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wtfaniii · 3 days ago

Note

Could you do the squid game characters x reader who likes to eat weird food combos?

I keep getting judged for my food choices 😔🤘

I understand you, HAHAHA I also tend to eat strange things sometimes

Squid game characters reaction to strange food

Your palate is very versatile and there are some people who may or may not like it.

We return to the requests!! Thank you for your wait and sorry for the delay ♡ I haven't reviewed this yet so sorry for any spelling mistakes :D and tell me if you would like me to add any character to my list

In-ho

Due to him job he rarely eats at his respective times so you are in charge of bringing him food and making sure he doesn't starve.

He appreciates what you do, he means it, he appreciates knowing that there is someone who cares about him even in the smallest thing like food, but every time he sees you enter his office with a covered silver tray he feels like his soul leaves his body for a few moments.

But seeing you smile silences any complaints he has, the food you make him knows that you make it with love and effort but damn, ¿hot cakes with bacon on top?

"¡Taraa!" You said proudly, putting the tray in front of him after having uncovered it and revealing your peculiar food combo "¡You have to try it! It looks weird but feels like a party in your mouth!"

The emotion in your voice silenced him for the second time, with a tight smile he took the cutlery and took a piece of the soft hot cake and joined it with the fried bacon, he brought it to his mouth under your watchful gaze and took a bite, he admitted it, sometimes he threw away your food but this combination definitely looked more decent than the previous ones.

And to him surprise it didn't taste bad.

"Mmmhh, it's delicious" He admitted eating his breakfast more enthusiastically, salty and sweet would be his favorite combination.

Jun-ho

The work day was quieter than usual, so you and Jun-ho had free time to talk and relax in the seats of the patrol car, being a traffic officer was boring sometimes.

But fortunately for you and unfortunately for him, you always had your favorite snack with you.

“Fries with honey” he sighed as he leaned back against his seat, watching as you pulled the bag of fries and a jar of honey out of your backpack.

"If you gave them a chance you'd see how good it tastes" you said flashing your tongue at him in a childish and playful manner to which he just laughed as he took the bag of chips from you and took a handful to eat.

"No thanks, the last time I listened to you I was in the bathroom for three hours."

You laughed out loud at his comment, he was right, you made him eat pizza with honey and his poor stomach suffered all day, maybe he didn't have the same resistance as you but you still enjoyed forcing him to eat sometimes just to make his body uncomfortable, that way Jun-ho would have fun and embarrassing anecdotes to tell.

The Salesman

"I finished my round for this day, it's your turn" Exclaimed the elegant and well-groomed man, standing next to you to hand you the briefcase, but a clear expression of disgust formed when he saw the food you had in your hands "¿What are you eating?"

You swallowed the bite in your mouth and excitedly showed him your peanut butter and pickle sandwich.

"My lunch, ¿do you want some?" You asked getting up from the park bench you were on and bringing your food closer to him face, a gesture that was out of pure kindness, he saw it as a threat to his person.

"Take that abomination away from me" He demanded with an expression of disgust and taking a step back using the briefcase as a shield "And look how dirty you got, go to the bathroom and get ready, we must have an impeccable appearance"

You looked at the candy stain on your jacket and twisted your lips when you saw that effort for your appearance had been of no use, as recruits they had a dress code.

"Hold this for me" you said and before he could complain you handed him your sandwich and walked to the nearest public women's bathroom.

This combination continued to seem strange to him and he held it away from him as if it were some toxic food, but after a few seconds his curiosity got the better and he took a bite of your lunch, when you returned, you surprised him eating and you smiled triumphantly, from that day on, you always brought an extra sandwich for him.

Gi-hun

For him, the food you brought him was horrible, he could barely swallow it or hold it in his mouth, so every time you brought him a snack he would throw it in the trash without you noticing.

Until one day he came home disappointed at not having found the salesman and found you standing in the middle of the living room with your arms crossed and a look of annoyance on your face.

Out of inertia he tried to back out and close the door, you didn't get angry often but seeing you do it meant risk and he definitely had in mind the reason for your displeasure, he had forgotten to take out the garbage bag this morning and if you took it out you probably found all the food you had made during the last three days.

"Don't even think about leaving" you threatened him with just your voice, forcing him to stay completely still "If you didn't like my food, you could have told me"

Now your voice didn't sound angry but yes hurt and disappointed, Gi-hun felt terrible and went to you to explain "I appreciate what you do for me, ¿but should I really eat pizza with applesauce on top?"

"You don't appreciate the art of cooking" you said dramatically, putting a hand to your chest "If you don't try it, you won't know if you like it"

He knew you were right, but damn, eating that was a sensation quite comparable to when he was in those games, however, as long as he saw you happy he agreed to try one of your peculiar combinations in front of you so that you would be sure that he tried it, he didn't like it but making him try new dishes was a success for you, now you just had to know which combination would be his favorite.

Gyeong-seok

This man is used to seeing and trying strange food, his daughter sometimes made him eat combinations without being entirely willing to do so, so he didn't complain when you put a spicy French fry with cream cheese in his mouth.

"Mmmhh, it's delicious, you always surprise me" he said, showing you a smile with his mouth closed while he chewed your strange combination.

"¡I knew you'd like it!" You said enthusiastically, taking another chip with cheese and bringing it to him mouth, he was busy painting another simple but beautiful canvas to sell his hands were full of paint stains so he was grateful that you were there to feed him with your peculiar snacks.

He admitted it, there were times when your food mixes didn't taste that good but he was too kind and cute to let you know, he'd rather stay in the bathroom for an hour with a stomach ache than hurt your feelings and never try these snacks again.

He opened his mouth waiting for another of your delicious snacks and you gladly did so, he enjoyed trying each new dish you invented so almost every day you appeared with a new mixture, he tried it and gave you his opinion which was mostly positive, anyway even if he didn't like it he wouldn't tell you unless really is an abomination to the culinary system, in which case he would be the kindest and gentlest with his words.

Dae-ho

¿Were your culinary tastes strange? Him are worse.

He needs to have something in his mouth every time he is stressed or nervous, he bites his nails, the collar of his shirt or in these cases snacks that you carry with you in the pocket.

At first you felt confident when you saw that he also had an exotic palate, but when you saw him eating avocado with cold coffee you rethought all the decisions you had made when it came to satisfying your cravings and hunger.

"¿Are you seriously going to eat that?" You asked him entering the kitchen where he was already drinking his morning coffee.

"Yeah, it tastes good," he assured with a funny smile when he saw your expression. "You can't judge me, you eat scrambled eggs with gelatin."

You laughed softly because you knew he was right, you approached him and he offered you to try his exotic drink, what a surprise you were when you tried it and admitted that it exceeded your expectations "Weird but good" you said taking another sip of coffee.

Dae-ho drew a triumphant expression on his face and offered to make you your own coffee. It was nice to have someone to share your culinary concoctions with.

Hyun-ju

She was curious to see you eating your chocolate chip cookies and ¿ham? with so much joy. You felt her gaze and believing that she was judging you, you returned a look with a frown.

She quickly realized the confusion so spoke up to apologize "oh no no no, I wasn't looking bad at you just… ¿What are you eating?"

"I have no idea" You admitted downplaying it as she sat next to you without taking your eyes off your snack. "¿Do you want to try?"

Hyun-ju nodded and you handed she a cookie wrapped in ham, hesitant but with curiosity on the surface she brought this small snack to his mouth and tried it.

She really tried hard not to spit out the food, ¿how could you eat it? However, she knew what it was like to feel judged, so with a lot of effort, swallowing the bite in his mouth and smiling at you.

"¿Do you like?" You asked excitedly but she just shook her head with a tight smile on her lips.

"No" she continued to keep a smile so as not to make you feel bad and it worked, not everyone will share these culinary tastes with you but you appreciated that there were those who gave you a chance without judging you.

Jun-hee

She wouldn't tell you anything about your meals, ask you to share them, or comment on how repulsive can sometimes seem.

But when her are pregnant you will have to get used to her taking away your snacks prepared in the kitchen, while you were preparing some Oreo cookies with peanut butter on top you barely turned around to take your glass of yogurt and when you saw there was nothing on the table.

Now next to you was Jun-hee eating your dessert with a happy smile.

"I thought you didn't like it" You said with a hand on your hip looking at her accusingly for taking away your snack.

"It's not as bad as I thought," her admitted, shrugging his shoulders casually and reaching out to take the entire package of cookies and jar of peanut butter from you.

You saw her walking back to the living room with your lunch and you gave up, but internally you smiled evilly when saw that you were finally going to share your creative food ideas with someone, you should take advantage while she was pregnant.

Myung-gi

For him it was already customary to see you eat anything edible that you found on your way, from pickles with chocolate and ham to spicy stuffed cheese,

He didn't say anything to you except certain expressions of disgust when he saw you eating those combinations, you weren't stupid, you noticed each and every time he looked at you as if he were going to vomit and instead of getting angry he made you laugh.

Every time you had the chance you made fun of him and teased him by threatening to force him to eat one of your lunches like now.

"¡Get off me!" He demanded, placing both hands to prevent you from putting whatever you had in your hands in his mouth.

"¡Oh come on! ¡Just one bite!" you said between laughs and without stopping

You weren't actually going to force him to eat this, you just wanted to scare and annoy him a little for fun, the only way to stop was for him to accept and then there would be no need for him to really try it, you just wanted to prove to him that shouldn't always reject the invitation to new experiences.

You held a piece of sausage with strawberry jam centimeters from his face while he grimaced in pain and anguish as if he were being subjected to the worst punishment in the world.

"Dramatic" you said getting up from the bed where you were fighting with him as you put the food in your mouth but before could eat it he hit your hand causing the lunch to fly "¡Hey!"

"Don't eat that, let's go, I'll take you to eat something decent." Myung-gi took your hand and dragged you out of the apartment to buy you an ice cream or a regular sandwich, maybe you should bother him more often if that was going to be your reward.

Choi Su-bong // Thanos

He didn't judge you at all, quite the opposite, he was even willing to try some strange foods you made, of course, some of the times he had to be high to be able to pass it down his throat.

"Look, spaghetti with melted chocolate on top" He told you, showing you a photograph of said food that he had found on his cell phone.

You grimaced when you saw such a thing, maybe it tasted better than it looked but still just seeing such a photograph made your stomach clench.

"I like to mix flavors but this is extreme" You said letting out a sigh and walking towards the couch, Thanos seemed offended by your comment, he wanted to help you try new things, adapt to your palate, but you weren't cooperating at all.

"¿What? I thought this would be like a five-star meal for you" he said dramatically.

Some might say he was joking but you knew him well enough to know that wasn't the case, he truly believed that you would be able to eat even the strangest food but you had certain limits.

Still, you appreciated the attempts he made to keep a smile on your face and make you feel comfortable in his company.

And poor soul of the one who dares to look at you with disgust while you were eating next to him on the street.

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hotvintagepoll · 1 day ago

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LAST POLL OF ROUND 4

Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant (Holiday, Bringing Up Baby, The Philadelphia Story)—They're both unspeakably hot and putting them together only makes them that much hotter. Because physically attractive people are WAY hotter when they're also incredibly funny, and both of them are. They play off each other to perfection, and I could eat them both ❤️

Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing (The Curse of Frankenstein, The Horror of Dracula)—Obviously never canon romantic but the definition of toxic old man yaoi. Whether it's the look on Lee's face as Dracula about to bite Van Helsing in "Horror Of Dracula" (1958) or Cushing destroying his life and engagement to create Lee's monster in "Curse Of Frankenstein" (1957). Such a popular team that the "Dracula" sequel lifted their final fight from the original and used it as a prologue even though Cushing isn't in the rest of the film.

This is round 4 of a mini tournament. Each poll lasts for a week. Please reblog with propaganda for your favorite hot couple. To vote in all the polls, click here.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Hepburn and Grant:

Truly two of the hottest people ever to grace our screens and when you put them together, it's volcanic. They are totally magnetic on screen together, with the perfect love/hate chemistry. The ultimate 'you drive me crazy' couple, no one is doing it like them.

They are delight and joy and ALSO insanely hot together. Friendships have ended over the ship war of The Philadelphia Story, and you know what? Valid.

They are the hottest couple because they are clever, witty and beautiful. They spark off each other magnificently.

I feel like they’re almost too obvious to bother submitting but I’ve made that mistake before so Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn. I present Bringing Up Baby and The Philadelphia Story as evidence, your honor

Perfect onscreen match in some of the greatest romcoms ever. My, they were yar!

Cary Grant & Katherine Hepburn! They're my favorites! Dapper & ridiculous both!

I'm sorry, that's not a very romantic pic, but I had to include the serenading the leopard

and the fluffy bathrobe!

youtube

Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee:

Not exactly propaganda but I received this ask after Cushing and Lee's submission:

oh, I completely missed the qualifiers for the couples poll! Nevemind. Unless we count characters attempting to murder one another in multiple movies as peak couple behavior, Cushing and Lee tragically don’t qualify.

Editor's note: in this case I'll absolutely count that as romantic.

#cary grant #katharine hepburn #peter cushing #christopher lee #hotvintagepoll #hot couples tourney

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mefreakio · 8 hours ago

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I'll just do all of them at once because my blog is small, I'm bored, and it's fun :)

General kin asks:

Who are your main kins? Is there a reason they're your main kins?

I have one main kintype, Mercutio. Everything just feels very very me.

How many kins are you aware of? If you don't want to list them all that's fine, just do your top ones.

Just one kintype :)

Who is the most recent kin you have discovered? Do you have any information on them (ie kin type, what happened in your canon, ect)?

Do you have a kin you didn't expect to kin but did?

Yup. I did not go into my English class's Romeo and Juliet unit expecting to be or even like Mercutio but uhhhhh that happened.

Do you have a 'kin type' (Ie do you always kin characters with black hair, do you kin characters with a temper, ect)? Can you relate this 'type' to yourself currently?

Uhhhh not that I know of, since I only have one kintype

Is there a character from media that you haven't engaged with that you're kinsidering?

Nope

Do you have any kins that take place in an AU? Or any kin you'd like to see in an AU?

Nope

Do you have a favorite kin? Why are they your favorite?

My only kintype lol

Is there a kin source you have that no one else seems to kin from?

YES OH MY GOD I've only met ONE other Romeo and Juliet kin WHYYYY

Do you have a specific kin type (ie otherkin, fictionkin, objectkin, ect) that you lean towards?

I use the term fictionkin mainly.

If you could live in any of the worlds your kin is from, which one would you like to live in?

I would absolutely want to live in Verone but not in modern times, I just want to go back and see my friends again really

Have you met any canonmates before? If so which canons/kins?

Nope and I'm not looking for any because I'm nervous af.

Do you have any kins that are no longer main kins for you? Who are they?

Yes, I used to identify as Applejack (MLP G4) but it turns out that was just a flickertype.

How did you discover being kin? If you don't want to share for any reason, what age did you learn about kin?

I wasn't even expecting to like studying Shakespeare at all but then I started looking at Romeo and Juliet fanart and became inexplicably drawn to Mercutio in the Romeo et Juliette french musical, and then in class we had to perform three scenes of our choice from the play in groups, and one of my friends was cast as our Mercutio and I started to get like this insanely strong feeling that everything was wrong and everything felt off and I should be Mercutio, not her (no shade to my friend though). So then eventually I asked her if she was willing to swap roles and she agreed (she was not interested in performing in general and was happy with a minor role) and the moment she said yes it was like the stars aligned or something. Then I got increasingly obsessed with the musical and started kinsidering if I'm Mercutio and I kinfirmed it pretty fast due to the whole 'everything feels wrong if I'm not Mercutio' thing.

Specific kin asks:

What is the most important relationship(s) you had as [kin]? Or do you have a comfort character that links to [kin]?

I was closest to Benvolio, and now he's my comfort character too

Give a brief summary of your kin timeline! Or write about why you kin [character].

(I dont understand the question so im gonna skip this. I'll figure out what a kin timeline is later)

Do you have any music you associate with [kin]? If you want to list multiple songs!

Pretty much all the songs from source that I sing in.

Does your kin (or anyone else) have a queer identity in your memories? If you don't have any memories, do you have a headcanon for [kin] or anyone else?

Yes! I was pansexual and homoromantic, pretty sure Benvolio was bisexual, and I have a strong suspicion Romeo was aromantic (ironic, I know) because he did NOT know what romance actually is and I doubt he wouldve figured it out.

What are your most comforting memories? If you don't have any memories, do you have any scenes from source that bring you comfort?

I do have a few memories of waking up with Benvolio in the morning and just lying there together for a while. No details though, they're pretty vague. I remember things that were shown in source a lot better that things that happened outside of source canon.

What hobbies did you have as [kin]? Or are there any you do to feel connected with [kin]?

I think I remember I liked to dance, but I literally cannot dance in this life (well I cant do modern dances at least) and it makes me sad 😔

As [kin] were there any fashion types you enjoyed and/or wore? Is there any fashion types you'd like to see [kin] wearing?

I'm... pretty sure my entire closet was purple.

Were there any differences in your kins canon appearance to your kin timeline? If not is there any differences would make to your canon apperance?

Nope I was pretty much identical to source.

Do you have any food that you link to [kin]? Did you enjoy eating this food or is there another reason?

GELATO I remember loving that stuff and I still do!

Did you listen to any music as [kin]? Or what music do you associate with [kin]?

I didn't listen to music, I WAS the music (being from a musical be like)

What does your fandom get right about [kin]? Why do they get wrong?

Someone headcanoned my last name is Bellerose instead of Escalus and I have absolutely noooooo clue where they got that from but I'm 99% sure that actually was my last name in my canon.

Also I did flirt with Tybalt, but only to get him angry WHICH HE DID, EVERY SINGLE TIME and it was HILARIOUS. BUT I definitely did not like him and he did not like me either. Fandom ships us 9 times out of 10 and I'll never escape the fanart so I've accepted my fate. I'm also a fan of my source so from a fan perspective I actually kinda ship it myself but not in a serious way. I just think it's funny lmao

Are there any similarities between canon [kin] and you? Is there anything canon got wrong?

Hmmm everything was accurate I think

Do you have any regrets as [kin]? What would you have done differently?

Perhaps picking a fight with Tybalt was not such a good idea after all. Actually forget perhaps that was definitely not a good idea and if I ever meet canonmates (unlikely) or sourcemates (also unlikely) I'm pretty sure they'll say the same

What was your universe/world like as [kin]? Or what would it be like living in the world of [kin]?

Everyone hated everyone else basically

Favourite part about being [kin]? Why?

Hmmm... everything?

Least favourite part about being [kin]? Why?

THE OBSCURITY OF MY SOURCE I JUST WANT SOME SOURCEMATES PLEASE

Do you have a favourite picture of your kin? If not is there any of a comfort character?

EVEN BETTER I HAVE MULTIPLE :D

And this is me and Benvolio while my uncle sings the first song in the musical and absolutely killed it ✨

Large kin ask game

Notes: I tried to make these friendly to both kin with memories and folk who kin with no memories! Also the second set of questions are heavily linked to fictionkin, but feel free to use for any kin type!

General kin asks:

🏆. Who are your main kins? Is there a reason they're your main kins?

🤯. How many kins are you aware of? If you don't want to list them all that's fine, just do your top ones.

👤. Who is the most recent kin you have discovered? Do you have any information on them (ie kin type, what happened in your canon, ect)?

🦧. Do you have a kin you didn't expect to kin but did?

🍿. Do you have a 'kin type' (Ie do you always kin characters with black hair, do you kin characters with a temper, ect)? Can you relate this 'type' to yourself currently?

🦄. Is there a character from media that you haven't engaged with that you're kinsidering?

🌐. Do you have any kins that take place in an AU? Or any kin you'd like to see in an AU?

🌟. Do you have a favorite kin? Why are they your favorite?

📚. Is there a kin source you have that no one else seems to kin from?

🪶. Do you have a specific kin type (ie otherkin, fictionkin, objectkin, ect) that you lean towards?

🌱. If you could live in any of the worlds your kin is from, which one would you like to live in?

🪀. Have you met any canonmates before? If so which canons/kins?

🎆. Do you have any kins that are no longer main kins for you? Who are they?

🪄. How did you discover being kin? If you don't want to share for any reason, what age did you learn about kin?

Specific kin asks:

💕. What is the most important relationship(s) you had as [kin]? Or do you have a comfort character that links to [kin]?

🖋. Give a brief summary of your kin timeline! Or write about why you kin [character].

🎶. Do you have any music you associate with [kin]? If you want to list multiple songs!

🌈. Does your kin (or anyone else) have a queer identity in your memories? If you don't have any memories, do you have a headcanon for [kin] or anyone else?

🍃. What are your most comforting memories? If you don't have any memories, do you have any scenes from source that bring you comfort?

🥁. What hobbies did you have as [kin]? Or are there any you do to feel connected with [kin]?

👗. As [kin] were there any fashion types you enjoyed and/or wore? Is there any fashion types you'd like to see [kin] wearing?

🪞. Were there any differences in your kins canon appearance to your kin timeline? If not is there any differences would make to your canon apperance?

🍔. Do you have any food that you link to [kin]? Did you enjoy eating this food or is there another reason?

🎧. Did you listen to any music as [kin]? Or what music do you associate with [kin]?

🐣. What does your fandom get right about [kin]? Why do they get wrong?

🐦. Are there any similarities between canon [kin] and you? Is there anything canon got wrong?

💧. Do you have any regrets as [kin]? What would you have done differently?

🗺. What was your universe/world like as [kin]? Or what would it be like living in the world of [kin]?

💖. Favourite part about being [kin]? Why?

💔. Least favourite part about being [kin]? Why?

🖼. Do you have a favourite picture of your kin? If not is there any of a comfort character?

🎲. Send a question I haven't thought of!

#pretty sure I was in some sort of kinshift by the time I got halfway through this lmao #💜✨#mercutio fictionkin #fictionkin ask game #fictionkin #romeo et juliette fictionkin #romeo and juiet fictionkin #retj fictionkin #romeo and juliet kin

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getaapologist · 21 hours ago

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The Tension and the Terror............Part XIII

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: Geta is starting to realize something isn't right. Letha has to fight for her own protection. Caracalla wishes to save his brother from himself, because he's being Rome's biggest idiot (not so affectionate).

Warnings: violence, death, period-typical sexism, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 13 of 14? (I'm sorry)

[ Part XII ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I think writing action (be it the fun kind or the dangerous kind) is the hardest part. I hope this is even slightly entertaining. Next part might not be the last, I'm still writing so it depends on how long it gets. I would also like for there to be some sort of resolution as well so it doesn't end so abruptly. We'll see. I should really thank one of my favorite bands for putting out a particularly angry song that helped me get in the headspace for this. Thank you for reading.

The Emperor’s box remained empty until moments before the event began, the usual pomp and circumstance of the games abandoned for a dour display of punishment.

The games held the people’s attention. Watching men fight for a chance at glory, to possibly better themselves, it was entertaining. Tactics could be observed, armor and weapons utilized in new and unique ways. Legends were written by the combatants and their actions daily. Physical prowess could be appreciated and admired.

Fighting desperately in an ultimately futile battle to survive a few short minutes longer didn’t hold much attraction. There was no one to root for, no underdog to champion. No one to bet on beyond who might die first. Only the most voracious Romans attended these events.

As Geta stared down at the empty arena, he felt ill. Ill at the thought of the previous 24 hours. The visible fear he’d seen in Letha’s eyes as he stood over her made Geta’s stomach twist uncomfortably. Sleep eluded him. He feared what horrors awaited him in his dreams.

He distrusted people on principle, but for him to be so wrong, let alone twice… It left him reeling. He resisted looking over to Macrinus who had visited upon them this horrible news. Something was off about the man he’d dared call a friend. Ever since delivering Geta’s own death knell, the man lingered nearly everywhere about Palatine Hill.

As if he were taking over in the absence of Letha.

And what he had said… the party. It was clear to Geta that Macrinus had no clue about the specific nature of his interaction with Letha. He’d clearly made some assumptions, but the idea that Letha had somehow found time to not only speak with Thraex, but concoct a scheme against him and his brother felt impossible. Especially when accounting for the small slip of time in between him dismissing Lyra and stepping out to meet Letha in the hall.

No, there was something else. Something Geta hadn’t quite cracked yet. He had considered visiting the miserable cells where Letha waited for her doom to ask her himself, but he didn’t trust himself. He couldn’t possibly predict what his reaction would be to seeing her again. That scared him.

Caracalla sat in the seat beside him, staring daggers into the side of his head. On the ride over, he’d insisted again that there was something wrong here. And Geta did agree, though he didn’t say as much to his volatile brother. Regardless, none of it changed Letha’s sure guilt. He would not relish today, not by a long shot, but it was necessary.

And to think, he would’ve sought to marry her.

“Emperor?” Ancus questioned quietly.

Geta glanced over to see Caracalla in close conversation with Ancus, his eyes fixed on his personal guard. What was said, Geta couldn’t make out. But he did notice the way Caracalla’s hand lingered on the Praetorian’s forearm.

“There will be three others,” Ravi warned quietly, wrapping the gauzy fabric strip around her shoulder, beneath her arm, and across her chest, the pressure of it easing the difficulty of moving her arm. “You must be first to get to the sword.��

“Or I definitely die first,” she lamented.

“Or you definitely, probably, will die first,” Ravi agreed, tying off the thick wrapping. “Sorry, princess.”

The mood was deeper than melancholic. Letha pulled up the straps of the plain scrap of cloth she’d been provided, a familiar sight. It still bore Hyacinthia’s signature stitching.

Letha remembered Hyacinthia insisting to Macrinus upon her arrival that she be provided something more suitable to wear. Within a day of Macrinus’s assent, Letha had been provided with this top and some modified braccae. Though they were discouraged among men, it relieved Letha to be able to wear something more concealing around the stable of gladiators.

And she treasured it now, eager to get rid of the bloodstained dress.

Ravi broke the uncomfortable silence first. “Did he hurt you?”

Letha played dumb. “Who?”

Ravi sighed. “The tyrant.”

“No,” she answered. “Not at all.”

Perhaps if he’d lived up to his reputation, it wouldn’t be so painful.

Before Ravi could ask any other questions, a Praetorian appeared, standing outside the cell. They could hear Viggo chasing him down, shouting that he wasn’t allowed to be back there and needed to speak with Macrinus.

Ravi bristled beside Letha, but she stood, approaching the cell bars.

“Ancus?”

“Get away from there!” Viggo ordered, finally catching up.

Ancus didn’t bat an eye. “I’m here on orders of your Emperor. It would be in your best interest to leave us.”

Viggo looked for a moment like he might argue before he turned tail and fled, most likely in search of Macrinus.

Ancus returned his attention to the cell and its current occupants. He glanced from Letha to Ravi, then back, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s trustworthy,” she assured him.

Ravi played it cool, shooting an unbothered smile Ancus’s way, though Letha knew he was brimming with curiosity.

“I was told to deliver this to you. If it is as planned, you may need it.” Ancus reached through the bars, a small bundle wrapped in cloth in his hands. Letha took it, pulling some of the material back to get a peek at what was inside. Letha saw the familiar shape of the dagger she’d used all those nights ago. Someone had kept it.

“Tell Geta I am thankful,” Letha begged.

Ancus frowned. “I’m sorry, my lady. It is Caracalla who has sent me here.”

It shouldn’t have left her feeling so cold, but it did. Of course.

“Well, tell him the same.”

Ancus nodded. “I will have an eye on you.” He moved to leave, but came back. “Good luck, Letha.”

She couldn’t say anything in return, just nodded and looked down at the bundle in her hands as he walked away.

“Friends in high places, princess,” Ravi commented.

She unwrapped the dagger, finding it still coated in dry blood.

“Well, if you don’t need the sword, I’d say you should definitely go for the shield.”

The sound of one of the large gates on the edge of the arena opening drew Geta’s gaze. His breath caught in his throat at the sight. She had some cobbled-together armor on her shoulders and arms, but little else. Her hair had been braided, circling her head not unlike a crown. She looked nothing like the woman he had come to know.

All the better. It would be easier to watch that way, he supposed. No, no. What a ridiculous notion.

Nothing about this was easy for Geta. He regretted his choice almost as soon as he’d made it. His suggestion was borne of the grievous injury she’d dealt him. Now that the outcome of it stood on the sand below the box, the selection of weapons waiting in the center of the oval, he sat in his seat stewing in dread.

“You can still put a stop to this madness, brother,” Caracalla reminded him, his voice terse, uncharacteristic. Geta looked over, seeing a conviction he wasn’t used to finding in Caracalla’s eyes.

“Do not speak to me of madness, brother,” Geta spat back, irritated with Caracalla’s needling ever since he’d formed an opinion on his handling of Letha.

Caracalla’s temper flared. “You cannot even stand to look at her now,” he accused.

Geta reared around to face his brother fully, muscles in his neck tensing as he tempered the volume of his words. “Because I cannot bear it.”

The sun burned Letha’s skin, as if Apollo himself decided to visit the arena. Her eyes moved over to rest on the Emperors’ box, seeing the two of them sitting there, in conversation with each other, their copper hair shining. Perhaps they were touched by the divine after all.

Or perhaps the gods were playing a trick, drawing out her pain until she couldn’t bear it any longer. They would send her to her death, despite everything, all thanks to the snake, Macrinus. She got in his way. This would be the consequence.

“Don’t die too quickly, princess,” Viggo jeered from behind the wooden gate, just off to her side. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your lover.”

She didn’t dare look over, focused instead on the gate opening up in front of her. Who, or what, would walk through it? What insurmountable task would she have to deal with? How swift a death could it provide?

Just one moment and it could all be over. All the heartache, the pain, the vitriol, the rage. It could all disappear if she just let it happen. No matter where she ended up, be it Elysium or the pits of Tartarus, anything would surely be better than this.

Maybe she would see her family again. Her brother could mock her once again. She could feel her mother’s hand against her cheek. Her father would seize her in a tight hug, telling her she did what she had to do, even if those words didn’t exactly ring true.

The tears welled up, obscuring her vision until she blinked and let them fall onto the sand. She quickly wiped the trails from her cheeks, breathing deeply.

The man walking out into the arena bore an unmistakable red line across the top of his cheek, just below his temple, and it went all the way to the back of his head. The missing portion of his ear a stark reminder of her fury and how she arrived here.

General Plautianus.

They did this on purpose. She wondered if this was Macrinus’s idea, or if Geta had suggested it himself. This was a former general of Rome, not a gladiator. The idea of dying at his hands repulsed her. He had already claimed her father and brother, he couldn’t claim her, too.

But did she even stand a chance? Her shoulder was still injured, she couldn’t rely on her dominant arm for too much before it grew tired and tender. They had only given her the most basic armor, nothing for her chest or legs. The only weapon she possessed was a dagger. Her dagger. A kind gift from Caracalla. She didn’t think she’d get a chance to properly thank him.

Letha didn’t know how she was supposed to fend off a Roman general. If she had just done what Macrinus tasked her with, none of this would be happening. None of this additional pain would exist. Protecting the twins had earned her no favors, clearly. It all meant nothing.

He felt nothing. And that was almost worse than the death that awaited her.

“I should have killed you. I knew there was something off about you,” Plautianus taunted. “You thought you could take revenge? You? You’re as dumb as your brother. Clearly fated to die by my sword. My hand was stayed once, it will not be again,” he promised, flexing his hands, his eyes focusing on the three items at the center of the arena.

Two other men joined them, standing an equal distance from the items waiting at the center. A gladius, a spear, and a small round shield. That meant someone could be left empty handed. As Ravi had warned her, that couldn’t be her. Still, the idea of rushing to meet all of them in the same place didn’t fill her with confidence, though she didn’t have much choice.

An announcer stepped forward, dressed down compared to the usual games. There was no formal ceremony. It took Letha a moment to even realize they’d been given the go-ahead. The only tell was a flicker of movement from the other prisoners.

Letha snapped into a sprint, her legs fresh after sitting in the cell for so long. The same could be said of the others, however. She could see them approaching the center just as quickly as she was. She did note that the general seemed slower, his bulk and elaborate armor weighing him down. But he was still fast. She didn’t think it wise to underestimate any of them.

Before Letha could get her fingers around the lip of the circular shield, she was body-checked, knocked to the chalky gravel, and one of the other prisoners hefted it. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the next thing within reach. The spear.

Surely not the most optimal choice for her stature, it was better than nothing, the sword getting snatched up by the other man, leaving the General with nothing.

Plautianus approached the group, his eyes raking over the slight build of the man currently holding the gladius. It took him only a moment to dodge the reckless swipe and tackle the man to the ground. He wrenched the sword from his grip and ignored his protests as he plunged the blade into his chest, rising to his feet with an ease that surely frightened those he fought against in battle.

Three.

Letha tried to find a good way to grip the spear, the wood rough lacking any wrap or protection for her bare hand. Even having the weapon, her options were slim. Even if she took out the man with the shield somehow, that would leave the General. And she didn’t like those odds.

It seemed Plautianus was similarly assessing his options, and as his gaze fell heavy on the shieldbearer, she knew he’d made a decision. It wasn’t what she would’ve done, had she been in his place, but she was no general, had no tactical prowess. Or maybe he was just saving her for last.

She couldn’t do nothing. Nothing would get her killed.

As Plautianus charged, she almost lost her nerve. He reached the shieldbearer, holding the sword threateningly in his direction. As he swung it overhead, the shieldbearer hefted the round disc high to block his blow.

Letha moved in.

She jabbed the point of the spear into the back of his knee, as hard as she could. The roar Plautianus let out echoed around the arena. Before she could pull it free and step back, a swipe of the gladius cut through the pole of the spear, sending her on her ass. She got up as quickly as she could, keeping hold of the useless pole just in case.

Stunned by her action, the shieldbearer stood no chance, taking the brunt of Plautianus’s fury as he gutted him. He ripped the shield from the man as he fell, hopping a bit to take pressure off his injured leg as he faced her.

As he stared her down, she felt like she was back on the floor in the entryway to her house, shoved down to her knees. She could picture her brother slumped against the wall, his biting wit still being used to lash out at the Romans standing around them. It did nothing but earn him a few extra kicks to the ribs. But still he sat there, making use of the only tool he had left, right up until her impulsive action got him killed.

“You are the thorn in my side no longer,” Plautianus promised, leveling the sword at her, shield held close to his chest. He did not charge at her, no, he moved with purpose, a significant limp the only sign he’d been injured. It didn’t show in his face or his focus.

There wasn’t anywhere to go. She couldn’t run or hide. There were only the two of them. She was forced into a defensive position after sacrificing the tip of the spear, for all the good it did her now. He would still bear down on her, he still had the sword.

Plautianus moved quickly, striking like a viper. She brought up the spear’s shaft to attempt to deflect the blow. The sword skated off it and cut a hot slash into her upper arm, thankfully only splitting the skin and not going deeper. Her hand went to the fresh wound and she backed away from the general, trying to pay attention to his movements as he stalked her.

He moved in swiftly. She chucked the pole at him for lack of anything else. He raised the shield to smack it away, giving her a small opening. She drew the dagger quickly and advanced, ducking under another slash to drive it into his thigh. It had worked, another blow in this war of attrition, but she left herself open, the lip of the shield colliding with the side of her head, the crack of it audible.

She scrambled back, seeing stars. It was hard to recover from, her stunned state causing her to lose her balance and crash down onto the fine pebbles. The chalky surface stuck to the sweat on her skin.

Plautianus let out a roar and reached for his bleeding thigh, inspecting the damage done. With a gut-wrenching glare, he abandoned the sword and shield. He wouldn’t need them.

As she tried to regain her breath, her vision swimming, his foot caught her injured shoulder, knocking her back onto the ground. The small stones bit into her palm as she pushed herself up onto her knees, holding the dagger desperately. Her chest burned as she tried to steady her breathing.

He just kept coming at her. There was only one way this would end. This had been orchestrated since the order was given to claim the lands she came from. Perhaps the gods were here in this arena after all. Putting things into motion in order to amuse themselves later. They must view the people as playthings, acting out plotlines for their entertainment.

It bothered Letha that she might have always been going to die at the hands of General Plautianus. Someone above surely had a penchant for torture, letting her fool herself into thinking there could be anything else but this waiting for her.

None of it mattered. Not to her outcome. Not to him.

It was hopeless to try to salvage her feelings now. Let it hurt, let it burn her up. If she was to meet her end here, by his order, within his view, then she could allow herself to feel the sadness of it. It was sharper than any blade. It cut deeper. By that measure, she was already dead. No point in fighting it.

She threw the dagger down onto the sand, abandoning any effort to stand.

General Plautianus laughed. “Surrender? You’ve been watching too many gladiator matches. There’s no such thing here. The gods don’t intervene to save treasonous whores.”

She watched him turn around and hobble over to where he’d abandoned the sword, something close to happiness in his face as he reclaimed it.

“You put up this fight, all this bluster, but you’re ineffective,” he spoke, gesturing to the scar along the side of his head. “At least you’ve realized that now, and I can put right this wrong.”

Letha would not rise to his taunts.

She waited for the sword to meet her neck, her head bowed low, the careful plait of her hair exposing the back of her neck for the blade. Plautianus was strong, she’d seen him wield that blade before. Her death would be swift.

She rested her hands on her covered thighs and closed her eyes, letting the breeze blow in the scent of the heat, the stench of Rome. She would soon add to it, a carefully crafted perfume of misery.

The crowd had gone quiet, their breath bated for the spilling of her blood. She could hear the crunch of the gravel underfoot, could just about picture how close General Plautianus was standing. Would he cleave her head from her shoulders in one blow? Or two?

“Stop!” Geta roared, his voice echoing around the colosseum. The silence stretched, no one sure of what was happening.

Letha opened her eyes, turning to see Geta leaning out of the box, his chest heaving.

“Enough,” he spoke, his voice not as loud this time. She could hear the pain in his voice. She didn’t dare let herself indulge in it. It changed nothing.

“Mercy,” Caracalla agreed, standing beside him.

Letha heard Plautianus scoff, his shoe scuffing the ground. “Mercy?” he spat. “I was promised blood,” he yelled at them. She looked up at him, alarmed, as he began to ready his arm for a swing despite the Emperors’ wishes.

“Ancus!” Caracalla shouted.

Before she could bring up an arm as if to shield herself from his blade, the shunk of an arrow sounded as it struck Plautianus in the chest, piercing the armor. The sword clattered to the ground. She sat there, shocked, as he sank to his knees right in front of her, his expression one of disbelief as he reached for the arrow lodged in his lung. He choked on blood as his face turned an ugly color. He finally fell back, landing on his side as he continued to claw at the wound.

The Colosseum filled with uncertain murmuring. Why was she still breathing? Why did their general lay there, dead? Why was Emperor Geta so upset? Why did they intervene?

Letha refused to look up at the box, refused to look for Geta. Refused to let herself hope. She heard the Praetorians before she felt them hauling her to her feet. Despite being carried out of the arena still alive, she felt far from safe. In fact, nothing was certain now.

What would Macrinus have to say about Geta’s intervention? Was he fuming in the box, wishing to crack the brothers’ skulls together and be done with it? She assumed he wished to see her dead before he enacted the final steps of his plan. Now that it was foiled, the twins weren’t safe, and she was stuck in the belly of the Colosseum, unable to help them. If they would even welcome her help.

If she somehow got the chance, she would see Macrinus dead. And then, the fates could have her.

[ Part XIV ] coming soon

#emperor geta x ofc #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta #gladiator ii x reader #joseph quinn x reader #gladiator 2 x reader

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sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now · 1 day ago

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Ohohoho, I see more stp related character ask games. In which case, thoughts on Hunted? Could always use more Hunted content out here

(Ooooo Hunted!!! The silliest of fellas)

(And as I’m writing this my appreciation for him just skyrockets ten fold. He makes me. Let’s just say. Feral.)

(Ask is here!!! vvvvvv Sorry that it looks like this, I’m on IPad🗿)

(Also the reply is getting too long (again), sooo gonna put a cut somewhere here…)

FAVORITE THING ABOUT THEM

Probably how reliable he is in general. I feel like he’s probably the voice that is the most loyal to Quiet alongside Hero. He just really doesn’t seem like the type of character to have any hidden agenda underneath his actions. He’s just, when he thinks of something, he’d just do it instinctively. I love how he just focuses on the now and what’s happening around him, and doesn’t rely on what he sees only. He’s a really simple guy and all he really wants is safety. And I really like that about him. (The contrast between him and Oppy is glaring here)

And also despite the fact that instinct is a big part that makes him “him”, he’s not completely feral and still holds that humanity inside of him. I think he’s pretty darn neat.

LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT THEM

It’s how little he had appeared 😭😭😭

He needs more chapter 3 appearances aside from his own

Both him and Skeptic need more chapters actually.

(And honestly I don’t have much “””bad””” stuff to say about him. He’s just overall a very likeable character to me)

FAVORITE LINE

“Does a cat lie to a cornered mouse just to play with its freedom, or is it acting out its own nature?” (You’ll see this line again)

“The Look. We’ve all used it.”

“Looking at her makes me sad.”

BROtp

Gotta say Hunted and Witch. Hunted pairs well with many other voices and vessels, but the thought of two semi-feral characters interacting with each other is kind of adorable to me. Just. Similar brain wave signals. Vrrrrrrrr. Y’know.

Witch would just sniff Hunted and be like “hmmm he doesn’t smell like a liar to me” and she would just be chilling with him with half an eye closed and half of it open. Just in case. And Hunted just sees her as someone who’s gotten hurt. And had to fight back like a scared animal. So I think he would empathise with her. Idk.

Stubborn and Hunted is a good one too. I could imagine Stubborn and Hunted just sparring with each other whenever they could. The battle always ends in a stalemate though, since Hunted just dodges Stubborn’s attacks most of the time. And by the time Hunted is tired dodging Stubborn is tired as well. But knowing Stubborn he would try to throw a punch at him anyway. And then failing cause they have bodies now. Stubborn takes it as a challenge and is thrilled to see what other stuff Hunted could do. Unstoppable force vs Immovable object.

And the mental thought of Stubborn throwing Hunted like a Pokeball and be like “Hunted I choose you” is just so funny to me. And. Just. Hunted riding on Stubborn’s shoulder. So cute.

OTP

He honestly pairs well with a lot of them tbh, so I don’t think I can choose an exact one.

NOtp

I have none hehe

RANDOM HEADCANON

He would sometimes bite the other voices to show affection. If he is feeling really bite-y that day he would just find something to chew on just so he won’t accidentally hurt the others.

Also, the current smaller form you see of him is not his full form. That’s just him holding back his more feral side, and hence why he looks so tiny. He’s way taller and stronger than he looks.

(Sneak peak of his feral form!!!)

A more antsy head canon I’ve got for him is that a part of him always have this urge to consume the other voices since they are technically parts of the same guy. He feels really guilty about feeling this way. When that feeling is too strong he would lock himself away from the flock until it passes.

UNPOPULAR OPINION

(This is becoming less of an unpopular opinion and more of a ramble as I’m writing this, but I’m just gonna keep this here because I think this is pretty interesting)

I feel like he would take an integral role in helping the other voices in fighting against their nature, since he is so used to doing that himself. Many of the fics I’ve read where the voices are starting to become more complex and more than their nature often doesn’t mention Hunted at all. He would definitely take a role in helping the voices manage their own urges in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone, knowing how he empathises with Den despite everything she has done to them.

He shines the most when he is paired with Oppy regarding this. Oppy embraces his own nature, and often times to his own detriment. Hunted wouldn’t trust him, but he would still protect and look after him anyway since he is still a part of the flock. If Oppy ever shows an ounce of genuine interest in fighting against his urge to betray people for his own benefit, Hunted would be one of the first ones to help and encourage him.

“Does a cat lie to a cornered mouse just to play with its freedom, or is it acting out its own nature?”

Nature vs Nurture baby!!!!

SONG I ASSOCIATE WITH THEM

Butcher Vanity, specifically him in Den where he goes completely feral

youtube

And also Kaibutsu/怪物. It can be a shared song between Hunted and Oppy, but mostly Hunted.

youtube

FAVOURITE PICTURE OF THEM

(I love it when I just draw him like a fu@king creature)

(He’s so derpy-looking here)

#slay the princess #black tabby games #stp #stp voices #slay the princess insight #stp ask #stp voice of the hunted #voice of the hunted #stp hunted

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bestworstcase · 13 hours ago

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Genuine question, but where did you pick up "the Brother cult is a common religion in modern day Remnant" from? At least, I'm pretty sure you've said this before on here; my memory is pretty bad lol.

I'm just curious since I've been rewatching RWBY lately, and i remembered that, and I thought it was interesting bc I never once saw or picked up on anything that would suggest that in canon (unless it's like, a headcanon on your part, in which case feel free to ignore me, I'm not here to needlessly criticize a fun headcanon if that's the case loll, i have my own fantasy religion headcanons bc I'm unhinged abt worldbuilding).

If you don't mind, I want to explain my reasoning/thoughts on why I don't think the Brothers are worshipped on modern Remnant (feel free to pick them apart):

-> Qrow says that "not many people are super religious these days". Mind you, I don't take much stock at all in what characters say, especially not in RWBY (i frequently side-eye characters who speak on the Oz merge who aren't Ozpin himself, Light, or Jinn), but i feel like this would be an odd thing to say if it wasn't true. This is supported by The Shallow Sea fading into just a 'fanciful creation myth', as well as none of the main or even side characters being religious (though it could be bc it's just not important) nor discussing religion. Churches don't seem to be common (aside from the one in v4), and imagery of what seem to be altars are scattered and infrequent. Religion is also never brought up when discussing the kingdoms' governments either. So, so far, Qrows line holds true.

-> When Qrow talks about the Brothers, RNJR never really shows that they recognize the story, or at least that they don't put weight on it, unlike finding out the Maidens are real. They're just like "...okay so why is that important", unlike how I imagine religious people would react to finding out their God(s) are real. Plus, Qrow has to explain it to them; if it was a well known religious story, I'm sure the writers would have written it more like "So, you know [insert religion name]? Yeah, according to Ozpin, that story is real. In case you aren't familiar, let me explain it for you... [insert convenient lore dump for the audience]". Plus, the way Qrow phrases it gives me the impression that it's an obscure story. Weaker point, though, I'll admit.

-> In any of the times that we see what *might* be evidence of religion (i.e. the candles/altar in the White Fang in v4, the church in Ruby's v4 short), there's no religious iconography depicting the Brothers (at least, nothing that I've caught). In general, there doesn't seem to be any dragon imagery in modern Remnant (again, nothing that I've caught yet).

-> It's depicted as a fairytale. When Ozpin asks for Pyrrha's favorite fairytales, the first thing she says is The Tale of the Two Brothers. It's also in his fairytale book, something i feel would've been a controversial (if extremely funny) decision if it was a popular religious story (like if you put Jesus' crucifixion in a book including rapunzel and Cinderella).

-> Also, there's no common sayings including the Brothers (like how fics like to have the characters say "Oh Brothers" and other variations).

-> And, in general, Oz's inner circle really wasn't at all concerned with the Gods or really even the Divine Mandate. All they knew was that the Gods created Remnant, humanity, the Grimm, and the Relics and promptly abandoned Remnant, and that "If someone were to collect all four [Relics], they'd be able to change the world." And that that's "exactly what the enemy wants." So they only know the absolute basics of the Mandate, and the way it's worded implies (to me, anyways) that Oz worded it in such a way that cautioned against collecting the Relics (which is very interesting to me. This also tracks with how he depicts the Mandate in TTOTTB). So in general not even the inner circle feels like Brother/Light followers to me, just Oz followers (in general i imagine the events of the infinite man made him learn that bringing up judgement day is a Bad Thing, considering before bringing it up the Circle flourished, but after spreading the message, it was immediately destroyed. Instant karma. Poor dude). Though this starts leaning into the territory of my theory that Oz actually gave up on his mission (which like, could be wrong, but I'm holding onto it until I'm proven wrong), and I'm sure you don't wanna hear that one lol.

In general it seems to me like there isn't a Brothers-centric religion so far, even though Remnant still has organized religion (albeit uncommon). But I'm honestly not sure if I missed anything? I'm sure as hell not the type to comb through every background to see if I did lol.

Sorry for the long ass ask. Take your time answering, and have fun picking apart my reasoning. Please be nice abt it tho 👉👈 I just want to know your thoughts and if i missed anything that proves it's a modern day religion :)

-🌙

okay. first, at the risk of being condescending: religious people believe that their gods are real. you know that, right? religion is not a big game of play pretend. people who practice religion do so because they believe in it.

yes, religious people can and do experience doubt. but a religious person whose doubting and questioning leads them to conclude their god(s) aren't real don't continue to practice the religion they don't believe in. i mean, they might make an outward performance of doing so if it's unsafe for them to leave and they're likely to keep cultural practices and even moral frameworks--see: ex-christians who are exactly as dogmatic and puritanical about whatever new belief system they've adopted--but people who don't believe in gods don't practice religion.

this:

They're just like "...okay so why is that important", unlike how I imagine religious people would react to finding out their God(s) are real.

is a fallacy you're making because (i presume) you aren't religious and have never been so; i suspect you just don't have any frame of reference and consequently you're projecting your own skepticism onto the hypothetical religious people in your imagination. to be clear, i don't mean this as a personal attack on you--this is a very normal thing for people to do when we're trying to conceptualize experiences that are profoundly different from our own.

my background though is evangelical christian. i was raised in a staunchly religious household attending church 2-3 times a week; i attended a christian school until transferring to public school in fifth grade; i've been to bible camps and conferences where they teach you how to evangelize to nonbelievers and that kind of thing. i'm not talking fundie cult here, to be clear--this was a relatively-by-evangelical-standards socially liberal and theologically mainstream nondenominational protestant church--but christianity was the central organizing structure of my life until i left home. i'm agnostic and fundamentally disagree with the moral framework of christianity but i know a lot of very devout christians and i'm very familiar with the religious praxis.

(including what genuine, good faith evangelical proselytization looks like--not door-to-door like what e.g. mormons do, or street corner chick tract fundie cult behavior, which is what non-christians typically think of as evangelism. but that stuff is a tactic high-control religious groups use to strengthen identification with the in-group through rejection and alienation by the out-group--evangelical churches that aren't culty don't do that, and in fact the idea that door-to-door and street corner preaching is an isolation tactic used by predatory religious groups is something that was first explained to me in sunday school by the people who taught me how to evangelize. put a pin in this for now.)

so: i'm not imagining hypothetical religious people when i say this, i'm imagining a few hundred specific religious people whom i personally know and how they would react in an equivalent situation.

what qrow does in 'a much needed talk' is he sit the kids down, goes "not many people are super religious these days… there's a lot of (false) gods people have made up throughout history, but y'know, these two are real. here's the truth…" and then tells them a simplified version of the two brothers creation myth.

he doesn't do anything to prove that these two gods, in particular, are real. he gives zero evidence. he doesn't even demonstrate that magic is real. this isn't "finding out" that the gods are real, this is uncle qrow doing a little impromptu sunday school lesson like that's an explanation for why some lunatic attacked us earlier. this is like if some rando tried to grab you on the street and pull you into an unmarked van and i saved you and me and the van guy clearly had some sort of history because he knew my full name so you asked me "WHO WAS THAT GUY. WHAT THE FUCK" and i said okay sit down, the first thing you need to know is that in the beginning, god created the heavens and the earth…

regardless of your personal religious beliefs or lack thereof, you would probably go "…what. does this have to do. with the van guy who ATTACKED ME" because that's like, truly a bizarre non-sequitur. but it's not like God Himself is descending from the heavens in a flaming whirlwind to demonstrate his existence. it's just me telling you he's real.

if you're a christian, in this scenario, that is not in any way a revelation to you. that's akin to, like, "the king of england is real." BIG IF TRUE?--you know this. you already know this. if you are a christian then you believe that the christian god exists and is the one true god. in this hypothetical scenario i'm telling you things you already know and believe foundationally to be true. a devout christian would probably respond more in the vein of "amen! god is good!" but one whose practice is casual--the christmas-and-easter christians--and secular christians would absolutely be "okay and…?" in an equivalent situation to 'a much needed talk.'

hell, come to that, i'd be asking what this has to do with the crazy guy who tried to kidnap me if i were in that situation. who cares that my dead headmaster was a true believer or whatever i want to know about the guy with the knife! you feel me?

the type of person whom i can imagine making a big deal out of qrow's little creation myth are:

reddit atheist types who cry and scream and shit bricks if they have to talk to somebody who believes in a god; you know. the kind of person categorically incapable of talking about religion in any capacity without at least one sneering "sky daddy"?

someone with no previous exposure to this religious tradition or anything remotely like it. imagine if i were to sit you down and earnestly tell you that the only Real Gods were, like, the hero twins who descended into the underworld to challenge the lords of death to a ballgame. you'd probably be like "HUH??" because hunahpú and xbalanqué are not a cultural reference point you're familiar with in the way that you're familiar with the crucifixion of jesus christ.

like, all religions are fucking weird. the christian gospels are not remotely less weird than the popol vuh, or whatever. you're just familiar with the essentials of the gospel story--even if you're not and have never been christian--because christianity is culturally dominant in the west. and the familiarity makes it normal. unremarkable.

invisible, in a way.

this is something the writers of rwby really get. if something is normal and ordinary in the world of remnant, the characters don't pay attention to it, even if it's bizarre to the audience. to use a non-religious example, civilians don't know what aura is! it's not common knowledge! we know that because jaune's never heard of it, civilians in vale are shocked and confused when penny stops a truck with her bare hands, and oscar (who has dealt with "occasional grimm" before) has no aura training and doesn't know what a semblance is. but to the rest of the characters, aura is a completely mundane aspect of their day to day lives and they're a little taken aback by characters like jaune and oscar who don't know about it.

with that in mind, i want to really underscore something about the things qrow tells RNJR in 'a much needed talk' and the way the kids react.

because. first, qrow gives them the same intro level rundown on the maidens that pyrrha got in v3--offscreen because that's shit the audience has already heard and don't need to be rehashed. the kids are like, "that's a lot to take in," and jaune in particular is like "this is all very sketchy, what the fuck is actually going on."

THEN, apropos nothing, qrow drops "not many people are super religious but These Two gods are actually real btw" and an abbreviated creation story, with NO proof and NO apparent connection to the maniacal cultist who ranted and raved about his body and soul belonging to his goddess-queen who sent him to "retrieve" ruby for her. and none of the kids express the slightest bit of skepticism about this super out of left field sunday school story, no one is like "what the fuck" or "are you drunk"--ren just goes "okay but how. is that relevant."

whereupon qrow finally tells them about the relics hidden under the schools and salem wanting them and that BAD THINGS will happen if she gets them. and then, jaune the skeptic goes: "alright, so let's say we believe all this--there really is this crazy evil being behind these attacks, not just some thugs trying to become powerful. why doesn't the world know?"

THAT'S the part he finds outrageous and difficult to believe. not that the two brothers are real, but that SALEM exists. salem. these kids literally JUST got attacked by a lunatic cultist who kept babbling about MY GODDESS HER GRACE THE QUEEN and directly stated that he is cinder's associate and referred to the white fang and torchwick as pawns, but the thing that makes them go "wait but this is crazy and makes no sense" is qrow explaining that there's a malevolent entity called salem who orchestrated the attack on beacon and sent that guy to capture ruby. like, objectively, from a purely logical standpoint, that's the least unbelievable thing that qrow tells them.

but people aren't rational agents. and one thing this scene does very effectively is establish the relative normality of each major chunk of information through the way the kids react:

maidens? "there are four special people who can do magic without dust? and when they die that power passes on to someone new? that's. well that's a lot to process but. sure."

brothers? "and this is relevant how?"

salem? "that's crazy how could someone like that possibly exist without everybody knowing about it? why should we believe any of this!?"

salem is so fucking far out of their previous understanding of how the world works that they all kind of have a kneejerk "that! can't be real!" response even though tyrian shouted from the literal rooftops that he's working for a 'goddess' who was behind the attack on beacon.

but the maidens? they have a frame of reference for magic--magic is what anyone can do with dust, and ruby…petrified a massive grimm with her eyes somehow a few months ago, so like, it's not THAT unbelievable to accept that an old story about four maidens who can do magic without dust is true, apparently.

whereas the stuff about brothers… nothing. not one of these kids so much as blinks even though. again, from a purely logical standpoint, the creation of remnant by the brothers is the most fantastical part of qrow's explanation. but the kids don't react that way, because it's normal to them. ergo they're either casual practitioners of brother-worship or brother-worship has cultural hegemony in vale and mistral, where RNJR grew up.

now! it's actually a simple matter of text whether the second possibility is true or not and this is the part of the answer where i have to just say: you're factually incorrect actually.

there is a big statue of the dragon brothers smack in the middle of the train station in mistral. one gold, one dark. very unmistakably a depiction of Those Two. this is in v6 so if you're only up to v4 on your rewatch you can't uh, be expected to remember. (<- i am just unhinged enough about fictional religion i can tell you off the top of my head that yang and ruby swear by God in v1 but the ship captain in v4 swears "by the gods" and i think that church in ruby's character short implies maiden-worship on the basis of the statue of the cloaked young woman in front, details of this kind just stick in my memory for nerd reasons.)

[as an aside why would… the white fang… have an altar to mankind's gods… like. there are no faunus in 'the two brothers' and the culturally dominant religion among faunus is worship of the god of animals, as ozpin notes in his commentaries on 'shallow sea' & 'judgment.' the trappings of religion that we see in the white fang's private spaces are… obviously… god of animals-worship. this feels half a step shy of saying "well the altar in salem's war room doesn't have any draconic iconography, so therefore brother-worship isn't a thing." brother-worship is explicitly not the only religion in existence!]

-> Also, there's no common sayings including the Brothers (like how fics like to have the characters say "Oh Brothers" and other variations).

in v7, 'pomp and circumstance' specifically, ironwood says "brothers know you deserve it" in reference to RWBYJNR receiving their huntsman licenses. and a quick round up from the novels:

after the fall: "thank the brothers you found us," said by a bit character.

before the dawn: "thank the brothers," said by octavia; "by the brothers," said by finn asturias when he learns what his kids are planning

roman holiday: "thank the brothers," said once by neo's mother and once by a bit character.

there are also general exclamations of "my gods" or "by the gods" and general references to "the gods" both in rwby proper and ancillary materials, with "gods" being in far more frequent use than the singular "God"--gods, plural, doesn't necessarily mean the brothers every time, because qrow does make a point of noting that remnant's people, collectively, worship "dozens" of gods. but it is pretty evident that the dominant religion across the four human kingdoms has more than one god, and the coincidence of that with, taking the novels into consideration, characters from literally every kingdom except mistral which has a honking big statue of the brothers in its train station swear by the brothers… yeah the dominant religion globally is brother-worship. probably not in menagerie. but in the four human kingdoms, yeah.

…and the second is 'the shallow sea,' which is also a religious myth. 'the story of the seasons' is alsowhat we'd call a myth, not a fairytale. 'the girl in the tower' is the only story pyrrha names in that scene that is actually a fairytale per se. in general the delineation we make between "fairytale" and "myth" in the real world, as discrete genres of folklore, doesn't seem to exist in remnant--legends and fairytales scattered in time, and all that. the conceit of rwby is about engaging with fairytale-as-myth, so this is a very intentional blurring; like, this is a narrative where maiden-in-tower IS the creation story, fundamentally. rapunzel is orpheus is prometheus and that's how the world was made.

and that's the kind of thing that we as the audience have to just accept as a fact of the fictional reality, because… like… gestures at 'the shallow sea.'

ozpin included THAT one in his book of fairytales, too, and in his commentary he explicitly describes it as part of a closed(!) oral tradition whose inclusion he deliberated for fear of being disrespectful. he devotes more than half of his commentary to justifying the choice to include it, and the rest to describing the myth's cultural context to his (presumed human) readers. he asks forgiveness for "overstepping himself."

and it is very obvious, in the way ozpin talks about 'the shallow sea' in particular and the book generally in his forward and afterward, that his concern is not "it is grotesquely horribly disrespectful to place this profoundly meaningful and important creation myth (of a culture that is not my own) in a collection of frivolous fairytales" but rather "this book is meant to be a collection of profoundly meaningful tales drawn from all of remnant's cultures and i believe this one is too important not to include, but i am also acutely aware that it is a closed tradition to which i do not belong." the latter is still out of pocket, but the simple fact is that a character who so obviously knows that publishing a story from a closed tradition without permission is Not Okay and so obviously feels immensely conflicted and guilty about doing so isn't a character who would blithely denigrate a myth like this by publishing it in a book of trivial fairytales. and a character who would denigrate the myth that way wouldn't agonize over whether it was important enough to be worth violating the closed tradition.

and then you consider that, out of the twelve stories ozpin put in this book, three are explicitly religious creation myths ('the shallow sea,' 'the judgment of faunus,' and 'the two brothers'), two others are myths describing the origin of natural phenomena ('the story of the seasons' and 'the gift of the moon'), and one is a mythical culture hero ('the infinite man')… so fully half the stories in this book aren't actually fairytales. they're myths.

so the inclusion of 'the two brothers' is less cinderella-and-christ than it is "here is an eclectic collection of folklore from around the world" in terms of what would be equivalent in the real world; and… like, 'the shallow sea,' 'judgment of faunus,' and 'the two brothers,' the plain text of these stories is clearly and unambiguously religious in nature, and ozpin explicitly discusses them as such.

his commentary on 'the two brothers,' in particular: "there are many versions of our creation story […] but certain elements are always consistent: they arrived from a realm outside of our own and together created the universe from nothing. and then they left us on our own." and "whether or not you believe in the brothers, or in this story in particular […] like the twin gods, we are intricately connected to each other" and, um:

Even if the gods aren’t real, even if they don’t return to judge us for our deeds, we should act each day as though they are arriving tomorrow. In the end, we will be the arbiters of our fates. We will either create a beautiful, peaceful world and live in harmony together or destroy ourselves and our planet, and the gods will judge what we have chosen.

remember how i said i'm intimately familiar with, specifically, evangelical christianity and what actual evangelism entails? not the deliberately off-putting door-to-door shit but proselytization for the purpose of bringing new people into a church that isn't a predatory high-control group?

the way ozpin talks about the brothers here, and the way qrow talks about them in 'a much needed talk,' is christian evangelism 101.

"not many people are super religious, these days." you know who says this type of thing? like, fucking constantly? evangelical christians. never mind that christianity is the majority religion in the US by a significant margin (66%!)--evangelical christians inhabit a constructed alternate reality wherein they're an embattled minority shining candlelight into a sea of darkness. (many of them accomplish this by deciding that most other christians aren't real christians; the classic protestant move of course being "catholics aren't christian" but your average evangelical takes a dim view of like. any denomination that isn't their denomination and when i tell you the nondenominationals are the worst offenders in this regard... lmao. anyways)

"not many people are super religious [christian] nowadays. people believe in all kinds of different gods and creeds, but there is only one true God"--this is literally just how evangelicals talk. both to each other and to non-believers they're hoping to interest in the church, although the tone depends on who's listening. internal discussions of this nature are strategic in nature--how do we reach people and speak to them effectively in these godless times? what is the right balance between presenting ourselves and our faith honestly while still creating a welcoming and accessible space for people who don't know jesus? how do we share what we believe with people who just don't care? and so forth--whereas the framing with nonbelievers is that it's innate in human nature to crave purpose and meaning and that everyone seeks fulfillment but few ever manage to find it because none of us are born knowing where to look, etc.

meanwhile in his commentary ozpin is doing a fantasy repackaging of the pascal's wager tactic, which like. i have sat through literal educational films on the rhetorical use of pascal's wager in effective evangelism. "well, if i believe in god and i'm wrong, i'll have lived a good, moral life and lost nothing; if you don't believe in god and you're wrong, hell" is one of THEEEE evangelist talking points. ideally, one used to open a conversation with friends and/or people who have indicated interest in talking about your faith in some way, especially if they ask "what if you're wrong?" because then the idea is to demonstrate that you're not rigidly dogmatic in your faith but instead you've given serious thought to the possibility that you might be wrong, and thus show that you understand and empathize with the nonbeliever's skepticism so as to build a genuine rapport. (whether it *works* that way in practice is highly dependent on like. charisma and actual meaningful ability to click with non-christians, which a lot of devout evangelicals… just can't even when they really earnestly do try, but ozpin as a character does have the charisma and the knack for connecting with people that can make this approach effective at getting irreligious people to give "hey, come to this church thing with me?" a shot.)

i cannot emphasize enough that after the obvious one of "directly openly stated religious beliefs," the reason ozpin and qrow specifically read to me as highly religious characters is because they talk exactly like evangelicals in secular company. they talk about and share their beliefs about the brothers the way i was taught in church to talk about christianity.

you don't go banging on people's doors or harassing them in the streets. nobody fucking likes that and it makes people not want to go to church. you don't go around with a stick up your butt about the non-christian people in your life not being christian. what you do is treat people with kindness and respect and draw firm boundaries for yourself to keep yourself safe (<- unironically growing up in an evangelical christian household is a huge part of the reason i am SO comfortable just fucking saying no to things i don't want to do and i think this is the one thing that evangelicals really have on a LOCK) while being open and honest and unapologetic about your own faith. you save the bitchy judgmental gossip and fire and brimstone garbage and like, talking about the eschaton for when it's just true believers.

evangelical christianity is an eschatological religion, by the way. in case you didn't know that. evangelicals believe that we are living in or on the cusp of the end times and the political action of evangelical christians in the united states is motivated in large part by a desire to enact the prophesied conditions that will herald the second coming of christ. for example a lot of evangelicals like trump because they think he's a divine implement of the great tribulation. evangelicals are obsessed with and actively trying to enact the apocalypse. and rwby is straight up the only fictional story i've ever encountered that understands how an eschatological cult operates because you can NOT advertise that shit. it FREAKS PEOPLE OUT. you keep the "i want the world to be riven by unprecedented catastrophe and suffering so i can be taken up to heaven in the rapture while the wrath of almighty god crushes what remains as grapes in a winepress" between yourself and the other doomsday cultists.

it's not like. SECRET. it's in the bible. but very few non-christians bother to actually read the bible and the ones who do are just not going to have the cultural context to know how very deadly serious evangelicals in particular are about the book of revelation or how much of a core pillar the eschatology is to evangelicalism; meanwhile american evangelicals are knowingly deliberately voting for the apocalypse. similarly,

“We must take back our gifts,” the God of Darkness said. “Reclaim our power and wipe this experiment from existence.”

“I disagree,” the God of Light said. “And we promised to share in the fate of our joint creation.” He gave a mighty yawn. “Let us rest, and when the time comes, we will see what Humanity has become in our absence. At that point, we will judge them. If they are worthy, we will take their forms and walk among them as equals. If not, we will take back our gifts and start over elsewhere. What do you say?”

“Who will decide whether they are worthy?” the God of Darkness said.

“Humanity will make it plain. If they come together in unity and find a way to destroy the evil in the world and within themselves, then they are worthy. If not … we will let them burn,” the God of Light said.

“So shall it be.” The two brothers agreed. But even in rest, they needed some distance from each other. Each dragon transformed himself into a new continent at one end of their world.

And there the dragons still sleep, until the day that the gods will waken, rise, and judge.

ozma's mandate is not a secret. the apocalyptic final judgment is clearly and emphatically spelled out in the myth of the two brothers, which he included in an anthology of tales intended for the general public and annotated to the effect of "i believe this one is true and even if you don't you should act like you do. btw. because it's true" YEAH MAN WE GET IT.

(he also asserts apropos nothing in his commentary on 'the gift of the moon'--a myth that does not mention the brothers at all--that the sun is a "celestial gift from the all-powerful god of light," so either 'the gift of the moon' is brother-cult doctrine or ozpin is pointing at a myth from another tradition and making it about his god.)

the main difference between ozpin and your average evangelical is that ozpin fears the end times because he doesn't believe anyone will be spared. but his behavior is the same. his way of presenting his religiosity in a way that minimizes and obfuscates the eschatological intention at the core is the same, if not more intense because the material reality of his situation, as the accursed chosen one literally commanded by God Himself to immanentize the eschaton, is a lot more terrifying and desperate. 'the infinite man' is quite literally a veiled autobiographical story about how he figured out that he CAN'T… go around just… TELLING EVERYBODY… that he's MAKING READY FOR THE FINAL JUDGMENT.... because people don't fucking like that and will kill him and put his cult to the sword about it.

that emphatically does not mean that he doesn't still believe in it; it means that he has, in the same way that evangelical christians in real life have, figured out how to code-switch. there's the public face for mixed company where you're friendly and humble and make a concerted effort to live by the virtues of your faith while being open and unapologetic about your religious identity while maintaining a posture of respectful invitation toward everyone else and engaging in meaningful ways with people you personally know to gently encourage them to explore your faith…

…and there's the private face for when it's just you and your fellow true believers and you're talking in intricate detail about how current world events line up with this or that prophesy about the end times. ozpin in public is the mixed-company evangelical to a T. and ozpin in private with people who have been informed of the whole situation re: maidens, relics, salem is like "i am the divinely-ordained champion of the gods and we must stop her from getting her hands on the relics that My Schools were built as fortresses to defend."

in 'the lost fable' these kids literally hear the god of light say with his whole chest that mankind will be found irredeemable and destroyed if they are "unchanged," and they do not even blink. 3.75 volumes spanning months later, they STILL haven't really registered that the god of light holds the view that not a single person alive on the planet RIGHT NOW TODAY deserves to live. why?

because they knew that part already. not the precise detail of ozma being the one who's meant to decide when the world is fit for divine judgment and actively invite the brothers back, but the final judgment and the need for humans to be United when the day of judgment comes lest they be burned to ashes? They Knew That. it is invisible to them except inasmuch as salem embodies, to them, the danger that mankind will be condemned, because it's normal. regardless of their personal religious beliefs or degree of religiosity, they're all familiar with this story to the point that hearing God Himself promise to exterminate everybody didn't even mildly startle them. they knew.

like. fundamentally. the story as-written and the way the characters present in the lost fable do not react whatsoever to the divine ultimatum does not make sense unless every single one of them already knew the story about the dragon-brothers who created the world and then departed and will return to judge humanity's worth, to either reward them with completion or wipe them from existence. and because the kids seem to fall in the zone of irreligious to casually religious the simplest and most likely explanation is that there is a global hegemony of brother-worship, akin to christianity in the west.

taps the sign. and this sign too.

like. in one sense it's a question of your frame of reference and specifically whether you know what deeply religious people are like and how an eschatological religion actually functions in the real world or if your mental model for what this looks like is drawn from, like, pop culture fundamentalist caricatures. i can tell you that the way qrow segues into and tells the brothers creation myth is something i can imagine almost verbatim coming out of the mouths of elders in my parents' church and that ozpin's commentary on the same myth is a point-for-point translation of christian evangelism into his fictional religion. i can tell you that your presupposition that a religious person "finding out" the god(s) they believe in really do exist would feel any kind of surprise or revelation about it is baldly incorrect in a way that leads me to believe you have zero real personal experience with religion or religious people. i can tell you that your presupposition that the secular democratic institutions of government in the kingdoms means there can't be a religious cultural hegemony of brother-worship (or any other religion) is, again, just factually not correct.

but in another and, in many ways, more important sense: rwby is a story about a religious conflict. there are two gods who destroyed the last world and a promised day of judgment that will be ushered in by four divine relics, each guarded by fortresses that act as the central hub for each plot arc, and the overarching narrative conflict is about a power struggle between two people--the immortal agent of rebellion against the gods and the divinely-appointed chosen one tasked with preparing for the final judgment--fighting for control of these relics. that's the plot.

why are you reading scenes where the characters intricately involved in this power struggle talk about religious matters like the existence of gods and divine relics and divinely-ordained tasks as evidence that these characters… aren't religious? why are you reading actual myths that are textually presented as religious stories as… not a religion? why are you looking at a character commanded by God Himself to unite mankind, who in the present day speaks incessantly of the importance of unity and existential threat of division, who annotates the aforementioned explicitly religious myth with an exhortation to act each day as if the gods will return to judge you tomorrow, and concluding that he… is not religious and does not fundamentally believe in any of it?

what do you think a religion is?

and in this story, of all stories--when the central narrative conflict is overtly a war over divine relics left behind by the gods for the sole purpose of bringing about the final day of divine judgment--why in the world is it your baseline assumption that religion is not something that matters very much within the world of the story? why do you take qrow saying "not many people are super religious these days" completely at face value to mean "most people are agnostic/atheist and religion has no cultural relevance whatsoever" even though the next thing out of his mouth is "but these two gods are REAL" and even though, a single volume prior, his colleague said "what we're telling you goes against hundreds of years of human history, religion" and insinuate that consequently the truth would cause uproar and panic to justify keeping the maidens a secret?

i think that ozpin and his inner circle are religious because they speak and act like it and the core purpose of their "brotherhood" (as they call it) is to safeguard the divine relics while they publish religious myths about their gods and talk about how those gods are real and nothing is more important than keeping the divine relics safe. if it acts and looks and quacks like a duck and repeatedly turns to the audience to say that it believes in ducks, i believe it's a duck. i am not going to say "well it complained one time that there aren't a lot of ducks left in the world, so i think it's actually a chicken." that's nonsense.

#but mostly: yeah what.…do you think religion...*is*#if not.#believing that the mythical stories and moral tenets of a religion are true and correct and doing the things god(s) told you to do.

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amethystarachnid · 2 days ago

Note

I didn’t see a list of characters you wouldn’t write for so I wanted to request a fic with Peter quill or Johnny storm, Ik it’s kinda random lol but it’s just something different since I haven’t seen them much.

ONLY PHYSICAL

⤷ JOHNNY STORM

ᯓ★ Pairing: Johnny Storm x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, spicy, some drama but also some fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Summary: you hate Johnny Storm, hate his smirk and his jokes, that's what you keep telling yourself. But one night, as you're both drunk, you end up sleeping together...Which then leads to a particular arrangement between you two...What will happen after that?

ᯓ★ Word count: 9.3k

ᯓ★ TW(s): spicy, lots of spicy scenes but nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ Omg, Johnny my love, one of the first marvel character I loved <3 Also, since the ask didn't specify anything I wrote it using my ideas and it's been too long since I saw the fantastic 4 so some things may be inaccurate or wrong, sorry <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It’s almost laughable how much you can’t stand Johnny Storm.

From the moment you join the team—a reluctant addition after Reed practically begs for your expertise in energy manipulation—Johnny makes it his mission to get under your skin. And he succeeds. Infuriatingly so. He doesn’t even try to hide it, flashing his smirk every time he catches you glaring at him, tossing out sarcastic remarks with the ease of someone who knows just how attractive he is.

“You know,” he drawls one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of the lab where you’re trying to finish a recalibration of Sue’s invisibility suit, “I think I finally figured it out.”

You don’t bother looking up, tightening the screw on the prototype as you mutter, “I don’t have time for this, Storm.”

“No, no, hear me out,” he insists, stepping inside without invitation. His voice drips with mock seriousness, the kind that instantly makes your shoulders tense. “You’re into me.”

You actually laugh at that, short and sharp, finally turning to face him. He’s grinning like he’s just said the most brilliant thing in the world, his white teeth practically gleaming. His blond hair is tousled in a way that you suspect takes effort to look effortless, and he’s wearing that fitted T-shirt that always seems to cling a little too perfectly to his chest.

“In your dreams,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh, definitely,” he replies without missing a beat, his smirk deepening. “But don’t worry, you make frequent appearances. Very flattering ones, I might add.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t pop out of your skull. “How do you even fit through doorways with an ego that big?”

“I manage,” he says with a wink, strolling closer to your workstation. You step in front of it, blocking his access, but he doesn’t stop, leaning in just enough to invade your space. His cologne is annoyingly pleasant, a mix of something warm and spicy that makes your nose betray you by liking it. “Come on, you’re telling me you don’t feel this… tension?”

“The only tension I feel is homicidal,” you deadpan.

“Hot,” he says, as if that’s a compliment, tilting his head to look at you like he’s assessing just how much he can push you before you snap. It’s a game to him, and you hate how good he is at it.

“Do you actually have a reason for being here,” you ask, “or are you just here to annoy me?”

“Who says it can’t be both?” He leans back against the counter, resting his elbows on it as he watches you with infuriatingly amused eyes. “But if you must know, Reed wants to see us in the conference room. Something about a mission briefing.”

“And he sent you to get me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Was no one else available?”

“Oh, he sent Ben first,” Johnny says, grinning. “But I told him I’d handle it. Figured you’d appreciate the company.”

“Right,” you mutter, grabbing your tools and tossing them into your kit. “Let’s get this over with.”

As you brush past him, he falls into step beside you, his presence like an annoying shadow that won’t go away. The elevator ride to the conference room is painfully silent, though you can feel him watching you the entire time. It takes every ounce of willpower not to snap at him, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he irritates you.

When the doors open, you stride out ahead of him, eager to put some distance between you. But Johnny, being Johnny, catches up effortlessly, his long strides matching yours.

“You know,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “I think this whole ‘hating me’ thing is just a cover.”

“For what?” you ask, not bothering to hide the exasperation in your tone.

“For how badly you want me,” he replies, his grin practically criminal. “It’s okay. You don’t have to fight it.”

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him with a glare that could cut through steel. He stops too, clearly relishing the reaction, his hands shoved casually into his pockets.

“Johnny,” you say, your voice icy, “if I wanted you, you’d know it. Because I’d be dead. From shame.”

For a split second, there’s a flicker of something in his expression—surprise, maybe—but then it’s gone, replaced by that insufferable grin again. “Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

“I don’t,” you snap, turning on your heel and storming into the conference room.

Of course, Johnny follows, but he doesn’t say anything more. Not until you’re all seated around the table, Reed diving into a detailed explanation of the energy anomalies that have been popping up in the city. You’re trying to focus, taking notes on your tablet, but you can feel Johnny’s gaze on you again. It’s like a physical weight, burning against your skin, and it takes everything in you not to whip around and tell him to knock it off.

When the meeting finally ends, you practically bolt for the door, but Johnny catches up to you again, falling into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey,” he says, his tone softer now, less teasing. It’s almost disarming, and you glance at him warily.

“What?”

“You okay?” he asks, and for a moment, you think he might actually be serious.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, narrowing your eyes.

He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Just checking. You seemed… tense.”

You stop walking, turning to face him with a frown. “Are you messing with me again?”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, but there’s something almost genuine in his expression now. “Not this time. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you point out.

“Details,” he says with a shrug, and just like that, the moment is gone, replaced by his usual smirk. “But seriously, if you ever need to blow off some steam…” He lets the sentence hang in the air, his tone laced with innuendo, and you groan.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, walking away before he can say anything else.

But as you make your way back to the lab, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Johnny than the cocky exterior he projects. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. Because if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that Johnny Storm is the last person you’d ever want to… feel anything for. Right?

The mission is straightforward in theory but chaotic in execution—par for the course when Johnny Storm is involved. A rogue tech company has been messing with unstable energy sources, creating erratic power surges across the city. Reed’s plan is for Ben and Johnny to infiltrate the lab while Sue provides cover and you, stationed at HQ with a direct link to the team, guide them through it.

“Johnny, focus,” you snap into the earpiece as he sprints ahead of Ben for the fifth time. “You’re going to trip an alarm.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice annoyingly breezy. “I’ve got this.”

You grit your teeth, fingers flying across the keyboard as you monitor their progress. “I’m not your sweetheart. And if you ‘got this,’ you wouldn’t need me to tell you that there’s a motion sensor three feet ahead of you.”

Johnny pauses just in time, glancing around until he spots the small device in the corner. “See? Teamwork makes the dream work.”

“Just shut up and follow Ben,” you mutter.

“I think she likes me,” Johnny says, undoubtedly grinning. You can hear the smirk in his tone, and it makes your blood boil.

“Johnny,” Sue’s voice cuts in, sharp and no-nonsense. “Stop antagonizing her and get back on task.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny replies, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Despite his antics, the mission goes smoothly. Ben tears through the reinforced doors like they’re made of cardboard, Johnny disables the main console with a burst of fire, and Sue uses her force fields to contain the energy surges until Reed’s stabilization device is activated. By the time they’re back at HQ, everything is under control.

“Well done, team,” Reed says, smiling as he powers down the main systems. “That could’ve been much worse.”

“Yeah, thanks to me,” Johnny says, striding into the room like he’s just saved the world single-handedly. He winks at you as he passes. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you buy me a drink as a thank-you.”

You snort. “In your dreams, Storm.”

“Every night,” he shoots back without missing a beat.

Later, when the adrenaline wears off, someone suggests a celebration. It’s unclear who, but you suspect Johnny has something to do with it because before you know it, the common area is transformed into a makeshift party space. Reed grumbles about the amount of alcohol, but Sue waves him off, promising to keep an eye on things.

You don’t intend to drink much—just enough to relax after the chaos of the day—but Johnny, of course, has other plans.

“You’re way too sober,” he declares, plopping onto the couch beside you with a beer in hand. “Come on, live a little.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, taking a small sip of your drink.

“Nope,” he says, grabbing a shot glass and pouring you something that smells like regret. “One shot. For me. As a thank-you for not letting me die out there.”

“Pretty sure I deserve the thanks,” you retort, but you take the shot anyway, if only to shut him up.

It’s a mistake. The burn of the alcohol hits you hard, and Johnny’s triumphant grin only fuels your annoyance. But then another shot follows, and another, until you lose count. Somewhere along the way, the tension between you and Johnny shifts. The teasing is still there, but it’s less biting, more playful. You’re laughing at his ridiculous jokes, and he’s leaning closer, his knee brushing against yours.

“You know,” he says, his voice lower than usual, “you’re kind of fun when you loosen up.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you reply, though your tone lacks its usual sharpness.

The party starts to wind down, with Ben carrying a passed-out Reed to his room and Sue calling it a night. You and Johnny, however, remain on the couch, the space between you shrinking with each passing minute. The alcohol buzz makes you bold, and before you realize what you’re doing, you’re leaning toward him.

“Did you just...” He blinks at you, his expression somewhere between surprised and amused. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” you say, emboldened by the warmth in your veins. “What are you gonna do about it?”

His grin turns downright wicked. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”

And then he’s kissing you. It’s sudden and electric, his lips capturing yours with a heat that leaves you breathless. You respond instinctively, your hands tangling in his hair as he deepens the kiss. It’s messy and uncoordinated at first, both of you too drunk to be graceful, but the intensity makes up for it. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer until you’re practically in his lap.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?” he mutters against your lips, his voice husky.

“Right back at you,” you reply, tugging his shirt up over his head.

Somehow, you end up in his room, the walk there a blur of stolen kisses and clumsy touches. By the time you reach the bed, you’re both breathless, your clothes scattered across the floor. Johnny is surprisingly gentle, his hands exploring your skin like he’s committing every inch of you to memory. But there’s still that cocky edge to him, the teasing smirk that never quite leaves his face.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“Because you’re insufferable,” you manage to say, though the words lack conviction when his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Mm, and yet here we are,” he replies, his grin evident against your skin.

The rest of the night is a blur of heat and intensity, a tangle of limbs and whispered confessions you’ll barely remember in the morning. All you know is that, for once, you don’t hate Johnny Storm. At least not entirely.

You wake slowly, your senses hazy and dulled by what must have been way too much alcohol last night. Your head throbs faintly, and the warm, soft cocoon of blankets threatens to lull you back into unconsciousness. For a brief moment, everything feels peaceful.

And then you realize there’s an arm draped across your stomach.

Your eyes snap open, and the first thing you notice is that you’re not in your own bed. The second thing is that someone’s pressed against you, their face nuzzled into your chest. You blink rapidly, trying to process the situation, but your sluggish brain takes its sweet time piecing things together.

The arm is muscular, the weight of it familiar in a way that makes your cheeks flush. And then there’s the golden blond hair brushing against your collarbone, the faint scent of cologne mixed with... smoke?

Oh. Oh, no.

Johnny Storm is sprawled across you, completely naked, his legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets.

Your breath hitches, and you freeze, trying not to move or make a sound. But the realization hits you like a freight train: You slept with Johnny Storm. You slept with Johnny freaking Storm.

Panic rises in your chest as fragmented memories of the night before come flooding back. The party, the drinks, the teasing banter that had somehow turned into a kiss... and then more. A lot more. Your face burns as you remember the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he’d looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You’re mortified.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Unfortunately, it’s just loud enough to wake him.

Johnny stirs against you, letting out a sleepy groan as he shifts slightly. His arm tightens around you, and he murmurs something unintelligible before finally lifting his head to look at you through half-lidded eyes. His expression is groggy at first, but then a slow, lazy grin spreads across his face as realization dawns.

“Well, good morning,” he says, his voice husky with sleep.

You stare at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I—what—why are you—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your flustered state. “You’re gonna have to use words, sweetheart.”

“Johnny!” you hiss, yanking the blanket up to your chest as if that’ll somehow fix this. “What the hell happened?!”

He chuckles, completely unbothered by the situation—or his nakedness, for that matter. Propping himself up on one elbow, he watches you with an infuriatingly smug expression. “You really don’t remember?”

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “I remember... bits,” you admit reluctantly, avoiding his gaze.

“Well, let me fill in the gaps,” he says, leaning closer. His grin is downright sinful now, and you want to smack it off his face. “You couldn’t keep your hands off me. Not that I blame you, of course. I mean, look at me.”

“Stop talking,” you snap, shoving him away and scooting to the edge of the bed. Your heart is pounding, and you feel like you might actually die of embarrassment.

Johnny doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, lying back against the pillows with his hands behind his head. The sheets pool around his hips, and you make a point of looking anywhere but at him.

“Come on,” he says, his tone teasing. “It’s not the end of the world. We had fun, didn’t we?”

“That’s not the point!” you say, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “This shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake.”

The word wipes the grin off his face, and for a moment, he looks almost... disappointed. But then he shrugs, his usual cocky demeanor slipping back into place. “If you say so.”

You scramble to find your clothes, pulling them on as quickly as possible. Your shirt is wrinkled beyond saving, and you can’t find one of your socks, but you don’t care. You just need to get out of here before anyone sees you leaving Johnny’s room.

“I think we should forget this ever happened,” you say firmly, not looking at him as you tug your shoes on.

“Forget?” he echoes, sitting up. “Really?”

“Yes,” you say, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s better for both of us if we just... pretend it didn’t happen.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods, though there’s a flicker of something—disappointment? Annoyance?—in his eyes. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say, though the knot in your stomach suggests otherwise.

Grabbing your things, you head for the door, pausing only to glance back at him one last time. He’s still sitting there, the sheets draped loosely around his waist, watching you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. But you shake it off and leave, determined to put as much distance between you and this mess as possible.

The hallway is blessedly empty, and you make a beeline for your room, praying no one saw you. You don’t know how you’re going to face the team today—or Johnny, for that matter—but one thing is certain: you need a very, very strong cup of coffee.

You make it to the kitchen without running into anyone, thank God. The lingering buzz of alcohol in your system combined with the weight of what just happened makes your head feel like it’s caught in a vise. All you want is coffee—a steaming, bitter cup of something strong enough to drown out the memories of last night.

You pour yourself a mug, gripping it like a lifeline as you lean against the counter. The warmth seeps into your palms, grounding you.

But no matter how much caffeine you consume, you can’t shake the overwhelming wrongness of this morning. You slept with Johnny Storm. Johnny Storm. The most arrogant, insufferable, smug—

“Morning,” Sue’s cheerful voice interrupts your spiraling thoughts.

You nearly choke on your coffee as she walks in, looking fresh and chipper as ever. “Morning,” you manage, clearing your throat and trying not to sound guilty.

She eyes you curiously as she grabs a granola bar from the counter. “You look... tired. Did you stay up late?”

The memory of Johnny’s mouth on yours, his hands roaming your body, flashes through your mind, and you nearly drop your mug. “Uh, yeah,” you say, forcing a tight smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Sue frowns, concerned. “Are you okay? You look kind of... flushed.”

You take a long sip of coffee to buy yourself some time. “I’m fine,” you say quickly. “Just... had a lot on my mind.”

Her concern doesn’t waver, but thankfully, she doesn’t press the issue. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” she says, her tone warm.

You nod, grateful for the out. “Thanks, Sue. I’m good.”

She flashes you a smile and heads off, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again. You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping.

This is going to be hell.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. You manage to avoid Johnny, though the tension gnawing at your gut doesn’t let up. When lunchtime rolls around, you reluctantly join the team in the common area, knowing it’ll look suspicious if you keep hiding.

Johnny’s already there when you walk in, lounging on the couch like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s laughing at something Ben said, his usual cocky grin firmly in place. For a brief, insane moment, you wonder if he’s already forgotten about this morning.

But then his gaze flicks to you, and for the briefest second, something unreadable passes over his face. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual teasing smirk.

“Hey, there’s Sleeping Beauty,” he calls out, leaning back with his arms draped over the couch. “Rough night?”

Your stomach twists, but you force yourself to act normal. “No rougher than yours, I’m sure,” you reply, taking a seat as far from him as possible.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your attempt at a poker face. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I slept pretty well.”

You glare at him, your jaw tightening. You’re this close to throwing something at his stupid, smug face, but Sue and Reed are right there, oblivious to the subtext.

Johnny doesn’t push further, but you catch him stealing glances at you throughout lunch. It’s maddening—he’s acting like nothing happened, like you didn’t wake up with him draped over you this morning. And somehow, that makes it worse.

The next few days follow the same infuriating pattern. Johnny keeps up his usual antics, teasing and flirting like always, but there’s no hint that he’s holding anything over your head. If anything, he seems to be going out of his way to act normal.

You, on the other hand, are a mess. Every time he smirks at you, every time he makes a stupid comment or throws a casual wink in your direction, you’re reminded of how his lips felt on yours, how his skin felt beneath your hands.

It’s impossible to focus.

It’s especially bad when you’re around Sue. Every time she talks to you, the guilt gnaws at your insides like a living thing. She’s so kind, so thoughtful, and here you are, harboring the world’s most awkward secret about her brother.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” she says one afternoon while the two of you are reviewing some mission protocols.

You freeze, your pen hovering over the paper in front of you. “What? No, I’m fine.”

Sue gives you a skeptical look. “Really? Because you’ve been zoning out all week.”

“I’m just tired,” you say quickly, forcing a smile.

She doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go.

Johnny, of course, doesn’t make things any easier. If anything, he seems to enjoy your discomfort. He keeps teasing you in front of the others, his remarks innocuous enough that no one else picks up on them, but laced with just enough subtext to make your cheeks burn.

“Y/N, you’re blushing,” he says one day during a training session, his grin infuriatingly smug. “What, can’t handle the heat?”

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to throw something at him. “I’m fine,” you snap.

“Oh, I know you are,” he replies, his tone dripping with innuendo.

Sue smacks him on the arm. “Johnny, leave her alone.”

“What?” he says innocently, holding up his hands. “I’m just being supportive.”

Your hands curl into fists, but you force yourself to take a deep breath. If he can act like nothing happened, then so can you.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But the truth is, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up. Every time Johnny looks at you, every time he makes a stupid joke or flashes that infuriating grin, you’re reminded of what happened—and of the fact that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to forget.

It’s nearly midnight, and the quiet hum of the compound settles over you like a blanket. Everyone else is in their rooms, the lights dimmed, the hallways silent. You’re in your own room, pacing back and forth, chewing on your bottom lip as your thoughts race.

For days, the tension has been unbearable. Every teasing glance, every cocky smirk, every stolen look from Johnny is like a fire lit under your skin. And it’s not just him—your body betrays you every time you see him. It’s as if something deep and primal has been unleashed, and no matter how much you try to push it down, it refuses to be ignored.

It’s not just physical, either. Not entirely. The frustration you feel isn’t just because of the way Johnny looks at you—it’s because of the way you look at him, the way he gets to you like no one else. You’ve always clashed, your personalities like fire and ice, but somehow, that spark has turned into something neither of you seems able to control.

You’re sick of it. Sick of pretending it didn’t happen, sick of the way your pulse quickens when he’s around, sick of the way he acts like it doesn’t affect him when it so clearly does.

You can’t keep doing this.

The idea strikes you so suddenly it almost makes you stop pacing. It’s reckless, impulsive, probably insane—but it’s the only way you can see out of this mess.

You grab a hoodie, throwing it on over your pajamas, and quietly open your door. The hallways are dark, the compound silent except for the faint hum of the ventilation system. You tiptoe down the corridor, your heart pounding in your chest.

Johnny’s room is at the far end of the hall. You pause outside his door, your hand hovering over the handle.

This is a terrible idea, a voice in your head whispers.

But the tension inside you, the frustration that’s been building for days, drowns it out. You knock lightly, barely loud enough to be heard.

For a moment, there’s no response. Then you hear footsteps, and the door swings open to reveal Johnny, shirtless and disheveled, his blond hair sticking up in every direction. He blinks at you, clearly surprised.

“Y/N?” he says, his voice husky with sleep. “What are you doing here?”

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one else is around, before stepping into his room and shutting the door behind you.

“Uh, come on in, I guess,” he says, his brow furrowed in confusion.

You turn to face him, your stomach twisting with nerves. “I need to talk to you.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall. “This late? Couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No,” you say, your voice firmer than you expect. “I... I can’t do this anymore.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Do what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between the two of you. “The pretending. The acting like nothing happened. I can’t—I can’t focus, I can’t think straight. Every time I see you, I—” You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath.

Johnny’s watching you intently now, all traces of his usual cocky demeanor gone. “You what?” he prompts, his voice softer.

You swallow hard. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. And I know you can’t either.”

His lips part slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because you look at me like...” You trail off, shaking your head. “Like you want me just as much as I want you.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and charged. Then Johnny takes a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying...” You hesitate, your heart pounding. “We’re clearly bad at ignoring this. So maybe we stop trying.”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Are you... proposing what I think you’re proposing?”

“Yes,” you say quickly, before you lose your nerve. “But just... as a way to get this out of our systems. No strings, no complications. Just... physical.”

Johnny’s mouth quirks into a half-smile, but there’s something serious in his gaze. “You want to be frenemies with benefits?”

You nod, your cheeks burning. “Exactly.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then his lips curve into that familiar cocky grin, the one that’s equal parts infuriating and irresistible. “Well, I’m not one to say no to a good idea.”

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Good. So we’re on the same page.”

“Crystal clear,” he says, stepping closer until there’s barely an inch between you. “And, uh... are we starting this now?”

Your pulse quickens at the heat in his gaze, the way his voice drops just slightly. “Yes,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t waste any time. One second he’s standing there, and the next his lips are on yours, claiming your mouth with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as he presses you against the wall.

There’s no hesitation this time, no awkward fumbling or second-guessing. His hands slide under your hoodie, pulling it off in one smooth motion before his lips trail down your neck. You shiver, your body arching into him as his hands explore your skin with a reverence that makes your breath catch.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice low and rough.

You tug at his sweatpants, your hands roaming over the planes of his chest as he lifts you off the ground and carries you to the bed.

It’s fast and frenzied at first, the pent-up tension between you spilling over in a way that’s almost overwhelming. But then Johnny slows down, his movements deliberate and almost tender as he takes his time with you.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper as his forehead rests against yours.

“Yes,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

It’s been two weeks since that night, two weeks of sneaking around, stolen moments, and whispered promises to “keep this strictly physical.” You tell yourself it’s working, that the arrangement is simple, no-strings-attached. But Johnny Storm is nothing if not difficult—especially when it comes to playing by the rules.

From the moment you agreed to this, Johnny made it his mission to test your self-control. It’s not just that he’s insatiable—though, God help you, he is. It’s the way he looks at you across the room, the way his hand brushes against yours when no one else is looking, the way he finds excuses to get you alone.

It’s maddening.

“Johnny,” you hiss one afternoon as he corners you in the hallway, his hands sliding around your waist. “Someone could see us.”

“Relax,” he says, grinning as he presses a kiss to your neck. “They’re all in the lab. We’ve got at least ten minutes.”

“That’s not the point,” you say, trying—and failing—to push him away. “We’re supposed to be discreet.”

“I am being discreet,” he says, nipping at your earlobe.

You let out an exasperated sigh, but your resolve weakens when his lips find yours, hot and demanding. You kiss him back, your hands fisting in his shirt as he backs you against the wall.

“Johnny—”

“Five minutes,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s all I need.”

He’s impossible. But the worst part is, you don’t really want him to stop.

You manage to pull yourself together just in time, slipping out of the hallway and pretending nothing happened when you join the others in the common area. Sue glances up from her tablet as you walk in, smiling brightly.

“Hey, Y/N. You look... flushed,” she says, tilting her head.

“I just... went for a run,” you lie, avoiding Johnny’s amused smirk from across the room.

Sue nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and goes back to her work. You shoot Johnny a warning glare, but he just winks at you, completely unapologetic.

This is your life now—trying to keep a straight face while Johnny flirts with you like it’s a sport, all while pretending to everyone else that nothing’s going on.

It’s exhausting.

But somehow, you make it work. You keep your secret, sneaking into his room late at night and slipping back to yours before anyone wakes up. You convince yourself that it’s fine, that you’re in control.

Until she shows up.

It happens one afternoon during a team briefing. You’re sitting at the table, half-listening to Reed drone on about mission logistics, when you notice her. A stunning redhead in a sleek leather jacket, leaning casually against the doorway with a confidence that makes your stomach twist.

Johnny notices her, too.

“Amelia,” he says, his grin widening as he gets up to greet her.

“Johnny,” she replies, her voice smooth as silk.

They hug, and you feel something sharp lodge itself in your chest. She’s gorgeous, the kind of woman who looks like she belongs in a movie, and the way Johnny looks at her—like they have history—makes your stomach churn.

You force yourself to look away, focusing on the papers in front of you as Sue introduces Amelia to the team. Apparently, she’s a freelance operative Reed hired to help with the next mission.

Great.

Johnny spends the rest of the briefing sitting next to her, laughing at her jokes and leaning in just a little too close. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care. This is what you signed up for, after all—no strings, no jealousy, no feelings.

But when Amelia laughs at something Johnny says, her hand resting briefly on his arm, you feel a surge of something hot and bitter rise in your chest.

You’re jealous.

The realization hits you like a freight train, and you hate it. You hate that you care, that you’re sitting here stewing over Johnny Storm like some lovesick teenager.

After the briefing, you make a beeline for your room, needing to put some distance between yourself and whatever’s happening downstairs.

Johnny catches up to you later that night, slipping into your room like he always does.

“You okay?” he asks, his brow furrowed as he sits on the edge of your bed. “You seemed... off today.”

“I’m fine,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

He doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because you’ve been weird since Amelia showed up.”

At the mention of her name, your stomach tightens. “I said I’m fine,” you snap, sharper than you intended.

Johnny raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “Whoa. Where’s that coming from?”

“Nowhere,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I’m just tired.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Alright,” he says finally. “If you say so.”

But as he leans in to kiss you, you can’t help but pull away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Nothing,” you lie, forcing a smile. “I’m just... not in the mood tonight.”

Johnny looks surprised, but he doesn’t push. “Okay,” he says, standing up. “I’ll leave you alone, then.”

He hesitates for a moment, like he wants to say something else, but then he nods and slips out of the room.

As soon as he’s gone, you bury your face in your hands, your heart aching in a way you don’t understand.

You signed up for this. You knew what you were getting into.

So why does it hurt so much to see him with someone else?

The days that follow are torture. Johnny spends more and more time with Amelia, laughing and joking with her in a way that feels too familiar. You do your best to act normal, but it’s impossible to ignore the way your chest tightens every time you see them together.

And Johnny notices.

He corners you in the hallway one night, his expression serious. “Alright, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t give me that,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ve been acting weird all week. Did I do something?”

You shake your head, avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing, Johnny. Just drop it.”

He doesn’t move, his eyes searching yours. “Is this about Amelia?”

Your stomach twists, but you force yourself to keep a neutral expression. “Why would it be about her?”

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice laced with frustration. “You tell me.”

You don’t answer, your silence stretching between you like a chasm.

Johnny sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, if something’s bothering you, just say it. I’m not a mind reader.”

You bite your lip, the words on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to say them.

Instead, you shake your head. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”

Johnny stares at you for a long moment, his jaw tight. Then he nods, stepping back. “Fine. Have it your way.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with your heart in your throat.

You tell yourself it’s better this way, that keeping your feelings to yourself is the right thing to do.

But as the days go on, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep lying to yourself—and to him.

You’re pacing your room, your mind spinning, your chest tight with a cocktail of frustration and jealousy. The events of the day replay in your head like a broken record.

Amelia had been all over Johnny again—laughing at his jokes, leaning into his personal space, finding every excuse to touch his arm or shoulder. And Johnny, the infuriating, cocky idiot, seemed to revel in it.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You remind yourself of the rules, of the arrangement you agreed to. No strings. No feelings. But those reminders crumble under the weight of the knot in your stomach, the jealousy burning through you like wildfire.

By the time night falls, you’re at your breaking point. You can’t think straight, can’t focus on anything except the need to release all this tension, to let go of the frustration clawing at your chest.

Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you grab your hoodie and storm out of your room, your feet carrying you down the hall before your brain can catch up. You don’t bother knocking when you reach Johnny’s door—you push it open and step inside, your heart pounding in your chest.

Johnny looks up from his bed, where he’s lounging with his phone in hand. He’s shirtless, of course, because why wouldn’t he be? He always seems to know how to test your self-control.

“Y/N?” he says, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s going on?”

You close the door behind you, leaning back against it as you meet his gaze. “I need to blow off some steam,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

Johnny raises an eyebrow, sitting up slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “And you’re going to help me.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, clearly taken aback. Then a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. “Well, I’m not one to say no to a lady in need.”

You roll your eyes, pushing off the door and crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Less talking, more doing,” you mutter, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Johnny doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hands find your hips, pulling you into his lap as he kisses you back with a hunger that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Someone’s feisty tonight,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding under your hoodie.

“Shut up,” you say, pulling it off and tossing it to the side.

His grin widens, but he does as he’s told, his hands roaming over your skin as you straddle him. You kiss him fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair as you press your body against his.

When he tries to flip you onto your back, you stop him, pushing him back down onto the bed.

“Not this time,” you say, your voice low and firm.

Johnny looks up at you, his eyes darkening with surprise and something else—something hotter, deeper. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, his lips quirking into a small smirk.

You roll your eyes again, but you can’t deny the rush of satisfaction at the way he looks at you, the way he lets you take control.

And for the first time, you do. You take your time, exploring every inch of him with your hands and lips, savoring the way he responds to your touch. Johnny, for all his usual bravado, seems to love it—his hands gripping your thighs, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you take him apart.

“Damn,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Shut up,” you say again, but there’s no heat in your words.

When it’s over, you collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily. Johnny wraps his arms around you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back as you both come down from the high.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Johnny breaks the silence. “I think I like you on top,” he says, his voice teasing.

You groan, burying your face in his neck. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” he says, his lips brushing against your temple.

You don’t respond, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

After a few minutes, Johnny shifts beneath you. “Come on,” he says, sitting up and pulling you with him. “Let’s take a bath.”

“A bath?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he says, standing up and stretching. “You know, to relax. Blow off the rest of that steam.”

You shake your head, but you follow him into the bathroom, your curiosity piqued.

Johnny starts the water, adding some soap that creates a light layer of bubbles. The bathroom is warm and steamy, the faint scent of lavender filling the air.

“Fancy,” you say, leaning against the counter as you watch him.

“Only the best,” he says with a wink, stepping into the tub and holding out a hand to you.

You hesitate for a moment, but then you take his hand and let him pull you in. The water is hot, the perfect contrast to the cool air of the room, and you sink into it with a sigh.

Johnny pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as you rest your head against his chest.

“This is nice,” you admit, your voice soft.

“Told you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You close your eyes, letting yourself relax in his arms. For a moment, everything else fades away—the jealousy, the frustration, the complicated mess of feelings you’ve been trying to ignore.

When the water starts to cool, you both get out and dry off, slipping back into bed together. Johnny pulls you close, his body warm and solid against yours as he drapes an arm over your waist.

“You staying the night?” he asks, his voice low and drowsy.

“Yeah,” you say, surprising yourself with how easily the word comes out.

“Good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but wonder how long you can keep pretending this is just a casual arrangement. Because when Johnny holds you like this, when he looks at you with something soft and unguarded in his eyes, it feels like so much more.

It’s early morning, the sun barely peeking through the edges of the curtains as you make your way to Johnny’s room. You’d spent the night tossing and turning in your own bed, your thoughts constantly drifting back to him, to the way his hands felt on your skin, to the sound of his voice murmuring your name.

You’re not sure why you’re up this early or why you feel the need to see him now, but the pull toward him is irresistible.

As you turn the corner and approach his door, you freeze.

Amelia is stepping out of Johnny’s room, her hair slightly tousled, her jacket slung over one shoulder. She doesn’t see you right away, but when she does, her eyes widen slightly, and an awkward, almost guilty expression crosses her face.

“Morning,” she says, her voice light but strained.

You don’t respond, your gaze darting past her to the door she just closed.

“I, uh, should get going,” she says, brushing past you quickly and disappearing down the hallway.

You stand there for a moment, your mind racing. Your chest feels tight, your stomach churning with a mix of anger and something far more painful.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you push open Johnny’s door and step inside.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless and still half-asleep, his hair a mess of golden strands. When he sees you, he blinks in surprise.

“Y/N? What are you doing up so early?”

“What was she doing here?” you demand, your voice sharper than you intended.

Johnny frowns, clearly confused. “Who?”

“Amelia,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just saw her leaving your room.”

Realization dawns on his face, and instead of explaining himself, he has the audacity to smirk. “Jealous, are we?”

“Don’t,” you say, your voice trembling. “Don’t make this a joke.”

The smile fades from his lips, and he stands, his expression softening as he steps closer to you. “Y/N, it’s not what you think—”

“Oh, so she just happened to wander into your room at the crack of dawn?” you interrupt, your anger masking the hurt that’s clawing at your chest. “We’re supposed to be just physical, remember? So I guess it doesn’t matter who else you’re screwing.”

“Hey,” Johnny says firmly, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “That’s not what’s happening here. Just... let me explain, okay?”

You glare at him but don’t pull away, your chest heaving as you try to keep your emotions in check.

“She came to my room because she wanted to talk to me before she left,” he says, his voice calm and steady. “The mission ended yesterday, and she’s heading out of town. She wanted to... confess her feelings or something.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “And? What did you say?”

Johnny looks at you, his eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you see something raw and unguarded in his expression. “I told her I wasn’t interested,” he says softly. “I told her there’s someone else.”

Your heart clenches painfully at his words, and you shake your head, stepping back. “Don’t do this,” you whisper, your voice cracking.

“Do what?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

“Don’t lie to me,” you say, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Don’t say there’s someone else just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he says, his voice firm.

You shake your head again, tears stinging your eyes. “Then who is it, Johnny? Who’s so special that you’d turn down Amelia?”

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up so you’re forced to meet his gaze. “It’s you,” he says simply.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you blink up at him, your heart racing. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “It’s always been you. I just... I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

You stare at him, your mind reeling. “Johnny...”

“I know this wasn’t supposed to be anything serious,” he continues, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “But I can’t help it, Y/N. I’m crazy about you.”

Your resolve crumbles, and a tear slips down your cheek. “You’re such an idiot,” you say, your voice shaky.

He chuckles softly, his hands cupping your face. “I know. But you like me anyway.”

You laugh weakly, the sound half-choked by a sob, and before you can think twice, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

This kiss is different—softer, slower, free of the urgency and heat that usually defines your moments together. It’s tender and meaningful, a silent confession of everything you’ve both been too scared to say.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting together, you can’t help but tease him. “So... does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?”

Johnny grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Guess it does.”

“Good,” you say, poking his chest. “Because that means no more flirting with other women.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, his tone sincere.

You smile, your heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling you closer. “But I’m yours.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and before you know it, his lips are on yours again, this time with more passion, more intensity. He backs you toward the bed, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that makes your breath hitch.

For the first time, there’s no rush, no frantic need to prove something. Every touch, every kiss feels deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

When he lays you down on the bed, his gaze is so full of love and adoration that it nearly takes your breath away.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Johnny,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair.

“I’m yours,” he says again, his voice rough with emotion. “Only yours.”

The words send a surge of warmth through you, and you pull him closer, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

It’s different this time—not just physical, but emotional, intimate in a way that leaves you both vulnerable.

When it’s over, you lie tangled together, your head resting on his chest as his fingers trace lazy patterns on your back.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says softly, his voice laced with exhaustion and contentment.

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Your heart swells, and you tilt your head up to look at him. “I love you too,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Johnny grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Told you you’d fall for me eventually.”

You laugh, smacking his chest lightly. “Shut up, Storm.”

He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he presses another kiss to your lips.

It starts with Susan. Of course, it’s Susan.

You and Johnny had managed to keep your relationship quiet for a few days, sneaking kisses in the hallway, exchanging soft touches when no one was looking, and giving each other the occasional longing glance that lingered a bit too long. But when you’re both together as much as you are with the team, there’s only so much you can hide.

Susan is perceptive to the point of being almost psychic when it comes to her brother. That morning, as you and Johnny are sitting together at the breakfast table, laughing at something stupid he just said, her eyes narrow slightly.

“You two,” she says suddenly, pointing her spoon at both of you, “are acting... different.”

Johnny freezes mid-bite, his eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. You, on the other hand, nearly choke on your coffee.

“Different?” you say, trying to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do realize I’ve known Johnny my entire life, right?” Susan says, crossing her arms. “He’s never looked at anyone the way he’s looking at you right now.”

Johnny smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Can you blame me? Look at her.”

You glare at him, smacking his arm lightly. “You’re not helping.”

Susan’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “Wait. Are you... are you two... together?”

Johnny grins, his hand finding yours under the table. “Yup.”

“Johnny!” you hiss, smacking him again.

“What? She was going to figure it out eventually,” he says with a shrug.

Susan looks stunned for a moment, then her expression softens into something warm and almost maternal. “I knew it,” she says, a smile spreading across her face.

“You knew it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course I did,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Do you have any idea how obvious you two have been? The way you bickered all the time, the way you couldn’t keep your eyes off each other when you thought no one was looking...”

Johnny snickers. “Guess we weren’t as sneaky as we thought.”

“You were terrible at being sneaky,” Susan says, shaking her head. “But... I’m happy for you. Really. You deserve to be happy.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. “Thanks, Susan,” you say softly.

She smiles, then looks at Johnny with a mock-serious expression. “But if you screw this up, Johnny, I swear—”

“Relax, Sis,” Johnny says, holding up his hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Susan nods, satisfied, then turns her attention back to her breakfast.

But, of course, the moment doesn’t end there.

As if on cue, Ben stomps into the kitchen, followed closely by Reed, who’s balancing a mug of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Morning,” Ben grunts, reaching for a plate of pancakes.

“Morning,” you and Johnny say in unison, maybe a little too cheerfully.

Ben pauses, his rocky brow furrowing as he looks at the two of you. “What’s with you two?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Ben says, clearly unconvinced. He looks over at Susan, who’s struggling to hide a smile. “What’s going on?”

Susan shrugs, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eye. “Ask them.”

Ben turns his gaze back to you and Johnny, his eyes narrowing. “Spill it.”

Johnny sighs dramatically, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Fine. Y/N and I are together. Happy?”

Ben stares at you both for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“I knew it!” Ben says, slapping his knee. “I told you, Reed! You owe me twenty bucks!”

Reed looks up from his clipboard, his expression thoughtful. “Technically, the bet was whether they’d get together before the end of the month, and it’s only the twentieth, so yes, I suppose I do owe you.”

“You bet on us?” you ask, your jaw dropping.

“Of course we did,” Ben says, grinning. “You two have been dancing around each other for months. It was only a matter of time.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, burying your face in your hands.

Johnny, on the other hand, looks delighted. “Wait, how much money are we talking here?”

“Don’t even think about it,” you say, elbowing him in the ribs.

Reed clears his throat, clearly trying to shift the conversation back to something less embarrassing. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a good match,” he says, adjusting his glasses.

You blink at him, surprised. “You do?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “You balance each other out. Johnny needs someone who can challenge him, and you need someone who can... bring out your fun side.”

Johnny smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “Hear that? I’m good for you.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The rest of breakfast is filled with teasing and laughter, and by the end of it, you feel lighter than you have in days.

Later, as you’re walking back to your room, Johnny catches up with you, slipping his hand into yours.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” he says, grinning.

“You mean the part where they all knew already?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Johnny laughs, pulling you closer. “Guess we’re not as good at hiding things as we thought.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “You’re lucky I love you, Storm.”

“Damn right I am,” he says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

As you walk down the hallway together, hand in hand, you can’t help but feel like everything is finally falling into place.

For better or worse, this is your family now. And with Johnny by your side, you know you can handle anything that comes your way.

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