#but then like. i could easily be convinced the other way around! like if you wanna place importance on Length of friendship

[pjmxtra]

Trusting you⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

paring: experienced! 니키 x virgin!fmr

warning: smut! angst! fluff! fingering, size kink, p in v

an: first request thank you sm!! hope i did well. i had so much fun writing it.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, Ki,” you whispered, voice barely audible, swallowed by the closeness of his mouth on your neck. His lips moved slowly, reverently down the delicate line of your throat, lingering at each pulse point as if memorizing your rhythm.

You felt so small beneath him—so tiny and breakable in his lap, dwarfed by the width of his frame, the strength in his arms. He made you feel like porcelain, something fragile, precious. Untouched. Which, in a way, you were.

You’d never gone this far with anyone. Not because the chance hadn’t been there, but because it had never felt right. It had never felt safe. Until him.

Riki’s lips paused against your collarbone. Slowly, he lifted his head from the crook of your neck, and his dark eyes caught yours. There was no teasing smirk this time—no playful edge. Just concern. Just quiet, open patience. Your soft eyes stared up into his, wide and glossy, your brows drawn together as your hands twisted nervously in your lap.

You didn’t want to think about the others he’d been with—those nameless shadows that came before you. You knew he had experience. You knew he wasn’t coming into this with the same shaky hands and fluttering chest that you were.

And maybe you’d tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter. But it did. You hated that it did. It dug in deep, curled cold around your stomach, a silent insecurity you tried so hard not to let surface.

But it always found a way to rise.

Riki’s expression softened even more when he spoke. “Where’s this coming from, hmm?” His voice was deep, low like a rumble against your skin. His hands, large and firm on your narrow waist, tightened just a little—just enough to ground you. Just enough to remind you that you were here, in his arms, not some distant thought drifting away.

You looked down, unable to hold his gaze anymore, your vision blurring as your fingers clutched the hem of your shirt in your lap. You sat cross-legged on top of him, practically folded into his body, the top of your head barely reaching the underside of his chin. It made everything feel more intense, more real—the stark contrast between his strength and your vulnerability.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your voice thick with the tears you didn’t want to shed. “I know it’s dumb, I just… I can’t stop thinking about how I’ll never be like the others. I’m not… I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m scared I’ll mess it up. That I’ll mess us up.”

Riki’s jaw tensed for a second, like the thought of you feeling that way physically hurt him. His hand moved up from your waist, big palm cradling your cheek, gently turning your face back to his.

Your eyes brimmed with tears, lashes damp and trembling. You tried to turn away, embarrassed, but he wouldn’t let you. He held you there, his touch so careful despite how easily he could hold you still.

“Hey. Don’t cry, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice quiet and full of something unshakably tender. “Don’t let that pretty head of yours ever think you could disappoint me.”

He kissed your tears away—first your eyes, then the tip of your nose, then your trembling mouth. The kiss wasn’t rushed or rough. It was soft. Slow. As if time didn’t matter. As if all that mattered was making sure you felt it—that you knew it.

His arms wrapped tighter around you, drawing you impossibly closer until your chest was pressed to his and you could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your hands.

You were completely enclosed in him, wrapped in his warmth, his strength. His scent. Like nothing else existed beyond the shell of his embrace.

“I want this with you,” he said, his voice just above a whisper now, his breath brushing your lips. “Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’re experienced. But because you’re mine. And I’ll take care of you… every step of the way.”

You nodded against him, your body relaxing in the safety of his hold. Your breath hitched when he said it—you’re mine. Something deep inside you ached at those words, a kind of ache that wasn’t pain, but longing.

You nodded again, too full of feeling to speak. You clutched at his shirt, tiny hands fisting into the fabric like you needed to hold on to something solid or else float away.

Riki pulled back only enough to see your face. His thumb brushed along your cheek, and then down to your chin, tilting your head up.

You looked so small beneath his gaze, so delicate in his lap, legs draped over his thighs like a doll placed in the arms of something far bigger. His size made you feel nervous, but not in the way that made you want to pull away. It made you want to fall deeper, to give yourself over completely and trust he’d catch you.

“Lie back for me,” he murmured, voice low, guiding you down onto the bed like he was laying down something precious. His hand stayed at your waist as you shifted, your body trembling faintly beneath him.

He moved with careful slowness, one knee resting between your legs, his frame casting a shadow over yours. Your breath caught again when his hands slid up your sides—slow, reverent. Like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“You okay?” he asked, and his voice was softer now, velvet-smooth, all the teasing long gone. “You can tell me to stop. Anytime. I mean it.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. Your voice shook, your fingers clinging to his arm. “I just… I’m scared.”

“I know, baby.” His lips brushed your forehead. “But you’re not alone. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of everything.”

The mattress dipped as he leaned down, his mouth ghosting over yours. His kiss this time was deeper, a little firmer. He kissed like he meant it, like he wasn’t just trying to make you feel good—he was trying to make you feel safe. Like this wasn’t just about bodies, but about trust. About you handing yourself over to him completely—and him treating that with the weight it deserved.

He took his time, undressing you slowly, piece by piece, whispering soft praise the entire way.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over your body like it was art. “So fucking soft. I could spend all night just looking at you.”

You trembled under the weight of his gaze, hands instinctively moving to cover yourself, but he stopped you gently.

“No,” he said firmly, but kindly, taking your wrists in one large hand. “Don’t hide from me. Not tonight. Let me see you, baby. Let me have you.”

You swallowed thickly, your chest rising and falling fast as you slowly lowered your arms. You felt bare in every sense—not just naked, but exposed. But Riki didn’t leer. He didn’t compare. He didn’t hesitate. He just looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

His hands were everywhere.

Large, warm, calloused—so much bigger than yours, and they moved over you like you were something delicate he had to treat with reverence. His touch was slow, deliberate, every sweep of his palm down your trembling sides igniting a fresh wave of heat that settled low in your belly. He leaned over you, his frame easily caging yours in. His chest hovered just inches above your own, his forearms braced on either side of your head, muscles taut with restraint.

Your body was already trembling beneath him—nerves, anticipation, raw vulnerability all coiled into something electric. And he felt it. You could see it in his eyes, blown dark and focused entirely on you, and you could feel it in the way he touched you—not rushing, not pushing, just guiding, always waiting for you to follow.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he murmured, voice low, coaxing. “Nice and slow.”

You obeyed, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear your own breath. Your thighs parted shakily beneath him, small legs spreading around his hips, and his gaze dropped between you for a moment before he groaned softly, something deep and rough in his throat.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, running his hand up the inside of your thigh. Your skin jumped under the heat of his palm. “So soft. So tiny down here…”

You gasped as his fingers grazed over your folds, his touch featherlight but deliberate. He took his time exploring you, mapping out every twitch, every gasp, every time your hips lifted off the mattress in search of more. His other arm held you still, anchored across your waist, the sheer size of it a stark reminder of how easily he could pin you down completely if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He never took. He asked.

“Does this feel good?” he asked, dipping his head beside your ear, his breath hot against your flushed skin. “Tell me if anything’s too much.”

“N-no, it’s good,” you whispered, voice barely holding steady. “It’s really… it’s good.”

He smiled against your skin, lips brushing just beneath your jawline as two fingers slid between your folds and circled your clit, slow and lazy. You cried out softly, hips twitching up against his hand, and he hummed in approval.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured. “Look at you… already so wet for me.”

Your cheeks burned, but the praise only made the heat between your legs build. Your breath came in shorter gasps as he worked you open with his fingers—first one, then another, stretching you so carefully, gently easing you toward the point where your body would be ready to take more.

His fingers were thick, his knuckles pressing just enough to make your walls clench, and you could feel how much bigger he’d be than this.

“Doing so good,” he whispered. “So tight. You feel how your little pussy holds onto me? That’s just from my fingers, baby.”

You whined, eyes squeezing shut, thighs trembling around his hips. He withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean as he watched you with half-lidded eyes.

Then, he settled between your thighs again, one hand guiding himself to your entrance.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised, kissing the center of your chest, just over your heart. “I’ll stop the second you say the word.”

You nodded, breath shaky. “I trust you.”

That was all he needed.

You felt the head of him press against you—thick, hot, and unforgiving. The stretch made your breath catch, eyes wide as you instinctively tried to draw back, but his hand returned to your waist, holding you still, grounding you.

“Shh,” he soothed. “Just breathe, baby. You’re okay. Just a little more…”

Every inch was a new kind of overwhelming—his size, the fullness, the way your body struggled to accommodate him. He didn’t force it. He eased in slowly, watching every flicker of emotion on your face, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your trembling lips.

“There you go,” he whispered when he was fully seated inside you, chest rising and falling heavily against yours. “You took all of me, sweet girl. Just like that.”

You could barely breathe, but the fullness… it was intoxicating. You felt split open, claimed, utterly owned. He stayed still, letting you adjust, his thumb stroking soothingly over your hip as he kissed along your jaw.

“Tell me when you want more,” he said softly, voice barely holding back the tension straining in his body.

“I want it,” you breathed, clutching at his shoulders. “Please.”

He groaned again, deeper this time, and began to move.

Each thrust was slow, controlled, his hips rolling against yours with a careful rhythm. You could feel how he tried to hold back, to make it good for you before himself. Your body gripped him tightly with every movement, the stretch still just shy of too much, and it only added to the intensity.

“You feel that?” he murmured against your ear. “That’s how deep I am inside you. Only you get this, baby. Only you get to have me like this.”

His hand slid beneath your lower back, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle, and suddenly the friction hit just right. Your back arched, a strangled moan escaping your lips, and he groaned in return, thrusts faltering for just a moment.

“That’s it. Right there, huh? There’s my good girl.”

You couldn’t speak anymore—only whimper, lost in the drag and push of his hips, the way he filled every inch of you so perfectly. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, breathless and trembling, as his pace built just a little faster, rougher—but never losing the tenderness.

His thrusts deepened, slow but powerful, each one pressing you down into the mattress with the full weight of him. You were small beneath him—stretched wide, trembling, completely pinned by the press of his hips and the sheer length of him inside you.

Your hands clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, and he didn’t flinch—he welcomed the mark, gritting his teeth as you arched under him, your moans soft and broken.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “Take it—just like that. Let me feel you.”

The pressure was building fast now—hot, thick, overwhelming. It started in your core, a slow tightening coil that grew sharper with every drag of his cock along your walls. He hit something inside you that made your breath catch, your eyes go wide as your body jerked beneath him.

“There?” he rasped, voice suddenly rougher, rawer. “Right there, huh?”

You nodded frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from how much it was. The pressure. The pleasure. Him.

“I can’t—Riki—” Your voice broke, your body twitching. “I-I think I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he growled, suddenly burying himself deeper, his hips grinding hard and slow. “Come on, sweet girl. Let me feel how tight this pretty little pussy gets when you fall apart for me.”

Your whole body locked up beneath him. The orgasm hit hard, rushing through you like a wave that tore the breath from your lungs.

Your back arched off the bed, mouth falling open in a silent scream, legs trembling violently as your body clamped down around him. He groaned through gritted teeth, hips stuttering against you as he fought to stay steady through your climax.

“That’s it,” he hissed, watching you unravel beneath him. “Fuck, look at you…”

You were shaking, tears streaking your flushed cheeks, unable to stop the helpless whimpers as the aftershocks pulsed through you. Your body twitched every time he moved inside you, too sensitive, too full, too much—and still, you didn’t want him to stop.

“I-I can’t—” you whispered, broken, clinging to him.

“Yes, you can,” he said, voice softer now, lips brushing yours. “You’re okay. You’re doing so fucking good.”

And then, with a deep, guttural moan, his hips slammed flush against yours, and he spilled into you, filling you with thick warmth. You could feel every pulse of it, deep and slow, his breath ragged as he pressed his forehead to yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved—just tangled together, breathing each other in.

When he finally pulled out, he did so carefully, cradling you like you’d break. You whimpered at the emptiness, body still pulsing around nothing, and he shushed you gently, laying soft kisses on your cheeks, your jaw, your lips.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, gathering you into his arms, pulling you onto his chest like you weighed nothing. “You did so good for me. So perfect.”

You curled into him, limbs trembling, skin slick with sweat. You felt raw—used and loved all at once, stretched and filled and held. His hand ran slowly up and down your back, grounding you as your heart slowly returned to a steady rhythm.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice no longer rough but achingly tender. “Talk to me, baby.”

You nodded, still pressed against his chest. “Yeah… just overwhelmed.”

His arms tightened. “I know. I know, sweet girl.”

He kissed your forehead, holding you close, letting you rest there in the soft silence that followed. The bed sheets were damp, your body sore and tingling in the best way, but none of it mattered. Not with him holding you like that—like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you,” you whispered, surprising yourself.

Riki didn’t hesitate.

“I love you too,” he murmured, voice a low, steady vow. “And I meant what I said. You’ll never disappoint me. You’re mine… and I’ll take care of you. Always.”

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, letting yourself melt into him completely—safe, wanted, loved.

And this time, you believed it.

[chrattvibe]

Request/ idea! Matt and reader get a little- freaky... before a flight

៹ Standby. matt sturniolo.

smut ig, brattamer!matt if you squint, semi-public setting, tension + release (sort of), suggestive content, mutual teasing, established relationship, use of pet names.

"The airports at dawn always have something...".

From Los Ángeles to Boston, and from Boston to Los Ángeles. It had always been that way. Well, for the past couple of years at least. Matt always includes me in his trips to visit his family and honestly, I love it. I get along great with his parents, even with their friends. I’ve always felt comfortable in Boston, and the hours leading up to going back home used to be tough, reluctant. But not today.

I didn’t want anything more than to go back to Los Ángeles. To my apartament, even. Everything had felt frustrating for the past few hours.

The speakers kept announcing flights that weren’t ours, as if even the airport refused to let us leave Boston that easily. Time seemed slower than usual. People sleeping on the seats, others walking fast, even a baby crying in the distance.

And then there was us, sitting with one seat between us.

I didn’t look at him. I had my earpods in, music playing loud enough to drown out everything else around me.

I could feel Matt’s eyes on me. He looked tense, just like his brothers, who had noticed from the start that something wasn’t right. They both chose to stand far enough from us, giving us our space.

Matt slid subtly into the seat next to mine. He didn’t say anything at first. I kept staring at my playlist, not because I needed to change the song, but because staring at the screen was easier than looking at him.

He sat with that laid-back confidence that comes so naturally to him, legs open like he owned the whole row. His knee bumped into mine —once, twice— and I knew it wasn’t by accident.

When he saw I was still ignoring him, he reached one arm behind my seat and leaned in slightly. One of his hands pulled out one of my earpods and let it drop onto my shoulder.

“Are you gonna stay like this until we land in L.A.?” he murmured with a half-shy smile into my ear, trying to make me smile. To get a giggle out of me.

I glanced at him sideways, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a direct answer. Just silence.

“Baby, what's wrong?” he whispered, more serious now, searching my gaze.

“Are you really gonna make me remind you about last night?” I said softly, the discomfort burning in my throat.

This time, I did look at him. His furrowed brow softened, but he didn’t say anything.

A few hours earlier, after dinner, we went to bed. I wanted to be close to him, so I lay on his chest, resting a leg over his bare thighs under the sheets. He barely wrapped an arm around my shoulders, eyes still glued to his phone. Scrolling through reels like I wasn’t even there. I kissed his neck softly, seeking attention. He replied with a kiss on my forehead, put down his phone, and mumbled that we should get some rest before the flight.

I tried again a little while later, with clearer signals. Nothing. His “goodnight, sweetheart. Love you." paired with a warm kiss on my cheek, ended the conversation before it could even start.

I turned around, giving him my back, and forced myself to sleep with that awful feeling in my chest.

He, on the other hand, seemed convinced he’d made the right decision, and so, with that little discomfort in my stomach, we fell asleep.

At 2 a.m., I was already awake, packing in silence. Matt got up soon after, and although he tried to soften the mood with kind words, I stayed quiet. I knew he didn’t understand a thing, and that made me even more irritated.

“Ready? Everything alright?” he asked while loading the suitcases into the trunk. I just nodded.

In the car, the silence was thick. He tried to match my rhythm, not understanding what was going on. To him, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And he didn't, sure. But it felt bad and he apparently did not care

And that’s what hurt the most. That he didn’t get it. That he hadn’t even asked. Until now.

Matt looked at me again, more attentively this time. I noticed how his smile curved slightly, like he had suddenly connected the dots.

“Oh... Is that what’s causing that little wrinkle on your forehead?” he murmured, with that half-playful, half-tender tone.

I shot him a sharp look but didn’t say anything. He took advantage of the silence and gently placed his hand on my knee. He didn’t move it at first, just let it rest there. The perfect weight. The perfect warmth.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart… I thought you were tired too,” he added, lowering his tone, almost a whisper. “I didn’t mean to make you feel rejected. I just… wanted you to get a good rest. I didn’t think it would upset you that much.”

His thumb traced slow circles on my skin, his hand gradually moving upward, and even though his words sounded honest, something inside me kept itching.

“Matt, I tried twice,” I said without raising my voice, almost sadly. “How could I not care at all?”

Matt didn’t answer immediately. He held my gaze for a second more, then looked down at my thigh, where his hand had climbed.

“Come with me,” he said quietly, standing up from his seat to offer me his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

I took his hand. Not because I felt like obeying, but because there was something about the way he touched me that made me want to follow him. And I did, a bit confused, dodging other people’s eyes while he walked purposefully down the wide hallway. His fingers laced with mine. His steps sure, unhurried, with a clear direction.

We stopped near a wide column, semi-hidden behind a row of vending machines. At that hour, the airport wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t crowded either. The soft dim lighting and distant murmurs made that corner feel more private than it really was.

He turned me gently and subtly pinned me against the wall. He didn’t touch me right away, but he was close enough that the air between us felt different.

“Now we’re alone. You can drop the little attitude,” he murmured with a half-smile. It was passive-aggressive.

I looked at him without answering, breathing harder.

He tilted his head, pushed my hair back to let it fall down my back, and his mouth barely brushed the skin of my ear.

“Listen, ’m so sorry, alright?" he whispered against my skin. “I was a fucking idiot last night.”

He dragged the words to my neck, where he left a kiss, light as a sigh.

“I should’ve paid attention to you.”

Another kiss, a little lower.

“How could I ignore you… all you...?”

His hands landed —one on the back of my neck, the other on my waist— pulling me closer. I was still mad. I wanted to stay mad. But his gentle way of touching me weakened me.

I let out a small, almost nervous laugh. From the situation, the adrenaline. From having him so close.

He smiled.

“Laughing already? I must be doing something right.” He grined over my lips.

“You’re an idiot,” I muttered with a giggle, not moving an inch away from him.

The closeness grew heavier. The scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, the way his eyes wandered over me like he was still trying to figure out if I was still mad or if this had become something else.

And then he kissed me. Soft at first. His tongue quickly asked permission by brushing my bottom lip, and the kiss turned messy the moment he felt me respond. It became clumsy, almost desperate, like he suddenly realized just how much I had been wanting this. My hands clutched his shirt, and his lips moved down my jaw, my neck, leaving wet traces that matched my erratic breathing.

I felt his hands sneak under my shirt, his cold fingers pressing against my skin.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he said, caressing me as he returned to my mouth. “C’mon… tell me.”

“Matt…” was all I could say when I felt his leg sliding between mine.

“See what you do to me?” he said over my lips, pressing his hips against mine. The bulge in his jeans made it clear he wasn’t exaggerating.

I shivered. I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to feel him. I wanted that very specific way he had of tangling me up.

Another kiss, deeper. His tongue met mine without rush, like we had all the time in the world. His hand slid down a bit more, barely grazing the curve of my hip, and I didn’t move a muscle.

“So mad just because you didn’t have my attention, huh?” he murmured between kisses. “So needy?”

I laughed, a mix of frustration and desire. But my laughter was swallowed the second his thigh found friction against me.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t— don’t be like that…” I said in a sigh, more begging than warning.

“What... hm? Like what?” he said now, pulling away from my lips to look me straight in the eyes. His blue gaze almost burned me. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop, baby… you jus' gotta say it.”

“You’re… such a tease." I said, nearly breathless, holding his gaze.

I didn’t want him to stop. I was far from it. I wanted to double down. I wasn't going to show weakness now. I slid my hands down his torso until I reached his jeans, touching the fabric over his crotch.

“Don’t test me, ‘cause you know I will…” I warned.

I smiled proudly when I saw Matt’s expression. He hadn’t expected it —flinched slightly— but quickly regained his composure. He leaned in, tilted his head, and his gaze kept drifting between my eyes and my mouth.

"You will, huh? What’s stopping you?"

I didn’t answer. I kissed him again—wilder this time. Our hands explored each other's bodies. He let out a deep, guttural moan into my mouth and pulled me closer, no longer holding back, and the sound that escaped from both of us was more than obvious.

And just then, an announcement echoed through the speakers:

“Passengers of flight twenty forty-three to Los Ángeles: you may begin lining up at gate number nine. Boarding will commence shortly.”

We both froze, breathing heavily. Matt rested his forehead against mine and laughed under his breath.

"Fuck… you’ve gotta be kidding me."

I laughed too, somewhere between frustrated and shocked by what had just happened. I could still feel his hand on my waist. My breathing was still ragged.

"We should go." I said, catching my breath.

He kissed me one last time, slowly. Like he was trying to leave something with me. Like that kiss was his way of apologizing for everything he hadn’t been able to say before. We pulled apart and shared an honest smile. We fixed our clothes, and quietly laughed when we noticed his jeans—and how obviously turned on he still was.

"This isn’t over. Not even close..." he murmured, adjusting himself to hide it a little.

"Just wait till we get home."

"Wait till we get on that plane." —He corrected, and I gave him a knowing smirk.

He took my hand and we walked back to where Chris and Nick were, both seemingly scanning the crowd for us.

As soon as they spotted us, Chris hurried over to me, and Nick to Matt.

"Yo, can I sit with you on the flight? I fought with Nick and if I hear him complain one more time, I’ll punch him in the face" Chris said, with the expression of a little kid mad at his best friend. It was almost funny.

I looked over at Matt—clearly Nick was asking him the same, probably explaining the fight based on his gestures and annoyed expression. Matt listened closely, then looked at me and got it immediately. One glance was enough for both of us to understand that our moment would have to wait a little longer.

Masterlist!

Notes: hi!, thanks to the anon who asked for this one💌 hope u like it!

—chrattvibe.

[ultimate-marysue]

Here's the thing, Cass relationship with killing and killers is deliciously complicated. If you're just going to write fluff or angst centered on someone else, I get flattening the Cass-Jason dynamic because it needs its own essay to be fully explained. It's fine to just say "yeah, they're okay with each other" or "they butt heads sometimes but it's mostly fine" or even "they're uncomfortable with each other".

But from Cass's perspective it's just so interesting. Here you have this guy (who is now your brother) and he has voluntarily chosen to do the thing you consider worst than dying. You see Cass relationship with killing is more personal than something external to punish. She will literally never let you kill in front of her, and she will be annoyed and/or angry depending on the situation, but it's not the hatred Bruce has for killers. Her hatred is for the act of killing itself.

Add to it that Jason feels like Killin is truly a necessity and you have something far more complex than "I hate you for killing/not killing". Especially with how easily Cass can read the toll it takes on Jason (this is not for his villain era, I'm talking more about anti hero Jason). Jason feels like it's somehow his cross to bear, and that would actually kill Cass a bit on the inside. She's deeply empathetic and seeing someone go through that would be extremely frustrating And painful to her. She would want to convince him that he doesn't need to do that, maybe even get in the way of his kills. It would frustrate Jason to no end but Cass is one obstinate bitch. Unstoppable force, unmovable object yadda yadda.

If Jason stopped killing Cass would absolutely adore him, ex killers that choose to stop killing are her favorite thing. Unlike Bruce she's willing to forgive people that come to the right side of things.

I don't know, Cass has plenty of interaction with all kinds of killers, and "righteous" killers that only do it for a noble cause are one of the most fascinating interactions. Because you can tell she's frustrated by their murdering, but she will be giving it her all to prove them wrong instead of just knocking them out and throwing them into jail. She will do their job better than them, save everyone without Killin and then turn around as if to say "see? You don't need to do this!". I can see how fun a Cass-Jason dynamic could be, especially with Jason focusing on his argument about how killing some can save a lot of innocent people and how Arkham and Blackgate are inefficient.

Mostly I just want Jason, tears in his eyes, halfway through giving an impassionate speech about how society is a mess and it's forcing him to kill, only to get interrupted by Cass yelling "skill issue" over and over.

[promisedhexvens]

Beatrice held her cousin tightly as she cried. She wanted to protect her, wanted to hold her close for the rest of their lives. She wasn't sure how she would react if she she heard anyone talking bad about her cousin. Juliet deserved more than that. She deserved so much more. She both loved and hated how this had all worked out. She loved that Juliet had her love, her Oliver. She was so happy that her cousin had someone who so clearly adored her. But she hated that it meant that she would be gone, soon. She hated that she could lose her.

If this was the other way around, Beatrice knew that Juliet would fight for her. She knew that her cousin would do anything it took to make sure that she was cared for. And that was exactly what Beatrice intended to do now. She was not going to fail her. She could not fail her. There was too much at stake. If Lord Thorpe sought to throw them out, she would find a way to make sure that they were all still cared for. It was the very least that she could do.

"And I will always be your baby." Beatrice whispered, nodding her head. She loved Juliet more than she could ever say. This was the woman who she would turn to no matter what. "You will always have me, Juliet. I promise. I swear it."

"Despite it all? Juliet, there is no 'despite it all'" She brought up her hand to cup her cousins cheek, "You are the most amazing woman I have ever met. Your mother is a fool for never seeing that." She had always tried to be as diplomatic about Lady Thorpe as possible but she could not stand it. She would not stand it. Her cousin deserved kindness and she wouldn't let her aunt try and convince her otherwise. "Of course I'll help!" Beatrice nodded, "Of course I will help. Just you try and keep me away, Juliet. I mean it. I want to be there for you every step of the way. I will hold be there to hold your hand. I promise."

Beatrice nodded her head, the smallest of smiles coming to her lips as she thought about Callum for the briefest of moments, "I promise. I promise you that I will follow your lead. I will not let them marry me to someone who I do not love. I promise." Juliet had always been someone that Beatrice had idolised - this was one thing that she could easily do to be a little more like her.

Juliet felt as if her tears were never to end. Beatrice had been a safe place for her for so long, entirely so long that she could allow herself to let go, letting her own sobs overcome her, make her delicate body shake and let go of the immense amount of pressure she had upon her young shoulders. There had not been many safe places for Juliet growing up, but in the arms of her darling sweet cousin, she knew she was always to be safe, never judged, as Juliet would never do the same for her. It was a bond closer than a sister, and if Juliet could wrap her dear sweet cousin up and take her with her - she would a thousand times over. It would do her no good though, as Juliet knew her sweet cousin was destined for a life of nobility, of sweet dresses and lovely husbands and balls. All of her life, Juliet had been preened and primed for the same life, had told Beatrice that she would receive the same, but life had been so unexpected to give her a love, a most endearing and passionate, never ending love in Oliver Heywood and the world had turned to color. She could only hope that one day sweet Beatrice would receive the same love, even if it cost her everything that Juliet had to give up now - it didn't matter. Love was love, and Juliet would show her cousin that.

"I - I know how much Oliver and I will dote upon this child, how much you and so many others will. I am only frightened, my sweet, frightened that I will disappoint Oliver and disappoint you. I have my entire life with my mother - and I feel now that I have done the same, with leaving you now. I don't want to, my love - I want nothing more than for you to come with me, so I can always protect you." Juliet leaned down and took her sweet cousin's hands through her tears, kissing them. "WIll you forgive for that, my Beatrice? Will you?"

Another soft sob came from Juliet's chest, as she nestled close with her dear cousin, and could not help more tears falling. It was entirely touching, all of it was - for Juliet had loved little Beatrice ever since she had met her. She could remember wanting to pick her up and take her as her own - she could remember she was the only person, besides Frederic and her father, that smiled quite lovingly at Juliet. Beatrice was the first person outside of her immediate family that loved her, without even having to be obligated to. Juliet could remember the snide looks from her mother, her mother telling her aunt that Beatrice should not be playing with Juliet, as Juliet was a horrid influence, but her aunt was appalled surely. No one could pull the cousins apart, despite what Lady Thorpe (at the time Lady Bennett) had spoken of - although Juliet could remember, at the young age of eleven, how her mother spoke to her in her chambers with a sneer. I will not allow you to taint and dirty your sweet cousin. Do you understand me? Juliet had been so confused - she had never wished for her cousin to be harmed, but all she could do was nod. Beatrice never thought of her as a stain, nor a disappointment.

The Bennett house had always been a house of giggles for Juliet, as Beatrice followed her around, and chased each other through fields of roses and flowers. There, Juliet could be with her beloved aunt and uncle, her cousins that adored her. There, she did not need to be frightened of her mother rounding every corner. She was free.

"Oh, my love. My sweet girl." Juliet cried, as she looked up at Beatrice, kissing her hands again, and then her cheeks, to hug her so closely. "I lo-loved you from the moment I saw you, do you know that? I begged Mama to let me hold you - and she refused, until your mother allowed me. I held you there, so proud of you even then. You were the most beautiful baby I had ever seen and will ever see. You are still my baby." She told her, a giggle coming from her sad sobs, cupping her beautiful cheeks in her hands.

"You were the first to have ever loved me - besides my father and Frederic. You loved me despite it all. You always have and I loved you just so much. I love you, my sweet Beatrice." She hold onto her hands, letting out a shaky breath, sniffling. "We will find each other. You must. I will let you know the very moment Oliver and I find lodging and you - you can visit us there. I will need so much help getting ready for our sweet baby. Will you help me, darling?" Juliet asked, softly. "I have - I have no guidance from anyone. I scarcely know what to - what to expect, but with you and Oliver by my side, I will be ever so strong." She told her, not ready to let go of her sweet Beatrice. Never ready to let go.

"You must promise me, Beatrice- promise me, my darling, that you will marry for love, to a man that loves and treats you right. We have been trained to marry the first rich man that comes our way, but that is not the case. Oliver is the love of my entire world - and what he gives me is more than money could ever be. I want that for you. Will you promise me that?"

[cementcornfield]

ok wait i started ranting about this in the tags of that last post but then stopped myself because. i want more opinions.

so i waffle back and forth about this when i picture the Joe'Marr Wedding (lollll i'm so embarrassing) but, in terms of tee and justin and their importance and their roles in it (because they WOULD be incredibly important and involved!) do we think:

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: aphrodisiac venom

Sorry just keep thinking about nagas during the winter.

Maybe you’re shoveling snow when you notice a poor naga curled up on a rock, struggling to warm himself. You help him into your home and attempt to get his body heat up by placing him by the fire…

But he’s still so cold!

You don’t know what to do, but you’re pulled down into a hug with him, his lower body wrapping around you and his face burying itself into his neck.

“Warm..”

He wraps his body around you, and the only way you can get him to uncoil is by convincing him that you’ll both die in the snow.

“Come on, you can come inside. If we stay out here my body heat won’t be enough to keep us warm for long.”

So he joins you inside, wrapping around you again the second you close the door. Perhaps letting a creature that could strangle you and swallow you while wasn’t a good idea, but what other choice did you have?

He was a possessive thing, keeping his face buried in your neck and long body curled around you at all times. Recently he even started rutting against you, his two fat cocks peeking out of the slit in snake body.

“Inside… gotta be inside, okay?”

You whined as he easily slid your pants down, one of his cocks fucking your thighs while the other rubbed against your cunt.

He bit at your neck, aphrodisiac coursing through his fangs and into your bloodstream, making you go limp and your brain fog up.

The only thing on your mind now was getting off, and he was happy to oblige.

Being inside of you during winter was like Heaven. Feeling your warm, fat cunt tighten around one of his cocks caused the other to twitch against your thigh. Soon you’d be wet enough to fit both…

He pushed the head of his second cock against you, giving you another dose of the aphrodisiac. Your body felt like it was on fire, and he was quite enjoying the heat that radiated from your skin.

“That’s it, I know, you want more… I’ll give it to you, pet. Just be patient…”

Once you were wet and loose enough, he slowly slid his second cock into you, letting out a grunt as you stretched around him.

And then… he started purring. He felt so content, your body keeping him warm as he fucked in and out of you.

It was then he realized that you wouldn’t just be an object to keep him warm for the winter.

You would be his mate.

—————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop

[whirlybirbs]

— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍

summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.

You never did go pro.

Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development. 

The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:

What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?

How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun? 

You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago. 

Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide. 

You see it differently.

Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest. 

You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent. 

You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence. 

Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.

What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time? 

Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown. 

He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care. 

He isn't a villain-in-training. 

None of them are.

It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children. 

So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents. 

You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet. 

After all, you never did go pro.

And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.

He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it. 

It was the beginning of the end, then.

His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class? 

Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.

It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes. 

Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:

Endeavor's wing. 

There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now. 

Very different.

Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."

"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"

"Oh, ho, no way!"

Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again. 

"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"

"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."

It is you.

You look... good. 

Happy. 

You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time. 

For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.

It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto. 

"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"

Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.

Shoto is on the move.

The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.

Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero. 

Shoto Todoroki.

He looks... good. 

Really good.

He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.

They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.

There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.

"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever." 

You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk. 

Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher. 

"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"

"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember. 

"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"

"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.

Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing. 

"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"

There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle. 

You're using him as a teaching moment.

Shoto's smile is soft.

You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."

"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"

Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute. 

You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all. 

He hangs back. 

He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto. 

...It's kinda cute.

Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was. 

Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds. 

And he deserves to be happy.

Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.

You hang back. 

Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.

"Hey."

"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."

"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."

His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."

You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.

Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."

"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."

"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are...  good."

Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose. 

And the underdog in question can read a room. 

This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.

"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"

You jump.

How long has he even been there?

"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.

"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"

"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."

Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.

"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"

"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."

Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."

"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."

There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions. 

It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment. 

"Would you like to—"

"Are you free—"

Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.

"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"

You make yourself available.

Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.

Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell. 

From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.

"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?" 

"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy." 

"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.

"Father was the one who suggested it."

"...That old dog." 

Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"

The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.

Shoto winces.

"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.

"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."

Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.

"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.

Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya. 

"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."

"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"

"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"

"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."

"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?" 

"She wants me to call her after—"

"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"

Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.

"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."

Shoto lets out a long breath. 

Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"

"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"

It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."

Easier said than done.

You never did go pro.

Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates. 

You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.

He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful. 

Fuyumi's contribution. 

You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.

The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back. 

It feels like you've been lit on fire.

You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine. 

Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables. 

The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.

You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you. 

For a second, you're seventeen again.

Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A. 

You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks. 

A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass. 

He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy. 

"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."

Graduation day was the last time you saw him. 

Until this morning, that is. 

You smile into your drink. 

"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.

His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.

"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."

Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."

He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."

The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."

You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.

He notices.

Shoto's face feels hot. 

He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school. 

Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.

Now, less so. 

It's adorable. 

Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home. 

While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it. 

Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.

His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you. 

His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss. 

But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen. 

The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you. 

It's sweet.

Really sweet. 

The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit. 

"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.

His hand settles there. 

Your stomach does a flip. 

You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure. 

Keep it together. 

He isn't seventeen.

He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years. 

...Right?

Green light.

His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment. 

The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park. 

It makes your chest ache.

Shoto swallows thickly.

Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.

He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.

What if you don't want to kiss him?

When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?

Why does he feel like he's going to die?

"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly. 

"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."

You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."

"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."

"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"

Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."

"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"

"I'm not being weird—"

"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.

"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."

His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest. 

It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?

Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now. 

"You don't need to be."

Shoto's breath catches at that.

So, he makes his move.

His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment. 

Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.

Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone. 

He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful. 

The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.  

Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together. 

Then, his eyes stick to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. 

You never did go pro.

But, Shoto did. 

It shows. 

Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—

His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory. 

It's better than anything he could have ever imagined. 

And then you whimper. 

It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching. 

You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.

He needs to slow down.

He is not having sex with you in his father's car.

That's shameless.

He needs to slow down.

He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up. 

Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him. 

You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.

It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that? 

He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect. 

"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."

A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person. 

"Are you serious?"

"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.

"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"

Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face. 

"Are you free this weekend?"

"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."

"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"

"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."

Shoto scoffs. 

Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:

"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."

Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.

Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend. 

Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki. 

[matt-murdockk]

Time

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

words: 2.8k

summary: On their wedding night, (Y/n) disappears in Matt’s arms-blipped without warning. For five years, he mourns her, tormented by grief and hallucinations. When she returns, unchanged, he’s convinced she’s not real. (angst mostly with fluff ending)

warnings: angst, cussing, lack of proofreading rip, set in infinity war - endgame timeline (reader getting blipped, etc)

a/n: Listen, my boy Matt is the PERFECT practice for writing angst. I just like to put him in situations and watch him like he's in a fish tank and I'm outside tapping on the glass. This man absolutely cannot catch a break and while I am partially to blame (cause I'm writing it this time), just how Matt is written in general is in a way that it just makes sense to put him through shit. He is a walking amalgam of Catholic Guilt, adrenaline, and poor decision making and I love him so much. This one is a boatload of angst but I threw in some fluff in the ending because well, we deserve good things.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The apartment door creaked open with the softest thud, and then her back hit it as Matt pressed her gently against the wood, lips grazing her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He was smiling.

That rare, devastating smile he only wore when it was just them.

“You’re supposed to carry me across the threshold, remember?” she whispered, breathless with laughter.

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” Matt murmured. “Just wanted a moment alone with my wife first.”

Wife.

The word made her stomach flip in a good way- warm and giddy and ridiculous.

He scooped her up easily, one arm beneath her knees, the other at her back, and she looped her arms around his neck like she’d never let go. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“I’m legally required to now,” he said with a smirk. “It’s in the vows. Carry you everywhere. Worship the ground you walk on. Try not to lose my mind over how good you look in that dress.”

“Flawless delivery, Murdock,” she teased. “Truly. I can tell you definitely wrote your own vows.”

He chuckled against her shoulder as he carried her through the doorway into the quiet, dimly lit apartment. Candles flickered. Soft music still hummed faintly from the speaker they forgot to turn off before the ceremony.

And for a second- just one perfect second- it was all stillness. Just them. Just this.

He set her down gently, hands lingering at her waist. They kissed again, slower now. Softer. Everything feeling like it had finally settled into place. She pressed her forehead to his, heart beating a little too fast.

“I think I’m going to cry.”

“I’ll beat you to it,” he murmured, eyes closing, nose brushing hers. “You’re here. You’re mine. We made it.”

She smiled, eyes glassy. “We did.”

They stood there for a while. Just holding each other. Breathing the same air. Wedding bands warm against skin.

But then-

She shifted slightly in his arms. Her brows furrowed.

“Matt?”

He straightened a little, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

“I feel... weird.”

He tilted his head, concern filtering through his features. “Weird how?”

She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I don’t know. It’s like- I just got dizzy all of a sudden. Like the room’s moving.”

Matt gently guided her toward the couch, helping her sit down. “Okay. Just breathe. You might be dehydrated. Or just- adrenaline crash.”

She tried to smile. “Yeah. Big day. Lots of emotions. Too many speeches.”

She stood too fast. Her hand slipped from his.

“Careful,” Matt said, already reaching for her again. “Take it slow- ”

“I think I need to throw up,” she mumbled, voice shaky.

“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, already guiding her. “Bathroom’s just- ”

She staggered.

Her balance tipped.

Matt caught her by the waist before she could fall. “Hey. Hey, I got you. It’s okay- ”

She didn’t answer.

Her body felt... lighter. Unsteady. Like her weight was shifting in his arms.

He tilted his head, trying to focus on her. “(Y/n)? You with me?”

She looked up at him.

Confused.

Scared.

“M-Matt, I...”

And then her voice just- cut out.

His arms were suddenly empty.

He blinked.

No sound. No step. No breath.

Just... gone.

The faintest warmth lingered against his fingertips- and then something like dust scattered through them.

“What the- ?” he whispered, stepping back. “(Y/n)?”

His hand shook. Her scent was still in the room. Her heartbeat-

No. No, that wasn’t right.

He turned, listening harder, straining his senses.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The silence grew louder. His throat closed up.

“(Y/n)?”

He moved down the hallway. Checked the bathroom. The bedroom. “(y/n), c’mon. Say something.”

No heartbeat. No motion. Not even the creak of a floorboard. Like she’d never been there. Matt’s chest started to cave in.

“Okay, this isn’t- this doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Maybe you passed out. Maybe you hit your head. Maybe- ”

His foot bumped something.

Her ring.

Her wedding ring.

Lying on the floor.

His knees hit the hardwood before he could stop them. “No.”

He crawled forward, hands blindly reaching, as if she might be hidden just out of reach.

“(Y/n)!” His voice cracked. “Where are you?!”

Still nothing.

Just the flicker of the candles.

Just the soft sound of ash settling.

“No, no- God, no!” He stood again. Stumbled. Slipped.

“(Y/n)!” He shouted so hard it tore something in his throat. “Talk to me!”

He made it to the front door. Opened it. Nothing. No one. No footsteps. No sounds of retreat. Matt’s breathing picked up. His fingers trembled as he unlocked his phone, nearly dropping it before hitting Call.

Foggy.

It rang once. Twice-

Pick up.

The sound of the city outside had changed. He could hear it.

Screaming. Tires screeching. Glass shattering six blocks over. Someone crying for help. Sirens multiplying like wildfire. It all surged into his head at once- too much, too fast.

He pressed his palm against his ear, gritting his teeth. “Too loud. I can’t- ”

Click.

“Matt?” Foggy answered, out of breath. “Hey, shouldn’t you be- ?”

“She’s gone,” Matt said immediately, voice fraying. “Foggy- she was right here, and then she just... disappeared.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?”

“I mean she turned to ash in my hands,” Matt snapped, breath catching. “I was holding her. She said she felt sick and then- then she just... she was gone.”

There was a pause.

“Matt, hang on- wait- ” Foggy’s voice shifted, panic creeping in. “I think... Matt, something’s happening. It’s not just her.”

Matt stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m outside and people are vanishing. Right in front of me. There was a guy walking beside me- just turned to dust. A woman screaming for her kid, and the kid vanished. A guy in a cab just disappeared behind the wheel, Matt. It crashed into a light post.”

Matt pressed a hand to the center of his chest like he could anchor himself to the sound of Foggy’s voice. But even that was drowned out by the chaos around him.

“I can’t hear her,” he whispered. “Her heartbeat- her breathing- it’s just gone. Like she was never here, foggy.”

Foggy’s voice came through again, strained and tense. “It’s happening everywhere. I can’t keep up. There’s shouting, people running- I think half the crowd outside just vanished. I’m not exaggerating.”

Matt stumbled toward the couch, hand landing on the coffee table. “She was right here.”

“I’m coming to you,” Foggy said quickly. “Stay there, Matt. Don’t go outside- Jesus Christ, someone else just- ”

The line crackled. Cut out. Came back.

Matt’s hands were shaking as he reached for the remote.

The TV flicked on.

"...mass disappearances reported in New York, Chicago, London- this is now confirmed to be a global event..."

Footage played- Times Square chaos. Pedestrians turning to dust mid-step. News anchors looking off-camera in horror. Phones on the ground. Car alarms going off in every direction.

“We are receiving reports that approximately half the world’s population has- vanished.”

The camera panned to a child’s stuffed toy, untouched, lying in a pile of ash. Everything was still. Except the noise. And the empty space beside him on the floor.

“She was right here,” he said again, softly. Like it might undo it.

“She was right here.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

five years later

She came back mid-step.

One foot lifted toward the bathroom- and when it landed, everything was wrong.

The apartment was darker. Colder. Rearranged.

The soft glow from the corner lamp was unfamiliar. The kitchen counter had a different crack. The rug was new. The air carried a different scent- like dust and time and a city that had moved on without her.

“Matt?” she called, voice hoarse.

Silence.

She stepped further in. The living room looked lived-in, but not by her. Not anymore. Not for a long time. The coffee table was cluttered with open case files. There was a cane by the door she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded faster.

“Matt-?”

And then he was there. He stood in the doorway like he’d been carved from stone, unreadable and unmoved. Then, quietly- too calmly- he said, “So. You’re back.”

She stopped cold.

“Matt-”

He tilted his head slightly, almost as if studying her. “Took longer this time.”

“What…?” she breathed.

“Usually you show up around hour thirty-six,” he said, like it was a fact. “Right after the exhaustion hits but before the whiskey does anything useful.”

Her stomach twisted. “Matt, I’m not-”

“Don’t,” he cut in, sharp. “Don’t do that.”

She swallowed hard. “This isn’t what you think.”

“No?” His voice was soft, even, lethal. “Because it looks a hell of a lot like every other time I’ve lost my mind and imagined you standing in this room.”

(Y/n) blinked, her chest rising and falling too fast. “Matt, I- I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, no trace of humor. “You wouldn’t.”

“I was just- I felt sick and then it was cold, and everything looked wrong and-" Her words tangled, tripping over each other. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Matt?”

Nothing.

She took a tentative step forward. “Please. Say something. What happened? What- what’s going on?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp, like a scalpel slicing through skin without even trying.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

Her breath caught. “What- what do you mean, again?”

“I know your routine now,” he said, voice tightening with each word. “You show up, confused. You ask questions. You cry. And then just when I start to believe you might be real- when I almost let myself feel something again- you vanish.”

“Matt, I don’t- ”

“No,” he snapped. “Stop. Just stop.”

She froze. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his jaw locked, eyes unreadable.

“You know what it’s like to bury someone without a body, (Y/n)?” he asked. “To sit in this apartment with your ring in my hand, trying to convince myself that ash on the floor was all that was left of you?”

She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “I don’t remember anything-”

“Exactly,” he said, bitter. “You never do. That’s the trick, isn’t it? You pretend like you’re all confused. Like you don’t know what’s happening. And I- I fall for it. Every time. Like an idiot.”

“Matt- please, just listen to my heartbeat-”

“I did,” he cut in. “I’ve heard it before. Right before it disappears.”

Her lips trembled. “I swear I’m not-”

“You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice suddenly shaking, but no less cruel. “You don’t get to come back here like nothing happened. Like you didn’t leave me bleeding on the floor that night. Like I didn’t spend years trying to claw my way out of what you left behind.”

“I didn’t leave you,” she whispered.

“But you’re dead,” Matt hissed, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat off his skin. “You died. And whatever this is- this illusion, this dream- it doesn’t change that. You don’t get to hurt me again.”

He said it like a closing statement. Like a sentence passed down after a trial that never had a chance. But he didn’t stop there.

“You think this is easy for me?” he went on, voice low, cracking at the edges now. “You think I want to keep seeing you in doorways? Hearing your voice when I close my eyes? You think I haven’t begged for it to stop?”

(Y/n) stood frozen, lips parted, tears streaking silently down her face.

“I have spent five years trying to forget the exact way you said my name before you disappeared. Five years trying not to hear it in someone else’s mouth. Five years waking up thinking you might be there- just once- and then realizing that all I’ve got left is a bed that’s too big and silence that’s too loud.”

He was pacing now, hands in his hair, breathing hard, unable to stop himself.

“You were my wife. You were supposed to be the rest of my life. And I had you for minutes. You were ripped out of my arms before I even got to love you properly. Do you understand that? Do you even get what you left behind?”

“Matt-”

“I grieved you like a man who’d never believe in God again,” he growled. “I went back to that night a thousand times in my head-wondering if I missed something, if I could’ve saved you, if I’d just done one thing different-”

“Matt-”

“I begged,” he snapped. “I begged God to bring you back. I lost everything trying to survive you. And now you show up here, looking exactly the same, like time hasn’t touched you, like you’re just picking up where you left off- like you didn’t burn me to the fucking ground-”

“Matt.”

She said it once.

Quietly.

And then she reached for him.

He flinched on instinct, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, gently, deliberately, she took his hand in hers- still trembling from the weight of his words- and guided it up between them.

To her chest. To her heartbeat. Right there. Steady. Real. Alive. His breath hitched. She kept his hand pressed there, fingers wrapped around his wrist like she could anchor him to this one undeniable truth.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m not in your head. I don’t know how or why or what the hell happened, but I’m here.”

Matt didn’t move at first. Just stood there, hand pressed to her chest, like he didn’t trust what he was feeling. Like it might stop if he acknowledged it out loud. Then- suddenly- he let out a shaky breath and pulled her into him, hard.

His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “What the fuck.”

Her hands gripped his shirt like she was afraid he’d drop her again. “Yeah, what the fuck. I don’t know what’s happening.”

He laughed once, breathless and half-broken. “Yeah. Me neither.”

They just stood there for a second. Breathing each other in. Trying to recalibrate. Then, against his chest, she mumbled, “You look like shit, by the way.”

It slipped out before she could stop it. Matt let out an actual laugh- short, incredulous, almost like it startled him.

“That’s not funny,” he said, wiping at his eyes, still half-laughing.

She smiled weakly. “Little bit funny.”

He shook his head, still not quite believing any of it. “God, I missed you.”

And then he kissed her.

Desperate and real and messy- too much force, too much urgency, like he didn’t trust it to last. His hands found her face, holding her like he needed proof she was solid. She kissed him back just as hard, fingers in his hair, anchoring him to now. To her.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And that was enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a little bonus content because well it was funny in my head

A few days later

She was curled up next to him on the couch, legs tangled, one of his old hoodies hanging off her shoulder. The TV was on, volume low, neither of them really watching.

She was still catching up- on everything. The blip. The aftermath. The years she missed. Sometimes it hit her like a freight train. Other times, like now, it just snuck up and poked her in the ribs.

She turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “Wait a second.”

Matt tilted his head toward her. “Uh-oh.”

She sat up a little. “So… technically, you’re five years older than me now?”

He blinked. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on right now?”

“It’s a valid question,” she insisted, grinning. “I married a man my age, not some grizzled thirty-something.”

He scoffed. “Grizzled?”

“I mean, I don’t see any grey hairs, but-”

“I’m blind, not deaf. I heard that smirk.”

She tried to hold back a laugh. Failed. “So you’re like… what, thirty-eight?”

“Thirty-seven,” he corrected flatly.

“Oh no. I married an older man.”

Matt deadpanned, “And I married a time traveler. Guess we’re even.”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “You gonna start calling me ‘kid’ now?”

He turned toward her, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth. “Only if you want to see how fast a five-year age gap doesn’t matter.”

Her face flushed. “Okay, grandpa.”

Matt groaned. “Regret. Immediate regret.”

She laughed, leaning back into him again, warm and solid and finally, finally real.

“Still married me,” she said, smug.

“Still would,” he replied, without hesitation.

And that shut her up for a minute.

[bunny-jpeg]

price knows best

john price prompt: "you don’t need to go out with them tonight. stay with me instead.”

tags: smut/pwp, toxic relationship, baby trapping, possessive behavior, toxic!price, chubby!reader, established relationship (married), doggy style, carpet sex/carpet burns, rough sex

price hated saturday nights, when he saw you all dressed up for a night out. you looked so sweet in the little outfits that you wore out to the club. he wished that club burnt down to the ground so you'd be forced to stay home.

stay with your husband.

you didn't need to dress like you were looking for attention, was price's large hands on you not enough? at first price liked the idea that other men got to see what belonged to him. but now, you shouldn't be out on a saturday night. you should be at home with your husband, letting him put a baby in you.

"come sit with me before you leave, petal." he said as he spread his legs a little further to let you perch on his strong thigh. price knew he was a burly man, strong in a sense that he could easily crush you if he wanted to.

but he wouldn't be a good husband if he bruised his wife, now would he? his blue eyes were hungry on you as you came over, barefoot in a cute, whorish little dress.

"john, i have to go."

"mmm, gonna miss ya tonight." he purred as he put his hand on your waist, "hate seein' ya go each time." he kissed at your neck.

you pulled away, "honey, you can't convince me to stay home." but his lips only closed the distance and he continued to kiss at your soft skin. you smelt like peaches and the scent only aroused price more.

"baby girl." he purred, "you can't be going out every night. men are gonna get the wrong idea. think that your ass is for sale."

"i wear my ring."

"that don't mean shit to men who are like dogs." he replied as he held onto you a little tighter and pulled you in closer. you whimpered and the sound aroused him further.

you always made the sweetest noises, you sounded so perfect. price was lucky to put a ring on you before anyone else could sink their claws into you. he continued to kiss you and eventually his large hand went up your skirt.

"john."

he chuckled lowly, "someone's excited. like when your husband touches you like this." his voice was a low purr. he rubbed your slit with his thick fingers.

"i have to go soon."

he looked you in the eyes, there was an erection in his flannel pajama pants. he gave you a small smile, the same smile that lured you into marriage. he rubbed your pussy through your thin panties and said, "you don’t need to go out with them tonight. stay with me instead.”

you pouted, "john."

"don't pout, petal. a wife doesn't pout." he rubbed a little harder and kept his grasp on you tight. little thing wasn't going to wiggle out from under him. he saw your resolve start to crack.

"john, please." you said softly.

"petal, love bug, my darlin' wife." his bread grazed across the skin he kissed, "stay home with me. please. i don't want a bad man to hurt you. it's for your best interest. for your safety."

you held onto his shoulders, you felt yourself waver. being with your friends was fun, but the promises of what your husband would do were starting to sound more appealing.

"c'mon, baby. stay home. stay with me." he cooed and you felt the excitement run through you. it was an intense heat that made you curl closer to him. you hated the effect he had on you.

he continued to kiss you and tease you, it made your pulse jump a little. you hated the way price could get under you skin this way. the way he touched you made you soul sing and before you knew it, you were face down on the carpet by the coffee table with your panties around your knees and your ass up to price's cock.

price was on cloud nine at the sight of you, so submissive for him. the perfect wife. couldn't help bu get a little excited in his sweatpants before he pulled them down under his hairy balls.

your husband was bordering on full bush, he said he loved your sweet wetness dripped down his balls and in his dark pubic hair. his cock was hefty, big in a way that there has been a few times it just didn't fit. but you were such a lovely little wife that you found other ways to pleasure him.

he sank into you without much fanfare. the angle let him go a little deeper, you could feel his balls against your ass as he loomed over you. his cock throbbed inside of your pretty little pussy. he said lowly, in that husky voice, "like that, petal? see, isn't it better to stay home? man takes good care of his woman, doesn't need the attention of other men."

"john." you gasped as he clutched onto your soft hips. price liked that you were on the thicker side, he liked that your thigh gap was next to nothing, the pudginess of your hips that he could sink his hands into while he fucked you.

next round he'd smother himself in those pretty fat tits you had. didn't matter how many stretch marks lined your stomach, thighs and even your arms. he didn't care, he hoped to add to them when you got pregnant. not if, when.

he fucked into you, he moved you up against the carpet with each heavy thrust. it felt good, he was certain of that. your cunt always squeezed around his cock, such a struggle for you to accommodate it. poor, poor mrs. price. but that alright, price would just have to continue fucking you till he reshaped your cunt to fit him. only him.

he pressed further into you and got your cheek against the carpet. you whined and he kissed the back of your neck. he laid a large hand across your soft stomach, he could watch your curves shake in that dress you wore with each of his movements. he said lowly, "you'd look good taking care of my kid, right? hefty son at your hip, better ways to spend the weekend. making sure my boys are taken care of." he got a bit more aggressive with his movements and your noises got louder.

you sounded like heaven. a heaven only reserved for him as the tip of his dick drooled pre-cum into your womb while it kissed your cervix. every cell was vital.

"getting older, won't be much longer i can keep up. time to settle you down. you got the body that could handle carrying my kids." your stomach leapt and your pussy clenched around him. you only got more wet from your husband's words, you moaned a little louder and price soaked in the feeling.

he couldn't wait to switch out all of your club clothing with something a little more fitting for a mother. he wanted to highlight how he changed your figure. seeded you perfectly and he would want to show off the slope in your middle, the extra weight in your chest. you were already beautiful, but he knew that you'd be even more perfect with his baby at your hip. it only excited him more, made him eager to nudge his tip a little harder inside of you. he tilted your hips a little more to make sure every drop barrelled towards your waiting womb.

"fuck, john. ah, please." you whimpered. you couldn't be a mother yet, you were still rather young. yes, you got married early. but that didn't mean it was time to get pregnant!

regardless price continued to fuck himself into you. he knew he was leaving poor carpet burns on your body as he fucked you further into the uncomfortable rug. but your pussy just pulled him in. almost milked him for everything.

he knew that your body wanted this, even if you got into your head that it wasn't the right time. biology knew better, and price knew that you wanted his cum. you wanted him to impregnate you. you'd have to cancel more often, if not all the time, because price's babies needed their mama. and price needed his wife.

keep you at home, keep you comfortable. price would provide, and as he fucked you up against the floor, he was proving that he could provide you. that he was still virile and that he would get you pregnant. no questions asked, you were his. all his.

you were panting, whining almost. the pleasure was undeniable for you. you arched your back a little and felt the hammering of your pulse in the back of your head. you couldn't think straight as he fucked you, it was undeniable. you were at his total mercy. damn john price and his power over you.

"please, ah!" you gasped as you tried to find leverage on the carpet but ended up just climaxing all over your husband's heavy cock. doing your wifely duties and letting price have every inch of you. you were his, all his in the end and nothing would change that.

price loved the feeling of that, your pussy clenched around his cock. the heaven between your legs that price got to have at every chance. he was proud to be your husband and a proud husband lets his wife milk his cock for every ounce of cum.

and it wasn't much longer until he shoved his entire length into you and finished inside of you as well. he made sure he was as deep as he could go and was near certain you were going to get pregnant tonight. no more dancing, no more slutty outfits, you were a mama now. time to show a little modesty.

he continued to rut into you while you felt your head swim from the pleasure. he eventually slowed his pace to a stop and kissed your neck as he kept his softening cock inside of you for a little while longer.

he patted your stomach and for the first time in a long time, he prayed that you'd be plump with his child soon enough. even if he had to take you many, many more rounds tonight.

-

price liked saturdays a lot more now.

you were tucked beside him, your button up night shirt undone to let john jr. have his nightly meal. your infant son seemed like a bottomless pit when it came to your milk. you suggested that maybe it was time with switch to formula, but price said that he'd find a way to make sure you made enough milk for your son.

"hungry little bugger." price said with affection, "might need a taste before he drinks it all up." john jr. was five months now, maybe it was time to start working on his little brother.

baby was a spitting image of him, and that fueled a sense of pride in price. hefty son looking exactly like his old man with such a caring mama, even if he had a small habit of sucking on you too hard. he was just hungry, you couldn't be mad at your baby, right?

see, this was better than clubbing. and don't worry, if you felt like dancing tonight you could show off that motherly curves for price before he took what was his.

[kleptokure]

Silent Affection P.1 (P.2) ⭒˚.⋆ ✴︎˚ ⋆˙⟡

Truthless Recluse x GN!Reader

Contains slight spoilers if you are not past 8-18.

·˖✮ ✮‧˖

You fail to remember the last time the environment around has been so quiet. Getting used to the bustling habitat of each region you traveled to, accompanying Gingerbrave, came as easy.

Now, left without the lively setting, everything feels astray. It feels otherworldly, even. But the worst part of it all is the stranger Pure Vanilla Cookie has morphed into.

Change can be a good thing, and you kept an open mind to those who reverted to different opinions. Yet this? No, this entire situation regarding your dearest is a case you cannot bring yourself to accept.

You never thought you would see Pure Vanilla Cookie's eyes modify themselves into such a dull state. The sparkle that was average to spot in his eyes seemed to fizzle out, but you swear you see the flicker of one when his stare lies onto you.

At the current moment, you stand before him as he sits on the edge of the bed in his gifted headquarters, residing inside of the unnerving tower.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie! You have to snap out of it. Our friends are in danger, we have to rescue them!" You try your earnest to get through to him, but all you receive is his eyes piercing into your own.

All of the warmth that used to trail after Pure Vanilla Cookie seems to have left. Uselessness strikes your dough, and motivation is not given from your emotionless lover. What else is there to do to convince him?

Pacing around the room, you attempt to think of another way to persuade Pure Vanilla Cookie back into his common traits.

You are unaware of why you were to be left at his side, now thinking about it. Shadow Milk Cookie did not afflict you with the same treatment he gave the others. As of right now, you've been permitted to stay beside Truthless Recluse for an unknown reason.

Expressing gratitude for your handling differing from your allies comes as hard. The fact that they can easily crumble from a tearing of the feeble cards they've been transformed into does not come as heartwarming.

Now, you put yourself before the silent cookie. You would hate to guilt trip your partner, you truly would—but it seems to be your last option.

"What if it were me? Would you turn me away, too? Leave me to be stuck as a tarot card?" You give your best to sound disheartened.

Truthless Recluse narrows his eyes at you, the grip he holds around his staff tightening. That counts as a reaction, much to your favor. Though would it do much in the long run?

He fails to see reason in why his heart feels heavy. Oh, but it is not with remorse. The gloomy cookie feels angered. How dare you suggest such an event could ever happen? He refuses to allow you to be turned into a small card, put inside of a bag and shrouded in complete darkness.

Yet he allows the misery to fall upon his other companions. Why must you be a discrepancy? He should've pushed you away long ago, yet he decided to complete the exact opposite.

Truthless Recluse feels ridiculous, causing to add onto his frustrations.

He stands up, towering over you with his absurd height. Pure Vanilla Cookie is one to be feared with his current body language, but you still stand in your place.

"You will not," he asserted, like a king to his pawns. Pure Vanilla's frown appears more prominent. You did not expect your short speech to cause such a reaction, coming off as wordless for a few seconds into your staring contest with him.

Then, you feel upset yourself. His single words, the few ones he's ever spoken to you, are hard to digest. Truthless Recluse can say that, but not hold to that same promise for your comrades?

Your hands clench into fist, standing with your chest puffed before the intimidating cookie.

"I don’t understand you. I never thought I would say this, but you are becoming insufferable!" Part of him feels hurt by that, and again, he falls short in knowing why.

"If you are so resistant to helping, then I will do it myself. You can stay here for as long as you'd like. I’m leaving." With that said and done, you turn on your heel, walking towards the exit of the room that you grow sick of.

But then, your feet prevent you from progressing. In fact, you do not seem to be touching the ground any longer, lifted a few feet above ground. Your hands remain fixed at your side, entirely incapable of moving.

That being said, you are unable to avert your stare towards the obvious culprit. Though there seemed to be no reason to worry, as the said perpetrator of your rigidness whirls you around to face him.

You were about to give him a mouthful, but Truthless Recluse reaches words before you have the chance.

"Stay."

"What?"

"You are not going anywhere."

"Pure Vanilla Cookie, release me," you shout, yet, as anticipated, his lips are shut thin. You become weary of his orders. He declines to hear you out, so why would you give ear to him?

But you soon realize, there is not much of a choice for you here. The look in his eyes signal that, and the fact that the strength difference between the both of you is quite measurable.

With the power of his staff, Truthless Recluse hovers you over his given bed, plopping you down onto the cushioning afterwards.

Quick to straighten yourself up, you look in his direction. There is irritance noticed in your stare, though it is miniscule. It goes difficult to stay mad at him, because at the end of the day, he remains your husband. Even within this form he takes.

Truthless Recluse takes a seat right next to you, your legs pressing together. Despite the harsh tone his talk is spoken with, there's little to no hesitation in his decision to be near you. Perhaps Pure Vanilla Cookie is not as far away as you would believe, judging off of that noticeable trait.

"So you disapprove of helping out our friends, but you also disapprove of me rescuing them?" You question, because you want him to know the absurdity of his own actions. Nothing appears to add up.

"Just say you want me here. That deep down inside, you still love me," you taunt him, more so to get back at him for his pettiness. Guilt tripping and persuasion are clear to have no affect on him. Taunting is not guaranteed to work either, but you can give it a shot.

Unbeknownst to you, your little tease did gain a reaction from the apathetic cookie.

Truthless Recluse dislikes the emotions that you, and you alone, are able to make him feel. Your simple words send him into strange mindsets, ones that he believed he would abandon after becoming a deceiver.

Liars are not known to have such close relationships, so he came prepared to dump his old friends. But you? Ditching you is easier said than done.

Maybe he can come to face the truth he has avoided. The reality is, you are no mere friend. Your title to him is far greater than that, which is why he is reluctant to allow your departure. Back then, he was more proud to call you his lover. Even though now, he would concede it, you are still his beloved. He loves you, and he hates that.

Why must you make his conversion so difficult?

It is as if Pure Vanilla Cookie reset. Again, he keeps as quiet, like prior, to any words you say.

But, you took note of his dramatic response to your attempt to flee. In this case, may it be that your actions cause more feedback than your conversation? There's one way to find out.

Scooting even closer to him, you gaze into his eyes. What a beautiful man he is, even with his drastic transformation.

Lowering your palm, you place it atop his own. You begin to hold his hand, a heartfelt gesture that was common between you pair, but will he return it this time around?

To your shock, and his own, he does. A sweet man can never truly be erased, it seems. That sprouts a smile on your face. But, why end it at holding hands? What else can grow to make him act out?

Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his cheek. He appears as unmoving now, but with how short the distance is, you can see the twitch in his face.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie," you whisper. "I love you."

He is no longer Pure Vanilla Cookie, he mentally asserts. Your love is in vain, as the cookie you once knew is shoved deep down and far gone.

Nevertheless, he accepts your affection all the same. That aspect is the most bothersome for him. He ought to silence you with your foolish declarations, but he falters in doing so.

Gaining his attention yet again, your face shifts to be placed right in front of his own. Truthless Recluse finds his mind to wander to how attractive you are, but he soon cuts those thoughts short for himself. He no longer believes in such facts, he would say.

Though if he deems himself a liar, that might be a lie.

"Truthless Recluse," you spoke in a gentle tone. "I love you."

Oh. That surprises him. He reckoned you would never utter his new label, but you have, which indicates you are directly addressing him, and he's lost on how to process it. All he can comprehend is the warmth radiating in his dough, as if he's back in the oven in which he was baked.

As your prior statement of admiration came with a complimentary kiss, the next remark shall have the same acclamantory.

You angle yourself closer, your lips coming into contact with Truthless Recluse's cold ones, meeting in a delicate kiss. As frigid as he is, you will be glad to share your heat to him.

Just as happy as he is to embrace it. Truthless Recluse finds himself returning your affection, leaning in to push your mouths closer. His eyes closed, he rediscovers how enjoyable affection can be.

His grip on his staff almost slips from how weakly he holds it. Truthless Recluse finds that possessing you in his arms is far more preferable, yet he refrains, as you already pulled away, much to his disappointment.

With a satisfied sigh, you rest your head against his shoulder.

"I don’t think we should keep the others waiting," you spoke amidst the silence. "Perhaps we should go check up on them?" You wonder if your mounds of endearment caused to change his point of view. If not, then luck has long left you.

Witches, now Truthless Recluse is sure he has been tricked yet again. How can he let you get away with your foolery so easily? You are such an infuriating cookie, and he despises that his feeble heart wants more of that. He would tear it out if he could.

Though he comes to terms with it quite quickly. That is just your personality, and well, Shadow Milk Cookie does plenty for his own indulgences. Would it hurt for him to take a cookie in for his own appeasement?

"No," he decides. You have a dumfounded expression. This cookie proved to be tough to crack, and that tends to be a good factor. But now, it shrivels in appearing as a perk.

"...Huh?"

"You, too, shall reside in this tower. Alongside me." He has got to be joking. Although he carries the title of a liar, even you can tell there is no deception in his tone.

"I'll... I'll give you another kiss if you grant my farewell?" Truthfully, that came to wilt his spirit. In spite of that, his silence as a response shows he has abstained.

Your husband developing a possessive trait catches you off guard. There's a chance those few kisses became disastrous in the end, as you see his eyes linger onto your lips rather than your own stare.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

·˖✮ ✮‧˖

A/N: I wanted to say thank you for the lovely welcoming on my first post! All of the notes are what encourage me to write, so it's heartwarming to see so many haha. About a part two for my first fic, I didn't really think about that. Perhaps I will if I brainstorm hard enough. Thanks for reading! (*´ڡ`●)

[togament]

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬. sakura, ume, kaji, suo, kiryu, togame.

"ever caught yourself fantasizing how they'd be as your lover? ever wanted to smooch them so badly you just wanna-- look no further, sweetie."

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: general FLUFF NATION BABIIIEEEE, a bit of language but only if you squint a little, I made it as gender neutral as possible but pls lmk if I made some mistakes!, our men are lovesick and absolutely down bad BAD, quick mention of bumping uglies, kaji the crowdkiller, brainworm infestation things, bibi went to yap town with togame's.

𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐚.

- big on acts of service BUT IS HORRIBLE AT HIDING HOW MUCH HE LIKES DOING STUFF FOR YOU. hear me out. he’d be the one opening doors for you, covering your head with his jacket when it’s raining outside (he’s getting soaked and you nag him about getting sick)…. all that. He’s blushing profusely. When you smile up at him, he immediately smiles back but then he claps a hand over his mouth to hide it. Give him time ok he’ll come around.

- he loves you. of course that’s a given because you’re his lover BUT BUT. he love LOVES you. like a lot. so much that it’s kind of painful, you know what I mean? Like he wants to express it so friggin bad, but he doesn’t know how to. His words escape him, he panics when he makes a move. He’s spent many a night just staring down at you with the most lovestruck eyes while you’re fast asleep. Tears falling from his eyes because he’s so happy you chose HIM of all people. He never thought he’d be worthy of being loved, of being trusted, of being CONSIDERED. You gave all of that to him and more. GOD he loves you.

- is super conflicted about PDA lol sometimes he wants to hold your hand in public, kiss you all over, hug you, but god damn it he’s blushing from head to toe whenever he’s around you. He’s got the cuteness aggression fever but he can’t let it ouuuttttt 🗣️🗣️🗣️

𝐮𝐦𝐞.

- EVERYTHING IS HIS LOVE LANGUAGE. Like, if you’re not into physical touch, he’d do something else for you. If you’re not the acts of service type and you wanna do stuff yourself, that’s cool too!!! He can manage!!!! Although he’d want to help you out so bad but…. He’s cheering on you from the sidelines. On that note, he’s your biggest (and loudest) cheerleader! You’d have an achievement and no matter how small or big it is, his friends and neighbors and the random strangers he passes by know about it and how amazing you are. BECAUSE YOU ARE.

- loves it when you help him out in the garden hehehe loves it extra if you know how to take care of the veggies and fruits hehehehe like, you’d be tending to the potted plants and he’s checking for aphids on the other side of the garden. You’re actively pruning the basil the right way so it’d grow bushier, you’re hand pollinating the pumpkins, you even suggested on doing the three sisters method so you’d yield more harvest in the coming months. He may or may not have begged you to marry him once or fifty times every time he’s caught you doing that. (Ofc you’ve said yes once or fifty times lol)

- WORST CUTENESS AGGRESSION FEVER SUFFERER. You cannot convince me otherwise. You’d be doing the most mundane things, walking down the road with him, lounging on the couch with your belly out and body contorted in the most unattractive position, just STANDING THERE….. he’s immediately on you, peppering kisses everywhere his lips can reach, hugging you so close, rubbing his face all over youdbjfjdndnnd CUTENESS AGGRESSION IS UMEMIYA AND UMEMIYA IS CUTENESS AGGRESSION. If he could he’d bite you. He has btw. On multiple occasions. The tiniest, softest chomp though.

- never fails to tell you how much he loves you. On the daily, on the fly, every time he meets your eyes. “I love you” so easily slips from his lips, he expresses it so easily but it never loses its meaning with him. He means it every time he utters those three words. You can feel it too. Just… don’t ask him to elaborate because he’d drop anything he’s doing just to explain to you as to how and why and what and where and—uh oh is he crying?????

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓.

𝐤𝐚𝐣𝐢.

- WOULD MAKE PLAYLISTS FOR YOU. Hear me out again. He’s horrible with words ok? Like he’s thorny. He’d say the meanest things accidentally sometimes without him realizing that. So, he makes playlists for you. He’s made one for himself when he first realized he had a crush on you, btw. Don’t tell him I told you. Notice how he’s had his headphones on his head whenever you first started talking to him? Yeah he was listening to it when he saw you passing by. Best music taste btw. Listens to all genres too like he doesn’t discriminate. Get him started on some hardcore bands though, he’s yapping. Eyebrows furrowed. (He likes rowdy places but doesn’t get rowdy? Canonically too? Yeah the man’s outside the pit pushing the crowdkillers away from you. CATCH HIM IN THE PIT THOUGH OH MY GOD THAT’S A CROWDKILLER RIGHT THERE.) on that note, he loves going to gigs with you. You wanna go check a local band? He’s immediately got ticket stubs for their next gig.

- another acts of service guy. You see those tiktoks of girls grabbing something under the table and the guy holding the corner of the table so she wouldn’t accidentally hit it? Or like when you got full hands and you can’t go to open the door, the guy’s materialized beside you, opening it for you? Yeah that’s him. Real subtle about it though. Don’t bring attention to it pls unless you want him to not look at you for a couple of minutes (he’s blushing pls be patient)

- the type to nag at you when you get hurt. Man oh MAN does he nag. He’s gone through one too many fights already so he knows how to patch himself up real nice. But when YOU get hurt, he’s immediately digging through his first aid kit, cleaning your wound and patching you up while nagging you to be more careful next time, what if he wasn’t around to help, what if this what if that grumble grumble. He’s got his lollipop in his mouth btw. Pull it out for a second and GIVE HIM THE BIGGEST SMOOCH TO SHUT HIM UP PLEASE. Sweetest kisses. Both literally and figuratively 🥹

𝐬𝐮𝐨.

- GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN. Oh my god if you don’t want attention drawn to the both of you, never bring Suo out in public!!!!!!!! He does the most for you so effortlessly, so beautifully, people swoon and get jealous because of it. The type to give you flowers too. Not just on special occasions too. And not just flowers in a bouquet. No. The flowers are already arranged in a vase so you wouldn’t have to worry about grabbing a vase yourself. Goodness your normal dates would seem so extravagant when he’s around. You’d be eating at a McDonald’s and you’re looking over at your lover and he looks so dashing and he smells so good and he’s got the softest smile anfjdjjdj UGHHHHHH!!!!!! But if you’re not into flowers, he’d find some other way to express his love for you in a different way. Whatever you’re comfortable with, he’s down for.

- big tease. He likes seeing you squirm and pout when he’s playing a little prank on you. You swear you can see a slight blush on his cheeks when you pout but it’s so so subtle you think it’s the lighting.

- is not afraid to express how much he absolutely LOVES you. If you need reassurance, he’s pulling you to the side to talk about it. If you need him to kiss you more, oh he’s doing THAT AND MORE. If you’re the jealous type, even better. He’s smooching you in front of the person you think is flirting with him. But if you’re not into that intense stuff, he’s pulling you into the conversation, keeping a hand on your waist and looking over to you for an extra opinion. Lays on the “dove”, “my love”, “my sweet”, “my heart”, T H I C K . And I fucking mean THICK.

𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐮.

- *dreamy sigh* a fucking dreamboat is what he is. You could never, EVER go wrong with kiryu, man. I swear. A gentleman through and through. Takes you on spontaneous dates, likes going to arcades with you and winning you the biggest plushie!!!! (he’s really good at it), would take you on perfume dates (HE SMELLS GOOD CANONICALLY UGH), would even do your make up for you. Ugh. UGH. He’d be the best partner you could ever ask for. Y’know those perfect couples on tiktok? That’s you and him. But it’s all genuine, baby. That’s just how he loves.

- big on matching outfits. But not the blatant matching ones, no. Like, same color palettes, same textures, YES. YES. The outfit brainstorming is part of your dates too. He’d let you borrow his clothes if you want, he’d even let you spritz some of his most expensive perfumes 😭!!!!

- SKINCARE DATES TOO. WOAH WOAH WOAH. like, he has a AM/PM routine but he'd love to do it with you! he'd suggest all the best stuff for your skin, check if your skin's more on the dry side, oily side, yes. your man knows his shit and it SHOWS. your skin's practically glowing when you're with him. boyfriend air doesn't exist.

- IF YOU NEED REASSURANCE AND A HYPEMAN HE IS YOUR FUCKING GUY I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. God he’d see you looking at yourself in the mirror, fussing over how you look and practically putting yourself down, his heart would break. Like, how could you not see how he sees you? He’s taking you in his arms and telling you everything he absolutely adores about you, how beautiful you are, showering you with praise on the sweetest most kiryu way possible. He’s peppering kisses along your tear streaked cheeks until you’re smiling again. “There’s that smile,” he says as he pulls away, cupping your face in his hands. Ugh he even has the most lovesick puppydog eyes for you. “I love you, alright? So much,” he kisses your forehead, “So, So much.” He whispers into your hairline. GOOOOODDDDDDD 🫂 and did I say HYPEMAN? I mean it. Do a little spin for him in your new clothes and he’s screaming and yelling and taking so much pictures of you!!!!! His instagram feed’s full of you, your couple photos, your dates… practically a fan account of your relationship. He loves you and he loves loving you!!!!!!!!! and if you're the jealous type, he'd be so patient with you. he'd reassure you to the moon and back!!! ofc since he's popular with girls, he'd do his best to reassure you that he only has his eyes on you and you alone.

- gaming nights with kiryu. Oh Gaming Nights With Kiryu please save me gaming nights with kiryu. He’s got a whole set up ready for the both of you, his PS5 hot and ready, snacks opened. It’s a special thing for the both of you too! He decorates his apartment in the theme of the game you’re both playing, horror game? His apartment looks like a horror house. Smash bros? BET. (He’ll be smashing you by the end of the night gehrhhrhehehehHgdhdhs). I know he’s got LED strips so he’s using that to his advantage too. Ok I’m getting carried away. Kiryu best partner best lover best everything.

𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞.

- *RIPS SHIRT OPEN LIKE A WEREWOLF GRGEGGRHEHE BARKING!!!!!* TOGAMEEEEE!!!!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ I am apologizing for this part, love. I’m gonna go hard.

- canonically doesn’t text. Only leaves you on read. Calling him though? CALLING HIM?? 🫠 he’s answering as soon as it rings. None of that “wait until the third ring” baloney. His baby’s calling. If he’s doing something before you called, HE’S DROPPING IT FOR YOU. And he answers in that deep voice of his and 🫠🫠🫠 sigh. You guys stay on the phone for hours. He’s the type to do things while he’s calling you too. If you’re away and he can’t be with you, he’d love it if you could stay on the phone with him for way longer too. Big on facetiming too. He’s fallen asleep with facetime on. You have a collection of screenshots of his pretty sleeping face. You’ve fallen asleep on facetime too. He doesn’t have as much screenshots though and he haaaates himself for it because he spends so much time just staring at you through his phone, smiling to himself like. FUCK he’s so in love with you!!!!! YOU!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ plus he’s got nervous shaky hands so hehe first time you guys facetimed you weren’t a couple yet. You fell asleep and he tried taking a screenshot and dropped his phone. The sound woke you up lol you give him shit about that moment sometimes, teasing him. He’s a blushing mess, elbowing you gently so you’d stop.

- AWKWARD TOGAME WHEN YOU GUYS FIRST DATED UGH SHIIIITTTTT!!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ he’s canonically bad with groups of people and people in general. Choji had to adopt him forcefully into shishitoren ok? So that translates so SO well to you and your relationship with him. He may or may not have (allegedly, for legal reasons) asked for romance advice from Choji. He may or may not have (again, allegedly) tried that yawning and stretching trick so he could rest his arm behind you. No. Nope. Didn’t hear it from me.

- awkward and SHY togame when he made the first move on you!!!!!!! He had a ramune bottle in his hand because it was shaking so bad he couldn’t control it. You GAVE HIM HIS FIRST KISS DHHRHDHRRRRAAAAGHHH 🗣️🗣️🐺 you had to hold his other hand to stop it from trembling. Yours were too tbh hehe made him feel a bit better because you were just as nervous as he is.

- once you both are super into the relationship though, my goodness expect togame to be THE BEST PARTNER. See how he was with Choji? Did anything and everything to keep his smile? He’d do that for you too. Amp it up to a 100. His surprises are simple, never was one for grand gestures. But goodness you can feel the effort. Even employed some help from his old man pals at the community baths 🫠

- speaking of the old men, THEY WERE THE FIRST PEOPLE TO KNOW ABOUT HIS CRUSH ON YOU!!!!! Like, they were doting on togame when he expressed he’s never felt this way for someone before, how he can feel his heart racing and his face heating up when you’re around. They knew he was in love with you before he knew for himself.

- OF COURSE THEY KNEW YOUUU. So when you wanted to get into a relationship with togame, knowing it’s serious now, you went out of your way to meet up with the group of old men!!!! There, you discovered that togame has been talking about you nonstop. They already loved you for him before you formally met!!!!! They gave you their collective blessing, of course. You both are their grandchildren in their eyes.

- togame CAN COOK. EXPECT HIM TO COOK FOR YOU CONSTANTLY. And if you can cook, EVEN BETTER. Cooking dates, farmer’s market dates, izakaya dates, GASTRONOMY! You often surprise each other with decorated lunch boxes.

- nap dates all the time. Like, when you’re not bumping uglies or cooking or bonding with your friends, you both are asleep in each other’s arms. He gives the best hugs too. Like, those hugs that just cover you, you know?

- obviously, he loves you. But god damn it he wants to scream it into the world!!!! With the way he treats you though, constantly worrying about you, being there at your beck and call, pressing kisses into the crown of your head whenever you’re next to each other, he doesn’t need to scream it or utter a single word. You can just see the love he has for you. Everyone knows it.

- has thought about marrying you a couple times already. The type to call you his spouse teasingly too just to see you blush. He cannot wait to call you that officially. If he were good at technology, he would definitely have a pinterest board ready lol

a/n: wehehehehajsdkj hehehe togame. i missed writing for him, guys. THANK YOU FOR READING THROUGH TO THE END. some of the togame headcanons were from my convo with @yisxn!!! the ramune bottle detail was so perfect I couldn't skip it! also the asking for advice from the old men. YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL MIND ILYSM. thank you to @brainrot-of-a-thot for helping me clear up my brainfog last nightttt. also to you, reader, ILY. thank you for reading my word vomit!!!!!!!!!

[weneeya]

Hello!! I don't know if you like that idea, but would you make haikyuu boys with the tiktok trend “a boy who's jacked and kind”? I thought this would fit so many of them (iwa, ushijima, bokuto… SO MANY 😭)

jacked and kind pt.1 / pt.2 m.list | rules

pairing. haikyuu x reader

characters. iwaizumi, ushijima, bokuto, kuroo

note. OMG YOUR BRAIN?? you're a genius i love this idea sm ofc i'm gonna do it!! hope you'll enjoy it, don't hesitate to do requests guys <3

Iwaizumi

You were laying on the couch of your living room, scrolling on your phone through the different trends on TikTok right now. You were a bit bored, until you noticed your boyfriend, Iwaizumi, entering the room. He sat next to you, completely silent, and you decided that it was time to have some fun.  You began to scroll through the videos of the “jacked and kind” trend where guys put their girls on a shoulder. Yes, you secretly hoped that Iwaizumi would do this with you, but you also knew he would never say yes if you asked him to do the video with you. You needed to be more tricky. 

After a few videos with the same sound, your boyfriend glanced at your phone. When he noticed the video playing on your screen, a light frown appeared on his face, putting his own phone to the side. He was interested ; good for you. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked, leaning closer to you to have a better look at the screen. You looked at him, and explained the trend to him. He shrugged his shoulders, not convinced even a little.  “Doesn’t seem so hard, why is he struggling so much?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, glancing at you. Great, it was exactly what you wanted.  “You think you wouldn’t struggle?” you asked him, and you noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He stood up from the couch and motioned you to do the same. He was never saying no to a challenge.  “Let me just…” You put your phone in a good position so it would be able to capture the scene perfectly. You walked back to him, turning around to face the camera. He put his hands on your waist, and in a silent agreement, he picked you up like you weighed nothing. He put you on his shoulder, and you stayed there for a moment before he put you back on the floor.  You cut the video, putting it in your drafts. No one other than you needed to see how strong your boyfriend was. His flexed arms were only for you. You turned around to look at him, andIwaizumi had his arms crossed and a grin playing on his lips.  “See? Wasn’t so hard.” He really was a proud idiot, and it made you roll your eyes with an amused smile. You could not deny it though ; it really seemed to be a piece of cake for him. 

Ushijima

Ushijima was a dense man, the type who does not understand simple things because it simply did not make sense to him. And those trends? They were far from anything he could understand easily. You tried a few times, but your boyfriend did not seem to get it. But this time, it had to be different, because you really wanted him to do this one. Jacked and kind? It was perfect for him, he could not escape it.  He was busy with a book, laying on the bed, when he heard you enter the room. He almost immediately looked up from his book to meet your eyes. He slowly raised an eyebrow when he noticed how excited you seemed to be. Ushijima put his book to the side, sitting back up on the bed and waiting for you to begin your explanations.  “Can you just follow me, please? I want to try something!” You told him, and as he was not the type to complain, he just stood up and walked behind you as you led him to the living room.  Your phone was already in its place, ready to keep in memory the moment forever. You stood up in front of your boyfriend, back facing him, and led his hands to your waist. You glanced at him from above your shoulder, and you saw the loss on his face.  “I need you to pick me up, and put me on your shoulder. You think you can do that?” You asked, and his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he still did not understand what you were trying to do. Yet, it disappeared quickly and he nodded at your words.  In no time, you were sitting on Ushijima’s shoulder who was holding you there like you were nothing more than a feather to him. He looked at you, almost like it did not ask him for any effort.  “You can put me down now,” you told him, and he did as you say, your feet gently meeting the ground again. You cut the video, looking at it for a moment. He was so adorable with his lost face, but his arms were sending mixed feelings in your stomach.  You walked back to him, leaving a soft kiss against his cheek. You thanked him with a smile, and Ushijima did not need more than this. He did not understand a single thing but if you were satisfied and happy, he could not ask for better.

Bokuto

“I want to do this!” said Bokuto when he saw the video playing on your phone, looking at it from above your shoulder. He had his arms wrapped around you, keeping your back pressed against his chest. He even held you a bit tighter before of how excited he was at the idea of showing off how he could pick you up so easily.  You could not deny anything to this boy when he was so happy. Well, you could never deny him, but especially not when he was like this. You put your phone on record mode, placing it a bit far so it could capture your two figures better.  Bokuto stood up behind you, putting his hands on your waist, already ready to pick you up. He glanced at you to ask if you were too, and your small nod was everything he needed. He pulled you in the air, and the second after you were sitting on his shoulder while he held you there. He was so proud of himself, you could tell by the large smile on his lips.  He laughed a bit, before he began to do small spins with you on his shoulder, showing off how strong he was. It made you chuckle seeing how excited he was, before he put you back down on the floor. You moved away from him to turn off the camera, and he was impatiently waiting behind you to see the video.  “Was I good? I was, right?” He asked, and you swore he looked like a cute puppy who wanted to hear how much of a good boy he was. You looked back at him with a smile, nodding softly.  “The best.” You replied, and you could not say anything else because he picked you up once again to carry you around the room, all happy and overexcited. Bokuto really loved to have you in his arms, there was no doubt about this.

Kuroo

“I am jacked and kind!” Kuroo was walking right behind you as you shook your head. You glanced at him from above your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. You eyed him from head to toe, before you shrugged your shoulders.  “Maybe jacked, but not so kind,” you teased, and he took an offended face, resting a hand against his chest. You both knew it was nothing serious, only a playful banter as always.  “Rude.” He told you, before he shifted to be in front of you, stopping you in your steps to the kitchen. There was no way he would let you run away from this so easily. He was going to show how jacked and kind he could be if he wanted to.  “Take the video, let the world see how great your boyfriend is.” Kuroo flexed his arms while you were putting your phone in place to capture the moment. You rolled your eyes at his words before you walked back to him.  “Talk less, show more.” You told him with a grin, before a light gasp left your lips. He had suddenly picked you up to put on his shoulder without a warning. A smirk appeared on his lips, and he looked up at you with an eyebrow raised suggestively. Your only answer was a roll of your eyes, crossing your arms.  He chuckled a bit before he slowly put you down, but not to the floor. He carried you in bridal style, so you would be forced to look at him this time. “Not kind, uh?” This bastard, you loved him so much. You pushed his shoulder slightly before he put you down, all giggling because of how proud he was of himself.  You turned off the video, keeping it to yourself. There was no way you would let anyone else see how he made you react when he was like this. He would be too happy to see the reactions of the people on the Internet.

thank you sm <3

[kokokoula]

you fall first, but he falls harder

a/n: i can only write fluff, so please trust me that it's fluff. there's like, one usage of 'she', timeskip spoilers, and a bit of language. it's my longest fic yet (which isn't saying much), no beta we die like daichi

you don't know that tsukishima kei knows about your crush on him. it's so damn obvious, how you turn red so easily when he's around. unfortunately for you, though, he doesn't reciprocate, nor does he bother confronting you about it. you are his closest friend other than yamaguchi, and as much as he hates to admit it, he doesn't want to lose you as one. it's so tedious, anyways.

---

"it's our last year in karasuno, do you have anything planned?" you ask as you lay on the floor of tsukishima's room. you're supposed to be studying, since it was what you came over to do with kei and tadashi, but you gave up somewhere halfway in geography.

"it is my last year, but who knows about you? you've been slacking so much, you'd probably have to repeat a year. and could you get up?" he sighs and nudges your side with his foot.

"asshole," you mutter, cheeks growing red. if you knew that he just dodged your question, you don't do anything about it. "just you wait, i'll enroll into kyoto university and make you eat your words, beanpole."

"sure." his reply drips with sarcasm, but he doesn't doubt that you can make it far. there's a knock at the door.

"sorry for being late!"

"tadashi!!"

---

kei knows you can read him like an open book. you can tell he's having a bad day just by a conversation with him through text. he also knows that when he says that he doesn't want to talk, you immediately ring his phone.

the first time it happened, he had tried to decline your calls, or just ignore them entirely, but you're insistent. eventually he picked up, filled with pure irritation at that point.

"could you--"

"i'm heading over. i promise i won't push for any details. i'll even get strawberry shortcake on the way." you immediately stated. he paused to mull it over.

"fine, but if the cake sucks, i'm kicking you out." it's safe to say that the cake was good enough to make this a habit, so much so that tsukshima doesn't even know why you still call him to let him know you're coming over. the both of you know you will no matter what.

so here you are, sitting on his bedroom floor with him and eating desserts in silence, save for the music playing softly from his computer.

"you're gonna get in trouble with your parents when they realise you snuck out." he remarks. you shrug your shoulders, stuffing the remaining taiyaki in your mouth.

"i know."

"don't talk with your mouth full." you roll your eyes with a furious blush. somehow, you being here with him becomes sweeter than the strawberry shortcake.

---

you were there when tsukishima made the decision to go professional with volleyball.

his last match as karasuno's middle blocker had ended. his body was sore all over, but somehow the freak duo managed to convince him and yamaguchi to play one more match back at school, just the four of them with yachi. but even with landing third in nationals and a final intimate match with his teammates, he still somehow felt so unsatisfied.

the walk home with you was silent. he was grateful you didn't say anything. he couldn't handle any more questions about how he was feeling when he himself was unsure. it was when you two stepped outside the convenience store after getting ice cream did he come to the conclusion that he never wants to have a last match.

"i'm not going to give up on volleyball after graduation." he announced out of the blue. you were caught off guard for a bit, before grinning at him. "i expected that."

"why?"

"you call hinata and kageyama freaks for being so insane about volleyball, but you don't even realise that you're just as equally crazy about it as them." you said it so nonchalantly as you eat your ice cream, like you're stating a fact. now it was his turn to be taken off guard. he took a while to let it settle in before chuckling softly.

he should have known that you know him better than he does himself.

---

it's graduation day. tsukishima and kageyama are stuck with their four teary-eyed friends by their side. kei awkwardly pats your head, not knowing how to comfort you. you laugh at his feeble attempt, your rosy cheeks burning red. have you always been this cute? in the midst of all the bittersweet interactions, you get distracted by something on your phone, and let out a gasp.

"what is it, (name)?" yamaguchi asks. you're trembling slightly, and tsukishima grows worried.

"i, uh, got into kyoto university," you say in disbelief. "i actually got in!" everyone congratulates you, but you only care about one thing.

"tsukki, remember that day i told you i'd make you eat your words?" he hums in acknowledgement. you shove the acceptance email in his face, but he can only focus on how proud you look with that shit-eating smirk. "what do you have to say now, beanpole?"

he smiles. that's my best friend right there.

"nothing."

---

you were gone before the new year, and kei was handling your absence well until semester started. he had believed it'd be fine, you were only across the country, not across the world. plus, you promised you would call as often as you could.

but he doesn't see you in his classes anymore, and you don't come over when he's having a bad day. he got himself strawberry shortcake to lighten his mood like it usually does, but he only feels hollow. it doesn't help that since he's going pro, his volleyball training is almost everyday now, and with your commitments, he rarely gets to call you anymore. it hurts like hell inside.

"hey tsukki, you've been off recently. is everything ok?" tadashi calls him one day.

"i'm fine, yamaguchi." kei lies. tadashi isn't convinced.

"does it have something to do with (name) being in kyoto?"

"why would you say that?" he answered too quickly for his liking.

"well, you bring (name) up quite a bit, and when you realise she isn't there, you get all quiet and snappy." tsukishima is about to retort back, but then it hits him.

oh shit, he's in love.

---

the day you finally return back to miyagi to visit, tsukishima waits at the station with yamaguchi. kei's eyes are constantly searching the crowd and flickering to his watch every so often.

"tsukki, relax, she'll be here soon." he ignores tadashi's reassurance.

tsukishima kei is a composed man, always able to think before he acts. but when he catches sight of you, he runs. before you can register anything, he hugs you, gripping onto you like a lifeline, like he will die if he lets go of you.

"tsukki--"

"gosh, i missed you so much, you idiot." he knows you could have easily lost feelings for him when you were away.

"wha--"

"i've suffered so much because of your stupid, dumb ass." he doesn't care.

"wait--"

"i like you, so go out with me before you have to head back to kyoto." you're back, and he's scared to lose you again. every second you stay quiet, the louder his heart beats in his ears.

"really?" you finally say, your voice barely over a whisper.

"yea." another pause.

"guess i'm yours then, beanpole."

bonus:

"you know, i knew about your crush back in high school."

"what the heck?"

"you didn't necessarily hide it well."

"then i'll have you know that yamaguchi told me everything that had happened when i've been gone."

"...fuck."

[luckyladylily]

So like, transandrophobia.

To start this out, I am a trans woman, been around in the queer community for a while. I'm also bisexuality, polyamorous, disabled, and aromantic, and I think these other parts of my identity and the crap I've caught over the years for them heavily informs how I analyze something like transandrophobia. My wife is also asexual, so that plays a part in it too.

So every group of marginalized people has their own unique experiences and problems. It's more of a rule than something we've mathematically demonstrated, but as far as these things go it's ridiculously well established, and personally every time I've done even a basic dive into the issues faced by a marginalized group it's been self evident. I could easily list a dozen groups ranging from racial minorities to different kinds of disabled people to different queer identities and analyze their social issues but let's be real, this is pretty well established theory, anyone who needs me to do that is not really interacting with good faith. This is one of the big reasons we talk to people about their own experiences and groups, we cannot reasonably extrapolate the experiences of others from our own.

So like trans men and trans mascs and anyone else that falls under that umbrella has their unique experiences. The idea that we would even question this is weird to me? Like I can't even imagine the kind of evidence someone would need to present to me to change my mind, and given the pattern of the queer community to be shitty in exactly this way to people in our community, yeah that is not happening.

Therefore, we are taking it for granted that the trans men/masc/related umbrella has their own things going on like everyone else ever, and I don't understand how someone acting in good faith can try to claim otherwise unless they are young or otherwise very inexperienced with such things.

The next point of contention seems to be the name, and I gotta be real I don't care and I don't understand why other people do. I've read all sorts of arguments against the word transandrophobia and the majority of them seem to be rooted in a misunderstanding of intersectionality, and even then it's like there is such a thing where people get so mired in theory that they miss the forest for the trees.

Perhaps more important to me, getting overly worked up about something as unimportant as the precise term is... weird. Like exclusionists hating on bi and ace people weird. I remember what it was like a decade ago when exclusionists were trying to police the words of bi women, and five years ago when ace and aro people were under constant attack under the pretense that our language was harmful for some reason or other. You are going to have to work very, very, very hard to convince me that any bickering over language as it relates to transandrophobia is not just more of the same.

Next, "transandrobros hate trans femmes" and similar stuff. I've seen the callout posts and found them completely unconvincing. Again, they read a lot like the old "ace people hate lesbians!" posts I used to see. I'm not convinced that the individuals involved were a problem, I am certainly not able to extrapolate a problem to the rest of the group.

Finally, there is this idea that "maleness is not a vector for oppression" and this invalidates something about the whole transandrophobia thing, ranging from the entire concept of trans men experiencing prejudice to something about language being imprecise all the way to "This is fascist shit, omg these people are basically nazis" depending on who says it. I'm not going to touch any of that and just look at the underlying logic.

This is based off a misunderstanding of intersectionality theory. Many people think of intersectionality as defining intersecting prejudice, like a ven diagram, such that transmisogyny is the intersection of transphobia and misogyny. This is incorrect. Intersectionality defines unique prejudice experienced by people with intersecting identities. Instead of a transmisogyny as the overlap of transphobia and misogyny, imagine adding a third circle that overlaps both but also has its own areas covered by neither.

Applied to transandrophobia, even if we assume maleness is not a vector for oppression, there is no reason to assume that the intersection of maleness with a marginalized identity doesn't result in new issues. Imagine that 3 circle venn diagram that represents misogyny, transphobia, and transmisogyny. Even if you remove the misogyny circle there is still plenty of ground covered by the transmisogyny circle.

This just isn't a valid criticism. It is a pure theory approach based on a flawed reading of theory.

So in summary:

Everyone has their unique shit going on and I've seen no convincing evidence that trans men, mascs, etc. Are the exception.

I not seen any convincing argument that the word itself is bad.

I've not seen any convincing evidence that there is some epidemic of transandrophobia truthers hating and harassing trans femmes on scales higher than normal background queer infighting.

The most coherent objection to transandrophobia I've seen is categorically incorrect and based on a fundamental misunderstanding of intersectionality theory.

I would like to remind everyone at this point I am a trans woman, part of the group that is supposedly a problem for and I've just not see it at all, to the point where it is kind of weird how intensely some people are pushing this.

I'm not trying to be mean or whatever, I'm sure the distress on display here comes from a real place and real trauma, but I've yet to see anything that makes me think there is substance to the objections to transandrophobia as a concept. It feels and reads like the latest round of queer intracommunity exclusionism, and the fact that this time around I'm not one of the target identities doesn't change that for me.

[mywhisperingwords]

everyone wants him | fred g. weasley

summary: everyone wants fred weasley, why would he want you? word count: 3.2k masterlist

The Leaky Cauldron was alive with its usual chaos—laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional misplaced spell fizzling out before causing any real harm.

You sat tucked into the corner of the pub, nursing a Butterbeer that had long since gone lukewarm. Alicia had dragged you out tonight, claiming you needed to “live a little.” You weren’t entirely convinced, but there was something about her enthusiasm that made saying no impossible.

And then there was Fred Weasley.

You’d noticed him the second he walked in, though you’d never admit it. His presence was magnetic in a way you couldn’t quite explain, drawing attention without even trying. He laughed too loud, flashed that mischievous grin too easily, and had the audacity to look good doing it.

He was surrounded, of course. Angelina was at his side, rolling her eyes at something he’d said, but not enough to hide her smile. A couple of other faces hovered nearby—girls who leaned in a little too close, their laughter a little too eager.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing instead on Alicia, who was recounting some outrageous story involving a Niffler and a stolen bracelet.

“And then—are you even listening?”

You blinked, startled, and Alicia followed your gaze across the room. She smirked. “Ah. Fred Weasley.”

You frowned. “What about him?”

“You were practically drooling.”

“I was not.”

She laughed, leaning back in her chair. “Don’t bother denying it. Everyone looks at him like that at least once. It’s infuriating, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“How bloody charming he is.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Infuriating was a good word for it.

It wasn’t until later in the night, after the crowd had thinned and Alicia had gone off to dance with some guy you didn’t recognize, that Fred approached you.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already sliding into the chair across from you.

You glanced up, startled. “Uh, sure?”

His grin widened, and you felt an unwelcome flutter in your chest. “You’re Alicia’s friend, right? I’ve seen you around. I’m Fred.”

“I know who you are.”

“Do you?” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you’re about to use that ridiculous charm of yours to try and get in my pants.”

He laughed—a genuine, full-bodied sound that caught you off guard. “Merlin, you’re sharp, aren’t you? I like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to be likable.”

“Even better.”

You shook your head, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. He was persistent, you’d give him that.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Why are you here, all tucked away in the corner like some kind of mysterious enigma?”

“Mysterious enigma?”

“It’s the best I could come up with on short notice. Don’t judge me.”

This time, you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto your face. “I didn’t want to come tonight. Alicia dragged me here.”

“Well, remind me to thank her later,” he said, his tone light but his eyes unexpectedly serious.

You hesitated, caught off guard by the shift. For a moment, you wondered if there might be more to Fred Weasley than the charming facade.

But then someone called his name—a girl, predictably—and the moment passed.

Fred glanced over his shoulder, his grin returning as he waved her off. When he turned back to you, he seemed almost reluctant.

“Duty calls,” he said, rising from his chair. “But don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

“Why would I be anything else?”

His laughter followed him as he walked away, and you were left alone, staring at your now-empty glass and wondering what, exactly, had just happened.

&

Diagon Alley was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. The crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of roasted chestnuts from a nearby cart, mingling with the earthy smell of parchment and ink that clung to the shopfront of Flourish and Blotts. You had come to pick up a new quill, your old one having finally succumbed to overuse during a particularly tedious set of reports.

As you stepped out of the shop, quill and a small stack of books tucked under your arm, you nearly collided with someone coming in the opposite direction.

“Careful there,” came the familiar voice, low and teasing.

Fred Weasley.

You took a step back, startled, and looked up to find him grinning down at you. His hair was windswept, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, and he had the same effortless energy that seemed to follow him everywhere.

“Do you make a habit of running into people, or am I just lucky?” he asked.

“Only the particularly unfortunate,” you replied, stepping aside to let him pass.

“Unfortunate?” He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Here I thought you’d be thrilled to see me.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “What are you doing here, anyway? Don’t tell me you’re in need of a good book.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an avid reader,” he said, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. “In fact, I was just about to pick up a—” He paused, glancing over your stack of books. “What’s this? ‘The Art of Brewing Potent Potions’? Didn’t take you for the potion-making type.”

You shifted the books slightly, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not. It’s for a friend.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding solemnly. “A likely story.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Despite yourself, you laughed—a small, involuntary sound that you quickly tried to stifle. Fred noticed, of course, and his grin softened into something warmer, more genuine.

“Well, I’d hate to keep you from your important potion-related business,” he said after a moment, stepping aside to let you pass.

“Important quill-related business, actually,” you corrected, holding up the bag in your hand.

“Ah, of course. How could I forget?”

You shook your head, already turning to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone shifting slightly.

You turned back, surprised to see something uncertain flicker across his face. It was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual confidence, but it left you curious.

“Let me walk you back,” he said, gesturing down the street.

You hesitated, torn between instinctively brushing him off and the strange, unfamiliar pull you felt to say yes. In the end, the latter won out.

“Alright,” you said, falling into step beside him.

The walk back was filled with the kind of aimless chatter that felt oddly natural—Fred recounting some escapade involving a rogue charm and a very unhappy house-elf, you half-listening, half-watching the way his hands moved as he spoke.

When you finally reached your door, he paused, rocking back on his heels. “Well, this is me,” you said, nodding towards the entrance.

Fred nodded, his grin returning. “Good to know. I’ll keep this in mind for next time.”

“Next time?”

“Sure,” he said, already stepping away. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And with that, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing in the doorway with a faint smile and a strange, fluttering feeling in your chest.

&

The weeks that followed your second encounter were marked by an unexpected rhythm.

Fred had a way of showing up—not at your door like expected, but in the spaces in between. He had a knack for making himself unavoidable, though never in an overbearing way. You’d catch him at the tea shop near your office, juggling two mugs precariously in his hands and grinning at you as if it were fate. Or in the park, where he’d be charming a group of kids with conjured fireworks, his laughter echoing over the treetops.

“I swear, you’re everywhere,” you said one afternoon when you bumped into him yet again outside Flourish and Blotts.

“Or maybe you’re just not very good at avoiding me,” he replied, his grin maddeningly confident.

Despite your best efforts, the barriers you’d carefully constructed began to shift, piece by piece. It started with the smallest of gestures—him carrying your books when your arms were full, sneaking you a bag of your favorite sweets when he somehow discovered your weakness for honey drops. The conversations, too, began to stretch beyond the surface, slipping into territory you weren’t entirely comfortable with but couldn’t resist exploring.

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” Fred said one evening, his voice softer than usual.

You had both ended up in the same quiet corner of The Leaky Cauldron—pure coincidence, or so he claimed. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, and for once, his usual smirk was nowhere to be found.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, deflecting with a raised eyebrow.

“Because I’d like to know,” he said simply.

You hesitated, your fingers brushing the rim of your mug. The question had an intimacy to it that made you feel vulnerable, and yet, there was something about the way he looked at you—like he could see straight through the walls you kept up.

“I’m scared of not being good enough,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

Fred blinked, surprised by your honesty, but his expression quickly softened. “Good enough for what?”

“For anything. Everything,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly, his gaze steady. “And for the record, I think you’re more than good enough.”

The moment lingered, delicate and raw, before you cleared your throat and changed the subject. Fred let you, but the look in his eyes stayed with you long after you’d said goodnight.

As time passed, your world seemed to orbit closer to his. He found reasons to seek you out, and you found yourself looking forward to his presence, even when you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

One evening, he brought you to his joke shop after hours, proudly showing you prototypes of new products. His enthusiasm was infectious, his face lighting up as he explained the intricacies of a new line of trick wands.

“Why do I feel like you’re trying to recruit me?” you teased as he handed you one to test.

“Because I am,” he said without hesitation. “You’d be great at it. You’ve got a good eye for details, and you don’t take my nonsense too seriously.”

“Someone has to keep you grounded.”

Fred grinned. “Exactly. That’s why you’re perfect for the job.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but something warm and unspoken passed between you.

It wasn’t long before people began to notice.

The first comment came from a colleague at work, offhand and seemingly harmless. “You and Fred Weasley seem awfully friendly,” they said, their tone laced with just enough curiosity to make you feel self-conscious.

The whispers followed soon after—barely audible at first but growing louder with each passing day. Fred’s reputation preceded him, and people were quick to remind you of it.

“Everyone knows he’s a flirt. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“He’s not exactly the relationship type.”

The words wormed their way into your mind, sowing seeds of doubt. You began to notice the way people looked at you when you were with him, their gazes heavy with judgment or pity.

Fred, oblivious to the change, continued to treat you the same—warm, attentive, and maddeningly Fred. But the whispers weighed on you, and before long, you found yourself pulling back.

The first time you ignored his owl, it felt like a betrayal. The second time, it felt like self-preservation. By the third, it had become a habit.

Fred noticed, of course, though he didn’t understand.

“Have I done something wrong?” he asked one day, cornering you outside the tea shop where he’d so often ‘accidentally’ run into you.

“No,” you lied, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

The hurt in his voice was almost too much to bear, but you held firm. The walls you’d rebuilt were sturdy now, bolstered by fear and the voices of those who’d warned you to stay away.

Fred watched you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before stepping back. “Alright,” he said quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

You told yourself it was. But as he walked away, the ache in your chest suggested otherwise.

The days after your confrontation with Fred dragged on, every hour stretching unbearably long. You told yourself you were doing the right thing, retreating before you got too close, before the inevitable heartbreak. But the certainty that had driven you to push him away began to waver in his absence.

You didn’t realize how much space Fred had occupied in your life until it was suddenly empty. The silence felt heavier now. Your tea breaks were lonely, lacking his easy laughter. Even the parks seemed duller without the sound of him enchanting children with his conjured fireworks.

Work became a refuge—a place where you could bury yourself in tasks and avoid thinking about him. But even there, his presence lingered. The bag of honey drops he’d given you sat unopened in your desk drawer. You’d thought about tossing it a dozen times, but your hand always hesitated, as though getting rid of it would make the loss of him too real.

It was during one of these long, quiet days that you overheard them.

“I heard she’s been seeing Fred Weasley,” someone said behind you in the tearoom.

Your stomach dropped, and you froze, pretending to stir sugar into your tea.

“She’s deluded if she thinks he’s serious about her,” another voice replied. “Fred Weasley doesn’t settle down. She’s just a bit of fun, like all the others.”

Their laughter echoed in your ears, sharp and grating. You forced yourself to walk out calmly, but their words stayed with you. By the time you got home, they’d grown into a roar in your mind, impossible to ignore.

He deserves better. Someone more exciting, more confident. Someone who isn’t scared of taking up space in his life.

The thoughts clawed at you as you sat at your desk, staring at the parchment in front of you.

You don’t belong in his world.

Your hand moved before you could stop it, the quill scratching out the words you thought would sever the tie cleanly. The letter was short, clinical, void of the emotions tearing through you.

“Fred, I think it’s best we go our separate ways. Thank you for everything. Take care.”

The owl flew off with it before you could change your mind, its silhouette disappearing into the night. The moment it was gone, the finality of it hit you like a curse.

You curled up in bed that night, the ache in your chest feeling like a physical weight. You told yourself it was for the best. But deep down, you started to think you’d made a mistake.

You waited for him to show up at your door, demanding answers in his usual larger-than-life way. But Fred didn’t come.

At first, you convinced yourself that his silence was proof that you were right—he wasn’t serious about you. But as the days turned into a week, the void he left behind became unbearable.

It was Alicia who finally forced you to confront it.

“You’ve been sulking for days,” she said, plopping down on your couch uninvited. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled, not looking up from the book you weren’t actually reading.

Alicia snatched the book out of your hands, her sharp gaze piercing. “You don’t look like this over ‘nothing.’ Spill.”

You hesitated, but the words came spilling out anyway—the whispers, the letter, the crushing fear that you’d never be enough for someone like Fred.

When you finished, Alicia looked at you as though you’d just told her you planned to live on the moon.

“You’re an idiot,” she said bluntly.

“Thanks,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“I’m serious,” Alicia said, her voice softening. “Fred isn’t like that. Not with you. Do you have any idea how he lights up when he talks about you?”

Your chest tightened at her words, but you shook your head. “He’s Fred Weasley. He lights up for everyone.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Not like this. Trust me, I’ve seen him flirt a hundred times. This isn’t flirting, love. He’s serious about you. And if you can’t see that, you’re going to regret it.”

Her words haunted you that night as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. By the time morning came, you knew you couldn’t leave things as they were.

The shop was quiet when you arrived, the familiar smell of wood polish and faint smoke lingering in the air. You knocked hesitantly, and Fred appeared in the doorway moments later, his expression unreadable.

“Hey,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred stepped aside without a word, letting you in. The silence between you was suffocating, the usually lively space feeling oddly hollow.

You fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, searching for the right words. “I—”

Fred cut you off. “Why are you here?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made your chest tighten.

“I… I wanted to explain,” you said, your throat dry.

“Explain what?” he asked, his arms crossed. “Why you decided to shut me out without a real reason?”

The hurt in his voice cracked something inside you. “I was scared,” you admitted. “Of getting hurt. Of not being enough.”

Fred stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening as he stepped closer. “Why would you think that?”

“Because everyone says—”

“To hell with what everyone says,” Fred interrupted, his voice fierce. “I don’t care what they think. The only person whose opinion matters is yours.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know if you were serious. About me.”

Fred reached out, taking your hands in his. “I’m as serious as it gets,” he said quietly. “But I can’t make you believe that. You have to let yourself believe it.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and Fred gently pulled you into his arms. His embrace was warm, steady, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

Fred pressed a kiss to your hair, his voice soft but certain. “You’re the only one I want.”

When you finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your face, his thumbs brushing away the last of your tears. The look in his eyes was so full of warmth and determination that you felt the last of your doubts dissolve.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t just a promise—it was a beginning.

[yoongelectric]

Signs - Lando Norris

— do your damn best to figure it out

pairing: lando norris x reader, established relationship

genre: angst, smut

warnings: p in v, oral (both receiving), fingering, miscommunication, insecurities, body image issues, praise kink, breeding kink, soft dom!lando, sub!reader

notes: I don't think I need to clarify this, but just in case, this is the reader's pov, what y/n describes is not necessarily what Lando feels or thinks!!!

Your relationship with Lando was new, you had started dating 3 months ago but you had made it official last month, everything was perfect, well, almost everything, Lando was an attentive, affectionate boyfriend, always remembering everything about you, doing the impossible to make you happy, surprising you with thoughtful gifts and making your life easier in every way. The conversations between you flowed easily, you could spend hours talking about any topic and laughing non-stop, you got along well with his friends and he with yours, everyone said you were made for each other and you thought so too.

The only problem between you was sex, Lando wasn't bad, quite the opposite, he always put your pleasure above his, making sure you came before him and he was very attentive during aftercare. The problem was that no matter what you did you didn't seem to be able to turn him on, to make him lose control, you weren't even sure you were capable of satisfying him. You had tried everything, grinding on him as you were about to fall asleep, walking around the house in your underwear, leaning over in a not-so-subtle way, even trying to make him feel jealous with his friends, nothing seemed to make him snap, to make him fuck you like he meant it. When you had sex, he wouldn’t talk to you, or compliment you, or moan, or even grunt or take labored breaths. And don’t even think about asking you to touch him, or kiss him, or suck him off.

At the beginning of your relationship you didn’t pay much attention to it, thinking he was just shy and you needed to get to know each other better, but now you were starting to overthink things, did he really like having sex with you? Or was he just doing it because it was part of the relationship? Did he even really find you attractive? Or would he prefer a girl with a better body? With bigger tits, or a better ass? Sure, his dick got hard when you two had sex and Iando fucked you almost every day, but there was nothing to indicate that he was exactly crazy about you.

you really tried not to think about it, to convince yourself that they were just ideas in your head, but you saw how it affected your relationship more and more, pushing you away from him without realizing it, losing trust in your bond, every time lando touched you the only thing that went through your head was if he really wanted you.

and here you were, he was sitting next to you, the movie on the tv long forgotten while your boyfriend kissed your neck, caressing your waist trying to get you closer to him, and an idea came to your head, would he try harder if you make him beg for it?

"lando, i'm not in the mood right now" you said gently pushing him by his chest

You felt his hand leave your waist, the kisses on your neck stopping

"It's okay, love, let's watch the movie" your boyfriend smiled at you carefree, unaware of the storm of thoughts in your mind.

you huffed annoyed, of course, he really didn't care, you crossed your arms over your chest, unconsciously leaning towards the other side of the couch

"something's wrong, y/n?" your boyfriend looked at you with concern, his brow furrowed in confusion, you simply shook your head

"are you mad at me?" lando paused the movie turning to you

"i'm not mad, lando"

"you sure?" he placed his hand on your thigh but you were quick to move your leg

"i'm fine" you said without even looking at him, lando nodded, putting the movie back on.

that was enough, he couldn't even tell that you weren't okay, nothing was okay. you stood up frustrated rushing to your room and sitting on your bed, what else could you do? nothing seemed to work and you were getting tired of thinking something could change

in a matter of seconds lando entered the room hesitantly, kneeling in front of you trying to grab your hand

"why don't you like fucking me, lando?" the words were out of your mouth before you could think

"what do you mean? i love fucking you, love" your boyfriend sat down next to you, not really knowing what to do

"don't lie, i can tell" you said looking at him for the first time since you started talking

"i don't know what you're talking about, you were the one who told me you weren't in the mood 2 minutes ago"

what was so hard for him to understand?

"Yeah, but you didn't insist, it's the same for you to do it or not"

Your boyfriend's confused face was more evident every second, he had no idea where all this was coming from

"Baby, why would I insist? What's going on?"

"What's going on? I feel like you don't want me Lando, you don't say anything when we have sex, I don’t know if I look hot, if it feels good, I don't know absolutely anything about what's going on in your head, if you like it or not, what do you you want from me? you're always so calm, it seems like you're forced to do it, as if it were part of a job, you're never rough with me, you don't seem to need me like I need you, god, Lando, we've been together for 3 months and you've never even asked me to suck your cock" Your words were faster than your thoughts, and when you finished speaking you had to take a deep breath.

"Do you really think that's how things are?" You nodded, avoiding his gaze. "y/n, you should’ve told me that sooner. I never thought you'd want me to do those things."

"It doesn't really matter. It's just silly anyway."

You don't know exactly what you said that changed Lando's attitude completely. His eyes darkened and his body tensed. You don't know how, but you ended up with your back on the mattress and Lando kneeling between your legs.

"Do you think it's silly?" He said, caressing your thighs, making your pajama shorts ride up. "That I'm such a shitty boyfriend that I can't make my girlfriend feel enough?"

Lando leaned over you, placing kisses on your belly.

"I have the hottest girlfriend in the world, and I'm making her have second thoughts." Your boyfriend moved up to kiss your inner thighs. "I can't accept this, y/n."

You were speechless. You'd never seen him like this before. His gaze was piercing on you, his eyes, once a bluish-green, were almost black from his dilated pupils. His voice was hoarse with a mixture of lust and anger. You didn't trust what could come out of your mouth if you spoke now.

Lando pulled away from you momentarily, standing beside you as he unbuttoned and removed his pants and shirt. He was left in only his boxers. You could see the outline of his already hard member, pressing against the fabric of his underwear. He took your hand, making you sit up and positioning it on his cock.

"See what you do to me? Do you really think you don't turn me on? That I don't want your lips on me? I think about that all the time, how good it would feel, how pretty you would look with your mouth full of my cock, always thought you wanted me doing all the work, but since you want it so bad…”

He released his member from its confinement, giving it a few pumps before placing it on your lips.

"Open your mouth."

And you did as he said, wrapping your lips around the tip, circling the sensitive area with your tongue.

Lando held your hair in a ponytail, forcing you to look into his eyes, his jaw was tense, his brow slightly furrowed, and you could feel his member pulsing in the wetness of your mouth.

"So beautiful as always, so good for me, can you take more?"

You nodded, taking him further in your mouth until the tip pressed against the back of your throat, your hand holding what you couldn't fit in.

The moan Iando let out when you swallowed, making the walls of your throat contract around his cock, filled your chest with satisfaction. His head fell back, his grip on your hair tightening. You pumped your head, testing the waters, while simultaneously moving your hand in the opposite direction. Noticing the pleasure he was feeling in his body language, you couldn't help but moan, finally having what you'd wanted for so long. The vibrations unconsciously made him push his member further into your mouth, seeking more of what you were giving him.

You rested your hands on his thighs, letting him fuck your mouth to his heart's content.

"Is this what you wanted, y/n? To see me completely at your mercy? I've always been. I could do this all fucking day."

Lando guided you on his cock, thrusting in and out of your mouth. You felt the muscles in his legs tense beneath your hands. His eyes squeezed shut. You knew he was about to cum. You wanted nothing more than to have his seed on your tongue, to know that you were the one who could make him feel this way. But just as he was about to finish, he pulled out of your mouth, tapping his cock against your lips a few times, moving it from side to side like a lipstick.

"God, you're going to be the death of me. You look so beautiful."

"Lando, please, cum in my mouth. I wanna taste you." You were surprised by how husky and needy your voice came out, but you didn't care. You just wanted to make him feel good.

Your boyfriend shook his head. "I'd love to, maybe another day, but today I want to cum inside your pussy. I want you to know you're mine, all mine."

"Take off your clothes." You timidly removed your shorts and oversized t-shirt, leaving you in only your lace panties in front of him. A little self-conscious, as you lay down on the bed, you bent your legs and placed your hands over your stomach and breasts, trying to cover yourself a little. It wasn't the first time you were naked in front of Iando, obviously, but it was the first time you'd seen him like this, his gaze fixed on your body, scanning you without missing a single inch. He carefully placed your arms at your sides. "Don't cover yourself, I’ve already seen all of you, princess." He opened your legs, kneeling between them, and leaned in to kiss you deliberately, slowly but firmly, taking the time to taste each other's lips. "y/n, fuck, I want to eat you whole" he said going down to place wet kisses on your neck, your jaw, your earlobe, chills ran down your spine as you tightened your legs around his hips and held on tightly to his shoulders, your nails leaving marks on his tanned skin

His kisses moved down to your breasts. Lando licked one of your nipples while massaging your other boob with his hand. Your back arched at the contact, silently begging for more. You could feel his impossibly harder member prodding your inner thigh, making your pussy clench.

"Lando," you tried to get his attention, unsure of what you were about to say.

"Mhmm?" He looked up at you, nodding slightly for you to continue as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking gently.

"Please, do something, touch me" Lando laughed softly as he moved to your other breast, placing kisses over it before repeating his previous actions.

You could feel the wetness seeping through the fabric of your panties, the need in your core almost painful.

"Iando, please," you begged, pulling at his hair to make him look at you once more.

"Are you in a hurry?" He mocked, but complied with your wishes, gently biting your hipbone before removing your panties in one swift motion, running his fingers over your heat, hissing as he realized how wet you were. He leaned down, leaving a long lick over your core, holding your thighs open tightly so he could pleasure you however he wanted, your hand instinctively in his hair, keeping him from moving away.

"So good, I could eat this pussy all day." He sucked your clit with his lips while drawing circles around your hole with his fingers, teasing you.

Moan after moan left your mouth. He was making you feel so good. You hated how he could take you apart and put you back together in a second, ruining you for anyone else.

His tongue working wonders on your pussy, a mixture of your juices and his drool dripping down your skin, which Iando was quick to lick back, not wasting a single drop of what you were giving him.

"Baby, I want more, please."

Your boyfriend was quick to carefully insert two fingers inside you, hooking them upwards and pumping them slowly. The stimulation made you almost scream in pleasure, your legs trying to close over his head.m, Lando pressed your hips into the mattress to keep you still. "Love, please, I'm so close." He knew it perfectly well. Your pussy contracted again and again around his fingers, he could feel the muscles in your thighs tense under his touch. He forced himself against his own wishes and pulled away from you before you could reach your high.

Before you could protest, he put your legs over one of his shoulders, sliding his cock inside you without warning. Both of you moaning at the same time at the feeling of finally being connected, when he was completely inside you, he kept still until you got used to him.

"Do you feel that? Do you feel how full of me you are? How hard you make me?" Lando growled when his words made you clench around his member.

"Fuck me, please, Lando." You pushed your hips against his, trying to feel more of him. Your boyfriend pulled out almost completely, leaving only the tip inside, then slammed his hips down on you hard. "God, love, just like that." Your knuckles were white from how tightly you were gripping the sheets, trying to hold onto something.

"So beautiful, like you were made for me." The rhythm Iando kept was reckless, pounding into you mercilessly, hitting all the right spots. "I love you so much, I love fucking you. Sometimes it's all I can think about. How beautiful you look when I fuck you stupid on my dick." He licked his thumb, pressing it over your clit, drawing random shapes until he almost brought you to the limit. "Cum on my cock, Y/N. Show me how beautiful you look when you come undone in my arms."

His words were driving you crazy. There wasn't a single coherent thought in your head; you just moaned his name over and over again, begging, not knowing exactly for what. Suddenly a wave of euphoria invaded you, as you reached your climax, white dots invading your vision, you felt like you were in heaven, seconds that seemed like hours as a sense of bliss overtook you

The look of pleasure on your face was enough for Iando to reach his high as well, painting your walls with his white seed, you hissed at the overstimulation as your boyfriend began to lazily fuck his cum inside you before pulling out and lying down beside you.

"Are you okay?" he said, gently caressing your cheek.

You nodded tiredly; you felt like all the energy had been sucked out of your body.

"I'm sorry for making you feel insecure. I guess I never realized what your needs really were." You could see the guilt creeping into his eyes.

You smiled, snuggling into his side. "It's okay. I should have told you sooner, and certain insecurities of mine didn't help either."

"Well, it's my job as your boyfriend to help you forget all that. I don't want you to ever think for a second that I don't want you."

You placed a chaste kiss on his lips, resting your head on his chest.

"I'll do my best."

divider: @fairytopea