#johan liebert x reader

[riewritten]

QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS ˚ · . READ ON AO3

『JOHAN LIEBERT x GENDER-NEUTRAL!READER』

˚ · .─ SYNOPSIS: Set a decade after the monster's last havoc in Runenheim; he managed to settle someplace nobody knew him, resolute to wander alone until his questions were answered. Needless to say, a companion who'd be willing to stay amid his solitude was the last thing he expected on this journey.

˚ · .─ TAGS: post-canon, developing friendships, romance, fluff, soft johan (whew), pining, domestic bliss, acts of service, johan acting like a male wife when he's just a friend lol, johan is soft but his unremorseful tendencies still show itself if you squint hard enough. ˚ · .─ WORDS: 5.8k

⭒ ⊹ ⭒ hapee holiday season, everyone! here's a christmas gift for my johan lovers:)

You come by Johan's crib after a long day of work. The door's open and there’s a faint albeit very comforting scent of smoke oozing out of the kitchen—your favorite soup. You knock softly (as if Johan didn't already sense your arrival with the clanks of your feet from the hallway; he had come to memorize your footsteps at this point). You find him by the stove, stirring something, movements deliberately slow.

“Smells good,” you say, voice light but sincere.

He doesn’t turn immediately, focus maintained on the pot. "It's just a simple dish. I thought you might be hungry."

He says it as if it's nothing. As if he just coincidentally thought of cooking your favorite dish. You smile, walking over to the table where a fresh and warm buttered loaf of bread awaits.

“You always know exactly what I need.”

Johan almost lets out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle, still not looking at you. "I'm learning."

The first time you met Johan, it was in the bookstore you both frequented, the perfect place to disappear for hours in the quiet maze of shelves. You got to know him by the murmurs first then speaking to him second. It was the constant whispers of the librarians and regulars about a blonde man who seemed to have nothing in his closet but turtlenecks and trousers, yet the awe in their voices spoke volumes—albeit in hushed tones—as it tipped from intimidation to admiration. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” one of them had said once, “like straight out of a painting.” “I know,” replied the companion, her voice barely above a whisper. “But doesn’t he feel… untouchable? I wouldn’t dare.” You’d followed their gazes and caught the sight of him for the very first time. Seated by the large window in the philosophy section, he was a picture of quiet solitude. His blonde hair caught the sunlight like spun gold, but it was his stillness that struck you most. Calm and composed—indeed he must be carved from stone. Since then, you’d noticed the way others seemed to orbit around him, drawn in by his presence but never daring to get too close. “I hope someone gets the gall to talk to him,” you overheard one of the librarians mutter once. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time when he spends most of his days here. I get he might prefer it that way, but still…” The words had stuck with you, stirring a strange kind of curiosity. Who was he, this man who seemed to command so much attention yet cold enough to remain distant? Oh, if only you knew what the future holds for you two, you wouldn't be so nervous about it.

“Why are you laughing?”

When you snap out of it, the stove’s already closed and Johan’s attention is full at you. Needless to say, you’re flushed, but you at least manage to smile and say, “Nothing. Just remembered something funny.”

“Great,” he blankly muses as he carries the food to the dining area. “At least we’ve got something to talk about over dinner.”

The first time you gathered the needed gall to approach him yourself was when you were wandering the aisles. He was in his usual spot with a small stack of books aside. His posture was relaxed, one hand cradling a book while the other resting on the arm of his chair. The whispers you had heard didn’t do him justice. He was striking, indeed, but there was something else, something intangible—a quiet volume in his presence hiding beneath the tranquility. It was the same volume that made you hesitate, and so you lingered by the shelves first.  It wasn't until the librarian’s words echoed in your mind. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time…” Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and blurted out (casually, or so you hoped), “What are you reading?” When his gaze met yours, you felt the air shift. His eyes were the clearest shade of blue you had ever seen, perhaps akin to a lake hiding depths you’ll never reach. Looking back at it, you might’ve been right during that moment, for there are still so many things you don’t know about Johan even now. Going back, Johan took his own time, as if weighing your question, and for a fleeting second, you think he might ignore you entirely. Fortunately, he tilted the book slightly so you could see the cover. “Being and Time,” he said, voice as quiet as the space around you. You’d expect his voice to be deep and manly, but his soft-spoken tone didn’t disappoint you either. In fact, you might’ve liked it more than you imagined. “Heidegger,” you say, mostly to fill the space. “That’s… a lot to unpack.” A faint smile touched his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is.” Then he closed the book in a manner so poised that it felt almost reverent. “Have you read it?” You shook your head. “Not yet. Philosophy’s always been a little intimidating. Too many questions, not enough answers. Not my thing.” For a brief moment, however, you thought it'd be nice to pretend you liked it just so you could talk to him longer. His smile lingered, softer this time. “That’s the point, isn’t it? The questions.” “And you like that?” you took a small step closer. “Questions without answers?” He leaned back slightly, considering you with a quiet curiosity that mirrored your own. “I think it’s better than answers without questions.” “Not really.” He raised his brows, and it didn’t take him too long to signal his hand on the spare chair in front of him, inviting you to his table so you could expound on your answer. You realized then that talking to Johan means having to deal with his words hanging often in the air, and even now you still find yourself caught between wanting to unravel his meaning and simply basking in the way he says it. Amid his tranquil is a tension, that invisible string pulled taut just before it breaks.

And, with that said…

“You don’t talk much about your past,” you start, voice almost shy. “I respect that. But I think I need to understand. Not for me, but for you. We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Johan doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers are wrapped around his cup, staring at the dark liquid inside as though it could offer him the answers. You’re right, all you know about him is that he’s named Johan. He’s past his thirties. He seems to like your company over dinner or while reading his daily dose of books. He likes spending the rest of his day in the library where you two first met after he’s done with his informal job of tutoring children around the neighborhood for a small price—because to quote one parent, “Mr. Johan is good at children! They love him,”—which almost made him chuckle sardonically at one point, only if he wasn’t with you at the time it was said.

He has always been careful with his words, but this time, he seems to hesitate a little longer than usual. Finally, he speaks, albeit his voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

“I’m not the person you think I am, you see…” he starts, and with that simple remark, he's able to deduce that he's not ready to talk about it at all. "...but the past is a weight deplorable people like me are not willing to carry. 

Not that he ever would be ready to talk about it, with you no less. Johan had spent so much time hiding his true self for the past decade not any more thrilled to see the reactions of others who’d come to know who he really was, even more not willing to see your reaction once you learn all of it, too.

But needless to say what he just said is progress. This is the first time in a decade that he has admitted out loud that he is a deplorable being. And that couldn’t be truer for him because even now as you talk, Johan still has no plan to carry the burden of his sins the way his victims would want to. 

He is, in fact, stuck in here, wandering aimlessly, still struggling to understand the need for it, still wanting to see the world the way those people had seen it. The vision doesn’t appear to him no matter how many books he reads, how many buoyant children he tutors, or how many happy parents he comes across. 

Then why does he allow you to see him little by little if he fails to understand it all?

“What only matters for me right now is what’s here,” He gestures around, eyes briefly meeting yours. “This. You.”

You don’t know what to say, but the fire starts feeling a bit warmer after that remark.

On Johan’s end, he seems to have formed some kind of enlightenment with his remark, too. 

Here, in his little crib, with you by his side, he’s slowly but finally allowing himself to be seen (in ways he can and knows how) for the monster that he is, and it's all thanks to your presence. His growing fondness for you has the potential of freeing him from his aimless wandering. And if this fondness, perchance, starts developing for other people as well (to your neighbors, to the kids he tutors, to the parents trusting him, to the librarians doing favors for his books), he believes he could finally start seeing the world the way those people have seen it.

“But I don’t need to know what you’ve done or whatever it is that makes you ‘deplorable’," you quote in the air. "I just want to know you."

And his questions will be answered. And, in time, Johan can finally face the weight of his sins with full understanding.

He looks at you then, his gaze steady and calm. “You already do.”

On the second, third, fourth, and perhaps even fifth time you two came across each other at the library, you had always pretended to see him coincidentally (feigning shock with a high-pitched “Oh hi there, Johan! Didn’t know you were there! It’s been a while! How are you?” that you prayed he didn’t find annoying) because, little did Johan know, your intrigue had been keeping you up at night. You frequented the library—with all sorts of books and topics diverse—to quench your curiosity about lots of things. But with this blonde man, how could your curiosity about him be quenched if not through this? At times, you thought he’d seen through your friendship scheme, but your inner demons brushed off the thought. After all, how could he tell that these moments were, in fact, not coincidental when you two were known by the librarians for frequently requesting library cards because the old ones had been too full to fill up? You glanced at the stack of books beside him and realized that they have a rather eclectic mix—existentialism, psychology, classic literature. “You have a theme going,” you say, nodding toward them. He followed your gaze. “These authors had… interesting ways of seeing the world. I like to understand how people think.” The faintest edge to his voice, however, made you wonder if he was speaking about others—or himself. “Do you ever agree with them?” “Not always, but understanding isn’t about agreement. It’s about perspective.” You nodded then, rendered into silence, unsure how to respond. There was a weight to his words that felt out of proportion to the simplicity of the conversation. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it makes you want to keep talking to him.  “I’m sorry—” you said suddenly, realizing you had been standing there for far too long. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just couldn’t help but notice. I’ll be off then! Have a great time.” When his gaze met yours again, there was a flicker of something softer. “It’s not an interruption,” and for the first time, his voice held a hint of warmth. “Sometimes, a conversation can say more than a book.” You smiled at that, feeling a strange, inexplicable comfort in his words. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to about… questions without answers, I’m around!” He didn’t respond immediately, but his expression shifted, the faintest trace of curiosity mingling with something you can’t quite name. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said at last, and though his words are polite, there’s a quiet sincerity to them that makes you believe him.

After dinner, the quiet hum of the night wraps around you as you sit in Johan’s small, meticulously organized living space. The fire dwindles to a much softer glow, casting long shadows across the room before you notice Johan's gaze flickering between the firelight and you. His hands rest loosely on the arm of his chair, seemingly content in the silence. His stillness betrays a quiet attentiveness though—for he's always aware, always considering.

“You didn’t eat much,” says Johan, proving your musings. It's not an accusation either, just an old flat remark on his end.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “I wasn’t that hungry earlier.”

He gets up without a word, movements unhurried as he disappears into the small kitchen. You hear the faint clink of a ladle against a pot and the gentle hiss of steam as he pours something. Moments later, Johan returns with a steaming bowl of soup and a slice of bread.

“Eat."

You hesitate for a moment before picking up the spoon, letting the warmth of the soup seep into your hands. “You don’t have to take care of me like this, you know?”

“I know,” he says simply before meeting your eyes, the usual coolness softened by something you couldn’t quite decipher. 

The soup is more than perfect, though—rich and comforting as always—and he knows you'd feel guilty if you don't eat it. “I don’t know how you do it,” you mumble in between, “but you always make things feel… manageable? I don’t know.”

He tilts his head slightly, as though considering your words. “Do expound."

"I’d rather not."

The chuckle he lets out with your statement has made it more difficult for you to hide your fluster, but much to your relief, Johan doesn't press you further.

The same chuckle wraps every crevice of your body with warmth. Oh, to have a friend taking care of you like this. His solitude can be dreary, but so utterly comfortable nonetheless.

Making Johan live next to you will always be one of the proudest decisions you ever made.

It was approximately three months after those fateful (intentional) encounters, that the library had become a haven for you both. Your quiet camaraderie grew into something akin to a routine. You’d share the same table, absorbed in your respective books, the soft rustle of pages turning creating a rhythm that felt comforting in its simplicity. Occasionally, you’d catch Johan glancing at you, and there would go his unreadable gaze for a moment before returning to his book. That time, you were engrossed in a novel while Johan seemed to be studying Hegel. The silence between you was companionable, feeling like you had carved out your own little world amidst the whispers and movements of the library. But the spell broke when Johan spoke, “May I ask you a favor?” Not that it annoyed you. It actually did quite the opposite. Johan, this guy, asking you a favor? He rarely initiated conversations in the first place! Still, you tried to be calm about it, settling down your book with poise and all. “Of course, what is it?” “I’ve been considering moving to a quieter neighborhood. The place I currently reside in… lacks a certain tranquility.” You tilted your head, “Quieter, huh? You don’t strike me as someone who’d tolerate noise for long.” He gave you a faint but genuine smile. “It’s not the noise itself. It’s the... atmosphere. I’d prefer somewhere where the days feel less hurried.” “I might know a few places. My neighborhood is pretty quiet, actually. There’s a lot of greenery, and the people keep to themselves. It’s the kind of place where you can choose to go weeks without bumping into your neighbors or talk to them to your heart's content.” His eyes lit up very slightly, but that rare glimmer of interest in his face made your heart skip. “That sounds ideal. Do you happen to know of any available apartments?” You hesitated, mind racing. The apartment beside yours had been vacant for months. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was cozy, with a small balcony overlooking the courtyard. The thought of Johan living next door—of sharing more than just library visits—has kept your tongue tied for a while. “A-actually… there’s a place right next to mine.” But hey, at least you were still trying to sound casual about it. “It’s quiet, and the landlord’s a nice guy. I can give you the details if you’re interested.” “That’s very kind of you. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it.” “Not at all!” you replied quickly, perhaps too eagerly. “I can show you the place after we leave here if you’d like.” “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

And now, as you go back to the present, you wonder why you’ve been feeling a bit too nostalgic lately, though it doesn’t stay unanswered when you glance at Johan’s calendar.

This day, last year, was the time you started sneaking on his spot at the library to initiate a talk. Reflecting on it now, your stupid tactics will never be something you’ll regret. He’s one of your closest friends now. 

Johan’s friendship isn’t one for grand gestures, but it becomes clear that his acts of care are his way of expressing what he’d prefer not to put into words. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing has appeared on his coffee table. A small vase of daffodils now sits on the windowsill the next time you visit. His dinners are always for two, even when you show up unannounced—and if, for instance, you try to ask him about it, he’d just casually shrug and say, “I just ended up cooking a lot. Eat it while it’s hot.” More, and more, and more. It’s as though Johan is slowly turning his house into your own, too.

The same goes for the stuff you accidentally leave at his place. Your scarf? You’d see it neatly folded on the chair by the door the day after. Feeling a bit too cold during the evening? There, he has a blanket ready before you could even ask. 

One night, you arrive at his house later than usual, steps heavy from a particularly grueling day. The door's unlocked, as it has been when he expects you.

“Johan?” you call, shrugging off your coat.

“In here,” comes his voice from the kitchen.

You follow the sound and find him standing by the stove while stirring a pot. The dim light casts a warm hue over him; his sharp features soften along the way.

He glances at you briefly, offering a small nod. “Long day?”

You lean against the doorway with a tired sigh. “You have no idea.”

Without a word, he turns off the stove and begins ladling soup into a bowl. He sets it on the table, gesturing for you to sit.

He sits across from you, his own bowl untouched. Then there goes his gaze, lingering on you, unintrusive but steady, as though he's reading every line of exhaustion on your face and filing it away.

“You should take a break."

You smiled wryly. “From what? Life?”

“From pushing yourself too hard."

His words hang in the air, simple yet profound. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Johan’s protection of your peace became a natural extension of his care for you. He never pushed you to do anything for him. He never asked for more than you were willing to give. But he shows up. Every day. Quietly. Steadily. 

The warmth of this dinner where Johan casually asks about your day, muses about his, shares the books he had read, makes you chuckle at the tomfooleries of children he has tutored, and more has been consuming you. It doesn’t take long until you finally work up the courage to ask a question that’s been lingering in your mind for quite some time.

 “Why do you do all this for me?”

Johan looks at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he might deflect, as he so often does when conversations edge too close to vulnerability. But then, he answers, his voice quieter than usual.

“Because you stay.”

The simplicity of his words struck you. Johan, who has always been careful, always guarded, is telling you more than you realize.

“I stay because I want to."

His gaze doesn’t waver, but you notice the subtle shift in his expression—a faint, almost imperceptible relaxation.

“I know,” he replies, and for the first time, there's a hint of something like certainty in his voice.

With the winter deepening and the night growing colder, the warmth inside Johan’s home never falters. The conversations drift to lighter topics—books you’d read, places you wanted to visit, small dreams you’d never share with anyone else. Johan listens intently, his focus unwavering.

“I think you’d like the mountains,” he says at one point. “Quiet. Peaceful.”

You smile. “You make it sound perfect.”

“Well, it could be.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual. “Don't you think so?”

There's something in his tone—something unspoken, undecipherable, and yet undeniable. You realize something that made your heart ache and swell all at once: Johan isn’t just taking care of you. He's allowing you to take care of him, too, in the only way he knows how: by letting you stay. And, just like what happened just now, his likes and preferences will slip out of his mouth without him noticing from time to time, albeit much of them still projected as something you might like instead.

It's not easy for him, you know. But every bowl of soup, every blanket, every quiet moment shared in his little home is his way of saying what he couldn’t bring himself to say outright.

And for now, that is enough.

Johan’s care remains consistent, though you begin to notice small changes in his interactions with you.

His gaze often lingers a second longer, softening in ways you don’t know how to interpret—maybe it even softens a little too much especially when you’re telling him about your days. And his voice—oh, his voice that has bewitched you since the first time you had heard it in the library—recently it lowers in an almost tender way, his tone more perceptive of what you need even before you realize it yourself. 

Then there goes the gestures. An extra blanket he drapes over your shoulders on particularly cold nights. A cup of tea that spawns on the table whenever he notices your mood falter. A brush of his hand against yours when he steadies you under the weight of too many things. All these moments feel small, insignificant even, and yet they’ve become harder and harder to ignore. 

Maybe it’s a you problem (even though you tried your very best to stop the thoughts, to be fair) but oftentimes you can’t help but ask, has he always been this way?

No way Johan could like you, that much you know. But if we’re talking about you and the things under your sphere, the feelings that you can control, what would you answer if he came one day to ask if you still like him as a friend, or if it has progressed to something more dangerous—what would you tell him, then?

Fortunately, the Christmas season has brought a whirlwind of gatherings—giving you the space that you need from your colleagues. And for the night of Christmas itself, you’ve chosen to attend one with your friends instead of having dinner with him. It’s not that you don’t enjoy his company; you do, perhaps a bit too much, even, but you thought a change of pace would help clear your head.

You never intended to get yourself wasted, but the way you kept thinking of him during the gathering, spacing out, wondering if he managed to cook his own dinner or if he ‘accidentally’ made it again for two. At one point you even considered excusing yourself early just so you could go back home—to him. Oh god, you’re doomed indeed.

Hours later, the cold night air hits you as you stumble back to your apartment, the warmth of good food and too much wine still buzzing in your veins. While fumbling with your keys in the dark, you notice a figure standing at the door next to yours.

Johan.

His posture is impeccable as always, but his face is unreadable, bathed in the soft light of the hallway lamp. His sharp eyes meet yours, flickering briefly to the keys trembling in your hand.

“How long have you been—”

“You’re late.” His voice is rather calm, but there’s a note of something you can’t quite place.

“Merry Christmas, Johan,” you smile softly, the silly intoxicated mind finding his concern oddly amusing. “But oh, wait! Sorry, you told me you don’t celebrate holidays, right? Silly me,” you sway slightly. “Still, I bought you a gift, but I—hic—I left it inside. Maybe you can accompany me inside so y—you could, uh… what was I gonna say again?”

“You’re drunk,” he states the obvious with eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“No, I’m, hehe, not.” Though your keys clatter to the floor as if your body is mocking your denial. “Shit. I don’t have a spare key.” Disappointment so palpable as if the keys falling to the floor renders it unusable.

Johan sighs, bending to retrieve them with effortless grace. Without another word, he steps forward, unlocks your door, and gently guides you inside.

The warmth of your apartment envelops you, and you’re too tipsy to protest as Johan helps you to the couch. He disappears momentarily and returns with a glass of water.

“Drink.” His tone leaves no room for argument. You comply, sipping obediently, though you can’t help but watch him as he hovers nearby, his movements ever careful and deliberate, as though he’s weighing every action. When you finish, he takes the glass from your hands and sets it aside. “You should lie down.”

You nod. But then, Johan doesn’t accompany you to your room. He instead readies himself to leave. Why would he leave? He turns off the lights, assuming you are indeed on your way to your bedroom, and then bids you good night.

No.

The room spins slightly as you try to reach out to him. You fail miserably though, but Johan’s fast reaction steadies you immediately. He picks you up by the arm before you can even fall, “You okay?”

“Don’t leave.”

Johan squints his eyes, his thoughts lurking towards something. “Did something happen at the gathering? Did someone perhaps—”

“No, I—” you stammer because Johan’s proximity seems to have sobered you up. He gently sits your flailing body on the floor. He’s crouching, though his hold on your shoulder didn’t cease. “I just…I just realized something.”

He hums, waiting for you ever so gently to respond.

The same gentleness that pushes you off the edge.

“I like you.”

But the lights are off. You wouldn’t see Johan’s reaction.

The silence stretches painfully, and it doesn’t take long until you feel a pang of regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and you think he might leave. But then he speaks, his voice quiet, almost strained. “You didn’t disappoint me,” he says finally, and you find it strange how that simple—perhaps even empty—clarification plucked out a thorn in your vein. “It’s just that you don’t know what you’re saying right now.”

“I do,” you insist despite the haze in your mind. Your eyes scan everything else but his face above, trying to articulate it in a way he’d believe. “I’ve liked you since we met at the library. I pretended to come across you accidentally just so we could have something to talk about. I—I used to sit there for hours just hoping we’d talk. It kept me awake at night… thinking about you, about the way you look when you read. I thought I was just like that because I wanted to be your friend so bad, but I—” you exhale, ragged, exhausted. “I don’t think it passed even when we became close. There go your habits, and how you’re so kind to me… I can’t deny it any further and pretend I just want to be friends.”

Your words trail off, and the silence thereafter has felt suffocating. Johan remains unmoved, his posture rigid, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his head.

“Let's talk about it tomorrow…” Johan starts. “When you’re sober.”

“Okay…”

And yet, no one dares to move.

You finally look up after five minutes or so, and there you catch Johan’s gaze lingering on you—not piercing, but steady, contemplative. His hands rest loosely on your shoulders, yet you notice the slight tension in his fingers, the faint clench, and release as though he’s holding something back.

“You’ve been quiet,” you finally say, voice softer than intended, eyes up at him and nothing else.

“So have you,” he replies, and though his tone is even, there’s something in the way his eyes flicker to yours, then away, as if he’s caught in something too raw to name.

There goes the silence again, not because it’s awkward but because something has changed. Your body can sense it—the urge to move just a bit higher so you can reach his face, perhaps cup his cheeks just a bit, and maybe a small kiss on the forehead too…? Your heart flutters like a bird aching to be let out. Your feelings for Johan have been climbing higher than you ever intended tonight. And yet, the way he looks at you now, guarded but searching, makes you wonder if he feels even a fraction of what you do.

“Johan,” you say, voice trembling, “I…”

He looks at you again but in a manner quite different from how he usually reacts whenever you call his name. Still, you don’t let it scare you off. 

“I don’t care if you can’t carry the weight of your past,” you say, the words spilling out like water from a dam. “I just want to be with you, and… maybe—”

It’s just that you don’t get to finish.

Johan leans in fast; you feel the time pacing a bit quicker, perhaps so it could cater to your shock. His hold on your cheek is gentle and controlled, but the way he meets your lips fervently speaks the urgency of it, as though he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’s willing to admit.

And so when you do more than push him away, your hand tentatively reaching for his arm instead—he deepens it further, his restraint crumbling just enough to let you feel his response to your confession. After all, what Johan lacks in words he always compensates in action. His care has always been consistent and predictable in its subtlety and restraint, thus making his lack of control and patience right now unusual and out of character. But even then, his lips have a careful precision that still feels so him.

Oftentimes you'd wonder how Johan's skin would feel against yours. He barely looks alive so you thought he'd feel cold. But oh how wrong you are. His hand languidly slides to your back, and then he abruptly pulls your body towards him. It's warm, perhaps too much that it overwhelms you. His heart is beating fast, the needed confirmation that this affects him just the same.

Johan’s movements feel as though he himself is unfamiliar with this feeling—as if this is the first time he's had this reaction. Your mind then races with questions. Does this mean he feels the same? Or is this meant to keep me guessing? What happens after this? 

The thoughts melt away when he pulls away, eyes lidded, lips puffed. “Johan, what—”

Only to kiss you harder again. Perhaps he did because he felt your attention drifting away from him. It’s as if to say you wanted this to happen, so relish it without thinking about anything else. This sudden assertion after keeping himself subtle is doing something in your brain.

Johan seems to take pleasure in your reactions, too—the way you pant as your lips pressed together, your hands clinging onto the waves of his hair, and when you slip out a little moan because his hands slide into your shirt to feel the heat of your back, you feel him smile. Then he becomes more passionate. More desperate. More longing. And in this moment, Johan feels more reachable, more understandable.

Perhaps his lack of usual poise also says a lot about how he’s still doing everything in his power right now to hold back, and he’s asking you to cooperate.

Johan pulls back for good in a rather slow, deliberate manner, just in sync with your panting breaths. His forehead brushes lightly against yours as he stays close. 

“I told you, hadn’t I?” His eyes, now open but still lidded, seemingly search your face for something—fear? Regret? Understanding? What is it? “We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober. You’re not listening to me.”

You open your mouth to say something but his fingertip presses gently to your lips.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice softer, reminding you of his restraint. “Not yet.”

But I just want to say that I liked it and I want more.

“Please,” he adds as if he just read your mind.

What a sight to see.

The way his face looks right now makes you feel his inner turmoil. The weight of his past he claims a deplorable being like him will not be willing to carry is making him more reluctant to let himself have this—to have you.

He needs time, doesn’t he? And so you finally nod, temporarily ceasing the itch to have your questions answered.

Johan sighs in relief, sounding genuinely tired as if this night has taken all of his energy and willpower. He doesn’t forget to usher you up, and when he realizes you’re not wobbling that much anymore, he nods, taps your cheeks, kisses your forehead, and repeats his good night.

As soon as the door closes, you slowly walk to your room. Eyes wide, fingertips touching your sore lips, and you plopped on the bed unceremoniously. 

For now, in the quiet of your apartment, with the taste of him still lingering on your lips, at least you can now assure yourself that for the first time since you’ve known each other, he finally let himself be vulnerable, even for a moment. And that is more than you ever could have asked for.

🏷️ SUBSCRIBE/UNSUSCRIBE TO STORIES | @chxrry-writes @nefarra @ellabellapumela @skexxll @xeiin-n

@melonvrs @s0m4-sh4rk

[suusoh]

"you know, I never quite found the appeal of relationships. I've... seen how awfully senseless they may be. Those who rely on being a couple, often lacking satisfaction in their own life, are just seeking temporary solace from another... I've never indulged in such a practice." —Johan trying to lowkey hint at you that he's single right now and not seeing anyone.

[lavandulawrites]

THIS MAN IS SO GODDAMN FINE THAT I CANNOT WAIT UNTIL IVE FINISHED MONSTER IN ORDER TO WRITE ABOUT HIM

[nightangle9]

hii! I just found out about your blog, and you do write about Johan (monster), so could you do a smut fic about him and f!reader

thank you!!

~Foreordain~ (Part-1)

Johan Liebert x Inexperienced! fem reader

Genre: Oneshot Series & Smut

Warning: manipulation, very toxic behaviour, sexual content, dirty talk, fingering

Word Count: 2.3k

Writer's Note: Sorry this took so long ᴖ̈

Wisterias burn around you as you look at the man in front of you. What… could have let for this to happen. Hearts connected to stow are now shattered with just one go. Mind hypnotized by the monster, the demon, the ferocity. You still longed for him, after all that...you still did. You loved him, you really did. But this was meant to happen from the moment you saw him, your fate was decided. It was Foreordain.

~10 MONTHS BEFORE~

You despised monsoons. Insects, dirt, mud, everything. Other than one thing. The smell. The smell of monsoon was like a drug to you. Every time it filled your nostrils, it gave you a feeling of Euphoria. Nothing could’ve matched that smell until you walked past him.

Light blonde hair, pale skin, and handsome features glistened with the dawn of the day. He simply looked so…angelic. So, you stopped, stopped in your tracks, and just looked at him. How seraphic, you thought. Then he turned and looked at you. Just when you thought that he couldn’t get even more beautiful. You saw his blue eyes. Those ethereal and divine blue eyes. And they looked at you. But…something about those eyes scared you just as much as they attracted you. They just looked so…lifeless.

“Is there something wrong, miss?” he spoke, his voice so soft and gentle. And you blushed, of course you did. “N-no, I-it’s nothing!” You spoke in a flustered tone, still lost for words. He came closer to you, only a few inches between. His smell. Oh, he smelt so good…so damn intoxicating.

“Then why is that, you’re so flustered, miss?” he spoke in that soft voice of his, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Blue eyes scrutinizing your face. Looking for something…anything. And just for a mere second, you swear your life. He smirked. It was slight, only appearing for a second. But it made your heart stop beating for a moment.

He pulled out a pen from the breast pocket of his coat and then gently took hold of your hand. “May I?” he whispered. The question was so simple but you were too hypnotized by his charm to reply, so you just nodded.

He wrote his number on the palm of your hand, his movements smooth. There was no hesitation or awkwardness. He was just so effortless even with these simple gestures, that it was alluring to just observe and look at him.

“What is your name, miss?” he whispered in your ear, leaning closer. Blushing profusely, you could only answer him in a breathy voice, saying your name. “W-what about you, what is it…w-what is your name?” you spoke quietly. And you notice, how his eyes darkened at your simple question. But it quickly vanished, and he smiled at you, so soft and gentle. “Liebert…Johan Liebert.” How tempting.

~AT NIGHT~

Later that night, you called him. “H-hello?” you spoke in a questioning manner, even though you knew who was on the other end. “Good evening, Miss Y/N. Missing me already now, are you?” He spoke from the other side of the call. His voice like always, so soft and sweet. Your breath hitched at the question, gulping, you spoke. “I guess so. S-so what about tomorrow…are you free tomorrow evening?” you asked biting your lip slightly in nervousness. You heard Johan chuckle through the phone. Then he spoke, his voice was normal but still…you felt it. That slight seductiveness. “Why...you want to ask me out on a date?” you felt your cheeks blush at his tone and question, but you quickly replied. Trying to maintain your composure. “M-maybe, I do.” Then he spoke again, his voice even more seductive and tempting. “Oh, is that so? Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind going on a date with a lady as beautiful as you. So how about you be the boss, and decide the time and I’ll take the honor of assisting and taking you to a nice place.” Goodness, this guy knew exactly how to raise your heartbeat. “Y-yeah, sure…sure. How about tomorrow evening at 7 pm?” you asked, crossing your fingers in hope. “Sounds good to me…You can send me your address. So, I’ll be able to pick you up from your house.” He said sweetly.  “P-pick?! I can come by myself.” You spoke, surprised at his request. Nobody has ever picked you from your house, its not exactly safe to tell people your address. It seemed almost…suspicious.

“I don’t think so…a woman like you deserves nothing below the utmost treatment. It would be an insult to you if I don’t give you best” he spoke gently…his gentle voice suddenly becoming slightly deeper and smoother. “Or perhaps you haven’t experienced being treated that way? Do you want others to find out the kind of treatment you’ve received from men till now? I’m sure you’d be embarrassed if that happens…Your friends would start treating you like an inferior person. Or maybe they already have. Well, all I'm doing is suggesting an idea.” You felt him smile through the phone, his tone shifting slightly. You were left speechless, every word of his cut you deep inside. Almost as if he knew everything about you. You always had bad experience with men, you never were the type of person to had a lot of relationships and experience. This made you insecure around your friends, who were either in a long-term relationship or at least had some experience. Whereas you were shy and nervous making you never really approach people from front especially for a relationship. You let out a deep breath as you realized his care and kindness towards you. He was so perfect…such a gentleman. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll send you my house address.” You said with a smile. “Thank you, Y/N, you truly are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met…Goodbye then. We’ll meet tomorrow.” He spoke sweetly, as you felt him smile through the phone. “Goodbye.” You whispered as you ended the call. Tomorrow was going to be a great day.

~NEXT DAY~

The anticipation of meeting him had a chokehold on you for the whole day. You wanted to look your best, dress your best, smell your best, talk your best, just be your best for him. Or you could say his…approval. You didn’t know how, but you felt the need to prove yourself in front of him. Show him that calling you the most wonderful woman he had ever encountered was not a mistake. So, you did…well you tried more so.

Starting the day by going to a spa, a salon, a manicure & pedicure center. You did it all. Going as far as to buy new clothes. A pleated black skirt and a silk red top with matching black Louis Vuitton heels. God, you were excited. Wondering how he may look? Well, it didn’t matter anyway. Even if he showed up wearing a potato sack, he would still look good anyways.

The time came, sitting on your couch. All readied up for him. Staring at the wall, zoned out. The sound of your doorbell ringing suddenly reached your ears. Instinctively standing up, you panicked. Thoughts swarming in your head like goldfish in a pond. Then, it rang again. Taking a deep breath, you adjusted your dress and looked at yourself in the mirror for the last time. All perfect.

“Good evening.” He greeted you in that oh-so-soft voice of his after you opened your front door. “G-good evening.” You stuttered after you saw him. Dressed in an all-black suit. He just looked so elegant and gorgeous. You checked him out in secret. Damn, how can someone be so beautiful? He felt more like an angel than a human. Taking your hand in his, he kissed it softly. A faint blush appeared on your cheeks as he did so. “Shall we go?” he whispered, softly. Speechless, all you could do was nod.

The date was the best one you ever had. Every word he spoke, every touch he implanted, every look he gave made you put in a spell. A spell you cannot resist, becoming automatically submissive to his voice. And the way he touched you in an almost teasing manner. Leaving you hanging between threads longing for more, in a wonder of what he can offer. And the way he looked at you, seductive yet with a softness to his sapphire eyes. You didn’t even know when it happened, at what time it happened, but now you were left aroused. Wetness smirching your red panties. Something that Johan was seemingly unaware of.

“Shall we head somewhere else?” He asked smiling softly, holding your hand as you walk along a bridge. “Sure!” you said with a sweet smile on your face.

The moonlight glistened in the dark sky suffused with stars as you stepped inside the medieval-themed hotel. You looked around the hotel’s lobby as Johan booked a room for both of you. “Let’s go.” He smiled, putting his arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer. You looked down, blushing as you, both walked inside the elevator. “So have you ever been to a hotel with a man before?” he asked. “I-I haven’t” you muttered, embarrassed of yourself. “Then, may I have the honor of accompanying such a beautiful lady?” he whispered, voice almost seductive as he inched his face closer to yours. “Please.” You whispered back, licking your lower lip slightly. Hands that were earlier pulling you closer now caressed your neck, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He pulled in for a kiss. Starting slow now turned passionate. Desperate. Hungry. Desirous. He kissed you with every being of him. A man has now finally found the thing to cease his thirst. Breaking the kiss first, you were left longing for air. As you met his eyes, you felt that lust and greed oozing from the almost perfect man in your presence.

A small ‘ting’ sound awoke you from your lost state. You arrived on the 17th floor of the hotel, where your room was stationed. As you got out of the elevator and started looking around the floor, suddenly you felt Johan hug you from behind. His pale arms wrapped around your torso, as he whispered so seductively, so quietly in your ear. “Why don’t we continue this somewhere private, love?” …. Love?! You genuinely thought at that moment you would’ve melted in his arms. Face flushed profusely at his ‘innocent’ request, you nodded.

Getting inside the room, the first thing he did was lock the door while you sat on the edge of the bed, oh-so-flustered by the situation. Your breathing got slightly heavy as he started walking towards you slowly, his eyes almost having a predatory look in them. Crouching on the floor in front of you, he started to take off your heels. “W-what are you doing?” you asked softly, almost breathless from the anticipation. “Taking care of you sweetheart.” He replied as he stood up in Infront of you, his hand coming to hold your chin in a gentle but firm manner as he inched closer to your face and whispered in a subtle voice. “That’s what I’m doing.” Oh….

Holding your face in the gentleness of his palms, he inched his face closer to yours. Finally letting go of the boundaries between you two, his lips crashed into the softness of yours as his hand caressed the back of your neck. An intimate movement lasting for eternity to your heart and soul. The softness, the wetness, the desperation, and the anticipation all crashed down to land onto one prominence of time. Opening your eyes slowly almost in an allured state you looked through them as he kissed you. His hand coming down to unzip your top. His touch, was like that of a feather, light but leaving goosebumps all over your skin.

After taking off the scrapes of clothing from your body, he laid you down on the soft mattress of the bed. “Are you nervous?” he whispered seductively in your ear, placing delicate kisses all over your neck and collarbone. Your heavy breath hitched as you avoided eye contact with him, cheeks flushed from embarrassment mixed with arousal. “N-no..” you whispered, flustered. “Yes, you are. You shouldn’t lie. It’s not a good habit.” He spoke in a smooth tone, all while looking deeply into your eyes. His other hand came to grope your breast, making you whimper in his embrace. “Good girls don’t lie.” His long fingers traced patterns on the skin of your inner thigh, and slowly but surely those long fingers sunk into the very place they had the purpose for. He slowly started by rubbing gentle circles on top of your puffy clit, and when he felt the wetness trail down your thighs that he approved of, he sinks his fingers deep inside you. All while his mouth abused the sensitive bud of your breast. Biting, licking, sucking. “Understood?” he said in an almost demanding voice, to which all you could do was whimper a nod. Overwhelmed by the pleasure caused by him on your delicate body.

He increased the pace of his hand, as his long fingers inside you constantly brushed against your g-spot, making you cry in pleasure. Moans and whimpers escaped from your pretty mouth like a chant. One hand gripped the soft mattress beneath you while the other gripped the soft blonde hair of his.

“J-Johan~” you moaned in a high-pitched voice, lip quivering from crying as your orgasm finally hit you. The tight knot in your stomach now clutching open. He took his wet fingers out of you, looking at you with a slight smirk. “Woah, aren’t you sensitive…”

“You did well.” he said, smiling softly as he cuddled you up in his arms for the night.

Waking up with a slight pain in your lower stomach, you grumpily got up, stretching yourself. You felt something missing.

“Johan?”

[ranposbabe]

The Last Dance

pairing: johan liebert x fem!reader

summary: Johan will always keep his eyes on you even when you dance with another

warnings: established relationship, Johan being Johan, y/n is in on Johan’s “plans”

The room was filled with the booming sound of music along with plenty of chatter amongst the many guests.

You had been dancing with some random gentlemen for some time.

You didn’t particularly care for who he was you just simply wanted a dance and you knew well to not expect one from Johan.

As the gentlemen spun you around your eyes constantly locked with Johan’s as if t man dancing with you wasn’t even there.

As the music quickened so did the pace asnd suddenly did you lose sight of Johan but that alone made you quickly sober along with the fast spinning.

Suddenly the room was filled with screams of horror instead of the constant laughter.

All the people scattered like mad cowardly pushing each other escape to taste freedom. All but you and Johan. You were fast to abandon your dance partner but not for the same selfish reason as others. You spotted him instantly in the madness as people ran by. By now the room was completely empty and the sound of music was replaced by the crackling of the flames.

The room was set ablaze. Far too early for your liking. You just knew Johan purposely sped up the evening.As smoke nearly engulfed the entire room Johan walked towards you with a hand raised out. It was only then a pleased smile was evident on his face.

“Care to dance ?”

[ddarker-dreams]

Smoking Gun.

Yan Johan x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, Johan being just unpleasant to be around as always. Word count: 2.1k.

When you walk into your apartment, a premonition hangs over your head like a low storm cloud.

Nothing is amiss at first glance. Every detail is just how you left it, from the pans you used to make this morning’s breakfast soaking in the sink to the blanket you forgot to fold strewn over the couch. There are no flickering lights or low groans of a floorboard in another room meant to warn you of impending danger. You only have your raw, human instincts — unrefined as they may be — to work with. You close the door noiselessly behind you, leaving it open just a sliver in case you need to bolt.

Water droplets drip down from your closed umbrella and onto the wooden floor. For once, you’re uncaring of the mess that and the mud on your boots are undoubtedly leaving behind, your focus honing in elsewhere. You take slow, cautious steps into your living space, eyes crawling over every visible inch for signs of disruption. Finding nothing, you inspect the bathroom next. It’s in a similarly insignificant state.

That leaves your bedroom down the hall.

Your breathing is growing more labored with each bit of the gap you close between you and your final destination. Light from the setting sun streams in from the eerily silent room, causing you to wrack your brain over if you did or didn’t close the blinds this morning. You can’t remember for the life of you. One second you think you may have, the next, you’re convinced the opposite is true.

You wince when the floor creaks beneath your feet, right before the bedroom’s door frame. This panel’s belligerence had slipped your mind. Had there been anyone there, especially the person you think might be present, they would’ve heard that. Adrenaline courses through you when you decide to rush in, your makeshift weapon at the ready.

“Welcome back.”

That voice — whoever would’ve thought the devil spoke without malice?

Johan’s face is kind, his smile kinder, so soft that you have to squint to make out the upturn of his lips. You maintain the rigid position of your umbrella, uncertain if it’s meant to be a sword or a shield. The cracked door you left for a swift escape resurfaces in your mind. You could make it — should make it — but you don’t even lift your feet from the ground. How can you, when you catch what he’s holding in his hands, the revelation filling you with red-hot rage.

There are a million things you could ask him, or shout at him, but you eventually settle on:

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” he responds, deceit nonexistent, for he knows there’s nothing worse than the truth. “You’re home late today.”

You part your lips, only to close them, aghast by how your instinct was to explain yourself to him. Tell him that you got carried away watching a street performance and missed your regular bus. He carries himself in such a normal, organic fashion, that you can’t help but settle into any rhythm he establishes. You shake your head, hoping the action is the key to breaking whatever spell he has over you by simply existing in the same room.

Without trying to conceal it, you size him up. You note the lack of mud on the floor, despite the fact he’s still wearing his shoes, and deduce he really has been waiting here for hours. It started pouring around your lunch break and only let up recently. The knowledge he’s been here, invading your personal space while you were none the wiser, fills you with dread.

“... I’m really not in the mood to deal with this,” you lower your umbrella. You get the feeling he isn’t intimidated by it and cast it aside. Exhaustion weighs over you like an anchor pressed to your chest. The burning fury from before is more of a flickering ember, hot to the touch yet nowhere near as all-consuming.

“I remember you felt different when we last spoke.”

He’s still holding it. Your hands ball up into fists by your side. “Is that what this is about? You’re here to rub what I’ve said before in my face?”

“No. You don’t need me to bring up your words to be bothered by them,” Johan finally puts the item down, back onto your nightstand, where it once belonged. These days, you’re not so certain. He fixes it into place so that if you hadn’t found him, you never would’ve realized it was tampered with.

This rendition of the photograph is in color, as opposed to the black and white shown on the front pages of newspapers for months. You have seen this photo outside the confines of your apartment many times. Too often, perhaps. It haunted you more dutifully than any specter. When walking by vendors on the streets, or sitting across from a businessman on the bus reading his morning paper with a cup of coffee. Your waking nightmare had become just another thing for the general populace to consume alongside the daily crossword puzzles and advice columns.

The headlines flicker through your mind like reels of film.

College Student Missing from Munich. Search for Missing College Student Entering Second Month. Then finally, Elias Friedrich Found Dead at 23.

The mirth in Elias’ eyes when that photo was taken taunts you, wriggling beneath your skin like the maggots they found on his body. You had been happy then yourself, an emotion long forgotten. Suddenly, you wish Johan had turned it to face the wall, so you wouldn’t have to see what will never be again.

“You’ve been applying for visas in other countries,” he points out. You frown — you had been so careful — but you guess that doesn’t matter when Johan is involved. “You must intend to leave the promise you made to me unfulfilled.”

What he speaks of wasn’t so much a promise as it was a curse. Whether it be a curse on you, or him, you couldn’t say for certain.

“I’m assuming that since you know about the visas, I shouldn’t be expecting an acceptance letter anytime soon? You’ve got people at the embassy under your thrall too?”

The enigmatic smile he gives churns your stomach. He must assume there’s no point in telling you what you already know. Loathe as you are to admit it, you understand why, and that knowledge chills you to the bone. Johan is no longer a complete mystery to you. It was simpler when he was; you could paint him as this unpredictable bogeyman in your mind. You don’t want to be familiar with him, a realization that would’ve done you better earlier. By the time you learn how deep the water is by diving in, it’s too late to resurface without drowning.

You know why he’s here. It isn’t to kill or even threaten you — it’s to remind you. That you don’t get to go anywhere simply because he sees value in having you around. This seemingly minute fact is enough to thrust your life in permanent limbo.

“Whatever, I get it,” you mumble, walking over to your bed and sitting on the edge of it. “You made your point. I don’t even know why I bothered trying.”

It was nice, having those few weeks where you successfully deluded yourself. That’s all it ever was, a fleeting delusion, as tangible as a mirage in the desert. It’d been so long since you saw him last. You figured he had to have bigger ambitions that would push you from the forefront of his mind. Clinging to this notion was what kept you sane. Without it, you don’t know what you are.

Johan considers you for a long moment. “Would you like to know why I didn’t kill you that night?”

All it takes is the smooth utterance of that night for your senses to be transported back in a whirlwind. The cool, winter air biting your cheeks, the musky scent left behind by rain, the screams for help that roped you into a world you could never leave. Your body goes stiff as a corpse when he sits beside you on the bed you used to share with another. The very person Johan took from you, what marked the beginning of the end.

“I wanted you to see the same darkness I’ve been familiar with,” there’s something different about his tone, though you can’t put your finger on it. Honesty? Vulnerability? Is he even capable of either? “I always intended on it. Your being there wasn’t mere happenstance. It was deliberate.”

You can’t begin to imagine the expression etched onto your countenance.

“I told you that ultimately, whether you chose to do anything about Elias’ death or not, it wouldn’t matter. You promised to prove me wrong. I never said I’d mind if you did.”

There are inches between you and him, but it isn’t enough. It wouldn’t matter if he was halfway across the continent or the world itself — it still wouldn’t be enough space. He’d never fail to find a way to suffocate you in the way only he can.

“Do you…” you swallow thickly, finding your mouth terribly dry, “Do you want to be proven wrong?”

For the first time you can recall, it’s Johan who breaks eye contact instead of you. He leans back on his palms, his attention drifting to the ceiling before his blonde eyelashes flutter shut. The time that passes can’t be significant, no more than a few seconds, you wager; but it stretches on further than the horizon. You don’t breathe, don’t blink, don’t think. You just stare. Wholly absorbed, wholly fascinated.

“What do you think?”

You respond faster than thoughts can form in your head. “You don’t know.”

Blue eyes regard you with muted curiosity.

“That’s right. You don’t know what you want, or you would’ve gotten it by now,” you reaffirm. You’re seeing him as much as he’s always seen you. “You said you want to be the last one standing in the world, but a day will come when you’ll even lose interest in that. Then you’ll move onto the next thing… and then the next… wading endlessly in a search for something you’ll never find.”

If you had been debilitated by a fraction of the darkness he was familiar with in its entirety, then you get it.

Knowing what to do with yourself, how to begin rebuilding, whether or not it’s even worth the effort of trying; these sentiments are your acquaintances and his lifelong friends.

You didn’t realize you were smiling until you go to speak again. “I guess it doesn’t matter if the embassy never issues me a visa, if I can connect you to Elias’ death, or prove you wrong.”

“And why’s that?”

“I might never find closure, but neither will you.”

The sky weeps. Distant pitter-patters hit like drums against a storm pipe, outdone only by the cacophony of raindrops striking your window. The sun has hidden itself behind a layer of clouds. You’re staring at one another, breathing in each other’s air. You don’t know what’s going on in his mind, and for once, your intuition whispers he doesn’t know what’s happening in yours.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, handling you delicately, like you’re a flower. His touch lingers long enough that you don’t think you could forget it if you tried. The emotions dancing in his eyes are indecipherable. When he retracts his hand, his fingers brush against your jawline, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You know you should recoil from the unwanted touch, yet you’re hypnotized into staying still.

When Johan blinks, the unknown glaze over his eyes is gone.

Then he’s standing, turning his back to you, and walking toward the doorway you brazenly ran through what feels like ages ago.

“I’m glad I came to visit,” he looks at you from over his shoulder. “You always make it worth my time.”

You hug your legs to your chest. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

The insult is like water off a duck’s back, he doesn’t bother acknowledging it.

“The next time I visit, I won’t be leaving without you.”

You wish you could say you were surprised, but you felt this revelation breathing down your neck. He was your personal harbinger of misfortune. You weren’t foolish enough to think he was done with you, not after falling for that temptation once. Whatever comes next will be a secret you won’t be able to pry from his lips. It could be in an hour, perhaps tomorrow, or months down the line; you won’t know until he wants you to.

Something tells you the darkness he showed you that night will pale in comparison to what lies ahead.

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Johan stops, his shoulders shaking in what you assume to be a quiet chuckle.

“I’ll stop at nothing to encourage you, in any way I can.”

[sleepy-fiction]

Filthy, Dirty, Doktor.

-johan liebert x fem!reader

content warning⚠️ nsfw, smut, masturbation + dual masturbation, cream pie, p in v, uncomfortable power dynamics, sadism, manipulation, porn with plot, happy endings hurray

synopsis‼️johan liebert has been missing for three years since his escape. One day, after a blizzard, you come home from your tireless job as a surgeon to find him frozen half to death after crawling into your home through your window. As the months progress with Johan, he enjoys a new cozy life as a wife-like housemate, supporting your career. The issue arrives when you can't stop masturbating to the idea of Johan, and he can't stop himself from listening.

an: this fic came to me in a dream (lie), and it's entirely self-serving. I biased Johan's character off the little rumor that Johan becomes a fisherman in the countryside after his escape and lives peacefully. If you don't like that, then the fic is not for you.

wordcount: 6.3k

You had been living with Johan for quite some time. You remembered that bitter wintery night when a destructive blizzard had struck Düsseldorf. The blizzard was harsh and violent, predicting to reign over country throughout the week. You had just painted your room hours before you learned of it and childishly you left for work as a surgeon, leaving your window open.

When you came home, you were surprised to find a half-frozen, homeless, scruffy man unconscious on your bed. He ws barely breathing when you found him, with icy skin that pierced you for every touch. You jumped into action to help and ended up nursing the entire week. You learned a lot about the stranger and how his beautiful eyes seemed to twinkle in the moonlight. How, despite his predicament, he still was well, manner, and polite. He told you he was an orphan who was unable to cope after he left the foster system. How he was never able to recover and spent much of his adult life homeless. How he was robbed off everything, how he ran into a bad crowd. You were the same age, but your lives were so different.

You couldn't bring yourself to throw him out. Maybe it was because you saved his life. Without him, he truly would've died.

You were gullible the way you invited him to sleep on your couch for the time being. You had just moved to Germany from the United States, and because of this, most of your home was littered with mess and boxes. It wasn't much of a home for him yet, but it was the least you could do.

Over the months, he began to trust you. You helped him gain his strength and fully recover. You were there when he finally shaved his battered face.

He was an angel before, with his proper way of speaking and his gentle tone. But by God. Once that scruff came off his face, your world had changed. He was incredibly beautiful, with sweet blue eyes and pearlescent whispy lashes. His hair was cut and neat, with a perfect nose with pink lips. Your heart practically stopped in your chest that morning he walked in for breakfast.

That became the issue.

No longer was he the scruffy, sweet, homeless man you were sheltering out of the kindness of your heart. He was handsome and alluring. With a face like that, you couldn't help but shut your thighs together and breathe swallowed breaths.

It wasn't like you didn't see him naked before. You were nursing him, and he was too weak to walk on his own when he first got here. You bathed him, you clothed him, you washed his hair day in and day out. You brushed his teeth, you bonded over childhood pains and cried on his shoulder. You spent nights sleeping next to him-- things you could easily do because you weren't attracted to him.

Yes, sure, even before the change, you agreed he had an attractive personality. But could you blame yourself for not liking the giant blonde beard and the long shaggy hair that touched his shoulders?

But now he was all cleaned up, with hair that caressed his ears, splitting down the middle in a breathy swoop.

Every morning before you went to work, Johan would prepare you a nice hearty breakfast. No matter how many times you told him you didn't want him to worry about you, he always said it was the least he could do. And you couldn't really argue with that, you loved the breakfast and you loved his company.

He started unpacking your home, too, while you were working. He understood that you'd be too busy to take care of the house as an on-call surgeon. You remember the day you started seeing clothes and furniture slowly being rearranged. Johan was perfect. Too perfect, it was frightening for you at timed.

Frightening because you started to feel something.

He was someone you didn't want to lose.

But your body craved him.

You remember that day you were in the shower, trying to stop your hands from plummeting deep within your walls, but you couldn't. The way you'd arch and moan out his name as you rocked against your fingers. The embarrassment that fled you when you orgasmed, and even more so having to face Johan at dinner, trying not to seem suspicious as he told you about his day at home.

You remember how after a year of having him, you got so out of control that you couldn't use your fingers anymore. You bought a few toys to play with, and getting them into the house was so hard too.

Knowing Johan, the sweet housemate that he was, he kept trying to put the "groceries" up for you, and you didn't have the strength to tell him the truth. You kept insisting that it was menstruation hygiene, something he didn't want to see. But he kept going on about how he didn't care about that, it's what you needed.

He was so perfect, like a sweet angel.

Luckily, you were able to hide your new purchases in a locked bin under the sink cabinet, and that night, you got to town feeding your itch.

You fantasized about him. He was a perfect housemate. Would he also be perfect and gentle with you in bed? You imagined that bare body from all those years ago shamefully as you rocked back and forth on the dildo you trapped to the side of the tub. It was incredibly uncomfortable for your legs, but you were so out of your mind that you didn't care.

You could imagine those pale hands drumming up your body to your breasts, gentle peppery kisses lining up your nipples and you'd arch even more, sopping wet down below.

You remember facing him again at dinner that night, hearing how he commented on your long-winded showers. You, being too embarrassed, simply told some fab about how it detoxed you after work, and you watched his careful, icy eyes flicker in curiosity. You gulped, and even now, you can hear the chilling words that fell from his lips, "My. Well… Keep taking those showers, doctor. I'm sure you have a lot of pent-up frustrations from work. It's good to wash it all away and… take care of yourself."

Every part of you felt conflicted about his sultry words. Your brain was convinced that somehow he knew about your daily routine, that he knew what you did in the image of him. Your heartfelt odds about the words, was he inviting you? Was he flirting? That pause he had, he bound to have-- What did he mean by that?

His gaze was narrowed down on you like you were prey. And it was in memory of those hunter eyes that you fucked yourself again at the croak of night, slapping a hand over your mouth to stay quiet. Turning the shower on now would be too suspicious, and the bathroom was right next door to his room.

You couldn't believe yourself, your lack of control. It was disgustingly shameful how your brain twisted his innocent, caring words, his innocent caring eyes to fit some sadistic fantasy you were building up of him.

The truth is, Johan, he was deadly aware of your little playtime. He first noticed it when he went to get something from his room while preparing dinner. When you first started masturbating, you were loud, and the bathroom wall was thinner than you could imagine. In his shock, he pressed his ear against the wall and heard the muffled cry of his name.

He twitched in his pants.

The monster in him was salivating. You had tamed him well. He was loyal to you, grateful to you for saving him (a lot at first, he longed to die). The monster in him respected you-- it needed you at times. You were the only thing that made him calm, and this lovely little life of being a housewife was something he couldn't imagine he'd end up loving.

Him? A runaway killer? Finding delight in wearing the aprons you bought for him and gardening your home to look better for the neighborhood. Mowing your lawn, cleaning your home, unboxing all your stuff, and doing laundry. Sweeping and cleaning became his favorite coping mechanism. It made him feel fully in control and fully zen. You'd take him fishing on the weekends, and whatever you caught together, he'd always cook something lovely and aromatic.

He found he loved orchids, especially the blue ones, and he gardened the front of the house with it. He heard from neighbors the compliments about him, how'd they call him your boyfriend or your lover. You weren't any of those things officially, but for some reason, he liked it.

It was stable.

It was serene.

He felt sort of.

Normal.

So when he found out you, his savior, was lustfully touching herself to him every single damn day, he had mixed emotions.

Fear.

That was his first. He was afraid of himself, afraid of the sudden power he was given over you now. Before, he was in your control, meekly like some little wife tending to your every need (despite your protests). He liked it, when he was powerless, the monster never complained. But now, now he's given some authority and control over you. You could do whatever he wanted all for a little sex.

He wasn't that person anymore.

He wasn't a manipulator.

So out of fear, he wouldn't dare to walk near the bathroom under any circumstances. He didn't ask about your day at first, he couldn't keep himself down enough to see you flush like that. To watch you come up with an excuse or try to forget your playing to remember something else that happened in your day. It gave him too much power, and he didn't know how to handle that burning feeling yet.

But. Your beautiful affirmations about him made him feel vulnerable again. What if he trusted that feeling? What if he explored it? What if he let it take control over him just for a second? You always told him that he could trust his body, that his body is "capable of handling every sensation" he experiences.

So maybe.

When Johan passed by your bathroom while you were at work, he couldn't help but freeze. That burning sensation was back, the monster in him clawing at him. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. And that burning continued.

He let his darkest fears hold him for a second. And Johan quickly found himself on his knees shifting through your dirty laundry, pumping his pent-up cock into his fists, moaning like an uncontrollable wild man.

It was then he discovered his second emotion about your playtime wasn't fear after all.

Lust.

Upon his discovery, he never realized how heavy his balls had gotten. He spent three years on the run before finding your home by accident, not once did he ever have the time or energy to release himself. And it was like once he opened those floodgates, he couldn't stop the desire that overtook his body. He felt like a predator, looking for any opportunity to extend himself.

Like that one time, you stumbled into his room drunk after a work outing, confessing your dirty sins to him. It was something you long forgot, and it took him all his strength to trap you in your room so you wouldn't do anything stupid.

But man did he spend that whole night playing with himself, replaying your drunken confession over and over. He was so excited to explore this with you, to hear you apologize in the morning, and for him to segway that into a discussion about sex. So he could communicate how he felt. But when the morning came, and his eagerness budded- you had completely forgotten.

Confidence was his third and final emotion.

Johan knew he was beautiful. How else did he survive all those years in hell? He swindled women, he gained the trust of men. He slaughtered.

Yet he noticed how embarrassed he had become and how skittish and secretive he was about masturbating. It was like he was a teenager all over again, pretending to cook food until you got in the shower and then running to his room to touch himself to your sweet voice. He always finished early so he could clean up and rush back to the food. Developed a system where he'd cook before you got there but didn't assemble anything and kept it all separate, which cost him many pans and extra dishes, but it kept the facade up just so he could wank off like a child.

His favorite thing was the nervous conversation you had with him after your shower, too skittish to look him deep in the eyes. That's when his confidence started pouring in. At dinner, he'd be more challenging, more teasing. He'd "accidentally" stroke his foot up your leg to hear you squirm. He'd make more eye contact than usual, watching you bounce around a bit. He'd stop you right before you'd walk into the bathroom to make small talk while your frustrated eyes struggled against his stare.

You thought you were slick, but you weren't.

And he decided he'd test the waters.

"Doctor, you always take such long showers. It's become a large part of our dinner routine." He smiled innocently and watched his prey tense up like a bunny in the stare of a hawk.

"Ah. Aah… Well, it helps me detox." You panted, keeping your eyes down on your plate.

Checkmate.

You were right where he wanted you.

"My." He made his voice low as he burrowed a stare deep into your eyes, "Well… Keep taking those showers, doctor. I'm sure you have a lot of pent-up frustrations from work. It's good to wash it all away and… take care of yourself."

And you practically fell apart for the rest of the night. He watched your shame confusion and fear plague your face while you helped him watch the dishes. And to be extra harmful, he bothered you all night with conversations and small talk, knowing the frustration and confusion that was uncomfortably building in your body. He forced you up late, chatting with a glass of wine until you had to scurry into your room to retire.

His trap was set.

And just as quickly as you disappeared into your room, he disappeared into his and awaited himself on the bed (that he pushed against that wall this morning), cock in hand. Much like how he planned, you couldn't help yourself, and he couldn't help himself either. It was thrilling, the power placed on his shoulders as he heard your moans finally unmuffled by the streaming shower. His cock was extra twitchy and sensitive that day.

It was the chase and hunt of it all that made this so rewarding.

He played cat and mouse with you all week. Always pushing you, making you feel uncontrollable and weak about your growing desire. He pretended to be sick, too weak for dinner, and paraded around the house without his shirt and in some shorts instead of his usual day wear. He made up some excuse as to why he stayed in his pajamas, it cost him too much energy and he was sweating so much. He watched the guilt that panned over your eyes for looking at him so dirty.

He begged you to watch television with him, saying how lonely he was all day just so he could scoot close to you and trap you in his body. The body that he knew you could not handle. You could cut the tension in that room that night like a knife. And after pushing you to stay up late just like before, he waited, once again, for you to play with yourself:

Johan snuck into his room and laid back on the bed, thrill striking through his body. He laid flat on top of his comforter, his pillow cupping his head forward. He had already prepared by leaving a bottle of lotion next to him. His hands pulled down his shorts, an eerie sense of satisfaction and gratification bubbling in his body. His hand scooped up his hardening member, squeezing it a few times to manage his excitement.

You would be heading to the bathroom any minute now.

His eyes widened.

He reached over and sprayed the scentless balm into his hands, working them from his fingers and to his currently dry muscles. Precum leaked from his reddened head.

He heard your door open and his mouth ran dry. "There she goes." He mutters, unable to fight the way his hands moved before his show began.

You were so easy to push. Johan couldn't stop the moan that bullied from his lips, he was too eager. He couldn't calm himself. His hand pumped himself fast, that cold, devilish glare striking his face once again. He couldn't help the self-serving grin that sliced his face open.

By now you were probably inside the bathroom, fishing for the little toys you always--

His doorknob creaked, and a striking gasp fled his lips.

"Johan I -"

You didn't go to the bathroom.

His eyes flew to you in the dark, as the lights from the hallway cast a shadow over you.

For you, you only wanted to remind him to take his medicine. It was true, you cared for his sickness but also you wanted to see him one last time. So when you creaked open his door, you never would've expected such a sight.

There was Johan, laid back comfortably on his bed, cock in hand, head shot forward, with piercing blue eyes that saw right through you. You clenched on air, frozen in shock. Silence filled the air, and after a second of it, he moaned wistfully. A sound that went straight to your ears and down to your wet pussy.

"Oh my gosh!" You half-screamed. You quickly dove behind the door, shutting yourself back in the hallway. "I'm so sorry!" You cried, hands covering your face.

"I should've knocked!" To your horror, the door opened again, and there stood Johan, his face unreadable, threatening, and bland. He stepped out into the hallway, and you looked into his eyes for reassurance, but nothing was there. Confused, cautious, and anxious, you threw yourself away, hitting the other wall. Your thighs clamped shut, and you clenched again and again on nothing.

What was he thinking? This was scary, this was scaring you.

Your hole clenched around nothing again and again and again, begging to be filled.

"Sorry?" He finally said in that cool, collect monotone. "Oh, doctor. You shouldn't be sorry."

"I caught you uh… M-" Despite being a doctor, even you couldn't say it. It was like saying it would make it all the more real.

"Masturbating? You caught me masturbating? Haha. Why, doctor, I didn't take you to be skittish. It's natural, isn't it? Masturbating? It shows that I am healthy." He said, and boy was he right.

He was just throwing that word around and around everywhere. It took everything in you not to whimper, your pussy beginning to drown in dirty slick. A vicious puddle was ruining your underwear.

"Yes but still I'm so sorry I uh…" You didn't know what to say. You were cornered.

"It was a mistake, wasn't it? You weren't trying to peek at me." He said, his head tilting like a wild hare.

You gulped as guilt bound sickeningly in your chest. You were trying to peek, not at him masturbating you didn't know! You were trying to see him before he went to bed, that's why you didn't knock- it was innocent. "I wasn't." You rushed out without thought.

Innocent?

What were you saying? You were peeking for masturbation fuel. You gulped, guilty your eyes couldn't find his.

"Johan I-"

"What brings you?" He asked so kindly, so calm. It only made you feel worse.

"I wanted to make sure you took medicine for your cold." You whispered, but the sound was too soft.

Checkmate.

You felt him step closer. "What was that?" He asked, a cunning grin slicing about his face once more.

"I said I wanted to give you medicine." You said.

"Medicine? But you don't have anything in your hand?" He said.

Your face dropped in horror, your eyes running to Johan's stare. You couldn't think of anything to say.

And that's when he finally won. His cock hardened like a rock, large and proud, and he didn't care if you saw it.

"Doctor, I think you are lying."

Your knees buckle into each other, rubbing your thighs together like a madman. You couldn't stop dripping, your panties were completely soaked by now, and it only made you feel more horrified of yourself.

"I know what you've been doing." He said, and your gasp was soul-sucking. "Every day you touch yourself to me. And then you pretend to be a normal housemate." He was sharp.

"I didn't mean to--"

"You lie to me at dinner time."

"I'm not trying to -"

"Trying to what? Take advantage of me? You know I have nowhere to go, I can't say no to you. Can't you see the power dynamic here?" His hand lay against the wall next to your head, pinning you to the wall as he leaned close to you. "I am at will to you. If I say no to your advances, I could be out of a home. You want me to stay here forever so you can get your pleasure off it, doctor."

You couldn't help the moans that bubbled out of your body, your hips that rocked uncontrollably, your clit that begged for friction, and your little hole that cried for a stretch. Humiliation bounded tears from your eyes.

He was right.

"Johan I'm so--"

"A-Ah… Haa." He moaned, and wildly your eyes found him again.

His eyes shut.

You glanced down.

He was hard.

You glanced up.

His eyes opened.

Slowly the pieces came together in your mind.

Johan could see your gears turning.

He was toying with you. He was getting off to all of the torture he put you through this past year.

You blinked once.

That asshole.

Before you knew it you crashed your lips onto his angrily, muttering out a string of curses as you wrapped your legs about his waist. "Fuck you, Johan. You're so horrible." You muttered between the kiss, unable to stop your hips that grinning against the bare skin of his waist.

He laughed but you were quick to interrupt it with your tongue. You slipped your muscle deep into the services of his mouth, sliding wild hands into his hair and pulling at it tightly. You lapped and licked at his inside, feeling your pussy burn for attention. His tongue was even quicker to steal yours as he hobbled back into his room, his hands supporting you to him. He turned about and laid you down on the bed, breaking the kiss to pant.

His room was dark, with the only air of light being the moon glow drifting from the window about you. It caught his eyes in a captivating icy loom, and your hips bucked forward in anticipation. Your mouth began to water.

You waited for this for so long. He leaned down and found your mouth again, sucking on your wet muscle, milking an aggressively dirty moan from your confused lips. His hands quickly invaded your space again, and with total carelessness for your well-being, he clawed away your pajama shirt, unbuttoning it tiresomely.

Being a well-respected surgeon you always had respect and might power in your hands. You had lives in your hands, you had to always be in control. But here with Johan, as he brutally pulled your bra up and nipped at your bottom lips, he didn't give you a second to think- no he stole your power right from under your nose. His bullying bites dipped into your neck, licking and slurping at your throat like some sort of wild beast.

His canines dragged harshly against the cost of your throat, his body etching around your life- the life he had planned to take years ago. His penis twitched hard in his pants, feeling his balls get heavier by the second.

He's never had sex like this. Before it was all perfect, he'd pleasure his partner, they'd give him what he wanted. Whether it was money, information, silence, or just to seem normal, it all was painfully forced. Here, he could fully intact his deepest desires to hurt you. For total domination over you but in a safe way.

The paradox of wanting to hurt you but wanting to be safe about it reigned ruler in his mind and coated his brief with serious precum. Look at you, you tamed his monster.

He dipped his tongue from the cup of your collarbone in a lengthy stripe to your chin, feeling his eyes lid as he succumbed to your intoxicatingly confused moans. His mouth parted and sucked on the base of your neck, careless with how his teeth rubbed against your skin. Your mind had shut off, the thoughts of stress that typically plagued your everyday growing deathly quiet. Every part of you agreed that right now you needed his cock so deep inside of you.

You needed him to pleasure himself on you like you were some sort of toy. You arched forward when he finally parted from his barrage of sucking and biting. He leaned up and stared down at you with hunting eyes, his hands reaching and pulling and twisting your poor nipples in his hands.

"Ah! Oohh." You cried in shock, his winding of you was direct and sharp, sending vicious sensations to your drenched hole. His face grew in satisfaction at your frantic sounds, a sadistic giggle trailing from his lips.

"Of course you'd like that. You dirty doctor." He snickered as your eyes looked deep into his belittling glare. You moaned hoarsely at his words, feeling your thighs grind against each other. One of his hands flees from your hand and dives into his shorts again. As you watch breathlessly, he pulls himself out. His cock springs out of its confinement, his penis pulsing with furious veins, his cock head a pungent red as his slick made his member a wet mess.

You moaned egregiously at the sight, your arching back hardening into a locked state. He did all this teasing and he was just as wet as he was. He was just as uncontrollable as you felt. "Johaan." You whined reaching up to touch it.

He swatted your hand away, and punishingly so his other hand pulled your nipple. "I didn't say you could touch. You dont deserve to touch." He hissed as you whimpered out. "You've lost all sorts of manners, haven't you? So wild from all those toys you put up inside you. Does it make you feel better about yourself?" He says in his painful, precise rasp.

You gasp and grunt at his words, feeling your clit pulse and cry out. Your mind was becoming a jumbled mess, your crying sex overtaking your every move. You couldn't take it anymore, and you slipped your hand down your pajama shorts, diving past your underwear to bully your hole. The restricting pressure of your underwear snapping back against your knuckles limited your movement, but your mind was savage.

You plugged your little hole with two fingers, rocking and plunging them hideously.

"A-Aah… Doctor..." You heard Johan suddenly cry. Your eyes flickered up to his and his face was incredibly red. His jaw was slack and his eyes bulged out in surprise. "You're so-ugh wh--" Was all he could say before he leaned his head back, his hand jerking himself furiously. Your orgasm was building harshly at the pretty sight.

"Mngh… Ah!" You cried. There was Johan on top of you, with each leg of his straddled against your side. He stood up above you on his knees. Careless with how he fucked his fists inches away from your face, his body hovering over your stomach. The view from below was ridiculing, and his furious pumps splattered precum all over your face and neck.

"Scheiße!" He cursed, his fapping growing wild, dysregulated, and brisk. He did this as if you were truly nothing to him, like a pornographic magazine that he couldn't get enough up. That he pent himself off so he could cum on the pages. It made you hornier than ever.

Your hole clenched hard around your fingers, your breath stammering si hard your brain had to convince your pussy's vice grip to loosen so you could pummel yourself. "Te-- augh! Tell me ah… Tell me I'm a whore uh-ah-again Johan." You whined, unaware of how saliva drooped pit of the corners of your mouth.

"You're so filthy, d-dirty, doctor. Whore." He gulped, watching his head lean back farther, revealing the peak of his neck and chin. Your orgasm was becoming familiar to you as you arched your hips high forward, plunging your hands faster and faster, matching Johan's rapid pumps.

"J-Johan… Johan!" His name became the only word you knew.

Your voices became a choir of delighted song, the sounds loud and free, and your eyes were privy to soak up all of his beautiful cries. His voice grew raspy and higher for each pump, his orgasm trailing near to yours. You dropped your mouth open wild, your tongue barreling out to catch the wayward fluids flying towards you.

"Ich k-komme, aah Doktor. Komme." He growled out. Your orgasm burst deep onto your fingers at the word, your eyes fleeing back up to the crevices of your head. Your hole wrapping deadly tight against your fleeting fingers.

With a few high sounds from Johan, you blinked out of your high, forcing your eyes open to watch. His head leaned back down to you, his teeth bared and clenched tensely, while his eyebrows folded upwards angelically. His blue eyes peeked out from his daze and found you, tongue out and ready for his disposal. With one final cry, the sight sent him over the edge.

White, hot ropes shot out from him and onto your nose, his hand quickly redirecting his aim to splatter onto your tongue and teeth. He shot heavy, long-winded loads with hard pants, his hands shaking trying to contain his excited high.

With heavy pants, his cock sent its final queue of hot cum and softened slightly. The room was filled with you and Johan's doggish pants, trying to catch our breaths from your ecstasy.

"Johan." You mewled pulling your hand out of yourself. You reached up for him and he buried himself into your arms, digging a whorish needy tongue into your mouth. His body hovered over yours, with his chest slumped against you. You whined into the sloppy kiss, but it didn't last as his wet mouth brushed you on his way down. His forehead leaned into the bed next to you, his bottom flying into the air weakly.

"Scheiße." He mumbled again but it was quieter this time.

Now that the high was running to a close. Humiliation and embarrassment were piercing his pale blue eyes. Instead of cuming deep inside the doctor, the object of his fantasies for months, he got too excited and came all over her. She didn't even get to touch him once. How pitiful had he become since becoming her housewife?

"Johan that was amazing." He heard her sweet voice say. The shame was building as he hid his face in the crook of her neck. Her hands slid up his back to chase him, her dirty slicked-up finger intertwining worriedly into his hair. "Johan? What's wrong sweetheart." You whispered comfortingly, and his heart whined at the sound.

He was becoming too soft, too attached.

He couldn't fight his words.

"I came on you. Not in you." It was humiliating. He was reduced this low. By this woman?

Your eyebrows quirked up with a hearty laugh. "Then cum in me, crybaby."

He blinked.

Crybaby?

Johan slid out of your neck with unreadable eyes and stern brows. You blinked at his stare, one you were quick to identify as his surprise.

Suddenly his face melted into a loving smile, his eyes brewing with butterscotch affection. A cooing laugh fell out of him. Under the twinkling moonlight, he truly did look like an angel. Your breath caught in your lungs. His lips leaned down and kissed you politely, a dance of short bubbly friction. "Alright, my dear. Let me take care of you." He said as his hands nicely gripped your hips, helping you to turn onto your stomach.

What?

What was that? He was a totally different person? An angelic sweetheart, just like the man who cooked every meal for her. The man who unpacked her home and did her laundry so innocently.

You couldn't help but moan in confused eagerness. He lifted your hips to place a pillow under you, propping you up so that you didn't have to arch for him. You gulped and mewled again in confusion, feeling as he guided the rest of your unbuttoned shirt off you.

"Johan," you whined childishly, "I can't take this." You felt your hole clench again on nothing. His behavior was so overwhelming, your pussy began to scream needly.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now." He said, and his tongue innocently and neatly swiped the nape of your neck. He kissed the middle of your bare back gently in reassurance before his gentle fingers slid off your panties and shirts in one long swoop. The air nipped at your exposed sloppy sex, the sight of it making him groan. He grabbed the softness of your ass, giving it a tender grope.

He leaned into your sweetness, pulling your lips apart with each of his thumbs. Peering into your hole, he could see your leaking cum and slick water out of you, dribbling down your folds and onto your messy clit. With a deep inhale he memorized your scent.

"Oh, darling." He sighed wistfully.

You melted like butter into your arms. "Fill me up, please. Sweetheart, I need it." Your voice matched his contagiously charming tone.

"Yes, dear. I will." He let go and you whined at it. You peered back at him while he shuffled out of his shorts, his exposed body being revealed to you once again. He caught you looking as he leaned back dear to you, kissing your lips before lining up his cock to your sweet hole.

"Going in now, alright my dear?" He whispered. His tip kissed you civilly, and the sensation took everything in you not to clench down. Soon the innocent kiss dipped deeper, as a quarter of his length plunged into your cum lubed body. "Aa-ah." He groaned delightfully, choking out the sound as his breath grew heavy. Your eyes rolled back, your jaw falling slack.

"Here's the rest." He hummed as he pressed himself fully inside you, the stretch bonding through your body. He wasn't the girthiest, but his length was piercing. You could feel him snuggly bump your service as you mewled out in sync with him.

"Oh god, Johan." You clenched around his pretty cock, earning a delectable moan from him.

"Darling…" He chuckled, leaning in to pepper your shoulder. Before you could beg for friction, Johan began to move slow tantalizing strokes. The kind you were privy to distract yourself with after a long day. You cried out at the feeling, more heat rising to your flushed face. "I memorized this rhythm to all your moans." You shivered at his hushed words in your ear.

"You're so cr-creepy…" You moaned.

"You like that, don't you? Doctor." He groaned, loosing himself in the pumps. You couldn't say anything against him either. "On good days," His thrusts turned erratic, "You fucked yourself like this- ugh. I always guessed… Mmh. It was cause you were rushing to… See me." He was right. You gasped and cried out.

"Too fast, Johan!" You cried, your gummy walls struggling to adjust to his sudden speed.

"This way is too sloppy." He muttered. Painfully he janked himself out again, causing your body to sputter and arch harshly. "You need something like this." Johan slipped back in again, his cockhead ramming straight into your bladder. You jerked forward with a start, crying out loudly.

His hand laid against the back of your perked head, guiding your face back down into the bed. "Relax, Doktor." He laughed airy. He thrust strongly into you, never failing to hit your sweet spot. His thrusts were tender and precise, each slap of your ass against his hips made him grumble out a groan.

"Johan! Ooh! F-fuuck." You groaned. His cock pumped into your walls, each hit making you leak out sloppily. Your wetness squleched and squleched deep into the night air, the smell of your needy sexes filling the closed room.

The tantalizing strokes numbed your mind, your breath heaving, your saliva building on your parched tongue. You arched your head down deep into the sheets, overstimulating and tickling your pussy wickedly. Your cries were loud, rough, and painfully uneven as the pleasure choked up air in your throat.

Johan's bitter cock twitched and seized under your tight, suffocating walls. Sweat beaded onto his forehead as his body begged for another release. His senses dulled, the sound of your sweet noises and the taste of your lovely pussy around his dick was sinfully extraordinary. His forehead leaned against the fruit of your shoulder, perching himself into the moment as his thrusts grew rapid. He mewled out, bullying nails digging into your hips as he slammed you.

His sounds were lewder than you could ever imagine, his loud moans impregnating your sorry ears. His sounds were growing higher and rasper just like before, and you clenched around him in anticipation.

"Cum inside!" You managed out from between his defilement of you.

He groaned wild and long, shutting his eyes tight. His balls heaved, his teeth clenching shut.

Your pussy sucked and pulled at his sweet cock, delicious wetness scorching his senses with mind fucking pleasure. His thrusts grew sloppy and erratic, his moans weighted. "Komme!" He cried as leaned his head upwards, bucking his hips and delivering his load deep into the breath of your cervix.

His hot cum shot deep inside you, as you mewled out and came all over his angelic cock. Johan panted weakly, slapping his hands down on either side of your head, arching his hips deep down. His shoulders dropped in satisfaction, jaw slacked with a shiver trailing down his body.

Meekly, he slid out of you, his cock whining for the hotness of your insides once more. The mess that spilled out of you was disgusting, as barrels of mixed white cum and slick drooped out of your whorish hole and waterfalls down your folds.

You moaned with a stammer, gripping chunks of the bedsheets.

"Flithy, dirty, doktor." He sighed in content.

And every part of you was satisfied too.

[keroanya]

it's everyone's favorite time of the year, and there's no better time for me to come back to writing for a bit <3

so, here's my list of my kinktober prompts for this year, along with the characters i'll be writing for.

reminder, this is an 18+ event, so, minors fuck off please.

due to the contents of some of these prompts, the writings will only be posted on ao3 for certain days. i'll make sure to provide a link to my ao3 post as well as a warning beforehand!

unfortunately, as i have some worsening health issues, some of these fics may be a tad bit late to be posted. of course, i will try to publish these all on time. love you guys ! <3

- updates will come out when i can get them out <3 prompts will continue to be published outside of october

day 1 | voyeurism - gyro zeppeli -- day 2 | dacryphilia - doppio and diavolo day 3 | size difference - jotaro kujo day 4 | mutual masturbation - gappy higashikata day 5 | femdom - weather report day 6 | blood kink - DIO (ao3 exclusive~) day 7 | sex pollen/gangbang - la squadra

wlw will be real this week. day 8 | strap on - balalaika day 9 | vanilla - mitsuri kanroji day 10 | mommy kink - kaato higashikata day 11 | exhibitionism - jolyne kujo day 12 | multiple orgasms - ermes costello day 13 | facesitting - casca day 14 | lingerie - yasuho hirose

day 15 | surprise ! day 16 | accidental stimulation - haruchiyo sanzu day 17 | degredation - il dottore day 18 | praise kink - al haitham day 19 | cockwarming - neuvillette day 20 | outdoor sex - guts day 21 | fuck or die - guts & griffith (ao3 exclusive~)

day 22 | floor sex - johan liebert day 23 | car sex - ghiaccio day 24 | office sex - yoshikage kira day 25 | first time & exhibitionism - noriaki kakyoin day 26 | breeding - young! joseph joestar day 27 | sex tape & threesome - prosciutto & risotto nero day 28 | edging - enrico pucci

day 29 | somnophilia & cnc - narciso anasui (ao3 exclusive~) day 30 | monsterfucking - diego brando (ao3 exclusive~) day 31 | surprise!

[writtenbyjeanofarc]

STRIPPED

▶︎ TRACK 001.

bad liar | Johan Liebert x Reader

Banner Credit: @bunnysrph

Content Warnings: manipulation, inexperience, codependency, seeing through people, psychological play, implied nsfw, but still sfw.

“Do you think your sin will disappear when you lie?”

He’s circling me; it was like we were in a tango. His hands were formally placed in the back, and his mind probably wanders while I bow my head out of pure shame. He’s stripped me off of my dignity, I’m unable to form coherent sentences upon uttering what my pride told me to say.

His hand reached for the right areas, he’s being incredibly unfair. His eyes wandered. It was almost as if he saw right through me. This damn monster.

I refused to look back. I had to keep searching, search for a place to stare blankly into oblivion. I wouldn’t dare look back at the monster’s eyes as he cornered me like a hungry predator. But no, he wasn’t just any predator, he’s just playing dangerously innocent. I felt like a small, curious nymph before his gaze; he looks calm, but definitely not pure. This man was definitely far from being pure, I believe he’s hiding something from the untrained eye.

But I just know he got one or two things on his mind.

I bit my lip. My thoughts are filled with nothing but inner despair—I had to be careful with what I chose to mutter.

“I’m not lying, you’re just…..you’re just assuming things about me. I know myself far better than you do, Johan.”

“Johan, huh?” he asked, his bedroom eyes cornering me. I wasn’t looking up at him, but I can feel his haunting lips shape a crooked smile while I could only wish to escape. “Those sweet old memories of me going by that name. I’m quite surprised you’d catch up to me by deciding to pick up my call.”

“I answered your call out of respect,” I replied. “It’s not….it’s not like I like you or anything….”

“Oh? But you’re trembling. Are you perhaps curious? They say curiosity killed the cat, and it seems to me as if I dragged the cat in.”

“What?”

“Don’t play innocent, missy. You know your intentions have been quite obvious.”

“I don’t exactly know what you’re talking about, Johan.” I frowned at his remarks.

“I was just testing the waters. And it turned out that my then assumptions were correct. [Name], let’s be clear. You know very well that no one would want to sleep with you tonight, right?”

“Wha- I never said that!” I exclaimed.

“You never said anything, indeed. In fact, you never really say much. You don’t really do much, [Name].”

“So that means, you just called me for nothing?” I retorted.

He’s pausing. He looked elsewhere. This was my time to run away. He seems defeated. This was my chance. I tried to push him away. Not literally. I tried to deny him. I lifted my foot and stared at the exit.

“Staring into space, little one? Perhaps I can help with that.”

“Let go!” I retaliated. He raised his eyebrow at my response thereafter. “Oh, I’m sorry, I….didn’t mean to frighten you or anything. I just….I don’t know. Do I actually spend the night?”

“Sssshhhh…..you’re not leaving. Spend the night.”

He’s pulling me closer, I try to push him away, but he pulled me in. He’s calm, but his grip was far too strong. Next thing I know, he’s battling for access. I shivered, no fucking way. I struggled against his grasp, not because I didn’t like it, but because of my fears.

What if he’d discard me after this?

He pulled away.

“Such a sensitive, fragile little angel.” Johan smiled, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. He smiled. Even his smile was fake. “I’m glad you picked up the phone.”

I frowned at the remark.

“Why the sour face, angel? I just tell it like it is.”

I can’t speak, I can’t retaliate. But he’s got me in a trance, so I gave in. He’s there to show me the ropes, and that’s all I could ever lean on for the rest of my life.

“You’re lying to yourself. Is it a lie you don’t just tell yourself, but to me as well? Too bad. I see through you.”

“I-“

“You’re trembling. Is it because of fear? Or is it simply because you can’t stand one day looking away from me?”

“No.”

“You’re lying once again, so typical of your kind indeed.”

He lowered his voice, he’s being cruel. I tried to object but he pulled me in, and he’s losing his patience. I closed my eyes, not because I didn’t want it to stop.

It felt good, far too good.

The time ticked. I could hear the clock ticking as he slowly, yet skillfully explored every inch of me. Well, not all inches, but just the right amount. It was painfully awkward, but he pulled off our confrontation so well.

Then everything came to a halt.

That intoxicating voice of his spoke once more.

“I guess it’s time for you to reach home. I have one last thing to ask of you before we part ways.”

“What is it, Johan?” I asked.

“Don’t ever make me forget you.”

[hosuuuus]

(my first attempt at fluff. Have mercy on me.)

(cw: uhhh nothing much. just good ol Johan statue of Lieberty getting a bad case of cuteness aggression with his dear wholesome friend and trying out a different form of affection with em', reader talks casually with johan, calls him "dude" and stuff like that.)

———

"Truth."

You choose it again: same as your last previous turns. Idly resting your head on your folded arms on the table, while looking out the window in passing. Doing whatever can pass the time right now. The lecture room is still drowsily empty, save for the two of you. Why Johan insists on going into classes this early is beyond you.

(something something- "it's good to be prepared and not miss out-", blah blah blah- "you get to choose which seats are the best suited for each subject—", yadda yadda yadda, "(name)? are you still listening?—" end quote.)

"Again?"

Johan asks you with a slight mixture of curiosity and amusement. gentle voice matching the mellow and idle atmosphere right now. both of you in agreement to play this small game out of a muted sense of boredom.

"Not that I mind you giving me your thoughts and opinions so freely, but are my questions that engaging or do you just purposefully not want to do a dare?"

"Probably." you shrug softly, resting all the more into your arms, body slumping further onto your chair. "You'll probably make me do something weird if I choose dare."

"Such as?"

"I don't know dude." you're bored, but you're not that bored. "Maybe dare me to embarrass myself in front of class, or... or dare me to show you my phone! Lord knows what you'll do with whatever you find in there."

His brow slightly quirks up a bit for a second before it rests down again into its calm position. A small smile spreads across him at your somewhat instilled fear of not choosing a dare and even forming a somewhat "strategy" on this little made up game for kids.

"No one is going is forcing to make you do anything you don't want to do, (name). it's just a game, not an event of life and death."

Okay that's... true. But still, either it's from your passive boredom that makes you take this game so seriously right now, or it's some sort of instinct formed in childhood to protect you from being dared to pick up a gross slimy worm in the playground; you refuse to just do a dare all willy nilly. So you negotiate.

"...Can we do one each?"

Johan gives a small nod at your proposition. "Alright. If you do one, I'll do one. I'll even let you dare me first if it will put you at ease."

"Yay."

You take the time to think about this opportunity, before something that's been recent on your mind pops up.

"Can I borrow your face for a second? That's my dare."

"And you accuse me of being the one to make you do something weird."

"Shush! Not in a weird way or anything. I just want to test something real quick, and us playing this game is the only time I can have you willingly let me touch your face."

Johan tilts his head just slightly, he doesn't seem too eager to do your bold request... but he relents anyway, curious to see what you'll do with it. He nods to give you the go, which you do— bringing both your hands up to start cupping his face lightly.

Somehow expected, Johan does not bother to flinch away when your hand comes up to cup at his jaw. That's cool. It's amazing how still he can be, though you do slightly notice he does find himself, surprisingly, putting in some sort of... conscious effort in keeping himself still.

"...What are you are testing?" he asks you softly.

The slight conscious effort you noticed increase again when you start guiding his jaw to tilt to the side. You look closer at him for a few more seconds, he does as well. Watching you and studying your features as you are doing with him.

His skin is... well, it's smooth. No surprise there. Johan's the type of guy that always makes you feel afraid of "dirtying" him with how kept his appearance is. Who knows, maybe he'll get an acne or two just from the touch of your hands on his face. Though you reckon he has a good skincare routine as well (if he tells you he doesn't wash his face and it's just his genes, you might just opt to throttle him out a window right now).

You guide his jaw to tilt the other side now, and then you guide him to look up a bit. Closely watching the skin on his face and the stretch of his neck, focusing on his chin and underneath, then you finally stop.

"Yeah... you are never getting stubble my guy."

" ...Stubble."

"Uh-huh. Saw this Oliver Queen fella in the comics, has a really cool beard and moustache for a blonde guy! Made me wonder if you'd ever grow a beard or a moustache on ya' Johan."

"A guy in the... comics."

Your friend stays silent for a while. Looking like he's either very much confused, or very much done with the situation. Both maybe.

"... I see."

You retract your hands (not before giving him a small pat on the cheek that has him slightly trying to keep himself still again) and bring them up nonchalantly so you can stretch yourself out and do a little yawn. You don't notice the slight crease in Johan's brow that disappears in a milisecond when you take your hands away.

"Welp, guess you're saving money and the environment from razors and aftershave. Anyways, your turn."

He pauses in thought. Hands tracing the part where your palms touched.

"... May I also borrow your face? I'd like to test something as well."

You shrug before you lean over your desk, putting your face out for him to take into his hands. It's fair. He let you did it to him, so now you should too.

Johan gently cups your face in his hand as well, handling it with a surprising softness and fragility. His hands aren't warm, and you'd make a remark about it and scold him for that, but you can feel the warmth slowly build up the longer he holds you.

You feel the faint movement of circles being drawn onto your cheek, probably his thumbs no doubt. It's almost... tender, which is weird, coming from a guy like... well, from a guy like Johan. But hey, if it feels nice and surprisingly soothing, who are you to complain? You'll enjoy the impromptu experience of what all those stray cats you see and pet on the street must feel. Having your face being held by his hands is actually making you feel quite relaxed. Soft.

You feel him him apply a bit more... pressure as he cups your face. Leading to you to be as curious as about your friend as he was with you a second ago.

"And what are you testing Johan Liebert?"

"Your endurance," he hums, "or, more accurately… your tolerance."

"My tolerance? Tolerance for wha-"

Suddenly you feel the pressure on your cheeks increase immensely. Making your face pucker like a fish for a moment. His thumbs also stop its gentle caresses and instead start digging into your skin as he pinches the skin of your face with the rest of his fingers. He shakes your head a bit almost tossing it side to side as he continues squeezing, and pinching, and prodding. Like how a grandma would fuss and coo her grandchild (said grandma pinching you with the aggression of maybe 5 redbull drinks). You swear you can see him grinning slightly if your vision could actually clear up from having the skin around your eyes pulled taut into different places and having your head shaken like a goddamn snow globe—

"—Asshole!" you smack Johan's hands away, and soothingly rub the area on your cheeks where he pinched.

"Do I look like fucking play-dough to you!?"

"Maybe. You could have fooled me."

Johan lets out a small, soft, and a surprisingly rare chuckle while bringing a hand up to soothe the affected place as well (Which of course you don't trust. Swatting his hands away to protect your precious face from him, resulting in making him laugh a little more).

"After all, I was testing how much you'd tolerate more of that from me. Preferably in the near future"

[riewritten]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀 | READ ON AO3

JOHAN LIEBERT x GENDER-NEUTRAL!READER

˚ · .─ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A reclusive man haunted by a dark past makes a routine of settling in from one remote village to another, it is until his solitude is disrupted by a warmhearted neighbor who slowly unravels his barriers.

˚ · .─ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k

˚ · .─ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: post-canon, neighbors, developing friendship, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, romance but only if you squint, johan goes by a different name, a bit self-indulgent

The morning was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you like a heavy blanket. Johan—or the man who used to be Johan—stood by the edge of a small, weathered dock. The lake before him mirrored the gray sky above, its stillness a fitting companion to his isolation.

Here, in the shadow of the Austrian Alps, no one asked questions. No one looked too closely at the soft-spoken man who had arrived a year ago with little more than a duffle bag and a name scribbled on forged papers: Elias Meyer.

The locals in the nearby village whispered their theories about him. Some said he was a writer escaping the noise of the city; others believed he was a broken man fleeing a past too heavy to bear. No one dared to press him for details, not when his polite smiles came with an unshakable undercurrent of sadness.

Johan—Elias—had chosen this place for a reason. It was far enough from his past that even the most persistent ghosts couldn't follow.

One afternoon, as he carried firewood from the forest to his small cabin, he noticed a group of children playing by the lake. Their laughter echoed through the valley, sharp and carefree, a sound Johan hadn’t heard in what felt like lifetimes.

When was the last time he had heard it again?

With the question, memories of him and Anna running and laughing around the flower fields surged in his mind like a hidden plague aching to be let out. He tried to shake it off, which thankfully, did when a ball suddenly rolled towards him, coming to a stop near his boots.

One of the children, a boy no older than eight, hesitated before approaching him with wide, curious eyes, “Excuse me, Sir.”

Johan bent down, picking up the ball. For a moment, he froze, staring at the object in his hands. Memories of other children, other faces, tried to claw their way to the surface. But he pushed them back, focusing on the boy before him.

“Here,” Johan said softly, handing the ball back.

The boy smiled, and Johan felt something shift—a flicker of warmth where there had only been cold.

Weeks passed, and Johan began to notice the children more often. They waved to him from the village road, their carefree energy drawing him out of his solitude in ways he didn’t understand.

One day, the same boy from before approached him again.

“Mr. Meyer,” the boy said, using the name Johan had adopted. “Can you help us build a raft?”

Johan blinked, surprised. “A raft?”

“For the lake. We want to float it across and see who can paddle the fastest.”

Johan hesitated. He had spent so long avoiding attachments, avoiding the messiness of human connection. But something in the boy’s earnest expression made him nod.

As they worked together, something unexpected happened. Johan began to laugh—not the hollow, calculated laugh of his past, but something genuine, something that startled even himself.

Months turned into a year, and Johan—no, Elias—became a quiet but integral part of the village. He never shared much about himself, and the villagers respected his privacy. But he was always there to lend a hand, whether it was fixing a broken fence or helping the children with their schoolwork.

He didn’t try to forget his past; that would have been impossible. He didn't try to be a good person to reclaim himself either, as that would've been more impossible. Instead, he let it serve as a reminder of what needs to ponder as he lives the rest of his life in solitude.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the mountains, Johan sat by the lake with the boy who had first approached him.

“Mr. Meyer,” the boy asked, “why do you live here all alone?”

Johan smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Sometimes, people need to start over.”

“Because?”

“No reason, really. They just need to. Maybe to see the world a lot clearer than they did in their old lives…?”

The boy nodded, not fully understanding what his blonde friend was on.

Years later, Johan’s presence in the village becomes a story the locals would pass down—a kind stranger who came out of nowhere and left with no warning. No one knew where he went or why he had left in the first place.

But those who remembered him would always recall his kindness, quiet but comforting, faint but indubitably paved more warmth in their lives.

And somewhere, in places even quieter than the village he had already gone through, Johan Liebert immersed in his new name—quite surprised that monsters like him didn’t actually need to consume another’s existence just to gain one. For the first time, he was simply a man, trying to live—at least, that was the routine he had developed for years and years. Elias Meyer, a man almost unnoticeable building himself a haven from one remote town to the other. Johan had no plans of changing it. 

Even when he decided to settle in another remote village to check on an old friend (without making his old identity known, of course), he had no plans of changing it. Elias Meyer is an existence that will always be bound to leave.

The mornings in this town were colder than the last one. The frost was biting at the air before the sun had fully risen. The uncomfortable weather might’ve been too cozy for someone like him, and yet his resolve was unwavering—he is Elias Meyer, and Elias Meyer is an existence that would be always bound to leave—it is until you started appearing at his door with delectable breakfasts at hand.

You had moved to this little village years ago after graduating college, and ever since, the neighbors had perceived you as a bright newcomer with an eagerness to meet each one of them. Poor Elias, they thought to themselves humorously, because they just know his preference for solitude—even to the point of owning a cabin at the edge of town—would have no say once faced with your resolute extroversion.

You perceived Elias as that tall, blonde man whose face looked carved from stone—a beauty so ethereal it’d be a waste if he wasn’t basking in the sun for everyone to see every morning. He barely acknowledged anyone. He kept to himself, slipping into town only for essentials, his words clipped but polite. And unfortunately for you, most of the neighbors could respect his solitude.

But you couldn’t.

When you first saw him at the market buying his fair share of supplies and vegetables, he has unknowingly bewitched you. His beautiful, distant face seemed wrapped in shadows you couldn’t decipher. And perhaps you're a cat whose curiosity would someday get you killed, or perhaps a moth doomed to die by its entrancement to the fire. The neighbors were right, much to their excitement—Elias is doomed to be your project.

The first morning you knocked on his door, you had a basket in hand—freshly baked shortbread cookies, a jar of honey, and a thermos of hot tea.

When he opened the door, his expression was unreadable, pale blue eyes scanning you with a calm detachment that made your stomach flutter.

“Good morning, my new neighbor!” you chirped, holding the basket out. “I figured you might want some breakfast.”

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze cool but not unkind. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t even tried it yet!” you insisted, pushing the basket forward. “I made it myself.”

There was a long pause, the kind that might have made anyone else shrink back. But not you. You smiled, unwavering, until he finally sighed and took the basket from your hands.

“Thank you,” he said again, quieter this time. Then he closed the door.

It was all it took for him to take note of your existence? Hell, he looked at you for a solid minute from head to toe, as though taking in your presence before his very eyes! You left his doorstep feeling victorious.

The next morning, you knocked again. And the morning after that.

At first, he didn’t seem to know what to do with you. He would accept the food with a quiet nod, barely saying a word before closing the door. But over time, you noticed subtle changes—with how he lingered a little longer at the threshold, and with how his eyes softened just the slightest when he saw you.

“You really don’t have to do this,” he said one morning, as you handed him a bowl of steaming soup.

“I know,” you replied with a grin, “but I want to.”

He stared at you, as though trying to puzzle you out. “Why?”

“Because you look like you could use a friend.”

The words seemed to unsettle him. He didn’t reply, but this time, he didn’t close the door right away.

Weeks passed, and your morning visits became a routine. He started inviting you inside—not for long, just enough time to sip tea or exchange a few words.

You learned his name was Elias Meyer, though something in the way he said it made you wonder if it was real. You didn’t press him for details; you could tell he valued his privacy, and you could at least respect that despite the things you couldn’t.

But little by little, you saw glimpses of the man beneath the quiet exterior. He was incredibly observant, noticing small details about you that no one else did. He rarely smiled, but when he did, it felt like the sun breaking through clouds.

One morning, you brought him a basket of wildflowers along with the usual breakfast.

“They reminded me of you,” you said, setting the basket on his table.

He gave you a strange look, his lips twitching as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or frown. “Wildflowers reminded you of me?”

“Sure,” you said brightly. “They’re quiet, but they still make the world a little more beautiful.”

Despite the amusing remark, Johan seemed to remember something from a long past, something that made him stare at the flowers way longer than intended. Then, you saw him smile—not a ghost of one, but a real, genuine smile. It was fleeting, but it made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t quite understand.

“You should smile more, Elias,” you blurted, which in turn dissipated Johan’s smile with a clear of his throat.

“Not my thing.”

But still! You quietly gushed. What a beautiful smile! You went home victorious yet again when dusk came.

One evening, as the sun set behind the mountains, you found yourself sitting on the porch of his cabin. He had made tea for the two of you, a small gesture that felt monumental considering how reluctant he’d been to accept your kindness at first.

“Why do you keep coming here?” he asked suddenly, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’m not the kind of person people like you should want to be around.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “What makes you say that?”

His eyes darkened, a shadow passing over his face, and yet he stayed silent, refusing to answer. It didn't take long for you to put the pieces together. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “We all have pasts, Elias. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a future.” For a moment, he looked at you as though you were something incomprehensible, something he couldn’t quite believe was real.

The days turned into weeks, then months, and slowly, Johan—or Elias, as you knew him—began to change. He still valued his solitude, but he didn’t seem to mind sharing it with you.

He never told you the full truth about his past, not that you ever asked. You didn’t need to know who he had been to see the man he was becoming. 

Johan was getting accustomed to his new normal, but then it changed again.

It is a change that, perhaps, would require Johan to rethink the duration of his stay in your village. How strange, one might think, for Johan had developed more disdain for permanence ever since he started living like this. And he only came here to check on an old friend, wanted to see if they’re doing well and good, then he’d be quietly taking his leave again, right? Under what instances must his agenda change?

It started the first morning you didn’t knock on his door. Johan didn’t think much of it. People had lives, after all. Perhaps you’d overslept, or maybe you were busy with something else.

The second morning, however, felt different. He found himself waiting by the door longer than he cared to admit, listening for the sound of your footsteps or the soft knock he’d grown accustomed to. When it didn’t come, he stood there for several minutes before stepping back, unsettled.

By the third day, Johan’s thoughts refused to quiet. Something about your absence gnawed at him, a peculiar weight in his chest he couldn’t name. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to expect you, to rely on the brightness you brought with you each morning.

So that evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, Johan found himself standing in front of your small, weathered house.

The curtains were drawn, and the porch light was off, but he could see a faint glow from inside. His knuckles rapped against the door, firm and deliberate.

“Are you there?” he called, his voice steady but quieter than usual.

There was no answer, but the light inside didn’t move. He waited a moment longer before trying the handle. It turned easily, and he stepped inside, his footsteps nearly silent against the wooden floor.

You were on the couch, curled into yourself, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. The sight stopped him cold.

There he goes, his hand stops around the doorframe as he processes the sight. And, perhaps, the realization that out of everyone in this unpopulated village, he might not be the one who does best at masking his real self. You, who were always so buoyant, so irrepressibly bright, were now something else entirely—small, vulnerable, broken in a way he hadn’t seen before. You were still wearing the clothes he had last seen you with three days ago. Your hair was all greasy, and your skin was oily as it wrapped around your body. It must’ve been uncomfortable on your end. Your whole house was chaotic, too. As if it had been abandoned for weeks.

He took a careful step forward, then another, stopping just short of the couch. “You didn’t come this morning,” he said softly, as though the words themselves might shatter you further.

“Please, don’t look at me…” Slowly, you turned to look at him, your face streaked with tears as you realized that it was Elias before you, the last person you’d expect to visit you such an hour—with a face hinting concern, no less. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice raw. “I... I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” 

He crouched beside you, his expression calm but intense, his pale blue eyes fixed on yours. He didn’t move for a long moment, his mind working in ways it hadn’t in years. Comforting others was not something he was accustomed to. His presence had always been a harbinger of destruction, not solace. And yet, here you were, someone who had given him pieces of light he didn’t think he deserved, now in desperate need of something in return.

He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and gently wrapped it around you. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though trying not to startle you.

What surprised you, however, was when he sat down beside you, leaving just enough space to make his presence felt without crowding you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low but not unkind.

You shook your head, clutching the blanket tighter. Minutes passed in silence, broken only by your uneven breaths. Johan sat perfectly still, his gaze fixed on some indeterminate point ahead. He didn’t press you, didn’t offer hollow reassurances. Instead, he stayed there, his calm presence steady against the storm inside you.

When your sobs finally quieted, he heated some tea on your countertop, paving his way onto your kitchen with all the familiar stock of food, all because these were all you’ve been bringing to his door first thing in the morning. Much to his surprise, he sees the familiar basket on the edge of your kitchen—two pieces of sourdough bread, a thermos of tea, and a jar of honey refilled. It means you had an attempt to get out of your house and go to his somehow; it’s just that you failed miserably.

Johan is then confused. What made you sink this low? What have you been amidst all the smiles you shine down upon everyone? The monster inside him spoke; poor human beings, to absolutely despise their real form so much to feign buoyancy and joy when out of their safe havens. How despicable.

This was the first time—since Johan had escaped that dreary hospital bed—that he had gotten confused about which voice he’d let take over inside his pretty little head.  

Without a word, he handed the mug of tea to you, fingers brushing yours briefly. “Drink,” he nonchalantly said. “It will help.”

You hesitated but took the cup, your hands trembling slightly as you brought it to your lips. After you’d finished, Johan stood and moved toward the kitchen again. You watched him, confused, as he opened a few cupboards and began preparing something—toast, simple and unassuming, but warm. When he returned, he set the plate in front of you without a word.

“You don’t have to eat it now,” he said, his voice softer than before. “But you should eat something.”

The care in his actions, so understated yet deliberate, brought fresh tears to your eyes. There you go again, Johan pointed out in his mind. He never thought you’d be a crybaby. As much as you’d like to disrupt his solitude in the morning, it seemed like he has also taken a liking to observing your every action. How unusual.

Johan stayed until you fell asleep, sitting quietly in the chair across from the couch. As your breathing evened out, he leaned back, his gaze lingering on your tear-streaked face.

And again, for the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar—a desire not to fix or manipulate, but simply to be there.

As he left the house that night, locking the door behind him, he had decided that whatever it was that fractured your smile, perhaps it would be in his best interest if he didn’t let it consume you—not if he could help it.

A few days passed, and your routine of appearing before his door first thing in the morning still hadn’t gone back.

What surprised Johan instead was the soft knock on his door in the middle of the night, waking him up from a light slumber. He had mentally thanked himself and his unhealthy sleeping habits because as soon as he opened the door, he found you standing there, shivering, your face pale and your eyes wide with a mix of fear and lingering tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, clutching the edges of your cardigan. “I had... a bad dream.”

Johan studied you silently for a moment, his gaze sharp but not unkind. Without a word, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in.

He didn’t ask what the dream was about as he could sense the weight of it in your shoulders just well—it was in the way you hugged yourself, in your trembling as if the nightmare still had its claws keeping in its wake. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight. It’s just that he didn’t know what to say; it's been decades since he had comforted someone who just woke up due to their own plaguing demons—it was back in the days when his sister, Anna, could still turn to him like this whenever she dreamt of the Red Rose Mansion.

So instead of pressing you on it, he heated some chamomile tea and placed the warm mug in front of you before sitting across the table, repeating his gesture the nights prior.

“You’re safe now,” he managed after a while, voice steady and calm, as if willing you to believe it. 

“Am I?” you blankly stared down the ground, letting the smell of chamomile permeate your senses. It wasn’t long until your words sunk at you: Crap, he might think I’m being sarcastic, and so you muttered, “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to bother you, I just... I just didn’t know where else to go.”

"Worry not, you've come to the right place." What did he mean by that? Isn't he bothered? It's three in the morning, Elias. After a few sips of tea, Johan suggested, “Stay here tonight. The dream can’t follow you here.”

You nodded, thankful, but the lurking question was still in mind: Why? Why would the dream not follow you here?

But Johan knew the veracity of his statement all too well, albeit lost at how and why he was acting so unlikely of his character. You came to the right place, indeed, for the monster won't reach you if he’s here. No monster would dare, that much he knew, as much as he had liked the intrigue of other beings becoming a master of Johan’s own game. “Want to tell me what happened?”

You shook your head, unable to form words.

He stayed silent, as though waiting for you to form your thoughts. And when you failed, he just moved to sit beside you instead, not daring to ask questions or try to pull answers from you.

His presence was quiet but steady—a calm in the storm even—that you couldn’t help yourself but rest your head against his shoulder. He didn’t move away; if he was surprised or irked, he showed no sign of it either. 

Perhaps the only lurking question in his head was that; how do people usually do this? His hand hovered for a moment before he rested it lightly against your back, his touch—perhaps—was perceived by your brain as a silent reminder: Go on, I’ll stay as long as you need.

"Thank you, Elias," you mutter. "And sorry. I'll make it up to you."

Despite Johan feeling all too unfamiliar—not only with the name but with the mere act of being thanked—he didn't show it upfront. It's as if he's a mere watcher, an observer seeing how things unfold. He's definitely not someone to be thanked, he's sure as hell you're not thanking him—as in the person that he is—but rather the person that he's showing in front of you, as Elias Meyers, as the neighbor you had quite taken a liking with.

However, he's not that kind and caring to not use it for his own gain yet. "Show yourself up on my doorstep again once you're all better, preferably with a breakfast at hand to save me the hassle of cooking for myself."

"Tch," you chuckled and rolled your eyes at how silly the payment had sounded, but you nodded anyway. You miss bugging him during the day.

For hours, the two of you sat there, the world outside forgotten. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t carrying the weight alone. You ended up falling asleep on his couch, the blanket he draped over you smelling faintly of the pinewood walls of his cabin.

TAG LIST 🏷️ @chxrry-writes @nefarra @ellabellapumela @skexxll @melonvrs

by the way, FOR MY OIL WELL FIRES LOVERS, allow me to cook... read more here ;) also saying this before anyone asks; no i don't want to continue this yet im sorry. maybe after i finish oil well fires? but if someone wants to then pls do and pamper me some johan liebert fluff :( i am so sad

@xeiin-n @s0m4-sh4rk | SUBSCRIBE/UNSUSCRIBE TO STORIES

[suusoh]

mwehehehehehhhhhheheheh... ok .... so my submission would be...

“Oh, to be eaten alive by you?” Johan chuckles quite loudly. a genuine, sardonically genuine chuckle. “What a pleasant way to die.”

(This one was surprisingly softer than I expected lol. Hope you enjoy riribells! Thank you for sending the dialogue prompt!!)

(tw: cannibalism mention ofc lol, slight yandere? catholic joke at the end, other than that, nothing else surprisingly)

Of course.

Of course, those are the exact things that he would say tonight. Though you really should have known better, than to watch some show with him where cannibalism is the central point of the plot. This one's on you honestly.

"Can—" you take a deep breathe before you continue, "can we please just have one, one, peaceful movie night?"

Johan's sitting beside you on your sofa as both of you stay in for your annual friendly movie night, he's seated one space away from you, a small pillow acting as a barrier between you two. He always maintains that polite way of sitting when he comes over, like how one would sit when being a first time guest in a different home.

The only thing being that this is not in fact, his first time spending time with you here at your place. Numerous hang outs already happening within your humble abode, so maybe it's just your friend's general knack for good posture and deportment.

"Is there something wrong with what I've told you?"

He replies with a slight tilt to his head. You can't tell if it's from feigned or genuine confusion.

Your mouth just silently hangs open in a little 'o' shape. Thinking for a few seconds how you should even respond to that.

"Oh I don't know; the part where we're talking about cannibalism, the part where it's me specifically eating you, or the part where you find it a 'pleasant way to die' as you put it so nicely"

A small smile tugs on his lips.

He always smiles at you when seeing you react. Not in a way that's condescending (sometimes), but out of almost... genuine enjoyment. It didn't matter which approach you took.

Sarcastic or honest, nervous or nonchalant, bantering or silence. it was all the same to him: a front row view to you.

"I'm simply in topic. Are you telling me it's not normal, for people to discuss their thoughts and what they would do in the character's situation, while watching a show or movie?"

He's got you there you gotta admit. But still.

"Are we not even going to dissect your confession?"

"By all means." He nods.

His slight intrigue and the subtle excitement in his posture doesn't go unnoticed by you. You'll brush it off for now, another instance added to your growing personal collection of brushing off Johan's behaviour whenever he's acting kinda odd.

"...Actually, nevermind. I don't know where to begin with this. I'm just gonna not... talk... or think about it anymore."

You huff and lean back on the sofa again. His comment is out of pocket, sure, but you'll just let it go for now. Not really something worth making a big deal over. It's just another case of Johan being, well, Johan. And as he said, it's just harmless talk about what they're watching right now.

He watches you slump. He wants keep up this conversation, but he'll let you have your peace for now.

"Oh, alright then. Should I resume the show? We were— "

"— oh waaaaait wait wait wait a moment... did you say alive?"

You shoot up again. Eyes wide and brows furrowing. You know you look so cartoonishly shocked at him. You don't care. You are shocked. Why hide it?

"Hm, alive, yes. That's what I told you. Do you find this an issue?"

"You are alive in this theoretical cannibalism scenario with me. You are watching it unfold. You are breathing, you are conscious, you are awake, you are whatever else word similar with all those!"

Johan doesn't even move from his position. Still sitting and looking at you all politely. He is amused though.

"Should I not watch it all unfold? I'm sure it would be a pleasant sight..." his eyes look down and to the side as he revisits on some past thoughts. You see what almost looks like affection reflecting inside of it and you don't know how to feel about that. His eyes then return to you, holding his soft gaze with yours.

"I wouldn't mind. I'll even guide you through it."

"you'll... guide... me... through-"

you give up. You're done.

Exasperated groan leaving you as slump and deflate into the sofa . Mind too tired to fully talk about this right now. You grab the pillows near you and stack it around your head to aid in muffling out whatever word Johan says next.

You swear at this point, anything he says just gets progressively worse and worse. Baffling you more than cluing you in.

You enjoy the peace and darkness of your little soundproof world. There's bit of shifting on the sofa, then one by one, the pillows slowly move their way out of your face. He removes the last one, revealing you to the sight of Johan looking over you curiously.

"You know..." he puts the last pillow gently under the base of your head, "... all I'm saying is, just like the characters in the show, if there were truly no presence of food at all, absolutely nothing, and you were starving to the point of dying..."

He lightly pats your head.

"I think it would be a waste to not use my flesh for sustenance. There's nothing bad about it in the situation. Did you know that the people in the Andes mountain plane crash made a pact to their friends, that in the event one of them dies, they want their body to be consumed, in order for the others to keep on living?"

He smiles softly at that and something fills your chest with a slight warmth upon hearing his intentions. His explanation on the matter does make it seem a bit more pragmatic in a survival situation, not to mention it oddly has a sense of camaraderie to it.

"Well that's... very thoughtful of you then." You quirk a brow at him. Playful laugh almost bubbling out of your lips.

"Mhm. The reason I say 'alive'... well, I doubt you'd be able to do it without me instructing you. You'd be a blubbering crying mess while making all the wrong cuts, and I'd have bled out for nothing." He flicks your forehead.

"Hey!"

"Am I wrong?" he follows up by soothingly rubbing the spot where he flicked you.

"If just the mere thought of eating someone who willingly gives up their flesh for you to consume gets you this worried already... I wonder how you'll even be able to fare when you have to do the real thing."

You roll your eyes at him and swat his hand away.

"You're expecting me to act like that's the easiest thing on earth: eating the blood and body of a person you hold dear to you. I can't be normal about that, Johan!"

Johan can feel his finger twitch slightly. He stills himself impassive. How you effortlessly called him a person "dear" to you. Said with so little thought, and yet so undeniably genuine.

He thinks the notion odd, and nearly baseless. He's even sure at one point in his life he'd think you naive for that. But then again, he doesn't blame you. He does present himself as a friend to you... in fact, it's all he's ever been doing with you so far. Surprisingly. Also he did quite literally confess to letting you consume his flesh for your own benefit.

Not that he won't be getting his own benefits in that scenario.

With each bite you'll take, he gets to see parts of himself sustaining you, filling you, going inside of you and eventually being absorbed.

You'll swallow him, and he'd be so deeply ingrained by you at that point that you can't deny that he would be the blood running in your veins, he would be the branches in your lungs making you breathe, the ghost of him living within you, squeezing and squeezing your heart each second to pump it, as he lets you live another day.

He is inside of you;

mentally and physically.

Of course, the sight of you in tears and covered in his blood is just another adorably lovely cherry on top, but he won't tell you that. Saving all those intimate details for himself, preferably when he's alone.

...eating the blood and body of a person you hold dear. I can't be normal about that, Johan!

He chuckles softly. Patting your head again.

"Well, you obviously haven't seen Catholics. If they can do it, so can you."

[lavandulawrites]

I really need to think about something else rn, so please send in asks, thirsts (be over 18 and non anonymous pls as I don’t want minors to interact with NSFW stuff in my blog) or just thoughts🩷 Don’t worry about spamming me

Thank you🫶🏻

[alternatimsnowfall]

I'm morbidly curious as to how this will play out

When you pick a character from the provided list. Say how the date went between you two and how it ended.

[drearyrie]

primary reason of teaching myself how to draw is so i could self-insert to my favorite series

SO, to ride along that enjoyment, if some of you wouldn't mind being my muse, then i'll be more than glad to yassify u in monster universe :D (u can include a canon character beside you along the way, so long as it's not a complicated pose)