#x gn reader

But he quickly feels bad because you give him the silent treatment. Refusing his pets, hiding under tables. You even refuse grooming time!!! You loved when he would brush your hair for you!! (╥ ω ╥)

So while you’re sleeping he gently scoops you up with those thick arms of his. giving you small kisses and coos while you wake up. And when you try to escape, legs kicking and wiggling with all your might! he just traces your hole. His finger against it. Finally pushing in when you whined enough. His two thick fingers pumping over and over as he whispers small apologies to you.

“Oh, I know, I know, m’such a meanie. M’sorry I’ll never yell again okay? Bunny? You gotta answer or I’ll stop”

WRONG NUMBER ⸻ HITOSHI SHINSO ; gn! reader

SYNOPSIS — the strange unknown number you vented to about your crush ends up being your crush. INCLUDES — college + modern au!, smau, crack, fluff, shinso is y/n's campus crush.

PART 02 ⸻ ROLES REVERSED VERSION ᡣ𐭩 •｡ main masterlist — mha masterlist ꪆৎ ˚⋅

NOTE — if you guys didn't get it, the 'diary entry' shinso wrote wasn't entirely made up bc he acc was staring at y/n LOL! i love his smartass.

"'zuku...come to bed...."

your boyfriend, or now rather fiancé, grunted in reply, back facing you as he continued to grade papers.

"izuku." you tried more firmly.

no answer.

"izuku midoriya."

he immediately turned to look at you. his hair was disheveled, tie loose and eyes tired.

"come to bed...please. it's late."

izuku turned back to his work. "the exams need to be graded and-"

you let out a dramatic sigh, moving out of bed and behind him to wrap your arms around his neck. “exams can wait, i can’t.”

“my love-“

“izuku, come to bed, please…”

izuku stared down blankly at the papers, pen shaking in his trembling hand.

“zuuukuuu….” you cooed into his ear.

“fine,” your love grumbled, undoing the rest of his tie. “i’ll be there in 2 minutes.”

extended version...

And the hotel find out Alastor is on a leash but he likes it and then they find out he gave it willingly to his wife. Que them being shocked that he's even married

Oooooh anon I am shaking you rapidly /pos

Warnings: possibly ooc— haven’t written Alastor in a very long time, reader is gender neutral but the word wife is used once so if you want to click off, no worries! Reader is incredibly morally grey— they were aware of the murders but didn’t say anything, are an overlord, etc… also cannibalism. It’s vague if the reader knowingly or willingly ate human flesh, but there’s a few lines in there so be warned. No appearance is described, nor is the readers domain/powers as an overlord explained :P

Wordcount: 825

Ask box is currently open, don’t be shy to say hi if you’ve got an idea to share :P

Part two is out btw :)

     He knows it’s bad when you can’t bring yourself to say anything: no witty remarks to play it off, no humble shrug to show that it didn’t phase you- not even a weak joke that you’d heard from passerby during the previous week. He would have known anyway but he knows how bad it is when you can’t hide the wobble in your chin when you meet him at the door and melt into his arms.

     The sound of your stifled cries weaken his heart because he just knows how long you’ve been trying to hold it all together. You don’t know that he sheds his own tears at your sorrow. You don’t know that he feels his own pained heart grow just a touch because you trust him enough to be able to comfort you- to run to him when there is something you really can’t make better.

     When you finally stop trying to smother out the sound of your cries, it breaks his own heart into pieces because your grief is his. He doesn’t know what to do in this pile on the floor- your arms wrapped tightly around him in fear of him leaving with one hand resting at the top of your head and the other one of his hands supporting your neck as you weep into his shoulder- so he just holds you.

     And later, when your cries turn hoarse and the tears run dry, you let him pull you to your feet. He carries you to the dark bedroom because he knows you get headaches after crying. When you still don’t say a word he goes to the kitchen and scavenges some Tylenol and a cup of water.

     He knows you don’t like to feel helpless- to feel like you need to rely on someone. But if he’s being honest, he likes being able to care for you. He likes how you curl up with your head on his chest and your hands wrapped around him. He likes how you let him draw shapes on your back because you secretly love the physical touch. He likes how you let out soft sighs throughout the course of the movie because he knows you’re still awake.

All sharp corners and teeth, voice like gravel, presence heavy enough to make people straighten without realizing why. Ghost barely slept, barely ate, and when he did it was whatever was fast and forgettable. He wore his gear until it was threadbare. Holes at the knees, seams splitting at the shoulders, socks worn thin enough to show skin.

You noticed.

You always did.

It started small. A container left on his desk, nothing labeled, just home cooked food still warm. He stared at it like it might bite him. Ate it anyway. Every last bit. You pretended not to see.

Then shirts appeared in his locker. Same size. Same dark colors he liked. Pants folded neatly. Fresh socks. Underwear tucked at the bottom, no comment, no eye contact, no expectation. Just there.

Ghost never said thank you.

But he started eating more.

Started wearing clothes that did not look like they had survived a war on their own.

The night he came to your door, it was late. Too late. You opened it to blood, not all of it his, dried and fresh smeared together. His mask was off. You saw him fully for the first time. The scarred face, the pulled skin, the truth of him laid bare and exhausted.

His eyes flicked up to you, braced for something. Pity. Fear. Distance.

You just opened your arms.

“Oh baby,” you said softly. “Come here.”

That was all it took.

Simon folded into you like gravity finally won. Hands clutching your shirt, forehead pressed into your shoulder, breath shuddering out of him like he had been holding it for years. All that dominance, all that rage, gone in the quiet of your doorway.

You held him. No questions. No orders. Just steady hands and warmth.

"oh, smash. smash." you nodded your head sagely as your finger flicked over the photos you took of malleus just a few seconds ago. he looked positively ravishing in the most innocent sense.

malleus' head tilted slightly in confusion at your comment. "are the photos so terrible that you're considering smashing your telephone?"

he never really did understand why you kept using that phrase around him. he could walk out dressed in his pyjamas while he was sleeping over, and you would suddenly mention your need to smash something. or maybe you were commanding him to smash something?

humans are truly strange creatures.

"no, they're great." you tried your best to hold back your laugh at his genuine distress. "holy shit, smaaash." you muttered under your breath when you came across a particularly good photo. he looked like a proper adonis in it and you couldn't wait to stare at the photo for hours on end after the two of you went your seperate ways.

"you are quite the enigma." malleus muttered, wonder lacing his voice. he has to ask someone about this, or the curiosity will keep him up at night.

"what do you mean?" you asked.

"do not worry about it." malleus smiled.

.

"what does 'smash' mean?" malleus asked innocently as he sat across lilia at one of the ornate tables in the diasomnia lounge. sebek stiffened, pausing his diligent tea-pouring and racking his brain in order to give his liege the most proper, concise, well-worded reply.

"to destroy something, why?" lilia answered before sebek could, and sebek groaned, disappointed with himself.

"that child of man... they keep saying that word when they are in my presence. like when i first approach them clad in new clothing, for example."

"hm..." lilia pretended to think, struggling to hide his smile. oh malleus, that kid... "why don't you try asking them directly?"

"i have tried, but the response was not satisfactory." by this he means that you had huffed out a laugh and told him it's nothing. which isn't a very conclusive reply or a reply that's conducive to his curiosity being sated.

"i remember... the prefect explaining what that word means to ace and deuce, but i fell asleep before i could properly..." silver joined in the conversation, but fell back asleep before he could actually finish his sentence.

"well, that settles it. to ace and deuce with you!" lilia clapped his hands together, smiling widely.

.

when malleus stopped ace and deuce in the hallway, they really thought that day was going to be their final one. so imagine their surprise when the prince opened with the sentence: "what does 'smash' mean?"

"oh, like when our friend says it?" deuce replied somewhat quietly, worried about where this conversation is going.

"yes. regale me." malleus' face gave nothing away.

the two first years exchanged a somewhat reluctant look, unwilling to broach such a crude topic with the scariest student in the school (and a prince no less) but also not wanting to make him their enemy for any reason.

"it's, uh... apparently you say it when you find someone really hot and you want to... you know." ace explained awkwardly, flailing his hands in the air.

"i'm afraid i don't quite understand." malleus shook his head.

"you say it when you see someone really attractive. let's just go with that." deuce summarized, leaving out the damning part that ace tried bringing up.

"....oh. thank you." malleus muttered awkwardly before teleporting away and leaving the telltale sparks behind him, leaving both ace and deuce standing there confused.

"hey guys, did you wait long?" you startled the duo by slinging your arms over their shoulders from behind.

"uh... no, not at all." ace didn't quite meet your eyes.

.

malleus felt like screaming into his pillow as soon as he teleported into his room. you thought of him as 'really attractive'? to the point you expressed that to him every time you saw him?

he could feel his face heating up exponentially and he felt stiff to the point of not knowing what to do with himself. how could he face you now? how could he witness you saying "oh my god, smash." with that easy smile on your face without blooming red like a rose?

he was already having trouble keeping his composure around you, pretending he only saw you as a strange friend and nothing more (lilia is smiling knowingly rn), and now you go and do this?!

humans are... wait.

...could this mean that you view him as more than a friend, the heir to the throne, the scariest student in the school, too? that your invitations and casual treatment of him signify some deeper meaning? that this is... what humans like to call 'flirting'?

There was something sweet about sleepy kisses.

Maybe it was because they happened when neither of you were trying. Just two people still caught somewhere between dreams and reality, reaching for each other on instinct alone. He always kissed you differently when he was sleepy. Slower. Softer. Like even half-asleep, his body knew where home was.

Sometimes it happened before sunrise, when the room was still painted blue with early morning light and the world outside hadn’t fully woken up yet. You’d stir beneath the blankets, feeling the warmth of him shift beside you before sleepy hands found your waist beneath one of his old t-shirts. Just to keep you close.

You’d barely have your eyes open when his nose brushed yours, as he pressed a lazy kiss to your mouth. It never lasted long, just a gentle press of lips that felt more like a habit than anything else, like he couldn’t start his day without making sure you were still there. And every single time, you’d smile into it.

Sleepy kisses were honest. No one performs when they’re half asleep. There’s no practiced charm, smooth words, no trying to look pretty or flirting. Just tangled blankets, messy hair, pillow creases pressed into skin, and affection in its simplest form.

Some mornings, he’d kiss the corner of your mouth and immediately fall back asleep. Other times, you’d be the one waking first, unable to resist leaning over to press a tiny kiss against his cheek or forehead. He’d hum quietly every time, eyes still closed, already chasing after you before you could pull away.

Like his body recognized yours before his mind had even caught up. “C’mere,” he’d mumble into the pillow, voice rough with sleep. And you always did.

Because there was something impossibly tender about being loved in those in-between moments. The kind of love that lived in drowsy smiles and warm sheets and kisses given so absentmindedly they had become second nature. The kind that said 'I’d find you even in my sleep.'