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Kiana Khansmith
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KIROKAZE
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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Sade Olutola
dirt enthusiast
Misplaced Lens Cap
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YOU ARE THE REASON
Janaina Medeiros
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@lanitaminaj
my works ♡
across the spider verse
eres mía, miguel o’ hara x reader
lolita, miguel o’ hara x reader
attack on titan
all mine, mikasa ackerman x eren yeager
all mine, pt. 2, mikasa ackerman x eren yeager
me and my husband, mikasa ackerman x eren yeager
sad girl, mikasa ackerman x eren yeager
florida kilos, mikasa ackerman x eren yeager
lapvona, armin’s point of view
jujutsu kaisen
once upon a dream, toji fushiguro x reader
the boys
mon coeur, frenchie x kimiko
my ao3
made these before bed
Robert’s been used to being alone.
With his mother not being in the picture, and his father constantly working as Mecha Man Astral, the chocolate-chip freckled man recalled having to spend numerous nights and holidays mostly solo; he’d often spend Christmas days with Chase’s family unwrapping presents and eating sweet potato pie.
‘Here,’ Robert could hear Chase’s younger, smoother voice speak to him in faded memory. His umber-brown hand held a squishy-appearing item, the contents of which were wrapped in simple, emerald-green wrapping paper and adorned with a ruby-red bow. Baby Robert’s hand took the gift from Chase’s palm, hurriedly unwrapping it before the excited smile on his face slipped.
‘Aw, man,’ Younger Robert huffed. ‘Twinkies?’
‘So ungrateful,’ Younger Chase replied, a scowl on his full, bow-shaped lips before they transformed into a large, playful smile.
‘I’m kidding,’ he admits, before dashing into his room to reappear with a larger, similarly wrapped gift. ‘This is your actual gift, kid.’
Unwrapping it with less vigor, a toothy, genuine smile nonetheless appeared on Baby Robert’s lips once he uncovered his true gift…
An Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime action figure set.
‘You like it?’
Wordlessly, Robert squeezed Chase tightly, his large grin concealed as he pressed his face into his babysitter’s abdomen.
‘It’s what I’ve been wanting!’
‘I know, kid. You couldn’t shut up about it for weeks.’
‘Love you.’
At first, Robert didn’t get a response back, merely feeling the soft, rhythmic sounds of Chase’s breathing against his belly. Eventually, however, Robert felt a pair of gentle, firm arms wrap around his form.
‘Love you too, Robbie.’
Once Robert hit sixteen, his holidays at Chase had permanently halted. Mecha Man Astral had been killed, the tragedy made a spectacle for every major news outlet to exploit. Naturally, this meant for Robert to assume the Mecha Man name, to become Mecha Man Blue and carry on the legacy that hadn’t started with his father, but with his grandfather, Mecha Man Prime.
He never meant to isolate himself; Chase and his family reached out, of course, but their calls of concern had always been declined or ignored. He’d been incredibly young when he took on that role, struggling to not only adapt to heroism, but simultaneously learning how to manage his increasingly difficult depression. He’d always felt alone, but this? Being orphaned?
He’d adopted Beef to help alleviate some of the melancholy he usually felt. For the most part, it seemed to work. The pup provided Robert a reason to live, a reason to not purposely blow himself up in the Mecha suit. He’d often had those thoughts, convincing himself that maybe the Mecha Man tradition could end with him.
But, something internal always seemed to terminate those ideas. If he was a selfish enough man, he would’ve. His heart adopted the notion that Los Angeles needed him. This was his home, after all.
Presently, he’d been lying on the couch at home, tossing a royal-blue, chewy ball on the ground as he coaxed Beef to play Catch.
“What,” Robert’s low, tired voice called out as he watched Beef happily pant and roll around on the floor, completely ignoring the toy. “You don’t want to play?”
The only response he’d gotten was another series of pants.
“Ugh,” Robert sighed to himself. He’d been lounging on the couch all Christmas Eve; the Torrance SDN’s office had been closed today and tomorrow as a reward for defeating the Red Ring. Robert wasn’t exactly sure how any incoming subscriber calls were dispersed and handled; he was sure he could recall Mandy explaining that other SDN branches would receive them, and any appropriate, best-adapted superhero would be dispatched.
Hopefully.
He figured he should get up and do something productive; maybe start dinner, which was just stove top ramen, or maybe take a warm shower.
He opted for the shower.
Beef, for the most part, was okay. The humble, little living-room television was on, the channel it was currently had been playing reruns of classic Christmas movies all day. Now, Beef had been engrossed in watching Home Alone.
Striding towards the bathroom, he turned the faucet dial in his tub, allowing the hot steams to escape as the shower thunderously filled with water. As he got in, rinsing himself and sighing contently, he wondered what the Z-Team members were doing during the holiday break.
He primarily figured they were spending time with family, with Flambae and Waterboy most likely with their niece and grandmother respectively. The other members hadn’t yet talked about their families, but Robert assumed they still had homes to go to.
And, regardless of anything, they had each other. Not to be corny.
After his well-needed shower, he dried himself off with his lavender-purple, cotton towel before walking butt-ass naked to his room, quickly deciding to adorn himself in a regular white tank-top with some flattering-in-the-ass, clover-green boxers.
He’s taking it henniiiii.
Barefoot, Robert sauntered out his bedroom to get started on that bowl of ramen, optimistically planning on being able to watch the rest of Home Alone on the television before it ended.
“‘Sup, Robert.”
What he wasn’t expecting for, however, was to be startled half to death.
Standing nonchalantly in his living room had been Malevola, Golem, Invisigal, and Punch Up. Beef had been held in between Visi’s arms, the pooch joyfully accepting scratches from the reformed hero while his owner almost shat his pants.
“What’re you guys doing in my house?” Robert asked, his eyes and pupils widened in shock as his chest heaved wildly from the surprise. His bewildered state had him forget that he was literally practically in his underwear, making him unconsciously disregard the cocky smirk on Courtney’s lips. “Unannounced too, might I add?”
“We’ve been texting you,” Malevola replied, her shoulders slightly shrugging as he spoke. “You didn’t see the group chat?”
“We’ve left a couple calls for ya too, lad.”
Oh. “You did?” Robert sheepishly replied, to which a unanimous “yes” had been answered by their four, unique voices.
Robert’s phone had been resting face down on his kitchen counter for several hours while he lounged lazily away on the couch, engrossed in the television and giving Beef affection.
Whoops. To be fair, he hadn’t expected any visitors nor any calls from anyone today. It’s Christmas like leave him alone thangyaaaa.
“I thought you guys were going to spend your time with family?” Robert questioned.
“My folks don’t celebrate Christmas for, you know,” Malevola started. “Obvious reasons.”
“Mines are still back in Galway,” Colm added.
“I’d celebrate with my roommate, but she’s out with her boyfriend right now,” Courtney replied, before following up with, “and i’m pretty sure she’s Jewish.”
“I don’t have any family.”
Damn. The living room filled with silence at Bruno’s words, with Malevola running an affectionate, comforting hand down the clay-textured ridges of Golem’s arm.
“Yeah,” Robert eventually says, shrugging his shoulders as he begins. “Me neither, big guy.”
“Damn,” a fifth, unexpected voice called out from Robert’s front door, causing the entirety of the room to direct their focus onto the new speaker. “The vibe in here’s suddenly depressing, or what?”
The initial, jester-toned words belonged to Sonar, who in conjunction with Coupé and Phenomaman, had been stepping through the front door with various items in their grasps. Upon closer inspection, Robert could note an edible arrangement basket within Katon-Ur’s arms, a platter of cookies in Janelle’s hands, and two bottles of Bacardi in Victor’s hold — Mango and Dragon Berry flavored, respectively.
“Robert,” the alien began, an air of slight confusion laced in his tone. “Why are you in your underwear? I was told this was a Christmas party, are we instead having an, what was that term you taught me again, Bat Man?”
“No way,” Sonar replied, a laugh on the verge of escaping his snout. “A Diddy party?”
“Yes,” Phenomaman confirmed, a bright smile on his mustache-covered lips as Sonar lowkey genuinely lost his shit behind him. “Are we having a diddy party?”
Sonar’s literally on the floor rolling around, with the original four guests letting out giggles and chuckles through their mouths. Even Coupé lets a little smile emerge.
“First of all,” Robert answers. “We’re not having a diddy party, and second of all, I didn’t even know we were having a party at all, much less one at my fucking house.”
His words were calm, but he couldn’t deny he truly was a little bit pissed. He couldn’t feign being embarrassed enough by his living conditions, but to have guests pop up unexpectedly at his house? Like what if Robert just strolled towards the kitchen still butt-booty naked and his colleagues were there?
Colm seemed to sense his annoyance, as the smile on his face transformed into a frown. “Look,” he uttered. “We’re sorry fa appearing on you like this. We really thought you’d seen our texts about coming to see you. We figured after the whole Shroud thing, you’d want people around.”
“Yeah,” Malevola softly added. “We didn’t mean to be a bother. We kind of hoped to be able to hang out with our favorite dispatcher.”
Robert started to fight back grown-man tears.
“Do you want us to leave?” Janelle questioned, her voice steady yet full of sincerity.
At first, Robert considered crashing out and kicking them out, and he would’ve been justified in doing so. But as he scanned the room, seeing half of the Z-Team’s sorrowful and genuine faces, he didn’t have the heart in him to do so.
“No, it’s, it’s fine guys. You guys can stay.”
“Phenomamal!” Phenomaman beamed, setting the fruit basket down on Robert’s plain kitchen counter.
“Can I expect anyone else to show up? Or is it just you seven knuckle heads?”
“Chad and Alice are coming as well,” Colm replied. “Hermy’s riding with ‘em.”
“Okay… and it’s just them?”
“Last time I checked, yeah.”
“Okay. Well, make yourselves at home, guys.”
“Wayyy ahead of you, Bobert.”
-
Close to an hour later, and the entire Z-Team had managed to fit in Robert’s cramped apartment. Courtney, Malevola and Victor had sat snuggly amongst each other, with Beef sleeping contently below the sofa on his pillow. Colm, Janelle and Phenomaman had been dancing together to ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’ by the Jackson 5. Chad had been in the kitchen, after criticizing Robert’s lack of a Christmas tree, cooking a large pot of Kabuli Pulao for dinner.
“You bitches don’t know what’s about to hit you,” Flambae had stated as he initially prepared dinner, while a delicious aroma of saffron-seasoned rice and cumin-scented beef (no, not the dog) roamed throughout the air. “Like, at all. You guys are going to be singing my praises for weeks.”
Alice had been pressed against one of the counters near Chad, serving as a sous chef to the Afghan superhero while she simultaneously scrolled on her phone.
“I’m excited to try it, with the way you’ve been hyping it up all day,” Alice spoke.
“Trust me, you’re going to gag.”
“I’m crine, not you using my slang I put you onto.”
“What can I say? You’re the trendsetter, mama.”
“I know that’s fuckin’ right.”
“And never wrong.”
Alice squealed as an endearing laugh escaped from her plump, chestnut-brown lips. “Exactly!!”
Robert, now appropriately dressed in sweatpants, had been down towards the hall with Herman, cups in both of their hands filled with a half cranberry-juice, half dragon-berry Bacardi concoction.
“I don’t think I ever got the chance to tell you,” Robert started, placing a hand on Waterboy’s shoulder before pulling back because it was clammy no shade. “But I’m proud of you.”
Herman’s baby-blue, babydoll eyes seemed to sparkle as he peered up at Roberts’s almond-shaped, tawny-brown pair.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Robert nodded sincerely. “I know it might’ve not been the easiest thing in the world, getting thrown into the Z-Team and having to pull your own, but you did it, kid.”
Robert wasn’t going to lie, that Bacardi mixed drink had the dispatcher a little sloshed like okayyy turn the party up haaannnnnnnn. But for real, he might’ve been turnt off the cardiiiiii but he earnestly meant the words that fumbled out of his mouth. “The Red Ring situation just confirmed what I already knew. You’re a star, Herm.“
Nah the glaze goes dummyyyyy but Herman replied with a profound “Thank you, Robert. I really appreciate that.
Robert remained silent, allowing Waterboy to continue his non-stuttering, coherent words.
“I hear them sometimes, y’know. When the intercoms are on just for us in between missions.”
“What, they talk shit about me?”
“No, no” Herman started, before he followed it up with an, “well, Flambae does call you Mecha Bitch still sometimes.”
“Of course he does.”
“But they talk a lottt about how you’re their favorite dispatcher, I think Miss Prism called you a, uhm, a goat?”
Robert chuckled. “She called me her G.O.A.T? What an honor.”
“They talk about how they really do feel safe around you. They like how they can come to you for anything. They really like how you never gave up on them, either.”
Robert beamed. Pride and passion swirled throughout his chest, as little tears kissed along the waterlines of his eyes, daring to cascade down his flushed, blossom-pink cheeks.
“Do you think I’m doing a good job?”
Waterboy grinned, before he honestly nodded with a confident “Yes.”
Robert grinned back, before he sighed and rubbed his forehead between his right hand’s calloused thumb and middle finger. “Sorry for the pseudo interrogation. I guess I’m just scared.”
“About what?”
“Blazer mentioned something vague about H.R. and their plans for the Z-Team. Phenomaman’s possibly about to get invited back to the DTLA branch. There’s talks about sending you to go work for a different branch, for a more ‘elite, official’ superhero team.”
Waterboy remained quiet, simply soaking up all that a slightly-tipsy Robert had to release.
“They’re allegedly thinking of splitting the entire Z-Team up. Sending them off to different branches or whatever the fuck. Nothing’s confirmed yet, and maybe I’m just rambling out my ass, but…” He looked up at Herman, who nodded at the dispatcher to finish. “I like you guys. I like being your dispatcher.”
Waterboy flicked some tears away from his own cheeks, before peeling them away to look at Robert through watercolor eyes.
“I think that if that time does ever come,” Herman manages to say through a timidly shaky voice, “If it comes down for us to stay or go… you have nothing to worry about. Trust me.”
Then came the tears finally spilling onto Robert’s skin. He sobbed uncontrollably; he wasn’t a loud crier, per se, but he was a rather messy one. As the teardrops glided down his face, his mouth began to pool with excess spit while his nose grew stuffy and congested.
It wasn’t his fault, okay? He was off that potionnnn EUGGGHHHHH but in all seriousness, it was as though everything united to lead Robert to finally allow himself to let go of all the long-term emotions he often fought with himself to conceal and endure with: childhood loneliness, orphanism, extensive depression, Red Ring’s destruction, and now the possibility of being separated from his found family?
It was enough to make anyone tip over.
Overwhelmed, Robert missed the melodic sound of knuckles rasping against his front door, the juxtaposition of soft and heavy footsteps as they grew stronger in fervor towards him, before he eventually felt an arrangement of warm, cherished arms wrapping along his scarred, blemished body. He felt fingers — Janelle — grasping his short, auburn-copper hair, grounding him as his ear pressed against a warm, comforting chest, the sound of someone’s steady heartbeat —Mandy — lulling him back into a state of tranquility.
He felt himself being pulled into someone’s lap, — Victor — the sudden vibration of purrs inspired Robert’s upper and lower eyelids to resist the urge to kiss one another, fighting the urge to succumb to sleep. Another hand — Chad — had placed a bowl of the now-finished Kabuli Pulao in Robert’s open palms.
“‘S good, right?” Flambae asked, as Robert took a wordless, yet content bite from the wonderfully seasoned dish. “My Khala, sorry, my auntie taught me that recipe a long time ago. It’s always been one of my favorites.”
Towards the end of the night, Robert unexpectedly found himself surrounded by the Z-Team members, along with Mandy, Royd, and Chase.
“How’d you even know we were throwing a party?” Robert could faintly hear Alice question someone.
“It was oddly quiet out, tonight, so I knew you little bitches were up to something,” Chase’s voice responded, before Royd interjected with an, “You post it on ya close friends story, brah. Soon as we saw dem depressing walls, we figured yo, that’s Robert’s. Let’s pull up, too.”
The television now softly played Elf starring Will Ferrell as the whole group huddled close together on the couch, and onto the floor as they indulged in the film.
Towards the middle of the movie, some gentle snores escaped from at least half of the guests mouths, while the other, barely awake guests fought the urge to submit to sleep just as well. At some point, Robert found himself seated on the ground, in between a passed-out Visi, and a barely awake Mandy. The half-awake superhero put a sleepy hand on Robert’s shoulder, before she leaned in so close that the tips of her peachy-toned lips kissed the edges of Robert’s slightly-clipped ear.
“Your father would be so proud of the man you became. Chase and I are immensely proud of you, Robert.
It was here, between this conflicting group of ex felons and legendary superheroes, that Robert came to the epiphany he was destined to uncover.
He was deeply, and so honestly, loved.
Merry Christmas.
I want it outside, inside
a series in which Robert gets passed around by the entire Z-Team.
chapter one: Flambae
cross posted on my ao3 account: lanitaminaj
There'd been a strange, piercing affliction which seemed to tear through Robert's soul. It was anomalous; he avenged his father, killing Shroud and fulfilling his promise he made to himself so many moons ago. He won. Z-Team won.
Yet, somehow, the emotions of dread and disquietude still rushed through his being, even as months had elapsed him.
Hence why he often found himself downstairs in the gymnasium, the health club ample with gym equipment made for normies, and custom-made appliances to better serve the supers.
Although he was Mecha Man within his robust suit, outside of it, he was simply Robert Robertson the Third, a normie. With an incredibly unserious name. Instead of being able to lift with the gravity variable bench press, or the time-dilated treadmill, Robert was unfortunately limited to the regular treadmill and the regular, normal bench press machine.
His workout routine was rather normal; he'd stretch for five minutes, start off on the treadmill with a nice walk, escalating to a light jog, before busting out into a full sprint. Depending on how he felt, Robert typically preferred to follow up with some vigorous boxing, or bench pressing a strenuous amount of weights.
Today, he opted to push his muscles, to force himself to onerously bench press two-hundred and twenty-five pounds worth of weights. It was understandably risky; his sinewy, scarred arms lightly shook with every push taken away from his chest. The barbell could've easily collapse onto his sternum, rendering another extended trip to the nurse's office.
Regardless of the peril his body could potentially face, embarrassment seemed to wash over Robert the most. There'd been a point in time where the cocoa-brown haired man used to bench two-hundred and fifty pounds effortlessly, when he used to terminate close to one-hundred bandits and crooks a week in hot pursuit of Shroud. However, these days sung an abundantly different tune. He wasn't a hero currently, wasn't Mecha Man presently. He was a dispatcher, and he loves his job.
"Fuck," Robert puffed as small gasps of air escaped his peach-toned lips. He was dragging it, pushing himself to the highest extreme. Having been the sixth-day in a row in which he forced himself to undergo strength-training, his arms and fibrous torso had been begging him to take a breather. His nervous system had nothing to stress about. Shroud's dead. Game over.
Yet, a nagging, horrific feeling had refused to leave from his chest.
Robert's overthinking had prevented him from realizing that his strength had faltered, and the bar which rested in his palms were fated to collide with his chest. It would've sinked into him, but suddenly, an unexpected grasp managed to effortlessly raise the bar away from not only Robert's body, but higher away from the rack as well.
"Mecha Bitch," a familiar, cool voice above him called, as the bar was eventually placed back onto the rack. "What have I told you, hm? No lifting without a spotter. Idiot."
Although grateful, Robert found himself simultaneously annoyed by the guest's fiery presence. Still lying flat against the machine's padded board, the dispatcher allowed his eyes to flutter shut as his battered hands came to rest on his chest. Robert could feel the pronounced dip in his trunk whenever an exhale was performed, the feeling somewhat comforting and grounding to the young man.
"Thanks, Flambae," Robert responded in his typical, nonchalant tone. "I'm well aware of that suggestion."
"It's not a suggestion, Robbo. We need you behind that desk to help, you know, the real superheros."
Robert rolled his eyes behind his closed eyelids. "I am a real superhero. The Mecha Man suit wasn't just for decoration, you know."
"Well, you're not in that suit right now, are you?"
Robert cracked an eyelid open, a slight wince escaping his lips as the overhead lights pierced into his pupil. He decided to raise his upper-body up, his eyes now able to locate where Flambae was.
The flaming asshole was across the tiny gym, his vast muscles flexing as he effortlessly hit the squat-rack machine. Squinting his eyes, Robert noticed the amount of weight which rested calmly on Flambae's shoulders. Four-hundred and fifty pounds.
'Showoff', Robert scoffed internally, yet an air of captivation influenced the youngest Mecha Man to trail his eyes along Flambae’s rugged form. He observed how the raven-black brunet's stocky thighs flexed with every squat he took. Flambae's carved-face refused to moisten, his ivory-toned face without the glistening effect of sweat.
Flambae’s amber-tinted eyes penetrated deep within Robert’s own puppy-dog eyes; a skittish simper quickly grew upon the arson-committing man’s narrow lips.
“What is it?" Flambae questioned, a tone of arrogance laced within his words. "What's got you drooling like that, Robbo?"
"I'm not drooling," Robert replied, his eyes rolling lightheartedly. "I'm just impressed, that's impressive."
Flambae ceased his squats, the blazing superhero rising to his full, six-foot-four form while the heavy barbell rested still on his broad shoulders.
"What's impressive?" He asked Robert; the arrogance seemed to be dimmed by an added element of genuine confusion.
Robert waved his right, bandaged hand casually towards Flambae's direction. "If I lifted that much..." he began, his voice deadpanned and relaxed. "...I'd probably be back in the nurses's room, again. You don't even break a sweat, either. Must be nice."
Flambae's lips parted to release a chuckle, revealing the missing tooth Robert had claimed many moons ago. Placing the barbell back on its rack, the taller man sauntered towards the still-seated, slightly younger man. His ample, left-hand degradingly petted Robert's head, a closed-mouth smile present on the standing man's lips.
"Don't even try it either, Bob Bob," Flambae responded, his fingers lightly grasping onto Robert's chestnut-brown tresses. "We don't need you getting hurt again."
Robert's stout lips autonomously curled into a smile, matching the one on Flambae's smug face. "I don't plan on it. You guys like me now, or something?"
Flambae scoffed, before his softened-eyes landed back upon Robert's own pair. "You're still a bitch," he retorted Robert's question, "but we prefer you to any other dispatcher."
"Aww," Robert returns, his smile subconsciously rising even wider. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Flambae."
"Shut up."
That should've been the last of the conversation, the moment in which Flambae's fingers release from Robert, and Robert himself leaves, or gets kicked out, and takes a well-needed, warm shower.
Strangely, however, the departure fails to arrive.
The men engage in an ardent eye-lock; the hues of their amber-orange and chocolate-brown eyes gazed into each other. While Flambae's eyes straitened, Robert's eyes broadened.
He was cute, Flambae couldn't help but to muse. He was only joking about Robert's puppy-eyes, but with Mecha Man's big, sparkling eyes, his tranquil smile, the faint pink-hue on his warm-ivory pigmented cheeks...
It was getting serious. Flambae knew he had to depart before the situation got hectic; he felt the fingers intermeshed within Robert's hair unclench, the man preparing to be brash and kick Robert out for real this time, but then...
Oh my God.
Robert's eyes accidentally drifted downwards towards Flambae's stacked chest. He couldn't help it; from his seated position, his eyes had direct eye-contact with the other superhero's brawny torso. Robert tried to bring his eyes up as quickly as he could, attempting to prevent Flambae from noticing the sudden divulge in attention, but of course...
"What're you looking at?"
"Nothing."
Robert suddenly winced, his neck forcefully cranked upwards as Flambae's fingers pulled harshly on his locks.
"Don't lie, Mecha Dick," Flambae taunted, his taller form bending down so that Robert and him could assume actual eye-contact. "What're you looking at me like that for, Robert?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Flambae inadvertently chortled; Robert's pitiful attempt at gaslighting influenced a short noise of amusement to escape from the fiery man's chest, the same chest Robert was actively lying about staring at like cmon now.
"If you wanted to see them," Flambae nonetheless replied. "You could've asked."
The bubblegum-pink hue in Robert's cheeks suddenly dropped, his face now transformed into a ghastly, snow-white tone.
"I didn't-"
"-Or is there something else you want to see, hm?"
The normie remained quiet, yet his eyes still presumed their wide, astonished shape.
The redeemed criminal finally released his hold on Robert's hair, before his hand slowly drifted downwards to palm at his umber-brown, aramid-material crotch. "Is it this?" He softly questioned, uncharacteristically hushed as if he was embarrassed. Nevertheless, he continued. "You want to see it, Robert?"
There's a possibility in which this could've gone horribly wrong, in which Robert could run to H.R. and get Flambae get kicked off the team. To be fair, though, who's Robert going to report it to? That big-ass kitty-suit wearing mascot who be putting Jack Daniels in everyone's coffee? Or Blonde Blazer? The same woman who dated her subordinate, Phenomaman? Does SDN even have H.R.?
A ping of fear vibrated throughout Flambae's chest when Robert didn't immediately respond; was he cooked? Did Flambae drag it?
But then, the most peculiar thing occurred.
Bashfully, the auburn-brunet man nodded, his eyes glossed over in arousal and curiosity.
"Yeah?" Flambae egotistically spoke, as if he wasn't about to shit himself merely seconds ago. "Pull it out, then."
Obediently, Robert obliged, his bandage-enfolded hands steadily danced around the south edges of Flambae's heat-resistant suit. A part of him felt ambivalent towards the situation; he's his dispatcher, the man who the Z-Team hero responds and answers to. Should he've been doing this?
Robert still pulled the fabric down, however, exposing Flambae's firm, lengthy, peach-toned cock as its owner blissfully sighed.
No briefs? Robert couldn't help but to quickly, internally realize. Not even panties?
"What?" Flambae asked, noticing the muddled, expression on Robert's face. His dark, arched eyebrows furrowed as his apricot-tinted lips slightly parted. "You're disappointed, or what?"
"No," the other man shook, his hooded-eyes refusing to release from the hardened cock. "You just free-ball it?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"Everyday?"
"Yeah."
"Every mission?"
"Yeah, I mean," Flambae shrugged. "It's healthy, no? Do you not?"
He supposed that wasn't the most important issue at hand; Robert literally had a dick in his face. Regarding it, the appendage was actually, erm, beautiful? Does that sound gay?
If the servile man had to guess, Flambae was around seven-inches on hard. His cock was darker than the rest of his skin, but not drastically; deep-peach would be the color Robert would use to describe it. There was hair, of course, but it was interestingly trimmed into a small, neat square-shaped patch. How clean.
The tip blushed a coral-pink shade, as a bead of pre-cum dripped erotically down the veiny, broad shaft.
Damn.
"You like it?" Robert could hear Flambae interrogate him from above.
"Yeah, I mean," the bossman replied, so engrossed in the way the fireman's dick throbbed and shuttered autonomously. "Yeah, it's a nice cock."
"Touch it," Flambae adjured, inviting the younger man to engage with the target of his attention. "You're drooling for it, you know."
Was he? But, from the way his mouth pooled, he figured he'd take Flambae's word for it.
It didn't matter anyways. In a moment, it would prove to be beneficial.
Without delay, the chocolate-chip freckled man reached a hand out again to touch the pulsating cock, the appendage warm to the touch. His fingers trailed the road which its baby-blue veins seemed to map, forking off into different directions as his digits grew moistened from the opalite, iridescent fluid which dripped from it.
"Fuck," Flambae rasped, his dick jumping with every delicate touch Robert took. "Fuck, Mecha Bitch. Spit on it."
Submissively, Robert complied; He pursed his lips, allowing a sliver of drool to pass through and alight the other man's rigid cock. Curiously, his dewy tongue forked out as it took a timid lick of Flambae's tip. It was his first time, okay? His first time sucking a man's dick; he was allowed to be shy about it.
"Robert," Flambae called. His arousal-intoxicated voice had been husky and breathless, as his narrowed-eyes looked down upon the dispatcher passionately. "Don't be scared," he continued. Damn, is mind reading another one of his powers, too? Was it something he learned in one of Blazer's hero classes? Bro...
"Put your mouth on it. Don't worry, I'll guide you."
Feeling secure, Robert allowed his lips to fully sink and wrap around Flambae's cock, with his tongue pressed against the base of it. From above, he could hear a guttural groan leave Flambae's throat, with a crude 'fuckkk' following afterward.
"Use that smart-ass tongue of yours," Flambae advised. "Get it allll wet and messy, bitch."
Within his cotton, onyx-black pants, Robert's dick secretly sprung at the degradation. He should've felt ashamed; like, damn. How did he allow another grown man to not only put his dick in his mouth, but then allowed Flambae to bitch him out?
Robert still obeyed, though. His tongue swirled around Flambae's shaft; his laps reached upwards to whirl around the tip, while also occasionally extending downwards right above the balls.
Flambae released a series of noises: low moans, husky groans, plus a couple of obscene words. His fingers interlocked within Robert's hair once again, both hands this time grasping and pulling on the messy, auburn-tinted tresses.
"Fuck," the Herculean man huffed. His cloudy eyes peered down, accidentally meeting the gaze of Robert's blown-out, blissful stare.
A part of Flambae wanted him to pull his phone out, to take a picture to savor the eventual memory; Robert's mane had been so tousled, with some locks of hair sticking to his face from sweat. His pupils had been immensely dilated, with his eyes now narrowed with lust and empty-headedness. The nostrils of his aquiline-nose flared much more prevalently, to take in more air since, you know, he was currently eating dick. His cheeks had shown a bright, cherry-pink color, while his wheat-tan lips sucked, spat, and licked all on Flambae's thick, hardened cock.
"So fuckin' good," Flambae sighed, the grasp on Robert's hair tightening with every head-bob the dispatcher took. His stomach flexed, the knots within beginning to form as every neuron inside tingled, warning the superhero for what was to arrive.
He could feel himself about to cum, with the intensified, labored panting another telltale sign of his consequent orgasm. He was going to be nice and pull Robert off his cock so he could breathe, and so Flambae could cum all on his adorable, fucked-out face.
But before he could, however, his eyes widened as he watched Robert throat almost all seven-inches of his quivering dick. The tip of his nose barely touched Flambae's pelvic-bone, but instead of accepting defeat, he opted for his fingers to stroke along the space of the shaft in which his lips struggled to reach.
"Take it," Flambae growled, his hips aggressively thrusting to where he'd essentially been face-fucking Robert. He could hear coughs and slight gags erupting from the other man's mouth, but Flambae had been intensely swept up by his animalistic behavior to slow down. "Take it, Mecha Bitch. Take this fucking nut."
Sonorous, unrhythmic moans and breaths poured out from Flambae's mouth as he irrevocably came, his seed spilling out from his cock and straight into Robert's mouth. The other man swallowed, yet it was unclear if Robert had meant to do so, or if his brain had been so enraptured that his body had done so on its own accord.
Flambae pulled him off his cock, allowing Robert the opportunity to breathe and catch his breath. Large inhales had been taken from both men as they recovered, with a laugh breaking from Flambae's mouth.
"You look worn out, Robbo," he explained, his right-hand's thumb coming up to wipe some iridescent fluid from the corner of Robert's lips. He couldn't help himself, though, as he pushed some of it back into the dispatcher's mouth, forcing Robert to suck Flambae's thumb.
Flambae's dick jumped again at the sight before him; Robert's expression had remained close to the same: flushed cheeks, narrowed eyes, unruly hair. Now, however, his lips were parted generously over Flambae's finger, with audible pants taken from his mouth as he silently allowed Flambae to stare and ogle at him. He wanted to go a second round, but he had to remember; Robert's a normie. Flambae's cock could probably land the dispatcher another coma.
Although he'd been cocky, something had shifted within Flambae; his eyes upon Robert had softened, while his heartstrings pulled as his breathing slowed.
"You did good, Bob Bob," he praised, an admirable smile creeping up on Flambae's lips. Ugh, what was gayer: Robert eating dick, or the emotions starting to disrupt Flambae's vitality?
"Did you like it?" Flambae questioned, chuckling as his only response had been a wordless, little nod.
"Yeah?" the hero continued, bending down enough to plant a tiny smooch on Robert's nose. "Maybe we'll get to do it again another time, hm?"
Another quiet nod from Robert caused another chuckle to leave Flambae's mouth.
"Good," Flambae nodded back, his thumb escaping from between Robert's lips to pat him on the cheek, before the warm palm slipped fully away from Robert's damp skin.
The copper-brunet man had been saddened by the loss of warmth on his cheeks, but he refused to make any forms of acknowledgment regarding it.
"Get your ass off my bench," Flambae lightheartedly commanded, waving his hand to shoo Robert off. "You've disrupted my gym time, Mecha Bitch."
Rolling his eyes, Robert slunk off the bench and headed out the door, with Flambae shamelessly watching his ass move as he did.
"I hate to see you go," he called out. "But I love to watch you leave."
Once the gymnasium doors closed, and Flambae was finally left with himself, he dropped down to sit on the bench, a heartfelt exhale left from his chest as he laughed to himself.
"Damn."
hi babes, i’m currently taking writing commissions for whatever yall want. if interested, send me a pm 🫧🐇🌷
Gonna get my funny n my money up by making cute checks my primary form of payment…
nothing's gonna hurt you baby
a short n sweet about my fav blue-haired duo ᥫ᭡
it was as if the little girl appeared out of thin air; there were moments throughout the day in which jinx expected the child to disappear whenever the blue-haired woman would close her eyes, yet when the kid remained, jinx's heart couldn't help but to flutter in relief.
it was strange, ever since that night in the barons, where jinx happened to be in the right place during the wrong time, the little girl had been dangerously attached to the older zaunite.
these days, of course, it was considered dangerous to be associated with the likes of jinx. she was a nefarious criminal. public enemy number one. the princess of zaun. the young woman with a generous bounty on her plaited, cyan-blue head.
she'd found herself much more isolated now; since silco's death, she hadn't had much desire to take a step outside and breathe in the chemically polluted undercity air. she hadn't seen much of sevika either, the older woman assumed silco's role of zaun's president while jinx occupied herself with hauntings of her family's spirits and babbling to herself about nothing. her inventor's desk had been collecting dust for weeks.
in a way, it was like the little girl had saved her.
jinx had been in a corner of the arcade one evening, the same arcade in which her, her siblings, and ekko used to goof around in during their childhood years. she'd often come here some nights, when the stereos of the last drop would be too loud or the lights in her room would be too bright. when asked, jinx would claim that the dullness of the abandoned room provided just enough of a calm atmosphere to help her focus on inventing new tricks and weapons. in reality, there was some deep seeded attachment that she had on this place. that she had on her childhood.
initially, she'd thought claggor's spirit had come to haunt her again. usually, mylo would be the one to mock her, to blame her for their deaths. silco used to tell her that they were just hallucinations, that they weren't real. jinx couldn't tell these days.
while she'd been under the guise of her deceased brothers visiting her, she failed to notice the little pitter-patter of boots against the graveled ground. she missed the child-like sounds of grunts and hums, noises one would make when jumping down from elevated platforms to the ground.
jinx, however, could somehow feel her presence in the room. it was like her soul lifted, the cyan-blue hairs on her skin stuck upwards against her.
"who's there?" jinx called out, her cracked, solemn voice bouncing off the arcade's linoleum walls. she didn't bother to look up, the young woman so sure it was just one of her many hallucinations. "vi? is it you this time?"
she could hear a little hum, a sound so human and precious it knocked jinx off unexpectedly. she titled her head up, her shimmer-induced purple eyes darted dangerously around the room. a shadow danced, its movements scattered and unorganized. jinx refused to take her eyes off it, the young woman was caught in its trance. her fingers, the nails chipping from its magenta and blue nail paint, reached for her little handgun that was neglected on the dirtied floor.
once it had kissed her palm, the neurotic woman wasted no time in spraying bullets across the room. she halted, however, at the sound of frightened gasps and shrieks. they were loud, somehow more boisterous than the excruciatingly piercing booms and bangs of pow-pow's bullets. jinx panted, her chest inhaling and exhaling dramatically as the clouds of dust pulled away to reveal a shaky little creature in the corner of the arcade. at first, jinx truly thought it was poro; it was that tiny and tremulous. at a closer inspection, however, she noted that it was a girl. not just any girl, but the girl that she saved.
"oh," jinx breathed, her own tone unsure if it should convey relief or unease. "it's you."
the baby girl's eyes peaked up at her through her protective fingers, her big, doll-eyes sparked something unusual in jinx.
"don't look at me like that," jinx barked, before a sudden feeling of guilt washed over her heart. "i didn't mean it, kid. and you shouldn't be spying and stalking up on people like that. it's just not cool."
the girl merely watched her, silent as she took in jinx's presence.
"why don't you run back to home, hm?" the blue-haired woman continued. "why don't you stay out of trouble and out my way?"
the girl's amber-brown irises seemed to dim at the mention of home. she shrugged at jinx's words, before she made her way towards the woman. she stood directly under jinx's befuddled stare, before she smiled and hugged her pale leg.
jinx froze. she couldn't even muster the will to shake the child off her; the shock of someone showing her affection overrode every sense of hers. the last time she hugged anyone had been silco. the last time someone had told her they loved her had been vi.
then here came this little girl, the child too young and unaware of the public persona jinx currently had. or maybe she did know, but chose to ignore it. for whatever reason.
-
jinx managed to teach her everything she knew. she taught the child to create gadgets and gizmos of great hazard; the blue-haired woman was never the biggest fan of hand-to-hand combat. why break your bones when you could bomb 'em? jinx showed her hiding spots throughout the city, places she'd utilized back in her youth.
in turn, the baby educated jinx on subjects she never knew to exist until now. the girl taught the woman how to speak with her hands, a wordless language in which caused the girl to survive on her own for so long. jinx learned her alphabet, learned that the little girl's name was isha.
it wasn't strange; undercity children were known for their proneness to develop mentally stronger and older compared to piltover's. jinx could recall her own sister having to teach her and their brothers street-rule etiquette, how to maintain their manes, how to get themselves ready for bedtime.
they'd been sitting in jinx's secret lair one evening; isha's now baby-blue dyed head had been resting on jinx's willowy thigh as the older girl ran her fingers, her magenta and sapphire nails combed through the baby girl's locks. jinx then mindlessly braided her child's chestnut-brown mane as isha hummed a melody that jinx sung to her one day.
"i was starting to think I was cursed," jinx found herself suddenly mumbling. "seems like everyone I loved, just..."
isha merely hummed, her cheek pressed into jinx's leg more as she allowed the woman to continue speaking.
"then I met you, kid." a tooth-gapped smile blossomed onto jinx's lips. she bounced her leg in which the child was resting on, which in turn caused said child to giggle. "maybe I'm not so cursed, hm?"
isha smiled, her lips pressed together so close she was sure jinx could feel it. she rested her eyes, allowing herself to nap as she felt safe and secured with jinx.
later on that night, isha signed the same sentiments back to her caretaker.
"I love you, mama."
Pam's gingham pink dress 🎀
Jill Marie Jones (2006)
mon coeur
a short, cute passage on frenchie comforting kimiko after her brother got uhmm murked
frenchie x kimiko
"mon coeur?"
for several days, following her brother's death, kimiko had been avoiding the boys.
usually she'd be huddled up against frenchie, her sleepy form cradled tenderly underneath his arm, her slumped shoulders draped in one of his oak-brown, cargo jackets. the fabrics often effused a scent of marlboro cigarettes and dark-roasted midnight coffee, an oddly comforting array of aromas that made kimiko feel at home.
currently, she'd been crouched underneath one of the basement's ash-wooden dining tables, her sorrowful doll-eyes trained dejectedly onto the television's colorful pictures. she drowned herself in her favorite Japanese television shows and music videos, allowing herself simple pleasures to distract her from her reality.
frenchie, similarly, had been indulging in unhealthy hobbies of his own. his nose and jaw had begun to ache from his ecstasy overindulgence; his espresso-brown eyes rolled beneath his clenched eyelids.
he’d been in a daze of his own, yet his mind miraculously remained focus on one thing.
“mon ange,” the european man slurred, his knees crouched as he bent underneath the dining table. his little angel looked so crestfallen; her doe-eyes were bagged, a plump crescent-shaped fatness developed underneath them. her cheeks had been coated an apricot red, a sight so delicious it forced frenchie to restrain himself from taking a bite.
“look at me, mon ange,” he pleaded. “ma douce biche. regardez-moi.”
his sweet words called her to obey; her soft eyes melted frenchie’s cocaine-pumping heart as she looked heartbreakingly sorrow.
“oh, mon plus doux trésor,” the european cooed at his sad girl. his arms, fleecy and ash-scented, outstretched as they invited kimiko in. she subconsciously obliged, her muscles throwing her into the familiar warmth of frenchie’s mellow chest.
“that’s it,” he coaxed the weeping woman. his arms embraced her smaller, shaking form, his lips curling upwards as he felt the occasional hiccuping coming from his girl’s lips. “i’m here, mon coeur. papa est là.”
he rocked her tenderly, his eyes shut as he contentedly took in her smell. she smelled just like him, but with an added, unique kimiko-musk to her.
frenchie could feel his girl's labored breathing, the steady rise-and-fall of her chest and shoulders against his own enticed a little smile on the european's lips. kimiko's lips were parted against the fabric of frenchie's shirt, a blob of spit puddled onto it as soft snores exited her mouth.
"si somnolent, non?" frenchie cooed. he tucked his left arm underneath kimiko's legs, his own legs carried them to the couch that rested near the center of the room. he draped the woman's sleepy form against his thighs, his arms cradling her as he hummed sweetly to her.
"nothing's going to hurt you now, mon coeur," frenchie whispered, his brown eyes glittering with love and unshaken adoration. "je vous le promets."
thinking again about writing commissions….
once upon a dream
a strange man, or an entity, finds itself plastered on your wall. toji, you begin to learn, finds himself intertwined within your life. inspired by this post.
cw; female reader, sexual themes, cussing, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, paranormal, horror.
he simply stared, unmoving nor unblinking as he observed you.
you gazed back, your doe-eyes large and your babydoll-lips parted as they took in the entity etched on your lavender-purple bedroom wall.
"are you going to hurt me?" you rasped, your voice low as you kept your sleeping parents next door in mind.
he just smirked; the left corner of his lengthy, scarred lips were pulled mockingly upward.
"are you going to kill me in my sleep?" you whispered, your eyelids heavy as a tiny yawn escaped your plush lips.
his chest bounced, as if he was laughing in a tone impossible for your human ears to gather.
"okay," you shrugged, wrapping the pearl-white, cotton-soft blanket up to your shoulders.
he was merely composed of a head and a chest; composed of raven-black, messy tresses. his eyes were almond-shaped, their sunken composure indulged in your form as if you were prey. all you could make out beneath his thick, veiny neck was a set of toughened, herculean shoulders. even covered by the hellish-cloud of ink, you could make out every inch and bulge of inhuman brawn.
"what are you?" you questioned, your body comfortably entangled within the fluffy fabric. you knew he was outworldly, yet you couldn’t discern from where he’d come from. was he your guardian angel? a spiritual protector sent to guard you as you dreamt? or was he demonic, an impish spirit serving as a reminder of the sins living within you?
he, unsurprisingly, refrained from responding. his smirk dropped, yet his nightshade-eyes remained draped on you.
“fine,” you huffed, before you allowed exhaustion to envelop your resting form. Your feather-stuffed pillows molded themselves to accommodate the shape of your head, the baby-powder scent seducing you into succumbing to a peaceful slumber.
wordlessly, you blinked your eyes twice at the strange, ghastly man on your wall, before the world around you became pitch-black.
-
there was a little bunny that often paraded around in the emerald-green grass of your backyard. some mid-days, when your parents were off at work, you would gather some baby carrots from the refrigerator and feed the little creature. it was a cute thing, you decided, with its long, floppy ears and fur which copied the pattern of cowskin. the only difference was that the darker patterns were a light, caramel-brown rather than a deep, mocha-brown.
the soft baby chewed happily, a soft coo escaping your lips as its rosy-pink nose twitched happily.
the little bunny was an adorable distraction from the source of your recent frustration: the demon in your wall.
you’ve tried for weeks to try and communicate. on your side, you’ve provided a multitude of prompts to ask him.
“where’re you from?” was one. “what’s your name? why’re you in my room?” were others.
of course, there’d been a lack of answers from the demon, causing you to angrily cease your one-sided conversations.
you’d even gone as far as to script a lengthy paper to him, leaving it on the cedar-wood surface of your dresser one night for him to read. when you’d awoken, however, you discovered the letter to be ripped up and discarded messily on your oak-wood floor.
how rude.
your parents had been gone; your father was harvesting bee-honey while your mother attended to her floral shop.
you picked up the little bunny, holding its bustling form close to your warm chest. a light breeze whispered around you, an indignation of the twilight-purple evening sky’s soon arrival.
your bare feet kissed the blades of the clover-green grass, ignoring how the sharp tips provoked slight pain as you stepped. you trekked through the vanilla-white door of the baby-blue painted cottage, the wood underneath you groaning as you inched closer and closer to your lavender-lilac room.
your bedsheets had been in a disarray; all messy with the indent of your body pressed into them. your single window had been cranked open, the smell of ivory and pine-trees surrounded your room. your cotton, white blanket reminded you of the clouds you’d seen that morning. the bubblegum-pink tulip on your dresser was dying.
“there you go,” you softly cooed, gently setting the shaking bunny on your cloudy comforter. it settled in quite nicely, its little nose nuzzling the comforting texture and smell of your bed.
you peered at your wall. he wasn’t there.
a timid grumbling caught your attention.
your eyes widened, your ears focusing on the rumbling occurring again. it didn’t take you long to realize the bunny’s stomach had been thundering, its doll-eyes peering up at you pleadingly.
“hungry?” you questioned it, as if the furry creature could truly understand your human words. it appears that it could, however, its whiskers twitching in response.
“okay,” you nodded, your legs setting for the kitchen. “wait here,” you commanded. “i’ll find you some food.”
there hadn’t been much, honestly. your mother’s produce jars had been empty, the only evidence of there ever being fruits were the royal-blue blueberry and scarlet-red raspberry juices that lined the glasses. you had honey-baked bread, but you weren’t sure if bunnies could eat loaves. a jug of lamb’s milk sat tranquilly in the refrigerator, but you figured it’ll make the tiny creature sick.
suddenly, you remembered the strawberries that your father had been planting. sauntering out the door once more, you set forth to the patch that grew quietly near your home.
like a christmas tree, the bush stood soldierly while the blooming strawberries served as ornaments.
you picked gingerly from it, making sure to pick generously in fear of your father being upset.
somewhat alone, the wind’s embrace and the soft singing of the mockingjays accompanied you as you slipped into a daze.
you thought of your parents, how often tired, yet content, they seemed with their lives. your mother’s serene smile was a sight you adored, while your nose regularly basked in your father’s constant scent of honey. you thought of your little world, how you indulged in simple pleasures such as reading jane austen and producing grains of your own poetry. the other townies often depict these simple pleasures as boring, yet there was some comfort gained in you as you embraced your creative side.
there wasn’t much time left to indulge in your deepest thoughts, of course, as you remembered the little bunny that laid hungry in your bed. swiftly, you gathered the harvested strawberries as you set off for your home, the tranquil little cottage soft in your honeyed-eyes.
you trampled through the door, a whistle on your lips as you chopped up the strawberries in a tiny, heart-shaped ceramic plate. it was a ruby-red shade, messily painted with strawberry and tomato juice from when you were seven-years-old.
“bunny,” you called, your voice sweet and high like a hummingbird’s song. the bunny refrained from trotting to the kitchen, its soft paws against the wooden-floor abstained from entering your ears. you turned towards your bedroom door, the pearl-white hatch suddenly closed and foreboding. you couldn’t remember if you sealed it before you slipped out, yet you disregarded it as an unimportant thought compared to the direness at hand.
“bunny?” you called once more, crouching slowly towards your bedroom with the heart-shaped plate in your left hand. the door ahead of you was coated with hand-painted lavender and pink tulips that scattered beautifully against the colorlessness of the canvas. the sky behind you had turned into a hue of tangerine-orange and violet-purple.
the door creaked as you pushed it open. the plate in your hand thunderously shattered as it dropped in shards against your bedroom floor.
near the lavender wall, where the entity lived, laid your little bunny.
a sob emerged from your throat. your beloved bunny rested in the hands of the entity, the furry creature coated in blood as the wall’s ghost ate from it. when it was done, it simply tossed the slain bunny on the ground, a squelch sound made as it dropped in its scarlet-red bloody pool.
you submerged the urge to vomit, yet couldn’t fight the urge to pass out.
-
a coral-pink bowl of tomato-soup laid carefully against the palms of your slightly-shaking hands.
you observed the entity, the inhuman-man licking the bunny’s blood that had coated on his fingers.
you hadn’t quite noticed it, but the entity was growing.
he grew arms, the muscles bulging and long. his hands were just as big, with veins coating throughout the flesh. or, form? you wondered if his veins contained blood, or if they were like plant vines. you imagined it was the latter. after the events from earlier, you were convinced that this thing was surely subhuman.
and yet, you couldn’t halt yourself from showing some form of sympathy for it. “i didn’t know you were hungry,” you grumbled, your eyes darting down as you simultaneously spooned your soup. you weren’t very hungry; your appetite had been satiated for at least a week. “i would’ve gotten you something had you just told me.”
he simply stared, his sharp-eyes trained on your smaller form as he sucked. you could feel the little smirk that rested on his bloodied lips. barbaric, you couldn’t help but think. your thoughts translated on your face, a subconscious snarl present on your angry lips.
“you’re evil,” you choked out, placing the soup-bowl on your pearl-white nightstand. “i’m not speaking to you anymore.”
you tucked yourself into bed, your pillowy-sheets brought up to your warm face. you could imagine that the entity was simply staring at you, that nonchalant expression on his face as if he couldn’t care less about eating your precious baby bunny. you tried your best to block out any thoughts of today’s events, your subconscious allowing your mind to dream of pleasant things such as your mother’s cherry-lime pie and your father’s lullabies from your childhood.
within a few minutes, you succumbed to sleep.
-
by the time you woke up the next morning, you feigned surprise at the entity not being plastered on your wall. good, you thought. yet, there was some wicked pulse in your heart that ached at the usual disappearance of the ghost.
your legs carried you out of bed, your yawning self delighted at the sight of your mother and father eating and chatting blissfully at the kitchen table.
“good morning, honey,” your mother greeted, her lips planting a small kiss on your rosy-pink cheeks. your father squeezed your arm.
“honey,” his resonant voice boomed. “i think my strawberries have bloomed, can you pluck them?”
your back fought the urge to straighten itself rigid, your voice fighting the urge to say “i’ve actually plucked some yesterday”.
you complied, however, like the good daughter you were. “i’ll go get them,” you beamed, grabbing the woven-basket near the front door before you set off for the meadows.
it wasn’t anything peculiar. you merely picked the remaining berries, placed them in your basket, and set off back home. you arrived back to your parents on the porch, their tanned fingers wrapped around mason jars filled with what appeared to be peach-tea.
“honey,” your mother sang your childhood nickname. “set the basket down in the kitchen. we left a glass on the counter for you.”
“thanks, mama,” you thanked, your steps echoing as you entered the tiny kitchen. you sat the basket down, yet something peculiar occurred. a thumping sound emerged, a noise consistent and erratic as it bounced frighteningly on what you determined to be on hardwood-flooring. you listened intently, before you realized the sound was coming from your own bedroom.
your skin suddenly felt very cold.
your crept towards your room, your heart pumping as your hand pushed gently against your colorful door. you swore your heart fought not to stop as the door creaked eerily.
the thumping stopped once you entered your room. you froze, your mind racing with a multitude of thoughts at once. oh god, you cried to yourself. perhaps i’m losing my mind. it wouldn’t be a possibility too far fetched. after all, what sane person sees a ghost in their wall?
but then, there it was. a bunny emerged from under your bed, the thumps it created verified that it was the source of the anxious noises produced. you sighed, but then you realized under sudden inspection that this wasn’t just any bunny. its long, floppy ears; its caramel-brown cowskin patterns.
this was your bunny.
“what,” you breathed to yourself, its pink nose wobbling as it inched closer to you. you couldn’t believe it; your little bunny had been brought back to life?
you bent down to scratch the beloved creature behind its ears, but gasped as it disappeared underneath your touch. within a heartbeat, it was gone once more.
you choked back a sob.
“no,” you huffed, your throat tightening and your heart broken. “no, my bunny.”
a tear slid down your cheek, before something in the corner of your eyes caught your attention. you turned your head, your eyes widening in pure surprise.
there, on your wall, decorated with black-gunk, purple-ink and burgundy-blood, was a simple appellation.
toji.
-
when you first started seeing choso, you refrained from bringing him home for select reasons.
for one, you didn’t want your parents to flock and coo around him like doves. for two, you didn’t want him to be frightened by the man in your wall.
toji, you discovered, had gotten stronger as the days progressed. the wall carved out indentations of his thighs, the tendons within them muscular and large. similar to his arms, you noted.
you additionally noticed how jealous he’d get, for reasons you didn’t quite know.
during late nights, when your parents were whisked away by either deep sleep or work duties, you found yourself gushing over choso to the shadow man.
“he’s a gentleman,” you blushed, your fingers toying with the loose fabrics on your comforter. “he sometimes doesn’t have much to say, but he’ll bring me little flowers here and there. specifically baby’s breath cause they’re my favorite. i’m surprised he remembered i told him that the one time i did.”
toji kept that common smirk on his ghastly face, yet his features often altered when he heard you speak about choso. for one, his eyes switched. a fire ignited in them, a violet-purple glint in them that never went unnoticed. his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, with his nose flaring ever so slightly.
there was one day you were enthused over choso so bad that it caused toji to completely disappear for three nights, only to smugly reemerge as you pathetically called his name in the dead of night. you’ve received the message, of course. you’ve refrained from raving to toji about your date after those nights.
tonight, however, you’ve gotten the home to yourself. your parents had been flocked away to attend to some dire work obligations, their presence not revered as that meant you were able to bring choso in. you’ve forgotten about one presence, however, too blissed out to remember.
you ransacked your parents’ liquor cabinet, your fingers pulling out a bottle of jack daniel’s tennessee honey whiskey. your father’s favorite.
it was disgusting, of course, your lips pressing bitterly into each other as you took little shots of it. you were never a huge alcohol enthusiast, but you read somewhere that it was an aphrodisiac. from the way a sudden warmth blossomed between your thighs coupled with the way you could feel your tits hardening underneath your white-sundress, you knew the effects were taking place. with choso’s low-eyes and his palm practically caressing your bare calf, you could tell that the alcohol was affecting him as well.
“you’re beautiful,” he uttered above the soft voices of ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong singing ‘the nearness of you’ on the living room’s mahogany-wooden vinyl player.
“thank you,” you breathed before the sudden liquid courage got a hold of you. you got a hold of his hand, guiding it so that it reached the inner warmth of your thighs.
“do you wanna?” you asked sweetly, your cunt dampening as you heard choso rasp out a soft little ‘fuck’.
“we’re all alone, right?” choso asked, to which you gently nodded your response. “no interruptions?”
“no interruptions,” you promised, before letting yourself be whisked away to your bedroom with your date in tow.
-
he was so muscular; a fact you didn’t know as his body was constantly concealed underneath the robes and baggier fabrics that he donned. his buffed chest rubbed consistently against your softer breasts, causing them to swell underneath his touch. melodic moans and gasps escaped from your lips, your eyes pressed shut from intense ecstasy and pleasure. his cock, god. his cock was veiny and thick; your lips had previously been wrapped around his salmon-pink dick as it began to rise in your throat. currently, it was being punched routinely in-and-out of your tight, soaked cunt. your nails dug into the man’s pale-back, the ruby-red scratches contrasted beautifully against his canvas-like skin.
it was all too much; you didn’t know if you’d be able to withstand how his cock was fucking you deeply and roughly as he breathed heavily in your ear.
“yeah, you like that?” you could hear his heavenly, sexed-out voice question you. the boldness and confidence in his words caused your blissful eyes to open-up slightly, before they immediately bolted-open in shock.
just a few centimeters from your face had been choso’s own, yet something had changed in his eyes.
they glew a violet-purple hue. right there, just below his sweating nose, was his mouth; his lips were pressed into a familiar, hunting smirk.
you could’ve died right there, but you would’ve found it absolutely humiliating for your tombstone to read; death by bomb-ass-dick.
“yeah,” choso’s voice questioned once more, yet your heart thumped at you in both nirvana and in warning. was this truly choso? “you love this dick, don’t you?” he spoke, causing you to subconsciously moan in response. “love how your cunt squeezes on it, huh?”
“yes,” you nonetheless answer, too fucked out to ponder anything less in the moment. “love this dick.”
“love how it makes you go dumb, don’t you?” choso’s voice began to transform into something unfamiliar. the base in his voice lightened, yet changed its tone to that of something more cocksure. a voice you would later be able to put a face to.
“choso,” you whined, an action that erupted voluminous noises to pass out your mouth as choso slammed his cock deeper in your throbbing pussy. a veiny hand snuck to grasp at your blushing tit, before the same hand trailed upward to carefully hold your throat.
“you’re mine,” he hissed, as if something were causing him great pain. “all fucking mine. this cunt belongs to me.”
“all yours, choso,” you swore, your head bobbing up and down the best it could against the grasp of his hand. you could feel the wave of your orgasm beginning to crash, your heightened ah,ah,ah’s the indicator of what was starting to arise.
“gonna cum, aren’t you?” choso solicited, his fingers rubbing against your cunt’s pearl. “cum then, pretty girl.”
and so you did. you cried as your cunt clenched around his cock. choso groaned at the vanilla-reminiscent ring of cream you produced, the man pulling out just as he filled the trojan wrapped around his tip with his own salty-flavored cream. with a huff, he pulled the condom off his cock before he tossed it in the midnight-black tiny trash can behind him, his naked body then collapsing adjacent to yours.
you laid like that for a while, your bare breasts rhythmically rising up-and-down with each deep breath you took. you allowed your left forearm to press against your shut eyelids, allowing yourself a moment to recover from the orgasm that passed you.
“that was good,” you laughed through a string of heaving breaths. “did you like it?”
“yeah,” choso replied, a hint of confusion inked his steady voice. a pregnant pause filled the air, his arm draping across your bare shoulders. “would you find it crazy if i said i didn’t remember any of it?”
“what?” you chuckled, taking his words to be some form of a joke. your laughter halted, however, once you took in his serious lips contorted to that of a flat line. “did you black out?” you then question, your breasts bowing shamelessly as you sat up against your soft pillows.
“i might’ve,” he shrugged, allowing his form to press into your blanket underneath him. he left it as that, causing you to sigh out an ‘oh’ and nod your head dumbly. you wanted to say how he seemed normal, his usual self except for the fact he was a much bolder personality in bed. you blamed that on the arousal, however. wasn’t it normal for one to act more daring during sex?
“i’ve got to get going, anyways,” choso suddenly remarked, his taller figure swiftly bouncing off your bed which left you downhearted. you loved company; those fleeting moments after sex never failed to even be cherished by your heart. “your parents will be home sometime soon, won’t they?”
“yeah,” you smiled, although it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. it was sad. you felt like a pathetic little puppy dog all depressed once its owner had to leave for work. “do you want me to walk you out?”
“sure, honey.”
-
you then quickly threw on your discarded sundress from off the floor, trailing behind choso as his fully-dressed form strode casually through the living room, his right hand clasping around the front door’s handle.
“are you free next saturday?” you asked him, a blush on your face as he bent down to kiss your warm cheek. “yes,” he replied, flicking your cheek as if wiping an invisible tear from it. “i’ll call you. goodnight.”
and then he was off. “goodnight,” you called after him, closing the door behind him as you did. you didn’t lock it, of course, for your parents’ sake.
trailing sadly back to your room, you screamed at the sight before you.
it was toji, but he’d been out of the wall. there he was, in all his cruel glory, sitting nonchalantly on the edge of your bed. he’d developed his lower limbs; his legs and thighs, of course, just as muscular as the rest of him. yet, there was something about him that contrasted his buff appearance. maybe it was his clenched waist, a waist you slightly envied. maybe it was his fringed hair-style, an unserious look for a demon.
he looked, nonetheless, dare you even say it, normal for an evil creature. in evil creature standards?
and then you felt ridiculous for casting so much attention onto his appearance when there was a much larger issue at stake.
“what are you doing on my bed?”
he didn’t answer, of course, his devilish eyes glancing up-and-down your swaying form. you wondered what he was thinking about, wondering if you could even touch him. you strode towards him, your thoughts governing your impulsive thoughts. your hand stretched to caress his cheek, but right before you did, he vanished.
you gasped, goosebumps growing across your skin as you felt the presence of him running up and down your arms. his aura possessed you entirely, but not literally; in a metaphorical sense, toji’s spirit danced all throughout your shivering form. you could tell he reappeared behind you, the buzzing sensation of his arms interlocked across your waist as he put his ghostly lips just below your earlobe. it must be frustrating, you thought as you allowed him to quietly take you in. it must be frustrating to not be able to communicate, at least not in the vocal way.
he bit at your earlobe a little, causing you to laugh angelically at the playful, ticklish feeling. you could feel his chest against your back bounce happily. at least you knew entities could laugh.
he placed a little kiss at the nape of your neck, his arms unlinking themselves from you. you turned around, interested in seeing what clever expression toji would have on his handsome, evil face. your smile dropped when you discovered he wasn’t there, wasn’t hiding away in any little corner of your room.
“toji?” you called, but to no avail. “toji?” you nonetheless tried again, your legs pacing across your room and into different parts of the cottage room in some attempt to find him. he was gone.
that night, he hadn’t returned to the wall, either. you’ve gotten used to his glowing eyes staring you down as you slept, a strange conformality you so desperately missed. even when your parents returned home, kissing you a goodnight on the top of your forehead, you still found yourself crying to sleep.
the sorrowful cries continued throughout the duration of two-weeks, the fever of your sobs heightening as you would soon discover choso had been found expectedly dead the week afterward.
-
everything felt the same to you these days.
your bedsheets had gone unwashed for four weeks, the comforter stained with the scarlet-red residue of your menstrual and your pillows damped by your constant tears. you’ve been planning on washing them, of course, had your father not reminded you that the blueberries were ready to be harvested.
“your mother had been planning on making blueberry compote,” he explained, clearing his throat as he reassuringly rubbed your arm as you laid motionless in bed. “blueberry compote over those buttermilk pancakes you like.”
you thanked God you at least had parents who loved you. if it hadn’t been for them, you would’ve hung yourself with your soiled bed sheets. you’ve been having those thoughts at least once a day, now.
puffy-eyed, you zoned out as you carelessly plucked at the blueberries, chucking them in your mother’s woven basket. why couldn’t your father pick his own blueberries? you tried to think positively, this outdoorsy excursion providing some form of distraction from your own thoughts.
there were no bunnies hopping aimlessly around the grassy-patch. there were no songbirds chirping melodically among themselves. there was only you, the woven basket, the fucking blueberries.
then there was a snapping. your head jerked in the direction of what you determined to be an animal stepping on a fallen branch. you hadn’t seen anything; your eyes narrowed before they darted back to watch your own hands work.
another snap. you tilted your head once more, your heartbeat beginning to race. two more snaps commenced, causing your legs to rise up to your full length.
and then, emerging from the bushes and branches of the forest just to the right of you, there he stood.
“choso?” you gasped, the blueberry basket in your grasp collapsed towards where your feet rooted.
there were clear indications that it was him; his exhausted, heavily bruised eyes, his cocoa-brown tresses, the scars that laid across his delicate nose’s bridge. yet, there was something sinisterly new about him. his eyes were narrowed, his gaze pointed hungrily at you as if you were a delicious bambi-doe. his lips curled upward into a simper, as if there was some inside joke between him and only him. his irises, interestingly enough, glowed a soft, orchid-purple hue.
realistically, you should’ve known that it wasn’t truly choso. he wasn’t Jesus, the simple human unable to rise himself up from his perish after months. perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or the desperation that constantly lurked through every crevice of your brain. you ran to him, ran to the figure who you presumed to be your beloved choso.
“choso,” you sobbed and heaved pathetically against his chest. you hugged your arms tightly around his waist, so tight that the man could die again. your body mournfully bounced against his, your tears so intense they stained the entire front of his tunic. he merely patted your head with his right hand, his left hand softly held your waist. “you have no idea how bad i missed you,” you hiccuped, your body suddenly heaving over as if you were about to throw up.
his hands, their softened nature, tenderly held your damp face. he peered deep into your eyes, as if he was opening the gateway to your soul.
“choso,” you rasped once more, before he pulled you in to plant an amorous, long kiss on your lips. you hadn’t quite known what ghost lips tasted like; maybe Earth and rot. you internally gagged. you thanked God, however, that ghost kisses tasted exactly like nothing. there’d been no smell nor taste, similarly to those unscented soap bars your mother would make every first of the month.
you kissed for quite a long time; his tongue suddenly found itself slipped deviously inside your mouth. you moaned, his ghostly hands curiously exploring the mounds and curves of your body.
you don’t recall how or when, but you do remember finding your back kissing the bark of an old sycamore tree. his hands roamed throughout your body, his hands cupping the softness of your tits and the plumpness of your ass. you squealed in his mouth, feeling his cock harden against your thighs.
he fucked you right there and then, his cock suddenly in his hands before he slipped it between the warm folds of your cunt.
you moaned, the songbirds above you seem to chirp along to every little sound you made. he ripped the top of your baby-pink dress, your hardened tits peeking out at him as he pinched them. he nipped at the soft of your neck, his bite becoming intense as you began to reach nirvana.
“fuck,” you rasped, your eyes shut in ecstacy as your mouth formed an erotic ‘o’ shape. “fuck, fuck, fuck.”
you peeked an eye out, your movements and noises suddenly stilling as you noticed toji’s face smirking back at you.
you then orgasmed, your screams of both pleasure and horror scattered the crows that were once perched on the tree branches above you. you fell to your knees, your screams growing in fervor as tears began to stream down your trembling face.
you remained in your state of shock, even long after your father had ran to you and carried you home. the basket of blueberries had been left on the ground.
-
everyone had thought you were crazy; you were sure of it. you were beginning to think you were truly crazy, too.
you were in your bed once more, a bowl in your hands. hazelnut soup this time, another one of your mother’s delicacies.
you felt awful; your head was throbbing, your eyes were puffy, your ass hurt from falling on it. you were sure your hair looked disarrayed, but external beauties didn’t mean shit if internally you felt suicidal.
your parents had left you at home again, your father heading off to town to find a shrink while your mother set off to find some medicinal treatments. town wasn’t too far, thankfully, so you wouldn’t be left alone for too long.
in the window behind you, something tapped irregularly. you ignored it, at first, your perpetual state of numbness too strong to escape from. you only managed to snap out of it when something hard was thrown at your window, the sudden bang of it making you jump in place. you scurried to the sill, your shaky hands swiftly opening the pane to peek your head out.
nothing save for the cool breeze and howling owls were out there. peculiar.
closing the window behind you, you immediately shouted when you turned back round to face your bed.
there he was again; choso’s form, but toji’s face inhibited it. it was something out of those stephen king novels, something so eerie it couldn’t possibly be reality.
“leave me alone,” you howled, falling to your knees and scurrying to the corner of your room where the evil entity prowled closer. “leave me the fuck alone.”
“why?” choso’s raspy, creaky voice questioned, when in truth it was truly toji’s. his smug face sneered, his sharp teeth bared and shining.
you screamed, your hands interlocked as you dug your face into your shaky knees. you rocked madly back and forth, the stench of rot and swamp drawing closer to your trembling form.
“what’re you so scared of?” the terrifying tone questioned, his hands resting on your moistened-from-sweat thighs. you timidly glanced from between your tresses, your heart suddenly stopping once you took in toji’s face. you could feel the pumping in the organ coming to a halt, your pupils dilating to the extreme as your mouth was opened in a silent scream. his purple-hued scleras coupled with the emergence of sharp, razor-teeth influenced every tissue in your body to remain very still. you could see the entity move closer to your horrified form, the teeth then sinking harshly into the skin of your neck. you couldn’t even wail; you were forced to wordlessly endure his brutal torture.
your waterlines, to toji’s accord, began to kiss each other as your eyes found themselves closed shut. the sensation of an unexpected breeze whoosked throughout your entire body; had you could, you would’ve intensely shivered. the hair on your skin’s surface found itself raised, and then instantaneously rested. the world around you had grown quiet and dark, a fact you were able to govern even from behind the mulberry-colored darkness of your eyelids.
-
you felt very light, like a fairy soaring over a beautiful field of dandelions. there’d been no weight on you, not from what you feel as you arose from what appeared to be an extremely restful slumber. you rubbed your eyes, your brain too foggy and tired to completely register the darkness that encompassed your glowy figure. you’d then noticed, of course, as you eventually would’ve had to, anyways.
you rubbed your eyes once more, somehow convinced that this would’ve changed the trajectory of your current predicament. “mom?” you called out, your voice light and unsure as you contemplated if this was another nightmare you were in. no response from your mother, as predicted. you began to slightly panic, your chest labored and your airy legs began to pace in circles. “dad?” you wailed, your voice growing in tremor. “mom? dad?”
“they’re not here,” a voice – toji’s – captivated your startled form. you spun dangerously around, your vocal chords dancing as you screamed bloody murder.
“where am i?” you sobbed, sinking down to your knees as you cried and shook. “where’s my parents?”
“they’re not here,” toji simply repeated, his muscular, whispery legs drawing closer to your woeful, tiny body. “you’re home.”
“no,” you hissed, crawling away from toji’s extended arms and handsome smile. “no, i’m not fucking home.”
his smile never faltered, but the little devilish gleam in his eyes subdued. “you are,” he insisted, your angry scowl and furrowed eyebrows challenging his claim. “this is your home now, too.”
“the fuck are you talking about?” you cussed, your smart-mouth suddenly shutting as he presented you with an image. your sight was replaced with the visual of your cold, murdered body on your bedroom’s oakwood-floors. your beloved parents had been crying over you, crowding your form.
your throat tightened as you felt the urge to gag.
“no!” you wailed, your body shaking violently as you pressed yourself deeper into the deception-flooring beneath you. “nonononowhycouldyoudothistomehowcouldyoudothistomewhatthefuckareyou.”
toji simply stared, unmoving nor unblinking as he observed you.
“isn’t this what you wanted?” you could hear him question, a sheen of scarlet-red coated your vision as you peered up at him through glaring eyes.
“what the fuck are you talking about?”
“that one night,” he began, his expression and tone steady. “when you wrapped that fabric around your neck-”
“-that was not for you to fucking take,” you interrupted, unable to bring your dead spirit form off the floor. “that would’ve been on my fucking terms, toji.”
silence. you found yourself growing silent for a beat, too.
“i’m enamored with you,” toji then admitted, your eyes softening not from love, but from pure defeat.
“why, toji?” you couldn’t help but question. “why did you have to appear in my wall?”
“i saved you,” he responded, surprisingly without cockiness or smugness.
you scoffed.
“you had a mundane life-”
“-i had a happy life,” you corrected. “comfortable, even.”
“is that why you tried to kill yourself?”
“oh my fuck-” you screamed, burrowing your head into into your palms.
“don’t fight it,” you could hear toji say, and you could hear the stupid little smirk he had plastered throughout his words.
“what now?” you despairingly questioned his ghostly, vibrant form. “what do you expect from me, now?”
“i expect you to wed me,” he shrugged, his head cocked as if that statement had been fucking truly expected.
nonetheless, you did wed him. it was a simple wedding; a few other ghostly figures attended, none of which you personally recognized. toji tried to pass them off as your ancestors, but you knew he was lying shamelessly through his teeth. you hadn’t worn a beautiful gown, nor had he’d worn a luxurious tux. you’d both been adorning the outfits you’d passed on in the human realm.
it’s funny, you noted; funny how the only marriage you’d ever have would not have come until you were passed into the spirit realm. you used to daydream about your possible marriage to choso, now here you were getting wed to his murderer. you wondered where choso’s spirit had gone, his presence not sensed nor seen in the small crowd present. you suspected that he’d gone to a better place, perhaps somewhere like heaven. he was an angel on earth with you, it would only be right for him to be where lightness constantly shone on his skin like crystals.
toji simply had his soul banished.
“do you accept her to be your wife?” the unearthly priest-ghost questioned.
“i do,” toji answered.
the priest swiveled to peer into you, his pearl-like eyes sunken into his wrinkled-face.
“do you accept…” his cracked voice began. “...to take toji as your husband for eternity?”
you peered into the eyes of toji, his scalera’s enticing as they shone an adoring hue of orchid-purple just for you.
“i do.”
