#more boxed and sharp with the toys

[chloesimaginationthings]

I love your art, and I really love how you did him, he's such a guy (he's my fav 💜)

I HONESTLY didn’t expect such a big reaction to the silly way I decided to draw Withered Bonnie this time, but so many of yall clocked it LMAO

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon teaches you how to cum

One month into your relationship with Simon, he was set to leave on his first mission since you’d gotten together. It wasn’t a long, just a little over two weeks but the moment he mentioned it, your face dropped, and your fingers curled into the hem of your shirt.

He noticed. Of course he did.

That night, he handed you a small black box, thumb brushing over your knuckles when you took it with hesitant fingers. A vibrator.

“Figured you’d need somethin’ to keep busy while I’m gone,” he said, half teasing, though the look in his eyes was anything but light.

You only nodded, biting your lip, avoiding his gaze.

“What’s wrong, birdie?” he asked gently, tilting your chin up with the curve of his knuckle.

You hesitated, cheeks burning. “I’ve just… never made myself cum before.”

He stared at you for a second longer before standing up, pulling you with him, murmuring, “C’mon then. Let’s fix that.”

He positioned you in front of your bedroom mirror, body bare, knees weak, thighs trembling already just from the heat of his gaze. One of his hands held your jaw in place, fingers curled under your chin, forcing you to watch.

“Eyes open, love,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“Want you to see how your body works, how it should be touched.”

His other hand moved between your thighs, fingers pressing slow circles into your clit. You whimpered, eyes fluttering, only for him to tighten his grip on your face.

“Watch,” he chuckled. “See that? That’s how you like it, yeah?”

His fingers sank into you slowly, then faster, curling just right. Over and over, until your knees buckled and your breath hitched sharp in your throat. And when you finally came, gasping against the glass, he kissed your shoulder and hummed, “That’s it, lovie. Just like that.”

You got up, staggering toward the bed, legs shaking, ready to collapse into the mattress.

But Simon caught your wrist and gently tugged you back.

“Where you goin’, birdie?” he asked with a light chuckle. “I still gotta teach you how to cum on a vibrator.”

He guided you back down, spreading your legs, eyes wide as he held the toy up, his smirk lazy heavy with promise.

Maybe you really did need the lesson.

Or maybe Simon just had a thing for mirror sex.

Maybe Simon just loved his birdie too much and the thought of being away from you already ached more than he’d admit.

Either way, you weren’t getting any sleep that night.

Shit post.

[sunni-stuff]

Standing outside your apartment, Simon tightened his grip around the wooden toy train, the corners of the box digging slightly into his palm. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest—a sensation far too foreign for someone who’d faced down worse odds than this. He was used to calculating risks, taking them head-on, but this? This wasn’t a battlefield; it was something infinitely more terrifying. He was meeting his daughter.

He cast a glance at the train in his hand, a sturdy, well-crafted toy he and Johnny had spent hours picking out earlier that day. The shopkeeper’s amused expression still lingered in his mind—two grown men scrutinizing toy trains as though the fate of the world rested on their choice. You hadn’t been specific, just a train, no frills, nothing cartoonish. And so Simon had chosen the simplest one, figuring it was better to err on the side of practicality.

Beside him, Johnny leaned casually against the wall, spinning a plastic-cased mermaid Barbie in his hands. The vibrant teal-and-pink packaging clashed starkly with the air of seriousness Simon carried.

Simon scowled, his gaze darting to the doll. “I told you, no dolls. She said no dolls.” His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, though it carried more nervous energy than actual anger.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned the Barbie over in his hands. “What kid doesn’t like a Barbie? Eh? You’re overthinking this, big man.” His Scottish accent lent an irreverent edge to his words. “Besides, it’s just a backup. If she doesn’t like the train—which, let’s face it, is a bloody long shot—I’ve got something she’s bound to love.”

Simon shot him a sharp look. “It’s not about the toy,” he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s about… makin’ an impression. Proper one.”

Johnny’s smirk softened, his usual teasing tone giving way to something closer to sincerity. “And you think that’s all ridin’ on a train? C’mon, mate, it’s you she’s meeting, not just some toy. Kids aren’t daft—they know when someone’s tryin’.” He tilted his head toward the toy in Simon’s hand. “But, for what it’s worth, that train’s not bad. Proper classic. No gimmicks.”

Simon grunted in response, his attention flicking back to the apartment door. It was a quiet, unassuming building, but the pressure of what lay beyond that door was immense. You were in there with her—Adira. His daughter. The thought still felt surreal, even after the days he’d spent turning it over in his mind. He’d seen her before, from a distance, but that was different. This was too personal in a way he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.

“I should’ve brought the others,” Simon muttered under his breath, more to himself than Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes twinkled with humor. “Aye, because showin’ up with the whole bloody team wouldn’t be overwhelming at all, eh? ‘Here’s yer dad, and here’s his army of uncles.’ Real subtle.”

Simon huffed a dry laugh despite himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. Johnny always had a knack for cutting through his nerves, even when Simon wasn’t in the mood for it.

The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door snapped Simon’s attention back to the moment. His pulse quickened as the lock turned, and the door creaked open to reveal you standing there, a mixture of caution and curiosity etched into your expression. You didn’t say anything right away, your gaze darting between Simon, Johnny, and the toys in their hands.

“Hi,” Simon managed, his voice quieter than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the train. “Uh… thought I’d bring somethin’ she might like.”

You glanced at the train, then at Johnny’s Barbie, raising an eyebrow. “I see Johnny didn’t listen,” you comment dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone.

Johnny grinned, unbothered. “Insurance, lass. Always good to have a backup plan.”

Stepping aside, you gestured for them to come in. “Well, let’s see how this goes. She’s in the living room.”

Simon felt the air grow heavier as he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to something he’d been equal parts dreading and hoping for. The sound of quiet giggles and the rustle of toys came from the living room, and he stopped short in the hallway, his hand tightening instinctively around the train.

“You okay?” you asked curiously, your question laced with something he couldn’t quite place—concern? Reassurance?

He nodded stiffly, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was convincing. “Yeah,” he said, masking his unease. This wasn’t the time to let emotions run wild, not when his daughter was just a few steps away. He needed to reel everything, keep composed.. “Just… takin’ a moment.”

Johnny clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unfaltering. “You’ve got this, mate. And if all else fails—” he held up the Barbie with a dramatic flourish—“I’ve got you covered.”

Simon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Thanks for that,” he muttered dryly.

He took a grounding breath, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks—Adira, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a miniature train set spread out before her. Her dark hair fell in delicate curls around her face, and her eyes, so startlingly like his own, lit up with delight as she guided a tiny train along the tracks.

The world seemed to narrow, every noise fading into the background except for the sound of her soft laughter. This was his daughter, and for the first time, he wasn’t just watching from afar—he was here.

Adira looked up, her curious gaze locking onto him. Simon’s heart leapt into his throat as she tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Before he could speak, Johnny stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face as he crouched beside her.

"Hey, bonnie lass," Johnny greeted, bringing in  warmth and cheerfulness. He held out the mermaid Barbie, its plastic casing shimmering in the soft light. “Look what I got for ye.”

Adira blinked at him, her small head tilting to the side in the same assessing way she’d done with Simon. Then, in a voice as sweet as it was blunt, she said, “Ugee.”

Simon held back a laugh, but Johnny froze, his grin faltering. Did she just call me ugly again? he thought, momentarily stunned before recovering with a sheepish laugh.

“Oh, come on, lass. That’s no way to treat yer Uncle Johnny,” he teased, though his pride was clearly bruised. He pushed the doll a little closer, his voice softening. “It’s for you. Look—she’s got a shiny tail and everything.”

Adira’s expression shifted, her curiosity piqued as she finally reached for the doll. Johnny’s face lit up with relief, and he turned to you and Simon with a victorious smirk. “Told ya,” he mouthed, his tone smug.

Simon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while you merely crossed your arms, waiting for what you knew was coming.

The sound of plastic ripping shattered Johnny’s moment of triumph. His head whipped around just in time to see Adira pull the doll free from its packaging with surprising efficiency. She studied it for a moment, her tiny fingers gripping the head and the body. And then—pop—the doll’s head came clean off.

Johnny’s jaw dropped as he watched Adira inspect the decapitated doll with silent satisfaction. She set the head down beside her, then held up the now-headless body, apparently contemplating her next move.

Simon let out a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as Johnny gawked at the scene, his earlier smugness entirely gone. “Well,” Simon drawled, unable to hide his dry humor. “Guess she wasn’t a fan after all.”

Johnny turned back to you and Simon, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal. “What… what kind of kid just does that?!” he demanded, gesturing wildly at the scene behind him.

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I warned you about the dolls.”

Johnny shook his head, still reeling as he muttered under his breath, “She’s Sid from Toy Story incarnate, I swear.”

Adira, seemingly unbothered by the fuss, returned her focus to her trains, contentedly adding the doll’s head to a makeshift pile of "cargo." Johnny looked ready to protest further, but Simon stepped forward, crouching to her level and holding out the wooden train.

“Hi,” he spoke softly, his voice steady despite the lingering laughter in his chest. “I brought you somethin’. Thought you might like it.”

Adira didn’t respond right away, her eyes bouncing between him and the toy. Then, slowly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the train before taking it from his hands. Unlike the Barbie, she carefully opened the box, her movements deliberate and methodical. She removed the wooden train gently, inspecting it for a moment. Without a word, she added it to the tracks, her attention already back on her play as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Simon stayed crouched, watching her intently. A flicker of relief crossed his face at her acceptance of the gift. The room, heavy with unspoken tension just moments before, now felt lighter, though Simon could feel the enormity of the moment pressing against his chest.

You appeared at his side, crouching slightly to meet his eye, a small grin on your lips. “That’s a good sign,” you murmured, keeping your voice low. “She doesn’t usually let people touch her trains.”

Simon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His gaze flickered back to Adira, watching as she carefully positioned the new train car alongside the others, her focus unwavering. It wasn’t much—just a small gesture—but it felt monumental. A start.

“She’s got good taste,” Simon adds, a touch of pride in his tongue as he nodded toward the tracks. “Knows quality when she sees it.”

You chuckled, the sound easing the edges of Simon’s nerves. “It’s not just that,” you replied, your eyes lightening as you watched Adira. “Trains are her world. If she’s letting you into it, even a little…” You trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

Simon nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions he wasn’t used to confronting. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her brow as she pushed the train forward, creating a soft click-clack noise against the wooden tracks. He thought of all the moments he’d missed, all the firsts that had come and gone without him. But now, sitting there on the floor of your apartment, watching his little girl play, he felt something unfamiliar: hope.

“It’s a start,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for now, that was enough.

Johnny hung back near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tender scene unfold. Simon, a man he’d always seen as unshakable and stoic, was crouched beside Adira, his usually guarded expression diminished by a rare, genuine grin. Johnny didn’t dare interrupt—this wasn’t his moment. He was just a spectator, standing on the sidelines as a long-standing divide finally began to close.

The warmth in the room tugged at Johnny’s own heart, and though he wasn’t one for sentimentality, the sight was too good to pass up. Without a word, he slipped his phone from his pocket, angling it just right to snap a quick picture. Simon’s grin, lopsided and proud, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, his large frame almost comically dwarfed by the tiny train set and the little girl at its center.

Satisfied with the shot, Johnny smirked to himself as he typed out a caption: “Big man, small trains. Heart officially melted. ” He hit send, the photo shooting off to the group chat where the lads were bound to have a field day with it.

Moments later, his phone buzzed with a flurry of responses:

Roach: “Never thought I’d see Ghost look so human.”

Gaz: “He’s got the ‘Dad Look’ down already. Almost feel bad making fun of him.”

Price: “I don’t. Send more pics.”

Stifling a snicker, Johnny shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Simon, who was completely absorbed in Adira’s world, watching as she pushed the new train along the tracks with the utmost concentration. The sheer joy and focus on her face seemed to draw Simon further into her orbit, as if nothing else existed but the tiny, clacking train set.

Johnny shook his head fondly. Big, scary Ghost, he thought, brought to his knees by a wee lass and a wooden train. It was a sight he’d never forget.

Johnny slipped out of the apartment with a quiet click of the door, leaving the two of you in a silence that felt both comfortable and weighty. His absence left the air clearer, yet filled with the unspoken. As Adira remained engrossed in her trains, her murmurs creating a gentle rhythm in the background, you found your mind racing with a single, unrelenting question:

What now?

Giving her toys was one thing. Simon showing up, physically present, was a start. But the path ahead of you wasn’t so simple. Building a connection took more than gifts and fleeting moments. Adira was too young to truly grasp the gravity of this shift in her world. Telling her outright that Simon was her father didn’t feel right—not now. That conversation would be better left for a day when she could fully understand it.

You rose from your position near him, brushing off your knees as you took a real long look at her. There it was, in her little mannerisms, her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed just slightly as she concentrated—it was him. So much of him. And the way Simon’s gaze relaxed as he watched her? You could see it, plain as day. He wanted to be there for her.

And you wanted her to be happy.

The realization hit you with clarity: the best way to make this transition smooth was to let Simon find his place naturally. He couldn’t make up for all the firsts he’d missed, but there was still time for so many more moments.

“So…” you began, your voice quiet but heavy, the word hanging between you like an unspoken question. You turned to face Simon, watching him carefully as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad frame surprisingly small in this intimate space. He was still holding that wooden train, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth surface like it was something sacred.

Simon looked up at you, his eyes catching yours, and he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed, but there was something else—something vulnerable yet determined. "So," he echoed, his voice unshakable, though you could hear the undertone of apprehension, a slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his calm façade. He wanted to be open, to show you he was ready for whatever was coming next, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

You crossed your arms, not out of defiance but out of the need to ground yourself. It was a physical gesture, a way to hold yourself steady in the face of everything that had led to this moment. “This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, the words a simple statement, but they carried meaning.

“I didn’t expect it to be,” Simon replied, his voice firm, the same way it would sound in the midst of a mission, when the stakes were high. The seriousness in his tone wasn’t lost on you. But there was more than just the soldier in him now—there was a father. "But I’m here. I want to try. For her." His eyes darted to Adira, his gaze lingering on her as she lined up her train set with careful precision. It was a look filled with fierce, almost protective determination, and it tugged at your chest.

“For her,” you agreed, your heart swelling with the truth of it. “She deserves that. But it’s not just about showing up with toys. It’s about showing up for her. Being there when she needs you, even if it’s hard. Even if she pushes you away at first.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as you spoke, and you saw the muscles in his neck flex, as though he was fighting against something—maybe the grandness of what this all meant, maybe his own doubts. “I can do that,” he said after a pause, his voice low but resolute. “I will.”

“You’ll have to.” Your tone tender, but you still held that edge of playful taunting. It was your way of testing the waters, of gauging if he was truly prepared for what this would take. “She’s stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from.”

Simon huffed a quiet laugh, and a faint smirk forming on his mouth. For a brief moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to weaken, just a little. “Aye, can’t imagine,” he replied, the humor easing some of the tension in the room.

There was a pause, the room settling into a calm that hadn’t been there before. You watched as Simon glanced back at Adira, his eyes lingering on her as she placed another train down, her little brow furrowed in concentration. The sight was almost too much for him—this was his flesh and blood, sitting right there in front of him, in this quiet, domestic world he hadn’t been a part of.

“First things first—likes and dislikes.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, but you didn’t wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel and slipped into the kitchen, the quiet tension that had settled between you both diminishing. Simon, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Adira, was still absorbing the weight of everything unfolding. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the next room, the brief silence stretching between the two of you.

When you returned, you were holding a file—nothing flashy, just a plain folder. You approached him and handed it over, watching as he hesitated, the weight of the paper in his hands heavier than it appeared.

The sight inside that greeted him threw him off guard—pages upon pages of meticulously written details. At first glance, it looked like a detailed report, every section filled with information about Adira’s daily routine, preferences, and even the smallest of habits. Her favorite snacks, the way she liked her sandwiches cut in triangles. Each page was packed with specifics: her reactions to certain foods, her favorite colors, how she responded to certain sounds and even what she liked to do on rainy days—took him completely off guard.

Simon blinked at it, flipping through the pages as if trying to find a sense of grounding in the flood of information. It was overwhelming, but what struck him the most was how thorough it was—how much you had put into it. Everything about her, everything you alone learned over the years, all laid out for him to see.

The file was thick, packed with details. The more he flipped through, the more surprised he became. Notes jotted in neat handwriting with labeled sections.There wasn’t just filled with cold, clinical notes. It also contained moments of tenderness, small anecdotes about how Adira reacted to certain situations or things that made her smile. You had carefully noted the songs she liked to sing along with, how she would curl up on the couch when she was feeling down, the exact way she liked her bedtime story read.

Simon looked up at you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. “What is all this?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with surprise.

You offered him a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. “Before you think I’m crazy or paranoid,” you began, raising your hands slightly in defense, “I work at the daycare around the corner, and Adira comes with me. It’s policy to keep these records—just in case. You know, since some kids have allergies, or there are specific things we need to be aware of.”

He nodded, still flipping through the file, as if seeing this list of Adira’s little quirks and habits for the first time made her seem more real. More like a child who had to be cared for, understood, and loved in ways that went far beyond simply showing up with a toy.

“I didn’t know you’d been keeping track of all of this,” A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you’d been doing so much.”

You shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s nothing. Just making sure she’s okay.” There was an edge of vulnerability to your words, as if you were downplaying the emotional weight of it all.

Simon’s fingers lingered on the pages, his gaze skimming the words as if trying to understand the depth of the commitment you had for Adira. It wasn’t just about her well-being, it was about every little thing that made her, her.

“You really do know everything about her, don’t you?” he said, his voice tinged with awe.

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It wasn’t about control or being overprotective—it was about ensuring that every part of Adira’s world was in order, even when you weren’t looking.

“I know what she likes, what she dislikes. I know how she reacts when she’s tired or overstimulated. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. It’s not about keeping tabs, it’s about making sure she feels safe. Especially with everything changing right now.”

Simon absorbed your words quietly, the weight of the file heavy in his hands. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. You had been doing this alone for so long—carrying the weight of all these little details, managing the complexity of motherhood without the support he should’ve been offering.

“She’s lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve done more than I can even imagine.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The simplicity of his words caught you off guard, making you feel a bit exposed. “It’s just what you do for them,” you replied, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. “You do what you can to make sure they’re okay.”

Simon closed the file slowly, processing what it meant. He felt a surge of something—guilt, maybe, or a quiet ache—as he realized just how much he’d missed. He’d been absent for so many of the small, seemingly insignificant moments that made up Adira’s life. And now, looking at the file, he could feel the weight of his absence more than ever.

“I want to know it all,” Simon said quietly, his voice full of resolve. “Every little thing. I don’t care how small it seems. I want to learn everything about her.”

Your heart skipped at his words, and for the first time, you felt a sense of stability knowing he’d be around to lift some of the hardship off your shoulders. For once, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.

“Good,” Your voice filled with quiet approval. “Because it’s going to take time. And you’ll need to be patient.”

“I can do that,” he replied, his jaw set with determination. “I’m not going anywhere.”

By 6 AM sharp, there he was—a solid, familiar figure standing at your door with his sleeves rolled up and a faint, hesitant smile. He never asked if you needed help; he simply showed up, ready to lend a hand. Simon didn’t just want to be in your life—he wanted to belong in it. Every visit to your apartment wasn’t just about showing up; it was about figuring out how to bridge the gap between her world and his. You had been Adira's anchor, her everything. Simon understood that, respected it, but he was intent on creating his own place in her little universe—one small gesture at a time.

At first, his kitchen skills left a lot to be desired. You insisted you could handle breakfast on your own, but Simon waved you off, determined to prove himself. Adira sat in her highchair, small fingers clutching a slice of strawberry as she watched her father with wide, curious eyes. He wrestled with the stovetop like it was an enemy combatant, flipping pancakes that somehow always ended up sticking or splattering in every direction. A particularly ambitious flip sent batter flying, splattering across his shirt and the counter.

Adira paused mid-chew, her sharp little eyes zeroing in on the mess. "Messy man," she mumbled around the strawberry, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with childish amusement.

Simon froze, mid-swipe with a paper towel, and glanced at her, eyebrows shooting up. “What’d you call me?”

"Messy man," she repeated, a little more confidently this time, giggling as she pointed at the batter streaked across his chest.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Simon groaned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’ll remember that,” he muttered, though there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

Despite the mishaps, he never gave up. Day by day, the kitchen disasters became fewer. He learned that Adira liked her pancakes shaped like stars if you had the time and that a dollop of whipped cream on top made her clap her hands with delight. He discovered she preferred her strawberries sliced thin, not chunky, and that she hated the crusts on toast but loved when it was cut into neat little triangles.

More importantly, while you were around, Adira began to interact with him in ways you hadn’t expected. She would babble at him as he cooked, her little hands waving animatedly as though she was offering advice. He listened as if she were telling him the most important secrets in the world, nodding solemnly and responding in his deep, rumbling voice.

One morning, as he handed her a plate with her favorite star-shaped pancakes, she looked up at him with a toothy smile, “Thank you, messy man.”

Simon froze, his grip tightening on the plate for just a second before he crouched down to her level. “You’re welcome, love,” The endearing nickname left his lips with ease, carrying an edge of something raw and tender.

You stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a lump in your throat. This wasn’t just about breakfast. It was about Simon trying—every single day—to show her that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was clumsy and imperfect, but it was real. And you couldn’t help but feel the faint stirrings of something like hope, watching the way Adira’s small world seemed to expand to make room for him.

After some time of this new, unspoken pattern settling in—one that felt like a quiet, gradual understanding—Adira seemed to begin warming up to Simon. It wasn’t as deep or instantaneous as it had been with you, but it was enough. Enough for her to sit at the table, nibbling on the pancakes he’d made. Enough to sit near him and listen to his voice without the immediate urge to run to you. And, perhaps most telling, enough for her to offer him a strawberry one morning before daycare.

Still, there were unspoken boundaries. She wouldn’t let him touch her trains, a sacred realm of hers he dared not trespass. And after a while of him being nearby, she’d often wander back to you, clutching at your leg or climbing into your lap, needing the reassurance of your proximity. 

You saw it in Simon’s eyes sometimes, the flicker of hurt that he quickly masked, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. But it did. You could tell. Adira was studying him from the safety of her bubble, keeping her distance as if trying to figure him out. You couldn’t blame her. Adira had lived her life with you as the constant; Simon was a new element in her world, one she wasn’t sure how to integrate yet.

But you couldn’t help but wonder: Did she need just a little nudge? A chance to have a moment with him—just the two of them—without you hovering nearby to catch her if she fell?

That opportunity came one morning when the daycare announced they would be closing down the toddler classrooms for renovations. Since Adira’s classroom was off-limits, she couldn’t come with you, leaving a gap in her schedule for at least a day or two. It was the perfect chance for Simon to step in and watch her alone, just the two of them.

That morning, Simon arrived as usual, but the atmosphere was different. You were already dressed for work, and Adira sat on the couch, her little frame wrapped in her favorite onesie—a fuzzy lavender number with tiny clouds on the sleeves. Her attention was fixed on the cartoon playing on the screen, her pillow hugged tightly to her chest.

You had considered this moment for a while, weighing the risks and the benefits. You knew how much it would mean to Simon if Adira let him in just a little bit more. But it was still a leap. You couldn’t help but feel the protective instinct rising in you, a sharp edge of caution in your chest. If anything went wrong, if Adira seemed uncomfortable or the situation felt off, you’d be home in a heartbeat. It was your job to protect her, to put her needs above all else—even Simon’s. As much as he was trying, as much as he cared, she was still your child, and her safety and happiness mattered most.

Simon raised an eyebrow as he noticed your state of dress and Adira’s lounging figure. “So, it’s just me and her today?”

You nodded, grabbing your keys. “her classroom is closed for renovations. Figured this would be a good chance for you two to spend some time together.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead Simon seemed to take everything in stride, breathing in deeply, knowing his moment was now.

You couldn’t help but study him for a moment longer, as if reading him for any sign that he was second-guessing himself. But then he smiled at you, it was genuine—reassuring. You had to trust him. You had to let him try.

Walking over to Adira, you knelt beside her, smoothing her hair as you spoke. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna hang out with Simon today, okay? I’ll be back soon.” 

Adira’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a tiny pout. “You go?”

“Just for a little while,” you reassured her. “Simon’s going to stay with you, and you’ll have lots of fun. Won’t you?”

Adira looked up at you with those wide, dark eyes, not fully understanding the implications, but offering you a small, shy nod. She then returned her attention to the TV, her little fingers absentmindedly squeezing the fabric of her pillow.

“She’s had her bath, so no worries there,” you swiftly explained, slipping into your role as her mother. “She’s in her onesie because it’s raining today, and for some reason, she loves wearing it on rainy days—I don't understand it but as long as she's happy. There’s food in the fridge, but after a couple of hours, I’d suggest cutting the TV off. Let her color, read, or maybe play with her trains. It gives her eyes a break from the screen. Oh, and rainy days mean pizza. Her favorite place is ‘Mario’s,’ and the number’s on the fridge. She’ll ask for the stuffed crust and extra cheese, light on the sauce.”

Simon absorbed the instructions like a soldier receiving a mission briefing, nodding along as you spoke. His eyes flicked to Adira, who was now idly kicking her feet as she watched the TV, and then back to you. “Got it. Anything else?”

You hesitated for a moment, then let it subside. “Just… be patient with her. She’s still figuring this out. You’re doing great, Simon.”

His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”

You gave him one last glance, scanning for any signs of hesitation or doubt, but his steady demeanor gave you confidence. With a final goodbye to Adira, who waved absently, you headed for the door. With that, you left, the door clicking shut behind you. Your chest felt tight, your every nerve on edge as you walked to work. This was Simon’s test, sure, but it was yours too—trusting someone else with the most precious thing in your life. Only time would tell how it would go.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the quiet apartment. Adira stayed exactly where she was, her little form cocooned on the couch, eyes glued to the animated animals bouncing across the TV screen. Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the moment. This was it. His chance.

He crossed the room and sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and uncertain. Adira didn’t so much as glance his way, her focus unwavering as the characters on the screen launched into a cheerful song.

Simon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the air like an awkward ripple. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and unsure, "you like it when it rains?"

Adira finally looked up at him, her big, curious eyes meeting his. She blinked a couple of times, processing his question, before giving a small, shy nod.

"Yeah?" he pressed, a soft smile creeping onto his face. "What’s your favorite thing about it? The sound? Jumping in puddles?"

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her pillow closer as if using it as a shield. Simon waited, giving her time, not wanting to push. Then, as if finding the courage, she mumbled, “The sound.”

“The sound, huh? Me too,” he said, leaning back a bit to ease the tension. “Kinda peaceful, isn’t it? Makes everything... quiet.”

Adira nodded again, this time a little more confidently. Her tiny fingers started to drum on the pillow in her lap, the rhythm mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops. Simon caught it and grinned.

“You know,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I used to watch the rain all the time when I was little. Sometimes I’d sit by the window for hours, just listening. My mum always said I’d get stuck there.”

Adira tilted her head at him, her curiosity evident now. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and a little unsure, as though she wasn’t entirely ready to start talking freely.

Simon chuckled, scratching his chin. “Dunno. Maybe I thought if I stayed there long enough, I’d see something special, like... I dunno, maybe the rain would make magic happen.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the word magic, and Simon felt a small victory bloom in his chest.

“Magic?” she echoed, her tone a mix of skepticism and interest.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, leaning in just a little, like he was about to share a secret. “The kind that only shows up when you’re really, really patient. You gotta look close, though.”

Adira’s gaze darted back to the TV for a moment before returning to him, her guard lowering inch by inch. She hugged her pillow tighter but didn’t turn away.

“Maybe,” she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “maybe I’ll see magic too.”

Simon’s chest tightened, a warmth spreading there that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, he wasn’t just a stranger in her world; he was someone she was starting to let in.

“Maybe you will,” he said softly, leaning back into the couch. He let the quiet fill the space again, content to sit beside her, waiting for the rain—or the magic—to come.

After a few minutes, Adira reached over to the side table where her sippy cup rested. She grabbed it, then paused, her hand hovering. Slowly, she stretched it out toward him. “Drink?” she offered, her voice small but steady.

Simon blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasn’t much—just a sippy cup of watered-down juice—but it felt monumental. “Thanks, but that’s yours,” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She pulled it back and took a sip herself, nodding like she’d made a grand decision.

Simon chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small step, a tiny opening, and Simon took it as the win it was.

The hours slipped by quietly, the sound of the TV buzzing in the background, and before Simon knew it, the three-hour mark had passed. He glanced at the clock, then at the screen, and with a deep breath, he reached over and clicked the power button.

Adira's eyes widened in shock, her little fingers frozen mid-air as she pointed at the now-black screen. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and mild frustration. "I wanna watch..." Her words trailed off, her pout deepening as she looked back at him, like she couldn’t quite understand why he’d taken it away.

Simon bit his lip, fighting a chuckle. "You’ve been watchin' for a while now, kiddo," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Time to do somethin’ else, yeah?"

Adira stared at him for a long moment, her little brow furrowed as she processed what he’d said. She didn’t seem convinced at first, her gaze darting back to the black screen as if willing it to come back to life. When it didn’t, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lower lip poking out in a full pout.

“I don’t wanna,” she muttered, voice small but firm. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the decision, but Simon had a feeling it was more about the principle of the matter than the TV itself.

“C’mon now,” Simon said softly, trying to soften the blow. “We can do somethin’ fun. How ‘bout we build somethin' together? Or read a book?”

Her little frown deepened, and Simon almost felt bad for turning the TV off. But this was the first time he’d gotten a moment alone with her, and he knew it was important to break the habit, to show her there were other things to do in the world besides the screen.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the quiet living room. Then, with a small sigh, she uncrossed her arms and stood up, shuffling toward the toy box with little steps, only to find nothing that interested her.

"Books?" she asked, her voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the smallest bit of curiosity.

Simon smiled, feeling a wave of relief. “Books it is,” he said, standing up to join her. “I bet we can find somethin’ that’ll be just as fun as that TV show.”

Adira didn’t answer, but the way she grabbed a book off the shelf made Simon’s heart flutter with a tiny spark of victory. 

Adira returned to Simon’s side, holding a colorful book with a soft, focused expression on her face. The cover was bright, featuring two foxes—one with a bushy tail and the other a smaller, more timid-looking one. The title, No Matter What, was written in bold letters above them. She climbed up beside him and, without a word, placed the book in his lap, her small hands brushing gently against it as if offering him a treasure.

Simon looked down at the book, caught off guard by her quiet gesture. He glanced at her for a moment, meeting her eyes. She looked at him with a silent kind of expectation, waiting.

Slowly, he picked up the book, holding it carefully as if it were something precious. “What’s this?” he asked softly, though it was clear he already had an inkling.

“Foxes,” Adira replied simply, her voice soft but firm. “Mama read it. It’s ‘bout love.”

Simon’s heart tugged at the mention of you. He could imagine the way you’d read to her, the soothing cadence of your voice, the way Adira had probably snuggled up beside you during the bedtime ritual. But there was something in Adira’s face now, something that felt like an invitation—a little piece of trust she was offering him, too.

“Well, alright then,” Simon said, his voice soft as he began to flip open the book. Adira sat close beside him, her tiny hands still on the cover, watching his every move with an intense focus. She didn’t rush him. The silence between them felt comforting.

He began to read aloud, slowly at first, as if still gauging her reaction. “No matter what, the foxes knew that they would always be together, through the rain or the snow, through the darkest nights and the brightest days.”

Adira shifted beside him, her little legs crossing as she settled into his side. Her small hand reached for the page as he turned it, her fingers brushing over the illustrations. She didn’t interrupt, just quietly absorbed the words.

As Simon read on, his voice grew more confident, and the warmth of the moment started to settle between them. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they had bridged a gap, one word at a time, one page at a time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something to build on.

Adira’s gaze remained fixed on the book, but her body had relaxed against Simon’s, the way a child does when they feel safe. As the last pages of the book came into view, she snuggled closer, her head resting against his shoulder.

When Simon finished reading, he let the book fall softly onto his lap. He looked down at her, her eyes half-closed, but still aware and trusting. She looked up at him again, her tiny voice soft as she spoke. “Foxes love each other... no matter what.”

Simon’s heart thudded in his chest, the simplicity of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant yet, but in that moment, it was enough to see her so close, so willing to share something so personal. A bond had begun to form—fragile, yes, but it was there.

“Yeah,” Simon said, his voice barely above a whisper, “no matter what.”

With the last of the kids sent off and the staff beginning to clean up, you closed up shop, ready to call it a day. But just as you were locking up, a loud clap of thunder rattled the building, causing you to jump in shock. Your heart raced for a moment, the suddenness of it making you freeze in place.

“Jesus, if Adira was here, she’d lose it,” you muttered to yourself, trying to laugh off the shock. But then, your words hit you like a ton of bricks.

If Adira was here.

A chill ran through you as it dawned on you just how careless you’d been. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had completely forgotten to tell Simon about her fear of thunderstorms. She hated them. Hated the loud crashes of thunder, the flashes of lightning. You’d seen her curl up in a ball, her hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror when the storms hit.

The sound of the storm outside was only getting louder, the thunder now booming and crackling as it came closer. You could imagine Adira, sitting there with Simon, eyes wide and full of fear, clutching whatever comfort she could find, and Simon… God, Simon probably didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t have any idea how to handle it.

Without thinking twice, you dropped everything—your bag, your jacket, anything that wasn’t crucial to getting home. You shot a quick look toward the staff, offering a hasty explanation and apology. Then, without another word, you bolted through the doors, past the remaining parents who were still talking in the lobby, and into the rain.

The rain beat down on you as you sprinted through the streets, the cold droplets stinging your skin as the thunder rumbled overhead. You couldn’t focus on anything but getting home. Adira needs me. Adira needs me.The mantra repeated in your head with each pounding step. Your feet splashed through puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet pavement and the growing tension in your chest.

It felt like forever as you raced through the downpour, but at last, you reached the building, heart hammering in your chest. You fumbled with your keys, every second feeling like an eternity as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Hurry, you told yourself, voice shaky as you turned the key and shoved the door open.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The air felt thick, and as you stepped inside, your eyes instantly darted to the living room.  

On the couch, Simon was sitting with Adira curled up in his side, wrapped tightly in her favorite blanket. Her little body was nestled against his, her small form practically hidden in the folds of the soft fabric. On the coffee table in front of them were the remnants of their quiet afternoon—plastic plates with pizza stains, her sippy cup placed haphazardly next to the mess. Around them, the stack of books you always read to her was scattered across the table: I Love You to the Moon and Back, The Koala Who Could, What Color is a Kiss?—books that had been a staple in your bedtime routine for as long as you could remember.

The sight of them—Adira calm, safe, resting against Simon—caught you off guard. You’d expected panic, chaos, something more… uncertain. But instead, the two of them looked peaceful. Simon’s hand was gently resting on her back, his other arm loosely around her as she drifted in and out of sleep, her head nestled against his chest. She was calm. And that... that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

You hadn’t expected Simon to be so… natural with her. He’d stepped up in a way you didn’t think was possible, at least not this soon. Maybe you had underestimated him. Maybe—no, you knew—you had underestimated this. 

Simon, with Adira, was something real.

Hi so, this took a while, wanted to make this really long for yall. For me as im writing this, it's 5 AM! I've been working on this since 1 PM yesterday. Long Fics are not my strongpoint, I had so much trouble with this because I'm a perfectionist and my tiny brain often repeats words ALOT. I'm working on it and the best way to improve is to keep writing.

As things currently go, I may write shorter things for this family, I want to develop Adira and Simon's relationship more just not with super long stuff like this. I'd also would love to answer any questions or talk about headcanons anyone has about them. Feel free to send asks!

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and by the time this goes up I'm sure I'll still be asleep!

P.S can someone tell me if I do tags wrong, like ive noticed sometimes when I tag it doesn't have the little underline so I keep thinking it doesn't go through </3

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[stargirlygirl]

Lads walkingvin on mc pleasuring themselves with sex toys they didn't know she had

star girl's initial words: thank you so much for requesting! hope you like this one. i've seen writers do this prompt before, so my apologies if i have nothing new to add. ALSO there's no raf as our relationship is tricky😔

they catch you during solo time

⭑.ᐟ caleb

i imagine you're sprawled out on your shared bed and caleb's been working a lot recently. when the colonel comes home, his sharp ears instantly pick up on your quiet gasps and moans.

he's in stealth mode as he creeps down the hallway and peers at you through the ajar bedroom door. pathetic. were you so needy you couldn't even close it? he thinks. but those thoughts fade as soon as he sets those tired sunset eyes on you.

oh, you naughty girl.

your lip is drawn between your teeth as you pump a pretty pink dildo in and out of your pussy. your slick glistens in the late afternoon light, covering your inner thighs and the lucky sex toy between them.

caleb groans low, palming his growing bulge through his too-tight trousers. he watches your back arch and hand stutter, burying the dildo deep in your cunt. the sweetest whimpers cascade from your lips, caleb's name slipping out amongst them.

he's already storming into the room before he can stop himself.

the colonel grabs your hand and wrenches it off the dildo. your eyes snap wide open, and your chest heaves.

"caleb!" you exclaim, trying to sit up, but you're still full of the toy. his other gloved hand presses the centre of your chest down, effectively pinning you to the mattress.

"what's this, pips?" letting go of your hand, he grips the base of the dildo and draws it out of your snug walls. you let out a soft moan, gnawing on your lower lip once more as you stare up at your partner.

"miss me, huh?" he asks cockily, sliding the dildo back in at an agonisingly slow pace. you nod energetically. his hand on your chest trails up, his leather-coated fingers tangling in your hair. he pushes your head up while kneeling on the bed, your foreheads touching while he fucks you with the toy.

he breathes out, "i missed you, too, honey. but this isn't fair. you can't do this without me." you whine as he pulls the drenched dildo out in one go. your arousal drips onto the bed.

caleb frowns. the dildo doesn't look anything like his cock. it's thinner and longer.

he asks, jealousy tinging his voice, "am i not good enough?"

"no!" you blurt out, reaching for the dildo, but he tosses it over his shoulder like a piece of trash.

"caleb!" you whine. but you don't have time to scold him before your massive boyfriend is climbing on top of you. shoes on the bed and everything, he cages you in.

"don't i make you feel good? are you bored of me?" he interrogates you, his eyes betraying his hurt. they look glassy in the sun's final rays.

you shake your head panically and insist, "no! that's not it, baby. i've-i've had this one for ages, i swear! n' i love how you make me feel. always make me feel so good, babe."

closing the distance between you, caleb catches your lips in a fiery kiss. he kisses you like he's trying to devour you and prove a point at the same time— that he can satisfy you in ways no one else can. especially wayyyyy more than some fuck ass dildo that doesn't even deserve to go near your sacred cunt.

all night long, caleb demonstrates just how attentive of a partner he can be. of course, while still in his uniform.

⭑.ᐟ xavier

you recently bought this new sex toy that you've been dying to try out. with xavier crashed out on the couch, you turn off the movie you two were watching and sneak off to your bedroom.

pulling the rabbit vibrator out of the box, you check the instructions and make sure everything is in working order before turning it on. it's low buzz echoes throughout the room, making heat pool in your tummy. stripping off your shorts and panties, you flop on the bed and start teasing yourself with the vibrator.

it's only been a few minutes of having the long part nestled deep in your cunt when the bedroom door softly creaks open.

in peers a sleeply xavier, one slender hand rubbing his eyes while he murmurs, "i heard a buzzing, love. is everything okay—" your eyes lock, and you frantically pull the vibrator out and turn it off.

"xavier!" you squeal grabbing the covers the hiking them up over your body. your poor boyfriend, he just stands here, wide-eyed in the doorway.

you grumble from beneath the quilt, "babe! go away!" it's quiet for another minute or so before you feel the space next to you sink with xavier's weight. you clutch the covers for dear life, but he pries them away from your hands.

your face is flushed as you stare up at your partner. his big eyes rest on you, his lips slightly pouty.

he says softly, "you could have told me you wanted my attention."

you shake your head and admit, "i wanted to try out my new toy, babe."

"oh," he mumbles, glancing away momentarily. feeling guilty, you place your hand on his bent thigh and squeeze it.

"xav," you call quietly. the only sound that can be heard is the rain pattering against the windows.

he gazes back down at you and offers, "why don't we try it out together?" sitting up, you fish around for the toy beneath the quilt.

"you sure you don't mind?" you ask, your hand closing around the handle. he hums in agreement as you pull it out.

grinning, you inform him, "it's a bunny, like you." he stares at the sex toy quizzically.

"what?" he asks. you laugh as you kick the covers off and shuffle over to him. he takes the toy from you while you spin around and sit on his lap, your back against his chest. grabbing his wrist, you bring the vibrator down to your pussy.

"let me show you how it works..."

⭑.ᐟ sylus

the crime overlord shows up at your linkon apartment unannounced, only to find you moaning his name with a bullet vibrator on your clit. your eyes are closed, head thrown back as the constant buzz takes you to a higher dimension.

sylus chuckles cockily, "what a warm welcome kitten." your eyes shoot open and immediately find your partner taking a seat at the end of your bed. you remove the vibrator from your clit and fumble to turn it off.

his deep voice interrupts your efforts, "please, sweetie. go on. pretend i'm not even here." you're too pleasure-drunk to come up with a witty remark to hopefully wipe that stupid smirk off his face. so you just lie back, eyeing him cautiously as you flick your vibrator back on and pick the sole setting every girl needs.

"you sure?" you ask breathily, spreading your legs wide for your boyfriend. he nods, still grinning arrogantly. you run the small vibrator through your folds, wetting it thoroughly before pressing the tip on your clit. a moan tears through your throat, jagged as your free hand cups your breast beneath your tank top.

sylus observes the slight tremble in your legs and how your back arches as you alternate between pinching your nipples. the vibrator never falters; it provides the kind of consistency men often struggle to.

nonetheless, you miss your partner's strong, rough hands on you. you miss those thick fingers curling up into your g-spot, and his hot mouth sucking on your sensitive bud.

"sy," you whimper, removing the vibrator from your pussy and switching it off.

"something wrong, kitten?" he teases, but you notice the strain in his voice.

sitting upright, you pout at him, "please, baby. 's no fun without you." he chuckles richly before standing up and making his way over to you. his black leather pants can't conceal his hardening length, that's for sure.

leaning down, you hold his cheeks and draw him into a loving kiss. you two haven't seen each other for days.

drawing back, you pant, "missed you, sy. need you." you cling to his leather jacket and pull him down onto the bed. his large frame engulfs yours as your lips and tongues dance the line between love and lust.

"please," you mewl into his mouth. separating, spit connects your swollen lips.

your boyfriend chuckles, "what do you need from me, sweetie?" the glittering ropes snap as you draw in a sharp breath, your eyes hungrily gazing at his lips.

"need all of you, sy. in me, till sunrise," you whine. he hums low, the sound caught in his throat. coming in close, he captures your lips in another heated kiss and vows to fulfil your every desire.

⭑.ᐟ zayne

pleasure shoots through your body, the clitoral suction vibrator doing everything and more to your swollen nub. you're unable to stifle your moans as the bedroom door is quietly pushed open.

zayne's head peaks in, his sleep-deprived hazels wandering over you. he gulps, his gaze narrowing in on the toy in your hand. heat flares in his lower tummy, your broken whimpers fuelling the blood rushing to his cock.

unintentionally, your boyfriend swings the door wide open. the hinges squeak, and so do you as you notice him standing there.

"zayne!" he strides in, seeming as calm and collected as ever while his eyes shift to the vanity.

"sorry, my love. i didn't mean to disturb you," he murmurs, undoing his beige waistcoat. reaching the wardrobe, zayne's back is to you as he starts undressing.

hearing the buzz stop, he urges you on, "please, keep going. i'll only take a minute." the sheets rustle and soon enough, your warm, bare body presses into your lover's from behind. your arms encircle his hips, fingers toying with his belt buckle.

"zaynie," you coo. he turns in your grasp and cups your cheeks, his white shirt half-unbuttoned.

you grin sweetly, "i missed you. will you please come to bed?" zayne's cool thumb strokes your cheekbone soothingly as he thinks over your proposal.

he clarifies, "don't you want some alone time, dear?" you shake your head while keeping your eyes on his.

"i want you," you respond breathily. standing on your tippy-toes, you pull your boyfriend into a hungry kiss. pushing your body flush against his, you giggle into his mouth at the hardness poking into your stomach.

breaking the kiss, you ask smugly, "how long were you watching me?"

pink dusts zayne's cheeks as he rasps out, "not very long."

"and you're already this worked up?" you tease. your lover sighs, but a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"i'm afraid you have that kind of effect on me, darling," he admits. chortling softly, you draw him into another tender kiss— one of many tonight.

masterlist

star girl's final words: random lore drop for today is that i love the sound of music, and sylus's line is inspired by/adapted from gayorg's when he finds maria sitting alone at night (just before something good).

[psuejo]

❥ toji “homewrecker” fushiguro </3

it’s becoming a problem.

the sly looks, the ones where it always takes him a second too long to stop staring at your ass when you walk past or your tits when you show up to a birthday dinner in a low cut dress; the small smirks he throws your way, rugged scar stretching at the corner and making your traitorous heart (and pussy) throb; the compliments that always teeter far too close to being something far more than just friendly, but never topples over that line because if toji fushiguro is anything, he is careful.

you thought you could ignore it. you’ve been ignoring it for years now, ever since you and your current husband got engaged. whatever lingering feelings you had during college for toji are long buried, shoved deep, deep down in the recesses of your heart and locked away in a cold, metal box. what’s in the past is in the past, and that’s where it should stay.

you’re better than this. you know you are.

yet you can’t ignore the heat of toji’s touches, the way his hand presses against the small of your back or waist when he’s squeezing past you in the kitchen, nearly slipping down to your ass, or how he always hugs you just a little too tight, like he can’t stand to let you go. it’s even worse when the two of you are alone, that broad hand gently squeezing your inner thigh or thick arm thrown behind your seat, fingers toying with a few strands of your hair, as if it’s natural; normal, despite the both of you knowing it’s not.

far from it, really.

every word, every look, every touch toji fushiguro says, gives, or makes is undeniably intimate, something that’s only noticeable to you, bafflingly enough.

it’s wrong. of course it is. what kind of woman, what kind of wife would you be if you let this go on?

a disloyal, adulterous one, and that’s certainly not you. you’d never betray your loving husband like that, especially not with his own lifelong best friend.

you need to reject toji.

so you try. keyword being try because, despite you insisting that he should stop, that nothing will ever happen between you and that he should stay far, far away, he only comes closer and closer until he’s got you against the wall, soft breath mingling with yours and those sharp, emerald eyes locked onto yours.

“do ya really mean that, doll?”

you gulp, ears burning. the answer to that question is obvious:

no. no, you don’t mean it. if you did, you wouldn’t be here. you would’ve just told your husband and let him handle it.

you want him, just as much as he wants you, and you both know it.

fuck it.

you let toji kiss you, big hands holding the curve of your waist like they’ve always belonged there. you let him scoop you up into his strong arms and carry you to his bedroom, sloppy mouth on yours all the way there.

you let him lay you down and eat you out like a man on death row, thick fingers and strong tongue all desperate to stretch that drooling hole, even as you beg him to just fuck you already.

“ngh, toji, h-hurry up!”

a warm chuckle that goes right to your sensitive clit. “just—” smooch! “one more—” slurp! “a’ight?”

and when toji does get to fucking you, it’s heavenly — all eight, heavy inches dragging through your slick, gummy walls with every precise thrust of his hips. the stretch to accommodate his girth is painful, but that only heightens your pleasure, making you clamp down on him like a vice.

god, you’ve never been so cockdrunk in your life, eyes rolled back and jaw slack, allowing each and every unholy noise to tumble unobstructed from your soft lips like music to toji’s ears.

it’s truly a miracle his restraint held out this long.

“mmm, f-fuck, yes!”

“thereee we go. atta girl. tell me how good ya feel, baby.”

finally, when you cum, hard and blindingly fast, you let yourself get engulfed in your orgasm while toji spills into you with a low grunt and a bite to the meat of your shoulder, pumping that temporarily empty womb with his white-hot seed.

you let toji swing a wrecking ball into your marriage, let him split your picture-perfect home into two. after all, it’ll crumble anyway when that baby is born with black hair and grumpy green eyes, right?

[dearmisshoney]

porcelain

synopsis. your love for the paranormal and the cursed led you to a more than deadly night with a tormented spirit. desire has a price, and tom never plays fair.

pairing. cursed doll! tom riddle x reader

content/mdni. NON-CON. SOMNOPHILIA. fem!reader, cursed doll!tom, evil spirit!tom, cruel!tom, dom!tom, possessive!tom, selfish!tom, blood play (cuts), MONSTER-FUCKING FR, mentions of gore, choking, missionary, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), tummy bulging, hair pulling (m receiving), mentions of cunnilingus and fingering (f receiving), dry/wet-humping, teasing, degradation, pet name (darling, good girl, filthy little thing), tom wants to kill you, raw sex, creampie, bad ending.

word count. 4.6k

a/n. saw a reel with the masked guy from the boy and it reminded me of tommy. i haven’t watched the movie/series tho, so don’t come for me! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

you were definitely the weirdest human he had ever encounter.

even now, from his carefully chosen place on your wardrobe, leaning against the wall, he still couldn’t understand what is wrong with you.

for starters, you bought him — a presumably cursed doll — at the antique shop two streets away from your apartment without any dare or blackmail being involved. tom still refused to believe your smile that day, the day you spot him in the shop, was a genuine smile of happiness.

it was soon confirmed to be true, as you video-called one of your girl friends that very night to boast about your new gorgeous and possibly cursed doll. to a mortified and disgusted pansy. her reaction was more natural to tom than your own.

his new owner was a weirdo for sure.

if that wasn’t strange enough, you also placed him in your bedroom.

in your private sacred space.

you did not use him as decoration for your living room — like most people do. you didn’t drop him in the attic or the basement, places he was fairly familiar with. heck, not even the balcony.

your. bedroom.

you joyfully put him atop of your dresser, next to a few jewelry boxes and books, close to the wall so his heavy head — carrying that porcelain mask — wouldn’t shatter after a nasty fall. you also offered him a lovely view of your huge bed, spread right before his eyes.

and a lovely and intimate view of you.

tom riddle, the ruthless cursed spirit who bears the heavy mask of his sins, takes care of his victims fast. trapped in that useless doll body, he uses less-physical methods to deal with them. invading dreams, creating nightmares, carrying worrying whispers and words of dread to the owner’s ears… he makes their deaths look like an unfortunate accident.

their life force is all that matters to him.

you? you somehow evade all these. even as shadows warp around your sleeping form, even as shadows of your familiar furniture twist into an angular, sharp, foreign claw, even as the monstruous hand looms over your pretty naked neck. you sleep.

sound. unwavering. pleasant.

his malicious whispers do reach your ear, but they only make you giggle. you merely sprint between rooms, smirking at your other haunted objects — which were not actually cursed, from what tom could sense — and asking them which one chirps in your ear such sweet words.

“tommy, my beautiful boy. was it you?”

you’d crane your neck at him, grasping his doll body and pushing him so close to your curious eyes… he swore you almost touched his mask with your sclera.

but after days and days of failure, tom riddle realized what was so peculiar about you: you were a single woman with an insatiable sex drive.

he was graced with first-row seats to your masturbation sessions; you were always so needy and desperate, fingering that drooling cunt of yours, rubbing your aching clit on a pillow until your legs gave out, or even toying with your pussy with the help of a vibrator until you squirted all over your bed sheets.

your dreams were also all filthy and wet; there was no space for his nightmares and death-impending omens in that dirty mind of yours.

and tom riddle was exasperated.

“ugh– ah–”

there it was again, another night when you whither and whine in your bed under the influence of nasty lust-filled dreams.

your eyes were shut tight, your limbs all scattered around the disheveled bed sheets. your thin blanket was thrown aimlessly across your lower half, barely covering your naked legs and your pantie-clad bottom.

“y–yessss…”

incoherent mumbles continued to spill from your parted lips, filling the silence of the night and taunting poor tom and his previous attempts at stealing your life force.

your nails were scratching and digging into the mattress, while your legs spread further. pushing the blanked up the plush of your ass, tom now had a clear view of your covered pussy and your shiny wet spot. even if he wanted to ignore it, he couldn’t, as your hips rocked themselves back into the empty space, chasing relief.

if only he was strong enough, he would materialize and strangle you to death for once.

“please, ohh–”

you sounded so pornographic, mewls and whimpers and random clusters of words just combining into a mesmerizing chant. if he were in his human form, he would definitely have a bodily reaction — a thick, prominent cock print right against the zipper of his pants.

but he was just a doll.

… a cursed doll though.

tom threw away everything he previously planned for you and extended his malicious aura, briefly shaking all the furniture pieces around your room. then, just like last time, the shadows on the walls were sucked up into the doll and turned into a sharp claw-like hand.

it was completely dark, created from a sturdy yet misty substance; the fingers, long and slender, adorned with hauntingly pointy nails, were more visible than the forearm.

this creation was truly cursed.

the hand loomed over your twitching body, its first trajectory being your throat. it was so soft and inviting, your skin almost begging to be gripped and ravished. but tom tempered his desires and dipped the mist lower, right next to your pussy.

the air around the cursed limb was cold. that sudden change of temperature, applied so closely to your heating center, made goosebumps rise all over your skin, made you sigh in pleasure even in your dreamland.

tom dared to get closer, press the pads of his fingers against your wet spot. he could feel it — the flimsy material of your panties, all sticky with a creaminess he barely remembers. sloshing the material around, more and more of your wetness spread, making your cloth barrier stick to your folds and barely act as a protector.

fucking hell, she looks delicious.

tom hasn’t felt such lustful desire in so long. but now, when his hand was rubbing all over your cunt, pressing and prodding against your pulsing hole, pinching your hardened nub and making your hips jolt into his touch… he needed more.

his sharp nails scratched at your inner tights, desperate to be let in. the lines were thin and perfectly traced on your skin, and the fine lines of blood just pulsing to life looked stunning on you.

the sting of the cuts only made you moan louder into your pillow, muttering pleas against it and pushing your hips into the air yet again.

shit, i can’t finger her with that.

tom wouldn’t have thought twice if it was someone else, really. what does it matter if he fingers you with his sharp nails and makes you bleed internally? what does it matter if you get hurt by him?

it does matter, because he doesn’t want to do that.

he doesn’t know why, but tom does not split your insides into a bloody mess. he just sneaks his misty claw underneath your drenched panties and, with direct contact, rubs fast circles onto your pulsing clit until you cum.

you spill all over his hand like a good girl, not once repulsed by his monstruous touch. you don’t even wake up, blissfully unaware you just came because of a curse’s hand. you just turn over, continuing your sleep like nothing happened.

tom wished he had a mouth to taste you.

•••

but something shifted.

tom felt it the moment your orgasm hit — the moment your slick gushed warm over his claw, the moment your thighs shook with such desperate hunger, as though you were feeding off of him.

the air in the room shimmered, making the shadowy hand disperse.

it was unlike any other time he’d taken energy from a human. this wasn't death he was drawing in — it was life, depraved and pulsating, dripping with heat and sin.

your lust made him stronger.

it poured into him like wildfire, dancing at the edges of his cursed porcelain shell, cracking it from the inside out.

the mask trembled. a sound like bone cracking echoed faintly in the still room.

an uneven fissure split down its center.

tom twitched.

not the shadows around. not the diluted mist. him. the doll body, cursed into paralysis, spasmed with a jolt of real power. for the first time in decades, he felt his limbs move.

he gasped — faint, dry and hoarse, in a throat that hadn’t drawn breath in over half a century.

and then, it happened again. your hips twitched in your sleep, a little whimper breaking from your throat as your thighs pressed together. still so sensitive. still damp with the sticky aftermath of your orgasm. still dreaming.

tom could feel it. that energy. it clung to the room like perfume and sulfur, soaked into the sheets, threaded itself into the shadows. it was feeding him. worshiping him.

another small crack split across his mask. the doll’s chest shuddered. his arms, once stiff and useless, flexed with a sick pop of movement. then his neck — god, the satisfying stretch of a joint rotating after years of stillness. something inside him growled as he pushed against the barrier of his prison.

she made me stronger.

the thought came not with rage, nor with confusion. no. tom embraced it with terrifying clarity. it was always hunger that drove him — but this was different. your hunger had looped around his own. you craved, and so did he. and in your sleep, in your sopping, vulnerable arousal, you offered him something no other soul had given.

life.

the cursed doll body shattered in a silent explosion of shadow. splinters of old wood and dusty porcelain were sucked into the darkness like dead leaves in a storm, disappearing from this world altogether.

all that remained was the mask.

the mask — and a man, now standing next to the dresser.

tom was towering and pale, twisted muscle over graceful limbs. dark, almost too dark, hair curled at his temples in gentle waves, damp with sweat and cursed energy. his body was sculpted like a statue, lean and precise, long fingers twitching at his sides.

bare. entirely bare, save for the cursed mask still fixed to his face.

a cruel thing. blank, white, expressionless, but for the empty hollows where his eyes glowed faintly beneath. it wasn’t painted — no. it was bone-like and seamless, fused to him with dark magic, with agony and shame and sin.

he moved closer, silent and smooth, like a predator in the pitch-black stillness of your bedroom.

you shifted on the bed again, that thin little shirt of yours riding high, shaping to the curve of your waist. your thighs still glistened, legs sprawled and soft, pliant with sleep and satiation. the room was warm from your body heat, thick with the scent of sex.

tom stood now at the foot of the bed, watching you.

he should kill you. that had always been the plan. that had always been his purpose.

and yet…

his cock was hard. painfully so. he could feel it pulse at the sight of your parted lips and the soft rise and fall of your breasts. he could feel the weight of your orgasm in the air like incense, and it made him ache.

you’d fed him, intentionally or not.

and now, he was flesh again.

"such a filthy little thing." he whispered, voice hoarse.

it wasn’t loud enough to wake you. not yet.

he stepped closer, bare feet ghosting across the hardwood floor without a sound. he reached out one hand — still long-fingered, no longer a misty claw, but flesh. pale skin, knuckles flushed with blood, sharp nails now trimmed and human.

he hovered over your throat.

the heat of your body radiated upwards. your pulse fluttered against your skin, fast and frantic. even in sleep, you knew something was watching.

tom leaned closer. but he did not press his hand down on your neck like he should.

he dragged it slowly, softly, from your throat to your collarbone… down between the covered valley of your breasts. hovering over you like a dark god, a monster made man by your own depravity.

his fingers curled, brushing the edge of your shirt. it had ridden up your body in your restless movements, now nicely exposing your stomach and the elastic waistband of your panties — those poor ruined panties, soaked with slick and shame.

you whimpered again, your hips shifting, your thighs clenching as if still chasing friction in your dream.

“so greedy.” tom whispered, voice like a lament, low and old, yet full of sharp pleasure. “you give yourself so easily. and yet…”

he trailed a finger along the inside of your thigh, grazing softly over the surface cuts his claw left. the blood was no longer runny, yet the pads of his fingers managed to get stained by that gorgeous shade of red.

“…you don’t know who you’re feeding.”

tom riddle. he was here. real. awake. alive again because of you.

but the mask…

his hand reached towards it on instinct, curling around its edge — only to stop. the ancient magic pulsed beneath his fingertips, a stark, screaming warning.

someone else has to remove the mask.

he growled, low in his chest. frustration laced with lust. the mask itched like a wound. it burned. but he couldn’t take it off. he couldn’t be free of the curse completely.

not unless you chose to unmake the curse yourself.

his frustration bloomed, tightening in his chest and sinking down to his aching cock — flushed and rigid, twitching in the thick heat that clung to your room.

you had no idea what you’d done, what you’d awakened. your skin glimmered with sweat and sleep, and your thighs parted in lazy invitation as if your body already sensed his arousal.

tom let out a ragged breath, the porcelain mask creaking as his jaw flexed beneath it. you… you were so open, so willing, even in your unconsciousness. his fingers gripped the edge of the mattress, blunt nails digging in, and then–

he slipped onto the bed.

the weight didn’t stir you. you were floating somewhere deep, still dreaming of being touched, still mewling quietly as your hips gave those needy little tilts. tom’s hand traced your thigh with more vigor, fingertips ghosting along the curve until they met the material of your ruined panties. slick had soaked through the cotton, cold and wet and heavenly.

he pressed his human thumb to your clothed cunt and felt it throb.

you gasped softly.

your back arched away from the mattress, and that was enough — enough invitation for him to part your thighs further, to press himself between them. he crawled up, one slow inch at a time, until he was nestled between your warm and plush thighs. his cock droop lower and rested against your core, hard and heavy, smearing precum across the sticky fabric of your underwear.

a moan slipped from his mouth, stifled by the porcelain.

he throbbed against you, dragging his cock along your clothed cunt — back and forth, slow, sinuous ruts that had your hips responding even in sleep. your slick mixed with the clear wetness leaking from his tip, making everything impossibly slippery and filthy.

tom bit down a groan and pressed harder, rocking against your clit in desperate rolls.

“fuck–” the word was cracked, feral. “you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

you whimpered.

your legs shifted around him, instinctively wrapping at his hips, pulling him closer. he nearly collapsed against you with the force of it. the movement made his cock slip beneath your drenched panties, caging his throbbing cock underneath.

and gifting tom the sweet feeling of your warm bare cunt.

tom braced himself over you, panting now, a man on the edge of madness. his hands gripped your thighs, possessive and reverent, his thumbs digging into the soft skin above your knees as he spread you wider.

“i could tear you apart.” he growled. “split you open. make you scream.”

but he only rutted harder outside of your pussy, cock sliding along your slit in steady, greedy thrusts. every drag of the swollen head over your clit made your hole twitch with desperation. your panties, weighted down by the combined arousal, felt heavenly on his sensitive tip, each rock of his hips widening the bulging form of the material.

and he knew you were close again. his voice was barely human now, breaking and desperate.

“i would eat you alive if i could.” he snarled. “bury my face in your sweet, sinful cunt and lap it all up until you sob.”

but the mask wouldn’t let him.

that damn mask — sealed by his own sins, fused to his soul. his mouth could not touch you. he could not taste you.

he sobbed once, the sound ragged and low and filled with longing. his thrusts slowed, dragging his cock over your cunt again and again, clinging to the edge of release.

he wanted to cum.

he wanted to bury it inside you, flood your insides, mark you with something real. but not like this — with you unconscious, unaware.

not yet. not until you beg for it.

tom exhaled hard, sweat beading at the base of his throat beneath the mask, his hands trembling where they held your thighs apart. every muscle in his body was alive with tension. with hunger. and yet he waited; because as much as he wanted to ruin you, to defile every inch of you while you lay helpless and pretty beneath him… he needed you awake.

he needed to see you beg.

so he moved his hand, slowly, and this time — he gripped your throat.

your body jolted, the shift immediate. your back arched, breath catching in your lungs, a panicked little gasp slipping from your lips. your hands groped weakly at the sheets, thighs tensing around his waist. his fingers tightened, not cruelly.

no. not to hurt.

just to hold. to wake.

“wake up.” tom hissed, his voice low and coaxing and cruel all at once, fingers flexing around your neck.

your eyes fluttered.

and then — they opened.

wide. glassy. dazed. confused.

you blinked up at him, body still sluggish with the heavy fog of sleep and orgasm. for a moment, you just lay there beneath him, staring into the void of the mask — at those inhuman eyes glowing behind it. your brows furrowed; your lips parted.

“…tommy?”

he laughed — a dry, bitter sound, cock still grinding just enough to keep your cunt wet and twitching beneath him. “not dreaming anymore, darling?”

you shivered, pupils expanding. he could see the moment the haze of fear touched your features — your gaze darted downwards to the way your thighs were spread open around his hips, to the heat of his bare cock pressed against your ruined pussy. the realization hit you in waves: the wetness; the closeness; him.

and then, your hands slowly rose.

but you didn’t fight him.

no. you cradled his wrist where it held your throat. your lips trembled, but not with fear.

“…you’re real.”

tom didn’t answer. didn’t have to. the air between you was already too thick with the truth. you swallowed — a struggle, with his fingers still curled around your neck — but then you whispered your devious desire.

“please… fuck me.”

tom grunted, pleased with your words, hips jutting with more force against your cunt, tip bumping into your perky clit over and over again. you arched your hips again, this time with volition, dragging your cunt along the underside of his cock. your lips were parted in invitation, your voice thick with desperation.

“fuck me.” you whispered again, softer this time, almost reverential. “i want you to. need you to.”

he groaned again, deep and guttural, his cock twitching violently between your folds. his fingers released your throat only to drag down your chest, trembling. one hand slid under your shirt, cupping a bare breast, squeezing until you moaned. the other dipped between your legs again, thumb brushing over your ruined panties — still soaked, still hot.

you were so ready.

he leaned closer, his breath brushing your lips even through the mask.

“say it again.” he demanded. “beg nicely for it.”

your eyes didn’t waver. your hips rocked up once more, desperate and sweet and oh so willing.

“please, tom… please fuck me. make it real.”

he whispered your name — a sound of victory and hunger — and in one swift motion, he pressed his fingers over your panties, redirecting the head of his cock down to your entrance. 

tom pushed in without a second thought, feeding you his cock in one swift motion.

you gasped — loud and broken — fingers clenching the sheets as he sank into you. he was thick, hot, impossibly deep from the first thrust. the stretch was unbearable and perfect, making your back jump off the bed as your cunt fluttered helplessly around him.

“fuckkkkk.” you breathed, voice ragged. “you’re– you’re inside me.”

tom hissed, driving forward until his hips met yours, bottoming out with a brutal final thrust. your pussy clenched hard in response, pulling him in like you didn’t want to let him go — and you didn’t.

his hands gripped your thighs again, holding you still, your slick leaking out around his cock, dripping down onto the sheets. the heat of you was overwhelming. he was growling — snarling really — each roll of his hips grinding deep, deliberate, as if he wanted to carve his shape into you.

and he did, the bulge in your tummy taking his form with every sharp thrust.

he wanted to own every soft, trembling inch of you.

“feel that?” he panted, voice thick and trembling behind the mask, hand jumping from your leg to your tummy. pressing down on his shape, making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

“you’re mine now, darling. every inch, every drop of you.”

you whined, nodding feverishly, your hands rising to grab at him. your nails dragged over the cold, painted porcelain of the mask before slipping into his hair and slightly tugging at it.

but it wasn’t enough.

you needed him.

all of him.

“i want to s–see you.” you moaned, your cunt squeezing around his cock as you said it. “i want to see your face.”

tom stilled.

for a heartbeat, he just loomed over you — panting, trembling, the muscles in his arms shaking with restraint. then, slowly, he reached up, hands quivering, and wrapped his fingers around your own, pushing them towards the edge of his mask.

“take it off, darling.”

he encouraged you, voice dripping with venomous honey. he disguised his liberation moment into an intimate activity reserved just for you. and you, so mesmerized by tom, did feel special as you gripped at the porcelain and lifted it completely off his face in one go.

it felt heavy in between your palms, but the weight was soon forgotten as your eyes finally met the face of your devilish man. his face was pale, drawn tight with lust and hunger. his eyes — dark, glowing, cursed — were locked on you. his mouth, twisted with need, curved into a smirk of longing and disbelief.

“beautiful.” you breathed.

and that’s all it took.

tom slammed back into you, his now-unmasked mouth crashing against your throat, teeth dragging down your skin — lapping and biting across the purple marks his vengeful fingers left — as he fucked you like a man possessed. his cock pistoned into you, deep and relentless, wet slaps echoing off the walls as your arms fall back on the bed, over your head.

“tom– fuck, fuck, fuuuck–”

you cried out, sobbing his name, legs clinging to him like salvation. your pussy squeezed around him, milking every inch, every thrust. and when he growled against your ear, you screamed for him, over and over again.

“mine. say you’re mine.”

“yours, yours, tom, i’m yours–!”

he came with a shattered groan, burying himself to the hilt, flooding your cunt with sticky cum. his arms gripped you tightly, keeping you caged beneath him as you shook through your own release, sobbing into your pillow.

with his vision cleared, now no longer obstructed by the damned porcelain, tom admired the mess he had made of you. your panties, still wet against your pussy, were now painted in creamy white from both of your releases. your shirt was bunched up over your tits. your hair was completely ruffled, sticking to your skin from all the sweat.

but something else caught his attention — the mask, still sitting untouched between your weakened fingers, shining almost horrifyingly back at tom. and then he felt it, the way more of your energy poured into him, just like before.

he was still cursed. the mask was still his.

tom exhaled raggedly, head falling to the crook of your neck where he licked the sweat from your skin. you whimpered, blissed-out and pliant, legs loose around his waist, arms limp above your head. your cunt still pulsed around him, every flutter making more of your combined release spill out.

but he was restless.

the curse still gnawed at him.

your warmth, your blood, your pleasure — all of it fed him, but not enough. not truly. his hunger was deeper than skin and sin. it was soul-deep.

and the mask, even discarded, still laughed silently at him from the bed sheets. still had control over his spirit.

no.

that won’t do.

“darling.” he whispered, his voice now like velvet soaked in venom. “you look so perfect like this… so full of me.”

you sighed, soft and dazed, your fingers twitching slightly around the cold porcelain you still held unawarely.

“mm… tom.” you murmured, voice sleepy and ruined. “i feel… strange. warm.”

“i know.” he cooed, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. “you’ve given me so much already. but there’s one more thing i want…”

you blinked slowly, like a doll winding down, your eyes barely focusing.

tom leaned in, his cursed, beautiful face only inches from yours. his mouth hovered above your lips, breath sweet with the scent of lust and something darker.

your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation — waiting for his kiss.

but he didn’t give it.

instead, his hand moved.

in one graceful, eerie motion, tom slid his hand over your jaw, fingers gentle… before curling tightly under your chin, tilting your head back.

and then — slowly, deliberately — he dragged the porcelain mask down.

over your hair.

over your eyes.

over your mouth.

your eyes snapped open in alarm as the bone-white surface pressed down on your face like stone, like a curse latching onto flesh. you gasped — but the sound was swallowed by the mask's power as it crept across your skin, hollow and hungry.

“no– tom, wait–!”

your fingers twitched once. then again.

then they stopped.

your body stiffened — then softened.

tom watched, his breath shuddering as your skin took on a soft, plush-like texture. the glow of life dimmed in your eyes as they glassed over, mouth shut down in a slightly curved line.

the curse flared out his body like fire. his hunger — his unending need — was suddenly satisfied. your entire life force poured into him in a hot, radiant flood.

freeing him.

he looked down at you — at the perfect doll lying beneath him, hair still messy atop of the mask, shirt still weirdly draped over your miniature and lifeless body.

and he smiled.

“oh, my darling.” he whispered again, voice hushed with something sinister yet triumphant.

he cupped your porcelain face and pressed a tender kiss to your glossy forehead.

“you’ll stay like this for now. but don’t worry… i’ll wake you again.”

tom gathered you in his arms — his beautiful, cursed doll — and held you close, cherishing you like you did with his doll form.

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @theodoresvalentine, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove, @minidemont, @yuunarii-arii

[kingkaizen]

𝓫𝓻𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓹𝓲𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓼

∘ desc: months after divorcing your ex-husband, you must both be on your best behavior for your daughter's birthday party. will seeing each other again bring up old feelings that you tried so hard to bury?

∘ ft: ex-husband!geto

∘ word count & a/n: 3.8k | this has been in my wips forever and im so happy to finally get this out, i hope you all enjoy reading <3

∘ includes: angst, cunnilingus, edging, missionary, praise, smug geto

The sound of children’s laughter filled the air, blending in with the bass of the party music. The backyard was completely decorated with balloons and streamers, colors representing your daughter’s favorites. As much as you adore your little girl, you can confidently say that you’ve been dreading this day. Not the celebration part of course, but the person that you would be forced to run into. 

Glancing around the yard, you feel your heart skip for a second as you spotted him–Suguru. He had a huge smile on his face, crouching down to give his daughter a kiss on her forehead. You could tell how happy she is to see him, watching her jump up and down at the excitement of just seeing her father. Even now, after everything that’s happened, he was still undeniably him. The quiet confidence and the beaming smile. It was frustrating how attractive he still was, especially considering how you’ve spent the last year trying to forget it. 

His gaze flickers to yours, catching you staring. He held your eyes in his, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turned back to your daughter. You break eye-contact at the same time, your fingers tightening around your drink. It was the first time that you’ve both been in the same space for more than five minutes since the divorce, the tension between you bubbling up.

“Mommy!” your daughter’s voice broke your trance, and you turned to see her running toward you, her tiny hands clutching box. “Daddy said that you can help me open this!”

You smiled, but your chest tightened as Suguru approached behind her, his presence looming larger than life. For her sake, you kept the smile on your face, even as your pulse quickened with every step he took.

“Of course, birthday girl,” you said, setting your drink down to take the wrapped box from her hands. You knelt down to her level, plastering on your best smile, even as you felt Suguru’s presence settle beside you.

“Here,” Suguru said, his voice low as he handed you a pair of scissors from the nearby table. You flinched slightly at how close he’d gotten, his arm brushing yours as he crouched beside you. You hated how good that one second of touch felt. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze as you carefully opened her gift.

Your daughter squealed with delight as you revealed a plush animal inside, her little hands grabbing it before you could fully pull it out. She hugged it tightly, looking up at both of you with a beaming smile.

“I love it daddy, you’re the best!” she declared, skipping off to show her friends.

Left alone, you stood up quickly, awkwardly brushing imaginary dust from your hands. Suguru rose too, his movements slower, more deliberate.

“You didn’t have to get that,” you said, your tone abrupt.

“She wanted it,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes were on you, and for a moment, you felt pinned under the weight of his gaze, unable to escape.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a group of kids ran between you, cutting off whatever sharp remark you were about to make. Suguru chuckled softly, the sound pulling your focus back to him.

“She’s happy,” he said, nodding toward your daughter, who was now showing off her new toy. “That’s all that matters, right?” He tilted his head at you, his face unreadable.

You hated how easily he could shift the conversation, deflecting any tension with his calm demeanor. You hated even more how your chest tightened at the sight of him being so effortlessly good with her.

“Right,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

The rest of the party passed in a blur of small talk, laughter, and the occasional shared glance that lingered a second too long. You tried to avoid him as much as possible, but Suguru seemed to always be nearby—helping you cut the cake, handing out goodie bags, and playing games with your daughter.

It was infuriating how natural he made it all look, like he hadn’t made the choice to leave this life behind. Like he hadn’t left you.

By the time the party wound down and the last of the guests had said their goodbyes, the house was quiet again, like it usually is with just you and your daughter. She was upstairs, tucked into bed after an exhausting but joy-filled day with her family and friends. You stood in the kitchen, trying to clean up the remnants of the cake, when you felt him enter the room.

“You don’t have to stay, I can clean up on my own” you said without turning around.

“I know,” Suguru said, his voice soft but steady. He grabs a garbage bag and begins to help you out anyways, taking down some balloons and other decorations. “You look good today.”

You turned to face him, your hands clutching a dishrag. “Why are you even here?”

His dark eyes met yours, and for the first time in this entire day, the mask he’d been wearing began to crack. There was something raw in his gaze—regret, longing, something you didn’t want to name, fearing that you would only begin to crack too. 

“Because I can’t keep pretending,” he said, taking a step closer. “Not after today. Not after seeing you like this.”

“Seeing me like what?,” you throw the rag down, completely exasperated. “Seeing me continue to be a good mom despite all of the shit you put me through? Seeing how happy she still is, despite the fact that you don’t make the effort?” 

Suguru flinched at your words, his expression tightening. He looked down for a moment, his jaw clenching before he met your eyes again, the softness in them now sharpened by frustration.

“That’s not fair,” he said quietly, but there was a weight to his voice that made you pause. “You don’t think that I care? As if it doesn’t kill me to be apart from you both?”

“You left, Suguru!” Your voice cracked, the emotions you’d been bottling up all day finally breaking free. “You decided this wasn’t what you wanted anymore. You don’t get to stand there and act like you’re the one hurting, you weren’t fair to us the moment you walked out that door for good.”

He took another step closer, the distance between you shrinking as the tension swirled like a storm between you both. “You think this was easy for me?” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it, like he was holding something back. “I made mistakes, I know that. But don’t for a second think I stopped loving her, or stopped loving you.”

Your breath hitched, his words hitting you like a brick. “Don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Don’t say things like that just because you feel guilty. How could you stand there and say that, after everything?”

“It’s not guilt,” he said firmly, his hand twitching at his side, longing to reach for you but knowing that he shouldn’t. “It’s the truth.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and the weight of everything unsaid between you threatened to crush you both.

“Then why did you leave?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru sighed, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident all over his face. “Because I thought it was the right thing to do. For you, for her, for everyone. But I was wrong. I just wish that I realized that before...”

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Your hands were trembling, and you didn’t know if it was from anger, sadness, or the way he was looking at you now—like he was desperate, like he was afraid you might slip away for good. At this point, you didn’t even know what you truly wanted.

“Don’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t make me feel like this again.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “I just... I need you to know that I still love you. That I never stopped. And today—seeing you, seeing her—it made me realize how much I want this back.” He was so close to you at this point, his face mere inches away from your own. His hand reluctantly reached for your chin, and you allowed him to tilt your head up to fully face him. His words began to sink in, tugging at your heart. Before you could even wrap your head around it, he speaks up again.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Tell me I haven’t lost you completely.”

Your breath hitched, the room closing in around you as the weight of his confession hung in the air. Your head is telling you to take a step back and let him go for good. Nevertheless, the choice was yours now—to let the past consume you both, or to take the first step toward something neither of you could fully let go of.

Wordlessly, you closed the small distance between you, your hand reaching up to grip the front of his shirt. The fabric bunched beneath your fingers as you looked up at him, the storm of emotions in your chest threatening to spill over, just like the tears filling your lash line.

Suguru froze, his breath catching as his eyes searched yours for a sign, any indication of what you were about to do.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. “You don’t get to walk back in and say things like that—make me feel like this again.”

“I know,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rested against his chest. “But I can’t pretend anymore. Not when I still—”

You didn’t let him finish, some part of you doesn’t think that you’d be able to handle what he was going to say next. Before he could say anything else, you pulled him down, capturing his lips with yours. It was a kiss full of longing with a faint sign of anger, and Suguru responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you as if he was afraid you might slip away if he let go again.

The kiss deepened, months of hurt and unspoken feelings pouring out between you. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, the familiar feeling softening your heart as the walls you built around it began to crumble. When you finally pulled back, breathless and shaken, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed as if he was afraid that you wouldn’t be there when he opened them.

“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll walk away. I’ll let you go.”

Your grip on his shirt tightened, your body betraying the answer your mind hadn’t fully caught up to yet. “I hate you for making me feel this way,” you said, your voice cracking. “But I can’t lie to you. I still—”

Suguru’s lips were on yours again before you could finish, cutting off your words with a kiss that left no room for doubt. Whatever you had both tried to bury between you was rising to the surface now, unstoppable and undeniable. There was no question how you felt about one another, and you both made it your mission to prove it.

His hands began to explore your body, feeling hot to the touch as they rested beneath your thighs. He lifts you up as you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively. He pulls away to chuckle against your lips.

“You always know exactly what I want you to do, huh?” Suguru teased, his voice a low murmur as he carried you effortlessly toward the once-shared bedroom. His smirk sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of frustration and desire building in your chest.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though the breathless edge to your voice betrayed you.

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed his lips to the column of your neck. “Oh, I’m not. But I remember how you used to look at me like this… how you’d crave it when I took control.”

You bit back a retort as he kicked the bedroom door open with ease, the familiar space pulling memories you’d worked so hard to suppress back into focus. He set you down on the edge of the bed, his hands firm but gentle as you laid back, his body moving to hover over yours.

His eyes found yours, darker than you remembered, the heat in his gaze setting your nerves off. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his hands sliding up just enough to make your breath hitch, his fingers hooking underneath the waistband of your pants. “And I will.”

Instead of answering, you pulled him down, crashing your lips against his again. It was messy and heated as his weight pressed you back against the mattress. His hands were everywhere, exploring like he was trying to memorize every inch of you all over again, and you let him.

“God, I missed this,” he muttered against your skin, his teeth grazing your collarbone before his lips soothed the spot with a kiss. “Missed you.”

The confession made your heart clench, but there was no time to linger on it. Not when his hands were slipping beneath your shirt, his touch electrifying as he pushed the fabric up and over your head.

“Prove it,” you challenged, your voice steady despite the way your body trembled under his touch. You made quick work of his belt, tugging on his waistband as best as you could.

Suguru’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, his eyes gleaming with determination. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his voice dripping with certainty. He helped you completely take off his pants before he slipped off yours, his knees hitting the carpet of your room so that he was eye-level with your cunt. Only one thin piece of fabric was left between him and you, his intense gaze making you want to run away and hide. He wouldn’t let you though, hands gripping your thighs to keep them from closing.

“Don’t hide from me, beautiful,” he finally pulls the fabric completely off, kissing up the side of your thighs. His thumbs pull your folds apart, a groan leaving his lips at the sight of you. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.” He wastes no time, his tongue poking out to prod at your slick folds. Your fingers dug into his hair, locking onto the dark strands as you used what little strength you had to tug. He continues on, stroking firmly at your clit, looking up at you to watch your face contorted in pleasure. He loves making you feel good, he craves your moans and soft gasps as the overwhelming feeling of his tongue washes over your body. 

“God, you taste even better than what I remembered, baby,” you gushed around his tongue, not being able to respond as your brain fogged over. “What’s the matter sweetheart, can’t even respond to me anymore?” He loved pissing you off, even in a moment like this. You want so badly to respond to him and wipe that stupid smirk off of his face. Before you could do that, he slips two fingers inside, his lips wrapping firmly around your clit as he begins to steadily move them inside of you. 

The combination of his tongue and fingers was too much, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. His fingers worked inside you with deliberate precision, curling just right to press against that spot that made your breath hitch every time.

“Look at you,” he rasped against your clit, his breath hot and teasing. “So perfect for me. Taking everything I give you like you were made for it.” His voice was laced with pride, the smugness in his tone only making your desire burn hotter.

Your grip on his hair tightened, a feeble attempt to pull him closer or maybe to anchor yourself as your body threatened to unravel. He chuckled, low and rough, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

“Suguru,” you finally managed to gasp out, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his free hand sliding up to grip your hip, holding you steady as you squirmed under his touch. “Say my name, princess. Let me hear you.”

Every word, every flick of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your thighs quivered around his head, the heat coiling in your belly threatening to snap. He could feel it, too, the way your body clenched around his fingers, your breaths coming quicker, more erratic. Before you could reach your peak, he abruptly stopped his movements, completely ruining your high. 

A frustrated whine escaped your lips, your body twitching in protest at the sudden loss of stimulation. Your eyes flew open, locking onto Suguru’s face, which was now hovering just above yours. The smug grin plastered across his face made your frustration burn hotter.

“What the hell, Suguru?” you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and annoyance.

He tilted his head, feigning innocence, his eyes never leaving yours. “Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone eerily calm. “I didn’t say I was done with you.”

Your breath caught as his hands slid up your sides, his touch firm yet teasing. He pressed his body against yours, pinning you beneath him, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’re going to come when I say, and not a second before. Understood?”

The heat pooling in your belly flared again at his words, even as you glared up at him. You wanted to defy him, to push back against the control he always seemed to wield so effortlessly, but the intensity in his eyes left you speechless.

“Say it,” he pressed, his voice dangerously low, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he praised, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that left no room for doubt about who was in control.

This time, he wrapped his hand around himself, giving his raging hard-on some much needed attention. He took his time, covering his cock with your juices, looking at you with such a stare that made you want to crawl away and hide from his gaze forever. Continuing to hover over you, he hooked one leg up with his arm, his other hand guiding himself to your entrance.

You nearly sobbed with relief at the feeling of his tip prodding at you. He slowly begins to fill you up, enjoying the way your walls seem to perfectly take every inch of him, even though so much time has passed. “Feel s' good,” he murmured, his voice rough as he began to pick up on a steady rhythm. “Let me take care of you properly.” You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you or your cunt, but you didn’t care as his movements began to pick up even more. Every pump inside of you felt deeper and deeper, his balls slapping against your ass, showing you no mercy. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes scrunched closed as he felt you squeeze around him. “You’re so tight,” he whispers against you, hips beginning to stutter from the feeling of your pussy choking him for everything that he has. “Pussy trying to milk me huh?” His movements were driving you relentlessly toward the edge. Pressing his lips against yours, he kissed you through it all, swallowing every noise that left your lips. Your body trembled beneath him, legs shaking against his body.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “I’ve got you. Let go for me, beautiful.”

And with a cry that was equal parts his name and a broken gasp, you did, the tension in your body releasing in a wave of euphoria. Suguru didn’t stop, riding out every tremor with you, his own high coming shortly after yours as his dick twitched inside of you, spurts of cum filling you up quickly. His name fell from your lips like a prayer as you held each other through every wave of pleasure. 

When you finally came down, your chest heaving and your limbs trembling, he looked at you, a stupid smirk plastered on his face that you can’t help but giggle at. As your laughter faded into the quiet hum of the room, Suguru brushed a strand of hair from your damp forehead, his touch tender. Something so raw in his eyes struck you harder than any words in this moment could.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your mingled breaths. For once, there was no smugness in his expression, only sincerity that matched the ache in your own heart.

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything between you settling in again. “This doesn’t fix anything, Suguru,” you said softly, your fingers tracing absent patterns along his chest. “There’s still so much—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone serious now. “I know I can’t erase my mistakes and what I did to you and our family. But this, tonight, can be a fresh start, if you’ll allow it to be.” You studied him for a long moment, searching for any hint of doubt or deceit, but all you saw was the man you once fell in love with some time ago, laying his heart on the table for you. Slowly, you nodded, though your heart still felt guarded. “I don’t know if I can forgive you completely. At least, not right now.

He smiled softly, a hopeful look in his eyes. “I’m not asking for that right now. Just allow me to spend every single day making it up to you, and every day after that.”

As he pulled you closer, cradling you against his chest. You allowed your eyes to close, letting your brain imagine what life might look like in the next years to come. Old wounds may never heal, but maybe it was time to let him back in again. If not for your own heart, but for your daughter who so desperately craves the equal attention of both of her parents that love her more than they do anything else. It wasn’t long before you fell asleep, the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat bringing you comfort that you thought you’d never be able to feel again. 

For a moment, you’re able to forget the pain and anger that once filled your heart, and replace it with the newfound hope of making something whole out of the broken pieces left behind.

© kingkaizen | do not copy, steal, or duplicate!

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Smile for the Camera

It’s 10pm sharp when I start my stream. I’ve always been on time, always with my makeup on flawlessly, hair styled perfectly, and bedroom set curated just right to show my pretty pink sheets and collection of toys.

I smile and wave at the camera, tossing my hair back to reveal the pink lingerie set I’ve chosen for tonight.

“Good evening everyone! I’m sooo glad to see so many of you tuning in!”

The chat inbox floods with greetings from my audience and there’s an influx of money that comes from my particularly generous viewers. I giggle and flirt with my viewers, many of whom who have become regulars in my viewership population.

Someone in the audience asks for a strip tease and I feel my pussy pulse in response, looking forward to a night of performing for my devoted viewers.

I start slow, running my fingers up and down my body, brushing gently over my lingerie-clad nipples and whimpering loudly for the microphone to pick up. My eyes stare into the camera, all of my thoughts melting away as I fall into my role of entertainer.

Teasingly, I pull along the shoulder straps of my top, letting the fabric fall away from my chest to show off my perky tits and hardened nipples that are always a fan favorite. My hands dance over my chest, pulling gently at my nipples in a way that makes my moans completely genuine. My eyes glance to the screen and I see the excitement building in my chat box, and my account balance steadily rising.

Suddenly, I hear the lock on my door click and my body goes cold. The door to my room is out of the video shot, behind my camera setup and before I can even react, the door slams open.

I let out a startled yelp as my arms instinctively cover my chest. In the corner of my eye, I see the chat go crazy as my audience tries to figure out what it is they’re hearing but not seeing off screen. My attention is wholly focused on the man whose frame fills my doorway.

I scramble off my bed. “What the fuck? Why are you in my house?” My voice is shaking with fear and shrill with panic. I’m far too preoccupied to even think about the livestream anymore.

My fear deepens when I see him leer at me and stalk through my door and towards me without any hesitation.

“A fucking whore like you should be more gracious to me,” he says, his eyes taking on a dangerous glint. He and I are both in the camera’s view now and the viewers on my stream are firing off more messages than before, speculating over who he is and what is going on.

Without saying anything else, he moves to me faster than I can evade and grabs my hair. My mouth opens to scream but before sound can escape, he throws me chest down onto my bed. The air is forced out of my lungs and for a moment, I’m still and stunned. The next moment, he’s on me.

His hand is buried in my hair, keeping my face pressed down against the bed while he forces my ass up into the air. I struggle uselessly against him, unable to push up off the bed or move myself away from his ironclad grip. My cries are muffled against my bed and I want to scream and yell for help but there’s not enough air in my lungs.

His free hand lands a sharp slap against my ass that make me jolt forwards and arch my back further in pain. He doesn’t give me time to adjust as he begins to land blow after blow. My arms begin to flail, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto as I struggle.

“Stop fucking moving, whore,” he growls at me. I feel the spanks subside for a moment and I can feel my ass burning red and throbbing from the pain. My head spins from the abuse and the lack of oxygen. I feel his large hand find my wrist, his fingers locking around me in a bruising hold as he yanks my arm behind my back, straining my shoulder.

The hand on my head finally comes away and I raise my head just enough to gasp in much-needed oxygen. In that split second, he’d grabbed and secured my other arm behind my back as well, his one hand effortless holding my arms crossed behind my back. My body is still bent over, knees on the bed and ass up in the air. My only saving grace is that I can raise my head enough to breathe and glance at my laptop, showing the livestream still ongoing.

My eyes dart across the screen, reading messages as fast as I can. None of them show any concern for me, in fact, a vast majority are discussing how much they wished they were the ones holding my body down in this moment.

“Fuck yes, show that whore her place.”

“God, what would I do to be there to punish her for always teasing us.”

“I bet her cunt is dripping wet right now.”

I whine softly when I see that message because it’s right. “Please, let me go!” I turn my head to look at the menace of a man behind me. He flashes a dark grin at me, “Not until I fuck you out of your whore mind.”

His words echo in my head and panic rises within me. “Please! No! Stop! Someone help me!” I make eye contact with the camera, begging at its cold, dark lens.

He laughs behind me. “There’s no one here to help you, whore. You and I both know that every single person watching behind their computer screen is more than eager to see your whore body get ruined.”

As he speaks, his free hand pulls his belt and pants undone enough for him to pull his massive cock out. I let out a choked gasp when I see it.

“Wait, no, please, you’re too big, it’s not going to fit! Please!” My voice shakes and I start to struggle harder against him. His body dwarfs mine and I watch through the camera as he rips my panties off, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room.

“Shut the fuck up and take it, whore.” I feel the head of his cock brush against my dripping slit and my eyes widen.

“Wait, please-” My begging ends in a wail as he slams himself into me to the hilt. The painful stretch makes tears spring into my eyes but unimaginable pleasure quickly follows as his cock nudges into every sensitive spot inside of me. He doesn’t give me time to adjust as he begins to rut into me mercilessly.

Every thrust makes my body shake with pain-tinged pleasure and pathetic moans are spilling out of my mouth as my eyes roll upwards. My hazy vision catches a glimpse of us on the camera. I look like a rag doll, back arched, ass in the air, and shuddering as he towers over me, his cock sinking into my cunt.

Every thrust is accompanied by the squelch of my wetness and the sound of our bodies slamming into each other. The bed creaks under us as his body moves like a machine, drilling into me. “Fuck, you tight fucking whore, your pussy was made for me huh?”

His voice is guttural. Suddenly, he grips my upper arms and yanks me upwards. His other hand comes around to grip my throat as he traps me against his front. The new angle makes his cock stab even deeper into me, forcing a cry from my lips.

“Look at the fucking camera, whore. Show them what a fucked out little slut you are. Go ahead, smile for the camera.” His thrusts seem to come even faster now.

I have tears falling from my eyes as my face reddens from his constricting grip around my neck.

“Smile or I choke you out on my cock like this,” he snarls, hips never stuttering in their punishing pace. I let out a muffled groan and try my best to focus myself enough to obey.

I stare through half-lidded eyes at the camera, barely coherent. My lips pull up in a small, desperate smile as I feel myself gradually running out of air.

“Good fucking whore. Now tell them how much you like having your whore cunt fucked.” His hand leaves my throat and goes to pinch my clit harshly, making me squeal.

“Ah- I like having, ah-, my whore cunt fucked!” My voice is hoarse, my orgasm fast approaching as he starts to roughly roll my clit between his fingers.

“That’s right, and you’re going to cum like this aren’t you, whore? Come on, cum all over me, show them how much you love this.” His words combined with the brutal assault on my body push me over the edge and with a desperate wail, I fall apart.

I hear him groan lowly behind me as my pussy clenches around him, my orgasm ripping through my senses. He uses my body harder than ever, treating me like a sex toy as he chases his own release. He slams himself into me one final time as he erupts, his grip bruising my arms as he keeps me in place.

I collapse against him, a boneless, overstimulated mess. He lets me down gently onto the bed, pulling out of me. The sound of his cock squelching out of my pussy makes my viewers more than aware of how well-fucked I am. He steps away from the bed and towards my filming setup. He leans into the camera and smirks.

“Let me know how else you want to see this whore fucked. If your idea is good, maybe I’ll let you come and enjoy her too.” With that, he shuts the camera off and closes out of the streaming site.

My body is still limp on the bed. I feel him settle next to me and pull me close before brushing my hair away from my forehead and kissing my nose.

“Do you think they liked me?” His murmurs.

“They loved you,” I say, breathless and drowsy from what we just did.

“I hope so, I wouldn’t want my debut on your stream to make a bad first impression,” he says, frowning down at me a little. It makes me let out a soft laugh.

I tilt my head up to kiss his jawline, “Only you would fuck the life out of me on livestream and then worry that you did a bad job.”

I giggle again and he grumbles back at me, “Shut up and sleep, I’ll clean up.” His kiss on my forehead is the last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep.

[itwasntaphasema]

OverFlow

Paring: Hyperspermia!König x Lactating!Reader

Word Count: 1,412

Warnings: [18+] Smut, lactation kink, hyperspermia (excessive ejaculation), masturbation (fleshlight use), obsession, voyeuristic fantasy, unspoken tension.

A/N: okay okay, so I was debating which one to upload cuz I have like another one I made but I feel like you guys would like this one??? But either way if this gets at least 50 notes then I’ll post the other one

****************************************************************

König hadn’t looked her in the eyes in over a week.

Not because he didn’t want to but because every time he did, his thoughts spiraled. His gaze would lock onto her chest, even if it was covered in a standard-issue tee or hidden behind the plate of her vest. His mind would conjure that image faster than his training could suppress it:

Her shirt pushed up, bunched awkwardly under her chin. Her hand wrapped under the heavy swell of one breast, thumb stroking gently toward the darkened, swollen nipple as she hissed softly through her teeth. Her other hand clutched a portable pump, trembling a little from either fatigue or sensitivity.

He hadn’t meant to see it.

Hadn’t expected her to be in the corner of the barracks, behind the line of storage crates, expression pinched with discomfort as milk beaded over her skin.

She hadn’t seen him. Not at first.

He’d frozen in place, barely breathing, heart pounding loud in his ears. He should’ve turned around. Should’ve announced himself. Should’ve done something.

But all he could do was stare.

All he could think was how full she must be.

And from that day forward, König hadn’t been able to see her the same.

She was part of KORTAC.

Strong, sharp. Quiet, like him.

They’d spoken a few times short exchanges during debriefings, polite nods in the cafeteria. Nothing deep. Nothing more than passing words.

But now, everything had changed.

Not for her. Not from what he could tell. She still treated him the same neutral, professional, soft-spoken.

But König?

He couldn’t look at her without getting hard.

Without imagining how heavy her chest must feel under her gear, how warm her milk would taste on his tongue. How she’d sound with his head buried between her breasts, hips twitching as he painted her insides white.

He started avoiding her altogether.

Which only made it worse.

The fleshlight wasn’t standard-issue.

He’d ordered it weeks ago before he’d seen her, before he’d lost all sense of discipline. It had sat unopened in his trunk, tucked between boxes of rations and ammo like it was something shameful.

But now?

Now he used it every night.

Not gently. Not quietly.

Not without thinking about her.

It started again just after midnight.

Everyone else was asleep. The lights were dimmed, the barracks quiet except for the occasional creak of bunk beds and distant hum of electronics.

König laid flat on his cot, sheets pushed down, boxers halfway down his thighs. The slick, soft toy clenched around him with each slow thrust of his hips.

He grunted under his breath, teeth clenched. One arm thrown over his eyes, the other working the toy with practiced rhythm.

In his mind it was her.

Not the version of her from the gun range or briefings.

But that version.

The flushed one. The aching one.

The one who pressed her breasts together as she tried to relieve the pressure face twisted in discomfort, her nipples hard and dripping, so desperate to be emptied.

He imagined her crawling onto his lap, whispering that she was too full. That she needed him. That only his mouth or cock would make the ache go away.

He grunted louder, pace quickening, slick suction echoing in the quiet room.

He could feel it building like a pressure in his gut, a heat that coiled deep and low. His balls had been tight for hours, so heavy it made him twitch just from shifting in his seat at dinner.

It was always like this now.

Every time he came, it was too much.

Rope after rope. Messy, hot, overwhelming.

Hyperspermia.

The medic had told him it was stress.

He’d almost laughed.

It wasn’t stress.

It was her.

His thighs trembled as he rutted faster into the toy, hips bucking up, his mind full of warm milk and soft skin, of her hand gently guiding him between her legs and whispering, “It’s okay… you can come inside, I’m already leaking too much…”

That did it.

König groaned loud, broken his back arching as he came hard.

Hot spurts flooded the toy, thick and forceful. His hips kept twitching as he spilled again and again, until it was too much and leaking from the sides.

His chest heaved. His hand shook.

It was the fourth time this week.

And it was never enough.

He saw her again the next morning.

She was in the locker hall, adjusting her gear. One hand lifted instinctively to tug at her vest right over her chest.

König’s throat went dry.

He couldn’t look away.

Not when her fingers pressed, just for a second, into the padded plate. As if testing if the ache was back.

She caught his stare.

Her eyes met his.

He froze.

And for the first time, something flickered in her gaze.

Not annoyance. Not confusion.

But something else.

Soft.

Curious.

Almost like she knew.

He turned away before she could speak.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t dare.

That night, he came even harder.

****************************************************************

If anyone wants to be tagged in future fanfic don’t hesitate to ask💕💕

[pitlanepeach]

Figure It Out | Prologue

Max Verstappen x Isla Harrington (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Isla Harrington’s life is upended after a one-night stand with Max Verstappen leaves her a single-mom. Four years later, Max decides that he wants in — and neither of them are ready for what that means.

Warnings — Surprise baby trope, one night stands, co-parenting, grovelling, bullying and harassment, coming of age, angst and fluff.

Notes — Welcome to the Figure It Out universe!

January, 2025

The sauce was nearly ready.

Isla gave it one last stir, the wooden spoon scraping softly along the curve of the pan. The scent of garlic and crushed tomato clung to the air, tempered with basil, warm and sun-heavy like the late afternoon itself. Outside, the Tuscan hills rolled lazily toward the horizon, golden light pooling across the fields like spilled honey. The cottage windows were thrown open to the breeze, gauzy curtains fluttering like breath.

Inside, it was chaos.

Not the wild kind — not sharp, not overwhelming. Just the clutter of a life that had roots. Shoes by the door. A scattering of crayons under the table. The low hum of music playing from the Bluetooth speaker, some lilting Italian folk song with too much accordion and far too much heart. It made Isla smile as she stirred. She knew every word now, even if she still stumbled over the verbs.

Finn sprinted barefoot into the kitchen, limbs flying, cheeks flushed with delight. “Time?” he gasped, clutching the bright orange stopwatch in his hand.

Isla glanced at it, though she hadn’t pressed the button. “Four-point-one-two,” she told him gently.

He dropped to the floor with a dramatic sigh. “Nooo,” he groaned, flopping backwards. “I was faster last time.”

“You were,” she agreed, crouching beside him, tucking a damp curl behind his ear. “But that’s what happens when we run too many laps before dinner. You’re fast, sweetheart. You don’t have to be fastest every time.”

He tilted his head up, eyes wide and gleaming — Max’s eyes, painfully so. “Faster than a cheetah?”

She gave him a soft smile. “Definitely faster than a cheetah.”

He grinned, already bouncing back to his feet, stopwatch in hand.

Isla straightened up, ducking automatically as he flew past, a blur of socks and determination. She moved to the stove, twisting the knob slightly, and stepped over one of the toys littered across the floor.

It chirped to life as she nudged it accidentally — a plastic truck with mismatched wheels and a cheery voice that sang in tinny, chipper Dutch. “Ik ben jouw vriend! Zullen we samen spelen?"

Isla paused, her smile curving without humour.

It wasn’t the only Dutch toy in the house, but it was the first. A gift from the elderly couple who ran the toy shop near the piazza — kind and soft-spoken, with their thick Limburg accents and insistence that “a boy should always know where he comes from.” Isla hadn’t protested. She hadn’t explained.

Just nodded, and let them hand her a cardboard box full of their grown sons’ old toys.

She’d never pretended Max didn’t exist.

How could she? His presence — or his absence — bled through everything. Finn’s eyes. His competitive streak. His tantrums when he came second place in any competition.

But Isla had never spoken Max’s name aloud in front of their son. Not because she was angry. Not even because she wanted to protect Finn from him. It was more complicated than that. A grief with too many edges.

She gave Finn the parts of himself she could. The Dutch words she learned from books. A flag beside his Italian and Welsh ones on the shelf. Stroopwafels once a month, and a lullaby she couldn’t sing without her voice catching in her throat.

She’d filled the space Max had left — not with silence, but with softness. With enough love that Finn never asked why it was only the two of them.

He didn’t know what was missing.

And Isla had made peace with that.

Or at least… she thought she had.

Until the dog three doors down started barking. One short, frantic burst. Then another.

Then came the knock.

Three sharp taps.

Measured. Intentional. Not the kind you heard in a sleepy Italian town where people let themselves in with wine and gossip.

Finn stilled mid-sprint.

“Is that Granny?” He asked hopefully.

Isla wiped her hands on a tea towel, heart suddenly too loud in her chest. “I don’t think so, baby,” she said, voice soft. “Probably someone who needs directions. Go in the living room and stay there, please.”

He nodded and ran off, a blur of red and blue and coconut scented body wash. 

She moved toward the door slowly. Her hands were shaking. She didn’t know why.

The sky had turned lavender now, streaked with peach. A breeze lifted the hem of her white cotton shirt as she reached for the door.

She opened it.

And the world stopped.

Max.

He looked older. Not drastically — the same strong jaw, the same defiant posture — but the sharpness in his expression had deepened. His hair was shorter, tidier. His hoodie was dark, hands shoved deep into the pockets. His eyes, those eyes, flicked up the moment the door swung open.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

She felt everything all at once. Four years collapsing into a single breath. The weight of the choice he’d made. The ache of the years she’d survived without him. The instinct to shield, to protect — flaring up behind her ribs like fire.

Behind her, a toy crackled to life.

"Zullen we samen spelen?"

Max’s gaze flicked past her, into the soft, warm chaos of her kitchen. At the little boy who was peeking around the threshold of the hall — brown curls, tomato sauce on his chin, stopwatch clutched in his hand.

At the life he hadn’t touched.

At the son he’d never met.

Max didn’t speak right away. His gaze stayed fixed past her shoulder, into the warm hum of the cottage, where a little boy’s laughter still echoed faintly from the other room. The sound cut through him. Not loud — but sharp in its innocence.

And Isla watched his face shift.

Watched something in him unravel at the edges, just for a second.

“What—” his voice broke, just a little, like he hadn’t thought this part through. “What’s his name?”

Her chest tightened. She hadn’t heard his voice in person for over four years, and now here he was, asking the question he’d once never wanted answered.

“I-” she stammered. And then firmer, the words hardening in her throat. “Finn. His name is Finn.”

He flinched. Barely. But she saw it.

Isla drew in a breath, steadying herself against the ache rising too fast beneath her ribs. “Why are you here?”

Max looked at her then. The Max she remembered — sharp cheekbones, tired eyes, the kind of stillness that came from holding too much back. But there was something else. Something quieter. Like guilt had found a permanent place in his posture.

“I made a mistake,” he said.

Isla laughed — not cruelly, just bitter, broken at the edges. “Really?”

Silence.

“You didn’t lose your passport, Max. You didn’t miss a flight or accidentally insult your waiter.” Her voice rose, just slightly, the first crack in an otherwise calm exterior. “You told me not to have him. You told me you couldn’t be a father — wouldn’t be. No matter what I decided to do; you didn't want any involvement.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She stepped out onto the stone step, closing the door slightly behind her. Not all the way — never all the way, in case Finn needed her — but enough to put space between her family and the man who’d chosen to be a stranger.

“Do you know what it’s like,” she said, voice tight, “to raise a child knowing the one person who shares his blood decided he didn’t want him before he ever met him?”

Max’s eyes flickered. Shame sat heavy in them now, dulling the sharpness she remembered from the media pens and post-race paddocks.

“I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know what?” she snapped, her control finally fraying. “That he’d be kind? That he’d be brilliant and fast and funny? That he’d love go-karts and make little pit stop noises when he runs around the kitchen?”

The air between them felt suddenly thin.

“You didn’t want to know,” Isla continued, softer now, but fiercer. “You made it so clear. I didn’t beg. I didn’t ask for help. Not a single penny. I just walked away, Max. And I’ve made a life for him without you.”

Her eyes shone, but she didn’t let herself cry.

“I gave him everything I never had. Warmth. Stability. A home, a full fridge, warm water. He has a solid bedtime routine and a bookshelf full of stories and three different languages swimming around in his head — including Dutch.”

Max blinked fast.

“You think you can show up now because your career’s in a quiet spot? Because the champagne’s dried and the next title doesn’t feel urgent anymore?” Her voice broke, not from anger, but heartbreak. “You don’t get to claim him now that it’s convenient.”

She felt her bottom lip wobble a little. “You didn’t want to be his father, Max. I made peace with that. And it was so hard, but I did. I did it for you, because that's what you wanted.” She whispered. 

Behind her, Finn giggled — a breathless, delighted sound, probably finding new ways to time himself on his sprints.

Isla turned her head, just slightly, at the sound. Then looked back at Max, her eyes wet, gut twisted painfully. “Please, Max. Don’t confuse the sound of a happy child with an open door.”

Then she stepped back inside and closed it; gently. Not with a slam. Just with quiet finality.

Max stood alone on the doorstep, the Tuscan sun bleeding gold against the hills behind him.

And inside, a little boy with his eyes (God, with his face) started to laugh. 

[kunasthiast]

madness

It started innocently enough.

“Here. Happy anniversary, brat!” 

Sukuna handed you a big ass box (his gift), grinning like he’d just given you the solution to all your life problems. You took it, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Wow, you’re really splurging on me, babe. What’s inside?”

“Just open it.”

“Okay fine –” you tore off the wrapping and blinked. “What the fuck is this?” You asked nicely with shock as you stared at your husband’s gift, utterly baffled.

Because, really. What the fuck was this? Inside the big box… were six smaller boxes.

And as someone who’s chronically online (admit it, the only apps you ever open are twitter – you still refuse to call it ‘X’ – for F1 updates, tumblr, instagram, youtube, and pinterest), your algorithm had NEVER shoved this thing in your face.

Sukuna, on the other hand, looked way too smug about it. Arms crossed, smirk in place, even throwing in a wink for good measure.

“That, my dear wife, is a fucking Labubu.”

“A what?”

 “A Labubu,” he repeated, as if that explained anything.

“Huh?”

“You seriously haven’t heard of it?” Sukuna blinked, feigning shock. “Weird. I thought you were the one most updated between us.”

“Well yeah, but not with… whatever this is,” you narrowed your eyes as you shot back. “Mostly just F1, Stardew, and some new game drops. Not this.”

“Oh well,” he shrugged. “Just open one already.”

“Fine,” you sighed, grabbing a box and tearing into the packaging.

“Huh, why is there another plastic inside?”

“Obviously, because it’s a blind box, brat,” Sukuna replied, his tone dripping with amusement.

“Pfft, why are you so impatient today?”

“I’m just very excited for your reaction”

You narrowed your eyes, again, at your husband and said, “No, really. Tell me, babe.”

“Just open it. Stop stalling.”

“Hmp, fine –” and you ripped the plastic open.

Then you squinted. “What the hell am I looking at?”

Inside was a tiny, goblin-looking creature. You held up the plush toy in your hands, inspecting it like it was an alien artifact. It had big round eyes, sharp little teeth, and fur that made it look like a cross between a mischievous raccoon and... a gremlin.

"It's cute," Sukuna declared, like that was the only justification needed.

“You’re telling me this –”you wiggled the plushie at him, still very skeptical about this whole gift thing, “– is supposed to be cute?”

“Obviously.”

“Sukuna. This thing looks like it’s gonna scam me out of my life savings and then laugh about it.”

“Exactly,” he smirked. “Just like you.”

You gasped, clutching your chest. “Wow. So that’s what you really think of me, huh?”

“Don't act so shocked.” He leaned in, voice dropping to that infuriatingly smug drawl. “You did swindle me into marrying you.”

“Excuse me? I swindled you?”

“Mhm.”

“You literally begged me to marry you.”

“Did I?” He tilted his head, playing dumb.

“Yes.” You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “You were down bad. It was embarrassing, honestly.”

Sukuna scoffed. “I don’t recall.”

“Should I pull up the texts?”

“Anyway,” he cut you off, reaching for another box inside the box set, “open the other ones. You’ve got five more to go.”

You eyed him warily. Then the box. Then back at him. “…Why do I feel like you just dragged me into some weird collector's cult?”

“It’s not a cult—“

“That’s exactly what someone in a cult would say.”

Sukuna just chuckled and handed you the next box.

You sighed, opening it—because at this point, you might as well embrace your fate. After opening all the boxes, you set them on your shelf, thinking that was that. Oh, if only you know how wrong you were.

A week later, you found yourself scrolling through Labubu forums. You don’t know how it happened. One moment, you were researching out of sheer curiosity – and then it was 3AM. Sukuna was fast asleep beside you, and you were staring at photos of different Labubu plushies and figurines, heart pounding like you’d just discovered a new religion.

Wait… are these actually kinda cute?

No.

No, no, no.

You turned your phone off. Absolutely not. And put in on your bedside table. No way in hell.

But the next day, you found yourself staring at your Tasty Macarons Labubus a little too long. And your husband? Of course, he noticed this.

“Babe.”

No response.

He moved closer, sitting beside you on the couch. “Babe, you’ve been ignoring me. What’s up?”

“…Huh?” This time, you finally tore your gaze away from your shelf and turned towards your husband and said, “Nothing, don’t worry.”

“You sure? You look like you’re about to shut down.”

Ttruth be told, you were debating whether to check out the Have a Seat collection sitting in your cart since 3AM or not. But you’d rather die than admit that to Sukuna.

And then another week passed, and somehow – somehow – your new collection arrived. Your husband took one look at it and raised a brow.

“So that’s why you’ve been out of it all week.”

“What do you mean?” You shot back.

“Babe,” he drawled, smirking. “I knew you’d get addicted,” he simply added with his I-know-everything-about-you tone. “Next thing you know, you’ll be selling your soul to rare editions.”

“Pfft, no way.”

“Uh-huh. Give it two weeks before you start spiraling.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a phase, babe.”

It was not a phase. You were wrong. Sukuna was right. Always right.

Because a week later, you nearly had a breakdown when Sukuna surprised you with three big-ass plush dolls – Angel in Cloud, I Found You, and Catch Me If You Like Me.

“Oh my God, they’re so fucking cute,” you whispered, clutching one to your chest like it was your firstborn.

And your ever-loving husband? He just flashed that signature smirk of his, watching you descend into madness. As if he’s actually supporting (more like enabling) you going crazy over these plush toys.

Another week passed, and you found yourself pressing “checkout” on the Coca-Cola Special Set. Then, not even a week passed but in just 3 days, you went full psycho mode, caving in and splurging on all the special edition Labubus – Wings of Fortune, Happy Halloween, Wings of Fantasy, Fall in Wild… and more.

At this point, your soul had left your body, and you refuse to do the math on how much you had spent. And as they say: denial is a healthy coping mechanism.

By the time your birthday (just a week later passed) rolled around, Sukuna dropped the biggest bomb yet and gifted you four entire boxed collections which are all lined up on the dining table, wrapped with a pretty ribbon.

You gasped. “FOUR?!”

Yes, you were losing your mind. You were in Labubu fucking heaven. This was no longer a phase. This was a full-blown lifestyle.

And your husband? He was just watching. Amused. Satisfied. Like a man who had bet on the right horse.

“You’re so gone,” he smirked.

You clutched your new babies and agreeing with him, “I am so gone.”

But you see, there was one problem. Scratch that, four problems.

After all your collections, the only ones missing were the Mega Sketch Labubu 1000% and the elusive secret plushies from all the pendant sets. I mean what are you even gonna hang on your designer bags for next week? Here’s when your true descent into madness began.

As a woman on a mission, you scoured the internet, joined every damn collector’s group to hunt these secrets down. And after an intense bidding war – finally – you secured the three missing secret plushies.

For… a mere $700.

The cherry on top? Once these plushies came, you ended up opening all boxes and inside were fucking Lafufus. The knock-off ones who don’t even look the exact same.

Of course and obviously, you cried. And Sukuna? Oh bless the Gods everywhere, your husband was pissed. Not just the mildly annoyed kind of pissed – it’s the you-are-the-biggest-dumbass-I’ve-ever-married kind of pissed. In short, he was fucking livid.

“Are you kidding me?” He grumbled, rubbing his temples with one hand and the other patting you on the back with you crying for hours now since you opened those damn boxes. “I told you to double-check before buying from random sellers, dumbass.”

“I did check!”

He shot you a look and said, “For someone who triple-checks F1 rumors, you forgot this one time where it involves your money, brat.”

“I panicked!” You wailed. “The seller said it someone else was gonna buy it if I don’t act fast.”

He exhaled, slow and controlled. “You fucking idiot.” And yes, he’s done with your bullshit. For the next two days, he said nothing about Labubus. Which meant you were suffering in silence.

With your husband being him, even after all that, even after your idiotic decision-making, he still went and did what he does best – spoiling you rotten.

On the third day of Labubu silence, you woke up to a giant box sitting in the middle of your living room.

You gasped, scrambling to tear the wrapping open. And there it was, in all its oversized glory – the Mega Sketch Labubu 1000%. And right next to it? Three, small neatly wrapped packages.

Your hands shook as you opened them. And when you did, your soul left your body. Yes, it was that crazy for you.

Inside were the three secret plushies. The real ones!

You turned to look at Sukuna, eyes wide with tears and disbelief. And yes, you’re on your knees, grabbing the couch for support, “You… you did not. No fucking way this is real!”

Sukuna smirked, arms crossed. “Well, I did, baby. And it’s real. And just so I don’t forget, happy belated birthday, dumbass.”

Still can’t believe that all of this is true, your jaw dropped. “I – HOW?! THESE ARE – THEY’RE LIKE – THEY’RE IMPOSSIBLE TO GET??? IT’S SOLD OUT EVERYWHERE!”

“I have my ways.”

You choked on air. “SUKUNA!”

He just shrugged and leaned on the doorway, looking way too pleased with himself. “Figured I’d complete your collection before you go and do something stupid again.”

You threw yourself at him, clinging to him like a koala, tears in your eyes. “You’re the best husband ever, oh my god.”

“Ugh – get off!” He groaned, trying to pry you off him.

“NOPE! NEVER LETTING GO! You love me so much, it’s actually embarrassing for you”

“Tch. As if.”

“You doooo,” you cooed, snuggling closer. “You got me my dream Labubu even though I made the dumbest purchase of my life.”

Sukuna sighed, but his hand was already under your butt and squeezing them. “Yeah, yeah. You’re still a dumbass, brat.”

You pouted. “Rude.”

And so, with your ultimate Labubu collection complete, you swore you were done. No more. This was it. The final haul.

The next week, your doorbell rang. Sukuna frowned as he stared up from his laptop and called for you, “Babe, did you order something again?”

“Nope!”

You ran towards the door and find another large parcel sitting on your doorstep. And yes, you just remembered, you did order something… when you were sulking over that scamming situation.

You brought the box inside and set it in the middle of your living room. With Sukuna who stopped his reading and raised a brow at you. Giggling, you opened the box and yes inside was an entire Space Molly figurine set.

You turned to Sukuna in slow motion.

He just let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down his face. 

“You’re fucking hopeless.”

“Ehh, you still love me.”

a/n: this was one of the reasons why i was gone for a month or two. i was fucking livid with these damn blind boxes. especially, labubus! but thanks heavens, all my blind boxes were gifted to me and i haven't spent a dime yet on any of these blind boxes... and please... this hasn't been edited nor proofread yet aaaa

[rinis-rift]

the simple joys in life..

ꕥ the saja boys thought their manager was too nonchalant for the human world, but after dragging them outside, it turns out that it's NOT nonchalance but just a lack of understanding. Cat cafe with Mystery/ self care night with rom+baby/ bath house with jinu+abby. <fluff>

manager!male! reader x saja boys (sort of separated? done in pairs)

wc: 3.4k

extra: i haven't written in a while + i had trouble characterizing everyone so i hope you like what i ended with :D + I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE NONCHALANT PPL (first post in this account lets go!!) + i need more not fem readers 😔

That stern expression you wore could dent a mountain if you wanted to. But regardless of it, the lavender haired male in front of you wouldn't budge either, he came to you with a request to take you to a 'cat cafe'. Like, what even is that? You hardly remember what a cat even looks like.

"I apologize Mystery, but you can eat the cats at the cat cafe on your own this time," You reply, turning away to continue making and editing the schedule for the day of their first award they would receive for their debut song.

"You pet them." The voice behind you corrects, you perk up at the sound of that.

"You don't eat them?", you ask, Mystery shakes his head. A silent pause ensues.

You look down at your tablet, your eyes skimming over the work you already finished. You don't notice the small movement in Mystery's shoulders, the silent and expectant shift in them as a silent moment passes.

You finally turn off the ipad in your hands, looking back up at him, "Sounds... intriguing," you reply in a cool tone, putting down the electronic, and on that same note, sickly pink smoke erodes your body as you transform into your human form.

Mystery and the group knows you don't wear your human form often as you're always inconspicuous to the public and so, there was never a need to do so. So Mystery simply drinks in the sight, your aura of isolation was weakened by a lot, but that half lidded look in your eyes made sure you reeked of that same untouchable energy.

You looked softer, the jagged vines that would mark you a demon now had no place on your skin. Your fangs had shortened, that sharp look in your eye numbed aesthetically. A sight for sore eyes.

And with that, you both went out for the cat cafe.

While Mystery was wearing a hoodie to better hide his identity, you showed your face with no problem. You don't notice the rosy cheeks of the clerk that was working when both of you arrived, the small slip in her words as she escorts you to a corner of the cat and kitten filled room goes unnoticed by you.

You sit down, your ankles against your bottom as your hands fold neatly on your lap, scanning the room. Mystery sits in front of you, much more relaxed, almost instinctively taking a feather toy to swing around.

You look around the pastel room, decorated with cat towers, cabinet boxes- some had canned fish, in a different corner you saw many pet beds, some of them already occupied by the cats. The room was such a contrast to you, your midnight black cargo pants clashing with the light colors of the hardwood floors.

By the time you return your attention to the demon in front of you, your bombarded by the sight of Mystery being a cat magnet. Two kittens stretching their paws and hopping to try and catch the feather on a string. A bigger cat rubbing their head against his side, another one in his lap, the tail patting Mystery's thigh softly.

You're startled by the abrupt appearance of the felines, but now that you were really looking at them. You couldn't help but soften, that shift in your brow made you look less cold. Your vision scanned from kitten to cat, their seemingly fluffy bodies looking like a symbol of temptation. (cuteness aggression)

Their big doe eyes or the low purring you picked up that was vibrating from their bodies, the way their nose would wrinkle when they sniffed, the undeniably cute sounds of mewing that echoed in the room. It stirred something old within you.

Unbeknownst to you, you were leaning forward, towards the little critters. This is such a minute action, yet it drew Mystery's attention. For him, the most emotion he's seen from you is you moving your eyebrows. That's it. whether its out of annoyance, satisfaction, frustration- basically, emotions are a rarity if its from you.

So seeing you adapt a new shine in your eyes, it was quite a rare sight. To help you indulge, Mystery then scooped a kitten carefully and places it at your knees. You were surprised, and looked down at the kitten, it stared at you back.

After a tense moment of a stare-off, it finally crawled closer and climbed into your lap, tapping at your closed hands to move, you moved them. What a diva.

The little one curled up and closed its eyes, your expression doesn't change. And a swirl of an unexplainable emotion courses through you. Your hand raises with uncertainty, you look at Mystery's actions, his petting motions- you mimic them.

Your hands brush the fur with uncertainty, barely even grazing the dozing creature, you were touching it like it was a porcelain doll, like it would shatter at any moment. Mystery’s lips tilted upwards at your pursed lips.

It was very new to see his manager be so cautious and so.. bewildered at something. You always held such a mature persona around the boys, so to see your eyes host a cautious glimmer, it renewed how Mystery perceived you.

He could even say that you looked endearing in this moment. That small furrow in your brow, the expression of inquisitiveness, something so unlike you. You, who was roughened by the fate to be a demon, he always saw your guard up everywhere. And to see it falter under a guise of a kitten.

It brings a smile to his face.

By the time your session ended, you had been buttered up by the little pets, their adorable ministrations brought a wave of enjoyment you haven't experienced in a while. A ghost of a smile played on your lips as you both exited the café.

Mystery walks next to you, staring at his phone screen, he had taken some photos while you were hypnotized by the charms of the cats you encountered.

His eyes travel around the photo, that small upward pinch in your lips that somehow met your eyes. A kitten in your hands that extended its paw to your nose, tapping it.

That alone was a cute and heartwarming scene, but to see his usually silent and untouchable manager become a curious being who's actions didn't reflect that usual coolness, but instead reflected a new side of interest.

You were always such an enigma and every new discovery just added to that. He can’t wait to figure you out.

ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ

Even though you protested his advances, tonight it was inevitable. Now here you were, sitting very still for him, dressed in silk nightwear, adorning hairclips that brushed your bangs out of your face, how nice.

"Did you know that frowning too much gets you wrinkles?" Romance asks you, when you dip your head down to nod, you're interrupted by the pink haired man's index finger.

He tilts your chin up with a sultry look, his monolid eyes holding that pretentious look, like you were just one of his many fans that lined up for a spec of his time and attention. And if that affected you in anyway, you didn't let that feeling rise to the surface, but it irked him that you hid your feelings so well.

Romance hums an elegant tune as he rubs the toner onto your cheeks, your neutral face not budging despite the flirtatious advancements from the pink haired demon.

Beside him, slumped in a beanbag, lays the rapper of the group, staring at the ceiling as he keeps trying to find a song he likes to play from the bluetooth speaker. After staring daggers at the ceiling like a dead body, Baby shifts to look at the duo.

As normal, you sat like a fucking monk, perfect posture, you don't care enough to note that Romance's fingers would bump into your lips, barely grazing over your bottom lip. It flies over your head, but straight through Baby's..

When all parts of your face is glowing slightly under the pink LED lights, Romance trudged off of you and reached into his little self care kit.

He never guessed that self care would be such a joy for him, always one interested to buy beauty products, even though the fact of him being a demon guaranteed his clear skin and perfectly proportioned face- he still used skincare like any human with things like hormones and such.

For that same reason, you never bothered with trivial rituals like this. Not because you thought it was below you, but because you never saw a real reason to, (thought it was a waste of funds and time.). But tonight, Romance had managed to rope in Baby and by extent, you.

You couldn't deny that the cool and slight breeze that blew from the light air conditioning felt calming against your slick skin. You don't notice how thoughtful your eyes look as they glimmer under the lights. Witnessing Romance and Baby half tackle each other just to try and get Baby to wear the face mask.

Baby was acting like an irritating elementary schooler, rolling his eyes to the moon and back, inching away at the mask because "I'm not a teenage girl". When you saw that the banter wouldn't end soon, you decide to open your mouth.

"Baby, you should at the very least try it, he doesn’t just like things for any reason." You calmly intercept, speaking from your spot, it surprises the two, causing them to crane their heads towards you.

You never really spoke unless your call and voice were necessary to the whole soul stealing operation. Which meant you’re well-meaning professional, yes, but it meant that seeing you speak because you simply wanted to was a rare sight. An action so meaningless to you, but an opportunity that was too few and far between for the boys in the band to miss.

Romance sputters a smirk, looking down at Baby, giving him that 'Now you GOTTA do it' look, which prompts the teal haired demon to let out a defeated noise, flopping his head onto the floor in surrender.

Romance wore a victorious smile as he put the white mask over baby's face, his cheeks and forehead concealed with the mask. Victory. Romance turns around and focuses on you now.

Opening a new pack, he puts the masks over your face. Subconsciously, you closed your eyes and tilted your head up at him, like you were some animal begging for some pets and affection.

It catches Romance off guard, but he tries to proceed as normal, but taking more time with you than he did with the other boyband member in the room. He prays that his corrupted heart could keep it under control.

His pinky finger smoothed out the mask across your face, it felt like a real high quality facial.

A soothing sensation like this, that you haven't felt in what feels like lifetimes. Your stone cold expression starts to falter, your eyebrows rising ever so subtly, a shift in your demeanor doesn't go missed by the two.

Once Romance broke contact, you opened your eyes again, now all the sensations were really kicking in. The silk that laid on your skin, the soft breeze that would ventilate through the room, the ice cold feeling that encased your features. You felt the appeal now.

As Romance turns to do himself, trying to get his shit together, you stood up without a word, you stood up and plopped next to Baby, now returned to his designated spot in the beanbag. Leaning against the side of Romance's bed, your head tilts back against the edge.

Your eyes closed again, Baby gives you a side glance, this is by far the most relaxed he's ever seen you. You always had that high and tall wave of stoic principles that never seemed to budge- all for the mission.

But here you were, melting under the thin coats of relaxation, sure, you seemed composed. But there's no denying the loosened look you had on your face. Like for once your facial muscles budge to make an expression that wasn't boredom or sternness.

Baby changes the song to sound softer.

Romance sits on your other side, after a considerable amount of silence, he checks on you and realizes you actually fell asleep.

At that, he cracks a smile. Not one of his usual, heartthrob smiles but one of genuine amusement. Maybe his manager wasn't all that, he's still a demon, just like the rest of them.

After the designated time of the masks, Romance takes the responsibility to peels of yours, so careful to not rouse you from your peaceful slumber.

And it wasn't like Baby and Romance had much to talk about afterwards, just some light hearted small talk that ended when Romance stood to dim the lights.

Baby took his chance and quietly turned his body horizontal, the crown of his head up against your thigh, his eyes closing as he breathes softly into the fluffy blanket. He didn't feel like the lap was a good idea right now, but he'd compromise for you.

Romance retreats and sits next to you again, he turns and sees your head tilting, and being the romantic he is: he gently guides your head to meet his shoulder- to use it as a pillow.

He leaves a ghost of a kiss in your hair to say goodnight, and he drives the blanket over the both of you, and soon, he falls asleep too.

ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ ꕥ

You’re not sure how you got here. One moment, you were just minding your business and taking a short power nap, and then suddenly, you were being hauled out of the apartment.

By who? None other than the macho guy of the group, Abby. Carrying you like you were just another part of his long workout. You were startled by that itself, a little groggy, but you were wide awake when you felt a hand pat your ass..

You heard laughter beside you as your vision was being obscured by Abby’s back, you were thrown over the shoulder. You recognized the laughter as Jinu.

When the two finally seem to stop, you’re finally released from the bulky man’s tight grip and was finally able to take a deeper breath, calming yourself.

You all stopped in front of a men's bath house, you raise an eyebrow. "What is the meaning of this?" You ask, your only answer was being pulled by the wrist into the building, you didn't bother moving your feet, it was almost like a dog pulling a sled the way Jinu dragged you in.

Arriving at the changing rooms, the two started to strip, when the pink haired demon realized you weren't stripping with them, he pouts, "C'monn, you're the only one who hasn't gone yet,".

"I'd like to go back to my nap." You coolly state.

"Trust me, you'll benefit from this wayy more than a nap," Jinu smiles, wrapping a towel around his waist, you ignore the blatant flexing from the other demon, an impish expression on his face.

You don't even flinch when Jinu's large hands pat both your shoulders, his face peeking over your shoulder. "I expect you'd want to be in perfect shape to be able to serve Gwi-Ma and send him the souls we promised." He purrs.

Your eyes shift from him, to the locker in front of you. You barely let out a sigh and peel off your shirt. The two boys shared a celebratory high five behind you. You ignore it.

You follow the two into the showers, you looked over at the two beside you, and noticed how they washed themselves, you copied them. When was the last time you had been to a bath house?

You were peacefully minding your own business, letting the shower water run down your body, when all of the sudden, you're drenched.

A bucket of shower warm water dumped onto your head, your eyes instinctively close as your shoulders squared, your hair also fell forward, covering your face.

You looked up through your damp strands of hair, staring at the perpetrator, his wide grin doesn't fall at your unconcerned expression.

"Are you an infant Abby?" You ask rhetorically, you lean your head back, running your hand through your hair to brush them out of your vision.

Abby's smirk only grows at your movement, the way water drips down your skin so tantalizing, the subtle glow and shine that sheens over in your human form skin. You think nothing of his ogling, it was Abby, of course he'll look.

He can't help but follow each droplet of water, watching them descend your body like a car window on a rainy day. Personally, you don't have much to hide on your body, so you don't notice him staring past your thighs and at something else.

And next to you, Jinu, who had already finished his shower, stared at you as you scolded Abby for his immature jabs at you. Your body was always being hidden behind dark garbs, so private and kept to yourself, he couldn't stop yourself from looking at this rare occasion. He felt like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time.

The three of you finally walked over to the actual bath, slipping into the hot, steaming water. You sit in between them, you realized that the two of them had an extra towel, Abby had it around his neck, Jinu had it over his shoulder.

You look back straight across the bath, realizing you didn't take an extra one. The raven haired idol notices, and calmly puts his onto your head, like you were a coat rack.

You turn your head to him, Jinu can't tell if its the bath's heat that made his heart stutter, or you. (He can.)

After the initial burning and boiling sensation had passed, like Abby, you slumped your shoulders and sighed lightly. Visibly relaxing, much to the other two's enjoyment.

A comfortable silence overtakes the atmosphere, you could almost say you're at peace. Gwi-Ma's voice came to you not that often, as you were well behaved and had tunnel vision for the mission. But would this be considered a distraction from the ultimate plan? The question slips away as soon as it entered your mind.

Your eyelids droop comfortably as time passes, you don't glance at the clock once. Maybe being uptight all the time had finally caught up to you, as you felt so loose in the large tub.

Abby and Jinu knew better than be loud at this time, god forbid they started an argument, you'd just reprimand and punish them by working even harder for the group.

Your heart slows as you spent more time inside, your hands opened and in your lap, you felt your body unwind. Your cheeks slowly turned an unruly pink, as did the other two beside you.

You're relaxed to the point you don't notice your demonic patterns pulsing on your skin, just barely painting the surface. The way it crawled up your body was divine, truly a sight to drink in like an ice cold beverage in this steam. They both ogle, you think they're being immature, like they were waiting for your reaction.

After a while, like, maybe thirty minutes at this point, for humans, its recommended they get out at 15 minutes to avoid nausea or irritated skin and other side effects, but you were faking being a human, managing to stay in longer.

But at this point, it was starting to get to you, your head started to feel heavy, your chest pulsing because of the heat. You quietly tried to stand, exiting the bath tub, your form slumped, it sent signals to the other two, who followed you out.

The sudden absence of heat made your body shiver slightly, it was cool and made your skin bristle with sensitivity. Prompting a muscular arm to grab yours and threw it over his shoulder, a second, smaller arm did the same.

"Scrawny can't handle a bit of steam huh," Abby teases.

"I don't have nearly as much free time as you," you huff.

"Maybe, or you're projecting," He replies, setting you on the bench, you're still slumped.

If anything, you feel like you need another nap now, you sent an icy glare at the leader of the Saja boys. Surely, what he said at the start was just a ploy to get you involved.

The blush on your cheeks doesn't leave until you all exit the building. It was jarring to see that on you since you never blushed or showed a lot of emotion on your face.. So yes, maybe one of them snapped a photo.

They're so taking you back here.

tags: @tofumiarchives, @tired-xyra-urstruly @charleskinnie

i don't know how i feel about using korean honorifics when im not even learning the language... like ppl using 'san' or 'senpai' cringes me as someone studying japanese, so like, what if someone who knows korean thinks im weird for using 'nim' or something- FUCK SOMEONE LET ME KNOW

ok now i’m gonna try and write my yokai(?)!mc x huntr/x(?) + saja boys becuz i found some ppl who added cool stuff to my ideas :3

[heeseungsbm]

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ‪‪ꫂ ၴႅၴ‬་༘ ₜₑₐₛₑᵣ

𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨

❥ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : surprises. heeseung always had them up his sleeve. but this? this was something different—something he clearly fantasized about behind your back. he knew how tense you got over school. thought about it often, wished to ease it himself. you clearly needed relief, and he'd always been good at relieving stress. tonight, all you had to do was play along, and do what his little gift told you to. (๑>؂•̀

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆❥ : idol bf!heeseung x ♀college student reader

❥ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: smut with plot

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒♡: voyeurism, solo/mutual masturbation, explicit filthy nasty pornographic phone sex, usage of sex toys, squirting, overstimulation, ♂&♀orgasms, erm let me not spoil too much

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝♡

nothing makes you cry faster.

the equations, the formulas, the unnecessary mixing of letters with numbers. because seriously, who the fuck's idea was this? your memory span of a goldfish didn't make it any better.

so, why did you major in chemistry? good question.

... no answer.

your knee bounced as you hunched over at your bedroom desk, having a staring contest with the paper below you. one you were losing terribly.

time for bed.

you peeled the moisturizing sheet mask off of your face, sighing as you tossed it in the mini trash to your left. somehow, standing up felt like sipping an overly carbonated sprite —sharp and chaotic, you nearly fell over feeling the sleep in your legs, a sting in your butt from sitting so long.

but, at least you were home. and even better, home alone for the entire week. your parents were away for their anniversary.

dorming was never a thought going into college. and frankly, you'd eat a jean jacket before doing so. you loved your room. the peace and quiet, your own space and privacy. all the little things in it that reflected your mind.

plus, you can't exactly flick the bean with a roommate always around.

unless you're both, like... really horny lesbians.

ask anyone. chem homework will put you to sleep faster than melatonin, you knew to pamper up before your study session. showered and shaved, dressed in silk sleepwear, your hair pulled back by a plush spa headband. you were all set for a long awaited good night's rest.

you began tidying up on your desk, neatly stacking textbooks, stuffing your papers back in their folders, squeezing highlighters and pens back into their pouch. but few items remained, and they made your busy hands become still.

a half-eaten bar of korean chocolate, van cleef bracelets still in their boxes, a glass vase of pink and white lego flowers next to your new macbook.

heeseung's valentine's day gifts.

there were more that'd been camping in your room for a while, untouched and neglected, still wrapped in their pink ribbons. the pressure of upcoming finals was swallowing you whole, and somewhere in the blur of all-nighters and deadlines, you completely forgot you had a boyfriend 5,000 miles away.

you wondered what heeseung was up to. maybe asleep, whatever time it was in korea. and if not, on his 4th pack of nongshim.

you couldn't help but smile, picking up the vase and admiring the toy bouquet, all of its complex miniature pieces. cherry blossoms and lotuses—your favorite flowers. your boyfriend was so thoughtful.

so sweet.

you thought back to the sweetness of his cherry chapstick. the warmth of his skilled tongue, the way it swirled in your mouth and all the other places that 14th of february.

heeseung was the best kisser, god did it make you so wet. it was so easy to get lost in him, to kiss and kiss until your head spun—until you were dazed and dizzy, drunk off the taste of his lips.

he liked to take his time with you. to tease, to savor the heat of the moment until you whimpered and begged for more.

you didn't realize how much you missed it until now.

he was yours in real life, not some parasocial fairytale that his fans dwelled in. it ate you alive— not being able to show and tell, and it was bittersweet how little you got to see him. heeseung always found small ways to show that he cared, to show how much he missed you, and you clung to them tight. but the space between visits still stung.

you tried not to think about it as much. it was almost like a trauma response—purposely keeping yourself busy so you didn't drown in the heartache. deep down inside, you really missed him.

you set the vase down, turning your head to all the gift bags and boxes by your bedroom door. a wave of guilt crept into your stomach.

you didn't have to open them to know that heeseung put his unwavering love for you into each and every one. he'd probably been waiting to hear what you thought, to hear a thank you. you were curious as to why he hasn't asked, how the two of you had been talking without a mention of them.

it almost felt like there was a reason for his silence. like there was something you had to do first, something you were supposed to uncover on your own.

you tip-toed over quietly, picking up the topmost box. it was noticeably smaller than the others—about the size of a shoebox, but heavier than it looked. you chuckled at the rushed cursive of your name in the corner of the matte white paper.

with a gentle plop onto your bed, you pulled the box into your lap. it was cutely tied with a perfect bow, just like all the others. so heeseung—his little attempts to make all things girly just the way you liked them.

you untied it, and slowly tore apart its wrapping. the top lifted off easily, revealing layers of crinkled pink tissue paper.

you removed them.

and when you did, your breath had never caught so hard in your throat at what lay beneath. like air had been yanked clean out of your lungs.

whatever you'd expected, it wasn't this.

clear and glossy, the most bright neon pink.

a fake penis.

a dildo.

this had to be some fucking joke.

you'd never used a sex toy before, nor had heeseung ever brought up the idea. it wasn't like you were completely closed off to the thought, it just seemed unnecessary. with the stress of work and school, there wasn't a horny bone in your body by the end of the night. not a spare second for you to crave anything other than sleep.

you picked up the dildo, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of it.

a chronic masturbater would've loved it. gummy-like to the feel, textured with scarily realistic veins. even the balls looked real.

it was so... big. and heavy.

you had to admit, it was a nice looking dick. but what made your stomach whirl the most —it was oddly similar to heeseung's length and girth, almost like he'd gotten it made custom to replicate himself. your two hands barely fit around it as you analyzed it in your grip.

you looked around your room—as if someone could've been watching—and quickly tucked it back safe, covering it with tissue. but when you did a double take into the box, there was more.

there it was. delicate, deceiving in its soft appearance.

another toy. a rose toy.

you'd heard about this one before, just never felt the urge to try it out yourself.

well... until now.

maybe it was just the curiosity, but excitement began to flicker within you. you picked it up, studying its petal-like designs. it was portable, and pretty. girls seemed to adore this rose—how it made them see stars, left their legs shaking like never before, how it sucked so much better than a man.

but it seemed impossible. no way could it beat your man.

not with the mouth he has.

you were still trying to make sense of heeseung's intentions. because... why? it wasn't like you'd asked for these, or ever complained about the lack of sex. if anything, waiting for him only made it better, more intense, more worth it.

what on gods green earth was he thinking?

and just when you thought the surprise was over, you spotted it. tucked beneath a final layer of tissue at the very bottom of the box was a single folded piece of paper. two words screamed at you on the front: read me.

your fingers hesitated, almost shy. your heart raced with anticipation as you opened it. your eyes skimmed over what was obviously heeseung's handwriting, except this time it was small and neat—more thoughtful in pink ink.

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘦 ᥫ᭡

𝘐 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘜𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦. 𝘚𝘰𝘢𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴. 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵. 𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘎𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘏𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 ꨄ

𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘏𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨 ༝༚༝༚

like ❤︎ reblog ❤︎ comment ❤︎ masterlist ❤︎ 💌me

[rafesteddy]

𝓓𝓘𝓛𝓕!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓜𝓘𝓛𝓕!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓐𝓤

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝟻 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚗’𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚐 𝚊𝚜𝚔…

998 words

c/w: none

Based on an ask I got about the dynamic between the twins and the members of their family—Max with the twins, Winnie with the twins, and Rafe with Poppy

𝓡𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮…

Mom’s out of town for a girls’ weekend, so it’s just the guys today: Rafe and Rory wandering the toy aisle while Winnie and Poppy are off at the nail salon.

Rory’s being good, so good. As always.

He strolls past most things without a word, pointing out toys Pop would love more than anything else: “Poppy would like that,” “That’s Lovie’s favorite color, daddy,” “Pop has one of those already.”

Rafe gently takes his small hand, steering him quicker past the Lego aisle but Rory hesitates and glances back, that look on his little face unmistakable.

Rafe feels the guilt instantly. And sure enough, Rory tugs on his hand with surprising force for a small, little guy. “C’mon, Daddy. Let’s go.”

His eyes practically double in size the moment they step into the Lego section—mouth parting in awe.

Rafe’s pointing at the Duplo sets first, humoring himself. “Hey, Roar. How ‘bout these? These are cool, right? We love this. Look at the little farm animals.” Rory humors him right back with a polite hum but it’s clear he’s on the lookout for something—then he spots it.

🟥 The Lego Technic Solar System.

🟥 1132 pieces.

Rory’s entire face lights up—eyes wide and his grin even wider—and with it Rafe dies a little inside.

Rafe crouches beside him, hand resting on Rory’s back, staring at that box. “Hey, Rory. I dunno…” He says carefully. “Your mommy’s gone this weekend… She’s the Lego Lady. I—I am not.”

But Rory’s so sweet. He hasn’t asked for a thing. And this, this is all he wants.

“It’s $59.99…” Rory reads off the price in his little voice as he scrounges in his pocket. “I only have five dollars and eleven cents. Do we have that much money—”

“Oh,” Rafe stops him as he holds out the crumbled five, some change, and a little Lego man he knows for a fact is named “Daddy”, his heart aching that it got to the point the poor kid was offering his Toothfairy money. “Yeah… We got that, buddy,” he mumbles, sweetly, like he’s telling him a secret.

Rafe reaches out and grabs the big box off the shelf. All 1132 bricks falling like a rainstick, sounding like the soundtrack of his personal nightmare.

Rory lets out a squeal and steals it off Rafe’s hands as he looks down at the box like the happiest boy in the world.

ᯓ★

The house is quiet except for the sharp of crinkling plastic bags and Rory’s patient but not too patient little huffs and sighs as he waits.

Rafe sits cross-legged on the living room rug, big body sweating, blue eyes squinting at a vaguely written Lego manual like it’s a puzzle in a Saw movie.

He’s got pieces scattered everywhere, bags opened he shouldn’t, instructions book flipped the wrong way, and Rory hovering beside him, looking over him, touching things he shouldn’t, handing Rafe random pieces he doesn’t need, making dwarf planet with essential pieces as he spouts off like a fountain of knowledge.

Rafe’s muttering under his breath, “Why is this not working… What even is this—this is a seven hole long thing? It wants a seven hole long thing. It should do the thing,” Rafe huffs as he slides his glasses up on his nose. Rory reaches out a little hand, flipping the book—the right way—kissing Rafe on the cheek before he wraps his arms around his daddy’s neck, leaning in as close as he can get.

And then finally Rafe throws his head back, laughing breathlessly. “Thank God,” he breathes to himself, eyes to the ceiling like he’s about to find divine intervention because right on cue he hears the shuffle of big feet.

Jackson steps inside cautiously, a football duffle still slung over one shoulder. “Uh… Hey, Mr. Cameron? You said you—you wanted to talk to me?” Winnie’s boyfriend's voice is deep and shaky, laced with the unease of a boy walking into what he could only assume was hell.

But much to his surprise Rafe looks up at him like a lifeline. “Yeah, man. You’re a Lego kid, no? You like Legos?”

Jackson looks around like maybe he’s being pranked, then chuckles nervously. “Umm… yeah?”

Rafe lets out a long breath as a smile rolls across his lips.

He points at the half-built solar system like it’s the scene of a crime. “Fifty bucks if you finish this. A hundred if you never mention this to anyone else including Win.”

The Maybank boy laughs, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck as he assesses the damage. He can already tell he’ll have to start from scratch—bags one through six ripped open when it’s clear Rafe probably wasn’t even supposed to be past bag three. “Deal, Mr. Cameron.”

“‘Preciate it,” Rafe sighs as he scoops Rory effortlessly into one big arm as he stands. “Thoughts on mac and cheese?” He asks Jackson casually as the two of them walk toward the kitchen.

“Me? Uh—Yeah. Yes, sir. That sounds great.”

Rafe sets Rory on the counter and pulls out two boxes. “Shapes or straight noodles?”

Rory’s little finger shoots straight to the shapes. “Shapes!”

“You got good taste, bud,” Rafe says, shaking his head fondly.

Jackson’s already sitting on the rug, Lego pieces clinking as he starts sorting them with ease. Rafe flicks the stove on, tossing Rory a wink.

“$150?” Rory asks, like he’s gossiping about the same secret from earlier. “That’s a lotta money, daddy.”

“Mhmm,” Rafe hums. He runs the little pot with water and sets it on the hot stove as he takes off his glasses, looking his son in the eyes with a smile. “You got $5.11… That’s a good chunk of change for a kid though.”

Rory’s cheeks go round as he smiles proudly; the two of them leaning a little closer to each other. “And, I’ll double it if you don’t tell the Lego Lady.”

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[shotmrmiller]

in which johnny gifts the love of his life a sex toy outta nowhere

when you mumble into the phone that you miss him, johnny, he pauses for a second, then tells you he's going to bring you a gift back home. "to keep ye company, hen." after, he locks himself in a bathroom stall and watches you play with yourself until you both come.

but you'd thought he'd bring you a pet. a live animal that needs a cage to be brought across the world, not a long, slim unmarked box.

it's a sex toy. and it's rather large, at that. your hand wraps around the base, fingertips still a good inch apart.

"and i'm supposed to be using that?" his arms wrap around your waist, his thick stubble grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, raising goose flesh.

"don't like it? only had ye in mind, hen." he presses a wet kiss on your fluttering pulse. you've never really talked about toys in your relationship. you don't need them, of course, and johnny more than makes up for the time lost between you two whenever he's home but this?

"i don't know," you mumble. "a bullet would've made more sense, i think. at most a rose." his hands run up your sides, to the swell of your breasts and give you a gentle squeeze. he doesn't believe the tripe of people valuing size over all else, does he? the thing is easily as thick as your forearm and it's corded with veins. and it's uncut. whoever is making these are going to extreme lengths to make it as realistic as possible.

he bucks his hips, prominent bulge in his jeans coming to rest in the small of your back. of course he'd get excited. menace.

"ye willnae have t'use it alone now tha' i'm here. 'sides, i think ye'd look perfect with my pretty kitty stretched thin around it." johnny grabs your hips firmly, creating small divots as his grip tightens. "maybe i'll watch ye fuck yerself on it, hm? lap at yer clit while ye do." liquid heat pools in your belly, pulsing hot between your legs.

he really wants you to use it, given by his ragged breathing and he rutting himself against you. fine. "okay. just, not right now, yeah? i want only you in me." his eyes burn fluorescent as he nods, his large hand cradling your head as he pulls you in for a kiss.

you missed this. the sweet sting of his cock sliding home in your aching cunt, the sharp pinch below your navel when his tip comes to sit snugly against the plug of your womb. you've missed this. missed him.

maybe he'll forget all about that monstrosity sitting in the box.

-

he doesn't. he's bringing it up hours later, his spend still dripping warm on your thighs. johnny cannot be serious.

"course i am, hen." his fingers sweep at the hair stuck to your sweat-slick forehead. "is it a crime to want to see ye split open on some- something else?"

you think nothing of his stutter. "alright," you groan. if that's what he wants. it'll be interesting to see just how much you can take. you'll never tell him that your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought, his cum trickling out faster, pooling on the sheets.

-

it's not warm. the tip of it presses against your swollen entrance, cold in contrast to your heated flesh. johnny watches you swallow a gasp, your trembling hands reaching for his as you slide down an inch, two, three. johnny's cum is wonderful lube, but the searing burn- the size of toy is overwhelming, your walls being wrenched apart as you glide down further. johnny presses a prickly kiss on your cheek, cooing in your ear all the while his clever fingers draw gentle circles on your clit. "focus on breathin', bonnie. yer tensin' up."

desire begins to bubble beneath your skin, pleasure causing your muscles to warm and slacken, and after a long couple of minutes, you find yourself at the base.

but then johnny grabs your hips from behind and pulls- oh. "that's it." if you'd thought the toy had originally been in your stomach, it's now in your throat. "pretty as a peach, hen. jus' wha' i wanted to see." a shiver dances up your spine, notches trembling as you get used to the unforgiving stretch of the toy. his breath warms the side of your neck. "on yer go."

you come around it no less than three times, leaving it milky and johnny cleans it up with his mouth before he cleans you up.

-

the girth of it is something you'll never get used to but it does get easier. when johnny goes back to work, he tells you that all he asks for are videos of you using it. for his collection, he greedily says.

you send him as many as you can, no matter the hours. just a quick nsfw text before getting his thumbs up and away it goes. it's incredibly fun. the relationship hadn't been dull by any means, but this just feels invigorating. you feel rejuvenated. that johnny is your biggest cheerleader while using it is such a bonus.

you oughta marry him. maybe you'll elope the next time he's home. but when the next time comes, johnny calls you instead of messaging you the usual be home soon text.

and it sends you reeling.

bonnie. the toy treat ye well while i was gone?

no better than you could me, but yeah. i'm still sore from using it in the last video i sent you.

that's great. if ye like the toy then ye'll love the real thing, i ken. we'll be there in 10.

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜 𝐴𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑

Y/n gets a giant chibi Bakugo plush in the mail

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment and, as usual, Bakugo was the first to get to the door. Not because he was excited to get packages—hell no, he wasn’t some damn golden retriever waiting for a treat—but deep down, though he'd never say it out loud, there was always a little buzz of curiosity when it came to something you ordered.

The box was big. Too big. Bakugo lifted it easily, but frowned at the size.

"What the hell did you order now...?" he muttered, kicking the door shut behind him while carrying the package to the living room.

Not even two seconds passed after he set it down before you came running in like you’d just won the lottery. Your eyes sparkled, your hands trembled with excitement as you looked for scissors.

"Ah! It’s here! Finally!"

"Another damn box, huh?" he grunted, crossing his arms and standing off to the side, watching like a hawk. His scowl didn’t ease even when you sat on the floor, legs crossed, to open it.

The cardboard ripped, plastic flew everywhere, and then—he saw it.

"What the fuck...?" The words got stuck in his throat.

You pulled out a massive plush toy from the box. Not just any plush. No. It was a chibi... of him. Bakugo Katsuki. With those ridiculously big eyes, his signature frown stitched in black thread, even the tiny explosion details on the stuffed gloves. A plush that was eighty damn centimeters tall.

"Look at it, it’s perfect!" you exclaimed, like you’d just received a newborn baby.

Bakugo blinked. Once. Twice. The world around him froze as you stood up, hugged the plush to your chest, and squeezed it like it was treasure.

Your smile was so wide, so genuine, that something shifted inside him.

And he didn’t like it.

"Seriously...?" he asked under his breath, his voice laced with disbelief.

His jaw tightened, brow furrowed so deep it looked like it might never relax. His hands slowly curled into fists—not from anger... okay, maybe, but not like when he was fighting. It was a different kind of irritation. A weird, uncomfortable pinch in his gut.

He was jealous.

Of a plushie.

Of himself.

He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual as he let out a sharp breath.

"You’ve got a damn problem," he finally said, voice low, gruff, but there was something underneath it. Something unsure.

You looked at him from the couch, still hugging the chibi like it was the most adorable thing in the world.

"But look how cute it is. And it’s soft! And it smells good!"

A vein pulsed at his temple. He walked toward you with heavy steps, arms tense, like he might rip the plush from your hands and chuck it out the window. But when he stopped in front of you, he just stared.

You. With those bright, happy eyes. That dumb smile that sometimes knocked the air right out of him. With his goddamn mini-me clutched to your chest like it was worth protecting.

"You don’t need that shitty doll if you’ve got the real deal," he grumbled through his teeth, crouching down to your level.

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Are you jealous...?"

"Don’t fuckin’ start! Of course not!" he snapped instantly, but the tips of his ears flushed red. A quick, annoyed blush that only someone who knew him would catch.

You let out a soft laugh, entertained, and reached out to take his hand. Your fingers brushed over his knuckles gently, and it made him drop his guard for a second—not that he’d ever admit it.

"No matter how many things I have of you, none of them compare to you," you whispered.

He looked away, but didn’t pull his hand back.

"...Still, stop wasting your money on that crap," he muttered.

"Sure, sure," you said, with a smile he knew didn’t mean “sure.”

Bakugo sighed, dropped onto the couch next to you, and gave the oversized plush one last death glare.

He definitely had to keep an eye on that thing. What if you started sleeping with it instead of him? What if you took it to work? What if...?

He growled under his breath.

That plush wasn’t gonna win.

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