[missyvani]

𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼

Leon Kennedy(RE) x Fem Reader ONESHOT

SUMMARY ☣︎ Fresh out of training. DSO sends you to be Leons shadow for your first mission.

TAGS ☣︎ combat.Leonsshadow!reader. Knife play. Trainee!Reader. Trainer!Leon. He wants you. How sweet right? You hate this mission. RE9 related.Emotional argument.Age difference.Re9 Leon.smitten!reader.this song be hitting frfr.

“Your mission is to protect and observe Mr.Kennedy. Do not engage unless necessary. Do not overstep his shadow. Remain invisible till Mr.Kennedy completes his mission.”

“And if he discovers me?” You respond over comms. “Complications. Sending you over to Sherry.”

And shortly, Sherry spoke. “Leon’s currently stuck in traffic. Excited for your first mission?”

Your eyes expanded over the streets of Wrenwood, balancing your heels over the wooden railings and kneeling once reaching its edge.

“Doesn’t feel like a mission. More like babysitting.” And it did. Years of training, preparing to take on enemies that may match your level or be higher—your first mission is babysitting.

A waste of skill. A waste of your time; by now, your skills could be used on a mission far more professional than this. And yet, DSO assigns you for this bull crap. “You can learn something from this. From Leon, maybe.” Sherry encouraged.

“I have already. Leon was my trainer.” You say, swinging out your rifle to peak in its scope. You watch Leon fight his way through the infected.

So aggressive, so swift in his movements, and as unsurprised as you should be. Your face failed to remain dull. A single kill he performed forced your lips apart.

Intrigued and captivated as you became observing Leon, you almost forgot how worthless this mission felt. “For a man at his age, how flexible is he?”

“What do you mean?” Sherry interrupts your thoughts. “Nothing. Doesn’t look like he needs any assistance. How long is this babysitting going to take?” Pausing your view of entertainment.

You stand, casually changing your position as Leon pushes through traffic. Your eyes remained on him; tearing away felt wrong. To miss a performative move. You can’t. No way.

“Can’t say. I have new coordinates for you. Don’t be late.” You ignore the ring on your hip, kneeling on another ledge. And without acknowledgement, you zoom the scope on Leon.

On his features, his head spun—all this chaos from a couple of infected. ‘Insane,’ you thought.

“Eventually, you’ll need my help.” Leon’s head turns again, lifting his eyes directly at you. Your aim lowers, heart shaken.

Did he see you? No. Could he have? Nah. Impossible. “Heading there, Sherry.” Hesitated to check him again, your heels veer off the slippery platform.

Some time later…uhh possibly an hour or two

“Hey! Come in!!” Sherry’s voice rings in your ear. You slowly blink, wiping the singular rain drop off your cheek. You’ve been waiting for further instructions since the care center shut itself down.

And with no reason to intervene with Leon’s mission, you lay on the second floor's balcony. Conserving time by spinning your knife. A weapon Leon gifted you for passing your training.

Others say because you’re his favorite, but you knew you had the drive to succeed. “Don’t tell me. He’s in trouble.” You jested.

“I sent you his location already. Just on the other side of the center. I need you to get there now!” Your posture straightens as you check the building’s exterior structure.

You planned out your move as you climbed higher, reaching the flat roof. You raced across, spotting another balcony for a safe landing. Without care for a comfortable slide, you pushed against its penetrating touch and landed on your heels.

And from your side, there he was. Leon. Inside a room, searching for whatever he’s looking for. His face was written with confusion, not danger. No sign of any assistance is needed.

“What’s going on?” You shortened your distance till you were a few steps away from his window. Leon had dropped his head, leaning his frame over the desk.

You climb, gripping the window's edges. You then pull up. Eyes rising towards Leon's. “You.” He said. “Shit.”

Your grip loosens, but right when Leon begins to yank you in. And once you gain your footing, your heel swings—a quick distraction to swing out your knife.

Leon does the same with his axe, using his other to block your kick. Both bodies slid apart, weapons aimed at each other’s throats. “Good to know that you still got moves.”

You felt his blade, sharp enough to cut your throat. “I get no hi? No, how are you?” Leon presses into your knife.

“We’re past that point.” Your heel kicked his abdomen, forcing Leon onto the table. He yanks you in by the thigh, switching positions to pin you from performing any ridiculous moves.

He hooks your leg beneath his arm, your body lifted and bent upwards on the table. Both blades met opposite throats again. Leon hovered over. Faces inches apart.

He grins in amusement. “I don’t remember teaching you combat in heels.” You lean in, enjoying this little play. “Try fighting in a 5-inch heel. You might like it.”

“Happy now, Leon? You weren’t supposed to know she’s shadowing you.” Sherry interrupts, signaling Leon to free you from his hold and amble away. His expression became serious, his lips parting.

His gaze tore away as Sherry continued explaining for your reason here. “You knew?” You sat up, hooking your knife away.

“I had a feeling, but I didn’t expect my shadow to be you. Enjoying yourself so far?” His expression softens, sensing some misery through your eyes.

“Since I’m not needed. I'm leaving.” Fumed by his entertained attitude, you hop off the table to vacate. “Wait,” Leon blocks your path. And swiftly your knife swung at his face.

He captured your wrist, lowering your aim below his jawline. “Turn off your comms.” He demands.

“No. Out of my way.” You tilt the blade, looking up at Leon in no mood to play along.

He pushes closer, nicking his throat with your blade. His voice low like a whisper as he spoke. “So you don’t want to talk about that night.”

“Nothing happened clearly. I wasn’t in the right mindset,” you said. “Are you sure? Or is that what you tell yourself? To forget it meant something?”

From a distance, an explosion occurs, snatching Leon’s attention from you. You took the opportunity to return to your mission. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

“I need you now,” Leon said, watching you climb out. You repeated his words to yourself, aware of what he meant—it didn’t stop you from walking away.

“You seem busy, have fun Leon.”

It’s been how long? Since Leon went inside that church? Doesn’t matter. Your mind grew consumed by the conversation you and he had.

“That night.” You repeat. That night?! How could he possibly care about that night? You weren’t in your right mind, and he was only being nice, treating you like how he treats others.

Your relationship with him is completely friendly.

“So we won’t be seeing you for a while, huh?” You claimed a seat behind Leon, with your arms resting on the table.

Without turning around, Leon slouch into his seat, sipping his champagne far more than needed. “Yeah. Won’t be making it to your ceremony this week,”

You snatch his drink, chugging the rest even though there wasn’t much left. “That's if I passed my training.”

“You did. I know you did.” Leon stands, resting his palm on your shoulder in reassurance, his touch brought more than he intended. Your breath hitched the moment his finger caressed your skin, weakening your guard beneath his touch.

“Leon,” you call. “Yeah? Need something?” To thank him. You wanted to. Instead, “I-I think I like you. A lot.” Was what came out of your mouth.

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you’re hearing me. I.Like.You. A lot. Maybe too much.” A knot tightens your throat. Unprepared for this type of conversation, you avoid his gaze.

“Look at me.” Leon drops to one knee, hands clasping over yours. You flinch, shortly meeting his rested look. “I know. Wish you had told me sooner.”

“What do you mean?” Watching him stand, you follow his movement.

“Sherry needs me right now. My mission starts tonight. Time is cruel, isn’t it?” Leon grins to lighten the mood.

“Leon.” Your face twisted in resentment, hands clenching once he slipped away. “We’ll talk when I return. I promise.”

“Leon,” drawling his name painfully in a whisper. He lifts your chin and tugs a loose strand behind your ear.

“Good luck at your ceremony.”

His final words that night. Six months ago. Those words felt like a rejection. Was it because you’re younger and he’s older? Or that your relationship to him felt like friendship?

“Unavailable,” you say out loud as if someone were part of your inner thoughts.

“I’m only going to say this once, and I’m not asking. Meet me at the entrance of this center. We need to talk before we head to Raccoon City.”

“Leon?” You jump, pressing a finger over your comms.

Sherry responds instead. “I would’ve sent a vehicle for you already, but Leon insisted on having you as his passenger. Don’t want to miss your ride!”

Your heels dropped on the platform, finding Leon down ahead, leaning on his Porsche. Steadily, your heels took a step with no urgency to have this ‘talk’. Lips sealed till he speaks, you kept your distance.

“We need to talk,” said Leon. You stare at his vehicle, raising your brows in acknowledgment. “Comms off first.” He continued.

And you listened, placing it on his trunk. You waited for him to begin.

“Can you look at me at least. So I know I’m not talking to a wall.” You tilt your head, gradually resting your eyes on his.

You don’t care for this. He knows. You both have places to be. He knows. “You despise me?” He asks, closing in. No answer. “You hate me that much?”

This time, he stepped into your personal space, and in response, your blade met his throat again. “Do not come any closer, Leon.” You warn. And he ignores.

You stride forward, making Leon step backwards this time. Your grip tightens the handle, pressing the blade on the same spot that sliced him. “I’m warning you, or else I’m slicing.”

“Fine by me.”

“What?” Your gaze shifts, as if you have been stunned. “As long as it’s you cutting me. I don’t mind.” You withdraw, pushing Leon against his car with your grip.

His words stole what you wanted to say, leaving your lips parting to think of something. Within seconds, he swaps places with you.

Claiming your knife to toss aside, you became vulnerable. A prey caged by its predator. All that training went down the drain so quickly. You were no longer a professional at combat but a girl lost in her own feelings.

Leon closed in, inches from touching your body. He lifts your hands to cup his cheeks. You slapped him instead, to let the anger build.

There were none. Not even a reaction from him. “Touch me here,” Leon guided your hands over his cheeks again, and you hesitated. Not understanding his intentions with this.

He waited with no care for how long you might take. His sincere eyes knew what you wanted. And casually, you obeyed, spreading your fingers over his heated skin.

It brought comfort to your touch and a hunger from his relaxed face, leaning in for more from you. “And here,” Slowly, he guided you lower, expanding your touch down his neck with a few fingers passing beneath his collar.

Leon hummed in response. His shirt's zipper lowered the further you went, revealing areas you had never seen. You check his eyes for permission, seeking more for your own little enlightenment.

He presses his head beside yours, brushing his heated breath against your earlobe. “Go ahead, I’m all yours.” Your heart stops, body shaken by Leon’s tone.

You were unraveling from inside, enjoying every second he has given you. In return, you didn’t have to ask anything. His own hands explored from your hips and up. Squeezing every portion of you for a whimper.

A sensitive cry. Anything. You gasp, crawling the hairs up Leon’s nape while simultaneously swaying out of his touch. You never felt so sensitive, so intense to these caresses.

“Wait, Leon.” Your voice trembles. “It’s okay. Don’t move.” His raspy voice shivers your entire body; you feel him everywhere. Swallowing you whole in his grasp.

Leon dipped his head lower, kissing your throat, and slid a hand under your outer thigh. He whispered your name, worshiping every inch of you with his tongue.

He loved the way your breath changed as he touched you, your hips arching towards him. You act so afraid, and yet your body knew what it wanted.

You pushed him back, reclaiming the air he had taken from you. He stared down at you, and you looked up. Leon was a mess, and so were you.

“What happened to talking?” You breathe, seizing your fallen knife. “Can’t have you running like earlier,” he quickly answered.

“I wasn’t going to,” you declare. “Yeah, right.”

You scoffed, fueled by his tone. “I’m tired of your games. Leon. I don’t understand what you want, and I don’t care anymore. Have Sherry send me a vehicle. Riding with you will only suffocate me.”

“You don’t think I’m tired? You ignored me about that night for all these months. I call. I messaged.” He argued, his fist clenching. “Could you not feel how much I want you?”

“Could you not see how much I needed you that night?” You snap back. “I needed a simple answer. I don’t care if Sherry needed you. You left—leaving me thinking that gaining these kinds of feelings makes me insane.”

“You’re not insane.”

“I don’t know Leon. I was a student who fell for her trainer. How insane is that?” Silence kicked in. Your body turned away, resting your arms over his vehicle.

You had had enough of this. Of everything. This mission sucks. “You’re not a student anymore. That doesn’t matter.” Leon's voice crawled up behind, dropping his head on your back.

You turn to face him. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I was so focused on my own life. I didn’t mean—” His blue eyes burned in pain, lips struggling to find the right words.

Your hand rests on his chest, sensing his rapid heartbeat. Is this how you make him feel? Your fingers curled into his shirt. “I hate you, you know that, right?”

“I know.” His forehead pressed against yours. “So much.” You continue, grasping a tight hold of his shirt. You step forward, switching spots with Leon while opening the backseat door.

He sits facing you as your grip loosens. “How much time do we have?” you ask, removing your hip belt. “Five, maybe more. Why?” Leon rested on his elbows, watching you.

He knew what you had planned, yet he wanted to spike a nerve in you. “Stop talking, and you’ll see why.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[missyvani]

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Leon Kennedy (RE) x Fem reader

SUMMARY ☣︎ On a personal journey to learn about Elpis. Leon tags along.

TAGS ☣︎ this follows RE9 Requiem’s plot. Useless!Reader. annoyed!Leon. Lack of Trust. Protector!Leon. Violence. Danger. Age difference. Will have a part two if yall like it(?). Wrote this as ideas came out. Insane i know.

AUTHORS N. ☣︎ I love RE9. Only game i’ve been playing everyday since it came out. Its fun.

You remember that night. That long night in 1998. So vivid. As if it had happened hours ago. How could anyone forget the events they encountered in Raccoon City?

After all, you were only a child, unable to understand the environment around you, and of your sister’s rotting face, which did not mean that she was sick, but infected by the sudden outbreak in the city.

So horrifying and unjust, your past drove you to isolation. Avoid human contact and hold no personal relationships. The idea of being close to a single person leads you to assume they, too, will rot away like your family.

“Shit, this is my stop.” You stumble off your seat to exit the bus, gripping a strap of your bag firmly as you enter the streets of Wrenwood. With no hood or umbrella to stay dry, you accept the consequences of getting drenched.

Besides, you are in a hurry and have one chance to meet with Grace Ashcroft—alone. Her mother was your primary suspect a week ago until you discovered her passing, leaving Grace the only one with possible answers.

“Out of my way!!” A man cried, pushing people aside.

His face full of terror and trauma, those who had witnessed watched him distance further, whispering of what a maniac he was. ‘Is he on drugs?’ They wondered.

Though his actions captured their eyes, yours followed another—a taller man. Dressed in a hooded coat, he carried a woman over his shoulder. Could it be? Why does that look like—

“HELP!! SOMEONE!!” screamed another from afar. And this time, people grew worried, watching those who stormed their way, whaling in fear and reversing their vehicles in the opposite direction.

No one had joined them; curiosity had compelled them to wait. Wait and witness what’s causing chaos on these streets.

Your heels trailed through the immense crowd, hearing the clamor of screams and the crash of vehicles; there was no telling what was going on.

“What the hell?!” You step into an open space only to discover a man lying in the middle of an intersection.

Another hovered over his figure, snarling harshly below his jaw with palms subduing his lifeless body. Its head sways at unconsumed spots, maneuvering the spread.

You gasp out loud, realizing what lies before you. “I need to find Grace,” you utter beneath your trembling lips. You began retracing your steps, ensuring a great distance before veering a heel to face away.

“GAHH!!!” A woman tackles you, aiming her teeth to penetrate any part of your limbs. You manage to defend yourself, gripping both ends of her wide mouth as if she were a fierce wolf edging to bite your neck and finish you off.

Her sloppy arms pounded your face to strengthen her attempts. Gradually weakening the grip that kept you both far apart. Until— suddenly, so suddenly parts of her brain splattered over your face and ground.

Her arms hung on your chest, head wobbling in your grasp. You then push her off and scuffle away to catch your breath. “Oh my god! Oh my god!!” Trails of her blood traveled along the rain.

How was the virus able to spread again? Didn’t the bomb wipe out all the infected? Your chest lifts rapidly. Is this a dream? How real is this? You panic, eyeing the bleeding corpse.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe now.” An assuring tone circles around in heavy steps.

Your gaze followed his shoes before dragging them up a man’s figure. An older man with a stern look. A look that you were familiar with. Like he had seen things. Things you too have seen.

Memories of 1998 flooded back like a flash, resurfacing fears you haven’t felt for years. Your skin has gone colder than before, your breath heightening with every lift.

“Hey! Are you hearing me? You need to get off the street. Staying here won’t do you any good,” said the man, dropping on one knee.

“Please don’t leave me here! Please! I don’t want to be alone!” Your arms found their way beneath his coat and down his lower waist, grasping what you could of him. To embrace, to cling to what may bring comfort.

The man hesitated whether to return to your touch, your small fingers spreading almost over his ribs and curling the second he moves.

He felt your tremors, your familiar fear. Like you’ve been haunted your entire life.

“Stand for me, come on. You’ll get a cold sitting in the rain.” His fist clenches at first before pressing on your lower back to guide you up.

And you obeyed. Buried under his coat, exposed to his warmth. You gradually regained yourself. Clouding out the situation from earlier. A reminder replayed in your mind.

“Grace!” You jolt out of his arms. “That was her!” The man adjusted his coat, halting his steps. “Who? The woman I’ve killed?”

“No! No! Uh.. The woman that tall man was carrying! I need to find her.” You retrieve your fallen bag, racing ahead on a surge of unexpected adrenaline.

“Tall man?” His brows furrowed. “Victor Gideon?” He met with your shoulders, matching your quickened pace. “Victor? Who? I’m not sure. I don’t know, but I’ve seen Grace.”

And just when your heels found themselves picking up speed, a grip on your arm prevents you from continuing further. “Now hold on, what’s your business in this mess?”

“That’s none of your concern.” You slide his grip off. Leaving him to reach again, you slap his palm without hesitation. “Who are you?” You ask while strolling backwards.

“Leon Kennedy.” He replaces your steps, tightening his features.

“What’s your business?” you ask, halting shortly after Leon retreats from reaching. And yet your arms hid behind your figure, sensing something false in his actions.

“None of your concern,” answered Leon, leaning his head over a shoulder, checking his gun’s mag.

“All these questions are getting us nowhere.”

“I wonder why.” He wings the gun onto his hip. “Listen, I don't know-” Leon cuts you off with a wave of his finger, stepping aside as mumbles escaped from his mouth.

A waste of precious time, you thought. By now, you would be one step closer to finding Grace, but hanging around this Leon Kennedy extends your search more than you had intended.

“You should go home and stay inside,” Leon suggests, fleeing towards earlier’s wreckage where his vehicle remains untouched. “I’m coming.”

You shouldn’t,” he disagrees. “I want to.”

“Can’t.” You follow him. “I need to.” Leon’s head turns. “After what I’ve seen earlier? Yeah, right. You’re dead the second you make contact with an infected.”

“I’m not asking you to look after me. I only want to tag along.” You declare stealing a step before Leon. Closing the gap between you both, he held his chin up and away from your piercing expression.

“Once we reach our destination. We’re separating,” said Leon. “Fine.”

“Don’t call me for help.”

“Fine.” His vexed eyes met your determined look and scoffed. “Good, we don’t have much time.”

The sight of Rhodes Hill care center rubbed you the wrong way. Its towering structure appeared unfriendly. A sense you gained once Leon passed the entrance.

Is this where Victor had taken Grace? What’s her connection with Elpis? You question, stepping out of Leon’s Porsche to be his shadow. Ensuring your existence doesn’t bother him more.

You kept out of his sight and spoke when it felt right to. “Out of all places, this is where Victor chose to hide.” You say, consuming the building’s interior design, which pierced your eyes with its endless white shade.

A dread ache grew in your stomach, convincing you that you, too, would have gone crazy if white walls were all you saw in a center. “Leave Victor to me. Find your friend and get—”

“Mr. Kennedy, welcome. Dr. Gideon has been expecting you.” A woman interrupts, staring directly at Leon. She hugged her clipboard, offering a smile after meeting his eyes.

“Funny. I don’t remember getting an invitation.”

“Well, he’s waiting for you.” Her head tilts. “Can’t have that, can we?” Leon grins, turning to follow the woman’s lead.

Ending the ignorance of your existence, the woman brings her attention to you. “And I see that you brought a friend along. She’s going to have to stay here.”

“I’m sorry, what?” A frown appears. “No. I don’t trust her being out here by herself, especially when it’s this quiet,” said Leon.

And without creating a fuss. She returned to Leon, saying, “I see. Follow me, please.” Her figure then spins, guiding you and Leon through the center’s hall.

Everything felt off. Her demeanor felt off. You couldn’t figure out why. This whole situation brought out many emotions— no focus. Leaving you isolated in your mind behind Leon.

Their conversation was a blur. Blocked by your senses, you kept silent. Allowing uncontrollable feelings to weaken into nothingness.

Then, in a flash, the woman says, “Please, wait here,” closing the doors once you both enter a room.

You snap back to reality, with no memory of walking. Leon examined the unknown room in search of a clue, any clue, before facing you.

“What is it?” Leon settles himself onto a desk. “I dont like this. I-I have a bad feeling.” Your arms intertwined, troubled eyes praying for a false alarm.

“Felt that on the way here.” Leon holds up a group photo of Victor Gideon and his colleagues. “Victor wishes to see you, not me, we should’ve listened to whoever that woman was!” You cried in growing fear.

“Code six! Code six! All staff, initiate emergency protocols!” A speaker from above announces.

“I can’t stay in here.” You head for freedom out of this suffocating room but are beaten to it by the woman.

“We need to leave immediately!”

“What’s going on?” Leon asks, forcing himself off the desk.

“I don’t know what’s happening. Some kind of mass hysteria. The hospital is on lockdown.” She spun, sensitive at the sound of shoes dragging.

A man. Rotten like skin, nerves dark as his drooling mouth. He held a chainsaw with one hand, mouthing out in struggle. “Cut..out..” He triggered his weapon on with an instant pull.

“Behind me now!” shouted Leon. But no response. You froze by the sight of a familiar look, your sister. Body stiff and unable to function. Blood splattered over your face, worse than before.

Bits of the woman’s insides streamed down your collarbone, face dripping with blood. “Can’t you hear me!?” Leon pushes you aside, dodging the swung chainsaw, and stuns him with a bullet or two.

Nearly losing your balance from your overwhelming fear, Leon drags you out of the room by your wrist. “Stay with me, come on.” He loosens his grip once your hand lies on his shoulder, swinging his gun for any surprises.

Gradually, your hand expands up his shoulder, confused by his reason for this. You spoke against your agitated breath. “Shouldn’t I hide. I’m useless against them.”

Leon yanks your palm further up, finishing his shots on the same man. “I can’t protect you if I don't know where you are.” He answers, reloading.

“Then what am I doing?” You trail over his steps, hearing thuds enclosing and growls echoing. “Follow my movements and be my eyes from behind,” Leon advises, strolling backwards.

“And if they’re behind?”

“Tap me or call my name.” He turns, sensing another making an appearance soon. “And don’t look at their face, can’t have you frozen again.”

“I’m sorry.” You apologize, lowering your head.

“Don’t. Focus,” Leon starts blazing his gun, quickening his movements across the floor. You had trouble mirroring him. It was unlike any physical activity you've done.

Dodge, slide back. step forward. Dodge. Too much. “Leon! I can’t. I’m a liability.” Your shoes drew carelessly, slowing their pace. Even your hand slid off his shoulder by a sudden urge to separate.

And swiftly, Leon retrieves your hand. “That doesn’t mean shit. You just need to watch my back.” His expression angrier. “Can you do that?”

Leon tug you far enough from the mob, keening for an answer despite enthralling his focus on the current situation. You weren’t sure if he was upset by your lack of courage or that he couldn’t find a way to protect you.

And without mouthing a word through your parted lips. You nod, checking the zombie's distance behind him. “Good, I will get us out of here. Stay close.”

Leon then turned, wasting no time in shooting. He remained still. Waiting for your hand. “I’m ready.” You say, inhaling what may be your final relaxed breath.

Your sight remained low, mirroring somewhat of Leon’s movements. You hated the growls of the undead, the smell of infected blood painted below your shoes.

Being in this room longer than needed, overwhelmed with your sanity. After years of fearing the virus that stole your family. You were nowhere near ready to face your past, not like this.

“Leon!” You grip his shoulder, signaling him to turn and take down what may be the last infected.

“You’re safe. I think that was the last of them.” assured Leon, lowering his gun to check on you. He saw clearly your growing fear. Hands held over your chest, they shook uncontrollably.

It bothered him so much that he didn't ask if you were okay. He took this opportunity to comfort you by clasping your hands in his and raising them to his chest.

“I know you’re scared right now, but if we leave this room sooner rather than later. We can save your friend.”

You nod in silence and in complete surrender to his hold. Leon escorted you towards the exit, loosening his grip to grab the chainsaw from earlier. You found yourself reaching for him once he moved.

“Wait there,” said Leon, cutting most of the doors' thick barrel bolt before kicking his way in. Then returned to you, allowing one hand to intertwine with yours.

You accept his gesture and hold him firmly with both hands as he uses his other to grab a blanket, anything that looks clean and hasn’t been laid on a corpse.

“So you’re a survivor from Raccoon City.” Leon spins, wiping the blood off your face. “How did you-”

“You knew what it was the moment you saw their face. It explains why you get so stiff around them.” He gently wipes across your cheek. “I don’t want to talk about it.” You declare.

“Fine by me.” He tosses the rag, continuing forward. His gloved thumb then caresses your hand, offering more comfort than he already does.

It was his way of showing how relatable he felt about Raccoon City. That night changed him, and possibly you, too. “This is where we separate, right?”

Your shoes halt. “We’re both here for different reasons. You don’t have to protect an unskilled person like me.” You said, releasing his gloved hand.

“Trust me, you’re not the first.” Leon grinned. You look up at him, and he stares down. His hand reclaiming yours again. Like he had refused to separate.

“What do you mean?” Your brow lifts. “I’m with you till this ends.” He said quickly, eyes fixed on you and pacing mindlessly out where the entrance lay from below.

Your lips almost cracked a smile at his caring demeanor. It made you want to do better— face the infected without freezing up. “Two hands,” said Leon, staring ahead.

Aware of what he meant. You held his hand with both of yours. “Shit, who is that?” Leon spots ahead a woman getting yanked across the floor, screaming her lungs out.

You immediately took charge, recognizing who she might be.“Grace!! I’m coming!!”

[missyvani]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 ꫂ ၴႅၴ

Tom Welling & David Corenswet x F Reader

SUMMARY ꫂ ၴႅၴ You love Tom. You love David. How will you choose? Why not both? (Forgive any mistakes! Byeeee)

Tom plants you on the kitchen counter, standing between your open thighs. His lips brush along your collarbone, skin shaken by his heated breath.

A cold quake shivers up your nape as his fingertips slide down the spaghetti strap. “Tom, we can’t,” You leaned beside his head, murmuring in his ear.

“We have time,” Tom says, pulling back to meet your eyes, which radiate with lust, like a signal for his return. And so he listened. Lips intertwined, tongues rubbing as the air combined.

He kissed you out of hunger, consuming what he could to claim every part of you. It was aggressive and desperate. How could you complain? 

He would whimper in response, edging for more air than you provided. This drove you mad, loving every groan and view of his features tightening.

It only urged you to want him more, a taste that you could devour nonstop. 

Tom breaks the kiss, whispering with his lips inches away from yours. Feral eyes lowering down your figure. ”I'll be quick.” His voice was like a tongue between your legs.

Touching your sensitive areas to have you surrender. After all, it's too late. Your body was pulsing. Thighs hugging his waist and fingers hidden in his dark layers. 

Except your lips refused. “Tom, the stove is on.” His grip beneath your knee forced your lower stomach against him.

Imprisoning you under his hold, the words meant nothing to him but a lame excuse. With the strap hanging further below your waist, a breast appeared exposed.

“Stop being difficult.” His fangs pressed over your nipple, penetrating your skin hard enough to leave a bite mark–not too hard–forcing a pain whimper out of you.

Tongue swirled in thirst, leaving a coat of his saliva, which felt as wet as you were between the legs. 

Satisfaction streaked through him, making Tom more determined to push you over.

God, to claim a stunning specimen like you makes him act in ways no man would think they will still feel in a marriage seemed surreal.

Marriages are known to be complicated. Especially after a honeymoon. Massive disagreements, low intimacy, and poor communication.

All was to be expected.

It’s been a year since your marriage. And Tom never fails to remind you how crazy you make him feel. No matter how rough work can get, he carries enough energy to show you how much your presence was missed. 

His love and care felt enough. There was nothing more you needed. Tom is a great husband and father to your only child.

“Can’t stay for breakfast. Running late.” Tom’s watch jiggles, carrying a leather Flapover with his coat hugged over his arm.  

You sat at the dining table with a prepared plate and swayed your glass of orange juice.

“I told you.” You say sipping. Tom stood before the entrance, turning his head towards you. “Is Ellise returning to us today?”

“Yes. Can you pick her up after work? I won’t make it on time” You swallowed.

“How come?” He asks again.

“My spa appointment. Remember?” A smile smears over you.

Two years ago. Possibly three. You explored New York with no sense of living in a city or how the people may treat you compared to home.

Your entire life evolved around green, dirt, and animals. A place in the countryside. A city, though? Not so much. Surrounded by it, you were overwhelmed. 

You seemed out of place, like you won’t belong, no matter how comfortable you get. You will always be a country girl raised by animals, not people.

And Tom? He, too, grew up in open fields and ranches. But most of his life was in New York. 

He attended schools and was educated by his father to know his family’s business, which he would later take over once he reached the right age.

A whole future planned. He committed to the city–a place he felt most valuable and worth living in once he met you.

A curious woman halts her path from his side view. Her eyes of wonder, reading a menu beside the entrance, catch Tom’s attention. Your beauty is intimidating and dreamy.

Your glistened skin appears soft enough to feel like silk. Tom can almost sense you embracing him through the glass. An urgency to trace your fingertips across his bare back.

He never felt crazy until your eyes met his. It caught him by surprise. That afternoon, there was no separating him from you. And you from him.

Tom became one of your reasons to live in the city, to pursue exploring more of what you had never experienced, and to share it with him.

On a night set to be celebrated for one of his friends significant career improvement. Tom invites you to their gallery party for an introduction. 

Was this a good idea? Stepping into an open Art gallery without Tom’s guide? No. Yet eager to discover the unknown thrilled you.

For sure, not every guest knows each other and is probably looking for an excuse to party somewhere.  

You could never forget the smell of wine, the harsh perfume whipping into your nostrils—so much laughter and chatter in every corner.

Your nerves tensed slightly by their few-second glance. Their dull expressions of spotting you were enough for your body to want to hide. To escape from this growing misery.

Your heels veer you towards a painting–a massive one– It may not have been your best escape, but your best distraction to alter your troubles. A way of forcing you into a pensive mindset.

Drowning all the noises surrounding you, leaving just you. Alone in a world of your own. No sense of weird stares. No strong smells, only the fresh air of home. Your comfort spot. 

“What are we looking at here?” A hushed voice snaps you back to reality, swinging your head where his voice echoed from.

“Tom, I was–” You pause. The man's height hovered over, palm hidden beneath his coat, and his other firmly holding the glass’s rim. 

Dumbfounded by the height difference. His hooded lids struck yours, darkening in color. His throat swallowed what was left of his champagne, leaving yours dry and gulping on salvia. 

It didn’t make sense why this man made you numb to speech, why your body refused to retouch a misplaced string over your ear.

Almost as if you were terrified. In a good way.

Nothing made sense. “Tom? There’s plenty Toms somewhere here.” He directs behind, forbidding his gaze from ripping off yours.

“Do I scare you?” You found him studying you intensely, his distance closing for a different crack of behavior from you, predicting what you might do if he enters your personal space. “No,” you whisper.

“Something on my face then? A mark?” He angles his head. “No,” you say again, louder, gradually regaining your ability to speak clearly. You step back.

The man’s darting stare felt dangerous. A flash of his troubled intentions reflected in your eyes. And you wanted no part of it. “Say again where Tom might be.”

He sips his champagne again, but longer as if he were purposely extending his conversation with you, then tilting the glass away.

Tongue brushed the liquid's faint taste on his lower lip, dropping his arm that held the empty glass. To you, he felt near, more near than he already is. 

Breathing his warmed breath over your ear, then down your shoulder, where your thin strands would stand by a gentle touch.

The man was touching you without touching you. God, what are you getting yourself into? “Ah, you made it! I wanted to introduce you to David Corenswet. My best friend since my first day in School.”

Tom breaks in between from across the room, gesturing with his champagne arm as he gets closer. 

“David, this is my girlfriend,” said Tom, joining your side with an arm placed on your hips. You nearly jumped.

“The country girl?” David said, amusement coating his voice. “Explains why she’s shy to speak.” 

“Excuse me–” Tom laughed over your words. “Tell me, does she say more than Yes and No?” Your brows narrowed.

“Why? Do you plan to replace your best friend?” jested Tom, sipping his glass. David’s lips extend further apart. The longer you stare at his eyes, the more your breathing slows.

Tom didn’t have the same view of David as you. He clearly was blind by his manners. How could he see?

Before David had his chance of answering, another person butted in on the conversation, announcing that everyone must gather around for a speech. 

A long speech that was mostly off-topic than why the host had everyone gathered here tonight bore the guests until the end, but they never failed to give a final cheer, expressing their support for the host's massive accomplishment.  

During the final hour in the gallery, Tom became your tour guide, showing you every art displayed around.

He described each one that made sense to him, and spoke of incoming plans (related to family business) for the following weeks. Which means his work will have Tom more than you. How cruel. 

You figure this would bother you, irritating your need for quality time with Tom. But during your two weeks alone, the only thing that kept your mind from dwelling was David.

Meeting him almost felt like it happened yesterday. He left a part of him with you, a curse. There was no forgetting him; your body and mind shared no agreement.

Alone, primarily for another day, and strolling down familiar streets near your apartment allowed your lungs to inhale fresh air, distracting your brain from overthinking.

Enjoy what’s in front of you. Ignore your troubles for this afternoon. 

Your heels halt, reaching the end of the sidewalk. You stood between a crowd, their figures much taller and dressed in formal attire. They all were here for the same reason—to walk across. 

Shoving for a spot out of the group, the tips of your toes reached the sidewalk's edge. And freed you from getting mashed. Your lungs then expanded. 

Across the street, there was somewhat the same crowd, more congregated, and faces glued to their screens. There was no surprise in that.

“Excuse me,” said a man marching past once pedestrians are allowed to cross. You apologized, stepping aside. 

As much as you would love to cross over. Your body refused. It's him. It has to be.

That face of his that's not registering a sense of you viewing his every move remained low. Eyes glued to his phone, then at what’s head once crossed. 

‘Has to be David. There’s no mistaking him as someone. Can’t be.’ You thought, facing him as he distances away.

It wouldn’t hurt to say Hi? Have a chance to speak with him. Become friends like you both intended.

Instead, you kept your distance and replaced his steps, matching his speed on foot. You grew close enough with zero chances to hide behind a body or in an alley.

You need to speak to him. You have to. A throbbing urge to hear his voice again is all you wanted. Desired is a better word. 

“David!” You call in a low tone, failing to speak louder. Your throat clears, trying again.

This time, your voice cracked. His name echoed. Your voice like a dying bird was loud enough for the people behind you to hear.

To avoid any more embarrassment, you swung your purse directly behind David's head for his immediate attention.

“Ow! what was that for?!” David turns, caressing over the spot you hit. His lids rose from spotting you behind. Strange and unannounced? Yes, of course.

Your cheeks burned at the sight of his alluring profile. His beard hid his dimples more than before.

Not that it mattered—it somehow sparked the butterflies within you. Your breath hitched when his gaze locks with yours. Oh, please speak. Please say anything. This silence is beginning to kill you. 

“Were you following me?” he says, moving closer and revealing his heart-stopping smile. “Does it matter?” You place your hands on either side of his beard like he were your precious item.

Your lips meet his in surprise, forbidding him from having a chance to decline it at first. His taste is foreign and soft. No regret spills through your bones once you kiss him. 

Not a single nerve was affected by guilt. You liked how secretive this felt, how David made you do the unthinkable by following him for a kiss. David spent no less than a second to respond.

He held onto you like he was being pulled away. Fingers curled on your hips as his lips further explored yours. A devour, you had to break from once he started. 

Your flushed lips parted. What have you done? “Is this how you imagine we would meet again?” He leans his forehead on yours.

This was the part where you tell him this was a mistake. You did not know what took over you and only wished to be his friend. This would only hurt his relationship with Tom. 

Or so you thought. “I have to go.” You push him off with enough force, wiping your lips before pacing down the opposite direction. Escaping wasn’t easy. 

“What? You can’t just appear out of nowhere, kiss me like you miss me, and then leave. That’s not fair.” His shoulders met yours. Your face washes with disgust, hoping for David to disappear. 

“And so? Are you going to cry?” Your pace quickens. David’s feature tightens, yanking you off the busy sidewalk and into an alleyway. With no care for the trash and its horrific smells, and sleeping homeless. 

“Get off me!” You pull the same move you did earlier for freedom, but his grip held your arm tight. Your skin felt penetrated.

“Let go!” You slap him. David’s then head turned, his cheek reddening a print of your palm.

“I’m sorry for kissing you. It meant nothing. This week has just been stressful and lonely for me. I miss Tom being home. He’s been far too busy lately.” You declare, distancing.

“Bullshit.” David cups your cheeks, bringing his lips close to yours. You look up at David, terrified, and he stares down, infuriated.

“Don’t hold back on me. Tell me that you miss me because I fucking did. I have been losing my mind for the past few weeks. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how pretty you look amongst everyone that night.” 

You fight against his grip. “Don’t pretend you felt nothing.” You both stumble further down the alley, his lips kissing yours, demanding your surrender.

You tell yourself this isn’t right. Tom is your lover. David is his best friend. You shouldn't let yourself get attached. But why stop?

You wanted this. Your body wanted him. Oh, his kiss even made your blood boil. Still aware of his surroundings, David leaned onto you, guiding you to the nearest wall to pin you.

And beside a dumpster, its smell of fetid decomposition invaded both your airways.

You dug your claws beneath his thin, buttoned shirt, gripping what you could of his bare skin. Red trails down his neck to chest were visible in the sun, darkening by the second as you trace over.

David restrained himself from ripping your clothes. He knew doing this publicly would cause attention.

And he refuses to let that happen. All he needed to do was keep you quiet. David placed your leg around his waist, bodies merging with no space in between.

The air was hotter than ever. You felt how rock solid he was, your touch–your taste—was driving him insane. “David,” you uttered out of breath. 

With your anniversary peaking around the corner, finding gifts for Tom has never felt more challenging than ever. He has everything that he wants: you and the life he has. What more could he ask?

To know you wish. These days, you have been his priority. Not a single hint of a gift. 

Hours pass in a flash from carrying the basic house wife duties to leaving the apartment for your ‘so called’ appointment. You had time to change for a proper outfit.

A shirt and jeans. Yet you couldn’t. Either was because the chores drained you or that erotic sex Tom drilled you in for a hour or two. So over your black thin gown was a buttoned blue knitted sweater.

Long sleeves, hem at the length of your hips. It kept you warm from afternoons breeze. How cozy.

Your fingertips traced the white ledge on the second floor of the Guggenheim museum as you ambled further up. The place was awfully less crowded and quieter than your last few visits.

Sharing your life and secrets with your friend in a busier crowd was less appealing. No one would dare to listen.

Your voice amongst the rest spoke at once—a ticket to not receiving one single glance of concern. Approaching the third floor, your attention veered to the displays. 

Observing guests standing absolutely still before them, as if they were embodying it, absorbing every piece, the longer they stared.

Ahead, somebody–a man–sat on a cushioned stool—enough for two people. He, too, stared at a display before him. Not a single limb moved. He was frozen like a statue. 

And so you paused, watching him pensively. A reason why didn’t interest you. At this point, you didn’t feel like yourself.

Your body was no longer in your control and moved on its own. Claiming a spot next to the man. You didn’t dare to see his profile or ask if it was all right for you to sit next to him. 

Blind to the displays story, your head tilts. Palms intertwining and eyes looking elsewhere but at the art.

“You come here often?” You asked at random. No response. Only a Shuffle. “When I feel like it. What about you?” answered the man.

“Same here.” Your posture leans, crossing a leg over the other. More shuffling queued in, echoing a bit louder than earlier.

“Why did you decide to come today?” asked the man softly. You held your small smile, joyed that you hadn’t scared him off by your presence.

“Waiting for my friend. She’s late.”

“A friend? Not lover?” He says quickly. Your head turns. “I'm sorry?” David Corenswet. He was already staring at you. Eyes amused by your struck face.

His expression grew irked in a blink. For some reason, he hasn’t looked the same since your last time with him. The difference was hard to identify. Possibly more Handsome? Those dimples. 

Oh! “You shaved?” You hesitantly exhaled. “I shaved? That's the first thing you say after two years?” His brows lift.

“What did you want me to say? I haven’t seen you for two years.”

“You know why. Don’t act like you didn’t.”

Really? This is how it starts? “I remember you saying I must tell Tom about us, or you will. You were threatening to ruin my life!” You fumed. 

David pushed off the stool. “I’m not having this argument again. I have better issues to think about than you.”

Hoping this would be your final moment with David by watching him storm off, you instead followed.

“David!” you call, grabbing at his sleeves. He shoved you. Refusing defeat, you grab again, better than before. His pace slowed. 

“Why didn't you come to my wedding? Tom wanted you as his best man.” You breathed, dropping your palms.

“How could I watch the woman I love marry my best friend?” David’s jaw clenched. “You even had a daughter with him months ago.” 

He refrained from showing his face, the emotions unraveling through him. “You still love me?” Your heels circled his figure. Your gaze was up at his gloomy features. Those ocean eyes lost their bright colors.

“Please don't do this. Not again.” You put your palms on either side of his cheeks, wiping a fallen tear. His skin felt just like how you remembered.

Soft and comforting. Holding him till you couldn’t can only separate you both. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t live this secretive life. You said how unhappy you were and how your love for Tom isn’t the same as ours. You had a chance to break it off before your marriage. Before—“

he paused. “having a kid.” 

“David, please.” You plead.

“Don’t. Stop with the lies because you still love Tom enough to start a family. And I’m just your guilty pleasure.”  

Your head shakes while David speaks. “That’s not true. I loved you as much as I love Tom. I-I just got stuck. Couldn’t figure out who to choose. You don’t understand how hard it was.”

David’s head dropped, his face indifferent. Another plea of yours will only push him further from you. Another word of it is all that it takes. Those eyes expressed the feeling clearly.

You reach to hold his hands, but he swings them away the moment you touch him. Sadness clouded your features.

You were given a choice, and you chose one. Be with Tom, be happy, except give David pain, make him believe you both had something more.

And you still chose Tom, and, reshaping that pain again, David could not bear it. “Come to my apartment tonight, from quarter to eight p.m. I want you there before Tom comes home.”

“I’m not doing this again—”

“I want to tell Tom about us. He deserves to know. No more secrets.”

Your parted lips widen, lungs extending out air. Tom bit your inner thighs, marking every part of you as his own. God, those fangs of his… Your heart races at the sensation.

His teeth poke your sensitive skin, pulling your flesh within his bite. So harsh, so staggering. 

He was aware of how quickly your body burns against his touch—from your aggressive tugs of his hair and your shaking thighs, weakening from his teasing.

It pained him not to rip off what was left on your bare body and his. He’s beginning to regret agreeing to “no penetrating” tonight. 

Tom gently growls over his final mark, sinking his teeth for a darker color. Dark enough to appear as a bruise, for a longer-lasting effect. You wiggled, palms pushing his head. A mixture of pain and rapture overcame you. 

A longing cry escapes your mouth. Twisting knots in your guts, there was no hiding how excruciating it felt. Not that you hated it. You loved it. 

Tom slips a thumb between your teeth, eager to know your pain from a bite. You bit down without hesitation, imprisoning his arm with yours, resulting in him climbing on top, troubled in holding a smile.

An agonizing look washes over. “Alright, I get it. Stop..” A chuckle slips out. 

And you listened. His thumb then slips free. “Are you sure you want this? There’s so much we can do.” Tom beams a mischievous grin.

“Exactly. There’s so much we can do without you inside me,” you said, kicking Tom off and leaning up from the mattress. 

He stumbled backwards, regaining his stance. Tom’s tousled hair made him look like you kicked him out of his sleep; you almost giggled.

“And what’s that?” he asks, watching you jump towards him, undoing your underwear without breaking eye contact. His breath hitched at the sight, veering his eyes down his waist belt. 

Your two fingers hooked his belt, yanking Tom inches from your bare body. You place a comforting kiss across his chest and up the collarbone.

His head tilts over, aroused by how flushed your kisses felt. A quake of bliss shook his veins so excessively. Without awareness, his eyes rolled to the feeling. Then his lids close once you reach his jawline.

“You’ll see” You whispered, caressing his cheek with your other palm and slipping to the bathroom.

“I need a shower. I feel sticky from all of tonight's dancing.” 

Tom's expression dulls, his needs vexed from not being satisfied. ’I should’ve known,’ He thought and dropped face-first on the mattress. Arms spread and face inhaling your scent from the sheets. 

Waiting will only make him more impatient for you. And just when that thin patience snapped, the door received a knock. His head lifts, waiting for another noise.

You were kept unbothered—deafened even with the shower running. Knock.

Tom heads for the door, swinging it open to shield the mess. A friend of his appeared before him. Still in a tuxedo after hours of your wedding. He held a file beneath his armpit, face tightened with uncertainty. 

“You said if I proved you wrong about her. I wouldn’t have to come here tonight and forget our conversation. Well—” The man opens his file, pulling out multiple photographs. 

“I'm sorry, Tom. I think your wife and David have been having an affair for months. Possibly a year.” He claimed as Tom examined the photos.

Each one reveals you kissing David before entering a motel. And separating an hour before Tom's shift ends.

“The spa appointments were her excuse for being late when actually she went to see David.” He continued. 

Tom’s brows narrowed, bending the photo with his grip. He slid them away and tossed the file back. “Be at my desk when I get back.” His friend frowned at his reaction.

“That’s it, Tom? You can’t live with this cheater. She fucked your best friend!” Tom snatched him by the collar, teeth gritting.

“I know what I saw. I don’t need you repeating what I saw in my head. I know, Peter! Now, get the fuck out of here and let me figure out how I want to live my life.”

Tom closes the door with his shoe, carrying sleepy Ellise. “Can you make a bottle for Ellise while I tuck her to bed?” said Tom, dropping his Flapover beside the door. 

He swung where the hall lay only to find David and you standing in the kitchen, putting away the dishes together. You then approached him, swinging the towel over your shoulder.

“Tom, we need—”

His blue eyes darken. “Make the bottle. I have to tuck her in.” Your arms raised, offering assistance. “I can do it. You have been—”

“No, I got it,” Tom assured you. “It’s okay. I haven’t really done anything today.” You reach for Ellise, but Tom turns. 

“No-No..She’s sleeping. Just let-let me do it.” Tom stammers. “Tom, really I can—”

Tom repeats his words sternly, striding to Ellise’s bedroom. Not once did he steal a glance at David. You didn’t understand where this attitude came from. Why wasn’t he excited to see his best friend? 

With a prepared bottle set, you joined Tom in the bedroom. Silence reigned in; there was no reason to speak once you arrived. You were too afraid to.

Tom then seized the bottle from you without a thank you and sang a short lullaby in whispers. 

As for David, he found himself a new area to stand in: the living room. Arms folded, eyes wandering throughout the apartment, sitting felt wrong. Standing felt wrong, too. 

Just existing in this apartment rubbed him off weirdly. He felt like he had no right to be here unless there was an invitation, and being here any longer would only make him sweat neurotically.

Appearing on David’s sideview was his friend. Striding too fast for him to react. Your voice worried him. “Stop! Tom, please calm down!”

Tom tackled him on the sofa, gripping what he could of David and attempting a hard blow. David rolled them off to the couch across, shuffling between grips. 

You stood aside, pleading for one of them to calm down. Things only got worse when they took turns slamming into the shelves, cracking every frame that hung on the wall.

As they somehow traveled near the entrance, David pinned him to the floor, fist hung in the air. They both stared into each other’s faces furiously, as much as he wanted to offer Tom the first blow.

He couldn’t do it.

Instead, with help, you pulled him off Tom. Your palms facing them both with caution. “This needs to stop. Please, " you cried, blubbing with tears. 

Tom got up on his feet, straightening his shirt, and so did David. You remained between them. “We were meaning to tell you,” David said, rolling his sleeves. 

“David.” You uttered. “She said she was going to tell you before getting married. But she didn’t, so I left.” He continues. “David, stop.” 

“He knew all along. David.”

“What?” He refused to believe. “Tom told me. He found out about us during our wedding night!” Your arms dropped. “Tom knew.”

A mystified look washes over David, veering his attention to Tom, who refused to speak. His expression was unreadable. He glanced at you and David with nothing to express.

“Do you love her?” asked Tom. 

David’s throat clears, tugging at his shirt's wrinkles. “I do.” Tom nods, brushing his bangs back. “And you?” Your head shakes. “Tom, please?” 

“Answer.” And hesitantly, you spoke. “I do, but I love you both equally. I can’t choose between the two of you!” His head shakes. “You don’t love us the same. Cut the bullshit.” 

You clung to Tom’s back, embracing your arms over his chest. There was no letting go, no matter how much he begged. Losing him would be like a missing piece to a puzzle.

“I love you, Tom. I love you so much, I don’t want to lose what we have.”

Your hold loosens as he turns around, soothed by your gentle hold. He buries his face in the depths of your neck. His tears are riveting your collarbone. You then turned to David. Who timidly joined in, brushing a palm over Tom’s hair.

He stared into your reddened eyes. Cheeks painted faintly red. He looked at you as if he were receiving a final view of you. “I love you too, David.” 

His lips touched yours, inches from sucking in your breath. You close your eyes, allowing him to explore what longed for him all these years. Yet, nothing.

“I love you too—” Your eyes open. “But not like before. I waited too long for you. You made your choice the moment you married him.” David distances himself. 

“David.”

“You chose this.” His last words left you struck, dazed by his leave. Tom withdraws from your arms. His face was more saddened with tears.

“I need you out of this apartment tomorrow. Have your friend pick you up before I am up. You’ll be allowed to see Ellise as much as you want.”

“Tom, what are—” your brows narrowed. “Anything you say now is meaningless to me. I can’t live with you knowing you love someone else.”

[missyvani]

𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖

Johnny Storm x F reader (Human Torch)

SUMMARY ঔঌ Johnny joins you in your apartment believing you wish to know about his recent photoshoot covers but you had other plans.

(part one)

Two weeks. Two weeks since the interview with Johnny Storm. You have done your job, and Johnny provided what he could from the best of his knowledge. (Despite the minor setbacks you both had)

Publication needed for your paper was approved; all you had to do was turn in your final draft. This article was to be featured on the front page. 

People of New York and worldwide will finally be given answers. Answers that will shine a massive amount of hope within families.

Especially you. Yet beneath the piles of ongoing assignments from the corner of your desk lies your final draft–Hidden between layers, it blended right with the others. 

Two weeks with no word or view of your paper. Your boss starts questioning your position as a journalist. “Oi!” He slams his desk furiously.

His face smeared in red, as if his anger felt suffocating. “Where’s that article you so urgently wanted to publish?” A puff of fog blows towards your direction. 

Your arms folded, leaning on one leg, and huffed out of annoyance. Another crashout.

Maybe telling your boss you have a story that might turn heads and be a topic on people's minds for weeks is probably your worst move so far.

“I don’t have the paper anymore, boss. It was on my desk; the next thing I know, it’s gone.” 

Has everyone in this workspace gone mad? All you have received these two weeks are stares from your coworkers and boss.

Somehow, word of ‘the interview’ had been passed around. Everyone knew you spoke to Johnny Storm in your apartment(alone) and is dying to know what happened. 

His frown sinks. “So? Why aren’t you rewriting it? Was your conversation not recorded?”

You nod. “It was. The recorder is gone.” Your boss slams his desk again, more aggressive that it had caught you off guard.

“Do you not understand why I need this?”

“I don’t care if this article cause some concern for the Fantastic Four or (alone)Johnny Storm. The people of New York deserve answers. WE deserve to know who these unknown visitors are.”

Your posture straightens, mystified by his words.

“Aren’t you worried that the public’s trust in Fantastic Four might change? Kids will grow up unhappy, and this city won’t feel as safe as it now because the truth was revealed. Yes, I know everyone is still afraid of maybe seeing a figure appear over your heads again, but what if my paper isn’t the answer?”

Another smoke blows directly at your face. He didn’t bother speaking a word, nor attempted to silence your thoughts.

And so you continued, “I believe if I publish this now, the public won’t take it kindly. More uncertainty will spread, and loss of trust of the people who literally had protected our planet will grow. Our world divides!

Maybe getting the Fantastic Four to pay attention to this principle and address to these concerns themselves without having someone like me call them out— will keep New York together.” You finished in one breath.

You felt your lips curve into a smirk, never felt prouder than what you had written.

Your boss, in return, had no change in expression. Instead, he waved a palm over your shoulder to motion you out of his office. And once your heels enter a different room, his index finger enters between your eyes. 

“You listen to me, and you listen good, I'd better see that final draft on my desk by Saturday.

That’s two days from now. I don’t care if you don’t have enough time. You’re a fucking Journalist–Get.It.Done. Or you’re fired.” His door beams a gush of wind. Will you ever catch a break? 

“You can’t fire me!” Yes he can, you idiot. That’s your boss.

Things aren’t looking too good for the Fantastic Four and you. There must be a way–there has to be. With two days to figure out a solution, you wasted no time.

Or so you thought. Almost an hour into the next, you did nothing but pour freshly brewed coffee into your Wallace and Gromit mug. 

Half your mug had more cream than coffee, and finished with six packs of sugar for a mix. You even went for seconds because staring at your final draft left you drained and unable to think of anything, like there were no brain cells left. The deadline had gotten to you. 

You chugged your coffee. A coworker from behind appeared beside you in his chair.

His face was buried in his mug before speaking in whispers. “How does it feel to be fired?” 

“I’m not fired, doofus! Not yet.” You sank into your chair, your arms hanging lazily over the armrest.

“Technically, you are, since you refuse to turn in that draft. (What?) Turn it in and save yourself from whatever this is.” His palm waves over your entire figure. 

Frowning, you shake your head. “Leave me be, Dylan. I have bigger things to deal with than you.”

Dylan sips his coffee, loving every second of the torment you had. “Anyways, did I tell you about this chick I’ve been seeing lately? I can repeat the story if you don't remember.” 

And he did without hearing your acknowledgement. Deafened by his voice and facing another round of the looks of your draft, something clicked.

Or better to say, flipped like a switch. Your answer is right in front of you. Waiting for you to spot its existence between the words.

“Johnny Storm.” Your mouth opens in shock. “I'm sorry?” Dylan paused. “As much as I want to hear about your boring, problematic life, I have to go.” 

And just when you were set to leave. The room's attention was drawn to the elevators. “Is that Human Torch?” someone called out.

 A blonde male dressed in a black shirt and a blue denim jacket exited the elevator surrounded by female journalists who asked for his autograph, not questions that could’ve gotten them an article.

That’s not who I think it is. Your heels acted upon themselves, paving a way towards Johnny Storm. 

Somehow, he sensed your presence near him, and his blue eyes met yours so quickly, maybe too quickly. It was enough to tense your nerves a bit.

Johnny frees himself from the crowd without admiring a single fan marching in a familiar attitude. Is he here for you? 

Both of your paths collided, signaling you to stop halfway. And him the same. Leaving a significant gap (Oh, this is awkward). You then shorten the distance till it feels appropriate to stop.

And again, so did Johnny. This might be the closest you've ever been to him. You certainly had missed the little details in those pleading eyes and alluring profile during your first visit. 

You were so fixated on the interview that you hardly considered him a human with feelings. To you, he was something you were determined to unravel, break to gain what you wished.

Even worse, you chose to lie to have that interview. Oh, the regret you felt. “I need to talk to you,” You both say. So he is here for you.

“You came here to see-”

“You were leaving to see-”

Again. Your lips sealed. Let him talk first. Johnny edges closer, stealing every glance he had of you, and cracks a grin.

“So this is how you look professionally?” He studied your figure, taking in every missed detail like you had earlier. Snap out of it. You have no time for this. 

Knowing yourself, you can let your emotions imagine what's not real. “We can’t talk here. It’s too public.” You say beneath your lips.

“Where then?” Your touch brushes up his arm for a tight grip, dragging him along the staircase. 

The rooftop. The most private and comfortable spot to carry on a conversation that may be long. In your mind, you estimated an hour or two, depending on how Johnny may react to some painful news.

Yet the heat was like no other when you stepped on the gravel ground. The sun glistened so brightly that your lids could hardly remain open.  

As for Johnny, he remained unbothered. Like the sun was nothing but a light. And afar, he stood on the ledge, ambling to his left, hoping for a better view of below.

There was no better view, just a different angle of what he witnessed. Crowds of news reporters and camera crews stormed the entrance, demanding his appearance. 

During the two weeks, he managed to do four advertisements while saving citizens from minor accidents. His candle scent ad was the most popular one you've seen. ‘Johnny’s flammable body’ candle it was called.

The concept did not make sense. What was it supposed to smell like? Fire? Goodbye lungs. “Baxter is closer here than your apartment,” said Johnny, jumping over to you. A strand tucks behind your ear.

“I’m sorry? Is this why you’re here? To compare distance?”

He suppresses a smile. “No. Sorry to disappoint you.” Both arms then wave across him. “Do you trust me?” Do you trust me? What does that mean? Is that even a real question?

Your chest hesitantly lifts, inhaling the biggest breath you've ever taken. “What? Johnny, I don't have time for a trivia game. We need to talk about this!”

Held in your other hand was the draft, pressed against his chest. Johnny’s attention remained on you. His eyes gleamed with mischief, telling you something his lips refused to say. “We can talk about it when we get there.”

A brow lifts. “Huh? What are you talking about?” Your arm retreats. “I’d rather do it than say. Trust me, it’ll only last a minute.”

Johnny’s body blasts into flames except his arms, snatching yours before bursting into the sky. Your pupils were blown wide with surprise, catching a wide view of New York below you. 

You kick. You swung. Believing any of those moves will do you justice. “JOHNNY!” You finally scream. “Put me down! Johnny! Now!” And just when you thought he would listen. His speed boosted, increasing the panic inside you.

It didn’t matter if Johnny knew what he was doing. This was reckless. He is such an idiot! “I hate you!” Squinting your eyes and praying in your head.

Not usually the religious type, but surprisingly, it helps your nerves. Then, in a flash, you no longer felt the heavy winds in your face.

Not even the weight your forearms had of your entire body from being held. “Open your eyes.” Johnny voices in your ear. His breath shook a quake across your neck, so cold. You obeyed. “What the fu–” 

Johnny walked backwards past the living room and straight to the kitchen. Your draft was somehow in his hand as his other waved you in.

“Don’t worry, the family isn't home. Reed and Susan are having family time, and Ben is probably searching for a girlfriend. He’s hardly here.” A robot then rolls out a hallway, spotting you first before facing Johnny.

A bit clumsy in movement, but cute. You are in awe at the sight of it and wave. “Stripper!Stripper!” said the robot alarmingly.  “Herbie! No! Not a stripper!” Johnny assured. 

“Friend Herbie! FRIEND! Ignore him. Want something to eat? Drink? Anything?” You breathe, joining him. This felt like a dream.

A place you never thought you would step into, only through imagination. God, the rapture urge your gut had. Stepping into the Fantastic Four’s home was like entering a fairy tale. 

Your face lacked those emotions. To Johnny, you appeared dull. No interest at all in being here. “Should I ask what–” Johnny’s head shook. 

“So then why am I here?” You push his shoulder with a single finger for his head to rise. He slides your draft across the counter as his heels carry him next to you.

“This. Why haven’t you published it?”  His posture leans over the counter, head tilted.

“Aren’t you happy that I didn’t. I believe it was a mistake. That whole night was a mistake.” You declared focusing on your words rather than the distraction those eyes felt. “What? Giving the people hope or—” 

Cookies? Cookies twice the size of those you baked were displayed in the middle, untouched and waiting to be devoured. You reach for one.

“Let’s not get off topic here. We have bigger issues on our hands. My paper must not get published.” Your heels veer to a seat behind. You sit so your legs may rest, slouching your posture. 

“We? How so?” Johnny joins, placing himself over the table's edge as his seat. Uncomfortable, yet he liked being beside you.

“Did you forget the answers you gave me? Confidential answers, Johnny! I know what I said about giving people what they know, but to my boss, this isn’t fair justice! He wants to make shit dirty. Make the Fantastic Four not the protectors of this earth!”

Mouth stuffed with crumbles. Your concern is unleashed in repeated words. “Are you understanding me?” Pretty sure it was said more than four times.

His change of expression began matching yours. It seemed like he became infuriated or was on the verge of crying. It was hard to understand what he had displaced. 

Right when you thought his palm lifted to signal for your nonsense to end. He traces your cheek down your nape, pulling you in for a soft kiss.

Barely felt like an intimate kiss because of your lack of response. You didn’t know what you’ve gotten into. This conversation wasn’t set for a makeout session. 

His lips felt like smooth cushions. Cushions that you would instantly fall asleep on in a second. Comfortable and welcoming. You slanted your mouth over his, fitting each other's lips.

Fingers traveling behind his head as your other tugged his waist belt closer. You edged for an embrace, an intimate and animal-like touch. 

After all, since High school, you haven’t been with a single guy, not even for a one-night stand. Your job felt more important than human relations. Instantly, you regret that mindset.

To Johnny, your lips felt erotic, thirsty for more than a passionate kiss. Thrilled by your surrender, one of his strong arms carried you out of the chair and onto the dining table.

Your legs spread, hips arching at him. A furious burn of desire aches his stomach, releasing a fierce animal lust that rises by your vicious crawls from all over his body.

His arm held your waist, and his other gripped your thigh. You both panted between in a hot, sloppy kiss. Your breath was drained, cheeks flushed, and fingers digging.

Johnny’s excitement grew, feeling himself go. The kiss was no longer enough, not even for his twitching crotch that your pressing pelvis had constantly teased. 

This time, he climbs further on top, forcing you to lie back. Legs spread more, arms hanging around his neck, pulling Johnny closer.

You hardly noticed the change in position. You couldn’t form words (not that you cared) or even breathe for over a second. You undo his jacket, fingers struggling to yank his shirt's hem up that you refused to continue further, and rip it open from his collar. 

Patience for your body grew thin; it needed him. Needed more than his gentle touch. Once his torso was exposed, the ripped fabric hung on both ends.

Your fingers hooked his belt, yanking him closer than he already was. Then, you undid what you could before he took over. “I still think about that night,” Johnny whispers, pulling back slightly.

Lips hover over yours as he spoke, then kissing down your jawline to your throat. “Your body does too.” He lets you know between kisses.

God, that night you thought. Thankfully, you stopped your recorder before it happened—an experience you wish to forget except for your body. Ending your night with Johnny left it feral.

The need to be held or pinned by him again was one of your reasons for not publishing. An excuse for maybe having a chance to see him again. And that chance came two weeks later. 

Yet despite earning what you wished for, your actions left you embarrassed. No response would help the feelings decay; it acted beyond what you thought you weren’t capable of.

All that came out of your mouth were whimpers and small moans from his kisses. With both bodies rubbing, hearts matching rhythmic beats, the room temperature suddenly became hot.

Like a sunny day on a beach, filled with longing lust, Johnny wasted no more time pressing his clothed crotch against you in a hard push, edging for a heavy pressure between your clothed body and his.

His underwear felt thin, as if he wasn’t wearing any. Leaving you almost convinced he was inside. 

Johnny's hips rolled slowly but hard. Breaths mingling together, chests heaving. Both of you broke a sweat. His cries gradually became louder than yours, trying to control his heavy breaths from escaping rapidly on your collarbone.

Every thrust nearly sent him over the edge, pulsing his size to release. This time, one of Johnny's hands gripped the table's edge firmly, changing the idea into only rubbing each other's bodies without a gap. 

Your body slid along the table with every rub, enduring every pressure he applied.  “Stripper! Stripper!” Herbie shouts, hitting Johnny’s thigh. Without stopping, Johnny uses his heel to push Herbie away.

And again he returns. “Stripper! Stripper!”  

“Herbie! Stop.” Johnny stands up straight, his attention turned to Herbie, before he notices two other figures standing behind Herbie. Reed and his sister Susan all stood witnessing their actions. 

Susan didn’t dare to look. As for Reed, he was disappointed. Like he had caught Johnny in this act before.

“She is not a stripper.” Johnny clears out.  

[missyvani]

𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖

Johnny Storm x F reader (Human Torch)

SUMMARY ঔঌ Johnny joins you in your apartment believing you wish to know about his recent photoshoot covers but you had other plans.

AUTHORS N. ঔঌ inspired by Superman 2025. Lois interviews Clark. Yes. I was excited. Forgive any mistake. Enjoy!!

(part two)

Are cookies supposed to look like this? Slightly darker than golden. Twice the size of your palm? No. Your head shakes. Obviously not. You knew better. Cookies are only golden. Their size is big enough to fit in your palm.

What you have now will do. After all, tonight is your only opportunity. You’re not even sure what might happen. Scaring your subject is one of your habits anyway. A simple question is enough to tick them off. It infuriates you.

How could you not get upset? No one wants to tell the truth unless you reveal intel they wish to keep to themselves. That is what makes great Journalism. Yet accessing proof to strengthen your claim is always the most challenging part. 

You casually dragged your heels from the kitchen to the living room, carrying the plate of freshly baked cookies (You instantly regret baking) to a short coffee table.

Beside you lay your red couch, and across from it a sofa. Same fabric–thankfully, you spent no money to purchase the set. Your aunt was generous enough to give them to you during her move-out.  

Across from you was your balcony, a wide enough view of New York City, especially with the Fantastic Four building far ahead. This might be the best room you have ever claimed.

“I’m not late, am I?” 

You jolt at the sudden voice, dropping the plate without shattering it before raising your head. Johnny Storm, who would have thought? His flammable body vanishes before stepping into your apartment from your balcony.

He appeared wearing a plain black shirt, sleeves gripping his biceps (Same for his collar), and high waist pants that had support from his belt.

Lost by words, your mind drifts. How rude. Could he not have used the front door? He can’t walk into any apartment or house like it’s his home.

“You know I have a front door. My balcony isn’t for entering.” Johnny's attention veers to your family photos, eyeing them as if he stepped into a museum and reached a hand to touch your belongings.

“What did you want to happen? Me show up to your door with pretty ladies and reporters on my back?’ His brow lifts, shooting a careless expression in your direction. 

In return, your eyes rolled. He’s right. How clueless could you be? Hello? Johnny Storm is Human Torch. Part of the Fantastic Four! No human can fly onto your balcony unless he is a member of the Fantastic Four.

Plus, this interview is set to be private. No one knows of this except you, Johnny, and–

“So Ben tells me you wish to interview me about my recent photoshoots.” He slides over behind your sofa, resting his arms on the cushions.

“I’m surprised you agree to this. Doesn’t Reed speak for the team?” You spun to the shelf behind you, grabbing a recorder. “For the team,” He said solemnly.

“I only agree with this because Ben had me curious about what convinced him this interview was worth a try, and so far, I’m not impressed.” 

“Why is that?”

“If I were a journalist like you, my apartment would be much more fancy with cameras prepared to record from each angle and probably wear a tight work uniform-not saying your pajamas are the worst outfit for this– but a professional setup.” 

“Remind you my interviews aren't for tv, it's for me to write,” Your brows furrowed, yanking your shirt for Johnny to view clearly.

“And don’t discriminate against my Wallace and Gromit shirt.” Johnny’s grin look drops, eyeing your shirt were pain in his eyes. “No one watches that anymore.” He mouths.

“Shall we start, Human Torch, or do you prefer me to call you Johnny?” You plant yourself on the couch, legs criss-crossed, with the recorder tossed onto the coffee table.

“Johnny. Oh, you made cookies?” He climbed onto the sofa, snatching one of your cookies. “Hopefully it's good.” Your index hovers over the start button. “Ready?” 

Johnny nods. Tape begins.

“Johnny Storm, the Human Torch of the Fantastic Four.” You start. “That’s me!”

“Let’s begin with some warm-up questions to loosen you up.” You lean forward, crasping your palms with a prepared attitude. “Hit me.” He sits up, swallowing the same cookie. 

“Are you single?” Out of all the questions, that's what you came up with. “Very. Interested?” A smile separates his lips.

“Funny. Have any plans this weekend?” Johnny reaches for another cookie. Were your baking skills not as bad as you thought? “I don’t plan, I just do. Unless I have a scheduled appointment with Reed, which I don’t–” 

“Good. Last question. How’s the cookie?” Your teeth grits. You were well aware he probably fancied your cookie yet a knot in your throat had you feeling otherwise.

“I mean, the texture is crunchy and good. It tastes like any other cookie.” An air of joy fills your lungs. “But it's overbaked by a slight I’m afraid. So not the best cookie I’ve had.”

The tape paused. “You did not need to say more than it tastes like any other cookie.”

“You asked the question.” He says while mid-chewing. You shot a glare. Is this what you will have to deal with for the night? Should’ve expected the unexpected.

Tape begins. “Tell me, how many months has it been since Galactus?” You start again. “Two months.” 

“And about the Silver Surfer that arrived on Earth before Galactus had, do you believe we might see her again?” Your head tilts, clenching your jaw from furthering your question. “Silver Surfer?” 

“Yes. During the months you and your team were up in space, the public gave her a name. Silver Surfer. She was the talk for months till your team arrived.” You explained.

Johnny's face then tightens. “Her name is Shalla-Bal–”

“Shalla-Bal?”

“Yes. Without her help, my sister’s son would’ve been gone, and maybe our planet would be, too.” Your lips pursed to his words.

Without her help? Yes, this Silver Surfer had helped push Galactus into their portal. That doesn’t support how he feels about her.

“Yes, she did, but if Silver Surfer is to show up again, she isn’t to be trusted. Who knows what her intentions might be?” 

Johnny posture straightened, palms intertwined and shooting you a look that was the same as yours earlier.

“She will come in peace and with no intentions of destroying our planet. Not after what she did,” he declares.

“But you don’t know for sure. How can you be? She heralded Galactus. She chose our planet to be devoured by that guy. Did you forget?” 

“Of course not! I know what she did and why! You don’t know her like I do. Despite the wrong she did, she chose to save our planet!”

Johnny then reached for your recording, attempting to pause the record, his frustration blinded him from spotting the obvious button. “Stop. I got it!” Your palm steals the recorder.

Tape paused.

“What is this? I thought you wanted to interview me about my Photoshoots?!”

You stood near the steps of your friend’s synagogue. Rachel Rozman. You did not really know her, though. Just met her while passing constantly on the same streets, and she happened to invite you to a synagogue she attends.

You both had a few coffees and chatted after meetings about your days and what’s been happening lately, which was Galactus. It was all on people’s minds at the time, anyway.

 With the Fantastic Four claiming their victory, everyone was curious about Galactus' existence and the Silver Surfers, including her role with him. There were so many questions that the four refused to acknowledge. All the citizens knew was what Galactus wanted—Susan’s son. 

You rubbed your muffin hands together, building as much warmth as possible against New York's wintry weather. And without a need to change your view of direction, your head sways on its own.

Just to lay your eyes on a figure afar. Its dark silhouette carelessly strolled towards you, its body twice the size of a regular person. ‘Is that who I think it is?’ You thought. 

“Ben?” You blurt out in shock once he appears in the light above you.

“Oh, yeah, that’s me. I came for uh Rachel. She here?” He removes his hat so you may see his face under all the darkness, but then places it back on. “You know Rachel? Are you guys like a thing or—”

“Thing? Is that a joke? Are you trying—“ 

“NO! No, I forgot about your heroic name. I only said that because you know people these days don’t like hearing the term dati—“ Ben cuts you off from blabbing any further. 

“Just messing with you. Don’t worry, I knew what you meant.” A small chuckle escapes him under the dark shadow. And with a smile growing across your face, you sensed him doing the same, as if you could see. 

“Oh well, were you going to join me and Rachel tonight? She’s taking me to one of her meetings. People are still suffering from what happened over the last few months. You know?”

Your voice speaks in a sorrowful tone. You felt bad. Despite victory, who wishes to think of the past? Ben lets out a heavy sigh.

“That’s why we have people like Rachel. I saw her help others. She’s good at her job,” Oh? 

“Anyways, I thought I would drop by to say hello, but she seems busy and I can’t stay long. Have a great night!” Ben then farewells, turning his back on you.

You stop him. “Ben! Wait! I‘m not close to Rachel– just a meeting buddy, but I know she’s free during the afternoon.”

Ben then faces you. “What are you saying?” 

“ I’m encouraging you to follow what your heart desires. (saying this, and you haven’t even dated a guy since High School) “What’s the favor?” asked Ben.

You initially had no intentions; you only thought of encouraging him. You weren't sure if he knew that under the shade or if he wanted to do something in return, and only figured that this was to say it, so you had no choice. 

Is that normal? Anyways, you couldn’t think of one. Why are you thinking of one? All you have to do is say “No favors.”

Yet because of your journalist side. It took over. “An Interview with Human Torch about his recent Photoshoots?” You say at random.

“His Calvin Klein Photos?” Oh. “yes.”

“Hm. His Calvin Klein?” He repeats. “Yes.”

Johnny reaches for your recorder, but you were quick enough to grasp it before him. Your palms pressed against your chest as he forced off the sofa to surface his anger. “Are you a criminal?! What do you want?! My Calvin Klein underwear?” 

“No?! Gross. This is only an Interview! That's all I want!” A look of disgust washes over you. “Not your smelly underwear.”

Johnny's brows narrowed lower, offended by your words. “Gross? Smelly? Then what?” His voice rises. 

You took a moment to collect yourself. Then, you changed your position on the coach to feel more relaxed. “Will you please sit first and let me explain?” 

Your eyes signaled to your sofa. He followed your direction. Took his moment. Then sat. Johnny’s fiery manner remained, his lips rubbed, and his fist formed to constrain himself. He had every right to be upset.

“During the last two months, have you ever taken a second and looked around New York? Embrace the environment we have now?” Tape begins. “Why are you interviewing me again. I thought you were explaining.”

“I’m trying to explain. Answer the question, Johnny.” He hesitates, then shrugs.

“You’re the protectors of this earth, and you don’t know. For the past two months, since Galactus, people of New York have stopped before crossing a sidewalk, before stepping into a store or apartment building to look up at the sky. Do you know why?” 

“No, why?” he says with an attitude.

“because they still wonder to this day who the visitors on earth were. Will they ever come back? And will the Fantastic Four be prepared this time? Some still leave in fear and attend church, hoping for God to give answers.” 

“I would’ve known of this—“

“Well, you didn’t because of your advertisements. Everywhere you walk, you see Johnny Storm’s underwear being yanked by a dog for no reason and repeated reminders for who the Fantastic Four is and why they are so Fantastic!” You use your free hand to grab a cookie. 

“This is a major issue, though. It will be all over the news, we—” you interrupted him.

“Well, it’s not. No one will care to listen. All everyone wants to know is what is hidden underneath your pants.” 

A dull look rains over Johnny. He was at a loss for words. He felt that you were calling him out. And you were. You had had enough of his blindness and of these people suffering in silence.

Someone had to speak up. His head hung over his shoulder, intensely rubbing his nape out of annoyance. “Why me? Why interview me?” 

“You’re the only one who can give me a full answer.” You check your recorder. Tape ongoing. You place it back on the table. “Why not Reed?”

“I don’t care for thesis and equations.”

“Ben?”

“Hm. You know how a deal works Johnny.”

“Yeah. whatever. Susan?”

“Half answer. You’re the only one who knows Silver Surfer.”

Johnny then got out of his seat, hating every second he spent on it, and again swung his attention to your photographs. He completely shut himself off from you.

To turn the tape off would be risky. Every word matters. Even if it was a single word, it’s an expression. You did not want to push his buttons any further, so you were silent. Yet having patience isn’t one of your strongest suits. 

With cookies wiped from your plate, you took this opportunity to wash the dish along with the others you had left this morning.

Yes, it's a bad habit, but how could you not blame yourself? Forcing yourself to be awake at midnight to keep up with one of your favorite shows is diabolical.

You place the final plate on your dishrack, turn the faucet, then wipe your palms dry. Still silent. Not a single word for five minutes. By now, you suspect him to be gone from your apartment.

Oh well, you gain enough to write, just not enough to be approved for publication. You still had questions–more efficient ones to sum up the discussion. 

You spun where your living room lay, only to find Johnny reaching the end of your shelf near a doorway leading to your kitchen. Strange.

“Do you have any more questions for me?” asked Johnny, his back facing you and a finger caressing a photo. “Yes, a few. Is that a problem?” You watch him closely. 

You find yourself reclaiming your spot, and Johnny follows your lead, but instead of sitting across from you, he sits very close, with an inch or two of gap between you.

Was he willing to be open-minded? Was he willing to get this interview over with? He says in such a subdued tone, like a whisper echoing in your ear, “No problem. Hit me.” 

“Really?” An excitement rushes over you. “If you’re going to make me repeat myself. I’m leaving.” You slide the recorder across the table before continuing. “What is your relationship with the Silver Surfer?” 

“That’s your question?” He judges. “It’s important. Answer please.”

“There’s no relationship, I believe. I happen to know how she felt at the time and hoped that she would turn against Galactus.” His arm rests on the cushion. “Earlier, it seemed like you both did.” 

“Well, we didn’t. Next question.” 

“If Galactus finds our planet again. Will the Fantastic Four be prepared for what may happen?” You nibbed on your bottom lip out of uncertainty. His blue eyes teared away from yours for a second. “You can ask Reed.” 

“Why? Do you not have an answer?” You swallowed. “This question isn’t for me.” Johnny said, annoyance coating his voice.

That's when he again stormed off your couch just like before. This time, you could not tolerate his attitude. Nor did Johnny have a chance to shut down again. “What? What is it?”  

“Could you not have come up with a better answer than 'Ask Reed' because you’re making whoever may read this have more fear than they already do. Not even a shimmer of hope in that answer.”

You both stood behind the couch. Johnny was facing you with a burning expression that matched yours. “So you want me to lie?” He snapped, closing the distance and hovering over. 

Baffled by his sudden manner, you step back. Yet your guard remained up. “That’s not what I am saying. Are you delusional?” 

“Am I delusional? If you want answers, speak to Reed. As a matter of fact, go to Ben. I bet his answers are far better than mine.” He marches forward, forcing you to stumble further back and lose your balance. 

Your arm reaches for him, capturing only his sleeves, which had Johnny tag along. His arm grips your waist while the other holds the corner of your couch.

Your head throws back, leaving a slight throb of pain on your nape. It happened so fast, you instantly forgot how you got to this point. 

‘Why am I staring up at the ceiling?’ Your head lifts, resting your gaze on Johnny with terror in his blue eyes. Face tightened with regret.

Right- you both were in a heated disagreement, which resulted in you falling–it seemed like Johnny thinks this was all his fault. 

You held him tight by his sleeves. Your waist in his firm grip. “You okay?” He whispers gently as you stand on your own two feet. “I think so.” Johnny’s palm slides off from behind, freeing you from being imprisoned. You remained still, regaining your calmness without speaking another word.

“Shall we continue?”

[missyvani]

The Sandman𐃯 One shot

Summary𐃯 In a dream Cecilia receives a visit from one of the Endless. Dream

A/n𐃯 New season had me in a chokehold. Forgive any mistakes. Enjoy reading.

“Beautiful,” a young dark-haired mouths as her mysterious, delicate fingers expanded over her minster’s window. The grace riveted amongst its untouched dent surface, molding its coldness within her.

The sudden thrill in her nerves raised a smile on her lips. Oh, how delightful it felt to be near. To almost have the freedom of appearance. 

To sing graces of admiration, embracing its astonishing aura through her blurred scenery became Cecilia’s rapturous burn within the depths of her ribcage. A river that outlined the wings spread from both ends of her shoulders in a single breath.

So sharply carved, inhaling in a corset had her convinced it punished her for the urges. Every longing exhale tightened her waist. 

With control of her impulses, a distraction had always tended to her needs, like a simple turn to the darkest corner of her bedroom. A dark frigidity of her shadows whistled quietly, divulging soothing serenity in winds along her long dark waves and hems of her broad silk dress.

Her ignorance couldn’t sense its purpose, but she assumed the darkness's existence was to fear her. Fear of Cecilia accomplishing long-term goals and wishes.

Yet it widened her smile even brighter because it calmed her mind from overthinking, settling on what her life might become if a particular action were taken.

Cecilia's figure curled between the windows’ circular frame, legs bent and hidden by her gown. This was the most relaxed she felt in every lucid dream, the most privacy she earned. 

Once awakened, her day is set to be busy. Find a suitor and be wed. Her only duties for an entire day till night. As if it’s her only purpose for existing. Be a wife for a man who she believes only wants her fortune.

Then bear his children to prepare them for the same outcome. 

Tonight, with every glance, Cecilia gave the corner in every dream, shaken her nerves. A sense of another lurking in darkness, scrutinizing silently and in complete curiosity.

But, afraid of presenting itself, being known for its stalking behavior, or possibly preferring to remain one with the gloom, like they embody it.

“Am I imagining a stalker, or has someone invaded my dream?” questioned Cecilia with disbelief.

So regretful, her heart sinks. To question her corner's existence sounded more concerning than being able to control her dream. After a moment that felt like an hour, a voice acknowledged her.

An apathetic tone whispering in a somewhat hoarse, slow pace at the near end of his sentence. “You sense me?” 

The darkness is speaking. So unexpected and terrifying. Cecilia ran her fingers down her exposed arms for closure–mainly warmth–before responding gently.

“Every time I dream, perhaps. May I ask, who are you?” asked Cecilia quickly, possibly too quickly.  

Heavy thumps underneath her ribs blared, drowning her ears in its sirens. Her anxiety of triggering his lack of engagement fastened the beats of her heart.

How nervous she suddenly became. “I am what you see. A lingering darkness from your corner.” 

Cecilia recited his words with her inner voice, furrowing her brows instantly. Inside, something deviant clawed her stomach.

A sense that may make her foolish if she is unaware of it. “Are you afraid to present yourself?” She wondered generously. “No.” 

“Are you ugly?” 

“No.” His voice melody was much lower, as if her question felt personal. “Then may I see you. I wish not to be awakened without knowing the man in my dreams.”

A silhouette frame shifts from one corner to another, closing the distance between them. Its shade enlarged near the light, reflecting the plank floor before shaping its physical figure and sauntering, allowing the subdued shine to present the darkness. 

His flesh glowed white as snow, sinewy and forbidden. A smooth, like feature that radiated with a wintry touch. If she were to reach and feel, all warmth would vanish.

To know if it’s true grew a new curiosity in Cecilia. Oh, how tempting. His indifferent beauty was like a grip on the throat–enough for his unlit eyes to make her wonder what they would look like if he were enlightened. 

“Do I frighten you?” asked the man standing inches from her legs and fully exposed. His lids lowered, assuming a sorrowful look. His lips pursed in utter wonder. “No.”

Cecilia brought her upper body to lean against her knees as she returned his cold gaze with smiling eyes. “Do you come and go as you please in my dream? Because to imagine a man is beyond me.” 

“Why is that?” He held their stare, tilting his head slightly. “All my life, I was brought into this world to be presentable for man. Become what he desires. But I know there is more to me than just…men.” 

Cecilia saw how he watched her, eager to spot what was hidden behind her soft expressions. Her words only drew him closer, lowering his head as if he attempted to nod in understanding her feelings.

But longed to hear her speak more. “And that is?” A shimmer of light flashed in his eyes, a simple glimpse of an awakening through his cold gaze. How strange. Was the man intrigued? She questioned.

“I wish to be a gardener.” Cecilia hesitantly smiled. “Live in a small cottage away from town, away from a massive amount of people, with no disturbance and talk stories with my blooming flowers.”

She expressed brightly and turned to her blurred scenery. “Alone? Do you not wish to spend your life with a partner?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure. I have the rest of my life to figure it out.” She returns to his gaze with no change between their expressions. Only curiosity about what they both forbid to release.

Her brown eyes explored his portrait—a mysterious man who spoke only of questions and positioned as a sculptured statue. Yet a single strand appeared out of proportion, an anomaly poking at his hooded lid.  

Urging to offer her hand and remove the anomaly without permission overtook her need to assure him. But inches from assisting, his head swayed further.

“What are you doing?” His voice left a fascinating, strange, and mystical melody. And compelled Cecilia to continue despite his agonized manner.

“It will only take less than a second.” Her fingers extend, brushing her nail to slide the strand out of his way. “That’s better.”

He followed her falling palm before raising his head. “You’re cold.” The man’s palm slides from his black coat, capturing hers to grasp on.

“Am I?” Cecilia’s breath shortens from the sudden grab, so unaware and riveting. It appeared to be true; he felt as cold as expected. Much colder than he claims she is. “Yes, perhaps I may–” 

“What is your name, sir? You still have not answered my question, all dream long.” Cecilia interrupted.

His thumb graciously caressed her pale skin. A feeling he urged to last longer than less than a second. The man sensed a hurting grip from Cecilia, which deepened an ache in his chest.

A tightness to snap her innocence from the intimidating beauty she held enslaved him. So bright, so passionate. He knew the consequences for presenting himself from the shadows and extending his visit in her dream. 

The tight look he held softens, appearing as if it were painful to speak honestly. “Morpheus.”  

[missyvani]

TEAR ME APART ৡ

LIN LIE X FEM READER (FINAL PART) mdni

Summary ৡ After many days from constant training, Lin returns home to a starving girlfriend who needs nothing but his ardor’s touch.

Warning ৡ 18+ unprotected sex. rough sex. creampie. Erotic asphyxiation.

Author’s note ৡ final part. Part one is HERE. SIGH, I WANT TO WRITE MORE OF LIN LIE. But Dante is next.

Fuck me. You had repeated. As in, ‘Do what you want with me; I’m your toy tonight.’ Lin registered almost swiftly from your defeated tone. As if he read your mind the moment you said it.

You appeared lying on your stomach, spine arched, and silk dress lifted above your breasts. Marks of his palm stained your ass. So visibly red and not far to be a bruise. It was Lin’s response to your slaps.

You don’t know how long he had you in this position, how long you’ve been crying in ecstasy by his every thrust. The air never felt so heated.

So dry on your parted lips. The room matched your temperature, drowning both your bodies in sweat, which radiated with a lecherous urge that needed to be fulfilled.

Lin held you in a chokehold, arms grappling your neck with palms curled on his biceps to have you still purposely. His hips lift to meet each fall of your weight, filling the room with the sounds of his hard slams.

So harsh, wicked. Lin didn’t give a fuck. He missed you so fucking much. Much more than you think.

Your words from earlier vexed him. Leading his intentions to make you regret your words. He didn’t give a shit if you didn’t want tonight to be like this. You were going to enjoy it either way.

A jolt of pressure added to his pleasure that coursed through his veins from your melody cries that nearly became screams. He needed more, more of your out-of-control moans. “I-I.. ca-” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “can’t..Lin!”

You were so drenched, wetter than ever. You could feel his size aim deeper with every thrust, edging to hit your end. It overwhelmed you with bliss.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t form any more words from the feeling of his rough slams. Its length pulsing your walls to clench in return. God, a mess you were becoming.

“Fuck, stop moving,” mumbled Lin, suppressing a groan. His face buried beside your head, all flushed as his sweaty layers smeared your cheeks. his lids shut, focusing on his chase.

You tried to obey, forbidding your hips from waving off rhythm. Instead, you did the opposite. Your nails scrapped the sheets, hips wiggling to shake Lin off—just for a breather, a break. But it only worsened for you.

This time his pelvis closed the gap between your ass, hardening his continuous rhythm with no space. Sounds of his slams lowered, replacing it with only your moans and his groans.

Your pants flooded the air, heated bodies flaming against another as you both felt each other’s heart beat in sync. Lin’s whimpers then filled your ears.

His tiny cries escaped his lips as knots tightened both your stomachs. “Tell me baby, you still hate me?” He breathes out, forearms nearly blocking your airways.

How could you not? He never allowed breaks in between, and with no intentions of slowing his pace, all you could do was endure it. Allow your screams to unravel; grip his arms as if your life were on the line. “Yes.” You managed to gasp out, mouth remaining half-parted and nearly drooling.

“Tell me how much you hate me.” This time the mattress screeched along his movements, confusing you whether it was you moving with Lin or the bed.

Lin's head lifted, aware of your lack of ability to speak; his lips brushed over your ear, and his hot breath sent chills down your spine. “Tell me.” He repeats after a hard slam.

His arms cut your oxygen short, preventing you from putting in the effort to utter a response. He felt so deep in his tip hit spots you didn’t know existed. Either way, every brutal thrust had intentions to kill you. “Nothing? I thought you had plenty to say.”

How so unfair. “It’s okay.” He places a kiss on your temple. “I know my answer already.” Lin drags his length out on purpose, reminding you of every inch of him you should be missing before slamming back in and nearly causing your climax.

You knew it was over soon. How close he is to finishing you off. Fuck, you sensed it. His fists glowed in green, glistening below your chin. Lin’s cries sounded vulnerable and seductive, like his limit were right on edge.

How fresh it sounded towards you. So new and thriving within your body. Your spine arched, lifting your hips, thinking your position needed improvement. Your fingers urgently gripped his layers to express how much impact his force was having.

Lin buried his face again, muffling his moans as yours increased. “Fuck..I should leave you more often.” his length pulses, amused by your sudden tug. The sharp pain given by your grip released a fire in him. A jolt of motivation to finish you off. Have your cum be so intense he’ll end up wanting another round.

“Be a good girl and cum for me.” He demanded in a low tone, halting his release to let yours free first, which felt rewarding because, finally, you’ll have your break. Your moment to take in air that's soothing, cold against your damp skin.

Without a minute wasted, your walls suffocate his size, hips flinching beneath his, causing Lin to do the same in return unexpectedly. His fists beaming in brighter green, arms choking your throat.

Biceps tensed as he felt all of him flow in a stream and drown your hole quickly, so quickly there was no room left for the rest.

[missyvani]

TEAR ME APART ৡ

LIN LIE X FEM READER (PART ONE (?)) mdni

Summary ৡ After many days from constant training, Lin returns home to a starving girlfriend who needs nothing but his ardor's touch.

Warning ৡ Biting. Small blood. (Screaming rn)

Author’s note ৡ After seeing his Season 2 skin. I could no longer remain calm. TO WRITE WAS a neeeddddd. HE IS SO FINE. (PART TWO)

You couldn’t find yourself leaving the bedroom. Your patience for Lin to return home was thin—so thin that you could almost feel your heart suppressed by your pulsing torment, like a virus constraining thoughts of what if he found another.

A girl who can be with him during dangerous times and train alongside? The more you thought of it, the more it seemed true with little to no sense.

You lay cuddling with Lin’s only fluffy pillow, its appeasing fabric rubbing against the surface of your fingers, a familiar touch as if Lin himself were in your arms.

Your lids were halfway open, your body numb to movement, and your long hair scattered on the mattress. Sounds of clamor echoed from outside your bedroom, of someone dragging their shoe and furniture being moved by a slight.

But no nerve or bone in your body shook by the noise, almost like you were only imagining it. After all, you had been alone for a week, maybe two.

You hear your door creak and shoes scrapping against your floor nearby. Your eyes then closed, believing it was all in your imagination, and waited for the silence to build in again.

“Sleeping? Damn, I was really looking forward for a hug.” A voice spoke. Your head sprung up, only to meet eyes with your beloved. “You’re home?” you gasped.

“You’re up?” His brows hike, lips curving a slight grin. You examined his striking features, his figure hovering yours which makes him so valiant and breathtaking.

Yet today felt different. How could you be happy? He left without saying how long it would take and had not considered sending letters to stay in touch. And for Lin to return home like nothing had happened blasted frustration through you.

Your eyes turned livid, and your jaw clenched as you resisted your emotions from appearing obvious. “No kiss?” He asks.

“I hate you.” Your eyes bubble with tears. “I wasn’t gone for that long; come here.” Lin's arms widen to embrace you, but you rear your hand up before you give him a chance, slapping with all your built-in anger.

His head whips to the side; his breath cuts for a second. “You didn’t even stay in contact with me.” You cried slapping him again and again.

Prints of your palm remain on his cheeks, reddening his skin. Lin stood frozen, taking all your hits as they get softer and lower to his chest.

His eyes observed you tear apart, bawling at his faults for not being a better boyfriend. “I told you I couldn’t. You know this," he said, sounding stern.

“Fuck you.” You say through clenched teeth. Why don’t you remember him telling you this? Or Is this just a way for you to stop acting all upset?

“You mean you missed me?” He searches your distressed expression. “No. Fuck you.”

His grin widens. “And? Tell me.” Lin then removes his headphones around his neck and his favorite green jacket to place beside you. “You—You’re a liar. If I knew, I wouldn’t be acting like this.” You continued, digging your grip in his pillow.

“And?”

“And,” You paused, figuring out what else, knowing that you thought of plenty earlier. His heels slid inches towards you, his head tilted in curiosity and heavy lids attempting to make you flush in pink.

And you did from what felt like a raw desire stare. Your heart thumped against your rib cage, fastening in seconds as a darker pink smears your skin. How nervous you suddenly became.

You almost forget how dangerously dominant Lin can be. He gently tucked your loose strands behind your ear, caressing his touch further in till it was no longer gentle when he firmly gripped your hair, pulling you in for a kiss.

Lin’s lips molded into yours in pure desperation, tasting your last breath as he held you close, forbidding you to break from the kiss. The kiss felt aggressive and rushed, as if he wasn’t edging to be romantic but to express how much he needed this.

You lean in, unable to respond the same with a few escaping whimpers. You let him have his way. His tongue invades your mouth to coat his saliva with yours. Hot breaths combine in the mix as he deepens it slowly.

It was unexpected and hot coming from Lin. He never treated you so dirty and desperate for a kiss. You could feel yourself melt in his touch, your mind forgetting how to think properly.

Yet, despite surrendering to Lin immediately, the frustration from earlier still ran through your mind, leaving you to act upon it by nicking a small cut of his lip with your teeth.

He separates you from his lips with a hard tug from his grip. His tongue brushes over his bleeding lip, narrowing his eyes on you. “You want to play rough? We can play rough.”

Something about his dark eyes, so wild and demanding, unraveled an hunger in you. His longing stare touched you more than what his hands could do. You want to play rough? Yes.

You don’t care. You don’t care if he tears you apart. You’d let him do anything at this point.

Without wasting another second, you clung to Lin. Your arms hugged his nape, brushing your hands through his black layers. So soft, so exotic. Lin followed your movements, leaning over you till your head met the mattress.

You felt a trace travel down your legs, light touches guiding you to embrace his hips. His sinewy abdomen hid you so perfectly, making you feel vulnerable and small in what he may do next.

“Please, fuck me,” You breathe heatedly against his lips. “Please” Lin grinned in return, eyes admiring your change of behavior.

[missyvani]

PECULIAR ─ .✦

Invincible x Starfire (Short Story) PART ONE

Summary ─ During a week of silence and freedom from his duty, a flying subject entered their solar system, driven by greed. It invaded Earth in a search for a certain alien, and that alien is a Viltrumite.

WARNING ︴Blood and Violence, Power Struggle, Profanity, Death, Sexual incourse and Heartbreak (included as the story goes on)

AUTHOR’s NOTE ︴first post. Very nervous. I’m welcome to any tips. I am new. T-T. BUT I hope you enjoy this short story. I apologize if some details of Starfire and Invincible are inaccurate or if the grammar and spelling is incorrect.

‘I need you mark!’

Earth’s fierce hero. A title he had craved since a young age and since the half-told lie of his father’s past. That title meant everything to him, even if the reward seemed little like a kid had earned a sticker.

To be Strong. Brave and rousing like his father. That’s what it was supposed to feel like.

After countless times of watching his father save Earth LIVE on NEWS channels and arriving home untouched to remind Mark’s potential appearing anytime soon, the title became part of his life.

Yet little did Mark know that his life would take a different route once his powers were exposed. All his brutal battles and rise practices weren’t as smooth-going as he thought.

“Don’t overthink it, Mark. You’ll get it,” said Nolan, levitating over his son, who failed his 20th landing attempt. His thumb skates beneath his chin, resting his tensed features from worsening.

Hours into Mark’s training—his repeated failures made no difference. No progress whatsoever except for how he should be flying. Like relaxing his muscles mid-air and using the build-in momentum to travel faster.

“You make it look easy. I don’t know how to slow down or even land the way you do.” frowned Mark, springing his body up to stand in the massive hole created by his landing.

His brows narrowed low, eyes burning in vexation. This practice had started toying with his nerves, and knowing Mark—Nolan had to save it for another day.

“You will, son. You keep practicing, and soon you will.” Nolan casually lands beside Mark, resting a palm over his shoulder for comfort, and cracks a small smile. “Let’s end it here for now.”

“Right.”

Ever since his father fled Earth, Mark has been nothing but the planet’s most valuable hero. This wasn’t as bad at first until his college attendance and grades dropped like flies.

Even his relationship with Amber. Who would’ve thought, Cecil would call him numerous times within a week. Such as bodyguarding a certain somebody or saving stolen money from a bank.

There are other heroes available, yet he is the first to dial. ‘Mark! Hello?! Answer me Goddammit!’

In outer space, surrounded by its tranquility, Mark laid on the moon alone, his unfazed gaze exploring the bright dots of stars with Earth in his left-side view.

For an hour or two, it’s all he’s been solacing himself with. A need away from traffic noise and constant chatter. (Mostly people) So he may reconnect with his inner self.

Mark lifted an arm from beneath his head, tracing lines of every bit of star his eyes laid on. Under the mask of his pensive features, memories of life before his world tore apart flooded in a flash.

Chasing what’s left of his happiness.

‘Earth to Mark! We need you back now! Get to New York, I assume it might be another invasion.’

“Can’t you call other heroes? I’m quite busy right now Cecil.” sighed Mark through his clear helmet. (Provided from past missions)

‘Yeah? Like what? I can see you kid.’ said Cecil in his earpiece. ‘I have a bad feeling about this. We didn’t spot this when it entered our planet and I need you to check it out.’

“I could really use some alone time.”

‘No! Get there now!’

(Tamaranean language translated to English.)

Viltrumites. A monstrosity species to every living civilization that has known of its existence. Especially the Tamaranean people.

Since she was young and understood what others spoke around her, Kori’s family tree and people told stories of Viltrumites, their frightening abilities, and plans to conquer planets, including theirs.

And because their race had been considerably threatening to possibly defeat a Viltrumite, her whole society jumped from one welcoming planet to another to avoid extinction and proceed with colonization.

Yet, despite her years of combat training and repeatedly reviewing escape plans in case Viltrumites ever discover them, Kori refuses her given lifestyle. She finds her learning to be an act of weakness, not of protection of its people.

An Tamaranean should not defend its people by hiding in its empire or run away for centuries till someone or something brave enough faces the Viltrumites.

Driven by self-determination in defeating her yearly threat. Kori focused her training on refining her abilities and bettering her thought process in combat.

Till her coming of age near adulthood, Kori felt that it was time to depart from her people and begin her journey. Without a proper explanation of her reason for leaving home, her kind was under the impression that Kori wished to find their savior and bring them back to their planet to share a belief that a war could be avoidable.

Upon her arrival on Earth, its vibrant green and blue ocean, smearing a shine in her eyes, compelled Kori to inspect past its atmosphere, where the living congregated in all corners of its areas.

Weird building’s appeared tall, rectangular, and unrefined, unlike every other tower she’d seen. Its people resembled Viltrumites yet were powerless.

An Viltrumite can lift an object twice their size without an issue but this man—Young looking. Dropped an item beneath his vehicle, resulting to him kneeling down to reach under instead of simply tossing aside his vehicle for his item.

To be strangely alike, are these people weak? Slow? Vulnerable? It was unlike anything she had encountered. With unsolved questions stacking her mind, it only furthered her curiosity about Earth.

As Kori flew close enough to better her view, her ear caught their speech, communicating in a language she couldn’t speak or understand. ‘A problem she can resolve later on when needed.’ She thought.

Further down the road, admiring their way of life and unique features, which are different symmetrically and by color. Earth had begun earning a place in her heart.

ZAP! ZAP!

Kori swung towards the familiar noise. (ZAP! ZAP!) ‘Was it the Viltrumites? Have they come to claim this planet?’ She wondered. Without wasting more precious time, she boosted herself closer in the distance between the sound and her, only to find three massive portals swirling wide an entrance.

“Flaxans.” She gritted, lowering her heels to be inches from touching the cement. Her posture arched forward, clutching her fingers in peroration for battle.

Her empire spoke of their society. Their civilization was reduced to a small community because of their reckless greed to rule a planet guarded by a Viltrumite. Whatever planet it may have been, Earth won’t be their next.

A small army of Flaxan’s stormed out in groups of four, gun blazing in all directions and tongues snarling in their foreign language.

“I will not allow you to claim this precious planet!” Kori's green eyes enhanced, shaping a circular mist on her fists as her heels dashed to separate their army.

The Flaxan’s nerves sunk in a puddle of dread, their palms shaken upon Kori’s arrival. Her kind on planet Earth? No mind has enough process to know why she’s here. Only flooded with revenge, they attacked uncontrollably like animals, sought for tasty justice.

“Flaxan’s? Again? I can’t believe they’re back and in a much smaller army. I think I can leave this one out; someone’s already taking care of them.” Mark’s arms fold over his chest, eyes watching Kori’s every move yet not noting her peculiar existence.

‘You helping will have them back in their dimension faster.’ said Cecil. “Was that why you had a bad feeling? They have something up their sleeves to conquer this planet?” A brow raised.

‘No it’s not them. It’s the girl. Help her first then bring back to my fortress for questioning.’

“What if she doesn’t want to come.” asked Mark. ‘Force her.’

“I’m not fighting her.” His jaw clenched in irritation, narrowing his eyes along Kori’s figure, who seemed far from the idea of being a threat.

'Mark. There's no time to negotiate. I don't care if this thing is helping us—she's not from here.'

“She has a name, I’m sure.” Mark murmured to himself, knowing Cecil will eventually hear. ‘Just do what I say.’

Kori kept her guard composed, blocking their shots as her heels veered for cover. She could have ended this within a minute and furthered her exploration. Yet, there was no opening with the Flaxan’s shooting at once. Only ceaselessly in all directions.

“Hey! I fought these guys before. I got your back!” Mark’s knees dropped beside Kori, holding his position behind a vehicle. His masked face caught her somewhat off guard, baffled mostly. Did he think he could take the Flaxans on his own? He had never fought them before—his kind is useless against them.

“Stand back! I can finish this.” snarled Kori, beaming out of cover, crushing the cement beneath their feet as a display of her annoyance while attempting to send the Flaxans back into their portal.

“So you don’t speak English. This might be a problem.” Mark simply tore off the vehicle’s door, slamming the Flaxan’s with its metal surface with his free fist denting their eerie features.

Both gain their chance of victory, demolishing what’s left of their army. Few Flaxans retreated, tossing spider-like drones as their final defense. The drones scattered in their surroundings, some strolling directly towards Mark’s feet and others launching mid-air as a surprise attack.

“What the fuck?!” Mark dodged, capturing one of its devices, and crushed it in a single grip. As for Kori, distracted by their victory, her lungs extended, taking in her biggest breath to ease her fiery vigor.

“HEY! Watch out!” warned Mark.

Unaware of what his warning meant, Kori’s head swung in the direction of his voice—meeting the face of one of the spiders. Its small metallic legs latched onto her skin like a magnet, suffocating her airways with its massive stomach and muffling her panicked scream.

Her legs lose its balance, dropping on the cracked cement, fingers swiftly scraping against its metal rear. Her muffled screams grew in seconds, shortening the air she had left.

“I’m here! Hold on!” Called Mark, hovering over Kori, yanking the spider off to crush it between his fingers.

Not even a second passed of freedom. Kori swiftly beamed off the ground, tackling Mark along the way and through a building until both made land on a busy road, traffic built from both lanes.

More destruction was created. Cars were tossed over the sidewalks, shattering the glasses of high-priced stores. The road crumbled after the hard landing. Its horrific sight forced civilians to evacuate the area without a second look.

As for Mark and Kori, she had him pinned down with a knee, forming a mist to finish off what she thought was a Flaxan. “Hey! Hey! I’m not the bad guy!” Mark waved his forearms over his face for cover.

“Oh. You.” Her inflame expression softens, lowering her palm and knee beside his hip. ‘Great. Now take her in.’ Spoke Cecil.

“Give me a second, will you?” exhaled Mark, soothing his fretted nerves after enduring Kori’s attack. ‘You have plenty of time to rest; bring her back to the fortress so I can get this questioning over with.’

His arms lay restless on either side, forgetting that Kori still had him pinned beneath. Her flourishing pupils hiked his features—which wasn’t much to see since it was hidden by his mask—then down his stiff abdomen that shaped his side muscles and abs to understand his costume's appearance.

‘What a strange attire.’ thought Kori. Is he Earth’s defender? What makes him so different?

Her fingertips surface Mark’s chest, his warm ambiance radiating through hers, so solid, so rugged. She embraced over his nape, closing the gap between their bodies.

“Cecil, you don’t have to remind me. I got this.”

She had to thank him. She wanted to. Somehow. Without awareness of what Mark got himself into, Kori brought her lips to his, her fingers sneaking their way through his black layers smoothly.

The kiss was chaste and soft. His lips flinched at her sudden touch, unrecognizing it since he only connected with Ambers. Resisting is to be his motive.

Yet he could feel a hunger coursing through his veins, from her hand exploring his hair and the other tracing from his nape to the jawline. It's almost like it’s been something he wanted all this time besides being a hero.

After all, humans have needs. To be satisfied. Desired. Distracted. For Mark, it was what he wanted with Amber.

As Kori casually unbinds their kiss, Mark leans in. Warm and desperate this time, like he was dying for a kiss that wasn’t as sweet and melting as Kori’s. His hand slips below her ear, running his fingertips through her red hair, and his other over her outer thigh to grip her hip.

The vitality she felt radiating off him was no longer the same. He’s all heat and impulse. Their mouths intertwined like ribbons, drowning Kori with the lack of air, flushing her lips and cheeks.

Tasting her breath, lips and touching her soft skin felt goddamn good. He completely had lost himself in the moment, forgetting the world surrounding them.

Mark sensed her fingers slipping along from his kiss overpowering hers. His grip digs her skin, holding her head in place as he separates her lips by slanting his mouth. And without hesitation, in a whimper Kori surrendered to his control.

With tension and thirst crowding them in the air, Mark wasted no minute by switching positions. His body hovering over hers, legs curled over his hips and hands exploring every inch of each other’s body as if they had touched no one.

Behind his mask, his eyes were wild and feral. Losing itself by her alluring appearance. Shimmering green eyes, orange skin, and fiery red hair. She was unlike any alien he encountered. Too bad english isn’t her language.

‘Mark what are you doing?’

Cecil snapped him back to reality, breaking their kiss with a hiss, and separated himself from her touch. “Shit. Fuck. I’m coming, Cecil.” Mark lets out a breath, regaining the lost air he had.

Kori smiled with her cheeks. Her fingers barely touching her lips as the kiss still felt present to her. “I admire your boldness to copulate. But I’m unsure if I’m ready to mate.”

“Huh?” A brow lifts. Unsure if he was daydreaming or not.

"I'm Koriand'r of Tamaran. Our kind can learn language by the acting of kissing. And you are?"