[ID: A youtube comment by “I Am Love Tarot” which reads:
“He is a higher vibrational being that miscalculated the density and heaviness of our 3D that’s why he got a bit “disorderly”. His vibration bring sooo much into our plane just by merely being here...Thank you! (prayer emoji and purple heart emoji) And big gratitude to an amazing mom for being so loving and understanding! (green heart emoji)”
End ID]
Came across a video of a nonspeaking autistic person recently and found this absolutely mind-boggling rancid take.
꩜𖦹༄ author's note: based on request!! let me out of my cage. pls. 😭 dadaman aang also tew fine in the new movie....
the silence here is a lie.
they tell you the air nomads were all about peace and detachment, drifting through life like clouds that never touch the earth, but the way aang is holding you right now feels like gravity being reinvented. he’s supposed to be the bridge, the monk, the vegetarian boy with the easy smile and the heavy burden, but in the dark of the sanctuary, he’s just a man who has discovered a different kind of hunger. he’s a good man, truly, the kind of soul that would weep over a broken wing, but right now his hands are bruised-purple against your hips and his eyes are dark with a craving that feels almost sacrilegious.
you used to think of him as something holy, something separate from the evil of this world. he’s the avatar, the master of four elements, the one who is meant to bring balance. but there is no balance in the way he’s folding your body into the furs, his weight a constant pressure that makes your lungs ache. he’s an airbender, but he’s moving like the tide, relentless but rhythmic, driving into you with a stamina that feels entirely supernatural. his tattoos glow faintly, blue lines tracing the curve of his muscles as he works, a divine light illuminating a very human, very pervy desperation.
"look at you," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly rasp that's so unlike the cheerful man who plays with lemurs. he’s kissing your jaw, his tongue hot and wet, tracing the line where your skin meets the cold mountain air. "my girl. my perfect, beautiful girl. you’re taking all of it, aren’t you? every bit of me."
he’s sweet with his praise, calling you precious even as he uses his bending to hitch your legs higher, pinning your knees to your chest in a mating press that leaves you completely open to him. his cock is a thick, pulsing intrusion, sliding through the slick remnants of the last two times he’s come inside you.
"i want to see it leak out of you," he whispers, his words turning filthy as he thrusts deeper, hitting that sensitive spot that makes your vision go white. "i want you so full of me that you can't even walk straight. i'm going to put so much in you that your body has no choice but to keep it. you’re going to carry my children, okay? we’re going to bring them back. all of them."
the dirty talk is a shock to your system. this is the boy who blushes at a compliment, yet here he is, describing exactly how he wants to ruin you with a clinical, pervy specificity. he’s using his airbending instinctively now, small puffs of air circulating around your sensitive spots, keeping you in a state of constant, vibrating overstimulation. your clit feels like it’s being buffeted by a storm, and your internal walls are clamping down on him in desperate pulses, trying to find some kind of release that keeps being pushed just out of reach by his tireless pace.
"please... aang... i can't—" you babble, your voice breaking as he hitches your hips even higher. your back is arching off the furs, your fingers clawing at his forearms, where the blue arrows glow. "it's too much... it's too much..."
"it's not too much," he counters, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that pins you in place. "you can take more. i know you can. i want you to feel every inch of me filling you up. i want you to remember this feeling every time you look at the sky. i’m the avatar, right? i’m supposed to restore the air nomads. and i’m starting right here. with you. i’m going to fill you so full of my seed that there won't be room for anything else."
he begins to move faster, the slow, deep grinds giving way to sharp, staccato jacks that make your entire body jolt. he’s being so sweet with his hands, cupping your face, brushing the hair back from your sweaty forehead, yet his lower body is a machine of pure, unadulterated lust. the contrast is dizzying. he’s praising you, calling you his everything, his soulmate, his world, while his hips are delivering a relentless pounding against your pelvic bone.
the overstimulation is peaking. you can feel the pressure building in your lower belly, a tight, coil of heat that’s about to snap. your breath is coming in short, ragged gasps, and the room is starting to spin. the smell of him—that sweet, peachy scent of his skin combined with the raw, salty musk of his sweat—is the only thing keeping you grounded. you’re lost in the rhythm, lost in the sheer, overwhelming presence of him.
"aang, i'm... i'm gonna—"
"go for me," he groans, his own voice hitching as he senses your climax. "let it go. squeeze me. show me how much you want it."
he delivers one final, deep thrust, his cock hitting your cervix with such force that your vision literally flashes white. your cunt clamps down on him like a vice, milk-hot and desperate, and that’s what finally breaks him. aang lets out a string of inaudible words, his back arching as he slams himself into you one last time. you feel the his third release flooding into you, a thick, scalding torrent that feels like it’s filling you to the brim. he pumps into you over and over, his balls drawing up tight against your folds, his entire body shaking with the sheer volume of his climax.
the silence that follows is thick, broken only by the sound of your frantic, synchronised breathing. aang collapses onto your chest, his weight a comforting, crushing blanket. he’s panting, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his heart beating a frantic rhythm against your own. you can feel the hot slickness of his cum beginning to overflow, a warm, wet trail sliding down your thighs and onto the blankets.
he stays inside you for a long time, unwilling to break the connection. he’s soft now, but the intimacy of the moment is even more intense than the sex was. he lifts his head, a lopsided, boyish grin returning to his face, though his eyes still hold that dark, lingering hunger. he reaches down, his fingers tracing the wetness between your legs, his touch gentle and possessive.
"i think i did it," he whispers, his voice light but filled with an underlying gravity. "i think i put enough in there to start a whole new generation."
he kisses you then, a soft, lingering press of lips that tastes like salt and peaches. he pulls back just an inch, his eyes sparkling in the dying candlelight as he watches a thick, white glob of his seed leak out of you and onto the dark furs.
"look at that," he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "you’re practically wearing me. i told you, i’m not going to be the last airbender for much longer. we’ve got work to do."
i'm actually sobbing. please. what do you guys have me writing.
summary — everyone has an ex that they’d rather forget about. yours is just more persistent than most. however, when he takes the initiative to show up at your place of work, demanding a second chance, it’s time for you to shut it down once and for all—and to show that you have standards now. (based on this request)
featured — dr. jack abbot / fem!nurse!reader, nurse lena handzo, dr. john shen, ahmad zidan
content — no spoilers for s1 or 2, fluff and angst, talk of drug abuse (not by reader or jack), past emotional abuse/manipulation, your ex is a possessive asshole, you and jack stand on business, dr. shen being iconic as per usual
(cross-posted on ao3) (the pitt masterlist)
The first call comes as you are walking into the PTMC that morning, your bag slung over your shoulder and one hand in the pocket of your jeans.
The frown comes with immediacy across your face as you realize you are unsure of who would be calling so early in the morning. You step to the side of the emergency room floor and brandish the vibrating mobile from your pocket. It is not a saved number in your phone, so you silence it without thinking twice about it. Spam calls these days have become so common that you average at least one a shift.
Crisis averted, you head to the nurse’s station and get changed into your scrubs. Even at three in the morning, the ER is already buzzing with life. You greet a few of the frequent fliers you pass on the way, an unshakable grin on your cheeks.
Once you’re dressed, the day officially begins. Despite yourself, you find your eyes jumping from person to person, eagerly looking for one doctor in particular.
But he finds you before you do him. You jolt when his arm brushes against yours as you stand near the charge station. You angle your head in his direction and you feel your heart skip a beat as you focus fully on him.
“Hey,” you say to Jack, trying—and failing—to refocus on the schedule in front of you.
He doesn’t even try to look busy as he drags a hand through his silver curls, eyes twinkling despite their exhaustion. “You’re starting early.”
You half-shrug, flipping the page over, scanning quickly through the patient list. “Lena needed another nurse on deck… something about Jacob’s paternity leave. So, here I am.”
“Here you are.”
You look at him fully then, an affectionate smile creeping across your face. “How’s the shift been? Chaotic?”
Jack shakes his head. He rubs his temple as if doing so would release every worry from his head. “Uh, it’s been about the same. So, catastrophic on every level. I had—“
Your Apple Watch suddenly buzzes twice in quick succession and your attention is unintentionally diverted. You frown, again confused why you were receiving nonessential notifications. When you open the screen, two text messages are there from an unknown number. You can’t preview the messages from your watch before the screen goes black, so you have no idea what they might contain.
“Everything okay?” Jack reminds you of his presence when he asks this, and you briefly look up at him to let him know you heard his question.
“Yeah, not sure what’s going on today.” You push and hold to silence the watch. “Spam callers are having a field day, I guess. Bet they just texted to let me know I have to click this sketchy link to prevent my nonexistent car from being repossessed.”
“Better get on that,” your boyfriend says with a light chuckle, “you know the United States government has an invested interest in your nonexistent car and those nonexistent toll fees.”
You grin at his sarcasm. Finally dissuaded from checking your notifications, you look up at him. “Now if only they could adjust their pitch to match Pittsburgh public transportation.”
“—Yo, lovebirds,” Lena’s voice commands attention from every corner of the room, and you feel your spine immediately go ramrod from her tone. “I got patients back here that would love an ounce of your undivided attention.”
Despite her tone, you know she’s not truly angry. You place a quick kiss on Jack’s cheek, then head over to your charge nurse. The text messages, phone call, and even Jack migrate to the back of your head as you get sucked into work.
You haven’t thought about your ex in a long ass time. It’s hard to reconcile that at one point in your life, he’d been all you thought about.
You had met in nursing school. He was the sweet, handsome, charismatic guy who sat next to you in pharmacology. It was hard to see in your young, 20-something-year-old brain the glaring red flags. Or perhaps you had ignored them in favor of the relationship.
You had the habit of focusing on the positives more than you did the negatives of any situation, especially regarding relationships. You focused on the fact that he always brought you a coffee when he got himself one, the fact that he would wrap his arm around you and tug you to his side when talking with friends, how he’d always make up for arguments with gifts and affection.
But as time wore on, his negatives only became more pronounced. He was not used to working hard for his degree in college—that is what happens when daddy pays for you to have good grades in undergrad—and flunked out. He blamed you for being a distraction to his schooling, but never dared breaking up with you. He started getting too adventurous with his drug usage, to the point finding his next fix took priority over everything else.
You broke up with him a year ago. Six months ago, you started dating Jack.
Jack is everything that he wasn’t. He’s responsible. Everything he has he’s had to work for. He loves you, and does not put you on the back burner when life gets messy, instead, he tries to make it work. Most importantly, though? He doesn’t fucking blame you for all his problems.
You stare at the phone in a stunned silence.
All it takes was two texts for you to remember why you hated being single those six months you were. The audacity of some men was truly astounding.
???: did you really just ignore my call? who the hell do you think you are?
And then, literally, seconds later:
???: are you in town, babe? maybe we could grab some drinks?
One might wonder how you knew it was him, but it’s just so obvious. No one else would be texting at five in the fucking morning looking to get drinks after a year no-contact. It’s the kind of insane behavior one could only expect from him.
You shake your head after a few moments of staring blankly at your phone and stand. You throw the last bits of your meal away and drop your phone back off into your locker. As you step out of the nurse’s area, you notice Lena waving you over from across the room.
You make it over to her in two quick strides, eager to get your mind the hell away from whatever those texts were.
Those dreams are dashed the second you notice Lena giving you a concerned look.
“Hey hon.” Hon? She never calls you that. “We have a man in North 2 asking for you by name. Want to take it?”
You cock a brow, mind moving a mile a minute as you try to quickly go through who that could be. But the texts still linger in your mind from moments before and you get stuck on one thought. Would he really be so stupid… so deplorable… to get himself admitted to your ER?
You sigh and nod, straightening your scrub top nervously as you approach the patient room door. You pause for a moment, trying to will yourself to just knock on the door. When you finally do, a smiling brunette answers it—not exactly what you’d been expecting.
“Are you the doctor?” she says, entirely too caffeinated and hyper for being in a hospital at five in the morning.
“I’m the nurse,” you tell her, smiling tightly. “Can I come in?”
“Oh, right.” She lets out a laugh. “Sorry, I see that on your badge now.”
She steps aside and you take at most two steps before your stomach drops to your feet. There he is, in all his glory. Considering the fact that you haven’t seen him in a year and he’s gained at least thirty pounds, you applaud yourself for recognizing him so quickly. He’s got one arm covered in gauze, and blood seems to have already soaked through.
The woman who’s with him goes to his side, stroking his unhurt arm gently. Poor girl, you think, if only she knew what she was getting herself into.
“I’m just going to take your vitals.” Strict professionalism. That is your aim for working with him. You grab the blood pressure cuff and loop it around his upper arm.
“Babe, how about you go get me a coke?” His voice is just as dry and grumbly as you remember. Once upon a time, you’d found it attractive. Now it was just grating.
You squeeze the cuff as the girl nods cheerily and practically skips out of the room. He lets out a quick breath through his teeth when you maybe squeeze it one time too hard. An honest mistake, really. You type down his blood pressure dutifully in his patient chart.
You gesture toward the door where the woman just slipped out. “Where’d you pick a girl like that up at?”
“Eh, she’s just some squeeze.” He shrugs. “Nothin’ compared to you, babe.”
“I see your limitless assholery has remained the same.” You type a few more numbers into his chart, refusing to give him the eye contact he so desperately searched for. “So, what? You just so happened to cut yourself after texting me for the first time in a year?”
He winces as you reach over to pull back the bandage. It’s not too bad. You probe the edges of skin once, twice, then pull the bandage back over it. It looks like it might need stitches, which means, unfortunately, he will have to stay longer.
“Would you respond to me otherwise?” He makes a good point. You would never answer the phone if you knew he was on the other line. However, faking an injury and taking the bed of a person who might actually need it? Now that’s just wrong.
You snap your gloves off and go to add one more note to his file. Do not administer Oxycodone-based medications. That last bit of information comes from personal experience.
“Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first?” you ask, leaning up against the door of the room.
He doesn’t have to think on it for long. “Good.”
“The good news is that you will not be seeing me much more for the rest of your stay here. The bad news is you will have to stay a little longer. A doctor will need to come assess your wound.”
“How’s the good news good? I came here specifically to see you,” he says, his tone annoyed.
You give him your best attempt at a smile. “Oh right–that’s good news for me, not you. Have a good day.”
You leave the room quickly after that, ignoring his protests as you do. You pass the brunette on your way to the charge station, and you offer her a pitying smile. Poor girl really has no idea who she’s getting involved with, does she?
Leaning across the charge desk, you pinch your nose bridge in between your fingers and attempt to take several deep breaths.
Of all the things you’d seen in this profession; all the people that had been lost along the way… somehow, the hardest struggle was having to face your ex. How ridiculous was that?
“You good?” The sudden question is punctuated by a loud slurp of a drink, and you know who it is before you even turn your head.
“Hey Shen,” you greet him curtly. He shakes around the Dunkin’ drink in his hand, the ice cubes clinking together.
“You and Jack having some trouble in paradise?” Shen says before taking another loud sip of his drink.
You can’t help the short laugh from snorting out of your nostrils. “No, no,” you tell him, “if only it were that.”
Shen narrows his eyes. He looks you up and down as if trying to discern the issue.
You sigh. “My ex. He’s in North 2. He faked an injury to see me.”
“No way.” Shen laughs. “Listen, I have some pretty crazy exes, but even they haven’t done anything that crazy.” His tone shifts when he realizes you aren’t in the same jovial mood. He steps forward, expression drawn tight. “You need help?”
You look off to the side, pondering. It would suck if Jack had to meet him. It wasn’t so much that you didn’t want Jack to know as it was that you didn’t want to have to deal with the embarrassment of having dated that thing for a brief point in your life.
“You free? Think you could inspect his wound? Maybe put in some stitches?”
Shen cocks a brow. “You sure you don’t want Jack to do that? Need him to go all macho on him?”
“I’d rather Jack not be involved.” You shift uneasily on your feet. “Not because he’s possessive, but because I worry my ex might get… unruly.”
Shen nods, then puts his drink down on the counter, even though Lena had explicitly requested he not do that. “Give me fifteen. I’ll meet you back here for consult.”
You watch for a few seconds as he strides away, then you avert your eyes to your hands. They’re shaking, but you’re not sure why. You aren’t scared of your ex—but that doesn’t mean you aren’t upset by his reappearance in your life.
You hadn’t been one of those couples that said “let’s just be friends!” even once they broke up. You’d been more so the type that you blocked each other’s numbers and you moved your entire career and livelihood to get away from him. It felt like two worlds colliding, him being here, where you were now a successful nurse and not his overly-reliant girlfriend.
As you continue to stand by the desks, you notice Jack stepping out of a patient’s room down the hall. You turn your back and attempt to look busy in sorting paperwork, but you know he’s seen you.
His voice breaks through your thoughts just as you begin to think he’s not coming over. “Working hard or hardly working?”
You smile despite yourself. “Hey,” you say, turning your head.
His eyebrows furrow as he gets closer to you, able to see you more clearly. He leans beside you on the counter, chewing the inside of his cheek. He’s worried about you—he always does that when he is. “You alright?”
You knew he was going to ask this, but it still catches you off-guard.
You don’t want to lie to him, but you don’t want to tell him the truth either. Subjecting Jack to your ex was not high on your to-do list. If all went well, no one would have to deal with him other than Shen. Besides, you don’t need a man to stick up for you. You could handle him just fine on your own.
You shrug. “Sometimes I forget how chaotic the night shift can be.”
He leans forward, voice soft. “If you’re struggling, I’m sure Lena will be understanding…”
You put your hand on his bicep and give it a squeeze. “I’m okay, Jack. I promise. Besides, your shift is over in, what, an hour and a half? Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll try,” he tells you, “but you have a way of making it into my head whether I want you to or not.”
You let out a breathy laugh. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
“—You ready to go, my favorite nurse?” you hear Shen say from behind you. He reaches between you and Jack to grab his drink, taking a long sip. The seriousness of the conversation he just interrupted is completely lost on him. He turns to Jack. “Oh, hey man. Didn’t see you there.”
Your boyfriend cocks a brow at you. “What’s going on?”
“A consult,” Shen replies simply.
Jack looks at you like he’s expecting a more in-depth explanation. You smile teasingly and pat his arm. “Back to work, doc. Patients won’t save themselves.”
Jack rolls his eyes affectionately as you step away, but once your back is turned, the expression falls away.
You clutch the suture kit cart as Shen knocks on the patient door then uses his hip to push it open. He stands to the side as you enter. Your ex’s new girlfriend shoots to her feet as you push the cart in, her eyes wide. You offer her what you hope is a comforting smile.
“Hello, hello,” Shen says as he takes a seat on a rolling stool next to his bed. “I’m Dr. Shen and I’m going to be taking care of you today. I hear you have a cut on your arm?”
Your ex doesn’t look at him as he replies, his eyes on you and the suture kit. “I slipped.” He reaches over to remove the gauze on his arm.
“Is it going to need stitches?” The girlfriend asks from behind you.
Shen inspects the wound carefully, eyes moving slowly across the ripped skin. He pulls away and nods. “Yeah, I think a few stitches. It’s pretty deep and jagged along the edges. What was it you slipped on?”
He moves out of the way so you can begin flushing the wound. You ignore the fact that your ex is flexing his muscles as you grab the cleanser, completely locked into your work.
“My damn hunting knife,” he says, “it’ll leave a pretty nice scar though, huh?”
You roll your eyes without even really meaning to, and you feel your ex’s glare on you.
“Go ahead and put some lidocaine in,” Shen tells you. He turns to your ex. “Don’t want you to feel your skin being pulled together with a needle, do we?”
Your ex goes pale as you grab the syringe and fill it with the liquid. “Uh, could I… does it have to have stitches?”
“Trust me, honey, you do not want sepsis,” his girlfriend says, “my cousin got it and—“
“—Just be quiet,” your ex snaps at her. You flinch at the tone, and accidentally spill a little bit of the liquid on the table.
Shen steps up behind you, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You know he wants to comfort you, but you’re glad he keeps his distance. “Your girlfriend is right,” he says, “lots of nasty things can happen if you let a cut like that not heal properly.”
You gently guide the needle into the skin above his wound and push the liquid inside. You turn to your ex as you pull the needle away. “It should be completely numb in a few minutes.”
You step back to let Shen take the seat again. You turn to look out the window of the room only to lock eyes with Jack. He’s talking to Lena, but his eyes are on you. You look away. You nervously shift on your feet, clutching your hands across your front.
“So, uh.” Your ex’s eyes are on you as he starts to speak. Your lips draw into a thin line. “You guys get out much? Have boyfriends, girlfriends?”
Shen knows who the question is aimed at, yet he answers anyway. “Eh, it’s kind of difficult,” he says, poking and prodding the arm. “I’m not much for commitment.”
You refuse to reply.
“Okay, I think it’s numbed up, I’m going to go ahead and start,” Shen tells him. “Maybe try not to look at it. I find my patients who don’t usually have the best time with this.”
You hand Shen the threaded needle and help clamp the skin together with forceps.
“And you?” His fucking mouth.
You barely look up from his wound as your ex says this. “What?”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“Honey, I think they’re concentrating right now,” his girlfriend butts in. You shoot her an appreciative smile and keep your hands steady as Shen guides the needle through the first point.
“Surely she can answer a question,” he huffs, “I mean she’s just holding a clamp. I can do that.”
You shake your head and barely murmur, “I’m not doing this here. Not now.”
Shen goes through the third point, drawing the skin together tightly.
A few moments pass and you think he’s given up. Then, he says, “I just don’t understand what the big deal is. Why can’t you answer the question?”
You clench your jaw, barely able to conceal your irritation. Shen shoots you a look, but then goes back to sewing.
“Cmon, really?” he continues.
“I have a boyfriend—is that what you so desperately want to hear?!” your voice is unexpectedly loud, and you immediately regret the outburst after it leaves your lips.
The girlfriend looks shocked—hurt, probably realizing that your connection with her boyfriend goes beyond a normal patient-nurse relationship. Your ex looks equal parts annoyed as he does satisfied with your outburst. Like he’d just proved some point in his head about how you weren’t all perfect.
Shen turns his head and says, “scissors.”
You hand him the utensil and he pulls the thread taut before snipping it.
Your ex lets out a short laugh. You cock a brow, worried that someone had slipped him something.
“I don’t believe you.”
You roll your eyes. “Good thing I don’t care if you do or don’t.”
Shen turns to you. “I can wrap up here if you need to step out.”
You’re already halfway out the door by the time he says this. You move quickly to the stairwell, passing concerned nurses and doctors as you do. Once you are out the door, you have to bend over to catch your breath. Pressing the palms of your hands hard against your eyes, you will yourself not to get upset.
Only he could get you that flustered with hardly a word. And you fell for his bait every single time. You lean against the wall and try to steady your breathing.
A few minutes pass. More than you are sure that Lena would allow. The doors to the stairwell open and you turn to the side, hoping the person there can take a hint.
Unfortunately, Jack is persistent.
He gently grabs your arm and pulls you to his side. You allow him, and the stress of the day flows out of you with your muffled tears. You cushion your head against his chest, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He strokes the top of your head while the other arm holds you just as tightly.
Once you’ve released all the emotion you can handle, you pull back a little, wiping your eyes. Jack doesn’t let you get far, keeping you close to his chest.
“Shen told me you were upset,” he says, “what’s going on?”
You sniffle, trying to look away. He gently guides your head back to meet his eyes with his thumb on your chin. His fingers slide up to cup your cheek and you melt into his grip. “Talk to me, love.”
A fresh set of tears escape your eyes at the sweetness of his voice. The caring, affectionate man in front of you was so much better than anyone you’d ever been with. It makes you feel silly for crying, silly for complaining.
“This morning, when my watch buzzed.” You hiccup. “It wasn’t a spam number. It was my ex-boyfriend.”
You watch Jack’s face carefully as you say this, trying to predict his next words before he says them. You thread your fingers in his scrubs, anchoring yourself to him.
“Then, he showed up as a patient. He intentionally hurt himself to see me. And he’s been rude and crass, sure, but that’s not even what bothers me the most.” You wipe your eyes with the palm of your hand, knowing you must look a mess. “I don’t want him back in my life. Never. He… just doesn’t belong here. It makes me sick thinking he’s trying to worm himself into my perfect life that I’ve built without him.”
You pause, taking a panicky breath in. “I don’t want him to come between us. I don’t want you to think… I don’t want you to think less of me because of him. I mean, I can’t believe I ever dated him. He’s awful.”
Jack strokes your cheek, letting you get it all out. When he’s sure you’re finished, he speaks.
“First of all,” he says, “I’m never going to judge you for people you no longer have in your life. If you chose to get rid of them, I know there’s a hell of a good reason. And, personally, I think you’re a great judge of character. I don’t want to hang out with someone you don’t like.” You avert your eyes bashfully, but Jack angles your head so you’re still looking at him.
“Secondly, don’t blame yourself for the choices of stupid people. Just because you once associated with him, doesn’t mean you still stand by his choices today,” he says. “I love you. I mean that. And that means I trust you, implicitly. I wouldn’t have tried to get in the way—well, let me rephrase that. If you weren’t in imminent trouble and I thought you had it handled, I wouldn’t intervene with your issues.”
You let out a soft laugh at that last part.
For a moment longer, the two of you stand there. He strokes your hair, you clutch his scrubs. Finally, you release him.
“I’ve got thirty more minutes left before the day shift inevitably arrives,” he says, “so, what do you want to do?”
You shake your head. “Honestly? I hope he disappears.” You push open the door with your hip. “But if he doesn’t, then I’ll let you know.”
You step into the buzzing ER and let out a deep breath. You start to head to the bathroom, when your eye gets caught on a figure quickly headed in the other direction. Her dark hair bounces against her back as she jogs away, her hand covering her face. The girlfriend. You imagine that their conversation didn’t go over well.
Your ex steps out after her, clutching his now-bandaged arm. He looks at her retreating back for a moment before he rolls his neck back, peeved. As he turns to go back in the room, he halts. Then his eyes lift and immediately lock onto yours.
A rehearsed grin spreads across his mouth. You turn your back, but he reaches you before you can push open the door to the bathroom.
He grabs your shoulder and you spin around, pushing him away disgustedly.
“Don’t ever touch me,” you say through gritted teeth.
“Woah, woah,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “Easy there, tiger.”
He jumps in front of you when you go to push open the bathroom door.
“Hey, just listen to me.” His eyes are like a weasel’s, predatory and conniving. “Just let me say my piece.”
“I’m not interested,” you tell him. “What part of that can’t you get through your thick skull?”
“Is this about the cheating thing? Are you really still mad about that?”
“You really are oblivious, aren’t you?” You roll your eyes. “You can stick your dick in any hole you like. It’s none of my business. Why? Because we aren’t dating.”
You turn your back when you remember you have makeup wipes in your bag. But you can’t get far before a hand wraps around your wrist like steel. You don’t have a moment to think, your body reacts before your mind can. You turn and punch him squarely in the jaw.
He releases you immediately and lets out a loud groan, falling back against the bathroom door. He clutches his jaw with a fury in his eyes unlike you’ve ever seen.
“I said, don’t touch me, asswipe.”
He comes toward you, as if to retaliate, but then you feel an arm pushing you behind a sturdy body and your view is cut off.
“Who the hell are you?” your ex says, gesturing to Jack with a foul expression.
You look down at your hand and realize it’s bleeding. Your thumb might be sprained—you aren’t sure. It throbs painfully, but you can move it at least.
“I’m her boyfriend.” You peer around Jack’s shoulder and realize that your ex looks about ready to piss himself. “But that doesn’t matter. When someone asks for space, that’s when you back the fuck off.”
“—What’s going on here?” A voice cuts in. You turn your head to see Ahmad there, his hand resting on his holster.
You step forward. “Ahmad. Could you escort this patient out? He should be ready for discharge. I’ll fill out all the proper HR paperwork—this is all just a big mistake.”
“Hey, hey,” your ex says, waving his hand toward Ahmad, “I’m not taking the fall for this.”
Ahmad grabs your ex’s shoulder before he can reach out and grab you. You look back and see Jack and Shen are there, both willing to corroborate.
You look back at your ex. “It’s time to go. And don’t come back.”
“Unless you get seriously injured in the vicinity of our hospital, then you can—“ Shen starts to say, but Jack elbows him in the side.
Your ex stares at you for a full second. Then he turns his head. You think he’s given up, then he mutters a very clear, resounding bitch underneath his breath and Jack is stepping forward before you can stop him.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“Jack,” you call out.
Your ex looks at him square on. “She heard me.”
Jack clenches his fists. You reach forward to grab his shoulder. You look over at Ahmad, who then forcefully turns your ex around and leads him away.
“Jack, it’s okay,” you say. “I’ve heard worse, believe it or not.”
“He can’t just…” he starts to say, then shakes his head.
“I love you,” you tell him softly. “And I’m okay.”
Shen gets drawn into an incoming trauma and hurries away. You clutch your still-bleeding hand to your chest, which draws Jack’s attention.
“Shit,” he curses. “Why didn’t you say you’ve never punched someone before? I could’ve done it.”
Your hand is still shaking as you follow him to an empty exam room. He opens the door and you shuffle in.
“It’s really not that bad,” you say, “it’s mostly the adrenaline making me shake.”
Jack keeps his back to you in the room, looking through cabinets quickly. You sigh.
“Really, Jack, I needed to punch him. For my own mental well-being. I’d be kicking myself later if I hadn’t,” you say with a soft laugh.
Jack retrieves some bandages and disinfectant. He takes a seat on a rolling stool in front of where you sit perched on an exam bed, swinging your feet back and forth. Jack gently grabs your hand and looks over your injuries.
“How are you so calm right now?” he asks, unfolding a disinfectant swab. “Your ex just verbally assaulted you in front of the entire ER floor.”
You hiss through your teeth as he dabs the swab against your torn knuckles. He gives you an apologetic look, but doesn’t let up.
“I’m sure I’ll start panicking later, once everything settles in.” You wince again as he wraps your knuckles.
“Can you move your thumb?”
You move it side to side, then up and down. Confusion washes over you as he inspects it. “How’d you know I hurt my thumb?”
He laughs. “I haven’t seen a fist that bad since I was sixteen. You can’t tuck your thumb inside your fist when you punch—you’re lucky you didn’t break it.”
You pout. “I thought I did good.”
He lets go of your thumb to cup your cheeks together in his palms. “I didn’t say it was terrible. You still packed a pretty mean hook.”
You can’t resist. You lean forward to give him a kiss. He returns it wholeheartedly, angling your head with his palm.
You pull away before it can devolve into something inappropriate for a hospital setting. He strokes the back of your neck even as you pull apart, his eyes soft and heavy-lidded.
“You better go brief the day shift,” you tell him, “I’m sure they’ve already heard plenty about your eventful night. You know Shen loves to gossip.”
He bites his lip and throws his head back with a groan. “God, all I want to do right now is go to sleep.”
“At least you don’t have to do HR paperwork with a hurt hand.”
“You got me there,” he says, gently tugging you to his side as he heads to the door. “You’re off tomorrow, right? Want to come over to my place?”
A/n: Some of these thots stem from conversations with @kryptidfiles so thank you for texting back queen
Classification: Smut +18 | Detailed descriptions of penetrative sex, oral sex (including deepthroating and 69-style), creampies, multiple orgasms, prolonged intercourse, power imbalance/superpowered sex, BDSM/kink elements, voyeurism and exhibitionism.
Word count: 2,5k
Divider by me ;)
A - Aftercare and altitude sex: Clark loves wrapping you in his cape and flying you somewhere private for soft cuddles right after heated sex. He checks your pulse and focuses on your breathing because he’s terrified of hurting you or losing control of his abilities when it comes to you. He tries to bring you even higher than the sex itself. It’s followed by slow, weightless floating aftercare, with him keeping his eyes on you while you look down at the world and he admires his.
B - Bondage: Whether it’s with his tie after work or heat vision-welded restraints (especially if you’re superpowered), Clark doesn’t necessarily need them but he knows how much you love being manhandled. He enjoys using his super-strength carefully to pin you or letting you tie him down so he has to hold back from breaking free while you ride him. He’s stuck watching, relying only on his self-control as you sink down on his throbbing cock, back arching, head thrown back, nipples hard and nails scratching his tensing abs.
C - Creampies and breeding kink: It stems from Clark’s alien biology and his deep need to feel connected. He can go multiple rounds and always holds you close while he fills you, whispering about how perfect you feel. He definitely indulges in light breeding talk, “I want to put a baby in you…even if we can’t.” At the beginning of the relationship he worries about getting you pregnant because he fears it might be too much for you. Once he makes peace with it and you start trying, his biology is no joke. There’s no real “trying” it was one and done and you were carrying his child. He can control when he cums if he focuses, but he loses that control when it comes to you.
D - Dirty talk (in that low Kansas drawl): It’s all soft praise mixed with filthy promises, “That’s it, honey…take all of me,” and “You’re the only one who can handle me like this,” growled right against your ear while he’s buried deep inside your weeping pussy. His accent mostly comes out during sex and the intensity depends on how hard you’re going or how long it’s been since you last had each other. He praises not just how good you’re doing, but how you sound and look and it always pushes you over the edge prematurely, which he fucking loves. He grins at the sight, especially when you beg him to keep talking like that, all while maintaining intense eye contact.
E - Edging and overstimulation: Super-speed means he can edge you for hours and his pattern recognition makes the sex feel perfect. He alternates between slow, deep thrusts and vibrating super-speed tongue or fingers until you’re shaking and begging. He loves hearing your keening mewls and watching you writhe under him, trying to run from the feeling while still pushing your body back into him, desperate for more.
F - Flight and floating sex: It didn’t take long for you to agree to this once you realized how easily he inspires absolute trust. Who’s better than Superman himself? Zero-gravity fucking high above Metropolis happens at least once a week. He could do it in normal clothes but chooses the suit so he can wrap you in his cape, keeping you naked yet warm all over, not just where his cock breaches your pussy. He holds you confidently mid-air while pounding into you, wind whipping around you both as your moans erupt freely into the night sky.
G - Gentle giant / guided sex: Clark is extremely careful with his strength when it isn’t needed, while still giving you everything he has. As big and commanding as he is, he lets you guide him on exactly how rough you want it, “Harder, Clark. I can take it.” His priority is your pleasure, making sure you get everything you want and need every time you take his thick cock. He holds your hips, maintains eye contact when the position allows and reads your body. Don’t even think about lying to him, his ears may be drowned by the sound of your squelching pussy but they’re also glued to your heartbeat and he knows exactly how to tell the difference between pleasure and anything else.
H - Heat vision play: There are insane levels of intimacy and trust involved when he uses controlled heat vision to warm your skin, trace patterns that fade in seconds or lightly stimulate sensitive spots without burning. He also leaves heavy hickeys that he heals with super-breath afterward. He loves watching his marks disappear, replaced by goosebumps spreading across your skin.
I - Invulnerability play: Solar eclipses are always marked on your calendars for this. You marking him by scratching, biting and riding him as hard as you want, is a sweet treat he wouldn’t miss for anything. On normal days, since he can barely feel it, he focuses entirely on how it feels for you and how you can’t help but try to mark him anyway.
J - Jealousy (reporter vs hero): Clark wouldn’t call himself a jealous person but ‘possessive Clark’ comes out whenever someone flirts with you at the Daily Planet. It leads to rough but apologetic office or alleyway sex where he reminds you and mostly himself, exactly who you belong to. “Didn’t mean to act like a jerk, sweetheart,” he breathes into your ear as his thrusts get deeper. “Or to raise my voice…you can be mad at me, just let me feel you cum.”
K - Kryptonite play (consensual and careful): This only happens if he suggests it first and requires insane levels of trust. A controlled amount makes him feel more human and sensitive. It stays at a safe distance, ideally with you in the dominating position, riding him while watching deep green veins crawl up his skin. When you start worrying and try to move faster, he begs you to slow down so he can experience this vulnerability under your control. He’ll tell you when he needs it to stop but often keeps it around during aftercare so he can feel tired and sleepy with you.
L - Lingerie: He absolutely adores the nights you wear nothing but his cape or just his dress shirt and glasses, making a whole show of slow dancing and bending over for him. He watches you through walls, fighting the urge to abandon dinner on the stove and follow you to the bedroom. You love using his cape as lingerie because he’s torn up expensive pieces before, even when trying to be careful but when you do wear it, he ends up pushing it aside to thrust into you gently, murmuring between your moans and whines, “I’m so sorry honey, I should know how delicate lace is…Let me make it up to you, yeah?”
M - Manhandling: He loves how much you love it and how it makes your heart jump, even when you trust him completely not to hurt you. He effortlessly lifts and flips you, grabbing your ass while you cook or brush your teeth, which often leads to him pulling you into the shower, lifting you smoothly and pushing his cock into your unprepared pussy just to hear your moans bounce off the tile walls. He loves leaving fingerprint bruises he kisses better later and biting your shoulder while pulling your ass back onto his cock.
N - Nipple play (with super-breath): Super-breath on wet nipples is his go-to. It makes your back arch, pushing them into his warm mouth as he sucks the chill away. The contrast is heaven and the noises he makes while doing it drive you wild.
O - Oral (super-powered): The first time he went down on you, he tried not to show off but his tongue and super speed still gave you the best head of your life. You pulled his hair hard enough to leave bald spots on anyone else. You also had to beg him to let you deepthroat him, “Clark come on, let’s just give it a shot.” Clark looked at you in disbelief, “It’s not like I’m asking you to hold me upside down in the air while doing it,” You added and held in laughter as you watched his eyes widen.
In the end, he ended up holding you like he was doing bicep curls before wearing your legs like a scarf, tongue buried deep in your pussy while trying not to thrust too hard into your mouth and choke you.
P - Praise kink: Clark loves being told he’s good, whether you’re dressed or naked, under him or on top. The words and tone go straight to his cock. “Such a good hero,” you moan as you feel his muscles clench under your fingertips. “You’re so strong but so gentle for me,” you whine when he hits your G-spot just right. It makes him melt and fuck you harder just to hear more.
Q - Quickies: They’re never really quick with Clark. He always makes time for you, especially if he gets multiple orgasms out of it. Between saving the world and deadlines, you stay late at the office so he can make up for disappearing in the middle of the day by fucking you on your desk once the building empties. Rooftop quickies happen while he’s still breathing heavily in the suit or he superspeeds you somewhere private for fifteen minutes that feel like hours.
R - Rough sex (very controlled if you’re human): Pinning you against walls or furniture, delivering hard deep thrusts, light choking with perfect pressure control so he can feel your pulse under his fingers. He pulls your hair to redirect your kisses or guide your mouth along his cock while he growls your name. “There you go, all the way in… that’s it,” he rasps, watching your lips stretch around his length, saliva coating it and dripping down your chin, knowing he’ll kiss it clean later.
S - Super-speed and stamina: Hours of endless sex. He never gets tired but you eventually will, so it becomes a game of how long he can keep you right on the edge. You adore the sensory overload of him moving at different speeds inside you while he watches your body tense, back arching, toes curling, then trembling as your orgasm builds.
T - Toys and teasing: Clark sees toys as teammates. He blushes in sex stores but carefully checks materials so he can make sure they’re safe to warm up with heat vision or cool them with arctic breath. He especially loves remote toys he can control while across the city, listening to you writhe and moan his name with super-hearing.
U - Uniform kink: You welcome him with open arms and legs whenever he comes home in the Superman suit, no matter how dirty or ripped it is. You beg him to fuck you with the cape still on, always face-to-face so you can trace the emblem and hold onto it during orgasms. You’re just as turned on when he’s in his glasses and button-up, watching them fog up as he kisses you while fucking you into whatever furniture you land on.
V - Voyeurism: There’s the thrill of possibly being seen from below while floating and fucking mid-air or the spontaneous moments on the fire escape where you lean over the railing and he takes you from behind, the fresh air cooling the heat in your core. He’s also not above using super-hearing and x-ray vision to watch and listen to you touching yourself from miles away, it’s like immersive phone sex.
W - Worship: There’s deep body worship from both sides. It’s easy to worship every inch of the Man of Steel but even easier to make him forget he was built for the world. You worship Clark, the man you get wholly and completely while he worships you like you’re the only thing that makes him feel human.
X - X-Ray vision: He teases you by describing in detail exactly how wet and aroused you are and how your pussy walls contract around him. He watches his cock slide in and out from inside, the tip kissing your cervix as he fills you. Best of all is watching himself cum inside you in real time as he shamelessly tracks your racing heartbeat during foreplay, driving you crazy with it.
Y - Yearning (and yandere-lite): Clark practically invented the concept, even before you started dating. The intense longing when he’s away saving the world leads to desperate “I missed you so much” reunions that last all night and into the morning with soft, gentle sex all over the bed until the sheets are soaked. Even after you’re done, you cockwarm while talking and kissing, trading whispers about how you knew he’d come home safe and how he could only think of you out there.
Z - Zoned Out: Clark is an expert at fucking you so good you go blissed-out and cockdrunk, drooling, eyes rolling and whining with every breath while he watches you fall apart with pure adoration and lust, thanking the skies for his stamina because he can make it last.
He doesn't just want to fuck you, he wants to erase the world around you until there is nothing left but the sensation of his cock filling you and the sound of your own broken whimpers.
He isn't rushing, Clark knows exactly how to pace himself, using his inhuman stamina to maintain a relentless, grinding rhythm that hits your G-spot with surgical precision. Every thrust is deep, heavy and unwavering, driving into you with a force that makes your entire body shudder.
He watches with dilated pupils as the "glaze" begins to take over. Your eyes start to roll back, the whites showing as your consciousness drifts away from the room and sinks deep into the heat of the friction. You aren't even speaking words anymore, just whining, a high, needy sound that vibrates in the back of your throat, your breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps every time he thrusts back in.
"That's it," he rumbles, voice a low and vibrating growl that you feel in your chest. "Let me in and let everything else go. Give it all to me, I can take it."
He increases the speed, his powerful hips slamming against yours with a wet, rhythmic slap. He watches a thin trail of drool escape the corner of your mouth, jaw slack and your expression one of total, mindless bliss. You are completely cockdrunk, intoxicated by the sheer volume of pleasure he is pumping into you. You try to cling to him but your fingers just twitch uselessly against his biceps, muscles turning to jelly.
Clark feels a surge of pure, possessive adoration. He looks down at your ruined face, warm, sweating and utterly undone and he feels a primal pride. His Kryptonian endurance allows him to keep you in this state of suspended animation for hours if he wants to, milking every moan and tremor out of you.
He leans down, licking the drool from your lip before burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he praises your pussy. He feels your internal muscles clamping down on him in a desperate, involuntary rhythm and he simply smiles, digging deeper, determined to keep you floating in that mindless, erotic void until you completely forget your own name.
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
warnings ; german joke, german language, slight dubcon, hair pulling, 18+, smut, slight breeding kink, hyperspermia
it had started with a stupid comment about his nationality. you both were arguing about american foods, about how könig thought this place had no culture of its own, and much— much more. he thought it was funny, but even though you had your own problems with your country, it didn’t mean you liked lies and propaganda to be spread. ESPECIALLY about the culture.
“yeah? well you’re fucking german!”
you didn’t even register what you said, just said the first thing on your tongue. könig made it a point the moment you two started dating that he was austrian. not german.
two separate things. and he genuinely takes offense to it, even if the language is the same. he turned to you, stone wall of a body moving in one quick step, neck tilted like he didn’t quite hear you right, “say that again?”
he made you pay for your insolence, grabbing you by the hair— balling it up in his fist to drag you over to the kitchen table. not enough to cause extreme pain, but enough to tug at your roots, urging your feet to follow.
“wieder?” könig had you bent over the table, elbow digging into the middle of your back as he kept that same grip on your hair. his voice was steady, low and vibrating in your ears.
“didn’t mean it like that…” you tried to whimper out, legs kicking the table, wanting to get out from under him— but the wetness gathering in your panties said otherwise. it was like he could smell it leaking out of you, groping at your puffy pussy with a rough hand, giving it a good squeeze before gathering his fist in the hem of your pants. he pulled them down in one quick pull, letting the tight material bunch up at your thighs— keeping them together.
könig pulled the thin fabric of your panties down, putting your pussy and ass on full display.
“sollte dich immer so haben” he spoke through gritted teeth and jutted his elbow into your spine, a warning, a command not to move from this position. in the dead silence of your shared house, you could hear the metal clicking of könig’s belt, shivers running through your body when you heard the sound of it being whipped out of his belt loops. “Du lernst es einfach nie, oder?”
“Ihnen beibringen, woher Ihre Kinder kommen werden” the tip of his cock forced itself past your tight folds, struggling to fit into the awkward position— wishing to just spread your legs. “Vielleicht hörst du dann zu.”
“I don’t even know what you’re saying!” you cried out in genuine confusion, choking up as könig reached your cervix, threatening to go further if given the room.
“mein armes Mädchen” he was breathless as he bottomed out, thickly calloused hands coming to rest on your hips— using them as an anchor. “Du wirst nicht mehr so viel weinen, wenn ich fertig bin.”
he dragged his cock back, making you feel every curve and vein against your slick walls, hissing when your warmth refused to let him move. “Scheiße, Mädchen” your pussy looked absolutely divine from the back, clinging to him, both holes fluttering from the intrusion.
there was no sympathy for your poor pussy. he immediately started drilling into you, rocking your body against the table, making the legs squeak on the floor. all you could do was press your lips together and take deep breaths, suppressing your moans. könig always hurt a bit when he got carried away. he didn’t even care when he pulled your first orgasm, simply fucking around your pitiful liquid— nothing compared to his thick cum.
he spread his legs wider, pulling you back to meet him halfway, finally giving up with the position— you were too fucking short for it. könig wrapped one thick forearm around your abdomen, lifting you up higher onto the table, keeping your ass up and face smooshed to the wood. “com’on baby, talk to me”
“c-can’t take it anymor-” a harsh slap to your ass made you cry out instead of finishing your sentence, feeling his hand immediately grab at the flesh, pulling your cheeks apart, thumbing dangerously close to your other hole. “in deutsch, stupid girl”
“ja, herr” you mumbled out, speaking in the only german words you could remember. eyes starting to close as könig continued his assault on your pussy, making it and the back of your thighs turn all red. when he did finally cum, you could feel it fill your womb, oozing around his cock and dribbling down your pussy— no doubt already taking. sure to be round with his kids soon. his austrian kids.
just a little funny smutty blurb thing idk :b came to me while i was at the ethel cain concert !! actual convo i had w my german friend once just not the uh pure smut
𑣲 except katsuki wants more than casual. — PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE
He’s trying. He really is. He has spent the last two hours trying to focus on literally anything else—the stupid sports broadcast on the TV, Kirishima’s rambling about a new training regimen, the grime on the condiment bottles. But every single time you laugh, his eyes betray him.
His gaze snaps right back to you, tracking the way your eyes crinkle, the way your shoulders gently shake, and the way you effortlessly lie through your teeth about being single.
Because you aren't single. Not really.
"Come on, Y/N!" Mina whines, propping her chin on her hands. "There has to be someone. Your love life cannot be this dry!"
Katsuki is gripping his chopsticks so tightly his knuckles are white. He shoved a massive mouthful of noodles into his mouth, chewing with an aggressive intensity that screamed mind your damn business, even though he’s doing the exact opposite.
He was usually great at lying and caring even less, but this time was different. The higher he rose in the ranks, the more he realized he wanted to balance both his career and you—But that was something he'd keep to himself.
He refused to complicate your busy life or ruin the dynamic.
"I'm telling you, Mina, it's completely nonexistent. Between patrol shifts and agency paperwork, my bed is the only thing I have a committed relationship with." You played the part so well that, for a split second, even he almost believed you.
You belonged to him behind closed doors, both too busy climbing the hero charts to afford a real relationship. This—the late-night knocks on the door, the shared heat, the quiet understanding that you have each other's backs unconditionally without the messy labels—was supposed to keep things simple.
It was meant to keep distractions away and make life easier.
Instead, you’re all he can think about. And it left him wondering if he was the only one falling.
"Hey." Katsuki’s gruff voice cut through the goodbyes as everyone parted ways, gesturing to his car. "I'm driving you home. Get in."
You waved goodbye to the others and got in, the click of the door sealing you both in sudden isolation. The ride was suffocatingly silent—Katsuki shifting gears with brutal force while refusing to look your way.
You knew him too well. Knowing his moods all too well, you could tell this wasn't explosive rage, but a quiet, simmering irritation.
"Careful, Bakugo, you’re gonna break the steering wheel if you grip it any tighter." You teased lightly.
He let out a low grumble, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror before anchoring back on the road. "Shut up. Drive's fine."
"Mm-hmm." You hum, shifting in your seat so you’re facing him more directly. "You’ve been glaring at me the entire night, until now. Is this about what I said to Mina?"
Katsuki’s hands tighten even further. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't give a shit about whatever garbage comes out of your mouth."
Having your full attention eased his tension, but his hidden desire for you was becoming impossible to ignore.
Stopping right outside your building, he cut the headlights but left the car idling, letting the soft motor purr fill the silence.
The moment he let go of the wheel and looked at you, his eyes softened, everything he'd been suppressing for months suddenly rushing to the surface as his gaze flicked to your lips.
He’s tired of the secrecy. He’s tired of the boundaries. He’s ready to just admit it—to tell you that the arrangement isn't enough anymore. He doesn't want to break it off; he wants more. He wanted all of you, completely.
But the moment he parted his lips to say your name—
Ring! Ring! Ring!
The harsh, loud vibration of your agency phone cut through the air like a knife—a brutal reminder that you were both far too busy for this—for love.
Your expression flipped from playful to strictly professional. "It's the sidekick from the night shift. There’s a containment breach near the commercial district."
Katsuki freezes, the words dying in his throat. He watches you hit answer—"Yeah, I'm down the street. Give me three minutes, I'll intercept."
With practiced speed, you locked your phone and unbuckled your seatbelt. The bubble is gone. The reality of your lives has crashed back in, cold and demanding.
"I have to run." You turned to him with an apologetic, breathless smile. "Thank you for the ride, Katsuki."
Before he can even process the use of his first name, you lean across the console. Your lips pressed gently against his cheek—a lingering, warm touch that jolted his chest—before you threw the door open and sprinted into the night, your coat fluttering behind you.
A harsh, necessary slap in the face from reality. Confessing tonight, breaking the rules of what you had built, would have been the wrong choice. Your lives are too loud, too dangerous, and too occupied to carry the weight of a traditional romance right now. The boundaries were there to protect both of your careers, and you had just proven exactly why.
He didn't say it. He couldn't. But Katsuki knows it doesn't change a single damn thing. The unspoken love he has for you doesn't vanish—it just settles deeper into his chest, burning just as fiercely, waiting for the next time you knock on his door.
a/n ♡ i’m going to be expanding my platform and share my writing over on TikTok!! it'll be my first time cross-posting my stories there, so if you happen to see them on your FYP, don't worry — it's just me! ♡♡
taglist — @gonegh0stwriter @greenofa @katsukidoli @anime2006 @69luvvs @sparkysmoker @chrissylove-world @bl0g-d0ll @sweetycandyyy @1tsjustj ♡ if you want to be added to my taglist, feel free to let me know!
drabble — chan can pretty much take everything, but not his ego.
You were insatiable.
That was the first thing Chan learned about you when you started dating, and months later it still left him breathless, addicted, and occasionally wrecked. No matter how many times he made you cum—on his tongue, his fingers, his cock—you always came back for more, eyes dark and body already humming with fresh need. Some nights you’d pounce the second he walked through the door, dropping to your knees before he could even set his bag down. Other nights you’d ride him for hours until sweat slicked both your bodies and his voice went hoarse from groaning your name.
He loved it. Most of the time.
Tonight, though, he was exhausted. You've been all over him for the rest of the day, that leaves him exhausted and dried. Too much for him to mive anymore.
Chan was sprawled on the couch in nothing but gray sweatpants, one arm slung behind his head, the other lazily curled around you as some action movie played on the TV. His thumb idly stroked your thigh, half-distracted. You were already worked up, again, pressing hot little kisses along his neck, guiding his free hand between your legs.
You weren’t wearing panties.
Two of his fingers sank easily into your soaked cunt, curling just the way you liked. You moaned softly against his skin, rocking your hips, chasing the friction. He pumped them steadily, thumb circling your clit, but his eyes stayed on the screen. You rode his hand harder, breath hitching, thighs trembling as you came with a quiet gasp.
But you didn't stop from riding his fingers, relentless amd desperate to reach another one of those orgasm he could give you. Once, twice, thrice more. But it wasn't enough. Of course, it wasn't enough. It won't be enough for you, Chan knowsbthat already, so eventhough his wrists aches from koving the same action over and over again, he still does everything he could to at least make you feel good, despite being exhausted.
So imagine his shock when suddenly you sat up, flushed and glassy-eyed, and kissed him once—deep and filthy—before pulling back away from him. Chest heaving up and down, that expression on your face he knows very well.
"You know how much I love you, yeah?" You hummed against his lips, although confused, Chan nodded his head.
"Great, so you wouldn't mind if I slip on our room and take care of myself? I love you, I really really do, but your hands doesn't do much for me right now. I needed something more. I promise, I'll be quick."
Chan blinked, a little dazed as you slipped off the couch and disappeared into your shared bedroom. The door clicked shut.
At first he just shrugged it off, adjusting his hardening cock in his sweats, as much as he wanted to help you out, his whole body is already aching. You were insatiable, yeah, but you’d come back. You always did.
Then he heard it.
The low, familiar buzz of your vibrator. Followed by your moan—loud, shameless, unrestrained.
Chan’s jaw tightened. Another moan, higher this time, and the wet, rhythmic sound of you fucking yourself with your toys. He could picture it perfectly; legs spread wide on the bed, one hand pinching your nipple while the other worked that thick silicone cock in and out of your dripping pussy, the vibrator pressed hard against your clit.
His ego took the hit like a punch to the gut.
What the fuck? After everything he gave you? Hours of him buried inside you, making you scream until your throat was raw, you still needed toys to feel satisfied? His hand wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough?
The vibrator’s intensity kicked up. Your moans turned into desperate, broken whimpers.
Something in Chan snapped.
He stood up fast, exhaustion vanished from him, replaced by fury. He felt his ego wounded, and stormed down the hall. He didn’t even knock. The door flew open.
You were exactly as he’d imagined. Naked, legs splayed obscenely, one of your thick dildos stretching your pussy while the vibrator buzzed mercilessly against your swollen clit. Your eyes flew open when he entered, lips parted on a moan.
"What— Chan!"
He was on you before you could finish his name. He ripped the toys away and tossed them aside with a clatter. You gasped as he shoved you flat on your back, yanking your thighs apart roughly. His sweats were shoved down just enough to free his aching cock—hard, flushed dark, leaking at the tip.
“Chan!” you shrieked.
“You think those silicone pieces of shit can fuck you better than me?” His voice was low, dangerous, all the usual softness gone. He lined himself up and slammed in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
You cried out, back arching sharply. He was thicker than any toy, and the sudden stretch burned so good.
Chan didn’t give you time to adjust. He fucked you like he was punishing you, deep, punishing strokes that made the bed creak and your tits bounce. One hand pinned your wrists above your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
“Hours,” he growled against your ear, hips snapping relentlessly. “I fuck you for hours and you still sneak off to let toys stretch this greedy little cunt? You're a disgusting whore.”
You could barely speak, only moan and sob his name as he railed you. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you, brutal and precise. He was so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.
He pulled out suddenly, flipped you onto your stomach, and your hips up. He mounted you again, fucking you even harder from behind, one hand fisting your hair.
“Tell me,” he demanded, voice rough. “Tell me those toys will never be enough again.”
“It won’t—ahh—fuck, Chan—!” you cried, pushing back to meet his thrusts.
He reached around and rubbed your clit in tight, mean circles. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, walls clamping down around his cock so hard he groaned. But he didn’t stop. He fucked you straight through it, chasing his own release while you shook and drooled into the sheets.
When he came, it was with a guttural moan, burying himself as deep as possible and flooding you with hot, thick spurts. He stayed inside you, grinding slow and possessive, making sure every drop stayed right where it belonged.
He finally let go of your body after what felt like an eternity, collapsing beside you with a heavy, satisfied groan. His chest heaved, skin glistening with sweat, cock still twitching from the force of his release.
The second his grip loosened, you rolled onto your back, smiling up at the ceiling with hazy, half-lidded eyes. Your body was trembling, thighs sticky with his cum and your own arousal, but the lazy, blissed-out grin on your face said everything.
“I didn’t know you could do that…” you murmured dreamily, voice hoarse and dazed, still floating in the afterglow.
Chan froze. A deep flush crawled up his neck and across his cheeks. He groaned in pure embarrassment, throwing one arm over his face as he turned his head into the pillow.
“Shut up,” he muttered, voice muffled and mortified, though you could hear the hint of a shy laugh in it.
You let out a weak, satisfied laugh, your fingers lazily threading through his damp hair.
“Baby… that was so hot,” you whispered, still smiling dreamily. “I think I need you to get jealous of my toys more often.”
Chan groaned again, louder this time, his arm wrapped around your waist as he bury his face on your neck.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbled to which made you giggle again and maybe let him rest for now because honestly, the exhaustion is starting to come over you now.
a/n: hi! hey, so i promise i am currently taking a rest. But after reading certain jjk fic i just had to do a similar thing to it. this was very much inspired to that sukuna smut i read that i forgot to save. i thought i shared it but turns out i didn't. please, if you know what fic i am talking about please tag the author so i could credit them properly. ANYWAYS. Just dropping this off and then see you all once i completely recovered. LOVE LOTS <333
Description: Bad cramps don’t let you sleep. You hesitate to call Johnny because you think you’re not there with him yet, but after nothing helps, you give in. Turns out having a boyfriend with fire hot powers comes very in handy.
Tags/warnings: no spoilers, fresh relationship, hurt/comfort, johnny is full of himself and surprises, putting his powers to good use, flame on, banter, he sucks at making breakfast, fluffy and domestic johnny <3
Note: I literally can’t stop kicking my feet when writing this man, please enjoy another self indulgent sweet and funny piece 🫶🏼
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You curl tighter on your couch under a weighted blanket, shifting again and again, as if the next position will finally trick your body into forgetting the ache burning low in your stomach. It doesn't.
The cramps continue, a deep pressure that makes it impossible to find comfort. You've been like this all evening, a pad you heated way too long ago now laying useless on your lower belly, a half empty mug of tea forgotten on your coffee table, and the soft glow of the moon coming through the glass doors illuminating your tired face. It's well past midnight now, and you feel frustrated with your own body for not being able to get up to your bed, or at least just fall asleep right where you are.
You think of Johnny.
How easy it would be to press the little button on the watch he gave you, send him a quick message, and have him there. But your stomach knots for a different reason at the thought. He doesn't need to see you like this, cranky, bundled in mismatched pjs, curled up like some wounded thing. At least your ex boyfriend never wanted to deal with... this. The unglamorous parts.
Surely, in the short period of time you've been dating Johnny, he has proved a million times he's better than any other excuse of a guy. Every single one. Which is probably why you feel the need to keep things romanticized in some way.
You've spent nights with him before, heavenly late hours tangled in his sheets, or sleepovers at your place that stretched into lazy mornings. But those nights had always been planned to some degree. Wearing cute little shorts, soft perfume, or maybe nothing at all if things got heated, which was pretty often to be fair. But always with a little polish, a little effort, like you were still trying to show the best version of you.
Cramp.
You roll over, again, and tug your blanket higher. Try to gaslight yourself into believing you're fine. But the wave of pain twists through you, sharp enough that you press your face into the cushion to muffle a groan. Your chest tightens and you suddenly feel small.
Alone.
Your arm comes out of the blanket and your fingers drift to the watch on your wrist before you can stop yourself. You trace the smooth edge of the screen, remembering how proud Johnny was when he put it on you the first time, like he'd just given you the most thoughtful thing in the world. And he did, he meant it to make you feel safe, connected, never too far away from him.
Johnny it is, then.
That’s what you needed. Just him, next to you, being warm, and solid and distracting enough to pull you out of the spiral of despair. Your finger hovers over the screen for a few seconds and finally, after another wave of pain, you give in. One press and a ping gets sent to Johnny, all the way to the Baxter Building.
It's quite comical when you think about it. Johnny likes to call it a superhero signal, in case you ever need him. Just like right now.
Wait– but what if he's already asleep? What if he just reads it in the morning and–
The screen lights up almost immediately. A ping vibrates softly on your wrist with his reply.
"On my way."
It's interesting how just a few words from him, on a screen even, already give you some relief. You lay tucked in, eyes on the ceiling as you wait for his arrival. And before you know it, you hear those familiar soft footsteps on your balcony, followed by the hiss of the glass door sliding open.
You glance up eagerly, and there he is, Johnny Storm in all his sleeping clothing glory.
A soft white shirt with some blue striped pants, blonde hair sticking up in every possible direction from where he must've rolled out of bed, and that signature, charming smile on his face when he caught you bundled up on the couch.
He doesn't even wait for you to speak before stepping inside and crouching in front of you, one knee pressing into the carpet, his hand going up to gently brush some stray strands of hair off your forehead. The teasing smile softens as soon as he sees your face.
"I was starting to think you forgot about me," he jokes, trying to make it light, but his eyes give him away. They're worried. Worried that you've been feeling sick all day and didn't tell him, worried that you're curled up like this without him knowing.
"Why didn't you call me sooner?" he tilts his head, as his hand continues to stroke your hair.
You open your mouth, but your throat closes around the answer. You don't know how to explain the mix of embarrassment and stubborn independence. So instead, you shrug weakly.
"I guess ... I didn't want to bother you. It's just.... it hurts and I can't sleep, and–"
"Hey," he cuts in gently, thumb brushing over your temple. "C'mere," he leans forward in his crouched position, pulling your upper body straight into his chest. He's so warm it feels unfair, his arms wrapping around you the way it should’ve been all day. "You could never ever bother me, you need me and I'm here, end of the story."
You bite your lip, the edges of your embarrassment softening under the warmth of his voice. He pulls away just enough to look at you, trying to coax a smile out of you.
"Besides, if I knew you'd be curled up like a burrito in this blanket, I would've been here hours ago. You're basically begging me to make fun of you," he teases, earning a snort from you.
You try to tug the blanket higher over your face, but he only laughs and tugs it back down, playful, his fingers brushing your cheek. "There she is," he says softly, eyes searching yours. "My girl."
You smile, about to say something but another cramp tenses your body, and Johnny immediately pulls you to him again, your cheek over his heartbeat. He doesn't let go right away, you stay pressed against his chest until you stop clutching his shirt. Only when your breathing steadies, Johnny pulls back to study your face, his eyes narrowing in that way that makes you feel completely seen.
"Alright, sweetheart" he whispers, cupping your face. "Tell me how bad it hurts."
You gesture vaguely at your stomach, cheeks heating. "It's just... cramps. Really bad. I just wanted you here ...you don't have to–"
"Stop," he kisses your forehead before you can finish. "I do have to. It’s literally my only purpose as your hot, lucky boyfriend."
That earns a soft laugh from you, probably the first in hours, and he smiles satisfied.
"I'm gonna need you to wait here for me," he backs slightly to stand up, but you grab his hand.
"Wait, Johnny don't leave–"
"It's only a few minutes, alright?" he reassures, and only stands up when you nod hesitantly and drop his wrist. "Don't miss me too much, I know you like to see my face and all that–”
"Johnny, just go..." you chuckle, and he grins wider, saluting his way out the balcony.
The room feels colder as soon as he's gone, and you realize how his absence feels like missing sunlight. It’s like all day you've been lying under a cloud of rain. But sure enough, the cold doesn't last longer than five minutes, when he's landing back again with a triumph smile on his face as he makes his way to your kitchen.
You stare curiously from the couch at Johnny moving swiftly through it, with a raised hand in flames to illuminate the countertop. You hear cupboards opening, the soft clink of a mug being set down, and being filled with water. He rips open with his teeth a paper package he pulls from his pocket, placing the tea bag in the water. He makes his way back to you carrying the mug in one hand, as the other lowered his fire to just one flame under the mug to instantly heat it up. You sit down just in time as he arrives, a steaming cup of tea now in his hands, the scent instantly soothing.
"Careful, sugar" he smiles, handing the hot mug to you, "and ... take these," he reaches the pocket of his striped pants, pulling out a small plastic pill bottle.
"Painkillers haven't been helping much," you shake your head, sipping from your tea. He just kneels in front of you again, so he can be on eye level.
"These are special ones Reed made specifically for my sister, since she deals with pretty bad cramps too," he explains, opening the bottle and pouring two baby blue pills on his hand before handing them to you. "The tea is also his mixture, Sue says it helps a lot."
You stare at him in silence, melting in awe. You can't believe you had convinced yourself all day Johnny wouldn't want to deal with this. He does have a sister after all. And he's been raised right, partly by her. So you nod, taking the pills with a sip of tea, and set the mug on your coffee table before wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips meet his, and it feels like you've been stupidly depriving yourself of your oxygen. He's soft with it, slowly savoring it because he's been missing you all day too, smiling against your tea flavored lips when he pulls apart for air.
The movement made the blanket around you fall open, revealing the heating pad lying crooked on your low belly. Johnny doesn’t even doubt.
"Trade me, sweetheart," he says, taking the cold pad away before slipping his hot hand against your lower belly. The relief on your face is instant, like it was the last missing piece. "Let's keep that there, and drink this before I have to spoon feed you, because I will." he mocks seriousness, picking the mug from the table, guiding it to your lips.
You happily take a sip, smiling against the mug. "Since when are you so bossy?"
"Since you forget to take care of yourself," his tone is teasing, but his eyes are soft, lingering until you take another sip, so you do.
"Better?"
"Better," you nod, not even able to control your smile anymore. "You are ... simply the best, Johnny Storm," you praise wholeheartedly, starting to forget about the pain.
"I know, I know," he rolls his eyes playfully, lifting up from his crouching position without taking away his hand, before gesturing to your side. "Now, your portable heating pad's knees hurt, scoot."
You move over amused, and he sits next to you, his free arm instantly curling around your shoulders. His body always radiates heat, steady and overwhelming in the best way. You can't help but relax, your head finding its way to his chest as you sip the last of the tea.
"So much for a superhero," you tease now, making him gasp in feigned offense.
"This is after hours, babe," he retorts, "besides, I've proven myself to be very useful," to make his point stronger, he takes the empty mug from your hand and places it away.
"Oh you have, fire boy," you nod, playfully placing a kiss on his chest as a thank you.
"See? You could've had this hours ago if you'd just called me," his hand rubs soothing circles along your arm. "And I mean it ... I wanna be here for you. All of it. Even this. Especially this."
"I know," you whisper, hugging him tighter, the ghost of a smile on your face. "I know, Johnny."
You cuddle in silence for a while, the pain quickly drifting away from the medicine and Johnny's unbelievable heat. Your hand slipped under his shirt a while ago, tracing patterns on his toned skin.
"You know what..." he breaks the silence, and you recognize the spark in his voice. "Forget space travel. I could make commercials about this. 'Tired of cramps? Get a Johnny!’”
"Yeah? I'm sure Ben would love to see that," you shake your head laughing, patting his chest but he catches your hand, lacing your fingers with his. "Lucky for me, I have my Johnny already," you lift your chin up to look at him.
"Yes, but yours comes with extra features," he wiggles his eyebrows, trying to coax more giggles out of you. "I'm just saying...heating mode, snuggle mode, horny sex god mode–"
"You're so full of yourself, Johnny."
"Why thank you," he kisses your temple, obnoxiously sweet. "Full of snacks, too. I also brought gummy bears," he says, and you tilt your head to find his smirk.
"You did not."
"Check my pocket," he nods excitedly, and you reach over his pants, accidentally grazing his crotch. "Wow–wow, not that pocket!"
You can't help but snort, reaching the right pocket this time. Sure enough, there's a little crinkled bag tucked inside. Your chest warms almost as much as your belly does under his palm. Johnny looks far too pleased with himself.
"See? I even brought candy to your midnight pity party" he says, already reaching the bag to grab two gummies. He pops one in your mouth before eating one himself.
"My pity party? I hate you," your offended voice comes out muffled from chewing the gummy.
"Except you love me," he shrugs smugly, reaching for more gummies to do the same again. One for you, one for him.
And damn this idiot, you do. Especially when he tilts his head to peck your lips, lingering with the candy's leftover sweet taste. You eat a few more in silence, only giggling when he attempts to throw one and catch it in the air and fails miserably, only for you to get it at the first try.
"Alright, alright ... that's enough," he crinkles the bag and puts it next to your empty mugs on the coffee table. "Sue would kill me if she sees me eating candy right now."
"You're just saying that cause you lost–"you attempt to tease, but a yawn takes over your voice, your eyes inevitably narrowing.
"I'm saying that because you need to rest," he corrects, already getting up. "C'mon, sweetheart, we're doing this right" he slides one arm under your knees and another around your back. "This couch isn't good enough for you."
The blanket stays wrapped around you, tucked close to your chest, while his warmth radiates through your whole body as he walks to your bedroom. He nudges the door open with his foot, and in a couple of strides reaches the bed. He lays you down softly, and places a kiss your forehead that makes you smile. For a second, he just looks at you, messy hair, tired eyes, and you swear he couldn't look more in love.
Then, without warning, he starts tugging the blanket away.
"Hey!" you protest, clutching it tighter around you. "Johnny, I need that," you complain, but he just smirks, leaning over you.
"Wrong! You got me now. I'm waaay better than some blanket."
"You gave me this blanket."
"Yeah, well, now I'm taking it away," he shrugs, smiling condescendingly.
You groan, half laughing, trying to wrestle the blanket back, but he wins easily, tossing it onto the floor with a winning grin.
"There. Much better," he says, and before you can complain about him washing it, he slides in beside you, embracing your body with his.
The heat of him hits immediately, wrapping you far warmer and softer than the blanket ever was. His arm goes around your waist, palm flattening over your stomach again, radiating that gentle, steady warmth. The way you relax into his body makes him smile.
"See?" he mumbles against your hair. "Told you, babe, way better," he tugs you closer to his chest, pulling the covers of your bed over you.
One hand stays over your stomach, spreading heat exactly where you need it, while the other strokes slow, soothing patterns down your back. You listen to his heartbeat for a while, the rhythm grounding you more than anything else has all day.
This isn't another night where you prepped yourself the whole day to smell like literal heaven when he tasted your skin. Tonight is different. You're in mismatched faded pjs, hair undone, tired face. And he doesn't look at you like you're any less. If anything, his eyes are softer, more focused, like this is the you he'd been waiting to see.
"You know," he says after a long silence, voice getting lower with sleep, "this is my favorite look on you."
"I look awful," you groan, burying your face in his chest.
"Yeah, awful ... totally hideous. Which is why I'm keeping you forever," he chuckles, like it's a joke, but his words always hold more meaning to them.
You lift your head just enough to meet his blue eyes. The way he’s looking at you makes you realize this might be the most intimate night you’ve ever shared. And you’re happy.
Johnny can feel it. The way your body melts against his, the way your breathing evens out. And then suddenly your eyes are fluttering shut, lips parted slightly.
“Sleep babe, I got you,” he whispers, pressing a feather light kiss to your forehead.
And with his body pressed against yours, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you finally drift off. Safe, held, and cared for in every way that matters.
The first thing you notice when your eyes blink open is warmth. Not just the weight of his arm still around your waist, or the way his chest rises steady beneath your cheek, but the faint heat radiating from his palm, still exactly where it had been all night, like he never once let go. You shift, slow and careful, and he feels it.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Johnny mumbles, in his deeper morning voice. You tilt your head just enough to see him, his blonde hair even messier than last night, eyes heavy lidded and a lazy smile. “How you feeling?”
“Mmm, it doesn’t hurt,” you hum, snuggling into his chest.
“Told you, babe. Human torch heating pad, runs all night and never shuts off,” he drawls, joking even when he’s still half asleep.
You chuckle, and try shifting out of his arms, just enough to stretch, enough to maybe get up and get cleaned up. But the second you move, Johnny makes a low groan in his throat, instantly clinging tighter.
“Nope,” he mumbles. “I’m still in service. You can’t get up yet.”
You laugh softly against his chest. “Johnny, I need to–“
“Shhh,” his nose nuzzles into your hair, lips brushing the your head. “Don’t argue with Johnny.”
There it is, the third person his family always mocked him about. It should be ridiculous, really, but it’s also so him that your heart squeezes. He’s lying there with messy hair and the bedsheets wrinkles imprinted on his cheeks, clinging to you like it’s the best place he could be in, and somehow you love him more for it.
So you don’t argue, you don’t tease. You just let yourself sink back into him, curling closer, your hand finding its way under his shirt to rest against his warm skin. His grip softens a little at that, enough to let you breathe, but he doesn’t let go.
“That’s better,” he beams, satisfied. “Knew you’d see reason.”
Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it, and you happily melt into his arms. Eventually, after a while of drifting between sleep and squinting at the soft sunlight coming through your windows, your stomach betrays you. It growls loud enough that Johnny finally cracks one eye open and smirks.
“Hungry?” he teases.
“Starving. I only had those gummy bears last night,” you shift against him, trying to sit up.
“Nope,” he says, gently holding you back down. “You stay. I’ll bring you something,” he orders, already rolling out of bed like he wasn’t in deep sleep just a few minutes ago.
“Johnny, angel, I love you but … you’re a literal fire hazard in any kitchen,” you look at him apologetically as you sit up.
“Excuse you, haven’t I proved by this point you’re in good hands?” He presses a dramatic hand to his chest, pretending to be wounded. You just raise your eyebrows at him, so he leans forward to press a kiss right between your frown. “I love you too, by the way.”
You bite back a smile, shaking your head. He makes his way to the door now, hair sticking up, crinkled shirt, striped pajama pants hanging low on his hips. He stops to point at you before walking out. “Don’t move, breakfast in bed.”
You smile with tight lips, pretending to be excited until he turns around and you can flop back in bed, knowing this is going to be a disaster. Because as ironic as it sounded, he’d been close to burning down your kitchen before. You guess he’s just not used to the fact that only the Baxter Building was fireproof from head to toe.
As expected, when your stomach wins out and you walk into the kitchen moments later, the first thing you see is Johnny leaning over the stove, hand glowing as he absorbs fire out of the frying pan. Smoke curls toward the ceiling, and the smell of something close to charred fills the air.
“What are you doing?” you lean in the doorway, arms crossed as you bite back a smile.
Johnny straightens instantly, tucking the pan behind him and airing out the smoke with his hand like that’ll somehow help. Unfortunately for him, when he moved the pan behind his back, a fried egg, or what used to be one, flops onto the floor. Suspiciously black, yet his grin is far too casual as he steps in front of it to hide it. “What? Nothing to see here. Everything’s under control. Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Uh huh,” you arch a brow, trying not to laugh.
He sighs defeated, placing the pan back on the counter and leaning to pick up the burnt ‘breakfast in bed’ from the floor. He mutters a curse as he throws it away, only to turn to you right after like nothing happened.
He lifts his hands up smiling, holding his index fingers up as if to say ‘wait up’. He goes through your cabinets, letting out a small cheer when he finds what he was looking for.
“Lucky for you, sweetheart… you got your very own Johnny Storm cereal,” he pulls out the box, holding it with one hand and pointing his face on the cover with the other. “Only the finest, of course. Your favorite.”
“That’s your favorite,” you argue, narrowing your eyes.
You think he’s about to protest but he’s too busy shoving his hand inside the box, eyes opening wide in excitement as he reaches what he was looking for. The mini human torch that came in the cereal.
‘Flame on!’ ‘Flame on!’ ‘Flame on!’
“Got another one for your collection, babe!” he beams, already walking over to the shelf display on your living room.
He finds the other identical plastic toys lining up there, and adds a third to your surprisingly growing collection. You shake your head as he strolls toward you all happy.
“Now you have three Johnny’s,” he cheers, his hands instinctively going to your waist when he reaches you.
“I have four,” you correct, draping your arms on his shoulders to bring in him close enough to almost kiss. “You’re my favorite one, though.”
Lovely divider by @enchanthings
Thank you so much for reading! feedback is always appreciated 🫶🏼
