Hey y’all , this is Dudette in here. I’m 23 Years of Age and I just like to try writing and drawing sometimes. Y’all might see a lot of authors notes about me criticizing my own work but uh — yeah, that’s normal so ignore it lol.
Extra Stuff To Know
So , this is the only writing tumblr blog I have but I might post some of my things — on my AO3 and Quotev — maybe. Where I also write in.
I have a new blog [2025/Feb] where I just draw and doodle. It's name is bxdudette.
I have a Kofi as well as a side hustle lol.
I’m a slow person in general so do excuse the lack of stuff in here. I’m also barely getting back into writing so excuse my rusty works.
Sometimes I write so much I forget to cut it into a second chapter or even stop at all.
I only write female readers. Sorry about that but that’s just what I’m more comfortable writing as in here.
This is +18 blog that is run by someone over 18. With that said, Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out that you are a minor I will block you. Sorry for being mean.
I’ll be giving each genre a symbol, smut will be [ ⚠︎︎ ] whilst fluffy stuff holds the [ ☁︎︎ ] and angst holds a [ ↯ ] while suggestive is [ ☕︎︎ ]
MASTERLIST OF MASTERLISTS WITH MASTERLISTS AND MORE MASTERLISTS
Summary: Over your four years working for Reed Richards, you'd given yourself one job: you can be his friend, but don't fall for Johnny Storm's charms. Too bad you had already failed that mission before it could even begin.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, SMUT (making out, unprotected sex, p in v, nipple play, oral f. receiving, temperature play, creampie, aftercare), porn with a LOT of plot, slight hint of some angst, fluff, friends to lovers, Johnny is a massive flirt, mutual pining, SPOILERS! for The Fantastic Four: First Steps, female reader but no characteristics described, mentions of parental loss, maybe some incorrect stuff regarding the 60s and how it worked but it's a fantasy world, lightly edited so apologies for any mistakes
Word Count: 17,433 words
Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here
READ PART 2: The Wonder of Him : ̗̀➛ Johnny Storm x Reader
“We need to adjust the parameters for this. There’s a few more levels that I want to adjust, to ensure that we’ve scanned the baby for all possible anomalies,”
Years ago, when you had miraculously been offered the position as Dr. Reed Richards assistant, it was a dream come true. The smartest man alive, holding 18 Doctorate degrees himself, choosing you out of the thousands of applicants to be his assistant was a ‘pinch me’ moment. Of course, he didn’t want an assistant, it was thrust upon him by his wife, but you liked to think after all this time you’d wormed your way into his heart.
Working with Reed…was something else entirely. It was a learning curve, understanding just how the man’s brain worked. Even to this day, you weren’t sure you understood it. Even when things went perfectly, when test runs on prototypes worked out better than you could’ve ever imagined, Reed was never satisfied. Something could always be better, be improved, as if his brain was factoring in the hundreds of thousands of possibilities that could occur and alter your data. You made it work, though–with patience and understanding–you managed to find the best way to work around Reed’s faults and work with him, to support him.
What was supposed to be just a job in the Baxter Building became so much more. Through it, you gained a family you never thought quite possible.
Reed’s wife, Susan Storm, was another one of the brightest minds that you had ever encountered. Kind, compassionate, but fiercely loyal and unafraid to step up to the plate when a challenge arrived, when the people she loved were threatened. You admired her and everything she stood for, the way she carried herself day in and day out. And since the day you had arrived at the Baxter Building, she welcomed you with open arms, as if you had always been part of the family.
Ben Grimm was the most talented pilot you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. The perfect counter to Reed and his panicky mind at times, having known the man long enough to understand his quirks in a way you could only hope to. Ben was always kind, always open, always ready to lend a hand or be a shoulder for anyone that needed to listen.
Johnny Storm…was the bane of your existence, in the best way.
“Wrong address, sweetheart. The modeling agency is two blocks down. I could escort you over there, if you’d like?”
Those were the first words the hot-headed younger brother of Sue Storm had said to you, passing by you in the lobby of the building on your first day, a wink thrown in for good measure when he’d spoken.
Having followed Dr. Richards' work long enough, which meant knowing bits about his personal life, you were well aware of the reputation that Johnny Storm carried. The papers and magazines, talk shows and gossip blogs, all called him a playboy simply because he’d never been in a long-term relationship but was still a ladies man. You never saw him like that, though. All you saw was a brilliant guy, a lover of space, even if that passion of his was sometimes overlooked because of his ‘love for women’.
And, oh, how you wished his empty, blatant flirting with you didn’t bring a blush to your cheeks every time, or make your heart skip a beat, but it did. Every single time, it did. You weren’t blind: Johnny Storm was objectively handsome and much too charming for his own good, and you decided right then and there that you would use every ounce of your willpower to ignore his empty flirts. You didn’t need to become another girl hopelessly in love with the heartthrob of the Fantastic Four, even if your heart ached when you saw him with anyone else.
Those four had become important to you in ways that you would never be able to describe, but Sue always described it best: a family.
That’s why when four of the closest people to you in life went up into space for Reed’s exploration mission, and came back cosmically changed forever, you never left their sides. They were your family, and family stuck together, no matter what.
“Reed,” your comment was cautious, hands stilling at your work station in the lab of the Baxter Building. Glancing over your shoulder, Reed was hunched over the machine he’d built in just a day, specifically to monitor the health of the baby growing inside of Sue’s stomach, as Herbie rocked back and forth beside him. “You’ve scanned Sue a thousand times at this point-”
“That’s an exaggeration. I’ve scanned her 123 times-”
“That’s not the point,” he glanced over at you then, looking away the second he saw the pointed look you were throwing at him. With a sigh, you abandoned your work, leaning back against the table behind you to watch him fret over the device. “We have run every test possible, scanned for every data point that links back to the fluctuations in your DNA from the cosmic rays we noted years ago, and we’ve gotten nothing. Your baby is okay.”
“There are still more tests to run,”
Another sigh escaped past your lips, and you allowed yourself to hang your head with a shake.
Since the moment Sue had announced her pregnancy, he’d been like this: even more on edge than usual. Baby-proofing the kitchen, smoke detectors in every single room and hallway, baby gates around every corner, it was getting insufferable. A sweet gesture, overall, and a testament to how much he loved and adored Sue, but exhausting to everyone else that had to be in his presence.
“Fine, but I’m not breaking the news to Sue that you want to scan her…again,”
“I already told her to meet me down here before dinner for another scan. We can adjust the parameters tomorrow. I want another data set from today’s scan at the current parameters to compare the changes with,” Reed never looked in your direction, still fiddling with the machine in front of him. “You’re staying for dinner, yes?”
“I’m making it,” was the response you shot back to him, powering down your workstation in the lab and rising from your chair, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Apparently Sue has been craving spaghetti, and requested my family recipe.”
“You can’t argue with a pregnant woman,” Reed muttered, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still never looked up. “I’ll see you up there for dinner, then. There’s a few more tests that I want to run.”
“You also have a meeting at 5:45 and one at 6:15,” you shot back to him as you turned to leave the lab, checking the desk calendar lying beside your work station. There was a hum from the man, the smallest acknowledgement you were going to get, so you set your sights on Herbie and waved him forward. “Come on, Herb. An extra hand in the kitchen is always nice.”
As much as you thought of the Fantastic Four as your family, you never stayed for dinner often. You always tried your hardest to uphold the lines between your work life and personal life, not wanting to blur them completely (though, you were sure you had already blurred them enough for it to be too late). There had been plenty of times over the years where you’d stayed for dinner, usually once a month at this rate.
Sue always invited you, and you never wanted to disappoint her, and you gave in often. Ben had a way of wrangling you into saying yes before you were ever given the chance to speak at all. Reed had only asked once, asking you to stay back for the dinner months ago in which they announced to you that Sue was pregnant.
Johnny asked every day. You said no, most of the time, but when you did stay for dinner it was usually because those captivating, bright blue eyes were staring into your soul and pleading with you to stay.
Speak of the devil: there he sat at the dining room table. Clad in a white t-shirt with their logo resting over the pocket and the blue pants of his suit, a weird sight given that you had been in the lab with Reed all day and didn’t think any of them had left to attend to any ‘hero’ work.
You didn’t say a word as you strolled past him into the kitchen with Herbie on your heels, simply plucking the box of Lucky Charms from his hands as you swooped past. It was impossible not to smile to yourself at the scoff of indignation he let out at your actions.
“Hey-!”
“You’re going to spoil your appetite,” you shot back at him, throwing him a smirk over your shoulder before slotting the now closed cereal box into the cupboard where it usually sat.
Herbie beeped out a set of beeps that, over the years, you had come to understand. This time, he was agreeing with you, pointing out some facts about how eating out of the box lacked moderation, and would in turn actually spoil his appetite. You gave the little robot a fist bump for that, something that Johnny shot the little helper a glare for.
“Come on, Herbert, you’re supposed to take my side on these things!” There was no real malice in his words as he got up from the dining room table, rounding into the kitchen as you took the pots and pans that Herbie had gathered for you, setting them out along the counter where you needed them. “Baby, you didn’t tell me you were staying for dinner.”
When you told yourself that you weren’t going to fall into the trap that was the charming and charismatic Johnny Storm, you weren’t prepared for two things.
One: when he got comfortable around someone, he could be an even bigger flirt. Pet names were constant. Baby, sweetheart, honey, doll, love…you name it, Johnny called you it. Constantly. So constantly you were sure the blush on your cheeks was a permanent staple. He’d even once called you his little flame–that had been met with the tip of your heel being dug into his foot.
The second thing you weren’t prepared for: touch. Johnny Storm didn’t understand personal space, not when he was comfortable around you. If you were in the room with him, he was standing less than a foot from you, and you always knew because you could feel the warmth that radiated off his unusually hot skin. His hands would always rest on your arm, your elbow, right at the bottom of your lower back.
Moments like this in the kitchen were normal, and yet they still fried your brain. That simply little pet name, and Johnny’s warm hand ghosting over your lower back, before coming to rest on your hip. Clearing your throat, you gently pried his hand from your body, shooting him a look as you moved around to get the ingredients for dinner, hoping your flushed cheeks didn’t give you away.
“When your pregnant sister has cravings for my personal family recipe spaghetti, I’m required to oblige her,”
“I asked you to make this for me two weeks ago and you refused,”
Johnny followed close behind you, like a little puppy following its owner. You tried, and failed, to contain your smile at his actions. The media might paint him as some sex god (you weren’t going to lie…if he wanted to be, he could be) but you saw him for what he was: the epitome of a little golden retriever at times.
“Well you aren’t a hormonal pregnant woman with super powers,” you shot back at him, taking the opened jar of spaghetti sauce from Herbie’s hand and dumping it into the pot on the stove top, turning up the heat on the boiling pot of water for the noodles Herbie had laid out for you.
“No, but Johnny is a hormonal guy with super powers, who adores your cooking,” bumping his hip with yours, Johnny stole the wooden spoon from your hand with ease, dipping it into the simmering sauce to stir. With that same ease, he leaned down just slightly, leaving a kiss to your bare shoulder that felt as if it had left a brand into your skin. “Johnny also happens to just adore you, and loves when you stay for dinner.”
You had given up on the blush by now. He’d surely seen it enough over the years with his incessant flirting, there was no use in hiding it. Bumping your hip back with him, biting into your bottom lip in a failed attempt to conceal the smile spreading across your lips, you stole the wooden spoon back from him.
“Johnny also talks in the third person too much, and is an insufferable flirt half the time,” he dipped his hand into the sauce, coating his fingers in red as you whacked lightly at his hand, forcing him to withdraw as quickly as he’d dipped in. “What have I told you about doing that!”
He’d laughed, one of your favorite sounds, as you glanced over at him with a bright smile, unable to truly stay mad at him…ever.
That was, until he dipped his sauce-covered ring finger and middle finger into his mouth to lick the sauce clean off, eyes never leaving yours and a smirk curling up on his lips. It forced you to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat and look away as quickly as you could, feeling a different kind of heat swelling in your body: yeah, Johnny knew exactly what he was doing.
“Not sure, baby, that look you’re giving me right now doesn’t scream that I’m insufferable-”
“Oh, that’s exactly what it’s screaming,” you shot back, even with the ghost of a smile pulling at your lips as Herbie readied the garlic bread on the counter behind you. “If you’re not going to help, you can leave this kitchen. I don’t care if you live here.”
Johnny rolled his eyes in response, hopping up onto the counter next to the stove where you worked. You caught the box of noodles he knocked over before they could fall to the ground, shooting him a look as he held his hands up innocently, dumping them into the boiling water pot.
“You basically live here, too,”
“I don’t-”
“Yeah, because you keep refusing the room that Sue prepared for you,”
He…wasn’t wrong. Two years ago, Sue had transformed what was previously the guest room into a room that looked like it had been built just for you. Your favorite color on the walls, a matching quilt set on the bed, and she’d offered it to you. A place to stay, to live, given that Reed sometimes had you in the Baxter Building until the oddest hours of the morning.
You declined, still desperate to keep that line between your work life and your personal life separate, as tempting of an offer as it was. Sue wasn’t slighted by your decision at all, instead offering it to you to use whenever you needed to. There had been times in which you had taken up that offer, a few changes of clothes tucked away in the room on the odd chance that you’d need them.
“This place is your home, not mine,” you didn’t look at Johnny as you spoke, simply shaking your head as you stirred both the sauce and the noodles in their respective pots. “I’m Reed’s assistant, I’m not family-”
“Stop it,”
Even with the heat that rolled off Johnny Storm, every time his bare skin touched your own it sent a shiver straight down the length of your spine. His hand curled around your jawline, thumb and index finger pinching at your chin to force you to look up at him, to gaze into those intense blue eyes and the look on his face that had morphed so quickly from playful to serious.
“Johnny-”
“You are family, whether you like it or not,” the statement didn’t surprise you, it wasn’t the first time in your four years of knowing him that Johnny had said something like this to you, or anyone on the team for that matter. It always made you feel warm inside, though, to hear him say it, to see that loyalty and love for the people he cared about shine through in his words, such a stark contrast to the way the media sometimes portrayed him. “There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for you.”
That was new. He hadn’t made a declaration like that to you before.
It was something about the look in his eyes as he said it–so genuine, so soft–that had you melting into his touch. His hand curled back up to your cheek, thumb just barely caressing the apple of your cheek, leaving a trail of heat with every swipe of his finger against your skin. Your heart betrayed you, fluttering in that moment like it always did.
These moments used to be few and far between. You didn’t know how else to describe them besides just calling them moments. Over the first few years of knowing Johnny Storm, there were small moments where that empty flirts verged on the edge of something different, something raw and real. But in the last year, they happened more often than they didn’t. Johnny wasn’t pictured out with as many women anymore, wasn’t brazenly caught flirting with anyone with legs and a pulse at events. And in moments like this, even in front of his family, he’d touch you, caress you, speak to you in a way that felt so genuine, that felt like it was real. Like the flirting was no longer just empty, meaningless fun.
That line between your work and personal life might have been a muddled mess, but the line between being Johnny Storm’s friend and something entirely more was practically non-existent now.
“You say that to all your women?” you quipped back, trying to hold your own, even as you were melting inside and your voice came out as a whisper. The playful look on Johnny’s face returned in a second, his fingers instead pinching the cheek he’d just been so softly caressing.
“Never, honey. Those words are reserved for my brother-in-law’s pretty little assistant,”
In typical Johnny fashion, he was able to dissolve and ruin whatever the moment was in an instant with his usual ‘charm’. Swatting his hand away, you returned your attention to the food on the stove in front of you, smiling to yourself as Herbie beeped out a popular song you’d heard on the radio behind you.
“You always have a line, don’t you?”
“Hey, you know what you signed up for, being friends with all this,” he jokingly motioned to his body, and you caught sight of the smile lighting up his face again as you laughed incredulously at his actions. “As part of the package deal, being friends with me, you are legally required to attend movie night in the living room with me after dinner.”
You hummed in response, even if you were smiling the entire time just from listening to him talk.
“This sounds like an impromptu movie night-”
“All of our movie nights are impromptu, babe-”
“I saw earlier that channel 2 is playing The Sound of Music tonight,” you shot back at him, finally looking up at him with an expectant look on your face. “That’s what I want to watch.”
Johnny groaned, throwing his head back and knocking it against the cupboards with a wince on his face. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his overdramatic antics, as usual.
“But channel 3 is showing Psycho!”
“And you dipped your hand–which, god knows where that thing might have been–into my sauce for dinner,”
Johnny opened his mouth to speak, before mulling over your words, and effectively shutting it with a nod.
“You know what, if it gets you to have a movie night with me, then I’ll take it,”
God, you adored this man, more than you should. More than you wanted to. In his presence, especially now, you were pretty sure the smile on your face was a constant, that it would never leave, as you laughed at him once more.
Finishing off the special blend of additions to your sauce, giving it another swirl with the wooden spoon, you brought it up to your lips for a quick taste. Satisfied, you held one hand under the spoon to keep it from dripping, holding it up toward Johnny.
“Alright, give it a taste,”
His eyes stayed locked on yours, that familiar intensity and warmth in them keeping you locked in place, holding your breath, as he took a quick slurp from the spoon. Smacking his lips together, running his tongue out along his lips, he gave a definitive nod.
“As always…perfection. Though, I expect nothing less from you,”
Before you could retort to his cheesy comment, his hand reached out, eyes still locked on yours, as he cupped your chin once more and ran his finger over your lips. With the slightest of glances down, you saw the small spot of red on his finger, the remnants of the sauce he’d so gently just wiped from your lips.
Glancing back up to those blue eyes you loved more than you cared to admit, you caught the way they finally glanced down at your lips, before looking away as if to not get caught.
“...am I interrupting something?”
As if Johnny had burst into flames and burned you, you jumped away from him immediately the second you heard the voice of Sue Storm across the room. You never even looked back up at Johnny, or turned around to look at the woman by the dining room table, just stared down into the sauce pot as you continued to stir it and the noodles.
“Actually, sis, you very much are interrupting something here,” Johnny called out across the room, and you could see him gesturing with his hands between you both from the corners of your vision.
“Johnny,” you rolled your eyes, glancing over at him with flushed red cheeks from what had just transpired. “Sue isn’t interrupting anything.”
“She kind of is. We were kind of having a moment here-”
“Johnny, we were not having a moment,”
You very much were having a moment, but you weren’t admitting that to him. His ego burned hot enough, no need to stroke the fire.
Sue laughed, rounding into the kitchen as she stopped by Herbie, thanking him and taking the garlic bread tray from him to pop into the oven he had preheated.
“Johnny, why don’t you go get cleaned up for dinner and stop bothering the poor girl. Bad enough I’m making her cook for me, she doesn’t need you hovering,”
The man let out a sigh, muttering something mocking toward his sister, as he threw himself off the counter with dramatic flair. He wasn’t done making your heart race, though, his hand curling around the back of your head as he planted a kiss directly to your hairline, before he disappeared from the kitchen with a pat to Herbie’s head.
The pots on the stove were forgotten as you turned around, simply watching him disappear with an incredulous look on your face. Quickly, your eyes shot to Sue, who was watching you with a smirk as she leaned against the island counter.
“There was nothing happening there,”
“I didn’t say there was,”
“But you’re giving me that look,”
“I’m not giving you any kind of look,” the blonde laughed, stepping up beside you to take the wooden spoon from your hand, tasting the sauce herself with a happy little sigh. “Just…enjoying watching the show from the sidelines, waiting for one of you to make a move.”
“Sue, there’s no move to make. He’s just…he’s Johnny,”
“And Johnny is my brother,” she shot back with a grin. “And Johnny has never been like that with someone, just with you.”
You didn’t get to respond, before Herbie cut in with another series of beeps. Your eyes shot wide as you listened to what he was saying, cheeks flaring an even brighter shade of red as Sue choked on air, laughing to herself at your side.
“HERBIE! THAT’S SO INAPPROPRIATE!”
❤︎
It had been two weeks, and Reed had somehow managed to scan Sue a total of 142 times, now. Sometimes, you wondered how she was able to put up with his hovering, the hovering that had gotten exponentially worse since she announced she was pregnant.
“I’m not getting clear imaging,” Reed called out from the other side of the lab, the only sound in the room being the incessant beeping of the machine he’d built to monitor the baby, and the solder iron in your hand as it worked away on the small device in front of you. You shook your head at his comments once more, adjusting the eye protectors resting on the bridge of your nose as little sparks jumped up as the last piece of the triangular device was finally attached. “I’m going to have Herbie recalibrate this, I don’t like the data output I’m getting, I want a clear image on the next scan. Is the second bridge device ready?”
“Just finished fixing the soldering on the stand, so it should be good to go,” you shot back, tossing your eye protectors down at your workstation, lifting the device carefully and carrying it over to Reed’s station, setting it down with the matching device. “And, once again, you really don’t need to scan the baby again.”
You were met with silence, unsurprisingly. Until, the workstation down the room set off its alarm bell, a familiar tone that had you stand up straighter where you stood.
“New deep space transmission,” there was a hint of elation in Reed’s tone as he said it, quickening his pace across the room with Herbie hot on his trail. “Let’s identify the origin, then record it for further analysis.”
Quickly walking back over to your workstation, your eyes drifted to that desk calendar sitting next to you, and to today’s date: a poorly drawn flame, and the time “2:15” scribbled in a barely legible handwriting that you recognized instantly. Even if you hadn’t, the terribly drawn heart with your initials in it scribbled in the corner would’ve given it away.
“Your analysis is going to have to wait, Reed,” you called out with a sigh, knowing you weren’t the one who put this meeting on the calendar, but you sure knew who had. “You have a 2:15 incoming.”
“2:15? What 2:15?” Reed never even looked in your direction, focused on the new transmission. “You didn’t tell me there was anything on my calendar.”
“Well, I didn’t put this one on the calendar myself, but you must have cleared it at some point…”
Just then, the elevator doors to the lab popped open with a familiar ding sound.
“Ah–Reed!”
Good god, Johnny Storm was trying to kill you. You weren’t even sure if that was an exaggeration at this point, because you wouldn’t put it past him.
Blue looked good on him, it always had, but the navy blue button up he was wearing was doing nothing for your mind that was screaming at you to “keep it professional.” It didn’t help that the first few buttons were already undone, giving a slight peak to his chest. The white chinos–those were the nail in your metaphorical coffin. They had no right to be that tight, and he had no right to look so damn good in them.
“Ah…that 2:15,” you tried your best to conceal your laugh at Reed’s comment across the lab. “Johnny, do we have to today?”
“Johnny, do we have to today? As if I didn’t ask to put it on the schedule,” the blonde man in question mumbled mockingly to himself as he slid up to your side at your workstation as you laughed at his antics. One of his hands grabbed the back of your neck, tugging you closer before you could even think about it, pressing another kiss to your hairline. Suddenly, you felt like you were back in the kitchen weeks ago. “Darling, have I ever told you how breathtaking you look in your lab coat?”
“It’s a white coat, Johnny, it’s nothing special,” you deflected, taking just a short glance up at him before you had to look away, already knowing you were as red as the table beneath your hands.
“But the girl wearing it is-”
“Johnny, do you want to have this meeting or do you want to flirt with my assistant?”
You hung your head with a groan, even as Johnny laughed at the comment from his brother-in-law. His arm slung around your waist, hand settling on your hip as the heat that rolled off his body enveloped you for a moment, letting yourself lean into the side hug he gave you and the squeeze to your hip, before he was gone.
“There’s enough time in the day to do both! No, I had some thoughts about the new suit designs,”
“There are no new space suit designs-”
You glanced over at the pair as they met face-to-face in the middle of the lab, Johnny holding up the sheet he was concealing behind his back.
“You finished them years ago…they have dust on them,” Johnny deadpanned, letting out a sigh as Reed took the design sheet from him. “Look, I get it. You’re going to be a father soon, you’re scared-”
“I’m not-I’m not scared,” Reed cut in immediately, and you could hear the anxious undertone that overtook him immediately at Johnny’s words. Without even having to be summoned, knowing how his brain worked after all this time, you simply shrugged off your lab coat and stalked over to the pair, taking the design sheet from Reed’s hands without a word and placing it on his chalkboard full of equations. “I’m-I’m busy, Johnny. I’m busy. I’m busy, there’s a difference.”
“He means busy on his pace to scan Sue at least 200 times before she gives birth,” you shot back, sending Reed a bright smile that he frowned at, clearly seeing that you were siding with Johnny here. “Not terrified of becoming a father at all, those two things definitely don’t correlate.”
Johnny laughed, smile bright, and it only brightened the one on your face, a tug somewhere deep in your chest pulling on you when he locked eyes with you. Reed snapped your attention back to him in an instant, running a hand down his face as he gestured in Herbie’s direction.
“Just handle the new deep space transmission, please, instead of ganging up on me with Johnny,”
You laughed, heels clicking against the floors of the lab as you joined Herbie’s side as he waited for the transmission to be scratched into the record. There was a woosh of air, the air beside you heating up instantly as a hand found its way to rest on your lower back.
“Have you listened to it yet?”
The smile on your face softened as you glanced over at Johnny, who was staring down at the record in front of you both with pure excitement in his eyes. Beyond the physical moments, his flirtatious moments, these were the moments that had your plan to not fall for Johnny Storm splitting at the seams, if it hadn’t already.
“Seems to be a lot more of the same, just another complex signal,” Johnny left your side, the heat going with him, as he leaned against the blue table behind him. Herbie took the record from its place, rolling over to Johnny to hand it directly to him. “You’re more than welcome to take it with you, give it a listen.”
He twirled the record in his hands with a grin, absentmindedly reaching out to scratch the top of Herbie’s head. That simple little action elicited a giggle, hand coming up to cover your mouth as Johnny glanced up at you with a smirk.
“What’s so funny?”
“Herbie isn’t a dog, and yet you treat him like one,” you explained, stepping up just in front of him and grabbing his hand lightly, stopping the twirling of the record in his hands. “Also, you do know you aren’t supposed to get your fingerprints all over these, right?”
It was Johnny’s turn to laugh as he spun his hand, catching it in his palm and bringing it up to his lips, leaving a scorching hot, but gentle, kiss to your knuckles, sending a shiver straight through your bones. He didn’t even have a retort to your comment, just simply held your hand in his, thumb stroking along your skin, while your entire body flushed with a feeling you wanted to ignore.
“Johnny, what have I told you about flirting in my lab? I need my assistant, we’re trying to run a test,”
The moment was gone in seconds, your hand dropped from Johnny’s as he raced to the other side of the lab, following closely behind Reed and tossing the record onto the closest table.
You could only shake your head with a laugh, walking beside Herbie to join them, knowing Reed would be mumbling to himself the rest of the week about this moment and how much Johnny liked pissing him off.
“Cool! I got time,”
Reed didn’t roll his eyes as you and Herbie joined them back at your workstations, but you could see how much he wanted to. Holding the device you’d just finished off in his hand, you watched in the same awe you had for four years as his arm stretched across the length of the lab, placing it right back beside your own workstation.
“Bridge teleportation test one,” grabbing the notebook lying beside the device that contained your notes on the project, you flipped to a new page, prepared to note down any disparities that occurred during the test, as Reed placed an egg on the newly soldered stand. “Movement of organic matter six meters.”
Johnny grabbed the protective glasses beside the work desk, about to slip them on, before Reed took them with no hesitation and slipped them on himself. The blonde turned to you with an incredulous look that simply drew a laugh from you.
“Those are his pair, you can’t touch his pair,” you teased the man, who simply shot you a wink in return, as you both took the pairs that Herbie was holding out to you both. Johnny gave the little robot a quick fist bump.
Such a simple action that still had you grinning in childlike adoration at the side of his face.
Reed gave you a simple look, confirming you were ready. You gave him a nod, as he took hold of the switch to activate the device.
“Let’s run it,”
The whirring of the machine sounded, three silver beams of energy emitting from the device and encasing the egg within a sphere of energy. There was a shift in the room as that energy grew, as the hum of the machine filled the air, before there was a simple POP–and the egg was gone.
One glance from each of you over your shoulders was enough to confirm that the egg was, in fact, sitting on the opposite platform. Completely untouched and intact.
“It worked!” Johnny exclaimed, gesturing toward the egg.
That’s when the power to the building cut out.
It wasn’t surprising, given the notes you both had taken. The amount of energy that needed to be funneled through the device in order to channel enough energy to actually move organic matter without hurting it was sure to be beyond the energy limits of the Baxter Building. A full power outage…not what you were expecting. Not that you could write that note down in the pitch black of the room.
“Johnny,” Reed’s voice called out in the dark, steady with no hint of any emotion you could decipher in it. The man in question came to life beside you, body engulfed in flames, the flame resistant fabric of his specially tailored clothing working overtime to keep him from being stark naked. He stood with his hands on his hips, and even from the side you could see the smirk curling up on his lips. “Could you reset the breaker?”
You’d known Johnny long enough now, been his friend for enough years, to know him. Know him better than a colleague should. The instant dip in his smirk to a frown was clear, the tension in his broad shoulders, as he tossed his glasses down onto the table. He didn’t spare either of you another look, crossing the room to grab the record.
“Other way-”
“I know,” Johnny snapped, beside his flame engulfed body was on the other side of the lab, flipping the breaker as the electricity of the building roared to life again. The second it did, he was in the elevator, doors shutting without another word.
Neither you nor Reed spoke for a moment, simply looking down at the bridge teleportation device on the table in front of him.
“I’ve upset him,”
Reed didn’t phrase it like a question, he said it like a statement. Both were true, though. Reed always knew when he had upset Johnny, but never how he had really upset him.
You took a deep breath, nodding, as you scribbled a note in your notebook before turning on your heels, stalking back to your own workstation.
“Well, he went out of his way to put time on your calendar just to talk to you about the suits, and you did dismiss him…” you trailed off as you reached your station, eyes flickering back down to that desk calendar beside you. You couldn’t help it, letting your fingers lightly trail over that little heart with your initials, smiling to yourself, wishing it meant more than what it did mean: nothing. “Johnny loves space, he only got to go up once before…this all happened. You can’t blame him for wanting to go back.”
It was quiet for another moment in the lab, before Reed spoke up again.
“You know him well…better than I think I do,”
The flush in your cheeks was inevitable at that, embarrassment flooding you as it was easy for you to read between the lines of what Reed was trying to insinuate.
“I-I just listen to him. I always listen,”
It was quiet again.
“Go check on him,” was all Reed said. “If there’s anyone he’d want to talk to right now, it’s you.”
You wanted to argue, to save the crumbling bits of that wall between work and personal, but even you knew it was too late for that.
Johnny’s bedroom door was just two down from the guest room Sue had offered you years ago, a bathroom being the only thing that separated them. Ben’s room was at the other end of the hallway, along with the nursery where the soon to be baby Richards would sleep.
You may not have stayed in that guest room often, but you’d been in these hallways enough to know it like the back of your hand. To know it like it was your own home.
There were countless nights, before you’d make the short walk back to your apartment, where Johnny had coerced you into movie nights in his room. He’d never try anything, never push you into something, always leaving the door open to make sure you knew he wasn’t bringing you upstairs for some alternative reason. His room was just quieter, and felt more private. It gave you the chance to see the side of Johnny that the world didn’t get to see.
The space lover, who spent his life dreaming of being an astronaut, of going into space and seeing the stars. He was a thrill-seeker, always wanting to live his life on the edge, to find joy in those rushes of adrenaline. But beyond it all, just a good man. A man who had an entire collection of records lining one wall of his room, organized from his favorite records to his least favorite, even though he claimed there wasn’t really a least favorite. The world got to know the Human Torch, but in the confines of those four walls, you got to know Johnny Storm. The second you did, you knew your heart was fucked.
You found him in a spot you’d found him in before: leaning against the floor to ceiling windows of his room, staring out at the spaceship he hadn’t stepped foot in for four years. Your heart broke slightly from where you stood in the doorway, able to see the longing that was woven into his frown, that shone through his eyes that never strayed far from the Excelsior.
“You know,” with a few steps into the room, standing beside the record player, you lifted the needle to stop the replay of the foreign language from the deep space transmission that played on a loop. Johnny looked over, a soft smile overtaking his frown at the sight of you, as you kept your own voice soft and light. “I don’t think deep space transmissions are the right background music if you’re going to stare longingly out your window.”
Johnny laughed in a huff, turning on his heel to flick through his record collection.
“And suggestions then for a melancholic moment such as this?”
“Elvis typically has some hits that can set that mood,”
You watched him, the slight shake in his body that hinted he was laughing again, before he plucked a record from the shelves and rose back to his feed. Standing beside the record player with you, he slid it into your hands without another word and plopped into the chair just across from the player.
With care, like you’d done it a hundred times before (you had, right here in this room), you slipped the record onto the player, dropping the needle down as it coasted along the grooves etched into the record.
When no-one else can understand me, when everything I do is wrong…you give me hope and consolation. You give me strength to carry on.
The lyrics settled in you heavily, but it made your body feel lighter. It was impossible not to read into them, to not think too hard about the deliberate music choice that Johnny had made. You couldn’t help that, somewhere deep in your heart where you had buried your feelings for the flaming man years ago, you were hoping these lyrics were a personal message to you.
“Reed send you to check on me?” Johnny asked after a moment, leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his chest as he watched you. Composing yourself for a moment, shoving the flurry of butterflies beating against your chest down, you turned to face him and his blue eyes with a shrug.
“Technically, but I would’ve come on my own,” Johnny hummed, the ghost of a smile on his lips, as his gaze found its way back to the spaceship taunting him just beyond the window. “Come on, matchstick, talk to me.”
He huffed out another laugh, stretching his arms above his head as you tried your best to keep your eyes trained on his face and not drift down his torso. Eventually, his arms settled back across his chest, his gaze still stuck out the window.
“I don’t know…it’s stupid. Last time we went up, we came back with superpowers, trust me, I get that. Now, he’s got a kid on the way. But I know–I know–that he knows how much space means to me. So, when he just dismisses me like that-”
“It makes you feel inadequate? Like you’re a child?” Johnny’s gaze found you again as you shrugged with a light smile. “I’ve worked in an enclosed space with him almost every day for four years, Johnny. He used to make me feel that way all the time, until I realized that Reed’s never trying to make me feel like that.”
“I know he’s not doing it on purpose…doesn’t mean I’m not going to shit talk him in the confines of these walls,” he gestured around the room as you laughed, coming to stand beside his chair, looking down on him as he sighed once more. His hands fell, gripping his knees, as he rubbed them back and forth against the fabric of his pants. “I love space. Simple as that.”
You hummed, bending down beside the chair Johnny sat in so that you were essentially squatting before him, having to look up at him. Hesitation caught you for just a second, your brain actively fighting a war with your heart as you raised your hands, but you ultimately took his hands in yours.
All it took was a second for your eyes to drift over to the table beside him. One lamp, a stack of books, and the flash of a polaroid photo leaning against those books: a photo of you. Taken at some point in the lab, laughter written across your face, your hand almost blocking a portion of the lens as you tried to stop him from taking the photo. You didn’t even remember it being taken in the first place.
Good god, he was really going to be the death of you.
Eyes quickly back on him, with a little squeeze to his hands, you gave Johnny the most comforting smile you could, even as your heart did somersaults in your chest.
“I know you do. You’ll go back to space, Johnny, I promise,”
His eyes watched your hands, and you could see it on his face: that hint of adoration, that hint of something genuine that suggested it wasn’t all just a game, that you weren’t imaging moments for more than they were.
“What if I don’t?”
“You’re Johnny Storm, I’ve never seen you not get something you wanted before. Especially not something you want this bad,”
His mouth parted just slightly as he hesitated. You watched as his tongue darted out, just barely grazing over the edge of his bottom lip, before you flicked your eyes back to his.
“You’re wrong…I think there’s something I want more. Been trying to get it for awhile, but…she just keeps slipping through my fingers somehow,”
That tug on your heart was back. Your heart was surely beating so fast that it could be heard, hammering against your ribcage, as his thumbs glided back and forth across your skin. You could barely think of a response, too stuck on his words: the closest thing to a confession of any kind you’d heard in four years. Raw, real, genuine.
Johnny stood quickly, barely giving you a chance to potentially think of a response as he tugged you back to your feet. His arm enveloped your waist, your hand falling to his bicep as he still held your other hand in the air beside you both. You weren’t sure now if the flush crawling up your neck into your cheeks was from the moment, or from the heat radiating off of him.
“W-What are you doing?”
“We’re dancing,” he said it as if it was the most casual thing in the world, that usual smirk of his back on his face. Whatever had happened moments before, whatever confession may or may not have been said, was brushed away in an instant, that charming, flirty personality of his back in full force. “Can’t turn on Elvis and not dance, I think that’s a literal crime.”
“I didn’t know you even knew how to dance,”
“Oh, I don’t, Sue’s been telling me for years that I have two left feet,” Johnny shot back, shooting a wink down at you as his hand readjusted its grip along your waist. “Can’t be that hard with the prettiest girl in the building in my arms, right?”
Swaying back and forth, wrapped up in the heat of his body, in the faint smell of the cologne that coated his clothing, you were very certain that Johnny Storm was going to be the death of you.
And when you smile the world is brighter. You touch my hand and I'm a king. Your kiss to me is worth a fortune, your love for me is everything.
Johnny tilted his head back from you by just a hair, and you followed suit. Deep blue eyes, as captivating to you as they were the first time you ever saw them, shone with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. If you could, you weren’t sure you would survive knowing.
Faces just an inch away, the closest and most intimate moment you’d ever shared with the man you knew in your heart was never going to be just your friend, your colleague, you were verging on the edge of making a terrible choice. Of opening the floodgates, of unlocking the feelings you’d buried away so long ago and letting them flow.
“This is an interesting little relationship you and I have, you know,”
Johnny always found a way to ruin these moments, and this was just another example. Lips tugged up into a smirk, mischief swarming his eyes as he teased you, that fleeting moment of raw vulnerability was gone.
Hand slipped from his, body pulled back from his and a roll of your eyes, you turned on your heel within seconds.
“So typical of you, Storm,”
“What-? What did I do!”
You huffed out a laugh, a smile creeping onto your lips even as you tried to keep it at bay, as you threw your comment over your shoulder as you walked toward the door.
“You went and killed the moment, Johnny, as per usual,”
“...so you admit it, we WERE having a moment!”
You barked out a laugh, shaking your head as you crossed through the doorframe. You could never stay mad at him, not when your heart yearned for him in a way you wish it didn’t.
“Come on! At least let me make it up to you. Will you stay for dinner?”
With a final glance cast over your shoulder toward him, you shot him a bright smile.
“If you’re lucky, flame boy!”
❤︎
Yeah, you really couldn’t say no to Johnny Storm.
Not when he’d spoken so sweetly to you, held you so tenderly, and all around just invaded every part of your brain and your heart. To be fair, he barely had to try honestly to do that.
It wasn’t shocking to see Ben in the kitchen, it seemed to be one of his happy places. You weren’t complaining: on the nights you did stay for dinner, and Ben was cooking, you knew you were going home with the best leftovers the city of New York had ever seen.
“Decided to stay for dinner again?” Sue called out toward you with a smile, giving Herbie a pat on the head as he worked away at carving a pumpkin. You shot her a smile in return, pouring yourself a quick glass of water before making your way toward Ben.
“Johnny asked…and I decided to be nice and oblige him,” you didn’t miss the teasing hum that Ben let out, lightly whacking him on his rocky shoulder. Not that it did you any good, hurting your hand more than it would ever hurt him. His laughter was ignored as your eyes lit up, catching sight of the familiar black and white cookies he was dumping onto a plate. “Oh my god, did you go grab these from Maisie’s?”
“Yes,” Ben waved your hand away when you went to reach for the cookies, producing another paper bag and sliding it your way. “These ones are yours.”
The smell that wafted from the bag was enough to have you almost moaning in the middle of the kitchen, eagerly digging one of the cookies out. Maisie’s famous snickerdoodle cookies, the perfect blend of cinnamon and sugar that you had adored since you were a little girl. One bite of the cookie had you in absolute heaven.
“Oh my god, I haven’t had these in ages!” Ben and Sue both laughed at your excitement as you took another bite of the warm cookie in your hand. “How did you know these were my favorites?”
Ben’s smirk wasn’t hard to miss at all.
“Oh, I didn’t. Johnny asked me to pick those up for you,”
It was probably time to accept that blushing around this family was the only thing you were capable of.
Sue’s laughter rang loudest as she rounded the island counter, high fiving Ben as she shot you a pointed look.
“You really have my brother wrapped around your finger without even trying, huh? You know, before I went to get scanned–again–in the lab, I stopped by the nursery to check out the crib progress. Heard a little The Wonder of You from down the hall, thought I’d peek in…”
The groan you emitted could probably be heard from the other side of the country, leaning down to barely bang your head against the countertop. Ben and Sue’s laughter rang through the air again as you looked up, desperately waving your hands.
“I swear, it wasn’t what it looked like-”
“What wasn’t what it looked like?”
Of course, Johnny chose to make his grand entrance at that moment. Thankfully for you, he’d changed out of that ridiculously hot button up. Unfortunately for you, he was still wearing those god forsaken white chinos.
“Your little dance Sue was telling me about earlier,” Ben teased, easily catching your hand as it came up to whack him again in his rough, oversized one. “What’s with the long face?”
“Oh that dance was exactly what it looked like. Thanks for coming to dinner though, sweetheart, glad you like the cookies,” Johnny tacked on a wink in your direction, one you affectionately rolled your eyes over, before his smile was back to a frown. “And what of it, Ben?”
“Sounds like your 2:15 with Reed didn’t go well. I’m sorry, pal,”
From across the room, you could see Johnny’s shoulders move in a huff of laughter as he clapped, bringing down the cabinet shelf that held the same box of cereal you had taken from him two weeks ago. You moved around the island counter, filming your cup with more water before standing opposite of Ben while Johnny made his way back over.
“Hey, I’m fine,” he spoke, though the edge in his words was clear as he did, coming to stand directly at your side. “I don’t mind or anything, it’s just, uh-”
“I hear you, pal. We’ll go to space again,”
“That’s what I was trying to tell him earlier,” you tacked on, bumping your hip with Johnny’s, who quickly did the same back to you.
That smile you adored was back in moments, though, as he dug his hand into the box and produced the action figure waiting inside: a miniature Johnny Storm. His bright grin was turned in your direction as he waved the toy toward you, his signature catchphrase from the cartoon–flame on–ringing through the air as Reed entered the room, greeting his wife by the dining room table.
“They captured my likeness so perfectly, don’t you think?” he quipped, activating the catchphrase once again as you rolled your eyes. “Do you still have the one I gave you a few months ago?”
“Yeah, buried in the junk drawer of my kitchen,”
Johnny feigned shock, pinching your side quickly as you squirmed away with a laugh.
“At least upgrade me to your bedside table so I can be with you while you sleep,” that stupid line was accented with another wink before Johnny thrust the toy in Ben’s face. “Come on, admit it’s cool.”
That catchphrase just kept repeating.
I’m Johnny Storm! Flame On!
Flame On!
Flame On!
Ben grabbed the toy from Johnny’s hand in seconds, crushing it to nothing but dust and blowing it back in Johnny’s face with a smirk. You tried everything to conceal your laughter, but it was inevitable.
“Flame off!”
Sirens rang outside the balcony of the building’s living room. The flying cars of the police force raced past, bathing the room in red and blue lights. The second they disappeared, another squadron flew past in the other direction, the sirens all intermixing in the air.
These were the moments you never got to see often, when the team sprung into action. It was clear in Johnny and Ben alone, how their silly little moment was forgotten as they thrust into action, prepared to go running out of the building into danger. Reed simply held up a hand, shaking his head at the group.
“No, no, it’s alright. This is me,”
Ben and Sue followed Reed out onto the balcony, but Johnny hung back, his gaze stuck on you as you hadn’t moved from the kitchen. He simply tilted his head toward his family, holding his hand out for you. Such a simple move that shouldn’t have kickstarted your heart into what was surely an irregular rhythm, but it did.
The second you were at his side, Johnny’s hand rested at the small of your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt just so to tug you slightly closer to his side. Together, you stepped out onto the balcony of the Baxter Building beside Ben, overlooking New York as it was bathed in every corner in red and blue.
“For the past few months, I’ve been tracking a small number of criminal organizations throughout the city,”
You shot a look down at your boss, eyebrow raised.
“That’s what you’ve been doing in that notebook by your desk?” Reed simply waved your comment off, pointing just down the block, fairly close to the area in which your apartment resided.
“47 of them, to be exact. Including the Puppet Master in the Bowery, the Wizard in Gramercy Park, and Diablo in Washington Heights,”
Everyone on the balcony went quiet for a moment.
“You…baby-proofed the world,” Ben finally spoke. Sue’s sigh could be heard from the other end of the balcony as she tried to defend her husband.
“It’s a sweet gesture,”
“It’s a little insane,” you mumbled to yourself, just loud enough for you and Johnny to hear. The blonde at your side simply shrugged, glancing down at you and catching your gaze.
“It’s not totally crazy. He’s trying to protect the things he loves, what’s most precious to him…” Johnny’s lips quirked up just slightly. “I’d do it too…I’d do it for you.”
He said it so…so earnestly. With so much conviction in his tone, as if this was a certainty to him. That protecting not just his family, but you, was something he needed to do. That if it came down to it, he’d do it without a second thought.
“You…you have to stop saying things like that to me, Johnny,” you hated how breathless your voice came out, how wrecked you sounded as you whispered your response back to him, the conversation still droning on in the background between the other three.
The smile on Johnny’s face only widened, his hand slipping around from your lower back to your waist, as he gave you a light squeeze.
“Stop saying what, the truth?”
No, you need to stop saying things that are making me fall in love with you.
Love. That was a word that had only crossed your mind once when it came to Johnny Storm.
It was two years ago, a week to the day that you had lost your mother, your biggest supporter in life. You stood at that funeral, surrounded by estranged family members you hadn’t spoken to in years, and family friends who wept for your loss. Reed, Sue, Ben and Johnny had come, offered their condolences, paid their respects.
When the others left, Johnny stayed. He stood by your side through the first viewing, never left it during the second viewing, and stood with you in the pouring rain an hour after they’d put her in the ground. You had cried, he held you, and he’d simply never left you alone that day. The colleague that had quickly become a friend, who flirted with you every chance he got, never uttered a single flirtatious comment that day. He’d simply been there, been the shoulder you needed.
That was the day you realized you may have fallen in love with the one man you told yourself not to fall in love with, and you buried those feelings in your heart for what you thought would be forever.
“Stuck in your head over there? Come on, it’s dinner time,”
Ben’s voice broke you from your stupor. The team had all started to make their way inside while you were left at the balcony railing, hands white knuckled on top of the rail.
Johnny’s hand was held out toward you, and you ignored every part of your brain that told you not to and slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you back in toward the living room.
That’s what their watches all went off, alerts blaring in sync with one another.
It was like a firework went off, a boom shattering the night air of the city. The clouds, the sky, were painted in gold, streaks of meteors and debris crossing the sky as they fell to the earth. The sound that emitted from the golden cloud that stretched across the sky, bathing the city in its light, felt…otherwordly. Like a scream, like a warning.
A warm hand enveloped your face, turning your wide eyes away from the scene.
There were very few times you saw Johnny as serious as he was now. Jaw locked, eyes narrowed but still soft as they looked at you, the cascades of gold shone over his face, highlighting his features as another boom sounded off in the distance.
“Go inside, don’t come out,”
Words were caught in your throat. All you could manage was a nod, his thumb doing a single swipe over your cheek, before he patted Reed on the shoulder and launched himself over the railing and into the air, igniting himself as he went.
If not for the moment, you would have stopped to admire him as he flew, bathed in the reds and oranges of his fire. You were awestruck every time you got to witness those cosmic powers firsthand.
Reed, Sue, and Ben had followed not long after, as you could hear the familiar whirled of their car through the air, chasing after Johnny through the city, following whatever had just appeared from the sky.
You? You sat on the living room couch, wringing your hands together to keep them from shaking. You’d been there as they had dealt with Red Ghost, or even Moleman, but this?
This was different. This was otherworldly. This was terrifying. And when Herbie flipped the switch of the television, rolling to your side, you were greeted with the sight of the silver alien woman hovering in Times Square for the first time.
“Your planet is now marked for death. Your world will be consumed by the devourer,”
Her voice sent a single chill down the column of your spine. Herbie’s robotic hand reached out for yours, ceasing the endless wringing of your hands together. You took it without hesitation, though you wished in your heart it was someone else’s hand holding yours in this moment.
“Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak. Use this time to rejoice, and celebrate, for your time is short. I herald his beginning…I herald your end…I herald, Galactus.”
And thus began the longest night of your life since the day your colleagues went into space and came back forever changed.
Sending the team into space was the only option, to confront this mystery at its source. Reed had given you the basics in passing: the threat was real, there was documentation of plants across the universe disappearing entirely, the chrome woman’s signature left on each of them. He’d tasked you to the launch team, to prepare Excelsior for launch in T-16 hours.
Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak.
Those words rattled around your brain the entire night, into the wee hours of the morning. Even as you helped Lynn set up the press conference, as you conferred with the launch team to ensure that the Excelsior was prepared in every conceivable way, as you checked and double-checked every data point throughout the entire ship, her words never left you.
Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak.
The anxiety was clawing at you, even as you threw yourself into work. The notion of what her words meant, of what could happen, of how close the end could be.
The clock read sometime around 2 a.m. when you had finally stepped foot in that guest room made for you. There was no way you were walking home tonight. Besides, come morning, there would still be too much to do, too many data points that needed to be checked, too many scenarios that would need to be run through to make sure your team came back to you.
You knew sleep wasn’t coming to you, though, not when that metallic voice was rattling around your head. Not when an alien threat was upending your life. Not when, two doors away, there was a man that you did, in fact, want to hold close…in case you never got the chance to again.
You loved him. All it took was the end of the world to admit it.
Clad in nothing but an old t-shirt with the 4 logo on the front, one you were sure was Johnny’s, and a pair of shorts, you didn’t care what you looked like as you tore out of the room and into the hallway. Not now, not when your world was being threatened, not when your entire life could be ripped from you in a matter of seconds.
Johnny was awake, just as you knew he would be. White shirt, plaid blue pants you’d seen him sleep in so many times, he stood in his dark room by the windows once more, watching the crews rush around on the ground as they prepared the ship for launch in just a few hours. That same record from earlier in the day was still playing.
I guess I'll never know the reason why you love me as you do. That's the wonder, the wonder of you.
With a step into the room, shutting the door behind you and flicking on the lamp just beside the door, Johnny finally met your eyes.
“I couldn’t sleep,” was the only thing you could manage to say. Johnny tilted his head, studying you silently, before he held out his hand just as he had done hours before.
“Come here,”
Crossing the room in a matter of moments, you all but fell into his arms. His outstretched hand ignored, he was frozen in place for just a moment as you curled your arms around his neck, throwing yourself into his arms. The faint smell of his cologne lingered, as did his bodywash, and the sigh you let out the second the smell hit you was in comfort.
It didn’t take Johnny long to unfreeze, his arms finding their place around your waist. One hand rested on your upper back, one pressing into your lower back. A faint kiss was placed to the side of your head, heat lingering for a second. Heat lingered in your entire body, radiating off of him in waves.
“You have to talk to me, baby,”
Talk? The truth was, you didn’t know where to start. How were you supposed to explain that, since the moment you had met Johnny Storm, your heart was already his. That in all your moments over the years, you’d fallen for the man you told yourself not to fall for. And as the threat from the metallic woman loomed over the world, as he prepared to try and save life as you knew it, the only thing you wanted was to be held by him. To know he was here, that he was okay, that he was with you.
“I-I’m scared,”
Those were the only words you could settle on. Johnny pulled back, his hands sliding gently around the fabric of the shirt hanging loosely from your body until they reached your face. He cradled you, so softly and gently in his hands, it was almost involuntary the way you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, his warmth, chasing the feeling of security it brought you.
“It’s okay to be,” the gentle tone in his voice washed over you, covering you like a blanket. It’s exactly how he had spoken to you that day, standing in the rain when you refused to leave your mother’s side, reassuring you he was there. “I don’t care what the herald said, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”
Of course you knew that. If there was anything you knew for certain in this world, it was that when Johnny Storm said he’d protect you, he meant it. He’d spent long enough proving that to you.
There was no hesitation on your part when you laid your own hands overtop of his. Fingers curling around them, tugging his right hand just barely from your cheek, you turned and pressed the lightest of kisses to the palm of his hand.
Johnny froze. You could feel it. The slight tilt of his head, the questioning look that flickered across his face in the moonlight that shone through the windows. It was all fair. You were never the one to cross the boundary like this, to make a move such as this.
“I can’t stop thinking about what she said,” was how you tried to explain yourself, stopping and starting your sentence over and over as you tried to find the right way to explain yourself, the walls crumbling and the floodgates bursting wide open. “Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak…it’s why I came to you.”
A single emotion crossed Johnny’s face in seconds: understanding.
That signature smirk of his was back in moments, even if it was twinged with a softness reserved only for you. The heat left your cheeks, but found your hands as Johnny’s fingers intertwined with yours, hanging your joined hands down between you both. There was a bright light that passed over the window for just a moment, bathing the two of you in bright light, before you were plunged back into the darkness of his room yet again.
“You did come to me…why’s that?”
“You know why-”
“I do,” he said it so matter-of-factly, that smirk growing just a tad as he leaned into your personal bubble by just a hair. “This push and pull, four years of ‘will they’ or ‘won’t they.’ I want to hear you say it, baby.”
“It’s not that easy,” you immediately shook your head, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip as Johnny simply watched you. “Saying it…makes it real.”
He scoffed, the sound mixed with laughter, as his head cocked slightly more to the side.
“You came into my bedroom at 2 in the morning–wearing my shirt, might I add–is that not real enough?”
“When you’ve spent years trying to ignore how you feel and refusing to say it, it’s not that easy to say,” you desperately tried to explain. “If I say it…then everything changes.”
Johnny took barely another step forward, and you almost wanted to step back, to bring back the space between you and preserve the small, crumbling wall that still stood between you both.
“A sexy, naked alien woman came to earth and basically prophesied our demise, darling. If there was ever a time to ‘change everything’ and lay it all on the line, I think it’s now,”
Your heart wanted to hang onto the word darling, but your brain was too stuck on the ‘sexy, naked alien woman’ part of his sentence. The sigh that escaped you was instantaneous, as well as the frown, as you shot the blonde man a pointed look.
“Sexy, naked alien woman, Johnny? Seriously?”
“Come on! She was–objectively–attractive. You can’t deny that!”
It was your turn to scoff, tearing your hands from his in a heartbeat, before spinning on your heel. You felt like an idiot–on the precipice of finally confessing your deepest, darkest secret you’d kept locked away for years, and this is what you got.
“I try to be serious with you, Johnny, and you turn it into a joke once again-”
You didn’t get far from him. A hand enveloped your upper arm mid sentence, tugging and spinning your back around. A gasp fell from your lips as you collided with the chest of the man before you.
Whatever you were going to say never saw the light of day. Not when Johnny Storm gripped at your hips, tugged you as impossibly close as he could, and finally–finally–kissed you.
The kiss you’d dreamed about for four years, finally yours.
Johnny’s lips were soft as they slanted against your own, enveloping you in his warmth. They moved against you in a steady rhythm, passionate but still gentle, still testing the waters of the line you had never crossed before.
His hands curled into the fabric of the t-shirt clinging to your body, pushing it up just enough so that his hands could dip underneath. Your breath caught, even as his lips continued to move against yours, as his heated skin made contact with yours, and any part of your brain begging you to stop this was silenced as you melted into him.
Hands landed on his broad chest, gripping the fabric as you let him mold your body to his, the scent of his bodywash enveloping you as your body almost became one with him. In the pits of your stomach, as those heated hands trailed up your waist and ghosted over your ribcage, another flurry of butterflies erupted as a moan slipped past your lips, swallowed by his mouth.
A moan left Johnny’s lips at the sound of your own, one hand leaving your waist to curl around the back of your neck. Those slender fingers buried themselves into your hair, gripping just enough to have another groan of pleasure tumbling from your lips, as he guided your mouth against his own.
“You can’t keep making little noises like that,” his mouth barely left yours as he spoke, lips moving against yours, as he dove back in for another kiss the second he was done speaking.
“Your fault,” was all you could manage out, trying to back away just enough to speak, but Johnny never let your lips go far. Your hands glided up his chest, his neck, curling into his short hair as your thumb crested the ridge of his ear. “I’m trying to be mad at you.”
“Be mad at me later,” was his immediate response, his lips leaving yours just to find their place along your jawline and slide down into the hollow of your neck. His tongue danced its way across your skin, leaving tingles of electricity everywhere he touched you, his words murmured into your neck as he buried himself there. “I’m trying to kiss you.”
There was some part of you that wanted to protest him–over what, you weren’t even sure at this point–but you couldn’t. Not when his teeth dug just so into the side of your neck, leaving his mark on your skin as if he was claiming you as his.
You were always his.
“You c-called–oh god–you called the alien sexy while I was trying to confess,” you just barely managed to get the words out through your moans. Johnny was slowly walking you backward, straight in the direction of his bed while his lips never left the side of your neck, leaving his mark on every inch of skin he could see.
Your foot caught on the raised edge of the platform his seating area sat on, your feet stumbling backward. Johnny was there–he was always there–and tugged you back into him. And god, if you loved those blue eyes before, you loved them even more now: pupils blown wide, Johnny Storm looked about as wrecked as you felt.
“Your confession was four years late, and I’m impatient,” he stole another kiss from you, his teeth sinking just barely into your bottom lip, tugging gently. He let go, pressing a messy kiss to your lips to soothe the pain of his bite, words fanning out over your lips. “I’ve been trying to tell you I’m in love with you for four years now, so please just shut up and let me show you instead. Now–jump.”
At this point, you’d do just about anything he asked of you.
Johnny caught you with ease, both of his hands splayed out across the bare skin of your thighs, locking your legs around his hips. A choked moan fell from your lips the second your core was dragged against the painfully hard length bulging against his own pants, hands curling into his hair as you, this time, desperately pulled him into a kiss.
I’m in love with you. Those words repeated like a mantra in your head. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, the world’s fire boy and hero that they painted like a sex symbol. The ‘playboy’ with a new girl all the time, never able to hold down a girl…was in love with you.
Your back hit the bed, body bouncing just slightly before settling. His eyes never left you as you crawled back just slightly, propping yourself up on your elbows to look up at him in the dark of the room, lit only by sky and the lamp by the door. The music played faintly in the background, but at this moment, it meant nothing to you.
Johnny’s hands gently touched your knees from where they dangled off the edge of the bed, parting them just so in order to step between them. You watched, entranced by every move he made, body flushed from the heat that coursed through your bare skin at the slightest of touches from him. With a practiced ease, his hand took hold of the back of his shirt, yanking it over his head without hesitation. It found a place to lay somewhere across the room, discarded until the following morning.
It was impossible not to stare. His broad chest, those biceps that always threatened to bulge out of every shirt he wore. His toned abdomen and the trail of hair that led straight to the waistband of his pants, the outline of him still prevalent and straining against the fabric.
“I need to know that you’re sure…about this,” you weren’t used to it, the vulnerability in Johnny’s tone. He leaned over you now, hands splayed across the bed on either side of you, barely a few inches from your face. Those blue eyes flickered down to your lips time and time again. “Because if I kiss you again, I’m not stopping until you’re mine.”
There was no hesitation on your part. Just a single movement of your arms, tossing the old shirt hanging from your upper body across the room to join his. As simple as that, you sat bare before him, chest heaving with every deep breath you took in.
“I was already yours. I always have been,” there was only certainty in your tone as you held his gaze. “Speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak…that’s why I came to you. Because if this is the end of the world, I needed you to know that I love-”
He didn’t let you finish your words. His next kiss was anything but gentle.
Messy, spit coating your lips as Johnny’s tongue seemed to invade your mouth and every one of your senses, his lips devoured yours as if you were his first meal in decades. He kissed with the hunger of a starved man, his hands grasping at every part of your skin they could–your waist, your hip, before finally your ass. The squeeze he gave to your skin, the uptick in heat you felt as if he was burning himself just slightly hotter on purpose, had another moan tumbling from your lips and into his mouth.
The hand still gripping your ass tugged you upward on the bed until your head fell against the silk pillows at the headboard. Your hands never left Johnny’s hair, carding through the strands as you frantically kissed him back, addicted to the feeling, as his hips ground into yours. That bulge in his pants pressed heavenly into your core, the friction rolling your eyes into the back of your head as you let your head fall to the pillows with a moan.
Johnny’s lips were everywhere. From your jawline, to your neck, until they finally reached your collarbone. He lavished you with his lips, tongue running over your skin as his hands trailed up the sides of your lower abdomen, stopping just as they reached the swell of your breasts.
“Since the day you walked in, I’ve thought about this,” his voice was raspy, the words barely understood as they were spoken against your skin. “Since the moment Reed introduced you to us.”
“I-I was wearing a lab coat,” you choked on your words as Johnny’s lips reached your sternum, trailing kissing down your chest, but never where you wanted him. “Hardly sexy, I’d argue.”
“It is when I’m picturing you in that coat and your heels, and nothing else,” he tacked on, before his lips wrapped around your nipple without warning.
You mewled at the sudden contact, one hand returning to his hair on instinct as your back arched off the bed and into him. Johnny’s hand on your abdomen was quick to push you back down, holding you down against the bedding beneath you.
God, with the fire that felt like it was burning through your body, you could’ve sworn that Johnny had caught you on fire. His teeth just barely grazed the sensitive bud in his mouth, a sharp intake of breath leaving your lips on instinct. He was quick to soothe you, tongue swirling around the erect and sensitive bud with rapt attention. A moan slipped through him, felt through your entire body, as your other hand tore into the bedding. Desperate for something to hold onto. Something to ground you in your pleasure.
“I’ve dreamed about you under me. Kissing you, tasting you, loving you,” his practically purred out every single word, tongue flicking back and forth over your sensitive nipple. He moved to the other one easily, delivering the same rapt attention to it.
“I’ve thought about you, too,” you relented, divulging every secret you held dear to the man who lavished every inch of you in love and adoration. “In the kitchen, the lab, in that stupid button up from earlier-”
“I knew you liked that shirt. Wore it just for you,” his husky tone sent another shot of pleasure through you, heat curling through every inch of your body.
The tips of his fingers trailed lightly down your stomach. When Johnny’s head lifted for just a moment to lock his eyes with yours, that familiar smirk on his face, you weren’t given a second to react before heat poured through his touch.
Gasps mixed with moans of pleasure fell from your lips on instinct, that unnatural heat of his pouring through his touch and into your skin. Every movement of his fingers over your ribcage and down your abdomen felt as if it was leaving your skin on fire, branding his touch into your skin so that you would never forget the feeling. Burning him into your memory so that you would always feel the phantom sensations of his touch on your skin.
“You’re absolute perfection, you always have been,” Johnny moaned into your skin, lips trailing over the mounds of your breasts with another series of a thousand kisses. Those heated fingers dipped past the waistband of your shorts, pressing directly against your clothed clit without a warning. The moan you let escape mixed in the air with the moan that tumbled from Johnny’s lips against your skin. “Jesus Christ, baby, you’re so soaked.”
The heat was still there in his fingers, setting off every little nerve ending in you even through the soaked fabric of your panties that you desperately wanted gone. Your hips ground up into his hand, whimpers falling from your lips as you chased after the feeling of him, desperate for friction.
“All for you,” even this hint of pleasure had you stumbling toward the edge, babbling almost incoherently. With a tug to his hair, you were quick to bring Johnny’s lips back to yours, arms wound around his neck. He gave into your needs immediately, devouring you in a kiss as heated as his touch was, fingers rubbing slow circles over where you needed him so desperately. “Please–Johnny, please! Please, I need you. Need you–need you so bad.”
“I got you, baby. I got you. Keep moaning my name like that, and I’ll give you the world”
Those whispered words stayed on your lips, lingering, as Johnny left you. His touch wasn’t gone long. Fingers curling into your shorts, they were discarded across the room in a flash, panties gone with them as well.
For the first time, you laid completely bare in front of the man you loved–the man you denied loving for so long. And Johnny Storm was a mess. His hair stuck up in multiple directions, skin flushed, but he was still beautiful. The most beautiful man you’d ever met, inside and out.
Johnny didn’t give you a second to truly breathe once he was done admiring you. He sprawled out along the end of the bed, head dipping between your thighs, as he licked a single stripe with his flattened tongue directly up your center.
“Fucking beautiful, and all mine,” his words were growled into your core, two fingers lazily moving between your folds and spreading every ounce of wetness around, holding you open so he could see every inch of you. “Sweeter than I ever dreamed you could be.”
He dove into you like you were the only thing that mattered. Fingers spreading you open, giving him access to every square inch, his mouth devoured you. A cool drink of water for a starving man in the middle of the desert. Johnny moved his tongue with precise expertise, as if he knew exactly what your body craved.
Delving into you, flicking back and forth as he drank in every secretion of arousal that dripped from you. That same tongue dragged its way up to your clit, swirling around in figure eights, flicking back and forth.
Cries fell from your lips wantonly, hands digging into his hair. Eyes fluttered shut, head tilted back to the ceiling, there was only one word you could repeat over and over again: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny.
His name was all you knew anymore, too lost in your own bliss and pleasure.
In one fell swoop, your thighs were settled over his shoulders, before his head was back where you wanted it more than anything. His lips and tongue focused on your clit, still swirling back and forth, as his fingers dipped slightly lower, dancing right across your opening.
It started with one long, slender finger sliding into you. One of your hands was forced to leave Johnny’s hair, falling over your own mouth to try and conceal the cry that threatened to burst from you, afraid that the others would hear you.
“Let me hear you, baby,” he laughed against your core, his finger curling just perfectly against your walls as they clenched around him every time he dragged his finger back and forth. “Want to hear you.”
“Don’t want to–fucking hell, Johnny–let the others hear,”
“Let them. Let them hear me love you,”
Fuck Johnny Storm and his stupid lines. His stupid dirty talk that had your walls clenching around him again and again.
Another finger joined the first, followed by another, before you were stretched as wide as you could be around Johnny. The squelch of your juices rung through the air with every move of his fingers–dragging so deliciously into you, curling up, before dragging out just to the edge of your opening. His mouth–god, his mouth–never let up, lapping away at your core like it was his job, what he was meant to do.
That coil of pleasure deep within your lower body came out of nowhere, sneaking up on you just like your love for this man had.
“Johnny–baby–I can’t. I can’t–I’m gonna-”
“Let go, darling,” came that growl in his voice again, the speed of his fingers increasing. “I got you baby, let go.”
That coil snapped in seconds after he spoke. The precipice of your orgasm was earth-shattering, like you’d never felt before. Like trails of fire through your veins, the pleasure coursing through you had your head buried into the pillow behind your head, desperately trying to conceal the wails of pleasure that tumbled from your lips. Your thighs snapped shut around Johnny’s head, but his ministrations never let up as he eagerly drank up every bit of your arousal that leaked from you.
The come down was slow, like waking up. Your breath was uneven, heart beating erratically when you finally pulled your head from the pillow. Eyes bleary, it took a moment to blink them back to life.
Johnny stood at the edge of the bed, discarding his pants and boxers to the pile of clothing littering the other side of the room. And even in your fucked-out, blissful state, one look at him for the first time had that burning desire coursing back through your veins.
He was big. There was no way around it, no denying it, no other way to put it. Flushed, hanging with that beautiful reddened tip, one large and prominent vein throbbing along the edge of it. Beads of precum collected at the tip, his hand smearing it down along his length as he gave himself one single pump before he was crawling back onto the bed.
Johnny knelt between your legs again. Even with limbs that felt like Jell-O, you met him halfway, dragging yourself into a seated position. It was the smile on his face right now, the one erupting those butterflies once more, that you decided was your favorite: soft, adoring, loving.
It was your hands that cupped his cheeks, bringing him into a soft kiss. The taste of you lingered on his lips, sweet just like he said. You poured every ounce of emotion into your kiss, trying to convey to him the years you’d spent loving him so quietly that you couldn’t admit it.
“I might be addicted to you, Johnny Storm,” your words were mumbled into his lips. He laughed so gently, stealing another peck.
“Glad you finally caught up with me, princess, I’ve been addicted since day one,”
Pressed to him, his lips stealing a thousand pecks from yours, the lust in your bones was back in full force. All you could do was hum in response, one of your hands trailing down his chest, nails dragging slowly over his abdomen, before you finally took his throbbing cock in your hand.
He felt even bigger than he looked, which didn’t even make sense in your mind. But he was hot, the skin searing into your hand in the best way. You gave him one squeeze, one tug, and you smiled at the hitch in his breath. The twitch of his cock in your hold.
Johnny’s hand quickly grabbed yours, though, unlatching it from him. All you could do was shake your head, practically whining as you tried to take your hand back.
“Johnny-”
“God, it’s so hot how eager you are to touch me,” he laughed again, tilting his head to leave a single kiss to the column of your throat. “This is about you, doll. Save that for next time. It can be a ‘welcome home from space’ gift for me. A ‘thanks for saving the world’ gift, if you will.”
Space.
That word was enough to have your next words caught in your throat as the weight of everything came crashing back down on you. The threat, the herald, the space launch commencing in a matter of hours now, the events that brought you here in the first place.
You weren’t sure when you started crying, when a single tear slipped down your cheek, but Johnny caught it. Eyes full of concern, but understanding, he simply wiped the tears from your cheek, laying a kiss to the wet splotch of your skin.
“No crying, none of that. Just lay back, baby,”
You listened, letting his hands guide you gently to rest back against the pillows once more. Parting your legs, Johnny placed himself between them, holding himself up over your body on his forearms. Right where he belonged.
Your hands rested on his chest, sliding up so gently to his neck. His eyes never left yours, his length sitting right against your soaked and sensitive core, gliding back and forth with each gentle twitch of his hips.
“You didn’t let me say it earlier. So let me say it, for the first time outloud,” you gave him a watery smile, lips quivering as you looked up at him. “I love you, Johnny Storm. I’ve loved you for so long. I’m sorry it took the world maybe ending for this, that I didn’t let myself be yours sooner.
He smiled, that same charming smile he always did, as he rolled his hips once more. His cock caught just along the edge of your opening as Johnny dipped down, breath fanning over your lips.
“Like you said: you’ve always been mine,”
The first press of his length into your core stung. As wet as you were, as prepared as you were for him, it had been so long. He stretched your walls little by little, taking his time as your body adjusted to him. Then, inch by inch, he sunk within your walls that clung to him tightly.
His cock bottomed out, sunk fully within you, bare hips pressed to bare hips as you both let out shaky breaths. Your nails dug into the hair at the nape of his neck while his hands trailed up your ribcage, squeezing every moment or so as choked out moans fell from his lips.
“God–so tight for me, baby–you feel like heaven,”
His name was the only thing you could manage to choke out between your moans as he dragged himself back to the tip, before burying himself again to the hilt. Your moans, your cries and the way your hands threaded into his hair only spurred him on more, Johnny’s hips snapping into yours again and again and again.
His lips found yours amidst every snap of his hips, every drag of his cock against your walls. Every moan that slipped through your lips was drowned out by him, by the feverish movements of his lips against yours. They trailed away, back to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva connecting you together as he bit another love bite into the side of your neck. It didn’t matter to you how this would look to others, how scandalous you might look in the light of day to others.
All that mattered was Johnny Storm.
“Oh god, Johnny!” your head fell to his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin as his hips snapped against yours over and over, driving him deeper with every thrust into you. “Holy fuck, w-why weren’t we doing this for years?”
“Because you’ve been a stubborn–fuck–little tease all these years,” his tongue dragged up the column of your throat, peppering kissing up and down your skin as his cock dragged against your walls. “Bent over your workstation in the lab–oh god–you don’t know how many times I’ve thought about it. Thought about walking in and taking you right there, making a mess right at your desk.”
“R-Reed would walk in and you’d scar him for life,”
“Sounds like a win-win to me,” there was shared laughter, punctuated with a shared moan as his cock dragged right against that spot nestled within you. “And try not to talk about my brother-in-law when I’m fucking you.”
There was no time to reply as Johnny scooped up your wrists in his hand in a single motion, pinning them down above your head. He adjusted your waist, suddenly driving into you at a new angle that had you mewling his name all over again.
Johnny whispered your name into your skin with every kiss, timed just so with every snap of his hips against yours. That coil of heat was burning, wounding itself tighter and tighter for the second time that night. All you could feel was him, was Johnny.
His warmth, the heat that burned off of him. It warmed your skin, it had beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. It was uncomfortable in the best way. His one hand still trailed up and down your ribcage, every so often tweaking your sensitive nipple between his thumb and index finger and coaxing another moan of pleasure from you.
He worshiped you, every inch of you, like you were the greatest thing to ever grace the earth. To him, you might have been
“Fucking perfect, baby. Fucking made for me,” his lips found yours again, slick with spit as his tongue dipped into your mouth to taste every inch of you possible.
His stroke faltered, the rhythm uneven, and you knew he was close. That coil of heat in your stomach was threatening to snap any second every time his cock pulsed and throbbed within your walls. His grip on your wrists was tight, even as you struggled against him, desperate to just hold him.
“Johnny–baby–please I-I’m so close-”
You choked on your words once more, the hand still trailing across your stomach heating up again, leaving a burning trail of heat in your skin. Those heated fingers found your clit like it was second nature, a cry of pure pleasure leaving your lips as they circle that bundle of a thousand nerves over and over again, hips still snapping into you as quickly and desperately as they can.
“Let go,” his voice was husky, eyes blown wide as he looked down at you. Your wrists were finally let go, your hands immediately finding their place in the strands of his hair again as his free hand cups the back of your neck, smashing your lips into his in a flurry of moans. “Let go, baby, let go.”
Your second climax burned hotter than the first.
The pleasure burned so hot, so bright, you were practically sobbing, every cry and moan of pure bliss muffled by his kiss. Your legs locked around Johnny’s waist–tightly–so tight he could barely move away from you. It was overwhelming, the shockwaves of bliss that ran through your veins, the shaking of your thighs as you held onto his hair like it’s a lifeline.
He ground himself into you over and over, rhythm so far gone he was struggling. But all it took was your lips lazily finding his neck, teeth sinking in to leave your matching mark to his, for his hips to still as he spilt into you.
Johnny breathed out every moan into the side of your head, your name tumbling from his lips along with a flurry of swears. The grip he had on your hip was bruising, so tight you think he could snap the damn bone if he held any tighter. And his cock? Seated so deeply inside of you it’s as if you are one, heat pooled within your lower abdomen with every wave of cum that filled you to the brim.
On the other side of the room, the record was still playing softly. Bright lights still flashed by the windows every so often, crews still at work on the spaceship set for launch by mid-morning.
None of it mattered in the silence of the bed.
You aren’t sure how long either of you laid there. Your heartbeat, eventually, returned to normal, even as your chest still heaved to take in every breath that it could. Johnny still laid half on top of you, pressing repeated kisses to the side of your head, but said nothing. Your hand stayed in his hair, carding through it, as your core pulsed. It would ache come morning–hell, it already did–but it was worth it. It was so worth it.
Neither of you were quite sure when he pulled out of you, or how long you simply laid there and basked in the afterglow of a moment that should’ve happened years ago.
Eventually, Johnny shifted down. His lips trailed down your body in worship, like they’d done already that night. From your cheek, to your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, and down your lower abdomen.
“Careful…not sure I’d survive a round three,” your voice was hoarse, mouth dry. Johnny laughed against your skin, still kissing every inch he could see.
“I don’t think I would, either,”
His hands were heated once more, but not for the same purpose as moments before. Now, his touch was gentle, massaging every piece of you that he could get his hands on. His thumbs rubbed into your wrists, your waist, and your hips, digging into the muscles. A sigh escaped you at the comforting feeling, taut muscles loosening at the feeling of the heat and the movement of his hands.
With every kiss pressed to your skin, you could feel it: Johnny was humming. It didn’t take long to know which song he was humming, which lyrics: that same song once again.
I guess I'll never know the reason why, you love me as you do. That's the wonder, the wonder of you.
“Is that our song now?” you laughed, even if your heart was clenching at the mere thought. The mere idea of that song belonging to the two of you–the idea that Johnny Storm belonged to you.
You could feel his smile against your abdomen as he spoke. “It should be. It’s accurate. Because I don’t ever think I’ll get over the miracle that is you…loving me.”
It’s not a miracle. What you really want to tell him is that falling in love with him was so easy, you barely realized you had done it. It might be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.
Johnny crawled back up your body, slotting himself onto the bed beside you, before tugging you in. There’s no hesitation on your part, simply curling into his side with your head over his chest and arm slung around his waist. Words aren’t needed in the silence, not when you’ve both clearly laid everything out on the table now. Instead, you just listened to the beat of his heart, the natural rhythm that lulls you into a state of peacefulness.
He’s yours. Johnny Storm is yours. He’s always been yours, you just didn’t know it.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, hand cradling the back of your head as he said his next words confidently.
“We’re going to go up there tomorrow, and we’re going to stop this guy. We’re going to protect this Earth, like we’ve sworn to do. But me? I’m going to do it so I can come home to you, and love you for the rest of my life. I promise,”
He can’t promise that, you knew he couldn’t. There was no telling what might happen when that ship took off tomorrow, what they might encounter, or who this Galactus really was.
But Johnny Storm loved you. For now, in the quiet of the night, just between the two of you, that’s enough.
| aka: Wade accidentally breaks your nose. | hurt/comfort
| CW: mentions of blood, broken nose, swearing, sad deadpool
He’s monologuing again. Something about another mobster that’s been on Deadpool’s big hit-list for months, whom Wade had finally found tonight and was so close to finishing off… until said bad guy jumped into a getaway vehicle and disappeared. Oh, and you had made out something about the target’s bodyguard shooting him straight in the ass just before leaving. And then running him over. It was safe to say that Wade was livid.
It was an embarrassment to his mercenary reputation and ego, the latter hurting much more than the former.
“Fuck! Fuck everything! Fuck him and his ugly car!” He’s pacing now, mask off and thrown somewhere in the hallway, arms gesturing in wild, dramatic emphasis for an audience only he can see.
It’s like watching a firework that’s been lit and is currently exploding in the small confinements of your shared bedroom; it’d be entertaining if it wasn’t so close to your valuables. He’s now a touch too close to your trinkets and you wince.
“Baby…” you try gently, watching him from your bed with a concerned gaze.
He doesn’t hear you.
“And he shot me in the ass! Right up my hole! Who does that? At least buy me dinner first, I wouldn’t have said no to lobster, or a bouquet…” his hands whip around him.
Tentatively getting off the bed, you start to walk towards him with an outstretched hand. He doesn’t notice. Sometimes your boyfriend just needs to be angry and throw a tantrum, but sometimes you think he just wants to be comforted and held. Your gut is telling you it’s the latter, so you walk up behind him and try and go in for a hug, hoping you can reach him before your items get caught in the crossfire. You’re only a foot away now.
“…I can’t believe he ran me over with a car- if you can even call it that. Seriously, what sane person drives a Honda-“ and that’s when one of his flailing hands pull back, and smack you straight in the face.
Immediately, your hands shoot up and you squeal in pain, your vision going black for a few moments. Shakily, you cover your nose and feel warm blood trickle down your lips. It wouldn’t take a medial degree to know that his very hand had broken the bone there. Wade's attention is abruptly snapped to the sound of your pained cry, and of course, the feeling of his hand slamming into fragile flesh didn’t go unnoticed either. He immediately whirls around, eyes widening when he notices your hands covering your face.
"What the fuck?" his breath catches in his chest with dread, connecting the pieces.
Your nose is leaking blood through your fingers and onto the carpet, and with the sound of the impact his hand had made still bouncing around in his skull, he knows the injury isn’t light. The moment it truly registers, something horrible flickers across his face.
“N-no… no.” He mutters, taking a step back.
“Ow…” you whisper, and then you start to cry.
His heart breaks into a thousand shards, the guilt and revulsion of what he'd just done hitting him like a truck. He can see the fear and pain etched on your face, and it truly, genuinely feels like he’s dying.
"No, no, no, no," he mutters, reaching out instinctively, hands hovering over you. "I'm sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I didn't mean to... I wasn't paying attention…”
His eyes are filled with remorse, his previous anger at the night’s events completely gone. Mobsters be damned; he had hurt his baby. He could vomit. Gently, Wade takes you into his arms, pulling you against his chest while his brain runs through all the possible solutions to fixing you up. He's careful not to press too hard, afraid of causing anymore pain.
"Shhh, it's okay," he whispers hoarsely, one hand running up and down your back in what he hopes comes off as a reassuring gesture.
You know he’s trying to make you feel better, but the soft action feels clunky and foreign coming from him. The lack of any inappropriate jokes so far made it so much worse too; was your injury really that bad?
"I didn't- I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear! It was an accident. I'm so sorry..."
You only continue to sob quietly, something that multiplies his panic tenfold. Each hitch of your breath and tear dripping down your cheek might as well be sharp knives tearing at his soul. Wade hates seeing you cry. He loathes seeing you in pain. And the fact that he was the cause of both of these things right now?
With a tight jaw and a heavy breath, he pulls back and rubs your arms. You’re still holding your nose.
“Shh, shh. I’m so sorry peanut, I’m sorry.” His voice is uncharacteristically low. “Let me take a look at it, okay? I’m gonna move your hand now… just an inch…”
With a soft nod, you carefully move your hand back. The sight of your hand soaked in crimson makes your chin wobble, but you put on a brave face and shake it off. He tilts your head back, gentle fingers lifting under your chin, his expression strained with worry as he examines the damage. His brows knit together in concentration, his usual playful demeanor nowhere to be found.
"...Shit," he mutters under his breath, frowning deeper as he assesses you. He looks genuinely distraught, something so rare for him you almost don’t want to look at him. "It's... fuck. Yeah, It’s broken. Fuck. Let’s get you cleaned up and taken to a hospital. I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry…”
—
The apologies don’t stop. Not in the car, not while waiting in the ER, not even during the X-rays. If anything, they only get more frequent and desperate, especially when the doctor comes in to set your nose back into place.
“How very Canadian of you,” you try to joke, but his responding smile is wobbly.
“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry.” He looks like he’s about to cry, and you pat his hand.
“They gave me enough anesthesia to put down a horse, Wade.” You murmur, feeling loopy. “Now stop apologizing, I already said I forgive you. They’re gonna think you beat me at this rate.”
“I deserve it, I hope they lock me away in a dark cage with the rest of the sickos of the world. I hope they cut off my hand and it doesn’t grow back, so I’ll never be able hurt you again. I’ll be like Captain Hook, but less obsessed with boats. And children.”
You snort at that, holding back a smile that you’re sure would hurt even with all the medication coursing through your veins.
“Just order me pizza and ice cream tonight-- I’ll be more than happy. You can keep your limbs.” You laugh, an action you quickly regret. “Oww… and stop making my laugh…”
You feel a dozen guilty kisses being pressed to your forehead.
“Don’t worry, once we’re out of here I’ll cut my tongue off too,” he nods solemnly, and it takes everything in you not to laugh again.
Characters : frank castle, matt murdock, peter parker, kurt wagner, wade wilson, eric brooks, scott summers, remy lebeau, logan howlett, johnny storm
You wake up slowly, the first thing you register being warmth. It was solid, steady, protective.
Frank is still asleep beside you.
The room is quiet in that early-morning way, sunlight barely slipping through the blinds and casting soft lines across his bare shoulders. One of his arms is wrapped around your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. His grip isn’t tight, just… certain.
You shift slightly, testing the space, and his arm tightens immediately. Instinct.
“Don’t go,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, barely conscious.
You smile to yourself.
Last night lingers in the air, not in details, but in feelings. The closeness. The way he looked at you like you were something rare. The way he stayed, instead of pulling away like he usually does.
You trace a finger over the scars on his chest, careful, reverent. He stirs again, eyes fluttering open. For a moment he looks disoriented—then he sees you.
And everything softens ever so slightly.
“Hey,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your hip. “You okay?”
You nod. “Yeah. I am.”
He studies your face like he’s committing it to memory, jaw tense, like he’s bracing for you to regret staying. When you don’t move away, when you lean in instead, he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he admits.
You kiss his shoulder. “I wanted to wake up with you.”
That’s what gets him.
Frank pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours. No armor. No walls. Just a man who stayed the night and woke up to someone choosing him in the morning.
He presses a gentle kiss to your hair.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
You wake up tangled in warmth, limbs lazy, sheets a mess that tells a story neither of you are pretending didn’t happen.
Remy’s half on top of you, one leg hooked over yours like he claimed you in his sleep and never let go. His hair is a disaster, eyes still closed, lips curved like he’s already amused by something.
You shift just enough to get comfortable.
He hums immediately.
“Mmm… careful, chère. Dat kinda movement’s dangerous.”
You snort and grumble a grouchy, “You’re the one crushing me.”
One eye opens, cherry red on black, bright with mischief.
“Crushing?” he repeats, offended. “Non. Dis is cuddlin’. Very affectionate.”
“Your knee is practically a weapon.”
He grins wider and adjusts — somehow making it worse on purpose, pressing intentionally against the inside of your thigh.
“Funny. Didn’t hear you complainin’ bout my knee between your legs last night.”
You swat his chest, but he catches your wrist easily, presses a kiss to your knuckles instead. The teasing fades just a notch, replaced by something softer.
“You still here,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your palm.
“Still here,” you confirm.
That earns you a slow, satisfied smile. He leans down, kisses you properly this time — unrushed, warm, smiling into it like he’s got all the time in the world. His hand traces familiar paths, unhurried, like he’s savoring the morning as much as you.
“You know,” you murmur, “most people make coffee when they wake up.”
Remy laughs low in his throat.
“Chère,” he says, voice dropping, “I got somethin’ sweeter in mind.”
He slides down under the blankets, eyes never leaving yours. There’s a crooked smile on his lips now. Pure Remy. But his gaze is soft, reverent, like this isn’t a game so much as a promise. He settles between your thighs, spreading you gently as his breath ghosts warm and slow, hitting your bare cunt, making you gulp in anticipation.
— and he looks up at you like he’s exactly where he belongs. The softness of that crooked grin sending shivers through your body.
“Bon matin,” he murmurs.
Morning comes quietly.
You’re the first to wake, tucked against Matt’s side, his arm slung loose but possessive around your waist. The city hums faintly outside, distant traffic and early footsteps filtered through the cracked window. His breathing is steady, warm against your shoulder.
You shift just a little.
“Mm,” he hums immediately. “If you’re trying to sneak away, you’re terrible at it.”
You smile. “You were asleep.”
“I was resting my eyes,” he says lightly. “Big difference.”
You roll onto your elbow, looking down at him. His head is turned toward you, looking just over your shoulder, lips curved in that knowing little smile that always makes you feel like you’ve already lost.
“You know,” you say casually, “I expected more stamina from the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”
One brow lifts. Intrigue. “Oh?”
“Tapping out after four rounds?” you continue, thoughtful, “Kind of pathetic.”
He hears the lie immediately, hears the amusement threading through your pulse, the way your body gives you away even when your mouth doesn’t.
And he grins like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket.
“Four,” he repeats, savoring it. “That’s tapping out now?”
You shrug, trying to hide your smile so that he wouldn't be able to hear it in your voice,“I had higher expectations.”
He lets out a soft hum, deep in his chest, clearly enjoying himself far too much.
“Funny,” he says, voice warm, teasing. “Because your heart says you were very… satisfied.”
“Your hearing is overrated.” you scoffed, tugging his earlobe for emphasis, making him chuckle.
“Mm. Maybe.” He tilts his head, “But you’re smiling.”
Before you can fire back, his hands are on you — confident, gentle — sliding up your bare thighs as he pulls you easily on top of him. You barely have time to register the movement before you’re straddling his hips, his touch grounding, familiar.
His hands settle at your waist, thumbs brushing slow, deliberate arcs that make it very hard to remember your argument.
Matt smiles up at you — innocent, almost angelic, like he isn’t absolutely enjoying this.
“Well,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t want you walkin’ away disappointed.”
That hum again, low and pleased.
“Go on,” he adds, brown eyes somehow finding yours as they scrunch cutely with amusement, “Prove your point.”
Your cup his cheeks and your press your lips to his for the sole purpose that he would be able to feel your smile," You asked for it, counsellor."
You wake up warm, pleasantly sore, wrapped in blue limbs and silk-soft sheets that smell faintly like incense and ozone.
Kurt is curled around you protectively, one arm tucked beneath your neck, the other resting light at your waist like he’s afraid to hold too tight. His face is peaceful in sleep, lashes dark against his skin, lips parted just enough to look tempting.
And then there’s his tail.
It’s draped lazily over your thigh — except not lazily at all. The tip twitches the moment you shift, curling, tightening, giving him away long before his eyes open.
“Kurt.” you murmur.
His eyes snap open immediately.
“Guten Morgen, Liebes,” he says, voice gentle, careful. Too careful.
You tilt your head, “You look… composed.”
He nods solemnly. “I am being very good.”
The tail flicks.
You bite back a smile. “Your tail disagrees.”
He freezes.
Slowly, he glances down. The traitorous appendage tightens around your thigh like it’s trying to make a point of its own. His ears flush a darker blue.
“…It has a mind of its own,” he says weakly.
“Uh-huh.” You stretch deliberately, enjoying the way his breath catches despite his best efforts. “You’re staring.”
“I am not,” he protests.
The tail tightens again.
He exhales, resigned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Forgive me. It is just-” He gestures vaguely, “You look very… happy.”
“Happy?”
He swallows. “Deliciously… content.”
You laugh softly, reaching out to trace the fuzzy edge of his ear. “Well... you were pretty damn good last night.”
That makes him smile — soft, shy, pleased in that uniquely Kurt way. “I tried to be restrained this morning,” he admits, “Out of respect.”
His tail betrays him by sliding higher.
You raise a brow and snort,“You’re doing a terrible job.”
He laughs quietly, giving up, pressing his forehead to yours. “Ja,” he murmurs. “I fear my self-control is… limited.”
The tail curls possessively around your waist now, and Kurt sighs like a man who has accepted his fate. His golden eyes warm, affectionate, absolutely undone by you.
“But,” he adds softly, smiling, “I regret nothing.”
Morning light cuts through the blinds in thin, pale stripes. You wake up first, tucked against a solid wall of warmth that is very much Eric Brooks pretending he isn’t awake.
His arm is heavy across your waist. Protective. Familiar.
You shift and feel him tense instantly.
“You’re awake,” you say softly.
A pause. Then a low sigh.
“…Yeah.”
You turn slightly, catching sight of the faint mark at your shoulder in the mirror across the room. Two small impressions, already fading. You touch it without thinking.
Eric notices immediately.
His jaw tightens. “ fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, quiet but firm. “I didn’t mean to—”
You roll toward him before he can spiral, smiling. “Hey. You stopped.”
He frowns grouchily, “Still shouldn’t have happened.”
“You’re half-vampire,” you point out gently, “And you were hungry.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
You reach up, thumb brushing along his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “It kind of is. And you showed a lot of control.”
That does it.
He snorts softly, shaking his head, clearly uncomfortable with praise. “You’re givin’ me too much credit.”
But you hear it — the tiny hitch in his breathing. Feel it in the way his grip tightens just a little, like the words landed somewhere deep.
You grin. “C’mon. Most people would’ve left more than a mark.”
He leans down abruptly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Right over the bite like he’s trying to erase the compliment before it sinks in. Then another, softer one. Then one to your jaw.
“You talk too damn much,” he mutters.
“And you hate being appreciated,” you shoot back.
A corner of his mouth lifts despite himself.
He pulls you closer, forehead resting against your shoulder, voice low but warm. “You scared?”
You shake your head, “Not even a little.”
That makes him pause. Then he exhales slowly, tension easing, and brushes his thumb across your waist with surprising gentleness.
“…Good,” he murmurs.
You smile, completely content, while Eric Brooks pretends he isn’t glowing inside over being trusted.
You wake up to exactly zero peace.
“Mornin’, beautiful~ wow, okay, still unfairly hot. Did I ever tell you how talented you are with your mouth?”
His mouth is everywhere. Your cheek. Your jaw. Your temple. Each kiss punctuated with commentary delivered at machine-gun speed.
“—seriously, Olympic-level effort last night, ten outta ten, would absolutely risk my life again—”
“Wade,” you mumble, trying to surface from sleep.
“And the confidence? The enthusiasm? The way you—”
You pinch his nipple.
Hard.
“YOW—!” He jerks back, eyes wide, then immediately breaks into a grin," Oh no. Oh wow. File that under unexpectedly into that.”
You roll your eyes. “Please shut up.”
“Can’t. Won’t. I am physically incapable of not praising you for-”
You cut him off by leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to his scarred cheek, softer than all the others.
“Wade,” you say sincerely, “you were really sweet last night. And you make me feel… safe. Wanted.”
Silence.
Actual, honest-to-god silence.
His grin falters. Not gone, just stunned. His eyes soften in a way that makes your chest ache. For half a second, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do with something that genuine.
Then-
You blink, and suddenly he’s above you.
Pinned.
Your wrists gently but firmly held over your head, his weight settling between your legs, hips pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.
He’s grinning wildly now, unrestrained joy written all over his face.
You swear - swear - you see little cartoon hearts practically floating in his eyes.
“Well,” he says, delighted, “now I gotta reward you for how fucking cute that was.”
You groan out an amused," you slut.”
He leans down, nose brushing yours before he literally licks the tip of your nose, “And you looove me.”
You do, unfortunately.
You wake up before him, which feels rare enough to be a small miracle.
Logan is sprawled beside you, sheets tangled around his waist, broad chest rising and falling slow and steady. For once, there’s no tension etched into his face. No scowl, no clenched jaw. Just calm. Rest.
It makes your chest flutter stupidly.
You prop yourself up on one elbow, studying him like he might disappear if you look away too long. His dark hair is mussed, lashes resting against his cheeks, brow still faintly furrowed even in sleep.
You reach out carefully, smoothing your thumb over that crease.
He snaps forward without warning, teeth chomping the inside of your wrist — not hard, but just enough to make you yelp.
“Logan!” you gasp.
He doesn’t even open his eyes at first. Just smirks hotly.
“Shouldn’t poke dangerous animals,” he murmurs from having your wrist beteeen his teeth, voice rough with sleep.
“You were asleep!” you accuse with a glare.
“Was restin’,” he says with a snort, “You’re noisy.”
You glare harder at him. “I was being affectionate.”
He releases your wrist, bringing it closer to inspect like he’s deciding whether to apologise for the faint mark he had left. His thumb rubs over the spot, gentler now.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
That’s as close to soft as he’ll get, and it makes you grin.
“You looked peaceful,” you tease. “Didn’t know you were capable.”
“Careful, darlin'. ” he warns. “I got a reputation.”
You lean down and press a sweet kiss to his scarred knuckles — slow, deliberate, affectionate.
That’s all it takes.
Logan’s breath hitches immediately. His eyes darken, and in the next second he’s pulling you down against him, hand fisting lightly in your hair as he claims your mouth in a heavy kiss. All heat and hunger and unmistakable intent, tongue sliding against yours like he’s been waiting for an excuse.
When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, he exhales sharply.
“…You do that on purpose,” he growls.
You smile, completely smug. “Maybe.”
He snorts, already leaning back in. “Smart mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”
"Well, my smart mouth made you cum three times last night, so-"
His teeth nips your bottom lip, glaring at you but the smile twitching onto his lips told you all you needed to know.
You wake slowly, cocooned in warmth and soft sheets, your body pleasantly heavy. For a moment, you don’t move. Just breathe.
until you realize the weight against you isn’t just the blankets.
Scott.
He’s curled into you, his head resting against your chest, one arm loosely draped around your waist like he belongs there. His face is relaxed in sleep, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth parted just slightly. For someone who always carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, he looks… peaceful. Safe.
Your heart does a small flip.
His hair is a complete mess, dark strands sticking up in every direction, and when your gaze drifts lower, you notice them... two faint bite marks along his collarbone, already blooming into soft bruises.
Heat rushes to your face as last night crashes back into your mind in vivid fragments.
“Oh my god,” you mumble to yourself, mortified and amused all at once. “I’m such a horny mess.”
A quiet snicker answers you.
You freeze.
Scott looks up at you, his eyes shut tight as he gives you a charming smile, “You say that like I didn’t enjoy every second.”
You groan, lifting a hand to cover your face. “You were awake.”
“Mm. For a while.” His voice is still rough with sleep, low and warm. He shifts closer, tilting his head so his lips brush your skin. “Couldn’t bring myself to move.”
You reach toward the nightstand, fingers searching blindly, and he takes that as an invitation as your body hovers over him more.
His mouth trails along your collarbone, slow and lazy, punctuated by soft kisses that linger just long enough to make you shiver. A gentle nip here, a teasing suck there - like he’s leaving reminders.
“Scott,” you laugh breathlessly, finally grabbing his glasses and nudging them toward him, “You can’t even see.”
“Minor detail,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss before slipping them on. Once his glasses are secure, he looks up at you properly, that familiar fondness settling into his expression, “Besides, I know you pretty well by now.”
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “So confident for someone who uses a laser-proof sleep mask.”
“Hey,” he protests lightly, fingers tracing idle patterns along your side. “You like my sleep mask.”
“I tolerate it.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced.
The banter fades into something quieter as you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. Then another. You let them trail lower, over his jaw, down his neck, across his chest, feeling his breath change beneath you.
By the time you disappear beneath the blankets, his breathing is already uneven, a sharp inhale catching in his throat as your breath ghosts against the inside of his thighs.
His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through gently - not guiding, just holding on. You were his tether.
“God,” he exhales, head tipping back with a pant, “You’re dangerous.”
You smile to yourself and take him into your greedy mouth.
You wake up warm and hazy, reaching instinctively for him—
— and finding nothing.
Your eyes blink open, frown forming immediately as your hand pats the empty space beside you. The sheets are still warm, which somehow makes it worse. You let out a quiet, dramatic huff and flop back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling like you’ve been personally wronged.
Then you hear it.
The toilet flushes.
A moment later, the bathroom door creaks open, and Peter pads back into the bedroom in nothing but soft pajama pants and a sheepish grin, chocolate brown hair still damp from splashing water on his face.
“Oh no,” he says immediately, voice amused. “That face. That’s the ‘I thought you disappeared forever’ face.”
You turn your head slowly, eyes narrowed. “You left.”
“For, like, thirty seconds,” he laughs, crossing the room. “I promise I didn’t swing off into the sunset.”
He barely gets back under the covers before you’re on him, arms and legs wrapping around his middle like a sleepy octopus. He lets out a surprised laugh, automatically curling into you, one arm snug around your back.
“Missed me that much, huh?”
You mumble something incoherent into his chest, fingers clutching his shirt. He smiles softly, pressing a kiss into the top of your head, lingering there. His hand drifts lazily over your side, warm and familiar, tracing over your hip and down your thigh.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”
“My legs are sore,” you mumble, half-asleep.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Peter stiffens just slightly.
“Oh,” he says, flushing instantly. He clears his throat, ears definitely red now. “Uh— I mean— I can— I can carry you? Today. Around the apartment. If you need. Like, totally heroic bridal carry situation.”
You snort, lifting your head to look at him. “You’d do that?”
He nods earnestly, trying very hard not to think about why your legs are sore. He needs to remember you're not as flexible as he is. You seriously were put through the ringer last night, your legs being manhandled in every which direction.
“Absolutely. Doctor’s orders. I’m the doctor. Of… being your boyfriend.”
You laugh, settling back against him as he relaxes again, pressing another gentle kiss to your hair.
“Stay,” you whisper.
He tightens his hold just a little. “Wasn’t going anywhere.”
You wake to friction and heat, your body responding before your thoughts can form. Johnny is behind you, breath ragged against your ear, every exhale hot enough to make you shiver. There’s a slow, deliberate pressure as he moves, unhurried, like he’s savoring the way you melt beneath him.
You groan, half protest, half invitation.
“Easy,” you mumble, trying to sound annoyed.
He laughs softly, low and dangerous, and shifts closer. One of your legs is lifted with effortless confidence, opening you to him, fitting you exactly where he wants you. The contact sends a spark straight through your core, your back arching without permission.
“Funny,” he murmurs into your ear, voice rough with memory, “you weren’t saying that last night. Pretty sure you were the one pulling me closer.”
Your breath stutters. The words do things to you— do things with him pressed so close, heat radiating off his skin. Johnny always runs warm, but this is different. Sweat gathers along your spine, the air thick, charged. He’s a heater, coiled and barely contained.
A faint flare ripples along his shoulders, light licking through his hair. He swears under his breath and moves quickly, smoothly, rolling you onto your back before the fire can get out of hand. The mattress dips as he settles between your legs, bracing himself above you.
“Hold on,” he mutters, grin flashing as the glow fades. “Don’t need to set the place on fire.”
His hands slide to your hips, firm and grounding. He leans in, forehead resting briefly against yours, breath mingling with yours, the tension unbearable.
Then he shifts — just a fraction — and the world narrows to sensation. There’s a slow, steady press, a shared inhale, the unmistakable feeling of being filled as your cunt welcomes him again. A sound slips from your throat as he stills, eyes locked on yours, heat humming between you.
Johnny exhales, satisfied, reverent. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Just like last night.”
Authors note: wrote this at like two in the morning drunk, and it’s written on my phone my computer is still broken💔 I couldn’t respond to the ask so I took a ss. Thank you anon for the request💕not proofread.
Your whole body is tense, fear pumping deep in your veins and through your body. You’ve been running along the highway for quite some time now, adrenaline is the only thing keeping your wobbly legs up and from collapsing. A simple road trip traveling from state to state with your friends had quickly turned out to be the worst thing you’ve ever agreed to. There were a few other people you hadn’t known who were accompanying you and your friends on this trip, it was all going fine until it wasn’t. The driver got lost, deep in the twisting dirt roads of rural Texas. No one was in a good mood because of this, and the searing hot air of the Texas sun was not helping. Hope was brought back seeing the road sign, ‘Travis County’ in faded bold lettering. A couple of miles down the road passes, and then there is a parked cop cruiser on a small dirt road, as soon as the van passes its overhead lights flash on and the siren begins to blare, making the driver groan, cursing under his breath as he pulls over on the side of the dusty road. “Everyone act cool okay?” He instructs everyone as the sheriff begins to walk up to the van.
The cop was an asshole, there was no doubt about it, and the driver's attitude was definitely not helping the sheriff's temper. The man was completely pissed off and combative, leering at everyone in the vehicle with pure disgust on his face and muttering under his breath something about hippies. The bickering continued before the sheriff seemed to have enough, but what you would have never expected was him to raise his gun and put a bullet into the man’s head. Blood, flesh and bone spray over the van, covering everyone's faces and clothes. It wasn’t long before the initial shock passed and everyone scattered, screaming as they launched themselves out of the van and onto the asphalt, shooting up and running off in all directions. You dared not to look back as you heard their screams cut short after each bullet was shot, fearing any moment spent not escaping would be your end. Each second mattered. Your shoes kick up dust each shaky step you take, the promise of death keeping you from slowing.
The sound of a distant engine roaring up to life is heard in the distance behind you, you’re certain you're the last one standing. Other than the car there are no signs of any others alive, their screams have long since been silenced. The sheriff is hot on your tracks. Seeing that he’s speeding right towards you, you bolt into the steep ditch. Your shoe catches over a loose rock and before you know it your face first tumbling down into the dusty ground below. The car comes to a screeching halt, barely missing the ditch as he turns away from it. You can’t even pick yourself up in time before he’s on you, swinging the door open he’s rushing out of the car, and sliding down into the ditch. You lift your face from the ground and pick yourself up with your arms before you’re shoved right back down into the dirt, you feel cold metal pressing and digging into the base of your skull. The sheriff keeps you down with just the gun alone, making it clear that if you make one sudden move, he’ll show you no mercy and shoot. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, beating and constricting with fear, wanting so desperately to flee but you're stuck, stuck by the threat of this man blowing your head off with his shotgun.
His lips curl in a cruel, snide smirk, yellowed-crooked teeth bared, his breath hot with the faint smell of tobacco. “You just get up nice and slow now.” His eyes roam over each dip and curve of your body perversely, he has no shame as he practically undresses you with his eyes. “Sir please-“ the barrel digs harder into your skull, forcing your face into the ground more, you shut up and comply with his demands. A couple of moments pass, the gun is still pressed against your head but not as painful as before, allowing you to stand up. Shakily, you rise to your feet, being as slow as possible to not trigger his wrath, he’s shown that he is not a merciful man, and you’d rather not test his patience any longer. You keep your hands raised in compliance. His weathered hand grabs the back of your shirt, tugging you back then twisting your body forward and towards the car, pushing you roughly into the back. As you tumble onto the leather seats the door slams shut, and all you can do is watch as he brings the bodies back into the trunk. The bodies of your once best friends, the kind strangers who helped you in your travels lifeless. You regret looking though, your eyes catch sight of the hole shot in through their heads, causing you to recoil in disgust, bile rises and burns in your throat and before you can stop it you’re puking on the floor of the car. Your eyes scan the car for any way to escape, but there is none. The leather seats are torn, covered in dried-oxidized blood that crusts over the aged leather. Scratches along the seats shows you that many before your group have fought for their life here.
The drive is painstakingly long, at least that’s what it feels like. Each turn on the road, each bump that jolts you in your seat makes you realize just how screwed you are. His eyes briefly check to make sure you aren’t up to something in the back, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. This man is not a cop, that was clear the very moment he shot the first bullet into the driver's head. He’s getting off on your fear, palming himself like the damn dog he is as he looks at your teary face. “You’re really pretty when you cry like that.” He says in a sleazy voice, licking his dry lips as he stares at your breasts, blood spots spattered over your low-cut top and breasts. After a couple more minutes of this torturous journey passes the car comes rolling to a stop in front of an old house. He steps out of the car and starts to walk to the back, opening the door he grabs your arm, tugging you out and throwing you to the ground. Before you can get up he hits your head with the back of the gun, black spots fill your vision, you hear the man calling out for someone before you go completely unconscious.
Your eyes adjust to the dark room as your blurry vision clears, no longer are you outside, this place is dark and damp unlike the unforgiving Texas heat outside. A blurry figure stands in the middle of the room, the only light a small overhead lightbulb that flickers weakly. The memories of what happened before come rushing back to you, quickly you try to get up but your arms and legs come to a halt, chains rattling from the movements. This alerts the man at the table in front of you, muddy water sloshes as his bulky frame quickly turns towards you. The man is tall, and big. His bulk covered the light behind him, now his features were hidden in the shadows. Your breathing starts to pick up again, lungs burning from each gasp of air you greedily suck in, the fear makes it nearly impossible to calm and slow your hyperventilating, each gulp of air never enough to sate your body. Looking around the room you’re met with gore, gutted bodies dangling on meathooks, bones haphazardly strewn about each tabletop, shelves filled with human parts, and oh how much blood coats each surface. Meat is packed in butcher paper and wrapped up, stacked, and labeled on the man’s work table in the middle of the room, what little is left of the remains of your lifeless best friend beside it. You whine under your breath, confronted with the fact that everyone from before is dead and you will soon be next.
The shadowy figure wastes no time and starts walking straight towards you, his strides long and heavy, boots thudding with each step he takes to get to you. The small window above you illuminates his face, showing off his grisly appearance. Long matted black curls cling to his forehead, stopping just at his shoulders. A black-leather mask hides the lower half of his face, straps tied around his head tightly. Tattered worn clothes cover his hefty frame, a brown butcher's apron drapes from his neck and is tied tightly around his thick waist, under the apron is a dirty button-up and a sloppily tied tie. He squats down, grabbing your jaw roughly, turning your head to the side, and then back again, inspecting you like a piece of meat. Tears fall from your glossy red eyes, streaming down your cheeks, and slide onto the man’s grubby fingers. His face inches closer to yours, you try to look away, but his grip tightens and snaps your head back forward and forces you to stare back at him.
“Please… Please I'm sorry, just don’t hurt me.” Your voice croaks, throat dry and burning from screaming and the lack of hydration for however long you’ve been trapped down here unconscious. Meekly you beg with the man, traumatized so deeply from the past incident with the sheriff you can no longer fight, just beg pathetically. He stares questioningly, his guard raised. Normally the victims brought home shout and curse at him, they see him nothing more than just a nasty mutt, a filthy degenerate, no matter how hard he tries to pretend those words don’t matter, each time they’re said they cut deep, festering in the depths of his mind, repeated over and over until his anger boils over and he tortures them cruelly. Any moment he expects you to start screaming at him, it’s what he’s used to, he almost wants it so he doesn’t have to face his selfish feeling of want, of need. What throws him off though is you, your lack of anger, your words are different, soft. He craves softness.
His palm rubs your cold cheek, his skin leathery against yours, and you lean into it. He recoils back up as soon as you do so, wrenching away like the very act of you leaning into his touch burned him. He stumbles back and out of the room, his boots thud loudly as he quickly escapes up the stairs. He slams the door shut, leaving you alone and confused in the damp cellar. You slump back against the brick wall, trying to ease the burning sensation of your arms raised and cuffed against the wall. It feels as if your arms are going to pop out of the socket, the tension bubbling deep in your very bones. Panting fearfully you tug and pull repeatedly, fear overtaking you once more. The very room seems to be closing in around you, the blood-curdling screams seared into your mind. Thrashing around you try to forget, but now that you are alone it haunts your mind-your very being. There is nowhere you can look without being met with death, bodies, bones, and limbs strewn about in a macabre manner. You don’t want to be alone, but also you can’t bear being in the room with that man, the one who butchered your friends like animals, and just the very thought of seeing that corrupt sheriff makes you recoil and shiver in disgust. Tears won’t stop flowing, and you can’t help but mock yourself, how pathetic you look trying so hard to escape, when you look weak as you thrash your shaking limbs. You can’t help but laugh, wondering how things would be if you just said no, if you never agreed to tag along on that stupid road trip. Thinking about what-ifs is pointless now.
Thomas slams the door shut behind him, hurrying to get away from the basement. Luda sees his rigid frame and his quick pace. She’s quick to concern and fuss over him, always so worried about her troubled son. “Tommy dear you alright?” She asks warily. His legs come to a halt, he is never one to ignore his mother, turning around he looks over to her, her eyes are deeply concerned beneath her glasses, she takes a step closer but he backs away, causing her more distress. Before she can question him any more Hoyt comes sauntering in, rooting around in the fridge for another beer. He slammed the fridge door shut, twisting off and tossing out the bottle cap. He scans and takes in the scene before him, he couldn't care less about what’s happening. “You done with the meat boy?” He grumbles out, taking a long sip of the amber liquid, guzzling it down. Thomas nods, quick for the man’s approval. Hoyt wipes his lips, grinning wickedly. “Good. Now, get yourself cleaned up, you reek boy.” Pursing his lips and his nose wrinkles is disgust. He doesn’t need to be told twice, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the upstairs bathroom, slamming and locking the rickety door shut.
His mind replays that moment over and over. Like the pathetic mutt he is, he's hard. Over the years he’s liked to fantasize, keeping his mind busy to distract himself from his pain, his loneliness, it was the same pitiful fantasy he’s been dreaming about since he was in his teens, since the days he was working in the slaughterhouse. Her even just giving him a lick of affection-even if he knows it wasn’t what she intended-has him spiraling into a deplorable, lust-fueled mess. His mind muddled with the vision he had, now with her. His hand trails down his stomach, pushing the apron aside so he can grind his palm against his thick length tenting his pants. Oh how grateful he is that the apron hid it from his mother, the last thing he wants is for her to think of him in a bad light. His cock chubs up in his pants as his mind conjures up sick thoughts of that woman, oh how he wishes he would get the guts to take her, fill her up until she’s so stuffed full her body can’t take it. He stops briefly to pull his cock out, the metallic hiss of the zipper can barely be heard over his panting, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his thick cock. He wishes it could be different, that he could have her, and she would want it, could take her as his own, like how he’s always wanted, but he knows it will never happen, even as he begins to stroke his cock fervently he knows deep down he is the dog everyone says he is. The rabid animal everyone called him back in his younger days. A freak, a beast that needs to be put down. He’s confronted with his debased actions as he cums in his hand, spilling rope after rope of creamy cum, wasting it when he could be stuffing a woman full of it. He knows no woman would want it, women look at him with pure disdain in their eyes, that girl down there surely is no different, she would never love him. As he comes down from his high, his mind slowly returns back to normal, he sheds his clothes to bathe himself like instructed. He has no time for feeling, his life purpose is to serve, not want.
The sun has long since set, the man hasn’t killed you, he hadn’t even come back down yet, you wish he would at this point, to stop the suffering quick then whatever those two men have planned for you. You’re brought back out of your thoughts, you gasp when you hear the door atop the stairwell creak open, heavy footfalls thump loudly against the aged wood, dust rising from each step. He’s back, his eyes never leaving yours with each step he takes. He stoops down to your level and sits in front of you, holding out a plate of food as he anxiously waite for your approval on it. When he sees you don’t recoil back from him, he picks up the fork, cutting up a piece of the sausage and bringing it up for you to eat. Your obviously hesitant, who knows what that meat is from, even if you wanted to not eat it, your stomach growls and constricts. You part your soft lips and close in around the fork, taking and chewing the meat as he eagerly starts to cut up more. It almost tastes like pork? You’re not sure, but the texture is off and instantly alarms you, it’s unlike any other meat you’ve had. Your lips purse as you try to hide a reaction, who knows how he would react if you slipped up and acted disgusted by the food he gave you. You're lucky he’s giving you food at all, and besides, he looks happy that you even accepted it, almost like he wanted your approval on what he brought you. After finishing the sausage he scoops up some mashed potatoes and shovels it into your mouth sloppily. He picks up the last of the potatoes and when some slips off and plops on to your breast with a wet smack He leans down, lowering his face onto your chest, the leather mask scraping against your soft skin and his tongue licks and nibbles over the spot. You're taken aback by this, trying to push him off your breast, he groans, tongue swiping and licking his lips as he stares up at you through half lidded eyes. He grabs the porcelain plate and licks it clean, feasting on any scrap he’s given.
“Tommy!” You recognize the voice of the man calling from upstairs, it’s that sheriff again. Your whole body goes cold, fear building up from the base of your spine and crawling up your whole body giving you goosebumps. The man you know now as Tommy whips his head back, looking up at the stairs, he's quick to rush and grab the keys, pushing them into the lock that cuffed your arms. You hiss out a sigh of relief as your arms finally fall down to your sides, but it’s short lived as he drags you over to some closet, sliding a 2x4 into the handles so you can’t open it. The sheriff is marching down the stairs, peaking through the cracks of the closet you watch as he angrily trudges over to Tommy. “Damnit boy you forgot to feed the hogs and they’ve been squealing out there for hours!” He shouts, when Tommy doesn’t move he slams his foot down making both you and Tommy jolt “Boy get your ass out there! You ain’t too old to get your ass beat you remember that now.” With that he's quick to hustle up the stairs. You’re more confused than anything, how could a man of that size be the one getting yelled at by him? Why would he take orders from that filthy sheriff? Your eyes catch on the name tag glinting in the light. ‘Hoyt’. Your lips curl in disgust, you just know he gets off to the feeling of power he holds over people, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he saunters up the stairs. A sigh of relief slips from your lips as he leaves, now you are left to await Tommy's return.
Over the next few days a routine is built with Tommy, you spend most of your days trapped in the basement, waiting for his return, he spends most of his time either butchering, sewing or doing laborious chores outside. You’ve come to learn a lot about him in this short time frame, even if he doesn’t speak. Tommy is like the family’s guard dog, eager to please, working hours throughout the day, protecting them when any intruder should come through, all just for a scrap of affection, affection only his mama gives. He’s like a puppy really, begging for the attention it won’t receive, and he sees nothing wrong with it because that’s all he knows, but now that you’re in the picture, he can’t help but spend all his free time begging for your attention. His mama is concerned for him, seeing less and less of him over these few days. She’s always been the one doting over him, if she was out of the picture she knows no one would care for him, she shivers at the thought of leaving her poor boy alone with Hoyt and Monty, she knows how cruel they can be sometimes.
Thankfully these past few days he took off those painful chains, he knows you’re not stupid enough to try and leave, the fear of facing Hoyt keeping you down here, death would be certain the moment you step foot out of this basement. You don’t know how long it’s been, you don't know anything anymore, it’s dark outside of the window but knowing that it's night outside doesn’t do anything to calm you, left alone with nothing but your thoughts all day and all night. After being alone for so long you’re starting to crave any human contact, you even start to yearn for Tommy to be around you, being alone so often is starting to get to you mentally. You don’t even notice he's returned until he's hoisting you up and off the ground, interrupting your train of thought. one of his hands is on your lower back and the other on your bottom keeping you up, you try to ignore him pawing at the fat of your ass. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, fisting the fabric of his dirty button-up. You watch as he takes you upstairs, now fear boils over once more, fear that he’s taking you to your death, ‘but it doesn’t make any sense’ you try to tell yourself ‘if he wanted you dead you’d be dead.’ He cautiously steps foot out of the basement and into the kitchen, listening for any movement. He heads down the hall, each step he takes he makes sure not to make a noise, snoring can be heard through one of the doors he passes. Soon you both reach a bathroom and he sets you down on to the sink counter, pushing past the yellowed shower curtain and turning on the shower faucet. A shower would feel so good right now, your body caked with sweat and grime, your hair greasy.
He starts to take off his clothes, undoing every button and shrugging off his shirt. His body is littered with scars, pink healed cuts adorn his tanned skin. His bulky stomach pudges over his jeans, which he is in the process of taking off, your eyes flick back up so as to not stare at his dick. Your eyes roam his upper body, his body is thick, a thick layer of fat covers his hard earned muscles, and he's a hairy man that’s for sure. Hair coats his arms, dusted along his chest, and a trail leads down to his soft tummy and into his boxers. Soon he’s completely naked save for his mask, and he’s moving to take off your clothes. He’s eager to tug off your pants, he rips your shirt in two and you can’t help but scold him. “Hey!” You whisper at him, he groans and huffs loudly, leaning against you. You let out a small sigh and watch as he takes off the rest of your clothes, tossing them carelessly to the ground, you stare up at him, his hands fall to the sides. He’s too embarrassed to take off his mask in front of you, expecting you to scream as soon as he does so, instead he covers your eyes, you hear the rustle of the mask and it being placed on the sink beside you. Keeping your eyes covered he leads you inside the shower, the water lukewarm as it sprays against you. He uncovers your eyes now that he’s behind you and wraps his arms around you, panting happily, his face nuzzling against the back of your shoulder, you try to ignore the feeling of his cock rubbing against your ass, feeling it slightly harden. You're shocked to feel as he rubs his face against you, his nose isn’t there, even at the feeling you dare not to turn around and anger him, instead you pump shampoo into your palm and begin to wash your hair, he does the same. After you're done with shampooing and conditioning your hair you reach for the wash cloth he brought in for you, grabbing the bar of soap to rub it against the wash cloth and suds it up. Once it’s soapy enough you set the soap down and start to rub the soapy cloth all over your body. He finished cleaning himself before you and is now watching from behind, you swat at his wandering hands that kneed and squeeze your tits, he lets out a breathy moan from the back of his throat, keeping his hands to himself for the time being.
You bend down to begin washing your legs, which you quickly regret. You feel him grip your ass, pawing at your wet, malleable flesh. He can't keep his hands to himself for more than a few seconds, that’s for sure. He groans at the sight of you bent over, his cock nudging and slipping around and through your pussy lips. You speed up washing yourself, and as soon as you're done you shoot back and straighten yourself up. Your fingers grip and turn the faucet until the water stops pouring, now left in the cold air as water droplets clinging and dripping down both of your bodies. He's the first to leave, drying off, the first thing he puts on is his mask, then he opens the shower curtains and hands you a clean towel. As you dry yourself off he puts on his new clothes, jeans and a stained tank top, it clings to the heft of his stomach, your left with the tattered remains of your dirty clothes. You watch him as he brushes his hair, wincing at how he does so. The brush rips through his hair roughly as he tries to get the knots out, he lets out short grunts as he does so. “Hey, let me help” you offer, his blue eyes seem to light up as he enthusiastically hands you the brush, you sit on the toilet and he sets himself down on the floor between your legs, waiting oh so eagerly for your attention. You start gently from the bottom and make your way up, the knots start to come out, his soft hair curling lightly into waves.
His hair is starting to get long, it’s past his shoulders, all brushed out you notice jagged cuts in an attempt to shorten it. “Would you like me to give you a trim as well?” You ask him, your tone soft. You have no idea why you’re being so nice to him, you should hate him, should scream at him and the man who’s killed your friends, but you don’t, instead you gently rub his shoulder and wait for his approval which he is quick to give. You dig through the drawers and find a pair of scissors, you cut his hair, trimming the ends, you have the opportunity to hurt him, but you don’t, you don’t even think it crosses his mind that you could stab him and run, because right now he's so happy that the attention is on him. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. You trim back to the length he likes it, shoulder length. Once you’re finished he holds you again, keeping you up in his arms as he brings you back down into the basement, the rickety steps creaking with each step he takes. He sets you down on the pile of pillows he set up for you earlier this week, he scans you, his eyes landing on the dirty ripped clothes you’re wearing, he turns and starts shuffling through boxers. You watch as he pushes a bunch of fabrics aside to find something, he tugs out a sundress, it’s pink with floral patterns on it. He grabs your clothes completely shredding them from you, he shoves the dress into your hands and waits, wanting to watch you put it on.
When you put it on you turn to look at him, you see that his eyes crinkle softly and can tell he’s smiling, then you look down to see hes hard again ‘when is he not sporting a boner around you these days?’ He grips your hips, tugging you close to him. He likes you in dresses, that’s for sure. He stares at you for a long time before he stands up, turning and heading up the stairs as quick as he can, he shuts and locks the basement door behind him. You sigh softly, leaning against the wall and dropping down onto the pillows below you. You can’t help but be sick at yourself, instead of fighting to escape the clutches of your captor you stay, stay in the jaws of the predator. Your friends surely would be pissed, but you don’t want to fight it, don’t want to leave. Trying to rationalize it in your head over and over, the same thoughts pop up each time. He’s a broken man, he needs healing, he needs love. And maybe you’re the one who has to give it to him..
Upstairs Thomas is spiraling, he feels guilty that he’s hiding her from his family, oh how selfish he’s being, but it doesn’t matter, not when the images of her naked body cloud each crevice of his depraved conscience. The flesh from her body could be feeding his family, instead she’s alive, her heart pumping blood into her veins, she’s breathing. His left bicep covers his mouth as he strokes his cock to her, he’s been at it for so long the tip of his cock near red, cum coats his hand, lathered on his cock each stroke, some sticking to the long wiry pubes from his bush of pubic hair. He can’t stop, won’t stop. He needs her like the air he breathes, Her being fills up his body like the oxygen fills and stretches his lungs. His family would think so low of him, how he’s bringing shame to the Hewitt name for being so selfish, taking away food from their mouths just so he can stroke his cock to her, dress her up in pretty clothes, and hump her in the shower. Remembering the feeling of slipping his penis between her pussy lips has him whimpering out, thrusting his hips in the air, bucking wildly as he cums hard again. He pants like a beast, cock throbbing incessantly, his boner won’t go away, almost mocking him with how hard he is. Soon enough he's back at it again, showing no remorse as he jerks himself silly. she’ll love him, he knows it, he’ll make her love him, she’ll give him everything he’s ever hoped for, and she will do it with a smile on her face. He's so overstimulated, he hasn’t jerked himself off this much before, but he’s doing it for her he believes, he’d do anything for her, because in his mind they are in love, they are together. He hopes that one day, she doesn’t care what he looks like behind the mask, she accepts him for who he is, she will gladly do anything for him, love him, let him fuck her, let him put his babies in her- he cums again, the hardest he has, he yelps as he shoots thick ropes on his stomach. Babies… he wants to give her babies, that thought had him orgasam faster then he has ever before. He wants it now, craves it. His grip on his cock softens, post nut clarity hitting him like a freight train, and now he’s ashamed once more, tears brimming his red eyes.
The morning comes fast, after such an intense night he slipped into slumber quickly. The morning sun peaks through the window and casts warm rays against his skin, which is coated in dried cum that crusted onto the hair of his stomach and bush. A low groan rises in his throat, he has to clean himself up before going to see her. He blushes at the thought of her, god how disgusting he was last night, he’s ashamed of himself, how pathetic he was for her, she would surely think of him as a perverted mutt, she would never look at him again. Now that he isn’t excruciatingly horny, the intrusive thoughts of self doubt and hatred seep back into his head, seeping into his skull like a poison. What a lame excuse of a man he is, but then again, he won’t stop, he can’t stop himself from acting like this, he wants her so bad it hurts. He just wants her acceptance, her approval, her love. Those thoughts are pushed away though, he forces himself to put on his clothes and trudge down the stairs. Seeing his mama always makes him cheer up though, he could never be mad around her. A plate of sausage eggs and toast sits in the table, steaming just for him. “Mornin’ dear” she smiles brightly, inching the plate closer to him, he grabs it and nods thankfully, heading down the stairs and into the basement. Luda frowns, turning to look at Hoyt as he shovels forkfuls of his breakfast down. “Charlie, something's wrong with Thomas, he spends all his time in the basement nowadays, he's even forgetting to do his chores more frequently.” Her voice is laced with deep concern for her boy, she sets the tea kettle on the stove before turning back to Hoyt. He grumbles correcting her first “ma it’s Hoyt, he’s just being weird, himself you know, he ain’t young no more he likes to be alone. What needs to stop though is him forgetting his chores, sick of having to yell at him more often.” He returns to eating. Luda just shakes her head, hands pressed against her hips, “you’re his brother, maybe you need to have a heart to heart with him, he listens to you, you know that.” At her words he's rolling his eyes and groaning, but before he can protest she corrects him with a sharp glare. He might see himself as the man of the house but he listens to his ma. “I’ll get around to it” he huffs, his eyes flickering over the newspaper he's reading, the conversation now ending. Luda just sighs and returns to her cleaning. Her boys are definitely wild ones that’s for sure.
Weeks pass, the longer Thomas is away from you the more you crave his presence, you don’t care anymore, you need him, need him so bad it hurts. You wait anxiously in the basement for him, unable to read the books he brought you because your mind is so focused on him. What if he gets hurt? What if more victims come around and they win? They hurt him? God you don’t think your mind can bare the thought of him getting hurt, possibly killed out there. You ease-drop to the conversations that happen upstairs, ear pressed against the ceiling trying to hear anything about the man that feeds you, bathes you, you even begin to think he loves you just as much as you are starting to love him. Guilt is pushed into the back of your mind, how could you care about what anyone thinks? They don’t matter in the long run, they aren’t the one who cares for you, he does. Another hour passes before he returns, he pants, sweat covering his arms in a light sheen, dripping down his forehead. Waiting was worth it in the end to see him like this, like a love sick puppy, his gaze roams over your body with pure adoration, rising from the chair he trails his eyes up each swell, dip and curve of your luscious body. He trudges over to the box of clothes hes gathered from his victims, he picks out a cornflower blue dress, with a white lace hem, he sifts through another box before grabbing a simple pair of white heels, he's carrying something else you can’t quite see.
You shed your clothes, tossing them to the floor as you wait for him to give you his chosen attire. He does, grabbing what you couldn’t see before you spread it out, it’s a washed pair of scandalous lingerie, a grin spreads across your face as you realize what he wants. He wants you to dress up for him, let him watch your body in different clothes, like an erotic dress up. Slipping into the lingerie and coming back out, his eyes widened, you decide to give him a little spin, letting him get a full 360 of your body is his chosen set. You see him sporting a boner in his pants, looking just happy to be here. You let him touch and grab at your body, pawing and grouping at the fat of your tits, his thick and long fingers grabbing the whole of your chest, his dirty mits rubbing grime all over the pristine clothes. Pulling back you slip the dress on, the back zipper open he stands and swivels you to turn around, his hands grasping the small zipper and pushing it up. It’s a tight fit, definitely a little too short to be proper, the neckline low, it grips your torso making your boobs push up. It’s tight around the mid section, and the skirt flows down to the middle of your thighs gripping your waist. When you turn around to face him you freeze, you’ve seen him look at you sexually a lot of times, but this is the first time that it’s so intense his gaze almost burns. There is nothing but lust in his deep blue eyes, his hands shoot up to grip your waist, pulling and hoisting you up, walking you over to his work table he sets you down on the edge. He lowers himself on his knees, grabbing your foot so he can slip your heels on. The moment is charged with a deep sexual tension, you want so desperately to see all of him, and you can’t stop your begging from slipping out of your plump lips.
“Please take off the mask, I need to see you. All of you” your voice weak as you beg frevorishly, his eyes widen and he looks up at you. The fear of rejection settles deep within his bones, he’s reluctant, but oh he just can’t say no to you, even if he will regret it. He reaches back and loosens the straps of the leather, tugging it off clumsily. Once he sets it down he waits for your rejection, his frame shaking, but your disapproval never comes. He's shocked when he looks up, he sees your eyes full of… acceptance, you don’t pull away from him, the scars, lost tissue and nose, cleft lip does nothing to deter your love for him, and for the first time he cries in front of you. He tries to stop the tears from flowing but he’s just so happy right now, a whine builds from the back of his throat, he wipes his tears with the cuff of his shirt and focuses back to the present, on you, and it calms him. Reaching down he grabs and puts on your left heel, slipping and strapping it on. He grips the back of your ankle in calf in his big meaty hands, raising it so he can kiss it, kissing above the strap around your ankle, slowly trailing up your leg. His lips are so soft as they trail up, above your knee cap he kisses your thighs more reverently, his head disappears under the skirt of your dress, he nips and suckles at the sides of your thighs, you gasp at the sensation of him getting closer and closer to your wet pussy. His fingers grip the damp cloth covering your pussy and tears it open, then he softly holds the tops of your thighs as his lips ghost over your pussy. “Please” you beg under your breath, he hasn’t even touched you there and already you are a mess, moaning under him, he kneads the meat of your thighs tenderly.
You gasp as he gently kisses your folds, cunt clenching around nothing as you beg for more. “Tommy please!” You're reduced to nothing more than a puddle in his grasp, even in his inexperience he has you wrapped around your finger. It’s not long before he shoves his face into your pussy, licking long strips on and down your wet cunt, slurping up the juices that leak from your entrance. You’re unable to hide your sounds, moaning out like a bitch in heat as he sloppily eats your cunt. You could laugh at yourself, spreading your legs and letting a cannibal eat your pussy out, but you don’t care anymore, you need him, only him. His tongue wiggles and probes at your entrance, beckoning for more of your pussy’s sweet nectar. It’s like he's been starving his whole life, thirsting, and your pussy is the only thing that can quench that hunger. He eats you out like it’s his very first time feasting. Crooked teeth mash against your folds, grazing your puffy clit, the feeling only turns you on more, when his lips finally circle and latch on to your clit and sucks hard, you lose it. Cumming all over his face he accepts it eagerly, lapping at your pussy with an eagerness that makes up for his inexperience. He drinks from you like you're the earth's sweetest honey, and he's the selfish man that will keep it all to himself. Your untouched pussy is finally getting the attention it’s yearned for, and that you both have it, you won’t stop, not now or ever. Hses from under your skirt, and the fucked our expression on his face makes you wet all over again. Your juices cover his face, a sticky damp shin coats his cheeks, mouth, and chin, and he licks at what he can reach. He pushes you down on the table, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, your eyes burn into each other as you stare with deep lust for one another, your face flicks down to his cock, and what a sight to behold. He’s a little longer than average, but what makes you quiver is his girth. It twitches, bobbing down from its weight. It’s so thick that you’re sure your hand wouldn’t fit around it, you’d need both hands to deal with a monster like that, and to have that be the one taking your virginity had you shivering in arousal. He tugs at his cock, the skin pulling back and revealing his thick pulsing tip, and he grabs and spreads open your thighs.
You weren’t prepared for how quick he’d try to hump his way into your pussy, hand pushing down your stomach as he nudged the tip inside, just the tip along had you scrabbling to find purchase on any surface, and there was so much more to go. Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as his cock slides in, parting your gummy walls. He moans loudly, the feeling of your pussy resisting his entrance has him weak in the knees. Half of his cock is in before he has to stop, if he keeps going like this he will cum before he’s fully in you, the way your gooey walls clamp on him has his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. After he calms himself he thrusts himself to the hilt inside your pussy, the air is punched right out of your lungs, you struggle to breath, so full of him you’re seeing stars. Heavy balls rest against your ass, and before you know it he's pulling back out, he whimpering under his breath, your pussy trying to draw him back in, clinging to him but resisting each push in, and finally, he snaps. Pounding your cunt into submission with his eager thrusts, the cellar filled with moans and the repetitive thwack! thwack! thwack!.
His calloused hands grip your thighs, holding you still as he fucks deep into your pussy, his cock nudging and battering against your cervix each push in. The bulk of his stomach pushes against yours, keeping you pinned beneath your body.Sweat collects on his furrowed brows and drips down on your chest. His duck pummels your pussy, your release from before dribbling down the length of his cock and into the thatch of wild curls the rub and tickle against your puffy clit. You feel each ridge and vein as he pulls out, just to hump right back in and make you feel it all over again. It’s not long before you’re approaching your second orgasam of the night, your moans heightening in pitch, panting rapidly. He’s nearly there too. His thrusts begin to change pace, becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. He used his weight to fuck into you harder, and when his cock rubs against your sweet spot for the last time you lose it. Your walls clamp so tight around him he's unable to move, cock seated deep in your pussy. Your vision whites as you cum again, harder, and you scream out his name. He follows quickly after, pumping his searing hot creamy cum into the deepest depths of your very being, ropes of the white fluid searing inside of you, pushing so deeply inside of you it feels as if he's in your throat. He makes sure not to move, afraid that his release will spill from your fertile womb, he grinds his hips down into you, his body collapses on top of yours. Whimpers escape the back of his throat as the last of his cum empties inside of you, your legs locked around his pudgy hips, so wide that your ankles can’t lock together. His arms wrapped around your middle, nuzzling against you softly, tears begin to slip from his shut eyes. Your tone is low as you usher sweet words to him, fingers playing with his dark tresses, scraping his scalp softly with your nails ever so often. You're held captive in his loving embrace, and it’s right where you want to be. For the first time in his life, he’s been truly loved by another. And for once, he’s truly at peace.
“Tommy!!”
Hoyt's voice cuts through the air, calling for him upstairs. He groans, not yet ready to leave your warmth. He really knows when to ruin the moment. You smile as Tommy whines and tightens his hold on you. “It’s okay, I’ll be here when you come back, it’s best not to make him wait.” You hiss as he slowly slips out of your tender pussy, his cock soft and covered in his and your release. He stuffs himself into his pants, haphazardly securing the mask on before dragging himself up the stairs. As Tommy locks the door behind him Hoyt scans him, his mask is slightly askew, a few buttons popped like they had been opened by force, and his jeans aren’t zipped all the way up. He hadn’t cared before about Luda’s concerns, now he wasn’t worried, but he is suspicious of him. Watching as he locks the door hurriedly, and eyebrow quirks up as he watches him. “Mama needs you in the kitchen boy, and zip your fly up” he grumbles, eyeing him warily as he shakily zips up and walks over to the kitchen with a new found pep to his step he's never had before.
There isn’t a day that goes by where Tommy isn’t stuffing you full of his seed, breeding your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll do, and sure enough as the months tick by your stomach starts to swell round and plump. He's ecstatic, how could not be? He finally has what he’s wanted for so many years. A woman in love with him and stuffed full of cum, swollen with his baby. Even if you’re already pregnant he makes sure to fuck you full of his cum every morning, noon and night. He can’t stay away from you, he doesn’t want to, all he wants is to keep putting baby after baby in your stomach, watching you swell up. Even if it’s only been 5-6 months your belly has swelled up, it was expected, carrying his baby. He eats less just so he has more to bring down to feed you, he will starve for days if it means you and the baby are well fed. Hidden in the back of the cellar is his old crib he’s been spending time trying to restore, around the basement are toys strewn about, hand carved by him in his free time.
You're laying on the laid out pillows reading one of the many books Thomas snuck down for you, he wouldn’t want you to be bored all alone in the basement. You gasp, feeling soft fluttering kicks of the baby in your stomach. Your soft palm rubs the swell of your abdomen, a comforting touch for you, knowing that your baby is alive and well. The door creaks open at the top of the stairwell, you recognize his footsteps immediately. He saunters over happily. “Are you finally done with your chores?” You ask softly, he falls to his knees before you, like a worship, a worship of your body, your soul, like you're the only being in his world that matters. He nods softly, much more focused on your stomach. He massages your tummy, a grin spreads across his face and he feels a kick against his calloused palm. Gently he rests his forehead against the bump, his scalp tingles as your fingers brush against it and through his dark tresses. “Hoyt has been overworking you, you need a break don’t you baby?” You coo softly at him, he nods eagerly, he's grabbing your hand rubbing your soft fingers. Your skin is so unlike his, your back grounds, your past lifestyle shows you’ve never had to work like he has, or at least to the extent that he does. Your palms are silky smooth, soft to the touch, like you’ve haven’t experienced strenuous labor each and every day of your life, he wants to keep it that way. His mama raised him to be a gentleman, there is no doubt he is a traditional man. As long as you’re with him you’ll never have to lift a finger. You watch curiously as he holds your hand and splays it out. He turns and rifles through one of his back pockets, pulling out a small object. You gasp when you realize what it is. He holds a wedding band up, slipping it on to your ring finger, then returns to nuzzling against said hand. “Oh Tommy” tears well up in your eyes, already so hormonal from the pregnancy this will have you bawling.
He abruptly stands up, gently grabbing your ass and setting you down on the table. He really isn’t focused on your talking right now, looking at your body filling out your red sundress. Pregnancy hadn’t only affected your tummy and mood, your breasts filled out more, round and ripe for him, and they are only to get bigger. Your curves plumped and hips widened, it turned him on. Your words go in one ear and out the other, unbuckling his belt, tugging down his pants. You stop speaking when you realize he's in the mood, when is he not? It’s like he can’t get enough of you. “So that’s the type of relaxing you came in for huh big guy?” You grin as he nods, your hands roam his chest, then you go to undo every button of his shirt, you grab his tie and pull him down into a kiss, he whimpers softly as he inches in between your spread thighs. He grabs the hem of your dress, flipping up and bunching fabric up. Your arms wrap around his broad, muscular shoulders and your legs around his plush hips. Your lips mask and lock together, our smacking and slurping loud and filthy. His other hand slowly trails down your stomach and down to your dripping folds, he’s gained a lot of experience since your first time together, now he's eager to please with his skillful fingers, cock and tongue. He grabs his cock, giving it a few tugs before lining it up with your entrance and sliding in. His hands move to your hips, holding you still as he humps into you softly. He grunts, this position not giving him the best access, not allowing him to plunge fully into you, he has to be mindful of your baby bump. You moan as he bucks his hips, thrusting into your gooey tight walls, his fat tip battering against your cervix, but it isn’t enough for him. He huffs, cradling you safely in his arms as he brings you over to the make shift bed, ready to fuck you silly.
“God damn it, what's taking him so long!” Hoyt is pissed off, he’s been waiting for Thomas to get back up from the basement, it’s been over an hour and he's had enough. Luda Mae just shakes her head and sighs “I told you what’s been going on with the boy, you just refused to talk to him.” She tuts, wiping down the dining room table. Hoyt tries the door but as expected it’s locked, like it has been the past half year. “Tommy!” He shouts again, and as expected he doesn’t open the door and comes to do his chores for the day. He stomps over to one of the drawers and starts digging through the piles of keys, trying to find the extra one they kept for the basement. “Boy thinks he can skip out on his work huh, well let’s just see about that.” He sneers, a snide grin on his face as he twirls the key around finger, fuming as he marches over to the door, twisting the metal key through the lock, it opens with a loud click! He huffs angrily, mumbling curses under his breath as he swings the door open and stalks down the decrepit staircase. He stops halfway down the stairwell because of what he hears
Thwack Thwack Shlick Thwack!
Wet slapping and moans reverberate in the cellar, at first he thought he just walked in on Tommy jerking himself off, but his jaw drops when he hears a female voice, breathy moans in a high pitched tone. The initial shock passes before a whole new wave of anger and disgust boils over. He stomps fully down the stairs, and as his eyes adjust he's met with a sight that makes his lips curl and nose wrinkle in disgust. His thick, pudgy body laid on top of yours, his bicep holding you in a headlock, all of his clothes off as he humps you like a wild animal from the back. The dress bunched up around your mid section, hiding your belly, tits swinging with each jerk and buck, pummeling your pussy, mashing his cock in your gooey gushing insides. “Thomas Brown Hewitt!” He screams, he’s in so much shock he for once is at a loss of words. You squeak in embarrassment, trying to cover your body, even though Thomas’s bulky frame does a pretty good job at doing so. “Put your clothes on and bring that hussy upstairs immediately!” With that he steps away and up the stairs, out of the basement.
Luda watches as Hoyt storms up from the basement. “What’s wrong Charlie?” She asks, Hoyt is in too much shock to correct her, angrily pacing back and forth in the kitchen, wiping his face he lets out a sigh, stopping at the counter. Luda starts to walk over to the door, her hand gripping the handle. “You don’t want to go down there ma, just wait.” He straightens up. She asks him worried questions, he doesn’t answer, the last thing he expected was to see Tommy down there with a woman. He wasn’t pissed off that he was getting laid, more so that he was hiding food down there, probably feeding her his hard earned dinners as well. Both of their heads turn as the knob twists and the door creaking open, Tommy steps out, no butcher apron, some of the buttons undone from sloppily trying to get himself dressed as quickly as possible. His tie loose around his neck and his hair clings to his forehead. Luda gasp when she sees you step from the basement as well, hiding behind her son meekly. “Look at the slut he’s been hiding from us.” Hoyt grumbles, when his eyes lock with yours and it clicks, he remembers you. “Oh I remember this one, didn’t put up a fight now did ya? Look at you, sleeping with him just for survival aren’t you?!” He steps closer, but Thomas puffs up, not allowing him to touch you. He instantly does not like the defiance. “Don’t you challenge me boy!” He shouts, slamming his fist against the counter. Luda just watches in shock, disapproving with the sinning her boy was doing behind your back. “You better remember your place in this house!” As he yells he grabs your wrist, yanking out and away from behind Tommy. You help in surprise, and that’s when they see it. Luda gasps and covers her mouth, Hoyt just closes his eyes and groans. “You just had to get the bitch pregnant didn’t ya? Couldn’t help yourself!?” He gestures to your round swollen stomach. Luda touches his shoulder “we can’t hurt her Hoyt, she’s expecting!” He rolls his eyes at his mothers words, stuck in a position where he can’t do anything. “Well shit!” He turns around, strides across the room and toward the fridge, looking for a beer.
You flinch as the older woman eyes you and caresses your soft skin. “Well see Hoyt ain’t she just the prettiest thing?” A soft smile is plastered over her weathered skin, wrinkles curling as she grins. Hoyt raised his hands in defeat, and for once, he backed out, dealing with his anger by drinking. His boots thud against the cracked tile, stepping out of the room and into the living room, he will undoubtedly drink himself black out drunk, you just hope it puts him in a better mood, praying that he will let this all slide. “I’ve always wanted a daughter” she ushers, it scares you how calm she is, guiding you to sit as she starts the stove. An older man’s voice comes from the hall, your head whips around to see a man in a wheelchair, his legs gone as he shakily wheels himself over, alerted by all the racket. “Who the fuck is she?” He eyes you up, Luda responds in a cheerful tone. “She’s the new addition to the family, Thomas’s wife!” It’s clear she’s still trying to process it all. The man just rolls his eyes and wheels himself into the living room. Her head turns and she watches as her son gently rubs his woman’s back. As long as Tommy is happy, she’s happy, so she guesses she’ll just have to get used to a new member of the family, with another one the quickly on the way.
WHAT IF. . .Raider!Reader With The Ability To Completely Heal Others With A Painful Stab.
Tags|Warnings ⚠︎ : Jabber is a tag of his own | Following the Manga | Chapter 21 | Violence | Stabbing | Very Suggestive With Crude Language | Rusty Author | First Time Writing for Gachiakuta | Orgasm 💀 | A Bit of A Manga Script Within Here | NSFW | MDNI!
The unraveling fight had left them all in tethers.
The toll upon their bodies were either in a physical chaos of pain or in a mental shock of horror. Or both. And it was all thanks to the sudden presence of the raiders. More specifically, Jabber Wonger.
But at the very least, he had his fun!
Not like the same could be said for the others. Much less the livid Spherite that he had slung over his arm. But it’s not like this lasted long as the maniacal bastard was flung away from the Spherite whom had flopped on the ground like a bag of potatoes.
It seems more Cleaners were here.
And the conversations flew amongst the air, the intensity of it all choking the atmosphere with no remorse while tense bodies—albeit seen as otherwise—were filled with a caution of guard. Ready to react to any action that could threaten the safety of themselves, and those amongst them.
“ So many strong looking guys, “ it was as if Jabber breath it out, his words filled with a heavy lilt of excitement as he studied the people in front of him.
“ I’m such a wreck, so they’re looking at me…like I’m such piece of trash… “ he was still filled with the throbbing adrenaline from his earlier fights. His body felt like it wanted to fall apart like those trash beasts after getting their ass kick with a Jinki. But, even so…
He was slowly standing back up.
“ Damn, it’s making me hard. “
Such words put the tense air into a halt. The battle ready atmosphere stuttered in to a bewildered cringe as the Cleaners felt a sudden pity for the Spherite and their other members for having to encounter this freak.
“ Rudo—is this the weirdo you were fighting all this time? No wonder you’re laying on the floor like that, “ a handsome man asked and stated with disgust and amusement in his tone. The air was filled with words once more, a happiness filling the small, discreet cracks of worry from the Cleaners side.
All before the air changed again and words of threat filled the air.
“ Damn, this is bad. This is baaad! “ Jabber didn’t sound worried at all, rather, his words spilled out with a tinting happiness, “ I gotta run away or I’m gonna lose my freedom. I need to come up with an escape plan. What do I do? What would she do? Ahhh! “
The monster of a man rambled on, “ but you know what? I’m under orders too. “ Jabber mused as he stumbled a bit, fixing his position as the same excitement and bloodlust for a good fight started to fill him up again. Damn, You’re going to be pissed at him after this!
The Wonger rambled on and on, “ I have a ‘mission’ to bring back the sky person. “ He giggled as Mankira slowly reappeared, “ I got this overwhelming desire to run away, but even so~ “ Nothing was going to deter the Sadomasochist from a good fight.
“ I don’t care if I can’t win or end up dying, “ not like he was worried, as long as his heart still had electricity ongoing, he should be fine! “ I can’t return until my mission is accomplished—!! “
And the bastard was ready to jump into battle with one of the greater fighters of the Cleaners! How fun! How fun!
“ Man this sucks so hard! “
He was going to enjoy this shit while it lasted!
And he was! He was…were it not for that brat wrapping her arms around him midway. Stopping his movements. Okay, what the fuck!
It was clear the woman’s sudden appearance wasn’t expected. Not by Jabber, much less by the Cleaners.
“ Ahh?? You… “ Ugh!
“ Jabber. It’s time. “ Poor lady, having to deal with this wacko of a man, “ Let’s go back. “
These words alone had Jabber start acting out, trying to pull himself away from the others hold with a the veins throbbing in annoyance the more he tried to get out from this tight hold but failed to do so.
“ Leave me alone, Cthoni—!! “
Damn it! He just wants to have fun. And it was just getting good!! No, no! He wants to— he needs to—!
“ Jabber. “
A new voice resounded from behind the two Raiders, a voice that had Jabber Wonger pausing on his pissed off yelling and Cthoni Andor’s hold on him loosened. A quiet sigh left the young woman as all available eyes landed right to where You appeared.
Your body completely left the jinki made portal and You now stood next to Jabber and Cthoni.
“ Why are you throwing a tantrum now? Didn’t you have enough fun already? It seems like you did. “
You stated rather coldly with a harsh tone, Your eyes seemed to glow under the light of the day as You paid no mind to the people in front of You and Your group.
“ But I’m not done yet! “ The conniving freak whined loudly this time as he tried to shake off Cthoni, but with how broken his body was? He barely could do shit to her.
“ Jabber, you’re starting to piss me off, “ that’s all you said before turning to the Cleaners whom had stayed quiet as they watched the spectacle go on. Tilting Your head slightly, You paid little mind to them. Your look even seemed a tad distant before You lightly bowed Your head towards them.
“ I apologize for the trouble my companion has caused, I would’ve rather me take on this mission as there would’ve been less of a mess, but our boss thought Jabber was too pent up so he let him go. “
“ Ah, no. It’s fine— “ the blonde leader replied to the politeness instinctively as he rubbed the back of his neck, almost returning the bow back—which had his companions looking at him weirdly as he cringed.
Agh! What the hell. You’re just as weird as that guy.
Finally picking up Your head to look at them properly, studying each one of them—they landed on the young kid.
The Spherite.
And he looked so awful, “ tell me…Jabber. Did I not tell you to bring this one back with no toxins within him even if it meant you getting the brunt of it all? How else would I be able to immediately study him…? “
Your hand slowly moved to your left side, towards the hidden compartment of your clothing—towards your precious, sharp and glinting item. Your beloved. Your sweetness. And the only thing you counted on with your whole life as it did with you.
“ Wah! You’re so needy and demanding! I was bringing him back, wouldn’t that have been enough~!? “ The man whined, his body feeling less restrained as he remained oblivious as to why Cthoni even let go of him in the first place.
A singe of anger continue to fill You—to think this freak wouldn’t listen to what You asked for. It was just one thing too—one small thing. You wouldn’t have cared if the Spherite was impaired in another way. But the toxins that Jabber uses always got in the way of your studies.
Why couldn’t he follow one fucking order? This bastard even failed! And he was taking way too long because of his useless directional senses!! And he has the nerve to act like this?
Annoying. So annoying!
“ No. “
The pain came quick to Jabber, and the shock was processed even quicker by the Cleaners as eyes widened at the sight before them.
Hands immediately went to grab Your arm as Jabber looked down only to feel your favorite lil’ pocket knife growing in its size inside of him <3 Your eyes glowed brightly at the use of your jinki before twisting it within him as you held the handle lovingly.
“ You know I’m impatient, Jabber. “
The pain—it was excruciating. It burned. It felt so…beautiful! Everything Jabber went through rushed throughout him and towards the knife.
As if it was sucking the worse pains out of him like water out of a bag which practically expanded the pain everywhere until it went towards its destination.
The sight of all of this—of seeing THE Jabber be slowly brought down to his knees and letting go of You while You looked at him as if he were nothing—it was sending a chill down the watchers’ spines. Or some of them at least.
Of course, it’s typical for a Raider to hurt their companions or just use them but…damn. To think they’d feel some tad tiny very bitty bit of pity towards the bastard even though he had hurt multiple of their companions…
“ Oh fuck—oh fuck! “
Especially when You finally removed Your—much bigger looking than before—pocket knife from the same spot Jabber had stabbed himself in earlier. Giving that cool and collected expression as you went back to looking at the Cleaners while Jabber crumbled to the ground.
The raider couldn’t help but hiss out, soon panting as a wheezy giggle soon erupted from his body and his hands clutched at…wait a fucking minute. His arms weren’t even wrapped around his bloody stomach. Rather—he seemed to be grasping at his—crotch.
Not like they could properly see it.
His body continued to shake, curling forward to the point his forehead almost touched the flooring and his locks were splayed on the ground. Hidden from sight, his eyes were rolling up—dazed in pleasure as his teeth gritted in a delighted, warbled grin.
It felt so good. This felt so fucking good!
So good that he couldn’t help but—
“ Cumm—cum—aghk… “ is the guy saying the final of his words? Is he trying to say to ‘come closer’ or something?
Jabber quieted down to a few heavy pants, his shaking slowing into small twitches as he let go where he was grasping at. Slowly moving his hands towards the ground to pick his up his upper body. Only to slowly look up and towards You with a huge, weird as hell grin on his blood crusted face.
“ Damn, I came~! “
. . .
. . .
You blinked…moving your hands to grab something from Your inner pocket as the Cleaners either had a horrified expression, a disgusted expression, or even both. Poor Rudo and the rest, he had to fight with someone like this.
Finally, You took out a red handkerchief, and started to clean Your beloved. Calculative eyes staying put as you made sure to get every bit of that disgusting blood off of it.
“ You are utterly disgusting, Jabber. If you’re feeling fine now, get up. “
Jabber started standing, letting out pants of delight as his body seemed to be—moving better. Much better than before at least.
“ Damn Ma’! You really know how good to make me feel! Can you do it again? Again! Please! “
You swatted at him as if he were a fly when he got closer. He is one. Finally, Your beloved was clean and pristine — when you get back home, You’re going to spoil him. Especially after it took a taste of Jabber—AGAIN. Ugh.
“ What a cheat of a Jinki, well, not if one of us had to go through that again and again just to get healed up but…” One of the Cleaners muttered off, Your hand plastered against the grabby Jabber’s face.
“ Oh, you have that part of that ‘series’. “ You said as Your eyes landed on the gloves that the Sprite held. Tilting Your head lowly, a small grin started to appear on Your face. It seemed a bit—crooked. At least it’s not as bad as Rudo’s.
“ The boss will be even happier to hear about this. I do apologize again for my companion. I would’ve loved to have studied you. But, unfortunately, I have no more time to spare right now, “ You kept on speaking, pushing Jabber towards the portal as Cthoni finally got in.
“ My boss will smile even more at the news of this. “
“ Wait, he’s smiling!? “
You pushed Jabber in, using Your foot to push the rest of his head towards the manhole. Pocketing Your beloved so—gently. You tilted Your head lowly, “ it’s a pleasure to have met you all. Especially you, Rudo. Perhaps if we had been together now, I could’ve figured out so much more of you and told you many things. “
It’s a pity. Enough that it had You smiling as if You were mourning.
“ Perhaps when we meet again. “
And with that, Your body disappeared within in the hole. Ah…they should’ve killed them now while they had the chance.
How unfortunate.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Jabber Wager definitely has gotten hurt too many times just to get you to stab him a bunch of times. At some point, you just let him stay mangled up so he’d learn a lesson. As you can see—he learned shit.
Cthoni always feels a sense of awe and admiration when you come over to deal with Jabber. Especially seeing just how crude that super masochist is, she could never.
When you left, the team decided to tell Zanka and the rest about the appearance of you and Cthoni. But they decided to leave out the part of…Jabber…doing that weird shit. They don’t want Zanka nor Gris getting distraught over the kind of guy they fought.
They [Cleaners] wonder if you can really heal someone that fast? They couldn’t see if Jabber’s wound actually healed up since bro’ was covered in blood but with the way that he moved…agh! So many questions!
Zodyl counts on you to take care of and deal with Jabber.
Soon after you stab someone to heal them, you always pamper your baby. Taking out the equipment to wash it, sharpen it, and keep it super pristine. Jabber and Cthoni were surprised you didn’t take it out then and there since there’s many times you do that mid battles. Maybe you just wanted to look cool?
Anyways, as soon as you got to the base, you definitely took it out then and there. At least you didn’t take it out in front of the boss this time. You’ve done that before…
Rudo didn’t even get to talk from how weird all of this scene was! But he’s definitely doing it. He’s going to get back at that shitface 100x harder after what he did to Gris! Still though, what you said…it caught his attention. You looked like you had such a big secret to share with him…
୨ eva practically begged kevin to go with her to welcome the new neighbors. just to mess with her, he went, but god was he surprised to find you.
c. dark content ⭒ mdni. no description of reader. talks of murder. obsession. manipulation. y/n used once (i hate fucking using it). swearing. family problems (you hate your father). stalking. mutual masturbation. him watching you through his window. 2.1k words.
l. can y’all call off the hitman now? i gotta write more peter sutherland later.
the kitchen was filled with silence, after eva, kevin’s mother, had asked him to greeted the neighbors— who she had noticed early that morning—with her. kevin was thinking— contemplating whether he wanted to go and be social or not. he felt there was no need to speak to people who he didn’t care for or weren’t doing anything that benefited him, but the thought of the neighbors being rude, rich and cruel to his mother made his lips turn up into a grin. “okay,” he mumbled, taking his jelly sandwich to the couch.
hours later, his mother calls him downstairs. he finds her standing behind the kitchen counter, a small bouquet of flowers and a basket of fruit sitting in front of her. “do you still want to go with me to greet the neighbors?” she asks, and her son only grins at her nervous expression. she was always so nervous when speaking to him, as if he was gonna kill her or something. “sure, mom!” he exclaims, a no-teeth smile on his face. he could see her shoulders drop, her happy he’s not making her feel bad about asking.
she gives a small nod and a timid smile before grabbing the fruits and handing the flowers to kevin. they walk down their driveway, on the sidewalk a bit and up your empty driveway. kevin follows mindlessly behind his mother, hands wanting to let go of the dumb flowers she brought, until they both reached the door where he holds them up to his nose to get a smell. the sweet scent makes him sigh in disappointment, not really finding anything about them “different”. his mother knocks.
soon after, they watch as the white door opens to reveal someone he didn’t expect to be living in such a house. you were young, way too young to be buying a house like this. your eyes scan over the two as kevin’s mother stutters out a sentence. “h-hello, i’m eva khatchadourian…” his mother smiles before gesturing over to her son behind her, and your eyes follow. “this is my son, kevin. w-we just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood,” she smiled, glancing down at the fruit in her hand.
you look taken back making kevin think no one has done this all afternoon. he wouldn’t have either if it was up to him. “my name’s y/n, and thank you. my parents aren’t home right now but they say thank you too,” you smiled, your teeth showing. kevin sighs gaining your attention. he was disappointed about you not being a big asshole to fuck up his moms day. “oh! really? sorry about that. i didn’t really notice,” eva smiled timidly.
your eyes lingered on how beautiful the boy looked. his black hair fitting how dark his eyes were. it was obvious the two were mother and son. you shake your head at the nerves lady. “it’s fine.” eva nods before realizing the basket still in her grasp. “oh! here’s some fruit,” she hands out the basket which you take.
“thank you, mrs…” you trail on not really sure how to say the name and there’s a awkward silence between the two of you. you waiting for her to tell you her name and her waiting for you to say it, too nervous to realize what you meant. the silence wasn’t broken until kevin spoke. “khatchadourian.” his voice making your attention go his way again.
“right! yes, khatchadourian,” his mother laughed nervously. “khatch… adourian, right,” you nod. the space was making kevin feel uncomfortable and he was begging you just slam the door on his mothers face. “here are your flowers,” he said, moving passed his mother to hand you them. “thank you, kevin,” you smiled and it only made him nod, a grin pushing to be on his face but he denies it.
he quickly walks passed his mother and down the driveway, telling the both of you he’s going home without actually saying it. “sorry about him. he’s never been a social person,” she apologizes, apologetic small smile on her face. “it’s fine. it was nice meeting the both of you. i’ll tell my parents you came by,” you grinned making her nod. “please do and it was nice meeting you as well,” she smiled before making her way down the driveway like her son had.
as eva walked into the house, kevin was making his way up the stairs, heading straight for his room. “she was a pretty girl. maybe you two could make friends,” eva stood at the bottom of the stairs, and the words slipping from her mouth makes him stop to look back at her. she was once again surprised by the grin on his face. “sure mom,” he said before turning back around, smile dropping immediately and a roll of his eyes came along.little did she know, he hated the idea, but whatever made his mom think she knew everything about him.
xxx
the next morning, kevin made his way downstairs, dressed and ready to go to the exhausting and draining building. “you want breakfast?” his father asked, tapping him harshly on his shoulder. kevin shakes his head. “i’m good.” his father says nothing to him again and speaks to the little girl sitting next to kevin’s standing figure. he couldn’t care too much about the conversation, but he remembers what he said to his mother yesterday about making friends with the neighbor.
the thing that jogs his memory was the sight of you walking down your drive onto the sidewalk, book bag on your back. he wasn’t sure why he wanted to keep his promise he made to his mother yesterday, but he’s not sure anymore as he watches you put in your headphones. he wondered what could be so good you needed headphones to listen it?
why not listen out loud? why do you think you’re so safe to even be listening with headphones? do you think no one is willing to snatch you up walking from and to school? “i am gonna walk today,” he said, abruptly not caring what conversation he was interrupting. he picked his book bag up from the counter and headed for the door, not waiting for his parent’s responses. he knew his dad would cover up his cold behavior with his iconic saying of, “he’s a growing boy.”
on the way to school, kevin didn’t speak to you, he stayed a couple steps behind you, waiting for you to turn around, but you never did. you looked down at the phone sometimes but you mostly looked forward. kevin felt, static run though his body. he could play around with you. he could only grin at the thought of making you terrified.
once making it into school, kevin did his normal: nothing. he wouldn’t get notice by sitting in class and getting straight A’s. he wanted to do something bigger, better. his mind was filled with ideas on how to do so until he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind him. he hated his assignment seat. not only was he sat next to the window but it was likely for someone to seat behind him because he wasn’t in the last row. his thought was proven correct.
“kevin, right? do you have a pencil i can borrow?” you whisper, leaning in your desk, close to his ear so he could hear you. he haven’t acknowledged your presence until now, he didn’t even know anybody’s name in this class. without much thought, he plucks a pencil from the small place in his book bag before giving it to you. “thank you.” he could practically see your smiling face. “yeah,” he mumbled, not really caring if you heard him or not.
xxx
he had only meant for you to be a “know you for 10 minutes and kill you from my memory” type of person but you seemed to be making your way into his life more so so slowly. after your interaction at school, you’ve been speaking to him more in class, asking about what you had to do and about the students in class who he didn’t know about. no matter how little the words he responded to your questions with, you always put on a fake smile and continue to talk as if you weren’t talking to yourself because he damn sure wasn’t listening.
no, not until you said one thing. “god, i wish i could just kill him sometimes,” you sighed loudly, rolling your eyes with the sentence. most people say things like that out of anger, but by the way you hadn’t let out a friendly chuckle after— it made him think it was different. he watched as the wind blew your one headphone cord into your face by accident. “who?” again his response was short but it meant more than his mumbled responses before.
looking at him, you tilt your head in confusion. he hadn’t looked your way ever since you’d asked him to wait for you so you could walk home together. he, of course, didn’t wait, but you ran to catch up. “my dad. he’s such a fucking asshole. cheated on my mom more times then i can count on one hand. she keeps going back though.” you shake your head at the thought, now looking down at your feet.
a lot of people were asshole. he didn’t really care enough to pick a word to describe his family not until now. he felt no sympathy for you, of course, nor was he trying to make you feel better which would call for sympathy. “my family is…” he tried to push aside the mild, but certainly there, hatred to come up with a clear word. “annoying.” a chuckle from you was heard.
you thought he might of given you a hint at him joking by a grin on his face but when you look you don’t see one. only his dark eyes forcing your grin to turn into a line. “sorry,” you sighed, your house was steps away from you. you would say you were glad so the awkward air could split, but you secretly hoped you were miles away from your home. he on the other hand, felt… something. something, he didn’t like feeling.
hours after, your parents asked if his family wanted to have dinner. your parents thought they would repay his for welcoming them to the neighborhood and for the first time in never kevin was excited. not for the “let’s sit around the table and talk like we’re friends and family” thing but the “you time” where the parents would send the teens to their room once they’re done eating so the parents can talk shit about the teens and clean up.
and after an awkward dinner, filled with nothing but annoying laughs and his mother trying not to act like the massive train wreck she is— it gets to his favorite part. you rolled your eyes dramatically over at kevin from across the table as your dad said another controversial joke that neither of you found very funny— but the others did, of course. “can we go upstairs?” you asked, speaking over their laughter, making their attention shoot to you.
your father eyes kevin as if trying to figure out what his intention is with her daughter. but before your father could even conjure up a word in his brain, your mother speaks. “yes, love. go ahead,” she smiled making you give her a smile as well. you quickly get up from your chair and kevin follows behind but less in a hurry. once in your room, he oddly but quickly went to your bed and sat on it.
the bed bounced the teen a bit before it settled. he leaned a bit on it, hands holding him up so he wouldn’t fall back on it. he looked around the room, eyes catching anything in site with a devilish grasp. the window especially caught his eye, not only because of the way the moonlight shot through it but because of how perfectly you could see into his bedroom window.
“so what do you wanna do?” you said, bed bouncing underneath you as well. you grab his attention, making him sit up fully on the bed. dark eyes, burying into yours. he shrugs. “let’s kiss,” he grinned from ear to ear and you only laugh. “seriously… what do you wanna do?” you question, standing from the bed to look around the room for something. he’s taken by surprise, why didn’t your eyes gloss over like he expected?
he found normal girls in his high schools were stupid. they only wanted a boy to like them and walk them home everyday. they would pass out at the mere thought of a guy kissing them. but you didn’t. “don’t know,” he shrugs again, eyes scanning over you as you went into your closet. “i have broad games…” you looked where you thought they were but they weren’t there. “somewhere,” you frowned, closing the closet. he didn’t really care for the broad games or too much for you.
although he didn’t care about you, he was interested in you. in many thing about you: what made your head spin, what made you shiver, what made you cry or have a sharp pain in your chest, what made you feel fear. not the scary movie fear, but deep rooted fear. his interest leads his brain and limbs.
he stands from the bed as you’re digging through drawers and things. once you realize he’s steps away from you, you look his way just to be met with him walking your way. “what?” you questioned. he only glanced down at you as he walked towards you, his eyes being their normal dark shade, but the way his his head was tilted— it made them darker. he didn’t respond to your question, only stood in front of you for a whooping two seconds before his lips were on yours.
the kiss took you by surprise making you yelp once feeling his lips. his hands straddle your cheeks as his lip move roughly against yours. you hummed at the odd taste of chicken on his mouth and tongue. just to piss his mother off, he ate before coming over. quoting, he was hungry. “kevin,” you whine, pulling at his forearm. you were tired of the taste of chicken that made it’s way into your mouth like a parasite.
he pulls away, hands still resting on your face. “you taste like chicken,” you says, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. before he could muster up a sentence, there was a knock at your bedroom door. the two of you stayed in your position. “are you two in here?” the door cracked open and kevin removed his hands from your face. after the door was fully open, he sees your mother and she smiles at the sight of the two of you.
“hey, i came up to get kevin. they’re heading out,” she explained. you nod, “he’ll be down in a minute.” your mother nods before leaving the room, closing the door behind her. “wanna walk with me to school tomorrow?” you asked, walking back over to your bed to sit. kevin follows but doesn’t sit, just towers. the kiss seemed like nothing to you and he wondered why. no, the feelings that he barely had weren’t hurt, he was just interested.
“i noticed you walking behind me a couple days ago. you can walk with me next time, all you have to do is ask,” you continued, grin on your face. you noticed? “i will,” kevin grins, tempted to say more but he realizes he has to go. “kevin! come on, bud!” he hears his dad calls from downstairs. kevin rolls his eyes at the nickname he had just received seconds ago. you chuckle and kevin knew exactly why.
“it’s not funny,” he says, a light grin on his face as he heads for the door. following behind him, you could only smile harder as he tried not to. “it definitely is,” you laugh, with a teasing grin. you walked him downstairs and waved to him once he left. as your dad shut the door, after the family had left, your mom catches the grin is plastered on your face. “what you smiling about?” she teases and you only shake your head.
“nothing. just thinking about something,” you reply, waving her off before making your way up stairs. “it better not be about that boy!” your dad yells to you and you only roll your eyes.
xxx
“bath time!” kevin’s father yells through their home as he runs up the stairs with the youngest in front of him. she squeals and laughs as he pretends to chase her. kevin could only sigh at the loud noises. he makes his way upstairs slowly, hoping their noises will fade before he makes it to his room. as he shuts the door to his room, he realizes the only source of light in his room is the moon coming the window. the light reminding him that he could see perfectly inside of your room.
he walks over to it and his eyes lock on your bedroom window. the blinds were closed, but the blinds themselves were pulled up, just like they were before he had left. with the blinds being this way it allowed him to see your bed and a bit of the rest of your room. he doesn’t spot you in the room so he decided just to sit at his desk.
after a couple of minutes of searching mindlessly on the web, he finally spots you as you get into bed. the thought of flashing a light into your window and gaining your attention came to his mind but he was stopped by what you were doing. he watched as both your hands disappeared under your blanket, but they didn’t stay, they left with a thin piece of fabric right with them.
you throw them to the floor and quickly one hand found it’s way under the blanket again. your knees parted, allowing your hand to roam under the blanket—leaving more than he’d like to the imagination. he sighed, looking back to his laptop. kevin had tried many times before to get himself off, never worked though. he couldn’t think of anything that didn’t make him angry, or laugh.
putting that aside, he couldn’t help but have the urge to look again and so he did. he moved his chair a bit, over to the open blind window and he finds, your head is thrown back, he assumed, quiet moans slipping out of your open mouth. you were mumbling something through them but he wasn’t too focused on that. his eyes wondered too much on what was happening underneath your blanket.
he could only imagine, though and begged his mind not to go too far which would ruin his fun. he moved a little closer to the window hoping he could get a better look at your face, and as he moves he feels his hard cock against his thigh. the light touch of his thigh against himself making him shiver. he groans as he tries to sit in a different position, hating how sensitive it was. sitting differently didn’t help, he still felt himself. annoyed, he unbuttons his pants and pulls them down, past his knees.
his eyes flicker up to you quickly, hoping you hadn’t finished yet and he wasn’t disappointed, finding your eyes shut tightly. he looks down at himself again, cock begging to be let out of boxers. without much of a choice, he pulls himself from his boxers, pink flushed tip leaking a bit of cum. he wraps his hand around his cock and slowly strokes himself up and down. he groans at how insensitive he is.
he winces at the feeling of his cold hand wrap around his cock. his head foggy, he looks out of the window to see your eyes tightly shut, your knees closing in on your hand. he could only stroke himself faster at the sight. imagining hearing you cry out his name, begging him to slip his finger inside of you. he won’t though. he’d love to hear you cry and beg.
“fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back as he feels his cock twitch in his hands. he didn’t let his groans and light moans be unheard by his family if they were listening. he didn’t even care if they walked in. he only cared about making himself feel good. he imagined you on your knees in front of him, sucking at him. he would push your head down and would moan at the sound of you gagging around him.
“shit,” he sweared, looking down at himself. his head leaking cum and his cock stood at attention. kevin could only take a deep breath in through his teeth, feeling himself become close.
he imagined you crying underneath him as he fucks you though another orgasm. “kevin, your parents— fuck, are here,” you would try to whisper but he would only ignore you. he would plunge himself deeper and you cry out even more. he’s lean down to your ear and whisper, “who’s gonna get us caught, huh? you or me?”
he could feel himself snap, as he gasped out of his erotic dream like state. he thighs shock lighting as he came. his cum shooting all over his window and hand. eyes fogged over, lips slightly parted, his chest raising and off dramatically, he came down from his high. he eyes the window and spots you getting up from bed, probably going to clean yourself up.
he does the same. him pulling up his boxers before he grabs the tissues on his desk to clean the window and his hand. he lightly chuckled at himself.
xxx
the next morning, he walks downstairs and he sits at the island. “so how was it?” his mother starts as she puts a bowl of cereal in his area. before replying, kevin picks up the spoon and takes a bite. “how was what?” he glares at her and she gets timid under his gaze. she only turns away to avoid his eyes. “making friends,” she explains, occupying herself by fixing his younger sisters lunch. he shrugs, knowing she couldn’t see him.
before she could speak again, a knock comes to the door. she looks at the door then over to kevin, asking the question of who it was. he shrugged once again. “who is it, momma?” the little girl asks. she goes to shrug, but remembers who is talking to her. “i don’t know, honey,” she says in a soft voice, one that kevin never got. kevin rolled his eyes.
“hey,” he hears your voice then your head pop up in the small window by the front door. “i wanted to see if kevin wanted to walk with me to school?” you smiled, and eva is quick to walk over to the door after giving kevin a smile. she opens the door. “kevin,” she calls and he grabs his things. you smile at him, and he only grins. “sure,” he says, before rubbing the top of your head.
you roll your eyes as he walks past you. “bye bye, mrs…” you had forgotten the name again and silence was suffocating the two of you. “khatchadourian!” kevin yells back so you can hurry up. “yes, that. bye bye,” you smile before walking down the stairs. this time, kevin hadn’t walked that fast and he actually waited for you to caught up.
“i thought i said i was gonna ask,” he grins over at you and you shrug. “you were taking too long,” you grinned. he could only roll his eyes and chuckle. “and plus my mom woke me up early so i was up before you,” you explain and kevin’s eyebrows become stitch together. “how’d you know you woke up before me?” he asks, making you look over at him.
“well your blinds were open,” you shrugged, and he scoffs in disbelief as if he hadn’t did what he did last night. “creep,” he mumbles. “whatever, shooter. good aim on the window by the way,” you grinned and he only grinned back at you.
೨ KEVIN, add on to new neighbors, but can stand alone. smut, eighteen plus. elaborating on kevin’s thoughts. ask.
eva really liked you. maybe it was because you were the only girl kevin had ever actually liked or because she enjoyed how sweet you were to her (unlike her son), either way, she enjoyed you being around him and her. mostly kevin, simply because you were a good influence; keeping him grounded and pleased, made her life easier. so every chance she got, she would ask if you were coming over.
“is y/n coming over today?” eva asked, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet as kevin slipped into the seat beside his younger sister at the island. kevin normally wakes up earlier than you so he doesn’t rush too much in the mornings to meet you at your house. eva grabs the cereal from the other cabinet and walks over to them. “maybe,” kevin shrugs, answering blandly, “says she has to study for her test so… probably not.” eva slightly frowned even though she’d just seen you two days ago.
“i hope she does! she’s fun!” celia smiles, jumping in her seat a bit at the mention of your name. kevin cracks a small smile at his sister who’s smiling even harder at him. “i’ll ask her to come over for a little but if she says no then you needa suck it up, alright?” he asks, standing up from his seat as eva slides the bowl of cereal in front of celia. she doesn’t pay it any attention though, only smiling and damn near jumping out of her seat at kevin. “alright!” she smiles and kevin rubs the top of her head, messing up her hair a bit.
“alright,” he mumbled before heading for the door, book bag hanging from his shoulder. “have a good day,” eva calls out to him as he heads out of the door. “yeah,” he replies, not even giving her a glance before closing the door behind him. he walks down his drive way, and soon, into and up yours until he reached your front door. kevin knocks, sun beaming on his figure making him hot so he hopes you’ll open the door soon.
soon, the door begins to open but he isn’t met with you, but your father. he glares at kevin, but doesn’t speak a word- just stares. your father hated kevin, believed that he wasn’t a good influence on you and the two of you should stop talking but kevin would never let that happen. even if one day you decided you hated his guts, he’d still do everything in his power to have you. kevin gave your father a grin, one that made his stomach turn a bit.
thankfully, you come to the front door and save your father from a couple arrows in his chest. “sorry, i was trying to find my jacket,” you smile, moving past your father to kevin. kevin smiles at see you. “close that door! your letting bugs in the house,” your mom yells from inside of the house making you laugh. “i was just making sure-” your father explains, looking inside towards your mother as he slowly closes the door.
“anyways,” you roll your eyes at him before locking your fingers with kevin’s and starting your walk to school. “she asked about you this morning,” kevin mumbles out as your thumb runs over his knuckles. the feeling giving him shivers. “really? what’d she say?” you asks, sarcastically, already knowing of the question that she asks almost every morning. kevin gives you a knowing glance making you grin harder.
“celia wants you to come over too,” he says as the two of you make a turn, school in your line of site. “does anyone else wanna see me just as much?” you tease, grinning over at kevin who only looks ahead. he knew what you meant by the question, but completely ignores it. “no one? hm… guess i just won’t go then,” you say, and kevin thinks your joking until dinner comes around and you’re not there. he slightly feels annoyed by you not being there so he doesn’t go downstairs and finds himself not responding to his parents callings to come down.
hours later, there’s a knock on his door. he continues to type on his computer, thinking it’s his parents but when he hears the door open, and he turns around, his eyes find you. “you know you can eat without me, right?” you grin at him making him roll his eyes. you grin as walk over to your boyfriend and straddle his lap. “i thought you were coming earlier,” he says, hands rest on your thighs as your hand played with the soft hairs on the back of his head.
“sorry, i studied for a while then tried to convince my dad to let me stay over.” kevin heard what you said and it proceeded in his brain but it wasn’t exactly listening fully. his eyes were too busy looking at your lips- he was kinda forced because of how close the two of you were, but he never realized his obsession until now.
“and?” kevin asks, wanting you to tell him whatever else so he could watch your lips move more. “my mom was okay with it but dad was still throwing a fit after i left but hey,” you say making kevin look up at you. “whatever mom says goes so, you know what that mean… sleepover,” you continued smiling down at your boyfriend’s pretty face.
kevin gives you one of his devilish grins and you kinda wish you never asked to sleepover in the first place. because now, you were praying to the gods for him to have mercy on you. you were trying to keep quiet, but the way his hips were bucking into you so nicely you could barely think, let alone stay quiet. you tried begging and even crying to him but kevin’s favorite thing to do was bully you, and your cervix so it only made him fuck you deeper.
“kevin, your parents— fuck, are here,” you tried to whisper, but he only ignored you. he hated when you got quiet so he’d make sure to make you cry even louder by pushing himself deeper. you cried out, louder than before making your heart began to race at the idea of being caught. kevin leans down to your ear as his hair sticks to his forehead with sweat. “who’s gonna get us caught, huh? you or me?” he whispers and you whine at him.
suddenly, a knock comes at his bedroom door and you feel something build in your stomach. you’re not sure if it’s pure anxiety or your about to cum but either way you push kevin’s hips, trying to slow them down but he doesn’t budge. his mom calls his name on the other side of the door but he doesn’t answer. “please, kev. slow down- i’m gonna-” right as your cumming around him, eva opens the door and panics at the sight.
kevin doesn’t look at her though, his eyes were too focused on the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the squeezing of your cunt and the parting of your lips as he came right along with you. without much thought, eva quickly backs out of the room. “pretty thing,” he mumbled, after his vision cleared from ecstasy he felt minutes ago.
“did she see?” you ask, chest raising and falling with deep breaths. he grins once again, sharing a glance between your lips and your eyes. “kevin,” you groan, throwing your head back, thinking how awkward it’s going to be in the morning. he’s quick to take it as an opening and starts placing kisses on your neck. “come on. she’ll be fine,” he mumbles against your skin.
“she’s probably gonna hate me now,” you pout making him remove himself from your neck. “i’d kill her,” he says, blankly.
Chamomile tea wasn’t exactly your first choice, but the aromatic beverage at least lets you keep your composure as your older sister, Brunhilde approaches your seated form.
It was your turn.
You wonder if your other sisters were collectively letting out a sigh of relief right about now, thankful they wouldn’t be the ones chosen for this round.
Not because they feared their end. No, not that. You had all agreed to put your lives on the line for the sake of humanity, as is the duty of the Valkyrie. Even if it would mean the end of your existence, even if it meant you would lose one another, even if the battlefield would be your last sight.
No, it was because of who would be humanity’s fighter against Hercules.
“Am I your least favourite sister or something?” You drawl out, finger tracing the rim of your cup, before placing it down with a resounding clink.
It’s cold now.
You don’t look back as Brunhilde stood above you.
She calls your name, but rather than the usual exasperation that would take over her tone when dealing with you, there was something more fatalistic in her voice, so lacking in emotion, that made even her acknowledgment of you sound like a warning. You glance up at her, leaning back in your chair to properly shift your body to see that her eyes definitely matched her despondent tone.
“You have gave your vow to put your life on the stake and I have decided you will be the one to fight next. Now isn’t the time—“ Brunhilde asserts, and you have no doubt that she’d give you a proper verbal lashing if you didn’t cut her off.
“Relax, sis. I’m not going to run away, I’m just making a fuss because you’re really putting me in a tough situation. To slay a beloved hero or to die alongside a villainous fiend; I’m the only one of us to face this particular…dilemma,” You muse aloud, looking in your sisters eyes to see a slight ounce of guilt or even sympathy. You don’t.
You sigh, “To pick him…The means may justify the end to you, but this isn’t the hero humanity wants, especially against Hercules. Can’t you…” You trail off as a shiver passes over your neck, before you whirl around in your seat, to see him.
Jack the Ripper.
Who just heard you state your very clear reservations against him. Who has a very overwhelming…presence.
He loomed above you, somehow making his way right next to you without you noticing with an shadowed expression that quickly lightens into something more amicable as your gaze catches his mismatched one. By all means, he looked more docile than you were expecting, appearing like any well dressed gentleman, with deceptively gentle eyes and an almost sincere smile.
To your shock he kneels down onto one knee, grasping your hand. His grip firm but not painfully so.
“My dear lady,” He kisses your knuckle, glancing up at you, “It seems you are the Valkyrie I am to be partnered to.”
You gap in shock, before regaining your senses. “Hey,” you gasp out, before using both hands to yank him up, you let out a choked laugh at the absurdity of your situation, “No need to work your charms on me, I’m not going to run…And you can let go now.”
The man now upright once again, tilts his head, before unfurling your hand from his. “You have quite the strength, but for an alluring lady, such as yourself, I am sure you are full of surprises.”
What a flatterer.
You huff at his strange behaviour before turning towards your sister, “Hilde, no need to linger, we’ll be at the battlefield shortly.”
You expect her to protest, maybe out of doubt or even concern of leaving you with a strange man, or to even say her possibly last words to you, but she only nods. “Very well. You shouldn’t linger too long either. Remember your responsibilities.” You can only mutter a complaint before she departs, glancing back at the notorious killer.
“Sit down for a bit, we still have time,” You gesture at the spot across from you, watching close as he takes a seat with a certain poise. You didn’t think there would be an elegance to simply sitting down, but being wrong was something you have grown used to today.
“I’d offer you a cup of tea, but it’s cold and gross.”
He lets out a chuckle, eyes twinkling with mirth, “I appreciate the hospitality, nonetheless. While I do not mean to question your graciousness, I am quite intrigued by your change in demeanour.”
You sigh for maybe the hundredth time today but certainly not the last, leaning forward to place your face between your hands languidly. “I’m just trying to figure out how I’m supposed to ‘become one’ with an obviously…morally dubious individual, such as yourself.”
“Now, I am quite sure it will be simpler than you think,” He matches your posture, resting his chin above his locked hands, eyes meeting yours again, searching. You have to suppress a flinch at being at his full attention.
“Then you’re dumb.” You reply bluntly while the weirdo seems to look absolutely charmed for whatever reason, leaning back again as if to take you in your entirety. “In all honesty, I don’t want to die, especially alongside you. I don’t want to die because Hercules crushes you like a bug. And I definitely don’t want to die with my last sight being a cheering audience and my last meal being this oversteeped excuse of tea.”
Maybe you’re not as selfless or righteous as your sisters, and maybe that’s why Brunhilde too cruelly left you in his hands.
You abruptly snatch the abandoned cup of tea, and take a large gulp of leftover chamomile tea in a rather unladylike way, before tossing it aside, ignoring the sound of shattering ceramic. In a quick motion, you use your arms and knees to climb across the table, until your nose brushes his.
“My, this is rather unexpected—“ He falls silent as you wrap your hands around his neck, your grip unyielding but not enough to really choke or inhibit him.
“I don’t want this all to be for nothing. I doubt you care about humanity, you probably have your own screwed up reasons for being here. I don’t really care. We will not loose this fight. I refuse to let it end like this.” You declare, eyes locked onto his, feeling blood thrum beneath your fingers.
And he…
And he gazed upon you with wide eyes, definitely shocked at your brazen behaviour. It was almost like he was looking through you but somehow still managing to catch every inch of your visage.
His hands reached up to match yours, not even attempting to remove yours, but simply resting them, as his fingers curl against your own.
He almost looked reverent, his lips curling into a smile that was surprising angelic for a man like him.
“I told you,” He starts, his tone breathy, a stark contrast to his silver tongue, “This will not be hard, at all.”
And like that, your physical form dispersed into threads that wrapped around his hands.
“What a beautiful colour,” He whispers into the empty room, flexing his fingers, almost admiring his now gloved hands.
“It’s just a normal pair of black gloves, wouldn’t say there’s anything remarkable about it,” You drone, your voice passing over him as you reside at the core of his very being.
“I wasn’t referring to the gloves, darling,” He replies, finally moving to make his way to kill a god.
And kill a god, he did. While it was the longest battle yet, and you almost jumped out of your skin throughout the battle only being able to yell at and scold Jack for his risky tactics, he still won.
Yes, Brunhilde definitely expected this outcome.
As he looked up, seemingly at a loss for words at Hercules’ end. You regained your form, slightly cringing at the mixture of Jack and Hercules’ blood marring your skin and clothes.
You exhaled, looking up into the sky, knowing you aided in the demise of one the kindest beings to grace mankind. Green wisps of light ascended above, both you and Jack watching the final remnants of Hercules disperse.
He looks back at you, his eyes meeting yours once again, “It seems we survived like you wished for. How do you fair, milady?”
“You’re asking me that? I’m more curious about our latest godslayer,” You retort, rubbing your hand against your bloodied cheek, scanning his various injuries.
“I cannot say, this feeling is utterly foreign to me,” he clenches his fist, returning his gaze back to the sky, with a wistful tone that seeps into you.
Can he not see how completely sad he is?
His expression remained as light as ever, but even without synesthesia like his, you could see the somber look in his eyes, almost mourning.
He was pitiful, that much you could say with certainty after performing völunder with him.
“That’s sadness,” You reply, watching to see any reaction, “You, like anyone else here, are feeling sadness at the loss of Hercules.”
“Am I?” He muses, turning back to you, smiling, his eyes as gentle as they were when you placed your hands around his neck.
“What are you grinning at? You do realize you’re bleeding out, right? Are you perhaps delirious from blood loss?” You remark, breaking eye contact, still feeling the burnt of his eyes on you, nonetheless.
“Your colour is certainly unique,” He replies, simply.
You turn back to him, taking in his appearance, he looked different in your eyes from your first meeting. Even excluding his injuries and battered form.
You approach him after a moment of contemplation, with a lowered voice.
“You shouldn’t have pretended to be Jack the Ripper, would have saved you a lot of trouble and grief. While you’re not infamous, that would still be better than everyone rooting against you. I think the only one who cheered for you was drunk.”
He looks surprised for some reason, as if forgetting your very souls converged.
“That…” He seems to trail off, still caught off guard, before smiling in an irritatingly sad way. “In the end, the two of us have committed the same atrocities.”
Really now…
You sigh, “You really are pitiful. You should hurry to the medbay before you actually die. Don’t forget, you let yourself get impaled.” Without another word, you take to the air.
“As you wish, madame.” He mutters, amused, looking at your retreating form for a second more, before making his way through the replicated London.
While you had decided to leave by yourself to clean up, you turned back, and as expected, Jack was facing the malice and grief of those who loved Hercules. Adults and children alike pelting stones and whatever else they could grasp at him.
It was moments like these where you wonder how gods can’t see their similarities with humans. Grief and retribution seemed to be inherited feelings.
You hesitate for a second before cursing, descending next to him, plucking his knocked off hat from the ground as rocks rained from above.
“You…came back?” He looks stunned, as you move to place his hat to its rightful place and you have no doubt why.
Today was probably the first day someone even said “I love you”, to him so this is probably the most somewhat positive interaction he’s ever had.
“I’m just as responsible as you, so might as well face the music together,” You respond idly, kneeling down to loop his arm around your shoulder and hooking your arm across his waist before slowly standing up to make your trek to exit the arena.
“I would have to vehemently disagree with that notion,” Jack mutters, his voice finally betraying his weakened state. The fool tries his best to hold his own weight, but you only scowl, and use the arm at his waist to tug him closer.
“Forget that. How about you try learning a new song? I think ‘London bridge is falling down’ will forever be engraved into my head,” You complain finally reaching cover as you leave the storm of rocks, shouts, and sobs.
Jack laughs before wincing, “It is simply a song that I cherish, my fair lady,” He looks fondly at you once again as you let out a groan at his choice of endearment.
“Wasn’t expecting you to be such a sap,” You avoid looking at his face as you two see a med team quickly approach, carrying a stretcher. “Well, this is where we part, Jack, or whatever your real name is.”
“And I suppose you plan to fix yourself a proper cup of tea now?” He asks as you two detach for the nurses to fret over him, no doubt remembering your earlier conversation.
You grimace, remembering the taste.
“Hmm, I doubt it. I don’t think tea is for me, after all ,” You hum, turning away before you feel his slender fingers wrap around your wrist. Startled, you look back, only for him to pull you toward him, stumbling as your hands meet his chest. You try to detach yourself from him before he strains himself further, but Jack simply wraps his arms around you in a manner too bold for a man of his era.
“Idiot, what are you doing—!?” You begin to reprimand him, but his voice instantly and embarrassingly silences you.
“Allow me the honour to brew you some tea. I’m quite fond of darjeeling, myself. I think you would enjoy it too,” He interrupts you, looking down at you with those sappy eyes that you definitely hate.
“F-fine!” You stutter, trying to avoid the curious gazes of the nurses, quickly shoving him into the strecher, “But worry about the hole in your stomach first!”
You finally turn around, speedily escaping the prying eyes and giggles of the nurses.
“As you wish, my fair lady,” He calls out, and you can hear the smile in his voice as you let out a small noise of annoyance at his audacity, ignoring the heat that spread to your ears.
At least his spirits have returned, you think, fighting back a smile.
As confirmed in the side story series, “The Jack Ripper Files”, Jack isn’t actually the og ripper as a lot of people have already guessed since his behaviour in the main story obviously doesn’t match a vulnerable women killer. No, he actually killed the real Jack the Ripper who was about to kill a young orphan girl. Like he still has a weird desire to kill (pretty sure some organization (maybe government) seems to give him targets (it’s a win-win, he gets to kill, and they get the job done)) and is obviously not morally good but he wouldn’t go after innocents especially prostitutes, like his pseudo mother Anne. But he still takes on the moniker for Ragnorak since he has killed one. Also, even before the ripper thing, he seems to use Jack as a fake name anyway, probably after his father seeing how he wears his stolen hat.
Any interaction would be appreciated! I plan on writing a Qin Shi Huang and Nikola Tesla version next!
tsukishima kei knows he's big and is soooo cocky and sarcastic about it
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
tw + tags ;; nsfw minors dni. vaginal, breeding kink, size kink, past relationships mentioned, degradation, overstimulation & dacryphilia mentioned.
his cock pierces into your sopping hole at a delirious rate. your faces is nestled between his pillows, while your ass is up and he rams into you repeatedly. your worn body shakes which each powerful thrust, and your ass bounces around his base.
the sheets are balled up in your fists, as you cry into the pillow due to deliciously painful stretch your pussy has to constantly endure. it stung so bad yet simultaneously, you never want it to stop. your boyfriend is so long, you don't know how to cope with it — all you can do is lay there and pray.
"why are you acting like some virgin schoolgirl?" you can virtually hear the eyeroll as he speaks. although, his steady pace doesn't falter, and he moves a hand to cradle your calf that was tensing and jerking around in the air. he strokes your leg, all the way to your ankle where he sees your toes are curled firmly. "what? never taken big dick before?"
he laughs, but it's not clear what he finds amusing: the notion of you being inexperienced sexually, or the fact you are too cock-drunk to reply to his sarcastic remarks properly. usually you're quite quick-witted, but now you've devolved into a overstimulated mess who is barely able to stagger out the breathiest of moans.
however, it's made evident that he is entertained by his previous suggestion, when he elaborates scornfully, "god, your ex must've been such a fuckin' loser." he snickers again, pushing his glasses up his nose.
not that you're able to see, you're too busy being plowed into the mattress by his merciless length. his faint veins were rubbing against the most sensitive parts inside you, and it's like he's trying to break something within you each time his tip thumps against your cervix. "kei! i ca— nngh, i can't! stop, 'm too close.."
" 'you can't stop' stop what? you're not doing anything, sweetie." his voice drips with honeyed mockery. it irritates you when he tries to be clever and purposefully misinterprets what you say. but his length is clogging up your walls so well that you can't bring yourself to care. "just keep doing what you do best. hah—" he heaves, hastily clearing his throat, "being pretty n' tight. too fuckin' tight." that's generally considered a compliment but the way he says it makes it sound like a slur.
"shit, you're not made for this.." he curses at you, hips slamming into yours at full-force, watching intently as your doting cunt is swallows him up. "stick to clit stuff cos this is just— ah—" he choked on his own words, only able to be sarcastic for so long before his climax gets the better of him.
his lips seel together and his eyes screw shut as he breathes his way through his high, still weakily thrusting into your poor cunt but with significtantly less vigour. each movement was more sloppy and desperate as he fills up your snug hole.
the entire time his hand is on your leg, caressing your calf, and the other is idly toying with your clit. "shit." is all the can think to utter. this is not what he intended. you were supposed to be the one who was so split in half on his dick that you finish in like three minutes. but instead, he was the first to climax. disastrous execution of his fantasy.
"aren't you going to pull out?" you groan, weary hole pleading for solace.
"no. we're going to do this again and again until you're used to me, so you stop crying every time you take it." he tuts, harsh word contrasting with the affectionate way he massages your folds, "get comfortable. it'll take a while."
"hm, you don't like it when i cry? i thought you were into."
"why would i enjoy seeing you cry? you know i love you, dumbass." he squeezes your ass harshly, smirking when you jolt in reaction. "which is exactly why you need to stop crying like a little bitch."
Just Y/N casually grinding and bouncing on them then proceeds to get up and leave lol
KUROO TETSURO
Kuroo was manspreading like he paid rent just to do that. Hair messy. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Smug expression baked onto his face like it was his full-time job. He looked like the human equivalent of a “you up?” text.
You stared. Then smirked. Then slowly—without a word—walked over and shoved him onto the couch with the grace of a goddess and the menace of someone who’s waited exactly three weeks and four hours for this moment.
“Whoa—okay, hi,” he chuckled, arms up like he was ready for a good time. “You finally giving in, huh? Couldn’t resist me?”
You didn’t answer.
You straddled him. Dead silent. No smile. Eyes locked.
And then you started moving.
Slow grind. Full bounce. Nothing wild, just enough to make him twitch like a malfunctioning robot. The pressure? Exactly dangerous. The eye contact? Murderous.
He choked on a breath.
You moaned.
“T-tetsu..u~”
Like it was the climax of a soap opera. Like you were standing on a balcony in the rain in a gown screaming your dying lover’s name. Like you were about to win a BAFTA for this role.
He blinked. “H-hey, uh—babe?” His voice cracked like cheap glass.
Your hands rested on his chest.
You moaned again. Softer. Darker.
Then… you stopped.
Got up.
Walked off.
Deadpan face. Not a single look back. Not a word. Not a smirk.
Kuroo sat up so fast he nearly pulled a back muscle. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait—what just happened?”
Silence.
“…Was that revenge? What did I do? BABE? WHAT DID I DO???”
He stood, nearly tripped over air, and yelled into the hallway.
“I—I LIKED YOUR INSTAGRAM POST. I SWEAR. I DIDN’T FORGET OUR ANNIVERSARY. PLEASE, WHAT’S HAPPENING?!”
You, meanwhile, were in the kitchen calmly eating cereal like none of that happened.
Kuroo, clutching the back of the couch, whispering to himself:
“…I’m in danger.”
KENMA KOZUME
Kenma was in the zone—shoulders hunched, headset on, fingers moving with sniper-level precision. You could hear the quiet tapping of his keyboard, the occasional mutter under his breath, and the distant sound of his teammate yelling, "LEFT! LEFT—NO, YOUR OTHER LEFT!"
You approached silently, sock-footed like a cat with bad intentions.
He didn’t notice you at first. Typical. Zoned in.
Until you casually climbed into his lap like it was your god-given throne.
He froze.
“…You good?” he mumbled, barely glancing at you, one hand still on the mouse.
Then you started soft grinding—gentle movements, slow and warm. Nothing aggressive. Just… suggestive. Cozy. Dangerous.
You leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“K..kozume~..hnn” you whispered.
The sound of gunfire blasted through his headset.
He paused mid-match.
Dead silent.
His cheeks flushed pink instantly, ears visibly heating. “...You’re being weird again.”
But his fingers slowly slipped off the keyboard.
And he hit ESC.
HE PAUSED AN ONLINE MATCH. FOR YOU.
“Okay…” he mumbled, voice small, clearly rattled. “I guess I can play later.”
You smiled. Just a little.
Then without a word—you stood up and walked away.
Kenma sat there. Motionless.
He stared at the empty space on his lap like it had just punched him in the heart.
“…You can’t just cause emotional lag and leave,” he muttered, still stunned. “I—I PAUSED FOR YOU. That was ranked…”
In the distance, your soft laughter echoed like a final killcam.
BOKUTO KOUTARO
Bokuto was sprawled on the couch, legs wide, phone angled up, watching volleyball highlight reels like they were gospel. He was in the zone—nodding, hyping himself up, whispering “That’s how you block, baby, YES,” like he hadn’t watched the same clip five times.
You walked in with an expression that said destruction was on the menu and Bokuto was the special.
“Hey babe!” he greeted loudly, full beam smile. “You wanna see this cool spike from—”
You didn’t answer.
You straddled him.
He blinked. “…Oh.”
And then you started.
All in.
Full bounce. Hands draped dramatically behind his neck like a diva about to faint from the tension. Whimpers, soft moans, and your voice drawing out:
“hngh..k-kou..a-aa~”
Like he was a forbidden snack and you were on a juice cleanse.
His brain fried.
Completely.
“UH—UH—BABE?!” he half-yelled, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure where to touch, where to look, whether to cry or scream.
He was absolutely flustered, mouth slightly open, cheeks red, heartbeat syncing with every grind. Volleyball highlights? Forgotten. There was only you and his complete mental shutdown.
You gave a final whimper. Rested your forehead against his.
Then stood up.
And left.
Just.
Walked out.
Bokuto stared at the empty air where you once were. Still seated like a cursed statue.
“…BABE?!”
He launched up from the couch, flailing after you.
“HELLO?! WHAT WAS THAT?! COME BACK!! I WAS ENJOYING THAT! I WAS SO INTO IT!! DO IT AGAIN!!”
In the kitchen, you stirred your drink in silence, deadpan, as if you hadn't just mentally exploded a man with fully-clothed cardio.
Bokuto, clinging to the doorframe like a war widow:
“I’M WHIPPED AND I DON’T CARE. PLEASE.”
AKAASHI KEIJI
Akaashi was having a peaceful afternoon. Chamomile tea. A book with too many footnotes. Lo-fi playing like the world made sense.
And then—you entered.
Dead silent. Eyes locked on him like judgment day just arrived in thigh-high socks.
He glanced up. "Hello, love," he said, suspicious but polite.
You didn’t answer.
You climbed into his lap like you had a mission, and his thighs were the launch pad.
His hands stayed frozen mid-page.
Then—bounce.
Bounce.
Bounce.
Soft and sinful, like a PG-13 exorcism.
“K-keiji..h-ha-a~” you moaned.
A single vein in his forehead twitched.
He blinked slowly, like a man calculating whether this was a dream, a prank, or divine punishment.
“Darling,” he said with dangerous calm, “what is this?”
But he was already gone.
Mentally wiped.
That page of the book?
Unreadable.
Text? Just blurry noodles.
You were bouncing like this was a demonic ritual and he was the altar.
Then—you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
And LEFT.
You LEFT.
No explanation.
No tongue.
Not even a "brb."
Just... air.
Akaashi didn’t move for five whole minutes. Eyes glassy. Tea still steeping. Book sliding off his lap in slow motion.
Inside his head:
“Is this psychological warfare? Did I forget an anniversary? Did I accidentally vote for something evil in a group chat?”
Out loud, monotone:
“…That was… bold of you.”
Another five minutes passed.
Still motionless.
Still on the couch.
The scent of your shampoo lingering like a war crime.
He finally muttered,
“…Was I supposed to say something? Applaud? Cry? Ascend to heaven?”
Then he picked up his phone. Opened a group chat titled: “📚 Book Men and Bokuto.”
Akaashi:
She bounced on me, moaned my name, then left.
What does it mean.
Bokuto:
BRO SAME
I’M STILL BREATHING HEAVY
SHE’S A MENACE 😭
Kuroo:
Just accept it. We’re dating chaos in eyeliner.
Akaashi looked out the window. Took a long, exhausted sip of his now-cold tea.
“…I am suffering. Elegantly.”
GOSHIKI TSUTOMU
Goshiki was chillin’. Hoodie on. Headphones in. Probably listening to something overly dramatic like the Haikyuu soundtrack or a TED Talk on mental resilience.
He didn’t stand a chance.
You walked in with zero warning. No explanation. No mercy.
Before he could say, “Huh?” you pushed him gently onto the bed. Straddled him. Planted yourself down like he was your chair and life was a stage.
Then you started bouncing.
Soft, slow. Intentional.
“Tsutomu..h-ha..why are so w-warm..hngh~” you moaned — drawn out, sugary-sweet, like you were reading it off a Wattpad page in real time.
His whole body seized up.
“W-WHAT THE—?!”
Hands flailed. Legs went stiff. Brain? Overheated.
He felt like someone had kicked his soul out his spine.
You leaned in closer, let out the tiniest whimper — not loud, but close. Just enough to make his ears turn red and his heart go supersonic.
And then—you LEFT.
Just. Got. Up.
No closure. No forehead kiss.
You just dipped like this was some random Tuesday ritual and not his villain origin story.
He sat there frozen. Mouth parted. Chest rising and falling way too fast.
Then—he whimpered.
Just a tiny, high-pitched noise. Unplanned. From the throat.
Like his soul sighed through his mouth.
“…Ahh—”
Immediately slapped a hand over his lips.
“WHY—WHY DID I MAKE A NOISE?!”
He flopped backwards dramatically, arms spread like a Shakespearean corpse.
“She’s going to kill me one day… and I’ll thank her.”
Face still bright red.
Still hearing the sound of your voice like it was echoing in a cathedral.
Still lowkey hoping you’d come back and do it again so he could “react better this time” (he wouldn’t).
And in the hallway, you smiled.
Mission: chaos.
Status: accomplished.
USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI
Ushijima Wakatoshi was doing his usual — sitting on the couch like a fortress, silently eating protein snacks and watching volleyball footage like it was the evening news.
Then she walked in.
Confident. Calm. Dressed like danger.
He didn’t even blink when she shoved him back gently onto the cushions and straddled him. That wasn’t what alarmed him. He’d seen many unorthodox warm-ups in his time.
Then—
Bounce.
Bounce.
“Wakatoshi~”
She moaned it with full anime-level dramatics, sultry and slow like she’d been practicing. Her hands went on his shoulders for balance, hips rocking in steady rhythm. Fully clothed. No actual plan. Just chaos and vibes.
Ushijima’s brows pulled together.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice low and deadly serious.
“Is this… a new kind of stretch?”
You didn’t answer. You just gave one last confident roll of your hips, leaned in like you were going to say something profound…
And then you walked away.
Like nothing happened.
Left him there on the couch — straight posture, blank expression… and fully hard.
Silence.
He stared straight ahead at the door like it had just personally betrayed him.
Took one slow breath through his nose. Chest rising just slightly.
“She’s strange,” he murmured. “I love her.”
Looked down at himself. Back up. Then whispered, louder this time:
“…She’s going to come back, right?”
Pause.
No answer.
He sat there, motionless. Internally screaming. Externally still built like a demigod statue.
Conclusion:
Training couldn’t prepare him.
Love is terrifying.
And he’s going to need to shower cold water and repentance.
SHIRABU KENJIRO
Shirabu was minding his business, sitting cross-legged on the floor, skimming through his notes like he wasn’t 100% hot in a cardigan. Completely in peace.
Then she came in like a war crime.
With purpose.
With eyebrow energy.
With chaotic woman agenda.
She straddled his lap like he owed her rent and started bouncing. Not wild. Just steady. Unbothered. Calculated. Evil.
“jiro...h-ha!~”
She moaned his name like it was the finale of a play and she was up for a Tony.
He blinked.
His soul buffered.
“Tch. You’re annoying.”
Tone flat. Words sharp. Voice trembling like a wet cat.
But his whole face was glowing red like a strawberry in denial.
Hands on his knees. Back perfectly straight.
Losing his will to live one slow grind at a time.
She gave one final roll of her hips. Then stood up like it was jury duty and left.
Walked away. Blank face. Like she didn’t just emotionally obliterate him.
He sat there in stunned silence. Hands still on his knees like he was in timeout.
Then he snapped.
“...I—HEY! WAIT! I didn’t mean it like that!”
Scrambled to his feet like he was being evicted from peace.
“Come back! I meant like... annoying in a cute way?? Like—you’re MY annoying?!”
Voice cracking, ego gone. Left behind, staring at the empty space where she used to be, gripping his own hair like a man who just said “I don’t care” and then immediately cared so hard.
HINATA SHOYO
Hinata was chilling on the bed, humming to himself and swinging his legs like a golden retriever who just discovered a new flavor of yogurt.
He didn’t notice her creeping up until it was too late.
Suddenly—
BOOM.
She dropped onto his lap like the final boss of temptation and started bouncing. Full send. Championship-level rhythm. Gold medal-worthy grind. Fully clothed but somehow emotionally naked.
Leaning in, she whispered into his ear, dripping honey and chaos:
“Sho~”
He flatlined.
“WH-WHA—BABE?! ARE YOU OKAY?!”
His soul ejected through his nose.
Brain? 404 not found.
His hands were in the air like he was under arrest by the goddess of seduction herself.
She didn't stop. Just grinded harder. Whimpering softly. Like this was HER volleyball final and she was spiking with every bounce.
And then—HE MOANED.
A tiny, breathy “nn–ah,” like his dignity was trying to claw its way out of his throat and failed.
And then she LEFT.
Skipped away. Humming. Like she just didn't emotionally set him on fire and walk away like an arsonist in glitter.
He sat there, cross-eyed. Face red. Hands on his chest like he just got hit by a car made of hormones.
“Oh my god.”
“Oh my GOD.”
“I’m in love. I’m in danger. I need water.”
Collapsed backwards into the bed like his body just said “I forfeit.”
TSUKISHIMA KEI
Tsukishima was on the couch, headphones on, pretending he didn’t need love or attention, when she pounced.
Literally pounced.
One second: peace.
Next second: Lap. Bouncing. Moaning.
“Tsukki”
She purrs it in his ear like a cursed ASMR channel sent straight from hell.
He freezes.
Eyes wide. Neck stiff.
Blush detonates.
You could roast marshmallows on his cheeks.
“Ugh. What are you doing?”
His voice comes out flat.
Emotionless.
Lying. Lying through his damn teeth.
She keeps going. Little playful grind here, tiny whimper there, body warm against his in all the worst-best ways. Then—
She gets up.
Walks away.
Like she didn’t just shake the foundation of his emotional stability.
He’s left sitting there, arms folded, jaw clenched like a Victorian man whose ankle was just exposed.
Pushes up his glasses with a trembling hand
“Why are you so weird.”
Deadpan voice.
Wild panic.
Later, Yamaguchi walks in to ask if he wants to go out, only to find Tsukki sitting there, still pink, glasses fogged up, muttering to himself:
“I hate her. I love her. I hate her. I need her to do that again.”
KITA SHINSUKE
Kita was folding laundry.
FOLDING LAUNDRY.
Peaceful. Domestic. Soft music playing. He had just finished lining up the socks by size, color, and life purpose when—
SHE SAT ON HIM.
Not aggressively. Not violently. Just… sat. And started bouncing.
Gentle. Rhythmic. Purposeful.
Like she was trying to awaken something ancient inside him.
“Shinsuke~”
She moaned it like she was trying to get cast in the spiciest drama Japan's ever banned.
He blinked. Once.
Heart rate: up.
Stability: on fire.
“Are you… feeling unwell, love?” he asked, as if his voice wasn't one octave higher and vibrating with restraint.
She grinds again.
His hands grip her thighs like prayer beads.
He grunts.
Then a tiny whimper slips out—traitorous.
He covers it with a cough like he’s trying to convince God he’s still worthy.
His face is red, like a polite tomato having a breakdown.
“Darling, this isn’t sanitary. The clean towels are right there…”
She just smiles sweetly. Innocently.
Like she didn’t just weaponize softness and decimate his will to stand.
And then?
She walks off.
Like it was just another Tuesday.
Kita remains seated. Hands politely folded behind his back. Eyes blank. Soul ascending.
“…That girl’s gonna give me gray hair.”
“And I’ll thank her for every strand.”
MIYA OSAMU
It was a quiet afternoon at Onigiri Miya.
The rice was hot. The kitchen was calm. Osamu was in his element, apron on, hair tied up, wrist flicking like a trained chef-slash-lowkey-dilf—
Until she pounced.
No warning. No hesitation.
Just: BOUNCE.
Lap? Occupied.
Voice? Breathless.
“Osamuuu~”
She moaned it like she was trying to get arrested and liked the idea.
He blinked up at her with a smile that said “ha ha you’re cute” but his BRAIN said:
“YOU WANNA DO THIS RIGHT NOW WHILE I’M HOLDING A RICE SCOOP?!”
“Keep this up and I’m proposing today,” he teased, hand sliding to her waist like it wasn’t lowkey trembling.
She just smirked. Gave one last bounce for dramatic effect.
Then stood up.
Winked.
Walked off.
Like she didn’t just shake him to his core and make him rethink his whole life plan in one minute.
Osamu sat there.
Alone. Flushed. Emotionally fried like his best tempura.
He put down the rice scoop, stared at the door she disappeared through, and whispered like a man in a Netflix romance mini-series:
Started grinding and moaning “tsumuuu~ a-ah! fuck..” like it was a performance art piece for chaos and psychological warfare.
His smirk faltered.
Just a little.
Then—bounce.
“H-hah—okay—okay! Someone’s feelin’ frisky t’day—!”
Smug was cracking like drywall in an earthquake.
Another bounce.
He whines.
Then WHIMPERS. LOUDLY.
Voice breaks. Accent slips.
“Aw hell, darlin’—wh-what’re ya tryna do t’me?!”
FULL SOUTHERN DESCENT.
Kansai accent hitting so raw it sounded like a back-alley confession.
He’s sweating. Whining. Head back like he saw God and got rejected.
Then.
SHE GETS UP.
AND WALKS AWAY.
Like she didn’t just spiritually decimate one of Japan’s finest athletes in under 2 minutes.
Atsumu sits there, jaw unhinged.
Hands limp at his sides. Soul in orbit.
He blinks slowly.
Watches her leave like she’s walking away from the wreckage of his ego’s funeral.
“...Ya can’t just leave me like this,” he mutters to the door.
“That was... illegal. You’re illegal.”
“I whimpered. I ain't never whimpered in my damn life!”
Silence.
Then he YELLS:
“WAS IT THE ACCENT?! I SWEAR I’LL TONE IT DOWN—JUST COME BACK!!!”
KYOTANI KENTARO
She didn’t ask.
Didn’t warn.
Just straddled his lap with the calm audacity of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.
He was mid-sentence.
Now? He was mid-heart attack.
“H-Hey—wait, what—”
Then she leans in.
Close.
Hot breath against his neck.
Her lips ghost over his jaw. Slowly. Softly. Like she’s learning the texture of his skin just to haunt him later.
And then—she kisses him.
Not a quick peck.
Not playful.
It’s deep.
Slow.
Spicy as hell.
The kind of kiss that clings to his mouth even when it’s over.
His hands shoot up, gripping her waist so hard he thinks he might bruise her, but she just presses in more, bounces slowly in his lap like she’s reading every single one of his reactions.
“Kentaro~ nn- HaH!” she breathes right into his mouth.
Bounces again.
He sees god. Then he sees hell. Then he forgets how to see.
“W-what the—what is this?!”
His voice is too high, too desperate.
He’s already hard.
Already clenching her thighs like they’re life rafts.
She just leans in again, brushes his ear with her lips, and whispers filth that fries what’s left of his sanity.
“You’re so easy to break, you know that?”
Kisses him again.
He groans into her mouth—loud—almost embarrassingly so.
He grabs at her again, this time more forcefully—
And she flicks his hand away.
Stands.
Fixes her shirt.
Walks away like she just didn’t turn him into a walking hormone cocktail.
Kyotani is left on the couch, sweating, hard, and absolutely stunned.
Face flushed, fists clenched, lips swollen, staring at the empty hallway like it personally betrayed him.
“That was love,” he mutters hoarsely.
“I hate it here. I love it here.”
He doesn’t move for five full minutes.
Still. Quiet. Processing.
Then under his breath:
“...I’m gonna marry her or die trying.”
IWAIZUMI HAJIME
She straddles him on the couch like it’s her throne and he’s just lucky to be her footstool.
Hands on his chest.
Eyes locked on his.
Then the bounce starts.
Slow. Rhythmic. Intentional.
And then—
“haji~” she moans like she’s reading lines in a romance drama with too much budget and not enough shame.
His jaw tightens.
“Oi,” he warns, gripping her hips, “don’t start something you can’t finish.”
He's blushing. Hard.
And it only gets worse when she grinds a little too good and too slow—right there.
His hands twitch on her waist.
His whole body flinches like someone hit him with a volleyball spike to the soul.
“Seriously—stop playin’ around,” he mumbles, but it sounds more like a plea than a threat.
He’s getting warm. Real warm. Real fast.
She just leans forward like she’s gonna kiss him.
Spoiler: she doesn’t.
She hovers. Inches from his lips. Bounces again, lips curled in mischief.
He groans. Low. Threatening. Desperate.
Hard.
And then?
She gets up.
Just hops off.
Fixes her shirt.
Leaves.
No explanation. No glance back. Just vibes.
Staring into the middle distance like a man who saw the future and it was terrifyingly horny.
“...She’s gonna be the death of me,” he mutters to no one.
He stays there.
Still blushing.
Still adjusting his pants like his life didn’t just flash before his eyes with soft moans and denim friction.
And yet?
He smiles.
“...Not a bad way to go, though.”
SAKUSA KIYOOMI
Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t ask for this.
He was just sitting on the couch, minding his business, sipping tea, probably judging someone silently for existing wrong.
Then she came in.
Straddled him like she paid rent on his thighs.
Set her hands on his chest like it was hers—which, okay, maybe it was—and gave him a smile that screamed danger.
“Get off,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose. “You didn’t even wash your hands after touching the doorknob—”
Then she started bouncing.
Slow. Hypnotic. Criminal.
And the worst part? She moaned his name.
“Kiyoomi~”
Like she was casting a spell. Like he was the main character in a fanfic. Like she knew what she was doing.
His breath caught. His tea almost fell. His sanity left the group chat.
“Y-you—what is this?!” he choked, voice jumping an octave.
He wasn’t ready. His thighs weren’t ready. His pants? Absolutely not ready.
She leaned forward, breath hot against his neck, lips just close enough to not be kissing him.
“You mad?” she whispered.
“No,” he whispered back, voice shaking. “I’m terrified.”
Her hips moved.
Again.
Slower. Deeper.
He whimpered.
Quiet. Shameful. Hidden behind gritted teeth and clenched fists.
But she heard it. She felt it. She thrived.
“Oh my god,” he groaned under his breath, gripping the couch cushion like it personally offended him. “You’re actually evil. You were sent to test me. This is a biohazard.”
Another bounce. Another whimper. This time louder.
Desperate.
She kissed under his ear.
Not sweet. Not soft.
Intentional.
“Stop,” he whispered, clearly not meaning it.
“Make me.”
He groaned. His hands trembled on her thighs, like he didn’t know whether to push her off or pull her closer and die honorably.
“You’re ruining my life,” he hissed, head thrown back.
“And your boxers.”
She grinded one last time, slow enough to melt bone.
Then—like a demon in disguise—she got up.
Just stood, fixed her shirt, and walked away.
No eye contact. No goodbye. Not even a damn wipe of his forehead.
Sakusa sat there.
Breathing like he just ran a marathon.
Harder than a physics exam.
Staring into the void like he saw God and God was a woman with killer thighs.
He pulled a throw pillow into his lap and whispered to no one:
“…I’m filing a report.”
warnings: arranged marriage, reincarnation, possible historical inaccuracies, references to drugs and alcohol, minors dni, mention of prostitution, canon divergence, murder, gore, maomao!reader.
* Gabimaru and the reader are both sixteen in this fic, which was seen as the appropriate age to marry in the Edo period, references include historical articles and a fascinating post about the different types of arranged marriages in Japan posted by @kazenofuji. I will leave the article to that link here if anyone is interested in reading it.
Special thanks to @luna-azzurra for helping me to describe Gabimaru’s eyes than just amber irises 😆 if you are looking for writing references or prompts, I highly recommend checking out their blog~!
Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics. Credit goes to the artist(s) for the images found on Pinterest.
Series Masterlist
Deities have an odd sense of humor. You thought they were being gracious in giving you what you wanted - a solitary life. Free to gather information from the pleasure district and indulge in different medicines, remedies, and most of all poisons. Turns out you were the butt of the joke in the end when the village chief chose you to be the wife of his strongest shinobi, Gabimaru the Hollow. Better known as his protégé, who had killed his predecessor to take the title for his own, as per the tradition, which would make him the seventh successor.
Lucky number seven, what a lucky girl you are.
There was no warning, no way you could predict that this would even happen because that wretched old man was like a certain sly fox you had known in your old life. Incredibly wily, possessing a silver tongue that carried the weight of his authority in Iwagakure, speaking in riddles with a stony face that made him extremely difficult to decipher his body language.
He simply introduced you as his daughter, stating how you were trained from a young age to know your place - a bold, odious lie - and he expected many children that would be born from your marriage. Hah, ridiculous. Your brow twitched, trying to hold back a roll of your eyes as you smiled tightly at your new husband. You hoped it reached your eyes in any shape or form to hide the discomfort clawing at your mind, the weight of the uchikake bridal kimono on your shoulders.
You really thought he would postpone your marriage ceremony until Yui left the house with her own carefully selected spouse, not before her.
At this moment, all you could do was stare at the young man sitting across from you and contemplate how such an arranged marriage could work out, or even how to divorce him amiably without throwing Gabimaru out of the estate. Nothing — you came up with nothing. That was the problem with a yōshi-engumi marriage. It was an unusual practice in this era, where the father-in-law adopted the groom into the family as his son-in-law. If Gabimaru angered your father, he would remove him immediately from the family tree. He would lose everything.
You analyzed Gabimaru carefully, taking in everything you could see from where he sat.
He appeared to be no older than your age - sixteen, maybe seventeen summers. His white hair was tousled as if he’d been running his fingers through it countless times before he came to this room. The angular lines of his jaw still possessed the softness of a teenager, but no light reflected in his eyes. You imagined innocent joy once filled those amber irises, like a bonfire dancing under the stars surrounded by laughter. But life doesn’t seem to have been kind to him. His eyes are like the coals in a firepit, glowing dimly before they slowly die out as the evening air wears on. Hollow.
What has he seen? You wondered. What did the village chief do to him? More importantly, amber was not an accurate description of his eye color, but orpiment. Why? Because it brought back the memory of the investigation surrounding the yellow arsenic, and remembering how it all happened was keeping you calm. Funny how memories from a previous life can provide comfort at unusual times.
Your skin prickled at the thought of the emperor, who deflowered little girls and kept them in the rear palace, discarding them once they became young women without batting an eye. And yet from one of them, a son was born and for unknown reasons he had become a recluse, spending all hours of the day painting in isolation. He used the orpiment as a pigment for his yellow paints without realizing it was poison. Chronic exposure to arsenic through skin contact and inhalation destroyed his mental and physical health over time. It was also the reason why his corpse had not decayed for over a year, and caused the empress dowager to believe she had cursed him.
“Treat him well, my child, and bring honor to this family.” The fox’s silky voice broke through your mind, causing you to blink rapidly. “As is customary in our village, you two shall stay here until your own residence is ready. The best laborers are toiling away as we speak.” You watched him rise from his seat, black robes billowing behind him. “We shall let the newlyweds be until the celebration banquet is ready.” He left the room, followed by the first wife Miyu. Then Yui, and an entourage of servants and shinobi. When the last shinobi closed the shoji door behind him, an awkward silence crept in.
You truly did not know what you could say to him. Apologize for being married to you against his will? Please treat me well, even though we are complete strangers and today is our first meeting without a lavish wedding ceremony because the village cannot afford to do such pleasantries when there are mouths to feed? But staying silent and staring at the floor changed nothing, and at this point all you could do was hope that everything would be fine. So you smiled; a sweet, innocent smile to show Gabimaru that you were looking forward to the days ahead in this marriage.
Whether it was because he did not want to waste any more time on you or wished to curry more of the chief’s favor, Gabimaru stood up from the tatami mat and left you in the room, smile still stretched across your face. Well, this was not what you were expecting but you supposed it could have gone much differently if he possessed a violent temper or immediately belittled you, to remind you that you belong to him now and not the chief as if you were nothing more than livestock.
It’s a sad truth, and that’s how people treated women in this world. You only hoped that no one would kidnap you and make you work for a eunuch again, or worse, in a pleasure house. You could only thank the gods for allowing to find clay and use it on your face to replicate freckles, or else this situation would have been much worse should that old man find out what you truly look like.
You were more than happy to work for the pleasure district as an apothecary, just not as a sex worker, even though you have nothing but the highest respect for them and what they do to make a living.
Time was a blur after that night, and eventually you found a silent routine with Gabimaru. It wasn’t awkward or tense like before, just…comfortable. You would wake up early with the sun just peeking above the horizon and dress swiftly. Slipping out of the house to check on the fields. Once you collected what you needed, you would head around back to your work shed, nestled in the back of the estate. Using the mortar and pestle to grind some into powders and placing others in amber containers, labeling and storing them away to protect from the sunlight and moisture until it was time to use them.
Once all the orders were done and packed to deliver to the city, you would study some herbs. It was fascinating how the usage and effect of these herbs in this world were so similar to the ones in your past life, even the poisonous mushrooms. For example, gan cao or licorice root can be used as an anti-inflammatory and heal the stomach lining. Some names for these herbs are different, though. This world’s gan cao was referred by another name, anise hyssop. Aphrodisiacs still come as exquisite chocolates, or a special blend of green tea with carefully picked ingredients to boost dopamine, like roasted hojicha or sweet kamairicha. Matcha tea was the most popular and expensive choice. You never handled abortion drugs since there were plenty of these circulating in the pleasure district. Pity you couldn’t piece together an alcohol distillation apparatus for obvious reasons, but mainly to make disinfectants which would help conduct further experiments and save lives, but having enough space to do your work in the early hours of the morning was enough for you.
When the rooster’s cries echoed in the sky, you knew Yui would arrive soon, cheerily announcing that breakfast was ready to be served and no, you couldn’t eat in the shed just so that you could continue your self-studying. You still asked though, only to tease a laugh out of your sister or a solid flick to the forehead depending on her mood.
Breakfast was held in the dining hall every morning. The chief would sit at the head of the table next to Miyu, as she was the one in charge of the other concubines and managed the household in his absence. Yui would be on the left. You were seated on the right, and Gabimaru would sit opposite of you as he was your husband. Sometimes he would be there, or he wouldn’t, depending on the length of his missions. When he was there it was awkward unlike your early morning routine.
You tried to make small talk, asking him if he slept well, but he just stared at you with no emotion in his eyes before he disappeared from the estate without a trace. Were questions like that not asked of him before, even during his training? That was odd, considering how valuable he was to the village as a shinobi. Unless that was the reason. He was not treated as a human being who had proven himself to carry the mantle of his predecessors, rather as a weapon wearing a human’s skin; honed, sharpened, and prepared to do any job given to them by whomever can afford the services of the Iwagakure shinobi.
A perfect weapon, but at what cost?
After everyone finished breakfast and the servants removed the dishes, they all continued with their day, yourself included. Gabimaru had his job, Yui had her own business selling homemade umbrellas that were popular with the villagers and the occasional tourist who had enough courage to travel through said Iwagakure to get to the city, and you were in the city running around fulfilling deliveries, checking on patients, etc.
Dinner was a short-lived affair; even shorter than breakfast, and everyone in the house was in bed as soon as the cicadas began their nightly song.
But one autumn evening, you decided to forgo the privacy of your bedroom and crept to the work-shed to do some light reading in hopes that you could fall asleep afterwards. The last thing you wanted was the chief finding out that you could read and write just as well as a noble, including what you really look like without your make-up on. You were examining an anatomical chart of the nervous system when you heard a knock emitting from the door. Puzzled, and a little worried as to who would come here so late in the evening except for one person, you quickly hid the scrolls beneath the loose floorboards of your work table and rose to your feet.
“Who is it?” You called out. Silence. “Yui, is that you? What’s wrong?”
She was the only one in the house who would have noticed the light from the work shed since the window in her room provided an obvious vantage point of it. No one else would bother to come here…unless it was someone with a grudge against you. You were about to reach for a scalpel discreetly hidden on a shelf between loosely bounded books and ink stones when a gravelly voice growled on the other side.
“It’s me. Let me in.”
“Me?” You parroted in confusion, hand still hovering in the air towards the scalpel. “Identify yourself.” You commanded. It was that or they might lose a finger, whichever came first. You were not taking any chances. Then you heard an annoyed sigh before the voice spoke again.
“Gabimaru, your husband. May I please come in, wife?”
You blinked. Gabimaru was here, outside of your shed? Now that was a concern. Why would he come here? Unless —
Fueled by pure instinct and muscle memory, your feet carried you to the door, and your rough fingers curled around the door handle, pushing it to the right with a loud rat-tat-tmp. The light from the oil lamp spilled out from behind you just barely illuminating the battered shinobi who stood, barely, before you. You scanned him, taking note of his tattered clothes soaked in blood. Your hand shot out, gripping his wrist as you yanked him inside. You head swiveled around the courtyard right left in the trees the bushes and up towards the roof because shinobi were sneaky like that before you closed the door behind you with a loud thamp.
You guided Gabimaru to the tatami mats. “Sit.” You said tightly.
He did and watched you intently as you darted to the shelves where you kept the salves, disinfectants, and of course, linen. You did not ask him questions, nor did you feel it was your right to just yet. In truth, all you were really worried about was time. How bad were his injuries, when did he receive them and how long did he let them go untreated? Minutes, hours, days? Depending on his answers, you could either prevent any infections that could lead to amputation or allow a disease to fester and spread through contact or the air.
You placed the supplies on his left and started to mixed together herbs in the bowl, your pestle clanking against the clay. “Do you feel lightheaded?” You asked.
“No?”
“Nausea, headache?”
Gabimaru scrunched his nose. “No.”
“Well, we can remove concussion off the list of injuries, but I’ll need to run a few more tests to be sure that you are coherent.” You stood up, grabbing another clay bowl and went to the water jug, lifting the lid and dipping the wooden ladle to spoon enough clean water to fill it, and walked back over to him. “I will need to remove your shirt to check for other injuries, so please pardon me.” You reached out and gripped the upper part of his uniform, only to have your progress be halted by scarred fingers coil around your wrists like vines.
You blinked, looking up at him. “It’s fine if you do not consent to a physical evaluation, but it will be hard for me to properly diagnose the extent of your injuries if I do not see it for myself.” You matched his intense stare with your own.
“I can take care of them.” He said. “I just wanted to see if you had something for pain relief.” He released your wrist, allowing to take a step back if you were scared of him. But you didn’t, and simply raised a brow at him.
“You are aware that pain relief will not stop an infection from, yes?” You said cocking your head as you crossed your arms. “It would be neglectful of me to simply give you an herb that can provide pain relief and not treat the wound that is causing the pain.”
“And you can’t make a proper evaluation at a glance?” He frowned, sucking his teeth. “The chief said you were good.”
“I simply know how to optimize a patient’s treatment based on an evaluation that includes examining their body, nothing more. Not to do so is neglectful on my part and in my practice as an apothecary.” You said, glancing down at his body, his bloodied clothes growing darker as more blood soaked the linen. “If you would permit me, I can at least disinfect the wounds and wipe you down with the water and clothes I have here instead of taking you straight to the bathhouse for a soak.” There would also be a risk of contaminating the bathhouse water if that were to happen, and make any wounds he has much worse, but you kept that thought to yourself. If you pressed any more, you had a feeling he’d hiss at you like a cat, unhappy with being pushed into a corner even if it is for his own health.
He stared at you for a long moment, amber irises unblinking before he closed them. “You’re serious.”
“Quite so.”
“And you would only do what you said? Just clean the wounds and apply medicine?”
“Yes.”
“You wouldn’t try to take a peek?”
Your own frown deepened. “No, of course not.” I have never heard of a shinobi who was concerned about his chastity, let alone a married one. You thought. Is this another lesson that the old man had drilled into Gabimaru’s mind before he announced our marriage? Then again, should you really be surprised at this point?
“I would not do such a thing, I assure you. Doing so would be unprofessional and inconsiderate towards not only my patient but my husband.” You tilted your head slightly. “Unless you would like me to do everything blindfolded, but that would take much longer.”
Gabimaru was silent, and he stripped down, starting with the tengui kerchief coiled around his neck followed by the teppo-sode top right there in the middle of the work shed. You persuaded him to keep the tattsuke-bakama style bottoms on his person until you have finished examining his upper half. For someone who was worried about his virtue, he disrobed himself quickly. You would have to scold him for his lack of modesty another day.
Thankfully, the number of shallow cuts outweighed the deeper ones scattered around his abdomen, hips, and one on his left hand. The deeper cuts had to be cauterized and stitched together with a needle. Gabimaru was not pleased, but he kept his mouth shut and allowed you to do the work even when he seemed to want nothing more than to take care of it himself; the way he hunched his back, the deepening tell-tale twitches in his fingers. In this shed, the man known as the Hollow acted more like a cat than a shinobi ready to kill under the chief’s command. After spending more than an hour of washing, rewashing, changing the water and rags, stitching and threading the needle with more thread, Gabimaru was cleaned and covered in gauze; the grounded herbs, which had thickened into a paste with oil, was smeared into the mouth of the wound so it would speed up his healing. His legs, ankles, and thighs were fine, only bruising that must have started two days ago? Three?
“No fractures or broken bones — good, good.” You mumbled to yourself.
The candlelight bounced off of the wall as you continued to treat Gabimaru, double-checking the tightness of his bandages and being absolutely certain you missed nothing that he didn’t tell you in relation to his current symptoms.
“You are all finished.” You said finally, putting away your supplies and wrapping up the dirty linen, the bowls, and the needle with makeshift mittens. You would have to instruct the servant to get rid of these things and bring them to the furnace to destroy the bacteria. You glanced at the tatami mats before you clicked your tongue.
That might include the removal of the tatami mats.
Another reason you wished you had an alcohol apparatus; it would be easier - and more cost efficient - to simply disinfect the bowls and wipe down the mats instead of throwing them out, finding new equipment with the allowance you receive from the chief for your work and doing business in the pleasure district. In the grand scheme of things? It wasn’t much to live on your own independently. Quite unfortunate. “Do not take a bath for at least two days, and come back tomorrow so that I can change the bandages and apply new medicinal herbs.”
“There is no need for you to do that.” Gabimaru said, pulling the uniform top over his head. “You have done enough already.”
“It would still be wise to make sure that they are healing properly - ”
“I heal fast.” He spat, cutting you off. “I am Gabimaru the Hollow.”
You felt your brow twitch. You weren’t sure if you should feel less worried that this shinobi, your husband, possessed the ability to heal within days, or if you should allow your curiosity to examine the extent of said ability by poisoning his food and drink, gradually increasing the dose until you were satisfied with the results. But you had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate it, and the last thing you wanted to do was anger your spouse even further.
So you pushed that idea away, into the back of your mind and shrugged. “You might think you are hollow, yet you still bleed. That proves you are alive, does it not?” You saw him stiffen, shoulders going rigid.
Oh, dear. Perhaps you had gone too far?
You were about to apologize when he vanished in a cloud of smoke. There was no trace of him, except for the sight of the shoji pushed all the way to the right, letting in the night air.
“Sleep well, husband.” You murmured, moving to close it, making a loud clack. You sighed, pressing your forehead against the paper screen. You needed to get better at communicating with others; it had been a problem during your time at the imperial palace, unintentionally causing misunderstandings between you and the people you had cared about. This time, you needed to do better. You have to, because even if Gabimaru might never see you as a lifelong partner in the romantic sense, in this arranged marriage, you hoped that at the very least, you two could be friends. Now? It seems like even such a thing was impossible.
warnings: arranged marriage, reincarnation, possible historical inaccuracies, references to drugs and alcohol, mention of prostitution, canon divergence, murder, gore, maomao!reader.
* Gabimaru and the reader are both sixteen in this fic, which was seen as the appropriate age to marry in the Edo period, references include historical articles and a fascinating essay about the different types of arranged marriages of Edo Japan discovered by @kazenofuji on here. Sadly, the source no longer exists. I will leave the article to that link here if anyone is interested in reading it.
author notes: hello everyone, we’re finally here~! A new fic to start off 2026, and it is the official release of The Shinobi’s Apothecary~! Last November I had posted a preview, and I went on to write an incredibly messy, unpolished draft of 13k in a week 😆 I am still doing edits with the help of the incredibly talented @jinwoosbabyboo, so I will post the chapters that are sitting in the drafts folder, the rest will take more time~.
If you would like to be tagged for this series, comment with a 🌿~.
Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics. Credit goes to the artist(s) for the images found on Pinterest.
Series Masterlist
You were born through a union between the village chief and his fifth accessory wife, a strategic arrangement designed to strengthen Iwagakure. There was no love lost even after she had died in labor because nothing mattered more to the wretched old man than ensuring that the village was never in short supply of children, potential candidates to become shinobi under his command even when their chances of surviving the screening selection were one out of ten.
And you? You had your memories; not just the current ones in this life, but also the ones from your first life as an imperial apothecary, which was impossible since death normally wipes memories before reincarnation. Or so that’s what the monks who passed through the village preached to passersby so that they could reach the capital. No matter what the supernatural or religious texts said about reincarnation and death, being someone of low birth had a few perks; for one, it made your job easier, blending in with the crowd as you traveled through the pleasure district of Yoshiwara to deliver medicine requested by the brothel owners. An unremarkable person with an unremarkable face; someone who would rarely be targeted by men who were not sexually satisfied.
But where there are beautiful flowers that bloom at night, there are clients who wish for a taste of them and alcohol. Clients with loose tongues are more susceptible to telling their companions interesting stories. Stories that bounce off the walls and possess information that the village chief might use to his advantage, whether it is to blackmail a magistrate or to kill one. Information that you would report directly to him at the end of each day when you returned to the mountains. Fail, and you would be married off and used as a breeding horse. Those were the terms of your contract with the man responsible for your birth. As much as you despised the way he had twisted your circumstances as a pleasure district apothecary, you had no other choice, no chance to live a normal life outside of Iwagakure.
And for a while, you were fine. You woke up early every morning to tend to the fields and worked in a building separate from the main house, where you lived with the chief as per the custom of an unmarried woman. The only other person who wasn’t married was Yui, the chief’s eighth daughter and your older sister by four months. She would have made a wonderful wife for someone, but no one wanted to be tied down to a woman with a burn mark on her face. You disagreed and hoped that the honored guest who would visit your house today would be the one to take Yui away from a birdcage filled with servants and twenty other half-sisters; yourself included. You knew she would put up a fight, tell the chief that someone needed to make sure you didn’t get too carried away with your experiments.
Yui was the only one in the family who could replicate your recipe for an emetic agent that expels toxins from the stomach without losing her own nerve, amongst the other talents she possessed. You didn’t want her to worry about you, or to get involved any further in the art of medicine. She loved to help people, but you knew the lawlessness and dangers of the pleasure district beneath its dazzling lights.
A life of studying medicine is the only life you knew, and one you can claim that is yours.
I will get on all fours and bark for you to make the “oh my god you were going to die” thing but with the upper moons and muzan 😭🙏(IT SUCKS THAT WE CANT ADD LINKS)
Thank you guys for 3K followers! I'm glad so many of you enjoy my stuff and I can't wait to keep providing more smut to feed <3
By popular demand, here's part 2 of this! Enjoy~
Disclaimer : Fem Reader X Muzan | Kokushibo | Akaza | Douma | Hantengu clones
As a demon living an immortal life, you knew that death and hell wasn't something you were going to experience anytime soon.
But unfortunately for you, your husband seems insistent on giving you a preview.
You tried to take in deep breaths, having never felt this exhausted even when fighting against demon slayers who were actively trying to kill you. You don't even remember why your partner was mad at you! Sure, you didn't manage to kill the Hashira you recently fought but you came back alive! Isn't that a thing worthy of celebration?
Instead, he took you to the bedroom to really teach your the consequences of failure.
Which is how you found yourself naked, sweaty and exhausted, lying flat on your back as your brain started to work again- just to realize your husband was sliding between your legs to start another round, jerking his cock as he got ready to slip inside you once more.
You gasped and on instinct started to move away, your elbows digging into the mattress as you pathetically dragged yourself towards the headboard to try and get some distance but-
Muzan suddenly shifted positions, your brain so muddled by the pleasure and over stimulation that you didn't realize you were now straddling him until he slapped your tits harshly. He was angry- his eyes glowing that dangerous red that usually got you hot and bothered but now- sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Not only did you let a Hashira escape- but now you're trying to run from him?
He won't have it.
"Ride me. Now." he said, hands on your hips as his cock stood erect underneath you, throbbing in anticipation, covered in your sticky juices.
"M-My Lord-" you babbled, tears filling your eyes and you didn't dare to try and escape again, "I-I can't. Too s-sensitive-"
"Ride my cock or you won't live to see tomorrow."
With a broken sob, you quickly placed one hand on Muzan's chest, your body crying for a break as the other one slid underneath you to grab his cock and keep it steady, your poor thighs trembling as you lifted yourself up before sinking down on his member. You knew his threat was empty but...it was always best to not risk it.
Kokushibo noticed you were about to crawl away but instead of grabbing your hips and pulling you back like you expected he would, his hand instead shot out to clamp around your neck. You gasped, air caught in your throat as his many eyes narrowed at you, giving you a look of disappointment as you writhed against his choking. Did you necessarily need air to live? No. Was it uncomfortable? Yes.
Was it sexy? Also yes-
"What do you say?"
Your face was turning red, tears prickling your eyes as his fingers seem to tighten. "S-Sorry- m' s-sorry-" you managed to choke out despite his best attempts.
"Good girl. Now present yourself to me."
With his hand still on your neck, your spread your legs wide, even bringing your hands down to push apart your pussy lips, baring you every inch of your cum stuffed cunt. With a grunt of approval, Kokushibo slipped inside you, giving you a break as he let go of your neck just as he started his intense pace.
"D-Darling- oh fuck- please-" you babbled between gasps and pants, tits bouncing as your poor cunt was once again pounded within an inch of her life, not even given a minute to rest and recover.
"Cease your pointless crying." he simply stated, his abs flexing as he rutted into you, "If you find it so unpleasant, don't fail next time."
Akaza is usually so sweet when you two have sex. But when he's frustrated with you- he will let. you. know.
The second he saw you trying to move away from him, he grabbed you by the knees before flipping you onto you stomach like you weighed nothing. The next moment, he was lying on top of you, his body weight keeping you pinned down as he slipped his cock back inside you in a classic prone bone. You squealed, unable to move as he started rolling his hips into you, the position making his cock reach deep- deep- deep inside you.
"A-Akazaaaa-" you squeal, your cries a bit muffled by the mattress, "S-slow down- please-c-can't take it-"
"You can't take it?" Akaza growled into your ear, rolling his hips in circles so his fat tip can bully your g-spot mercilessly, "No wonder you couldn't kill that Hashira. If you can't handle- hah- this, then you can't handle a battle. So consider this your training, my love."
"P-Please- I just need a break- I can't- ah fuck- you're so deep!"
"You can take it. Be my good girl. Besides, our Lord wants to know if you can get pregnant, remember? You're not getting away from me until you're knocked up."
Douma simply laughed as he watched you try and escape him, his kaleidoscopic eyes twinkling even more beautifully than usual as his sadistic tendencies got satiated seeing your fear and exhaustion. But of course, he wasn't going to let you go. With a flick of the wrist, you gasped as your ankles were suddenly encased in ice that trailed down to the floor, keeping you in place. You could try to break out of it, but your husbands hand on your cunt rid you of all thoughts except for pleas.
"D-Douma- honey- please-"
"Shhhh, sweet thing." He purred, giving your kitty gentle pets, "I'm just going to teach you a lesson before I breed you again~ Let's make this pretty pussy as red as your ass is, hmm?"
"No please- i'll be good- I promise!"
"Why are you so scared honey?" Douma asked in mock concern, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout as he cooed at you, "Oh, you really don't like it when I spank your cunt, do you? It hurts so badly, doesn't it?"
"Yes- it hurts so much!" you complained, your eyes welling up with tears at the threat. You loved it when he punished you but fuck- it hurt!
"Poor sweet thing! I have an idea then." you watched as an ice cube materialized in his hand, clutched between his fingers as he said:
"How about we make her numb first then?"
It was difficult enough to take on the Hantengu clones even when they were being nice, but when they were punishing you? It was downright impossible. But they didn't care.
"And where do you think you're going, missy?" Urogi asked, a grin on his face as he slid in to sit behind you, quickly stopping your attempt at getting away. He grabbed your arms and pulled them above your head, catching your wrists with one hand and restraining you.
"Is it too much for you?" Karaku teased on your right, holding your knee and pushing it open to expose your sex. His hand slid between your legs and his fingers glided between your pussy lips, cooing as he made contact with your slick and cum, "Your poor, sweet cunny is all fucking and stuffed huh? Must be so difficult to take more~"
Aizetsu whined even as he bent down to take your left nipple into his mouth, whining even more as you squealed at the sensation of his tongue against your raw, sensitive nipple. "M-Maybe we should give her a break..." he suggested after giving your bud a few sucks, still laying his head against the fat of your breast as he pulled at your left knee, "We've made her cum...and cum inside her so many times...i'm sure she's learned her lesson."
Before you could latch onto Aizetsu's words and beg for mercy, Sekido slid between your legs, his frown even angrier if that was even possible. He glared at you as he tugged at his cock, clicking his tongue as you tried to wiggle your hips away when he pressed his tip against your entrance.
"Don't you dare try to fucking run away." he snarled as he pushed into you, his cock sliding back into your poor, fucked out cunt. You gasped, tossing your head back against Urogi's shoulder as you were filled up once more, instantly knowing that you had pissed off Sekido by your anticts by his instant break-neck pace.
"You're only done when we say you're done." Karaku purred against your ear, licking said ear as Sekido pounded your pussy, making you babble stupidly as his cock slammed against your cervix, "And you're not going to be done for a long time~"
36 Drafts with 14 Inbox requests left. All dating back to 2022…I’m cryingggg I’ma start answering them all. I’ve been keeping so many things in draft when they need like a paragraph or two left 💀
a collection of my written works. it will be updated frequently.
ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱʟᴀʙʏᴜʟ
riddle
➳ love me not ⭑❀
➳ tutor riddle ⭑✿✼
➳ riddle hits you with his car ⭑✼
➳ goldfish mer ⭑✼
➳ more goldfish mer ⭑✿✼
➳ accidental pregnancy ✼✿
➳ boyfriend ⭑✿
➳ getting off to your notes ⭑✿
➳ fairy-tale felicity ⭑✿
➳ the birds and the bees ⭑✿
➳ promising young man ⭑✿
➳ moros’s looking glass ⭑
trey
➳ single father ⭑✼
➳ everything is going to be okay ⭑
cater
➳ step-brother cater ⭑✼
ace
➳ to be added.
deuce
➳ to be added.
ꜱᴀᴠᴀɴᴀᴄʟᴀᴡ
leona
➳ to be added.
ruggie
➳ accidental pregnancy ✼✿
jack
➳ to be added.
ᴏᴄᴛᴀᴠɪɴᴇʟʟᴇ
azul
➳ sea glass ⭑❀
➳ childhood crush ⭑❀
➳ princess au ⭑✿
➳ ceo azul ⭑✿
➳ contractual fwb ⭑✿
➳ preferences ✼✿
➳ magicord mod ⭑✿✼
➳ stalker ex ⭑✼
➳ maid outfit ⭑✿
➳ vampire ⭑✼
➳ clingy, codependent boyfriend ⭑✼
➳ professor ashengrotto ⭑✿
➳ ob-gyn azul ⭑✿
➳ camboy azul ⭑✿
➳ in captivity ⭑✿
➳ his blueberry eyes (anagapesis in paradise) ⭑
➳ long-distance love ⭑✿
➳ simply business ⭑✿
➳ maybe, i’m afraid ✿
➳ タコの花嫁 ⭑✿
➳ risky rascality (tsum sex) ✿
➳ perverse phantasmagoria: a tentacular theatre for the timid ⭑✿
➳ angels in tibet ⭑✿
➳ angel/angler ⭑✿
➳ there is a knock at your door ⭑
➳ 123: breathe; an interlude of peace ⭑✿
➳ april opportunity ❀
jade
➳ sea glass ⭑❀
➳ obsessive fan ⭑✿
➳ preferences ✼✿
➳ alpha stalker ⭑✿
➳ android ⭑✿
➳ stalker ex ⭑✼
➳ maid outfit ⭑✿
➳ in captivity ⭑✿
➳ non-con thoughts ⭑✿
➳ death row undertow ⭑✿
➳ monops’s reflection ⭑✿
➳ the most dangerous game [1] [2] ⭑✿
➳ RABU ⭑✿
➳ winter woes ⭑✿
➳ the symptoms of being human ❀
➳ there is a knock at your door ⭑
➳ april opportunity ❀
floyd
➳ sea glass ⭑❀
➳ obsessive fan ⭑✿
➳ preferences ✼✿
➳ stalker ex ⭑✼
➳ alpha prince ✿
➳ serial killer ⭑
➳ maid outfit ⭑✿
➳ fluffy floyd & captivity ⭑
➳ scummy, sleazy floyd ✿
➳ in captivity ⭑✿
➳ in captivity (omegaverse) ⭑✿
➳ ebb and flow ⭑✿
➳ 애인 in anthill ❀
➳ chemic ✿
➳ there is a knock at your door ⭑
➳ april opportunity ❀
malleus
➳ 100% ⭑
➳ never-ending noctuary; love forevermore ⭑✿
lilia
➳ general & his spoil of war ⭑✼
silver
➳ to be added.
sebek
➳ to be added.
miscellaneous writings
➳ incubus au ⭑✼
➳ reverse isekai ⭑✼
➳ apocalypse au ⭑ other writings for this au can be found under the tag twst apocalypse au.
➳ apocalypse au index ⭑
➳ yandere tsum tsums ⭑
➳ virginification concepts ✿
rollo flamme
➳ eden ⭑✿
➳ crow & goat in courtship ⭑✿
➳ pearl of scarlet, shed of innocence ⭑✿
➳ terror in threes ⭑✿
fellow honest
➳ terror in threes ⭑✿
skully j. graves
➳ thing ⭑
➳ terror in threes ⭑✿
➳ halloweenie [1] [2] [3] ✿
