Summary: After a long day of being a hero, Phylange returns to your shared apartment to spend a little alone time with you who now wakes up alone in bed.
Warning: Smut, role play a little, grinding.
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During the late afternoon of a summer's day, you stirred, feeling the cooling sheets against your skin, hair all around your head must likely be a bird's nest after tossing and turning during your afternoon nap. You could feel the sun's warmth somewhat, despite the light streaming through the closed, dark drapes that provided the most privacy for you and Joshua living together.
A necessity, seeing as your wonderful boyfriend of a few years was a hero, the one and only Phylange.
Yes, a superhero. Like the ones that punch robbers and rescue cats from trees before stopping villains from destroying the city and rescuing those in need.
It was quite a crazy night to find out he was a hero when he told you during your first anniversary, after countless dates and plans were either canceled or changed at the last minute due to his other life.
When you recall that night briefly, a giggle escapes your mouth.
You thought, honest to God, he was seeing someone else, but no, it wasn’t.
A tired yawn slips through your lips as you register that you were sleeping on the edge of the bed, and you turned around.
Instinctively, your hand reaches out to wrap around the solid warmth of Joshua’s broad chest beside you, to hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek as you hug close to him in your bed together.
Just cold sheets where his body should have been as your hand flexed against the silk, you sit up now a bit disappointed seeing the empty space where Joshua usually sleeps next to you.
“Probably out… again,” You whispered to yourself, a touch of sadness in your voice. It wasn’t unusual. If it wasn’t the NSA, it was reporters, robberies, crime, or some other emergency that tore him away from your arms.
With a tired sigh, brushing your hair from your hair down to a less frizzled wild mess and rubbing the crust from the corner of your eyes as you slip out of bed using the plush bedframe to help get down from the king sized bed, bare feet meeting the fuzzy material of the carpet as you walked towards where your robe laid over your vanity’s chair.
Fastening the rope belt around your waist over your short green nightgown, you look in the mirror, seeing how the fluffy collar covers most of your chest and neck, the faint purplish hickies on your neck perked out from the feathers.
You narrow your eyes slightly, but a smile still crept up on your face despite your little annoyance.
Oh, Joshua… seemed he got too excited not to show his love for you, judging by the amount of hickies scattered over your neck, trailing down the valley of your chest, and more downward.
Leaning over your desk Vanity, tilting your head up slightly to look at the number of places to cover with makeup as your hand trails over the hickies or love bites Joshua, oh so lovingly calls them, you appreciate that at least he did these on your days off work instead of on your work days.
You won't hear the end of it if makeup stains designer clothes worn to showcase the designer's artistry for praise and fame, as if high society were there for the clothes. Everyone, even you, knows people show up just to ogle the gorgeous models.
While you certainly liked your job for the money, and it shows as you live in a very nice penthouse, you are quite popular.
You are one of many beautiful Pin-up girls being shown in magazines, designers hiring you to wear their clothes, and even some celebrities paying you to be their arm candy for the event to brag they have a beautiful model as their date, like you weren’t there.
It's just something to fawn and lust after until a new pretty face walks past. You fake a smile and laugh, but on the inside, you remember how you would hide your clenched fist in your fur shawl and will yourself to stay put and not stomp away because of their comments.
Many times, it almost made you want to quit altogether, but you stayed for the income. And thank god you did, because if you had quit the modeling life, you wouldn’t have met the love of your life.
As you look at yourself, you notice on your vanity that there was something that wasn’t there before, in front of your performed and creams a small card that had a red heart on it with letters in the middle of said heart in cursive written in your name, the paper was folded with a pink rose in between made you raise an eyebrow knowingly it was from a certain someone.
You gingerly pick up the card and rose in your hand, seeing that the thorns have been pricked off, you hold it as you read the card in your other hand.
‘My beautiful muse, I am sorry that I won't be by your side this morning to greet you with a kiss to your Cupid lips. I don't think it would be possible to miss anyone so much. But I do. Know that every second I leave your arms to go to work and save lives, I long to be in your warm embrace once more. I adore you. Truly. —Joshua <3’
’P.s. I got you your favorite rose, hope you like it ;)’
The bashful smile grew on your face as you read the card, feeling the butterfly in your stomach flutter about like you were a young girl again with her crush, a soft blush warm as your cheeks.
Oh, what a lucky girl you were to catch such a sweetheart like Joshua Anderson. Phylange, the most handsome, caring man you have ever dated, with a voice that sang like an angel while simultaneously using his voice to scream at a high frequency to incapacitate criminals, was yours. And you were his.
You were so engrossed with the letter and the fuzzy feeling in your heart that you didn’t even hear the living room window open up, signaling that your hero had come home in an unconventional way.
Phylange, Joshua Anderson entered the room in his super suit, his expression weary and exhausted. His normally perfect Brown hair was messy, his suit was smeared with dirt and blood, clearly from another battle.
He could feel his body aching even while flying back home, the particular fight with those robots got a few good hits in then everything just seemed to be piling up with more and more things to battle people to save them he has a performance happening next week he will be staring so he has to make sure he doesn’t use his sonic voice to shot out his vocals?!
But at the end of it, he loves his other life as a super. He saves people and gets some recognition, even if it’s small compared to other Heroes like Mr.Incredible, Gamma Jack, Frozone, or ugh, Gazerbeam.
AND he met the love of his life when rescuing them from being crushed under a chunk of a building that a Villain blasted to use as a distraction to get away.
Speaking of which… if he knows you any better, you would still be in bed around this time. Oh, he can’t wait to get out of his suit and crawl into bed with the hot creature waiting for him, whom he calls his girlfriend, and maybe, if all things go right… his wife.
That thought brought him a skip in his step, even with his body aching with each step he took into the apartment.
Quietly shutting the window, he was internally grateful that they lived on the top floor and nobody had spotted him in his suit.
He quietly padded across the floor, opening the door slowly as it creaked, making him cringe at the noise that he knew you had just heard.
Peeking in, he sees that instead of being in bed like he expected you to be, you are by your vanity in your fluffy robe, holding the rose and reading the card he had personally written to you. He couldn’t really see your face from the back, but he did see in the mirror on your vanity your blushing face that bore that sweet smile he remembers fondly.
His heart swelled at the sight of you—his y/n—holding his rose and reading his words with that shy little smile.
He couldn't quite see your face from behind, but he caught a glimpse of your blushing face in the mirror on your vanity, wearing that sweet smile he remembers so fondly.
"Hmm… now that’s a sight better than any sunrise," Joshua mused aloud in that smooth, teasing tone of his—the one that always sent shivers down your spine when he used it right before dipping into something far less innocent.
His voice was rougher than usual from exertion and maybe just a tad overusing his sonic abilities, but it still carried that same warmth reserved only for you.
You gasp in surprise at suddenly hearing Joshua's voice. You turn around to see him back home so soon, as he saunters towards you, all dramatic.
It fits him as he pushed off the doorframe and sauntered forward with exaggerated dramatic flair despite how exhausted he clearly was—only pausing to dramatically clutch at an imaginary wound in his side like some tragic Shakespearean, though judging by the way he winced slightly as he moved, there might have been some truth to it.
"Ah! Wounded... utterly defeated… if only my beloved would kiss me better?" He shot you an impish grin before collapsing onto the bed behind you with an overdramatic groan.
Laying sprawled out on top of your shared sheets like some fallen warrior-prince dirtied supersuit be damned, he propped himself up on one elbow just enough to waggle eyebrows playfully up at where you stood by vanity still holding flower & letter hostage under fingertips' gentle grasp—your smile grows as you watch him fall back onto the bed playing up such theatrics until you snapped out of it when he propped up on an elbow to look at you with that silly eyebrow wiggle.
“ Joshua!?” You gasped out happily, quickly putting the card and flower down on the vanity before you rushed over towards the bed, your robe flailing behind you as you leapt at Joshua.
Oh, Joshua lived for this—the way you lit up at the sight of him, the warmth in your voice when you said his name. He barely had time to brace himself before you were launching at him like some gorgeous, silk-robed missile.
"OOF—!" He grunted as your weight hit his chest, immediately winding an arm around your waist to steady you both while the other hand flew up to cradle the back of your head protectively.
The second your lips met his? All pretense dropped.
All pretense dropped. His superhero bravado melted into something far more tender as he kissed you back with slow devotion—lingering like he was trying to pour every ounce of 'missed-you' into it despite how banged-up he smelled from battle.
One hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other snaked around your waist to pull you flush against him.
“Mmh—sweetheart,” he breathed when you finally pulled away just enough for him to speak, his voice sounding rough with overusing it but brimming with affection.
His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, forehead still pressed against yours, eyes scanning every inch of your face like he was memorizing it all over again. "Missed ya so damn much. Even though I literally just saw you this morning."
A beat of silence passed before his grin turned wicked again—those calloused fingers suddenly dipping under fluffy robe fabric to ghost over ticklish spots along ribs in playful retaliation for startling kiss-ambush. "...Though I do recall leaving love notes as peace offerings so my girl wouldn't miss me too terribly while saving the city from robot armageddon... Did it work? Or do I gotta serenade ya next time?"
His teasing lilt cracked halfway through 'serenade,' voice rasping painfully from strain—clearly having pushed vocal limits today.
Your fingers dart up to gently press against his lips before he can finish that thought, your brows knitting together in playful scolding even as your thumb strokes his cheek tenderly.
"You hush now," you murmur, though there's no real bite to it—just fond exasperation. "One more note like that and I might just melt clean through the floorboards."
His answering grin is lazy and unrepentant around your fingertips, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes in a way you've long since memorized.
The warmth of him seeps into your skin where he's pressed against you—all solid muscle wrapped in battered spandex smelling faintly of ozone and city smoke. Not exactly ideal, but undeniably him.
Then, he abruptly flops backward onto the mattress with a dramatic sigh, arms thrown wide as if crucified by exhaustion itself. "Alas! My beloved rejects my serenades..." His voice cracks again on 'serenades,' wincing mid-whine before rolling onto his side with surprising agility to nose at your hip where you still kneel beside him. "...Guess I'll just have to make it up t'you some other way, huh?"
The wink he shoots upward is pure mischief despite how hoarse he sounds—fingers already plucking suggestively at robe ties while craning neck upwards expectantly for another kiss, preferably one involving less accidental elbowing this time.
No rest for wicked supers... unless their muse insists otherwise.
You let out a soft laugh at his theatrics, shaking your head as you brush his messy hair back from his forehead. "Look at you—all bruised and raspy, still trying to charm me like some dashing rogue from one of my novels."
Your fingers trail down to the collar of his suit, tugging lightly as you arch an eyebrow. "But I suppose if we're talking about making it up to me..."
A slow smirk curls your lips as you lean in close enough for him to feel your breath against his ear when you whisper, “I can think of...one or two ways."
Joshua’s entire body seems to perk up at that—until suddenly he coughs violently mid-grin. Damn, vocal strain, nearly knocking foreheads with you.
He clears his throat with a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck while gesturing vaguely toward the en-suite bathroom, as if a man suddenly remembering urgent business.
"...Shower first? S-So I don't smell like robot guts and sweat while properly...making amends?" His tone is pleading but hopeful—his dignity clinging by threadbare seams now that romantic momentum has been rudely interrupted by broken windpipes.
He’s absolutely adorable when he tries to play it cool and fails—his voice cracking, his face flushed from coughing, yet still looking up at you with those hopeful puppy-dog eyes like he’s not already the most irresistible man alive.
You hum thoughtfully, tapping a finger against your lips as if considering his very serious proposal.
"Hmm… shower first? That sounds suspiciously like stalling."
But before he can protest or wheeze another excuse, you press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose and move off of him with some grace, not wanting to immediately jump his bones like you were about to do earlier.
"Fine," you concede dramatically, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look toward the vanity—though not without casting one last teasing smirk over your shoulder at him. "But don’t take too long… or I might just start without you."
His indignant squawk is music to your ears as he scrambled off the bed towards the bathroom, and the door clicks shut.
It would be barely two minutes later when Joshua bursts through the door in record time—still dripping wet from what was clearly the worlds fastest shower blur of soapy flailing limbs and shampoo suds flying everywhere.
His torn suit has been haphazardly tossed over an armchair somewhere along the way. At the same time, a towel hangs precariously around his waist, now barely clinging to dear life by sheer willpower alone…
With one hand braced against the doorway for balance after nearly skidding across the bathroom tiles, the other pointing accusingly in the direction as steam curls invitingly from the shower stall beyond fogged glass, as the water turned off. “...Y'know what?? Maybe I should've serenaded ya instead--!"
“Yes?” You let a hum at what Joshua said as you lay on the bed on your side, the fluffy rope discarded again, so you were just in your short nightgown, the green skirt riding up your thighs as one hand trailed along your naked thigh as you leaned on your propped up arm.
One of the straps of your gown fell off your shoulder, revealing more of your skin marked by his hickies.
His breath hitches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you— lounging like some siren from one of those old paintings in the theater, all disheveled silk and sinful intent. His mouth goes dry for reasons entirely unrelated to vocal strain now, towel slipping another perilous inch lower on his hips as he steps forward with a rough laugh that’s equal parts ragged and delighted as you look at him hungrily.
You chuckled, seeing his face as you looked over his wet, dripping body, how the steam made his skin glisten like a glazed donut, which highlighted his defined muscles that you thoroughly enjoyed looking at, biting your lip as you did so.
"Now that’s cheating," he accuses hoarsely—one hand snagging your ankle to drag you abruptly toward him with zero regard for physics or fairness. "Goddamn supervillain tactics right there, sweetheart."
The moment your legs bracket his waist, his towel having slipped off him to the floor or bed frame, who knows, Joshua dips down to press open-mouthed kisses along that exposed shoulder strap—tongue tracing familiar patterns over love bites before nipping lightly at your pulse point just to hear you gasp.
"Still think I oughta punish you for cheating like that," he murmurs against your skin between kisses—fingers skating up your thigh beneath rucked-up silk.
"...Oh? But I thought you were gonna serenade me?" You say with a cheeky smile.
His resulting grin is all wicked promise when you yank him closer by his damp hair—voice dropping into raspy sincerity as forehead bumps yours "'M gonna make damn sure ya forget how to say anything but my name.”
Oh, he plays dirty with that voice of his, regardless of whether it's hoarse from overuse or not!—and you love it all the same.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders, blunt nails leaving faint crescent marks in their wake as you pull him in for a kiss.
It’s messy and heated and desperate—teeth catching on lower lip as his mouth dips to suckle at your neck like he’s trying to map a constellation on your skin. You can feel the rough slide of his callouses, the scratch of unshaven jaw on your collarbone, the low hum of a growl rumbling up his throat as you arch into his touch, wanting more—everything.
He gives a breathy laugh as you tug at his wet hair—eyes glittering with mischievous promise as he leans in to nip playfully at your earlobe.
"You're feisty today, aren't you, sweetheart?" he teases, his breath warm against your skin.
“I'm always feisty,” you respond as the hand on your thigh glides up higher to hook around your hip instead—palm sliding over the front of your hip in a possessive gesture while his thumb teases along your inner thigh. "Trying to put me in my place now, hmm?” He says.
“Maybe I should. You left me alone all day,” you moan out with a sly grin as he pulls back slightly, fixing you with an exaggerated pout—though the effect is ruined somewhat by how flushed he looks as he gives your hip a light squeeze that's a playful warning gesture.
"I was saving the city," Joshua protests jokingly, fingers brushing gently across the bruise forming just above your collarbone from last night's exploits. "I'd say that takes some priority over ravishing my beautiful darling."
"Though trust me—trust me, I was thinking about you the whole time."
You huff out a breathless laugh, shaking your head in mock disbelief.
"Mhmm, right—the city, I'm sure," you reply dryly--though it's difficult to feign annoyance when he's being so unbearably sweet, his thumb gently stroking along your jaw while the corners of his mouth quirk up in a slight smile.
"And what kind of thoughts would those be, exactly?" you ask, arching a brow playfully up at him as you lean in closer until you're nearly nose to nose.
He lets out a rough chuckle, breath warm against your lips as his grip tightens just slightly—enough to make your pulse jump under his fingertips. "Oh y’know…” His voice drops to that low, dangerous register that always makes the heat coil low in your stomach.
"Mostly about how pretty you look when you're all worked up for me.” A teasing nip at your earlobe. "How good you sound when I wreck your voice the same way battle wrecks mine."
His free hand skates up the inside of your thigh—slow, deliberate—while he watches your face with hungry amusement. “...And how much better those sounds are than any damn supervillain monologue I had to sit through today."
Your breath hitches at the brush of his calloused fingers against your inner thigh—skin prickling with heat at the promise in those words. There's a brief wave of embarrassment too, at just how undone he can make you feel with a mere touch or teasing word—but that's just how Phylange has always made you feel: known, desired, seen.
With a soft snort, you arch an eyebrow at him, reaching to curl your finger around one of the damp locks of dark hair to tug in gentle rebuke for that self-satisfied smirk playing across his features.
"You sound awfully cocky for a man currently on his knees.” You say as you eyed him up and down, taking the chance to get a good look at his butt, your hand caressing the meaty flesh as you meet his eyes once more, as one hand tangles in his hair.
He grins up at you with zero shame, letting you pull his hair because—let’s be honest—he loves it when you get a little handsy. His fingers dig into your thighs just enough to leave marks as he leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before speaking against it, voice thick with amusement and hunger.
"Cocky? Nah. Just confident."Another nip, this one sharper. “And hey—if I’m on my knees anyway..."
His smirk turns downright wicked as his grip shifts to hoist your legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion—ignoring your squeak of surprise and maybe a halfhearted swat at his shoulder in favor of licking a slow stripe up the seam of your underwear just to feel you jolt against him.
"...Might as well put this mouth to better use than singing.”
“JOSHUA!” You gasp out his name, legs reflexively tightening on his shoulders while your fingers tangle in his hair again without thinking—body shuddering as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the damp fabric between your thighs and God, how does he still smell like ozone and city smoke even after the damn shower?
It's ridiculous how good that should not be a hot combination for anyone.
Still, when it's Josh—your superhero, your silly, cocky, adorable boyfriend—it's almost enough to make you come apart right there.
Joshua hums against your skin approvingly, tongue darting out to trace the lacy edge of your underwear through fabric.
You can feel the faintest smile curving against your skin as he pauses just long enough to glance up at you with that sly, lazy grin.
"Y’sound so pretty already sweetheart…” he teases, voice almost too nonchalant given how you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. "Almost don't wanna tease ya for long so I can hear you make more of those perfect sweet sounds."
“Y-You bastard—“ Your fingers tighten in his hair—whether to yank him closer or smack his shoulder for that smugness, you’re not even sure anymore—but the decision gets stolen from you when he hooks a thumb under the lace and drags it down in one excruciatingly slow motion. "Almost," Joshua amends with a dark chuckle, breathing hot against now-bare skin before finally closing the distance.
The first swipe of his tongue wrings a broken noise from your throat that absolutely ruins any chance at dignity—especially when he groans like you're the one unraveling him like this is some mutual destruction he’d happily drown in.
His grip on your thighs borders on possessive as he works you over with rough-edged devotion, all clever tongue and sinful patience until your hips stutter helplessly against his mouth.
Between gasps, you barely register the way his free hand slides up your torso to pinch at an already-sensitive peak through silk—or how laughably proud he sounds when murmuring against slick skin "Told ya I'd make ya forget how to speak."
And god help you—he wasn’t wrong.
Your eyes flutter closed, head tilting backward as you moan in bliss as your hand clenches in his damp hair—pulling a rough gasp from him in the process that you don't have the mental capacity to care about when he's licking and kissing like he's trying to map every inch of you with his mouth alone.
The rough drag of his palm against your hip, the way he drags his thumb along your ribcage like he's trying to memorize every shiver that ripples across your skin under his touch... It’s almost too much, especially when he works his wicked tongue over that one spot, like it's his only goddamn purpose in this universe.
But before either could react further, a shrill alarm suddenly BLARED throughout the room!
His communicator was buzzing loudly on the nightstand beside them.”EMERGENCY CALL FROM GAZERBEAM: PARKSIDE BANK ROBBERY IN PROGRESS - HOSTAGES REPORTED”
Joshua froze mid-motion above you, staring dumbfounded between glowing devices, then back down at the gorgeous disheveled mess on the bed… Every fiber screamed ignore duty just once, stay, finish what started here, yet those trained instincts warred violently against carnal desire holding him captive.
You saw the conflict flash behind those brown eyes.
Feeling his body tense abruptly atop yours, you swallowed thickly, knowing exactly what was coming next, even as your fingers dug reflexively into his toned shoulders to hold him in place.
Damn it. Damn. Of course—of course this would happen.
He curses under his breath, torn between the desire to stay and finish the job to see you really lose all control and the responsibility that comes with those goddamn alarms going off every day.
The conflict is written all over his face as he glances down at you, torn between wanting to make you moan his name and wanting to protect the city from whatever new crisis has popped up tonight.
And of course, it had to be Gazerbeam calling.
Joshua clenches his jaw as the alarm blares, his entire body taut with frustration. He exhales sharply through his nose, pressing his forehead against yours for a brief moment—stealing one last second of your warmth, your scent, and the feel of your skin beneath him.
His eyes met yours again—apologetic but firm. "I have to go."
It was a statement, not a question. But the regret in his voice was undeniable. He didn't want to leave—hell, he'd wanted to worship that perfect person he loves all night, mark you up with his lips and teeth and hands and lose himself in you.
You smiled, understanding his predicament. “Go, go be a hero, baby… I’ll be here,” you cooed softly, rubbing his cheek with your hand as he looked at you apologetically at the interruption.
The nickname makes his heart clench, and God, does he want to kiss the understanding look right off your face, kiss you senseless, kiss you until all he can even think about is the way your breathing stutters when his mouth brushes against your skin just so.
But the shrill alarm sounds again, and he groans as he pulls back to press a quick kiss to your forehead—a silent be right back before he rolls off the bed to scramble for clothes scattered across the floor.
You lean up from lying flat against the bed and watch Joshua grumble to himself. He pulls his green and yellow suit over his damp skin, cursing the world for having the worst sense of timing.
"Of course, Gazerbeam just HAD to go off and get himself into some kinda trouble on a random Tuesday evening… fucking—" he complains, running a hand roughly through his hair in irritation as he looks at you sprawled across the bed.
He has to fight to keep his gaze off the way the sheets pool around your bare legs and the marks he left on your skin. Goddamn, you just look like temptation incarnate.
Turning away from the gorgeous view, he now donned his super suit, the material in some areas still ruined by tears, as he picked up the communicator.
“This is Phylange,” he barked into it—his voice rough but authoritative now—all business despite how wrecked they both looked and felt.
The response on the other end was urgent and clipped. He listened intently for a few beats before snapping: “On my way.” As he turns to walk towards you, resisting the urge to jump back into bed, he gently tips your chin up to give you a tender kiss goodbye.
He pulls away just enough to murmur against your lips, "Don't start without me."
Then, before you can retaliate by yanking him back into bed, which was a very real possibility, he darts for the window with practiced ease, throwing one last smirking glance over his shoulder as he steps onto the ledge.
And then he's gone in a rush of wind and green fabric.
Leaving you breathless on rumpled sheets—half annoyed, half amused, and entirely certain he'll make it up to you later with excessive enthusiasm.
