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alexiroflife · 11 months ago

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Hello! May I request an angsty toji fic where reader finds out she's pregnant (post megumi) and she knows toji doesn't want anymore children so she just kinda leaves with little to no explanation? Maybe just a small note saying things aren't working out. It's up to you if it will be a hurt/comfort. Idk you don't have to do this request I don't want to overload you! I seriously love your writing. The way you right the character just warms my heart. I especially love ur hiding an Injury fic it was SO SO SO GOOD. 🩶🤍🖤

“promise”

toji fushiguro x reader

Synopsis: see above

to sum it up: you think it’s better to run away than to be the one to get hurt

WC: 5,668

Warning(s): angst, suggestive themes, yelling, pregnancy, mentions of abortion

You stare down at the plastic tube clutched in your trembling hands in awe, eyes blown with shocked grief as you peer closer to get a better look, as though those two bright pink lines could have been a trick of your vision.

Unfortunately, however, your vision remains just as crystal clear as it always has been. As you stand in your cramped apartment bathroom, illuminated by a flickering fluorescent gaze shining down from above, horror befalls you.

You’re pregnant.

You should have known sooner when you began feeling queasy every morning, taking trips to either your or Toji’s toilet to hurl out the contents of whatever swam inside your stomach. You always tried to be silent if Toji was around, for he slept like a dog that could not be woken even if a meteor struck earth, and you had been remarkably exhausted. You aren’t even sure if there is a word to describe how sluggish your entire mind and body had been feeling, but you wanted to rule out the very obvious answer to your problems before exploring it.

You begin to panic, your heart pounding in your ears and throat and every inch of your body you could feel the pulse, eyes blurry over the positive test. You’re conflicted. You don’t know how to feel. On the one hand, you would have been jumping for joy to learn that you are starting a new life with your boyfriend, to step into a new chapter of your lives and to provide his children with another sibling.

But hell, the celebration is far too naive and implausible to be had. The sage eyed man has told you time and time again that he does not wish to have anymore kids, that the ones he has are enough and he is not equipped financially or mentally to care for another brat. In honor of those wishes, you’re on the pill, and consequently, Toji has taken the opportunity to plow his load inside of you time after time after time.

And you really, truly should have known that with Toji’s uniquely abled body, what was meant to serve as a barrier and a means of contraception did not work.

You feel like throwing up. What would Toji say? What would he do? What are you supposed to do? Should you tell him, fill him in on what’s going on to risk rejection and abandonment, a nasty habit that Toji had to work to rid himself of when he met you? Would he even care? Would he listen?

You know Toji to be a very tough man, despite the softened interior he attempts to hide in others’ company that is only displayed for you and for his kids. If he has always been adamant about one thing, it’s been to never have kids again, to focus on where he fucked up before and to pour his attention into the little family he’s grown, the one that he has now.

His voice echoes through your head like the gong of a church bell striking upon the ear’s of a sinner.

“Hell, I already got my hands full tryna get Megumi through his teenage years. What the hell is another child gonna do for us?”

“That shit’s fuckin’ expensive. Not to mention, I’d have to baby proof the house again. That’s another expense.”

“If I was capable of givin’ you y’er own, I would, doll. But I ain’t cut out for it. You know that.”

You don’t even know why he would stress the matter so often. You suppose he’s caught the way your eyes linger on a mother tossing their giggling baby up and down into the air, innocent pools of joy beaming down at her each time it reaches the air and lands in her secure hold. Or maybe he’s seen the way you care so deeply for Toji’s kids as though they are your own, despite telling you when you first got involved with each other that he did not expect you to step into their lives in anyway - and yet, you have done that and more. You know how the kids must struggle each day with the trauma of losing their mother so early on, and you never wanted them to think that you were trying to step in as her replacement, but you love them so clearly, as much as you love the man who created them.

Which leads you to your next concern. How would the kids react?

It’s one thing for you, as their father’s girlfriend, to wander into their lives and help navigate them their teenage hood alongside the dark haired man, but to introduce an entire other child only leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

They may be crushed. They me turn to hate you, to despise how you have contaminated the life they have worked so hard to rebuild after numerous tragedies. And would Toji agree with them? Would he turn his nose up to you, that scowl of his melting over his harsh features as he shuns you just as he shunned every other woman who came after his wife and before you. Would he leave you? Would he kick you out of the world that has become your own because you failed to live up to your promise, though it technically isn’t your fault that you are pregnant now but it feels as though it is?

You can not stand the thought, of the man you love turning his once loving gaze stone upon the sight of you, of him pushing you further away, permanently, in the same manner that he tried to when he realized that he was falling in love with you, of watching Megumi and Tsumiki turn their backs to you as though the past four years of your lives had never happened, banning you from their acceptance forever more.

Tears well in your gaze, interfering with your vision. This can not be happening, you think to yourself, everything has been going so well, and now this? This is going to ruin your relationship with Toji for good. Even if you were not in a committed relationship with him, you assume that the idea of any woman getting impregnated by Toji would have been thrown away. You would be thrown away, just like all the others who gave Toji their bodies but not their hearts.

Not the way you have.

Your heart clenches thinking of just how much you love Toji and the kids, of how you would be willing to lay down your own life for the sake of them as Toji swears that he would for you all in return. Even so, despite the commitment to you that a man who swore never to be committed to accustomed, this would be going too far.

…You’re not even sure if he would love you anymore.

Now that you’re pregnant with his child, a child he never meant to have with you, you assume you will mean nothing to him any longer. In his eyes, you will simply become the slut that he took a chance on by a whim, carrying something he would never call his own. You believe the old Toji will resurface, the one who claimed not to care, the one who shoved women out of his bedroom before the sun rose in the sky, the one who often failed to remember to pick his kids up from school, the one who would no longer meet you at eye level but look down upon you, frown upon you for being so clumsy.

You know Toji is the one who did this, but this still feels like it is your doing. Like somehow, you trapped him and he now has no choice but to break free from the steel cage you have barred around him with your conception.

Your fingers clutch over the plastic, your eyes scrunching closed to release a fresh set of tears that cascade over your cheeks and onto the test. You can feel yourself mourning your relationship already, you can feel it slipping through your fingers, see it fading in the distance until it becomes nothing but a bittersweet memory that you can not determine as reality or a figment of your imagination any longer.

You tilt your head, bringing the test to your forehead as you think, grieve, cry. You mull over your options; you could hide this from Toji, get an abortion and never think of it again or you could tell Toji and lose him forever.

You open your bleary eyes, lashes decked with dewy tears, as another idea dawns upon you. You could leave, leave before Toji and the kids have a chance to leave you.

It’s a cruel thought, you think, especially abandoning those children without any proper explanation for them, but what else are you meant to do? You’d be doing them all a favor if anything by taking your leave without them having to be plagued by the knowledge of your unplanned pregnancy, of what they may view as a scheme to destroy their family in your new baby’s wake.

The thought kills you to even entertain. You had promised those kids that you weren’t going anywhere, that you’d stay with them for as long as they allowed you… but this is different. This is not what any of you had in your cards, how you believed your futures to go. Toji wants simplicity at home while he works through chaos through his occupation. He wants security, warmth, safety for you, Megumi, Tsumiki, and no one else. He would never welcome another child. You believe he’d be caught dead before approving of your pregnancy.

And therefore, you know what you have to do.

After taking a few more tests to ensure that the readings are accurate, which they are, you pledge to walk away. You pledge to leave the only man you’ve ever truly loved, the strongest family you’ve known, and the slim possibility that despite Toji’s wishes, he may accept you.

But you don’t want to take that chance and risk the humiliation and unplanned heartbreak. You’d much rather take matters into your own hands, and plan the shattering of your soul yourself.

You don’t sleep all night, for you’re too busy drafting about twenty different letters to Toji. Crumpled loosleaf paper litters the floor beside your bed as you try to think of how to best write down everything you want to say. You go through pages and pages until you are finally satisfied with the result, and the next morning, you slip the envelope into his mail slot and prepare to pack your life away.

It is late Sunday morning when Toji rises from his slumber. The first thing he does is lean over the sheets and drape his arm toward his nightstand to read your daily good morning text - only he finds there isn’t one. With pinched brows, he takes his phone to unlock it and visit your contact. Nothing.

The time reads 12:35 pm. Normally, you’re up and at it or even banging down his door by then to wake him. Maybe you’re just sleeping in?

He goes to give your cell a call, but nothing. Not only that, but your phone is also on do not disturb mode. His gut immediately swells with the suspicion that something is wrong. The dark haired assassin supposes he’s going to pay you a visit this afternoon as soon as he checks on the kids to ensure that they are alright.

His bedroom door opens with a creak, and he calls out to the teens gruffly through a yawn. When they don’t respond, he’s truly growing concerned.

He rounds the corner to prepare to head for their rooms when he finds Tsumiki and Megumi at the dining table. His brows furrow, his pace slowing as he takes in their faces. Tsumiki’s lips are pressed together tightly and the muscles in her face are scrunched as though she is about to cry, while Megumi stares ahead with empty eyes and a hardened exterior.

Toji frowns with quirked brows, approaching his kids. “What’s wrong with you two?”

His brunette daughter looks up at him with glassy eyes and wrinkled chin, lashes fluttering while Megumi does not bother to look at his father. Instead, he brings Toji’s attention to a torn envelope and a thick packet of papers pressed beneath the sixteen year old’s palm. Wordlessly, Megumi slides it toward him, brows slanting.

Toji, perplexed, looks between the papers and his children’s troubled faces. What is this letter? Overdue taxes? An eviction notice? That can’t be possible, because you had ensured that Toji and the kids’ place was secure long ago.

He crunches the papers in his hands and picks them up to read. The first thing that catches his eye is your scribbling handwriting, and the following words that send his heart plummeting to his ass:

This isn’t working out.

Toji whips his head up, baffled, and when he meets Megumi’s gaze again, his eyes are ablaze with resentment.

“What the hell did you do?” he growls.

The green eyed man is not even thinking before he’s dialing Shiu’s number, asking him to watch the kids for the next hour or so, and running out of the apartment after throwing rather unconvincing words of assurance over his shoulder to his kids, who are still with disbelief - Tsumiki with devastation and Megumi with rage, for surely his father pushed you away.

Toji does not bother finding a ride, electing to run to your place which is only a few blocks away. You two were just discussing moving in with one another, combining households, and this is what you spring onto him? Not even for him to stumble across first, but his kids who look up to you and love you like their own mother?

Oh, he’s fuming, a rush of emotions taking over his mind as it fuels his speed. The letter you wrote is still crunched in his fist, whipping through the air as he makes his way to you.

Dear Toji,

This is not working out.

But before you rampage and get angry with me, please let me explain. Let me explain how much I love you, how much those kids mean to me, and how every day I wake up I want to be greeted by all of your smiling faces. For the rest of time, forever. You are undoubtedly the only man for me, and I truly believe that. I know you may think I’m bullshitting because of how the beginning of this letter contradicts what im saying now, but it’s true. I have never loved another person the way I love you, and while it scared me at first when you were so stubborn and full of anger that you misdirected onto me, I stayed and I waited and I helped you and I’ve loved you through every single moment, ever week, every month, and every year. You brought purpose back into my life, and I can picture you scoffing because you’d say the same, but I mean it. You, Tsumiki, and Megumi are the best things that have ever happened to me. I love you all so much.

But in this case, that love is not enough.

I hate to be doing this to you, to the kids, but I have no other choice. Things aren’t going the way they used to, and it’s not your fault but mine. I’m the reason. And it is tearing me apart to know that and simultaneously know what I have to do in order to keep you and the kids happy. Stable. I wish I could explain to you more why I am doing this, but I can’t. Not just because I am dying to picture you reading this, but because I truly can not say. I do not want to ruin you guys’ image of me. While I think that’s a selfish thing to say because who knows how me leaving is going to hurt you all, you would not understand even if you knew the reason behind this.

By the time you are done reading this, I will be gone. I’m going away because as long as I am not with you all, I can’t stay here anymore. I am staying with my mother while I get my travel plans arranged, because I know how you worry when you do not know where I am or if im safe. I should be gone by Friday.

Please do not come see me. I have made my decision, and you will only be hurting us more by trying to stop me. I won’t be stopped.

Kiss and hug and apologize to Megumi and Tsumiki for me. I hope you find someone who fills the role of their mother, someone who knows how Megumi likes to do his homework in the silence of his room with no music or anything, completely isolated so he can focus. Someone who knows how to fix Tsumiki’s eggs properly - to add extra butter to the sides when you fry them so the edges get crispier. Someone who won’t try to feed Gumi’a demidogs because he hates when people assume they can coddle up to them upon first introduction. Someone who cares for the wholly the way I do and always will.

And you. I know how stubborn you are. I know how angry you probably are at me right now, and I will miss that about you, but please do not let that interfere with the possibility of falling in love again. Beneath the layers of grit, standoffishness, and indifference, you are a man with a big heart. For me. For your kids. For those you love and seek to protect.

You say you aren’t a good man, and while that may be true to you, you are an amazing partner and you’ve already become an amazing parent. I’ve seen you grow, and I am so in love with you and so proud of you. I know you’ll be okay without me. It maybe take some time, but you’ll adjust to what’s best. I promise.

With all the love that could possibly be harbored in this world, you are everything to me and that is why I have to go. I wish you every happiness this planet can offer you, and I know that without me, you can begin to find joy again.

Love,

Your doll

You had believed to time this perfectly, for you know that Toji usually does not wake until one, so soon as you are finishing up packing, you are trudging down the stairs to the leasing office to inform them that you will be moving.

You push open the door to the first floor, the breeze hitting you gently, and you round the corner only to be blocked by the last person you wanted to run into during this time.

Your eyes widen as you look up, the burly figure you have grown oh so familiar with over the years heaving as though enraged, ivy eyes crowding over slim pupils as Toji glares down at you, an image of indescribable fury.

Your heart drops and your words die in your throat. “T-Toji?” you whisper, horrified of an outburst. You are rattled by fear, having been so unprepared to walk into this. You did not put it past him to chase you down. But you figured that you’d be at your parents by the time he woke. Then, you could have at least told them to tell him off at the door.

But no. Instead, here he is, six feet and then some of bulking mass as he takes quick, deep breaths that expand the entirety of his chest.

You shift. “What are you doing here-“

“What the fuck is this?”

Toji swiftly, yet aggressively, lifts the papers in his hands, now damaged by his travels and his grip, shaking it firmly with the question. You gulp, lowering your eyes.

“Toji, I told you not to come…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he swears firmly, and you jump, looking to see if anyone is around to hear you, as the two of you are standing outside your complex.

“We shouldn’t be- let’s just go inside,” you go to grab his arm, but he tears it away. He stares at you as though you have burned him, singed the heart in his chest from the inside out, and he is so unforgiving. So unforgiving before he hears directly from your mouth what this is about.

“I’m not doin’ shit until you tell me what the fuck this is, (Y/n),” he demands, his hand moving the papers about passionately with his speech, and you feel your heart hammering again. This is not how things were supposed to go. You are not supposed to be seeing him right now. “Cause I refuse- I fuckin’ refuse to believe that you’re breaking up with me.”

Your eyes gloss over as you look down at your feet, unsure of what to do or how to handle this confrontation. You can’t do this. You can’t, it’s too much. It’s too hard.

“…I am,” you mumble.

Toji steps forward, leaning down to get a peek of your face, his expression so angry that it worries you. “What?”

“I said… I am.”

“Uh uh, you better say that shit with your chest if you can write a whole damn letter about it,” he growls, fucking further as you continue to turn away. “Look at me,” he barks, and you cringe.

“Toji, don’t yell at me!” you shout back.

“What else do’ya want me to do, huh?” he throws his hands up. “How else do you expect me to react to this bullshit?! You’re leavin’ me? After everythin’ we been through, after everythin’ you and the kids’ve been through, you’re leavin? Are you fuckin’ serious?”

He takes a swift glance at the papers, the very sight sending him into a spiral, before he’s heatedly looking back down at you.

“I don’t buy this shit for one second. No. You’re not leavin’. Not in this world, or the next.”

“I am, Toji, the quicker you accept that, the easier it’ll be for everyone!”

“Easy?” he winces as though the prospect pains him. “You call this shit easy? You call up and tryin’ to abandon me easy? You call the kids waking up to your letter and reading it at the table before I saw it easy?”

Your face falls. “…what?”

“Yeah. You fuckin’ heard me,” he sneers. “Megumi and Tsumiki read this shit first. First thing in the morning, they see a letter about how the woman they love is leavin’ ‘em, just like their mom did, and for what?”

You close your eyes, his words stinging you as they cut through. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, ain’t it? Y’er leavin’ us, (Y/n), and you didn’t even have the decency to say why!”

Guilt crowds you, like a blanket of darkness consuming you from overhead, and as Toji stands before you completely torn apart by your letter, you see the fear in his eyes, the sadness, the unspoken plea for you not to go.

You try your best to keep your composure as you turn away again. “I told you, I can’t tell you.”

“Fuck that,” he lifts the letter and tosses it to the ground with a thud. You gasp, watching it slam to the concrete pavement.

“Toji!” you exclaim.

“You think you can just leave without me comin’ to hunt you down and see your face so I can figure out what the hell is goin’ on? You must not know me at all.”

“Why do you always have to be so aggressive about everything?!”

“Of all fuckin’ things, (Y/n), I think I got a right to be aggressive about this. You were gonna leave without sayin’ goodbye!” he tosses his arm out to the side with the exclamation, brows twisting and teeth bearing. “Is that what our relationship means t’ya? You think you can just toss us aside?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” you beg, a lump forming in your throat as the two of you stand face to face, arguing without a car about who will see you.

“Then tell me,” he shouts. “Cause you’re not givin’ me shit to go off of!”

“I told you already, I can’t,” your lips quiver.

“Then our relationship is nothing to you.”

“No, Toji.”

“Clearly it ain’t, cause I’d think it’d be worth an explanation if you’re runnin’ away!” you frown and shake your head, turning to walk back into the complex when Toji cuts you off, moving in your way. “You don’t think I know you? You don’t think I see it all over your face that somethin’s got you scared, and y’re takin’ off because of it? You think I don’t know what that looks like, (Y/n)? I did that shit. I did it all the damn time before I met you, and hell, I tried to run then but you wouldn’t let me, so what the hell makes you think I’m gonna let you now?”

“This is different,” you say shortly, afraid to reveal the tremble of your voice to the man before you. You keep your gaze down as you try to go around him again, but to no avail. He steps in your path. “Stop!”

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he says gravely, keeping his eyes to yours though you try to avoid contact with them. “Not until you spit it out. I’ll be damned if I got another broken home cause y’re fuckin’ scared.”

“I said stop!” you try to find some bass in your voice, but against your will, it falters when you yell. Toji eyes you carefully, reaching his hand out to grip your shoulder and steady you into place.

You scoff, attempting to pull away, but it’s no use. The dark haired man is everywhere, keeping you from walking away.

“You talk to me like the grown ass woman you are,” he tells you sternly, stepping in. “You use that voice I know you have, and don’t you ever let me catch you writin’ a letter to me about how you wanna break up instead of comin’ to talk to me. Y’understand?”

You exhale shakily, lips pressing together and brows curling. “I can’t.”

“Y’re still not tellin’ me why you think that.”

“Because I can’t, Toji. I can’t tell you. It’ll- it’ll fuck up everything!” you break, and Toji feels the pit in his stomach shift as he looks over your aggrieved expression, depicting the same exact things he feels.

“(Y/n),” he calls your name firmly, the sound of it on his tongue only inspiring the urge to cry more. You continue to shake your head though Toji isn’t exactly speaking, and his green eyes wander you with frustrated concern. “Y’scared of what I’ll do if you tell me?”

You freeze, slowly peeling your eyes to look at his, his face tense with grief. You stare at him for a moment, mouth gaping like a fish as all of your insecurities that talked you toward this ledge run through your mind once more.

“Don’t look surprised,” he says. “I know you like the back of my hand, and I know that you knew I’d be over here to stop ya.”

Your frown deepens, and this time as you look at him, you see every second of your future that you were quick to stomp dow. You see the unbridled, unfiltered love he holds for you as well as the blood curdling fear of letting you go.

“You have to understand,” you whimper. “I know how you’ll react, I- I can’t do this to you. You have to let me go.”

“What the hell could be so horrifyin’ in that head of yours to make you think that I won’t stick with ya through hell and high water?” he grits out, searching your swollen hues of (e/c) hesitation. “You’d do the same for me.”

“I know, but-“

“There’s nothin’ else to say. I ain’t leavin’ until you spill, and when you do, y’re comin’ with me.”

You look at him, pained. It’s a trap, you think. If Toji only knew, he’d be running for the hills instead of trying to track you down.

“Out with it, now.”

You can’t. You can’t tell him. He’ll leave you, he’ll reject you, he’ll turn you away, he’ll never let you see the kids again.

“(Y/n)!”

“I’m pregnant!”

The earth seems to freeze and time seems to slow. You scrunch your eyes, anticipating the worst to come as Toji takes in your words, his tensed expression melting slowly.

You don’t open your eyes to see his reaction. You keep your head ducked and your fists closed as the white noise of nature flutters into relevance. You’re trembling, terrified, and Toji can not move but instead proceeds to stare at you, stunned.

His words about not wanting any more kids run through your mind again as you await his response, and the suspense kills you as you do. You can feel his grip on your shoulder slacken before tightening again, and you are terrified.

He’s going to leave you.

You are quick to step away when the sentiment arises once more, Toji’s hand falling from you arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, still unable to look at him. “I’m sorry, I know that you don’t want any more kids. I know, an I thought we were being careful, but- I took five tests. They’re all positive.”

“You’re pregnant?” he echoes, and you still. You knew it. You knew this would happen.

“I told you, Toji,” you exhale. “I told you that I couldn’t tell you, and now everything’s a mess.”

He twitches. “Hold on-“

“Don’t tell me all of a sudden you want kids,” you snap. “I know how strongly you feel about it.”

“So instead of talkin’ to me, you were gonna leave? Knocked up? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“What other choice do I have?!” you cry. “You don’t want more kids, and if I kept it, it would only be a nuisance to you. And Megumi and Tsumiki?”

He scrunches his face. “What about ‘em?”

“How do you think they’d feel if the woman you’re dating after their mother died surprised them with a new baby? They’d be crushed!” you say shakily as salty tears well in your eyes again. “I can’t overstep your boundaries. I just can’t. It’s easier for me to go.”

“And do what, (Y/n)? Raise a kid on your own without any help?”

“I can’t bare you leaving me!” you suddenly confess, tear striking past your cheek.

Toji examines you and frowns. “What are y’talkin’ about? You’re tryin’ to leave me!”

“So I can prevent the inevitable from happening,” you huff. “I’m okay with it. I’ve made peace with everything. That’s why you need to just let me go-“

“After everythin’, you think I’d throw you away because you’re pregnant with my kid?” Toji says incredulously. You falter, for you had been so sure of his reaction before. “You think that low of me?”

“No, but I want you to have what you want.”

“What I want is you, you fuckin’ idiot,” he hisses. “All I ever wanted was you, and I can’t fuckin’ believe you’re tryin’ to take that away from me.”

You furrow your brows, confused. “…You’re not mad?”

“Girl, I’m livid,” he scowls. “Not about the damn kid, but because you assumed what I would say before comin’ to me.”

“Toji, you have to understand that I was trying to look out for you.”

“There’s not lookin’ out for me or those kids or makin’ them happy if you’re gone, (Y/n),” he bites. “Who th’fuck put that idea in your head?”

You stammer, tears proceeding to flow down your face as you reel in the reality of the situation. “I… I just thought-“

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

Before you can respond, his hand is gripping your wrist and he’s tugging you toward him into his chest. You shake when you fall into him, listening to the pace of his heart rapidly beating against your ear as he breaths quickly against you. Large palms smooth over your head and down to your waist as he holds you tightly, and you notice how desperate his grip is. He’s holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, as though you’ll fly away if his hold is not tight enough.

He tucks his head into your neck, fingers grasping into your shirt, and suddenly the animosity of the moment prior is gone. You’re still trembling, leading Toji to hold you tighter to him.

“Can’t believe you tried to leave,” he murmurs into your hair. “Christ, (Y/n) you’re tryin’ to gimme a heart attack. The fuck is goin’ on with you.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, looking off sadly. “I thought you’d be upset about it. I didn’t want you to know.”

“I should know about any and every single thing that’s goin’ on with you, y’hear me? This ain’t no exception.”

A weight flutters from your shoulders as you sink into Toji’s head, silent tears streaming for the life you almost sacrificed. “What are we gonna do?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “But we’ll figure it out. As a team. Alright?”

You nod meekly. “Okay.”

He groans, pressing himself impossibly further to you. “That letter… fuck, don’t do that shit. Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that. Without you, I ain’t shit- pregnant or not. And those kids would adore another sibling if you were bringing it into this world. Don’t say that shit about them again either. They need ya. We need ya.”

“I’m sorry,” you whine again, Toji’s hand stroking over your back soothingly.

“It’s okay,” he grumbles. “We’ll figure it out.”

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 22 days ago

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The Nerd and the Nuisance

bob floyd x Fem!Aviator!Reader

call sign: peaches (don’t ask)

oh, smut warning.

The midday sun bakes the tarmac like it’s on a mission. Tank tops are sticking, aviators are sweating, and someone in the back is definitely skipping reps.

Peaches? Not her. She’s got her hair slicked back, her sports bra peeking out under her loose-cut Navy PT shirt, and a smirk on her lips like she knows she looks real good dropping into those push-ups.

Because she does.

“Hey, Peaches!” someone hollers from across the makeshift training circuit. Probably Fanboy. “You tryna win the Olympics or something?”

She doesn’t even look up. “Nah, just showing off for the right audience.”

That earns a chorus of “OOOH—”s, and Payback practically wheezes with laughter.

That’s when Hangman struts over. Gray shirt damp with sweat, dog tags sticking to his chest, that smug-ass smile already locked and loaded.

“You know,” he says, eyeing her like he’s about to make it weird — because he is, “it’s really distracting when you do squats that good.”

Peaches snorts. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even break rhythm. “Oh no, Jake. You want me to take it slower? Would that help you concentrate?”

“Oof.” Fanboy’s nearby, nearly falling off the pull-up bar.

Hangman grins. “You keep talking like that and I will take you home.”

That’s when she finishes the set, stands, and wipes sweat from her neck — slow, teasing — before stepping into Jake’s space like she owns it.

Her voice drops. Everyone’s suddenly paying attention.

“Hangman… just take me home. Right now.”

Silence.

A beat passes. Jake actually looks stunned — eyes flicking between her mouth and her eyes like he can’t tell if she’s serious or not.

She leans in closer, just enough to make him lose whatever thought he had next.

Then she grins.

“Nah.”

She taps his chest with one finger and walks off toward the locker room, grabbing her water bottle without even glancing back.

Fanboy yells, “SHE’S COLD FOR THAT,” while Coyote and Payback are losing their minds in the background.

Hangman just stands there like a man who just got emotionally body slammed — again.

⸻

That Night – The Hard Deck

Music. Laughter. Pool games. Something dangerously tequila-flavored in her glass.

Peaches is sitting with Phoenix and Halo, laughing at something Payback just said when her eyes wander across the bar — and then freeze.

There he is.

Bob.

He’s tucked into a corner seat. Not playing pool, not part of the crowd. Just sipping soda and eating sunflower seeds out of a little paper napkin. The shells are piling on his pants and he’s brushing them off like a quiet little ritual. Not messy — just Bob.

And then he does it — he looks up.

Eyes meet.

And he smiles.

Not cocky. Not calculated. Just soft and shy and real.

“Hey, Peaches.”

She blinks.

Oh no.

She’s seen Bob before — but this is the first time she’s really seen him.

That quiet confidence. That messy, soft thing about him.

The way he’s not performing.

The way that one smile just hit harder than any of Hangman’s lines.

Peaches feels her throat go dry.

For the first time maybe ever, she looks away first.

And that’s when it hits her:

She doesn’t want to flirt with Bob.

She wants to get to know him.

…And maybe ruin him a little along the way.

———

Peaches shows up to the Hard Deck the next night — because patience isn’t her thing when she’s got a mission. And baby, she is on a mission.

The outfit?

Dangerous.

Cute little crop top (but not too obvious), low-rise jeans that fit like a sin, and the kind of gloss that makes her lips look expensive. Hair done. Skin glowing. Eyes sharp.

Phoenix raises a brow the moment she sees her.

“Oh no. Who’s the target?”

Peaches smiles, slow and smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The team’s gathered around a pool table again — Hangman already mid-story, Payback laughing too loud, and Bob?

Bob is in the exact same seat. Same posture. Same quiet little energy.

He’s sipping a ginger ale this time, fiddling with a coaster. Glasses slipping down his nose. Cute as hell.

Peaches makes her move.

She doesn’t even pretend to hesitate. Walks right past Hangman mid-sentence, drops into the seat next to Bob like she owns the bar.

“Hey, sweet thing,” she says, voice smooth like honey left out in the sun.

Bob looks up — startled, pink creeping up his neck.

“H-hey, Peaches.”

“Didn’t know you were out tonight.”

He nods, trying not to stare at her neckline. “Just… needed a break from reading.”

Peaches rests her elbow on the table, leaning in juuust enough. “What were you reading?”

Bob blinks. “Uh. ‘The Right Stuff.’ Again.”

She smirks. “Mmm. Nothing sexier than a man who rereads aviation history for fun.”

Bob makes a sound in his throat like his brain just hit a firewall. His hands twitch nervously on the glass.

Peaches notices. She always notices.

“You okay there, Floyd?” she murmurs, voice lower now. Private. Just for him.

He swallows. “Yeah, I just—uh—you look… nice tonight.”

She pretends to be surprised. “You think?”

Then she touches his knee.

Light. Casual. Deadly.

Bob’s entire soul leaves his body.

Peaches leans in closer, her voice dipped in velvet:

“I like a man with a strong mind… and soft hands.”

The glass in his hand nearly slips.

Phoenix is watching from across the room like she’s witnessing a full-blown psychological takedown. Hangman’s mid-joke and completely misses the way Bob’s ears turn red.

Peaches stands up after a few more minutes — just enough time to short-circuit him but not enough to let him adjust.

She lets her fingers drag across his shoulder as she walks away, saying:

“See you around, Bobby.”

And as she disappears toward the bar, she knows — without even looking back — that he’s watching her like she just flipped his whole universe upside down.

Which, to be fair… she did.

———

Bob is a simple man.

He likes clean lines, vintage jets, sunflower seeds, and peace.

Peaches is none of those things.

It’s three days after the Hard Deck Incident™ and this man has replayed her voice saying “sweet thing” about 87 times.

It’s haunting him. She touched his knee. She whispered in his ear. He hasn’t known peace since.

And today?

Today she shows up in one of those oversized academy sweatshirts — the kind that’s just long enough to cover her shorts, hair up in a bun, water bottle slung on one hip.

She looks like a problem.

Bob sees her across the hangar and turns around so fast he almost smacks into Phoenix.

“Easy there, loverboy,” she laughs, catching his elbow.

He adjusts his glasses. “I’m—she’s—uh.”

“She’s gonna eat you alive,” Phoenix says flatly, then pats his shoulder. “But don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

⸻

In the Ready Room

They’re reviewing dogfight footage. Everyone’s seated, bored, half-listening — except Peaches, who chooses right then to plop down next to Bob.

Close. Too close.

Her thigh touches his. On purpose. And when he shifts like his skin’s on fire, she just smiles sweetly and leans into his ear.

“You smell good.”

Bob is convinced he’s hallucinating.

“W-what?”

She leans back, expression innocent. “Did I stutter, Floyd?”

The ready room is dark. The projector’s humming. And Bob?

Bob is fighting for his life.

When the footage ends and Maverick dismisses them, everyone stands — except Bob, who’s trying to casually hide the war crime going on in his pants.

Peaches? She notices. Of course she does.

“Walk me to my locker?” she asks, sweet and deadly.

He nods.

⸻

In the Hallway

They walk in silence for a second. She’s swinging her water bottle. He’s calculating how many Hail Marys he needs to say to survive this.

And then she stops walking.

Just turns around, stands right in front of him — chest to chest, breath to breath.

“You know I’m not messing with you, right?”

Bob looks like she just spoke in code. “What?”

She tilts her head. “I don’t do this with just anybody, Floyd. I flirt with Hangman. I banter with Coyote. I clown with Fanboy.”

She steps closer.

“But you…?”

She slides her fingers into his front pocket. His front pocket.

“You’re the one I want.”

Bob’s soul literally leaves the building.

“P-Peaches…”

She rises on her toes, lips brushing his ear.

“If you want me to stop, say so.”

He doesn’t.

She kisses his cheek, slow, deliberate, claiming. And then turns on her heel and walks off like she didn’t just end this man’s entire nervous system.

Bob stands there, in the middle of the hallway, one hand gripping the pocket she touched, whispering to himself:

“She’s gonna be the death of me.”

———

Peaches walks into the Hard Deck on a Friday night with one goal:

Lock in the mission. Secure the nerd. #OperationFreakifyFloyd is now live.

And she looks so good it’s rude.

Sundress. Curls done. Earrings swinging. Smells like vanilla and danger.

The squad’s already at the usual table — Payback and Fanboy fighting over pool, Hangman trying to impress a group of tourists, Phoenix sipping her beer and watching the chaos.

And Bob? He’s at the corner of the table, drink in hand, glasses on, wearing a soft navy hoodie she’s never seen him in before. He’s clean-shaven. Neatly put together.

He’s perfect. And he’s hers. He just doesn’t know it yet.

She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t wait. She slides right into the seat next to him, so close their arms touch, and drops her voice:

“That seat’s taken, baby.”

Bob nearly spills his drink.

“P-Peaches.”

She smirks. “You nervous?”

“I just… you smell really good.”

She leans in, slow and smooth. “You can tell me that with your chest, Floyd.”

Bob’s cheeks go pink. “You smell really good.”

Peaches grins.

⸻

Cue Hangman

Because of course.

He saunters over, drink in hand, cocky grin locked and loaded. “Well, if it ain’t the deadliest duo. Mind if I—”

Peaches cuts him off without looking.

“Not tonight, Jake.”

Hangman blinks. “Oh. We’re doing this now?”

She finally turns. “You flirt like a frat boy. Bob makes me nervous.”

The entire table goes silent. Like, cartoon-record-scratch silent.

Payback whispers, “Did she say Bob makes her nervous?”

Fanboy says, “Like in a good way or a restraining order way?”

Phoenix leans across the table, smirking. “So… what are we calling this?”

Peaches just tilts her head, eyes still locked on Bob. “We’re calling it ‘none of y’all’s business’.”

Bob chokes on air.

⸻

Later That Night

They’re walking side-by-side down the beach — far enough from the group that their voices are private. The moon is up. The breeze is soft. And Bob’s still blushing like it’s a medical condition.

He says, out of nowhere: “I don’t get it.”

Peaches stops. “What?”

“You could have literally anyone. And you’re… flirting with me.”

She blinks. Then smiles. Slow. Dangerous.

“I don’t want anyone else, Bob.”

He looks at her — really looks at her — and she swears his eyes go all soft and shiny like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“I think about you all the time,” he admits quietly.

That does something to her chest. Something warm and terrible.

She takes his hand, presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

———

It starts after a long, sweaty, brain-meltingly difficult training op.

Everyone’s exhausted. Shirts damp. Dog tags sticking to collarbones. The kind of day where people groan just standing up.

Bob’s sitting on the ground, post-flight, peeling off his gloves, flushed and glowing in the kind of way that should be illegal. His hair’s a mess. He’s breathing heavy. Glasses sliding down his nose. And Peaches?

She is salivating.

Phoenix: “You good?”

Peaches: “No. But I will be.”

She watches him like a hawk — the way his long fingers work, the little huff he makes when he can’t find his water bottle. She wants to bite his shoulder.

⸻

In the Locker Hall

Everyone’s scattered. Showers on. Music playing somewhere faint in the background.

Bob’s in the hallway, fumbling with the lock on his locker when Peaches appears out of nowhere.

“Boo.”

Bob jumps. “Jesus—!”

Peaches grins, wicked. “Hi, baby.”

His eyes dart around. “You—you can’t just sneak up on me like that!”

“Oh? But it’s fun.” She leans against the lockers, arms folded under her chest, head tilted. “You looked good out there today.”

Bob swallows. “Thanks. You, uh, always do.”

She narrows her eyes. “You still nervous around me?”

He laughs — soft, sheepish. “Yeah. Kinda.”

“Even after everything?” she asks.

He nods. “Especially after everything.”

Peaches steps in. Real close. So close he forgets how to breathe.

“Then I guess we better rip the Band-Aid off, huh?”

And she kisses him.

Hard. Hot. Hands sliding into his hair. She doesn’t ask. Doesn’t wait. She takes — mouth open, warm, possessive — and Bob? He whimpers. Full-body, knee-weakening whimpers. His hands hover like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

So she grabs his wrists and puts them on her waist.

“Hold me like you mean it, Bob.”

And he does.

They kiss like the world is ending. Like he’s been starving for this. When she pulls away — finally, reluctantly — he looks dazed.

“You okay?” she asks.

He nods, breathless. “I—I saw God.”

⸻

OUTSIDE. TEN MINUTES LATER.

They try to act casual as they rejoin the group. But their hair’s a little messy. Bob’s shirt is misbuttoned. Her lip gloss is missing in action.

Phoenix clocks it immediately. So does Fanboy. So does literally everyone.

Payback: “Why is Bob walking like he forgot how knees work?”

Coyote: “Why does Peaches look like the cat that ate the whole damn canary?”

Hangman: sniffing the air “Do I smell sin?”

Peaches smirks, tossing her hair. “Mind your business, boys.”

But Bob? Ohhh Bob is glowing. Can’t stop smiling. Keeps looking at her like she hung the damn stars. When she walks by and squeezes his hand, he almost trips over his own feet.

———

It starts at Bob’s place.

Not because Peaches was invited. Not really.

She just… kinda followed him home.

“You hungry?”

“A little.”

“…You wanna come in?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She walks in, drops her purse by the door, and immediately throws herself on his couch like she’s lived there for years. Legs kicked up, head tilted back, sighing like a queen after battle.

“This your place, huh?”

“Yup.”

“It’s cute. Just like you.”

“…Oh boy.”

Bob’s ears turn red. Bright red. He turns toward the kitchen. “You like pasta?”

“Do I like—Bob. I’m half pasta.”

⸻

In the Kitchen

He’s cooking. Real food. Homemade sauce. The man has a wooden spoon and everything.

And Peaches?

She’s in his hoodie. Big. Soft. Smells like detergent and cologne and him. She pulled it from a hook behind the door like she had a right to it — like it was already hers.

“You smell like me now,” he says under his breath.

“Good,” she purrs, hugging herself. “I want your scent all over me.”

Bob drops the spoon.

“Jesus, Peaches.”

“What?” she says innocently, hopping up to sit on the counter. “I’m just telling the truth.”

He’s trying so hard to keep it together. But the way she’s swinging her legs, biting her lip, looking at him like he’s the main course? Yeah. He’s barely holding on.

And then—

She pulls him in by the waistband of his pants.

She kisses his cheek.

And whispers, “I’m falling for you, Bob Floyd.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Bob’s breath caught, his hands coming up to rest on her hips as if to steady himself. He was shy, always had been, but in that moment, shyness felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford.

“Peaches—” he started, his voice rough, but she cut him off with another kiss, this one firmer, more insistent. Her lips moved against his, hungry and demanding, and he felt himself surrendering to her, piece by piece.

“Don’t say anything,” she murmured against his lips. “Just come with me.”

She led him out of the kitchen, her grip on his waistband never faltering. The hoodie fell from her shoulders as they moved, pooling on the floor like a discarded promise. Bob’s heart pounded in his chest, a steady rhythm that matched the urgency in her touch.

His room was sparse, functional, like the rest of his apartment. A bed, a dresser, a few framed photos of planes and the ocean. Peaches pushed him back until his knees hit the mattress, and he fell onto it with a soft thud. She followed, straddling his hips, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him deeply.

Bob’s shyness melted under her touch. His hands moved up her back, tracing the curve of her spine, the softness of her skin. She was warm, alive, and he felt himself surrendering to her, piece by piece.

“Slow,” he murmured against her lips, his voice hoarse. “Let’s take it slow.”

Peaches smiled, a soft, knowing curve of her lips. “For you, Bob. Anything.”

They moved together, their bodies fitting perfectly, as if they’d been designed for this moment. Bob’s hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every dip. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples tight and responsive under his touch. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, his lips trailing down to her breasts, where he lingered, tasting her, savoring her.

She moaned softly, her head tipping back as he suckled gently, his tongue swirling around her sensitive peaks. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in as she arched into him.

“Bob,” she whispered, her voice thick with need. “I want you. Now.”

He looked up at her, his glasses askew, his expression tender. “Missionary,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Let me make you feel good.”

She nodded, her eyes locked on his as he shifted, moving her back until she lay beneath him. He propped himself up on his elbows, his hands framing her face as he kissed her again, slow and deep. Their bodies moved in sync, his hips rocking gently against hers as he entered her. She was tight, wet, and he groaned at the sensation, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the feeling of being inside her.

“Bob,” she breathed, her hands gripping his hips, guiding him. “Deeper. Harder.”

He obliged, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through them both. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she met his movements, her body rising to meet his.

The room was filled with the sounds of their labored breathing, the soft creak of the bed, and the occasional muffled moan. Bob’s glasses fogged up, but he didn’t care, his focus entirely on the woman beneath him.

“Peaches,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he felt himself nearing the edge. “I’m close.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Me too. But I’m not done yet.”

Before he could respond, she flipped them, her body now on top of his. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain as she straddled him, her hands on his chest for leverage. She moved faster now, her hips rolling in a rhythm that was both urgent and deliberate.

Bob’s hands came up to her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as he watched her, mesmerized. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her nipples tight and rosy. He reached up, cupping one in his hand, his thumb brushing over the peak as she rode him.

“Bob,” she gasped, her head falling back as she quickened her pace. “Fuck, that feels good.”

He groaned, his hands moving to her throat, his thumbs brushing her pulse point. She grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand, her eyes locking with his.

“Harder,” she begged, her voice raw. “Please, Bob. I need it.”

He hesitated, his shyness warring with his desire to please her. But the look in her eyes—the trust, the need—was too much to resist. He applied a little pressure, his thumb pressing into the tender skin of her throat.

Peaches moaned, her body tightening around him as she threw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders. Her hips moved faster, her movements frantic as she chased her release.

“Bob,” she cried, her voice breaking as her body shook with her orgasm. “Oh fuck, Bob—”

Her walls clenched around him, milking him, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hips bucked up to meet her, his hands tightening on her throat as he spilled into her, his groan echoing in the small room.

For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies still joined, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Then, slowly, Peaches collapsed onto his chest, her hair tickling his neck as she caught her breath.

Bob’s hands moved to her back, stroking gently as he kissed the top of her head.

———

It’s movie night on base. The whole squad’s packed into the rec room—blankets, pillows, snack bowls, someone brought a projector. It’s chaos in the best way.

And Peaches? She shows up late. In a hoodie.

But not just any hoodie.

It’s Bob’s hoodie.

Big. Navy blue. Smells like his cologne. Drowns her in fabric.

And when she walks in?

The room goes SILENT for a second.

“Ayo,” says Payback. “No way.”

“That’s Floyd’s hoodie, right?” whispers Fanboy.

Phoenix just grins like the devil.

Hangman literally chokes on a Red Vine.

Peaches acts like nothing’s different. Tosses her hair, flops down next to Bob, and grabs some popcorn like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

But Bob? Bob is MALFUNCTIONING.

His cheeks go bright pink. His fingers twitch. He keeps staring at her like he can’t believe his hoodie’s hugging all the parts of her he’s not brave enough to touch yet.

“You wore it,” he says softly, voice just for her.

“I didn’t feel like picking an outfit,” Peaches shrugs, sipping her soda. “Plus, I missed your smell.”

“…My smell?”

“Yeah. You smell like safety.”

“…What does that even mean?”

“Means I like it. Means I like you.”

Bob’s ears go red so fast she thinks steam might shoot out of them.

⸻

HALF AN HOUR LATER.

They’re under a shared blanket. Her legs tangled in his. His arm is around her shoulders.

On screen, some action movie is playing—but nobody’s watching.

Especially not Bob.

He’s watching her.

The way she dips her head on his shoulder. The way her fingers lightly trace over his forearm.

He’s so aware of her it’s painful. And when her hand brushes over his thigh—purely innocent—

Bob gasps.

“You okay?” she asks, all doe eyes.

“Peaches…”

“What?” she smiles, fake innocent.

“You’re driving me insane.”

“I know.”

Her voice drops, teasing.

“You gonna do something about it?”

The room seemed to shrink around them, the noise of the squad fading into the background. Bob’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of frustration and desire. He knew better than to engage with her here, in front of everyone, but Peaches had a way of making him forget his better judgment.

“Come with me,” he said, standing abruptly. He grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet before she could protest. The squad barely noticed their departure, too engrossed in their own chaos.

The locker room was dimly lit, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The air smelled of sweat and soap, a familiar scent that grounded Bob even as his pulse raced. He pushed the door closed behind them, locking it with a sharp click.

Peaches leaned against the wall, her eyes locked on his, that same teasing smile playing on her lips.

“What now?” she asked, her voice low and challenging.

Bob didn’t answer. He crossed the space between them in two long strides, his hands gripping her hips as he pressed her against the cold metal lockers. The hoodie bunched between them, but he didn’t care. He needed her, needed this, and he wasn’t going to hold back.

“Bob—” she started, but he cut her off with a kiss, rough and desperate. His lips crashed against hers, his tongue demanding entry. She tasted like salt and sugar, and he groaned, his hands sliding up her sides to grip her shoulders.

Peaches wrapped her arms around his neck, her nails digging into his skin as she kissed him back with equal fervor. She was always so responsive, so eager, and it only fueled his desire. He pulled back slightly, his breath coming in short gasps.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he growled, his voice rough.

“So?” she smirked, her eyes daring him to do something about it

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands fisted in the fabric, tugging it up and over her head in one swift motion. She gasped, her breath catching as the hoodie fell to the floor. She was wearing nothing underneath, her skin pale and smooth in the dim light.

Bob’s gaze lingered on her, taking in the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the way her nipples tightened under his scrutiny. He wanted to touch her, taste her, claim her in every way possible. But Peaches wasn’t one to wait around.

She stepped forward, pressing her body against his. Her hands slid down his chest, slipping under the hem of his shirt. “Your turn,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear.

He shivered at her touch, his shirt joining the hoodie on the floor in seconds. Peaches’s fingers traced the muscles of his abdomen, her touch light but deliberate. She knew exactly where to touch him, how to make him ache for her.

“Peaches—” he started, but she silenced him with another kiss, her hands moving lower, slipping into the waistband of his pants.

He hissed as her fingers brushed his erection, her touch sending sparks of pleasure through his body. “Not yet,” he managed, his voice hoarse. He wanted this to last, wanted to savor every moment with her.

She smirked, her eyes glinting with challenge. “Who’s in control here, Lieutenant?”

Bob’s grip on her hips tightened, his thumbs digging into her skin. “You’re pushing it,” he warned, though his voice lacked conviction.

Peaches laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down his spine. She stepped back, her hands moving to the button of her jeans. “Catch me if you can,” she teased, before shimmying out of them.

Bob’s breath caught at the sight of her, standing there in nothing but her lace panties. Her body was a work of art, every curve and line designed to drive him mad. He took a step forward, his hands reaching for her, but she danced out of his grasp, her laughter echoing through the locker room.

“Peaches—” he growled, his patience wearing thin

She stopped, turning to face him, her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter, Bob? Can’t keep up?”

Something snapped inside him. He lunged, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her onto the nearest bench. She gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed her down. “Who’s in control now?” he asked, his voice dark with desire.

Peaches’s smirk faltered, just for a moment, before she leaned up to nip at his ear. “You are,” she whispered, her hands tangling in his hair. “But don’t think I’m going to make it easy for you.”

Bob didn’t respond. He kissed her fiercely, his hands roaming over her body, mapping every inch of her skin. He slipped his fingers under the waistband of her panties, tugging them down her legs. She kicked them off, her legs wrapping tighter around him as he ground his hips against hers.

“Bob,” she moaned, her head falling

back as he kissed a path down her neck. “Please.”

He smirked against her skin, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. “Beg,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Peaches’s eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting on a soft whimper. “Please, Bob,” she whispered. “I need you.”

That was all he needed to hear. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a condom with practiced ease. He sheathed himself quickly, his hands trembling with anticipation. Peaches watched him, her eyes dark with desire, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice rough.

She nodded, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Fuck me, Bob. Hard.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He positioned himself at her entrance, teasing her with slow, shallow thrusts before slamming into her with a force that made her cry out. The sound was music to his ears, and he set a relentless pace, his hips snapping against hers as he filled her completely.

Peaches met his thrusts with equal fervor, her nails digging into his back as she arched her hips to meet him. Her moans filled the locker room, loud and uninhibited, and Bob lost himself in the sensation of her tight heat surrounding him.

He reached between them, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing firm circles. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as she teetered on the edge. “Bob—I’m close,” she panted, her voice strained.

“Not yet,” he growled, his grip on her hips tightening. He pulled her closer, his thrusts becoming sharper, more urgent. He wanted to push her further, to see just how far she could go.

Peaches’s head fell back, her mouth open on a silent cry as he slid a hand into her hair, tilting her head back. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and demanding.

Her eyes met his, dark and glazed with desire. “Bob—”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish. His free hand wrapped around her throat, his thumb pressing into her windpipe just enough to restrict her airflow. She gasped, her eyes widening as her breath hitched.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper. “Feel it, Peaches. Feel how much I want you.”

Her hands flew to his wrist, her fingers trembling as she held on. “Bob—I—”

He thrust harder, his grip on her throat tightening just enough to make her squirm. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice dark with need. “Say you’re mine.”

Peaches’s eyes fluttered closed, her body trembling on the edge of release.

“Yours,” she choked out, her voice barely audible. “I’m yours, Bob. Please—”

That was all he needed. He released her throat, his hand sliding down to grip her hip as he drove into her with abandon. Her walls clenched around him, her body shaking as she cried out, her release washing over her in waves.

Bob followed soon after, his own orgasm crashing into him with a force that left him breathless. He buried his face in her neck, his body trembling as he spilled into the condom.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their hearts pounding in unison, their breaths mingling. Bob’s hands slid down to rest on her hips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin.

Peaches’s arms tightened around him, her lips pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “That was—”

“Not enough,” Bob finished, his voice low and teasing. He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers. “We’re not done yet.”

Her eyebrows rose, a challenge in her gaze. “Oh? And what did you have in mind, Lieutenant?”

Bob smirked, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. “Turn around,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise.

Peaches’s eyes widened, just for a moment, before she complied, her body shifting to face away from him. She braced her hands on the bench, her breath coming in short gasps as she arched her back.

Bob’s gaze lingered on the curve of her spine, the way her hair fell in waves down her back. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her shoulder before sliding down to grip her hip.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

She nodded, her voice barely audible. “Yes.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He positioned himself behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he slid into her from behind. She gasped, her head falling back as he filled her completely.

“Bob—” she moaned, her voice strained.

“Hold on,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. He set a slow, deliberate pace, his thrusts deep and controlled. He wanted to make this last, to savor every moment with her.

Peaches’s hands gripped the edge of the bench, her knuckles white as she met his thrusts with equal fervor. Her moans filled the locker room, loud and uninhibited, and Bob lost himself in the sensation of her tight heat surrounding him.

He reached around, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing firm circles. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as she teetered on the edge. “Bob—I’m close,” she panted, her voice strained.

“Come for me,” he growled, his grip on her hips tightening. He pulled her closer, his thrusts becoming sharper, more urgent. He wanted to push her over the edge, to feel her release around him.

Peaches cried out, her body trembling as she came apart beneath him. Her walls clenched around him, milking him as she rode out her orgasm. Bob followed soon after, his own release crashing into him with a force that left him breathless.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, their hearts pounding in unison, their breaths mingling. Bob’s hands slid down to rest on her hips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin.

Peaches turned to face him, her lips curving into a soft smile. “That was—”

Bob silenced her with a kiss, his lips pressing firmly against hers. “Not done yet,” he murmured against her mouth.

Her eyebrows rose, a challenge in her gaze. “Oh? And what else do you have planned, Lieutenant?”

Bob smirked, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. He pulled her closer, his lips brushing her ear. “I think it’s time for a little role reversal,”he whispered, his voice dark with promise.

Peaches’s eyes widened, just for a moment, before a slow smile spread across her face. “Oh? And what makes you think you can handle it?”

Bob’s smirk widened, his hands sliding up to grip her hips. “Only one way to find out,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Peaches laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down his spine. She pushed him back, her hands on his chest as she stepped away. “On your back, Lieutenant,” she commanded, her voice firm.

Bob raised an eyebrow, a challenge in his gaze. “You sure about that, Peaches?”

She smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I’m sure,” she purred. “Now, on your back.”

Bob hesitated, just for a moment, before complying. He lay down on the bench, his hands behind his head as he watched her with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation

Peaches moved to stand between his legs, her hands on her hips as she

looked down at him. “Comfortable?”

she asked, her voice low and teasing.

“As long as you are,” he replied, his voice steady.

Bob’s gaze lingered on her, taking in the way her hips swayed, the way her breasts moved with each breath.

“Peaches—” he started, but she silenced him with a kiss, her lips pressing firmly against his.

She pulled back, her eyes locked on his, her smile triumphant. “My turn,”she murmured, her voice dark with promise.

Bob’s breath caught as she sank to her knees, her hands gripping his thighs as she leaned in. Her lips brushed the head of his cock, her breath warm against his skin. He shivered, his hands tangling in her hair as she looked up at him, her eyes daring him to stop her.

“Peaches—” he managed, his voice hoarse.

She smirked, her tongue flicking out to taste him. “Shh,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Just enjoy the ride, Lieutenant.”

Bob’s eyes fluttered closed as her lips closed around him, her mouth warm and wet. She took him deep, her tongue swirling around the head as she hummed in approval.

He groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily as she began to move, her mouth working its magic.

She was relentless, her lips and tongue driving him to the brink. Her hands gripped his thighs, her nails digging into his skin as she took control.

Bob’s hands fisted in her hair, his hips thrusting into her mouth as he lost himself in the sensation.

“Peaches—I’m close,” he panted, his voice strained.

She pulled back, her eyes locked on his, her smile mischievous. “Not yet,”she murmured, her voice low and teasing.

“Yo!”

Payback’s voice. Loud. Too close.

“You left your phone in the hangar, Bob. Phoenix said you might be in here—”

Peaches freezes.

Bob practically jumps out of his own skin.

“Shit,” she whispers.

“Oh my God,” Bob wheezes, trying to find his shirt, his soul, and maybe the Holy Spirit.

“We were so close,” she mutters, genuinely heartbroken. “I was gonna ruin you.”

“I know,” he gasps. “I know.”

Another knock.

“You guys decent?”

“No!” Bob yells. “I mean—yes! I mean—don’t come in!”

Peaches is dying laughing, holding her stomach, collapsed on the bench in just her sports bra and smudged lip gloss.

“Bobby Floyd,” she giggles, “you’re gonna need a cold shower and a prayer.”

“I need an exorcism,” he mutters.

They scramble to fix themselves—clothes adjusted, faces flushed, hearts racing.

As Payback walks away, clearly suspicious, Peaches leans in close and whispers:

“You owe me, Floyd.”

“I owe you everything,” he breathes.

600 notes · View notes

holeforzenin · 1 year ago

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Tw- Anal, Degradation, Buttplug usage mentioned, literally pure filth. So sorry for any errors.

Thinking about mean men with literally no fucking word filter, even if it's something embarrassing or weird he doesn't give a fuck, he loves seeing the way your cheeks get red while he whispers the dirtiest and weirdest shit to you while he's pounding you stupid.

Letting him fuck your ass was probably the worse idea ever, he had you bent over with your back arched uncomfortablely, face down ass up with your cute stringy thong pulled to the side with his cock stuffed in your asshole, he couldn't resist pushing it all the way in to the hilt, not with the way your tiny hole is squeezing and clenching around him sooo tightly.

"Fuckk baby look at that tight little asshole sucking on my cock like a lollipop" he groans, eyes rolling back of his head as he continues bullying his thick cock into your poor hole, heavy cum filled balls slapping against your clit as your cunt flutters around nothing. You kept your head buried into the pillow in embarrassment not daring to move as your muffled moans filled the room.

"Such a good little anal slut f'me aren't ya baby?What a fucking tight greedy hole you got here princess, might have to let me use this one more often" he smirks obviously knowing you can't respond to him or at least won't because he knows exactly what he's tryna do, he knows how shy you are with these things so why not have a little fun?

He brought his thumb down to your clit, rubbing sloppy slow circles on it while landing a harsh slap on your ass cheek, the sudden sensation making your body jolt unexpectedly while you cry into the pillow, his cock pistoling into your stretched hole recklessly as he felt his balls tighten, he starts picking up the pace, strong hands gripping onto your waist as he quickly changes position, planting his feet on the bed as he hammers his fat girth into your ass deeper and deeper

"Holy fuck I'm gonna cum, gonna let me stuff this dirty hole full of my cum yeah? Then maybe I'll even plug it up with that cute heart plug I got you so you can walk around with my cum dumped deep in your butthole with the plug stuffing it in like the filthy anal slut you are, without a single soul knowing, yeah? Bet you'd like that, whore".

You couldn't help but whimper to his filthy words, needy pussy dripping and leaky on the bed to that nasty thought, he felt his dick twitching inside of you as your cockhungry hole spasms around him, sucking him even more and threatening to milk the life out of him, he looked down at where the two of you were connected and the way your asshole swallows and welcomes his cock in was well enough for him to blow his load deep in your ass, hot ropes of cum feeding your greedy hungry hole as he continues fucking you through it, fucking his semen deeper and deeper inside of you to make sure it's well buried deep so he can plug it up and take you to a dinner date after :3

Toji, Sukuna, Gojo, Bakugou, Geto, Dabi, Kirishima, Aizen, Simon Ghost Riley + Whoever you want.

2K notes · View notes

edenarchives · 2 months ago

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♯┆𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓! 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑.ᐟ — 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Life after the industry is sweet—until Bakugo gets an offer to go back. When he hesitates, you walk out… carrying a secret that changes everything.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst with a happy ending, implied past sex work, unplanned pregnancy, emotional hurt/comfort, soft makeup sex, begging, praise, consent-focused, creampie, reader throws up (morning sickness), crying, reader leaves briefly, Bakugo is a dumb boy who learns, extremely soft post-fight intimacy

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟗.𝟑𝐤

PART TWO

You weren’t sure what life would feel like after walking away from everything—the lights, the cameras, the noise. But somehow, it just… slowed down. In the best way.

You and Bakugo had been out of the industry for a few months now. No more early call times. No more scripts. No more wiping off fake sweat between takes or answering awkward fan questions about chemistry that wasn’t real.

This was real.

Waking up in the same bed every morning. Grocery shopping at weird hours because you forgot milk again. Fighting over what kind of laundry detergent to use and then fucking against the dryer before the load was even done. Real.

The money still sat in your account, untouched for the most part. He had more than enough saved, and you did too. And neither of you really talked about it, but you both knew it wasn’t about the money anymore. It was about being able to touch each other without someone yelling cut. About hearing him whisper mine into your skin and knowing it meant something.

The house was small, still half-furnished, still smelled like paint in the corners. But it was yours. It was home.

And every morning started the same.

With him.

Somewhere between the weight of his arm around your waist and the sound of birds outside the window, you always woke up like this—wrapped up in him, skin tangled with sheets that still smelled like the two of you. The house would be quiet. The air just a little cool. And for a few perfect minutes, neither of you had anywhere to be. No makeup to do. No lines to memorize. Just warmth, skin, and the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back.

Sometimes he’d murmur something against your neck—half-asleep nonsense, soft and mumbled and way too sweet for someone who once used the words “tight little cunt” on camera like it was poetry.

Sometimes he didn’t say anything at all. Just held you.

And other times, like right now…

It would start with the feeling of his cock pressed right up against your ass, hard and heavy and twitching through his briefs, like he’d been dreaming about you again His arm is still around your waist, palm splayed wide and warm over your stomach, and his nose is buried in your neck, breath slow and steady. You don’t even open your eyes. Just smirk to yourself and shift your hips back, rubbing against him, slow and lazy, until he groans softly in his sleep.

You feel his hand twitch where it rests against your stomach, sliding a little lower, like his body’s already clocked in even if his mind hasn’t caught up yet. His fingers dip below your navel, brushing the waistband of your panties. You wiggle your hips again, a little bolder this time, grinding back against the thick shape of him until he groans again—louder this time, awake now, mouth brushing your skin as he shifts behind you.

“You tryna start something?” he mumbles, voice low and scratchy with sleep.

You smile. “You’re the one poking me.”

He groans, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and slides his hand down over your panties, cupping you fully. His voice is lower now, all gravel and hunger. “You’re already wet.”

“Maybe I had a good dream.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “You always dream about me?”

“Only when you don’t hog the blanket.”

His hand slips under the waistband without warning, two fingers dragging through the slick heat between your thighs. He groans again, deeper now, fingers spreading you open like he owns it. “Fuck. You’re soaked.”

You shiver, breath catching as he teases your clit with lazy circles. “Then do something about it.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You want it like this? All slow and sleepy?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as he strokes you a little deeper. “Want you, Katsuki. Just like this.”

You feel his smile against your neck. Then his fingers are gone, and he’s tugging your panties down with one hand, pushing them down your thighs until you kick them off with a soft little whine. He presses himself up against you again, grinding slow against your ass, his cock rock-hard under the thin cotton of his briefs.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Feel how bad I need you?”

You reach behind you, sliding your hand between your bodies, finding the waistband of his briefs and pushing them down just enough to free him. His cock presses hot and heavy against your bare skin now, and he groans at the contact, rolling his hips until he’s sliding between your thighs, not inside, just rubbing against your slick folds like he’s savoring it.

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Just breathes. You feel the weight of him behind you, wrapped around you, and the thick head of his cock dragging through your wetness slow and easy, again and again, until you’re writhing, your body aching to be filled.

“Please,” you whisper. “Katsuki, I need it.”

He pushes in without a word.

One long, deep stroke, slow enough that you feel every inch stretch you open, fill you up, sink into you like he’s molding himself to the shape of you from the inside out. Your mouth falls open. He groans into your shoulder, his hand gripping your waist like he’s holding on for dear life.

“God,” he rasps. “You always take me so fuckin’ good.”

You moan, soft and real, grinding your hips back to meet his next thrust. He moves slow at first, dragging out each roll of his hips like he wants to memorize the way you feel wrapped around him. His hand slides up to your chest, palm cupping your breast as he fucks you from behind, lazy and deep, breath hot against your neck.

The room is still dim, light barely leaking through the curtains, and the only sounds are his breath, your moans, the soft slap of skin on skin as he sinks into you over and over again.

“Can’t believe I get to wake up to this,” he mutters, lips against your ear. “To you.”

You whimper. “Katsuki—”

His hand drifts down between your legs again, fingers rubbing slow circles against your clit while he fucks into you, his rhythm never faltering. It’s too much and not enough, overwhelming and perfect all at once.

“You gonna cum for me?” he breathes. “This tight little pussy already clenching on me like she’s close.”

“Yes—fuck, yes—don’t stop—”

He grinds in deep, holds it there, fingers working you just right until you break with a soft cry, your body locking up as the orgasm crashes through you, pulsing around him in slow, aching waves. You hear him groan as you tighten around his cock, and he starts to move again, chasing his own high now, thrusts getting rougher, needier.

“Shit—baby—feels so fuckin’ good—”

You reach behind you, hand tangling in his hair, tugging him closer as he fucks into you harder, faster, until he’s gasping your name and spilling inside you, cock twitching deep as he groans into your neck.

The two of you stay there for a minute—sweaty, breathless, still tangled together, his cock still buried inside you, your skin sticky with heat and sweat and morning light.

Then he shifts, kissing your shoulder again, voice soft. “We’re disgusting.”

You smile. “Speak for yourself.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You’re the one who begged for it.”

You hum, smug. “And I got it.”

He groans and flops onto his back, dragging you with him, letting you settle on top of him, his arms wrapping around your waist like he’s never planning to let go.

You press a kiss to his collarbone, his chest still rising and falling beneath you, warm and steady and safe.

This was everything.

Just you and him and the quiet, and nowhere to be.

Bakugo was still half-asleep beneath you, one hand drifting aimlessly up and down your back, the other tucked under your thigh where it had landed during round one and never left. His cock had softened inside you, but he hadn’t pulled out. You didn’t mind. You liked it like this—slow and messy and full of him. His cum already leaking out of you, cooling against your thighs, but neither of you moved. The sheets were ruined. You didn’t care.

He mumbled something against your hair, too quiet to catch, and you smiled into his chest.

“What?” you asked softly.

“I said,” he repeated, voice rough, “if we keep doing this every morning, we’re gonna go through bedsheets faster than groceries.”

You laughed into his skin. “Then stop cumming in me like a man with a breeding kink.”

He didn’t laugh. Just went still for a second.

You blinked, lifting your head. “I’m joking—Jesus, relax.”

He huffed, but you saw the way his eyes flicked down your body, lingering where you were still connected, sticky and flushed and warm. He didn’t say anything.

“You’re not getting all weird about that now, are you?”

“No,” he muttered.

“Because we’re being careful. And I’m not trying to be barefoot and pregnant with your demon spawn.”

That made him laugh—finally. A real one. Deep and low and warm in his chest. “Yet.”

You rolled your eyes. “Katsuki.”

He kissed you to shut you up, and you let him.

Eventually, you peeled yourselves out of bed and into the shower—half-cleaning, half-groping, ending with him pushing you up against the tile wall and fucking you again while the water ran cold.

By the time you both made it downstairs, it was almost noon.

Bakugo wore grey sweats, no shirt, towel-dried hair messy, and his usual morning scowl soft around the edges from sex and sleep. You were in one of his shirts and nothing else, legs still shaky as you climbed onto the counter while he made coffee.

You were halfway through stealing the last piece of sourdough when his phone buzzed on the kitchen island.

He ignored it at first, focused on trying not to burn the eggs again.

It buzzed again.

You glanced over. “Is that Keigo again?”

“Probably,” he muttered.

He reached for it anyway, flipping it open with one hand, balancing the spatula in the other. You watched his face shift as he scrolled—soft confusion, followed by that little furrow between his brows you knew too well. Not annoyed. Just focused.

“What?” you asked, mouth full.

He didn’t answer.

“Katsuki?”

He tilted the screen toward you.

You squinted at the message, chewing slowly.

An offer.

A comeback scene.

Big budget. New studio. New girl.

One-time shoot.

A rate so high you blinked twice just to make sure you weren’t reading it wrong.

You snorted. “That’s fake.”

“I don’t think it is,” he muttered.

“They must be desperate.”

He didn’t laugh.

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait. You’re not actually—”

“I’m just saying,” he said, still scrolling, tone too calm, too casual. “It’s a lot of money.”

You stared at him.

He looked back.

And something in your chest pulled tight.

“No.”

“I didn’t say yes,” he said quickly.

“But you’re considering it.”

“I’m just—thinking.”

You slid off the counter, toes hitting the cold tile, the hem of his shirt swishing around your thighs. “Thinking about sticking your dick in someone else?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?”

He set the phone down. “It’s a job.”

“Not anymore.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not like I caught feelings for every scene partner I ever had.”

“It’s not about that anymore,” you snapped. “You’re mine.”

He flinched. Just slightly.

“I left the industry for you,” you said. “We both did. I gave up everything. And now you’re telling me what—we’re one big paycheck away from you crawling back into bed with some new girl for content?”

“It’s not about her.”

“Then what is it? Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re willing to throw everything away for a fucking cheque.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” he said sharply. “It’s a one-time thing.”

“And that makes it better?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t soft.

He was calm. Cold.

Like a pro.

Like the guy he used to be.

Your chest ached.

You turned away. “I can’t believe you.”

“Baby—”

“No,” you said, voice low. “Don’t call me that right now.”

The silence hit heavy.

You walked out of the kitchen, footsteps slow, careful, arms crossed over your chest like you were holding yourself together.

He didn’t follow.

You made it to the bathroom, closed the door, sat on the edge of the tub. Your pulse was in your throat. Your head was spinning. You weren’t crying. Not yet. Not even angry.

Just… tired.

So tired.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, taking a deep breath.

And your stomach lurched.

You froze.

Swallowed.

And ran to the toilet just in time to throw up everything you’d eaten.

Your hands gripped the edge of the bowl. The tile was cold against your knees. The bitter taste in your mouth didn’t even register.

You stayed there, trembling, staring at the floor like it might give you answers.

It didn’t.

But something inside you already knew.

Not because of the nausea. Not even because of the skipped period you hadn’t really processed until right now.

But because of the way your body had changed this past week—tired all the time, sore in places that didn’t usually ache, the way your chest felt heavier in the mornings, and how certain smells made you gag for no reason.

And the way he looked at you lately—like something was glowing under your skin and he didn’t know how to name it.

You sat there on the cold tile floor, palms flat against your thighs, trying to breathe through the thought without breaking. It felt impossible. Like the second you gave it space, it would swallow you whole. This huge, terrifying thing growing in the corner of your mind like a secret you weren’t ready to say out loud.

Not even to him.

Especially not now.

Not when he was still in the kitchen.

Still standing there with his phone in his hand, thinking about fucking someone else for a paycheck.

You didn’t even blame him.

Not really.

You knew how much money that was. You knew what it meant to walk away from something like that, how many people would kill for even half that offer. You knew what it meant to be practical.

But you also knew how it would feel.

Watching him strip for someone else. Touch someone else. Pretend to want someone else. Even just for a day. Even just for a scene.

You’d spent years acting. Years pretending. But there was no pretending anymore. Not with him. You’d felt it the first time he touched you and again every time after—this wasn’t a job. Not anymore. It was real. Messy. Beautiful. Yours.

And now this.

Your stomach twisted again, but you didn’t move.

You just sat there, staring at the floor, until your breath finally evened out and your head stopped spinning.

Then, slow and quiet, you got up.

Washed your face. Brushed your teeth. Pulled on some soft shorts and tied your hair up like nothing was wrong.

And then you opened the drawer under the sink, where you’d stuffed a half-used box of pregnancy tests last year during a false alarm.

You stared at it.

Stared through it.

Then you grabbed one, unwrapped it, and sat back down on the toilet like your hands weren’t shaking.

The silence felt louder than it should.

Louder than the party music that used to pulse through your earpiece on set. Louder than the breathy moans you used to fake for the camera.

This was real.

This was just you.

And a little stick that would either ruin everything or explain it all.

You peed on it. Set it on the counter. Washed your hands.

Waited.

You didn’t pace. Didn’t look. Just stood there with your fingers braced against the counter, staring into the sink like you could fall into it.

You told yourself not to check too early. That two minutes wasn’t that long.

But thirty seconds in, you looked anyway.

And there it was.

One line.

Then another.

Faint. Pink. Obvious.

Positive.

The sound you made wasn’t even a gasp. It was quieter than that. A breath, stolen out of your lungs. A sob that never formed.

You sat down again, this time on the closed toilet lid, the test still shaking in your hands.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

Bakugo was downstairs, somewhere between scrambled eggs and a maybe-cheating debate, and you were upstairs, holding proof that your life was about to split in half.

You pressed a hand to your belly again.

There was nothing there yet. No bump. No flutters. No heartbeat you could feel.

But it was real.

This thing. This tiny, terrifying, impossible thing.

You didn’t cry.

Not yet.

You just sat there.

And realized you had no fucking idea what to do next.

The test sat quiet on the counter like it wasn’t ruining your whole world. Just two pink lines. Faint, delicate, innocent. Like it hadn’t detonated a bomb in your chest.

You stared at it for another minute, hand still flat against your stomach, like you were trying to feel something. A flutter. A kick. A sign. But there was nothing. Just silence and the thick hum of panic under your skin.

You didn’t cry.

Didn’t scream.

You just… stood up. And started moving.

The house was quiet when you stepped out of the bathroom. Still smelled like toast and sex and expensive coffee grounds. You moved slow, careful, like one wrong step might make it all collapse.

He was still downstairs. You could hear him in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets like he was trying to stay busy. Like he was still mad. Still unsure. Still thinking about it.

You didn’t go to him.

You went to the bedroom.

Grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and pulled open the dresser drawers. You didn’t pack much. Just enough. A few outfits. Your charger. Your toothbrush. You weren’t running away. You just needed space. Time. Room to think without his voice in your ear or the weight of his silence in your bed.

You zipped the bag shut and stood there for a second, hand tight around the strap.

This wasn’t about punishing him.

It was about protecting yourself.

And something else now too.

You stepped into the hallway. Your feet felt like bricks. Every part of you wanted to crawl back into bed, pretend you hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t felt it. Hadn’t watched the man you loved seriously consider letting someone else touch him again like it was no big deal.

You made it halfway down the stairs before he saw you.

He looked up from where he stood near the counter, phone in one hand, coffee untouched in the other. His eyes dropped to the bag slung over your shoulder. And his whole body stiffened.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Keigo’s.”

He blinked, slow. “What?”

“I texted him,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “He said I could stay a few nights.”

Bakugo set his coffee down, like the act of holding something suddenly felt impossible. “Why?”

You stared at him.

Waited.

Let him connect the dots himself.

And when he didn’t—when his silence stretched too long, too confused, too hurt—you gave him the only answer you had.

“Because I need to stay somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m about to be cheated on for a cheque.”

His mouth opened. Closed. No sound came out.

You tightened your grip on the bag. “I love you. But I need you to really think about what you’re doing. About what it means to even consider it. Because if this is something you’re still on the fence about, then I can’t be here while you figure it out.”

His jaw tensed. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust this version of you,” you whispered. “The one that looks at money and forgets what we built.”

The pain on his face flickered fast, like he didn’t want you to see it—but you did. You saw all of it. The confusion. The guilt. The way his hands curled into fists like he wanted to fix it, but didn’t know how.

You didn’t wait for him to say anything else.

You turned.

Walked toward the door.

And before you stepped out, you paused, one hand on the handle, your voice soft.

“I’ll be at Keigo’s if you decide that I’m worth more than a fucking paycheck.”

Then you were gone.

And the door closed behind you.

The door closed behind you.

The air outside was cooler than you expected, your breath catching a little in your chest as you walked down the driveway. You didn’t have a plan past this. Just the bag slung over your shoulder and the phone in your hand, screen dark and heavy like it knew what you were about to do.

You hadn’t actually texted Keigo.

You said it like you had, like it was settled, like your best friend who sometimes slept until noon and always forgot to charge his phone would definitely be available for some kind of emotional bed-and-breakfast situation.

But you hadn’t sent the message.

Because you hadn’t known what to say.

And because when everything cracked open inside you, the only place that felt remotely safe wasn’t a hotel, or a friend with a couch, or your sister two cities over.

It was Keigo.

Of course it was Keigo.

He was the only person who knew what this world had been like for you. What the job had meant. What it had cost. He’d seen you on your best and worst days. Had filmed with you when your hands were shaking and kissed your forehead before scenes when you were too anxious to fake it. He’d seen you fall in love with Bakugo even before you realized you had.

So when your thumb hovered over his name, you didn’t write a long explanation. You didn’t even say anything dramatic.

You just texted:

“Are you home?”

He responded in thirty seconds.

“Always.”

You blinked away the burn behind your eyes and typed back:

“I’m coming over.”

And that was it.

No questions.

No judgment.

And when you got there, he opened the door before you even knocked.

His hair was a mess, blonde tufts sticking in every direction, sweatpants slung low on his hips and an old band tee hanging loose over his chest. He had a toothbrush in one hand and a protein bar in the other, like he’d been mid-bite when he saw your name pop up and forgot how to function after.

His eyes swept over you, down to the duffel bag, and back up.

He blinked.

“You look like shit.”

You let out a quiet laugh that broke halfway through. “Thanks.”

He stepped aside. “Get in here.”

The second the door closed behind you, the weight hit you all at once. Your chest tightened. Your throat burned. But you didn’t cry. You just stood in the entryway while Keigo locked the door behind you, his movements quiet, slow, careful.

He turned around. Didn’t push. Didn’t ask.

Just held out his arms.

And you stepped right into them.

No words. No explanations.

His body was warm. Familiar. The way he held you—arms wrapping tight, chin resting on your head, it didn’t feel romantic. It didn’t even feel fragile.

It felt like safety.

You didn’t know how long you stood there. Long enough for your breath to even out. Long enough to stop shaking.

Eventually, he pulled back, hands still on your arms.

“You hungry?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“You wanna shower?”

Another shake.

“You wanna talk?”

You hesitated. Then whispered, “Not yet.”

He nodded. “Cool. I got like five types of ice cream and a couch with your name on it.”

You smiled. Small. Tired.

“Also, I’m watching that trashy dating show you hate.”

You groaned. “Of course you are.”

“I’m doing you a favor. Lowering your standards before you crawl back to your man.”

You stiffened. He caught it.

His eyes softened.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m not judging. I just know you love that idiot.”

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t push.

He just took your bag, pointed toward the living room, and said, “You’re on blanket duty. I’ll be there in five.”

You sank onto the couch, pulling the throw over your lap, curling into the cushions like they might hold you together.

Your hand drifted to your stomach again. Light. Careful. Protective.

You didn’t know what was going to happen next.

But at least for tonight—you weren’t alone.

Keigo didn’t hover.

He didn’t ask why you showed up at his door with a bag and puffy eyes. Didn’t pry when you curled into the couch under the throw blanket like your body was trying to disappear. He just dropped onto the other end, grabbed the remote, and turned on whatever trash he’d been watching before you showed up. Something dramatic. Loud. Ridiculous.

You let it play.

For a while, neither of you talked. He didn’t need to. You weren’t ready. And he knew that.

You sat there in silence, the glow of the TV washing over the room in soft colors while some girl on screen cried over a man named Bryce who’d definitely slept with her best friend.

Keigo clicked his tongue. “Messy.”

You snorted without meaning to.

His eyes flicked to you.

He grinned. “There she is.”

You rolled your eyes and hugged the blanket tighter.

After another minute, he shifted suddenly, sitting up a little straighter.

“You know what, bitch?” he said, tone way too enthusiastic for someone wearing socks with holes in them. “I got just the thing for you.”

You raised a brow. “Keigo—”

“Nope. Don’t talk. Let me fix you.”

“You’re not fixing anything.”

He was already on his feet, waving a dismissive hand as he wandered toward the kitchen. “Shut up and mourn your toxic man in peace. I’ll be right back.”

You smiled despite yourself. That dumb, warm little twist in your chest that only came from someone who knew you too well. You sank back into the couch, head tipping against the cushion, letting the sounds of the show fill the room while he clattered around in the kitchen.

Drawers opened. Something clinked. The fridge door squeaked.

A few minutes later, he reappeared—two wine glasses in hand, both filled with a generous pour of deep red.

You blinked.

He held one out to you. “To men being trash.”

You stared at the wine glass.

Didn’t take it.

Your throat started to close.

Your chest got tight.

And before you could stop it—your face crumpled.

Keigo blinked. “Wait—what?”

You shook your head, covering your face with one hand, and the tears started spilling fast. Quiet, but heavy. You tried to breathe through it, tried to wave him off, but it was too late.

He sat down quick, the wine still in his hands. “Shit—what’d I do? What happened?”

You couldn’t speak at first.

Just buried your face in your palms and choked on the words.

Keigo’s voice gentled. “Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to—just breathe, babe. You’re alright. I’m here.”

“I’m not mad about the wine, I swear,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I just—I can’t have it.”

Keigo stared at you.

Then stared at the wine.

Then back at you.

And his whole face shifted.

“…oh shit.”

Without another word, he placed both wines down and then picked up your untouched glass and poured the whole thing into his. Set the empty one aside like it had betrayed you both.

You laughed, messy and wet.

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, face open. “Tell me everything.”

So you did.

You told him about the morning. About waking up wrapped in Bakugo like nothing had changed. About how perfect it had been, how happy you’d felt—until that email. Until Bakugo had looked at a number on a screen and hesitated.

You told him about the offer. The girl. The way he didn’t say no. How your heart had split in two while he stood there quiet, calculating.

You told him about the fight. About the way Bakugo looked at you—professional. Like he’d stepped back into a version of himself you thought he’d buried.

You told him you threw up. Took a test. Watched the second pink line appear like it had been waiting for this exact moment to fuck you up.

By the time you finished, your hands were in your lap and Keigo was quiet beside you, one elbow propped on the couch, wine glass forgotten.

He didn’t say anything for a while.

“Goddamn.”

You exhaled. “Yeah.”

He shook his head, blowing out a soft breath. “I’m not gonna lie, I kinda wanna punch him.”

You almost smiled. “I know.”

“But I also know him,” he added. “And I know that if he’d seen that test first? He would’ve lost his goddamn mind.”

You looked down. Your voice went quiet. “But he didn’t.”

Keigo didn’t argue.

Didn’t defend him.

He just shifted closer, nudged your knee with his. “You gonna tell him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want him to know?”

You hesitated.

And in the silence, Keigo just nodded, like he understood even that.

He leaned back into the couch and took a sip of the wine he definitely didn’t want anymore. “Well,” he said. “Until you do, this couch is yours. So’s the ice cream.”

You snorted. “You said that like it was a prize.”

“Have you seen my freezer?”

You laughed, properly this time, and wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Thanks, Kei.”

“Anytime.”

He bumped your shoulder with his, lazy and gentle.

And the two of you sat like that—half-curled into each other, trash TV still playing in the background, a full glass of wine untouched on the table—and for the first time all day, you felt like maybe, just maybe, everything might not fall apart after all.

The next morning came too early.

You hadn’t really slept, just drifted in and out between half-dreams and the glow of Keigo’s TV. He’d stayed up with you, never pushing, just letting you exist. At some point he fell asleep at the other end of the couch, one leg kicked over the armrest, mouth half-open, blanket tangled around his waist like he’d wrestled a ghost in his sleep.

You sat up slowly, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Your hand dropped to your stomach before you even thought about it. Just a soft touch. A check-in.

Still real.

Still terrifying.

You didn’t know how to feel. You weren’t ready to be a mom. But you were even less ready to walk back into that house and face a man who looked at you like a choice instead of a certainty.

Keigo stirred with a groan. “God, my spine is broken.”

You snorted. “You did that to yourself.”

He opened one eye and smirked. “I do everything to myself. But you—you look a little less haunted. That’s a win.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “It’s the pregnancy glow.”

He gagged dramatically and rolled off the couch.

You spent the rest of the day like that—floating in a weird limbo of cozy clothes, bad food, and Keigo pretending he wasn’t watching you like a hawk when you stood too still or stared too long at nothing. He didn’t ask again. Just sat with you. Waited.

But Bakugo didn’t text.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t show up.

And it hit harder than you wanted it to.

The second day passed slower. Keigo dragged you to the corner store, forced you into a cart like a toddler, and tossed prenatal vitamins into your basket when he thought you weren’t looking. You said nothing. Let him. It was easier than explaining how you hadn’t bought them yet because part of you still wasn’t ready to accept this was really happening.

That night, you fell asleep curled into the couch again, Keigo’s blanket pulled over your head like you could hide from the world.

Meanwhile—

Bakugo sat on the edge of your shared bed, phone in his hand, staring at your last message like he could will it to say something different.

You’d been gone for two days.

He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. The house smelled like nothing. Like empty space. Like you’d never been there at all.

He’d cleaned the kitchen three times. Took the trash out even though it was barely full. Sat on the couch with the TV on mute for hours, watching the screen without seeing a thing.

And the offer?

Still sitting in his inbox.

He hadn’t opened it since you left.

Hadn’t touched it.

Hadn’t deleted it either.

He didn’t know what to do.

He fucked up. That part was obvious. The second your eyes filled with tears and your voice cracked when you said “I need to stay somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m about to be cheated on for a cheque,” something in him snapped in half.

He wasn’t gonna do it. He wasn’t.

But he hadn’t said that.

He froze. Stupid. Thought about the number. The money. The “what ifs.” He hesitated—and you saw that. You felt that.

And now?

Now you were gone.

He looked around the room and realized how quiet everything felt without you. How still. How wrong.

Your charger was still plugged in beside the bed.

Your hair tie was still looped around the doorknob of the bathroom.

Your robe still hung on the hook.

He stood up suddenly, like the silence was suffocating him, and grabbed his keys without thinking. He needed to move. Needed to breathe. He didn’t even know where he was going until he was already outside.

Across town, Keigo was cleaning up dinner when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it once.

Then again.

Then sighed.

“Hey,” he called toward the living room. “You decent?”

“Why?”

“Someone’s here.”

You looked up from the blanket nest you’d made on his couch.

Your stomach dropped.

Keigo opened the door before you could move.

And there he was.

Katsuki Bakugo.

A mess.

Sweatpants. Hoodie. Hair a wreck. Eyes red like he hadn’t slept since you left. He looked past Keigo immediately, eyes scanning the living room until they landed on you.

His whole body stilled.

Your heart slammed in your chest.

Keigo crossed his arms. “You lost?”

Bakugo’s jaw clenched. “She here?”

“You gonna do something stupid if I say yes?”

He didn’t answer.

Keigo looked back at you.

You were frozen.

Not ready.

But you nodded.

Just once.

Keigo stepped aside.

Bakugo stepped in.

And the room felt like it couldn’t hold both of you at once.

You sat there curled up on Keigo’s couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, blanket tucked to your chin like you were trying to hide in plain sight. You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him with wide, quiet eyes—like the sight of him hurt and you didn’t have the energy to pretend it didn’t.

He looked the same as he did the night you left. Except worse.

Hoodie rumpled. Hair a mess. Jaw tight like he hadn’t unclenched it since you slammed the door behind you. His hands were in his pockets, like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you. His voice cracked when he finally said your name.

You blinked.

Didn’t say anything.

He shifted his weight, like he didn’t know where to stand. “I opened that offer. I saw it. We both did.”

Your gaze dropped to the blanket.

“But I need you to know that when I saw the offer, I didn’t hesitate because I wanted to touch her or because I wanted to fuck someone else. I haven’t wanted anyone but you in months. You know that.”

Still, you said nothing. You didn’t argue.

He took a step forward, slow and careful.

“You left,” he said, softer now. “And I get why. I fucked up. You needed me to be certain and I hesitated. I looked at a number instead of looking at you. And I’ll regret that for the rest of my fucking life.”

Your throat bobbed.

“But I’m here,” he said. “I’m here now, and I’ll keep being here until you decide if you want me back.”

You shifted slightly, curling tighter into yourself. “It wasn’t just the job, Katsuki.”

His whole body froze. “What?”

“It was how easy it felt for you to think about it. Like everything we walked away from didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me.”

He looked like you’d slapped him.

You swallowed. “You said it was just acting. But it’s not just acting to me anymore. I thought we were past that. I thought we were building something real.”

“We are.”

Your voice dropped. Barely a whisper. “Then why did it feel so fake that day?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

No answer.

You finally looked up at him again. Your eyes were tired. Sad. He saw the pain in them, the kind that ran deep, old and new all tangled together—and still, you hadn’t told him the truth.

He had no idea that what you were really asking was “Can I trust you to be a father?”

“Can I trust you not to choose your past over our future?”

But you couldn’t say it yet. Not while it still hurt like this.

He stepped closer. Sat on the coffee table in front of you so he wasn’t towering over you anymore. His knees brushed the edge of the blanket.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, voice low. “But I’ll do whatever it takes. I mean that.”

You stared at him, your heart thudding so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

But your lips parted anyway.

And all you said was, “Okay.”

Not forgiveness. Not a welcome.

Just that.

And he nodded.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t breathe easy.

Just sat there.

Like a man waiting for permission to hope.

You stared at him.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg.

Just waited—like if you breathed too hard, it might all disappear.

You should’ve been angry still. Should’ve made him sit in it longer. But something in you shifted when you saw his face tonight. The way he walked in, quiet and wrecked, like he hadn’t slept. The way he spoke, slow and steady, like he’d rehearsed every word a thousand times just to get it right for you.

“I wanna go home,” you said softly.

He blinked.

You stood up, letting the blanket fall from your lap, hoodie sleeves still swallowed around your hands. “If we go home, will you come with me?”

Bakugo stood before the last word left your mouth. “Yeah. Yeah—of course.”

You didn’t touch each other. Didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked toward the kitchen where Keigo was pretending not to eavesdrop behind the fridge door.

He looked up when you stepped in.

“You leaving?” he asked, already knowing.

You nodded. “Thanks for letting me hide out.”

“You can always come back,” he said, grinning like he hadn’t been secretly worried about you this entire time. “Just don’t wait ‘til you’re pregnant with twins next time, yeah?”

You choked.

Bakugo stiffened beside you.

Keigo froze.

A beat of silence passed—too long.

“…wait,” he said slowly, eyes bouncing between you two. “Does he not—”

You stepped on his foot, hard.

He yelped. “Okay! Cool! Goodbye! Don’t be strangers!”

Bakugo squinted. “What the fuck was that?”

“Nothing,” you said too quickly. “He’s just being annoying.”

“…right.”

You hugged Keigo tight, whispered a quick thank you, and turned before he could say anything else.

Bakugo didn’t say much on the way out. Just kept close, held the car door open, rested his hand on the back of your seat the whole drive home like he needed the contact even if you didn’t reach for him.

When you got back to the house, the porch light was still on. Like it had been waiting for you.

You stepped inside first. The air smelled the same—soft laundry, old coffee, faint vanilla from the candle you forgot to blow out the last morning you were here.

It hit you all at once.

The familiarity.

The comfort.

The ache.

You dropped your bag at the door and turned around just as Bakugo closed it behind him.

You stared at each other for a moment in the quiet.

He stepped forward. “Do you want space?”

You shook your head. “I just want to go to bed.”

He nodded once.

No questions.

No pressure.

Just followed you into the bedroom, moving like he was afraid to touch anything too hard in case it broke.

You didn’t curl into him that night. Didn’t kiss him. But you let him sleep in the same bed. And he didn’t ask for anything more.

He just laid there beside you, quiet, breathing, waiting.

And you knew tomorrow, you’d have to tell him everything.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you just needed to be home.

The next morning, the light crept in slow.

You felt it on your face before you opened your eyes—warm and golden, filtering through the curtains like nothing bad had ever happened here. For a second, you forgot everything. Forgot the fight. The offer. The bag you’d packed in a hurry and the two nights you spent curled on Keigo’s couch like you’d forgotten how to breathe.

You just felt warm.

And then you felt him.

Bakugo’s arm was draped over your waist, heavy and protective, fingers resting just above the curve of your stomach. His face was buried in your neck, breath slow and even, like he’d finally slept for the first time in days. You didn’t remember shifting into him during the night. Didn’t remember turning toward him or letting him in—but it didn’t surprise you.

Because this was always the part that made sense.

This.

Him.

You shifted slightly under the covers and felt his grip tighten.

His voice was soft, still sticky with sleep. “You leavin’ again?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He hummed and pulled you closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

And for a moment, you let yourself have it. That quiet, sleepy closeness. The kind you used to take for granted.

But it didn’t last.

The nausea came fast.

Violent.

You tensed under his arm and swallowed hard. That heavy weight in your stomach twisted, flipped—and suddenly the room was spinning.

You sat up quickly.

Bakugo’s arm dropped. “What’s—”

You didn’t answer.

Just bolted.

The sound of your bare feet hitting the floorboards was loud in the silence, followed by the bathroom door swinging open and the unmistakable retching that echoed right after.

Bakugo was up immediately.

“Shit—baby?” His voice was frantic now. Half-asleep panic. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

You were too busy gripping the toilet, your whole body trembling as everything you had in you came back up.

Bakugo was at your side in seconds. Hand on your back, the other pulling your hair gently out of your face. You felt him settle next to you on the tile, warm and solid and there.

“You’re sick?” he asked, voice low and careful.

You didn’t look at him.

Just wiped your mouth with shaking fingers and whispered, “No.”

He paused.

“…Then what is it?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

The words hovered at the edge of your throat, caught somewhere between fear and inevitability.

Then you whispered:

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Not long. Not loud.

But deafening.

You finally looked at him.

He was already staring at you.

And the expression on his face was unreadable.

Not scared.

Not angry.

Just—stunned.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

His voice came quiet.

“You’re…?”

You nodded.

He stared at your face. Then your stomach. Then back again.

And then he exhaled—like he’d been holding his breath for days.

“Fuck.”

You braced yourself for panic. For questions. For him to stand up and walk out or shut down completely like he used to when the pressure got too loud.

But he didn’t.

He just reached out—slowly—and rested his palm over your stomach. Barely touching. Just enough to feel something that wasn’t there yet.

“You’re pregnant,” he said again, softer this time. Like it was finally sinking in.

Your breath hitched.

And then, in the smallest voice you’d made in a long time, you said, “I was going to tell you. I just… I didn’t know how.”

He looked up at you then, eyes wide and full of something you couldn’t name.

“You should’ve told me the second you knew.”

“I wanted to.”

“So why didn’t you?”

You swallowed hard. “Because you were still deciding if I was worth more than a fucking paycheck.”

That shattered something in him.

And he didn’t defend himself.

Didn’t say a word.

He just looked at you like he’d never hated himself more.

But you didn’t move.

You didn’t stand up or pull away or shove his hand off your stomach. You just stayed right there on the cold tile floor, knees drawn up, hoodie sliding down your shoulder, throat tight with everything you’d been holding in for days.

Bakugo didn’t move either.

His hand stayed right where it was—resting over the soft curve of your belly. There was nothing to feel yet. No bump. No movement. Just skin. Just potential.

But the way he touched you…

It wasn’t casual.

It wasn’t unsure.

It was reverent.

His thumb stroked a small line over your hoodie, like he was trying to memorize this moment. Like he was afraid if he blinked, it would disappear.

“I didn’t know,” he said, voice rough. “Fuck. I didn’t know.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“If I’d known…”

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

And he fell quiet.

You didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

Because you knew.

He would’ve slammed the laptop shut. Would’ve deleted the offer. Would’ve gotten on his knees and begged if he had to. You knew that. Deep down, you always did.

But it didn’t change the fact that he hesitated without knowing.

And that still hurt.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you said, voice shaking. “You looked at me like I was asking too much. Like loving me wasn’t enough.”

His hand curled a little tighter.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

You blinked back tears. “Well, you did.”

He nodded, jaw tight, and didn’t argue. Didn’t try to make it pretty.

He just sat there on the floor with you, looking like someone who’d been punched in the chest and didn’t want to move in case the pain got worse.

And then, so quietly you barely heard it, he said:

“Are you keeping it?”

You looked down at his hand on your stomach.

And nodded.

His breath left him in one slow exhale, like he’d been bracing for the answer to break him.

“Okay,” he said.

You blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re doing this.”

You stared at him.

“I’m not letting you do it alone,” he added. “No matter what happens. I’m in.”

You swallowed hard. “Katsuki…”

His eyes met yours. “I love you.”

There was no shake in his voice this time. No hesitation. Just those three words, clear and grounded and real.

You reached for him without meaning to—fingers curling into the front of his hoodie—and he moved instantly, arms wrapping around you, holding you to his chest like he didn’t care how raw it still was between you.

You buried your face in his shoulder.

And for the first time since you saw those two pink lines…

You let yourself cry.

He didn’t say a word.

Just held you.

One hand on your back.

The other still resting on your stomach.

He held you for a long time.

Just sat there on the bathroom floor with you in his arms, the morning light spilling across the tiles, his palm warm and steady over your stomach. You cried into his shoulder—quiet, messy, not loud enough to echo. He didn’t shush you. Didn’t rush you. He just stayed.

Present. Gentle. Real.

Eventually, your tears faded into soft breaths, your fingers still curled into the front of his hoodie. His cheek rested against the top of your head. Neither of you moved.

Then—his voice, low and quiet:

“Come back to bed?”

You nodded.

He helped you up without letting go, one hand guiding you, the other still cradling your hip like he was afraid you might break if he touched you too hard. You let him lead you back to the bedroom, both of you silent, moving slow, your legs a little shaky but your heart finally starting to settle.

The sheets were still warm. Familiar. You climbed in first, slid under the blanket, curled toward the center like muscle memory. He followed, slower, more cautious. Laid beside you on his side, facing you, eyes soft and searching.

His fingers trailed up your waist like he was trying to remember you all over again—every curve, every freckle, every part of you he thought he might’ve lost. You laid there beneath him, skin bare, eyes soft, heart cracked wide open. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. He was already listening to every shift in your breath, every quiet sound that slipped from your lips like music he couldn’t go another second without hearing.

He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were still here. Like he didn’t deserve it.

His fingers lifted, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded.

“Tell me if anything feels wrong, okay? I mean it.”

“I will.”

He leaned in, slowly, giving you a chance to pull back. You didn’t. You met him halfway, lips brushing his in a soft, tentative kiss that melted into something deeper the second his hand found your waist.

He kissed you slowly, like the world had stopped spinning just for this.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You nodded. “I need you.”

His lips brushed yours again, and again, before he moved lower—down your neck, over your collarbone, dragging his mouth across your chest as his hands slid down your sides. His thumb traced the underside of your breast, gentle, reverent, before he cupped you in his palm and kissed the soft skin there, breathing against you like a prayer.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, tongue flicking over your nipple, then sucking it into his mouth until you gasped and arched into him. He stayed there for a moment, his other hand massaging your hip, grounding you, letting your body respond in its own time.

You moaned softly, your thighs already shifting beneath him, breath shaky as his kisses dragged lower, over your ribs, your stomach—pausing for a second at the soft skin just beneath your navel.

He glanced up, hand stroking your thigh now. “Is this okay?”

You reached for him, your fingers threading through his messy blonde hair, voice soft but certain. “Please.”

He settled between your thighs like he’d been craving it. His hands slid under your knees and pushed them open just a little more, spreading you for him with a careful gentleness that made you melt. He didn’t rush—just stared for a second, lips parted, breath shallow.

“Fuck,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe this was still his. “You’re already wet.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Katsuki, please.”

He leaned in slowly and licked a slow, teasing stripe up your center, groaning low in his throat like he was getting high off the taste of you. You gasped, hips twitching, and he wrapped his arms around your thighs to hold you steady, flattening his tongue and dragging it over you again—circling your clit in soft, slow swirls until your back arched and a shaky moan spilled from your lips.

“That feel okay?” he murmured, voice thick.

You nodded fast. “Yes, fuck—yes.”

He smiled against you and dove back in, mouth working you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your whole body trembling. He licked and sucked, tongue curling against your clit, then dipping down to tease your entrance before fucking you with it shallowly—slow, lazy strokes that made your thighs quiver around his head.

Your hands stayed tangled in his hair, pulling gently, fingers tightening every time he groaned into you. You could feel it building fast—tight, hot pressure rolling through your core like a wave about to crash.

“Katsuki—I’m—”

“Come for me,” he rasped, his voice thick and low and full of heat. “Wanna feel you cum on my tongue.”

You broke.

Your whole body tensed, thighs shaking, a cry escaping your lips as you came hard—pulsing against his mouth, hips bucking gently as he kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, letting you ride it out while he murmured soft praises against your skin.

“Good girl… that’s it… fuck, you’re perfect.”

You were still panting, vision swimming, when he kissed his way back up your body—slow, wet kisses up your stomach, your chest, your neck—until he was hovering over you again, face flushed, eyes heavy with want.

He brushed your hair back from your face, cupped your cheek.

“You still okay?” he asked, voice so tender it made your chest ache.

You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in.

“I want you inside me.”

He groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.”

“I know.”

You reached down between your bodies and guided him to your entrance, and the moment he pushed in—slow, thick, deep—you both gasped.

You were still so wet from his mouth that he slid in smooth, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, panting against your mouth like he was holding back everything he had.

“Fuck—” he hissed. “You feel so good. So fuckin’ good.”

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there, cock buried deep, one hand holding your hip, the other cupping your face while he kissed you again—long, slow, passionate.

Then he started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts, hips rolling into yours with perfect pressure, every movement dragging his cock along your walls just right. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his back as he fucked you with so much care it almost didn’t feel real.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Always.”

“Yours,” you breathed. “Only yours.”

He kept moving like he was making love to every piece of you. No rush. No greed. Just deep strokes and soft moans and the occasional whispered “I love you” against your skin that made your heart ache as much as your body did.

You felt the second wave building slow and heavy, tightening deep in your belly, and he felt it too—how your walls fluttered around him, how your legs tightened around his waist.

“I got you,” he panted. “Let go, baby. I got you.”

You came again with a broken moan, this one quieter, sweeter, your body curling into his as you clenched around him, crying out softly as the pleasure rolled through you.

He groaned and buried himself deep, hips stuttering once, twice, before he spilled inside you with a soft, desperate sound—forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You stayed tangled like that.

Sticky. Shaky. Whole.

And when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, both of you breathless and warm and a little overwhelmed, he kissed your cheek and whispered—

“We’re gonna be okay.

And just like that, the part of you that had been holding its breath… exhaled.

TAGS: @2elusional @cosmicaoii @kizsuki @kodzubaby

#my hero academia #smut #bakugo katuski #bakugo x reader #bakugou x y/n #mha #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo fic

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sugurugetoshairbrush · 6 months ago

Text

Personal Trainer!Toji Fushiguro—”Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?” [next]

req by: @sumbarbietingz tyty hope u like <33

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 6 AM.

By now, working out is muscle memory—a chore you tick off your list without much thought. You’re not aiming for an Olympian’s physique, nor do you dream of flipping tires or crushing quadruple-digit squats. For you, fitness is about balance, not obsession. The gym is filled with the usual suspects: frat bros showing off one-armed pull-ups, bodybuilders flexing between sets, and athletes moving like they own the place. You don’t envy them, nor do you aspire to join their ranks. In truth, their antics are more intimidating than inspiring.

But lately, something’s shifted. You’ve grown restless with your go-to routine: treadmill sprints, a quick core workout, and stairmaster till failure. It gets the job done, but there’s a whisper in the back of your mind, daring you to try something new. Maybe it’s time to add weights to your regimen. Maybe it’s time to sculpt those glutes and finally chase the coke-bottle figure you’ve been daydreaming about.

For weeks, the squat rack has been your Everest. You’ve watched others load up the bar, their muscles taut with effort, and wondered if you could do the same. It’s not fear holding you back—more like the memory of too many gym bros turning innocent glances into unwelcome conversations. At this gym, you’ve perfected the art of blending in. Headphones in, eyes down, immersed in the personal concert blasting through your ears. The only human contact you entertain is a nod and a quick smile for the woman at the front desk.

Today, though, is different. After your core workout, you finally approach the empty squat rack. Your heart races—not from exertion, but from the thrill of trying something outside your comfort zone. You set down your water bottle, lift the bar experimentally, then add two 20-pound plates on either side. It feels doable. With a deep breath, you duck under the bar, letting it rest on your shoulders. A hype Sexyy Red track thunders in your ears, spurring you on as you knock out your first set.

The burn in your thighs intensifies with each rep, but you keep going, driven by the mental image of your future self: confident, curvy, unstoppable. Sweat beads along your forehead, catching the fluorescent lights above and glistening on your skin. By the time you hit your second set, you’re locked in, laser-focused—until a firm hand lands on your shoulder, breaking your concentration.

You freeze mid-rep, your eyes snapping to the mirror in front of you. A tall, broad-shouldered figure looms at your side, leaning in close enough to be unavoidable. Your stomach twists with annoyance. Of course. Another unsolicited interruption.

Lowering the barbell with a controlled motion, you let out a sigh, already steeling yourself for the usual spiel. You tug your headphones down to your neck, the music fading into background noise as you prepare to deliver a polite but firm rejection. Why is it always men who think mid-squat, drenched in sweat, is the perfect time to chat? And why, without fail, are they never the gym’s best-looking prospects?

Before you can speak, a gravelly voice cuts in.

“Damn, ma, you tryna go deaf? I could hear your music from all the way across the gym.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. The irritation brewing in your chest falters, giving way to reluctant curiosity as you turn to fully take him in. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead, collecting the beads of sweat rolling down your neck, letting your gaze rake upward.

Crisp white Air Force 1s. Baggy black sweatpants slung low on his hips. A fitted white compression shirt stretched tight over a chiseled torso. Broad shoulders, thick biceps—his entire frame is a testament to strength, and the shirt does little to hide it. You swallow, willing yourself not to gawk, though it takes effort.

When your eyes finally reach his face, restraint becomes even harder. Fine as hell doesn’t do him justice. His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and the scar slicing through the corner of his smirking lips paint a picture of rugged perfection. Jet-black hair falls messily over his forehead, accentuating dark, brooding eyes that seem to hold an unspoken challenge.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to respond. Too many seconds have passed, and you hastily clear your throat, scrambling to collect yourself.

“And that compelled you to approach me?” you ask, arching a brow of your own. A teasing smirk plays on your lips. “Don’t tell me you’re a fellow Sexyy Red fan?”

His smirk deepens, and he crosses his arms, leaning casually against the squat rack like he has all the time in the world.

“Me?” His voice is low and gravelly, carrying an almost teasing edge. “Nah, can’t say I’m also bumping F My Babydad. In fact, that song’s been used against me in the past. Strongly recommend shuffling your playlist.”

The implication makes you blink. He’s someone’s baby daddy? You glance at him again, and yeah, it tracks. His whole aura screams DILF.

You laugh, breathless from both exertion and his audacity. “My heart goes out to you, but that’s not enough to turn me off the song. It’s keeping me pumped.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest. His eyes sweep over you again—this time lingering on your two-piece set, the biker shorts and zip-up jacket hugging your frame. You feel a flicker of pride, knowing the pump is definitely doing its thing. But you quickly remind yourself not to encourage him, no matter how good he looks.

“I noticed,” he says, straightening. “That’s actually why I came over. Hope I’m not overstepping, but your form could use some tweaking. You’re targeting hamstrings more than glutes right now.”

Oh. So he wasn’t hitting on you? Maybe he’s just one of those older gym vets who genuinely want to help. Reluctantly, you concede, eager for the guidance. “Damn, is it that bad? I’m tryna build a dumpy for real. Any tips would be great.”

His brows knit briefly. “A what?”

You grin. “A dumpy. A dump truck. A fat ass. Come on, oldhead.”

His scowl deepens, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Toji. Use my name, not that.” He rolls his eyes, moving to strip the weights from your bar. “But that explains the Sexyy Red. You’re out here tryna Skeeyee or go to Pound town, huh? Don’t worry—I got you. Grab the bar.”

Snickering, you follow his instructions. “Absolutely not. Just help me with my form, Toji.”

Satisfied with your correction, he places a hand on your back, guiding you into a squat. “Wider stance,” he instructs, nodding as you adjust. His hand trails lower down your spine, encouraging you to drop further. “Lower. If you don’t hit a 90-degree angle, you’re not getting the full range of motion.”

You comply, biting back a shiver at his touch. He stays beside you, squatting to observe your form. “When you rise, drive through your heels and tense your glutes—lightly. Not too much.” His hand rests briefly on your hip as you rise, and your focus wavers dangerously.

Somehow, you power through the adjustments and complete your next set, his guidance making all the difference. By the time you finish, you’re drenched in sweat, thighs trembling from exertion, but the burn feels… good.

“You’re a quick learner,” Toji says, lifting the bar off your shoulders and racking it. His tone carries an edge of approval that makes your chest swell. “How’s it feel?”

“Sore, but good.” You glance in the mirror, a grin spreading as you take in your reflection. The pump is real. “You’re a lifesaver. You could seriously be a personal trainer.”

His smirk returns, and for a moment, he almost looks proud. “Good thing I am one. Imagine if you’d said I was trash.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Hey, doll, this might sound out of line, but I’ve never trained someone on a glute-dominant program. Most of my clients are bodybuilders or boxers, but this could open doors. If you’re down, I’ll train you for free so I can develop a structured workout regimen. What do you say?”

You blink at him, stunned by the offer. Free sessions with this hunk of a man? The decision is a no-brainer.

“How could I say no to that big guy?” You swat playfully at his arm, earning a chuckle. You retrieve your phone from the ground handing it towards him, “I’m in. Here, give me your number.”

Toji takes the device from your hand, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. His grin is almost teasing as he hands it back. “Demanding,” he murmurs with a grin. “I like that. I’ll text you over the weekend. We’ll start Monday. That work for you?”

Though you agree, the wait over the weekend feels endless. You check your phone obsessively, half-convinced you’d imagined the whole interaction. But finally, a notification pops up while you’re leisurely sprawled out on the couch, half-heartedly scrolling through your timeline.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Wassup, ma. How about 6 AM on Monday? Tues-Fri, I’m booked mornings, but anytime after 2 works.

You grin, slightly confused by the contact name he’d given himself, but already planning your reply.

You Bet, I’ll be there. We can do 3 PM the other days—I get off at 2.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Bet.

You I gotta ask… what does YHPT mean in your contact name?

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) 🤣🤣🤣 Young Hot Personal Trainer

You Young?! Sorry I asked. Lemme fix that.

Toji Fushiguro 👴🏼 (PT) Not too much on me, ma. 😒

On Monday, you start to wonder if Toji even needs to develop a new glute routine. He seems to already have it down to a science. When you meet him outside the locker room, he’s surprisingly professional, carefully explaining the plan for the day.

He considers your current fitness level but warns that he won’t go easy on you. “If you want results, you’ve gotta work for them,” he says.

Back at the squat rack, you steal a glance at his backside, confirming your suspicions: Toji definitely practices what he preaches. His ass is… impressive. Bubble butt levels of impressive. If this workout built that, you’re sold.

The session starts with barbell walking lunges. Toji adjusts the weights slightly heavier than you’re used to, staying close as you move through each step. He’s comfortable in athletic shorts and a pullover, barely breaking a sweat while you’re already glowing in your two-piece set. His hands are steady and deliberate when tweaking your form, his words always encouraging.

By the time you’re on weighted step-ups, you’ve shed your zip-up and tee, left in just your sports bra and shorts. When you transition to hip thrusts, you play coy about your familiarity with the exercise. It pays off deliciously as Toji demonstrates.

He drags a bench over, slides a barbell onto his lap, and gets into position. His thighs flex, the barbell pressing into his hips as he slowly thrusts upward, his voice low as he explains the importance of balance and control. But honestly, you’re too distracted by the sight of him—muscles taut, skin glowing under the gym lights, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

“Got it, ma? I’ll hand it over to you in a sec—might as well finish this set myself.”

That breathy ma and the half-lidded look he shoots your way? It’s lethal. You fidget on your feet, suddenly aware of how warm the gym feels.

When it’s your turn, you do your best to mimic his movements. To dispel any awkwardness, you wink at him. “How’s my form, big guy? I’m giving you all I’ve got.”

Toji chuckles, his grin playful. “Someone’s catching on quick.” He places a firm hand on your knee, his voice dipping, returning your wink. “That thrust is second to one.”

You end with sumo squats, a challenge given their deep range of motion. Determined to achieve those coveted “Megan knees,” you complain to Toji, who looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.

“Alright, hold up. I know you can nail this—let me help.”

He positions you in front of the mirror, his presence towering behind you. When he steps closer, your breath hitches, his chest brushing against your back as he adjusts your stance.

“Open your legs wider. Angle your feet out,” he murmurs, his hands warm on your thighs. The heat of his breath on your neck nearly sends you spiraling, but you focus on the squat, sinking lower under his guidance.

“Atta girl,” he says softly, his tone making your heart race. “Just like that.”

It hits you then—there’s no way this is just standard training. Especially as you’re keenly aware of the firm press of his body behind yours.

“Toji, how many more? ‘M so tired,” you mumble, struggling through another rep.

“Two more. Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

His hands guide your hips, and you somehow manage to finish the set. Resting your hands on your knees, you catch your breath while he smirks, handing you a water bottle.

“Good girl,” he says.

Your brain short-circuits.

By Tuesday, you’ve settled into the routine, though Toji remains as hands-on as ever—literally. His physical guidance feels less like training and more like testing your resolve, especially when he throws in casual touches that linger just a bit too long.

The workouts are brutal, but Toji’s encouragement and relentless banter keep you going. You learn snippets about his life, mostly centered around his middle-school-aged son, Megumi—a tech-obsessed, angsty tween with whom Toji is actively struggling to connect with.

You start caring about how you look for these sessions—styling your hair, spritzing perfume, even picking out your cutest gym fits. You tell yourself it’s just motivation, but deep down, you know you’re becoming weak to Toji’s charm.

And Toji? He’s an enigma—a hot, muscular DILF who knows exactly what he’s doing.

On Friday, you meet Toji outside the locker room as usual. His unusually upbeat demeanor is paired with an announcement: he’s reserved a private room upstairs, equipped with advanced machines and, most importantly, a touch of exclusivity to let you experiment with new moves in peace.

“If you wanted to get me alone so badly, you could’ve just said that,” you tease, poking a playful finger at his cheek.

He smirks, catching your hand mid-air before letting it drop. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman and save his moves for later? But if you’re looking for forwardness…” He leans in with a wink, the grin on his face equal parts charming and incorrigible. “I won’t hold back.”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh. “Sure, big guy. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I took your advice,” he says, leading you up the stairs, his hand warm on your back. “Set up Discord for Megumi. Now the kid can actually game with his friends without me being the middleman. Thought I’d reward you with an advanced workout for that stroke of genius.”

You scoff, withdrawing yourself from his grip to cross your arms. “Reward? Sounds more like a punishment.”

He grins wider. “You’ll thank me later, mama. And if you’re not satisfied, you can choose your own reward.”

Inside the private room, your eyes roam over the space. Polished mirrors line one wall, reflecting sleek machines—a leg press, rowing machine, power bike, and more. A faint scent of disinfectant lingers, blending with the promise of an intense workout. Toji tosses his duffel bag near a large speaker in the corner.

“Look at that—a speaker. Gonna cut on some throwbacks so I can put you onto some real music.”

“Still not helping the oldhead allegations,” you quip, shaking your head as he connects his phone.

His smirk widens. “I’m whatever you want me to be, doll. That’s the business I stand on.” He points skyward with dramatic flair.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Toji, your usage of slang is deteriorating by the minute.”

Stretching side by side, his 90s playlist humming through the speaker, you fall into the familiar rhythm of the glute routine. The effort is paying off; you swear you’re already seeing results.

Between sets, you’d even started pestering him for diet tips—anything to build that elusive shelf.

But as always, your attention drifts. During hip thrusts, your eyes wander to Toji’s defined arms, the way his shoulders shift as he mirrors your movements. During squats, you can’t help but notice his hands lingering on your hips, guiding you down with whispered encouragements.

“Drive through your heels, mama,” he murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your neck. You’re panting by the final rep, equal parts exhausted and electrified.

When the set ends, Toji steps back, his absence leaving a surprising chill. He crosses his arms, eyeing you with that ever-present smirk. “You’ve mastered this routine. How about graduating to mine? Fridays are upper body days. What d’ya say?”

You trail a finger down his arm, tracing the veins. “And get jacked like you? Obviously.”

His grin softens into something almost fond. “Bet. Just try not to distract me too much, yeah? It’s hard enough maintaining my professionalism around you.”

You laugh as he pinches your cheek, only to retreat and yank off his tee, leaving him in a fitted black tank. He leads you to the dumbbells for bicep curls, and you challenge yourself with heavier weights to avoid ogling his sculpted frame.

“Look at you,” he says approvingly as you curl the weight. “Getting stronger every day.”

“Thanks, coach,” you reply, though your arms burn with effort.

Toji hoists a 45-pound dumbbell with ease, and your curiosity gets the better of you. “How much can you bench, anyway?”

He pauses mid-rep, considering. “Good question. Haven’t checked in a while. Wanna find out?”

Before you can answer, he’s clearing the bench, stacking plates with casual efficiency. Three 45s on each side—a total pushing 300 pounds—makes your jaw drop.

“Damn.”

He meets your stare, the bar balanced on his lap. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Come spot me.”

You circle behind the bench as Toji reclines, gripping the barbell above his chest. His muscles coil with tension, veins slightly raised under his skin. As you hover your hands just above his for support, you give a small nod for him to start.

Toji pushes the bar upward, arms locking at full extension before lowering it with precision. The rhythm is steady, his breaths growing heavier with each rep.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice low and strained.

A laugh bubbles up from you, and you instinctively place your hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid swell of muscle shift beneath your touch.

Toji glances at you, eyes narrowing with playful admonition. “What’d I say about distracting me, huh, ma? Cut me some slack.”

Setting the bar down with a controlled thud, he looks up at you, dark locks falling across his face. His smirk is wolfish.

“I don’t think anything could really distract you,” you counter, grinning. “You’re benching 300 pounds like it’s nothing. Feels a little… superhuman.”

“Damn right.” Toji sits up briefly, flexing his arms like a bodybuilder and striking exaggerated poses in the mirror, whistling at himself.

You snort. “Alright, don’t let it go to your head now, big guy.”

He lays back down to begin his second set, but you’re feeling bold. Moving swiftly, you straddle the bench, swinging one leg over and settling into his lap.

His eyes widen briefly as he lowers the bar back to his chest, but he recovers fast, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“Guess you’ve got a better view from there, huh?” he murmurs. “You don’t mind counting these out for me, do ya?”

“Not at all.” You plant your hands on his stomach, the fabric of his tank top taut against the solid expanse beneath.

He starts again, pressing the bar up with ease.

“One… two… three… four,” you count, smirking. “You think you can hit twenty?”

“Easy work,” he grunts, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

But you’re feeling mischievous. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, fingers grazing the hard ridges of his abs. The contrast of warmth and strength makes your breath hitch.

“Five… six… seven…eight…” Toji’s steady rhythm falters as you increase the pressure of your movements. His eyes narrow at you, daring yet pleading for restraint.

You relent—for now—your hands sliding to rest firmly on his hips as he recovers.

“Nine… ten… eleven… twelve.” His reps slow significantly, the strain visible in his taut muscles.

Sensing an opportunity, you lean into his weakness, grinding your hips down against him deliberately, the friction drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.

“Shit, ma,” Toji mutters through clenched teeth, sucking in a deep breath before lifting the bar again.

“Thirteen,” you murmur, your voice laced with mischief. You rotate your hips in a slow circle, reveling in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his breath hitches.

“‘s not fair—you’re playing dirty,” Toji rasps, lowering the bar with a groan. For a fleeting moment, you envy the steel weight—it holds all his focus while you fight to claim just half of it.

But it doesn’t matter; his body betrays him. You feel him harden beneath you, the friction growing deliciously intense through the thin layers of clothing separating you.

“Toji,” you gasp, biting down on your lip to stifle the sound as heat pools low in your stomach. Your movements become instinctive, grinding against him in search of relief.

And yet, Toji—ever determined—continues his reps, each lift of the bar accompanied by a subtle grind of his hips into you, fueling the dangerous tension.

“Sixteen—shit… seventeen—mhm… ah—eighteen… n-nineteen…” Your counting falters as you ride the edge of control, each syllable more breathless than the last.

“Mf—ma… I can go to thirty,” Toji growls, his voice thick with desire. “Take it out. Use me. Make yourself feel good.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you scramble to shed one leg of your shorts, fumbling with his waistband. Relief blooms when you find him bare beneath his sweats. You flick his chest, the movement playful yet teasing.

“Slut.”

Toji’s eyes darken, the weight of his gaze making your pulse race. “And what does that make you?”

His voice is a low rumble as he lifts the bar again. “Keep counting, doll.”

“‘Kay,” you breathe, positioning yourself above him. The thick head of his length presses against your clothed center, and the sensation draws a near-whimper from your lips.

“Twenty… fuck—twenty-one… Toji—shit… twenty-two…”

You grind down harder, your movements desperate as you pump him with trembling hands. The feel of his shaft, hot and solid, against your slick sends you spiraling. Toji twitches under your touch, his breath ragged.

“Twenty-three—ah…”

A sharp, obnoxious buzzing cuts through the air, snapping you both out of the haze. The speaker blares with Toji’s ringtone, and he fumbles to set the bar down safely. The sudden motion sends you toppling to the floor in an undignified heap.

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of the abrupt interruption as Toji curses under his breath. He hauls you back onto the bench, his movements rushed but gentle, before striding to his phone.

“Fuck, it’s Megumi,” Toji grumbles, glancing at his phone connected to the gym’s speaker. He picks it up, the ringtone still blaring. “Kid’s got the worst timing.”

You nod in acknowledgment, adjusting your shorts and ignoring the visible wet patch at the crotch. Toji answers the call, his tone shifting to frustration as he paces.

From his clipped responses, you catch snippets about school, carpooling, and a very annoyed Megumi. Toji sighs heavily, muttering a half-hearted apology before ending the call with a gruff, “See ya soon.”

“Mama,” he starts, turning to you with a weary look. “Forgot it's my turn to pick up Megs and his friends this week. In my defense, he deliberately didn’t remind me this morning just to get me caught up.”

You laugh softly as he digs through his duffle bag, pulling out another pair of sweats. Approaching you, he presses them into your hands.

“Here. Can’t have anyone else noticing the strong… impression I left on you,” he teases, his grin cocky. “Next time, I’ll double it.”

You step into the loose pants, tying the drawstring snugly around your waist. “Next time,” you echo, smiling up at him.

Toji hesitates as if it pains him to leave. He briefly embraces you, firmly squeezing your ass, and planting a wet, lingering kiss against the side of your neck before jogging toward the door.

Hooking up with your personal trainer. Immoral? Yes. Professional? Not even close. Hot? Absolutely.

But hey, it’s still exercise. Gotta see it through.

don’t try that freaky bench press position at home, take spotting seriously��not everyb got a heavenly restriction LOL

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peanutpinet · 9 months ago

Note

BABE!!!! We absolutely need a second part to Little Things, we need to know how their relationship develops and see Sylus fall in lover with reader's soul. PLEASE BABE PLEASE!!!

Welcome to My World - Sylus x Fem Reader (Sequel to Little Things)

Request: Craving for a sequel to this w/ reader actually going back to her world and sylus just defying all odds shshshshs these kinds of fics are so interesting love em <3

A/N: Just a lil something for those who wanted to see what would Sylus be like if he were to actually come out of the screen and into our world (still having his evol but is not addressed). Also if anyone is a Kpop fan, I just want to say, do have a listen to Aespa’s Welcome to My World. It embodies this fic so much and am putting some of the lyrics into the story! I hope you guys enjoy!!

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest.

Also, if you haven't read Little Things, the "first part" of the story, do have a read. Will be link here. But you don't have to read it and can just read each of these fics seperately

Warnings: Fluff but mainly ANGST, Isekai Theme, Will be Going back and Forth between LADS universe and our universe, slow burn because Sylus is tryna find you :))

Funfact: I remembered the TV Show: Westworld and how the characters of the game gain conciousness when writing this fic

Songs to listen to: NCT Dream - Broken Melodies, Aespa - Welcome to My World, NCT Dream - Like We Just Met

N109 Zone - 01:48 AM

It was in the middle of the night. When all are asleep, people in the N109 zone, those in the shadows have only started to wake up and get on about their day, including Sylus. Slowly awakening from his slumber, Sylus saw the girl that was beside him, fast asleep. Her chest was rising and falling in a steady motion; indicating that she was in a deep sleep.

Smiling to himself, Sylus decided to scootch a bit closer and caressed the girl’s cheek. But as he did, the girl immediately grabbed his wrist tightly and jerked awake. “Who the fuck…w-where am I?!”

Hearing the girl’s words, Sylus knew. “You’re not her…”

Real World - 09:28 AM

You woke up with a pounding headache but slowly regained your consciousness, you noticed how the bed wasn’t as big nor was it as warm as when you were used to. Jerking up, you took in the room you were in. The bright white ceiling was the first thing you see, the smell of alcohol and blood was faint but you could smell it, and then you heard a beeping noise which made you turn and saw that your hand was hooked onto a monitor and an IV drip.

Whipping your head around, you search for your phone until you find it and immediately look at the date when you suddenly get a notification from both Instagram and Twitter mentioning the new update for Love and Deepspace.

“I’m back…” you sobbed yet your fingers glided across the screen of your phone, pressing the game that you swore you were in

As the game loads, you see the cutscenes of all of the characters and can’t help but feel emotionally overwhelmed whenever you see Sylus’ cutscenes.

Once the game loaded and you could hear that cafe jingle along with those familiar red eyes, you tried to see whether or not anything had changed in the game other than the new updates but when you clicked on his tall figure, the lines he said were nothing out of the ordinary. Even in the text message icon, you couldn’t text him like you did when you were in the game.

“Was it all just a dream?”

“Y-you’re awake!!” you heard someone talk and as your eyes looked at the doorframe, it was the nurse

You soon found out that you had been in a coma for a little over 2 weeks yet it felt like you were in the game for 2 months, maybe even more. Your best friends came to visit you every day and now that you’re awake, they were bombarding you with food, life updates, and all.

For once, you actually didn’t feel as lonely as you were when you appeared in the game.

Maybe it truly was all just a dream…

From a distance, a black crow was watching your interaction with your friends from a tree that was just outside of your window. After some time, the crow eventually fled and flew away from the tree.

N109 Zone - 04:18 AM

Sylus was beyond pissed. He took MC to where he took you in the beginning to get your evol and aether core checked but additionally, he wanted to know if you were truly not in the MC’s body. Sylus’ worker questioned as to why he brought MC again to check her evol and aether core, confusing the Onychinus’ leader.

Even when the two came home, the twins didn’t notice any difference from MC. What’s wrong with everyone? You’re not MC and it goes the other way as well. Why were the twins pestering MC who to Sylus, was not you.

“But boss, Miss Hunter and you have known each other for over 2 months now. What do you mean she’s not her?” Luke questioned, genuinely confused at his boss’ attitude

“She’s not. Have you forgotten who taught you both how to cook the simplest meal? The one that bought you those bulletproof vests?” Sylus demanded, something, anything about your sudden disappearance or at the very least, anyone other than him remembering your existence

“It’s Miss Hunter, though?” Kieran replied, making Sylus groan. “Just, leave me alone for the next few days” Sylus left the room and walked past MC who grabbed his wrist, making his brow arch in confusion.

Sighing, Sylus turned to see MC. “What is it that you want?”

“Where are you going? I went through all the trouble to get the N109 zone and I want answers regarding the aether core” MC demanded but Sylus just chuckled and used his evol to remove MC’s hand from his wrist

“You already have the aether core you’re looking for. Why don’t you go back and ask your doctor about that? I have other matters to attend to. Like why are you here instead of her” Sylus mentioned, walking away until MC talked to him

“You’re always mentioning her but you never mentioned her name. Who are you exactly talking about and what does it have to do with me?” MC questioned and this time, Sylus grabbed her by her neck and pinned her to the nearest wall

“Don’t tempt my patience. I only have so much left ever since your attitude shows up instead of something else I want. From here on out, I could care less about your little quest. You can even have that brooch you’re wearing to get in and out of the N109 zone without getting harmed. But I want you to leave. Go back to your doctor, that fish man of an artist, or fake hunter for all I care. When I come back to this place, I hope that you’re not here anymore. Or you’ll hurt even more” Sylus warned, releasing MC as he went who knows where.

Sylus went into his car, the car that you love to drive in. Though you were just a soul in MC’s body, he could immediately tell the two of you apart. What scent do you like, the small trinkets that you would buy to keep his things more organized, some small keychain plushies that he would put on his keys which is in contrast to his scary look.

You might just be a soul that just so happens to be in MC’s body, the body of a person he should’ve been interacting with, the one he should’ve been bound to. But why does his heart feel incomplete? Why does his soul long for your own.

Gripping onto the steering wheel, Sylus looked at the plushie you put in this car. It was a koala, one of your favourite plushies, because you told him that you looked like a koala when Sylus carried you around. “I swore to you that if this were to happen, I would find you. Regardless what happens, I will find a way to get back to you. Our stories’ unfinished, sweetie. Wait for me. I’ll do anything to get back to you”

Real World

It’s been several months since you woke up. You still played the game but not as often anymore. You got a job at your friend’s office as a secretary. It pays well, you and your friend are roommates, life has been going fairly well that you barely played the game that provided you comfort.

One day, however, there was a bouquet of red Carnations mixed with pink Camillas on your desk with a note attached to it. “I hope this gets to you. If this ever reaches you, it means that I’m another step closer to seeing you again. There’s this uneasy feeling I’ve been feeling since you were gone. I promise I won’t stop finding you”

Confused, you asked everyone, including the delivery man who delivered the flowers to you but no one knew where it came from. It didn’t even mention your name and only a description of you.

Brushing it off, you thought it must’ve been some kind of prank until several more flowers reached you. One after another, there were notes along with the flowers which all made your heart clench because whoever this person was, it seemed that either you left a very deep impression on them or this was some sort of stalker.

“Did the first one reach you? I’m getting closer”

“I hope that you’re eating well. Wait for me”

“It seems that you’ve forgotten about me once more. No matter, I’ll be sure to jog your memory once we meet again”

Another year has finally passed and the bouquet and notes kept on coming until you saw the flowers and notes that came in. Instead of the usual red Carnation or pink Camillas or even sometimes Forget me nots, this time it was a bouquet of black and red roses with a note of a familiar handwriting and scent.

“I’ve finally found you. You said that you were worried about me finding the real you but to me, you’re just as perfect as your soul. Your face, your body, it matches your soul perfectly. And even though you might’ve forgotten about me, I assure you that my love for you is still the same like we just met. Perhaps in the game, I would allow you to go live your life without me because it’s safer for you. But here, looking at you, I can feel myself coming alive once more. Whether you try to move on, I know that there’s a lingering feeling behind your pretty head thinking of the possibility. And you would be correct, sweetie. I’m fulfilling my promise to you. For there is no love greater than mine.

P.S: we should thank Mephisto for always managing to find you when I couldn’t

-Sylus”

You were in shock. Sure, there was a small voice, hidden behind all your to-dos, your schedules, your wants, likes, needs. A faint voice telling you of the possibility that perhaps Sylus was the one to send you all those flowers and notes but you were in your world, the real world. You would lock that faint voice and never think about it again. You were realistic. There was no way that a fictional 3D man would send you all of that.

And Mephisto? He’s a bird. A mechanical bird that is tied with Sylus. Everything seemed ridiculous. You couldn’t think straight for the rest of the day until your boss called you for a sudden meeting outside of the office and at a restaurant.

The restaurant was filled with high-class people, some were doing business with another while others were simply finding ways to spend their money. Suddenly, it reminded you of the time when you were in MC’s body and Sylus would take the two of you out to dinner.

Remembering Sylus, the flowers, and the note, you decided to excuse yourself to the restroom but in reality, you decided to log into the very game you downloaded to seek comfort. The nostalgia was coming back. They made a new update and introduced a new male character. Once your game loads, Sylus is still in the game and when you poke him, thinking that he’ll respond like how he would when a player hasn’t logged in for so long, he surprises you.

“You’re probably wondering why am I not responding to you in a way that you expect. Well, why don’t you check my messages on the message feature, sweetie?” Sylus mentioned and immediately, you went to open the message feature in the game and once again, you were shocked with what you read on the screen that you had to cover your mouth.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, kitten? I’m sad that you’ve forgotten about me but I’m genuinely happy with how you’re living your life so far”

“But if I were to tell you that I want to be apart of your life here, would you accept me?”

You were given the chance to answer him, to reply to this sudden message but your boss had already called you back and unfortunately, you had to go back to the table and sit beside your boss.

As you were about to sit down, you heard that familiar soothing voice that always calms your nerves; especially when you’re in the N109 zone. “Is this your secretary that we’ve been waiting for?”

Immediately, you looked up and met with those soft bright red eyes behind small glasses. The white hair you’ve gone through with your fingers was styled like how you first met him. The figure sitting in front of you was wearing a soft grey sweater and black jeans.

And that smile, that smile that you’re so used to seeing everyday is now showing in front of you again. “Pleased to meet you, sweetheart. Shall we begin the meeting?”

Throughout the meeting, you tried your best to pay attention and jot down all the notes you needed. You struggled for a moment and even towards the end, you stutter your thank you and goodbyes until the white-hair man called you.

“Waiting for someone, sweetie?” you heard that damn voice as you could feel all hairs on your skin stand up

Turning around, you finally got a good look at him. All of his 190cm height was towering over your figure. Your actual real-life self and not the MC you created in the game.

On one side, you wanted to talk, to question him if all of this was just another one of those visions you used to have. On the other, you wanted to jump at the man in front of you. To cry in his arms as he holds you close. But nothing. You were frozen in your spot as this Sylus look-alike smirked at you and held his index out which suddenly a black crow rest on.

“Is, is that…” you managed to utter, making the man in front of you chuckle

“Mephisto. An actual crow this time” he said, extending his hand out so the black crow was within your reach

Extending your own index out, the black crow, Mephisto went onto your index and you instinctively stroke its head. “We never stop looking for you, you know”

You look up to see those eyes that once were filled with rage now filled with sadness. Sighing, you tried to remind yourself that this is the real world, not your game.

“I'm sorry, sir. You must've gotten the wrong person. I don't think we’ve met before this meeting today. Your bird must be very friendly to have gone on another person’s hand” you mentioned, intending to return the black crow, still not believing that the man and bird in front of you are who you think they are

But instead, the man in front of you turned and took something from his pocket. “Is that so? Well then either you don’t want to remember what we’ve been through or Mephisto might’ve gotten the wrong person. Then how about we reintroduce ourselves to one another?”

“I’m Sylus, this is Mephisto. We were from a faraway land called the N109 zone. For the past year, I've been building my multimillion security tech company” Sylus mentioned, extending his hand out, revealing the brooch that you once wore as a promise to Sylus to stay by him

Shocked to see the brooch, you stutter at your words but Sylus noticed this and gently took one of your hands which you didn’t deny. “I meant what I said and I’m keeping my promise. My only regret is I couldn’t come find you sooner”

“H-how? This has got to be a joke. You’re not real. You’re not actually here. I must be dreaming again. I’m going mad” you started to lose your mind but Sylus pulled you into a hug

“Tell me this isn’t real then. Tell me that you don’t see me. Tell me that you don’t feel this warmth we both have wanted for a long time. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll gladly walk away from you so that you can continue to live your life as is but don’t expect me not to want to be a part of your life. Don’t think that even if I walk away today, I won’t try my best to still keep an eye on you” Sylus stated, whispering into your ear, kissing right below your ear

Taking in his calming leather scent, you slowly sob in Sylus’ chest as he strokes your head, calming you. “You’re such a stubborn crow” you finally hug Sylus, indirectly accepting him back into your life

“I know. But it’s worth it. I finally get back to you. Though I can’t offer you as much as I would when we were in the N109 zone, I do promise you that I will be here this time. I’m not letting you go that easily. So, you’re willing to let me back?” Sylus asked, making you chuckle

“Welcome to the real world, my world, Sylus” you said, getting on your tiptoe to give his cheek a kiss but instead, Sylus turned his head, held your neck and leaned for an actual kiss

A/N: Ngl, I was simping over my own writing of this. Where can we find an irl Sylus T^T

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splataii · 1 year ago

Text

toji x male reader

cw: dom male character, sub male reader,

wc 1.5k

freeloader toji who likes to pop in at your place n take a load off whenever he’s in the mood.

no text, no call, no nothing. just him showing up to sleep on your bed, watching his shitty tv shows on your couch after draining your fridge for everything it's worth.

you don't get no chance to say no cause he's way too busy telling you just what an absolute angel you are as he slips through your door. you won't even know he's there, promise. but it’s hard for him to keep such a promise when he’s such a terrible roommate.

he walks around half naked like he owns the place, sweatpants falling so low around his waist that his dick threatens to fall out with every step he takes..

when he feels like being more annoying than usual, he hangs around you, leaning against doorways and faking a yawn or two to stretch so you can catch the outline of his dick, and the way his body flexes.

it makes it hard to look him in the eyes when you're telling him to pull his own weight for the millionth time that week, and he knows it.

“you got a staring problem or what?” he teases, following the way your eyes trace down to the dick print in his loose grey track pants. guys like you are just way too fuckin easy. too flustered to finish, you let him off with a simple warning before leaving him be. but what he really wants is to force ya to quit talking his ear off by getting you on your knees and shoving his cock down your throat. maybe then he could finally put that mouth a yours to good use.

toji also gets so heated about the smallest things, moving you out the way so he can be the one to answer the door to all your one night stands and potential future boyfriends. taking way too much pleasure in how they shrink in on themselves when he sizes them up from the doorway, being terribly sweeter than normal to you with all his pet names and touchiness. it seems like his hand stays glued to your waist no matter how much you pry him off a you.

everytime another guy runs with his tail between his legs, you're pointing the finger at toji, but that man couldn't care less. it’s not his fault they're too pussy. he knows exactly the type a man a doll like you needs and he can give that to you better than any of those little boys ever could.

what's more is he has no sense of personal space. it’s always, “i was just looking for something,”

when he hovers so close you can feel his smile on your neck while you all bent over in the fridge, caged between his arms as his bulge rubs against the small of your back.

or “an accident” when he’s spreading out on your already too small couch and practically forcing you onto his thigh, subtly grinding you against it everytime he moves as his hand slips around your waist and under your shirt. he’s just tryna consolidate space, honest. it ain't his fault he's as big as he is. and it's definitely not his fault you’ve got such a dirty little mind.

and he's such a mess.. clothes, dishes, everything. you find them scattered just about all over the place. the worst offense, however, was a discarded package laying on your living room table. a fleshlight, you realized seconds too late, toji making his grand entrance the moment you're shutting the box closed.

you can tell by the shit eating grin on his face that playing it cool won't cut it, but you try anyway, pretending to get back to tidying up the table as he inches up close behind you.

“i don’t mind sharing,” he breathes, hand hovering on your waist a second too long as he reaches around you for his box, “if you let me watch,”

you stay still, waiting for him to laugh it off and turn back around, but he stays leaning over you.

“youre such a…”

“i’m such a what?” he tilts his head, hand subtly sliding down to the waistband of your pants, massaging where it meets your warm skin. he's rubbing in circles, fingers gently raking up and down your side till they're slipping under your pants.

your eyes trace the veins on his hand as you feel him squeeze at your bare thigh, your underwear hitching farther up as his thumb presses close against your clothed dick. your mind spins every time you feel him inching closer to your soft cock, taking in the thought of him pulling you back into his lap and sliding your pants to your knees so he could take care of you like you deserved. mind falling away, you let yourself lean back into his chest, your hand firmly placed on his arm to ground yourself.

“..or i can always give you the real deal,” he hums your breathe hitching as he gropes at your growing bulge, his words hot on the skin of your neck as you feel his hardening dick grinding against the curve of your ass, “if, that's what his highness prefers,”

you can feel the smirk on his lips as he presses a kiss against the side of your neck, and you blink away whatever trance he had you in.

“dickhead,” you mutter, slipping out of his arms and away from him, pretending not to notice his eyes trained on you as you break away. not once does that stupid smile leave his face as he watches you leave him and his half hard cock alone in the living room.

and that's he worst part of it all.. the worst part a him.. how smug he fucking gets. no matter how much you tell him off, no matter how much he teases you, he knows you can’t never stay mad at him for long. just a few touches in all the right places, a couple spoken promises, and you're like putty in his arms.

it don't matter how much tension you got pent up from his antics; at the end of the day, you're his. and he's always gonna be there to relieve that stress for you the best way he knows how; by bending you over whatever surface is nearest and railing you till you can't think of anything but the shape of his dick stuffed down your ass.

“i was so lonely last night, yknow that?” tojis cock drills into you as you do your best to keep upright against the couch, “left me hard in the living room. had to take care of it all by myself,”

but you been knew that. he made no effort to hide it seeing how loud he was yesterday. you could hear him groaning your name and all the ways he wanted to have you from the comforts of your own bedroom, body hot as you kept your thighs pressed together, waiting for him to finish.

the moment you were back from your shift he was on you, pressing open mouth kisses as he made quick work of stripping you down. he had been waiting for what felt like ages to have all of you underneath him like this, so sweet and pliant in his arms, leaning into his heavy hands. coming undone at his every touch.

“what, nothing to say?” he grunts, grip on your waist tightening as you clench around him, sucking him back in with every thrust, his hands pulling your hips to fuck back into his, “or are you gonna let this ass do all the talking?”

you shake your head, helplessly grinding against the back of the couch as he splits you open on his dick.

“‘s too much,” you cry in between broken moans, burying your face in the nearest pillow in an attempt to hide how good he feels inside you. but he comes to a slow harsh grind of his cock, hands running all up your sides until they're resting on your shoulder.

he pulls you out of your pillow, forcing you to hear the lewd sound of his cock pulling out and leaving you empty. toji grunts, your tight hole not wanting to let go before its clenching around nothing, his pre dripping down the curve of your ass and off your thighs.

you do your best to stay steady on shaky arms, desperate whines muffled by your own hands as you feel him lining up again.

“you can take it sweetheart,” he rasps before ramming back into you, your ass spasming at the harsh thrust of his cock as he stuffs you full. your hand falls away from your lips, unable to hide the moans he rips from you as he pulls out and forces his cock into your ass again and again, making sure that the only thing your body will be able to remember is the shape of him inside you.

“that's it, doll,” he smiles, leaning down to kiss at the tears threatening to fall from your eyes as his strong arms keep you upright, “now let me hear you,”

#splataii writes #ummm so ig it wouldnt be too bad if he stuck around #bottom male reader #male reader insert #male reader smut #x male reader #sub male reader #dom male character #top male character #male reader #toji fushiguro #toji x male reader

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unknownsvoid · 3 months ago

Note

MAKE A PART TWO FOR THAT GIRL IS POSION RIGHT NOW OTHERWISE ILL EAT YOU ALIVE BRUH

um... wow! okay! *i glance to the crowd in fear*

THAT GIRL IS POISON!!!

♬⋆.˚ | now playing: posion - Bell Biv DeVoe

✮⋆˙ | sypnosis: after fucking toby, you decide to find out what other creeps live in the mansion and this one unsettling dude with a bad temper made you decide you'll settle on him next.

✮⋆˙ | featuring: jeff the killer/jeffery woods,

✮⋆˙ | cw: smut content. succubus reader. reader has red skin, wings, a tail, horns and powers and wears a skirt. dom!reader and sub!jeff at the start but quickly turns into sub!reader and dom!jeff. somnophilia content. mentions of blood, scratching, spanking, breeding, aphrodisiacs aka drugging, loads of degrading and barely and praise (i mean c'mon it's fucking jeff), etc. reader gets called whore, slut, etc, reader has saliva that contains aphrodisiacs jeff has anger issues and is straight up an asshole also cusses like a sailor (again, it's jeff)!

✮⋆˙ | author's note: put my blood, sweat and tears into this shitty post. also the tip is deffo #f6abcd

word count: 2.2k part one? -> here ya go!

Jeff, hm? You're next victim. How pleasant.

Just like you did with Toby, you hung around. The usual stalking your victim bullshit. And fuck, Jeff was not a "pretty" sight. Well, to basic beauty standards anyway. To you? As much as you hate to admit it, he was attractive, but like, in a creepy way? He was more fucked up than Toby too - and also ridiculously pent-up. Oh and not to mention the notorious Glasgow smile. No one would be able to miss that. It clearly wasn't appropriately treated; dried up blood, nasty scars, teared up skin from where it was obviously been stretched out too far and ripped again, etc. Made you wonder if that ever gets sore? Stupid question, really. Probably hurts like a bitch.

He's a lot irritable than your usual prey and would be a lot harder to maintain if he ends up waking up. Let's hope he doesn't like just how Toby did. He'll such a pain in the ass to deal with, especially when you're just tryna have your fun and then dip. But hey, you're up for a challenge. When are you never? Now you're here. In his room while he sleeps just like all the other people you've fucked, watching as they sleep. Boy, oh boy, he's a loud snorer. Not to your surprise anyway, you've had worse, and, plus, you figured he would be. Loudmouth = Loud Snorer. You did not want to waste any time, so you went ahead. You walked over to the sleeping Jeff on the bed and sat next to him, your eyes tracing over the way he slept. He slept in a dishevelled manner, with drool from his mouth, probably from the help of the gash, hair scattered across his pillows, snoring loudly, like mentioned earlier. Bet his friends hated him at sleepovers.

Bored and letting curiosity get the better of you. You press your lips against his. Not the best, but not the worst. You've definitely had worse.

His lips were clearly lacking lip products. They were dry and cracked but over all, semi-arousing. You slip your tongue into his mouth, hoping the aphrodisiac and antidepressants lingering in your spit will keep him knocked out. You beg yourself it would. You wouldn't want to put up with him if he wakes up.

Your eyes open, and you gaze down at him. Taking notice of the bulge growing in his jeans. Oh, you just realised the fucker was wearing the clothes he killed people in? Is this idiot seriously that lazy? God. You roll your eyes and pull your lips away from his, licking the remaining spit from it. Your hand runs down his chest to his jeans which you push down to see his cock. Already hard, guessing from the aphrodisiac. He was a lot more longer than Toby, one of your biggest victims, out-scaling Toby by length; his cock was around eight and half inches... by inference, though, he doesn't out-scale Toby by girth. He's leaner.

You shake your head to rid of your thoughts. Today isn't about Toby. It's about this obnoxious bastard. Your hands wrap around his base, bringing your hand up and down. Once you hear that little whimper slip out of his mouth, that's when you pick up the speed. More and more beads pre-cum oozing from his fuchsia-tinted tip, trickling all over your hand. The uncircumcised skin from his cock hiding the tip of his cock then going back to showing it with each drift of your hand.

His aura was getting more recognisable - stronger. The scent invaded your nose, causing a sigh to leave your lips. Hey, maybe gaining energy from this brain-dead fuck would be a lot easier than you thought? You sped up the motion your hand was going at, wanting his orgasm, needing it. With each pump of his hand, his thighs twitched, or he would jolt slightly in his sleep. How cute. You knew he was close, but you didn't know he was that close. You grinned down as thick, white strips of cum fall from his cock all over your hand. You were about to pull away when you felt a cold hand wrap around your hand. Then a gravelly voice following along with it, "What the fuck?"

Well, shit?! He woke up even quicker than Toby did? Who the fuck are these guys? And honestly, how the fuck do they end up waking so goddamn fast.

You paused and look back up at his face with a coy smile, which he had nothing to offer for but a scowl. He spoke up again, "Who the fuck are you? No... what the fuck are you?" "A succubus?" "A succ-you... what, what?"

"A sex demon..."

Jeff looks you up and down before a cocky smirk forms on his lips, "You know if you wanted to fuck me so bad you could've jus' asked instead of breaking into my room in this shitty cosplay?"

Cocky fucking bastard.

You rolled your eyes at his words. How crude and that's a lot coming from a literal demon who fucks people in their sleep. "You gonna continue or what?"

"What?" You look at him, snapping out of your thoughts. "If ya' haven't noticed, I'm hard again." He releases your hand and goes for your hip instead, "So why don't you finish what you fucking started?"

You snicker. What an asshole, before you could even utter out an reply to insult his cockiness. He's already got you flipped over, so now you're laid flat on the bed with your behind high up in the air. You groan from the impact and are about to speak, but again, he rudely cuts you off by yanking on your tail, so your back is now arched.

Ow?! "Ay, here I thought this was just some stupid costume. Now that I'm touching this tail of yours... this shit feels prettyyyy real."

"Of course it's fucking real?! Why would I like to you, dickhead?!" You bark back at him, only to pathetically whimper when his hand comes in contact with your ass. Basically swallowing your own words. "Oh? you're one of them bitches? Ones that likes getting spanked. Fucking filthy." "Shut the fuck- eeep!"

Jeff yanks you by your hair, causing your head to snap back and look up into his eyes, which were filled with lust and a tint of anger? "Should fucking kill you. Ya know that? Interrupting my sleep just because you need dick, hm? Desperate bitch. You're so fucking lucky you're sexy, you know that?"

His nails were digging into your scalp, and the grip on your hair was loosening up anytime soon. You try to squirm away, only for him to suddenly let go, making you fall forward onto the bed. You couldn't even do anything before his hands were on your hips, making you arch your back. He pushes your skirt up to unveil what's under it. He chuckles once he sees your flimsy thong, drenched in your arousal. Some of it even going as far as to drip all over your thighs. "C'mon. Wet already? All from a couple of spanks and fucking insults? What a whore."

You couldn't help but feel embarrassed. You didn't even realise how wet you are, but now you can feel it. How sticky your thighs are. Jeff pulls your thong to the side. Your pretty red folds coming to show, glistening in the moonlight that was peeking from out the window. He pushes your folds apart, your twitching hole practically begging for him. He uses his other hand to use his thumb to sluggishly rub at your clit. His actions receive a wordless compliment when you let out a little trilling moan and the wetness that oozes out of your pink hole.

He forces the liquid back into your hole with his index finger, curling it enough so it pushes against your gummy walls. Another moan rolled out those pretty lips of yours, then another when he pushed his finger in and out of you, and then another when he added a second finger, scissoring your hole wider before fucking his fingers into it again. He keeps this up until he feels your pussy tighten up around his finger. He pulls out, causing a needy whine from you. Another boastful smile comes from him, "S'alright. I'll fill ya up in noooo time... with somethin' better. Promise." That's when you feel it, the blush tip from earlier spreading apart your inner walls, inching and inching deeper inside the wet channel. The bed creaks as he pushes deeper and deeper inside of you. You fall apart and bury your face into the pillow. He's big, too fucking big for your liking and he's going too fast for you to think. Each embarrassing squelch of your pussy as he forces his dick inside, "Shittttt. You're tight- fuck- really fucking tight..."

His hold on your hips is becoming deadly, bound to leave nasty bruises later. Your arms jitter helplessly to find another to grip on anything, literally anything! "C'mon... why is ya' pussy-ngh- fighting back so much?! You would think that the cunt would let me in from how wet she is?! Let me in, pretty, let me fucking in..."

Is he seriously talking to your pussy right now?!

He pushes your head down into the pillow and makes your back arch back some more, locking your legs in with his so he can get more leverage. His cock was splitting you open at this point. You couldn't even think straight!? He sneers when his cock was finally fucking into you a little faster, "There we goooo. Nasty girl, hm? Sucking me right innnn... fuuuuuck!"

The brand new fast pace wasn't fast enough for him, apparently. Not when he was a few inches away from his head hitting that perfect cervix of yours. A sudden slam on his hips, causing the breathe to knock right out of your lungs; a slutty, drawn-out moan leaves your lips. "God, what a pretty noise... need more of that shit. Scream for me, slut. Let everyone hear you- ah- in this shitty mansion."

The fucker doesn't even give you time to adjust before he's drumming his hips back and forth, bullying his cock in out of you with lewd squelches and his and your moans flowing in the room, like a corrupted melody. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Greedy fuckin pussy jus' taking me in... every- Slam! fucking-"Slam! time."

You felt so dizzy with pleasure. You didn't even notice the tears seeping out of your eyes and that were wetting your cheeks. You only noticed when he commented on them after hearing you sniffle, "Damn, bitch? Ya' fucking cryin'? Dick that- nghhhhh- good?"

The only thing you could reply with was another squeal as his hand, once again, spanks your ass. "Shit... dunno why your cryin'? You implied this. You wanted this. Nasty, filthy bitch needy for some dick that she had to get it from a guy who was sleeping."

You wail at his words. How crude!

His dick was pulsating, throbbing even inside of you. You feel every single vein probing against your walls. Each throb of his cock causing his tip to push against your g-spot, causing your hips to roll back against him. Fuck, you were close.

He runs his hand over your stomach all the way down to your viscous pussylips, spreading them apart so his middle finger can massage your clit. He coos in your ear, his voice laced with lust, "Gonna cum. Might jus' cum in this immoral pussy. Would ya' like that? Me cumming deeeeep in this pussy? Fill you up?"

You nod uncontrollably, and he leans back up to slam harder into you, if that was even possible! No, how is this possible?! What the fuck is his stamina? You thought only incubuses could keep this up, but clearly not?

Each pound of his hips causes your ass to jiggle from the impact. His nails were digging into the fatty flesh of your hips, the pain shooting straight down to your pussy. You couldn't make out what he was saying right now? Hell, you could barely see through your tears. "Shhhiiiit, baby, gonna ya' cervix a niiiicccce kiss with my tip. A nice, creamy kiss. And she is gonna drink it up, ain't she? Like the greedy cunt she is."

He was pounding into you a like mad man driven by lust. which he is but... whatever!

Pound after pound. Pound after so sickeningly good pound.

The vibrations thud down your humid walls and shoot hot pleasure right up your spine, before you feel the thick white goodness fill up your womb. The power you so desperately wanted from the start of this, shooting through body, causing the orgasm to follow with him, oscillating pussy sucking the cum out of his pink tip.

He pulls out your hole, watching the cum discharge out of pussy, "Yeeeah, fuck, slut. Pussy really is drinking my jizz up, hm? Thirsty thing, isn't she?"

You whimper, not really in your mind to speak right now, especially not after the harsh fucking you just received. "Well thanks for the fuck, sweet cheeks. But Ima heading to bed now. Get the fuck out." Wow.

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iqxatlantic · 2 months ago

Note

deliver sub kaiser and my life is yours, no i'm not using anonymous, i want to have credit my for this AWESOME SAUCE suggestion🤑

LMFAO hi gorjus 😝your wish is my command... kai looks so pretty lol

" Oh, how'd it get so scandalous ? "

ft. subby? kaiser . next-door neighbour kaiser . lwk bsfs w kaiser . gn! reader (implied afab tho) . pervy! kaiser . ooc! kaiser . blowjobs . light smut tbh . kaiser is a d1 gooner smh...

neighbour!kaiser who has this grueling crush on you.. :( he gets so jealous whenever he hears that you're going out with your partner. it should be him going out with him..

neighbour!kaiser who 'sneaks' into your apartment occasionally when you're out to do a quick inspection. (your fault for lending him a spare key..!)

neighbour!kaiser who's surprised that you just so happened to have your used/orgasm-soiled panties on the floor. he couldn't help but pick up the laced panties and take it back to his ^_^

neighbour!kaiser who's over the moon when you ask him if he can come over to comfort you.

neighbour!kaiser who's shocked when you slowly begin unzipping his pants, he's whimpering already lmfao. he didn't know why — he's been praying for this moment his whole life.

neighbour!kaiser who's on your bed in tears. your nails digging into his muscular.. muscular thighs. :3 he's whining, begging you to stop — but he really means for you to go down a little deeper.

neighbour!kaiser who's hands are covering his face while his member is throat deep into your mouth lol.. he's sobbing, pathetic whines and moans flooding the room.

neighbour!kaiser who can only think of three things, how absolutely amazing your mouth/throat feels, how many loads he's already blown lmfao and how did things get so scandelous..

neighbour!kaiser who cannot stop whining now. you were caught by surprise expecting this guy to be dominant but nooo... whatever. #welovesubmissiveandbreedablemen!

a/n: OH MY GAWDDDD me when that wave of sadness washes over like a tidal wave (and drop a little acid on our tongues, baby!! we can make it freaky) i remember im literally the GOAT!!! to the girlies who are struggling PUHLEASEEE listen to thewizardliz <3 she's like my 2nd older sister kuyeahahahha... anyways i fear this was halfassed but yk im tryna get kai in my ass WAJAKKAKAA

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theethighpriestess · 16 days ago

Text

Chapter 1 - The First Bite

A/N: First off, I wanna thank @nahimjustfeelingit-writes for coming up with this dope ass idea & @anaiyaflys143 for suggesting I write it. I hope I do you both justice. I think I want this to have multiple parts, but I need life to cooperate. Hope y'all enjoy!

*All character images created by me ☺️*

Characters: Elias "Stack" Moore, Eden Taylor (OC)

Warning(s): 18+, Adult Language, Supernatural Elements, Typical Vampire Shit, Vampire Kink, Explicit Sex (Not yet, but it's coming)

Summary: Eden’s broke. Her rent’s late, her car sounds like it’s choking, and her dreams of making it as a singer in New Orleans are getting harder to hold onto. So when she sees a sketchy little ad offering big cash to be a “discreet donor,” she answers it. She tells herself it’s just money. Just blood. Just once. But the contract’s signed, the room is breathing, and Eden? She might’ve just stepped into something deeper than debt.

Word Count: 5.5K

New Orleans, 2005

Eden stared blankly at the digits on the weathered ATM.

$14.26.

All the money she had left from her work-study check that wouldn’t replenish for another week. Between rent, paying for studio time, and outfits for her upcoming shows, Eden had left herself broke and destitute yet again.

“Who told you to take the term ‘starving artist’ so literally?” she muttered to herself, tucking the receipt into the pocket of her tattered jean jacket.

She hadn’t eaten a real meal in two days. Just a gas station honey bun, half a bottle of warm Sprite, and whatever sleep could trick her body into thinking it was full. Her rust-colored Honda ran on a quarter tank and prayer, the engine coughing every time she turned the key. The inside smelled like jasmine body spray, fried hair, and quiet panic.

Fishing her Motorola Razr from the depths of her tote, she scrolled to the contact labeled “Pops.” She stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering, before finally pressing CALL.

Three rings. A click.

“Yo,” came the gravelly voice on the other end. Always detached. Always mid-something more important.

“Hey,” Eden said, trying not to sound too pitiful. “You got like…twenty dollars I could borrow?”

A long pause. She could practically hear him blinking.

“Sorry, kiddo, I’m all tapped out.”

She knew it was a lie. He always said that. She could hear a game show buzzing faintly in the background, followed by the sound of beer cracking open. But she didn’t press it.

“It’s cool, Pops.” She cleared her throat, pushing down the lump forming there. “I’ll make something shake. I saw an ad for a babysitting gig in the Garden District, so I’ll try that.”

“Good,” he said, voice already drifting. “See? You ain’t gotta always be runnin’ after those stage lights. Just find somethin’ steady.”

She didn’t respond. Just hung up and slid the phone back into her purse like it was a loaded gun.

Back at her tiny studio apartment in Mid-City, Eden sat cross-legged on her futon, her open planner in her lap. A flyer for an open mic night at Tipitina’s was pinned above her bed with a pink glitter pushpin. She had two weeks to come up with a new track and scrape together the $80 she owed her producer for the beat she was using.

She opened her laptop, praying it would connect to the neighbor’s spotty Wi-Fi. While it loaded, she scribbled in the margins of her notebook:

“I ain’t tryna sing for scraps, I want velvet on my mic stand Moët in my vocal booth, not noodles from the nightstand…”

Cute. Maybe.

She clicked over to Craigslist. Typing “cash gigs” in the search bar had become second nature.

Dog walking. House cleaning. Foot modeling?

But then, something new. Something far from anything she’d seen listed before.

“DONOR OPPORTUNITY – NIGHT WORK. DISCREET. HIGH COMPENSATION. 21+ ONLY. Must be comfortable with blood. Text 504-9VAMPYR.”

Eden raised an eyebrow.

“Blood?”

She clicked anyway.

The ad was vague but intriguing. It promised “stress-free, safe work” for “exclusive clientele.” It also mentioned “consent-based feeding arrangements,” which sounded... weirdly medical. Or criminal.

She almost exited the tab—but her mouse hovered over the last line:

“Neck: $300/hr. Wrist: $400/hr. Inner thigh: $550/hr. Discretion required.”

She burst out laughing, sharp and alone in her little apartment. “Yeah, okay. That’s definitely a scam. Probably run by some dude named Clarence with a fake fang kink.”

But something about it stuck. Along with her passion for music, she also had a passion for all things occult: vampires, black magic, and everything in between. She was the bayou bruja stereotype personified, save the fact that she didn’t actually know any spells.

Eden wasn’t sure what it was about this ad that had her so curious. Maybe it was the dollar signs flashing in her mind. Perhaps it was the way her stomach twisted with nerves and low-grade hunger. Or maybe it was the fact that being bitten on the thigh for rent money somehow felt less soul-crushing than waitressing at a chain diner where the manager hit on her.

She grabbed her phone and typed quickly.

Eden T. | Type O- | Available Nights

Then she added, like a joke she hoped the universe would get:

“I sing too, in case that’s relevant.”

She snickered to herself until the number responded, almost immediately.

504-9VAMPYR:

“Voice matters more than you know. You’re expected tonight. Come dressed in black. No perfume. Bring ID.”

Attached was a pin drop to an address in the Warehouse District. The kind of place that always looked abandoned from the outside but was crawling with secrets beneath the surface.

Eden stared at the screen. Then at her closet.

She had a mesh crop top, a fake leather skirt, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Close enough to black. She pulled them out with a sigh and laid them across her unmade bed. Her hands lingered on the hem of the skirt, suddenly wondering if she should shave. Then she laughed out loud, dry and humorless.

“Girl, if he’s a vampire, you think he cares about some stubble?” she mused, glancing down at her untamed bikini line.

She peeled off her hoodie and leggings and tugged on the outfit with practiced ease. The crop top rode up a little too high, showing off the silver belly ring she got impulsively after a poetry night and three Hennessy shots. She tightened the straps on her Docs and pulled her curls into a high puff, fluffing it just enough to look intentional.

Eyeliner came next. Heavy, winged, and slightly uneven, like it had been applied in a moving car or in the middle of a breakdown. She smudged a bit of charcoal shadow beneath her lower lashes for good measure, giving her eyes that soft, smoky bruised look, like she hadn’t slept in days but might still stab you if you stared too long.

A dusting of translucent powder dimmed the natural shine of her skin, but she let her freckles peek through. She dabbed a hint of burgundy gloss on her lips and pressed highlighter onto the high points of her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Just enough to glow under bad lighting.

She looked like something out of a Southern ghost story. Part beauty queen, part grieving widow. Like the kind of girl you'd see barefoot on a sagging porch in the heat of July, black veil over her eyes, sipping sweet tea that might just kill you.

She stepped back from the mirror and tilted her chin to the left.

She didn’t look like someone about to audition for a vampire sugar daddy.

She looked like someone who had nothing left to lose.

But that was the thing about having nothing. It made you bold. Eden didn’t feel fear. Not yet. What she felt was unavailable. Numb, on the edge of something primal. Like her instincts were holding their breath, waiting to see if she was about to step into a miracle… or a casket.

She grabbed the rose water mist from her nightstand, hesitated, then spritzed a light veil of it over her curls instead of her neck. Just a whisper of hydration and a ghost of a scent that faded almost instantly. The text had said no perfume, and she wasn’t trying to test boundaries with creatures who drank life juice for breakfast.

She grabbed her keys, slipped her phone into her bra, and stared down at her chipped black nail polish before muttering, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Then she locked the door behind her.

The drive to the Warehouse District felt longer than it was. The rust-colored Honda coughed once at a red light and stuttered like it was nervous, too. Eden slapped the dash like she was coaxing a stubborn mule.

“Not tonight, baby, c’mon…”

She turned up the radio, some old Destiny’s Child track with a beat strong enough to drown her thoughts. She sang along half-heartedly, mouthing the lyrics more than meaning them, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel like she was trying to tap the fear out of her bloodstream.

Her mind didn’t cooperate.

What if it’s a cult? What if they drain you and leave you in a ditch behind a daiquiri shop? What if it’s real?

She wasn’t sure which possibility scared her more.

She pulled up to the address just after midnight. The building loomed like it had been waiting for her. It was tall, industrial, and built from bones and bad decisions. The kind of place that still smelled faintly of sweat, rust, and prohibition. Like someone had converted a cotton mill into a nightclub and then forgotten to put up a sign.

All the windows were blacked out. No buzz of neon. No music. No movement. Just that single red light above the steel door, blinking slow and steady like a pulse. Or a warning.

Eden sat there for a second longer than she meant to, the engine idling as her hand hovered near the key. Her stomach flipped, hard and sudden. It was that same twist she felt before going on stage, before she opened her mouth and let the world judge her voice, her dream, her want.

That anticipatory ache. That leap of faith you had to take before a mic, a man, or a monster.

Then she got out.

The air hit her like a wet rag, thick with humidity, heavy with something else. Something older than the pavement beneath her boots. The breeze curled around her ankles and crept up her spine, stirring the hem of her skirt and making the back of her neck prickle.

There was a scent in the air, faint but unmistakable. Jasmine. Smoke. No, ash. Burnt incense. Like the end of a ritual.

She stepped forward, gravel crunching beneath her boots, the only sound in the stillness. No music. No voices. Just her breath and that red light, blinking above her like a slow countdown.

When she reached the door, it opened before she could knock.

Not with a creak. Not with a dramatic hiss. Just a smooth, effortless glide, like whoever or whatever was on the other side had been expecting her the whole time.

Eden paused in the threshold, heart thudding against her ribs like a warning bell. She glanced once over her shoulder, back at her Honda parked under the flickering streetlamp, its paint dull and flaking like old blood.

She could leave. She could run.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she squared her shoulders, tucked her gloss-smudged lips into a tight line, and stepped into the dark.

A man stood just inside. Pale. No older than thirty, if you could even put an age on someone like that. His black dress shirt was perfectly pressed, tucked into tailored pants that caught the low light like water. Silver chains shimmered across his collarbone, subtle and cold. White gloves on both hands, like he was either about to serve a five-course meal or prep a body for burial.

His eyes swept over her. Not sexual, not even curious. More like he was measuring her for something. A scan. Efficient, impersonal. She might as well have been a barcode.

“You’re Eden,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I am,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady.

“Follow me.”

So she did.

The hallway was long and narrow, padded in deep red velvet that brushed against her shoulders every few steps. The walls breathed warmth, but the air stayed cool, scented faintly with clove, old paper, and something floral that had long since dried out. Dim amber sconces flickered along the path, casting warped shadows that stretched and curled with her movements. It didn’t feel like walking into a building. It felt like being swallowed.

Each step took her further from reality. Her dad’s voice in the car, still ringing with disappointment. The zeroes in her bank account. The half-finished demo she couldn’t afford to master. All of it fell away, like static detaching from a radio dial. She wasn’t sure if she was floating or sinking.

The man said nothing, just led her deeper.

Eventually, they reached a door. It looked ancient, carved with symbols she didn’t recognize. Something that felt older than language, older than the city itself. They pulsed faintly under the glow of the hallway lights, as if alive beneath the grain of the wood.

The man knocked once. A dull, heavy sound.

Then he turned the handle and pushed the door open. He didn’t go in. Just stepped aside and motioned for her to enter.

Eden hesitated. Only for a second. Long enough to feel her heart rise in her throat, thick and loud. Then she stepped over the threshold.

And the world changed.

The air inside was cooler, denser, but it didn’t chill her. It settled around her skin like silk. Everything glowed in shades of wine and shadow. Low lights glinting off crystal, velvet drapes billowing near tall windows sealed shut. Music played somewhere far away, too soft to follow but rich enough to taste.

It wasn’t a room. It was a scene. A set. A spell.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, drawn toward the figure seated at the far end.

And that was when she saw him.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, drawn to the figure at the far end of the room.

He sat like he owned more than just the building. Like he owned the hour, the tension, even the breath in her lungs. Leaning back in a high-backed leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting loosely on the armrest, he looked every bit the gentleman devil.

He wore a deep burgundy suit that soaked up the light like velvet. It was tailored so sharply it could’ve drawn blood. Gold embroidery traced the lapels in delicate patterns, only catching the light when he moved. Serpents, maybe, or ivy, curling like secrets. A thick gold Cuban link chain sat heavy against his chest, and a matching pinky ring caught the lamplight when he lifted his hand to his jaw.

His skin was smooth, the kind of smooth that didn’t come from skincare, but from time. A warm brown, almost bronze, like whiskey left out in the sun. He looked like he could be in his late twenties, but Eden could feel the weight behind the stillness. The kind of quiet you feel in old houses or graveyards.

Then there were his eyes.

They held a faint glow, not glaring or artificial, but soft and strange, like candlelight burning behind thick purple glass. The color wasn’t the unsettling part; it was the depth. If she stared too long, she’d probably see everything he’d done and everything he wanted from her now.

And when he smiled—

It wasn’t wide. Just a small curl of his mouth, more on the left side, like he was letting her in on a secret she didn’t deserve to hear yet. That’s when she saw it. A gold open-faced grill on one of his fangs, subtle and gleaming. Not flashy or loud, just intentional. The kind of accessory that told you he’d been rich for longer than you’d been alive and had nothing left to prove.

Eden’s breath caught before she could stop it. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or fascination. Probably both.

He didn’t stand.

He didn’t need to.

His voice rolled out, low and velvet-smooth, the kind that made people lean in without realizing.

“Eden,” he said, her name sitting on his tongue like something rare and expensive.

She nodded once. “That’s me.”

His gaze flicked downward, taking in her boots, her skirt, the smudge of eyeliner she hadn’t meant to look perfect. He wasn’t judging her. He was gathering details, building a file in his mind.

“Pretty name,” he said. “Pretty girl.”

Her jaw tightened at the compliment. She’d heard it too many times before from broke boys and drunk strangers. But from him, it didn’t feel cheap. It felt like a warning.

“Thanks,” she replied, her voice quieter now.

Stack tilted his head just enough to shift the mood. Not much. Just enough to make her uneasy.

“I’m Elias Moore,” he said. “But folks around here call me Stack.”

“Stack,” she repeated.

He gave her that same half-smile.

“I like a girl who listens.”

Then he rose from his chair.

Not quickly. Not slow either. Just smoothly, like he didn’t have to try. He was taller than she expected, and his frame filled the room like music you couldn’t turn down. He moved with purpose, not just confidence, but certainty, like the floor had always been waiting for his footsteps.

When he stopped in front of her, close enough for her to feel the stillness coming off him, she realized he didn’t wear cologne. The flyer had warned against perfume, and he clearly followed the same rule. But still, there was a scent. Faint and warm, like sandalwood, old leather, maybe even dried jasmine crushed into parchment.

He raised a gloved hand.

“You can leave anytime you want,” he said. “But if you take one more step, you’re choosing not to.”

She looked at his hand. Elegant. Dead. Gold ring catching the light.

Her heart kicked hard in her chest.

She didn’t take his hand.

But she didn’t move away either.

His hand hovered in the space between them for another second before he let it fall.

Stack nodded toward a low velvet chair across from his own. “Sit if you want. Or stand. Some people feel safer that way.”

Eden moved without thinking, sliding into the seat like her knees might give out otherwise. Her palms were sweating, but she kept them in her lap. He didn’t look like the type who’d offer napkins.

The silence stretched, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full of decisions. Stack poured two fingers of something amber into a crystal glass from a decanter by his elbow, then slid it across the table toward her. He didn’t pour himself one.

Eden stared at it. “Is it safe?”

Stack grinned, just a flash of gold and teeth. “Safer than most things you’ve done to chase a dream, I’d bet.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared down at the drink and finally lifted it, more out of pride than thirst. It burned, but not bad. Smooth like molasses with a bite at the end, like it knew you had secrets and didn’t mind.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Let’s talk about the job.”

Eden sat straighter. “Alright.”

“You know the basics,” Stack said. “You let someone feed. You get paid. How far you want to go is up to you.”

He tapped a long finger against the table, slow, like a metronome counting down something important.

“Neck’s three hundred an hour. Wrist’s fourhundred, thigh’s five-fifty. Shoulder anywhere else, we can negotiate. You can sign on as a regular, or keep it casual. We also offer exclusive arrangements. More private. More lucrative. More dangerous.”

Eden pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded, pretending she wasn’t halfway to hyperventilating. Her mouth felt like cotton and her stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering. But her voice held steady.

“What’s the risk?”

Stack shrugged. “Some vampires don’t know when to stop. Some donors fall in love. Some folks just aren’t built for it. We vet both sides, but accidents happen. That’s why we sign oaths. Confidentiality. Consent. Boundaries.”

She stared at him for a moment. “And you? What do you do here? Besides sit in velvet and look... like that.”

He smiled again, but slower this time, like he appreciated the jab. “I run this place. I built it. I make sure the hungry don’t get sloppy, and the desperate don’t disappear. That’s my job.”

“And if I disappear anyway?”

Stack’s smile faded, not into anger, but into something quieter. He looked at her in that same scanning way from before. Like he was looking past the makeup, past the attitude, down into the parts of her she didn’t let people touch.

“You got people who’d come looking for you?”

Eden thought of her dad. His voice on the phone, always clipped when she brought up music or asked for help. She thought of her name on the caller ID and the way he probably paused before letting it go to voicemail.

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

Stack didn’t look surprised. “Then you’re the kind of girl this place was made for.”

The room settled into stillness again, thick as gumbo. The only sound was the soft buzz of something electrical and the faint thump of music far beneath them. Eden’s thoughts were running in circles, dragging every old warning and new curiosity with them.

She thought about her bank account. About the way her car shuddered when she turned the key. About the silk dress she wanted to wear for her next show that still sat in the consignment window with a tag she couldn’t afford.

She thought about her voice. That gift she was chasing like it owed her something. Every sacrifice. Every studio hour. Every burnt-out candle and scribbled lyric.

And then she thought about this room. This man. This offer that felt like it came from a door she didn’t know she’d already opened.

“What happens if I say yes?” she asked.

Stack’s eyes didn’t blink. “Then I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re fed, rested, paid. Protected. You give me your time and a little of your blood. I give you everything else.”

“And if I want more?” she asked, softer now. “Not just money. I want freedom. A little power of my own.”

For the first time, something shifted in his face. Not surprise, but interest. Real interest.

“You’d be surprised what blood can buy,” he said. “Especially when it’s yours.”

Eden exhaled slow. She didn’t know if she believed him, but she wanted to. That scared her more than anything.

She looked down at her chipped nail polish, at the ring she kept on her pinky for good luck, then back up at him.

“I’ll try it,” she said. “Once.”

Stack nodded like he already knew. He stood again and reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. Not paper. Parchment. The kind that smelled like it belonged in a museum. He laid it on the table with a small, weighted pen.

“Name, date, initials here and here. Once you sign, the room changes.”

Eden raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Stack’s purple eyes gleamed. “You’ll see.”

She stared at the parchment. Her heart thumped a little faster now, but she didn’t hesitate.

She signed.

And the room breathed.

Not literally, but that’s how it felt. The wallpaper shifted, shadows deepened. Something behind her spine tingled, as if the walls were watching now.

Stack watched her, too. “You hungry?”

Eden blinked. “A little.”

He extended a hand. This time, she took it.

His hand was cool. Not cold like death, just cooler than it should’ve been. Like he hadn’t been touched by sun or sweat in years. Eden followed him through a second doorway that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She could’ve sworn that wall was solid when she walked in. Now it opened like a secret.

The new room was quieter. Darker, too, but not in a threatening way. It felt... sacred. The lighting came from candles tucked into glass sconces, their flames barely flickering. The walls were painted a deep garnet that made the space feel like it had been dipped in wine. Heavy curtains hung in the corners like they were hiding more than windows.

At the center of the room sat a low velvet couch and a wide leather chair shaped like a throne, but not gaudy. Worn in. Like someone had loved it for a long time. The air smelled faintly of clove and something richer, something warm. It wrapped around her like a robe.

“Sit wherever you’re comfortable,” Stack said, his voice lower now, closer to a whisper.

Eden moved to the couch. Her legs didn’t feel like her own anymore. The velvet was soft under her fingers, like the kind of fabric rich people bought without checking the price tag. She leaned back and took a breath.

Stack remained standing. He didn’t hover, didn’t crowd her. Just watched.

“I’m going to ask again,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Eden nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled, slower this time. Less show. More meaning.

“Good. Then we’ll make it clean.”

He walked over to a cabinet near the back of the room and pulled out a shallow silver bowl, etched with symbols she didn’t recognize. Then he lit a bundle of dried herbs and let the smoke curl into the corners. It didn’t choke the air, just warmed it, changed it. Eden felt something loosen in her chest. The fear didn’t vanish, but it dulled.

“This is how we start,” he said. “No one touches without consent. You say stop, I stop. You say no, we’re done. Say the word mercy if anything feels wrong.”

She nodded. “Mercy.”

“Good girl.”

The words should’ve felt patronizing. But they didn’t. They felt like a key turning in a door.

He set the bowl on a low table beside the couch, then took off his gloves. His hands were ringed in gold and the veins under his skin looked faintly violet, like there was something strange running through him.

“Where?”

Eden’s throat went dry.

She remembered the ad. Neck. Thigh. Wrist. Options like a damn menu. It sounded transactional until it was real. Until you had to say it out loud to someone who would actually do it.

She tilted her head, just slightly, exposing her throat.

“Neck,” she said. “Just there.”

Stack moved slowly, no rush in him. He came to sit beside her, close but careful, like she was a page in a holy book he wasn’t sure he had permission to read. He didn’t touch her at first. Just looked.

His eyes had that same violet glow, soft and low like candlelight. There was no hunger in them, not the way she’d imagined. No animal in the shadows. Just need, steady and patient.

He brushed her curls back with a single finger. His touch was deliberate. Reverent.

“You’ll feel pressure,” he said. “Then warmth.”

She nodded, even though her heart was hammering so hard she could barely hear her own breath.

He leaned in.

His mouth was cool against her skin, not open at first. Just resting there. Then she felt it. A brief, sharp ache, like a pinprick from a needle that knew where to go. Not pain exactly. More like being opened.

Then came the warmth. A slow pull that tugged at her chest and her belly and somewhere deeper. It was dizzying. She gripped the couch cushion beside her and let her eyes fall shut.

She thought it would feel like something being taken from her. But it didn’t. It felt like something shared. Something circular. Like her blood was telling a story and he was just listening, slow and careful, taking only what he needed.

When he pulled back, he let out a slow breath against her skin.

“That’s enough.”

Eden blinked her eyes open. Her limbs felt light, her mind foggy but soft, like she’d just come out of a warm bath.

He pressed a cool cloth to her neck, then leaned back to give her space.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

She had to think about it. Then she smiled.

“Like I just got kissed by something dangerous.”

Stack chuckled, low and pleased. “That’s because you did.”

He stood and reached for a small black envelope on the side table. Inside was a stack of crisp bills. Cash. The real kind. Eden took it with fingers that still tingled.

“This is yours,” he said. “For tonight.”

She didn’t count it. She didn’t need to.

Stack looked down at her, head slightly tilted. “You ever want more, you know where to find me.”

Eden stood, a little shakier than she expected. She gathered her purse, her keys, her thoughts. Her neck still throbbed gently, but not in a bad way.

“Thank you,” she said, unsure if that was the right thing to say.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And Eden?”

She turned.

His eyes were glowing again, soft but unreadable.

“You were made for this.”

She didn’t answer. She just walked out into the night, heart pounding, mouth dry, and mind racing. The street outside was the same as when she’d arrived. But she wasn’t.

Not anymore.

The rust-colored Honda didn’t shudder this time. It purred like it was just as stunned as she was.

Eden drove with the windows down, letting the thick New Orleans night wrap around her like a wet velvet shawl. The air was rich with honeysuckle, oil, and the ghost of a second line that had long since moved on. Her neck still buzzed, not with pain, but with presence. A lingering echo of fangs and breath and a moment that felt like it cracked something open inside her.

She rolled past the neon flicker of corner stores and daiquiri shops, the cracked sidewalks of uptown giving way to potholes and porch lights. Her thoughts moved as slowly as her car did. Heavy, syrupy things that stuck to the edges of her brain and refused to form full sentences.

She’d sold her blood. Just handed it over like a receipt. Signed her name on a scroll older than any contract she’d ever seen. Sat inches from a man with glowing eyes and a golden fang and said yes.

And yet… she didn’t feel wrong.

Her heartbeat was steady now, settled. Her limbs were loose and lazy, like her body knew something she didn’t. Like it had crossed a threshold and didn’t see a reason to go back.

At a red light, she glanced at the cash in her passenger seat. Real money. More than she’d made in a month of folding sweaters at the campus bookstore. Her fingers twitched with the urge to count it, to be sure, but something in her resisted. That wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered was how she felt. And for once, it wasn’t desperate.

It was dangerous.

She parked outside her apartment just after two a.m., the same flickering streetlamp buzzing above her like always. Normally, she would’ve slumped inside, peeled off her shoes, microwaved something sad, and stared at her ceiling until sleep came to find her. But tonight she sat still in the car, engine off, listening to the sound of cicadas and the low rumble of the city that never really slept.

She touched her neck. There was no bandage. Just skin. Tender, yes, but smooth.

Like he’d never been there.

But he had. And her body remembered.

When she finally made it inside, Eden didn’t bother undressing. She collapsed onto her bed face-up, curls fanned across the pillow, clothes still sticking to her from the sweat of the night. She meant to scroll her phone, maybe check her email. Instead, sleep came hard and fast.

And with it, the dream.

She was back in the velvet room, but everything was softer. Louder. Redder. The walls pulsed like they had a heartbeat. Candles melted into puddles on the floor, filling the air with the smell of blood-orange and clove.

Stack stood across from her, suit jacket off now. The sleeves of his burgundy shirt rolled to the elbows. The gold on his wrist glinted in the candlelight, and his grill caught her eye when he smiled.

Not a smirk. Not cold.

This smile was hot and low and deliberate.

He crossed the room without a word, steps soundless, until his hands were on her waist. His touch wasn’t demanding. It was magnetic. Her body leaned in before her mind caught up.

“Still not scared?” he murmured.

His voice brushed her skin like silk and sin.

“No,” she said, or maybe just thought it. In dreams, it didn’t matter.

He pressed his forehead to hers, just long enough for her to feel the thrum of something ancient behind his skin. Then his lips traced the spot on her neck he’d bitten. Not kissing. Not quite.

Tasting.

She gasped.

And woke up breathless.

Her bedroom was dark and quiet. The fan whirred above her, and outside someone’s dog barked once, then stopped. Her skin was slick with sweat, but she didn’t feel hot.

She felt hollow. Wired. A little drunk on something that hadn’t happened.

She stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, and reached for her phone.

The screen lit her face in blue, and for a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. Her eyes were too sharp. Her lips too calm. She looked like someone with secrets. The kind of girl you warned people about.

Eden opened her messages and scrolled to the last number in her phone.

504-9VAMPYR.

She stared at it for a long minute, thumb hovering. Then she typed three words.

When’s the next?

She hit send. No emoji. No punctuation. Just intent.

The message delivered with a quiet chime.

And Eden leaned back in her bed, the dream still clinging to her skin like smoke.

She didn’t know what came next.

But she knew she wanted more.

Her phone buzzed again.

Tomorrow. Midnight. Same place. Wear red.

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