#-the reader ☠️

[harmonysanreads]

I just finished reading the Phainon where reader is sick. And woahh it's so well-written?? I LOVE IT. like an insanely devoted yandere like Phainon?? he's so delulu... Poor reader, THEY SOUND SO DONE OMG I can just imagine them doing this when Phainon started yapping how much he loves them::

Like I can already feel their frustration when some1 so delusional it makes you irritated sm, ESPECIALLY WHEN HE KEEPS BREAKING INTO YOUR HOUSE

Reader when Phainon breaks into their house for the 6th time::

LMAO I LOVE THIS

You gave me ideas to make more memes for the interaction ehe

[toxicanonymity]

DOMESTICATION

MR. GHOSTFACE x F!READER 🔪 1.8K WORDS SUMMARY: He has his way with you while you're stuck. WARNINGS: 18+ Noncon, unsafe PIV, knife/blood, collar. Darkness level poll.

Inspired by this scene and ask 🔪 Divider 🔪 MY FICS

Down on all fours like the prey you were, you tore the cloudy, plastic flap off its hinges and began to squeeze through the little door. You thought to scream but choked on the air you drew in. With your head through the hole, you coughed and glanced around. No one in sight. Fallen leaves tumbled and scraped across the driveway over the muffled sounds of the party.

No one was coming to save you.

You managed to wriggle halfway out, but no further. In the process of trying, your skirt got all bunched up. The cool air of the garage was hitting your ass, and your lace panties with their heart shaped cutout were doing nothing to help.

He had to be enjoying this. Probably admiring his knife with a smug tilt of his mask. Why was he so quiet?

You stopped struggling, taking a moment to catch your breath and think. He should've caught you by now. Was there any chance he left the garage? Any chance he wouldn't kill you?

He didn't have a habit of leaving them alive.

When you began to struggle again, a weak motor droned awake, making your stomach drop. The garage door began to lift, and the bottom edge of it dug into your stomach. Your heart sank with dread. Within seconds you’d likely be dead or mangled. Seconds, IF you were lucky. The thought of him dragging out your demise was even worse. You had seen his crime scenes.

Your knees lifted off the ground as the door made its ascent.

“Please,” you begged, shoes sliding against the floor.

The garage door creaked as it came to a halt. Your feet pedaled in futility, searching for the floor. You lifted your chest, trying to wriggle backwards. The only way out of this cursed little door-–if there even was a way out-–led right to his knife.

“Please, please, I won't run. I'll be good,” you begged through tears.

Silence. Unlike him.

“I'll be good,” you repeated quieter. "Please, Mr. Ghostface."

The motor started again, and you winced. But the door began to lower, allowing you a moment of relief as your bare knees met the cool, smooth floor.

His footsteps got louder and clearer as he crossed the space. Despite being unable to see him, you knew his presence loomed behind you-–you could feel it in your bones.

Sure enough, two gloved hands gripped your thighs, lifting your lower body for a moment and spreading your legs before setting your knees down further apart.

He made a place for himself between your knees, spreading them even wider. The smooth fabric of his robe pooled over your legs with him between them. He ran his gloved hands up your torso from your hips to your waist, pushing your skirt up further so it was up around your navel. Then, two satin thumbs lightly brushed your skin, tracing the heart-shaped cutout of your underwear.

After a moment of rustling behind you, a gloved finger slotted between your panties and ass. He pulled the garment out from your body, then the elastic tension released with a slice of his knife.

More rustling. His movement made the robe graze your butt. You weren't sure if you were imagining the sound of his belt coming undone behind you, but the thought of it made your face heat up.

The heavy fabric of his robe lifted off your calves, removing any doubt about what he was about to do. You tried to ignore the way your pussy throbbed.

The smooth head of his cock nudged your entrance, then slid wetly along your slit, forward and back. You hadn't realized just how aroused you were until feeling cock glide so smoothly against your well lubricated cunt. The head lingered at your front, nudging just the right spot. Your hips tilted all on their own, and he paused before sliding back to your wet little hole, resting the curve of his tip just inside.

He gripped your hips and pushed forward, intruding into your tight, warm sleeve with his thick, hard cock. Inch by inch, his stiff manhood pushed its way into you, the pressure of his girth pushing the breath out of your lungs. He slid all the way in without much difficulty and paused after bottoming out.

You took a much needed breath.

The skin of your chest radiated warmth. Your whole upper body was hot, despite the cool air.

Your lower body was warm and stuffed.

Two big, gloved hands wrapped around your thighs, then lifted. Your body lurched forward as far as it could, then he pulled you back on him, bottoming out deeper before he let your weight back down.

You braced your forearms on the driveway and he moved his hands up to hold your hips. He withdrew most of his length then squeezed your hips and pulled you back again as he slammed all the way back in. This wasn't bad… he was slow, almost careful.

Almost as though he could hear your thoughts, he seemed to drop all restraint. He buried his cock in you at a steadily increasing pace. You were shaken by just how good he felt inside you.

You bit your arm to stifle your moans, but it was no use. He'd have to hear your sounds of pleasure, as humiliating as it was. You removed your mouth from your bicep, leaving a string of spit as you took a deep breath.

As you inhaled the night air, it smelled like someone was having a bonfire... Someone, somewhere had come outside. Maybe even the neighbors.

But you didn't cry for help.

It was as though the cock in your cunt had gagged your throat, paralyzing you. It couldn't be that you didn't want him to stop, could it? No, you told yourself.

With every thrust, it felt more like a lie.

The rhythm of his pounding made your breasts jiggle. Your arms and wrists rubbed against the driveway, but you hardly felt it. Any discomfort was drowned out by the pleasant stretch of his girth, and the grip of your pussy clinging to his length as it pushed through you.

You closed your eyes and went somewhere else, giving into the feel-good chemicals coming to boil in your blood. You couldn’t tell how much of it was the rush of survival and how much was his dick, but the combination had you hurtling toward the stratosphere. Full, you were packed full. God, it felt good. Even better, the more you let yourself feel it.

There was something freeing about completely submitting to his will. Letting him use you like a fucktoy. Giving in, letting him win, you could relax and let it all wash over you. With your body held in his hands and wrapped around his cock, you felt weightless. There was no longer pressure to fight back or flee. The only pressure was low in your gut, building toward something unthinkable. Closer with each heavy stroke.

You spasmed with a whimper.

He abruptly sped up to jackhammer pace, pushing you to the brink within seconds. You rode that edge for longer than you thought anyone could keep up that pace. You remembered to breathe, and then you saw stars. The hair on your neck stood up as you clung to the ethereal force that rippled through your loins. Pleasure shot through your core to each limb.

He slowed down as you clenched around him, then bottomed out deeper. It was like he’d created more space in you and packed it with more cock than you ever thought you'd take.

Until the warmth began to spread inside, you didn't realize he was coming. He had given no outward indication of it. You could hardly distinguish your throbbing from his, until yours faded and he was still twitching.

The grip of his hands eased up as he finished. He held you with your ass flush against his wiry hair, anchoring you. Plugging you.

After a minute, it started to feel colder outside. You felt more exposed, vulnerable, but still dared to imagine he might leave you alive.

One hand let go of you, and his robe shifted, brushing the back of your thigh. He pulled back your ruined underwear again. This time, he cut through the side and took it all the way off. Then, the surprisingly warm flat of his blade pressed against the side of your butt cheek. It slid up over the curve of your flesh.

Your heart pounded, reminding you to fear for your life.

The metal left your skin, only for the point of the blade to then prickle the center of your lower back. He held you still, and his cock twitched inside you as he began to draw blood.

You pleaded, “don't," but your insides throbbed.

A sharp, white heat followed the blade, curving upward, out, and down toward your crack. He repeated it on the other side to complete the heart. Your ears burned and pounded with their own pulse. Your inner ears began to ache.

Finally, his cock slid out of you, and after a moment of jostling, he got out from between your legs. Then, facing your side, his robe grazed your back as he hovered over you and grabbed hold of your waist. He tugged gently. You extended your arms in front of you and held them together as he pulled you back into the garage. warm blood trickled into your crack as you sat up. His gloved thumb smeared it upward.

Clear snot was coming out of your nose. You sniffed and he wiped that too, with a knuckle.

Holding his knife, he showed it to you as he stood up. He crossed the garage in just a few strides while you obediently sat back on your knees, adjusting your bra and fixing your hair.

He returned with his hands full.

Your face fell blank when you looked up to see a collar with a leash hanging off it. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He tilted his head, then stooped down to reach around your neck and fasten the it. The arms of his robe created a curtain of darkness as he adjusted the buckle and tested the tightness with two fingers between it and your neck.

He stepped back, holding the leash, and tilted his mask, waiting. There was something else in his other hand. He clicked it, then tossed it aside as the garage door began to rise. He reached down and helped you up. Then, he walked you down the driveway and into the night, with a warm mess trickling down your thighs.

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thank you for reading 🖤

and tysm for your comments and asks 🙏the feedback and encouragement really helps me.

[mikyapixie]

BROOO!!! 🤣🤣🤣

[everythingspokenfor]

Just thought of calling Bakugou, nasty because he asked you to spit in his mouth. Only for him to look at you, with mischief in his eyes, as he pushed his hand between you both, messily grabbing the base of his cock, that was coated with both your cum. Lathering his fingers with creamy mess, Bakugou brought his hand to his mouth and sucked on his fingers, only breaking eye contact to shut his eyes and moan around the digits.

"nothin' nasty babe, just lil' bit of me and lil' bit of you", he slurred,pulling you into a messy kiss and resuming his thrusts ..

[himewonu]

SIGN ME UP! ; kwon soonyoung

summary after posting boyfriend applications as a joke，you somehow choose the only man who didn’t apply。 starring bsf! soonyoung x f! reader genre fluff，comedy，best friends to lovers，i stole this from an old wip of mine contains studying…☠️ word count 0.4k

from rhin，dedicated to @juyeoz ! alya pls don’t cry i made sure this releases today for u😕🙏

you were kidding. everyone knew you weren’t serious when you posted boyfriend applications on your socials. it started all because your friend suggested boyfriend applications after you were complaining about all your friends having significant others and you were the only one who was still single.

what was serious, though, was the number of messages random boys sent you about the applications. you never bothered to answer because you thought they were all joking at first. however, they kept asking your friends if it was real, convincing you that not everyone knows you’re joking.

“you do know that my applications are fake, right?” you’re confirming with soonyoung, one of your friends, in the library in the middle of a group study session with your other friends.

“okay, wait, so if it’s fake, why did you post it anyway?” he queries, puzzled as to why you did it—to which even you aren’t too sure why.

“it was a joke! everyone knew that—well, not everyone. so many of your friends kept spamming my phone about it, you say as you show him the unread replies from his friends.

he looks at you with a disgusted expression. “(name), you do realize that if men who can’t get a girlfriend see that a single, pretty girl like you jokingly posts boyfriend applications, they’re going to seriously apply.”

“are you guys talking about (name)’s boyfriend applications?” jun asks as he sits next to soonyoung, who nods in response.

a few of your other friends chime in on the conversation. “hey, i heard so many guys were trying to apply,” mingyu brings up. “did you pick any of them?”

you stay silent, pretending to think of an answer, but in reality, you’re looking around your surroundings. all your friends that are studying with you happen to be the friends that have romantic partners. the only ones left are you and soonyoung.

you look at soonyoung, then look down at his hand. grabbing onto it and holding it up, you announced, “soonyoung! he applied,” you lied. your friends began to tease the both of you, calling you two a perfect pair.

“didn’t know i was your boyfriend now?” he whispers, teasing you as well.

“gosh, just play along with it,” you huff, lightly pushing him.

he shrugs. “okay, but instead of playing along with it. what if i actually become your boyfriend? i’ll sign up for that boyfriend application of yours.” he switches from his silly tone to a low voice. “so please, pick me.”

svt masterlist .ᐟ

[xanaxspritz]

choso loves your tits a little too much. maybe too much for his own good. they're huge, and take up too much space and unwanted attention, but choso loves them with as much love he has for one of his brothers. you find his hand randomly groping one of your breasts randomly throughout the day, even in public. embarrassed, you tell him people are watching but choso doesn't care, your tits are now his fidget toy. luckily for both of you your breasts are extremely sensitive, which means endless amounts of pleasure when choso latches on your nipple, nursing to his heart's content while you have orgasm after orgasm. you watch him spend his precious time on each of your heavy breasts, his tongue flicking and sucking your erect puffy nipples while his head rests on your pillow-soft tits. you run you hands through his silky black hair, he's too adorable like this.

[hazbingirliexoxo]

Alastor: Do you ever wonder how many houses you’ve passed in your lifetime that have people locked in the basement?😃

Reader: ….

Angel: Like in a kinky BDSM kinda way or…?

Reader: What the actual fuck is wrong with you two?

[thebrothel]

🍆

NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL | NIGHTWALKSJOEL |

take it

Night walks Joel x f!reader, 2.3k by the man himself

18+ drugs and smut. Ty @beefrobeefcal and ty for the old asks etc that got his wheels turning @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @xdaddysprincessxx @noxturnalnymph

Joel is being an idiot. It's not like him to keep his distance, but he's obsessed with you, so you don't have to worry about there being someone else. And you def don't have to move on and get a hot Australian surf instructor (even if he's kinda cool, even if it could mean Joel ravishes you in public in a grand romantic gesture while the surfer watches).

The longer you go without Joel's touch, the more you think about his cock. Your body begs for it. Every time you sleep, you have wild wet dreams about him, but it's not enough. You need the real thing.

One night, you're taking a walk by yourself, and your legs slow down when you get to Joel's house. It feels like something else is moving your legs for you, like in that Wallace and Gromit movie, The Wrong Trousers. Except, instead of an evil penguin in control, it's the ghost of Joel's cock inside you. The ghost of his big hands on your ass, pulling you closer. 

Like a zombie for his cock, you trudge across his yard and don't even knock on his open door, which is propped open to get fresh air while he works out. You walk right in. Joel is lifting extremely heavy weights in short gym shorts. He's bench pressing, and the bulge in his shorts could not be more enticing. 

He has earbuds in and he doesn't hear you come in right away.The top half of the bench is at a slight incline, and if his eyes were open he'd see you, but you're free to ogle as long as you want undetected. 

In his jade green shorts, you can see the shape of cock and balls. He continues lifting, grunting with each lift, especially the last one. When he's finished his set, he lies there on the bench catching his breath. 

You approach from behind and creep closer to the bench. When re-racks the weight, you zip tie his hands to it. His reaction is delayed. He looks at his hands before looking around and seeing you – You've walked around front to face him. 

As looks at you, the alarm on his face turns into relief, then horny affection. He's happy to see you.  

He nods slowly, “Alright.” He raises his eyebrows at you then checks you out.

 "God damn, pumpkin.” 

“Where the hell have you been?” you ask. 

Like a dog trying to scratch an itch, he tilts his head to rub his ear against his shoulder in effort to remove an earbud. 

You take the earbuds out for him.

”thanks,” he mumbles

You stand straddling the bench and place your hands on the bar near his hands, waiting for him to explain.

The metal bench press bar is at the perfect location for this situation at all times, even if it's not ideal for racking the weight. It only makes him buffer to arrange his gym equipment this way.  His upper body is inclined enough to have a good look at you, and the bar is between you but you could duck under it without trouble.

“Well?” you ask. 

“What?” he stupidly responds. “Couldn’t hear ya…” 

“Where the hell have you been?” you repeat. 

There’s a flash of something complicated behind his eyes as if there's more to the situation. Then he puts on that smug, overconfident look and chuckles to himself.  “Couldn't even go a whole week, could ya?" 

“Asshole,” you respond. “You did this on purpose, got me addicted… now I can’t help myself.” 

He nods down toward his lap. “You gonna sit down or what?” 

You slowly lower yourself until your crotch meets his warm bulge, making him grunt and you gasp.

“There ya go,” he murmurs. You glare at him then abruptly but reluctantly lift yourself off him. 

“Relax, baby.” He tilts his head to display a joint behind his ear. You take it and put it in your mouth. It’s damp and salty from his sweaty hair.

“YOU relax,” you mumble, then light the joint.

His eyes dazzle with affection and he looks at your mouth holding his joint. You pinch it out and put it behind your own ear while the smoke cools in your mouth.

Then you grab his jaw, then  bring your face close, and the side of your nose rests against his as you open your mouth and release the smoke. He begins to draw in the smoke, then you gently lower yourself onto his hard-on again and he inhales too quickly, then turns his head and chokes. “Fuck,” he coughs. 

You stand up and step back.

You pull up your tank top over your beautiful tits and circle your nipples with your fingers. 

“Mmm,” he hums. “C’mere.” 

You shake your head no. 

He smiles with half his mouth. “Okay,” he concedes. 

You keep an eye on his crotch and watch his arousal grow as he watches you strip. When you take off the tank top, you come hover over the bench again and rest your tits on the metal bar and tease your nipples over the metal until they’re painfully erect. 

Joel lifts his hips and the erection in his shorts brushes you. You move away and scold him, “Naughty boy.” 

He groans. 

You run your hands over yourself and slowly move your hips, watching his eyes scan your body, trying to will your sweatpants off. 

“Oh, you were made for this, baby,” he purrs as you give him a slow dance, only letting yourself lightly brush against him. “You’re in the wrong damn business,” he says, then adds “whatever the hell you’re in school for.” 

You continue to tease him, groping yourself and your tits, then you slide your hand down the front of his pants and he says, “oh yeah…..can’t teach this at community college.” 

You rub yourself, watching his chest heave. You pull your hand out of your pants and spread your fingers apart to show him how wet you are.

“Fuck,” he murmurs and his nose twitches. You bring your fingers to his nose then pull them away and he manages a resentful smirk. 

“What do you say?” you ask. 

"Bring'em here."

“What do you say, Joel?” 

“Be a good girl and gimme a taste.” 

You shake your head no. 

“Please,” he adds with a roll of his eyes. 

You offer him a lick and he sucks your fingers into his mouth as far as they’ll go. Licks them clean.

His teeth rake your fingers as you withdraw them from his mouth. 

“That’s my bad girl,” he murmurs. “Gunnin��� for a spankin’, ain’t ya?” he cocks his eyebrows. “C’mon, cut these things off,” he pulls at his hands. 

“A spanking?” you ask, and stand up again. “Is that what I need?” 

You hook your thumbs into your sweat pants and slowly tug them down, one side at a time.

You turn around so your ass is facing him. You move your hips seductively, and when you pull the pants down under your ass, he moans, “Fuck,” and you look back at him with a raise of your eyebrows. 

“Oh, you’re a bad, bad girl,” he says. ”Damn right you need a spanking.” 

You slap your own ass right on cue. 

“God damn,” he responds. 

You take off the pants altogether and stay with your ass facing him again.

You begin to touch yourself again, one hand on your breast, looking over your shoulder.

“C’mere, baby,” he begs. 

You slide your fingers all the way down your slippery slit, bending forward and tilting your hips -- popping out your pussy as you spread your lips for him. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, sweating. “Hell yeah.” 

You plunge a finger into yourself.

“Come and get it, baby,” he urges. “Get what ya came for.” 

You withdraw your hand and twist half around to grope your breast as you look  him up and down and assess the damage. Oh, he’s wrecked. His hips move, the tent in his shorts begging to escape, straining the seams of his short athletic shorts.  His breath is heavy. 

You bite your lip.

“You need a lot more than a spanking,” he says, and his eyes darken. 

“What do I need?” you ask innocently as you fully face him again. You slowly step over his lap, and with the lightest touch, you use three fingers to nudge his cock through his pants, first from one side, then the other. 

Inspecting his erection. 

“Mm,” you hum as if considering whether you want it. Then you slide your hand down and cup his balls. 

“Fffuuuuuck,” he groans. He breathes vocally as though finishing another set of weights. 

You lightly run your hand over the stretched fabric of the shorts, up his aching shaft again. A spot of precum seeping through almost makes you drool. You wet your lips. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, “s’all yours, pumpkin.” 

You look up at his face for half a second. 

“All yours, every inch,” he promises with a nod. 

You back up and squat down to put your face at cock level. Through his shorts, you lick the spot of precum, making him moan. You suck him through the fabric and his lips lift.

“Fuck, pumpkin.”

You look up at him with a devilish smile in your eyes.

“I know ya want these hands in your hair while ya do that,” he taunts, displaying his hands as best he can. 

You waiver for a moment, then strengthen your resolve. You lick through the fabric along his balls, and your nose nudges his stiff cock. He curses and grunts and each sound makes you gush and twitch.

He watches your face carefully as you appear to give into your desires. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, “take what ya came for.” 

Your eyes glaze over and your fingers curl under the soaked sweatband of his shorts.

“Yeah,” he quietly encourages. 

You pull the waistband down under his cock and he grunts as it springs free. 

“Good girl,” he pants just above a whisper. “‘S’all yours,” he repeats, keeping you in the zone, making sure the spell doesn't break.

Straddling him, with both your hands on the bar, you glide your wet pussy along his stiff cock. It's excruciating for both of you, with your loins aching to be joined again. 

“Take it,” he whispers. 

You reach down to notch him perfectly in your dripping hole. 

“Attagirl,” he whispers. "Take it."

You sink down on him with a whimper, and your skin erupts in goosebumps. 

His low moan is enough to make you twitch around his length, and he takes a deep ragged breath trying not to cum. 

You ride him slow, one hand on your tit, moaning as you roll your hips and fuck yourself on the best dick you've ever had.

“God I love this cock “ you gush. “Gooodddd, I love it.”

“Yeah, take it, baby,” he says. “FUCK you're hot…”

Having him inside you like this – big and hard and perfectly hugged by your insides – it's like breathing after being starved for oxygen. 

“Feel so good, baby,” he pants.

“Fuck,” you whine.

Nothing feels better. How can you ever go without it again?

You ride him at a perfect rhythm, salivating to kiss him but more concerned about milking his cock.

“Yeah, that's right,” he encourages as you fuck him. “Take this cock.”

“oh, god,” you moan. “You know what I'm here for?”

“hell yeah, baby,” he says. "You know it's yours."

“Not just your cock,” you say breathily.

“No?” He asks with barely any interest. Feels too good inside you to care.

“I wanna drain your balls,” you tell him.

He groans in response, and his cock twitches.

“Wanna make you my baby daddy,” you say. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. He's sweating. Veins bulge in his temple and neck. “always knew that's what ya wanted.”

You slow down even more. “Wanna be so full of your cum,” you pant. “Just fill me up, again and again.”

“Oh, God, yeah,” he pants. 

“Fill me up, daddy,” you softly command. "Fill me up."

He groans and begins to blow his load. His hot seed pumps into you so powerfully that it gives you a long hard orgasm far better than you've had in your wet dreams of him.

“Yeah,” he moans weakly. “Drain’em.... drain’em pumpkin.”

With his cock fully seated inside, you grind against him as you both finish coming. 

"God damn."

-

Your skin is hot, and you're in a daze. His cheeks are pink and his pupils are blown out. 

“C’mere,” he whispers. 

You duck under the bar to hug him, resting your tits and stomach against his sweaty, muscular chest and core. He's still ziptied to the bar, so he can't hug you back. But he kisses your head. 

You rest there and feel his breathing as his cock softens in your cunt. 

“Ain't empty yet,” he says. “Cut these off, baby.”

You look up at him. 

“fuck ya so hard you'll see god,” he promises. 

“I’m counting on it," you answer.

You'll need a knife from the kitchen to cut those. You let his cock out and carefully get off him from the side, ducking under his arm.

“Are you hungry?” You ask as you walk over to his kitchenette.

“What?”

“I'm starving.”

You grab his wallet off the counter, then take a Domino’s magnet off the fridge.  “What kinda pizza do you want?” you ask. 

He looks at his wrists, still ziptied. “Pumpkin-”

“Meat lovers,” You conclude. 

He watches you order, and thinks - A hot chick like you draining his balls and feeding him pizza?

He'll remind you who's in charge later. Meanwhile, life could be worse.

--------

Love you, beefro!!! 🖤

[inknopewetrust]

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM [he’s a fictional character that doesn’t exist]

IM HAVING HIS BABY [no I’m not because he’s a fictional character]

[impish-baby]

My heart still beats - platonic yandere werewolf sister x reader - 🐾

The den is soft. The ground lined with plush blankets and pillows, it be cozy if your hands weren't currently chained to the wall.

Running hadn't been worth it in the end. The forrest too unfamiliar and overwhelming, especially in your new wolf form, for you to get anywhere substantial. All it did was make you exhausted, leaving Rowen to pick you up by your scruff and drag you home.

He's out hunting now, leaving Madison behind to 'babysit' you. The older girl is leaving you alone for the most part, although every few minutes she creeps closer to where you're bound. Anytime you growl at her, she stops only to start again a few minutes later.

She likely just wants to cuddle, but you're far from in the mood at the present moment. It doesn't deter her for long however, Madison soon pressing against your side and ignoring your attempt to snap at her.

"Hush.." She scoffs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "You're the one who got in trouble, it's not my fault so stop being grumpy." It's not like she's making you feel better! Madison seems perfectly fine snuggling with you despite your obvious discomfort, patting your head patronizingly. "Poor pup got put in time out.." She only laughs when you growl this time, "You're fine, dad let you get off easy."

Madison sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. "It's only until he's back, ok? Then you can run around and cause all the problems you want."

[harmonysanreads]

Phainon and the artist who refuses to accept him as their muse.

You can paint the deeds of the Goldweaver on fine pottery, dress desserts in respect to the Undying Prince, weave tunes to unravel the Fool from his ineffable shell, dedicate verses to the untouchable Maiden — but you remain ever uninterested to grant the Deliverer the honor of being the reason your mind paces restless. The hero's soft spot for art, regardless of how niche, is common knowledge to any Chrysos Heir enthusiast. He just has mysterious ways of finding talent and celebrating it with his heart.

In the beginning, it was a wish he kept hidden beneath heartfelt praises and admiration. Your gaze charmed the man ; when you study any subject that you deem fit to feature in your art, you scrutinize, pick apart and reconstruct it from within before giving it new meaning. The prospect of having that gaze fixed on him alone for even a minute, studying him, had caused ripples in his daydreams. He so yearned for you to understand him, he believed you would be able to prove that he's not the titular blank canvas everyone says he is.

When his hints and nudges failed to inspire you, he opted for a formal approach. But you met him with a resolute rejection, unwilling to taint your ideals in exchange of fickle currency. That fearless response, the defiance you held so close to yourself made his heart ache. A hero's pride should've prompted him to abandon this chase for good, but he couldn't find it in himself to look away. He found himself pining for another glimpse of that light, the kernel of your soul.

“Go home, Deliverer. I've told you too many times by now, I won't accept you as my muse.”

There is that averted stare again, something in him stirs, whispering bitter revelations of how your eyes will deny him even if he cut himself to pieces and forfeited them to your feet.

He feels his fingers curl around themselves. Forcing a laugh, “And I have asked you too many times why. Even hatred can inspire people, but you... you're so utterly indifferent to me. You wound my heart. I wonder just what is my problem? Is there nothing special about me?”

You glance over your shoulder, your sudden bewilderment confuses him for a millisecond, “I don't know? Do you perhaps think there is nothing special about you?”

That stuns Phainon long enough for you to slip away.

And the question haunts him, chases him everywhere. The prophecy deems him as the perfect vessel that will save Amphoreus, but is he? Is the prophecy even true, just as how Anaxagoras has been saying? If there is indeed nothing within him worth earning him your recognition, then he should change — how will he change? What kind of person do you like? Is it the way he talks? Does he need to behave more refined? Or does he need to be cursed like Mydei and Castorice?

As he ponders about the possibilities and the ramifications of molding himself to your tastes, envy leers over him, replacing once tender affection with loathing for anything that monopolizes your interest from finding refuge in him. It wouldn't be too difficult to take upon a new identity, but what about the distractions that caused this situation to escalate in the first place? Wouldn't it be so much easier for you to... look at him, if he just makes it so that there will exist nothing else that will be capable of competing with him for your attention?

[toxicanonymity]

THE LEAK

PAIR: billy loomis x f!reader WC: 2200 filthy words SUMMARY/NOTES: AU where billy lives and is acquitted of the murders. he's your sleazy landlord, and he's obsessed with you. big ty to @clawdee for a thot that did a lot. love this moodboard by @aurorawritestoescape for the vibes. WARNINGS may not have full detail. 18+ adult content. stalking and other perv behavior, detailed fantasies of each other (in yours, he's forceful and can lift you), jerking off, dark use of cum, light degradation, (explicit) reference to billy x stu. sex toy, what the ask says, oh and idk, what if he sucked it?

PART 2 HERE

You haven’t saved his number, but you’re starting to recognize it. His text says, you’ve got a leak. gotta come inside sry. Great, so this psycho is slinking around when you’re not there. And what’s worse: you won’t be back for days. He must have seen you packing your car. While you’re trying to remember if you put all your toys away at home, another whoosh from your phone startles you. He’s sent an image. Not of the leak, no… This image makes you hot with the primitive urge to be bred. 

The pic is from Billy’s point of view, looking down. It shows the bottom half of his sweat-stained white tank, a peek at his happy trail, and, god help you--a massive bulge in his light-wash jeans. His big, tan fist is holding a wrench. And finally, framed by his poorly-tied work boots, his toolbox sits on your kitchen floor. It’s definitely not the focal point. 

You quickly close the picture, but less than a minute later, it’s open again, and you’re zooming in. Your primate brain is saying sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it, and a heartbeat throbs between your legs. Ugggghhhghghgh. Does he have to look like that? Does he have to be so big?  Does he have to hold a wrench? Does his belt have to be tilting like something might escape from his jeans? A stiff, veiny vision springs into your mind, and you try to push it away. Your panties are already at slip-and-slide status. 

Meanwhile, Billy is making himself at home at your (his) place. He takes his time stalking around your space with the eyes of a predator. It feels like it used to when he wore the mask. There’s something about you that stirs his darkness awake. He’d never stab you, although he doesn’t mind the vision of a knife at your throat. 

He walks past your dresser, bypassing your underwear drawer. He’s more interested in the dirty laundry. He pokes through your unwashed clothes and finds something to his liking: a red thong with a white-streaked gusset. He shoves it in his back pocket, but not all the way. The glimpse of red fabric is a nice touch, like a pocket square for his ass. Too bad you’re not there to see it when he squats to look under your bed. Maybe one day you’ll get smart and buy a security camera–one that you control.

-

Oh, and you didn’t put the toys away, you little vixen. At least not the big dong anchored to the edge of your bathtub by a suction cup, standing proudly with a slight curve.  He can't help but smile as he bends over and braces one hand on the tub. He wraps his hand around the shaft and pulls. Strong suction cup.

/// He imagines you straddling the side of the tub and sinking onto the dick. A little “uh!” when it bottoms out. You gently rock on it, then fuck yourself thinking of him, unaware that his is thicker. ///

He palms the growing lump in his pants, then unbuckles his belt. He sighs through his nose and gently grabs his crotch, relieved to have more room for growth. 

He squats down, panties hanging out of his back pocket. He sniffs the dildo–smells like silicone. Lame. But he opens his nostrils and inhales deeper as he runs his nose down the shaft and could swear he gets a little whiff of you. He kitten-licks it with curiosity and detects the slightest hint of something tart. Then he licks up the shaft and gives the tip an open-mouth kiss. Billy’s never approached a cock this way before.

/// Normally it’s his meat between someone else’s lips. Always in control. It’s not every day he has a dick in his face, but if he does, it’s usually in sixty-nine. And he’s probably jerking it with his hand, choking it like it might kill him first, letting it slap his open lips with each stroke before catching it in his mouth and straight gobbling it, greedily consuming it, commanding it with his tongue, dead set on flooding his mouth before he shoots his own load down Stu’s throat. ///

He lets one knee down onto the discolored vinyl floor, then takes the head fully in his mouth, hand wrapped around the base. As he lowers his head on the shaft, it becomes apparent this is not just a dong. It’s not going to curve down his throat. It has a rigid core. He inspects the dick and finds buttons near the silicone balls, but when he presses them, nothing happens. It’s dead. Maybe he’ll charge it for you while you’re gone. He’s a nice guy like that. 

He returns his mouth to the tip and takes just a few inches. In a few days, you’ll be riding a toy that has traces of his saliva all over it. He sucks hard, harder, then tastes something. It's heady and chemical. He lets most of the shaft out and sucks just the head. He tastes it again. He takes his mouth off the dildo and there’s a little drop of cloudy liquid beading at the dickhole he hadn’t noticed. Holy shit. 

He looks around the tub, picking things up, putting them down–how many bottles of shampoo do you need? Some of these feel almost empty, begging to be re-homed to his bathroom. He gets up and searches your cluttered counter, rummaging around, looking for the juice. He checks himself out in the mirror, and his little smirk widens. He looks hot: Biceps swole from working out. Cock straining his unbuttoned jeans.

He snaps a pic before resuming his search. When he looks under the sink, jackpot. A bottle of synthetic “kum.” He unscrews the lid and you sure have used a lot of it. He sees the bottle half-full, ha ha. Until he pours out just little. He'll replace it.

Billy's phone dings with a text from you. Thought this day might never come. Your text reads, all good? Hah. Of course there’s no real leak, aside from his cockhead. 

You’re stopped at a gas station. At the moment, you care more about what's in his pants than your complete loss of privacy, so you’re playing along. The urge to text him had been too strong, and now your heart is racing, awaiting his response. When he hasn’t replied in five minutes, you feel like an idiot. . And then you’re just mad. Of course he hasn’t responded. He must be feeling so smug right now. You get back in your car. If you weren’t two hours away, you’d speed home to confront him. 

/// As that plays out in your mind, it devolves into a filthy fantasy. When you bust in the door demanding to see the alleged leak, he gets a wild look in his eyes. I'll show you the leak. He charges at you and you don't move. He manhandles you up against the wall, pinning you there while he smells your hair. Oh, he’s strong, really strong, and he’s rock hard pressing himself up against you. You’re dyin’ for this cock, he growls in your ear. Oh, how you wish he was wrong. He’s there to lay pipe, and you want it. ///

Back in real life, you’re staring into space until a van driver's stare snaps you out of it. You find your hand between your legs, heel of your palm pressed against your throbbing front….still parked right there at the gas pump. The man quickly looks away, and your face catches fire. You can’t drive like this. Soaking wet, you get out of your car again. You know the gas station chain has clean bathrooms. Clean enough. 

You lock the bathroom door behind you and are confronted with your face in the mirror--wrecked with horny desperation. You wash your hands with that pink scented soap, dry them, then unbutton your shorts. Leaning with your back against the wall, you plunge your hand into your shorts. What a mess-no panties, soaked through. You rub your puffy cunt, then gather some slick and slide it up to your sweet spot for a quickie. 

Closing your eyes, you pick up the scene right where you left off, this time grinding your bare, dripping pussy against your hand. 

/// You imagine he’s got you up against the wall. He cups your crotch over your obscenely short daisy dukes, then easily slips his middle finger under the inseam for a dip. Found the leak, he taunts as his thick finger pushes into your needy hole. Already got your panites off for me? He tilts his head, making a strand of hair fall in his face. You're dyin' for it.

Don’t - fucking - move, he warns with a glare, then takes his arm off your chest to unbutton his pants, freeing his cock in a hurry. Once his bare cock is grazing your midsection, both his hands end up between your legs. He rips the pathetic, dripping inseam of your “shorts.”  Then he forcefully grabs both your thighs and lifts you against the wall.

And just as he’s shoving his stiff cock into you, just when his girth is stuffing you full, the tension snaps in real life. ///

You shudder and your thighs quake and your mouth opens wide with a nearly silent moan. Slowly rutting against your hand with each bursts of pleasure, you hear yourself whisper, billy as your hips slow to a stop. 

He knows you want it bad. Of course you want it. He’s him–He was pre-trial detention for a week before he started getting fan mail. Now he’s far from Woodsboro, out of Cali, out in the sticks of a town that’s not even on the map. He’s a nobody with a trailer park. He likes it that way, and he’s still got it. You’re playing hard to get, and that really gets him hard.

Getting a text from you at all feels like a runway traffic controller is waving him in for the kill...so to speak. He doesn't reply right away, but it's not because he's playing it cool. He's just mulling how far to go with his reply. He tucks his erection into his waistband and takes another POV shot with his legs framed by open doors of your under-sink cabinet. The smushed head of his cock barely visible against his abdomen.

Too far? Maybe. He’ll save that one for later. Right now he has something to take care of anyway.

. . .

Ten minutes later, he’s reclining on your bed, edging himself with the kum as lube, open bottle on the nightstand. He doesn’t use your panties, or the pics he’s secretly taken, or the audio he’s recorded from outside the thin walls of your trailer. He doesn’t need anything but his mind, and the fact that when you get off in private, you stuff yourself with imaginary cum. You’re that much of a cumslut. He’s never been so stiff and swollen. 

/// It’s so clear in his mind. You ride that cock with one hand braced on the tub, one on your breast. Your eyes are closed and you're moaning. You mutter billy under your breath, fuck, billy, gushing at the thought of him fucking you raw. Your thighs tremble, desperate for his load. Fill me up, billy. When you’re just about to press that button on the dildo, in real life he sits up and grabs the bottle of kum. He brings the open bottle to the tip of his cock.

Then, you press the button and moan please, please. As you begin to fill yourself with his cum, panting yes, more— his whole body shakes. He moans out loud in your room. His thick ropes join the fake cum as he thinks of you blasting more than one load up your cunt. He just knows you don’t stop at one. You don’t stop until you’re spent, and a big mess of his jizz is leaking out of your used, over-stuffed cunt.  ///

He loses count of how many ropes he shoots into that bottle. The last of his load dribbles out. He sets the bottle down on the nightstand, take off his sweaty shirt, and collapses on his back, just breathing for a minute, looking at your ceiling.

-

When he’s recovered enough, he tucks his cock back into his boxer briefs, sits up, and looks in the bottle. His cum is visibly different from the synthetic stuff. He screws the lid closed, holds the bottle near his unzipped jeans, and shakes it in a jack-off motion. He opens the bottle again. “Yeahhh,” he says to the mixture. He’s gonna have to do that again. While you're out of town, he'll be adding a lot more to that bottle. 

His phone lights up on the nightstand, reminding him of your text.  He slings his dirty shirt over his shoulder on his way back to your bathroom. He puts the bottle back where it was.

Then he takes a mirror selfie, disheveled and flushed, with a visible farmer’s tan. His bare skin glistens, and his belt is left unbuckled. 

He sends you the pic and a text: yea just finished

---------

masterlist

More landlord billy loomis HERE

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fic notifications: I rb on @toxicfics after at least one person has enjoyed the fic bc it calms my nerves lol

Thank you for reading and tysm for interacting with my stories!! I've been going through it recently, as you may can tell from my lack of fics. Your enjoyment and encouragement makes a difference on a personal level, not just as a writer - I'm grateful for you all ♥️

[selfproclaimed-moviecritic]

This is so Beach Walks and just overall Night Walks coded I am having a heart attack fr @toxicanonymity

I do not own these photos!!! They are from @joeIsmillers on Twitter!!

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄? ✮ F. LÓPEZ

summary. fermín wants to celebrate his new trophy with you.

warnings. 18+ mean! fermín. smut.

gabri speaks! paz!reader universe is back due to popular demand.

the view of the apartment the guys rented for the party was breathtaking. madrid was a beautiful city, you were glad your brother had convinced your parents to move in with him. although right now you were alone in madrid surrounded by a bunch of players you didn’t know. a bunch of players your brother hated. in the midst of drunk players and their friends you kept tugging your short red dress every five minutes. you were beginning to regret even coming, you were only here because of a certain blonde. a blonde you had yet to see.

“didn’t bring nico?” you’re startled by a familiar voice.

“why? you have a crush on my brother?” you ask him surprised at the sudden interest fermín had for your brother.

“no but it would’ve been nice to show him what a trophy looks like.” you can barely see him through the dim lights but you know he’s smirking. you can hear it in his voice.

“if i’m not wrong you barely had minutes. i’m not too sure you have any bragging rights.” you test him.

“and somehow i played more minutes than your brother has his whole career.” his tone changes. “watch your mouth. you look prettier like that.”

you’re taken aback by his change in demeanor quite frankly you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him this riled up. he’s rough and threatening, his good boy facade long gone. you’re amused by the way he’s acting wondering if he’s trying to get you to sleep with him again. you place your hand on his jaw while the other goes into his hair, tempting him.

“it’s such a shame that you could be celebrating your win but instead you’re bitching about my brother like a sad little envious child.” you say sharply not taking insults to your brother lightly.

the smirk that once adorned his face was now gone and you could tell he was mad at you now. he grips your hands away from him with such a tight hold you’ll know they’ll be bruised tomorrow. his eyes pierce into yours with a threatening look and you realize you’ve successfully riled him up.

“okay, that’s it.” he murmurs.

one minute you’re looking at fermín dead in the eye and the next you feel his hands grip your waist. his hold is so strong on you that he manages to carry you over his shoulder with ease. you’re not that surprised at how easily he’s picked you up, you’ve noticed how bulkier he got over the past year. when the guy you’ve been fucking on the low gets hotter you notice.

“fermín! put me down!” you shriek.

the blonde just finds it funny laughing at your vulnerability. your screams manage to get the attention of his teammates and their guests. the least you could say is that he was embarrassing you in front of everyone and you hoped that none of the real madrid players were here. the last thing you needed was to get embarrassed and scolded by your brother. the faces of the guest slowly fade away as fermín drags you to what you can assume is his room. he gently drops you on the bed before laying down next to you.

“you’re such an asshole.” you whine as you fix your dress. it’s then that you realize that some of the guests had probably seen your dress skirt up, your face heats up instantly at that.

you don’t get to bicker at him for much longer because he pulls you on top of him. his hands instantly go towards your hips — a muscle memory for him by now — and holds you. you can already feel him grow hard against you and you get excited. the two of you had just argued and now here he was with a hard on. he thrusts up against you causing a whine to slip past your lips at the sensation.

“such a shame that you could use your mouth for beautiful noises like this instead of arguing.” he murmurs under his breathe trying to contain his groans.

it’s your turn to grind against him causing his breath to falter. he places himself against the crook of your neck as you continue your movements, leaving wet kisses along your throat. you move your hands into the light curls of his hair as you feel yourself growing wetter.

“instead of trying to compete against my brother every five seconds you could be fucking me but you don’t see me complaining.” and there you go always trying to have the last word.

“shut the fuck up and spread your legs.” he groans.

you hesitate but you obey nevertheless. his hand trails down your figure until he places it firmly on your thigh, teasing you. he knows you need him and the idea of making you frustrated is amusing to him. you can’t stand it anymore — his touch being so close yet so far — you yearn him. it’s almost pathetic except for the fact that you know he feels the same way. he’s the one who wanted you first and he always ends up satisfying you even if he’s mad.

his fingers slowly tread up your leg and you grow frustrated at the edging. you can’t stand it anymore so you drag his fingers to where you need him the most causing a teasing laugh to leave his lips. you know he’ll give you shit about this later but you don’t care, you need him. he also seems to think the same as he doesn’t waste time spreading your wetness along your folds. your hips instinctively grind into his hand as his fingers start circling your clit causing waves of pleasure throughout your body.

“oh, fuck.” you whine as he brings a couple of his fingers towards your hole.

“say you want my fingers.” he looks at you with a defying grin. “say it or else i’ll leave you here all alone.”

“fuck fermín please.” you gasp as one of his fingers enters you slowly. “i need your fingers, please”

he leaves a quick kiss on your jaw before inserting you with his second finger. your body collapses against his chest as he fucks you slowly. the intrusion is sudden and your hands grip the sheets below you as he fills you up. the feeling is intense and you feel feral at the way you moan without holding back. the thing about fermín was that while he was asshole at least he fucked, hard. his free hand grabs you by the throat forcing you to look at him as you ride his hand.

he looks at you in awe admiring the way your eyes get glossy as you fuck yourself on his fingers. he analyzes the way your hair bounces with every movement of your hips and how your eyes close and your nose scrunches a bit before reaching your peak. he adds a third finger hoping to help you reach your high. you’re full on whining in his ear now as he fills you up completely. the sensation of your walls clinging to his fingers so tightly also allow him a sense of satisfaction.

“fermín. please.” you weren’t even sure what you were begging for. you only knew that you were close.

“you’re so close.” he whispers as he pulls you in for a kiss. the kiss is sloppy but soft. a mixture of lost and love. it scares you, nevertheless you come around his fingers gasping as you wet his fingers.

“fuck, that was hot. you’re hot.” fermín rambles as he helps you come down from your orgasm.

as you adjust your dress and fix your hair fermín watches you intensely. he’s tired of only seeing you like this and never normally. he hadn’t slept with anyone else since you came into his life and you were making him crazy. the feeling of knowing fran was so close of having you too was too much for him and he wasn’t sure why felt so possessive about you.

was it just lust or was it love?

[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x sidekick!reader | fluff, mutual pining, blatant flirting, bakugou calls reader darlin', bakugou is soft(ish) | cw: injury, mentions of alcohol, name calling (idiot), kisses kisses kisses

-bakugou tends to your injury, pining for you nearly as much as you do for him-

Your arm burns in waves, like kindling fire, the plain between your elbow and wrist a bramble of red and purple. It stings like a million tiny thorns pricking your skin.

"Why'd'cha get in the way, y'damn idiot!" Bakugou's words are fierce and his brow is drawn, but you see the way his cheeks flush. He's embarrassed, guilt-ridden though it's not his fault. Not really.

You were both too overzealous for your own goods, determined to land the final blow on the villains. But his quirk was bigger, more explosive, harder to stop when your hands inevitably collided. You're just lucky your arm took the brunt of it.

Still, you smile despite the pain and his frown deepens, "What? Hit y'r head too?"

You take a step forward, then two, crossing the threshold of your front door, reveling in the way his blush travels to his ears. "Did you come all the way here just to nag me?" There's a lilt of amusement in your voice, and he huffs, exasperation on his breath. "Or are you finally gonna give me that?"

You point to the bag dangling from his fingertips, pharmacy label half hidden by his baggy combat trousers. He's still in costume, mask pushed up over his wild, blonde hair, light sheen of sweat dotting his forehead and shoulders.

He's a proper distraction from the pain at least.

His gaze falls to his own hand, as if he'd entirely forgotten. There's a palpable moment of hesitation, and then he grunts, knuckles clenching; he thrusts it against your chest.

"Did'cha sterilize it, at least?"

You're half listening, shuffling through the contents of the bag. "Mhm, rinsed it with water when I got home."

"Y'r hopeless, darlin'."

You shrug, "If a little burn could take me out, I wouldn't be much of a hero, now would I?"

He snorts, "If y'were such a good hero, you'd have dodged in the first place."

"You think?" You humor his attitude, heart swelling in your chest when you spot your favorite candy hidden beneath the ointments and bandages. You have half a mind to tease him about it. "Are you gonna help me put this on?"

His arms fold across his chest, half a scowl twisting his face. He leans back, tapping a heavy boot against the floorboards. "And why would I do that?"

He must think he's subtle but you read him like a book, finger the pages, read between the lines. There's worry in his brow, guilt, turmoil, anger directed at his own self.

You figured it would help alleviate his conscience, at least.

"That's fine. I'll get around to it eventually." You turn on your heel, adding a cheeky "probably" to accentuate the wave of your hand, nudge him into action. It works.

Warm fingers encircle your wrist and you bite your tongue, suppress the laugh inching it's way up your throat. Predictable, cute. It takes everything in you not to grin.

Two big hands push you down by the shoulders, cushions folding beneath your thighs. Bakugou holds a palm out expectantly and you place your own atop his, reveling in the way his nose scrunches in frustration.

You don't miss the way he lets it linger—just for a moment—before finally swatting it away with a half-hearted flick of the wrist. "The ointment, idiot."

You relent, handing him the thin white tube. He spreads a stripe down his fingertips, seat dipping beside you; he extends his opposite hand. "Now your hand."

You grin, fingers gently curling around his own. It's not meant to be romantic, the way he draws you forward, presses your knuckles to his chest. He's just trying to get a better look at the wound, head tilting this way and that. But his hand is so warm, and he's so pretty from this angle, and when his eyes rise to meet yours his breath hitches in his throat; and so does yours.

It's intimate, familiar.

It makes you want to break whatever this unspoken 'something' is that the two of you have fostered—this growing affection you're both too proud to admit that wears on you, leaves you yearning to lean just a little closer and finally concede.

Just like all those nights ago, when he got a little too drunk at the hero convention, quickly annoyed by the crowds and reporters, the loud, boasting heroes. His champagne glass was quickly emptied once more, grunting when he pushed back in his chair. You remember leaning closer, close enough to discretely ask if he was alright. His red hot stare followed, burned through your chest and down to your core, left you shifting restlessly in your seat.

The air was thick when he finally careened upward, swaying perilously as he took you by the wrist, led you up and out of the dining hall until it was just the two of you, alone in an empty corridor. You could still hear the echo of stranger's voices, but it didn't bother him, not when he crowded you against the wall, not when his big hand fell to the space beside your head, or when his face dipped to linger just close enough to have your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"What about the party?"

"'S boring." He'd replied, fingers 'round your wrist, lingering on your pulse; he feels it stutter beneath his touch. "Y'scared?"

You would be, should be, if it was anyone else. Big, leering, all rippling muscle and explosive temper—but it was Bakugou, your mentor, your best friend, heart of a hero and handsome as hell. You've loved him as long as you've known him.

"No."

He'd grinned, leaned forward til' his lips found yours, deeper, sweeter than you'd ever imagined, and gods you had, too many times.

"Good."

You're so lost in thought that you miss the way skin meets skin, thin buffer of ointment between you, and it burns—his fingers against your aching forearm. Your cheeky smile twists into a grimace and you can almost taste his guilt.

"Quit bein' a baby." Bakugou's bark holds no bite, touch softening until his rough fingers border featherlight. "Y'r a hero, r'member."

You watch as he carefully applies the medicine, touch gentling each time you flinch until he's barely touching you at all.

"You've said that a lot today. 'Hero'." You muse. "It's usually sidekick this, sidekick that."

He shoots you a look before wiping the ointment from his fingers. "Y'r my sidekick."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head, leaning forward to rest your chin on your unattended hand. "And what's the difference?"

He could answer you honestly, if he wanted. You're capable, brave, strong in your own right—beautiful to boot. You're the best of the best; Bakugou would never settle for less after all. Not that he was going to admit that.

Instead his lips twist in amusement, curling, lopsided, askew; you realize you won't be getting a straight answer.

"Y'should know by now when t'stay out of my way, is the difference." He pulls a bandage as big as his fist from the bag, pressing one corner to the flat of your palm, working it up and around until it reaches your wrist, and further still. "Was perfectly capable of handlin' it on my own."

"Seemed like you had your hands full with the big guy," you quip back, rubbing your thumb absently over the scratchy bandage. "Was I supposed to watch while the other one pummeled you from behind?"

He quirks a brow, you're not sure if he's annoyed or amused. "Woulda been fine. How d'ya think I made it to the top twenty, 've practically got eyes on the back of my head."

"You sure? Think I recall a time or two you've been whacked upside the head."

His eyes stray for only a moment, simmering up at you beneath dark lashes. "Think we might need t'get y'r eyes checked, darlin', seems y'r seein' things."

"Guess I need a hearing test too, since I remember you being a total crybaby about it."

He centers the tips of his thumb and pointer just above your brow, fingertips bouncing off your forehead, a tepid flick! and he's resuming his handiwork.

"Hey!" you pout, rubbing the offended area with your unfettered hand. "I'm injured, you're supposed to be nice to me!"

"And who's fault is that." He grins, light and easy and gone in an instant, with a flash of realization, guilt that reaches his eyes and worries his brow. It's his, still.

You sigh, "Look at me." And he does, begrudgingly as it may be. "It's not your fault. I should have trusted you more. And you should have trusted me. We're both idiots so quit blaming yourself." You lightly flick his forehead in return; he doesn't flinch, eyes never leaving your own. "Finish the wrapping and we'll call it even, yeah?"

He grumbles something lost on you, stretching the last bit of fabric beneath your elbow and tucking it into itself. He turns your arm over in his palm, lightly, carefully inspecting it before leaning back against the cushions. You can feel his guilt dissipate, the stress in his shoulders slowly deflating.

"Y'hurt anywhere else?" His voice is low, quiet. He desperately hopes not.

You think for a moment, read his face, his body language, and then you're rubbing the space above your brow, faking a pout if only to lighten the mood. "Yeah, some brute bruised my forehead earlier, think it needs medical attention."

He crosses his arms, muscles flexing, brow tightening in discontent. "I'm being serious."

You struggle to suppress the laugh bubbling up in your chest. "So am I. What a devastating injury, I fear I won't live long." You dramatically throw yourself over his lap, knuckles laid flat over your brow. There's a conflicting look in his eye; you struggle to read it. "If only a big, handsome hero woul-"

You nearly miss the annoyed huff, the subtle roll of his eyes, too enamored in the way he encircles your wrist with one big hand, guides it to rest against his chest before leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead.

You're sure there's hearts in your eyes when he straightens his shoulders, hand still idle against his heartbeat; his thumb absently strokes the soft underside of your wrist but his gaze doesn't linger. A hint of a blush creeps up his neck, eyes fixated on the opposite corner of the room. "Done bein' a crybaby?"

You try and fail, miserably so, to hide the delight dancing in your chest and curling your toes. There's a grin splitting your cheeks when you sit up, face an inch from his own. "Mhm."

You can feel his breath, his hesitation, the slippery, fluttering feelings he's struggling to catch, and name, and put into words. He decides it's easier to turn his back to them, to you—again.

It's always the same song and dance, one step forward, two steps back.

He's up in a moment, fidgeting with his tank, his gloves, his mask, anything he can get his hands on. You sigh, pushing off the couch, taking one step, two, arms wrapping snug around his middle. "What're y'doin'?"

"Checking something."

"And what's that, hah?"

"Whether or not you have eyes on the back of your head." He ignores your teasing, so you press a little further, tease a little more. "Either you don't," you squeeze him tighter, closer, smush your cheek against his back. "Or you totally just let me hug you."

He croons his head to stare you down, if looks could kill, you'd be very very toasty right about now. Still you laugh, hide your smile in the shadow of his broad shoulders, tip toe around him when twists around to face you.

Finally he catches you, two big hands clamped down on either shoulder. You wait for him to scold you, tongue between your teeth, bated breath in your lungs. But he only grunts, fingers curling around the base of your neck until he can slant his lips over your own.

You sigh, it's the second time Katsuki Bakugou's lips have been on yours. But they no longer taste of saltines, white wine, impulse or hesitation; it's not some drunken mistake or whimsy he'll pretend to have forgotten by morning. This time he's kissing you because he wants to. Because the feelings he harbors are just the same as yours.

And when he pulls away his red eyes have mellowed, a dull amber, an expectant cinnabar. There's a palpable silence, one beat, two, three—possibly. His impatience gets the better of him. "Well?"

You stifle a laugh, keen up at him, hands absently against his chest. "Well what?"

"What d'ya mean 'well what'?!"

What ever self control you had wavers, the incredulous look in his eyes sending you over the edge until your devolving into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny, hah?"

"'m sorry." The laughter rattles you, chest like a suitcase too small to pack away the joy that fills you, spills over the brim in fits of laughter. It's infectious; Bakugou grins.

Your hands cup his cheeks. "You're too cute not to tease."

He sucks on his teeth. "Cute huh?" His hand cups your wrist, thumbs the bandage, careful, cute. "I nearly cooked ya and 'm 'cute?'"

You lean forward, bump your nose against his. "Mhm."

"There's somethin' wrong with you."

"Yeah, it's called the guy I like is completely oblivious and won't tell me he likes me."

"I kissed ya, twice. If y'didn't take the hint, that's on you."

You're smiling when you press your lips to his—quick, tepid, chaste, and over and over and over again.

He breaks away, eyes full of suspicion. "What was that for?"

"What? Didn't you take the hint?" You slant your mouth over his, linger a little longer this time. "I like you." You kiss him again, again, again.

He snorts, palm falling to the small of your back, big hand heavy on your skin. "Point taken."

He dips his head low, kisses you, soft and slow, fingers flexing against your shirt, dragging you closer when you move to pull back. "I like ya." His breath is hot against your mouth. "Always have."

[loloslaystheday]

Spark

pairing: rengoku kyojuro x f!wife!reader

prompt: kyojuro's excited to welcome his little girl into the family, but he never expected the emotions to hit so hard.

note: i was so unsure how to name this and i spent like 30 mins thinking of the pairing😭 im supposed to be sleeping bc i have testing tomorrow but oh well🤷🏾‍♀️

kyojuro never even thought of getting married. well... he never really even thought about it until he met you,. but to him,marriage was it.

when you asked him about having kids that was the first time he ever thought about it. he didn't really care about carrying on the family name, he had a brother and just cared about being with you.

but he would never deny his wife, who gave him everything he ever asked for, this one thing that she asked for.

he was ecstatic when you came to him with the good news; you were pregnant. he didn’t mind taking care of you at all until you had the baby. whatever you asked for he got, no questions asked.

and when the day finally came to welcome their little bundle of joy into the world, and he saw her face, and he held her in his arms, he didn’t know how hard the moment would hit him. she looked so small compared to him and it choked him up.

before he knew it, tears streamed down his face despite his fond and loving smile.

“she looks just like you.” he sniffs. you smile back at him, grabbing his free hand and squeezing it firmly.

she made small whimpers and shifted a bit. her little nose twitched with the ragged breaths and she couldn’t sit still in his arms.

he looked back up at you now. “thank you.”

you scoffed and rolled your eyes with a small laugh.

“she’s a momma’s girl.” you winked at kyojuro. “think ill be the favorite.”

“well, you are my favorite.”

“ah, so she gets it from you?” he nodded. you laughed, kissing his hand before leaning against it. “i love you.”

“i love you more.”