#so..... there's a lot to do before then...

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

When I was a kid, I lived on a farm, and once a year the adults would go duck hunting and bring home a few ducks. One year, it was me and my brother's job to pluck those ducks. We were, like, maybe eight or nine? Plenty old enough to pluck a duck, but with zero experience.

And that zero experience turned out to be a problem, because we hadn't had much to do with birds and the thing about a bird's feathers, right, is that you've got a feather that sits in a little sheath thing that's rooted in the body. So what you want to do is pull the feather and sheath both out. But if you're a little kid who's never done this before, all too often, the feather comes out and leaves the sheath in the body. So we'd be doing our best but the ducks would come out maybe a quarter plucked properly and otherwise still full of these feather sheaths, and then it's a matter of going back and pulling all these little sheaths out.

I remember quite clearly, my mother and aunt helping us with this part, because it's fiddly and we were taking forever. They'd take the plucked ducks and re-pluck them properly. And I remember my mum making a remark to my aunt (not maliciously, she didn't know I could hear and was just making conversation), "You know, it would've been easier for us to just do it from the start and not have to deal with all these fiddly little bits." And she was absolutely right -- my brother and I were involved for our benefit in the same way you get a young kid to "help" wash the dishes, we were learning a life skill. But even though we'd done most of the work, we'd removed most of the unwanted mass from the duck's skin, we'd actually made things harder. We'd removed all the feathers and a quarter of the sheaths, but the sheaths are much easier to remove with the feathers attached, so working on a "mostly plucked" duck was a lot more work for the adults than just doing the whole duck from scratch would have been.

Anyway, I vividly remember this incident every time someone suggests saving time by writing with AI and then just editing it into something good.

[blkkizzat]

𝟔𝟗—𝐖𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂~!

....𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐣𝐣𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝟔𝟗!

♋ pairings: (separate) 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧ 𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐮!𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧ 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧ 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ♋ cw: 69 position so lots of fellatio and cunnalingus obvi! ✧ pet names ✧ face fucking ✧ spanking ✧ biting ✧ dirty talk ✧ teasing ✧ pussy drunk ✧ squirting ✧ overstimulation✧ sex swing ✧ light mention of drugs ✧ light dubcon ✧ daddy kink ✧ variety of readers types: bimbo, shy, mischievous, etc. ♋ an: phfft—not me touching grass for once and missing posting this on the last day of cancer season! my bday was actually July 21st! i wanted to post then but i got too busy and i've been wanting to write this since last year! This is a gift fic for my cancer girlies but i hope you all enjoy all the same~! (sorry leo girlies, we extending cancer season by oa few days LOL!)

♋ Toji—makes you do it his way:

“Toji have you lost your goddamn mind! Put me down—now!”

Upside down, suspended mid-air, you are aghast at how your simple request to try out a new sex position—69—has gotten you into this position. 

Vertical—instead of horizontal, ass naked in the middle of the living room.

“Nuh-uh, ma. Ya said we gotta spice it up—try sumtin’ new…”

You squeak as Toji adjusts his grip on you. 

With a devilish smirk Toji loosens his grip, allowing you to slide down for a mere fraction of a second before jostling your body upwards again. His hold is considerably tighter this time as Toji’s arms encircle lower waist, pushing your pussy right inline his face as his cock slaps you upside the head.

“...well that wasn’t new to me. This? This is.”

Toji’s words tickle the folds of your cunt, already glistening with moisture and on full display for him. Any attempts to squirm free are futile. Toji’s muscular arms are like bulky steel bands—you aren’t going anywhere no matter how hard you fail against him.

Fuck! Did this have to be in the living room too!? Megumi should be home from school soon!

“W-Well, um, uh…what if Megumi comes back?!”

Initially ignoring your concerns, Toji audibly inhales. 

Your scent hits him like a drug, mouth watering as if the only thing that mattered was the feast between your thighs—not the fact that his own son could walk through the door at any moment.

“Heh, told ‘em not too. Even sent ‘em some money take his friends to some fuckin’ pussy earthworm movie—he ain’t gonna be ‘ere any time soon mama.”

Toji willingly sending money? 

Paying for multiple people at that?? 

Oh shit, this was serious.

You gulped, shuddering from his breath fanning into your core. 

You’re fucked. 

Yet your fate was easier than you expected to accept, with blood now rushing to both your head and your cunt—the effect is dizzying to say the least. Reminding you just how horny you were before Toji literally turned your world upside down. 

“P-Please Toji…daddy?”

The whine you let out is so pitiful, even you aren’t sure if you’re begging to be let down or pleading for Toji to stop playing with his food and finally devour you—but either way, you already know how he’s going to respond.

“That’s right mamas, listen ta that pretty lil’ cunt of y’ers. Heh, just look how she's winkin’ at me—slutty girl knows exactly what she wants.” 

Toji whistles low at the sight, then spits directly into your hole—like his filthy actions are determined to outmatch his even dirtier mouth. This time, the whimper you let out isn’t confused or conflicted—it’s raw with need.

Unable to hold back any longer, Toji parts your pussy lips with the flat of his probing tongue. 

When he reaches your center, your hole flutters as he traces the rim with his tongue. He dips in just enough to tease, offering soft kitten-like licks as if he’s savoring your creamy taste—and even without seeing his face, you can practically feel the smug smirk tugging at his lips.

“Ya can’t expect me t’do all the work now, eh? Let’s reciprocate a little, ma.”

You’d roll your eyes if gravity didn’t already have them at the top of your head, but fair was fair you suppose—even if it was completely unfair how he got you into this position in the first place.

You’re not exactly sure how you’re supposed to suck his dick when your face is more aligned with his balls. That doesn’t stop you though as you start at his swollen sack, kissing your way up the length of his cock as best you can, leaving a wet trail that has Toji’s abs trembling.

But your small victory is short-lived, not even getting the chance to gloat—he curses low into your cunt about needing to feel your whole mouth, then hoists you up a little higher without warning.

“Open that throat f’er Daddy, yeah?”

Jaw stretching wide, you can do little but submit in the moment. But it isn’t until the weight of him—thick, unrelenting—slams past your tonsils with dizzying force that you realize why Toji insisted on doing it this way.

Gravity is bullying his cock up your throat deeper than ever, forcing you to adapt fast. 

Your eyes fly open, and you quickly learn to breathe through your nose as he keeps pace, jamming his rough tongue deep inside your pussy with perfect synchronicity.

His girth is suffocating, your airway choked off just enough to blur the line between pleasure and panic. 

Add the ruthless precision of his tongue and the disorienting rush of being upside down, and black edges bloom at the corners of your vision. 

You’re overwhelmed—sensations crashing over you all at once. 

Gripping his thighs for dear life, your nails rake red trails down his skin, they’re the only anchor keeping you from slipping under completely as a small orgasm crashes through your body.

“Fuckin’ perfect.”

Toji purrs into your slit as your entire body trembles, your scorching, soaked throat muscles pulsing tighter around his cock—every wave of your climax rippling straight through him like an aftershock.

Shit’s insane—he’s gonna bust fast. 

Fuck.

Toji’s no minute man but there’s no way he can hold out like this—not with your filthy little throat choking him from above while your pussy sobs her creamy tears all over his face, sweet and slick—fucking addictive.

“C’mon mamas gimme a big one, paint my face with it.”

Even if you hear Toji, his voice crazed with lust—which you couldn’t btw—your mind too clouded and your ears ringing with the sound of your own gurgles, you didn’t need to. 

Your body’s already teetering on the brink—the pleasure white-hot, blinding, as your eyes rolled so far back they may as well be lost in your skull. You can’t do anything but hang limp, letting Toji use you like the shameless little onnahole you’ve clearly proven yourself to be. 

Overstimulated beyond anything you thought humanly possible, everything shatters the moment Toji—drunk on your pussy, feral in his haze—starts sucking and nipping at your clit.

If your throat weren’t already wrecked, you might’ve screamed. 

But your body does it for you—legs jerking, greedy hole milking all over Toji’s face, every muscle seizing as you fall apart in his hold.

This gives Toji—who’s been hanging on by a threadbare shred of willpower—the green light to finally release everything.

And he does.

Toji unloads a geyser of hot release down your throat with a groan that borders on depraved, only realizing mid-spurt just how much he’s giving you—and with you upside down, he has to yank you off before you really choke.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally rights you, turning you upright and lowering your boneless body onto the couch while you cough through the aftermath, too weak to even really assess the damage.

“There ya go, ma. See, I knew my slutty lil’ throat goat could handle it.”

Eyes snapping to meet his own they radiate death—but the moment you try to speak, your voice breaks into a raw, useless croak, your ruined vocal cords on fire.

“Er, yeah I’ll, uh, go make ya some tea mama.”

Giving Toji another exasperated expression as if to sass him with a ‘yeah, you fuckin’ go do that buddy’—you flop face first into the fluffy couch cushions beneath you. Too tired to try to fight him now that you’ve lost your voice.

Toji—buzzing, hard again, and fully ready for round two—knows better than to say it out loud. 

But the moment your throat recovers?

Yeah, you’re doing this shit again.

Maybe with a little weed next time… get ya to stop pretending like ya don’t love it.

♋ Nanami Kento—uses it as a teaching moment:

“C’mon Bunny, use your words, beautiful.”

You whine petulantly in response, nerves frayed while a flush of heat sweeps over you. 

Nanami’s plush bedding rucks beneath your form as you lay on your side, the both of you on opposite ends in the 69 position you had asked to try.

Well, barely. You were too shy to even say the words “sixty-nine.” 

You’d fumbled like an idiot. 

Nanami had to pry it out of you, his voice patient, yet amused, while you batted your lashes low, avoiding eye contact as you finally spat out the lewd syllables. 

This was your first time taking any kind of initiative in the bedroom.

Nanami is so in tune with your body that you’d never need to ask for anything outright, spoiled by the way he always just knew.

That’s exactly why this is so mortifying now.

Nanami, with age and infinite experience, introduced you to a world of pleasure that felt like stepping through a secret door only he had the key to—and always maddeningly composed, while doing so. 

He’s guided you through all your firsts. Your first kiss, touch, orgasm, all of it. 

Nanami was gentle when you needed it and ruthless when he knew you could take it. 

Now here you are, half-naked, aching with a need he is fully aware of—and he refuses to touch you.

“You’re the one who asked for this...” 

Nanami coos, voice deep and seductive. 

“...so show me how bad you want it. Tell me what this slutty lil’ pussy needs, Bunny.”

Nanami knew from the very first orgasm he beckoned out from between your sinful, velvety thighs how big a pleasure slut you are. You hid it well, under layers of shy inexperience and a demure countenance. Yet once Nanami had gotten you under him, you’d been so responsive, so easily guided into debauched euphoria as if your entire body served as a sex organ—exposing your hidden nature. 

A shy slut wouldn’t do though and as such Nanami blames himself for overindulging you—now it’s up to him to correct that behavior.

Angling your hips up towards him, your body is saying what your mouth refuses to. Your clit aching as you want nothing more than to feel his lips latch onto your overheated sex. 

Yet Nanami ignores it, waiting with quiet expectation.

Even when you tried to take the initiative—pressing your plush lips to his swollen tip, kissing it gently before flicking your tongue over the bead of pre gathered there—Nanami grunts softly in pleasure, effect but still holding firm.

With that low, deliberate voice of his, he reminds you again: your fluttering little pussy, winking up at him so sweetly, would get nothing—not a single touch—not unless you walked him through every step.

Explicitly.

As a last ditch effort you try reasoning with him, Nanami if anything is a reasonable man—insisting there was no way you’d be able to tell him what you wanted once his cock was in your mouth.

Alas, that just causes him to chuckle, low and amused, the hardy breaths from his laughter torturously tickling your exposed slit, quivering deliciously under his critical gaze.

Unfazed as he’s already prepared for this, Nanami simply instructs you to wet his cock a bit, stroking him instead. While 69’ing does call for reciprocal pleasure but that doesn't mean you both have to use your mouths. 

Nanami would use his mouth on you—but you’d have to talk him through every titillating step while he did.

Paling in realization, you slowly come to terms with your defeat, teeth sinking into your lower lip. 

You want to run and hide but he’s right there and your slick has been smearing the inside of your thighs for a while now. and flushed and laid out beside you like temptation incarnate.Not to mention your head was already spinning from the thick scent of his musk—sharp, heady, laced with the faint salt of pre leaking from his cock where it rests, hard and heavy, against his thigh.

If he won’t move without words, then you have no choice.

You gulp, gathering your lust fueled courage.

“I-I w-w-want…” 

You trail off, voice weak and shaky. Nanami just hums as he lowers himself closer, awaiting your command.

“Say it, Bunny.”

Your heart races.

“IWantYourTongue!!”

Your words bleed together as they spill out of you. 

Nanami grins deviously, you’d have to be more descriptive than that.

“What was that, my love? My Tongue? Exactly what do you need my tongue to do?”

Your cheeks blaze, arousal spiking to insufferable levels as it begins to dissolve your apprehensions away.

“F-Flick my clit.” 

The words aren’t above a whisper but they are clearly spoken instructions nonetheless.

Good girl.

And so Nanami gives you what you ask for. No more, no less. 

With one sharp flick of his tongue that makes your whole body spasm as you cry out, finally feeling a tiny bit of what you’ve been craving this entire time.

“Like that, dear?”

You nod profusely. 

Nanami pauses, arching a brow at your non-verbal command causing you to quickly find your words again.

“S-Sorry! Sorry! Y-Yes! Um…again please. K-Keep going, l-lick me m-more…”

Obliging you fully his tongue dancing over your swollen bud in agonizing circles. 

“AH! S-S’GUD!”

A moan slips out as your eyes roll back, but a flicker of guilt cuts through the haze when you catch sight of Nanami’s cock—hard, leaking, and utterly neglected. It had taken all your will power just to give him these salacious instructions. You’d nearly forgotten that he wasn’t just supposed to eat you out, you were to return the favor.

Lowering your plump lips closer, you part them as the drool that’s been pooling on your tongue flows out. 

Your syrupy saliva coats his sizable length as your hands begin pumping in earnest.

Nanami’s low, appreciative hiss sends a ripple of heat straight to your pussy as he coaxes you to say more.

“What else, babydoll?”

You swallow hard, the words snagging in your throat—but not from embarrassment. The sensations of Nanami’s dexterous tongue are already fogging up your brain, making it hard to think, let alone speak. 

“Uhh, um, now—Hah, now…press your tongue flat, yes...ah! Uh and, uh—suck. S-Suck on it.”

“On what, Bunny?”

You grit your teeth, your frustration causing you to become snappy. 

“My clit, Ken! My clit! God…s-suction it—Yes, yes! OH—right there!”

A surge of power coils through your belly, electric as it runs throughout your veins—fueled by the way Nanami so willingly obeys every filthy command between your thighs—so long as you’re naughty enough to ask for it.

Nanami lets you ride the wave, grinding against his lips as you direct his movements through broken gasps, pleasure overtaking your mind. 

Your inner slut creeps outward, fully exposing herself with every lascivious moan, growing even bolder.

“Now…” 

Panting, you’re barely keeping it together but you can’t stop now, you need him to make you cum.

“...tongue me down. S-slowly, from the top… yes, right through—b-between everything. Keep going lower.”

Nanami follows the path you outline like a dutiful worshipper, slow slurps gliding down your folds until his tongue rims your gaping entrance.

“I-Inside...” 

You swallow down more air, chest heaving. You knew one word would not be enough to move him and you scramble to find your words—pure desperation the cause of your stuttering now.

“...p-p-put your t-tongue inside me, K-Ken.”

Hearing you fall apart has Nanami growling low. His eager mouth, fucking into your seeping heat with obscene precision, each stroke making your thighs quiver. His hands clamp down on your ass, guiding your hips to grind helplessly against his mouth, like he’s determined to devour every last bit of you.

It’s all too much, and not enough at once—you still weren’t done, you still had to guide him to finish you.

All the while you’d continued to stroke him, but it’s weak, inconsistent, your wrist losing rhythm every time he licks just right inside you.

“AH, uh, mmm… y-you’re fingers next—shitshitshit..my clit.”

Nanami doesn’t waste time correcting you, doing what he knew you couldn’t fully ask him to make you cum—he’s so proud of you. So painfully hard from your newfound assertiveness that it’s the only thing keeping him from going rogue and really ruining you. 

“HAH…m’gonna cum, Ken—oh m’fuck—m’so close—!”

Your body spasms—legs trembling, back arching—the pressure building sharp and fast from his attentions on your bud.

“Then let go, my slutty little dove.” 

The pads of his thick fingers press into your bud, strumming and plucking at your flesh, matching the rhythm of his tongue inside you.

“Show me how good it feels to take control of your desires.”

Your orgasm tears through you like lightning—loud, raw, and messy—drenching Nanami’s chin as your legs seize and collapse around his head. The overstimulation skirts the edge of pain, only making the release hit harder.

Your fingers slip from his cock as you go slack against the bed. 

Nanami pulls away from your cunt with a final, slow slurp. 

His face is slick with your release, jaw taut, cock still throbbing and untouched between his legs.

You did it—and you enjoyed it. 

Proud of yourself, your head swims and you’re not sure how long you lie there, soaked and unmoving, body ringing from aftershocks. 

So you don't feel the shift in the air as Nanami prowls to hover over you.

You blink once and you’re already folded in half—legs slung over his shoulders.

The new position makes your pussy clench again, already fluttering in want of his cock.

And you get it alright.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me, my love.”

Yet Nanami's praises are gravely, tight with a fraying restraint that is unlike him and there is something unhinged—a feral twinkle in his eyes. 

Your breath quickens finally feeling the danger surrounding you, you unleashed a completely different side of him, one he’s been trying to spare you from all this time.

“Now—”

Nanami lowers his face, words rough against your ear as he thrusts forward—just an inch, not nearly enough to satisfy. 

However, the sensation of your walls expanding around him is more than enough to make you cry out, moaning as he bullies his fat cockhead through your tight ring of muscle.

—tell me exactly how my cock should tear through your pretty lil guts.”

♋ Otaku!Gojo—takes to the next level (series m.list). 

“Toru… how the hell is this even supposed to work?!”

Deadpan, you stare at Gojo as he straps himself into the elaborate contraption. 

This was your fault. Truly. 

You knew better than to enable Gojo’s ecchi coded ways. 

So you really should have just kept your mouth shut instead of suggesting 69’ing in the new designer lingerie set he bought you.

What were you even thinking!?

Of course, the moment the words leave your mouth, Gojo drops to his knees like you just proposed marriage—and immediately starts begging for another trip to his parents’ sex dungeon to do it.

You agreed, albeit reluctantly, assuming he just wanted to use the rotating bed with the ceiling mirrors. 

Honestly, as nervous as that place made you, having sex somewhere that didn’t have Digimon or anime adorned sheets and decor was always a nice treat. Plus you knew his parents didn’t skimp on any expenses when it came to their perversions (like parents, like son) and it felt way classier than fucking in Gojo’s hentai museum. 

However, you should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Leave it to Gojo to take things ten steps further—with a goddamn sex swing.

“Yep, just climb in on top of me, Bunny bae!” 

Gojo had clearly lost all his damn marbles if he thought you were about to get into that depraved shit with him—you aren’t trying to break your ass over his kink fantasies! 

Seeing your wariness, Gojo quips that you have absolutely nothing to worry about—it’s safe enough to stabilize up to four people! 

Gawking at him, you didn’t even want to know how four people were supposed to get into the swing, let alone use it. 

Huffing you crossed your arms, turning your nose up at him. 

“Awe, don’t be like that Bun-Bun! It will be fun—Hey, uh, just imagine I’m Spider-Man and we’re getting freaky-deaky in my giant web!”

Gojo wiggles his eyebrows like that’s actually supposed to be a tempting offer, and you visibly recoil. Instinctively taking cautious steps back as your self-preservation finally kicks in.

“Wait, wait, ok! Ok—no Spider-Man...”

You close your eyes briefly in relief.

“—how about Tarzan?” 

“TORU!!!”

Your eyes go wide, and you’re about two hot seconds from turning on your heel and walking the hell out when Gojo calls after you again—this time, his voice is softer, sadder and painfully pathetic.

Then like clockwork comes the infamous pout—those big, stupidly gorgeous eyes locking onto yours, weaponized in a way no man that dorky should ever be capable of. 

And, of course, your weak willed heart gives that familiar little twist that makes you feel bad for the deranged lil pervert.

Somehow, you always find yourself caving to the will of your hopeless otaku boyfriend—who you inexplicably still love despite his many, many ick-inducing preferences.  

“Fiiiine Toru, I’mma do this for you—”

“Yayyyy!”

Ecstatically cheering, in his excitement Gojo nearly falls out of the swing he just proclaimed was “uber safe” in his excitement. He quickly steadies himself, the swing still swaying as you roll your eyes and step closer.

“But no roleplay, got it?” 

Nodding aggressively Gojo’s just happy to get you in the swing at all. 

He’s had a full on boner since you suggested 69’ing over an hour ago and doing it in the swing Gojo knows will be 100 times better!

“Yes, yes! No roleplay—ya know there’s really no need when you already look like my smokin’ hot n’ sexy hentai succubus in that lingerie, Bunny!”

You roll your eyes once more but the heat creeping up your cheeks betrays you. 

Dressed in ruby red lace plunge corset halter with matching red lace crotchless panties, you figure all you’re missing is a pair of horns and a tail, and you’d play the part a little too well.

Naturally, Gojo had picked it out and had it custom made just for you. 

So of course, it fits like a dream—hugging every curve, the color making your skin glow in all the right places. His eyes haven’t left you since you put it on, practically devouring you whole, and now you can feel the weight of Gojo’s lustful gaze like a second layer of fabric covering every inch of your skin.

“Hmph, just shut it…” 

Grumbling under your breath, you reluctantly follow his instructions and awkwardly shuffle around to his head so you’d be facing the right way, towards his feet.

You try to be as graceful as possible easing into the stirrups Gojo had so meticulously prepared so the swing didn’t shift more than necessary. Straddling his face, the swing's ropes gripped tightly in your hands, your slit hovering over his eager mouth. 

“And you’re sure this is safe…m’ not gonna have any leverage to move my legs in the harness—what if I smother you?”

Your complaints have zero effect. 

When you look down at him between your legs his perfect teeth are grinning wider than a cheshire cat.

“Baby, that’s the point!” 

Gojo eyes manically sparkle. Unlike you his crazed subconscious has zero concerns of self-preservation. 

“Who needs oxygen? Ya know my lungs were built to breathe my pervy princess’s coochie air!”

An all too familiar cringe creeps up your spine and you drop your hips down without warning—silencing him, and in the most effective way possible before he completely kills the mood.

While you couldn’t stand the deviant ass shit that came out of Gojo’s mouth 95% of the time, you more than appreciated just how well he used that vulgar mouth of his.

And now, with his entire face smothered beneath you, lips, nose, and vision completely engulfed by your pussy and peachy rear, Gojo couldn’t say another unhinged word even if he wanted to.

Not that he minded one tiny bit.

Groaning unabashfully into your suffocating heat, Gojo figured if this is how he went out—your cute lil’ cunt filling his mouth, nose almost reaching your crack and thighs locked securely around his ears—he’d take it. 

Happily. 

Gojo only hoped he’d built up enough karma that he could request looping this moment on repeat in the afterlife—it for real would be his heaven.

Pinned in place by your thighs, Gojo wastes no time getting to work—slurping and licking, murmuring intelligible unrepentant filth in your cunt while his tongue drags through your folds like he’s already mapped out every crevice and easily knows how  to draw every ounce of creamy release from your body. 

If your coochie air was his oxygen, your juices were definitely his water.

His hands grip your ass, spreading you wider, tilting your hips to get the perfect angle the way he’s mouthing at your clit with sloppy, open-mouthed hunger has your whole body twitching above him.

Meanwhile, his cock throbs hot against your tongue, as you take him into your mouth.

You suck him down slowly at first, hollowing your cheeks, feeling the way his thighs jerk beneath you every time your throat clenches and enjoying the power you have over him as he’s just as sensitive and easily overstimulated as you are.

Saliva drips down your chin, pooling at your collarbone, and his deep groan vibrates in your walls like a tuning fork—shit it feels so good. 

You’re grinding now, rolling your hips in sync with the rocking motions of the swing, chasing friction.

As both you and Gojo spiral deeper into your frenzy for more, the swing jerks wildly beneath you, rocking with every desperate thrust. It takes everything in you to keep yourself steady—sweat-slicked limbs straining against the restraints, threatening to slip free. 

It should be concerning, but the chaos only heightens your high, feeding the reckless momentum. 

Your whole body tingles with adrenaline racing through you, so the thought of telling him to slow down never even registers. 

Not like Gojo could even stop if he wanted to, not when his mouth stays latched to your cunt like a man in a trance. Each groan vibrates against your sopping heat, and your arousal smears messily across his face. 

His chin glossy with the evidence of your unraveling while he is already in pieces beneath you, rutting upward, thrusting his cock deeper into your throat with more force. You can’t even be mad. 

Gojo is using you like one of his precious anime fleshlights and fuck—you love it.

Your own throat becomes its own erogenous zone as your slutty nature once again proves more than compatible with all his kinks. Dizzy from the lack of air you can’t stop shaking as your orgasm rips out of you without warning. A messy convulsion that sends your fluids cascading down his chin as your thighs clamp tight around his face. 

You try to pull away, but your body locks as your muscles seize and release, everything clenching and pulsing in waves.

At the same time, Gojo moans into your cunt, spilling down your throat with a hot, forceful gush. 

You gag slightly, stunned by the sheer volume as he cums harder than he has any right to, the swing jerking violently from the force of his twitching hips.

In his overstimulated haze, he slips his hands free from the top restraints and reaches up—to do what, exactly, you’ll never know.

Because that’s when it happens.

BAM!

The sound is sharp, metallic—wrong.

Then a sudden snap, followed by a sickening lurch.

You both drop halfway before jerking to an off-kilter halt, the swing tilted at a nauseating angle. The both of you tangled up like two oversexed insects caught in a net.

Gojo grunts beneath you—or now, technically on top of you, since the entire rig has twisted mid-fall. 

One of your legs is tangled in what used to be his arm loop, the other pinned somewhere under his torso. One arm’s trapped behind your back, the other mashed awkwardly under your chest.

And Gojo? 

His head is near your hip, arms hanging freely now, while the rest of his body is a knot of long limbs and useless leverage crushing down on you.

“I think… we might’ve broken it.” 

Gojo mutters sheepishly, voice too casual for the situation.

You don’t even have the energy to yell. 

You're stuck, soaked in sweat and cum, crushed by a six-foot-tall menace who thinks this is a good time to crack jokes.

“GET ME OUTTA HERE, TORU!”

“I’m trying, Bunny! Just—hold on—I’ll fix it!”

You feel him shift, trying to maneuver with his arms, but every time he jerks the swing groans ominously, ropes stretching and straining under your combined weight.

“Oh! Baby, wait! My phone!”

He perks up, bright with hope. 

You hear him start swinging the rig again, attempting to gain momentum toward the side table but the whole motion is an awkward attempt you already know is doomed to fail. 

You feel his cock—rehardening—slap lightly against your forehead with each forward swing.

“Are you seriously getting turned on right now?!”

Your voice cracks halfway between disbelief and a sob.

“We are going to DIE in here, Toru!”

“No, no no! Don’t worry, my sweet ecchi angel!” 

Gojo chirps attempting to cheer you up.

“The maids should be here soon. They do rounds every two hours in case… y’know… something like this happens.”

“…In case? This has happened before?!”

You freeze in realization that you actually needed people to help you out of this situation. 

Suddenly, you’ve never been more thankful for the Gojo family’s legally soul-binding NDAs—or the fact that their domestic staff was paid enough to keep their mouths shut for life. God, if even one person (besides Suguru, who Gojo told everything to) found out the sheer number of times you’d been caught half-naked in compromising positions with the lil freak?

You’d have to change your name, or move countries—better yet? Fake your own death.

This though? This wins. 

This takes the fucking cake.

You shut your eyes, already tallying up all the shit you were going to have Gojo buy for you to make up for this debacle—including the psych eval to assess what mental condition you had that kept you tied to this hopeless dork. 

“Hey, Bunny baaaaabe…”

Gojo interrupts your train of thought and you take a mental pause to compose yourself. You decide getting more upset would do nothing to help your current situation. 

“...yeah, Toru?”

Gojo hums contentedly, nuzzling his face into your plump thighs like they’re his favorite pillow. His eyes are half-lidded, glazed with bliss as he stares between your legs at the mess he made—already plotting how to make it even filthier.

“I can’t reach my phone. But if you help me swing a little more, I think I can grab the anal beads on this other table here, ya know… if ya wanna try em’ out while we wait…”

It’s silent for a moment as you stare blankly up at the ceiling. 

Not hearing a no Gojo starts swinging again with renewed purpose. 

You quickly realize he’s putting in more effort to reach those beads than he ever did his phone.

Now you’re resolved though. 

Trashing the list in your mind, there's only one thing you needed after this—the one thing that would ensure you’d never be in a situation like this again.

“Gojo. Satoru. First thing tomorrow? You’re getting neutered!”

♋ Sukuna Ryomen—gets jealous, again (previous drabble):

“Kunaaaa, s’not f-fair!”

You sob, gulping in air as your swollen, spit-slick lips leave one of his cocks—just for a moment—before descending onto the other.

Sukuna hadn’t put up much of a fight when you suggested 69’ing—which frankly shocked you as he’s never known to be any kind of agreeable. 

Even then it was a logistical nightmare considering the sheer size of him in his true form. 

You make it work though, with him sitting up, his massive body contorting just enough to accommodate you. He lounges back against the headboard of his pitch-black bed while you’re draped over him, sloping at a downward angle, trying your best to keep up.

But the bastard’s cheating.

Because instead of using the actual mouth on his face—he’s using the one on his fucking hand again.

“Oh? Well, that’s your own fault. You never specified me using my actual mouth, whore.”

Urgh, everything to Sukuna was rules and fucking technicalities so there was no arguing with him, especially when he was right—and he’d change the rules if he wasn’t.

You know you have to choose your words carefully around Sukuna who would try to manipulate the situation in any way he could to taunt you.

Sure, his hand felt fucking phenomenal—but that wasn’t the point! 

You wanted to feel his actual mouth on your cunt for once! Sukuna had only used his stomach mouth to taste you before.   

Lost in your thoughts Sukuna senses you slacking and one of his hands slides from your waist to force your head down further, burying him in your mouth to the hilt. 

You choke, gagging around him, your muffled moans and feeble protests swallowed whole as he cocks slam into the depths of your throat—just as the tongue on his hand plunges deeper into your quivering cunt, lapping up every drop of creamy slick it coaxes out with relentless, writhing strokes.

“Besides woman, with the shit job you are doing right now you should have no fucking complaints.”

Sukuna, of course, thinks you’re being a fucking brat—especially with the way your cunt keeps fluttering around his tongue, giving away just how good he’s making you feel, hand or not.

You’re close—Sukuna can feel it, knows it. He’s always said he knows your body better than you do, so you might as well stop thinking and let him take the lead. Be his obedient little cumdump—you’d feel good no matter what he did.

All of that may be true, however, you have a little knowledge of your own. 

One you had hid well from him thus far—and that’s you also know Sukuna far more than you let on.

For example:

You know he hates doing anything unless he thinks it's his idea.

You know he can be a stubborn SOB who will never relent to petulant begging or pitiful whines—no, he’d reveal in that suffering.

But most importantly, you know just how prideful he is. 

So you’re not surprised in the least it would come to this as you remember with renewed clarity the last time Sukuna used his hand tongue on you when he knew you’d wanted his actual mouth—so you switch tactics. 

Appearing to give into his whims completely, melting into the pleasure, you hum around his cock and push your hips back. Your pelvis tilts just right, bouncing against the mouth on his hand so your clit slaps perfectly against the rough, battle-worn heel of his palm with every roll of your hips.

The effect is electrically blinding. 

Sukuna tenses beneath you, his muscles twitching as the vibrations of your gratuitous cries ripple down one of his thick, tatted cock, surrounding it in a heat that if he wasn’t a cursed object he would think could melt his dick clean off. 

The other, you work steadily with both hands—slick with spit and streaked with thick globs of pre spilling freely from the swollen, angry tip.

And when you moan around him again—this time humming, his cock encased in your buzzing throat—Sukuna stills. 

Just for a breath. 

Just long enough for you to think maybe you’ve done something wrong before his hips surge upward, spearing his cock into your throat with brutal force.

“Fuckin’ tease.”

The words come out more as an animalistic snarl and immediately the mouth on his hand clamps down on your cunt—tongue twisting and curling wickedly inside your pussy, swirling around your clit, suckling like it’s trying to drain you dry.

Catapulting to the very top of your peak, your back arches instinctively, body convulsing in a violent shudder as your walls spasm around the intruding tongue in your core. The very appendage that has now grown long enough to abuse your gooey g-spot—ending you completely as you tumble over your peak.

Sukuna lets out a growl that if you were in any kind of clear state of mind you would have identified as a gruff whimper, his head snapping back against the headboard—causing the entire room to quake. 

You barely register the hot, punishing flood that erupts down your throat, still lost in the throws of your own ecstasy. Sukuna keeps you there, hands locked on your hips and head, using your spasming body to squeeze every last drop from his cock as his release pulses through you.

By the time he lets you go, you barely have the strength to hold yourself up. 

Your mind is white noise, your vision swimming.

Huffing with dizzy puffs from the lack of oxygen, you’re messily coughing up a river of your drool and his seed. Flecks splatter haphazardly across your neck and chest. 

Recovering quickly, used to his rough play, you release an airy giggle.

“Ah—ha! Mmm, that was amazing! K-Kuna… you were right—”

A blissed out expression on your face as you turn your head back to face Sukuna.

“—your hand’s mouth is much better skilled—the best actually! Thank you my King!”

Your giggles are continuous, still delirious and high off the rush, turning back around to press your lips to the tip of the cock you’d just been jerking. It’s still twitching—thick and needy, still backed up and pulsing for release.

Swaying your hips side to side, inside you are smug in the way only a woman completely out of her mind can be, knowing full well Sukuna’s seething behind that stony expression, yet you are unfazed.

And just as you predicted—he’s livid.

Hearing your carefree little hums, Sukuna’s eyes glow red—his rage growing as seemingly are utterly oblivious to just how offensive your words truly were. 

Who the fuck do you think you are? Acting like his hand is better than his mouth?

He never said that. He never even implied it.

You must’ve fucking lost your mind, it woudn’t be the first time he’d think your salacious lil cunt had poisoned your mind.

Because the King of Curses using his mouth? 

That’s not a given—it’s a fucking privilege. 

One you were never meant to have. 

A lowly little concubine like you? Barely worthy of his cock, let alone his tongue.

And you even requested this 69 position in the first place? That was your first mistake, he’d only indulged you so he could fuck with you again.

You’re his toy—his whore. 

You exist to bend to his will—not the other way around.

Sukuna continues to watch you with contempt. His boiling, bubbling under the surface, more angered by your ignorance. Especially as you glance over your shoulder once more with a too-sweet idiotic smile and a sing-song—

“My King~~ May you use your other hand this time? I wanna compare them!” 

Oh yeah that did it, this is war now. 

And so Sukuna snaps. Utterly and violently, losing his shit.

With a guttural growl, Sukuna yanks you back—ripping you clean off his cock like it offended him. Two of his massive, veined hands wrench your folds apart right in front of his face, while the other two clamp down on your thighs in a bruising grip, pinning you wide open. 

Then his mouth— his actual mouth—attacks. Devouring your pussy, he hums low in his throat. Shaking his head side to side like he’s trying to rip into your flesh. The force of the reverberation sends your nerves into overdrive, and your vision goes glassy, colors smearing at the edges like oil paint as your reality shifts at its intensity.

Still too sensitive and still being affected by the aftershocks of your first orgasm—you’re useless now. Your face slumps against his chiseled abs as drool spills freely from your slack mouth, pooling beside you.

Sukuna’s so hellbent on proving a point, he doesn’t even notice you’ve stopped touching his cock—swollen, twitching, and downright furious from neglect, swaying with every rock of the bed like it’s protesting the lack of attention. But he’s too deep in his own ego-trip to care.

He’s played himself, yet again.

Sukuna only pauses long enough to spit into your tantalizing cunt—mean, messy, and laced with loathing—his lips, glossed in your juices, curling into that cruel, self-satisfied smirk. 

He’s far too wrapped up in the jealous high of his own tantrum to register the dazed, blissed-out smile stretched across your face as you arch back deeper into his mouth.

“You dare to mock me, silly woman? The King of Curses? I’ll show this poor filthy hole what a real mouth feels like, Slut.”

And really, that’s all you wanted all along.

♋ Geto Suguru—ends up punishing you:

“Suck me right, Bunny. Weren’t you the one who pouted until I agreed to this?”

Smack!

You let out a broken moan, the sharp sting of Suguru’s slap blooms across your bottom—sending a jolt straight to your core.

It was true you had asked—no practically begged until Suguru relented to trying 69ing. 

Yet in the moment you were failing miserably, far too overwhelmed by your own pleasure to properly service him.

“Shall I get someone else, hm? A more devout follower who can be more attentive perhaps?”

Suguru speaks the words right into your core before giving your soppy folds one last lick as if he would make good on his words.

“N-N-NO! I’ll d-do it! Puhleaseee, G-Geto-sam—AH!”

Suguru sighs. 

His threats are mostly hollow—he would stop if you didn’t focus, but none could compare to your slutty little mouth, that sloppy thing was in a league all of her own.

Which is exactly why this was so fucking frustrating.

You’d pleaded for this position with those wide, babydoll eyes and like a fool he caved.

He should’ve said no. He knew better.

Not that Suguru was ever opposed to eating you out, on the contrary, it was one of his favorite rituals. Bending you over his ornate cypress desk, your skirt shoved up, and him diving face first into your slippery cunt was a nirvana all on its own.

But now? This feels more like hell. 

What with you naked, stretched out above him, while his cock—freed from his robes—twitches with impatience, bobbing near your slack-jawed mouth. 

You’re trying. He can tell. 

But every time his tongue grazes your messy folds, your brain short-circuits like a broken shrine lamp.

Suguru knew this would happen. 

He knows just how sensitive his little slut is.

How your entire body jolts from the slightest flick of his tongue swirling around your clit. How one well-placed stroke of his fingers, pressing against the gooey spongy spot in your dripping core is enough to erase every coherent thought in your airy little head.

When Suguru is fully feasting on you like your pussy is a tabehodai buffet, tongue buried deep, lapping with reverence and precision. He’s honestly surprised you’re still breathing, given how useless your brain has become.

You barely had gotten your lips around him before your mouth agape, spittle drizzling down in lazy drips upon his angry red tip.

It’s enough to drive a man to madness.

That’s why he initially refused when you asked him to do this, knowing he would be blue balled by your slutty incompetence. 

Suguru is—at best—exasperated. His cock pulses, neglected and throbbing, hot puffs of your breath ghosting over the head while your whole body trembles from the overstimulation he’s graciously providing. Each soft cry, each weak twitch of your fingers, only fuels the annoyance simmering in his gut.

Still, Suguru doesn’t stop. He never could deprive himself of his favorite indulgence. His tongue sinks deeper into your fluttering heat, savoring the way your cunt clenches around nothing like it’s begging to be filled.

Then comes another slap—firm and biting against your ass. But instead of correcting you, it only makes you moan louder, body jolting with another blissed-out tremor that shoots straight through his tongue.

He sighs again.

This was all quite enough. 

If you were going to be a useless little doll, he might as well treat you like one.

Before you can process what’s happening, Suguru moves—faster than your panting breath. 

Sliding out from beneath you, he flips your boneless body onto your back across the desk, your head dangling off the edge. Blinking up at the ceiling in a confused daze you hear the low scrape of his chair rolling forward. Then—Suguru’s hands are gripping your thighs as his mouth finds your clit again—harder this time, more purposeful, tongue flattening and circling in a frenzy.

His fingers spear into your soaked heat without hesitation, dragging along that tender, swollen spot with expert cruelty.

OH FUH~!

Almost immediately you gush, squirt streaming down his fingers as you orgasm quickly follows, your body shaking.  You soiling his desk, his robes and you are sure of any papers or documents in the direct vicinity. Suguru doesn’t stop though, abusing your weak spot over and over until you forget what plane of existence you are even on—until you're screaming, cumming so hard it's almost painful.  

Only when your eyes are glassy and unfocused, tongue lolling lewdly from your lips, does Suguru finally relent—satisfied with the twitching, pleasure-drunk mess he’s reduced you to atop his desk.

Immobile, loose and complacent, your head still hangs over the edge, mouth open and inviting—good, exactly how he wanted you.

Now it’s his turn.

Rising smoothly from his plush chair, Suguru’s palm glides across your trembling body as he makes his way around the desk, savoring the heat still radiating off your skin.

You’re gasping, chest rising in uneven waves, when he reaches down—fingers wrapping around your neck with a gentle squeeze, thumbs rubbing lazy circles over your windpipe like he’s warming up his favorite instrument.

Suguru’s cock throbs at the sight—heavy and aching with denied release, balls drawn tight and desperate to flood your belly full with his salty fluids.

A soft, anticipatory groan escapes him as he tilts your head just right.

“Now be a good little fuckdoll, Bunny…” 

Suguru commands, lips curling into a thin, wide grin.

“…and say ah~”

©𝐛𝐥𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐟𝐱, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.

♋ an: im pretty proud of this cause i wrote this all in like 3 days. am i getting my groove back? 💕🤭

choso's is coming soon, but its a bigger story. lol return of bitchy reader tho (plug!choso girlies know the vibes cjhdsfjhdjf).

𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠��𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐱 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬!

[edensrose]

˚₊‧꒰ა gojo satoru ﾉ f. reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𓂃 ovulation trouble

⤿ ꒰ you get so needy during ovulation but thankfully your boyfriend knows how to handle you ⭒ marathon sex ꒱

"toru— oh my god, toru,"

that's what he loved to hear. arms thrown over his broad shoulders. legs hugging him close. plunging him deeper into your needy, drenched cunt.

"enough for ya sweet girl?" huffed your boyfriend into your ear. his hands splayed over your ass and pressing you further into him. suffocating you in his body that already dwarfed you. "fucking the need right outta this pretty pussy aren't I?"

his filth smoothed with a tender concern for your pleasure. ovulation was always hell on earth for you. it didn't matter how many times you spasmed around your vibrator or endlessly humped your pillow— nothing satisfied you.

it's why you tried to hide away in the shame of your desperation. tried to avoid thinking about sex altogether, and even your boyfriend. lost in your own thoughts and needs. one in particular always reared its ugly head.

could he handle it?

"that's it. there we go pretty. taking it like a good girl."

well, four orgasms, a barely faltered pace, a spluttering tip french kissing your cervix and those endless, darkened blues staring down at you? satoru had proven he could do a lot more than handle it.

your thighs bundled in his palms. you're wrenched back. so pliable. so his. your knees kissed your tits as he pulled you into a void of limitless bliss. the same way he yanked you back on his cock. hammering you down onto his pistoning thrusts.

white clouded your vision. hazes of heat, and nothingness, and him. oh him, your perfect, nymphomaniac boyfriend.

"there she is." his grin carried in the air. flexing forearms slammed beside your head. his face hoovered your dumbstruck expression. "there's my girl, fuck. there's my gorgeous girl."

his thrusts grew near erratic. fucking out every choked moan and whimpered whine your static mind could manage. pleasure weighed on your tongue. lightened only by satoru who swooped in to suck on it with his lips on yours.

he encased your senses. brutal, and beautiful and oh so blissful. bruises painted across the backs of your thighs. you returned them with red scratches down his back. hickies all over your arched neck. tears clouding your eyes as he took you higher- and higher—

"satooorruuuuu," you sobbed. hands abandoning your favourite canvas for his hair instead. he choked a whine.

"talk to me baby," he rasped.

"I'm cumming— cumming - again, please."

please? you needn't beg. not you. his scoff and mindless, ruinous pace said it all. he angled just right. pounding on your sweetspot and catching your clit on his pelvis. fading into a tempo that fucked out that cute little— 'ah ah ah!' from your spit-webbed lips.

"c'mon," he groaned above. cock pulsing at the base, throbbing at the tip.

"cum for me. need it so bad. need my pretty girl to cum— mngh, so I can. please baby? please."

now he's the one begging. you know he doesn't mean it. or does he? the needy rumble in his throat was the last burst. the knot unravelled. you clawed his hair and sobbed his name to the ceiling as it all crashed down. shattering. blinding. his.

"torrruuu ohgod- yesyesyes," he caught your praises with his mouth and gulped them down. losing rhythm in the mindlessness of his bliss before he too crashed. spraying your clenching walls white. creaming you so full that excess squirted from your quivered slit.

the world spun. then stopped. like your head. your heart. you tugged on his strands and he collapsed into you. aimlessly humping and grinding until your whines became one.

"more," you croaked.

"more?" he laughed. broken, manic.

you pushed on his shoulders with little strength. he let you. tumbling back into the bed and instinctively cupping your ass. the rhythm flowed so natural. a choreography of your passion and need with him as your lovely partner. always ready to catch you.

"I've got you sweetheart," his deep drawl came with a promise, sealed by his bucking hips and guiding hands. fucking you down on his still hard, overly sensitive cock. guess that makes the both of you. your pussy wept with her need.

still you clung around him. face buried into his neck. drooling. crying.

"toru, toru toru — toru,"

"yeah yeah, let it out." he huffed into your ear. bouncing you just right. aiming just perfect. giving you exactly what you needed and so much more.

"gotta make sure my girl's got it all. give her all of this dick cause she fuckin' deserves it."

and still, he pressed a loving kiss to your hair.

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[wwinterwitch]

first introduction – johnny storm x fem!reader

summary: they finally meet johnny's new girlfriend pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader word count: 3.8k tags: minor 4F spoilers (just regarding the dynamics between characters but nothing that involves the actual plot of the movie!), a bit of angst, johnny gets a bit overwhelmed sometimes, johnny and sue being cute siblings, reader owns a bakery, fluff, he's down bad!!!!, shy!reader notes: i watched the movie yesterday and oh boy do i love joseph as johnny, he's amazing!!! i hope all the ones in dying need of some immediate fanfics enjoy this one

a comment and/or reblog is very appreciated!

main masterlist | marvel masterlist

No one has said it out loud yet, but it's painfully obvious that there's something going on with Johnny.

Everyone has been noticing he seems to go out a lot more and his demeanor has been...weird. There's days where he leaves the tower absolutely drenched in cologne. Other days, he doesn't even return at night. He's been wearing a specific knitted sweater that no one knows where he got it from, and he's often returning home with a bag filled with delicious pastries he claims he just randomly bought somewhere.

The clues were all there from the start, but it wasn’t a topic of discussion until that particular Sunday.

"Where's Johnny?" Sue asks, taking a seat on her usual seat as they all gather at the dining table to eat.

"Out," Ben points out, his tone insinuating what everyone's been thinking for weeks now.

Reed looks at both of them with a confused expression, and perhaps a bit offended too. "Again?"

Just before anyone could say anything else, Johnny rushes out of the elevator, moving towards the kitchen to leave the usual bag of pastries he always carries back with him.

"Sorry, I know I'm late," he quickly says, slightly out of breath, throwing his jacket towards the sofa by the lounge area before taking a seat. "My bad."

No one moves, simply watching as Johnny fills his plate with food and acts like absolutely nothing is going on. Like this isn't like the millionth time he's been late for dinner. Like it's not obvious that his head has clearly been elsewhere these past few weeks.

"Johnny," Sue calls his name softly, a playful grin inevitably appearing on her face.

As he looks up, he realizes everyone is looking at him almost in expectation, which immediately disturbs him. "What? What did I do?"

His sister shrugs innocently, leaning forward on the table, apparently determined to find out the truth about his secret getaways. "Is there something you would like to tell us?"

He sits completely still for a few seconds, not really knowing what to say at first. A flash of panic appears on his face before he focuses back on his plate to start eating. "Not really." Johnny takes a few bites of the food, immediately nodding in approval. "This is really good, little buddy!" he says, turning towards H.E.R.B.I.E. who offers him a cheerful series of beeps after his comment, beeping a bit more when he affectionately scratches the top of his robotic head. "I was starving."

Ben laughs. "I knew it."

Johnny frowns immediately, turning to look at him. "What?" he insists, mouth full of his last previous bites.

"Come on, Johnny, we're not dumb! It's obvious you have a girlfriend."

He almost chokes on his food, drinking a big gulp of water before giving his friend a look in complete disbelief. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You tried to change the subject and now you're getting defensive," Ben insists, letting out another laugh. "That means it's true. You have a girlfriend."

"I'm not being defensive!"

“Are you sure?” Sue asks this time, as calm as ever.

“Very!”

There's a brief silence before Reed decides to join the conversation. "You do sound a bit defensive."

"So what's her name?" 

Johnny lets out a tired sigh after Sue’s question, leaning back on his chair as he considers what to do next. She clearly looks interested. Finding out her little brother might actually try to settle down for once in his life is certainly something she wasn't expecting to happen anytime soon.

Is he really capable of keeping his relationship a secret anymore? It's not like he has done much of an effort in hiding it, anyway. Perhaps he has been waiting for them to bring it up so he doesn't have to be the one to do so. It’s much easier if they pressure him to talk, isn’t it?

Before he even registers the consequences of his actions, your name slips out of his lips in a soft whisper. It's not like he's embarrassed to reveal your existence to his family, but it is a bit...scary. He's never been in this position before. Never had to inform them about anyone remotely meaningful in his life. Although, it’s not like he has ever been this committed to anyone else before.

Letting his family know is only further confirmation that he might actually be falling harder than he could've ever anticipated, and that's a terrifying realization for someone who's never felt like this before. It's a whole new level of vulnerability and exposure that he's beginning to get familiar with.

Reed looks beyond surprised to receive actual confirmation that this 'girlfriend' really exists. "Oh, so it's true?"

Johnny immediately starts shaking his head, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Nope. Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you in any way."

"Yes. Yes, you are. All of you are. And it's making me very uncomfortable."

"Hey, can you really blame us?" Ben says this time, as if all of their reactions are more than justified. "You've never talked about any girlfriends before. I was starting to think you were allergic to the term 'commitment' or something."

"Ha-ha, that's so funny", Johnny replies sarcastically. "There hasn't been anyone worth talking about before."

That last comment makes Sue smile. A genuine smile this time. "Can you tell us more about her?"

Johnny seems to be very much done with this conversation, but his sister looks really hopeful to gather at least some information about you, so he eventually decides to keep talking. Even when the look on their faces makes him feel incredibly exposed, there's something oddly comforting about finally being able to talk to them about you. It feels like he’s finally introducing you into his life for good.

"She's...uh, well, we met like a month ago. She owns a bakery that's about four blocks from here. Insultingly gorgeous, beyond patient if she manages to put up with me all day."

"So she made those?" Reed asks, pointing at the bag he left on the kitchen counter as soon as he arrived earlier.

"Those...uh, yeah. I always tell her it's not necessary, but she likes sending them to you guys."

"Oh, Johnny, and all this time we haven't said a single thank you to that poor girl!" Sue snaps back at him, sounding completely horrified that he hasn't told them before. "We have to send her a gift someday."

"It's really not–"

"Yeah, H.E.R.B.I.E. and I can figure something out," Ben interrupts him. "There's this pumpkin pie recipe we've been meaning to try."

"Guys–"

"Great! And Reed and I can help."

"We can?" Reed asks in a confused whisper, knowing absolutely nothing about cooking. "Yeah, sure. Of course we can," he corrects himself when Sue turns to give him a look.

"No need to do that," Johnny insists, although he can't hide his smile right now. The fact that they're willing to send you a gift does really spark something in him. Like they're already fully accepting you into their lives too.

"It's the least we can do after getting free pastries for weeks!" his sister insists. "And perhaps you could invite her over sometime. I don't want her to think she's not welcome here."

Johnny is finally starting to feel a bit more comfortable now. So much so that he starts to genuinely consider Sue's proposition. What's the worst that could happen? It's probably time that they finally get to meet you.

But before he can get too comfortable, Reed decides to intervene. "Can I ask just one question?"

The atmosphere slightly shifts. Johnny's smile falters, Sue stops eating and Ben just looks down at his plate. The fact that Reed has been so quiet all this time is not really a good sign. It means he's been lost in his own head for way too long, evaluating and deciphering. That can be his biggest skill but also his worst flaw.

"I just want to know if you're...well, genuinely committed," he starts a bit uncertain, hoping his worries don't cause a misunderstanding. "This girl sounds very lovely. I just want to make sure–"

"What, that I'm not dumping her for the first woman that walks down the street?" Johnny interrupts him, his tone showing how displeased he is with his insinuation.

"No, I didn't mean–"

Before he can screw this up even further, Ben decides to intervene to help him out. "I think what Reed is trying to say is that you tend to be a guy that likes to keep things casual, so if that's the case, it's fair for her to know where you stand."

"No, I get exactly what he was trying to say. Johnny just has a really unhealthy relationship with women, right? He couldn't possibly be serious when he talks about this random chick he just met."

"Hey, I wasn't trying to insult you."

"Really?" he snaps back at his brother in law, offering him an ironic smile as he stands up from the table. "Too bad, Reed. Just because you don't mean it as an insult, doesn't mean it doesn't feel like one."

"Johnny," Sue tries, wanting to mediate the argument.

"Lost my appetite," he announces abruptly, right before storming to his room.

Sue sighs, immediately turning to her husband now, looking at him in complete silence. "I didn't mean it like that," he insists, sounding genuinely apologetic.

"We know you didn't," Sue reassures him. "But like he said, that doesn't mean it won't hurt him."

"You don't always have to say what's on that clever mind of yours, you know?" Ben adds shortly after, sounding sympathetic as well.

"Should I go talk to him?"

Sue gives his hand a tiny squeeze. "Give him some time to cool down. I'm sure he'll be open to listen to you later."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Johnny really fought against his initial instinct of running back to you for comfort, because he couldn't bring himself to lie to you about what happened, and he really didn't want to drag you into this.

He knew something like that would happen if he were to talk about your existence. They would all assume he's just being overdramatic over some girl he'll probably get bored of in a few more days. That his feelings aren't really that serious.

But that's only because they don't know you yet, and they have no idea how deeply you have impacted his life. Johnny never really understood that whole 'love at first sight' bullshit. He has claimed to be in love in the past, but he never really meant it. It was just Johnny being Johnny. But now he feels like a complete dumbass because he's pretty sure he experienced that the first time he laid eyes on you and now he can’t joke about it. His feelings are terrifyingly real.

Despite really wanting to be with you right now, he decides to stay locked up in his room with a pair of headphones on as a way to keep the outside noise away, simply lost in his own head.

That is, until a loud banging on his door startles him. Annoyed, he leaves his bed to head towards the door, opening it to meet Ben and Sue on the other side. “What?”

"Reed wants to apologize."

“Oh, does he? Because I don’t see him.”

“He’s in his lab. You know he likes to be there when he’s stressed. I’ll go find him.”

As Ben walks off, Johnny can’t help but let out a sigh as he walks back to his bed, half-regretting his outburst earlier during dinner. "He doesn't really have to. It's not like what he said isn't the truth, anyway."

"Don't say that."

"I'm sure you were all thinking the same thing. I don't have the best reputation. My longest relationship has been...what, two days? I'm not really a father's dreamed son in law."

Sue can't help but let out a soft chuckle at his absurdity. He leans back on his bed while she takes a seat next to him. "Don't be too hard on yourself. You're very clever, way too charming for your own good, and unbelievably kind. You have many great qualities,” she says in a soft, comforting voice. “Well, and let's not forget you're the Human Torch."

"You're obligated to say all that because you're my sister."

"I say it because it's true and I mean it. You're so special, Johnny, don't ever think otherwise."

Johnny stays quiet for a few seconds before offering his sister a soft smile. "Thank you."

She opens her arms and waits for him to get closer. Johnny rolls his eyes, as if the idea of hugging repulses him, but he's immediately sitting up and moving closer to her. Sue keeps her arms wrapped around him while he cuddles closer to her, and she can't help but think back on little two year-old Johnny seeking comfort in his big sister's arms after waking up from a nightmare.

"You really like this girl, don't you?"

"More than I'd like to admit," he replies almost immediately. "I swear, there's absolutely nothing casual between us."

"I'd really like to meet her, if you're okay with introducing us. Perhaps the two of us can visit her? If meeting everyone is too much just yet."

"No, no. I can bring her over. She's been dying to meet all of you too. I was the one making excuses all the time. I was just afraid, I guess."

"Afraid of what?" she asks softly, moving back enough to be able to look at him.

"Of allowing this to get as non-casual as it can get?" he says, not exactly sure on how to put his insecurities into words, but thankfully Sue seems to understand him perfectly.

"Oh, you really like her," she teases with a little smirk, making Johnny roll his eyes again.

"Alright. Enough," he says jokingly, trying to get away for her hug.

"Let me enjoy this please. I've waited so long for this moment," she replies, finally letting him go. "But seriously, I like seeing you like this. And I’m happy you found someone."

Johnny offers his sister a smile, reaching out to grab her hand to give it a gentle squeeze. Their little moment is abruptly interrupted when they hear a light knock on the door. Reed is standing there, with that same troubled expression he had when Johnny had walked away earlier.

"Relax, Reed. We're all good, buddy," Johnny says before he tries to blurt out awkward apologies at him. It's honestly better to just forgive him than to try to sit through a week-long monologue about how terribly sorry Reed is. He wouldn't hear the end of it. "At least for now. Don't get too comfortable."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"A teaspoon, Reed! How do you not know what a teaspoon is!"

Reed looks beyond stressed, his apron filled with flour. He's practically sweating at this point. "Well, this isn't exactly my area of expertise!"

"Clearly," Ben replies right after while H.E.R.B.I.E. quickly pours the mix on top of the pie crust, ready to put it inside the oven.

Sue gives her husband a quick kiss on the cheek, offering him a smile. "You did your best, babe."

The elevator rings not too long after, announcing your arrival. Sue practically rushes towards you and Johnny to be the first to welcome you.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," she says cheerfully, giving you a hug.

Being in the presence of all four of them in their infamous tower certainly is nerve wracking, but Sue's embrace is a warm welcome that immediately makes you feel more at ease. "Oh, the pleasure's all mine, really," you immediately reply, your voice betraying you as it reveals how nervous you really are.

"She brought you flowers," Johnny says this time, noticing that in your panic state you totally forgot about the bouquet you’re currently holding in your hand.

"Yes, right! Sorry. These are for you," you quickly say, offering your boyfriend a soft smile in appreciation for his help.

"They're lovely, thank you," Sue keeps smiling at you, before her eyes briefly drift towards Johnny, letting him know she already likes you. You don’t really notice their silent exchange, focusing on the little robot that stands next to Sue instead, his tiny mechanical hands extended to receive the flowers. "Thank you H.E.R.B.I.E., but I'll find a place for them on my own."

The robot replies with a polite beep, turning his head to you now. He takes you in, offering a friendly wave before rushing back to the kitchen.

"See, even he likes you already," you hear Johnny whispering, his arm gently placed around your waist before leaving a delicate kiss on your cheek.

Then, Reed and Ben are approaching you. The sight of Mr. Fantastic covered in flour certainly is a hilarious sight, but you pretend to ignore it as you offer them a shy smile.

"Welcome," he says politely, extending a hand for a handshake, immediately realizing it's filled with flour. "Oh, I'm sorry," he whispers in embarrassment, trying to wipe his hand in his apron.

"We were doing a little something to repay you for all those free pastries you sent us," Ben explains with a soft laugh. "Hopefully it turns out decent enough. I’m Ben, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

You quickly introduce yourself, finding it amusing that he feels the need to introduce himself. As if they’re not the most beloved group on Earth. It’s a nice gesture though. "It's already starting to smell good, which is always a good sign," you point out regarding whatever it is that they attempted to bake, the faint smell of pumpkin slowly invading the room.

"If it fails, you might have to give us the instructions next time."

Reed nods. "I'm sure you'll yell a lot less than Ben here."

"It’s just mindblowing how you don't know what a teaspoon is. It’s in the name."

The interaction makes you giggle, and Johnny can't help but smile when he looks at you to catch you laughing. It's like the entire world around him disappears when he manages to capture even just a glimpse of your smile.

The pair walk back to the kitchen, but before you could follow them, you feel Johnny’s hand gently grabbing your purse, intending to slide it off your shoulder. "Let me take your coat," he offers. 

You quickly thank him before allowing him to grab your purse and coat, placing them at a nearby hanger before returning to your side, like there's some magnetic pull inevitably pulling him towards you.

"Are you okay?" he asks when he's next to you, his arm finding its way around your waist again.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you nod, turning to look at him. "They're really nice."

"I never doubted they'd like you." There's a hint of playfulness in his tone that you catch almost immediately, feeling your face burning in embarrassment when he pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around you. "How could they not?" he whispers, looking deep into your eyes with nothing but genuine affection. "You're perfect."

"Johnny," you half-warn him in a shy voice, barely able to keep eye contact with him anymore.

"What? You are perfect," he insists, searching for your eyes with a soft smile. "And I'm so incredibly lucky you're here. In my life, I mean."

You really appreciate his words, but it's becoming a bit too much to handle. It's always too much when he starts saying things like this. And it’s especially mortifying when his family is just feet away.

"Stop it," you insist, and he immediately pulls you in for a tight hug that takes you by surprise, making you giggle as you almost lose your balance.

"Sorry, I just can't help myself," he mutters into your hair, as if it's genuinely impossible to stop showing you so much affection. "I think you might become the death of me, you know?"

From the kitchen, the other three watch the scene unfold in silence, expressions mixed with curiosity and surprise at the sight of Johnny looking so infatuated with you.

"I never thought I'll get to see this side of him," Ben comments in the lowest voice possible. "I wasn't sure it even existed."

"He looks really...happy."

Sue smiles after her husband's comment. "He really does."

"Poor girl can't catch a break." Ben's statement comes right after Johnny mutters something else into your ear, immediately grinning to himself after you start laughing.

"Oh, she enjoys it just as much as Johnny does," Sue points out in her brother's defense. "It's cute. They're just starting their relationship. It's normal to be all over each other."

"I don't think I'll get used to this Johnny that easily," Reed comments.

"I love this Johnny," Sue comments right after. "And this is still our Johnny. We just hadn't had the chance to see this side of him before."

"Wish I hadn't seen it," Ben frowns in playful disgust, watching as his friend gives you a quick kiss on the lips before finally letting you go to finally join the others.

Johnny turns around, noticing the three of them looking at their exchange from the kitchen. "What a bunch of creeps," he calls out.

"You were the one all over her, pal," Ben replies shortly after.

"Well, she's my girlfriend, so I'll be all over her as much as I want."

"And we're the creepy ones."

Sue decides to ignore their banter, walking towards you to steal you away from Johnny's side. "Would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water? Perhaps something to eat?"

"Uh, tea would be nice," you reply, immediately following after her.

"Boys?" she calls next, awaiting for them to say anything.

You help Sue get everything ready after everyone announces what they'll be having. Reed quickly excuses himself to go get rid of as much flour remaining on his hands and clothes as possible while Johnny walks straight to one of the cabinets to retrieve a box of cereal.

Ben starts bickering with Johnny after he keeps attempting to throw cereal at his head. Reed returns with a small machine that makes a faint beeping noise, seemingly lost in his own little bubble with one of his many researches, briefly joining the argument when one of the cereals land on his head instead, distracting him from whatever it is that he’s checking. Meanwhile, Sue strikes up casual conversation with you in order to get to know you better.

Despite this being the first introduction, there's something oddly comfortable about this. Like you fit right in. Like you’ve already found your place in their dynamic. Perhaps you and Johnny's family will get along even better than any of you might’ve anticipated.

[bodhiscurls]

put me to work, dollface. ( johnny storm )

all the ways in which you utilise your boyfriend johnny whilst refuses to let go of you, including the moment you get ready to meet his family for the first time. (kinda long soz in advance!)

human torch! johnny storm x fem! reader

themes: fluff mainly. mentions of insecurities, wealth disparity. no spoilers for the new movie!

masterlist.

johnny storm being the best cuddler known to mankind is a secret you get to indulge in every single morning. hours before, he wraps his arm firmly around the middle of your body, buries his head into the crook of your neck; your favourite shampoo filling his nostrils and he sighs in bliss. his breath tickles at the shell of your ear but you can't focus in the slightest because all you feel is the heat. it surrounds you, engulfs you and melts you whole- you relax into him as you're pretty sure that when you get up, there'll be a you shaped hole indented on his front from being pressed so tightly.

he's careful not to overheat, just to your liking and he's out like a light. as the midnight hours shift with the tossing of limbs, his form has slightly separated from yours. you're no longer on your sides, he now has you trapped underneath him with half his weight. that same arm still wrapped around your waist though this time its a little lazier as you feel his hand stretched wide across your stomach. he lies on his own, the other arm disappearing under the silk pillows that are way too expensive for your liking but they make his hair feel fantastic, he argues. no pun intended.

"johnny," you whisper into his skin, he peeks open one eye sees your alive and well- there's no threat around and then closes it almost immediately, returning back to sleep. you scoff, and squirm in his hold to try and free yourself but the move you move, the more firm he holds you down. "it's time to get up, sleepyhead."

he groans in protest but you put up a fair fight, squeezing through the gaps between your joined bodies until he groans really loudly, rolls over and pins you down. he's on top, staring at you so intently with a quiet fury from being woken up and you shoot him your cheesiest of smiles; anything to soften the blow. its golden light, like the kind that peeks through your apartment curtains and he lowers his head in a gentle dip, kissing the grin off your face.

you treat him to a few minutes of bliss before pushing your hands onto his chest and off of you; his koala form destroyed as he collapses back into the rumpled sheets as you make a beeline for your bathroom. "big day today!" you call out from behind you, you splash your face with ice cold water- a stark contrast to the warmth fire you've felt all night long and grab your toothbrush from the stand, brushing harder and longer than usual. "i'm fucking nervous," the sentiment leaves you quickly as the toothpaste foams up.

johnny doesn't catch the end of your sentence; furrowing his brows softly at your mumbling and stands behind you a moment later. his hair is all ruffled, the indents of his pillow pressed into his cheek with his eyes half shut. he keeps a hand on your hip as he navigates around you, reaching for his own toothbrush from beside yours and brushing with his free hand. you bend and rinse, before turning in his hold, "we have lots to do today," you mentally check off your to do list you've made weeks before, "i've already did the grocery shop, you just have to stop by at that bakery and pick up those cookies ben likes- i haven't got time to make them, i'm stumped with sue's cake or maybe i could? if i cut out time for a shower i could probably totally-"

"yeah no way," he cuts you off, spitting out the rest of his toothpaste and rinsing. throughout your spiel, he stayed quiet, let you ramble, nodding as he listened intently but hearing you're thinking of cutting out shower time with him? to bake for ben? not on his watch. "babe you're a fucking smokeshow- my smokeshow, and i'm not losing you to ben," he rolls his eyes and you soften, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight interlock as he finds your waist, fingers gently gripping your skin. he sways you against him, rocking your body to the beat of the morning air and birds chirping.

"okay," you breathe, pecking his nose with a mintiness that causes him to scrunch it in return.

"you missed," he mumbles, bringing his lips to yours and before you know it, he's walking you backwards into the shower- undressing you like its second nature, he can do this with his eyes closed and makes sure that before the water touches your bare skin, it's warm enough just as you love. he lets the droplets wash over you before he has his hands in your hair with the shampoo, then all over you with soapy suds and presses you into the wall to cool down when he gets a little too focused on you, the glass steaming up a lot more than when you first entered.

and when you finish, you're really glad he let you talk him out of skipping your usual routine.

"alright," he drawls as he emerges into the kitchen, still shirtless with little water droplets hanging from his chest, trailing dangerously low into a pair of grey sweatpants. "put me to work, dollface," he lifts his brows, waiting and you gush at the sleep still laced in his voice but the fact that he's here, ready and waiting for you to give him the first order of the day.

you lift your mug in his direction and rolls his eyes, flaming at the liquid and heating the tea, sweetened with honey back to a barely drinkable temperature. he rolls his eyes but does it without so much of a fuss, fingers overlapping yours from where you hold your favourite mug and the sensation of heat fizzles through you, in a teasing motion.

you murmur a thanks of appreciation before shoo'ing him in the opposite direction to do the bakery errand and he moans, grasping onto your now interlocked hands unwilling to spend a moment away from you. you have yo basically push him back up to the bedroom to change and then out the door, and one thing about johnny storm is that he can be real damn convincing when he wants to be- which is every single second he spends in your orbit.

"no funny business," you sternly remind him, "today is important," and he presses his forehead into yours.

"oh trust me baby, not a single one of them are funny so it won't be hard," and he rolls his eyes. your heart drops a little at the sarcasm, detecting a little lack of enthusiasm for tonight's dinner but before he has the chance to press on it, you're sending him on his way with a gentle pat to the chest and a determined look in his.

you're going to be your absolute best today and love these people slightly less than what you love johnny storm at. he stands at a higher pedestal, obviously being your favourite but something stirrs in your stomach; a growing feeling of insecurity bubbles and rises. you're differen to johnny- where he's loud and carefree, you've always played life safer, settling into the background- you've never needed to be loud not when johnny loved you in the quiet moments more than anything. its a classic golden retriever-black cat momentum your friends had joked about the first time meeting him.

you want his family to love you, accept you more than anything and it terrifies you how small you feel. so over the next few hours, you clean like crazy, dusting shelves you know no one can even see. you create your appertisers, entrees and two delicious trays of roasted chicken and vegetables sit in the oven cooking- you're unsure of just how much ben can eat and you don't want to be known as frugral.

you look around at your living room. it's small for sure, most likely smaller than anything his family are used to- you know johnny comes from money and his brother in law reed is stacked to the max. you think your set up is quaint, homey, lived in with touches of you all over. in fact it was johnny who decided that he'd rather live at your place than you move into his- it felt more like home than anywhere he's ever been. you felt like home more than anywhere he's ever been and never once has he made you feel any less than what you know he's used to.

if reed, sue and ben are anything like johnny then you know you'll be fine but you can't help shake the feeling of "he could do better" that lingers in the back of your mind. comparison is an ugly monster that preys on you in your moments alone, stepping away slowly once you feel the familiar sensation of hands land at your shoulders and a head peer into your line of vision.

"smells fucking amazing," he moans in delight, "i'm so fucking lucky to have you, baby," and without even knowing, johnny's squashed whatever doubt was lingering in your mind right to the back where it inhabits like a demon. you beam in pride and he stares in awe as pure radiant sunshine takes over your face.

it breaks for a moment, a sharp pang shooting through your stomach and he's there in less than a fraction of a milisecond holding you up against him, baring your weight. "cramps," you mumble, and he nods in head in understanding, stretching his hands across your pelvic region and attempting to soothe your crumpled system.

"bitch," he curses at the pain with a daggered glare, "if i could get rid of periods, i would," and at his declaration, a bubble of laughter escapes you through a wince.

"oh my god, i see why you're so popular with the ladies," you make it out barely through a breath. he rolls his eyes, the tips of his ears blushing a growing red and lets out a feign scoff. he softens after a moment, the murmur soft on your ears and melts into your soul.

"are you sure you're okay? we don't have to do this," he stares into your eyes. you immediately shake your head,

"johnny, we've been planning this date for weeks-"

"no baby, i don't think you understand. we really don't have to do this, like at all, it's not a big deal-"

"johnny storm." and the glare you send him sends a chill down his spine.

"yes ma'am?" he braces himself, he knows he's said the wrong thing already, you've got your serious face on. his least favourite of your faces if he had to pick one purely because it scares him shitless. he's travelled to space, fought fucking aliens, dealt with reed richards for a good portion of his life, but no one can stop the beat of his heart and spit pure fear in his veins the way you can. and whats worse is, behind the fear, johnny storm actually secretly loves it when you're in control and put him in his place.

"did you just say me meeting your family is not a big deal?" you speak slowly, voice reaching the lowest timbre you have in you and it runs down his spine.

"no," he immediately defends himself, reach out to you then shrivels back into his spot where he's being scolded- you're clearly not finished with him. "no," he repeats softer, hoping it reaches through the mental defences you're putting up against him.

"you've been unenthusiastic about this the whole week, it might not be important to you- but its fucking everything to me," you breathe, "i want these people to love me because they love you- they're important to you so they're important to me but it just feels like- it feels like we're not on the same page. why?" you look up to meet his panicked gaze.

"i just-" and you wait, patiently.

"it's fucking ridiculous, and i don't want you to think i'm insane baby, okay?" and you furrow your brows, placing a hand on his cheek tenderly.

"johnny my love, you are fucking insane, it's why i love you," you nod and he groans again, embarrassment filling his body.

"i've, i uh, i've never had somebody to bring home before," and his admission stuns you. johnny storm? absolute king of a man, never brought home someone before?

"johnny what-" your incredulous return is cut short by his rambling.

"you're the first person i've ever felt this way about before and its scary like i'm in love with you, deeply. like, absolutely, i'm all in and no one's ever even made much of an effort before like you're doing today like babe, this is fucking incredible and i feel like i don't deserve you," and you want to cry because insecurity is a funny little thing that has been making you feel the exact same way.

"johnny my love, if anyones undeserving its me,"

"oh stop ruining my pity party," he jokes and you smack his chest lightly, "i fucking love you and i'm so thankful you're doing this and if we're being honest baby, i don't really want to share you with the rest of them. they're weird and uncool and they're my family i guess," he teases, "but that means you'll also be theirs and i'm a selfish guy."

a chuckle slips past your lips and you rest your head onto his chest, focusing on the way his heartbeat drums lightly in your ears. "i'll always be yours," and its an oath spoken straight to his soul. "thank you for letting me in, my head was doing gymnastics earlier- i really thought you didn't want this," you confess.

"oh honey, i'm sorry- no, i want you- i want this- i do not want some 600lb monster destroying our kitchen dinner set," and you grin, the laughter light and airy, settling into the air and he spins you around the kitchen.

"come on dollface, let's get this show on the road," and you lean down to take the chicken out of the oven, cooked to perfection as he tries not to stare at your ass- emphasis on tries. you swat him with the oven mitt, which he catches effortlessly and drags you into his embrace again.

and when the rest of the fantastic four arrive, filling up your space, johnny stands guarded with his hand firmly on your hip, gripped protectively against him. he gave them a plethora of warnings beforehand and you're met with sue's kind smiles, reed's intense respect and ben who tries to grapple you into a hug but johnny stops him with a forceful shove to his chest.

"pack it up, pal. you can look from over there," he rolls his eyes and ben shoves his shoulder.

"wow johnny, trying to be all brave infront of your girl?" he jokes. and johnny grabs you closer to him and you chuckle into his side.

"my girl," he boasts, "i fucking love you, baby," and as his family gush, eat your food flushed with compliments and praise youve never blushed so hard in your life. i guess you could say, that tonight was a success- the first of many family nights to come.

riya saying hi: hellloooo!!! i've not watched the new movie yet but ive seen many things about joseph quinn and ugh he is mighty fine!!! hopefully this is my first venture and not my last into the marvel side of fanfiction- possibly bob sentry next??? let me know what you think! I LOVE U AND THANK U MWAH💘

[starmaidengarden]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 જ⁀➴♡

— overblot gang : x gn!reader. dividers: uzmacchiato

note: Hi, it's been a while. Sorry for not posting. I've been struggling a lot in the past few months. I'll talk about it in a separate post, but WOOO My 100th post!!

Riddle Rosehearts ༉⋆｡˚

Hyper-aware of you at all times. When he’s in love, everything you do suddenly seems so much more important to him. What you’re doing, how you're feeling, but tries to pretend he's not watching you like a hawk.

He panics internally whenever you're upset, thinking he failed you somehow. He won’t always know how to comfort you, but he’ll try so hard, fumbling through awkward pats, stammered words, and eventually hugging you tightly while whispering, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry… I can’t bear it.”

Has tea dates ready down to the sugar cube. Every single detail is thought out when you’re involved— teacup chosen based on what he thinks suits your mood, snacks that don’t crumble too much so your fingers stay clean, etc.

Acts awkward when trying to be sweet. If he wants to compliment you, he fumbles over it. “You look… adequate— no, I meant to say pleasant! Is that acceptable? Wait—uh.”

He secretly wants physical closeness. He yearns to hold your hand, but would combust if you actually did. Expect him to brush your fingers “on accident” when passing you tea or opening a door.

The moment he realizes he’s truly in love, He starts wondering not just how you fit into his world, but how he can become someone worthy of belonging in yours.

Leona Kingscholar ༉⋆｡˚

Love softens him. His rough edges remain, but there's a quiet protectiveness in everything he does now. He pulls you closer while napping, walks on the side closest to danger, grumbles about others bothering you, but does it anyway.

He speaks to you in a gentle, almost soothing tone that contrasts sharply with his interactions with others. When he's comfortable in your presence, his voice takes on a velvety quality, almost like a soft purr.

Does thoughtful things without making a big deal of them. Your favorite drink? It’s in your hands before you knew you needed it. Someone bothering you? He stares them down until they leave.

He performs acts of service, like fixing your uniform, carrying heavy items, and giving you piggyback rides when you're tired. He focuses on making your life easier without expecting thanks.

Let you win in small things. Whether it's a game of chess, cards, or even playful sparring, he intentionally lets you take the lead. With a grin that hints at his mischief, he skillfully holds back, allowing you to claim victories in these small skirmishes, though he would never confess that he’s going easy on you—after all, that would spoil the fun.

Azul Ashengrotto ༉⋆｡˚

Terrified of his own feelings at first. He’ll try to logically dissect his emotions like a contract clause until he finally realizes “I’m completely, hopelessly in love with them.”

Buys your affection—but sincerely. Anything to earn your praise, spoiling you rotten with luxurious gifts, gourmet meals, and perfectly planned dates at sea. But beneath it all, he’s starved for affection—a touch on his cheek, a hand through his hair, and he melts.

Gives you discounts at the lounge, and by discounts, I mean “accidentally gives you everything for free.” He'll offer you “special deals” just so he can see you more often. He gives you freebies, bends the contract rules, and always finds a way to make time for you.

He’s touch-starved but doesn’t initiate. When you hug him? Kiss his cheek? Slip your hand into his? He stares like you’ve cast a powerful spell. He never expects it, but he craves it. And eventually, he’ll shakily start reaching out first, just a little.

Turns into a stuttering, blushing wreck when you compliment him genuinely. He can take flattery from strangers. But you? It’s over.

Jamil Viper ༉⋆｡˚

Is 100% in denial at first. He tries to hide his feelings for a long time—he’s used to being in the background, and he doesn’t want to feel vulnerable.

Starts cooking your favorite foods without even asking. The moment he hears you like something? It's on the menu.

Subtly adjusts your schedule to protect your health. Did you forget lunch? Suddenly, Jamil's handing you a lunch. Overworking? He drags you outside to “run errands” (a walk to get some fresh air).

Makes excuses to be near you. “I was passing by.” “You forgot your notebook.” “Do you need help studying?” He’s smooth, even when flustered.

Gets extremely jealous, but it’s quiet. His smile tightens. He stares a bit too long. And later that night, he’ll whisper, “Don’t make me watch you smile at someone else like that again, it drives me crazy.”

Jamil doesn’t show grand romantic gestures—but when he offers you his hoodie or lets you nap in his room, know this: you’ve touched a part of him he thought no one would ever reach.

Vil Schoenheit ༉⋆｡˚

When he’s in love, he stares at you with such focus, like you’re a masterpiece. His compliments come rarely but powerfully “You’re breathtaking tonight,” spoken in a voice low and sincere.

Fixes your hair or collar without saying anything. Smooths it down, tucks it back, all while scolding you for not being “presentation-ready.”

Wants to be your muse and your mentor. He’ll teach you how to do skin care or pose for a photo, but he’s also watching you with a soft expression the whole time.

Your presence becomes part of his routine. Face masks for two, helping him memorize lines, dressing you up in elegant clothes because “you deserve to feel like royalty too"

Gets visibly annoyed when others flirt with you. You can see the irritation on his face whenever someone flirts with you. “Are they blind?” he grumbles. “You’re clearly in a league of your own!”

When he looks at you, his demeanor softens; his smile transforms into something genuine and warm, made just for you, away from the cameras and the spotlight.

He doesn’t tolerate others looking down on you. If someone dares to insult you, he’ll destroy them with a single look—and then tell you calmly, “Don’t listen to nonsense from those beneath you.”

Publicly, he’s poised, elegant, and graceful. But alone with you? He lets down his hair, takes off the makeup, and leans into your shoulder with tired sighs. You’re his safe space where perfection isn’t needed.

Idia Shroud ༉⋆｡˚

He does things terrifyingly out of character. For you? He will go outside more. He’ll show up to a club event. He’ll make an appearance in person if it means you’ll smile at him. Every time he steps out of his comfort zone, he’s basically emotionally flatlining inside.

Hyperfixates on what you like. You mention a show in passing? He’s watched the whole season. Favorite snack? It’s now stocked in his room.

His hair gives him away. Even if he’s trying to be cool, one compliment from you and his hair flares pink like a sparkler. It’s like having a live feed of his feelings. He hates it but can’t help it.

When you visit his room, he clears a space for you, adjusts the lighting to your liking, and will nervously show you his projects. If you praise him, he’ll go red from his neck to his ears.

He’s incredibly clingy in private. Not emotionally suffocating — but he loves touch when it’s safe. Playing with your fingers. Sitting next to you until your thighs are pressed together. Lying in your lap while he rambles about obscure lore. If you stroke his hair, he’ll fall asleep with the softest smile on his face.

Malleus Draconia ༉⋆｡˚

He wants to protect your smile like a treasure. If something bothers you? It’s gone. If you’re sad? He will spend hours learning how to fix it, even if it means asking Lilia for advice or studying human courtship rituals.

He shows his love through constancy. He always arrives when you need him, even without a word. Appears in the rain with an umbrella. Hovers in the corner of a room because he sensed your mood shift. You don’t even have to call — he knows.

He watches you like you’re a miracle. He’ll listen to you talk about your day with a fond, still smile, like every word is precious. “You’re even more fascinating than the stars,” he’ll say with no irony at all.

He remembers everything. You hate the cold? He’ll warm the path you walk. That you laugh at certain folklore? He’ll tell you all the versions he knows. That you like stars? He’ll conjure an entire sky for you to walk under.

He finds joy in your joy. He was so used to being feared or tiptoed around. When you smile at something silly or laugh loudly at a dumb pun, he lights up.

He takes forever seriously. When he’s in love, Malleus isn’t planning a school romance — he’s planning centuries. A life with you, in every world, in every version of time. “You may grow older. I may outlive time itself. But if you wish it, I will always remain by your side.”

[snail-day]

Jason Todd can handle a lot, pain, blood, bullets. He’s survived things that should’ve killed him. He’s stared death in the face and grinned. But you crying?

No. No, that he can’t handle.

Especially not when it’s because of him.

It happens too fast, faster than he can catch. His voice rises mid-argument, sharp and defensive, frustration bleeding through every syllable. And then your breath hitches. Just once. Barely a sound. But he hears it. Sees it, too. The way your eyes suddenly go glassy, lashes trembling with unshed tears. The wobble of your bottom lip. That blink-blink-blink like you’re trying so hard to keep it in, like it’s your fault for reacting at all. That expression - so small, so crushed - makes something twist violently in his chest.

“Babe,” he says, immediately. Voice low. Cracked.

“Baby.” Already stepping closer.

“Lover.” he breathes, softer now, frantic in his own quiet way, reaching out before the first tear even falls. But it does, rolling down your cheek in a hot streak that shatters him completely.

“I didn’t mean that. I swear. I didn’t - ” His words fumble, tangled in his throat, caught between apology and desperation.

You try to turn away, swiping at your face, but he’s already pulling you in, arms strong and sure as they wrap around you. He sits down without thinking, dragging you with him into his lap, curling himself around you like a barrier from the world. Like if he holds you tight enough, he can fix it. Undo it.

You’re hiccuping against his chest, hands balled into his shirt, and he presses his cheek to the top of your head, breathing you in. You smell like tears and your shared shampoo and home. His fingers stroke your spine, firm and steady. Like you’re both reminding each other: still here. still loved.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Again. And again. “I didn’t mean to yell. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His voice is low, rough with guilt. There’s something trembling in it, something he hasn’t let anyone see since he was a boy. And in this moment, maybe he is a boy again. Scared. Soft. Too full of love and too afraid to lose it.

Maybe he’s more like Bruce than he ever wanted to admit. Not in the brooding or the brawn. But in that quiet, aching fear, of losing everything he cares about. Of saying the wrong thing. Of being the reason someone walks away. So he holds you like he’s trying to rewrite the moment. Presses kisses to the crown of your head, holding you tight, and swears, silently, he’ll do better. Be better. For you.

Dc masterlist

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Baby? (Johnny Storm)

Description: After hearing that Sue and Reed are having a baby, Johnny brings up a crazy idea to his best friend.

Word Count: 975

Author’s Note: I see all the Johnny requests and I will get working on them! I just had to post this one because it was already done.

“Oh my gosh that’s so awesome! Congratultious!” She told the married couple over dinner.

Sue smiled at her and thanked her, Reed looked a little nervous.

“Thank you.” He said and nodded.

“You’re gonna be the best mom!” Johnny said to his sister and hugged her.

“You’ll be the best dad, just kidding you’re out of your league.” He said and Y/N got up to hit him,

“Be nice.” She exclaimed and he chuckled before sitting down.

Johnny and Y/N have been best friends since childhood and it never fails Sue to be surprised that she puts up with him. He was a manchild but she loved him regardless.

“You are going to be an uncle, Johnny!” She was excited for her best friend.

He smiled at her reaction and nodded, he truly was. Sue also could see the look in his eyes when he looked at his best friend and it was a different look than what you’re supposed to give your best friends. He was in love, though it sucked because he was such a player that Y/N never thought her feelings would be returned by him. 

A week goes by and Johnny can’t focus on anything, his head has a million thoughts a minute at this point and one was over powering the others. He was so happy that he was going to be an uncle but the more he thought about it, he’d be happier if he was a dad. He was a womanizer and to have a baby and do it right he would need to settle down and only one person comes to his mind,

“Let’s have a baby.” His best friend stopped what she was doing and turned to him,

“What?” She asked and he got up from his bed.

“We should have a baby.” He said it like it was nothing.

“Why? We aren’t even together.” She points out, thinking her best friend was the dumbest guy alive.

“You’re hot, I'm hot.” She rolled her eyes at him,

“So that’s a reason to have a baby?” Her face was straight, not finding this amusing.

He nodded his head like it was obvious.

“No, the reason to have a baby with someone is because you love them.”

“I do love you.” He defended himself and she shook her head.

“But are you in love with me?” His face dropped and he didn’t know what to say, he never thought that question would come up between them.

“Uh…” She huffed and went to walk away before he asked,

“Are you even in love with me?” She turned to him, tears lining her eyes.

“Yes.” She whispered and walked out of his room, leaving him shocked and a little sad. 

A few days had passed and they hadn’t spoken, she hadn’t even been in the tower with them. Sue was concerned and reached out to her to see what was wrong and she was annoyed with Johnny after hearing the news.

“You idiot!” She hit him in the arm.

“Ow!” He looked very offended by her actions.

“You’re a dumbass.” She growled and he was waiting for an explanation.

She yelled at him for even suggesting to Y/N that they should have a baby because they are both hot. She called him numerous names and told him that he better fix this before it was too late,

“I know you’re in love with you as well.” She told him before leaving his room.

She was right, he needed to fix this before it was too late. He waited a few minutes, gathering his thoughts and what he planned to say before leaving and going to her house. Y/N laid in her bed, thinking about the past few days and how much she missed her best friend even though he was a complete idiot.

She also missed the other 3 a lot and wanted to see the baby when he was born. She sighed and knew that eventually she had to see them again and knew that she just needed space. She heard a loud noise outside her house and got up to see what it was. She opened her door and her face fell completely when she saw that it was Johnny.

He nearly winced at her facial expression, realizing just how much she didn’t want to see him. He scratched the back of his head,

“Can we talk?” She sighed and opened the door wider so he could come in.

She crossed her arms and stared at him, waiting for him to talk.

“I know you don’t wanna see me right now but I need to apologize for how I brought that up.” She motioned for him to continue,

“I’m sorry and I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything when you told me you were in love with me.” He looked away from her for a second,

“Truth is I love you too, a lot  but I’m scared and I’m not good with these kinds of things and that’s not an excuse but it needed to be said.” Her face softened at his words and she couldn’t help but smile at his words,

“Awww Johnny that was sweet!” She said before hugging him.

She felt him tense for a second before relaxing and hugging her back. She pulled away from the hug and kissed him. He kissed back and pulled her closer to him.

“So about that baby?” He jokingly asked and she laughed.

“I think we should be married first.” She said and cupped his face.

“So will you marry me?” He asked and she shook her head,

“Johnny we can’t get married now we’ve only been dating for less than 5 minutes.”

“Yeah but we’ve known each other forever, why wait?” She scoffed playfully and kissed him again.

Just to get him to shut up for once.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

A/N: I couldn't get this out of my head at all, honestly, I can't get Clark out of my head I will be posting him a lot this weekend lol.

Made for Me

Summary: You’re ovulating. You don’t know it yet. Clark does. And he’s being... different. Hungrier. The kind of possessive he only gets when instinct overrides restraint. And tonight? There’s no restraint left.

 

Clark definitely knows when his girlfriend is ovulating.

He may be humble and sweet, always polite and gentle, but the man has Kryptonian senses--and they don’t miss anything.

He never makes a big deal about it. Never comments out loud like some weirdo or anything. But the moment your scent shifts, when your body chemistry changes in the faintest way, he knows.

And he starts acting...different.

Suddenly, he’s hovering closer. Guiding you with a hand on your back. Touching you more often--his palm brushing your hip, his fingers tucking hair behind your ear like he can’t stand not having skin-to-skin contact. His kisses get deeper. His voice drops lower. And he stares sometimes, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it--this soft, aching look in his eyes like you hung the damn moon.

You're none the wiser at first. Just feeling a little off--sensitive, needy, extra clingy. Wondering why Clark looks like he wants to worship you on the kitchen counter while you're eating cereal.

The truth? It drives him crazy.

He can hear the uptick in your heartbeat, the way your temperature shifts, the way you smell--like something warm and sweet and meant for him. His self-control is superhuman, but you are his one weakness.

And the worst (or best) part?

You don’t even know you’re ovulating yet.

But he does. And he’s already three steps ahead--bringing your favorite snacks, slipping into bed behind you with slow kisses and wandering hands, murmuring, "You smell so good, baby… God, you drive me wild.”

Eventually, you ask how he always knows exactly when you need him the most.

And he just shrugs with that boyish smile and says: “Guess I’ve got a sixth sense for the love of my life.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Clark’s been acting weird all day. Not bad weird. Not even annoying weird. Just… different. More intense.

Touchier.

Hungrier.

He’s been all over you--kissing your temple every five minutes, pressing his hand to your back like he needs the anchor, glancing over at you with pupils blown wide and jaw clenched like he’s fighting off some wild animal inside him.

You stretch your arms over your head to grab something from a high shelf and his eyes drop--slow, dark, heavy--like he’s imagining peeling your clothes off with his teeth.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you tease.

His voice is rough. Thick. Barely there. “Like what?”

“Like you wanna ruin me.”

Clark steps in close, slow and quiet like a storm. One hand rest on your hip. The other glides up your spine, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades as he dips down to kiss your neck--slow and reverent, like he’s tasting sin. “Because I do,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

Your breath hitches. A heat blooms low in your belly. “Clark…”

He exhales shakily against your skin, nose brushing your pulse. “You’re ovulating.” He says it like a confession. Like he’s barely holding back. “I can smell it on you,” he whispers. “You smell like mine.”

You freeze. “Wait--how do you know that before I do?”

He grips your ass and pulls you flush against him, the thick press of his cock straining through his sweatpants. He brings your hand to his chest--his heart pounding before mumbling “Because I can feel it. In here…” --and then he guides your hand down between you and then softer says: “And in here.”

His restraint is shredded. Gone completely. There’s only want now--hot and sharp and molten. And it’s all for you.

“Everything in me is screaming to fill you up,” he groans. “To make you mine. To put my baby in you and watch you swell with it.”

Your moan is so soft. So sweet. So helpless. Clark growls low in his throat, lifts you like you weigh nothing, and walks you toward the bed. His voice is thick with hunger. “You want that?” he asks, kissing your collarbone, dragging his mouth down your chest as he lays you back. “You want me to fuck you full?”

You nod, breathless, eyes wide and hazy with heat.

He tears your clothes off. His tongue is hot and slow as it licks down your stomach. “Gonna give you everything,” he murmurs. “Every drop. Not gonna stop until you’re shaking. Crying. Full.”

And what follows is filth.

Clark eats you out like a starving man, like your body is his favorite meal and he’s been denied it for too long. He groans into you--“Sweeter,” “Riper,” saying shit he never says, grumbling things like “She’s calling for me... begging for me, baby…”

When he finally pushes in, it’s slow at first. Shaky. Worshipful.

But that doesn’t last.

His thrusts get rougher. Desperate. He kisses your tear-streaked cheeks and begs you, “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to give you everything.”

You cling to him, sobbing yes yes yes while he fucks you with one hand on your belly and the other gripping your thigh.

And when he finally finishes--deep, hard, gasping your name--he stays inside you. Buried deep. No thought of pulling out. No hesitation. Just holding you through the aftershocks with his heart thundering against yours.

“I love you,” he whispers. “So much. You were made for me.”

He kisses your forehead so softly it makes your head spin with the whiplash of it—from bruising thrusts to reverent caresses.

Then, quiet: “If you’re not pregnant by the end of tonight… I’ll do it again tomorrow. And the next night. And the next. I'll take the week off if I need to.”

💕💕💕💕

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed <3 if you did please let me know by liking, commenting, and reblogging its an easy way to show support and keep me motivated to continue posting on here :) Request are open so please don't hesitate to send them my way!

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - EIGHTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader. chapter warnings: mentions of mental and physical health issues

You woke up to a ringing sound. The annoying buzz of the gate’s intercom yanked you out of sleep. You groaned, shifting your pillow under your head but the persistent ringing didn’t quit.

Who the fuck was buzzing the gate at 9:00 a.m.? No one in this neighborhood was ever stupid enough to wake you before ten, rich people had the decency to sleep in or mind their business.

You rolled over, swiping at your phone to see a stream of missed calls and texts — all from Rafe.

You frowned, heart stuttering for reasons you hated to admit.

Groggy, you sat up too fast. Regretted it instantly.

“Fuck,” you muttered, hand on your lower stomach as the morning nausea hit instantly.

You dragged yourself out of bed, shuffling to the front of the house where the security gate blinked its red light.

You pressed the button, and a man’s voice crackled through. “Good morning, ma’am. I got a few packages for you. I’d drop them here, but...they’re a lot.”

You frowned. “What, exactly, do you mean?”

“Packages. Big ones.”

That didn’t sound like you, you hadn’t ordered anything recently—no calls, no emails, no surprise deliveries on the app.

The gate clicked open, and the large delivery truck rolled slowly through. Minutes later, you were standing on your polished stone porch, blinking at a mountain of boxes stacked against your front door.

So many.

Big ones. Little ones. One was wrapped in branded tissue paper. Two from Target. One with a packing slip stuck to the front, which said "Motherhood Maternity " in bold letters.

They were ridiculous, way too many, from multiple stores, all addressed to you in your own name—except none of them were things you’d ordered.

RAFE: Did you get ‘em?

You stared at the boxes, then at your phone, confused and suspicious.

You tapped back. YOU: What the fuck is going on, Cameron?

Rafe called, and you answered reluctantly.

Right, this wasn’t weird at all.

“Did they drop ‘em off already? Said it’d be early.”

You were still standing barefoot in the open doorway, half a sleep, hair a mess.

“What are you talking about?”

“The packages,” He said, slower this time, trying to decide if you were joking. “You, uh—never mind. You haven’t gotten them?”

“I have.”

“Just open ‘em.”

“No,” You refused, brow furrowed. “I didn’t order any of this.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why would you send me half of fucking Target and something called Motherhood Maternity?”

Rafe exhaled on the other end.

“Because I can. Open them.”

“You know I got my own money, right?” You bristled. “I don’t need you blowing thousands on shit I didn’t ask for to prove a point.”

“and I can do whatever I want with my money,” he refuted. “Open them.”

Your mouth opened, ready to argue, to say something and remind him he didn’t get to do this after choosing to leave when you needed him. But your eyes caught on one of the boxes. A sticky tab stuck to the top.

Your name written in his handwriting—open this one first.

Fucking soft asshole.

You tore the box open, scowling the whole time.

“…Pregnancy-safe bath oils?” And beside them, a box of ginger chews for nausea, a neck pillow, a ridiculously soft pair of socks, and a folded onesie that said: Coming soon… in pirate font, complete with a tiny skull and crossbones.

You held it up to your phone.

“What the fuck is this?”

Rafe hummed. “Which one?”

You snorted. “Are you serious with this cheap pogue-ass onesie?”

“They’re your...friends, aren’t they? I dunno. Thought it might make it easier if you tell them.”

“Hold on. You’re suddenly being thoughtful, sentimental, and considerate about my new pogue friends—did you hit your head?”

You could envision him rolling his eyes. 

“It’s not for them. It’s for you. I’m being nice to you. Move on.”

You despise how his voice made your chest hurt, how you weren’t hanging up when he called lately, and how it felt so normal, as if no time had passed and he hadn’t ripped your heart out.

“So you bought me a pirate onesie to soften the blow when I tell them I’m carrying your child?”

You held the phone between your shoulder and ear, fingers already flying across the screen to text someone who had to hear this immediately. Sarah. Pogue royalty.

The first person you trusted when everything else had collapsed.

You typed fast:

YOU: your brother just sent me enough shit to fill a nursery YOU: i’m talking like six boxes

The read receipt popped up almost immediately, and her typing bubble appeared just as fast, nearly like she’d been waiting for something this unhinged to happen.

Rafe was still rambling in your ear.

“I thought you said you were low on ginger chews last time. I got a bunch—ones without that weird aftertaste. And the socks are for swelling, not cozy movie nights. I mean, unless you want that too, I guess—”

You made a face. “Rafe.”

You could sense him freeze, panicked that he said too much.

Sarah’s reply buzzed in while he hesitated. SARAH: HE HIT HIS HEAD. HE HIT HIS HEAD FOR SURE. SARAH: are the socks cute tho???

“I figured,” he went on, ignoring your exasperation, “you’d want to tell ‘em soon, and I don’t know. Perhaps you'd like to do it in a way that doesn’t trigger an emotional breakdown at the Chateau. If you can call it that..”

You huffed. 

“I’m not going to stand on the kitchen table and scream, ‘I’m pregnant’ into a beer can.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Yes, Sarah,” you said aloud, not realizing it until it was already out of your mouth. “The socks are cute.”

“…What?” Rafe asked, confused.

You smirking slightly. “Not you. I’m texting your sister.”

“Of course you are.” He sighed. “She’s gonna make fun of me for the pirate onesie shit, isn’t she?”

“She already is.” You glanced at the open box again, now laughing despite yourself. “Hard.”

Conversations such as this one made you want to scream, kiss him, and throw something directly at his stupidly big head.

“…You liked the socks?”

You reached into the box, pulled out the stupid stretchy fabric, and stared at them.

“They’re really fucking soft. But this one box that says fragile is—”

“The foot massager.”

“The foot massager.” Your lips parted in disbelief. “You got me a foot massager?”

“Yeah. And heating pads. And those compression sock things. And one of those bougie water bottles that tells you when to drink—”

“…Are you nesting?” You squinted at the box, genuinely bewildered.

He groaned. “Open the snack box.”

You reached for the one labeled Midnight Cravings and peeled back the tape to find: Oreos, dill pickle chips, sour candy, chocolate-covered pretzels, a jar of Nutella, three types of instant noodles, and a sticky note on top that just read:

If you eat all of this in one night, I won’t judge you, but I will send reinforcements. – R.

Your eyes welled up, which was so stupid, but also inevitable.

You sniffled. “Rafe.”

“No crying,” he added quickly. “You’re hormonal and I’m not equipped for that right now.”

A watery, ridiculous chuckle. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You wiped under your eyes and muttered.

“God, I wanna punch you in the face again.”

You stared at the boxes, his voice still ringing in your ear, your fingertips brushing over the ridiculous little onesie that had no right being as soft as it was.

Rafe had been coming over lately, with food, vitamins, with that frustrating way he always said hi to your growing belly like it could understand him. You hadn’t even done that yourself.

“Y'feel like shit today, huh?” He tried to make small talk one afternoon while handing you a smoothie through the window (you refused to open all the way). “Kid’s probably taking after me. Sorry in advance.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m kinda funny.”

He took your silence as permission, sat on the porch steps, and stayed until the sun went down.

There was one thing you hadn’t told him; it made your throat close every time it hovered near your lips.

That the baby was a boy.

You didn’t know how to approach the subject, even though you’d already imagined how the conversation would go. You could picture how his face would fall, his eyes would drift somewhere far off—haunted by the last name he never asked to inherit.

Rafe understood who Ward was now. He did before, too, you think; but he tried to lie to himself. And no matter how many times he fought to separate himself from Ward, there was always a part of him that was still terrified he’d turn out the same, that the blood in his veins was filled with the wrong legacy.

A boy would mean—what if he failed? What if he hurt him? What if he loved him and still fucked it all up? You didn’t think you could stomach watching Rafe lose himself again.

You could smell the pretzels in the snack box, and it was somehow both mouth-watering and nauseating. Your back ached. Your belly ached. Your heart ached worse.

It didn’t make sense. You were pissed at him.

And yet…you were also kind of happy?

Well, not happy, exactly, more like warmed. Annoyed. Confused.

Stinging in all the places that used to feel cold.

You didn’t know what the fuck you were feeling anymore, hormones were scattering your brain to bits and pieces, turning you into a walking contradiction.

You were mostly sick of this mental back and forth, still caring and pretending you didn’t care.

Because clearly, you did care.

Your fingers tightened on the onesie and your brain spat out a bitter thought before you could stop it: Why do you care if he spirals again?

After what he did? After he left you bleeding and scared and alone? After you cried so hard you gave yourself a shit ton of migraines, after you screamed into pillows, after Sarah had to crawl into bed beside you just so you’d eat?

The resentment lived in your chest like rot, mold in the drywall, no matter how much he tried to patch it up with smoothies and snack boxes, you still couldn’t quite breathe right in this house you were trying to rebuild.

It made you split in two. On one hand, you hated him for it, and on the other…you were terrified of having to do this without him.

Wasn’t it deserved? The possibility made your stomach hurt worse than the nausea ever had.

Truth was, you didn’t want him to crash out ever again. You didn’t want to watch Rafe Cameron burn himself down again to prove he’d never be worthy of fatherhood. You didn’t want him to hate himself more than he already did.

You wanted him to get it right.

You’d felt cornered into motherhood; you hadn’t chosen this life, your body had been another prison. And that you—angry, helpless, bitter as fuck—was still clawing around inside you, looking for something to break.

Except, simultaneously, you started…dreaming again.

Enough to remember bits and pieces of how, when you were younger, you used to doodle baby names in the margins of your notebooks. You always wanted to be a mom; you pictured yourself in a big sunny kitchen, tired but soft-eyed, a baby on your hip, love blooming from every corner.

The juxtaposition of those two selves made you constantly glitch—love, hate, warmth, bitterness, hope, grief, spinning on a loop until you couldn’t tell which emotion was yours and which one was a hormonal hallucination.

You looked down at your belly, then at the box labeled Midnight Cravings, then at your phone warm in your hand.

Rafe hadn’t hung up, he was breathing into the line, not sure what to say.

You didn’t trust him fully, you hadn’t let him come to your appointments yet, you were terrified of telling him the baby was a boy because he would look at you with those hollow blue eyes and walk backwards off a cliff. But you would, eventually, right?

You cleared your throat.

“You trying to bribe your way into Lamaze class or something?”

You liked the version of you that held a grudge better.

“No,” he said. “Trying to remind you I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You shut your eyes.

You wanted to believe him, say okay! Wanted to let him in and fall asleep on his chest feel his hand on your stomach. 

“I used to want this,” You whispered, more to yourself than to Rafe.

But he heard it. “Yeah?”

You nodded to yourself. “Yeah. I used to think… I'd be good at it.”

“I think you will be.”

You let out a short laugh.

“If I don’t die, you mean. Or the kid.”

It slipped out, half a joke, half a jab, fully your bitterness running out of your tongue before you could swallow it. Your voice twisted around it in that biting way you’d perfected these past few months: sarcasm as armor.

“Don’t say that shit,” Rafe nearly growled.

You leaned your head back against the doorframe and closed your eyes.

“Please don’t say it like that.”

You wanted to be cruel. You almost were; it’d be easier to keep him out if he stayed wounded. If he walked away again.

“I’m not pretending it’s not scary. Or that it’s not serious. But you, saying it like that—you’ve already decided how it’s gonna end—” He took a deep breath. "I can’t hear that, okay? I just got you back a little.”

You picked at a seam on your sleeve, “I’m trying to be prepared.”

“I get that.”

“It’s easier,” you admitted.

Rafe lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, easy’s never been our thing.”

That was a good line, infuriatingly so.

You smiled—barely, “And what was our thing, Rafe Cameron?”

“…Chaos,” He snorted. “And bad timing.”

You hummed along.

“And sex in places we shouldn’t have,” he added, trying to win you back with humor. 

“That’s nasty.”

“The sex part?” he muttered. “I mean—yes, but—not that,” Rafe fumbled.

You rolled your eyes, a practiced drag that only came from being raised around country club brunches and sugar-laced insults. 

“Mm, okay. So it’s chaos, poor timing, and public indecency kink. Sounds stable.”

“Add sarcasm and pink throw pillows, and that’s us.”

“You think I still own those throw pillows? I burned half my stuff when you left. Donated the rest.”

You could hear him grimacing through the line.

“I deserved that.”

“Yeah. You did.”

You could’ve ended it there. Gone back inside and stacked all the ridiculous boxes in a neat pile like your feelings. Organized and balantly ignored half the time.

But instead, you asked the question.

“You’re sure you want this?”

Your voice sounded smaller than you meant, meaner too.

“I want you,” he said finally. “And this is part of you. I want it too.”

You should’ve rolled your eyes and scoffed, biting back with something cruel like you always did. You blinked fast and bit your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“That’s not a real answer,” You told him, even though it was. “You know I didn’t choose this,” you said, one hand falling to your belly. “And I’m—” You cut yourself off. “And he’s coming.”

Rafe’s voice trembled like a leaf when he spoke. “He?”

You stilled.

Fuck.

You hadn’t meant to say it.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“I didn’t—” you started, “Forget I said that.”

But he didn’t. You both knew he wouldn’t.

“Have you told your family it's a boy?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

You looked down at your belly, rubbed your palm over the curve of it, smoothing out the emotion rising inside you. It was a gentle question, but he didn’t mean Topper’s side of the family.

He meant your parents. Your sister. The gravestones on the hill, the same ones he used to help you clean off when the weather turned; the cemetery visits where you'd bring flowers and talk into the silence like the dead could still hear.

He meant his mom, too.

“No,” you said, the word brittle in your throat. “I haven’t been up there in a while,” you added. “Feels weird going without them already knowing.”

“They do. I think they know.”

You tried not to cry. Again.

“Do you want to go together?”

The you from a few weeks ago would’ve said no out of spite. You would’ve slammed the door, tossed the boxes in the bin, told Sarah to pass on the message to him that you didn’t need his pity. You would’ve rolled your eyes at his attempt to be tender, sliced it open with sarcasm, and walked away before it could heal into anything real.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“That’s okay,” He reassured instantly. “We don’t have to go today. Or this week. Or at all. Not if you’re not ready.”

“I didn’t say no.”

You imagined the way his expression would turn into, perhaps hope slipping through the cracks. You hated how much you remembered his face even when he wasn’t in front of you, how perfectly you knew the shape of his silence.

“I’ll bring the flowers,” he said after a second. “Those white ones your mom liked.”

Your chest caved a little. “Lilies.”

“Yeah. Lilies,” Rafe echoed.

You curled your fingers in the hem of your sleeve and let yourself picture it for a moment—him beside you, carrying the bouquet in one hand, standing quietly while you talked to stone.

Maybe his hand would brush yours. Or he’d just stand there, keeping your grief company.

“I think they’d like to meet him. Even if it’s just… us telling them he’s coming.”

You bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

“They’ll probably yell at me first,” You tried for humor. “My mom always said no boys like you.”

“Your mom also said I had nice manners.”

“You bribed her with flowers.”

“She liked them.”

“You gonna tell your mom, too?”

 “Of course I am.”

The simplicity of it stole your breath.

“Yeah?”

“I always tell her everything, even when I—you know. I mean—I don’t know if she listens. I don't think she’d be proud of me right now. But I go. I talk to her.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“I’ll tell her,” He repeated, softer now. “About you. About him.”

"I'll help."

Rafe sat alone in the darkened study of Tannyhill, blinds drawn against the late afternoon sun, the house silent for its size.

The phone was still in his hand, he hadn't moved in hours, clearly.

Your voice rang in his ears like the aftershock of a bomb. 

“He’s coming.”

A boy.

He dragged his palms over his face, fingers digging into his scalp, heart thudding so loudly it made him deaf to his common sense. His throat felt hot, choking on memories he’d buried beneath every line, bottle, every punch thrown, every door slammed.

His son.

Rafe stood abruptly, knocking over the half-empty glass of water on the table. It spilled soaking into the rug. Nothing in this house mattered to him anymore; it all felt stolen—a staged life someone else curated for him. Ward’s furniture. Ward’s antiques. Ward’s blood still in the walls, metaphorically and otherwise.

He paced back and forth. Back and forth. One hand pulling at his shirt colar, it was suffocating him.

A boy. A son. His son.

His mind was stuck in the same loops: Would he have Ward’s eyes? That clipped tone of voice? Would he scream when he got angry? Would he break things like Rafe did? Would he get that darkness in his chest that made everything feel like it was exploding?

What if he hit someone? What if he—

Make me stay. Make me better.

Make me a father who doesn’t fuck this up.

Rafe kicked the edge of a chair, sending it skidding, rattling against the wood floor. His vision blurred, not with tears, but with fury at himself, at Ward, at God, maybe, or whatever twisted fate had handed him this chance when he’d proven time and time again that he ruined every good thing he touched.

He didn’t want to be like Ward.

He didn’t want his son to flinch when Rafe walked into a room or raised a hand in greeting. He didn’t want you to leave, and he didn’t want to give you another reason to.

He sat there, thinking about what it would take to be someone that little boy could run toward, not away from.

Thank fuck he’s got a therapist appointment tomorrow.

The thought came out of nowhere, muttered by the version of himself he was trying to build—plank by shaky plank, appointment by appointment, a scaffolding that might one day resemble a man who could be good.

Rafe had never understood what people meant when they talked about “breaking the cycle” before. It sounded vague, one of those dumb motivational posters laminated on school counselor walls.

He got it now. 

The fear in his chest was a feral thing, it howled that he was too broken to be anyone’s anything.

He wiped at his face and stared down at his palms, hoping they could hold this, all of it, the fear, the future, the fragile thing growing, your health. He didn’t feel ready. 

His baby was a boy. Unless he died.

The thought devastated him more than the weight of fatherhood or his fear of turning into Ward.

What if the baby never made it? What if you didn’t?

Rafe had looked it up after that night. He’d read about what could happen when it got too bad—when your blood couldn’t carry enough oxygen, when your heart worked overtime to keep you conscious, when your body started choosing between you and the baby.

You in a hospital bed, pale and still. Machines. Doctors saying words he couldn’t understand fast enough.

Him—standing there, helpless, again. Failing you again.

The baby didn’t scare him half as much as the idea of losing you.

Losing you would destroy whatever was left of him. He’d be Ward’s son again, fully and without question—burning everything down in his wake because what else would there be?

So yeah.

Thank fuck for that appointment tomorrow.

Because he was going to need every tool he could get to survive this intact.

[meowdei]

dictionary of the kremnoan language — ft. mydeimos

synopsis: <ERROR: kremno.lang_fragment detected> > term: angel — UNDEFINED > memory trace: unauthorized | cycle 33,550,33 there is no word for angel in the kremnoan language, or its dictionary, during cycle number 33,550,336. but once upon a time, the word ███ did exist—only in a cycle never meant to reach this one

word count: 7.3k words — this was supposed to be a thirst

before you read: female reader ; major spoilers for hsr main quest ; canon compliant ; mydei is trying to learn the kremnoan language ; themes of cultural detachment ; non sexual and sexual nudity ; hand jobs ; unprotected sex ; creampie ; no prep ; mydei uses dirty talk in kremnoan <3

commentary: read the extended note here!

The Kremnoan language does not have a lot of words. That is, at least, what you should think because Mydei seems to insist on it. Every time you bicker with him, you’re met with the evidence of it.

Mydei, you never know when to quit! There is no word for quit in the Kremnoan language, he likes to point out. You lost, Mydei. Admit it! There is also no word for loss in the Kremnonan language, according to him. Quit pouting, Mydei. You’re being a baby. There happens to be no word for pout in the Kremnoan language, either, he so kindly lets you know.

Despite the way he banters, Mydei cannot speak the native language of the Kremnoan people.

He doesn’t know the affectionate names a mother would call their child, or the scoldings she would scream if they misbehaved. He can’t even count high enough to count the fingers on his hand, and the alphabet is foreign to him. 

What little he knows about the culture of his people comes from the stories he’s heard from the Kremnoan detachment, or a book or two from his library. What he’s experienced of the culture is limited in its own right. Being denied the right to his land since birth has left him with no understanding of the tongue his mother had spoken to him upon his birth. (Gorgo is dead. He did not get enough time with her, and what time he did receive is time he cannot even recall, and he knows this well. But rather than mourn, he’s decided that learning her language might be the only way to tether himself to her in this world—even if she’s already passed on to the next.) 

You find him with a book today, sitting with it opened on the table as he rakes his eyes over the words carefully.

Mydei does not spend his free time reading often. His free time consists of sparring and bathing and cooking. (Maybe fucking, too, if you’re around). It consists of headaches about a prophecy, and the people of Amphoreus, and protecting this world from things like the Black Tide. It consists of many things, but it does not consist of reading—not as far as you know of, at least.

Mydei has never been the best student when it comes to book learning, either, but you suppose he can be good at learning when he’s interested. He just hardly has interest in studying. (Although, interest in the Kremnoan language is something he has plenty of, luckily).

“What have you got there?” you ask over his shoulder, peering down at the words. 

You don’t recognize them. They seem like foreign words and characters and there is little you can make out of them until you glance at the definitions beside them.

“A dictionary,” he mumbles.

“For what?”

“The Kremnoan language,” he responds absent mindedly as he continues to soak in definition after definition while he can. 

“What do you need that for?” you rest your chin on his shoulder. 

He sighs. His eyes leave the pages of the book before he leans back in his chair and glances sideways at you. You take your opportunity to kiss his cheek as he does and pretend you don’t notice the small flush of red on his ears. 

“To learn the language,” he huffs, “for what other purpose would I read a dictionary willingly.”

“Don’t be mean,” you pout dramatically.

He softens instantly, like a muscle that contracts involuntarily. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“So gullible,” you snort, “I wasn’t actually hurt—now, teach me what you know. Let’s learn together.”

“And what would you need to know the Kremnoan language for?” he quirks a brow, partially curious, and partially amused. 

“So if you ever say something about me to my face, I’ll know,” you counter.

“Do you think me to be a scoundrel?”

“HKS,” you beam, “is that right?”

“Yes,” he rolls his eyes, “that’s right.”

────────────────────────

You and Mydei are a healthy couple. You have healthy communication and healthy boundaries and a healthy amount of desire for each other, which means you also have a healthy amount of sex. And when Mydei holds you after sex, you listen to his heart. It’s routine by now—letting him fuck you, letting him hold you, and listening to his heartbeat. You like it that way.

He moves under you to get comfortable, still caging you in his arms as you kiss his bare chest, rubbing over the ridged, hard surface of his abdomen. He shivers under your touch, letting out a soft breath.

“How’s the language studying going?” you murmur.

He snorts. “Still on about that?”

“I like hearing about your progress.”

“You like making fun of my lack of progress,” he corrects. You don’t argue with it, and he rolls his eyes at the default agreement your silence brings about.

“How would I say, my heart?” you ask instead, looking up at him curiously.

He pauses. Blinks once, twice, then looks away, mumbling gruffly, “Why do you want to know?”

“So that I can tell you you’re my heart,” you beam.

“There are no words for that in the Kremnoan language,” he insists, words mumbled behind pink cheeks and slightly pouty lips.

(Yes, Mydei can pout—it’s something you think he might not be very aware of when he does it, though.

Mydei is also shy, sometimes. More than most would assume, and especially with you. He’s shy when you’re gentle with him, he’s shy when you’re romantic, and he’s shy when you’re intimate with the absence of sex. He’s shy when you say such blatantly affectionate things to him because responding to affection isn’t something he’s ever done, and responding to your affection is even more foreign than new words he tests on his tongue with every definition he reads in the dictionary.)

“Well, how do you say heart?” you raise a brow.

Heart, he says instantly.

“And my?” you press.

My, he says through a sigh, as though he’s entertaining you.

My heart, you say, putting the words together and repeating the syllables as best as you can, mimicking the phonetic sounds he makes to whisper words that mean something somewhere else in this world that you share with him. You speak again: Mydei is my heart.

(At least, you think you do. It means something different in Kremnoan, but it makes his lungs feel like collapsing all the same from how much wind is knocked out of them.)

But, instead of being shy this time, he cracks a smile—amused. “You realize you just said I’m your cardiac muscle, right?”

You pout, “What?!”

“That’s what you said,” he confirms.

“Well, then you didn’t translate correctly!”

“I did,” he chuckles, “heart in Kremnoan is technically just cardiac muscle.”

“So then how would I say you’re my heart?” you slump into his chest, deflating as he lets out a low, rough laugh.

“You can’t,” he hums, rubbing your hip with a large, warm hand. “I told you. Such words do not exist in the Kremnoan language.”

“Fine,” you say defiantly, something sparking in your eyes, “then I’ll find some way to call you mine in Kremnoan. Some way that’s poetic.”

“It’s not a very poetic language,” he points out.

“Every language can be,” you counter. “You just have to find the right words.”

— — — — —

<ERROR: kremno.lang_fragment detected> 

> Unauthorized lexical recall: █ █ █  █ █  █ █ █ █

> USER: MYDEIMOS_003 

> Memory integrity: COMPROMISED 

> Current Cycle ID: 33,550,336

[REBOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED] 

> Memory source detected: previous cycle

> Previous Cycle ID: 33,550,335

[REBOOT COMPLETE] 

> All systems nominal 

> Memory fragment retention: [UNRESOLVED]

> Intervention not authorized

— — — — —

You are in the kitchen when Mydei comes behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as his lips meet the shell of your ear.

You are the beat of my heart.

You pause at the sounds rolling off of his tongue, thick, resonant words that you don’t recognize. You don’t have to be fluent in any language to hear the affection his words hold, though.

“What does that mean?” You whisper. “New discovery?”

“No,” he murmurs. Then, he hesitates, “I…I’ve heard my mother say it. In my dreams.”

“Is that so?” Your head tilts in fascination, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck as he inhales your scent and nods. “What does it mean?”

“You are the beat of my heart—the Kremnoan equivalent of you’re my heart.”

You blink at the translation, processing his words.

“So there is a phrase for you’re my heart after all?” you question.

“Why wouldn’t there be?” His question comes almost confused, like he doesn’t understand why you’d think that such a phrase couldn’t exist.

“You said there wasn’t,” you point out.

“I did not,” he frowns. “I’ve heard this phrase in my dreams since I was a child. Krateros has confirmed it is a real phrase in the Kremnoan language.”

“But you said…” you trail off, thinking for a moment before snorting as you realize. “Oh, Mydei. You’re so stubborn. You never change,” you shake your head in amusement.

He looks at you in confusion for a moment before shrugging it off as you turn, bringing him into a soft kiss while your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him closer. His eyes flutter shut and he melts against your touch in an instant.

You are the beat of my heart, he tells you.

You are the beat of my heart, you repeat back to him.

He doesn’t want to admit he’s wrong, you think. That’s all it must be, really—his pride and his stubbornness. But you don’t mind it. Mydei has never liked being caught without an answer, especially not to something he thinks he should have known. You’d asked him about a phrase, he didn’t know how to answer it—didn’t recognize it, couldn’t translate it. Now, he’s pretending that conversation never happened at all. As if you’d never asked. As if he’d never claimed the words didn’t exist.

You roll your eyes and chalk it up to him being ridiculous. Pride is practically a Kremnoan virtue, and Mydei wears it like a badge. If pretending he was right all along makes him feel better, you’ll let him have it. Only because you know—deep in your heart, you know that Mydei mourns this part of himself. The part of him that feels like he is not who his blood tells him he is. The part that thinks that for a man who cannot speak the tongue of his mother, is it really fair to call himself her son?

You understand Mydei. Because you love him. Because he is your heart. Because you are his heart, as well. And in the Kremnoan language, somehow, that’s the one thing he’s never shy about saying.

────────────────────────

There are words that Mydei learns over time that he chooses to keep to himself.

Most times, he teaches you some basics. Little things here and there that help you form the foundations of his mother tongue with him as he teaches himself what he can—Lady Tribbie has always said that when one can teach to others after learning themselves, it is the truest proof that they have mastered what they’ve learned. 

Your understanding of the Kremnoan language is minimal. You. Me. I. Us. We. Ours. They. Theirs. Boy. Girl. Man. Woman. Friend. Teacher. Come. Go. Time. Now. Later. Before. Beginning. End. Okay. Yes. No. Eat. Food. Water. Fire. Day. Night. Sky.

It is night now, you tell him sometimes. Yes. Another night with you, he murmurs back. 

Eat food with me before you go, you plead other times. Okay. For you, I will make time, he’ll smile. 

But, the basics aren’t enough for you. You cannot tease him in the Kremnoan language, nor can you whisper words of affection. You cannot tell him what he means to you or how his presence makes you feel. You cannot whisper words that make him feel cherished and at home, and you cannot fill in the pieces that are missing from his heart—stripped from him not long after he was born and never returned to him like he deserved. 

You cannot whisper words to him that make him feel loved. So you ask him, one day—sat beside him as you watch the sun set through your window. 

“What is the word for angel?” you ask, throwing him a teasing grin as you add, “so I can call you my angel boy.”

“There is no word for angel in the Kremnoan language,” he mumbles quietly. Mydei’s ears get pink when he lies. He doesn’t lie often—he’s too good of a person. You watch as the tips of his ears flush.

“There is,” you murmur. “Isn’t there?”

“There isn’t,” he grunts.

“There is,” you sing.

Mydei does not use pet names for you. He doesn’t call you by terms of endearment—it isn’t a habit he’s ever had to make himself acquainted with before he fell in love with you.

He doesn’t call you baby, instead, he says: you insane woman.

He doesn’t call you sweetheart, but sometimes, he says: aren’t you a pretty thing?

He doesn’t call you angel or my love or beloved. They aren’t the kind of words he’s had the pleasure of growing up hearing—or saying, either, for that matter. 

(But he does call you mine, and that’s often enough to make you feel like you’re going to die—just a little—from how it lands in your chest. And then you don’t particularly long for him to say anything else.)

“How do you say angel, Mydei?” you pout, “don’t you love me enough to teach me? So I can love you?”

“You do love me,” he grunts out, not meeting your eyes as you turn to look at him better. 

“But, I could love you more. Don’t you want to be loved more?”

“You love me just enough,” he argues.

“Nonsense! Nothing is ever enough!”

In the end, he caves. Because he always does. You are too difficult of an obstacle for him, and he will never conquer the obstacle that is you. When you ask something of him, the word no does not exist in his dictionary no matter what language he is speaking. And if it does, it is quickly erased from existence—like an obsolete word that no longer holds any meaning, no longer recognized or understood. 

Angel, he finally mumbles out. 

Angel, you test the word on your tongue for a moment. And then: Mydei is my angel boy. 

(Not long after, he silences you from repeating that phrase too many times in a row—through a method that makes you anything but silent, of course, but a method that makes words difficult to form all the same. When you can barely even say just his name as his cock drills into you, then you cannot form words that make him feel like his heart will bleed out.)

────────────────────────

Mydei comes home from sparring with Phainon with sore muscles regularly. Your humble little home is not able to house as luxurious of a bath as the hero’s bath, but you draw him a warm one anyway to ease the aches he pretends not to have. 

“I do not need a bath just because I did some light sparring—”

“Don’t be stubborn,” you tug at his robes, undoing them from his body as he fidgets, “just take your clothes off and get in that bath—I saw you wincing as you moved!”

He stands still once your hands roam over his waist, undoing the belt that keeps his robes in place. He pauses, cracking a grin before he coos, “Ah…I see. You want to see me nude. I understand now.”

“Mydei!” You scold him, becoming flustered as you swat at his chest. He laughs brightly. “Be quiet and get in that bath!”

“Alright, alright, I will be nude in the bath. Just for you.”

“Enough!”

He lets out another soft chuckle before helping you take the remainder of his clothes off. With a soft sigh, he settles himself into the tub, humming appreciatively when the warmth instantly soothes his overworked muscles. (And there are lots of muscles when it comes to Mydei.)

“How do you say bath?” you pester as you poke his cheek.

“Join me and maybe I’ll tell you,” he hums.

Fine then, you think. If joining him for a bath is how you have to get answers out of him, then joining him for a bath you will. You rid yourself of your clothes—a spectacle he watches with very interested eyes and a loose smirk that would make you scold him if you weren’t eager to get something out of him. 

He shifts, making room for you to sit between his legs as you sink down into the water yourself, leaning back against his chest.

“Bath,” you repeat, “how do you say it?”

Bath, he says softly. 

“And what about clothes?”

He gives you a funny look, eyeing you for a moment before murmuring, Clothes.

I like baths. Because Mydei has no clothes, you say through a cheeky grin. You’ve learned enough to string together that much properly. 

The reaction comes instantly. A stiff body behind you that you feel in real time become rigid, and a small, delicate hitch in the back of his throat that you barely make out, but you hear all the same. You bite your lip to keep the smile at bay, and Mydei clicks his teeth in a flustered display of irritation. 

“Think yourself to be funny, do you?” he huffs, “I’m not teaching you words anymore.”

“Don’t  be dramatic,” you snort, “I say worse to you without the Kremnoan language all the time!”

“Yes, but when you say them in the Kremnoan language, somehow you find a way to be even cheekier.”

“I’m a romantic,” you huff, “I keep this romance interesting. You should try it sometime.”

“There is no word for romance in the Kremnoan language,” he grumbles, turning his face away from you as you glance up at him to see his flushed cheeks. 

“You’re lying,” you accuse with a giggle. 

“I’m being serious,” he says earnestly, “there really is no word for it.”

You shift, moving closer into him—there’s something stiff that pokes your back. It’s hard and warm and proof that even without the word existing in his language, someone like Mydei is still capable of romance. His large hands grab your hips, pulling back against him as he grinds into you and grants himself some friction against his erection, letting out a low, soft groan right against your ear as he nibbles on the skin at your shoulder. 

“Well,” you whisper shakily, feeling a familiar ache that builds up between your own legs, “I suppose we don’t need that word. We’re doing just fine without it.”

“Mmmh,” he makes a low sound of approval, “yes. We’re doing rather excellent.”

— — — — —

<ERROR: kremno.lang_fragment detected> 

> Unauthorized lexical recall: █ █ █ █ █ █ █ 

> USER: MYDEIMOS_003 

> Memory integrity: COMPROMISED 

> Current Cycle ID: 33,550,336

[REBOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED] 

> Memory source detected: previous cycle

> Previous Cycle ID: 33,550,335

[REBOOT COMPLETE] 

> All systems nominal 

> Memory fragment retention: [UNRESOLVED]

> Intervention not authorized

— — — — —

If Mydei wasn’t a man, he could have been your wife—that’s what you like to tell him teasingly. He doesn’t take any offense to it, just gives you an odd look as you giggle every time and tell him: it’s because you’re so good at doing housework. You could almost pass as a wife.

But he’s a good lover. An exceedingly good one, at that. 

He makes you dinner and washes your dishes and does your laundry and folds them when you whine about that part, too. (He still blushes every time you wiggle your brows when your panties are in his hands, though.)

But he folds your laundry better than you do, in all honesty—his folds are more precise and he somehow just always makes it neater than you no matter what you do. You like to watch him while he does, sitting and noticing the concentrated look in his eyes as he carefully folds your robes. 

Like now. 

“You know,” you sing, drawing out the syllables in a way that already tells him you’re about to tease him, “the clothes always feel softer after you fold them. I think you should just handle it from now on.”

“You’re very good at slyly shrugging off your chores,” he snorts, picking up a sleep gown and studying it for a moment. “This cannot be comfortable. Maybe your clothes just aren’t soft at all.”

“It is comfortable,” you argue. He gives you a knowing look, and you deflate. “Okay. Maybe not the most comfortable sleepwear out there, but it’s sexy!”

“Who are you trying to impress?” He scoffs at your words, giving you a confused look. 

An idiot, you think. Sometimes, Mydei is an idiot. (A lot of times.)

“You,” comes your baffled reply, “obviously I’m trying to impress you, silly. Don’t you ever notice I wear this whenever I want something from you?”

He thinks back on it for a moment. Oh. Yes, he realizes—you do wear this particularly sheer, low-cut, easy-to-pull-up thing on nights when you’re especially forward. When your hands wander, your voice dips, and you say his name like it’s a siren call. When you make it incredibly difficult not to press you down into the mattress and slide that damn thing up past your hips.

He’s starting to understand now.

“You don’t need to impress me in our own home,” he blinks, “I’ll want you regardless. I always do.”

You have to ignore the sharp, aching sincerity of his words and the way they clutch your heart tight, in favor of a playful eye roll, “Mydei. You walk around shirtless all day, so there’s not much you have to do. Every once in a while, I’d like to keep this romance interesting.”

He laughs at that. His hair is honey in the sunlight, and his eyes crinkle as they close, and he laughs soft and easy as he fills in the space of your home wholly with the sound of him. 

“Well,” he chuckles, “aren’t you sweet? I always assumed that you were trying to be romantic when you freshly squeezed me pomegranate juice or polished my armor. But, seducing me in our bed is not an unwelcome act, though.”

“I’m not seducing you,” you sputter, “I’m trying to bond.”

You throw a pillow at him, and he catches it infuriatingly easily. 

“I thought you were trying to be romantic,” he teases. 

“I am!” You glare, pouting as you add, “no wonder there’s no word for romance in the Kremnoan language. You hardly understand it in this one.”

“It does,” he huffs. Then he says, Romance.

You blink. “That’s the word for it?”

“Yes,” he nods, “why wouldn’t there be a word for it?”

“Because you said there wasn’t,” you frown. 

“I did not…?”

“You did? Just the other day you told me that!”

Mydei, you realize, looks genuinely confused. Confused enough that you really wonder if he’s actually pretending he never told you that to save his pride, or…or if he really doesn’t recall saying such a word does not exist. 

It feels odd. But you brush it off quickly as you notice the way his face twists into a bothered look—like he’s disturbed by the fact that he’d ever tell you that. 

“I don’t understand—”

“I think I must be remembering wrong,” you shake your head. “It was probably some other word and I’m getting confused. You do like to say plenty of words don’t exist just for your advantage,” you make a pointed face. 

He cracks a small grin. “I suppose I am guilty of that, yes,” he snorts. 

────────────────────────

The more words Mydei learns in the Kremnoan language, and the more he seems to master it, the less there seems to exist in the language’s vocabulary at all. You think it’s funny how that works. 

“You could have told me,” you shove at his shoulder, frowning with a glare, “you could have told me that you were entering Nikador’s trial!”

“For the last time,” he groans, “I had no intentions of entering that trial. It just happened.”

“It just happened,” you repeat, voice almost mocking him as disbelief drips from every word and seeps into his skin, settling underneath it like an itch he cannot scratch. It irritates him enough that he scowls at you.

“Yes,” he almost hisses, “yes, it merely happened. Deliverer was having issues, and it was my responsibility to step in and save the fool. Such is the duties of a Chrysos Heir.”

“I know the duties of a Chrysos Heir, Mydeimos,” you spit his full name out like it tastes acrid on your tongue, “I do not choose to love you with delusional fantasies. I am well aware of what the risks are to loving a man like you—but you could have told me you planned on entering that trial.”

“I didn’t,” he says in exasperation, “I didn’t plan on it. It happened—was I supposed to return here, seek your permission first, and then rescue him from that trial? When it could have been too late?”

You’re scared. 

When Mydei is with you, you forget about his duties. You forget that he is but a mere piece in the Flamechase Journey that he falls into, and some pieces are bound to get lost. The man you love cannot die—it’s a simple curse bestowed upon him that he carries the weight of valiantly. Selfishly, to you, it is nothing but a blessing.

The man you love cannot die. You don’t really see the flaw in that, even if it has its costs. 

But the man you love is not immune to the costs of ascending to divinity. Sure, immune to death is something he might be, but you are not naive enough to be ignorant to the fact that there are crueler, much worse fates than death. And when you are faced with the realization that Mydei—your soft, gentle, delicate Mydei beneath the brutish exterior—is a mere piece in this journey, you’re scared. 

“You could have told me,” you repeat, lips wobbling, “if something had happened to you…and…and I didn’t know—that…that could have been the last time we…”

You’re scared. And Mydei knows. 

He pulls you into his arms and holds you like he always does when you’re scared. You like being in his arms. They’re safe. Strong. Large, too—and usually, that is merely just an aesthetic plus for you, but sometimes, like now, it shields you from the world and buries you into the sheer size of him. You realize there are more perks than one at times like these. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, “I’m still here.”

“I got scared,” you sob, “so I got mad. I’m sorry. Are…are you mad, too?”

“Why would I be mad?” his eyes soften.

“You’re not mad that I got mad?” you sniffle pitifully. He fights back a grin—it wouldn’t be appropriate, he tells himself. 

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m not mad. I’m sorry I scared you. If I enter that trial, I will always tell you beforehand if I can.”

“Were you scared?” you whisper, “to enter?”

You know he was. You know him better than words can describe. Better than you know any words in any language, you know Mydei. You don’t need to be fluent in any tongue to be fluent in loving the man that stands in front of you. Mydei is not scared of dying, or pain, or fighting any battle. But he is scared of failure—of losing himself and becoming something worse than his past and his people’s woes. He is scared of repeating the mistakes of others that he was forced to take the responsibilites of. He is scared of suffering—not his, but of others. 

He won’t ever tell you, though. 

“Scared?” he scoffs, “there is no word for scared in the Kremnoan language!”

“You,” you huff, sniffling loudly, “you are impossible.”

He holds you tighter, and you hold him back. You’re scared, and so is he, and you are not scared for the same reasons, but you can still be scared together. 

────────────────────────

When Mydei feels guilty, he lets you have your way more. He always lets you have your way, but you know how far to push when it comes to taking that to your advantage. You know when to quit and let him have some peace. 

But, when he’s guilty, you push more. You know he’ll let it happen. 

“It’s pretty, De,” you tease, tracing the tip of his cock with your finger. He stiffens, gritting his jaw as he inhales sharply. He doesn’t like being teased—usually, you don’t tease him for too long because you know he doesn’t enjoy it. 

But there’s no response. He’s always been a little stubborn, though, so it’s to be expected. (No matter, you think—getting under Mydei’s skin is what you do best, anyway.) And since he’s guilty, and you know that, you let yourself cross some lines while he lets it happen. In fact, he takes it valiantly and tries to offer you no indication of it getting to him and riling him up. 

“It’s really, really pretty,” you purr, “you have the prettiest little cock I’ve ever seen.”

His lips do a small, downwards twitch at that. “It’s far from little,” he counters gruffly, “if you’ve seen as many as you like to claim, that is a fact you should know well.”

“Confident,” you giggle. “Is there a word for that in the Kremnoan language?”

Confident. He whispers the foreign sound on his tongue in response to that. It slowly tapers off into a breathy moan at the end as your finger traces along his slit. There is, in fact, a word for confident in the Kremnoan language, and Mydei happens to know it—probably because it benefits him at this moment as he flashes you a somewhat victorious grin, even despite the way you continue to tease him with the barest touch of your finger.

“You’re getting rather good at speaking your native tongue,” you comment. 

He looks a little pleased with himself. 

“I can listen and read it just fine now,” he says proudly, “but…I’m still working on writing.”

“Impressive,” you breathe against his neck as you lean in and nibble on the skin, sucking and licking at the sensitive spots you know like second nature. Like a language you’re fluent in that you don’t think about the sounds and syllables your mouth produces in tune with your thoughts. 

You touch Mydei like that, too. Touch him so in tune with your memories, it feels like a sign of fluency. 

“Don’t tease,” he finally cracks, cock all but swelling at your praise. You giggle, kissing his jaw before your hand wraps around the girth of him, squeezing gently as he groans. “Fuck.”

“That’s a naughty word,” you hum, “do you know it in the Kremnoan tongue, too?” 

“Your curiosity tells me you favor the naughtier words in every language,” he chuckles. 

“I do,” you grin. “You sound hot when you say them.”

“And you look shameless when you listen,” he rolls his eyes.

You stroke him slowly, gliding your fist along his cock and watching as his eyes flutter shut as his head tips back. It’s pretty. He’s always pretty, but you think there’s something extra pretty about the way he looks helpless to your touch. It’s warm and tight to fit into your hand, and you give him a satisfying amount of friction that makes his head spin. 

“Slow…slow down,” he pants, “w-wait—”

You don’t listen. You quicken your pace, if anything. The nice thing about having a boyfriend who never dies, who’s physically much more gifted than the average person by a curse he cannot control, is that his body recovers fast. Incredibly fast. 

Mydei’s stamina is good. Too good, even. He can recover fast and still give you more, so you never listen when he tells you to slow down because you know he doesn’t need to. (It’s just his pride. He doesn’t like coming undone before you, but after he gave you that scare earlier with the trial, you think you deserve to put your wants first. And you want to see Mydei fall apart.)

“Fuck,” he gasps, rutting into your hand involuntarily despite his protests, “you…you need to slow down. Or…or I’ll—”

“Come on then,” you hum, kissing his jaw before littering kisses against his parted lips, “let me watch. I like when you cum—you look so, so pretty. Have I ever told you that?”

“P-plenty,” he says, voice coming out as a hoarse croak. 

He twitches in your hand. You know it’s only a matter of a few seconds before he falls apart, so you tighten your grip and stroke faster, the wet, filthy noise of your hand stroking along his cock harmonizing with his loud groans. You squeeze at the base and roll your palm over the tip the way he likes, and one stroke becomes two, and two strokes are all it takes for him to unravel. 

Thick, hot ropes of cum spill into your hand, and you watch unashamed as his cock twitches with every rope he releases. 

“Hah,” he gasps, “k-keep…keep going,” he encourages, too far gone from the pleasure to care about stopping anymore. 

You do. You stroke him through his high, working him along the pleasure as you watch the way every touch pulls his face into a blissed out expression. His lips part, and soft, breathy sounds pour out of his mouth. Sounds that you quickly lean to drink in and swallow as you kiss his lips. 

You watch as his eyes roll back, closing slowly as his brows pinch together slightly. He looks pretty. He’s always pretty. 

You tell him that, too. Pretty, you whisper, using the language he taught you so carefully with trust. Giving you pieces of himself and his history and the fiber of who he is with every careful word he added to your vocabulary. Mydei is always pretty. 

He makes a choked sound at that—maybe even a whine. You grin, and if he wasn’t in the middle of a rather overwhelming orgasm, you’re certain he'd throw you a glare your way. 

“You…” he pants as he finishes, eyeing the mess on your hand and his abdomen as he fights back a deeper flush on his cheeks, “you only wanted to learn this language to kill me.”

“You can’t die,” you giggle. 

“Well I thought so,” he grunts, “but you make me question that fact.”

“I’m getting pretty good, aren’t I?” You ask excitedly, almost childlike as you wait for his praise. “You’re a good teacher.”

“Maybe you’re just a good student,” he hums. 

He pulls you close, holds you against his body as he feels the weight of you in his arms while you’re sitting comfortably on his lap. 

You are the beat of my heart, he whispers into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. 

You giggle, pulling away at the ticklish feeling. You are the beat of my heart, you repeat back. 

And soon, if he’s hard between your bodies again, you don’t say anything. He doesn’t either, just flips you over to lay on your back as he hovers over you and kisses your lips senseless. There are not enough words in any language to convey how much you need him and how much he needs you, so you both settle for no words at all. You use your actions. 

“I’ve been thinking,” you breathe in between kisses, the sloppy, messy, addicting press of his lips giving you little openings to talk. 

But you manage anyway. 

“That’s never good,” he mumbles before pecking your swollen lips again. You roll your eyes, but they flutter closed when he kisses you deeper—and when you open them, he looks rather smug. 

“You could always practice your mastery of the Kremnoan language during sex,” you offer, reaching between your bodies to grab his aching cock and guide him to your entrance, giving him one last languid stroke before pressing the thick, swollen tip to push past your folds.

“And how should I go about that?” he raises a brow.

“Dirty talk,” you wink cheekily as he sinks deep into you, inch by inch. His cock nudges against your walls, making you gasp. “Actually, are there even enough words for dirty talk in the Kremnoan language?”

He gives you an unimpressed look. “Why wouldn’t there be?” 

He angles his hips, rolling into you and molding perfectly into your tight, wet cunt. You’re so familiar with him, you anticipate the feeling of his tip pressing against the back of your walls before it even reaches that delicious, sensitive spot. 

And when it does, you gasp. 

“Well,” you say breathlessly, “there are just so little words in your language—you’re always telling me a word doesn’t exist. So I just assumed….”

You’re taunting him. And Mydei, even though he knows this, still has something to prove. 

“Is that so?”

Your legs are thrown over his shoulders and your knees practically meet your shoulders as he folds you in half. Presses you completely into yourself as his hips snap and he bullies his cock into your pussy with harsh, quick thrusts that leave you even more breathless than before. 

Then he speaks. 

Some words, you recognize. Some, you don’t. Most of what he says, you can make out through bits and pieces that he’s taught you, but Mydei has mastered more than he’s taught you, and you don’t know all of what he’s saying. But you know it’s filthy. 

You were made for me. You’re so tight, and wet, you were made to fit me. Take it. Take my cock—I’ll mold you to fit only me. Only I can have you. Only I can touch you. Only I can fuck you. 

He whispers the words right against your ear before he licks the shell of it, making you whine. He chuckles. It’s smug, and it’s proud, and it’s dizzying. 

“Mydei, M-Mydei, wait—”

Don’t tell me to wait. I can’t—I can’t wait if it’s you. I want to fill you up. Do you feel me? How deep I am? How deep I fit into you? How much I stretch you open? You’re so tight and warm—so good. My good girl. 

You know that last part well. Very well. He’s never called you that in the Kremnoan tongue before now, but you’ve had fantasies. Dreams. Wicked, filthy, dirty dreams where he’d call you his good girl in that deep, heavy accent with those thick words he teaches you. 

“Fuck, Mydei,” you sob, “y-you’re so…so deep. Fuck, s’too much. Too much!”

You say that every time, he chuckles, but you’re a good girl. My good girl. And you’ll take me. You’ll fit me, and then you’ll fall apart. And when I fill you up, you’ll take every drop because you’re always a good girl. 

You’re close. The words coax you to your climax faster, and the way he knows your body so well only makes it worse. His thick tip practically bruises your walls, burying deep into the spongy spot in your cunt that makes you wail. And when his thumb reaches to run circles over your clit, you think you won’t even survive. You can’t. You won’t. The Kremnoan people are known for how easily they can kill—and right now, you think he’ll kill you. 

“M’c-close—so close, De.”

“I know,” he chuckles, switching languages easily for a moment to tell you in the words you understand: “I know you are. You always fall apart when I touch you, don’t you? It’s easy.”

“S-stop!”

“Shy?” He grins, “well, alright. I’ll say it in words you don’t understand so that you don’t have to feel so shy.”

You’re so beautiful. You take my cock so well, and you look so pretty when you do it. I like when you cry—it makes your eyes look bigger. Cry more for me. Let me hear you. 

You cum hard. You always cum hard when Mydei fucks you, but something about now feels euphoric in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s almost too much. You’ve only started, and it’s only the first round, but still you feel like it’s too much. Like you’re already too sensitive to do anything else beyond this point. 

Your orgasm crashes over you like waves of an ocean you can’t break your head over the surface of. Every word is muffled, like there’s water in your ears. You can’t hear him properly. Can’t make out what he says. But you know he’s speaking, and you know it’s downright filthy. 

That’s it, go on. Good—I knew you were close. So am I. I’m going to fill you up now, okay? That’s a good girl—my perfect girl. You are the beat of my heart. 

He finishes as he says the last part. His lips find yours in a wet, sloppy kiss, and he groans loudly into your mouth as he cums a second time. This time, he paints your walls white. Hot, thick, sticky ropes of his release fill you up just like he said he would. And he does. He fucks his release deep into your cunt, thick droplets of release spilling along your thighs as he pumps more and more into you. 

“Tight,” he rasps, “you’re so tight. Always take it so well—my good girl, aren’t you? Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sob, “yes, yes—I am! I’m your good girl.” And then you say it, too. Good girl. I’m your good girl. 

He groans lowly at that, cock twitching at the sound of those words falling from your tongue. His words. The words of his people that he shared with you because you’re his person. 

“I love you,” he breathes. 

“I love you, too,” you gasp out. 

You don’t need words or language to tell each other that. You feel it with every wave of pleasure he brings you and every wave of pleasure you give him back. 

And when he’s done, Mydei pulls you into his arms. He falls into the mattress beside you and gathers you in his arms. You lean up and kiss his jaw, and he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“You’re awfully snuggly after sex,” you tease.

“And you’re awfully chatty,” he grunts.

“You were chatty,” you snort, “that’s quite a lot you had to say.”

He gives you a lopsided grin—proud. “Well,” he murmurs, “now you know there are plenty of words in the Kremnoan language. Plenty I can use on you.”

You hum, thoughtful for a moment as you whisper, “I dreamt of you saying that before. Good girl.”

He gives you a sly grin, “So you’ve been dreaming of me? Like that?” You swat his shoulder as he laughs. “Well, I’m no better. I’ve…dreamt of you too—in fact, some of those words I heard for the first time in my dreams. It’s weird, though. They’re real words—I checked.”

You pause. You feel it again, that odd, uncomfortable sense of foreboding. 

“Isn’t it weird,” you murmur, “sometimes…sometimes you remember words from your dreams. But…you never know they exist before that.”

He’s silent. Pulls you closer and tighter and has a frown on his face when you glance up at him that he quickly hides away. He knows something—you know it, too. But before you can ask, he quickly changes the subject. 

“You’ve got too much going on in there,” he grumbles, poking at your head. “Maybe I should empty it of all the thoughts again.”

“That’s awfully confident of you,” you roll your eyes. 

Confident, he says, grinning. He leans down and presses kisses against your cheeks as he murmurs, I’m confident you’re mine. Always. 

You giggle as he pulls you tighter. There is a word for home in the Kremnoan language, but Mydei prefers to use the native tongue where home is translated to your name.

— — — — —

<NOTICE: cognitive divergence detected> 

> USER: YOU_002 — Awareness threshold: EXCEEDED 

> USER: MYDEIMOS_003 — Awareness threshold: EXCEEDED 

> Previous Cycle ID: 33,550,335 — Status: TERMINATED

[REPEAT EVENT REQUIRED] 

> Previous loop alignment: 100% 

> Current Cycle ID: 33,550,336 

> Scheduled termination: PENDING 

> Intervention now authorized

Omg guys it’s done. NOW I HAVE TO GO ON A REAL LIFE DATE LOLLLLL

[lilianne-tarot]

Pick-A-Card: What's coming next in your life and how will it affect you ✮⋆˙

✧˚. How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chos n image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

✧˚. If you enjoyed this reading, get your own personalized paid reading here!😊🦋

✧˚. For personalized 18+ readings, click here!

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✧˚. My Masterlist🫶🏻

✧˖°. PILE 1 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹

Okay bestieee, so let’s talk about your reading for pile 1. I’m feeling it so strongly, like y’all are in this weird, stuck, emotionally trapped place. Not physically stuck, but mentally. Like your brain is frozen in the past. Even if you've moved on technically, deep down you're still clinging to something (or someone) that once meant the world to you. This was not just some regular connection, it was soul-deep. And losing it, Yeah, that shook you to the core. It taught you a lot, but babe, the universe is literally begging you to shift. And you want to move on, but it’s like your legs won’t move, you’re standing there, ready to walk away, but nothing’s budging. That’s the vibe. BUT what’s coming next on your life is SO MUCH BETTER ISTG. I’m seeing emotional and mental fulfillment on a whole new level. Someone very specific might be entering your life soon, and not just anyone, but someone who connects with you on a deep soul level. Like, that kind of “OMG, you see me” energy. They won’t just offer healing or love, they’ll mirror your emotional needs, which is crazy rare. Healing is one thing, but this kind of soul-level reflection is powerful. You’re entering a space where your heart expands. But, it’s also time to set those boundaries. you’ve been way too giving recently without getting enough in return, and now it’s time to pull your energy back, even if that means moving on, emotionally, mentally, or even physically.Sooo we’re not doing that anymore, okay?  I’m getting those bittersweet movie scenes where the friend group finally parts ways, and though it hurts, it leads to emotional nourishment and soul growth.  Trust the universe, this new environment, even if it comes reluctantly, will feel like a gift!!! 

You might even move places, switch up your environment, some real-life changes are coming in. Even if you’re reluctant, the shift is happening. This new situation is about to feel like an emotional glow-up. You’re gonna feel gifted, nourished, and honestly, You deserve it. Trust the universe on this one. You're stepping into a whole new chapter where you’re leaving behind A LOT. Old people, old situations, it’s all shedding. Right now, you might feel sheltered, like you're emotionally hiding, hesitant to open up or let anyone new in. That’s completely valid, especially after what you’ve been through.. But what’s coming next is Clarity. Soul-deep connections. People who ACTUALLY get you. And after the experiences you've been through, That’s the kinda magic you need. I can feel you’ve been feeling betrayed recently, not all of you obviously, or like you just can’t seem to move on from a certain comfort/situation or person. And some of y’all are actually scared of this new start. Like, legit afraid to begin again. I’m here to say, yeah, it’s scary, but it’s also gonna be beautiful. You’re going to feel so exposed at first, when these new people or opportunities come in, it might make you feel even more unpotected, like you’re standing there emotionally naked.  but please babe, try to let go of what’s weighing on your heart and embrace these new beginnings. Because what’s ahead is Iwhole new cycle for your life, one you’ve never experienced before. A totally fresh start. You're about to be like, “Wait, this exists?! I needed this!” And you didn’t even know it. That’s the vibe I’m getting for you 🦋.

Now let’s get a lil more real for a sec, some of y’all (not all, but a lot) have experienced hella abandonment or even have abandonment issues. Like, multiple friendships, relationships, or whatever… people just leave right when you needed them. Left you mid-moment, and that hurt you Deeply. So now, even though good things are clearly on the way, you’re pretty scared to trust it. You want this fresh start, but there’s this voice whispering, “What if I get left again?” 😞 And honestly? That fear is valid. But what I’m channeling rn is that this new phase is going to be the softest, calmest wave ever. The calm after the storm, fr. It's giving inner peace and safe vibes. I can feel this almost nervous energy, like I’m feeling this urge to over-explain, while writing this, , which I think is how some of yall feel in a lot of situations in your life, because how y’all are stuck in that over-justifying mode from past experiences, like “pls don’t leave me again.” And I just wanna hug you and say, you’re not alone. These new people, these new experiences? They’re here to prove that not everyone is gonna ghost when it matters. So breathe, bestie. Good stuff is coming.

And lastly, the advices from my side: right now it’s time to GO. ALL. IN. No more overthinking. You don’t need to sit and reflect forever, this is your moment to ACT. Take those chances. Grab those opportunities. Show up with power and confidence, even if you gotta fake it ‘til you make it 😌. Because when you treat yourself like royalty, the world will too. Big manifestation energy right now. Take yourself seriously, and you'll attract people who take you seriously too. Whether it’s love goals or friendship dreams, they’re coming true. So take the lead. Go for it. Take that risk (not the dangerous kind, pls 😅), and just trust that this next phase is meant for you. You got this. Let me know what you think about this!! Until then, bye-bye my angel! 

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✧˖°. PILE 2 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹

First of all, whew, the energies of this pile were so heavy. I’m not kidding. Even before I sat down to do the reading, the first thing that popped into my head, totally unprompted, like this wasn’t even a conscious thought, was: “Oh my god... I have to be really serious with pile 2. How do I even explain pile 2?” Like, deadass, that was the first thought during my meditation. And once I started pulling cards, it all made sense!!! Even though I usually don’t feel like mentioning all the cards in my readings anymore, cuz I rely more on my intuition along with the cards, I have to say it this time, because this pile was different. Every card I pulled was a Major Arcana, back to back. One after the other: TOWER. EMPEROR. MOON. EMPRES

I mean... come on. That’s rare as hell. This isn’t just a regular message. This is big. Whatever is coming next in your life is not just any change, this is a life-altering, soul-shaking, complete trajectory-flipping moment.

Honestly, you might already be going through it. Or maybe you’re just about to step into it. But either way, what’s happening is going to completely transform your life. And yes, it may feel like the ground is being pulled from beneath your feet but once it passes, baby, you are going to flourish. 🌸 Like, “I really crossed oceans to get here” type of flourishing. That kind of fulfillment. That kind of breakthrough. This is a spiritual reawakening moment for yall. The kind that happens once in a lifetime. The kind that changes you from the inside out. Let me be deadass serious with you, pile 2. If you’re not taking your current or upcoming situation seriously, if you stay half-in, half-out, it might create unnecessary confusion, delays, and even emotional chaos for you. This phase demands that you stand strong. Ground yourself emotionally. Be super confident in your footing, and above all TRUST. YOUR. INTUTION.

Honestly, if I could feel this intense vibe before even pulling the cards, I know that you must be feeling it too in some way. Whether it’s a sense of tension, a push toward something unfamiliar, or just this constant emotional TUG, you’ve probably already sensed it coming. And listen, I’m not here to scare you. But if you’re not mentally prepared, this phase can get overwhelming real fast. It could bring, burnout, emotional confusion, and sleepless nights. That whole nine of swords energy? Yeah, it's very real. 😮‍💨 But if you hold your ground, stay steady through the storm, what’s on the other side is so worth it. A future that feels secure, stable, even financially rewarding. Yes, that’s coming too. Like if i had to give a perfect example: This is your finals week in the school of life. And I get it, you’re probably like, “How many more exams do I need to give, universe?!” 😂 You’re tired. You’re not made of steel. You didn’t sign up to be a warrior ofc. But babe, this one is important. The test before the dream. The storm before the calm. The universe isn’t punishing you, it’s preparing you. Because what’s waiting for you after this isn’t just "more of the same." It's level-up energy.

So pile 2, this is your call to get serious about your life. Take yourself seriously. Your needs. Your responsibilities. Your time. Your growth. Take all of that seriously. And stay close to your emotions and your subconscious. There will be moments where something just feels right, or something feels very wrong. Listen to those nudges. Your intuition is louder than your fear right now, I promise. And yes, sometimes being that in-tune will make you feel emotional. Burnt out. Confused. But don’t back down. You’re learning to navigate through that. You’re becoming someone so powerful. The universe is seriously testing the heck out of you, your strength, your patience, your resilience. There might be days when you feel completely drained, like your entire energy got zapped. But that is exactly why you need to lock the fk in, right now. No distractions. No doubting yourself. Just focus and flow.

And a lot of this is also about money and future stability. I really see many of you stepping into a new chapter where you have to make long-term decisions. Like entering a serious phase of adulthood, job responsibilities, financial planning, big goals. That kind of shift. But here's the silver lining: once you're through it, you’ll feel so damn proud of yourself. Like “look what I survived and built” type of pride. 🥹 This is that moment when the universe asks: "How bad do you want it?"

And your answer will determine how it comes to you. If you take this seriously, things can shift for the better. If not, well... another challenge might come around to push you again. Life can be relentless when it's trying to get you to grow. And yes, there will be people who test your peace. People who trigger you, challenge you, even stand in your way. But you need to remember: they’re not obstacles. They’re lessons. They’re part of the test. Stay graceful, but stand firm. Your power lies in how you respond.

Like... I’m telling you, I was actually tired after doing this reading because of how specific and intense the energy was lol.

The contrast between pile 1 and pile 2 is wild, yet somehow both are rooted in transformation. But pile 2, Your energy is next level. The universe really has its eye on you. And you know what, That’s actually a compliment. The universe wouldn’t test you this hard if it didn’t trust your soul to carry something bigger. And that’s just the universal law, the bigger the blessing, the harder the test. Not everyone gets called to this. So if you’re feeling it?,That means you’re meant for it.

I hope I didn’t scare you, angel 🥺. This might sound intense, but it’s not as scary as it seems. It’s just a phase, one that asks for your full trust, your full heart, and your full belief in yourself. And maybe you are in that stage of life where things are starting to get real, job deadlines, final year of college, big exams, real-life stuff. It’s time to stop playing small. when it’s done, Ohh, that feeling of relief and achievement will hit so good. Like: “I did that. I stood up for myself. I claimed what was mine.” So if you want it, go get it. Work for it. You’ve got this. That’s all I have for you, Pile 2. Thank you so much for reading. Let me know what you think about this!! I really hope you loved it. Bye my Angel! may universe bless you with infinite strength and protection alwayss💖

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✧˖°. PILE 3 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹

THIS IS NOICEE!!! 😭 Okay so HELLO and a big welcome hug to my gorgeous pile 3!! 💖 first of all, Sooo much goodness is coming into your life in this next phase, it’s actually crazyyy how aligned everything is about to become! Like for real, everything you’ve been manifesting, every single thing you've been lowkey praying for, scripting, daydreaming about with that is finallyyyy blooming into reality. I'm hearing the song Im fine by bts, don't stress on the lyrics, just go with the vibe of the first verse until the chorus and that's how I feel about your next phase!! And I’m just so damn glad to be the one telling you this 😭

You’re about to walk into a season FULL of abundance, and not just in one area either. We’re talking emotional, financial, and relationship-based abundance. YUP. you are going to get those worthy connections that feel good. Conversations that don’t drain you. Money that flows. People who see you.

It's giving that classic “new season of your fav show” energy, you know, where the last season ended on a gloomy note, everything was messy and grey, BUT suddenly we’re back with a bang, brighter, warmer and main-character glow-up energy, That’s exactly what your new chapter is feeling like. And oooooh honeyyy, I see so much coming your way. Like emotionally expressive people showing up with their whole chest, multiple potential love interests even 👀 and all these deep convos that feel… real. Vulnerable. Nourishing. The people around you are gonna start being so much more straightforward, and you’re finally in a place to receive it without feeling off or guarded.

BUT. (And you knew there’d be one lil “but,” right?) There is a specific person or situation where I sense some gaslighting vibes, like you might feel you're being made to question your reality, your emotions, your experience. So babe, trust that inner alarm bell. Don’t second-guess it. If it feels off, it probably is.

Now coming back to the overarching vibe of this new season: it’s seriously so peaceful and bright. Not peaceful as in boring, but peaceful in the sense that your soul feels sunny. That deep, energizing kind of peace. You’ll wake up feeling LIT with energy and enthusiasm, not drained and groggy. And listen, one big message that’s coming through clearly, you might end up being the only thing in your own way. Yep. I said it with love 😶 (apart from that person we talked about previously )

You might be unintentionally restricting yourself, holding back, placing boundaries that aren’t actually necessary anymore. Of course, healthy boundaries are important (we love them!!), but sometimes we create emotional fences that don’t protect us, they just isolate us. And by the time we realize we didn’t need them, It’s already too late to repair the damage done So this phase is literally begging you to loosen up a little. Be clear in your communication. Say what you mean without that fear of being judged or misunderstood. You’ll feel more empowered now, emotionally, mentally, energetically, to express yourself. To finally speak your truth 💬❤️

You're gonna meet people who are so genuine with you, it might shock you a little. Like, people who don’t overthink or play games with you. Just pure, innocent honesty. It’s sweet. And I’ll be real, the only one overthinking or overanalyzing in the equation might be you So baby, chill. This phase is a gift. Don’t let anxiety rob you of this softness. Let yourself live in the moment. Let yourself be curious again. Let your guard down, just a little, and see what magic sneaks in. Because TRUST ME, this time is sooo rich with new opportunities. It’s playful, it’s expansive. So don’t hold back. Encourage yourself. Remind yourself that you deserve all of this and more. Especially because the people around you already believe in you so much, they’re cheering for you without you even realizing it. The Universe is like “Babyyyy, I gave you green lights! Go go go!! ” But you’re still standing at the signal wondering if you should even cross 😭

Walk into it. Leap into it. This is a fresh chapter. New people, new places, new shifts. Some of y’all might even be switching jobs or moving homes or… girl, maybe even countries?? And let me tell you, this new environment is going to shift EVERYTHING for you. You’ll realize how much more there is to see, taste, feel, and experience. The world is wide and weird and wonderful. Don’t hibernate now.

Yes, I know you. I knowww you love going into that cozy isolation mode. Locking the world out. “I’m good on my own, I don’t need anyone, thanks.” Yeah… I love that for winter version of you. But this, This is spring-summer season of your life. So, let the joy in. Let people in. Say yes. Flirt a little. Travel. Apply. Audition. Post the thing. Accept the call. Be curious. Try the new food. DM them back.

This energy is rare. This playful, adventurous, open-sky energy, It doesn’t come by every day. So eat it up. LIVE it. Let your inner child go wild on the jungle gym And don’t worry, you won’t lose yourself in the fun. Just keep checking in with your responsibilities too. Play and protect your peace. Dance and hydrate. Kiss and clock in 😂💅 Enjoy this, love. You deserve it all. You’ve waited long enough 💗

so yeah, that's it for pile 3! i hope yall like it! . Let me know what you think about this!! I really hope you loved it. Bye my Angel! may universe bless you with infinite strength and protection always 💖

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hank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. The cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[snapscube]

in your experience, does recording fandubs (like with any improv thing i guess) ever feel awkward? like especially with people who are new to the cast... i wanna do a similar thing with my friends but it feels so daunting when not a lot of us do improv lol

oh yeah awkwardness is an essential part of the experience especially for newcomers. ppl tend to develop a better sense of timing and presence over the course of a few projects or practices and so it can feel uneasy at first. but the fun part is that with RTF specifically awkwardness usually has zero control over the pacing of the dub since it’s pre existing footage. so in a lot of cases, a poor or sometimes straight up unfinished line delivery becomes fun to build off of and funny just by virtue of it getting cut off so quickly. you don’t really have any space to wallow before someone else comes in to pick it up.

[wwinterwitch]

casual – johnny storm x fem!reader

summary: as if your relationship with your professor's brother-in-law wasn't complicated enough, you decide to add feelings into the mix pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader word count: 6.4k (i got way too invested) tags: no 4F spoilers, sexual themes (nothing explicit, but it's a very recurrent topic so if that's not your cup of tea i'd keep it in mind before reading), reader is in college and reed is her professor, i know absolutely nothing about science in general (i'm so sorry, i tried), nicknames (baby, good girl), secret situationship (yikes), angst, reader's kinda impulsive, overthinker too, johnny is chaotic and desperate, fluff, not proofread & english is my second language

a comment and/or reblog is always appreciated!

main masterlist | marvel masterlist

“Johnny,” you mutter softly. You meant it as a warning, but it comes out as something else entirely. 

“I know, baby,” he whispers against your lips after hearing the way his name slips out of your mouth. “I know.”

Hot and intense, his mouth finds yours with a hunger that consumes the two of you. And just like any other time, it's like every rational thought got wiped from your brain. Like even the tiniest amount of self control got stripped away from you the second his hands are on your body and his tongue tangles with your own.

It's a kind of power that Johnny Storm seems to hold over you. You're still not sure if you love it or hate it.

A soft sound escapes you when you bump against the desk behind you and, almost encouraged by it, Johnny gently shoves you backward with his body, practically forcing you to sit on top of the furniture while his lips refuse to leave yours.

You know this isn't right. That you really shouldn't be doing this. Reed trusted you to keep his lab in pristine conditions while you work on your project– the one he was kind enough to help you with when he accepted to be your tutor. 

But instead…you're using it for your secret make out sessions with his brother-in-law.

It's even easier for him to get what he wants now that Reed and Sue left for a two-week trip to Europe for their wedding anniversary. No one’s there to keep you busy at the lab. He doesn't have to wait around for you to finally be done at the lab to come looking for you, stealing you away to have a little fun in the privacy of his bedroom.

In all honesty, it’s Johnny’s fault. Or at least he holds most of the blame. Because every time you visit the tower with the intention of working on your project, he follows after you like a lost puppy and turns his charm to a hundred to sneak his way into your schedule. Every single goddamn time. And sometimes you’re too busy to stop by the lab, so he just visits you at your college dorm.

It’s been like that for most of the semester. Ever since you asked Mr. Richards for help. You’ve been hooking up with Johnny behind Reed’s back for months now, and despite knowing how wrong that is, you can’t bring yourself to stop. 

Hearing that your professor was going to Europe for two weeks didn’t bother you that much, because it meant spending a lot more time with Johnny. Although at first, it was hard convincing Reed to take a break from his duties, especially after he agreed to help you out. 

He just didn’t want to fail you. That project is the final step for you to graduate as a physicist at State University (following Reed's footsteps), so he knows how much it means. It's inevitable for him not to feel connected to you in some strange way, already seeing your tremendous potential. Perhaps he sees a lot of his own ambition and hard work in you, and that's why he immediately agreed to help you.

As soon as you found out that being around to help you was one of the reasons he wouldn't leave New York, you reassured him everything will be okay. That you're more than capable of working by yourself for two weeks. He eventually agreed to pack his bags and travel outside the country for a few days, as long as you send him as many updates as possible and make sure to reach out if you need any help.

So, you’ve been working by yourself on the project, sending him updates, taking care of your other courses, and making time for Johnny without having to jeopardize your academics.

But still, you know you shouldn't be doing this.

You feel Johnny’s lips move to your neck, his hands eagerly exploring your body. You keep your arms around his shoulders, legs dangling from the edge of the desk while he stands between them. It's obvious he's getting increasingly desperate, not having nearly enough of you yet.

For now, you allow him to take full control. To kiss and hold you as he pleases. In a way, it's almost therapeutic. To shut your brain off and let him pamper you with affection, letting go of all the stress from your final semester in college.

That's what got you in this mess in the first place. Sure, if you needed a distraction from your academics, you could've just gone jogging. Or find a new hobby. You didn't necessarily need to get into Johnny Storm’s bed. But he does have a reputation with women and as soon as you first met him, it made perfect sense. You get it. You're not going to pretend like you're immune to his charm. And he was persistent. It was practically impossible for you not to give in at some point.

It works for both of you. He gets to have fun and you get a distraction. And oh, does Johnny enjoy being your little distraction. He takes the role extremely seriously. Whether it's you comfortably straddling his lap or his head buried deep between your legs…whatever chance he gets to have his hands on you, he'll gladly take it. He’s just happy to help you out.

Moving back just enough to look at you, Johnny can't help but smirk when he takes in what you're wearing, eyes immediately landing on the small tag with your name written on it. Just underneath the logo of your University  embroidered in your white lab coat.

“I love when you wear this,” he comments, hinting at the piece of clothing, giving it a light tug with his fingers. “It's kinda hot.”

The comment makes you giggle. “Really?”

He nods almost immediately, eyes focused on your swollen lips for a few seconds before they finally meet your eyes. “Really,” he repeats, leaning closer for a quick kiss. “My gorgeous little physicist,” he adds playfully, smirk widening.

“Almost physicist.”

“Yes, always with the technicality,” he mutters sarcastically, rolling his eyes as you giggle again. “But you'll be graduating in a few months so you're practically a physicist by now.” 

Then, his demeanor loses a bit of that playfulness he was portraying just now, replaced by something slightly darker. Dangerous.

“And you're gorgeous…” he starts, placing a soft kiss on your lips again. Your heart begins beating even faster when his hand squeezes your thigh. “And you're mine…” he continues, breaking down his previous statement in separate sentences.

His lips find your neck again, hand practically underneath your skirt now. “With that…I can't argue.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Good girl.”

A shiver runs down your spine when he says it, almost wanting to throw caution to the wind and let him have you right there if he wants. However, you manage to lightly shove him away from you, planting your feet on the ground to resume your work.

“You’re evil,” he comments, disappointment evident in his voice as he watches you walk away. “I’m working,” you correct, making him smirk as he simply shakes his head, deciding to leave you to focus on your project for now.

You put out a notebook to start writing a few equations, hearing as Johnny starts playing with a stress ball Reed had on his desk, trying to keep himself entertained while you work, although you know he can’t stay quiet for too long.

“Do I bother you if I talk?” he asks eventually, his attention drifting to you now. He watches as you ditch your notebook to use Reed’s whiteboard instead.

“Not really,” you reply casually, entirely focused on the equations before you.

And so he begins ranting about his week. It’s normal for him to do that when you’re focused on something else and he’s starting to get a little bored. You’d sometimes make a comment or two, genuinely managing to balance mathematics and Johnny’s everyday life almost perfectly in your brain.

You forget about the equations entirely when you hear him talk about this new car exhibition he’s been meaning to go to. “Is that the one near the Square?”

“How would you know that?” he asks, beyond confused. He knows you’re not an automobile fanatic. It’s one of the first topics of conversation the two of you had.

“I just sort of remembered. A fraternity hosted a party in honor of that last weekend. They just wouldn’t shut up about it.”

He completely forgets about the exhibition, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You went to a fraternity-hosted party?”

There’s a brief pause before you turn to look at him. “Am I not supposed to go?”

“No, no. It was probably fun, I just…I can’t really picture you partying at a fraternity house,” he shrugs innocently. “It doesn’t look like your kind of crowd.”

“Well, for your information, I get invited to many fraternity parties.”

“I can imagine,” he mutters, a slight hint of something in his voice that you can’t quite decipher. Or perhaps you do, but you won’t dare to ask him if what you’re thinking it’s correct.

Instead, you try a different approach. Less direct. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

He hesitates, sensing he might be falling into a trap here. All he does is hint at you– all of you, from head to toe, as if that is enough answer. Since you keep standing there waiting for him to say something, he decides to speak. “You’re hot. I can see why those guys would want you at every single party.”

“And that…bothers you?” you ask, a faint smile on your lips.

Johnny rolls his eyes almost immediately, scoffing. “Of course not. I was just pointing it out.” His voice sounds way too defensive now, which makes you smile even wider. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Deciding to spare him, you simply nod your head in agreement with his statement before focusing back on the whiteboard. A pair or arms are wrapping around your waist from behind just seconds later.

“But perhaps skipping a few of those parties wouldn’t hurt.”

You can’t help but laugh out loud, turning around to face him. He’s already smiling when your eyes meet his, and he looks so cute you just can’t help but stare at him. 

He looks back at you, moving a hand up to your hair, fingers gently tangling in it. Despite knowing better, you inevitably start feeling butterflies when he uses that same hand to tilt your head just enough, eyes never once leaving your own.

It’s moments like these when you start to get confused about the nature of yours and Johnny’s relationship. It was implicitly agreed that whatever is going on, it’s just casual. A distraction. You’re not his girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend. You don’t do girlfriend-boyfriend stuff, and you definitely do not have girlfriend-boyfriend feelings for each other.

But the line gets dangerously blurry when he starts getting jealous about the idea of you in a frat house. Or when you have breakfast in bed together. Or when you felt compelled to leave him a note on his nightstand with a ‘have a nice day <3’ written on it. Or when you tried to give him back one of his sweatshirts and he refused to accept it so it’s practically yours now. And let’s not even mention the fact that you recently turned down a date because all you could think about was Johnny (even when you know he’s probably not rejecting girls because of some weird ‘loyalty’ towards you).

Despite all that, you’re definitely not girlfriend and boyfriend, because you can go days without knowing much about one another and it’s completely fine. You’ve never said that you like or miss him out loud, and you’ve never expected him to ever say it to you either. And you’ve seen enough on TV to know that Johnny still very much enjoys receiving the attention of his many female admirers.

“What are you thinking?” Johnny asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Of course there’s no scenario where you’d actually share any of what's on your mind with him. “That I should probably get back to work.”

“Should you?” The little pout he makes almost makes you break. Almost.

“I think I should.”

He groans. “Five-minute break?”

“Two minutes.”

Johnny smirks almost immediately. “I can work with that.”

Before you know it, his lips meet yours again in a passionate kiss that takes your breath away. Inevitably, you find yourself moaning into his mouth when you feel the way he pulls at your hair just enough to get a reaction out of you.

“‘Atta girl,” he praises briefly, right before resuming the kiss.

You keep making out for a few seconds before he makes you take a seat, immediately kneeling before you. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks up into your eyes, fingers delicately tracing up your legs before he places one of them over his shoulder.

“Johnny,” you whisper his name as soon as his lips meet your inner thigh, peppering kisses all over your skin. The fact that keeps looking up at you isn’t helping your situation at all.

“I’ll make the most of my two minutes,” he whispers, voice shaky, hurried, desperate. His hands quickly slide your skirt up even more. “I promise.”

Just before things can escalate even further, the main computer in Reed’s lab alerts you of an incoming call. You can only assume it's him wanting to hear about new updates.

Johnny tries to pretend like he doesn't even hear it. Perhaps he genuinely doesn’t, because he’s too focused on your body to care. But you hear it, panicking almost immediately as you hurriedly shove him away to stand up, rushing towards the panel to answer the call.

“Hello, Mr. Richards,” you greet him, trying to control your breathing. Even when he can't see your current state, you can't help but feel beyond embarrassed by the entire situation as you fix your hair and clothing.

“Hey. I just wanted to check on you, see if you maybe needed my assistance with anything.”

Before you can answer, you feel Johnny’s hand sneaking around your waist from behind you, pulling you tight against his body. Afraid that Reed might hear anything, you immediately try to push him away. That only seems to fuel his determination to keep you close, moving your hair out of the way to start kissing your neck.

“I, uh…everything is perfectly fine,” you manage to say, trying to ignore the sensations running through your body due to Johnny’s actions. “I want to test the functionality today, to make sure the artifact is registering the muons correctly before I begin testing it on different latitudes outside the lab.”

“Good. Make sure you calibrate it correctly. Once it's stable, it should work outside the lab just fine.”

You really try to focus only on Reed’s feedback, but it's practically impossible to do that when Johnny finds a particularly sensitive spot near your pulse point, his teeth sinking delicately on your skin, almost making you moan out loud.

He knows exactly what he's doing to you, proceeding to suck on your skin now, holding you close to his body while you try to stay as quiet as possible.

“Hello?” Reed speaks again.

“Yeah…” is all you can say, slightly out of breath. It's impossible to do much when Johnny is giving you a hickey. “Still here…”

“Oh, I thought the call went off.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, giving Johnny a warning look when he finally gives you some space. “I was just checking my notes in case I had any questions written down.”

“Well, if something comes up, you know I’m only one call away.”

“I wouldn't want to disturb your trip, Mr. Richards.”

“Thank you!” you hear his wife’s voice through the line, which inevitably makes you laugh. Her tone lets you know she doesn't appreciate Reed’s insistent need for working.

Much to your horror, you hear Johnny's voice behind you now. “Just go enjoy your vacation, man!”

There’s a brief silence on the other side of the call. You immediately turn to look at Johnny as if he's crazy for opening his mouth, but all he does in return is offer you a quick shrug. Of course he wouldn't care. It's not like he's currently responsible for Reed’s lab while he's away.

“Why are you in the lab?”

You cover your face with both hands, wishing your little device for muons could suddenly become a time machine to avoid this situation entirely. If your professor were to find out what you’ve been up to, he’d not only fail you, but probably refuse to help you out ever again. The last thing you want is one of your greatest idols feeling disappointed in you.

“Oh, I just heard things exploding so I figured I’d stop by to make sure your student doesn't blow this place up,” he says casually, giving you a wink while you keep glaring at him.

“That's not true, Mr. Richards,” you feel the need to say immediately after. “Everything is perfectly fine.”

“Johnny, I just want to remind you that you’re not allowed to touch anything you’re not supposed to when I’m not there. Unless she says you can.”

“Since when do I have a babysitter at my own house?”

“Since I don’t trust you around my things!” Reed insists, his voice becoming even harsher.

Johnny offers you a little smirk, once again pulling you closer to him. “Don’t worry, Reed. I won’t be touching your things,” he replies, the double meaning in his words something only you could decipher, and it makes you immediately roll your eyes.

“Thank you,” he mutters sarcastically. Then, he addresses you. The way he says your name gives you some sense of relief because it lets you know he's not upset. “I’m really excited to see how the device is working once I get back. I’m very impressed with your work so far. Keep it up, alright?”

You can't help but smile after his words of encouragement. It means so much coming from someone you’ve admired for so long. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“You're welcome. I, uh…I have to go now, but please don't hesitate to contact me if you need anything,” he insists. His wife probably wants him off the phone immediately. “And Johnny, get out of my lab!”

“Love you, Johnny!” you hear Sue’s voice right before the call ends.

You let out a sigh of relief, immediately pushing Johnny away from you. The fact that he almost got you in trouble is more than enough reason to focus entirely on your work now. He clearly doesn’t care if he puts your entire future career at risk. Cracking a joke seems a lot more important, apparently.

You refuse to give him any other minute of your time.

Johnny can immediately sense the shift in your demeanor when you walk away from him, back fully turned to him while you worry about your project.

He could leave you alone to focus, but he hates to think that you're angry with him. As he walks closer to you, he watches you angrily write down a few equations on the whiteboard, which is really all he needs to confirm his initial worry. You are upset.

“I think that can wait,” Johnny says softly, testing his luck, hoping you'd at least turn to look at him.

“No, it can't. That's why I’m here in the first place,” you snap back at him, cursing under your breath when you get a few numbers wrong, wiping everything off, having to start your equations all over again.

Johnny is quiet for a few seconds. This is the first time he has ever managed to make you properly upset and it's already killing him. It's like you have managed to build an unbreakable wall between the two of you.

“I’m sorry if I almost got you in trouble,” he insists. You just keep writing. “Although I doubt Reed would get upset with you if I’m in his precious lab without permission– if anything, he'll get mad at me.”

You don't answer him.

“Alright, that's very mature of you,” he mutters. “Did you freak out because of that, or because you didn't want him to find out about us?”

You sigh in frustration, his last comment triggers something deep within you. ‘Us’? Perhaps getting involved with your professor’s brother-in-law is one of the dumbest mistakes you’ve made in your life. Because of course you'll be mortified if he finds out! All of your future could be in danger because of this little secret adventure, and somehow you were willing to ruin everything you’ve worked for a guy you probably won't see again after you're done working with Reed.

That’s the worst part! You were risking everything for a relationship that isn’t even a proper relationship. For a guy who probably has breakfast in bed with plenty of other girls aside from you before sending them home in one of his stupid sweatshirts. What were you thinking? That Johnny Strom wouldn’t know exactly what to say or do to make a girl feel like she’s the one? It’s like you’re some gullible teenager who doesn’t know any better.

It's not worth it. It was never worth it.

“Just say something,” Johnny pleads, not knowing what else to say at this point. “Anything.”

You get the equation wrong again, feeling more frustrated than ever. Perhaps you should try to calm yourself down before doing anything else. You feel completely overwhelmed, unable to focus on the board or Johnny. Much less focus on both at the same time.

But then you hear him call out your name, and that’s when you lose it.

“I want to be alone!” you snap at him, the eraser for the whiteboard falling from your hands before you can prevent it, making a loud noise as it hits the ground. “Could you please leave?”

Johnny is disappointed with your answer. You see it in his eyes. He's frustrated and upset, but you can also tell he’s done trying. “Sure.” ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

After a few hours inside the lab, you manage to find enough time to calm down, focus on the project, and have a much needed reflection about your current situation with Johnny. 

It’s clearly taking a toll on you. Perhaps it’s the need of always having to sneak around. Maybe it’s the fear of failing this project and losing Reed’s respect. Or you just don’t do well with casualness. Whatever it is, you know for a fact this would only make you feel worse if you allow it to continue.

As you were gathering your things to leave, you knew your decision was made. And it is definitive. You must prioritize this project.

Still, something doesn't feel right. All the way up the elevator to the moment you're standing in front of his bedroom door, something feels slightly out of place. But you don't have any time to ponder about it when he’s already opening the door and your eyes meet his and the words just come out of your mouth before you know it.

“We need to stop seeing each other.”

You can see your words take him by surprise. Perhaps he wasn't expecting that. Perhaps he's just surprised by how casual you look when you say it. Or maybe it's both. You don't really know, because Johnny has proved himself to be a very difficult person to read when it comes to how he's feeling towards you.

This needs to end it before it backfires on you.

“Okay,” is all you get back. A part of you is disappointed that he doesn't say anything else, but perhaps it's for the best. It's easier that way.

You take one last look at him before heading back towards the elevator, intending to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The situation certainly backfired on you, but not in the way you anticipated. 

Ever since that day, Johnny stopped showing up at the lab entirely. You don't see him at all. Sometimes you’d bump into Ben or Sue after she and Reed got back from their trip, but it's like Johnny completely disappears when you’re in the building.

And you also started to notice a few things about yourself now that you’re away from Johnny. How it takes a little longer to focus on what you should be doing or how easily distracted you can get in your own head. How excited you secretly get when you think you're about to run into Johnny, only to encounter another of the Fantastic Four instead (and how disappointing that feels for some reason). How it genuinely feels like something is missing.

It's absolutely ridiculous. You pushed him away thinking it’d make things better, but your life has only gotten worse since you don't have him around anymore.

“Alright, how about we call it a day for now?” you hear Reed suddenly speaking, making you snap out of your thoughts.

“What?”

He offers you a sympathetic smile, taking his glasses off before walking closer to you. “I can see you're a bit distracted. Perhaps you’re not getting enough sleep?”

Oh, if only he knew who's responsible for it…

“I think all the stress before graduating is starting to take a toll on me,” you reply with a soft sigh. “But it's nothing I can't handle.”

“I know you can handle stress just fine, kid, but that doesn't mean you have to. And perhaps I’ve been responsible for that too,” he says the last part in an apologetic tone, knowing he’s probably way too demanding of you. 

“Not at all, Mr. Richards. I actually appreciate it because it keeps me constantly improving.”

Reed smiles right after. “I'm glad you see it that way. Alright, here's what we're going to do. You go back to campus and take a much needed nap, and I’ll take the device there tomorrow. We can work there so you don't have to take so many unnecessary trips over here,” he instructs. “We're only about a week away from your presentation anyway.”

You nod in agreement, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach when you realize what that means.

This is your last day here. And the last chance you'll probably have to see Johnny.

That thought crushes you, but perhaps the fact that he never once showed up in the lab or tried looking for you means he already forgot all about you. Perhaps he never had something to even ‘forget’ about.

And so, you grabbed your things and exited Reed’s lab for one last time.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Gathered at dinner, the group starts talking about their individual days like usual. “How about you, babe?” Sue asks her husband as she pours gravy over her mashed potatoes. “How’s the project going?”

“Amazing. I think the kid will do great at her presentation next week,” he says with evident excitement, bringing a smile out of his wife too. “I’ll take her device back to campus tomorrow so we can keep working from there. She seems more and more exhausted these days, I just want her to get as much rest as possible.”

Before anyone could say anything, Johnny looks up at Reed with a confused and somewhat panicked expression. “I thought she was meant to be here until the end of the week?”

The three others stare at him with obvious curiosity. Yes, they all have interacted with her, but only as Reed’s student. The fact that he's asking a question like that– and with that expression, it's a bit strange.

“She was, but I wanted her to stay on campus so she wouldn't have to waste time coming here anymore,” Reed explains.

“Poor girl, she's probably a nervous wreck by now,” Sue sympathizes with her immediately, frowning in concern. 

“You haven't been too harsh on her, have you?” Ben half-jokes. He knows his friend enough to know he was probably a nightmare of a tutor.

But Reed can't answer a single thing, because Johnny speaks again. “You mean she's not coming back? Ever?”

“Yes, Johnny, why do you care?”

There's a complete silence at the table, Johnny tries not to panic and Reed stares back at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. Eventually, Johnny just shrugs and continues to eat while the rest resume their conversation.

Immediately after dinner, Johnny is practically rushing outside the building before anyone can ask him where he’s going. They just watch him fly off into the night sky.

“We all know exactly what is going on, right?” Ben asks, standing in front of the large window that leads to the balcony.

“Of course,” Sue replies from the couch.

“Yes,” Reed sighs tiredly next to her, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I’m going to murder him when he gets back.”

“Let me hear all the details first. I’m invested,” Ben replies playfully, finding it hilarious that Johnny managed to get with Reed’s student without him having any idea of it. Sue seems to find it amusing as well, because she can't stop herself from laughing. “Then you can murder him.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You hear insisting tapping from your dorm’s window, which doesn't make any sense because you're on the third floor of a building and the only person who used to do that is definitely gone from your life.

But the tapping-like sound continues, so you have to investigate. Much to your surprise, you meet Johnny there in all of his Human Torch glory as soon as you pull the curtains open. You immediately begin mentally thanking your roommate for staying over at their boyfriend's tonight as you finally open the window for him to get it.

“What are you doing here?” you immediately ask. A part of you is secretly happy to have him here, but another fears things might get even worse than what they already are.

“Reed said you're not coming back.”

“Well, yeah…he thought it’s best to work here this last week.”

“And was it really his own idea?”

You don't appreciate him accusing you of something, but you decide to let that slide for now. “Yes, I had nothing to do with that,” you reply with a shrug. “You still haven't answered my question.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asks, exasperated, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don't know. That's why I’m asking.”

“Holy shit, you're even worse than Reed sometimes,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear him perfectly. “I’m here for you, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously,” you repeat sarcastically. “Sure. I should've known. Obvi–”

He cuts you off before you can finish, grabbing your face in his hands as he pulls you in for a kiss. The type of kiss that needs no further explanation. He could've just done that as soon as he got here and you wouldn’t have asked what was going on.

Now you get why he's here.

Keeping you close, Johnny devours your mouth with that characteristic hunger that makes your mind go blank. But there's something in there too. An unknown longing. It makes you realize just how much he's been wanting to be like this with you again. And his grip on your body lets you know he doesn't want to ever let you go.

It's as non-casual as it gets.

When he finally moves away, barely enough to look into your eyes, you can see his panicked expression. Slightly out of breath, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

You're about to ask him what's on his mind when he suddenly blurts out the answer. “I can't be away from you.”

It comes out in the form of a broken, desperate statement. Almost like a plea for you to have mercy with him and accept him back into your life. Like the chances of you demanding that he leaves your dorm immediately are higher than you ever reciprocating his feelings.

Noticing you're not saying anything, he decides to continue. As if you need any convincing at all. “I tried. I really tried to keep my distance. And I know this isn't fair of me because you should be focusing on your studies and not some dumbass who's too stupid to realize what he wants before it's too late, but…I just really want you. That's all. You’re all I want.”

A part of you wants to spare him already, but another wants his rant to keep going. Of course you weren't expecting any of this. You had your delusions from time to time that he might be feeling something for you, but you never would've imagined that he would fly all the way here in the middle of the night just to say all of this.

You open your mouth to speak, but he's immediately speaking again, afraid you might start asking him to leave already. “I know I should've said something sooner, but I was scared. And when you said we shouldn't be seeing each other anymore, I thought I’d just stop caring eventually. It always takes me like…like an hour, I guess. Maybe less. It doesn’t matter. But each day without you just kept getting worse and worse.”

“Johnny…”

“I wanted to talk to you eventually, of course, but then Reed was talking about you during dinner and he said you wouldn’t come back and I started freaking out because I just thought I lost you for good and I didn’t know what to do. And then I felt so stupid for not doing anything sooner. I just had to come talk to you tonight.”

“Johnny…”

“Please. Even if there’s just the slightest chance that you’d take me back…we can talk about it after your presentation, if that’s more comfortable to you. It’s fine by me, I just…I just can’t be without you.”

The faint smile of your lips somehow eases Johnny's panicked state, but he’s still hoping for the worst. This is probably the most chaotic you’ve ever seen him.

“Can I talk now?” you ask softly, gently pressing your hand against his cheek. He leans almost immediately into the touch, slightly less panicked.

“Sorry. That was too much, wasn’t it?”

“A little.”

“It’s been on my mind for weeks, so…”

“Johnny.”

“Sorry.”

There’s a brief silence between you, and you can’t help but giggle a little when you replay the entire interaction in your head. Laughter is a good sign, so he relaxes considerably. He thought he’d be out of your dorm by now.

“I missed you too.”

“Yeah, I probably should’ve just said something like that,” he mutters, embarrassment starting to sink in once he finally starts to fully process everything he just blurted out in a matter of seconds.

“No, what you said was perfect. I’m not really good with words, so I probably would never be able to say half of what you just said…which is why I decided to end things when I did.”

“I get why you did it. You needed to focus on other things.”

“I think I was just running away from my feelings,” you confess, genuinely regretting how things went down that day. “I’m sorry.”

Johnny shrugs. “I mean, I was doing the same thing, so…I guess we’re even.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “I guess we’re even.”

Johnny smiles at you, unable to stop himself as he pulls you closer again, this time to simply hold you in his arms. He rests his head on your shoulder, sighing in content. “I really missed you.”

“Oh, really? I had a little suspicion, but I wasn’t quite sure just yet.”

“You’re getting clever with your jokes now,” he comments playfully, moving back to look into your eyes. “I thought all this time with Reed might’ve consumed all the fun right out of you.”

“Mr. Richards is fun. Speaking of, does he know you’re here?” 

“Most likely. And I hate it when you call him that.”

“He’s going to kill you. And me, probably.”

“Well, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for you, baby.”

You playfully roll your eyes at that. “That was awful.”

He looks immediately offended, which makes you laugh again as you kiss his cheek as a silent apology. “Please, take that back right now. Take it back or I swear–”

“It’s the cutest, most adorable, heart-warming thing you have ever said to me,” you immediately comply, pulling him in for a kiss he gladly returns.

The kiss lasts longer than he anticipated, and for once it’s him the one creating distance between the two of you before things can escalate. You frown, but he immediately starts shaking his head. “Nope. As tempting as make up sex sounds right now, you need to get some rest and work on your presentation.”

“But–”

“Presentation,” he cuts you off, looking very determined. “Besides, I have to get back and talk to Reed.”

“Shit, I have a meeting with him tomorrow,” you suddenly remember, covering your face with both of your hands.

Johnny decides to act fast, not wanting to let your inner turmoil escalate any further, fearing you might explode like last time. He grabs both of your hands in his, kissing each of them as a reassuring gesture. “Trust me, he won’t be mad at you. You’ve been a great student, he has no reason to be. Me on the other hand…this might be the last time you’ll ever see me alive.”

“Don’t say that!” you exclaim, releasing your hands from his grip to slap his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry!” he quickly replies, grabbing your hands again with evident amusement. He stands in silence for a moment, seemingly debating whether or not to say something else before he finally lets you go. “Alright. Get some rest. I’ll come visit you tomorrow, okay?”

“Promise.”

You’re unable to know the way his heart practically melts at that, or how those three little words that he’s definitely not saying out loud manage to make their way into his head again.

“I promise,” he replies, right before giving you one last kiss to finally leave.

[luveline]

𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐢𝐧𝐠

You and Clark discover that a new relationship comes with some sexual novelties (and he loves you a lot for all of them). fem, 2k

cw dorky messy sex, slight rough/overwhelm, slight fem ejaculation, pet names

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

Sex with Clark is still new enough to wish he’d turn the lights off. Laying between your thighs, Clark pulls at the waistband of your panties almost unthinkingly, a big hand spread over your stomach drawing heat, his face properly angled so as to have you setting the pace —you can’t escape his gaze. You could shake with nerves beneath him. You probably are a bit trembly, needy the longer he touches without touching, nudging at his nose to try and force the lead. 

Clark sighs a kiss into your mouth, teeth clicking your own before he’s murmuring apologies against your neck. He kisses warm into the skin beneath your ear, says, “Up, up,” in the shell of it.

You acquiesce, lifting your hips. 

Clark gets his fingers into your panties and pulls them down. Makes a little punched out breath when he sees your cunt nestled into that soft apex of your thighs, far worse than the way he’d smiled when he’d stripped you out of your shirt between kisses and found your bralette. Purely for his benefit, silky and light pink. He doesn’t seem to realise his pink bias; he goes half-insane when presented with softer colours. He’s the same with lavender. 

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” he mumbles, slipping your panties off of an ankle. His hands are strong, grabbing at your thighs to nudge them apart, spreading you open and vulnerable in the middle of the bed like it isn’t your entire cunt on display. 

You pull your thighs together some and sigh when he coos. 

“Sooo pretty,” he says, nudging your legs apart again, unworried. He shouldn’t be worried. The last time you’d been like this, he’d pulled your legs over his shoulders and made you cum so hard you cried. He acts like you’re too pretty to waste. “Hey, you’re…” 

You squirm as his thumb glances up your cunt, wet petal folds slick to the touch. 

“Please, Clark.”

He doesn’t mind that you can’t bring yourself to talk beyond a whisper. “What do you want?” he asks, already climbing onto his knees to pull down his boxers. 

You squirm again as he unveils his cock, weepy head red and rigid where he grasps at it with his hand. He’s so rough with himself it startles you, that tugging grasp and the subsequent squeeze of his own fist. 

“Fuck me, please.”

“With enthusiasm?” he asks, and there’s his gentleness cropping through. 

“Please, please.” You grab at his chest, tug at his hips. “Do you want me to– I can suck you off–”

He goes pink as a proper gentleman, leaning down to kiss you again. “Maybe later,” he says into your mouth. 

Things are slick and easy for a bit. Clark touches kindly, easing his cock into you like he’s worried you can’t take it, like you don’t take it, murmuring little praises to you with just a hint of smugness under the surface. He loves watching your eyes flutter, listens closely for every shaky breath. You beg for him to change the angle, mumbling, “Ah, that’s– that way– that– yep, yeah, yes,” and he dedicates himself to finding the worst too-much part of you to fuck against as he drapes himself over your whole body. He lets his weight rest on you as he finds your mouth. It’s a heartache of a kiss with his tongue skirting wet against yours, his hand drifting under your thigh to fix you into place. 

It feels amazing until it’s too close. Clark sets a slow pace but you ask him to go deeper, deadset on hearing him whimper, so he climbs off of you and pulls the backs of your thighs over the broad fronts of his own. His rutting falters as you lift your hips to meet it, clenching your cunt around him —he groans, pained, and takes your back into his hands, fingers spreading under your weight, if he feels any weight at all. “Fuck, just like that. Squeeze my cock, honey. There you go, fuck–”

He sounds like he could cry. Your hand creeps to your clit, finding it sensitive and aching through wetness. 

“You wanna cum?” he asks. You love how he asks, no play on salaciousness, but pure loving guarantee. If you say yeah, he’s gonna get you there, and quickly. 

“No, no, draw it out–”

“Sure, honey.” 

You spread your thighs over his and he gets the hint to come down and kiss you again. Which turns to you mumbling, “Harder,” into his mouth, which turns to you keening on every exhale as he listens. He doesn’t have to get rough for it to feel–

It doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t feel exactly as it usually does. You’re so wet and pliant that he’s fucking into little resistance, and he’s so big that it’s shocking a pleased moan from you every time he bottoms out. 

“Ah– ah, wait,” you say, startled. 

“Real?” he asks. Does he genuinely have to wait?

Clark is used to you getting overwhelmed, your hand shoved between two bodies when the last thing you actually want is for him to stop, so he slows down and he asks. 

“Feels weird–”

“Bad weird?”

“No, no, just– touch me?” 

You don’t cum, but something happens as he ruts into you, then, heat like you’ve cum under your own touching. He pulls out and a wet trickle follows.

You gasp in half-pleasure and squirm up away from his cock as Clark shoves his shirt under your ass. 

“Oh, fuck,” he mumbles. 

“I’m sorry!” You have the sense to know he doesn’t care even as your body flushes top to toe, “Fuck, I didn’t mean to–”

“Can I keep going?” he asks. 

“What if I–”

“I don’t mind, are you still close?” 

You nod hazily as he slips his cock back into you. The noise is palpable now. Soaked as he starts a slow grind. 

“Clark,” you whisper, not sure what you want from him. 

“I know. Let me touch you.”

“You liked it.”

He grins down at you, both your eyes still open as he takes a kiss. “Yep,” he says into your teeth. 

You wrap him in a hug and submit to your fate: if Clark keeps fucking you like this you’re gonna cum, but you’re probably gonna make a worse mess, too, and you try to warn him, can’t think of the word, whining in a panic that isn’t truly panic as he fucks into your soft spot. It doesn’t hurt, Clark never does, but it yanks all the air out of you and leaves you desperate for something, but you don’t wanna cum, catching his hand where it falls to your cunt to stop him from pushing you over the edge too soon. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

You sound teary and pleased. 

“Yeah? Come on, honey, you can finish,” he says, like you’re hurting and he’s gonna fix it. 

You sit up on your elbows before you can sweat to death, meeting Clark for a slower kiss. He slows his pace to match. His cock butts up inside you and stays a shade too deep. “Don’t worry about the mess,” he mumbles, thumb flicking without thinking over the bud of one of your nipples. 

“Ah–”

He dips down to kiss it. Pulls it into his mouth and licks wetly in a circle. His spit strings from his lip. 

You wipe it off. 

“You’re gonna have to–” You shake your head. “Need it fast. And–”

“I know what to do,” he says, wrapping a lithe arm behind you. “I can do it, sweet girl, just– you stay right here,” he says, pushing your face into his neck. “Got you.”

He does need to get rough to get you there. You’re surprised he doesn’t cramp up or flag, then remember what you’re thinking and end up sniffling into his skin with a laugh. Clark gets all breathless and you know he’s gonna cum if you’re not ready. You cling to his upper arms and let him smack against you, shuffling you ever so slightly up the bed, thump-thump and pleasure and the coil curling tighter and the ache when you can’t get there.

“Fuck,” Clark says, moaning like he knows the sound makes you dizzy behind the eyes, “oh, fuck,” —he hardly ever swears like this when he’s not buried to the hilt in your cunt, wet in his pubes and sticky on your thighs— “there you are, that’s my girl, that’s–”

He shudders but doesn’t cum, his hand slipping suddenly between your bodies to touch you again. Three finger-pads to your clit to rub admittedly clumsy circles with enough vigour to lock your hips up, and then he fucks you like a whip snap and your climax finally hits. 

You press your face so hard into his shoulder a normal man would likely bruise, breathless and gasping as he moans your name and cums between little clenches of your cunt, like he tripped into it. Didn’t mean to finish. 

“Did I pee everywhere?” you ask, giggly and shame-faced as he rubs your chest. 

“Nah. You’re just wet.” 

“Promise?” 

He pulls his cock from you to give it a few wince-inducing tugs, stripping the wet and cum from it in a white mess that collects in the curve between his thumb and pointer finger. He wipes it on the shirt under your ass and thighs. “Fucked you too hard in the wrong place.” 

“It felt nice.”

“It did,” he says, pulling your legs down flat to rub at the tops of them. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Thank you.”

He bends over you for a kiss. “So beautiful.” 

“Can we go again?” 

He nods into the kiss, turning his head to give you a softer one from the opposite angle. “Yeah, just– give me a minute. I think you took everything I had.” 

You rub his shoulders in that quick up and down he seems to love, watching him relax with the pressure. 

“Handsome,” you say under your breath. “Hey, you sound good. I love you.” 

Clark could take a bite out of you, you think, when he looks at you like that, but he’s the last man on earth who’d ever dig his teeth in for more than a hickey. “Don’t start that,” he says, grinning, palming at his cock. He’s half hard already. 

“Love you,” you say. 

His cock twitches. 

He doesn’t seem to notice what you noticed, just takes a deep breath as he wipes precum from the tip of his cock and rubs it down his length. 

“I love you, too,” he says. “What do you wanna do, honey? Wanna be on top?” 

“If you fuck up into me.” 

“Well, yeah,” he says, his voice weak and needy and pleased, “you can just sit in my lap, take it, okay? But let’s make sure I didn’t hurt you first.” 

You laugh as he crawls back and drops onto his elbows. “Clark, you don’t have to.” 

“She’s hurting, look,” he mumbles, a little shy and a lot teasing, “let me kiss it better.” 

He’s the biggest, sweetest dork they ever made. 

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

[howtodisappear444]

𝐁𝐎𝐁 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒𓍢ִ໋ ༘࿐

-> always check any warnings before reading! I hope you enjoy and love these fanfics just as I do <3

much love, mari 🦢💋

divider by: @uzmacchiato <3

dog-fight: @the-shedevil-writes

summary: You thought it was just a party. But you soon find out that it was a 'Dogfight'-a cruel contest where the men compete to bring the "ugliest" date they can find. And you were part of the joke. Humiliated and blindsided, you walk out, finding yourself at The Hard Deck. But there you find Bob Floyd. Quiet, kind, and nothing like the man who brought you there.

keys and kisses: @pullmecloseman

summary: a warm summer night at the local city night market with the Dagger Squad. You and Bob are the only official couple in the group-quietly affectionate, teasing, and fully caught up in the glow of food, games, and late-night laughter. Flirty banter, close calls, and a stolen kiss in a photo booth make for a night neither of you will forget.

take the shot: @pullmecloseman

summary: a retro arcade night turns into something more when you're paired with Bob Floyd during a squad hangout. You start off teasing, competitive, and toeing the line-but every game, glance, and near-touch pulls you both closer to finally admitting what's been simmering for months. Sparks fly under neon lights, ending with a private moment that might just change everything.

you should see him in italy: @pullmecloseman

summary: a romantic destination wedding in the hills of Italy should've been a dream getaway-but sharing a luxury villa with your entire extended family and a boyfriend who looks unfairly good in linen? Yeah, it's a lot. Bob Floyd may have already met your family, but this time it's different. This time there's champagne, sun-soaked jealousy, and the weight of one too many stolen glances. Between flirty texts, strategic outfit choices, and a swim that reveals a lot more of Bob than anyone expected, the tension between you two hits its boiling point. Add in nosy cousins, teasing aunts, and one very smug grandma, and it's only a matter of time before Bob snaps in the best possible way.

by chance: @dazedantics

summary: You accidentally stumbled upon your perfect man and keep running into him all day.

hold me, carry me slowly: @withmyloveasyourgarden

summary: you and bob have been best friends through everything, so when you're a little too in your head over messing up, it makes sense that he would do anything you ask to get you back out of it. To make it better. It won't change anything, right? Only it does, and Bob realises at maybe the worst possible time, exactly why...

what happens in vegas stays in vegas: @bodhiscurls

summary: robert 'bob' floyd and you have always harboured feelings for each other, hidden in hotel rooms, stolen glances and secret kisses shared across the base. except one night in vegas celebrating the end of a gruelling mission finds you and bob waking up the next day unsure of how you made it to his room, the remenants of tequila pounding in your head and a rock the size of san diego on your ring finger. and what scares him the most is just how is he going to explain this to your brother.

hearing you: @hauntedhowlett-writes

summary: Bob Floyd has a crush on the air traffic controller with the pretty voice.

friendly fire: @pullmecloseman

summary: What starts as a casual Saturday paintball outing turns into utter chaos when the Dagger Squad-split into makeshift teams-goes head-to-head against a group of overconfident middle schoolers. With bruises, banter, and egos on the line, chaos ensues: Bob gets protective, Hangman gets hit in the worst possible place, and you take three paintballs to the ass. Somewhere between the flying paint, locker room teasing, and an impromptu post-game date night, you and Bob find yourselves in the kind of soft, domestic rhythm that feels like home.

winner takes it all: @totallynotashieldagent

summary: Reader is at the base to write an article, everyone's betting if Bob would get a kiss. The squad doesn't know they're already married.

worn soft: @violetrainbow412-blog

summary: Bob invites you to a charity event, but between cameras, persistent admirers, and the sweltering heat, he ends up seeking refuge in the only thing that keeps him calm: your presence.

good time: @hargreeves-duncan

summary: bob takes you line dancing

four eyes: @promisingyounglady

summary: asking bob to make a mess of himself on your face while you wear his glasses? absolutely.

don’t stop: @sebsxphia

summary: jake attempts to catch bob out, but bob has something to reveal.

cliche: @scarletmika

summary: There's always a joke surrounding weddings that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man will end up falling in love; it's one of the oldest clichés in the book. When you're the Maid of Honor, though, Bob Floyd wouldn't have it any other way.

callsign (heartbreaker): @violetrainbow412-blog

summary: Jake runs his mouth. You do something about it.

nettles: @hargreeves-duncan

summary: you're dying and bob isn't ready to say goodbye

hormones are high: @ilovebabyonboard

summary: You show up to the squad beach day in a bikini that has no business looking that good. Bob's mid-throw when he sees you and straight-up forgets how physics works. The football hits Hangman. Bob's glasses are askew. He spends the afternoon avoiding eye contact—until you ask him to help tie the strings on your top. He nearly combusts.

worst way: @geminiwritten

summary: being secretly fake-married to your sweet best friend, bob floyd, is almost perfect... until tensions rise, the secret is out, and you both struggle to keep your feelings (and your hands) to yourself

everytime i choose you: @ilovebabyonboard

summary: You've loved Bob Floyd since before either of you knew what love was. Now, with a toddler in your arms, a baby on the way, and a Navy career pulling you in opposite directions, you're learning what it really means to build a life across time zones-and hold on to each other through it all. Soft reunions, stolen moments, found family, and the quiet kind of love that stays.

heart glasses: @emeraldserenade

summary: You meet your husband's new squadron one by one, all without them knowing who you truly were

summertime: @violetrainbow412-blog

summary: Rooster and Hangman spot a mysterious woman... who turns out to be already taken.

a waiting game: @dearsnow

summary: coming from a broken family, you often had to wait for next time you would be loved. meeting your new neighbor changed that.

mistletoe: @buckysdingus

summary: the team decides to put up mistletoes around so you and bob can finally kiss.

crash and burn: @inlovewithquestionablecharacters

a night to remember: @the-shedevil-writes

summary: When Phoenix sets Bob up on a blind date with one of her closest friends, he's already nervous. So when he finds her to be the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, he's convinced he's out of his league. But as the night unfolds, he starts to realize they may work together better than he ever expected.

sunscreen hands: @vivianfiles

crash landing: @moonmaarii

summary: after a practice mission and emergency ejection, bob finds comfort and clarity in the arms of the one person who's always been his safe place-leading to a quiet confession that changes everything.

untouchable: @bodhiscurls

summary: bob returns home early from a deployment, and you're just finally happy to see your husband.

caught red handed: @layla4567

summary: Your father, Maverick, doesn't let you date any pilot, no matter what. But with such a sweet, aviation-geeky man, how can you follow that rule?

perilous skies: @shortnspidey

summary: Dating Bob Floyd had been nothing short of perfect. The sweet, ever-attentive WSO felt like he’d walked straight out of a rom-com. That’s why, when your scheduled date night arrives and he doesn’t show, your mind immediately begins to spiral. It’s so unlike him, so out of character, that you can’t stop replaying every possible reason in your head. As the hours stretch on, worry takes hold, deep down, you can feel something’s wrong.

bob’s lonely heart club: @mang0d0ll

summary: bob's all alone on valentines day. but not for much longer.

picture you: @geminiwritten

summary: you met bob back at the academy and fell for him fast-but you never dared risk the friendship... now you're both stationed at north island and for once the timing might be right, until you overhear him say some things that cut deep and make you question everything you thought you knew

make me your masterpiece: @sometimesanalice

summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

dumb and poetic: @pink-petal-horns

honor and duty: @pullmecloseman

summary: What was supposed to be a fun week in paradise quickly becomes something more when two quiet souls are thrown into close quarters. As the days unfold—from lazy mornings and town adventures to wedding prep and late-night confessions—tension simmers, walls begin to crack, and unexpected connections start to bloom. It’s just one week. But sometimes, that’s all it takes to change everything.

mickey and minnie: @pullmecloseman

summary: The Dagger Squad touches down in Orlando for a chaotic family trip to Disney World. With Bob, you, and the kids sharing a room, and the rest of the squad crammed into neighboring suites, the first day at Magic Kingdom is pure madness - from wild Space Mountain rides to parade stampedes, lunch disasters, and a nighttime group chat meltdown. Between sugar highs, bathroom wars, and stroller battles, it's clear: this isn't just a vacation... it's survival.