je33123

[je33123]

NONSENSE

Johnny Storm X Female!reader || WC: 5.6K

SUMMARY: Being best friends with Johnny Storm had always come naturally, maybe a little too naturally. Somewhere between late-night movies and whispered secrets, your feelings began to shift. But you kept them to yourself, tucking the crush away and convincing yourself that friendship was more than enough. So when Susan and Reed ask you to help Johnny watch Franklin, you agree without hesitation. What could go wrong?

WARNINGS: Contains minor Fantastic Four: First Steps Spoilers! Established friendship, eventual friends to lovers, cursing, oblivious idiots in love, fluff galore, flirty banter, Reed and Susan are unintentional matchmakers, domestic uncle!Johnny, slight angst, suggestiveness but no smut!

A/N: The way Johnny acted whenever he interacted with Franklin had to be one of my favorite parts of the entire movie! Men that are good with kids are just INCREDIBLY attractive. So this one-shot is purely self-indulgent! Hope we get more of them in the future!! Divider by @saradika-graphics <3

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The Baxter Building had practically become your second home. Between late-night movie marathons, joining impromptu family dinners, and Susan’s gentle insistence that you never needed an invitation. It's safe to say you’d spent more time there than in your own apartment lately. The elevator doors gave a gentle chime before gliding open, revealing the sleek, interior of the Fantastic Four’s private floor.

H.E.R.B.I.E. zipped into view the moment you stepped out, whirring cheerfully with blinking lights and enthusiastic beeps that filled the hallway like confetti. You laughed and crouched down slightly, holding out your hand as the robot spun in a delighted little circle. “Hello, H.E.R.B.I.E., you miss me already?” You grinned, giving the top of his head an affectionate tap.

Before you could ask about the others, a familiar figure emerged from around the corner in a whirlwind of motion. Reed Richards looked like he'd just walked out of a scientific hurricane, shirt slightly wrinkled, tie askew, and hair in the kind of tousled state only existential stress could cause. “Oh, thank goodness.” He breathed, already halfway across the hall and closing the distance with long, purposeful strides.

In a rare show of affection, he wrapped you into a brief but firm hug, clinging like a man about to board a rocket. “Jeez, Reed,” You chuckled, stepping back as he released you. “Don’t you look thrilled for date night.” His expression twisted with half a smile and half a wince as he ran a hand down his face, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt like it was suffocating him. Behind him, H.E.R.B.I.E. let out a low, sympathetic beep.

Reed pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded a lot like a plea to the universe. “Johnny.” That was all you needed. One name, and the entire situation became crystal clear. Your best friend was a whirlwind of chaotic energy, and wherever he went, trouble wasn’t far behind, usually smiling, charming, and completely unapologetic.

Almost as if summoned by name, or more likely because he had been eavesdropping, Johnny Storm burst into the room like a one-man parade. “There’s my favorite girl!” He announced, arms already open wide. Before you could react, he was scooping you up in a familiar, dizzying spin, his laughter rumbling against your ear. You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped you, the sound bubbling up like it always did around him, effortless, easy.

Only when he seemed satisfied with the display of affection did he finally set you back down, but even then, his hands lingered on your waist like he hadn’t quite decided to let you go. You didn't exactly mind. When the room stopped spinning, you looked up, and instantly regretted it. God, he looked good. Too good. A maroon bomber jacket was thrown over a white tee, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows with casual flair, displaying his veiny forearms that never failed to make your mouth water.

His blonde hair, annoyingly perfect as always, caught the light just enough to look sun-kissed, and those blue eyes sparkled with mischief, like he was already planning his next stunt. Behind him, Reed cleared his throat meaningfully. Johnny glanced over his shoulder with a grin that was all innocence and zero guilt, as if he hadn’t just been encouraging a toddler to weaponize household objects moments prior.

“Causing trouble already?” You asked, folding your arms with mock sternness and one raised brow. “Me? Never.” He winked, oozing charm, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him completely. At last, his hands dropped from your waist, and even that small absence left your skin tingling. You tried to focus as he dashed off, already on a mission to corral the minefield of toys strewn across the living room floor.

You watched as he picked up a stuffed alien by one leg, then a miniature drum, and then immediately dropped both to make a siren noise with a plastic fire truck. Unsurprisingly, the room was destined to be chaos again the moment Franklin reentered it, but Johnny was at least pretending to tidy up, which was worth something. “How do you deal with him?” Reed asked, sounding as exhausted as he looked.

He stood there taking in the sight of his brother-in-law playing with his son's toys, rubbing at his temple with the air of a man who knew he’d never truly be free of the chaos. You offered a shrug, casual but fond. “Years of practice. He grows on you, eventually.” You didn’t even have to look to know Johnny had heard you. A dramatic gasp echoed behind you, followed by the sound of him stumbling backward as if wounded.

“Hey! I can hear you!” He cried, one hand over his heart like you’d mortally offended him. Grinning, you stuck your tongue out at him like the mature adult that you were. Before Johnny could retaliate, probably with a pillow launched in your direction or another lecture about how everyone secretly loved him, a small blur shot around the corner like a pint-sized comet.

“Y/N!” You turned just in time, crouching down with open arms as Franklin launched himself at you. His tiny body slammed into your chest, and you caught him easily, steadying the both of you with a laugh. “Whoa, careful there, sweetheart.” You chuckled, pulling him in tight. His little hands curled around your neck as if he hadn't seen you in years, and you pressed your face into his soft hair.

“My goodness,” You whispered, leaning back to take a better look at him. “You have got to stop growing.” You showered his chubby cheeks in kisses, laughing as he giggled uncontrollably, little legs kicking in excitement. The sound lit something up in you, pure, uncomplicated joy, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded out. All that mattered was the warmth of Franklin’s hug and the sound of his happiness echoing off the walls.

Which is why, you didn’t notice Johnny had stopped moving. Across the room, he stood frozen mid-step, a toy truck dangling forgotten from one hand. His usual smirk had softened into something quieter, eyes fixed on you and Franklin like he was watching a dream he hadn’t dared name. There was something in his expression, something fond, unguarded, maybe even a little stunned. For once, Johnny Storm was speechless.

“Y/N, hello darling.” Susan’s voice broke through the chorus of giggles still echoing in the room. You glanced up to find her walking in with effortless grace, powder blue dress nipped at the waist, pearl earrings, blonde hair pinned up in soft curls. Even when wrangling genius husbands and precocious toddlers, Susan Storm somehow made it look easy. You shifted Franklin on your hip, his arms still looped loosely around your neck as you rose to greet her.

“Hi, Sue, you look gorgeous.” You grinned, wrapping one arm around her in a warm hug. “Thank you.” She returned the smile, her eyes softening as she squeezed your hand with that calm, nurturing energy only she could exude. Her gaze drifted to Franklin, then flicked briefly toward Johnny, who was now pretending to inspect the bookshelf but had clearly not stopped watching you since you walked in.

A knowing glimmer sparkled in her eyes, but she let it pass with only a subtle lift of her brow. “Are you sure this isn’t an inconvenience?” She asked gently, though the hesitation in her voice told you she already felt guilty. “I know watching a toddler on a Friday night isn’t exactly ideal.” You scoffed before she could finish the thought, pulling Franklin a little closer. His sleepy weight pressed against you like he belonged there.

“He’s my godson, there’s really nowhere else I’d rather be.” You replied easily, brushing a bit of hair from Franklin’s forehead before placing a loving kiss on his forehead. “Get outta here, lovebirds.” Johnny chimed in, slipping an arm over your shoulders with the casual ease of someone who’d been doing it since childhood. His other hand waved dramatically toward the door. “Franklin’s in fantastic hands.”

You rolled your eyes, snorting at the awful pun. “Really?” You muttered under your breath, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. He grinned, utterly unapologetic, and leaned a little more of his weight against you like he had no intention of moving anytime soon. “Both children will be in one piece when you two come back.” You promised, giving Johnny a pointed side glance.

Susan let out a quiet chuckle, her eyes flicking toward her brother, clearly amused. “We won’t be out too late,” She assured again, though her tone had softened, more relaxed now. “If he gets fussy, there are snacks in the kitchen, and his bedtime is around eight.” Reed reappeared from the hallway, his composure mostly restored, tie straightened, coat neatly draped over one arm.

With his usual efficiency, he helped Susan into her coat, adjusting the shoulders with a care that made you momentarily forget he was the world’s most distracted genius. Before leaving, Susan turned one last time, her gaze resting on you and Franklin, and just briefly, on the way Johnny’s arm still lingered around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing idle patterns against your upper arm.

She mouthed one final thank you, before slipping through the front door with Reed in tow. The soft click of the latch left behind a hush that settled over the room, which left just you, Franklin, and Johnny. “So,” He drawled, quirking a brow, blue eyes fixed on you. “You, me, and one dangerously powerful toddler. What could possibly go wrong?” You smirked. “Everything.” And somehow, you were looking forward to every second of it.

As predicted, the moment you set Franklin down, he making a beeline straight for the living room. Without hesitation, he scooped up as many toy cars as his tiny arms could manage, cradling them to his chest like precious cargo. He dropped to his knees with all the focused determination of a world-class engineer, lining up the miniature vehicles in a meticulous row alongside the winding, high-tech racetrack Reed had crafted in the lab.

Johnny wasted no time. He vaulted over the back of the couch like a kid on Christmas morning, skidding into place beside Franklin on the rug. Within seconds, he was deep in the throes of an imaginary race, arms outstretched, making high-pitched engine noises, mimicking tight turns, screeching tires, and dramatic crashes. At one point, he even narrated the race in a terrible British accent, which made Franklin laugh so hard he rolled backward into a pile of pillows.

You leaned against the doorway, arms folded, unable to wipe the smile off your face. Watching Johnny with Franklin was unfair in every way. He looked too good like this, lit up from the inside out, eyes crinkled with laughter, hair slightly mussed from all the movement. Your ovaries were overwhelmed with joy, hormones, and entirely inappropriate thoughts that you had absolutely no business entertaining while a two-year-old was in the room.

To distract yourself, you busied yourself in the kitchen. The warm light over the counter glowed like amber as you set out apple slices, crackers, and a juice box, arranging them on a plate shaped like a cartoon spaceship. But, toddlers are nothing if not delightfully unpredictable. “Uncle Johnny’s loud.” Franklin announced from the floor before trotting over to you, toy car still clutched in one hand. “Book now, pwease.”

With zero resistance, you scooped him up and headed for the couch, already grabbing the well-worn copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar from where it laid on the coffee table. Franklin nestled into your side like he belonged there, head on your shoulder, thumb in his mouth. You flipped open the book, voice gentle as you began to read. Or at least, you tried to read.

You stumbled over words you’d read a hundred times before, tongue tripping more than you’d like to admit, not because of Franklin, who was happily turning pages too soon, but because Johnny was watching you. His gaze hadn’t left you since you sat down, blue eyes softened with something too warm, too intense for casual friendship. You refused to meet his eyes, cheeks burning hotter than any of his fire tricks.

After dinner, Franklin was back to racing around with his cars. Only now, he wanted you and Johnny to play too. Which is how you ended up cross-legged on the living room floor again, mid-race chaos, with Franklin assigning you very serious car duties, like “crash dis one” and “make dis one fly.” Johnny, of course, took it way too far.

He zoomed his car off the edge of the coffee table with a dramatic explosion noise, tossed Franklin gently in the air, which earned him a fierce scolding glare from you, and then proudly unveiled a mini Johnny Storm action figure from one of the toy bins. You groaned, the moment it crackled to life with a mechanical, over-enthusiastic: 'FLAME ON!'

“Bet you didn’t think I’d let this masterpiece go out of production.” Johnny puffed his chest out like he’d won a Nobel Prize. “It talks? “Why on Earth does it talk?” You deadpanned. “Because it's genius,” He stated matter-of-factly, holding the tiny figure like it was sacred. “And because the world needs more me.” You opened your mouth to disagree, but Franklin grabbed the figure from his hand and hugged it to his chest like it was made of gold.

"Uncle Johnny, cool!" Johnny beamed, smiling from ear to ear. “See? The people agree.” You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw another dimension. You wanted to argue, saying Franklin was clearly biased, but the truth was, watching him, with Franklin curled up against you and laughter echoing around the room, you couldn’t remember the last time your heart had felt this full.

Seeing as Johnny had playtime thoroughly covered, complete with dramatic reenactments and the occasional sound barrier being broken, you took the opportunity to slip away and handle the aftermath of dinner. The dishes weren’t going to wash themselves, and frankly, you needed a few minutes to cool down. Watching Johnny be good with Franklin, be soft, had your heart doing things that felt mildly illegal.

You stepped into the kitchen just as H.E.R.B.I.E. glided up beside you, silently offering the now-empty plate Franklin had used for his macaroni masterpiece. With a fond smile and a quiet thank you, you reached for it, and that’s when all hell decided to break loose. “OW! Buddy, not the hair!” Johnny’s voice cut through the room, followed by a shrill, high-pitched wail that had every maternal instinct in your body firing at once.

You sprinted the short distance from the kitchen to the living room, nearly slipping on one of Franklin’s rogue race cars. The scene that met you was peak disaster, Johnny was crouched on the floor, a frazzled mess with a toy still in one hand and Franklin squirming in his arms, red-faced and wailing. Johnny’s blue eyes snapped up the moment he heard your footsteps. His expression was a mix of panic and guilt.

“Give him to me.” Your voice was calm, instinctive, even as your arms reached out without hesitation. The moment Franklin caught sight of you, he lunged like a rocket, practically leaping into your embrace. You caught him easily, cradling his small frame against your chest. His sobs were still jagged and hiccupy, but they began to slow as you rocked him gently from side to side, your fingers drawing soft, rhythmic circles against his back.

His little fists clung to your shirt like lifelines, breath hitching in that pitiful post-cry rhythm that tugged at every heartstring you had. You murmured soft nonsense into his hair, words that didn’t matter so much as the tone, reassuring, steady, warm. Gradually, the tension left his body, replaced by that heavy-limbed drowsiness that always followed a toddler meltdown.

Over Franklin’s head, your gaze drifted to the wall clock, it read 7:58 PM. Of course, his body knew. Right on cue, the crash before bedtime. “Can you finish cleaning up?” You murmured, glancing over to Johnny, who was still sitting there, looking like he’d just been emotionally sideswiped. “I’m going to try and get him settled for bed.” Johnny nodded, standing quickly, carefully. As he stepped closer, he placed a gentle kiss on Franklin’s tousled head.

Then, his hand came to rest on your shoulder, warm and grounding, fingers giving the faintest squeeze as he brushed past you and disappeared into the kitchen. The touch lingered even after he was gone. And for a second, just a second, you let yourself close your eyes and breathe in the moment, Franklin's weight against you, the quiet settling over the room, and the echo of Johnny's tenderness still trailing behind him.

As you disappeared down the hallway, cradling a drowsy Franklin against your chest, Johnny let out the breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. It left him in a slow, uneven exhale, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, not because of exhaustion, but because watching you like that wrecked him in ways he couldn’t begin to explain. The sight of you, arms wrapped protectively around Franklin, murmuring in that soft voice that made even the toddler’s screams quiet down.

He dropped into a chair at the kitchen island, elbows on the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face as if it might shake off the feeling tightening in his ribcage. God, he was so screwed. It wasn’t just the way you looked tonight, though, yeah, that was enough to short-circuit him on a good day. The soft, lived-in familiarity of your smile, the way you rolled your eyes when he got too cocky, the gentle way you brushed Franklin’s hair back like you’d done it a thousand times before.

It wasn’t new. The feelings had been there for a while now, growing in quiet corners between inside jokes and late-night calls, rooted in the unshakable way you just got him. But this? Tonight? Watching you soothe his nephew like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he just stood there helpless, hair askew, ego bruised by a toddler? Yeah. That cracked something open.

Johnny leaned back, staring at the ceiling like maybe the answer to his emotional ineptitude was hidden in the plaster. He wasn’t good at this part, the messy, vulnerable, heart-in-his-throat stuff. Flirting, he could do blindfolded. Grand gestures? Easy. But feelings that mattered? Feelings that made his pulse stutter and his brain go fuzzy and his mouth forget how to be clever? That was harder.

But no matter how loud his heart got, there was one thing louder: the fear of ruining everything. You were his best friend. The constant in his chaos. You just got him, ego, flaws, fire and all. And the thought of letting these feelings consume him, of risking what you already had for something that might never work out? That terrified him more than anything.

Because what if he said something, did something, and it changed the way you looked at him? What if the easy laughter and casual touches turned awkward? What if he lost you? He looked toward the hallway where you'd disappeared, the quiet hum of your footsteps still echoing faintly in his ears. You’d taken Franklin like he was yours. Like you belonged here, in the middle of this family chaos, perfectly slotted into a space you hadn’t even asked to fill.

And somehow, everything felt quieter with you in it. He glanced toward the sink, eyes landing on the half-finished dishes, but his mind was still on you. Your hand on his shoulder. The way you didn’t flinch when things got messy. The way Franklin launched himself into your arms like it was instinct. Johnny rested his chin in his palm, staring at nothing in particular, lips curving just a little despite himself.

He was in love with you. Completely, stupidly, irrevocably in love with you. And the most ridiculous part? You probably had no idea. So he did what he always did. He swallowed it. Pushed it down, tucked it behind a grin and a joke and a wink. He’d take the way you looked at him now, fond and familiar, over losing you entirely. Even if it meant sitting here in the quiet, heart full of things he didn’t know how to say.

“Finally got him down.” You sighed, stepping back into the kitchen with your shoulders drooping slightly, weariness and warmth both lingering in your expression. You set the baby monitor on the kitchen island with a quiet clink, the soft static crackle filling the space just enough to remind you he was still only a room away. Johnny blinked, snapping out of whatever tangled thoughts he’d been drowning in.

“Sit.” His voice was gentle, coaxing, already rising from his chair. One hand brushed the small of your back, a fleeting touch, but enough to make your breath catch. He pulled out the chair next to his, guiding you into it with a casual attentiveness that never failed to send a zoo of butterflies stampeding through your stomach. You dropped into the seat with a sigh that was part exhaustion, part resignation. “But the dishes—”

“Herbert and I got it.” He interrupted smoothly, shooting a smirk toward H.E.R.B.I.E., who rolled up at just the right moment with mechanical precision. Johnny bumped fists with the robot, taking a bowl from his outstretched arm. You raised your hands in mock surrender, lips curling into a tired smile as you leaned back against the chair. Your eyes followed Johnny as he casually peeled off his bomber jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair.

Without it, he was all forearms and muscle, the short sleeves of his t-shirt hugging the defined curve of his biceps and the broad stretch of his chest like it had been designed with malicious intent. You glanced away quickly before your gaze betrayed you, but not fast enough to stop your face from flushing. You could feel the warmth blooming at your cheeks and cursed him, silently, lovingly, for existing so effortlessly.

The room fell into a quiet rhythm: H.E.R.B.I.E.'s faint whirring, the occasional clink of dishes, the lullaby-soft hush of a house winding down for the night. Then Johnny’s voice broke through, soft and unguarded. “You know…” He began, fingers still lingering on the edge of the countertop, but his eyes now fully on you. “You’re going to make an amazing mom one day.” The words landed with more weight than you expected. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it.

Not as a joke. Not as some offhand compliment. It came out quiet, earnest, a whisper of a truth he couldn’t stop himself from saying aloud. Your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. For a beat too long, you stared at him, trying to read what was hidden behind the usual mischief. There was no mask this time. No smirk. Just Johnny, bare and sincere in a way he rarely let himself be. You smiled, small and surprised, a flutter stirring in your chest. “You think?”

He shrugged, but the smile he wore was warm enough to melt through any doubt. “I know.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, heart full and aching in a way you hadn’t expected. That look in his eyes, bright, a little reverent, maybe even something closer to love, it made the air feel too thick, too still. You wondered if he felt it too. That quiet hum between you, the one that had been there for years but now felt impossible to ignore.

And then, without even trying, the words fell from his mouth as if he’d been fed a truth serum. “I think about it a lot, honestly. More specifically, you being the mother of my children." Your breath hitched. Time slowed. Even H.E.R.B.I.E., bless him, seemed to sense the gravity of what had just been released into the room and rolled discreetly out of the kitchen. Johnny stood frozen, one hand clenched around the dishcloth, knuckles white, eyes wide.

Like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but now that it was out, he couldn’t take it back. And frankly, he didn’t want to. A nervous laugh escaped him, breathless and uneven. “Shit, that sounds way more intense when it’s not just in my head.” You turned to face him fully, your heart beating so fast you were sure he could hear it echoing in the silence. “I mean it.” He added quickly, voice dropping, sincerity bleeding through every word.

“It’s not just some passing thought I get when I see you with Franklin, or when you laugh, or when you fall asleep during movie nights and drool on my shoulder.” You made a quiet noise of protest, heat blooming across your cheeks. He grinned softly at that, but it faltered just as quickly, replaced by something more hesitant. “I try to ignore it, y'know?” His fingers fidgeted with the hem of the dish towel, eyes focused on the counter like it might help him stay grounded.

“Because I didn’t want to mess this up. You and me... we’re good. We work. And I kept thinking, if I opened my mouth, I’d ruin it all. That I’d lose you.” His eyes finally met yours again, open, uncertain, completely unguarded. “But lately? It’s like... I can’t not feel it anymore. It’s everywhere. You're everywhere. Every time I look at you, I think about what it’d be like to wake up next to you. To build something real. I think about how natural it feels when you're here, like you're already part of the family.”

His hand hovered near yours on the counter, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat between your fingers. “I’m tired of pretending it’s not there. Tired of pretending I don’t—” The words caught on his tongue. “Tired of pretending that I don’t love you, Y/N.” And there it was. Simple. Raw. Undeniably real. The air between you felt electric, charged with everything that had been buried under years of stolen glances, long talks, missed chances, and the quiet kind of love that grows too strong to ignore.

"Oh, fuck it." Before you could react and before he could talk himself out of it, Johnny rounded the kitchen island with a kind of reckless purpose, his restraint unraveling in real time. And then, he was there. He surged forward, big hands finding your waist, as his lips crashed against yours. Your eyes flew open, shocked by the force of it, by the sheer heat, but your body answered before your brain could catch up, instinct overriding reason.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed him back, years of pent-up tension igniting like gasoline meeting flame. His hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you flush against him as his mouth moved hungrily against yours. When his tongue pushed past your lips and brushed against yours, a soft moan slipped out of you before you could stop it, swallowed by his mouth like it was the very thing he’d been starving for.

You felt him groan low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending another wave of heat straight down your spine. His hands roamed, one sliding up your back, the other briefly gripping your hip before pulling you impossibly closer, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was really happening. Your hands had a mind of their own, smoothing up the planes of his chest, over his shoulders, fingertips trailing across the warm skin of his neck and into his hair.

He shuddered beneath your touch, deepening the kiss like he never wanted to come up for air. It was messy. Intense. Every press of his mouth against yours was filled with every stolen glance, every suppressed feeling, every unsaid word that had sat between you like a live wire for years. When he finally did pull back, breathless and wide-eyed, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving, and so was his.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” He breathed out, voice low and wrecked with emotion, his forehead pressing gently to yours. His thumbs stroked your hips, like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he’d started. You nodded, still catching your breath, eyes searching his face for anything, regret, hesitation, but there was none. “I thought I was dreaming,” You whispered. “I’ve been in love with you since I can remember.”

The words, settled over your skin like a warm blanket, uncomplicated, long-overdue, and unmistakably true. “Say it again.” He begged, voice hoarse, like he needed the sound of it more than air. Like your confession might be the only thing tethering him to reality. “I love you, Johnny.” That did it. He surged forward again, but this time there was no urgency, no crashing wave of desperation, just reverence.

His lips met yours with a gentleness that threatened to undo you entirely. No rush, only the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone as his mouth moved against yours, patient and aching, as though he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips and the rhythm of your sighs. Your hands curled around his wrists, anchoring yourself to him as he kissed you like it was sacred.

His breath hitched slightly when your fingers threaded back through his hair, but he didn't press further, didn’t deepen the kiss like before. This was about worship. Like he'd spent years imagining this, and now that he had it, he wanted to slow time down and savor every second. When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes remained closed, like he was afraid they’d snap open and find it had all vanished.

You couldn't stop the airy laugh that left you lips. "You've seriously thought about me as the mother of your children?" You raised a brow, hand absentmindedly tracing the veins of his forearm you ogled more than you'd like to admit. "Baby, seeing the way you act with Franklin always gets me all hot and bothered. Anything you do really." He stated matter-of-factly, smirk breaking out onto his face. You rolled your eyes, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you.

"Why do you ask, want to practice?" Johnny huskily murmured in your ear, his breath hot and intoxicating as it fanned across your skin. The low rasp of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, awakening something dormant and long-suppressed. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive curve of your neck before pressing a deliberately slow, kiss just beneath your jaw. The heat of it bloomed across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and your breath hitched involuntarily.

Years of unspoken desire and stolen glances rushed to the surface, threatening to unravel your composure. As much as you wanted to surrender, to drown in the fantasy you had nursed for so long, a quiet voice inside pulled you back. You placed a gentle but firm hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. The tension between you crackled, heavy with want, but you pushed him back, just enough to create distance, not rejection.

"Not with the two-year-old were supposed to be watching less than ten feet away." Johnny pulled back with a dramatic groan, his expression pure betrayal. You watched as his eyes had darkened considerably, but they still sparkled as he opened his mouth to throw out another flirty one-liner your way, only to be cut off by a familiar, high-pitched wail echoing from the baby monitor that made both of you freeze.

“Traitor.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the tiny screen like it had done it on purpose. You placed one more chaste kiss to his heated cheek, patting his chest sympathetically, before you were already on your feet, chuckling as you padded toward the hallway. He followed with reluctant steps, grumbling under his breath but unable to stop glancing at you with that soft, besotted look he probably didn’t even realize he was wearing.

Later that night, when Susan and Reed returned to the Baxter Building, they were met with an unfamiliar but very welcome sound: silence. Brows furrowed, Susan kicked off her heels and made a beeline toward Franklin’s room, her mom instincts already stirring. Her heart skipped as she peeked into the dimly lit nursery, only to find the crib empty. “Reed?” Her voice was barely a whisper, nerves creeping up her spine.

“Hold on.” Reed called quietly from down the hall, standing in front of Johnny’s bedroom with the door slightly ajar, light from the hallway spilling just enough to illuminate what was inside. Susan joined him, brows raised in silent question. He merely tilted his head toward the crack in the door. Inside, Franklin lay curled on your chest, tiny hand fisted in your shirt, lips slightly parted in sleep. Your head rested against Johnny’s shoulder, your breathing steady and deep.

Johnny’s arms wrapped around both of you, one across your waist, the other lightly covering Franklin’s back in a protective cocoon. Susan exhaled slowly, something warm blooming in her chest. “Looks like you were right.” Susan’s smile was nothing short of smug as she crossed her arms. “I’m always right.” She quipped, fully planning to tease both of you relentlessly at breakfast. But for now, she simply stood there, soaking in the quiet proof of what she’d suspected all along.

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[je33123]

House Tour!

johnny storm x fem!reader content warnings: fluff, innuendos, implied smut summary: after a night out together, johnny insists on giving you the “official Baxter Building house tour.” wc: 2.9k

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The Baxter Building looked different at night. The glass reflected the city lights in fractured pieces—yellow windows, streaks of neon, the hazy glow of headlights smeared across wet pavement. You followed Johnny through the revolving door, still feeling the buzz of laughter from dinner lingering in your chest. He was a step ahead of you, moving with that restless kind of energy he always carried, like his body couldn’t quite keep up with the pace of his thoughts.

“Big night, huh?” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin that made it impossible not to smile back. His cheeks were flushed from the chill outside, or maybe from the way he’d spent the last half hour trying to make you laugh so hard you’d forget the cab driver’s suspicious side-eye.

You hummed, tugging your jacket closer. “Dinner and a movie. Pretty standard date, Storm.”

“Standard?” He stopped in the middle of the lobby like you’d just committed some kind of crime. The space was quiet—security lights glowing, the front desk empty. It felt like the building belonged only to the two of you, and Johnny seemed very aware of that. He pivoted, spreading his arms in a grand gesture. “You wound me. Standard is, like, diner fries and Netflix. That? That was a five-star experience.”

You raised a brow. “Pretty sure the movie theater popcorn didn’t count as five-star.”

“Bold words from someone who stole half of it.” His eyes sparkled, and then, with the kind of smirk that meant trouble, he tilted his head toward the elevator. “Lucky for you, the night’s not over yet.”

You frowned lightly, though your heart already knew where this was going. “Johnny-”

“Nope. Don’t even try to talk me out of it.” He jabbed the elevator button with dramatic flair. “You’ve been here a million times, but you’ve never gotten the official Baxter Building tour.”

A laugh broke out of you before you could stop it. “The official tour? You’re serious.”

“Deadly.” The elevator dinged open, and he stepped inside like a man about to sell you beachfront property. “This is VIP access, sweetheart. Exclusive, limited-time offer.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the mirrored wall as the doors slid shut. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said easily, flashing you a grin that was equal parts cocky and boyish, “but I’m ridiculously charming. You’ll see. Best house tour you’ve ever had.”

And as the elevator began to climb, you caught yourself wondering, despite every eye roll, every sarcastic quip, what exactly he had planned.

The elevator chimed open, and Johnny strolled out first, sweeping his arm like he was unveiling a kingdom. The lobby stretched out before you, polished floors, sleek furniture, those massive glass windows looking over the city. You’d seen it all before, but tonight, Johnny’s exaggerated showmanship made it feel like something new.

“Welcome,” he announced, pitching his voice lower like he was on a late-night infomercial, “to the world-famous Baxter Building. Historic landmark, home of the Fantastic Four, and-” he winked as you stepped out behind him, “now the site of your private tour.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “Do you give this speech to everyone you bring back here?”

“Please. You’re the only one who gets the deluxe package.” He straightened his shoulders, marching toward the wide-open lounge space like he was ready to start a PowerPoint presentation. “This here is the living room. State-of-the-art couches, perfect for movie marathons, naps, or…other kinds of activities.” His pause was deliberate, the grin that followed shameless.

You rolled your eyes. “Subtle.”

“Hey, I’m nothing if not professional.” He patted the armrest of the couch as if testing its quality. “Ben basically lives here when sports are on. Reed tries to ban chips, which is cruel and unusual punishment. Sue pretends she doesn’t care but always ends up yelling at us for the crumbs.”

You crossed your arms, watching him with an amused tilt to your head. He was ridiculous, but he also looked so proud, like showing you this space mattered.

Johnny turned back to you, sliding his hands into his pockets. “But the couch isn’t the real selling point.” He lowered his voice just enough to make your stomach flip. “The view is.”

It took you a second to realize he wasn’t talking about the skyline glittering beyond the windows. His eyes lingered on you, warm and unguarded for once. And then, just as quickly, he threw the moment away with a lopsided grin, spinning toward the kitchen like he hadn’t just made your heart skip a beat.

“C’mon,” he called over his shoulder. “Next stop on the tour. You’re not ready for this level of luxury.”

The kitchen gleamed like something out of a space movie—sleek counters of brushed steel, cabinets that slid open with a whisper, appliances Reed had either invented or “improved” until they no longer resembled anything sold to the public. A soft glow lit the room from underneath the counters, casting the whole place in a retro-futuristic glow. You half-expected a robot butler to shuffle in and offer hors d’oeuvres.

Johnny, of course, treated it like a stage.

He swept an arm toward the center island. “And here we have the heart of the home, the state-of-the-art, fully-loaded Baxter Building kitchen. Perfect for…late-night snacking, gourmet dining, and” he leaned a little closer, his grin wolfish, “other appetites.”

You smacked his arm lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“Insufferably charming,” he corrected without missing a beat, pulling open the gleaming refrigerator door. Its futuristic hinges gave a little hiss, like a spaceship hatch opening. He peered inside with mock-seriousness. “Behold: the essentials of life itself. One carton of eggs, four half-empty bottles of hot sauce, and…” He picked up a gallon jug and shook it. “…Ben’s protein sludge. Handle with caution. The last person who finished this without permission is buried in Jersey.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“Don’t worry.” He nudged the door shut, his smirk tugging wider. “I stocked up on things you’ll actually like. Ice cream’s in the freezer. And pop-tarts. Only the good flavors. Because I care about you.”

The way he said it was casual, but the glance he shot you wasn’t. Warm. Mischievous. Like he meant every word even while making it sound like a joke.

You tried to smother your smile, shaking your head. “Romantic. Nothing says affection like artificially flavored toaster pastries.”

Johnny leaned a hip against the counter, his tone dipping lower, teasing. “What can I say? I know the way to your heart.”

“Through processed sugar?”

“Through whatever works.” His eyes glinted. “And hey, if the snacks don’t do it, I’ve got…” He motioned toward himself with both hands, flashing that self-satisfied grin that could drive anyone insane. “…all this.”

You laughed despite yourself, tossing a balled-up napkin from the counter at him. It bounced off his chest, but he caught it before it hit the ground and gave you a mock bow.

“See?” he said, straightening. “Top-tier service. This tour has everything.”

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, the combination of his ridiculous commentary and the Baxter’s strange, space-age polish made it impossible not to enjoy every second.

The hallway stretched out in a perfect line, walls gleaming white with chrome trim, the overhead lights glowing a little too bright—like stepping into a spaceship that had been frozen in the sixties. Each door was identical: seamless, panel-sliding, and unmarked except for a faint number Reed probably thought was efficient.

Johnny, of course, turned it into theater.

He strolled ahead of you with his hands in his pockets, slowing at the first door on the left. He tapped it twice, then leaned in like a conspirator. “Behind this door lies the lair of one Benjamin Grimm. Tread carefully—his natural habitat involves loud snoring, Mets reruns, and lectures about responsibility.”

You raised a brow. “Sounds cozy.”

“Oh, absolutely. Very cozy. Five stars, if you’re into unsolicited advice.” He straightened, moving a few paces down, his tone lowering to a whisper like you were in on something top secret.

The next door. He pressed a finger to his lips. “This one’s Sue’s and Reed's. Nothing too special about it."

“You know, she's probably the only reasonable one in this building.”

“Hey.” He glanced back, mock-offended. “I’ll have you know I’m very reasonable.”

“You’re giving me a house tour at midnight.”

“Exactly,” he said, grin tugging crooked. “That’s prime real estate timing.”

He led you a few more steps, stopping at another door. “And this-” he tapped the panel “is Reed’s personal library. Or maybe one of them. He’s got, like, seven. Don’t ask me why.” He paused, smirk tugging higher. “I think he just keeps building more shelves so he doesn’t have to throw anything away. Which is…tragic, considering none of the books have pictures.”

You laughed softly, the sound carrying down the glossy corridor. The hallway was cold and clinical, but with Johnny narrating every step, it felt warmer somehow—less like a spaceship and more like a place lived in.

Finally, he stopped before the last door at the end of the hall. He didn’t speak right away this time, just stood there with his hand resting on the panel. When he finally looked at you, his grin had softened.

“And this,” he said quietly, “is the most important stop on the tour.”

You tilted your head. “Why’s that?”

He hesitated, his expression flickering between cocky and sincere, as if he hadn’t quite decided which mask to wear. Then he smirked again, but the edges of it were gentler.

“Because it’s mine,” he said, pushing the panel open with a flourish.

The door slid open with a faint hiss, revealing a room that could have been cut from the same design manual as the rest of the Baxter Building. The walls curved in smooth white panels, interrupted by gleaming strips of chrome. Built-in shelves glowed with soft backlighting, holding neatly folded clothes and a few scattered keepsakes. A low bed sat against one wall, sheets the same sharp gray as the floor, perfectly fitted—though you suspected Sue had something to do with that.

It wasn’t cluttered. Not exactly messy, either. Just…Johnny. A jacket tossed across the chair, sneakers kicked half under the bed, a retro lava lamp in the corner casting a lazy orange glow against all the futuristic polish. It felt oddly personal in a building that sometimes looked too perfect to be lived in.

Johnny swept inside first, arms spread wide. “And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the crown jewel. The pièce de résistance. My humble abode.” He paused for dramatic effect, then added with a wicked grin, “Where all the magic happens.”

You arched a brow. “That’s subtle.”

“Subtlety is overrated.” He leaned against the doorframe as you stepped in. “Besides, this place has…a lot of potential.” His gaze swept deliberately across the bed before flicking back to you.

You shook your head, fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to resist,” he shot back immediately, the grin widening when you groaned. He pushed off the wall, strolling toward you like he had all the time in the world. “C’mon, admit it. This is the best stop on the tour.”

You let your eyes wander around again. “I don’t know. The kitchen had pop-tarts.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “Pop-tarts over me? Harsh.” Then, dropping his voice, he added, “Though for the record, I promise I’m sweeter.”

Your cheeks warmed, and he noticed, of course he did. That cocky smile softened just a little as he closed the distance between you. “And anyway,” he murmured, tipping his head closer, “the décor isn’t the selling point.”

“Oh yeah? What is?”

Johnny’s grin curved slow, his eyes catching the glow of the lava lamp. “The company. Room’s got excellent lighting, plenty of space, and…” He leaned in just enough to make your breath catch. “…the perfect spot to keep my favorite thing in the whole building.”

Your voice came out quiet. “Which is?”

“You,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

The air between you tightened, all the teasing layered with something warmer. For a moment, it felt like he might actually leave it there. But then his grin flicked back, crooked and dangerous. He gestured to the bed with a flourish.

“So,” he said, slipping back into tour-guide mode, “want me to break down the square footage on this beauty? Or should I skip ahead to the part of the tour labeled…‘hands-on demonstration’?”

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head at his ridiculous delivery. “You’re unbelievable.”

Johnny stepped closer, close enough that the heat of him seemed to soak into the sleek, sterile air of the room. He tilted his chin down, his grin equal parts trouble and affection. “Unbelievably good at tours? Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Before you could fire back, he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that was softer than his words, almost tentative—like he wanted to prove that under all the jokes, he could mean something too. You melted against him despite yourself, one hand sliding to his chest where his heart thudded quick beneath the fabric.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath warm, eyes dancing. “See? Complimentary bonus feature. You won’t find that in the brochure.”

You huffed out a laugh, your lips still tingling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.” He kissed you again, deeper this time, pulling you closer until your back nearly brushed the smooth wall. The chrome and glass made the space feel cold, futuristic, but Johnny was all warmth, grounding you in the moment.

He broke the kiss just enough to murmur against your mouth, “I should warn you… the afterparty gets rave reviews.”

“Really?” you whispered, playing along, your fingers twisting into the hem of his shirt.

“Oh yeah.” His hands slid to your waist, thumbs brushing under the edge of your jacket. “Five stars. Very…interactive.”

You laughed against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, kissing you until your knees felt weak. He walked you backward with easy confidence, guiding you toward the bed with a mix of playfulness and something hungrier underneath.

When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, Johnny grinned down at you, smug but tender, like he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be here with you. “End of the tour,” he said softly, pushing you down onto the sheets. “Now comes the real highlight.”

He crawled over you, pressing another kiss to your lips, this one lingering, unhurried. His hand slipped up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with a gentleness that undercut every sharp innuendo he’d thrown at you tonight.

“And what’s that?” you teased, your voice barely steady.

Johnny’s grin curved against your skin as he pressed a kiss beneath your ear. “You,” he murmured. “Always you.”

The laughter you’d carried with you since dinner blurred into something breathless, the banter dissolving into touches, into warmth, into the promise of something more. The Baxter Building felt galaxies away from its pristine polish, the world shrinking until it was just him, just you, and the glow of a lava lamp bubbling lazily in the corner.

The mattress dipped beneath your weight as Johnny leaned over you, his grin flickering between smug and something a little softer. He braced one hand beside your head, the other trailing from your jaw down to your shoulder, fingertips teasing over fabric like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“You know,” he said, voice pitched low, “tours usually end with a goodie bag.”

You gave him a look, breathless but amused. “And what exactly do you think you’re giving me?”

His grin sharpened. “A once-in-a-lifetime experience.” He kissed you before you could roll your eyes, swallowing the sound of your laugh.

The kiss deepened fast, all heat and reckless urgency, his body pressed against yours like he couldn’t get close enough. He broke away only to drag his lips along your jaw, down the line of your throat, the scrape of his teeth making your breath catch.

“Johnny-”

“Mm?” His mouth curved against your skin, lazy and dangerous. “Part of the package, babe. Gotta hit every stop on the tour.”

You shoved at his shoulder lightly, though your pulse betrayed you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re into it.” He caught your wrist before you could pull away, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm. His eyes flicked up to yours, mischievous and dark all at once. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

His hands slid lower, skimming over your waist, tugging you closer until your hips aligned with his. The polished chrome walls seemed to fade away, the whole building reduced to this one point of contact, the heat pooling between you.

Johnny kissed you again, hungrier this time, until your head tipped back against the sheets and his laugh rumbled low in his chest. “See? Best tour ever.”

You tried to speak, but his mouth was back on yours before you could get the words out, his fingers brushing the hem of your shirt with the kind of deliberate slowness that made your skin buzz. He murmured against your lips, “Guess it’s a good thing my room’s soundproof.”

That earned him another laugh, cut off by the heat of his kiss, the world tilting with the reckless, fiery way Johnny Storm always burned.

And just like that, the tour slipped past innuendo into something you both already knew would last long after the lava lamp’s glow dimmed.

[je33123]

𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 • 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬 • 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 • 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐔’𝐬

✿ new— Erik x f!reader, Ray x f!reader, sam x f!reader

— 𝐑𝐚𝐲 ♡

𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 your last night with your boyfriend Ray

𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐘 Ray is about to feel a whole lot closer to home

𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 Ray is about to feel a whole lot closer to home again

𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄 horny calls with Ray

𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 Ray knows exactly how to take care of his girl

𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 I hope nobody catch us but I kinda hope they catch us. sneaky sex with Ray

𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 munch!Ray who loves eating pussy

𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 Tommy and Ray’s turn with barracks bunny!reader

𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 & 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 you and Ray can’t be left alone.

𝟔 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 a breakup with no apology, and no forgiveness just good sex

— 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲

𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 Ray wouldn’t mind Tommy using those sweet pictures you send him would he?

𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐘 well for one, her heart belongs to another and no other heart will do. Tommy meeting you for the 1st time

𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 the only place your not Ray’s is in Tommy’s dreams

𝐁𝐀𝐆𝐒 you looked back at me once but I looked back two times. leaving Tommy love struck

𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 Tommy with barracks bunny!reader

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 wanna show you how much you got your girl feeling good. video call sex with Tommy

𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 Tommy and Ray’s turn with barracks bunny!reader

𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 Tommy shows you just how strong he is

— 𝐒𝐚𝐦

“𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲” Elliott, Sam & Erik filling up barracks bunny!reader

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞 waking up horny and needy with Sam right next to you

𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 I know if I’m onto you, you must be onto me. a small joke turns into you laid over his lap.

𝐭𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐨 helping Sam adjust mentally and physically

𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 sucking Sam’s dick for the first time

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 lazy morning sex with sam

— 𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤

“𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲” Elliott, Sam & Erik filling up barracks bunny!reader

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 Erik and his growing feelings for barracks bunny!reader

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 Erik coming to his sweet emotional wife

𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 welcome home sex with Erik

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 older!boyfriend Erik meeting your parents for the first time

𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐲 the monster’s gone, he’s on the run and dad!Erik is here

𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 Erik struggling with his feelings for barracks bunny!reader

— 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭

“𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲” Elliott, Sam & Erik filling up barracks bunny!reader

𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚 tonight I’ll ease your mind, that’s why i’m calling on you. video call sex with Elliott

𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎 Elliott shaving off the mustache you love so much, but he makes it up to you.

𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐚 vas a sufrir, vas a llorar cuando te acuerdes paloma ajena, ahora te marchas y me dejas con mi pena

𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day. an argument with Elliott leads to you bent over

𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 they say I’m too young to love you. I don’t know what I need. they think I don’t understand

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 handyman!Elliott

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[je33123]

𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ warfare ⋮ Tommy x f!reader ⋮ suggestive/fluff ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐬… 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

choking, biting, shoutout to kit’s biceps!

you loved his arms. not just liked, you loved them.

you both stood under the bedroom doorway, the soft glow from the hallway light hitting his bare shoulders just right. he was fresh out of the shower, damp hair, towel low on his hips, and the white tee he’d just thrown on clung to his chest.

“Tommy show me” you whined again, lips in a pout, fingers curling around his upper arm

“I don’t have anything baby” he chuckled, looking down at you with that crooked grin

“Yes you do” you said firmly, squeezing his bicep through the thin cotton of his shirt “cmon just flex, for me.”

he rolled his eyes playfully, tilting his head, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile

“I know you love it when I touch your arms.” you said softly

he didn’t say anything for a second, but the look in his eyes gave him away

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he teased, lifting his arm like he was just stretching

but the moment his bicep popped under the fabric, your hands immediately reached for him, stroking over the muscle, thumbs pressing in gently. admiring him

Tommy looked down at you, amused. “you seriously like these that much?”

you looked up at him from where your cheek had naturally found his bicep again “I love them.”

that shut him up. his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hand settling gently on your waist, the other brushing your hair back

“I knew you liked ’em” he muttered, coy now, even though his chest puffed out a bit. “every time I opened a jar or carried you around, you got that look in your eyes.”

“what look?” you asked innocently, kissing his bicep now

he looked down at you, you knew what he was talking about and he wasn’t about to explain it. he grinned wide instead, arms wrapping around you, his biceps flexing again naturally as he pulled you close

“Maybe I’ll carry you to bed right now” he said softly, tilting his head down, lips brushing your hair “If that’s what you want.”

you peeked up at him, “Please Tommy” you begged again, voice sweet and a little breathy ignoring what he just said as you looked up at him with those eyes, that look he was talking about, your hands were already on his arm again, fingers wrapping around the muscle like it was your favorite thing in the world

he tilted his head, doing his best to keep a straight face. “I’m telling you” he said “I don’t have anything.”

“Yes you do” you insisted “Just like this” you lifted your own arm, elbow bent tight, pretending to flex

Tommy chuckled under his breath, trying to hold it in as he watched you. “Like that?” he repeated, raising his arm the same way but doing the bare minimum, no effort, no tension. just an arm bent at the elbow

“Tommy” you huffed, hands flying to his arm again. “You’re lying. I know you have something.” you squeezed the meat of his bicep through his shirt, your brows knitting. “I’ve seen it before”

he gave a casual shrug, the muscles in his shoulder rolling slightly under your touch, like he was trying to play it off

“You must’ve saw wrong” he muttered, his voice low and teasing

you groaned and leaned your forehead against his arm. “You are so annoying.”

he laughed now, unable to help it, and you felt the warmth of it in his chest as he shifted closer. his voice dropped a little “You really like ’em that much?”

you didn’t even hesitate. “I do”

he sucked in a soft breath, a grin pulling at his lips. he looked away for a second like he was fighting a smirk, but you saw the way his jaw flexed a little, like he was trying to stay humble

Tommy never liked showing off. not at the gym, not with his friends, not even when you used to joke about it. but you? you were the one person he liked being strong for, being big for.

you looked back up at him, your finger gently dragging along the curve of his bicep under the thin cotton. “You don’t even have to try” you murmured

that did something to him.

“Come here” Tommy murmured softly. fingers slipping around your waist, firm but tender, pulling you in closer until your hips brushed his. his other hand came up slow, knuckles grazing your jaw before his palm flattened against your neck. the pad of his thumb drew soft circles just under your ear, and then his grip firmed.

you barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on yours. his bicep bulged against the side of your arm as he flexed for you, purposely, unashamed, and the pressure of his fingers on your throat tightened, not choking, just making you feel it

“Mmmph” you gasped softly into his mouth, his bicep twitching beneath your fingertips as your hand rose without thinking, fingers tracing the slope of muscle. your palm spread wider, testing it. you could feel every inch of his flex, thick and hard under your touch, and the way he kissed you, your lips parted with a low whimper, his hand never leaving your throat, not even as his mouth pulled back

“Feel it” he said again, breathless this time, watching your eyes as they took him in

your thumb swept slow over the curve of his arm. “Fuck…” you whispered, not even trying to hide the way your hips rolled a little against his just from the contact. your other hand clung to his shirt. his lips were parted, pupils blown, but he wasn’t saying anything, just watching you

“Do that again Tommy” you said, and it came out faster than you meant it to, eager, breathless, a little too honest. “Please.”

he blinked like you’d slapped him “you… liked that?”

you nodded, lips twitching into a smile you tried to hold back. but it didn’t matter he saw it, and that hand on your neck eased just a little, the pressure lightening, but he didn’t let go

“Okay” he said, quieter now, still a little stunned “Okay.”

but then his fingers tightened again, like he was learning what you liked by feel alone. his bicep tensed again under your hand, and this time you didn’t ask permission, you gripped it, the meat of his arm thick under your fingers. that moan slipped out before you could bite it back “Tommy…”

his whole body responded. he leaned in close, forehead brushing yours, chest rising against yours as if he was trying to hold himself back “shit baby, you’re really into this, huh?”

you nodded, breath hot against his jaw

“Turn around, baby” he said quietly. you obeyed without hesitation, back brushing up against his chest, warm and firm behind you. the rough drag of his towel barely separated your ass from the thick bulge of his cock growing underneath. you gave an experimental grind, slow, teasing, just enough to make him groan under his breath and curl his fingers tight around your waist

“That’s it” he murmured, pulling you in harder, pressing you back into him. his grip held you firmly. but it was his other arm that moved next, snaking around from behind, slowly until it locked across your neck, forearm rising, your chin rested neatly into the crook of his elbow. the hold was tender almost, but then he flexed

not all at once. it started soft, his forearm tightening gradually, his bicep swelling against your cheek, your jaw, your throat. that arm, drawing you back into him, holding you there like his own personal prize. and you moaned soft and breathy, because the weight, the pressure wrapping around your neck did something to you.

“Unnnh Tommy” breath barely made it out, muffled as your lips brushed the crook of his arm. his scent hit you, warm skin and soap from the shower. that muscle flexed again, harder this time, and your body reacted to it, hips rocking back, searching for friction, craving that bulge pressed up against you

your mouth opened before you realized it, tongue darting out to lick a slow, stripe over the thick swell of his bicep. his skin twitched under your mouth, and when you nipped soft, teasing, teeth grazing the flesh just enough to leave a sting, you felt him jerk slightly behind you

“Ah fuck” his voice broke into a groan, deep and ragged “you just bit me, baby?”

you hummed in response, lips still pressed to his arm, the sound muffled completely by him as his bicep swelled again, this time like a reward. you couldn’t help it, you bit down again, just a little firmer, and this time he grunted

“My sweet girl likes getting choked, huh?” he breathed against your ear, breath warm down your neck. his words were possessive, loving, and proud.

you nodded, desperate and breathless, another “mhmm” barely escaping as your lips dragged over the rise of his bicep. he was flexing it just for you now, holding it there and all you could do was keep mouthing at it, licking, panting, whimpering, your cheek glued to that thick ridge of muscle as the pressure stayed right on the edge of overwhelming

his hips rolled forward slow, and now the shape of his cock dragged perfectly up your ass, just barely separated by the towel. you gasped again, body jerking in his hold, but there was nowhere to go, his arm stayed locked tight, his bicep pressed over your mouth and neck

“You like that, huh? like how strong I am. like when I hold you like this…” his voice right behind your ear, and his hand on your waist moved up, inch by inch, until it was spread across your ribs, pulling you tighter still

you were shaking now, turned on and needy, mouth still dragging over his flexed bicep, your breath catching every time he squeezed a little tighter. the more you reacted, the harder he flexed, wrapping perfectly around your throat like it belonged there

“I got you” he whispered, lips brushing your hair. “Don’t worry, you can finish just like this, huh?”

and you could, you were already halfway there.

he held you like that, firm behind you, his grip not loosening for a second. his forearm locked snug around your throat, bicep flexed against your cheek, pulsing under your lips every time he squeezed just a little more. his chest pressed into your back with every inhale, while the thick bulge under the towel twitched against your ass. and you kept grinding, slow and filthy, back arching to rub up against him

his voice never stopped

“Yeah, that’s it baby… grind on me, just like that…” he murmured, his free hand sliding down your ribs again, settling right above your hip to hold you steady as you rocked against him. “Fuck.”

you whimpered something muffled, lips still parted against the swell of his bicep, your breath warm and ragged

“You like being held like this? Hm?” he murmured, tightening his chokehold just enough “Like being locked in my arms, like you belong there?”

you moaned, long and soft, and your hands reached up, one gripping his forearm, the other pawing blindly at his thigh behind you for balance. his cock twitched against your ass, and you arched harder into him

“you’re so worked up” he whispered, laughing a little now “Look at you squirming just from my arm around your neck.”

your lips brushed against his bicep again and you let your tongue dart out for another slow lick, earning a sharp groan from his chest. you mouthed the swell of it, breathing in deep

“I knew you loved my biceps” he said, and you felt him grin against your temple “but not this much.”

“Mmmhmm” you gasped, muffled by the muscle flexing against your mouth again as he adjusted the angle just slightly, his arm drawing tighter, enough to make your breath catch in your throat. the pressure as perfect, not painful, just dizzying

“You’re so wet for this, aren’t you?” he breathed. “you like being choked by my arms. like being held tight, like knowing I’m strong enough to keep you right here, pressed up against me”

you nodded frantically, unable to form a word, hips rolling harder, chasing more of that pressure against your ass. his fingers dug into your side, holding you while his arm around your neck never let up, bicep still flexed hard against your jaw

“and these arms? they’re yours. you want me to flex while I fuck you?” he grunted, breath catching in his throat

you let out a strangled moan, your body already trembling from the pleasure, the grinding, the filthy words pouring into your ear

“I’ll do it, baby” he whispered, shifting his weight just enough to rock his hips into you harder, cock pressing into you through the towel. “I’ll choke you with these arms and flex the whole time. you want that?”

your breath hitched, one word barely escaping your lips “Yes”

“Say it” he demanded, “say you love them.”

“I love them” you gasped out, voice half strangled and shaking “I love your biceps Tommy, I love the way you hold me, I fuck- I get off to this, I need this.”

his cock jerked hard against your ass, and you felt his body tighten, the arm choking you clenching just a little harder before easing off again

“you’re so good” he breathed, lips against your hair now “just my girl’s toy, hm?”

you whimpered again, too turned on to speak, your body shaking against his as the pressure built up. his bicep against your neck, his cock against your ass, and his voice in your ear, giving you everything you needed without asking.

little bit of self indulgence bc i bite my mans biceps 😩😒

@gaebestie @roostersluvvr @babble28 @livelaughl0ve3 @bradleybeachbabe @sharpayslilo @iron-rot @irrelevantsnowy @joelmeller @willowpains @k-pevensie28 @violetcamryn @luna-sungirl @nerdgirlbutinpink @f4nfic-lover @k-ilisi @https-junebug @glassbxttless @gallaghrh @samslvrgirl @vinecstasy @illyrianbrat @pr3ttygrlz

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[je33123]

reserved seating

pairing: johnny storm x female reader

synopsis: dinner was supposed to be quiet… until y/n proved she’s scarier than ben when it comes to protecting her man.

You should’ve known better than to believe Johnny when he promised you a “quiet” night out. “Babe, it’s just me, you, the team, and Ben’s appetite,” he’d said that afternoon. “No chaos.”

Which sounded nice in theory. In practice? You were twelve minutes into dinner at a rooftop restaurant before the chaos started.

The six of you had taken over a long table — Reed and Sue across from each other, Ben posted up at the head like he owned the place, Franklin happily plugged into his tablet beside Sue, and Johnny with his arm draped over the back of your chair, thumb tracing lazy circles into your shoulder.

It was peaceful. You’d just ordered drinks when the first “fan” appeared — a bubbly girl in glitter eyeliner, squealing about the Human Torch and asking for a selfie. Johnny smiled politely, posed, and she left. No problem.

Then came the second one — an older woman, maybe a little tipsy, telling Johnny he was “even hotter in person — no pun intended.” Johnny laughed awkwardly, said thanks, and you went back to sipping your drink.

Ben leaned toward you with a grin. “You alright there, kid?”

“I’m fine,” you said, smiling. And you meant it.

But then the third pair came — two girls pretending to “accidentally” bump into Johnny’s chair, giggling as they apologized. Sue caught the way your jaw twitched and smirked into her wine like she’d been waiting for the show to start.

By the time a fourth girl strolled up, skipping right past you to touch Johnny’s arm and wink about how warm he must keep his girlfriends, Ben was in full instigator mode.

“You’re gonna let her get away with that?” he muttered, eyes sparkling.

“Ben…” you warned.

“I’m just sayin’,” he whispered. “Couple more like that and you’re gonna pop.”

“I’m not gonna pop,” you muttered, stabbing at your salad.

And then it happened — the final straw.

A girl you’d never seen before walked right up, slid into the empty chair beside Johnny like she owned it, and leaned forward with a too-sweet smile. “So… you single? Or just pretending to be taken?”

Your drink hit the table with a deliberate clink. You turned toward her, voice calm, smile perfectly polite.

“Quick question, gorgeous,” you said. “Do you see that man’s arm around me?”

She blinked. “…Yeah?”

“Great. Then you already know whose seat you’re in, and why you should probably get out of it before I forget how patient I’ve been tonight.”

Ben’s laugh exploded out of him so loud the next table looked over. “Ohhh, this is beautiful.”

The girl stammered something about being a fan, but you didn’t drop the smile. “I’m sure you are. But I’m an even bigger fan of personal space. And right now, you’re in mine.”

She got up, muttering under her breath, and disappeared into the crowd.

Sue was grinning into her glass. “And that is why I love Y/N.”

Johnny, on the other hand, looked like you’d just set the city skyline on fire for him. “You know you just made my entire month, right?”

Ben raised his beer. “To Y/N — my new favorite person on the planet.”

Franklin peeked up from his tablet with wide eyes. “Auntie Y/N’s like… a superhero without powers.”

You softened instantly, patting his head. “That’s exactly right, buddy.”

Johnny leaned closer, his voice low and teasing. “You know I’m completely obsessed with you, right?”

“Good,” you murmured, spearing another bite of salad. “Now remember that next time you promise me a quiet dinner.”

Dinner carried on without interruption after that — mostly because anyone else who’d thought about approaching Johnny now looked too scared to try. Ben was still chuckling to himself every few minutes. Sue looked smug, Reed looked relieved, and Johnny kept giving you these sidelong glances like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or propose right there at the table.

By the time you all piled into the elevator back at the Baxter Building, Johnny had lasted exactly thirty seconds before he was turning toward you, backing you gently into the wall.

“You know,” he murmured, bracing one hand beside your head, “the way you looked at her when you told her to get up? Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide your smirk. “Johnny—”

“No, I’m serious.” His other hand slid to your hip, thumb brushing your waist. “Ben’s in love with you now. I’m definitely in love with you. You basically shut down my entire fan club in under ten words.”

“That’s nice,” you said, smirking. “Means Ben can babysit you next time.”

Johnny laughed, leaning in so his lips hovered just over yours. “Not a chance. You’re stuck with me. And I’m stuck with my favorite security system.”

The elevator dinged open — revealing Ben, holding the leftover takeout bag.

“You two done makin’ googly eyes? ’Cause I’m starvin’.”

Johnny just grinned, grabbed your hand, and pulled you out. “Never done, Ben. Never done.”

And if his arm stayed wrapped a little tighter around you the rest of the night, well — no one at the table dared to comment.

The next morning Johnny wandered into the kitchen to find Ben already halfway through a mountain of pancakes. “Morning, big guy.”

Ben didn’t even look up. “Mornin’, hotshot. How’s it feel knowin’ your girl’s scarier than me?”

Johnny smirked, grabbing a mug for coffee. “Scarier? Nah. Just more efficient.”

Ben pointed his fork at him. “Kid, she stared that girl down like she was about to turn her into rubble. I’ve never seen someone move that fast out of a chair. Not even when Reed says ‘free doughnuts in the lab.’”

Johnny chuckled. “What can I say? She’s protective.”

“Protective?” Ben scoffed. “She’s a force of nature. I’m startin’ to think she should be on the team.”

From the doorway, your voice drifted in, amused. “Only if the uniform’s cuter.”

Both men turned. You walked in, stealing one of Ben’s pancakes straight off his plate.

Johnny grinned at you over his coffee mug. “See? Efficient.”

Ben shook his head, chuckling. “You’re somethin’ else, kid. If Torch ever screws this up, I’ll replace him.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Johnny said, leaning over to kiss your temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smirked, taking a bite of stolen pancake. “Good. ’Cause I’d hate to have to scare you next.”

Tiny footsteps padded in from the hallway. Franklin peeked around the corner, eyes wide. “I knew it!”

All three of you looked at him. “Knew what, buddy?” you asked.

“That you’re a superhero,” he said proudly, bouncing on his toes. “I told Mom last night — Auntie Y/N’s like a superhero without powers. And Uncle Johnny’s your sidekick.”

Ben burst out laughing. “Oh, I’m keepin’ that one forever.”

Johnny groaned, muttering into his coffee, “Great. I’m never living this down.”

Franklin grinned wider. “I’m telling Mom you’re still her favorite. But Auntie Y/N’s cooler.”

From down the hall, Sue’s voice rang out. “Franklin’s right!”

You bit back a laugh, resting your head on Johnny’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, sidekick. I’ll protect you.”

Ben nearly choked on his pancakes. Johnny just sighed, but you could feel the smile he was trying to hide against your hair.

Sue found Johnny in the garage, tinkering with his bike and humming to himself.

“You look smug,” she said, leaning against the doorway.

Johnny didn’t look up. “Do I?”

“Please. You’ve been walking around all day like you won the lottery.”

He grinned to himself. “Maybe I did.”

Sue smirked. “Let me guess — because Y/N verbally drop-kicked a stranger for you?”

“Exactly,” Johnny said, finally looking up. “And you loved it too, admit it.”

Sue crossed her arms, pretending to think. “I mean… it was satisfying.”

“See?” Johnny’s grin widened. “Best night ever.”

She shook her head, laughing as she walked away. “You’re impossible. No wonder she has to scare off the competition.”

Johnny called after her, still smirking. “Hey, can you blame ‘em?”

[je33123]

late night talking | Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: sex with Joe is awesome, is something from another world, but what's even better is to be wrapped around his arms while spilling both your hearts out

wc: 2.8k

warning: smutyish, fluff, deep conversations, mentions of parental relationships and heartbreaks, basically pillow talk

a/n: i love writing soft Joe, is probably one of my fave things to do among messy Joe and dirty boy... i can't help it, sorry. But this is pretty much soft Joe being vulnerable and honest. Remember this is not a series, but if you wanna read more of this Joe, you can find it here.

oh, sorry if there are typos but did a really quick proofread

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

The sheets were kicked down to your feet, tangled in your ankles like they’d tried to hang on for dear life but gave up somewhere around your second orgasm. His thigh rested between yours, one of his hands sprawled low on your belly — not doing anything, just being there, heavy and warm and claiming you in the quietest way.

Joe's lips brushed your hairline. You could still feel the echo of him inside you, like your body hadn’t quite figured out where he ended and you began again.

You let out a small, dazed laugh "That was…"

“Yeah,” he murmured, grinning, his voice all rough-edged velvet. “That was.”

Silence swelled, not awkward — never awkward — but thick with intimacy. And something else too. That pull. Curiosity. Like being next to someone you’re still slowly, thrillingly peeling open, layer by layer.

You shifted slightly, resting your chin on his chest, gazing up at him through lazy, post-bliss lashes.

“Can I ask you something?”

His hand started tracing slow circles on your skin. “Anything.

 “What’s the… weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?”

He raised an eyebrow, mouth twitching with amusement. “You first.”

You grinned. “Coward.”

“Nope. Strategist. I want to know what I’m up against.”

You bit your lip, feigning innocence, then said, “Okay. I once gave a guy a blowjob in the back of a moving taxi.”

Joe barked out a laugh, head dropping back against the pillow. “Jesus Christ. That’s your opener?”

 “You told me I could ask anything!”

“I thought we’d be talking about, like… fantasies. Not your greatest hits.”

You shrugged, smirking. “Same thing, really.”

He looked at you, eyes gone soft and gleaming. “You’re full of surprises.”

“So are you,” you said, letting your fingers graze over the light dusting of hair on his chest. “Like the way you pulled my legs over your shoulders earlier. Didn’t see that one coming.”

He gave a smug little shrug, trying to play it off, but the flush climbing up his neck gave him away. “You were making the softest noises,” he murmured. “Couldn’t not.”

His fingers had gone still on your skin now, just resting. You could feel the shape of him against your hip, not hard anymore but present, like even his body hadn’t fully come down yet. You were still floating, both of you, tethered only by the warmth between your chests and the occasional bump of a knee.

Joe hummed thoughtfully.

“You know what still surprises me?” he said, voice drowsy but amused.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He looked down at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The noises you make when you come.”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “Oh?”

“They’re…” He shifted slightly, as if trying to find the right word. “They’re not loud. Not exactly. More like…” He paused. “You whimper.”

Your mouth fell open in mock indignation. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said, grinning like he’d just uncovered some great hidden treasure. “It’s this… soft, desperate little sound. Like I’m ruining you in the best possible way.”

You let out a helpless laugh, burying your face in his chest. “Stop.”

“Why? I love it.”

You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes, playful but with that ache blooming in your chest — the one that always came when he said something that made you feel seen in that heart-flaying way.

“Well,” you said slowly, “you get all serious. That’s your thing. You go from sweet to, like… possessed.”

He huffed a laugh. “Possessed?”

“Yeah. Like you’re not even in the room anymore. You’re just—lost in it. In me.”

The smirk faded off his face then, just a little, softening into something tender, something reverent.

“I am,” he said. “Lost in you.”

Silence hung there, golden and weighted.

You ran your fingers down his arm, watching them move like you were writing something only he could read. “That’s kind of the magic of it, isn’t it?” you whispered. “All the stuff we can’t hide in those moments. No filter. No charm. Just—pure.”

He nodded, eyes still fixed on you like you’d cracked something open in him. “It’s the realest version of you I’ve ever seen. And I get to be the one who brings it out.”

Your throat tightened, affection swelling in your chest like a tide coming in fast.

“You do,” you said softly. “You really do.”

There was another quiet moment. He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles dragging slow across your cheekbone.

“And you know,” you added, tone light again, “you really don’t have to look so proud when I’m falling apart under you.”

Joe grinned, biting his bottom lip like he was trying to keep the smug in check. “Sorry. Can’t help it. It’s like watching the sun explode.”

You snorted. “What does that even mean?”

“You’re incandescent. And you look at me like I’m the reason.”

You blinked, heart flipping over like a startled bird.

“…Fuck,” you whispered.

He smiled. “Yeah. Fuck.”

You were both quiet again for a minute, but it wasn’t empty. It was full. That kind of silence you only earn with sweat and skin and unguarded laughter.

Joe’s thumb had started stroking your cheekbone absentmindedly, his eyes roaming your face like he was still learning it, like it was a map that kept shifting every time he thought he’d memorized it.

“Honey.”

He said it suddenly, barely a whisper. Like it had slipped out of his mouth before he could think twice.

You blinked up at him, grinning. “What?”

“You called me that. Earlier. You didn’t even realize, did you?”

You frowned, playful. “Did I?”

Joe nodded, eyes gleaming. “Right when I was about to go down on you the second time. You said, ‘Please, honey, please.’ And then you—well. You know what happened after.”

You laughed, half-embarrassed, half-floating again just from hearing him say it like that. “I honestly blacked out for a bit.”

“You were gone,” he agreed, smiling softly. “But that word… it wrecked me.”

You brushed your knuckles along his jaw, still learning the terrain of him. “Why?”

He shrugged, but not casually. Nothing about him felt casual right now. “Because it was soft. And real. Like it came from a place that didn’t have walls.”

You swallowed around the sudden tightness in your throat.

“I think I say things I don’t mean out there,” you murmured, eyes flicking toward the window, toward the world beyond the room. “But in here? With you? It’s all just… true.”

He pulled you in closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I notice things too,” you said. “Like how you always kiss the inside of my knee after you’ve finished. Every time.”

He laughed into your hair. “Didn’t think you caught that.”

“I did. You do it like it’s a ritual.”

He nodded. “It is. Like a quiet thank-you.”

A silence bloomed again, thick with that aching tenderness.

“You said you had fantasies,” you whispered, voice like velvet soaked in heat. “Tell me one.”

He thought for a beat, then gave a smile that curved just slightly wicked. “Alright. Picture this: you in front of a mirror. Big one. You’re on my lap, facing it, legs spread. I’m behind you. We can see everything. Every twitch, every expression, every time your eyes roll back…”

You felt the spark shoot through your body again. Not lust, not exactly. Something more electric. More intimate.

“God,” you said, voice breathy. “That’s so specific.”

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” he admitted. “Ever since I saw you watching us in the window that first time.”

You flushed. “That was your fault.”

“I liked it,” he said simply. “You should know that. I like when you let yourself feel good. Like, really good. No shame, no filter. Just you… unraveling.”

You touched his face again, palm to cheek, a quiet marvel stirring in your chest. “I’ve never had anyone want to know me like this.”

“I do,” he whispered. “Every version of you.”

And there it was again — that feeling. Like the room had shrunk down to a heartbeat, shared between two people who hadn’t known each other long, but knew enough to start telling the truth.

You’d shifted again, now draped half on top of him, leg thrown over his hip, your fingers idly tracing the freckles on his shoulder like constellations.

He was looking at the ceiling, smiling faintly, eyes dreamy but alert. “Okay,” he said, breaking the silence. “Want to hear something humiliating?”

You grinned immediately. “Absolutely.”

“I lost my virginity in a bunk bed. Top bunk.”

You let out a startled laugh, full and bright. “No. No.”

He nodded solemnly. “And it was summer. We were sweating like animals. There was no rhythm, just this chaotic—collision of limbs.”

You were cackling now, face buried in his chest. “How old were you?”

“Almost sixteen. She was a friend of a friend. We’d both lied and said we weren’t virgins, which made it even worse. We both kept trying to act confident but we were terrified. I think I apologized, like, five times.”

You looked up at him, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. “That’s adorable.”

“Mortifying.”

“No, seriously. It’s kind of perfect. Very… human.”

Joe tilted his head, his smile curling softer now, eyes roaming your face. “What about you? First time?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Also terrible. Senior year. He was this cool high school guy every single girl had a crush on”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. He had a poster of himself above his bed. Shirtless. Playing soccer.”

Joe wheezed. “Was it good at least?”

“Absolutely not. He didn’t even made a sound”

Joe snorted. “What?”

“It was like—everything dead silence, just the awkward squeak of his single bed and his annoying mini YorkShire barking desperately to a closed door. It was a disaster.”

He was full-on laughing now, hand rubbing over his face. “Thank you. I needed that.”

You smiled, letting the air settle again, that kind of warm hush that follows a good laugh. It slipped easily into something quieter. You reached out and hooked your pinky through his.

“Can I ask something a little heavier?” you asked.

He turned his head, met your gaze with no hesitation. “Always.”

“What’s something that scares you? Like… really scares you. Not spiders or heights. But you, inside.”

He was quiet for a while. You let him take his time.

“I think I’m scared that I’m only good at being wanted when it’s all new,” he said finally. “When everything’s thrilling and bright and easy. But then the shine wears off. And I get… hard to keep.”

Your chest ached at that. Not just because he said it, but because of how clearly he believed it.

“Joe…” you murmured.

“I’m working on it,” he added quickly. “I’m trying to believe people could want the quiet parts of me too. The anxious parts. The parts that shut down.”

You cupped his cheek, leaned in so your foreheads touched. “I do. I like the way you shut down, even. You get quiet, and your eyes get sad, and it makes me want to wrap myself around you and hum until the sadness goes somewhere else.”

He breathed out a shaky laugh. “God, you’re dangerous.”

You smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth.

“What about you?” he asked gently. “What are you afraid of?”

You hesitated, then admitted, “That I’m not enough. That no matter how much I try or how much I work… I could have done better. I could’ve done it differently or give more. I… dunno”.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to fix it. Just pulled you into him, tight.

“You’re enough,” he whispered, “every version of you is perfectly right.”

You blinked hard, heart thudding with something deeper than lust. Deeper than even love. It was recognition.

Then, with a small, mischievous smile, he said, “Also… you snore a little when you sleep.”

You gasped, smacked his chest. “You asshole!”

“I think it’s cute!”

“You are never seeing me sleep again.”

“Too late. I’ve already mentally recorded it. It’s part of your charm. Right up there with your sex whimpers and your YorkShire trauma.”

You dissolved into laughter again, and then quiet, and then that middle space where your bodies just fit. And the night stretched on, a quilt of memories and murmurs and the kind of small, enormous truths only shared in the dark.

The laughter faded, leaving only the kind of hush that feels sacred. Your head was resting against his chest again, listening to the slow, steady beat beneath your ear. You traced a lazy circle on his ribs with your fingertip.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, barely above a whisper.

“Of course.”

“What were your parents like? When you were little, I mean.”

You felt his breath hitch just slightly.

“My mum… she was warm. Always touching—my hair, my shoulders, my back. Even when she was angry, she had this way of holding your arm like she didn’t want to let you drift too far.”

“And your dad?”

He was quiet for a long beat. You didn’t push.

“My dad was… quieter. Stern, sometimes. Not cruel, but distant. Like he was always just slightly outside the room, even when he was in it.”

You nodded softly. “I know that feeling.”

He tilted his head down toward you. “What about yours?”

“My mum’s a hurricane. Beautiful, dramatic, loud as hell. Everything’s a performance, and she hates silence. My dad was the opposite. Gentle, quiet, always reading. I think I spent most of my childhood trying to be small enough for her and interesting enough for him.”

His hand moved gently over your back, soothing without saying a word. You continued.

“They’re still together, somehow. Two very different kinds of loneliness orbiting each other.”

Joe exhaled deeply. “That’s a line.”

You shrugged. “It’s true.”

There was another pause, not heavy, just thoughtful.

“What about heartbreak?” you asked. “Like real, ruin-you-for-months heartbreak.”

He groaned softly. “Do we have to?”

“Only if you want.”

He sighed. “Her name was Claire. We were nineteen. She was… everything, and she knew it. She broke up with me through a letter. A letter. Folded into my coat pocket when I left her flat.”

“Joe…”

“I know. Brutal. It wasn’t even mean, just… final. She said, ‘I love you, but I think I need to love myself more right now.’ Which I now realize is fair. But back then? I spiraled. Didn’t eat for days. Just walked around London listening to Bon Iver like a widow.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “You poor baby.”

He turned to you, brushed your hair back. “Your turn.”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “His name was David. He didn’t really love me, maybe I didn’t even love him either but oh God how much I think I did back then”.

Joe’s brows furrowed.

“At first it felt like something simple, easy. We liked each other a lot. But after a while I realized he didn’t really like me, he just loved the idea of me liking him. Like I was this nice little price he owned just because of existing. But I was so stuck with how he made me feel… The day I finally told him I wanted space, he said, ‘Are you sure about it? You probably going to regret it’ That line stuck. Like a nail.”

Joe’s hand tightened slightly around your waist. “What an asshole…”

You smiled, kissed the line of his jaw. “It’s okay. I pulled the nail out myself.”

There was a long, warm silence after that. You both just… breathed. In, out. In, out. Like being human next to someone who knows your ghosts too.

Then, almost shyly, you asked, “Do you remember when you realized you liked me more than you meant to?”

He gave a crooked smile, eyes glinting.

“Oh, yeah. You were wearing that pink jumper. The oversized one. And you were talking about something—I don’t even remember what—but your hands were moving and your face was all lit up and I remember thinking, Fuck. I really like her. Not just flirt with her, not just sleep with her. I wanted the whole bloody map.”

You were quiet for a beat, smile tugging at your mouth. “For me, it was that night we stayed up texting until 4 a.m. I hadn’t laughed like that in years. And then you sent that stupid meme right as I was trying to fall asleep and I just… I remember hugging my pillow like an idiot and thinking, Oh no. This guy might break my heart if he wanted to”.

Joe looked at you like he was still trying to memorize every version of you — the laughing one, the brave one, the one who pulled the nail out on her own.

After a long moment, he grinned. “Kind of wild how we both survived our tragic love stories just to end up here. Emotionally stable, naked, and definitely over-sharing.”

You laughed, nose wrinkling. “Speak for yourself. I plan to dramatically overthink this entire conversation for the next three days.”

“Ah, brilliant,” he said, eyes dancing. “I'll bring snacks for the spiral.”

You shoved him gently, but he caught your hand mid-air and kissed your knuckles with theatrical tenderness. “For what it's worth,” he added, quieter now, “I like this version of us better. The one where we know better. Love better.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his in a kiss that tasted like safety. “Me too.”

He pulled you in again, limbs tangling with yours like a favorite blanket, and somewhere between your laughter and the hush that followed, you both fell asleep — hearts unguarded, dreams stitched with light.

[je33123]

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ warfare ⋮ Sam x f!reader ⋮ pure smut ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬’ 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝

you didn’t know exactly what had brought it on. maybe it had been a dream you couldn’t quite remember, or maybe it was him. Sam.

he lay close. one arm folded over his stomach, the other tucked low, the sheet pulled over his hips and legs. boxers. only boxers. and even those clung low on his waist

your gaze looked over him. his soft buzzed hair, the line of his throat, the smooth slope of his shoulder and down to his stomach, his chest rose and fell, mouth slightly open. he was sleeping so peacefully

you bit your lip, shifting your hips with the smallest movement, feeling the wetness slick between your thighs

your fingers hovered just above your stomach, eyes looking down to Sam again. you could see the outline of him beneath the fabric. you stared shamelessly, imagining the weight of him, the feel of his breath on your neck, the rough drag of his hands down your thighs. you remembered the last time he’d been inside you, how his voice had broken against your ear when you squeezed around him just right, how you’d clung to him nails in his shoulders, begging him not to stop

a quiet gasp escaped from your lips as your fingers dipped lower. God you were already so wet, your clit so swollen it throbbed at the faintest touch

you bit your lip hard, eyes closing shut. Sam didn’t move, he was dead asleep. and somehow, that made it worse or better

you spread your legs wider, one hand sliding between, the other gripping the sheets. you wanted to drag it out, edge yourself over and over until you couldn’t help the sounds anymore until you woke him up with them

you imagined him waking up like that. dazed. watching you fuck yourself beside him with flushed cheeks and wet fingers, his cock twitching beneath the covers, he’d blink a few times, lips parting, breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight your legs parted, your hips rolling up against your own hand, the wet noises. He’d grow hard so fast. he always did when you moaned like that, high and breathy, thighs quivering as you came for him, whispering his name between gasps

your back arched, hips grinding up helplessly now. “Ahh—hh… Sam…” his name left your lips in a pant

“Mmmn… can’t can’t stop” you whispered, biting your lip again. one hand kneaded at your breast now, tugging lightly at your nipple, “need you…”

your slick fingers slid lower, finding your entrance and slipping in just one… tight, warm, stretching slowly as you pushed it in to the knuckle. you moaned softly teeth dragging across your lip, but you felt frustration almost immediately. it was good, but it wasn’t enough. it didn’t fill you like Sam did. not deep enough, not thick enough. your wrist twisted, pumping shallowly, but it only made you want him more. your body knew the difference. it wasn’t him. only Sam’s fingers could work you open like that, curling just right to make it feel good

you turned your head slowly, eyes dragging over his sleeping body, breathing quiet and steady. he hadn’t moved. he looked so peaceful, sprawled on his back, one arm bent across his stomach, his fingers relaxed and still. but your eyes caught on that hand, the one resting so close to his waist, almost limp. and you had a thought

a filthy, desperate, needy thought

you shifted slowly, inching closer across the sheets, careful not to move the mattress too hard. your wet hand left a trail of slick as it slid off your thigh and into the sheets, but you didn’t care. you needed him. if you could just wake him just a little you knew he’d take over. he always did once he saw you like this, so soft and needy, begging with just your eyes

you leaned in, pressing your bare chest to his side, your nipple brushing his arm. “Sam…” you whispered low and sweet, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. nothing. not even a twitch, his breath stayed slow, his eyelids shut.

you tried again. nuzzling into his neck, your lips pressing there, right over his soft spot

“Baby… come on…” you murmured, voice breathier now. “wanna feel your fingers inside me…” you kissed up along his cheek, then down to his mouth, peppering him with soft, wet kisses, one after another “Need you so bad…”

still nothing. his body stayed relaxed, unmoved, like you weren’t even there

you whimpered softly in frustration, your hips rolling into the sheets. “Sam please” you whispered again, but it was no louder than the previous one. you needed those fingers, you needed them so bad it hurt

your eyes flicked down again.. that hand. God, it was right there

and then you reached down slowly, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist. his skin was warm, you lifted his hand carefully, gently, cradling it in your hold. it fell limp in your grasp, but you guided it anyway, pressing the backs of his fingers to your thigh first, then dragging them in slow strokes up your skin

your breath hitched as you brought his hand closer, angling his fingers just right down between your legs, between your pussy. his touch was soft, “yes like that…” you whispered, holding his wrist tight as you rocked into it. you adjusted his fingers again, spreading your lips wide with one hand and guiding his middle and ring fingers to your wet entrance

the first brush made you gasp

you pushed down, fucking yourself on his fingers, just the tips, but it was already better than your own. they were longer, thicker, and you could feel your body clench around them like it knew. you grind slowly, hips rising and falling in lazy rhythm as you fucked yourself on his hand

sam was still asleep, still motionless

it didn’t matter. you kept using him, guiding his hand, curling his fingers inside you slowly. “Mmmm f-fuck Sam just like that” you breathed, your thighs spread wider as you fucked yourself harder, your ass lifting off the bed, hair sticking to your damp forehead. “I need it- need you…”

and maybe this would wake him. maybe he’d feel it in his sleep, feel your wetness soaking his fingers, your breath hot against his mouth. maybe he’d stir and blink into the dark and see you straddling his hand, hips grinding as you used him

your clit throbbing with every grind, your moans louder now, “please fuck me” you leaned over him, forehead to his temple, lips at his ear.“I’m so close Sam please wake up… I wanna finish on your fingers need to feel you fuck me”

and still, he didn’t move

but you did. you moved harder, faster, your thighs trembling again, your pussy clenching around his hand

his fingers were slick, soaked to the second knuckle as you ground down in slow circles, each roll of your hips dragging a ragged moan from your throat. you didn't stop not even when his body finally stirred beneath you

a twitch at first, then a shift. his breathing changed, deeper, sharper, a low grunt in his throat as his brow knit, eyes opening groggily. you felt him jolt just slightly, the sensation running from his wrist up his forearm, but you didn't stop. you couldn’t. your thighs trembled and your pussy clenched with each push of his fingers

“hmm.. what the fuck-” his voice cracked with sleep

his eyes finally focused. and then he saw you.

you didn’t even look at him right away your head was tipped back, lips parted in a silent gasp, hair tangled and sweat slick across your forehead. the tiny tank top you wore had ridden up, exposing the soft undercurve of your breasts, both of them spilling out now, nipples hard and glistening from where you’d been pulling at them minutes earlier. your bare thighs were straddling his hand, your pussy flushed and spread wide, dripping down his knuckles as you rolled your hips over them shamelessly, your other hand fisting the sheets beside his head.

“Shit baby, what are you doing?” he asked, eyes wide, voice still heavy with sleep and confusion but now with disbelief. his hand twitched inside you reacting instinctively

“just like that” you moaned, finally looking down at him “you were just lying there… so peaceful… couldn’t help it…”

his eyes dragged from your face to the place where your bodies met his hand between your legs, your pussy swallowing his fingers, his expression shifted slowly, confusion melting into shock then into need

“You… used my fucking hand?” he breathed, almost surprised. his fingers flexed again, this time not by accident. he curled them just slightly, and you jolted with a choked moan

“mmhhn y-yeah, needed you” you whined, rocking down harder your juices coating his palm now. “couldn’t wait…”

Sam swore under his breath, staring at the mess you were making all over him. his cock, barely hidden under the sheet harding visibly against the fabric. his hand, once limp and guided by yours, now took over, fingers moving curling just right, pressing deeper, dragging that sweet spot again and again

you gasped, fingers digging into his forearm. “that’s it fuck y-yesyesyes”

“I wake up to you riding my fucking fingers?” he said again, his voice low and hoarse now, all sleep gone. his other hand lifted, rough and warm, and grabbed your hip to steady you. “you that needy you couldn’t even wait for me to open my fucking eyes?”

you nodded fast, eyes rolling back as he fucked his fingers harder now, wet sounds filling the room “y-yes, needed you, couldn’t wait, wanted it so bad!”

your flushed chest rose and fell, nipples stiff and sensitive under the twisted hem of your tank, your slick thighs straddling his hand, his fingers still buried deep in your pussy

but it was the way you looked at him that did it. wide-eyed, unashamed, needy and still grinding down on him

his cock had already rushed full of excitement. hard and straining against his boxers, twitching under the soft curve of the blanket. there was no hiding it, and he didn’t even try

“You got me up now” he muttered, his eyes locked to yours, then dipped to your pussy wrapped tight around his fingers, so wet, his other hand moved slowly down his chest, as he shifted beneath you

you saw it the subtle strain of fabric over his cock as he adjusted himself, palming the thick bulge beneath the covers with a soft grunt

“Keep fucking yourself” he murmured, eyes locked on your face as he tugged the blanket down with one hand. the sheets fell away from his hips, and there it was his cock tenting the thin fabric of his boxers, hard and ready, the outline clear, the head already leaving a dark, damp spot on the cotton

you whimpered, still grinding on his fingers. “Sam…”

“Look what you did to me” he said, voice low and rough as his free hand slipped under the waistband. he eased the boxers down slowly, watching your eyes focus on every movement. the elastic slid down his thighs, caught for a moment on the curve of his cock before popping free. his cock sprang up against his stomach, flushed a deep pink, heavy, girthy, the veins along the shaft standing out

he groaned in relief, stroking himself once, slow, slicking his palm with the precum already beading at the tip

you couldn’t tear your eyes away. your mouth parted, hips slowing as your whole body ached to shift forward, to wrap your pussy around him or slide down onto him fully but his fingers flexed deep inside you again, reminding you where you were

“Keep moving” he grunted, thrusting his fingers up harder now, curling deep

you moaned loud, head tipping back as your hips found rhythm again, bouncing in slow, deep grinds. his cock twitched with every sound you made, every squeeze of your pussy around his fingers. his eyes were locked on you, hand fisting around his cock now stroking to match the pace of your movements. he looked up at you his mouth parted slightly

your eyes trailed down to his cock, thick in his grip, as he jerked himself slowly, his thumb dragging across the sensitive slit. “want it” you gasped. “I want your cock, Sam please…”

Sam watched you, his chest rising in slow, deep breaths as you moved above him. your pussy clenched one last time around his fingers before you whimpered and lifted your hips, slick string of arousal from your folds to his knuckles as you pulled off him. his fingers slipped free with a wet sound and he raised them slowly, watching the way your juices glistened in the soft light

“look at this…” he muttered, admiring the mess you’d made on him. he brought them to his mouth and sucked the wetness from his fingers with a low hum

still lying back, his cock now fully exposed, standing hard and flushed against his stomach, he gave a lazy open handed gesture towards you

“come here” he rasped, “you woke me up begging for it so take it.”

you crawled over him, your thighs still sticky with arousal, your tank top hiked up under your breasts. you swung one leg over his hips, knees spreading on either side of his waist, hovering just above his cock. he was already leaking, the flushed head glossy, twitching beneath you

his hands came to your hips gripping firmly, thumbs brushing soft over your skin as he looked up at you

“ride me” he said “show me how bad you need it.”

🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

@vinecstasy @samslvrgirl @gallaghrh @glassbxttless @https-junebug @iheartgrayson @k-ilisi @meetmeatyourworst @violetcamryn @f4nfic-lover

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[je33123]

Uniform X Joseph Quinn

MasterList

Joseph Quinn Masterlist

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

Plot: Joe comes home in his military costume from filming warfare and it might just be your new kink.

18+

Authors note: This fucking photo makes me WEAK I just had to write something!

The flat was quiet. Just the occasional creak of the walls settling, and the hum of the heater ticking along in the background. I was curled up in bed, one of Joe’s oversized jumpers hanging off my shoulder, a book open on my lap that I hadn’t turned the page of in at least fifteen minutes. I kept glancing at the door. Waiting.

He was filming late again. Warfare was proving more intense than we’d anticipated not just the gruelling schedule but the emotional toll too. Joe gave everything to his roles. Sometimes I worried he left too much of himself on set.

The door creaked open softly.

I looked up and there he was.

Joe stood in the doorway, still in full military uniform from set. His camouflage jacket was speckled with fake dirt, collar open, sleeves rolled, his name patch stitched above his heart. There was a weariness in his eyes, but also something else a flicker of something quieter, softer when he spotted me.

“Hi,” I said, voice low and warm.

He gave a breathy chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. “Hi, love.” His voice was hoarse, and he was clearly exhausted, but there was that familiar tenderness that always made my heart squeeze.

I closed the book, setting it aside, and sat up straighter. “You look... dangerous.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the room. “Dangerous?”

I smiled. “Yeah. Like you could order a classified mission. Or ruin me with one look.”

Joe grinned, cheeks slightly pink. “It’s just a costume, Y/N.”

I crawled to the edge of the bed, kneeling on the mattress, and gave him a once-over. “Mmm. Tell that to my heart rate.”

He dropped his bag by the door and slowly walked toward me. “You like the uniform?”

I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away. The combat boots, the cargo trousers, the way his belt hugged his hips. “It’s... a lot.”

Joe stood in front of me now, and I reached up, brushing a bit of fake soot from his jaw. “You look incredible.”

“I look knackered,” he murmured, but he leant into my touch all the same.

“You do,” I whispered, letting my fingers trail down to the buttons on his jacket. “But also ridiculously fit.”

He laughed lowly. “You’ve been reading too many of those steamy books again.”

I tilted my head. “Can you blame me?”

We both paused there. Close, but not touching beyond the tips of my fingers at the edge of his collar. There was a quiet moment where neither of us moved just breathing, eyes locked. The air changed. Slowed.

He exhaled shakily. “You’ve no idea what it does to me seeing you like this. Waiting for me.”

I smiled and carefully began unbuttoning the front of his jacket. “Then show me.”

Joe’s hands came up slowly, brushing my hips, gentle as ever, letting me lead. His breath caught as I peeled the jacket off his shoulders, revealing a plain black T-shirt underneath, slightly damp at the collar. I tossed the jacket aside and ran my hands over his chest, over the taut muscles beneath the fabric.

“You’re trembling,” I murmured.

He nodded. “You make me nervous.”

I looked up at him with a small smile. “Still?”

“Always.”

I leaned forward and pressed a slow, soft kiss to the corner of his jaw. “Good.”

His hands flexed on my waist, fingertips digging in slightly. “You drive me mad, Y/N.”

I slipped my hands under the hem of his shirt, my thumbs brushing along the lines of his stomach. He shivered under my touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“Take this off?” I asked softly.

He obliged wordlessly, tugging the shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. My palms followed the planes of his chest, revelling in the warmth of his skin, the slight rise and fall of his breath.

“Lie down,” I whispered, gently guiding him back.

Joe obeyed, reclining against the pillows, one arm behind his head, the other reaching for me instinctively. I straddled his hips, hovering just above him, brushing my nose against his, our mouths barely touching.

“Still think it’s just a costume?” I teased.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting to my lips. “If it gets me you like this, I might wear it more often.”

I leaned down and kissed him, slow and purposeful. His hands found the hem of my jumper and pushed it up carefully, wordless, reverent. Every brush of skin felt electric, every sigh a silent promise.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, explorative like we were memorising the moment, mapping every inch of each other all over again.

He was obsessed with every breath I took, every sound I made, every look I gave him. And I was just as consumed by the way he touched me, the way he whispered my name like it was his only anchor to reality.

When it finally happened when we crossed that final line it was like everything melted away. The world disappeared. There was only us.

Just skin and breath and heartbeats.

And Joe looking at me like I was his whole universe.

I unbuckled his belt and started to tug down the cargos' and underwear together slowly almost in a teasing manner making Joe groan.

when he was finally free I just looked at him, really looked at him; tired and dirty with fake soot but happy and content all at the same time.

I slid my underwear off next and crawled back up to him placing myself on his lap his hands instantly going to my hips where he started to move them a little "Impatient are we?" I smirked giving him a kiss.

"I've had a long day bub just wanna feel you" He said softly and who was I to deny him.

I positioned his hard cock under me and sunk down slowly him almost hissing at how good it felt. I loved the way I always stretched to his large cock making me feel full and content.

I started moving quickly using his chest as leverage and making eye contact with the literal love of my life.

He used his hands on my hips to make me grind faster and harder and one of his hands found its way to my throat tugging me down so my lips met his. he tightened his grip around my throat ever so slightly enough to really turn me on and then he moved his lips from my mouth to my breasts sucking and licking every inch.

We moved in sync faster until I could feel his cock pulsating inside me. I could actually feel him pumping his cum into me and that drove me to my orgasm too.

We lay tangled in the sheets, the soft hum of London traffic in the distance. Joe’s fingers traced idle circles on my hip as I nestled into his chest.

“You okay?” he asked, voice husky.

“More than okay,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “You?”

He nodded, smiling lazily. “Might be the happiest I’ve ever been.”

I looked up at him. “Even after a 15-hour shoot covered in fake mud?”

He grinned. “Especially then.”

There was a beat of silence before he whispered, “I missed you today.”

My heart tugged. “I missed you too.”

He turned slightly, pulling me tighter against him. “Y’know, I thought about you all day. Between takes. Every time I closed my eyes, it was you.”

I smiled against his skin. “That’s funny... I was thinking about you too. Wondering if you’d come home in that uniform.”

He chuckled. “Is this your new kink now?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said playfully. “You already broke me tonight.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Good.”

We fell quiet again. But it wasn’t awkward just content.

Eventually, I whispered, “You don’t have to rush back to set tomorrow, do you?”

“No,” he said, voice warm. “Tomorrow’s ours.”

“Good,” I sighed. “Because I don’t plan on letting you leave this bed.”

Joe grinned and kissed me again slow, deep, sure.

“Then I’ll stay,” he whispered. “As long as you’ll have me.”

I smiled, heart full. “Forever sounds good.”

[je33123]

Joseph Quinn Masterlist

Requests: Open

💕Fluff 🌶️Smut 18+ ❤️‍🩹 Angst 🖤Sad 💛Male reader ❤️‍🔥 possessive 💔 heartbreak

Prompt List and Characters who I write for.

Main MasterList

💕The Set up (One shot requested)

Fred Sets up you and Joe up at a dinner party

💕Admit it (One shot)

Joe Keery and Gaten Matarazzo force Joseph and Y/n to admit their feelings for eachother.

💕 Took you long enough (One shot)

“You’re jealous” “Am not!” “You are jealous, and may I add, you’re a terrible liar”

🌶️ Uniform (one shot)

Joe comes home in his military costume from filming warfare and it might just be your new kink.

💕 Soft (One shot)

Just pure fluff with exhausted boyfriend Joe.

💕 Ticklish (short one shot requested)

You find out Joe is ticklish.

💕Protective (One shot)

Joe gets protective over you when a guy at a party gets too handsy.

💕Premier (One shot)

Joe gets protective of you at the warfare premier and the guys tell you how much he gushes about you.

💕 K.I.A (one shot requested)

Joe thinks he really shot you on the set of a war film because the director wants to capture his real reaction.

💕 Pranksters (one shot requested)

You and Joseph prank each other on the set of Gladiator II.

💕Across the room (One shot)

You and Joe make eye contact across the room and with the help of a wingman end up dancing together and exchanging numbers.

💕Wounded (One shot)

You're a medic on set and Joe has small injuries just as an excuse to see you.

💕 Only ever you (one shot requested)

Joe shows you aftercare after finding out that was your first time.

💕The warfare love triangle

Joseph's ending

A choose-your-own-ending story with a love triangle with Will, Joseph and Charles on the set of Warfare where they each try to swoon and charm you.

💕Juggling (one shot requested)

You have to Juggling being a mum and an actress and Joe is so supportive making sure it all works out.

💕 I dont want kids (one shot requested)

You tell Joe you don't want kids.

💕 Punch (One shot)

Joe punches your boyfriend Dan who is a dick to you.

💔 Through The Lens Of Us (one shot)

Story is inspired by the song Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls

💕 Shhh… I’m Watching You (one shot requested)

Watching A quiet place : day 1 with Joseph.

💕 Impressive (one shot requested)

Joe tries to impress you and win you back by showing you he has changed.

💕Don't Tell Your Brother (one shot)

You sneak around with Joseph trying to hide your relationship from your brother Will.

🌶️*Best Seat in the house (*implied) (one shot)

When the only seat available at the party is Joe's lap what's a girl to do.

❤️‍🩹 Do you want me to leave you? (one shot requested)

You and Joe fight and you think he wants you to leave.

💕 What are those? (one shot)

You and Joe have a love language that is quoting Vines and TikToks to each other.

🌶️ Bathroom (one shot requested)

Joe and you are good at sneaking around in bathrooms.

Copyright © 2025 by Pankowcrumbs on tumblr

All rights reserved. No part of these stories may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including printing, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

[je33123]

DUMB & POETIC

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every. Single. Day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when it hit you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[je33123]

the first time || Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

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

wc: 7.3K

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

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

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

You hadn’t planned to stay long.

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

But then he was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It felt like the natural next breath.

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

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

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

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked.

And he—of course he did.

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

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

You kissed him.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

No small talk. No tour. No hesitation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then everything sped up.

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

He stared.

Because shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, helpless.

“Then let me.”

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

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

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

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

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

It was pure heat. Messy and fast and real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you murmured.

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

And it was.

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

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

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

And god, he wanted to be tasted.

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

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

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

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

“In the drawer,” you whispered.

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

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

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

You nodded. “Yeah. I want this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You obeyed.

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

He was losing it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was it.

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

Then silence.

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

And the most beautiful fucking quiet.

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

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Holy shit.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it didn’t feel weird. Not at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like you’d heard it a hundred times before.

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

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

Your heart skipped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck—okay. Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joe—”

“Say it again.”

“Joe—oh my God—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just skin. Breath. Fire. Somehow, trust.

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

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

Soft. Unthinking. Like second nature.

You smiled against his chest.

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

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

- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was easy. Too easy.

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

He made you laugh. A lot.

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

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

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

You nodded. Because you did know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he was gone.

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

It was full.

Full of something unnamed but very, very real.

-

You never had the talk.

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

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

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

That thing.

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

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

It was intense. Messy. Addictive.

But never rushed.

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

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

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

And none of it felt like a big deal.

It was just natural.

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

You never talked about exclusivity. You never needed to.

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

It wasn’t casual. Not really.

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

But it didn’t matter.

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

Something in you knew.

And maybe you weren’t officially together.

But your hearts hadn’t gotten the memo.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You seeing her now?” Wes asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just grinned. “Nothing.”

But he meant everything.

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

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

It just felt right.

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

You probably already knew.

-

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

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

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

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

“Perfect. I’ll order pizza.”

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

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

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

“you bailing on us tonight?”

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

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

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

“well… maybe you should reconsider”

And that—that—was when it hit.

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

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

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

But still.

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

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

Now, you were burning a hole in his brain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8:11.

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

But there he was.

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted the sound of your arrival to reset everything.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. "I told you I was."

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

You stared at him. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words hung there, raw and electric.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked.

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

And then he lost it.

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

Clothes disappeared like they were on fire.

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

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

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

He didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

And then, softly, so softly—

“I love you.”

You blinked, breath still uneven.

And smiled.

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

And just like that, there were no more questions.

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

[je33123]

good enough to eat. -B.T.S.

TLDR: You're a brat, did you know that?

Word count + info:4.9k! Dialogue, fem reader x B.T.S

Warnings + Content Ahead: NSFW - MINORS DNI! Box munching, throat f*cking, fingering, unprotected s*x, hickeys - kinda rough? Brat taming + praise kink themes.

Azzie Notes ✚: WHOO MISSED MEE!!! It's been so long, here's some smut to make it up to you all!! i'm sorry!!! we're doing things a bit different to clean up my inbox! So, i'll be combining requests (some are so similar) and I have like 3/5 parts of a long ass story for you guys too, long time coming. I'll upload an image when Tumblr lets me upload a high quality one smh.

Taglist: thank u for all ur support <33! if u wanna join the taglist, head on over here

🌙 - @le-moon-nade @anneioe @maya1the-bee @miss-d-d @hannahbanannax @mfcvbs @egevtntn @the-aizzlee @hello-missunperfect-things @joeybisbootiful @2manytabsopen @luckylzclerc @cassiesmuse @ineedafictionalman

————————————————————————

It had been weeks since you felt like yourself.

The kind of restlessness that started in your skin and sank deep into your chest. Where every sound grated, every face in the world seemed determined to test your patience. The cashier who talked too loudly. The car that cut you off and crawled at 20 below the speed limit. The group chat notifications are pinging nonstop when all you wanted was quiet.

But worse than all of that was him.

Not because he was doing anything wrong. He was just… there.

Everywhere.

His sneakers by the door. His gym bag half-unzipped, the smell of his cologne clinging to the air. That easy grin when he came home, late again, telling you about practice or some idiot or whatever new drama unfolded at the club.

And then? He’d eat. Shower. Drop his bundled-up towel on the floor. Crawl into bed, muscles loose, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. Out cold before you could even try to start something.

You hated yourself for how much you wanted it. Him. The weight of his hands on your hips. The drag of his mouth on your neck. The rough scrape of his stubble where your thighs were aching for friction.

It was primal. Depraved. A desperate need so thick it sat in your throat, sour and hot, threatening to spill over.

So now, standing in front of the microwave, you clutched the island edge, willing yourself to hold it together.

01:37.

Less than 2 minutes.

To your side, Ben leaned against the counter, recounting another story in that lazy drawl.

“-and I told him, ‘bro, that ain’t even a backhand, that’s a war crime,’ but he just kept hackin’ at it like a damn woodpecker. I almost-”

You closed your eyes, jaw tight. Inhale, exhale.

01:30.

“-felt bad for him. Almost. But then he’s got the nerve to say I should-”

Your head cocked a bit. “Ben.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “-Mind my own game. Like I’m the-”

Strained, you let the name push through your teeth. “Ben.”

His voice cut off. “Huh? What?”

“Can you-” your nails dug into the island, your voice coming out more like a hiss, “for once in your life just stop talking?”

He blinked. “The hell...?”

You turned to him, arms crossed tight, trying to hold the rest of you in. “You’ve been rambling since you walked in. I’m two seconds from losing my mind, and you-” you gestured at him, at his infuriatingly relaxed posture- “you don’t even notice.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “I don’t even notice what?”

“Anything! Me! This house! Your fucking mess! The fact that I’ve been holding it together by a damn thread all week while you…” You gestured at him again, words tripping over the heat rising in your chest. “...you waltz in like a loudspeaker and act like everything’s fine.”

Ben let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re actin’ like I left you for dead or somethin’. What’s your issue, huh?”

“Work,” you snapped.

Too fast.

His grin widened just slightly. “Nah.”

You cocked your head again, brows furrowed, confused. What does he mean "no"?

“Try again.” His voice was lighter than it should’ve been, teasing, and it made something in you twist tighter.

“Fuckin' traffic every day,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Uh-huh. That why you’re standin’ there like you’re fixin’ to bite my damn head off?” He shifted his weight against the fridge, arms folding across his chest. His eyes narrowed, glittering with amusement. “C’mon, what’s your real issue?”

“Ben, you're being a dick right now. Just drop it.”

“Nope.” He grinned, and you hated how smug he looked. “I think I’m onto somethin’ here. What’s got you so wound up, babe? Because I know what you're like and this isn't from work or traffic. Maybe…” his eyes swept over you, sharp and knowing now, “it’s somethin’ else.”

“Don’t,” you warned.

“Don’t what?” He was moving closer now, slow and deliberate. “Don’t call out the fact you’ve been pacing this house like a caged animal?”

“I’m not-”

“You are.” He was in front of you now, so close you could smell his cologne, faint, warm, sharp, dizzying. His head dipped, voice lowering to a near-growl. “So what’s your real issue?”

“I don’t-”

“Yeah, you do. Say it.”

“I said it’s-”

“Bullshit.” His tone was calm, measured, maddening. “You're clenching that counter like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.”

You snapped. “Fuck! I need you, Ben! Is that what you wanna hear? I need your hands, your mouth, your body- I need you so bad it hurts.”

Ben’s grin turned feral.

The microwave beeped.

“Mmm, there we go.” Ben’s voice barely scraped out of his throat before he grabbed you by the hips and hoisted you onto the counter like you weighed nothing.

Your thighs hit the cold island with a sharp hiss and shiver, but you barely notice. His mouth was already on you, claiming, crashing, consuming. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a warning. A release. A goddamn possession.

You gasped into it, and he took that moment to deepen it, tongue sliding against yours, one hand fisting the fabric of your shirt like he’d tear it in half if he had to.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he murmured into your mouth. “Knew you were tight and wound and needy.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, dragging him closer. “Shut up.”

He chuckled, low and dark. “You sure?"

You tugged at his t-shirt like you were trying to rip it off him. “I swear to God, Ben-”

“You gonna threaten me now?” he growled, smirking as he pulled back just enough to yank your top up, over your head, tossing it to the floor. His eyes dropped, lingering on the swell of your chest, the flush crawling up your skin.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You were stewin’ like this all week?”

You answered by pulling his head back to your mouth, teeth catching his bottom lip, biting just hard enough to make him groan.

“Damn.” He laughed against your jaw, breath warm.

His hands were everywhere now, palming over your chest, down digging into your thighs, slipping under the waistband of your shorts, dragging them halfway down your hips before you shoved them the rest of the way off with a frustrated huff.

“You gonna talk cocky the whole time?” you panted, tugging his shirt up over his abs.

“ 'Think you like it when I talk,” he said, kissing down your neck now, breath hot against your skin. “You were practically growlin’ at me to shut up, and now you’re whinin’ under me. That’s cute.”

His hand was already sliding between your thighs before any protest could've left your mouth.

Your gasp was instant, sharp, making your eyes flutter shut and he drank it in like a reward, teeth grazing your collarbone.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked,” he muttered, voice rough and reverent all at once. “Is this what all that attitude was about?”

You could barely answer. Your head fell back as his fingers moved slow and steadily, maddening.

“You’re lucky I like you mean and needy,” he whispered, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your breasts, head dipped low, fingers working. “Otherwise I’d be real offended.”

You tangled your fingers in his curls, dragging his face back up to yours, mouths crashing together again, desperate and wet and perfect. And when you broke for air, both of you breathless, Ben's shirt now thrown to the side, the microwave beeped again.

Ben looked over your shoulder and grinned.

“Dinner’s ready.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling him back in by the waistband of his shorts. “Shut up and finish what you started.”

His teeth grazed up your neck like a promise. “Yes, ma’am.”

His shorts hit the floor with a heavy thud, leaving him in his boxers but he didn’t move to press into you, not yet. Instead, his palms spread wide on your thighs, thumbs stroking lazy circles against the tender skin as he dropped to his knees.

Your breath hitched. “Ben-”

“I’m havin’ dessert first,” he drawled, his Gainesville accent thick, dripping with heat. “And you’re not gonna rush me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but it died in your throat as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, soft and reverent. Another higher. Then a third, right where your thigh meets your hip. Each one is slow enough to make your toes curl against the counter edge. This would probably be the softest he'll be with you for the next while.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, hands sliding up to cup your ass, tugging you closer to the edge. “Look at you. All worked up, all wet… over me.”

“Ben, don’t-” You whined, shy.

“Don’t what? Don’t point out how desperate you’ve been?” He smirked, kissing along the crease of your thigh. “Baby, you were practically snarlin’ earlier, and now you’re quiet as a mouse.”

His mouth hovered just above where you needed him most, warm breath ghosting over slick skin. You squirmed, hips jerking forward instinctively, but his grip tightened.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he warned, voice low. “You don’t get to set the pace. You told me to finish what I started.”

Then his mouth was on you, hot and firm, tongue sliding through your folds in a slow, full, deliberate stroke that had you gasping his name. His tongue traced all the way to the top, quickly circling around your clit before drawing back.

“Shit,” your hands flew to his curls, gripping tight, trying to pull him closer.

He groaned into you, the sound vibrating against your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure up your spine.

“Knew it,” he muttered, his mouth never leaving you. “Knew you’d taste as good as you look all pissed off in my kitchen.”

“Ben-please-”

“Please what?” His tongue flicked teasingly, maddeningly light. “Tell me, baby.”

“Please don’t stop.”

That grin curved against your skin. He buried himself deeper, mouth hot and unrelenting, tongue circling, flicking, delving and sucking until your thighs were trembling against his shoulders. One hand slipped up to your chest, squeezing your breast, thumb brushing your nipple in tandem with the rhythm of his mouth. You began grinding, rocking your hips into his face in an attempt to chase your high even faster.

“Fuck- you're-” you gasped, hips bucking.

He pulled back just long enough to look up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark and feral.

“You’re loud now, huh? Bet the whole neighbourhood knows how bad you needed me. Say it. Say you needed me.”

“I needed you.” Your voice cracked, raw and wrecked. “I fucking need you.”

“Good girl.” His mouth was back on you instantly, faster this time, tongue lapping in hungry strokes as two fingers slid inside you, curling just right.

Your cry echoed off the kitchen walls, nails biting his scalp as your body tightened, coiling, the edge rushing at you fast and hot. Weeks. Weeks of needing this, needing to be devoured so ferociously, desperately. That familiar heat pooling in your lower belly was now slowly spreading across your body when you felt Ben's ministrations working so desperately for you.

“You’re close,” he said against your skin. “I can feel it. Gonna cum for me like this?”

“Yes-God-Ben-”

“Then do it. Now.”

A flaming white heat spread throughout your body as your orgasm hit you, causing you to flood Ben's tongue. Your hands flew to the countertop, to the edge, to his hair; to anything that would anchor you. And when you came, it was violent, your body arching off the island as he held you down, mouth and fingers relentless, dragging every last wave out of you until you were left shaking and breathless. The noises spilling from your mouth are unholy, uncouth, animal-like roars and whines. Ben continued to suck up the rest of your juices, his eyes glazed over in adoration, watching you as you came down from your high.

Ben finally pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, that smug grin back in full force.

“Dinner’s still waitin’,” he said, voice low and dark. “But you first.”

Before you could respond, he stood, his hips pressing hard against your core as his hands slid back to your hips.

“Now,” he growled, lining himself up. “You ready for the main course, or you need another appetiser?”

You barely managed a breath, let alone an answer. Your thighs still trembled, sensitive and aching where his mouth had wrung you out moments ago, but Ben wasn’t giving you a reprieve.

“Guess that’s a no,” he muttered, voice thick with heat, one hand gripping your ass to tug you closer across the cold marble of the island. The other wrapped tight around his cock, boxers slipping down his legs then tossed to the side as he stroked himself lazily before he pressed the blunt head against your entrance.

“Too bad. I’m fuckin’ starvin’.”

You should’ve been ready for him, you thought you were ready, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he pushed in, slow, deliberate, inch by devastating inch.

You sucked in a breath, back arching instinctively. He was thick, stretching you until the tension in your body threatened to snap. It wasn’t enough. It was too much. It was everything, all at once.

“Fuck,” you whispered, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps.

“Uh-huh.” His drawl was low, controlled, but you could feel the tight coil of restraint in his muscles. “That’s the sound I been waitin’ for.”

You couldn’t hold his gaze. Not when he was staring down at you like he had you in the palm of his hands, like he was watching every inch of your resolve peel away under his hands, his cock, his filthy mouth.

It had been too long. Too many nights lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, hot and aching, listening to him breathe deep beside you. Too many mornings biting back your irritation when his towel was on the floor, his sneakers by the door, his grin flashing as he told another practice story you couldn’t bring yourself to care about because all you wanted, needed was this.

This brutal, deep push and pull that made your toes curl against the slick marble. This stretch that burned in the best possible way. This overwhelming sense of animal satisfaction, finally being filled.

“Jesus Christ, Ben,” you gasped, gripping his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Mmm?” he muttered, that cocky grin cutting across his face. “Try again.”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but then he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, his soft grunts hot in your ear, and the words dissolved into a sharp, choked moan.

But he didn’t give you time to adjust. His hands locked around your thighs, holding you in place as he pulled back and drove forward again, harder, rougher. The marble chilled your overheated skin as he set a punishing rhythm, every thrust jolting you across the island, palms splayed wide to brace yourself.

“You feel this?” he growled, his voice low and ragged against your ear. “This is what you've been needin’ all this time?”

“Yes, God-” Your voice cracked, breath catching on another sharp snap of his hips.

“Say it again.”

“I-fuck-I needed you-”

“Yeah, you did,” he said, almost smug, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing rough, fast circles that made your whole body jolt. “Whole week been actin’ like a brat ‘cause you needed this cock to straighten you out.”

“Ben-” Your cry came high and desperate now, your body wound tight as a wire.

“Say it again.” His pace didn’t falter. If anything, he pushed harder, deeper, like he wanted to ruin you.

“I needed you. I fucking needed you, Ben-”

“Atta girl.” His teeth grazed your jaw, a low growl rumbling from his chest, breath hot and filthy. “Look at you now. So fuckin’ sweet for me. So wet I can hear you every time I slide in.”

And by God, you could hear it too.

The obscene, slick sounds filling the kitchen, each wet slap of skin against skin echoing off the tile and marble, throughout the place, blending with your ragged, desperate moans.

It was too loud. It was everywhere. It was perfect.

Your mind felt split wide open, thoughts scattered like shards of glass. So much frustration, holding yourself together, biting your tongue while the world scraped at your nerves, now melting into nothing under the relentless rhythm of his hips. Every deep thrust, every grind of his pelvis against your clit made the knot in your belly tighten, sharper and hotter than before.

God, this, this is what I needed. Not yoga. Not wine. Not some half-assed attempt at masturbating. Not a hot bath with lavender bullshit.

You’d been trying to soothe a hunger that only he could feed, and now, finally, you were being devoured whole.

“Ben-” You tried to form words, but your voice broke again, cracked under the weight of him.

“Yeah, baby?” His pace never faltered. He dragged out, slow enough for your walls to clench helplessly, then drove back in fast and hard, forcing a cry from your lips.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Could only feel, the stretch, the burn, the slick glide of him splitting you open again and again. Your nails dug deeper into his shoulders, hips jerking on instinct, trying to meet his thrusts and failing as he pinned you firmly in place.

“Listen to that,” he panted, a feral edge to his voice now. “Soaked for me. Fuckin’ music to my ears.”

He’s right, your brain whispered uselessly. You’re soaked. You’re a goddamn mess. You’ve been a mess for him since the second he walked through that door and opened his mouth-

Another sharp snap of his hips cut your thoughts in half, your mouth falling open on a strangled moan.

“Ben!-I-”

“You what?” His thumb pressed harder against your clit, circling fast and tight, as his cock drove in deep enough to make stars dance at the edges of your vision.

“What’s that baby? You can talk all that shit earlier but now you’re too fucked out to finish a sentence?”

You could only manage a broken whimper, and he grinned against your throat, suckling a hot, wet stripe up to your jaw before biting down just enough to make you gasp. You can only imagine the hickeys that'll be left for you to discover in the morning, across your breast, neck and jawline, the thought of that alone made you see stars as you let out a shaky moan.

“I know, baby,” he growled, holding you against him. “Gonna cum for me again, huh? Mess up my cock like you did my tongue?”

You couldn’t even answer. Your brain was gone, pleasure overtaking every nerve ending as your nails raked down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. He knew this all too well.

“Do it,” he ordered, thumb working your clit in ruthless tandem with his thrusts. “Cum for me. Right fuckin’ now.”

And you did with his permission, under his eyes, harder than before, vision going white-hot once again as your body convulsed under him, a sob of his name breaking from your throat.

“F-fuck-! look at you,” Ben hissed, hips stuttering as your walls clamped down tight, milking him. “So perfect, so fuckin’ perfect-”

He buried himself deep one last time, his groan guttural as he came, head falling to the crook of your neck as he was spilling inside you, heat flooding your core.

For a long, quiet moment, all you could hear was your own ragged breathing and the faint hum of the microwave still flashing END behind you.

Ben didn’t pull away right away. He stayed pressed against you, forehead moved to rest against yours, his hands still gripping your thighs possessively.

“Guess your dinner’s cold now,” he murmured with a weak, breathless laugh.

You let out a hoarse, incredulous sound and smacked his chest. “You’re such an ass.”

“Yeah.” He kissed your nose, then your jaw, then your lips. “But I’m yours.”

When he finally pulled out, you shivered at the loss, and his hands steadied you instantly as your legs wobbled against the marble like they’d forgotten how to hold you.

“Stay there,” Ben said, his voice low and commanding as he pressed a lingering kiss to your inner thigh.

“Why?” you whispered hoarsely, body thrumming, every nerve raw and buzzing.

His lips curved against your skin, hands tightening on your trembling legs.

“Because I’m not done,” he murmured, dragging his mouth higher, warm breath ghosting over where you were still aching.

Your stomach flipped, muscles tensing. “Ben...”

He chuckled darkly, his drawl dripping with satisfaction. “Relax, baby. Just admirin’ the view. Can’t believe how good you look and taste… almost wanna go back for seconds.”

A shiver ran through you, your breath catching as his teeth grazed the soft skin of your inner thigh in a teasing bite.

“Almost?” you managed, trying for levity, though your voice shook.

He looked up then, eyes dark and gleaming with intent.

“Almost,” he echoed, his grin slow and sharp. “But you don’t get to just lie there lookin’ pretty and stewin’ in your own attitude all week, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrowed, but before you could respond, his hands slid from your thighs to your hips, gripping tight. “Get down.”

“W-what-”

“Off the island,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And on your knees. Since you like havin’ that mouth runnin’ so damn much, let’s put it to better use.”

The words alone made heat pool low in your stomach again. Your body moved before your brain caught up, shaky legs lowering you to the floor as he stepped back from the island.

“That’s it,” Ben murmured, his fingers threading into your hair, gripping firm enough to tilt your head back. You blinked up at him, still dazed, still wrung out from before, but his cock twitched where it hung heavy and slick in front of you, streaked with both of you.

“Now, be a good girl and clean up your mess.”

Your lips parted, a whimper escaping at the taste of yourself still lingering in the air. He chuckled low, thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

“Look at you, about ready to drool,” he teased, voice dropping. “Could’ve saved us both a lotta trouble if you’d just opened this pretty mouth earlier instead of stompin’ ‘round my house like a brat.”

“I didn't mean to-” you tried, breathless.

“Shh.” His thumb pressed against your tongue, his drawl thick as honey. “No excuses now. Open.”

And when you did, his hand tightened in your hair, guiding him into the wet heat of your mouth. You moaned around him, tasting yourself on his skin, the mix of salt and sweetness making your cheeks flush hot.

“That’s it,” he praised, low and rough. “Fuck, you feel so good. Knew you’d take me like this.”

His hips moved slowly at first, deliberate, his hand guiding your head as his other thumb stroked across your jaw.

“You’re gonna remember this next time you’re wound tight. Instead of snappin’ at me, you’ll ask for it like a good girl, yeah?”

You tried to nod, but he held you still, the pace picking up, shallow thrusts that had you gagging around him in the filthiest way.

“That’s my girl,” he rasped, his grin turning feral as he looked down at the mess of you on your knees.“Bet you taste even sweeter when it’s mixed with me, huh?”

You tried to hum in agreement, but were cut short as his hand tightened in your hair, forcing your head still as he fed himself deeper into your mouth. You gagged around him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as your tongue flattened helplessly against the heavy weight of him. This satisfied every craving you'd been building up.

“Fuck, yeah,” Ben growled, his voice dropping to a wrecked rasp. His fist in your hair held tight like reins, controlling the angle of your head as his hips rolled forward again, slower now but no less devastating. “That’s it, babe. Gonna make sure you know how to use this mouth next time instead of runnin’ it.”

The stretch burned, your jaw already aching, but your core throbbed with every wet, slick sound filling the kitchen. It was obscene, the way drool mixed with his slickness, streaking down your chin, dripping to your chest, sliding further down to the pool of mixed arousal on the floor between your legs.

God, it’s so filthy. So fucking good. Why does it feel this good?

“Look at you,” he rasped, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes, sweat darkening the curls at his temple. “Eyes all glassy, cheeks flushed… lips stretched so wide for me.”

You choked as he pushed deeper, sounds of your throat filling the room as the tip of him nudging the back of your throat, and for a moment his hold in your hair softened, letting you take a shallow breath through your nose.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek almost tenderly before his fist tightened again. “That’s it. You can take it. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

I am, your brain screamed, dizzy with need. I can take it.

“That’s my girl.” His hips snapped forward harder now, his movements more erratic, the wet smack of each thrust echoing off the tile, his head thrown back, curls plastered to his forehead with a sheen of sweat.

“Goddamn, this mouth… fuckin’ made for me. You were made for me.”

Your nails dug into his thighs for purchase, but he didn’t slow, didn’t let you pull back. His pace grew punishing, each thrust forcing little choked sounds out of you as more slickness slipped past your lips, drooling down your chin in sticky strands.

“Jesus Christ-” he panted, his voice breaking into a growl. “Gonna cum down that pretty throat. You’re gonna swallow it all, yeah? Gonna take every fuckin’ drop.”

You whimpered around him in agreement, your eyes watering, and the vibration sent a shudder through his frame.

“Fuck-fuc-right there, don’t you stop-”

He held you flush against his pelvis as he came, cock twitching on your tongue, the first hot spurt hitting the back of your throat. You swallowed instinctively, desperate to take it all, but there was so much, thick and salty, spilling out past your lips to run down your chin and drip onto your bare chest.

“Shit-” Ben’s voice cracked as he cursed, his body shuddering above you. His fingers flexed painfully in your hair, holding you there even after his hips stilled, his cock softening but still heavy and warm in your mouth.

“Don’t move,” he muttered hoarsely, hips giving a shallow roll. “Not done yet.”

You whimpered again, your jaw slack, throat raw, but he didn’t let go.

“Gotta make sure you’re clean,” he said, his drawl rough and low as his thumb wiped at the corner of your mouth, smearing a mix of saliva and cum across your flushed cheek. “So damn messy, baby. Look at you… dripping all over these floorboards. Fuck.”

You flushed hotter at his words, the humiliation sharp but twisted up with dark, sticky pleasure.

“Next time,” Ben continued, his tone shifting softer but no less commanding, “you need somethin’? You ask. Don’t stew. Don’t snap. You use that bratty little mouth.”

“Yes,” you whispered, or tried to, it came out garbled and rasped with his length still resting heavy on your tongue.

“Good girl.” He gave a few more shallow thrusts, coaxing out the last remnants before finally easing himself free with a wet pop, his grip in your hair loosening.

You gasped as cool air hit your swollen lips and clit, your chest stained, rising and falling as you swallowed the lingering taste of him. Cum slicked your mouth and chin, some of it dripping down your neck to pool in the hollow of your collarbone.

Ben smirked down at you, thumb hooking under your jaw to tilt your face up.

“Messy little thing,” he murmured, voice low and almost fond. Ben smirked down at you, thumb hooking under your jaw to tilt your face up. “God, look at you. Beautiful even like this… maybe especially like this.”

Your lips parted to reply, but your throat was too raw, your body too spent. You just blinked up at him, flushed and dazed, and his grin softened into something warmer.

“C’mere,” he said, tugging you up by your hands. You stumbled a little, legs still shaky, and he caught you easily, strong arms wrapping around your waist.

You started to open your mouth and find words, but he shook his head, leaning in to kiss your temple.

“Shh. You did good,” he murmured, voice all low drawl and fondness now. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

You slumped against his chest as he guided you toward the counter, grabbing a dish towel on the way to gently dab at your mouth and chin.

“Let’s get some food in you before I end up starvin’ and makin’ a mess of you again,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your sticky hairline. “...though I gotta say, I might need a second serving of dessert later.”

[je33123]

semi’s shenanigans — bs

SUMMARY: reaching the semifinal and losing it can be both frustrating and exciting…

WARNINGS: smut, +18

for @brennendeerinnerungen

“Your dad told me I’d find you here,” your voice fills the silence of the big hotel room. The American doesn’t say anything, he simply looks over his shoulder to you. He is wearing a large black hoodie and he is sitting on the large bed, facing the big windows that have a great view over Melbourne.

“Found me,” he mumbles sighing and watching as you walk his way until you’re standing in front of him. Your heels click against the wooden floor and a thud is heard when you drop your bag to the floor. You have somewhere to be, people to meet and a number one tennis player to congratulate and interview but the man in front of you has been coming first recently.

“For what it’s worth you played well. Jannik is just—“

“I don’t want to hear you say his name,” Ben snorts and you can see his jaw clenching. Jealousy really suits him. You fight the urge to smile.

“I need to be downstairs in fifteen to interview him,” you say. That was deliberate and he knows it. Ben knows damn well what your job is, it is how you two met so he doesn’t need to be reminded you will need to interview the winner of today’s match in a few minutes. You bite your bottom lip when his hands instinctively touch your thighs, caressing the skin. His chin rests against your lower stomach as he looks up at you.

“You enjoy this, don’t you? You really don’t know when to behave,” he says and you can’t quite figure out how pissed off and amused he is.

“Or maybe I do as I please and I just enjoy pissing you off,” you push. He knows you, he knows you like to push and push and push until he snaps. Matter of fact you love it when he snaps.

Ben’s hands creep up your legs and he tightens the grip slightly. You thread your fingers through his curls and he leans into your soft touch.

“You never stop, do you?” He asks rhetorically. You tug at his curls gently and lean down until your lips ghost over his and your breath hits his flushed cheeks.

“Stopping didn’t take me where I am, did it?” You reply. Ben’s eyes alternate between your eyes and your lips. The first time you interviewed him he did the same thing, barely hiding it from the cameras. You noticed immediately the way he was eyeing you up and down so it came as no surprise when he slid in your dm’s a few hours later.

The American bites the inside of cheek while his eyes stay on you. The tension is through the roof but you are used to it by now.

“He is probably waiting for you,” he says referring to Jannik. You chuckle and tilt your head to the side, scanning his face. He has this bratty look in his eyes, he is up to no good.

“Better be quick then, no?” And with that you let go of his hair and push him by the shoulders so that he lays flat on the bed. Ben grins widely and watches as you straddle his lap, the lights of Melbourne as your background. You truly look a goddess to him.

His hands immediately find their spot on your thighs while you crawl on top of him.

“I had different plans for you today but I guess I could go for a ride before work,” you wink at him before kissing him. His hands all over you at once: your thighs, your hips, your hair, your ass. His mouth searches for yours hungrily, short nails digging in your skin while your fingers play with his curls, tugging at them, threading through them.

“Take this off,” you pull at the hem of his hoodie which is easily and rapidly discarded somewhere in the room. Your eyes scan over his hard abs, the silver necklaces scattered messily over his chest and neck. Your nails trail over his exposed skin, goosebumps covering his whole body.

“I thought you’d said we should be quick,” Ben reminds you with that cocky tone. Your index twists around one of his necklace so that it is tighter around his neck.

“I thought I’d said I do as I please,” you shush him before reconnecting your lips. His grip around your hips gets stronger as your tongue slips into his mouth. You find pretty ironic that a big man like him that could easily you flip you two upside down is so easily turning into putty in your hands.

Ben sighs when you pull away and move to his neck, his fingers digging in your skin this time prodding your hips to move. His hard length sitting between your thighs. Your teeth sink in his neck before leaving sloppy kisses all over the bruised skin which makes him shift beneath you, his hips bucking up as you grind again and again against him.

“Let’s take these off too,” you mumble in his ear as your hands reach for his sweats. Ben nods eagerly and you raise your hips to move his pants out of the way. The white boxers leave nothing to the imagination. You sit back down, right on top of it and watch his face contort in pleasure and pain.

“Ten minutes, baby,” he presses you. Has he not learned he doesn’t need to speed you up?

“I perform well under pressure, just like Jannik,” you tease him back and he rolls his eyes, his arm stretching out to lock behind your neck and pull you down. You almost lose balance and fall but he holds you steady against his chest. Your hips are now raised and your knees on each side of his chest. Ben slyly sneaks a hand between your parted legs and is pleased to find only your underwear.

“I told you not say his name,” he says in between kisses.

“Or what?” You smirk, your nose bumping against his. Ben’s cheeky smile widens when his fingers pull your panties to the side and he collects your profuse arousal. You bite your bottom lip but hold his gaze.

“Or face the consequences,”

“But you know I know how to take it,” you murmur and he chuckles before plunging his fingers into your slick walls. You sigh and press your forehead against his. Ben watches your face intently and every subtle shift in your expression. His middle finger and ring finger curl inside of you until they find your sweet spot. Ben can feel your thighs trying to close around his middle.

“Oh yeah?” He teases you while you rut your hips forward, trying to take more. His thumb finds its place on your clit, drawing little figure eight’s. Your lips part against his and you let out what he defines as the sweetest sounds he has ever heard. Your eyes threaten to close but you manage to keep the eye contact. He scissors his fingers inside you and goes slower before speeding up. However, his proud smirk is enough for you to push his hand away.

“Seven minutes,” you tease him now as you sit back down and tug at his boxers just enough to set his cock free. It rests against his lower stomach, hard and leaking. A sight for sore eyes, you might add. There is not much time left and as much as you would love to play around with some more foreplay, you know you have to be quick.

Ben holds your hips as you take ahold of him and align him with your hand. Your eyes lock with his while you sink down on his length. He lets out a deep grunt as he feels you wrapped tightly around him, your juices and his precum mixing together and making every move smoother.

Your fingers fiddle with his necklaces, tugging at them, slightly choking him, pulling him closer. Ben lets you take charge as you rock your hips back and forth, his thighs quiver beneath you. After a tough match and an even tougher loss there is no better reward than to watch you take him.

“Fuck,” he curses breaking the cocky facade. You smirk to yourself.

“Can you not take it, Benny?” You mock him. Any other day you would be face down on the mattress, ass up and him so deep he would put a hand on your lower belly to make you feel him. But not today. Today he is even struggling to talk back.

“Shut up,” he growls and pulls you down so that he shush you with a kiss which you gladly accept. It is messy, rushed, needy. His hands grip your hips as you switch up the rhythm and bounce up and down. When you pull away you watch his furrowed brows and listen to his grunts and moans while his cock twitches inside of you.

“Feels too good, Ben?” You continue with your teasing.

Smack.

A harsh slap to your ass catches you off guard. Ben cocks his eyebrow and smirks. You lick your lips wet and grin.

“Told you to watch your mouth,” he warns you again but you don’t care. Matter of fact you want him to do it again.

“Or what?”

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

You know your ass will be red and sore in the morning but for the time being it spurs you on and he seems to be enjoying it just as much by the sounds he makes and the way his pupils just dilated. Ben’s hands rhythmically clashes against the soft skin of your ass while his cock slips in and out of you with the same tempo.

“Where do you want it?” He asks as he feels himself getting closer. Your head rests in the crook of his neck so that your moans go straight into his ear and he can feel his cock twitching every time his hand slaps you harder.

“Inside,” you blab and he grunts. The idea of coming inside you always making him lose his mind, the thought of painting your insides with his cum, fucking you until it runs down your thighs, stuffing you with it is enough to send him over the edge and release with a deep groan. You are not too far away either, his hot release triggering your own as you squeeze hard around him. Ben holds you close as you collapse on top of him, coming down your high.

“Three minutes,” his hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. Your hand slaps his naked shoulders as you giggle. Ben squeezes your waist lovingly. You raise your head and look at him.

“Not jealous anymore now?” Ben tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and cups your chin, pulling you closer.

“Not when you are stuffed with my cum while interviewing him,”

[je33123]

-acapulco all white / Ben Shelton

Warnings: none

Words: 1180

Reading Time: 5min

Request: can u write a ben shelton x reader where he gets jealous or smth like that ? lovee a jealous ben shelton !!! thanks girlie

Thank you for requesting! My inbox is empty again so please request!

MASTERLIST

The warm night air of Acapulco buzzed with conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses as the ATP players and their guests gathered for the prestigious all-white opening party. The terrace overlooked the ocean, the moon casting a soft glow over the elegant crowd dressed in crisp white attire.

Y/N adjusted the silky fabric of her dress, smoothing it over her hips as she scanned the party. The dress was stunning—Ben had told her at least five times already how good she looked in it. His eyes had practically lit up when he saw her, his hand lingering on her waist longer than necessary, a smirk playing on his lips when he leaned down to whisper, “You do realize every guy here is going to be staring at you, right?”

She had laughed it off, brushing a kiss against his cheek before they entered the party together.

Now, as she stood near one of the tall cocktail tables, waiting for Ben to return with their drinks, she took a slow breath, enjoying the ambiance. That was, until a voice interrupted her peace.

“Can I just say—you look absolutely breathtaking tonight.”

Y/N turned, her polite smile already in place as she faced the man who had approached her. He was tall, well-dressed, and clearly confident in his approach. His smile was charming, but there was something about the way he looked at her that made her stomach turn slightly.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her tone even as she glanced subtly toward the bar, hoping Ben would hurry up.

The man, undeterred, stepped closer. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before. Are you here with someone, or is this my lucky night?”

Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m actually here with my boyfriend,” she said lightly, shifting her weight just enough to subtly create space between them.

The man chuckled. “Boyfriend, huh? Lucky guy. But he must not be too worried if he left you all alone.”

Y/N stiffened slightly, her patience wearing thin. “He just went to grab us drinks,” she said, her voice still polite but firmer this time. “And trust me, he has nothing to worry about.”

The man’s smirk didn’t falter, but before he could reply, a familiar presence appeared at Y/N’s side.

Ben.

His hand found the small of her back, his grip firm, possessive—but not forceful. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw told her everything she needed to know.

“Hey, babe,” Ben said smoothly, handing her a glass of champagne before turning his full attention to the man in front of them. “Something going on here?”

The man hesitated, suddenly less confident now that Ben was standing between him and Y/N. “Oh, we were just talking,” he said, his tone noticeably more cautious now.

Ben didn’t smile. “Yeah? Funny, because from over there, it looked a lot like you were bothering my fiancée.”

Y/N blinked. Fiancée?

The man’s expression faltered slightly. “I—uh, didn’t realize,” he muttered. “No offense, man.”

Ben didn’t move, his gaze unwavering. “None taken. But if I were you, I’d make sure I realize next time before approaching someone else’s girl.”

The man nodded quickly before muttering something under his breath and walking away.

As soon as he was gone, Y/N turned to Ben, biting back a smirk.

“Fiancée?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Ben exhaled through his nose, taking a sip of his drink. “What?” he asked, acting innocent.

Y/N folded her arms, looking up at him with amusement. “I didn’t realize we got engaged.” She tilted her head. “Unless I missed the whole proposal part.”

Ben finally let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “It got the guy to back off, didn’t it?”

Y/N hummed, tapping a finger against her chin. “Mhm, or maybe someone got just a little jealous.”

Ben scoffed. “Jealous? Me?”

Y/N grinned. “Oh, definitely jealous. The way you came marching over here with that whole ‘I’m big and scary’ act?” She leaned in slightly, dropping her voice to a teasing whisper. “You were fuming.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I was not.”

“You so were.”

“Was not.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You basically growled at him, Ben.”

Ben huffed. “Well, can you blame me? The guy was practically drooling over you.”

“Well, I am very drool-worthy,” Y/N teased, flipping her hair dramatically.

Ben groaned, but there was amusement in his eyes as he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

Y/N grinned up at him. “I know I am.”

Ben stared at her for a moment before leaning down, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear. His voice dropped lower, playful but undeniably smug.

“You didn’t deny the fiancée thing, though.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly before she pulled back, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re impossible.”

Ben just smirked. “And yet, you love me for it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips as she took his hand, leading him back toward the party.

Ben may have been jealous, but she had to admit—she kind of liked it.

------

Hope you enjoyed it ❤️

[je33123]

idk if u have seen it but doing the "current boyfriend" prank on ben and him getting sassy

https://www.tiktok.com/@ashleyhermanrealestate/video/7501513967060159774?lang=en (this is the trend btw <3)

Current boyfriend || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: yess I’ve seen this trend!!!! Hope you like this :)

Wc: 1,148

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

-

You’d seen it blowing up all over TikTok—the current boyfriend prank. Simple, harmless, and almost always funny. Every couple who tried it seemed to catch their boyfriend totally off guard, and the reactions were gold.

You’d watched enough of them to know exactly what kind of button it pressed—just enough jealousy to get them riled up. Which is exactly why you decided to try it on Ben. You were both in Rome for the Masters tournament, holed up in a sun-drenched hotel suite with a view of terracotta rooftops and the soft hum of scooters down below.

The air in the room was warm, lazy, and sweet—the kind of afternoon that made you forget the world outside even existed. Ben lay beside you on the bed, shirtless, his skin golden and sun-kissed from the day’s practice. He was propped up on one elbow, scrolling absently through his phone, the muscles in his back and arm flexing slightly every time he adjusted his weight.

His curls were still damp from his shower, a little tousled, and he smelled faintly of his cologne and your conditioner. Comfortable. Unbothered. Completely relaxed. Perfect. You propped your phone up against a pillow, angling the camera so both of you were in the frame.

Your heart ticked up just a little, anticipation buzzing beneath your skin as you hit record. “Babe,” you said casually, adjusting your hair as you checked the camera. “I’m filming a TikTok, okay?” “Mhm,” Ben murmured, eyes still fixed on his screen, one hand lazily scrolling. “Go for it.”

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Hey guys,” you began, voice overly cheerful. “I’m here with my current boyfriend and—” Ben’s head snapped toward you so fast you almost broke. “Current boyfriend?” he repeated, his voice slow, brows pulling together as his phone dropped slightly.

You tried to keep your face neutral, even as your eyes flicked toward the screen to see his reaction. “Yeah,” you said smoothly, barely suppressing a grin. “And he’s going to be answering a few questions to see how well he knows me.”

Ben didn’t blink. “You just said current boyfriend,” he stated, tone flatter this time — a little sharper, like he was trying to figure out if you were joking or not. “Mhm,” you nodded, still playing it cool. He leaned in slightly, phone completely forgotten now.

“Babe. What do you mean current? Like you got someone lined up or somethin’?” You bit your lip and tilted your head, as if considering it. “I mean, technically you are my current boyfriend. Like, at this exact moment in time.” Ben scoffed. A real, breathy, almost offended kind of sound. “Oh that’s what we’re doing?”

“What?” you asked innocently, eyes wide. He was sitting up now, arm still braced on the bed behind him, curls falling slightly forward as he stared at you with narrow eyes. “I’ve been flying all over the world with you, sharing my bed, sharing my room service pancakes, and now I’m just your current boyfriend?”

You shrugged. “Gotta keep my options open, right?” His jaw dropped—not in shock, but in that mock-offended way that meant he was two seconds from tossing your phone off the bed and pulling you under him just to prove a point. “Okay, nah. Give me this,” he said, reaching across and snatching the phone out of its little pillow stand.

“Ben!” you shrieked, laughing as you tried to wrestle it back. But he held it easily out of reach, looking down at you with a raised brow. “You think this is funny?” he said, that familiar Southern drawl coming out stronger now, like it always did when he was flustered. “Calling me your current boyfriend like I’m on some trial run?” You grinned up at him. “A very thorough trial run.”

He gave you a look—one of those deep, amused stares that made your stomach flip—and then tossed your phone gently to the side, out of reach. “You think you’re so clever, huh?” he muttered, crawling toward you, slow and deliberate, until he was hovering above you with one arm braced on either side of your head.

“I know I am,” you teased, your hands resting lightly on his bare chest. “But I also know you’re lowkey freaking out right now.” “I’m not lowkey anything,” he said, voice husky as he dipped his head a little closer. “I’m just confused how the girl who sleeps in my t-shirts and cries when I leave for five days suddenly has a current boyfriend.”

You laughed, but your heart was racing now, your breath catching a little as he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Say it again,” he whispered. You swallowed. “Say what?” Ben smiled against your skin. “Say only boyfriend.” You tilted your head toward him, your voice soft. “Only boyfriend.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, lips parted. “Good girl.” And then he kissed you—firm and slow, like he was sealing something in place. Like you’d never call him temporary again.

[je33123]

Kitchen Confessions (real this time)

Jannik Sinner x Reader

masterlist | join the tag list!

summary: After winning Wimbledon, Jannik finds himself in Y/N’s kitchen again! Will he be able to keep his secret this time though ;)

wc: 1,5k

genre: slowburn with fluff!

a/n: There we go!!! Let me know what you think!!

pt. 1

Everything starts with the thousands of comments and DMs flooding in after your last episode with Jannik—and of course, from the part where he mentioned you while cooking in his Wimbledon vlog. People keep sending you the link, begging for your reaction.

What they don’t know is… You probably watched it before anyone else. He sent it to you the second they hit upload, telling you to “check if it’s any good.” (Spoiler: It was! You adore seeing him cooking.)

And somehow, the hundreds of edits, chaos, and unanswered questions brought you both back to the same studio kitchen.

And now… here you are again. Same studio. Same aprons. Same boy with the same green eyes who looks at you a little too long between camera shots.

–

“Hello foodies and chaotic bakers – welcome back to another episode of Kitchen Confessions!” You smile at the camera, sliding into your usual rhythm. “As you know, we’re here to learn about cooking… and the very deep secrets of our guests!” You glance offscreen and grin.

“If you remember the mess we made… two episodes ago, you probably remember the guest who caused it! Or, depending on your TikTok feed, you definitely saw the fan edits– because I sure did!” A chuckle slips from somewhere behind the camera, and you try not to blush with it.

“He’s back to finish what he started—including the questions he avoided last time. Please welcome the first-time Wimbledon champ, newly cooking vlogger, and alleged BBL-haver… Jannik Sinner!” You clap him in with your crew.

Jannik walks on, already laughing, hand swiping down his face. “I don’t have a BBL,” he protests, sliding beside you at the counter.

“One question already down!” you say brightly, then, add under your breath: “Even though he’s lying.”

He just smirks.

“Hi again,” he says to the camera with a warm voice. “I missed it here.”

You bump his hip gently as he ties on his apron. “We missed you too.”

ACT I: LASAGNA LAYERED WITH LOVE

You two stand shoulder to shoulder, chopping garlic and onions with a kind of quiet rhythm that’s less about cooking and more about trust.

“So,” you say, tossing the onion into the pan, “We’re making lasagna today. Full layers. Like our last conversation.”

“That ended in flour everywhere.” He snorts.

“True, but also a very edible plate of pasta.” You say.

“Mostly thanks to you.” He murmurs as he continues his duty.

“Stop it. You made the sauce! Which, by the way, he’s doing again.” you explain to the camera with a giggle.

He nods, tightening his apron with that calm, focused look that does too many things to your brain.

“You know,” you say, stirring the onions, “the more Italian food I learn, the more likely your family is to like me. That’s why I chose lasagna.”

He glances at you. “My mom watched the last video.”

“Oh?” You pause, waiting for him to continue.

“She said I was so happy while cooking with you.” He shrugs. “She likes you already.”

You grin, tossing in the garlic next to the onions. “Guess I better not burn this since my in-laws are watching...”

FAN QUESTIONS

You grab your phone, grinning. “Time for fan questions!” You sing, “Because clearly we aren’t chaotic enough today.”

“You promised soft ones.” Jannik groans.

“I lied. First up: ‘Did you watch the last episode back?’”

He nods, sheepishly. “More than once. Maybe five times.”

“That’s either adorable… or suspicious.” You give a side eye to the camera.

“You were very funny,” he says softly. “I missed the energy when I was in London.”

Your heart stutters, but you laugh it off. “That’s very soft of you, Jannik!”

“You bring it out of me.” he giggles.

You don’t dare look at him with that look he has that you know gonna make you blush even more.

“Next one: ‘Are you and Jannik… like, together? Because the tension is CRAZY.’” You lift a brow.

“Should we tell them what they already know?” he asks.

“They already ship us in the comments,” you say.

He turns to you, genuinely curious. “What’s that?”

You grin. “Like what they do with you and Carlos—they mash your names and think that you’re in love.”

Jannik blinks. “People do that?”

“Oh yeah. Jarlitos is real. I was in the gang too. But now they want… whatever this is.” You gesture between you with a pout.

He shyly smiles to himself. “I don’t blame them.”

Your stomach flips immediately.

“Next one: ‘What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done?’” You raise your brow.

“Romantic thing? Ehm, that’s tough!” His ears flush pink as he thinks.

“Dinner in Monte Carlo I guess,” he says after a pause. “It was great, and after we went to, there is like one spot over Monte-Carlo. Where you can see the whole Monte-Carlo. It was very very good and romantic.”

You gasp. “Was it with Carlos?”

He laughs. “No, definitely not Carlos.”

“Next: ‘Will she be in your vlog?’” You ask excitedly.

He looks at you. “You still want to?”

“Obviously. People would love to see what your favorite snacks and pasta brands are.”

“Fair.” he giggles.

“Besides,” you add, tilting your head, “your vlogs are extremely calm with all those classical music and stuff, you need more action.”

“Noted.”

“Oooh,” you say, squinting at your phone, “Here’s the one you avoided last time: ‘Do you have a crush on anyone you’ve worked with?’”

He pauses. Picks up a spoon and tastes the sauce. “Needs more salt.”

“YOU AVOIDED IT AGAIN!” you yelp with wide eyes, almost dropping the wooden spoon in your other hand.

“Did I?” He lifts a brow. “YES!”

He smirks. “Next question, please.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head.

He shrugs. “It’s more fun leaving it unanswered.”

You look into the camera, as seriously as you possibly can. “I’m sorry the girls and gays, he mystery continues.”

ACT II: SAUC(E)Y TIME

The béchamel bubbles and the meat sauce simmers. You both start layering the lasagna.

“You know,” you say under your breath, “When you posted that solo cooking vlog, I thought you were cheating on me.”

“With a saucepan?” he teases.

“With your fans!” you yelp.

He laughs. “You’re my kitchen partner.”

“Only kitchen?” you smirk. He doesn’t answer right away, just leans into your shoulder. “You’re being soft again.”

“You love it.”

“You’re cooking pretty good without me,” you say.

“I had the best teacher.”

You roll your eyes. “Stop saying sweet things with that face!”

“What face?”

“That face,” you say, pointing at his still smirking face. “The one that makes people comment ‘GET MARRIED’ in all caps!”

He laughs, “We’ll give them more content, then.”

You look up. “Careful. They already have a ship name and they’d start planning the wedding— Wait, they already have though!” you cut yourself. “The fanfics are wild, guys.”

—

“You’re really good at this,” you say as he smooths a layer of sauce with precision.

“That’s why I separated the eggs, remember?” He refers to the previous episode.

You smile and rest your chin on your palm. “So… Our previous episode got a lot of comments.”

“Yeah,” he giggles. “There were a lot.”

“Did you read them?” you ask.

“Every single one,” he replies without hesitation.

Your eyes meet his, shining with a look everyone can easily interpret. “Me too.”

THE ENDING: TASTE TIME

The timer dings.

Jannik pulls the lasagna out like he’s done it a hundred times. “Moment of truth,” you say, holding out plates.

He slices, serves, then feeds you the first bite.

Seriously, he feeds you.

You hum, eyes automatically closing. “Ten out of ten.”

He leans in and wipes the sauce from the corner of your mouth. “You always miss a spot.”

“And you always clean it up.”

You look at each other just a second too long.

And the camera guy zooms in like he’s recording a romcom.

UNCUT ENDING

The kitchen’s quieter now, still warm with that post-filming glow. You’re on the counter again, swinging your legs, watching Jannik clean up like he’s done this a hundred times with you.

Maybe he has.

“You know,” you say, voice softer than before, “you’re more romantic than a Monte-Carlo dinner.”

He glances up at you, towel still in hand. “Yeah?”

You nod slowly. “You’re like… real-life romantic. You show up. You cook with me. You laugh at my stupid jokes… Also, you clean the garlic press.”

He smirks. “That is love.��

You hop off the counter, crossing to him. “And you say things on camera that make me wanna kiss you.”

He raises a brow. “What stopped you?”

“Camera. Crew. Garlic breath.”

“Fair.” He drops the towel, stepping closer to you. “No cameras now.”

“Oh, that’s a lie,” you whisper, pointing to the red light still glowing dimly in the corner.

You can tell he doesn’t care as one of his hands slides to your waist.

“Guess we’ll give them what they already suspected.”

You open your mouth to reply, but you don’t get the chance.

He kisses you.

It’s slow and familiar and a little too perfect for a studio kitchen, but it’s real—hands on his chest, his fingers curling just slightly into your shirt, both of you smiling between kisses like this isn’t the first or the last.

However, you pause with a loud, tired voice across the room: “Guys. The. Camera. Is. Still. Rolling!”

[je33123]

fire on the court — bs

SUMMARY: when your archenemy happens to be your mixed-doubles partner things get heated pretty quickly…

WARNINGS: smut

@brennendeerinnerungen

“Ben, Y/N: congratulations to both of you! How does it feel to be into the round of sixteen?” The US Open interviewer comes up to you two and tilts her microphone so that you can give your answers. You’re still running out of breath so Ben takes the first question.

“It feels great. I wouldn’t saw we didn’t expect but yeah, I didn’t know how far we would go,” he replies with his biggest grin ever. You nod agreeing with him. The home crowd is cheering the two of you on, predictably since you are playing in your home country but it still feels nice.

“You said you didn’t know Ben personally until this year at Roland Garros, how did you guys find such good chemistry on court?” She asks you pointing her microphone at you. You glance at your mixed doubles partner and he is already grinning at you. It’s not quite a smile though, it’s more like a smug.

“True. Ben and I had never interacted before Paris. I guess tennis connected us,” I remain vague because I might not want let the others in our complicated relationship but I also don’t want to lie and say we are best buddies when we hate each other’s guts.

“When did you guys start training together?” She asks Ben this time. The American grins at her and shoots me a glance before answering.

“After Wimbledon I’d say. Our teams arranged a schedule for our joined practices and the rest is history,”

I still remember those hot late afternoons spent on the hard court with Ben and our teams. Sometimes we would stay ‘till the sun set down. Not because we were that fond of each other but because we would push each other to the limit out of spite.

I remember Ben changing at least twice during practice because he would get as sweat as he would during matches. I also remember my sore muscles after the first days. I remember the feeling of having to prove myself as the better player, the need to shine brighter, the hunger to beat him even if we were on the same team.

I remember when once he tried to fix my serve. I let him because as much as I might not love him, I do realize he has a good serve. I remember the feeling of his body behind mine, every inch of him pressed against me. I remember his uneven breathing down my neck. I remember his hands over mine. I remember when I bent down to serve and he followed me. I remember the compromising position. I remember my skin burning and my cheeks reddening. I remember him clearing his throat and taking a few steps back. I remember it all too well…

“Well, congratulations guys! And good luck for next round. A round of applause for our dream team!”

I wave at the cheering crowd as we both head back inside. Ben follows me but I pay him no mind. I know our families are waiting for us outside, next to the press conference room. We also both have interviews to attend. The women’s locker room is right next to the men’s and that’s where our paths split. Thanks to God.

But a hand stops me from opening the door and I am slightly pulled back.

“Aren’t you going to thank me for those saved match points?” I should have known better than to not expect some teasing from him. Ben stares down at me with that shit eating grin that has now become his signature smile. I clench my jaw and sigh.

“I saved us from two break points but you don’t see me being a pain in the ass about it, do you?” I remind him and he chuckles. He can’t be real. The audacity he exudes. Ben has his arms crossed over his chest and I am free to go now.

“You’re always a pain in the ass,” he says to which I snort because really? He is the one speaking? I am yet to meet a more annoying player. He is so arrogant and irritating I cannot stand his presence for more than a match.

“What is it, Shelton? You want me to praise you? Boost your huge ego a little more? What’s next? Would you like for me to suck your dick too?” My words are crude but I have learned that being “ladylike” won’t get me anywhere, especially with men. Ben is surprised by my choice of words and he chuckles again.

“I mean I wouldn’t mind it,” before I can slap the shit out of his stupid face I turn around and flip him off, heading straight into the locker room. I can hear his laughter from inside. He is so irritating I wish he could just disappear. We might work on court but when the lights are off and we are behind closed doors I cannot stand his stupid face. I just have to endure his annoying behavior until the end of the tournament then we will go back to seeing each other as little as possible.

A few days go by before our next match together. I also play in the singles and try to find the right balance between all these matches. So far I have managed to get through to the Round of 16 but as the level of tennis rises, I know it will get harder and harder.

When I see Ben I am already in the tunnel, waiting for our names to be called to get out there and play our best tennis. He is wearing this white and pink kit and his usual headphones are over his ears, meaning that at least until the match is over he won’t be a pain in the ass. I stretch in the meantime, trying to loosen up and lock in.

“Y/N Y/L/N and Ben Shelton!”

We walk in sync towards the court and we are immediately met by the warm welcoming cheers from the American crowd. I wave at them as I put my bag down. We both do our usual routines: get the wristband out, grab the racket, fix the towels. I keep thinking about how the match can turn out, trying to remember our opponents’ flaws and strengths, how we can use them at our advantage.

At the coin toss Ben decides to serve first, taking advantage of one of our main strengths. I bend down next to the net and take a deep breath as the curly haired prepares to serve. It’s game on.

One hour and fifty minutes later we are shaking Paula Badosa and Stefanos Tsitsipas’ hands at the net: we have won. The crowd’s support has played a huge role in this successful win. We were risking losing one set at one point but they kept cheering us on and with my dropshots and Ben’s serve we managed to get through it.

“Congratulations to our dream team. How does it feel to know you’re the most powerful doubles couple in the tournament?” The interviewer asks us. I am tapping the towel over my sweaty skin as Ben takes the question. He is dripping in sweat but it is no surprise.

“Well, it’s an honor to play in front of our people. We can’t let them down, can we?” He shoots me a grin that almost doesn’t look like a smirk. Almost.

“Y/N, you come back out here after a two hours and a half long match against one of the best players in the WTA, Elena Rybakina. How tired are you?” She asks me and hands me the microphone.

“Pretty tired to be honest— I crack a smile and the crowd laughs— Well, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy today. We played two great players and, as you said, I come from a tough match against Elena so I wasn’t expecting too much from today but of course I am really pleased with the result,” I chuckle. All I can think about is the cold shower I am going to take once I am out of here. Thankfully, the interview quickly ends with a question for the both of us.

“Are you going to take this home?” Ben shoots me a quick glance with a knowing and teasing smile before speaking into the mic.

“Of course,”

As soon as I am off the court I attempt to sneak towards the showers but my team forces me to the bicycle for at least ten minutes and, as much as I want to simply let the jet of cold water drown me, I do know it is for the best so I sit there and endure a little more of physical exercise.

Ben is a few bicycles away from me, speaking to his dad and his team. This time we barely even said a word to each other after the match and I want to keep it that way. I am way too exhausted to even fight. Plus, I can be civil and this clearly shows that he is the one always trying to start shit because I never—

“Hey Y/N, great match,” a sudden voice snaps me out of my trail of thoughts. I look up and spot none other than the mighty Carlos Alcaraz, standing there in his black Nike kit, probably ready to play the next match.

“Oh hey Carlos, thanks,” I don’t really know what to say. I don’t think I have even spoken a word to him in the three years that I have been in the tournament. I remember when I was younger, perhaps fourteen, and I started going around Europe to play I used to see him a lot. My dad was really fond of his tennis and said that he would achieve great things. I guess he was right.

“I saw you yesterday. I really like how you play. You got a good backhand, maybe I could learn a thing or two from you,” he jokes, scratching the back of his head. Carlos Alcaraz likes my backhand?

“Oh thank you. I don’t think I have anything to teach you. If anything I would love to take your forehand,” I giggle embarrassed. I don’t know what to do or say. He is standing there, looking at me while I probably look my worst.

“I could let you in on some secrets one of these days. Maybe we could practice together, what do you say?” He asks tilting his head to the side. Oh, his eyes are really pretty. Oh, fuck me. I mean, not fuck me.

“Yeah sure, I’d love to,” I quickly reply before making a fool out of myself. Carlos pulls out his phone and hands me it to me.

“Just put your phone number in it. I’ll text you after this,” he shoots me a smile as I grab his phone with shaky hands. I am glad I am probably already red due to the physical strain because I can feel my cheeks heat up under his gaze. Is Carlos Alcaraz flirting with me? Or is he just being nice?

“See you later,” he shoots me a wink and walks off to court. I stare at the wall as I replay our conversation over and over again like a broken record.

What the fuck?

My team looks at me trying to hide their smirks but I can hear them giggle.

“Somebody’s got an admirer,” my coach teases me and I attempt to brush it off as nothing but I can’t help but grin at the thought of Carlos thinking I play a good tennis. Embarrassing, right?

“He was just being polite,” I shrug my shoulders as I slow down. Finally shower time.

“I didn’t see him being polite to Ben and he played too,” my trainer says and my immediate reaction is to shoot the American a glance. He is getting off the bicycle and grabbing his bag. As he stands back up our eyes meet but this time he is the one giving me one of his nasty looks. I don’t know Ben very well but I do know he has a resting bitch face. However, this seemed intentional. Well, after all we do hate each other’s guts so it is nothing new.

“I’m going to shower, see you in a bit,”

To: Ben

Are you coming?

The match is in 10 minutes

Ben

Where the fuck are you?

I know Ben is a lot of things but he is not a latecomer. He is usually on time but today he is nowhere to be seen. I am standing here in the gym, stretching out with my team and looking around hoping to spot his curly head. Today, we are going to play an even tougher pairing and I really need him to show up soon.

“Have you called him?” My coach asks and I nod. Ten missed calls and countless texts. I might start to worry something bad happened. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about now Ben is playing the diva who shows up late.

“Have you seen his dad?” I ask my team but they shrug their shoulders. Every time I see Ben, his dad is usually around and today I don’t see either of them.

“Shit,”

“Y/N?” I turn around in the hopes that it is Ben but I am faced with a Spaniard: Carlos.

“Hey,” I smile at him politely. He is just coming off court, probably having won the umpteenth match of his career.

“Are you okay? I wanted to wish you good luck but you look stressed,” he clocks immediately my furrowed brows and clenched jaw.

“Yeah yeah, I am just— I don’t know where Ben is,” I confess scanning the room all over again with my eyes. Eight minutes until the start of the match.

“Oh I see. I am sure he is just late,” he tries to reassure me but I am too distressed and distracted to pay his words any attention. Then Carlos steps in front of me and takes me by surprise by gently holding my arms.

“You’ll do great, okay? Don’t worry. And if you don’t, well you can blame me for bringing bad luck,” I chuckle at his words and shake my head. I still don’t know why he is so kind and sweet to me but it feels nice. Maybe I am just overthinking it. Carlos caresses my arms and tells me a few more words of encouragement.

“He’s here,”

I look over Carlos’ shoulder to spot Ben. He is running out of breath, stretching his arms and legs and glaring at me. Nothing new. Carlos notices his presence too and, after wishing us both luck, he leaves us to it. I walk closer to him, crossing my arms over my chest and fighting the urge to hit him with something that will crack his thick skull open.

“You’re lucky we have to go. I am making you pay for this after the match, Shelton,” I threaten him pointing a finger at his broad chest. Ben looks down at me and scoffs. I don’t want to pick a fight right before our game. I need to be calm and focused. He won’t ruin this for me. I won’t let him.

Court 1 has never looked this big and crowded. I think every seat has been booked. The cheering coming from every corner of the court makes me feel so small compared to the crowd. Ben overtakes me and immediately puts his bag down by the bench. I breathe in and out. I can do it.

At the coin toss we shake hands with our opponents, wishing them good luck. I sense a shift in Ben’s attitude but I don’t think too much of it. He has always been very weird to me so I shouldn’t be too surprised. Our opponents have won at the coin toss and decided to serve first so I stay close to the net, ready for the game to start. It’s show time.

“Set Errani Vavassori,”

We have lost the first set 6-3. There is no coordination in our movements. I can’t feel the ball and I can’t even feel Ben. Usually when we are on court there is this unspoken chemistry that makes us move almost in sync but not today. He doesn’t even spare me a glance when he goes for the ball. We have risked hitting each other multiple times and he doesn’t even apologize.

“Ben, what’s wrong? We can’t lose this,” I try to talk to him but he simply grunts and shrugs his shoulders as he sips on his water. He is getting on my last nerve.

“Get your shit together or—“

“Or what?” He snaps at me. His brown eyes have never looked darker and angrier. What is up with him? Did something happen before the match? Is he mad at me? I can’t understand what changed in the span of two days when we barely spoke to each other.

“Players,” the umpire grabs our attention. We have been sitting here looking daggers at each other for a whole minute. I stand up and roll my eyes while I head towards the ball boy. I am serving.

Ben takes his position at the net. I don’t think he has underestimated Errani and Vavassori but I cannot figure out why he has been underplaying. Is something on his mind? I mean, we bicker all the time but I am usually the one who gets annoyed at him. Not the other way around.

“Advantage Shelton Y/L/N,”

This set seems to be a luckier one for us. Ben isn’t playing well but he has fixed some of his shots and it makes us able to gain an advantage on the other doubles duo. At least his serve is as deadly as always, serving a lot of aces and not allowing them to get into the game and play.

“Game Shelton Y/L/N,”

We are on match point. Ben is serving. If we win this, we are back in the game. We have a chance of taking this home and getting a place into the semi’s. I crouch down and wait for the sound of his racket hitting the ball.

“Out,”

Second serve.

I shoot Ben a glance but he is not paying me attention. Understandable for someone who is serving a match point. I look ahead and stay focused.

“Out,”

Fuck. Not a double fault now.

I sigh and try to not show my anxiety to Ben. I know it is hard enough to mess up. I look over my shoulder and see him shaking his head as he takes the balls from the ball kids. I would like to know what goes through his mind right now. I wish there was something I could say to calm him down. But I know that if I even dare to look at him for more than a second, it will only make things worse.

I can hear the ball bounce five times and then I see it hit the other court. It’s in.

Vavassori goes for a powerful backhand that ends on Ben’s side of the court. He quickly replies with a forehand. The ball bounces on the other side of the court, painting the line but the Italian is ready and answers with a quick backhand again. I follow the ball with my eyes and the trajectory makes it land on my side of the court, I go for it, preparing my backhand when suddenly I am stopped in my tracks by a bigger force.

Then it all happens so quickly. I fall backwards, landing on my right arm while trying to not lose my balance. A loud scream is heard in the silence of the stadium. A sudden pain irradiates from my elbow to my shoulder and I curl into a ball, weeping in pain. I cannot focus on anything else that isn’t the nagging ache in my arm. Is it broken?

“Y/N,” I can hear an unknown voice talk to me. When I finally open my eyes and take a look at my surroundings I notice the physiotherapist sitting by my side, trying to figure out what is wrong and Ben crouched down next to me. He looks worried.

“Is she okay? Is her arm okay?” He keeps asking over and over again. I don’t think he has ever looked this concerned. But I cannot focus on him as the physiotherapist tries to move my arm but I let out a death rattle at the sudden touch.

“Can’t you give her something for the pain?” I hear Ben ask.

“Y/N, I am going to apply some numbing cream and tape your arm. You let me know if you can move it. Unfortunately the medical timeout won’t allow us to fix the problem or see how much damage there is so you must consider if continuing to play is the best decision for you and your arm,” the physiotherapist explains as I feel a cold substance touch my upper arm. I nod, clenching my jaw. In the process I can hear Ben mumble something under his breath.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” uh? What is he talking about? I look at him. His furrowed brows and teary eyes confused me even further. Why is he so upset about? And why is he apologizing?

“The crash and the fall were pretty serious,” the physiotherapist explains but the puzzled expression doesn’t seem to be leaving my face.

“Don’t you remember? Have you hit your head too?” She asks me now focusing on my head.

“No…” I finally speak up. The pain in my arm is still nagging me but it has subsided. What is going on?

Ben bites his bottom lip as he glances at the physio and then back at me.

“Ben clashed into you and you fell,” Silence follows her words as I take them in.

So it is his fault. He made me fall. He pushed me down and almost broke my arm. I stay silent as she helps back on my feet. My arm is sore but the cream is slowly working. The ache is fading and I don’t know if it is thanks to the ointment or the ferocious anger that is boiling in my veins.

“Y/N, I—“ “Shut up,” I silence him immediately. I don’t want to hear another word coming from him. I try to test my arm and see if I can move it around and essentially play with it. It still hurts a little but the adrenaline and the cream are probably helping me with the pain. I nod at the umpire who is waiting for the okay to resume the match.

As I take my position back in front of the net I am blinded by anger. Anger that drives me to give my best on court. We manage to win the set eventually and the next one starts with us serving. The minutes in between sets Ben attempts to talk to me but I take the break to go to the bathroom.

The following set we both play much better. Ben improves his shots and doesn’t try to hit the balls that are in my side of the court. The medical timeout must have taken a toll on our opponents because their attention and tennis level drop. I sense a little of pain in my arm but try to not force it too much.

“Game, set and match Shelton Y/L/N,”

When I was a little kid I remember I had problems managing my anger. Especially on court. That is what led my parents to seek help from a therapist. Although in the beginning I felt as if she was invading my privacy, I soon realized she was actually helping me learn how to handle my emotions and calm down. Her techniques helped me throughout the years when I was playing and it allowed me to reach higher levels.

Nevertheless, right now I do not want to calm down. I do not want to be mature about it. I do not want to be the bigger person. I want to sit here on the medical centre’s bed staring at the wall and letting the rage consume me.

“Y/N,”

Ben Shelton stands on the threshold of the door. Speaking of the devil…

“Came to finish what you started?” I reply with words full of venom. The American walks closer to me with his tail tucked between his legs. He is feeling guilty. Good.

“What did they say? Is it bad?” He asks concerned. I don’t want his concern right now. I want him to pay for what he did.

“How about you start telling me what the fuck was that about? You know I always got my side of the court covered so why the fuck would you go for a ball that wasn’t even yours?” I turn around to face him fully. My arm is perfectly and meticulously wrapped up in with gauzes and I am waiting for a doctor to bring in the news. Ben tries to avoid my gaze but I will get an answer out of him, whether he likes it or not.

“I got distracted,” his excuse is weak and it only infuriates me even more.

“Distracted by what? A butterfly? Be fucking for real, Ben. You wanted me to get hurt? You hate me this much?” I insist taunting him. His eyes widen and he shakes his head in disbelief. As if it was an absurdity to think he hates my guts. As if he hasn’t made it very clear on multiple occasions.

“I would never. Why would you even think that?” He is offended. The poor guy with both of his arms intact is offended that I would ever assume his hatred for me is bigger than expected.

“Oh I don’t know. Maybe because you have been a fucking nightmare to play with? Or maybe because you are fucking annoying all the time? Or maybe because you showed up late to our match and proceeded to glare at me the whole time like I fucking murdered your whole family tree?” I almost yell at him, vomiting all the things I have been wanting to tell him for weeks. Ben stares at me in bewilderment and his surprise only enrages me even more. How can he not see the way he treats me? How can he not acknowledge it when it is so clear?

“I don’t want to see your fucking face ever again and I don’t want to play with you anymore,” the lack of answer from his side pushes me to get meaner and angrier. I shouldn’t let my emotions control me so much but I cannot filter myself when he stands here looking so shocked.

“Why? We’re the perfect match!”

“Are you for real? That fall could have costed me my career. I can’t play with someone who would throw me under the bus just because their girlfriend broke up with them the day before,” Ben scoffs at my accusations. He scoffs. Violence is never the way to do things but he is making me question all my morals.

“You’re exaggerating,” if looks could kill, Ben would be dead by now. I can feel my blood boil at his words and I am clenching my jaw so hard it might snap.

“I am exaggerating?“ I repeat his statement back to him and I can see the regret in his eyes. It is too late now though. He can’t take it back anymore. A hundred of scenarios play in my head where I get my deserved revenge.

“Listen, I am sorry. I just let my emotions get the best of me,”

“That’s it? You let your emotions get the best of you? You’re unbelievable, Ben,” I scoff. I don’t know how he does it but he always manages to get on my last nerve. I cannot believe him. Ben clenches his jaw and breathes in.

“Don’t act so mighty now. You have been distracted ever since Carlos talked to you,”

Uh? What?

I stare at him for a whole minute without uttering a word, just trying to piece together his words. What is he implying?

“I haven’t been distracted at all. What do you know about Carlos and me anyway? That’s none of your fucking business,” I point a finger at him. Is he really going to stick his nose in my business? Really? Since when is he so interested in what I do and whom I speak to?

“Yeah sure. If you weren’t so busy trying to impress him, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he has to be kidding. He did not just say what I heard. I must be hallucinating.

“What the fuck did you just say?” I need him to say it again. To be sure I am hearing him right. Ben looks at me uncertain. My head is starting to hurt. All this fighting is getting us nowhere but I will not let him get away with it. He is just a spoiled prick who thinks he is entitled to everything just because he knows how to play tennis.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters before turning around and trying to leave the room. He knows that what he said will only worsen things between us and I know I should calm down but I cannot.

“Well maybe I will ask Carlos to play mixed doubles next time. At least he won’t let his emotions get the best of him,” I am just asking for it at this point. I want him to get angry, as mad as I am. Ben stops in his tracks, his back still facing me. We stay quiet for a moment and I almost think he is going to let that go.

Then he turns around, walks those few feet that separate us and looks down at me. The height difference is evident. His brown eyes have never looked this dark and intimidating but I don’t budge. He doesn’t scare me.

“What? Did I offend Benny boy? Poor thing, he doesn’t—“

“Shut the fuck up,” he cuts me off harshly. He has never treated me this way which tells me I have hit the right button. A smirk spreads on my face.

“Or what?” Is his last straw. I can feel his breath on my face and I can see every little detail of his face up close before he erases the distance between us. Unexpectedly his lips are on mine. What? I am obviously caught off guard by his actions and by the force of his kiss. But I am even more surprised by my own reaction when I don’t push him off. Matter of fact I kiss him back.

I can feel Ben smirk against my lips as his hands grip my waist and neck, making sure I know he is not going to go easy on me. Not that he has ever done that. Just like every other dynamic between us, the kiss is rough and fast. Soon we end up panting in each other’s mouths, running out of breath. He shifts his weight forward and pushes me on the bed. His hand on my neck applies more pressure and forces me to tilt my head back.

“You get on my last nerve for fuck sake,” he mutters through gritted teeth. I grin proudly. His other hand squeezes my waist before dropping to my parted thighs, squeezing the bare skin. We keep on kissing like we didn’t swear to hate each other’s guts up until two minutes ago.

Ben’s touch burns my skin as if his hands weren’t supposed to touch me. I can feel his short nails dig into my flesh but it doesn’t hurt, it ignites something so primal inside of me. My legs pull him closer, closing the minimum distance.

“Yeah? Or are you just jealous of Carlos?” I tease him when he pulls away. He stares down at me, my head still tilted back by his large hand. He smirks and clicks his tongue against his palate.

“Jealous? Last time I checked I am the one kissing you right now, not him,” he is not wrong.

I slip my hands from his hair to his shoulders, feeling the tensed muscles beneath his skin, then his hard chest and abs until I reach for the waistband of his joggers. I never take my eyes off his, searching for a sign of discomfort in his gaze but he only spurs me on.

“Kissing? Is that all we are doing here?” I mumble testing the waters. Ben doesn’t flinch or back down, he leans in closer.

“We can do a lot more than just that, baby,” he mutters with his usual shit eating grin. My fingers dance across the waistband of his underwear, caressing the skin.

“What if someone walks in?”

“Bet you’d like it even more,”

Touché.

Before I can add anything else, Ben crashes his lips against mine. We both know we don’t have time and we are risking a lot but neither of us wants to stop now. His hands move from my thighs to my shorts while I let the waistband slap against the skin of his lower stomach.

“No teasing now,” he grunts against my lips while his fingers tug at my shorts. I chuckle and help him out. I sit there in my top and my panties, legs locked around his waist while he kisses me again. Ben’s kisses are sloppy and needy. He tastes like something I shouldn’t know the taste of. Something forbidden.

“Fuck,” he curses when I lower his joggers and reach for his underwear.

“Don’t have time, Ben,” I remind him when he is going too slow. He chuckles and nods, spreading my legs to move my panties to the side. He doesn’t even try to hide his blunt staring.

“I have wanted to eat it for months. Guess I’ll have to wait just a little more,” he confesses and I can feel heat rushing to my core. The image of him on his knees for me, my legs over his shoulders while his face is smothered between my legs makes my insides twist. I lick my lips and eagerly pull his underwear down.

“By the looks of it you have been dying to suck it too,” he teases me. I am no better than him. My eyes are glued to his cock, standing erect against his lower stomach. He wraps his hand around it, giving it a few strokes while I wait.

“I have heard I give a pretty good head,” I joke while he teases my entrance with his tip. His forehead is pressed against mine. The tension in the room is so thick, we would both do anything to ease it.

“Yeah? Says who?” He tries to mock me but he should know better than that.

“Carlos,” I half choke on my answer as he thrusts in. Ben’s smile fades and turns into a frown.

“Guess I’ll have to fuck his name out of you,” he mutters while I hold onto his broad shoulders. My mouth drops open when he starts moving. He is thick, thicker than I have had recently. Every time he pulls out and thrusts back in I feel fuller and fuller. My legs shake due to the unexpected strain and pleasure.

When he notices I haven’t dished him any other snarky comments, his grin comes back on his lips.

“Can’t talk anymore? I thought you could take it, doll,” his annoying comments are much more bearable when his cock is stuffed inside of me. I gulp and try to glare at him but his hips set a brutal pace that doesn’t allow me to mask my overwhelming blissfulness.

One of his hands rests on my hips, angling me perfectly so that I can feel all of him while the other stays on the bed for leverage. The bed squeaks beneath our weights but neither of us pays it any attention. A nurse or a doctor could walk in any moment yet we are too focused on our own pleasure to care. If this was to come out, we would be publicly shamed but I don’t seem to have a care in the world when I can hear Ben moan next to my ear.

“Is this what you wanted all along? For me to fuck you nice and good? Because I did. I have wanted to feel you the second I saw you. I have dreamed of how you’d feel for months, of how you’d take it, of what you’d look like while I’d fuck you. My imagination doesn’t even come close to the reality though,” the brunette confesses in a moment of weakness. Any other moment I would use his own words against him but right now I am not in the right mental state to say anything other than his name over and over again.

“Does it feel good, baby?” His voice is hoarse and I can tell he is struggling. My walls wrap him and clench around him harder than I would want to. I know neither of us is going to last.

“Yes,” I gasp when he grabs me by the ass and pulls me closer. I inevitably fall a little back, resting on my forearms while he takes full control. His hands hold onto my waist tightly while he fucks into me. I can see his furrowed brows, agape mouth and abs contracting with every thrust.

“Ben,” I call his name to get his attention. The American looks up at me. There is a look in his eyes I have never seen before. It is the look of desperation. It is as if his prick facade dropped because now he is just too deep in to pretend to be the tough guy. Who would have known…

“I am not going to last if you look at me like that,” he warns me way too seriously. I grin and make it my mission to make this harder for him by slipping my hand between my legs. Ben’s eyes follow my every movement until I reach my clit and start to toy with it. Soon I hear this deep grunt coming out of his mouth.

“Y/N, please,” he warns me again. I guess Ben is one of those guys who lose their minds when the girl touches herself in front of them. I tilt my head to the side and keep going. The stimulation combined with his thrusts make it also harder for me to not get closer to my orgasm.

“Fuck,”

“Shit shit,”

“Keep going,” I beg when I start to feel myself teetering over. Ben clenches his jaw and takes in a deep breath. He looks way too good all sweaty and needy for me.

“You’re gonna kill me,” is the last coherent sentence I hear coming from him before we both reach our highs, almost at the same time. I roll my eyes back while Ben lean forward, almost collapsing on top of me. The room is filled with curses and the smell of sex.

Not a single word comes out of our mouths as we come down. Ben lays on top of me for a moment, his head in the crook of my neck while I caress his hair. He is the one to break the silence first.

“Next time they ask us about our chemistry on court I am telling them it is thanks to the nasty sex we just had here,”