS

summary: You hate three things: Johnny Storm, Lucky Charms’ Human Torch Special Edition Cereal, and motion sickness. Unfortunately, you’re stuck in space with the three so try your best not to puke, not to punch him, and definitely not to fuck him. You’re failing at all three.

pairings: johnny storm x engineer!reader

warning: 8.3k words. mature themes. unprotected p-in-v. internal ejaculation. dry humping. d/s dynamic. (light) claustrophobic space. space sex. exhibitionism implication. power imbalance. read responsibly.

note: this one’s for my friends… ! @burymenot and @coffinkissd who helped me build the plot because we are thirsting over johnny. i fear we ate. <3 hope you enjoyed it and reblog if you so !

Johnny Storm loves three things in this world. Women. Space. Sex.

It is not always in that order, but it is close enough. People can always catch him flirting with women, it’s like he’s not picking a date and time. As long as you got his attention? He will charm you. And space, yeah, he loves it for a thrill. Maybe for attention too. He likes the way his stomach flips. He also likes the adrenaline in his system when he’s in the air. Oh, don’t forget when people cheer for him because his grin is so big when he’s witnessing that. And sex? Well, that’s his favorite hobby, if you can call it a hobby when he makes it sound like a public service.

Meanwhile, you hate three things. For starters, Johnny himself, with his cocky grin and the way he tips his head when he thinks he’s charming. Then there’s his cereal. The kind of cereal with marshmallows shaped like little fireballs and his face plastered across the box. He always leaves sugary crumbs all over the counters in the lab. You hate how he always leaves the box open, like it’s waiting for him to come back for another handful. And third, motion sickness. The kind that churns in your gut and makes you want to vomit or shake.

They picked you as a trainee engineer for this mission. A fresh assistant for the Fantastic Four. Reed said you were the top candidate. Sue was excited to have another woman on board. Ben just gave you a gruff nod of approval. Johnny? Johnny has the biggest smile like he won the lottery while leaning against the doorway in his suit. His hair is brushed clean and his eyes are glinting like he knows something you don’t. He must think he’s smooth when he gazes down at your body slowly and lazily sweeps before he throws a wink in your way.

You wanted to throw your knuckles in his face and it also didn’t help that you caught him laughing with other assistant candidates in the hall. It’s always the same grin he throws at women and he has that plastered to his face right now while giving them false promises about taking them to fly sometime. The thing is, it’s also the same shit he told you about you days ago in the cafeteria when you spilled your coffee on your shirt. The way he looks at you during training didn’t also help. It’s like he was waiting for you to mess up so he could enter and make a joke out of it.

What's way worse is when your little overthinking brain starts to wonder if he is only annoying… or noticing you because you were the one who got picked for this mission. Because it’s you who are standing next to him now. You are the one who is strapping yourself into the seat next to him. The one who is holding your breath while the engine is ready for its function and you can feel it under your boots. You feel you’re in some kind of game you didn’t agree to play because of the way he looks, how his fingers brush against you, or the way he says his stupid joke that makes your lips curl up even if you don’t want to.

You hated that too because it’s one thing to stand next to Johnny Storm on Earth while fighting the urge to roll your eyes every time he winks. It’s another to sit shoulder to shoulder when the shuttle left the earth. You can already feel your stomach crawling from there up to your throat. The warmth that sneaking around your neck and sweat beads are already forming under your collar. It’s sticking to the fabric while you are clamping the straps so hard that you feel your knuckles shaking. His low hum of excitement doesn’t help, fingers drumming a beat only he hears.

The shuttle tilts into that first dizzy climb, and a hot and sour wave rolls in your gut. Closing your eyes doesn’t help. The air is thick with plastic and metal. A small groan slips before you can swallow it back. “Aw, don’t puke yet,” Johnny says, leaning closer. His warm breath ghosts across your cheek. “We’re barely at the fun part.” Your glare snaps toward him, but your stomach flips again while forcing your mouth shut as you swallow hard.

When the engines ease, your forehead presses to the cool seat. Breathing slowly helps, but nausea still hangs heavy that pulling another groan from your lips. A rustle drags your eyes open, and Johnny’s smirk greets you like the world’s worst sunrise. “Got you something,” he says, tone bright with that fake sweetness he uses when he’s about to be annoying. A cereal box drops in your lap. Not just any box, but one with his face printed beside a cartoon of him flying with texts saying ‘Get your free Johnny Storm figure inside!’

You can see the bright letters label of Lucky Charms Cereal. There’s also a cheap figurine picture placed on top, its head too big, hair bright yellow and spiky in a tiny blue uniform. He presses the figurine he’s already holding, and a tinny voice echoes, “FLAME ON!” You blink. The figurine’s grin matches his. “Bitchass,” you mutter, pushing the box back toward him with a shaky hand. “What is this?” Johnny waves the cereal closer, ignoring your glare. “A welcome gift,” he says with eyes wide, and a grin stretching. “I heard sugar helps with motion sickness.”

A hand slaps over your face as another groan pushes out as you feel half nausea, and half exasperation. You peek through your fingers just to see if he’s already walked away but you catch him hovering and shaking the box so marshmallows rattle. “You’re unbelievable,” you said while your voice clearly sounded annoyed. He just shrugged lazily and brought the figurine into your face before tilting it so you could see it more. Once he makes sure it’s close enough, he presses the button so it yells “FLAME ON!” in your ear. You nearly choke on a laugh, pressing your lips tight, but they curl up anyway.

Your stomach flips for a different reason when you catch him watching with a grin softening before snapping back bright and smug. “Eat your cereal, rookie,” he says, dropping it back into your lap. “Captain’s orders.” When the cereal stops rattling, you think the worst is over. You survived launch without puking on his boots, and he leaves you alone while Reed walks you through cabin checks. Sugar sits heavy in your stomach, at least giving you something to focus on besides the engine hum.

A small hope sparks that you’ll get a moment to breathe without Johnny in your space. That hope dies fast when Sue finishes crew assignments, tapping her tablet with a small, apologetic smile. “Unfortunately, we’re tight on sleeping quarters for this mission,” she says, and unfortunately already sounds like a death sentence. Tension curls in your shoulders as your gaze skips over the narrow bunks. A tiny piece of you praying Johnny’s is on the other side of the shuttle.

Sue’s finger slides down the screen, eyes flicking to Johnny, who’s lounging near the wall, arms crossed, grin lazy, boots kicked out like he owns the air. “You’ll be bunking with Johnny,” she says. Silence slams so hard your brain takes a second to catch up. Johnny’s eyebrows shoot up, that grin widening like someone handed him a medal. “Hell no,” you blurt. Sue’s smile tightens. “Space limitations. We need you in Engineering and him in Pilot standby. It’s easier if you two are near each other.”

Your jaw hangs open, but Johnny beats you to a response, pushing off the wall with a clap of his hands that makes you flinch. “Sweet. I don’t snore.” You hate the way he says it like it’s going to fix everything. You hate the way his eyes glint while looking at you. “Usually.” Heat travels up to your neck and the irritation prickles under your skin. A small sputter leaves your lips, but you clamp them shut before saying something that’ll get you launched back to Earth without a parachute. He leans to you so close that you can smell the faint scent of his soap before he throws a wink at you. “Guess we’re roommates now, rookie.”

The rooms are small. Maybe it’s just two outstretched arms wide and two narrow bunks are touching the walls. A very tiny round window to see the view and enough floor for you to stand. The ceiling is low enough for you but not tall enough for Johnny so he has to duck. Of course, he already does it. He’s even laughing as he drops his duffel on the lower bunk… Asshole. Claiming it without talking to you, but you can’t fight much about it because what if he toasts you? Or your things. No, thanks. Your stomach sinks while the cereal box is tucked under your arm as you hover in the doorway. You look like you’re praying for Sue to come back and tell you it’s a mistake.

Reed’s voice echoed over the comms and Reed being Reed, he’s listing the safety protocols while Sue’s laughter can be heard in the background. Johnny peeks to look at you with his brow arching as he sprawls across the lower bunk. It looks small to him because it takes every inch of the space with his legs being long and his shoulders just fitting right in. His hand is patting the mattress beside him if he wants you to lie down and cuddle him. “This is the worst,” you say with a voice that sounds annoyed, and stepping inside so the door slides shut. His grin spreads slowly, pushing into that dimple as he props an arm behind his head. “Aw, come on. It’s not like we haven’t been close before.”

Your jaw clenches while you set the cereal on the shelf while ignoring the figurine beside it that he gave you. The room smells like metal and the hint of the shampoo he used before the launch. Also, the sweet smell of sugar is clinging to his clothes because his clumsy ass spilled half of the cereal on his body earlier. By just looking at the bunk above him already earned a groan. It’s narrow and cramped. The ladder wobbles a little when you test it. The launch still feels heavy in your body, and nausea curls in your gut while the world spins a little.

“Why can’t I be with Sue?” you mutter, hauling yourself up onto the top bunk with a thump that rattles the thin mattress. Johnny’s laugh follows, warm and smug, as you flop down and stare at the metal ceiling. Below, boots scrape the floor while the mattress creaks as he unpacks, humming under his breath. “Because, rookie,” he says, voice drifting up, “you’re lucky enough to get the Johnny Storm experience.” The urge to throw the cereal box at his head is strong, but your arm feels too heavy, your stomach uneasy, and your eyes slipping shut as you press your hand over your mouth.

Rustling sounds below. It’s probably him grinning while waiting for you to lean over and glare. “Don’t worry,” he says, softer, words pulling your eyes open as the shuttle hums, “You won’t even realize I’m here.” Another groan crawls out as your arm drops over your eyes. You’re swallowing down a roll of nausea while his laughter drifts up, the cereal box rattling on the shelf, and that stupid figurine’s head that makes you pissed. And just that’s the start because you don’t know how funny a routine builds in space. Mornings mean protein bars and Johnny bragging about only needing five hours of sleep. Afternoons pass with you elbow-deep in wires while he hovers, tossing marshmallows in his mouth, talking too much while you work. Nights end with him flopping onto his bunk, smirking up at you while you pretend he’s not there.

After dinner, Reed reads updates while Sue flicks peas across the table at Johnny, who pretends to catch them in his mouth, while Ben rumbles about wasting food. Zero gravity training comes up again and Johnny swears he can handle it. He even calls himself the “human torch and human rocket” so floating should be easy. He says it with a grin that makes you want to call him an idiot with your foot knocking your boot under the table. Sue rolls her eyes, telling Reed to let everyone have one night of fun. Ben mutters that if you want a good way to bruise a rib then zero gravity sounds fun, but he doesn’t say no. Although you can tell he’s not loving the idea very much. Reed sighs because Johnny won’t stop listing reasons why it should be turned off. You’re sure that Reed only flipped the switch off for Johnny to shut up. Gravity slips out like someone pulls the floor away from you.

The air changes and whooshes in your ear while your body drifts and floats. Your hair is messy, and some of it is going in front of your face while your stomach churns. It feels fizzy in a way that makes you giggle before you catch yourself you just did that. Johnny whoops funnily and pushes off the wall with one foot like he’s in a game. His arms spread while he spins around as if he’s a kid. One of Johnny’s open cereals is now scattered around, and a marshmallow drifts near your face before you swat it away. You grab the rail as your feet lift while knees curl as you tumble softly. At first, it feels like a dream because you are just floating around and fulfilling some kid’s dream and you move like you’re swimming in the air. You push off one wall to drift toward the opposite you. Carelessly bumping into Johnny’s shoulder when he cuts across your path. His laugh vibrates in your ear as he grabs a cabinet edge, curls floating around his head. “Watch it, rookie,” he says. He’s smirking widely as his legs tangling with yours before you both push off, spinning in opposite directions.

“You’re the one in the way,” you fire back, flipping before your elbow thumps against the wall that sends you drifting. Hours pass while you float, push off walls, and try to drink water from a bubble that nearly ends up in Johnny’s nose because he won’t stop making you laugh. Your stomach finally settles. Your body feels light. Air tasted faintly of metal and the sweet scent of cereal stuck in Johnny’s pocket. Floating is fun for exactly twenty minutes. But when it’s time to sleep, the fun dies fast. Your bunk is useless without gravity, the mattress doing nothing but thankfully it’s strapped there so it’s not floating around as your body hovers. You’re drifting the second you exhale too hard. Knees bump the frame while your arms wave, fingers curling around the rail before your legs float up again. You flip until your face nearly plants into the ceiling.

Johnny’s behind you, and trying to get into his bunk. He’s laughing too hard because he’s failing so his feet are kicking while he spins like a slow top. “Get your foot out of my face,” you snap before batting his ankle away when it drifts near your nose. “Stop hogging the air, then,” he fires back, snorting when you shove at his thigh. It sent him drifting in a slow spin. Both of you should have gotten the sleeping bag ready so that you both know how to strap in the railings so you can sleep when the idea of turning off the gravity for the whole night is laid on the table. Now both of you try to hold the rails, but every small movement sends you floating again. You are trying your best to ignore him when an elbow knocks your ribs and his knee bumps your hip. But when it comes to him, you have no patience, so your hand catches his arm to stop him, but you two just spin together slowly. It’s ridiculous and the two of you are now tangled clumsily. Hair drifts across your eyes that tickling your cheek, and you blow it away. You catch a glimpse of Johnny’s face inches from yours and he’s upside down while grinning like an idiot. His laugh is low and breath warm when it puffs across your lips.

“This sucks,” you mutter, trying to untangle your arm from where it’s pinned. “It’s awesome,” he says, spinning you until your head bumps softly against the bunk frame, making you hiss. His calf brushes against your thigh when your legs tangle again with his. Breath caught in your chest while your bodies are hovering over each other. Are you ignoring now how you bump into him with every shift because it’s really not spacious here. There’s the grin you hate but it quickly dies down and is replaced by something soft that also didn’t last long. His throat bobs while he gets closer to you. Noses almost brushing to each other while warm breath grazes your cheek. “Can’t sleep like this,” you whisper. “Yeah,” Johnny says and voice lower, “I know.” Neither of you moves. The ship hums, vibrations running through the metal while your arms and legs drift, tangled around him, floating above the bunk in the tiny room you hate sharing but suddenly don’t hate as much.

No one speaks after that, and for a moment, it almost feels like you could fall asleep. Yeah, you are delusional like that and ignoring the fact that you are floating. Your eyes drift shut, and your hair fanned around your face in the cold air while you let yourself sink into the smallest drowsiness you feel. The soft bump of your knee against the bunk frame barely even registers. Limbs float, legs drifting out, toes brushing the ceiling as you chase the edges of sleep. Your last clear thought being that maybe, just maybe, zero gravity isn’t the worst thing in the universe.

Then the heater dies. There’s the loud sound of a click rattling in the pipes and it is followed by silence. It feels too empty, and the quietness feels too loud, even though you can’t hear anything besides the breathing of you and Johnny. The heat is slowly exiting out of the air like someone banging the window open in space. The coldness slapping on your skin, especially on your stomach, because your shirt is riding up with zero gravity. That leaves goosebumps in its wake. Oxygen from your body puffs into tiny white smoke in front of your face, and you wrap your arms around your body. You try to tuck your knees in but couldn’t hold it because it’s floating back out uselessly.

Johnny’s voice was sliding through the muffled coldness somewhere in the darkness. “Don’t tell me you’re cold already,” he says teasing but it disappears the moment he hears the soft clatter of your teeth grinding together. You sniff before you can stop it, and the environment is too quiet to hide it. Lips pressed together and shivers crept into your system so hard that your body spins a little in the air. Your hands are holding tightly against the rail of the bunk like you are trying to fight the zero gravity but your arms feel wobbly and like a noodle. Especially in the cold so you just end up floating sideways again.

Johnny sighs exaggeratedly, but you can feel the faint concern and softness there while he comes closer to you. He’s drifting until his feet bump your hip. “Come on, you’ll freeze,” he says. The warmth of his body reaches you even in the freezing air, and it’s infuriating how much you want to cling to it. “Don’t you dare,” you mutter, voice shaking, but another shiver cuts through your ribs. It makes your arms fly up as your body twirls again. Your eyes closed when you feel the coldness in your fingertips. But honestly, you just refuse to look at him. “Seriously, rookie,” Johnny says, closer now, breathing warm for half a second as it ghosts across your cheek. “You’re shivering like a Chihuahua.”

The retort dies on your tongue when another shiver runs through your spine. Your body curls instinctively toward the nearest heat source, which happens to be him. Fingers press into the soft fabric of his shirt as you catch yourself steady. Legs bumping his thighs, and your forehead landing against his shoulder. A muffled curse leaves your mouth. Voice low and defeated. “Just for heat,” you grumble. “Sure, just heat,” Johnny says, but his voice dips. It’s teasing in that way that makes you want to smack him, except your hands are too busy clutching his sides to keep from floating away.

Both of you drift in the middle of the tiny room while tangled together, and spinning slowly as your legs bump into his hips. Your arms are hooking around his shoulder tightly. Each tiny movement sends you rotating again and your hair brushing across his face. You can feel his breath fanning over your temple. It’s cold, which is ironic because his power is flame, and he could easily heat up the room, but he doesn’t. He chooses to offer this way. You can feel the heat from his chest that soothes you when you press closer, and it’s enough to ease the coldness for a moment.

The quiet and uneven breathing fills the space. You can hear his heartbeat thudding under the ear that’s pressed to his chest. It’s steady and grounding, even the zero gravity makes you rock in gentle, slow circles. Fingers curl into his shirt, holding tight, and your eyes slip shut against the cold. “This is so stupid,” you whisper. “Yeah,” Johnny says, a grin in his voice as he shifts. He’s pulling you closer until your legs hook around his waist, keeping you steady. “Best stupid idea ever.”

You don’t answer because it’s easier to focus on the heat spreading in your chest. It’s easier to focus on the vibration of his stupid laugh when your bodies bump against the wall. It’s easier to listen to the quiet whooshing of the breaths in the dark. See? You can focus, even every few seconds, there’s a gentle spin that moves your hair across his jaw, and his hand settles at the small of your back. He’s keeping you from drifting too far each time you shift. The heater might be dead, but at least you’re not freezing alone and you’re with this stupid guy.

Floating around him in half-sleep almost works. Your eyes slip closed, warmth pressing against your front, and the sound of the ship mixes with Johnny’s soft breathing near your ear. Every so often your bodies drift in a slow spin with limbs shifting as you try to settle in the cold that is kept away only by the heat trapped between you. For a moment it feels like you could actually rest. Then a small bump jolts through your hips. A warm and solid pressure that drags right between your thighs. It’s sliding over your clit through the thin layers of your sleep shorts. It forces a gasp out of your mouth before you can swallow it down.

“Shit- sorry.” He apologizes quickly like it’s an accident. His voice sounds low and muffled near your neck. The words brushed warm against your skin. The feeling you can’t explain is collecting in your cheeks as your legs tighten around his hips. You try to keep steady so it doesn’t happen again. Breath is choked and stuck in your chest. Your heart is beating so fast, like you are having hypertension, while you wait for the moment for it to disappear. It does, eventually, leaving a silence so heavy you can almost taste it. A few minutes later, the slow spin of your bodies brings you back into alignment. Another shift pushes your hips against his. It’s the same heat and pressure catching you off guard again. Your breath leaves in a shaky puff, and your thighs clench before you can stop them.

“Fuck- okay, that was me this time,” Johnny mutters, a strained laugh rumbling under your palms where they rest on his shoulders. “Sorry. Really.” It’s impossible to answer, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth while you try to pretend you don’t feel how hard he is, and how your pussy throbs at the drag of fabric over your clit. The heat spreads low in your belly. Silence wraps around both of you. It’s only broken by the soft rattle of something shifting on the wall as you spin. Your bodies pressing together again in a way that makes your head spin.

It happens again. For the third time, there’s no apology. You initiate after he does that, and you start chasing the friction before you can even stop yourself. There’s a quiet whimper slipping past your lips. His breath catches, and his arms tighten around your waist to pull you closer. The movement is slow, but bodies glide in the cold air while warmth builds where you press together. “What are we doing?” Your whisper hangs between you, breathless. Your forehead pressing to his as you try to keep your eyes open, try to ignore the way your hips keep moving to chase another drag of the pleasurable friction.

“Fuck if I know,” Johnny says, his voice rough, hand sliding down to your lower back to hold you there. “Feels good, though.” Legs tangling around his waist as your hips roll again while the spinning of your bodies slows down. The movements are not hurried. Fabric dragging against fabric with the heat spreading in your body every time you both repeat the motion. The shape of his cock is grinding right exactly at your clothed clit. The friction makes your breath catch and your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt. Every small drag goes straight through your nerves, which makes your thighs twitch while you fight the noise boiling in your throat. Head dropping to your shoulder when a groan slips from his mouth. Every exhale is warm against your neck. “Fuck- sorry, I can’t-”

“Shut up,” you manage to say despite your voice breaking on a gasp. But it’s endearing how he can’t hold himself back. Hips continue to grind down and contact remains. Your clit catching on the hard ridge of his cock again makes your eyes flutter. When you make another roll of your hips, it pulls a needy sound from his throat. His hands grip your waist tighter while returning the movements and rocking up to meet you. It’s slow and shaky. Pressing closer while floating in the cold and chasing every spark both of you can find. The quietness of the environment feels too loud around the two of you, which mixes with the sounds from your mouths. Everything is narrowing down to the way the bodies rub, slide, and catch together again and again. The head builds until it’s too much to ignore. Hands clutch fabric, hips rolling as another breathless whimper slips free, your forehead pressed to his shoulder while you grind again, chasing another slow drag of pressure that makes your clit throb.

A soft curse vibrates in his chest. His breath is hot against your neck while he tries to stay still. It doesn’t work for either of you. The small shift sends your bodies apart, and it’s enough for the cold to get in between you. It makes your skin crawl while your fingers clutch his shirt before it slips away from his body after he removes it. The fabric is floating in the air and twisting in the low light. His chest comes into view, and warm skin catches the dim glow while his hands hover near your waist. Touch feels unsure like he doesn’t know if he’s doing anything right. Your breath comes out in a shaky laugh. “How the fuck does sex even work up here?”

A crooked grin lifts his lips, eyes flicking down between your bodies before coming back to yours. “Wanna find out?” He asks like it’s already decided. You float backwards and your hair lifts around your face while you try to keep your knees pulled up. Thighs pressing together as a tingly feeling is buzzing heavily in you. All you can give him is a nod with your teeth caging your bottom lip when your eyes drop to his chest. You watch how it rises and falls while he breathes.

Johnny’s hand touches the hem of your sleep shirt, and his fingertips brush against your chest when he pulls it up. The shirt slipping over your head and drifting in the air to join his that’s already somewhere settling in the air. You don’t even realize that your bra is also off now on how his hand moves fast. Just realized it when goosebumps scatter across your skin. Your nipples harden when they come into contact with the cold air while your arm floats upwards. Hands are trying to push your hair back from your face. His eyes catch on your tits, pupils darkening before he drags them back up to meet yours. Lips parted as he breathed out a soft, “Fuck.”

Shorts come next, your fingers sliding with the waistband while your body spins gently in the air. The fabric of your shorts and panties slides down to your thighs. He just throws it somewhere that joins the clothes above your eyes. Your cunt is exposed now. It’s wet and warm in the cold at the same time. His gaze drops again and the muscles in his jaw flex as he swallows. “Come here.” His voice has a glint of a perfect mix of roughness and softness that pulls your organs tangled deep in your stomach. A hand lands on your waist to guide you closer to him. His knee makes your thigh drift apart to open.

Your hands are shaking with the waistband of his sweats before you tug it down along with his boxers inside. It’s enough for his cock to spring free. He removes the rest, and your eyes lock at his flushed tip. There’s a bead of precum glistening on the head. It doesn’t stay in his body for too long because it drifts away in a tiny droplet. After all, there’s no gravity right now. “Johnny,” you whisper. Voice sounds broken already. Forehead pressing to his and your body shivering as your cunt clenches around nothing. It’s desperate for friction.

“Yeah.” His breath mixes with yours warmly and softly, while his hands slide down to your ass to pull you closer until your hips align. “Hold on to me.” Fingers clutch his shoulders as your legs wrap around his waist. Your body presses closer as the head of his cock brushes through your folds. It catches on your clit in a way that sends a whimper from your lips. A shiver runs down your spine before your hips tilt to chase the feeling again. Forehead bumps against his white hair floating between your faces.

“Fuck, wait- shit- Johnny,” you stammer as you try to keep your body steady while you adjust. The slide of his cock against your pussy makes your thighs twitch. “I’m trying,” he mutters with a breathless laugh leaving him. His hand slides up your spine to steady you and presses you back against the nearest wall panel. “Just- here, like this.” You could feel the cold metal when your back meets it. The feeling sends electricity to your spine, but it gives you enough leverage to change the position of your hips and tilt them. You start grinding his cock between your folds with your clit catching on the thick ridge as your body rocks. It chases the growing forest in your belly that, at this point, it’s not just butterflies or fluttering you feel right now. His forehead drops to your shoulder as a low groan vibrates against your skin. His hips roll in a slow and shaky motion.

“Fuck, you feel- hnngh- good,” he breathes out, his cock gliding through your slick, and dragging over your clit with each slow thrust. “Don’t stop,” you whisper. Your voice breaks on a gasp as your legs tighten around his waist to pull him close. Hips moving to grind your pussy against his cock while your body starts to tremble. “Not gonna,” Johnny says, his hand slipping under your thigh to hold you in place. The other is bracing against the wall near your head as he thrusts again in slow and careful motion. His cockhead slides against your clit in a way that will make it pulse.

Both of you are floating in the cold with bodies pressed together. The warmth you feel is getting worse with every grind especially how your cunt gets more slicked and needy. Clit throbbing each time the tip drags over it. Every breath he makes comes out shaky. Every small movement you both made sends sparks in your skin. It feels awkward how things are floating around you like it’s some kind of silent witness. It’s also forgotten in the low gravity while your hips roll again, desperate for more. The burn builds the moment his cock slides in slowly. It’s thick and long and it’s splitting you open until your walks flutter around him. It snatches a rough sound from his throat.

Head falling back against the wall while you try to anchor yourself. Knees tight and legs wrapped around his hips while your nails scratch the muscles in his back. Nails digging and clearly will draw red lines that you’ll see tomorrow. The stretch of his cock makes your cunt pulse and clench. There’s a soft gasp that catches in your throat while your toes curl. The small shifts send your body floating a few inches from the wall and the gravity. A small shift sends your bodies floating a few inches from the wall. The gravity is nonexistent in the cold air while your hair drifts around your face. His hands grab your waist to pull you down on his cock again, but the movement only sends you both drifting. A laugh slips from your lips. It’s breathless but it turns into a whimper when his cock nudges deeper.

“Hold on,” Johnny grits out, trying to push you back toward the wall again. His hips roll, pressing you against the cold metal as your thighs tighten around him, ankles locking behind his back to keep yourself close. “Trying,” you manage to say while your fingers are gripping his shoulders. Nails dig into his skin and will create moon shapes when you pull them away. It makes you press them harder when he thrusts again. It’s slow but deep. You can feel all of him. Cunt so slick, so you can hear how it moves, especially since it’s so quiet right now. He drags against your walls and his tip kisses your cervix, which makes your stomach turn upside down.

Your back arches when his hand slips between your bodies and fingers brushing over your clit. The touch is light, teasing, making your hips jerk forward as you chase the pressure. A soft “fuck” leaves your lips when he circles it again, slow and steady, matching the slow thrust of his cock as he fills you. “D-don’t stop,” you whine out. Breathing hitch as your nipples brush against his chest. The friction makes your pussy clench more around him. He managed to drop his mouth to your neck and teeth grazing over your pulse point before his tongue licks it. Doesn’t take long before he bites it like he wants to taste more of you. It pulls another shaky moan from your throat.

When he thrusts, it sends you both to drift upward again. Bodies are moving away from the wall. It made you clutch into him tighter just to try to pull him back down. The movement just makes him press deeper inside of you. Angle hitting it perfectly as your head drops forward to rest against his shoulder. It makes you wetter as the warmth spreads in your stomach. Feels heavy and sweet when your hips roll and trying to keep the pace slow. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Johnny mutters against your skin, breath warm on your neck while his hand keeps working your clit. His other hand grips your ass, pulling you closer as he thrusts again, the slide messy and perfect, your cunt squeezing around him with every slow drag.

“Johnny,” you whimper. Voice breaking when his cock pushes in deep, hips grinding as you feel the ridge of his cockhead catch on your spot. The drag is so good it sends your legs shaking, thighs trembling around him while your toes curl. “Yeah, baby, just like that,” he mutters before groaning. He presses you against the wall again, and it makes a soft thud when your back touches it. The coldness is fighting the heat burning in your body while he’s thrusting in slow and deep motion. Each roll of his hips sends green lights of pleasure through your body while your nails scratch down his back. It leaves faint red lines on his skin. Your body starts to float again with each slow grind, and. your hair drifts while your cunt clenches around him.

It feels wet and tight for him when his cock slides in and out. The pace is impossible to keep steady in zero gravity, but it doesn’t matter when every push sends you both one step closer to finishing. His head dropped down to the ground, and you can feel his hot breath on you. “This is so fucking hot,” he whispers, voice rough, before his mouth catches yours in a messy kiss, teeth clacking softly as your bodies float and bump in the air. Your hips roll again, clit grinding against his hand, heat building and building without letting you fall over the edge. The drag of his cock inside you is too good to stop, each slow thrust making your cunt clench tighter, slick dripping down your thighs while you both breathe each other in, your legs wrapped around his hips like you’ll never let go.

Floating bodies knock together as Johnny tries to thrust, hands braced on your hips while the two of you spin lazily in the room’s low light. A soft laugh breaks from your lips when your back bumps against a panel. The impact made you shove your body to him and you felt him slide deeper. Arms tangled around his shoulder like you are locking him in place. Nails are marking him up on his back muscles. Legs wrap tighter around his waist like you are scared he will go. “Fuck, hold on,” Johnny mutters, shifting to press you back against the nearest wall.

His palm slides between your thighs, fingers slipping down to find your clit. The touch sparks, making your head tip back while a breathy, “nhh- Johnny,” falls from your mouth. A rough moan vibrates in his chest as he continues to thrust into you again. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says with his lips brushing against your jaw. Freehand squeezing your thigh hard, enlistment to make it bruise if you don't remove it from there. He’s trying to keep the angle where he can slide deeper as he thrusts into you. Each movement is messy. It’s pushing you both off the wall a little before he drags you back while his forehead pressed against yours.

Pussy clenching around him when he thumbs your clit. It pulsed underneath his thumb while your hips rocked forward to welcome his movements. The weather smells like sweat, sex, and metal and it hangs in the air. When your chest slides against him it feels a little cold because the sweat is cold in your body. The soft, needy moan leaves your mouth while your toes curl in the air. Heels brushing along the hard muscle of his lower back. His lips find yours in a sloppy kiss, all wet heat and breath, muffling your broken sounds as he keeps moving inside you. Hips jerk upward, bumping you both away from the wall, forcing his hand to grab a rail to pull you back into place.

The moment you settle, he thrusts again. It’s harder and makes you gasp. “Johnny, oh- shit, Johnny-” Your voice breaks as your head tips forward with eyes squeezing shut while his cock drags against your walls. He hits the spot that makes your thighs tremble around him. “Can’t- can’t keep us steady,” he pants, but his hand doesn’t stop on your clit, rubbing tight circles as your body tenses. A small laugh breaks between your moans, but it’s cut off by a gasp when he thrusts again. “Feels good,” you whisper, breathless, forehead pressing to him as your hips push back against him, wanting more.

He grins, but it’s strained, his eyes dark as he looks down between your bodies. “Yeah? You like this, baby?” His voice drops, rough, while his thumb presses down, making you jerk. Hands sliding and caressing his shoulders. Nails continue to draw red lines on his skin just to make him closer if that’s even possible. You just want him to fill you again despite him being inside you already. The sound of the skin slapping and wetness fills the space, mixed with his heavy breathing and your shaky moans. Johnny, on the other hand, tries to keep the pace, but every thrust pushes you both away. He just keeps dragging you back and forcing your back to scrape against the wall before he ruts forward again.

The constant push and pull turns everything sloppy, his cock slipping deeper with each grind while your walls flutter, getting close. “Fuck- fuck, Johnny, wait-” Your voice breaks when his hips roll again, cock pressing inside so deep your toes curl. “Not yet,” he mutters, forehead pressed to yours as he slows, but his thumb keeps working your clit. “Just a little longer.” Legs starting to shake and knees knocking on the sides of his ribs while you cling to him like a koala. Your mouth falls open, but there's no sound when he thrusts up again into your pussy. His lips catch yours. He’s swallowing your soft and broken moans as you float together in the cold cabin. The heat between your bodies is the only thing keeping you balanced.

Each breath you release feels tight inside your chest. Your body is straining toward him and needing to let go, but trying to hold on just a little longer. The sounds from the ship got silenced by the sounds you are making. The quiet whimpers, the slick slide of your bodies, and Johnny’s rough groans as he tries not to lose it. Your pussy is squeezing around him again and again while you hover on the edge and are almost there. You don’t care if it’s hard to move or when you move around. Or when your back makes a noise against the wall again. A curse leaves your lips when you tighten around him. The stretch has you panting. Nails digging into his shoulders while your legs squeeze tighter around his waist to keep him close.

You try to muffle a moan but each thrust makes out a needy and breathy moan for you. The way your clit has been getting a lot of affection from him. It is catching that spot that makes your hips jerk against him. A soft whimper was made by you when he thrusts again. It’s deeper this time. His cockhead nudging your sweet spot so good it steals your breath. The slide of his skin against yours feels hot, sweat sticking where your chests touch, and the air cold on your skin in the small cabin. His mouth finds your neck, teeth catching your skin in a way that makes your eyes flutter shut while your thighs shake around him.

“Shit- Johnny, please-” The words come out broken as your cunt tightens again, squeezing around him as you chase the edge. His hand doesn’t stop, thumb rubbing fast circles over your clit while his cock keeps pressing deep, making you gasp, “ngh- fuck, Johnny- !” His low groan vibrates against your skin when your pussy finally gives out, fluttering around him as your orgasm hits, sharp and sweet, pulling a cry from your throat. Legs spasm around his waist, body arching into him as your hands claw at his back, leaving red lines down to his hips while you whimper, “oh- oh god- Johnny, Johnny-”

“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” he pants, voice rough in your ear. His thrusts get sloppy as your cunt keeps squeezing around him, wetness dripping down your thighs in the low gravity while you feel him swell inside you. Another thrust pushes you up the wall before he drags you back down, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep, cock throbbing. A grunt leaves his chest, head dropping to your shoulder as he mutters, “Gonna- fuck, gonna cum-” before his hips snap once, twice, pressing all the way in as warmth fills you, thick and heavy.

His arms locked around your waist like he’s caging you with the way he holds you tight as his cock twitches inside. Your cunt pulsing around him while you both float around and panting into each other’s neck. He can’t feel you clenching from time to time and it’s actually impressive how he doesn't cum yet straight inside your pussy. Your arms loosen so your hand can brush through his hair while your legs stay hooked around him. You're keeping him inside as your pussy throbs with the aftershocks. A small laugh bubbles out of you, breathless and shaky, and Johnny lifts his head, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead while he grins.

His breathing slows down while both of you float in the air and tangle with each other. Legs still clinging tight around him while his cock is softening inside you. Your forehead rests on his chest as you try to catch your breath. Lips brushing against his skin while the sweat cools on your body. The room feels too quiet, your ears ringing from how hard you came, from how loud your moans must have been in the thin metal walls.

Something small bumps against your ankle. Plastic scrapes against the floor before a loud, cheery voice blares into the silence. “FLAME ON!” Your eyes fly open in horror. A groan leaves your mouth, head tipping back as you cover your face with your hand. The stupid Johnny Storm figurine floats near your foot, the one he gave you just to annoy you, its speaker crackling in the quiet.

“Johnny.” Your voice sounds tired, deadpan, while your pussy still clenches weakly around him. “I hate that thing. I hate you for giving me that thing.” A snort breaks out of him, bright and sharp, his chest shaking against yours while his laugh bounces off the metal walls. “It’s my biggest fan,” he says, wheezing through the giggles while his hand slides down to your hip to keep you steady. You glare at him, fingers smacking lightly at his shoulder. “It’s fucking creepy. Turn it off.” The figurine keeps spinning near your feet, repeating in that stupid tinny voice, “FLAME ON! FLAME ON! FLAME ON!”

“Johnny, if you don’t turn it off, I swear-” Your threat dies off when he shifts to stomp it with his heel, but the zero gravity just sends it floating away, still yelling. You burst out laughing, your head dropping onto his shoulder while your body shakes against him. He wheezes, snorts again, and tries to kick it into the corner, but it bounces off the wall, shouting, “FLAME ON!” in a muffled echo. “God, I hate you.” You choke on another laugh, legs still wrapped around his waist, trying not to slip off his cock while you both float.

Johnny’s head tilts back, mouth open with laughter, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. “You don’t,” he teases you before reaching to grab the figurine and shove it into a drawer. It muffles the voice at last. Moment of peace for you. Silence falls again. It’s broken only by your soft panting. Your pussy flutters once more around him and making you both flinch with a small gasp. The last bit of warmth drips down your thigh, floating away in tiny drops before sticking to the wall.

“Do you think the others heard us?” You ask him even though you know they heard both of you. Your voice comes out small, embarrassed, and shy. All three, while your cunt clenches around him one last time, and makes you both flinch. Johnny’s grin widens as he leans in. He presses a quick kiss to your lips while he’s still buried deep. “Nah,” he says but it’s clear he’s just trying to reassure you by saying that, “but if they did, I’m never gonna let you live it down.” You groan, letting your head fall against the wall while he laughs, holding you tight in zero gravity ,your bodies sticking together, your legs wrapped around him, the two of you still floating and warm, close in the cold dark of the cabin.

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⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

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[asvtrials]

𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

Emperor Geta x fem!reader, minors dni!

masterlist

summary: Emperor Geta was a selfish lover. He expected you to give him everything, every thread of your being, body, and soul. Yet he refused to do the same. Why would he? He was the Emperor and you were nothing but his concubine, not too long ago you were a common whore that he just happen to take a liking to, just a vessel for his satisfaction. So why was his mind suddenly screaming for him to kneel before you, to let your thighs straddle his face until he suffocates? warnings/tags: smut, mention of an orgy in the beginning, mention of exhibitionism, generally ancient Rome things, Emperor Geta tries to act unbothered but is smitten for his concubine, facesitting, oral (f! receiving), p in v, kind of rough, sub/dom dynamics (obviously), implied abuse, potentially out of character, not accurate to the Gladiator franchise...

a/n: This man is consuming my thoughts. This is me basically pushing my pussy drunk Geta agenda. I love the idea of Emperor Geta being arrogant and selfish but caving at the idea of hearing her scream and moan as loudly as that woman. 'Mae Columba' means my dove, 'Corculum' means sweetheart. Also, this is my first time writing this man

tags: @teechallas-blog @ladynoonwraith @quuinyoung @ghostinhours @slasherflickchick @marn13s-vilewhispers @munsongirl48 @getas-empress @hillarymurray4 @cleo-2345 @lookingformuses @meganfoxismywife @claa-01 @funsquadgoalzz-blog w/c: 3.3k English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes I make. I tried present tense for the first time.

── ୨ৎ

Your thin tunic provides you with little to no warmth, yet you weren't cold even on this chilly night.

Your Emperor's hand runs up and down your right side, his fingers keep grazing your nipple but he is too focused on conversing with Macrinus to notice the impact of his action.

Your eyes wander around the room, from the people who drank, smoked, and laughed, too gone to do anything other than that, to the numerous naked, sweaty bodies intertwined with each other in the most intimate way that was humanly possible.

Yet there was nothing intimate about what you observe. It was primal and carnal, most of them didn't even look like people anymore, the scene becoming too animalistic and raw.

These types of gatherings were rather common in the Palatine and you have gotten used to settings like this one. But this time you couldn't take your eyes off of two people. Two prostitutes amongst the crowd of moving bodies caught your attention.

A woman sitting on top of a man, on his face… The expression of pure bliss she had looks like it was taken out of a vulgar painting, a carefully crafted sculpture depicting the most euphoric moment of one's life. The man's tongue works meticulously on the woman’s cunt making her scream and moan like she was touched by the god's themselves.

The sight was enough for your breath to get caught in your throat. 

That made Emperor Geta turn with a frown, some wine dripping from his full lips. You don’t notice that his eyes travel the path of your gaze, focusing on the same pair as you.

You snap back to reality when his hand gripped your thigh. If you weren't used to his rough touches you would yelp in pain.

When you meet his eyes, there's something behind them that makes you pause. Without a second glance, he turns back to his conversation, leaving you confused. But you don’t miss the way his hand slides further between your legs, almost teasingly.

It wasn't unusual for him to touch you in front of everyone, be it in these types of events or when the gladiator fights bored him to the point where he ordered you to get on your knees and ‘entertain’ him yourself.

But this time, his thumb merely grazes the thin fabric of your tunic between your legs as his hands grip your exposed thigh. Possessively.

Your mind started to race. Did you anger him? Was he upset?

You are in a room filled with naked bodies fucking each other like animals and it never angered him before when you watched. Sometimes you would even comment how ‘sloppy’ their technique was and he would chuckle. So what happened now?

You lean on his side, sliding your hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. He doesn’t react but he doesn’t push you away either. That feels like a win, an opening.

After being his concubine for so long you learned how to behave around him, how to slither your way out of trouble in case you had upset him.

A little touch here, a kiss there, a plea for forgiveness honeyed with praises about how good he is to you along with some dick sucking usually does the trick.

Geta was an emperor but he was also a man with a very big ego. You quickly understood that as much as it is a nuisance it could also become an advantage.

By the time you followed him to his chambers, it was well past midnight.

He had made it a habit to share a bed with you, not even the guards looked surprised anymore.

He walks inside the moment the guards open the heavy doors. He reaches for his golden belt with a heavy sigh but you quickly stop him. “Let me, my Emperor.” You speak, your voice soft. You quickly approach him and meet his stern gaze, waiting for his approval.

Geta lets go of the belt, letting his arms fall to his sides. He looks spent and tired from the long day but you could sense something else frustrating him.

Carefully, you undo his belt, feeling his shoulders relax at the loss of the heavy material. Your eyes travel up his body before finally meeting his gaze through your lashes but you are met with the same cold look from before. 

You take a step back to settle the belt on the table. You aren’t sure if you should approach him again. You expected him to kiss you, to touch you while you were so close but he didn't do either. He just watched you with a raised brow and gritted teeth.

You avert your gaze, focusing on the detailed carvings of the table ignoring the fact that you had seen it a million times before.

You hear his sandals brush against the marble floor, making you shiver. You weren't sure what to expect, he hasn't looked this displeased with you in a long while.

“Mae Columba” ‘My dove’ he says, his voice barely above a whisper but it still held the authority of an Emperor. “Do you know why you wear such lavish cloths?” He asks, not expecting you to answer before continuing, his voice dropping “Why do you smell as good as you smell? Why do golden jewels hang from your ears and wrap around your wrists? Why you aren't passed around my soldiers like a common whore?” 

He was right behind you now, his arms coming to cage you between him and the table. 

His harsh words forced tears to collect on your lash line. You took a deep breath but your voice still quivered as you spoke. “Because you're the Emperor…”

“Because I'm the Emperor.” He repeats softly against your ear, yet there is no softness in his tone. “Then why do you wish for me to become someone else?” 

“I don—” 

“Lies!” He shouts, making you flinch away.

You don't dare to face him, remaining turned to him as his hands start to wander down your sides. “I saw how you looked at those filthy commoners…you were entranced, my dove” 

“My Emperor I—” 

“Have I not done enough for you?” He whispered, but his quiet tone gave you no comfort. His hands moved to your clothed chest, squeezing your breasts mercilessly.

A small whine escapes your lips, your back arching against him. “You gave me everything, my Emperor.” You manage to say through rugged breaths.

He hums pleased. “Clearly not enough since you wish to see me between your legs like a filthy whore.” He murmurs against your ear.

“No!” You yelp, grabbing his forearms after he squeezes your breasts particularly hard. 

Your thighs meet in an attempt to soothe the aching between your legs. “I promise.”

“You promise?” He asks, his tone dripping with disbelief and mockery. 

“Yes! I promise.” You reply quickly, desperation seeping out of your words.

“On the bed.” he commands lowly and you comply without words.

The bed was thrice the size of the bed you used to sleep in, soft with satin sheets and numerous pillows. A bed that an emperor deserved. You weren't sure if you deserved it, yet here you were, lying on the Emperor's sheets like you did many other times.

He looms over your lying figure eyes rolling down every curve of your body like a wolf eyeing a little lamb. His favorite little lamb. 

The one that he never feasts upon but rather chases around until the poor thing is spent and exhausted and pliant for him to bite all he wants.

Geta’s hands find your ankles and he pulls you to him, earning a surprised yelp from you. He crawls to you, entrapping you between his arms once again.

He melts against your mouth, lips moving harshly against yours, refusing to give you a second to breathe. You cry loudly when his teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“My Emperor” you moan against his rough endeavors but he doesn’t stop, you aren’t sure if he even heard you. He was too busy squeezing your already bruising flesh, not even bothering to remove your tunic.

Red liquid escapes from the wound that Geta so eagerly opened. The metallic taste travels to your mouth but he doesn’t seem to mind, and as much as it scares you, neither do you. Instead, you claw at his back breathlessly repeating your words “My Emperor…Let me show you my devotion.”

Geta studies you, his big eyes making him look almost innocent under the dim candlelight.

His lips open to speak his mind, your spit and blood coating them but instead of speaking, he gently caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, smearing the blood.

What are these thoughts? These foolish ideas that plague his mind? His gaze couldn’t deter from your tearful eyes as he let his thumb run down your chin, the faint color of the blood following along.

You were so easy to break, to tear apart and carve as you pleased. He always did just that.

Yet you always came back.

You didn’t have a choice, he wasn’t foolish enough to forget that. But still, you looked at him with a particular dedication that Gate couldn’t quite comprehend. 

Basically, involuntarily he whispers, letting his palm rest on the side of your face “You’ve proven your devotion, corculum. You’ve been so good…” Geta leans closer, his nose pressing your cheek. He breathes in your scent, fighting the urge to squeeze your face with his fingers.

Your breath hitches when he pushes his thumb past your inviting lips and he feels a moan threaten to spill when you sucked on his digit immediately. He couldn’t uncover any thoughts behind your eyes, only lust. Lust for him. Just like he lusted you.

Why is his breath coming out so short, why is his heart threatening to jump from his chest and into your arms? He isn’t even inside you yet and he feels like he can’t think properly.

You weren’t quiet during your shared activities but Geta was always too focused on his own selfish pleasure, rarely caring about yours.

But right now he feels the inexplicable urge to make you scream his name, to make everyone in the palace know, everyone in Rome, the urge to get on his knees and worship you just to get the blessing of your sounds in return.

Oh, you were sent by Venus herself, there was no doubt. There was no other explanation for his crazed thoughts.

The whine that he brings from you when he pulls his hand away burns something deep in his chest. He quickly yanks at his clothes, uncovering his naked, toned body.

Your eyes don’t dare to travel down but you find yourself on your fours, crawling to him. You press your lips to his stomach, tracing his toned body with your lips and tongue softly, teasingly.

A low growl leaves Geta from deep within his throat as he runs his hand through your hair, nearly gently before he grips your locks. He pulls your head back forcing your eyes to meet his, the sudden harshness causing you to freeze.

“You are an enchantress, aren’t you? You have turned me into a madman.” He mutters softly, his tone almost despairing as his blunt nails massage your scalp.

Looking up at him through your lashes you blink, unsure of what to say. Was this an indictment? It sounded more like a statement.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing, my Emperor.” You say softly.

He hums quietly, eyes falling to your legs and he has to swallow hard.

He has seen you like this so many times, and yet you left him speechless every time. From the first time he had bed you, you had left him speechless. Put a spell on him the moment he pushed his cock inside your warm, dripping cunt.

His mind told him to pound you against the mattress as hard as he could, so that every time your core throbbed tomorrow you would remember how vile it was for you to imagine him, your Emperor, between your thighs.

But his body betrayed him. He leans in, his bottom lip grazing your inner thigh.

“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing to me, mae columba” He whispers, so quietly that you could miss it if your senses weren’t so heightened.

He released a quivering breath before pressing his lips on your skin. You gasp at the action, gripping the smooth sheets. The feeling of your flushed skin against his lips was exhilarating, it was the beginning of something that he wasn’t sure he could control. 

Without a second thought, his mouth starts to bruise your thighs fervently, his teeth plunging into your flesh like you were his last meal before the guillotine.

Your moans and cries fill the room and Geta’s heart as he continues to mark your thighs, his intensity matching a starved wolf.

He wanted more. He was insatiable, he was always insatiable.

With a swift movement, he flips the both of you. You yelp in surprise, as you land on his chest, your legs spread apart. 

His head finds the soft mattress but he wouldn’t care even if it was the hard floor. All he could focus on was your clothed core, inches away from his face.

“My Emperor!” You begin. You weren’t sure what to say, how are you even supposed to react to such a scene?

Rome’s Emperor gazing at you between your thighs, looking as famished as ever.

“Quiet.” He growls, his arms coming to wrap around your thighs. His hands slowly travel up your body, dragging your tunic with his fingers revealing more of your skin.

Your naked cunt was inches away from his face, his breath hitting your soaked folds sending a shiver down your spine.

His eyes couldn’t leave your core, mouth watering at the sight. Impatient, you peel off the dress, revealing your naked body.

It was a pattern whenever you were around him. But this time it didn’t make your cheeks burn about being so vulnerable before his ravenous gaze. On the contrary, it made your chest flutter with satisfaction as you lay on top of one of Rome’s brutal Emperors.

No warning was given to you before he harshly pulled you down to him. His tongue lays flat against your pussy, emitting a desperate sound from you. Soon enough he was lost in the feeling of your wetness.  There was no point in fighting your spell anymore, he was already hypnotized. 

Your eyes can’t leave his face. The way he loses himself so eagerly forces your breath to become shallow and desparate.

His tongue laps on your cunt sloppily, and your juices run down his chin though he never wavers, not even for a second. His mouth worked against your folds like he wanted to consume you whole, to drain you of your essence.

“Gods!” You moan loudly, throwing your head back. “My Emperor!” You cry out.

He whimpers against your pussy, he fucking whimpers. You aren’t sure if you can hold on much longer after that. It seems like any fear or shame you had abandoned your body because you start to rock your hips against his face, his nose brushing against clit with every move.

“I can’t take it anymore, my Emperor—” you gasp, your body trembling uncontrollably.

He grabs your waist, his nails digging into your skin possesively. He pulls you even closer to him, if that is even possible, his tongue running over your folds callously.

Your climax came to you like a violent wave, your body shakes violently after your release. Geta doesn’t stop though, his tongue collecting your fluids even if you jolted and whined.

He only stopped when he had nothing else to take. Like always.

You fall to the side, your mouth agape as you pant frenziedly. Geta isn’t looking any better, his slick-covered lips are parted slightly and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Gods…” You breathe out.

Geta finally finds his strength again, moving to position himself above you. His burning body pressed against your side, his lips brushing your temple. “Where the gods between your legs, corculum?”

“That’s what it felt like” You whisper and he fought the urge to smirk. 

“Turn around.” He orders lowly, the playfulness draining from his voice.

With all the strength left in you, you comply, turning around to lie on your chest. You gasp when the Emperor effortlessly lifts your thighs off the mattress. 

You whine at the feeling of his hard cock brushing against your dripping cunt. 

With one forceful push he’s inside your tight walls and you scream. Your nails rake at the satin sheets as he grunts at the warmness that envelops his cock. “You always feel so good, my dove. Like you were made for me” He groans, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“P-perhaps I was” You moan, the sound muffled by the sheets, your eyes nearly rolling back.

He sneers lowly. “Always know just what to say. How to bewitch me with your words…”

You yelp when you feel his hand clutch your jaw and pull you backward. Your back slams against his hard chest. He draws his hips back making you whine at the feeling of his dick slipping away before slamming it back inside. He did it again and again until you were crying and clawing at his hand.

“My Emperor!” You cry out and if it wasn’t for his strong hands you would’ve fallen forward.

His cock hits you so deep, so good you can’t help the tears that run down your flushed cheeks and the lewd cries that fall from your lips still they aren’t nearly as lewd as the wet, sloppy sounds that follow after every intense thrust.

His own grunts are so loud against your ear that you swear you can come from the sounds he’s making alone. It was never this intimate with Geta, so close. He usually pushes your head against the pillows and fucks you into the mattress like an animal. You rarely see his face or hear his sounds other than the harsh words he spews at you.

Your back arches at the harshness of his thrusts, and your head falls on his shoulder. His hand slides down to your core. You feel his smirk against your ear when he flicks your clit and you flinch.

“Geta!” You scream his name as you come for a second time for the night, your voice hoarse from all the screaming.

If your brain wasn't mushed from pleasure you would slap a hand over your mouth, bracing yourself for his palm landing on your cheek.

He grabs your face and turns your head to face him. The moment your eyes meet you know there won’t be any repercussions for your defiance. His pupils are so blown to the point where you couldn’t locate the light brown of his iris. He pulls you for a heated kiss and with one last, mind-numbing thurst he spills his seed deep inside you.

He falls forward and pulls you with him. You fall on all your fours, his chest falling flush on your back. You whimper when his cock moves inside your overstimulated pussy with the movement.

Geta’s breath was hot against your shoulder and his hands squeezed your waist occasionally, seemingly without noticing.

“My Emperor,” You breathed out. “Forgiv—”

“Quiet.” He rasped, silencing you immediately.

He threw the both of you to the side, pulling you closer to him by the waist.

That day Geta, with his dick deep inside you, realized two things. That you have probably enchanted him and that he didn’t care one bit. 

Because if being bewitched meant that he would spend his living days between your legs, getting drunk on you, then he would gladly do it.

[rhaenyraeri]

it’s actually despicable how badly i need him ☹️🥲💦

[darnell-la]

FRIENDS & CUFFS

summary: y/n has only been curious about Eddie’s handcuffs after they began dating. she wondered why he never used them on her, and at first, long told her she didn’t know anything about that life. she soon found out that Eddie had a lot to teach her.

warnings: quick friends to lovers storyline, making out, fem receiving oral from male, reader weakens after orgasm, slight innocent reader, drug dealer Eddie (not really mentioned), rough sex, bondage (Eddie’s handcuffs/chains), missionary, doggy, no protection, crying, whining, a lot of male noises, pet names, chocking, etc.

note: we haven’t done an Eddie Munson fan fiction in a while. we still love him, so, there will be more. more stranger things in general. you see what I did there? — nevermind.

———

Steve nearly asked Eddie every day since he graduated, when he was going to make a move on y/n. He hated watching the two drink and get close, yet never make a move.

When people would ask them if they were together, or assume, anyone could tell they the nervousness entered the room.

Not too long ago, y/n and Eddie finally made a move. It seemed so perfect how they both leaned in to feel each other’s lips.

“I think we should stop — You’re drunk, and it’s getting late,” Eddie whispered after y/n stopped fake fighting on top of him. “What if I won’t want to sleep just yet?” Y/n asked, a bit shy, but the alcohol in her body, helped her gain confidence.

“You’re drinks, princess, and I’m not. I don’t want you to regret this, and mess our friendship up,” Eddie said, really wanting to taste her, but she was afraid of showing what he’s been wanting to do with her.

“A kiss could never ruin our friendship, Eddie,” y/n said, slightly sounding desperate as her eyes could barely stay open. “Wanna do more than just kiss you, y/n,” Eddie admitted.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at what her best friend said. She thought she was the only one who wanted to experiment with him. She felt nasty, but now, she felt loose.

The two both crashed on each other’s lips, making g out rough but passionate. None of them have kissed like this before. They would’ve never mixed their saliva like this with anyone, but because it’s them, they wanted to do much more.

The night ended with y/n halfway passed out, and Eddie’s face resting on y/n’s thigh, dripping juice from y/n’s throbbing heat. “So good for me — I wanna get used to this,”

Now, the two are dating, happier than ever, but y/n has been curious lately. She didn’t pay much attention when they were just friends, but now that they’re dating, she thought about Eddie’s handcuffs.

Most partners would be jealous, but y/n? She was curious. She thought to herself plenty of times how he would use them on her, and why he hadn’t done it yet. They’ve only been sexual for a short time, but if he were kinky like that, why wouldn’t he mention it?

“You good, sweetheart?” Eddie asked after turning to his girlfriend who seemed to be daydreaming. “Yeah, I was just thinking,” y/n said, not knowing if she should bring this up as a conversation so soon her their relationship.

“What is it? What were you thinking about?” The metalhead asked as he leaned back on his bed, taking his eyes off the weed he was pre-rolling for his rich customers who couldn’t do it on their own.

“So, uh — I noticed the handcuffs, and I was curious,” y/n said as she stared at the cuffs that were basically chains, dangling from a hook in his wall. She knew that had to be for something sexual.

“Hey, y/n, look — I swear on my uncle, I’ve never used them in anyone, and never planned to. I just liked the thought of them near me. I’ve even thought about you in them,” Eddie spoke quietly, a bit embarrassed by his truth.

“Oh, wait, I wasn’t jealous or anything. I just was curious on why you didn’t use them on me yet,” y/n said, making Eddie's eyes widen. For the longest, he had thought y/n was innocent, and she was. She was just open-minded when it came to her boyfriend.

“You’re not ready for that, princess,” Eddie chuckled lightly. “Why not?” Y/n asked, a bit offended as she crossed her arms. “Being restrained means you can’t do anything. I don’t think that it’s a good idea to put you in something like that, knowing you’d wanna get out,”

“What do you mean, want to get out? I can take it,” y/n said, only making the man laugh. “You can’t even take me slow in doggy. What makes you think you can take me deep up front with your pretty hands cuffed?”

Eddie shifted in the bed to cup y/n’s chin, slightly teasing her because they both knew she wasn’t a taker. Especially with his length.

“I-I can take it — It’s not even that bad,” y/n said, making Eddie throw himself back onto his bed with a loud laugh, knowing his uncle wasn’t home to tell him to shut the hell up.

“What!? You’re mean as fuck, you know?” Y/n said as she kept her arms crossed. “Oh, really, baby? I’m sorry, it’s just — You’re a comedian,” Eddie kept laughing, only making y/n roll her eyes.

“C’mon, I’m just pullin’ your tit, baby,” Eddie leaned up to hug y/n, but she moved away. “Babe, don’t start this. I was just kidding,” Eddie tried hugging y/n again, but this time she pushed him away. Of course, not too hard. She was just being dramatic.

“And, that’s why we can’t do what you wanna do. You can’t even handle being picked on a little bit,” Eddie said as he pushed at y/n’s shoulder lightly, slightly feeling bad for what he did.

“Whatever, I’ll be fine,” y/n said, making y/n sigh as he rolled his eyes. “Fine — We can use em, but ion wanna hear none of that cryin', okay?” Eddie jumped off of the bed to get his handcuffs that had dust all over them.

“Really?” Y/n asked, a bit excited, but knowing she wouldn’t be too excited soon. “Ah huh, but only one rule,” Eddie said with a smirk as he untangled the chains. “Yeah?” Y/n innocently asked, not knowing how quick of a turn this would take.

“The only thing stopping me, is our safe word,” before y/n could agree with a smile, Eddie lunged at her, grabbing her quest roughly to cuff them as quick as possible.

“Hey,” y/n said with an eye roll, not knowing he’d get in the mood this fast. “Not a word from you, princess. Let’s see how good you think you can take it,” Eddie said as he placed the chains where they needed to be.

Seeing y/n in this sight, made him harder than he thought he could get. She was always beautiful, but seeing her innocent body slightly retrained, knowing she was actually ready for what was coming, made him want to burst then and there.

“Always thought about tying you up at school. I was a little perv-nerd when it came to you, princess. You always looked and smelled so good — Had to keep myself from throwing you in my van with your hands and legs tied,”

Eddie was in an emotion he couldn’t control. He was either not sure about putting his pretty girl through this, or he was getting too dark to the point he would black out and not remember anything he’d do to her tonight.

“Pretties thighs — Pretties body — Pretties fucking face,” Eddie slightly growled as he gripped y/n’s face. The younger girl whined with huge eyes, feeling her heat get wet.

“I know, baby — Hearts probably rising. Maybe a hint of fear, knowing you can’t get loose — Don’t worry. You know, I’ll take good care of you,”

Eddie quickly began tugging on y/n’s clothes until parts of her showed more than before. She had already had her night dress in, so exposing her bra-covered breast was easy.

“You sure you want this y/n because, fuck — I won’t be able to stop myself,” Eddie warned as he climbed on top of y/n, pulling her dress up as she slightly moved at his cold hands grazing her skin.

“U-Use me — Please,” y/n stuttered, not knowing if she should’ve said it. “What’s the safe word?” Eddie asked in a stern tone. “Red,” y/n said, feeling her heart raise. This was actually happening, and she only had to question him once.

“Good girl,” Eddie grunted as he reached into his jeans to pull himself out. “And, that’s the only thing I wanna hear from you tonight,” Eddie said as he pulled y/n’s panties to the side.

“I-I’ll try,” y/n spoke, making Eddie shake his head with a chuckle. “You’re always doing a terrible job. Just means I’ll have to start off rough,” before anything, Eddie doubly pushed through y/n’s walls, causing her to cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Yeah? You feel that? Feel how deep I am inside of you? I told you doggy would be the only position you could truly handle — This is next level,” Eddie couldn’t stop but grin down at the struggles woman.

“S-So much,” y/n whined low, only making Eddie shush her. “Nah uh, what did I say? Didn’t I say to keep that pretty mouth closed? Hm? — You’re the one who wanted this, so accept the journey,”

Eddie grabbed both sides of y/n’s waist before pushing down onto the mattress. Y/n knew he was positioning himself to fuck her rough. He’s never gone too rough, but she asked for it tonight.

“Hush it up, princess — You wanted it,” Eddie continued saying as he pounded down into y/n, going the deepest he could get at the start of his session. After being handcuffed, there would be no room for taking it slow.

“E-Eddie,” y/n cried out as she pulled one of her restraints. At times, she’d forget that she wouldn’t be able to get out. “Wanna break free? Keep trying, princess — Makes this so much hotter,” Eddie growled with a smile, looking down at the way y/n pulled on the chains.

“This is the tightest you’ve ever been — The way you’re soaking around me, only makes me closer,” Eddie felt himself twitch. He didn’t want to cum this quick, but it didn’t matter. He’s always been able to keep going.

“Eddie- Eddie, you — The condoms. You forgot the condoms,” y/n took forever to say what she was trying to say. “Oh, really? Guess that’s your luck, hm?” Eddie leaned in front of y/n’s face.

Deep down, Eddie felt bad for slipping into her without protection. He had completely forgotten, but he didn’t want to get out of character. He had to somehow make sure y/n was 100% with what was going on.

“Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me. Tell me!” Eddie slightly yelled as he snapped his hips, wanting to keep his work going. He could feel the way she fluttered around him. She was so close.

“Too much, Eds — I’m gonna cum,” y/n made the mistake of telling him how close she was. “And, you want me to stop? When you’re so close? C’mon,” Eddie leaned into y/n’s ear so she could hear his groans better.

The room was filled with wet slaps, whining, growling, and a bunch is cuss words from Eddie. He couldn’t keep himself together. This situation was too much for him. He was going to explode.

“E-Eddie, slow down — Please,” y/n tried begging the man, but he wouldn’t listen. Why would he? She hadn’t used the safe word yet. “Want me to slow down?” Eddie asked as he leaned up.

“Yes, yes,” y/n huffed, surprised he actually slowed down. She had thought he got soft, but little did she know, he was just getting a short break. “Want me to be nicer? Take it easy on you?” He asked as he softly placed his hands around her neck.

“Please-“ y/n was cut off by the grip of his hands. “Then you asked the wrong one to chain you up, sweetheart,” Eddie spat before he began slamming into her, making the young lady cry out instantly.

“E-Eds! C-Can’t anymore — I can’t!” Y/n kicked and arched her back, trying to control herself, but her cunt continued to squeeze around Eddie, only assuring him that he was doing exactly what she wanted. Using her.

“That’s it — Keep struggling — You’re going nowhere, and this isn’t even the beginning — I have so many loads I’ve been wanting to empty into you,” Eddie tightened his grip a bit more to hear her struggle for air.

For a second, Eddie thought he might have been going too far tonight. Quickly handcuffing her, saying mean things, pinning her down, and fucking get rougher than he’s ever done.

The only thing that helped him was her words. She never once came close to the word red. She would’ve said it by now, and she would never come to him later and say she was uncomfortable. Y/n wasn’t like that.

That’s how Eddie knew y/n probably enjoyed this more than him. She loved faking that she needed him to stop. He even saw a small pour from her when he slowed down a few minutes ago.

“C-Cumming — Cunming,” y/n’s body stiffened before she shook. “That’s it- That’s it — Fucking take it,” the older man growled as he pounded her, wanting her juice to splash anywhere it could.

“Ian stoppin’ either, baby — Told you to keep that fucking mouth shut, didn’t I?” Eddie asked, but y/n didn’t answer. Her eyes were landing everywhere but on him. She felt out of it already.

“Didn’t I!?” The man shouted as he shook y/n by her neck to catch her attention. “S-Sorry,” tears streamed from her eyes, upset at herself for not taking it like she swore she could.

Right as Eddie went to assure her that she was fine, she spoke, shocking him.

“I-I’ll be good, I promise. Please cum in me. D-Don’t pull out and punish me,” she cried. “I’ll do anything, Eds, just- Please, use me,”

“Jesus’s H. Christ,” Eddie huffed as he pulled out. He quickly turned his girlfriend around, knowing the chains were long enough for her to be comfortable. He took no time to push back in her, roughly, with a warning.

Y/n wanted to speak out loud to thank him, he she kept quiet. She wanted to be good like she promised.

“You’re just a slut, y/n — A dirty fucking slut, and I knew it from how you dressed at parties — You always got drunk before you sat on my lap, facing me- Dragging that pretty pussy across my clothes cock — Swore you even stained my jeans, once,”

Y/n whined, happy that he noticed his much she wanted him before they got together. Yeah, a bit of embarrassment was felt, but the thought of being caught was what made her close to another orgasm.

“You’re in for a ride with me, princess. Especially after I coat these walls,”

[shortnspidey]

NONSENSE

Johnny Storm X Female!reader || WC: 5.6K

SUMMARY: Being best friends with Johnny Storm had always come naturally, maybe a little too naturally. Somewhere between late-night movies and whispered secrets, your feelings began to shift. But you kept them to yourself, tucking the crush away and convincing yourself that friendship was more than enough. So when Susan and Reed ask you to help Johnny watch Franklin, you agree without hesitation. What could go wrong?

WARNINGS: Contains minor Fantastic Four: First Steps Spoilers! Established friendship, eventual friends to lovers, cursing, oblivious idiots in love, fluff galore, flirty banter, Reed and Susan are unintentional matchmakers, domestic uncle!Johnny, slight angst, suggestiveness but no smut!

A/N: The way Johnny acted whenever he interacted with Franklin had to be one of my favorite parts of the entire movie! Men that are good with kids are just INCREDIBLY attractive. So this one-shot is purely self-indulgent! Hope we get more of them in the future!! Divider by @saradika-graphics <3

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The Baxter Building had practically become your second home. Between late-night movie marathons, joining impromptu family dinners, and Susan’s gentle insistence that you never needed an invitation. It's safe to say you’d spent more time there than in your own apartment lately. The elevator doors gave a gentle chime before gliding open, revealing the sleek, interior of the Fantastic Four’s private floor.

H.E.R.B.I.E. zipped into view the moment you stepped out, whirring cheerfully with blinking lights and enthusiastic beeps that filled the hallway like confetti. You laughed and crouched down slightly, holding out your hand as the robot spun in a delighted little circle. “Hello, H.E.R.B.I.E., you miss me already?” You grinned, giving the top of his head an affectionate tap.

Before you could ask about the others, a familiar figure emerged from around the corner in a whirlwind of motion. Reed Richards looked like he'd just walked out of a scientific hurricane, shirt slightly wrinkled, tie askew, and hair in the kind of tousled state only existential stress could cause. “Oh, thank goodness.” He breathed, already halfway across the hall and closing the distance with long, purposeful strides.

In a rare show of affection, he wrapped you into a brief but firm hug, clinging like a man about to board a rocket. “Jeez, Reed,” You chuckled, stepping back as he released you. “Don’t you look thrilled for date night.” His expression twisted with half a smile and half a wince as he ran a hand down his face, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt like it was suffocating him. Behind him, H.E.R.B.I.E. let out a low, sympathetic beep.

Reed pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded a lot like a plea to the universe. “Johnny.” That was all you needed. One name, and the entire situation became crystal clear. Your best friend was a whirlwind of chaotic energy, and wherever he went, trouble wasn’t far behind, usually smiling, charming, and completely unapologetic.

Almost as if summoned by name, or more likely because he had been eavesdropping, Johnny Storm burst into the room like a one-man parade. “There’s my favorite girl!” He announced, arms already open wide. Before you could react, he was scooping you up in a familiar, dizzying spin, his laughter rumbling against your ear. You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped you, the sound bubbling up like it always did around him, effortless, easy.

Only when he seemed satisfied with the display of affection did he finally set you back down, but even then, his hands lingered on your waist like he hadn’t quite decided to let you go. You didn't exactly mind. When the room stopped spinning, you looked up, and instantly regretted it. God, he looked good. Too good. A maroon bomber jacket was thrown over a white tee, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows with casual flair, displaying his veiny forearms that never failed to make your mouth water.

His blonde hair, annoyingly perfect as always, caught the light just enough to look sun-kissed, and those blue eyes sparkled with mischief, like he was already planning his next stunt. Behind him, Reed cleared his throat meaningfully. Johnny glanced over his shoulder with a grin that was all innocence and zero guilt, as if he hadn’t just been encouraging a toddler to weaponize household objects moments prior.

“Causing trouble already?” You asked, folding your arms with mock sternness and one raised brow. “Me? Never.” He winked, oozing charm, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him completely. At last, his hands dropped from your waist, and even that small absence left your skin tingling. You tried to focus as he dashed off, already on a mission to corral the minefield of toys strewn across the living room floor.

You watched as he picked up a stuffed alien by one leg, then a miniature drum, and then immediately dropped both to make a siren noise with a plastic fire truck. Unsurprisingly, the room was destined to be chaos again the moment Franklin reentered it, but Johnny was at least pretending to tidy up, which was worth something. “How do you deal with him?” Reed asked, sounding as exhausted as he looked.

He stood there taking in the sight of his brother-in-law playing with his son's toys, rubbing at his temple with the air of a man who knew he’d never truly be free of the chaos. You offered a shrug, casual but fond. “Years of practice. He grows on you, eventually.” You didn’t even have to look to know Johnny had heard you. A dramatic gasp echoed behind you, followed by the sound of him stumbling backward as if wounded.

“Hey! I can hear you!” He cried, one hand over his heart like you’d mortally offended him. Grinning, you stuck your tongue out at him like the mature adult that you were. Before Johnny could retaliate, probably with a pillow launched in your direction or another lecture about how everyone secretly loved him, a small blur shot around the corner like a pint-sized comet.

“Y/N!” You turned just in time, crouching down with open arms as Franklin launched himself at you. His tiny body slammed into your chest, and you caught him easily, steadying the both of you with a laugh. “Whoa, careful there, sweetheart.” You chuckled, pulling him in tight. His little hands curled around your neck as if he hadn't seen you in years, and you pressed your face into his soft hair.

“My goodness,” You whispered, leaning back to take a better look at him. “You have got to stop growing.” You showered his chubby cheeks in kisses, laughing as he giggled uncontrollably, little legs kicking in excitement. The sound lit something up in you, pure, uncomplicated joy, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded out. All that mattered was the warmth of Franklin’s hug and the sound of his happiness echoing off the walls.

Which is why, you didn’t notice Johnny had stopped moving. Across the room, he stood frozen mid-step, a toy truck dangling forgotten from one hand. His usual smirk had softened into something quieter, eyes fixed on you and Franklin like he was watching a dream he hadn’t dared name. There was something in his expression, something fond, unguarded, maybe even a little stunned. For once, Johnny Storm was speechless.

“Y/N, hello darling.” Susan’s voice broke through the chorus of giggles still echoing in the room. You glanced up to find her walking in with effortless grace, powder blue dress nipped at the waist, pearl earrings, blonde hair pinned up in soft curls. Even when wrangling genius husbands and precocious toddlers, Susan Storm somehow made it look easy. You shifted Franklin on your hip, his arms still looped loosely around your neck as you rose to greet her.

“Hi, Sue, you look gorgeous.” You grinned, wrapping one arm around her in a warm hug. “Thank you.” She returned the smile, her eyes softening as she squeezed your hand with that calm, nurturing energy only she could exude. Her gaze drifted to Franklin, then flicked briefly toward Johnny, who was now pretending to inspect the bookshelf but had clearly not stopped watching you since you walked in.

A knowing glimmer sparkled in her eyes, but she let it pass with only a subtle lift of her brow. “Are you sure this isn’t an inconvenience?” She asked gently, though the hesitation in her voice told you she already felt guilty. “I know watching a toddler on a Friday night isn’t exactly ideal.” You scoffed before she could finish the thought, pulling Franklin a little closer. His sleepy weight pressed against you like he belonged there.

“He’s my godson, there’s really nowhere else I’d rather be.” You replied easily, brushing a bit of hair from Franklin’s forehead before placing a loving kiss on his forehead. “Get outta here, lovebirds.” Johnny chimed in, slipping an arm over your shoulders with the casual ease of someone who’d been doing it since childhood. His other hand waved dramatically toward the door. “Franklin’s in fantastic hands.”

You rolled your eyes, snorting at the awful pun. “Really?” You muttered under your breath, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. He grinned, utterly unapologetic, and leaned a little more of his weight against you like he had no intention of moving anytime soon. “Both children will be in one piece when you two come back.” You promised, giving Johnny a pointed side glance.

Susan let out a quiet chuckle, her eyes flicking toward her brother, clearly amused. “We won’t be out too late,” She assured again, though her tone had softened, more relaxed now. “If he gets fussy, there are snacks in the kitchen, and his bedtime is around eight.” Reed reappeared from the hallway, his composure mostly restored, tie straightened, coat neatly draped over one arm.

With his usual efficiency, he helped Susan into her coat, adjusting the shoulders with a care that made you momentarily forget he was the world’s most distracted genius. Before leaving, Susan turned one last time, her gaze resting on you and Franklin, and just briefly, on the way Johnny’s arm still lingered around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing idle patterns against your upper arm.

She mouthed one final thank you, before slipping through the front door with Reed in tow. The soft click of the latch left behind a hush that settled over the room, which left just you, Franklin, and Johnny. “So,” He drawled, quirking a brow, blue eyes fixed on you. “You, me, and one dangerously powerful toddler. What could possibly go wrong?” You smirked. “Everything.” And somehow, you were looking forward to every second of it.

As predicted, the moment you set Franklin down, he making a beeline straight for the living room. Without hesitation, he scooped up as many toy cars as his tiny arms could manage, cradling them to his chest like precious cargo. He dropped to his knees with all the focused determination of a world-class engineer, lining up the miniature vehicles in a meticulous row alongside the winding, high-tech racetrack Reed had crafted in the lab.

Johnny wasted no time. He vaulted over the back of the couch like a kid on Christmas morning, skidding into place beside Franklin on the rug. Within seconds, he was deep in the throes of an imaginary race, arms outstretched, making high-pitched engine noises, mimicking tight turns, screeching tires, and dramatic crashes. At one point, he even narrated the race in a terrible British accent, which made Franklin laugh so hard he rolled backward into a pile of pillows.

You leaned against the doorway, arms folded, unable to wipe the smile off your face. Watching Johnny with Franklin was unfair in every way. He looked too good like this, lit up from the inside out, eyes crinkled with laughter, hair slightly mussed from all the movement. Your ovaries were overwhelmed with joy, hormones, and entirely inappropriate thoughts that you had absolutely no business entertaining while a two-year-old was in the room.

To distract yourself, you busied yourself in the kitchen. The warm light over the counter glowed like amber as you set out apple slices, crackers, and a juice box, arranging them on a plate shaped like a cartoon spaceship. But, toddlers are nothing if not delightfully unpredictable. “Uncle Johnny’s loud.” Franklin announced from the floor before trotting over to you, toy car still clutched in one hand. “Book now, pwease.”

With zero resistance, you scooped him up and headed for the couch, already grabbing the well-worn copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar from where it laid on the coffee table. Franklin nestled into your side like he belonged there, head on your shoulder, thumb in his mouth. You flipped open the book, voice gentle as you began to read. Or at least, you tried to read.

You stumbled over words you’d read a hundred times before, tongue tripping more than you’d like to admit, not because of Franklin, who was happily turning pages too soon, but because Johnny was watching you. His gaze hadn’t left you since you sat down, blue eyes softened with something too warm, too intense for casual friendship. You refused to meet his eyes, cheeks burning hotter than any of his fire tricks.

After dinner, Franklin was back to racing around with his cars. Only now, he wanted you and Johnny to play too. Which is how you ended up cross-legged on the living room floor again, mid-race chaos, with Franklin assigning you very serious car duties, like “crash dis one” and “make dis one fly.” Johnny, of course, took it way too far.

He zoomed his car off the edge of the coffee table with a dramatic explosion noise, tossed Franklin gently in the air, which earned him a fierce scolding glare from you, and then proudly unveiled a mini Johnny Storm action figure from one of the toy bins. You groaned, the moment it crackled to life with a mechanical, over-enthusiastic: 'FLAME ON!'

“Bet you didn’t think I’d let this masterpiece go out of production.” Johnny puffed his chest out like he’d won a Nobel Prize. “It talks? “Why on Earth does it talk?” You deadpanned. “Because it's genius,” He stated matter-of-factly, holding the tiny figure like it was sacred. “And because the world needs more me.” You opened your mouth to disagree, but Franklin grabbed the figure from his hand and hugged it to his chest like it was made of gold.

"Uncle Johnny, cool!" Johnny beamed, smiling from ear to ear. “See? The people agree.” You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw another dimension. You wanted to argue, saying Franklin was clearly biased, but the truth was, watching him, with Franklin curled up against you and laughter echoing around the room, you couldn’t remember the last time your heart had felt this full.

Seeing as Johnny had playtime thoroughly covered, complete with dramatic reenactments and the occasional sound barrier being broken, you took the opportunity to slip away and handle the aftermath of dinner. The dishes weren’t going to wash themselves, and frankly, you needed a few minutes to cool down. Watching Johnny be good with Franklin, be soft, had your heart doing things that felt mildly illegal.

You stepped into the kitchen just as H.E.R.B.I.E. glided up beside you, silently offering the now-empty plate Franklin had used for his macaroni masterpiece. With a fond smile and a quiet thank you, you reached for it, and that’s when all hell decided to break loose. “OW! Buddy, not the hair!” Johnny’s voice cut through the room, followed by a shrill, high-pitched wail that had every maternal instinct in your body firing at once.

You sprinted the short distance from the kitchen to the living room, nearly slipping on one of Franklin’s rogue race cars. The scene that met you was peak disaster, Johnny was crouched on the floor, a frazzled mess with a toy still in one hand and Franklin squirming in his arms, red-faced and wailing. Johnny’s blue eyes snapped up the moment he heard your footsteps. His expression was a mix of panic and guilt.

“Give him to me.” Your voice was calm, instinctive, even as your arms reached out without hesitation. The moment Franklin caught sight of you, he lunged like a rocket, practically leaping into your embrace. You caught him easily, cradling his small frame against your chest. His sobs were still jagged and hiccupy, but they began to slow as you rocked him gently from side to side, your fingers drawing soft, rhythmic circles against his back.

His little fists clung to your shirt like lifelines, breath hitching in that pitiful post-cry rhythm that tugged at every heartstring you had. You murmured soft nonsense into his hair, words that didn’t matter so much as the tone, reassuring, steady, warm. Gradually, the tension left his body, replaced by that heavy-limbed drowsiness that always followed a toddler meltdown.

Over Franklin’s head, your gaze drifted to the wall clock, it read 7:58 PM. Of course, his body knew. Right on cue, the crash before bedtime. “Can you finish cleaning up?” You murmured, glancing over to Johnny, who was still sitting there, looking like he’d just been emotionally sideswiped. “I’m going to try and get him settled for bed.” Johnny nodded, standing quickly, carefully. As he stepped closer, he placed a gentle kiss on Franklin’s tousled head.

Then, his hand came to rest on your shoulder, warm and grounding, fingers giving the faintest squeeze as he brushed past you and disappeared into the kitchen. The touch lingered even after he was gone. And for a second, just a second, you let yourself close your eyes and breathe in the moment, Franklin's weight against you, the quiet settling over the room, and the echo of Johnny's tenderness still trailing behind him.

As you disappeared down the hallway, cradling a drowsy Franklin against your chest, Johnny let out the breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. It left him in a slow, uneven exhale, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, not because of exhaustion, but because watching you like that wrecked him in ways he couldn’t begin to explain. The sight of you, arms wrapped protectively around Franklin, murmuring in that soft voice that made even the toddler’s screams quiet down.

He dropped into a chair at the kitchen island, elbows on the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face as if it might shake off the feeling tightening in his ribcage. God, he was so screwed. It wasn’t just the way you looked tonight, though, yeah, that was enough to short-circuit him on a good day. The soft, lived-in familiarity of your smile, the way you rolled your eyes when he got too cocky, the gentle way you brushed Franklin’s hair back like you’d done it a thousand times before.

It wasn’t new. The feelings had been there for a while now, growing in quiet corners between inside jokes and late-night calls, rooted in the unshakable way you just got him. But this? Tonight? Watching you soothe his nephew like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he just stood there helpless, hair askew, ego bruised by a toddler? Yeah. That cracked something open.

Johnny leaned back, staring at the ceiling like maybe the answer to his emotional ineptitude was hidden in the plaster. He wasn’t good at this part, the messy, vulnerable, heart-in-his-throat stuff. Flirting, he could do blindfolded. Grand gestures? Easy. But feelings that mattered? Feelings that made his pulse stutter and his brain go fuzzy and his mouth forget how to be clever? That was harder.

But no matter how loud his heart got, there was one thing louder: the fear of ruining everything. You were his best friend. The constant in his chaos. You just got him, ego, flaws, fire and all. And the thought of letting these feelings consume him, of risking what you already had for something that might never work out? That terrified him more than anything.

Because what if he said something, did something, and it changed the way you looked at him? What if the easy laughter and casual touches turned awkward? What if he lost you? He looked toward the hallway where you'd disappeared, the quiet hum of your footsteps still echoing faintly in his ears. You’d taken Franklin like he was yours. Like you belonged here, in the middle of this family chaos, perfectly slotted into a space you hadn’t even asked to fill.

And somehow, everything felt quieter with you in it. He glanced toward the sink, eyes landing on the half-finished dishes, but his mind was still on you. Your hand on his shoulder. The way you didn’t flinch when things got messy. The way Franklin launched himself into your arms like it was instinct. Johnny rested his chin in his palm, staring at nothing in particular, lips curving just a little despite himself.

He was in love with you. Completely, stupidly, irrevocably in love with you. And the most ridiculous part? You probably had no idea. So he did what he always did. He swallowed it. Pushed it down, tucked it behind a grin and a joke and a wink. He’d take the way you looked at him now, fond and familiar, over losing you entirely. Even if it meant sitting here in the quiet, heart full of things he didn’t know how to say.

“Finally got him down.” You sighed, stepping back into the kitchen with your shoulders drooping slightly, weariness and warmth both lingering in your expression. You set the baby monitor on the kitchen island with a quiet clink, the soft static crackle filling the space just enough to remind you he was still only a room away. Johnny blinked, snapping out of whatever tangled thoughts he’d been drowning in.

“Sit.” His voice was gentle, coaxing, already rising from his chair. One hand brushed the small of your back, a fleeting touch, but enough to make your breath catch. He pulled out the chair next to his, guiding you into it with a casual attentiveness that never failed to send a zoo of butterflies stampeding through your stomach. You dropped into the seat with a sigh that was part exhaustion, part resignation. “But the dishes—”

“Herbert and I got it.” He interrupted smoothly, shooting a smirk toward H.E.R.B.I.E., who rolled up at just the right moment with mechanical precision. Johnny bumped fists with the robot, taking a bowl from his outstretched arm. You raised your hands in mock surrender, lips curling into a tired smile as you leaned back against the chair. Your eyes followed Johnny as he casually peeled off his bomber jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair.

Without it, he was all forearms and muscle, the short sleeves of his t-shirt hugging the defined curve of his biceps and the broad stretch of his chest like it had been designed with malicious intent. You glanced away quickly before your gaze betrayed you, but not fast enough to stop your face from flushing. You could feel the warmth blooming at your cheeks and cursed him, silently, lovingly, for existing so effortlessly.

The room fell into a quiet rhythm: H.E.R.B.I.E.'s faint whirring, the occasional clink of dishes, the lullaby-soft hush of a house winding down for the night. Then Johnny’s voice broke through, soft and unguarded. “You know…” He began, fingers still lingering on the edge of the countertop, but his eyes now fully on you. “You’re going to make an amazing mom one day.” The words landed with more weight than you expected. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it.

Not as a joke. Not as some offhand compliment. It came out quiet, earnest, a whisper of a truth he couldn’t stop himself from saying aloud. Your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. For a beat too long, you stared at him, trying to read what was hidden behind the usual mischief. There was no mask this time. No smirk. Just Johnny, bare and sincere in a way he rarely let himself be. You smiled, small and surprised, a flutter stirring in your chest. “You think?”

He shrugged, but the smile he wore was warm enough to melt through any doubt. “I know.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, heart full and aching in a way you hadn’t expected. That look in his eyes, bright, a little reverent, maybe even something closer to love, it made the air feel too thick, too still. You wondered if he felt it too. That quiet hum between you, the one that had been there for years but now felt impossible to ignore.

And then, without even trying, the words fell from his mouth as if he’d been fed a truth serum. “I think about it a lot, honestly. More specifically, you being the mother of my children." Your breath hitched. Time slowed. Even H.E.R.B.I.E., bless him, seemed to sense the gravity of what had just been released into the room and rolled discreetly out of the kitchen. Johnny stood frozen, one hand clenched around the dishcloth, knuckles white, eyes wide.

Like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but now that it was out, he couldn’t take it back. And frankly, he didn’t want to. A nervous laugh escaped him, breathless and uneven. “Shit, that sounds way more intense when it’s not just in my head.” You turned to face him fully, your heart beating so fast you were sure he could hear it echoing in the silence. “I mean it.” He added quickly, voice dropping, sincerity bleeding through every word.

“It’s not just some passing thought I get when I see you with Franklin, or when you laugh, or when you fall asleep during movie nights and drool on my shoulder.” You made a quiet noise of protest, heat blooming across your cheeks. He grinned softly at that, but it faltered just as quickly, replaced by something more hesitant. “I try to ignore it, y'know?” His fingers fidgeted with the hem of the dish towel, eyes focused on the counter like it might help him stay grounded.

“Because I didn’t want to mess this up. You and me... we’re good. We work. And I kept thinking, if I opened my mouth, I’d ruin it all. That I’d lose you.” His eyes finally met yours again, open, uncertain, completely unguarded. “But lately? It’s like... I can’t not feel it anymore. It’s everywhere. You're everywhere. Every time I look at you, I think about what it’d be like to wake up next to you. To build something real. I think about how natural it feels when you're here, like you're already part of the family.”

His hand hovered near yours on the counter, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat between your fingers. “I’m tired of pretending it’s not there. Tired of pretending I don’t—” The words caught on his tongue. “Tired of pretending that I don’t love you, Y/N.” And there it was. Simple. Raw. Undeniably real. The air between you felt electric, charged with everything that had been buried under years of stolen glances, long talks, missed chances, and the quiet kind of love that grows too strong to ignore.

"Oh, fuck it." Before you could react and before he could talk himself out of it, Johnny rounded the kitchen island with a kind of reckless purpose, his restraint unraveling in real time. And then, he was there. He surged forward, big hands finding your waist, as his lips crashed against yours. Your eyes flew open, shocked by the force of it, by the sheer heat, but your body answered before your brain could catch up, instinct overriding reason.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed him back, years of pent-up tension igniting like gasoline meeting flame. His hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you flush against him as his mouth moved hungrily against yours. When his tongue pushed past your lips and brushed against yours, a soft moan slipped out of you before you could stop it, swallowed by his mouth like it was the very thing he’d been starving for.

You felt him groan low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending another wave of heat straight down your spine. His hands roamed, one sliding up your back, the other briefly gripping your hip before pulling you impossibly closer, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was really happening. Your hands had a mind of their own, smoothing up the planes of his chest, over his shoulders, fingertips trailing across the warm skin of his neck and into his hair.

He shuddered beneath your touch, deepening the kiss like he never wanted to come up for air. It was messy. Intense. Every press of his mouth against yours was filled with every stolen glance, every suppressed feeling, every unsaid word that had sat between you like a live wire for years. When he finally did pull back, breathless and wide-eyed, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving, and so was his.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” He breathed out, voice low and wrecked with emotion, his forehead pressing gently to yours. His thumbs stroked your hips, like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he’d started. You nodded, still catching your breath, eyes searching his face for anything, regret, hesitation, but there was none. “I thought I was dreaming,” You whispered. “I’ve been in love with you since I can remember.”

The words, settled over your skin like a warm blanket, uncomplicated, long-overdue, and unmistakably true. “Say it again.” He begged, voice hoarse, like he needed the sound of it more than air. Like your confession might be the only thing tethering him to reality. “I love you, Johnny.” That did it. He surged forward again, but this time there was no urgency, no crashing wave of desperation, just reverence.

His lips met yours with a gentleness that threatened to undo you entirely. No rush, only the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone as his mouth moved against yours, patient and aching, as though he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips and the rhythm of your sighs. Your hands curled around his wrists, anchoring yourself to him as he kissed you like it was sacred.

His breath hitched slightly when your fingers threaded back through his hair, but he didn't press further, didn’t deepen the kiss like before. This was about worship. Like he'd spent years imagining this, and now that he had it, he wanted to slow time down and savor every second. When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes remained closed, like he was afraid they’d snap open and find it had all vanished.

You couldn't stop the airy laugh that left you lips. "You've seriously thought about me as the mother of your children?" You raised a brow, hand absentmindedly tracing the veins of his forearm you ogled more than you'd like to admit. "Baby, seeing the way you act with Franklin always gets me all hot and bothered. Anything you do really." He stated matter-of-factly, smirk breaking out onto his face. You rolled your eyes, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you.

"Why do you ask, want to practice?" Johnny huskily murmured in your ear, his breath hot and intoxicating as it fanned across your skin. The low rasp of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, awakening something dormant and long-suppressed. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive curve of your neck before pressing a deliberately slow, kiss just beneath your jaw. The heat of it bloomed across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and your breath hitched involuntarily.

Years of unspoken desire and stolen glances rushed to the surface, threatening to unravel your composure. As much as you wanted to surrender, to drown in the fantasy you had nursed for so long, a quiet voice inside pulled you back. You placed a gentle but firm hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. The tension between you crackled, heavy with want, but you pushed him back, just enough to create distance, not rejection.

"Not with the two-year-old were supposed to be watching less than ten feet away." Johnny pulled back with a dramatic groan, his expression pure betrayal. You watched as his eyes had darkened considerably, but they still sparkled as he opened his mouth to throw out another flirty one-liner your way, only to be cut off by a familiar, high-pitched wail echoing from the baby monitor that made both of you freeze.

“Traitor.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the tiny screen like it had done it on purpose. You placed one more chaste kiss to his heated cheek, patting his chest sympathetically, before you were already on your feet, chuckling as you padded toward the hallway. He followed with reluctant steps, grumbling under his breath but unable to stop glancing at you with that soft, besotted look he probably didn’t even realize he was wearing.

Later that night, when Susan and Reed returned to the Baxter Building, they were met with an unfamiliar but very welcome sound: silence. Brows furrowed, Susan kicked off her heels and made a beeline toward Franklin’s room, her mom instincts already stirring. Her heart skipped as she peeked into the dimly lit nursery, only to find the crib empty. “Reed?” Her voice was barely a whisper, nerves creeping up her spine.

“Hold on.” Reed called quietly from down the hall, standing in front of Johnny’s bedroom with the door slightly ajar, light from the hallway spilling just enough to illuminate what was inside. Susan joined him, brows raised in silent question. He merely tilted his head toward the crack in the door. Inside, Franklin lay curled on your chest, tiny hand fisted in your shirt, lips slightly parted in sleep. Your head rested against Johnny’s shoulder, your breathing steady and deep.

Johnny’s arms wrapped around both of you, one across your waist, the other lightly covering Franklin’s back in a protective cocoon. Susan exhaled slowly, something warm blooming in her chest. “Looks like you were right.” Susan’s smile was nothing short of smug as she crossed her arms. “I’m always right.” She quipped, fully planning to tease both of you relentlessly at breakfast. But for now, she simply stood there, soaking in the quiet proof of what she’d suspected all along.

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