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madamechrissy · 24 hours ago

Text

nowhere to run

art in the banner is from @/woshihedawei on x

pairings - Yandere CEO! Sukuna x Assistant F! reader

summary -You can't wait to give your boss your two weeks notice, and he's furious when you do. He's awful to you, mean, cruel and a conceited dick. You jump at the chance to move on, but then your life falls apart. Your car quits working, you lose your chance at the Gojo corp, and your landlord kicks you out! You're left with no choice but to take Sukuna up on his offer to let you stay with him. You soon find out there's more to him - like a psychotic obsession with you.

warnings - Sukuna is a full yandere, dark subject matter, stalking, videoing against consent, sexual tension, mind games, masturbation (m and f), cunnilingus, facefucking, smacking, thigh riding, degradation, obsession, toxic dynamics, Sukuna is psychotic reader is damaged, manipulation, jealousy, choking, creampie, hints of somno, toxic red flag, MEAN ass Sukuna, fucks all your good sense </3

Today is my one year on Tumblr! ahhh I can't believe it's been a year, thanks to all of you who follow me. <3 enjoy the freaky ahh oneshot! WC- 12.5k

Sukuna scoffs as he watches you from his office window, leaning back with his legs spread wide, fingers steepled together, his black nails reflecting the canned lights above. His office is dark despite the floor to ceiling windows, because he enjoys having privacy.

Especially when he's jerking off to you.

You're giggling right in front of a fucking water cooler, he can't make the shit up. His employee, Takuma Ino, is flirting out right with you, and apparently your slutty ass enjoys it. Twirling your hair around your fingers, sipping on that paper cup, his hand brushes against your upper arm.

Sukuna is fucking furious then, no one should get to touch you, your perfect body should be his and only his, how dare anyone think it's acceptable to come near you. You don't even know how he feels, because Ryomen Sukuna is playing a long game.

He wants to make sure you desperately need him, just as he needs you. Jerking his cock every night when he could fuck whoever he wants, watching you in your little apartment on cam knowing you'd be so much happier in his penthouse.

Sukuna knows you'd be so tight, so wet and pretty. He has seen you enough through the fuzzy video cam he has hidden on your dresser to watch you finger yourself. You're always getting frustrated, rushing to get your vibrator, as if you're waiting for his fingers.

The problem is, you hate Sukuna currently, you despise him so much he fears his games were too effective. The way your jaw sets, your eyes narrow when you look at him? It's enough to make anyone cry damn near, but all it does is make it harder under his slacks.

He buzzes you, over and over when you reach your desk, until you scowl at him through his glass window, the blinds filtering light across you while you sit at that desk. Pretty pink dress on you, one he aches to shove up your hips, wrinkle it under his hands and fuck you stupid.

He grins, a sadistic fucking smirk when you come to his office now. “Mr. Sukuna, how can I help you?”

“Hmm, I seem to have…” He shoves off stacks of papers then, raising a slutty eyebrow at you. If you had no self respect, and no boyfriend, maybe you'd fuck your frustrations out on this complete dick of a man. As it stands, he waits for you. “I dropped my folders, bend down and pick them up.”

Your jaw clenches, breath quickening with your anger, you can't wait to see his annoyingly attractive face when you let him know you're quitting. You make so much money, but nothing is worth how this dickhead treats you.

“Pick. Them. Up.” His plump lips curl up. You sink to your knees, clad in black stockings, struggling to hold your composure and not cuss him the fuck out. You gather the papers and he just looks at you, ruby eyes glinting, while he runs a hand through pink locks.

“Mr. Sukuna…” You stand now. Leaning forward you set them on his cherry wood desk, one he dreams of bending you over on. He raises that brow again, infuriating you with his arrogance.

“Hmm. What is it?” Sukuna eyes your red lip stain, imagining smearing it with the pink tip of his cock. Imagining fucking your throat so good you can't fucking talk, maybe then you wouldn't flirt with some boy.

“I'm putting in my two weeks notice.”

Sukuna blinks then, before his dark brows lower, his hands gripping the desk, black painted nails almost scratching it with the force. “The fuck you just say?”

You take a breath, even you get intimidated by the huge ass boss of yours at times. But you hold firm, hands in front of your lap while his gaze burns you. “I quit. I'm giving you two weeks notice as a courtesy.”

“The fuck!?” Sukuna stands now, looking down at you, so tall your head falls back to maintain eye contact. “You're gonna get paid this good and leave!?”

You raise a brow right back at him, crossing your arms now. “Sure am, nothing is worth having to work for you anymore. Even if I love everyone else here.”

“Tch, fucking bet you do love that boy all stupid over you,” you scoff, he steps closer, dress shoes clicking against the hardwood floor, closer and closer until you're backed up against a wall. You can’t breathe when he’s this close, a hand on the side of your head, you glare up at him.

“Ever heard of personal space, you psycho?”

“Personal space, huh. Wonder what your problem is, you let that boy kiss you right in front of the office,” he tilts your chin up, you smack his hands off, chest heaving with how fucking furious you are. “Is it because I don't suck up to you like every little bitch boy here?”

“No, my problem is you're a fucking dick, Mr. Sukuna. Respectfully.” You shove at his chest, he snatches a wrist, huge tattooed hands taking it over, making you tremble at the contact. “I'll be gone by the end of the month, or I can leave sooner.”

“Who the fuck are you working for?” He squeezes your wrist bruising, as mean as he is it surprises you even, and worse is your stupid body's reaction to him.

If you had just a little less self respect you'd give into the insane, dumb fucking desire you have. To kneel and suck him, bulge in his slacks clear that he's huge. You shake that evil thought off, along with the fact that how terrifying he is turns you on, you'll chalk it up to daddy issues and bury that shit deep.

He sure would never get to know you even find him anything but disgusting as a human being. “Let go of me.”

“I asked who you're working for, brat,” he's hovering, too tall, too broad, shadows cast across the office just making that presence more looming. “”What, you're too dumb to answer?”

“Brat!? Stupid - this is why I’m fucking quitting. Why do you even care, when you treat me like shit anyway!?”

“Answer me.”

“The Gojo corporation, ya heard of them?” You shove at him again, the big ass man doesn’t move a fucking inch, mean smile on your face when you watch his crimson eyes narrow.

“Then I’ll pay you more.”

“I’m already taking a pay cut, and it’s well worth it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bunch of work to do, unlike a certain nepo baby CEO.”

“Nepo baby!? And you’re working for the Gojo corp?”

“He seems sweet,” Sukuna’s teeth grit together, you shove him hard once more and he steps back, allowing you to move past him, only for him to wrap an arm around your hips, tugging you against him. “HR complaint too, Sukuna?”

“Like you don’t enjoy it,” you don’t move for just a minute, you do enjoy being against his body, turning your head to give him daggers from your eyes, he cups your chin, body too hard against you, cologne smelling too good, filling your nostrils, your senses. “You’re really leaving me? What if I double your salary?”

“Nothing is worth one more fucking day of you.” He scoffs and lets you go, his hands clenching into fists when you stand by the door, turning to him. “If you wanna keep a good assistant, maybe don’t treat her like shit. Two weeks.”

You slam his fucking door, it echoes when you stomp out, it’s not too surprising to anyone considering you frequently get furious at him – in fact he loves to make you mad, see your pretty face all flushed, pretty tits in those blouses rising as your breath quickens. However this time, you’re just fucking done with him.

He punches the wall right next to him, the one he just pressed you against, so furious that you think you have any choice, that you can ever be away from him. He can’t lose you before he has you, before you need him and him only. It’s fucking every single thing up. The plaster cracks, cream white left just a bit red from the blood on the backs of his knuckles, and Sukuna sees red.

You’re not fucking going anywhere.

****

“Are you alright, honey?” Ino asks, when he takes you home, your car is stuck at the mechanic for a week. You nod, and he places a hand over your thigh, the other on the wheel. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“Maybe you’ll follow me?” You tease, he smiles shyly, it’s very new, you two have just kissed and had a couple dates, but you love him around, especially with your complete dickhead of a boss in your life.

“I absolutely could follow you over, work would be so boring without you.”

“Takuma… that’s really sweet.” He parks the car, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips.

You hate how horny that psycho, pink haired dick of a man gets you, and you want to wash away every thought of him, toxic ones that you will never even let your brain actually think of. Just stupid fucking flashes of the most toxic hate sex with him, slapping his stupid face then getting railed by him.

Fuck that.

Psycho who calls you stupid!? You’re well past your attraction to toxic ass men with mental issues. Hence, the sweet boy next to you, with soft brown eyes and glossy lips, brushing your hair back.

“You’re tense,” Ino mentions, gently running a hand up your spine. “Need me to rub your back?”

“I’d love that, do you wanna come inside-”

“Yes!? I mean, yes. I mean… continue?” You giggle a bit, he’s pretty adorable really.

“Come on,” it’s getting a little dark already, the sky pinks and purples, when you unlock the door to the home you’re renting. When you shut the door behind you, he does just that, he actually rubs your neck, then lower, lips kissing across your neck. “Mnh…”

“Is this okay?” He asks softly, you nod, eyes shutting at the mix of his hands and his kisses – leading to the bedroom soon, he’s lifting you up and carrying you inside there, while you giggle – having no clue you’re being watched.

Oh but Sukuna is watching you.

He watches you every night, typically with his cock in his hand – a desperate, pathetic mess you make him, and he fucking hates you for it, for doing it to him. Just for you to be an ungrateful brat and quit, but now you’re inviting someone in your room, when he’s already jerking it to your moans!?

“You little fucking slut,” he scowls when he watches the sight unfold on the little fuzzy camera, the one he’d slipped on your dresser that’s covered in stupid fucking squishmellows. “You better not even get fucked right now.”

Sukuna had set the camera one day when he’d dropped off your check due to a ‘banking error’ as if he hadn’t watched you in front of the window for months before, you love to undress and even dance in front of your curtains. Like a dumb whore just waiting for someone to stalk you, hurt you, Sukuna wants to make sure no one does, no one ever hurts the girl who he’s tragically fucking obsessed with.

The obsession is so intense it physically hurts, since the moment he saw you when you started. You’re too pretty, too perfect, haunting his every thought, ruining him so he can’t even look at another girl. He attempted to at first, just to make you jealous, flirt with a few of the CEOs that would come in for meetings, but you didn’t even look his damn way.

Nothing worked on you, so he diverted to actively pissing you off, wanting to work you up until he drove you crazy, but it was just fucking backfiring. Now, watching this boy kissing down your neck, pressing you against your bed. His nails press into the wood of his desk so much he leaves scratches, almost crushing the wood with his grip, contemplating just showing up honestly.

If he had to watch you get fucked, he’d ruin you when he finally got you, fuck you until you’re a sobbing mess, begging him to stop. But, he wouldn’t no fucking chance would he take it easy – he would never even let you leave his penthouse once he fully lured you in. Escape would not be any sort of option or thought in your pretty head.

His thoughts drive him mad when your moans are so loud he can vividly hear them, he shuts his eyes, picturing it’s for him. But you wouldn’t just moan softly, no Sukuna would have you stuttering, drooling, screaming out. He hates that it still gets him throbbing, hearing you like this, determined then to make sure you wouldn’t even get to leave him.

Sukuna yanks out a letter hand written by you - your resignation letter you smacked on his desk before you left, grinning then, taking out a pen and a blank paper. He damn sure was not letting you work for Gojo, and he was going to make sure you would need him, it was really for your own good.

“Ino,” Sukuna is gonna fucking kill you. “Mnh!”

Is this boy fingering Sukuna’s girl!?

You’re surprised at his skill, while he’s slipping his fingers down your slit, bracing himself on one arm as he does. “Does that feel good?”

You nod quickly, he finds your clit in just a moment, rolling in torturous circles that have you trembling, thighs on either side of him spread. His lips are sweet against yours, just enough pressure, the pressure just enough to send those signals to your brain. You’re not one to exactly fuck around with new boyfriends, but you’re so on edge, and he’s hitting everything you need.

You’re running your hand down, running fingers over his bulge, watching him gasp when you do, his finger slipping in your hole now. “Mnh, there, fuck…”

“Th-there?” He slides it deeper, pressing up, you nod quickly, cunt gushing while Sukuna is ruining your life from the comfort of his office.

“There, ah! More, please.” Ino’s gentle when he slips a second finger inside, tugging on your top and kissing your breast, rutting your hand – and then – Ino comes in his pants. “Oh…”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he rests his head on yours, breathless. “You’re too wet, and too sexy…”

“No, god don’t apologize, it’s quite a compliment.” You smile and brush his hair back, while Sukuna is snorting in laughter.

If you saw him, you’d scowl, smack his arrogant face, he’s slapping his thigh with tears in his eyes – he didn’t even have to interrupt you by triggering your alarm system, that was his plan once he was done with the letter. What luck, he thinks, that fingering you made that poor boy cum, he’s running off to clean up, and you’re sitting there with your thighs spread on that bed.

He wonders how good it is, to have that fucking effect. Wouldn’t happen to him, but it makes him curious, staring at you when you whine out, rubbing your slit for just a moment before tasting yourself. He couldn’t have even pictured it, how sexy and slutty the action is, you sucking your arousal off your pretty little fingers, before pressing your thighs together.

Sukuna’s aching now, settled back down to watch you – you’ve reduced him to this, a pathetic man who just does this rather than fucking anyone, being with anyone. How can he when you exist, fucking his brain up with how pretty you are when you’re mad at him, and now you’re acting like a whore.

And it just makes him eager for the moment he’ll ruin you.

He bets you’ll talk so much shit before your throat is fucked raw, and then you’ll only have a hoarse little whisper left. He smirks as he watches you step out of the room, presumably to walk Ino out, maybe make him feel better. Sukuna is already working on a severance package for him, multitasking truly, because he damn sure couldn’t stay here around Sukuna’s girl.

His, all his.

“Ino, it’s fine, really. I had a lot of fun.” Ino’s brows draw together, slipping his hand across your cheek.

“I didn’t get you off, do you want me to?”

“You’re so sweet, you can next time.” He sighs, still clearly embarrassed with a flush of his cheeks, but you really love his sweetness, especially when you have to deal with Ryomen Sukuna every day. “Promise, we’ll continue this later.”

“All right, good night pretty.” You giggle and give him a kiss, leaning against the door when you shut it, left in the quiet of your home. You walk into your room, busting out the vibrator in the dresser, along with the lubricant, slipping off your shorts and laying back in the bed.

You loved to play with yourself before bed, but especially now, when you could think of anything other than your dickhead, pastel haired boss that you absolutely hate. Shutting your eyes and spreading your legs, bent at the knee, letting the silicon touch your clit, vibrating with the sticky lube, making you whine out.

Now Sukuna can actually stroke himself, you’re all alone, just how he enjoys you, playing with your cunt just for him. He’s leaned back in his chair, the office is entirely silent as he’s the only one here, the quiet times where Sukuna can let his long cock release, slapping his dress shirt with pre. His tip is reddened, leaking the pearly drops he can’t wait to stuff inside your hole.

He’d fill you so good, till you’re pouring him, dripping his milky cum from the soppy little cunt you’re running a pretty red little rose on. He hopes you enjoy it for now, because once you’re his, you’ll never be able to touch yourself again, never play with what is his. He can’t wait till you’re running your cunt on his leg, pathetic and desperate for his touch while he fucks your mouth, the thoughts pushing him over the edge.

He’s murmuring your name, timing his orgasm with yours, grinning psychotically in his dark office, lapping just a bit of his own cum that has spilled onto his fingers,. It drips along the piercing on the underside of his tip, mirroring you. He’s going to have far, far too much fun with you, he muses, he can’t wait to see you crying and begging him to stay.

*****

“What the fuck did you do!?” You’re shouting in his office the next day, he stomps over to where you’re shouting in the open, people are just looking at you two. Though it’s not unheard of for you to lose your shit on Sukuna, he shuts the door quickly, smirking down at you.

“What’s wrong, mad your little fuck toy is out of the office?” You haul back and smack the fuck out of his cheek, leaving your handprint, he glares and presses you against the door, a hand gripping your chin. “Ya really gonna think you can just slap me?”

“Sure the fuck can.” You slap him again, on the other cheek as hard as you can, he grips both wrists and pins them to the wall, chest heaving with his breaths. “Fuck you, Sukuna.”

“You wanna fuck me so bad, don’t you?”

“Hah, you wish I did.”

“Aw, did he not make you cum, little brat?” You gasp now, shoving him off you when he lets go of your wrists.

“You did something to him, psychotic dick. I know you did! He wouldn’t just leave me like that… leave the job like that, just cut off contact, no way.” Sukuna raises one of his slutty pierced eyebrows at you, making you itch to smack that look off again, fingers stinging from the contact.

“I got rid of his position, and gave him a huge severance package and recommendations, I didn’t fucking ask him to leave you,” Sukuna lies right to your face, watching it fall then, you’re blinking back tears he can’t wait to see fall down your cheeks. It’s for your own good, so he can’t feel bad about it. “Why would I?”

You blink rapidly, wracking your brain now, he watches the gears turn with a sick satisfaction. “I don’t… I don’t know…”

“You’re leaving, anyway right? Why do I care if you fucked-”

“I didn’t fuck him, not that it’s any of your business. We just started dating and I…” you trail off again, your lip trembling, Sukuna lets you go then, just standing there, looming over you. “Why’d you let him go suddenly?!”

“I planned it,” he’s watching you start to believe it, barely hiding back his smirk now. “I didn’t tell him to leave you. That’s the dumbest shit I’ve heard, why do I care who you’re with, tch.”

“Mr. Sukuna…” he’d looked terrified when Sukuna called him in, chuckling at the kid when he handed him the check. “What is all this money?”

“It’s a hell of a severance package,” he walks up to him now, smirking and tilting his head. “And I’ll give you double that if you break up with her.”

“You what now?” His eyes narrow at Sukuna for just a moment, even though Sukuna towers over him.

“Stay. Away. From. Her.”

“She hates you, you know that right?” Sukuna just raises a brow, hands in the pockets of his slacks, leaning even lower, watching him swallow nervously.

“If you’d like to keep all your fucking fingers, stick them inside someone else, she’s not available.”

“How the fuck would you-”

“Take the money. And go. Be smart, it’s way more than you make in a year.” He contemplates it for a moment, sighing then.

“I’m not going to break up with her just because you’re letting me go-”

“Yes, you fucking will,” he slams him on the wall, grabbing him by the collar. “If you’d like to keep intact you’ll break up with her right fucking now.”

“You’re fucking insane!” He rushes off, and Sukuna watches with a devious little smirk when he breaks up with you quietly in a corner of the office.

“Oh.” You’re turning away then, taking a shaky breath, Sukuna loves it, loves watching you lose whatever feelings you had for that boy, that doubt fucking setting in is delicious.

Just one step closer to making sure you can’t leave him.

He’s picturing lifting your pencil skirt up, pressing you against that door, it takes everything not to touch you yet, but you’re just not where he needs you. He puts a hand on your shoulder, almost comforting, giving you just enough caring to make you wonder, to make you look back in shock, even as he remembers exactly what happened this morning with that boy.

He can’t bother to feel guilty for lying when it’s all for your own good, really, you’ll be so happy when you’re his. You won’t work, won’t have to even cook, clean, anything, just be pretty and let him keep you to himself. Your eyes are all glossy with that sheen of unshed tears you’re holding onto, your breaths coming in little huffs.

“Do you need the day off?”

“You’ve never asked me that,” you laugh out meanly, his teeth clenching together. “Now that I’m leaving you’re trying to be somewhat kind? Too late for it, I’m still going regardless.”

You stomp out of the office, furious with him, he’s right though – why would Sukuna want to break you up with Ino? It doesn’t make sense, even if he’s a dick boss and can’t stand that you’re leaving him, what’s a boyfriend have to do with it… it’s not as if Sukuna had some weird interest in you.

But it was so sudden.

He’d looked terrified when he ran out of that office, asking you not to call him or message him, that he needed to get a clean start, that there were no hard feelings. After last night when he’d kissed you like that? You feel emotions welling up, a mix of anger, suspicion, and just being fucking sad.

You’re more determined than ever to get a new start with the Gojo corporation, you’d met the CEO himself, and you were so excited, the pay was really good too. Sukuna’s pay was something you would never find again, but nothing in the world was worth the stress of handling him every day. You should still be able to swing keeping your rent up with your house too.

Things will get better.

*****

Things get worse.

It’s like some fucking dark rain cloud is just following you around and storming all over you, all over everything. A steady domino effect happens that week that makes absolutely no sense. One moment, you’re ready to start a better life – or so you think – only for it to be disillusioned.

A receptionist calls and tells you the position is filled at the Gojo corporation, and that somehow something got crossed. A background check didn’t come in, and they apparently couldn’t get ahold of you. It seemed bullshit truly, but who was this random woman to lie about it?

Then, even worse, your landlord who is usually so sweet and kind, comes over and tells you they’re selling the house you rent, and you have to be out in ten fucking days. You were in shock as they came over apologetically, claiming someone offered them way more than it’s worth, and with cash. You don’t blame them, but now you are completely fucked.

Your parents are out of town, but imagine telling them your situation? Jobless soon since you already put in your resignation, and homeless? How can you even face them or live with them after being on your own since you were eighteen? You can’t just move back at twenty four.

You’re a mess when you’re back at the hell you call Sukuna Ryomen’s corporation, you hate it so much, knowing what you’re gonna have to do. Even if you stay with your family when they’re back in town, you have to have some source of income to get a new place, nothing nearby is even available for rent, so how long would it take?

No boyfriend.

No home.

No job.

And your car is still fucked up!?

You’re close to tears that monday, knocking on Sukuna’s door, the man you slapped in the fucking face last friday. Well, well deserved, sure, but what are the chances he’ll keep you? And if he does, will he make everything worse for you than he already did in the past? All you know, is for at least a few months, you’ll basically be at this shithead’s mercy.

“Come in,” he says gruffly behind the door, you take a breath, opening it and stepping in. He barely acknowledges you as he’s typing away on his keyboard, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”

“I um… well, I um…” You barely hold it together, he closes the laptop then, frowning over at you.

“You’re never at a loss for words, with that mouth,” you should scowl, but you just wanna fucking cry, you feel it coming, cursing yourself – you can’t, especially in front off him of all people! “Shut the door.”

“Right…” You do just that, closing it with a quiet click and leaning against it, eyes fluttering shut, missing his satisfied smirk just long enough for him to fix it. “Mr. Sukuna, um…”

“Um, um, um. Speak, don’t you know how to?” He’s such an ass, you barely can stand not punching him in his stupid face.

But he pays stupidly well.

“I need to keep my job.” You whisper, he blinks in surprise, standing up.

“Come here.” He says, almost softly, you step up to him, heels clicking on the polished hard wood, taking several breaths, bracing for his mockery, something fucking mean and cruel.

“Go ahead, say it, I’m pathetic for asking.” He frowns now, you’re just a breath away from him, too close for comfort.

“Why do you want to stay, thought you had the nice cushy Gojo job?” He leans his hip on the desk, crossing those big arms, his dress shirt struggling to stretch over all those muscles.

“I um…” You’re trembling in front of him, eyes welling with tears, and you’re so fucking sexy like this.

You need him.

It’s what he always wanted, you needing him.

“Will you just-”

“I lost the job opportunity,” your tears fall, hot and sticky down your cheeks, making him throb in his pants at the sight. They’re glimmering under the can lights in his ceiling, your red lipstick bitten off in places from your nerves.

You’re perfect like this.

You’re just one step closer to where he needs you to be.

“I also got kicked out of the place I’m r-renting, a-and I really can’t lose this job now. I know I said I’d quit, but fuck just let me stay for a bit. You can throw your papers on the floor, I just need it, okay?” You gasp when he brushes your tears away almost gently, not smirking, not mocking you.

He resists the urge to lap a tear off his thumb, fully hard at the sight of you so small compared to him, trembling and pathetic really.

It’s perfect.

“You can stay,” you gasp, eyes shooting up to his in shock. “What, think I’m that fucking horrible?”

“Yes, yes I absolutely do,” he scoffs, and you curse, shutting your eyes and shaking your head. “Shouldn’t have said that when I’m asking for a favor.”

“I like that you talk shit, it’s why I pay you so much,” your eyes narrow, irritation flitting in between emotions. He sighs, hands on your arms now. “C’mere.”

“What?”

He tugs you against him then, you wonder if on top of losing everything you’ve lost your mind and are having straight up delusions, his big hand brushing up and down your back. You’re against his chest, tears making his button down wet in spots, struggling to catch your breath.

How can you be comforted by this man, in any way!?

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Holding you, shit what does it look like?” You shake your head, but you don’t move. You hate to admit he feels good, he’s so warm he’s hot, that warmth seeping against you, his big, bulging muscles too comfortable. “You can stay with me.”

“I’ve really fucking lost it. What now?” You sniffle, looking up at him then, he brushes a lock of your hair in a move you can only describe as gentle, it doesn’t fit any of him.

“You’re a good assistant, I know I’m kind of a dick.”

“Kind of!? You’re a horrible, completely terrible, mean ass, conceited shit-”

“Fuck off, I’m trying to help!?”

You bite your inner cheek, heart racing now, pounding in your chest. “Letting me keep my job is nice enough, don’t act weird.”

“Weird, tch,” he tugs you closer, letting you cry more, smiling against your hair as you do. Every tear just makes him want you more. “You can stay with me till you get a place, I have a big ass penthouse, not like we’ll see each other much. Plus, isn’t your car in the shop? I can bring you to work.”

“How do you know that?”

“You don’t wanna stay with your parents, do you?” He avoids the question completely.

“Shit, no.” You sigh, pulling back and swiping those tears, realizing it is your best option. “Are you as much of a dick at home as you are at work?”

“Worse.”

“Then-”

“It’s a joke?” You glare, and he chuckles a bit, his eyes bright fucking red, almost scary when they assess you carefully. “I’ve been too harsh on you, huh?”

“Harsh is an understatement, sadistic asshole fits better,” his scowl deepens, grip still firm on your waist even though you’ve backed away. “You really won’t mind me living with you?

“Nah, like I said we won’t even see each other much. I feel a little responsible,” – he literally caused all of it – “I made you wanna leave. So let me at least do something to make it up.”

“Are you in therapy or on meds or some shit? Who are you?”

“You’re such a little fucking brat, ungrateful-”

“Ah, there he is,” you smile, that mean little one even with your tremulous lips, stepping back then. “Well I really have no choice.”

“You’re sounding really thankful.”

“I am, though. I guess I’ll bring some things over tonight if that’s okay?”

“I’ll bring you to your place, we can grab what you need.”

You walk off, then turn around, looking at him and wondering if there’s something more than an arrogant, self entitled dick in there. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, get back to work, you’re slacking.” You roll your eyes as you walk out of his office, and he can’t stop his grin from spreading.

*****

You thought you’d hate living with Sukuna, even if he has a fancy decked out penthouse, with cleaners making sure it was immaculate. You don’t know what you expected, some pretentious bachelor pad with nothing but beer and no food in the fridge? He’s in his mid thirties and since, which raises every red flag along with his horrible personality.

Surely some sugar baby would deal with him or something, he’s that attractive really, some people could probably get past how much of an asshole he was. Yet, he’s alone, you don’t see him talk to any women the first week you’re there at all, and it almost gets comfortable, driving back to his place together, cooking dinner and then bitching about idiots at work.

Fuck it’s almost domestic?

Sukuna is still a dick at work, sure, but he’s eased up a bit, he’s actually said a praise or two which he never has, and at home he’s quite kind, even intelligent. Coming off like a nepo baby airhead, he surprises you more with just how smart he is, when he’s typing away at that computer working some finances, while some science show is on his big ass tv.

Sukuna’s almost a little nerdy, especially with those glasses. He walks around shirtless, that shithead, and that really fucks with you more than you’ll admit. You figured he had a good body judging by how his suits fit, but nothing really prepared you for waking up and seeing him completely bare aside from some boxer briefs that hugged a rather caked out ass.

He was cooking this morning, making what smelled like bacon and eggs, scrambling them around when you wake up, yawning. One week and you haven’t killed each other, in fact as you’re staring at the black tattoos across his back, he turns his head a bit to look back at you.

He’s unfairly attractive, that conceited ass smile plastered on his face when he looks back at you. “Checking my ass out?”

“Hah, not even, I’m just tired and want coffee,” you’re next to him then, arms brushing against each other when he looks down at your body. “Are you staring at my tits?”

“Yes.”

“The fuck,” you shove at him and he chuckles, almost playfully, you can’t stop your nipples from tightening at the gaze, at his laugh. Fuck it’s almost pleasing, making you hate him more. “Pervert.”

“Says you,” he reaches across and turns on the coffee maker for you, it heats up with a whir. “Wanna eat?”

“You’re making me breakfast?” You ask, pulling out a coffee pod, Sukuna barely hides his erection when he fully gets a look of what you’re wearing, some thin little crop top and shorts that barely cover your ass.

You look slutty, tits half out, almost the entirety of those thighs bare, thighs he’d die to have one either side of his face. That makes him angrier, the amount he wants to pleasure you, worship you, and because of your bratty attitude he has to wait. You look like you need his cock inside you.

He wants to give you what you need, it’s torture to jerk it next to you every night, when you’re a room away, but he knows damn well you don’t need him that badly yet. But you’re getting there, he can almost inhale the scent of your arousal, so sweet like the panties he buried his face in last night.

He despises you for reducing him to that, to lapping your sticky arousal from them, and they were coated in your slick. Despite you acting fine, you were clearly wet around him, your nipples poking out of your top and drawing his gaze, his wide grin, you cup them then, gasping.

“Don’t stare dickhead, I’m just cold!”

“Sure you are, they like me, at least.”

“They so do not.” He smirks, and you struggle to focus on anything other than wanting him to throw you on that counter.

Stupid.

It’s stupid.

One week of being a semi decent human being doesn’t eliminate everything he’s put you through. “I’ll eat some.”

“Good girl.”

“Yuck, never mind.”

“Fucking brat,” he scowls, and you can’t stop a little giggle, the first he has ever heard from you, he grips the spatula so hard it bends. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it does look yummy though.”

“Then sit down, I’ll bring you some.” You both fall into a comfortable silence, eating side by side, he’s peering at his laptop while you’re poking at your phone, knees brushing under his pretty white bar. He leans over and swipes a bit of coffee off the corner of your mouth, and that’s when you pause.

He’s not touched you like that, your couple of interactions were slaps, and then that weird hug he tugged you into. But this week he’s made sure not to, and when he does, you ache, desire ruining your brain chemistry. You stare at him with dilated eyes when he brushes his thumb across your lips, watching the plush of it gently move, knowing what it’s doing to you.

He knows your cunt is pulsing around nothing, knows what his eyes are doing while they look down at you. He knows how to push you over that edge until you beg for him, or so he thinks. You pull back and smack at his hand, he clenches his teeth, about to bend you over and beat your ass black and blue, but he can’t. He has to make you want him, not just need him.

“Weirdo.” You stick your tongue out, he scoffs at you, back to watching the news on his screen, and you run to the bathroom when you’re done.

You can’t help but reach down and find your cunt slick.

Fuck Ryomen Sukuna.

*****

It’s been two weeks now, Sukuna lets you sit on the couch and you two actually watch movies together, you sit out on the balcony with him and drink his ridiculously expensive vintage of wine. It’s peaceful almost, he’s quiet and doesn’t talk too much shit, and you unfortunately find yourself enjoying him, wanting him more and more despite your mind knowing that’s the dumbest idea.

Do you just want to get fucked, are you just horny and he’s hot? But how can you ever want someone who was that awful? It’s almost hard to remember, sitting next to him tonight, eyes getting heavy, you rest your head on his shoulder before you think better of it, feeling him tense.

His hand is on your thigh, you’re shifting your hips, dying for him to just touch you. You see the way he looks at you now that you live with him, you’ve seen the bulge in his boxers in the morning, hear how he catches his breath, notice the dilation of his eyes. You know he wants you, but he makes no move ever, the hand not inching the tiniest bit higher.

You sure the hell would never ask him, it’s dumb to even be open to it, but the more you’re around his psychotic ass, the more your body reacts so stupidly. You can only chalk it up to so many issues and a massive need of therapy, perhaps you’ve just been consuming too much hate sex smut, and it’s altering your brain.

But you want it.

You shift again, closer now, pretending you’re falling asleep, thighs spreading just a bit, some insane part of you wonders if he’d touch you in your sleep. He inches his fingers just a bit higher, you bite back a gasp, keeping your eyes fluttered shut, hearing the quiet click of the remote now as he turns off the show. He brushes back your hair for a moment, rather than what you need.

His fingers inside you.

His mouth on you.

What the actual hell is wrong with your mind you don’t know, inhaling that expensive scent, more and more alluring with every breath you slowly take, feigning sleep while he runs a finger across your jaw line. You bury your face against his neck now, breathing heavier, he pauses, unmoving then, until he shakes you just a bit.

“Gonna drool on me, brat?” You pull off now, scoffing and going to stand with a yawn.

“Sorry for being sleepy, dick.”

“Tch…”

When he grips your wrist with long, thick fingers that you keep wondering about. You wonder if they’d hit your cervix, those black painted nails against your skin, leaving marks. You’re so done with his bullshit, the push and pull, one moment acting kind enough that you wonder if you’re wrong, then the next snapping, being a whole psycho – and the entire time making you throb with need every time he’s close to you.

“Come drool on me then, if you’re gonna be all pouty about it,” he gives you a mean little smile. You tug away, freeing your wrist, seeing marks he leaves from just that touch. You wonder if he’d leave them all over your body. “Going to bed?”

“Sure am.” He chuckles like the asshole he is, you stomp off and sigh, resting your head on the door.

He’s trying to tease you, it’s so obvious to you then, when you hear quiet moans and huffs next to your room. Like he’s wanting you to cave, to desire him, but you sure the hell would never give him that satisfaction. You’re undressing when you see it then, a little small black tube, and then it all starts to hit you.

Is this pervert watching you!?

He knew about Ino, he knows too much.

That should scare you, really, but instead you undress right in front of that camera, ever so slowly, letting your tits bounce. You hear his moans get just a bit louder, hiding your smile when you lay on the bed, holding your phone and texting a guy back who asked you out. You proceed then to touch yourself, moaning loudly the name of the date.

“Oh, Suguru, oh!”

Sukuna pauses, dick in his hand, almost crushing the phone he’s watching you on now, his jaw tensing as you say some other dudes fucking name!? Not even the boy you dated – why is he so desperately in love with such a mean, evil thing really? He should go in there and beat your ass, fuck you so good all you know is him, but it would just fuck everything up.

He flings his phone across the room, all while you’re in the other room getting off to the thought of making this stalker furious.

*****

You certainly can’t stay here much longer with Sukuna.

One, he’s a psycho.

Two, he’s a dick.

Three, you want to fuck him.

All of that together pushes you to start peering at places, there is a brand new condo building that’s just constructed, and it’s in your price range. You submit a pre application, then decide to get ready for your date with a handsome man you’d run into last week. Some sick, dark part of you gets off on the idea a cocky ass man like Sukuna is so obsessed he spies.

You wonder the extent of it, honestly, when you step out into the living room in a slinky little black dress, red lips just a little glossy, pretty earrings dangling with your hair done up. You had done a couple little spins to make sure everything looked good, slipping on a pair of red bottom heels, a splurge you’ve never even worn before. All in all, you know you look good.

When Sukuna’s eyes catch you, for a moment his lips part, his heart hammers at how gorgeous you look, but just as quickly, he realizes it’s not for him, and clenches his jaw, narrowing his eyes now when you step closer. You do a little spin and giggle, making him want to throw your ass down on the mattress in his room, and fuck you into it.

Tear your dress into nothing, so you never wear it again, use that pretty silver necklace to choke you until it snaps in half. He can hardly handle just standing there, his ‘unbothered’ act about to fail with what you’re putting him through. Sukuna has never cared about anyone but you, never felt any of this, and yet here you are about to go out with someone else?

He’s read your signals, but the game he’s playing is apparently too slow for you and how needy your cunt apparently is.

He’s furious.

“How do I look, Sukuna? I think I like this dress on me.” You say with a little quirk of your lips, like you know what you’re doing to him.

His gaze dips to your breasts, cupped tightly in that dress, too low cut, fuck he could almost see your nipples if you bend over. And he’d surely see your ass if you did, the shape of it outlined in the little black thin ass material, a pathetic excuse for clothing he’d never let you out in once you’re his.

“Where ya going dressed like that huh?” You scoff, crossing your arms.

“Excuse me? I think I look hot.”

“You look slutty as fuck.” You scowl at him, he walks closer, until your back is pressed against the counter, heart racing. “Shouldn't let you out like that.”

“Would it kill you to just say I look pretty once?” You blink back frustrated tears, because why the fuck do you care what he thinks!? Why do you want him to!? The toxic pull is worse when you feel his body against yours, feel his heat, wanting it to soak into you, even knowing he’s dangerous and terrible.

Sukuna grips your face too tightly, a thick, muscled thigh slipping between your own, you bite back a gasp of pleasure so hard it makes your lip almost bleed, struggling to focus. “You know you're fucking gorgeous, tch. It doesn't change shit about this slutty ass outfit.”

“Oh fuck you,” you grip his wrists, shoving his hands down, just for him to bar you with his arms, thigh pressing higher, making you almost let out that moan threatening to spill from your throat. Your eyes fly to his, unreadable and dilated to almost pure blackness. “I'm going on a date.”

“A date, huh?” You nod, swallowing nervously now.

How dare you show off all that pretty skin. That pretty body that belongs to him and only him!?

“Look like you’re going to a dick appointment.”

You slap the fuck out of him now, his cheek decorated with your handprint, breaths faster and faster, a mix of anger, hatred and being so turned on you’re about to soak his thigh. He can tell, you swear he feels it already, merely grinning and cupping your face now.

“You love to hit me, huh?”

“You’re an ass who deserves to be hit, so yes. So what if it is a ‘dick appointment’ do you not think I have needs?”

“Needs, hmm?” He presses up again, big hands gripping your hips and tugging you down, you can’t bite that whine back even though you try, you curse internally with his satisfied grin. “What exactly do you need?”

“Need someone who wants to get me off,” you shove at his chest even as you rock your hips, he’s throbbing when he feels it – how hot you are, your needy cunt just pressing on him. “Don’t you date, Sukuna? Haven’t seen a girl here.”

“Do you want to hear another girl screaming while I fuck her in the next room?” He’s leaning against you, all six feet something of him imposing while you’re pressed on his chest, his thigh, cunt pulsing around nothing.

“What would I care?” You whisper, chin tilted up to eye him in the face defiantly even as you soak him, trembling thighs and hands just resting on his chest, gripping his shirt. “What if I fucked someone, would you watch me, Sukuna?”

“Would I what now!?” You smile deviously, yanking him down, until he’s dangerously close to your lips, the scent of your perfume flooding his senses, sweet breath minty and cool against his lips.

“Would you watch me, would you get off to that?”

“You think I’m some sicko, huh,” he’s chuckling and pressing his thigh up again, you’re so close from just that it’s dumb, while he slips up your dress, hands gripping the thin material. “Maybe I just worry about you.”

“Hah, worry for me, hmm? Mnh-” His cheeks are flushed red, you feel it – his thick, heavy cock against your waist now, pressing and insistent despite him trying to compose himself.

“I should take you, your car is still in bad shape,” he whispers, you shake your head. “No, what if some weirdo gets you?”

“I’ll be f-fine, I’ll be in by curfew dad.”

“You’re such an insolent-”

“Brat, yeah you say that. Can you get out of my way? I have a date to go to.” He pulls back, and raises a brow when he looks at his slacks, you peer down in horror, seeing the spot glistening with your slick. “I’ll be g-gone soon, too.”

“Leaving huh? Tsk, you’re messy, aren’t you?” He runs his thumb over it now, coating it in the damp, sticky clear arousal, your thighs tremble when he steps forward, taking your chin with his other hand now. “Ruining my thousand dollar slacks?”

“You put your leg there, weirdo - mmm!” Sukuna runs your own juices across your lips like a gloss, smirking as he does it, slipping his thumb between your lips.

“Should make you clean it off,” he murmurs, tilting his head and looking at you like some predator, when you sink your teeth against the pad of his thumb he doesn’t even flinch. “Make you lick it off, on your knees.”

You pause instead of coming back with something, the thought of him making you do it fucking you up, your tummy clenching when he runs his thumb across it again, lapping it off a finger now. His eyes flutter shut, cheeks hollowing, sipping your slick cunt off them, as you watch, lips parted.

“Have fun on your little date.” Is all he says then, walking off and leaving you clenching nothing, clit twitching with how badly she wants friction. You rush out quickly, leaving Sukuna with your flavor sunk in his tastebuds, peering at his phone after a few minutes, tracking your exact location.

As if he wouldn’t watch you.

He has to make sure you act right, going out like that with your cunt teased too, he sure the fuck wasn’t going to let anyone touch you.

Sukuna watches you from the car window later, dark and tinted just across from the restaurant, you’re sitting right by the window, giggling with your hand in front of your mouth, some tall dude next to you. He assumes it’s the name you moaned last night, your hand is on his thigh, you’re sitting right against him. Sukuna’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly.

He watches you kiss him, plotting just what he’s gonna do when you walk through that door tonight. How is he supposed to hold back when you’re running around and letting other men touch what belongs to him. He scowls at his phone and texts you out of curiosity, you peer at the phone and don’t respond, instead sipping on your glass of wine and throwing your head back.

You’re absolutely done for.

*****

You had way too much fun tonight, you even had a little make out sesh in the car, he’s handsome and sweet and easy to talk to. Knowing you have to go back to Sukuna should fill you with some sense of dread, he’s a dickhead and at this point lives to edge you, he’s clearly watching you – you don’t know the extent – but that all just makes pissing him off more thrilling.

You slip off your heels at the door, stepping into the quietness of the penthouse, it’s completely dark in there, not a light left on, and not a sound. You didn’t expect Sukuna to be up and running around, but the darkness is a little disconcerting, especially with the dizziness from the wine in your blood stream. You blink a bit, reaching for the light switch, when you hear him.

“You’re back, huh?” He walks to you, your eyes adjust to him in the night, his big frame casting shadows when you hit the lights just barely, enough to be able to see him, before he snatches your wrist.

“Yes, I’m back, did you worry about me, Sukuna?” You murmur, leaning close to him, letting him hold them, letting him press you against that door. “That’s so sweet, you care huh? Why are you waiting for me like some creep, anyway?”

“Hah, a creep,” he slides a hand up, yanking out all the pins that have your hair in that pretty updo. You gasp as they clatter to the floor around you, the pins echoing off the hardwood.

“What are you doing?”

He says nothing, so done with you, so furious, ready to fuck your throat till you can’t talk anymore. “What, mad I had fun, want me miserable? Or are you… jealous, imagine, Ryomen Sukuna jealous.”

You run your hand up his chest, little glint in your eyes while he yanks your hair at the roots, so hard you cry out at it. “Get on your fucking knees, now.”

“Excuse me- ah!” He’s pulling harder, a hand on your shoulder pressing you down, you feel his strength along with your tummy clenching with hot need.

“On. Your. Knees.” He orders again, voice gruff as you kneel for him, you glare but you want this. You want to be on your knees, him yanking your hair just makes you wetter, the pain along with looking up at him like this.

The fuck is wrong with you!?

Sukuna undoes his pants now, your hands go to touch his thighs, earning a sharp smack. “Put 'em behind your back, now.”

You do as he says even with a mad little look on your face, cunt already soaked at the thought of his cock in your mouth, hands behind you, fingers entwined, he chuckles now, brushing your hair back. He uses two fingers to tilt your chin up, before going to his belt buckle, your breaths coming faster and faster.

“So you can listen, then,” he taunts you, you go to stand, just to get shoved back down, exciting you more. “Open that mouth, time I put it to better use than you running it, then you kissing other men.”

“You are jealous,” you whisper, he grabs your hair in a ponytail now, pulling until you’re in tears.

“Jealous of you being a pretty little whore? Don’t scowl, you asked me to call you pretty, didn’t you?”

“Oh, fuck you, mnh…” He pulls your hair harder, yanking your head so you’re forced to look at him when he lets his cock slide out, heavy and thick, two faint blue veins wrapping all the way to his reddened tip that’s just leaking pre

“I said, open your mouth.” You do as he says, mouth open for him, tongue out and ready. “Look, you can behave, can’t you?”

Sukuna drags his tip against your lips, smirking as he smears your lip gloss, balls filling heavy with how much cum he’s ready to pour inside you. Your red tint makes his tip a pretty shade of ruby, before he presses it further, the weight of it right on the tip of your tongue, the barbell cold against the roof of your mouth. You taste him, salty little drops against your taste buds, a whine snapping his control, his teasing.

He shoves his cock deep in your mouth then, dragging your face so he can fuck it, leaving you choking on him, tears in your eyes when he hits your uvula. “That’s it, aww can you not take it all, ya that fucking pathetic?”

You just get wetter the meaner he gets, it’s making you grind helplessly on the heels of your feet pressed against your cunt, he yanks you up. “Ngh!”

“You don’t get any pleasure yet, not after all the shit you’ve put me through,” Sukuna wraps a hand around your throat now, feeling the bulge move underneath your delicate skin. “Know how long I’ve waited for this? To use you, fuck your mouth like the useless little cocksleeve you are.”

He’s lost in your suction, in how you’re taking him, the moans just vibrating against his cock, he’s sucking in a breath when you suck harder, your cheeks hollowed, letting him drag you by the hair, uncaring. Your throat constricts around his cock so tightly, he can only picture how perfect that cunt will feel.

“You’re so desperate,” he whispers. You're lost in the sensations of being used by him, his leg comes between your thigh now, you're rutting against it, whining with need. He gasps out when you suck hard, swirling your tongue around his tip. “You’ll fuck my leg, like some bitch in heat huh?”

You hate him, you hate the need that’s been building for weeks, hate the desperate way he ruts your mouth, you’re choking and gagging, sucking breaths through your nose. You let him use you for his pleasure, let his hands cup your face on either side, while your slick cunt just drips down his leg, seeping against his pants, cunt dying for any pressure, any friction.

“That's it. Throat is so fucking slutty, she wants me to ruin her. Huh? Aw, can't talk, baby?” He fucks your throat now, cursing softly as he thrusts that cock so deep, piercing dragging the roof of your mouth, the cool barbell shockingly different from his burning hot length. “Can’t run your mouth, can’t kiss some random fucking guy now, can you?”

He pulls back with a ragged breath, yanking you up with a hand on your throat, squeezing tightly, lips just a breath away. He’s fucked your throat and not even kissed you. He squeezes tighter, pressure against either side of your jugular, chuckling deeply now while you whimper.

“Could snap your little neck, y’know that?” He whispers, watching your eyes go glossy and black with need. “And you’d like it, wouldn’t you? Want me to just use every fucking hole you have?”

He kisses you, filthy and messy, more intimate than swallowing him, and that’s when he loses it fully, shoving you against the door, cock coated in your spit and saliva, wrapping it in thin gossamer strings. He tastes himself on you, along with the wine you drank, heady and making him almost bust when he pulls back, turning you.

“Let me suck you off, psycho,” you whisper, he chuckles then, teeth sinking into your neck, painful as he rips your dress off. “You dick that was expensive!?”

“I’ll buy you a new wardrobe, fuck you’re stupid, don’t you know what you do to me?” He whispers, needy and desperate himself, his hand slipping around you cup your bare breasts, leaving you in nothing but panties, the remnants of your little black dress around your ankles.

“I know you watch me,” you whisper, looking back at him then, he falters for just a moment, before smirking. “You want to fuck me, then do it.”

“You’re not in control, brat, shut that pretty mouth before I-”

“Fuck it again, I like it.”

“The fuck…” you’re a menace really. “You’re such a-”

“You gonna fuck me or? Need to go to the room and recor-” He’s shoved you forward now, sinking two fingers deep in your cunt. “Ah!”

“This what you been needing, rutting on my leg, on my thigh, making a whole fucking mess? So pathetic and needy, just to have your hole stuffed?” You gasp out, he’s rocking his fingers deep inside while your face is shoved against the door with one of his hands. “That’s it, lemme feel her, already drooling.”

You’re clenching around him, head pressed with his weight, while he scissors those thick fingers in and out. “M’gonna… f-fuck…”

He yanks them out, shoving them in your mouth, pressing your tongue down and groaning with your teeth bite at them. “Should make you beg for it.”

“I’d never, should make you,” he scoffs, tongue licking up your neck, bending over to press the fat tip of his cock against your quivering hole, his free hand turning your face, hovering so big over you then, shadows cast and covering you in darkness, it’s just him, everywhere.

“Only I will ever fuck you, touch you, kiss you,” he sloppily kisses you then, pressing his tip past that tight ring of muscles, pulling back and feeling you gush down him, moaning. “You’re all fucking mine, my pretty little whore.”

“M’not yours - ngh!” Sukuna shoves his cock half way in, you’re struggling to take it, thighs trembling, cock stretched out, all while he watches you.

“Perfect cunt is f’me, jus’me fuckin say it,” he’s groaning when he begins to move, achingly slow yet rough thrusts, slamming you into the door. One of his hands entwines, tattooed and rough, swallowing yours. “Say it, that you’re just a stupid little slut for me.”

“F-fuck you, Sukuna, not yours,” your cunt is gushing arousal, so much he’s moving easier despite the stretch, he’s all bent as you arch your ass more, whining out at the stretch. “Too much!”

“Hah, too much? Don’t tap out, all that talk, all that play, knowing I could fucking see you,” he slams his cock hard against your cervix, you scream out, hoarsely. “Your throat is so sore, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you’re lost in him, in his mean thrusts, in his nasty words, he lifts you then, letting your legs dangle in the fucking air, arms wrapping you. “Psycho, put me down!?”

“You can still talk,” he slams his cock inside your hole, using you now, up and down his cock with your body like you’re nothing. “Dumb fucking toy, aren’t you? Is this what you needed?”

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s railing your cunt with sharp thrusts, making drool spill from your mouth, you’re shaking in his hold, he slams you down hard and you shatter, pulsing around him as you cum so hard you can’t fucking see. You’re blinded, blink back fuzzy stars when he yanks out of you, making you whine out at the emptiness.

He unceremoniously sets you on the ground, you wobble, sadistic fucker eats it all up too. “So fucked out you can’t walk? I just started.”

“Back in.”

“If you say you’re mine,” he’s cupping your face so tightly it hurts, his eyes terrifying, voice just a whisper. “Fucking say you’re mine.”

“No.”

“You little…” He picks you up, you cling to him, letting him carry you to his room, he practically flings you on his bed, pressing you into the mattress and lifting your thighs, eyeing your cunt. “It’s perfect, fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Get back in, mnh.” He’s past chuckling and teasing, he’s lost when he sees your pussy, ready to bury himself inside it. He spreads your thighs, leaning over you and sinking inside now, watching your tummy move with him. “You’re too deep.”

“Your slutty hole can take it,” he slams his cock inside, bottoming out as deep as he can go, pushing your thighs up and making you feel the stretch, rolling his hips and looking down at you. “So tight, f-fuck… all mine, shit…”

Your pretty face, drenched in perspiration, lipstick smeared and half missing, mascara streaks down your cheeks.

“You’re a fucking mess, look at you,” Sukuna fucks you deeper, one hand braced next to you, the other under your chin. “Look, I’m fucking ruining you.”

You barely register, looking down and seeing your tummy move now. “Mnh…”

“Can’t run your stupid mouth huh?” You smack him, he pins your wrist, pulsing inside you now, you’re whimpering, whining, a mess as he lays into you. “Going to fuckin’ ruin you for anyone.”

You shake your head, making him laugh, pressing your thighs up until you’re in a mating press, bending in ways you didn’t think you could, just fucking you harder. The loud sounds of the smacking of his thighs on your ass mix with your cunt squelching, his huffs and moans and your breathy gasps, while his cock does wreck you.

It hurts you, stretches you, the skin around his cock burning from it when he pulls fully out, smacking his heavy cock against your cunt. “Say you’re mine.”

“No, f-fuck!” Sukuna’s putting his weight on your thighs, fucking you bruisingly rough now. He’s not holding back anymore, the bed shaking with every thrust, looking down at you with lidded eyes, all black with a ring of ruby.

“If you wanna cum, you’ll say it,” he pauses his thrusts, you shake your head even when his tip presses your cervix, that ring dragging on your spot. “If you want me to keep fucking you like the slut you are, you will.”

“No.” He yanks out of you again, leaving you empty and twitching, smacking your sore cunt. “Ow!”

“You just don’t listen, you just don’t realize you’re mine, have been mine, only mine.” You blink rapidly, shaking your head. “Wanna cum, don’t you? You’re so needy.”

You nod weakly, he smacks your cunt again with a sharp smack that stings, you’re crying out, tears slipping down your cheeks when he does it again. “Mnh…”

“Cunt is all puffy, all fucked up already, bet it I just…” he runs a thumb over your twitching clit, left untouched until now. Your head falls back at it, while he holds your thighs up, running quicker and quicker. “Bet you squirt all over me, huh?”

You shake your head, he shoves his thick cock back in, he needs you too much to keep holding back, needs to ruin you, fill you, mark you his. Sukuna rubs your clit while his fat cock stuffs your hole over and over, harder and faster, you’re twitching, overstimulated quickly, clit sensitive when he presses harder now. You gasp out, so close, making him halt.

“Make me cum, you stalker,” he smirks, slamming into you again, moving your thighs so that they’re up in the air now.

“You love that I watch you, admit it.”

You shake your head, he smirks and leans over you, thumb paused, just sitting on your little clit as it twitches, cunt spasming around his cock. “No it’s w-weird, creepy…”

“You love that I’m fucking obsessed with you,” you shake your head again, he drags his finger up, showing you his sticky, soaked hand. “Admit it.”

“No – g-god!” Sukuna slams into your cunt again, so hard you can hardly handle it, a writhing mess underneath him.

“I have watched you for months, watched you suck your cum off your fingers,” he runs your juices now against your lips, the pressure builds more and more, your breaths coming out in short pants, your nails digging into the bedsheets. “Watched you with that boy, seen you fucking dancing around your room naked.”

“Creep, ngh!” Your eyes roll back in your skull as he slams again, rolling his hips, letting your thighs grip them, hands brutal against your thighs, leaving bruises.

“You’re wetter, you get off on it, huh? Let’s test it,” he kisses up your neck, your ear, whispering in it now. “I stroked my cock just thinkin’ about your cunt, licked you off your used panties.”

“Oh fuck…” you’re gushing, so close with every filthy image he throws in your head, as he slams his cock, heavy balls making little plap plap plap sounds, his cock throbbing inside. You feel every vein, every ridge of his dick inside you, nails digging into his strong biceps in response.

“Your cunt can’t lie like you do, you like making me desperate, don’t you?” You bite your lip, tears from being edged falling, making him groan when he feels them against his cheek. “Yeah, cry, hah – pathetic dumb baby.”

“Hate you,” you bite his shoulder, but he fucks you harder, losing it, desperate and needy – a whimper in your ear that pushes you over the edge. “Hate you so m-much.”

“Fuck,” he’s kissing you again, hands folding you in half, then gripping your face, sweat dripping on your skin. “You’re never leaving me, I’ll fill you so much, so much cum you’ll drip me at work.”

“Sukuna…”

“Give you so many fucking reasons to stay, fucking keep you to myself,” you’re lost in his insanity, losing all sense of preservation for his thick cock and the way he looks at you. “You’re mine.”

“Fuck it, just… let me cum…” He pauses at that, lips parted. “Please.”

“Begging? Look at you, perfect fucking whore for me only, only want my cum inside you, huh? Fill you till you’re begging me to stop.”

“Shut up and – f-fuck, fu-uckkk,” your orgasm ruins you, you’ve never felt whatever the fuck the psycho is doing, and he just fucks you through it, hands pressing so hard against your head you think you’ll break.

“Can you take it all? Greedy cunt is fuckin’ begging for it, feel her milking me, she knows who she belongs to at least,” you’re getting fucked from one orgasm into another, the room spinning, making you dizzy as he works you over and over. “Fuck you stupid, huh? Stupid little whore.”

“Fuck you, hate you. Dumb fucking… psycho…” You’re getting filled then as he moans while you insult him, while you’re digging your nails so hard he bleeds, kissing you desperately as his cum floods your cunt.

“Feel you, so fucking good, g-god, she’s all mine,” you’re sobbing, shaking underneath him, all just making him want you again. “She is, you are. Not going anywhere.”

“Just once,” you mumble, he chuckles then, yanking out of you, dripping with all the fluids from you two, it’s filthy to see. He grabs a pillow, flipping you onto your stomach and slipping it right under your hips then. “Sukuna, f-fuck are you doing back there?”

“God, look at her, she took me s’fucking good, she took so much,” he is spreading your legs while he watches your cunt pushing out his pearly white cum, spreading your ass wide so he can look. “Arch that ass up for me.”

“Again!? I- S-sukuna ngh,” you feel it then, his tongue lapping from your clit all the way to your little unused hole. “What are you d-doing?”

“Gonna taste us together, god your pussy is so slutty, mnh.” Sukuna laps his long tongue deep in your cunt now, scooping out his own cum, while his hands take over your ass, gripping it and dragging it on his face.

“Are you l-licking… my… your… oh, there, shit there,” you’re arching more now, he dives deeper, cleaning every inch of your cunt with his mouth, tongue flicking deep inside and scooping more that pours. “Cumming!”

He pulls back now, laying prone over you with his long limbs, tattooed hands pressing your lips apart. “Open, taste us.”

You do just that without argument, letting Ryomen Sukuna spit in your mouth, swapping the mix of both of your cum with dripping saliva. “You’re freaky as fuck, S-sukuna.”

“You haven’t seen shit yet, I’m not taking it easy this time,” you go to ask what the fuck he means when he shoves all of the nine inches he can in your cunt, wrapping his fingers around your throat. “Gonna fill you again, and again, and again, till you learn who the fuck you belong to.”

*****

You’re blinking as the sun shines in the big windows of Sukuna’s room, feeling something wet against your tummy. You gasp and lift the sheets, watching as Sukuna’s pink haired head sinks lower. “What’re you doing, you weird fucking freak!?”

“Gonna have you a pathetic mess, hurt your little cunt, bet she’s sore,” he bites your clit now, you jerk, yanking on his hair, shaking when he slides two fingers in, eyeing you with a lazy smirk and bright ruby eyes. “Aw, poor little pussy.”

“I s-said once…”

“I came inside you five times,” he spreads your pussy lips now, moaning. “Still some leaking out of your beat up cunt, too.”

“D-did you record that all? Gonna jerk off to it?” You gasp as he flicks his demon tongue on your sore clit, sinking another finger inside and stretching you out so much you’re jerking back.

“Ah - ah, don’t run, brat. You’re all mine, belong to me,” he flicks his tongue again, after fucking you stupid all night, your brain is still fucked. “You’re never leaving me.”

“Y-yes I will.”

He smiles against your skin, letting you think that for now, before making sure to put more cum inside you, fuck you even dumber, until you don’t even remember what you were saying, what you were thinking. When you’re passing out, he’s still inside you, chuckling at how cute you are, tears drying on your cheeks, your lips swollen, and he knows you’re not going anywhere.

Surprise, she isn't going anywhre :')

Comments/rbs very appreciated if you enjoy!!

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #yandere smut #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk sukuna

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bi-writes · 2 days ago

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you'd do anything to fuck your boss. (18+, ghost x f!secretary)

well, he's not technically your boss. you report to captain price, but he never fails to remind his boys that there's a pretty thing that sits outside of his office that can file their paperwork and take notes for them. he's always volunteering your services to them, and all you can do is cross your legs behind your desk and smile. even if you didn't want to do it, you would never tell your captain no.

except for him—not for your favorite.

lieutenant riley is exactly the sort of thing you would ruin your career for. closed-off. angry. matter-of-fact. he dealt with no bullshit, and he said whatever he wanted to; he did not care for how anyone perceived his opinions.

there is something comforting about someone that does not wear a false face. ghost is not creepy nor is he mean (not unless you're asking for it). he tells it to you as it is, and he doesn't reserve room for comfort nor ease. he doesn't care, and that's what makes him feel safe to you. there is nothing to discover. he has no secret to hide from you. there's something transparent that he keeps close to himself, and in that way, you can't keep your eyes off of him.

oh, well—he's also built like a fucking tank.

you think often about what you might have to do to get him to look at you. he's so massive; you find yourself in meetings, watching the way he takes up whatever side of the room he's in. the chair creaking as he sits down, straining to take his weight. the top of the doorway nearly skimming his head. the way he pins you to where you are just with a fixed glare.

fuck. he's hot. when his reports come across your desk, you even feel yourself squeezing your legs together at the way he writes—eloquently, with expansive vocabulary, a keen eye for detail and a penmanship that isn't written in fucking blue crayon (you'll never forgive johnny for that shit).

capable, confident, killing machine—holy fucking shit, will you just forget you're in my bed for one night? please, please, please, please—

for fuck's sake, how hard could it be? he's just a man; and men are all the same.

it's late when you knock on his door. he likes this little corner of the base; a room with four walls and one measly window, tucked in with just enough yellow light to keep him settled. when he opens the door, you can smell the cigarette he must've been smoking. he's dressed down because of the hour; just in the shirt under his jacket and dark jeans, mask just under his nose as he blows the remaining breath of smoke he was holding to the side.

"'s late," he mutters. you're supposed to be off-base by now. at home, back in civilian life, back with people of the real world and not amongst the ones that hide from it. he talks like he doesn't care you're even there; like he didn't even notice your wet eyes.

"i-i know," you whisper. "i-i need some help. no one else is...up."

you hold up your hand, which is shaking now. the side of your hand has been sliced open—an office accident, a paper cutter in the wrong position. there's blood dripping down the skin of your arm, soaking through the thin napkin you're trying to use as a makeshift bandage. ghost tilts his head, looking down at it, and he shakes his head when he sees it.

"clumsy girl."

you sit on his desk as he flips open a first aid kit. it's quiet here, no music, no men, just the sound of the outside and the rustle of plastic as ghost fishes out a clean bandage. he already helped you clean up the cut over the sink; nothing but soap and water, big hand scrubbing at the cut until he was satisfied it was clean.

he uses his teeth to tear open a new package, and you keep your eyes on his as he smooths it over your hand. he's not looking at you; he's focused on your hands, keeping you still, and when he finishes, he finally looks at you.

"thank you," you whisper. ghost doesn't move away. he doesn't want to; if he did, he would already be out of your space. you don't flinch when he reaches a hand up, a gloved hand wiping under your eye. when your lashes flutter, ghost's nostrils flare, tongue coming out to trace along his teeth. you smile, so demure, so soft.

you look sweet; and a man has to eat.

you squeak when he takes a blade out of his boot. you meet his eyes, mouth dropping open in a pant as he licks across the metal before using the tip of it to cut the button of your blouse. you look down, a whine leaving you as he pops each button off of your blouse with a flick of his blade. the buttons scatter across the floor, clattering, and then he's closer, stretching your thighs apart, pencil skirt riding up as he slides those gloved hands up your legs until it scrunches around your wide hips.

"i know wot y'r doin'," ghost mutters. his forehead presses to yours, and you lift your knees, trapping him between your legs as you lock your ankles behind him. "think i haven't seen ya?"

"mmm..."

"oooohhh, now y'wanna play stupid, tha' 'ow it's gonna be, yeah?"

you'll play dumb and dumber until the day you die if he fucks you like this every time. the items on his desk scatter as he lays you over it, arms knocking pens and papers over as his mouth fits against yours and your little (compared to his own) hands fumble with the zipper of his jeans to get him just naked enough. he's eating you, stealing your breath, tongue laving over your teeth and around your mouth until there's spit gathering under your chin. he'd be a good kisser if he wasn't so fucking nasty about it, but it means you taste the ash that clings to him, and somehow it's good—so fucking good, take it out, take it out, take it out—

"knew you'd be big," you babble, soft hand cupping under his cock. he cradles the back of your head, tip catching between your folds, and you can do nothing but arch your back as he puts two thumbs against your pussy and fits himself inside.

he is big, in a nasty, terrible way. he's big in the way that must've turned other girls off. he's big in the way that must've made them gag, made them hurt, made them decide it was all too much and left before they could get his cock properly wet, and for that, you're taking this as a challenge.

when he presses a gloved hand over your belly and feels for the tip of his cock, you know you have him.

locked and fucking loaded.

he lets your fingers under the mask. your nails scratch over his buzzed hair under the fabric, and you hum into his mouth as he grips the outside of your thigh and pulls you even closer to him.

it'll never be the same again. you'll never be normal, not with this thing hiding you under their shadow. you'll never want another man, you'll never look at him the same way, you'll never feel as full as you at this very moment underneath him with his cock rearranging your insides and forcing your toes to curl in the heels you're still wearing.

your eyes water just as much as your pussy. you're leaking from everywhere—tears on your cheeks, slick along his cock, sweat at the base of your spine, drool in his mouth. you take it like the clumsy girl you really must be. your legs are dangling around his hips, body following his lead because you don't know what to do with yourself with how good he makes you feel.

you bare your throat as he grinds his hips. as your head tips back, his teeth catch your jaw, and when his cock punches somewhere soft, you push your hips up against his to meet him halfway. your body react on autopilot, but ghost forces you where he wants you with a stiff hand and a condescending huff.

"tha' good, innit?"

yes. yes, it's that fucking good, yes, it's the best you'll ever have, yes, you're going to make an excuse every single night so you can end up right here, underneath him, anchored against him for nothing but your pleasure. you'll do anything to come back.

you come just before him. your legs are shaking, hanging off his arms, and he buries his face into your neck when you feel his cum hot inside of you.

he pulls out slowly, chin against his thick chest as he watches the knickers he never took off of you soaked through now. he pinches the fabric between his gloved hands, sliding them off of you. he's a nasty man, and you expect him to pocket them, but what you didn't expect was his tongue to fall out, and you definitely didn't expect to see him wad up the fabric and stick it right into his mouth.

he grins, maniacal, as he sucks with a fervor before spitting it back out into his waiting hand. when your legs start to close, your thighs rubbing together for stimulation, ghost grits his teeth and shakes his head.

"oi," he pushes your legs apart, stepping between them again. "not done with you."

no, maybe ghost isn't like other men.

he's hungrier. it'll take much more than that to feed him right.

#i really............#i need to go to bed or else i'll keep going holy shit #this is....#ok goodnight lmao I NEED TO GO #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon thoughts

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captainclickycat · 2 days ago

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Ok fair play I have to respect you for that

Here's a scenario:

You are offered a deal whereupon you will be provided with an enormous sum of money, enough that you would be guaranteed to never struggle financially again for the rest of your life. Everything you need would be taken care of, with plenty left over for luxuries, travelling, recreation, charity, taking care of your friends and family, kids' college fund, whatever.

However, the trade-off for this is that your ability to feel happiness and positive emotions would become muted to the point where it never increases beyond "mild contentment". You can feel fine, you can like things in a vague casual sort of way, but you would never experience delight again. You'd never feel like you're going to burst with excitement or experience passion so intense your chest aches. You like but you don't love, at least not with any real intensity behind it.

If you have enjoyed this game please consider reblogging, I'm curious about this one.

#like I don't agree with the critique at all but I have to give you props #and yeah it's not unreasonable in a lot of ways to look at this as an ethical dilemma #although I'm not convinced by the idea that money is the only way to help other people #given that many people are much better at activism and working for humanitarian causes BECAUSE they're enthusiastic about it #I get that for some people this is easy to answer #in the same way that e.g. a poll saying 'would you become really rich if it meant you could never have children'#would be easy for me to answer because I don't want children and I do want money #but I wouldn't go calling other people selfish for picking the children option

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inknopewetrust · 3 days ago

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Flaming Hearts Fan Club

summary: you, a shit-out of luck reporter, are stuck following around the world’s most self-centered superhero for his fan club’s magazine.

Johnny Storm sees a challenge… and you just can’t help but resist him, right? You’d never kiss and tell.

[Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader] [WC: 12.3k]

Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! 18+ hesitant lovers, love at first sight, both have preconceived notions of one another, fluff, flirtation, Johnny is more than a flirt people! explicit language, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), a lil bit of edging.

Quick Links: Masterlist

“No.”

“Come on,” she begged. Her puppy eyes were glinting in the office lights. “Please. Pretty please? I’ll even say it with a cherry on top.”

“No!” You laughed at her absurdity. You interviewing Johnny Storm on behalf of that magazine? Non-heroic immolation sounded more grand at that very moment.

“What if I tell you I’ll throw in a bonus?”

Swiveling around in your chair, you looked at Lucy’s comically large black cat-eyed glasses and blinked once.

“Nothing on planet Earth could get me to step foot in the Baxter building. The goddamn sky could be falling and I would rather be crushed by the weight of gravity than spend ten minutes in heatwave’s presence.”

“He’s called The Human Torch.”

You nodded unenthused. “Wonderful.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. She laid herself dramatically atop your desk’s perched edge. Her frown deepened; eyes wallowing in self-destruction at your refusal.

“What about a big bonus?”

“Fifty dollars isn’t a “big bonus” no matter how many times you emphasize that it will cover my groceries for a month. I’d rather starve.”

“Good grief,” she wailed. “You’re a lost cause!”

“I’m the lost cause?” You feigned offense. “You are all in love with the same womanizing astronaut who spontaneously bursts into flames and cries hero when he destroys ten apartment buildings with a shallow “sorry!” You are lost causes.”

“Maybe you actually have a giant crush on him and you just don’t want all us girls to know about it.”

“Mhm,” you feigned and turned back to your work.

Materials laid askew before you in the most unorganized manner. Articles half edited remained inked in red while photographs of worthy news were plagued by post-it notes with reminders of what, where, and why.

Lucy walked around your desk. Her fingers gliding along the top of it before stretching out in observation.

“I think you actually like him,” she said matter-of-factly. “Is it the eyes? They’re so blue that they just swallow you whole like the sea. Or! Or is it that he’s a funny guy? I love men who can make me laugh.”

“Yeah, well,” you scoffed, “you laugh at everyone’s jokes so it’s not that impressive.”

“But he’s a hero! And a rich one—you see the tower? And the car… don’t even get me started on the car.”

You hummed. “Every girl just wants to be picked up in an invisible floating object.”

She narrowed her eyes accusingly. “Do you just hate fun or what?”

Shrugging, you picked up a photo and held it to the light. Lucy took you in as you distracted yourself from answering her accusatory question.

By all standards of the word, Lucy thought you fit the definition of “beautiful woman” but your beauty stumped her with your lack of social life. You had no husband, no boyfriend, no guys circling on the side. You lived alone in a decent apartment where your late nights in the office were more important than getting home at a reasonable hour to someone willing to treat you right.

You were good at your job—great, even. But you were lonely and even a single star in the farthest galaxy could see it.

Lucy wasn’t implying that Johnny Storm was going to sweep you off your feet or ride in on a golden carriage to save you from a desolate nature. You weren’t going to fall in love with him after one interview. She took your vocal objection to as a win, however. Getting you out of your comfort zone, exploring something new, and hell, he just happened to be the attractive guy at the subject of your piece.

It was different, new, and it was perfect for you.

“$300.”

You kept your eyes glued to the photograph.

“$350,” Lucy propositioned instead.

“$400?”

Your face curled up in polite decline. “I mean, I’d go through so much trouble. Not to mention the traffic and then the extra fare for the train ride home… I’m losing free time and precious seconds I could be completing other articles for Friday’s edition…”

“$500 extra, final offer.”

Dropping the photograph, you folded your arms in front of you seriously.

“There are twenty other girls who would love to be an inch away from his breathing space. Why are you asking me?”

Lucy gawked, looking around the cubicles for other reporters to share an incredulous look but no one dared look at their boundary-crossing boss. Her curly black hair whipped back around to you in seriousness.

“They don’t have a spect of talent that you do. And besides, what story is going to benefit from a fan writing about their idol or someone they wish to become their husband?”

“You think the other girls would try to… you know, sleep with him?”

“I think every person who had a mutual attraction with Johnny Storm would try and fuck him.”

“Jesus,” you muttered. “We’re at work you know.”

“I know you won’t though,” she smiled mischievously. “Even though you won’t admit he’s cute.”

“Lucy,” you sighed heavily. You put a hand to your forehead as if she was stressing you out.

“But I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I mean get it where you can.”

“I’m a professional,” you reminded her.

“Exactly.” Her eyes told you a million reasons to take the job against your better judgement.

Do it: there was plenty of money involved. Do it: imagine the publicity your writing would gain if you did. Do it: it may be published in a fan club publication but it will fly off the shelves and will bring money into the organization.

Do it: it’s only one, fifteen-hour session following around Johnny Storm for a “Day in the Life” feature that would be the first of its kind for any of the Fantastic Four.

Why couldn’t it have been Ben? Or Reed? You thought. At least with them you fathomed you’d be treated like an actual reporter, not just a set of eyes, boobs, and ass with two legs and a mouth that smiled pretty.

“$800.”

Shit.

Your eyes flicked up immediately, locking onto Lucy’s with a determination you didn’t have ten minutes ago. Now that was a bonus.

“Alright,” you sighed and nodded your head in agreement. “You’ve got a deal.”

The Baxter Building was a towering shadow in the center of the city. Scaling into the sky with reflective glass, the world bounced back from it like a mirror. Anyone could spot it from the edge of the river—the spaceship docked in its back lawn didn’t help hide it from view.

The four residents were something of a spectacle. In your opinion, they were the center of the universe when it came to politics, space exploration, and the general news. They brokered deals and were looked to by actual leaders to just about anything regarding the world’s most serious problems.

And they were handed that because they once rode through a cosmic storm and were transformed with abilities that brought forth a more dangerous era of life on Earth. You didn’t know how to reconcile the fame they achieved when dangers now lurked everywhere. You wished Earth would go back to the way it was. Boring news stories, a few interesting STEM articles, and an entertainment section that didn’t make the front page everyday.

It was easier. Simpler.

But there you were: standing anxiously outside of the Fantastic Four’s home to write an entertainment feature for the front page.

You adjusted your bag’s strap on your shoulder, straightening your spine and titling your chin higher in faux confidence. Finger lifting to the call button, you breathed out, breathed in, and pressed.

“This is the Baxter Building. Please state your name and matter of business at the tone,” a robotic voice responded.

As instructed, you relayed the information necessary. You tried to focus in on the glass before you but nothing of its contents inside appeared. Just you, your reflection, and the city still bustling behind you. The faint whizz of a police ship passed by above.

“Mr. Storm has been informed. Please wait patiently at door number 2.”

You stepped back to eye the numbers above the doors. You were at door number six and in your purview, another police ship flew by in the sky. Was it always this noisy for them?

Nevertheless, you positioned yourself outside of door two with space left for it to swing open and not hit your toes. Your heels were shiny, catching the light of day in polish while the woolen fabric of your dress beneath your coat caught the February chill.

How long would he make you wait? You fathomed he would take his time. Slowly descending from his golden palace, swiping at his hair to land in a perfect Ivy League wave, he’d wink at the few building employees he’d cross paths with along the way and send their body’s into nothing but a puddle of wooed soup to step over.

He was a hothead—that much you knew, or heard, rather. Boisterous, self-centered, and expectant. It was the why of Lucy’s ask of you. You wouldn’t melt into a puddle. Johnny would surely sense your displeasure of being there and give an honest, professional interview… at least, you imagined that was her “why.”

A minute ticked by and then two. You shifted again on your feet before giving up at standing straight and relaxing with a slouched hip. Three. Four. Five. A third police vehicle soared by and in a flash, a searing heat erupted from the middle of the building and poured down onto the street below. Your head whipped up so fast it gave you whiplash as the brightness of Johnny Storm’s body consumed by a fiery blaze flew off the side of the building.

You’d never been in the presence of any of the Four in their element, but it was magnificent, if not inconvenient. The heat melted snow around you and you realized that no one ever talked about it. He couldn’t touch anyone with the flames even if he wanted to. There was no way he wouldn’t seriously injury someone while fully lit.

However, for as quickly as he followed after the police, you knew the clock was ticking again. Service over duty, a little reporter isn’t going to halt the saving of those in danger. You looked around the courtyard and set at its center was an art piece depicting the powers of the family. It sat elevated enough for you to sit and you did: for fifty-three minutes while Johnny Storm saved the city.

Goodness was it cold outside.

Your feet had lost feeling long ago and your hands were locked together frozen. Your shoulder’s shook, legs bouncing to keep the blood flow alive.

At fifty-five minutes, the door to the Baxter Building opened with a start.

And by the heavens were you irritated by the tiny sliver of relief the intrusion offered. A small white and blue robot with eyes made of film reels appeared in the doorway.

It beeped at you from afar. You looked around. You were alone and the sole focus of the robot. With a finger, you pointed to yourself.

It sounded a robotic cheer and pointed a metal finger back.

“Hello,” it said loudly.

Alright then.

The robot had a four at the center of its chest and as you approached another decal became clear. In zigzagged letters it spelled out H.E.R.B.I.E.—its name.

“H.E.R.B.I.E.?” You inquired. It beeped. You were familiar with its design and its features. H.E.R.B.I.E. had been featured in a recent edition of Good Housekeeping and the “Four Favorite Meals” of the team were entombed into the social strata.

“I’m here to interview Mr. Storm. It was supposed to have begun an hour ago but—“

H.E.R.B.I.E. sounded again in acknowledgement.

“Johnny,” it said clearly. “Follow.”

H.E.R.B.I.E. led you through the doorway and into the spacious lobby you recognized from press conferences aired on the nightly news. The room was empty sans another lone robot watering a potted tree near a set of steps.

H.E.R.B.I.E led you to a bank of elevators and pressed the button labeled “up”.

“Upstairs,” H.E.R.B.I.E.’s static voice relayed.

“Upstairs,” you repeated. “Is Mr. Storm in now? I would rather wait—“

“Saving people,” H.E.R.B.I.E. answered. “Helping people.”

You nodded and it must have registered it as the end of the conversation because the bot wheeled itself to the panel, stuck its hand in a slot, and pressed floor twenty.

When the doors reopened, they opened up to a home.

The floor was magnificently built with floor to ceiling windows stealing the most treasured views of New York City. It was furnished and colored in aesthetic perfection. A central television, a sunken living space, the art of science hanging on the walls. It was gorgeous.

You logged a mental note at the lived-in nature of the vicinity. It didn’t feel unapproachable. This space and the rooms that flocked it were a true home. It wasn’t flaunting wealth or power, just a space to live and build the strange life they walked.

And it wasn’t what you had expected.

As someone without pomp and circumstance or a penny to spread far, you’d only seen the Fantastic Four as “heroes” and not “people.” That was a hard admission to swallow when the familiar heat met the side of your face again and the man of the hour landed softly on the balcony just outside of the tall living room windows.

When his flames extinguished, your breath caught in your throat.

Johnny Storm was handsome. He was the kind of handsome that the word seemed too light to apply—beautiful was more apt. His blond hair was perfectly molded in a suave, stylistic groom that left his face framed for viewing. Beneath the high swoop of his gelled bangs, his blue eyes shined brightly. The winter did nothing to dull them. The flames only ignited them to glow orange until he showed his true self and back to blue they went.

They seemed to go right through your skin and into your bones. Blue meeting the red blood inside of you only to make your heart jolt and pick up its pace.

As your eyes trailed his figure now landed and walking inside, his lips curled into a small, barely there smirk before attempting to play at professionalism. His tongue wet his lips; catching your eyes and pinpointing exactly what shape they took when pulled back and forming into soft curves again.

My. Your palms grew sweaty, back taut in sudden speechlessness. Johnny entered the living room and jogged up the small set of stairs to meet you. Jogged. He rushed up knowing his duty prevented you from doing your job.

“Hi,” his voice was out of breath.

Johnny held out his hand for you to shake. You glanced down at it, registering its purpose before wiping your palm on your coat discretely and filling the space between you.

A singe of heat lingered from his power.

“Hello,” you introduced yourself. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“It’s not a problem,” he waved off but his eyes, God… his eyes… they seemed to keep your feet planted to the floor. They gleamed further, crinkling at the sides. “I wanted to apologize for… that,” he jabbed his thumb toward the window. “We never know what it is they need us for.”

“I see.”

“You’ve met H.E.R.B.I.E. I take it?”

Johnny motioned to the robot beside you and put his hands on his hips. H.E.R.B.I.E.’s head looked from Johnny, to you, and back to Johnny.

“I think he saw me freezing to death outside and felt a little bad about it,” you admitted and bristled at the thought of being left outside for so long. “Are any other members of the team around today?”

Johnny gave a click of his tongue and walked around you to the kitchen just off the living room. H.E.R.B.I.E. followed after him obediently with a whirl.

“Reed’s in his lab today and Sue and Ben are off… somewhere. I’m afraid it’s just you and me today, sweetheart.” He shrugged in normalcy.

He didn’t comment on leaving you outside for an hour in the cold. You didn’t want to make it a problem but your toes were icicles even inside and your coat still burrowed the chill.

And sweetheart. He didn’t even know you! You were there for work and only work. Even if addressing your question, sweetheart wasn’t going to cut it.

You repeated your name. “It’s not sweetheart.”

Johnny pulled a box of cereal from a shelf and turned back around. “Force of habit. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” It wasn’t. But you wondered, unprofessionally, if you’d be alright with him saying that off the clock.

“What paper do you write for?”

“For the New York Chronicle,” you replied and putzed with the strap of your bag to keep your hands busy. “We own the Flaming Hearts magazine.”

“I was expecting…” he didn’t finish the sentence.

“An adoring fan?”

He nodded and pulled a bowl out from a top shelf. As he reached, his shirt pulled on the muscles of his arms and your eyes attached to them like magnets.

Get a grip, you thought.

Johnny was handsome, you knew it—you got it. You weren’t blind and your body registered it in the way that the world already knew, you were just catching up. It just took you until this very moment to admit that Johnny Storm was perhaps the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on.

That realization was distracting.

It didn’t stop you from thinking of your purpose here or the fact that superheroes weren’t really your trademark of writing, however.

“I’m here to write about you truthfully. My editor didn’t think a fan could write without bias.”

“That’s nice,” he said sarcastically while pouring himself a bowl. Did you sour it? By not admitting you’re a fan of his? “I guess you’ve got a list of questions for me then?”

“I do,” you joined him the counter with ease as he settled on the other side by the sink.

His eyes tracked you like a foreign object. A woman, a pretty woman, here for him with a very different intent than he was familiar with. You hadn’t even bothered to take off your coat as you sat on a stool and unearthed a pad of paper and a pen from your bag.

The muted colors of your clothes differed from the space around you. You looked like a journalist, he thought. Yet you were pretty and the way you straightened out your back and brushed at your forehead with a manicured nail captured his attention more than he was expecting.

Gorgeous. He wasn’t sure of any other word.

“My editor said that this is supposed to be a… informal, formal interview. I will ask you questions that are casual and people want to know, make you seem like an everyday guy, and then write it as a feature piece of the magazine.”

“I think I’m an everyday guy,” he quirked his head to the side.

You looked up from your paper and gazed at him seriously. Johnny was eating a bowl of cereal after igniting into flames and saving a small part of the city. That was not normal. It didn’t make him an “everyday guy” and maybe he, like you, also has some grappling to do.

“Yeah,” you lightly snickered. “I think we have different ideas of what makes someone normal.”

You didn’t mean to call him abnormal. But it came out and he took it that way.

Shit.

“What I meant was—“ you attempted to clarify yet his face already merged into one of abject offense. The interview hadn’t even started, you only met not five minutes ago, and you already know your name was at the bottom of the Do Not Let These Reporters In List.

“I know what you meant,” Johnny said chewing. “I’ve heard it before just not from someone cute.”

“Mr. Storm—“

“Johnny,” he clarified.

“Mr. Storm,” you insisted, “I didn’t mean offense. I think it’s clear that we lead two very different lives and I am just here to get a story.”

It didn’t even register to you that he called you cute.

His spoon clattered to the edge of the bowl. You wanted to do nothing more than climb into Sub-Terrania and hide forever. Why did you take this job? Why did Lucy have to offer that much money?

“You’d think a reporter from my own magazine would at least like me a little bit,” he said and you furrowed your brows.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you don’t exactly look like you want to be here right now.” He gestured to your coat and rigid body.

“I told you,” you reminded him, “I work for the Chronicle, not your magazine. And it’s not yours, per se. It’s just about you. And what does my dress have anything to do about wanting to be here? I am here, aren’t I? I waited outside in the cold for an hour just to do this job.”

“Take off your coat,” he ordered passively and walked back around the corner. From your sitting position, he leaned up against the chair beside you. He was so close now.

His body heat radiated. It was natural now, the warmth he gave off absentmindedly.

“I like my coat,” you answered as the frigidness melted away.

“You’re going to be here all day and I would rather you not snag it on any of our projects while we take a tour.”

“A tour?” He was being considerate—not something you considered about him at all.

“What better way to figure out who I am?” He looked down at you. He wasn’t towering as he stood beside you but he wasn’t short either.

Your eyes met. Both meeting a challenge of what this day was going to be like.

A girl who doesn’t like heroes or abnormal attractive guys with flirtatious banter battling a boy who doesn’t like being underestimated and thinks said girl is the most attractive reporter he’s ever seen.

“All the secrets that make Johnny Storm brilliant are hidden here,” his gave small smile and leaned in close. “Aren’t you the least bit curious how the magic happens?”

“I’m a bit afraid of what magic you’re implying.”

His mouth shifted into a truthful grin. It was the kind that pulled at the edges of a person and cracked them open wide for the world to see.

“And I thought I was the one with the dirty mind. I guess trait belongs to you, sweetheart.”

That name again. You sucked in a fast breath.

“That’s not my name.”

Johnny tapped the back of the stool he stood at in a melodic pattern. H.E.R.B.I.E. rolled up beside him like a dog beside its owner.

“I know.” He tilted his head toward the staircase to the left. “Come on. Leave the coat. I promise it’s warmer here.”

The only thing you knew for certain was the warmth didn’t spread from the outside in. It was felt in your cheeks and your face, burning at his comfortable commands that would certainly be replayed in a different manner once this interview was done.

You had to keep reminding yourself that Johnny Storm was not a man who you wanted to woo you. This was all work and no play. None.

You just had to promise yourself that this was it all it was going to be.

“Out of all of the rooms in the building, this one is my least favorite.”

Johnny paused before a door labeled “Do Not Enter” about an hour into the tour.

Every room that you had passed thus far had been accompanied by a lengthy description of what was beyond the door and if you were lucky, Johnny would open it for a tiny peak. You were informed that three weeks ago, the apartment had been deep cleaned for an interview that Reed and Sue had done which featured the home.

It seemed everyone and their mother wanted to know where the family ate, slept, and spent all their free time.

You’d asked how he felt about being at the center of the universe but he just smiled at you and neglected to answer—only leaving the door open for you to follow through to the gym on the seventh floor.

Reed’s office was closed off when you went by but you could hear the static going off behind the door.

“Any reason why?”

Johnny wiggled the handle. It didn’t budge.

“My brother-in-law loves to keep me out when the experiments get too… involved.”

“Aren’t you a scientist too?” You asked and he turned his head with a surprised amusement.

“Scientist?”

“Well you did go to space so I assumed.”

“Mechanic,” he clarified. “Or I guess an engineer of sorts. I shoot pretty good too. And I can fly a spacecraft, if asked.”

You wrote down his reply and he waited silently as you carefully worded the response. H.E.R.B.I.E. rolled up to his legs, knocking into him slightly with the loud beep.

“I swore I read you have a degree somewhere,” you mumbled.

“I do,” Johnny’s eyes widened in surprise. “A couple years back, before… you know, everything, I studied in California.”

“Stanford.”

“That’s the school,” he replied lightly. He was impressed to say the least. You knew something about him and remembered it enough to bring it up.

“Question,” H.E.R.B.I.E. output to Johnny.

H.E.R.B.I.E. was the most intelligent of robots but neglected to understand that this was an interview. H.E.R.B.I.E. nudged Johnny again expecting him to ask you questions in return.

“What about you?” Johnny asked uncertainly as he looked down at the robot and motioned in confusion at the question he posed.

“What about me?” You replied still writing.

“Are… you? A…” again, he looked down at H.E.R.B.I.E., “scientist?”

H.E.R.B.I.E. groaned and you laughed. You laughed. For the entirety of the interview he’d come to expect you to never give in to his jokes and while his question was worded poorly and he didn’t actually mean to say scientist, he felt his world relax at the sound.

The melody of your laughter laid softly inside of his mind like a lullaby. It was natural and free and completely you—something you’d yet to show him during the short time you’ve spent together.

You’d been professional and kept your kindness at an arms length. You were curt and serious, not playful nor buying into his comments that bordered on suggestive.

“If you consider writing a science, sure. Most people would consider it an art. So, I’m an artist.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and patted H.E.R.B.I.E.’s head as he stepped past.

“But about the mechanic thing,” you looked up from your paper and Johnny forgot what he said before.

Every time you looked at him, he felt himself grow fonder of the way it made him feel. The silly feeling of love at first sight being marred as ridiculous in his perspective yet he swore that’s what it was.

He could listen to you talk all day.

“Do you have a shop or anything here? Or is it more isolated to here,” you motioned to the lab door. “Does he let you in to work?”

“I have a room,” Johnny said quickly. His excitement poured through his speech. “It’s not here. It’s a shop just off 4th and Wash Square—“

“I know of it.” Your eyes lit up in recognition. “I take the train from there to work everyday.”

Small world.

“Really?” He said honestly.

“That’s a far way from here,” you added. “Any reason why?”

“I guess because it’s my own little place.” He put his hand on the door handle again casually. His grip was strong.

Your eyes caught sight of his hand as it strained on the handle nervously, like he was admitting something for the first time. Had he never talked about this before? You knew he had talked about vehicles and that he’d love to race cars one day but that was Q & A session on the back of an entertainment rag at the grocery store.

“There’s nothing but me and the car and it’s kind of peaceful. It’s peaceful here but it’s a fishbowl, you know? Everyone feels like they know us when we are here but when I go there, it makes me feel like they don’t really know me. They just know The Human Torch, not Johnny. The shop makes me feel like me.”

“I’m not going to write that.”

His face dropped.

“Why? Didn’t you say you wanted this to be human? Or that you’re trying to make me sound more personable?” Johnny grew defensive.

“I’m not going to write that because once they,” you tipped your head to the windows, “know about that little shop, you won’t have one day of peace for the rest of your life.”

Oh. Oh. He hadn’t thought about that.

“That’s…” he tried to find the words.

The shop was his little slice of paradise. He could tinker away and no one would come looking because they knew that not only was he safe, he was alone.

Sue let him have his space there because it made him happy. It was the most happy she’d seen him since they were kids and while you might not have known that, it meant more to him that your integrity wasn’t going to jeopardize his peace.

He’d given you a part of his humanity and you’d shown him mercy. A trade off of the hour.

“That’s real nice of you.”

“It’s what a decent person would do,” you brushed it off casually and held the pad of paper to your chest.

“You’d be surprised by how few of those exist.”

You smiled at him softly. A blush bloomed on his cheeks and he looked off towards the city outside his home. H.E.R.B.I.E. whirled by toward the direction you were heading next.

Breathing in deep, you took the first step and barely brushed Johnny’s shoulder as you walked by.

“Can’t keep H.E.R.B.I.E. waiting, can we?”

Johnny shook his head and bit back his smile, peaking down at his shoes to hold it in. He played with the handle of Reed’s lab once more before turning on his heel and walking a step behind you.

“Did you always want to be a reporter?” He felt his confidence return in bounds.

You hummed. “Since I was a little kid.”

“Why the news and not books?”

“I’m not that creative,” you admitted. “And aren’t I supposed to be asking you these questions?”

“Just curious.” Johnny pulled his hands together behind his back. “Besides, this isn’t going to be fun if I don’t learn about you too.”

“But that’s not the purpose of this.”

“Are you always a rule follower or only when interviewing superheroes?”

You stopped walking and turned around. He caught himself before crashing into you.

“I’m not a rule follower,” you told him. Johnny wasn’t convinced. “I’m on the clock.”

“I’m always on the clock but I have a good time too,” he skirted around you and began his walk backwards.

You huffed and followed.

“It’s inappropriate.”

“It’s prudish,” he countered, hands still bound behind his back.

“It’s a boundary,” you challenged.

“It’s an imprisonment.”

“That’s a strong word.”

It was Johnny’s turn to shrug. “I don’t take it back, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“I didn’t ask you to take it back. That’s your opinion, not mine.”

“So you’re making this a challenge for me?”

“A challenge?” Your brows shot up and then came together.

“For you to admit you had a good time hanging out with the one and only Johnny Storm by the end of the today.” He referred to himself in third person and you weren’t sure if that was inducing a wince in response or a short track to the answer.

You already knew what your response would be.

Your heart hadn’t stopped thumping, hands still sweaty. Your stomach grew with butterflies every time he looked in your direction and no matter if you sat in silence the rest of the day, today would be the most entertaining experience you’d ever had.

But Johnny didn’t need an ego boost right now.

“We are already a couple hours in,” you checked the small golden watch at your wrist. “You have twelve hours to change my mind it appears.”

“I could have sworn I had gotten a smile out of you earlier.” Johnny’s teeth grazed over his bottom lip. “And maybe even a laugh too. Those are pretty good signs to me that I’m winning this.”

“I don’t recall—“

“Yes you do.” His voice grew louder in amusement. You peered away from him, not willing to gaze into those blue beacons because you knew that he’d see a liar.

You did smile and laugh with him. That was a sign of enjoyment if there ever was one.

“You smiled and laughed and you don’t want to admit it because it means you’ve already lost and I’ve won.”

“You didn’t win anything. I don’t even know what we’re playing for!”

“To prove that you—“

“No,” you let a breathless chuckle escape your lips as his misunderstanding and his eyes pinned you in the hallway laughing again.

Point: Johnny.

“I meant the prize. What’s the prize if you win or if I win?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I didn’t think that far out yet.”

“Oh,” you played disappointment. “So, I guess that means the smarts only extend to engineering then?”

Johnny’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Did you just make an attempt at a borderline offensive joke that he would totally love to hear?

You did.

“You’re going to wish you never said that,” he teased.

Were you really doing this?

“Well you didn’t name your price, Mr. Storm.”

“Mr. Storm,” he muttered like he’d never been called that before. “You’re obedient, you know that?”

“Like a dog.”

“Fine,” he put his hands on his hips. “You wanna know my price?”

“Name it.”

“If you enjoyed yourself by the end of today—really, truly enjoyed yourself—you gotta let me take you out on a date.”

“A date?” You confirmed.

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d have the gall to banter with Johnny. If Lucy could see you now she’d be asking to collect her winnings in the office betting pool. You were emotionally weak to Johnny’s charm and you hadn’t expected that.

“That’s all? Just a date?”

Both of your minds raced to that appetizing place. It stirred with from within, billowing into full blown fantasies of the dark. Imaginations painted a lustful affair; the tugging of lips and the grasping of skin. Polished nails digging into heated flesh and the sounds of two bodies combining rung deeply in echos of the hallway.

“I mean,” his face turned pink and his right hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Too late.

There was far more interest in the fantasy than either of you let on. You let the blushes fall apart and dared your minds to venture into that place again.

“Fine,” you agreed. “But if I have a terrible time… a really, horribly agonizing time, you have to… be my assistant for a day. Like come to the office and everything. Get my coffee, make my copies, all of it.”

Amused, Johnny dropped his hand. “That’s it?”

“What?”

“Your assistant? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Well… yeah,” you replied. “I don’t have time to think of something worse.”

“Either way I think I win, though,” Johnny stepped forward again but this time with his hand extended similar to how he had greet you two hours before.

Yet his hand was offered with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. Every time he reached for it, the purpose was different.

“And why’s that?” You accepted his hand and relished the way it perfectly encapsulated your own. His hand was soft and cooler than it was prior.

You wondered if he could still feel the sweat the settled in your palm.

“Because no matter what I get to spend more time with you and I think that’s a win.”

You didn’t know what to say to that but your heart surely responded with a thump.

Johnny’s bedroom is not where you thought you’d end up after imagining what it would be like to fuck him.

He had lingered by the door at the end of the hall with his own curiosity threatening to change the atmosphere. It wasn’t like being in his bedroom was automatically leading you to a rumble in the sheets.

His room was the essence of him. If Johnny really wanted the world to see a normal guy, his bedroom is where he surely showed it.

It was clean and shared the same views overlooking the city as the rest of the apartment. Amidst the wooden paneling and the filled shelves, a round bed sat centered and an elevated seating area with the nicest record player you’d ever seen was placed adjacent.

It was well used based on Johnny’s collection of vinyls that bathed the room on either side.

He offered you the chair overlooking the city and made himself comfortable on the floor across from you. Having taken off his shoes, his socked white feet were constantly moving from side to side like he couldn’t sit still with every question you asked.

The clock ticked away.

“Sports team?”

“I’d say the Mets but I don’t want to make anyone mad, so Yankees.”

“If you could have any other job in the world, what would it be?”

“Race—“

“—car driver,” you finished his words for him. “I should have known that one.”

“Yes.” Johnny’s fingers traced the edges of his lips as he fought a grin. “You know me so well.”

His lips pulled and you thought about how nice they’d be to kiss. They appeared soft and pink, just plush enough to leave a lingering tingle in the spots he’d lay delicate memories to your skin.

Someone once said that the beauty marks on a person’s body were the remnants of places their lovers had once kissed.

Maybe in another lifetime the ones on your own were lives lived with Johnny. You shook away the thought when reality snapped back in. You were rushing and only fools did that.

You read through question after question to get a full extent of who Johnny was. These questions, the mediocre ones, were the kind that people wanted to read about.

“First love?”

“Oh.” His tone dropped an octave. “Look who’s trying to learn about my exes now.”

“It’s not me,” you reminded him, again. “It’s the readers, remember?”

“I don’t think they’re the ones coming up with them.”

“Then it’s my editor. She’s obsessed, move along. First love?” You asked again.

“Ramona Mitchell—second grade. She shared her animals crackers with me and broke up with me at the water fountain.”

“Tragic,” you fought the indulgence chuckle.

“Favorite food?”

“Anything Ben makes.”

“That’s not a food,” you countered.

“He makes a mean pasta,” he thought on it. “But I’m from Long Island and you can’t beat some restaurants there.”

“I’ve never been to Long Island.”

You said it passively. Solely focused on writing his response down, your face inclined toward the paper and not to him. Watching him sit there casually was making this feel more and more like a choice rather than a job.

He sat up straighter on the floor.

“What do you mean you’ve never been to Long Island? It’s like… right there!?”

You put the pad of paper down on the table beside you. Crossing your legs, Johnny’s eyes followed them as you settled into the new position.

“I’ve been to Brooklyn before.”

“That’s not Long Island,” he said as if he was a geography expert.

“It’s on Long Island so maybe it counts a little.”

You leaned back into the chair and folded your arms across your chest. This was comfortable. Johnny was surprisingly easy to talk to and you’d be remiss if you said you weren’t loose to the idea of someone to talk to. He listened, he asked, and he looked like he was interested in anything and everything you had to say.

“But you wouldn’t say that Manhattan is the same as Brooklyn as to Queens or as to the Bronx.”

“No,” you agreed. “I suppose I wouldn’t.”

“And I’m talkin’ deep Long Island,” he emphasized his words with an extension of his hand. “Like the kind where your favorite deli is owned by the cousin of the ex-boyfriend of your mother’s best friend and they know you by name kind of deep.”

“That sounds like it’s from experience, not a universal trait.”

“I guess we’ll have to go see and ask them then,” he smirked as though he knew he’d prove you right.

“Time isn’t on our side today.” You glanced down at the watch on your wrist. You’d been talking in his room for nearly five hours—seven hours to go.

“Another day then.” Johnny crossed his feet at his ankles. “I’ll show you our old stomping ground and take you to one of those delis.”

You laughed not out of amusement but out of nerves. It sounded a hell of a lot like a date.

“Is this the part where I ask you what you think is the perfect date? According to the survey, our readers really want to know how Johnny Storm would make them fall in love.”

“What’s your ideal perfect date?”

“I’m not the one being interviewed here.”

“Amuse me,” Johnny bartered. “And then I’ll ask H.E.R.B.I.E. to make us some lunch.”

You sighed, gazing out the window in thought at the question. What constituted the “perfect date?” You weren’t entirely sure there was one concrete answer because everyone had a different opinion.

However, if Johnny could be open and honest for the sake of a magazine, you could be honest for him.

“I guess it would be doing something that interested me.”

“Go on,” he urged. Those interested blue eyes bore into you.

“I don’t know… I would hope that before I am asked out on a date that a guy would listen to me. Ask me about my interests and discover things I like so that when we go, they choose a place that I would like to go to. Someone says they like art and they go to a museum; someone likes music, they go to a show—that kind of stuff.”

“But what about you? Not someone else, you.”

“I like going to the pictures. Museums and the city zoo is nice too. But sometimes I don’t want to make a big fuss about it all and a diner is nice. Just a little hole-in-the-wall place where the coffee is stale but the food is good and the company doesn’t care that it’s not a five star establishment.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” he nodded his head in agreement.

“Dating doesn’t have to be flashy. I see the kinds of things that are written about your sister and her husband. I couldn’t imagine being under that microscope.”

“It’s a choice they made—to be open about everything. I’m not sure they like the constant guessing of what the baby is going to be, but they don’t mind the interest in their lives.”

“What about you?” You asked him. “The perfect date? Being in the public eye?”

“I don’t mind it,” Johnny said with little thought. “It’s just part of the job and people have been pretty nice about it all. It’s not everyday you have to trust someone like me to help out.”

“So you admit it,” a small, rewarding grin played at your lips. You saw his gaze flick to them and back to your eyes. “You’re not normal then?”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Was that a trick question?”

“No. Just an honest one. Date?”

He sat with his response for a minute, falling back against the record player’s built-in. Johnny liked having you here. It felt normal and easy and not like anyone else he’d ever known.

“Mr. Storm?” You pressed.

“You don’t give a guy any time to think, do you, sweetheart? And it’s Johnny.”

“I don’t have forever,” you reminded him. He wished you did.

“What you said.”

“Excuse me?”

Johnny’s smug face was rewarded with your surprise. His head tilted up as he rephrased, “you described my perfect date.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes,” he dug in further, “you did.”

“But that’s my perfect date. We are two very different people.”

“Opposites attract and all,” he commented. “I want her to feel comfortable and safe. If I take her race car driving on the first date, she might never speak to me again or if she’s someone I really, really like, then I want her to feel like I’m making an effort to get to know her. Getting to know me can come later. Preferably here, in this room, with a record on and very little taking.”

You felt that warmth invade your body once more.

Your band of resistance was starting to snap.

“Mr. Storm,” you started.

“Johnny.”

“You know I can’t write that down.”

“It wasn’t for you to write down,” he said seriously. “It was for you to know.”

“Why would I need to know that?”

The space inside of his room shrunk. The only thing that existed was the small, elevated section you both sat upon: you in the chair, he on the floor.

Your comment sat heavy in the hair. Hanging there above your heads, it twirled into a storm of those savory thoughts from a few hours ago. Neither of you had forgotten about it—how your minds automatically raced to imagine what it would be like to sit just a little closer, inch your hands toward the other.

He knew what your palm felt like in his and it was perfect. Slotted to a perfect puzzle piece and he knew this feeling was the ultimate one that Sue told him about. It was the universe opening portals to emotions he didn’t know existed and stretching him in directions he didn’t anticipate going.

“I know we don’t know each other well,” Johnny started slowly as he broached the topic.

“We don’t know each other at all,” you clarified.

“People have done a lot more knowing a lot less.”

“I feel like I’ve had to remind you that I’m working several times,” you uncrossed your legs and moved to stand.

Johnny scrambled to his feet and that line had been crossed. He didn’t know how to return to the other side and wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

All that talk of a perfect date and he just wished someone would give him a real chance to show off. You listened and maybe right that second you didn’t feel like you knew him, but you did.

Johnny had given you more answers in seven entire hours than he’d allowed anyone else to hear in his life besides his family. You cracked a part of him open without waving the slightest finger in attempting to do so.

“I’m sorry if I gave you an impression that it wasn’t professional.” You gathered your paper and pen from the table and aimed for the door.

He rushed toward you frantically. Johnny cut off the path to the door by standing in front of it. The look on your face immediately sent him into orbit. He was spiraling.

“Sorry!” He said quickly. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line. I just… I just thought that, well, I don’t know! I felt something, okay?”

“Mr. Storm, please—“

“You gotta stop with that Mr. Storm shit.” He let out a stressed groan, a hand wiping over his face in duress. “You’re tellin’ me that you haven’t felt it too?”

God did you feel it. You felt the pull so strong that it was sending your own synapses into overdrive. You couldn’t be here any longer. He pushed open the flood gates and allowed those feelings to spur deeper, rising into that forbidden territory you couldn’t come back from.

This was what all those other reporters wanted and the one thing that you weren’t expecting. You were attracted to Johnny. Immensely. He was charming and sweet—far more interesting and curious than you realized. He was the one guy that was as engaged with your own answers as he was with his own and it was a drug. A highly addictive drug that wouldn’t last because he was a hero and you were a journalist.

Those two things didn’t mix.

They couldn’t mix.

It was wrong. It was inappropriate. But fuck, did it sound so, so good.

“It’s not appropriate. I don’t sleep with my clients.”

“Then end the interview,” he said like it was easy. “I’m not a client anymore.”

“Is this just for you to get your rocks off?” Your eyes narrowed and he held up his hands defensively.

“No! No!” He exclaimed. Maybe you were being too harsh. “If you want to leave, go ahead.” Johnny backed away from the door and settled at its side.

There was a pathway out now.

“I’m not trying to make you break any rules,” he said softly. “That wasn’t my intention. But tell me you don’t feel it too. It feels like you stuck dynamite in my chest and it’s ready to explode.”

You knew the sentiment well. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t be what Lucy and all the rest of them wanted to be.

“I can’t, Johnny.” He melted at the sound of his name falling from your lips. “I’m not trying to be like those other girls.”

“So you’re not like the rest of them, huh?” He joked.

“No,” you replied painfully. “Unfortunately I’m just like them it seems because I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.”

You threw your hands up in defeat and paced around his room in circles. He just stood by the door and watched amused as you worked through what he already figured out.

“I guess that means you won, right? It’s not even the goddamn end of the day and I’m already throwing in the towel because I don’t have a little more self control.” You let out a rueful snicker. “And to think I was so certain that I could do this!? I mean, it’s not like you’re my type or anything.”

“And that is…?”

“Nice!” You answered loudly. “And not one to say crude things all the time.”

“They weren’t crude, they were suggestive. For a writer I would hope you would know the difference.”

You stopped pacing and looked at him with your mouth agape. “Why you—“

“Careful,” he held up a finger, “your name calling game isn’t that strong. Might I suggest ‘most handsome man on the planet’ or ‘hero of my heart’ instead?”

“Oh my god,” you wailed. “I can’t believe I am even the slightest bit attracted to you!”

“I think it’s a little more than slight, sweetheart. You were ready to burn this building to the ground at the mere thought of sleeping with me and I think that means you’ve at least thought about it before.”

“I have not!”

“You’ve thought about kissing me.”

“That’s different,” you emphasized. Of course you thought about fucking him too. He’s Johnny fucking Storm and he’s been giving you “fuck me” eyes for the last five hours.

“It all leads to somewhere else in the end.”

“So you were implying that. I’m not crazy.” Your eyes widened like you were.

“I didn’t say you were. And you’re not, by the way.”

Johnny just settled against the wall and crossed his arms against his chest. The muscles of his biceps strained at the short sleeves of his white tee and invited you in.

“Having a little bit of fun doesn’t make you less of a journalist,” he said your name for the first time. Not sweetheart or any other pet name.

Johnny. You. It was personal now.

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. I’m not that kind of guy and I hope you didn’t get the idea that I would be that kind of guy. You’re nice, real nice, and I really enjoy talking to you. There aren’t many people who are willing to listen and take things with an open mind.”

God. He needed to stop talking.

“Plus I think H.E.R.B.I.E likes you. He felt real bad about leaving you out in the cold like that.”

Stop talking, Johnny.

“And I do too. Sorry about that, by the way,” he laughed slightly at the predicament. “I’m not used to putting people that aren’t my family first but I’m open to the idea…”

His blue eyes beat you down. Stop fucking talking.

“If we had more time I would have—“

You couldn’t take it anymore. Dropping your pad of paper and pen to the ground, you closed the distance between the two of you in a few long strides and grasped his face between your hands, planting your lips onto his in a heartbeat.

His words halted.

Fusing together like atoms, the electricity of your mouths falling into sync quieted both minds. It was tranquil. His face cupped between your hands tilted, angling to the side and opening up further. Johnny’s tongue begged for mercy between your lips, melding together with yours in tune to the beating of your hearts.

Something sprouted inside of you. Building from your toes to your mind, it tingled your limbs into numbness where nothing else but Johnny’s hands weaving around your waist and cradling the back of your head mattered.

This is what it felt like—attraction.

It was all consuming and all knowing. It recognized parts of you that had been sleeping and awoken to a giant tower ready to climb. His smooth face fell from your hands as they dropped to his neck; trailing the edges of the scoop of his shirt and feeling the molds of his chest before settling there. One hand turned into a fist to gather his shirt with a tug, drawing him closer and leaving no space between you.

His lips were as you imagined: soft and inviting. There were no words needed to accept the fact that you were holding everything back for nothing. This was as it should be. He was kind. He was considerate.

He was charming, funny, nervous, clumsy, confident, handsome, smart, entertaining, and didn’t force you into this.

It fell into place. As two objects in motion collided, the motions continued on.

Johnny’s hands groped you tightly, barely allowing you time to breathe as your lips parted. His hands paved a path down your body and tested the waters with bated breath. You didn’t stop him. You craved the feeling of his hands on your body.

You pulled back from his lips but he chased after them, drunk on the feeling. You knocked your nose gently into his as you breathed in deep breaths.

“You can touch me,” you reassured him. His eyes stayed focused on your mouth.

“As long as you’re sure.”

“More than sure.”

Johnny’s hands slid down to your ass and cupped you roughly. His grip pulled you flush against him and with a groan, your lips caught his chin and dotted kisses along the column of his neck.

He thought he was dreaming. Five minutes ago he was certain you were going to flee the apartment and speak his name into forbidden existence because of his brash assessment. Here you were, kissing him mad and he was imprinting a picture of your body forever in his mind. You were luxurious and finite. There was only ever going to be one of you and he was never going to forget what this moment caused.

The rapture within him was cemented.

“You know,” he murmured against your kisses when your lips returned to his. “I did really want to take you out on a date before all this.”

“I told you that I don’t follow the rules,” you nipped at his chin playfully.

“You surprise me.”

“Good,” you smiled. You backed away from him and his hands fell to his sides loosely. “And I’m not going to write an article about you anymore either.”

“No?”

You hummed and shook your head. “Can’t now. I’m too biased in my storytelling to be truthful.”

Johnny took a step forward and you took one back.

“And the honest truth is what, sweetheart?”

“That Johnny Storm isn’t the man everyone thinks he is.” Another step forward, another back. “He’s a good man with a good family and similar morals. He likes to have a fun time but within the bounds of his duty and he’s a romantic at heart—not a womanizer.”

“I would really like to womanize you, however.”

Johnny bit down on his bottom lip. You extended your hand and he gladly took it, leaping into your space again and tumbling with you onto his bed at the center of the room. You fell back with a thud and his body weighed heavy on top of yours.

“Johnny Storm defies the expectations we have of him,” you continued on.

The hand not entwined with his own came back to his face and brushed stray blond bangs from his forehead.

“And the lucky few who get to know the real Johnny will always know his true heroism lies within.”

Johnny’s smile widened. “That’s real cheesy—you know that, right?”

You grinned back and returned your hand to the back of his head where the shortened hairs weaved between your fingertips. Johnny pulled your intertwined hands up above your head.

“I think it’s a perfect story.”

His story or this one playing out now, he wasn’t sure which was better.

“Yeah,” he placed a soft kiss on your lips. “Me too.”

“You’d sacrifice the world for your family and I admire that.”

“Now you’re getting sappy on me,” he laughed. He laid a peck beside your ear. “You don’t need to butter me up to make something happen.”

“I’m not buttering you up.”

You titled your head to the side to give him access to the side of your face, neck, and when his hand tugged at the top of your dress, the bit of clavicle he was able to reach.

His touch set you ablaze. Burning from the sensations his gentle lips left behind, Johnny knew how to touch a woman and make her feel good. It was something he’d perfected in his thirty years on Earth.

“You remember what I said about my perfect date?” His voice was muffled by the wool of your dress.

“Oh,” you gave an awe inspired sigh. “Was that you buttering me up? How you got me here?”

“You did that all on your own.”

Johnny’s head turned back up to face you and he rested his chin at the curve of your breasts. You hadn’t realized he had moved down that far on your body. He slowly slipped his lean frame to the edge of the bed, kneeling at its base and letting his hands fall to the backs of your knees. They glided down your calves and to your ankles, playing with the straps of your shoes.

“Tell me that you don’t want this and I’ll stop.”

You sat up on your elbows. His hands grasped your right foot. Slowly pulling at the buckle of your heel and undoing the strap to where you shoe fell off your foot with a small clunk when it hit the floor.

Johnny’s gaze didn’t escape yours. He waited for you to change your mind. The anticipation of your soft rejection pounding at his ribcage.

His hands moved to your left leg and when the second shoe dropped, Johnny’s hands caressed the skin of your shin.

“I wouldn’t have let you do that if I didn’t,” you told him.

“When I said that your perfect date is how I see my perfect date, I also should have said that I want her to be satisfied when it’s all over.”

You swallowed a lump that had formed in your through from the promise. God. You couldn’t believe you ended up here.

“I’m not asking you to give out to me,” he nodded at you. Johnny asked you to give him the confirmation he needed. “So if it’s not today, it will be another time.”

The ghosting of his fingertips on the backs of your knees sent a chill up your body.

“Don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous?”

“I mean…” he smirked, lips placing peppered kissed along your kneecap. “I think I may have won the bet.”

He did. He knows he fucking did.

Johnny’s hands roamed to the end of your dress. His thumbs pushed the fabric that had grown far too warm on your body upwards, watching you in permission that every inch higher was not crossing the boundary of what you were willing to give to him.

His position between your legs prevented them from closing in bashfulness. His tongue wet his lips as the curve of your hips forced his hands harder to give him access. Johnny paused again.

“You’re sure?” He asked quietly.

You nodded, running a hand through his short hair. The hesitancy you had yesterday seemed like a distant memory. Johnny enraptured you and while you were breaking every rule in the book, you couldn’t stop here. Not when he was kneeling for you. Not when he wanted to taste you.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Putting your free hand atop his, you guided it to the top of your panties in invitation.

“Lay down,” he ordered and you complied. Obedient. “Relax.” Came next and in a mere whisper as the fabric slipped from your body and the cool air now exposed to your body made you aware of how wet you were.

“I’m gonna take care of you.”

Kissing the inside of your thigh, you stared at the ceiling in disbelief. You felt his piercing gaze upon you; he measured your body in the way it folded and it heaved.

And he kept a promise of taking care of you—not himself. As much as the sight of you, bare and wanting before him made his soul burn, he knew this wouldn’t be your last meeting.

His kisses drew closer. Johnny’s hot breath met the crux between your legs before any other part of him did. His lips barely grazed you and your thighs trembled with his head stuck between them.

Johnny didn’t miss the sharp intake of your breath when he finally lowered his mouth to you. And my, he had never tasted someone as sweet as you. His tongue glided along the wetness that had already gathered and focused his attention to your clit. He gave in to a merciless pace; circling and sucking—your toes curled to hold you back.

Your hand wrapped into his hair and tugged at the strands. His arms held onto your sides and tracked the curve of your body as he pulled you closer. The response he was receiving was Pavlovian. Forever he’d bend at the sounds of your sighs, of the feel of your nails raking against the base of his skull. He’d dream of the flesh he devoured and sing songs of the pleasures he took.

Johnny Storm hadn’t believed in love at first sight until today.

And you hadn’t imagined giving him a chance until he had greeted you that morning.

His tongue increased its pressure on your bud. Pressing down as he lapped the wetness of his saliva and your arousal into his method and used it to lower himself smoothly.

A whine escaped your lips when his fingers left your side and helped open you up to him. Splitting you open and allowing his tongue to pin you to the bed. Your knees shook, legs coming to bend beside his head as his shoulders lurched to catch them. Johnny’s opposite hand held you down, settling at the base of your stomach.

“Holy mother of—“

He hummed and it sent a vibration through you.

As he had kissed you before, his tongue flicked inside of you in a passionate rhythm. His eyes closed to relish in the sounds of your neediness. Johnny didn’t tell you to be quiet because he didn’t want you to be. You could shout, scream, or cry out and he’d ask you for more. Give him everything, he wanted to imply, but he couldn’t ask for everything at that very moment.

You were taking everything he was giving like it was made for you. Hell, maybe he was.

The fingers he had used to help open you up remained rubbing up and down the sides of your pussy while his tongue explored the horizons beyond it. You felt one move, his middle finger, and it joined his tongue, curling into you gently.

“Oh god,” you groaned. His mouth curved into a smirk, backing away centimeters.

“Johnny is fine,” his voice had turned gravely. “But I’ll take being a god any day.”

And that laughter. It filled him so deeply that not even the strain in his jeans could distract him from the innate pleasure of hearing you respond to him. He continued on, letting his finger work against your plush walls and master the craft of you.

His mouth refocused to your clit which he did not abandon on purpose. Johnny quickened his pace, unrelenting and fixed on assisting you to the end. It built, like a flame kindling from a spark and tingling every cell in your body.

Your shoulders tensed, anticipating a release but infatuated with the way his ministrations only pulled back when he knew you were getting too close. He was keeping you on your toes. Johnny let you feel and experience the pleasure outside of simply working toward an orgasm.

Earn it. You had to earn it.

“You gonna keep teasing me like that or what?” You whined.

“I’m just not done with you yet.” His finger left you empty before coming back with its neighbor. “We’ve got time.”

“I don’t think we have time today,” you seemed to always remind him that you had a deadline. “Maybe another day.”

“Now who’s asking for a second date?”

“This isn’t a date.” His fingers reached lengths you were unable to do yourself. Your back arched in his grasp and his grasp tightened.

“Then our first date will be amazing.” Cocky son-of-a-bitch.

“Jesus,” you couldn’t help the spattering of words that flew from your lips as the precipice gained on you again.

“Johnny,” he repeated.

“Johnny,” you cried back. “I—“

“I can feel you, sweetheart.”

The familiarity of your orgasm climbed the mountain of your thrill rapidly approached. Recalling the minutes he spent prior being agonizingly slow, then picking up his pace, your ears captured the most bawdy sounds of excitement. His fingers were coated in your slick, chin glistening in the slightest with remnants of what he’d take as a prize.

You turned your head to watch his fingers disappear inside of you and your chest nearly caved.

“Come here,” you breathed in heavy. Johnny’s brow furrowed.

“Wha—“

“Just kiss me.”

With his fingers still pumping frantically inside of you, Johnny pushed up from the ground and let your hands pull his face toward yours. You had never tasted yourself on the lips of a lover before and you cherished the intimacy of the notion.

He felt your shoulders stutter, your body shaking in need. His mouth opened to allow you in.

One. Two. Three additional thrusts of his fingers and he felt you tighten around him. A wave of immense pleasure washed over your body in bliss. Arching into him, Johnny held onto you tightly, never once letting you fall apart without him.

You could hear him whisper words of praise in your ear except nothing but a kaleidoscope of colors seemed to match the tremors of your lower body. Legs shaking, toes curled as one leg wrapped around his own waist and laid lax once the shaking subsided.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. He retracted the two fingers. Resting them on your thigh, he patted the skin there. “You’re fine, sweetheart.”

Johnny laid his forehead against yours and let you breathe before his mouth couldn’t help but run again.

“I would have called you a good girl but I think sweetheart is the only nickname you can take right now.”

You opened your eyes and met his glinting with amusement. Did you want to take back everything u out said? Pretend this never happened and go find someone who can keep a moment serious for longer than a minute?

“You are—“ the words couldn’t form. There were too many words to describe Johnny Storm and even a journalist as great as yourself couldn’t come up with one.

The next morning you were at the office bright and early. No article had been prepared, no pictures of Johnny in his space, and nothing to report to Lucy.

Your mind was racing, however.

When you unlocked the door to your apartment later that night, you did so with a smile plastered to your face. You felt like a school girl with her first crush. Johnny enamored you and left you feeling like jell-o and your limbs acting on their own accord was proof of it.

But you had to keep a lid on it. So, when you sat down at your desk and flipped on the light to wait for the inevitable, you pretended you weren’t hopelessly crushing on the hot-headed hero.

An hour after you settled in, Lucy rushed to your desk to gossip. Her eyes were wide, expectant for you to spill all of the details of what makes Johnny tick. Every secret you gathered from the contents of his bathroom cabinet to the food he liked to eat, she wanted to know.

“So?” She said incredibly fast. “How was it? Where is it?” The draft.

“I don’t have it.” You preoccupied yourself by typing out a different article. The keys on your typewriter filled the space of her mouth hanging wide open in confusion.

“What do you mean you don’t have it?”

“I didn’t it write it,” you clarified. “It’s not happening.”

“We—“ she started and stopped in a stutter. “What, well… what happened? Did you even go??”

“Of course I went.” The page reached its end with a ring and you shot it back to the opposite side. “I just don’t have the story for you. I’m not going to write it so ask someone else.”

Lucy watched you carefully. “Please tell me you didn’t make our paper look bad.”

“Oh just awful,” you drawled. “I think we’re banned from ever covering them.”

She didn’t catch the tone. Lucy had been so preoccupied with wanting a big, newsworthy feature that she didn’t think of anything else. She joked about you falling into bed with him but figured you were too much of a straightened arrow to try it.

You didn’t have a hickey, you weren’t sweating at the temple, or drinking the largest coffee. In fact, you didn’t even have a coffee.

“Did you…” she trailed off, neck jutting out in curiosity.

Before you could look her in the eyes and lie, a delivery man with a bouquet of flowers was making a b-line to your desk caught your eye.

Shit. So much for discreet.

He said your name aloud and held up the flowers as if you didn’t see them. They were magnificent. A collection of winter favorites perfectly curated in a massive bouquet.

“I have a delivery.”

“From?” Lucy asked bewildered.

“There’s a card,” he informed. The man set the flowers on your desk and you stood, straightening out your blouse as you plucked the card from the small spokes elevating it above the petals.

“Who’s it from?” Lucy pressed.

“Geez,” you mumbled. “Care to give me a minute or would you rather just read it yourself?”

“Go ahead,” she motioned.

You slipped the card from the envelope and slid it out. In personal handwriting, a short message relayed a simple message without a signature.

You couldn’t fight the grin this time. It filled your face with a joyous, girlish glow and Lucy smacked her hand on the surface of the desk.

“Holy shit!”

And holy, flaming fucking shit indeed.

Saturday, 9 AM. My shop. Wear something nice, it’s a date.

And you knew right where to go.

A/N: a Joe Quinn character breaking me out of a writing slump? 2022 me is not surprised. His Johnny is *chef’s kiss* and I love him, your honor.

P.S. all writers love to hear from readers and it’s the one thing I love more than anything. Thank you for taking the time to read this!

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monstersholygrail · 2 days ago

Text

Imagine the shock of finding out your guy best friend has been possessed by an Ancient Eldritch God, and that the Eldritch being actually traveled them back in time from seven years in the future, and now that very same being claims that you are their fated mate.

You don’t have to imagine it actually because you’re pretty sure that’s what your best friend just told you happened. You’re not sure, you can’t hear much past the ringing in your ears.

“Say something,” your best friend begs, but you can’t stop looking over all the subtle changes seven years made to his always ruggedly handsome face.

“Sorry— Carver, how are you sure about this?” You ask carefully.

Every inch of your body is aware of how close he’s sitting next to you on your couch. Your nerves ignited just by his closeness. Maybe there was some truth to this after all.

“He told me.”

You raise a brow at his blunt and frankly vague answer. Although even in your time he’s not one to usually explain himself. But this is different, you need answers.

“He told you that I’m your destined mate?”

As soon as you finish speaking a low horrifying growl of pleasure rolls through Carver’s chest and both you look at it with wide eyes.

“I’m guessing that’s eldritch for yes,” you squeak out.

But it’s hard to ignore the tingles that spark in your body and shoot straight toward your core. You immediately gush with arousal, your panties growing damp just from that sound alone.

The things it’s doing to you. It was so deep and full of need, you can’t help but subconsciously respond. The Eldritch God can sense it, he can smell your arousal and it floods through his and your best friend’s senses.

Carver’s eyes darken and he shifts on the couch, rising to his knees. With a barely restrained grip he spreads your thick thighs and settles between them, his weight resting on top your plush frame as he grows closer.

“He says he doesn’t think he can wait that much longer. He needs you. I-I need you,” he purrs, rolling his hips and grinding against your soaked pussy. Letting you know just how badly their need is.

“Or what?” You ask breathlessly, slowly lowering yourself further into the couch as he looms over you.

Without even realizing your hips begin rocking into his, creating more of that delicious friction that makes your head spin.

“I think I might just explode,” he whispers back, ducking his head to rub his nose along the column of your throat.

Goosebumps rise up on your skin and you automatically arch into him with a gasp. In truth, you’ve wanted him for so long you can’t remember a time when you weren’t crushing on him. You may need to pinch yourself just to assure you it’s real.

“Please say you mean that figuratively and not literally…”

You hear his laugh mixed in with a much deeper raspy sound and you realize just how much they’re both present in this moment. They’re one with each other now.

And they both want you.

“Hmm. I don’t think we should test him. Do you?”

He leans back enough to look down at you and in the shadows you watch his features twist and grow, changing into something you don’t even recognize or could ever explain.

Yet instead of fear you only feel yourself growing hotter for him— for them. And as they pounce on you, removing any barriers and burying their cock inside of you to the hilt, joining all three of your bodies together… you welcome them without a second thought.

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riveredmoon · 2 days ago

Text

nerd!reader is a little insecure and athlete!sukuna reassures her the only way he knows how

warnings: smut, piv, (mdni, obvi)

pt 1, 2

you see the looks. you hear the snide comments, the ones from girls you’ve really never been comfortable around. even you can’t explain how you and sukuna make sense.

two very different worlds between you — yours consisting of astrophysics and ted talks while his consists of red solo cups and drunk dedications over the winning touchdown he made.

his world also consists of very pretty blonde cheerleaders… like this one who is gripping on his arm as he celebrates another win. her smile is all big, her eyes all dreamy. and boy, do you understand the sentiment but it isn’t something you want to see. especially on the campus instagram.

so you sit, and stare at the instagram post. that little burrowing ache in your chest growing — the one that makes itself known when you see someone prettier, bolder, someone who fits in his world and doesn’t wear anime graphic shirts to class because that’s all she has in her closet.

you’re so stuck in your thoughts that you don’t even hear his heavy footsteps enter your bedroom until you feel his body heat. one of his hands wrapping around your bare calf.

“surprised you’re not doing homework,” there’s a slight teasing tilt to his voice and you want to crack a smile. but you look at him, and see his perfectly sculpted, tattooed face and that fucking picture flickers in your brain. her hands on him.

“should i dye my hair?”

he blinks at you. hard. bored. “what?”

“get contacts?” your index finger comes up to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“the fuck are you on about?” his hand pauses its movements.

“just questions,” you shrug. your eyes falling to the now dark screen of your phone.

“i like fucking you with your glasses on,” you hear the slight annoyance in his voice. because of course he does — you remember just last week the absolute fit he threw when you asked if you could take your glasses off when you were in between his legs. his cock pressed to your lips, his own fingers pushing your glasses back up as you bobbed down on him. “they fog all up… lets me see how much of a mess you get on my dick.”

then he sits back and stares at you for a second. his eyebrows furrowed as his usual scowl softens, just a tad.

his eyes tracing over every part of your body — darting from your eyes, to your lips, to the digimon shirt you’re wearing. his hand that is wrapped around your leg squeezes, just slightly. reassuringly, in his own little way.

you feel warm under his gaze. you feel beautiful.

and your pussy is clenching at the thought of him being yours.

and in a voice much softer than before, but still his. still firm. still strong enough to be listened to. he tells you, “i like everything about you.”

his sweat slicked chest is pressed against your back. his hand gripping your hip tight enough to leave a bruise, the other tangled in your hair — yanking your head back just enough to keep your glasses from falling onto the mattress.

they’re fogged, slightly crooked, sliding down your nose with every thrust he makes.

“like i don’t jack off to your nerdy ass,” he scoffs, fucking into your tight cunt with mean, punishing strokes. your pussy flutters, trying to take all of him — the stretch, the brutal pace, the pressure. “no way — fuck — no way in hell are you changing anything about y-yourself.”

you moan, loud, strangled. he laughs, brash and teasing, and it burns hot under your skin, right where your body continues to meet his. that common coil fluttering beneath your ribcage grows insistent. he brings a hand down, smacking your ass so hard you’re sure you’d still feel the sting when you sit down later.

he grabs on to you harder, diving into your soaked hole even rougher. the sound of his body slapping against yours fills the room — filthy, lewd, unapologetic. like it belongs here.

and then he leans over, his cock still pistoning into your pussy — breath hot at your neck, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, just enough to make your pussy clamp down hard. he groans, his tongue swirling over where his teeth just claimed you.

“no need to be insecure, baby” his lips brush against your ear, voice all smug and low. you clench around his cock, his hand on your hip tightening. “you’re the only who gets dumb on my cock.”

he drags out slow, your cunt trying to pull him back in — before slamming back in.

“oh m-my g-“ you’re a mess — long strings of whimpers and incoherent words spilling from your mouth. your glasses slipping off your face, mouth open, eyes rolling, slick running down your thighs and his.

and when you come — legs giving out on you, his name wavering off your lips like a broken record, fingers clawing on the bed — he fucks you through it.

he doesn’t stop. not even for a second. your walls molding around his throbbing cock with ease.

his tattooed chest flush against your back, you feel every breath he groans against your skin.

his hands loosen their grip, he slows his strokes down — almost torturously slow. enough to drag out your orgasam. his hips grind into you with deep, greedy thrusts, making sure you feel every inch of his thick cock. your cunt pulses around him, soaking wet and overstimulated. “my smart girl,” he pants, his own voice just as wrecked. “fuckin’ perfect little thing.”

a little rushed because i got too excited! @sukunahs have more dreams for me, okay?

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classyrbf · 1 day ago

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toji putting you in a headlock while he fucks you. It was completely unexpected, truly. He was pounding your poor pussy, cock stretching you open while he pushed your head down into the mattress you. You’re drooling, mind completely blank as your body submits to him. You’ve completely lost count of how many times he’s made you cum, but all you know is that you need more. He’s so deep inside you, cock brushing against your cervix before pulling back and ramming into your g-spot.

He’s watching your ass ripple against his pelvis with a smirk adorned on his lips, your pussy clenching down on his cock, sucking him back in. “You still with me, baby? Or am I fucking you dumb?” He chuckles, pressing his cock deep inside you and holding it there.

“Fuckk!” You scream, eyes rolling back. You can feel every inch, every vein throbbing against your gummy walls. He slowly, painfully, drags his curved cock back out your sopping hole leaving you a whining mess when you feel the loss of contact. Your legs as shaking, completely uncontrollable while he just stares and laughs.

His calloused hand grips the flesh of your ass, spreading it to get a good look at your creamy pussy, your hole clenching around nothing, swollen clit begging to be touched. “Such a messy, greedy pussy. She wants my cock, doesn’t she?” He coos. “And you,” he positions himself behind you again, his weight pressing against you, “want to cum over and over,” his muscular arms wraps around your neck, holding you up and squeezing tight, “until you physically can’t anymore,” he huskily whispers into your ear, his leaking tip brushing against your folds.

Goosebumps litter your body, squirming beneath him as he chokes you with his bicep. “P-please!” You choke out, so desperate to feel him stretch you out once more. Inch by inch, he slips his cock inside you, achingly slow until he’s balls deep, his hips pressing against your ass. He draws his hips back before slamming back into you, balls slapping against your clit. “Nnngh!” You fist the messy sheets below you, holding onto dear life as you brace another harsh thrust.

He’s going even quicker now, leaving you no time to prepare further. Each thrust feels like the wind is being knocked out of you, him having you in a headlock isn’t helping the situation either, but being in such a helpless position makes your pussy wetter for some reason. You’re pinned under him just taking his cock while drooling like a stupid bitch in heat from how good he makes you feel. Pleasure strikes through your veins like lightning and the sheer high you feel from ecstasy has you ready to cum again.

“Look at you fucking drooling all over me,” he scoffs, breathing heavily. “You can’t even fucking think straight, can you? That’s all right, baby, I know my cock feels too good.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head like he isn’t fucking you ruthlessly.

“C-cummingg!” You squeak, your hand clawing at his forearm, shaking uncontrollably when your orgasm takes over. You’re almost screaming from how intense it feels, eyes squeezing shut and toes curling as a reaction.

Toji devilishly smiles, eyes wide and fixated on the white ring forming at the base of his cock, your pussy squelching each time he pushes back in and grips him like a vice. He feels you go completely limp, too weak to even hold yourself up. You just lay there and take it, baring your teeth while he uses you like his personal fleshlight. Knowing Toji, he can go forever, and if he knows that you, his girl, wants to cum until you can’t anymore, he’ll make it happen.

“Don’t give out yet, baby, this pussy still has a lot more cum to give me,” he smugly says, flexing his bicep around your head.

#—☆classyrbf #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader smut #toji smut drabble #jjk smut drabble #jjk x reader smut #jjk toji

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shortnspidey · 3 days ago

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DUMB & POETIC

Johnny Storm X Female!reader || WC: 6.1K

SUMMARY: Johnny Storm flirted like it was a reflex, so when he starts showing up at work with that grin and some line about taking you out, you didn’t flinch. You want to believe him, want to think there’s something real under all that fire and flair, but it’s hard when every time you look, some starry-eyed fan is hanging on his arm.

WARNINGS: Fantastic Four: First Steps minor Spoilers! Typical Marvel themes, angst, fluff, steamy kiss (no pun intended), cursing, Sue being Johnny’s defender yet still humbles him, self-deprecating thoughts, Ben and Johnny banter, lots of pet names, lovesick!Johnny

A/N: As soon as I saw the first trailer for this movie, and saw Joe Quinn as Johnny I knew he would do the role justice! I’m just sad now we have to wait until next year for the next set of Marvel movies! 😩 Divider by @saradika-graphics <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ johnny storm masterlist

Weekends at Maisie’s Delicatessen were a whirlwind of clinking dishes, muffled jazz from the radio behind the counter, and the sweet, yeasty warmth of the oven creeping into every corner of the narrow shop. Nestled on a street corner in Manhattan, its red neon sign buzzed softly beneath the fire escape, a beacon for locals and regulars alike. Inside, mismatched chairs and linoleum floors bore the scuffs of a hundred hurried mornings.

Your hair had been shoved into a bun since dawn, already loosened by the heat radiating off the pastry case. You moved nonstop, dodging customers and slinging paper bags filled with brownies, marble loaves, and chocolate croissants to neighborhood regulars. The cookies, especially the chocolate chip, were gone before noon, and you'd slipped a few warm ones to the kids who lived across the street, ignoring their mother's frazzled protests. Kids needed sweetness in a city like this.

You leaned against the counter for the first time in hours, arms dusted with flour and sugar, the faint hum of a delivery truck idling outside. You took a quick sip of water, your lips still tasting faintly of cinnamon. Then came the bell, ding-a-ling, that delicate sound above the door. You glanced up and froze in amused recognition. Ben Grimm stood in the doorway, trying (and failing) to disguise his massive, craggy frame beneath a trench coat that strained at the seams.

His fedora sat low, shadowing his unmistakable orange brow, but you’d recognize that stance anywhere. A few folks glanced up, but New Yorkers were practiced in the art of pretending not to notice things that didn’t concern them. “There’s my favorite customer!” You grinned, the weariness melting from your voice as you waved him in. Ben chuckled low in his throat, the sound gravelly and warm. “The usual, a dozen black and white cookies, fresh outta the oven.”

You beamed, already holding out the brown paper bag before he could part his lips. Ben’s rocky features relaxed into a rare, boyish grin. The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, even beneath the shadow of his hat. “You spoil us way too much, Y/N.” He murmured, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat with those thick, stone-like fingers. Before he could fish out his wallet, you gently laid your hand against his arm. “Nah,” You whispered, your eyes crinkling. “It’s the least I can do. You keep our city from crumbling, literally.”

He hesitated, then chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth pulling into something half-sheepish, half-grateful. The coat shifted slightly as he straightened up, careful not to knock over the tiny table near the window. Outside, the city kept humming, taxis honking, a dog barking somewhere down the block, steam curling from a grate on the corner like clockwork. Ever since that mission to space, the one that turned the four of them into something the world had never seen, they'd been more than just heroes.

Earth-828 called them protectors. Some folks whispered “miracles,” others muttered “monsters,” but to you, they were still people. People who liked black and white cookies warm and still a little gooey in the middle. Ben tucked the bag under one arm with reverence, like he was holding something precious instead of simply just cookies. “Reed says carbs’ll slow me down,” He grunted, already lifting one to his mouth. “But he doesn’t know what he’s missin’.”

You laughed, the sound light above the soft vinyl music playing from the back. The overhead light flickered briefly, a flaw in the old wiring you never bothered fixing, casting a golden glow across the glass counter and catching the powdered sugar still clinging to your forearms. “Anything else I can get for you?” You asked, tilting your head as Ben scanned the pastry display. “Will you let me pay for it this time?” You shrugged with a playful glint in your eye watching as he shook his head in disapproval.

“Just the cookies today. I’ll take the offer next time, though.” Ben grunted, approval or defeat, it was hard to tell, and adjusted his coat. “Fair enough,” You smiled, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Tell everyone their favorite baker said hello.” You added, wiping your hands on your apron. As if summoned, the front door jingled again, and in blew a gust of hot air and unmistakable cologne. “Ben! What a coincidence!” Johnny Storm strolled in like he owned the block, hair windswept, a grin already loaded and ready to fire.

He clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, more for show than anything, before swiveling toward you like a sunflower toward the sun. “Why hello, gorgeous.” He purred, leaning casually against the counter, elbows propped like it was a bar and not a bakery. His blue eyes flicked over you, every detail catalogued in a glance that burned hotter than anything the ovens could crank out. You didn’t flinch. You’d seen this act before. “Johnny.” You replied, arms crossed more for protection than posture.

It didn’t stop your heart from racing, not with him standing there, all charm and endearing smile. He’d been flirting ever since the first time Ben sent him to pick up cookies, weeks ago now, throwing one-liners your way. It had become routine, really. Every day around noon, Johnny would stroll through the doors of Maisie’s Delicatessen, sometimes in uniform, sometimes in civilian charm, like clockwork.

He’d order the same cherry danish or lemon tart he never finished, pick at a croissant he claimed was “too flaky,” or simply ask for something sweet and then spend twenty minutes leaning on the counter and making small talk. You’d never seen him eat more than a bite. The truth? He didn’t like pastries. You knew. You noticed the way he’d discreetly leave half of them on the plate, or slide one into a napkin and “forget” it on the windowsill. But he came back anyway.

Every. Single. Day.

Only unlike all the women in New York City, you’d brushed him off. You always did. The whole city knew Johnny Storm’s reputation. He was the Human Torch, flashy, unpredictable, and impossible not to look at. Blonde hair like sunlight, eyes blue enough to drown in. You weren’t naive. You just weren’t stupid enough to fall for him and get your heart broken. At first, you assumed it was just Johnny being Johnny, chasing a pretty face with his signature swagger and a smirk that could melt through steel.

His flirtation had seemed harmless. But lately… something about him felt different. He asked questions that had nothing to do with your looks. Asked about your favorite books, your childhood dog, whether you liked jazz or doo-wop better. He once brought you a bouquet of tiger lillies because “you looked like someone who deserved a Wednesday pick-me up.” He listened. Really listened. And yet, you still didn’t let yourself believe it. Because he was Johnny Storm.

Famous. Reckless. Traveled to space. And you? You baked cookies on 3rd and Grand and slipped extras to neighborhood kids. So when he leaned in across the counter today, eyes locked on yours like you were the only person in Manhattan, it made your stomach twist. Because you couldn’t tell if it was all just part of the game, or if maybe, just maybe, he meant it. Still, you reminded yourself to breathe, burying the stupid crush on the blonde-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker as far down as it would go.

You’d dug that hole weeks ago, right around the time he started showing up for pastries he didn’t eat, and you’d kept digging ever since. “Surprised you’re not at the Baxter Building,” You teased, grabbing a nearby rag to wipe a nonexistent smudge on the counter. “Don’t you have a world to save?” He grinned, eyes glinting. “Figured I’d start with yours.” You almost choked on your own breath. Ben rolled his eyes so hard you could almost hear them click.

“Flamebrain, pick up your danish and let the woman work.” But Johnny didn’t move. He leaned in further, elbow resting against the counter like he had all the time in the world. “Aw, come on, Y/N.” He drawled with a smirk so effortless it should’ve been criminal. That wink, practiced, perfect, probably had women lining up around the block. You huffed a laugh despite yourself, because dammit, he was impossible not to smile at. Shaking your head, you turned your back to him, pretending to be very, very busy with the new tray of croissants still warm from the oven.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was still watching you, you could feel it. You grabbed the pineapple danish, the one he always claimed was his favorite, though you were 99% sure he hated pineapple, and placed it gently on the counter between you. “Have a nice day, Johnny.” It was meant to be the end of it. A line drawn in powdered sugar. But the way he lit up when you said his name made your chest tighten in a way that was wildly inconvenient.

His whole face softened, the cocky veneer still there, but something genuine flickering behind it. The corners of his mouth curved, his blue eyes twinkling like he'd just won something. He pulled out his wallet, soft leather, edges worn, and slid a crisp $10 bill across the counter without breaking eye contact. “See you next time, beautiful.” That should’ve been it. Any normal person would’ve taken their pastry and left. But Johnny Storm wasn’t normal. Before you could even blink, he leaned in again, this time reaching for you.

Reflex made you freeze, lips parting on instinct as his hand came up to your face. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitched. Your skin went electric beneath his touch. “Gotcha.” He whispered with a smug grin, dusting flour off your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, like some cinematic fever dream, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, slow, gentle, and let his fingers linger just a second too long.

You couldn’t even look at him. Not directly. Not with that smile. Not with the way his cologne curled through the air, something warm, woodsy, and undeniably him. Not with his broad shoulders in your peripheral, framed by the soft golden light of the storefront window. Your heart was pounding like the city outside, and you hated how easily he could turn you to absolute mush. With one last cheeky wink, he straightened up and strolled past Ben toward the exit like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain.

You stood frozen, still gripping the edge of the counter as the bell above the door chimed again. Ben lingered for just a second longer, eyeing you with something between amusement and pity. “He’s trouble, kid.” You managed a breathless laugh, cheeks still burning. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He gave you one last tip of his hat before he was out the door. Through the foggy window, you watched Ben shove Johnny as they walked down the street, his expression deadpan as Johnny laughed, head tilted back, beaming.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the stupid smile tugging at your lips. The rest of the evening passed like a worn-out record, quiet, predictable, and just a little too slow. No more superhero drop-ins, no flirtatious banter, just the comforting rhythm of clinking coffee cups, parents herding sugar-hyped kids, and the usual faces grabbing day-old rye for half price. You moved on autopilot, smiling when necessary, nodding when expected, but your thoughts weren’t behind the counter anymore.

They were still caught somewhere between Johnny Storm’s hand brushing your cheek and the lingering scent of him that had somehow stuck to the sleeves of your apron. At four o’clock sharp, you finally peeled off the fabric, folding it with practiced hands. You greeted your coworker with a tired wave, slung your bag over one shoulder, and grabbed the small box of pastries you’d stashed for yourself, your ritual comfort after long shifts. With a practiced motion, you nudged open the back door and stepped into the fading amber of early evening.

It was cooler now, a soft breeze threading through your sleeves, but it didn’t soothe the heat still smoldering beneath your skin. You leaned against the brick wall beside the shop, juggling the box and your bag awkwardly as you searched for your keys. Of course, they’d sunken to the bottom. Because today was that kind of day. “Geez, Y/N! Don’t you know it’s not safe out here?” You jumped slightly, box nearly tipping. But then the voice registered, cocky and warm like always, laced with amusement.

You glanced up, and there he was. Johnny Storm, leaning casually against the wall beside you, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing a fitted maroon tee that left nothing to the imagination. His eyes sparkled under the streetlamp like he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. You didn’t even bother hiding your eye-roll this time. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a woman when it’s nearly dark?” He laughed, that rich, golden sound that always felt like it was meant just for you.

“Walking a beautiful girl to her car after a long shift? That’s not rude, sweetheart. That’s practically chivalry.” You hated the way your heart fluttered. “I might even ask her out to dinner, if she doesn’t already have plans.” He added, stepping a little closer. “You never quit, do you?” Your voice was breathier than you intended, your composure already fraying. The city seemed to fall away, no cars, no lights, no sound, just the heavy press of his presence and the impossible closeness of him.

He took one more step, caging you. His arms bracketed the space like a promise. His eyes were softer now, but blazing all the same. “When it comes to you? I don’t.” You looked up at him, and you felt it, that dangerous pull. Like you were standing on the edge of something steep, and he was gravity. For one brief, selfish second, you wanted to fall. His gaze searched yours, blue eyes impossibly sincere, and you felt your whole body lock up. You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or lean in.

It was too much, all at once, the heat, the closeness, the way his words curled inside your chest and ignited everything you’d been trying to bury. “Johnny—” You started, just as quick reality struck. “Johnny! Johnny! Can we get a picture?” A chorus of high-pitched voices broke through the quiet. You both turned. Across the street, three girls, all wide smiles, glossy hair, and miniskirts, were waving excitedly. “Please! We love you!” His shoulders stiffened. For once, he was speechless, gaze flickering between you and them.

And that’s when it hit you.

Of course girls like that followed him. Of course they screamed his name and got his smile and maybe more. Girls who were everything you weren’t, glamorous, shiny, effortless. You felt plain in comparison, dusty from work, apron-wrinkled, flour on your jeans, your lipstick smudged from hours behind the counter and sneaking coffee during your breaks. You felt your throat tighten, breath catching behind clenched teeth.

He looked at you, torn, visibly. You saw the guilt, the hesitation. But you couldn’t handle it. Not the look. Not the choice. You beat him to it. “Go,” You whispered, voice thick. “Take pictures. Sign autographs. Don't let me stop you.” His head whipped back to you. “Y/N—” But you were already slipping. Already falling back into the walls you had spent so long building. Don’t get attached. Don’t believe him. Don’t be a fool. “I’ll see you around, Johnny.” Your smile was brittle.

A cracked-glass version of the one you used to give him. You turned before he could speak, before he could reach for you, because you knew, if he said the right thing, if he looked at you that way again, you’d stay. And you couldn’t. You clutched the pastry box like it was armor and speed-walked to your car, fumbling with the keys as your eyes blurred. You slammed the door shut behind you, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make your knuckles pale.

You let out one shaky breath, but it didn’t help, your chest still felt like it was caving in. The first tear slipped down your cheek, and you swiped at it with the back of your hand. You blinked hard, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from sobbing, swallowing the thick lump that refused to go away. Through the windshield, you could still see him, standing there, not moving. Not chasing after you. Of course not. He was Johnny Storm. And you? You were just the girl who made the cookies.

It had been two days. Two painfully long, quiet days. Ben had still come in like clockwork, trench coat tight around his frame, tipping his hat with a low grunt and walking out with his usual dozen black and white cookies. Business carried on, regulars filtered in and out, the register chimed, the espresso hissed, and the world, somehow, didn’t stop turning just because Johnny Storm hadn’t walked through your door. But you noticed.

You hated how your heart leapt every time the bell over the door jingled, hated how your eyes darted up from the pastry case expecting him, golden hair tousled like he’d just stepped off a beach, sunglasses halfway down his nose, wearing that crooked grin that always seemed a little too proud to be real. But it was never him. An old man wanting lemon bars. A tired mother with her toddler. A delivery guy. Anyone but Johnny.

By the second afternoon, you were scolding yourself. You’re fine. You don’t care. It didn’t mean anything. It never meant anything. But even that was starting to ring hollow. So when the bell chimed again near closing and your head shot up on instinct, eyes connecting with familiar blue ones. Only it wasn’t Johnny. “Sue?” You breathed out, heart stumbling in your chest at the familiar face, equal parts relief and renewed confusion bubbling up behind your smile. “Hi.”

Her face lit up, warm and elegant as always, framed by a neat headband and soft waves, dressed in a powder blue coat that fell just past her knees. You rounded the counter before she could say a word, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Congratulations, you and Reed, you’re both going to be such amazing parents.” Susan laughed softly, pulling back, her hand instinctively resting over the small swell at her abdomen.

“Thank you, darling.” She whispered, her smile tender, eyes softening at your touch as you caressed the curve just barely beginning to show. Susan glanced around the shop, the quiet obvious now that the last customers had filtered out. She must have seen something flicker across your face, something you didn’t mean to let show, because her gaze settled on you a little too knowingly. "Johnny and Ben didn't tell me you were stopping by."

You hoped it sounded casual, but your voice betrayed you, just a little. She tilted her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, Ben's been busy helping Reed with all the baby stuff,” She replied gently. “And, I don’t think Johnny's mentioned anything the last day or two, actually. He’s... been a little off.” Off? Your chest tightened. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t have the right to. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even sure you were a friend.

You were just the girl who made the pastries he didn’t eat, the one he flirted with until fans screamed his name and you reminded yourself to be practical. Still, it gnawed at you. The absence. The silence. The ache that felt like a bruise just beneath the surface of your ribs. You forced a smile. “I’ve got some brioche cooling in the back. Want to take some home?” Susan smiled and nodded, but her eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary.

And you wondered, how much did she know? Because if anyone could see through the armor, it was the Invisible Woman. You wrapped the warm loaf in parchment, the buttery scent of brioche rising with the steam as you folded the edges with careful precision, anything to keep your hands busy while your mind threatened to spiral. Susan lingered just past the counter, fingertips brushing along the glass display case, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Her silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just... weighty. Like she was debating whether or not to cross a line. The silence stretched a few beats longer before she finally broke it. “You know,” She began, almost too casually. “Johnny’s a lot of things. Loud. Reckless. Infuriating.” A wry smile tugged at her lips. “A complete pain in the ass, honestly.” You snorted quietly, folding the twine over the loaf and tying it into a neat bow. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Her gaze sharpened at that, the playful warmth in her voice dipping into something more sincere. “But he’s also been completely, hopelessly hung up on you.” You froze, not dramatically, but just enough that your fingers faltered mid-knot. Susan leaned in slightly, voice softening. “I mean it. Ever since he met you, it’s been nonstop. You’d think Reed and I were hosting a teenage girl in love. Every dinner, it’s always ‘Y/N made me try this pastry’ or ‘You should’ve seen the way her eyes lit up when I told her a dumb joke.’”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry as your heart pounded loud enough to rival the ticking bakery clock. “I thought it was just another Johnny phase,” Susan continued, her eyes kind now, but serious. “He’s... well. He’s had his share of admirers. Most of them louder. But none of them stuck. None of them made him show up every morning like he forgot how to sleep or act like a lovesick teenager.” Your lips parted, but no words made it out.

Susan gave you a long look, stepping closer until her voice dropped again, almost conspiratorial. “You know what really got me? He started asking me about baking.” You blinked. “He what?” She nodded, confirming that you in fact had heard her correctly. “Wanted to know how long croissants proof. What makes a good butter ratio. If semi-sweet chocolate was the same as milk chocolate, I nearly dropped a plate.”

She gave a quiet laugh, brushing her coat sleeve with her thumb. “He burns toast, Y/N. He once tried to boil eggs in the microwave.” That startled a weak laugh out of you, but the ache behind it remained. “I’m not trying to play matchmaker,” Susan added, gentler now. “And I know he’s a mess, God, he really is, but... this isn’t a game to him. Not this time.” You stared down at the loaf in your hands, chest tightening under the weight of everything she wasn’t saying outright.

You could still feel the ghost of Johnny’s hand on your cheek from two days ago. The way his voice had softened when it was just the two of you. How his grin faltered when he thought you weren’t looking. The worst part? You wanted to believe her. You really did. Yet, that quiet voice in the back of your head, the one that always whispered your insecurities when the lights dimmed and the bakery closed, wasn’t so easily silenced, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

Why would someone like him want someone like you, when he could have models, actresses, girls with legs for days and zero baggage?

You pushed the thought down, deep, wrapping the last piece of tape around the box like it could hold you together too. Susan’s hand landed lightly on your arm, anchoring you for a moment. “Whatever you decide, just don’t let the noise drown out what’s real.” You met her eyes. And in them, you saw none of the pity you were bracing for, just quiet encouragement. Understanding. You gave a faint nod and offered the brioche across the counter.

She took it gently, her smile warm as she tucked it into her bag. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.” And then she was gone, the bell jingling softly behind her as she disappeared into the golden spill of the afternoon light. You exhaled slowly, and for the first time in two days, you didn’t flinch at the thought of Johnny Storm. You just ached. The door had barely swung closed behind Susan when you stood there, motionless, loaf of brioche crumbs still scattered across the counter like the remains of a decision just made.

Your heart pounded so loudly you swore the walls could hear it. The hum of the bakery lights, the tick of the clock over the register, the faint laughter of kids down the block, it all faded beneath the sudden, sharp thrum of possibility. What if she was right? What if he wasn’t just another cocky grin in a fireproof suit? What if, under all the swagger and fanfare, Johnny Storm had been waiting, hoping, for you to see him the way he saw you?

Your hands moved before your fear could stop them. You ripped off your apron, tossing it onto the hook so fast it spun, grabbed your purse and keys, and locked the till with barely a glance. You rushed around the counter, fumbled with the light switches, not bothering to sweep the back or double-check the signage. The “Closed” sign swung crooked in the door’s window as you burst out into the late afternoon sun, scanning the sidewalk like a woman on a mission.

There she was. Susan, a block away, was sliding her sunglasses on as she reached the driver's side of a navy blue Fantasticar. You called out her name, your voice cracked with urgency and nerves. She turned, brows lifted in surprise, then slowly tilted her sunglasses down as you approached, breathless and wide-eyed. “I need a ride,” You exhaled, planting your feet like you might change your mind if you moved again. “To the Baxter Building.”

A slow, knowing smirk curled on her lips, like she’d known this would happen all along. Like she had simply laid out the breadcrumbs and waited for you to follow them. Without a word, she unlocked the car with a flick of her wrist and gestured to the passenger side. You slid in, heart hammering, palms damp, and stared out the window as the city blurred by. Your mind ran faster than the wheels on the pavement. What would you say when you saw him? What if he laughed? What if you were wrong?

But then you remembered the way he looked at you. Not like you were an option. Like you were it. The crack in his cocky demeanor when he thought nobody was looking. Susan glanced at you from the corner of her eye, her voice casual as she merged into traffic. “Took you long enough.” You glanced down, flushed and nervous, but a small smile crept across your lips. “Yeah, I guess it really did.” And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel afraid of what came next.

The drive to the Baxter Building felt endless, not because of traffic, but because of what waited at the end of it. Every red light was another second for doubt to crawl back in. Every street corner flashed with reminders: his face on magazines in bodega windows, girls with teased hair giggling over autographed photos, memories of your own reflection feeling small in comparison. Still, you didn’t ask Susan to turn around.

The building rose ahead like a monument, sleek steel and glass stretching toward a stormy Manhattan sky. As you stepped through the lobby, nerves clamped around your lungs, but Susan’s hand on your arm kept you grounded. “Just breathe,” Her eyes told you without a word. The elevator ride was silent, the kind that buzzes with everything unspoken. When the doors opened, both Reed and Ben turned like they’d sensed a bomb ticking.

Ben looked you up and down like you’d grown an extra head, half a cookie still in his massive hand. Reed’s brows lifted, already calculating variables. But before either of them could utter a syllable, Susan threw them a look sharp enough to slice concrete, one perfectly arched brow raised, hand on her hip. You chuckled inwardly, thinking she had definitely mastered the 'mom look'. Ben grunted, glanced between the two of you, then quietly retreated toward the kitchen, muttering something about minding his own damn business.

Reed blinked a few times and gave a tiny, approving nod before following suit. You turned to Susan, your pulse thudding like it might give up entirely. She only smiled, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Third door on the left. Go.” You didn't need to be told twice. Your heels clicked softly against the polished floor as you approached the door, H.E.R.B.I.E chirped a happy greeting in your direction. You waved, resting a hand on the smooth top of the robot’s head with an affectionate pat.

As you eyes locked on the door just past him, you could have sworn your heart lurched. You didn’t bother knocking. Your hand turned the knob, and the door flung open with all the force of your barely-contained storm. There he was. Johnny Storm, sprawled across his navy couch in a gray NASA tee and sweatpants, wearing a full space suit helmet. His posture screamed boredom, limbs flung over the cushions, one leg lazily propped up on the coffee table, until he saw you.

His eyes widened, nearly cartoonish behind the visor, and he jolted upright with such force the helmet slipped sideways on his head. “Y/N!” The name flew from him like he’d been holding it in for days. His voice cracked with disbelief as he scrambled to yank the helmet off, his hair sticking up wildly from the static. “Uh, hi! I mean—hey, you’re here. You’re… in my room.” You stood just inside the doorway, hands curled into your coat pockets to keep from fidgeting.

He blinked at you, breath shallow, eyes flicking from your coat to your flushed cheeks to the tense set of your jaw. “You okay? Did something happen? Are you—?” You didn’t even let him finish. Five steps, that’s all it took. You crossed the room with a force you didn’t know you had, your palms gripping the soft cotton of his white t-shirt, knuckles white with all the tension and longing that had been brewing for weeks, and tugged him down to your level.

Then you crashed your lips into his like it was the only way to keep from falling apart. Johnny’s breath stuttered, caught completely off guard, but only for a second. One of them slid up your spine, fingers splayed wide, pulling you impossibly closer until there was no space left between your bodies. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss like he’d been starving for it.

Your tongue brushed his, tentative at first, but then his low, guttural moan vibrated through your chest and your grip tightened in his shirt, knuckles aching. You kissed him deeper, mouths moving in perfect sync, hot and messy, with the urgency of two people who had waited too long and couldn’t wait a second more. Johnny broke the kiss just long enough to gasp your name against your jaw, voice rough and reverent.

He ducked his head, lips dragging down your neck in soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath catch. When his teeth grazed just beneath your ear, a sharp whimper escaped you, unfiltered and raw. “God, do you have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was hoarse, like the words had clawed their way out of him. You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. Not with your pulse pounding in your ears.

Not with the way he was looking at you like you were something sacred. Instead, you kissed him again, harder this time. The scent of him, smoke and whatever cologne he wore that made your knees weak, clouded your senses as his tongue swept across your bottom lip. Your teeth knocked, breath mingled, and his hand slipped down to the back of your thigh. Without breaking contact, Johnny bent slightly, hooking his arms under your legs and lifting you as if you weighed nothing.

You gasped into his mouth as your back met the cool plaster of his bedroom wall, the contrast making you shiver, but Johnny’s body was all heat, all fire pressed flush against you. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his hips, and the sound he made in response, part growl, part groan, was nearly enough to undo you right then and there. He kissed you like a man possessed, like he’d held back every second since the first time you handed him a croissant and smiled in his direction.

His fingers flexed at your hips, anchoring you, grounding you, while his mouth explored yours with a tenderness that burned hotter than anything reckless. You broke apart only when your lungs screamed for air, panting, foreheads pressed together. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped you, and your own were buried in his hair, fingers tangled and unwilling to let go. Your gaze met his, blue eyes wide, wild, soft, and for once, all the noise in your head quieted.

You could feel it in the space between heartbeats, in the way his thumb brushed over the back of your knee, in the breath he stole and gave back with each kiss. This wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t a game. “Now, can I take you to dinner?” He murmured, lips brushing yours. You let out a breathy laugh, stealing one more chaste kiss that left both of you grinning like fools. “I think we might've missed a couple steps.” You teased, hands absentmindedly playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

The same ones you’d always dreamed of running your fingers through but never dared to. His eyes softened, that usual cocky glint melting into something heartbreakingly earnest. “I don’t care in what order it happened,” He whispered, blue eyes tracing every line of your face like he was trying to burn it into memory. “As long as it’s you.” Your chest tightened, the words wrapping around something fragile and long-buried in you. He leaned in, nudging his nose gently against yours, and the breath that left him was barely a whisper.

“I should’ve stayed with you that night. I should’ve kissed you the second I saw you leaning against that wall. I should’ve never let you walk away. God, I’ve been such an idiot.” You drew in a shaky breath, heart swelling in your chest. Lifting your hands from his neck, you cupped his face in your palms, thumbs brushing across the faint hint of stubble along his jaw. “Hey,” You coaxed, voice soft but firm, grounding him before his thoughts could wonder. “I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

He closed his eyes like he didn’t trust himself to believe it until you said it again, so you kissed the tip of his nose. Then the corner of his mouth. Then fully on his lips, almost as if sealing the promise between you. A knock sounded faintly, followed by Reed’s voice muffled through the door. “Johnny! Is your friend staying for dinner?” You paused, eyes meeting his. There it was again, that flicker of vulnerability, like the part of him that still feared you’d run if given the chance.

But you didn’t even need to speak. Your smile answered for you. Johnny turned toward the door, cocky grin returning with full force. “Yes she is!” He called out, eyes never leaving yours. “Tell Herbert to set another plate at the table because—” He leaned closer, pressing a final lingering kiss to your flushed cheek. “My gorgeous girlfriend is staying over for dinner.” You couldn’t help it. You beamed. That word, girlfriend, made your skin tingle.

It felt impossibly good. Honest. Earned. You tugged him back down for one more kiss, slow and sure and full of everything you’d both kept buried for far too long. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t second-guessing it. You were exactly where you wanted to be. Where he wanted you to be. Wrapped in the arms of a man who once flirted like it was a reflex, and now held you like you were the only thing in the world that ever made him feel real.

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