sleepytopia

[sleepytopia]

Hihi!! I was wondering if you can make a one shot of bf!Iida taking care of reader after having her appendix taken out. Like super fluffy. Him helping her get dressed,shower,cooks food for her,helps her up and help her walk, ect! I had emergency surgery 2 days ago and would love if you can write it.

Lots of love from anon

(can it be kinda long)

(I love the thought of this so muuuchh!! Wishing you a speedy and well recovery)

In Sickness and In Comfort - one-shot

Tenya Iida x out of surgery! user

Your stomach still aches, even after the nurse gave you clearance to go home.

Well—home is Iida’s apartment. He insisted. Said you wouldn’t lift a finger until you were healed, and you had half a mind to argue until you tried to sit up without wincing. That shut you right up.

Now, you’re tucked in the middle of his bed, resting against pillows propped up with surgical precision (of course), Iida sitting beside you with his tablet and a stack of notes he’s reviewing with one hand while his other gently rubs circles into your thigh through the blanket.

"How’s the pain level?" he asks, eyes flicking to yours.

“Like a very pissed off kitten is clawing my guts,” you say hoarsely.

He frowns. “You haven’t taken your meds yet. I’ll get them now.”

Before you can protest, he’s already standing and walking toward the kitchen, slippers soft against the hardwood. You listen to the sound of water being poured, cabinets opening and closing, and then he returns, crouching at the edge of the bed.

"Small sips. And then we’ll do a heating pad.”

You grimace but take the pills, letting him tip the water glass to your lips. His hand is warm beneath the back of your neck, steady as ever.

When you finish, he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Perfect. You’re being very brave.”

You groan. “Don’t say that like I’m five.”

“I mean it,” he says simply.

The next morning is worse. You shift wrong in your sleep, jolt awake with a hissed curse—and Iida is at your side in a second, glasses askew, hair sticking up on one side. His hands hover over you like he’s scared to touch.

“I’m okay,” you lie, clutching your side. “Just moved weird.”

“I told you to call me if you needed anything,” he scolds, but softly, running a palm over your hair. “You’re not alone in this, my love.”

“Sorry…”

He sighs. “No apologies. Let me help.”

And help he does.

Getting Dressed

You’re slow to get out of bed, shuffling like a baby deer. Iida stands at your side the whole time, one hand hovering behind your back, the other bracing your elbow.

“Left arm first,” he says, guiding you into a soft oversized hoodie—his, obviously. The fabric smells like his detergent and the faintest hint of that cologne he only uses on interviews. It’s comforting, like being wrapped in him.

He bends down to help you into sweatpants, eyes flicking to your face every few seconds for discomfort. “You should tell me if it hurts.”

“It does, but you make it bearable,” you murmur, and his ears turn pink.

He helps you into socks, warm and fuzzy, tugs the hem up just past your ankle like he’s tucking you in. “There.”

“Thanks, nurse Iida.”

He adjusts his glasses. “Technically I’m not certified, but I’ve done extensive research.”

Shower Time

You’re embarrassed when he suggests it.

“Tenya, I can wait another day. I probably smell like a surgery room, but—”

“You will feel better after,” he says gently. “And I won’t look unless you ask me to.”

That shuts you up.

He sets everything up—shower bench, detachable sprayer, non-slip mat. He helps you undress, slow and careful, treating every inch of exposed skin like it’s breakable.

He wraps you in a towel before you step in. “You sit, I wash. Deal?”

You nod, cheeks burning.

He kneels behind the curtain, arms gentle as he rinses your hair and soaps your back, his voice calm and steady the entire time. You feel safer than you have in days.

When it’s over, he helps you into a clean robe and carries you bridal-style back to bed—despite your protests.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he says, with a smile that makes your stomach flutter worse than the incision.

Cooking For You

He spends the afternoon cooking easy-on-the-stomach meals: congee, miso soup, scrambled eggs on toast cut into triangles. Everything is bland and perfect. He brings it to you on a tray with a tiny flower in a bud vase—he brought the vase from home.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, chewing slowly.

“I wanted to.”

“Even the flower?”

“I picked it on the walk back from the pharmacy,” he admits sheepishly.

You reach for his hand. “You’re unreal.”

His thumb brushes your knuckles. “No. I’m just someone who loves you.”

Helping You Walk Again

Every few hours, he insists you stand and take a few steps to avoid complications.

“Come on, love. Just to the end of the hall.”

You grumble. “You sound like a physical therapist.”

“Physical therapists are unsung heroes,” he says seriously, arm sliding around your waist. “Let’s go.”

You take shuffling steps, his steps perfectly matched to yours. He steadies you when you sway, murmurs encouragement, tells you how proud he is every single time.

When you make it to the end of the hallway, he kisses your forehead and says, “That’s my girl.”

Your heart does somersaults.

Nighttime Comfort

You fall asleep with your head on his chest, his fingers in your hair, a heating pad pressed against your belly.

He reads aloud from his novel—his voice low and rhythmic—and even when your breathing slows into sleep, he keeps reading.

Just in case you're still listening.

You wake sometime later, dazed and groggy, and whisper his name.

He stirs immediately. “Yes, my love?”

“I’m really glad it was you,” you say, barely audible.

His smile is soft and full of everything unspoken. “Me too.”

He kisses your brow. “Always me.”

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

I HAVE A REQUEST yandere class 1b x class 1a reader hcs!

GJEPOJOER LOVE THIS SO MUCH (BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR A LITTLE CUZ I DID TAKE A BREAK BEFORE GETTING THIS SO I NEVER REALLY STARTED IT BUT NOW I HAVE)

Yandere Class 1-b x Class 1-a! reader headcanons

Neito Monoma

“The Rival’s Obsession”

Claims to hate Class 1‑A—especially Izuku—but he can't stop glancing at you.

Copying quirks only works when you’re near, so he finds excuses to stay close to you.

If another 1‑A student talks to you, Monoma betrays a flicker of panic.

Keeps detailed notes: your study habits, lunch choices, even your locker schedule.

“I won’t let Class 1‑A steal you. You’re mine—even if they don’t believe it yet.”

Itsuka Kendo

“The Protector Who Refuses to Let Go”

Watches you from afar during training. If someone gets too close, she steps between you like a living shield.

Uses class rep authority to suggest you sit together, always.

Brings extra protective gear and walks you home if it’s late.

Her smile might seem warm, but it hides a fierce pride.

“You’re safest with me—I'll never let you go again.”

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

“The Steady Guardian”

Fiercely loyal and surprisingly gentle when it’s you.

If someone makes you uncomfortable, he’ll quietly shove them away—and won’t apologize.

Pins a hand on his chest when you say you’re okay: “That’s fine… as long as you're here, with me.”

He builds you little sculptures during class just to watch you smile.

“If anyone takes you from me, I’ll break them. Understand?”

Kinoko Komori

“The Quiet Cling”

She trails behind you like spores invisible to everyone else.

Leaves mushroom fans (little drawings of cute mushrooms) in your locker and on your desk.

Watches you at lunches or study groups, just listening. If you walk away, she looks hollow.

Her hugs last too long—and her eyes grow distant whenever someone flirts with you.

“You don’t need them. You need me.”

Ibara Shiozaki

“The Gentle Preacher of Purity”

Soft-spoken. Sincere. Every word feels like a vow.

If someone teases you, she whispers scriptural quirk ways to “disarm” them gently.

Always gives you a private place to rest during breakdowns—or just a quiet moment.

Wraps her vines around your backpack like a silent bracelet.

“Your soul is safe with me. You belong with someone who understands purity. Someone like… me.”

Pony Tsunotori

“The Naïve Sweetheart Who Holds You Too Tight”

Says adorable English phrases to keep you smiling—“You're my sunshine, okay?”

Doesn’t realize how odd it is that she watches your window at night.

If another Class 1‑A student sits next to you, she’ll hide behind a pillar and glare.

Brings over hand‑knitted scarves and shakes if you’re nicer to someone else.

“If anyone hurts you, I’ll use my horns on them. Promise.”

Setsuna Tokage

“The Playful Stalker”

Splits into multiple detached bodyparts that observe you at odd angles. You know one of them is always watching.

Leaves little notes like “You’re mine” on the underside of your desk.

Has cameras in her split eyes, but calls it “research.”

Laughs when you pretend to hide from her. Then swallows that laughter when someone else flirts with you.

“You think you can outrun me? Your heart already belongs to me.”

Shihai Kuroiro

“The Dark Silhouette Who Needs Only Your Light”

Melds into shadows near your seat so only you notice him.

His echoing whisper brushes your ear during class setups. “No one else belongs to you.”

If someone distracts you, he smothers them in darkness quirk until you calm down.

Keeps a sketch of you in shadowform on his dorm wall—labeled: “Mine.”

“In a world of light, you’re the only thing I see.”

Juzo Honenuki

“The Solid Anchor of Softness”

He can soften anything—except his resolve to keep you close.

Softens the entire classroom floor near you so if you fall, you bounce into his arms.

His voice is always comfort: “If the world feels like it’s caving in, I’ll soften it—for you.”

Keeps one of your gloves cupped in his hardened palms like a treasure.

“They’ll push. You’ll fight. But you’re always falling into me.”

Yosetsu Awase

“The Rough Sculptor of Your Presence”

Bonds to your equipment or your sheath so you literally cannot take off without him noticing.

If someone touches your things, he welds them shut. No mess.

Carries you on his shoulders sometimes—because he can—and won’t let anyone else near.

Watches you sleep through Windows until he knows you’re okay.

“Your space, your gear, your body—they’re welded to mine.”

And together...

When others approach you, they close ranks. Eyes narrow. Hands tighten.

During joint training with Class 1‑A, they make sure you never fight someone else's match.

At night, they take turns watching your dorm door like that door might vanish—and take you with it.

You whisper once, “They’re too much.” They whisper back, in unison:

❝ You belong with us. ❞

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Let Us Show You – Part 3

Task force (Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz) x reader

Summary: After a night you’ll never forget, you wake up tangled in limbs and warmth — the entire 141 protective, teasing, and more than a little smug. Breakfast is on the table, kisses are stolen, and you're reminded just how deeply theirs you’ve become.

part1 , part2 , part3

You woke up to warmth.

Not just the blankets — though those were heavy and soft — but bodies. Everywhere.

Soap was spooned against your back, arm draped low over your hips. Ghost’s thigh was slotted between yours, his slow breathing warming your chest where he lay pressed into your front. You could just make out the weight of Gaz’s arm flopped over Ghost’s side and Price seated near the end of the bed, fully dressed already, reading something on a datapad with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Look who’s finally awake,” he murmured when your eyes fluttered open.

Soap stirred behind you and nuzzled into your neck.

“Mornin’, gorgeous,” he said, voice thick with sleep.

“You’re lucky we let you sleep,” Ghost murmured, cracking one eye open. “You were begging for it last night.”

You flushed. Instantly.

“Don’t tease—”

“Why not?” Gaz stretched, voice smug. “You made it through all of us. You deserve to be teased a little.”

“Or praised,” Soap added. “Whichever gets you squirming more.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow.

The teasing continued through breakfast.

Ghost had cooked. Somehow. Scrambled eggs, toast, even bacon — still steaming when he placed a plate in front of you at the table.

“Can’t have our girl passing out after a night like that,” he said plainly, and you nearly dropped your fork.

Our girl.

No one corrected him.

You ate between stolen touches. Gaz brushed his fingers down your spine each time he passed behind you. Soap sat beside you and fed you bites off his own fork. Price stole a kiss when you got up to refill your coffee.

“You were beautiful last night,” he said quietly into your hair. “You still are.”

And then came the possessiveness.

You went to grab your phone from your bag and mentioned off-handedly:

“I promised one of the med techs I’d help organize supplies later. Shouldn’t be more than an hour—”

You were immediately surrounded.

“Who?” Ghost said, tone dropping an octave.

“Male or female?” Soap asked, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t go alone,” Price warned. “Take one of us.”

You blinked at them.

“Guys, it’s literally just boxes and bandages—”

“You weren’t anyone’s before last night,” Ghost said, stepping close. “Now you’re ours. That means you don’t lift a fucking thing unless we say so.”

“Or unless we’re watching,” Gaz added with a wink.

Soap came up behind you, arms sliding around your waist.

“And no letting random med techs stare at what we spent all night worshipping, yeah?”

“They won’t!” you laughed, face red. “You lot are unbelievable.”

But even through your teasing, your heart swelled. Their protectiveness didn’t feel like a leash — it felt like safety. Like being loved in four different ways, all at once.

You went back to bed that afternoon.

Soap carried you, Gaz stole the first kiss, Ghost grumbled that you were hogging her, and Price laid down next to you, one arm pulling you in firmly.

“Let us keep you for just a bit longer,” he murmured.

You didn’t fight it.

Wrapped in warmth. Adoration. The lingering ache of love and lust all in one.

You were theirs — and God, it felt so good to be wanted this much.

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Let Us Show You – Part 2

Task force (Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz) x reader

Warnings: P in V(reader), Penetrative sex (reader receiving, all four take turns), Dirty talk, Orgasm control / overstimulation, protective/jealous vibes, reader overwhelmed (in a good way)

Summary: After worshiping your body for hours, the men of Task Force 141 finally get what they’ve been aching for — to bury themselves inside you, one at a time. With praise on their tongues and possessiveness in their touch, they take turns showing you just how much they adore you.

part1 , part2 , part3

They were patient.

You’d already come more times than you could count — and yet, the hunger in their eyes had only deepened. Their clothes were mostly off now, muscles on display, cocks heavy and hard in their hands as they watched you breathe, dazed and ruined and open on the couch.

Price was the first to speak. Voice low. Reverent.

“You still want this, sweetheart?”

You nodded. Eyes glassy. Barely able to speak.

“Words,” Ghost said, already stroking your hair. “We’ll stop if you don’t say it.”

“Please,” you whispered. “I want all of you.”

The tension snapped like a wire.

Soap was first.

His lips ghosted over yours before he pressed into you, slowly, carefully — eyes never leaving your face. He was thick, the stretch dizzying after hours of tongues and teasing. You moaned, body arching.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re perfect. So warm, so tight—like you were made for us.”

Each thrust was tender and deep, his forehead pressed to yours, hands cradling your hips like you were something delicate.

“Never lettin’ anyone else touch you again,” he growled. “Ours now. Only ours.”

You came again on his cock, clenching around him so hard he barely pulled out in time — spilling hot and messy over your stomach with a strangled moan.

“One down,” Ghost muttered darkly behind you, “Three to go.”

Ghost was next.

He didn’t ask for permission. Just flipped you gently over onto your stomach and pulled your hips up with one arm like you weighed nothing. His cock nudged your entrance, thicker than Soap, harder, trembling with restraint.

“Gonna fuck you so deep you feel me for days.”

You sobbed when he entered you — one long, slow thrust until he was fully seated inside. A hand gripped the back of your neck, holding you steady, the other planted on your lower back as he began to move.

“So good,” he murmured. “So perfect for us. Fuckin’ knew it the moment I saw you.”

He didn’t go easy. He needed you to remember him. And when you came again, shaking, crying into the cushion, he pulled out just in time — coating your back with hot, messy release.

“That’s two,” Price muttered. “I’ll go last. Let Gaz take you now.”

Gaz was gentler.

He cleaned your back with a warm cloth, whispering apologies between soft kisses. His cock twitched against your thigh, but he waited — until you gave him that dazed, pleading look and whispered:

“Please, Kyle.”

He lined himself up and slid inside with a groan — not as thick as Ghost, not as rough as Soap, but deep. His hand came to cradle your face as he fucked you slowly, lovingly.

“That’s it, love. You’re doin’ so well for us.”

You clenched around him, body so overstimulated that every drag of his cock made your eyes flutter.

“You want it inside, yeah?” he whispered. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes—please—”

He came with a shudder, hips pressed flush against you, warmth spilling deep as you cried out and came with him.

And then there was Price.

You were boneless, trembling, completely used. He kissed you before he even touched you, warm and careful — arms steady as he lifted you into his lap on the couch.

“My turn, sweetheart.”

He entered you slowly, groaning low in your ear as your body welcomed him, already so wet, so open.

“That’s it. Take me in. Good girl.”

You sat in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, face buried in his shoulder as he moved you — not with force, but rhythm. Controlled. Deep.

“You let us worship you,” he murmured, “Now let me claim you.”

His hands gripped your hips tighter, his lips brushing your ear.

“Gonna come in you, sweetheart. Leave you dripping. So everyone knows you’re ours.”

You nodded, cried out, bit down on his shoulder as he came hard and deep — and this time, he didn’t pull out.

Afterwards, it was quiet.

You were tucked into the center of the couch, naked and glowing, wrapped in warm bodies and soft blankets. Price cleaned you up. Soap massaged your thighs. Ghost kept a protective arm around your waist while Gaz whispered sweet, sleepy things into your neck.

“We meant it,” Ghost murmured. “No one else gets you like this.”

“No one else deserves to,” Price added.

You smiled, exhausted, and let yourself be held.

For the first time in a long time, you felt completely full — body, heart, and soul.

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Let Us Show You

Task force (Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz) x AFAB reader

Warnings: Dirty talk, oral fixation(reader receiving), protective/jealous vibes, reader overwhelmed (in a good way), Poly relationship, Dirty talk & possessive praise, Soft manipulation ("let us take care of you"),

Summary: A casual confession over drinks spirals into something much more when the men of Task Force 141 learn you’ve never been on the receiving end of oral. They’re stunned. Offended, even. And dead-set on changing that—together.

part1 , part2 , part3

You’d only meant it as a joke.

It had been a late-night poker game in a dusty safehouse, whiskey sloshing in mismatched glasses, radio humming quietly in the background. You were laughing at Johnny’s terrible bluff when you muttered the words:

“Jeez, I’ve never even had anyone eat me out. Clearly, I’m doomed.”

There was a beat of silence. A long one.

Kyle choked on his drink. Ghost slowly turned his head toward you. Johnny froze mid-laugh, jaw hanging open. Price… looked personally offended.

“I’m sorry,” Price said calmly, like a man trying not to shout in a church. “What did you just say?”

You blinked. “What? It’s not a big deal—"

“Not a—” Ghost’s voice dropped, dark and gravelly. “That’s a fucking tragedy.”

“You serious?” Soap sat forward, brows knitted. “Never? Ever?”

“Not even a drunk ex trying to impress you?” Gaz added, stunned.

You felt your face heat. “Okay, we don’t need to have a whole intervention about my sex life—”

“Correction,” Price rumbled, standing. “We’re having an intervention about the lack of men who know how to please you properly.”

The room shifted. Slowly. The mood went from playful to heavy. Charged.

You were about to laugh it off—until Ghost stood and came behind you, one gloved hand settling on your shoulder.

“Let us fix it.”

Your breath caught.

“Let us show you,” Soap added, his voice low, coaxing. “What it’s supposed to feel like.”

You swallowed. “All of you…?”

“If you’ll let us,” Gaz said softly. “We’ll take care of you.”

It started on the couch.

Your back hit the cushions, shirt peeled off by warm, rough hands. Soap's lips ghosted over your neck while Gaz kissed your thighs—tenderly at first, then hungrily.

Price sat on the armrest behind you, pulling you back against his chest. You felt his beard scratch your jaw as he murmured:

“You’ll tell us if it’s too much, yeah? Use your safe word if you need it.”

Ghost knelt in front of you, gloved fingers tugging your shorts down slowly, reverently.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muttered, voice strained. “And they never tasted you? Fuckin’ disgrace.”

Your legs were spread before you had time to answer.

Gaz moved in first. Warm lips, teasing tongue. He moaned when he tasted you.

“Jesus. Fuck. You taste like heaven,” he groaned, voice muffled by your thighs. “Can’t believe they kept this from us.”

You gasped, hips twitching. Price held you still, whispering:

“Let them spoil you, love. Don’t hold back.”

Then it got filthy.

Soap switched places with Gaz, one hand holding your thigh up while his mouth devoured you like he’d been starving for it. He used tongue and lips and filthy groans like he was in love with your cunt.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he murmured, breath hot. “Can’t believe we get to do this.”

Your moans grew louder. Ghost had moved to your side, dragging your hand into his lap—guiding it over the hard length in his pants.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s what you do to me. Just from watching.”

Price kissed your neck again. “Doing so well for us, sweetheart.”

Your hips rolled against Soap’s tongue, and you felt yourself spiraling—so much stimulation, so much attention, too many hands and voices and mouths praising you.

“Let go for us,” Gaz coaxed. “We’ve got you.”

You did.

You came with a cry that ripped from your throat, trembling against Soap’s mouth, thighs clenched around his head. He didn’t stop until you pushed his face away, whining at the overstimulation.

“There we go,” Price praised, stroking your cheek. “That’s our girl.”

But they weren’t done.

You barely had time to breathe before Ghost took his place between your legs, pushing them apart again.

“Now that we know what you like,” he muttered, eyes dark, “We’re gonna do it right.”

You sobbed his name when his tongue hit your clit, and all four men groaned in response.

They took turns—tasting you, worshiping you, until you were a trembling, overstimulated mess. Fingers in your hair. Hands gripping your thighs. Praise murmured against your skin like a prayer.

“This is how it’s supposed to be,” Gaz whispered. “Every time you come, I wanna be down here,” Soap added. “Gonna ruin you for anyone else,” Ghost growled. “Only we get to have you like this,” Price finished.

You didn’t know how long it lasted.

You just knew you were loved, cherished, wrecked—and they were far from done with you.

And for the first time... you finally understood.

What it meant to be taken care of. What it meant to be wanted. What it felt like when four dangerous men fell to their knees—not out of dominance, but devotion.

You’d never forget it.

And neither would they.

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Task Force 141 x Reader Headcanons: “Wait… You’ve Never?

Task force (Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz) x reader

Tone: NSFW / Suggestive / Fluff / Teasing / Possessive Warnings: Dirty talk, oral fixation, protective/jealous vibes, reader blushing and overwhelmed (in a good way)

actual story here

Soap (Johnny MacTavish)

You say it casually during a game of "Never Have I Ever." He chokes on his drink.

“You’re takin’ the piss—never? Like, not once? Not even a terrible attempt?”

The disbelief turns to this cheeky, predatory smirk. “Oh sweetheart… we’re changin’ that. Soon.”

He spends the next few days randomly whispering things like: “Bet you taste sweeter than sin.” “Wanna see those thighs tremblin’ around my head, lass.”

Honestly? He gets soft about it too—wants your first time being that intimate to feel worshipped.

Would take his time, talk you through it, ask how everything feels. And once you’re crying on his tongue? He’s hooked for life.

Ghost (Simon Riley)

You don’t even realize you’ve said it aloud until his eyes snap to you across the room.

“You serious?” His voice is low. Like he’s already halfway feral.

Doesn’t say much after that—but he watches you differently. Hungrier. Protective.

Quietly corners you a few days later and murmurs: “You deserve better than selfish bastards who never learned how to please someone.”

The idea of being your first for something that vulnerable? It messes with his head—in the best way.

Will act composed, but internally he’s obsessed. Wants to ruin you for anyone else, starting with his tongue.

Captain Price

Laughs at first. A deep, rumbling, amused sound.

“Well, love… guess the boys you’ve been with weren’t real men.”

There’s no teasing after that—just low, gruff promises.

“You ever let me between those thighs, I’ll make damn sure you never forget it.”

He’d be intense. Steady. Gentle at first, but absolutely dominant.

Loves guiding you through it—feeling you fall apart under his control.

“You’re gonna lie back and let me take care of you, yeah? Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Gaz (Kyle Garrick)

His reaction is the sweetest. “Wait—really? Like… never?”

Blushes. Looks genuinely stunned.

“That’s criminal, babe. You deserve someone who’ll live down there.”

Gets flustered when he realizes he’s staring at your thighs mid-conversation.

Later texts you something like: “If I ever get the chance, I’ll make up for every lost moment. Just say the word.”

He’s the softest oral giver out of all of them—smiling between your legs, praising you, constantly asking if it feels good.

Will happily spend hours there. Especially if it’s your first time.

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Moonlight Doesn’t Lie - one-shot

Neito Monoma x Reader (w/ Bakugou Katsuki)

Summary: You tried to be enough for Bakugou—the patience, the silence, the ache in your chest he never noticed. When it all cracks, you start to drift… and Monoma catches you mid-fall. There’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet comfort and an understanding Bakugou never gave. But moonlight doesn’t lie. And when truths come out, hearts don’t always break clean.

The wine has long since gone warm.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting at the table for—just that it’s been long enough for the waiter to stop asking if you're still waiting and just silently refill your glass with a look that feels like pity.

Katsuki won’t make it. Again.

The message from him came an hour late. Short. Cold. “Work’s a mess. Can’t make it tonight. I’ll make it up to you.”

You told him it was okay. You always do. Even when the ache in your chest says otherwise.

You leave the restaurant before tears can smear your mascara. The night wind bites, wrapping you in a loneliness you’ve grown too used to. But instead of going home—to that cold, king-sized bed—you let your feet take you somewhere else.

Somewhere warm. Somewhere dim and forgettable.

A bar.

That’s where he finds you. Neito Monoma.

Golden-haired. Flashy smile. The kind of pretty that’s dangerous.

You know who he is. Everyone does. Katsuki used to mock him under his breath, even after becoming the #2 Hero. Even after growing up.

Neito buys you a drink. It’s not just the alcohol that warms your blood—it’s the attention. The focus.

He touches your cheek. His voice is smooth and teasing. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Especially not alone. What a shame…”

You don’t push his hand away.

You don’t stop him when he leans in.

Maybe because you want to feel wanted for once.

Maybe because he sees you.

And when he whispers, “Come home with me?”—you say yes.

His apartment is sleek. Not quite cold. Not quite warm. Like him.

You leave your shoes by the door. He watches you with a look that could burn holes through silk.

“You sure about this?” he asks, thumb stroking over your wrist like he owns you already.

“No,” you whisper.

But you stay.

That night, he unravels you.

With praise that melts into filth. With touches that feel too practiced and too perfect. With a mouth that says things that make your spine arch—and still, still manages to sound sincere when he murmurs, “You deserve better.”

You don’t say his name all night.

But when you accidentally whisper, “Phantom Thief,” into his ear, his grip tightens, his rhythm stutters—and he moans your name like a prayer.

You try to forget.

You try to write it off as a mistake. As something the wine did. As a one-time thing.

But Neito texts you the next morning. And the next.

He doesn’t ask for more.

He just says:

“You looked beautiful last night. Hope you’re okay.”

You don’t answer right away. Not until Katsuki misses another dinner.

Not until you lie to your parents about why he didn’t show. Not until your mother gives you that look—the one that says she’s trying not to ask.

Not until you find yourself on Neito’s doorstep, three months later, wearing lingerie you bought on impulse. For him.

This time, he smirks.

“Couldn’t stay away?” he hums, voice honey-sweet and razor-sharp.

You shake your head. “Just… make me forget.”

He does.

And he doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re shaking under him, tears hot on your cheeks—not from pain, not from shame—but from relief.

Because for once, someone stayed.

You don’t talk about Katsuki. Not really.

Neito never pushes. Not directly.

But he knows.

He sees the marks he leaves on your skin—the ones you never ask him to hide. He notices the way you flinch when your phone lights up. The way you sigh when you check your calendar and realize another promise’s been broken.

He knows. And part of him hates Bakugou for it.

And maybe, just maybe, part of him loves you for it too.

Not in the way he expected. Not in the flashy, possessive way he used to flirt with his reflection in the mirror and imagine stealing you away.

No. This is quieter.

Like the way he keeps spare water bottles in his fridge now, chilled to your liking.

Or how he memorized your coffee order without ever needing to ask.

Or how, when he tucks you into bed, feverish and barely able to speak, he whispers things he never thought he’d mean.

“You deserve to be the first choice, not the last resort.”

You’re sick.

Too sick to move. Too sick to text. You barely remember calling in sick to work.

You don’t expect anyone to come. Not Katsuki—he’s in a meeting.

But Neito knocks.

He lets himself in.

And when he finds you curled under blankets, burning up and delirious, he doesn’t gloat.

He carries you to the hospital.

He signs your forms.

He holds your hand.

He tells the receptionist he’s your boyfriend—just to make things easier.

And when you rest your head against his shoulder in the waiting room, he feels something tighten in his chest.

He knows you’ll go back to Katsuki.

He knows this is a borrowed moment.

But it doesn’t stop him from pressing a kiss to your damp hair, whispering:

“Let me hold you, just for tonight.”

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Fires We Can’t Control

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader Summary: After a mission leaves both you and Gaz wounded physically and emotionally, you struggle to navigate the fragile connection between pain, trust, and desire. As scars surface and secrets spill, you learn that some fires don’t burn to destroy but to forge something new. Together, you face the darkness and discover love is the fiercest flame of all.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the heater. You sat on the edge of the battered couch, hands clenched in your lap, eyes fixed on the floor.

Gaz entered, boots soft against the floor, and sat beside you without a word.

After a long pause, he broke the silence, voice low. “I didn’t think I’d see you like this… broken.”

You swallowed hard, heart tightening. “Neither did I.”

Your eyes met briefly, flickering with something unsaid — a fragile thread pulling taut between you.

Gaz shifted, careful. “We don’t have to be broken alone.”

You wanted to believe him, but the ache inside was too deep.

Later that evening, when Gaz reached out to touch your arm, you flinched, pulling away. The fear of vulnerability felt like a wall too high to climb.

“You think I’m gonna run?” Gaz’s voice cracked, frustration and pain mingling. “I’m not that guy.”

You shook your head, voice small. “I’m broken.”

“No. Maybe broken can still be fixed.”

The words hung in the air. You wanted to believe them but pushing him away felt safer.

One accidental brush of hands in the kitchen sparked a heat neither expected. Gaz’s eyes darkened with need.

“Don’t think I’m letting you go without a fight,” he growled.

Your breath hitched as he pulled you close, lips crashing against yours in desperate, messy kisses. The tension of weeks exploded in shuddering gasps and trembling hands.

Part 4: Scars and Secrets

That night, tears spilled as you shared your deepest fears and trauma — the weight you’d carried alone.

Gaz listened, voice soft and steady. “We’ll face it together. Every scar, every dark thought.”

His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing a tear away. “You’re not alone.”

For the first time in months, you believed it.

Days later, Gaz’s touch was reverent, worshipful. He traced every curve, every mark, whispering affirmations as he kissed your skin.

“I’m here,” he murmured.

Your walls crumbled as you melted into his embrace, finding comfort in his steady presence.

Suddenly, a flashback crashed through your fragile peace, sending you spiraling.

Gaz caught you as you stumbled, voice urgent. “Look at me. You’re safe now.”

His arms wrapped tight, grounding you from the storm inside.

Trust grew in quiet moments — soft music, candlelight, and gentle touches.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Gaz admitted softly.

You laced your fingers through his, hope blooming. “Then stay.”

Together, you found warmth in the dark.

In the afterglow of healing and love, Gaz traced tender patterns on your skin.

“You’re my fire,” he whispered.

A smile broke through tears. “And you’re mine.”

Together, you rose from the ashes.

Masterlist.

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Boku no Hero Academia / My Hero Academia

My hero Fanfic Masterlist

🧁 [Fic Tag Key] 💖 = fluff 🔥 = spicy / NSFW 💔 = angst 🍓 = soft romance 🌧️ = hurt/comfort

➤ Katsuki Bakugo

Hold me after the fire 💖🔥🍓

Hot hands & Soft threats 🔥🍓

Let it burn 🌧️

➤ Eijiro Kirishima

Hot hands & Soft threats 🔥🍓

Crackling hearts and Crimson hoodies 💖🔥 (pt1) (pt2)

➤ Denki Kaminari

Hot hands & Soft threats 🔥🍓

Cracking hearts and Crimson hoodies 💖🔥(pt1) (pt2)

Dare you to say it again 🔥🍓

➤ Tenya Iida

Strictly extra credit 💖🔥🍓 (pt1) (pt2?)

Idle Hands (one-shot) 🔥🍓

➤ Izuku Midoriya

Corruption or Correction 💖🔥

➤ Shōta Aizawa

Warm enough to stay 💖🍓 (pt1) (pt2)

➤ Toshinori Yagi

nothing yet...

➤ Hitoshi Shinso

Don't look at my tail like that (one-shot) 💖🔥

➤ Neito Monoma

Don't look at anyone else (one-shot) 💖🔥

➤ class 1-A

Yandere! headcanons 💖🔥🍓 (pt1) (pt2)

➤ Bakusquad

Neurodivergent! reader headcanons 💖🍓

Yours to keep 💖🔥

➤ Dekusquad

Neurodivergent! reader headcanons 💖🍓

➤ Class 1-B

Yandere! Big three with class 1-A reader 💖🍓

➤ Big 3

Between sunlight and shadows 🔥🍓 (Mirio x Tamaki x reader)

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Jujutsu Kaisen / JJK

🧁 [Fic Tag Key] 💖 = fluff 🔥 = spicy / NSFW 💔 = angst 🍓 = soft romance 🌧️ = hurt/comfort

➤ Satoru Gojo

nothing yet…

➤ Megumi Fushiguro

nothing yet...

➤ Ryomen Sukuna

nothing yet...

➤ Mahito

nothing yet...

➤ Other characters

nothing yet...

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

COD/Call of Duty

🧁 [Fic Tag Key] 💖 = fluff 🔥 = spicy / NSFW 💔 = angst 🍓 = soft romance 🌧️ = hurt/comfort

➤ Simon "Ghost" Riley

The quiet between gunfire 💖🔥🍓

The dogs like you 🔥🍓

➤ Captain John Price

ex-boyfriends dad 🔥🍓🌧️

➤ John "Soap" MacTavish

The quiet between gunfire 💖🔥🍓

➤ Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

nothing yet...

➤ König

nothing yet...

➤ ghoap (ghost x soap)

nothing yet...

➤ task force 141

Don't shut us out 💔🍓🌧️

Ours to keep 🔥🍓

Hiddne in plain sight 🔥 (pt1) (pt2)

A warm welcome 🔥

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Resident Evil

🧁 [Fic Tag Key] 💖 = fluff 🔥 = spicy / NSFW 💔 = angst 🍓 = soft romance 🌧️ = hurt/comfort

➤ Chris Redfield

nothing yet...

➤ Albert Wesker

nothing yet...

➤ Leon S. Kennedy

nothing yet...

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

A Warm Welcome

Task Force 141 (Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz) x Reader NSFW/18+ (basically got this idea / request from @fertilise-me)

Summary:

While the boys were away on a long operation, you got a new piercing somewhere very intimate. You weren’t trying to hide it… exactly. You just didn’t expect their reaction to be so intense.

You didn’t realize they’d be obsessed.

Barracks – 3 weeks post-op

They’ve been gone for almost a month.

No contact. No touch. No teasing banter at breakfast, no shoulder brushes in the halls, no warm hands trailing down your waist at night.

And you missed them. So damn much.

But instead of falling apart, you made a decision.

An impulsive one. Shiny. Sensitive. Perfectly placed.

A barbell that sits right where you ache the most.

Now they’re back. Dusty, tired, and full of unspent energy.

And when Soap throws you over his shoulder jokingly and lands you on the couch, you squeak just a little too sharply.

Ghost narrows his eyes.

Gaz tilts his head.

Price leans forward.

“…What was that?” he asks.

You hesitate.

Gaz hums. “You get hurt while we were gone, sweetheart?”

“No,” you say, smiling. “Not exactly.”

Soap gets suspicious first. He wraps an arm around your waist and lets his hand drift lower than usual.

And then—

He feels it. The cool metal under your shorts. Right where it shouldn’t be.

He freezes.

Then grins.

“No way.”

Ghost is the next to catch on. His gloved hand presses gently over your clothes, and you twitch again.

His voice is low. Dangerous. “You went and pierced yourself while we were gone?”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“So you weren’t thinking about us when you did it?” Gaz interrupts, eyes flicking between your legs and your face.

You flush.

“…I missed you.”

“Fuck,” Price mutters, his tone dipping into dark amusement. “You missed us so bad you marked yourself for it?”

They make you show it. Not cruelly. Not at first. Just slowly. Softly. Like they’re unwrapping a surprise that belongs to them.

Soap drops to his knees, wide-eyed. “That’s so fuckin’ pretty.” Ghost doesn’t speak. He just licks his lips behind the mask. Gaz looks dazed. “You’ve been walking around with that in, and we didn’t even know?” Price chuckles darkly. “Think that warrants some... inspection.”

You end up splayed across the bed, hips trembling, thighs twitching because they take turns.

Soap is fascinated by the jewelry. Tongue darting around the metal, teasing until you’re begging.

Gaz uses his fingers slow and deep, watching your face every time you flinch from the pressure.

Ghost holds your thighs open, watching your body jerk with every overstimulated pulse.

Price leans down last, low voice rumbling, “We should’ve been the ones to take you.”

And then he does.

You lose count of how many times they make you come—on their mouths, fingers, toys you forgot you owned.

By the end of it, your piercing is sore from attention.

And you're smiling.

“I take it you approve?” you whisper.

Soap laughs breathlessly. “Darlin’, next time you get a new hole, we’re going with you.”

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Hidden in Plain Sight - spicy continuation

Task Force 141 (Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz) x Reader

part1 part2

summary: What started as innocent teasing about your hidden piercings quickly turned into something much more. 141 found out, and they wanted everything. Now that they’ve touched, tasted, and claimed you, there’s no going back.

You thought it was just jewelry. They took it as an invitation.

You hadn’t expected them to actually show up at your door like this, like they planned it. But when Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz file into your room like they own it, you don’t argue. You can’t. Not when they look at you like that.

Eyes dark. Mouths greedy. Hands already twitching.

“Take it off,” Ghost says from behind you, voice gravel rough.

You meet his eyes over your shoulder.

"That an order, Lieutenant?"

He steps in, breath ghosting against your neck.

“It is now.”

You tug the shirt over your head, slowly exposing skin, muscle, and metal.

Your chest glints in the low light. Two bar piercings, proud and intentional.

Soap lets out a low whistle. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“Thought about this since I found out,” Gaz mutters, eyes tracking every detail. “Wanted to get my mouth on it.”

Price steps in front of you. “You’ve been hiding this from us, love.”

You smile, biting your lip. “Not hiding. Just waiting for someone to ask nicely.”

“Oh, we’re well past nice,” Ghost rumbles behind you.

Hands. Everywhere.

Gaz drops to his knees first, mouth on your chest like he’s starving—tongue circling the metal bar, teeth just grazing.

You moan, arching. "Jesus—"

“Careful,” Price warns him, voice low. “Don’t overstimulate 'em just yet.”

Soap chuckles. “Speak for yourself.”

He grabs your hips, dragging them toward him, pressing his thigh between your legs. “You like the pressure, don’t you?”

“Say it,” Ghost murmurs, watching your eyes flutter shut. “Tell us how much you fucking like this.”

“I—fuck—I love it.”

Price takes his time with your neck, kissing just below your ear, large hands bracketing your ribs like he’s memorizing the shape of you. Soap mouths down your stomach, sucking marks just above your waistband. Gaz is still latched to your piercing, groaning as your hand tangles in his hair. Ghost silent, possessive strips your pants off like it’s a duty. His gloved hand trails along your thigh, a promise building.

“Look at them,” Ghost growls. “Fucking wrecked already.”

“All this from a bit of jewelry,” Price muses.

“Nah,” Soap mutters, pressing a kiss low on your hip. “It’s cause it’s them. And they’re finally ours.”

You come hard on Gaz’s tongue, overwhelmed, pierced chest sore and sensitive, legs shaking.

But they don’t stop.

Ghost pushes in next fingers, thick and slow, while Soap whispers filth in your ear. Price holds your jaw, kissing you through your second orgasm like it’s holy.

By the end of it, you’re sprawled across your mattress, covered in hickeys, panting, spent.

And they’re all still touching you. Lingering. Holding. Their hands and lips and bodies surrounding you like armor.

“You’re never hiding anything from us again,” Price says, dragging his fingers down your stomach.

“Especially not piercings,” Gaz adds.

Soap kisses the sore metal bar gently, like a trophy. “Too damn pretty not to play with.”

Ghost’s voice is final. “Next time you keep something like this from us…”

He leans in, mouth to your ear.

“…We’ll make you come till you forget why you ever thought you could.”

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Task Force 141 (Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz) x Reader part1 part2

Summary: Everyone knew you had a few piercings. The cartilage, the nose stud, the eyebrow, nothing shocking. But then something shifts. Soap brushes against you during a training match, and his hands catch something unexpected beneath your shirt.

Now the whole team knows. And their reactions? Not nearly as casual as yours.

Soap’s the first to say something.

And of course, he says it loudly.

“Alright, so I know you’ve got an eyebrow ring, but are you gonna tell me when the hell you got your nips done?”

You freeze mid-wipe, cleaning down your rifle, and blink.

Gaz chokes on his water. Ghost turns slowly from where he's reloading his sidearm. Price… lowers his tea.

Soap just grins, unfazed. “Don’t look at me like that, lass. You bumped into me and something clicked. Metal under that shirt. Don’t deny it.”

You squint. “How the hell did you even notice-”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Gaz leans on the wall, arms crossed. “So... it’s true, then?”

You mutter, “Didn’t realize it was a war crime.”

Price raises a brow. “No one said it was.”

Ghost finally speaks, voice low and unreadable. “Just surprised. You’ve been holding out on us.”

You shrug, playing it off. “It’s just jewelry.”

Soap whistles. “Not the kind you wear to a briefing.”

You shoot him a glare.

Gaz’s voice lowers just a bit. “...So which is it? Bars or hoops?”

You blink.

“Just curious,” he says, smiling wide. “Morbid curiosity.”

You don’t answer.

Which is an answer.

Price corners you in the hallway later. Not physically, he’s too refined for that, but his presence is weighty enough to make you slow your steps.

“You didn’t think it worth mentioning?” he asks, voice like a slow drag of smoke.

You glance at him. “Didn’t think you’d all care.”

He steps closer. “We do.”

Ghost finds you after the gym. His voice is quiet, but sharp.

“You let Soap feel you up, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “It was an accident.”

“That what we’re calling it now?” His tone is unreadable. “Funny how I’ve trained with you for months, and never noticed.”

You meet his gaze. “You’re not as handsy as he is.”

His mask shifts, maybe a smirk. Maybe not. “We’ll fix that.”

Gaz is the most playful about it. But it’s still there, that edge.

You catch him watching your chest while you’re stretching the next morning.

“Eyes up, Garrick.”

He grins. “Hey. I’m just appreciating the craftsmanship.”

Soap’s the only one who keeps bringing it up outright. Loudly. Frequently.

“I’m just saying,” he declares during lunch, “if you’re walking around with spiked armor under your shirt, the squad deserves a warning.”

Price: “You want them to wear a sign?”

Soap: “It’s a safety issue!”

Ghost: “You just want an excuse to look.”

You, dryly: “He already copped a feel.”

Soap shrugs. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

You throw a bread roll at him.

Later that night, you open your door to find all four of them standing there.

Price. Ghost. Soap. Gaz.

You blink. “Uh…”

Price speaks first, calm and slow. “We’ve been talking.”

Soap’s got that smug, shit-eating grin. “You know, about how you’ve been hiding things from your team.”

Gaz leans in the doorframe. “Not very trustworthy, is it?”

Ghost stays silent, but his eyes, beneath the mask, haven’t left your chest since you opened the door.

You smirk.

“Let me guess. You came here to interrogate me?”

Price hums. “Something like that.”

Soap leans closer. “We’re all very hands-on, you know.”

You laugh under your breath. “That so?”

Ghost finally speaks. “Show us, then.”

You grin. And tug your shirt up just enough to let the metal glint in the light.

Four sets of eyes drink you in.

And just like that—

You’re not sleeping alone tonight.

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

Hihii!

Dunno if you're writing for bnha much anymore, but I thought it'd be interesting to see how Katsuki would react if someone were training (punching something or just practicing attacks) and something just... Switches in them. Like they're not focused on training anymore, they've tuned out everything else and they're past 'in the zone'. And he can just TELL that they're putting every emotion they've ever felt into each punch thrown.

I struggled to describe the phenomenon, but I tried my best 😭 tysm for reading this!

OOOOOO I GOTCHUUUU YOUUU !!

Let It Burn

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Summary: During a late-night training session, Reader loses control not of their quirk, but of their emotions. Punch after punch, they pour every buried feeling into the bag, no longer training, just surviving. Bakugou finds them mid-breakdown and instantly recognizes what’s happening, not because of pity, but because he’s been there. For once, he doesn’t yell. He listens. And he burns quietly beside them.

Scene: Training Room Gamma. Late evening.

It’s supposed to be a light spar day. Just basics. Cooldowns. No combat training. No weights. No spectators. But you stay behind anyway.

And when Bakugou comes back for a forgotten towel, he hears it.

Smack. Smack. SMACK.

The rhythmic pounding of your fists against the reinforced punching post echoes sharp and too fast. Too hard. Too long.

He pauses in the doorway.

You don’t see him. You don’t see anything.

You're not breathing right, your shoulders shake with each strike, not from exertion, but from something deeper. There's no rhythm. No control. Just chaos disguised as repetition.

And your face, your eyes are blank. Empty. Somewhere else.

Like you’re not punching to train. You’re punching to bleed something out.

He watches for a minute. Just a minute.

He’s seen people train hard. Push limits. He’s even seen people cry during drills.

But this?

This is different.

You’re unraveling.

Quietly. Violently. Alone.

“Oi.” His voice cuts through the air like a crack of thunder.

You don’t stop.

“Oi. I said that’s enough.”

Still nothing.

Until—

He crosses the room fast and grabs your wrist mid-swing.

You whip toward him with wild eyes, chest heaving, sweat dripping down your temple. You look like you were in a fight for your life.

But there’s no enemy here. Just him. Just Katsuki.

“Let go.”

“Not until you calm the hell down,” he says, grip tightening.

“I'm fine, Bakugou.”

“No, you’re not. That wasn’t training. That was a goddamn exorcism.”

You yank your arm back and stumble two steps away, breathing ragged.

“You don’t get it.”

He stays still.

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

Then you laugh sharp, breathless, not happy.

“I’m not mad about one thing, y’know? It’s not just my breakup. Or the grades. Or the way people look at me like I’m fragile. It’s everything. All of it. Since I got here. Since before that.”

You stare at your bruised knuckles.

“It builds. Every day. Every time I have to smile when I want to scream. Every time I let something go because it’s easier to swallow it than say it.”

Your voice cracks.

“Training’s the only time no one calls me dramatic.”

He’s quiet. For once.

Then he walks forward. Not fast. Not aggressive. Just… deliberate.

You expect him to tease. Bark. Maybe even get mad.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lifts your hand gently. Looks at your knuckles. And speaks in a low, honest voice.

“…I get it.”

You blink.

He doesn’t look up.

“You think I blow shit up because it’s fun?”

You stare. “Don’t you?”

He meets your gaze. Eyes dark. Sharp. Burning the way yours are.

“I blow shit up because it’s the only thing loud enough to shut it all out.”

Your breath hitches.

He takes a breath too, then steps just close enough that you could lean forward and collapse into him if you wanted.

And somehow, he knows you won’t. Not yet. Not this time.

So he doesn’t push.

He just stands there.

Burning with you.

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[sleepytopia]

The Dog Likes You (I Don’t… Yet)

Simon "ghost" riley x reader

Summary: Your new neighbor is quiet, broad-shouldered, and built like he eats bricks for breakfast. He barely says more than two words when you pass him in the hall. But his dog? His dog is obsessed with you. And slowly, Simon Riley realizes maybe... he is too. Even if he’ll never admit it out loud.

The first time you met Riley, he barreled into you in the hallway, tail wagging, tongue out, like you'd been best friends in a past life.

“Riley, no- get back here- "

That gravel-rough voice chased after him, exasperated and deep. You looked up. And there he was.

Simon Riley. Unit 4B. Tall. Tattooed. Constantly wearing black. Never made eye contact in the elevator. Never smiled. Always looked like he had a secret and a kill count.

“He’s not usually like this,” Simon muttered, gripping the leash and yanking the excited shepherd back to heel. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you smiled, crouching to pet him. “He’s sweet.”

Simon grunted.

Didn’t even introduce himself.

The dog liked you. A lot. Simon didn’t. Or so you thought.

But Riley started dragging him to your door every morning. Whining when you passed in the hallway. Sitting outside your condo like he lived there.

It was kind of cute.

Simon was not.

He was blunt. Quiet. Always tense like he was waiting for the ceiling to fall in. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t make small talk.

But he did start lingering longer when you pet Riley.

“You live alone?” he asked once, randomly, voice low.

You blinked. “Yeah… why?”

“Just noticed your lights’ve been out when you get home late. Thought something might’ve happened.”

Thought something might’ve happened.

Was that… concern?

Then came the day you twisted your ankle trying to bring groceries up the stairs.

Simon didn’t just help. He carried you. Bridal style. No hesitation.

“You should be more careful.”

“Yes, thanks, Simon, I totally meant to fall and eat concrete.”

He didn’t even smile.

But he did check in every day after that. Brought Riley. Brought food. Started asking if you needed anything when he went to the store. Then started knocking just to see if you were okay.

You started catching him looking at you differently. Softer. Longer.

One night, sitting beside you on the couch while Riley sprawled across both your laps, he spoke without looking at you:

“He doesn’t like many people, y’know.”

“He’s great.”

“…So are you.”

You turned.

He was already looking at you. Eyes bare. Voice low.

“Didn’t think I’d like you at first. Thought you were too chatty. Too soft.”

He paused.

“But… you make things quiet. In a good way.”

He kissed you that night. Rough hands, hesitant lips, the slow realization that maybe letting someone in didn’t mean falling apart.

Riley barked halfway through it. Simon groaned.

“He’s a bloody cockblock.”

You laughed against his mouth. “He’s the reason we’re here.”

“Tch. Don’t let him get smug about it.”

Extras:

Simon lets you borrow his hoodie after you mention you're cold. Never asks for it back.

Riley literally scratches your door when Simon takes too long to visit you.

Simon never admits it, but he keeps a photo of you and Riley tucked into his wallet.

He lets you scratch behind his ears when you call him “a good boy” but that’s between you and him.

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works