#would be particularly careful with his words

[arabella0001]

i’m on my period and i’m only thinking at:

how naruto men would take care when you need them way too much

݁.𖥔 cn: overstimulation, oral sex (both f and m receiving), rough sex, multiple orgams, dirty talk. breeding kink

characters: madara, itachi, obito, kakashi, sasuke, naruto, shikamaru

fandom: naruto

༄ a/n: sasuke is at the final because ofc i wrote more at him

🃜 🃚 🃖

🍃 Kakashi

Kakashi will definitely be more than happy to fuck you as much as you needed. Anywhere. In his office? One of his fantasies. Every corner of your house? Just say the word. At night? He barely sleeps anyway. Morning? The best way to start your day, refreshed.

After his fingers reached the most delicious spots at the same time with his sinful lips that had already sucked your pussy into two orgasms, you were barely satisfied.

“Ah, fuck—Yes! So good, you fill me so good!” Kakashi leaned over you, lifting your leg higher on the table next to the bed and whispered into your ear, tilting your chin toward him.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He groaned at a particularly deep thrust. “Is my Y/N satisfied yet?”

“No, no—Please! More, Kakashi! I love your dick so fucking much—” He hissed at your dirty mouth, feeling himself throb inside you. Taking both your hands behind your back while you bent further for him and parted your legs, Kakashi used your restrained wrists as leverage, his thrusts pounding your needy hole harder, shaking the table. Only his name could be heard as you screamed it.

“I’ll fuck you anytime you want, Y/N.

🍃 Itachi

Itachi has a talent for pretending he doesn’t understand what you’re implying unless you say it directly. Whether your legs rub together when he replies a certain way… when you taunt him—and of course, he notices. Whether you look at him like you want to devour him, and he… acts sweet, far sweeter than usual. As if nothing’s happening—becoming even more affectionate just to soak you further and further until you’re the one who begs.

“Itachi, c-can you fuck me, please?”

He was nuzzling into your neck, sending shivers down your spine while he left soft, warm kisses.

“Didn’t I satisfy you this morning, dear Y/N?”

You almost whined when he stopped touching you, instead just looking at your flustered, shy face.

“Y-yes, but—” As you hid your face from shame, Itachi let out a soft, brief laugh, touching your thighs and caressing you before gently pulling you toward the edge of the bed. Burying his head between your thighs and starting to kiss them slowly had become a ritual for him. How long would she last this time?

After torturing you with slow, precise touches that made you cum too many times, you begged him to spare you.

“Itachi, p-please, my love—I can’t anymore!”

He murmured against your skin, caressing your whole body and making it arch impossibly before he found your lips. You chased his hips, struggling to find his painfully hard cock as he kept pleasuring you, placing it at your entrance. Itachi smiled at your eagerness as he slowly pushed inside. Moaning as he finally, finally fucked you, you locked your legs around him, urging him deeper and making him groan.

“Mhmm, I love it—I love it! Fuck! I’ll let you warm me every day if you want, I-Itachi!”

Composed as he was, your words affected him deeply, making him push deeper inside you as he felt himself closer to the edge far too soon than he wanted.

You’re something else like that.

🍃 Madara

Madara would let you ride him until you physically couldn’t anymore, finding pleasure in watching you that desperate.

Fucking back onto his dick, you couldn’t fight the strangled noises that poured out from your mouth. “You’re so fucking b-big, Madara.” You gasped, barely able to hold yourself upright from the force of your tremble, sliding back and forth in a way that had both of you panting for more.

Madara was restraining himself pretty well, dragging his cigarette from his lips as he watched you use his body, smirking at your praise.

“My wife likes to use my dick that much, huh?”

Sensing your struggle, he fucked up into you, meeting your thrusts in the middle and sliding in even deeper, making you shake and moan hard as he caught you before falling, his hand wrapping around your throat to steady you.

“Scream for me, pretty woman.”

🍃 Shikamaru

Shikamaru would probably let you ride him too, enjoying the show even while his cheeks flushed from being so desired.

Still, sometimes you pushed his limits. Enough to make him snap, dragging you between his draining tasks as the Hokage’s right hand—into his office, or any room nearby, even a storage one he hoped no one used.

Your hands were on the wall, helping you keep balance while Shikamaru pounded into your pussy with deep, hard strokes. With one hand holding your chin and cheeks, not too tightly, he whispered into your ear.

“My baby’s so needy? So fucking needy she couldn’t wait until I came home?”

🍃 Obito

Obito would be completely at your mercy—even if his cock was about to break if you didn’t stop sucking him eventually.

But how could he stop such a glorious sight? You, kneeling and devouring him, sucking him off again and again like it was the only thing you needed. Still, his cock was painfully swollen, and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

“B-baby, don’t you want me t-to fuck your sweet pussy?”

Slurping around his cock, you looked up at him under your lashes, making Obito let out a whimper and throw his head back. You stopped, playing with his cock and kissing it, licking him slowly.

“You gonna breed me, baby? Make me all swollen and dripping with you? Only you?”

Damn it, Obito fucking lost it at that. He gently took your hands off him, and the next second, you were in bed, with him already between your thighs. His gaze was so intense it made your heart tremble, afraid of how hard he’d fuck you now. But you already knew what would happen when you teased him enough—deep, slow thrusts until the bed nearly broke, and you were left with at least two loads inside.

🍃 Naruto

Naruto would be clueless like always when it came to anything about your body. But after a while, he swore on his life he’d learn everything about it just to make you happy. Even if sometimes he asked dumb questions that didn’t make any sense. “Ahm… Been thinking since morning. If you’re ovulating, you’ll stop making babies if… we fuck?”

Naruto was more than happy to eat you out as a warm-up, even begging you to ride his face until he couldn’t breathe, his head locked between your thighs.

“Not enough, not enough—!” As your moans spilled into the air, grinding on his face, Naruto looked up at you with a feral glint in his eyes. That look alone made your heart skip—your mouth falling open, your whole body blabbering for his cock.

Wanting nothing more than to be inside your soul, Naruto had you pinned completely, sometimes with your legs over his shoulders or wrapped around his waist while he fucked you deep and fast. His back was covered in scratches—ones he secretly loved admiring after, even if he blushed thinking about what he’d done.

“F-fuck, baby! You r-really are the perfect girl for me—Mhmm!” Naruto’s hoarse, slightly desperate voice made you spiral closer to the edge every time he spoke, accentuated by his hard, deep thrusts. “And the b-best pussy ever.”

🍃 Sasuke

Sasuke wouldn’t even be aware of it. Especially since he initiates almost every time. And especially since you don’t really know how to do it, so you’re scared to embarrass yourself (you wouldn’t—he’d be hard in a minute if you even tried).

Until now, you only tried to show him through more affection. Like burying yourself in his soul. And the only reaction you got (pretty cute) was a blushing Sasuke. But things didn’t stay that way for long. Annoyed he couldn’t read your intent, you started acting petty, your irritation rising drastically. At first, he only gave you a side-glance or raised eyebrow—aware of your hormonal cycles since he monitors them to understand you better. Until you became too irrational for him to decipher anymore.

After a rough day, you welcomed him with one of your passive-aggressive remarks that made him vanish, acting impulsively until he was right behind you. Your breath halted and your pulse ticked the moment you felt the warm air from his mouth against your ear.

“Why are you acting like that?” His voice was contained, restrained from snapping the way you’d spoken to him these past days. “Are you mad at me?”

You swallowed hard, a shiver running down your spine as you closed your eyes, his presence intoxicating everything around you, the heat of his body touching you so faintly it made you ache for more. Sasuke widened his eyes slightly at the realization—watching you bite your lip to avoid admitting, watching your trembling legs, the way you avoided his dark gaze. You want him, don’t you?

His voice was mocking, yet soft. His hands finally touched you more, still far too slow for what you needed right now.

“Poor little thing. All this time you’ve just wanted me to fuck you?”

You gasped at his words, redness spreading across your cheeks as he started undressing you quickly, leaving you naked.

“Sasuke…” He kissed you from top to bottom, reaching your shoulder and kissing it gently just to make you hiss, marking you. He tilted your chin, chasing your lips as you moaned, pushing your ass back against his clothed cock, making him groan. “Fuck me, Sasuke—”

You were so wet you didn’t care about anything else—only his greedy hands, touching and squeezing every inch of you as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Should I? After the attitude you gave me all week?”

Seeing you so desperate for him, Sasuke only wanted to talk more—for some reason. Maybe to get back at you for not saying it sooner, because if you had, he would’ve already fucked you several times by now. Or maybe simply because he adored the way his hands felt on your tempting body—driving him mad. Especially when you beg.

“Please, baby—Please, Sasuke!”

He hummed at your plea, undoing his belt in the process and not making you wait much longer before slipping inside—slow, but deep. Even though you were dripping, already prepared with two fingers, you still clenched impossibly tight, making it hard for him to last.

“Relax, Y/N. Fucking hell—”

You started bouncing on his cock, unable to listen—loving it too much, moaning his name. Sasuke groaned at the sight, chasing your hips and fucking you deeper, rougher, if that’s what you desperately wanted. Still, he really needed to fuck you again—because you made him cum way too soon. Now you needed to cum at least twice, looking only at him.

No one else should see this side of you. Nor his.

[glamorizethechaos]

Bruises Pt 5 | Jack Abbot x Reader

TW: fluff, graphic depiction of seizures, TBI recovery, anxiety, reader is having a ROUGH time, age gap, probable medical inaccuracy, brief mention of vomit !!

Word Count: 4.4k

Authors Note: I don’t have any personal experience with epilepsy but know how serious of a condition it is. I tried doing as much research as I could in regard to seizure and the post ictal state.

Prev | Next

————

Healing wasn’t linear.

You had good days, bad days, and really bad days. Jack was there for them all. The hospital decided to discharge you earlier, trusting you’d be in good hands under Jacks care, and they were correct. He kept your incision clean, held you when you cried, and helped you with your speech and motor skills that were impacted by the injury.

He was patient. When you stuttered and stumbled over your words, he sat looking at you with adoring eyes as if nothing was wrong. The frustration was not missed however. He tried to assure you, but you were just so angry all the time.

“Do you know how frustrating it is to know what you want to say but your mouth and brain won’t work together?”

“No.”

“Exactly, so be quiet and f-f-fuck off, Jack..” The words burned as they came out of your mouth. Throat dry. You didn’t want to be mean to Jack, especially after all he was doing for you. But every second of every day felt you were battling your own body and mind.

“I was angry too” Jack said after a particularly intense evening. “After my amputation.”

You didn’t answer but that didn’t stop him, of course it didn’t.

“Not just for a while — for a long time. At the world, at the war, the government, at myself. I’d look down and see this piece of metal where my leg used to be. People would call me a hero, shake my hand, tell me I was lucky — lucky for what? They didn’t see me at night, punching holes in walls because I couldn’t even put on a sock without tipping over. I hated needing help. I hated not being the man I used to be."

He took your hand in his, tracing his thumb against your knuckles.

"I'll never be the same man that I was, never — but I've learned to accept the man I am now. I can't say it’s gonna be easy. I still have my hard days— but you'll find yourself again. You'll grow and flourish into the brilliant, beautiful, and brave woman that you are. You don’t have to hide your bad days with me. I won’t hide mine either."

"No one looks at you like you're stupid or slow or broken in the head. You get sympathy. I get pity. That’s not the same thing."

"But you're not any of those things."

————

Your memory was not what it used to be, often repeating yourself and asking the same questions over and over. Every so often you’d ask Jack if he worked tonight, which he’d again explain that he was suspended with pay until the investigation was over. The only reason he managed to get Gloria to suspend him WITH pay was you. For whatever reason she had a soft spot for you, bending over backwards for the ER ever since you were hired. Whatever you asked, she granted. Robby thanks you for single handedly saving the ER from going under.

“Just take care of her, okay?” She whispered as Jack left the meeting determining whether or not he still had a job.

Had it been anyone else Jack pummeled someone for in the ER, he'd have been on his ass.

————

Your gross motor and fine motor skills were compromised slightly, but not as much as your mind. Jack made sure you had occupational therapy and physical therapy twice a week. On the days in between he helped you with your exercises and would not let you skip a day.

Despite your therapies, it was harder to button a shirt, you found yourself dropping things quite often, and your balance had deteriorated. It wasn't all the time, usually when you were tired. As exhaustion crept in, Jack noticed you grabbing onto the counter or the back of the couch for stability as you walked, or how you sometimes walked in a zig zag pattern down the hallway.

The first time you fell, the sudden thud yanked Jack out of sleep before his eyes even opened. Grabbing his prosthetic, he put it on in his haste, skipping his liner. He felt the pressure and shock shoot up his leg as the socket pressed uncomfortably on his bare skin. The shower was still running, but behind the door he heard sobs, muffled and sharp. He flung the door open to find you crumpled on the tile, trembling, one leg twisted awkwardly beneath you. You tried using the cold shower curtain to shield your naked body, the sensation making your skin crawl.

"I slipped." you muttered, angry and humiliated all at once. The tears mixing with the droplets of water on your face. He dropped to his knees beside you, already checking you for injuries.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just breathe. I’ve got you.” his voice was soft but urgent as he asked you questions, helping you up and wrapping you in his bath robe.

"Did you hit your head?"

"Were you dizzy?"

"Does anything hurt?"

“You feel a seizure coming on?”

————

The seizures were the most difficult part of your recovery. As weeks turned to months and you were still having seizures, you were finally diagnosed with Post-traumatic Epilepsy, another scar to remind you what Charlie had done. It terrified you, knowing one day you could slip into a seizure and never come out.

The anxiety that consumed you made your symptoms worse. Jack suggested speaking to a therapist and drove you to and from your appointments. In the beginning you asked if he’d join you, until you found the courage to go in alone. You struggled opening up about your feelings following your attack, but Jack encouraged you. Therapy was an imperative part of his recovery and finding a sense of self again; and he was set on finding the same for you.

You sat at the edge of the couch, afraid it would swallow you whole. The clock on the wall ticked loudly as Dr. Rowan introduced herself. It was quiet for a while as both Dr. Rowan and Jack held space for you to speak.

“Every time I close my eyes I feel Charlie’s hands on my neck.” You admitted during your second meeting. “Every time Jack touches me I have to remind myself he won’t hurt me. It sounds so stupid, but when he brushes my hair back, or puts a hand on my back to guide me—my mind panics. Even though I don’t want it to. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to response to gentle touch.”

“That’s not stupid at all. Your nervous system is on high alert. It’s your body’s way of protecting you.” Dr. Rowan validated you.

“He’s… g-g-gentle.” You started to stutter. “He doesn’t crowd me. When I seize, he waits until I come back, and he’s always there. But sometimes when he brushes my hair out of my face or holds my hand, I flinch. I hate it, I don’t want to be afraid of him.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

“No. Of course not. But for some reason my body is. My skin tenses like something bad is going to happen whenever he touches me, but at the same time…” you glanced at Jack who was watching you intently. “At the same time, I feel safer with him than anyone else. He’s gentle. He’s kind. He’s patient. He makes tea without asking, he learns the signs that I’m about to go out. He talks to me like I’m still me. Like I’m not broken.”

“Do you feel broken?” Dr. Rowan asked, leaning forward in her chair and adjusting the notebook in her lap.

“I know I am.” The words kept coming, like vomit. Your voice cracked as you continued, Jack staring at you as he took this all in.

“He touches my arm to help me stand, and my skin remembers things I don’t want to remember. But then… then he says my name, and everything inside me quiets for a second. I just don’t know how to let myself have something good again. It feels like I’m waiting for it to turn into a trap. How is that not broken?”

“You’re learning what safety feels like again. That takes time. It’s okay to not know how to respond to kindness after surviving cruelty.” Dr. Rowan finished and closed her notebook. When you left her office it felt like the world had been momentarily lifted off your shoulders. You walked a little bit taller, your body more relaxed.

Jack helped you into his truck, resting his hand on your waist as you hoisted yourself into the passenger seat. Before you could fumble with the seatbelt he reached over and clicked it in place for you. Your eyes both met and your chest felt as if it were in a vice grip.

“I’m proud of you.” Jack whispered.

“You aren’t mad at me?” You asked tearfully.

“Wha— why would I be mad at you?”

You weren’t entirely sure, other than you were used to being ridiculed for speaking your mind. Despite feeling a bit lighter, you cried the whole car ride. An emotional release you’d been holding back for years. Jack jumped as the first sob escaped your chest and ricocheted through the truck.

He reached over the center console and grabbed your hand. Everything hurt. Your chest. Your head. Your stomach. You wanted it all to stop, to jump out of the car. Panic began to set in and you pressed your head against the headrest, trying to ground yourself.

Jack ran his hand across your hair before settling at the back of your neck.

“Just breathe. We’re almost home.”

Home.

What was home? Where did you belong? Alone? With Jack? As sick and twisted as you knew it was, with Charlie?

Some days you wish he had killed you. Some days you resent Jack for stepping in and saving you.

“Pull over Jack.” Your skin growing more and more pale and clammy by the second. Before he could even put the car in park, your head was out the door throwing up your breakfast. Jack winced as you gagged and reached over to pull your hair back. When there was physically nothing left in your stomach, you shut the door and looked out the window, refusing to look at him. He sat there for a moment before putting the car in drive again and finishing the rest of the ride home.

Like a flip of a switch you hopped out of the car like nothing had happened. The mood swings were sometimes violent, especially when your pain was high.

“Can I cook dinner tonight?” You asked Jack as he put the keys in the door. He stalled and looked at you. Taken back by your change in demeanor.

“You sure you’re up to it?”

“Yes.” You nodded. You hated when he doubted you. He never had until after your injury. Not even when your arm was elbows deep in a man’s abdomen. “I just want to feel a sense of normalcy again, plus my OT said it’s good therapy.”

“Okay okay… just no sharp knives, okay? You had a rough day.”

Your hands shook more when you were stressed.

“You got it captain.” You smiled as he ushered you inside. You stumbled a bit but caught yourself on the counter. You missed cooking, it was always a creative outlet, but it was a bit nerve wracking cooking for Jack for the first time. He hopped in the shower so he wouldn’t crowd you, but when he came out, curls still dripping— he paused.

You were standing by wall with one arm draped over your eyes and the other searching for the light switch. Jack called out to you, closing the distance between you almost immediately.

“The fucking lights won’t turn off, it’s too bright in here!” Your words were a bit more slurred than normal, and Jack was already leading you towards the couch.

“The lights aren’t on, honey.”

“Yes they are Jack!” You yelled back through gritted teeth, “they keep flickering and it’s too fucking bright!”

“Honey, I promise you the lights aren’t off. I think a seizure might be coming on. Come lay down for me.” He took your pulse which was climbing by the second, perspiration collecting on the small of your back. “Can you open your eyes for me?” He asked laying you on your side.

When they opened, your pupils were dilated and your eyes jerked back at forth involuntarily.

“I don’t want to have a seizure, Jack.” You screamed through the sob that was stuck in your throat.

“I know, I know. I gotcha.”

“I cant s—se” was the last thing you tried to utter before you slipped into a seizure. Your eyes were wide open, unseeing, pupils blown wide. A low choking sound escaped your lips as foam began to pool at the corner of your mouth. Your whole body trembled, muscles pulling taut in violent, unnatural waves.

You let out a guttural, unearthly sound from deep within your throat, and your jaw clamped so tight he could hear the grind of your teeth. Your lips were turning blue and skin pale, eyes rolled back and lids fluttering uncontrollably. He spoke to you the whole time as he held you on your side:

"Come on baby, its okay."

"I gotcha, I gotcha."

"Breathe for me, breathe. There we go, you're okay."

"I'm here, you're okay. Come on, baby. Breathe for me.”

Jack held you in place and watched the clock, 1 minute turned into 2, and then 3. He began to panic as the 4 minute mark began to creep in. Your seizures didn’t normally last thing long. Just as status epilepticus became a possibility, your body began to relax.

You gasped violently, back arching off the couch— it feeling like all the air was pushed out of your lungs. Choking on the salvia in your mouth— you coughed and sputtered all over the couch.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart, you’re okay. You had a seizure. Just breathe. Good— good, there we go. That’s it.”

Jack. His voice. Familiar, anchoring. You tried to reach for him, but your arm barely even twitched, as if you still weren’t in control.

His warm hand cupped your cheek.

Your head throbbed and there was a sharp ache in your tongue, the taste of metal across your taste buds—you must’ve bitten it again. Your body felt wet, was it sweat or urine? Unsure if you had lost control of your bladder your hand reached down to feel the fabric of your jeans.

Soaked.

Humiliated.

“J-“ you tried to cry out, but he cut you off immediately, brushing a cool rag across your forehead. Where did he get that? When did he get that?

“Don’t try to talk yet,” Jack murmured, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “You’re safe. I’m here. You came back to me and I’ve got you.”

The post ictal state was always a limbo. Time jumping anywhere from seconds to hours to even days, unsure of what happened in between. Your head hurt, your body sore and stiff. It would be hours later that you’d wake up in his bed.

Not remembering Jack stripping you from your urine soaked clothes and helping you into the bath. You don’t remember him washing your body as you sat there unmoving. You don’t remember him dressing you in your favorite pajamas and bringing you to the kitchen for your medicine and your nightly cup of tea. You don’t remember him putting you to bed and how you fell asleep before your head even hit the pillow.

But you do remember waking up the next morning, your body still sore. A stark reminder of the night before. Your jaw was stiff, the joints almost locked as you tried to shift it side to side.

Jacks footsteps grew closer down the hall and he poked his head into the bedroom.

“Morning, honey.” You smiled softly, his eyes looking at you with concern on your face.

“How bad was it?” You asked. You don’t remember ever feeling this poorly after a seizure before.

“The worst you’ve had.” Jack answered truthfully sitting at the foot of the bed. He inched closer massaging the muscles in your legs. You groaned. “I think we should call your neurologist.

“Up my Dilantin?”

“Mhm, and get you another script for Diazepam. Looked for your Valtoco when you started seeing flashing lights but you were all out.” He said, almost disappointed.

“I’m sorry I forgot I was out.”

“ s’okay. Luckily it stopped before the 5 minute mark. But it certainly felt longer…”

“You were scared?” You asked, looking at the fear in his eyes as he relived the moment in his head. Jack Abbot? Scared? Jack Abbot has been to war. He didn’t get scared.

“Terrified.”

“I hate this,” you said hoarsely.

“I know,” he replied. “But I’ll be here. Every time.”

————

It took days to recover from your Grand Mal seizure. The extreme fatigue, sore muscles, and mental fog left you bedridden for three days. Emotions were high as you feared another potential seizure. The tears flowed strong and often, the sobs keeping Jack up at night. He’d join you— crawling into bed with you to talk. The two of you would watch movies to occupy your mind. You both watched Back To The Future, The Devil Wears Prada, Jaws, Rear Window, and The Great Escape— in that order.

You hated the way your hands shook when you reached for the remote. You hated how you lost your words halfway through a sentence. You hated needing help.

On day two you tried getting up and walking around. Jack didn’t hover. He never did. He moved around you gently, quietly, giving you space unless you looked like you were about to fall, or when your frustration turned dangerous—like when you tried to carry a cup of tea and it slipped from you grasp.

You froze, breath hitched.

He was there in an instant, kneeling beside you in the shards, catching your trembling hands.

“Don’t,” he said softly, “don’t say anything. It’s okay.”

You looked at him, eyes wide and watery. “I used to be able to hold a damn cup.”

“And you will again,” he took your shaking hands in his “You’re still coming back.”

He never said “you’ll be fine.” He knew better.

On day three, you managed a walk around the apartment. Your legs felt uneven beneath you, and the hallway blurred a little at the edges, but you made it. Jack trailed behind you, close enough to catch you, far enough to let you try.

“I feel like a ghost in my own body,”

“You’re still here. Bruised, maybe. But not gone.”

You wanted to believe that.

But nights were the worst.

Every time you closed your eyes, you were afraid you wouldn’t wake up the same— or at all. That the next seizure would take more than it left behind. That you’d open your eyes and forget your name, or worse— forget his.

On day four he was pushing you to get back to your physical therapy.

“Come on,” he said holding out his hand. “You promised me five minutes.”

“It’s stupid.” You were curled up on the couch, arms crossed, jaw tense.

“It’s five minutes.”

You narrowed your eyes as he stood there with the most ridiculous smirk on his face.

“Are you enjoying this?”

“I’m enjoying seeing you try. That’s different.”

You rolled your eyes but reached for him. Fingers trembling slightly. You right leg was always weaker—tingly sometimes, sluggish. Jack stood close but didn’t touch unless you asked. You hated needing help, but hated falling even more.

You started with balance. Heel-to-toe walking along the hallway rug. You stumbled halfway through and reached out instinctively. His hands caught your waist, steadying you like it was nothing.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumble, a lump rising in your throat.

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

“Like I’m a child taking her first steps.”

“Don’t get upset honey. You feeling okay?”

“No.” You voice cracked. “I hate this.”

“Then don’t do any more today. Let’s just sit. Let me hold you.”

You didn’t want to cry again. You had cried enough. But you leaned into him anyway, letting your head rest on his chest, listening to the slow beat of his heart.

————

The next day was occupational therapy, which came with its own set of challenges and frustrations.

You wanted toast. Something he normally would offer to make, but he watched as you stared at the plate in front of you, knife in hand. You gripped the knife hard in your right hand, and held the toast in the other.

You tried to spread the peanut butter with shaking hands, but it clumped in the center and tore the bread. Again.

Your chest tightened. The feeling of frustration rising in your chest — hot and sharp and helpless. The same rage that boiled up every time your fingers fumbled, every time you brain lagged behind your body. You slammed the knife down, too loud, and backed away from the counter like it had burned you.

Jack came over quietly, holding two mugs of tea. He didn’t flinch at the sound. He just took one look at your face and set the mugs down without a word.

“I can’t even make toast,” you snapped, blinking too fast— trying to stop the tears that were burning your eyes.

“It’s a bad day,” he said gently.

“They’re all bad days.”

“No,” he said, coming closer. “They’re hard days. Not the same thing. Plus, I t’s always harder after a seizure.”

“I can’t write. I can’t tie my shoes. I can’t hold a fork the right way unless I concentrate like I’m defusing a fucking bomb. You don’t get it—this used to be nothing.”

“I know, but now it’s something, and every time you try again. That’s not nothing.”

You shook her head, not trusting yourself to speak. You felt the words rising in your throat— unsure how angry they’d be.

He stepped behind you, gently wrapping his arms around your torso from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Come here.”

“I said I can’t—”

“I didn’t ask you to do it alone.” He guided you back to the counter, picked up the toast, and handed you the knife again.

“I’ll hold the bread,” he said softly, anchoring it with his fingertips. “You focus on the spreading.”

It still wasn’t perfect. Your grip was awkward, and the motion uneven— your hand jerked every so often. But the knife moved. It worked. He watched in amazement as you concentrated at the task at hand. He felt like he was back in surgery with you. Watching work with fine precision and holding someone else’s life in your hands.

When you finished, Jack took a small bite and exaggerated a hum of satisfaction.

“Best toast I’ve ever had.”

“Shut up.” You laughed, trying to choke back a sob. Why did you feel so proud of yourself for making TOAST?

“Serious. Gourmet stuff.”

“Liar.”

————

The envelope was plain. Cream-colored, folded and crisp. You didn’t even have to open it.

Court summons.

You dreaded this moment. The trial date.

Where you’d have to face Charlie. The one who left you in a hospital bed, skull fractured, vision blurred, and memories stolen. The man who made you jump when you heard a door slam. The man who had once said he loved you but bruised you. Scarred you.

Jack came into the room after he heard the front door shut but he heard your footprints stop short. He looked at you, then at the letter. His jaw tensed, lips flattening into a hard, thin line.

“They called you in?” he asked.

You nodded. He didn’t say anything else at first.

You felt yourself sway slightly, off-balance, even standing still.

“I don’t want to see him again,” you whispered.

You didn’t say it aloud, but you weren’t afraid of being in the room with him. You were afraid of what would happen to you the moment she saw his face.

How easily the panic might come back.

How all the progress you’ve made may be for nothing.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Jack said. There was something in his eyes—still burning. Still coiled tight. That part of him hadn’t cooled since the night he found him on top of you in the trauma room. “I’m not sorry I hit him, I should’ve done worse.”

“Do you regret it?” You asked quietly now “Beating him like that?”

Jack laughed.

“No,” he said finally. “But I regret that you were alone long enough for me to need to.”

You didn’t cry, didn’t flinch. You stepped forward and laid your head on his chest. His heart was steady beneath your cheek.

“I don’t know if I can look him in the eye,” you whispered.

“Then don’t,” he said. “Look at me.”

The second letter came two days later.

You found it in Jack’s hands when you walked into the kitchen. He didn’t say anything right away—just held it loosely, unopened.

“What is it?” You asked.

He looked up at you, jaw clenched, eyes unreadable. Slowly, he turned the envelope toward you so you could read the seal at the top.

District Court of Pittsburgh

You breath caught.

Defendant: Jack Abbott.

Charge: Aggravated Assault.

You lost your balance.

“No— No, they can’t. You were defending me!”

Jack set the letter on the counter like it was something fragile. He didn’t meet her eyes.

“No.” he said flatly.

“What are you talking about? He was hurting me— you found him on top of me— he was— ”

“I tried to kill him.” His voice was calm, too calm. “When I saw him on you, when I saw your eyes. I wanted to kill him. I would have too— I didn’t stop until Robby pulled me off.”

“I cant lose you Jack— I can’t let you go to jail because of me.”

He stepped forward and took your face in both hands. “You are not why this happened. He is. I made my own choice.”

You shook your head, the words lodged behind your teeth. Guilt was a physical thing in your chest, heavy and pressing. Jack had protected you when no one else had.

“I’ll— I’ll testify. I’ll tell them everything. All he did to me. How much he hurt me. That you were trying to protect me. That you’re a doctor. You wouldn’t hurt anyone unless— unless…” you’re sobbing now. The words flowing.

He shushed you. Pressing his forehead to yours. Because he knew—whatever happened in that courtroom, you’d go through it together.

Tag list //

@michasia24 @emma8895eb @nosebeers @runawaybaby3 @antisocialfiore @xxxkat3xxx @livingavilaloca @popeabbot @catmomstyles3 @bxxbxy @meowmeowyoongles @midnight-dixon @nerdgirljen @aj3684 @screechingenemy18 @profoundlynerdywolf @rogersbarnesxx @sebastianstangirl01 @princesssunderworld @looneylooomis @shadowhuntyi @drlangdonsbabydaddy @celiacallsitcausal @sjester42-blog @geekgirl1996 @ksyn-faith @peggyofoz @trustme3-13 @foolishseven @floofmc @anxiousfuckupon @silas-aeiou @pinkdrinkwithraspberry @thedamnqueenofhell @tinyfairies @stellaforstar666 @ch3rrvreds @the-salty-asian @child-of-the-amis @sharkluver @introvertathome @rae4725 @cannonindeez @miserablegirliee @blackwidownat2814 @priestvss @jazzimac1967 @meganwritesfanfics @idkimhereforsmut @witchywidow97 @buckyyyismahhlife @skeletoncookiesposts @rafabarnes @glitterspark

(I think I got everyone! Sorry if I missed you!!!! Lmk if you wanna be added)

[mostlyinsanechrissy]

The Summer I Chose You

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Conrad's POV

I stood frozen by the pool long after Y/N had stormed away, her words echoing in my head like accusations I couldn't escape. Keep messing with everyone's hearts if that's what makes you feel better. The disgust in her voice, the disappointment in her eyes - it was everything I'd been trying to avoid, and somehow I'd made it infinitely worse.

She was right about everything. About Belly, about my cruelty, about the way I'd been pushing everyone away. In that moment, I'd wanted to tell her everything - about Mom's diagnosis, about the fear that was eating me alive from the inside out, about how terrified I was of losing everyone I loved. But the words had stuck in my throat, and before I could find them, she was gone.

For days after that night, Y/N and I existed in the same space without really seeing each other. She'd nod politely if we passed in the yard, would smile and make small talk if forced into conversation by our parents, but the easy warmth that had always existed between us was gone. Every interaction felt stilted and careful, like we were strangers pretending to be friends.

I missed her with an intensity that scared me. I missed her laugh, her insights about the books she was reading, the way she'd look at me like I was worth understanding. Now when she looked at me at all, it was with a careful blankness that hurt more than anger would have.

Y/N's POV

Belly's sixteenth birthday dawned bright and beautiful, the kind of perfect summer day that seemed designed for celebrations. From your bedroom window, you could hear the cheerful chaos of the Fisher house coming to life - voices calling out birthday wishes, the sound of Laurel making her famous Mickey Mouse pancakes, the general buzz of excitement that always accompanied important occasions.

Most summers, you would have been over there already, probably helping with breakfast preparations or adding your own voice to the birthday chorus. You would have run across the yard in your pajamas to hug Belly and be the first to wish her happy birthday, the way you had every year since you were kids.

But this summer was different. This summer, everything felt complicated and fragile, and you weren't sure where you fit in the Fisher-Conklin family dynamic anymore.

You wanted to go over there. Every fiber of your being was pulling you toward that house. But the memory of your last real conversation - stilted and awkward and full of everything you weren't saying - made you hesitate.

What if I make it weird? you wondered, watching through your window as Steven and Jeremiah chased each other around the pool with water guns. What if she doesn't want me there?

The arrival of Taylor's at the Fisher driveway made your decision for you. Belly's best friend from home had come for the birthday celebration, which meant the dynamic would shift even more. Taylor had never been particularly warm to you, and you'd learned over the years that it was easier to give her space when she visited.

Conrad probably is there anyway, you told yourself, settling back against your pillows with a book. He's been avoiding everything lately.

AFTER SOME TIME

You'd been trying to lose yourself in your novel by your pool when the sound of laughter and splashing from next door became too much to ignore. Glancing over, you could see the group had migrated to the Fisher pool - Belly in a new bikini that made her look stunning, Taylor with her confident smile, and the boys engaged in their usual pool antics.

That's when Jeremiah spotted you and immediately started waving you over with his characteristic enthusiasm.

"Y/N! Come join us!" he called out, his grin infectious even from across the yard.

"Maybe later!" you called back, but you should have known that Jeremiah Fisher never took no for an answer.

Before you knew it, he was jogging across the lawn toward you, his hair still dripping from the pool.

"Absolutely not," he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. "It's Belly's birthday, and you're sitting over here reading like some kind of hermit. Come on."

Your book was still clutched in your free hand as Jeremiah dragged you across the yard, and you couldn't help but laugh at his determination. This was why you loved Jeremiah - he had this ability to cut through awkwardness and just make things happen.

When you reached the pool area, Belly's face lit up with genuine happiness.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed, and for a moment it felt like old times as she pulled you into a warm hug. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Happy birthday, beautiful," you said, meaning it completely. "You look absolutely stunning in that bikini."

Belly beamed, doing a little spin to show off the new suit. "Taylor picked it out for me. Isn't it perfect?"

"It really is," you agreed, then turned to acknowledge Taylor with a polite smile. "Hi, Taylor. Good to see you again."

Taylor's return smile was perfectly pleasant and completely cold. "Y/N. Still spending all your time with books, I see."

There was something in her tone that made you feel like you were being assessed, but you pushed the feeling aside. This was Belly's day, and you weren't going to let Taylor's subtle digs ruin it.

"I'll just sit on the side for a while," you told Jeremiah as you settled onto the pool's edge with your book. "Maybe jump in later."

As you tried to focus on reading, you couldn't help but scan the area for Conrad. He was nowhere to be seen, which shouldn't have surprised you but somehow did. Even with everything that had happened between you, you'd expected him to be here for Belly's birthday.

The chicken fight that erupted in the pool was entertaining to watch - Taylor perched on Steven's shoulders while Belly sat on Jeremiah's, both pairs trying to knock each other over with maximum drama and minimum actual violence. When Steven and Taylor inevitably lost and crashed into the water with spectacular splashes, you got thoroughly soaked.

"Sorry!" Belly called out through her laughter, but you were already closing your book and accepting that resistance was futile.

"Water volleyball?" Jeremiah suggested as you slipped into the pool, the cool water a relief from the summer heat.

"Teams?" you asked, automatically falling into the familiar summer routine.

Usually, it would have been Conrad, you, and Steven against Jeremiah, Belly, and whoever else was playing. But with Conrad absent, the teams shifted.

"How about Steven, Jeremiah, and Y/N against Belly and me?" Taylor suggested with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "We can take you."

There was something in her tone - a challenge, maybe, or subtle mockery - but you just nodded and took your position. You'd been playing water volleyball in this pool for years, and muscle memory took over as you settled into the familiar rhythm of the game.

That's when Conrad appeared.

You saw him before the others did, emerging from the house with that careful, distant expression he'd been wearing all summer. Your concentration wavered for just a second - long enough for Taylor to spike the ball directly at your face.

The impact caught you just below your faded bruise, and the surprise more than the pain sent you tumbling backward into the water. You came up coughing and disoriented, pool water burning your throat and your vision blurry from being underwater.

Conrad was there immediately, standing at the pool's edge with concern written across his features.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice sharp with worry.

"I'm so sorry!" Belly exclaimed from the water. "Taylor, that was way too hard!"

"It's fine," you managed, though your voice came out rough from coughing. "Just part of the game."

But Conrad was already extending his hand to help you out of the pool, and the look he shot Taylor was absolutely withering. You'd never seen him look at anyone with such obvious disapproval, and something about his protective instinct made your heart race despite everything that had happened between you.

"Do you want some water?" he asked once you were standing on the deck, a towel wrapped around your shoulders. "You're still coughing."

You nodded, grateful for the excuse to get away from Taylor's satisfied smirk and the group's awkward attention.

Following Conrad into the Fisher kitchen felt like stepping back in time. How many summer days had you spent in this room, hopping up onto the counter while Susannah cooked or the boys raided the refrigerator? The familiar comfort of it made you momentarily forget about all the tension and complications of the past few weeks.

You settled onto the counter with practiced ease as Conrad filled a glass with water, the movement so natural you didn't even think about it. This was your second home, after all, and you'd been making yourself comfortable here since you were barely tall enough to climb up.

Conrad approached with the glass, his expression still creased with worry. As you accepted the water gratefully, his fingers brushed against yours - just for a moment, but long enough to send familiar electricity shooting up your arm.

"Better?" he asked, and you nodded, taking another sip.

That's when he did something that made your breath catch. His hand came up to gently touch your face, his fingers tracing the air just above where the ball had hit you, checking for damage with the kind of careful attention that made your chest ache.

"I'm okay," you said softly, but you didn't pull away from his touch.

"I just... I care," he said, his voice rough with emotion that he was trying to hide.

"I know," you replied, offering him a small smile that felt like forgiveness for everything and nothing all at once.

The moment was intimate and fragile, filled with everything you weren't saying but both feeling. For the first time in weeks, Conrad's walls were down, and you could see the boy you'd fallen for underneath all the distance and complicated feelings.

That's when someone cleared their throat behind you.

Both you and Conrad spun toward the sound to find Susannah standing in the kitchen doorway, her expression knowing but not disapproving. The reality of the situation hit you immediately - you were sitting on the counter in a wet bikini, Conrad's hand still hovering near your face, both of you looking guilty as charged.

You practically launched yourself off the counter, colliding with Conrad in your haste and sending both of you stumbling.

"Sorry!" you blurted out, grabbing towels to clean up the water you'd dripped everywhere. "I'm so sorry about the mess, Susannah. I didn't mean to-"

"Sweetheart," Susannah interrupted with that warm smile that could ease any anxiety, "this is your home too, remember? Stop apologizing for existing here."

Her words made your chest tight with emotion. Despite everything that had happened, despite the awkwardness, arguments, and complicated feelings, Susannah still considered you family. The Fisher house was still your second home.

"I don't need to formally invite you," Susannah continued, "since you already know, but we're having a dinner party for Belly tonight. I hope you'll join us."

"Of course," you said immediately. "I wouldn't miss it."

As you headed back to your house to get ready, you could feel Conrad's eyes following you. The kitchen moment had cracked something open between you, but you weren't sure what it meant or where it could possibly lead.

Birthday Dinner

Y/N's POV

The birthday dinner was everything a Belly celebration should be - warm, chaotic, filled with laughter and embarrassing childhood stories that made everyone groan and giggle in equal measure. You'd given Belly the charm bracelet you'd picked out months ago, the one she'd admired during last summer's shopping trip, and her genuine delight had made all the awkwardness worth enduring.

Cam's presence at the table added a sweet dynamic that you loved seeing. He looked at Belly like she hung the moon, and she glowed under his attention in a way that made your heart happy for her.

The conversation flowed around the table in familiar patterns - Susannah telling embarrassing stories about all the kids, Laurel adding her own mortifying details, the boys groaning and protesting while everyone else laughed. It felt normal in a way that made you remember why these people were your chosen family.

Even Conrad seemed more relaxed than he had in weeks, though you caught him watching you throughout the meal with an expression you couldn't quite read.

Then all of us decided to go to the party Nicole was having.

Nicole's Party

Y/N's POV

The party at Nicole's house was exactly what you'd expected - loud music, too many people, and the kind of social chaos that made you grateful for the liquid courage provided by whatever was in your red solo cup.

As you enter through the front door, you start to search for familiar faces. You spot Jere with a guy, and Conrad with a beer, surrounded by friends, but Steven is nowhere to be seen.

Then Nicole immediately pulled you and Belly into her circle of friends, and Taylor went to get a drink. For the first time since the debutante season began, you felt like you were actually enjoying yourself. The other girls were funny and welcoming, and without the formal structure of etiquette lessons, you could just be yourself.

The karaoke session was predictably hilarious, with Jeremiah charming everyone with his natural stage presence. Even Cam got in on the action, creating a competition that had everyone laughing and cheering.

But when the music shifted to something slower and couples began pairing off, your good mood evaporated like morning fog.

Belly and Cam moved together naturally, her head fitting perfectly against his shoulder as they swayed to the music. Jeremiah had found some girl you didn't recognize, his easy charm working its magic as always. Taylor and Steven were dancing with the kind of obvious attraction that had been building all summer.

And Conrad... Conrad was dancing with Nicole.

Watching Conrad hold Nicole close while they moved to the slow song felt like someone was slowly extracting all the air from your lungs. They looked good together - both beautiful, both effortlessly elegant, both moving with the kind of natural grace that suggested they belonged in each other's arms.

This is what you wanted, you tried to tell yourself. You told him to stop messing with people's hearts. Well, here he is, not messing with yours.

But knowing something intellectually and feeling it emotionally were two completely different things. Every time she looked up at him with obvious interest, you felt like someone was twisting a knife in your gut.

You needed air. You needed space. You needed alcohol.

The makeshift bar was set up on Nicole's back patio, and you made your way there with determined focus. The beer was too weak, too slow, so you went straight for the harder stuff.

Just enough to numb the edges, you told yourself as you poured vodka into your cup with an unsteady hand. Just enough to get through tonight.

But as you stood there drinking, you could feel eyes on you. That familiar sensation of being watched made you turn, and sure enough, Conrad was looking at you from across the patio. Even with Nicole in his arms, even while he was supposedly focused on her, his attention kept drifting to you.

Why? you thought desperately. Why do you keep looking at me when you're with her? Why do you care what I'm doing if you don't want to be with me?

The frustration and confusion and hurt combined with the alcohol in your system, creating a dangerous cocktail of emotions you couldn't control. So you did the only thing that made sense in your current state - you drank more.

The vodka burned going down, but it also created a blessed numbness that made everything feel less sharp, less painful. You could still see Conrad dancing with Nicole, could still feel the twist of jealousy in your gut, but it all felt distant now, like watching a movie instead of living your life.

Better, you thought hazily as you reached for the bottle again. Much better.

But as the alcohol continued to work its way through your system, turning your thoughts fuzzy and your coordination questionable, you had the dim awareness that you might be making a mistake. The last clear thought you had before everything became a blur was wondering if Conrad was still watching you, and whether that meant anything at all.

Everything after that was just hazy fragments - laughter that might have been yours, hands that might have been someone's, and the growing certainty that tomorrow was going to hurt in more ways than one.

To be continued...

Tag list: @katelyn-not-taken @tremendousstarlighttragedy @babycowgal @wertyuizxcvbnm @sydsicr @eddiemunsons-lover @crystalposts @nikilolo787 @jaasworld @messagingmusic @idkman5335 @im-damnedifidogiveadamn @midnightlullaby0710

[ddreamhhollows]

⌗ ┆ CAREFUL ,, rin itoshi

⸻ ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒

𖹭.ᐟ itoshi rin xx gn﹗reader 𖹭.ᐟ fluff,, protective rin,, tsundere rin,, hurt/comfort,, soft 𖹭.ᐟ tw :: minor injury ,, some pain mentions 𖹭.ᐟ word count :: 1591 ౨ৎ 【bllk masterlist】

"tch. are you serious right now?"

rin's voice cuts through your pained whimper as you sit on the ground, clutching your ankle.

the uneven pavement had caught your foot wrong when you'd been trying to keep up with his longer strides, and now you're paying for your clumsiness with what feels like fire shooting up your leg.

"i'm fine," you lie through gritted teeth, trying to push yourself up. "just give me a second—"

"don't." his hand shoots out to stop you, firm but careful not to jostle you further. "don't be stupid. you can barely sit up without wincing."

and there goes that tone, the one that sounds irritated but has an undercurrent of something softer. concern, maybe, though rin would probably rather die than admit it.

he crouches down beside you, his sharp eyes immediately focusing on your ankle. you watch as his expression shifts, the annoyance giving way to concentration as he takes in the way you're holding yourself, the careful way you're breathing.

"let me see," he says, and it's not really a request.

"rin, really, i'm—"

"let me see," he repeats, more firmly this time, and you reluctantly move your hands away.

his fingers are surprisingly gentle as they probe around your ankle, checking for swelling, testing the range of motion.

you suck in a sharp breath when he presses against a particularly tender spot, and his hands immediately still.

"sorry," he mutters, though he doesn't look at you. "can you move your toes?"

you wiggle them, wincing at the dull ache that shoots up your leg. "yeah, but it hurts."

"probably just a sprain," he says, sitting back on his heels. "but you're not walking on it."

"what do you mean i'm not walking on it? rin, we're like twenty minutes from—"

"exactly. twenty minutes of you limping and making it worse." he stands up, brushing off his hands with that same annoyed expression. "come on."

"come on where? i just told you i can't—"

you don't get to finish the sentence because suddenly rin is bending down, one arm sliding under your knees and the other supporting your back. before you can protest, he's lifting you up like you weigh nothing at all.

"rin!" you squeak, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck. "what are you doing?"

"what does it look like i'm doing?" he starts walking, his stride steady and sure despite the extra weight. "someone has to get your clumsy ass home."

your face burns with embarrassment, and from something warm that spreads through your chest as you notice how carefully he's holding you, how he adjusts his grip to make sure your injured ankle isn't bumping against anything.

"you don't have to carry me," you mumble against his shoulder. "i could probably walk if i go slow—"

"no."

"rin—"

"no," he repeats, more firmly. "you want to turn a simple sprain into something worse? be my guest. but i'm not watching you hobble around like an idiot when there's a perfectly good solution."

you fall quiet, partly because you know he's right and partly because there's something mesmerizing about being this close to him.

you can smell his cologne, can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, can see the way his jaw tightens slightly whenever you shift in his arms.

"this is embarrassing," you mutter.

"what's embarrassing is you not watching where you're going," he shoots back, but there's no real heat in it. "seriously, how do you function on a daily basis?"

"i'm usually more coordinated than this."

"uh-huh. sure."

despite his sarcasm, you notice that he slows down when you pass other people, angling his body slightly to shield you from curious stares.

notice how he shifts you higher in his arms when your weight starts to slip, murmuring a quiet "i've got you" that he probably doesn't even realize he's saying.

by the time you reach your apartment building, your ankle is throbbing in earnest, but you're almost disappointed that the walk is over.

there's something comforting about being held like this, about the steady warmth of rin's body and the careful way he's been carrying you.

"keys," he says when you reach your door.

"they're in my bag. you can put me down, i can—"

"keys," he repeats, and you sigh, fishing them out and handing them over.

he manages to unlock the door without putting you down, kicking it open with his foot and carrying you inside.

you expect him to deposit you on the couch and leave, maybe with some parting comment about being more careful, but instead he carries you to your bedroom.

"rin, you really don't have to—"

"where do you keep your pillows?" he asks, setting you down on the edge of the bed with the same careful precision he's shown all evening.

"my pillows? they're... right there?" you gesture to the head of the bed, confused.

he grabs two of them, arranging them at the foot of the bed before gently lifting your injured ankle and propping it up. the elevation sends immediate relief through the aching joint, and you can't help the small sigh that escapes you.

"better?" he asks, and you nod.

"yeah. thank you."

he's already moving again, disappearing into your kitchen without explanation. you hear him rummaging around, opening and closing cabinets, and you're about to call out and ask what he's doing when he reappears with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel.

"for the swelling," he explains, settling the makeshift ice pack against your ankle. the cold is shocking at first, but it quickly numbs the worst of the pain.

"how did you—"

"basic first aid," he cuts you off, though his ears are slightly pink. "anyone with half a brain knows rice. rest, ice, compression, elevation."

"excuse me, mister genius." you smirked slightly.

he sits down on the edge of the bed, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body but careful not to jostle the mattress too much.

for a moment, neither of you speaks, the only sound the quiet hum of your air conditioning and the distant noise of traffic outside.

"you didn't have to do all this," you say quietly.

rin doesn't look at you, focusing instead on adjusting the ice pack. "it's not like i had a choice. you would have just made it worse if i left you alone."

"still. thank you."

he makes a noncommittal sound, but you catch the way his shoulders relax slightly at your words.

"does it hurt?" he asks after another moment of silence.

"not as much now. the ice is helping."

he nods, finally looking at you. there's something softer in his expression now, the sharp edges worn down by concern and the quiet intimacy of taking care of someone.

"you scared me," he admits, so quietly you almost miss it.

"scared you?"

his jaw tightens, like he's already regretting the admission. "when you fell. for a second, i thought... i thought it might be serious."

your heart does something complicated in your chest. "rin..."

"it was stupid," he continues, his voice back to its usual sharp tone. "getting worked up over a simple sprain. but you just... you went down so fast, and you made this sound..."

"what sound?"

"like you were really hurt." he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. "i know it's just a twisted ankle. i know you're fine. but for a moment, i couldn't..."

he trails off, but you understand. rin isn't good with emotions, isn't good with admitting that he cares, but the way he's been taking care of you all evening speaks louder than any words could.

"i'm okay," you say softly, reaching out to touch his hand. "thanks to you."

he looks down at where your fingers overlap his, and some of the tension leaves his posture.

"you're staying off that foot for the rest of the night," he says, and it's not a request. "and tomorrow, too, probably. i'll come check on you."

"you don't have to—"

"i'm coming to check on you," he repeats, more firmly. "and if i find out you've been walking around on it before it's healed, i'm going to be pissed."

there's no real anger in his threat, just the stubborn concern that seems to define how rin cares for people. fierce and protective and hidden behind layers of irritation that don't quite manage to conceal the softness underneath.

"okay," you agree, squeezing his hand gently. "i'll be good."

"you'd better be."

but he squeezes back, just for a moment, before pulling away and standing up.

"i should go," he says, though he doesn't move toward the door. "you need to rest."

"rin?"

"what?"

"thank you. for everything. for carrying me, for taking care of me... for worrying about me."

his ears go pink again, and he looks away. "tch. it's not like i had a choice. someone has to keep your lukewarm ass alive."

but there's no bite to the words, and when he finally does leave, he makes sure you have water and snacks within reach, adjusts the ice pack one more time, and promises to text you in a few hours to check how you're feeling.

rin might complain about having to take care of you, might grumble and act like it's all a huge inconvenience, but his actions tell a different story entirely.

and honestly? you wouldn't mind spraining your ankle again if it means seeing that soft, protective side of him once more.

© 2025 ddreamhhollows

[yuunarii-arii]

ʙᴏᴏᴋ ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ 'ɴ ʙɪɢ ʙᴀʙɪᴇꜱ...

BIRTHDAY GIFT FOR MY DARLING, KORE! 🥳 (@dhazefawn)

PAIRING: Mattheo Riddle x Reader SUMMARY: All your focus is on your DC scrapbook and your boyfriend demands attention.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k TW: Clingy Mattheo, maybe ooc, mediocre writing- TT Author's note at the end.

Snip snip snip.

Coloured papers were scattered across the room, many of them filled with holes that resembled stars and hearts. At the moment, you were attempting to make a gun shaped cut out for the 12th try; only god knew the stacks of papers you’ve gone through to finish this scrapbook. And it wasn’t just any ordinary scrapbook; it was filled with your most recent hyperfixation—except this hyperfixation happened to last years and not die down for a second.

Flipping through your creation, majority of the pages were completed, printed comic panels glued to what used to be blank papers, and doodles of your favourite characters from the DC Universe were sketched all over the book along with different quotes in cut out speech bubbles.

Of course, the lucky guy who had front row seats to view this adorable spectacle was your caring and frankly annoyed boyfriend; particularly, one who wishes to strangle every fictional man that had you enchanted because of- what? Their toned abs and tragic backstory? Doesn’t he have that already?! Or so he’d like to complain…

He couldn’t count on all fingers how many times he’d hear your sweet giggles about whoever the fuck was Jaybird and Timmy.

Was he jealous of 2D men? No. He was possessive over the love of his life, and he isn’t going to let a green eyed masked man, or some nerdy computer boy steal the attention that was so rightfully his!

But you would argue that it’s his fault, since this entire scrapbook idea started after he generously offered to take you to the muggle comic store in Hogsmeade for your birthday.

He was fully aware of your passion for superhero comics, more specifically Batman, so it was a no brainer to take you there as a surprise; the moment you entered the store you instantly scoured the aisles, Mattheo had to chase after you to keep up with your pace—which still didn’t do any good, because he somehow managed to lose you in that small modest comic store.

After peaking through several book aisles, he found you huddled in a corner amongst stacks of comics and painfully heavy concept art books by DC. Mattheo couldn’t help but adore how small you looked in your little reading bubble, your nose stuck in a newly released issue without a care in the world.

For the entirety of your stay, Mattheo sat beside you, listening to your pretty yaps about whatever came to your mind at that moment; he’d never admit it so casually, but Mattheo loved it when you rambled, maybe it was the joy and excitement in your eyes, or possibly the way your lovely lips moved forming every word, whatever it was he wanted to hear you speak for as long as he breathed.

Which takes us back to his current dilemma, you were now planting stickers along your makeshift cover as you explained to no one in particular about the process of carefully designing a scrapbook. Mattheo wasn’t sure how long you’d been working on that thing; it felt like an eternity! An eternity of being neglected by his favourite person, so Mattheo being Mattheo decided to do the only thing that’d get your attention.

He tipped toed through the jungle of papers and stickers along the floor, and in a single motion, he snatched the book from your hands, holding it away from your reach.

“Mattheo!” You squeaked, “give it back!”

“Mattheo, huh. What happened to Matty or babe?” he interrogated with the book above his head, “Have I already been replaced by your book boyfriends?”

You were taken off guard before you could even argue back; was he jealous of comic book characters? Despite trying to conceal his facial expressions, you could see a little pout on his lips contradicting the sharp gaze he held on you. Oh Mattheo… Shaking your head at the thought of him watching your arts n’ crafts like a kicked forgotten puppy.

His protests continued as he stood before you with the book far from your reach; but you had long forgotten about it. You took his cheeks in your hands and pulled him into a long passionate kiss. He instantly relaxed in your hold, bending down to your level, scrapbook lightly tossed to your bed as his arms wrapped around your middle.

You pulled away in an attempt to breath, but your very eager boyfriend chased after your lips like a man starved. He claimed your lips while leading you to your bed, both of you dipping into the mattress as Mattheo towered over you, his deep dark brown eyes boring into yours. And in a split second Mattheo disappeared from your line of sight, tucking his nose in your neck, portion of his weight pressing your body into the bed as he laid on top of you.

“Matty?” You asked. ”Hm,” Mattheo couldn’t care to form a proper explanation, he finally managed to capture your attention, he’s not going to waste it.

You let a breathy sigh while stroking his hair, “you’re such a baby,” you couldn’t believe he’d been jealous of fictional characters— actually it was believable, you just didn’t expect him to act on it. Whatever you planned on saying then had dispersed from your mind as you continued to massage his head, teasing him every little bit about how this was so Jason Todd coded…

Yeah, he didn’t want to hear that…

You were ambushed with merciless tickles but by the time his attacks ceased, he began to wrap you into a cocoon with the duvet; honestly, you could have done something to stop him, but you wanted to see where this was going.

“Mattheo Riddle, what the heck are you doing-?” you were practically a wrapped burrito, he hooked his leg over you as he held onto your round frame. “Matty, let me out!” You demanded. “Shhhhh…” Shushing your persistent complaints, he loosened the duvet from you and slid your hands around him, allowing you to reciprocate his cuddling attempts.

“Honestly, if I told anyone about this, they wouldn’t even believe me.” You fathomed, “Mattheo Riddle demanding cuddles, huh.”

“Tell anyone and you will see what I’ll do to you.” Threating as he pressed himself deeper into your embrace. Anyone would’ve thought he had gone insane if they witnessed this, but it was just another Tuesday for you, and you were grateful that you were the only one to see Mattheo so vulnerable, it only made your love for him grow.

The rest of the day consisted of peaceful napping and switching between little and big spoon with your baby of a boyfriend while your little scrapbook laid amongst the rest of the mess on the ground; you’d have to clean this all up later, but it isn’t every day that Mattheo initiates innocent physical touches like this, so you’d just have to delay the tidying for a while.

He was already in a state of slumber, a constant low exhale escaped him every few seconds, his arms hooked securely around your waist, he certainly didn’t plan on letting you go, whether he was awake or unconscious. Sorry, Jason Todd, but there seems to be only one bad boy in your heart and life.

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: @theodoresvalentine (I haven't been using the taglist for awhile, sorry! 😭)

↬Disclaimers

A/N: Kinda late for a birthday gift, I know😭But I hope you enjoy it! I had to include DC in it somehow, it would be wrong if I didn't 🤭

©yuunari-arii 2025. All works & moodboards posted under my name belong to me. Please do not copy, claim, republish, or translate my work anywhere else.

[tempe-brennans]

just touch my cheek before you leave me (baby)

summary: you said goodbye. clark never really let you go.

word count: 3k

author's note: no notes really except i hope you enjoy it <3

Clark is halfway through pouring creamer into your coffee mug–a too sweet thing that he kept stocked in excess so you’d never run out–when he realizes that he’s making coffee for a ghost.

Your memory, your things, still sit around his apartment like specters. But, you–beloved, irreplaceable, love of his life, you–are long gone.

He grabs both mugs, his hand curling around your favorite with a reverence he once reserved for you–a poor replacement. He sets them on the coffee table, sits on the couch. He sips from his own, just gazes at yours.

If he's still enough, the ghost of you returns, curls into his side just like you always did.

Mornings had been soft, filled with quiet laughter and gentle touches. Waking had been easy, a soft place to land. With you gone, everything is a little sharper, aches a little more.

He had known he loved you, known you were important to him. But, with you gone, it’s all a little more clear what he’s lost.

By the time his coffee is gone, yours has long gone cold–like his bed, like his life, like everything you had made better just by being there. He pours it down the drain.

x

Over and over, the elevator dings as it glides between floors. No matter how much he wishes for it, how fiercely he wills it–you never walk out.

Until you do.

Perfect. Polished. Just like always.

Half of him had hoped you wouldn’t be–that you would be a mess, that you would look like he felt.

Half of him is glad you don’t.

Clark didn’t know you could be so cold.

Sure, the two of you had argued before–occasionally even spent the night in separate beds.

Usually, one of you would pad in eventually, footsteps soft, curling around the other in a silent apology.

Now, though, you’re all ice. You walk through the bullpen with the kind of focus usually reserved for brain surgery–or maybe aircraft maintenance.

Instead, you use it to ignore him.

It makes him ache in places he wasn’t sure he had to begin with.

You sit at your desk–across from him, because the universe is particularly cruel. You set your bag at your feet–a bag he would’ve shouldered without a thought–and sip coffee from your own travel mug, from your own apartment.

He remembers a time, not long ago, when he would’ve fixed your coffee, poured it into a mug from his own cabinet, and carried it into work just to see you smile.

He’d have walked you to your desk, kissed your forehead–sometimes, you’d steal a kiss on the lips if you were feeling bold–and then head to his own.

Writing with you just across the partition had made the job easier than it had ever been before he met you.

He couldn’t even say why.

You just made everything easier–even being a hero.

His hands hover over the keyboard. He knows he should be working, but he can’t quite begin.

He shifts in his seat, chances a glance over the partition–

You’re already typing. Focused. Unbothered.

Just him, then.

x

Clark remembers everything.

The way you'd slip under the covers after your shower, thinking he was asleep–always careful, like you were afraid to disturb the stillness he'd found.

Almost every time, once you’d settled, he’d shift toward you, curl his arm around your waist like a reflex.

Occasionally, his fingers would dance lightly across your side, tickling you in the barest way–just enough to play. You’d squirm, huff, half-laugh into the pillow, and he’d bite back a smile in the dark.

But sometimes–those perfect, disarming nights–you’d get there first. You’d reach for him, arm sliding around his ribs, pulling him close before he had the chance to move.

His face would flush, his stomach would flip.

He’d melt. If he was honest.

Those nights, he never let you know he was awake.

He didn’t think of it as lying. Not really.

Not when your arms felt like the safest place he’d known since Kansas.

He folds down the covers–soft flannel sheets you had helped him choose–and gets into bed.

He thinks about being stood up for his high school prom. How he had cried the whole drive home, how his Ma had pulled him into the kitchen without a word and held him tight.

They baked sugar cookies until dawn, the smell of vanilla and butter thick in the air, until he had forgotten his heart had ever been broken in the first place.

Now, he thinks he would need an entire bakery just to scratch the hurt he feels in his heart.

Then–suddenly–he feels a familiar touch.

Gentle fingers glide over his jaw, trace the curve of his cheek, slip into his curls. You scratch lightly at his scalp, and he feels the tension let go of his spine, like exhaling after holding his breath for far too long.

And then you kiss him–a lingering thing that starts in his mouth and ends in his toes.

His arm winds around your waist, pulls you in close, holds you there. He commits the weight of you to memory–though he’s done it a thousand times before–and lets gratefulness curl warm around the ache.

He pulls back just enough to whisper into the dark, “I thought I’d lost you.”

You shake your head. “Never, baby.”

“Really?”

He reaches for your face, any patch of skin he can find—something to anchor him, to prove you're real.

But his hand lands on nothing.

He wakes with a jolt.

The room blurs, unfamiliar for far too long considering it’s his own apartment. His own bed. His own emptiness.

His chest heaves, sweat beading along his brow. He tosses off the covers, feet landing on the cold hardwood floor as he swings his legs out of bed.

Clark could try to go back to sleep, but ghosts of you prick at his skin like goosebumps, and he’s not sure he could bear another dream–not when this one had felt so real.

He can still almost convince himself it was, that you’re just up getting a drink while he spirals.

Instead, he rises, slips open the patio door, and steps into the night. He needs air. Needs sky.

He flies–like he’s chasing something, or maybe trying to outrun it.

When he was young, flying had made him feel free.

The clear, blue sky, endless and untouched, had given him peace–the kind he couldn’t always find on the ground. No boundaries. No gravity. Just wind and light and the promise of somewhere else.

It used to feel like a gift.

Now, it just feels shaky. Like everything’s on uneven ground–even in the sky.

He knows he’s too low, knows it won’t take long before some news drone catches sight of him, even in the middle of the night.

He can already see the headline:

Superman Takes Midnight Flight in Pajamas: Has Metropolis’ Hero Lost His Mind?

Yes, he’d answer, if anyone asked.

Yes.

He’s lost his mind, and his heart, and whatever happiness he had found when he was with you.

What he doesn’t know–what he’ll never see–is the way you pause the next morning, coffee cup halfway to your lips, as the report flashes across the screen.

That streak of motion, flannel-clad and too low in the sky?

You know exactly who that is. You know exactly why he was out on a midnight joyride.

You.

x

Clark is late.

Not that it matters much. He crashes into work a few minutes late more often than he doesn’t, and Perry has never seemed to notice.

He’d finally slipped into something like sleep–though no one would call it rest–with barely two hours left before his alarm blared and sliced through it.

Now, he waits for the elevator. The ancient, groaning thing takes its time, and he stands with the raw-nerved skin of someone too tired to exist, let alone be expected function.

It's that exhaustion he blames when he startles at the sound of your footsteps beside him.

You offer a sheepish smile. “Hi.”

He nods, trying to summon a smile that feels like reassurance. “Hi.”

“Rough night?” you ask, eyeing the absurdly large travel mug in his hand–half coffee, half survival tactic.

He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

It’s honest. Probably too honest, given everything that’s happened between you. But there’s no filter left in him–not today, not with you.

Something in him pulls toward you. His fingers twitch at his side, aching to curl around yours. But, he doesn't reach out. Not physically.

So instead, his words do.

He can’t help it.

He catches the way you look at him, like you know–knows about the nightmare that sent him soaring into the night in his pajamas, the chaos the news caught of him.

But you don’t say a word. Just smiles, quiet and soft.

Soft in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever see directed at him again, not from you.

You shrug. “We all have those nights.”

He perks up, just a bit. Unbidden, hope blossoms in his chest. Not that you’re in pain, but that, maybe, just maybe, you miss him like he misses you.

Maybe he keeps you up at night, too.

Finally, the elevator dings open, and the pair of them step inside. Quiet, except for the soft hum of the ancient machinery.

Maybe, Clark thinks, maybe things aren’t so hopeless, after all.

x

That moment–the one outside the elevator–seems to crack something.

Suddenly, you ask him things again–his opinion, for notes. Sometimes, you even bring him his favorite donut from the break room.

He doesn’t question it.

Until, one day, you ask him for some notes, and absentmindedly, he hands you the notebook he always uses.

Only later, when you bring it back, does he realize he’s made a terrible mistake.

He flips through the pages, finds his little doodles, the quiet notes he’d written about you–the margins full of scribbles and your name tangled in ink.

Things he’d only meant for himself.

He knows you know now, knows you’ve seen them. Knows he hasn’t let you go, not even in the slightest, though you said nothing.

He isn’t sure what that means–if it means anything at all.

He hopes, somehow, it does.

x

Clark can’t focus.

He can’t work on his notes, can’t write. He’s too haunted, too distracted. Pictures of you still litter his shelves. He can’t put them away, and, if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t really want to.

You know I’m such a fool for you…

The gentle notes “Linger” fill his apartment–an effort to drown out the silence of his being alone.

And, though it isn’t silence, it does nothing to take his mind off you.

But, nothing does.

He minimizes his Word document , instead, opens his pictures.

Memories of you, the two of you, the life you had made, flash by technicolor. A lump forms in his throat, unable to be swallowed.

Clark has never been afraid of his feelings, afraid to cry. Instead, he’s afraid of how his chest aches, how his body seems to tremble.

How it seems he’ll feel this way forever: broken, and alone.

Tears stream down his cheeks, a hiccupping little sound leaves his throat.

Stupidly, he runs a finger along your cheek in a photograph, like he wishes he could do for real.

You were–still are, if he’s honest–his best friend, his favorite partner.

He’s not sure how he’s supposed to go on without you.

x

The fight lasts too long.

He wins, in the slightest sense of the word.

Everything hurts.

It’s not fatal–he’s certainly had worse. But there’s a tremble in his hands as he presses a threadbare towel to his ribs, blood seeping through cotton. His hearing’s still fogged, like he’s stuck underwater.

Like the world hasn’t quite clicked back into place yet. But, it’s been off it’s axis for weeks anyway.

He’s alone. At least, he thinks he is.

Then, he hears the clicking of a key in a lock, his door opening.

No knock. Just footsteps–familiar ones. Lighter than they used to be. Hesitant.

He doesn’t turn right away.

Half of him wants to believe his brain’s playing tricks on him–is aching need for comfort making him imagine you.

Because if he turns and it’s not you, he might fall apart.

But it is.

Of course it is.

You stand in the doorway of the bathroom like a memory made real–worry in your eyes and a grimace on your lips, but still you.

Still the one he lost.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says. His voice comes out rough, worn thin by the ache in his side.

You just lift an eyebrow. “And yet.”

There’s a long silence. He doesn’t know how to breathe with you in his space again after so long without you around.

“You’re hurt,” you say, eyes flicking down to the blood. There’s a softness in your voice that he’s missed more than he could ever say.

“I’ll live.”

“You always say that.”

He sets the towel down. Misses and lets it fall to the floor. His hands are shaking. He sits on the closed toilet seat lid, head in his hands.

“Why did you come?” he asks, and hates how hopeful it sounds–like he believes you might still come back.

You shrug, but there’s nothing casual about it. “Someone said you got your ass handed to you.”

He almost smiles. Almost.

“I figured you’d be too proud to let anyone help,” you add, stepping closer. Close enough that he can smell you–like rain and ink and something shaped like heartbreak.

“I’ve had worse,” he mutters.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

He looks at you, really looks–and it hits him how much he misses the sound of your voice saying things like that. Not just worry, but permission to be cared about, cared for.

Like he doesn’t always have to be the tough one.

“You were my best friend,” he says suddenly. No warning. Just a knife between the ribs. “And you left.”

You swallow. “I didn’t know how to stay when everything felt like it was breaking.”

“I didn’t know how to fix it,” he murmurs.

“I was so worried,” you whisper. “All the time. Every night I went to bed wondering if you’d die. And now you’re standing here, bleeding, and it’s not even my place to care.”

His throat tightens. He wants to say he didn’t mean to make you feel like a burden. That he was trying–really trying–to carry both the world and you. But he was worried he’d started to buckle under the weight.

“I never wanted you to feel like extra weight,” he says, voice cracking. “I tried. I swear. But sometimes...I was overwhelmed.”

He pauses, swallows around a lump in his throat.

“I thought I was protecting you.”

You look at him with glassy eyes, unshed tears lining your lashes.

He shakes his head. “I thought about you,” he whispers. “Every night I flew out there–every time a building fell, or it seemed like this might be the time I wasn’t coming back–I just thought about you.”

He meets your eyes, because he just can’t not.

“I miss you,” he mutters. The words feel too small, but they’re the truth. “I miss the space you took up. The coffee mug you always left on the counter. The way you curled into my side on the couch.” He chuckles, almost to himself, shakes his head. “This place has been so quiet since you left, I don’t even know how to live in it.”

You’re staring at him like you want to believe him, and with something else, something he can’t quite place.

Then–slowly–you reach for the towel on the floor. Pick it up. Step closer.

“Let me clean it,” you say, softer now.

Clark exhales, and for the first time in weeks, the breath doesn’t hurt.

You step closer, towel in hand, and he doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch when your fingers find his skin. They’re gentle. Too gentle, almost–like you’re still deciding if you’re allowed to be here.

He watches you in the mirror.

There’s a streak of his blood across your palm. You haven’t noticed it yet.

“You always do that,” he murmurs. “Take care of people even when you’re the one bleeding.”

You pause, eyes meeting his in the glass. “Force of habit.”

“I could do it, I think,” he mumbles. “I could take care of both things–the world and you.” He steadies his voice. “I know I could.”

You only glance at him, hands stilling.

“I know people say that it would be different,” he says. “But, it would. I knew what I had,” he whispers. “I knew what we had. But, to lose it–to lose you–has made it all the more clear that I never want to be without you again.” His hand comes up, curls around your hip. “I’ll try harder, I’ll let you in more–anything. Just…please come home. Please,” he whispers, tears bubbling over his lashes.

You’re quiet, looking at him with something almost like love. Your hand comes up, thumbs away the tears from his cheek.

“I don’t want to live in a world where I can’t come home to you,” he murmurs. “If you’re not here…” he trails off, shakes his head. “If you’re not here, then everything else just isn’t worth it.”

“So, ask me to stay,” you whisper.

Hope flares in his chest, warm and curling around his stomach.

“Please, stay.”

To Clark’s surprise, your face breaks into a smile. “Okay.”

He raises a brow. “Yeah?”

In answer, you lean down, press your lips to his. His arms wrap around your waist, hold you close to him.

You pull away, just a breath, and murmur against his lips, “I love you. I never stopped.”

Clark smiles–a bright, real thing. “I love you, too.”

In the morning, Clark makes your coffee once again. This time, he carries it to you on the couch, your hand curling around the still warm mug with a grin on your face.

For the first time in weeks, his heart is full in the way it’s only ever been with you.

[ghouljams]

i’m so normal about the boy please please please ghoul bless us with your magic brain worms about that nasty sweaty grimy wall boy . wanna know your thoughts on him sneaking and stalking us behind the wall and how he’d be if he came out would we keep up the routine for him?

cw noncon/dubcon

it's a big empty house in the middle of nowhere, you only see the grocer once a week, and your "charge" is a doll, it's safe to say you take very little time making yourself comfortable in the Heelshire estate. you go through your duties with "brahms" dressing him, doing his lessons, setting out food, but otherwise you consider the house your own as you count down the days until his parents' return.

you enjoy some sunbathing out in the front garden, content to feel the warm rays on every inch of your body with the trees hiding you from view. you wander the house nude or in little more than panties, content to lounge in whatever is most comfortable. you tote a little blutooth speaker to listen to your audio books, checking a new smutty novel out of the library each time you finish one, happy to stop and stroke your clit whenever you find a scene particularly thrilling (what the Heelshires don't know won't hurt them). hell, after you put the doll you bed you let yourself stretch out in bed with your vibrator and a few choice pornos, enjoying the alone time and the orgasms that you couldn't manage living with nosy roommates.

you dismiss any wet noises and faint moans you may hear as audio from some unseen pop-up add on your favorite porn site and don't pay them any thought beyond that.

you even indulge in your less tasteful desires, spreading your legs wide to tease yourself through horror movies and making a fool of yourself replying to the "scary" phone calls that hapless sorority girls get during Black Christmas. why yes billy you can lick this cunt, why don't you come down from the attic and show me how bad you want it. who cares? it's not like anyone is around to hear you.

so yeah! pretty much paradise. especially after you convince the grocer to get some tv and internet set up in the estate so you can stop using up your data.

the only weird thing is that sometimes you wake up with your skin sticky. your thighs or your stomach boasting a strange sheen and a flaky dried patch that makes you think you're allergic to the body wash the grocer brought you.

your underwear gets eaten by the drier.

your favorite dildo is in the wrong drawer.

you wake up to heavy breathing and an empty room.

you might be haunted by a really horny ghost? which... honestly you're not too mad about, the idea of getting stretched open by something you can't see has you queuing up the "scare movie" two to watch that bimbo get fucked by a ghost while you ride your vibrator. it feels silly, but it's better than scaring yourself over a few coincidences that are probably just your own forgetfulness.

it's only when you wake up to a persistent tongue between your legs and a porcelain replica of the doll you've been taken care of staring you down that you feel fear grip you. even then your legs are held so firmly in place that you can't do more than try to kick them, shivering at the answering growl that vibrates against your pussy.

the big man between your thighs slides the mask back into place as he rises from his meal, and you squeeze your hands tight against your chest, trying to find some covering from the dark hungry eyes that trace over you.

"cunt." he forces the word out, voice deep and throbbing with warning.

"what?" your brain feels fried in the midst of your panic, unable to grasp onto whether he's calling you names or just naming body parts. his fingers rub between your folds, tracing down to circle your entrance, teasing you the same way you do yourself.

"this." he pushes too fingers inside and you squeak at the stretch before he hooks them, grabbing you to grind the heel of his hand against your clit. "this is your cunt."

heat floods you, your skin bursting with warmth as you stare at the cracked porcelain. your hips don't know if they want to rock onto the fingers that have forced their way into you or help in your scramble to get away. you glance towards your bedside table, towards your phone and the man's hand grips your throat, forcing your attention back onto him.

"i'm going to lick it," he's quiet, still, for a moment before adding in a much higher pitch, "please."

you nod, as if you were in any position to say no.

[gorbo-longstocking]

Only Skin Deep | Chapter Two

Pairing: Johnny Storm/Reader

Summary: While avoiding sleep in central park, you happen to make a new friend. Stealing a meal the following morning, twice the normal size as you have a new little buddy to feed, you run into crime stopper and hero, Johnny Storm. Neither of you are particularly happy.

Tags: Body horror, homelessness, threats towards minors, petty theft, burgeoning obsession, probably inaccurate portrayals of Earth-828, past toxic family dynamics implied

Word Count: 5.2k Words

Read on AO3

First Chapter

A week passed before you knew it, and despite the near constant trials and tribulations that you had to endure, you were quite certain this was the happiest you had been in your entire life. Above you, the night sky stretched endlessly, light pollution from the city making the stars invisible to the naked eye. You enjoyed laying on the benches in central park, your gaze turned upward. Sometimes, in your dreams, you would see your family’s ship descend from the heavens. When you awoke, still dressed in freedom, you felt relieved, even if in your subconscious, you were elated to see that mother and father cared enough to look for you. It was a bittersweet feeling, one best not dwelt on. Instead, you propped your bare feet on the far handle of the bench, your new-found shoes settled on the sidewalk next to you.

Nearby, a young guitarist continued to strum a small tune. Near him was his open guitar case, positioned so that people could tip him if they felt so inclined. Like you, he was homeless, though he seemed to have it figured out far more than you did. The guitarist was cleaner than you, a backpack full of essentials held protectively behind him. He was here every night. While you recognized him, he never quite knew who you were considering you had taken to wearing a different face every day. The cops would have a harder time tracking your dumpster diving and theft that way. Illegal, yes, but necessary, and very minor. Most of what you had managed to gather were from a soup kitchen, or a donation center that the Fantastic Four — you knew who they were now! Vaguely — set up for those less fortunate. The quartet was admirable in their dedication to the betterment of the city, and society as a whole. You sighed, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as the guitarist continued to play. It was a beautiful song, perhaps you should ask him what it was from. For now, you would continue to stare at the sky, definitely not waiting for a familiar metal hull to breach the atmosphere.

The first few days were hard. While you still looked clean enough that people didn’t turn their noses up at you, the simplistic clothes you wore and your lack of shoes more than made up for it. You very quickly learned what ‘no shoes, no service’ meant, and that business owners were very serious in the implementation of that rule. By the time you found yourself a pair of shoes — snatched from a power line, far too high up for any average person to reach — you hadn’t showered in a few days. A sheen of sweat appeared on your skin, and grease made your hair itchy. Accompanied by a slight odor. Now, if the shoes weren’t the problem, the fact that you were filthy was. You still had yet to find a proper place to shower. Never before had you felt so disgusting, but that was a small price to pay, you supposed.

While, apparently, there were more homeless shelters available than ever before thanks to the Fantastic Four, they were all full. Every single one. It turned out, with the occasional supervillain running around, all it took was a bit of bad luck for your entire apartment building to be destroyed. Superheroes were great, but there would always be collateral damage. It was nice that the heroes in question took great care to bolster and set up new systems in order to make up for it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. There was only so much four people could do, as successful and extraordinary as they were.

You had taken to stealing to fulfill your borderline unmanageable appetite. While your abilities were amazing in of themself, there were downsides. Such as the fact that you needed a high caloric intake or you would start to slow significantly. Father had tested how little, and how long, it would take for you to enter a sort of ‘stasis’ in order to conserve energy. Mother, for all her faults, stepped in when your vitals took a nosedive. When Jannah told you, a grin on her lips, you had asked mother if it was true. She shrugged and said you were too valuable to discard quite yet. There were other tests to be done. That moment, you were so happy you cried, much to Jannah’s delight.

Valuable.

Mother valued you. Even now, the sentiment made you giddy.

That meant that whatever was offered at soup kitchens and churches was nowhere near enough to keep you functioning. While you weren’t opposed to digging through the trash for food — after all, you had done just that ten minutes ago — you quickly discovered how easy it was to snatch meals from delivery drivers and patrons alike. All you had to do was wait for someone to go to the bathroom, take their face, and their food was yours. It was a very lucrative business if you said so yourself. The only fact that kept you from engaging in that plan full time was that the guilt was beginning to eat you alive. Most of the time, when the person whose food you stole returned, a fight broke out. There was only so many times you could sit through a conflict you caused before it started to weigh heavy on your conscience.

Trash bagels carried a much lighter moral weight.

Opening your eyes, you reached upwards to trace shapes into the purple hued sky with your finger. Hurried footsteps passed you by, and when you looked over, there was a familiar blond man moving down the sidewalk with purposeful strides. He looked at you for only a second, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, before he returned his attention to the device on his wrist. You blinked and cocked your head to the side. This wasn’t the first time you had seen him. It started with that ridiculous billboard when you first arrived. The next two times, you simply passed him on the street, and the third, you sat next to him on the bus. It was a surprise to find that Johnny Storm took the bus, and an even bigger one when he didn’t mind sharing space with you and your crusty, week-worn overalls. Each time you encountered him, you had been wearing a different face, so there was no use in worrying that your thefts had caught up to you.

As soon as he appeared, Johnny left, disappearing back into the city, baseball cap obscuring his recognizable features from view. Not from you, though. No one knew faces like you did, there were not many people who could disguise themselves from you.

For a few hours, you watched the moon rise and the park become emptier and emptier, your only companion gently strumming his guitar. It was too early to sleep just yet, and this location was far too open for you to try. You were much better off in a tree, or taking the form of a small animal in order to safely get some rest. It was more uncomfortable than you were used to, but it would do.

“Get away from me!”

The exclamation made you jolt upward. Several feet away, the guitarist was standing in front of his guitar case protectively, his body dwarfed by the two men in front of him. He was a tiny creature, one of the men could easily throw him across the field without breaking a sweat.

“This is mine! I worked hard for this!” Despite his size, he squared his shoulders and jutted out his chin. It was only now did you realize how young he was. You found yourself standing before you could stop yourself.

“Playing guitar isn’t working hard,” One man sneered.

The other laughed and knocked the kid aside with a swipe of his hand. “Whatever. It’s ours now, we worked hard for it,” He mocked.

You watched as the guitarist fell on his back, only to scramble up and dive for his money. He was fighting hard, with the kind of desperation that one had when they were fighting for survival.

But it wasn’t hard enough. With one arm wrapped around the kid’s throat, his assailant held him in a headlock, while his associate counted the money in the can.

He whistled approvingly. “About a hundred and twenty five dollars here, you did work hard.”

Neither man noticed you. The boy did, though, his gaze hard despite the glassiness in his eyes. There was a mix of emotions on his face, anger, sadness, hatred. What cemented your decision was the resignation in his features when he saw you from afar, like if he didn’t expect you to act. Only to watch him suffer.

There was no one else in the park except for you four at this time of night.

You wouldn’t regret this.

With heavy foot falls, you approached the trio, your flesh shifting as you moved. Like puzzle pieces, each piece of you slid on an axis, slotting together to form anew. Bones fragmented, curling inwards on itself to create teeth in your gut, gaping open now, intestines like tongues. Your spine cracked backwards and from the maw on your stomach, and the bile and slime that dripped from you, crawling back up your legs — like a snake eating its own tail — a new body formed. One with no eyes, only slick, glistening organs. Your stomach made the head, nostrils and a mouth flapping open to let your dinner dribble down your chest, made of your liver and kidneys. Veins interlaced with nerves to form white and purple wings, drooping from your back. An angel of meat and marrow.

There was a scream, a clatter, and the sound of thundering footsteps retreating into the night. When you opened your eyes, optic nerves settled above your nostrils, only the boy remained, sunk to his knees, rivulets of tears running down his cheeks.

“D— Don’t kill me,” He whispered, barely audible. “I’m sorry, do— just don’t. I’m sorry.”

As quickly as you had transformed, you returned to your human shape. Slick sounds — pops, snaps, and crackles — filled the air, your hair falling in your eyes, arms drooping, the opening in your middle clicking shut until only you remained. A bit of blood covered your face before it traveled back inside you, through your nose and ears, leaving you clean and unassuming once more. The only sign of your transformation was the fact that your overalls were ruined, drenched in bodily fluid and ripped in half. You wore them as if they were fine all the same.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Smiling, you crouched down to look the boy in the eyes. With gentle thumbs, you wiped the tears from his face. His pupils were dilated to pinpricks, shaking uncontrollably in his sockets.

Every part of him was shaking, actually. Perhaps you had gone too far. “What was— What are… You— I—“

You patted his head and stood, leaving him to his trembling. “I’m going to pick up your money now. Take your time. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His breathing was coming in quick, hyperventilating gasps. It was the only ambience, save for the wind rustling through the trees as you straightened every bill, organized each coin, and settled them back in the guitar case. One hundred and twenty four dollars and sixty five cents. Not a single penny out of place. Good.

Minutes passed, and by the time you were done, the boy’s breathing had evened now. He watched you, wary, sitting criss-cross in the grass, his arms wrapped tight around his chest in the facsimile of a hug. You offered him a smile, one he returned, albeit tightly.

“What are you?” He asked.

You shrugged, unsure of the answer yourself. That was what your parents were studying you for. As far as the wider galaxy was concerned, you were the only of your kind. “An alien, but you can call me—”

After you gave him your name, he tested it out in his tongue before offering you his own, “I’m Blake.”

“How old are you, Blake?”

He shrugged, his hold tightening around himself as he became defensive. “Fifteen. What’s it to you?”

“You’re too young to be out here by yourself. Aren’t your parents worried?” You blinked when he pushed you aside and took over organizing his money himself. He refused to look at you, features twisted like he was trying not to cry again.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said.

Oh. You had overstepped. Letting the subject drop, you scooted over to give Blake his space as he set his guitar in the case, borderline reverent. “Alright.”

Pursing his lips, he gave you a suspicious side-eye. “That’s it?”

“I think so,” You replied. “No use dwelling on the unpleasant.”

Blake relaxed, his shoulders slumping. “You can say that again.”

Now that you were closer to him, you took the time to study his features. Acne dotted his cheeks and nose, mingling with a sprinkle of freckles. His hair was black, though his roots were brown, betraying the dye job. Teased hair stood straight revealing his dark rimmed, smoky eyes, deep brown and flecked with green. A leather jacket hung limply off his too skinny frame and, when you squinted, you could make out the fact that he had colored his lips black, nearly invisible in the low light. When he caught you staring, you didn’t look away, only offering him a smile.

His nose wrinkled. “You’re weird.”

“And you’re a baby.”

“Am not,” He grumbled. A bit more subdued, he looked off in the distance the two men ran towards. “Do you think they’ll be back?”

You puffed out your chest and squared your shoulders. “If they come back, I’ll really show them something to be scared of.”

“Yeah. I nearly pissed my pants.” Blake took a breath before curling his knees to his chest and studying you in turn. When his gaze reached your eyes, he gave a little shiver. “You have a dead man’s eyes.”

“I do?” You reached upwards to pull at your eyelid.

With a nod, he turned away, thoroughly disturbed. “They’re blank. Empty and dull. Only dead people have eyes like that.” When he breathed out, he faced you again and gave a surprised blink.

You had his eyes now.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“It’s better this way, no?”

He grimaced. “I guess so.”

Blake was watching you. Every time you met his gaze, his would snap away, determined not to stare. Sometimes, he would open his mouth, only to close it with a click of his teeth.

“What is it?”

He began to fidget with the strings of his hoodie. “It’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” You assured him. “I won’t be mad.”

“You’re really nice for someone so scary.” He waited for you to nod, examining your friendly expression and loose posture before it tumbled out. “Those guys bother me almost every night. Will you… stick with me for a while? Keep them away from me? I don’t think they’ll bother me if you’re around.”

“Of course I will!” You chirped, eyes crinkled under the force of your grin. “I won’t be in the city forever, but as long as I am here, you—” You prodded his tiny chest with your index finger “— young man, are under my protection.”

Blake snickered, donning his first real smile. “What do you want in return?”

“Tips and tricks,” You decided. When he cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing, you elaborated. “I’ve never been homeless before. Show me the safest places to go, the best places to get food, where to get clothes—“

“Where to shower?” He interrupted.

Pulling back your collar, you gave yourself a sniff only to choke on a gag. “Yes, please.”

Blake held out his hand. “It’s a deal.”

Without a hint of hesitation, you shook it. “Deal.”

That night, Blake slept while you took the first watch. He was curled around his guitar case, holding it as a child would a teddy bear, head pillowed by his backpack. It only accentuated how young he was, a protective spark growing to become a little flame in your chest.

Who in their right mind could hurt a child like this?

Those men were pigs. You wanted to kill them.

When the sun rose, so did your charge. It took little more than the first ways of light to reach across the horizon for his nose to scrunch. You laughed when he stared blearily at you, and even harder when he said,

“So, that wasn’t a dream. I really am hanging with some alien freak.” Hastily, he tacked on with a small flush, “No offense.”

Your laughter was easy as you clapped Blake on the shoulder and shook him hard enough for his head to wobble. “I am an alien freak! There is no one quite like me in all the galaxies combined!” To exemplify this, you shifted your face to mirror his own, same bangs, same lipstick, same nose, an exact job, all the way down to the placement of his freckles. An uncanny copy of his features settled atop an foreign body stared at him with a playful grin.

Blake flinched like he’d been struck. “Don’t do that.”

Your smile fell and your heart sank to your stomach. That was too much, you were too much. Why did you do that? Because you thought it would be funny your brain supplied. Obviously, it wasn’t, if Blake’s reaction was anything to go by. Quickly, you shifted your face to a new one and flushed hard enough for even your neck to feel hot.

“This is my face.” He gestured to himself. “No one else can have it.”

You ducked your head. “Right. Sorry.”

Blake rolled his eyes and hefted his backpack on his shoulders. “Grow up. I’m not mad. Besides, we should get out of here. Cops still do sweeps, even if the Four have tried to put a stop to it. A cheetah can’t change its spots, a tiger can’t change its stripes.”

Tiger? Cheetah? You didn’t know what those creatures were, but you were too humiliated to ask. Quietly, you trailed after Blake, the bones in your fingers bending under the pressure you put behind cracking your knuckles. Bad habit. Stupid, stupid.

At least your new friend was kind enough to continue the deal, even if he was disgusted by you. Who could blame him? You were a thoroughly grotesque creature, this was the kind of treatment you deserved.

This train of thought continued until your first shower in a week. Blake took you to a gym with lax employees. While neither of you had a membership, it was easy to sneak inside and use the locker rooms for a quick wash up. Apparently, Blake knew the owner, though he didn’t seem particularly happy about it. He muttered something under his breath about a ‘scumbag uncle.’ You couldn’t see how he was such a scumbag if he let Blake use the showers for free. Instead of voicing that, you kept that thought to yourself.

Afterwards, Blake insisted on treating you to new clothes, so long as you got breakfast. With the money you saved from being stolen last night, he bought you a shirt and a pair of jeans from a thrift shop, totaling to about ten dollars. You could easily make that up with breakfast. Of course, you would have to steal a face to do that, and after what had happened this morning, you were hesitant.

“Are you okay with me changing?” You asked outside of the fast food restaurant you intended to swindle out of a few egg and bacon biscuits.

Blake gave you an incredulous look. “You’re going to turn into a monster and rob the place?”

“What? No! I’m going to pretend to be a delivery driver.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he shoved you forward hard enough for you to trip. “Well, get on with it, showpony. I’m starving out here.” When you hesitated, he glared at you, arms crossed. “Are you seriously that upset over this morning? You looking like me was weird, yeah, and don’t do it again, but I’m not mad. Get over yourself.”

“You don’t think it’s gross?”

“Oh, it’s hella gross.” When you wilted, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I mean is it’s weird to be looking at my own face without a mirror. If you doing freaky shit gets me a meal, I really don’t care. It’s not that serious.”

Unbidden, your smile returned full force, betraying your relief. With a wave of rippling skin, you took on the form of a young adult and gave Blake a wave goodbye. “I’ll be back with more breakfast burritos than you can eat!”

Blake returned the sentiment with a bland thumbs up, his attention fixed elsewhere. You took that as your cue and entered the restaurant, the picture of nonchalance. No one spared you a glance. It was as it always was. Due to the time of day, well past the morning rush, but lunch still unavailable, there weren’t many patrons. That was less lucky. It meant there wasn’t a crowd to fade into if you were caught. In order to keep up your act, you carried a piece of paper — blank, though no one would be able to see that — and examined the pick-ups with a trained eye. There were several, and most were rather big orders. Without thinking much of it, you pretended to compare the paper with the tickets and reached for the biggest one. For as guilty as you felt, anyone buying that big of a breakfast had money to spare to buy another.

Inches from the bag, your hand brushed against another’s.

“This one’s mine,” Came a familiar voice, and you blinked over at Johnny Storm. The Human Torch, member of the Fantastic Four and crime stopper extraordinaire. Here, now, watching you almost commit a crime. You swallowed hard. He didn’t seem irritated, meaning he assumed you had made a mistake. Leaning over, he tried to look at the piece of paper you carried. “Here, let me help you find yours.”

You jerked your hand to your chest. He couldn’t find out you were trying to steal from him, you’d certainly die in jail! “Unecessary, sir!”

He pulled back and raised his hands in the air. “C’mon, now, I was just trying to help.”

Now that he was facing you, his eyes narrowed as he studied you. A hint of recognition flashed in his blue irises. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. In trembling hands, you balled up the blank piece of paper in your fist.

“You…” Johnny started, taking a step forward to get a better look at you. “I saw you last night. On a bench.”

Blood seeped from your extremities and you felt cold. “I—”

“And on the bus, too,” He continued. The intensity examination didn’t falter, his pupils shifting as he absorbed every inch of you. His mind seemed to be running a mile a minute.

This couldn’t be happening. Your breathing quickened and an unfamiliar sense of fear crept up your spine. When you took a step back, he took a step forward, his eyebrows knit together.

“But that doesn’t make sense… You’re a completely different person.”

Unable to think of what else to say, you stammered, “I— I have never seen you before in my life!”

Desperate for any kind of lifeline, you turned to look outside in hopes Blake would save you. When you made eye contact with him, he blanched, his gaze flickering between you and Johnny. Before you could mouth ‘help,’ Blake turned on his heel and walked away. Tears sprung in your eyes. Your friend abandoned you!

Anxious, your hands fell loose at your sides. The paper fluttered to the ground, and, in all his helpfulness, Johnny crouched down to pluck it from the floor. His jaw dropped when he saw it, furiously flipping it around to see both sides.

“This is blank!”

Not only did he recognize you, did he see you, someone who has only ever been another and never themself, he knew you were stealing now. A cold sweat broke out over your skin.

“I can’t go to jail!” You wailed. Without considering the consequences, you pushed Johnny with all your might. All you managed was to make him stumble, but that was enough of an opening for you to tear out of the establishment and onto the sidewalk. When you looked over your shoulder, Johnny wasn’t giving chase yet, though it seemed like he was gearing up to. A mournful cry tore from your throat, turning from him setting his breakfast on the counter, to get as far away from him as possible.

“I’ll be right back!” No matter how muffled his voice was, you still heard him. Evidently, Johnny was confident this wouldn’t take long. It did very little for your own wavering determination.

Once outside, you felt your features and body shift to someone new. All you had to do was act natural, not like you were running for your life, and his gaze would flicker over your unfamiliar visage just as everyone else did. Schooling your features into calmness, you shoved your hands in your pockets and ducked into the mouth of an alleyway. Johnny threw open the restaurant door and scanned the crowd for you. He wouldn’t find you, no one ever could before, why would it start now? Now even your parents recognized you when you changed without telling them, there was no reason for a stranger to.

His eyes met yours. Instead of jumping over you like you had expected, they widened. “You!”

A scream ripped from your throat. Run, you had to run, now! Instinctively, you took a new face and took off deeper into the crowd. Behind you, a cacophony of excited cries and the crackling of flames echoed. Every new person you passed, you took on one of their features. Coiled curls, red hair, blue eyes, brown eyes, hooked nose, full lips, it all twisted across your moldable flesh like clay, so fast that you could make out the disturbed expressions of those you passed. You couldn’t take on an inhuman form, it would destroy the clothes that Blake bought you.

Above you, Johnny soared, a flaming streak in the early morning sky. He barely had to try to stay on your tail, smirking down at you with such a supremely smug expression, it both made you want to punch him and a funny fluttering feeling erupt in your belly. Ignoring the heat in your cheeks, you hoped Blake would forgive you for ruining this pair of pants. The sound of seams tearing made Johnny raise an eyebrow as your legs took on a new shape. They were meant to mimic an animal your parents studied some time ago. Digitigrade and furry, with flat padded soles made for running, a gift you took from one of the fastest creatures in the galaxy.

Far speedier than before, you shot around a corner, then another, then another, all in an attempt to get away from The Human Torch. You could hear the way the heat from his flames split the air. Coiling the bones in your ankles to springs, you jumped onto a balcony and ripped open a sliding glass door. Hopefully, you would be able to lose him inside a building.

“Sorry,” Johnny called to the inhabitants. You couldn’t hear his flames anymore, only his footsteps as he thundered after you. “Wait! We can just talk!”

As if, you thought to yourself. Hardening your skin, you plowed through the door into the hallway, then aimed directly at the stairwell. To his credit, Johnny was fast, but without his flames, you were faster.

By the grace of some kind of god, you managed to lose him. Not for long, though. Normally, you would shift into a new face and let him run past. Now, though, that wouldn’t work. He could recognize you, no matter what you looked like. The realization was staggering. Gripping a wall, you felt your legs shift back to normal, your jeans hanging in tatters around your calves. A giddy laugh spewed from your lips with saliva and snot. He saw you. No one had ever done that before. Not even the people who had known you for your whole life could distinguish you from the masks you wore. As far as anyone was concerned, you didn’t have a true self, only false representations of others.

Another near manic laugh pulled from you as your heart pounded wildly in your chest. An emotion you could only describe as ‘affection’ leaked into your bones, mingling with your marrow. There was a window at the end of the hall. Rather than crash through it, you opened it and dropped from the third story into an empty alley. Johnny would catch up soon, a part of you found that you wanted him to. You wanted to talk to him, hear his voice, look into his eyes, and beg him to tell you what he saw when he looked at you.

What were you? What did he see? You had to know.

There was a little snap in the back of your brain. You felt unstable, crawling on shattered fibulas to a nearby dumpster. Opening it up, you climbed inside, and once safe with the rest of society’s garbage, you reformed your broken legs.

“Hey! Where did you go?” Johnny called from the window. Though you couldn’t see him, you pictured his defeated frown with a giddy grin. What a cute expression, you wished you could see it for yourself. “Damn it.”

The roar of his flames made you snicker quietly, growing farther and farther away. Alone, in a dumpster with ripped pants, leaking bags of trash at your back, and a moldy box of half-eaten pizza by your head, you flopped backwards, your hands over your face. Giggles spewed from your lips as you kicked your feet like a school girl.

“He saw me!” You cried between peals of laughter. “No one has ever seen me before. No one. No one!”

Not Jannah, not Marvid, not mother, or father, or their colleagues. Johnny Storm had, and he was one of a kind. The fluttering in your gut threatened to drown you. Another bark of a laugh sprang from behind your lips.

“He saw me! He saw me! Oh, Johnny Storm saw me!”

Behind your ribcage, deep within the chambers of your heart, an obsession took root. You could feel it, but you didn’t care. Instead of weeding it, you watered it and spoke to it in soft whispers.

Maybe prison was worth it if it meant seeing his stupid face again.

A/N: Hiiiii, guys. I’m back two days later because I managed to crank out 5k words in less than 24 hours. Let’s give it up for hyperfixating!!!! Hopefully this trend continues, we shall see! I’ve figured out how this fic is going to end recently and no one is ready for the angst I have planned. It will knock your socks off. Anyway, let’s get on with the author’s note.

Well, if you’re new to my fanfics, if there’s one thing I’m gonna do it’s add OC side characters. Blake and Carolyn will be returning and I’m not sorry about it. While the focus will always be the Fantastic Four, I think adding side characters adds a bit of life to the story, along with some depth. And they can fulfill certain plot and story beats that no one else can.

Alas, please forgive any inaccuracies for Earth-828. It’s kind of hard to keep up the futuristic sixties aesthetic, as that time period is not one I know a lot about 😭 This isn’t like my Gladiator 2 fic where I’m obsessed with Ancient Rome, I could not give less of a shit about sixties America LMFAO. But, I will TRY to be as accurate as possible.

I’ll get into it next chapter, but there are some Assumptions made about Y/N by the Fantastic Four. They are very aware that a UFO crashlanded in upstate New York, occupant missing, and a man found dead a mile away from the site. Make your own assumptions because those are definitely the Four’s 😭 Well, all except Johnny. Yes, he chased them, but he is fully ready to Steven Universe Y/N’s supposedly malicious ass. This fic takes place probably six months (I’m not entirely certain on this) after the movie, so everyone’s still kind of Cautious about aliens. Silver Surfer saved Johnny’s ass and sacrificed herself, so he’s convinced he can do it again. And, honestly, the rest of The Four may let him! Yay!

Final point is Y/N’s obsession. Because this is the beginning of an all consuming infatuation. Originally, they were supposed to chase Johnny, but instead Johnny chases them. Because that felt in character for him. After this, they’re both sort of chasing each other, and Y/N is a weird little freak about it. Due to the nature of their Deep Rooted Complexes, Johnny being able to see some intrinsic part of them that no one else can see, including themself, along with their affection chasing tendencies with cold parents… Idk, I’m so, so excited to explore their thought processes even more.

Well, that’s it! Thank you so much for your interactions on the first chapter, it means so much to me!! If you’re feeling up to it, please leave a comment. Also, if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know! I’m not super experienced with it, but I will try my best. Comments are my bread and butter though, they really motivate me. Hint, hint <33 See y’all next chapter! Toodles!

Taglist: @rjodie181 , @euphrosyn3, @onyxclown

[desirekento]

STEELO | 七海.建人. Nanami Kento

SYNOPSIS: kento’s been a better husband, but is still too busy for his own good. after a cup of tea and an honest conversation with him, things get steamy.

PAIRING: fem!reader x husband!nanami

WC: 5.4k words

CW: angst to smut, nipple play, oral (f), panty kink (?), light manhandling, dirty talk, pussy slapping (once), unprotected piv, begging, premature ejaculation, light overstim, brief humping, creampie x2, big dick!nanami, hair pulling | PART I

🌸 DEE SAYS: monster + ovulation is a deadly combo… sorry for the wait </3

🎧 — STEELO BY 702

In the early hours of the morning, you found yourself haunting the kitchen, your mind too wired for your body to relax. Things had been better with Kento - he was more attentive, more romantic, more satisfied. Rather than perfunctory affection, every action had intent behind it. Even in his speech, Kento was almost hellbent on ensuring you felt loved and cared for. But there was one core, crucial element he was missing - he was still working himself to the bone.

While before he had offset the workload by taking less interest in you, now he simply took on the extra weight, seemingly in his stride. His affection was often limited by time constraints, and it wasn’t rare for you to go to sleep and wake up without being in his embrace. He didn’t sleep in his office like he used to, but his work kept him either too busy or too tired for anything more. It was irritating you, but you made no comment - he was trying, after all.

Hence why on a particularly bad night, one filled with tosses and turns, you gave up on trying to sleep and instead went to go make some tea. Herbal and decaffeinated, something to take the edge off and hopefully even lull you into sleep. Creeping quietly into the kitchen and flipping on the lamp, so as not to disturb Nanami in his office, you brewed the kettle and prepared your tea bag, honey, and mug. You then hoisted yourself onto the kitchen island, waiting patiently for the kettle to boil.

“What are you doing out here?”

Turning in surprise, your eyes soon landed on the shadowy figure of your husband, emerging from behind the bright light of his computer. As he made his way to you, you took in the dark circles under his eyes, the droopiness of his eyelids, the gruffness of his voice. His eyes trailed over your body - covered by an oversized t-shirt and a pair of his joggers - but he didn’t comment, despite the glint of desire in his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I was making some chamomile tea,” you said as he approached the island, leaning on it a step away from where you sat. “Would you like some?”

Nanami was visibly hesitant, his mind grappling between the work waiting for him and the part of him yearning for connection with his wife. While the rational part of his brain urged him to send you to bed alone, to retreat into his office and work through the night, exhaustion chipped away at his resolve.

“Yes, actually,” he said, tiredly sitting down on one of the stools, “that would be lovely.”

Nodding, you slid off the island and took another mug from the cabinet, procuring another tea bag for your husband. You could almost feel his gaze on you, trailing over the outline of your body as he observed you preparing his drink. The tension was thick, and you tried to lighten it, turning to look at him with a smile.

“I’ll make sure to put extra honey in, I know you like yours super sweet.”

As you pour the kettle over the teabags, Nanami nodded, internally pleased by the small gesture. It still fascinated him after all these years that you remembered little things about him, insignificant things that most didn’t take notice of. The mundane attention to detail left a warmth in his chest, one that had nothing to do with the glass of whiskey he’d been nursing earlier that night.

“You know me so well,” he muses, tone soft in the early hours of the morning, “you take care of me well too.”

Chuckling, you shook your head at his remark, squeezing honey into the tea after leaving it to steep for a while. As promised, you gave Nanami an extra dose, stirring it gently before bringing both to the island. His fingers brushed yours as he accepted the steaming mug, the brief contact reminding him of the simmering physical affection waiting to overflow between you.

“Thank you Y/N, it smells incredible.”

Nodding, you blew softly on your own mug before bringing it to your lips, sipping slowly. “Should I get you a saucer so you can continue your work?” 

Though you offered, the bitter gaze you gave to the ajar office door was enough to inform Nanami of his response.

“It’s okay, I think I’ll take a break and enjoy my tea without distractions.”

He took a sip of the tea, savouring the sweetness as its relaxing warmth spread through him. “What’s keeping you up tonight? Just couldn’t sleep?”

You sighed, taking another sip of tea before answering. “My insomnia’s been acting up lately, but I think it’s something else. I just feel more… more unsettled than usual,” turning to him, you gave him a tired smile, “it’s stupid, I don’t know why I feel like this.”

Nanami’s brows furrowed at your words, setting his mug down with concern etched into his expression. He took your free hand in his, thumb rubbing softly over your knuckles.

“Unsettled?” He repeated softly, “you used to sleep so peacefully next to me.”

The implication of his words didn’t escape Nanami, and the air thickened with unspoken tension. Catching himself, Nanami cleared his throat almost awkwardly, “Would you like to talk about it? Maybe expressing yourself would help relieve feelings of… unsettlement.”

Chuckling, you brought his hand to your lips and kissed it softly, the other then bringing the mug to your lips once again. “It’s nothing special. I’ve never slept well, especially around or with people.” Giving him an awkward smile, you continued, “I don’t know why I only sleep well with you. I guess… because you made me feel safe?”

A rare softness creeps across his features at this, his free hand cupping your cheek as the other squeezes your hand gently.

“Because I made you feel safe,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. “And yet, I seem to have failed you in that regard lately, haven't I?”

He leans in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne envelops you, achingly familiar. Whispers of chamomile and honey on his breath are the only smells disrupting the usual olfactory harmony.

“I'm sorry, Y/N. For making you feel unsafe, uncertain. That was never my intention.”

Giving him an encouraging smile, you softly pecked his lips, voice gentle. “Kento, you’re trying. That’s all that matters to me - at the very least, you’re trying.” Pulling back a little, you turned to take in another sip of tea, “I understand how busy you are now.”

He inhaled sharply at your affection, eyes briefly fluttering closed. When his eyes opened again, there was a new intensity burning in his eyes. 

“Y/N, I’m never too busy to ensure your comfort, your happiness. Your safety.” His fingers traced down your cheek to your nape, playing with the baby hairs fondly. 

Pulling you closer, your breath mingled in the scant space between you, faces inches apart. “Let me show you,” he whispers, his lips nearly brushing against yours with each word, “just how much you mean to me.”

As much as you wanted him to lean in, to give in to the desire festering inside, you yourself were uncertain. “Ken, you don’t have to prove yourself to me. It’s been a while since we-”

Caving, Nanami silenced you with a kiss, lips moving with a desperate urgency that belied his usual cool demeanour. He poured months of longing and regret into the embrace, his hand entangling in your hair. When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, chests heaving. Nanami’s eyes superficially seemed dark with desire, but there was a vulnerability there too, a raw honesty that he rarely allowed himself to show.

“I know it's been a while,” he says hoarsely, his forehead pressed against yours, “and I know I haven't been the husband you deserve. But I'm here now, Y/N. I'm choosing you, choosing us.”

A sudden wave of doubt washed over you, your own expression vulnerable as you stared into Kento’s eyes. “There was never… anyone else? All this time?”

His eyes widened at your question, a flicker of shock and guilt crossing his features. Nanami sat back, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he struggled to find the right words.

“No, Y/N. There's never been anyone else,” he said firmly, holding your gaze with an intensity that bordered on desperation. “Yes, I've been distant, focused on work, but my heart, my loyalty...they've always belonged solely to you.”

He took a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of his confession. Sighing, you stood up and took the cups to the sink as he continued, unable to face him.

“I know I haven't shown it well, but you're the only one I want, the only one I've ever wanted. These past months, seeing you with others, even innocently...it drove me mad with jealousy, with the fear of losing you.”

Eyes watering, you couldn’t contain yourself any longer, crying out with a slam of your hands on the countertop. “But why, Kento?! Why not just talk, just tell me how you feel?!”

Head bowed, Kento’s handsome features were contorted with guilt. He let his face fall into his hands, unable to look you in the eye. Despite this, he felt your presence as you moved closer, now leaning on the kitchen island. “Cowardice, Y/N. Because expressing these feelings, being vulnerable...it goes against everything I've ever been taught, everything I've built my life upon. As a businessman, as a public figure, showing weakness is...unacceptable.”

He turned to face you, his hazel eyes glistening with unshed tears - it knocked all the fight out of you, seeing your usually controlled husband like this. “But more than that, I was afraid. Afraid of rejection, of failure, of shattering the perfect image we present to the world.”

Cupping his cheeks, you drew closer with a sorrowful look. “That fear is what threatens the image you want to project, Kento. The tension this past year was all avoidable if you just spoke to me.” 

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you let your own tears fall. “You’re my husband, Ken, and I’m your wife. You should be able to express yourself to me, if not anyone else.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as your lips pressed against his forehead. A single tear escaped, trailing down his cheek, but for once, he doesn't try to hide it. Instead, Kento turned his head to nuzzle into your palm, seeking comfort in your gentle touch. 

“But it’s okay to be afraid, as long as you tell me. If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.”

“You're right,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, “I should have told you. Should have trusted in the strength of what we have.”

Nanami's arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, as if trying to memorize your scent, your warmth. “I'm sorry, Y/N. For everything. Please...please forgive me.”

Hugging Nanami, your hands softly rubbed his back, soothing him. This outburst of emotion was unusual for your husband, and the need to console felt overpowering. “Oh Ken, it’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

He clung to you like a drowning man grasping at a lifeline, his strong body trembling slightly in your embrace. His hands roamed your back, mapping the contours of your muscles, reacquainting himself with the feel of you after so many months apart.

“Everything's okay now,” he agrees, his voice muffled against your skin, “because I have you. Because you're willing to give me another chance, despite my mistakes.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face with an intensity that steals your breath. “I love you, Y/N. More than anything in this world. And I swear, I will spend every day proving that to you, if you'll let me.”

Smiling brightly at him, you pecked him on his temple, something you used to do when he complained of migraines. It felt as if the fog over Nanami’s mind had been lifted, and he gratefully accepted the affection.

“You’ve got nothing to prove, idiot. I love you too, and I’ll never stop loving you.” 

A genuine smile breaks across his face at your words, transforming his usually stern features into something warm and approachable. He laughed softly, the sound rich and melodious, filled with relief and joy.

“An idiot in love,” he corrected playfully, “but an idiot who knows what he wants. And what he wants...is you.”

Nanami leant in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. It's different from previous affections - deeper, more meaningful. There was a slowness to it that was nothing like your prior hasty embrace. His hands framed your face tenderly as he poured all of his love, his devotion, his promises into the kiss. You were receptive and kissed back eagerly, mirroring his emotion.

The kiss deepened, growing more heated as months of tension melted away. Nanami straightened up and walked you backwards until your back hit the wall, never breaking the kiss. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he pressed his body to yours, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal.

Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips along your jaw, down the column of your throat. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, determined to leave his mark, to stake his claim. 

“Tell me what you need, Y/N,” he rasped against your pulse point, “tell me how to please you, how to make this right. I want to worship every inch of you, to remind you of the pleasure only I can give you.”

Biting your lip, you tried to stifle the moans caught in the back of your throat, voice wavering as you replied, “I just want you, Ken. Need you.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest at your needy plea, his eyes darkening with lust and adoration. In one swift motion, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you bridal-style towards the bedroom.

“Then let me show you just how much I need you too,” he murmured, kicking the door shut behind him. Nanami laid you down on the plush comforter, hovering over you with an almost predatory gleam in his eye. He took a moment to simply drink in the sight of you, spread out beneath him like an offering.

“You're so beautiful, Y/N,” he breathed, his hands skimming reverently over your body, “I've missed touching you like this, missed feeling your skin against mine.”

Smiling up at him, Nanami was delighted to see a similar level of lust in your expression, one of your hands taking his and moving it higher up your torso. “I don’t know why you ever stopped.”

He chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “Neither do I, my love. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”

Nanami captured your lips in another searing kiss as his hands started to wander, slipping under your shirt to caress the smooth skin of your stomach and chest. He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking hard on your pulse point, intent on leaving a vivid mark for all to see - a visible sign of his possession, his love.

His nimble fingers made quick work of your shirt, yanking off the fabric to expose more of your skin to his hungry gaze and impatient hands. “I'm going to take my time with you, Y/N,” he promises huskily, his hot breath ghosting over your collarbone.

Leaning into his ear, you softly pecked the shell before whispering to him. “Please, Ken. Just do something, anything. I-” your voice hitched as his fingertips grazed over your nipples. “I need you, please.”

Nanami was weak to your faint pleas, thumbs rubbing circles into the curves of your breasts before finally finding purchase on your nipples. He watched in awe as your back arched into his touch, muffling a whimper when he rolled them. An eager hand snaked into his hair, guiding him closer to your chest. Obliging, Nanami took your hardened nipple between his lips, suckling while continuing to roll and pinch the other.

“K-Ken!” You cried, grip tightening on his hair until your nails scratched, spreading a dull pain through his scalp. Nanami groaned, pinching your nipple in response. He spoke softly to you, muffled against your skin.

“So responsive. I didn’t know you needed me this bad.” He chuckled, releasing your nipple and grunting when you tried to push him back, whining impatiently. Tutting, he easily pushed himself up against your hands, moving upwards to press a bruising kiss against your lips. 

Nanami hungrily swallowed your whines, greedily forcing his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every inch as if it was your first time together. After so long, in a way it was. Kento was relearning your body, aided by muscle memory and your eager reactions. 

He smiled softly into the kiss when your free arm wrapped around his shoulders, fisting his shirt and hair as you pulled him that impossible inch closer. You didn’t care if you couldn’t breathe, if you were crushed under his weight - if that was your fate, you willingly welcomed it. The only thought that came to mind right now was how much you needed him, how much you missed him, how much you wanted him. 

Close wasn’t close enough - you needed him inside you.

“I’m so wet, Ken,” you gasped against his lips, delighting in the way he groaned and chased your mouth, eager to keep devouring you. But you needed more, more than his greedy kisses. Grasping the hand that was groping your boob, thumb flicking over the nipple, you guided it down your torso, fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his joggers.

Pulling fully away from his lips, you tried to keep a steady voice as Kento diverted his attention to your neck, kissing and sucking harsh marks into your nape. You could feel the way he inhaled your warm scent, nose pressed unnecessarily close as he continued to groan and suck hungrily.

“Can you feel it, Ken? How much I need you?”

The words had barely left your mouth when Kento’s hands slipped into your underwear, fingertips instantly finding your clit. He paused his sucking to moan into your neck - was it a whine? It was different than usual - rubbing you slowly to collect your juices.

“You’re fucking soaked, baby,” he breathed out, soothing the marks stinging your neck with soft laps of his tongue. “My poor wife, I left you like this? I should’ve taken better care of you.” 

Pulling away from your neck, Kento withdrew his hand for a taste of you, tongue lewdly licking before he sucked softly on his digits. He closed his eyes, expression akin to bliss, before pressing his lips to yours again. “You’re so sweet, my love.”

Before you could even think to complain, Kento’s mouth slowly travelled down your body, licking and sucking obscenely at your skin. When he finally met the waistband of his your pants, he looked up at you through honeyed eyelashes before tugging them down swiftly. You gasped as cold air hit your soaked underwear, left to the elements for mere seconds before Kento’s mouth was on you.

“Ken, what-” your hands pushed at his head, face flushed and embarrassed as he licked you eagerly through your underwear. He lifted up to give you an unamused glare before pushing himself flush again, sucking voraciously at the seat of your panties. 

It was dirty, he was dirty, and it was making your mind hazy with desire. Kento had never been like this before, usually sticking to missionary. I mean, it was never bad sex, but it was… typical, routine even. But this? This was just short of perverse. Filthy. 

You were fucking loving every second of it.

You fidgeted and cried out as the seat of your panties darkened with a mixture of spit and arousal. Kento kept his gaze on you, the tip of his tongue now prodding your clit as his nails dug into the plush flesh of your thighs. 

When your hips bucked, he took the opportunity to tighten his grasp, manoeuvring your legs over his shoulders and pinning you in place. He sniffed you in between ministrations, eyes lidded and drunken. 

“You smell so fucking good.”

Trapped by his crushing grip, you couldn’t do anything but buck and grip the sheets, pussy rubbing desperately against his face. A whine left your lips when your clit nudged his nose, the friction of the material separating you sending delicious sparks of pleasure up your spine. You were close, so fucking close, and Nanami could tell. 

Your thighs gripped his head as if you were trying to pop it right open, and his ears rang as he continued eagerly. Your moans had reached pornographic levels, and your back was in such a sharp arch that it clicked as all your muscles coiled, tense and stinging.

Slipping your panties to the side, Nanami buried his face further into you and murmured softly, “Just like that, baby. Give it to me.”

The vibrations of his voice stoked the fire pooling in your stomach, and within seconds your eyes were rolling back, thighs shaking around his head as you screamed his name. Kento took it all with delight, still sucking and lapping at your pussy through your orgasm. 

He was so greedy, savouring every droplet your weeping pussy gave him. He kept going, never stopping, until you were shaking with overstimulation and pushing at his forehead, eventually detaching himself - and having the nerve to frown at him as if you’d deprived him of something. 

Falling flat on your back, you chest heaved and your skin glistened with sweat, eyes barely open as you tried to process the pleasure wracking your body. Your nerve endings were on fire, and you pussy twitched softly while you panted desperately. And your husband? Your husband simply stared down at you, jaw clenched tight as if he was a predator simply waiting to pounce on you. When you had composed yourself, just a little, your eyes finally opened, only to find him hypnotised by your pussy, watching it twitch with sensitivity.

“K-Ken?”

His eyes flicked to meet yours, licking his lips softly before responding, voice gruff.

“Yeah?”

“That… that was…” The words escaped you - how could you even describe the way he just made you felt. Sensational? No, you weren’t gonna tell your husband his oral was sensational. You’d look like a fool.

Luckily, Nanami wasn’t really following what you were saying. Even as he sat back on his haunches, his thumbs rubbed slow circles into your quivering thighs. His gaze was dark, brooding, similar to when he’d mull over his work. 

“Let me fuck you.”

Your brows furrowed in surprise, soon shifting when his thumb trailed upwards, ghosting over your bikini line before meeting with your pussy again. He pressed tenderly into the bundle of nerves, conscious of your sensitivity as he drew languid circles into it. Breath hitching, your thighs tensed and shook once again, struggling to keep your gaze on him.

“Wh-what? Ken, s’too much-”

His palm came down on your cunt before you could finish your protest, and you yelped. It was a sharp hit, and spread an addictive pleasure-pain mix through your entire body.

“I need to fuck you. Raw.” His thumb continued its ministrations, soothing the burn of his slap. “Deep.” He spat, wetting your already dripping cunt. “Hard.”

His free hand dug into your skin yet again, and you grasped at his wrist as if it was a life saver, like it was the only thing keeping you from being swept away under a wave of pleasure. His eyes finally flicked to you, gaze softening when he saw the tears pricking your eyes.

“Please?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say no, not with the way he looked at you almost pitifully. His grip on you softened as well, rubbing symmetrical circles into your hip as the other thumb did to your pussy. Taking your hand in his, he interlocked your fingers before bringing it to his lips, peppering kisses across your knuckles.

“Please, baby?”

Before you could think any wiser, you nodded, gazing up at him with such adoration in your eyes that he could physically feel his heart swell. His hands were quick to leave you, hastily grappling with his dress shirt to unbutton it. He was surprisingly quick, and soon enough his clothes were rumpled in a pile with yours, only his boxers still clinging to his body. 

The hardened tent in his pants made the fabric stretch, taut and wet as he unashamedly leaked. You gulped back at the visible print, not remembering him being that big. Uncertainty was visible in your expression - would it fit after all this time?

“I’ll make it fit.”

Oh god, you’d said it aloud. Embarrassed, you covered your face, cheeks heated like a sinner in church. Chuckling softly, Nanami gently prised them away, leaning in closer and grumbling softly to you.

“You know I’ll always take care of you, baby.” He pressed a gentle smooch to your temple, fingers catching in your hair as he gently stroked your face. “And anyways, I’ve got to show you just how sorry I am, don’t I?”

Nodding, you gave him a smile. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

He smiled back, that wry smile that was becoming increasingly more commonplace. That smile that you had missed so dearly. Nanami let his face rest in your neck once again, and peppered you with more butterfly kisses, resting on his elbow as his other hand rested on your hip. Like this, with him between your legs, you had no choice but to spread wider, much to his delight. Kento immediately took the opportunity to softly grind against you, groaning against your skin.

“So soft… can’t get enough of you.”

Stuttering out a moan, your arms fell down his back, nails searching for purchase on the wide expanse. He hissed as you etched red scratches into his skin, nipping softly at your neck in retaliation. He dipped his hand down, tugging his boxers down his thighs so his cock could spring free, tip nudging against your clit. 

Looking downwards between you, you gasped when you saw his cock, painfully erect and angrily red, dribbling pearls of precum onto your cunt. He smirked, looking down at himself as his hand moved to the back of your thigh, softly pushing your leg until it was folded to your chest, angling you perfectly to slip in. You breath hitched, and he continued to lick and suck at your jawline, cock rubbing meaninglessly against you. 

“You want it, baby? You gonna beg for it?”

Pursing your lips, your hips rotated in unison with him, desperate from more. Upon seeing he wasn’t giving you anything more without what he demanded from you, you whined prettily into his ear.

“Kento, please. Please fill me up. Need you to fuck me dumb, make me forget I was ever mad at you.”

He chuckled as he languidly mouthed at your throat, delighting in the way you swallowed nervously. His hand snaked between you two, giving your clit a soft squeeze before obliging, softly grabbing his cock. 

He hissed into your skin, fisting it and pumping a few times, spreading his precum down his shaft. Then, you felt his bulbous tip nudging your fluttering hole, and his warm breath on your ear, nibbling at the shell as he muttered, “Of course, baby. Since you asked so nicely.”

Then, he was breaching you. Slowly, torturously, stretching you beyond comprehension. Months of tension, of neglect, of despair melted away as he forced inch after inch into your warm walls, both of you crying out at the sensation. He pressed in, continued despite your whines of pain, until he bottomed out, grip tightening on your hair.

You were so warm, so wet, so inviting - he was so hard, so wide, so long. Both were too much for either of you to bear, not after such a long dry spell.

As if on cue, you both orgasmed, your walls clenching around his cock and milking him dry. It was obscene, the two of you panting and moaning as you came from him simply sheathing himself into you. Quivering in his grasp, your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him flush against you as rope after rope spilled inside you. 

And yet, as soon as it was over, Kento’s hips were moving.

You buried your face in his neck, whining and mewling as he pistoned in, setting an unforgiving pace. He was shaking, still sensitive, the pleasure too raw. And, my god, he was whimpering. Your blunt, impassive, poker-faced husband was whimpering as he dragged in and out, pressing that impossible inch closer to you. 

He was everywhere, completely covering you, his body engulfing you under its muscled planes. It was as if every corner, every crevice was insistent on devouring you, on sucking you dry. You couldn’t even bring yourself to moan his name, simply blabbering nonsensically, tears streaking down your cheeks. It was too much, he was too much, and it felt fucking amazing. 

Kento was splitting you open as if it was his only responsibility, as if his sole purpose on this earth was to ruin his little wife. And in a way, he would agree. He would wholeheartedly agree, in fact. 

“Baby, I love you so much. Ngh-! Missed you so much. N-Need you so much!”

If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was crying. With the way he was whimpering into your ear, with the way he was shaking in your arms, with the way his hips desperately knocked against yours. He was throbbing, heavy inside you as he pressed deeper, almost as if he was trying to breach your cervix. Nanami was bulging against your stomach, fit to burst once again. As expected, so were you. 

His lips met yours again, muffling both your desperate moans as he sloppily devoured you, salt mixing into the kiss. His sweat, your tears, his tears, the faint taste of you on his tongue - it wasn’t certain just what was making the embrace salty. But neither of you paid much mind, not when your walls fluttered around him, and Kento began to thrust shallowly. 

“Y/N- mmmfuck, Y/N! Baby, y’gonna cum? Hmm? Hngh-! You close, baby?”

Nodding eagerly, you felt as if your nails would draw blood if you gripped him tighter, the lewd squelch where your bodies connected filling the room. The scent and heat of sex clung to the both of you like a blanket, covering you and suffocating you within the act. He was so warm, so heavy, so- everywhere.

“Y/N! Please, I can’t hold it!”

Your hand darted between the two of you, and with a few hasty rubs, you were creaming on his cock. He moaned out loud as you clamped down on him, grip like a vice as he stilled and emptied himself inside you. He filled you with even more cum than the first time, to the point it began to streak down you despite him still being buried deep. 

Sighing out in relief, Nanami collapsed on top of you, head nestled in your neck as he caught his breath. Your husband was shivering slightly from the sheer severity of his orgasm, crushing you like a weighed blanket. You welcomed the feeling eagerly, holding him close, close as if you were afraid to let go. 

Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before gently untangling his hand from your hair, pushing up shakily to look down at you. You were utterly fucked out and he was in a similar fashion, his eyelids heavy with fatigue. 

“I love you so much,” he nuzzled your cheek, pressing a kiss to it before lifting up again. “My beautiful wife.”

You held his gaze for a second with a loving smile before grabbing him by the ear, pulling it hard. Nanami’s brows furrowed in confusion as he winced, eyes now alert and staring into yours. While your smile never faltered, your eyes had a sharpness to them that quelled any protests.

“If you ever go cold on me like that again, I’ll set you on fire.”

“…Understood, darling.”

God, Nanami loved his wife.

© desirekento 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[jilyawards]

July

Before I Knew Better: Sugar Lilies and Other Mistakes (completed, 3.1k) by @heldinconstellations. Rated T.

She found herself wondering if James noticed. If he felt the same quiet pull when they exchanged what might seem like nothing to anyone else. If the smallness of the moments meant as much to him as they did to her. Sometimes, she thought he did. Especially when his hand lingered just a second longer than it needed to.

All the Wrong Ways to Be Seen (completed, 3.5k) by @heldinconstellations. Rated T.

Fancying someone sounded serious. Like scribbling initials in hearts or picking flowers or doing something daft like composing a sonnet. And James ... well, he was thirteen. He didn’t do sonnets. What he did do was spend far too much time trying to make Lily laugh.

I Have Never Known a Silence Like the One Fallen Here (WIP, 33.1k as of 31 July 2025) by @muddledinthebog. Rated M.

An Order mission goes wrong, and James has to put his shattered world back together Sirius Black is drowning in everything: the bottle, his guilt, his shame, and the ever-growing ocean between him and Remus

It's a Date (completed, 829 words) by @kay-elle-cee. Rated T.

The night before her sister's engagement party, Lily finds herself unexpectedly single and dreading going to the party solo. Another thing she wasn't expecting? A proposition from the fit bartender.

Tequila (completed, 1.8k words) by @bowieluvr91. Rated M.

“James raises the bottle, moving his grip so that his thumb is now placed on Lily’s chin, pulling it open ever so slightly wider. He pours for only a few seconds, only a shots worth, but it feels like longer. This is not how she thought her night would start out, but she won’t complain, not when James is looking at her like that.” or, a stupid little one shot in which James serves Lily a very sexually charged tequila shot.

heaven is not fit to house a love like you and i (WIP, 81.9k as of 31 July 2025) by @jilyflowers. Rated M.

Lily Evans should be happy. She's an Olympic gold medalist figure skater, she's got her childhood best friend by her side, and she finally can give back to her family after all they've done for her. So why does she feel stuck? James Potter should be happy. Once his NHL team, the San Diego Orcas, turns around their losing streak they're sure to be Stanley Cup contenders. He's on top of the world, but there's something missing. That missing piece might be in the next practice rink over.

As You Walk On By (Will You Call My Name?) (WIP, 26k as of 31 July 2025) by @notyournecromancer. Rated M.

His Royal Highness, James Potter, is attending University this year. Lily Evans doesn't care. Not one bit. Or Set in the eighties, James convinces his parents to allow him to attend Hogwarts uni with Sirius and Peter. He and his friends will come face to face with people who don't worship the ground he walks on, nor are they particularly impressed by any of their money or status. Add in some royal scandals, protests and musical declarations of love, and we've got ourselves a bit of a romcom.

Bikini Barista (completed, 4.7k) by @petalsonparchment. Rated T.

When the customer is so hot, you drop a coffee and undress for him all at once...

on sinking ships (completed, 29.8k) by @keep--driving. Rated T.

lantern burning, flickered in my mind for only you. but you were still gone, gone, gone. in losing grip, on sinking ships, you showed up just in time. (little sequel to in losing grip, James’ POV, the childhood years)

i love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard? (completed, 1.1k) by @joyseuphoria. Rated T.

James has been avoiding Lily and she’s determined to find out why

We'll Go from There (WIP, 10.9k as of 31 July 2025) by imacrazyangel13. Rated G.

In this modern Hogwarts AU, the students of a Marauders High are putting on a production of Anastasia: The Musical. Lily Evans, a passionate senior recently deferred from Yale Drama, lands the role of Anya. She’s less than thrilled when James Potter, a charming, popular varsity athlete who’s only joined theatre on a whim, is cast opposite her as Dmitri. Their fiery enemies-to-lovers dynamic ignites both onstage and off, fueled by undeniable chemistry and begrudging respect. Sirius Black, James’s best friend and NYU-bound theatre kid, plays Vlad, while his younger brother Regulus—a talented but intense junior—expected to land Dmitri is fuming. Tensions rise in the rehearsal room and beyond, with the cast/crew also including Severus Snape as Gleb (much to everyone’s dismay), and a variety of magical and muggle-born students across grades and cliques, blending chaotic teen energy with high-stakes theatre drama. Group chats, hallway drama, callbacks, and after-rehearsal parties at the Blacks’ lavish (and unsupervised) home add layers of tension, flirting, secrets, and revelations. As opening night approaches, lines blur between performance and reality, and relationships are tested under the spotlight.

Make Death Proud To Take Us (completed, 6.8k) by @wearingaberetinparis. Rated T.

Two hopelessly devoted curse breakers forget to follow (most of) the advice in Touch Nothing: A Veteran’s Guide to Surviving Cursed Sites.

In the Cracks of Light (completed, 12.1k) by emmathecasualauthor. Rated T.

He blinks several times, and Lily can tell he’s trying to work out what he’s seeing. Who he’s seeing. Then, whatever has been keeping him from registering the sight in front of him falls, because he manages to speak. “Lily?” Her heart positively plummets. In which Lily Evans is a Muggleborn street thief, and her latest target is a man she hasn't seen since she was seventeen.

stages of grief (completed, 4.5k) by @vagueshadows-fics. Rated T.

James paces outside the Hogwarts library, feeling uncharacteristically nervous as he braces himself for the most formidable task any 15-year-old boy can undertake: asking a girl out. Or: Over the course of his 5th and 6th years, James works through the stages of grief as he tries to win the affection of Lily Evans, and grows up a bit in the process.

marginalia (completed, 45.1k) by @petalsandantlers. Rated E.

As Head Boy and Head Girl, James and Lily are required to keep a meticulous record of all detentions. But what starts as mundane paperwork quickly spirals into something else when they begin leaving notes, arguments, doodles, and accidental confessions in the margins. When McGonagall confiscates the logbook, they’re forced to confront everything they’ve written—because now, she wants an explanation.

Postscript (completed, 11k) by @wingardiumlewiso. Rated T.

From the moment he meets the Marauders to the night he dies for his son, James Potter lives a life shaped by love: friendship, romance, family, grief, sacrifice. It starts with his death. What follows is the life he would have given anything to keep.

+ Honourable mention:

A Very Muggle Date (completed, 13.4k) by Pseudoavatar - a 2016 story from FF.net which was cross-posted on AO3 just a few days ago! It is not eligible for the next awards, but worth a read anyway!

Find the previous months' recs: November & December | January | February | March | April | May | June

[loveriotss]

Tsukishima who likes a fellow player on the team (male) but he beats him at height and muscle (me thinks it would be funny🙂‍↔️)

EYES ON YOU ⸻ KEI TSUKISHIMA ; taller + muscular male reader

SYNOPSIS — the proud kei tsukishima denies his internal crush on his teammate for the entirety of this fic. INCLUDES — fluff, crack, swearing.

main masterlist ༊*·˚ — haikyuu masterlist ༊*·˚

KEI TSUKISHIMA WAS A PROUD MAN.

he took pride in being the tallest on the karasuno volleyball team and of course he made sure everyone knew it.

it wasn't like he bragged out loud, but his smugness was evident when he stared down at hinata and nishinoya during blocking drills.

or when he'd have a satisfied smirk plastered onto his face when coach ukai measured him for uniform updates.

yeah, everyone and their mom knew.

but it all changed a few months ago.

"everyone, meet y/n l/n! he recently transferred to karasuno and will now join our volleyball team as a middle blocker! please give him a warm welcome!"

mr takeda's chipper voice rang out through the gym, his hand proudly clapping the back of the student beside him, but he looked more like a college player rather than a high school one.

tsukishima's eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he stared at the newcomer, scanning him up and down. he raised a brow in annoyance, noticing the tall stature of the boy beside mr takeda.

a middle blocker, too. how fantastic.

"hello everyone!" the guy greeted, "i'm y/n! i'm looking forward to playing with you all, please take care of me!" he said, offering a polite bow to the team.

as the others went up to greet y/n, commenting on his great physique and asking questions about his previous school, tsukishima felt two looming presences beside him.

"i heard he's around 6'4, maybe 6'5 on a good day! wait.. aren't you 6'2, tsu - ki - shi - ma!" rang tanaka's mocking voice as he snickered in delight.

"how does it feel to be kicked off of your throne?" nishinoya pointed, poking tsukishima's side with the biggest grin on his face.

it seems like both of them had a death wish.

on the first day of practice, a rivalry was clearly seen between the blonde and his new opponent.

it was more of a one-sided rivalry.

but kei was convinced that you knew what you were doing on the court.

coach ukai's whistle echoed through the gym. "alright, we're splitting into teams. tsukishima, daichi..."

ukai's words drowned out into background noise for tsukishima as soon as he was sorted into the team playing against l/n. he adjusted his glasses with a sharp exhale through his nose as his eyes stayed locked on you through the net.

you stood on the opposite side, lightly bouncing on your heels and nodding along to your team leader's instructions, a lazy smile on your face like this was just another warmup.

another hoot by the coach's whistle announced the beginning of the match.

the first few rallies were typical. back-and-forth, clean passes, sharp sets and a few close saves. tsukishima's sharp eyes noticed your every move, how you adjusted your body and rhythm to effortlessly blend in with your team. how you strategically calculated your moves, how fast you were to reach the net and the faint smile that would appear on your panting face when you made a particularly good move.

and then, you leapt for a block.

tsukishima was quick to catch onto your actions and mirrored your movements, determined to not let the ball fall onto his side of the court.

SMACK!

the ball slammed past his hand, ricocheting behind him. the whole scene felt like it played out in slow motion for him, the moment the ball grazed past his grasp, the moment you looked him straight in the eyes with victory blazing in your gaze.

"point!" yelled suga from the opposite team, tossing the ball back into play with a grin.

tsukishima's eyes narrowed. it won't happen again.

but then it did.

this time, when kageyama set for asahi, you read it before tsukishima could even shift. you moved in, timed your jump perfectly, and roofed it. "nice block, y/n!" tanaka yelled, clapping the middle blocker's back. "yo, this guy's insane!"

tsukishima's jaw clenched, glaring at you through the net. you looked back at him, smiling — not cocky, but encouraging. "don't look at me like that, dude. you got the last five, it was only fair if i got some too!" you joked.

tsukishima wished the ball would hit you smack in the face. maybe even knocking out a few of your teeth so he wouldn't have to get so distracted every time you smiled.

but no matter how hard tsukishima tried during practices, how many times he'd go extra hard just for even one extra point against you, you would still look at him with that annoying smile of yours.

its been a few months since you've joined, more than a few matches and way more of your loud voice than tsukishima would like to hear.

today was another after-school practice match and of course tsukishima went as hard as ever. the blonde didn't want anything more to just go home and knock out in his bed for the rest of the day.

"alright! great work today, everyone!" daichi called out, stretching his arms behind his head. “go home, shower, drink water.”

“and eat,” tanaka chimed in immediately, already bouncing on his feet. “speaking of which - you guys down for ramen? my treat!” he yelled, tossing a towel over his shoulder (and sneaking a glance to kiyoko in hopes that she'd tag along too).

“oh hell yeah!” nishinoya pumped his fist. “i’m starving!” a chorus of agreement followed up after him. bags were grabbed, shirts were changed, and plans were already forming before tsukishima could slip out of the gym unnoticed.

but of course the universe wasn't on his side.

a heavy arm slung around his shoulder, catching him off guard and embarrassingly making him stumble. tsukishima's first instinct was to glare down, assuming one of the others were trying to rope him in, but all he was met with was a muscular chest.

the universe decided to be on l/n's side.

"eyes up here tsuki!" you pointed, a stupid grin on your face, tightening your grip around him.

tsuki, a nickname you called him once and decided that it should stick. it wasn't anything special since you had nicknames for almost everyone, so it was a waste of breath to correct you.

well, that was tsukishima's excuse for not telling you off.

"why are you leaving on your own? you're comin' too right?" you questioned. tsukishima scrunched up his nose at your suggestion, staring at you as if you just suggested that he go jump into a slimy frog pond.

"i don't want to be around you idiots. get your arm off of me." he sneered, shoving his shoulder to make you drop your arm and putting his headphones over his ears.

but before he could take another step, you grabbed onto his shoulders and steered him to the direction the others were going. "hey, you dumbass! let me go!" he yelled, but to no avail as you just smiled at him.

"come on tsuki, join us at least this once! you never come along!" you insisted. "fine, just let go off me loser."

months slowly turnt into whole terms.

tsukishima had begun to accept your presence onto the team. you were a great player and honestly he was just glad you were on their team and not crushing them from across the court.

he would never admit it, but he was impressed with the way you played.

he found himself watching your movements during matches. his eyes were quick to track how your posture shifted mid-rally. he had memorized the way your shoulders twisted when you jumped, or how your blocks always angled perfectly back into play.

those were just observations. strategic analysis. something any good player did.

so when he stayed behind after cleaning duty — to help put away stray balls or mop up the corners — he totally wasn’t thinking about you. even as he tried to mimic the subtle shifts you made mid-air or that one footwork trick you used during yesterday’s set against nekoma.

and he definitely wasn’t startled when your voice rang out from behind him.

“you know,” your said casually, leaning against the gym doorframe with your bag slung over one shoulder, “one of the tips i’d give you is to not stare at me so much during matches.”

tsukishima froze, eyes still locked on the wall where he’d been trying to recreate your block. you pushed off the frame and walked toward him.

“i mean, i get it,” you continued, smirking. “i am good looking, but maybe try to keep your eyes on the ball, tsuki.”

he whirled around, the faintest hint of pink at the tip of his ears as he clenched his fists. "don't flatter yourself, i never stare at you." he snarked back, however his voice was a little higher than he had hoped.

“sure,” you grinned, “just like you never remember my ideal canteen order whenever you get snacks for all of us.”

"you're delusional." tsukishima replied with a scoff.

“mm. or maybe you just like me,” you teased, poking his cheek with your finger. “you’ve been nicer lately. didn’t even call me annoying yesterday. i wrote that in my diary, y'know.”

tsukishima slapped your hand away, grabbing his towel. “i called you worst things internally,” he muttered, shoving it into his bag. “and i’m not nice.”

“well, too bad. you’re stuck with me either way.” you tossed him a wink and turned to leave. “see you tomorrow, tsuki. oh and for the trick you were recreating just now, i jump a bit more closer to the net.”

the door closed behind you with a soft click.

tsukishima stared after you for a moment longer, expression unreadable. then he exhaled through his nose and returned to the court, muttering under his breath.

“...still a dumbass.”

but this time, there was a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

NOTE — tried out a new writing style yumz.

©loveriotss — all rights reserved to me. don’t try to copy/steal my work. do not use any of my ideas/translate my work without my permission.

[eddiethebrave]

🩷 part eight

one two three four five six seven

1000 words

By the third time they’ve had to pause or rewind the movie because Eddie starts a conversation that inevitably gains everyone’s attention, Stevie makes the executive decision to put him out of his misery. It’s not even that anyone is particularly bothered by the interruptions. Stevie can just tell that Eddie is not having the best time in the moments between them. Once the movie has been playing uninterrupted for a few minutes, Stevie reaches to her shoulder and tangles her fingers with Eddie’s. He’s been caressing the skin there since he pulled the dorky yawning move.

He’s quick to begin the same soothing motion with her hand as well. She doesn’t want to pull too much attention to them so she doesn’t say anything as she stands up and makes her way to the side door that leads to the back yard, never letting go of her grip on Eddie. She doesn’t even have to pull him along. Almost as soon as she stands, he gets with the program and follows along without complaint.

Stevie absentmindedly hopes Jonathan isn’t offended on them skipping out on his movie. Given his loose limbs and glazed-over eyes, though, she doubts he’s worried about anything right now.

Stevie pulls the door open and waits for Eddie to step outside before shutting it quietly. Once that’s taken care of, she finally turns to Eddie. The boy is looking at her almost nervously, eyes bouncing all around her face. Stevie smiles hesitantly.

Eddie tilts his head. “You don’t like Jonathan’s movie?” he asks.

Stevie looks away with a shrug, not sure what she planned on doing once she got him out here. “Honestly? It was kinda boring.”

Eddie snorts. “And what would you have picked?”

Her gaze shoots back to his. When she catches sight of his teasing smile, she pouts. It drives Robin and Nancy crazy - Stevie’s movie choices - but it’s not her fault that movies are boring unless stuff is getting blown up.

She begins to walk away from the door without turning around. He swings their joined hands and stumbles after her.

“You know what’s next on my list, Eddie,” she reminds him with a huff and his grin only grows bigger, showing off an almost silly amount of teeth.

“Do I?” he draws his eyebrows together in mock confusion.

Stevie doesn’t even dignify that with an answer. She faces forward to lead them out of the backyard.

Like, okay, so what if she has her next thirty or so movies picked out already? And so what if she has them written in her notes app with the dates it’s her turn to pick?

“Come on, sweetheart. You know I love your DC mov-”

Eddie bumps into where Stevie has stopped dead in her tracks. He lets go of her hand to latch onto her upper arms so he doesn’t go flailing to the ground as he’s prone to do. Once she’s sure he isn’t going to end up on his ass, Stevie turns around and Eddie chuckles nervously when he catches sight of her narrowed eyes.

Stevie has to tamp down her own smile in reaction to the sound. At this point, she thinks she’s accidentally Pavloved herself. Smiling is, like, her default state around Eddie now. She can’t help it anymore.

She doesn’t even remember how this crush got like this - she swears it didn’t used to be this bad, even at the drive-in. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever.

Stevie narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “Eddie.” She says sternly. “You know it’s Marvel.”

Eddie squints at her. “Do I?”

Her face remains stony and he cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know. I mean, that last one was called Captain Marvel, how could I forget?”

Stevie eyes him. “Uh-huh.”

Eddie holds his hand up between them in offering and Stevie takes it without hesitation. She bumps their shoulders together when they start walking again and shoots him a smile to which his cheeks tint pink.

Ugh.

Stevie’s not sure where she’s going until she spots it; Eddie’s van.

She pulls Eddie that way and when they get there, Eddie breaks away from her to pull the back door open with a flourish

“Your chariot awaits,” He says, ducking his head and offering his hand to help her climb in. Stevie bites her lip to tamp down a ridiculous smile as she accepts the help and is soon settling herself down onto the mattress he has thrown on the floor of the van.

Stevie will never forget the first time she'd been in the van. She had teased Eddie about the mattress, making some joke about implications and the boy had turned beet red and stuttered his way through an explanation. Apparently, he needed somewhere cozy to get high so he didn't have to subject his uncle to the smell.

Whatever, though, because right now Stevie is very grateful as she locates a pillow and hugs it to her chest as she scoots to put her back to the wall. It smells like weed and Eddie in here, which is mostly just how every teenage boy smells but with something that makes it his.

Eddie hops in the van in one practiced move and swiftly closes the door. He settles in across from Stevie and splays his legs out, whereas hers are crossed. Each of his Reebok covered feet end up on either side of her, bumping into her knees slightly.

Eddie lets out a breath that causes his cheeks to puff out adorably. He kind of just looks at her.

Stevie tilts her head in consideration. “So,” she says.

“So,” Eddie parrots.

Stevie realizes they've never, like, spoken before. They've only ever found themselves hanging out in group settings. Stevie realizes this is their first time ever even being alone.

Embarrassingly, she feels her face flush at the thought. Eddie peers at her curiously and Stevie ducks her head with a small smile.

taglist

@jaytriesstrangerthings @wheneverfeasible @chameleonhair @yesdangerpls @sadisticaltarts

@sofadofax @yearningagain @ollyxar @tinyplanet95 @theseaofdespair

@croatoan-like-its-hot @estrellami-1 @anaibis @crayonboxcolors607 @noahdeawesome

@themoonagainstmers @quevadilla @lil-gremlin-things @hiei-harringtonmunson @dauntlessdiva

@xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ellietheasexylibrarian @steddieislife @samsoble @exasperatedsighohmy

@yourmom-isgay

sorry if i missed anyone!

[absolutebl]

2025 BL Recs (So Far)

tagged by @hughungrybear in this post.

Since I keep track of this I can give you a full list over everything I've labeled 9/10 or higher as of Aug 1 2025. These would be BLs that ended this year (even if they started in 2024). It's been a pretty great year so far! In not particular order these were all 9/10s for me.

Our Youth AKA Miseinen: Mijukuna Oretachi wa Bukiyo ni Shinkochu

Japan Gaga

Adapted from a Korean Webtoon I can see why this went to Japan, it's way too harsh for KBL.

Essentially a story about two lonely boys from opposite sides of the track who fall madly in love in high school, despite the fact that one is neglected and the other physically abused. This has a rough premise (all the trigger warnings) BUT is an oddly lovely little show. Darker than is my personal preference but sublimely stylish, turns out sometimes that combo works for me (see The 8th Sense). The word that springs to mind is “refined.”

I enjoyed the restful distancing feel of the beautiful filming style, Japan's signature utter thirst, and some ostentatiously poetic dialogue. This is edgy pretty.

See Your Love

Taiwan Viki & Gaga

An incredibly darling little show. I genuinely couldn’t have enjoyed it more. About a deaf care worker and his spoiled broken little prince. Taiwanese BL at its softest and best. Highly recommended.

ThamePo

Thailand YouTube or Viki

The boyband idol romance I've been waiting for from Korea, only Thailand did it instead. Quintessentially Thai and very GMMTV with good production values, great chemistry, and a solid support cast. It also was a hung romance mostly driven by external conflict and a found family reunion trope so I didn’t mind (too much) when that romance thread felt secondary. I loved it (except, of course, the singing).

The Heart Killers

Thailand IQIYI

Jojo directs this action romcom about assassin brothers (Khao & Joong) meets conmen: tattoo artist ex-booster (First) and very flirty mechanic (Dunk). I dithered over how to rate this. It felt like an 8 show wearing a 9’s britches. There were dropped threads, forgotten characters, and unfinished plot lines even with a particularly long run time. And, for me, it doesn’t have significant rewatch potential. But... it was such fun (when one applies no expectations or logic) and I enjoyed the wildly unhinged relationships and, weirdly, music.

I mean nobody claimed that we needed Taming of the Shrew only with gay Thai hitmen, but we really needed it.

And no one asked for Petruchio to be the gayest brat ever to strut his perfect skin and croptops across our screens, and yet we loved him for it.

Sure it didn’t make sense and was utterly absurd, but it was terribly earnest and sexy about it. In the end this goes hand-in-hand with all these other absurd crime pieces we’ve been getting since KP, and frankly I like this one the best so far.

When it Rains it Pours AKA Futtara Doshaburi

Japan Gaga & Viki

I really enjoyed this show, not despite it's darkness but because of it. Certainly cheating and escaping dysfunctional LTRs is difficult subject matter and not for everyone (frankly it's usually not for me) but this was Japan at its BL finest. They handled it with consummate (if stiff) elegance.

In the end, this was actually a lovely little narrative about finding your person despite being held in stasis by the wrong one already. And while I’m not sure this will get many re-watches from me, but I still appreciate this show for the unique voice and storyline that it added to the general BL zeitgeist.

Your Sky

Thailand iQIYI

As pulps go this is right up there with my favorite if all time, My Ride, but for different less complex reasons (and with better chemistry). This is a relatively simple yet endearingly old fashioned story of a fake relationship between a sunshine sweetie and an older reserved rich kid who slowly fall in love with him. Its soft gentle low-stakes leans on everything I love best about Thai BL, no damage and no trauma.

It’s a warm fuzzy robe of a show that will not hurt you, featuring some of the greenest flags I have ever seen in the genre.

Ball Boy Tactics

Korea Gaga

After retiring from gymnastics a gold medalist, painfully shy Jiwon struggles to survive university. He gets adopted by a group of jocks and falls in love with campus heartthrob and basketball star JeongU. I loved this so much (especially Choi Jae Hyeok's acting). It’s Semantic Error meets FC Soldout and so very charming. It's also well executed, fast paced, and good natured. Can’t go wrong with this one, I smiled most of the time I was watching.

This last show has the distinction of being the first on this list to get a full rewatch, so I clearly loved it.

(source)

[hyperspecial]

age regressor guest 1337 headcanons

NOTE: i'm SO sorry for how long it took me to get to this request.. i hope you enjoy this, i tried to make it longer. guest isn't a character i think of often, so it was nice getting out of my comfort zone.

• I personally view Guest as a younger regressor, maybe around babyspace, 2-3. He doesn't like admitting it, however..

• Guest isn't picky with whoever is taking care of him, though he particularly enjoys Elliot and Chance's presence a lot. Noob is also nice to be around. (And 007n7, but he never really brings it up.)

• Doesn't use parental titles himself but he really loves the nickname 'buddy/bud' (makes him feel small ok...)

• He definitely struggles with being the one being taken care of.. I mean, the man who has fought and looked out for other's needs his whole life has to lay back and let himself be taken care of? Totally foreign concept to him.

• He's not fussy about regressing, but he'll push it off. Guest tends to ignore the feeling when it's present, usually one of his caregivers has to be the one easing him into regressing.

• Doesn't speak when he's regressed. He's not too much of a talker when big either, but it's amplified by five when little.

•If Guest is around any other littles when regressed, he tries to take on the role of a big brother. He gives them his toys an things. He still wants to be helpful!

• Due to his want to be helpful, he loves doing little tasks that people assign him. If you word anything as a mission or something, he will 100% do it.

Elliot: "Hey, buddy, it'd be a huge help if you went and changed into your jammies and go to sleep, okay?"

Guest: Okay! (Yay, I'm helping Elliot out. C:)

• He's super physically affectionate, loves holding hands. If he could, he would want to be held by his caregivers. (Neither Elliot nor Chance have the heart to tell him that they're not strong enough to pick him up, but Guest already knows LOL)

• Obviously despises loud noises when he's little (war veteran and is just sensitive in general), he prefers there to be no background noise like music or TV when he's regressed. (He's not really fussy but he can become irritable when overstimulated.)

REQUEST STATUS: CLOSED

TAG(s): @kelpy-kiddo @travylovesplushies @simonsayspoop @l1m3st0n3h34rt

NOTE: ANOTHER 10pm post. fought the demons (writer's block) to write this.... hope everynyan is proud of me ^_^ i actually surprisingly enjoy writing dialogue?

[katyawriteswhump]

Green is the hottest color, Baby 👽

Rating: M pushing E (for content matter rather than actual explicitness); Words: 1090; For @stmonstercalendar July prompt, Alien @steddiebingo prompt, ‘rimming,’ (phew, my last kink prompt! I am crawling towards the finish line on my card, so close, can't quit now, sorry world ;P) CW: (vague) spoilers for Aliens and Alien 3. Tags: steddie, platonic stobin, three-way snuggles, oral sex/licking, monster eddie, monster fucker steve.

👽👽👽👽👽

“Okay, I’m done here.”

Two minutes into the third ‘Alien’ movie, and Steve extracted himself from between Robin and Eddie, and launched himself off the couch.

“That second film ended okay-ish. Ripley turned badass, she rescued the kid, who called her mommy, and… Look, I am sticking with the quasi-happy-not-quite-everyone-is-dead ending. Jesus Christ!” He hugged himself, pacing, before blurting out the real reason he was so messed up by their movie marathon: “Anyone else think whoever designed those nasty-ass aliens clearly had knowledge of the Mindflayer? Various other shit from the Upside Down?”

He stopped dead, scrutinising his mildly guilty-looking besties. Surely Robin too was reliving that moment in Starcourt, with Billy squaring up to the Mind-flayer and… Nope.

He didn’t want to go there again.

No way. No fucking way.

Eddie caught Steve’s wrist, and Steve let him tug him back down somewhere comfy and warm.  Robin hadn’t only stopped the VHS. She’d already extracted the cassette from the player.

“Honestly, didn’t think you’d get this far,” she said. “Didn’t realize how triggery it would be. Thanks, Steve.”

“You’re welcome,” mumbled Steve, wincing slightly.

Ugh, he should’ve muscled through. Unlike him, Eddie and Robin, particularly, loved scary movies. They clearly dealt with the obvious parallels with the Upside Down monsters, no sweat, plus Robin had a humongous crush on Sigourney Weaver.

It was done, tho’. His point had been made, and three-way snuggles, as always, settled his jitters. They watched ‘Mannequin’ instead, Steve with his head on Robin’s shoulder, and Eddie with his arms banded reassuringly around them all. While also petting Steve’s hair, which was quite an impressive talent.

Steve regularly wondered how the hell he did it. Eddie’s arms shouldn’t be much longer than his, if at all.

“Kim Catrall is nearly as gorgeous as Sigourney,” Robin said. “Would be top-tier hot, if her character spoke Ancient Egyptian Coptic.”

Steve smirked: “You and your foreign tongues.”

“I fucking wish! You just wait till I afford those flights to Paris, Dingus.”

Steve might’ve dozed through the rest of the film. He wasn’t sure. He was busy happily nosing Eddie’s remarkably scar-free neck. Either way, the movie was over in a flash, and he hated it when TV shows or films ended. Especially dumb ones stuffed with nauseatingly fluffy escapism. Reality crashed back, and the monsters poked him from the shadows.

Monsters that snatched his kids. His body felt achy and heavy.

It so often did.

Wasn’t so bad once Eddie asked if he could stay over.

“You still tense?” asked Eddie, when they headed up to Steve’s bedroom.

“I’m good.”

“Gonna take that as a ‘yes.’”

Steve sprawled naked and face-down on his bed, while Eddie moved in to give him a massage. And Eddie gave the best. His deliciously warm hands totally nailed those rock-hard muscle knots in Steve’s shoulders, soothed up and down his spine, and those clever fingers got everywhere. Steve had no clue how Eddie did it, and he was too much of a happily melting goop to care.

“You want me to dive a little deeper?” asked Eddie, hands dragging down to squeeze Steve’s butt.

Steve grinned into his pillow. “What d’ya think, Munson?”

“Mmmmm, mmmmmm. Yum, yum, yum!”

The blissed-out noises Eddie made while eating Steve out were always hilarious, fitting between slurps and twisty tongue-work that hit sweet spots inside Steve that seemed impossible. How could anybody get their tongue so far in, let alone pummel hard enough to give multiple orgasms? Christ, Steve hadn’t known guys could climax this hard and fast, yet there he was—clenching and weeping, fists balling and toes curling, spurting like a mad thing all over his wrecked bed. It was a relief when Eddie cut him a break, sliding his tongue back to tease lazily around Steve’s ring.

Steve—still drowning in post-orgasmic quivers—peeped back to dig the sight of his boyfriend licking him out.

Steve blinked. Blinked again.

Eddie’s gift of kickass oral pleasure was ongoing. His face, however, was not exactly buried in Steve’s butt-cheeks.

Nope.

Eddie kneeled upright on the end of the mattress, lapping away at Steve’s hole with a two-foot-long green proboscis that flowed seamlessly from his luscious mouth.

“Shiiiiiiit!”

…

Once Steve had finished screaming himself raw and having heart palpitations, snuggles with Eddie genuinely felt like a good idea again.

Maybe Eddie was gonna eat him. Or infest him with a baby alien that was going to burst out of his chest in an explosion of ‘Steve-look-away-from-the screen-right-this-instant’ gore.

It didn’t seem particularly Eddie.

“You’re an alien,” Steve said weakly, nose planted in another of its favorite spots, somewhere near Eddie’s armpit. “Since when?”

“Since always,” said Eddie. “Didn’t realize till the Upside Down. First time I died. And got better. And healed implausibly fast. Look, I’m still me, okay?”

“Okay,” breathed Steve. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Does anybody else know?”

“Wayne. He always suspected. I mean, Al had some real whacked-out girlfriends, and it was the 60s.”

“Riiiiight,” said Steve, as Eddie enfolded a second preternaturally long arm around him. Did that explain everything? Anything? His head was too achy and his body too trembly to know or much care.

“How do you manage to look so... human?”

“Not entirely sure. Apparently, I’ve got some kind of glamor.”

“Whut? Like a Playboy bunny?”

“Not exactly. Ask Robin. She’ll explain it best.”

“Does she know?”

“Think she suspects too.” Eddie hummed uneasily. “Steve, are you cool with this? Look, I didn’t mean for you to find out this way, particularly after the whole ‘Alien’ movie shitshow. Honestly, just wanted to view your mega-hot ass better. Didn’t realize how far back down the bed I’d rocked and rolled. Do we, uuuuuh… need to take a break or anything?”

Steve took a beat. A long beat, where he wound his arms tight around Eddie’s slender waist and inhaled deeply of Eddie’s reassuringly human sweatiness. At this point, only one question of grave importance sprang to mind.  “So that’s how you manage to, you know, delve so deep?”

“I’m telling you, man, it’s insane how dexterous my proboscis is! Tactile too. Like a two foot long erogenous zone in itself.”

“That’s pretty cool.” Steve flirted with a follow-up question concerning Eddie’s dick, then decided he’d had enough mind-bogglers for one day. He peeped up, waggled his brows. “You feel like getting back to it?”

Eddie’s grin flashed suspiciously neon-bright. “With pleasure, Babe.”

He returned to slaying Steve with impossible tongue-work and probably impossible multiple orgasms. When they both climaxed so cataclysmically hard Eddie’s glamor fell away, Steve whimpered, “Dude, you’re even hotter in green.”

👽👽👽👽👽

no pressure tag @wheneverfeasible 💕💕💕💕💕

my steddie fic on AO3 💕💕💕💕💕

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Beloved.

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x reader.

Summary: Geum Seong-je was the sexiest man you've seen and you wanted nothing more than to be his and him to be yours.

Warning: Dark, Yandere!reader, Stalkerish activities, Death threats, Virgin!reader, Oral (fem & male) Chubby!reader, Dirty fantasies, Sadist and masochist tendencies, Unprotected sex, Creampie, Dirty talk, Dubnon, Masturbation, Degradtion, Dead Dove: Do not eat.

A/n: @junksposts, @flowersandsuch111, @shonty-29 @vyvvu, @fayepz, @ellaaa505, @yinyangcchii, @satorustorm.

Your fingertips drummed on the front counter.

An impatient tic you have adapted as you rocked on the balls of your feet. Eagerly anticipating his arrival.

Finally, it struck five, and the heavy door creaked open just in time, and a group of footsteps followed after.

"Welcome to 3pop Internet cafe! Have a seat anywhere you like." You greeted cheerfully but your attention was locked on one man in passing.

He was the first to walk by you, no nod, no thanks and certainly no acknowledgement. The dimly lit cafe darkened the maroon suit he wore, and each step he took oozed nonchalant confidence. One hand was in his suit jacket, his right arm hung freely, and his round, pointed glasses rested on the top of his nose. His brown hair parted perfectly without trying.

While you served the few patrons in the cafe, you'd glanced at him, greedily taking in his looks and presence.

Today wasn't like the days he'd come in. Different boys from a variety of schools came up to him, with bags full of phones. They exchange a few words and then leave.

A boy entered at this time without a bag. Nearby, you were putting a boy with a dark green jacket's order down freezing for a second as he and the chubby boy beside him started to make fun of your beloved. It took everything to bite your tongue and continue to work. You wanted to say something but that would bring unwanted attention to yourself. You flinched slightly as he scooted his chair back and walked to the other aisle. The bigger guy didn't stand a chance. He had stood up, ready for a fight, when your beloved pushed his head into the keyboard once, twice before your beloved snapped his head in your direction, staring down the green jacket jerk, and then he smiled—A smug, menacing smile.

He slammed the guy's head a third time, his eyes for a split second flickered to you, and with that, he went back to his station and resumed playing. You scurried to the break room.

You wanted him to do that to you. To push your head against his bedroom floor, his fingers digging into the side of your face. You imagined him ploughing into your G-spot, as he smacked and groped your ass in a bruised state. Him smiling cruelly in a sadistic manner, enjoying your softer, chubbier body for all its spoils. His pre-cum and your virgin blood dripping down his balls. You wanted, no needed him, only him to pop your cherry. You craved rough, fast and bruising.

"Um..." A coworker chimed awkwardly, standing in the doorframe. Their hand was holding the door open. If they witnessed your hand being pressed by your lower thighs, they didn't show it. "It's time for me to take over...you should go on home." They advised, faux cheerfulness on their expression.

"Right." You muttered. The walk home was..a walk of shame.

You were the embarrassment in your family; your mother detested being seen in public with you. Back in her day, she was the most beautiful girl in town. A thin, gorgeous beauty queen. And to her, having a fat daughter was a nightmare. Your father was barely home, and when he was—you didn't count for his love or eyes on you.

You were a disgrace but your brother? He was the biggest disgrace; you bonded over that. You raised each other since your parents decided to pretend they didn't have kids and left you alone, going on trips- any excuse to be away from you and your older brother, they did. So you didn't mind or particularly care when your brother informed you'd have company in the morning.

You shouldn't have been so surprised that morning.

But seeing as you were just in booty shorts that struggle to hold your full ass and a tank top that covered your boobs more then your tubby belly walking out of your bedroom, hair sticking out in all directions and with bags under your eyes. Not only did you forget that there was company but what's worse is that he was here.

He sat on the sofa like a king would on his throne, his long legs spread open, a perfect place for a seat, and his arm rested on the armrest as he slanted backward, lifting his hips just a little before settling in again. The corner of his lips lifted up, amused. His dark chocolate irises observed you from head to toe.

Fuck he noticed you!

You run to your room like a dog that got caught eating something it wasn't supposed to.

He noticed you! He acknowledged you! H-he looked like he was checking you out. This could be bad, very, very bad. Your past obsessions found you disgusting for stalking them or simply offended that you liked them, you've learned to watch and not be seen.

Okay, this was salvageable..just go to a different school, quit your job and maybe move to another country!

"Sis," your brother knocked at the door, pulling you out of your stupor.

"Come in." You flopped down on your computer chair, toying with your T-shirt.

"You forget, didn't you?" He chuckled, dodging the flying plushie. "But seriously, you okay? You ran fast like you saw a ghost." He sat on the edge of your bed, by the computer desk, leaning back on his hands.

"Who was he?" You asked, almost a whisper, now focused on your brother.

"Who? Su-Jin?" He beamed at the no you spat, he loved to get under your skin. Annoying prick.

"His name is Geum Seong-je, one of the top dogs at where I work."

So that's his name. It suits him.

Recently from that day, Seong-je has been spending more time over. He plays games with your brother or just hangs out. And you tried, like truly tried to stay in your room but knowing he was here. In your home, in your living room or across the hall.

And every time, you made an excuse to see him. You wanted a snack, needed something to drink, texting a friend from the dining room, you have to stretch your legs, just to name a few. Or you'd just peek into your brother's room while he was there. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt.

Sometimes your big bro would go to his house, how you despise that however it gave you an opportunity and you won't let that go to waste.

You picked at your leggings as you stood before Seong-je's house. Once you had found the courage, you knocked. A minute or two, it opened and there he was, in a black shirt and some grey sweatpants, holy moly, you could see his v-line.

Struggling internally not to faint. You cleared your throat, "H-hi, my brother left something here. He asked me to come and get it. He told me your address." It was half true, on the address part.

Seong-je took a bit to reply, his eyes bore into you, "He didn't text about you coming over." He tilted his head a little.

"He's busy." You blurted out. Please believe you.

His face was unreadable before he stepped aside.

You went straight to his bedroom.

Okay, you have a few minutes before he comes and checks in. You grabbed a dirty shirt, a lighter and a gold chain, stuffing them in your light green over-the-shoulder bag. After lying on his bed, hugging his pillow, and going through his drawer, you left the room.

He was sitting on the couch when you got out. A cigarette between his soft lips, "Find whatever he left?" He asked, fixing his glasses on his nose. Fuck how was he so sexy? He was just sitting on the dark grey L couch and you want to choke on his dick.

You nodded, feeling the familiar flicker of arousal, "I'll be um..going? Yeah bye!" You shut the front door.

Once you were safely home and in your sanctuary, you stripped and climbed onto your bed, Seong-je shirt in hand. You propped yourself up against the plush backboard and parted your legs. Your hand traced down your breasts, past your plump stomach to your throbbing clitoris. Digging your nose into his shirt, your eyes fluttered shut, it was just as you imagined he'd smell like, a hint of male musk, nicotine and cedarwood.

A scent that makes you shiver, eyes shut closed as you imagine it was his long fingers that rubbed your poor swollen clit in circles, that it was his fingers knuckles deep in your wanton cunt. "Yes!" You cried, pushing your fingers up against the spongy roof of your pussy, thrusting faster to hit that toe-curling spot. More and more juices spilled out as you think about his pretty face without his glasses and looking at you like you were the sexiest woman to him, like your body drove him crazy with lust. Oh, you bet he'd have that naughty smirk as he sped up his wrist, slamming his fingers in so deep, you'd moan like a thirsty porn star all to eager to be toyed with.

Your pussy clenched around your fingers, and you muffed your moan with his shirt, coming on your fingers.

It had quickly become your treasure. You slept holding onto the white t-shirt, you would play with the fabric when you thought of him or when he hadn't come over for so long. Like now, he hadn't been over in over two weeks. Yes, you'd see him at work but that wasn't enough for you anymore. When he finally returned to you, another girl was under his arm.

Another. Girl.

Your blood hasn't boiled that fast before. He was yours! Who does this bitch think she is?! Messing with your man?! You glared at her from the love seat as she stared at the TV. Luckily, your brother and Seong-je went to get some drinks and snacks, leaving you two by yourselves.

You got up from the seat, strolled to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. You took a calm sip of water before grabbing the biggest knife from the drawer next to the sink.

You sauntered back to the living room, and the girl stood up immediately. "Why are you holding a knife?!" She yelled, her palm held out like she was trying to calm a velociraptor. "You stole him from me and now I'll steal your life." You hissed and advanced towards her, slashing at her outstretched hand, but she unfortunately dodged. She kept blocking your slashing and thrusts, stepping back to the front door. You wanted nothing but to sink the steel into her flesh; however, your goal was to scare her away, and it was working. She bolted out the door once she saw the chance.

There, hopefully, you scared her enough to leave your beloved. You put the knife back as you thought of lies to tell the boys where she went.

A little birdie told you that the girl-whatever-her-name-was broke up with Seong-je. You were so happy you were gonna cook your and your brother's favourite meal, a celebration that only you knew about.

You hummed a happy tune while you walked home, swinging the bag in your hand. You skid to a stop as someone exhaled loudly, and the stench of nicotine came soon after.

"S-seong-je?" You stuttered, eyes wide as he walked to you and you tightened your grip on the plastic baggie. You had a bad feeling. He stood before you, his dark eyes boring into your soul.

He slapped you across the cheek.

Your head whipped to the side from the power behind his slap. Your lips parted as you stared at him in pure shock and arousal. He touched you! His hand was so warm and big. He slapped you again this time harder, and you dropped the grocery bag, a raging pit of arousal filled your stomach. Your eyes grow lidded and glistening, pupils expanded.

A whimper slipped past your lips and your thighs rubbed against each other, the throbbing of your cunt was unbearable. One of Seong-je's eyebrows rose, a crooked smile inched on those soft lips and his shoulders shook with laughter, "Are fucking you turned on? Damn freak." He snickered, "shit, I think you might be an actual good toy. I should make you mine?" He asked teasingly, his hand wrapped around your hair and yanked your roots, forcing you to look up at him, "You're gonna be so entertaining" he released your hair and gripped your waist firmly, dragging you off in the direction of his house.

You must be dreaming, you just had to be..this never happened to you and you thought it wouldn't. Men didn't look at you twice, but Seong-je noticed you, touched you, even though it was to hurt you. The painful sensation stayed in both your cheek and hair as you lay, naked as the day you were born on the grey L sofa, your head hanging over the edge of the chaise.

His dick was just like you fantasized, long, heavy and thic. It could barely stay up by itself and a pearl of pre-cum leaked out from the tip. Your mouth began to water.

"Shit, ain't you so eager to suck some dick," Seong-je cooed mockingly, "or is it just my dick you want so badly to suck?" He stepped closer, his cock inches away from your lips. Your body buzzed with need, "please," you swallow what little saliva in your mouth and pleaded softly "Use me...Please, I'll be a good toy." there was no doubt you had 'fuck me' eyes.

Seong-je cursed and took himself in his hand, giving his dick a few pumps. His eyes were black with lust. His hips thrustes forward, easing his cock balls deep in your mouth, his hands wrapped around your neck, and his thumbs pressed against the him-sharped-bulge in your throat as you gagged. This wasn't a dream! This wasn't another fantasy! This was your heaven. His balls rested on your nose, his clean yet musky scent filled your lungs. His pre-cum was salty yet tasty.

The sexiest groan escapes Seong-je's chest as his defined hips drew back, his heavy length dragging against your tongue as you begin sucking,

"Are you just the perfect cocksleeve?." He hissed as he rolled his member in and out, fucking your mouth like a flashlight that was made especially for him, husky groans and pretty moans slipped from him as he watched his cock bulge your hot throat repeating with sick fascination. It became messy quickly, drool ran your face as you eagerly sucked, tongue working up and down the vains on his cock, bubbles of pre-cum indeuced saliva edging out of the corner of your lips. Seong-je's sounds of increased pleasure had your thighs clamped shut.

"Fuck no." he leaned over, his hands shoving your legs apart harshly as his muscular and lean upper body rested on your plush stomach, unintentionally forcing his cock deeper. His strong arms snaking around your thick thighs keeping them locked in place.

His soft brown hair brushing against your skin, and his breath caresses your soaked cunt. you're leaking so much slick that a puddle of it stained the grey couch, Seong-je tsked mockingly "look at this fat, juicy pussy, making a damn mess of my couch." His tongue swirled around your clitoris, taking the bud in his mouth to suck on it harshly.

A rhythm was created. He'd pull out as his tongue dipped between your slippery folds. In, he'd fuck his hot muscle into your core and slurp the juices you provided. He ate you out like it was the best meal he had in a long time all the while taking his pleasure from you. Your legs began shaking in a way they hadn't, Seong-je's tongue finished spelling his name on your cunt and was lapping up gushes of cum you released as he guided you through your orgasm.

He was close, his cock throbbed and twitched. A promise of a mouthful of his tasty semen.

At the first taste of cum. Seong-je stepped back, looking just as ruined as you were. Chest heaving up and down, your love juice drips down his face. "No..." You whimpered pathetically. Did you do something wrong? Did you not please your beloved? Was he gonna break up with you?! Your insecurities must have been written in bold letters on your expression.

Seong-je smirked mischievously as he took in the mess he had made of you. His hand hold his cock as he got onto the chaise and used his other to yank you back away from the edge your head resting comfortablely on the cushion, the dizziness of blood rushing to your brain faded almost immediately. "I'm not gonna cum anywhere but this cunt" he growled in your ear before pushing your legs into a mating press like you had imagined many, many times. It was like he was gonna breed you! The stretch was deliciously painful, and tears rained down the sides of your cheeks, but there was a smile on your face. It hurt; he was bigger than your dildo, you had in your box of sex toys under your bed back home that you used too often than you liked to admit. Out of nowhere, he wiped the tears away, like he suddenly grew compassion for you and a set of butterflies fluttered about inside your stomach as he kissed you softly as if he loved you back. He wasn't close to being halfway in you when he firmly jerked, breaking your hymen and was finally buried to the hilt.

Fresh new tears rolled down your face this time. Seong-je licked them, groaning at the salty taste and the sight of your pained expression, "What? You can't handle me?" he mocked slowly grinding into you, blood from your pussy made the actoin a bit easier despite how tight you helded on to his member.

"I can! I promise! Please fuck me Seong-je!" You begged hopelessly, locking your ankles behind his legs, fearing he was gonna change his mind as he steadily pulled back. You were helpless to stop him.

You screamed, back arching and zoftig stomach pressed up against his firm torso and abs, when he jackhammered into you.

Your pussy clenched and pulsed, cumming without warning, which earned you a swift smack on your cheek. Seong-je tsked, ignoring your sad excuses of sorrys, "Did I say you could fucking cum? I didn't." he hit your right cheek, harder than before. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders, hands roaming the sides of your body, stopping at your hips with an ironclad grip, and pounded you uncontrollably yet experientially precise. Loud, broken moans poured out of you, the bulbous tip of his heavy dick nugged your g-spot and your cervix all in one.

Your beloved was just as affected, groans and sexy moans escaped his soft lips, and he was a gorgeous sight, his wet darkened hair swung in front of his face, sweat dripping down his chest, neck and arms making him seem like he was glowing, his bulky glasses falling slightly from the bridge of his nose.

He watched your body jiggle because of his rhythmic thrusts, "Damn..taking my cock so good, I might have to make you mine." He hissed as your vagina tightened at his words

"Yes, yes, yesss!" you cried and gripped the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss, his teeth sank into your bottom lip after your lips danced. Seong-je rolled his hips sharply, mouth still locked to your own. Your hips jerked to meet his harsh pounding as you cummed, pussy juice running down onto the couch below you and his balls. His member throbbed and spurts of his semen painted your cunt.

You both pulled away from the kiss, and a small trail of saliva connected your lips together before it broke.

He was yours, officially yours and nobody else. You'd keep it that way. You vowed, completely unaware that he knew about your 'little' crush on him in the beginning, and had that girl act like his girlfriend. he wanted to see your reaction, and it wasn't short of entertaining.

He owned you long before you realised.