#(needs to proofread it)

[luvrrszn]

nasty old dog

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY x FEM!READER

summary silent, broody...how can you resist your mysterious older neighbour?

warnings fluff-ish, age gap (early 20s, late 30s), nsfw (smut), bad brain-rotted writing

a/n heh......send requests pls

masterlist

the first time you meet him, he’s standing at your front door in full tactical gear.

not just a vest or boots—everything. black from head to toe, a skull-print balaclava covering most of his face. there’s a duffel slung over one shoulder, and your parcel in his hand.

you freeze.

he doesn’t say anything at first—just stares at you. and then, quietly, almost too quiet to hear:

“this came to mine.”

you take the box slowly, fingers brushing the gloves he hasn’t taken off. your eyes flick to his—dark, heavy-lidded, with a hint of tiredness that makes something twist in your chest.

“…thanks,” you manage, trying not to sound nervous.

he nods once and turns without another word. just disappears into the apartment across the hall like this is normal. like he’s normal.

you close the door and stand there for a long moment.

“…what the hell.”

—

you tell yourself not to be weird about it. but every time you see him—taking out the trash, coming back from a run, carrying enough groceries for a family of five—you get more and more curious.

there’s something about him. the way he’s always alone. how he never quite makes eye contact. how your cat likes to sit by the front door, ears perked, tail twitching, every time his boots echo down the hallway—like she knows exactly when he’s coming home.

he’s strange. broody. definitely hiding something.

so of course you bake cookies.

and occasionally leave them on his doorstep.

because you're a nice neighbour!

because you’re nosy. and maybe a little reckless.

and because god help you, your mysterious neighbour is hot.

—

at first, it's subtle. a soft nod when you pass by each other in the hallways, and even an occasional gruff "mornin'" from the man.

simon doesn’t exactly do small talk—but he starts remembering your name, starts holding the lobby door open a little longer when your arms are full of groceries. he even helps you carry them once. gruff, silent, but his hand wraps fully around the handle of your tote bag like it weighs nothing.

there’s a moment, that day. where your fingers brush his. and he flinches—not from you, but from himself. like he wasn’t expecting how warm you’d feel. how soft your hands were, untouched by the horrors of the world.

then it’s a sticky note.

you find it one night, stuck on your fridge in all caps, scrawled with a heavy hand:

“FIXED YOUR SINK. STOP USING THE DUCT TAPE.”

you don’t even know how he got in—must’ve used the spare key you gave your building’s maintenance guy. you leave a tupperware of cookies on his doorstep the next day. he doesn’t say anything, but a week later, your broken curtain rod is magically fixed too, and your empty tupperware sits on your kitchen counter.

and somehow, this becomes your thing.

he drops by after missions—always late at night, always quiet. you never ask questions. he never offers answers. but he shows up with oil stains on his shirt and shadows under his eyes, and you let him in, let him rest. you even start cooking bigger portions, just so he'll have some home-cooked food to eat when he drops by at night. you don't ask questions, you don't say anything. you just give him some food as he tugs off his skull balaclava.

sometimes he falls asleep on your couch, jaw slack, brow still furrowed like he’s expecting a fight even in sleep. other times, he just… sits with you. watches whatever’s on the tv without a word. you talk. he listens. and every now and then, when you say something funny or dumb or weird, the corner of his mouth twitches. barely noticeable. but it’s there.

eventually you get comfortable with him. you curl up against him during movie nights, head resting on his chest. his arm rests on the back of the sofa behind you. his hand doesn't wrap around your shoulder. he makes sure there's some sort of distance between him and the little young thing sitting beside him.

you learn he likes his tea strong. that he only takes sugar when he’s had a rough day. that he reads, sometimes, when he can’t sleep. that he has a soft spot for your cat, even if he pretends to ignore her—pretends not to notice when she curls up beside his boots. (you even catch him smiling at her once, but you pretend not to notice)

you start to learn the rhythm of him. the little ways he says “i care” without ever saying it at all.

eventually, you stop pretending he’s just your neighbour.

but he doesn’t.

he keeps his distance, even as he inches closer. never lets himself touch you for too long. never stays the night, no matter how late it gets. you catch the way he looks at you sometimes—like he wants something he doesn’t think he should want.

he’s careful. too careful. because you’re bright and soft and still figuring things out. and he’s lived a thousand lives in the dark, each one heavier than the last.

and maybe that’s why it nearly breaks something in you when one night, after a silence stretched too long, he just says it.

quietly. like he’s scared he’ll ruin it.

“i sleep better here.”

you don’t say anything. just reach for his hand and squeeze. and this time, he doesn’t pull away.

—

and one day, he comes back more broken than usual.

you can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he lingers in the doorway like he’s debating whether or not he should’ve even come. his jaw is tight. his knuckles are bruised. and when he finally steps inside, he doesn't say a word—just drops his gear by the door, like always, and sinks onto your couch like gravity's finally gotten the best of him.

you sit beside him, quiet. you let the silence stretch.

until you finally ask, “si, are you okay?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just stares ahead, breathing deep, like your soft little apartment is the only thing keeping him tethered.

“had to do lotsa' things i didn’t wanna' do,” he mutters eventually. voice low. rough. “a lot more than usual.”

your hand finds his and you squeeze. your grip is gentle. grounding. “you’re home now.”

he turns to look at you then. and there’s something in his eyes that makes your breath catch—something sharp, haunted. but under it… there’s hunger too. not just for you, but for the comfort you bring. for the peace he only finds in your presence.

and maybe that’s what makes you brave.

maybe that’s why you shift closer, crawl gently into his lap, hands bracing on his broad shoulders. you feel the way his body tenses beneath you, the way he swallows hard when your fingers ghost along the back of his neck.

“let me take care of you,” you whisper.

“sweetheart…” he warns, already shaking his head.

you start grinding down on him a little, just to test the waters. but his hands come to your waist. but they don’t push. they just hold. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“i do,” you murmur, leaning in so your lips ghost along his jawline. “i know exactly what i want. i want you, si."

his breath stutters. you press a kiss just below his ear. his grip around you tightens into somewhat of a hug.

“don’t do this,” he says, but his voice is wrecked. you notice the slightest tremble in his hands and voice. barely noticeable to anyone else, but you can feel it.

“why not?” you whisper. “i know you want me too.”

“you’re young.” he finally says it. the thing that’s been sitting heavy between you both.

“you’ve got your whole damn life ahead of you. you shouldn’t be wasting it on some old bastard who drags death with him wherever he goes.”

“i’m not wasting anything,” you whisper, pulling back. you look into his eyes and your hands come up to hold each side of his head. “i’m choosing you, you old dog. doesn’t that count for something?”

and it’s like that finally breaks him.

because the next thing you know, his mouth is on yours—desperate, almost angry, like he’s been trying to hold himself back for months and he just can’t anymore. his hands grip your hips tight, dragging you closer, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you in his lap.

and when he kisses you again, it’s not hesitant. it’s hungry.

his lips are hot, almost feverish against yours, and you can feel the desperation in every movement. his hands are everywhere—palming your hips, sliding beneath your shirt to feel the warm curve of your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

and you? you just melt for him.

you thread your fingers through his short crop of hair, tugging gently, and he groans low in his throat. you whisper his name, over and over, like a prayer, like something sacred. and it's music to his ears.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, “you don’t know what you do to me, sweet girl.”

but you do.

you feel it in the way he grinds up into you, slow and controlled, like he’s still trying to restrain himself even now. like he doesn’t want to hurt you. like he wants to worship you.

you pull back just enough to look at him—his eyes are dark, pupils blown, lashes fluttering as he blinks up at you with something close to reverence.

“i want all of you, si,” you whisper. “please.”

his jaw clenches, like he’s fighting every instinct to be good, to be safe, to keep distance. but you see the moment he gives in. the moment he realises you’re not afraid of him. you want him. all of him.

he stands with you in his arms, effortless, and carries you to your bedroom. he lays you out so gently you nearly cry. and when he finally takes off your clothes, it's like unwrapping something precious—his touch is rough in places, but careful where it matters.

“you’re so fuckin’ soft,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along your collarbone, “so goddamn perfect.”

your fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt, and he helps you pull it over his head. you take a moment, just looking at him—all scars and strength and something broken that only you ever get to see.

“you’re beautiful,” you say, and his breath hitches.

he kisses you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made him feel alive. like the war stops when your mouth is on his.

and when he finally slides into you, it's slow. unbearably slow. you feel every inch of him, the stretch, the fullness, the way his breath stutters when you moan his name. but he fits perfectly. like he's the puzzle piece you've been searching for. like this was meant to be.

one hand toys with your nipple while the other rubs soft circles on your clit.

he’s whispering things between gritted teeth—“that’s it, sweetheart,” “so good f'me,” “i’ve got you”—his voice like gravel and honey in your ear.

and when he finally loses the last bit of restraint, it’s devastating—his rhythm picking up, hips snapping into yours, his forehead pressed to yours as he groans your name like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

"f-fuck si—oh yeah right there—oh!" your moans are almost pornographic, only spurring simon on as he picks up his pace. faster, deeper, and soon you feel the familiar warmth in your belly as your stomach coils.

you fall apart beneath him, trembling, gasping, held together only by his arms around you and the heat of his breath against your cheek. your walls tighten around him, squeezing him. and soon he follows with a low, broken sound and your name on his lips like a plea.

he spills deep inside you, your walls milking him for all that he is.

and then it’s quiet.

his body curled around yours, still catching his breath as he pulls out of you. your fingers tracing lazy circles along his chest. his thumb brushing soft over your waist like he can’t stop touching you, like he doesn’t want to.

you feel his lips press into your hair as he mutters, barely audible:

“don’t know what i ever did to deserve you.”

[thephantomsdream]

Let's be real for a second.

Ghost likes you a lil mean. Just enough. To him, to his mates, to everyone. He can fight. He will fuck anyone up who dares to react aggressively to you, so it doesn't matter if you're sassy, snarky, plainly put a little shit. He won't stop you, he's not gonna "tame" you, he's definitely gonna fucking eat it up and tease you, loving your remarks, clever, funny or straight up mean. The man will be smirking behind his mask (or straight up giving you heart-eyes at home). Don't be unnecessarily mean though, it's not a good look on anyone. Oh, god, and if your humor is dark? You got the man snorting and fucking giggling*(1), shoulders shaking and him trying to hold it in as you're plain roasting someone.

Be mean to him. He tests the waters, dropping one of his incredible and fantastic jokes for you to roll your eyes at him and tell him to rather wear a clown mask, since he's such a joke, and I swear he folds. Wants to pin you down and fuck you raw until you're a sobbing mess that knows nothing else but his name? Of course, and know he'd be mocking you, because where's that snarky mouth of yours, hmm? Oh, ya, busy sucking on his fingers. But until then, he's lowkey following you around dropping stupid joke after stupid joke until you're actually angry and amused. He got you smiling somehow? Gets him feeling like a young boy with a crush, silly butterflies and all.

Give him a bitch-face. Raised brow and unimpressed face at anyone and he's just eyes on you. Fucking hell, he's creepy too. Ghost is fucking intimidating as he is but if he just fixates on something, big brown eyes locked onto you and (big, awkward because let's be fucking for real, boy's actually fucking awkward) body frozen. Just 🧍‍♂️. (I'm fucking wheezing, he just 🧍‍♂️👁👁 and you know it!)

"Fuck are you looking at, weirdo?" That's bloody foken lovely!

And!

AND! He just (again, awkwardly) hovers and makes shit jokes but is so helpful to you in any way he can because in reality he's garbage with words but with actions he's much better. Regardless of where you met, he'll find a way in your life because you bring him joy and he just can't seem to let go. Simon tries to convince himself too that it ain't a good idea, that you're better off. Aha. Yeah, then you just look at him in a way when someone else says something absolutely fucking stupid and he just... Yeah, he's yours.

Be mean to him, then let him shove his face in your tits. Pull his hair a little but wrap your arms around him. Bite him and call him an idiot if you want, as long as you call him your idiot. That's Simon to you.

(But when you're nice to only him, he feels special. Make this man feel special, yeah? He needs it.)

(1): I actually imagined him in his barracks, him kicking his feet while he wears a pink robe, writing in his pink diary (with a pink pen with one of those fluffy balls at the end) "Dear diary, my lovie called me an asshole today. My heart is still racing. We shall mary in spring." and drawing hearts around his and your initials together.

[aliteralsemicolon]

Thinking about how Spencer takes care of you when you're too exhausted to take care of yourself.

He walks into your bedroom to find you on the brink of sleep, carelessly curled up on your end of the bed and his brows raise in slight concern as he scans you. You couldn't even be bothered to change out of your day clothes. He chuckles lightly at the sight, as he makes his way to you.

"Baby?" He gently calls to you, rubbing your calf with his hand as he takes a seat next to your legs. You're unable to respond to the sound of his voice despite hearing it. He tries again, this time kneeling on the floor next to your head.

"Angel?" His fingers lightly brush through your hair as he whispers near your ear.

"Hmm?" You reply hazily.

You wait for him to speak so you can go back to sleep but all that follows is silence. He resumes his motions in your hair and it keeps you aware of his presence. He's waiting for you to gain some more consciousness. You rub your eyes, fluttering them open and Spencer's quick to guide your hand away from your face.

Right. Your makeup.

"What's up?" You mumble, stifling a yawn.

"I know you're tired, and I'm sorry for having to wake you up," he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "but you do know why it's bad for you to fall asleep like this?"

This is a topic the two of you have discussed before. You're usually quite meticulous about removing your makeup before bed, but you're also no stranger to nights when you can't find any energy to do so.

"Mhm. Clogged pores, risk of infections, bacteria spread, discomfort…" You trail off, summarising his extensive research.

Getting you up and off this bed is a losing battle tonight and Spencer graciously accepts defeat, sporting an endeared grin.

"Can I at least help you get comfortable? Would it be alright if I took these off for you?" He tugs at your top and waits for your response. You nod, letting out a barely audible hum.

Spencer moves off the floor and begins to remove your clothing. "You're gonna have to help me just a little bit, Angel. Lift your hips for me."

You blindly follow his commands, wanting to get it over with so that he can relax and you can go back to sleep. He doesn't relax, though. As he rids you of the last of your clothing, he mentally fights himself on letting you sleep with your make-up. There are so many risks involved, but hygiene aside, Spencer knows that if you wake up with your pillow stained– or God forbid…a pimple– you're going to be beyond pissed with yourself.

The sudden dip in the mattress slightly startles you, as a cool feeling drags against your cheek and you whine.

"Shhhh, sorry, it's just me." Spencer coos.

"What're you doing?" You groan, squeezing your eyes shut, still in a sleepy haze.

"Just wiping off your makeup, sweet girl. You're going to thank me tomorrow." His finger hooks under your chin and he soothingly rubs his thumb just under your lips.

"Spence…" You begin whining but you're unable to pronounce anything else coherently.

He can tell you're slightly irritated, but he doesn't mind. He knows that it's the exhaustion talking.

"I know, I know." He sympathises with his continually gentle tone. "I'm almost done. You're being so good for me right now."

Your lips pout, but you don't complain any further, his words calming you. By the time he's finished ridding your face of cosmetic residue, you're knocked out again. Light snores can be heard from you. He chuckles to himself at the sight of you. So peaceful. So adorable. He leans in closer and plants a firm, lingering kiss on your forehead before he disappears to get ready for bed himself.

"Spence?"

He turns around at your groggy voice, still half asleep. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime, my pretty girl."

[kunasthiast]

“do you ever question my decisions?”

you said… calmly and randomly. on a rainy day, wearing your husband’s oversized hoodie, like you were asking if he wants takeout. it’s that casual.

his eyes flick up, sharp and amused because who isn’t??? you were just stating at the raindrops on the window while sipping tea and ask that out of nowhere.

“every day,” he says, voice laced with that signature brand of arrogance.

and continued (which he shouldn’t have but really thought was necessary), “especially when you picked that weird lamp for the hallway.”

you don’t respond right away. you just sip your tea. you let the silence stretch a little. then, without even looking at him, you said…

“you shouldn’t be questioning them. you were one of them.”

aaaaand bAAAM.

sukuna’s mouth opens. stays open. words attempt to form, but get caught somewhere between ‘wait what the fuck’ and ‘holy shit you’re right.’

you looked at him. he’s frozen. phone still in hand. brow furrowed just a little like his brain hit a blue screen of death.

you stood up from where you’re from, walked towards him, and patted his head like he’s the confused lazy, black (i think he’s more of an orange cat for me) cat he is, and walked past him toward the kitchen.

there’s just silence.

and then… he faintly, sincerely said:

“…fuck, baby, that was hot.”

———————————————————————————

a/n: lol just thought of this lil drabble after my brain was fucking fried for the whole day with my thesis orz i need sukuna in my life plz

[erwinsvow]

you'd never really put this much effort in at other houses. while you're scrubbing the countertops to remove every last bit of evidence that someone—anyone—had made a mess there, you think about the other houses you used to babysit for.

used to, since there was no need to babysit anymore. mister cameron, who will always remain mister cameron—no matter how much he reminds you to call him rafe—actually pays you double what your other families did. he's a busy guy. you know this for a fact—single dad and some big business guy that people in town used to talk about all the time when you used to listen—so he'd have last minute emergencies and random business calls all the time.

his exact words had been something along the lines of "don't wanna share you with anyone else," but even thinking about that encounter makes your face burn with so much intensity that you think you're going to collapse. that's not what he meant, obviously, he was trying to tell you in nicer words that it was annoying when you replied to his texts explaining how another family had booked you already for that night. so when he upped your rate and said that he'd even pay to say no to others, just in case, you would have been really stupid to say no.

you don't hear much about him anymore, when you're out and about. you spend so much time at the cameron house that your own little apartment seems like nothing more than a bed and a place to get ready before leaving. you practically eat three meals a day with the baby, so even your grocery shopping is in that part of town—all organic, expensive places where you talk to the baby and try to get her opinion on which vegetable puree she'd like to try this week.

it's kind of like playing pretend. no, it's really like playing pretend. you used to dress in the normal, comfortable clothes that were sufficient for babysitting every other family—overalls and sneakers—but now you don't fit in unless you're in a pretty dress and nice sandals. you stay in one outfit from when you show up before mister cameron leaves to when you drive home at the end of the night.

that's the other thing—your car. you've made it work with the same one since you could first drive. it's a little rusty, a little dinged up, but safe as can be. it's nothing fancy but it got you around. but now you do other things for rafe that you never did for other families—grocery shopping and errands and the occasional doctor's appointment if rafe really, really can't make it. you don't mind at all—it's fun to play pretend and you love her like she's your own, but mister cameron tries to make it to every appointment himself, because he really cares about his daughter. it's admirable because you don't see it in every single household.

you hadn't thought there was anything wrong with your car until one day you couldn't get the air conditioning to work, and the back window got jammed and the baby looked so uncomfortable that you had to skip out on whatever you were supposed to do that day. when mister cameron came home that night you apologized so much that you started crying—because really, you never thought there was something wrong with your car and you didn't want to make the baby drive in the heat, just in case. you think he'll be mad, there's no groceries and his suit is still at the cleaner's, and the lotion that you use every night after bathtime has ran out and there'll be none for tomorrow—but he's not.

he's not mad at all. he seems... tired. he seems worried. the first thing he asks that night is if you and the baby are okay. when you nod, afraid that this is the calm before the storm, he sighs.

"good. that's all i care about," and the way he says it—you believe him right away. maybe that's the night your little crush on mister cameron started forming. it'd always been there in the background, you'd be an idiot of massive proportions to deny it. but it felt different somehow, watching him roll up his sleeves and pulling out whatever ingredients there were left over to make dinner with, something that you normally tried to have done every night for him, while telling you to take a seat.

that night he asks about your car—how old is it, when'd you get it, how many miles. do you like the model? would you want bigger, smaller, a different color? it's just conversation—he probably likes cars with the way there's a really nice in the garage under a sheet and a nice but safer one that he takes to work everyday.

(while he's cooking pasta and cutting vegetables, you try to get up and help, but he meets your eyes and shakes his head. wordlessly, you obey and sit back down.)

that's the first night things felt different. you drove home a little giddy, later than normal, stomach full and heart a little too happy that you found it in yourself to finally have a real, nice conversation with mister cameron. you're as shy as they come but your interactions with him are limited—before work, a phone call at lunch (though recently, his first question hasn't been about the baby... it's been how are my girls?), and after work before you leave.

it feels good to know that you're doing something right, that you're good at this even on your bad days. you make a point to leave your place extra early that week, stopping at the pharmacy and picking up the lotion so it's one less thing to worry about. your window still won't roll down and you'll have to figure out how to get the groceries delivered, crossing your fingers that it doesn't cost that much more.

you show up a couple minutes early and go inside to sort out the stuff for the baby before she wakes, when you find mister cameron in the nursery.

"good morning," you say quietly, though it comes out a little above a whisper. she's still sleeping, even though you haven't glanced in the crib, you know her schedule like the back of your hand.

"hey, kid," he says, and your heart starts to thud a little faster. mister cameron's nicknames for you don't make an appearance everyday but for some reason, it has today. he hovers over the crib, watching the baby's chest rise and fall with each breath. you go over to join him, placing the lotion on the dresser. he notices the bottle and turns back to you. "you didn't have to do that."

"she needs it," you reply quietly. "it's the only one she likes. and i was up early anyways."

"thank you." it comes out with such sincerity that you're a little taken aback.

"of course, mister cameron. it's nothing," you smile up at him. he glances back at you, smiling and then turning to his daughter again. "i'm gonna go start on her breakfast."

you make your way to the door when he says your name.

"there's keys on the kitchen counter, and the car's in the garage. i'd like it if you started using that car instead."

and really—how are you supposed to respond to that? you stammer out an 'of course, mister cameron' and go downstairs, crossing your fingers that he made a mistake, or that he wants you to drive his car until you fix yours and he'll take the nice one tucked away in the garage.

but when you make it to the counter, and then head to the garage, your eyes nearly fall out of your head. a brand new pair of car keys, to match the brand new car in the garage. your arguments fall on deaf ears—this is way too much for anyone. yes, you're pretty much throwing money away by still paying rent and the cost of getting your car fixed could probably be enough to start paying for a better one, but this is too much. way too much. it's not normal. right?

but you have no one to ask. the baby's not old enough for playdates, and the girls who replaced you at your old houses are pretty much all high school seniors. on mister cameron's side of town, there's only nannies and au pairs, and they'd probably think you're crazy for turning down such a nice gesture.

and it is a nice gesture. mister cameron listens to every word you say, even when you're not paying attention to your own sentence. the car is exactly how you described—the color you wanted, the size you said would be nice one day incase there's ever a playdate or another baby or whatever the case may be. it's shiny and brand-new and completely undeserving of you. but he doesn't listen.

somewhere along the next month, you realize you could get really used to this. mister cameron does have a point—you're taking care of his daughter every day, so it only makes sense to make sure she's as safe as can be. you make a mental note that if you ever—for whatever idiotic reason—choose to leave this perfect job, you'll make sure he gets the car back.

there comes a point where the relationship... makes its way to the next level. at the end of every week, you have to settle the bills. co-pays at appointments, grocery receipts, the invoice from the gardener that didn't go through so you had given him your own cash so mister cameron wouldn't have to deal with it from work. it adds up, so once the baby is asleep on saturday night, the two of you eat dinner and go through everything.

but this time, he hands you a card instead. a shiny black credit card that spells out his name on the back.

"makes it a bit easier, right? just use this instead. we won't have to settle every week anymore."

"right," you agree, your smile fading quickly. you try to put on a front, a false expression so he doesn't notice your disappointment. saturday nights with mister cameron—him with his beer and you with a glass of wine—once the baby is asleep, sorting out bills and making conversation that almost felt like you belonged here, had unknowingly become your favorite part of the week. sometimes it would go until midnight, talking about things that were neither here nor there.

it's how you learned why he's a single dad, what he does for work, how he feels about his job and how much time it takes away from his daughter. it's why you started sending him photo and video updates everyday so he wouldn't feel like he's missing out on as much, it's why you make sure to craft the baby's bedtime routine around him coming home, so they have their time together.

"somethin' wrong?" he asks, after taking another sip of beer. you're snapped out of your thoughts, focusing instead of how rafe looks today. tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, fingers curled around the beer bottle.

you don't know how any woman on earth could have walked away from this.

"n-nothing. no. thank you, mister cameron, this is great. i'll make sure-"

"it's rafe from now on—remember, kid?"

"yes. sorry, i-"

you couldn't get out of there fast enough that night. it's almost a subtle reminder from the universe—you're not part of that family. you're the nanny who got too attached, who pretended that she fit in too much to a family that's not hers.

you still wear your nicer clothes, you still drive around his nice car. but you try to remind yourself every now and then that this isn't your real life.

the next day, it's like the universe has decided that it's mad at you for coming to this conclusion.

pouring rain the second you get into the car. your raincoat and umbrella and a sensible pair of shoes remain inside your apartment, and if you sit in idle any longer, you're going to be late to mister cameron's. he'll want to leave early since it's raining, so he's probably expecting you any minute.

the roads are a mess—it's monsooning for no reason and people forget how to drive. you honk no less than three times at idiots on the road before getting scared that someone will road-rage you. when you pull into the garage—because yes, mister cameron insists that you park inside and that he can park outside— you're frazzled and sweating and your day hasn't even started yet.

rafe's almost ready to leave, which is another damper on an already bad morning—if he has time, the two of you eat breakfast together. you tell him to drive safe and apologize for being late when he rushes past you, leaning in to kiss your cheek and telling you that he might he home late today, and to have a good day. you don't realize what's happened until he's gone, the door closing behind him.

you stand in the foyer with your mouth open until you hear the baby monitor. from that point on—it's one thing after another. the baby is fussy today, which is the most unusual part of the day. she's never like this, and you conclude that she must be getting sick or something. it's just as well, because there's no reason to go out or to take her out in this weather. she cries, and you try to help, even cave and put on some episodes of little bear to see if something would distract her. but the poor thing just doesn't feel good, and has no way to tell you how.

the hours fly by, and your head even hurts a little from the crying and the overthinking about the kiss from this morning. in all the rush, you eat about two bites of lunch before the baby needs something else.

and then at the end of the day, right around when rafe should be coming home, he doesn't.

you feed the baby and rock her to sleep. she fusses ten minutes later, and spits up all over you and your hair, and then knocks out. you even spend twenty minutes hovering over the monitor, making sure she's okay while drying your hair. rafe's still not home, so you get dinner ready and warmed for him, eating yours alone in the silence. and as if you could handle another thing, you spill sauce all over your dress while trying to put away the leftovers.

you were going to wait until you were back home, safe in your tiny apartment to cry and shower and scrub your skin raw from the day you've had, but it can't wait any longer. you take the monitor into the bathroom with you at full volume, and decide to shower in the bathroom closest to the baby's room just to be safe.

it's not until you're naked, wrapped in a soft towel and waiting for the water to get scalding hot, racking your brain for the location of the extra clothes you had once brought here that you realize the shower closest to the baby's room is the shower in rafe's bedroom.

you haven't been in here before—looking around at the expensive cologne on the counter and the dark blue towels and the hamper full of yesterday's dress shirt. it's not a good idea to be in here, but you need to shower and you can't wait another minute. for all you know, mister cameron could come home in another two hours. your dress is spinning in the washer—and your plan is set. throw it in the dryer, find something to wear for the next fifty minutes, and leave as soon as he's home even though you can hear the raindrops on the roof and the thunder outside.

the shower is what you have been needing all day. you wish you had your body wash and shampoo, but his aren't too bad. you inhale deeply, realizing you're submerging yourself in his scent. you could stay in there forever, but you don't—he's gonna be home any minute or the baby could start crying, and you need to go home.

but he smells so good. you've noticed it before, it just feels amplified now. the towel you wrap yourself in is his, meaning he's dried himself with it before. all the clothes smell like his cologne, and the house is a little cold and your clothes are still washing, and though it's probably the worst idea you've ever had, when you get out of the shower, you head to his dresser and pull out the first clean t-shirt you can find.

it's big on you, you knew it would be. it's soft and warm and smells undeniably like mister cameron. you're completely clueless, exhausted because the baby barely napped and you barely got any sleep yourself, and it's way past your own bedtime right now. he might not even come home, you think, with how the storm sounds. you check your phone but there's no messages, just a flood warning.

yesterday's socks and underwear are still spinning in the machine—how long does this thing take? what setting had you put it on?—and you begrudgingly leave rafe's warm bedroom with the baby monitor in one hand, and his navy blue towel in the other, drying your hair. you turn on the television, watching whatever's on while you pat your strands dry, bending over to wrap your hair into the towel so you can sit for a couple minutes, when you hear the door open.

you snap back up, looking at rafe's face stare back at you—he's drenched, hair wet and suit dripping, wiping his forehead with his hand when he looks you up and down. oh god, you don't even know what he just saw, you were bent over and-

"is that my shirt?"

[satorupi]

part 2 of innocentgf!reader asking experiencedbf!satoru how to give him a handjob

sum! - things escalate a little past learning how to give your boyfriend a handjob now that he has you in his lap..

c/w! - all smut, any storyline is in pt 1 (click here !! or ^^)

"gonna make you feel so good."

satoru's words send a proper shudder through you, giving him a shaky sigh against his lips as you dip to return his kiss. no need to even beg when he'd give you all you wanted in a heartbeat.

your hips cant forward in a deliberate grind and your moans sync, mingling in the space between your lips. your movements are a little unsteady, but so what? you'd moved past the silly embarrassment at being on his lap like this, only few layers keeping you two apart.

"you're…you're getting hard again," you breath out, pulling out of his space again just to chance a glance down, catching your lip between your teeth at the sight. satoru's chest heaves just a bit as he watches you, throat bobbing in a harsh swallow. long fingers flex on face as he nods at your observation, still trying to maintain his composure. why does it feel like he's the one falling apart when you're the one with no experience? "doesn't it hurt?"

"not yet, no." his voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, “you’re doing great, keep moving just like that. nice and easy.” he said he'd make you feel good and he's never been all talk no action. satoru's hands lower to grip your hips again, gently spurring on your movement back and forth on his lap. not enough to overwhelm but enough to have your abdomen curling in the best way, pressure to your clothed heat against him increased tenfold it seems. your breathing shudders, glancing up at him again, hands hugging tighter around his neck, keeping eye contact with him.

not having sex doesn't mean you don't know how an erection works. you press your weight down into his chest to get him on his back, hips lifting off just enough to let his erect cock spring closer to his stomach with a gentle smack before you're seating yourself again -- against the underside this time with a shudder, "t-there. don't wanna..break it or something."

he snorts under his breath, hand sliding up the softness of your tummy, slightly rough fingertips toying the top hem of your little sleep shorts, looking at you in silent question. you're so sweet and soft when you whisper your confirmation that he has to take a long breath, fingers gliding under the band of your shorts, tips exploring new skin reverently.

he doesn't push past the other layer of fabric, merely slides his hand down the front of your shorts, your own hips tilting to make it easier for him to touch you like this. he can feel the heat of you as he cups you through your panties — the slick, soaked press of fabric that sticks right to your skin, face getting all hot in his arousal when he feels how wet you already are, soaked straight through. "all this for me? got my pretty baby all worked up from watching?" he sounds breathless, more than you maybe, shifting his hand to cup you fully.

your face burns hotter, nodding anyway. your expectations for how you'd feel having him finally touch you doesn't come close to the reality. his thumb eases down onto your sensitive clit through the sodden fabric slow and easy and you barely bite back a cry, softest circles drawn against the bud.

“I know, baby. feels good, yeah?” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. your own eyes flutter, forehead dropping onto his shoulder, hips shifting to get closer, to get more almost greedily. "grind on me just like that, I got you." so you do. you keep up with your grinding on his lap. satoru’s going slow as you he can, thumbing your clit over your damp panties, murmuring little praises in your ear. his wrist is wedged all awkwardly, angle all wrong -- but neither of you can bring yourselves to care.

it's everything and nothing all at once. perfect but not completely at the same time and you just want to feel more, finding yourself needing exactly that. "satoru, please.." it's like he already knows what you need -- both of you actually. his hand pulls out from where it's shoved down the front of your pants and you barely go a moment without his touch before his hands are on you again. thumb hooking at the side of the fabric of both the shorts and the gusset of your panties to bare you properly with one hand, other dragging two digits through the slick mess of you easily.

you jerk with a choked sound, clutching at his broad shoulders, lowering onto his chest to press your face in his neck. "fuck," he groans, breath catching. "you're so…god." he sucks in a long breath, counting in twos in his head to keep himself from blowing like a virgin at the sight of you bare. it's hard not to when he's never seen you like this, this intimately.

it's almost too much, the way he parts your folds so gently, like he's trying to coax you open for him. "ooh, 'toru." your hips jerk, little pants warming the side of his skin as you twist and shift -- he doesn't have a free hand to even try to keep you still. one swipe of his finger along the sensitive underside of your clit has you bucking into him with a gasp, rolling directly onto the lengthy shaft of his cock. bare this time, completely different from doing it clothed.

it's almost hilarious how you both tense up, how his stroking halts.

"baby—" satoru rasps, and you're sure you feel him stiffening even more under you. your laughter comes airy, not from humor exactly but from how caught off guard you are. your hips roll again just to test the feeling out, breath skipping at the heavy press of his dick against where you're most sensitive. you can feel everything. the weight of him. the pulse of the vein you'd ran your tongue along earlier. how hot and solid he is. "ooh…my fuck.."

he seems to catch himself when you moan against him, fingers keeping your folds parted, your own hips not halting for a second. arousal smears down the girthy length of him, puffy folds so slick he's practically gliding between them. your hands plant near the sides of his head for more leverage as you chase a feeling you didn't know you needed badly till now, chasing the rapidly rising heat in your belly.

"oh shitshithshit--" not quite eloquent but you can't put into words how good it feels. so close to being inside you but not at all -- but your body reacts like he is. all he is is just thick and heavy dragging against your cunt, head barely catching on your entrance and you're already losing your head.

your hips roll again, dragging your clit right along the underside of his cock and it takes everything in him not to grab your hips and rut upward into your warmth. takes all self control he has left.

“satoru,” you moan, all reedy and sweet.

scratch that. apparently he doesn't have that much control left. not much at all.

he groans low in his throat, keeping you spread against his shaft. the now freed hand slides up to your hip, around to cup your ass. "gonna make it feel better. gonna make you cum.." then he's spurring you into motion. moving you harder along his cock, pressure enough to have you moaning into the air, squeezing his shoulders. "that's it..grind on my cock." the light squelching between you is almost obscene, but satoru doesn’t seem to mind — not with how he’s groaning through clenched teeth, with how he's subtly bucking his hips up into the paced movement of your hips.

you’re flushed, breathing hard between moans, trying so hard to keep your composure. but your thighs are shaking now, coil pulled taut in your abdomen. and it's painfully obvious to him. satoru only pulls you harder back and forth against his shaft, letting your soft clit rub all over him, letting you rut faster. "feels so weird. so weird.."

"yeah?" he hums, face in your hair, memorizing your scent your sounds. "good weird or bad?"

“good. good,'toru.” you whine, broken. “i—i think…”

"i know, i know. y're doin' so.." his hand squeezes the fat of your ass where he has you held, hips bucking up a little harder, cunt slippin' and sliding against him, "so good. be good and cum on me, hm?" his grip is greedier now, no more pretending that he has any bit of control right now. not when you're slick and messy on his dick, making noises in his ear. his balls feel like their drawing tighter by the second and all he can do is pseudo fuck you harder and whisper filth in your ear. if grinding feels this good, he can't even begin to imagine what sex with you--

he kills the thought immediately, harsh throb at the base of him spine a clear warning.

no thinking of sex with you while he's minutes from cumming, got it.

but it’s already too much. you’re panting, shaky in his hold, whining softly each time your clit drags just right along the underside of him. every catch of your entrance on the bulb of him only makes things worse. your fingers slide up into his hair as you quiver, kissing along the side of his face, practically babbling as your entire body tightens up with your impending orgasm.

in one, two beats, an angled grind against your core, your hips stutter -- lips parting against his flushed skin as your breath punches out of you in sob. the pressure in your abdomen bursts like a supernova, orgasm crashing over you like it’s trying to drag him under with it.

“oh fuck—look at you,” he groans, pulling back a little to watch you fall apart with wide, reverent eyes, pupils blown so wide it’s like they’re swallowing the blue.

satoru stands no chance, really. you're still rocking like you don't even realize that you are, looking the way you do…

"baby--" his head drops back, jaw clenched as he cums just seconds after you, hips bucking up once, twice, as his release spurts hot and glossy on his abs between you two. he shudders beneath you, riding it out with slow, involuntary jerks of his hips, groaning against the side of your head like the familiar warmth of you is the only thing keeping him grounded.

you stay like that for a second, both of you trembling, stuck in that suspended daze post orgasm. “…holy shit,” he mutters finally, voice hoarse, nose brushing the side of your cheek as he nuzzles in close. “you okay?”

you manage a jerky nod between all your shaking, face pressed up in his neck. "d-didn't think it would.." feel that good? be this messy? you're not quite sure. a slight unconscious shift of your hips has you whining in your overstimulation, hands grabbing at him. it feels like air would be too much against the flesh right now.

"I know, let me just.." he eases the fabric of your panties and shorts back over your heat to help with the sensitivity, thick arms banding around you to keep you to his chest. "did so good for me. made me lose my mind, baby."

you both know you should clean up -- everything's sticky between you, rapidly cooling against you. but it feels so nice to just lay here post…well, pseudo sex. or maybe this counted as the actual thing, you're not quite sure where the line is. neither of you make any moves to get off each other yet, though.

satoru's head tilts to kiss your temple again, hands smoothing up and down your back under your tee. "guess we're a officially past the make out stage." you flush with his comment, breathing out a laugh into his neck. maybe a little past making out, yeah. you're far too sheepish to meet his gaze currently, face remaining pressed into his skin.

you don't take count but it feels like ages before you're sitting up off him, climbing off his lap on wobbly legs. "let's just…we did this already so maybe we can shower now," you pause, chewing your lip as you mull over the words bouncing around your head, "together. now."

as if he'd ever so no to that. he's rolling out his spot immediately to scoop you up with enough ease to make your breath catch. "shower it is, then."

sena's note: took a little but here we are! 😼 wasn't quite sure how to escalate but I don't think this is too bad.

[aashidoodles]

Domestic Shiguang Yingdu edition: Part 2

(Except every time Lg makes an error in the timeline something chill happens)

[pupkashi]

green is definitely not jinwoo’s color // jinwoo figures out he’s a jealous boyfriend

a/n: thank u to the person who requested this i <3 this little micro trope mweheh ,, let me know was u guys think feedback is very appreciated :3 !!!

warnings: alcohol mentions (reader takes shots and is drunk), slight manhwa spoilers (beru mention + his aura being purple instead of blue :P)

sung jinwoo never knew if he was a jealous boyfriend, he’d never been in a relationship long enough to figure it out. sure he got jealous of other hunters, but that’s just because he envied their strength. but now? there was nothing for him to be jealous of, he was stronger than any of them could’ve dreamed of becoming. he had more than enough money, he had his family and of course he had you.

“you sure you don’t wanna come with?” you ask your lover one last time, looking at him through the reflection of the mirror. jinwoo was watching you with a loving look on his face, humming as if in thought before shaking his head.

“baby you do remember i can’t get drunk, right?” a chuckle leaving his lips. you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“yes i know, but that’s doesn’t mean you can’t have a good time!” you turn and look at him, taking a couple steps closer to him and intertwining your fingers with his. “it’ll be fun! my friends have been wanting to actually meet you.”

“I have actually met them” jinwoo retorts, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“you said hi and then teleported away like two seconds later” the serious look on your face is enough for him to sigh in defeat, letting his head rest on your shoulder. “plus they’re gonna be bar hopping we can just stay in one spot or come home when your battery is drained.”

“okay fine I’ll go” he mumbles against you, smiling when you let out a small cheer.

an hour later and the two of you are arriving at the bar, music blasting in your ears and a smile on your face as you meet your friends and a couple of their partners. the night goes smoothly, with jinwoo even joining in for a couple shots just for the hell of it, smiling when you bat your lashes and beg him to get you some water.

jinwoo is more than happy to, squeezing your waist and heading to the bar. he was gone for three minutes at most, turning around and finding some guy chatting it up with you. his grip on the water tightens, one of the cups being crushed in his hand. his eyes glow purple for a second before trying to calm himself down, beru appearing for a second and asking if his liege would allow him the honor of cutting down the enemy.

he would be lying if he didn’t contemplate it, gobsmacked as to why some random man would think he was deserving of you. the thought of the stranger even-

you give the man a small smile, laughing at whatever joke or pick up line he told you. jinwoo feels a pang in his heart as he sees you laugh, was he funny? did you think he was attractive? was he jealous? if you were to look at him in that moment he’s sure you’d see green around him rather than the usual purple aura.

“you come here alone? I could show you a great time” the guy winks, its makes jinwoo want to gouge his eyes out. your boyfriend wastes no time in walking over to you, announcing himself as soon as he was in ear shot.

“sorry i took so long sweetheart” he says, emphasizing the pet name and staring down the man talking to you. you were too drunk to notice the daggers jinwoo was sending the man, instead smiling up at your boyfriend and wrapping your arms around him.

“jinny! this is- what was it again?” you mumble, giving the man a confused look, “anyway i think he was trying to flirt with me” you say, turning to your boyfriend and watching as his jaw clenched. you could feel his muscles flexing even underneath his shirt. as shit faced as you were, the sheer anger and jealousy radiating off of him was enough to make you sober up a bit.

jinwoo snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and squinting his eyes at the man. “oh is that so?” he hums, you just giggle.

“see? i have a boyfriend, you don’t need to show me a great time” you grumble, jinwoo’s ears perking up at your statement, sheer rage coursing through his veins.

“you said that?” his voice low and angry as he kept eye contact with the man, who was now trying to find a way out of the situation. the space around jinwoo seemed to be warping from his anger, causing the man’s eyes to widen.

“n-nah man i was joking! im sorry” he laughed nervously, taking a couple steps back and profusely apologizing before running out of the bar.

jinwoo huffs after the man is out of sight, focusing back on you and pulling you into him by the waist. the action makes your heart flutter, smiling widely when jinwoo crashes his lips into yours.

your inebriated state doesnt stop you from moving your lips against him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer to you, a small whimper leaving your lips as he bites down on your bottom lip. you giggle into the kiss and pull away, smiling wider when jinwoo chases after your lips for more.

“easy tiger, nothing to be jealous ‘bout” you tease, swaying slightly and stumbling as you took a step back. jinwoo catches you immediately, helping steady you and leaving his arm around you (both out of support for you and the possessiveness control his body.)

“not jealous” his cheeks are flushed red and he doesn’t even believe himself as the words leave his mouth, “who does the even think he is” he growls, knuckles white as he clenches his fist.

you can’t help but get flustered, the sight of a jealous jinwoo making you swoon. “how ‘bout we get home” you mumble, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes for a second to try and make the room slow down a bit.

a couple seconds later the room seems to go silent, making you open your eyes and look around you. the thumping bass and crowded floor was gone, replaced by the comforting silence of your living room.

“god i love you” you sigh, clinging onto jinwoo as he helps you to the restroom, a drunken smile on your face as he helps you change and brush your teeth.

the two of you are in bed in no time, and you’re talking about something you won’t remember in the morning. jinwoo is relishing in it, his eyes tracing your every feature and committing every inflection in your voice to memory.

“and you said you weren’t a jealous boyfriend” you tease, laughing louder than you expected to, making you bury your face in jinwoo’s chest. your comment makes his face flush, a sheepish smile making its way onto his lips.

“i didn’t think i was, but seeing another guy talk to you-” jinwoo pauses, calming himself down and looking at you, “you’re mine, only mine.” the statement makes your stomach flip, a giggle leaving your lips as you hum happily.

“only yours my woo woo bear” the nickname makes you burst into a fit of laughter, jinwoo can’t help but smile at you, chuckling and holding you closer. “you’re too hot when you’re jealous, can’t have anyone else looking at what’s mine,” your words catch jinwoo by surprise.

he opens his mouth to speak, stopping when he realizes you were already out cold. he lets out a small sigh, smiling and pressing a kiss to your forehead before letting himself close his eyes and sleep.

sung jinwoo realized he is a jealous boyfriend, a certain degree of possessiveness coming to life when it came to you. anytime the two of you went out, no one dared to flirt with you, not when the worlds most intimating 6’3 man has his arm around you and anyone who thinks of making a move on you gets a bone chilling glare from glowing purple eyes.

you pretend to not realize it, knowing damn well you weren’t any better when it came to jinwoo.

[rueclfer]

party 4 u // touya todoroki

when it's not a party unless he's with you.

a/n: hi 😀😀😀 written portion kinda pornographic but also kinda not lmaaoooooimsosorry

the click of your bedroom door barely wakes you from your fever induced haze. you fall in and out of consciousness for a minute to the rustling of keys and clothes until his voice draws you awake.

"m'sorry, baby." the slurred words slipped out of touya's mouth.

he's too loud for this hour- too loud for your condition. you almost let yourself believe that you're dreaming until the cold bedroom brings goosebumps to your bare skin as the comforter is pulled away from under your nose.

before the groan could escape your parted lips, you feel his swollen lips meet with the temple of your forehead, trailing down to the side of your jaw.

"you said you wouldn't bother me," you mumble, turning on your back and finding the silhouette of his figure standing beside your bed and bent over you.

"missed you too much," he lowly says, matching the volume of your whisper.

touya reaches down and cups your cheeks in his hands, swiping his thumb back and forth against the tender skin under your eyes. "and you're burning up. what kind of a boyfriend would i be if i didn't come take care of you?"

"the kind of boyfriend that lets me sleep." you whine.

touya shakes off his jacket and tosses it onto the floor, ready to crawl into bed with you until he's stopped by your palm lying flat against his chest.

"no outside clothes in bed." you groan, rubbing the crust from your eye with one hand, and using the other to prop yourself up. "why do i always have to remind you?"

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he peels his t-shirt up over his head, building onto the pile of clothing he started on the floor beside your bed.

"such a fuckin' princess even on your deathbed."

"you wish i was on my deathbed." you croak out, shooting him a side glance once your eyes had adjusted to the dark.

after stripping himself down to his boxers, he crawls on top of you, pulling the comforter over your bodies with him.

"you're so fucking warm," he purs against your neck, gently pushing you down onto your back and peppering your skin with hot kisses.

"i hate you," you mutter, accepting the heat absorbing through your front where you two made contact. "how much did you drink tonight, huh?"

"wouldn't you like to know?" he huffed a chuckle, letting the exhale of his breath brush against your collarbone. "lost every drinking game though, if that answers your question."

"figures." your voice falters into a faint whisper as your eyes fall shut.

touya lets his cold hands roam the skin under your pajama shirt. he knows you hate when he warms his freezing cold appendages against you, but between the sickness fogging your brain, the light suction of his mouth against your neck, and him trailing his flushed palm up and down your waist with his thumb stopping just millimeters short of your chest, you could barely focus on being annoyed.

"touya,” you breathe out. “it’s late. go to sleep.”

he removes his face from the crook of your neck and prop his elbows up beside your head, caging you in under him. your eyes open to see him illuminated by the streetlights seeping in from the crack in between your blinds.

cerulean eyes- bloodshot, lidded, and staring down at your own.

“i haven’t seen you all day.” he pouts, the rasp in his voice cracking in between his words.

“i saw you in class this morning.” you roll your eyes.

“i haven’t kissed you all day.” he corrects.

“my body hurts, my throat is killing me, i have a fever, i have your dumbass texting me and breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night, and you’re sad and pouty that you haven’t gotten a kiss from me all day?”

“exactly, but don’t forget,” he smirks, leaning in to press his lips onto yours, “i was a brave boy for you tonight.”

touya kisses you with fervent desire- a day’s worth of missing you was enough to disregard the sickness that would surely have him bedridden like yourself within the next couple of days.

“so brave, touy,” you huff in defeat. "so brave for willingly getting sick for the sake of getting your dick wet.” you tease in between kisses.

“and don’t expect me to take care of you when that does happen.” you say once he breaks away, pressing open-mouthed hot kisses down the column of your neck, your collar bones, the valley in between your chest, and then to the middle of your abdomen where your t-shirt had ridden up.

touya moved further down- kicking the comforter off to the side and leaving you with goosebumps crawling across your bare arms and stomach.

“you taking care of me?” touya almost laughs.

he glides a hand down to your pajama shorts, giving your inner thigh a harsh squeeze before hooking a finger through a leg hole and out the other, pulling it to the side.

"fuck," he whispers under his breath.

with a slow exhale hissing between his teeth, he finally looks up to meet your eyes.

“be brave for me, okay? you know i'll always take care of you.”

-

touya tag: @kaldurahms-lover @moonchild701 @themultifandomgirl @devilslittlehelper @porusuniverse @ratatellie @katbug37 @ggriwm @moonlitmorganite @touyas-wife @bitchyfestivalbouquet @haruhi269 @celtyshiftingrealitiddies

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0 @kaldurahms-lover @commonmisery @moonstonejpg @twoplayergaymers @simp-plague @xvilluis @haruhi269

[teddybeartoji]

neighbor!toji finds you sitting in front of your apartment door late at night as he's coming home and at first, he's really not planning on saying anything. he still doesn't know you, he hasn't talked to you – the most you've gotten is a look and a nod whenever you happen to take the elevator with him or when you just bump into him on your way out. and he really isn't the type to make small talk but with your knees pulled to your chest and your head rested on top of your hands, you look miserable and toji finds it very hard to ignore you.

he keeps stealing glances at your curled up figure as he searches for the keys in his pocket and it's only when he's got the door open, he swallows the weird lump in his throat.

"y'wanna come inside?" his voice is raspy, tired, but it does the job of luring you out of your little bubble.

there's a moment of silence.

toji isn't stupid, he knows the dangers of the world and it doesn't take him long to realize how strange his offer might sound. his eye twitches out of sheer embarrassment as he averts his gaze, rough fingers fidgeting with the keys in his hand.

"that would be really nice actually, yeah."

there's no suspicion in your tone, nothing that would indicate that you're thinking what he's thinking. toji's mossy green eyes meet yours and he's met with a look he knows all too well.

exhausted.

"just so i can charge my phone?" you're already trying to apologize for yourself. to tell him that you'll only stay for as long as you need, afraid that you're bothering him.

but he just gives you a hum, patiently waiting for you to push yourself off the ground. for a moment, you stand next to him in front of the door, waiting for him to step inside first but when he gestures to go in before him, you don't argue with him. your hushed 'thank you' doesn't go unheard.

his apartment is tidy. probably even more so than your own. it looks surprisingly cozy – the light isn't a big, bright one but a dimmed down one instead and the sight of his big couch makes you let out a soft sigh. from the corner of his eye, toji observes you. he hasn't had anybody over in a long time and now here you are.

he tells you to take off your shoes and to take a seat while he goes to look for a charger, giving you the perfect opportunity to take a better look around the place – dvd's, old magazines and newspapers, a few movie posters and one singular plant. it's not a lot but it still feels like a good home.

at the sound of his voice, you snap out of your thoughts. your fingers brush against one another as you take the charger from him with another 'thank you'. a

"you're not going to kill me or anything though, right?"

...

for a man his size and his age, he feels a bit small under your gaze. you're blunt more than anything and he's just a little caught off-guard by your question.

"no."

"that's good."

you break the eye-contact to look for a place to plug in the charger and he feels relieved. "you feel safe."

you say it like it's nothing.

"i wouldn't've accepted the offer from anyone else, i think. well, maybe from the lady across the hall but then again, she'd just scold me for being up so late and i'm way too tired for that."

the words slip from your lips as if they're light as air while toji needs a second to really hear you, to know that he isn't making you uncomfortable. that in your eyes, he isn't scary or threatening in any shape or form. perhaps you're just naive for putting your trust into a stranger like this but toji still can't help but feel a little warm inside.

he doesn't say anything and you don't mind his silence. you do thank him a third time and let your lips curl into a proper smile when he almost unintentionally raises his brow at you – like it's weird that you're doing that.

he ends up bringing you a glass of water before joining you on the couch, both of your eyes set on the tv screen and the show that plays on it as you eakt for your phone to come alive again.

it doesn't feel wrong to just be with him like this.

it's right enough for you to let your exhaustion sneak up on you. your eyelids grow heavy without you even realizing it and then you're already dozing off on your neighbor's couch.

your quiet snores are so unfamiliar, the mere idea of somebody being able to fall asleep in his presence so surreal that he's left sitting there dumbfoundedly. regardless, he reaches for a blanket before throwing it over your body ever so carefully and turns down the volume of the tv as to not disturb you.

a stranger, a neighbor. somebody, who makes him feel a bit more alive. a silly comment, a blunt reply. a smile and a thank you.

a push to keep on going.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

this is loosely based off of @emmyrosee 's messing with sukuna post bc i just love the idea of messing with your whiny baby dramatic boyfriend and i immediately thought about katsuki ! if you want this taken down lmk !

katsuki is hilarious to mess with.

you've only been staring at him for about 5 seconds when he turns to you.

"whaddya want ?" he asks with a raised brow. you're still all smiles, resting your head into your palm

"nothing." you hum, he grumbles a bit but doesn't pay it any mind. until you keep staring. he's trying to focus on his phone but you can tell he's about to snap when he starts squinting at the device.

"what ?" he grumbles, red eyes narrow at your smile widening.

"nothing !"

"yn. don't fuck with me."

"i'm not !" you giggle " i'm just looking at you, am i not allowed to ?"

you know exactly what to say to fluster him without fail every time, it's something you're most proud of when you see the tips of his ears turn a light shade of pink.

"..no."

you snort "no ?"

"shaddup." he says through gritted teeth "so what, you're just lookin' at me ?"

"yeah." you shrug "i like lookin' at my pretty boyfriend." you prop your head against the couch and sigh dreamingly to sell the lovesick act. katsuki inhales through his nose, chest puffing like he's upset and he tsks, ears and cheeks beet red.

"weirdo." he scoffs, then grabs the back of your head to pull you in and press his lips to yours roughly.

you're both breathing heavy when you pull away. he looks at you, mouth slightly agape as he heaves lightly, eyeing you from your eyes to your lips. and then he huffs through his nose like a bull and roughly pulls you into in chest, causing you to release an 'oomph !' at the force when he flops down onto the couch, pulling you with him.

"m'not pretty." he mocks your voice and you huff a laugh into his collarbone. you wiggle around and your boyfriend loosens his hold a bit so you can look up at him.

"you so are !" you argue, he won't look at you but narrows his eyes at the tv he'd turned to to distract himself from your gaze.

"nah, that's you, babe." he switches through the channels "thought you said i was handsome last week."

"you can be pretty and handsome at the same time, the proof is right in front of me." you flirt, he looks at your from the corner of his eye and his mouth curls up like he smelled something nasty when you wink at him.

"gross."

"you're blushing~" you sing, closing your eyes and laying your head onto his chest, you sigh happily when he starts rubbing up and down your back instinctively.

"go to sleep. m'tired of listening to you." he pushes your head down into his chest jokingly and you giggle. you can't see the smirk growing on his face from where your being shoved into.

you wrestle out of his hold to look at him to see he's already staring at you, half smirk on his face and he scoffs at your expression, you huff through your nose and your smile widens.

"you love me." you whisper knowingly, katsuki takes the hand off of your back to pinch at your side and he snorts when you squeal.

"unfortunately."

you yelp when he wets his lips and he captures yours in a sloppy wet kiss.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

thinking about Lucanis again (always). and how so much of his narrative boils down to the theme of "control". and of course also about how this applies to the Rook x Lucanis relationship.

like the first scenes with him in the game are, in theory, about freeing him from the Ossuary (although he seems to have an escape attempt already in progress at the time, they certainly weren't just letting him keep those knives on him for enrichment purposes, Rook just provided an opening/distraction he could take advantage of and crucially Rook has A Way Out of the whole place not just a cell). but ACTUALLY the purpose it to put him right into a new contract for Us, one set up by his own grandmother and first talon no less, and the person he has the MOST trouble saying no to. He's escaped torture and the Venatori for sure but he still isn't free, which I think is part of what leads to Spite's confusion/the Inner Demons plotline. He agrees to the contract but you can tell it's in many parts out of a sense of duty/mourning vs something he actively wants to do for himself. And then the FIRST real heartfelt conversation you have with him, where he tells you "even before I was captured, my life was not really my own. So much had been determined for me." But he's chaffaing at that! He thinks "to live truly is to live fully" and so directly tells you he doesn't think he's lived a life true to himself. He's been constantly smothered by the weight of expectations around him, even though he longs for more.

And then once you get him to the Lighthouse you see how this Big lack of control in his life comes out as all these smaller frustrations. He's terrified of sleeping and downing 11 cups of coffee per hour because sleeping means he will lose control to Spite, even though Spite is shown to flee rather than fight when he feels threatened, and once calmed down, is more drawn to just benign curiosity/mischief than anything actively malicious. Like if Lucanis loses control and sleeps for a few hours he is not going to wake up surrounded by bloodshed, he's going to wake up to a belly full of candle wax because he wouldn't like Spite taste one while they were awake. Which is the other half of this--he constantly denying Spite's impulses for reasons that in some ways make sense (HE doesn't want to eat candles), but not in a way that's actually satisfying to either of them (why not just take a bite, chew for a bit, and spit it out so Spite knows they kind of suck actually?). But he CAN say no to Spite and so he does. Over and over. Spite's one of the few people he can deny things without feeling bad about it, because it's HIS body he doesn't like that has to share now (<- this is what he thinks about it at first anyway, but he's wrong, it's both of theirs and it's useless to try to hold those kind of boundaries forever. but the "no its mine" spiteful instinct is very beautifully ironic and reflective of them both and their early relationship).

And personally I think this is where his fear of his own desires and intimacy is coming from, at the root. I don't think he's afraid of the concept of being in a romance or having feelings (even if they're unusual and rare for him, this is by no means incompatible with him being demi) but I DO think he is afraid of the kind of power it gives people over you. Getting something you want means there's something else that can be taken away. Admitting your desire means the other person has the opportunity to deny that. The more you have, the more you have to lose, and he has lost again and again and again in his life--his parents, his childhood to the crows, his independence, even his future--he doesn't aspire to be first Talon but he knows the rumors. He knows his grandmother wanted it for him, not Illario. His life path has been laid out for him by others and up to this point he has simply been going along with it anyway, even though it bothers him. He COULD argue and fight Caterina and push for Illario who actually wants the job to be First Talon instead, but from The Wigmaker Job we know he doesn't. He just ignores it and pretends maybe it won't happen, without him having to do any of the work. Which is why in the end Illario is the one who has to make a move about it (and even warns Lucanis of this!!!!). Lucanis KNOWS all this makes him a target but is neither taking charge or getting off of the train tracks, just closes his eyes.

And I think THIS context is what makes the almost kiss scene in the pantry make more sense to me. Rather than being afraid of having feelings (and then NEVER addressing this in game with a Rook who pursues him anyway) or not knowing how to finish what he's started via crow seduction training, it's more like this is a pivotal moment where he can actively choose to step off the planned path of be given a job -> kill the gods -> enact revenge -> go home. even if he doesn't at that point realize that a relationship with Rook could be something that lasts long-term, the very act of doing something just for himself is what's foreign and scary and hard. It's that first step off the tracks, and even if he were to keep walking in the same direction, it means he's making a choice about it. he's accepting that one way or another it IS in his power to go along with everyone else's plans or not. Hence the hesitation, and drawing back, and needing to clear his head.

And then the rest of Rook's role in his narrative IS about giving him more and more control for himself. Inner Demons, dealing with Illario, his questlines move less towards revenge and more towards just... not being locked into one fate. Which of course Caterina comes back and immediately tries to overturn by declaring him First Talon after all, even though she and him and everyone else knows she's not ACTUALLY ready to give up her rule/decision making power yet. Which in a way is maddening because cmon I did all this work here so this sad man could have some agency in his own life just to watch him get sucked right back in (which, at least we get many directions to headcanon from here), but there's no denying that THIS version of Lucanis at least is actually going in with his eyes open now. THIS Lucanis has had a taste of life outside the Crows, and seen the politics and power dynamics in other places/organizations, and finally has emotional ties to the big picture state of the world now, both in relationship and friendship paths with Rook. He's not just hyper focused on each contract as it's given to him now, he's looking at the whole thing.

Anyway of course the beautiful culmination of all this within the romance is the lighthouse scene with Rook, where he finally is willing to let himself be vulnerable (emotionally and physically), and fall asleep without fear of what Spite's going to do in the meanwhile. He also (depending on dialogue choice) finally talks about his feelings directly with you for the first time instead of in roundabout ways (the dessert being "not enough" is it really the dessert you mean, Lucanis. is it.). Even though he is STILL reluctant to verbally admit his feelings or let Rook share their own at this point, I think that's more a narrative choice about saving those last emotional dialogue options for the big final battle. but it is another point where he does have to stop just following along and ACTIVELY choose that yes, yes sometimes loving is worth the risk of losing it. Even if someone takes it away from you later, even if you don't survive it, sometimes the love alone makes it worth it.

I have like another 5000 words I could add into about how Spite ties into all this, about how having the demon in him is something he both fears AND how it forces him to acknowledge that actually yes he DOES share the same base feelings/instincts Spite does in terms of not wanting to be told what to do. And how this in a way is part of what gives him permission to act on it since he can no longer just shove it down out of sight. but this post is long enough already so i'm just going to take the rest of this and gnaw on it all day like a chew toy I guess.

anyway. AHG. it is kind of frustrating that the culmination of his arc seems to be "and then he got the job he never wanted anyway" but I do think at least all this prepares him for it in a way Caterina actively failed to actually do on her own. He NEEDED that step away from his straightforward path. Whether he stays first talon or not, and with or without rook as a romantic partner, he's finally been able to explore ideas outside the expectations of others.

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

concubine

a/n: I got multiple drafts, but I saw a twitter post about male concubines so. Idk I think imma dedicate this writing to @adrawinggnome cuz fantasy

minors dni

He was much too old to be your pretty little bed-warmer, Phillip fully knew that. You could have tossed him out any time you wanted and replaced him with a pretty boy from anywhere you desired. But he kept begging you to keep him, and so you did.

it was no secret to the courts or to the other concubines of your that phillip was your favorite by far, and he was very proud in showing the fact. He’d do about anything to keep his lavish spoiled life- and of course, to keep being around you. Every passing day he spent with you had made him more and more desperate for your love, your comfort, and so he did what he could to earn it. Did everything to be praised by you, for that was the best feeling in the world to him. A simple touch and a whispered word would have him chubbing up in his silken robes that you has treated him to years ago.

he was the one you sent letters to while away. He was the one who got to sleep in your lavish bed the most. He was the one to get to be fucked stupid every time you came home from war or bustling social events

and luckily for him tonight was one of said nights. The maids had gossiped and whispered about your arrival and your mood of pent up anger from the moment you stepped inside, by the time it reached phillip? He was scrambling to get himself ready, anticipating you trudging up the steps as he tried in a hurry to clean the wine stain off his robe, to try and look perfect for you, and to make your royal bed made; since he had slept in it for half the day because he had simply missed you too much

he was frantically scurrying around till he froze, hearing the door slam open as you collapsed onto your silken bed, your armor making a sickening crack against the bed frame. You seemed more exhausted than you ever had before. Phillip, being the perfect boy he was, straddled you softly and kissed you all over, leaving pretty little smudged marks of his lipstick- a lipstick you had bought him while at a market across the damn continent of course

he took off each piece of your armor while peppering your jaw and neck with kisses, letting you rest your sore muscles while he got you more comfortable. slowly but surely stripping you down to nothing and humming at the sigh of relief at his pretty lips mouthing at your half hard cock. He truly couldn’t get enough of you- your taste, your smell, your look. If he could choose, he’d die happily right in your arms; and what better way to show that then serving you like you deserve?

Phillip mouthed and kissed your tip until you were fully hard, before softly taking you all into his mouth, leaving a bright red ring around your base from his lipstick, his cheeks hollowed out and his throat spasming around your member- he could feel the tears start to dot his lashes, not that he minded.

he desperately grinded against the soft bed as he worked himself up and down, his lips stretched around your erection, teasing you with little licks and kisses on your tip every time he pulled off to catch himself from choking too badly, always wiping the slight drool and pre sliding across his jaw, smudging his lipstick.. a shame really. But at least he looked adorable under you, messy from his blonde hair to his now red cheeks from the soft tears that slid down his face

he whimpered and whined as you tugged his hair softly to rut into his throat, cumming in his silk robes when he felt you tense and paint his throat white, pulling himself off and panting, whining to go again because he ‘wasn’t ready’

he really was a brat, and one spoiled by you and you alone. And he loved you more then he cared to admit

[dustisus]

Imagine you are Erik Klose. You get an exchange student who is obviously not doing alright, but you and your family show him that there is nothing wrong with him. Over the year he comes out of his shell and you are so in love with the vibrant person who has been hiding in there all year so you tell him you love him and he tells you he loves you too.

He goes back home but he returns (for you) when there is nothing left for him there, and your family is so ready to embrace him as one of their own. You catch him and your grandma in the kitchen, and she's teaching him the family recipe for Spätzle and he's teaching her the ingredients' names in Spanish. When the winter comes he is always the first one to volunteer to shovel snow with your father. When warmer temperatures come you wake up to his voice streaming in from the window where he always has breakfast with your mother. Your family loves him, so when he decides to move away again to take care of his own family (we are your family, too, you tell him, and he just smiles) they cry just as much as you do. The night before he has to wake up early to catch his plane you ask him to marry you, in the future, when it's legal, and he says yes. Still you wake up from his alarm early in the morning and his kiss goodbye.

At first you speak on the phone every day but then a job takes you across the country and takes all your time, and when his first job doesn't make him enough money for a three-bedroom house, he gets another one, and then another, until you have to schedule calls days in advance and most days you just text. But he tells you again and again that those boys need him, and from the sound of it, they do need someone to love them. And who will love them like your fiancé will love them? You have never met a person so capable of love, of engagement, in your life.

The call comes one early morning and he says that one of the twins has been arrested, that he has gotten into a fight, that it was to defend him, and doesn't mention until several minutes into the frantic call that it was him that he was defending. He says he has a smarting rib but is okay but what will happen to his cousin? I don't care, you don't say.

Finally the twins turn 18 and you start a countdown until they graduate in the spring, but come March he calls you and says they have all been offered full-ride scholarships, on the term that they all play Exy. The coach says he needs to keep an eye on Andrew, and maybe that would be for the best? he asks, and then when can start a life together I'd have a degree, and... and... By the time the call ends, he's convinced, and you could never step on his dreams.

Over the first year he calls you and tells you about his asshole teammates, and of how he answers on Andrew's beck and call to make sure things run somewhat smoothly within the team. You hear him pause slightly before choosing his words, consciously choosing the most innocent ones for his twins and the most incriminating ones for himself.

In the summer he comes home to you, but the summer is too short.

The next year, his texts dwindle and on your calls he sniffles but says he's not crying. He calls and says he did something bad and whatever comes to him it's his fault, but won't elaborate. This sounds like what he was saying when he first met you, so you comfort him and says it isn't. It's just been difficult, he says, when a teammate's died. You want to tell him it's so simple here, so simple to you, but you don't. It's not what he needs to hear.

The next few months are a shitshow that you only hear about from his calls and texts, and then eventually some news articles that reach you from the other side of the world. It worries you to know that he is distantly involved with some of the people that are not mentioned by name in the articles, but that you recognize from his stories. Once again, you tell yourself that he knows how to manage it, has always been able to manage it.

The chaos culminates at the championship finals and you are there to see it all go down. He turns his head to you, shouts your name as you spot the opposite player come close to killing your fiancé's friend. He lives, but the opposite player doesn't, and there are no loud celebrations for you to take part in. That night you and your fiancé celebrate quietly, on your own. You have not seen him in almost a year, and it's as if some of the vibrancy has run out of him. His eyes lack a glint, his hair a shine.

You stay a week and you meet the twins in person for the first time. Andrew is more subdued now than in past stories, Aaron feistier. You don't care much for them, but they are important to Nicky, so you make an effort. Neither will talk to you.

It only takes two days until Aaron catches you cuddling on the sofa in the dorm and you overhear an ew. It bewilders you but Nicky is falling asleep so you just continue running your fingers through his hair. The next day all of the Foxes have gathered for a film night, and Nicky has talked about how excited he is for you to meet them and introduces you to them with a joke and a flourish. They tell him to shut up, and Nicky laughs it off as a joke. Maybe you just did not get it. The rest of the night they try to pull you into also harping on Nicky, and get bored when you just say that you love him.

A week into your visit, Andrew pulls a knife on Nicky, and all the moments you have shared with him, all the ones you have planned, flash before your eyes. Nicky doesn't even seem scared, and the Foxes around them watch you curiously instead of the crime before them. Before you know what you're doing you have grabbed Andrew to pull him off, pull him away, but you're quickly overpowered.

Nicky cries as he patches you up. You understand he had not wanted you to see that, and you don't know what to say. You pull up the edge of his shirt to find small scars patterning the bottom of his abdomen, and for the first time you see them as what they are and not as a result of the game. You ask how often this happens, and he says only when I deserve it. He says it and you watch yourself transported, sitting in Berlin with a boy who said I deserved it, and once again you tell him he has never deserved this. You tell him he needs to leave, to please go back home with you, that they are not his family, but he says he can't. You have not seen him so grey in years.

He sees you off at the airport when you leave. Once again you plead for him to come with you, and once again he says he can't. You know you can't force it, can only say that you'll wait as long as it takes.

[newrochellechallenger2019]

spitroasting with art and patrick...

drunkenly stumbling into their hotel room after a night of celebrating a tennis win. kissing patrick hungrily while art unzips your dress. the three of you tumbling onto the pushed together single beds. patrick unzips his trousers, pulling out his half hard dick and slapping it across your cheeks before pushing it into your desperate mouth, so sudden you almost gag on it and he groans in delight. art's spreading your legs open, sliding two fingers into your dripping cunt, pressing them to the hilt, prepping you for his own cock. 'yeah- fucking take it-' moans patrick, your cheeks hollow and your drool coating his dick as you suck it fervently. art's fingering you faster now, hitting the spot inside you that makes your vision go white, and suddenly you're squirting on his fingers, coating them in your juices. 'good girl', the praise falls all too easily from art's mouth as he uses your squirt to lube up his dick, erection prominent from just the sight of patrick's cock filling your mouth. art's pushing into you before you even realise, his balls slapping against your ass as he bottoms out in you. 'so fucking tight' they moan in unison, you've never felt so full. your eyes glaze over as your fucked relentlessly by them both, going dumb from overstimulation. it isn't long before patrick's movements in your mouth are becoming more jerky and you feel his hot white sperm coat your throat as he lets out a shuddering moan, 'yes- yes- yes-' and you nod along dumbly, tongue swirling his tip to make sure you coax every last drop out of him before he pulls out. you swallow patrick's seed and that action alone causes you to clench around art's cock, whimpering as a second orgasm washes over you, 'yeah that's it-' art grunts, 'dumb on our cocks, want my cum too? want to be filled up?' and you nod, hardly able to form words as your juices soak the bed. art grunts, bottoming out in your for the last time as he shakes, spurting seed into your pussy and you let out a burbled moan at the feeling, art pulling out of you gently. 'good girl' they croon all evening as the two of them clean you up.

[saturnniidae]

I love how Trollhunters is such an outlier in its genre in the sense that from the very beginning, when establishing the status quo, the notion is set; you can't always win someone over, you have to finish the fight. It is very often kill or be killed, and you can't bank on being able to change that.

And of course in the beginning Jim is horrified, and staunchly refuses to even kill even the troll equivalent of a rodent, and he does manage to win people over by talking, multiple times. And he defies everyone's expectations with these new allies. His ability to do this is one of his strengths and it's incredibly impressive, but in the end he learns and relents to the fact that sometimes of only way you can stop someone is to meet violence with violence and by then he wants to.

It's not just about self defense or damage control anymore, Gunmar killed his friends, and caused those still living to suffer, and indirectly forced him to give up his humanity, his future, his chance of having any semblance of a peaceful life,

(In Jim's eyes anyway. But really, from the moment he picked up that amulet, he lost his chance at normalcy. He was doomed from the beginning. He was also 15.)

And he wants him fucking dead. I don't know, but that's just so unusual for the type of character that Jim is, but it's so very human to break under something so heavy (Young Atlas and all that, I suppose), and it's almost ironic for him because at that point – again, to him, at least – he is anything but human.