sopostflower

[sopostflower]

"how do they not catch on?" oikawa complains as you guys walk out of the theater. "i mean, clark kent and superman literally look the same. it's like those cliche movies where the nerdy girl takes off her glasses and she's magically ten times prettier."

"i think it's quite realistic," you reply. "nobody expects superman of all people to be a dorky journalist."

you take a look at oikawa, who's sporting his own pair of glasses, and his usually swept back and styled hair is uncharacteristically messy, brown curls covering most of his forehead.

"besides it's not just the glasses, it's how clark presents himself. the tousled hair, the slightly oversized blazer, the awkward demeanor." as you're listing these features, you notice the similarities between the man of steel's alter ego and oikawa. "kinda like yourself right now."

at the last statement, oikawa's frown morphs into his typical self-satisfied smirk. "aww are you calling me superman? am i your hero?"

and there he goes again. you can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

"nah, your personality is more like lex luthor. a professional hater."

"hey! that was mean!"

a/n: inspired by the latest superman movie! if you haven't seen it, you're missing out

for more works, check out my masterlist

© tetskuro 2025. please do not repost or modify my work.

[sopostflower]

Oikawa who simps over his gf pls

PRETTY ✮ GIRL

◜Tōru Oikawa◞

Never tells a soul, but he keeps a collection of polaroids of the two of you under his bed, not even for pleasure, just so he can see your face when he misses you

Will tell anyone and everyone who will listen about you.

Iwaizumi has been forced to have every detail about you engraved into his brain—he knows what shoe size your grandmother wore. All of this is against his will

Takes constant photos of you posting them everywhere—isn't even upset he's 'hurting' his fan girls

Show's you so much affection its almost dizzying, he'll start at kissing your wrist, and he'll make it up to kissing your shoulder

Carry's anything you ask him to carry around for you like it's as light as a feather even if its 50 pounds

Treats you like his personal cheerleader, giving you his extra jersey to wear every game—winks at you before and after each game

Even if he doesn't like your music taste, he has a playlist of your favorite songs he listens to whenever he misses you

Keeps both a bracelet and hair tie of yours on his wrists, swearing they make his accuracy better—and has slapped someone's hand off his wrist when they tried to touch his bracelet

Calls you from the dressing rooms after practice—once it's cleared out—to tell you how everything went and how much he misses you

always makes sure to kiss the tips of each finger before letting go of you

Will give you anything of his you want, shirts, boxers, jewelry.

You once said men who wear rings were hot, and now, whenever he's not in a game, he has a few rings he'll let you play with—you don't even have to ask

He loves treating you like a little princess—truly it brings him this sense of joy he never thought possible before

He's simply in looove

[sopostflower]

[sopostflower]

ok. proxy!reader asking toby to teach you how to throw a hatchet.

he obliges, of course, because it’s one of the things he’s best at, and lord knows he likes to show of the things he can do well.

so he takes you out to the woods. extends a hatchet out towards you like it’s a piece of himself, and maybe it is in a way. it sure feels like it - you can still feel the warmth on the handle from his grip.

‘y-you gotta really follow through.’ he’d tell you, flipping the heavy weapon in his hand like it’s nothing. ‘put all your weight into it, and f-focus in.’

your first try is bad enough to make toby snort out a laugh. the second, just as egregious. by the third, he realizes you need some intervention.

you don’t even have time to think before he’s moving behind you, hands on your hips. ‘move those l-legs.’ nudging your ankles apart with his foot. ‘sh-shoulder width apart.’

then, it’s his hands, snaking up your arm - one hand still planted on your hip to keep you steady, the other one curling around your grip on the hatchet. calloused fingers blanketing yours, his breath low and steady against your neck.

‘pull back,’ he’s gentle as he guide your arm back, tugging the hatchet into perfect throwing position. ‘then follow through.’ moving you through the motions, his chest is near pressed against your back as he leans forwards to help you make the throw. warm, solid - way too close.

and of course, on the fourth time - the hatchet hits its mark.

(mostly because it was 90% his strength.)

[sopostflower]

Makeout Mix Volume One

Actual mix you can listen to right here!!

Summary: Eddie Munson whisks you away in his thrashed van for yet another evening. It's business as usual for the most part-- but he's made you a mix tape, and you're catching feelings... so the usual smoking, warm beer, and making out gets a little more heated tonight.

Word Count: ~4.8k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! smut & fluff, porn with (some of) a plot, FWB type of vibe (but you've obviously both caught feelings), Eddie x you, gender non specified, no y/n or gendering of reader, AFAB reader, inexperienced kink, detailed smoking, drinking, grinding, making out, unprotected p in v, mentions: scratching, hair pulling, biting, hickies, tiny bit of choking (all Eddie receiving), virgin!Eddie, sub!Eddie, masochist!Eddie

A/N: y'all I'm so fucking proud of this one honestly. I was researching, and I made a period accurate mix tape for your enjoyment so you can really pretend, and I just think this loser virgin is the best thing since sliced bread. Please let me know all your thoughts and feelings, I thrive on feedback! I poured my heart and 11 hours over two days into this?! Hyperfixation is wild...

The van is vibrating with bass as it rattles and squeaks to a stop at the curb outside your house. You wish you could say you had kept busy, but the reality was you had been sitting, giddy and fidgeting, for the past 30 minutes. 

8:30 PM had become the ritualistic time that you and Eddie had set for your evening sessions in the van. Enough time to eat dinner, do any leftover tasks, and sit and wait with a racing heart for the brown-eyed angel to arrive in his chariot. 

You could hear him a block away. By the time he actually comes to a stop, you’re already flipping on the porch light as you practically skip out your front door.

What you and Eddie had was “hard to describe” as you told your friends, but it wasn’t. Not really. You guys smoked weed, drank shitty (potentially stolen) beer sometimes, and made out. You were hooking up with the town freak, while keeping v-cards intact. Something had shifted lately though… Things had gotten a little more Hot ‘N’ Heavy. The making out had come with more poorly hidden whimpers, more needy subtle grinding, more tightness in the front of Eddie’s torn up jeans. And you couldn’t stop spiraling down the rabbit hole of your feelings and desires when you got home late at night reeking of him. You didn’t know how to suddenly shift to telling your friends about where and how and why your hands wandered in the wee hours of the morning because of him.

Eddie barely made it around the front of the van to open your door when you came bounding up. 

“Howdy!” you said excitedly, giving him an obvious once over. His beat up shoes, ratty jeans, wild hair, thinly worn Metallica tee, and unwashed battle jacket made your heart flutter. The glorious mess that he was, glimmering with studs and pins.

“Hi,” he replies with a wicked grin, matching your full body scan like yours gave him the permission he was waiting for. You can’t help but notice how his eyes sparkle and wrinkle at the edges when he grins like that, smile lines echoing across his cheeks, dimpling his chin along the way. You have to bite the insides of your cheeks a little to not let your smile get too much wider. 

You roll your eyes at his chivalry before you heave yourself into the passenger seat, and make a point of slamming the door shut yourself, yanking it out of his hand. He throws his head back and laughs then runs back around the front of the van, popping back into the driver’s seat before pulling his own door shut. He shifts into drive and takes off like a bat out of hell, tires squealing in the quiet street while he careens towards whatever abandoned parking lot is next in your rotation. 

Ronnie James Dio and guitar have been screeching relentlessly into the small space for a handful of minutes, headbanging settling into rhythmic nods.

“Made ya something,” he says, turning the blaring music down. Still keeping it loud enough to buzz the speakers slightly, but you no longer have to yell over it to be heard. He pulls one hand off the wheel, ejecting Dio and reaching into the inside of his jacket. Before you can voice your incredulousness at the idea of him having a gift for you, he pulls out a tape. You barely catch a glimpse of the jagged hearts drawn on the front in black sharpie as he pops it into the cassette deck. The moments of quiet as he switches tapes feels eerie and unfamiliar in the van. 

“A legendary Munson mixtape?!” you gasp, exaggerating excitement and flattery that help mask how much you’re truly excited and flattered. The jokes help with the blushing and butterflies you’re trying to push away, the buzzing you still feel in the absence of bass. He glares at you for a brief moment, but softens when he sees the genuine smile you can’t wipe off your features. His eyes linger a little extra while he admires you in the glow and flashes of the streetlights you’re veering past. 

“Oh, yeah,” he croons, back to playing it cool, “you’re about to learn why they’re legendary.” He reaches down and turns the volume up to max, like it wasn’t just threatening to blow out the speakers a minute earlier. The low, driving beat of Kashmir by Led Zeppelin starts to convulse through your bodies and the van. He drops his right hand to your thigh– you look at it, then up to him, but he’s looking out his own window and then back out the windshield, really putting in the effort of playing it cool. 

This is totally normal, he puts his hand on your thigh like he’s your boyfriend all the time, your heart totally isn’t racing at this new sweet little kind of contact. 

You thought you were giddy before, now you feel like you physically can’t wait until he parks and you get to kiss him. 

He finally pulls into the chosen parking lot of the evening, dusk barely lightening the sky still, while he parks on the side furthest from the single flickering yellow light. Eddie kills the engine and relents the volume a little bit.

“Makeout Mix Volume One,” he declares unprovoked, tapping his fingers on the dash. 

“Volume One? That implies a Volume Two,” you tease him. “Is there a Volume Two?!”

“That really depends on how Volume One goes over…” His eyes flicker with fire, and then you’ve got his denimed ass in your face as he jams himself over the center console and wiggles into the open back of the Metal Mobile. You scoff and laugh, clambering after him and landing next to him with a thud and a huff. The two bottles of Iron City he holds up in an offer clink together, his raised eyebrows asking the question on behalf of his mouth. You take one of the bottles in answer, and take a swig of the mostly room temp carbonated bread soda. Beer is nasty, but beer with Eddie is somehow heavenly. 

He takes a swig too, not taking his eyes off you until his mouth leaves the lip of the bottle. He pulls his metal lunch box of contraband off the floor and onto his lap, popping it open with a jangle and starting the process of rolling. 

He rolls like he’s sculpting the Venus de Milo– every move intentional, every speck of flower accounted for. He loads up the paper, places a prepped filter on one end, and starts rolling back and forth between his fingers to press out the air pockets, zeroing in on the task. He catches one corner under the other side near his thumb, laser beam focus, tongue sticking out a little. You love watching him roll, his focus-face is so cute, and you’d be slow to admit it– but you love that he puts so much care into something that’ll only be shared between the two of you. 

He rolls up the perfect cone shape, leaving just a tiny strip of the edge, and then he leans in, fingers holding the joint in place, and carefully licks the length of the paper. You can’t help the way you stare at his tongue gently caressing up the paper, leaving a shiny wet trail in its wake. He finishes the roll by pressing the wet edge down, and whips his head up at you with a smile. Your eyes drag from his lips up his face to meet his eyes, and you think your mouth might be hanging open as you blink at him and smile a little.

“Do I have something on my face?” his eyebrows furrow a little as he wipes at the corners of his mouth, and you shake your head, chuckling lightly.

“No! Sorry, I…” you trail off, eyes darting away. “You’re good.” you say finally, not giving him more room to question. 

“Alrighty… Good.” It’s clear he’s a little befuddled, but he lets it slide anyways. “You want to, or should I?” he holds up the joint and the lighter, asking who’s gonna light it tonight. 

“Be my guest,” you say sweetly.

“I thought you were my guest?” he hassles you, words slightly contorted as he sticks the joint between his lips. His perfect, soft, pink lips. As you mock him with a snarky fake laugh, he smirks and purses his lips. The lighter flicks to life, dancing orange light and dramatic shadows across his face. His cheeks hollow a little as he sucks in through the joint, pulling the heat of the fire through it until you see the cherry catch. He gives it a few puffs, ensuring an even light, and lets the smoke out through his nose as he passes it to you. 

“Thank ya,” you say, plucking the joint from his fingers. He watches you pull a deep drag and hold it for a moment, the smoke comes out smoothly until you start choking on it and coughing. He cracks a smile, and when you cough more he downright laughs at you. Fighting for air you smack him, eyes watering, handing the joint back while you and your lungs duke it out. 

“Shut the f–” another cough interrupts you. “Shut the fuck up,” you finally croak out quickly before hacking a little bit more and grabbing his arm with an iron grip. 

“Hey, the more you cough, the more you get off,” he winks at you and then takes another hit while you smack his shoulder and shove him some more. Laughing and smoking don’t mix, so now he’s also hacking up a lung and suffocating on smoke. 

“Who’s a bitch now, huh?!” you jab at him, another round of smokey laughing coughs erupting out of him, not enough air to defend himself. 

By the time the joint is burnt to the filter, you two have become a little more tangled. Giggling idiots in a haze of smoke trapped inside the van. Mouths no longer occupied by the act of smoking, you both start to inch your faces closer together, ready to occupy your mouths with another familiar activity. Before you make contact though, he abruptly taps the tip of your nose with his finger and leans forward, much to your confusion. He sits back up with a water bottle in hand. 

“Dry mouth, sorry,” he says sheepishly, smirking. He unscrews the lid and takes a sip, offering it to you next. You roll your eyes and laugh, but take a sip too.

He sets it back on the floor of the van, then re-settles into his spot. His big soft eyes gaze at you for a long moment, then, fucking finally, he closes the small gap between your faces and kisses you. It’s a little wet and sloppy, mashing into you like he might miss the window of opportunity, but you both melt into it. After the first couple messy smooches, your soft lips find their rhythm together. 

Makeout Mix Volume One is melting into the background of the moment, but The Runaways chanting that you’re Eddie’s ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch--cherry bomb isn’t lost on you. 

The kiss between the two of you heats up, following the recent patterns of slow but steady escalation. Smooches start to descend into open-mouth drawn-out making out. You’re sharing breath when his tongue darts out. The feeling of him running it along your lower lip makes you hum a little into his mouth, absentmindedly. You part your lips a little more, giving his tongue a small swipe with yours, inviting him to press forward and explore more. And as oblivious as he can be to some things, he catches his cue perfectly. With only the slightest nervous hesitation, he pushes his tongue into your mouth, chasing after the teasing muscle that has retreated to the other side of your teeth. So he licks your teeth too– the beginning of his tongue’s voyage into the depths of your mouth. 

... my guardian angel’s rung down my telephone… Something about the T. Rex song just pulls you over and up into Eddie’s lap, straddling him. Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair in the process, pulling the two of you closer together as you settle, never breaking the obscene kiss. This does feel like a teenage dream. You grab his face and push your tongue into his open panting mouth, feeling bold with want, rolling your hips forward all in one sweeping motion that crashes over him before he knows what’s happening. Eddie lets his first true moan of the evening out into your mouth while he drowns in your invasion, hands frantic on your sides and back when his hips buck involuntarily. You smile into the kiss, not laughing quite enough to break it, continuing to occupy his mouth. You suck on his tongue and he moans again, a whiny sound that drops into a rumble in his chest. His hands slow down and grab into the meat of your thighs, and he gets his bearings a little bit again– still jolting when your hips roll through the height of your gyration. And still making desperate little sounds for you. 

You pull back from his face, lips pulsing and shining with spit. You take in his flushed cheeks and lips, his even more fluffed curls, and the glaze of his eyes. He looks at you, a twinge of a pout skittering across his face as he tilts his chin up at you a tiny bit, parting his lips ever so slightly more. He wants you to kiss him more, bad, and you lean in like you’re going to, but you kiss just to the side of his mouth instead. He lets out a tiny whimper, but doesn’t protest much more when you start trailing kisses across his jaw. He’s back to squirming his hips around under your slow pressing grinds when you start dragging your teeth over his throat. You just can’t get enough of him, you need to hear him and taste his skin. You kiss and bite and suck on his neck, leaving a map of where your mouth has been in red marks and spit. 

And he is just coming unraveled underneath you. 

His head rolled back, mouth agape, as he moans relentlessly, vocal chords vibrating against your lips. His hips shamelessly buck and grind up into you now, fingers digging into your skin and pressing your hips down into him, like he’s fucking you through both pairs of pants. His neck is very sensitive, you’d figured that out a couple nights ago, and you’re fully taking advantage of it right now. His strangled groans are becoming pathetic, winding all over in pitch and volume, conducted by your actions and reactions. 

“Hold me… Hold me… harder,” he manages to grunt out, not quite even sure how to communicate the desire that’s burning in him, just that he knows he needs whatever it is.

“Hmm, wha Eddie?” you ask against his skin, and he groans again when he hears his name from your lips. 

“Harder,” he whispers desperately, “more,” and he reaches his hand up to lay it over yours, pressing your fingertips into his flesh. 

Still a little unsure what exactly he’s asking for, but humming out a moan at how fucked out he sounds, you drag your finger nails into his skin tentatively and a pornographic moan erupts out of him. He’s mostly incoherent, but you catch a few yeses and swear words at the tail of it. You moan in response and pull your mouth off him at the reaction, devouring him with your stare as you dig your other hand’s nails down the other side of his neck, mirroring the first scratch. He whines and shutters at the pain you’re inflicting on him– panting and moaning more as you taper off the red lines blooming on his skin. Like stems for the bouquet of red and purple hickies you’ve painted on his pale skin. 

“Like that?” you ask breathlessly, your voice low, the realization sinking in that he likes it exactly like that. 

He nods a little desperately. “Yes… p-please like that,” he huffs.

And that stirs something deep in your belly. The plea makes your heart pound in your ears. You let your eyes linger for a moment longer on his neck and then glance up at his face to find his gaze boring into you. Eyes begging and hazy, glimmering dark. When you sear back at him, and your mouth twitches in the corners with a grin, you swear the glassy orbs in his face literally twinkle at you like a goddamn cartoon. 

“Please,” he repeats, “need you more…” 

You burn a little at his choice of words. In this vulnerable state he’s in, brain seemingly clouded with need, he still needs you. It feels fitting that Confessions by the Violent Femmes twangs in the speakers, because this does seem like somewhat of a confession on his end. 

And so you give him more, rewarding his words giving him what he’s groveling for. You grab the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and exposing his tummy before he leans up and lifts his arms for you to pull it completely off of him. You drag your nails down his chest and his hips lull back to life, ready to continue your dry humping. Not that either of your underwear were particularly dry at this point. It might just be categorized as humping. He might have actually come in his pants a little already, but he’s truly in a euphoric blur as you explore the more intense contact together, so it’s tough to know for sure. 

You discover that he lets out those bedraggled pornographic moans from scratches, hair pulling, your hands around his throat, and hard bites on more muscular areas. And his body and breath quiver when you lick and nip at his ears. 

His hips have a mind of their own at this point, blatantly rubbing his hard cock on the heat between your legs; keeping any kind of steady rhythm by grinding out the dark driving beat of the Ministry song that feels like it’s been on forever. He starts moaning in time too, his succession of whimpers getting higher and breathier. You bite into the top of his shoulder where it could technically be deemed the crook of his neck, the vampire spot, Eddie had called it once. And as you sink your teeth into his sweaty tender skin, salty on your tongue, you dig your nails across the skin of his shoulder blades hard enough that little tiny prickles of blood dot parts of the welts left. He gasps– fingers digging into the crease of your hips while he holds you against his throbbing cock as best as he can while his hips thrust needily. 

“Ohfuck ohfuckohfucck–” his moan is this chest rattling guttural sound, and comes out of him in waves as he sucks in jagged breaths and comes in his pants the hardest he’s ever come in his life. The pain and pleasure completely overwhelming his senses. You can feel the wet spot he’s pressing into you through all four layers of fabric between you. You moan happy little approving sounds, cooing at him practically, straightening up so your hips tilt down into his withstanding bulge while you wrap your arms around his head and anchor your hands into his hair, pulling him into your chest. You keep grinding your hips, realizing how easy it would be to chase your own release over the edge with how wound up you are. He’s making all kinds of growls and groans trying to handle how sensitive his dick is, but he keeps pressing into your hips– he just hopes to god you’re as close as you seem, because he isn’t sure how much more he can stand. 

His prayers are answered by the honey of your long and loud moan, and he feels your thighs shaking on either side of him. He tugs his thumbs out of the creases of your hips, and snakes his arms around your back while you come in his lap.

You just sit like that for a minute or two. The aftershocks of your drawn out orgasms being released through your tight embrace. The mixtape ended at some point, so the little whimpers and heavy breaths sporadically coming from the both of you, and the crickets outside the steel walls, were the only things combating silence in the van. The silence felt warm and triumphant though, and there was something a little special about it that you didn’t care to overanalyze right now. 

You both eventually come down from the rush and adrenaline some, pulling apart, but not enough for your arms to untangle from the other. You blink at each other a few times.

“Legendary,” you murmur, nodding in agreement with yourself. And I didnt even catch it all, you tag on internally, unsure if the tape even got flipped or not.

Eddie’s entire face breaks out in a smile. He’s definitely back on Earth, but he feels like he might be dreaming now. And he just beams at you with adoration.

“I’ll make as many volumes as you want,” his voice is still ragged, the words a little thick with effort. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” The sweet honesty in his voice lingers in the air. 

“I want…” you lilt out, looking at his mouth, and his big doe eyes. He perks up slightly, not actually having expected a request, but eager to please you. Your eyes flicker in mischief, making him wait like a well-trained dog. You try to keep your braves intact, and try to ignore your increasing heart rate at the confession you’re considering. “I… want…” you draw out again, carefully considering your words.

The word anything is written all over his face as he scours your blushing features for any clues, searching your eyes like he might be able to peer into your thoughts. His own heart rate increases slightly, a tingling in his body from the anticipation. 

He sees your smile start to crackle as you lean in, and you brush his ear with your lips, your breath hot as you whisper, “I… want to feel you… without all these layers between us,” your words are crisp and quiet, and the final s hisses a little. His arms tighten slightly around you, a shiver runs down his spine as your words sink in and ghost over the shell of his ear. He didn’t think it would be possible, but his dick convulses and hardens a bit again. When you look at his face you can see the cogs turning in his brain. There’s really only one conclusion that can be drawn. Your words were chosen well. But he’s still not entirely pieced back together, and now the blood is rushing out of his head and back into his pants, so it takes him a few seconds. But he starts to slowly nod, slack jawed and also blushing again. 

“Yeah?” you confirm sweetly, feeling his cock pulse a little more. 

“Yeah… I wanna feel you too,” he’s still nodding as he stares at you, a little frozen for a moment. But he drops his hands and slides them along your waistband until they meet at the button and fly. His hands shake a little, but he pops the button, and starts to fold and push down on the edge. You huff out a nervous little breath, but press forward on your knees so he can pull your pants and underwear over your ass. “Do you wanna…” he awkwardly tries to push them down further but they’re stuck bunched around your thighs.

“Not… really?” you whisper, “kinda want you just like this…” you look down between you, gently rubbing your warm hands over the bruises and scrapes on his chest, and start working on unclasping his pants. The idea of pulling any distance away from him to get more undressed is completely off the table to you.

He goes back to nodding at you with his brown eyes, nearly black in the night, locked on your face. “Yeah… yeah okay,” he remembers to respond. “This is nice.”

You nod and stare back at him, his belt unbuckled in your hands, and the zipper on its way down. “Nice…” you mutter, before he presses up and shimmies his pants down, bouncing you a little in his lap, and you giggle, steadying yourself on him and the wall.

His pants are also down just enough to expose him, and you look down and a moan falls out of your lips, finally seeing his cock erect in the space between your bodies. Your breathing gets heavier, and you look at him, his eyes wild and his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

“... yeah?” you breathe out again, a little speechless.

“Yeah, yes, please,” he says with a little more oomph, running his hands on you but waiting to follow your lead. 

You almost laugh, and then he feels the pressure on his shoulder increase as you raise yourself to hover above the tip of his cock. You brush against it, and you both keen at the initial contact. He reaches under you, and steadies himself with a hand around the base of his shaft. You lower yourself slightly, and you both throb at the feeling of his tip sliding over you, both of you contributing wetness. You can feel that he’s lined up right at your entrance, and so you press down, moaning at the sensation of his head pushing inside of you with a little pop. He chokes on his own moans as you slowly but steadily sit all the way down on his aching cock. He’s still a little sensitive from earlier, and pressing into you for the first time ever is an intensely good feeling. It feels so good it almost hurts, he can’t fucking breathe. You're so tight and hot and wet around his cock, he feels like he’s actually melting. Maybe getting mind flayed. He thinks he’s absolutely about to make a fool of himself, he’s gonna come on stroke three and you’re gonna laugh at him in a not fun way. He’s focusing so hard on trying not to panic or come, that it takes him a moment to notice that you’re trembling in his lap, his cock staying sheathed deep inside you. Your breath is this sharp melody of inhales and exhales, your thighs are clenching and shaking, and all of a sudden you’re even tighter and convulsing around his cock. 

“Eddie!” you scream out his name, moaning from your chest, fists tightening in his hair and yanking with the magnitude of your next orgasm. 

He smacks your thigh rapidly, trying to warn you, “oh fuck I’mgonna come again,” he slurs out, but you lean all of your shakey weight down onto him, grinding on his cock and riding out your orgasm still. “Oh shit oh fuck I’m coming, I’m comingfuck you’re so fucking hot,” his words are desperate and shrill, and you feel his thick cock twitching as warmth oozes into you. You’re both instantly thrown into a vicious cycle of grinding and twitching and moaning, setting each other off, and hurtling into over sensitivity as one tangled mess. 

You manage to pry off of him once you’ve both caught your breath some, still twitching and moaning occasionally. 

He pulls out his lunchbox once more a few minutes later, excited to roll the Post Sex Joint he’s been imagining he’d smoke for years. 

“Oh! Here,” he says nonchalantly, pulling a little rectangle of brown cardstock out of the metal box, not even looking up at you. You take the piece of paper he has extended towards you, and examine it. 

A single block letter is inked by hand in renaissance-like motifs. 

“Is this your fucking v- card?!” you balk. You burst into loud howling laughter and flailing as he giggles, real pleased with himself, and keeps rolling. 

He'd been hopeful when crafting the gag that whoever he “lost it” to would appreciate the silly gesture as much as you are right now. You're both delirious giggles and smiles. 

You lean over the front seats and pull out the tape, examining the handwriting and doodles on the front, smiling to yourself. You realize at some mystical moment lost to lust he had in fact flipped to side B. Wizard, you think. You flip it back over and restart side A. You want to hear every single song. 

Definitely need Volume Two, he notes to himself, watching you, buzzing, picking up his forgotten beer, on the brink of fantasizing about your next session already. 

Taglist? Do I have one of those??? @eddiemunsonsbabygirl @take-everything-you-can lol gotta start somewhere let me know if you wanna be on it next time!

[sopostflower]

maybe growing up is just becoming who you were at 14 again but learning how to love her this time

[sopostflower]

WAKE UP THEY PLAYED LIVIN ON A PRAYER IN NJ

[sopostflower]

THEY PLAYING FUCKING BON JOVI

[sopostflower]

"bestie we are having you put down" I say as i look in the mirror and realize i spent 5 hours reading smut

[sopostflower]

overheat

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Reader

Summary: Johnny knows best—well, until he meets you.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, intern!reader, himbo!johnny, lots of bickering, uncle!johnny, explosions and fire alarms, awkward flirting, some humor but mostly smut, sub!johnny, edging, a smidge of humiliation, dry humping, make that man beg! — wc: 5.1k

Author's Note: a small break and i'm back with more smut, of course. the interests are shifting and i fear this man is pulling me back in

When you took the offer as Reed’s intern at the Baxter Building you had expected challenges. 

But, you hadn’t imagined them in the form of Johnny Storm.

Any feasible problem had been rectified. 

But Johnny, he was just…there. 

Lingering, watching.

When you first meet him, it was an impromptu introduction as he flew through the open glass doors, flames dissipating as he landed on his feet, eyes wide and curious of a new face.

You quickly realize that despite his role on the team when it came to saving Earth, always gaining the glory of a well-defeated enemy, he didn’t have much to do at home.

It was how he found himself in Reed’s lab most days, sometimes occupied, sometimes not.

“Don’t pay him much mind,” Reed had insisted, “he’ll get bored and leave eventually,”

And he always did. 

But, not without noticeable eyes set on you for an extended amount of time, like he was trying to examine you from afar, learn you.

He oozes confidence that has clearly never been tested, addressing Reed with a rather flippant tone when he tried to get a point across or make a suggestion that was quickly shut down.

He tried, bless his heart.

And you sensed the flash of embarrassment as your gazes collided when he sulked past but you didn’t poke the beast.

Even with the minimal words you’ve spoken, you feel the silent tug of interest despite any and all logical reasoning why you shouldn’t find him intriguing.

Your curiosity was a goddamn killer.

He did seem helpful, though.

He often tried to apply an extra set of hands wherever needed when he wasn’t bothering Reed about new schematics for suits or upgrades on the Fantasticar.

And he made a great sandwich when he was feeling generous enough to share his half without so much of a word your way, only sliding the plate down beside you quietly with a quick snap to toast the bread when you mentioned to him how you liked the crunch.

He liked to tinker and fiddle, always tapping away a beat against a surface when his body was restless. 

It was always an object you needed, too.

Your wrench had become a common makeshift drumstick to him when he was burying himself in his own work, headphones blaring over his ears as you approached him without warning.

You pluck it away wordlessly, watching as he shifted one side of his headphones away from his ear and peered up at you, “I was getting to the good part,” he offered defensively.

“Darn,” you deadpan, “how will I go on?”

Johnny huffs out a short laugh and shakes his head, “Your loss, baby,” he quips before he replaces the wrench with his fingers, entering a quiet drum solo.

You freeze at the slip of words, knowing he was being patronizing, but he smiles with his sickening confidence and adds even more annoying sound effects with his mouth.

You soon discover he found his peace came when he flamed up and fought the enemy, but it wasn’t a daily occurrence. You could tell when he was getting restless, always waiting for the go ahead from Reed to blow off some steam.

Most flinched at the change in form, but you had always found it interesting, eyes watching him intently. You think you’re being more sly about it than he’s ever been, but his eyes always catch you, sealing your fate with a wink.

Johnny had an unavoidable charm and even you had fallen under that spell.

-

Lately, he’d been stuck on Franklin watch. 

He adored his nephew, he did.

But, with his powers revealing themselves as time went on, you realized just how much that young boy liked to tease his uncle.

It was a late evening when Franklin unexpectedly teleported into Reed’s lab, sans your boss as he had taken out Sue on a much needed evening away.

You were tracking through notes, rewriting them in your own notes and committing them to memory, color coded equations and all.

Franklin had startled you with his toddler babble, hands slapping against the floor as he pushed to his feet and waddled toward you with a toothy grin.

You picked him up with glee as you adjusted him on your hip.

“Johnny hates when you play hide and seek,” you tell him with a soft but playful tone, “but I find it amusing,”

The doors split open a minute later and you spot Johnny jogging toward you, wide-eyed and worried before he spots the identical smiles and his face quickly sets to annoyance.

“Dude, you disappeared right out of my arms,” he scolds Franklin gently, ignoring you entirely as you wordlessly handed off the child, brushing a stray hair away from your mouth and behind your ear as he then unexpectedly acknowledges you, “You’re really good with him, you know. He likes you,”

You clear your throat and turn back toward your notes, slipping into your chair and organizing the papers out perfectly, waiting for Johnny’s departure.

But, it doesn’t come.

“He’s a sweet kid,” you shrug, looking over your shoulder slightly,

He turns, shoes squeaking against the floor as you watch two fingers pluck a paper from the table, then another, completely disorganizing your system as you turn to him, face set with a look of disdain.

“Colorful,” he notes with a smirk, “…cute,”

You snatch the paper from his grip and quickly readjust the order, “it helps my brain memorize things,” you snap.

Johnny makes a dismissive noise of acknowledgment, peering curiously over your shoulder at the array of colors with an ever-growing grin.

“You seem…unpashed by all of this,” Johnny adds, vagueness intentional but you understand his words, “any normal person would flinch at us and our powers, him,”

“Any normal person?” You reply, mincing the words and trying to decipher what he meant, “Are you calling me strange?”

“Oh, no,” he quickly corrects, “no, no—you’re…you’re just different,”

Johnny had an unbeatable case of foot in mouth around you and he wasn’t sure why.

Okay.

Rolling your eyes, you glance at your watch and snort, “They’ll be back in thirty minutes and his bedtime was an hour ago,”

Johnny, oblivious, glances down at his watch too.

“Shit,” he curses and your eyes widen in disbelief at the excessive expletive around Franklin, “er—shoot, uh—“

You realize that while Johnny watched him often, he’s never been bestowed the duty of his nighttime routine.

Luckily, Sue had found her intuition serving her well, seeking you out as backup in the off—but very possible—chance that Johnny lost his head, you could help.

“Bath, bottle, bed,” you tell him, “Ben would probably make the bottle while you do the first part,”

Johnny balks, “Sue clued me in—you know, in case you floundered, which…”

Your eyes drag from head to toe and back before humming with a subtle smirk, “you totally are,”

He looks embarrassed, cheeks reddening despite his efforts to hide it.

He doesn’t come around for at least a week after that.

His ego needed time to heal.

—

You begin to think you’ve irritated him enough that he would stay away, but he’s soon back with a vengeance.

Reed had opened the lab up to you on the weekends and you had eagerly accepted the offer, even if it was just to test out experiments while he and the others were busy with the super side of things.

This particular experiment was extremely tempermental, needing just the right environmental forces to keep it balanced and you were so quietly focused on griping about the level of heat that you hadn’t heard Johnny approach—or even expected him to be here— and flick his pointer finger out like a party trick.

“I can help with that,” he says with the innocence of a child, helplessly unaware as the flame shot from his finger and let the burner explode with a poof of fire.

You gasp, “Johnny, no!” 

But, it was too late.

The flame shot up and immediately set off the fire alarm, forcing the emergency sprinkles on as you slapped your hands against the surface of the table before turning to him.

He’d jumped at the sudden jolt of freezing water, looking a mix of surprise and confusion as you stepped toward him.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you snapped at him, “do you ever bother Reed when he’s working in the lab?”

“Yeah,” Johnny answers defensively, his mouth turning down as he nods, “It’s—you looked like you were struggling with the burner, I figured—“

“You figured?” you echo mockingly, “What is your deal?”

“My deal?” It was his turn to mimic.

“Why do you insist on messing with me?” you ask him candidly, “The first day I got here you spent two hours pretending like you had a reason to be in here just to watch me and for nearly a month after that, you found every possible opportunity to interrupt my work in the past couple months—believe it or not, this is my job. I’m getting paid, I have responsibilities, and I can’t waste my time looking over my shoulder wondering when Johnny is going to disrupt my day,”

“Well, you could’ve just said something,” Johnny offers, the sprinkles slowing shutting off but leaving you both dripping wet, “I just—“

Except you have, but he didn’t take you seriously. 

“You just what, Johnny?” you press him, chest rising with the quickness of your angered breath. 

“I thought I was helping,” he shrugs, “I really didn’t mean to—“

You sigh, pushing your soaked hair away from your face and setting your hands against your hips, “Well now I’m drowning and I don’t have a change of clothes,”

“I can fix that,” He offers innocently but with some hesitance under your heavy gaze, jutting his thumb toward the doors leading to the living quarters.

“Oh, can you?” you patronize him before finally relenting, following close behind as he led you through a room, down a hall, and up a flight of stairs before you reached a laundry room, “Genius plan, but I’m not going to stand here naked while my clothes dry,”

Johnny quickly assesses the area, finding a stack of fresh, clean white shirts that were neatly folded on the dryer. You slowly unfold the cotton to watch the shirt from to nearly knee level.

“You’re kidding me?” 

“I guess it was laundry day for Ben,” Johnny offers a warm smile that melts your cold exterior despite your qualms.

You clear your throat and silently order him to leave as you quickly discard your wet clothes into the dryer and switch into the shirt, feeling like Johnny was only doing this for pure amusement.

Eventually, the door creaks open and Johnny turns on his heels, his back having faced the door despite it also being closed. He was already shirtless, though.

It was only slightly startling, your eyes immediately tracking to his toned chest as he takes a moment to bite the laugh away that creeps up his throat.

He’s curbing himself, knowing he was skating on thin ice.

Good boy.

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind your eyes, finding that it was your time to stare as he stripped out of his jeans, leaving him in his still fairly dry boxer briefs that clung tight to toned thighs.

Johnny clears his throat to grab your attention, attempting to hide the smirk as he catches your gaze that lingers on the curve of his ass, your eyes quickly averting to the floor.

“It shouldn’t take long but you can wait in my room,” Johnny offers, “If…if Reed asks, I’ll tell him it was my fault.”

“Well, it was,” you correct him, following Johnny to his room.

“You’re just…different from the others,” Johnny offers randomly, turning to him curiously as the door clicks shut.

“Elaborate, maybe? Because it feels like you’re just calling me weird,” you retort, looking around curiously as Johnny takes a seat in the chair beside his record player.

“He’d gone through a handful of interns before you,” Johnny begins, “they all seem pretty freaked being around us, around Franklin, and they can’t really keep up with Reed the way you can. You—you don’t even seem phased…by any of it,”

“I didn’t take this job to fulfill my curiosity about the Fantastic Four,” you could care less about the fantastical aspect of their lives, “I admire Reed’s work, I’d like to learn from him, this job doesn’t just land on your desk on day, it chooses you,”

“My sister said she picked you out,” Johnny admits, “I think her judgement is a little better than Reed,”

“So, what’s your judgement then?” you ask with an enticing curiosity, watching the way Johnny’s eyes track the fabric of Ben’s massively oversized shirt as it bunches at your thigh when you sit in the chair across from him. 

“Confident,” he begins, though you find the word too strong for your own liking, “thoughtful, resourceful—uh, personable but shy. You’re great with Franklin, like Sue. Reed struggles just as much as Ben and I,”

It gets a soft laugh out of you and Johnny takes that as a win.

“What about me?” Johnny asks, leaning back in the chair as his arms cross, biceps flexing as his jaw sets tight.

His gaze is piercing even when he isn’t trying, the richness in his blue eyes like an unintentional truth serum.

“Stubborn,” you begin but it seems like Johnny expects that, “hot-headed, infuriating,”

“Don’t hold back,” he snorts, “anything else, babydoll?”

You roll your eyes at the patronizing term of endearment.

His legs are inching open, spreading until he’s comfortable and relaxed, his hands clasped loosely over his chest as his elbow settled against the arms of the chair.

“You’re enjoying this,” you scoff, “aren’t you?”

Johnny shrugs and offers a warm smile.

“I don’t think you’d have a clue what to do if someone put you in your place, Johnny,” you taunt him, watching his expression change slightly, head tilting, “I think you count on flirting your way out of shit and you know that won’t work with me and you’re helpless,”

“It wouldn’t?” Johnny asks curiously, his hands separating to spread out over his thick thighs, underwear creased at his groin and drawing your eyes in like a magnet, “Don’t think I haven’t caught you looking, too,”

You needed it out of your system, this pull. 

You tried to keep it dormant, blaming it on proximity and Johnny’s insisting presence. But here, in the silence that grew between you both, you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug ass smile off his face. 

Johnny slowly leans forward, just enough that his finger can wrap around the leg of your chair and pull you toward him.

Your foot presses into the space between his legs, stopping the movement as you stand from the chair.

This had to be grounds for termination; hooking up with your boss's brother-in-law was a definite reason for firing.

Still, the heat Johnny emitted even without his trademark flames was addicting up close, like an unbreakable curse on your body.

Johnny stares with a curious expression but matches your movement, your own fingers slowly curling around his arm as the pull comes easy, his fingers threading through your hair like they belong there, cradling the back of your head as your lips pressed together in a soft but solid kiss, unsure of what to expect.

It shouldn’t feel this pleasant, as irritating as Johnny was.

He’s quick to commandeer, like second nature as your head tilts and moves to his whim, slow kisses turning increasingly sloppy as his other hand squeezes at your waist through the excessive fabric, pulling you close.

Your own hands had twisted up and around his neck, arms slung as you pulled him closer, the quietest mewl slipping from your lips as Johnny made the pivot toward his bed, your hand catching behind you on the way down as you pulled apart for a much needed breath of air.

“Not like this,” you explain to him gently, fingers curling under the band of his underwear as you pull him toward you and swiftly change positions, leaving him sprawled out as he topples to the mattress, elbows catching the blow as you settle over his legs, “this is better,”

The bed creaks with the movement and Johnny stares up at you—he’s curious, unoccupied hands curling into fists at his side.

“The thing about observing and staying quiet,” you explain with a breath, thighs spread out over his lap, shirt keeping your modest at bay for the moment, “is that I’m really good at reading people,”

“And you’ve found that I’m devilishly handsome,” Johnny offers with a teasing grin, “who knew?”

Johnny watches as your hands move from your own thighs toward the apex of his own, the noticeable tent in his underwear twitching as your fingers graze the fabric.

You shrug,”I don’t know, I’m more curious how easy it is to make you beg,” offering a gentle squeeze to his shaft, his stomach flexing at the touch but his face remaining unchanged as he tilts his head slightly.

“I can put on a show,” he answers cockily, moving from his elbows to the palm of his hands, leading him closer to you as he sits up, “if you’re interested,”

You laugh quietly to yourself, shaking your head as you look down, feeling the gentle touch of a hand shifting over your thigh and under the shirt you were wearing.

“No need,” you retort with a smile as you pull at the collar and slip the shirt over your head, leaving you completely bare before him as you work through the surge of adrenaline and quickly push his hand away and further behind his back.

Johnny can’t even compute what was happening until his hands are already bound in the knotted fabric, looking up at you with a furrowed brow.

“Don’t burn through it,” It was an extension of trust, hoping that he wouldn’t, but knowing that he could.

Luckily, Johnny was already distracted with other things.

Namely, the sight of your tits as you leaned back on his strong thighs and the glorious motion of them pushing together as you palmed him fully with both hands, his lips parting only slightly.

Clearly, he wasn’t bothered. 

Not good enough.

You stand, the plushness of your thighs pressing together as his eyes drag to point of divinity, catching the moment his eyes dilated and his tongue drags over his bottom lip.

“You’re out of luck, flame boy,” you tease him, kneeling down to the floor as your fingers curl around his underwear and tug.

He lifts his ass wordlessly, mesmerized by you.

His cock springs free without a single ounce of shame and rightfully so, knowing that if you had a list for prettiest cocks that he would be sitting at the top, no contest.

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth slightly, taking in all eight inches of him and watching where the head of his cock rests just above his belly button, weeping at the tip despite his efforts to remain unaffected. 

There’s a thick vein that runs from the base of his shaft to his head and you test it with a finger, tentatively, his skin like velvet under your touch as you circle the head, smearing the precum over your finger before bringing it to your mouth, pressing it flat against your tongue. 

Johnny lets out an involuntary huff of air as you hum, returning to his lap without a word, eyes unable to break away from you.

You teasingly roll your fingers around his balls, featherlight up the seam as he releases another shaky breath that doesn’t seem anything like the man who constantly sported a shit-eating grin and an annoying air of confidence, sealing his fate as your hand grips his cock with a kind of pressure that makes Johnny swallow, hard.

“You’ve done this before right, Johnny?”

He clears his throat, “Plenty,” he offers and you know he isn’t really lying, “if you’re trying to embarrass me, it won’t work,”

“That’s not the idea,” you quickly assure him, “I want you to enjoy this, really,”

You slowly move your hand up his shaft and down, jerking his cock at a pace that doesn’t quite satisfy.

“I don’t beg,” Johnny makes an effort to remind you.

You shrug, twisting your hand around his shaft as your pace gradually quickens, watching the rhythmic twitches in his stomach as he tries to maintain a steady breath.

“Is—is this like a control thing?” Johnny unexpectedly begins to ramble, his tone rather calm—last ditch effort?

“Control? No,” you answer truthfully, “a good way to fuck with you? Absolutely,”

Johnny scoffs in amusement and leans back more confidently into the weight of his hands, eyes raking over your exposed skin with a greediness that you’ve always expected he kept under lock and key until moments like this. 

“You know, it’s been three months,” he continues, “if you had a crush you could’ve just told me, I thought I was being pretty obvious how I felt,”

“Painfully,” you laugh softly, leaning back slightly as you bring your hand to your mouth and spit gently into your palm before your hand returns to his cock, hearing the slight quiver in his tone as he hums at the touch.

“What triggers it?” You ask curiously, “The flames,”

Johnny pauses for a moment, eyes fluttering slightly as your thumb rubbed over the slit and along the ridge beneath the head of his cock.

“I’ve always had it under control,” Johnny answers with his usual air of confidence, “Nothing has ever really—it’s not like an emotional thing, if that makes sense,”

“Really?” you were genuinely curious despite Johnny’s subtle skepticism.

“Really,” Johnny retorts, “are you trying to study me? Now? Like, right now? I’m not gonna flame up if you make me—“

You silence him with a teasing kiss, lips barely grazing his own but his argument falls dead in an instant, your hand grips into his short blonde hair and he grunts, teeth bared.

“Who said I planned on making you cum anyways?” you whisper against his mouth as he lips part with your suddenly intensifying pace, fingers squeezing over the head with each tug.

“Huh?” It sounds pathetic.

And with the way his shoulders flexed, fingers curling into the fabric of his bed, you can tell he’s growing close already.

He moans into your mouth as you hold his gaze this close, watching his sanity slowly drift away.

“Fuck,” he breathes softly, “see—I knew there was something about you,”

“Did you?” You tease him, “Does that line always work?”

Johnny shakes his head and groans, stubbornly avoiding a careful few words and you begin to switch between a slow and fast pace, teasing him to near delirium.

“Clothes are prob—probably dry,” Johnny interjects, trying to switch subjects.

You hum in acknowledgement, watching the tension in his shoulders build, his chest flushed as he breaths come out like pants, nearing the edge as you let him go without warning, “Shit, why did you—“

He peels his eyes open to look at you, watching you sport his trademark grin and serve him a proper dose of his own medicine. 

“Did you think I was lying?” you ponder his frustration, gently dragging the back of your finger along the underside of his cock and watching as it twitches involuntarily.

“Part—partly,” Johnny admits and clears his throat,

“I will,” you tell him, “just, you know, say the words,”

Johnny eyes you with a clueless expression.

“Please,” you whisper softly in a mock tone of desperation, tightening your grip around his dick again, “oh, please,”

Johnny can’t help the way his gut somersaults at the way you speak to him, the faux agony in your tone that he’d do nothing short of self-sacrifice to be on the other end of.

“I’m not,” Johnny challenges, “you know I’m not,”

“Mmm,” you contemplate quietly, “not even if I get on my knees and let you watch while I suck you off?”

“Nope,” his voice is pinched but you can feel the pulse of satisfaction at your words, giggling to yourself, “not a chance,”

“Too bad,” you pout slightly and offer your words as innocently and as truthful as you can, even though it was fairly easy, “I like the way you taste,”

Johnny jaw clamps down at your words paired with the unexpected introduction of your other hand as you work over his cock at a relentless pace, watching his expression carefully.

“What?” You ask him curiously, “Too much?”

Johnny shakes his head, “Just—didn’t expect this—from you,” he struggles to explain, “you’re always so quiet around everyone,”

“You only see the parts of me I want you to, Johnny,”

“I like this side, too,” he admits with a slight grin as you mirror his expression, “just to be clear,”

“If I untie your hands,” you begin, his attention pulling taut, “you still have to keep them to yourself,”

“Done deal, babydoll,” he appeases, “I’ll be good,”

You snort at his obvious enjoyment and lean forward to loosen the fabric and toss it away, but are less than obliging as you immediately push him back into the mattress.

“What’re you—“ the air is pushed from his lungs as you easily position your cunt over his messy cock, a mix of your own saliva and his slick,

“Desperate times,” you offer with a smile, bending down to meet his lips again, “remember, hands off,”

It was a little selfish, chasing your own pleasure at the expense of his torture, but the moment your folds fit snug over his shaft and he groans, full body, you knew it was the right choice to make.

Johnny can’t help but watch the warmth of your pussy sliding over his cock in a carefully timed rhythm as he watches the head disappear when your hips tilt forward.

He knows, for the foreseeable future, that he would find every reason, every way, to bury himself there.

Be it his face, fingers, or his cock—he was an absolute goner and he needed you in every way imaginable. 

“She fits perfectly, don’t you think?” Johnny teases, surely signing his death certificate with those words.

“You were on the verge of tears just a few seconds ago,” you remind him, watching the last bits of his sanity flee as you grinded down against him, “so shut up and be good,”

Johnny clears his throat and nods without thinking. His hands are resting loosely above his hand, curling into fists when the pace gets too overwhelming, helping you manage your movement as you feel yourself crawling closer to your own orgasm, the head of his cock catching against your clit with every drag of your hips.

All you had to do was drag this out long enough to break him, even just a little, but you were learning that he was indeed the most stubborn creature in existence.

He does eventually crack though, pulling him so close to the edge that he fears he might not have any control before he blows his load, but your careful timing leaves him unsatisfied and all he can manage is a pathetic moan and look of pleading that didn’t match up to the words you wanted to hear.

“It hurts,” he manages, but was far too blissed out on the overdose of pleasure to care, “come on, this isn’t fair,”

You drag your hips against him tantalizingly slow, almost to the point of no movement at all, hands pressed into the mattress beside his head.

You shrug, clueless, dragging your thumb against his abused bottom lip, indented with teeth marks from how hard he’d been biting it.

“Ask for it,” you coax him, “tell me how badly you want it,”

Johnny swallows sharply, feeling the faint adjustment of your hips, moving but barely.

“You can’t—can’t tease me for it,” Johnny retorts, groaning softly as you pick up your pace slightly.

“Never,” you promise him, “our secret,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, “baby—“

He’s right there, you can feel it.

Luckily, your patience had also worn thin and you’d be a mess just as soon as he, grinding your hips over him in time with his plea of words.

“Please,” he sighs, “please, just let me—“

“Yeah?” you nod, hips stuttering as you own pleasure coils in your gut.

“I’m begging, okay?” Johnny gives in, “Please just—just let me come,”

“Good boy,” you speak into the curve of his neck as his hands release from their invisible bindings and find you as he, squeezing tightly into your hips as he guides you over his cock, spurts of his thick cum painting his chest and your own, moaning brokenly against his skin as you come, pussy spasming against his cock as he chokes out a groan of your name.

As the silence bestows you, it’s met with tired laughter.

Delirious and sated, Johnny’s hand rubbing over his face as he attempts to catch his breath.

“You’re…evil,” Johnny admits, “I’m adding that one to the list, pure—pure evil,”

“Well, this just proves you can listen,” you grab the discarded shirt from the edge of the bed and wipe away the mess with a casualness that has Johnny’s gaze locked on you as you ball up the soiled fabric and shove it into his clean chest, “you should…probably burn that now,”

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees with a short laugh, but tosses it aside for now.

He grunts softly moving to sit up, his hand coming up to rest at the center of your back and your hands naturally fall to his shoulders as his chin tilts up and presses between the valley of your breasts, puppy dog eyed and all smiles, “I’m sorry for bothering you so much,”

“I don’t…mind,” you admit to him, “but you should really listen when someone tells you something instead of brushing it off,”

“I think I just proved I can,” Johnny defends,

“You did touch me,” Johnny closes his eyes with a silent laugh, “couldn’t hold out on those last few seconds, could you?”

“I’ll be honest, I think I blacked out toward the end,” Johnny pleads with you,

“Oh?”

“Shut up,” he huffs lightheartedly, “I’ll grab our clothes, the others should be back soon,”

You nod, climbing off of his lap carefully as he plucks his underwear from the ground and slips them on as he heads toward the door.

“Have fun explaining the lab to Reed,” you tease him,

Johnny shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling helplessly, “Don’t remind me,”

[sopostflower]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Emperor Geta x reader

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

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

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

word count — 4.2k

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

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

Easily to manipulate, easy to convince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve just resigned yourself to death, surely.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

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

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

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

It was only minimally amusing, his confidence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fifteen—he promised my family wealth, it was a simple trade. They died not long after. Tuberculosis, or so I was told,” You shift from one bare foot to another as Geta’s lips pull together in a narrow line, “You know, we are not much different.”

That grabs his attention, his eyebrow raising in a silent question as you approach slowly, arms crossed over your chest now, holding the fabric in place, “Coyness is unbecoming, Emperor.”

“Enlighten me,” Geta replies, his restless hands finding their way over the collars of his robe as he tightens it around himself, joining him near the end of your bed—a strange thing to claim; this entire room, yours. 

“If my math proves me right, we are of the same birth year,” You begin, “—those men, your advisors, they severely underestimate you and Caracalla. They are scared of you, yes. But, if given the chance, they would strike you down without a thought,” He turns his head, blinking away a sour expression, feeling particularly bare despite his state of dress.

Your gaze was powerful, intense, even Geta could not handle it.

“I am trying to say that I understand,” You clarify, tilting your head to catch his eyeline, reaching out slowly to provide a comforting touch, hands curling around his wrist, “not that I understand your role and the burden it carries, but being young and overlooked. I have felt that, I still feel it.”

He’s never been approached so openly—though he prefers the proclivity of men who bow down without question, his psyching was always searching for something more. A poor boy without love, or meaningful relations. You offer a soft smile as he turns his head to you.

“You came here for a reason,” You remind him, “—make it clear.”

His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, your fingers curling over the rough, coarse lining of the dress as it pushes your breasts up, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip in a wordless hunger.

“Did you plan to force yourself upon me?” You ask curiously, his face flushing with embarrassment, “Or, perhaps, hope that I would be charmed by you?”

“It is rare that I am denied,” He explains, like a petulant kid preparing to be denied their favorite toy, “—but, you are not mine.”

“I belong to no one,” You clarify, “I am not a whore, or a servant. We are…equals, yes?”

“Not entirely,” Geta counters, still donning the crown on his head—more subtle than the formal one he wears around, a delicate band of gold leaves adorned with gems, “but, it seems—”

You smirk slightly to yourself as you reach forward with one hand, plucking the band gently from his hair and tossing it aside to the bed, fingertips trailing down to his chin as you tug his face to look at you.

“You need not put on a performance for me,” You comfort him, his features softening as his eyes flicker toward the crown, “it is as simple as just asking, Geta.”

At level ground, it feels more appropriate. If he wanted your head, he would have it.

Eagerness invades his mind, clawing forward as his palms form to your neck, jaw, lips pressing against yours with impatience, a hum of hunger laying in wait in his throat. For a second, you allow it. Indulge in the simplicity of desire that has been long forgotten, sighing fervently against his mouth before you’re taking grip of his robe and forcing him back, his eyes blackened with lust and his mouth open, blinking with confusion.

“Ask me,” You demand him, “I have allowed so many in my life to take, not this. Not you.”

Geta clears his throat hastily, closing his mouth, gathering the immense willpower it took to listen, comply, “May I—may I kiss you?”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face as he lunges forward eagerly once more, held back by your surprisingly powerful grip, unaware of how your dress had shifted down, held up solely by the body contact against Geta, chest to chest.

It was teasing, taunting him with the ability and control you had over him, lips grazing against his testingly as he laughs too, a quiet and joyous noise as you finally let him have it, arms wrapping over his shoulders as his own hands roam down your sides, around your back and down your side, squeezing a hand at your thigh and bringing it up, high enough that it can rest at his hips, his fingers kneading into the exposed skin near the slit of your gown, toying with the delicate skin that he could reach.

You revel in the neediness, an intense feeling of want washing over you, his nose following the lines of your face as they nudge at your chin, forcing your head up as his kisses trail down, spit slicked lips pressing into your skin, bodies separating as you dress falls, as bare as he under his own robe, plump breasts pulling his eyes down, a slow blink and an instant flick up towards your face.

“Seems the effects of motherhood are taking their time to dissipate,” You admit, his fingers twitching at the sight of them, “If that is an issue we can end this he—”

“No,” He growls, “it—sorry, it is not.”

You reach for his hands quietly, his gaze following your direction as you cup them over your breasts, the heavy weight of them in his hands, the gentle squeeze that would otherwise make you wince but instead has your thighs clenching together. Geta was practically salivating at the sight, mesmerized by the fullness and warmth, his thumbs rubbing carefully over your hardened nipples, a small opaque drop of liquid painting his finger.

You grab his thumb suddenly, shoving his hand away at the sight.

“Despite a loss my body continues to provide,” You explain, “ It is not a lot, but it lingers.I have tried…everything to will it away.”

“Why?” Geta asks, looking up at you with newfound curiosity.

“It is not ideal, you see—”

“Who has told you this?” Geta pesters, watching the liquid drip down his finger before he brings it to his mouth, “I see no issue.”

Your nose twitches in uncertainty, his fingers trailing an abstract pattern into the underside of your breasts, around the side, admiring, “I have always been curious,” Geta admits, his voice trailing as you slowly guide yourself to sit on the bed, the emperor following in suit as he kneels against the edge of the mattress between your open thigh, “did he appreciate your body for everything that it was?”

“He was barren,” You admit, “He liked my mouth on his cock and that was all. He did not care for much else or my pleasure at that, he was much too inadequate anyways.”

He doesn’t address the glaringly obvious admittance—a much longer story for another time that neither of you cared for at the moment, “May I?” He asks politely, his hot breath ghosting over your chest as you nod, his mouth latching onto your skin in an instant.

It starts at the center of your chest, face buried between your breasts as he pulls his robe open, aided down by the push of your hands, his alabaster skin contrasting the plum sheets, his knee rising briefly to push into the sheets as you catch a glimpse of his cock, hanging heavily and intimidating in its size, anticipating of the stretch if you allowed him so far. 

His tongue follows a planned path, along the underside of your breasts and around your nipple, grazing over the pebbled skin with the subtle taste of sweetness seeping into his taste buds as his lips wrap around and such, the faintest push of teeth in your skin as his eyes peer up at you, your brow furrowing in delight at the sudden shock to your cunt, nothing like you’ve felt before.

You did not know pleasure like this, a fair trade. It was a shock to the system. 

He’s looking for acknowledgement, trading off to share the same care to the other breasts, his free hand trailing to the side of your face and under your neck, cradling you with a gentle touch as the hand on your breasts curls around and squeezes, sucking gently at your breasts as his head tilts into your comforting touch, your opposite hand turning as you run your knuckles alongside his jaw.

“Sweet boy,” You praise, “is that what you wanted?”

As if he hadn’t been eyeing you the entire meeting, breasts squeezed together as you leaned daringly over the table to argue with your aggressor, quenching the hunger all day with a steady diet of wine and the assorted fruit placed around the palace, always within reach, watching you quietly. 

He nods slightly, distantly, as he’s focused on his current task.

“Geta,” Formalities forgotten by now, his eyes widened as you stare at him, rising on your elbows with a waiting expression, “have you lost your tongue?”

“It would—it would seem I have not,” He chuckles with a knowing smirk, swiping his tongue around your nipple in a circular motion, “I am pleased, yes.”

He shifts his arms around you, curled fists landing in the sheets beside your head, his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh as he settles to his knees, a fresh flush to his chest as he admires your state of nakedness, trailing two wondering fingers from your chest to your pelvic bone, a slow dance in the low light of the room.

You nudge his hand away, “You are eager,” You note with a fond tone, watching as began to lean into you, eager to capture your lips once more, but your fingers are pressing over his lips before they reach their destination, shaking your head in disapproval, “I have ideas for better use of that mouth, Emperor.”

He pulls back with grin, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as you filter your fingers through his ginger hair, curling your hand over the back of his head as he bows, settling on his belly with his cock trapped between the sheets, slowly his nose buries into the coarse curls, his tongue dragging down the seam of your pussy.

Geta can only liken it to a taste of the divine, or the closest he would ever reach, settled between your open legs with a mission to please, to satisfy. And for the first time in his life—serve someone other than himself. Normally he would bark at the informality of things, only allow his given title, a strict instruction of a bowed head and obedience, but he finds himself bending to your rule and dropping to his knees, if you demand.

“You have your wits and sharp tongue,” He hums against your cunt, a delightful noise slipping out as you tug at his hair, “I suggest you put them to good use.”

As he does, you find yourself drifting.

He is precise, thorough—which is not at all expected from a man of his status, or any man, really. They were never concerned with the pleasure of anyone but themselves, but Geta has proven you wrong in many ways as undesirable as his ruling may be. 

You only cared for your life anymore, witnessing how delicate it could be when it came to everyone around you.

He likes to watch, too. It isn’t at all surprising, eager for praise he brings you to a quick and intense, but fleeting orgasm. It swells in your stomach, the heat pooling before it explodes, hearing the satisfied groan as he licks you clean, murmuring a shaky, “Good–good b-boy,” as you force yourself to catch your breath, allowing him to climb his way back up your body with the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, both of you sighing into the shared space as your foreheads meet and Geta was completely at your control, awaiting your next command.

“Are things often like this?” You ask curiously, “Is this what you seek?”

Domination; someone to submit to.

In a daze, he shakes his head, lips parted slightly.

“Do you enjoy that I make you feel this way?”

He smiles, sated, nodding in response.

“I want to feel you,” It was a whispered request, his eyes searching your face—again, even just the nudge of his cock between your folds was enough to make you tense and you find your own fingers drifting between your legs, dipping inside of you as he looks down, mesmerized as you guide his hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his as you work together in tandem.

When his brow draws together, you guide him inside of you, staving off his impending orgasm.

“Slow,” You instruct, hands traveling to grip his face, nodding his head between your hold, “You are…quite large, I am not used to that,” Geta seems to find a surge of confidence at that, leaning forward greedily to capture your lips, his teeth dragging along the fleshy skin as he angles his and pulls back slowly, entering you at the same pace despite the impatient shake to his body, eager for more, “slow—slow, look at me,”

“You’re obedient,” You praise, “far more than I expected.” 

“My brother likens you to a goddess,” Geta notes, the odd timing sending you into a gentle snort of laughter, “I must say I agree, you are mesmerizing.”

“I prefer Caracalla not be a topic as your cock is buried inside of me,” You retort with a kind smile, his own morphing into a frown of concentration as your knees hike around his hips, encourage him to lean his weight against you as he rocks his hips, a gentle rhythm that is drowned out by the sounds of the city at night.

His itching impatience grows tiresome, gripping desperately at whatever skin he could reach, pitiful moans of pleasure inked into your skin with the silent plea of more—please, more?

“Make me come once more,” You urge him, “and take what you need.”

It was all he needed to hear, taking the opportunity to slip out of you as he guiding you toward your stomach, guiding one knee up toward your chest as he hovered over you, turning your head to face him as he pushed his cock back inside of you, your walls fluttering around him in satisfaction of being filled again. 

There was a perfect view of the sky this way, a small alcove open to the night breeze, stars twinkling against the contrasting colors of midnight, “It is beautiful,” He begins, not admiring the same sight as you, a shakiness to his voice as he pumped his hips at a nearly unbearable pace, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.

He’s panting into your skin, a feeling you’ve experienced in plenty of other circumstances, with a well-versed ability to separate yourself from your body as men chase their pleasure, but with the emperor, it was a different experience.

A cacophony of small whimpers followed by an utterances of words you’re not sure he or his brother have spoke often, “Please—-please, may I—“

The gravity of the situation flips as you realize your mistake, giving a man with far too much reach and power any type of influence over you, your brain searching for a way to counter his plea as you turn your body, arm wrapping around the back of his neck as he shakes with his impending orgasm.

Words are lost, unable to speak before he’s pulling out of you, the drip of his warm seed coating your skin, the tight grip at your chest loosening in an instant.

Thank the gods, you pray silently. 

“I apologize,” He breathes heavily, bottom lip swollen and red from the mutilation of his teeth, chest flushed bright and burning, “if—if I scared you.”

He uses his discarded robe to clean you up, unthinking of the consequences as he leaned back to stand, fully nude as he extends his hand in wait, beckoning you closer.

“Scared me?” You challenge, curling your hand into his own as he pulls you up, legs bracketing his thighs as your hands come to rest against his abdomen, staring up at the emperor. 

“Your bark is quite frightful,” He admits, “I can only imagine how you would rip me apart had I gone too far,” His words trail, a softening to his voice as he curls his hand around the side of your face, a gentle gesture.

“Would you like that, Geta?” You ask with a creeping suspicion, a smirk spreading across your face, “For me to rip you apart?”

A man of such power, unrestrained and chaotic—shrinks.

Almost too shy to admit it.

“Careful, my lady,” He warns, “I am still a ruler of Rome, such disrespect is—”

“Punishable by death,” You confirm, “but, you promised me safety, yes?”

Geta nods silently, watching the slow crawl of your fingers up his chest before they grab his chin, your thumb smoothing over the dimpled skin, his lips pulling apart in a shaky exhale.

“And I am sure a good boy like you will keep that promise?”

[sopostflower]

yea sorry i will never shut up abt how much i hate the ST subreddit and general audience

[sopostflower]

i’m sorry but johnny would be such a fucking munch.

before missions, he’s kneeled down with you up against the wall. pulling up your poodle skirt that he loves oh so much. “just in case i don’t come back.” he says. (and it’s literally a traffic incident)

after missions he’s buried in your thighs, his arms wrapped around the lower end of them. he tells you it helps him wind down after such a battle. who were you to oppose to something like that?

and he looks so pretty down there. his big eyes looking up to see your face scrunch as he laps you up. he loves when you weave your fingers through his gold hair.

you like it too bc he starts whimpering like a bitch.

he’ll make sure you get your fix— as much as he loves being down there. he doesn’t do it for his own pleasure (though he has came from tasting you.)

if you’re lucky, he’ll slip his long, slim fingers inside you before you can whisper how close you are.

TL;DR if he’s not out saving the world, he’s somewhere in between ur legs.

[sopostflower]

#kittyposting

[sopostflower]

Rodrick x BandLeader!Reader

WARNINGS: Tad bit suggestive, Rodrick is down bad and a loser, reader plays the bass, i guess that's it. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Rodrick heffley hates your guts. He's been saying it for way too long

So it is unexpected when he comes to you right before talent show to wish you good luck, looking away trying to look cool and hide the very obvious blush on his cheeks.

"i'm just gonna say that i still hate you, but, from band member to band member.... good luck."

The last part of the phrase is softer, as if he meant it way too much.

"Thanks Heffley, make sure to not cream your pants while im singing"

You tease, poking your tongue out at him, smirking as you enter the stage, bass hanging low on your hips as you get in front of the mic. the lights turn on and the band is presented before "i hate myself for loving you" by Joan Jett starts playing.

You do very weel, messing up just a single time, but still covering it up well by performance, just like on the clip you watched way too many times on the internet.

By the end everyone apllauds and you wave and get off the stage, the next person that is gonna play, or should you say band, is rodrick's Löded Dipër.

You're not an asshole by any means, so you just turn around to your band

"im gonna stay a little, i got... bussiness"

The others nod and leaving, chatting about how the show was great and then rodrick appears. You cross your arms and look at him with a smirk, he smirks back at you.

"Are you here because..?"

"I'm polite okay, i'm just here to also wish you good luck"

You gesture around with a shit-eating grin, he rolls his eyes, scoffing and loking back at you

"Sure, dipshit"

"Hey... i'm being serious, good luck"

You tap his shoulder twice before waling out, leaving a slightly stunned and red faced rodrick behind.

He enters the stage and their song starts, "exploded diper" you can assume is the title. A little smile is on your lips as you watch them play.

At the end everybody apllauds and then, rodrick comes do the mic. you raise an eyebrow.

"I... i want to talk with a person that is in the crowd, you know who you are, meet me backstage"

He says hesitantly and then they exit the stage.

You are sure it is you, who else would it be? So you get up and walk backstage to see Rodrick anxiously fidgeting with his drumstick, it spins around on his fingers as he bites his lip, he looks up and sees you standing and immediatly corrects his posture, even though he's still visibly anxious.

"To be honest... i really didn't think you would come" He starts, voice low and shaky "I... don't even know how to say what i want to say..."

You raise an eyebrow and look at him with a small smile "Why not start with calming down, huh?" you take astep closer "what is is Heffley?" you whisper with a small smirk.

"I... Uhm... that was not the song i wanted to play acctualy... the song i indeed wanted to play was" He takes a piece of folded paper from his backpocket and handles it to you "this one... about.... you.." He whispers the last two words, as if he didn't want you to hear it.

You are a little surprised, eyebrows shooting up as you grab the paper, unfloding it to read in big bold letters... and weird spelling.... "NOT ANODER SONG ABOUT LOVE". You read trough it and a warm smile spreads trough your lips.

Rodrick Heffley hates your guts... at least he says so. You walk closer, faces separated by mere centmeters as you look into his eyes

"Should have told me sooner Rodrick"

His name rolls sweetly off your lips before you close the gap and kiss him .

He takes a little, but when he processes what is happening, he kisses back and is hungry, like he's been waiting for it for way too long, but at the same time is delicate, his hands find a way to your waist, drumsticks long forgotten on the floor, as yours cup his cheek, bringing him closer.

When you separate, you look at him, a little smirk on your lips. "So you did cream your pants, huh?"

He blushes way too intensely for someone who hates your guts, maybe because you found out he doesn't.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A/N: Might write a smut following this, but only if someone comes in my inbox because I'm lazy as fuck sorry

[sopostflower]

how quickly people forget

[sopostflower]

“Will Byers is my comfort character” your comfort character hasn’t seen comfort a day in his life