#I want to!! I really really fucking want to do things and change things and Get Better and Make Progress

[luvcaleb]

DO YOU WANT MORE?

nsfw (18+). includes implied marathon sex, unprotected sex, breeding, breast play, squirting, caleb fucks roughly but still does tender gestures <3, nicknames (pipsqueak is possibly the worst they could've picked for a canon nickname but this is my attempt at making it sound hot). filthy smut from top to bottom. likes and reblogs will be very helpful !!

“C'mon, pipsqueak, raise your hips.”

Caleb squeezes your waist, his thrusts changing from a deep, persistent grind that makes you feel every inch of his cock to a fast-paced pounding. You've long lost feeling in your legs, and the only thing keeping you from sprawling on the bed is Caleb's tight grip on your hips, fucking into you relentlessly from behind.

“Ah...! Wait, Caleb, haah, no more...!”

Each thrust loudly snaps the bedframe against the wall, but it isn't enough to hide the squelching noises between your legs. Slick and cum drip down your thighs, staining the sheets into ruin. They get even messier with a few more thrusts as you gush around his cock unannounced, squirting into the cum-soaked bedsheets.

Caleb groans as your cunt squeezes around him, trying to coax out more of his hot cum. “Fuck, baby, you're so tight... Feels good when your cunt sucks on my cock...”

His hand slides to your squirting pussy, rubbing circles on your clit. More slick jets out of you, soaking his palm. Squealing, you try to crawl away him him, gripping tightly on the blankets that have been slipping off the bed.

The delicious pressure against your clit releases, but Caleb pulls you back to his cock. He straightens your back to press against his chest, bottoming out in a single thrust to hit the deepest spot in your pussy. “Ngh, why are you running away? Didn't you say you'd last longer than me, pips?” He pants against your ear, hand tenderly running along your side to soothe you, yet his hips don't stop their merciless thrusts. “Or are you tapping out now?”

Perhaps hours ago, you would have answered with a vehement refusal. But now, with drool dripping from your lips constantly agape from moaning, your clit too sensitive from his insistent flicking and rubbing, and your thoroughly-fucked cunt filled with his loads of cum, the idea of calling it quits sounds appealing.

“I'll do whatever you want, baby. Just say the word,” Caleb murmurs against your skin, his lips molding over your neck to suck another hickey among the marks he already made. “If you want to stop, I'll run the bath and take care of you. We'll cuddle on the sofa and watch that new movie you've been looking forward to.”

His hips stop, having pulled all the way out, the tip barely brushing against your cunt. “But if you don't want to stop...”

Slowly, his hand travels up your torso, squeezing your tits. He plays with your nipples, evoking another gasp out of you. “I'll make you feel good. Fuck any other thought out of your mind so you'll only think of me.”

You whine as his cock rubs along your wet folds, catching on the strings of cum dripping from your pussy. The tip circles around your clit, teases at your opening, just putting it in enough to make you feel its thick girth, but he pulls out too soon.

“What will you choose, baby?”

Your hazy mind can't come up with clear thoughts, foggy from the pleasure. But forming an answer is the easiest thing to do—it's not like he left you with any other choice, anyway.

“Please fuck me, Caleb,” you sob, clinging at the arm cupping your breast. “Please put your cock inside me. Fuck me even if I tell you to stop. Cum... please cum more inside m- ahh!”

You're roughly flipped onto your back, but he holds your head softly to lay you down on the pillow. It's only at this moment that you get to see Caleb's face, brows furrowed, sweat dripping down his temples, his lip bitten red from the strain of holding back. “Shit... you really do know how to rile me up, pipsqueak.”

He looms over you, muscled arms caging you on the bed, chest heaving up and down as he pants. He fixes his position, resting his weight on his knees, and he uses his hands to spread your legs wider. His eyes are dark with lust while he stares at your abused hole, spilling cum on the sheets below you.

“Maybe this time, I really will fuck you pregnant.”

The statement doesn't even register in your mind because he immediately thrusts inside, pounding at your cervix. You gasp, aimlessly grasping at anything you could hold onto as you lose your mind, a fresh stream of cum soaking his cock.

His abs ripple with each thrust, the dirtiest groans and pants leaving his lips. “Fuck, you're so cute... cumming already when I just put it in.” Caleb leans closer, catching both of your wrists to make you wrap your arms around his neck instead of the dirty sheets. “When did you become such a pervert?” He drops his head to suck at your tits, licking your nipples.

It's your fault, you want to say, but all that leaves your mouth are noises you didn't think you were capable of making until Caleb touched you for the first time months ago, and he hasn't stopped since. You heard couples would be insatiable for the first few weeks of dating, but it feels like you're never going to go past that phase.

“Can't even speak because my dick's too good, huh?” Caleb chuckles, thumb resting on your lips. He rubs the tip of your tongue, pleased when you dart out to lick him. “You're the absolute cutest...”

The sounds between your bodies are downright lewd. His cum sloshes inside you every time he fucks you to the bed, forming a creamy ring at the base of his cock. He's filled you up so much with his huge cock and cum, that you wonder how you even have the space to breathe.

Caleb's the type to try to be quiet, but he's not holding back his moans now, groaning his pleasure against your ear.

“This feels too good, shit... Feel like I'm gonna cum soon...” He tucks the hair covering your face behind your ear, pressing a gentle kiss at the corner of your teary eyes, so different from the rough fucking he's giving to your pussy. “I'm gonna blow my load inside you. You want that, don't you?”

You nod desperately, leaning your face on his hand that's cupping your cheek. He smiles, nuzzling against you, but the sweet moment lasts only for a few seconds before he thrusts even faster, chasing his release.

“Fuck, here it comes, I'm cumming...” Caleb drives his cock the deepest it can go, his balls slapping against your ass. “Oh, fuuuuck, I'm cumming!”

Thick, hot strings of cum coat your insides once more, crammed into the tight space of your cunt. Your squirt splashes against his pelvis and abs as you moan high and reedy, scratching lines down his back. He hisses at the slight pain, spurting more cum at the feeling, and he collapses on your body, making sure not to suffocate you with his weight.

“Ah... damn... I don't think I've cum that hard in a while...” He ruffles through your hair, soothingly patting your head. “You doing okay?”

“You're too intense,” you say, your voice weak and groggy. You wrap your arms around him, content to fall asleep and let Caleb take care of things from here.

“Hey, don't fall asleep now.” He pokes your cheek, trying to stir you awake. When you open your eyes, you see Caleb smiling, the one that means he's up to no good. “After all that you said, do you really think this will end with just one round?”

[prettealolilol]

i like to think about the duality of the kids about people shipping Bruce with anyone, because the guy has been elected as the most handsome man in the country for years, has this whole playboy Brucie persona and is often seen with someone at his arms (men and women)

on one side, they'll be like "ew god no, i do not want to imagine dad like-" and "oh my god some people actually ship Bantman and Joker wtf ??" and they'll do their best to filter every social media to avoid any thirsty or shipping content about Bruce

when the press ask them about it, they be like:

Tim : "Would you like it if I asked about your thoughts on your dad cheating on your mom with his secretary ? No ? Then mind your own business." when the dad was in fact cheating with his secretary and now everybody knew because Tim was live when he answered

Jason, pulling out a gun : "i swear to god i'll shoot the next person who asks me this and then i'll shoot myself. Ugh, do i look like i fucking care about the old man's sex life ?"

Dick, smiling uncomfortably : "i don't really live at the manor anymore and i barely see him with my job so you know..." when it has been in fact a week he's been sleeping at the manor after patrolling with Batman

Damian, frowning as usual, looking at the guy who asked him as if he did not have a brain : "Father is careful in not mixing his carnal activities with the family life so i do not have any hindsight on his sex life. i do not wish to know regardless." the journalist is taken aback by the explicit answer of this ten year old, while his brothers are trying not to laugh behind him (Jason was not hiding his snickering)

on the other side, you cannot tell me those guys are not the biggest shippers in the world

like Jason would want Batman to date Wonder Woman just so she could be his step mom. i strongly believe the guy has a ao3 and tumblr account and is very much active on both. he definitely reads batman x green lantern fics just to annoy Bruce (even though his dad has no idea, but still gets shivers when Jason is reading one)

Dick and Duke both ship SuperBat although for different reasons. for Dick, that's his uncle there, he was there when they met and saw them as they slowly became best friends. he strongly believes they are made for each other. Duke just think it would be super cool (no pun intended) if the Superman and the Batman were dating.

Stephanie just likes to roll with it, some days she feels like shipping superbat, others she'll be more into batcat, or batlantern. she's pretty volatile and doesn't really have a favourite, but when she gets into one she's all in. she'll be arguing and insulting people online who disagrees, sharing crazy theories...

Cass doesn't really care, she'll listen to any of her siblings ranting about their thoughts (especially Steph) and juts find it adorable (and funny how much they care)

Tim probably ships superbat because they are completely opposed, and he finds the parallels really interesting. he definitely writes fics (Jay reads his fics and they exchange about it without knowing it's each other)

Damian doesn't really see the point. but he has drawn of few fanart (Jason tried to bribe him with money once and Damian had to remind him of his inheritance) when Bruce benched Tim and him and he ended up drawing some batlantern that Tim printed and plastered all over the manor. Bruce had to restrain the access to the printer (Tim hacked into it the next day)

Barbara, although she doesn't really ship, is the one you go to if you search some content, she'll find you the most heart wrenching, 200 thousand words, slow brun, angst/comfort fics you'll ever read (the type of fic that changes you deep into your soul). she still likes debating with the batkid

Regardless, if there's one things they all agree on, it is Bruceman (love those fics were the batkids just go along with it). like it's hilarious but the fans make some pretty good points and they are in fact impressed. it's also the safest ship as it would not happen in any situations so they don't have to worry about their dad being stolen

[jinkoh]

pressure points

yunho x fem!reader

summary: your physical therapy is getting very physical

tags: physiotherapist!yunho, smut (mdni), reader is painfully horny (especially for yunho's hands), tension, kissing, teasing, fingering; feat. woosan as your bffs

wc: 3.2k

a/n: started writing this back when i went to physiotherapy--but i swear it's only partially inspired by real occurrences, my therapist was very professional

masterlist

Usually, your weekly meet ups with your best friends—or girls’ night as Wooyoung liked to call it, even when you were the only one who technically qualified—were your sanctuary, your safe space, your chance to decompress after a stressful week at work. But usually your non-existent sex life wasn’t the topic of the night, nor were you interrogated over your relationship to your new physiotherapist. You were quickly starting to regret ever mentioning him or his big hands or cheeky smile or— 

“I know I'm barely one to talk,” Wooyoung said, clearly amused over the whole situation and not at all willing to change topic, “but you’re like pathetically horny.”

“No, listen,” you started, pointing at him with the pretzel stick you’d been nibbling on. “Yunho just has—”

“Yunho?” Wooyoung snorted, “You’re on first name basis with your physiotherapist?”

“Don’t make it weird, that’s just their policy and it makes it more comfortable too.”

“Mhm, right. Except you’re maybe getting a little too comfortable.”

Before you could retort, San let himself plop onto the empty chair at your table. “What did I miss?” He asked casually while scanning the drinks menu (as if he didn’t already know his order).

“Nothing much,” Wooyoung replied, “I'm getting a promotion and y/n wants to fuck her physiotherapist.”

“Woo!”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “What, it’s true.”

“It’s not! He just—it’s not my fault that he touched my hips like that!”

“Y/n, honey, he was showing you an exercise.”

“Well, yeah, but his hands are just kinda sexy and—” you trailed off when you saw San pulling a face. “What?”

San shook his head with a sigh, “Girl, you want to fuck him so bad.”

Maybe your friends had a point, because despite your tiring work day and the way your joints were aching with exhaustion, you found yourself feeling giddy for your next appointment with Yunho. The only thing putting a damper on your mood was that after today you only had one more session left, when really you wished you could keep going forever. 

The clinic was rather quiet and the lights in the back were already off—you always had the last time slot of the day and you rarely met other patrons when you came in. Today was no different, the only people you could spot were Yunho and one of his colleagues.

“Hey,” Yunho greeted you with a soft smile, briefly looking up before focusing back on where he seemed to be typing something into the computer behind the counter, “On time as always.”

“Of course,” you replied with a smile, feeling your cheeks heat up for literally no reason at all. 

“Very commendable,” he grinned and then his eyes darted up to you once more, almost as if he was accessing you, “You can already get into room 2, I’m with you in a second,” he nodded towards a door before turning to his colleague, “Mingi, can you look this over for me?”

“Sure, no problem,” the other man replied, hovering over the screen of the computer too. Your gaze lingered on the scene a second longer, taking in how Yunho adjusted the glasses sitting on his nose, but when he looked up, meeting your gaze in a question, you quickly hurried into the room he’d pointed at. It was a smaller one than usual; the mirror, yoga mats and other equipment you were used to replaced by a massage table that you awkwardly sat down on while you waited. It only took another one or two minutes for Yunho to appear in the doorframe.

“You were looking kind of tired, so I thought it’s a good idea to do something more relaxing today,” he said as he walked in, closing the door behind him. He had your files in his hand, scribbling something down before leaving the clipboard on the little shelf in the corner, “But remember you still have to do the exercises at home though. And no slouching.”

“Aye, Sir,” you replied with a playful salute that got frozen mid-air when he met your gaze with a smile and a cheeky “Good girl.” Good. Girl. How the fuck were you supposed to survive this?

“Alright,” he continued, all professional, as if he hadn’t just hit you out of left field with his comment, “we’ll loosen up your muscles a bit, in the neck and upper back area, since that’s where you’re having the most trouble. Please lay down on your stomach with your head on this side,” he briefly tapped the head rest, “and it’d be good if you removed your top so I have access to your back—I can go out for a second if you prefer.”

You knew there were no hidden motives there, after all he was a professional and this was his job. But the thought of undressing in front of the guy you’d been having somewhat inappropriate thoughts of was still making your heart race.

“Uhm, no, it’s okay,” you stuttered, turning your upper body away from him as you slipped out of your shirt, holding the fabric close to your chest. “B—my bra too?”

“No, it’s okay, we can just—” he reached out and you felt his fingers gently brush your skin as he pushed the straps of your bra down your shoulders, “move them out of the way like this.” His touch left goosebumps in its wake and maybe it was your wishful thinking, but you thought his fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. Then he pulled away though, clearing his throat and stepping aside so you had enough space to lie down. He took a seat on a little rolling chair at the top of the table and you could see his legs through the hole of the headrest.

His hands felt warm and soft as he smoothed them over your upper back a few times before he started rubbing out the sore spots in your neck. You felt the way the tension was seeping out of you, making you feel relaxed and at ease. At least until he spoke up again with his sweet honey voice.

“It’s okay if it hurts a little, but if you’re in so much pain that you want to scream, do tell me. We don’t want that.” He let his hands move to your left shoulder blade, finding one of your pressure points, “For it to hurt that badly, I mean. I don’t mind if you scream.” He chuckled and you huffed out a laugh as well while your cheeks were heating up for nth time that day. It was a good thing he couldn’t see your face right now. “Uh, yeah, I’ll let you know," you replied but all you could think about was him making you scream. Your silly brain couldn't help but wonder if he liked a vocal partner. 

Yunho seemed blissfully unaware of your inner tumult, rubbing out the knots in your back completely unbothered. “This still okay?” He asked as he moved to another point and you felt yourself gasp a little at the initial pain. It wasn’t exactly a bad pain though. Something about the light sting was almost pleasurable.

“Still okay,” you assured and he hummed in affirmation as his fingers kept moving. He was skilled and precise in his ministrations, and you knew he had to be, with this being his literal job, but the thought that perhaps his fingers were skillful in other places too wouldn’t leave your mind for the rest of the massage. 

It was over too quickly for your liking, ended by him gently moving the straps of your bra back up your shoulders. “Alright,” he said, scooting away from the table to give you some space, “That’s it for today.”

“Thanks, I really needed that,” you mumbled as you sat up, just to immediately regret your words. You sounded like a pathetic, touch starved horndog. 

“Mhm,” he hummed and you couldn’t read his expression as he took a note in your files, “I could see that.”

“So, what if I do want to fuck him?”

Wooyoung let out a giggle, “Finally admitting to it, huh?”

“Just go for it,” San advised, “It’s gonna be your last appointment anyway.” 

That was a reminder you really didn’t want to hear, so you quickly shoved the thought aside in favor of more pressing questions.. “But what’s that supposed to mean? How would I even go for it?”

“Well, do it the way you normally would,” Wooyoung said matter of factly, “You know how to flirt, right?”

“I—I don’t. Not like that. I never really tried to get into anyone’s pants before,” you admitted.

San raised an eyebrow, “So you just had people coming at you without even trying? What a flexer.”

“Don’t tease me, Sannie, you know it’s not like that. It’s just that there’s usually dating involved. I’ve never slept with anyone I wasn’t at least casually dating.”

“Date him then,” San simply replied but Wooyoung shook his head. “Way too time consuming. She wants a quick fix, not a slow-burn romance. Take this as a learning opportunity, y/nnie.”

“Well, then teach me! What do I do?”

“Oh? Teach me?” San said with a smirk, “That’s kinda hot.”

“I gotta agree, but we’re getting off topic here.” Wooyoung fished a pretzel stick out of the glass on the table and took a bite of it before he continued, “So, the important thing is to show him you’re interested. But don’t make it romantic, you don't want a coffee invite."

"Actually I wouldn't mind a coffee—"

"Yeah, and you can have your coffee—after taking care of how fucking pent-up you are." He let the rest of his pretzel stick disappear into his mouth, still chewing as he continued, "He’s your physiotherapist, there’s gotta be plenty of chances for him to get his hands on you. Just subtly let him know you really like it.”

“Yeah,” San agreed, before coming back to his initial advice: “Just go for it.”

For your last appointment he sent you to room number 4, the one with the mirror and the yoga mats and other equipment that you knew all too well. After last week's session you found yourself filled with disappointment. For a moment you stood in the doorway, until Yunho came over, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Not going in?”

San’s words were ringing in your head: Just go for it. Wooyoung’s advice on subtlety must have gotten lost on you though, but who was Wooyoung to give that advice anyway?

“Uhm, I was thinking—you know I’m feeling kind of tired today…” You trailed off, your eyes darting over to room number 2, where the ajar door revealed the massage table.

He met your words with a chuckle. “Are you saying you want a massage for our last appointment? Did you like it that much?”

“It just seemed to really help with my sore spots…”

“Hmm,” he hummed, his arms crossed in front of his body thoughtfully, “I do think we should go through the exercises I taught you at least once—to make sure you remember them correctly and can do them at home. Don’t want you coming back here in another three weeks.”

“You don’t want me to come back?”

Yunho’s eyes widened for a moment there before he let out a chuckle, “Not if it means you’re in pain again.”

“Didn’t you say it’s okay if it hurts a little?”

He shook his head in disbelief, “I feel like I’m not getting anywhere here, so let’s make a compromise—first a quick run down of the exercises and then for the remaining time you can get on the table for me, hm?”

Get on the table for me. You tried not to think anything of the words he’d chosen, tried not to let your brain warp them until they held a different meaning altogether, but it was hopeless. The worst part was, that you couldn’t help feeling like he was doing this on purpose, reveling in the way your gaze turned feverish and your cheeks flushed red with heat.

The quick run down was almost agonizing. He did keep his promise to make it short, but every time he stepped into your personal space to fix your posture, you felt your skin tingling with anticipation and need. When you finally, finally went over to room 2, you were more than ready to skip the massage and go for other activities instead. You pulled yourself together though, and did not jump him the moment he closed the door. Instead, you took off your shirt and laid down on the table like last time. Yunho sat at the head end once more, working his magic on your neck and shoulders. When he moved his hands a little further down your back, they briefly got caught on your bra.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice calm and smooth.

You bit your lower lip. This seemed like a pretty good chance, didn’t it?

“You can take it off, if you want to. I don’t mind.”

He halted for a moment, and maybe if you could see his face you’d be able to read his expression, but with your eyes facing the floor you were stuck wondering what he was thinking.

“Are you sure?” Yunho asked after a moment and there was something in his voice that made it feel like his question wasn’t just about the massage.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It only took a second for him to unhook your bra, the fabric falling to the side of your body. His fingers seemed to trace the place where it’d sat, maybe following the light imprints it’d left behind. 

“You have pretty skin,” he said eventually, his voice just a whisper.

“Yeah?” Your heart was racing in your chest with nerves and anticipation of what could possibly happen.

“Yeah,” his index finger gently wandered over your spine, “It feels nice to touch.”

“It feels nice when you touch me, too.”

He hesitated for a moment and the brief silence was killing you. “I could do it more,” he finally said.

“I’d like that.”

“Turn around for me?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you immediately turned to lay on your back, losing your bra along the way. The moment you were facing up, he leaned down, crashing his lips into yours. The angle was kind of awkward with the way you were technically upside down from his point of view, but neither of you seemed to really care as you devoured each other in a kiss you’d been anticipating for weeks.

When he eventually pulled away, both of you breathless, there was a cheeky glint in his eyes. “Isn’t this kind of like spiderman?” he asked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I didn’t know my hot physiotherapist was a nerd.”

“So, I’m hot?”

You rolled your eyes before your hand reached out to pull him close again, “Aren’t we kinda past that?”

“Right,” he grinned into your lips, “I guess so.”

He kissed you again before he pulled away to get up from his chair, the angle too awkward to really touch, and he was dying to get his hands all over you. You sat up on the table, letting your legs dangle off one side, and he swiftly moved to stand between them, caging you in with his hands  on either side of your hips. 

“We’re the only ones here, right?” you asked, just to make sure.

“Yeah,” he pecked the corner of your mouth before kissing his way to your jaw and then down to your collar bone, “Mingi left a while ago and the cleaning staff only comes in the morning.”

“Good,” you leaned back and tilted your neck to give him more access, reveling in the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin. 

His hands moved to your body, one of them keeping you steady as the other tugged at the hem of your jeans. “Can we take this off?”

You nodded a little too quickly, your hands immediately flying to the button to help him undo it. 

“So eager,” he commented with that smug smile of his before he helped you drag the pants off your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties. He let his thumb lightly rub over the thin and embarrassingly wet fabric, smile growing wider as you let out a little whimper. “Why do I feel like you haven’t been focusing on treatment at all and were instead thinking of—” he flicked his thumb over your clothed clit, “something else?”

“I couldn’t help it,” you whimpered, “not my fault your hands are—like that.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” you whimpered once more when his long fingers started to run over your folds, pushing aside your panties to touch you directly, “sexy.”

“They are sexy? Like, when I fix your posture? Or give you a massage?,” he asked, leaving more bites and kisses on your neck, “Or when I do this?” He slipped one of his fingers into you without warning, making you gasp in surprise.

“Yeah,” you pressed out, your mind starting to lose focus as he was moving inside of you, “it’s sexy.”

“That’s good to hear,” he whispered into your skin before adding a second digit and curling them inside of you. You arched off the table at the sensation of it, your body instinctively trying to get away from the intense feeling, but his other hand on your hip kept you in place. He gradually increased his pace, his fingers mercilessly abusing the sensitive spots inside of you and you were already feeling like you were losing your mind. When he moved his thumb back to your clit, applying just the right kind of pressure, you snapped almost immediately, your high washing over you in a sudden and intense wave. Yunho wasn’t letting up quite yet though, still working his skillful hands and prolonging your orgasm until the over sensitivity made you whine. When he finally pulled away, he looked at his fingers for a moment, admiring your glistening juices on them before he licked them clean one by one.

“That was nice,” he said with a smile, as if you had just done him a service and not the other way round. Still, you agreed with a hazy nod. 

He pulled your panties back into place before leaning in for a kiss. “How about I take you out for a coffee sometime?”

“So, uh, what if I don’t want to just fuck him?”

“Weren’t we over this?” Wooyoung took a sip of his beer, before your words really registered, “Wait, are you saying you have feelings for him?!”

“I—I don’t know, he’s just—” you dropped your face onto the table with a sigh, “he’s just so charming.”

"See?" San said with a triumphant grin, "So much for a quick fix."

“Well, then I hope you at least got his number.”

Now a smile spread on your lips, too, “I even got that coffee invite.”

masterlist | pls consider reblogging if you enjoyed this~

[daniellesis54]

My wife was a little reluctant to the idea of chastity. She didn't understand why I was turned on by having my manhood taken away. It didn't take her long to realize how much she enjoyed my increased attentiveness and obedience. It wasn't really a conscious decision, but I did notice how into became increasingly submissive and needy the longer I was caged.

My original suggestion was for a night or a weekend, but she quickly extended each lock up longer and longer until I was in chastity more often than not. Not only was I more helpful, but she discovered how much she enjoyed teasing me. Just brushing her ass or hand against me, wearing a low-cut shirt or bringing up my cage, brought me to my knees, straining against my prison. Her interest was such that she even bought me a new smaller metal cage because she felt it was more secure and wanted me to feel the cage when when I was soft.

Other than her taking charge of our relationship, not much else has changed for several months. My wife would release me when she wanted to use my dick or reward me, but most nights, I spent qith my head between her legs after I finished my chores. She discovered she enjoyed oral much more when there was no expectation to return the favor.

One night, I made the mistake of complaining about how my cage kept slipping during the day. She decided tighter underwear would solve the issue and put me in one of her cotton thongs. While it did solve the problem, it also was the beginning of my complete emasculation. Within a week, my underwear was replaced with panties, and it wanted long before she was dressing me up in her clothes or paining my nails.

It's strange because those are things I would have never let happen before I was locked in chastity. I'm not sure if it was the inability to get hard or how small I looked and felt in my cage, but I barely resisted when she suggested it. I didn't enjoy it when she fe.inozed me, but I did enjoy how happy it made her and how humiated I felt, and eventually, I had my own section of the closet.

My wifes new found enjoyment of domination and humiliation only grew, the further she pushed me. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when she walked into the bedroom with a pair of handcuffs and a stapon. For the first time since she caged me, I flat out refused. Despite how silly I felt, I stood there in my skirt and heels and stood my ground. It didn't take much rubbing on my panties to dissolve my resistance, and before I knew it, I was on my knees in front of her dick.

It wasn't particularly large but noticeable bigger than mine. She made sure to point out that she was bigger than me before making me suck it. She also made sure to point out how hard i was in my cage while giving her head. Humilated and so horny I was willing to do anything for release I let her bend me over and fuck me. At first, it hurt, and I thought I would be split in half, but after a few minutes I started feeling something else.

Anytime I'm caged, I start feeling pressure behind my balls within a day or two. It's almost enjoyable but mostly frustrating, like and itch you can't scratch. Her strapon not only scratched the itch but pounded it into another state of existence. I shook and screamed and came over and over helplessly impaled on her dick until she finally took mercy on me.

She hasn't released me from chastity since that night, and when she introduced her bigger strap on, i discovered how much size matters. Now, she takes me out regularly to tease me about picking up a well-endowed stud to fuck both of us. Making me pick out guys and comment on their bulges. was pretty sure she would never actually do it. That's when he walked up and introduced himself. I wanted to run away, but I knew my wife was interested and that I wouldn't.

We went back to his room, and my anxiety was noticeable. I didn't want this to happen. It was too much and too fast. Then he handed me a glass of champagne and while standing in front of me i could clearly see the outline of his cock. It was so massive that my jaw actually dropped, and I blushed. They both laughed at my reaction, and he suggested I get a better look at it. I was so nervous I couldn't move, and my wife quickly stepped in and undid his belt and zipper. She release his unbelievably large cock and it swung out nearly hitting me in the face.

At that moment a switch flipped inside of my brain and all I could think about was how much I wanted that cock inside of me. I felt instantly inferior and submissive and like my only purpose in life was to worship the gods like cock in front of me. His size was overwhelming, and despite my wifes hands and guidance supporting me, I barely got the head in my mouth. I did my best to show him how incredible he was and how much I needed his big dick. I told him all the things I ever fantasized that I woman would say to me.

It wasn't long before he had me down to by bra and panties and was standing between my trembling g legs. He complimented me on how smooth my legs were and asked if I was ready to become a real girl. Before I could even answer, he forced his massive head inside of me. I screamed that he was too big and splitting me in half but he only held me down and condensendingly told me that it's ok and to relax.

I hated him more than anything I had ever hated at that moment. He had no idea what it was like to be impaled helplessly on such a big dick. He wasn't gentle like my wife and befoe he even got half of it inside of me I knew I would be sore for days. The pain did subside, and I wish I could tell you more about that night, but I barely remember the next day.

After the start of the first orgasm he forced out of my body the night gets really fuzzy. I know he made me cum over and over until I was begging him to paint my insides with his cum. I know my wife got herself off several times watching him dominate me. I remember the sounds of her cumming as hard and frequently as it. I also remember being woke up to suck his dick in the early morning before it was even sunrise. Other than that, the only thing I knew when I limped out of his room was that I would do anything to get fucked by him again. I even told him that several times as he walked us out and my wife still can't get over how much of a slut his big dick made me.

I completely agree Babe!!!

[ch0llies]

YOU ARE IN LOVE | MATTHEW STURNIOLO.

oneshot - matt x reader

It’s the night before you leave for college, and like always, you’re spending it with Matt- your best friend since preschool, the boy who has been by your side through everything. With only hours left before everything changes, the unspoken bond between you two presses against the surface, begging to be acknowledged. Will you fight it like you always have, pretending it’s nothing? Or will you finally say the three words that have been sitting on your tongue for years?

story warnings: fluffy as fuck, smut, oral (fem receiving), angst (if u squint), love confession, both characters are 18, and i think that’s it tbh. If any of these topics upset you… don’t read!

word count: 8k

for @mattsobvimyfav 💙

The room is bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights, their golden hue flickering against the ceiling. The hum of quiet music plays from your record player, the familiar melody of You Are In Love by Taylor Swift threading through the air like a whisper. The night feels heavy, thick with the weight of time slipping away, with the things left unsaid.

You pull the blanket up to your chin, sinking further into your pillows as a shiver runs down your spine. Your head is pounding, your body aching, and your throat burns every time you swallow. It’s just your luck- you’re leaving tomorrow, and instead of spending this night making memories, you’re curled up in bed, feverish and miserable.

And yet, you don’t feel alone. Matt is here.

He’s been here all night, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside your bed, flipping through one of your cliche romance books on your nightstand absentmindedly. His messy brown hair falls into his eyes, and every now and then, he pushes it back with an exasperated little sigh. You wonder if he realizes how much he does that.

“You should sleep,” he murmurs, not looking up from the page he isn’t actually reading.

“I don’t want to,” you mumble, voice hoarse.

He finally glances up, blue eyes soft with something unreadable. He sets the book down and leans his elbows on the mattress, close enough that you can see the worry creased in his brows. “You’re sick. You need rest.”

You shake your head, the movement making you dizzy. “If I sleep, I’ll wake up, and it’ll be tomorrow.”

And tomorrow, you’re leaving. The words aren’t spoken, but Matt hears them anyway. He swallows, his throat bobbing, and you watch as he wrestles with something in his head.

Instead of answering, he reaches forward, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. His skin is cool against your warmth, and the simple touch sends a shiver through you- not from fever, but from him.

“Still hot,” he murmurs. “Let me get you some water.”

He moves to stand, but you grab his wrist weakly, stopping him.

“Stay,” you whisper.

He exhales, settling down beside you in bed, his fingers ghosting over your knuckles. It’s nothing- just the softest brush of skin against skin but your breath catches anyway.

The song plays on loop in the background. Your record player is older than the both of you combined and will sometimes repeat a certain track over and over and over.

It just happens that it’s this song.

Your eyelids feel heavy, but you fight against it, desperate to hold onto this moment, to him.

“Are you scared?” you ask suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.

Matt doesn’t answer right away. He shifts, his fingers curling slightly against yours, like he’s debating whether to hold your hand. “Of what?” he asks.

“Of everything changing.”

Silence stretches between you, and then- so quiet you almost don’t hear it- he says, “Yeah.”

Your chest aches, and it has nothing to do with your fever. You turn your head toward him, blinking drowsily. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” you murmur.

He looks at you, brows knitting together. “What is?”

“How you can be around someone for so long and never really say the things you want to say.”

Matt stills. For a long moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even breathe. His eyes search yours, something unreadable flickering behind them- something fragile, something breaking.

His fingers twitch against yours. You wait, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

Then, so quietly it’s almost lost in the music, he asks, “What do you want to say?”

Your heart stumbles over itself. You open your mouth, but no words come out. Maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t know how to say it- how to put into words what’s been building inside you for so long.

So instead, you just whisper, “I don’t want this night to end.”

And Matt…Matt, who always finds the words, who never stumbles over what he wants to say, just looks at you, like he understands everything you mean without you having to say it.

Like maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

He shifts closer. Your hands brush, and he doesn’t pull away this time.

The silence between you is thick, filled with everything neither of you are saying, everything you want to say but can’t. The fever weighs heavy on your body, making your limbs feel like they’re sinking into the mattress, but the warmth of Matt beside you keeps you tethered.

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, still close, still there. His fingers brush absently against the blanket draped over you, like he wants to hold your hand but isn’t sure if he should.

“You’re gonna love college,” he says after a while, his voice gentle, careful. “You’re gonna meet so many new people, take cool classes, do all that independent adult stuff.”

You let out a weak, dry laugh. “That’s a nice way of saying you’ll be drowning in assignments and have an existential crisis once a week.”

Matt snorts. “Yeah, well. You’ve been preparing for that your whole life.”

You shake your head, staring up at the ceiling, watching the fairy lights blur as your exhaustion deepens. “I don’t feel ready.”

Matt is quiet for a moment, like he’s letting your words settle between you. Then, he exhales and says, “I’ll visit you. You know that, right? It’s not like I’m just gonna disappear off the face of the earth.”

You turn your head to look at him, your tired eyes searching his. “It’s not the same, Matt.”

Something flickers in his expression, something vulnerable, something he doesn’t want you to see. He quickly masks it with a small smile, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know,” he murmurs. “But I’ll still be there. However you need me to be.”

Your throat tightens, and not just from the sickness. Because Matt has always been there.

Ever since the first day of preschool, when you found him crying behind the jungle gym at recess, small and overwhelmed and anxious. His triplet brothers had rushed off ahead, caught up in their own excitement, leaving him behind, and he didn’t know what to do.

So you had just… sat down next to him. Quiet, patient. You didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t try to fix it. You just stayed, let him feel what he was feeling.

And then, after a moment, you had whispered the words that changed everything.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Matt sniffled, blinking up at you with wide, watery eyes. “Really?”

You nodded, swinging your little legs beneath you. “Yeah. We can play together.”

And from that moment on, you were inseparable.

Years passed, and things changed- new schools, new friends, different phases of life- but Matt was always the one thing that stayed constant. The one person you could always turn to, the one person who knew you, even when you didn’t know yourself.

And now you’re supposed to leave him behind?

Matt must sense the thoughts racing through your mind because he suddenly clears his throat and murmurs, “You know, if you wake up with a fever, your mom won’t let you go.”

Your heart stutters.

“You’ll have to wait,” he continues, voice light, teasing, but his eyes say something else.

Your lips part slightly, chest tightening.

“I really hope I wake up with a fever,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Matt lets out a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He looks down at his hands, playing with the hem of his hoodie. “You don’t mean that,” he says, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything.

“I do,” you insist, turning toward him fully now. “I don’t want to leave you, Matt.”

He presses his lips together, his jaw tightening, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

For the first time since you’ve known him, Matt looks lost for words.

Then, all at once the weight of everything crashes down all at once. It starts as a small, creeping thought- what if things change? But then it spirals, tangling and twisting until it’s too big to contain. Your chest tightens, your throat constricts, and suddenly, you can’t just lie here.

You sit up too fast, the dizziness from your fever making your head spin, but you don’t care.

“What if you forget about me?” The words tumble out, breathless, desperate. “What if you go to community college and meet cooler people? What if you realize you don’t even want to visit me? What if-” Your voice wavers, and suddenly, there’s a lump in your throat so big it hurts.

Matt’s eyes widen slightly, and he sits up immediately, his hands hovering near you, unsure if he should touch you or give you space.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, voice gentle but firm, like he’s trying to ground you, to pull you back from the edge of whatever storm is brewing inside your head. “Slow down.”

But you can’t.

You shake your head, chest rising and falling too fast. “What if everything changes and we don’t talk as much and then it turns into barely talking at all and one day we just become strangers who used to be best friends-”

Your breath stutters. You’re trying not to cry, but your eyes are burning, your hands are shaking, and your body feels too hot, too overwhelmed, too everything.

Matt moves before you can spiral any further.

He grabs your hands, his touch steady, warm, real. “Y/N.”

You look up at him, your vision blurry, your breaths uneven.

And then so soft and so certain, he says the same thing you said to him all those years ago, when he was just a scared little kid on the playground, left behind, lost.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Something inside you cracks.

The words settle deep in your chest, in the place where all the fear and doubt have been building, and suddenly, you’re eight years old again, sitting next to a crying Matt, holding his hand, telling him the same thing.

You had meant it then.

And he means it now.

A shaky breath escapes you, and Matt squeezes your hands tighter, like he’s anchoring you here, keeping you from slipping away into your own thoughts.

“You hear me?” he murmurs. “No matter where you go, no matter how much time passes- Im not going anywhere.”

Your chin trembles, and this time, you can’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks.

Matt doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, holding you like he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.

You grip his hoodie, pressing your face against him, breathing in the familiar scent of home. Of him. The warmth of it against your cheek is grounding, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear calming your own. His arms stay wrapped around you, strong and unwavering, even as your breathing slowly evens out.

Neither of you move for a long time. The same song hums softly in the background for the millionth time, the fairy lights flickering against the walls, casting shadows that feel softer now, less suffocating.

Matt is the first to break the silence.

“Feeling better?” he murmurs, his chin lightly resting against the top of your head.

You sniffle. “No.”

A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “Liar.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, though he doesn’t let go of you entirely. His face is inches from yours, his eyes searching, like he’s making sure you’re okay before he lets himself relax.

For a second, you just stare at each other, the weight of the moment pressing down on you again.

You exhale, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Is there anything you’ve never told me before?”

Matt stills. “…What?”

You shrug, your voice light but a little shaky. “I don’t know. Just… before I go, I wanna get things off my chest. Feels like the right time, you know?”

His expression shifts, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Like what?”

You purse your lips, suddenly feeling nervous, but you push through.

“Well,” you start, biting the inside of your cheek, “one time I cheated at Wii Bowling and blamed Chris.”

Matt blinks at you, his body frozen.

You don’t notice.

“And another time, that girl in tenth grade- the one I hated- she wrote you a Valentine and left it in your locker, and I threw it out before you could see it.”

Matt doesn’t move.

You keep going.

“Oh, and once, you let me borrow your hoodie, and I got a stain on it, so I shoved it under my bed and told you I lost it. And I only found it, like, six months later, but at that point, it was too late to tell you, so- ”

“I think I’ve been in love with you since we met.”

Your breath catches.

The words hit you like a sudden drop, like the floor has disappeared from beneath you and suddenly everything feels way too real.

You blink at him, your lips parting slightly. “You’re…What?”

Matt exhales, his grip tightening around your hands, his expression so open, so vulnerable, you almost can’t breathe.

“I-” he murmurs, shaking his head, his voice rough with something you can’t quite name. “I- I thought you were gonna say it. I thought you were finally gonna say it, and when you didn’t, I just-” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard. “I can’t let you leave without knowing.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, racing, tripping, trying to catch up.

Matt doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. “I’ve been in love with you since the moment you sat next to me on that playground and told me you’d wait for me.”

The memory rushes back in full force. The small, anxious boy, the way his brothers ran ahead without him, the way you had just sat there, patient and quiet, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

Matt lets out a breath, shaking his head. “I didn’t say anything because I was scared I’d lose you. I didn’t want to ruin this.” His voice drops, softer now, raw. “But you’re leaving, and if I don’t say it now…” He exhales. “I can’t risk you leaving without knowing how I feel.”

Your chest is tight, your mind spinning, but the only thing you can focus on is him.

Your mouth parts slightly, but no words come out. Your mind feels like it’s moving too fast and too slow all at once, trying to grasp onto the reality of what’s happening- of what he just said.

You blink at him, your breath unsteady.

“…Matt, why-” your voice is barely above a whisper, trembling, “why didn’t you say anything?”

Matt exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, like he’s been holding this in for years- because he has.

“Because I was terrified,” he admits, his voice rushed, like now that the words have started, he can’t stop them. “I was terrified of losing you, of ruining everything, of making things weird-” He shakes his head, laughing almost bitterly. “I thought maybe it was better to just have you, even if it wasn’t the way I wanted.”

You don’t even know how to breathe, don’t know how to make sense of the fact that Matt has been carrying this inside him all this time.

And then he just keeps going, like all the love he’s held back is pouring out now, raw and unfiltered.

“I-” He swallows, his hands gripping yours tighter, like he’s afraid you might slip away. “I’ve memorized you. Every little thing about you.” His voice turns softer, more certain. “I could pick out your laugh in a room of ten thousand people.”

“The way your eyes twinkle when you’re really, really happy,” he continues, almost breathless. “And how you get that tiny dimple in your left cheek, but only when you smile a certain way. How you furrow your brows when you’re confused, and you don’t even realize you do it.”

He’s looking at you like he’s seeing everything- like you are everything.

“When you’re scared, you always cover your ears first, like the noise is the worst part,” he murmurs. “And when you’re nervous, you play with the hem of your sleeve, and when you’re thinking really hard about saying something, you chew on your bottom lip like you’re debating whether or not to say it out loud.”

Matt doesn’t stop. It’s like now that he’s started, he can’t stop, like every single thing he’s been holding back is tumbling out all at once, raw and unfiltered. His grip tightens on your hands like he needs you to hear him, understand him, feel everything he’s saying.

“I know the way your voice sounds when you’re tired,” he continues, his voice softer now, like a confession. “That quiet, raspy little hum you get when you’re about to fall asleep.”

His eyes flicker over your face, memorizing you even though he already knows every single detail.

“I know the exact way your nose scrunches up when something annoys you,” he murmurs, his lips twitching slightly. “And the way you roll your eyes when you pretend to be mad but you’re not really mad, because if you were, you’d get quiet instead.”

Your throat feels tight, your chest aching with something too big to hold.

Matt exhales, shaking his head. “I know you hate the sound of ticking clocks because it makes you anxious. And I know you never finish your drinks because you get distracted halfway through and forget they exist.”

He laughs a little, but it’s breathless, almost disbelieving, like he can’t believe he’s actually saying all of this out loud.

“I know you love thunderstorms, but only when you’re inside and wrapped in a blanket,” he continues. “And that you get weirdly emotional when you see old couples holding hands because you think love like that is rare.”

Your vision blurs, tears threatening to spill because how… how has he always known?

“I know you like your fries extra crispy, but your cookies extra soft,” he says, shaking his head with a fond little smile. “And you always order the same thing at restaurants, even when you say you’re gonna try something new.”

Your breath is shaky, your hands trembling in his. Matt’s eyes darken, his voice turning softer, more careful.

“I know the way you look when you’re sad,” he whispers. “And the way you look when you’re sad but you don’t want anyone to know.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, gentle, reverent.

“And I know that every single time you smile,” he murmurs, his voice almost breaking, “I fall a little more in love with you.”

You suck in a breath.

Matt just looks at you, his heart in his eyes, his love written in every single thing he’s ever noticed, ever memorized, ever felt.

And for the first time in your life, you realize he hasn’t just loved you for a while.

He’s loved you forever.

Your breath is shaky, your chest so full it feels like you might burst.

You stare at Matt, his words still ringing in your ears, sinking into your skin, wrapping around your heart like they were always meant to be there.

And then, suddenly, it hits you.

He’s loved you forever.

And he never told you.

A new kind of emotion surges through you- one you can’t quite name, something between heartbreak and frustration, something that feels like God, why did we waste so much time?

Your hands tighten in his.

“Matt,” you whisper, your voice trembling, “why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He blinks, thrown off by the shift in your tone. “I- I told you, I was scared-”

You shake your head, your eyes burning, your heart pounding. “Matt, I would’ve spent my whole life with you.”

His lips part slightly, his breath catching, but you don’t stop.

“You’ve had me, Matt,” you whisper, voice breaking. “Since the day you met me. You just didn’t know.”

Matt’s grip on your hands tightens, like he’s trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. “I-”

“I wouldn’t have looked at anyone else,” you continue, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I wouldn’t have wanted to. Because it was always you.”

Matt swallows hard, his throat bobbing, his entire body frozen as he watches you- like he can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth.

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, raw and aching. “I thought I was crazy. I thought I was the only one who felt it, and I was so scared of losing you that I never said anything, either. I’m sorry.”

A small, choked sound escapes Matt’s lips_ somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You shake your head, your hands still gripping his. “We could’ve had so much more time-”

Matt doesn’t let you finish.

Before you can even process it, his hands cup your face, and suddenly his lips crash into yours and it’s like everything in the universe shifts into place.

For a moment, you freeze, too overwhelmed, too shocked, too full of everything you’ve ever wanted but never thought you’d have. But then your body reacts before your mind can catch up, your hands gripping onto his hoodie, pulling him closer, your lips moving against his like they were meant to.

It’s desperate and soft all at once, like he’s trying to make up for years in a single kiss. Like he’s trying to prove to you that you were never crazy, never alone in this- that it’s always been him, and it’s always been you.

But then you remember your fever.

You gasp, breaking the kiss, hands pressing lightly against his chest to put just enough space between you. “Wait- Matt, I don’t want to get you sick.”

His eyes are dark, his breath uneven, and for a second, he just stares at you- like he’s been starving for this, for you, for so long, and he just got a taste, and he can’t bear to stop now.

Then, he exhales a shaky laugh, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “I’ve been sick for the past eighteen years because I haven’t been able to do this.”

And then he kisses you again.

Slower this time, but somehow deeper, more intense. Like he’s pouring every unspoken word, every what if, every year of love he kept locked away into you.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, and he groans softly against your lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

Then, without breaking the kiss, Matt shifts- his hands finding your waist, his body moving over yours until you’re beneath him, his weight pressing into you in the most perfect way.

You barely have time to react before he’s kissing you harder, like he wants to memorize every inch of you like this, like he wants to ruin the space between you so it never exists again.

His hands move slowly- tracing the curves of your body like he’s worshiping you, like he can’t believe you’re real. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then down your jaw, then to the side of your neck, where his fingers press just slightly, feeling your pulse race under his touch.

“God,” he breathes against your lips, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You whimper softly, and that’s all it takes. Matt’s lips move to your jaw, then to your neck, kissing you so slowly, so intimately, like he wants to take his time, like he’s savoring the moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing over the spot just below your ear.

Your fingers dig into his back, your breath coming faster, and Matt groans at the feeling, his hands gripping your waist tighter, pressing you further into the mattress.

He moves with a kind of reverence you’ve never felt before, like he’s worshiping every inch of you, like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.

His lips leave a slow, burning trail along your jaw, down the curve of your neck, lingering just enough to make you shiver beneath him. His hands stay steady on your waist, his grip firm but careful, like he’s afraid to rush this- like he needs to savor it.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Because the way Matt is touching you, the way he’s looking at you, says more than words ever could.

His fingers brush against the hem of your shirt, hesitating for just a second, his breathing uneven. Then, he glances up at you, his eyes dark, filled with something so raw, so intense, it makes your whole body warm.

“Can I?” he murmurs, his voice rough but gentle.

You nod, barely able to breathe, and that’s all he needs.

With deliberate, careful hands, he lifts your shirt up and over your head, letting it drop somewhere on the floor.

His gaze flickers over you, his chest rising and falling faster now, his hands ghosting over your sides, your stomach, like he’s committing every detail of you to memory.

“God,” he breathes, his voice almost broken. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

His lips are on your collarbone, slow and warm, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses down the center of your chest.

Your body trembles beneath him, and he feels it, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he moves lower.

His lips trace along the curves of your ribs, your stomach, his pace agonizingly slow, so intimate, like he wants to worship every inch of you.

Every press of his lips sends heat pooling through you, makes your breath hitch, makes your fingers instinctively reach for him- except he doesn’t let you take control.

This is his moment. His chance to show you exactly what he’s felt for years.

Matt’s lips return to your chest, his mouth brushing over your peaked nipple, his tongue flicking just barely before his lips close around you, sucking gently, teasing, making you arch into him.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, and Matt groans at the sound, his grip on you tightening, his body pressing closer.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with something desperate, something needy.

And then, slowly, so slowly, his lips continue their path downward, kissing, teasing, taking his time.

Because for Matt this isn’t just a moment.

This is everything.

Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every suppressed urge finally unraveling all at once.

His hands trace the curves of your body with reverence, memorizing, savoring. His lips ghost over your collarbone, down the center of your chest, mapping you like you’re something sacred-because to him, you are.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes, his voice almost a plea, his forehead pressing against your stomach as his fingers flex against your hips. He needs to hear it, needs to know that this isn’t just his own longing finally overflowing, but yours too.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently until he looks up at you, his blue eyes dark with need, with something deeper than want.

“I want this. I want you,” you whisper, and it’s all the permission he needs.

A shaky breath leaves his lips before he resumes his path downward, kissing, tasting, worshiping every inch of you like he’s been starving for this, for you, for longer than he even wants to admit.

Matt’s fingers hook into the waistband of your sweatpants, his movements slow as he tugs them down inch by inch. His lips never leave your skin, pressing soft, lingering kisses down your stomach, his breath warm and uneven against you.

His eyes flicker up, meeting yours through the dim light, and the look in them is nothing short of worship.

“You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” he murmurs..

He slides your underwear down your legs, his fingertips barely grazing your skin, but it sends a shiver through you. His hands are firm yet gentle, grounding you in the weight of his touch. And then, once you’re bare beneath him, he just looks. Drinks you in like you’re something sacred.

His breath hitches as he presses his lips to the inside of your thigh, his grip tightening like he’s barely holding himself together. And he isn’t.

Because the way he wants you- it’s all-consuming.

His hips rut against the mattress, seeking friction, unable to help himself. His need for you, for this, is so intense it borders on unbearable.

His breath fans over your skin, warm and uneven, as he lingers there, lips hovering just shy of where you need him most. His fingers press into your thighs, thumbs tracing slow, mindless patterns, like he’s trying to ground himself- but it isn’t working.

“God,” Matt exhales, his voice wrecked, half a whisper, half a plea. His forehead briefly drops against your inner thigh, like he’s trying to steady himself, trying to hold back, but the restraint is slipping.

He presses another kiss there, softer this time. Then another. His nose brushes against your skin, and you can feel the way his breath shakes, the way his hands flex like he’s fighting every urge to lose himself completely.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs.

His lips part against your skin, warm and soft as he drags them over the sensitive flesh, barely there, just a ghost of a touch. He presses another kiss, firmer this time, his breath spilling hot against you before his tongue flicks out, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your thigh. He lingers, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses, his tongue flattening against your skin before he pulls away just enough to let the cool air chase the warmth he leaves behind.

His fingers flex, thumbs smoothing up and down the insides of your thighs in lazy, absentminded strokes, like he’s savoring the way your body reacts to him. He kisses higher, a little closer, but still teasing, still holding back, his nose brushing against you as he exhales another shaky breath. His lips part again, and this time, his tongue drags in a slow, unhurried line, tasting, testing, his grip tightening when your body tenses beneath him.

“Mmph- yeah baby that feels good,” you moan softly.

A quiet, broken sound escapes him as he finally gets a taste of you. One that sends a sharp jolt of heat through you, because it’s not just about what he’s doing- it’s about what this is doing to him. The restraint, the desperation, the way he’s been holding himself back only to finally give in, to finally let himself fall.

He tilts his head and licks you again, slower this time, dragging it out. His pace is torturous, every movement deliberate, like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to unravel you inch by inch. He sucks gently, his lips sealing over sensitive skin, his tongue flicking in short, teasing strokes before he pulls back just enough to let his breath fan over the damp heat he’s left behind.

His hands move, one sliding up to press firmly against your lower stomach, holding you in place, keeping you right where he wants you. The other ghosts higher, fingers brushing, tracing, exploring without urgency. He presses another kiss, softer this time, then another, his tongue flicking between them, lazy and unhurried.

He groans again like he’s savoring every second, like the taste of you is something he wants to commit to memory. His mouth opens wider, his tongue pressing flat and slow, dragging, circling, before he pulls away just enough to murmur against your skin, his lips brushing with every syllable.

“So damn sweet.”

Matt shifts slightly, settling in like he has no intention of rushing this, no desire to do anything but take his time and savor every second. His breath is warm, steadying, as he nudges his nose against you before his lips part once more. He starts with another slow, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue flicking out just enough to tease, to taste, before he pulls back and does it again.

“Oh my- fuck.” you cry out, hands flying down to tangle into his brown locks.

Then he presses in deeper, his tongue flattening against you, warm and wet as he drags it through your folds again with an unhurried precision. He hums low in his throat, the vibrations sending a shiver straight through you as he licks again, savoring the way you react beneath him as he explores, his tongue slipping between your folds, swirling, tracing, tasting.

Then he latches on, his lips sealing over you as he sucks, slow and deep, his tongue flicking in teasing strokes before he pulls back just enough to let his breath spill hot over your leaking cunt. He groans, a deep, needy sound, before he leans back in, sucking again, harder this time, his mouth working against you in slow, deliberate pulls.

“Yeah baby- Matt-” you moan, pulling his dark hair between your fingers as he hits your sweet spot again.

His tongue flicks out between each pull, circling, teasing, slipping lower before he sucks again, his lips wrapping around your folds as he draws them into his mouth, slurping softly, unashamed, like he’s lost in this, in you. He lingers, his tongue pressing and swirling, tasting every inch, every drop, before he shifts slightly and does it again, his pace slow, torturous, precise.

Every movement is deliberate, every pull of his lips, every flick of his tongue, every slow, wet slurp as he drinks you in like he can’t get enough. His fingers flex against your thighs, his grip tightening as he tilts his head, angling himself just right as his tongue moves with purpose, slow and deep, before he latches on again, sucking, savoring, swallowing every sound, every reaction you give him.

His eyes flutter as he shifts, pressing himself closer like he physically can’t stand the distance. His mouth is soft, wet, and devastatingly slow as he licks through your folds, savoring every inch, every taste. His tongue flattens against you before he pushes it deeper, slipping inside you with a slow, deliberate stroke. His groan is muffled, vibrating against you as he thrusts his tongue in again, slick and hot, his hands gripping you tighter to hold you steady.

“Fuck baby yeah- mmph- right there, yeah-” you blab underneath him.

He pulls back just enough to drag his tongue through your slickness, circling your clit in slow, teasing strokes before dipping back down, pushing his tongue inside you again, fucking you with it in steady, deliberate motions.

His hips stutter against the mattress, barely restrained, and when he groans against you again, it’s deep, needy, and frustrated. He grinds down, seeking friction, his body reacting instinctively to the way you arch beneath him, the way your hands tangle in his hair, tugging, guiding him deeper.

His tongue keeps working in slow, steady thrusts, in and out, pushing deeper each time before he pulls back to flick and circle your clit again. His lips wrap around it, sucking softly, then harder, before he licks back down, slipping his tongue inside you again, dragging out the sensation, stretching it, making sure you feel every inch of him.

He hums against you, his pleasure evident in the way his hips roll into the mattress, the way his breath stutters between each stroke of his tongue. His pace never falters, never rushes. Just deep, slow, purposeful movements, his mouth working you over as he grinds down, chasing his own relief against the bed.

His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes in again, tongue pressing deep before pulling out in a slick, slow drag. Then his mouth is back on your clit, sucking, teasing, worshipping, while his hips rut into the mattress, desperate, uncontrolled, his body reacting to yours like he’s just as lost in this as you are.

The tension between you coils tighter and tighter, pleasure building with every slow, unhurried touch as he continues that same pattern.

Matt can feel it. The way your body starts to tense beneath him, the way your thighs tremble in his grip, the way your breath turns ragged and uneven. He knows you’re close, knows you’re teetering right on the edge, and fuck, it does something to him. His hips jerk harder against the mattress, grinding down in slow, desperate rolls as he groans into you, his mouth sealing over your clit with renewed urgency.

His tongue flicks over your sensitive bundle of nerves in steady, deliberate strokes, dragging slow before wrapping his plump lips around it and sucking it into his mouth, pulling whimpers from you that only make him push himself harder against the bed. His hands tighten even more on your thighs, fingers pressing deep, holding you open for him as he devours you.

The way you react- the way your body arches into him, the way your hands tighten in his hair, pulling, guiding, needing- drives him insane. He groans, a desperate, muffled sound, before sucking harder, his tongue swirling, flicking, stroking. His hips rut into the mattress with growing urgency, each movement perfectly timed with the way his mouth moves against you, like he’s losing himself in the rhythm, in the way you tremble, in the way your breath hitches each time he flicks his tongue just right.

“You’re so close,” he murmurs against you, his voice wrecked, vibrating through every nerve in your body. He licks again, slow but firm, dragging his tongue over your clit in long, wet strokes before sucking it back into his mouth, rolling his hips into the bed with a deep, needy groan.

His movements grow messier, more desperate, his hips grinding down harder, the friction barely enough but still too much. His breath is ragged, his groans coming more frequently now, broken, needy sounds muffled against your slick skin as he buries himself deeper, tongue and lips and hands working you over like he’s determined to pull you apart.

“Come on, baby,” he rasps, barely pulling away, his breath hot against you. “Give it to me.”

And then he’s back on you, tongue flicking, lips sucking, hips rolling into the mattress with frantic, helpless need, completely lost in you, in this, in the way you’re about to fall apart for him.

You’re right there- so close it’s almost unbearable, your thighs trembling beneath his grip, your body arching into his mouth, seeking more, needing more. And Matt knows. He can feel it. He’s so in tune with you that he can tell the exact second you’re about to go under, can tell by the way your breath catches, by the way your fingers tighten in his hair, by the way your body goes tense and ready to break.

You moan, a soft, wrecked sound, and in the midst of it, the words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered and real.

“I love you, Matt.”

The second they leave your lips, Matt falls apart. A choked, wrecked noise rips from his throat as his whole body tenses, his hips jerking into the mattress with a desperate, uncontrollable need. His groan is deep and guttural, vibrating against your clit as his entire body shudders, his grip on your thighs tightening almost painfully as pleasure crashes over him in waves.

And at the same time, he pulls you with him.

His mouth doesn’t stop, his tongue flicking, sucking, lapping at you with frantic, desperate movements, completely consumed by the feeling of you, by your words, by the way you moan his name as you shatter beneath him. The vibrations of his groans send shockwaves through you, tipping you over the edge with him, your body trembling as you crash into your orgasm, every nerve igniting under his touch.

Matt’s hips stutter against the mattress, rolling through the aftershocks as he whimpers against you, his body wrecked, spent, completely undone. His grip on you doesn’t loosen, his mouth still moving lazily against you, tasting, savoring, dragging out every last bit of your pleasure even as his own leaves him shaking.

Finally, he stills, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. His forehead drops onto your thigh, his hands smoothing over your legs as he presses soft, lingering kisses against you, like he’s grounding himself, like he’s trying to process what just happened.

And then, barely above a whisper, he breathes, “Fuck, I love you too.”

His breath is still uneven, his body still trembling slightly as he presses soft, open-mouthed kisses against your inner thigh, his hands stroking soothing circles over your skin. He nuzzles against you, like he can’t quite bring himself to pull away, like he’s still lost in the moment, in you.

“God, I love you,” he murmurs, voice thick, still wrecked. He presses another kiss, this one softer, almost reverent, before whispering again, “I love you so much.”

But then, as the haze starts to clear, his touch falters. His brows furrow slightly, his breath hitching as he lifts his head and really looks at you. Your skin is still warm- too warm. The fever that had you curled up and miserable earlier hasn’t completely broken, and the realization crashes over him all at once.

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing himself up slightly, his hands immediately going to your face, brushing your hair back, feeling your forehead. His expression shifts, guilt flashing across his features as his lips press into a thin line. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” His voice is softer now, filled with worry as he cups your face, his thumb stroking over your cheek. “I- I shouldn’t have done that. I wasn’t thinking. You’re still sick.”

His eyes search yours, concern bleeding into every inch of him. “Do you need anything? Water? Medicine? A blanket?” His hands are already moving, like he’s ready to jump up and grab anything you might possibly need. “I’m so sorry, baby, I-”

But you don’t let him go anywhere.

Instead, you reach up, grab his wrist, and tug him down until his body is pressed flush against yours, his head resting against your bare chest. He tenses for half a second before melting into you, exhaling shakily as you wrap your arms around him, fingers threading through his hair, holding him close.

“I’ve never felt better,” you murmur, voice soft, sincere.

Matt lets out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, and buries his face against your tits, his lips brushing over your skin as his arms slide around your waist, pulling you in tighter. His body is warm, solid, grounding, and for a moment, he just lays there, listening to the steady beat of your heart beneath his cheek.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, pressing a lingering kiss against your chest. But there’s no frustration in his voice, just quiet, exhausted affection.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, just breathing, just feeling. Matt’s weight is warm and solid against you, his head resting against your chest as his fingers lazily trace along your side. His breath is still a little uneven, but there’s something peaceful about the way he holds you, like he never wants to move.

But then, after a few minutes, he shifts slightly and mutters, “Fuck, I need to clean you up.” He pauses, groaning softly as he shifts again. “And I, uh, need to take care of myself too.”

You blink, tilting your head down to look at him. “Wait,” you murmur, teasing. “Are you still hard?” You grin slightly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Do you want me to blow you?”

You barely start to sit up before Matt’s entire body tenses against you. He jerks back slightly, his breath catching as his vision momentarily swims. “Oh- shit,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, like just the thought alone was enough to make him dizzy.

Then, with a reluctant groan, he shakes his head. “As much as that sounds fucking incredible… I, uh…” His voice drops a little, and suddenly, he’s fidgeting, shifting awkwardly as he clears his throat. “I already came.”

You blink at him, surprised. “Wait, what?”

His face turns bright red, his ears practically glowing as he runs a hand through his messy hair, looking anywhere but at you. “Yeah,” he mutters, clearing his throat again, looking almost painfully embarrassed. “Like… while I was eating you out.”

Your gaze instinctively drops lower, and that’s when you see it- the very obvious, very large stain on the front of his grey sweats. Your cheeks heat instantly, and you swallow, eyes flicking back up to him.

“That’s just from… eating me out?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Matt presses a hand over his face, groaning softly, but he nods. “Yeah.”

Silence hangs between you for a second- awkward and heated all at once, because somehow, that’s both incredibly embarrassing and incredibly hot. Your mind swirls with the thought of him grinding against the mattress, that desperate, that lost in you, that completely wrecked just from tasting you. You wish you had seen it.

He clears his throat again, breaking the tension as he finally forces himself to move. “Okay,” he mutters, shaking his head, like he needs to get himself together. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

Without another word, he rolls off the bed and heads into your bathroom, still visibly flustered. You hear the sound of running water, cabinets opening, and then he’s back, a warm towel in his hands as he kneels beside you. His touch is gentle as he cleans you up, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, his lips pressed together like he’s still processing everything that just happened.

But as he works, his gaze flicks up to yours, and despite the embarrassment lingering in the air, there’s something warm and fond in his eyes.

“Never gonna live this down, am I?” he murmurs, his lips twitching slightly.

You bite your lip, suppressing a smile. “Probably not.”

Matt groans, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

As Matt finishes cleaning you up, you let out a little amused hum and murmur, “It’s okay. I probably would’ve done the same if you let me blow you.”

His entire body locks up. His grip on the towel stills, and he visibly tenses, his breath catching in his throat. For a second, he just stares at you, like his brain short-circuited, before he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s trying to physically push the thought away.

“Sweetheart,” he groans, his voice low and strained. “You gotta stop talking about that or I’m literally gonna break.”

You giggle at his reaction, tilting your head at him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Why don’t you let me, then?”

Matt groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not letting you blow me while you’re sick. You’re not doing anything to me while you’re sick.” His voice softens slightly, his gaze flickering over you with concern. “I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

You sigh dramatically, pouting. “Okaaayy.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond smile playing on his lips as he finishes cleaning you up. Once he’s done, he stands, heading back into the bathroom. You hear the soft rustling of clothes, the wet drop of fabric hitting the floor, and then a moment later, he steps out- now dressed in a fresh pair of sweats and boxers that he’d left at your place before.

When he looks at you, though, his breath catches slightly. You’re still sprawled out on the bed, naked, your body relaxed and already starting to doze off, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks.

His heart clenches at the sight.

With a soft sigh, he walks over, crouching beside the bed and brushing his fingers gently over your arm. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice filled with so much love it makes your chest ache. “Let me get you dressed and bundled up, then you can sleep.”

You let out a little sleepy whine but don’t protest as he carefully slips his own sweatshirt over your head, his hands gentle as he pulls it down over your body. It’s oversized on you, swallowing you up in warmth, and he smiles to himself as he rolls up the sleeves just a bit. Then, he grabs your sweatpants and helps you slip them back on, making sure you’re comfortable before pulling the blankets up around you, tucking you in snugly.

Just as he’s about to stand up and leave, you reach out, grabbing his wrist weakly. Your voice is small, tired, but filled with so much quiet pleading.

“No… please stay with me tonight,” you murmur, blinking up at him sleepily. “You can’t leave.”

Matt exhales softly, his expression melting into something so incredibly tender.

“Okay, baby,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles gently over your cheek before slipping into bed beside you.

The second he does, you shift closer, nuzzling against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly. His warmth seeps into you, his steady heartbeat against your ear lulling you further into sleep.

Matt presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, tightening his hold on you just a little.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You nuzzle closer into Matt’s warmth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatshirt as you bury your face against his chest. His scent, familiar and comforting, fills your senses, and you let out a soft, content sigh.

“I love you, Matt,” you murmur, your voice muffled against him but filled with quiet sincerity.

His arms tighten around you instantly, like he’s holding onto something precious. He exhales softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head before whispering, “I love you too.”

And in that moment, with his heartbeat steady beneath your ear and his arms wrapped securely around you, everything feels right.

No matter what happens tomorrow, no matter where life takes either of you, you know it’ll be okay. Because in the end, you’ll always find your way back to each other.

You’ll always wait for each other.

MASTERLIST

tags: @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[imsofreakingtired]

i need more sevika and masc reader now🙏 you got me giggling like a school girl

ur so real i need more too jdhdhshs

Sevika x masc!reader pt. 2

pt. 1 is here !

her big mama muscles and your baby muscles. she trains you in calisthenics: "one more baby you can do it." "you're doing so well, up up!"

she shadowboxes in the living room at six in the morning and you hear her panting and whispering "one, two" while you brush your teeth

you decide to get a midriff tattoo and she worships it i tell you "if it weren't winter i'd ask you to wear crop tops every day."

she's never more in love with you than when you're wandering around sleepily in boy shorts and a tank top early in the morning, half asleep and ready to swing at anyone who talks to you before you had your caffeine (except sevi ofc)

cursing out all the heteronormative propaganda in old movies (but still watching them because they make nice background noise while you have sex)

smoking weed together on the fire escape of your apartment and stoned sevika ends up emotionally telling you she wishes she were yours but she thinks she's not your type because she's a butch and she thinks you like femmes and she also thinks you're really handsome and if you just gave her one chance,,, ...and you're just staring at her in disbelief thinking "yes...this is the idiot i am in love with,,,this is the beautiful idiot i chose"

sevika comforting you on days when you're just fucked over by gender dysphoria and body image - but the way she does it is so silly you forget to even be sad - words of affirmation are not her strong suit so she just puts on your funky tinted sunglasses and says "look...these glasses make everyone look like the most perfect version of themselves...and you haven't changed one bit"

sevika asking you to cut her hair and you panic and watch like 5 hours of yt tutorials only for her to be like "babe. i just wanted a trim"

you're obsessed with her neck. like the back of it, the buzzcut hair, the muscles, my god you could just write pages of poetry about the way she looks when she chugs a protein smoothie after a workout

(you did write the poems, she found and read them, and teased you for days after) "how does my NECK look from this angle babe :)" "sevika i will murder you in cold blood"

the two of you aren't big on pet names. she calls you "babe" or "baby" if she's feeling soft. you call her "sevi" or just her name but then one day she's spooning you in bed and you just say "you are my mitten." "what" "because you always keep me warm <3" "stop."

but she's now "mitten" to you. to counter, she calls you Thing. and refuses to elaborate.

you're both touch starved but you're also both too embarrassed to admit it so when one of you DOES initiate a cuddle session neither heaven nor hell could break you apart - um but maybe getting hungry can

speaking of, once a month you can never agree on what to eat for dinner because you both sync up periods and also always crave exactly the opposite things "why. why pad thai of all things right now." "i need NOODLES IN MY MOUTH SEVIKA" "you wanna know what I need in my mouth?"

"sevika" "mm" "gender is a bitch :(" "put that bitch on its ass"

a conservative relative at the family reunion said they couldn't tell if you were a girl or a boy. you tell sevika this later on and she high fives you

fighting over who carries the heaviest bag on vacations "let me carry it for you sevi, you might strain your back 🤪" "i KNOW you did NOT just call me old."

she plays jazz in the mornings while brewing coffee for the both of you, you blast alt rock in the shower

you being ready to fight a bitch in the bar when she tries to flirt with sevika and sevika having to hold you back

...she turns around and sucker punches a man that same night because he catcalled you

it's all fun and games fearless butch x fearless masc enby until you find an enormous roach in the kitchen and it takes the two of you to fight it

one time you had to go on a trip for work and she wore the hoodie you left behind all week because it smelled like you and she missed you

"is that another iced americano???" "sevika you know me. you know i can't live without three iced coffees a day" "but it's 16 degrees." note: this possessed me oh my god. the brainrot is brainrotting a bit too hard rn @mascdom thanks for feeding my obsession 😭

[j-richmond]

Whenever I see "I wrote an rpg" followed by:

"its a conversion of this system"

"Its a hack of this game"

"Its powered by this"

Okay, no. You didn't right an rpg. You took someone else's rpg and made some changes. That's not the same thing.

It CAN be a good and worthwhile exercise on its own. I can point to some amazing examples, and so can you. There are even extreme examples where someone takes another system and really does so much substantial work on it that it becomes its own thing. Monsterhearts? For sure.

But in general? No, you didn't make a game. You took some else's game and did something with it. Maybe something cool. If so, be proud of that. Frame it for what it is and show it off. Innovate in that context. That's great. But don't take someone else's labor and creativity and call it your own.

To be fair, this isn't about indie designers doing a cool hack. I find these designers are almost always very much crediting and acknowledging their source material. I am talking about larger companies who either can't be bothered to design their own games or have no idea how, so just endlessly strip other people's efforts. Fuck that. That's poisonous to all of us.

But also, I wish people would make more original games. No, fuck, I wish people would ONLY make original games. We can learn from each other, and copy each other, and be inspired by each other's creativity, but if everyone just keeps copying homework we're going to end up with an industry and art dominated by generic bullshit. Which we have.

Designing something from the ground up to do what you want it to do, to address and express the themes you want to explore and to actually create the kind of gameplay you're interested in will always produce better results that just hacking someone else's design that was never meant to do that thing to begin with. You can't get blood from a stone, and pouring your OWN BlOOD on the stone doesnt count! Save your blood for your own design.

Which doesn't mean you can't have fun hacking and modding and doing design work on other people's games and systems. That can be great and worthwhile and fun. But if you're going to actually make a fame you owe it to yourself to actually MAKE a game, and not just take someone else's design and modify it till it kind of sort of does what you want. Again, that CAN produce astounding results and be satisfying in its own way,but there's are vast unexplored vistas out the there, and you don't get to them by hacking other people's games. Even really good ones.

It's great to see people in other media getting into writing indie RPGs, and also very entertaining to some of the resulting design choices. They'll be like "hey, I'm making a tabletop RPG adaptation of my VN about cute witches with big dicks", and I'm like cool, and then they're like "it's a full-conversion Lancer mod", and I'm like: huh.

[hexhomos]

hi! what do you wish we saw more of in Jayvik fics?

and are there any tropes you’re tired of?

PLEASE WRITE MORE HERALD VIKTOR STUFF.

PLEAAAAAAAAAASE. IM DYING. IM FADING AWAY. I will look at the tags on a thing and say "are you sure this is herald viktor sir?" and they will laugh "yeah its herald viktor" and then i click on it and its human viktor and he's not even hexcorized. This is a joke based on real anguish. You have to understand how serious this is to me.

I think the arcane herald form can be used so interestingly in post-canon (or in timefuckery stuff, or in AU stuff where he can be a creature/monster/god of another sort) we are the fastest growing league ship tag of all time but i RARELY see him. Jayce’s ending vows were to /that/ guy its not conditional on the way Viktor looks. That's kind of the whole appeal! Jayce is telling him that no matter how much he's changed his feelings will stay the same!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love bodymod stuff and i love monster romance so I'm the usual suspect here but from the bottom of my heart i mourn every time people just make viktor fully vanilla human and able-bodied at the end of arcane. It doesn't feel right. It feels like throwing out his entire arc and Rewarding the idea that he "SHOULD just want to be NORMAL," when really its so much more interesting to explore jayvik as two guys who are irreversibly changed by their choices and by each other and they have to learn how to deal with that together, and maybe even have complex feelings about it.

I really really miss the machine herald flavor of viktor being proud of his augmentations and actively seeking them out when it comes to arcane herald stuff. That is a body he designed for himself. It's so interesting to explore what that means, why his mobility aids are firmly embedded into his skin and still showing, why he might have contradictory feelings after the show ("yeah sure i fucked up but i also chose this and 1000% believed i was right and lowkey, i still like this, I'd much rather be imposing than easily ignored,")

Herald viktor is such a good materialization of his class struggles / gender issues / how viktor is alienated because of his disability. It's him taking everything he's ever been self-conscious about and twisting it into part of his armor. please write more herald viktor stuff. I'm dying here

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Cheshire behind the cut; “the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Do you know what subspace and sub drop are?” Tim asks. 

“Uh . . . no?” Kon says, then frowns a little as he remembers–“You were talking about me dropping something when I was, like, all out of it before, right? So like–is it something with that?” 

“Yes,” Tim says. The way he’s petting Kon’s hair sort of–changes, a little, and Kon gets this weird little thought that it’s suddenly kinda more like Tim’s petting him for himself, more than anything else. Like, as a little–tic, or something, that he’s using to keep his focus. So that’s . . . weird, kinda. Yeah. 

Kon doesn’t even know where that thought came from, really, but . . . 

He’d like to be something Tim could use for that, he thinks, and bites the inside of his lip as he feels his skin heat up over that thought. 

“Did you feel different, when you were subbing?” Tim asks carefully. It’s his “assessing my teammate’s psychological condition” voice again, and also pretty obviously an “I know the answer to this question but I don’t know if you know the answer to this question” kind of question. 

“Yeah,” Kon says, and shrugs a little. “Like–I usually do, when it’s, you know. Good. I just get, uh–a little weird sometimes, I guess? Sorry.” 

Tim frowns. 

“Do you feel . . . mm. Detached? Lightheaded? Or emotional, maybe?” he asks, still careful. It is absolutely another “I know but I want to know if you know” question. Like, for absolute friggin’ certain it is. “When it’s–good, I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Kon says, because he feels all that and a whole lot of other things besides, when it’s good. And even more when it’s this good, really, including a few things that would be sorta embarrassing to admit to and a few things that would be sorta mortifying to admit to. He doesn’t really know why Tim’s asking any of this, but the guy’s asked him weirder shit for less reason, so it’s whatever. “Um. Is that, like . . . I mean, that happens to me sometimes, yeah. Just didn't know it was like, a thing? You know, like–with a name and all.” 

“But you do feel that way?” Tim asks, still just barely frowning. It makes Kon a little bit worried, like maybe it’s a bad thing and he’s–well, it kinda is a bad thing, he guesses. Like . . . definitely not a safe one, even if it makes him feel, like . . . 

Well. Safe, he guesses. 

“Yeah, I mean–I guess I do?” Kon says, and shrugs again. It’s a little more awkward this time, maybe, but it feels like a stupid thing to be evasive about or whatever. “I mean, like I said, I just get a little weird and all. Like, I try not to, think I kinda freaked Wonder Girl out once or twice that way. And like, she said it was okay, but . . .” 

But he hadn’t felt okay about it. Like–very much he had not felt okay about it. He’d felt like a problem, and like he was being weird and selfish and too fucking much and she was maybe finally gonna get sick of him being too much and– 

. . . wait, Kon thinks, and frowns a little himself. He does usually try not to get so, like . . . weird, yeah. But like . . . did he try not to get weird this time? He doesn’t, like . . . remember, if he really . . . 

“You try not to feel like that during the sex, or you try not to feel like that during the aftercare?” Tim asks, which seems like such a bizarre little thing to even bother caring about and kinda makes Kon feel . . . not weird again, but . . . a little . . . lighter, maybe. Like . . . somehow. 

He can’t help thinking about how goddamn fucking good Tim is at Domming, and just how quick he and Bernard had both rattled off their hard no’s and safewords and everything at the start, and how neither of them’s forgotten any of his or acted like they were stupid or annoying, and how much they both talk–how much they both talk during the actual sex, even–and how, like . . . 

When Tim safeworded earlier it was just a thing, and not a thing. 

And neither Tim or Bernard’s gotten freaked out by him getting weird or getting . . . weirder, even. 

So that’s . . . something that Kon can’t help thinking about right now, for whatever reason. 

“Um,” he says, not sure exactly what the fuck he’s feeling about . . . all that shit he can’t help thinking about, he guesses. Just . . . all of that. “Dunno what ‘aftercare’ means either. What’s, uh–that one?” 

It’s probably just something else he already does and just didn’t know had an actual name, Kon figures. “Aftercare” he guesses sounds like something he’d do after, like, the typical morning-after walk-of-shame home–okay, the morning-after flight-of-shame, and also he has zero shame either way so it’s whatever–so maybe it’s something about dealing with the kinda, like–hangover kinda thing that he gets, usually, or just the hangover thing itself, even, maybe that’s a thing that actually isn’t just–

“That's the part where everyone checks in with each other and makes sure no one's upset,” Tim says, and Kon . . . blinks, very slowly. The–what? 

“Uh . . . upset about what?” he asks, and belatedly tries to make the question jokey by adding, “I mean, I’m definitely upset your dick’s not in me right now, but that’s just me being a greedy fuck, you know?” 

“Ngh,” Tim mutters under his breath, his fingers very briefly tightening in Kon’s hair, and then lets out a doors-blowing exhalation. “Upset about how the scene went. Sometimes people talk about what they liked and what they might wanna do differently next time; sometimes it's just making sure everyone's comfortable and gets some food and water in them before they fall asleep and wake up feeling gross.” 

Kon–blinks, again. Remembers Tim coaxing him into drinking the water bottle and feeding him the protein bar bite by bite and not even like a come-on, and even kind of the thing with bringing him the candy, and–there’s a third plate of breakfast on that tray, too. Like . . . that Bernard brought to him. 

Oh, he thinks, and feels weird.

[jadebat7]

a man, a man, a man!!!

frat!bokuto x chubby!reader

summary: who cares if she has a little bit of tummy and big thighs, just more to love!

(lightly inspired by this reel)

You didn't exactly hate parties. In fact, you loved going out with your friends, getting ready before, coming home after and taking off your uncomfortable heels.

College was the time to party, obviously. You were going to party. There's something so cathartic about screaming the lyrics to some 2000s trash pop song.

But this party was not your cup of tea. You always refused to go to frat parties with your friends, doubting you'd even be let in. The frat guys on campus were... to put it simply, assholes.

You saw their sideways stares and snickers with their friends. They never tried to hide it. And really at this point, you were used to it. Too long have you been the punching bag.

It was a miracle that you got in, although it was likely because of your friends. They were both super gorgeous, like, model pretty. You weren't jealous, of course.

That's the thing, you knew you were chubby, you knew you weren't skinny but you didn't care. People can judge you all they want, you think your hot and that's what matters, right?

You followed your friends through the large house, the music reverberating against the walls and banging against your ear drums. The ground shook under your feet, your sneakers were weirdly... sticky? Ew.

Either way, you and your friends found the drinks and made yourselves a random mixture of alcohol in shitty red solo cups.

Your friends had on short skirts and tank tops. They looked amazing, as always. You opted for a pair of jean shorts and a white t-shirt. Simple, and easy. Right?

Wrong.

As you were following your friends through the crowd, you heard laughing and soon someone "accidentally" bumped into you, spilling their drink on you. It was red, of course.

The guy laughed, "Shit- My drink, watch where you're going, hippo"

You rolled your eyes, about to go find a bathroom before,

"Apologize right now," A loud voice spoke, standing in front of you. You looked at him, you could barely see him. All you could see in the darkness was his silhouette and his booming voice.

From what you could see, he was... well, he wasn't too bad to look at.

"What? You seriously asking me to apologize? Maybe if she didn't take up half the room, I wouldn't have ran into her"

You almost laughed, it was a good insult, honestly. A little dramatic, but still.

The man in front of you didn't seem to feel the same. He shook his head, "Fuckin' asshole-"

Before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist and was dragging you away from the small crowd that had formed.

Were you about to get murdered? Possibly. But, like, yolo? His grip on your wrist was firm, but still gentle enough to not hurt you.

As you were dragged away, you heard the same voice shout,

"You wanna fuck that fat bitch so bad"

The man stopped, turning back to look at him.

"And so what if I do? Makes me 10x the man you are."

Eventually, you were upstairs. In a room, which was surprisingly clean. Nice job, mystery man.

Once the door was closed, he looked at you

"Hey! Sorry- Hey, uh, sorry about that."

He was somehow more shy now that the two of you were alone. And now that you got a good look at him, he was actually really fucking attractive, and was pretty muscular.

"My names Bokuto, by the way. Or Kou, maybe Kou is better- I'm not a fan of formalities anyway"

His back was turned to you, searching around in the closet.

"I'm y/n, and, why did you drag me up here? And why did you defend me- I've never met you before"

He looked back at you, "Well, I dragged you up here to get you a change of clothes. And I defended you because no one should talk to a person like that,"

He turned back to look in the closet

"Specially when its a pretty girl"

Did you hear that last part right?

No you were probably hearing things.

You stood awkwardly for a few more seconds before he pulled out a hoodie. It was black with a school crest on the back and some writing on the front.

"This good?"

You looked at the hoodie, sighing.

"Its fine, I'm just gonna go back to my dorm. I don't fit in guys clothes."

He smiled, "You'll fit in mine."

You raised a brow, a small smile forming on your face.

"Really?"

"Really."

You shrugged, taking the hoodie. He turned around and you took off your ruined shirt and put on the hoodie and..

It was actually kind of, big on you?

You looked at it, fighting the smile on your face. "Huh, what do you know"

He turned around, "Told ya"

You rolled your eyes, "I won't admit your right,"

You paused for a few seconds, looking around the room before looking back at him.

"Unless, you go on a date with me?"

He grinned, "You have yourself a deal, pretty girl"

a/n: lowkey also wrote this bc I was SICK of seeing hq x chubby readers where the reader is super shy or not confident, so yeah! The outcome might be a little more cringe than I wanted but whatever!

Reblogs always appreciated!

btw my requests are wide open...

[reptileofdoom]

So last person’s translations are accurate, but the explanation regarding Czech is not. No shade to them, it seems to be born from lack of knowledge regarding English linguistics. As a Czech native speaker and Cambridge C2 certified English speaker here’s some clarification: Czech swears are generally more explicit, but not for the reasons described above.

English and Czech both have diminutive and derogatory words. The principle is the same. Where Slavic languages differ is the sheer amount of flexibility and variety of words.

A “doggy” can be pejsek, but it can also be pejsánek, psík, psíček or hafík. (Last one is derived from hafan, literally meaning “woofer.”) Meanwhile on the derogatory side we have čokl, pesan, psisko, psovina. As one can imagine, this large variety regarding words is why Slavic cursing can be incredibly expressive and vulgar.

(While I can’t speak for more distant Eastern languages, Slavic languages diverged much later than most other language families, and therefore at least when it comes to Slovakian, Polish, etc. I can speak for those languages as well given that I understand a large percentage of them.)

One might have seen this post floating around:

Is there really such a variety when swearing in Czech? Yeah, pretty much. Most words can be modified with a variety of prefixes that change their meanings anywhere from “basically the same meaning” to “another thing entirely” and when applied to curse words can make them very specific.

Srát? “to shit.” not much you can do with it than just describe an action. (bonus meaning: “to be pissing someone off”)

Zasraný? covered in shit. Posraný? has been shit on. Nasraný? angry. Vysraný? has finished shitting. Rozesraný? in the middle of shitting.

That’s just one root word. Words like jebat, kurva/kurvit, mrdat, prdel, píča all have a variety of creative applications - though most people will just have a few favorites they stick with.

Do prdele is a favorite for a reason. It rolls nicely off the tongue (if you’re Slavic). Zkurvený does essentially mean “fucked”, but moreso “fucked by a whore.” Zkurvysyn is a son of a whore. Zjebaný is also “fucked”, but vyjebaný is “fucked till exhaustion” and pojebaný is probably best translated as “fucked intermittently.”

If you wonder why a lot of swearing translations aren’t literal, this is why. Translating any of the above fucked variants as just “fucked” is a correct translation. Only language nerds will really want to know “He said do prdele vyjebaný zasraný which means ‘up the fucked out shit-covered ass.’” It’s not bad to post explanations like that, this is the fun facts website, but I want to make sure to say it because people like to complain about translations not being literal.

Last note: A large part of swearing is the tone. This is true for most languages! If I say “jakej génius tohle vymyslel” (which genius thought of this) but I say it in the same tone as “kterýho vola tenhle zasranej nápad napadl” (which ox had this shitty idea), the meaning is the same! I don’t have a stake in the SG Atlantis fandom, but you can tell a lot about what your blorbo is saying through tone even if you can’t understand their words.

Again, sorry tds-rb for correcting you, your explanations kind of made me wince so I wanted to gently correct them - but I greatly admire you for trying and am glad there’s Czech people providing translations across fandom ❤️

One of my favorite things in stargate atlantis is zelenka just angrily muttering in czech at every inconvenience

[drdemonprince]

Hi Devon. I’m autistic and I //can’t// deal with injustice it really drives me mad. Even little everyday things. How do you cope with that?

This is going to sound a bit like an older person jadedly lecturing a younger person, so forgive me for however useless this is. But for me, the qualitative experience of learning to cope with injustice is that I have come to expect it through experience and pattern-recognition, and I have been able to contextualize it by developing an understanding of how the world works that leads me to predict that it will happen (and how it will).

Part of what used to keep me locked up and warring constantly with injustice was the false belief that I somehow had the power to prevent it from happening -- if I only used the correct persuasive words, advocated doggedly enough, found the right authority to make an impassioned appeal to, and never relented, I guess I felt that I might be able to make things stop.

Now I understand on an emotional level as well as an intellectual one how much larger these problems are than me, and I don't expect myself to remedy them through force of will or dedication. (A great deal of my book Unlearning Shame is about this, really).

I am far better now at choosing my battles, and more shrewd about how I wage the ones I do fight. I can mentally detach from a lot of issues that feel not strategically sound in resisting, even while mourning the unnecessary-seeming losses that so often come with them. It's possible for this kind of outlook to lead a person into complacency, I can already hear critics saying, but I think ultimately I have become a far more effective and reliable "change agent" (to the degree it's possible for a single human being to be) now that I have this understanding of the world.

Simply put, it is not enough to know what is right, or even to care about it. You have to understand strategy and power. You can't just feel the right feelings. You have to take actions that will matter.

I am also blessed and cursed with an extremely strong self-preservation instinct that predominates any instinct I might have to do the "right" thing simply for the right thing's sake. I don't believe in morality, really, or that I or anyone else must redeem themselves, I am mistrustful of virtually all ideologies (including my own, which have often changed over time), and I try not to act out the emotional urgency of a moment and rather sit back, observe, and plan my attack.

Frankly, a great many injustices in my life have been remedied by simply waiting for the opportune moment, or allowing the people preying upon me to fuck up their lives on their own. That has also taught me the benefit of patience. (Though I am, constitutionally, a really impatient person!)

A lot of my approach reflects my own personal character quirks and outlook as an empathy-less "evil Autistic" of sorts, and it may not suit your way of being in the world at all. But I do think we all can develop better skills in coping with the feelings that this stuff brings out in us with time and practice.

I often remind my highly justice-minded friends to ask themselves whether they want to be right or to win -- and in some cases, you can substitute "winning" with surviving. A lot of the important resistances against injustice that take place happen in the dark corners, unseen by the powers that be, even while unjust systems continue to operate. Think of yourself as a weed or a spore growing within the cracks rather than a lone solider standing up against Goliath.

I think it's also really important to control your exposure to upsetting information. A lot of people whip themselves up into a traumatized frenzy consuming rage porn online all day. You have to sort out what form and degree of information consumption empowers you rather than freezes you. And do not let anybody infect you with their own sense of doom by telling you that you have some obligation to be upset all of the time, that you aren't upsetting yourself enough because you don't care or you're too privileged or whatever. A bunch of people filling themselves with despair does nothing. The universe does not care how much you self-immolate.

And sometimes all you can do is just rant and bitch to a friend about the things you cannot change. Complaining is a fantastic bonding activity, it's a holy activity. It is one of the least damaging acts of rebellion against existence itself. It sure beats killing yourself or drinking yourself into illness. Accept the world as it is, and work with it strategically, please, but never deny yourself the pleasure of bitching about having to do it. As my beloved @animesickos podcast says, Complaining Kicks Ass.

Life fucking sucks. A lot of horrible things will happen to you and the people you love -- nonsensical things, irrational things, spitefully hateful things. You learn with time to expect it. And to feel capable of rolling with life anyway.

There's a grim resolve that people all over the world learn to develop, and it comes with great humor and a capacity for deep connection, too. You learn to recognize it in the strangers you see at the bus stop when the last three busses have been mysteriously delayed or the coworker who has been at your dogshit company for ten years. There's beauty in the jaded ones with the sharp tongues. Huddle around them and take in their wisdom. Some day you might be lucky enough to be one of them too.

[harunade]

hi moot *bites nails nervously*

imagine step-brother douchebag gyuvin who secretly listens to u touch urself at night and he’s so pent up until he finally does something abt it.. do we see the vision 😼

hi my lovely moot i love u req… need more

stepbro!gyuvin is so mean… he always talks to you rudely and barely has manners, of course he’s like that just around you and your mom encourages you to open up to him (although hes so fine u hate admiting that you would open your legs) “y/n… be kinder to gyuvin! he’s your brother after all” she whines at you all day long. but only you know how mean he really is :(

“move” the mentioned boy pushes you to the side and rushes downstairs, where you all go to eat dinner. as your new dad talks about his day, Gyuvin’s large hand places itself on your thigh. it was something usual for him, even though you shoved his hand off more other than not. he gave you a light squeeze before shoving his face with food once again.

you didn’t want to confess that although he was definitely not nice, he was fine as fuck. you loved how he was so tall you had to throw your head back to look at his beautiful face, with the plumpest most kissable lips. he was fit and you could see his defined muscles through certain clothes. and his hands… don’t even get me started. you imagined them in scenarios you shouldn’t ever be thinking about.

but unbeknownst to you.. Gyuvin had the same image in his head about you!

you really didn’t know what to do for his behaviour towards you to change, but you wanted him so bad. his touches like the one under the table always got you horny. if he could be so mean to you, why can’t he take his anger out on you by shoving his dick in and out of you?

so, you found yourself playing with your pussy at the thought of him. you imagined your smaller fingers to be his, but you knew that they could probably reach your gspot in no time, while you struggled to. whimpers were left out repeatedly, but they were quiet enough for them to only be heard in your room. or that’s what you thought. on the other side of the wall, you stepbrother did nothing but rub his dick while listening to you.

the first time it happened, he thought the gods had blessed him, as he was already painfully hard. who made you wear a short skirt that day..?

“gyuvin…” he thought he was hallucinating.. did you really moan out his name? although your stepbrother stopped his movements right there and then, his cock twitched at the sound of his name. just to make sure, he stuck his ear to the wall, hoping to hear things more clearly. and his fear came true, as you said his name like a mantra again and again

he couldn’t stop and entered your room. unfortunately for you, you didn’t have enough time to readjust your and he caught you in the act. “gyuvin..” you said at the sight of the taller boy at your door. he thought he would burst right there, as you looked so cute, with your hand in your panties and face hot and sweaty.

“oh, sis… you’re such a whore. were you really getting off to me? you’re so lucky i’m here to give you a hand” his tone was cold and a smirk planted on his face. he closed the door behind himself and got on the bed, facing you. “now now, don’t shy away. let me see you” you were obviously embarrassed but you decided to listen to him. you pulled your hand out of your panties and pulled them down at once. Gyuvin was met with your red and throbbing pussy and he almost drooled at the sight. His finger reached down and massaged your clit, making you moan out. “you’re so gross… horny because of your brother” he degraded you as his face pulled down before your aching cunt, where he gave you a lick. his tongue was hot and went, and it gathered most of your slick before swallowing it.

your hand moved to his brown hair as he kept eating at you. he was fast with his mouth, sucking on your clit as his fingers made their way inside you. as you previously thought, he found your gspot in no time. you moaned especially loud when he hit it. “what’s that? were your fingers too short to reach up here? it’s okay, i’ll take care of my little sister” he had the look of a drunk man in his eyes, obviously you had the same effect on him that he had on you.

he continued lapping at your pussy and aggressively fingering you until you fell apart on his tongue. “fuck.. gyuv” he slightly humped the bed as his name escaped from your mouth again and again. hell, Gyuvin couldn’t get enough of you. you tasted sweet and the thought of how forbbiden this whole interaction was made everything better.

after your stepbrother was done cleaning you, he got up and kissed you. his lips were harsh against yours, eating at you hungrly. his hands grabbed your face, pulling you closer and you gave back the same energy. you moaned in his mouth as he bit down on your lower lip. “fuck, baby.. didn’t know you had that in you” he said as he was getting ready to leave. he couldn’t risk being in there for too long, as it was still not bedtime and it would bring suspicions to find the two of you together.

before he left, you grabbed his hand. “wait… come back later?” you smiled at him while still catching your breath. he gave you a genuine smile. “of course, princess. don’t touch yourself anymore, i’ll do it for you” he winked at you.

[aayakashii]

It started out stupid, like most things do, when Ren was involved.

"You need to stop spending so much time on your phone." You said, hands on your hips, eyeing him sternly as he was lying down on his bed (back bent almost in the shape of an S, neck strained and eyes squinting at the bright blue light coming from the screen).

"Where did this come from? I don't have mommy issues, you know. You don't need to pretend to be my mom." He glared at you from the corner of his eyes before continuing his doom scroll.

You sighed, plopping down on the bed beside him, making him bounce on purpose.

"Hey, watch it!" He yelled, body unintentionally rolling towards your lap.

"You are always glued to the screen!" You poked his forehead. "Come do something with me!"

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk almost quirking his lips upwards.

"Not THAT, Ren." You hit his face with a pillow, and he yelped. "Oh my god! You're not beating the incel allegations."

"How can I be an incel if we're dating?" He said, voice muffled under the pillow, and dropped his phone to the side.

"I don't know, you tell me."

Ren pulled the pillow out of his face and sighed, defeated.

"Fine, what do you want to do then?"

You sat up straight, eyes looking down at him wide in surprise.

"Really??"

"Yeah, I guess. Say it before I change my mind" he rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile.

You wiggled on your seat, excited. Ren had half a mind to keep himself from squeezing you to death whenever you acted cute like that.

"So, I was thinking we could maybe read together-"

"READING?" Ren sat up immediately and grimaced. You blinked.

"Yes?"

He groaned dramatically.

"But that's SO BORING."

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.

"But the point of doing this kind of thing together is exactly to make them less 'boring'" you made air quotations with your fingers.

Ren scowled.

"What book were you even thinking about?"

"I don't know, we could go for a classic like Romeo and Juliet or–"

"ROMEO AND JULIET? Why?!"

You stared at him, an eyebrow raised.

"What do you mean 'why'?"

"Why Romeo and Juliet of all books in the world?! Are you trying to say something?" Ren leaned forward, squinting his eyes as if he could read in between the lines.

"It's just an example, Ren..."

"Do you think we're doomed lovers or something?"

You slapped your forehead.

"Ren. What the fuck are you talking about. It's just a book."

He hummed, unconvinced, and straightened his hunched back.

"As I was saying, we could try that or–"

"Are you worried about dying or maybe you're thinking I'm gonna die?"

You groaned loudly.

"Ren! It was just an example!"

"If you find out I'm dead, are you going to kill yourself too then?"

"You're not dead! It was an example!" You grabbed his shoulders and shook him lightly.

"Maybe you're trying to say that we have too many moments of miscommunication then? I can try to use my earphones less, but I really like my game's soundtrack, you know."

You deadpanned and squeezed his shoulders with a bit more force.

"I'm gonna tell Haru you're being crazy."

Ren pursed his lips and looked away. You narrowed your eyes, staring at him until you were sure he wasn't going to interrupt you again.

"It was an example. I was going to say we can read Lord of the Rings too, if you don't want a classic."

He gasped, and you rolled your eyes as soon as you heard it.

"You think I'm in a homoerotic relationship with my best friend? I don't even have a best friend!"

"Oh my god, Ren!" You threw a pillow at him again, but he grabbed it before you could hit him and laughed loudly at your exasperation.

"Okay, okay, sorry, now it was a joke." He put the pillow beside him, and pat your hands, trying to calm you down.

"Now?! What do you mean now?! Your whole Romeo and Juliet meltdown wasn't a joke then?"

He looked away, pursing his lips again.

You sighed and got up.

"You know what. Go back to your phone. We'll try this again later."

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

(Dark!) BNHA: You're a lesbian

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Dabi + Bakugo + Mirio

Reaction: Revealing your sexual orientation to your kidnapper is more tense that you expected.

WARNINGS: Kidnapped reader; Manipulation; Threats; Discrimination against LGBTQ.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback. 🙂

–

“I like girls.” 

The words escape from your lips, rushed and dripping of anxiety, and you immediately bite your tongue, already regretting your confession. 

Hawks

“Yeah, I know.” he yawns, rubbing his eyes. “Damn, I’m so tired right now. Think I might head to bed early.”

“Wait!” you grab his hand in a frantic move, stopping him from leaving the couch.

“Wh-What do you mean ‘you know’? If you knew, then why did you take me?!” 

“Cause I love you.” Keigo calmly says, as if that answers everything. “And truth be told, the whole lesbian thing seems like an insignificant detail to me.” 

Your whole face drops at that and Keigo immediately reaches for you, cooing. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” he consoles you, even though there’s a slight curl of his lip that proves the lack of regret or sadness. “But, in all honesty, that doesn’t really matter, does it? You’re here now, with me. You can like whoever you want, really. But c’mon, babe, we both know damn well that the only person you’re gonna have is me.”

“But I don’t love you.” you weakly try. 

“Yet. You don’t love me yet.” Keigo corrects you, booping your nose with a kiss. “But that’s gonna change real soon, I bet. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, I promise."

"Cause it’s either me or no one.” 

Dabi

“Yeah? Don’t you say.” 

You blink at him, fighting back the anxiety and confusion that bubbles inside you.

Dabi approaches you, the corner of his mouth twitching as an amused smile takes over. He reaches closer as he sits on the verge of the bed, a bit too close for your comfort.

If you could, you’d put some distance between you - but the solid chain on your ankle doesn’t allow you to do so. 

“What makes you think I give a fuck about that?” his smile widens at your confusion, all teeth and staples stretching. “Lesbian or not, you’re still mine.”

Your eyes load up with warm tears, a pitiful reaction that is starting to become too frequent. But you guess you can’t blame yourself when a half-burned villain is keeping you captive and chained up. 

“I can’t be who you want me to be.” you whisper with a voice low. Begging with your eyes. “Please.”

Long fingers reach for your face, uncomfortably hot, as they brush a strand of hair away from your face. 

“Sounds like a problem you’ve created for yourself. What makes you think I give a damn about what you are or what you aren’t?” his smile gets cruel, sadistic. “I don’t really care about any of that shit.”

“Cause lesbian or not, I’m still gonna make you spread those pretty legs wide for me.”

Mirio

You bitterly watch as Mirio spits out thunderous laughter, grabbing his belly as if you’ve just told him the funniest joke ever.

“Now that…that was really funny!” he says, breathless as another fit of laughter makes its way up. “Didn’t know you were so humorous, huh. My girl has a sense of humor, I like that.” 

You dodge when he tries to pat down your hair. 

“It’s not a joke.”

“Of course it is.” Mirio contradicts you with a big grin. “And a good one.”

“Mirio…”

You barely have time to react before his lips are pushing against yours, soft and firm.

His hand sneaks to grab the back of your head with his palm, forcing you to stay put and take his kiss. He tastes like mint, fresh and clean. 

“You’re so silly.” Mirio laughs when he finally parts away the kiss. “My silly little girl. See, if you were lesbian, then you wouldn’t have kissed me. That means you’re not…that.” 

“Besides, if you really were a lesbian,” he starts, smile is still present, wide and shiny, but his voice is stiff, restrained. “that wouldn’t be good. Not for you, at least. Cause I’d have to take some really serious measures to get you back on track. But I know that won’t be necessary, right?”

And you’re too scared to argue back when he pats your head, satisfied with your submission.

Bakugo

“Uh?” 

His sharp features frown, shock and surprise clearly taking the best of him. 

The way he opens his mouth, only to close it when no words come out - and the repetition of this sequence for a few times - is almost comical, but the deeply engraved fear in your heart doesn’t allow you to find any sort of humor in this situation. 

Bakugo claims to love you. As a man loves a woman. 

So it’s only understandable that his reaction to you confessing to liking women isn’t gonna be euphoric.

Part of you is scared that he might hurt you, beat you to a bloody pulp until you change your mind. You hope he doesn’t.  

“Cut the crap.” he shakes his head, deep frown between his brows. “I know you’re not…lesbian or whatever.” 

“I am.” 

“No.” 

“Bakugo, please.” you plead. “I really am. I’ve always been-”

“The fuck you are, damnit!” he snaps, raising himself so hard that the poor chair underneath him violently stumbles back, falling to the ground with a loud thump.

You wince, but Bakugo doesn’t reach for you, as you expected him to. Instead, he remains standing, hands tightly clenched around nothing and jaw rigidly set. “I know damn well what you are, don't try to fool me!” 

“I-”

“This one of your stupid little stunts, isn't it?” he cuts you off. You yelp when his hand flies forward, wrapping itself around your forearm and pulling you dangerously close to him. “Last week was the good girl act to try to escape and this week you’re pulling this shit up? Fucking behave, will you?”  

“I-”

“Shut your mouth, damnit!” a shiver runs down your spine as he glares at you, clearly pissed off. “The only words I wanna hear coming from you are apologizes.” 

“And don’t fucking piss me off with that crap again or you might not like what I’ll do.”

[oh-phoenixx]

"Smoke"/"Change" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 523 words

-

Regulus’s first Christmas at the Potters’ was not all that Sirius had made it out to be. Yes, they were kind and generous, yes, it was everything that he and his brother had dreamed of when they were little. But it was too much. It was too perfect. It was too good for him. 

At the moment, Regulus, Sirius, James, and James’s parents were sitting in the living room, drinking hot chocolate and watching muggle Christmas movies. 

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Regulus mumbled to his brother. He went into the hall and grabbed the cigarettes and the lighter from his jacket, and then stepped outside. 

He was leaning back against the wall, cigarette in hand, when the front door opened beside him. He had expected it to be Sirius, or maybe Fleamont, who had talked to him a few times and was actually quite easy to confide in. He hid the cigarette for a moment in case it was Fleamont, but instead, James came out and shut the door behind him. 

“Those things will kill you, you know?” He observed, like the genius he was.

“Really? I hadn’t heard,” Regulus muttered, taking another drag.

“Sirius smokes, too. I’ve tried to get him to stop, and Remus. You’re all hopeless,” James scoffed, though his tone was playful. 

Regulus didn’t say anything in response. He didn’t know why James was out here. Frankly, he didn’t care. He wished he was made for this type of thing, for Christmas and joy and a decent home. But he wasn’t, this wasn’t his life.

“I know it’s a lot,” James mumbled, his tone almost nervous now. “We’re a lot. It’s okay if it’s overwhelming for you. My parents won’t be angry if you need a break from it all.”

“What do you care what I need?” Regulus replied, glaring through tear-filled eyes, though at his feet so that James couldn’t tell.

“I care. I care a lot, actually. More than you let yourself believe, I imagine.” James was facing him fully, his shoulder against the wall and his gaze so fixed on him that Regulus could practically feel the weight of it. “Sirius might’ve acted like being here was heaven just to get you to stay with us, but it wasn’t easy for him, either. He didn’t feel like he deserved it. He was worried every second that our love for him was conditional, and at some point we would just…snap. Hurt him. It’s okay if that’s how you feel.”

“I’m fine,” Regulus bit. “It’s just too fucking bright and loud and- I don’t know what’s wrong with me, okay?”

“That’s okay, too. You’ll figure it out as you go. You don’t have to change yourself for your home anymore, Reg. We’ll change for you. We just want you to be comfortable.”

Something about the way he said this softened Regulus. By then, he had finished his cigarette. He dropped it and ground it under his shoe. When he looked back to James, soft hazel eyes met his, and he could have melted.

Maybe Regulus didn’t need to go back to Grimmauld Place for the summer.