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rumncokebaby · 3 days ago

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in your hands

pairing: johnny storm x female reader

synopsis: the storm gave you powers that came with a cost—every time you used them, they broke you from the inside out. when you nearly die saving johnny and franklin, he destroys himself searching for a cure.

requested by anon

The first time you fly, the sky does you the kindness of answering back. Not with words—just a feeling that moves from your shoulder blades to your ribs, a steadying hand you didn’t know to ask for. You hang there above the river with the wind pushing your hair into your mouth and the city glittering like it’s finally in on the joke, and you laugh because it feels like a secret you’re not supposed to tell.

Johnny is a bright blur just off your right, carving lazy figure eights like a show-off who knows you’ll forgive him. He grins so hard you can feel it from six feet away, a grin that lives at the intersection of relief and awe. He loops closer until you could kiss him if you reached, so you reach, and he laughs into your mouth, heat skimming harmless as a summer day across your cheek.

Back on the roof, you land too hard and crack a paver with your heel. Ben looks up from a sandwich the size of a small child, eyebrows climbing. “That’s comin’ outta Reed’s grant,” he says, then points at you with the corner of his rye like a toast. “Nice stickin’ the landing, kid.”

Sue hugs you in a way that feels like physics first and arms second, invisible pressure adjusting around bones that don’t bruise anymore. “Slowly,” she murmurs into your hair. “New sky.”

Reed tries for clinical and fails. His mouth can’t stop smiling. “Subjective assessment?”

“Gravity answered me back,” you say, giddy and breathless.

Behind you, Johnny laughs like that’s the only answer he’ll ever accept.

The days after the mission taste like discovery. Strength arrives like another language you already speak. You steady a teetering bus with one hand. You catch a dropped I-beam like it’s a baton in a parade. Your skin forgets how to split; knives turn apologetic. Flight is worse—better. You thread thermals, follow updrafts, learn to read the city’s heat as if it has paragraphs hidden in the air.

At night you dream in wide-angle shots and wake with your palms still buzzing. Johnny runs warm beside you, the human version of a fireplace, and if you straighten your arm you can feel the sunburn in him that never truly fades. Sometimes you both wake at three and stare at the ceiling until one of you gives in and starts telling the other about the stupidest thing that happened that day. The ceiling doesn’t answer back, but the shape of his shoulder does. He pretends not to worry because you pretend not to worry, and you both accept the lie like a blanket.

It starts small, and you let it. The taste of pennies for half a second after you dismount from an unusual angle. A tremor you’d blame on caffeine if you still needed it. Reed calls them anomalies and logs them with a frown he tries to keep friendly; you wave them off and swallow water and refuse to think about the fact that you no longer ache the way normal bodies report their days.

The first time you cough blood, it’s a thread on your tongue that disappears in the sink before you can admit it happened. You rinse too long, palms braced on porcelain, head bowed like church. When you crawl back into bed, Johnny rolls toward you, still pretending to be asleep, tucks you in like he’s been deputized by gravity, and says nothing.

Reed is very careful when he says the thing he has to say. He sits where his height looks least intimidating and thumbs away something on his tablet that isn’t news, just the pretext to soften the moment his mouth makes an angle it doesn’t want to.

“Your cells,” he says, gentle like a man lowering a vase he loves, “are doing something unprecedented.”

You roll your wrist so the light hits the thin white scar there, the one that used to prove you were made of the same mortal nonsense as everybody else. “That’s the point, right? We’re the brochure.”

Reed half-smiles. “Yes. And.”

Johnny is very still in the chair beside you. He’s never very still. He’s an edge-of-his-seat person by nature. He is the person edges were designed for. Now he’s got both hands around a paper cup he hasn’t touched, jaw set like he’s auditioning for stoicism and failing.

“Your invulnerability,” Reed says, “is doing the cruelest possible thing. It’s protecting you from feeling damage that still happens. Microscopic tears. Microfractures. Organ stress that doesn’t register because the nerves can’t argue with the shield. Any normal body would respond by forcing you to rest. Yours gives you a pass.”

“How bad?” you ask, because measured pain feels safer than the kind that arrives without a number.

“Cumulative,” Reed says, which is a scientist’s way of saying water on rock, erosion, inevitable if unchecked. “If you operate within measured thresholds, the mechanism that repairs keeps pace. If you continue at current intensities… we will have to talk about time in a way I don’t want to.”

Johnny finds his voice and it’s not the one he uses for reporters or crowds. It’s the one he used when you broke your shoelace in the lobby and he crouched to fix it like that was always going to be his job. “Say it,” he says to Reed, but looks at you.

“If you keep pushing,” Reed says simply, “you will shorten your life in measurable steps.”

The room goes bare. You hear your own breath and the hum of a machine that’s always lived under the floor. Sue reaches across and fits her fingers over your knee. Ben, on the periphery, squeezes Johnny’s shoulder until bone complains.

“Okay,” you say. The word is steady because it’s too small to wobble.

“Okay you’ll listen,” Johnny says, “or okay you’re about to do what you always do and smile and then go run into a burning building while I watch?” His voice frays on the last word. He isn’t a man who cries in rooms; he’s the man who goes outside, sets himself on fire, and laughs until he can breathe again.

“Both,” you say, because lying feels wrong when the people who love you are looking right at you.

The first fight happens on the roof two nights later because of course it does. You saved three men from a stairwell that decided to audition as a chimney and came home smelling like soaked ash and relief. You tug your hair out of your collar and tell yourself the ringing in your ears is just the wind you threaded.

“You promised,” Johnny says when you land, and the night takes a step back from all that heat.

“I promised to try,” you say, and sound tired, which is either progress or cowardice.

He laughs once without humor. “You think I didn’t hear you in the shower?” He steps closer and then stops himself like he walked into glass. “You think I didn’t see you pressing your hands against the tile like you had to remind them to be steady?”

“It was a bad staircase,” you say, reasonable to the point of cruelty.

He looks at you like he’s cataloguing the first time he will tell a story about how you almost died. “I am going to scream,” he says in a voice that doesn’t rise. “I am not going to scream.” His hands shake. He puts them in his pockets as if that will quiet them. “You keep skipping the part where you’re a person I love, not a public utility.”

That lands. It lands because he never weaponizes love and now he has, against himself more than you. You touch his jaw, thumb catching on the nick he missed with the razor, and he breathes like he’s just been permitted to again.

“I hear you,” you whisper. You do. You hear him even when you don’t obey.

You try to be boring. You say no to calls you could answer in your sleep. You sit cross-legged on the rug and teach Franklin how to tell a good crayon from a bad one. You let Sue make soup like it’s a ceremony and eat every spoonful and learn the taste of being taken care of without protest. You let Reed measure the air around you as if it has a grammar. Ben drives you to the hardware store to buy a plant you will definitely kill and tells you that survival is ninety percent stubbornness and ten percent good dirt.

And then the world asks for something nobody else can give, because that’s the world’s favorite party trick.

A crane seizes. The operator panics. An arm swings, catches scaffolding, people scream. Physics stops being an essay and becomes a fact you can’t argue with. Johnny is two blocks south trying to coax a ruptured gas line into deciding not to explode. Sue is already holding a different building together. Reed is three minutes out and narrating angles you can’t see. Ben is sprinting and apologizing to pedestrians he plows through.

You go.

You are careful. You take men in pairs, set them down where the street will be kind. You mutter irresponsible promises—“you’re okay, I’ve got you, you’re okay”—and try to mean them like a spell. You do not listen to the part of your chest that has begun to complain in a polite voice. You do not listen to the way Reed says your name like a taper being pinched out.

The arm swings back unexpectedly and taps you between the shoulder blades in a way you might call friendly if it didn’t turn your teeth into bells. You put the last two men down and then your knees argue with the ground and the ground wins.

Johnny gets there before you fall all the way because he is a man who outruns what hurts him and what hurts you. He lands too hard, doesn’t care, scoops you up without asking. “Hey,” he says, voice oiled smooth. “I’ve got you.”

“Reed,” you manage. Which is redundant. Reed is in your ear and on your shoulder and already disassembling a machine with his mind.

“Favorite number,” Johnny says, panic translated into patter. “Capital of—”

“Your apartment’s a mess,” you say. It buys you exactly enough normal for him to breathe.

The lab is clean in a way that makes you want to dirty it with joy, just to prove you can. You blink and there is the ceiling you hate and love, and Sue’s hand is on your knee, grounding and unflinching, and Ben keeps touching the corner of the gurney like the furniture’s a talisman. Johnny doesn’t let go of your wrist even when Reed needs both of you to; he steps to the other side and takes the other one.

You sleep because your body finally insists. You wake to Johnny and Reed arguing across you like cliffs.

“Use me,” Johnny is saying, reckless with purpose. “You need heat profiles? You need tuned frequencies? I can hold whatever pitch you want. You said her body reacts to me—”

“What I said,” Reed answers, exhausted and exact, “is that your thermal output triggers a particular response. You running yourself ragged is not a protocol.”

“Watch me,” Johnny says.

You should tell him no. You tell him no. It doesn’t stick. He’s in the lab at three in the morning with his shirt off and goggles pushed up like a cartoon of a scientist, forearms red around the flame where it licks his skin beyond armor, teeth set while he holds a band of heat so narrow it might as well be thread. Ben is behind him with one hand hovering like a spotter at a gym. Sue leans in the doorway, too tired to pretend she isn’t scared, knowing that pretending would scare him more.

Reed is the one who makes the leap you can’t. He looks at Johnny and then at you and then at the horrible dance of your numbers and says, “If we can shepherd her through the resonance bands—if we can keep her from hitting the frequencies that shear tissue—we can let her be who she is without paying in interest.”

“And you want Flame Boy here to be the shepherd,” Ben says, half proud, half appalled.

Reed adjusts his glasses and hides his smile because he likes it when Ben calls Johnny that and pretends he doesn’t. “He can hold a stable thermal pitch with more precision than any machine we can build fast enough.”

Johnny blinks. “Am I… a metronome?”

“You’re a lighthouse,” Sue says, stepping in so he doesn’t have to make a joke to survive the compliment. “And she can steer by you.”

You want to tell him no because you’ve already let him do too much and what if he burns himself down to the version of himself he’s afraid is underneath? You want to tell him yes because you’re suddenly greedy for living. You hold out your hand instead. He takes it like he’s signing something.

The first run is terrifying because it works and because it hurts him. It isn’t the bright, hungry fire that makes crowds gasp. It’s a pale, precise band of heat tuned to the frequency your cells listen to when they’re deciding whether to destroy themselves. He holds it in his hands as if he picked up a hot wire and agreed to smile through it.

“Now,” Reed says, and you move. You force yourself to be careful inside your own skin in a way you’ve never had to be. Johnny holds the line and you can feel him shiver through your bones. Sue stands at your head and talks nonsense like it’s poetry. Ben counts under his breath. The numbers on the screen go up. Repair indices rising, micro-tears knitting instead of opening. For the first time since the storm, the bill doesn’t arrive.

Franklin wakes up from his nap, sheds his babysitter like a coat, and barrels into the lab, hair up, clutching a dinosaur that might be a crocodile. He brakes when he sees Johnny’s hands trembling and you in a suit. His small face folds.

“Are we okay?” he asks.

Johnny makes his mouth do something bright. “Buddy. We’re so okay we’re gonna need celebratory pancakes.”

Franklin peels a glitter star from a sheet and sticks it dead center on Johnny’s bare shoulder like a medal. Then he looks at you, very serious, and puts a crooked moon sticker over your heart. “For luck,” he says.

You try to keep it quiet after that, to keep saving your life something you do in a room where only the people who already love you can see. The corridor holds. It widens by degrees. Your days stop tasting like pennies and start tasting like coffee again. Johnny sleeps some nights. Sue starts reading a book with chapters instead of journal abstracts. Reed forgets to scowl for whole minutes at a time. Ben takes Franklin to the aquarium, points at a giant turtle, and tells him, “See? Slow and tough wins more often than you’d think.”

And then the day arrives that will not be reasoned with.

It starts with a silly errand—Reed’s idea of a family day. Franklin has been promised a pretzel from the vendor outside the museum with the dinosaur he can name and you pretend you don’t love that he says al-lo-sore-us like it’s someone he went to preschool with. Johnny holds your hand because he always does; Sue has an arm hooked through Reed’s. Ben walks a step behind with a cotton candy he swears is for a child and eats like it’s a personal enemy.

A sound under the street goes wrong. It is the kind of wrong that makes birds stop midair and turn. Johnny swears reflexively. Reed’s face goes still. Sue says Franklin in a tone that could hold a bridge.

The first boom lifts the corner of the block. The second makes an old brownstone sigh and then forget how to stand. A gas main—one of a thousand problems the city keeps putting off. Fire slithers up from a crack like a hand. People scream the way people do when noise is the only thing they can control.

“Field,” Reed says, and Sue is already pushing, humming with the effort of grabbing a building with invisible hands. “Ben—”

“On it,” Ben grunts, moving before his sentence finishes.

Johnny squeezes your fingers once—stay with me—and let's go to flame. It jumps off him like it’s been impatient for an excuse. He’s a bright streak over the mouth of the street, writing fire where it will choke oxygen before it can do worse.

Franklin’s small hand slips, because life is a comic strip gag until it isn’t. He ducks backward when someone barrels forward, trying not to be in anyone’s way, and now he is in everyone’s way. He looks so tiny on the museum steps you think your heart might decide this is the moment it finally refuses its job.

“Franklin!” Sue shouts. Her field throws a translucent shoulder into the crowd to slow it. He freezes like a kid who knows the right answer is to go still and wait for a grown-up.

Johnny is already diving. He can’t help it. He’s a magnet for the part of a disaster where someone is about to get erased. He shuts off heat as he goes so he doesn’t scorch, hits the steps running, scoops Franklin with a practiced one-handed scoop that says he has done this more times than anyone counted.

And then the brownstone gives like bread under a knife.

You don’t think. There is no corridor. There is love and momentum and a shape your body has learned, the shape it takes when it makes itself a door. You shoulder into the falling edge of the building and catch it on your palms and hear your bones complain at a frequency no one else can hear, the human parts of you holding up a mistake a century old. Heat pushes at your back, the wrong kind, old gas and dry wood and history. Johnny twists so Franklin’s head is under his chin, curls around the boy, trusts you without looking—like he always has, like he always will.

“Out!” you shout. Sue hears. Reed hears. The street hears, maybe. You take a step backward with the building on your hands and something in your chest unhooks from something else you always assumed would be there.

“Don’t you dare,” Johnny says, and it’s exactly the tone he used the first time you leaned over the edge of the roof to see if you could touch rain.

You take another step. Ben is suddenly there on your left shoulder, shoving at what you can’t see, swearing in a register that shakes a stop sign. Reed is at your right with a tool he didn’t have a minute ago, welding a beam to something that still thinks it’s a foundation so it will remember. Sue’s field is a net under everything, trembling.

You get Johnny and Franklin past the edge of shadow and throw the building backward like a man throws a punch when he knows it won’t win but might distract long enough for someone smaller to get away. You float for one bright second because your body still remembers how to do that. You see Johnny look up at you, mouth open like a prayer, Franklin’s fist tight in the fabric at his collar. You think about how soft the hair is at the back of Franklin’s head when he falls asleep on your lap. You think about the way Johnny says babe like he invented the word.

Then your chest becomes a house with no walls. The ground takes your legs out from under you. Johnny is there because he’s always there, but you’re already leaving. The edges of the world go soft, and then the middle does too.

“Auntie?” Franklin says, small and breaking. Johnny makes a sound you’ve never heard him make. Sue says your name like a field collapsing. Ben clears a path through people who already wanted to get out of the way and makes it bigger than it needs to be because he doesn’t know how not to overdo it when it’s you.

“Stay,” Johnny begs, voice raw. He has you in his arms and you’re ridiculous—your head lolling, your hands limp—because you are always the person who holds, not the person who gets held like this. “Baby, stay with me. I swear, I swear, I’ll—”

He does not finish the promise because even he knows that the only thing worth promising is the one you can’t.

The lab is a white box around the worst version of all the conversations you’ve been having. Reed has the chamber ready because he is a coward and a genius and prepared for the day the worst thing happens. Sue’s hands shake when she pulls your hair out of your face and they stop when she sees Franklin watching. Ben stands like a wall that refuses to let the room move.

“We need amplitude she cannot tolerate,” Reed says, and his voice is the thing that saves him from breaking. “We need duration you cannot hold—”

“I can hold it,” Johnny says. His eyes are fox-bright, red-rimmed, unforgiving. “I’ll hold it ’til sunrise if I have to.”

“Johnny,” Sue says, not big sister, not field commander, just a woman whose child watched someone he loves fold in half, “if you go down, I will not have the hands to hold them both.”

Ben steps in until his chest is to Johnny’s back and sets his hands where Johnny can feel them and not be offended. “I got you, matchstick. You go out, I’ll plant you like a fence post and you can keep doin’ your thing from the floor.”

Johnny laughs once, ugly and grateful.

They strap you in. You float in the part of a room where people decide. You stare at the lights not because they’re beautiful but because they are ordinary. Johnny steps into the ring that measures his heat like a song. He looks at you and the grin he gives you is a translation of don’t be afraid into a language you have always spoken together.

“Stay with me,” he says, and you are sick of how brave you have to be to answer, and you answer anyway. “Always,” you say.

Reed’s voice counts down. Sue’s hand is on your hair, steady, forgiveness already folded inside whatever comes next. Ben leans in and says some stupid joke about you owing him five bucks and you love him for making space.

Johnny lights.

It isn’t spectacle; it’s devotion. He holds a narrow band of heat so steady that the room hums sympathy. It scours his skin in the places where he can’t armor himself with flame, turns the edges of his hands into geography that will blister later, but he doesn’t wobble. He stares at the readout and at you and at nothing at all, jaw set, breath in a pattern you’ve felt under your hand a thousand times.

You move because you have been asked to live. Your body is a hallway with fragile glass on wantonly spaced shelves. The corridor is there if you treat it with respect. Your cells listen to Johnny’s pitch and choose repair over ruin. You can feel the choice like a tide going out. Pain arrives like a bill and then gets paid quickly by something other than you.

Halfway through, you make a sound you don’t plan, a small animal noise. Johnny’s hands twitch and don’t. Ben’s grip tightens on his shoulders until one day the bruise will surprise him in the mirror.

“Don’t stop,” you say. It’s barely sound. He nods like you shouted.

He doesn’t stop. He holds and holds and holds. There are tears in his eyes and he is not ashamed and he is not proud; he is busy. He is the boy who runs toward the thing everyone else runs away from, and he is the man who learned that sometimes running is staying.

The last minute is work. There are no metaphors. It is a pulley, a beam, a bolt, a steady hand, a stupid song Franklin likes, a stupid sticker on your chest, a promise into a forehead, a please please please said into a shirt. You are too tired to be moving and you are moving nonetheless. You are being saved and you are saving yourself and you are saving each other, which is the only way this ever works.

When it ends, everything fails quietly. Johnny’s light goes out like a good man closing a door behind him. The chamber sighs. The screens keep shouting until Reed acknowledges them with a laugh that has no humor and nothing but joy, the kind of joy that has to go through grief to get here.

“Repair indices are up,” he says, voice wrecked. “They’re up. The loop is—” He can’t finish. He doesn’t have to.

Sue makes a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. Ben lets his head fall forward onto Johnny’s shoulder, which would decapitate a lesser man. Johnny sways and then lets himself go; Ben lowers him by handfuls like he is something rare.

“Hi,” you say, because occupying the smallest word is the only thing that makes sense. Johnny crawls the last two feet on his knees and drops his forehead to your sternum and laughs into crying into please.

“You did it,” you tell him, and he shakes his head against you like it isn’t true or like it only is because you made it true first.

“We did it,” he whispers. He tips his head enough to look up, eyes ridiculous with relief and devotion and the specific kind of pride that doesn’t keep score. “I’m gonna be insufferably humble about this for at least fifteen minutes.”

“You’re burned,” you tell him. He shrugs, winces, grins.

“I’ve had worse at Coney Island,” he lies. Ben snorts so hard it rattles the bed.

They keep you, of course. Reed writes protocols and then writes protocols for the protocols because he is so grateful to have something to boss besides fate. Sue cries in the stairwell and then comes back and reads you half a chapter of a book about a woman on a boat who survives without being a metaphor. Ben teaches Franklin to shuffle cards without bending them; Franklin cheats by being adorable.

Johnny sleeps on a couch with his arm over his eyes and his bandages hanging loose and wakes every time you shift like he’s got a string tied from his ribs to your ankle. In the greenhouse at dawn, he lets you kiss the corner of his mouth while the plants pretend not to look. “I wanted to fix you like an engine,” he says, low. “With fire and hands and cussing. And when I couldn’t, I—” He taps his chest, right over where your palm fits. “I thought I’d break from not being able to do anything.”

“You didn’t do nothing,” you say. “You did everything.”

He nods, the kind of nod that means maybe he will forgive himself next week if you remind him. He slides his pinky around yours like you’re twelve. “Marry me,” he murmurs. It’s not a gesture; it’s not a kneel—it’s a pledge, his voice raw as first light.

“Yes,” you say, easy as a breath. “Soon.”

“Soon, babe,” he echoes, and you can hear the hours he wants to count and doesn’t.

Your first flight after feels like starting over. You don’t punch the sky. You raise your hands and let the air pick you up the way a current will when you step into a river and stop fighting. The corridor hums. Your body answers. You pay attention, and it pays you back.

On the roof, Reed pretends to look at his tablet but his mouth is trembling around a smile. Sue stands with her arms crossed, pretending not to be holding her breath. Ben chews on a bagel and mutters, “Don’t show off,” in the exact tone of a man begging you to. Franklin, in his dinosaur pajamas, waves a hand-lettered sign that says GO AUNTIE in slanted letters.

Johnny cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “That’s my girl!” like the whole city should hear. The jogger on the next block does, the pigeons scatter, and you laugh until your chest aches.

You land lighter than you left. Johnny catches you anyway, palms secure at your waist. He kisses your temple like he’s saying grace. “Proud of you,” he says into your hair. It lands all the way down your spine.

Franklin tugs your sleeve, eyes huge. “Do you have to save everybody every time?”

You crouch so you’re eye to eye. “No,” you tell him gently. “That’s why there’s four of them. Reed, Sue, Ben, and Johnny. They take turns.”

Franklin’s forehead scrunches. “But… what about you?”

You open your mouth, close it, and smooth his hair with a smile that hides more than it shows. “Me? I’m just here to help when I can.”

Before you can stand, Johnny drops into a crouch beside you, fire still faint in his eyes like it never really leaves. He laces his fingers through yours, stubborn and sure. “No, babe. Five. Always five. You’re ours.”

Franklin lights up, triumphant. “Six if you count me!”

Sue kisses his hair. “We absolutely count you.”

Ben rumbles, “Seven with Herbie, not that I wanna,” and somewhere in the building a small robot makes an offended beep.

You try to laugh, but your throat burns. Johnny just squeezes your hand tighter, like he’s daring you to argue. “All of us,” he murmurs, close enough that only you can hear it. “Always.”

You’ll never be exactly what you were the first day the sky said yes. You’re something better for having almost been lost. The corridor inside you hums—a path, not a prison. When you step into it, it feels like a promise you keep with yourself and with him.

You and Johnny start collecting ordinary. Groceries. Bad movies. A cheap rug that sheds and turns the apartment into a dog you don’t own. Arguments about pineapple on pizza (you: absolutely not; him: loudly yes so the delivery guy will judge him properly). A list on the fridge titled things we’ll do when we’re eighty that includes more jumping than is reasonable. Reed builds you a wearable that purrs when you’re within range and complains when you drift. Sue leaves tea where you’re about to be. Ben tells strangers at the deli that he saw you throw a building; Franklin corrects him: “She caught it.”

Sometimes a siren tricks your old instincts. Heat ghosts along your shoulder where Johnny isn’t touching you yet. He watches your face, calibrating, always ready to hold the pitch if you decide to go.

“You good?” he asks, soft.

You think of a boy with a glitter sign, a woman who held a street, a man who held a frequency until his own skin burned and refused to let go. You think of a lab with terrible lighting and the only miracle you believe in: people refusing to let each other fall.

“Yeah,” you say. Sometimes you add not this one. Sometimes you say I’ll take the next. Sometimes you say come with me. He always does.

On a spring evening that smells like wet concrete and new leaves, you take your small flight up. Johnny cups his hands and shouts, “That’s my girl!” Reed smiles into a coffee he claims is his last. Sue pretends to be unimpressed. Ben pretends not to cry. Franklin tucks his hand into yours on landing like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Stay with me,” Johnny whispers sometimes, for no reason at all.

“Always.” you answer, for every reason that matters.

The sky, which has learned to make room for you, does it again without charging extra. The city keeps its secrets and gives you just enough light to get home by. You and Johnny walk back to a life that is, against the odds and in defiance of every terrible statistic, yours. And when you sleep, your body hums not with a debt coming due but with the simple fact of surviving into morning—a song you don’t have to sing alone.

taglist: @starsanarchy @iliketoeatpaint @cpnsteverogers @spideywebss @inkedeye2345 @sidkneeeee

#spotify #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm #joseph quinn #fantastic four #johnny storm fanfic #f4 #fantastic four fanfiction #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn angst #joe quinn angst #johnny storm angst #johnny storm imagine

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facefullofsadness · 2 days ago

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a lover on the left, a sinner on the right

idol!au

idol best friend!sophia x student best friend!reader

prompt - does it mean anything that your best friend sophia would rather hangout with you on her weekend off of the busiest year of her life than her boyfriend?

content - smut (mutually desperate and messy sex, a lot of switching back and forth, a lot of licking, biting, and kissing various areas, bit of dry humping, a lot of dirty talk, scissoring, squirting multiple times, multiple rounds/orgasms, cunnilingus, face riding), cheating!, reader is also filo/a little tagalog for fun, like one line of tagalog dirty talk (HUY PHILIPP-), mutual (pathetic) pining, both think each other's bfs are dogshit, happy ending though lol, warning: mentions of men and boyfriends *gags*

wc - 5740

a/n - haaaaiiii!!! a mf is really back wow and it's about someone I haven't written about before slaaayyyy! so I've been wanting to write sophia literally for the entire year but bc circumstances I couldn't, then I read a fanfic where this song was like accompanied by it and then it inspired me to finally write for soph so here ya gaur <3 I'm so happy to be back, literally wrote so much without thinking bc I have all this creativity and imagination pent up in my horny ass head goddamn

- honestly I kinda wish this had more spicy stakes/tension bc of the vibes of the song (almost like the nightclub!giselle fic) hm but maybe next time

I don't remember the last time I had any free time.

it had to have been months at this point. summer vacation just passed but even then, I was still busy with my summer classes that I for some reason decided to say yes to taking, so to say that I didn't even have a "vacation" of a summer at all. sophia isn't any different, katseye has been booked and busy ever since gnarly, it only made sense why she was so busy. god do I miss her though. even if she did have a sliver of free time, it went to her and her crusty ass boyfriend.

I roll my eyes even thinking about them hanging out before my own boyfriend comes up behind me, making me jolt out of my wandering mind of thoughts I shouldn't be thinking. sophia is just way too good for that boring ass man. like who does he think he is? existing in the same proximity as my best friend, arguably (not, I know I'm right) the most stunning woman to ever exist-

"earth to y/n? you still on the same planet, silly?" my boyfriend's voice finally snaps me out completely.

I blink twice before spinning around in my chair and looking up at him, his awkward grin offering it's presence in an attempt to make me feel better. it doesn't really.

"yeah yeah, sorry my bad. I don't know, just stuff 'm thinking about, nothing to fret," I sigh, shoulders slumped as I try to swivel back to my desk.

he stops my spin to face the chair towards him, his build towering over me, "I think you need to stop thinking and start resting. I mean all you do is work, why don't we go out? maybe watch a movie on the couch? get some lunch? play some games? we never finished playing overcooked!"

the genuine worry and concern spreads across his kind face, but I feel close to nothing. the more I look at him, the more I'd rather return to working.

"no, I have like four more assignments I have to work on before the weekend, I have no time to spare. besides, not feeling food nor movies," conveniently leaving out that I stopped playing the game with him because sophia laid claim on playing the rest with me.

he frowns, placing a hand on my cheek and turning my face towards his. I try my best to hide a scowl, failing to avoid looking indifferent, "baby, you've been working too much. you got to take care of yourself."

before he leans in to peck my cheek, I spin around, "I'm really just fine, why don't you go hangout with your friends instead? I'm more productive when I'm alone anyway."

I really couldn't hide how much I didn't care, could I?

don't get me wrong, he's a good guy, I just don't really care for him, not anymore. my boyfriend just doesn't really do it for me anymore, but I keep him around because the distraction of empty company can sometimes be helpful for when I don't wanna think about anything too much. I'd much rather see my bestie again.

I feel him get up and hear his sigh accompanied by footsteps towards my door, "I can come back later with food to see you before I leave for the weekend."

I hum in response and he already knows what it means. he sighs one more time before leaving, hearing the front door of my apartment close, leaving me alone for the next few days. I start to space out, looking out of my window and watching him walk to his car, hands running through his hair and dropping to his sides, a familiar sight. no matter how many times I see him walk off in this manner, the repeated action fails to make me feel anything but indifferent. poor guy I mumble to myself as if it weren't my own boyfriend speeding off.

shrugging, I continue to work on the assignments ready to be completed for the week. truthfully, it wasn't too much. sure the number of assignments were quite high, but the difficulty made them easy tasks, so finishing this by the end of today meant a free weekend for me, finally. for the first time in a while, I excitedly scribbled away into my notebook.

a good three or four hours into my grind session as the sun set over the horizon, golden light shining through my room, my phone buzzed. I knew it wasn't my boyfriend, I had him muted. curiously, I pick up my phone.

kababayan

- y/n?

- i miss you!

- wyd?

a smile very easily crawls its way across my lips, leaning on my elbows against my desk and happily responding.

- sophhhhhh!!!

- omg imysm too

- currently working on some school stuff

- hbu? hru?

kababayan

- ew, sounds rough

- mmm i think I'm alr

- tired from work omg

- buuuuuuuuuuttttt heheheheh

- I have a break for the weekend!

- are u busy? do u wanna hang?

I perk up almost too quickly at the question that I didn't think she would pop.

- WAIT FR

- FUCK YEAH IM FREE

- PLS SAVE ME FROM HW I LITERALLY CANT KEEP DOING THIS

kababayan

- sige ah heheheh (okay then)

- pweding mamaya? (how about later?)

- oo naman (yeah sure)

I bite my lip before asking.

- what ab ur bf?

- if you have free time, wouldn't u hang out w him?

- miss mo na ba talaga ako? heh (do you really miss me that much?)

kababayan

- lolol, maybe but ur ego doesn't need to be that inflated so 🤐

- pero wala lang, gusto ko lang kitang makita (but idk, I just wanna see you)

- crime ba yan? (is that a crime?)

- that I wanna see me bestie that bad?

- akala ko ayaw mong palakihin ang ego ko (I thought you didn't wanna inflate my ego)

- but no, be my guest soph

- visit me

the statement was more of a command than invitation, maybe even a dare.

kababayan

- i missed how demanding you were

- my little miss bossy

- I'll be there

- now finish ur hw

- so ur focus is only on me

I stared at the last message for a little too long, gulping down the growing anticipation in my throat. like a little puppy did I obey and continue working only about five times faster than I already had been. listen, I miss my bestie, that's all. again, is it a crime to miss her that much? she even chose me over her boyfriend...

I tap my fingers against my lip thinking about it, the letters on that little ass screen saying how see wants to see me that bad. that bad, huh? she wants to see me that bad. a shiver runs down my spine as I keep thinking about the things she said. she misses me bad... she misses how demanding I was?... her little miss bossy... god, what am I thinking?

I was on the couch scrolling on my phone when she knocked. it was faint which was strange because she already knows the code to the house, but I get up and answer anyway, just knowing it was sophia. low and behold there she stood, in some cute white matching hoodie and sweats, a basket of goods being carried in her arms. her bright smile blinds me as she steps inside and holds out the basket excitedly.

"y/nnie, I put this together for you!" sophia exclaims, holding out the assortment of snacks and drinks for us to share tonight.

the glint in her eyes are constant as she walks past me and places it on the kitchen island. I stand there with a quickened heart beating out of my chest at the sweetest gesture ever. he's never done that.

she turns with enthusiasm, grabbing my hands and throwing my arms around her waist, enveloping me in the warmest embrace, her scent filling my nose immediately, melting into her. her arms are so familiar, so comforting, so missed. I bury my face into her hoodie even more than I thought I physically could, and it's welcomed by the vibration of a hum on her chest, warming me even more.

"soph..." my voice comes out muffled against her hold.

she hums again, feeling her smile against me, "missed you too."

the gentleness of her tone makes me blush, hiding it from view against her flowery-scented skin. a chill's sent down my spine at the feeling of her lips trailing my neck, the gloss sticking to my skin. I clear my throat and release myself from her embrace, looking into the glint that never left her eyes for a second.

I break out of my trance, rolling my eyes and shoving her gently, "about fucking time! alam ko busy ka pero damn, couldn't visit me once? (I know that you're busy~)"

the smirk that spreads across her lips forces me to look away from her, "and how about you huh? you couldn't come watch a single show of ours? you know na miss ko din kita ah (I missed you too), I've been wanting to see you for so long."

I chuckle, "well, we're here now soph, I'm glad you're here."

I go towards the basket of goods, eyes sorting through snacks from the various countries she had been to in the past few months, pinpointing some of my favorite ones and ones I had mentioned in the past before.

"this though?" I gesture towards the basket, my hand resting on the handle, "this is so incredibly sweet, it's almost sickening."

sophia comes up behind me, leaning against the counter, "well what can I say y/n, I love you!"

her tone was soft and a little too sincere as those glinting eyes demand my attention.

"I love you too, you big softie," I flash her a genuine smile. I hadn't felt this loved and heard ever, especially not from him. it made my heart warm, a feeling I'm familiar with when I'm with sophia, but it was almost as if the affection was burningly hot inside.

she giggles with her honey-like voice before grabbing the basket and skipping to the couch, "well enough talking, let's start!"

"bro, that motherfucker wants her baaadddd," I say, watching the camera zoom in slowly on cady's face as regina sings in the background. yeah whatever we decided to watch the mean girls musical, I wanted to hear reneé rapp sing.

"no literally like that bitch just discovered what being attracted to women is," sophia chimes in, dried mango between her fingers motioning towards the television, "to be fair, if I were cady, I'd also fall in love with regina here. she's serenading me and she's hot, like how could you not?"

I nod, sipping on an arizona tea, "that's exactly my point! like you can't convince me she wanted aaron in the first place, bro was fucking crusty! it's like regina... aaron..." I hold my hands out like a scale, weighing the two characters and how obviously more attractive the former is, absolutely zero competition.

"why are they even fighting over a man? just make out, it'll solve everything," sophia rolls her eyes, leaning back against the couch as I join her side.

"mm, heard sister."

she chuckles, "you say that like you have personal experience with it."

I side eye her, "girl, you act like you don't know shit about my entire life."

she holds her hands up, "hey, we've been apart for practically the entire year, maybe there's new developments in the story that I haven't caught up on!"

"the only thing you need to know is that I stopped playing overcooked with my boyfriend for you and you had the audacity to play with yoonchae! on stream!"

sophia covers her face and starts laughing, hiding her guilt, "oh my god wait! no wait listen! she was really excited to play! I chose one of the maps that we had already finished because I knew we were gonna play it together instead!"

"oh you're such a dirty little liar laforteza, just admit you hate me and you're a traitor and you completely betrayed me and you want me dead," I ramble and finish with a huff, crossing my arms and turning away from her.

she whines and tugs at my arms, "y/nnieeeeee, nooooo stoppppp, don't misunderstand! I would never betray you!"

I slap her hand away, "I can't believe you would possibly betray your motherland ally like this, where's the solidarity? so unbelievable."

the sarcasm is thick in my voice and my exaggerated demeanor makes her double-over laughing sweetly next to my ear, "mahal kooooo, halika ditoooo (my love, come here)!!"

"tanga ka talaga beh, hay nako (you really are stupid girl, oh my god)," I laugh, falling into her arms as she pulls me in.

"but you love meeee," her voice sing-songy.

"can't believe I'm beefing with a child who barely knows english," I roll my eyes.

she laughs back, "you know no one can compete with you."

"yeah right, I have to compete with your lame ass boyfriend for time you barely have," I admit, the truth I've been keeping in slipping out easily.

an amused expression emerges on sophia's face, "oh? is that jealousy from l/n I hear?"

I scoot out of her grip and sit next to her, "oh please, jealousy? I'm just saying the truth."

her smug grin stays planted on her lips, "about what? that my boyfriend takes up the precious time I could be spending with you?"

"something like that," I respond nonchalantly.

"to be fair, so does your boyfriend. I'm lucky when you're not busy either burying yourself in work or slumming it with... him." her voice fails to mask the twinge of disgust lingering in the way she mentions my boyfriend.

"pffhhh, now what are you saying? yapping as if your boyfriend deserves that much time you put into him," I say then mumble, "he doesn't deserve that."

she perks up at your latter response, "what was that?"

I turn my head in her direction before letting go.

"no because it's true, your boyfriend doesn't deserve you soph," I finally let out, telling her the truth, "I have been trying soooo hard to shut up about it and not tell you but the truth is, he's trash and you deserve so much better."

there's an unreadable expression on her face as she listens and processes the words uncontrollably spilling from my mouth, staring at me with eyes so intense, it makes me want to melt into the couch. then, a smirk, a soft chuckle, and a head tilt.

"how long have you been keeping that in for, y/n?" she asks, a playful but curious tone to her silky smooth voice.

"forever, he's garbage and you know it too, just had to finally say it if you weren't gonna admit it ever," I keep my cool, responding simply.

"why do you think that?" she prods further.

I hold up my hand and start counting my fingers, "he can't even do the bare minimum for you, he is always on your case even though he knows you're busy, or even worse, he doesn't know you're busy even though you tell him because he doesn't listen, he's also giving fug by the way I'm just saying-"

her smirk widens as she interrupts, "then why haven't you told me? I thought as my best friend you would be able to tell me if I made 'bad decisions.'" she gestures with her fingers.

"because I mean I didn't wanna intrude on your relationship choices, even though they're bad," I mumble the last part, "I'm only telling you now because you don't even seem happy. also this fuck ass movie is reminding me why men..." I shiver even saying that word.

sophia's laughter comes out in a sudden burst at my reaction, "you know y/n, you say all those things as if your boyfriend is any better. do you know just how exponentially greater than him you are? he's lucky to even be around you and know of your existence, let alone be your boyfriend, my god."

I raise my eyebrow at her, "oh really now? and why have you waited this long to tell me that?"

"same reasons," she shrugs, "also because it's really painfully obvious how much you don't like him anymore, almost as if you never did."

I let out a chuckle, amused by her (shockingly correct) accusation, "you seem so sure, almost like as my best friend you allowed me to 'make a bad decision'." I copy her words.

her smirk widens and that glint in her eye that usually is filled with love and admiration turns dark, "maybe I was just waiting for the right opportunity for when you'd actually accept it as fact finally and stop living in your little lie."

"you think I'm lying?" I ask, lying.

"I know you are y/n," she firmly states.

"and what makes you 'know' that?" I face fully towards her, locking onto each other's gaze, eyes both full of intensity.

she takes a deep breath, almost fighting the resistance and hesitancy to admit the truth, "because I am too."

I blink slowly, "...about?"

she bites her lip and almost inaudibly whispers, "my boyfriend."

I let my tongue trace my teeth to think, feeling her eyes follow its' movement, "in what way, sophia?"

the question, a dare, "do you think if I loved my boyfriend I would've chose to hangout with you all weekend instead of him?"

a question in response, disguised as a confession.

"you said your boyfriend was gone all weekend too. if you loved him, you would've wanted him to stay here all day before leaving, but you're alone... with me," the words roll off her tongue matter-of-factly.

"maybe I just wanted to be alone," I whisper in response.

"with me," her voice drops with rasp scratching my ears, reiterating what she once stated.

my eyes start to burn from keeping them open too long, unmoving, locked onto sophia's just-as-intense unwavering stare.

"that's just a coincidence," I joke, smile tugging at my lips.

but her face stays the same. it's serious, intense. her eyes trail my face like a predator assessing their prey.

"is that so?" sophia asks the question is if to lay a trap, watching carefully to see if I take the bait.

"what does it matter if neither of us love our boyfriends?" I ask genuinely, even though I know what my answer is.

I only realize how close we are when I feel her hot breath ghost my lips, "because we both know that it's not our boyfriends we want."

a chill runs across every inch of my body, "then what is it, hm sophia?"

her eyes lay on my lips, licking her own deeply pink glossy ones, "to show each other how badly we deserve better."

I swallow down my nervousness, tension creeping up my throat, "and how exactly would we do that?"

my response is carefully quiet, like if I were any louder, the moment would end.

but instead of the dark-haired girl opening her mouth again, she swiftly moves forward and captures my lips. I reciprocate the desperate urgency in the movement of sophia's lips, molding my mouth against hers as if I had to. her hand clasps my nape, pulling me into her as I grasp at her hoodie, digging my fingers into the material. heavy hot breathing mixes with desperation as our holds tighten on each other, pushing her back against the pillows of the warm couch, settling my body on top of her.

our legs intertwine like fingers, knees slotting themselves against clothed centers that heat up our bodies as they climb all over our eager movements. the noises that escape sophia's throat make my head dizzy as I whimper in response, my sounds vibrating against her lips, opening them and sliding my tongue into her mouth, those noises from the girl under me only increasing in volume and desire. our tongues harmoniously dance with one another as our hands hungrily and messily explore skin, my hands finding the hem of her hoodie and pulling it up her body to take off, her fingers working to unbutton my pajama top.

the kiss breaks in the process and we pant against each other's bruised red lips, eyes memorizing the lust and want painted on the opposite's face. my lips ache to find her skin, shoving them against her warm neck, the scent of fresh flowers assaulting my senses. the feeling of her fingers lacing through my hair to pull me in fuels my urge to savor sophia's everything, my tongue swiping against the milky skin.

"he doesn't deserve you soph," I breath onto her throat, feeling the woman under me shudder in response, "you're a goddess that deserves to be worshipped."

my mouth trails across her clavicle, tracing the bone and covering it with more of my marks. the wet kisses travel around her bra, spreading across her toned abdomen.

"who... who do I- I deserve?" sophia pants between uncontrollable groans of pleasure.

I look up at her from her stomach, her eyes meeting mine, "me. I'll worship you."

the response makes her release an eye rolling moan, her head falling back against the head of the sofa. the taste of her skin intoxicates me, filling my brain with pure addiction. I feel her hand find my cheek as it slips to my neck, wrapping around my throat and pulling me up to pin me down. she crawls over my body, a sheen layer of sweat glistening across her body and face, disheveled bangs sticking to her forehead, eyes burning into my figure with blown pupils consumed by pure thirst, tracing every inch of my exposed chest.

she hovers over me with a heaving chest, face pink with heat, "I'll show you what you deserve."

she almost snarls before colliding her lips with mine once again with an almost aggressive pressure, enough to bruise my lips with a pure deep red imprint of desire. I'm engrossed with the sensation of the hungry girl's mouth savoring the flavor of my kiss when I feel her slender fingers drag up and down my sides, gripping them with intention, moving them to cover my tits. her hands palm my nipples in circles before using her fingers to replace them, her soft fingertips pinching the hardened buds of my chest. the shock pulls me away from her lips, moaning into the hot air emanating around us, her fingers continuing their slowly sensual discovery of the reactions to her touch on my body.

"s-soph..." I breath out next to her ear, making her groan at the sound and feeling.

"yeah? you like that? feels good?" she pants in response, her voice pitched high but heavy with an eagerness to please.

her thumbs flick at the hard nubs, nails slightly scratching at the surrounding areola, my hands clinging to her shoulders for support. her mouth finds my jaw, painting the skin with possessive pecks, her tongue taking in the taste of my being.

"this, this, this..." she mumbles onto my skin between kisses, "should only be mine."

"you should..." sophia suddenly bites down onto my shoulder and interrupts herself, making me yelp out in pain and pleasure as my fingers lace through her hair, "you are mine."

I don't dare speak for fear noises out of my control will easily spill from my throat, responding only with a mindless and truthful nod. instead, I push her off and she sits up again, leaning against the pillow-y backing. I undo her sweats as she kicks them off, ridding myself of my own shorts too before straddling her lap.

"this, sophia," I trail a lick down her chest, flipping up her bra before sucking the painfully hardened nipple, "this, this, this..."

licking, sucking, biting between every word, "it's all yours."

her melodious whines of pleasure make me grind down against the other girl's drenched panties, her hips reciprocating the friction and chase for stimulation. the room fills with wet sucking, pathetic whimpering, and "someone gets hurt" playing on the screen of the living room, though the only sounds that matter to me are the ones coming from the girl melting under my fingers.

"break up with him, y/n."

the breathy pant interjected with a moan processes in my brain, the statement being a given for me.

"break up with him, sophia," is what I say to her, gripping her thigh and lifting it over my leg, intertwining our legs to meet our centers.

I slide our panties to the side, pulling her forward until our lips kiss one another, sloppily sliding against each other with an unfathomable amount of slick, the heavenly clash resulting in the most sinful of moans. curses are chanted against sensitive ears and hands are grasping onto skin as if lives depended on it, the pleasure too immense that words fail to comprehensibly emerge from either mouth. every bump of her clit against mine ignites a ripple through my body, climbing up and down my spine, just to repeat with the next thrust of our hips. my hands are on sophia's neck, thumbs pressing against her throat as her fingers dig crescent-shaped marks into my hips, guiding my figure to move rhythmically against hers.

"this," emphasis layered with thick depth in her voice, "this is what we deserve."

the intensity of our desperation rages harder, hips moving faster, pants getting louder, incomprehensible blabbering getting weaker, urge to explode in pleasure growing stronger. I open my eyes to look into the angel gripping my body for dear life, her stare reciprocating and locking onto mine. I see my reflection in her eyes, a mixture of lust, desire, and admiration swirling in the dilated pupils of the brown-eyed goddess. her eyes brim with tears, cheeks red with blood, her forehead covered in sweat and hair, veins bulging from her neck as the tension continues to build exponentially in both of our stomachs.

"prove it," I grunt, "show it to me. give it to me."

with that, sophia's eyes fail to maintain contact with mine, falling backwards as her head follows, her mouth swings open with an orgasmic cry, digits stinging my skin, her pussy covering mine with a gush of cum, triggering my own release. my vision burns white, the knot in stomach untangling forcefully as a sinful screech of other-worldly pleasure explodes from my core, exchanging nectar with the woman clinging to my frame. the need to stop fucking ceases to exist, fear, or something of the sort, evident in our actions, unwilling to relinquish each other, rejecting the possibility of something so so delicious to end.

and so it doesn't, sophia weakly throwing my body down, back bouncing against the plush cushion. my legs are separated and my panties disappear from under me, her evermore greedy tongue indulging the taste of my essence. the onslaught of skillful swirling against my clit is blindingly pleasurable, my hands clawing at the sofa and sophia in a failed effort to ground myself, even just a little bit.

"ang sarap ka, fuck y/n. 'di ko makatigil (you're delicious~ I can't stop)..." she mutters against my pussy lips, allowing the intrusion of her tongue inside to lick the walls of my cunt.

"god soph, don't stop, please," the desperation is thick in my voice, it surprises even me.

she doesn't stop, but instead moans into my hole, sending the vibration across my body, "I've needed to taste all of you for far too long... this is heavenly... you are heaven."

the volume of my sopping cunt clashing with her eager tongue possess my senses, her lips wrapping around to suck my clit making my body convulse with stimulation. the feeling is so overwhelming but I don't want a single second without it, and sophia can sense that as she hums against it again. her moans reverberate on my pussy, my pleasure spreading to her, wet pussy leaking onto the couch already covered in sweat and desire. the way she groans, her eyes glossed over with sin, eyebrows furrowed with focus, hips pushing back against air, I know she's benefiting more than I am.

I immediately put the thought up for debate when her tongue hits the spot in me that make my ears ring, "god sophia! holy fuck!"

the exclamation encourages her to continue in the same manner, hitting it over and over again, curling her tongue up against it. my hands search for hers gripping my thighs, grabbing them into my own and intertwining our fingers for support, my cries making her thumbs rub against my skin for the slightest ounce of comfort she could provide. the reassurance makes me relax into the orgasmic sensation, taking every bit of energy from me to force my eyes open and look down at her. she stares back up at me, mouth full of pussy and cum, a mess on her nose, her gaze telling me to just let go, and so I do.

the release hits me like a meteor, squirting all over the girl's face as she welcomes the waterfall of juice to cover her, my grip on her hands tightening almost much too painfully for the soft-skinned princess holding me, back arching perfectly just for the brown-eyed beauty to witness. I ride the wave of my high, sophia's tongue kinder but still moving for assistance. she cleans my folds with her mouth, drinking down all the drops she doesn't dare miss out on.

I pull her up by her hands, the sudden movement startling the girl thoroughly enjoying her place between my thighs, dragging her up to meet my lips and tasting the cocktail of our physical desire.

"sit on my face," my whisper ghosts her numb lips and it doesn't take long for her to follow the command.

I close and open my eyes as I'm met with a glistening pussy, sweet glaze seeping out her entrance and trickling down the juicy thighs of the goddess hovering my expectant mouth. she lowers herself onto my tongue, hands still intertwined as she yelps, feeling her hot clit touch my pathetically prepared muscle. the taste that envelops my tongue immediately sends my eyes rolling back into my head, the scent combined with the flavor creating an explosion of delectable bliss, needing to savor every single bit of nectar running down my throat. sophia starts to grind down as if she were in heat, chasing after the orgasm that she needs to catch, my tongue and face serving as her ride to the finish.

her thighs and irresistible pussy suffocate me as my head gradually becomes lighter, not that it mattered considering how insatiable my everything is for her entire existence. my name falls out of her mouth repeatedly in aching chants, insanity dominating my brain due to her intoxicating movements. it doesn't take long for the rhythmic grinding to become unsteady and feral bouncing, her hips guiding themselves to ride my face, letting her take control and allowing sophia to use me how she wants, how she needs.

"mine, mine, mine, mine..." she chants, interchanging her claim of me with my name.

yours, yours, yours, I reply to her in my mind that is actively losing consciousness. with a final pathetic bounce, her back arches and her thighs clench around my head, her fingernails dig into the back of my hands and she screams loud enough to loop the universe. an expected and very welcome rush of pure liquid gold fills my mouth and satiates my thirst, swallowing everything sophia feeds me, sucking the honey out of the hole that coats my tongue. the hips that once craved release slow, coming to a complete stop before letting go of my hands and collapsing onto her arms over me, shaking with weakness.

her breathing is unsteady and so is her heart rate, pounding against my ear as I pull her down to lay on top of me. she shudders with the after effects that travel up and down her spine, but I grab the blanket that mindlessly fell on the floor, covering the both of us in it. our sweaty bodies gasp for oxygen, completely winded and out-of-it. her heartbeat syncs with mine as they slow down together, beating as one, our breathing connected as well.

"whole weekend, huh?" sophia's the first to break the silence, albeit very softly.

"if I break up with him, no," it's almost a whisper but I say it louder when I feel her slightly stiffen, "it'd be much longer than that."

as the lame version of mean girls comes to a finish on screen, I feel the idol in my arms relax, lips on my skin upturning into a sneaky smile. good, I feel her mouth against my neck before her whole body falls limp and her deep breathing tickles me. the world turns darker as I join the woman by my side.

my body's sore when I wake, but sophia's not by my side. the early morning light shines through the curtains of the living room as it illuminates gold. the faint sound of my best friend's voice is heard outside, the beautiful outline of the girl standing on the balcony, sliding door slightly ajar. I flip myself off the couch and throw on her hoodie, long enough to cover my worked core. the voice gets louder as I approach, the woman wearing my pajamas, heh how cute.

"... not gonna work anymore," her voice becomes intelligible.

the other end of the phone she holds in her pinkish hands gets rowdy, a male voice resisting with frustration and confusion.

sophia responds with indifference as I finally peak through the door, "I never even loved you, I'm realizing that now."

she turns to the sounds of the soft squeak of the door, the smallest smile creeping on her face, "besides, it was never gonna be you."

she doesn't allow him to finish, hanging up and happily making her way closer. she loops her fingers around the hoodie strings, "your turn."

so it is.

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