#and is quieter and takes less time

[poprockspillage]

fuck around(didn’t bring my cane even though i thought about it) and find out(foot pain when i’m standing and hip pain when i’m laying down)

[jrueships]

Jabari, Alpey wants cuddles to celebrate their hard win.

HELDMSKNZ THIS IS NOT AN OPTION, IT IS A DEMAND

YEA, JABA!! YOU HEARD THE MAN!! IT'S CUDDLE TIME <3 !!!

[propertyofwicked]

YOU OWE ME - LN

warnings: none, just fluff (inspired by that one CL stream). this is so short pls forgive me

(also, anyone else seen the pics of lando in aus? FERAL for that man.)

“tier 1 sub - max can you tell lando to get off his computer and let me in the flat please im freezing” max reads out, bursting into laughter, “youre in trouble mate.”

max hears a travelling shout of swearing, getting quieter as lando’s headset is thrown to the desk and his entire body hurtling towards the front door.

“shit shit shit shit,” lando shouts, his fingers struggling with the keys left on the inside of the door. finally he manages to unlock the door and pull it open to see his girlfriend, rosy cheeked and a less than impressed expression.

“lando, how many times have i said to take the keys out of the door if you lock it and im not home - especially if youre not going to answer your phone.”

“im sorry baby, im sorry i know - i forgot,” he mumbles, his hands taking yours and bringing them to his face. he flinches slightly at the sheer coldness of your fingers, “do you want a drink? hot chocolate? tea? coffee? it’ll warm you up”

“i’d love a cup of tea,” you smile sadly, shrugging your horribly thin jacket off. honestly, with the typical english winter, your jacket was almost useless in combatting the cold winds anyways. you move to follow lando into the kitchen, watching him fill the kettle and move to grab a mug from the cupboard.

“come here,” you say, opening your arms slightly for lando to move into. he moves to you instantly.

“you’re not angry at me?”

“no, i am. youre just warm” you say, looking up to smile at him. his hands fall to your waist, gripping your hips and hoisting you up to sit on the counter, but he doesn’t move back into your embrace. instead, his arms move to take his hoodie off himself, and pull it over your head.

“better?”

“slightly,” you're still smiling at him as you adjust the hoodie - lando can tell you're not angry at him, just slightly irritated.

“the heating’s on, my office is warm - you wanna go sit in there whilst i finish your tea, angel?” he asks, his hand stroking your cheek, “max is on call if you wanna talk to him for a bit? he’s streaming but you already know that,” he grins, his tongue sticking into the side of his cheek.

“i think max’s chat deserve to know how bad of a boyfriend you are,” you joke, hoisting yourself off the counter, ready to march on in and complain to the stream. lando’s hand catches your arm, spinning you back into his chest. his hand comes back to your cheek, and tilts your head back.

“im sorry baby, you know i am,” he frowns slightly - you reassure him that he is forgiven by pressing a small kiss to his lips. once again you go to move, but he pulls you back in, kissing you again - repeatedly pecking kisses all over your face and eventually your lips. his tongue swipes your bottom lip, begging for more. you pull your head back slightly, desperate to go and rat him out to max but his teeth nip down on your bottom lip again to prolong the connection.

“i don’t think so, lan,” you giggle, smiling up at him again. lando groans and swears you almost skip your way to his office, excited to tell max as he prepares for a night of grovelling.

“max. you’ll never believe this man,” you sigh, after popping lando’s headset on your own head.

“y/n! how are you?”

“freezing, max. and £10 poorer now i’ve had to sub to your twitch to be let into my own flat.”

“oh yeah, thanks for the sub,” max laughs out, looking at the chat, “it’s ok, chat reckon you should invoice lando for the inconvenience.”

“i think i might have to you know, although he’s making me a cup of tea right now and i might be able to pout my way into a takeaway tonight.”

“y/n that man is so whipped i don’t think you need to pout your way into him doing anything for you,” he responds, his emphasis on anything making you grin slightly.

minutes later, lando comes into the room, using his foot to kick the door open in front of him, his hands full with your mug and your lip balm. hang on, lip balm?

“here you go baby,” he says, placing the mug down on the coaster on his desk, “i put honey in it for your throat, and i brought your lip balm ‘cos your lips are dry,” he grins as he hands you the lip balm.

“my lips wouldn’t be dry if you’d answered the phone the first time i rang you,” you say, the eye roll evident in your voice, even to max who couldn’t see your face.

“hang on, y/n, how does he know your lips are dry?” max interrupts, his laugh travelling through the headset.

“because max, when two people love each other very muc-”

“ew stop it,” lando interjects, as he sets up a second set of headphones to join in the chat.

“he’s trying to regain my love with physical affection.”

“i can tell from your tone that it’s not working.”

“well, after that ‘ew’ i think i may have to revoke all physical affection.”

“you wouldn’t,” lando gasps, his hands dramatically clutching his chest.

“order dominoes and ill reconsider. you owe me.”

“yeah lando, and send her £10 to cover the cost of the twitch sub,” max shouts, siding with you, “chat also think you should, as a courtesy.”

you don’t say anything, but turn to look at him, puppy dog eyes and a pout to complete the look.

“fine! fine,” he laughs again, holding his hands up in surrender, “i was going to offer anyways.”

“sure you were,” you and max manage to say simultaneously.

-

an hour later, your food had arrived and your saying goodbye to max and his chat, as lando goes to the door. however, by the time you shuffle into the living room, lando has began setting up netflix, sat next to a mound of blankets he’d brought in from your bedroom.

“hey you, come ‘ere,” he says, leaning his back against the arm of the sofa and tapping the space between his legs. once you were settled, your back resting on his chest, he leans to grab the pizza box on the coffee table in front of you - it went down quickly.

“funny how hungry you get when you’re left shivering in the freezing cold for hours," you think out loud.

“it wasn’t hours and i didn’t do it on purpose y/n,” lando whines, scoffing slightly at the time embellishment, absentmindedly playing with your fingers as he did.

“i know baby, i’m sorry. you’re forgiven,” you start to feel bad for him. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, before manoeuvring you both further down the sofa until he’s laying completely flat, and you roll over so that your head can lay on his chest. the two of you lay in silence for a few moments, the tv still playing quietly in the background, and you feel his chest moving with every breath.

lando's hands wander underneath his your hoodie, and begin to trace small shapes on your skin, making you shiver slightly. then, a thought hits you.

“someone needs to make a compilation of F1 drivers accidentally locking their girlfriends out because they’re streaming,” he laughs as you say it, your whole body shaking from the shuddering of his laughing, "it seems to happen more than you'd think."

“hey! i wasn’t streaming - max was, i was just there. AND! i paid you back, charles never paid his girlfriend back for the sub.”

“oh, aren’t you generous.”

[d1stalker]

The Feeling's Mutual | Part One

[Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader]

Summary: If somebody told you a week ago that you were a mutant, being stalked, and would be teaming up with an annoying, grumbly bastard, you probably would have laughed in their face. Too bad that was last week, because here you are, in that very situation, wondering how in the world things escalated so quickly.

PART TWO PART THREE FINAL PART

Warnings: fem!reader, canon-level violence, reluctant alliance, bickering, not exactly enemies-to-lovers but they don't rly get along, it's gonna be a slow burn y'all WC: 5.7k - MASTERLIST - A/N: If you saw me post this earlier, no you didn't 🤫 i added more hehe

You’ve never been so confused in your entire life.

It all started last week—when you were walking to the grocery store. Just an ordinary day, nothing special about it. You had a list in your hand, some cash in your pocket, and thoughts of what to cook for dinner running through your mind. The route you took had you winding down the usual streets of your neighbourhood, and that’s when you noticed him.

Something about him was different, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on what it was that made you think that. Perhaps it was the way his eyes followed you, stalking you, like a predator its prey.

At first, you thought it might be a coincidence. Maybe he was just another person going about his day, heading in the same direction as you. People share paths all the time; there was no reason to suspect anything sinister, right? But as you continued walking, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something was off. You decided to test it, making a sudden turn down a side street, one you usually never take.

The street was quieter, less foot traffic, and the late afternoon shadows were starting to stretch across the pavement. You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was, still a few steps behind, his gaze remaining locked onto you with a focus that sent a shiver down your spine. Quickening your pace, you felt an almost paralyzing fear.

This wasn’t just a shared route. 

The more you turned, the more you weaved through unfamiliar streets, the more persistent he became. He never faltered, never hesitated, always keeping just close enough to let you know he was there.

Finally, you reached the store, breathing in short, panicked gasps, your eyes flitting around. You ducked inside, hiding the fluorescent lights and bustling aisles. You tried to calm yourself, telling yourself it was nothing, that you were being paranoid. After all, what were the odds? Maybe he’d walk past, maybe he wasn’t even following you. You spent longer than usual picking up items you didn’t need, giving him time to disappear. 

But when you walked back outside, bags in hand, you saw him again. He wasn’t right at the door, but still, close enough—across the street, half-hidden in the shadow of another building, watching. His eyes locked with yours once more, and you froze, the plastic handles of the grocery bags digging into your palms as your grip tightened in fear. He didn’t move, didn’t smile or sneer, just stood there, silent.

You rushed home, not even bothering to see if he was tracking you down, too scared to find out the answer. Your mind was racing with a million thoughts. Who was he? What did he want? You didn’t sleep much that night, jumping at every creak and groan the apartment made, the image of that man’s cold stare burned into your mind.

The next day, you told yourself it was nothing, a one-time thing, just some creep who had too much time on his hands. A pervert, possibly. 

But happened again. A different man this time, but with the same unnerving intensity. He followed you the same way, mute and relentless, through the streets, to the store, and back home.

Then the day after that, and that, and that. They didn’t approach you directly, just followed, watched, waited. It was like a game, one that you didn’t know the rules to, and the stakes felt like they were getting higher and higher and more time passed. Whenever you stepped outside, you felt their eyes on you, felt their presence lurking just out of sight. It was terrifying.

The fear gnawed at you, growing with each passing day, until it became impossible to ignore. You started taking different routes, avoiding your usual stores, changing your routine as much as you could. Still, no matter what you did, they always found you.

Soon it changed—no longer just silent stalking. One night, as you were walking home, one of the men stepped out from the shadows and blocked your path. His presence was oppressive, the way he stood there, so still, so certain of his power over you. You had no idea what he wanted, but you knew it whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Why are you following me?” you demanded, trying to muster up all the courage you could, voice shaking slightly despite your attempt to sound strong.

“Because we were told to,” the man said, his voice cold and emotionless. There was no malice, no pleasure in his words, just a chilling matter-of-factness. “You’re coming with us.”

Panic surged through you, a primal instinct to run, to fight, to do anything but comply. You refused to show it, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spat back, hoping your defiance would be enough to make him reconsider.

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them, and before you could react, he lunged at you, his fist swinging with brutal intent. Time seemed to slow as you saw the blow coming, your mind racing, but your body moving almost on instinct. You raised your arms to defend yourself, bracing for the crushing impact that would follow.

You couldn’t explain what happened next. When his fist connected with your arm, the force that should have sent you to the ground, left you unscathed. Instead, it was the man who staggered back, a look of shock and pain twisting his features. He clutched his hand, wincing as if he had struck something far harder than just flesh and bone.

You stared at him, bewildered, before glancing down at your own arm in disbelief. There was no pain, no bruise, nothing to indicate that you’d just been hit. It was as if his attack had bounced off of you, like you were made of steel.

Had you really just blocked that hit? And why did it feel like… nothing?

Before you could process what had happened, before the realization could fully take root, another man appeared out of nowhere, moving with a speed that blurred the edges of his form. Mutant. He was faster than the first, more determined, and this time, you felt your heart stop as he came at you from behind, his hands outstretched to grab you.

But something in you reacted faster than your fear. You twisted out of his grip with lightning speed, with movements so fluid and precise, it was as if your body knew exactly what to do, even if your brain was struggling to keep up. You sidestepped his attack, narrowly avoiding his grasp, and found yourself behind him, safe for the moment.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. How did you move like that? How had you known where to go, how to dodge?

There was no time to dwell on it. The fight intensified in an instant, the two men coming at you one after another, relentless in their assault. They weren’t holding back, and suddenly neither were you. You moved like a force of nature, dodging their attacks, striking back when you could. Each punch you threw landed with a power that surprised even you. You watched in stunned disbelief as one of the men crumpled to the ground after a single blow, his eyes rolling back as if he’d been hit by a truck.

You are not a gym regular. In fact, you hadn’t worked out in weeks. You weren’t strong, not like this. So how was it possible that your punches were so devastating, that each one seemed to carry a weight far beyond what you’d ever imagined?

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the first mutant, conjured a ball of fire in his hand, the flames crackling and roaring, craving something to burn. He hurled it at you, the fireball spinning through the air with only one target in mind. 

You barely had time to scream as the flames engulfed your arm, the searing heat burning through your skin. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot agony that made you gasp and stumble back. You expected to see your skin blackened, blistered, ruined.

And it was.

For a minute. 

To your shock—or horror—you looked down, breath catching in your throat as you watched the burn heal right before your eyes. The charred skin knitted back together in seconds, smooth and unblemished, as if nothing had happened at all.

What the fuck? 

It was in that moment that the truth hit you, like a thunderclap in your mind. You weren’t just an ordinary person caught in a nightmare. You were a mutant, with powers that had only now revealed themselves, right when you needed them most.

The men kept coming, but now you fought with a new understanding. Each punch, each dodge, each rapid movement felt more controlled, more intentional, your gym class self-defence courses coming in clutch. You were strong, faster than you’d ever been, and you could heal—regenerate from injuries that would have left others incapacitated.

Finally, the two men laid groaning on the ground, defeated. You stood there, panting, your mind spinning as you tried to make sense of it all. Super strength, super speed, regeneration… these powers, they were yours. And they had just saved your life.

But as the adrenaline began to fade, confusion set in. What did these men want with you? Why had they gone to such lengths to provoke you? To make you discover what you were capable of? 

All you knew was that one thing was clear: this was far from over. Whoever had sent these men wouldn’t stop here. They knew what you were now, and that meant they’d come after you again. You weren’t just an ordinary person anymore. You were something else, something powerful. And that put a target on your back. 

Whatever was coming next, you needed to be ready.

----

That’s how you found yourself here, one week later, crouched on the apartment rooftop, the cold wind nipping at your exposed skin. The dark streets below are eerily silent, save for the distant hum of traffic. You sense them before you see them—another group of male mutants, closing in on your position. You grip the hilt of your knife tighter, feeling the now-familiar twinge of anger and frustration settle in your chest. This is the fifth group tonight. They’ve been hunting you in groups for days now, their numbers increasing as each one goes by, and you’re tired of it. 

You’ve started to get used to your new powers—testing your limits, pushing yourself harder with each confrontation. What started as simple self-defence, a punch here, a dodge there, has escalated into something far more lethal.

You didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to by use your sharpest kitchen knife (your only kitchen knife) as a weapon, but as the attacks became more violent, you found yourself with little to no choice. 

These mutants weren’t holding back, and neither could you.

Within a week, you went from the most average person in the world to what some people might call a vigilante—except you're really only trying to save your own skin.

Leaping off the roof, you land silently behind them. The speed at which you move is almost dizzying, your body a blur as you close the distance in the blink of an eye. 

“Looking for someone?” you call out sarcastically.

They turn, eyes widening in surprise, but you’re already moving. Your blade sings through the air, striking true, as you move like a shadow, taking them down one by one. It’s not easy—these guys are tough—but you’ve become tougher. With each strike, you can feel your strength surging, far beyond what should be possible. One of the mutants tries to block you, creating a forcefield, but you grab the edges before it can fully form, and break through it, the temporary pain vanishing as quick as it came. A solid kick to his face, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even realizes it.

“Is this what you wanted?!” you shout, your voice echoing through the empty street as the last attacker falls to the ground, groaning in pain. “Is this what you came for?!”

The answer doesn’t come from them. Rather, it comes from a low growl behind you. 

You whirl around, heart racing, and there he is—Logan Howlett—the Wolverine himself. The man you’ve read about in every article, every piece of mutant-related news you could get your hands on since discovering your own abilities. He’s infamous, pretty much a legend, and the stories about him are as terrifying as they are fascinating.

Standing there with that scowl on his face, he looks every bit the dangerous figure you’ve imagined. His eyes are blank, calculating, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it sizes you up. There’s a tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as he takes a step closer.

“So, you’re the one causing all this trouble,” Logan states gruffly, irritation coating his tongue. He unsheathes his claws, the adamantium glimmering under the streetlights. The sound is unmistakable, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Heard you’ve been killin’ off mutants left and right.”

You narrow your eyes, instinctively stepping back into a defensive stance. Your heart is pounding, but you can't show any weakness. 

“Funny, I thought the same about you, Wolverine. What’s the matter? Run out of bad guys to play hero with?”

Without warning, he charges at you, claws outstretched, but you’re ready. You dart to the side, your speed giving you an edge as his claws slice through the air where you’d been standing, making a woosh sound. You counter with a swift kick to his ribs, putting your enhanced strength into the blow. He grunts, stumbling slightly, but quickly regains his balance. The momentary advantage you gained is gone as he storms toward you once more.

You meet his attacks head-on, your blade clashing with his claws in a shower of sparks. The force of each impact reverberates through your arms, but you hold your ground, refusing to back down. His attacks are ferocious, a whirlwind of claws and fury. He's fast, but you’re faster, dodging and weaving with a precision that keeps you just out of reach.

“Look, sweetheart,” he growls between strikes, his frustration evident. “You can make this easy or hard. I don’t care which, but I’m not lettin’ you hurt anyone else.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you deflect another swipe of his claws. “Oh, please. You think I’m the bad guy here? These jerks have been coming after me for days. I’m just defending myself.”

Logan doesn’t look convinced, and that pisses you off more than anything. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe you, why? You’re leavin’ a trail of bodies behind you.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling the anger boil over. “Because I’m not the one who started this! They did! But of course, you wouldn’t know that, would you? You just show up, swinging your claws around like you’re the big savior.”

“You got a mouth on you, don’t ya?” He retorts, snarling as he charges at you again, faster this time. You barely have time to block his attack, the force of his blow sending you skidding back several feet. But you dig your heels in, refusing to give an inch as he continues plows forward. Your speed kicks in, allowing you to duck under his next swing and land a punch to his jaw.

He staggers, but quickly recovers, swiping at you with renewed fury. You're a bit sloppy compared to him, not as much of a seasoned fighter. His claws swipe at your arm, cutting deep and drawing blood, but the wound heals almost instantly, the skin closing up as if it had never been cut. You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it doesn’t slow him down. He lunges again, becoming a blur of motion as he ups the ante.

You parry with your knife, but this time, you’re on the offensive. You launch a rapid series of attacks, your speed and strength managing to drive him back. In the rush of movement, you're able to see an opening, grasping his shoulder and shoving him hard, sending him crashing into a nearby wall. The impact is enough to crack the brick, but Logan just shakes it off, pushing himself back to his feet.

“Gotta say,” you huff, panting slightly from the exertion, “I’m a little disappointed. I expected more from the you, after all I’ve heard.”

Logan grunts, clearly fed up with the banter. “I'm done talking.”

He lunges at you again, and this time, it’s a battle of wills as much as it is of skill. You don't back down, your knife clashing with his claws in a series of rapid, brutal strikes. The alleyway becomes a blur of movement, metal against metal, strength against strength. Each time his claws find their mark, your regenerative abilities kick in, healing the wounds almost as quickly as they’re made. 

And for a moment, you wonder if you’ll have to kill him too, just to survive. But then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way your attacks grow weaker, less lethal. Or maybe it’s the way Logan’s eyes narrow in realization when he notices your hesitance.

“Wait a damn minute,” Logan says, stepping back just out of your reach, wiping his mouth, then spitting on the ground. He’s breathing hard, just like you. “You’re holdin’ back.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as they flick down to the knife you’ve been holding, and then back up to you. His expression shifts, a mix of disbelief and exasperation crossing his face. “And is that a kitchen knife?”

You glance down at the knife in your hand, realizing how absurd it must look in the middle of this intense fight. It’s not exactly standard combat gear, but it’s all you had when this started. You can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips as you meet his gaze again.

“It gets the job done,” you quip, shrugging slightly.

He shakes his head, clearly not impressed. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I'm choosing to take that as a compliment,” The sarcasm is practically oozing off of you.

He eyes you warily, his posture still tense. “You’re not makin’ this easy, you know. You got me here thinkin’ you’re some crazed mutant killer, but you’re just a girl wavin’ around a kitchen knife like you’re in a bad horror movie.”

You cross your arms. “Well, I didn’t exactly have time to hit up a weapons store. Besides, I didn’t ask for any of this. These guys came after me first.”

Logan studies you. “So you say. But you’re killing dozens of mutants. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘innocent.’”

“Trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be doing this–fighting… killing–at all. Hell, I didn’t even know I was a mutant until some guy swung his fist at me a week ago.” You meet his gaze, challenging him. “And what about you? You’re not exactly known for playing nice.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, most of my casualties are from the missions I go on, so I'd say it's justified.”

Your eyes narrow, catching the implication in his words. “Oh, am I your mission now? How long have you been tracking me?”

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a slight shift in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve hit on something. “Long enough to know you’re not just some innocent bystander caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So, what? You’ve been watching me, waiting for me to screw up so you could take me down?” you demand, the frustration clear in your voice.

“Something like that,” he replies gruffly, “But from what I’ve seen, you’re more reactive than proactive," he looks you up and down. "I can’t seem figure out if you’re the real threat here, or just someone caught in the middle of a bigger mess.”

You let out a slow breath, trying to calm the fiery anger rising within you. “I told you, I didn’t start this. They did. I’m just trying to survive.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, teeth grinding as he considers your words. You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to piece together whether you’re telling the truth or just playing him. He takes a step closer, his claws still out but not as threatening as before.

Finally, he asks, “You got a name?”

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “No shit I have a name.”

Logan huffs, unimpressed by your attitude. “Well, if you’re not gonna tell me, I’m just gonna have to call you somethin’… How 'bout Knifey?”

You stare at him, half-expecting him to crack a smile, but he’s dead serious. “Knifey? Really?”

Logan shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he eyes your weapon of choice again. “Fits, don’t you think?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you my name, alright? Anything but Knifey.” You say, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“... Gotta say, Knifey sounds a little better”

“Shut the fuck up, Wolverine”

“It’s Logan, actually.”

You release a deep sigh. “I know, and I don’t care. I’m telling you I am not the one you need to be going after.”

Logan scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’ve been around a long time. Seen my fair share of people who think they’re doin’ the right thing and end up doin’ a hell of a lot of damage. So, forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

“You would know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” The words come out of your mouth before you had time to think about them, and you regret it immediately. You can see the mutant in front of you’s face darken to a degree bordering murderous, and you think you’ve crossed a line you can’t come back from. Whatever playful banter existed before this is gone.

“Careful,” He growls menacingly, “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You swallow hard. The Wolverine is infamous for a reason, and you just poked at the beast beneath the surface. You briefly consider backing down, but your pride refuses to let you.

“Maybe I don’t,” you admit, “But I do know what it’s like to be hunted, to have no choice but to fight back. So yeah, maybe we’re more alike than you think.”

Logan’s glare softens just a fraction, and he lets out a long, frustrated breath. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do ya?”

“Not when I’m trying to make a point,” you retort.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just stares at you, as if he’s trying to decide whether to continue this conversation or end it with his claws. Ultimately, he shakes his head, the anger in his eyes dimming, replaced by something more akin to weary resignation.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Maybe you’re not the one I should be takin’ down. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start trustin’ you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” you reply, feeling a bit of relief that the situation isn’t about to escalate into another fight. “But I swear, there’s someone else out there pulling the strings. And I’m not sticking around to be their puppet.”

He nods slowly, crossing his arms again. “We’ll find out who’s behind this, but I’m callin’ the shots. You step outta line, and we’re gonna have a problem.”

You smirk, a little of your bravado returning. “I’ll try not to disappoint you, Logan.”

You can tell he doesn't appreciate your attitude, but he lets it slide. “Let’s get one thing straight. This ain’t a partnership. I’m doin’ this to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on, not because I like you.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” you shoot back, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

Logan turns abruptly, not even bothering to beckon you with him.

It makes you roll your eyes but you fall in step beside him anyway, knowing that despite the rocky start, this uneasy alliance might be the only thing keeping you alive. 

“…So… where exactly are we going?”

He sends you a sidelong glance. "Who said I’m takin’ you anywhere?"

You throw your hands up, exasperated. "Well, if you don’t, these mutants are going to keep hunting me, and I’m going to keep killing them…” you shoot him a look, batting your eyelashes innocently. “You wouldn't want that, would you?"

“Fuck off”

"Well, too late for that now."

He grumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but it sounds a lot like cursing his bad luck.

"We’re headin’ to my place. It’s the safest spot right now."

----

Turn’s out, it’s not really his place. Or at least, it’s what you’d thought it’d be. It’s more of an abandoned warehouse that he just decided to seek refuge in one day, doing the bare minimum to make it feel at the very least, home-y. The heavy metal doors creak open, revealing a chaotic interior cluttered with garbage, old newspapers, and a few scattered items. In the corner, a single bed and a sagging couch that look like they’ve definitely seen better days.

Your nose wrinkles in disgust as you take in the mess. "Seriously?" you mutter, your voice tinged with disbelief. "This is where you've been hiding out? It looks like a tornado hit a thrift store."

Logan, who had been trailing behind you, lets out a low grunt as he shuffles past, not bothering to respond to your jab. His heavy footsteps echo in the otherwise silent space, the sound bouncing off the bare, cold walls. He heads straight for a small, battered table that looks like it's one sharp nudge away from collapsing. On it lies a worn notebook, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges, evidence of extensive use. Without a word, he picks it up and starts flipping through the pages, his expression unreadable.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step closer, peering over his shoulder. "What's this?" you ask, reaching out to take the notebook from him. He hesitates for a brief moment before relinquishing it into your hands. As you flip through the pages, your eyes widen in shock. The notes are detailed, almost obsessively so, listing the names of various mutants, their abilities, and the exact locations where their bodies were found. 

"Oh, great," you say with a sarcastic, half-hearted laugh. "You've been keeping tabs on me. What kind of creepy stalker are you?”

He rolls his eyes and snatches the notebook back, his voice dripping with irritation. "I wasn’t exactly tracking you. I was trying to track whoever’s been killing all those damn mutants."

Logan’s jaw tightens as you just continue to stare, and he lets out an exasperated sigh. "And don’t act all innocent. I needed to know who was causing all the chaos."

Scoffing, you continue to look through the notebook, stopping when you come across a particularly detailed entry. "Wow... 26 kills? Not too shabby for an amateur mutant, huh?"

“Is your mouth unable to stay shut?” he questions, though you know better than to answer that. 

The notebook flops back onto the table with a casual flick of your wrist. "Hey, don’t be mad just because I’m doing a better job than you expected."

He crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. "I’m not mad," he snaps. "I’m annoyed that you’re making light of this. It’s not exactly a high score to brag about."

"Oh, come on. You’re the one who turned this place into a shrine to my success” you smirk.

"It’s not a shrine," Logan growls, his patience wearing thin. "It’s a record. If you’d been paying more attention to what’s going on, you’d know that."

The playfulness fades from your face as his words hit home. He’s right, but you’re not about to admit it. Instead, you deflect. "Yeah, and if you’d bothered to talk to me instead of playing detective, maybe we’d have figured this out sooner."

"You think you’re the only one who’s had a rough time? This whole situation is a mess, and we’re both caught in it." His eyes narrow.

You cross your arms, mirroring his defensive posture. "You didn’t have to get involved, you know. Unless...what if you’re the bad guy here?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "Using all these mutants to lure me into your dungeon under the pretense of trying to ‘stop’ me?"

His response is immediate. "I’m way too lazy to think of doing all that."

You can’t help but believe him, especially given the state of the warehouse. He clearly lacks the energy—or the interest—to tidy up his living space, let alone mastermind a complex plot. You let out a sigh and walk over to the sagging couch in the corner. The fabric is threadbare, and the springs groan in protest as you flop down onto it.

"Fine, fine... I trust you," you concede, though your tone is far from serious. "Did you notice anything specific amongst these mutants?"

"Yeah, I’ve noticed somethin’,” Logan says, dragging a hand down his face, now looking more tired than ever. “They’re all pretty low-key. Not exactly top-tier in the mutant rankings. Never caused any trouble before, yadda yadda. If anything, they’re usually on the weaker side."

You furrow your brows, intrigued. "So they’re not a serious threat."

"Exactly," Logan confirms with a nod. "It’s weird. These mutants aren’t the type to just go around being fuckin’ annoying like they have been. Someone—or something—must be pushing them into this."

"You think they’re all being controlled somehow?" you muse, the pieces slowly falling into place. "And that’s why they’re suddenly acting out of character?"

"Seems like it," He replies, rubbing his temples. "Must be powerful if they’re all falling in line like this. We’re going to have to dig deeper to find the source of it.

He moves to sit next to you on the couch, the worn fabric sinking even further under his weight. "Tell me everything you know," Logan says quietly, his voice a tinge softer now, almost coaxing. "Everything that’s happened to you."

You sigh and lean back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you start to recount your experience. "It all began about a week ago. Just a normal day, I was walking to the grocery store, then I noticed this guy following me. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But no matter where I went, he was always a few steps behind."

His attention sharpens, his gaze locking onto yours. "And?"

"It started as just stalking," you continue, your voice growing quieter as the memories flood back. "Nothing violent. But then, it started happening with different people. Each time, they were more persistent, more intimidating. It became clear that something was off."

You can feel Logan’s gaze burning into you, his concern evident in the way he leans closer, listening intently. "Eventually, they started getting aggressive," you say. "One night, one of them blocked my path and tried to grab me. I managed to fight him off, but when he hit me, it didn’t hurt. I mean, it should have, he looked pretty strong, but my arm felt fine. That’s when I realized I had powers—some form of super strength, super speed, and healing abilities."

"And you figured that out just from fighting them off?" he questions, somewhat impressed.

You nod, rubbing your arms as if to ward off a lingering chill. "Yeah. I didn’t really have a choice. They kept coming, and I had to use whatever I had to protect myself—including my damn kitchen knife. The more I fought, the more I understood what I could do.”

Logan pauses, his expression unreadable as he processes everything you’ve said. The dim light from the single bulb casts long shadows across the room, emphasizing the lines of fatigue etched into his face. Finally, he stands up, his movements slow and deliberate. "So, here’s the plan," he starts, his voice rough and tired. "We need to figure out exactly where these mutants are coming from. There’s gotta be a main location where they’re getting their orders or some central hub for this control."

You hum in agreement, though a part of you is reluctant to jump back into action so soon. "Alright, so how do we start tracking that down?"

His lips press into a thin line as he thinks it over. "We’ll stake out the rooftops. From up there, we can get a clear view of their movements and see if they’re converging somewhere specific. Maybe spot a pattern."

You stretch, stifling a yawn as you glance around the shabby room. "Okay, but are we doing that tonight? I’m pretty beat."

“Seriously? You want to put this off?" he accuses, face twisting in irritation.

"I’m up for it, but I’d be more effective if I’m not running on fumes. Plus, you look pretty tired yourself," you shrug. 

He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you sense his reluctance to agree. "So you agree with me," you state, not really feeling any real pride, but just wanting to push his buttons.

Logan grumbles under his breath as he starts to clear a space on the threadbare couch, which creaks loudly under even the slightest pressure. "Do you ever shut up? I’m letting you crash in my bed, aren’t I?"

You chuckle softly, watching him arrange a tattered blanket on the couch with exaggerated care. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Goodnight, old man."

"Watch it, Knifey," he mutters, settling onto the couch with a groan as the springs protest under his weight.

You roll your eyes at his choice of nickname, and with a sigh, you make your way over to the bed, which is small and far from luxurious, but it’s better than nothing. The mattress dips slightly as you climb in, and the covers are thin, barely providing any warmth. Still, exhaustion pulls at you, and you barely have time to think about what the covers smell like before sleep overtakes you.

----

pls comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the series taglist!

[makingqueerhistory]

If we are going to mourn the people who have been hidden from us, I think it's also worth celebrating the gentle shifting of the dials from forgotten figures. Not every queer person will be written into the history books, and some of them might have preferred it that way. That doesn't make their contributions to queer history less valuable. So, take some time to think of the people who were just living their lives. Openly or not, gently shifting the conversation.

The people who are the reason a grandmother is more accepting of her grandchild's queerness than anyone expected. The ones who chose a quieter rebellion but went to every city council meeting. Artists who will never be remembered as queer but tenderly created something that captures the queer imagination. Yeah, let's celebrate them today.

[genderqueerdykes]

there really is a cultural pressure for transmascs & men to detransition, and it comes from all sides. it comes from the queer community too, not just terfs and cishet transphobes.

it took me a while to realize why transphobic people and transandrophobic queers utterly despise trans guys & mascs who are over the age of like 25- it's because it pisses them right off that we've resisted their attempts to make us detransition. it makes them so angry to see they were unable to groom that person into a life of self-shame and repression. it really seems like MOST people believe that trans men will just detransition eventually in life? people NEVER think about older trans men, only teenage trans boys and trans men in their very early twenties.

when i was involved with my local punk scene i was addressed with condescension, almost everyone around me didn't accept transmasculinity as a legitimate identity and thought that we would've transitioned by now in life. i encountered folks who would talk about transmasculinity with subtle disgust that made me feel like i was doing something wrong, and people who expressed overt disgust, saying in plain english that they were disgusted by breasts and vaginas because they were gay men. all along the way i was literally mocked for not having a penis, and one of my roommates started treating me differently once they found out i didn't have one (because they were attracted to me)

i've been on T for 9 years, and been out as a trans man for a bit longer than that, and i noticed as i've aged i've also attracted a lot of folks who have tried to deter me from identifying as a trans man, either through directly telling me that trans men are inherently dangerous, or by implying that women or another gender are safer, quieter, calmer, "less traumatizing to be around," etc. one of my exes told me they were terrified to date me (despite literally going out of their way to do so for over half a year) because they were scared i would be transphobic to them because i'm a transmasculine lesbian.

i received pressure from online friends to either detransition and become an intersex butch woman, or to something feminine adjacent or nonbinary. for years i dealt with a few friends who kept subtly hinting that i should stop identifying as a trans man or trans masc because of how awful transmascs are- going as far as to sending me screenshots of transmascs speaking, complaining about them and calling them whiny, annoying. talking about how all transmascs are entitled, how all transmascs take things too personally, how we complain too much, and so on.

people make no effort to make space for transmascs and men. i met 0 transmascs in my local punk community that i was able to stay in contact with. none. i met a few in passing but none that actually were introduced to me in a capacity where i could actually try to befriend them. it really felt like other punks in the scene were desperately trying to keep the transmascs apart at times. excuses were made as to why i couldn't hang out with other transmascs i liked, but i was constantly being forced to befriend transphobic cis gay men and transandrophobic transfemmes who outwardly expressed hatred and disgust of us. it really felt like it was on purpose... almost as if other members of this community wanted our attention, but never wanted us to give each other attention or a sense of community. like we were objects, not people to be included in the community for real. satellite friends, if you will.

i'll be honest with you. i was at my lowest at this point. i realized i wasn't just a trans man and that i'm a genderqueer person who experiences multiple genders, including womanhood and an "other" gender, which was great. however now i was being forced to completely stuff down being a man for the sake of other people. instead of folks telling me they'd rather not hang out with transmascs, folks rather just attempted to guilt me for identifying as such in the hopes i'd stop identifying that way. i was being told daily that trans men and mascs are inherently violent and terrible to be around. i was in discord servers where transmascs were being kicked constantly for getting even slightly upset about transandrophobia, or being unfairly targeted by staff.

it's violence, but nobody wants to call it that. i pulled myself out of there and am now able to contact other transmascs and trans men who are proud of who they are and have elevated me back into a headspace where it's okay to truly be myself. just keep in mind that if you feel like you're in that situation, you're not alone. people who attempt to groom others are often very subtle it's not always up front. they will start slipping in hateful sentiments very slowly and make you feel like maybe they're the ones who are actually right.

it feels good to be an almost 32 year old trans guy. there's nothing to be ashamed about there. people project their feelings on to my gender and that has nothing to do with me. it has nothing to do with you, either. people will just project on to you for whatever reason- hatred is usually the motivator there. if you encounter folks who keep trying to badger you out of identifying as your gender, no matter who you are, transmasc, transfemme, transneutral, trans anything- they are not good for you. they are not your friends. they do not accept you as you are and you deserve so much better.

[sttm99]

Content warnings: swearing, making out, unedited

Prohero!Dynamight falls for the live wedding painter at his best friend's wedding

Dynamight is explosive in more ways than just his quirk.

When you see him in person for the first time whilst doing the live painting for Red Riot's wedding ceremony, he's all you see for a moment or two, and you're thankful you didn't mess up a chord at the sight of him.

His presence is overwhelming, taking up the space around him, sucking people in whilst simultaneously pushing them away.

He walks down the aisle with another pro-hero bridesmaid on his side before taking his place on the dais with the rest of the groomsmen, meters away from where you're standing before your easel.

Dynamight stands next to Chargebolt, his signature frown softer than usual as he watches his friend get married. You stare at him, eyes tracing the contours of his face as best as you can despite the distance as you work to capture his face in the painting.

He's a handsome man, you think, as you press quick strokes to his hair. When you look up again, he's staring at you, and the eye contact has your stomach dropping in a way that's not entirely unpleasant.

He looks away immediately Red Riot comes up, lightly patting his best friend's back in encouragement.

Once the music starts and the bride enters the hall, Dynamight is the last thing on your mind as you work to capture her. As you do so, you fail to notice the way he goes back to looking at you.

You set your things down at the corner of the large reception hall, beginning the second painting of the evening.

You smile softly at guests as they come to admire your work, trying your best to capture the bride's extravagant reception dress as she prances around the place gleefully.

You're focused as your work on her skirt piece, squinting as you paint across it delicately, so much so you don't notice the presence just behind you.

"You're good at this shit." You hear suddenly behind you. The voice is startling enough to draw your focus away, but not so much that you mess it up.

You glance behind you at the tall blonde male, fairly shocked at his presence. You'd assumed he wasn't the type for social interactions judging by how cold and aloof he was to most of the other guests.

"It is my job," You say as you turn back to your painting.

"I know." He walks forward, so he's beside you now, his gaze on the scene on you've done so far. "But this-" He pauses, glances at you then back ay the easel, "This is really fucking good. And you're fast. I saw the one you did at the ceremony."

You hum, a nice warmth coursing through you at the praise.

"Thank you, Dynamight." You turn to give him a small smile. Then you hold out your brush to him, "You wanna try?"

His eyes widen a bit and he quickly shakes his head. "Nah. I'll do a shit job, I promise you."

You laugh softly at how hesitant he was, but you could see the way he was eyeing the brush. "It's fine. You'll just make some strokes on the gown." You insist. "I'll guide you."

He pauses, looking straight at you as he mulls it over.

"Fine. Gimme that." He huffs as he takes the brush from you and stands closer, holding it over the board.

"Okay, so..." You hold his enclosed palm and bring the brush closer to the painting, making light strokes on the white gown of the bride.

Your eyes are on the painting, but his are on you, your face as you focus, your hand as it holds his, and a warmth begins to pool at his stomach.

"See?" You murmur with a small smile as you look back at him. Your cheeks redden just slightly when you see how he's already looking at you.

"Um... are you-"

"You should call me Bakugo," He says as he looks away from you and back at the painting. His voice is lower than before, and his disposition is less stiff.

"Oh." You just say quietly as he hands the brush back to you, unsure of what to say next.

"Now's when you tell me your name in return." He's quieter, and he's refusing to look at you.

You assume it's to hide the red you can see dusting his face.

"YN." You say to him as you take the brush back, a small smile on your face. He nods once and repeats it under his breath in a voice that almost makes you squirm.

"Is that me?" He asks quietly as he squints at a figure in one corner.

You look at it and nod. "Yep."

He hums, "And that's Soy Sauce face." He points at another figure you're sure is Cellophane. "Then Earphone Jack and the idiot. Deku, Half and Half-"

He goes on listing pro heroes by strangely accurate but offensive nicknames, and you can't help but find it incredibly funny.

He spends most of the reception with you as you paint, ignoring the weird way people look at him as he refuses to leave your side, even going as far as bringing you a plate of cake after it's been cut, and some other foods and drinks.

As the night ends and the guests leave, he's the last by your side before the newlyweds and their closer friends and family come over to see how far you've gone.

"It looks practically done," Mina says in awe.

You smile as you pack the rest of your things. "Almost. I'll have to do some finishing touches at the studio first, though. You should get them back in about a week."

They hum as they take some more looks.

Kirishima looks at Bakugo as he stands right next to your side. "You gonna follow her to the studio too?" He snorts at his friend, "Seeing as you couldn't leave her side, you might as well."

"Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair."

You laugh as you pack up the painting, "Anyways, I hope you guys had fun, and congratulations on getting married." You say as you begin to leave.

"I'll help you," Bakugo grumbles as he carries your large box of paints and brushes.

The look he gives you lets you know that he's not taking 'no' for an answer, which is how you found yourself outside the hall with him next to the car.

"Thank you, Bakugo, for the help." You say as you look up at him with a grin.

He stares you down with his regularly furrowed brows, his hands stuffed in his pocket as he thinks of what to say to keep you longer.

"Would it be inappropriate if I asked for your number?" He's so close you can smell him and it makes you feel fuzzy.

You grin. "Not at all."

He hands you his phone for you to out your number in, and as he watches you do it with your hands slightly stained with paint, he can't help but want to kiss you.

Would that be inappropriate? He's sure it will. You two just met. But still, he can't help but want to try.

Bakugo stuffs his phone back into his pockets the moment you hand it back, and he steps closer to you. His palms are sweaty, and he's trying to inconspicuously wipe them as they're stuffed in his trouser pockets.

"Would it also be inappropriate if I kissed you here?" His voice is husky as he asks and you can see the blush on his face.

He's so much different than the media paints him out to be, more awkward than mean, more aloof than nasty. But you think that maybe this persona, this Bakugo, is just for you.

You smile up at him shyly, your hands tightly clasped behind your back as you nod.

He doesn't hold your face because his palms are too sweaty. He doesn't think he can get them dry enough on time because he wants to kiss you now.

He leans forward, and you do too, and when his mouth meets yours, you're lightheaded. His lips are soft as he kisses you, and he moves them in a way that shows experience.

You smile into it, satisfied and still wanting more, and before you know it, his palms are on your waist, pulling you flush against his body and pressing his lips harder against your own.

When you pull away, his eyes are half lidded, but you can see how blown his pupils are.

"Good night, Bakugo." You whisper to him.

He pecks your cheek once before letting go, "Good night."

[hoshifighting]

Seventeen reaction when something embarrassing happens during sex

a/n: just a heads-up; It's more common than you think

Warnings: this content contains mature themes and accidents during sexual situations.

Seungcheol

you’re in the middle of the sex, feeling seungcheol's strong body moving with yours, his hands gripping your hips tightly. everything is intense and passionate until you hear him moan, “seungkwan…”

you both freeze. the room goes silent except for your heavy breaths. you can't help it; laughter bursts out of you. the absurdity of the situation, combined with the tension, makes you laugh so hard your sides ache.

the fact that your boyfriend had spent the whole day fighting with seungkwan, perhaps made the boy's name spontaneously come out of his lips, without intention.

seungcheol’s face is buried in your chest, and you feel his shoulders shaking. he lifts his head, his eyes filled with embarrassment and a hint of laughter. “i’m so sorry,” he chuckles, almost crying from shame.

you kiss his forehead, still giggling. “it’s okay, babe. you’ve been scolding him all day. no wonder his name slipped out.”

Jeonghan

jeonghan is thrusting into you, both of you lost in the rhythm of his thrusts when suddenly he lets out a loud burp. the sound is so unexpected that he immediately slows down, a look of utter embarrassment on his face.

going on a date, and eating more than a plate of fried pork and large ass glasses of beer were definitely not the best meal before having sex.

he starts laughing, shyly apologizing, “sorry, baby, i’m so full.”

you bury your face in the sheets, chuckling at the situation. “next time, maybe less fried pork before bed?”

Joshua

you’re sucking joshua greedily, feeling his hands gripping your hair, his moans filling the room. suddenly, one of his moans turns into a funny squeak. you can’t help but smile around him, the sound is so random and endearing.

joshua’s face turns red, and he looks down at you with embarrassment. “i guess i'm doing a great job,” you tease, and he laughs, his head falling back against the pillow.

Junhui

junhui comes home late, exhausted but needing you. he kisses you deeply, pushing you onto the bed, but as you ride him, you notice his moans becoming quieter. when you open your eyes, you find him asleep, his eyes half-open but clearly out of it.

you scoff softly, sliding off him. you clean him up and tuck him in, a fond smile on your face. “we can continue this in the morning,” you whisper, kissing his forehead.

Soonyoung

hoshi’s enthusiasm is infectious, but you’ve told him several times to move to the center of the bed. he doesn’t listen, too caught up in his eagerness, until he loses his balance and falls off the border with a thud.

you gasp and rush to the side of the bed, finding him on the floor looking both dazed and sheepish. “i told you to move to the center,” you say, helping him back up.

he grins, rubbing the back of his head. “guess i was a bit too excited.”

Wonwoo

wonwoo’s glasses have been slipping, but he’s too focused on you to take them off. suddenly, they fall onto your face, startling both of you. he pauses, eyes wide in horror, then quickly puts them back on, looking at you with concern.

you burst out laughing, the absurdity too much to handle. his face scrunches in embarrassment, but he joins in your laughter, relieved that you’re not hurt.

Woozi

you’re riding woozi on his couch, driven by your fertile period一that didn't go easy on you, when he suddenly groans in pain. his leg stretches out in a funny way, and you realize he has a cramp.

“do you want me to stretch it for you?” you ask, giggling.

he nods, wincing. you gently help him extend his leg, massaging the cramp away. the scene gets funnier because you're both naked stretching in the middle of his studio. he sighs in relief, a sheepish smile on his face. “thanks, babe. i think we need a short break.”

Minghao

his thrusts are powerful, each one driving the headboard against the wall with a rhythmic thud. you both have your eyes closed, lost in the sensation, when suddenly the picture frame hanging above the bed crashes down, hitting the headboard and then you.

“ouch!” you yelp, more surprised than hurt.

minghao opens his eyes, alarmed. he sees you holding the picture frame, a laugh bubbling out of you. he can’t help but chuckle too, albeit with a sheepish look.

“sorry about that,” he murmurs, taking the frame from you and hanging it back on the wall. he moves you both to a less...impacting position, continuing more gently this time.

Mingyu 

mingyu's passionate thrusts have you both moving in perfect sync, until one particularly hard thrust sends your head banging against the wall with a loud thud.

you cover the top of your head, laughing despite the pain. “ouch, that one hurt!”

mingyu’s eyes go wide with worry, and before you know it, he’s running naked to the kitchen, ass, dick, balls, swaying as he runs. you laugh even harder at the sight. he returns with an ice pack, pressing it gently to your head, his face flushed with shame.

“i’m so sorry, babe,” he mumbles, his embarrassment spreading down his neck.

you kiss his cheek, still giggling. “it’s okay, mingyu. you running naked was worth it.”

Seokmin

you and seokmin love changing positions during sex, experimenting with the most unusual ones. tonight, however, is filled with accidents—your thighs bumping into each other, his cock slipping out.

after a particularly awkward attempt, he collapses back onto the bed, still giggling. “i don’t think that one’s gonna work.”

each time, you both burst into laughter, the errors becoming funnier. eventually, too tired to keep trying, you settle into classic missionary.

“guess this one’s a bit too advanced for us,” you say, still giggling.

seokmin laughs with you, nodding. “yeah, let’s stick to what we know works.” 

Seungkwan

with seungkwan, laughter is a constant companion, but during sex, it’s usually a more serious affair. tonight, though, as you move together, you lock eyes in complete silence, and suddenly both of you burst into laughter.

“we really can’t take anything seriously, can we?” he says, giggling uncontrollably.

Vernon

you nod, tears of laughter streaming down your face. “nope, we’re just two giggling bitches.”

vernon loves when you ride him, often begging you to go until he can’t feel his legs. tonight, you take that request seriously. when he tries to get up to change positions, his legs are completely numb.

“baby, i can’t feel my legs,” he says, his voice a mix of awe and amusement.

you laugh, shaking his legs gently to get the blood flowing again. “guess i went a little harder today. sorry, baby.”

he chuckles, leaning back and watching you with a grin. “no complaints here.”

Chan

you and chan decide to try something new, ending up on the sturdy dining table. or so you thought. just as things are heating up, the table gives way with a loud crack, sending you both sprawling.

chan grabs you quickly, preventing you from falling face-first. “are you okay?” he asks, his voice filled with concern.

you both stay silent for a moment, the shock wearing off, then burst into laughter, the silliness of the situation too much to handle. your belly hurts from laughing so hard, and chan’s infectious laugh makes it even better.

“guess we’ll need a new table,” he says, grinning.

you nod, still giggling. “and maybe stick to the bed next time.”

[ageofstarkey]

hi, baby ✰ m. sturniolo

pairing: bf!matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: you wake up grumpy after a nap & matt knows exactly how to make you feel better

warnings: some swearing, not rlly anything else??

note: i’ve loved the sturniolo’s for SO LONG n i’ve always wanted to write for matt (the love of my entire life <3) so this is me testing the water hehe, lmk if u enjoy/want to see more!!

comments & reblogs are so appreciated! <3

✰ ✰ ✰

“oh my god she’s alive-”

with an intentionally audible sigh, you head towards matt on the couch - ignoring chris and nick in their entirety as you pass them in the kitchen.

matt smiles fondly as you approach; reaching for your hand when you’re close enough to touch. “hi, baby.” his voice is soft as he tugs you onto his lap - one hand immediately coming up to smooth your sleep tussled hair away from your face. the subconscious action forces a stubborn little grin onto your lips. “good nap?”

with another little sigh, much quieter than the first, you drop your head against matt’s shoulder. “mhmm. ‘m still tired though.” the words are muffled by the fabric of matt’s hoodie - your heavy eyes falling shut as he begins to smooth an absentminded trail up and down the length of your spine.

“do you want to get a coffee and go for a drive?” he offers - voice soft and fond as he looks down at you.

“really?”

“sure - i need to get gas anyways.”

“are you kidding me?” the sound of nick’s voice is unmistakable, and you bite back a little laugh as he speaks. “i literally just asked you to take me to target and you flat-out refused like four fucking times.”

with a roll of his eyes that you can almost feel, matt turns his head towards his brothers in the kitchen. “nick - that’s different and you know it.”

“different? how is it different, matt? because i actually don’t know and i would love for you to enlighten me.”

“because you’re not my fucking girlfriend, nick - jesus christ.”

“no, that’s true, but i am your brother - your triplet no less. does that mean nothing to you?”

“at the moment? no, it really doesn’t.” decidedly done with the conversation, matt turns his head back to you. “you ready to go?”

with a soft little laugh, you stretch up to press a lazy kiss against his jaw. “we should take nick to target.” you say quietly.

“i’ll take him tomorrow.” he says back, tilting your head up with two fingers so it’s level with his own. you can’t fight your silly little grin when he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “i’ve barely seen you all day.”

“but i feel ba-”

matt kisses you again, effectively silencing your feeble attempt at a protest. “don’t feel bad.” he says, lips still brushing softly against yours as he speaks. “he doesn’t even need anything - the kid just wants to look around.” with a gentle pat to your thigh, he’s maneuvering the two of you into an upright position. “now c’mon - we’re going to starbucks.”

[katsu28]

oscar's a grouch (or is he?)

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: to your knowledge, oscar piastri really doesn't like you. but a night out in monaco makes you realize that maybe you don't know oscar's feelings towards you quite as well as you think you do. (3.7k)

warnings: swearing, unwanted advances from a man (not oscar, don't worry), a smidge of landoscar if u squint really hard

a/n: idk about y'all but this summer break is killing me 😭 i just wanna see my boys on track again is that too much to ask. anyways here's some oscar bc he's been giving literal crumbs lately (except for casually mentioning his broken fucking rib)

You’re not even sure what you're celebrating tonight. 

All you know is Lando called you a few hours ago demanding you come to some club with him and a few of his other driver friends, and who were you to deny yourself a fun night out? Especially one where you can put all your drinks on Lando’s tab. (You’re not a gold digger—Lando refuses to let you pay for most things when you go out because he, and you quote, ‘makes a shit ton of money, so why not use it’.) 

Now you’re here, sipping the last of your third (fourth maybe?) drink of the night until there’s nothing but ice. 

The music blasting through the club is so loud you feel the bass thumping in your chest, and it only gets louder when you venture through the crowd in search of the group you came with.

Somehow you’d gotten separated, but it’s really not too hard to locate them. All you have to do is look for a very tall, very polite looking British man a head taller than everyone else, and then you’ve found George Russell.

He spots you too, beckoning you over into the VIP section with a cool nod of his head. All the other drivers are around too—Carlos winks at you over the rather brightly patterned mini umbrella in his drink, Max tips his glass at you as you make your way by. 

Charles and Oscar sit together on a sofa further into the section, seeming deep in conversation, but look up as you pass them. The Monegasque reaches up to give you a fist bump, and Oscar just blinks at you, taking a measured swig of his beer. You fight the urge to sigh at his standoffishness. 

Over the years, Lando’s friends have quickly become your friends too, but Oscar Piastri is an enigma you have yet to crack. You know he’s on the quieter side because Lando had warned you of it before you’d met Oscar for the first time, but you weren’t expecting completely and totally icy.

The Oscar that Lando always talks about excitedly is an entirely different person than the Oscar you’ve become familiar with. 

It seems like he can barely look you in the eye whenever you try to make small talk with him, and you don’t think you’ve ever been alone with him because he always finds a way to slip away before you can even try to make a genuine connection with him. 

What makes things even better (read: worse) is that despite all that, you’ve grown a small crush on Oscar. You’re not sure how, and you’re not sure why, but that doesn’t make your feelings any less real. You’ve accepted that this is just the way things will always be with him, you with a pesky crush and him not wanting anything to do with you. 

You find Lando quickly, bopping around to the beat of the song playing without a care in the world. He looks like he’s having the time of his life, and when he spots you, he positively beams, waving wildly at you. 

“Hey, you!” He exclaims. “How are you? I love you!” 

“I love you too!” You chuckle. “I was gonna get another drink, d’you want anything?” 

“What?” He yells, brows furrowing. “You’re gonna dye your hair pink?”

“Another drink, dummy! Do you want another drink?” You make sure he’s looking at you this time, over-enunciating your words, so he’ll understand them. He narrows his eyes at you in the dim lighting but gets the gist of your question, perking up at the possibility of yet another drink. 

“More vodka shots, baby! One for you, one for me! No, one for everyone!” He giggles, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

His movement is so enthusiastic he nearly tips the two of you over, stumbling on his feet clumsily. You’re quick to push him back into an upright position, grimacing with effort as you trudge over to the nearest sofa and deposit him onto the seat unceremoniously. 

“Oh, this is nice,” He sighs, stroking the leather dreamily. “I should—I should get one of these for my place. D’you think they’d let me take it home?” 

“I really don’t think so, Lan,” You reply, amused. “Stay here. Don’t leave this sofa.” 

Lando groans, tilting his head back against the cushions. “Okay, mum. God!” 

Right, so maybe he doesn’t need those extra shots after all. 

You shoot him one more stern look before leaving him behind and heading for the bar, quietly tasking Carlos with making sure Lando doesn’t do anything stupid while you’re gone. 

There’s an empty spot at the bar when you approach, and you slide in, fingers tapping on the countertop idly as you wait for the bartender to finish up other drinks. 

“Hey.” 

You glance to your left to see a man you don’t recognize, smiling at you.

“Hi.” You say back, pressing your lips into a polite smile. You’re hoping that’ll be the end of the conversation, because you’re not really in the mood to be talking to someone you don’t know when all you’re trying to do is order something. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a club like this?” His eyes rake over you from head to toe as he says it, shamelessly checking you out with a glint in his eye that makes you feel dirty. 

You take a small, calculated step backward, and much to your dismay, he takes that as an invitation to inch forward. “I’m with a group of friends.” 

“Are they all as attractive as you?” He must think he’s being smooth, but it just makes you even more uncomfortable. 

“Pretty sure they’re not your type,” You reply flatly. “Unless you’re into dudes.” 

The man’s nostrils flare, like you’re accusing him of something absurd. “I’m not. I’ve only dated girls. Really hot girls.” 

“Uh…good for you? I don’t really—” 

“What’s your name? I bet it’s something sexy.” 

“Y’know, my friends are probably wondering where I am, so I’m just gonna—” 

“What’s the rush, sweetheart? I’m just trying to get to know you,” He drawls, stroking clammy fingers over the back of your hand. You yank it away, reaching up to adjust the strap of your top just so he wasn’t touching you anymore. Maybe a little bit harsh, but the vibe you’re getting from him isn’t good at all. 

“I have a boyfriend,” You reply stiffly. It’s a boldfaced lie, but you're hoping you sound convincing enough to get this guy off your case. He’s starting to make you nervous. 

He takes an overdramatic look at your surroundings before focusing back on you, shrugging. “I don’t see one.” 

As if the universe is presenting you with a way out, you spot Oscar walking by at that very second, and before you can think you're grabbing his hand, tugging him towards you. He comes willingly, but looks slightly confused as you tuck yourself close to him.

He’s definitely not your first choice, but right now you don't think you can afford to be picky. At least it's someone you know. 

You pop up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck, lips almost pressed to his cheek as you whisper, “Please play along.”

His eyes flick between you and your unwanted conversation partner, and for a moment you think he might blow your cover, but he slides an arm around you after you turn back around, resting his hand on the small of your back. 

You force yourself to ignore the effect it has on you, instead opting to press a little more into his side. His torso is firm under your trembling hands, tense if anything, but the steady rise and fall of his level breathing provides comfort. 

“We got a problem here, mate?” Oscar’s voice sounds more serious than you've ever heard it, and when you look up at him, he looks downright scary.  He towers over both you and the guy you're desperately trying to get rid of, brow furrowed, jaw set. You’re glad that look has never been aimed at you.

The guy shifts nervously on his feet, but still holds his ground. Not a good idea, anyone with an ounce of common sense could see that. “No problems, just trying to have a friendly conversation.” 

“Doesn’t look very friendly to me. Looks like you’re bothering my girlfriend.” 

“Dunno what to tell you, mate. We were just chatting, weren’t we, sweetheart?” 

You wrinkle your nose in disgust, feeling safe enough to do so tucked under Oscar’s arm like you are right now. This guy might be a fucking creep, but he’s not stupid enough to go up against Oscar. “No.” 

He glowers at you, and you feel Oscar’s palm come around, curling around your waist protectively. “Seems like that’s settled then. I reckon you should leave now.” Oscar’s tone leaves absolutely no room for discussion.

Is it wrong that you find it hot? 

“Fine. Don’t need to waste my time on bitches anyways.” 

Oscar stiffens. He moves forward like he’s about to throw a punch, but you’re quicker, splaying your palm over his very sturdy chest to stop him before he does anything rash. You don’t think it’ll go over too well with McLaren higher ups if they learn that one of their drivers got into a fight at a club. 

“He’s not worth it, Osc,” You say softly. He looks down at you, sees the look in your eyes, and his posture relaxes just a little bit. You’re not sure how long the two of you hold each other’s gaze, but when you finally tear your eyes away from his, the guy is long gone. 

Only then do you step away from Oscar, straightening yourself out as much as you can given how things could’ve ended had he not been there to save your ass. He steps away too. With the guy no longer around, there’s no reason for you to be that close together. 

“You alright?” He mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. Even in the dim lighting of the club, you can see how red his cheeks are. 

“Yeah. Fine. That guy was just really freaking me out.” 

“Are you sure? That you’re okay, I mean. ‘Cause yeah, that guy was a creep.” 

“Total creep,” You agree, bobbing your head. “But I’m sure. I’m, uh, I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that. I don’t know what I would’ve done had you not been there, so…thank you. I know it was probably a little hard for you, but thanks anyways.” 

That last part was likely not necessary, but you’re a smidge tipsy right now. You’ll blame your loose lips on the alcohol. 

Oscar’s brow pinches in the middle, head tilting in confusion. “What?” 

“Pretending to be my boyfriend. Pretending to like me.” 

“Why would that be hard for me?” 

“Uh, I dunno, maybe ‘cause you don’t.” 

“You—wait, you think I don’t like you?” Oscar looks truly befuddled at your insinuation, and you frown, because from your side of things, it’s pretty damn clear. 

“I’m not, like, upset or hurt, or anything. You have a right to dislike whoever you want, I don’t care,” You shrug, craning your neck to look for the bartender. 

“It’s not true.” 

You hum absentmindedly, not really paying attention to his words. Where was that damn bartender? You need that drink, now. Oscar’s fingers wrap around your forearm loosely, but tight enough to grab your attention again. “What?” 

“I don’t…not like you.” 

“I said I don’t care, Oscar. You don’t have to try and make me feel better. It’s fine,” You assure him. You really wish he’d stop pushing the subject. “Just drop it, yeah? Thanks for the save, you can go back to the group now.” 

He regards you blankly for a long few seconds, then he opens his mouth, and just when you think he’s about to say something, it snaps shut. Then he pivots on his heel and starts to walk away. You roll your eyes, turning back to the bar. After all this, you definitely need another drink. Preferably a strong one. 

Maybe you’ll get those shots Lando wanted after all. 

The bartender finally spots you and you sigh in relief, glad and ready to finally get what you came for, but before you can get a word out, you’re being dragged away by the hand. 

You nearly scream, your mind jumping to the worst conclusion before your gaze lands on the same broad shoulders, the same head of brown hair that had just left you not seconds ago. It’s Oscar pulling you through the crowd, and even though you’re beyond relieved, you’re also confused and a little bit pissed off. 

“What’re you—hey! Oscar!” You have to shout over the pulsing music, but either he can’t hear you or he’s choosing to ignore you, because he doesn’t stop. 

He muscles through the crowd with surprising ease with you stumbling along behind him until you’re outside the club, in some sort of private patio area. There’s no one else out here and you’re glad for it, because you have half a mind to yell at him.

Oscar drops your hand, running his fingers through his hair, and when he looks up, you detect confliction in those big brown eyes of his. It almost derails your thought process, but you scowl. 

“What is your problem?” You snap, folding your arms over your chest angrily. 

“You think I don’t like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This again? Fucking hell, I told you to forget about it, Oscar. I meant that.” 

“No, I’m not gonna—you said it, so you obviously meant it. I wanna know why,” He insists. “Why do you think I don’t like you?” 

“Maybe because you haven’t exactly given me anything else to go off of? You always brush me off when I try to talk to you, and when I do get you to have a conversation with me, you can barely look me in the eye. And I swear, it’s like you find every excuse to not be around me.” 

You can’t resist the urge to allow a slightly bitter sounding laugh escape you because, fuck, no matter how many times you tell yourself that you don’t care what Oscar thinks of you, that you don’t give a crap about how it looks like he’s only this way with you, you do care. 

You care so much it makes you want to scream into the void. You shouldn’t care, but you do. 

“So you can say that it’s not true, you can tell me I’m wrong all you want, but I’m just telling it as I see it.” 

Oscar blinks at you again in that way he always does when you talk, the way that makes you want to smack him upside the head but also kiss him senseless too, just to see if he’d react differently. 

“I’m an idiot,” He says. You press your lips together. There won’t be any denying that fact from you. 

He groans, tipping his back towards the sky. “I’m an idiot. It’s not because I don’t like you. It’s—” He pauses, sighing. Crossing his arms, uncrossing them, weighing his options. “It’s because I do like you. A lot. I like you to the point where I don’t know how to act around you without the fear I might do or say something stupid, and then you’ll think I’m a dickhead.” 

“So you thought completely icing me out was…you not being a dickhead?” 

He wrinkles his nose, like he's just realized what his actions must’ve looked like to an outside party. “Oh. That’s not what I meant to….fuck, you must think I’m such a—”

“Dickhead?” You supply helpfully. He nods, shoulders slumping. 

You’re used to long stretches of silence with Oscar, but this one feels different. Now that you know he doesn’t totally hate your guts, the silence isn’t totally unbearable. He steps closer, watching you, gauging your reaction to his movements like you’re some sort of unpredictable creature. 

If anything, Oscar’s the unpredictable one. 

“So…” You start, tilting your head. “You like me?” 

Oscar exhales sharply, nodding. “Guess it might be a bit of a shocker, but I do.”  

“And you already know I like you.” 

“I’ve noticed, yeah,” He says, lips quirking up into a small smile. “What do we do now?”

“Maybe we take things slow. Get to know each other first, ‘cause I dunno if you’ve noticed, but one of us spent a lot of time ignoring the other,” You lilt, half joking. Oscar rolls his eyes playfully, but nods his agreement nonetheless. “I think for now, we should get back inside. I’ve got to make sure Lando hasn’t tried to steal the sofa from right out the section.” 

Oscar’s nose scrunches, head cocking to the side in bewilderment. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it another time.” 

“How about tomorrow over dinner?” He blurts, running a hand through his hair. It flops right back into place, one stray curl hanging over his forehead that he doesn’t seem to notice as he smiles hopefully at you. 

“I’d like that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Duh.” 

His smile grows bigger, pushing up his cheeks so much it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges. You’ve never been the receiver of this smile before, and now that you are, you never want him to stop smiling at you like this. “Okay. Okay, cool. I’ll text you.” 

“Don’t you need my number for that?” 

“Oh, I’ve uh, I’ve got it already. I nabbed it from Lando’s phone a while ago. Just in case I gathered up the courage to message you. Which I didn’t, as you could probably tell,” He replied, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I wanted to though. I just—I didn’t know what to say.” 

“How’d you get into his phone?” 

He snorts this time, raising a brow at you. “His password’s 4444. Not exactly mission impossible.” 

You really need to have a talk with your friend about Internet safety one of these days. 

The aforementioned friend throws his hands up into the air when he spots you making your way back into the section as soon as you re-enter the club, bouncing over to you to wrap you in a giant hug. Lando mumbles something you can’t understand into your ear and giggles, then spots Oscar lingering behind you and positively screeches, reaching to pull him into the hug too. 

You don’t have time to get your arms out of where they’re trapped against your sides in Lando’s surprisingly vice-like grip before Oscar stumbles forward into your back at his friend’s harsh tug, cheek smushing against the top of your head. The muttered sorry he offers you does nothing to quell your rocket fast heartbeat at being this close to him for the first time.

“Look at us!” Lando hiccups, squeezing you both as tight as he can. Not an easy feat when you’re hugging two people at once. He bumps his forehead against yours gently to draw your attention back to him. (More like lightly headbutted, but you remain un-concussed so you won’t hold it against him.) “Hey, you’re in a papaya sandwich!” 

Oscar’s low chuckle vibrates through his chest and you feel it rumble through you too. You also feel his pinky curl around your own, thumb pressing against the inside of your wrist tenderly. 

It’s a subtle gesture, one that might not seem like much to anyone else, but you’ve gone from sort of acquaintances to something a little more than friends in the span of less than an hour.

Are you even friends now? You can’t even answer that. You like him and he likes you, but the only time you’ve ever spent together has been around other people. 

Still, only two points of contact—you’re not even holding hands and you think you might spontaneously combust. 

But you have to play it cool. 

The good thing about drunk Lando is that his attention span is close to zero, so he quickly grows bored of sandwiching you into a McLaren hug and wanders off again, most likely in search of another drink. You feel like it would be a good idea to stop him but you plop onto the nearest couch instead, letting your head tip against the back of it. 

To your surprise, Oscar motions for you to scooch over, slotting himself into the extra space you create. There’s a respectful distance left between yourselves, but then he leans towards you to be heard over the music.

“Your pulse was racing.” 

“Gee, I wonder why,” You muse. “Definitely not because of how I feel about you.” 

“Ha ha. You’re funny.” 

“See what you’ve been missing out on all this time?” You joke, head lolling to the side to grin at him. 

“I see it.” He’s looking at you unabashedly already, eyes drinking you in like he’s parched and you’re water. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, and god, you want to kiss him so bad right now. 

Instead you take a deep breath, fixing him to the spot with a pointed look. “Stop staring, or you’ll draw attention.” 

Oscar startles like he wasn’t aware he was staring that hard at you, mumbling out another apology before retreating back to his own bubble of space stiffly. 

You feel a tad guilty now. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but you and Oscar haven’t even begun to understand what you are to each other yet, and the last thing you want is the driver rumor mill to start spinning its wheels about your budding relationship before you even knew if there was going to be a relationship. It’s the kind of thing you want to keep under wraps until the two of you figure things out. 

Sighing lightly, you slide your hand along the empty space separating you, curling your pinky around his the same way he did earlier. Part of you expects he’ll shy away, so when he reciprocates the action, you’re pleasantly relieved. 

There’s still quite a bit of getting to know each other to be done, but you’re excited to see what this next chapter with Oscar holds.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[obsesssedblerd]

Either he is utterly clueless, or he’s toying with you because he knows you think he’s attractive. You don’t know which is worse.

Choso, your roommate, walks around the kitchen of your shared apartment, preparing breakfast like he does every other weekend—when he works less hours due to his little brother staying over for a few nights. In the living room, you can hear Yuuji and best friend, Megumi, playing video games together and enjoying the slow Saturday morning. 

You should focus on that and maybe offer to play games with them- No, you should focus on the smell of the food. Bacon, eggs, hash browns, something sweet that’s baking in the oven. However, you don’t focus on any of that, and your feet remain glued to their spot at the kitchen doorway, and your eyes stay locked on your roommate. 

Choso was only wearing sweatpants. You can tell that he was fresh out of a shower. His hair is left down this morning, and you can’t help but think that it looks even better that way, especially with the dark strands of his bangs still falling in front of his face. Then his upper body. Holy shit, his upper body. You knew Choso worked out often, sometimes with Satoru Gojo, but not once have you seen the results of his efforts in the gym this clearly. The muscles in his arms flex as he mixes something in a bowl, and your breath hitches slightly. Your gaze slowly drifts lower, taking in his toned chest, his abs, then settling on where his sweatpants hung loosely on his waist. Fuck.

You finally shake yourself out of it, then tear your eyes away from his body, deciding to look at the table instead. You clear your throat, and the sound of it gets his attention. “Morning,” he greets casually, facing you with his usual small smile. “Sorry if Yuuji and his friend woke you up. Megumi decided to stay the night at the last minute.” 

You smile in return, then shake your head. “Oh, that’s fine.” You walk close to the stove where he’s standing. “I don’t mind Megumi. He’s actually way quieter than the rest of Yuuji’s friends. What are you making in that bowl?” 

“Hm? Oh, this is some icing to go on top of the cinnamon rolls.” He grabs a clean spoon from a drawer, then dips it into the bowl. “I think it needs a bit more vanilla, but I’m not too sure. Could you also try it?” 

You nod, then reach to grab the spoon from him, but because your grip on it wasn’t secure, it nearly slips from your hand, resulting in some of the icing getting on Choso’s finger. You both laugh it off, then you sample the icing. 

As you’re tasting it, you see Choso checking on the bacon sizzling in a skillet. Then, he lifts his hand to his mouth that you’ve definitely stared at many times before. A split second before his lips close around his finger with the icing on it, you catch his tongue dart out to lick the icing. Then, he sucks it clean, releasing it with a light smacking sound. You nearly stop breathing. It’s so simple, so innocent, but it’s so damn–

“What do you think?” He asks as he heads over to the sink to wash his hands. 

“...Huh?” 

He looks at you, then points to the spoon in your hand. “The icing. What do you think?” 

Oh. That. 

Heat rises to your face, and you mask your sudden nervousness quickly. “You’re right. Just a touch more vanilla. I think a teaspoon will be perfect.” 

“Okay, thanks. I remember making it before, and…” Choso continues talking about the icing, but your brain tunes it out when you stare at him again. He was so attractive that it wasn’t fair. You’re certain that you’ve never wanted anyone this bad before. You promised yourself on the day you moved in that you wouldn’t fall for him. He worked a lot, and when he wasn’t working, he was a caring older brother to Yuuji. You assumed that he barely had time for anything else.

“Hey.” 

His low voice snaps you back to reality, and embarrassment creeps into your gut. “What was that? I’m sorry for being spaced out. I barely got any sleep last night,” you lie. 

You think he sees right through it, because he’s stepping closer to where you’re leaning against the counter. He places his hands on either side of the countertop, trapping you in between his arms—directly in front of him and nowhere to go. Your heart begins to race as he leans closer to you, the faint, fresh scent of his body wash filling your nose. The corner of his mouth slightly lifts, and the look in his dark eyes gives it away. 

He’s amused. 

“I asked if you could grab a bowl from the cabinet behind you so I could put the eggs in it,” he says quietly. 

“Yeah,” you reply with a soft exhale. “No problem.” You turn around carefully, then lift your arm to open the cabinet, trying to pretend that you don’t literally feel him behind you. You grab a medium-sized bowl. “This one okay?” 

There’s silence, then you feel Choso’s gentle touch. His large hand holds your waist, and his other arm reaches up towards the shelf you took the bowl from, grabbing another one that was a bit larger. 

“I was thinking that this one would be better,” he whispers into your ear. 

You put the other bowl back before your slippery palm lets it fall, and Choso takes a step back and flashes a smile at you. “Nearly done with the food. Could you let Yuuji and Megumi know?” 

You do your best to hide how flustered you are, and nod. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go grab them. I’ll be back.” 

As you turn to leave the kitchen, you hear his quiet, amused chuckle, eventually drowned out by the sound of him putting some used dishes into the sink. 

Oh, he was definitely toying with you. 

-------

a/n: so do y'all know that one choso fanart of him wearing only sweatpants and making breakfast? yeahhhhhhhhhh

also ik we mostly hc him as being shy (and i love it) but there's something about him being the one doing the teasing.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[bunnys-kisses]

jailbird (3)

prisoner!simon "ghost" riley

the series master-list

cw: (former) prisoner!simon, civilian!reader, smut & fluff, dom!reader, sub!simon, gentle sex, size kink, pregnant!reader, wife kink

bunny says: like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own!

you rubbed your back as you cooked up some breakfast. you then yawned into you fist. it was hard giving up coffee for the sake of your unborn baby, but simon promised that when your son was born, he'd buy you the fanciest coffee at the supermarket.

it had been over a year since simon got out of prison, and now you two were expecting your first child. right now he was the size of an avocado and simon couldn't help but put his hands on the small bump.

"mornin', love." he said as he came up behind you and his hands on the bump. his hair was a mess and his large tattoos hands were on your hips, "bacon for me?"

"it's turkey bacon. less fat." you reminded him.

he grumbled, "not as good." then leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, "how did you sleep." his hands linked under your bump as he held it gently.

you flipped the bacon and focused your attention on the eggs in another pan. you felt a shift of your child in your womb, "it was alright. i think i'm getting used to your snoring."

he kissed you again and grumbled, "i'm sorry."

you chuckled, "I don't mind. either you've gotten quieter or i'm just used to it." you tilted your head up and kissed him on the lips briefly, "if you can get the toast ready that would be great."

"anythin' for ya." he said as he pulled away and went to make some toast for the both of you. it was domestic, it was quiet. a woman and her much larger, tattooed ex-convict of a boyfriend.

-

simon called you his wife often, despite never actually being married. you didn't mind it. you shared a home were building a family, but you often wondered if you would ever get married. you were never keen on a huge celebration, but something would be nice. regardless you were his missus.

regardless of your pregnant size, he handled you with ease. there were times where he'd simply guide your hips as you rode him. he was he one in control. you held onto him and moaned as you felt his cock press up into you.

"beautiful wife." he smirked as he kissed your face.

you wondered if it was possible for to control the pace. to have your boyfriend give up control and let you work his body? while your bdsm together was short lived, he stopped any rough play when you announced you were pregnant, you wondered if the roles could be reversed? the tiny girlfriend in control of her beefy, scary boyfriend.

it was a rather arousing thought. to watch simon squirm while you made sure he was taken care of. it didn't have to be vicious or rough, which would make simon happy (for your sake), but tender and slow. you rubbed your thighs together while seated at your work desk, you had to focus on work! not on your boyfriend's cock inside of you.

you leaned back in your desk chair and rubbed your swollen middle as you gazed at the spreadsheet you had been working on. simon gave you the gift of your first born child, you believed it was time to repay him for it.

-

"simon." you said as you were curled up with him on the couch. simon's head was in your lap and his legs were hanging off the couch. you were running your fingers through his short blond hair.

"yeah, love." he said.

"i want to ask you about something."

he lifted his head and looked at you, he looked at your curiously. for a brief moment he was worried that he had done something wrong. but a closer study of your face revealed that you weren't upset with him, which settled him down. he simply said with a kiss on your bump, "ask away."

"i was wondering, if maybe... i can take charge when we have sex? just for tonight. i know you like being in charge, but i thought it could spice things up with anything too intense."

he said gruffly, "i don't want ya puttin' strain on yourself." as his broad hand rubbed your middle, "worried you'll get tired out."

you reached down and cupped his face, "well, then if i get tired then you can take over... it wouldn't hurt to try." you smiled, "i think it'll be fun."

simon learned very early on that he could never say no to his girl. he simply pressed his cheek back on your bump and rubbed it. he said, "alright, but don't push yourself too hard."

he lingered closely during dinner, his hands on your hips as he watched you make dinner. he was in charge of chopping vegetables, but when he wasn't, his hands were on you. he wanted to be close to his wife.

even though very few thought of him as a gentleman, the way he sat you down on the couch after dinner so he could wash the dishes of your dinner left you feeling pink.

when he came back to you however, he held out his hand. you took it and he helped you up off the couch. he stared down at you for a moment and you reached out for him. you framed his face in your hands and leaned up to kiss him.

"i'm fine."

once in the bedroom, he marveled at your body as you started to undress. he shirt was already off as he sat at the edge of the bed, ready to help you if you needed it. but you shooed his hands away. he admired the slope of your pregnant belly and the heaviness of your breasts. you had a figure his admired, a lil pregnancy fat to keep you and the babe warm.

"you're staring."

"can't i?" he asked, "i made you this way. my girl carryin' my kid. i think you look hotter now than before." he smiled.

you gave him a look as you got your underwear off, you stood there in front of him, naked with your hands at your hips. you said, "so you're into milfs?"

he shrugged, "only when i'm the ones who 'em a mama." he reached out for you and you went into his arms. he pressed his face against your bump and sighed, his cock twitched in his pants.

you petted his soft hair and felt him place kisses against your swollen middle. he had taken to being a father the way a fish takes to swimming. after a little worship to your belly, you nudged him at his shoulders.

"lie down."

he looked up at you and laid down. he watched you work as you got his pants and underwear off. his cock stood at full attention and you could already feel the heft of it inside of you. it made your stomach flutter.

there laid your convict boyfriend, the man who was in prison for some time. he was laid out on the bed you shared while you tried to straddle his waist. he made you his girl, and you made him a better man.

"gonna be comfy like that?"

"this is about you, simon." you tapped his nose, "the goal is to make you cum." then trailed your finger down his neck and across his chest that was littered with tattoos.

he held onto your hand and placed it on his cheek, "i know... but i still want you to have a good time, love." he kissed your wrist before he placed both hands on your hips.

"hey!" you smacked his hand away, "my job."

"sorry." he said softly. he was a hardened man, he often scared people. but with you, he was so supportive and loving. he adored you the way plants adored the sun.

he watched you with careful eyes, they felt heated on your warm flesh as you tried to move yourself (with the bump not helping). it took everything in him not to do it himself. but he had to trust you.

you slowly sank on his cock and pressed your chin to your chest as you exhaled deeply. you noticed that simon was holding onto the covers tighter. you said softly, "trust me."

"yes, love." he said softly, he tensed up when you started to roll your hips. you hand one hand on his chest for leverage and the other on your swollen middle as you moved your hips against him.,

"holy shit, love." he groaned.

"see, a wife knows how to please her husband." you replied before you smacked his hands away from you, "no. stay still." there was a bit of a command to your tone.

he liked it.

he continued to hold the sheets as you moved up and down on his length. his breathing got heavy as you started to really put work into riding his cock. he watched your breasts and belly bounce like a hypnotized man.

he made you this way. he never thought when he was in prison that he'd have a woman in his life that was carrying his child. he watched to reach out and worship your bump. but for the time being he'd just have to play the thoughts over in his head.

part of him wondered if he was still a bad man. maybe there should've been more time between when you met in person and your pregnancy. but you were happy. happy with him, of your situation.

he tried to move but you kept him pinned by the shoulders. you were without words as you rode him, all you could do was shake your head. he groaned and leaned back into the bed.

"please, love. let me touch you. i want to touch my wife." he was almost begging.

you pushed hair out of your hair and looked down at him. your hands were on his shoulders to give yourself more leverage. you moaned, "okay... but be good."

quickly his hands were on your hips and he rubbed your love handles. you felt so good under his touch, it made his brain buzz. what the hell did he do to deserve an angel such as yourself.

"like it, simon?"

he nodded, "you're doing great. my girl." his voice was practically a purr.

you continued to ride him. you felt hot all over but you held onto him. you tried to be sexy about your thrusts. but the burn in your soul to get to climax forced you to bounce on his cock.

simon's eyes were transfixed on your body as it moved. his cock ached, as did his balls. he bred you so good, he didn't know what he did in a previous life to deserve this.

warmth pumped through your bodies as you fucked. it felt so good, and the angle made your core ache. it wasn't long before you felt the curl of orgasm in your gut.

you placed his hands and yours on your bump as you moved on his cock. your moans filled the air of your bedroom. your mind became hazy and your thrusts were disorganized. you came first by holding his hands, your cunt clenched around his cock. and as you continued to ride him until he finished as well.

"shit."

"simon."

he laid sprawled out next to you for a moment to catch his breath. by the time he calmed down, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your face. he could feel your bare belly bump up against his abdomen. he felt relaxed against you.

he said quietly, as he assumed that you were dozing off in the after glow of pleasure, "you'll get your ring soon. just gotta find the right time to pop the question." his voice was a low rumble.

but you were still awake and safe in his arms. when he mentioned a ring your heart skipped a beat. you stayed still for a moment and let him bask in your love. soon you'd be his wife, for real.

the question was, where was the ring? <3

[celestialholz]

Live long and fuck in Hondas (or 'why that Vulcan salute is way more significant than you think it is')

Hey. Hey Holz. Did you know Deadpool and Wolverine fucked in the Odyessy? Did you know that they now live in a one-bed with Blind Al? Did you know that -

Yes, friend. I know all of it. And you're all super fucking valid for pointing it out.

... But maybe all of you aren't seasoned Trekkies like me. Maybe not all of you gorgeous people understand the true significance of this.

Or maybe you just want a definitive way to win the argument of "are these two fucking?"

But either way, I'm here to help, and to tell you why, amongst all the absurdly homoerotic text of this film, this moment? Might be the gayest of them all.

Now, we must start by saying that although you wouldn't know it from the bullshit Abrams films, these two:

Are the fathers of gay fanfiction. Spock and Kirk here are the reason you're living in the fantastic timeline where you can write/read men fucking without any other shred of plot and that this is a legitimate and normalised internet experience - everyone say thank you, iconic papas. These guys were so homoerotically coded that even in the 60s, the era of wondrously overdramatic performances of all kinds and fairly prevalent homophobia, The Girlies still took notice, still started mailing each other fics and making zines and being just hugely excited at the thought of these two getting space-married. They are fandom as we know it today's beginning, and seventy years later they're still an enduringly popular ship on AO3. (You should all go and watch Amok Time, by the way. Contains the Honda Odyessy scene of the 60s, except there's weird biology and wrestling and just go and put it on your screens, thank me later. They fucked on that planet.)

Anyway, these two were as close as early colour TV could ever allow two men to be, deepening their *coughs* friendship almost every single episode or film - Trek's creator Gene Roddenberry even gave them a unique word in Spock's Vulcan language, with the meaning of 'friend, brother, lover.' (And if that isn't ringing any Poolverine bells, I'm not actually sure what you want out of this post. Enjoy it anyway, love you.)

... And then we get to 1982's The Wrath of Khan, and to that moment that every iconic screen couple must face - the ol' classic, it's you or me and I won't let it be you.

Sure, the set-up's a little different here - the chamber Spock's in is filled with radiation, and the scene's quieter, softer. And Kirk isn't a mutant so he can't smash his way in, he can just sit there and inwardly die as his emotional support Vulcan does.

... But you get where I'm coming from here. Ryan Reynolds doesn't take a million other potential love scenes from across the cinematic ages - no, he takes this. What is for many the romantic acknowledgement of a whole generation. The humble and desperately sweet beginning of it everything we fans know and love nowadays. The most ambiguously romantic homosexual relationship in television, directly comparative to what is now arguably the most ambiguously romantic homosexual relationship in cinema. And lest we forget, Wade doesn't believe in a fourth wall - this is a conscious choice, both in canon and in the writer's room.

Oh it's so clever and so beautiful a girl could weep. Ryan just introduced the MCU to the gays, just as Kirk and Spock did all those years ago to the masses of the time.

And then there's what it means.

This is the Vulcan salute, created to mean either 'live long and prosper' or 'peace and long life' - it's used more or less interchangeably.

But part of that's irrelevant when you're as immortal as these two.

So we're left with the sentiments of prosperity and peace, given to a man who up to this point can't imagine ever prospering again, is the furthest thing away from being at peace. Wade gives Logan the opportunity to go on, to find the things he's been lacking for so long now - things he has already helped him find. Spock tells Kirk during The Wrath that 'the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,' and that's exactly what Wade's doing here - sacrificing himself for the greater good of his friends and his newly beloved, however much it will hurt them all.

And that's lovely, and poignant, and character-growing, and I think we all would have been content to leave it at that and have our noble sacrifice, however much we would have wept. Kirk goes on to find the remnants of Spock's soul in the next film in the series, to bring him essentially back from the dead because he felt it was more than his own soul's worth not to have done... which, again, ringing a bell anyone?

Because Logan, in not so many words, tells dear Wade to fuck right off, and we get this.

What we've got here is a direct translation of one of cinema's gayest moments, made somehow infinitely more gay. A true achievement here - I genuinely think I spontaneously acquired tetanus in the cinema for a good minute, my jaw dropped so hard on seeing this. The pillars are the same colour as Kirk and Spock's original uniforms, for fuck's sake. I'm dying out here.

What we've done here is create narrative equality. The whole film's kinda done that leading up to this anyway - they're both mentally fucked up men who can't die, who are constantly dying anyway, who are evenly-matched in battle and both enjoy Honda fucking, who have forged a real love even as they piss each other off at every turn.

But here, they place one another in narrative equality for the first time. It's not about a sacrifice, not now, even though they're assuming it is one - it's about what should be done. It's about righting wrongs, being heroes, being together because every option other than that is unacceptable, because neither understands quite how to lose anyone else. They've both made the same choice, and that's not to let the other die alone.

It's about holding hands and loving and never letting go, even if it kills them.

... It's just about the most romantic and gorgeous thing I've ever fucking seen.

There are no more instances of masks, once they're done in this station. They don't need them any longer; they will never need them again.

And that's only emphasised by the parting shot we get of this... almost directly after Vanessa and Wade share a final sweet look.

I don't know, man. It's almost like the true conclusion is hidden behind the acceptable masquerade. Imagine that in the MCU, folks.

They've taken one of the most intimate and sweet moments in screen history, and made even more glorious.

They did The Wrath of Khan better than The Wrath of Khan did it.

And that's... that's gay. That's just about the gayest thing they could ever have done, and I adore it to the smallest pieces.

So remember, the next time your friends disbelieve you... show 'em this. Show them that they redid the very beginnings of slash fandom, and did it better.

(And then you can add on that they now live in a one-bed with their grandma, daughter and dog, and will do for the rest of their lives. Kirk and Spock didn't even get THAT shit.)

[marrycv]

Muse

rockstar!ellie x reader

warnings : SMUT!!, no to consentement (happened with a men ellie saved us), alcohol, ✂️✂️✂️, swearing, age gab? (ellie be like 2-3 years older), thigh riding (r ! receiving), fingering (r ! receiving)

idk if thats all but i worked hard on this one 😜

enjoy!!

—

“Cmonnnnn we’re gonna be late!!”

“not my fault you took 2 hours in the shower?”

you and your bestfriend were getting ready for that little concert that was in your city. it was so rare you had finally something fun to do, and the best part of it, is that your favourite band was gonna be there. you were so excited to go there, but your bestfriend was just making you nervous, in the worst way ever.

you had a denim mini skirt with a lace crop top in black with some leather jacket, classic ‘rockstar girlfriend’ outfit if you’d search it on pinterest. but, it was a rock show anyways, so you were fitting in that vibe.

you had a little smug eyeliner with some star glitter around your eyes. your best friend has some too. exited by the fact that you two were matching like some 13 years old teenagers.

“okay, im ready”

“about time!! now come on, i dont wanna arrive while its crowded, wanna have the best view” she tells you while bringing you outside towards her car

“girl did you know my fav band are gonna be here??”

“ugh omg you said it at least one thousand times…” she sighs

“okay okay, will you be less annoyed when i tell you they look like this :” you said as you showed her the guitarists and the singer. they were 3 and your age. absolutely gorgeous people.

“YOOOOOOOOO!!!” Layla said, looking at the picture of the three bend’s members.

“rightttt?!!!”

“okay but look at the men?”

“his name is Jesse, one of the guitarist. currently dating the other guitarist” you informed her, for only her smile dropping at the deception.

“look, thats the singer” you continue “her name’s Ellie, and shes SO fucking hot, and shes gay”

“lesbian?” she asks you while she starts driving towards the location for tonight.

“yeah, literally everyone who listen to their music is because all the fans envy her. i dont blame them tho”

“what about the other guitarist?” she asks you, now interested in them

“Its Dina, Ellie’s ex”

“WHAAAAAT ??? nowayyyy”

you two laugh at the drama you shared to layla. it was funny gossiping and her finally showing some interest in what you liked.

-

arrived there, it was already crowded. nobody was on stage yet, but it was definitely bigger than you expected.

you friend touched your shoulder, knowing how much noisy places made you so uncomfortable.

“what aboouuuuuut we get VIP tickets for a quieter place mhh?”

“Layla? its too expensive i cant afford that, ill just- support it” you tell her, looking at your phone trying to distract yourself

“too late babe i bought us some” she says, looking at you with the biggest smile. eyes disappearing and teeth showing. She was your sunshine.

“whaaat? you shouldn’t have- im gonna repay you when i can okay?”

“nuh huh, its our night and my gift, okay?”

you nod and smile, worries erased by her gentle smile.

it was true, it was you guy’s night, and no anxiety would take that away.

In the VIP room, there was mostly middled aged men with some really young, but beautiful girls in their company. all already wasted. from here, you could be so close to the stage you thought if the artists would be close enough, you could touch them. you also had access to the backstage, which was an insane opportunity.

some normal people, like your age hanging out with people their age were also in the VIP. it was less awkward with all of those creepy men probably were ‘sugar daddies’

“im gonna grab us a drink ill be back, yeah?” layla whisper-screams in your ears then vanishes to the bar.

you look around you, analyzing the people. then get on your phone, just to seem lees alone.

“Hey you gorgeous lady, would you mind some company?” a raspy voice said

you look towards the voice and see a men, probably 25 years old, but obviously drunk and maybe also high.

“i already have company, but thanks” you said, gently, not wanting anything to happen.

“oh, but i dont see anyone babygirl…” he said as he leaned closer to you while you backed off a little.

his eyes widen, completely surprised by your non interested move.

“im not gonna bite youuu, only if you ask me to” he says and winks at you while touching your arm, going closer and closer to your breast.

“um.. no thanks..” you said, trying to get away, searching around for layla’s figure somewhere around…

“why are you so fucking rude? huh? cant even be happy someone wants to be with you mh? ‘lil slut..” he said as his grip on your arm was tightening, probably gonna leave a mark after.

“please-“ you started but got cut by someone else, behind you two

“she said no man”

the men looks behind him, feeling his grip on your arm going insanely tight. you hiss by the pain.

“she’s with me” he answers to the girl you yet didn’t dare to look at, feeling embarrassed by this whole situation

“are you with this man, miss?” the girl asked you.

her tone completely shifting from raspy, loud and angry to sweet and gentle. making you look up from the ground to see the Ellie Williams defending you. you answer her a small ‘no’. scared if you talked louder the men would take away your arm at this point. or scared you’d cry from anger. the tight feeling you felt in your throat was cutting your voice to get through, if the knot would get destroyed, you’d probably sob right here, but it would only get tighter, feeling like it was taking the oxygen away from your lungs. feeling like it was choking you so it couldn’t pass anymore. would only make your heart beat slower due to the little air you were able to breathe. but you felt like it was beating faster, like you just ran kilometers and stopped suddenly. making your body react in a bad way in the sudden change.

but that was only a feeling.

you just looked, away.

you could hear Ellie yell at the men until his grip on you left to only see his arm swing towards ellie’s face. only that she dodged his punch smoothly. almost satisfying to watch her doing it like she was the finest fighter in the world.

but the slowmo and the muffled voices stopped and when Ellie punched him. Everything was too loud and too clear.

blood getting out of the man’s mouth. attacking Ellie back. everyone screaming and getting away from the fight, creating a non purpose circle.

suddenly it wasn’t a rock show, but a fight show.

Once Ellie completely knocked out the men, him completely passed out on the ground, blood all over his face. she went towards you

“You okay?” she asked, gently as she didnt even just fought with someone like she was gonna kill him.

you simply nodded to her, shocked by this whole situation, never wanting it to end up this way.

“come with me, yeah? ill get you some water and… clean you up” she said looking at your cheek, having some blood on it.

you just followed her into her lodge. it was quiet and cozy.

nobody was in there, but you were kinda nervous about the fact that you were literally with a celebrity.

“sit down” she obeyed.

you sat on the closest chair you saw, following her orders like a dog, still under shock.

ellie took a glass and poured water in it, placed it on the table next to you, then took a small towel and again, put water on it. she came real close to you, her head titled on the side a little bit, her fingers took your chin and made your head move a little bit on the side. she took the towel and took the blood away from your cheek. probably the men’s blood. ellie didn’t have one single scratch. only her knuckles were brushed.

you watched her taking care of you like a little kitten she had found on the road and just, felt bad for it.

her eyes were concentrated on what she was doing, her fingers touching you so gentle, so softly. her bottom lip between her teeth due to the concentration. she might looked so rough earlier, but here? she was the softest person you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“here..” she said as she stopped what she was doing. she sat next to you, with concerned eyes. she suddenly cared so much about you.

“thanks” you whispered, looking down to the glass of water in front of you.

“dont thank me, this guy was an asshole. are you hurt?” she asked looking at your arm, knowing he was holding it.

“if i were you id worry more about your hands” you said looking at them, all bloody and swallowed.

“its okay, dont worry about me…” She said getting up to grab some ice for your arm

“no, take it.” you said, putting it on her fingers trying to ease her pain from defending you.

the room went silent, a comfortable silence. the ones where you didnt rush do say anything or where you werent overthinking to find a subject to talk about.

Ellie on the other hand, was going insane. You were so pretty and you had a pin on your purse about their bands which meant that you were a fan. which meant you knew about her and listened to her music. the silence was driving her insane. she’d just wish she was a normal person who weren’t screaming for her name out there. screaming for her and the fact that they all wanted her. like she was theirs. but she didn’t want that. she wanted to be yours, and it wasn’t gonna be easy. she thought you were scared by her, she thought you saw her completely different now, that you’d stop listening about her being so so toxic with girls with the best beat dina and jesse could ever put to make everyone forget about how of an asshole she was.

about how the girl was hers but she wasnt the theirs. about how she just fucked the girl cause she was bored.

but now, you could saw her as a crazy girl that punches someone almost to death. someone dangerous.

you were just too pretty for this man, for this treatment. she would have done this for anyone, but taking care of them after? nahhh she wouldve just walked away.

“whats your name..?” Ellie asked, looking dead up in your eyes like she wasn’t going crazy on overthinking.

“my name’s ______” you tell her.

“im uh, im Ell-“

“Ellie Williams, yeah i know”

“of course you do..” she sighed at herself.

“fuck- i uh my friend… she’s gonna be dead worried!! fuck fuck” you say, completely on panic mode

“hey, hey, hey, its okay, just send her a message to let her know youre all good, im not letting you out there again, something worse could happen to you.” she says, in a stern tone.

“you worried about me Williams?” you ask her, calmed but surprised by her reaction, slightly titling your head a little bit. the small amount of alcohol in your system making you bolder than you ever could.

“believe it or not sweetheart, i care about my fans”

something in what you said activated Ellie’s dangerous side. she was gonna torture you and never let you go.

“dont you have a show you have to do? for the caring of your fans?”

“i believe they can wait a little bit, dont you think?” she smirked at you.

that goddamn smirk she’d have in those pinterest pictures of her if you searched up her name on the search bar. that smirk when she was on live and someone would tell how much they loved her. or when her fans would ask her to sign on their boobs.

that smirk.

“how disappointed i would be if i was one of those, knowing you were just sitting in here with someone you didnt even knew”

“mhhh i wouldnt care less doll”

you blushed at the nickname, you’d cringe if someone else would’ve called you like that, but the way she said made your panties grow a little wet spot faster than you thought your body could.

you shifted a little bit in your chair, uncomfortable by how sweaty you’ve just became.

“dont you think its hot.. in here?” you said, praying for her to not notice it was because of how much your heart was pumping, making you red everywhere.

“follow me” Ellie said, getting up and walking in another room. you were almost too shaking to even walk but you managed to make your way to ellie. she was in a small bedroom. how could you know lodges had bedrooms? no idea.

“we have those bedrooms if someone from the bend is tired or dont feel good, very useful. i think it was Beyoncé that asked that”

“you know beyoncé???” you asked completely amazed

“uhhh, no. im a small artist, not a pop star” she laughed and made herself comfortable on the bed.

you sat next to her, but shy enough to keep your distance away from her a little.

Ellie just grabbed a guitar that was hanging on the wall and started to play a little melody. her fingers stroking the strings so perfectly, making them some beautiful note and then you recognized the song. she was signing one of hers.

its like you were in a dream, the room was so dark but there was lights everywhere, hanging like a teenage room. making able to see everything with the most perfect lighting, you were able to see the intense shadows from ellie’s perfect muscles. aligned how it was made, like god modelled them himself with his own hands. the way she was just there looking at where her fingers were at to know what note to play next. her foot tapping around with the beat. her hair being lighten by the small yellow lights, making her auburn hair look way more softer than usual.

you couldn’t contain yourself at the sight.

“wanna try?” Ellie asked, handing you the guitar with smile on her lips… her perfect lips- ok stop this madness.

“i- i dont know how to play”

“ill teach you- here, put it on your legs…” she then got closer and took your hands to place them to make a chord. “and here is the chord C major” she smiled at you. “easy right?”

“sure, if i dont count the fact that my fingers are about to explose”

she looked at you and laughed, you did the same. you felt now so comfortable with her.

“alright..” she said,

“get in my lap imma teach you some other stuff.”

“huh?”

“the guitar, you trust me?”

she said, clarifying your dirty mind.

“uh yeah, i do” you said then sat in front of her, between her legs. she wrapped her arms around you and guided your fingers, showing you the chords. one by one.

her fingers felt sooo good on your skin, you were just wondering how good they felt inside of you.

you knew that what you were feeling was wrong, that you two just met but you couldn’t help to press your ass to her crutch. Ellie’s words stuttered, and so did yours. every words were slower and her mouvements were more sensual, if you werent delusional.

the tension just kept growing and only one more move and it could be done for the both of you.

she pressed her head in your shoulder. still teaching you. a hand on yours- guiding you and another on your hip… and she just made you get closer to her, as you could even get closer. you were trying to not moan at this point. what she was doing, ‘teaching’ you guitar and making your heart skip a beat, pretending like nothing else was happening, like it was just all in your imagination. but the feeling was so strong, so strong.

you felt her lips stroking against the skin of your neck while she was whispering you the instructions of the next chords.

crazy how an hour ago you were with your bestfriend, being exited about just seeing ellie live, and here you were, she was literally teaching you how to play guitar with hers. this felt all like it was some kind of prank, too good to be true, but you were just there to enjoy yourself at 100%.

Ellie’s hand on your hip was now playing around on your thigh, she’d tell you how good you were doing. she then moved her hand, painfully slow in your inner thigh. your breathing was speeding up like she was already in you…

she has just touch you so little.

you craved her so much.

you let her get higher, she stoked her fingers on your clothed cunt, could feel the wet spot on your panties that was growing since you got into her lodge.

“is this okay?” she asked you. scared she was taking everything too far, but you just pushed her hand closer to where you needed her the most.

Ellie took the guitar away from the both of you and turned you over so she could see your face.

your legs wrapped around her waist and now both of her hands were on your hips.

the atmosphere completely changed. it was romantic and comfortable 2 seconds ago, and now its so much more intense, the room feels hotter and your nervousness is on the top of your head controlling you to stay still.

“ellie…” you whined.

that made ellie so much more bold. her hands moved up from your hips to your cheeks, not forgetting to touch every part of your skin that was on the way. it wasn’t too slow and either too fast, just enough to realize she was getting closer and closer while her eyes switched on your eyes to your lips. you leaned in, like she was a magnet, pulling you towards her. her lips on yours felt the most right thing you’ve ever felt. they were so soft, so warm, so so tender against your lips. the kiss turned into a make out soon enough like it was a relief from all the tension that had built. her tongue dancing against yours, feeling this feeling of euphoria in your whole body, only catching yourself needed more and more.

unconsciously, your hips were rocking against any pressure you could find. ellie stopped her kisses to only replace them on your neck. you tilt your head to give her more access. you had no idea what you were doing, its like your body went into full control and your mind was just beyond the clouds, seeing the stars when her knee pressed against your clothed cunt. a moan and a a relief sigh escaped your lips.

all was happening so fast and ellie was taking your shirt off, as you were doing the same to her, like in those romantic movies when the two characters find eachothers and they get heated in the moment. like there wasn’t time, like you were late to somewhere.

ellie’s fingers found their way, once again on your clit.

“you mind if i take this off?” she asked, with a smirk, but you could see her cheeks blushing, her breath being fast… her hands shaking.

you nodded, way too speechless of the goddess in front of you

“words, i need words baby”

“take it off” you saw, looking at your legs that were still wrapped around ellie’s waist.

ellie layed you down on the bed, now on top of you, looking at you up and down, analyzing your body. she gently touched the hem of your skirt to take it off. you lifted your hips up to help her. her mouvement were painfully slow, as she was trying to make this sooo memorable.

your panties along with your hips were now on the floor of the room. laying with only your bra left.

ellie’s lips returned to yours, while you could feel her hands getting closer to where you needed her the most.

“ellie..?”

“yes, yes? what’s wrong?” she asked, genuine

“i uh.. can i ride on you?” you asked her, closing your eyes to try and hide yourself from the immense embarrassment you felt, but before you knew it, ellie stood up, you looked at her, clearly confused about what she was doing

to your surprise, she only stripped herself, finding her now completely naked. you could see her abs.. her biceps.. the ‘v’ kind of shape she had on her lower stomach.. her small, yet perfect boobs, only finding your mouth watering at the sight- and not only your mouth but your pussy was drenched too.

“are you gonna stop staring at me?” ellie asked as she climbed on top of you, kissing you- again

maybe she felt magnified to you too? just like you felt so attracted to her

you were winning in anticipation and excitement

naturally, her leg intertwined with one of yours so both of your clits were pressing against eachothers.

feeling her like that against you was heaven. grinding yourself against her was beyond beautiful. the scene was so pornographic that i’d create a new sin in the bible.

“els! im so.. close… fuck!!”

“me too, fuck.. together yeah?”

and just like that she gave a couple more trusts against you and you did the same, as your mouvements were synchronized, as if it was destiny to find her and make love with the love of your life.

you saw and felt fireworks, a big release escaped as you were almost screaming by pleasure. and ellie was just, amazed by your fucked expression she could cum again over and over by just being on top of you, looking at you this beautiful. she couldnt stop.

“els! please!” you said as you felt overstimulated by your previous orgasm.

“please give me another one, please.” ellie was begging at this point. as she needed it more than you, as she felt it in her.

she could go on and on, and you would let her abuse your cunt for the rest of your life if it felt like that.

[tabootoji]

✰ - tags: dead dove do not eat, fem! reader, 18+ reader, stepcest, v. penetration, spanking, f. orgasm, creampie, breeding kink, humor, no use of y/n, all lowercase, minors dni

stepdadtoji! who's lazily lying on his side next to you on your twin size bed that's too small to barely fit the both of you. the bottom of his shirt rises up enough to get a peek at his insanely sculpted abdomen, and his loose hanging sweatpants gives you a view of his groin covered in manly pubic hair.

stepdadtoji! who's in your room to bug you like he always does when your mom's not home during the day because of her work hours. you're trying to do your homework, but toji keeps distracting you by slapping your ass that your short uniform skirt barely covers to keep your attention on him. your mom must not be giving him enough attention, because toji is always fucking with you.

stepdadtoji! who's barely paying attention to you scolding him about you needing to focus on finishing your brutal chemistry assignment till a lightbulb shines in his head. he offers to help you with it, but first, you have to help him with a problem of his own, grabbing his monster sized cock through his pants to wiggle in his large hand.

stepdadtoji! who before you know it, has you hovering over him while you bounce on your knee's on his huge dick like a bunny. your thin lace thong is pushed haphazardly to the side and your tiny skirt flaps in the air each time you smash down onto his lap and his girthy cock impales you deeply. your knee's shake but that doesn't stop toji from holding onto your ass cheeks to slam you up and down in the air like you were a toy.

stepdadtoji! who thinks it's so cute that his bratty stepdaughter who acts like she cant stand him is currently trying her hardest to ride her daddy's cock like a good girl. how filthy. but he was growing tired of your slacky pace. he grabs onto your thighs to support you while he raises his pelvis rapidly to plow you correctly. the loud sound of skin slapping rang through the house, along with the shaking of your poor headboard that was sure to break if toji continued plopping you down so roughly onto his throbbing dick.

stepdadtoji! who curves the scar on his lip upward when you beg him to be quieter, it's almost evening and your mom could be home any minute. he couldn't care less if his wife walked in on him fucking her hot, cock hungry daughter. it only encouraged him to bury his cock even more into your wet cunt. he slaps your plush cheeks till they sting red as he bucks his hips to fill up your slutty pussy like his life depends on it.

stepdadtoji! like the good father he is, holds you tightly as you cum while crying and moaning out how daddy's making you make a mess all over his aching cock. feeling his big balls that were flapping against the swell of your ass twitch wildly as your sloppy pussy gripped him cruelly, he grunts to his favorite cum slut if you're ready to take every drop of his spunk into your womb.

stepdadtoji! who pumps spurts and spurts of his thick cum, breeding you with the essence of his kids. he continues to push his fat dick in and out of you to make sure your greedy cunt sucks it all in. he lifts you off, looking up to see your abused hole quiver as it swallows all of the white substance, not wasting a drop.

stepdadtoji! who throws you to the side of the bed next to him, crossing his arms behind his head and closing his eyes to rest with a content smile, while you slightly convulse, still reeling from your epic orgasm. you reposition your thong back on and find the strength to turn to toji and remind him about the tutoring he offered.

stepdadtoji! who opens one of his eyes to look at you unapologetically. "girl, im'a high school dropout. don't know tha' first thing about chemistry." he laughs in your face as you punch him in the arm.