#pre-sleep strikes again

[fisheito]

i want to mash them together like ill-fitting puzzle pieces

[brayneworms]

no, you hang up! | shota aizawa

kinktober day three: phone sex

word count. 2.2k

content. phone sex, reader and aizawa are coworkers, mutual masturbation, referenced age gap (once and it's minor + doesn't contribute to their relationship dynamic), dirty talk, no genitals for reader mentioned, gender-neutral reader, teasing (reader calls him names but it's all fairly playful), pre-relationship.

♪ agora hills — doja cat

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

You know it's him before you even look.

Your room is blue-dark, cold; the central heating must have turned off hours ago, still on to warm you to sleep even beneath two comforters. The recent winters were no joke—you walked around town at the moment with dry, blistering lips and dull skin and watery eyes. Even now, as you raise your head from the comfort of your sheets to the arid air, gooseflesh breaks over your skin.

Something pulses; it's what woke you in the first place. Some noise, some shift in the quiet. Outside it's still dark, not yet late enough for the light to start turning greyish and buoyant. It takes a muddled, groggy few seconds as the static in your head starts to clear that you realise it's your phone. 

You grope blindly for it; it's only vibrating, but you're a tepid sleeper at the minute, and it's more than enough to rouse you from whatever fitful slumber you'd managed to fall into. You have to be careful not to forget and turn on your side, put pressure on the sling that binds your arm as you reach under the sheets for your phone as it rings, rings, rings out. 

You slap a hand across the plastic case, lift it with a wince at the cold blue light that shines out like fingernails down a chalkboard. But yeah—when you read the name AIZAWA across the top of the screen in informal white capitals, you can't honestly say you're surprised.

You stab the green button on what's probably the eighth or ninth ring. "Yeah?"

There's a moment where he doesn't say anything. Where the line crackles the way the ozone layer does before the first strike of lightning. "...Did I wake you?"

"Yeah," you say again, returning to your back. Your bound arm gives a twinge of protest. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, in that dry tone of his, the one that rarely manages not to sound clipped and bored. "I guess I didn't realise how late it is."

You pull the phone away, glancing for the first time at the time in the right-hand corner. 02.11am. He did have a nasty habit of letting the night slip away from him—and his regular bouts of insomnia mean the lateness of the hour doesn't always impress upon him as it does for most people—but you suspect there may be more to it than that. There's a hesitance, a reluctance in his voice. 

"It's okay," you say finally. "Have to pee anyway."

The static rises as he huffs down the line. "How's the arm?"

"Feels like roadkill," you mumble, which doesn't make a lot of sense. But sue you, you're tired and the painkillers wore off in your sleep. "Why're you calling?"

Another crackle, a soft shift, like an out-of-tune radio adjusting frequency. "No... particular reason."

As the fatigue starts to clear from your heavy brain, you try to picture it. Shouta Aizawa—evidently not patrolling tonight, given the lack of cityscape din in the background of the call. It's quiet; you can maybe hear the low purr of a ceiling fan. Earlier, he'd shifted, and you'd heard the rustling of sheets. So, he's in bed. Lying there. Alone. Calling you.

He's pretty transparent. But to his credit, you don't think he's trying to be conspicuous. It's not incredibly in his nature. And it's not in yours to call him out on it, either, which he knows. It's why he does it.

Does, not like—like this is a regular thing, or anything. There have been one or two what you like to refer to as unrelated incidents over the eight-year course of your working relationship. A kiss at a New Year's party that lingered a moment too long, the time he took you home after a night at the bar with the other U.A. staff and you couldn't be in the staffroom alone with him for about a fortnight afterwards.

"Just missing the sound of my voice?" you ask, trying not to sound too coy. You don't want to make him skittish, and anyway you have a feeling he hates when you try to play up your (in your opinion) minor age difference. 

Another rustle, quieter, shorter. "...Something like that," he murmurs. His voice is soft, despite the timbre of it reaching down to some pit in his chest. 

"So should I talk?" you press. 

"Sure," he replies.

"About what?"

"Anything." He swallows. "Whatever... whatever you'd like to talk about."

You roll your tongue over your lower lip, suck it for a moment whilst you think. "I miss work," you start. Boring, mundane—testing the waters. "Being stuck at home sucks. And all my friends are my coworkers, so you're all at work every day. 'S pretty lonely."

"I see." There's a hint of strain in his voice, one that makes a dim chord strike somewhere low and pitiful inside you. You cross your legs over each other. "You know we'd visit if we had the time."

"Yeah, I know. I bought myself plants to give myself a reason to get out of bed," you say, casting a glance over at them as they rest on your windowsill. Their leaves wink and shiver in the current of cold breeze let in from the crack in your window. "I have to get up twice to water them. And then when I'm up, I think, I might as well get something to eat, exercise. Shower."

The last work is deliberately provocative, like pressing on a ripe bruise to see when it starts to hurt. Your reward is the faintest hitch of Aizawa's breath. 

"I talk to Hizashi every day," you continue, trying to keep your own voice even. The silence on the other end of the phone sounds deafening, your heartbeat starting to get uncomfortably forceful in your chest. "He texts a lot, about silly things. Keeping me up to date on stuff at the school. It's not the same as being there, but it's sweet that he tries." You pause. "I wish I could see everyone, though. Hey—can I see you?"

You let the question hang. Lining up a hunting rifle to a buck's head, letting it decide to stay or flee. Then,

"Hang on." It comes through gruff and short, but it makes your stomach twist all the same. A moment later, your phone hums with a notification. It hangs, a grey banner at the top of your screen. From Aizawa, with a photo attachment.

Your mouth goes dry as you stretch your thumb to tap it. It's a flash photo of a barely-lit room. You can see dark blue sheets and a grey comforter, and two legs in slouchy grey sweats, cocked apart, shoved halfway down his thighs. But in the crux of the photo—

"Jesus," you blurt before you can stop yourself. You hear Aizawa huff a noise on the other end of the phone, could be laughter, could be something else. It’s not like your entirely inexperienced with Aizawa’s cock, but that was a while ago and there’s a big difference between a drunken sticky fumbling in the dark and seeing it properly, in low warm light, heavy and hard with his hand wrapped around it. His fingers, thick and pale, you can’t help but want them on you. Circled around your ankle, maybe, pulling you apart for him with that quiet, unassuming strength of his. 

“Is that a good or bad reaction?” he asks, and the note of strain is thicker than ever. He sounds strangled. “Should I start worrying—about my job position?”

“Probably,” you answer. “But—no. How long’ve you been touching yourself?”

You hear his breath hitch again at the casual crudeness of your words. “How long’ve you been on the phone?”

A hot red flash zips through you. Before your head has given your body permission, you’ve laid the phone down flat on your chest, speakers buzzing through your shirt as you slip a hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. You go straight for what feels good, finding yourself already embarrassingly ready, shuddering as your fingers brush the most sensitive parts of yourself. 

“You’re such a creep,” you groan, head back against the pillow. Aizawa makes a quick, cut noise in the back of his throat. “One week without staring down my shirt in the staff room and you resort to this?”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off, sighing shakily. “I don’t stare.”

He does fucking stare, it’s just quite subtle and it took you a while to notice. 

“Yeah, right.” Your fingers curl and search, press and glide. You’re hot and wet, for him, for the first glimpse of lust since your leave of absence began. “Bet you’d do anything for a taste.”

“...Maybe,” he stammers, breathing hard and quick against the phone. Now you can hear a soft stream of sounds coming through, a shlck-shlck-shlck that makes your blood hot and your brain fuzzy. “Maybe I’ve thought about it. Once or twice.”

“Dirty old man,” you say, half-babbling, and he groans low in his throat. You wish you could see him, God you can picture it—head thrown back, thick dark hair splayed against the rumpled pillows like a funeral shroud, sleep shirt ruched up to show the soft pale plane of his stomach dusted with dark spiralling hairs. You’d follow the pattern down to where the hair was thickest, push your hand through to where he was hard and hot as a brand for you. You didn’t get much time to play with him before, restless and lazy and horny off the cheapest champagnes you could order at the bar; he’d been inside you before too long and back out far too soon. 

“I’m n-not…” Hearing his resolve start to crack and fracture is the hottest thing in the world. Your own fingers work faster, jamming at the spots that make your legs gooey and your stomach start to tauten. “Isn’t my fault you look like that.”

Your giggle is breathless, half a moan. “Took that right out of the old perverts’ handbook,” you mutter. “Don’t break a hip on your way over here.”

“Shut up, shut up,” he grunts. “Damn it—shouldn’t have called—”

“I’m glad you did,” you say. Sweat is starting to collect in your armpits and the back of your neck. “Been so bored. This is the first time I’ve felt anything in weeks.”

His breath is ragged. “What do you feel?” he asks hoarsely. 

“Hang on.” The photo you send is conservative compared to his; just a shot of your hand disappearing into the waistband of your shorts. But you hear his stifled whimper, low in his throat, crackling with desperation. 

“God,” he hisses. “You have no idea what I’d do to you.”

“I have—some idea,” you mumble. 

“No, not like before,” he growls. “I was too drunk to do much of anything. What a waste. I’d never let you go if I had you now. I’d make you cum three times before I even thought about fucking you. My mouth, my hands, my thigh, anything.”

You imagine the scratch of his stubble on your inner thigh, or your own legs clamped around the thick muscle of his thigh, and nearly white out. You’re not in control, not of the way your hips cant desperately against your hand or the desperate moan his words pull from you, turning to stifle it into the pillow. 

“I want you inside me so bad,” you find yourself babbling, hot with embarrassment over the desperation in your voice. You sound close to tears. “Jesus—your hands, I’m always thinking about it. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He makes a keening, desperate noise, like a starving animal going for food. “Show me.”

You barely hesitate, ripping your shorts and underwear all the way off, and it’s only a few more desperate strokes of your fingers until you feel them flood over, your whole body shuddering and legs twitching. Your chest heaves and you blink up at the ceiling, withdrawing your hand from between your legs. Very awkwardly, you manage balance your phone enough in your slung hand to take a photo, the flash illuminating the mess between your thighs, the gleam of your own spend on your fingers. Before you can let embarrassment get a hold of you prematurely, you send the picture to Aizawa.

The result in instantaneous. He pulls a breath through his teeth. “God—fuck, look at you. So messy. God, I’m—” A choked-off moan, the breathiest noise you’ve ever heard from him as he cums. You lie there, warm all over, your skin singing as you listen to him fall apart on the other side of the phone. The speakers tickle your skin as you scrub a hand down your face.

After, you listen to his harsh panting breath. Then there’s a pocket of silence, the sort neither of you know how to break.

Finally, you cave. “...Feel better?”

“Don’t,” he mumbles. “This was… highly inappropriate.”

“Agreed.”

“I shouldn’t have called.”

“Probably not.”

There’s a pause. “...Is it fine? That I did?”

A smile touches your mouth. “Yeah, it is.”

He huffs. You picture him rubbing at his eyes, drawing the skin inward to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Well, then… yes. I do feel better.”

“Get off work early sometime,” you murmur. “I get so bored around here. Could use the company.”

You’re not sure why, but you think he’s smiling. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

taglist: @deltamel (+ask to join!!)

[leclerc-hs]

do i wanna know? (pt.2) - cl16

pairing: brother'sbff!charles x gasly!reader summary: in which you find yourself tangled in a web of emotions with your brother's best friend OR it was never just sex between you and your brother's best friend warnings: 18+, smut under the cut!, badly translated french (prob), angst!!!!, not proofread!! word count: ~2.3k author's note: SURPRISE SHAWTY!!!!!! i am here apologizing for being MIA for so long. if this is SHIT I apologize I just have been struggling with writer's block for months and have been very stressed and busy with work!!! I really tried my best so don't be too mean to me over this lmaooo. I love u all!!! there will be more of them to come ;) also since it's been so long since I've properly written this MIGHT be a little rusty so pls forgive me

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE TRANQUIL MELODY of the waves crashing against the shore is truly a captivating sight. You sat by the water in an oversized t-shirt and bikini bottoms, absorbed in the symphony of nature. So engrossed were you in the soothing sounds, the glistening water, and the caress of the breeze, that Charles’s approach caught you off guard.

“There you are,” his voice resonated like the ocean. You sensed the warmth of his presence as he settled beside you on the sand, propped up on his hands.

Though you didn’t turn to face him, you could feel his gaze fixed on your profile.

“Do you think we’re being stupid?” You couldn’t help but ask. 

“Quoi?” What?

“I just don’t want to hurt Pierre.” You finally turned your head to look at him. “Was it a mistake?”

You didn’t think it was. But the more you sat and thought about it, the more stressed over the situation you became. 

“No.”

You smiled softly, pulling your knees up and resting your head upon them as you truly took in the sight of him. 

“I think we should do it again.”

-

The two of you fell into a pattern quickly.

“Such a dirty fucking slut,” Charles groans out loud as he looked at the sight of you on your knees before him. His cock was heavy in your hand as you slowly start to pump him. Pre-cum leaking from the tip, oozing onto your fingertips. It was a gooey mess.

You stare up at him with a smirk on your lips as you take in his flushed cheeks and his pale knuckles from clenching the countertop so tightly.

“Mmm,” You moan as you bring him to your mouth, swirling your tongue around him slowly. You suck lightly before dragging him in and out of your mouth. 

You swore you could look at him for forever and never get tired of it. You were constantly in the depths of convincing yourself it was nothing but sex. 

“So fucking beautiful.”

“Could stare at you all day, mon ange.”

But is it really?

-

You’re not sure when it changed. But it did.

The gentle warmth of the morning sun seeped through the delicate curtains, causing you to let out a soft groan as you slowly awakened. Shifting in the bed, you squint against the bright light, and eventually force yourself to emerge from the cozy embrace of sleep.

As you turn your head, your attention was instantly met by the striking view of a broad, bare, and muscular back dominating your view. Instantly, a swarm of butterflies fill your stomach.

The early sunlight cast a soft glow on his smooth, tanned skin, accentuating the sculpted contours of his muscles. His breathing was steady and calm, a comforting rhythm that contrasted with the crisp morning air. His hair, slightly messy, fell against the nape of his neck.

The gentle upward curve of your lips was almost instinctive as you reached out toward him, running your fingers through the soft wisps of hair at his neck.

He lets out a small grumble as he shifts around, his face nestled in the pillows. Then, he turns to you, his gentle smile already in place before he opened his eyes. His arm drapes over you almost instantly, tugging you into the warmth of his body and immediately peppering soft kisses to your neck.

“Je pourrais rester ici pour toujours.” Could stay right here for forever. He whispers in between the soft kisses.

You feel the blush form on your cheeks almost instantly.

“Me too,” you respond softly.

“Do you think we could?”

The longing to say yes tugged at your heart, but you resisted, knowing the potential complications it could bring. Instead, you laughed, trying to shake off the heavy thoughts about the chaos and challenges that might follow. For now, it was just the two of you. Just two regular people.

No Pierre. No burdens of the outside world.

It’s been weeks of this. Whatever this was between you. You both found yourself too greedy to give it up. The sex was too good. He was too good.

-

Strong fingers intertwine with the strands of your hair, a delicate tug at the roots sends a tingling sensation cascading across your scalp, igniting a fiery yet exquisite sensation that dances on the edge of pleasure and exhilaration. 

“Nous devons faire attention.” We need to be careful. You softly groan as your bare back becomes flush against the contours of his chest, slightly dampened with sweat. The pace of his hips doesn’t falter as he brings his lips to the shell of your ear.

“Pourquoi?” Why? You know he’s teasing you. “Want me to stay hidden, hm?” The one hand that rests against the soft skin of your hips squeezes hard, as if he needed the reminder that you were here and, in his arms, and on his cock. “Ton petit secret sale?” Your dirty little secret?

The words wouldn’t come. Every time you tried to speak, they tangled in your throat, choked by the weight of the situation. You wanted to tell Charles that you didn’t see him that way, that he meant more to you than anyone else. But your brother…his best friend, loomed too large over whatever it was you two were.

You struggled to hide your wince as Charles places a quick but harsh squeeze to your throat. 

“Not even that will shut you up, hm?” He groans in between each thrust. “Pierre is in the room next over. It’s like you want to be caught.”

“Maybe I should just call him in here, hm?” 

You felt yourself pushing back against his thrusts, meeting him in the middle at a feverish pace, needing to remove the ache between your legs.

“Let him see how big of a cock slut you really are.”

You shook your head, soft moans escaping your dampened lips as his arm slips down and presses to your clit.

“No?” He eggs you on. “You’re just my little cockslut, right?”

You nod eagerly, your head lolled back against the crevice of his shoulder and neck for support. 

“Say it.” He demands, his fingers quickening on your clit. “Tell me you’re my little cockslut while you cum all over me.”

“I’m-“ You struggle to get the words out, too caught up in the way his cock slips in and out of you, his fingers rubbing your clit, and the groans escaping past his lips into your ear.

“C’mon mon ange,” He grits. “Make a fucking mess.”

“I’m yours.”

It happened so fast, it was almost a blur as Charles hurriedly pushes you face first into the mattress, hips slamming into you at such a speed, you both went soaring over the edge of your orgasms.

A few quiet minutes passed as you both caught your breath, little laughs and smiles as both of your bodies lie in a tangled mess.

-

“The Gala is coming up,” Charles spoke. His throat burning in anticipation as he waited for you to catch onto what he was implying. He wanted you by his side. Wanted you on his arm. Wanted no one to touch you but him.

“Nous avons déjà discuté de cela.” We’ve discussed this already.

Charles could slowly feel the annoyance building in his chest as he pushed himself up off the bed, dragging his body to the bathroom to retrieve a wet cloth to clean you up. He wasn’t used to this, to say the least. And he wanted you to himself so fucking badly.

It wasn’t until after his finished cleaning you up, that he spoke again. “Combien de temps?” How long?

You sat up, slipping on whatever article of clothing was closest to you. No doubt, one of Charles’ worn t-shirts that draped to your thighs.

You tilted your head to the side just slightly, encouraging him to continue.

“How long will you avoid telling Pierre?”

-

Giving Charles the silent treatment was probably the worst thing you could’ve done to him. But you didn’t know what else to do. 

Your back was turned to him, the burn of his eyes on the nape of your neck had you on high alert. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his gaze.

The room felt colder with each passing second, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak. A part of you wanted to turn around, to meet his gaze and to find some way to fix whatever this was. But the fear of what you might see in his eyes—hurt, anger, hunger—kept you frozen in place. Well, as frozen as you could be while dancing with another man.

He was proper cute. Tan skin, chocolate eyes, scruffy hair. His name, however, slipped past your mind. You think it was Rob. Or was his name Ryan? Something with an R. You think.

It didn’t help in the slightest bit that Pierre is the entire reason you’re in this situation to begin with. He practically forced you into the arms of Rob. Or is it Ryan?

“You look beautiful tonight,” The man looked down upon you, a small grin on his face as he twirled you around the dance floor. A small blush crept up on your cheeks.

“Merci.” You thanked him. “How do you know my brother?” You needed to keep the conversation going. Anything to take your mind off the stare burning your skin from afar.

He opened his mouth to begin a response but was instantly interrupted as soon as the voice of another was by your side.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Charles began, but he was clearly anything but sorry. His voice was stoic, void of any emotion but annoyance. “I need a word with you.” And before you could put up any argument, his fingers clasped onto your wrist, dragging you away from the dance floor and out of the ballroom.

Despite your protests for him to slow down, he continued at his unrelenting pace, tagging you along without regard to your inability to keep up. Charles then ushered you, if one could call it that, into what appeared to be a cramped coat closet.

The dim lighting obscured the usual green hue of his eyes, leaving you uncertain whether it really was the poor illumination or his evident anger that caused this change.

“Are you crazy?” You half-shout, waving your arms in the air in frustration once you pull your wrist from his grip. “You just made an absolute scene in there!” 

“I made a scene?” He raises his voice in frustration. Like he can’t believe that you have an issue with his behavior when you were the one dancing with another man. “You might as well just go fuck that guy on the dance floor!” 

He knew he was talking in fits of jealousy, and he knows that it’s wrong. But he couldn’t contain it. Couldn’t help but have an outburst over this situation. You didn’t even look at him the entire night.

“It was one dance!”

“I don’t care if it’s just one. It may as well be five hundred!” He sneered while his fists clenched at his sides. “Je ne partage pas.” I don’t share.

“I can’t do this right now.” You pleaded softly.

“Do what, exactly?”

“This.” You silently begged for him not to continue questioning. To not go there.

“And what is this?” or what he really meant is ‘what are we?’.

You both fell into a silence as the weight of the question weighed down on you both. You didn’t want to reach this point. You both knew what it was, but you weren’t ready for the answer. It was supposed to be fun and just sex. Something Pierre would never need to know about.

Charles took your silence as an answer. But he refused to accept it. He made a small step towards you, his green eyes locked onto yours, to which you retreated one back.

“Please don’t come closer,” You begged with a small quiver of your lip. “I need you to stand a step away from me.” You knew the moment he was closer; you were done for. Your resolve would be over.

“I can’t.” He emphasized. “I can’t stay away. Not from you.” He was distraught. Why didn’t you understand? 

“Charles, please.” Your lip quivered just slightly as your hands fell at your sides, your fingers playing with the fabric of your dress.

“Do you think I want to be like this?” He pushed. “Do you think I want to be thinking about my best friend’s sister 24/7?” He could feel his resolve slipping the longer he stared at you. You were beautiful, one of the easiest people to talk to, and he couldn’t not love you.

It was so quick. One second you both were feet apart, the next his lips were pressed against yours as your hands grabbed onto his biceps pulling him closer to you. The feel of his muscles underneath his suit were prominent against your fingertips as you moaned softly into his mouth.

Both hands enveloped your jawline, sprawling onto your neck in a feverish rush. It was a clash of tongue and teeth, and neither of you wanted to stop.

[luc1dvisual]

discreet — karina x reader

pairing: idol!karina x idol!reader (aespa 5th member au)

synopsis: winter calls karina looking for y/n but does karina know more than she is leading on?

warnings: explicit nsfw content ahead

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything!” You can hear Winter from the other line of the phone.

“Don’t worry, you aren’t, I’m not doing anything important.” Karina tells her fellow member. She wouldn’t want her to worry for no reason, of course. “Manager Shin just wanted to let you that your solo performance will be released on Spotify soon and you will promote it on music shows in a few weeks. He tried to call you but it kept going to voice mail for some reason..” Winter rambled, almost nervously but what would you know? Karina laughed confidently, her sultry voice ringing through the air in a elegant way. “That’s odd, it says I have no missed calls from him, something must be playing up with my phone, I’ll go get it fixed soon.”, Karina was clearly annoyed but being on the other line of the phone, this annoyance was barely noticeable. Winter finally asks after a brief pause, almost like she was thinking “Oh yeah! Have you seen Y/N by any chance?” she asks in a innocent manner, clearly not knowing the truth of the matter..

You were currently sitting on Karina’s lap, bare naked with your legs open. The older girl was currently almost knuckles deep inside you, using her thumb to simulate your g-spot. You currently have your hand clamped tightly over your mouth, careful not to make any noises so Winter does not hear you. You clearly are making a effort on not getting caught but it doesn’t mean your leader is making that same effort. She would randomly start moving her fingers again when Winter would talk or would slap your ass to startle you. Your the maknae of aespa, one of the lead vocalists and centre. Your members adore you and always tries their best to keep you safe, especially one specific member… Your one of the most popular members and are speculated to be daring any man with a pulse. Little do these clickbait news websites know, you have been in a 2 year relationship with the Yu Jimin herself. You knew each other as trainees and became close friends. Your friendship only blossomed once you debut together and you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel anything for her pre-debut. Despite this, you tried to brush your feelings aside, convinced that the other girl would never feel that way about you. Oh and how wrong you were..

“Was that all, Minjeong? I’m a bit tired and I need some rest” Karina’s impatience was about to reach a new limit and she was actually about to hang up the phone on her member. “Yes that was all.. I just don’t get why Y/N wouldn’t tell us about going home to her mother and-“ You finally break and let out a muffled whimper. There is a beat of silence over at the other line, the obvious confusion and the unmistakable intention of that noise. “Jimin, what was that?” Winter was clearly confused, not trying to jump to any confusions. The members didn’t officially know about your relationship but their suspicions about the mutual romantic feelings for one another started a few months ago when your MC partner was being ‘overly kind’ to you when aespa got a music show win. Karina didn’t say anything but everything that needed to be said was all over her face and everything finally came together for the other 3 members.

“What sound? What are you talking about?” Karina played dumb but she couldn’t even stop the smirk that spread across her face, almost a hint of pride evident. “That.. it was nothing. I must be hearing things. Sleep well.” She hangs up before Jimin could exchange back the empty pleasantries. In this moment, you start to worry that Winter knows it was you and so many hypothetical scenarios run through your head. You about to start seriously stress about the outcome until you feel Karina add nothing finger. “Jimin-ah!” She strikes you on your ass again with a hint of superiority in her eyes. “Watch your mouth. What are you supposed to call your elders?” Jimin made sure to put on a pretentious tone when she asked the question, wanting a very specific answer. You were overwhelmed by the pleasure, shaking from the sensations. “…Sorry..” was all you could choke out as you couldn’t even think of forming words rather than answer somebody’s question at that moment. Karina was obviously displease as she took her hand off your chest and grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking it so your head was up. Jimin looked down at your overstimulated expression and asked “Sorry who? Use your words, baby.” In truth, she felt bad about being so rough but she always does what she needs to do she could get her way. That’s just the way she is, that’s how she got to debut you and her in the same group. You realise what she wants and you finally say “Sorry unnie..”. A familiar smug yet so attractive smirk spreads across her face. She kisses you on the cheek and says “Good girl.. now let unnie take care of you..”

note . . .

got this random burst of energy to write so that’s what I did! really wished I wrote more fics but I mostly did reading throughout the holidays and recharged after such a intense exam period. will try and write more, especially if I start getting requests

navigation: kpop masterlist , aespa masterlist

[rafescvntyclubgf]

Mine - JJ Maybank One Shot

+18 Minor DNI Fluff & Angst

JJ x KookExGirlfriend!Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 warnings: language, name calling, child birth and it’s side effects.

📖 JJ’s ex is pregnant and the baby is his 💕

5k

Reader’s POV:

JJ has come by every day since the breakup, never at the same time. His beautiful blue eyes still find a way to catch mine. I iced him out completely, ghosting him only a few weeks after we made it official.

We had been pining after each other for years, rushing into everything when we finally got what we both wanted. We never once thought about playing it safe, fucking raw in the back of his Bronco that night, and every chance we got after that. We couldn’t get enough of each other… Every time we were alone, our hands were on each other, clothes thrown across the room, tangled up in sheets.

“Fuck that,” was the last thing I heard him mumble to John B before he and his friends disappeared for weeks. They talked about hooking up, girlfriends, and how the last thing they want to deal with is a pregnant one after John B. and Sarah had a scare of their own. ‘We’re too young. They’re too expensive. I’m not ready for that shit. Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? There’s no way in hell’.

And here I stand.

Nine months and five days along, hiding it from him because, at this point, I’d instead go at it alone. I didn’t know where he went, and when he came back, something had happened. I could tell something was going on with him and Kiara. The longer I was away, the closer they got. He seemed happier with her. I can do this myself… even though I don’t want that. Not at all.

He still calls me from time to time. Usually late at night when I’m already asleep. JJ doesn’t always leave a message, but when he does, it’s a jumbled mess of drunken words.

I’ve shut out all my friends. The only people that know are my parents and the little old lady next door. They think it’s some random tourists. My parents kicked me out on my ass after I decided to keep the baby. 'You think you’re so grown? You think you can handle this pinching pennies? What kind of life is that?’ They gave me up that day. 'If you want to act like trash, you can live like trash.’

But who’s the actual trash here?

As much as I wanted to return to my simple life, I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t bring myself to get the abortion they were more than willing to pay for. I went from a Kook to a Pogue in a matter of seconds. And, at my twenty-week appointment, when I saw that little boy in my tummy, I knew I made the right choice.

I snagged an office job pretty fast: a beautiful spot, a real-estate agency close to the beach. The clientele is great, Pogues with just enough money to hire someone to sell their little shacks instead of doing it themselves. Work, community college, sleep, rinse, and repeat. I’ve saved enough to buy a crib and some basics… Stopping by the thrift store just off Figure 8 to nab some Kook’s hand-me-downs. I want to give this little boy the life he deserves… I want to prove my parents wrong.

I’m sure they’ll have a change of heart after the baby is born, rushing to plunge that silver spoon straight into his mouth and 'save him from all this.’ But, come to find out, this life saved me. An existence under their thumb is not where I wanted to be. I don’t want to raise a Kook. I want to raise a Pogue. I just wish I knew what I was doing. I really wish I had Jayj.

You look out the large front window, watching as he passes by, surfboard looped under his arm as he steps toward beach access. His eyes drift your way, turning ahead before he disappears again. Shit. You look down at your stomach, watching the baby turn, your round tummy rolling with the baby’s movements.

Like clockwork, you’re hit with a braxton hicks contraction. Your belly squeezes taunt, breathing strained, causing you to draw little breaths, blowing them slow. You look up at the wall, watching the clock strike 5. Yes. Grabbing the armrest, you struggle to stand, pressing yourself up. You waddle toward the door, turning the open sign to close before nabbing your keys.

The warm summer air kisses your skin as you pass through the door; the sunset paints the sky in the west. Fuck. Your stomach contracts again, a contraction so intense you have to grab the brick wall for support, eyes screwing shut as you breathe through it again. “Hey…” Your heart sinks, eyes flashing open as you meet JJ’s wide gaze.

“Hi,” you force the word through tight lips, still clutching the wall.

“Are you okay?” He asks gently. JJ’s stare falls down your body, landing on your bump, your hand cradling the bottom out of sheer practice.

“M'fine,” you whimper as you turn quickly, clipping toward your shitty little car before he can ask anymore, tears brimming in your eyes.

JJ’s POV:

I watch her car slow-roll over the speed bump, steering through the parking lot into her tiny carport. My muscles are tense; emotion pooled in my eyes as I watch her battle to get out of her car. I know she’s pregnant. I didn’t ask. It was the first thing I wanted to blurt out. Even though my dad’s a grade-A asshole, he still taught me that shit ain’t polite. I just didn’t think she would disappear that fast. She grabs the handrail, heading up the steps, pulling open the apartment door before falling out of sight.

Everything was fine until I left… And, when I came back, she was gone. She fuckin’ vanished, dropping me for no one, from what I’ve seen, at least. She’s shut herself in completely, never coming out.

I couldn’t help but check on her every chance I got. Make sure she’s okay. I should have known something was off. Her family’s loaded. There’s no reason that Kook Princess should be hanging out around here. She should be off at some fancy-ass college, living the dream. The second I saw her in that office, red flags should have been waving left and right, but they didn’t.

She didn’t want to talk. I could tell… The look in her eye was enough to let me know to stay the hell away. That, paired with the fact that she never called me back. Most of the time I wasted… I can’t lie. It was probably for the best. But she saw my number and chose to ignore it; decided to leave it unanswered. Somethin’s goin’ on… Maybe she’s gotta new boyfriend. There’s no reason why she’d be here otherwise… Unless there’s more to the story. 

Maybe all this is 'cause I told her I loved her. I don’t know, but that’s the last thing I said before I left. And I still feel it. I still love that woman. Maybe she wasn’t ready. Maybe she was ready, and I left, and she started to second guess everything. I mean, how could she not? I vanished, then she did… Can I really fault her for doing the same exact shit?

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

My body jumps, chills running down my spine as headlights flood my rearview mirror. Goddamnit. I’ve gotta make a decision, in or out; am I gonna do this or not? I stomp on the gas, speeding ahead, barreling away as my tears break free.

She was a good girl before she met me. I wasn’t a virgin, but she was. She gave that to me. I don’t think she was sleeping around with anyone else.

That baby’s mine. I know it.

Reader’s POV:

DING.

You drag your body over to the microwave, snagging your TV dinner. The apartment is quiet, just the lull of the evening news playing in the background. Plopping down on the weathered couch, you snag the remote, flicking through the channels aimlessly until you find your comfort show, snuggling in a little more as you swirl your spaghetti on your fork.  

Grabbing the remote, you turn it a little louder, trying your best to drown out the thoughts raging in your head. The interaction with Jayj, the horror in his eyes, the way you left, fleeing the scene altogether. I miss him. Every part of him. God, he is so fucking beautiful. Those goddamn eyes, and that perfect face, his voice. I - DRIP. DRIP.

You look between your thighs, a wet spot gathering on your sweatpants, dribbling onto the floor below. You pinch the bridge of your nose, expiring a frustrated breath. As if this day wasn’t mortifying enough, let me add pisses your pants to the list… You close your eyes softly as a tinge of nausea sets in as well.

Maybe if I take a shower, I’ll feel better… You rise to your feet, liquid continuing to trickle its way down your leg.

Shit…

Is this it? It wouldn’t be far-fetched. I’m past my due date. Did my water just break? You feel your bottom lip wobble, muscles stiffening as you face reality that that might be the case.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Fuck. You look down at your soaked pants. I don’t want anyone seeing me like this.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“One sec, Dot,” you call out for your neighbor.

“Umm… Hey. I-It’s JJ,” you hear his muffled voice behind the closed door. Everything stops; your body, frozen as you watch him through the little kitchen window, just a crack of sight through your curtain. No. You shuffle toward the bathroom, clutching your stomach, a new sensation of emptiness you hadn’t felt before.

“Ow… Ow… Oh my god,” you gasp, holding the bottom of your stomach. “It’s fucking happening… No. Fuck!” You scream, another contraction rocking you. The soft knocking turns into a loud bang. “Let me in, y/n. P-Please. Are you okay? What’s going on? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You grip the doorframe tightly, trying to center yourself, to no avail. The room starts to spin around you, stomach churning, mouth salivating. Am I going to throw up? Why am I gonna throw up? You trip slightly on the rug, falling to your knees, crawling the rest of the way toward the toilet.

“Y/n?” JJ yells as he frantically fiddles with the doorknob, knocking at the glass trying to open that as well.

“Ja-” You go to answer, letting out a cough instead, emptying your stomach into the bowl. Then you hear it: metal on metal as the doorknob twists.

“Y/n?” JJ stutters, his boots bounding toward the bathroom. “Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“Yeah,” you cry as you see a look of sheer panic in his eyes. “Why are you here?” You whisper.

“I-I… Umm… I don’t know?” He spurts as he moves a little closer. “Do you want me to c-call your parents?”

“No!” You shout. “Don’t. Please. I don’t want them here,” you yell. JJ’s eyes open wider.

“I’m sorry…”

“No, Jayj. Don’t apologize.”

He kneels close, rubbing your back softly. “Did you need me to clean up out there for you? Do you want me to get you a new pair of pants? Or maybe a glass of water? A rag? You want a rag? Yeah?” You throw up in the toilet again, causing JJ to release a sympathetic gag.

“Jayj… you can’t do that,” you groan.

“I’m sorry. M'sorry, y/n,” he sighs, trying to compose himself. “Here.” He grabs a scrunchie off the counter, gathering your hair in a ponytail.

“Thank you.” You grip the toilet tightly, trying your best to calm down, but it’s simply momentary. “Fuck,” you howl, your pain wrapping around your back to your front.

“Y/n, s-shit,” JJ whimpers, dropping his head in his hand. His own personal panic setting in. “Are you - fuck,” JJ tries to speak, but the words aren’t easy. “Are you pregnant?”

“Is that not clear, Jayj,” you cry. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“What?”

“I have to go to the bathroom, JJ!” You scream, voice bouncing off the walls as you feel pressure building between your thighs.

“O-Okay. Of course. Do you need help standing?”

“Will you get me a bucket first?” JJ nods at you rapidly. You let out a loud cry, whole body pain, indescribable hurt. “Fuck!” You scream.

“Should I call 9-1-1?”

“The bucket, JJ. Please!”

“Okay. Alright. Sorry. S-Sorry!” he panics, running out of the bathroom. You hear him bang around in the kitchen, talking himself into a frenzy.

“Grab anything, JJ! Please!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Jesus Christ. It’s fucking hot in here.” You rip off your shirt, tossing it to the side.

“This! Okay… This will work,” he cheers breathlessly, running back into the bathroom with a pot. You quickly tug your pants down, taking a seat on the toilet. You draw the pot under your chin, breathing deeply.

“Fuck… this feels so much better.” You moan, feeling slight relief in this new position. A new heat rises in your cheeks, humiliation brewing as you feel the weight of JJ’s gaze on you. The last night he saw me, I was in a paisley sundress, his arms around me, lips locked on mine. I felt beautiful. JJ always made me feel that way. He told me he loved me. That girl. Not this one. I can’t believe he’s seeing me this way: tummy round, naked, sweaty, sick, and in pain. All I can do is cry.

JJ walks over, kneeling before you as his beautiful blue eyes search for yours. “Y/n, we gotta get you to the hospital. Okay?” His voice is gentle and calm. JJ tucks some sweaty strands of hair behind your ear as you match his watch. You can see his eyes getting glassy; he’s also completely and utterly overwhelmed, still trying to stay calm for you.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” you mewl.

“Hey, s'okay. You’re gonna be alright. We just gotta go, baby.”

Baby. The guilt hits you next, hard and fast. How would I feel if roles were reserved? How would I feel if this secret was kept from me?

“JJ… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

JJ swallows thickly; the tears pooled in his beautiful blue eyes break free as he looks back at you. “The baby’s mine?” He fights the words past his lips.“This is amazing… I just - I. Fuck. It’s okay, honey. But, why - Why wouldn’t you just tell me, y/n?" He whispers, his voice hoarse and broken with emotion.

"I didn’t want to ruin your life, Jayj. We had just started dating-”

“Ruin my life? Why would this ruin my life?” He cuts you off in disbelief. Your muscles tighten, a sharp pain radiating as you try to remain in the moment with him. You can see his face change with yours, seeing the pain in your eyes. “Let’s go. Let’s get you to the hospital,” he whispers as he rests one hand on your cheek, the other set lightly on your tummy.

“I can’t move, J,” you whimper.

“I can carry you. Okay? The hospital is only five minutes away. I can get you there in three. Fanciest driver in The Cut. You know that. Yeah? We’ll be there in a heartbeat. Everything’ll be fine. We’re okay. Okay?” He sniffles, lifting the neck of his white tee shirt to wipe the emotion out of his eyes. “Let me get you some clothes, sweetheart.” You nod in reply, gripping the counter tightly as you battle through the pain of another contraction.

JJ races back into the bathroom as fast as he came out, handling you carefully as he tugs on your oversized t-shirt and shorts. He guides you to your feet, helping you into your Converse sneakers, tying them tight before lifting you into his arms. You clutch onto him as you ride out another contraction, burying yourself in the crook of his neck. Your tears wet his shirt as he walks with you toward the door, stepping out into the night. “You’re okay, baby. You’re alright," he soothes, kissing you gently on the temple.

JJ tugs open the door of the Bronco, setting you inside before sprinting around the front. JJ flicks the keys, making the engine roar. He throws it in reverse, peeling out of the parking lot before skirting onto the main street, making you clutch the grab rails for support. "Shit. Sorry, princess,” JJ winces as he sees the fright in your eyes. He thrusts his hand into his pocket, thumbing through his cell phone as he dodges through traffic.

You can see the tears still sparkling in his stare; JJ’s jaw coiled tight as he listens to the ringing on the other end of the line. He’s terrified, just like you, his phone trembling in his hand. “Hi. Uhh… Shit. My girlfriend and I are on our way in. She - she’s…”

“In labor,” you whisper, helping him along.

“She’s in labor. We’re about two minutes away. Uh… Umm, let me ask,” he breathes, eyes snapping your way. “How far apart are they? Have you been timing them?”

“Timing what?” You ask sheepishly, watching as JJ’s eyes lighten on yours.

“Your contractions, baby.”

“I don’t know,” you whimper, cheeks hot with shame again, your ignorance on display. He probably thinks I’m an idiot. I should know this. Why don’t I know this?“

"S'okay," he whispers. JJ looks down at the dash, eyeing the little clock.

"Fuck, Jayj,” you sob, the pressure of another contraction setting in.

“Shit. Sorry - sorry, I’m here. Umm… Like four minutes tops? Yeah. Mhmm… She’s close,” he whispers, making your heart skip a beat. “Yeah. Yeah - The front. We’ll meet you out there.” You try your best to keep your eyes open, vision blurry as you see the hospital sign glowing like a beacon in the night. JJ stuffs his phone back in his pocket, reaching for your hand instantly, weaving his finger in yours before drawing them up to his lips. He kisses your hand, lingering on your skin, hiding his quivering lips.

“Motherfucker!” You scream, driving your heels into the floor of the SUV; yet another contraction barrelling through your body as you pull up to the curb. JJ grits his teeth as you squeeze his hand tight, surely drawing blood.

JJ’s POV:

“Take a deep breath for me, y/n,” the nurse aids. Y/n’s eyes slam shut, her beautiful face scrunching in discomfort as the nurse checks her further. “Okay… 10 centimeters,” she says calmly. “I see some hair.” Y/n’s eyes remain shut in fear as she nods her head frantically. Her little hand squeezes mine again; the only relief she can get this far along. I can’t believe she almost did this alone - all by herself. What if she couldn’t have made it to the phone? 

Why can’t she call her parents? Why is she alone in the first place? Why wouldn’t she just tell me? I feel my thoughts start to race with the beating of my heart. “Y/n,” I whisper. Her gaze matches mine, sending me into a spiral as I see the speckles of red against the whites of her eyes, popped blood vessels, and tears pooled in the corners. Heat rises behind my eyes again as I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’re doing so good, y/n.”

“M'not,” she hiccups, hand clutching her little bucket as she waits for her tummy to turn again. “I let you down, Jayj. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m scared. M'not fucking ready-”

“Y-You’re ready,” I stammer; the stutter in my voice deceives me, but I mean every word. “You didn’t let me down. I went into your room, y/n. I saw the crib, all the clothes you have hung in your closet, the baby book with all the Post-it notes sticking out. You’re ready. 'Course you’re scared…” My voice fades to a hush as she tucks herself in my neck. I’m instantly struck with Deja Vu, thrown back into the night that changed everything. The last night she was mine… I clear my throat, beating my lashes shut.

“The baby’s a boy, Jayj,” she whispers gently.

“Yeah?” I ask happily as I choke back tears, feeling her nod against my shoulder.

“M'sorry, Jayj. I-” Y/n fleeting words turn into a wail, nails digging into my forearm.

“Please don’t apologize, y/n,” I soothe, kissing her head. “You’re so strong, baby girl,” I whisper in her ear, feeling her muscles contract.

“We’re going to need you to start pushing, y/n.”

“I can’t,” she whimpers.

“You can, baby. You can.”

“You know how you feel like you need to go to the bathroom? Push like that. Okay?” Y/n shakes her head no.

“You’ve got to, baby. A'ight? You’re amazing, y/n,” I breathe, moving closer. She presses her forehead against mine, gritting her teeth. “You’re safe. Okay? You’re safe.” Y/n presses her quivering lips against mine, taking my breath away. Those lips… Holy shit. My hand wraps around the back of her neck, drawing her even closer. “I missed you," I whisper shakily. 

"I missed you too, JJ,” she echoes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Jayj,” she whimpers.

“M'not goin’ anywhere. M'not leavin’ you. Okay?”

“Okay,” she sobs.

“Y/n?” The nurse calls. “What’s your pain level when you have a contraction?”

“10,” she soughs.

“You’re going to have a contraction in a few seconds. We’re going to need you to push hard. When you feel it coming on, take some deep breaths. When you hit 10, push. Okay? JJ, we will need you to count to ten for her. Y/n, we want you to push all 10 seconds.” I can see the shift in her face; her pain, increasing. Her grip on my hand gets tighter. Y/n’s eyes shift to mine, giving me a nod.

“10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…”

“F-Fuck!” She screams, her eyes slam shut as her body trembles in pain. “S'not working,” she snivels.

“It’s working. You’re doing a great job. Just a few more pushes,” the doctor assures. “This next one might be it, but you’ll have to push really hard.”

“Did you hear that, baby?” I breathe, my lips resting on her forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

“You’re doing a great job, Y/n,” the nurse whispers. Y/n’s eyes flutter shut, wincing in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks. She doesn’t believe a word of it.

“10… 9… 8… 7… 6…”

“Ow… Ow… No. It burns,” she wails. The words catch my throat as I push back tears.

“We have him. Keep pushing.”

“5… 4… 3… 2… 1…”

She lets out a guttural scream; the doctor catches a baby, drawing him out. “Oh my god,” I breathe.

“Oh… H-Holy shit,” she whimpers. “Is the baby okay? Is he breathing?” I hear the baby’s high-pitched cry. A wave of relief crashes over me. Y/n dissolves in my arms as we look out for our little boy. 

This was the last thing I expected, the furthest thing from my mind when I woke up this morning. But, now, here I am. Here he is. Here she is, my beautiful fucking girl. We made him… He’s ours.

“I’m so glad you came, Jayj,” she cries.

“Me too, baby. Holy shit.” I grab a towel from the nurse, blotting the tears and sweat from Y/n’s face. “You did so well, y/n. Fuck. You okay, honey?” I mumble before meeting her lips.

“M'okay." God, I can’t stop. I kiss her deeper, making y/n smile against my lips. "I missed you,” she whispers.

“I missed you. Fuck, I missed you so damn much,” I sigh.

“You’re going to be such a good dad-”

“You’re going to be such a good mom. The best mom. The baby’s so lucky to have you as a mom,” I babble, kissing her forehead and cupping her dewy cheek. I hold y/n tightly, watching the nurse cradle the baby in her arms. She sets him on the towel, cutting and clamping the umbilical cord.

She walks over, resting the baby on Y/n’s chest, and in that moment, I feel a shift. Everything seems a little clearer: her, him, and they’re both mine. My heart feels like it could fucking burst as I look at him in her arms. He’s so tiny, so small and fragile. I just want to keep him safe.

Y/n’s lips rest on his tiny head, a pink and blue striped bonnet covering a mess of blonde hair, just like mine. “Jayj,” she whispers, extending him to me. I draw the baby close, blinking, my tears gone. He’s so peaceful; his eyes shut tight. I can feel the warmth of his little breaths against my skin.

“Wow,” I sigh, looking up at the ceiling as tears fall. Y/n rests her head on my shoulder. We’re okay. Everything’s okay.

“You look beautiful,” I breathe.

“You’re a liar, JJ Maybank.” Her nose scrunches, eyes rolling away. Fuck. I missed her.

“I’m not. I promise.”

“You’re never going to want to have sex with me again,” she chuckles through a sigh, hands resting on her once-rounded tummy. 

“You jokin’?” I scoff. “Been dreamin’ about that for the last, what, nine months now? S'the first thing we’re gonna do when we get outta here.” Y/n chuckles as she raises an eyebrow, making me double back.

“6 weeks, Jayj,” she whispers as her flushed cheeks blush even more.

“No…” I gasps. “You sure? I thought you said you didn’t know what you were doin’, princess. Gonna need to fact-check that shit.” I give her a taunting look, making her roll her. “M'just kiddin’, sweetness.” Taking out my phone, I flick to the calendar, checking the dates. “The 24th, baby girl.” Y/n lets out a sleepy little laugh, tucking herself in my arms again.

“Babysitter?”

“Mhmm… Whoever you want,” I soothe.

“Sarah and Pope.”

“Ah, Cameron and Heyward. Couldn’t agree more, baby.” She snuggles in a little closer, her eyes on the little bassinet, watching the baby sleep. “So…” I sigh as I take a deep breath.

“You wanna know why I’m officially a Pogue, Jayj?” She asks weakly.

“Yeah… I’ve got a few questions, princess. That’s a good start,” I mumble, resting my lips against her temple. She takes a deep breath, expelling a laborious sigh.

“Umm… Well, my parents didn’t want me to have the baby-”

“Stop,” you whisper, shaking your head 'no.’ “I think I know where you’re goin’ with this, and I can’t hear it. Alright? I don’t want you to say it either. Please.” Y/n bites her cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry - m'so, so sorry.” I cup her cheek, kissing her lips. “You got me… You got all my friends - you’re friends. This baby will be so loved, y/n. I swear.”

“Okay, Jayj.”

“Thank you for not doin’ that, baby. I just - I can’t even imagine that now,” I breathe, feeling my throat tighten as I watch his little chest rise and fall.

“It was never an option, Jayj,” she whispers.

“Why didn’t you tell me, y/n? Why did you think it would ruin my life? Why did you break up with me-”

“JJ,” she breathes as she rests her hand on my chest, grounding me again. “That was a huge fucking mistake. I’m so sorry. We had just started dating, and then you left. And, right before you left-”

“I was talking to John B about what a nightmare this shit would be…” I cut her short, dropping my head, nodding as I put the pieces together.

“When you came back, Jayj, I didn’t know what to do. And, I saw you with Kie, and you looked like the two of you had somethin’ goin’ on. Between that and my parents, I felt it would be easier for everyone if I went at it alone.”

“Kie is just a friend. Alright? She always has been. And life isn’t easy, y/n,” I whisper. “You know that just as well as me. Doesn’t mean that the hard isn’t worth going through. I swear I will be here for you both if you’ll let me.”

“Really?” Y/n asks shakily.

“Please, y/n.”

“I need you, J. I want you in my life,” she whispers, an unease in her tone like you may say anything but the apparent 'yes.’

“I need you too, princess.”

“I wasn’t lying to you, Jayj. I don’t know what I’m doing,” she warns. “I have read books, sure, but if today showed me anything, it let me know I��m not fucking ready.”

“S'not true, honey. I’ve seen you with him already, and you’re a natural. We’ll figure this whole parenting thing out together,” I smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Jayj.”

The lights are low; the sky is dark, only the glow of the television casting light in the room. Drawing back the blankets, I climb inside, pulling her back into my chest. I focus on the sound of her breathing, the way she fits in my arms, just like I remembered, just like I dreamt about. Her soft, supple skin and the sweetness of her perfume surrounds me.

There’s a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” she calls. A hospital worker walks in with a bouquet. Y/n smiles brightly, setting them down on the counter. Reaching over, I snag the card from the top and pass it to her; a little smile stretches on her lips from the sweet gesture alone. “To our newest little Pogue. Welcome to the family, baby boy. Love, Aunt Sarah, Uncle John B, Aunt Kiara, and Uncle Pope.”

Y/n reaches up, brushing the tears from her eyes as I do the same. “Your friends are pretty special, Jayj,” she whispers.

“Our friends, baby,” I smile. “They’re gonna be so happy to have you around again.”

She smiles and nods before tucking the little note back into the bouquet. Tonight was horrifying… a stark contrast to this moment. The woman I love is no longer in tears, no longer in agony, no longer scared. She’s my light… My safe place.

“What were you gonna name him, y/n? I’m sure you already have something in mind.”

“Jaxon James.”

“JJ?” I hum happily as I pull her in tight. Her sparkling eyes match mine, a blissful smile setting in her perfect lips.

“He looks just like you, Jayj; your nose, your hair, your eyes,” she sighs dreamily. “He’s perfect.”

“He’s so damn cute. Oh my god,” I whisper; catching a glimpse of his round cheeks and pouty lips.

“Can he have your last name, Jayj?”

“Oh wow,” I breathe, her question alone conjuring up yet another round of tears. I flutter my lashes, doing my best to keep it together. “Of course, baby. Thank you. That means a lot to me… You mean a lot to me,” I whisper.

“You two mean everything to me, Jayj.”

I hold her cheek in my hand, brushing her buttery-soft skin with my rough thumb. “We’ll start with him, then you, of course. When the time’s right.”

“Yeah, Jayj?” She whimpers through tears.

“I never stopped lovin’ you, y/n. Of course, I wanna be with you forever. Let’s start with the first step. Huh? Will you be my girlfriend, y/n?”

She grabs my face, lips crashing into mine as her body language alone screams 'yes’. My hands fall down her body; the familiarity of her in my arms feels just like home.

“Of course, Jayj.”

“6 weeks. Huh?” I tease, peppering kisses on her beautiful face through a gravelly laugh as she giggles and smiles.

“I love you, JJ.”

“I love you too, baby.”

[slasher-cam]

hello, could you do, CatNap x Smiling Critters Cat reader, it could be SFWello, could you do, CatNap x Smiling Critters Cat reader, it could be SFW

Cats by the Pair

Request? [ yes ] [no] Notes||Of course lovely! One CatNap x cat!Reader right away enjoyᡣ𐭩 Synopsis||You're the newest member of the new hit toy group, "The Smiling Critters". But one special purple cat stands out to you above the rest~ Warnings||SFW-♡,FLUFF-❀,ASKS-✰ Word Count||570 words

(I put in some headcanons about the toy version but this is about the biggerbodies version of CatNap pre hour of joy)

You were midnight cat but your newfound friends called you Middy

Your toy version of you was created to sell as a pair with catnap with Playtime.co branding you as the perfect pair but in reality they needed something to help get some CatNap plushes off the shelves and selling again

Your toy version was also created to help children go to sleep by instead of the poppy gas that induced nightmare, a child could press your paw and you were programed to sing a lullaby to lull children to sleep along with a calming jasmine scent.

When the scientist first put in Playcare you were more than a bit shy, DogDay was the first to meet you and soon he introduced to all his friends as the all crowded around you excited to have a new toy but one caught your eye above the rest

CatNap

He was lurking behind everyone (as usual) watching the group interact with you. DogDay pointed out

"Oh, thats CatNap! Don't mind him, he's just a bit quiet.."

For a while you both just stare at eachother from afar and just accept eachothers presence.

Its not until you walk up to him one day and it across from him and start braiding a bracelet in front of him

He watched you with squinted eyes, suspicious at what you were doing but he remained unmoving and just watched you for hours

Hes surprised when you finally finish and say

"Wrist Please!"

He holds out his hand, wrist side up and watches you carefully slide on the freshly made bracelet

"See? Now we can be proper friends instead of just looking staring eachother all the time"

His pupils dilate as he stares at the bracelet on his wrist and you give him a small smile

Thats how your friendship began

You both can been seen everyday close to eachother just watching the other smiling critters from afar or sitting next to eachother on a blanket while a bunch of children surround you as they soundly sleep.

You both can be found just sitting down making intense eye contact with eachother as you both slowly blink

When CatNap finally puts the orphans to bed you two finally have time alone you both can be found laying on top of eachother loudly purring away

When you're both alone you always rub your head under his chin as your tail flicks happily as he just lies down and allows you

You both always end up smelling like a weird combination of lavender and jasmine and it always annoys the hell out of the workers at Playtime.com because now they have to bath you so you both smell like your respective scents and bathing one cat. is already hell on earth but now two??

Hell nah

But overall its a very quiet yet happy relationship/friendship between you two!

Lets just hope HE will spare you when the hour strikes...

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚｡

Hope you enjoyed xoxoᡣ𐭩

[thegnomelord]

Missing You

CW: NSFW, sub bottom Soap, dom top Reader, phone sex, masturbation, dirty talk, edging, sex toy, dom/sub. Quick and rough but that's how the horny strikes.

Like always, asks/requests are open :Dd

You've been gone on a mission for nearly a month now, and Soap doesn't know what to do with himself. Even when you text him sporadically to tell him you're alive, sometimes he feels like a housewife, stuck awake late at night wondering if you'll return to him as a pair of dog tags.

And even later at night he can't help thinking of what you'll do to him when you come back, ravage him until he's drooling and his brain is leaking from his ears.

As days turn to weeks he finds himself trying and trying to jerk off to no avail. No matter how much he tries he can't seem to get himself off while you're away; he could fuck his cock into his fist until his skin's rubbed raw and his balls are so full they feel like they'll explode but nothing ever comes out. His body is just so used to having your body over his and your scent in his nose and just your presence near that it can't cum without it.

Pure need breeds desperation and has him finding himself at your door in the middle of the night. It's locked, but he has the key. He's quick to shimmy his way inside, a happy little sigh escaping him when he huddles underneath the covers and your scent invades his nose. A stuttered breath leaves him as he gropes his stiff cock underneath his shorts, burying his nose into your pillow and breathing in deep until his lungs are full of you and his brain is buzzing nicely.

He tries to get himself off like that, doesn't take him much to stroke himself to full mast but even surrounded by your scent he can't cum. It's like there's a blockage at the base of his cock that's not letting anything put pre-cum out while he humps his fist until tears prickle his eyes.

A thought pops into his mind and without even thinking he's fishing his phone from his pocket and dialing your number without thinking of what time of the day is on your end. Holding the phone in one hand and cock in the other he nibbles on his lip as he waits for you to pick up. Hopes you will pick up.

"Johnny?" Your voice is slurred with sleep, giving it a deep base rumble that sends a nice shiver down spine.

"Bonnie..." He breathes out and bites his lip to hold back a groan, cock twitching in reaction from just your voice. "Fuck, ah missed yea."

You hum, still half asleep. "Missed you too Johnny. How have you been?"

"Good." He breathes out, worrying his lip between his teeth as he strokes himself. "Just been mighty bored since you left lil' ol' me alone."

You can hair faint shuffling on the other end, but not his usual chatter. Normally when you call each other Soap will prattle on and on for as he can, but this time he is strangely silent save for his shuddered breath. "Soap... where are you?"

He freezes and sucks in a breath, "In yeh room."

"Johnny." The way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine and he begins stroking himself again, pinching and squeezing the head of his poor cock in the same way you do. "Did you miss me this much?"

"No shite." A small sound escapes him, a mixture of a curse and something more animalistic. "Ah try 'an wank off but every time I try it's-" A familiar hellish feeling in his balls, like something close to pain but not quite, has him cutting his sentence short.

"Poor boy," You coo, "Can't cum without me there, can you? Got you so trained to cum with my cock up your ass you can't do it without something nice and big stretching you out, hmm?"

Your words have embarrassment flooding his system and a small stream of pre leaking from his red angry tip, "'S your fault, fockin' wanker." He curses, burying his head into your pillow while quickly stroking his cock. He'd be embarrassed about what your voice does to him if he wasn't so damn horny. "Fix yer mess."

"Want to cum so badly don't you?" You stall just for a second, your mind birthing a devious idea. "Alright sweetheart, check under the bed for me."

Your request confuses him. "What for?" Still, he's a good boy, he does as he's told no matter how much it hurts to let go of his dick. Even just the sheets rubbing against his poor dick has him whimpering from overstimulation, but he manages to reach beneath your bed and finds a small discrete box.

"Just a gift for you." Your smirk carries over the phone and you can just imagine his expression when when he opens the box.

Inside the box is a dildo. It's firm in his hand as he picks it up, heat pools in his stomach as he recognizes the tip he'd spend hours suckling on, as he traces each realistic vein with his fingers the same way he'd do with his tongue, as he rubs the silicone balls like he'd worship the actual ones; It's molded from your actual dick.

"Oh you sick fuck." He breathes out, but there's not a single hint of disgust in his breathless voice. "Did yea make it so's yea could fock yourself?"

"Funny." Your two share a small chuckle, "If you're not careful I'll make one of yours and lock the real thing away. Not like you use it much."

He never knows if you're serious or kidding but the subtle threat in your tone has his dick throbbing all the same. He manages an indignant "Oi!" before his voice pitters out when he finds your second surprise.

"Thought you'd want something to remember me by." You can't hide your amusement when he finds your underwear. After you'd caught him masturbating with his face shoved in a pair of your underwear he'd nicked, you'd gone out of your way to wear one pair each time you went to the gym and didn't wash it.

"Oh bile yer heid." He huffs but he's already rolling on his side with your underwear pressed close to his nose. He breathes in deep until he can taste the heavy tang of your musk on his tongue, arousal burning hot in his veins.

"I'll take it you like it." You chuckle, "Go on sweetheart, you know what to do."

"Aye." He shuffles until shimmy his shorts off, having not even bothered with wearing boxers. He shifts so his knees are close to his chest, the phone pressed between his ear and the pillow so he can use both hands. "C'mon, keep yappin'. Need tah hear yea." He feels so high-strung begging like this, but it just makes heat burn hotter in his cock when he brings the silicone dildo to his puckered hole that's already wet from when he'd tried to finger himself to an orgasm.

"Oh, sweetheart," With your voice ringing in his ear and your scent in his nose and the weight of your sheets over his half naked body he almost feels like you're right there. If he closes his eyes he imagine it's your cock poke against his hole and your body swallowing his. "Let me guess, you're already wet huh?"

"Know me so well." He breathes out and slowly pushes the dildo against his hole until the head finally slips past the ring of muscle. He's rougher than you'd be but his body is so desperate to feel you that the cock slips in easily, his walls clenching greedily around every familiar vein.

You croon praises in his ear as he sets a deep and fast pace, biting your underwear between his teeth to muffle his pathetic mewls while pounding his hole. But it's not enough, even with every single one of his senses full of you it's not enough. His arm's starting to cramp the longer he fucks himself, twisting and angling the dildo in a desperate attempt to catch his prostate, his hips twitching back to when he bottoms out so he can feel the fake balls slap against his own.

"Shit- It's not enough, fock, please." He shifts his head just enough to beg, huffing in your scent.

"What's wrong Soap, can't fuck yourself like I can?" He groans at your words, biting the wet fabric of your underwear again when he finally manages to graze his prostate. His cock's leaking like a faucet, easing the glide of his fingers when he grabs it to stroke himself until he's whining from the stimulation coming from both ends.

His balls ache and fire burns in his stomach every time he bottoms out, his thighs shaking with the need to cum. "Nae, you fock me so good-" He pants, pleas both in English and Gaelic falling from his lips until you can barely understand anything aside from pure need.

"Go on Johnny, you can cum."

Your permission is all it takes for him to tip over the edge, hole spasming around the dildo and cum spurting like a firehose from his cock and his sight going white. Weeks upon weeks of unresolved tension all escaping him as waves of euphoria pulse through him, leaving him shaking from his orgasm.

"There you go, good boy." Your voice brings him back from the peaks of heaven, his breathing heavy and uncoordinated. "How do you feel?"

"Fockin' perfect." He slurs and has just enough strength to slip the fake cock from his hole and toss it somewhere on the floor. "Felt like ah was ready ta blow." A loud yawn leaves him and his eyes feel heavy when he hears your voice again.

"Get some sleep Johnny, I'll be back by the time you wake up."

"I'll hold yea to it." A dumb little smile tugs on his lips and he nuzzles his head into your pillow, drifting off to sleep.

[spideysl0ve]

Pre-relationship “did you just steal my jacket?" with Zoro please. Up to you if pre/post time skip!

You’d think it’d be the reader wearing Zoro’s shirt, but it’s Zoro wearing their oversized grey hoodie and sweatpants. Zoro is oblivious while reader is flustered when they see him working out 😂

It’s cute that the Straw Hats wear each other’s clothes sometimes 🥺

 . 𔘓 ؛ what's yours is mine too

⇢ masterlist

⇢ writing prompts

⇢ roronoa zoro x reader.

⇢ tw: fluff, zoro being a tease and reader being flustered about it, english isn’t my first language.

⇢ summary: “did you just steal my jacket?” prompt with my boy.

the morning unfolds gently, with the first rays of sunlight spilling through the curtains, casting a warm golden hue across the room. the air is crisp and filled with the faint hum of birdsong, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee that sanji was making, drifting from the kitchen.

the world seems to stretch and yawn awake; you stirred in bed, seeking the comfort of your boyfriend next to you in bed, finding his spot empty.

you whimpered, fingers brushing over the cool sheets where zoro had been, it was unusual for him to wake up early, which made you even more uncomfortable.

with a soft pout, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the day already felt a little less warm without him there.

dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the closet, your heart set on your oversized grey hoodie. the thought of its familiar softness against your skin made the chill of the morning seem more bearable.

but it wasn’t there.

your brows furrowed as you looked through every possible hiding spot. no hoodie. under the bed? no hoodie. by the messy draws you shared with your boyfriend? still no hoodie. frustration bubbled up as you grabbed another one, smaller, less comfy, and pulled it on with a huff before heading toward the kitchen.

the smell of breakfast greeted you first, followed by the sight of sanji expertly flipping pancakes while zoro leaned against the counter, a steaming mug of coffee in hand.

“good morning, y/n" sanji smiled to you but your attention was immediately stolen by zoro.

more specifically, by the hoodie slung casually over his broad shoulders. your hoodie.

“are you serious? did you just steal my hodie?” you blurted, staring at him.

zoro glanced up from his coffee, one brow arched. “what?”

“that’s mine!” you exclaimed, pointing at the grey hoodie as it hung off him.

zoro tilted his head as if this was news to him. “oh. thought it was lying around.”

“it wasn’t lying around, it was in my part of the room. my hoodie, zoro!” you crossed your arms, glaring at him.

sanji glanced over, clearly amused, as he stirred a pot of something aromatic. “ah, the barbarian strikes again. zoro, don’t you know it’s rude to steal a lady’s clothes?”

“it’s not stealing,” zoro said, shrugging. “besides, what's her it's mines too”

“it doesn't work like that!,” you shot back, stomping closer. “give it back.”

zoro smirked, setting his mug down. “fine, fine,” he said, tugging the hoodie off and tossing it to you. “here. happy?”

you caught it and immediately pulled it on, feeling a surge of satisfaction as its oversized warmth enveloped you again. “ecstatic,” you muttered, stomping toward the table, trying to ignore the sound of sanji’s chuckle.

------------------------✩┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈✩--------------------------

the morning had settled into its usual rhythm, the hum of the waves blending with the clatter of weights and the rhythmic swish of a weighs slicing through the air so you decided to head to the training area, if only to check on zoro and make sure he wasn’t overdoing it.

as you stepped onto the deck, the sun cast golden rays across the ship, making everything feel alive. your eyes instantly landed on zoro, and your jaw practically hit the floor.

he was shirtless, sweat gleaming on his chest and shoulders as he moved through his sword drills, each swing precise and deliberate. his focus was intense, and for a moment, you might have admired the view... if not for the fact that he was wearing your sweatpants.

your favourite, soft, perfectly broken-in sweatpants.

“zoro!” you barked, storming toward him.

he stopped mid-swing, one huge weight still raised, as his gaze shifted lazily to you. “yeah?”

you planted your hands on your hips, glaring at him. “are those my sweatpants?”

he glanced down at himself, as if only now noticing, then shrugged. “guess they are.”

“what do you mean, ‘guess they are’?!” you demanded, flailing your arms at the offending pants. “why are you wearing my clothes again? haven't you listened to me?”

“they were there,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

you gaped at him, completely at a loss for words. “you’re unbelievable. first my hoodie, now my sweatpants? what’s next, my socks?”

he grinned, walking over to you, completely unbothered by your rising frustration. “depends, are they comfortable too?”

“zoro!” you snapped, your cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and embarrassment as he stopped just inches from you. his proximity was disarming, especially with how nonchalant he looked.

he tilted his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. “you’re really worked up over this, huh?”

“yes, i am!” you shot back, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your checks. “those are mine, and you’re stretching them out!”

“they look fine to me.” his smirk widened as he reached out, tugging playfully at the waistband of the sweatpants. “if anything, they fit me better.”

you slapped his hand away, your face burning. “you’re the worst, you know that?”

“nah,” he said softly, leaning down slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart race. “you like me too much for that.”

before you could come up with a witty retort, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in the lightest, most teasing kiss imaginable. it was so quick, so maddeningly brief, that by the time you processed it, he was already pulling back, his smirk firmly in place.

your face went hot, your hands instinctively grabbing at the hem of your hoodie as if to ground yourself. “don’t think you can distract me with with that,” you stammered, your words faltering under the weight of your flustered state.

“worked, didn’t it?” he said, his voice low and teasing as he stepped back toward his training area.

you glared at him, your heart still pounding as he picked up his weights, completely unbothered.

“this isn’t over, zoro!” you called after him, but your voice lacked its usual conviction.

he glanced over his shoulder, his grin as infuriating as ever. “whatever you say, princess.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. he was impossible, and unfortunately for you, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

but he was yours, he was your clothing thief boyfriend

taglist: @remasjoestar @anamiad00msday @rotin0 @moon4lust @elitesanjisimp @dreamcastgirl99

be added to my taglist

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ touya-nii + his nasty habit of sneaking into your bedroom

character: todoroki touya | dabi warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest, noncon, a slight bit of degradation, implied size difference words: 1.2k

he’s always careful when he starts. careful when he creeps into your room in the middle of the night, sock clad feet quiet against the hardwood; careful to keep the doorhandles latch from catching on the strike plate as he closes it behind him; careful not to wake you as he slinks into your frilly little bed, knocking stuffed animals and extra pillows onto the floor, as he worms his way beneath your pink-piped comforter and slithers his hand between your silky thighs—ah, good girl, you’re not wearing those pesky sleep shorts, just like he told you not to (good little sisters only wear panties to bed; and sometimes, they don’t even wear those, he had informed you)—and then wiggles his fingers under your lacy undies.

that’s when he stops being careful. 

because he loves that sharp gasp of surprise, that sheer unadulterated bolt that courses through your body—shock in the purest, prettiest form—that jolts you from your blissful slumber almost violently; skin shuddering, eyes snapping open, when he shoves two dirty fingers into your ill-prepped cunt. 

it’s his favourite sound in the world, he swears it is, swears he would bottle it up and keep it close to his heart if he could, swears he would wear it around his neck like the cutest, daintiest little noose, tethering him to you. 

but this is the next best thing, he supposes. 

your eyes slip shut again, so tightly they crinkle the corners and furrow your brow, and a whine of his name spills from your lips; first in frustration, then again all wispy and dumb when he curls his knuckles against that plush spot buried deep inside of you—that spot he knows so well, that spot he discovered, then claimed as his own. 

yeah, not so irritated now, are ya, y’little brat. 

no, you’re not. you’re sighing out his name in time with the pumps of his fingers, all melty and stupid and oh-so-cute, knotted with his honorific and seeping into your lace-trimmed pillows in little threads of drool. you’re grinding your ass back against his hard cock as you pathetically hump his palm, indulging him as his hips rut into your plush flesh, pre-cum steadily leaking through his thin pyjama pants, staining plaid in dark wet patches.

“touya-nii,” you whimper, back arching a little, nipples peaked through the thin cotton of your camisole. “stop, stop.” 

this is the routine almost every time, practiced and perfected through night after night of rehearsals, and you play your part flawlessly; effortless and enticing and full of emphasis, because you know he gets off on it—the no!s and wait!s and don’t!s, sometimes spit from your lips, sometimes dribbling out the corner of your mouth, only heightening the whole sordid affair.

because you’re just as fucking sick as your big brother is. 

he can’t stop, don’t you know?

it’s all your fault, he’s telling you, voice caught somewhere between accusatory and mocking. if you weren’t such a slutty little tease, nii-chan wouldn’t have to do this. 

but it’s all just a game; he knows you love it just as much as he does, knows you’re just as depraved as he is, because your actions don’t match your words, you bad girl, the rolling of your hips encouraging the rocking of his own, one of your free hands threading itself over his and guiding it to your breast, bony knuckles pressing into a soft palm as his fingers flex around supple flesh.

if you didn’t love it, if you didn’t want it, then why would you prance around the house in those short, short little dresses? the ones that fan out when you twirl to your music in the living room or ride up when you bend over while cooking in the kitchen, gifting anyone within the immediate vicinity (your vile siblings and their prying eyes) a coveted glimpse of the silk and lace clinging delicately to your cheeks; the ones that are an inch or two too short to be considered wholly decent, and the ones Daddy has repeatedly told you to stop wearing around your big brothers—especially the eldest. 

“m’sorry, touya-nii, m’sorry, m’sorry.”

no, you’re not, but that’s okay. he isn’t, either. 

at least you have each other.

your other hand snakes between your tensing thighs, cupping his own, little fingers layering larger ones as they try to speed up his motions, push his digits deeper, fuck you harder, give you more. 

these trysts never last long enough, though; no matter how hard he tries to lengthen them, to savour them, you’re both too eager, too hungry for one another, cumming too quickly in the dead of night as your bodies tremble together, as names shatter on tongues in sharp whispers and limbs seize and tangle and fuse into one.

it’s always so fucking messy, your cunt clenching around your conjoined fingers, slick dribbling down his knuckles in thick dollops to pool in his hand, to settle in the lines of his palm and streak his inner wrist in pretty shimmering streams.

it’s always so fucking messy, his grunts hot and humid against the nape of your neck, forehead pressed to the crown of your head as his cock throbs, filling flannel with copious amounts of burning, sticky cum—so much it seeps through the material to soak your scrunched panties, so much it dries in a hard glaze, welding lace to your ass. 

you don’t ever dare to wash it off, clean it away, eradicate the evidence, instead allowing each other’s pleasure to stain your skins, wearing it like a mark of honour, a claim of ownership, barely visible when it dries into something firm and translucent, but there nonetheless. 

his fingertips continue to flutter against that swollen spot until ripples of overstimulation are shuddering through your flesh, until your little hand is wreathing around his syrupy wrist and nails are biting into his flesh and tugging, tears beginning to bead your lashes.

only then does he chuckle and pull his hand free, knuckles hooking in an attempt to scrape your walls, a heavy coat of your arousal glistening on his fingers. 

“you cum so fucking much for your big brother,” he growls in your ear, lips wet against the cartilage, voice tapering off into a whine. “look at how wet you get for me.” 

two of his fingers flatten against your cheek and then swipe, slow and hard and thorough, smearing a thick film of your slick across your face, from the tip of your temple to the corner of your mouth, back and forth and back and forth until it’s been rubbed into your skin. 

callused fingertips push past your parted lips, weighing down on your tongue and cramming themselves into your throat, forcing you to taste yourself—to taste him, painted in you; spicy nicotine and heady salt.

“you’re fucking disgusting,” he pants out, but his pupils are gaping, watching as your gorge yourself on your big brother’s flesh, lips puckering and cheeks hollowing as your tongue curls around his knuckles and tries to siphon him further down your throat. 

a whine splinters in his chest as he pulls his extremities free from your voracious grip, slathered in spit, viscous cords strung between his knuckles as he spreads them apart. 

“yeah, you’re real fucking sick, y’know that?” 

“you made me like this, nii-chan,” you breathe out dreamily, already drifting back into sleep’s welcoming embrace, body going lax in his arms and snuggling back against his chest. 

yeah, he fucking did. 

and neither of you would have it any other way. 

[disasterofastory]

Brahms's playtime (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Brahms's playtime // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 1/14 Warnings: somnophilia, non-c, stalking Summary: Brahms comes out of his hiding place while you are asleep.

A/N: Here is our first Brahms fic for kinktober. Hope you will enjoy it!

The music is muffled by the raging storm outside. The doll still sits in front of the old gramophone, motionless. The wild rocking of the trees in front of the window reflects in his dark, lifeless eyes. He is all alone while you are in the living room, asleep. You took a shower not even an hour ago after freezing your toes off because of those damn rat traps. You needed your shampoo, soap, and all your lotions to get rid of the smell of the dead and wet animals. Disgusting.

You are lying on the couch, still in your robe, eyes closed. Your chest moves up and down with every calm breath you take. The heavy drum of the rain on the rooftop is far from your relaxed mind. You don't care about the bright strikes that light up the room every few seconds or the loud rumble of the sky that follows them. And you don't care about the man watching you through the hole in the wall either.

Brahms stands still with his hands flat on the rough surface of the inside of the wall. It shakes under his touch, fighting against the wrathful weather outside. The man can feel every lighting and every thunder, but the world could fall apart, and he wouldn't move an inch. His eyes are on you, barely blinking. He doesn't even remember the times he didn't spend his days watching you. You became a part of his life quickly and easily, even if you know nothing about it. Yet.

His movements are quick and quiet as he comes out of his hiding place. His huge form barely fits through the secret passage of the wall. His gaze stays on you the whole time, afraid you wake up and ruin his playtime. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want you scared and panicked. He doesn't want you to leave him.

No.

You won't leave him. He will make sure of it. He will be good. So good.

He towers over your sleeping form, watching the way your lashes flutter every now and again. His gaze falls on the slope of your nose and the curve of your open lips. His fingertips tingle with the need to touch you. His breathing gets heavy as he goes lower. The robe you wear is much more open than it was when you decided to take a quick nap after your shower. Saliva gathers in his mouth at the sight of your nipple. The hard peak matches the shade of your lips. His hand trembles as he reaches out. His thumb grazes over the pebble, flicking it briefly before snapping his hand away from you. His eyes jump back to your face, but you are still asleep. The small movement of your chest as you breathe is still the same.

Okay, he thinks, that's good.

His index finger tugs on the opening of your robe until the belt around your waist gives up, and you are bare in front of his hungry gaze. He doesn't even know where to look first. Brahms is mesmerized by the soft globes of your breasts, the curve of your waist, and the pretty triangle between your legs. His hard cock twitches in his pants. Pre-cum leaks from the aching tip, forming a dark patch on the soft fabric of his underwear.

He reaches out again. His large palm lands on your side, and his thumb slides over the underside of your breast. His lips fall open with a silent whine. He can feel the sweat running down his temple. His hold slides down to your hips. You fit perfectly in his hold.

Your legs spread further, and his breath hitches in his throat. So pretty. You are so pretty.

The storm is still wild and powerful outside, mixing with the sound of the music from the other room. Thick fog floats around the house, hiding you and him in another world where you are willing and open to him.

With his other hand, he pushes down on his pants until his cock and heavy balls are free between his thick thighs. His long fingers curl around his shaft, squeezing and tugging.

His hold on you is steady and gentle, still afraid of you waking up and ruining his fun. No. It would be too soon. You need time. He needs more time, too. His hand smooths down to your thigh, gently groping your flesh there for a second. So soft. So perfect. Another whine stretches in his throat. His chest feels too tight for everything he feels right now. His index finger runs over your slit. His touch is curious and inexperienced. He doesn't know exactly what he should do; he just feels the throbbing need to do something. Anything.

After a few minutes of his aimless caressing, you start to get wet. Brahms notices it with a surprised gasp. His fingers move more easily until he slips deeper, opening up your folds to his determined glare.

He feels the familiar pull on his balls. His hand tightens and quickens. His bottom lip trembles as he moans. The voice is strange and high. It's happening. The familiar pull in his lower stomach tugs on his insides. He will cum.

His finger goes even deeper inside you, finding your tight hole and sinking into its warmth. And then you moan. Your voice is much prettier than his, but your eyes are still closed. There is a small frown between your brows, though, as you start to move your hips. You almost fuck yourself on his finger as you whimper and moan some more.

"Y/N," Brahms moans as he reaches his orgasm. Soon, both of his hands are soaked with yours and his juices. His creamy white seed gathers in the middle of his large palm as he shoots and shoots. His hips rock back and forth, watching his index finger disappear in your pussy as you grind down on him.

In the background, the music stops, and for a second, you freeze too. Brahms's heart stops beating for a second.

Not now. Not yet.

Pulling out his finger from your tight hole, he reaches out between your thighs with his other hand. He smears his seed on your pussy hurriedly, letting the thick drops paint your skin and mark you as his.

[fisheito]

Well THat doesn't seem right....

[luveline]

Hi friend! I just have a small request for zombie au Steve if you’re feeling up for it. I miss him lol. It’s snowing where I live currently and it got me thinking. I would love to see just about anything with zombie au steve and some snow. I’m a little partial to pre-college times but it definitely doesn’t have to be. Fluff or angst bc tbh it could so go either way. Just if it strikes your fancy. And thank you as always for your lovely and warm writing you share!

thank you for reading and requesting, you angel!! some pre-college zombie!au for you <3 —steve acts like a boyfriend even when he isn’t one (officially) on a cold day alone together. fem, 1.1k

It can feel weird waking up next to you. Steve’s so used to taking shifts and sleeping half on top of one another that waking up face to face scares him at first —he flinches and his body fills with inertia as he throws his leg back to stop from falling out of bed. 

You doze peacefully through his panic. Your face is soft with sleep. You have deeply etched lines under your eyes that show how badly you need it, but beside them, Steve can’t find a thing wrong with you. You’re really pretty this close. He finds you beautiful. 

He lifts his hand to your neck in apology though you weren’t awake to notice his fear. “Morning,” he mouths, rubbing the side of your neck gently. 

Your skin is chapped, but his hands are calloused, so it’s not like he minds. He steals another minute watching you sleep, and then he leans forward to kiss your jaw just by his hand. You make a sound he chooses to believe is a knowing pleasure, a happy sigh at being with him. He’d kiss your lips if he thought he could, but he’s been asking first each time for the last few weeks, cautious of overstepping a boundary you haven’t laid. 

The thing is that Steve knew you liked him before he liked you back. Well. He guessed you were attracted to him, then argued with himself that he was being delusional. But one day you were asking if he’d hold your hand, and you wouldn’t admit it but you were scared, and he realised you depended on him for more than just your survival. He realised you were his friend, and now more than that, and it wasn’t that he wasn’t falling for you, but that he just didn’t know how to do that. You were already there waiting for him when he kissed you the first time. 

You’d been so nervous. It was enough to finish him off, compel him forward into whatever this is. (Whatever, but not whatever. He loves it. He’s not sure how to handle it.) 

When he peels away from you, his arms immediately prickle with goosebumps. The room is cold and it has to have been your proximity that was keeping him warm, his breath rising like fog as he stands. “Shit,” he mumbles, mouth glued together with fatigue. “Fucking hell.” 

He stretches until the sore spot at the low of his back clicks and turns to look at you again, checking you’re alright while he scratches the last eight hours out of his hair. You’ve curled a touch into his warm spot but otherwise remain asleep. 

Why is it suddenly cold? 

A white light is emanating from behind the curtains. Steve hopes to god it’s just a bright day today, that the sun is high and reflecting off of a lake nearby, but he pulls the drapes open and startles into silence. 

Powdery snow stretches thick and fast from either side of the landscape. Wind carries it around in drifting sheets, but it seems to have stopped for now. 

He grabs another blanket from the linen closet, a third, and stands with his head cocked by the door listening for sounds. Steve’s more often than not thinking about who or what might be near. 

He closes you both in again, shuts the curtains, and climbs into bed with you, draping the blankets heavily over your body where it makes half a heart. You pull a knee higher and disrupt the image, eyes squeezing tightly closed at his return, and opening sluggishly. 

“Hey,” he says, resting his head on the pillow. Eye to eye like this, he can see the sleep in your lashes. He probably has his own. “You feeling okay?” 

“Are you trying to cook me?” you ask. Now you’ve seen him, you’re relaxing, closing your eyes again. 

“Don’t go back to sleep.” 

“Why not?” 

“‘Cause I’m bored and you’re my only friend,” he says. 

“Ooh, wouldn’t say that. Not sure we’re there yet.” 

Steve cups your cheek. You smile into the pillow. 

He draws a line back and forth. It’s nice to give you something nice, a soft sensation. He thinks maybe that’s what falling in love is; wanting to make someone else happy, wanting them to make you happy. You’re a sweetheart when he’s not antagonising you; you’re nice, and gentle, and you hold his hand like you’ve loved him for years. He’s not stupid enough to miss how awesome that is. Nor can he ignore the way his heart has started to patter when you’re changing, or the contented, near bliss of your face pressed under his chin. This isn’t just about you wanting him or vice versa, it’s love. 

“Maybe you should sleep more. You still look tired.” 

You wrinkle your nose and he leans in, thinking about kissing you again, but you’re not on the same page yet. “I can’t sleep anymore. It’s midday, right?” You squint at the bright square of the window before hiding your face, your forehead slipping against his chin to his shoulder. “We should get going soon.” 

“That’s not happening.” 

He wraps his arm around you. You practically preen, happiness sewn into your words as you ask, “Why not?” 

“It snowed last night. All night, I’d say.” 

You look up at him sceptically. “Really?” 

“You think I’m lying?” 

“I thought it was too cold to snow.” 

“Tell that to the penguins in Antarctica.” 

You laugh into his shoulder. Slowly, your hand is climbing his stomach. After a half second of deliberation, you curl it behind his back and settle in. “You’re not nice.” 

“I’m nice,” he says into your forehead, pulling you closer in turn. “Not making you walk in the blizzard.” 

“Generous.” 

He hugs you tighter and decides fuck it, pressing a generous smattering of kisses into the skin between your brows. “You love that about me. I’m oh so forgiving.” He encourages your head back carefully to kiss the tip of your nose. “Are you warm enough?” 

You’d think he’s told you you’re beautiful, or that he wants your babies, the way you melt. “I’m fine. Thank you,” you mumble shyly. 

He presses his forehead to yours. The snow might stay for days, and eventually you’ll have to brave it, but for now he wants to stay here kissing you and exacerbating the ache that brews in his stomach every time your breath catches. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “There’s more linens if you need them.” 

“I won’t need them. You’re going to keep me warm.” 

“I am.” Steve presses a gentle kiss to your lips, endorphins like a rush of heat through every inch of skin as you kiss back. 

[love-at-first-sight-23]

Midnight Kisses— Vox x Reader

Warnings: Smut, foreplay, sub!Vox, fem!Reader, slight size kink, established relationship, pet names, creampie

Plot: You go to bed with Vox in the evening, expecting to get a good night’s rest. When you can’t fall asleep and notice Vox lying looking particularly enticing, your plans for the night change quickly. Vox will be staying up extra late to satisfy your “needs”.

A/n: This is my first time writing for Vox from Hazbin Hotel, so I hope this meets your expectations! (I realize how many times I said the word “eyes” in this.)

“Goodnight, babe.” Vox murmurs to you as he kisses your forehead and pulls the blinds down in your bedroom overlooking the Pentagram City. A soft neon blue light fills the room and glows on the modern high-tech furniture.

A TV is placed on the left wall and holographic fish swim in a digital aquarium in the corner. A large Vox Tech-V hangs as a light fixture against the ceiling.

“G’night.” You say sleepily back to him as you climb into bed and pull the covers over your body, which is covered by a nightgown.

You hear your husband switch off the lamp on the nightstand and slide under the blankets beside you.

You sigh, closing your eyes, and prepare yourself to drift off into sleep.

But sleep doesn’t come. You shut your eyes tighter, winding the sheets around you, but still the comforting darkness evades your mind.

Frustrated, you lay awake on the mattress for several more minutes, wishing your brain wouldn't keep you up.

You roll over to look at Vox. He’s breathing deeply, eyes closed with a calm expression set over his face. Your eyes drift downwards, where you know his dark blue boxers cover the top of his legs. You feel your thighs clench together. It may not be the right time, so late into the night, but your imagination can’t help but drift to what is hidden beneath the fabric. Plus, you can’t seem to fall asleep. Maybe you can convince him…

“Vox?” You whisper in the dark. He doesn’t answer or make any movement.

Slowly, you reach out your hand and nudge his shoulder gently. “Vox?” You say again.

He stirs at your touch, red eyes opening a crack. “Mmm? What?” His voice is slurred with sleepiness.

“Vox, I can’t sleep.” You whine in a small voice.

“I’m sorry, baby. Do you need something—“ He’s silenced as you press a light kiss to his lips. Your hands are holding his face as your eyes glitter up at him. Behind you the clock strikes 12:00 am. 

“Er— right now? Are you sure, darling? It’s late…” His voice trails off as you kiss him again, sucking at his mouth and then traveling down his neck. You nip at certain places on his skin and he moans softly. You’re turned on even more and trail your hands down his bare chest, tracing the defined muscles and getting closer and closer to the band on his boxers.

“Vox~” you chirp suggestively while your gaze steadies on the growing tightness straining against the cloth.

A sharp clawed hand grabs ahold of your wrist before it can reach its destination. Vox looks at you, eyes glazing over with lust.

“Not yet, my doll.” With that he takes the straps of your nightgown and whisks it up and over your head, where it drifts onto the bed behind you. Your bra and underwear join it soon after.

“I thought I heard you say it was late?” you ask innocently as you sit bare in the cold air before him with your legs crossed under you.

“I have to take care of my baby, now don’t I? I wouldn’t want to let her wait any longer,” he says in a sultry voice as he hoists off his boxers, releasing his cock standing straight up. You swirl your finger around its tip, your hand coming away wet with his pre-cum. He growls and pulls you on top of him, ending with your lips locked together once more in a desire-imbedded kiss. His forked tongue slides over yours while his rock-hard shaft presses against your belly.

You can’t take it anymore. You pull backwards and sink down on his cock, feeling his size fill you up and resulting in a breathless moan leaving your mouth.

“B— baby,” Vox stutters as the pleasure floods him and sends prickles across his skin and down his spine. 

You begin to bounce on the television’s dick, your hips rocking back and forth in time. Your moans get louder and louder. Vox, at your mercy beneath you, watches you with adoration for your high-pitched whimpers as his nails dig themselves into the sheets at the same time.

“Vox!! Babe!” you gasp out as your body goes through one orgasm after the other. You can tell Vox is losing his stamina by the way his breathing is broken up by crackles of electricity and his intent eyes are struggling to retain their focus. You can’t stop now, though. Not yet…

“Just… a little longer…” you cry as you shudder violently, coming yet again. “I c— can’t stop… feels too good…”

“Don’t stop.” Vox promises even though his words come out shakily. His endurance is usually impressively high, especially when he lets you chase your own release by using him, but he knows he can’t hold on for much longer. His software is failing to keep up with the extreme sensations overriding his senses.

Your walls clench around him until they can’t clench any tighter with the obscene squelching sounds reverberating to the ceiling. Valentino could surely never rival his porn shows to the TV demon writhing beneath you, sweat pouring down his neck and your pretty hair thrown back and tangled around your face as you moan loudly unintelligibles.

Vox’s breaking point is nearing. Hot ropes of cum spurt up into you, slicking your thighs and mixing with your own arousal.

“I can’t…” his chest is raggedly moving up and down and his eyes are now fully closed. 

“One more, please,” you beg. Your bouncing is less efficient now but still just as desperate. Between your legs Vox continues to groan but is clearly wiped out by the three hours of you riding him.

Again the overpowering shocks of bliss wash over you, evidence of your multiple releases coating Vox’s cock and stomach. You want to go further. Fuck yourself on him for one, even two hours longer. But you’re so tired. So very tired…

The tempo of your humping loses its persistence. Finally your head drops down to your chest and Vox’s shaft slips abruptly out of you with a pop.

Vox, unable to speak or move, lies motionless while you crawl up next to him and lay your head on his neck. Both of you are still naked and exhausted beyond words. It’ll be a wonder if you are able to walk tomorrow, let alone Vox.

You fall asleep instantly with your chests pressed up against each other, the lights of the city filtering through the gaps in the curtains. Sleeping well into the morning is a likely possibility. Vox will have a fun time at work the next day.

Tag List: @lucifersgirl, @voxslays (Let me know if you want to be tagged on future posts (or untagged!))

[msriri030]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x female reader

Disclaimer: I Cooked jk, Monsterau!

Simon leaned back against the wall of the training grounds, arms crossed, his crimson eyes following your every move. You had slipped outside again, lunch tray in hand, heading toward the quiet corner of the yard where the shade of the large oak tree offered refuge from prying eyes. It had become your routine, one Simon had watched unfold since you arrived as the newest sniper recruit form the Monster and Human Relationship Program.

You were a model soldier in many ways—your skill was unmatched, your discipline unwavering. The monsters and humans on the team respected you for that. But Simon knew there was more to a person than their competence. And that’s where the mystery lay. Because while the others gravitated toward camaraderie, drawn together by the shared goal of the program, you stayed apart, a lone figure avoiding both humans and monsters alike.

It wasn’t just your choice of solitude during meals that intrigued him. It was everything about you.  

Each morning, you were up before anyone else, slipping into the training yard before the first rays of sunlight painted the horizon. Your movements were efficient but quiet, as though you didn’t want to disturb the sleeping base. Simon would often catch a glimpse of you through the barracks window during his own pre-dawn routine. Then, as the day unfolded, you executed your tasks with the same precise detachment, speaking only when necessary, avoiding unnecessary physical touch, and blending into the background despite your undeniable skill.  

And at night, when most recruits gathered in the lounge or made use of the limited amenities offered on base, you disappeared again, retreating to your quarters—the farthest room at the edge of the base. It was the kind of place someone chose when they didn’t want to be found, didn’t want to be noticed. Like a shadow deliberately cast to avoid the light.

Simon tilted his head slightly, his curiosity deepening. Was it fear that drove you to isolation? Distrust? Or was it something else entirely? He wasn’t one to pry into people’s lives, but something about you gnawed at his instincts, the predator within him sensing there was more beneath your composed surface.

He turned away from the window, muttering to himself, “Just what are you hiding, sniper?” 

Tomorrow, perhaps, he’d find a reason to strike up a conversation. Or maybe he’d follow you on one of those early mornings, see what secrets you carried when you thought no one was watching. Simon smiled faintly to himself, a mixture of amusement and intrigue flashing in his crimson eyes.  

One way or another, he intended to find out.

Next day, he lost in thought on the way to interact with you, causing the Scottish man, Johnny a.k. Soap, to look at him questioning. Soap asked, “ Ghost? Come in, Ghost? Do you copy? Does anybody copy?” 

When Ghost didn’t respond, Price, their captain, said, elbowing lightly, “Lieutenant? Is something wrong?” 

Even though he didn’t show it, Ghost was slightly embarrassed from being caught. Ghost decided to see if he can gain any information from you. Ghost reposend, “Nothing Captain, however I was wondering about the new sniper-.” 

Ghost’s dark eyes flicked over the group, his posture remaining stoic despite the mild heat crawling up his neck. He wasn’t one to let emotions slip, but the collective smirks from Soap, Gaz, and Price were enough to stoke his irritation. He shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest in that signature closed-off stance.  

“It’s nothing like that,” he muttered again, his voice gruff.  

Soap, sitting across the room cleaning his rifle, snorted. “Aye, nothing like that, but here ye are, askin’ about her during downtime. Curious timing, eh?” He grinned, his tone laced with mischief. “You’ve been watchin’ her, haven’t ye? Come on, admit it, Ghost. You’re interested.”  

Ghost shot him with a withering glare but didn’t bother responding to the jab.  

Gaz, lounging nearby, couldn’t resist joining in. “He’s right, mate. You don’t just bring someone up randomly unless they’ve caught your attention. What’s so special about her? She beat your record at the range or something?”  

Ghost sighed, the familiar weight of their teasing settling on his shoulders. He knew they wouldn’t let it go until he gave them an answer. Might as well give them just enough to get them off his back.  

“She’s a good soldier,” Ghost began, his tone measured, “disciplined, skilled, quiet—everything you’d want in a sniper. But...” He paused, searching for the right words. “There’s something... off about her.”  

The room grew still, the teasing air replaced by a quiet tension. Even Soap, usually the first to throw in another quip, remained silent as Price spoke.  

“Ghost, I understand your curiosity about the new sniper,” Price began, his voice low and steady. “Her quiet demeanor stands out, sure. But there’s more to it.”  

Ghost leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked on Price as he continued.  

“She’s a monster,” Price said bluntly, though his tone carried no malice. “I don’t know what kind, exactly. The higher-ups, of the program, didn’t give me much to work with. All they told me is that she’s one of a kind—a species we’ve never worked with before.”  

Price paused, running a hand down his face as if choosing his words carefully. “There are rules about her, Ghost. Strict ones. She’s to avoid unnecessary contact—physical or otherwise—and wear that specialized uniform at all times. Covers her whole body, even her eyes. It’s not just for her safety; it’s for everyone else’s too.”  

He sighed, his tone softening as he met Ghost’s gaze. “Whatever her reasons for keeping to herself, they’re not just personal. There’s more to this than you know. So... go easy on her, yeah?”  

The weight of Price’s words hung heavy in the air. Ghost remained silent, his mind racing. He hadn’t expected that. A monster? Sure, they worked alongside plenty of non-humans, but this... this was different. It explained her isolation, her avoidance of interaction.  

For the first time, Ghost felt a twinge of guilt for his curiosity. He wasn’t one to pry into others’ lives—especially not in a way that might make them feel vulnerable. But now, his interest felt less like simple observation and more like he’d been intruding on something deeply personal.  

Soap broke the silence, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Damn... no wonder she acts like a stray cat.”  

Gaz nodded slowly, his earlier grin replaced by a thoughtful frown. “Guess she’s not just keeping her distance because she wants to.”  

Ghost sat back, arms crossed, processing what he’d just learned. A monster... one of a kind... He didn’t know what that meant for her, but he could only imagine the weight she carried.  

“Understood,” Ghost finally said, his voice low but resolute. “I’ll leave her be.”  

Price nodded, satisfied with the response. “Good. Just let her do her job, Ghost. That’s all we need from her.”  

But as the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, Ghost couldn’t shake the lingering questions in his mind. What kind of monster was she? And what kind of life had she led to end up here—isolated, hidden away in a base full of humans and monsters alike, yet tethered to rules that set her apart from everyone else?

Ghost stepped outside the base for a smoke, the crisp night air wrapping around him like a cold blanket. As he flicked the lighter in his gloved hand, his eyes naturally drifted to the familiar figure sitting under the old oak tree in the distance.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you there. Almost every night, you sat in the same spot, staring up at the endless expanse of the night sky. Ghost had made a habit of watching you from afar while lighting his last cigarette of the day.

But tonight, something was different.

A soft sound broke the stillness—a sneeze.

Ghost paused, his lighter hovering just above the tip of his cigarette. His promise to Price echoed in the back of his mind, urging him to leave you be. But the sight of you sitting there, blowing on your hands in an effort to keep warm, stirred something in him.

Before he could think better of it, he shrugged off his heavy jacket and made his way toward you, his boots crunching softly against the frosted grass.

You didn’t notice his approach until the jacket landed gently over your head, startling you. Pulling it off, you looked up, wide-eyed, and for the briefest moment, Ghost found himself captivated.

Your eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, held a beauty that rivaled the night sky you so often gazed at.

The moment broke as you quickly turned your head away, fumbling to put on your glassware, a barrier between you and the world.

Ghost lit his cigarette, taking a slow drag as he stood a few feet away, the smoke curling upward like restless shadows. “Shouldn’t you have brought a jacket if you were planning to sit out here?”

Your voice was quiet, almost shy. “I did…” You glanced down at your hands before adding, “Well, someone seems to have taken it by accident.”

Ghost raised a brow, the corner of his lips twitching under his mask. “Is that so?”

You gave a small nod, pulling his jacket tighter around you. “It’s okay, though. I guess...”

“You guess?” Ghost exhaled a cloud of smoke, his tone laced with curiosity. “What kind of monster are you, walking out here in the cold like this?”

You paused, the corners of your lips curving upward into a soft, unexpected smile. Then, with a quiet giggle, you replied, “The succubus kind.”

The humor in your voice caught him off guard, and for a split second, Ghost found himself chuckling—soft and low, barely audible, but genuine.

“Is that right?” he said, leaning back slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye.

You didn’t reply, your gaze drifting back to the stars. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable; it was calm, like the night itself. Ghost didn’t push for more, letting the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the base fill the air.

For now, the questions that had been lingering in his mind could wait. In this moment, the quiet, unexpected connection felt like the beginning.

Slowly but surely, Ghost and you began to grow closer. The oak tree became your silent meeting place, a refuge under the endless expanse of the starry night sky. Conversations flowed naturally, though always from a careful distance. You never touched, and neither of you lingered on the other's gaze for too long. Still, the bond between you felt stronger than anything Ghost had experienced with most people on the base.

It wasn’t something he’d planned—or even wanted at first. Yet, he couldn’t deny the pull toward you. You were different. Quiet but sharp. Reserved yet sincere. And as the nights passed, he found himself looking forward to the moments spent with you under the oak tree.

Of course, Ghost wasn’t the only one who noticed. Soap and Gaz, ever the mischief-makers, seized every opportunity to tease him about his "new habit." Their remarks were relentless, poking fun at the idea of Ghost, the stoic, cold-blooded Lieutenant, sneaking off for nightly chats with the sniper who avoided everyone else.

"Oi, Simon," Soap smirked one evening in the mess hall. "When’s the wedding? Should we start plannin’ now or wait ‘til you finally confess under that tree?”

Ghost shot him a glare that could freeze hell, but it only made Gaz chuckle. "It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for, mate,” he said. “Next thing we know, she’ll have you writing poetry."

The teasing was relentless until Price intervened one day. With a sharp tone and a look that could silence a storm, he simply said, “That’s enough.”

Soap and Gaz immediately backed off, though Ghost could still feel their amused glances whenever your name came up.

But even with the jokes and teasing behind him, Ghost couldn’t shake the growing turmoil in his chest.

There was a problem.

You were a succubus—a being created to arouse and seduce humans. It was your nature, your very essence, to draw people in, to stir desires they couldn’t control. And while you never used your abilities on him—not once—Ghost couldn’t ignore the thoughts creeping into his mind.

What was this feeling? This pull toward you? Was it real? Or was he just another victim of what you were?

The worst part was that you never gave him a reason to doubt your intentions. You were respectful of his boundaries, cautious in your words, and never tried to manipulate him like the stories claimed succubi were prone to do.

And yet, the questions haunted him.

Was this bond between you genuine? Or was it just the natural effect of who—what—you were? 

Ghost wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out. 

As another night fell, Ghost found himself drawn to the oak tree once more. The familiar path felt heavier tonight, weighed down by the decision he’d made. When you came into view, sitting under the tree with that quiet, happy smile, the weight of his unanswered questions pressed harder on his chest. He wanted—no, needed—to know the truth about you. But the fear of what it might cost gripped him. What if it shattered everything? What if he lost you entirely?  

The thought made his steps falter, but he kept walking. He cherished these nights with you, the way you spoke about your past life and your dreams for the future. It gave him a glimpse of something softer, something kinder than the world he’d known. And more than that, you’d given him understanding.  

You had listened when he’d been at his most vulnerable, when the mask he wore—both literal and figurative—had slipped enough for him to confess his deepest fear: that he might one day become a monster, just like his father.  

But instead of pity or judgment, you had reassured him, your words calm and sincere. That moment stayed with him, replaying in his mind during the quiet hours when the weight of the world felt heaviest. For that, he was more thankful than he could ever express.  

Yet now, after making the decision to confess what had been building inside him, he wanted nothing more than to turn back, to forget it entirely. But he didn’t.  

He stopped next to you, his shadow falling over you as you looked up.  

"Ghost, what’s the matter?" you asked, your voice soft, concern lacing your words. Through your eyewear, your worry was clear.  

Ghost sighed, exhaling a puff of smoke before pulling the cigarette from his mouth. His voice was low, steady, but there was an uncharacteristic tension in it.  

“I... I want to ask—just hear me out. It’s about our relationship.”  

Your eyes narrowed slightly, watching him with careful curiosity. “What are you talking about?” you asked, but as you studied his demeanor, the realization hit you.  

“You caught feelings, didn’t you?” you said, the words almost a whisper. But before he could respond, you shook your head, standing abruptly. “They’re not real. They can’t be real.”  

“Don’t tell me what they are,” Simon interjected, his voice firm, his eyes locking onto yours. “That’s my decision to make.”  

You hesitated, shaking your head again, backing a step away. “But I’m a succubus,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “It can’t be real.” Turning, you made to walk away, convinced that leaving was the best choice—for both of you.  

However before you could take another step, Simon reached out and grabbed your arm, his grip was firm but not forceful, grounding you in place.  

“Just listen to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, steady but edged with an almost desperate calm.

You froze, standing still as his words hung in the air. Tears welled up in your eyes, betraying the conflict within you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, your gaze fixed on the ground as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Deep down, despite your protests and doubts, you hoped his feelings were real. You had wanted this—feared it—but wanted it all the same.

So you stayed, standing there in silence, listening as Ghost began to speak.

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a bloody fool,” he admitted, running a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “But the truth is… I was suspended by you. I couldn’t grasp how you isolate yourself from everyone. I watched, believing you were hiding something… but it wasn’t that.” His cheeks flushed beneath the mask, and for a moment, he looked almost embarrassed. “It’s not just that you caught my interest. It’s that you made me envious. Envious of how you carry others’ burdens without a word, how you take on the weight of the world and just keep moving. And… how you can slip into a room without making a sound, blending into the shadows, but in the quietest moments, you make everything else feel… less. You make the stars themselves dull in comparison to you.”

He paused, his breath catching slightly as he fought to keep his composure. His hands clenched at his sides, the usual stoic exterior wavering for the first time. His voice softened but grew firmer, as if he was speaking from some deep, vulnerable place that he’d never let anyone see before.

“Now I understand—living in this, being who you are, wasn’t easy for you. And I know I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not for anyone. But I know my feelings are real.” He took a slow step forward, gently pulling you closer, his fingers grazing your cheek before his thumb gently swept across your skin. Your breath hitched, and you met his gaze—those dark, intense eyes that never showed this side of him. 

With a quiet sigh, he took off your eyewear, his fingers trembling just slightly as they brushed against your face. “You may not want to believe it because you’re a succubus,” he continued softly, his voice thick with emotion. “But my heart tells me otherwise. It’s true, I can’t ignore what you are. But I won’t pretend my feelings aren’t real. I love you—with every fiber of my being.” His grip tightened just a fraction, but his gaze softened, searching yours for any sign of how you might feel. 

He swallowed hard before continuing, his words a mixture of certainty and quiet fear. “And if you still reject me, I will accept it. But I had to say it. I had to tell you… because I can’t live with this silence between us anymore.”

The air between you both thickened with the weight of his words, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. Everything around you faded into the background, leaving only the sound of your quiet breaths and the racing of both your hearts. His confession hung between you like an unspoken promise—vulnerable, raw, and heavy. You could feel the sincerity in his tone, the raw vulnerability that slipped through the cracks of his usual stoic exterior. He wasn’t the same Ghost you knew—the one always guarded, always hidden behind his mask. Right now, he was just Simon. And in this moment, he was laying himself bare before you.

You were left standing there, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. His words, his touch, the emotions swirling inside you. You looked down, taking a deep breath as your mind tried to process everything. Simon watched you carefully, his dark eyes never leaving your face as he waited for your response. He could feel the weight of the silence between you, and even though his heart pounded in his chest, he stayed still—patient.

You slowly removed your gloves, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for his hand. The first time you two had touched each other. Your hand hovered for a moment before gently cupping his, your skin warming against his. Simon’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened slightly. He could feel it—the connection, the electric charge that hummed between you both. His body burned with desire, the pull of your succubus powers undeniable, but he kept himself in check, waiting for you to speak.

Your voice was soft, sweet as honey, yet laced with a quiet fear that mirrored his own. "I love you too," you murmured, your gaze flickering to his eyes. "But I’m scared… that one day, you’ll see me as a monster."

Simon’s chest tightened at your words. He could feel the vulnerability in them, the raw honesty, and the fear you carried deep within your soul. But there was something else too—a love, a yearning that resonated in your touch, in your confession. It made his heart ache in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

He took a slow breath, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand, grounding you both in the moment. His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable softness in it now. "You’re not a monster to me. You’re everything but."

The sincerity in his tone was unwavering. He had already made up his mind. There was no turning back, no letting go of this connection he had found with you. He wasn’t afraid of you, not of your past or what you were. He only feared losing you. He leaned in, his eyes closing. Your lips were only inches apart, the tension palpable in the air, but he didn’t move—he was waiting for you.

You smiled, a quiet sense of peace settling over you, and before you knew it, you closed the distance, kissing Simon passionately. His body tensed at first, the warmth of your touch intoxicating, but then he melted into the kiss, his hand gently cradling the side of your face as the world around you ceased to exist.

But the moment didn’t last forever.

"Woooooo~!! Lieutenant, when’s the wedding?" Soap’s voice rang out from a distance, his tone teasing and loud, breaking the spell.

Before Simon could react, Price, his captain, slapped Soap on the back of the head with a grin. “Leave the lovebirds alone, Soap.”

You pulled back, chuckling softly at the interruption, while Gaz gave Simon a thumb up. Simon let out a sigh, shaking his head. The weight of his confession, the vulnerability of the moment, was quickly replaced by the warmth of shared laughter and affection. And despite the teasing, something told you both that this—this moment—was just the beginning of something much greater.

[springsmile]

over my shoulder || 02

18+ | h. shinso x f. reader

warnings: non-con, smut, pre-established trauma (r*pe), extreme anxiety/paranoia, victim blaming/shaming, abuse of prescriptions, self harm, suicidal ideation, disassociation, negativity around hospitalization, violent intrusive thoughts, kidnapping, murder, specific reader characterizations, manipulation, anorexia/bulimia behaviors

** reader's quirk is enhanced senses. upon activation, emotions and sensations are pretty much exacerbated. reader never learns how to channel or control it to its full potential, only to turn it on and off.

a/n: sorry it’s short .. i’m setting the stage, you see. get ready for mr toads wild ride >:D

you can’t distinguish whether the rattling is that of a sink or shower.

whichever it was, you didn’t care. you just wished it’d stop. there was no feasibly appropriate reason to shower at 3:30am. you wouldn’t accept any string of logic. not work. not an accident. this was a personal blow. a direct and calculated kick to your balls.

heavy like poison lead, your eyes twitch behind your closed eyelids. the burning of your retinas is almost tangibly painful. worst, when your tremor stricken fingers inch to the darkened half circles under your eyes, and poke unceremoniously, you jolt at the sting. sinus infection. christ.

each time you think the metallic clunking has ceased for the night, you jerk in the midst of your pseudo slumber, the first half of your circadian rhythm interrupted, almost fucking routinely at this point. you can only imagine the hysteria that is to befall you at work in a few short, tortuous hours. you’re dreading it, what was there to look forward to? that creepy fuck, coming around again? having found your dad’s name and number and potentially your address and your family’s—

oh.

it stopped.

you twist around in bed, searching for that warm, tender position that cradles your neck and spine.

maybe this time… maybe it’ll be done for good… and then you can sleep…

a thud from upstairs strikes.

maybe.

the stinging warmth of the sun stains your skin when your eyes creak open in the morning, yielding a softer shade.

you lay there for a moment. heart palpitating furiously, and dried sweat smeared across your forehead. it could’ve been the heat, it could’ve been the serpent in your chest or the knocking around in your head. a lot went on in the night for you.

there’s this reel that is ever lingering. scorching your head and pricking the backs of your eyes with the precision of a sharp dart. the man with the indigo hair and sneaking eyes. he emanated this… strange air. it was stifling, and you didn’t like it.

though, a future run in was disconcertingly possible… so many perverts…

the duvet is damp. balmy, even. you shake your hands out, all the while, the thick sheen of sweat glares at you. you wipe them on it furiously. you’d need to run to the laundromat, you discern with a heavy groan.

you swing your legs over, and they creak with disuse. your hair is matted, a sticky and frigid press on your scalp, given the meager hum of the fan overhead. it’s disgusting, and you imagine your fingernails massaging the skin lightly, shampoo foaming around (h/c) breadths.

you glance at your phone—the one that hadn’t obliterated your senses with its jolting buzz. your breath catches in your throat— fuck! late!

you scramble for your blow dryer, holding it to your head and wincing at the highest setting whilst sprawling on eyeshadow, yet again shake-y handed. the crescent shaped swoops of black hugged the curves of your eyes starkly, while the white in your waterline almost managed to breathe a minuscule of life back into your eyes, dulled to this muted hue you couldn’t stand to look at.

you look deplorable. that’s fine. a semblance of togetherness was all you needed to plow through the day— and the black accentuating your eye shape was comforting as it was familiar.

with twitching eyes climbing to the time, unfurled within you is a twisted, guiltless epiphany; you couldn’t eat breakfast. not that you would, anyway. weight gain would decimate the remnants of your psyche. a pound would be tantalizing. maybe you’d reach back into the warm of your mouth, unwavering and armed with jagged nails, and claw at your uvula again. the pain revitalizing as it was cumbersome. blood was often an accompaniment.

the knob is wide and cold, used lovelessly with chinks and dents— and now, it’s at your mercy. you twist it until it can no longer give.

the door is improperly slotted within the door frame, and it takes a few full body throttles against it to wedge it back into place. pressing the key to the lock’s fitted grooves, you readjust the position of your purse on your shoulder with a handless jerk, pat your hair down, smooth your clothes— then, you’re en route to work.

your restless thoughts aren’t as deterrent today. usually, they press on your eyes until they glisten, but your head is rampant with else things— namely, the hero that’d rescued you with immeasurable gallantry. that repulsive, subdued haughtiness— a startling contrast to the matching apathy his eyes bore assaulted your memory.

can i get a thank you? my ass.

not that you had the pluck to voice this. even if you were met with the disconcerting opportunity to interact with him again, you’d resign to that pathetic complacency and vacant expression. it was safer that way.

the walk is lackluster. no cat with the curious eyes, no teenaged girls with shrinking eyes and glossed cherry lips. but the stagnant fear of hands around your throat, a bruised windpipe, a man appearing from around a corner that’d failed to enter the radius of your (otherwise) acute surveillance would inevitably prevail all potential logical thought, at all times, and forever.

you’re particularly sweaty today—suffering from hyperhidrosis—and the balminess of your underarms, and the soiled material of your garment, was overstimulating as it was cumbersome.

briefly, your eyes fall closed, and for a moment, your loss of vision is tranquil as it is indisputably dangerous. you pause at the crosswalk with open eyes, which flit to the concrete.

your converse are ratty and beat. the fabric frays upward, and the toe cap’s adhesive has seemed to loosen, leaving you privy to damn near trench foot when it rains on your walk home. when you look at them with a wrinkle in your nose, you fight the onslaught of memories, tainted by a note of pessimism that leadens your retinas and press oh so heavily on the backs of your eyes. but the sensation refused to evoke tears. just this palpable heaviness. and it remained.

the tinny bell above the door is sprayed gold, but the years have worn it to a silver. nonetheless, the jingle tickles your ears when your hand seized the door handle and drew it outwardly.

your job is inconvenient, yet it allows for this backseat reprieve that rests your mind and allows for the most simple coding and recollection. it’s not hard to recall where a book is. and it’s not hard to deal with a fragmented smile and greasy palms. it’s difficult to deal with gilded words and honeyed demands, but you’re seasoned at this point.

“(y/n).” your assistant manager says when you touch the receiving room’s door handle. you’re shrewd enough to grasp that he’s not greeting you.

before you can manage a greeting, practiced and cool, a stiff remark hits you.

“you were scheduled for 10:45.”

your eyes roll to the clock above the door. it’s 10:48, and it’s a tuesday. inconsequential— as erroneous as you are.

“i’m sorry.” you apologize with utmost lethargy. do you bother with an excuse? to your credit, astuteness in the sphere of tone recognition was something that you were inherently privy to. your situational awareness could use some work. lamely, you try, “there was traffic.”

“don’t make this a habit.” he chides with a huff. you nod wordlessly.

a mind-numbing day had transpired, your walk home filled with self-loathing and nothingness. cursing your manager silently. you were actually looking forward to doing something, despite menial, to occupy your otherwise empty time.

your bedroom door is open at a peculiar angle.

reaching back into your memory with a pointed palm, there’s no conceivable way you left with any hurried note. no physical sort, at least. everything was supposed to be tidy as you left it. but your bedroom door was ajar. only slightly, as not to evoke alarm, you think. but for all your irrationalizations there’s the justification that you’re unpopular for a reason, and acquaintance-less on that note.

you attribute the amplification of your paranoia to the stifling properties of your quirk. you shake your head, and began to gather your sheets and comforter.

you grimace at the wear and tear your fitted sheet had endured, and deduced it was time for a new one. but not now. maybe another day, a day where your head wasn’t full of lead and your shoulders weren’t hunched, head swinging over your shoulders periodically to ensure another assailant was not, in fact, laying in wait. waiting to pounce and desecrate you with grimy palms and a crooked, yellowed grin.

dropping a few deoxidized yen into the slot before slamming the metallic slab back into its crevice, you teeter back and wait for #13 to thrum to life.

the washer’s military grade left you abashed; owning perhaps only two weeks’ worth of clothes and a tattered duvet and fitted sheet physically hyperbolized the machine, and you were too grimed in languish and perspiration to feel abashed.

you watch your reflection in the suds and water whilst finding your ears inadvertently honed in on an amalgamation of sound.

“deku is such a dreamboat, are you kidding me?!”

“the fuck? dreamboat? dynamight’s where it’s at.”

“i don’t know guys, shoto’s got this like adorable ‘i-dunno-where-the-clit-is-but-i’m-willing-to-do-some-investigating’ vibe to him…”

the eye-bagged man with the indigo hair and miffing forwardness must’ve been a vigilante or… indisputably, not pro. you reason. his decorum was laughable, and it shouldn’t be challenging for even the most simpleminded person to discern that that man wasn’t the sociable type.

nevertheless, something in you was struck. presumably, these girls were hero fans, and it was worth bearing some humility on your sleeve in order to do some digging and, as much as you loathed to admit it, exert yourself in tenses other than customer service.

“excuse me.” you say, swinging your chin over your shoulder. “do you guys know that tired looking hero with purplish hair…?”

too wary to glimpse their expressions, your eyes climb that spot you’re well acquainted with.

“he’s a guy.” you add with a sniff.

one girl’s eyes brighten like the headlights of a car. it irks you instantaneously. this joker’s got fans…?

“you mean shinso!! shinso hitoshi!!” she squeals in adoration.

“o-oh, yeah, right! love him!” you laugh uneasily in response.

“who?” one of her friends inquires roughly with, you note, a stereotypical valley twang.

“his quirk is like, super cool, like— mind control,” she winces at her friends’ dubious countenances. “which sounds bad! but he seems like a good guy. he’s never done anything wrong; he’s a hero after all. and he’s a hunk too…”

“yeah, not yet.” the other girl snorts.

you blink singularly, and face the suds once more. seemingly from nowhere, a chill climbs up your spine. you lurch over with a tremor racking through your body. it’s disorienting. arms wrapped around your torso, you glance around, wondering if the sudden and briskness of your movements warranted any deprecating stares. absentminded to the prospect to one of lust.

but there was nothing.

hitoshi shinso yields minimal results, besides the headline highlighting the use of his quirk in a tense hostage situation, and its villainous quality, despite its use for apparent good-doing.

your brows crease— you can’t gauge this guy. and you can’t figure out why you want to.

gingerly, you close the lid of your ancient laptop lid, and try to evoke a state of equilibrium, honing in on that film reel in your mind of the broken dam being sealed, water flow ceasing all together, and everything feels somewhat normal. if there ever was a sense of normality you could latch onto.

your sheets were a little damp—having run short on the fee for another tumble dry, and you flop on your bed and ignore the way it seeps into the fibers of your hoodie. tomorrow would be better.

[witchofthesouls]

The image if mostly asleep optimus biting scruff bar and puring ab squirmy Mi,o back to sleep is delightful

Feral sparkling of the Wastelands pre-Orion Pax strikes again!

Orion Pax/Optimus is very self-conscious about that. He really tries to minimize the overt behaviors, especially as someone who literally bypassed all the regulations to land in the Archives right under the prestigious posting of being under Alpha Trion. Because the Head Archivist had personally selected Orion Pax himself, the most people could do is hide their poisonous words under a thin veneer of barely held courtesy. Just waiting for Orion Pax to be stripped of his role and kicked out...

Orion became very self-aware of what is and isn't 'appropriate,' and models himself as a survival tactic. Unfortunately, it carried over to Megatronus and his crew. Orion once got severely chewed out by the mech for sneaking past the security systems to be around the far more dangerous beasts. Megatronus thought Orion was being stupid in the mid/high-caste 'let me poke at the very rare wild animal that constantly needs to be sedated when not in the ring.' Meanwhile, Orion had gone to pick the lock because he personally knows the creature. Far more intelligent than what the city-mechs believe. Orion knows exactly how to communicate to them to give one solid chance of escaping.

That's a long way of saying that Orion Pax was never allowed to be alone in the Pits again after that incident where a Maganese Mountain Umbra Puma ran rampant before bolting free.

But yes, Optimus does it to Miko and Jack.