#notebook inserts

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

.….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ.. .

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⛨ summary: you’re not obsessed with him. you’re not. but the world clearly is. strange articles. sneaky algorithms. and a voice in your head that won’t shut up. meanwhile, invincible’s got his own problem: he can’t find the girl who called him out like a scrub tech on a bad day.

⛨ contains: sfw. nurse carla’s mischief. media-induced annoyance. early emotional foreshadowing. reader in denial. mark being haunted by words and mystery. parallel narration. bonus scene chaos.

⛨ warnings: mild language. internet stalking (light). stubbornness. minor delusion. no real threats—just a very determined destiny.

⛨ wc: 2146

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: fun fact—i lost half of this chapter mid-edit because my wifi decided to flatline like a soap opera character. dramatic gasp, hospital monitor beep, the whole deal. one second i’m tweaking a paragraph, the next i’m staring at the void where 800 words used to be. i almost fought my router. bare-fisted. anyway, here it is—risen from the ashes, caffeinated, and slightly more unhinged than originally planned. enjoy my suffering.

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The universe has a sick sense of humor.

You know this. You’ve always known this.

You work twelve-hour shifts surrounded by people coughing on your scrubs and trying to die inconveniently. You’ve stitched up knife wounds caused by things described as “accidents,” told grown men they’re not, in fact, dying from a sore throat, and once had to remove a Lego from a place no Lego should ever be.

But lately, it feels personal.

There’s been a shift. A pattern. A very specific, very annoying theme threading itself through your life like the world’s most persistent pop-up ad.

It’s not love. It’s not fate.

It’s him.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You tap your phone’s screen with more passive aggression than necessary, holding it to your ear even though you know your (only) friend won’t pick up.

Beep.

“Okay, listen—I’m not spiraling. I’m not.”

(Pause. Sip. Another pause.)

“But if one more news article, thirst edit, or random merch featuring that man—shows up in my general vicinity, I will commit a felony. Probably a creative one.”

(Beat.)

“And no—before you say it—it’s not a crush. I don’t have time for crushes. I have sleep deprivation and a spine held together by caffeine.”

(Silence.)

“He’s not even that hot.”

You hang up.

Regret it. Immediately.

And that’s when it hits you—

You’re not obsessed with him.

You’re not.

You’ve been into people before—celebrities, coworkers, a random guy who pronounced your name right on the first try—but this isn’t that. You’re not delusional. You’re tired. You have a full-time job, a chaotic sleep schedule, and at least two stress migraines scheduled for the week.

You’re not obsessed.

The entire world, on the other hand, clearly is.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It starts with a newspaper.

A real one. Paper and ink and everything. You’re halfway through your first sip of coffee (not bad, not cursed) when you spot it, splayed open on the front counter like it tripped and fell into your line of sight.

’Invincible saves subway commuters in mid-derailment battle.’

There’s a photo. Midair. Bloodied knuckles. Hero pose. That obnoxious blue-yellow suit.

You blink at it once. Twice. The espresso tastes more bitter somehow.

“…Carla,” you call out, slowly.

A soft shuffle from the break room. “Mhm?”

You tilt your head toward the paper. “Is that yours?”

“Nope,” she chirps, far too quickly.

You squint.

Carla reappears moments later with a tea mug that says ’I am the storm’ in passive-aggressive font and absolutely does not make eye contact as she walks past you.

She hums.

The kind of hum that implies dark intentions.

You stare at the paper like it personally insulted your scrubs.

That’s strike one.

Strike two comes via TikTok. Or… Instagram Reels. Or whatever godforsaken app the algorithm has you trapped in.

You’re lying on your couch on your one night off, a warm takeout container on your lap, the lights dimmed just enough to make it feel like self-care. You open your phone to zone out. Maybe scroll through food mukbangs. A few raccoon videos. Rewatch that one clip from ’The Bear’ for the emotional damage.

Instead, the second video to pop up is a slow-motion fan edit of Invincible. Set to a remix of a 2000s ballad.

You stare at your phone in silence as the hero who bloodied his way through your afternoon is now being thirsted after by teenagers in the comments.

You swipe up fast enough to sprain something.

Then another pops up.

And another.

And—oh, good god. This one’s tagged #invincibae.

You throw your phone facedown on your stomach like it’s contagious.

You’re not angry. You’re not even annoyed.

You’re just trying to have one singular crumb of peace in this godless world, and the masked himbo you verbally body-checked in the middle of a disaster won’t stop invading your downtime.

You eventually find a rerun of ’House MD’ and watch a patient nearly die from licking envelopes, which feels more comforting than it should.

You’re not obsessed.

(But maybe you do glare at a passing bus with his face on the side. Just a little.)

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By the end of the week, it gets worse.

You’re at the pharmacy grabbing gauze, extra gloves, and the least offensive granola bar in existence when you see the merch.

Merch.

A corner display stacked with shirts and water bottles and pins. There’s a plushie. A plushie. Of him.

You pause, granola bar halfway to your basket.

A kid next to you picks up the Invincible water bottle and turns to his mom. “Do you think he drinks from this too?”

You visibly clench your jaw.

At that exact moment, your phone dings.

You pull it out with the practiced grace of someone who lives and dies by their calendar app—only to find a suggested article on your lock screen.

’Why Invincible Might Be the Most Relatable Hero Yet!’

You could scream.

Instead, you mutter, “I patched up his concussion while inhaling drywall dust. He was seeing double and still arguing with me.”

The cashier stares at you.

You move on.

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The final straw?

A patient brings him up.

Middle of a wound check, nothing dramatic. A few stitches, topical numbing, your hands moving on autopilot. You’re explaining aftercare, bandage changes, when the patient—maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen—smiles at you and says:

“You kinda remind me of Invincible, y’know? Like, you’re calm under pressure and.. kind of badass.”

You blink.

Smile politely. “Cool.”

Inside, your soul shrivels.

You are not him.

You don’t throw punches. You don’t fly. You don’t have a theme song or fan cams or merchandise.

You have an overtime shift on Sunday and a stress knot in your shoulder that’s starting to feel like a second spine.

But the universe doesn’t care.

You’re not obsessed.

You just can’t escape.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark doesn’t remember your face.

Not clearly, anyway.

The smoke had blurred the details, painted you in silhouettes and urgency. You weren’t the loudest voice in the chaos—just the sharpest. Crisp, cutting, sure of yourself in a way that made his head spin more than the actual concussion.

But your voice?

He remembers that like it’s stitched into the inside of his skull.

Low. Stern. Half-sarcastic and half-soothing. It sounded like someone who didn’t have time for bullshit, which—given the circumstances—made sense.

He was bleeding from the ribs. The city was literally burning.

Still, the memory echoes:

“Don’t say fine.”

“You’re favoring your left.”

“You shouldn’t be flying.”

Mark exhales hard, slumping deeper into the worn couch. The TV’s on but silent. Some old action movie flickers in the corner of his vision. It’s supposed to be background noise.

But nothing is loud enough to drown you out.

He doesn’t know your name.

Doesn’t know what you do, where you’re from, if you even survived the aftermath unscathed.

All he knows is that you made him feel—briefly, dangerously—human.

Not a symbol. Not a name in headlines. Just a guy who was bleeding too much and doing too little.

And he can’t stop hearing you.

“You’re zoning out again,” Debbie says from the kitchen.

Mark flinches, barely registering the sound of the fridge opening.

“Sorry. Just tired.”

Debbie hums skeptically and tosses him a cold can of soda. “You’ve said that every day this week.”

“I am tired.”

“You’re also muttering to yourself like a haunted Victorian widow. Anything I should know?”

Mark cracks the can open with unnecessary force.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares ahead like the wall is going to give him divine guidance.

“I met someone,” he says finally.

Debbie doesn’t react. Just leans against the counter, raising a perfectly arched brow. “Okay. And?”

“She yelled at me.”

Still silence.

“And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

There it is.

Debbie snorts into her cup. “That’s it? That’s what’s got you acting like a sad poet?”

He shifts. “It’s not just that. She—she saw right through me. In like, five seconds. Called out every injury I hadn’t processed yet. Told me I wasn’t fine before I could even lie about it.”

“And this was… romantic?”

“No!” Mark frowns. “I don’t even know what it was. I don’t know anything about her. I couldn’t even see her face.”

“Okay, now it’s giving Victorian ghost story.”

“She saved a kid.”

Debbie blinks.

“In the middle of it all. Ran straight into debris and smoke. People tried to stop her and she looked at me like I was the liability.”

He doesn’t mention the way your hands shook but never stopped moving. Or the way you lied—beautifully, horribly—just to keep that child alive a few seconds longer.

He doesn’t mention how it made something in his chest ache.

“She sounds amazing,” Debbie says, more gently now.

“She was,” he mutters. “And now she’s just… gone.”

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The thing is, Mark’s not usually like this.

He gets hit, he gets up. He saves people, and he moves on. Faces blur. Names fade. It’s how he copes.

But this? This isn’t fading.

It’s getting worse.

He’ll be flying over the city and see a flash of hair that looks vaguely like yours—and he’ll nearly crash into a billboard turning to check. His neck has started clicking. He’s going to need chiropractic help and therapy.

He doesn’t even know you, but he’s half-convinced he’ll know when he sees you again.

He’s waiting for it.

And that thought alone is ridiculous.

Because he doesn’t wait. Not for danger. Not for hope. Not for anyone.

Except now, apparently, for you.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

More than once, he’s hovered outside hospitals and urgent care clinics on patrol. Just a few seconds. Just in case.

He makes excuses for it, of course:

• You never know when you might be needed.

• Some med centers don’t have enough security.

• Maybe he’s being responsible.

But then he hears a nurse’s laugh and it isn’t yours.

And he flies off like a coward.

Not even a few minutes later there’s a robbery in Midtown.

Small-time. Two guys. One has a crowbar. The other trips over his shoelace trying to run.

Mark’s on it in sixty seconds flat.

It’s easy—should be, anyway—but his timing’s off. He lands too hard, shoulder twinges wrong. The guy gets one good swing in before Mark sends him flying (not too far).

It’s done in under a minute.

And still—he’s breathless. Not from the fight, but from the feeling.

The missing.

The what if you’d seen that and thought I was sloppy kind of missing.

He doesn’t say anything as he lifts the guy’s dropped phone and hands it off to the store clerk. They thank him. He nods.

Flies away.

He doesn’t go far.

Just lands on some apartment roof, crouches by the ledge, and lets his hands tangle in his hair for a minute.

The city stretches below him, loud and alive.

But all he wants to find is a blur in the chaos that isn’t there.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Later that night, he lies in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it might offer closure.

It doesn’t.

It’s just drywall and shadows and everything you saw through.

His notebook lies half-open next to him—not forgotten, just untouched, like a question he doesn’t know how to answer yet.

It’s not a journal—he doesn’t do feelings that way—but sometimes, when his head’s too loud and his hands need something to do, he sketches. Nothing fancy. Just lines. Shapes. Impressions.

Tonight, it’s you.

Or, what he remembers of you. Which isn’t much.

Your face is a blur. Hair? A vague impression. Maybe dark. Maybe not. But your hands—he remembers those. Quick, steady, smudged with ash. Your posture. How you stood slightly in front of the child like a shield, chin up, like fear was something for other people.

He’s drawn the same half-profile six times now. None of them are right.

He sighs, drags a hand through his hair, and flips the page over.

Maybe he’s not trying to get it right.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to forget.

He closes his eyes.

But the voice stays with him.

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌Clinic break room. You. Tired.

You sneeze—violently.

Again.

You rub your nose with the heel of your palm, the tip of it already reddish from overuse, and a dramatic groan leaves your throat as you sink into the unforgiving plastic chair.

“This is some kind of karmic punishment,” you mutter to no one in particular. “Like, I must’ve offended a witch. Or touched something cursed.”

“Maybe you’re getting sick,” offers a random nurse from across the room.

You glare at her. “I’m immune to sickness.”

Then of course, Carla appears behind you, perfectly timed as always.

“Maybe someone’s thinking about you,” she says, casual as rain, not even glancing your way before walking off.

You blink. Deadpan.

Then sneeze again.

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taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[crimson-kas]

I think I made you up inside my head…

The first piece of commonplacing I added to my pseudo Filofax was Sylvia Plath’s Mad Girl’s Love Song.

[m4rs-ex3]

callum honey just use a punnet square next time

[injestedsoap]

inspired by the person who i guess is my muse at this point, @femalefemur.

18+ MDNI

reader beware you're in for-- nongendered reader with breasts and a pussy, role play, domesticity, rimming, pussy eating, a no mess cream pie, and pegging.

Your John MacTavish, your sweet Soap, was not stupid. He was, in fact, one of the smartest people you have ever known. Your favorite memory, to this day, was of him, fantastically drunk, reeling off every periodic element in order while balancing a full glass of beer on his forehead. He had finished the table and pounded the beer, obviously, and you had gotten contact drunk from the sloppy wet kiss he gave you. No, Soap was whip smart…. Most of the time. Because smart as he was, Soap was also afflicted with what your friend affectionately called ‘cum brain’ which is to say when he was horny John MacTavish had cum for brains and it was leaking out of his ears. 

And, now, look… you never felt good about exploiting this fact about him… but at the end of the day if it worked it worked, and it’s not like you just left him high and dry! Sometimes you wanted pancakes in bed and, you know, if you promised a good boy a blow job in exchange for brekky well that was just what being in a relationship was, really. 

You sighed, looking at the bathroom floor. You each did your part in the apartment. You didn’t have rotating chores or anything, but Soap didn’t mind laundry and you didn’t mind dishes and whenever the trash was full it was taken out but whoever was there at the time. You both hated sweeping but a Roomba from Kyle had solved that issue. The biggest issue was the bathroom. You both kept it clean enough but you couldn’t remember the last time you had given it a proper deep clean. You crouched down, looking at the dirty tiles and pulled a face. You really didn’t want to do this. You should, this was your crusade but… well maybe if you got the smaller stuff done you could talk Soap into the floor. 

You stood, arching your back and feeling it pop. Okay, you’d get started on laundry and have most of the chores done before he got back from base today and then you would see if you could talk him into a good grout scrubbing over the weekend. You picked up the hamper and saw the bright red jockstrap on top. Looking around the apartment out of habit you ensured the coast was clear before plucking the underwear from the hamper and inhaling your boyfriend’s dirty gym smell. You’d missed having him home. It was then, nose deep in the jockstrap, that you had an idea. You grinned, biting your lip and dropped the pair back into the hamper before heading to the washing machine, you had a trap to lay. 

You let out a happy giggle as Soap came in that evening, tossing his keys in the bowl and picking you up, spinning you around as he kissed you. You’d seen each other less than 9 hours ago but he’d been on deployment for nearly four months and it was worth celebrating every evening he was home as far as either of you were concerned. 

“You smell nice,” He said into your neck, snuffling at you, “Oh, did my sweet thing do laundry?” 

You kissed him and gave his mohawk a playful tug, “It’s Friday night,” You said, peppering him with kisses, “No chores tonight, just sex,” 

Soap made a noise in the back of his throat and you shivered, “Aye, I think we can do that,” He said before tossing you over his shoulder and delivering a loud smack to your ass, carrying you back to the bedroom. 

Trap baited, bait taken, time to snap it shut. 

Saturday morning rolled around warm and lazy. Soap was a heavy sleeper at the best of times and after four orgasms and a prolonged prostate massage you didn’t think he’d even move before 10. You kissed his slack sleeping mouth before wriggling out from under his arm and making your way to the laundry room. You started up the dryer again to get the wrinkles out of the clothes and then padded over to the kitchen, getting the kettle on for tea, starting the coffee pot, and pulling out some eggs and bacon. If all went according to plan, your boy was going to need the energy. 

About a half hour later a very naked Soap came plodding into the kitchen. He flopped over the back of your chair, nosing into your neck and nibbling on it before dragging himself over to the kitchen counter, pouring coffee and plating up some breakfast. He pulled his chair next to yours at the bar, resting his cheek on top of your head as he ate a strip of bacon and waited for his coffee to cool. When the dryer beeped he groaned and started to get up but you gave him a tap on the stomach and instead extracted yourself from under him and headed to get the clothes out of the dryer. 

“Thank ye, bonnie,” He mumbled, blinking his sleepy blue eyes and giving you a sweet smile. You grabbed him by the cheeks and kissed the bacon grease off his lips. 

You folded the laundry while Soap sleepily ate his breakfast. You made a careful effort to make sure the red jock didn’t enter your hands until you were sure that he had drunk at least half his mug of coffee and then you let out a little laugh. 

“Here, your outfit for the day,” You said, laying the jockstrap on the table in front of him. 

“Ooooh!” He said, his eyes waking up a little more as he accepted the ‘outfit’, he stood from the table and pulled them on, doing a little turn so you could see him from all sides. “How do I look?” 

“Very sexy,” You replied with a big grin. 

“Not,” Soap tapped his chin thoughtfully, “‘Incredibly’ sexy,” 

“Incredibly sexy,” You laughed, your palms were sweaty, you had to play this just right, “There’s only one thing that could make you not look sexy, honestly,” 

Soap clutched his heart, feigning hurt, “Bullshit, I can make anything sexy,” 

“Really?” You asked, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. 

“Oh aye,” Soap put a hand on his hip, god he really did look good. “Go on, we’ve got all weekend, what am I making sexy.” 

“I do not think,” You said, stepping closer to poke him in the chest, “You, or anyone, could make scrubbing grout look sexy,” 

“Mmh,” He said, covering his hand with yours and looking down at you, a smoulder in his sleepy, sexed out eyes. You held them, this was the moment, he was either going to call you on it or– Soap leaned in, his breath a mix of coffee and bacon and sleep, it was rancid and you loved it anyway, “You’re on,” He whispered before kissing you hard. 

And the trap snapped shut. 

There was a knock on the door and you looked up from the email you were sending, you checked the time and frowned. You hopped off the chair you were sitting in and walked toward the door, wrapping your silk robe around you as you did. 

“I’m sorry I think you have the–” you started as you opened the door before trailing off as you took in the tall man in the baggy jeans, stained white wife pleaser, and a low slung tool belt standing in the doorway. “C-can I help you?” You asked, startled and very aware of the fact that you were in nothing but a short silk robe and very expensive lingerie. 

“Aye,” He said, his voice a low Scottish rumble, “I think ye called for some,” he made a big show of adjusting his cock, “Help with the pipes,” 

You had to bite the inside of your mouth to keep from laughing as you looked up at him, “Oh, um, yes, please, if you could come in and help me with, uh, pipe,” 

Soap came into the apartment with such exaggerated swagger you had to duck behind him to stifle your laughter. “Please, uh, um,” You schooled your face into something resembling serious and stepped around him, “The bathroom is right this way.” as you walked Soap reached out to tug up your robe and you let out an offended gasp, smacking his hand away. “Just because my boyfriend is out of town on business doesn’t mean you can just grab anything you like,” You said primly, shooting him a dirty look over your shoulder. 

Soap let out a noise you didn’t even know how to classify and spun you around, pulling you in by the belt of your robe and running his hand down your back to cup your full ass, “Pretty shite boyfriend, leaving you all alone dressed like this needing help with,” He squeezed your ass before saying “Pipe,” and popping the ‘P’. 

You shuddered and it wasn’t entirely put on this time, you reached out to touch his chest, splaying your hand over the broad muscles and bit your lip, “Well… how about you see if you can get the pipe fixed… and then we’ll talk.” 

Soap leaned in, he had brushed his teeth before changing and his mouth was much nicer smelling now, “Let’s see what we can do about that pipe problem,” 

He let you go and swaggered his way over to the bathroom, you stood back and watched him turn on and off the sink, and then the tub, and then get down on his hands and knees, arching his back and giving you a peek of the top of his jockstrap over the waistline of his jeans. You bit your thumb, you had to admit it wasn’t not not sexy. 

He spread his legs, arching his back and shoving his round ass out, just the way you liked him when you broke out the strap. “Alright, I think I see the problem,” He looked over his shoulder back at you, you bit your lip and looked back, “But I’m gonna need the room.” 

You perched on the edge of your tub with a glass of wine Soap had insisted you needed and watched your boyfriend in nothing but a tool belt and the red jockstrap scrub the tile of your small bathroom. And you weren’t going to lie… it was extremely sexy. For some reason his maintenance man character had decided he needed to strip down to his underwear, you weren’t keeping track of the reasoning, something about his clothes being dirty and not wanting to get the floors dirty while he was cleaning them. He was committed to the tool belt though. He also needed to keep you in sight line of his ass the entire time. His round, hairy, ass, flexing as he scrubbed the tile, his tight pink hole winking at you with every full body scrub. You crossed your legs and took a sip of the wine. 

Soap pushed himself up, you watched his hole disappear and were still staring when you realized Soap had turned to look at you, his eyes mischievous. “Alright, well, looks like you should be good to go, love,” 

“Oh?” You asked, licking the wine from your lips as you raked your eyes over him “Am I good to go?” 

Soap gave a half grin and crawled over, rising up over you and stepping into the tub. You let out a little giggle, setting aside the glass of wine and laying back in the tub as he gripped the edges and leaned in over you with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “What ever will your boyfriend think?” Soap purred low in his chest.” 

“Oh I don’t know,” You replied, letting the robe fall open and giving Soap a beautiful view of your lingerie clad body, “he’s not as good a boy as you,” 

Oh and that worked. You watched his nipples peak and his cheeks flush, if there was one thing about Soap he loved being a good boy. “A good boy am I?” He asked, trying to keep the character going. 

“So good,” You said, reaching up and stroking his cock over the rapidly filling jockstrap “Coming in and fixing my pipes like that,” You squeezed his clothed cock “How about I fix yours now?” 

Soap did his best to not scramble out of the tub and instead climb out with as much dignity and swagger as he could muster. He then reached down, taking you by the hand and pulling you up, out, and into his chest. He reached down and grabbed you by the ass, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“You should take off your tool belt,” You whispered, your heels bouncing off his round ass as you tried to navigate not getting grease from a wrench on your panties. 

“I will when we get to the bedroom,” Soap whispered back before carrying you off to the bedroom. “So,” He said, dropping you onto the bed and then unbuckling his tool belt, letting it fall to the floor as carefully as he was capable. “How are you going to reward your good maintenance man, eh?” 

You giggled and crooked a finger. Soap crawled onto the bed, pausing briefly to shuck the jock strap, before leaning in and nosing your pussy sweetly. He kissed and sucked on your stomach before kissing up your chest until he was sucking and mouthing at your neck. You moaned, raking your fingers through his hair, your legs wrapped around his waist. 

“I love your ass,” You moaned, rubbing your ankles over it, “Please let me have your ass,” 

Soap moaned loudly against your neck. It had been a while since you had given him a good pegging and after being teased with his tight hole for an hour today you were dying to stretch him around your strap. 

“Please,” He grunted. 

You pulled him up and kissed him hard before rolling the two of you around so you were on top. He reached up, squeezing your breasts over your bra and surging up to kiss your chest. His cheeks were flushed hot and you pushed him between your soft breasts for a moment, enjoying the feel of his hot face and his hotter mouth on your skin before pulling back to get your strap and a bottle of lube out of the side drawer. 

“Hands and knees,” You said, your cheeks as red as his. 

Soap barely needed to be told, rolling over onto his front and then getting up on his hands and knees, arching his back, his cheeks spread enticingly.  

You leaned in, unable to help yourself, and gave his hole a deep, sloppy kiss. 

Soap let out a whimpering moan and you gave his ass a swat before pulling back and strapping on your harness. You watched as he winked his pretty pink hole at you and grinned, popping open the cap on the lube and, with no warning at all, poured a healthy glob right down his crack. 

Soap let out the cutest little noise at the feeling of cool lube sliding down his cheeks and before it could drip down onto the sheets you scooped it back up with your finger, sliding your index finger in up to the second knuckle in one go. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” He panted, his character fully forgotten as he pressed back onto your finger, forcing it deeper into his tight hole. 

“Good boy,” You cooed, acting like you weren’t just as affected by this as him, “Such a good boy, looking so sexy cleaning the grout for me,” 

“To-oooooo-ldja,” Soap moaned, bearing down as you slid a second finger into him and then quickly worked in a third. “Can make bloody anything sexy,” 

“You told me,” You agreed, twisting your fingers and grinning at the yelp from Soap as you rubbed his prostate. You were probably imagining that it felt a little tender after all the love it got last night. You leaned in and kissed the slope of his back, working your way up to kiss his broad back and rub your cheek against his soft body hair before rising up slightly and rubbing the tip of your silicone cock against his hole. “Ready for me?” You asked. 

“Been ready,” Soap grunted. 

You fucked in in one smooth motion and Soap yowled. 

“Cheeky.” You said before snapping your hips and getting to work. 

You worked your hips as you plastered yourself over his back, kissing his warm skin sloppily and reaching down to work his cock, sliding his foreskin over his heavy shaft in time with your thrusts. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Soap chanted over and over as you fucked him and tugged him in time. 

“I love you so much,” You moaned into his back, your sweat dripping down from your face to join his sweat pooling on his back, you leaned in and licked a stripe up his spine, “So fucking good to me, so fucking hot on your knees for me,” 

“I’m your big fucking handy man,” Soap babbled, “Your handy man, big strong– unf!” Every inch of Soap tensed up and lightning fast you grabbed the base of his cock, stopping his climax as he yelled and you pulled out. Taking off the harness as fast as you could and then quickly rolling Soap into his back and dropping your dripping wet cunt onto his throbbing shaft. You both moaned and you leaned down, panting into his mouth, and managed to whisper, “No mess.” The way his pupils blew out the color in his eyes told you he understood what you were saying and in four quick thrusts he was cumming deep inside you. You barely had time to enjoy the sensation before Soap was rolling you up onto your shoulders and he was between your thighs, burying his face in your pussy as he licked and sucked on your clit, his own cum coating his face along with your juices. 

“Soap!” You screeched, locking your legs around his head and burying your fists in his hair as you curled in on yourself and seized in a white hot orgasm. You were barely connected to your body as Soap lovingly licked you through it, you had to all but pull him away when the sensations were finally too much. 

You both lay there on the surprisingly clean sheets as you panted and let the sweat dry on your flushed bodies. Soap’s large hand fumbled across the bed to find yours, tugging it to rest on his stomach as he idly played with your fingers. 

“I have a suspicion,” He said, his voice raw. 

“Mhm?” You murmured.

“That you just wanted the grout cleaned.” 

You grinned. 

[candyheartedchy]

Oblivious

Reference below:

[your-unfriendlyghost]

why does blue eyed Johnny feel like someone who’d have lots of x y/n fics written about him on wattpad

idk he reminds me of Thalia from Percy Jackson but not in a particularly good way (pjo brings me horrible flashbacks to the 2010s and all those fics on wattpad)

It’s the blue eyes/black hair combo ig. Which is now very 2010s to me b/c of her lol

[softpawsxd]

Since it seems i don't post more of my artwork in this site very often, I decided to post my arts from my other social media sites! ^^

[stormypip7]

i felt like drawing frank (me) tonight :-]

[lilithofpenandbook]

Severus Snape is so me, I too would have written Property of the Half-Blood Prince on my schoolbooks unironically.

[kimiko24-art]

Today was our anniversary.. I spent it going through old photos of us I've taken throughout the years... It makes me so happy to see how far we've come together and as individuals. I'm looking forward to the future and what else it will bring us.

[crimson-kas]

“Let me brush the stars from your hair.”

Reflections and commonplace book.

[eggbunni]

Planning, finances, and enjoying the details of my Filofax Original in all black. This is the Japanese special edition with all gold hardware, a beautiful leather binder/organizer. It feels super sleek to handle and use.

[injestedsoap]

@femalefemur and i had WAY too much fun spinning this idea and now it's a fic that you can read!

18+ MDNI

reader beware you're in for-- non gendered reader with breasts and a pussy, dubcon, improvised restraints, face fucking, degradation, and power play

You glared at yourself in the little shaving mirror directly in front of you. You weren't supposed to be here, you really weren't supposed to be here. It had been a dare, sneak into Lt Ghost's room, nab a pair of boxers, and sneak back out. They knew you had a crush on him and this was the highest form of teasing they could think of. And you were a cocky little shit so you agreed to it. Which is how you ended up here, under Ghost's bed, holding your breath as the door opened and heavy footsteps entered the room.

Ghost wasn't stupid, you didn't get to be The Ghost by being stupid, which was why as soon as he opened the door to his bedroom he knew something was Off. He didn't sense any danger just... Off, like someone had slipped in and walked around in his room while he was out. His eyes carefully swept the room, looking for anything to affirm his senses. Nothing caught his eye until... there, the tip of a finger peeking out from under his bed, slowly he shifted his gaze over to the shaving mirror on the floor in front of his closet.

Ah.

Under his mask he grinned. It was the little recruit who fancied him. Oh yeah, he'd noticed the way they kept an eye on him when he was around base. He's even heard the hushed giggles from their friends when he passed out of normal ear shot. He has a guess about what had happened for this one to end up in his room and he grinned even wider as he started to spin a plan.

"Sure wish I had someone in here to suck my cock," Ghost announced to the room, waking over to the bed with intentionally heavy steps, watching as the hand drew back further under the bed. He stopped at the edge of the bed, sitting down to begin unlacing his boots. "Really could use a nice hot mouth on my big fat cock." With the angle of his head and the way his mask sat on his face he could watch the recruit without them seeing his eyes and he felt heat curl in his stomach at the look on their face hidden in the shadows of his bed. He even watched as their throat worked around a swallow.

He grunted, bouncing on the bed slightly as he kicked off one boot and went for the other. "God 'm fucking hard," Ghost continued, removing the second boot and laying back, breaking his line of sight but giving him the opportunity to really make a meal of this poor thing. Ghost rolled back into the middle of the bed and cupped his cock over his pants, sighing louder than he ever had while doing this. He grinned, enjoying the idea that he was torturing the little dove. Ghost unzipped his pants as loudly as he could and wriggled out of them gracelessly, intentionally dropping them in front of the cadet. He hissed, loud and dramatic, as he pulled off his boxers dropping them down off the side of the bed as well.

Ghost wasn't planning on jerking off, not when he had such a lovely opportunity to indulge in something else, but that wasn't any reason to deny a pair of spying eyes a show, now was it? Ghost had never been a very vocal man but Christ did he play it up now. He tossed his head back and groaned, bouncing the bed intentionally, and slapping his cupped hand against his thigh, the sound of skin on skin filling the room as his hard cock bounced on his stomach. He arched his back, a blurt of precum dribbling over his tensed stomach as he moaned out a fake orgasm, his cock twitching at the idea of the real one he was going to have soon. Ghost smirked, wondering what the little cadet looked like under the bed right now. He waited a beat, then rolled over, dropped his feet to the floor and stood up, shooting his eyes down to the mirror for his answer. Sweat was dripping down their face, one hand clearly shoved between their thighs, their lovely full lips parted as they panted silently. Ghost turned, making sure the cadet got a good look at his cock, hot and red and leaking cum, he wondered what they were thinking, they assumed he'd already came, were they wondering if his cock really got hard again that fast. Ghost chuckled silently and then made a big show of stooping to pick up a towel, sighing again, "Fuck me I wanna get sucked," He announced, and then made all the noise he could as he walked across the room to the small en suite bathroom, opened the door, closed it, and tucked himself into the corner of the room to wait.

You took a steadying breath, rubbing the heel of your hand against your pussy and shoving a whimper into your hand. Your heartbeat was in your ears but you still managed to hear the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing.

You needed to go and you needed to go now. Slowly, so slowly, you sneaked your way out from under the bed. You needed to do this in as few movement as possible to decrease the noise you were going to make. You spared a thought to grab the boxers as you crawled and then adjusted yourself so you could stand and step toward the door in one motion.

You never did make that step.

The massive arm around your waist made you shriek but the hand clamped over your mouth stuffed the shriek back down your throat as you were twisted and tossed onto the bed, bouncing up and into the hard chest above you. You looked up at the skull mask and pressed your thighs together, your face as hot as your wet pussy.

"So," Ghost drawled, gathering up both your wrists in one massive hand and pinning you to the bed. "Little recon mission, eh?" He asked as he plucked the boxers from your hands.

"I'm so sorry!" You gasp, trying to wriggle out from his grasp, hyper aware of the damp spot on your white sleep shorts, "It was a dare, it was a stupid dare, I'm so sorry, I didn't think you'd notice, I shouldn't have--"

"Mmh," Ghost shoved two fingers into your mouth, watching your eyes go wide before you slowly started to suck on them, "There we go, see, you can be a good little soldier and take direction when you want, hm?"

You let your lids droop slightly, sucking on his fingers with all you had. This was taking a turn but... not an entirely unwelcome one. You were so focused on his fingers you didn't notice what was happening above you until the fingers left your mouth and your groan turned into a squeak as your wrists were tied.

"There now," Ghost's hand moved from your wrists and he looked down at you, his eyes filled with terrifying glee, "Now let's see what I can do with both hands free."

You swallowed loudly as he moved his hands down your body, stopping to grope your breasts, big thumbs tweaking your nipples, when he got down to your hips he chuckled darkly, pressing two fingers against the wet spot between your legs.

"Enjoying the show, were we?" He asked, his voice husky as he pressed at your slit through your shorts.

"Y-uh!" You groaned, nodding your head and trying to press against his fingers.

"Use your words, pet," He said, pulling back.

"Yes," You managed to squeak.

"Yes what?" Ghost asked, rubbing two cruel fingers on either side of your mound.

"Yes sir!" You yelped.

"Good," Ghost whispered, before pulling his hand back, leaving you cold and whimpering in confusion, "Now I think I said something about wanting a suck job."

With no pomp or circumstance you were pushed to the ground with a yelp, falling off the bed in a heap before Ghost hauled you back up to your knees. "Clumsy," He commented, you could tell he was grinning behind his mask as he situated you between his legs. He looked over you, sweat on your brow, mouth open and panting, disheveled hair, spit soaked lips, hands tied up with his boxers.

"Mh," He muttered before taking a hold of the hem of your tank top and lifting it up until he could see your bra. "Aren't these pajamas?" He asked, cupping your breasts as he looked at them in confusion. "You sleep in a bra?"

"N-no," A rough pinch to your nipples had you gasping out a "No sir! I, uh, take the bra off before I go to sleep."

"Hm," He tugged the bra up and over your boobs until it was tangled with your tank top and he could cup your breasts in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the nipples and bouncing them slightly, "Stop doing that," He said, looking up and meeting your eyes, "Lt's orders."

You pressed your thighs together harder.

"Now that we're all settled," Ghost said like he was getting ready to start a meeting before grabbing a you by the back of your head and shoving you down on his cock.

You gagged loudly, unable to get a good breath before you were being skull fucked, heavy balls slapping against your chin as he spread his legs further and arched into your mouth.

"God fuck that's good," Ghost grunted as you choked and gagged around his cock, struggling back as he plundered your throat relentlessly. He pulled back just enough that you were able to gasp a breath before going back to fucking your mouth. You'd never taken anything like his cock before, nothing that big, nothing that hard, your throat burned with the abuse, your head swimming from lack of air. Your pussy was throbbing between your thighs as Ghost pulled back, pushing your head down to rub his balls against your slack lips and using his free hand to slap his hard cock against your cheek.

"Filthy fucking slag," Ghost groaned, his hand moving from his dick to your hard nipples, "Getting caught by your superior and letting him fuck you like this, tits out, pussy dripping all over the floor like a bitch in heat." you moaned, clenching your thighs as he spoke. "Bet you'd like this cock in your pussy to, wouldn't you? Wonder what would have happened if you got trapped under the bed, ass out. Would have just let me fuck you right there, wouldn't you? Filthy little slut, would have loved that."

You cried out as he gave your tit a slap before he leaned in close and growled, "Just have to get caught with your pants down next time, huh, whore?"

You barely had time to whine before he was back to fucking your throat like a fleshlight. You felt his thrusts growing more and more erratic, his cock jumping in your throat. You started to pull back, only to be yanked further down his cock, you made all the noise you could manage as his cock was shoved so far down your throat it passed your tongue and your nose was buried in his thick, blonde, pubes. He let out a wolfish laugh and then he was cumming deep and hard, you choked as it slid past your pallet and down your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow him down.

"There we go," Ghost slurred, you were willing to bet there was a lazy post orgasm smile under the mask, "Drink it all down, good little sneak."

He pulled his soft cock out of your mouth and you gagged and gasped, slumping over and gulping down as much air as you could get into your screaming lungs. You looked up, blinking star bursts out of your eyes and thought for a second you were having a near death experience before you realized that Ghost had pulled up the mask just to let you see his grin. You stared, mouth slack, at the scars on his lips and his crooked teeth. You'd always thought of him as hot. You hadn't ever anticipated him being this hot.

"Alright, pet," He said as he stood, his soft cock still looking intimidating, "I need to shower and if I find you in my room when I get out you're really in for it."

"Oh?" You asked, visions of your pussy being stretched to its limit dancing in your head.

"Mhm, fraternizing with a superior is an offense that could get your discharged,"

The color drained from your face as he picked up his towel and looked over his shoulder at you, "So hurry back to your room, there's a love."

"W-wait!" You yelped, struggling to get your hands untied, "Wait!"

He didn't even turn around as he opened the door to the bathroom and left you behind him, tits out, tied up, and very wet.

[itsheccincheebs]

You're the one that I wish was mine...

Content Warnings:

-some NSFW (mostly suggestive), angst, heartbreak

A snippet from upcoming Reader/Bakugou fic:

feelings change (but your fingerprints remain)

𓆩♡𓆪

“I’m leaving,” you drone, already sensing some stupid argument brewing. Sure enough, Ochako’s morals and Shinsou’s stubborn dislike of Shouto soon come to a head, and you roll their eyes at their childish squabbling. You still take the coat without either of them noticing.

Deciding to head to Midoriya’s room first seems like a good strategy because Shouto might still be in there. You’re hoping he isn’t just so you can have the perfect excuse to talk to Midoriya for a little bit.

With your sloppy ponytail, rumpled lounge wear, and slightly sweaty skin, you’re not about to confess to the guy, though. You’re confident your chances will be good no matter what you look like, but after everything you’ve gone through as a class, you figure Midoriya is worth putting in a little more effort for. Maybe not something so grandiose and public (the poor guy gets enough attention as it is), but you think a secluded, romantic confession would fit the bill better.

A few ideas float through your mind. A private serenade? Eh, that might be a bit hard considering you’ll just end up enthralling him and Quirk-cancelling cuffs aren’t that easy to come by without prior clearance. A quiet picnic for two? No, it’s too cold to do anything outdoors right now. Plus, you can’t cook for shit and you’ll be damned before you ask anyone for help. Not to mention that Ashido’s got a nose like a bloodhound for gossip and while she can keep a secret, you’re already getting enough flack from Shinsou. Any rare All Might merch runs the risk of Midoriya already having it, and it’ll feel too much like a bribe anyway.

No. If you’re going to do this, you need to do it alone. Less interference means less chance for anything to go wrong.

Still, you’re not in a huge rush, despite having less than a year to go before graduation. You’re quite positive he likes you back, if his constant blushing and stuttering is anything to go by, and you have to admit, having a crush is kind of fun. In any case, you want to do things right.

Leisurely strolling down the second floor hallway, you give Shouto’s coat an appreciative once-over. It’s really well-made, a dark navy that’s flattering on your friend. Come to think of it, since when does Shouto wear nice clothes? His outfits are mostly plain, like what somebody’s grandfather would pick out. The faint cologne the coat gives off smells expensive too…

You stop in front of Midoriya’s door and take a deep breath. You’ve never worried about your looks, but you still find yourself tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Hopefully he’s alone…you want to see him. Just for a bit.

You raise a hand to knock.

“Ah…!”

You freeze.

While pants and soft moans muffled by a locked door fill the hallway where you stand, you’re unsure how to go about this. He’s obviously...busy and waltzing in isn’t an option anymore.

It’s just…you never thought you’d hear your crush sound…well, like this. The air around you grows stiflingly hot and you swallow, embarrassed and shaken. It’s not that you’ve never entertained the idea, but Midoriya has never been a part of your nighttime fantasies, mostly out of guilt and partly because you’re not a creep. But still…you have wondered what he’d sound like, deep in the throes of passion. Idle curiosity doesn’t compare to actually hearing it.

You should leave right now, this is clearly a private moment...

“Sho…Shouto-kun, please…!”

Oh.

A low-grade ringing begins in your ears, but it doesn’t drown out what you missed before. His headboard tap-tap-tapping away against the wall, not loud, but enough to paint a picture you refuse to see. Some desperate part of you foolishly clings to the last vestiges of hope, that maybe this is just one big misunderstanding, that none of this is really happening until—

“Midoriya…”

And there it is.

Now you know what Shouto sounds like in bed too.

A tremor takes hold of your body and you let your hand fall. Shouto’s coat falls in a heap onto the floor.

Stunned doesn’t even begin to cover what you feel right now. The gentle melody of romance and affection that has been playing in your mind ever since you figured out your feelings for Midoriya stops completely.

Your feet drag on the carpet as you slowly make your way back to the elevators. Midoriya’s cries follow, growing fainter the more distance you cover, but you know you won’t be forgetting them anytime soon. The disconnect between your mind and body right now is like watching a looming hurricane lashing its way across the ocean while you watch from a distant shore. But it’s approaching fast and you don’t want to run into anyone when it does. Already your lips begin to tremble, lungs tightening and releasing short, choppy breaths, and a burning heat behind your eyes beckons you to give in.

But you can’t, not yet.

You take a step towards the staircase at the same moment the elevator doors open with a soft ring.

Shinsou blinks in surprise. “Oh. There you are. Was looking everywhere for you, Songbird.” He rummages through his pockets and pulls out Shouto’s gift from earlier. You still, staring at the little package like it’s a bomb. At everything it used to stand for. “You forgot this. Thought I’d…” He finally meets your eyes and the easygoing expression slowly fades from his face. “…What’s wrong?”

When you don’t immediately answer, he takes a step forward, hand outstretched and brows pulling together in concern. “Hey…”

“Shouto-kun…!” Midoriya’s strangled moan of completion is barely audible, but in the silence, it rings out like a gunshot.

Your face crumples just as horrified realization begins to dawn on Shinsou’s face and you run, shoving past him. The echoing bang of the staircase door drowns out your muffled sob, the only mercy you’re given before the dam finally breaks.

𓆩♡𓆪

Decided to start formatting my WIPs a bit, so I borrowed the winged heart from one of my readers. Hope they don't mind.

Yes I do post at weird times. I'm an insomniac, leave me alone lol

[cyberchaniclove]

Still haven't been able to draw anything but I DID decide to do this!!! go my Phonebook

[bleumingdays]

travel log ✹ when in sorsogon (january, 2023)

via bleumingdays