#for those who have watched who know. who know

[kateschi]

back in action

synopsis: being the wife of bakugou katsuki comes with multiple benefits, one of which is a front-row seat to his scrumptious back.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: i know at least 2/3 of you have seen that figurine

you swear there’s no better sight in this world than katsuki bakugou’s back.

not the view from your honeymoon suite in santorini, not the sparkling ocean from your vacation in okinawa—hell, not even the perfect strawberry shortcake you baked last weekend.

no, none of that compares to the sheer beauty that is your husband’s ridiculously broad, wonderfully sculpted, unfairly muscular back.

the way his muscles shift under his skin when he moves? art.

the ripple of strength as he stretches? divine.

the faint sheen of sweat glistening on his shoulders after an intense workout? a masterpiece.

and, as if the gods of attractiveness hadn’t blessed him enough, the scars that mark his skin only add to his allure.

each one tells a story of battles fought and won, of heroism that the world praises but he humbly shrugs off. to you, those scars aren’t just symbols of strength—they’re proof of his resilience, his dedication, his heart.

so, yes. you are absolutely obsessed with your husband’s back, and no, you don’t care how shameless that makes you.

“katsuki,” you call from the couch, chin propped up on your hands as you shamelessly watch him rummage through the fridge.

he’s in nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants, the waistband hanging dangerously low on his hips, and his shirt? nowhere to be found.

a completely intentional choice on his part, because he knows exactly how weak you are for him like this. “did anyone ever tell you that you’ve got the best back in the entire universe?”

he pauses, a carton of orange juice in one hand and an eyebrow raised in your direction. “you tell me that every damn day.”

“well, I mean it every damn day.”

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother hiding the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re such a weirdo.”

“damn right,” you shoot back, grinning when he snorts. “come here. let me look at it properly.”

“what, my back?” his expression is one part exasperation, two parts amusement as he shuts the fridge and leans against the counter, arms crossed. “the hell do you need to ‘look’ at it for?”

“because it’s a work of art, obviously,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “and I haven’t had my daily dose of admiring you yet.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face like you’re the most exhausting person on the planet, but he still walks over to you without another word. you can tell he’s secretly enjoying this, though.

“alright, idiot. knock yourself out.” he turns around, presenting you with the full, glorious view of his back.

your eyes immediately light up. “oh my god, it’s perfect.”

“it’s a back,” he deadpans.

“no, no, no. it’s the back,” you insist, reaching out to lightly trace your fingers along the curve of his shoulder blades.

he tenses slightly under your touch—his body always reacts before his mind can catch up—but quickly relaxes as you continue your impromptu “admiration session.”

“you’ve got no idea how unfair this is,” you mumble, running your hands down the defined lines of his lats. “how am I supposed to focus on anything when you look like this?”

“you’re ridiculous.” he’s shaking his head, but you can hear the way his voice softens, the way the edges of his usual gruffness smooth out when he talks to you like this.

it’s a few days later, and you're lounging on the couch, flicking through your phone when you hear him coming from the hallway, the sound of his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

katuski’s been in the gym for a couple of hours, and you can already hear the deep exhale he lets out as he moves closer, his breath still heavy from the workout.

"guess who's back," you say, looking up just in time to see him walking into the living room, wearing only a towel around his waist, his body glistening with sweat from his workout.

he pauses for a moment when he sees your face—wide-eyed and full of admiration, already zeroing in on that perfect, chiseled back. his muscles tense as he moves, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

"really?" he says, voice dripping with disbelief. "you still on about this?"

“can’t help it,” you say, setting your phone aside and leaning back against the cushions, fully prepared to watch him, unashamed. "I’m just amazed that someone like you exists in the world."

katuski rolls his eyes, but there's a soft chuckle that escapes him, betraying his indifference. "yeah, well, quit starin'."

"I can’t help it," you reply, your voice a playful purr as you look him up and down. "I mean, who else looks this good after a workout?"

he tilts his head to the side, his signature scowl starting to form, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“quit actin’ like I’m some kinda showpiece, alright?” he grumbles, though you can hear the lighthearted edge to his voice.

you laugh, clearly enjoying yourself too much. "sorry, can’t help it.”

later that week, you and katuski are out on patrol, both suited up in your respective hero uniforms.

it's business as usual—rescuing civilians, stopping some petty criminals, and making sure the city is safe.

the sun’s setting, painting the skyline in beautiful oranges and purples, but you're still laser-focused on one thing: his back.

it's a total accident—really, it is—but when you're standing next to him after you’ve just subdued a villain, you can't help but sneak a glance at the broad expanse of his back.

you feel that familiar pull to reach out, to trace the powerful lines of his shoulder blades again.

“don’t even think about it,” he warns, his voice low and gruff as he catches the glint of mischief in your eyes.

you smile innocently, taking a step closer. "what? I was just going to—"

"not here. we’re in the damn public," katuski growls, his sharp gaze snapping to yours as his fingers tighten around his gauntlet. "you really think I’m gonna let you paw at me in front of everyone?"

you laugh, unbothered by his obvious annoyance. "I’m not pawing at you, I’m admiring you. there's a difference, katsuki."

his jaw tightens as he glares at you, his usual frown deepening. "that’s the same damn thing."

you can’t help but grin, even though he’s clearly not having it.

but, deep down, you know that katuski secretly loves it. sure, he’s tough and grumpy in front of the public, but you both know how soft he gets when you're alone, how he indulges you without hesitation.

so, you take one last daring step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, letting your fingers brush along the fabric of his uniform.

he’s about to bark at you to stop, but you just flash him a quick, mischievous grin, and that’s all it takes for him to roll his eyes, muttering under his breath, "unbelievable."

and katsuki was right in his reprimand cause you were breaking the headlines the very next day.

for all the wrong reasons.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[melminli]

Dirty Cash (Money Talks)

summary - you had nothing against your colleague, but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by his innocent smile and appearance since you knew exactly what kind of corrupt person was hiding behind that costume. after all, you were wearing the same one.

pairing: (gong yoo/ji-cheol) the salesman x fem. recruiter reader

word count: 1.4k

contains: talk about gambling + death and murder, sexual tension?, crack and just evil morals tbh

a/n: i watched maybe the first fifteen minutes or so of bullet train, but i thought of the two funny dudes from it while writing this bcuz their dynamic was funny af. also, i will use the actor's name in this fic since the character itself doesn't really have an official one that was mentioned in the series!

You straightened your tie with your free hand while watching your train approach from the side. The station was always pretty empty at this hour, which saved you the jostling and squeezing as you entered. After that, you sat down comfortably with a light sigh - next to the free seat beside your devilishly handsome colleague. “Are you alright? Don't tell me that you had a exhausting day?” he asked you worriedly with his typical innocent smile on his face but you've known the guy for a while now and you knew exactly how dishonest he sounded right now.

You returned his gaze for a second, uninterested, before turning it back in front of you to observe your surroundings from the window. “Exhausting day? Don't make fun of me or I'll punch you in the face,” you replied monotone and Gong Yoo didn't doubt your statement for a second - or Ji-cheol as you preferred to call him since you weren't a big fan of nicknames. “I had a great time punching those bastards in the face one by one. It feels kinda therapeutic, so I'm actually feeling pretty good right now,” you told him, talking about the subject as if you were talking about the weather.

Your colleague grunted with delight at your good news. “And I would never disagree with you on that.” he said and then just watched your figure silently for a while before speaking up again. “Since you're in such a good mood, would you be willing to play a more private game between the two of us?” he suggested, making you look at him in utter disbelief.

“A private game? With you?” you repeated, amused and laughed in his face. “Hell, no. But don't worry, I'll let you know next time I want to get totally screwed by a freaky pervert,” you added, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Which will be, never.

“Come on, don't be like that,” he asked you sweetly. As sweet as the wolf who pretended to be the mother of the seven little goats before he ate them all one by one. “It's just a tiny, harmless game. It's been so long since we've played anything together.” he complained to you earnestly as if you actually cared, and you didn't.

Yeah, you remembered the last time very clearly, even if you would much rather prefer that you didn't. You hummed. “Is that so? Huh. I mean, it could be because you almost killed me in a fucking game of tic-tac-toe the last time, but that's just a theory.” You said with a shrug, clearly still resenting him for that. However, he just rolled his eyes unaffected by your grudge. “But you didn't, right? It was the other guy who got the bullet in his head.” He replied, not even remembering his name. Not that he had to.

You just glared at him while you rubbed your forehead. “Yeah, maybe. But I'm tired of risking my life just because it makes you horny and you can jerk off to it.” You made your feelings on the matter clear. “You know that the whole living on the edge of death thing isn't really my cup of tea. At least try to understand me a bit here, too.”

I suppose she's not entirely wrong, I could give it a try. I never thought about it like that before, did I? He thought to himself in his head as he ran his tongue over the back of his teeth while he pondered. How selfish of me. “So what exactly do I have to do, to convince you?” He asked you while he already had a few ideas in mind.

You grinned. “You know that very well, don't play dumb.” You demanded as you leaned closer to him so that he could hear what you were singing softly. “Money talks, money talks - dirty cash, I want you, and dirty cash, I need you, oh ~”

He raised an eyebrow, not particularly surprised. “So you want to play for money?” He repeated it, not outright rejecting your request. “Don't you have enough of that already? You're really insatiable when it comes to cash and now you want mine, too?” he joked just to get you worked up.

Though, you didn't get the slightest bit offended by what he said. “Can you ever have enough money? Besides, I'm not forcing you to give it to me, am I?” you said with a smile, already knowing that he would agree to your terms. “But if you want me to play with you, I want eight million won for every round I win.”

She's so greedy for someone who is already more than wealthy. “Aren't you exaggerating a bit? Most people don't earn that much in a month,” he continued his act of - whatever this was - because he just loved arguing with you.

“So? We both have the same salary, I know you can afford it,” you said, holding a hand in the air as soon as you felt that he wanted to stretch this unnecessary conversation even more. “You have to decide now what you want to do or I withdraw my proposal again.”

Gong Yoo closed his mouth and started grinning even wider. “You don't even want to know what kind of game I want to play?” he asked curiously, nodding and accepting whatever you wanted as soon as he saw that you actually weren't interested. You couldn't even imagine how gladly he gave in to you at this moment. “All right, I agree with your request.”

You stood up with your briefcase in hand after your station was announced. “Good. Text me when you have something in mind, I'll be there as long as it fits timewise.”

Your colleague continued to watch you with a look on his face that used to make you more than just uncomfortable back in the day - though it didn't even bother you in the slightest now. “You don't want to accompany me to the...office?”

You smiled while the train started to slow down. “Au revoir, Ji-cheol.” you just said your goodbye to him and stepped out of the doors. You didn't even spare the poor guy a second glance when he waved his hand at you from the window. She can be so heartless sometimes, he thought to himself, even if you were like this pretty much all the time. I'll have to think of something good to ask for in return should I win. I'm definitely not going to hold back when there's this much money at stake.

You didn't give a second thought to anything as you made your way home after a day's work like any normal citizen would do. However, your steps slowed considerably when you noticed a beggar in your field of vision and even though the rest of the crowd ignored the man and his entire existence, you couldn't help but focus your full attention on him. You looked at your watch, I've been off work for a while now. But even then, you couldn't help but notice that he was one of the people on your list to recruit for the game. He'll still be here tomorrow, but I don't mind another round of Ddakji. I love money more than anything - but I'm not doing this job for only that since I don't even have anything against working a bit of overtime when it comes to this.

“Excuse me,” you spoke to the man with a polite smile on your face, and he only submissively avoided your gaze as he listened to you. After all, one rarely approached people like him and why would they? He held his cup of loose change out in front of him, probably expecting you to give him a small donation, but you wanted to give him so much more than that. Even if the guy didn't know it right now - you wanted to give him another chance in life, so that he wouldn't continue to be just a miserable failure.

You ignored his donation cup. “I was wondering if you might have a moment because I'd like to make you an offer,” you continued politely and the man met your gaze at that. Yeah, you were really looking forward to what was about to happen - after all, you were known for letting your opponent only win if you allowed them to.

[cherryxbooo]

I’ll do anything to make you happy

Summary: You were excited for winter break to start because it meant one thing: spending more time with Lando. But little did you know, that was the one thing you wouldn't be getting.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff/angst

Winter always held a special kind of charm for me.

The frosty mornings, cozy blankets, and steaming cups of cocoa had always made this season my favorite.

But this year, it held a different promise: Lando finally had a break from racing.

After months of hectic schedules, jet-setting across the globe, and stolen moments in between races, I was looking forward to having him all to myself.

At first, it was everything I’d imagined and more.

We spent lazy mornings tangled in bed, with me teasing him about his messy hair while he pulled me closer, claiming I was his personal heater.

Breakfasts turned into brunches because we couldn’t stop talking or joking around.

We watched movies, baked cookies that turned out terrible, and played endless rounds of Mario Kart, which I always managed to win.

“You’re only winning because I’m letting you,” Lando said one evening, his grin teasing as he tossed the controller onto the couch.

“Sure you are,” I replied, laughing as I grabbed my victory snack from the table.

Those first few days felt like we were in our own little world, where nothing else mattered but us.

But soon, reality began creeping in.

It started innocently enough.

“Babe, Max just called,” Lando said one morning, leaning against the counter with his coffee mug in hand.

“He’s organizing a karting session. Shouldn’t take long.”

I smiled, my heart swelling with pride.

Racing was his passion, and I loved seeing him happy. “Go have fun. Just don’t let him beat you.”

“Never,” he said with a wink, kissing my temple quickly before heading out.

That day, I didn’t mind the quiet. I worked on some projects, caught up with friends, and even took a long bath.

By the time he got home, his cheeks were flushed with cold, and he couldn’t stop talking about how much fun he’d had.

But karting soon turned into golf.

Golf turned into poker nights. And poker nights turned into outings that stretched late into the night.

“I’ll be back soon,” he’d text, always with a heart emoji. But “soon” became later and later each time.

I told myself it was fine. He deserved this break.

He’d worked so hard all year, and if spending time with his friends helped him unwind, who was I to complain?

But as the days wore on, the house began to feel emptier, and so did I.

One evening, I decided to surprise him with his favorite dinner.

I spent hours in the kitchen, setting the table with candles and dimming the lights for a cozy atmosphere.

When Lando walked through the door, his expression softened as he took in the setup.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.

“I wanted to,” I replied, smiling up at him.

“You’ve been so busy, and I thought it’d be nice to have a quiet night together.”

“That’s so sweet,” he said, leaning down to kiss me.

“But the guys are waiting for me. I promised I’d meet them for drinks tonight. Let’s rain check this?”

My smile faltered, but I nodded. “Of course.”

He kissed me again and was out the door before I could say anything more.

I sat down at the table, staring at the empty chair across from me.

The candles flickered, their light reflecting off the untouched plates. I took a deep breath, telling myself it was okay.

But deep down, a tiny crack had formed in my heart.

Days turned into weeks, and the cracks only deepened.

Lando’s absence became more noticeable, and I began to feel like a ghost in our own home.

One evening, after scrolling through endless photos of him with his friends on Instagram, I called Mia, my best friend.

“What’s wrong?” she asked the moment she picked up.

I sighed, the weight of my emotions pressing down on me.

“It’s Lando. He’s been spending so much time with his friends lately, and I feel like I’m… invisible.”

Mia was quiet for a moment before saying, “Y/N, you’re not invisible. But you need to talk to him. He’s not a mind reader.”

“I don’t want to seem clingy,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not clingy. You’re his girlfriend. He should want to spend time with you. Talk to him.”

Her words gave me the push I needed. That night, when Lando came home, I gathered my courage.

“Can we talk?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Of course,” he said, sitting down next to me.

I took a deep breath.

“I’ve been feeling… neglected lately. I know you’re enjoying your break, and I want you to have fun, but I miss us. I miss you.”

He frowned, reaching for my hand.

“Babe, I’m sorry if it feels that way. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

I nodded, but his words didn’t ease the ache in my chest. Before I could say more, he kissed me and stood up.

“Max needs help with something,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Love you!”

And just like that, he was gone. Again.

I tried my best to push away all negative thoughts until I thought about the positive ones.

Our second anniversary was just days away, and I held onto the hope that he’d make it special.

I told myself the late nights didn’t matter. He was probably planning something incredible for our anniversary.

The next day,

The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft golden hues.

I stretched lazily, a content smile curling my lips as I reached across the bed.

My fingers met cold sheets. The space beside me was empty.

I frowned, the giddy excitement I had woken up with faltering.

Today was our second anniversary.

I had imagined waking up wrapped in Lando’s arms, whispering sleepy “Happy anniversary” wishes before sharing breakfast together.

Instead, he was gone.

I also realized that I hadn't heard him come back last night.

He told me he was just helping Max out with something, but he probably went out partying with his friends afterward, again.

I tried to shake off the disappointment as I climbed out of bed, brushing my hair out of my face.

Maybe he had planned a surprise and needed to step out early.

A flutter of hope lifted my spirits as I grabbed my robe and headed toward the kitchen.

The scent of coffee greeted me, but there was no sign of Lando.

Instead, on the counter, I found a note written in his familiar scrawl:

“Gone golfing with the guys. Be back later. Love you.”

My heart sank. Golfing? On our anniversary?

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, trying to focus on the fact that he had said he’d be back later.

He wouldn’t forget our dinner, right?

We’d planned this evening together weeks ago, and I’d been looking forward to it ever since.

I folded the note and placed it aside, telling myself not to overthink it. He would be back in time.

He promised.

After a quick breakfast, I set to work preparing for the evening.

My heart thudded with a mix of excitement and nervousness as I laid out my plans.

Lando had been so busy lately, and this was my chance to remind him how much I loved him, despite everything.

I spent hours in the kitchen, cooking all his favorite dishes: his go-to pasta, a roasted chicken dish he always requested, and even the dessert I’d failed at three times before finally perfecting.

The smells of herbs, garlic, and chocolate filled the apartment, making it feel warm and inviting.

Between stirring pots and chopping vegetables, I took breaks to set up the dining table.

I draped it with a soft cream tablecloth, adding candles and a scattering of rose petals for a romantic touch.

Fairy lights hung along the walls, casting a cozy glow that made the space feel magical.

On the counter, I carefully placed his gift, a sleek watch he had admired months ago but never bought for himself.

Not forgetting to attach a handwritten note to the box.

With everything ready, I checked the clock.

It was almost evening. So I had to hurry up to get ready.

I slipped into the dress I had chosen weeks ago, a soft, fitted number I knew he loved on me.

My makeup was simple yet elegant, and I added the finishing touch, a spritz of the perfume Lando had gifted me for my last birthday.

I felt beautiful, excited, and nervous all at once as I sat on the couch, watching the clock.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

By the time twenty minutes had gone by, I grabbed my phone, texting him a quick, “Hey, are you on your way?”

No response.

An hour later, I texted again. Then called. Still nothing.

My excitement turned into a gnawing worry that sat heavy in my chest.

Where was he? Had he forgotten?

Two hours passed.

The candles on the table had burned down halfway, their flickering flames reflecting off the now-cold plates of food.

The fairy lights, once magical, now felt like mockery.

Finally, three hours later, I gave up.

Tears stung my eyes as I blew out the candles, packed away the food, and removed my dress, exchanging it for soft pajamas.

My makeup was smeared with tears by the time I climbed into bed.

I grabbed my phone one last time, and my heart shattered when I saw the Instagram story.

It was one of Lando’s friends, showing a clip of him laughing, drink in hand, surrounded by his friends.

He looked happy. Carefree.

And completely oblivious that tonight was our anniversary.

The tears came faster, hot and uncontrollable. I buried my face in the pillow, the ache in my chest overwhelming.

I had been so sure he’d come back, that he’d remember. But I was wrong.

Later that night,

The apartment was cloaked in silence when Lando opened the front door, the click of the lock echoing faintly in the stillness.

He stumbled inside the weight of exhaustion and faint traces of guilt tugging at his chest.

The soft glow of the streetlights outside illuminated the darkened space just enough for him to make out his surroundings.

Something felt… off.

He reached for the light switch, and as the room was bathed in warm light, his eyes landed on the dining table across from him.

He froze.

The table was beautifully decorated, candles placed strategically, now melted into small stubs, surrounded by rose petals that had been artfully scattered.

Plates of food were neatly covered with lids to keep them from going bad, but even from a distance, Lando could tell they were his favorites.

He took a tentative step forward, his stomach sinking further with each movement.

Resting near the center of the table was a small, wrapped box with a note attached to it.

The sight made his chest tighten, a creeping realization clawing at the edges of his mind.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the note. Unfolding it carefully, he read the words in her familiar handwriting:

"To my Lando, the best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you for being my partner, my love, my everything. Happy anniversary, baby. Love, Y/N."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart sank as the full weight of the evening’s significance crashed over him.

Anniversary. He’d forgotten their second anniversary.

Lando stood there, the note still clutched in his hand, his throat tightening as shame washed over him.

He thought back to the past few weeks, to the times he’d brushed you off or come home late without so much as an explanation.

He couldn’t even recall the last time you two spent real, quality time together.

You had tried to talk to him about it, about how you felt neglected, and he had dismissed your concerns every single time.

Now, standing there amidst the evidence of your effort and love, he felt like the worst boyfriend in the world.

Lando exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as regret threatened to overwhelm him.

He couldn’t blame anyone but himself.

He glanced around the room, noticing how quiet it was. He knew you were asleep.

His eyes landed on his phone, dead from the night’s events.

With a heavy sigh, he plugged it into the charger, pacing nervously as he waited for it to turn back on.

When it finally lit up, the screen was flooded with notifications, missed calls and unread messages from Y/N.

The time stamps told the story of your evening:

“Hey, are you on your way?” - 8 p.m. “I’m waiting for you… everything’s ready.” -8:30 p.m. “Lando, please call me.” -9 p.m. “Are you okay? I’m starting to worry.” -10 p.m.

The last message was hours old, her tone shifting from hopeful to concerned.

Each notification felt like another jab to his heart, the guilt almost unbearable.

He dropped his phone onto the counter and made his way toward their shared bedroom.

Pushing the door open quietly, he stepped into the dimly lit room.

His gaze immediately found her curled up under the covers, her face half-buried in the pillow.

His breath hitched when he noticed the faint streaks on her cheeks, traces of tears she hadn’t been able to hide.

The sight made his heart clench painfully. She’d cried herself to sleep, and it was his fault.

Lando approached the bed slowly, kneeling beside her as he took in her tear-streaked face.

She looked so peaceful yet so vulnerable, her chest rising and falling softly with each breath.

Guilt swirled in his chest as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, thick with regret.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, lingering for a moment as if hoping it could somehow convey all the apologies he couldn’t say while she was awake.

His thumb grazed her cheek, and he sighed deeply.

“You didn’t deserve this,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

“I’ve been such an ass… the worst boyfriend. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I love you so much.”

She stirred slightly at his touch but didn’t wake.

Lando watched her for a moment longer before standing, his mind racing with plans to fix what he’d broken.

Tomorrow, he vowed, would be all about her.

The next morning, I woke up with a dull ache in my chest, my body heavy from the night before.

My eyes were sore and puffy from crying myself to sleep.

I glanced at the empty side of the bed, already prepared for the familiar sting of disappointment.

Figured he’d leave again before I woke up, I thought bitterly.

Dragging myself out of bed, I moved to the bathroom to freshen up.

The cold water on my face didn’t do much to wash away the exhaustion or the emotional weight from the previous night.

With a sigh, I tied my hair back and made my way downstairs, expecting another day of hurt to unfold.

Halfway down the stairs, though, something unusual stopped me in my tracks.

The smell of coffee, rich and inviting, wafted through the air.

There was another scent too, pancakes? My brow furrowed in confusion.

"That can’t be right. Lando doesn’t cook... does he? Who am i kidding he can't even boil eggs."

I cautiously descended the rest of the stairs, each step filling me with equal parts curiosity and hesitation.

As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I froze at the sight before me.

There he was, standing by the stove, flipping a pancake with a focused but slightly clumsy determination.

Plates of food lined the table, croissants, fresh fruit, juice, and what looked like store-bought pastries.

It didn’t take long to figure out most of the spread wasn’t homemade, but the effort was unmistakably his.

“Morning, love,” Lando greeted me, his tone soft and tentative, his lips curling into a nervous smile.

I raised an eyebrow, my arms crossing instinctively. “What’s all this?”

He put the spatula down and stepped closer, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.

“It’s breakfast... and an apology,” he said, his voice earnest.

My eyes flickered between him and the spread on the table.

I could see he was trying, but the hurt from last night still lingered like a heavy cloud over my chest.

“Come sit,” he said gently, pulling a chair out for me.

I hesitated for a moment before sitting down, my arms still crossed defensively.

Lando grabbed a plate, placing a pancake in front of me before adding a small pile of fruit and a croissant on the side.

I eyed him suspiciously as he poured me a cup of coffee, then sat across from me.

“What are you doing, Lando?” I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of confusion and frustration.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he met my gaze.

“I messed up, Y/N. Big time. And I need you to know how sorry I am.” His voice was steady but filled with regret.

I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Last night,” he began, his brows furrowing,

“I forgot our anniversary. I forgot the one day I should’ve been making you feel like the most important person in the world. And it’s not just last night, I’ve been neglecting you for weeks. You told me how you felt, and I brushed it off like an idiot.”

His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and I could see the weight of his guilt etched into every line on his face.

“I’ve been selfish, caught up in my own world, and I didn’t see how much I was hurting you. You deserve so much better than that, Y/N. Better than me.”

I felt my throat tighten as his words sank in. The sincerity in his tone chipped away at the walls I’d put up.

“I was so hurt, Lando,” I said, my voice trembling.

“I waited for you all night. I planned everything because I thought… I thought you’d come home and we’d celebrate together. I stayed up, hoping you’d walk through that door with a smile, ready to tell me how much you love me. But you didn’t.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I continued.

“I saw that video of you and your friends. You were laughing and having fun while I sat here, alone, on what was supposed to be our night.”

Lando’s face fell, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if grounding himself from the weight of my words.

“I know,” he whispered.

“And I hate myself for it. Seeing what you did for me last night, the decorations, the food, the note. I realized just how much I’ve been taking you for granted. I never want you to feel that way again, Y/N. You’re the most important thing in my life. I need you to believe that.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, sliding it across the table to me.

“What’s this?” I asked, my voice softer now, though my heart still carried the sting of last night.

“Open it,” he urged.

I carefully lifted the lid, revealing a delicate necklace with a sparkling pendant.

The intricate design caught the morning light, making it shimmer.

“Lando…” I trailed off, overwhelmed.

“It’s not enough to make up for what I’ve done,” he said quickly,

“but it’s a start. And today, it’s all about you. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, we’ll do it.”

I stared at the necklace for a moment before meeting his eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

“But,” I added, my tone firm, “this doesn’t mean I’ve fully forgiven you yet.”

“I know,” he said, nodding.

“And I don’t expect you to. But I’ll spend every day proving to you how much I care, how much I love you. I won’t stop until you believe me again.”

The determination in his voice made my chest tighten.

I wanted to hold onto my anger, to make him feel the depth of my hurt, but seeing him now, vulnerable, regretful, and desperate to make things right.

I couldn’t help but feel the smallest crack in my resolve.

As the morning unfolded, Lando’s sincerity shone through.

He insisted on clearing the table and cleaning up, stealing small glances at me as if trying to gauge my mood.

I wasn’t ready to let go of all the hurt just yet, but for the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other.

The morning's heartfelt apology set the tone for what became one of the most memorable days Lando and I had spent together in weeks.

While I was still guarded, I couldn’t deny that he was trying, really trying, to make things right.

As I got ready to leave the house, he was already by my side, holding my hand, his other arm slung casually around my shoulder.

“I promised today would be all about you,” he said, giving me that signature soft smile.

“So, where to first?”

We started with a trip to the mall. At first, I felt a little awkward, hesitant to fully enjoy the experience.

But Lando was like a lovesick puppy, following me from store to store, holding my bags, and insisting I buy anything that caught my eye.

“Do you like this dress?” I asked, holding up a flowy sundress against myself.

“I love it,” he said without hesitation. “But I’d probably love anything on you.”

I rolled my eyes at his smooth comment but couldn’t help the blush creeping up my cheeks. “You’re just saying that.”

“Nope,” he replied, grabbing the dress and adding it to the pile of things he’d insisted on buying.

From clothes to accessories, he didn’t say no to anything.

When I protested, saying he was spending too much, he brushed it off.

“I’d spend everything on you, Y/N,” he said with such sincerity it made my heart ache.

Afterward, he took me to my favorite café for lunch.

The cozy little place was one we often went to in the early days of our relationship, and the nostalgia hit me hard as we sat down.

“I missed this,” I admitted as I sipped my coffee.

“Me too,” Lando said, reaching across the table to hold my hand.

“And I’m going to make sure we never lose this again.”

Next, he surprised me with a visit to a local pottery studio.

I couldn’t help but laugh when Lando struggled to shape a vase, the clay slipping through his fingers.

“Okay, you’re supposed to keep your hands steady,” I teased, leaning over to guide him.

“Oh, so now you’re an expert?” he joked, though his grin softened as I showed him how to shape the clay.

It was messy, chaotic, and perfect.

By the end, we both had clay smudged on our faces, and we were laughing like we hadn’t in weeks.

From there, we stopped at a flower shop.

Lando picked out the biggest bouquet of my favorite flowers, holding it out to me with a boyish grin.

“For you,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re really pulling out all the stops today, aren’t you?” I teased, though my heart swelled as I buried my nose in the fragrant blooms.

“Only the best for my girl,” he replied, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

For the rest of the day, he didn’t leave my side.

He held my hand as we walked through the streets, his arm draped protectively around me whenever we stopped to rest.

He peppered me with kisses at every opportunity; on my cheek, my forehead, my temple.

“You’re being extra clingy today,” I said with a small laugh as he pulled me into another hug.

“Making up for lost time,” he murmured, his chin resting on the top of my head.

Bit by bit, the walls I’d built around my heart began to crumble.

His efforts felt genuine, and I found myself smiling more easily, the hurt from the night before slowly fading into the background.

By the time we got home, the sun was setting, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange.

We were both tired but happy as we curled up on the couch together.

Lando tucked me under his arm, his fingers gently tracing patterns on my shoulder.

“Y/N,” he said after a long moment of silence.

His tone was serious, and I looked up at him curiously.

“Yeah?”

“I need to say this again because you deserve to hear it,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“I’m so sorry for everything, for neglecting you, for forgetting our anniversary, for making you feel like you weren’t my priority. You are my priority, Y/N. You’re the best thing in my life, and I hate that I made you feel otherwise.”

His words hit me straight in the chest, and I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

“I know I hurt you,” he continued, his hand cupping my cheek as he looked into my eyes.

“But I swear, I’ll spend every day proving how much I love you. I’ll never let you feel like that again.”

My heart felt full as I reached up to hold his hand.

“You’ve done a lot for me today, Lando,” I said softly.

“And it’s helped. I can see how much you mean it.”

“So... does that mean you forgive me?” he asked, his tone hopeful but cautious.

I smiled, leaning up to kiss him. “Yeah, I forgive you.”

The relief on his face was almost comical, and he immediately began peppering my face with kisses, my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, even the corners of my lips.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he murmured between kisses, his joy infectious.

Just when I thought the day was over, Lando suddenly sat up.

“Wait, I have one last thing,” he said, standing and disappearing into the other room.

I frowned, confused, as he returned with a small envelope in hand.

“What is this?” I asked as he handed it to me.

“Open it,” he urged, a playful but nervous glint in his eyes.

I carefully tore open the envelope, and my breath caught as I pulled out two plane tickets.

My eyes widened as I read the destination: Maldives.

“Lando… are you serious?” I asked, my voice trembling with disbelief.

He grinned. “You’ve always said you wanted to go. So, I booked us a two-week stay. Just you and me. No distractions.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at him, overwhelmed.

“You didn’t have to do this…”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, pulling me into his arms.

“I’ll do anything to make you happy, Y/N. Anything.”

I hugged him tightly, burying my face in his chest.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“I love you too,” I replied, my voice muffled but sincere.

We settled back into the couch, cuddled up together, the weight of the past few weeks finally lifting.

After a long silence, I broke it with a playful smile.

“If you ever neglect me like that again, I’m breaking up with your ass,” I teased.

Lando laughed, his arms tightening around me. “Fair enough. But don’t worry, I won’t. Not ever again.”

And for the first time in weeks, I believed him.

The end

[unpretty]

not going to tack this onto @derinthescarletpescatarian's post because it was long enough but here is my understanding of some of the various subgenres commonly encountered in light novels/web novels/licensed webtoons:

isekai: another world. if they end up in a different world it's an isekai. it doesn't matter how they got there. sometimes the other world is explicitly a video game the protagonist is playing. they're not dead or anything, just in virtual reality. they go home at night and it's fine.

portal fantasy: it does matter how they got there, actually. they went through a portal of some kind. wherever they end up, they keep their minds and bodies. maybe in the other world they have powers, but maybe not.

progression fantasy: they are going to level up like a video game character. there may or may not be an actual leveling up mechanic. they might just get stronger or acquire more wealth and powerful allies as it goes on. they will always kick more ass. hundreds of beavers is a progression fantasy.

litrpg: western term for 'the characters explicitly have video game mechanics'. there is probably a System of some kind. characters are aware of levels and power tiers. most controversial subgenre, lots of people hate this.

dungeon break/monster hunter: dungeons or portals appear in the real world, some people get powers that let them fight the monsters. lots of people try to tell me this is just litrpg but i argue that they are distinct subgenres with significant overlap. not every litrpg is this. you can probably find traditionally published american versions of this pre-dating video games and the litrpg concept.

transmigration: this is when truck-kun intervenes. there are other ways it can happen, but usually a character dies (hit by a truck is the most common trope) and wakes up in a different body. usually an isekai, usually it's into a story or video game, but it doesn't always have to be.

regression: a character dies, but instead of dying, they wake up as their younger self with all their memories from before their death. this is explicitly not an isekai, except when someone gets fucky with it and reveals that a transmigrator was actually also a regressor the whole time.

loop: if they regress more than once it turns into a loop. this is distinct because sometimes with regressors they just have the one chance to not fuck things up this time. some loop stories also have characters transmigrating a bunch of times.

villain isekai: usually transmigration. oh no i died and woke up as the bad guy in a story! now i gotta try not to fucking die!!!

romfan: romance fantasy. it gets called romfan instead of romantasy because it came first and is being translated probably.

otome isekai: also usually transmigration and also often romfan. you are now the prettiest princess and all the boys want to kiss you. i assume there's a 'harem' version of this For Men but i don't read those and can't tell you anything about them.

villainess isekai: usually a combination of the above three. most likely to be very meta and funny. i have a weakness for these ones.

divorce revenge: there might be a real name for this but i don't know it. sometimes this is paired with regression but not always, but it's very often a kind of progression fantasy. features a woman divorcing her shitty husband and then living her best life, which keeps getting better as her husband has to watch her kick ass and then cry about how he blew it. there are so many of these.

childcare fantasy: i think this includes both the ones where someone transmigrates into a baby, and the ones where they transmigrate to take care of a baby. i don't like this genre enough to check. but 'formerly abused child gets loved and coddled and anyone who tries to hurt them suffers' is a major component of this subgenre.

there's definitely more but my attention span has waned. here's some comics that are on my reading list after the cut, there's going to be undescribed screenshots because i'm lazy. you may need to find these elsewhere if you don't want to deal with tapas or webtoon and their paywalling systems.

The Greatest Estate Developer: transmigration villain isekai and progression fantasy with litrpg elements. architect uses his knowledge to save his own ass and also his new family, gets powers, everyone will unionize whether they like it or not.

Lout of the Count's Family: transmigration villain isekai and progression fantasy. ends up in otome isekai recommendations a lot despite technically not being an otome, on account of the eye candy and shipping potential. the webnovel has turned into like six different genres by now and is asspull central but i read it anyway. protag says he just wants to save his own ass so he can relax but does it by coughing up blood constantly.

The S-Class Hunters That I Raised: regression dungeon break litrpg. guy with shitty powers regresses and has to figure out how to make his power of taking care of people suck less, turns out it's OP as all hell.

Villains are Destined to Die: villainess transmigration otome isekai, maybe a little litrpg? there's definitely a system. protag just wants to go home because the visual novel she's in is notoriously difficult and she is at constant risk of being murdered. i like this one so much i own it in print.

Marriage of Convenience: regression romfan. not an isekai!! protag hated her life and died in poverty and shame after her husband died, this time she's going to try not doing that.

Villainesses Have More Fun: villainess transmigration otome isekai and progression fantasy. protag is very excited to be the villainess because she was the best character. she loves being rich. unfortunately at least one plot point raises the question 'why is that boy white'

Beware the Villainess: villainess transmigration otome isekai, meta as all hell, extremely meme-able faces, does not end in an OT3 but should have.

Baroness Goes On Strike: regression romfan, also not an isekai. protag wanted a divorce on her deathbed but woke up on the first night of her marriage, wants her life to suck less this time through the power of being assertive.

The Perks of Being a Villainess: villainess transmigration otome isekai and progression fantasy. protag has resting villainess face and progresses through the power of advanced math, unregulated capitalism, and abuse of the patent and copyright systems.

I Think I've Been Possessed Somewhere: transmigration isekai starring a main character who's read so much romance fantasy that she doesn't actually know what genre she's in because everything is too generic. meta as all hell.

Your Throne: villainess, sort of transmigrator? the crafty politically-savvy villainess bodyswaps with the naive saintess heroine, shit gets dark real fast, probably not going to end with girls kissing despite my hopes and dreams.

The Remarried Empress: divorce revenge romfan. you see this one referenced a lot in the comments of other romfans because everyone hates Rashta, the waif that the emperor divorces the empress for.

Raising My Fiance With Money: romfan, fake dating, sort of a divorce revenge except it's her ex-fiance. no isekai elements at all, but the protag is ridiculously lucky with money, comically wealthy, and supported by her doting family despite having terrible taste in men. her love interest is a teddy bear with resting murder face.

When The Third Wheel Strikes Back: transmigrator isekai. the protag never actually read the book, he only knows about it through osmosis because it's hugely popular and his sister is a big fan. one of the only things he knows is that in a recent update his character dies. also, it was already a transmigrator isekai before he got there. he isekai'd into an isekai. so much of the worldbuilding suggests a canon ot3 but i refuse to get my hopes up.

Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint: it's sort of a dungeon break. not really an isekai but kind of. litrpg, sure. there's regressors. there's transmigrators. there's a lot going on. kim dokja was the only reader of a terrible, ridiculously long webnovel that now appears to be coming true. the official adaptation appears to be making the webnovel less queer overall. i read the webtoon until i got impatient enough to force my way through the sometimes clunky webnovel translations. it's hard to explain orv because it's a story about stories. consuming stories, telling stories, stories told about you, becoming a story, the cost of a story. it is so long. there is so much happening. the story is resolved in the epilogue you might skip if you didn't know any better. some people find it too confusing while others read homestuck.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Second Time's The Charm XI

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: An old face watches a match

She wasn't as young as she once was.

Teaching hadn't originally been her first choice as a job but after finishing school and spending a few years bored senseless as a receptionist, at age twenty-five, she'd made the change to teaching children in their first year of school.

Now, twenty-five years later, she was getting older and her students seemed to be just as wild and excitable as they always had been.

This school trip hadn't exactly been planned by the school, not fully anyway but a generous donation from who knows where had her and a few other teachers taking a three classes of wiggling and excited five year olds to a home match for the Barcelona women's team.

"Let's get to our seats now," She says, trying to get everyone in her class seated and happy but it's like trying to fight a group of wet cats - a losing battle.

"Miss, he pushed me!"

"Miss, I want to sit with my friends!"

"Miss, I can't find my bracelet!"

"Miss, my Mami gave me spending money!"

"Miss!"

"Miss!"

"Miss!"

She sighs to herself, rattling off instructions in a way that only a practiced teacher could.

"Lucas, stop pushing people. We use our nice hands with people. Isabella, you can sit next to your friends if there's space. Ana, your bracelet got put into your bag. Pedro, spending money can be used at half time. Now, everyone needs to sit down or else they won't start the match!"

It takes a little while to get all the kids settled and she briefly thinks about how this would be a hell of a lot easier if the school had more people who could chaperone.

It's a fleeting thought because she knows she can't do anything about it now but still, it would be nice.

Nice like it is now to watch one of her old students walk out as one of the most well known footballers not only in Spain but the world as well.

Alexia Putellas, the captain of Barcelona, leads her team out - head held high and back straight. A far cry from the little girl that used to slump in her seat in class and cry when someone took her ball at breaktime.

There weren't many students that she remembered so well - a handful that have ended up in politics, one that somehow ended up at the UN and one whose arrest made national news.

But Alexia was one of the good ones, helpful and polite most of the time.

She can remember though, with startlingly clarity the second day of classes.

It had been her second day as a teacher ever and she'd been supervising the playground at lunch when Alexia had appeared and dragged her off.

She'd dragged her all the way to the slide where you'd been waiting.

"You have to marry us, Miss," Alexia had said, eyes wide and incredibly earnest," We want to get married."

"Er..."

"You have to, miss," You'd joined in," Because we're in love and my Papa always said that people in love get married."

She'd been speechless then but still done as you and Alexia said, a little charmed by those two little girls begging to be married under the slide.

Alexia was easy to follow now, her exploits known throughout the country on and off the pitch. You'd faded though and your old teacher wasn't quite sure where you'd ended up.

Likely something successful and important.

Even as a little girl, you'd had a good work ethic. Work before play, always, was something you'd abided by.

She could see you as something important now. Your parents were doctors, she's pretty sure, so maybe you followed in their footsteps.

It would suit you, she thinks as she watches Alexia slam the ball into the net for a third time today.

Barcelona wins.

But that's entirely to be expected.

What isn't expected though, is for the staff from the team to invite the classes down onto the pitch to meet the players.

"Carlos, don't run! Mia, don't yell over someone! Lucas, again! Stop pushing people! Everyone will get a turn!"

"Some things never change then."

She turns with a smile. "Alexia."

"Hi, Miss."

"You don't have to call me that anymore."

Alexia's brow wrinkles. "What else would I call you? You've always been my teacher."

"You're an adult now, Alexia. You don't have to call me that anymore if you don't want to."

"But I do. Is that alright?"

"That's okay. So long as you want to."

Alexia beams, the same big smile she had as a five year old when she would come to the desk with a picture she drew of herself in the Barcelona kit.

It's still strange to see that exact image in real life.

"I'd like to introduce you to one of my daughters. This is Maya."

"She's beautiful."

"Mi Amor is just changing our other daughter. They'll be out in a minute."

"It's nice to see that you're doing so well. A good job. A nice family."

"We have dogs too! And my wife's old cat! She built me a house, you know? My wife, that is. Not her cat."

It's nice to see that Alexia's word vomit from her childhood hadn't changed much either. She was so stoic and quiet most of the time but any topic that drew her interest could be (and would be) talked about for hours at a time.

"That's nice to hear, Alexia."

"And we bought a villa in Greece for our next holiday! And I bought her this nice matching bracelet and necklace set! But! You can't tell her because it's going to be a surprise!"

"A special occasion?"

Alexia looks affronted at the idea. "I don't need a special occasion to show my wife how much I love her! Just my love!" She turns, glancing over her shoulder and her whole face lights up. "Oh! Amor, you're back! Look, Miss Rivera is here!"

Miss Rivera looks over to the tunnel where you have emerged from, a babbling baby on your hip and a rock of a ring on your hand.

"Oh, hi, Miss!"

She sighs. "I told Alexia that you two don't need to call me that anymore."

You frown. "But you've always been our teacher. What else would we call you?"

"Miss, this is our new baby Elena." Alexia puffs out her chest proudly. "My wife gave birth to her. Doesn't she look good for giving birth a few months ago?"

You slap her on the shoulder before pressing a kiss to where you just slapped. "Don't listen to her, Miss. She'll take any excuse to talk about it."

Alexia nods solemnly. "It was very scary because there were complications but she's doing so well now. Both Elena and my wife. Right, Amor? She's a doctor, you know. Very successful."

Again, Alexia seems to preen like a peacock as if you being so successful and so smart brought her such pride.

"You've both been very successful," Miss Rivera says," I'm so proud. A long way from that marriage under the slide, huh?"

You grin, intertwining your fingers with Alexia's.

"But still married."

[webism]

You make a spur-of-the-moment detour to your exes house on his birthday.

ex!Toji Fushiguro x afab reader. 4.2k. read on ao3

cw: a little bit o' angst, some drinking, oral (reader receiving), unprotected sex, toji doesnt wash his sheets i know it.

One dark night cursed with rain is all it takes to bring you back to Toji’s front door. Knuckles rapping on wood despite your own mind— it’s the warmest night of the week, humidity seeps into your bones. 

Toji opens his door and greets you with silence. You stand, a vision of something desperate. The man who had once loved you so tenderly watches you with stale eyes. You feel sick for remembering it’s his birthday. You also feel sick knowing he’s spent it in this damn house.

Not a word is shared, sweet nor acidic. Oh your Toji, stoic and silent. Not a thing has changed. 

He steps to the side, offering you refuge from the dreary weather. His eyes are on his driveway, left empty: you walked here. It’s apparent in the way your hair shines wet with rain. 

He used to lecture you for having wet hair in late hours like this, even when it’s warm. His mother used to tell him, hand gentle on the side of his face, ‘Toji, you’ll get a cold.’ 

He’s silent still as you walk past him, and cross the threshold into the house you used to waste away in. You don’t bother to take your shoes off: maybe in an attempt to convince yourself not to stay long. Though you do feel hauntingly warm trapped within such cold walls. 

The door clicks shut. Twelve seconds of silence ensue— you count. 

His first word, “Wine?” 

You ponder the butterfly effect. What total disaster will occur as a result of playing into this fever you’ve been having? How many casualties will you be accountable for? Will blood stain your hands? An ugly pit settles in your stomach. 

You nod regardless, there’s nothing in this house that can’t be nursed with a drink. Toji nods and god have you missed those eyes that soften just a little at the corners when he looks at you.

He only has the cheap stuff, and he has to shuffle through a few empty bottles to find it. Red. It pours smooth, Toji’s hands tight on the neck of the bottle as he bleeds it for you. The rain outside gets heavier: you think of it as a sign you left at the right time. Though, if you hadn’t left at all you’d still be dry. 

It’s been months since your last drink. You down the glass in two sips, you hate the taste but accept when Toji offers you another. What’s a night like this without relapse?

A step forward. 

“This place hasn’t changed,” you note, watching as Toji walks from kitchen to living room, steps heavy and haunting. He stands a few feet from you, back pressed against the wall. “You should move into something more comfortable.”

“A townhouse?” He teases you.

Yes. A townhouse like you. Yours, maybe— or the one across the road that’s just gone up for sale. It has a privacy screen you know he’d love and no broken tiles and no bad memories. You could walk the hot pavement to ask for some sugar when you’re out, and he could tell you he doesn’t have any, because why would he have sugar? And when you would go home deflated, he would run out to buy a bag of sugar, two— one white and one brown because you never specified— and leave them at your front door. Yes. A townhouse. 

“No,” you look down. “You’re not a townhouse type of man.”

Toji exhales. He asks you, in a tone laced with something dark, what type of man he is. 

You gesture around you, the wallpaper is beginning to peel. He’s this type of man.

Toji looks at you, and he asks ‘why are you here? it’s been a year and your life is finally stable again,’ but he asks with his eyes, because those words would never leave his lips. You hate that you can still read him. You wonder if you’ll speak his language forever. 

“Happy birthday,” you say. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Silence, and then– “good.”

You could have emptied your wallet for him with ease. You know he needs things: new socks, a watch that isn't broken, a new beginning. Toji has never taken anything from you though, not gifts or favours or cuddles after sex. You hate that about him: always a provider, never being cared for. Such a shell of a happy man, you count yourself special for having seen him smile. Such gifts have always been your favourite.

“How's…” he trails off, a frail attempt at not suffocating you in the silence he knows you hate. The words don't meet his lips, though: how's your new life? Finally on a comfortable wage? And how are the neighbours? Are they noisy like mine are? Do you stay up laughing at their awkward sex noises like we did? Do you fuck a warm body to drown them out just like us? Do you live trying to recreate domestic life with me? Do you miss the filth? The broken sleep? Were you ever happy? Why are you here?

Toji  bites his tongue. “More wine?”

“No, thanks.”

The rain continues. Despite the roof over your head, you feel heavy with water: something uneasy settles inside of you, and Toji steps closer. He’s wearing black, as usual, and his sleeves are short so you're able to notice he’s added onto his tattoos. Your initial still sits untouched just by his elbow, he’s held onto at least some of you.

Maybe words don’t need to be shared. You step forward. He follows suit.

Before you can stop yourself, you are standing toe-to-toe with Toji Fushiguro. You can watch his shoulders raise with each deep breath he takes, and as you lift your gaze, you look death in the eyes. Sorcerer killer. As beautiful as ever. 

You feel small and powerless, without purpose or justification. Must you always think for yourself? You’re tired of wrestling with that mind of yours. In the cold house you once shared with him, you suddenly forget how to make good decisions. You raise your hands, and touch his lip with your fingertips. He has a new scar, one that runs from the corner of his mouth downwards. You want to kiss it away. You wonder if he pays it much attention in the mirror, is the memory of getting it as bad as the memory of you?

“You shouldn't be here,” Toji slips his large hands to your waist. You feel at home. “Left for a better life.”

“Yeah.”

“I can walk you home.”

“Shut up, Toji. It’s your birthday.”

Relapse: god it tastes good. Toji kisses you like it’s his first and last taste of you. It's deep and yearning and laced with lust and anger and an awful fear of loss. But at the same time, he kisses you like it’s a tuesday evening, and he's just now home from work and you’ve been busy all day with the house, which is quaint and clean and not run-down like his. Maybe a townhouse.

His tongue slips into your mouth, and he kisses you like he had once planned to on your wedding night: your back hits the wall, but his hand is behind your head to cushion it. A tear slips down your face, overwhelmed by the presence of who has haunted so many of your dreams. You want more of him, you want to indulge yourself on the forbidden: what a taboo his touch has become.

“Please,” you speak against his lips. 

“On the bed.”

Toji steps away from you, and nods down the hall. You know your way, you know this house like it's built from your own bones. Memories flash through your mind with each step you take towards his bedroom, the one that used to be yours, too. You let yourself smile, remembering being carried to bed after a drink too many, or spending hours curled up under the sheets waiting for your love to return home. Eating breakfast in bed together, the sex that would follow.

His footsteps are heavy against the wood behind you, he shadows you as you walk into his room, once yours too. The bed has moved, it’s pushed against the wall now— you suppose there isn’t need for someone else to have room to get in on the other side. You wonder how many people he’s fucked to forget about you in the sheets that used to smell like you. 

You can only worry so much, jealousy doesn’t do one well when it’s barely justified. You sit on the edge of the mattress, running your fingers along the soft covers and try not to think of all the times you've been here before. You used to sit and watch him get dressed, the troublesome time it would take to get his clothes on worth the sight of his bare skin covered to remain for your eyes alone. You’d daydream sometimes of watching him dress for different circumstances; maybe in another life you’d sit in the master bedroom of a townhouse and watch your Toji dress for the picket-fence desk job dream rather than for murder.

And yet, the bed seems to swallow you whole. This room, even after you left, remains half yours. A cursory glance to the wardrobe shows it still half empty, dust laden over the dresser your perfumes once sat atop. The curtains covering his window are the same ones you had picked out on sale in the spirit of making a house a home. You still linger. 

Toji leans against the wall by the window, his toned arms crossed over his chest as he watches you look around. His lips part slowly, but he closes his mouth and clears his throat when you lean back on your elbows. You stare ahead at nothing in particular, thinking of all those nights where you laid awake, watching him in his sleep, worrying about whether he’d come home in a box the following week. You never stopped worrying, really.

With every passing second you feel more and more guilty. Selfish for imposing on Toji's life without you, estranged for leaving a townhouse nine blocks over to return to the home you had left so long ago.

“I miss you,” you say softly.

Toji doesn’t move, doesn’t speak— you can hear the rain worsen outside. You think you’ve fucked things up—ruined the relapse—when Toji pushes himself off the wall and reaches you in two long steps. He looks down at you, large frame towering over your body in a way that makes you feel both small and seen at the same time. You sit in his shadow, under his punitive gaze, looking up at the man you had once promised a forever to. 

Toji leans down, meets you in height and kisses you once again. This time, the kiss is slow, languid and gentle in a way you remember once hating. You’d always yearn for the rough, mean side of Toji that could make you see stars in seconds. You used to want the Zenin to come out and settle your hunger. But now, with the gentle way in which Toji takes your lips between his, you couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but him.

He kisses you like a man home from war which, in a way, he always will be. When his hands come to rest on your waist, you’re confronted by the memories of his touch: soft on your skin, tender and caring despite the roughness of his very being. When he draws your thighs apart and kneels between them, you hate yourself for ever leaving. How cruel you were. 

Toji sets his fingers under the waistband of your pants and pulls them down, panties too, in one swift movement aided only by the raising of your hips. He looks at you, bare and desperate, and his throat goes dry. He tries desperately to clear his mind of all the memories that start like this, with you spread out and laid back in wait of him. He pressed a gentle his to your thigh, then sinks his teeth into your flesh—anything to leave a mark on you again.

“Ow,” you whine, buck your hips up a little in hopes of pleasure to chase the pain. Toji doesn’t relent, he bites your thigh again, this time a little higher. “Toji.”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he growls, catches your skin between his teeth and moves upwards. “Like you’re still used to this. Like we’re fucking for the third time this week. That’s gone.”

You take a breath in and close your eyes. You can feel yourself deflate a little, his words are sharp and poking but his lips are gentle as they kiss over the indentations left by his teeth. Another kiss, even higher, and he’s soon pressing his lips to your clit in something you can only describe as reunion.

It can’t all be gone, because he darts his tongue out to circle around your clit in a way he’s done so much before it’s now muscle memory. As is the way your hips buck upwards just to be caught and pinned by his strong hands. You’re held down and ravaged by your Toji, who dips his tongue down through your folds before latching onto your clit like he’s trying to find comfort in your taste. Maybe he finds it, because he lets out a sigh and presses his forehead to your pelvis as he takes a breath.

“You taste the same,” he mumbles, dipping forward again to practically make out with your cunt. He’s always been messy—hungry. You can feel his scar against you, it’s new and not something you attach to him just yet, but maybe that's a good thing. Your fingers curl into the silk sheets you brought on sale two years ago. 

“Your tongues the same, always fucking teasing.”

“Deal with it.”

You try again to buck your hips up in protest, but his grip on your waist is too wrought. He’s mean, holding you down and denying you the chance to chase pleasure, but he’s always been this way—Toji will do anything to hold control. He returns his attention to your needy clit and eats you out at a pace you can only call familiar: too fucking slow. You want to protest, to whine and beg for more in the hopes his ego will take the buff and make you cum on his tongue, but before you can even part your lips to speak, he’s mumbling against your pussy.

“Just let me savour this.”

Oh and who are you to deny him after so long, after the withdrawals of losing his tongue you’re eager to end it so soon? No, you’re driven by lust and not giving your heart a moment to voice whims. You tighten your grip on the sheets, feel the slow coil in your stomach pull further, and let out a breath. You feel him wholly, each flick of his tongue over your sensitive achey clit, the dig of his thick fingers into your waist, his breath against your skin as he moans into his ministries. 

You’re close before you can start entirely savouring it. “Toji,” you try—but he knows you, he feels it already.

“I know, ma, you can take some more. Know you can, always been a fuckin’ slut for my mouth”

You can’t—you both know it. Toji wants to feel you unravel against his lips and give himself reason to punish you for it. He pushes two fingers into your fluttering cunt and curls them upwards just to torture you further. You’d chide him if you weren’t choking on your moans already, practically begging him with your sweet noises for that oh-so-wanted relief.

And he obliges, of course, because your orgasm is a rarity he used to taste daily. Something he missed, the taste of your relief, the way you’d shake under his touch and let him kiss you better afterwards. He doesn’t deserve you, but he’s been good enough of a man to deserve this, at least once more. 

Your orgasm wracks through you like a wave would a desolate beach in a storm. Emotional. Restorative in a way. Sobering. You half expect your eyes to open and find yourself back at home in the comforts of your new bed with your hand down your pants and your fingers soaked at the thought of your Toji, as so many nights go. But no: he’s here and lapping up your release like a starving man would. 

He stills by your pussy for a few moments, and you know he’s trying to will his erection down even just a little bit. His pants are strained and even friction against the mattress doesn’t do much for him—still, he doesn’t know if you want to take all of him again. He’d be okay with just your taste, but every second that passes without him being inside of you feels somewhat torturous–debilitating. You pick up on his struggles and tug at the strands of black hair you used to shampoo each evening.

“Toji,” you hum. “Want you inside of me. Need to feel it again.”

Your ex lover, though calling him such leaves a horrid taste in your mouth, climbs over you and takes both of your wrists to pin the above your head with one hand. He looks down at you with something in his gaze that you can’t quite pinpoint: anger? Hurt? Heat?

Regardless, he used his free hand to line up with your sopping entrance and push forward. Catching your lips between his in a kiss as he does so, Toji moans into the gasp you let out as he stretches you open. This is hauntingly familiar, the burn of his first thrust—so big that you can’t  completely get used to him no matter how often he’s working you open on his cock. You love it, you’d call yourself an addict if it were appropriate. 

He bottoms out, buries himself to the hilt inside of you and rests his forehead against yours. You half expect him to be mean. He used to fuck you rough when you were together and he was particularly stressed: he’s wrap a strong hand around your throat or push your face into the pillows and fuck you so hard he had to carry you to the shower to clean off. 

But Toji isn’t rough, even with his cock splitting you open and the anger of your leaving, he isn’t rough. He lets your wrists go and moves his hand to cup your face and just stare for a moment. You know the look in his eyes too well, something overwhelming washes over him, and you swear you can see a slight tremble to his lips. He’s beyond beautiful, eyes darting all over your face in hopes of memorising your every feature—as if you’re not already burnt into his mind. Like you’re not what he sees whenever he closes his eyes. 

“Too much?” you ask, feeling the tremor in his hands. 

Toji looks down at you and, with a dry mouth, manages a small “yeah.”

Your hand finds his face, thumb tracing over the scar on his lip in gentle strokes. Something soothing, you hope, for a man far from finding comfort. “You wanna stop?”

“God no,” Toji shakes his head. “Do you want to, uh—”

“Flip us over, Fushiguro.”

With his length still hidden inside of you, Toji swiftly flips the both of you over so that his back hits the mattress and you’re sat on his cock and staring down at him for once. His hands find your hips, still with a slight tremor to his grip but a little more comfort than before. Gravity helps you take Toji a little deeper than you had, so you lean forward a little and rest your hands on his chest. His heart thrums beneath your touch, not quite pounding but fast enough to make you smile.

“Let me take care of you,” you roll your hips a little. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

Toji looks almost like he’s going to protest, but ultimately takes his bottom lip between his teeth and nods; letting you slide up on his cock just to drop yourself back down. “Fuck, I–” 

He trails off, eyes screwed chut, and you lean forward to kiss the subtle curve of his nose. “You what?”

“I missed you,” his eyes are glossed when he opens them again to meet yours. You only get a glimpse of them before you’re pressing your lips to his in lieu of a million things you want to say to him. “Fucking missed you.”

Pulling away, you lift your hips up, feel the drag of his cock leaving you empty before you drop back down again and make the both of you moan in tandem with each other. Your eyes lock, his start to pool with tears. You can’t tell if he’s overwhelmed or upset or starting to be fucked so dumb he’s gone soft on you—but regardless, it’s a sight that tightens your beating heart.

You quicken your pace, revel in the way he fills you up: how he completes you. Your knees dig into the spring-loaded mattress as you ride his cock like you used to all that time ago. Every squeeze of your cunt around him makes the poor man choke a little on his breath, though you don’t slow down, not even when the tears start to fall. His cheekbones are painted glossy with his tears and, in favour of wiping them away, you dip down and lick a long strip up his cheek to taste the salt of his emotions on his tongue. It’s only fair, your taste still lingers on his. 

“I don’t like seeing you cry,” you whisper, kissing gently at his wet lashline. He grounds himself with his hands on your hips and takes a shaky breath in at the kisses you press across his tear-streaked face. He doesn’t try to hide his vulnerability—he knows there’s no point around you. Not when you’ve seen every broken part of him and still kissed him with a gentleness that stung more than any injury could.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs as you ride him. “You do this to me.”

You slow your movements just enough to offer a reprieve, the steady roll of your hips becoming languid, deliberate. “I don’t mean to,” you reply softly, your lips brushing against his as you speak. 

Toji huffs out something between a laugh and a sob. “Liar. You always know what you’re doing.”

You let out a small breathy laugh and lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth. You start your pace up again, even faster than before: your thighs burn with the effort, but it’s worth it to see him unravel beneath you.

His head falls back against the pillow, exposing the column of his neck, and a low, desperate moan slips past his lips. He grips your thighs, but there’s no force behind his touch—only a trembling need as he lets you take control.

“You’re so good like this, letting me take care of you.”

His breath hitches, and his hands tighten on your thighs. “I—fuck, I can’t—” He’s rambling now, his words slurring as his breath becomes laboured and his hips start to thrust skywards into you. “Please—don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Shh,” you soothe, your hands sliding down to lace your fingers with his, pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head. “I’ve got you. Just let go, Toji.”

Wholly at your mercy, Toji screws his beautiful eyes shut and nods. Each heave from his chest stokes the flames that coil in your stomach  in desperate hopes of a release. He’s first to teeter over the edge of pleasure, with a wild thrust up into you and a very raw moan, or sob, that rips straight from his throat, he cums. He fills you up and, for only a moment, you’re thrown back a year into the past and this is any other night spent together. The heat of him, the sheer force of his climax, pushes you to your own precipice.

You follow him into oblivion soon after, your back arching and your head falling back as your orgasm crashes through you. The muscles of your core tighten around him, drawing out his pleasure even as yours consumes you in wave after wave of white-hot ecstasy. You milk him for all he has, every last drop of release that you’re greedy enough to take within you.

When the storm passes, you collapse onto his chest. The both of you are sheened with sweat and the cum that leaks from your cunt around his cock and it’s messy and sticky and domestic in a way you can’t explain. The rain outside starts to taper off, but you’ll use the weather as an excuse to stay the night regardless. You doubt Toji would let you leave even if you tried. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“I love you.” you reply. 

You don’t know what will happen come morning. The two of you are from two very different worlds now, but Toji’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. You can feel his heart beat, you can hear each intake of breath, you’re connected to him physically and, in a way, spiritually as well. 

You’re in his bed, the one that was once also yours. You’re safe, feeling nostalgic, and Toji Fushiguro is warm. Much warmer than any insulated townhouse.

taglist: @jadeis0nline @feelingfaye @sooouth @lavenderdaydream97 @kyiyoko

@gojoscinnamonroll @loafteaw @echodead @aldebrana @aviesnapkindoodles

@acrazybiotch374 @jaehyunberries @sophi-anna @pissibly @florallyarranged

@toruswrld @mikasasgfs @gojosbedwarmer @sugubear @hellokittyish

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@luvvshazel @bozos-r-us @madamechrissy

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley/female reader This is the last part before the epilogue

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise honey, remember?” You nod, but your eyes stay glued to the windshield, tracking the raindrops sliding on and off the glass. “Hey,” he reaches for your hand, pulling it into his grasp, “it’s okay. You’re safe.”

“I’m with you.” You repeat the mantra, the one you repeat in the shower, in bed, in the living room. I’m safe. I’m with you. 

He wants to look away from the road so badly long enough to see your eyes, really see them. It’s how he knows where you are, if you’re there, or here, or somewhere else. Just in case, he reminds you. “The kids are with Gaz and Cami. Soap is sleeping in the guest room. They’re all together, and they’re safe.” You nod again, but answer as a robot.

“They’re safe.” He can’t do it. He pulls the car over and you turn in alarm, watching as he steps around to the passenger side door and pulls it wide, dropping to his knee.

“Look at me-“

“You’re getting wet!” You sputter, grabbing at his jacket, but he stills you.

“Look at me, mama.” Your eyes are full of tears, and he cups your cheek. “Where are you?” Your lip wobbles.

“That room.” He pries your fingers open and places your palm over his chest.

“What’s that?”

“Your heart.”

“Your heart, sweet girl. It’s yours. Count them for me.” You shake your head, clenching your eyes shut, and he squeezes your knee. “Deep breath. Count them.”

“O-one, two, thr-we, four…” he does it with you, quietly, supporting, but not coaching. Not leading. You have to do it, you have to bring yourself back. “F-ive… five, six, seven, eight, nine…” each beat steadies your voice until you’re sitting a little straighter, breathing a little deeper.

“There she is. There’s my girl.” He wipes a tear from your cheek, “that’s it.”

“Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…” you reach twenty five, and then give him a nod. He is thoroughly soaked now, but who cares. It’s not even close to what matters.

“Where are you?” He presses a slow kiss to your forehead.

“I’m here, with you.” You meet his gaze, clear and focused, and he nods.

“Okay.”

“You could have told me.”

“Not as fun, mama, I wanted it to be a surprise.” You’re standing in the middle of the room, looking around, smiling. It’s the same room he brought you to years ago. The room where he put the ring on your finger, the room you told him you’d spend the rest of your life, his life, together. The curtains are the same, the decor, even the bedspread.

“Si,” your voice wavers, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you against his chest.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

You're surprisingly not nervous at all, though he's not that shocked. You have a few tattoos, medium sized, black and grey like his. No sleeves or anything that extensive, but you picked up a small collection during your travels. 

"Wait... are you serious?" You squeak, eyeing the chair and then the guy sitting beside it, Mark, the same guy that's done almost all of Simon's work. Simon's still not sure how he convinced him to come out here and do this, but he suspects the sentimental piece of this occasion had a lot to do with it. "What... what is it?" Simon glances at him, and then nods, holding his breath as he pulls the stencil out of the binder to lay it flat in front of you. 

It's a ring. Black and grey to match your other tattoos, but the same shape, band, everything, as the one you lost. Except- 

The stone frames three constellations. Orion, Phoenix and... "Lyra." You whisper, tracing the line work. You look up at him with tears in your eyes. "Orpheus and Eurydice." 

"Everyone says it's a tragedy, y'know? That he failed. But those people have never felt the way I feel about you." His throat is unbearably tight, and he swallows to keep it together. "They don't know how I'd go to hell to bring you home, they don't know how desperate I'd be to look back and and make sure you're still there with me," he breathes deep through his nose, chasing away the tidal wave rising in his chest. Mark, thankfully, has decided to pretend to be busy with something else. "They don't know how I'd let myself be ripped apart just to see you again. To spend eternity with you." 

"Simon..." 

"You don't have to do it," he rushes out, squeezing your hand, "just say so, and we'll leave. I won't be mad." You reach for him, tugging him close by his wrist and standing up on your tiptoes, trying to bury your face in his neck, seeking you safe space. 

"I love you. I love... I love you." He brushes your tears away. "I want it. Yes, of course. I want it." 

"You sure?" You cast one last look at the drawing, and nod. 

"Eternity with you." He smiles. 

"Eternity." 

[mangostarjam]

you've been touching him a lot since he got back.

itoshi sae doesn't do anything about it — doesn't dissuade you from tugging at his sleeve or sliding his jacket zipper back and forth while you talk. doesn't comment or bring your attention to it.

but he watches.

you've been around him a lot since his plane landed, making up for all the time he's spent abroad, as if your daily chat threads haven't been enough. most of the time it's just the two of you, the way it used to be. sometimes his brother is around, though thankfully it doesn't seem like you've gotten any closer to rin since sae left.

other times there's a group, mostly your friends, a mix of guys and girls who don't seem to know what to do with themselves around him. sae is used to this — fame brings strange things to light — but you treat him as you always have, except for the touching.

you don't touch anyone else.

it makes him think.

sae has his reasons. he's never let your relationship get past that line, drawn in the sand. he's a professional football player on the other side of the world, and you have a life here. you have friends (even though you still call him your best friend), you have a job (that you complain about all the time), you have family (that can't be bothered to ever congratulate you on anything).

it wouldn't be right — to make you leave. to take you away. not when he needs to focus on being the best in the world.

(he is the best in the world. all those years ago he showed the U-20 team in japan the difference between them, the way the most they could hope for was dating a gravure model. sae never cared about that aspect. he already had you.)

he lets you touch him, but he doesn't touch you back. he keeps you at arm's length — where you're safe.

and then you ask him to be your wingman.

someone else — touching you? kissing you? having you? unthinkable. sae steps out of the shower and barely dries off before pulling on his briefs and pants. steps into his room and there you are, sitting on his bed, looking good, if a little sad.

he considers telling you to get your passport updated and catches the way your eyes trail down his form. maybe this conversation would be easier if he's wearing a shirt — your gaze is too heated, too distracting. you probably think you're being sneaky, hiding your feelings as best as you can, but sae knows you.

and your casual touches are ocean waves washing that line in the sand away.

sae walks towards his closet when it happens again. your finger in his belt loop, stopping him in his tracks. "what?"

"you were ignoring me," you say. "i asked if my outfit is okay."

your outfit is more than okay. "i would have told you to change if it wasn't."

"if you're going to be my wingman, shouldn't you hype me up?" you huff.

sae feels his jaw clench at the reminder. "no," he says, and his tone comes out cold. you don't seem to notice, falling back on his bed and testing every bit of self control in his grasp. "this is a waste of time."

he goes to pull on a shirt before he does something drastic. you're saying something, but it hardly matters when his flight leaves if you'll be on the plane with him. you've covered your eyes with your forearm, so you miss the way he pauses at the foot of the bed, teal eyes drinking in your form splayed out so defenselessly.

sae climbs over you silently, knees nudging yours apart, hands planted on either side of your body. "this is a waste of time," he repeats, watching with amusement as you take in his position. a blush sweeps across your face, but you don't push him off. that's a good sign, at least.

"what, you think i'm not worth being a wingman for?" you ask. silly. you have no idea.

and then you reach for his belt loops again, as if that's a totally normal thing to do and not something that drives him a little nuts every time. sae prides himself on his control, though, so he doesn't lean down to kiss you just yet.

"tell me," sae says, "have you become this touchy with all your friends since i've been gone?"

"n-no?"

it's cute, how wide your eyes get. sae leans down a little closer. feels your breaths on his lips. still doesn't kiss you — yet. "then i won't be your wingman. you don't need one."

"why not?"

do you know how breathless you sound? sae considers his apartment in spain, how he'll need to make sure the bedroom doesn't share any walls with the neighbors. the way you sound is all for him and him alone.

"because you have a boyfriend, now."

(companion piece to this)

[madamechrissy]

Ex Husband Toji

MDNI- NSFW- explicit sex, dirty talk, oral (m and f recieving) lil bit of rough sex, Toji calls you doll and Mama, creampie, breed kink, reader is Megumi's mom and Toji needs another kid lol

Ex Husband Toji who you're so mad at, because he's late picking up Megumi for his day to take him to school again, so you decide to go directly to his house, banging on the door.

Ex Husband Toji who overslept after working all night, and feels awful he's fucked up again, but when he sees your cute little scowl, he's instantly turned on, because fuck he misses you so much.

Ex Husband Toji who smirks, licking his full lower lip as his dark green eyes drink you in. 'still in your pajamas, huh doll?' earning you shoving at his chest now, crossing your arms. 'was supposed to be your day to take Gumi, no I wasn't dressed!' Toji really likes this crop top, the strap hanging off your bare shoulder, your nipples perk up as he stares, earning a smug grin

Ex Husband Toji laughs as he says 'could've just told me you wanted to get off, y'know' earning your smack on his cheek, which really just makes him hard for you as you stomp in his house. He's shirtless and in sweats, you're trying to avoid looking at his chiseled, muscular body because if you stare too long you'll remember how good he fucked you, so you cross your arms, glaring and say 'I actually have a date tonight, Toji'

Ex Husband Toji scowls now, stepping up to you, he's so big he takes over the whole little home it seems, his big rough hands gripping your bare waist, thumbs pressing against your rib cage. 'what's that now, doll? I must've fuckin misheard' you scoff, shoving his hands off 'didn't mishear shit, we're done you know that' he yanks you to him now, and when you're pressed against his body? your brain short circuits as he leans down so close you taste the cigarettes on his breath

Ex Husband Toji slams his lips on yours, you feel that scar rubbing against your mouth, as his tongue devours you, lapping in and out so fucking messy. No one fucking kisses you like that, no one can do this to you, but you can't fuck him again, this keeps happening and you have to move on. You back away then, panting, eyes locked on his, and then he says it 'I fuckin miss you, so much y'know that? miss you cummin on m'face'

Ex Husband Toji may or may not then have your thighs spread on his kitchen table, he may or may not have your sleep shorts yanked to the side, and he may or may not have his face buried between your thighs. He's lapping you up, tasting your sweet arousal all over his mouth, as he looks up under sooty lashes. Your hands yank his inky black hair as you gasp, while he fucks your gummy walls so goddamn well, crying out 'still h-hate you, T-Toji' earning him leaning back with a devious fucking grin, as he smacks your cunt.

Ex Husband Toji who watches you tremble and whimper as he spits on your clit, watching the bubbly liquid drip between your lip, slipping two thick fingers into your tight little hole, cock throbbing under his sweats as he remembers how good you feel clenching him. He's not been with anyone else, how could he? 'T-Toji, f-fuck!' you're screaming his name, eyes rolling back while he scissors those fingers in and out of your soppy little hole, which flutters around them. 'ya gonna cum f'me doll? let me see it... there ya go'

Ex Husband Toji Has you cumming all over his fingers, white hot stars blinding you, as it washes all over, no one could do this to you, and soon he's got you turned and bent over the table, legs dangling pathetic as he slides those slutty grey sweats down, releasing his thick heavy cock, that shoves in your soaking wet cunt, stretching you so good. 'Ah! oh my god!' you have tears in your eyes as he grips your hips, begining to fuck into you, slamming your cervix as his balls smack your little twitching clit

Ex Husband Toji loves how you feel so much, muttering 'f-fuckin missed this, missed your cunt gripping me... cum on doll, cum again lemme feel her' you need no urging, you're pulsing around his cock in the middle of his messy ass kitchen, on his old table scattered with cards and gambling tickets. He shoves your head down as he grips a wrist, pulling it behind your back and bottoming out, stuffing you so full you're soaking him completely, gasping for a breath.

Ex Husband Toji who busts inside you, muttering 'need a lil brother or sister for Gumi, don't we, mama?' and you're just nodding weakly, feeling his load so deep inside you, fucking up your guts as he's still fucking into you, he tilts your chin, slamming his lips on yours as he leans over you, big hands taking over your body, cock twitching in you. 'stop this shit, come home' he whispers, you pull away then, on trembling legs, glaring up at him.

Ex Husband Toji hopes he knocked you up again as you go off on him for being late, as you act like you're going to leave, only for you to be on your knees sucking yourself off him, and as he's fucking your throat he's pretty damn sure you're not going on any date at all

permatag list: @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric 🩵

I NEVER write for Toji anymore and I love him!? Lmk if you want more Toji content or more ex husband Toji lol

[reignpage]

Best Roommate Ever!

Summary: your sweet roommate, Choso, is not who he seems Word Count: 1k Warnings: smut, dubcon, perv!choso, manipulation, coercion, handjob, cursing, nonconsensual picture taking, pillow fucking, ooc, dark themes, fem!reader, not proofread

Roommate!Choso is a blessing — he’s the cleanest person you’ve ever met, he’s sweet and kind, doesn’t bring over loud guests, and never fights you for the remote. He makes soup when you're sick, helps with the chores, and gets along great with you.

Pervy roommate!Choso waits until you leave for your job to walk into your room and jump onto your bed, inhaling your scent from the pillows. He buries his face in it, gripping the soft material as he grinds into your mattress, overwhelmed by your smell and the images of you writhing in bed the way he is.

Roommate!Choso does the laundry and never complains. He separates the whites from the colours, doesn’t cheap out on laundry detergent and fabric softener. Hell, what kind of guy uses fabric softener? 

Pervy roommate!Choso  loves to do the laundry because he gets to see what you’ve been wearing under all those tight jeans, see what colours you gravitate towards, and know whether you’ve touched yourself at all the past week.

You had just come out of the shower, and he was knocking on the door, talking about how the laundry needs to be done immediately. Truthfully, he just wanted to pocket the flimsy material at the top of the pile and press the still wet gusset to his nose. 

Pervy roommate!Choso groans, free hand shoved into his sweats, soothing the throbbing of his cock by squeezing the base the way he thinks you would, firm and teasing. He loves the way your pussy smells and oh god he wishes he could smell it from the source, but he’ll settle for tonguing the wet spot, eyes rolling back at the taste of you. 

Roommate!Choso laughs when you can’t find your favourite thongs, claiming the washing machine eats up things like all his socks, and doesn’t dare say it’s actually in his pocket right now. 

Pervy roommate!Choso sneaks into your room when you’re asleep, eyes roving over the shorts riding up your ass, and the way your big shirt is bunched up right under your tits. 

He snaps a pic of the curves of your ass, lifting the hem slightly so more of your plump cheek is on show. Your skin is soft, and he just can’t help himself; he smooths a hand over your thigh, thumb pressing to watch the flesh bounce and ripple.

And then he’s moving upwards, careful fingers pushing the shirt up and over your tits, unrestrained and gorgeous in the moonlight streaming through the curtains. 

Pervy roommate!Choso sucks a finger, skin absorbing the warmth of his mouth before he’s skimming your nipple, poking the stiffening bud. Kneeling, he takes a risk, heart beating abnormally fast as he keeps an eye out on your face. Any flicker of consciousness and he’ll disappear back into his room. 

He sticks a tongue out, the tip jutting just a little so he can poke at your nipple. His eyes roll back at the knowledge of how wrong it is and then he’s throwing caution to the wind and wrapping his lips around it, sucking hard before you groan. 

When you wake up, you’re confused as to why your shirt is almost choking you and your nipple is oddly sensitive. 

And wet?

Roommate!Choso decides he needs more, that he can’t stand the sneaking around. He needs you, needs to feel your willing touch. But there’s no way he can risk putting his heart on the sleeve and be rejected, because then he’ll lose you. 

Pervy roommate!Choso calls you into his room, claiming his pelvis is sore. You suggest taking him to the hospital, but he blushes, it’s too embarrassing. So, you take pity on your poor roommate and offer to massage it for him. 

A small smile crawls on his face and as soon as a yes leaves your mouth, he’s shoving his sweats down with more vigour than he would have liked.  You don’t notice. Rubbing your hands together, you blow warmth between them before pressing your fingers to his upper thighs and his lower abdomen. 

You’re touching everywhere but where he wants you to, poking and prodding to ease a soreness that doesn't exist. 

Pervy roommate!Choso groans. The ache has moved upwards to his dick. How humiliating. But you don’t mind, do you?

Wrapping your hand around his base, you look up at him with those wide innocent eyes he loves so much and ask if it’s okay, if he’s feeling better, and oh, is he ever?

You jerk him off exactly how he imagined, thumb brushing across his slit and using his cum to smooth the descent. He cums all over your hands, back arching and your name on his tongue.

Roommate!Choso loves movies nights with you! He loves when you snuggle up right next to him, resting your head on his shoulder and sharing a bowl of popcorn. It’s so much fun to critique cheesy dialogue with you. 

Pervy roommate!Choso loves movie nights for another reason; you fall asleep after the second movie like clockwork, hand buried in the popcorn. He scoots the bowl away very carefully, watching your hand fall limp onto his crotch. 

He presses it down harder with his own, hips rutting upwards to chase that pressure and turn it into pleasure. He can’t cum like this, it isn’t enough, but he can if he manages to tuck that hand under his pyjama bottoms, using the oil from the popcorn as lubricant, UTI be damned. 

When you wake up and he’s wiping your hands clean, he chastises you for dozing off without washing up. And you thank him for being so sweet and thoughtful, assuming the flush of his cheeks is from the compliment and not the rapid beat of his heart from being almost caught. 

Pervy roommate!Choso steals your pillows whilst you’re out with friends, he ties them together with rope, taping pictures of parts of your sleeping body onto his creation. 

He rams his throbbing dick inside, cursing the fact that it’s not tight enough but it’ll have to do. He pictures the way your tits would bounce as he pounds into you, the way your pussy would gush around his cock, forming a creamy white ring, and if he closes his eyes, he can hear your moans, can hear you cry out for more. 

Pervy roommate!Choso envisions your sloppy cunt clenching down on him as you cum at the same time he squirts inside, biting his lip to stifle his whimpers. 

The pillow covers are ripped up from his death grip, drying stains of his guilt soaking into the cotton.

Thankfully, you don’t question why he’s bought you brand new pillows, instead giving him a hug for the gift.

He’s just such a great roommate!

[skipper1331]

We listen and we don’t judge // Alexia Putellas

a/n: short one

It was all over your foryou page - the 'we listen and we don’t judge' trend. So obviously you had to do it with your girlfriend.

After you had explained the rules to the Barcelona captain, you sat down next to each other at the dining table, your phone recording.

"Hello guys!" you greeted, Alexia greeting in her mother tongue, "today we‘re doing the we listen and don’t judge trend" you explained once again how it works for those who didn‘t know, "and I’m very excited how this turns out" you laughed, grinning at Alexia who held your hand underneath the table.

"Do you want to start, amor?" she asked.

"Yes okay." you thought about it for a moment before you came up with one, "we listen and we don‘t judge"

"Sometimes when you leave the house for training i eat the chocolate bars you get from the physio and when you ask where they are i tell you that you probably ate them already"

Ale chuckled before she answered, "amor, i buy them in the store. I know you like them. Since I’m injury free the physio doesn’t buy them anymore. It was a treat for every step of recovery"

"What? You didn‘t tell me that" you huffed, playfully.

"Yes because you always look so cute with the guilty mischief glint in your eyes when you tell me I ate them"

"Hey!-"

"We listen-" she cut you off, encouraging you to join the end of her sentence "and we don‘t judge" you said in unison.

"Sí, um, sometimes when I look through the newest football footage and you‘re nearby I make sure that you only see the best of me and my skills, so you’re impressed by me." she admitted with a shy smile, tracing patterns of the back of your hand.

leaning over to whisper in her ear, "I’m always impressed by you, don’t worry" before you said, "we listen and we don‘t judge"

"When we‘re going out and I ask if I should drive, I always hope that you say no because I don’t want to drive, I’d rather be the passenger princess with the privileges than the driver."

Alexia looked at you - indeed you often asked if she was sure that she wanted drive and that it wouldn’t be a problem if you sat behind the steering wheel but Alexia always had a feeling. Besides she loved driving you around.

"We listen and we don’t judge"

"When I’m in the supermarket and you ask me to buy something for you and it isn’t on the paper list, I forget about it most of the time. And when you ask where it is and i suddenly remember it, i tell you that the store didn‘t have it" she innocently smiled at you, the judgmental expression on your face obvious.

"Te amo, eh?"

"We listen and we don't judge" you replied.

"When we watch a movie I pretend to fall asleep, so you would carry me to bed"

"You cheeky girl" the midfielder kissed your cheek before her arm went around your shoulder, pulling you a bit closer.

"We listen and we don‘t judge"

"If you try to cook my mother's food, I tell you every time that it tastes delicious, even if sometimes it doesn't taste that good" she said, quickly adding, "because I really appreciate the effort" smiling.

"Yeah, that‘s fair. Your mum is an amazing cook"

With that being said, you continued little game for a bit before you said your good byes to the camera.

"I thought you‘d admit worse things" you said, smiling at the catalan, happy that her statements were harmless. You had seen many horrific statements on the internet which left you shocked and wondering how these people stay in their relationship.

"Why would I, amor? I like being with you and I wouldn’t ever judge you" she said with heart eyes. The girl so in love with you.

And truth to her words, there‘s never been any occasion where she had judged you. She trusted you in everything and besides, mistakes happen too, so why would she judge that? Nobody was perfect, she wasn’t perfect, neither were you. Even though she truly believed that you were the closest thing to perfection.

"Te amo mucho"

[nighttimealone]

Cw: nsfw, afab!reader is referred to as ‘Mrs. Riley’

Simon enjoys eating you out from behind, his knees on the tiles, hands on your hips as you lean on the railing of your balcony, ass sticking out for him to feast on.

Your back of your nightgown hiked up to your waist, secured by his hands rest themselves on your hips.

He loves to see your pussy lips peak out between your ass cheeks, already dripping with sweet nectar, a string of those juices hanging in the air before he licks it away.

“Morning, princess.” you know Simon’s not talking to you now, as he murmurs with a chuckle against your puffy lips, watching them flutter when his hot breath fanning on them.

“Simon, quick…” if you wiggle your hips, urging him to finally get his lips on your pussy, soothing the burning ache of arousal, the only answers will be a smack delivered right onto your ass cheek, the slap loud and clear in the early morning, and his chastisement mumbled against your mounds.

“It’s rude to not greet her properly, love, can’t even wait for a few minutes?” he’s so mean, with the fake nonchalance in his tone, with his calloused thumbs spreading your petals to expose the sensitive pearl of your clit, twitching at the cool air and excitement.

“She’s just begging me to give her what she deserves, isn’t she?”

The ask lingers in the air, but Simon’s not going to wait for your answer, the throbbing need coming his cock making him finally seal his lips around your clit, giving it a hard suck, coaxing your juices out of your tight entrance, before soothing it with gentle laps of his skillful tongue.

Your one hand holding your mug, putting on the facade of enjoying a cuppa for the passersby down there on the street, another hand clenching on the edge of the railing as his lips works its magic, pressing a morning kiss on each spots of your slick folds before wandering back to kiss the cute nub now peaking out of petals.

“Almost there, please, Simon..I need, I need—“ wanton moans escaping your lips, unable to swallow back when you’re teetering on the edge, just a little push…until you gasp out imperceptibly at an energetic greeting cut through your hazy mind.

“Morning, Mrs. Riley!” the familiar voice of Mrs.Smith, your neighbor, snaps you out of the immense pleasure, dragging you back to the reality—that you’re getting eaten out on the balcony of your house, even though only your upper body is perch on the railing, and others can’t see the lewd activity and your man, who’s burying his face between your thighs and makes your head spins with the impending release.

“Simon, stop, stop…!” your eyes nearly roll back when he does the exact opposite thing—the flat of his tongue doubling its effort on your soaked pussy, delving the tip into your cunny just to tease you.

“Answer her.” his orders rumbling into your mound.

“Morning…Mrs. Smith…oh god…!” you bite back a moan as you reply Mrs. Smith, not like you have other options. “Hope you had a nice sleep last night!”

You can hear Simon huffs out a laugh at your poor and plain response to Mrs. Smith, before diving back to resume his most important morning task, and your cheeks burn from embarrassment, how could he expect you to think of a better line when he’s the one causing you the predicament? You look back down to shoot him a glare, but quickly turn back to Mrs. Smith when Simon lifts his head to press a kiss on your plump cheeks as a halfhearted apology.

the rest of the chatters with Mrs. Smith are forgotten as soon as Mrs. Smith left to go on her day, not when you’re grinding your ass back on his mouth, wobbly hand reach up to muffle your scream of pleasure, along with those sweet whines of his name.

and when you come on his lips, thighs trembling and knees buckled, struggling to hold your body up as juices gush out and drench his chin, that’s when Simon stands up, his arms now around your waist to support your orgasm-wearied body, the bulbous head of his cock nudging against your still sensitive entrance as he pushes the tip inside just a bit, savoring how your walls massaging it eagerly with a prolonged, hoarse groan.

“Round two, you can take it, yeah?”

Sure you will be spending another half an hour on this balcony, moaning as Simon fucks the sleepiness out of you.

[echo-riot]

Random sevika thoughts/headcanons NSFW

Once Sevika…

• Bent you over her poker table at the Leaky Drop, clearing the cards and chips with one sweep of her arm. She didn’t care who was around; she wanted to make sure everyone knew you were hers.

• Caught you teasing her in public by being overly flirty with someone else. The second you were alone, she had you pinned to the wall, growling in your ear about how you’d pay for that later.

• Kept you in bed all day, completely ignoring work because she couldn’t get enough of you. Every time you tried to leave, she’d pull you back, muttering something about how she wasn’t done with you yet.

• Left marks all over your neck and chest, smirking every time you winced at the sight of them in the mirror. “You wanted to play games, huh? Now wear them with pride.”

• Whispered filthy promises in your ear during a slow dance, her hand slipping lower and lower on your back as the night went on.

• Left you dripping and unsatisfied on purpose, just to punish you for not listening to her earlier. She told you not to wear that dress out, and now she’s going to make you pay for it.

• Made you hold onto her biceps while she completely wrecked you, her smirk growing wider every time you squeezed harder. “C’mon, sweetheart, you can handle more than that.”

• Pulled you into her lap during a poker game, forcing you to sit still while she played. Every now and then, she’d lean down to murmur in your ear, making your cheeks flush as you struggled to keep it together.

• Ruined you so thoroughly that you were too weak to stand afterward. She carried you to bed, lit a cigar, and smirked as she watched you try to catch your breath.

Sevika would…

• Make you apologize for being a brat by kissing her knuckles or her neck, her smug grin letting you know she wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

• Punish you by teasing you with her strap until you were trembling, but never letting you have it until you begged properly.

• Growl in your ear while she’s fucking you, her voice low and rough as she tells you exactly how good you feel.

• Keep you on edge for hours, only letting you finish when she was completely satisfied with how desperate you’d become.

• Look at you like you’re the most delicious thing in the world whenever you wear her favorite outfit, knowing damn well she’s going to tear it off you later.

• Drag her metal arm up your inner thigh, letting the cool touch send shivers through you as she grinned at your reaction.

• Take her time teasing you, kissing every inch of your skin until you were trembling and begging her to stop torturing you. She loves drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible.

• Call you out for trying to act tough in the bedroom. “You think you’re in charge now? Cute. Let’s see how long that lasts.” Spoiler: not long.

• Use her size to completely overwhelm you, pinning you down with one arm while the other worked you over mercilessly.

• Keep her hand on your throat, not enough to hurt but just enough to remind you who’s in control.

• Grab your chin mid-argument and kiss you just to shut you up. She knows you’re mad, but she can’t resist that fire in your eyes, and it’s her favorite way to end any fight.

• Make you beg for her, dragging every whimper and plea out of you before she finally gives you what you want. She loves the power she holds over you in those moments.

• Tie your wrists together with whatever’s nearby—her bandages, a belt, or even her tie—just to keep you from touching her when she’s in a teasing mood.

• Make you wear her shirt and nothing else when you’re lounging around at home. Seeing you wrapped up in her scent gets her every time.

[itsnesss]

𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐭 | thanos (player 230) × fem!reader

summary | Thanos constantly harasses you until you stand up to him

warnings | strong language, drug use, physical confrontation, kissing

word count | 1.6 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

It all started with a look—one of those glances people give you when they underestimate you. Of course, you were used to it. Here, no one expected much from a girl like you: small, quick, and quiet. And Player 230, whom everyone called Thanos, was no exception.

From day one, that jerk had decided you were his personal entertainment. He provoked you whenever he could, shoving you as he passed, making sarcastic remarks about how "weak" you looked, and making it clear that if he ever had the chance, he wouldn’t hesitate to crush you.

You put up with it because there wasn’t much choice. In this place, showing weakness was a death sentence, and an open confrontation with someone like him could be just as dangerous. But today, something inside you snapped.

It was the fifth game, a test of endurance and precision. Everyone was tense, including the guards patrolling the room. You focused on your strategy, ignoring the murmurs and stares. Then, as always, he showed up.

“Look who’s here, our little rat. Ready to run away when things get tough?”

His voice echoed behind you, and you could hear the smug grin in his tone. You didn’t bother turning around.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, 230?” you replied, trying to stay calm.

He let out a laugh. “No, not really. Watching you fail is the only entertaining thing here.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, a gesture that was anything but friendly. You swatted it away, turning to face him.

“You know what? That’s enough. I’m sick of your crap.”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly recovered his mocking expression. “Well, well. The little rat has claws.”

Your heart was pounding, but you weren’t going to back down. Not this time.

“And what about you? What do you have? Besides a big mouth and a small brain?”

A murmur rippled through the room. The other players were watching the scene unfold with interest, some even smirking. It was rare for anyone to stand up to Thanos, let alone in public.

For a moment, you thought he was going to hit you. He stepped closer, and you could feel his heavy breath, mixed with the unmistakable stench of something chemical. Drugs. You’d noticed it before—his dilated pupils, his slightly clumsy movements.

“You know what’s funny?” he said, leaning toward you. His voice, usually loud and commanding, sounded almost… confused. Like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh at you or with you.

“What?” you snapped, not breaking eye contact.

“I like your attitude.” The grin on his face widened, but this time it didn’t seem mocking. It was different, disoriented.

What happened next took you completely by surprise. Before you could react, his hands grabbed your arms—not forcefully. He looked at you as if he were seeing something new, something he didn’t fully understand, and then… he kissed you.

It was quick, clumsy, and so unexpected that for a moment, you didn’t know how to react. Your brain took a few seconds to process what was happening, but when it did, you shoved him away with all the strength you had.

“What the hell are you doing?” you yelled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He stumbled back, a satisfied smile plastered across his face.

“You’re sexy when you’re angry, you know?”

Your blood boiled. The air in the room seemed to freeze. The other players stared at you—some horrified, others trying to stifle their laughter. The guards, as always, did nothing, letting the chaos unfold on its own.

“You’re insane,” you said, not bothering to lower your voice.

He took a step toward you, but this time, you stepped forward first.

“No. I’m warning you—don’t come any closer.”

Something in your tone must have reached him because he stopped. He blinked a couple of times, as if trying to process your words, and then let out a low, almost raspy laugh.

“You know, I think I like you more than I thought.”

You couldn’t believe it. This idiot was definitely high and didn’t seem to have any idea how inappropriate his behavior was. But instead of feeling intimidated, a wave of fury surged through you.

“If you ever touch me again,” you said, pointing a finger at him, “I swear you won’t walk out of the next game.”

For a moment, he just stared at you. And then, to your surprise, he nodded.

“Fine, little rat. But don’t be surprised if you change your mind someday.”

[onlygarden]

[so good, light up the neighborhood] - park sunghoon

genre: smut

description: after moving into a new home, you develop a less-than-subtle admiration for your neighbor - a handsome, charming man who also happens to be forty years old. sunghoon is 40, reader is in their 20s, dilf sunghoon (he's not a father, just a dilf if you know what i mean), unprotected sex, biting, power play kinda, sunghoon is flirty, dom sunghoon, older sunghoon (whatever you say daddy)

a/n: this fic kinda beat my ass, but i'm super excited about it :D been brewing this idea for a little while heheh

the late afternoon sunlight brightened the expanse of your living room, dramatically bright rays resting upon your eyelashes and obstructing the view of the drama on your television. albeit, you were rewatching it, anyway; and only half watching at that, since your mind obliged you into pondering the gentleman who now lived next door to you. 

your recent move-in concluded only a week ago, the less-than-impressive dimensions of your new home still littered with empty boxes which sat in a neat pile beside your front door – your poor attempt at tidying the muddled mess of your unpacking process. 

you approach the clutter of empty boxes, thoughts of your new neighbor lapping your brain rampantly, their stubborn insistence rousing a sigh from your lips. images of his delicate, genuine smile as he introduced himself, his habit of using ‘sweetheart’ rather than your name, his firm ‘you don’t have to strain yourself, let me…” as you attempted to carry all your boxes into the house alone remained on a continuous loop, beyond any of your better judgment or hollow efforts to distract yourself. 

your knowledge of him doesn’t extend very far, similar to your brief list of interactions with him – the only information you’ve gathered thus far is his name age, and the fact that he’s so inconceivably handsome your breath hitched in your throat when you first cast your eyes towards him. the shocking difference in age between the two of you didn’t deter your admiration at all – sure, he’s forty years old, and sure, that’s much older than you. in your mind, however, the fact that he was old enough to be your father only strengthened the enchanting spell your body and your wits were under. 

“hey, sweetheart,” his familiar, yet charming voice rings out, gently diverting your attention away from your unseemly contemplations. 

your legs halt, pausing your movements in your short trek to your recycling bin. you eagerly direct your gaze to his direction, and goodness, there he is; just the sight of his gorgeous face causes a smile to glide it’s way across your features, followed by a subtle blush. the sound of his car door closing reaches your ears in the same moment that his classic, sly grin adorns his face, fueling a flurry of warmth in your tummy. you were so overcome by your thoughts, that you hadn’t even noticed his car returning to his driveway… 

“oh! hey, sunghoon,” you utter all too evenly – the pressure of the thump, thump, thump in your chest, and the shameful nature of your thoughts was not betrayed by your demeanor in the faintest degree. 

oh, he’s coming over here, you think as he suddenly begins to approach you. his legs drag him closer to you until he’s standing directly before you, the width of his shoulders and his daunting stature causing you to feel caged in. you invite the feeling, however, shamelessly basking in shelter he can provide with his frame alone.

you fling the thought from your mind as his gruff, warm voice reaches you again, his proximity intensifying the metaphorical embrace your senses receive whenever the sound reaches them. with such a limited distance between the two of you, his voice was much softer, more intimate – you were certain you could feel the resonance his voice created in his chest across your skin.  

“getting rid of all those empty boxes, huh?” he questions, his sly smile still proud on his face, but resting in such an easy manner. the ease of his expression mirrors the ease of his demeanor, not a single fray of tension shedding from him. 

“oh, yea… yea, i am,” you respond, your gaze shifting to the boxes in your hand in a fleeting glance, before returning to his captivating eyes – his eyes were chasms, shimmering dark orbs absorbing every grain of your attention, unpermitted and unforeseen by you. though if you did garner any control of the situation, you wouldn’t try to resist, anyway. 

his own gaze descends, falling upon the boxes you held before being captured by another, lower view. the pleat of your black tennis skirt was snagged underneath the boxes in your grasp, revealing the shorts underneath – the shorts designed to prevent situations like yours from becoming any less fortunate. though in your case, flashing the man in front of you with the sight of your thong would only serve to further gratify him. 

he noted the sight of the not-so-generous fabric, paying particularly close regard to the way the shorts sink into your flesh, your thigh pillowing around the constricting material. you truly didn’t realize, did you? you were so blissfully oblivious to the mishap, but equally as oblivious to the subtle change in his relaxed gaze to a more appreciative one.

a muted huff drifts past his lips, and he allows his eyes another moment to delight in the glimpse of your flesh bared by such a favorable accident. shielding your skin from his own ravenous leering, he tugs the fabric down, freeing your skirt from the captivity of the box and effectively concealing the skin of your upper thighs. in the process, he allows his deft fingers to graze your skin, lingering only for a moment before his hand falls to his side. well, there goes the view, he thinks. 

the vague blush which already plagued your features only brightens as you come into collision with the realization. the way he momentarily allowed his fingers to skim across your skin surely did not offer your rattled, wickedly jumbled mind any support.

a soft gasp spills from your lips, your eyes stretching wide as you struggle to accept the fact that sunghoon – your neighbor, and the man occupying every crevice of your brain – just saw up your skirt, whether the skirt in question was made with shorts or not.

“oh god, sunghoon… i’m sorry, i –” he intrudes on your frantic apologies, shaking his head dismissively as the warmth of his husky voice travels to your ears again. 

“need some help, sweetheart?” he inquires plainly, though the tone of his voice seems to insinuate a path of events that are obscured from the realm of plain.

your heart stutters beneath your chest, a sense of almost pleasant alarm crawling over your body. the breath in your throat catches, much like usual while you’re conversing with your neighbor. 

“help… help with what?” you inquire in return, the sound of your voice a feeble murmur, the breathiness only further shrouding your words. 

his grin returns to his lips, stretched wide enough to allow his pointed teeth to slip, a memorable feature you came to realize during your first conversation with him. 

“with the rest of your boxes,” he starts, a teasing lilt traveling through his voice. “i could help you bring them out.”

your shoulders begin to relax, the tension subsiding, leaving a subtle sense of disappointment to wander – a gesture you hope his gaze didn’t catch. 

“oh, my boxes…” you utter, your head dropping slightly as a faint chuckle leaves your chest. of course he was talking about the boxes, how could you let yourself get so carried away… 

“yea, i could use some help,” you follow, your eager declaration accompanied by a sweet smile. 

as you oblige in a shameless degree of willingness, sunghoon removes the boxes from your grip, striding casually to your recycling bin. 

your gaze remains on his frame for another moment, roaming over the expanse of his shoulders again, admiring the manner in which his black tee clung to him before you manage to avert your eyes – the fear of being caught grips you cruelly. 

as you head towards the door to retrieve another set of boxes, sunghoon pushes the door open a bit wider from behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder, and allowing it to follow the course of your spine down to the small of your back. he ushers you inside with gentle grace, an equally gentle “right behind you, sweetheart…” passing through his lips. you’re endlessly grateful for his position behind you, since it shielded the apparent heat on your face from his eyes. 

gosh, what’s his problem. the dominance behind such a simple gesture almost made you forget that it was your house, and you were the one leading him inside. 

he permits his eyes to travel throughout your home, observing the manner in which you arranged all of your belongings. 

“very cozy in here, darling,” he compliments. “did you do all of this by yourself?” 

darling. that was new. goodness, he hardly even knows you, but he always manages to sneak an endearing title into conversation with you. you desperately cling to the conviction that it’s completely normal, he’s just being friendly, he probably speaks this way with every young girl… but the distant belief that he’s trying to communicate more than just that is beginning to outshine the former. 

you face him with a quiet smile. “oh, yea. i did. i’m not entirely finished, but i’m glad you think it’s cozy. as my neighbor, you know.” 

a soft chuckle escapes him. 

“as your neighbor, yea…” he starts, a charming lilt littering his gruff voice. “well, i hope that as your neighbor, i’ll be invited over more often.” 

a blend of slight shock and enthusiastic excitement mingles together in your expression. the slight increase of your heart rate causes your voice to sound a bit breathier than you intended, but he doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, he seems almost delighted by the reactions he keeps pulling from you. 

“of course, you’re always welcome,” you respond naturally, hints of kind enthusiasm lacing into your words. you continue, hoping your eager yearning doesn’t come across him. 

“is that something you would want, sunghoon?”

his eyebrows lift faintly, his expression relaxing from his usual sly demeanor. 

“yea, it is, but…” he starts, taking a step closer to you. 

“i hope i’ll get to see more than just the living room, darling…”  

a gasp wanders from your lips beyond your will, prompting the familiar sly smile to return to sunghoon’s lips. before you can even begin to formulate a response, however, his voice rings out again. 

“i’ll grab the rest of these boxes, and then we can chat, if you don’t mind,” he expresses with a hint of intrigue, his hands steadily emerging from his pockets and his head tilting in gesture to the bundle of boxes beside your front door. 

your mind encourages you to nod, your body complying with the request to an almost instinctual degree. you move to assist him in collecting what remained of your moving clutter, following his figure through your front door.

“yea, i’ll… i’ll grab some too,” you manage out, surprised that your frenzied mind could feed you a coherent sentence. 

once the two of you complete the task – a task which should have been simple, but was filled with tension and embarrassingly hungry anticipation on your end – you encourage him to sit on the couch, to which he complies easily. as your take your place beside him, he slithers closer, close enough for his knee to make contact with yours. 

this contact, this proximity – you’d be completely comfortable with it under any other circumstances. if anyone else, or any other guy, for that matter, were in his place, you wouldn’t be flustered in the slightest. it’s him, though, and any bit of contact that he’s generous enough to grace you with turns every fiber of your body into putty. putty meant to be molded, maneuvered, and played with by him alone. 

“you seeing anyone, darling?” he utters breezily, almost too casually for your poor mushy brain. other parts of yourself were beginning to grow rather mushy, too… 

“no, i’m not seeing anyone,” you start, shaking your head gently, your hair swaying a bit with the gesture. 

“why?” you continue. 

his expression brightens marginally at your answer, though the brightness of his expression is still maintained by his sly, casual smile. 

“you see, doll,” he prods, his voice a low timbre, coating your senses in a fresh wave of heat. his hand comes to rest on your knee, rousing every nerve beneath your bare skin, igniting a pleasant burning sensation with his touch. 

doll? gosh, this man is non-stop.

“the first time i saw you in the neighborhood, i couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you are,” he compliments, the words tumbling from his lips in the same charming manner in which they always do. 

he allows his hand to inch up your skin, fingers fluttering across your skin as he offers the flesh of your thigh a light squeeze. 

his eyes falter momentarily to watch your flesh cushion around his fingers, but he regains his firm, locked gaze. “you’re such a beautiful, beautiful, sweet girl… it really shocks me to hear that you’re single, but…” 

the distance between the two of you shrinks as he leans closer, breaking his stubborn gaze to speak against your ear. 

“would you let me be the one to change things?” he urges, his breath warming your ear, while sending shivers to travel down your spine simultaneously. 

what? you could hardly grasp the belief that this was reality, real life, he’s really asking you this question right now. you only spent a little over a week pining for your much older neighbor, yet here he was, in your home, making you aware of his reciprocated admiration without a hint of subtlety. 

“y-yes, sunghoon…” you mutter, somehow discovering a way to form words despite the wildly intense thrumming in your chest. 

his hand sweeps your hair from your shoulder, revealing your neck to him, and his middle finger traces along your jaw, tilting your head up a bit in the process. his fingers crawl to the back of your neck, still resting halfway against your jaw, dragging your face toward his.

“thought so, darling.”

his lips meld with yours, capturing your lips with his own, creating a rhythm which you matched enthusiastically. as though his hunger was beginning to struggle against the seams, his hand flies up skin of your thigh, squishing a greedy handful of your flesh.

his tongue slithers tauntingly along the seam of your lips, hardly waiting until you part your lips to shove his tongue inside of your mouth. he explores your mouth as though he was searching for something, seducing your tongue into an eager dance with his own.

garnering every bit of restraint from every tendril of his body, he parts from you, his nose gliding along your cheek. 

“how far do you wanna take this, doll?” he breathes out, his voice littered with arousal and restlessness. the rasp in his voice gives way to just how narrowly he’s managing to control his impulses. 

“as far as you wanna go, sunghoon…” you murmur feebly, inviting every unfettered bit of him to demolish you. 

a sound resembling a growl rumbles in his throat, and he lays back against the couch, pulling your body on top of his. as you begin to adjust, his large, veined hands glide along your back until he grips a generous handful of your rear. his tongue skates along the sharp line of your jaw, and he begins to treat the flesh of your ass, ardently squeezing and kneading underneath the pleat of your skirt. 

“you know how much i’ve been staring at this ass, darling?” he inquires rhetorically, one of his hands leaving your flesh to land a smack there, though he quickly returns to the kneading that he cannot seem to get enough of.

his hands reluctantly leave your ass, and he begins to lift your top over your head. he pats your bottom, instructing you to stand up, observing with awe as you pull your skirt and panties down without a single word from him. 

he rids himself hurriedly of his own clothes – tossing his shirt aside and abandoning his pants and boxers in tandem, not sparing a glance in their direction as they fall onto the floor. 

just as the final contents of his clothing reach the floor, you allow your unclasped bra to join them, before returning to your seat in sunghoon’s lap. 

sunghoon’s hands reach for your hips before you can fully settle yourself, and he watches in stunned admiration as a string of your arousal gushes from your drenched, lavish pussy, dripping onto his aching cock as though extending an invitation. 

“fuck,” he breathes out, his heavy eyes unable to tear away from the sight of you. his cock twitches powerfully from the subtle stimulation he received from your lavish arousal, and he removes a hand from your hip to stroke his cock, spreading the gift your pussy graced him with over his length.

“you get this wet just from being around me? god, you’re filthy, doll…” he tells you, thoroughly enjoying your shamelessness, and the plentiful flow of arousal you were offering him. 

the temperature in your face rises, but before you can truly react to his words, he begins to lower your body onto his cock, filling your leaking pussy with his daunting girth. a groan escapes him as you engulf him, flooding his cock with such a luscious, warm wetness that he can’t wrap his mind around. 

your feverish moan reaches his ears, and your hands grip onto his own, as though telling him ‘wait, let me get used to this…’ – sunghoon doesn’t allow you any amenities, though.

“goddamn you’re wet…” he announces, grunting at the snugness of your realm of warmth surrounding him. a sensation he had suffered deprivation from for so long, but now he’s finally indulging in it, finally sliding his cock into you. now that he’s captivated you, however, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to miss out on the feeling of being encompassed by you.

all of your reasonable judgment was easily forsaken, and all you desired was to learn and memorize the feeling of his length inside of you.

“f-fuck, hoon!” you wail, as the rhythm of him fucking you onto his cock begins to overflow from your body, the squeeze of his hands against your hips as he guides you up and down only pleasuring you even further.

“mhm… there it is… let it out, my sweet girl,” he encourages hoarsely, any sound and syllable that falls from your lips a pleasant melody for his wicked ears. 

at the sound of your goading cries, sunghoon’s pace hastens, his hips bucking his cock further into you as he forces your hips down to meet every merciless passing of his length through your warm, glistening spring. he’s unfaltering in his movements, sending your body and his own to such astonishing heights of euphoric delight. 

as unimaginable as it seemed, sunghoon intensifies the sheer enchantment he was bestowing onto you as he leans forward, capturing your nipple with his mouth, suckling as his tongue glides over the nub in a gentle caress. 

your cries, moans, and whines only blend pitifully into unintelligible sobs, convoluted pleas of “oh god, oh fuck!” floating from your quivering lips, pouring an abundance of sinful satisfaction onto sunghoon’s body. good god, you’re just heaven to him.

“gonna cum now, sweet girl?” he inquires in a dark breath, detaching his lips from your nipple only to begin suckling the other one, his clenching hand on your hip allowing his thumb to begin circling your fluttering clit. 

your body can’t even conduct an action as simple as a nod, yet the way your body begins to tremble, and the way your helpless hands latch onto his shoulders in a form of nonverbal begging tells him all he needs to know. he exhales with a chuckle as your tears of devastating pleasure begin to fall onto his chest.

“you crying, doll? it’s just sex, i’ve got you…”

obliterating the sentiment of his sweet yet condescending words, his leg bends, allowing him to brace one of his feet against the couch cushion, and he brutalizes his pace of plunges into your pussy. his cock stimulates places inside of you far beyond the range of anything you could ever hope to even imagine.

you know you can’t hold out any longer as a wave of incomprehensible bliss coats your body, hazing your senses and your vision, your shuddering body absolutely staggered as the pleasure he provided showers you in a fountain of violent hysteria.

his hands tense around your hips, deft fingers constricting around your flesh as he compels your body into meeting flush against his own, luscious grinds and ruts into your flowing pussy suffocating him in a pit of pleasure, completely drowning every crevice of his body. though he’s enamored with this form of drowning, as long as it’s you submerging him. he floods you in return, spilling a stream of his cum inside of you, sharing his surging pleasure with you. 

he meets your eyes, locking his stare to yours as he cums. “mmm… yea, fuck, darling… look at me while i’m fucking you…” he mutters with gruff timbre, his mouth falling open, bordering on delirium. 

allowing the both of you a few moments to regain your breath and search for your composure, his veined hand coasts along your back, his breaths resounding heavily in his chest and lifting your delicate, fatigued body. 

“can’t believe i’ve been missing out on all that, sweetheart… i think i like you needy,” he casually informs you, scattering a few wispy kisses across you shoulder. 

he lifts your body off his cock, a soft grunt passing his lips as he leans up from the couch, cradling your weary frame in his arms, the mess of your combined clothing receiving neglect – save for the devious way he crouches down to slip your thong into the pocket of his discarded pants. 

“so, darling…” he begins, his body striding toward the direction of your staircase. “where’s your shower?”

you don’t even pretend to resist the urge to rest your head against his bare shoulder, you wouldn’t ever dare to resist any urge you felt towards him anymore. 

“last door on the left,” you relent, voice nearly too weak to carry to his ears. 

a soft chuckle vibrates in his chest, tickling your skin as he ascends the stairs toward the destination you directed him in. 

“so what about you, sunghoon?” you query, hushed voice still unable to conceal your curiosity. 

he places you onto the bathroom sink, allowing your legs to dangle, gripping the counter on either side or your thighs. he leans a touch closer, his stark features even more apparent, now. 

“hm? what about me, sweet girl?” he responds fondly, his expression twinkling with tender admiration.

your legs swing faintly, creating a bump, bump, bumping from your bare heels.

“i mean… have you dated anyone recently? or… are you seeing anyone now?” 

the fondness in his expression intensifies, and a tranquil smile wanders across his face. he couldn’t quite say that he wasn’t expecting the question, but his eyebrows lifted nonetheless – in an almost pleased manner.

“no, darling, i… i haven’t dated anyone in a while,” he reveals honestly, another chuckle following soon after in preparation of his next words. 

“...and no, i’m not seeing anyone now. don’t i strike you as a loyal man?” he teases gently, flashing you a charming smile, those familiar sharp canines revealing themselves again.

a giggle erupts from your lips, and you send him a playfully skeptical look. 

“don’t smile at me like that. aren’t you a little too old to be playing that ‘i’m cute’ card?” 

a husky chuckle emerges from his lips at your mischievous response, and his hand travels to your hip to grant a squeeze. 

“cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” he observes, shortening the distance between your faces even further.

he pauses for a fleeting moment before continuing, a casual, relaxed smile returning to his features. 

“i’ve gotta say, darling… i really wanna spend a lot more time with you,” he adds, his fingers dancing along the smooth skin of your cheek. his doting gaze does little to conceal the thoughts running unabashedly through his mind. from the moment he saw you, it’s like he was met with a certain clarity he’d never realized before. he can’t quite find the words, but he knows he’s unwavering in his desire to continue drawing you closer to him. now that he’s gotten you this close, he can’t afford to lose or waste a single moment.

“now,” he announces, his voice interrupting the rampant thoughts in both of your minds. he lifts your body from your sitting position, allowing you to steady yourself on your feet, before whirling you around and bending your body over the counter.

“you don’t think we’re done here yet, do you, darling? you think i’ll give my sweet girl a break that easily?”

my sweet girl? the impending frenzy in your mind is thrown into delay, replaced by surging arousal as his hands run down the course of your back, his touch almost like a torch across your skin. 

he allows his eyes to immerse themselves in your prone form, before leaning down to sink his teeth in the flesh of your ass – the sharp edges of his canines nearly breaking your skin. 

as you gasp, and snap your head behind you to gaze at him, he runs his tongue over the mark he created, expressing his appreciation with a grin.

“mine, now.”

[verushkak70]

I got the way more practical justification, not inheritance - as if there's a manor to be born to in my family, hahaha! - probably for class reasons

What kills me is the utter presumptuousness of the "Who will take care of you when you're old??" response I get when I say I have no kids

Because

1) wtf, do I need kids as "free" (not really) labor to help me sow & plow & harvest & thresh & then take care of me when I'm too old to do all that? No I do not - we get our food at supermarkets, or the corner shop, or go to a restaurant, or delivered right to the house, or from the food cart on the corner etc etc - point is, we don't have to grow & harvest, fish for or hunt it down & kill & slaughter it ourselves anymore)

&

2) do you have ANY idea how many sick people I took care of in the ER, who had children, who did not come to them in the ER because they were unable/unwilling?? eg they live in another state/moved there for work/spouse; they're disabled themselves; they're in the military; they work a job where they don't have cell reception or can't have a cell phone on them 24/7; they're undomiciled addicts now; they hate/are estranged from their parent; their parent abused them as a child; they're off their meds & no one knows where they are; they predeceased their parent/the parent outlived the child/ren; they were kicked out & disowned by the parent for being LGBTQ+whatevs, etc etc

Used to be, you had kids for those 2 main self serving reasons (& the usual "perpetuation of the species" urge to procreate) - but all those reasons are obsolete

& if you do have kids? Yeah, and? So what?

You can "do everything right" & raise them right & not abuse them & they still won't necessarily be able to help you when you're old & infirm for all of the above reasons

So cultivate your friend network & chosen family, be kind to neighbors & strangers (for those angels you entertain unawares may just be your only help when you need it) & ffs don't be an asshole to your kids (& by that I do not mean give them everything they want/ask for, or try to be their friend - you're the adult, you can't reason with a 3 year old (their brain literally has not developed abstract reasoning yet) - I mean don't use/abuse them emotionally, sexually, psychologically, or physically; don't live your life through them; don't try to right the wrongs of your childhood through them; don't divide & conquer them if you have more than one; don't helicopter/smother them & cause them to be dependent/helpless/ineffectual; don't treat them like they're your prince/ss & you're their servant & then wonder why they don't help you when you need it, etc etc)

On the first day of pediatric nursing in nursing school, my pediatric nursing instructor said: your job, as a parent, is to teach your kids how to live without you

You could've heard a pin drop

It was clear no one (in a classroom of 90+% females) had ever considered this before -

and for shame, really; how is it that squirrels & rabbits & coyotes & foxes & deer know to do this & humans don't?

The point is, parenting is teaching your kids how to get along in life when you're gone - not how to take care of you when you're old -

because you can count on the former but not on the latter

Above all, do not place all your "when I'm old..." eggs in the "but, I have kids" basket

You don't yet know what life has in store for you or for the hypothetical kids

You could have child/ren & still not have someone to care for you when you're old

Trust me - I saw that a lot - constantly, actually

& anyone who tells you that you 'need to' have kids, you have my permission to tell them:

"really? because this ex-ER RN* on Tumblr said... [all of the above]"

& carry on with your child free life

(Or, you know, just rec they watch S1 True Detective... & Matthew McConaughey will lay it all out for them by way of writer Nic Pizzolatto's plagiarism of Thomas Ligotti (& yeah I'm calling it plagiarism because that's what it was in spirit, if not by the letter of the law)

*I'm still an RN, lol! - just not ER

The older generation's fixation on forcing you to have kids is something they absolutely refuse to unlearn. You can give the calmest and most reasonable explanation for not having kids and the only thing they can think to say is, "But what of the heir to the lands?" "Who will inherit the throne?" "Please sire upon your barren death there will be a parochial schism that will soak our soils with brother-blood." They literally hate to see you happy with just a cat.