#johnny storm drabbles

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥

She was content and in love, she thought she married the one she would spend the rest of her life with. Fate seemed to have another plan for her. One that involved her to finally learn the truth, causing two relationships to be tragically ruined and hidden memories to suddenly come to light. She finally gets on the path she was meant to be on in the beginning.

18+ only please, do not copy, repost or translate our works. You are responsible for your own media consumption. headers are made by me.

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𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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!warning! This series will include heartbreak, divorce, detailed cheating, bad thoughts towards self, betrayal, back-stabbing, horrible relationships, slight gaslighting and manipulation, smut (from cheating and maybe when she finds happiness).

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𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐬:

part 1 - 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

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part 2 - 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥

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part 3 - 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

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part 4 - 𝐢 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞...

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part 5 - 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

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part 6 - 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

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part 7 - 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Good Tidings Your Way Come

Warnings: non/dubcon, allusions to stalking, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: An old face shows up without welcome.

Character: Johnny Storm

Day Three of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - new SO at the family dinner

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You take out the pies you baked the night before and put them on the shelf, juggling around the contents of the fridge to accommodate prepped dishes. Your meticulously planned schedule is outlined on the magnetic whiteboard. The turkey is in and all else has to be timed precisely.  

As you get out the stuffed olives to put pit on the wooden board with all the cheeses and crackers, the doorbell rings. You set the jar down and wipe your hands on your apron. You huff as you hurry out of the kitchen. 

"Why are you knocking?" You call to the door, "go ahead and come on in. You know the rules. Just kick the snow off--" 

You grab the handle, even as you beckon to the expected visitor. One of a few. Maybe their hands are full. Naima is always far too ambitious. You're not quite sure where your youngest got that from. 

You blink at the figure on the other side. It isn't who you expect. Not any of your daughters. It's not anyone you would expect to see on the holiday you've been coveting all month, along with the time off. 

Johnny smiles as he hugs a cardboard box, tufts of tissue paper and bows peeking out over the top. Your face and your heart fall. How did he find you? 

"Hey, cookie, happy holidays," he winks. "Mmm," he sniffs emphatically, "smells good. You still put cranberries in your stuffing." 

You cheeks twitch. You clutch the edge of your apron and gulp, "Johnny, what are you doing here?" 

"Ah, go on, ask me how I found you? You know I hate niceties," he shoves the box towards you, "those are for the girls." 

"Girls?" You utter. 

"Naima, Marcie  and... what was it...Evelina." He recites as he jiggles the box in his arms.  

"How--" 

"Brrr, it's chilly," he steps close until the box presses to you. "Sure is coming down." 

You stare at him, stunned. You bring your arms up to take the box as he sidles in past you. That little voice that follows you from consciousness to nightmare nags in your ear. Stop him! What are you doing? 

"Just gotta warm up," he looks around the entry way as he rubs his hands together, his fingers lighting with licking flames as the air ripples with the heat. That's what you're doing. Being smart. "Too bad about the old place. Heard the landlord was pissed." 

You stare at his hands and the flames that threaten his leather jacket. He's entirely unbothered as his flesh is unaffected by the fire. He parts his hands and snaps his fingers. The flames die. 

"You know pecan's my fave. You make it this year?" 

You can't speak. One mistake. One stupid act of charity and now you're cursed. One year isn't long enough yet you don't think he'll wait so long the next tome. 

"Apple, pumpkin, and pecan," your voice creaks. 

"Mmm, delicious," he unzips his jacket slowly. "Dessert to go with..." he eyes you up and down, "dessert." 

"Please, why are you here?" 

"It's the holidays. It's a time to spend with those who matter--" 

"Johnny," you plead. 

"Don't." He snaps, "you always pulled that pathetic act, didn't you? And I spent all that time trying to comfort you only for you to ditch me--" 

"You... it was a misunderstanding. I only ever wanted a friend," you sniff. 

"I didn't. I just wanted you but I guess you thought you were too fucking good," he sneers. "Funny, seeing as the ex dumped you for that young EA of his." 

"Stop--" you say. 

"Huh, you're right. We don't need to stay hung up on old wounds. It's a time for cheer. To be together." He bends to unlace his boots. "Can't wait to meet the family." 

You watch him move his boots onto the mat. He stands straight and takes the box back. You shiver as his blue eyes stick to you. 

"How about you come back tomorrow--" 

"So you can run again? You're not getting away. Not doing this to me again." 

"I didnt--" you choke as his eyes blaze a vibrant orange. 

"This is an old house. Nice. Bet the baseboards are real oak. I mean foundation's probably concrete but not much without walls." He smirks as he meets your eye, "so, should we put these under the tree?" 

"Um, sure," you agree. 

His threats are subtle but not missed. Your daughters, your home, you. It could all be destroyed by the snap of his fingers. Literally. 

"Probably a bit awkward at first," he says as he enters the living room without invitation.  

You close the front door before you follow. You hover at the door anxiously. He bends to put down the box and unpacks each present before delicately placing them under the decorated tree. 

"I mean, the age difference might be a bit shocking," he stands up with the empty box and it flashes into cinder, falling to the floor in a pile of ash. "Should probably sweep that up, honey." 

You give him a long look. He doesn’t flinch. You leave him to get the broom and dustpan. You return as he nonchalantly paces the room. He admires the decor, toying with the ornaments on the mantel and running his finger along the hanging tinsel. A wisp of smoke wisps after the motion but no sparks fly. 

You gather up the mess on the floor and dump it in the bin. You shut away the broom and pan. Back in the living room, he admires the hung portraits of your daughters. He’s very deliberate in his examination. 

“It’s okay, you know? We’ll work through it as a family. I can only imagine it might be a little weird. To think of how you seduce me. A much younger man than you--” 

“Johnny, I get it. You don’t have to—If you just go, we can talk about this later--” 

“Talk,” he says sharply. “We did a lot of that. Talk, talk, talk,” he puppets his hand with the syllables and faces you. “Then you ran.” 

“I appreciate everything you did for me, but I wasn’t ready--” 

“It’s been over a year so are you ready now?” He snickers as he comes closer, “I mean, that’s rhetorical so...” 

Your lip quivers as he stops right in front of you. His gaze bores into you then slowly descends. He brings his hand up to run his thumb across your lower lip as he bites his own. You wince and he angles his hand to grab your chin gruffly. 

“I’ve waited longer than that. I’ve been patient.” He takes a breath and tilts his head dangerously. “I’ve known where you are. I sat and I watched. Baby, I gave you all the time you need to get past that deadbeat husband.” 

Your lashes web with unspent tears as you pout. You can feel the heat in his hand, ready to singe at his smallest whim. He pulls you toward him and you tense. His breath sizzles around you. 

He raises his other hand and the air whisks as flames jump to life around his digits. You watch them encase his flesh and the thick golden signet around his middle finger. His eyes follow yours to the spectacle of his fiery touch. He looms it closer to you and chokes a whimper for you. The air roils across your face. 

He closes his fist and the flames go out. He’s toying with you. You search his face for any hint of mercy. For any strand of the man you once believed he was. His blue eyes are icy even if his touch is searing. 

He walks you back and you yelp as he lowers his hand to grab your hip. He spins you and you catch yourself on the armchair just in front of you. He jerks you as he tugs on your jeans, the button tugging before popping out to dangle on the thread. He bares your ass as you brace the frame of the chair. 

You cry out as hot metal burns into your flesh. He presses his knuckles against your soft flesh as the ring brands a welt into your flesh. He keeps it there until your whining and writhing, his other hand still hooked around your neck. 

He pulls you back until your spine arches. He steps closer and crushes his hand between your ass and his crotch. He huffs and snarls. 

“This time, you won’t forget who you belong to,” he twists his hand so the metal burns deeper into your skin. “Now stop fucking crying. It’s a special day, we don’t need you ruining it.”

There's voices from outside. You know them well. You flick your lashes as Johnny lets you go and swipe away your tears. You can't ruin today, not for your girls.

"That's a good girl. They wouldn't wanna see mommy crying," he heads for the door. "Especially for no reason. No one likes a drama queen."

You suck back the last of your horror. It's just what needs to be done. Not just to keep yourself safe, but to keep them safe. You were wrong when you thought running would do that. 

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

The Club AU

A collection of drabbles that intersect at the same club.

THE DUFF (Curtis Everett, Snowpiercer)

NIGHTLIFE (Lee Bodecker, The Devil All the Time)

WASTED (Bucky Barnes, MCU)

SNAKE EYES (Loki, MCU)

MISE EN PLACE (Thor, MCU)

BLACK LIGHT (August Walker, Mission Impossible)

CAUSE OF ACTION (Andy Barber, Defending Jacob)

CARPE NOCTEM (Lloyd Hansen, The Gray Man)

BAD REPUTATION (Frank Castle, The Punisher)

UP ALL NIGHT (Ransom Drysdale, Knives Out)

IF YOU CAN’T DANCE (Jonathan Pine, The Night Manager)

HANGOVER (Johnny Storm, Fantastic Four)

TREAT YOU (Peter Parker, MCU)

NIGHT MOVES (Nick Fowler, The 355)

AT FIRST SIGHT (Captain Syverson, Sand Castle)

YOU MAKE ME WANNA (Walter Marshall, Night Hunter)

MEMBERS ONLY (Tommy Shelby, Peaky Blinders)

[thezombieprostitute]

Character reactions to "Tell me I'm pretty?" Because sometimes you just need someone to tell you, you know?

Bucky Barnes - gives you a confused look, "of course you're pretty." Starts inwardly worrying he's not telling you often enough and starts tracking when he tells you so he can do better.

Curtis Everett - looks deeply into your eyes with a very serious expression, "you're very pretty." Follows it up with a gentle kiss.

Hal Carter - smirks, "pretty ain't enough of a word to describe you. Gorgeous would be more appropriate." Grabs you and pulls you in for a deep kiss.

Jake Jensen - also gives you a confused look. "Of course you're pretty. You're the prettiest woman in the world." He proceeds to list all the things he loves about you until you cut him off. Even then, he'll spend the rest of the day telling you the things he likes about you.

James Mace - looks at you like he can't believe you just asked him that. Crosses his arms, stares you down and says, in his most serious tone, "you're pretty. It's a fact."

Johnny Storm - chuckles, "of course. You're my pretty girl." Goes got a kiss but turns it into a tickle session making you laugh and smile.

Jonathan Pine - gently lifts your chin so you're looking him in the eyes and softly whispers, "you're beautiful."

Lloyd Hansen - gets angry. "What the hell, Pumpkin? Did someone say something to you? Do you need me to kick someone's ass for insulting you? Of course you're not pretty, you're gorgeous! I didn't fucking settle down for anything less than "absolutely stunning." Got it?"

Nick Fowler - licks his lips as he lifts your chin to look at him. He lists all the things you've done to dress yourself up (ie nails, makeup) and tells you, "and even without those, you're beautiful." He brings you in for a demanding kiss that leaves you weak in the knees.

Ransom Drysdale - feels a little insulted. "You know I'm a writer, correct? I can call you so many more accurate things than just 'pretty'. Like 'angelic'?"

Sam Wilson - pulls you in for a big hug, kisses along your neck, calling you pretty between kisses.

Steve Rogers - gives you a concerned look before gently pulling you towards him for a loving, gentle kiss. When he pulls away, he looks deep into your eyes, "you're the prettiest doll I've ever met."

++++

Let me know what you think, even if it's that I got some of these completely wrong. 😅

[ronearoundblindly]

List of Dirty Asks (April 2024)

Dirty Asks from this game:

A - Alone Time with Steve Rogers

B - O - W - Bondage, Outdoor, and Water with Ari x Reader from Bedrock and Blueprints series

U - Underwear with Ransom Drysdale

L - S - Lighting and Sleepy Sex with Ransom x Reader from The Root of All Ransom series

I - N - R - Impact Play, Not Yet, and Routine for Jake Jensen

V - Voyeurism for Johnny Storm and Z - Zones for Lloyd Hansen

K - Kissing for Jake Jensen

K - L - S - Kissing, Lighting, and Sleepy Sex with Steve Rogers from Hideout series

K - Kissing with Ari Levinson

E - Extra Info with Jake Jensen

R - N - Routine and Not Yet with Steve Rogers from Hideout series and Fools Rush In series

B - F - Bondage and Food Play with Steve Rogers

Z - P - Zones and Photography for Steve Rogers x Reader from Fools Rush In series

A - Q - Alone Time and Quiet Please with Steve Rogers from Hideout series

E - Extra Info with Steve Rogers x Reader from Hideout series

S - Sleepy Sex with Jake Jensen

P - Photography with Jake Jensen

A - Q - Y - Alone Time, Quiet Please, and Yes, Master with Ransom Drysdale from before and after The Root of All Ransom series

A - D - E - Alone Time, Dominance, and Extra Info with Jimmy Dobyne from Common Education series

A - B - C - D - Alone Time, Bondage, Crying, and Dominance with Johnny Storm

A - K - Z - Alone Time, Kissing, and Zones with Curtis Everett

A - Q - P - Alone Time, Quiet Please, and Photography with Lloyd Hansen

D - S - Dominance and Sleepy Sex with Steve Rogers from Fools Rush In series

D - Y - Dominance and Yes, Master with Lloyd Hansen

W - Water with Steve Rogers x mermaid!reader from Sun, Salt, and Shield mini-series

C - Crying with CEO!Steve Rogers from It Had To Be You series

N - Not Yet with Ari Levinson

F - Z - Food Play and Zones with Nomad Steve Rogers from Hideout series

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[theshadowrealmitself]

“Okay, so,” Spider-Man(?) settled cross legged on the ceiling, “It’s…both? I’m genderfluid. So, y’know, sometimes a guy, sometimes a woman, but all times a spider.” He fingergunned. No one laughed. His shoulders dropped.

Everyone continued to stare in stunned silence, so after a bit, Spidey awkwardly continued. “I didn’t choose for my hero half to be the guy part, but people immediately assumed I was a guy and it was…freeing. Trying to present myself as a guy in my civilian life always felt like people weren’t actually seeing me as genderfluid, it was like they just saw me as a girl most times, and then a girl dressing like a guy other times.” His tone was dejected before it started brightening up. “But as Spider-Man, no one knew me as a girl first, so I could just be Spider-Man. And that’s how it went, I was a girl in civilian life and a guy in my hero life.”

He turned his gaze to Johnny, apologetic from what everyone could tell by his mask lenses. “It’s not that I wanted to hold everyone at arm’s length, but among a whole bunch of other reasons why, I was worried that if my identity got out, then no one would ever see me as a guy. You’d all just see me as girl playing dress up.”

Before anyone could reassure him, Johnny spoke up. “Wait, so you were born as a girl? But- but, you’re wearing spandex? How does that work?”

Susan’s facepalm could be heard throughout the room.

[intrepidacious]

this is barely a prompt but johnny + touch-starved? 🥺🫶🏻

gifted | j.s.

a/n: did you mean the entire plot of the second movie

He’s always touching you, especially when you’re out in public; a hand around your waist or your shoulders, his fingers interlacing with yours, his foot nudging against your ankle as soon as you sit down, a smile on his face. It’s like a secondary super power Johnny possesses, the open warmth he shows his affection with, and you love it, because it’s the most honest he ever lets himself be.

So when he stops, it’s not like you’re not going to notice.

Sue being literally engulfed in flames has hit him to the core and you understand, of course you do; but he’s retreating into himself in a way he never has before, not with you, not with anyone, and so you can’t help but wonder, "Is this you breaking up with me or are you just waiting until I do it?"

His mouth falls open when the words hit, harsher, perhaps, than you intended, but you’re confused and scared and hurting, too, and you miss him, even though saying that seems unfair in the light of everything that’s been happening. But of course, Johnny is smarter than the world gives him credit for, and so he swallows and the next thing he says is, "You don’t have super powers that will keep you alive if I—if something happens."

It’s your turn, then, to reach out for him, despite the nervous tick in his jaw, to let your fingers brush against his cheek, your breath held for the impact of the invisible shock that never comes, to stop his hand from shaking by placing your own on top, to let him melt against you with a sob of relief when your embrace brings nothing but comfort, after all; and maybe sometimes, you think, being just a normal human is a gift in and of itself, too.

[janeykath318]

Johnny Storm x Reader

Fall Words: caramel, trick or treat

“Who throws Werther caramels into a trick or treat bag?” Johnny said in disdain as he picked through his loot.

“Generally a sweet old grandma who thinks it’s still everyone’s favorite,” you replied, eying your own stash with overall satisfaction. “But since there were no grandmas at the party, my money is on Steve.”

You pulled out a couple tubes of smarties and tossed them in his bag.

“Here. I hate smarties. I’ll swap you for the caramels.”

“Deal!” Johnny said eagerly. “Aww, yeeeeessss! A full size Milky Way! Bet that was from Tony. He was bragging about only buying full size.”

“And making gross jokes about it,” you added. “Pepper had to scold him.”

The Avengers had thrown a massive grown up halloween party featuring a costume contest and candy exchange and you and Johnny had gone together. It was your first big event as a couple and you’d been awestruck at being introduced to his famous friends. They turned out to be really cool people and made you feel very welcome. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had so much fun.

“I hope they didn’t give you a hard time,” Johnny worried, switching his focus from the candy to you.

“Far from it,” you laughed. “Bucky offered to dispose of you if you hurt me and Natasha promised torture and THEN disposal. I felt quite welcomed.”

Johnny shook his head.

“Sounds about right. I should have known better. But believe me, if I ever would hurt you, I would turn myself in and let them do whatever. I would fully deserve it.”

He looked very serious and adorably earnest as he spoke and you couldn’t resist the urge to give your flaming hot boyfriend an equally hot kiss.

[rememberwren]

Just a Ghoap/military!fem!reader little sex pollen drabble for the anon who requested it ages ago :) dub con, fingering. Reader is carried by Ghost but otherwise featureless and without description.

-

Ghost can take the screams. He can take the cries, the pleas, the begging. He does take it, planting himself outside the singular bedroom door of the safehouse they’re holed up in until the storm passes, his dark eyes watching Johnny pace a hole in the goddamn floor, ready to come between you and the Sergeant should needs must.

But it’s the silence that breaks him.

It’s even caught Johnny’s attention. The man stops his pacing and stands facing the bedroom, his face somber, both of their ears cocked toward the door as they listen for any sign of you on the other side. Maybe the wet sounds of you fucking yourself on your own fingers. Maybe more begging—begging for Ghost or Johnny or both at once to come in and stuff you full with their cocks.

No sound comes.

“Fuck it,” Ghost says, beginning to strip. “I’m going in there.”

“The hell you are,” Johnny says, stepping into Ghost’s space. He points a finger towards your pointed silence. “She’s been compromised; she cannot consent!”

“She’s in there dying, Johnny,” Ghost says, the sound of ripping velcro loud in the quiet of the house. “She needs to get fucked or she’ll die. I’ll take the fucking discharge.”

“She’ll hate you for this.”

“She’ll be alive to do it; that’s good enough for me.”

Johnny grips his bare arm once he’s stripped out of his kit, fingertips digging into scarred skin. “You’re not going in there without me. If one of us has to do it, then the other has to help him keep his head, aye? You’ll do no more than what you have to do to keep her alive.”

Ghost brushes off Johnny’s touch, something which is normally welcome. He’d break Johnny’s wrist for suggesting otherwise if he didn’t think Johnny might need both hands for what’s to come.

When they unlock and open the door to the bedroom the silence is near eerie. You’re not on the bed where they left you, and it takes a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and find you laying on the floor beside the bed, like you had rolled out of it or fallen in your attempts to make it to the door. Your body is still except for the bone-deep shivers that wrack your figure. Ghost goes to your side and rolls you over onto your back, puts a hand to your forehead and withdraws from the way your skin burns with fever.

“Go start the shower. Tepid, Johnny. Not cold,” Ghost instructs him.

“Aye,” says Johnny, rushing into the tiny adjoined bathroom. The sound of water follows.

“Come on,” Ghost mutters to you softly. He tries to work his hand between your legs, but they are clamped shut tightly, the muscles seized up. It reminds him too much of the stiffness of a dead body. Instead he begins the arduous work of stripping you down, unlacing your boots, working your pants down your wide hips and thighs. It’s good enough.

Johnny reappears. “Shower’s ready. How is she?”

“Brain’s turning into a nice golden chip,” Ghost mutters, standing and hauling you up with him. You’re heavier than you look, especially when your body refuses to go limp in his arms. He steps into the bathroom and takes brief stock of it: the small, dirty porcelain tub, the shower faucet that is more of a dribble than a spray. He climbs into the tub with his clothes on and lays with you, both your bodies filling it to the brim as the cool water rains down on your figures.

Johnny kneels at the tubside. “What’s she need?”

“To cum,” Ghost says. He tries to work his hand between your thighs again, but your body actively fights against him, muscles trembling from the strain. At last he can work his fingers between your legs and he finds you sodden, soaked, dripping from the burning heat of your core. All he has to do is brush his fingers over the swollen knot of your clit and your body seizes against him, your jaw unclenching around a shriek as you cum for the first time. You arch against him like a cat, groaning like the frantic touch is the best thing you’ve ever felt. Pure pleasure to your frying synapses.

“Jesus,” Johnny mutters.

“Good girl,” Ghost mutters, unsure if you can even hear him. You’re still fighting against him, but not as much—or perhaps your body is growing tired, weak. He can work his hand between your thighs now, gathering your slick onto his three middlemost fingers and dragging the wetness up over your aching clit, rubbing in soft, rapid circles. This time when you cum, your knees snap open wide, cracking against the sides of the porcelain tub as your hips thrust upwards, chasing his fingers. The sounds that pour from your mouth combined with the way you writhe against him has his cock hardening against your back. Ghost takes even, measured breaths, trying to leave his body behind and focus on your own.

Johnny is fairing no better, shifting on his knees, cock pressed against the side of the porcelain tub. He reaches a hand down and adjusts himself, but lingers too long, until it’s impossible to call it anything but what it is: playing with himself.

A groan rips from your throat, forming syllables, nonsensical. You roll in Ghost’s grasp, your clothes clinging to your wet skin until your clothed breasts are pressed to his chest. Your eyes are open now but so frighteningly empty, glossy with fever and bloodshot. Your gaze doesn’t focus on him as you struggle to grind yourself against the hardening tent in his pants, fingers stiff and useless even as you grab at and cling to him.

“Give her some fingers,” Johnny insists. Your head turns toward the sound, and you scramble out of the tub, flinging water everywhere as you push him backwards off balance, pin him to the ceramic tile floor, and grind your cunt against his cock.

“Fu-uck,” Johnny groans, hands finding your hips. He stills you, the muscles in his arms straining as you put all your strength into defying him. “Lass, you don’t know what you’re doing—!”

Ghost climbs out of the tub, dripping wet. He turns the water off—hopeful that your fever is already beginning to abate now that they are giving in to your body’s needs—and loops an arm around your waist, wrenching you off of Johnny. Some help his Sergeant is. (Ghost had expected him to be about this useless.)

“Sit up,” Ghost barks. Johnny can still follow orders, sitting up and scooting back until his back is braced against the wall. Ghost puts you between his legs, facing away from him. “Hold her open.”

Johnny grips your thighs, fingers dimpling the soft flesh. His face is pained—whether that pain is coming from his cock or from his soft bleeding heart, Ghost doesn’t know. Doesn’t really care. He searches the soaked space between your thighs, finding your entrance and slipping two thick fingers into you.

You howl, body bowing against Johnny’s. Inside, you are like burning silk, soft and molten, squeezing tight around the girth of his fingers. He hooks them softly, aiming for that spongy area behind your pubic bone and works to fuck you with vigor, the wet squelches of your cunt nearly obscene in the enclosed, tiled space.

Your mouth forms words, simple ones: “Yes, yes, yesyesyesyes,” until you are hissing the word, your head thrown back to rest on Johnny’s shoulder and expose your corded throat, shirt sticking to your skin. When you run out of breath, you can’t draw in more, your body frozen in time, trembling with need. When you cum, you fucking squirt, a rush of wetness that follows his fingers when he trails them out of you and skims them over your clit to prolong the orgasm.

“Jesus,” Johnny mutters again, burying his face against your neck.

“No gods here,” Ghost reminds him. He reaches up and taps his wet fingers against Johnny’s cheek, thrills as Johnny turns his head and opens his mouth to take them, to suck them clean, groaning.

“No,” you shriek, wrapping both hands around Ghost’s wrist. You tug with all your strength, his fingers slipping wetly from Johnny’s mouth. “No—back inside, please put them back, please—”

But Ghost knows that these are only temporary fixes to get you off of death’s doorstep. If he wants to truly save your life, he knows the cost. What’s the use in prolonging your pain?

Ghost should pay up.

“I’ve got something better for you,” Ghost promises. To Johnny, he says: “Help me get her to the bed.”

[ellethespaceunicorn]

*gulp* This was amazing.

Never read a Johnny fic before and this was beautiful.

Love the way you write 😍

summary. | You have a hard time saying ‘no’ to your sugar daddy.

prompts . | Johnny Storm + sugar daddy + “The night’s still young.” + obsession, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!sugar daddy!Johnny Storm x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, obsession, possessiveness, smut, mentions of multiple rounds, power imbalance, sugar daddy/baby relationship, fingering (f), masturbation (m), vaginal sex, cum play, overstimulation, poor dom etiquette, Daddy kink, allusions/mention of non-consensual videotaping, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

He tells you that you’re insatiable. He just can’t get enough of you. You’re the most perfect girl ever—he can’t spend a moment apart from you.

But that doesn’t really explain your sugar daddy’s absurd rules. 

He’s strict about you not spending time with other men. He hates seeing what’s his in the hands or presence of others. It was hot at first. But you’ve grown tired of Johnny’s possessiveness. He seems crazy about you, and as much as you enjoy the attention, you swear you cannot breathe. 

“Fuck, princess, you look so good,” he grunts, groping your tits. They sit in the fabric of the expensive lingerie he bought you for tonight. 

As you lay in his large bed, you feel helpless. Part of you regrets the arrangement, even though you have no monetary issues anymore.

You’ve gone from making Ramen daily and barely paying rent to eating expensive food every meal and living in a penthouse. You know you shouldn’t complain, but the idea of a man funding your every want and need makes you shudder.

“I just can’t get enough of you,” Johnny says. You two aren’t very far off in age, but there is a noticeable difference in power. He could do anything to you—but what can you do to him? Not much; just showing him your body and spending every waking minute with him. “I love it when you touch me, Daddy.” Your words are forced out of you as he plunges his fingers into your used pussy. He’s fucked you twice already, yet Johnny is still hard. It’s both sexy and frustrating—you can never get a break. His libido is something you almost always think about.

“I know you do, baby. Fuck, this pussy is so messy,” he groans, dragging his digits against your sensitive inner walls. Johnny’s cum leaks out of you, and he stops his movements every now and then to smear his seed against your swollen lips. “‘M full of your cum, Daddy…”

There’s no denying that the wealthy man can make you feel euphoric. He’s skilled and gifted, making you wonder why he’s so loyal to you. You don’t think you give him much in return—just your body and soul, but in a world of riches, isn’t that the bare minimum?

“Yeah, you are. You’re leaking with it, princess. It’s so hot,” Johnny husks, and he’s tempted to pull his phone out and take a few pictures. But he knows he can’t—not while you’re still on your back, at least. 

He brings you to the precipice of another orgasm, allowing you to teeter over the edge. Johnny doesn’t really care about giving permission when you want to come—he just has one rule. 

You must thank him. 

Not ‘thank you, Johnny’—no, certainly not. He hates it when you use his given name, especially since it breaks another rule of his. It’s ‘thank you, Daddy,’ whether you like it or not. 

“Fuck—thank you, Daddy!” you whimper out, limbs twitching as you clench around his fingers. “You’re welcome, baby.” His cock throbs, desperate for you to touch it in any way. 

Johnny thinks about taking your mouth next, just to give your pussy a bit of a break. He loves it when you choke on his dick, especially as he fucks your face. 

You come down from your high and are hit with a pang of exhaustion and discomfort. You just need a few minutes, perhaps even a snack and a drink of water. You’d even go as far as to say that you don’t want to continue.

“Uhm… Johnny?” you question, wincing as you see that he’s stroking his dick. He pulls his fingers out of you and moves them to your clit, which is just as overwrought. Johnny’s jaw clenches at the sound of his name. “What?” he spits out, voice harsh. He gets like this quite often, and it’s made you grow scared of him just a bit.

“Do you– Do you think we can stop for tonight? Please?” you request. You would give him your best-begging eyes, but he’d probably just want to fuck you even more. “Stop? Why would we do that?” he laughs, pressing down harder on your nub.

You whimper from the friction. “I’m just tired. I mean, there’s always tomorrow, right?” you reason, looking up at Johnny with a sweet smile. He mirrors it before it drops from his face suddenly. “Hmm… I don’t think so. You don’t call the shots here, baby. I do.”

His words are as you predicted, but hearing them makes you want to cry. 

Your sugar daddy continues his assault on your body, using you for pleasure. “And, besides,” he continues, taking your dominant hand and placing it on his cock. He makes you stroke him. “The night’s still young.”

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

part 1 of 🌧️welcome to hell🌧️

summary - you begin to spiral as you are betrayed by the two people in your life, causing you to question if everything was a lie.

warning - ANGST, !SMUT BUT CHEATING!, heavily detailed cheating, heartbreak, betrayal, bad thoughts, swearing.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, headers by me.

part 2

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Do you remember the pain of your crush rejecting you? The pain of a man you like, liking someone else? The pain of your boyfriend leaving you for someone else? Or the pain that you feel when you find out your partner is cheating on you? The pain that only love seems to cause. Because you know that pain extremely well, that pain has only embraced you recently. Like a flame wrapping around your body, slowly slithering inside of you, and burning your insides. That afternoon STILL haunts you, no matter how many times you try to push it out of your mind; the thoughts, the touches, the feel, the smell, everything is still so alive and killing you inside. It was the day you understood how powerful love could be if used improperly. You understood why so many people were afraid, why so many protected themselves against it. Some people don’t change… They just find new ways to lie. 

Your best friend, Sarah, who you had known since you both were five, your mum’s having met while watching you on the playground, watching how you both clicked. Your bond had only grown stronger the older you got. Had come into town after having planned to hang out for much needed girl time and you had invited her to stay at yours and Johnny’s house.

You were rushing around the house ensuring that everything was set up, even though Johnny had told you everything was done. You huff. “Baby, are you sure everything is ready and perfect?” You asked your husband, your fingers entangled with one another from nerves as you played with them. 

Your husband was Johnny Storm, famous ex–playboy. When you had met him. He was annoying, he was hilarious, he was the world’s biggest arsehole, he made you want to scream, he would ruin your day and save it at the last minute, he drove you crazy, he was out of his mind, you hated his guts, and he was everything you wanted. Somehow, you made it work. You had thought he changed.

Johnny grins, pulling you into him causing you to sink into his hold. “Yeah, babe. It’s going to be fine. Why are you stressing so much?”

You shrugged, biting on your bottom lip. “I haven’t seen her in a while. I just want everything to be perfect. I want her to feel at home.” Oh, how those words would come back to bite you on the arse. 

He kisses the top of your head, “She will, babe. Don’t worry.” 

Once everything was sorted and checked about twenty times. You hear a car pull up and quickly head towards the door and as you swing it open, arms wrap around you and pull you into a hug. You both squeal, squeezing each other. Your chin rests on her shoulder, eyes closed and smiling. Yet, her eyes were open and set on your husband with a smirk. You pull back, smiling brightly as she mimics yours. “I’ve missed you so much! I’m so glad you could make it!”

Sarah licks her lips, eyes flickering over to Johnny’s before going back to yours. “I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity!” You didn’t know that her words seemed to have a double meaning. You helped her with her bags, leading her over to the guest room which is next to yours and Johnny’s. The two of you chatting away as you catch up, your voice filled with such happiness, such pure joy. 

The afternoon rolled around, and you both decided to start getting ready, after spending the day in the pool before dinner, you both desperately needed to wash the chlorine off. You let her shower first while you picked out your outfits, once she was done, a small towel tightly wrapped around her body. You headed into the bathroom, her close behind so that she could do her makeup. It had become a routine that you had grown used to growing up together. Neither of you were bothered by it. 

You stripped once you had turned the shower on and ensured it was hot enough, when it was, you got in, the heat caused steam to coat the glass, making it foggy and hard to see through. You could only make out blurry shapes and Sarah’s fuzzy figure. You decided to take a longer shower, dinner wasn’t until later and you wanted to make sure everything was properly shaved, washed, and rinsed. 

You were so zoned out while lathering yourself with soap that you didn’t notice Johnny sneaking into the bathroom and standing behind your best friend. His arms moved around her body as he began pressing kisses onto her exposed flesh. He pressed his bulge into her towel covered arse, groaning quietly. Sarah leans back into him, covering her mouth as he bends her over the counter slightly, lifting one of her legs onto it. “Keep doing your makeup, babygirl.” Johnny grunts quietly, running his fingers through her soaked cunt. 

You moved under the water, sighing as it hit you, watching the soap roll of your body. Johnny’s head turns as he checks to make sure you haven’t noticed. His hand strokes up and down his hardened member before he slides into your best friend’s cunt. His gaze turns back to hers, watching as her mouth falls open. He smirks, thrusting all the way in as he leans close, whispering into her ear, making sure to keep their eyes connected. “You missed feeling me inside you, didn’t you? You’ve gotten so fucking tight, such a good girl for me.” She moans softly, rocking back into him. Johnny bites his lip as his thrusts pick up, the rush of being caught fucking his wife’s best friend makes him so fucking hard. He wondered if you would catch them, wondered how you’d react.

His eyes roll back at the thought, hands gripping Sarah’s hips tightly as he pounds into her harder. “Fuck, babygirl. I’m gonna fuck you so much while you’re here. Gonna pump you so full, make up for lost time.” One hand leaves her hip and moves up to her hair, gripping a fistful, pulling her back against him, she still tries to apply her makeup as he fucks into her harder and faster. Her eyes flutter, desperately trying to make sure she doesn’t screw up anything, her mouth falls open as Johnny begins to pound into her sweet spot, her hand drops and she grips onto the counter, pushing back into him, meeting his thrusts. “What a little slut.” He grips her hair tighter, nipping a sensitive spot on her neck, groaning when he feels her tighten around him. “You like getting fucked by your best friend’s husband while she’s in the room, huh? Like being my dirty girl?” 

Their heads snap over when you open the shower door slightly, their movements not stopping, Johnny only fucks into her faster, a shiver rushing through him at the thought of your eyes connecting with theirs, watching him ruin your childhood friend. 

You grab a small cloth to rub some shampoo out of your eyes, not noticing the two in the room. You close the door and go to continue your shower until a moan cut through the air. Your brows furrow, wondering if you imagined it or if someone really did moan. Your question is answered as the moan is followed by a muffled shut up and you begin to focus on the glass, squinting to try and see who is making the noise.

Johnny growls lowly, his hand covers Sarah’s mouth, cupping it roughly as he fucks into her faster. His other hand slides between her and the counter before finding her swollen clit, rubbing it. Their eyes focused on each other’s as he rests his chin on her shoulder. He fucks and looks at her so intimately, more intimately than his own wife. Johnny’s thrusts become rougher and sloppier as he feels his end approaching. He had missed her sweet, tight cunt. Leaning forward, he whispers. “You better fucking take my cum and keep it in you while you are with my wife, I want to see it still there when I come into your room tonight. Understand, slut?” Sarah whimpers, fucking herself onto him as she nods.

Your eyes widen and tears immediately fill them as you see the figures through the glass. You had wiped some of the steam off only to see your husband fucking your best friend and your hand shoots up quickly to cover your mouth as you try and muffle the sob that tries to escape. You couldn’t pull your eyes away, no matter how much you wanted to. It was like watching a car wreck, you wanted to look away but no matter what your eyes would not stray. You felt sick, your stomach twisted and your heart broke. They didn’t seem to care that you were in the same room, that you could catch them at any moment. You DID catch them…

Johnny grunts, fucking deep into her soft cunt. He feels his tip twitch and his balls tighten, she felt like heaven to him. “I’m going to cum, babygirl. You gonna be a good girl and obey me?” She nods and he lets go, burying his cock deep inside of her, his cum spurting out and painting her walls white. His head falls back, cock still twitching as cum continues to leak from his tip, his hand still rubbing her clit as she cums around him, squeezing his thick cock with her tight walls. With a groan, he slides out of her and tucks himself away. “Good girl.” 

Sarah spins around and smiles, she gets on her tippy toes and places a rough kiss on his lips, as though she was claiming what was hers. His arms wrap around her, pulling her closer as he deepens the kiss. Johnny pulls back, smiling down at her with a look not even you had seen. With a wink, he leaves the bathroom and Sarah rushes to fix herself, trying to make it look like nothing happened while you sit broken on the shower floor. 

You pull your knees close to your chest as silent sobs slip from your lips and your eyes close. You couldn’t get the image out of your head, them fucking and kissing was engraved into your brain. You don’t want to think about it, but you know deep down that this was probably not the first time, especially with how comfortable and familiar they already seemed with each other. Your throat clenches as the need to throw up hits you, you gulp as you try to stop it. 

“Hey! You nearly done? We gotta get ready or we’re gonna be late!” Sarah’s voice cuts through the rushing water and the tower of thoughts filling your mind.

“Y–” You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the quiver that attaches itself to your voice. “Yeah!” You reply, not having the strength to say anything else. You watch through the glass as she leaves the bathroom, probably to get dressed or fuck your husband again. The thought causes another wave of tears to fall, how had your life turned upside down so fast? You quickly finish up, not daring to go close to the area they were. You could see there was some cum still on the floor and it had made you feel like throwing up again. You couldn’t bother with makeup at this point, you hurriedly got out of that room and into your bedroom.

You could hear the game on downstairs as well as Johnny’s shouts, so you guessed that he was down there and your supposed best friend was here, in your room… Where you sleep next to your husband, falling asleep to whispered, ‘I love you’s’. The clothes you had picked out for her were already on and showing off an extreme amount of skin. You could’ve sworn those clothes were bigger. “Finally! How do I look?” She turns, hands on her hips. 

You had to pull yourself out of your thoughts when she spoke, you could feel yourself slipping. You swallow and nod your head. “...Great.” How were you supposed to act around her now? She was staying for the weekend, and it seemed they probably weren’t going to stop. Was this why Johnny hadn’t slept with you since your wedding? Your eyes widened as you thought back, you hoped your thoughts were wrong, prayed even. “Uh… I might have to cancel for tonight.” You cough, hands falling to your stomach as you put on your well–practiced sick face, you had to play it out that you felt sick. Which wasn’t really a lie… “I think I might’ve come down with something… Or the food I ordered last night might’ve not been so good…” 

Sarah pouts. “Well, that sucks.” She looks down at her clothes. “I don’t really want this outfit to go to waste though, do you mind–?” You shake your head, wanting, NEEDING her to leave. If it were any other situation, you would’ve questioned her selfishness and lack of care, but it really just made sense on why she was fucking your husband. Your grip on your towel tightened as you held it closer to you, following her out as she leaves. You didn’t miss the way Johnny looked at her or how she smirked at him. Has it always been like this? Were you really that blind? You quickly utter a bye before hurrying past your husband without sparing him a look. 

But you weren’t so lucky. “Aren’t you supposed to be going with her?” He had followed you, watching as you slipped your pyjamas on. You didn’t like him seeing you naked, not that you now knew you weren’t the only one. You hadn’t looked at him once, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I… I felt sick so she went herself.” You chewed on your bottom lip to the point it began to bleed, but before Johnny could see, you sucked your lip into your mouth. You crawled into your bed, suddenly feeling dirty as you peered down at it. Had he brought others into it? Was it tainted like your marriage? You quickly shook off the thought and laid down, curling into the mattress, and pulling the blankets closer to you. You needed to think and cry, you didn’t know what to do. Your life had just been flipped upside down and you had no one else, where would you go if you left him? Have other wives felt this? Had they stayed until they had things sorted or left and figured it out on the way? Johnny nods, shrugging before he leaves. How could he switch up so fast? You didn’t sleep with each other, but he still at least gave you a kiss or made it seem like he cared. Was it all an act until she got here? Or did he care but she had clouded his mind? 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hangover 5

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

You help Will fold his laundry. You refuse to do all of it but he’s brought enough that you feel bad letting him do it by himself. Besides, it’s a good opportunity to chat. A better one to distract yourself. 

Despite the time passed, a whole night, and your best efforts, you can’t shake your drive with Officer Storm. It’s impossible to forget the cold air and your nakedness. The humiliation lingers and has you restless. As you tuck away the last pair of socks in Will’s bag, you wince as he says, “mom?” 

“Yeah, what’s up?” You step back. 

“You okay? You been quiet.” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, just tired,” you muster a smile, “work has been a bit much, you know?” 

“Right, yeah,” you see the flicker of guilt in his eyes, “mom...” 

You laugh, but not meanly, “how much do you need, honey?” 

“I’m sorry--” 

“Don’t be,” you wave off his apology. He shouldn’t be sorry. You know he’s only asking you because his father said no. You’re bum ex can’t be arsed to pay any tuition, so why would he cover any other expenses. “I’m sure I can figure something out.” 

“Yeah, you know, I wouldn’t ask unless... unless I really needed it. There’s this internship. It’s like kinda a grant but there’s an application fee so...” 

“It’s good,” you pat his bones chest, “Will, it’s money. If you happy and healthy, I’m happy.” 

He smiles offers a one-armed hug. For a boy his age, that’s a big gesture. You accept it but can’t help making it two-armed. You squeeze him tighter than you mean too and he wheezes as you cling to him. 

“Mom! I was just home two week ago.” 

“I know, honey, I just... missed you,” you stay as you are. He sighs and wraps you up. You rock him, closing your eyes against the sudden swell of heat behind them. “I love you so much.” 

“Mom, I know,” confusion laces his voice, “Mom,” he rubs your back, “I love you too.” 

You sniffle and dip your head down, hiding as you draw away from him. You roll your eyes back against your tears. You hold onto that feeling, of your son’s hug, it’s enough to chase away that heavy weight in your hips where Officer Storm had held you. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He scoffs. 

“Yeah, I... menopause,” you laugh off but it’s not as breezy as you intend. “Old ladies and their hormones.” 

“Right,” a shade of skepticism lingers in his voice. 

The doorbell rings suddenly and you both jump, laughing at the fright. You shake your head and tramp down the hall to answer it. Will hovers in the doorway but doesn’t follow.  

You open the door and nearly shriek. It’s him. Officer Storm. He smirks and his eyes twinkle. He winks and tilts his head pompously, reciting your name. 

You gulp, “sir?” 

“Mom? Is that a cop?” Will comes down towards you. 

“Ah, don’t worry about it, son,” Storm says, “I’m just doing my good deed for the day.” He flicks up a card between his thick fingers, “this was turned in down at the station. A king samaritan found it on the pavement.” 

You fight a tremour as it rises, “thank you, officer.” 

“Not at all, ma’am,” he holds it out between his index and middle fingers. 

You take it and look at it. It’s your ID. Or maybe it’s a trick. 

“Everything okay?” Storm asks. 

You flinch and nod, “of course. I appreciate you bringing this by.” 

“That’s what I do,” he winks. “You have a good day.” 

He nods and backs up. His eyes rove up and down before he turns and struts away. He has the type of swagger men who don’t last more than a minute have. You shudder and shut the door. 

“Nice of him,” Will says. 

“Sure,” you agree as you twist the lock into place. 

You turn back and walk to the kitchen. As you grab your purse, you can barely get it undone. You remember picking it up from the car seat, the bite of frost in the air, the noise of the police scanner. Your wallet falls out of your grasp as you pull it through the zipper. 

“Mom,” Will says, “you’re shaking.” 

“I’m fine,” you insist sharply, “I just... I didn’t sleep well. I need a coffee.” 

He stares at you, concerned tautening his jaw. You look back at him and nearly whimper. He isn’t much younger than that officer. A decade at most between them. Could he be like that? Officer Johnny is someone’s son too and he did that to you, someone’s mother. 

“Want me to make you one?” Will sounds afraid. 

“Please, sweetie, yes,” you bend to retrieve your wallet, your lower back twanging with the effort. You fall to your knees and whine, “shit.” 

“Mom!” Will grabs onto your arm, “what is it?” 

“My back,” you snivel, “ow, shoot. “ 

You can’t stand. It hurts too much. Your hips lock as you stay on your knees. You peer down at the floor. You can only see the cold ground lit by yellow headlights. You back seizes up again. 

“Mom, please, get up,” Will begs. 

“I-- I can’t, honey, you’re going to have to help me.” 

“What happened--” 

“Work,” you grit out, “please,” you reach to grab his forearm and manage to drag a leg out and plant your foot, “just put me on the couch.” 

You latch on and he grunts as he helps you up. Any man, even one as slim as him, is stronger than you. You lean on him heavily and waddle stiffly, moaning with each step, and nearly collapse onto the couch. He lifts your legs onto the cushions as you whimper. 

Will steps back and stands straight. He looks at you with worry woven between his brows, “mom...” 

“Hon, I’m fine. Just some advil... and coffee, please, if you don’t mind.” 

“I... I can’t stay past tonight. I have a midterm.” 

“I know, honey, don’t worry about that. I’ll be fine,” you assure him through your teeth, struggling to shift into a position that doesn’t hurt. “Really, I just need to sleep it off.” 

He frowns. You hold back a similar expression though you know you must look miserable already. You hate that he’s worried. He shouldn’t be. You're his mother, you’re supposed to worry about him. It’s just another flare up, it’s okay. 

Just like Officer Storm, it’ll go away. 

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Hangover Masterlist

ONGOING

Part 1 ◍ Part 2 ◍ Part 3 ◍ Part 4 ◍ Part 5

AU MASTERLIST

[thezombieprostitute]

Woke up in such a grumpy, godawful mood. I'm gonna think about how different characters would react to help me out.

Try to Help

Jake Jensen, Steve Rogers, Hal Carter, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, König

Their first instinct is "problem! Must fix!" Never mind if they're actually the cause or not, you're not feeling well so they need to step in to help you out however you need. Whether it's trying to make you laugh, pulling you in for cuddles, getting you your favorite foods, or upping the amount of kissing you get, they'll get you to smile again somehow.

Of course, they can go overboard sometimes and you end up snapping at them. Then they give you those sad puppy-dog eyes and it breaks your heart, just making the situation worse. You reassure them that you know they're just trying to help it's just that this help isn't working. So they immediately try something else. They will get you to smile, damnit!

Give You Space

Bucky Barnes, Jonathan Pine, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Curtis Everett, James Mace

These guys understand that bad moods happen, you can't always control it. So they give you space, while still doing little things (like keeping your coffee/tea warm) to remind you that you're loved. They know you'll be back to your usual self in time. You just need to process some things. They'll give you all the time and space you need because you're worth the wait.

Turn it into a Grumpiness Competition

Nick Fowler, Walter Marshall, Lloyd Hansen, Johnny Storm, Marc Spector

Oh, you think you're the only one in a bad mood?! You think you can out grumpy them?! It's on! You will be at each other's throats all day but that's how they like it. It's foreplay for them, seeing your spitfire attitude is entrancing and they can't get enough of it. So they'll keep trying to out grumpy you until one of you snaps and pulls the other into the bedroom for some fiery hot sex that leaves you both wondering what the hell you were angry at to begin with.

So, thoughts? @alicedopey did I get your guys correct?

[queenxxxsupreme]

Before the Storm

(Remy Lebeau x reader)

A/N: This is just a super tiny little drabble because I wanted to get a feel for Gambit’s character. Please if any of it (or all of it) seems out of character for him, let me know. I just wanna do this man some justice

Warnings: cigarettes and alcohol, a little bit of angst but mostly fluff

Summary: It’s the night before the ragtag group of forgotten heroes goes to fight Cassandra Nova, and you share a little moment with your Gambit.

“What took you so long, mon coeur?” Remy spoke from where he was laid out across the bed. To even call it a bed was probably an overstatement. It was just a mattress on the floor, but it was all you had in the Hell that was quite literally the Void.

“Had to find a good bottle.” You held up a bottle of rum.

”Why, I think that’s a fine choice, Miss Y/L/N.” He grinned just a little, then beckoned you over with a wave of his hand.

You kicked off your boots before climbing into the bed. Remy adjusted himself so that he was leaning against the wall. You made yourself comfortable, tucking yourself under his arm.

You twisted the bottle of rum open and took a swig of the sharp alcohol, then passed the bottle to him.

“How do you think tomorrow is going to go, Remy?” You spoke quietly, looking over your shoulder to him.

“I don’t know. But I do know one thing for sure, mon coeur. It ain’t gonna be pretty.”

You shifted yourself around so that you could see his face better.

“You got a smoke?” You asked him. He reached behind him on the bed, blindly feeling for wherever he had set the pack of cigarettes down last.

Remy picked up the box and flicked it open, holding it out for you to take one.

“Thanks, mon amour.” You took the cigarette from him and placed it between your lips. You dug around in the pocket of your jacket and pulled out a lighter. You lit the cigarette before tossing the lighter down on to the bed.

“Are you scared, Y/N?” His deep voice was quiet, almost like he was afraid to even ask the question.

”Yeah, Remy. I am.” You admitted, blowing the smoke from your lips. He took the cigarette from you to take a hit of it. ”We’ve never gone up against Cassandra Nova before. We just fight her little pawns and stay as far away from their territory as possible.”

”It’s gonna be real interestin’. That’s for sure.” The smoke that left his lips as he spoke fanned over your face. You leaned further into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” Your fingers wrapped around the glass bottle of alcohol and you took a sip. “Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

”You ain’t losin’ me no time soon, mon coeur.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Just don’t go doin’ anythin’ stupid tomorrow.”

”Me?” You raised an eyebrow and turned your head so you could admire his features. “Honey, we both know I’m not the one going and doing stupid things on a whim. That’s all you and Johnny’s bad influence.”

He chuckled quietly, bringing his arm that was behind you around your shoulders to pull you close enough so he could seal a kiss on your cheek.

“I miss that fella, Y/N.” The smile that had been on his lips slowly faded.

“I know. Me too.” You took the cigarette from Remy and put it between your lips. “We’ll do it for him, and all the others.”

“To Johnny.” Remy lifted the bottle of rum up as if to toast his dear friend.

“You think we have a chance at beating her, Remy?”

“I think that whatever does happen tomorrow, we’ll be just fine, mon coeur.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blue Violet

NAVIGATION || NIECE!READER MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & Niece!Reader (platonic series)

SYNOPSIS: Trust. It was one of the many things that Simon Riley was constantly fighting a war with himself over.

WARNINGS: Angst, talks of death, blood, gore, fires, trust issues, many mentions from Simon's comic backstory, etc.

A/N: You'll need to read this drabble first to understand the plot!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Trust. It was one of the many things that Simon Riley was constantly fighting a war with himself over. Who to give it to—who he could believe wouldn’t put a knife into his gut or a bullet through his skull with little more than words shared. 

Washington. Sparks. All that they had done….they’d ruined what little was left of his mind along with Roba’s torture. But Simon had already explained it before. 

You can’t break something that was already broken a long time ago.

So, trust. 

Trust. 

It was easier said than done, but he was working on it. One-Four-One helped somewhat, but perhaps the one person who showed him that he could try to fix his own head was you. Tommy and Beth’s little daughter. Simon’s niece, who was now under his guardianship. You were the only one to survive the brutal murder of his entire family on that cold night, hidden away; a baby asleep without knowing about the blood staining the hardwood of the living room.

How does he explain to you that you were one of the few things keeping him from slipping off that edge? Easy. 

He doesn’t. 

Simon was never good with words, and soon, the trust of his fellow soldiers was going to be forced to a near breaking point. 

“Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”

“Oh, bloody fuckin’ hell.”

You’re talking up a storm to Sergeant MacTavish, asking him what he does, what he specializes in, what he thinks of your Uncle and his horrible jokes—Simon glares at him, looming above your figure like a bear with his arms crossed. 

Realistically, it wasn’t Johnny’s fault he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but hell if it didn’t make Ghost nervous. No one besides Price knew about you, and for good reason. Simon couldn’t take the thought of you getting dragged into this. 

Johnny’s face is tight, eyes darting from you up into Simon’s deep browns every so often as if the Lieutenant was about to snap. Though, you were quick to point it out.

“Simon,” you huff over your shoulder, the man carrying the grocery bags in his arm. “Stop trying to light him on fire.”

“M’not,” his glare doesn’t loosen, and you wonder if he’d even blinked from the moment you had dragged him over to say hello to the Sergeant. 

“That’s the same look you give me when I sneak out to the corner store to buy snacks.”

Johnny blinks in confusion, reaching a hand back to itch at his skull while his pack of Irn Bru is still swinging from the other. 

Simon grunts. “An’ if you’d stop fuckin’ doing it, I’d stop lookin’ at you like that.”

The Sergeant graciously interrupts.

“Nice seein’ you, Lt.” Cobalt eyes blink as he clears his throat, looking down at you. “And..uh…”

You cheerily give your name, sticking out a hand and adding on easily, “Simon’s niece!”

Trust, Simon reminds himself, jaw clenching from under his balaclava. 

Johnny chuckles, lips pulling back in a smile as he gently locks his much larger hand with yours. 

“Good to know, Little Lady. Y’can call me Johnny, just like your Uncle, here.” A glance is tossed Simon’s way as you laugh. “You two live around here, then? Haven’t seen you ‘ere before.”

Your eyes spark, excited at the prospect of more friends. “Yea-!”

“Negative.” You blink, confusion poking your chest like a stick. Simon grabs your shoulder and you’re being paraded out of the doors of the Tesco swiftly. 

“Simon!” your feet pad, skidding. “What the hell, man?” 

The man glares ahead. “What I say about the shitty language?”

You shift out of his grip, flailing an arm with an annoyed huff stuck on your lips. 

“You’re embarrassing, you know that? I wanted to talk to someone you work with!” Brown eyes swirl with dull amusement, and you can see his smirk from under his face covering as he continues walking forward down the street. “Why did you do that?”

“We don’t need people knowing where we live, yeah? Bloody give the address away while you’re at it. Only thing worse would be givin’ ‘em the keys.” You know there’s some life lesson hidden in this somewhere—some cautionary tale that you have no interest in learning from a ghost. 

But Johnny had seemed nice, and it was hard to make friends when you two were always moving. Much less one of the men who worked with your uncle.

“Simon,” you growl and hurry after, Johnny left alone in the building blinking at the doors. The highly confused Sergeant shakes his head and mutters under his breath with a growing headache. 

“Imagine that.”

A shocked chuckle spills out, and he slowly heads to the check-out aisle.

When you and your Uncle get back to your flat, you still have layers of steam coming out of your ears, even as you get told to help put the food away. You grasp the bag of crisps and toss them to the counter, Simon sliding you a side glance as he washes his hands. 

Flicking off the water droplets, he huffs. 

“You’ll break ‘em.” Your lips stay firmly shut until many minutes later. 

“Why don’t you trust people?” By now supper had been started, your body standing in the doorway as you had fought on whether to go to your room or stay here and talk. Your own stubborn nature held out; you often thought you got that from Simon if no one else. 

The man in question freezes as he is about to open the fridge, eyes staring blankly at the metal ahead of him. He lets you continue as his chest pulls in with a bit of apprehension. 

“I…” you stutter for a moment but push through. “I get it, really. I know enough about the whole thing to understand where you’re coming from, okay?” Your mind tells you it’s better to keep the references vague—you love your Uncle dearly, but there are some things that you have to call out when you see them. And you’d been seeing them for years. “But, Simon, I want to be able to talk to people.”

Simon’s fingers twitch over the handle, and his browns shift to stare at you over his shoulder. He blinks. 

“You do. A lot.” You look away, expression tight. 

“You know what I mean,” your voice grumbles lowly, losing that confidence as you push out. “I’m not them.” 

Simon admitted that this wasn’t a new point that had been brought up. He was protective of you and your safety to the utmost degree. You were his family, after all; you were all he had left through this. 

The man sighs under his breath. 

“I know that, Kid. Never said you were.” He turns and walks over to you, one of his hands moving out to grasp your shoulder and tilt his head your way. Simon waits until you look at him and he speaks through his gravelly accent when you do—a line in your forehead. 

“You’re my responsibility. And I—” You frown and turn away. Simon grunts, “Hey, right ‘ere.” Your eyes lock with his. The man raises a brow and his dead gaze glints slightly. “I���ve got a lot o’ shit goin’ on, you know that. Rightly, I shouldn't ‘ave dragged you into any of it.”

You open your mouth to disagree, but you’re leveled with a stare. 

“So you let me make the decisions, yeah?” 

“You don’t trust your teammates?” You’re going to be the death of him. 

“Never bloody said that,” Simon defects, moving back as you glare up at him as he leaves to get more of the ingredients he needs. 

“You implied it.” 

“I did not—” You glare, unimpressed as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“I literally just asked you why you don’t trust people and you gave me a lecture like an old man.”

Narrowed eyes pierce you, and a growl is uttered. “If you don’t fuckin’ join that debate club, it’ll be a cold day in Hell, you hear?” 

The sharp smirk that slashes your face makes him hold back his own, a same mirror image that he can’t overlook. 

“Callin’ it as I see it, Unc.” The look you’re given has you scurrying away from the kitchen, chuckling under your breath, but the both of you know that this conversation is far from over. 

Yet, even after you’re gone, your words leave Simon thinking as he begins cutting vegetables. 

He knew he could rely on his fellow soldiers in the field—knew he could tell Price about you when he had been mulling it over years ago. Garrick and MacTavish had both fired bullets for his safety, just as he had for them. Simon knew that meant something, he wasn’t destroyed enough to not realize that. 

But the more people that knew about you, the more in danger you became. Leaving you here alone was already stressful, knowing that something might happen made his hair stand on end like a dog with snarling fangs. And Simon could also admit that he was moving the two of you around more than he had to, never giving you more than half a year in one flat before packing it up.

His knife slows, eyes narrow, and he asks himself the question he thought of often. 

Is this what Tommy and Beth would have wanted for you? 

The question made his sleepless nights more claustrophobic than the coffin he’d been shoved into. Simon was constantly in doubt with himself about anything outside of a battlefield, and he was sure that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. 

This would have been so much easier if his mum was here. She’d know what to do. Know what to say. 

Simon hums under his breath, eyes far off, and gets back to chopping. 

You both eat at the kitchen table, and you instantly bring Johnny up as you take a bite from your fork. 

“What’s he like,” Simon’s balaclava is tossed to the side, his scarred face on full display to you. You had stopped being scared of those scars a long time ago, but Simon could still remember the first time he’d shown you them. 

Brown eyes look up, the man chewing the last of the food in his mouth.

“Johnny, I mean,” you casually state, but the soldier can see the interest in your eyes. He kept work and home life separate when it came to you. No mention of missions or targets. For you, it left a big black hole in your chest, which was exactly where this was coming from. “He seems nice.”

“Never knows how to keep quiet,” Simon utters, taking a sip from his water glass. “But he’s a good shot.”

You sigh to yourself, putting your chin to your palm as your elbow rests on the wood, fork released with a tiny clink of the plate.

“We should invite them over one time—your team.”

“No.” 

“Simon, please—”

“I said no,” Simon’s face was stern, serious. He doesn’t look away as he speaks to you. “We’ve had this conversation.”

Your anger sparks, flaring up at the refusal of something so simple. Why did he seem to think that keeping you hidden was the best thing for you? Did he not realize that if he let the people he trusted know about you, then you’d just be more safe at the end of the day? 

Who in their right mind would go against the whole of One-Four-One?

“I want to know who you work with,” you snap, one hand clenching on the table as the other is set down when you move your head. 

Simon grunts, continuing to eat as his arms tense. “You will.”

Your head perks. “When?”

“When I’m dead.” 

“I’m not joking!” You stand suddenly, eyes glossy and face tight. Simon’s expression changes from mild annoyance to surprise, head moving like a dog to watch silently as you grow more animated. 

He forgot sometimes that you were still a teenager. 

“I want to know who keeps you safe!” You glare through the sting, emotions finally catching up and tightening around your throat. Did he not see the real purpose behind this? “I never ask what goes on when you leave,” your nose sniffles, and Simon’s eyelids flinch. “I need to know who I have to put my trust in to help you come back. You’re my family, Simon, and every time I try to figure you out it’s like there’s a wall that I have to break through.” 

Trust. 

Your hands come up to brush along your cheeks as the sound of a moving chair enters your ears, your fingers shake before a firm arm wraps behind your head, pushing you into a large chest. 

Simon doesn’t speak as you lightly cry, your emotions that he didn’t even consider existing in this way leaving his heart tight in his ribs. He really wasn’t good at this. Like an awkward statue, he holds you the best he can—eyes staring forward at the far wall. 

“Didn’t,” the man starts as you calm down minutes later. He pauses, not knowing what to say. “Didn’t know that was how you felt ‘bout it. You don’t have to worry for me, eh?”

“Shut up,” your nose nuzzles into his shirt, voice muffled as Simon sighs long. “You’d worry about me.”

He can’t argue with that. 

“...You know why I can’t let ‘em over.” You shake your head into him. 

“You’re making excuses. If you can’t trust them, then who can you?” He’s petting the back of your head, thumb rubbing circles into your scalp as his jaw clenches, crooked nose shifting.

“I do trust them—”

“Then why are you—”

“What I don’t fuckin’ trust is myself.” You stop, blinking quickly as you pull back. 

Your hands push away your tear tracks. 

“What?” 

Simon’s eyes are far away, body tense. “I don’t know if I trust myself to be able to let other people know about another Riley who survived. If somethin’ were to happen to you, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, Sunshine, you hear?” 

You stare, blinking quickly at your uncle and his larger-than-life pedestal that you’d placed him on. Brown eyes flicker to yours, and the man grunts at your red-veined eyes before letting you go. 

“I would sooner let the devil drag me down right ‘ere than think o’ that.” 

Your mouth opens and closes, struggling to put into words the thoughts inside of your brain. Simon had never been…open with his thoughts about things—he was more of a show-than-tell type of person. Mostly that was due to your age and your separation from all of the more dark aspects of his life. It was good that way, and you’d never complained.

But he was your Uncle—your guardian. In more ways than one, he was the only father figure you’d ever have.

You drag Simon into a hug, squeezing him tightly and wrenching your eyes shut before you can cry again. 

“Why couldn’t you have just said you didn’t want the flat dirty,” you wetly laugh, and Simon’s eyes soften down at you, his arms once more curling around you as his lungs push a huff from his nose. 

“Still can.”

“Fuck you.” 

A squeeze. “Oi.”

“Sorry.” Yet always, you broke the sharp bits of him off one by one. Simon sighs, and in a way, he understands your concerns. They were just like his. 

The man gets to thinking about the two Sergeants, not just MacTavish. They had never given him any red flags or internal concerns—in fact, the two men were some of the finest he had ever worked with; they were promising not only in skill but attitude. 

To go through what they had and still hold smiles and jokes was a feat not many could achieve. 

They were good men. 

And in the case of information leaking, he realized with a slow blink that even if that was the case, Simon Riley was officially dead—he had died in a house fire, his dog tags recovered from the body of Kevin Sparks. Of course, only Simon knew that last part. If there was ever something that happened, someone being captured and tortured, there would be no link to you.

To trust was a dangerous thing, and to be worthy of that trust was even more so.

He would do anything to never see you worry. 

Simon licks his lips, for once in his life making a decision based on no forethought beyond a few measly moments and the weight of his niece in his arms. 

“One time.” You make a noise into his chest in confusion. Simon closes his eyes and grates out, “I’ll have ‘em over one time.”

—

The next day he’s at base, out on the target fields in full gear with Johnny beside him as a spotter. Simon lay on the concrete lookout with the stock of a sniper rifle in his shoulder, the Sergeant kneeling about a foot away.

The Scot speaks unprompted as Simon’s brown eyes blink slowly, gaze steady.

“Jus’ so you know, Lt.,” Johnny’s face is in the corner of his vision, his headgear turned Simon’s way as the man was lining up with the target miles away. “...Your secret’s safe with me.” 

Trust was something that Simon Riley fought a war with himself over. It was a mountain of knives and bullets that he knew he would have to climb one bleeding foot at a time. He would do it, of course. Blood had never made him shy away from anything. 

“I know.”